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Chapter Text

          Harry was in his bedroom at Grimmauld Place, shoving clothes into a suitcase in preparation for tomorrow, when they would be taking their international portkey from the Ministry International Travel Station to the one in MACUSA, which was what America called their ministry.  He finished zipping it and put his toiletry bag on top of it.  Then he smelled something from downstairs; Kreacher was preparing tea.  He skipped downstairs to find the elf slapping Sirius away from the fresh biscuits.  Harry smiled and swiped one off the tray.

            “Wow Kreach,” Sirius teased.  “You’d think Harry was your favourite from the way you treated him.” 

            The elf looked at him.  “He is my favourite,” he replied, deadpan. 

            “Alright, no progress there…” the Black lord trailed off.  And it was true.  Kreacher was rather fond of Harry; as soon as he’d stepped into Grimmauld Place the first time and saw that the house elf was sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs, he demanded that he be moved to one of the bedrooms despite Sirius’s childhood issues with him.  Sirius had trouble understanding why his godson was so steadfast on this point until McGonagall pulled him aside for a moment and said a few words.  There was no more objection after that, and the elf was thereafter very fond of Harry.

            “Are you and Sev getting along?” Harry asked his godfather as he wiped chocolate off the corners of his mouth. 

            “Yes, we’re playing nice.  I still can’t believe he’s staying in my house.” 

            “It’s just for one night,” Harry said.  “You know we’ve got an early portkey out.”

            “You’re still sure you wanna go through with this mind-healer thing?” Sirius asked, trying again for a biscuit. 

            “Yeah, I think it’s a good idea,” Harry told his him again as Kreacher again slapped him away with a “not tea time, Master!” 

            “It just seems like kind of a depressing way to spend your summer,” he said.

            “It’s only for a couple of weeks,” his godson reminded him. “I’m just tired of being bothered by all the memories and flashbacks and stuff, y’know?”  Harry had been somewhat open with Remus and Sirius since the night in the shrieking shack where he’d let slip that he’d been beaten, and Sirius in return had admitted his own childhood wasn’t exactly idyllic. 

            “Y’know,” he continued.  “Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to see someone either, y’know, eventually.” 

            “I’ll think about it, Prongslet,” Sirius promised, using his personal nickname for Harry. 

            Harry sighed.  That’s all he was going to get out of him for the moment.  Remus, Severs, and Minerva gradually streamed downstairs as Kreacher poured the tea and (finally) put the freshly-baked biscuits on a plate. 

            “Everything packed, luv?” Minerva asked Harry as she poured milk into her tea. 

            “Yes M’na,” Harry said around a mouthful of chocolate. 

            “And you brought muggle clothes too, for when we go sightseeing?” 

            “Yeah,” he said, looking distinctly pleased.  “Did you pack your muggle clothes, Sev’rus?”

            “Yes, yes I did.  But I am not wearing that I love New York t-shirt you bought; I don’t care how much you beg.” 

            “I’d wear the shirt,” Sirius said. 

            “So would I,” Remus agreed.

            “You’re both juvenile,” Severus spat back.  Harry rolled his eyes.

            “I’m not picking a favourite, you three,” he sighed. 

            “Ignore them, Harry,” Minnie ruffled his hair.  “They’ve brought out the worst in each other since they were children.” 

            “So,” Harry prodded his godfather and Uncle Moony, “what are you planning to do while we’re gone?” 

            “Oh, you know,” Sirius said, looking lustily at Moony. 

            “Forget I asked!” Harry cried, hands over his ears. 

            “Little Master be helping Kreacher put better silencing charms on his rooms, yes?” the elf asked Harry.  Harry nodded, patting Kreacher between his floppy ears. 

            “I bought a book and everything,” he told him. 

            “Kreacher thanks little master.  Kreacher cannot be hearing that again,” he shuddered. 

[Du’s just going about her business, looking for rats in the garden]

            “Got everything?” Minnie asked for the third time that morning as Kreacher packed some bacon sandwiches into a brown paper bag for the three of them. 

            “Yes M’na,” Harry told her, again for the third time. 

            “I was actually talking to Severus this time, dear.”

            “Yes Minerva,” Severus grit out.  He was not a morning person, funnily enough. 

            “Alright then, no need to be snappy, through the floo, through the floo,” she waved them on, Severus first, then her, holding Harry’s hand.  The teen sighed; at this rate, he’d be allowed to get high on catnip before he could floo on his own.

            The Ministry travel office wasn’t much to look at; it was simply a plain building much like a muggle train station, although instead of platforms there were signs for various countries, each of them above a number of odd objects like an old boot, a spinning top, various umbrellas and hats of many different colours and patterns.  The three of them headed for the large sign that said “NEW YORK, USA,” with flashing letters spelling out “8:00 AM PORTKEY LEAVING SOON,” directly below it.  There was another family waiting by the gates, and their two small children were not chastised for staring at Harry, as their parents were doing the same thing. 

            “Did no one teach you manners?” Severus snapped at them, and they finally stopped staring at Harry, who was desperately trying to flatten his wild hair over his scar.  They very conspicuously cast their eyes downward, and Harry cast a grateful look at the cranky professor.

            The sensation of a portkey was even worse than going through the floo, and because it was an international portkey, it was almost a full minute longer than a normal one.  Harry managed to hold back his nausea until the other family had ambled away, helped along by a glare from Snape, before he turned to his guardian. 

            “Gonna throw up,” he told her so she would know why he suddenly ran for the nearest trashcan.  He didn’t quite make it, though, and was on his hands and knees retching in the middle of the floor.  Embarrassed, he realised several government officials were watching him from their desks.  He banished the mess and stepped back, hiding behind Minerva.         “Hi there lil’ fella,” one of them said.  Oh great, now they were being patronising.  “It’s all right, you can come out.  C’mon, we gotta get ya through customs.”

            “Okay,” he sighed.  This was gonna suck…

            “Let’s see, names and ages.”

            “Minerva McGonagall, fifty-eight.”

            “Severus Snape, thirty-four.” 

            Harry sighed deeply.  “Harry Potter, thirteen.”

            The agent looked rather embarrassed, both because the kid he’d been trying to comfort over throwing up in his office was actually nearly fourteen and not 8 or 9 like he’d initially thought based on size, and also because that child happened to be Harry Potter. 

            “Well, I suppose that would make sense, with the wandless magic and whatnot,” the official said, clearing his throat.  “Right then, might as well start by telling you that here, we let our kids do magic during the summers.  Just plain archaic that you guys don’t, to be quite frank.  How’re you s’posed to practice if you can’t?” 

            “I don’t… I don’t make the rules,” Harry said.

            “Oh, right, you Brits are rather literal; that was a hypothetical question.  Anyhow, let’s get ya finished up.  Duration of stay?”

            “Three to four weeks, depending,” Severus said. 

            “Depending on what?”

            “Reasons.”

            “Yeesh, real charmer, ain’t ya?”

            “We have six-week visas,” Minerva broke in.  “We’re here for touristic and educational reasons.  I’m Harry’s guardian.” 

            “Right then,” the official said, looking over the paperwork.  “Everything checks out.  Enjoy your stay.  Hot dog stand in front of MACUSA’s a great place to start if you’ve got a hankerin’.” 

            “Isn’t it like, four am here?” Harry asked.

            “Welcome to the city that never sleeps, Mr. Potter.  We’re mighty pleased to have you here.” 

            “Do they all sound like that?” Harry asked Minerva as they left the building, now sporting a headache from trying to parse out the man’s accent to match the aftertaste of the breakfast he’d just thrown up.

            “I’m fairly certain that man was from the south,” Minerva said.  “They have a tendency to butcher the English language.”

            “Brooklyn does the same, I’ve heard,” Severus added.  “Alright, so we’ve rented a flat in Chelsea, although for some reason they call it an ‘apartment’ here.” 

            “Excuse me,” Minerva asked a passer-by.  “Would you please point us to the tube?” 

            “The wha’ now?”

            “They call it a subway here, for some reason,” Severus griped, already sick of the country.  “I wish we’d gotten a map with apparation coordinates.” 

            “For a muggle flat in a muggle neighbourhood- it’s impossible.  Just use a point me spell to get to the underground so we can sleep off the time difference,” Minnie ordered her colleague. 

            The New York Subway was a truly horrifying place.  Trying to find your way was… there were no words.  What should have been a fairly quick trip somehow ended up taking them to Chinatown.  At least they got some great dim sum, and nobody gave them a second look in their strange robes, which they hadn’t found a place to change out of yet.  To be fair, there was a man licking peanut butter off a barbie doll, so they seemed positively normal in comparison. 

            “Shall we just take a cab from here, then?” Minerva suggested after they’d put on their muggle clothes in the back room of the dumpling house in which they’d eaten their 5:30 am second breakfast.

            “They’re all so yellow,” Snape sniffed derisively.

            “Would you rather go back into the hell-scape of the underground?”

            “Ugly yellow cab it is.”

            Harry watched his two protectors standing on the street trying to get one of the cars to stop for him for several minutes before he spoke up.

            “If the movies are right, you gotta try something like this,” he put his fingers in his mouth, and although his first attempt was an odd “pfffbtt” noise, he achieved the infamous wolf-whistle on only his second try, a truly momentous achievement.  A car stopped immediately. 

            “We’d like to go here, please,” Minerva requested politely, handing the gristly driver the paper with the address on it.” 

            “19.50,” he barked.  Snape pulled out their roll of muggle money and tried to find the required bills before grouchily handing it all to Harry.

            “Figure that out, Harry, would you?  I can’t- it’s all the same colour, for some reason.” 

            Harry squinted at the bills until he found two tenners and handed them to the driver.

            Driving in Manhattan was like waiting for death, and Harry was relieved, and also kind of worried about throwing up again, by the time the cab pulled up in front of where they were staying.  The driver threw their suitcases out of the trunk and drove away with a grunt. 

            “Enjoy your stay,” he called out belatedly as he drove away without a goodbye. 

            “Not bloody likely, what with the alarming lack of basic human decency and such,” Snape grumbled as he grabbed his and Harry’s bag and, because there were muggles out and about in hordes even at this ungodly hour of the morning, hauled them up the stairs by hand, leaving Minerva to take care of here own. 

            “Just get some sleep, you cranky bastard,” the tabby animagus told him, rolling her eyes.  She was already regretting bringing him along. 

Chapter Text

            Harry woke up an hour later and padded out of his bedroom to the muggle kitchen.  He checked the fridge; it was fully stocked.  That was nice; the flat was certainly expensive enough that groceries should be included.  He had the downstairs bedroom, and he could hear Minnie and Sev still slumbering away upstairs.  He personally thought Severus might wanna see somebody about his deviated septum, what with the way he snored.  He pulled the carton of eggs out of the fridge and started chopping the veg, beating the eggs thoroughly before dropping in peppers, mushrooms, and onions.  There was a grand, shiny stove with spider burners, and Harry hummed to himself as he pored the egg mixture into a pan and pulled bacon out of the meat drawer in the fridge; it was nice to be making a breakfast he knew he’d be allowed to eat.  He wove back and forth between cutting bread to toast, flipping omelettes, and minding the bacon with a grace borne of years of hard-won experience.  He was just sliding the last omelette onto a plate and putting out the butter dish when the adults came downstairs in their pyjamas. 

            “Your dogfather replaced my black silk set with these fluffy reindeer pyjamas while my suitcase was in the hall; I hope you’ve made your peace with the fact I’m going to kill him,” Severus was saying as he rubbed his eyes, before his hooked nose caught the scent of fresh coffee. 

            “Did you make breakfast?” Minerva asked, taking in the nicely set table.  “Oh Harry, you didn’t have to do that!”

            “Eh,” Harry shrugged.  “I was up early, the fridge was stocked, and I don’t mind cooking.  It’s just like potions, except simpler and nothing’s liable to kill you if you chop it wrong.”

            “Apt description; although I must say that if your potions’ skills weren’t what they are, nothing in the world could persuade me to eat food by someone who can’t reach the stove.” 

            “I’m not that short!”

            “And the step-stool over there?” Severus smirked.

            “It’s an industrial-sized stove, bugger off!”

            While they’d been arguing, Minerva had buttered her toast and bitten into her omelette.  “This is delicious, Harry!  Very impressive.” 

            “Eh, it’s rather hard to mess up an omelette.  I’ve been cooking breakfast since I was four.” 

            Snape and Minerva both gave him horrified look.  “Harry!” they said in unison.

            “To be fair, Petunia couldn’t cook at all.  To quote Mrs. Next-Door, her roast was so dry it could be used as kindling.  At least once I started doing all the cooking, they could have their friends over and no one needed their stomach pumped,” Harry backtracked, trying to defuse the situation.  “Of course, their friends were all huge racists, so I didn’t feel too bad for them.  I was just glad I hadn’t been allowed to eat that day.” 

            “How hard would it be to get an illegal portkey back for a little impromptu murder spree?” Snape asked, his expression unsettlingly dark. 

            “Something to talk to the therapist about then, I suppose,” Harry trailed off.  Minerva looked as though she was torn between crying and breaking something. 

            “Oh, Harry!” she cried. 

            The teen fidgeted uncomfortably.  “I know you guys want me to be open with you, as part of the whole ‘process’ and what not, but it’s really hard when every time I talk about it, you do,” he waved his hands at their expressions, “that.” 

            Severus, who knew on a more personal level what Harry was dealing with, took a deep breath.  “You’re right, of course, and I didn’t think I’d ever say that to a Potter,” he admitted, throwing in an insult to diffuse the emotional tension.  “We will try not to react so… normally to your horrifying anecdotes.” 

            “Uncle Sev!” Harry exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

            Severus opened and closed his mouth like a fish.  Had Harry just...? He wouldn’t deny (inside his own head; out loud he absolutely would) that he’d been hoping Harry felt that they had the same sort of relationship that the teen had with the wolf and the mutt, but he’d actually… and at this moment… when they were talking about…

            Shit.  He had to say something.  He decided to go the route of least emotion and just pretend it was an everyday occurrence.  “All right brat, I’ll stop heckling you.  Now finish your breakfast; we have an appointment in two hours.” 

            Harry, rather unaware of his slip of the tongue and attributing Snape’s odd behaviour to the fact that he was… well, Snape, just bit into his toast.  Adults were strange. 

[Kreacher is enjoying a nap in the blissful silence of the bedroom he and Harry spent three hours warding while Remus and Sirius fuck like bunnies downstairs]

            The mind-healers office was in a building on the upper east side, next to a jewellery store.  The feel of the magic told Harry that it was like the Leaky Cauldron in that only magical people could see it.  It was a nice building, and Harry got the impression that it was inaccessible to most of the average magical population, what with the lack of the NHS or any guarantee of affordable death-or-serious-injury avoiding measures at all.  Harry also noticed that he was the only non-white person in the whole building, and it made him feel self-conscious in the very specific way he hadn’t felt since he’d left Privet Drive the last time.

            Minnie put a comforting hand on his shoulder.  “It’s okay luv.  Would you like me to put a glamour on you so nobody sees your scar?” 

            Harry nodded.  “Yes please.  And… and can you also make me white?  Just until we’re out of the waiting room?  I don’t, I don’t feel safe here.” 

            Minnie’s lips tightened into a thin line as she looked around, but she nodded as subtly waved her wand over her son’s head.  She tightened her hand on her bag; she had Harry’s health records inside, as she thought that with Harry’s difficulty talking about these things, the mind healer looking at the physical evidence would be a good place to start.  She took the paperwork from the receptionist and started filling it out.  Severus started to take a seat, but noticed a blonde witch giving him appreciative looks from across the room (ewww! Harry thought when he noticed) excused himself to the bathroom and stayed there an unreasonably long time.

            When Harry pictured therapy, he thought of a settee in some horridly coloured, uncomfortable fabric with an old bald, bearded, Freudian-looking man taking notes on a clipboard.  But the therapist that came out and waved them all (including a Severus who had very recently come out of hiding to find the blonde blessedly gone) into her office surprised Harry.  She looked like what he imagined Hermione would look like in her early thirties if she’d gone just a bit punk.  She was tall, wearing black wedge heels with a leather skirt and lace-knit purple top, and on her wrist was a small moving tattoo of a red dragon, with a tiny blue fairy fluttering softly behind her left ear.  Her smile was friendly but her chocolate eyes held a kind of quiet strength; Harry felt more comfortable immediately as he took the glamour down himself. 

            “Wandless magic, huh?  That’s pretty impressive,” the therapist told him, her voice an octave lower than someone would expect for a woman with such a delicate figure, but it only added to her charm. 

            Harry blushed; he was always somewhat embarrassed by praise.  “Well, in Britain we can’t use our wands during the summers, so I guess I’m kind of in the habit of it.” 

            “Ah, so it’s a lucky ability to have, then,” She chuckled, flashing brilliant white teeth with an incisor that was just slightly crooked.  “I’m Sarah, by the way.” 

            “Harry,” he held out his hand for her to shake. 

            “It’s very nice to meet you, Harry.  And who’s your entourage?”

            “This is Minnie, and that’s Sev.  They’re like my beloved spinster mum and… cranky bachelor uncle, I guess, if you had to describe them,” Harry thought very carefully about his introductions. 

            “Ah, excellent!  When I heard I was getting a British patient, I studied up on my Hogwarts houses, so let’s see.  We’ve got a Slytherin,” she pointed at Snape.  “A Gryffindor,” she pointed at McGonagall, who nodded, impressed, “and,” she scrutinised Harry carefully, but not in an uncomfortable way, “you’re a tricky one…”

            “The hat had trouble too,” Harry scuffed the toe of his shoe against the wood floors of the hallway.

            “I can see that- you’re not an easy one to put into boxes, now, are you?  We’ll call you a… Slythendor, then.”

            “Gryffindor, officially, but those were the two houses the hat liked,” Harry agreed.

            Sarah smiled.  “I was a Pukwudgie back at Illvermony.  Those are like Hufflepuffs, except nobody dares underestimate us.”

            They finally reached the end of the long hallway, and Sarah pushed open a door to their right.  Her office had warm, honey-coloured wood floors covered by a soft crème rug, and there were soft squishy armchairs in deep chocolate browns.  There were a number of little toys, some of them spinning and exuding magic, others clearly muggle.  It was so different, in the best way, from the cold opulence of the lobby. 

            “I have a lot of younger patients, hence the toys, but many of my older clients never got the chance to play with any cool gizmos as children, so no judgement here if you want to mess with the spinning tops or something like that.  Magical toys are cool; I was raised by two no-Maj dads, and I sometimes enjoy messing around with them after a long day.” 

            “No-Maj?” Harry inquired. 

            “Oh, sorry,” the mind healer laughed.  “You call them muggles; just anyone who doesn’t have magic.” 

            “Oh.” 

            “Anytime you need me to clarify an Americanism, just ask.  Now, how about all take a seat and just get to know each other a bit.”    

[Sarah is looking at Harry’s medical records; she doesn’t like what she sees]

            The first session went well, although they didn’t really dive into too much about the Dursleys.  Sarah wanted Harry to be able to get comfortable first, and it worked; he actually found himself not dreading coming back the next day as he thought he would.  They got lunch at a hot dog stand; Severus was not fond of the American food.  Minerva couldn’t really understand the American fascination with them either, if she were honest.  Harry wasn’t picky about what he ate; in his book, anything he didn’t have to steal or scavenge for was good eating. 

            They saw the Statue of Liberty; it was alright.  Harry personally was more impressed by the skyline and the water and the sunlight; the weather was nothing like Britain.  It was rather hot, but Harry was always cold, so he liked it.  Severus and Minerva, however, did not.  Severus, who had packed a long-sleeve button down, eventually let comfort get the best of pride and bought a souvenir t-shirt so that he wouldn’t roast.  Minnie, who had been smart enough to not bring black, full-coverage clothing, had to take her sweater off, but the short-sleeved, mid-thigh dress underneath was comfortable enough that she didn’t need to debase herself with American paraphernalia.   

            “This country is a disappointment,” Snape grumbled, pulling his sweaty shirt collar away from his neck.  The smiling kawaii Lady Liberty on the shirt was a humorous contrast to his mood. 

            “Bet that I Love New York t-shirt sounds nice now,” Harry stuck his tongue out at the professor.

            “Shut it, brat.”

            “I like it here,” Harry said, ignoring the grouchy professor.  “It’s nice and warm, nobody’s staring at me, all the foods on a stick- it’s nice.” 

            By the time they’d finished their tour, Minerva was carrying a sleeping Harry, who’d had his first sugar high, and subsequently his first sugar crash.  Ah, vacations…

            After tucking Harry into bed, Minnie made herself a cup of tea and sat down to read a novel.  She was just going to reheat the kettle for a second cuppa and a pouting Severus was sitting down, freshly showered and in the ridiculous pyjamas, when there was a tapping at the window.  Severus showed no indication of having any plans to get out of his chair in the near future, so Minnie opened the window, dropped a couple coins into the pouch on its leg, and took the parcel.  It was a copy of The Evening Prophet from Britain with a note pinned on top.

Minnie and Snivellus,

Thought you’d want to see this.

-Sirius

            Concerned as to what could possibly warrant an express-owl delivery when they’d been gone less than two days, Minnie tore the note off the paper and pushed her spectacles further up her nose to peer at the headline.  In great bold letters were the words Peter Pettigrew Escapes Azkaban, Whereabouts Unknown. 

            “Oh fuck,” the tabby animagus swore.  “I did hope the ministry could hold it together for a few months at least…”

Chapter Text

             Harry was… not pleased to hear about Pettigrew’s escape.

            “They had one job!” he complained of the ministry.  “We faced down a thousand dementors and a werewolf and they can’t even keep a known animagus in a secure cell?  Or hire guards with eyesight?!”

            “Yes, well,” Severus drawled, “apparently the ministry doesn’t have the intelligence to think of solutions for their problems that a thirteen-year-old boy came up with in twenty seconds.”  He poured a second cup of coffee.

            Minerva sighed- as much fun as it was listening to her boys sass each other, it really was a mess of a situation.  “Fortunately, Peter never was the cleverest or most ambitious, so if I had to guess I’d say he’s probably just going to flee the country and stay out of the way.” 

[Meanwhile, Volde-baby is being tended to by Wormtail and also killing poor old muggles]

            Harry chewed his lip and looked at Sarah in the armchair opposite his own.  “There is no easy way to start the conversation about topics this difficult, Harry.  I looked at the files and long-term med scans Minerva gave me, and forgive me for being a bit frank, but it looks like the abuse started pretty much as soon as you were dropped on that doorstep.” 

            Harry nodded.  “I don’t really know; it’s been… as long as I can remember, I just couldn’t do anything right by them.”

            “They certainly didn’t do right by you, Harry, and that’s a difficult thing to come to terms with.  And I think what we’re trying to do here- and it’s a continuous process- is to give you the ability understand that nothing that happened was your fault.  In these cases, a lot of my patients tend to think that if they’d only done this or if they’d only done that, then the abuse would have been less severe.”  She looked at Harry, who reluctantly nodded.  “But even if you had been able to comply with every impossible regulation that they set for you, they would have made more up and found other reasons to mistreat you.  The problem wasn’t you.” 

            “It’s not that I think that I was a problem, necessarily, it’s just that- how do I explain this? – they didn’t want me, so I guess that I thought that… that that made it worse when I did something they didn’t like.”

            Minerva and Severus, who Harry didn’t mind staying as long as they were quiet, clenched their fists from their own seats.  Sarah nodded in understanding.  “But they had options- they could have put you in an orphanage, they could have done any number of things that didn’t involve mistreating you so horribly.” 

            “They used to threaten to do that,” Harry sucked in a deep breath.  “And I remember, once, I was six, I think, I remember asking them why they didn’t, if I was such a burden, because I was sure it couldn’t be any worse than… than the way it was living with them.  And I remember that Vernon got really angry, and told me I was being ungrateful, and he used the belt buckle that night- he only used the buckle when I did something really bad.”  A lightbulb popped and shattered into pieces above their heads, and Harry looked back at Minnie and Sev, who each pointed at a finger at the other.  Sarah waved her wand to fix it and didn’t say anything.

            “See, that’s the pattern right there, the pattern of thinking- you said he only did it when you were really bad, but there was nothing bad about your response to that kind of stress.  So maybe you know, rationally, that you weren’t at fault, but there’s a deeper pattern of underlying psychological torture that’s harder to overcome- even the adults I work with have trouble breaking away from that sort of thing.  And therapy is about taking all of those events that haunt you and talking about them and looking at them from a place where you have a little more distance.  My job as the therapist is to guide you through that process and to help you fight back against that damaging self-image that’s been driven into you with positive affirmations.  It hurts me that as a healer in a world full of magic, I can’t offer a magical solution.  I can’t take away the pain that you went through or give you back your childhood; what I can do is help you stop that pain in your past from ruining your present.” 

            Harry sat forward in his seat, twitching his hands and wishing he could take notes.  He hadn’t expected a magic solution; he knew enough after three years in the magical world to know that wizards had a tendency to make things more complicated, if anything.  “So, not too different from muggle therapy, then?”

            Sarah smiled slyly.  “Well, we do have a couple advantages- for example, I have a pensieve, which is a sort of memory bowl that allows me too duplicate your memories and view them from here, so if you’re having difficulty recounting something, I can look at it in real time.  Part of the value of therapy is talking about things, but I understand that there are some things that would be more harmful to relive in explicit detail.  And of course, we have lovely little things like cheering charms for after difficult sessions.  Again, not something I like to rely on, because processing emotions naturally is important, but sometimes things can get too much.  I’m also certified in emotional magics, which is a highly specified area of magical psychology that essentially allows me to manipulate emotional auras; it’s highly regulated.” 

            “I didn’t even realise that you could do that,” Harry breathed.  It was fascinating; he didn’t even think about all the possibilities for mental health magic that were out there. 

            “Well, emotional magics specifically require something called mage senses; it’s very rare to have one, so even to train in it requires a natural advantage.”

            Harry gasped excitedly.  “You have mage senses too?!  I have those!”

            The mind healer raised an eyebrow at him.  “Those, as in plural?  Very impressive, Harry.  It’s rare to have even one; I can smell magic, which isn’t the most useful of them, but it’s enough.  Which ones do you have?”

            “All of them,” Harry said very quietly, looking down.  Sarah whistled.

            “Wow, that’s something!  You’d make a hell of a healer, Harry.”  Harry looked up at her shyly and smiled.

            “You think so?  I haven’t thought about what I’d like to do after Hogwarts, but I’d like to help people somehow.” 

            Sarah slowly put a gentle hand on his knee.  “You’re gonna be great at whatever you wanna do, kid.  This-” she waved a hand around her office to refer to their situation, “is just a stumbling block.  I promise that everything is gonna be okay; you’re a tough cookie and I know you can do this.”  Harry felt bolstered by her confidence, and that’s part of why she was so successful as a mind healer- Sarah had complete faith in her patients even when they didn’t.  Although-

            “Tough cookie?”

[The rest of the session went well; now they’re getting ice cream.  Minnie really likes hot fudge sundaes.]

            Volde-baby was very frustrated with his servant.  “Just now you’re telling me the boy has mage senses?!”

            Wormtail cowered beneath the fury of his master.  “I’m s-s-s-sorry master.  I… for-forgot; I didn’t r-realise it was of such… such imp-importance.” 

            “Of course, it’s of importance, you useless fool!  The child could easily detect the presence of Polyjuice potion in my officer!”  He waved his grotesque baby hands (Voldemort did, just to be clear; Donald Trump isn’t in this story).

            “S-s-surely there is a, a work-around for one as great as thee!” Wormtail simpered. 

            “Thee?! Wormtail, sounding like a medieval page isn’t going to stop me from strangling you as soon as I have a body- oh, never mind that line of thinking; there is a workaround, but the amount we will need requires thousands of galleons in rare, archaic potions ingredients, and you’re a wanted criminal.  This will make it far more difficult to keep our plan on schedule.”

            Pettigrew cowered.  “And if we cannot?”

            Volde-baby turned glowing red eyes on the rat-man.  “Failure is not an option Wormtail; lest you wish me to make your worst nightmares look like fantasy.” 

Chapter Text

           Pansy threw Hermione over her shoulder, pinning her to the padded floor of the Parkinson’s workout room.  “Forty-five seconds that time- not bad when you consider I’ve been doing this since I was coordinated enough to engage in acts of physical aggression,” she told her best friend, although she showed no signs of getting up.  If anything, she arranged herself so that she was seated more comfortably atop the muggleborn’s torso.

            “Too bad you got me right then though; I was about to land a hit on that pretty face,” Hermione teased, pushing her wrists up against the force of Pansy’s scarred hands holding them down. 

            “And ruin my makeup?  As if I’d ever let it come to that,” Pansy harrumphed, throwing her braid over her shoulder.  As the other girl was starting to push back with more force, Pansy leaned down and gave her a quick peck on the lips before she hopped to her feet. 

            “Relax Pans, you put more protection charms on your eyeliner than most people put on their houses.”

            “And you like it, or you wouldn’t be questioning your sexuality.”

            “Hey, I never said I was straight before; I just didn’t say anything at all,” Hermione protested. 

            “Yes, well I do tend to be the one to make people question things.  I scared Blaise into being bisexual, after all.  Before he realised that there were terrifying specimens of femininity like moi, he was all about girls.” 

            “I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works there, P.” 

            “Oh, what do you know?  You’re new to the gay.”

            “If I was ever new to the gay, I wasn’t after you showed me that thing with your tongue yesterday.”

            “If you want me to do it again, all you have to do is ask.”

            “Okay- would you please kiss me in the way that makes my vision swim again?”  They’d just started making out in a way that would give most parents of fourteen-year-olds a legitimate heart attack (including their own; but the Parkinsons had long ago learned not to bother their daughter when she was in the workout room, and the Grangers, staying with them for the summer, decided to follow their example) when an owl came up and started pecking on the window. 

            “Oh, international post- must be a letter from Harry!” Hermione squealed, breaking away.

            “Good to know where I stand,” Pansy grumbled.

            “Oh, shut up,” Hermione responded, grabbing one of the many sharp objects on the shelves to tear open the envelope.  “You literally shoved me into the wall when my mum and dad brought back Pret a Manger yesterday.”

            “Have you even tasted their mac n’ cheese?” Pansy cried dramatically.

            “Yes, and I am totally okay with the fact that there are lots of people you would happily kill just to get an order, but I should not be one of them.  Now come here and read this letter with me.” 

            “Oh, nice, nice.  Therapy’s going well- oh, mind healer sounds hot, oh, they heard about Pettigrew- I figured, and oh! A picture of Sevvy in reindeer pyjamas!” Pansy cried joyfully, tossing the parchment on one of the weapons shelves as she laughed over the photograph Harry’d included.  It had clearly been taken with a muggle camera, and without Severus’ knowledge, or it would never have made it to them.”

            “We should write back, tell him Draco’s mums got us all tickets to the World Cup,” Hermione said.

            “Okay, but we’ll have to go to my room; I don’t have any pens or quills here.”

            “A fully functional 17-th century samurai sword, but no quills,” Hermione shook her head.  “What am I going to do with you?”

            “Please, Mia, you would have run for the hills if you weren’t just like me,” Pansy laughed, kissing her cheek and grabbing her hand as they left the workout studio. 

            “Harry didn’t run, and he’s the softest person I’ve ever met,” Hermione equivocated.

            “Harry didn’t have a choice luv; I forced him to be friends with me.  You saw the crazy and got closer.  Some might even say you made it worse.”

[Let’s check in on Sirius and Remus- never mind, they’re still having sex.  Geez boys, you don’t have to fit twelve years of backlog into a single week.]

            “Draco, darling, would you quit moping?” Narcissa asked her son over lunch around the same time Hermione and Pansy, over at the Parkinson’s, were finishing Harry’s letter and re-watching The Princess Diaries.

            “Harry’s been gone three days and hasn’t written yet, what do you think it means, mother?!” Draco fretted, voice cracking slightly (ah, puberty… at least chronic malnutrition means Harry hasn’t quite gotten there yet.  Soon, though… the gods of misery, zits, and tampons have declared everyone must suffer sooner or later).

            “I think it means he cares about owl welfare, dear.  It’s 3000 miles to New York from here,” his mother replied, unconcerned.  Her wife smiled; she loved watching Narcissa and Draco’s interactions.  Her wife was so mellow and in control of the situation, so her having the biggest drama queen on earth as a son was frankly rather hilarious.

            “Oh look,” the brunette noticed, interrupting the conversation, “here’s an owl pecking on the window right now.”  Draco ran frantically over to let the owl in, clutching the letter with Harry’s messy scrawl as if it held all the secrets of the universe. 

            “He’s going to be occupied over-analysing every sentence in that letter for the next few hours,” Narcissa whispered, glossed pink lips tantalisingly close to Aralynn’s ear.  “You want to…”

            “Lead the way, princess.”

            “Oh, that nickname can’t be used right now, my dear knight.  Not with everything I’m about to do to you.”

[Why hello Kreacher- holy shit, Remus!  Your first full moon without lycanthropy and you’re doing that? -you know what, I’m just gonna stay away from Grimmauld place for a while.]

            “Alright Harry, here’s the plan,” cat-Minnie meowed to kitten Harry.  “You burst into the flock, chase a nice fat one to the outskirts, where I will then pounce on it from where I shall be hiding on that branch over there,” she said, waving a paw at the old oak tree behind them in a very un-catlike gesture.  “These little bastards are hard to catch; but it’ll be worth it- an old tomcat in Yorkshire once told me that Central Park pigeons taste better than any other bird in the world.”

            Harry nodded his little black head.  “Got it.”

            “Your first bird hunt; I’m so proud.  Trust me, they taste much better than Hogwarts mice.”

            The tabby animagus pounced lithely up into her branch in one bound, and Harry eyed a target.  Mmm, that one was nice and plump…. Okay, just line up the trajectory, running start, and…

            “Mommy!” Harry suddenly found himself ensconced in a pair of sticky, chubby arms about two feet off the ground.  “Wook at da kitty!”  Well, this was… inconvenient.  Harry mewed in indignation and looked over at Severus, sitting on a park bench, who had put down his book and was now trying not to double over with laughter.

            “Can we keep him?” the toddler, who had little blonde pigtails and looked positively delighted with her furry new friend, bounced up and down as she turned to her mother.  “I wanna caww him Sparky!”  Harry gave a dirty look to the potions professor, who had lost the battle to hide his mirth. 

            “I think he already has a mommy or daddy,” the girl’s mother told her very gently.  “If he was a stray he’d be dirtier.” 

            “No Sparky?” This was when Severus stepped forward. 
            “Ironically, his name actually is Sparky,” he said, reaching down to take Harry from the suffocating embrace of the toddler.  Harry meowed angrily, something that roughly translated to “really- Sparky?!  I’m going to cough a fur ball in your loafers tonight, you greasy git.”  Snape, of course, didn’t speak cat, but from her tree branch, Minnie let out a feline chuckle. 

            “Really?  Well, how about that, Ava?  Aren’t you just a little fortune teller?” The girl’s mother told her. 

            “Fortune telling is actually highly imprecise,” Snape couldn’t resist lecturing.  “I would call her a mind mage.”  He hoisted Harry up a little higher, for Ava the mini-mind-mage was currently trying to tug his tail.  “Now come on, Sparky.  Time to go home and wash the lollipop out of your fur.”  Harry swatted at the professor’s hair as he plotted his glorious revenge. 

Chapter Text

          Harry couldn’t deny that Sarah was amazing: only a week into therapy, his nightmares were down to half their usual frequency, and he was starting to be able to look at the Dursleys’ behaviour a little more objectively.

            “Would you be angry if someone treated one of your friends the way the Dursleys treated you, Harry?” she’d asked him one day.

            “Oh, I’d be furious,” Harry responded.

            “Even though they were afraid of magic?”

            “Well yeah, that wouldn’t be any excuse to hurt Ron or Draco or Hermione.  I don’t think they could hurt Pansy, but if they did, that wouldn’t be fair either…”

            “And you wouldn’t feel that it was wrong of them to be angry about that, if they were treated that way?” Sarah had prodded him.

            “Of course not!”  The teen seemed scandalised by the very thought.

            “Right there, Harry! That’s a breakthrough- you wouldn’t be okay if they hurt your friends that way, and you would feel their anger was justified.  You’re just as worthy as your friends of being loved and protected, and you’re just as allowed to feel anger on your own behalf as that of others.  It doesn’t make you bad; it makes you human and helps you acknowledge your own worth.  You’re allowed to be angry; you have every right to be absolutely fucking furious,” the mind-healer said.  She had the same tendency towards improper language when impassioned that Pansy and Minerva did, and the things that Petunia and Vernon had done to her patient made her very angry.  Luckily, Harry just giggled whenever she dropped a less-than-professional term. 

            “I never thought about it like that before…” Harry trailed off; it seemed so simple, but then, the most important things always do in retrospect.

            “That’s what I’m here for,” Sarah smiled, offering him a brownie for a job well done.

[Severus puts salt in his morning coffee because Harry switched the containers- that should teach him not to laugh at his kitten conundrums]

            Severus looked suspiciously at the sugar dish while Harry sat down on the opposite side of the table.

            “Where’s the fire, Uncle Sev?  You sounded really serious when said you wanted to talk?” the teen asked easily, putting sugar in his own tea.  Ah, so it was safe again, then.

            “Where’s the fire, Harry, really?  We’ve been in America a week and a half and you’re already starting to talk like them.”  He tutted as if this was a great shame.

            “So, you called me down to chastise my Americanisms?  Somehow, I thought you had better things to do,” Harry teased as he bit into one of the pastries he’d baked yesterday.

            “Very funny, Sparky.”

            “Sev!”  Harry tossed a tickling charm at the professor without bothering to take out his wand, and Snape just managed to scramble for his own and put up a shield at the last minute before Minerva cleared her throat.

            “I do believe you had something you wanted to discuss with Harry,” she told her colleague.  “I thought I only had one easily distracted teenager, but it appears I was mistaken.” 

            Shooting a glare her direction, Severus tried again.  “Right, as I was saying before you began to antagonise me-”

            “You started it!”

            Snape held up a hand again.  “Whoever started it,” he said, very clearly pointing at Harry as he talked, “the point is that, with Pettigrew loose, I do believe we can’t be too careful, and I was wondering if you might be amenable to learning some advanced defence tactics, especially whilst we are here and you have no restrictions on wand usage.” 

            “Wicked!” Harry grinned widely.  “When can we start?”

            Severus breathed an inward sigh of relief, glad Harry seemed so excited about his idea.  “Right after tea,” he said, standing up to look inside the cabinets.  “Why- who ate the last pop-tart?!” he grumbled, dismayed.

            “That would be me,” Minerva sighed.  “I suppose I’ll go get more so you don’t complain at me for hours; but just for the record, you don’t have the monopoly on American toaster pastries.”

[Hermione and Pansy got their first periods on the exact same day; their parents are having a hard time at the moment]

            “Harry said he’s having a great time in New York,” Draco said.  “What do you think that means, mum?  You don’t think he wants to stay longer, do you?!”

            Narcissa looked up (again) from where she was reading with her head in Aralynn’s lap.  “Draco, it’s a letter from Harry; I don’t think there’s any hidden meaning.”

            “But how can you be sure?”

            “Sweetheart, I love you very much, but I simply cannot listen to any more of this.  How about this- if you stop obsessively asking me questions about this letter, I will buy you a kitten that looks like Harry.” 

            “I don’t want something that looks like Harry, mother, I want Harry!”

            “Well darling, I don’t know what to do about that.  But since you are so clearly in love with him, perhaps we should have a discussion about your feelings and the accompanying physical sensations?” Narcissa lifted an eyebrow at her son.

            “Okay, okay- I’m leaving, goodness!  Just please don’t ask me if I need more tissues in my room again!”

[Volde-baby needs a diaper change- you’re on, Wormtail]

            Harry was practicing a high-powered blasting hex when he looked over to see Severus anxiously scratching at his left arm. 

            “Whatcha doin?” he asked him. 

            The potions master looked down and realised he’d been being rather obvious with his nervous tic.  “Oh, I was…” he tried to think of something to say, but eventually operated for total honesty. 

            “Harry,” he sighed, looking suddenly exhausted.  “You know how I… made some bad decisions in my youth?”

            “Wait, are you talking about joining Voldemort or your haircut in that one picture of you and mum down by the lake?”  Severus shot him a look but didn’t bother to swat him playfully, and Harry knew it must be serious. 

            “Voldemort.”  He forced the name out through gritted teeth; he did not like saying it at all.  “Well, I don’t know if you were aware of this, but he used to give his followers a tattoo he called the dark mark.”

            “He branded you?!” Harry gasped, disgusted. 

            “Yes, and I was very stupid to allow it,” Severus said.  “You see this?”  He lifted his sleeve to show a faint tattoo of a skull with a snake going through it.  Harry nodded.  “It was much lighter after you defeated the dark lord the first time, but lately it’s been getting darker.  I’m concerned that it may have something to do with Peter’s escape.” 

            “Does it hurt?” Harry asked, randomly. 

            Severus looked at him quizzically.  “At the height of his power, yes, it could be used to inflict pain.  I didn’t feel it for a long time after that, but lately it’s been mildly uncomfortable.” 

            “I could take it out,” Harry said, casually.  Severus’ eyes widened and he had to struggle to keep his mouth closed. 

            “You could what?!”

            “I could take it out, easy,” the teen repeated.  “It’s pretty localised.  I mean, it’s dark, but I always thought it was just part of your magic; everybody has a mixture, you know.  I never thought it was Voldemort’s magic because it’s pretty washed out compared to his usual stuff.  I think your core has been repressing it or something, which is why I never really noticed it.  But I’m feeling around now; it’s pretty segregated from the rest of your magic.  It wouldn’t take nearly the amount of effort it took to pull the wolf out of Remy.” 

            Severus looked at him, touched.  The mark had been the bane of his existence for the past fifteen years, and now he had a way out.  “I am incredibly grateful Harry, and…” he was about to say that he would love to have it taken out, but then he realised something.  “And I would love to accept your offer, but this mark is the only indication we have of V-Voldemort’s whereabouts at the moment, and I feel that it would be best to leave it for the moment.” 

            Harry scrutinised him carefully but nodded.  “Okay, if that’s what you want, I won’t try to talk you out of it.  But just let me know if you change your mind; the offer stands.” 

            Severus squeezed Harry’s shoulder and then excused himself as he realised he was struggling to hold back tears.  When had this child become so important to him that he was sacrificing his greatest wish for the possibility of being able to keep him safe?

Chapter Text

           “It’s just… Harry is so cute as a kitten!  Why is he so cute?!” Pansy sobbed, leaning on Hermione. 

            “Why is my uterus trying to kill me?!” Hermione yelled.  “Fuck this shit!”

            “But it’s so we can have babies, Mia.  Babies!  Why are babies so cuuuute?!” Pansy continued crying. 

            “Babies are dumb.  I don’t want babies if I have to go through this every month,” Hermione grumbled, aggressively ripping the cellophane off another chocolate bar. 

            “Have you ever seen them like this?” Philip Parkinson whispered to Dan Granger. 

            “No, but her mother threatens to murder me when she’s… you know, so I can’t say I’m surprised,” Dan whispered back, staying very still, as suited the delicate situation.   

            “Do you think it will get better?” Mr. Parkinson asked his best mate. 

            “I don’t know… apparently their bodies are tearing themselves to pieces from the inside.  I would not enjoy that- at all,” the dentist said.

            “Dad!  Stop whispering about us and go buy more tampons!” Hermione called.  The fathers turned bright red, caught in the act. 

            “And cupcakes,” Pansy sniffed.  “With the cute little frosting flowers; I’m suffering here, daddy.” 

            “You know,” Philip said to Dan, as they got in the muggle’s car to drive to the store, “I’m kind of glad she’s like this; the girl hasn’t needed me since she was five, it feels like. You know the last time she called me daddy, she was seven, and it was because she accidentally shot a flaming arrow through the guest house and was trying to get me to go easy on her?”

            “I feel for you mate; that’s tough.  Mia calls me daddy every time there’s a sale at the bookshop.” 

[Sirius and Remus have finally fucked themselves to exhaustion, and Kreacher is enjoying full use of the telly set in the living room.  He would very much like to meet the muppets in person, though.  They seem cool.]

            “Damn, Severus, how hard are you working that poor child?” Minerva asked disapprovingly.  “He’s been napping for three hours.” 

            “I suppose I lost track of how hard we’d been working; he never complains, either.  It was only after he disarmed me the second time and I realised that I was tired that I thought about it.” 

            “He disarmed you?  Twice?  Were you going easy on him?” Minerva gasped incredulously. 

            Severus sank further into his chair.  “No,” he said.  “Which is truly surprising; I’m very talented, and it wasn’t for lack of effort on my part.  Harry is… he’s something.  I can honestly say I’ve never seen anything like it.  Which,” he continued, running his nails along his forearm, “is rather a good thing. I told you the mark is getting darker.  Only slightly, but it’s still worrisome.  I feel dark times on the horizon, Minerva.” 

            The tabby animagus sighed.  “I sincerely hope you’re wrong; he’s finally starting to heal.  He’s gone four days without a single nightmare, according to the monitoring charm I put on him back in November.  That’s the longest he’s ever gone.” 

            “How did you manage to put a monitoring charm on him without him realising?” Severus asked, relieved for the change of subject. 

            Minnie smiled slyly.  “An extremely expensive potion that renders every spell the caster uses undetectable by mage senses; it only lasts for an hour and was half my Christmas bonus, but worth it for a mother’s peace of mind.” 

            “Very sly, you old lioness.  It seems that I’m rubbing off on you.” 

            “Don’t flatter yourself, Severus,” she told him, before swatting him on the shoulder.  “And I am not old.” 

[Draco’s sleeping with Harry’s letter under his pillow, the poor smitten bean]

            “Why can’t I have one follower who isn’t a wanted criminal?” Volde-baby ranted at the universe.  “Then I could go to knockturn alley for demiguise fur like a normal wizard instead of trekking remote Andean mountain ranges.” 

            Peter, carrying Voldemort on his back, wouldn’t dare point out that he was the one doing all the trekking even if he had the breath to speak.  Despite the knitted beanie keeping his ugly little head warm, Volde-baby was still a terrifying creature, at least to him.  Pansy Parkinson might have easily ripped the baby creature limb from limb without a second thought, but Wormtail was as terrified of his master as he would be of a spell-casting dragon overlord. 

            He reached a remote village and figured he might stop to ask directions; even if they were muggles, he could at least have them point him towards the river that would mean he was getting closer to where he needed to. 

            “Perdóname, ¿puede dirigirme al río?” he asked, horridly botching the pronunciation of his meticulously memorized phrase. 

            The native, worn and wrinkled with blackened teeth, looked at him strangely.  “Aquí no hablamos bien el español; hablamos quechua,” he said.  “Que joder, estos gringos,” he muttered, more quietly, and Wormtail realised the flaw in his plan: he had no idea what the man said in response, so the thirty minutes of memorisation he put into the question were essentially wasted time.  He walked dejectedly away (in the wrong direction) while rubbing his hands together and puffing for breath; the dementors were starting to sound pretty good right about now. 

[This line break shall be a translation.  Peter asked the native if he was able to point him towards the river.  The native replied “we don’t speak Spanish well here; we speak quechua (an indigenous language in the Peruvian Andes).  He then muttered “holy fuck, these gringos.”  It is all grammatically correct, not from google translate, because I’m a Spanish major who has suffered for six years to achieve the level of Spanish that I have, which is still… like a sixth grader, maybe?  A very vulgar sixth grader with homosexual tendencies towards Latinas…]

            “Dobby, I bought you something,” Aralynn called, walking through the door, arms laden with shopping bags.  The elf popped in.

            “Mistress Aralynn brings Dobby more clothes?” 

            “Yes, I bring you more clothes,” she laughed, pulling a pair of pink knee socks with light-up purple llamas out of her purse. 

            The elf gasped.  “They is amazing!  They be going perfect with Dobby’s Cinderelly costume!”

            Aralynn laughed again.  “I thought you’d say that,” she said, smiling fondly.  “Is Draco still hiding in his room?”

            Dobby nodded his head hyperactively.  “Yes, little master Draco still be pouting and missing little master Harry.”

            Aralynn proffered one of the shopping backs.  “I got him some kinder eggs; will you take them up to him?”

            “Of course!  Dobby be loving to make little master Draco feel better!”

            “I know Dobby; you’re a good elf.  You know what would make him feel even better?” she asked, and Dobby hung onto every word as he nodded, eager to improve the mood of his sad little master.  “You should wear your new socks; and that lovely court jester hat we found at the flea market last weekend.”  Dobby smiled; Mistress Aralynn had the best fashion advice. 

Chapter Text

           Between therapy and training with Severus, three more weeks passed in the blink of an eye, and soon it was time to return to Britain.  Sarah waved him off cheerfully the last day with a big hug and a congratulation on his progress.

            “And now that we have a solid foundation, I’m perfectly willing to do sessions over the floo,” she told him.  “Weekly, biweekly, whenever you need me.” 

            “Thanks Sarah; I think that would be really useful,” Harry answered, hugging her back.  She had helped him so much, and she’d given him the tools to continue his recovery.  Like she said, it was a process, but it was something that, thanks to her, Harry now felt was manageable. 

            Then bags were packed (and rearranged to hold souvenirs.  And yes, Severus did get rid of the reindeer pyjamas, and quite a few button-down black shirts, to make room for Pop Tarts, but he’s taking that to the grave) as they got ready to head back to MACUSA for their return portkey.  Minerva and Severus refused Harry’s request to forego breakfast in preparation for the nausea that came with the travel, but Severus did think to give Harry a stomach-soother ahead of time, so all was well there.  The agent that had checked them into customs must have been on his day off, which Harry was glad of, as he tended not to enjoy making small talk with strangers who had seen him throw up and/or talked to him as if he was a child.  Then they all grabbed the souvenir Statue of Liberty Portkey (Severus very dramatically rolled his eyes at this), suffered the spinning sensation of being taken halfway across the Atlantic in a minute and a half, and stepped through the floo back to Grimmauld Place.  Oh dear, Sirius and Remus seem to have forgotten they were coming back that morning…

            “My eyes!” Harry cried as he ran from the room, dropping all his bags.  Severus followed nearly as quickly, but Minerva just quirked an eyebrow at her former Gryffindors. 

            “Really?”  She asked them, unimpressed.  “I had thought that you at least would have learned some new moves since I caught you two down on the quidditch pitch your sixth year.”  Now everyone, save Minnie, was highly mortified as Sirius and Remus fled the living room without bothering to gather up their clothes. 

            Kreacher popped in from downstairs.  “Finally, someone be’s knowing how to stop them.  Kreacher is trying everything; Kreacher even be whacking them with the flyswatter, but mutt masters be liking that,” the little elf shuddered, looking as if he had survived a war in the past month.  “Is Little Master Harry be needing anything?” he asked, perking up.  He had missed Harry. 

            Minnie smiled at the old house elf.  “He’s upstairs, probably trying to scourgify his brain.  Why don’t you go ask him?”  Kreacher popped upstairs again, forgetting in his excitement to ask if she needed anything, so she smiled fondly and levitated all their bags into a neat pile on her own. 

[Harry is debating heading back to America for another four weeks of therapy to cure himself of the trauma of what he has just seen]

            “MUUUUUM!” Draco bellowed, his excited voice bouncing throughout the entryway of the manor.  “HARRY’S BACK!” 

            “I know, darling,” she told him from where she was calmly helping the elves as they all dusted ornate umbrella stands (Lucius had ridiculous taste; she just hadn’t gotten around to completely gutting and redecorating the entire house yet).  “I heard you squeal like an excited little ferret when you got the floo call.  Honestly, I think they heard it in Wales.” 

            Draco didn’t even stop to give his mother a dirty look.  “May I please go over to see him, mother?”

            Narcissa turned to her son, hands on her hips, a feather duster jutting out intimidatingly from one of them.  “Of course, Draco, but his birthday’s in a week.  Are you sure you’ve gotten enough presents for him?”

            Draco did give her a look this time.  They both knew than an unused sitting room was absolutely full of Draco’s wholehearted efforts at finding the perfect gift (and about three dozen others that, quote, “weren’t good enough.”)  “Very funny, mum.  I should have asked Ara- she doesn’t debase me like this.” 

            “Yes, well, we’re working on that,” Narcissa quipped as she hugged him goodbye.  “Wait- you can’t go see your crush looking like that; fix your hair first.”  She liked to tease him about his crush on Harry; she was acutely aware that the little Potter didn’t care one way or the other if Draco’s hair was out of place, considering his own, but her poor little dragon never seemed to catch on to her sarcasm.  She didn’t know what all the parenting books were going on about; raising teenagers was fun. 

            Draco frantically wrestled his blond locks into perfect symmetrical order before taking off towards the floo, and he nearly fell on his face landing at Grimmauld place, something he hadn’t done since he was four. 

            “Hey Dray; I missed you,” Harry said, giving him a hug.  Draco took a moment to look him over; he really did look less careworn, and his eyes were happier.  He was also initiating physical affection, which as far as Draco could remember (and Draco carefully mentally recorded every instance of physical contact he’d ever had with Harry because he’s a lovesick dork), had never happened before.  Yes, as much as he’d missed Harry, this had been good for him. 

            “I brought you some stuff,” Harry said, reaching for a duffel bag.  “This,” he said, pulling out a grocery bag, “is a collection of American snacks, because I know you like to eat when you study.  And this,” he pulled out a bag that said Disney Store, NY, “took me forever to find, because I know you turn up your nose at anything but the best.” 

            Draco took the bag and reached inside.  Wrapped carefully in layers and layers of newspaper was a blown glass figurine of Ariel, the colours delicate and her expression, fins, the detailing on her top, and each strand of hair crafted with exquisite and minute detail.  Even if it hadn’t come from Harry, it would have been the most wonderful thing he’d ever seen.  The fact that it did… he was not going to cry in front of cousin Sirius, so he quickly tampered down on that line of thinking. 

            “I love it; thank you.  I’m going to put it on the night table, right by my bed, so I can look at it first thing when I wake up,” as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he turned bright red.  Geez, you dork, could you be any more obvious?

            But Harry only broke out in the most wonderful grin.  “I’m so glad you like it!” he exclaimed.  “I missed you!” 

            “I missed you too!”  Remus and Sirius looked at each other.  They certainly hadn’t felt so comfortable showing emotions when they were that age, so Minnie and Narcissa must be doing something right. 

            “Step away from the floo, boys.  The rest of your friends should be here any minute, and you know how Kreacher gets if we make a mess while he’s cooking, especially because it’s Harry’s welcome-home dinner.”  Sirius shuddered; the last time he and Remus had gotten body paint on the carpet while the elf was making breakfast, the little elf chased them both viciously about the house with a wooden spoon.  Cuisine was an art, he liked to say, that required undivided concentration. 

            Harry still had trouble looking his godfather and Uncle Moony in the eye, so he cast his face down as he pulled Draco away from the centre of the room.  A good thing, too, because Ron and Ginny stumbled through, apparently in the middle of an argument, as Ginny held Ron’s ear very tightly and was twisting it mercilessly.  They were followed shortly after by the twins, then by Hermione and Pansy, then Dean and Seamus, and finally Neville and Luna. 

            Dinner was excellent as everyone chatted and laughed and Harry handed out souvenirs.  Between bites of Kreacher’s Chicken Kiev and sundried tomato couscous, they exchanged stories of the last month. 

            “Then daddy and I found a krumple-horned snorklack, but it was pregnant, so we kept our distance.”  This, obviously, wound down Luna’s long and convoluted recounting of her whereabouts, only about a third of which made any sense to the rest of them (except Ginny, who, due to her fairly developed proficiency in speaking Lovegood, got about three-quarters). 

            “That’s… great, Luna,” Hermione said, shaking her head fondly.  It was very difficult not to love Luna Lovegood. 

            “So, what’d you guys get up to?” Ron asked the girls, mouth full of chicken. Ginny walloped him in the shoulder, and he snapped his mouth shut abruptly (but he did kick her under the table; for him feminism meant that he was perfectly allowed to defend himself against the assaults of his vicious little sister).

            “Oh, you know,” Pansy said, blasé.  “Some training, some Audrey Hepburn marathons, some reading…” and a whole lot of kissing, but there was no need to announce that to the table. 

            “I’ve been working in my greenhouse a lot,” Neville told them.

            “When aren’t you working in your greenhouse?” Seamus teased.

            “I don’t know; when aren’t you lighting things on fire,” Neville quipped back.  Seamus nodded; he had a point. 

[Everyone is very full and sleepy now; even Remus and Sirius, who are too stuffed to be able to *ahem* exercise tonight.  Kreacher’s plan worked.]

            It was lovely to get back to Hogwarts and Hedwig and Du, and all the professors were honestly very glad to see him return.  It had gotten rather lonely without his cheerful energy brightening up the halls of the castle. 

            “Merlin, we seem to have brought the heat back with us,” Severus complained down by the lake the day after they came back as he and Minnie graded papers and Harry finished up his last summer assignment.  “It’s almost enough to make me contemplate getting in the lake.” 

            “That sounds like a great idea,” Minerva said, standing up.  “I’m going to go change into my bathing suit.  And you, kitten?” she turned to Harry, “would you like me to grab your swim trunks and your sun shirt?”  She had bought Harry a sun shirt as well when she went clothes shopping for him, back when she first adopted him, because she knew he was embarrassed about his scars, and it hurt her to see them as well, if she were honest. 

            “I’d love to go in the lake, but I can’t swim,” Harry said, rolling up his finished parchment. 

            “Oh…” in retrospect, it made sense that he hadn’t learned; the Dursley’s had been so vindictive that they hadn’t even taken him to the actual eye doctor for his glasses, even though it would have been covered by the NHS.  It really had been an oversight on her part to assume her son had gotten any sort of swim instruction.  They probably were hoping he would fall in somewhere and drown, Minerva thought angrily, clenching her fist.  She let none of this show on her face, however. 

            “I would have told you before, but it’s almost never warm enough to go, so I suppose I just didn’t think of it,” Harry explained.

            “Well, never a better time to learn then,” Severus picked up.  “Besides, with those Weasley twin terrors you insisted on befriending, you never know when you might take an unplanned dip, Sparky, so best to be prepared.” 

            “When are you gonna stop calling me Sparky, Uncle Sev?” Harry groaned, although he couldn’t manage to hide his excitement at the idea of learning to swim. 

            The potions master smirked at him.  “When it stops suiting you so well, therefore never.”  Harry stuck his tongue out at him as Minerva summoned all their swimwear.  He also may have charmed Severus’ plain black trunks into a glittery pink.  He also may have made it undetectable to the wearer.  This was war now. 

Chapter Text

           “What do we do now?” Severus asked his colleague, who was still slightly stoned. 

            “I don’t know,” Minnie said.  “I gave him a beginner’s dose, but I forgot how small he was, and I’m not sure it’ll wear off by his birthday party.  It’s in four hours and he’s literally tasting colours.” 

            They looked back again at the source of their concerns, a small black kitten with a white lightning bolt on his forehead, literally bouncing from wall to wall so quickly he was just a blur. 

            “Do you think that maybe fourteen was a bit too young for catnip?” The Slytherin asked, watching Harry, in his animagus form, using a chandelier as a swing set. 

            “I didn’t think so, no,” the head of Gryffindor responded.  “I mean, I was dabbling a bit with the human version by that age.” 

            “Minerva, you’re a Scot.  You were drinking whisky out of the bottle like it was soda by the time you were fourteen.  Harry’s first time with actual soda was this summer, and the resulting sugar high should have been some sort of indication that this,” he waved a hand at where Harry was now rapidly chasing his own tail, “might happen.” 

            “I know I am very rarely mistaken, Severus, but you need not enjoy it so much right now,” the tabby animagus pursed her lips as she glared at him. 

            “Oh, I am absolutely going to be holding this over your head for years,” he smirked at her.  “But I sincerely hope he comes down by tomorrow.  Can you imagine the field day the papers would have if Harry Potter showed up to the Quidditch World Cup high off his arse?”

            “Oh, that won’t happen,” Minerva said.  “Even with my… miscalculations as to dosage, he’ll be back to normal by cake time.  And hungry enough to eat better than he usually does, as a bonus.  Although, I am slightly concerned about how Susan and Hannah are going to react- they weren’t able to come to dinner last night, and this will be the first of Harry they are seeing all summer.” 

            “It amuses me that you think Hufflepuffs are unfamiliar with drugs,” Sev snorted.  “Their head of house runs the herbology greenhouses and they live right next to the kitchens.” 

            “I was simply under the impression that her ‘herbal remedies’ were the one thing Pomona doesn’t like to share.” 

            Severus smirked at her again.  “Hufflepuffs are very good finders, you know.” 

[The next two hours are spent catching Harry and using the spell to turn him back into his human form, since he is far too high to even know which end of the wand the spells come from]

            Harry’s friends all stepped through the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, revelling in the odd but wonderful feeling of being at Hogwarts in the summer time. 

            “All right, he’s with Severus in the Great Hall, where the party is, but just so you know, he’s a little… out of sorts,” Minerva told them. 

            “He’s not sick again, is he?” Susan worried.  That poor child was ill far too much; it would be simply monstrous of the universe to let him be sick on his birthday. 

            “No, nothing like that,” his guardian quickly reassured his friends, who were all looking at her worriedly.  “It’s just, I let him try some catnip this morning, but I may have- how do I put this delicately- overdosed him.” 

            “You what?!” Draco cried, at the same time Pansy snorted with laughter. 

            “This is going to be amazing!” she cheered, exuding mischievous mirth. 

            Just then, Harry burst tipsily through the portrait hole, giggling. 

            “Friiieeends!” he cried gleefully, running towards them.  He then tripped over his own feet, and Draco went immediately over to help him up. 

            “Dray-Dray!” Harry giggled, tripping again and pulling Draco down on top of him.  “You smell minty; I love your magic.  I just wanna-” he made the motion of putting a peppermint humbug in his mouth and then gave Draco a sloppy kiss on the cheek.  Just then, Severus burst through the portrait, looking dishevelled and very out of breath. 

            “You were supposed to keep him in the Great Hall!” Minnie chastised him. 

            “You gave me the hard job!” her colleague panted. 

            “Of course I did; you have younger lungs,” Minnie told him shamelessly.  “Although a fat lot of good that did us.” 

            “No fighting M’na, Uncle Sevvy, let’s all have huuuuuggs,” Harry told them, holding his arms out and waving the rest of his friends over to join his and Draco’s awkward cuddle pile.  Because it was his birthday, they obliged him.  Also, because Fred and George were filming and this would be so funny to show future generations when they asked what the great Harry Potter was like as a teenager. 

            “Now you two,” he said, to the still standing adults.  Minerva leant down to give him a hug, and he held on very tightly- it was quite honestly the best cuddle of her life.  Severus also, very awkwardly, knelt down, and Harry gave him too a big, squishy hug round the middle.  If asked, Severus would say he only did it because it was his birthday, but he secretly found that he didn’t dislike the human contact like he thought he would (another secret he is determined to take with him to the grave).  Somewhere, James Potter was laughing at him. 

            “Why do we have wands?” Harry asked, and Hermione started to humour him with the standard (textbook-perfect) explanation about needing to harness and channel one’s magic with a focus. 

            “No, ‘Mione, I know that,” he huffed at her, sounding like a frustrated toddler.  “It’s just, why wands?  They’re like boring old sticks.  We could use anything.  We could use flowers.” 

            “Harry, flowers would die, and it would take more magic to maintain than it would be worth,” Hermione started to explain to him gently.  She was Hermione, after all, and being high enough to think bread was a vegetable was no reason not to try learning new things. 

            But Harry, predictably, was not listening.  He had gone on to list a number of other things that could be used in lieu of wands.  “Or we could use Pokémon cards, or crayons and like, draw magic spells ‘n stuff, or we could use sea ameno- anema- amenonemonies...” he scrunched his face in thought as he tried to remember how to pronounce the word. 

            “Anemones?” Hermione sighed, but her best friend had once again charged ahead. 

            “Or we could use cake!” he cried.  “Oooh, CAKE!”

            “I think that’s our call for dinner,” Minerva said, as she went ahead and just picked up Harry so they could get to the hall faster.  The rest of the party was a raging success as everyone laughed over Harry’s very… interesting ideas, including, but not limited to: Hugging Willows instead of Whomping ones, unicorns with candy floss for hair, a telly programme about a talking slug, and putting frosting on peppermint humbugs.  Minnie, seeing her son so happy, could not bring herself to regret one bit her mistake of the morning, even if Severus would never, ever let her forget it.  Additionally…

            “He’s eaten more tonight than he has all week,” she told the potions master.  “Perhaps if we did this more often, we could finally get him up to his goal weight.” 

            “Wonderful idea, except that he’s burned more calories zipping around the castle like an absolute lunatic than he could replace even if he consumed his regrettably meagre body weight in cake,” he snorted, cynically. 

            “Oh, why do you always have to ruin everything, you great greasy bat?” she grumbled at him. 

            He didn’t take offence but merely lifted one eyebrow.  “Without Slytherins, all you Gryffindors would be dead in a week via dumb ideas; I’m only doing my job.” 

Chapter Text

            Harry’s friends ended up staying at Hogwarts that night, since the World Cup was the next day and would result with them getting up early.  Everyone just stayed in the Gryffindor dorms, with Harry forgoing his bedroom tonight to sleep in the dorm room; it was almost as if it were a school year. 

            Fred and George were the first ones up; they were due to leave the castle at five a.m., and they set their own alarms for 3:30 to make sure they would be awake before anyone else was.  They had placed upon themselves the task to wake everyone else up- with the new glitter cannon they just designed.  They were hoping that after they woke the boys, they could task Harry with using his kitten form to get to the girls’ dorm and he could try it on them. 

            “Shhh,” Fred held a hand up as George cocked the trigger, tiptoeing into the room where all the soon-to-be fourth years were snoring soundly.  “Three… two… one…”

            A great blast of rainbow glitter shook the room with a BOOM!  Five boys shot up at once, but there was a pop, and by the time the lights were on, only four were there. 

            “Where’s Harry?!” Ron cried. 

            “He was here a minute ago…” Seamus sleepily shook his head in confusion. 

            “Did he just… apparate?” Neville asked, disbelieving.  Yet it seemed like the only solution. 

            “Well,” George groaned, “we better start looking for the boy-who-keeps-doing-the-impossible.”

            Meanwhile, Draco was with Blaise snoring loudly in what was, during the year, the dorm for the Gryffindor fifth-years.  Well, they were until, with a loud pop, Draco was being smothered by something… something with bony elbows and messy black curls. 

            “Harry?!” he cried, confused and also very, very aware of the other’s proximity. 

            “The fuck?!” this came from Blaise, of course.  “Potter, did you just apparate in Hogwarts?”

            “I don’t… I don’t know,” Harry started to say, but just then, to add to the madness, Kreacher popped in.  “Little Master Harry be using the elf magic?!  Little Master Harry being in trouble?”  He pulled his ears frantically as he ran to help look Harry over for potential injury. 

            “Kreacher, what are you doing in here?  How did you-?” Harry was barely awake and very confused.

            “Kreacher be doing ancient elf ritual on Harry.  Kreacher give Harry ability to bypass apparation wards because Kreacher do not trust Mister Dumbly-dore to be keeping sweet Little Master Harry safe so Kreacher gives Harry extra protection.  Kreacher be knowing when Little Master be using it and Kreacher be feeling Little Master Harry’s being startled, so Kreacher be coming to rescue Little Master.” 

            “Kreacher… when did you use elf magic on me? Wait- you said you were just fixing a hole in my robes last week!” Harry exclaimed. 

            “Kreacher be lying to Little Master because it is hard ritual that make Kreacher very tired and little Master would not have wanted Kreacher to be bothering himself to do it; but Kreacher is not sorry.  Kreacher be needing to know Little Master is okay.”  The elf stuck his chin out, stubbornly. 

            Harry just got to his knees so that he was at eye level with the house elf.  “You didn’t have to do that Kreacher, but I appreciate it; thank you.  Just, maybe know that you don’t have to come popping in every time I feel a little nervous?”

            Kreacher looked at him dubiously.  “Alright, Kreacher only be coming if Master Harry really be needing me.  Master Harry being okay now?- mutt masters be sleeping, and Kreacher likes to clean house when they not there to mess it up.”

            “Go on, Kreacher,” Harry laughed, patting his head.  “You have fun with your vacuum, now.”

            “Kreacher always does,” the elf gave him a high-five before popping away. 

            “Harry?!” the others had finally made their way to the right room, the girls along with them, having been woken by the commotion the guys were making. 

            “Hey, everything’s fine!” he promised them.  “Kreacher just apparently gave me magical teleporting abilities.”

            “Awesome!” Pansy gasped.  “Do you think he could do it for us?”

            A note popped into existence.  Tell your scary flower friend I is not being helping her be scarier.  Only Little Master Harry gets magic elf powers, it said in childish scrawl. 

            “I think he anticipated your request there, Pans.  Sorry,” Harry bit back a chuckle as he passed her the slip of parchment. 

            Pansy pouted as she pulled out her makeup bag.  “Well, might as well start getting ready,” she sighed.  “Mia, you have your CD player?”

            Hermione pulled a boom box out of her magical expanded rucksack.  “Spice Girls?” she asked.

            “Spice Girls,” Pansy agreed.  The guys groaned as they went about grabbing their clothes for the day. 

            “We’re all for Ireland, yeah?” Seamus chatted interrogated over the sound of the upbeat pop music. 

            “I don’t know, Krum’s a helluva seeker,” Ron brought up, and Ginny turned to him and smacked him angrily. 

            “Keep your man crush out of quidditch!” she scolded.  “This is for the honour of Britain!” 

            “What?!” Ron cried, rubbing his arm.  “I don’t… I’m not…” 

            “Question your sexuality later mate, we gotta go,” Blaise told the sputtering Weasley, clapping him on the shoulder.  Ron followed, still opening and closing his mouth but saying nothing coherent.

[Kreacher has just bought himself a very nice vacuum with Sirius’ Gringotts card.  It was his fault the old one was broken after all; the poor filter just couldn’t take all the dog hair]

            The quidditch stadium was marvellous; an entire stadium had been erected on the muggle campgrounds, complete with the confused muggle grounds manager stumbling around muttering “Merry Christmas.” 

            “Glad I’m not that poor bastard,” Aralynn laughed, newly arrived with her wife, who had cast counter-curses for every imaginable muggle-repellent charm on her for the event. 

            “Morning,” Minerva greeted the woman.  “Any other parents coming?”

            “Nope, just us,” Ara answered.  “The rest of them think they’re too cool for sports or something,” the muggle gently mocked, scuffed converse tapping excitedly.  This was way cooler than football. 

            “Lucky them,” Severus grumbled, rubbing his tired eyes. 

            “Why are you here, Severus?” Narcissa asked.  “I didn’t think this was your kind of place.”

            “It isn’t,” the man complained.  “But this many Ministry Idiots in one place could go wrong very easily, and it’s part of my job to guard the children.  You know- a job- those things we do to make money when we don’t have a ludicrously extensive inheritance.” 

            Narcissa just gave him an exasperated look.  “You know quite well that Sirius is the recipient of the Black fortune; my money comes from putting up with the horrid marriage I was forced into.  Think of it as a salary for not strangling the life out of Lucius while he slept.”

            “MUM!” Draco came charging over, disrupting their back and forth.  “You brought the peacocks with the tent?!”

            “Harry likes them.” 

            “They’re nice to Harry; I don’t know how he does it- they’re absolute monsters!”  Draco gesticulated dramatically. 

            “Draco, darling, if you don’t want me to mess with you, you shouldn’t make it so much fun,” his mother laughed, rubbing his cheek. 

[Meanwhile, Harry is being followed by a crowd of adoring peacocks as he and the others wander around laughing at purebloods’ hopeless attempts at dressing like muggles.]

            “Oh, Harry, what an honour to see you, old chap,” a man in a horrid green bowler hat and purple robes was saying as he grabbed his hand and pumped it up and down vigorously. 

            “Do I know you?” he asked. 

            “Harry, this is the Minister,” Minerva introduced, trying to hide a laugh at Fudge’s horrified and embarrassed expression. 

            “Ah, yes… I suppose we haven’t been formally introduced, dear me, what an oversight on my part,” Cornelius trailed off, trying to gather what was left of his dignity.  “Yes, well, this is the minister of Bulgaria,” he continued, waving to a large, dignified man with an aquiline nose. 

            “Minister, this. is. Harry. Potter,” he tried, punctuating his overly-enunciated words by pointing at Harry and doodling an overly simplistic lightning bolt in the air with a finger.  The Bulgarian minister continued to look at him blankly.  “HARRY.  POTTER,” he tried again, before sighing.  “Oh, never mind.  I’m going to go find Crouch, he speaks Bulgarian, I believe.  Minister, just wait here.  Oh, you can’t understand me anyway,” he huffed, wandering away to look for whoever this ‘Crouch’ person was. 

            “Vhat an idiot,” the Bulgarian said in accented but perfect English.  “Vaving you avound like a trophy.  Eet is vather fun to mess vith him.”  He chuckled, and Harry stopped trying to flatten his hair over his scar to laugh as well. 

            “By the vay,” he warned.  “If you like vomen, vatch out for the veela, children.  Eet is dangerous for vittle pubescent ones; they have very strong effects on everyone, but they have added danger vhen you are just exploring the sexuality.”

            “Um, thanks?” Harry tried, and Draco turned red.  Might as well cover his ears anyway, for appearances sake. 

            “Why did you bring such dangerous creatures?” Hermione asked, seeing that she, too, was at least a little risk in the situation. 

            “I enjoy a good joke, as does my husvand.”  He winked at them again before he wandered away.

            “Still better than our guy,” Pansy shrugged, sitting down and propping her feet up on the seat in front of her as Narcissa came up with a bag of omnioculars for them all.  She loved the top box life…

Chapter Text

            “You bet that Ireland would win but Krum would catch the snitch?!” Blaise snorted.  “Damn, I thought Ron was the dumb brother.”

            “Hey!” Ron punched Blaise in the arm, but Blaise just winked at him.

            “Oh- it’s starting!”  And Bagman indeed cast a sonorous charm on himself and began announcing the team mascots.  The leprechauns were interesting, and people got super excited when they threw the gold, but Pansy and Hermione reminded their friends that it wasn’t actual gold, and Ron’s face fell as he dropped the pile he’d gathered. 

            Then, just as the minister said, the veela were the opening act, so to speak, for the Bulgarian team.  Harry wasn’t sure if they would affect him or not, but he didn’t want to risk attracting the attention of so many people, so he hid his face.  He noticed with a strange feeling in his chest that Draco did the same.

            Pansy and Hermione were both rather curious about the effects of the Veela, so they each took turns holding their ears and guarding the other.  Pansy smirked as Hermione struggled to get closer to the entrancing creatures, but after all of her martial arts training, in which she had defeated much larger opponents, keeping her Mia’s arse firmly in the chair was quite simple.  Hermione, although very tough, had only a few months of training and had rather a time keeping Pansy from climbing up onto the railings for a closer look, but luckily their dance ended just before she lost her fading grip on her left hand, the only one of her limbs that hadn’t broken free of the other’s grip. 

            There was a mess of confusion as almost everyone else scrambled back to their seats, save Harry and Draco, who had been hiding their eyes and covering their ears, and Severus, who had fled to the bathroom before the veela even took the stage (he was an expert at fleeing potentially compromising situations).  The Bulgarian minister was smirking faintly as he watched Fudge climb down from atop his chair, where he had been waving his arms and trying to get the veela’s attention.  Even Minerva, cheeks slightly red, was sitting back down, although she hadn’t been making a complete fool of herself, merely standing up.  Narcissa and Aralynn’s solution to the problem had been to ignore the veela completely and make out, and everyone outside their group was eyeing them with condescending disdain and disapproval, which, judging by the women’s smirks, only made it better for them.  The only other unaffected person had been a lonely little house elf, who was trembling with a fear of heights while saving a seat for her master.  Hermione had tried to extend a kind word when they first reached their seats, but the little creature had merely recoiled. 

            Harry leaned forward eagerly as the game started, zooming in and out and repeating with the amazing omnioculars as he tried to memorize the moves of the two opposing seekers.  Minerva watched him worriedly as he was particularly excited at a dive by the Irish seeker that was wonderfully exciting, except for the part where he hit the ground and had to be carried out by the medi-team.  He was so entranced by the seekers that he wasn’t really paying much attention to the score, and Ginny kept poking him to excitedly give him updates.

            Ron, too, was paying attention to the seekers, or rather a seeker, as Victor Krum gracefully swooped around the pitch.  Whereas Harry was watching all the seekers, including the alternate who came in for the Irish team, his best friend seemed to have eyes only for Krum, and Pansy and Hermione exchanged sly glances.  Draco seemed to be more excited about watching Harry watch the game than actually watching the game, but his stepmum was eagerly tracking every movement of the players and shouting things like “Oh come on! That was a penalty- what the fuck is the ref even thinking?!”  Snape sat grouchily through the whole thing, arms crossed and expression unchanging.  That is until Harry shook his shoulder after a particularly brilliantly-executed Wronski Feint and said “Merlin! Did you see that, Uncle Sev?!”  At which point, he may have looked down at Harry and smirked fondly, which of course he will be taking to the grave, as was his inclination.

            The game ended when Krum, despite Ireland being over two hundred points ahead, caught the snitch.  Everyone gasped and exclaimed in shock, except the twins, who smirked.  Pansy looked at them critically- perhaps divination was only bollocks when Trelawney did it…

            “I think it was brilliant!” Ron was saying.  “I mean, he knew they could never salvage the game, what with the unevenly matched skills of the other players on his team versus Ireland, so he ended the game brilliantly, and on his own terms- that takes Gryffindor bravery, right there!”

            “Jeez Ron, keep it in your pants,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes, and Ron turned a brilliant shade of scarlet as they headed towards the tents. 

[Remus and Sirius thought about coming to the match, but instead they’re riding a different type of broomstick.]

            They stayed in the Malfoy-Smith’s elegant tent rehashing the match until long after the sun went down, only retiring when, at ten o’ clock, Harry fell asleep at the table, messy curls brushing against his half-finished mug of cocoa. 

            “I’d better get him to bed,” Minnie said, smiling fondly at her son.  Severus, coming back from satisfying his secret pop-tart addiction, waved her away. 

            “You’re already sitting down, Minerva, and you carry him around all the time.  I’ll do it and give your back a break.” 

            “He’s really not very heavy…” Minnie started, but said no more, because the sight of the small, sleeping teen being held gently against the chest of the dour potions master was just too perfect. 

            The next thing Harry knew, they were all being shaken awake and prodded out of their comfortable beds by the adults.  “Death Eaters in the woods; run, children!” Narcissa ordered, looking more serious than any of them (besides Draco) had ever seen her.  Harry reached for his wand, but remembered he’d left it in the kitchen, so he just hurried towards the back exit of the tent.

            On the way, however, he found Severus in one of the sitting rooms, gripping his arm and hissing in pain through clenched teeth.  “Uncle Sev!”

            “Just go, Harry!  I’ll be fine,” he ground out, but the silly child just got closer. 

            “I’m not leaving you like this!” And then his small hands were above the mark on Severus’ arm (now a fairly dark brown) and the professor felt a violent sensation almost like the magical equivalent of having a tooth ripped out as an oily black strand of magic was ripped out of his body and dissipated into the air.  He looked down; his arm was unblemished, nothing was there save for his pale, unmarked skin. 

            “Harry!  That was so dangerous; we’re in the middle of a crisis!  And never mind that it was the only clue we had as to the dark lord’s whereabouts!”

            Harry looked at him, swaying slightly on his feet but with a determined look in his emerald eyes.  “I don’t care!” he cried, voice abnormally fierce.  “You’re a person, not a- a Voldemort-detector, or something, and punishing yourself or whatever the hell it is you were doing by keeping it isn’t doing us any good!  Now, we need to go!”  He started to charge ahead, but the significant use of such complicated (and wandless) magic had left him pretty drained and he was shaky on his feet, so Severus picked him up and ran out of the tent, wondering if Sarah had been giving Harry lessons in some secret shrink’s intuition, or something, that he’d guessed his thoughts so well.  But there was time enough to ponder that later…

[Kreacher has just felt a strong surge of fear, determination, and then more fear, as well as some exhaustion, and he is rushing to his little master’s side.]

            Everyone had just converged in a clearing in the woods when Kreacher appeared.  “Why is batman be carrying Little Master Harry?!” He cried.  “What is being wrong?!”

            “Harry is fine, for now,” Snape said, too concerned with everything happening to even respond to being called ‘batman,’ something he was sure the elf had picked up from the mutts.  “The immediate danger is finding out who cast the dark mark and apprehending the death eaters.”  Through the trees they could see a group of masked, gruesome revellers in Death Eater robes marching under the suspended, terrified bodies of the gate-keeper and his family.

            “Kreacher,” Harry spoke up from where he had his arms around Severus’ neck, “Can you please go get the muggles to safety?  Without being seen.  Knowing the ministry, the family will not be their top concern.” 

            “Kreacher does not wish to be leaving Little Master Harry,” he said.  “Kreacher rushed to Little Master to protect him; Kreacher didn’t even take the time to wake mutt masters and warn them.” 

            Harry turned pleading eyes to his elven friend.  “Please, Kreacher?  I have all the adults and my friends; nobody is protecting them.  You can get in and out easily, right?  And then you can come right back, and I’ll still be here.” 

            The house elf nodded and reluctantly popped away, and Severus asked Harry how he even knew to come. 

            “It’s a long story,” the teen answered.  “But essentially, Kreacher is even more of a mother hen than you or Minnie.”  Then Kreacher was back with the terrified family as the confused death eaters started arguing in from the field, and Harry motioned to the professor to put him down and went to the little daughter, squatting down to speak to her softly. 

            Eventually, the death eaters had been rounded up by aurors that had arrived on scene, and suddenly Ludo Bagman, the minister (Fudge, unfortunately, not the cool Bulgarian guy), and Bartimius Crouch were in the clearing as well, holding Harry’s wand, of all things. 

            “Hey, how’d you get my wand?!” Harry cried.  “I left it in the kitchen of the tent.” 

            “Did you, now?” The Crouch man looked down at him with cold eyes.  “Because we’ve run some tests, and this is the wand that was used to cast the dark mark.” 

            Minnie looked like she was about to knock some teeth out of his mouth, but Severus put a placating hand on her shoulder.  “Are you seriously suggesting that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, cast the dark mark, Bartimius?  Because I thought you were a Slytherin, but an insinuation like that is unbefitting one of our noble house.” 

            The man turned his cruel expression on the professor, but at least it was no longer on Harry.  “Interesting, coming from you, Snape.  Say, there was some talk, back in the day, that you’d been a death eater yourself, escaped recognition somehow.  How do we know you didn’t cast it?”

            Severus glared at him as he pulled up the sleeves of his robe, showing the clear, smooth expanse of his left arm.  Minerva was smart enough to bite back her gasp of surprise. 

            “As you can see, whatever you heard was just that, rumours.  I was helping ensure my students were evacuated safely, ask my companions.  Now, would you please hand over the wand and perhaps get back into finding who trespassed onto private property, stole it, and then used it to cast forbidden black magics?!”  Snape was not amused, and Crouch sputtered in indignation, but could find no words to refute with. 

            Just then, to add to the madness, an auror came in dragging the little house elf from the top box, who was trembling.  “We found this elf wandering about in the same place we found the wand, sir,” he said gruffly to the minister. 

            “Winky?!” Crouch sputtered, turning even redder.  “Did you do this?”

            Winky began to sob.  “No Master!” she wailed, jerking on her ears.  “I was just being looking for you’s, master, Winky not being doing anything wrong!” But her master wasn’t listening. 

            “Insubordinate elf!  I told you to stay where you were!  This means clothes!” he yelled, spittle flying from his mouth, reminding Harry uncomfortably of Vernon Dursley.  He glared at the man. 

            “You expected her to just stay and risk getting killed?!” Hermione screeched at the ministry official, stepping forward before Harry could, which was all very well, because the obliviators hadn’t arrived yet and he still had a comforting arm around the little muggle girl.  “You fucking monster!”  Crouch looked scandalized that a student dared speak to him that way, but a look at Pansy, scarred hands holding a rather wicked looking blade that she was using to clean her nails from where she stood casually behind Hermione, kept him from opening his mouth. 

            “Come on, Winky.  You can come live at Hogwarts, and we won’t make you wear clothes if you don’t want to,” she told the sobbing elf, who did not calm down but allowed herself to be led away.  One hand on Winky’s back, the other flicked Crouch off as Hermione led the distraught little creature to their tent. 

            Once the obliviators arrived and took the muggles away to have their traumatic memories erased, everyone else started to disperse.  Snape looked at Kreacher, still standing protectively in front of Harry, arms crossed and legs spread apart like some sort of tiny, wrinkled bodyguard. 

            “Kreacher,” he addressed him, “Are you capable of taking all of us to Hogwarts once we have gathered Ms. Granger?  I don’t think we need risk spending anymore time here tonight.” 

            Kreacher looked at Severus with a stony expression.  “Kreacher is offended that batman would be questioning Kreacher’s ability.  Kreacher can keep the house of Sirius Black clean and ordered; Kreacher can do anything.”  Thus, within an hour all the children were sleeping soundly in Gryffindor-coloured canopied four posters.  And if Snape insisted on giving Harry a dreamless sleep, just in case, well, that could be their little secret. 

Chapter Text

           Everyone was allowed to sleep in the next morning because of the stress of the night before, although Harry couldn’t help rising with the sun, as was his habit, so he chatted with Du and read to her from his comic books until the rest of his friends streamed downstairs at around ten, at which point the elves delivered breakfast in the Gryffindor common room.  While they were eating, Minerva came downstairs from where she had presumably been doing paperwork in her office. 

            “Good morning, children,” she said, still slightly disgruntled from all the insanity of the night before (and cranky that she hadn’t been able to knock a few of Crouch’s teeth out, if she were honest).  “We have to hold a staff meeting today to discuss candidates for the DADA teacher during Remus’ leave of absence, but he and Sirius have volunteered to take you into London for the day to keep you entertained.” 

            “That sounds fun,” Harry agreed.  Luckily, there was no chance of walking in on them having sex if they were in public- perhaps all of their quality time should be spent in places where sex was implausible, now that he thought of it.

            “Lovely; muggle London, correct?” At Minnie’s nod, she smiled.  “Fantastic!  I need some new steel-toed boots; mine are all worn out.” 

            “Didn’t- didn’t you just buy a new pair last summer?” Blaise was almost afraid to ask. 

            Pansy looked at him as if he were unable to comprehend some very simple matter.  “Yes, Blaise, but when you kick as much stuff as I do, they tend to lose their integrity irritatingly quickly.” 

            “I could use some new wool and knitting needles; the radshanoppers are tearing up the blankets I knit them quite quickly,” Luna sighed.

            “I want to pick up the next book in the series I’m reading,” Hermione added, at the same time that Ginny mentioned wanting to get a few parts from the muggle store to do some upgrades on her pogo stick.  Ron blanched- he hated that thing. 

            “So, you’ll have yourself a nice shopping day then,” Minnie surmised, smiling at them.  “Oh, Harry, Severus wanted me to ask you to pick up some sort of chemical at the muggle apothecary- something about a potion experiment you two were discussing the other day?” 

            “Oh- yeah.  Epsom salt; we were thinking that it might be used as an alternate ingredient in muscle-relaxing potions, since shrivelfig allergies are fairly common,” the teen explained.  Minnie looked at him fondly; now that he had a supportive potions teacher, he seemed to have inherited his mother’s aptitude and passion for the subject. 

            “That’s actually a really good idea,” Draco added, looking at Harry as if he was the only person in the room.  “Using muggle ingredients when wizard ones wouldn’t work; most people wouldn’t think about it.” 

            “I mean, it’s really just because I grew up in the muggle world that I thought of it,” Harry blushed and scratched the back of his neck (one of his nervous habits).

            “Take the compliment, you dork,” Ginny told him, rolling her eyes.  Honestly, was she gonna have to push those two’s faces together just to get them to realise they were hopelessly in love and desperate for a snog?

            “Thanks Dray,” Harry trailed off, blushing again. 

[Kreacher gave Sirius and Remus a long lecture about taking good care of Harry before he’d let them go; he seems to think they’re incompetent or something.  Of course, Sirius did try to pull his bagel out of the toaster with a fork that morning and shocked the shit out of himself.]

            Harry loved muggle London; the sights and smells and all the different people to look at; he used to like to pick the most interesting looking one and make up a whole life story for them while Petunia used him to carry all the packages she bought whenever she took Dudley to the city.  Of course, besides passing briefly through it when Hagrid took him to Diagon Alley the first time, he had only ever been as the Dursleys’ pack mule up until Minnie adopted him, so actually getting to enjoy himself in the city was still a fairly novel experience. 

            “See something you like, cub?” Remus asked as he watched Harry’s eyes tracking shop windows. 

            “Oh, I was just thinking that Du might like that little bonsai tree,” he replied, pointing to a little tree-shaped snake hidey-hole in the display of a pet store. 

            “Here, I’ll get it for you,” Remy said, ruffling his hair. 

            Harry blushed.  “Oh, it’s okay, Uncle Moony, really!  You don’t need to spend money on me,” he protested. 

            Remus just ruffled his hair again.  “It’s alright, Harry.  I can afford to get my nephew a present; I’ve got a trophy husband.”  They all laughed as Sirius jokingly swatted at his partner before they traded a quick kiss (thankfully, that was as far as it went).

            Hermione not only got the next book in her series, but a number of others as well, and Pansy found another knife that she liked in addition to her new boots.  Even the shopkeeper seemed a little concerned by how excited the petite teenager was by all the stabby weaponry; she also bought a katana sword. 

            Fred, George, and Ginny all emerged with large bags from the hardware store, and Ginny also picked up some muggle office supplies for her thriving business of overcharging clueless purebloods for easy-to-use, non-archaic school supplies. 

They enjoyed lunch in a local falafel shop, one that Sirius said Lily used to take the Marauders to in the summers.  Harry, who had never tried them before, found that he absolutely loved everything he tried there. 

“I guess now we know why Lils always craved this place when she was pregnant,” Sirius told his boyfriend with a smile as they watched Harry lick tzatziki sauce off his fingers.  Then they got ice creams and ended up by the wharfs, just walking around. 

“Guys, guys!” Harry said suddenly, running down to the docks.  “C’mere; something’s wrong!”  They all anxiously followed him as he weaved through fisherman and passer-by until they wound up all the way at the end of the wharf, where Harry was nimbly scrambling down under an old bridge.  The rest of them took longer to climb down; Harry was really rather a little monkey when it came to scaling and descending difficult walls, trees, or anything, really.

They quickly saw what had Harry in such a tizzy: a mermaid was washed up on the shore, thrashing around in a heavy, discarded fishing net as she wailed plaintively.  Her kelp green hair was clinging in strands to her face, blocking her vision and making her breathing even more difficult than it already was after so much time on shore.  Her barnacle-grey tail looked chapped and raw from rubbing the rough rope. 

“Hey,” Harry said softly, hands in the air nonthreateningly.  “I just wanna help, okay?  May I please come closer?”  He didn’t speak any mermish, but the creature apparently had a rudimentary understanding of English, because she slowly stopped thrashing and nodded slowly in response to Harry’s slow, carefully-enunciated question. 

The teen knelt down carefully on the rocky sand and placed his hands on the net.  He muttered a spell under his breath as the ropes snapped apart and untangled, leaving a the mer unencumbered; yet he still continued to mutter over her a few minutes more, forehead beginning to bead with sweat.  After a while, he nodded, seeming satisfied, and Harry gently touched her tail as with a soft epipsky the red rope burns faded away, replaced with healthy, slimy scales.  He looked at her for permission, and at receiving a nod in response, put his hands under her arm and helped her back the few feet into the water with the help of a levitation spell.  Freely able to head back towards the open sea, she looked at Harry once more with a pensive expression on her face.

“Thank you,” she said in slow, heavily-accented English.  “Not many humans treat creatures like us as equal; the mer owe you a debt.  When you need us; we will come.” Then she turned and, with a flap of her powerful tail, was gone from their view. 

“Sorry about the hustle, guys.  I felt her with my mage senses; and there wasn’t much time to explain.  She must have been there for a while; there was significant damage to her organs, and I had to get here while I still had a chance at healing her.” 

            “No need to apologise, Prongslet, that was a really great thing you did,” Sirius said, looking at his godson in awe.  That was an extensive display of power, and without a wand to boot.  Remus stepped forward to help Harry up.

            “The staff meeting’s surely over by now, and that clearly took a lot of energy.  Let’s get you back to the castle so you can take a nap, yeah?”

            “That sounds nice,” Harry agreed.  And you might wanna get back to Kreacher soon; I could feel him starting to panic through the bond, and it took a lot of mental placating to keep him from popping into the middle of muggle London waving a feather duster like a sword.”  Harry had been feeling the bond with Kreacher deepening since he became aware of it yesterday, and now he could feel Kreacher’s emotions if he focused, in addition to the elf feeling his, and he could also pass along rudimentary emotional communication, which would be useful if he didn’t want his overprotective friend popping in every time he wasn’t feeling perfectly rosy. 

[Kreacher prepares a lecture for his mutt masters while he waits for them to come back; he gave them one job.]

            “So, we’ve decided to hire Alastor Moody, then,” Severus summarized.  “A bit paranoid, but I must say a better choice than some of the options you brought up,” he said, casting a side eye at the headmaster.  Honestly, suggesting trying to get one of the centaurs to teach defence when they all hated humans; the man was clearly off his rocker.  Looking at Minerva, he could see that she thought the same thing, and he was unsure how much longer the woman would hold out before she physically threw the man out of the castle and sent him packing, headmaster or no. 

            Meanwhile, Albus was just relieved that the DADA teacher discussion kept other topics from coming to the table; he knew Minerva would not approve of his planning to host the Triwizard tournament here the coming year, but it would be for the greater good to foster inter-school cooperation.  The paperwork would have gone through by the end of the day, so although he would no doubt get an earful, there would be no changing of plans.  And besides, the woman had nothing to worry about; it wasn’t like Harry was going to be involved in any way…

            From a mouse hole in the corner, a rat with a missing front toe scurried back to his master.  He would be very happy; the servant had managed to ascertain their target…

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

           Harry meandered about in the dungeons feigning nonchalance until he reached the portrait of Salazar Slytherin keeping guard over Uncle Sev’s corridors.  “Hey Sal,” he hissed in Parseltongue.  “Think you could let me in?  I’m trying to pull a prank on Sev- he keeps calling me Sparky.”

            “Ah, yes,” the Slytherin founder hissed a low chuckle of amusement. “A true declaration of war.  What are you planning, hatchling?” 

            Harry held up a little glass bottle full of a mauve potion.  “I’m going to slip this into his afternoon Pop Tart- it’s a potion I invented that will make every robe he puts on turn into Augusta Longbottom’s clothes for the next 24 hours.” 

            “Augusta is the one who wears the furs and the vulture hat, yes?” the portrait confirmed.  At Harry’s nod, he swung open.  “Excellent plan- truly worthy of my house.  You have my blessing.”

            Harry tiptoed through the door and into the potion masters office, where he knew he hid his secret stash in a locked desk drawer.  It was really ridiculously warded for a snack drawer, but the man was very secretive about his addiction to the sugary treats.  No matter, Harry could easily tune into the wards with his mage senses and unravel the strands of magic long enough to cast an Alohomora, slip a few drops of his new brew into a syringe and insert it into the package labelled “Tuesday afternoon,” making sure he put the needle through the fold in the cellophane so that the small hole wouldn’t be noticed.  He knew he had about five minutes before Severus came in to do some afternoon work (he was a creature of habit) so, sending a thank you through his bond with Kreacher for his ability to apparate in Hogwarts, he popped far away from the scene of the crime, to his room in Gryffindor tower, to quietly read a book until dinner. 

            Putting shepherd’s pie on his plate that night, he turned big, innocent-looking green eyes on his guardian.  “Where’s Uncle Sev, M’na?”

            “He had to do some work in his office; here, take a little more than that, darling,” she said, doubling the size of the serving he’d picked out.          

            “Oh; I guess I’ll see him at breakfast tomorrow, then,” Harry said in a blasé tone, washing down his last potion with pumpkin juice.

            Hearing something in his voice, the tabby animagus shot him a fondly exasperated look.  “What did you do to him this time?”

            “You’ll see,” Harry giggled mischievously.  “Suffice to say it’s going to make him regret turning my hair pink the other day.”

            Minerva laughed as well.  “You must admit that was a highly dedicated effort on his part; putting small enough doses of the potion in each of your medications so that the feeling of the main potion would drown it out and your mage senses wouldn’t pick it up.” 

            Harry rolled his eyes.  “Oh, that was smart, but mine is smarter.”

            “You sound just like your father, right now.  I usually see more of your mother in you, but clearly you’ve inherited his militant passion for prank wars.” 

            “I don’t know, though, M’na.  Pads said that the best prank he ever saw was when mum told dad they were having triplets.”

            The woman snorted.  “Oh yes; I remember he’d nearly had a heart attack.  He had called me on the floo to ask that I move in and play mother-in-law before Lily could get a word in edgewise to say she was teasing.”

            “Oh Merlin! What would you have said, though, just out of curiosity?” her son asked, cocking his head adorably to the side, the same way he did in his kitten form.

            She ruffled his hair.  “The only thing I could have; I’d take a year or two off from work and gone to keep your father from going crazy.  After all, one of you is the best thing that ever happened to me, so I’m sure I would have enjoyed three well enough.”   

            Harry blushed and leaned his head on her shoulder.  “Thanks Mins.” 

            She pulled him closer.  “No Harry, thank you.”

[Severus has pulled every single robe out of his closet, but they all turn into extravagant furs and vulture hats the minute he’s put them on.]

            Severus shot dirty looks at everyone in the staff meeting the next morning as they roared with laughter at his extravagant vestments.

            “Don’t. say. a. word.” He snarled through gritted teeth.  “Minerva, your darling son is a holy terror.”

            “Yes, well, you’ll have to tell him that at a later date.  He’s with Poppy at the moment; he woke up with the flu again,” the Gryffindor head sighed, and Severus’ expression immediately changed to one of concern.

            “Again?  That’s the second time since school let out,” he tried to run his hand through his lank hair, but only felt vulture feathers.

            “I know, Severus, but what can we do?  We’ve increased the immunity potions twice now; we cannot safely give him any more.”

            “Poppy was hoping he could receive his vaccinations by over a year ago now; he’s at serious risk if he comes into contact with anything worse than the flu.” 

            “Perhaps we should take him overseas to see a specialist?” Severus suggested, trying to think of any research institution he knew of that might have a solution to their problem. 

            “If you two could discuss this at a later time,” Albus interrupted, rather rudely, “I have an announcement to make.”

            Minerva got a bad feeling in her stomach.  “Yes, Albus?” she asked, voice tight, and for such a smart man, the headmaster really should have been far warier of the tense, tight tone of his deputy’s voice.

            “Well, I am very pleased to announce that Hogwarts will be hosting the Tri-Wizard Tournament this year,” Dumbledore said, smiling and spreading his arms widely.

            “What?!” Severus blanched, as the others looked at Dumbledore, flabbergasted.  Had the man gone mad?!

            Minnie, in the meantime, was eerily silent, her face very white, but with an angry red flush on her cheeks and neck, lips pursed into the thinnest line any of them had ever seen.  The windows began to shake and rattle, and the closet that last year had held the boggart Lupin used for Patronus lessons shattered violently, sending sharp splinters of wood all over the room.  Minerva threw a shield over her other colleagues, but left Dumbledore to make his own. 

            “YOU DID WHAT?!”  Minerva yelled, angrier than she had ever been in her entire life.  “I CANNOT FUCKING BELIEVE YOU ALBUS- HOSTING AN EVENT THAT HASN’T BEEN HELD IN OVER A CENTURY- AND FOR A GOOD REASON!  PEOPLE HAVE DIED IN THAT TOURNAMENT, YOU UTTER FOOL!  STUDENTS- CHILDREN- HAVE DIED, AND YOU THINK IT’S A GOOD IDEA TO HOST IT?  AND YOU PURPOSELY KEPT THIS FROM ME- YOUR DEPUTY HEADMISTRESS- BECAUSE YOU KNEW I WOULD HAVE THE BLOODY GOOD SENSE TO TELL YOU IT WAS A HORRIBLE IDEA!”

            “Now Minerva,” Albus tried to placate, holding up his hands.  “The ministry and I have decided to set an age limit on the event; only students seventeen and older will be allowed to compete.  And it will be wonderful for fostering inter-school cooperation.” 

            “YOU COOPERATED WITH THE MINISTRY- OF YOUR OWN VOLITION?!  THEY ARE ALL GORMLESS FOOLS AND WITH THE EXCEPTION OF A FEW AURORS, ALL OF THEM TOGETHER CANNOT GATHER TOGETHER A TENTH OF THE REASONING ABILITY OF MY FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD SON!  AND YOU THINK IT’S OKAY TO RISK THE LIVES OF CHILDREN JUST BECAUSE THEY ARE BARELY LEGAL?!  SEVENTH YEARS ARE STILL BINGE-DRINKING FIREWHISKY IN THE VILLAGE; OF COURSE, THEY’LL WANT TO JOIN THE BLOODY DEATH GAMES!”

            “Now Minerva,” the headmaster said, irritation leaking into his tone.  “You’re really being overdramatic about this; Harry won’t be in any danger- he won’t be allowed to compete.”

            “HE WON’T WANT TO- HE HAS AN EXCELLENT SENSE OF SELF-PRESERVATION DUE TO SPENDING ELEVEN YEARS IN THE HELL YOU PLACED HIM IN; HELL- HE IS AT THIS VERY MOMENT SUFFERING FROM A BAD FLU DUE TO YOUR ACTIONS, AS I AM CERTAIN YOU ARE AWARE OF BUT DON’T SEEM TO FEEL BAD ABOUT- BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN HE IS IN NO DANGER!  HAVE YOU NOTICED THAT EVERYONE AND THEIR MINISTER HAS TRIED TO HURT OR KILL MY CHILD?!  HAVE YOU, “OH GREATEST WIZARD OF THE AGE?!”, Minerva, in lieu of calming down, was only picking up steam (Albus really is being a complete fucking idiot here).  “THERE WILL BE ALL KINDS OF DANGEROUS THINGS ON THE GROUNDS, AND EVEN IF NONE OF THEM TRY TO HURT HARRY, WHICH BASED ON HIS LUCK IS HIGHLY UNLIKELY, THERE IS STILL THE DANGER TO THE ENTIRE STUDENT BODY TO CONSIDER.  YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE A HEADMASTER ALBUS, SO START ACTING LIKE ONE AND CANCEL THE GODDAMN THING!”

            “I… I am afraid I cannot do that; the paperwork has gone through.  We are contractually obliged to host this tournament.”  Despite the fact that this is what he wanted, Dumbledore was looking rather frightened.

            He was right (for once) to feel that way, as Minerva picked up a heavy paperweight and threw it at him and followed it with a nasty stinging hex.  When both of those missed due to Dumbledore’s refusing to take what he’d earned and ducking, the Gryffindor ran up to him and gave him a good hard punch in the face, breaking his nose.  While the headmaster was distracted trying to stem the blood flow, Severus shot a high-powered itching hex at the man’s nether regions.  That ought to make him regret his actions. 

            Indeed, it seemed that he noticed almost immediately as his face curled up into a grimace and he clenched his fists in discomfort. 

            “Maybe that will teach you to think about your actions next time,” Minerva harrumphed, voice back to her normal volume, although still very angry.  “And don’t you dare thinking of going to Poppy for relief; she’s busy trying to keep Harry’s fever down, and I dare say she would refuse to treat you anyway.  Now I’m going to join her, as I should have been all along if it weren’t for your calling this mandatory staff meeting for this…  this…” unable to find a sufficiently awful word to describe the situation in English, she let out a few of the worst Scots curses she could think of, before she turned on her heel and fled. 

            Severus also left to check on Harry, and even in his ridiculous outfit, he carried himself with absolute dignity compared to Albus (who was currently trying, and failing, to be subtle about the fact that he was rubbing his itching balls on the corner of the table).  The other teachers shot their boss looks of disgust and disapproval, even Hagrid (who was currently heading back to his cabin to take care of his dangerous new breeding experiment: blast-ended screwts).  This was what happened when too much trust was placed in a man who clearly didn’t deserve it. 

Chapter Text

           Harry’s flu only worsened, and two weeks later, instead of being better, it had settled in his lungs as pneumonia.  Kreacher, in a tizzy, had spent every minute at Harry’s bedside, patting his fevered skin with cool cloths and spoon feeding him weak broths; the only thing he could keep down.  Sirius and Remus came by constantly as well, until Madame Pomphrey kicked them and a hovering Minnie out, keeping only Severus and Kreacher, who she needed to aid in Harry’s care. 

            “If he gets much worse, I think we might have to transfer him to Mungo’s,” Poppy said one night as Harry started awake in a fit of wet, hacking coughs.  Du, who had refused to leave her master’s side (and had been heeded due to her poisonous fangs), hissed anxiously, whacking his scarred back with her tail to try to loosen some of the mucous.

            “We can’t,” Severus said.  “There’s too much of a ministry presence there, and we can’t trust it.  And with Pettigrew loose, we need to keep him in the safety of Hogwarts.” 

            “Well, what do you suggest we do?  I don’t have the resources to care for him here, and his condition is rapidly becoming critical,” she said, injecting a potion intravenously into the small boy’s arm.  A moment later he finally ceased coughing and his unconscious form flopped back against the pillows.  “Besides the obvious issues, he’s also losing weight rapidly, and he was already under-weight to begin with.” 

            “I have a muggle contact; I can get one of the breathing machines they use in their hospitals.  I just- we’re coming upon dark times, Poppy, and I don’t want him to be in such a vulnerable location while he is in this state,” Severus’ voice trailed off at the end, a lump in his throat.  Harry would be fine; he would not cry. 

[Sirius and Remus haven’t had sex in over a week: the truest sign of anxiety possible.]

            The muggle ventilator, as it was called, proved to be a great help, and Harry’s vitals slowly but steadily improved over the next week.  Although, when his fever finally lowered to the point where he was lucid enough to have awareness of his surroundings, he immediately expressed anxiety at the unfamiliar feeling of the oxygen mask encircling his face and tried frantically, but weakly, to pull it off. 

            “Shhh, Harry, you need to leave that on; it’s helping you breathe.  You’ve been very, very sick,” Severus whispered in the gentlest tone he’d ever used in his life. 

            “M’ma?” Harry rasped around the mask. 

            “Minerva will be here soon, sweetheart,” Severus said, and if anyone were to be told that he’d called someone sweetheart, they would have tried have the person who said such an implausible thing committed to an asylum, but here they were.  “Poppy kicked everyone out; we needed all the space and concentration we could to take care of you.” 

            “S’rry,” the teen mumbled, syllables distorted by the mask.  Severus looked at him seriously.

            “Don’t you ever apologise for being sick, Harry.  Of all the people at fault for your situation, you’re the farthest as possible from holding any culpability.  We’re all just relieved you’re alright.”  The man brushed some of Harry’s matted curls off of his clammy forehead. 

            “Dddd..rr,” the teen slurred, and Severus realised he was asking about Draco, and by extension, all of his other friends.

            “Your friends have been informed that your lack of letters is due to your being ill, but we have not informed them of the severity of your condition so that they would not drive themselves crazy with worry,” Severus said.  The teen gave a small nod of thanks, and the movement seemed to tire him out greatly. 

            “Just rest, child.  Minerva will be here when you wake up.” 

[Harry is finally well enough to write to his friends; Draco in particular is immensely relieved to hear from him.  Narcissa is relieved for a break from Draco’s frantic worrying.  Aralynn is amused by both of her beloved (human) family members.]

            Harry was doing worlds better by September the first, although he still had a low fever and a mild cough, so no amount of begging would persuade Poppy to let him take the express with his friends.  Attempts to turn to Minnie, Severus, Kreacher, Remus, and even Sirius for support were null.

            “Traitors,” the teen muttered, crossing his arms.  But it was hard for the adults to think of it as actual pouting when he looked so adorable doing it.

            “Hey pup, I’ve got something to make you feel better,” Sirius said about an hour later, when it was just the two of them in the room for a moment. 

            “You’ll cover for me so I can apparate to the train station?!  I knew I could count on you, Pads!”

            Sirius rolled his eyes at his godson.  “No, nothing like that.  Even if I thought it would be a good idea to let you go, which I don’t,” he said, looking at Harry, his expression unusually stern, “I wouldn’t risk the wrath of all the others.  And I dare say your snake wouldn’t let you leave,” he chuckled, looking at Du, who was hissing words that did indeed translate to how hatchling must stay in bed.

            “Then why’d you get me all excited?” Harry sighed melancholily.

            “I’m getting to that,” Sirius said, pulling out a wrapped package from his robe pocket.  “These,” he said, pulling away the paper to reveal four ornate hand mirrors, “are two-way mirrors, although they can go three and four ways as well.  They work like muggle telephones,” he explained, his pronunciation of the word perfect after all Lily’s lessons on muggle things, back when she was alive.  “They used to belong to the Marauders,” he continued, handing Harry the one with a J on the handle.  “I thought you could take your father’s, give one to Minnie, one to Uncle Moony and I, and one to your friends to share- although, they’re yours, so you can give them to whoever you like, although I must insist at least one go to an adult in case of emergencies.”

            “Thanks- the way you suggested sounds perfect,” Harry said, perking up ever so slightly.  Just then, Severus came into the room. 

            “I have your breakfast Harry, and your potions.  Good news, you can swallow them again now that you’re well enough.”

            Harry looked at the man and groaned.  “Can’t you just inject them again; they taste so awful!”  Green eyes, still slightly cloudy from illness, pleaded with Severus, but he held his ground.

            “Sorry Sparky, I make it a goal to stab my students as infrequently as humanly possible,” the Slytherin quipped. 

            “Uncle Sev, be serious!” Harry groaned, hating that Sparky had made its recurrence. 

            “I know you’re still under the weather, so I will remind you that that is Sirius,” Sev joked, pointing at Padfoot, whose jaw dropped.  Had Snivellus just been called ‘Uncle Sev’ by his godson, who in return made a pun?!

            The man seemed to know what he was thinking, no legilimancy required, because he smirked at him, revelling in the situation. 

Chapter Text

           “Please! Please please please please pleasepleaseplease!” Harry begged Madame Pomphrey the morning of September 2.  He’d already missed the welcoming feast, he didn’t want to miss classes as well.

            “I’m sorry Harry, but you still have a fever.  It’s only the first day, anyway, so you won’t miss much.”

            “But- but it’s the first day!  It’s important!  And I feel fine!” Just then, as if to disprove his point, a cough wrenched its way up from his throat. 

            “A likely story, Mr. Potter,” the medi-witch said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. 

            “My throat was just a little dry,” Harry tried.

            “Yes, and your chest is just a little congested,” Poppy replied, unimpressed with his argument.  Not even his big pleading eyes could sway her.

            “But I already missed the feeeeaast,” Harry whinged again.  Stupid pneumonia. 

            “Yes, but you ate feast food for dinner, and you already knew the tournament was happening here this year, so you didn’t really miss much,” she stroked his hair off his forehead and rolled her eyes at him. 

            “Fine,” Harry sighed, knowing the battle was lost.  “But can I at least have a book or something?”

            “You can rest, Harry.  The more you sleep, the faster you’ll get better,” Poppy said, which was essentially a roundabout way of denying anything remotely amusing, in Harry’s opinion. 

            “But I’m not tired,” he countered, before a traitorous yawn worked its way out.  Damn his body for not backing up his arguments.  He pulled the blankets up over his head just so he wouldn’t have to see the mirth in Poppy’s eyes, but the warmth made him drowsy, and soon he had refuted his own arguments by falling fast asleep.

[Barty Crouch Junior practices imitating Moody’s mannerisms in front of a mirror.  Luckily, they’d chosen such a strange defence teacher that a few inconsistencies could be dismissed as paranoid idiosyncrasies]

            “Severus, where’s Harry?” Draco asked the professor before class that day, hovering frantically underfoot.  If this is what he was like all summer, the man both pitied Narcissa and Aralynn for their trials and cursed them for shipping them off for him to deal with. 

            “He’s still running a slight fever, so Poppy is keeping him a little longer,” Severus sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

            “He’s still sick?!” Draco exclaimed, distraught.  “How serious is it?!”

            “A low fever, Draco, so not very.  You can see him after classes, just go sit down and wait for the bell, please.”  The head of Slytherin was very tired.  He’d been helping care for a very sick Harry for the past few weeks, which was draining on its own, but he had also stayed up all night looking through peer-reviewed journals and writing to various specialised research hospitals throughout Europe, trying to find some promising solution for Harry’s poor immune system.  A dramatic Draco Malfoy was the last thing he needed today.  He really hoped his class behaved itself and that Neville and Seamus didn’t blow up any cauldrons; he didn’t think he’d be able to remain calm and keep his temper in check.  Now that he thought about it, he decided it would be better just to lecture, which was something he almost never did.  But a potions teacher needed to always be on the top of his game due to the volatility of the subject, so to do a practical lesson today would be unwise. 

            Meanwhile, Minerva had made a similar decision for her own classes, as she didn’t think herself capable of devoting her full attention to her class while her son was still in the hospital wing.  She knew how bored he got in there, and how much he hated having to miss class, especially on the first day.  It really was unfair that, through no fault of his own, he was essentially still being punished by the Dursleys’ cruel treatment when he had more than earned the right to have fun and mess around and indulge in the joys of being young and at boarding school. 

            “Professor?” Cedric Diggory asked politely, raising his hand.

            “Oh, hmm?” she responded, pulling her attention back to the classroom. 

            “Oh, um, not to be disrespectful, ma’am, but it’s just that you haven’t said anything for several minutes and I was wondering if everything was alright,” the Hufflepuff told her. 

            “Pardon me, class.  I suppose I just got a little distracted; everything is fine.  Even the best of us sometimes have a hard time getting out of that summer state of mind, it seems.” 

[Sirius is currently ranting to Remus about how Harry called Severus ‘Uncle Sev’ the day before, and Moony is undressing his boyfriend in his head to survive the conversation.]

            As soon as classes let out before dinner, Minerva headed up to the headmaster’s office and emerged not ten minutes later with a large metal bowl and a satisfied smile.  She hustled to the hospital wing, and when she answered, Harry, who had been staring at the wall with a bored expression on his face, immediately turned to her with a wide smile.

            “Minnie!” he exclaimed, reaching up to hug her.

            “Hi kitten,” she greeted, returning the hug and using it as an excuse to check on his fever.  “I brought you something that might ease the boredom a little.”

            Harry looked down at what she had in her hands.  “A big… bowl?”

            She chuckled and ruffled his hair.  “Well technically, yes, but this bowl is called a pensieve, darling, and it holds memories.  When your friends come visit you after dinner, they can put their memories of the day’s classes in here, and that will keep you entertained tonight and tomorrow.  Poppy said you should be able to go back to classes by Wednesday, so you’re almost through." 

            “We don’t have our first DADA lesson until Wednesday, right?”  Harry asked.  “So, I can see Moody’s first lesson in person?  I’m really excited to see how a former auror teaches.” 

            “Yes dear,” his guardian confirmed. 

“Now, how about I stay here and eat dinner with you, hmm?  And you can tell me about all the exciting wall-staring you did today?”

[Du thinks the pensieve is a lovely place to curl up and take a nap.]

            “Helloooo, golden boy!” Pansy trumpeted as she stomped into the hospital wing with the rest of their friends in tow, her new boots already scuffed from all the things she kicked on a daily basis.

            “Hey Pans,” Harry said, before.  “AHHHCHOO!”

            “I think he’s allergic to you, Parkinson,” Ron teased the Slytherin. 

            “Or maybe he’s allergic to all the bullshit you wrote for that potions essay in your backpack, Weasel,” she quipped back. 

            “There’s an essay?” Harry asked eagerly.  Maybe if they had homework, Poppy would have to let him have his books…

            “Sorry Harry, Sevvy already excused you from it,” Hermione told him, patting his arm.  And when did Mione also start calling him Sevvy?  Merlin, they had to try to get those girls to spend at least a little time apart, because this was just scary!

            “Speaking of the fruit bat,” Ginny said (for that had been her nickname for him since she found out about his animagus form last year, although she was smart enough not to use it to his face.  Only Harry could get away with something like that), “he showed us how to pull out our memories of today’s classes, and we have them all here for you.”  She pulled out a little class bottle with a strand of silvery fog inside, and the others did the same, everyone setting them inside the pensieve.  Du, who had been napping, popped up with an irritated look on her face, and Ron, the last to set his bottle inside, scrambled back with a squeal. 

            “Merlin!” he cried, freckles standing out in stark relief against his face, which had gone white with fear.  “Let us know she’s in there next time, would ya?”

            “Sorry mate, I honestly forgot.  C’mere Du,” he hissed, suddenly switching to parseltongue, and the adder slithered happily to drape across her master’s shoulders. 

            “You’re much nicer than that ssssily bowl anyway,” she told Harry, affectionately bumping his cheek with her nose.  Harry thought that if he had to spend so much time cooped up in the hospital wing, at least he had so many wonderful friends and family to visit him.   

Chapter Text

          “Whelp, I’ve got three weeks detentions,” Ginny said Wednesday morning as Harry, finally free of prison the hospital wing, slid into place at the Slytherin table, where they were eating that day.

            “Why?” he asked his de facto little sister, slipping his arm over Draco’s shoulder as he allowed the blonde his usual meal time routine of filling his plate and arranging his potions by colour gradient. 

            “I accidentally slipped up and called him ‘fruity bat’ in class.  He was not happy,” the little redhead said, pouring half the sugar bowl into her tea.

            “Ouch,” Harry laughed, picking up his first potion at Draco’s insistent tapping.  “Have fun scrubbing cauldrons, sis.” 

            “Hey, we don’t know for sure if that’s what I’ll be doing,” Ginny protested.  “Pansy got to help him brew last year.”

            “Yeah, Gin, but I doubt you’ll be allowed,” Pansy broke in, waving a swiss army knife at Blaise as he tried to grab the last Danish.  “He’s crazy meticulous about Harry’s potions being perfect.  I only got to chop ingredients, and even that’s because my parents have been hiring him to give me private tutoring during the summers for years, so he trusts me.”  She bit into her Danish as Blaise pouted.  

            “Harry, your eggs aren’t going to eat themselves,” Draco reminded the darker teen, who rolled his eyes at him. 

            “Okay, Kreacher,” he teased, wandlessly levitating a blueberry and lobbing it at Draco’s nose, where it left a little purple stain.  Draco went cross-eyed looking at it before giving Harry a noogie in retaliation. 

            “You’re such a prat,” the blonde grumbled as Harry cried for mercy. 

            “Yeah, but I’m your prat,” the Gryffindor said, sticking his tongue out at him.  Draco turned red and stopped mussing Harry’s hair, and the owner of said hair tried unsuccessfully to straighten it out. 

            “Look, Dray, you’ve made it even worse than usual.  What’s the new DADA professor going to think?  I look like some ungroomed ragamuffin,” he complained, although it was ruined by the fact that he was still laughing. 

            “I still think it looks nice,” Pansy said, smiling slyly.  “Don’t you, Draco?”

            Draco, called out from where he had been staring at Harry, looked up and squeaked.  “Um, yeah,” he stuttered.  “You look great- I mean, it looks great- um, the hair, that is.”  Oh god, he was going to kill Pansy.  Or he would, if such a thing were even theoretically possible. 

            Harry, bless him, didn’t notice Draco’s embarrassment.  Pansy rolled her eyes again.  Harry was one of the most emotionally intelligent people she’d ever met, but he had a gaping blind spot when it came to noticing that one of his best friends was a big love-struck dope for him, apparently.  Mione signed something to her, and she nodded as they nudged the others out of their seats.  It was almost time for their first lesson with Moody. 

            Once they got into the classroom, they sat patiently and waited for their teacher.  They were waiting for a while; it was five minutes after the morning bell that an invisibility cloak was suddenly thrown aside with a cry of “CONSTANT VIGILENCE!”

            The entire class jumped, and Pansy, startled, pulled a dagger out of her sleeve and hurled it at the source of the fright.  The entire class looked at her in horror, sure she was about to get it for nearly killing their teacher, but he merely chuckled. 

            “There’s a girl who’s got her priorities in order; I think I’m going to like you, Parkinson,” the professor said, and Harry thought it was a little odd that he knew her name before he’d even taken role, but he was quickly distracted by the thought that Moody, with his glass eye, pitted face, and wooden leg was the only person he’d ever met who had more scars than he did.  He wondered if he could still smell out of his mutilated nose and was very grateful that Vernon had missed the time he’d thrown the kitchen knife at his face.  He didn’t think that he would be able to pull off the grizzled veteran look at only fourteen. 

            He was drawn out of his musings by Pansy’s morbid chuckle.  “I’m glad somebody appreciates it.  My parents refused to join Voldemort when I was a baby, and they had me raised to know how to fight, worried one of his non-incarcerated supporters might try to get back at them through me.” 

            “Ah, and you say the dark lord’s name as well.  You could all stand to learn something from Ms. Parkinson,” he barked to the class at large.  “You had a solid foundation in dark creatures last y ear with Professor Lupin, but you’re dreadfully behind on curses thanks to your first two incompetent instructors.  So, I got a year to teach ya what these curses are; what they look like, and how to keep yourselves safe from them.  Right then, we’re gonna start with the unforgivables.  I think it’s important that ye know what they look like in case you find yourself facing one, so Professor Dumbledore gave me permission for a little demonstration.”  Pansy raised an eyebrow at the man and then scribbled something on a list entitled Reasons for Minnie to punch DUMBledore again, and also for me and Mia to get a shot in. 

            “Right then,” the professor continued, “let’s get started.”  He pulled out a jar with a spider in it, and Ron blanched as Harry put a comforting hand on his arm.  “Needs to be a bit bigger for everyone to get a good look.  Engorgio,” Ron started shaking slightly, so Harry subtly demonstrated some of the calming breathing techniques Sarah taught him during the summer, which seemed to calm him slightly. 

            “The first curse is the Imperius curse, which can be used to exert complete and total control over another human being; they’re essentially your puppet, your slave.  The death eaters that didn’t go to prison in the war used this as an excuse, like yer father, Malfoy.”  Draco shot the man a disgusted look.

            “My father,” he spat, “is in prison for trying to kill me and one of my best friends, and I assure you that had it been my choice, I would have taken just about anyone else as a sperm donor.”  He met the man’s real eye with a challenging look, but the professor didn’t say anything.  In the back of his mind, however, he made a mental note.  The young Malfoy didn’t even have the self-serving tendencies of his father; he would be of no use to his master and would eventually have to be disposed of with the rest of the blood traitors. 

            “Right, well, here’s how it works.  I say the incantation, Imperio, and I can get this spider to do whatever I tell it.”  He demonstrated by moving his wand in a complicated series of patterns that the spider was forced to follow, moving in ways completely unnatural to it. 

            “That one is the least unforgivable of the unforgivables, but it’ll still earn you a life sentence in Azkaban like the others.  The next one,” he continued, “is the cruciatus curse, or the torture curse.  It causes the worst, most excruciating pain you’ve ever felt.  You don’t need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform it, although it takes true hatred and anger towards a person to be successful.”  Huh, Harry thought.  He believed he’d just found the one spell the Dursleys might have been fond of. 

            “Crucio!” he shouted, and the spider began to twitch and spasm, and even Ron couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for the little creature as it was so clearly suffering.  Neville, however, had a pained expression on his face, and he hadn’t looked so nervous since first year, before he started gaining confidence.  Pansy, on his right, squeezed his shoulder gently and started murmuring soothing words in his ear.  Finally, it stopped, and Neville was relieved he didn’t have an all-out panic attack in the middle of class, as it would have embarrassed him greatly.

            Moody either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the reactions of his front row.  “The last curse is the killing curse; while it might hurt less than the cruciatus, it’s final, and requires the greatest amount of rancour; you could all point your wands at me and say the incantation, Avada Kedevra, and I doubt I’d get so much as a nosebleed.”  He pointed it at the spider and repeated Avada Kedevra, and a green light flashed in the room, reminding Harry uncomfortably of one of his many unpleasant dementor memories.  The spider dropped and rolled over onto its back, lifeless.  Oh, he thought, feeling nauseous, so that’s how my parents died. 

            “Only one person has ever survived this curse,” Moody said, voice low as the students hung onto his every word.  “And he’s sitting right there,” he finished, pointing at Harry.  The teenager decided that, no matter how decent an instructor he might turn out to be, his was entirely unsavoury as a person.  He glared.  Moody ignored him. 

            “There’s no blocking these curses, and if you get hit with one, you’re usually screwed, although there are some who can be trained to fight the Imperius curse if they have the proper force of will.  That’s what we’re learning today.  Potter, you’re up first,” he said, and Harry reluctantly walked up to the front of the room to stand beside the professor.  Pansy wrote something else down on her list.

            “Imperio,” the grizzled man cried gruffly, and Harry saw the spell coming at him although it was of course invisible to everyone else.  In a flash of insight, he reached out with his own core and stopped it just before it hit him, instead pushing it back towards the professor.  The rest of the class watched in confusion and fascination as instead of beginning to give a cursed Harry orders, Moody’s eyes instead glazed over as he stood stock still.  Okay, Harry thought, so I’ve got my professor under the Imperius curse.  What do I do now?  He figured apologies would be a good place to start, but although he saw Neville get upset at the cruciatus demonstration, he figured the fact that he’d kept silent meant that he didn’t want his reaction aired publicly.  Okay, so that left…

            “Professor,” he ordered.  “Apologise to Draco for being a dick.” 

            The man robotically turned to the indicated student.  “I am sorry, Draco, for being a dick,” he said robotically, and the class laughed. 

            “Oh!” Ernie Macmillion called out, “tell him to burp the alphabet!”

            “Wait, no!” Lavender exclaimed.  “Tell him to sing the new Spice Girls single!”

            “That’s dumb!” Terrence Boot called out.  “Make him lick his own elbow; I want to see if it can be done!”

            “Make him light his desk on fire!” This, predictably, came from Seamus. 

            “Um, guys?” Harry interjected, “you do realise that I’m not sure exactly how legal this is, right?”  The fourteen-year-olds simultaneously shrugged and continued calling out suggestions, so Harry had them form a line to take turns telling him what to do.  No offence to Remus, but it was the best class they’d ever had.   

Chapter Text

           The only other classes besides DADA on the fourth year agenda on Wednesdays were History of Magic and Divination/Ancient Runes for those who took them, so Harry didn’t get a chance to chat with Minerva or Severus for the rest of the day, and Minnie, oddly enough, wasn’t in the common room when Harry and his friends got back from dinner. 

            “Maybe she’s finishing up some grading in her office,” Harry shrugged, shuffling a deck of exploding snap cards and dealing them out to everybody.

            “I can’t wait to tell her how much fun we had in defence class,” Pansy said, smiling slyly and looking at her hand.  She really hoped Seamus hadn’t gotten too many volatile cards. 

[Sirius and Remus are cuddling, slowly waking up from their afternoon nap.  It was so good to be together again after so much hardship.]

            Earlier that day, during study period, Minnie was enjoying a catnap (literally) in the corner of her common room.  Some of her fourth years spent their free time in the tower, but she knew Harry and his friends were training in the come-and-go room, so she didn’t worry about his absence.  Lavender and Parvati, however, were gossiping loudly enough that she stirred slowly awake and, for lack of a desire to move, just listened. 

            “Did you see when Zacharias made him dance the jig?” Parvati was asking her best friend, snorting with laughter.  “He looked like a big, grizzly leprechaun!”

            “Yeah, well my favourite was when… when Neville told him to shove his head up his arse, but he actually tried to do it literally and… and it was like some modern art piece, but instead of the pretty naked girl there was just… Moody… and,” Lavender couldn’t say anymore for laughing too hard, and Parvati had to catch her when she fell over, gasping for air as even the memory of it kept her in stitches. 

            Minerva thought that she must have missed something, as the conversation was so… well, there wasn’t really a word for it.  She wondered if her Gryffindors had started raiding Sprout’s greenhouses, but the girls were still talking, so she kept listening in hopes that something was cleared up.  And cleared up it was…

            “I can’t believe Dumbledore authorised that,” Parvati was saying.  “I mean, I could get it if there was an optional demonstration, but we’re children of the war- there should have been a warning or he should have allowed us to leave.  That was kind of messed up, how he just demonstrated a killing curse and then put Harry on the spot like that.  Did you see his face?  He looked like he just wanted to melt into the floor.  And even Padma said that actually casting the Imperious on students was too much, even for educational purposes, and you know how she is with that stuff,” the Indian girl took a moment to roll her eyes at her twin’s sheer… Ravenclawness.  “And he didn’t even make it optional.  I’m glad Harry managed to turn it back on him and none of the rest of us had to do it.  I think Moody deserved it when we messed with him; he would have done the same thing to us.”

            The girls were suddenly startled out of their conversation by their teacher appearing in the middle of the common room and stalking towards them, looking furious. 

            “I’m going to need the whole story,” she told them, trying not to scare the girls- her barely-constrained rage wasn’t directed at them, after all, but she couldn’t quite believe that the headmaster would dare do something so stupid after his last monumental blunder. 

            Severus, in his dungeon, was hearing similar stories, and he was angrier about it than even a hundred Weasley twins and their fireworks could possibly make him.  He didn’t even bother with his usual dignified stalk, rather sprinting fully towards the headmaster’s office, wand held tightly in a clenched fist. 

            He was planning on talking to Albus first, although if he happened to pass Alastor on the way, he was fully willing to be a few minutes late to his appointment.  As he neared the gargoyle, he spotted Minerva coming in from the opposite direction, and one look at her face told him she too, had heard what happened in defence class that morning.  The gargoyle took one look at the infuriated staff members and nearly chipped itself springing open. 

            “ALBUS!” for once it was Snape’s voice leading up the yelling; Minerva’s anger was such that it was too great for coherent thought.

            “Severus, my dear boy, what can I do for you?” the headmaster asked, looking over his spectacles with the bearing of a man who had absolutely no idea what could possibly be wrong.  However, in place of the usual irritating twinkle, his eyes held more than a glimmer of fear. 

            The Slytherin took a deep breath.  “Don’t you ‘dear boy’ me!” he snapped, his voice back to his usual (deadly) growl of anger.  “Now, did you, or did you not, tell Moody he could demonstrate the Unforgivable curses on students?”  His voice was low and silky, with all the promised danger of a viper preparing to strike. 

            Dumbledore’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously.  “Well, I… the way you’re framing it isn’t… the students need to know what could be faced with.  It was for the greater good, you see?”

            The windows all shattered violently, a storm of broken glass raining down upon the office.  “And why, pray tell, would the students need to know what unforgivable curses look like when there is no plausible reason a responsible adult would ever allow them anywhere near one?” Like quiet Severus, quiet Minerva was terrifying, although perhaps more so.  One could expect a quiet attack from a serpent, but it was far more disconcerting when a lion didn’t use its roar.

            “Um…” the air seemed to still with anticipation, and all the portraits fled to their other frames, sensing it was not safe for them here.  Fawkes likewise disappeared in a poof of flames and feathers.

            The stifling silence continued for an interminable moment before several things happened at once.  Various expensive magical devices and doodads broke in quick succession, the sound like rounds of muggle gunpowder.  Minerva fired a blasting hex just on the border of legal at the old wizard, who ducked.  The spell bounced off of Fawkes’ empty cage before rebounding and knocking Albus’ desk chair towards the back wall, where the wooden backrest cracked down the middle.

            Then the floo flared to life and Remus and Sirius burst through, bare-chested; neither had bothered to put on their shirts before rushing through the floo.  Gone were their usual easy demeanours.  In place of Sirius’ sparkling grey eyes and mischievous, charming smile, his expression a thunder cloud; he looked fully capable of murder, and while Dumbledore had never associated Sirius with the strand of insanity said to run through the Black family, he would have rather faced Bellatrix in a minute; the head of the family showed not the barest inclination of taking time for talking and taunts.  He had a single-minded purpose in the hard line of his mouth. 

            Remus was no longer a werewolf, but thirty years of lycanthropy hadn’t seen him looking so feral outside of the full moon.  His amber eyes had softened to a warm honey colour when Harry removed the wolf, but now they were the colour of boiling golden syrup right before it bubbled and splattered and burned anyone unlucky enough to be standing too close to the pot.  He had fewer grey hairs these days, and the new youth and vitality of his appearance only made him look more virile, and, at the moment, fully ready to attack.

            “My dear Great-Uncle Phineas told Remus and I an interesting story just now, Albus.  Do you care to guess what it was?” Sirius ground out, the corner of his mouth quirking into the slightest of bitter smiles.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Severus noted that here was a Sirius Black he could get behind. 

            “Umm…” Dumbledore swallowed again.  

            “You know, I could almost see it of Moody, with all his paranoia, to think it’s more important to convince kids that there’s someone always around every corner trying to kill them and that fear is healthier than innocence, but you, Albus… well, I expected better.  Although I suppose I really shouldn’t have after spending thirteen years in Azkaban without even a word from my old teacher about how out-of-character it would be for me to do something like that, or to maybe bring up that I at least deserved a trial,” Sirius smiled bitterly at the headmaster.  To think he thought that he once looked up to this man as a mentor, that his one comforting thought in Azkaban had been that surely Dumbledore would make sure Harry was safe and happy. 

            Remus tightened his arm around his partner as he too, glared at Albus.  “I at least would have thought you’d have prevented someone from casting an unforgivable on our godson in the middle of Hogwarts.” 

            “These are dangerous times, Remus.  Pettigrew has escaped.  Harry needs to be prepared,” Albus tried to defend himself. 

            “Oh, and you think we’re just going to leave him open to attack, do you?” Minerva clenched her fists and ground her teeth.  “While that may be your style, Albus, it isn’t ours.”

            “I swear to God, old man, if I thought there was any chance that the Ministry would pay me any mind, I’d petition for your removal tomorrow,” Severus said, pinching his nose. 

            “Perhaps I should end my leave of absence early and come back,” Remus mused.  Minerva looked at him. 

            “No, dear,” she said, her voice back to its normal, pleasant-but-practical tone.  “You’ve more than earned some peace.  I will tell you what we are going to do.  First, we’re going to take all your toys,” she said, smiling dangerously at Albus, as, with a wave of her wand, every remaining unbroken artefact was a pile of rubble.  The headmaster blanched: a lifetime of collecting priceless relics, gone in a moment.

            “Next: Severus and I will be having a talk with Alastor, and he will be required to submit all his lesson plans to one of us ahead of time, and a recording spell shall be placed on the classroom to ensure his compliance.  He will answer to us, not to you.  He is a bit funny in the head, and he is only a temporary instructor, not that that excuses his actions, although he did just have another of his paranoia sprees a month ago with the trash bins he thought were murderous wizards, so I suppose we really should have been more prepared for him to go overboard,” the head of Gryffindor conceded, reluctantly.  “However, you, for condoning this crackpot madness, have no such mitigating factors.  Seeing as pain clearly didn’t work, and I’m unfortunately required to operate within the boundaries of the law, we’ll have to try humiliation, hmm?”  Dumbledore didn’t like the sound of his voice, or the gleam in his eyes as she looked at his beloved beard. 

            Severus seemed to catch on as well.  “I have a hair removal potion in my office, I will collect it while you all do the preliminary trim.  Well, mutt?” he looked at Sirius.  “You talk a good game; let’s see how good your stunning charm is.’

            “Well, well, well.  I never thought I’d say this to you, but with pleasure, Sniv- Severus,” he corrected himself, waving his wand and rooting Albus to the spot.  Remus began trimming the long white beard with a localized severing charm. 

            “Must be nice to deal with fur that’s not yours, eh, wolf?” Severus asked as he walked to open the office door. 

            Remus rolled his eyes.  “Just summon the potion, won’t you?”

            Ten minutes later, the four adults stepped back to survey their work.  “Huh, I see why you grew the beard Albus, you’ve rather a weak chin,” Severus said, squinting. 

            They all looked at each other and chuckled slightly, which turned into the four of them laughing hysterically over the still-stunned headmaster, who, unable to move, had fallen backwards to the floor once his disciplinary squad had stepped away.  When the hilarity eventually overcome their ability to breath, Severus pulled a calming draught out of his robes and they all passed it around like it was whisky and they were teenagers at a bonfire instead of fully-functioning adults standing around the petrified body of their newly beardless boss. 

            “Well, Severus,” Sirius said, finishing off the phial as it came around to him.  “I never once imagined life turning out this way, but it has been lovely causing chaos with you.” 

            “Likewise,” the potions master said, and the irony of it all wasn’t as bitter as he’d thought it would be as they went their separate ways out of the ruined office, Sev and Minnie through the door and Remus and Sirius through the fireplace.  Then it was just an old, beardless man lying stiff as a board on the gritty floor, surrounded by the pieces of his prized possessions while a newly-returned Fawkes gave him a disappointed look. 

Chapter Text

             Dumbledore’s ‘decision’ to shave his beard caused quite a stir amongst the student body, and some of the upper years had taken to calling him “Derpy Dumbles” behind his back.  Other than that, though, nothing much exciting happened for a couple of months.  Even Moody’s lessons, while not boring, involved no more unforgivable curses, and by the time they neared the end of October, Harry was actually beginning to feel rather relaxed.  They’d begun studying for their OWL’s, of course, because they were friends with Hermione, and Pansy was working on their current mission for SPEW, which was to help Winky get her confidence back.  The little elf was still uncomfortable wearing clothes, but she hadn’t been able to resist falling in love with the armour that Pansy had custom-made for her, so she began the journey of getting over her old master the same way the heroine in every action movie gets over a breakup- by becoming a warrior.  Ron, in his free time, was flying around the empty quidditch pitch on the Nimbus (whenever he could wrest it away from Ginny and the twins) and devouring every article on Victor Krum he could find in Quidditch Weekly, Seamus was lighting things on fire, Neville was devoting attention to his plants, Hannah and Susan were trying to help Ron realise that he had a ginormous crush on Victor Krum, Dean was trying to make Seamus realise he had an enormous crush on him, and Blaise was… Blaise was making out with every single girl and guy he could find from fourth to seventh years, except Millicent Bullstrode, because he knew Pansy still had an eye on her (and Hermione too, by extension, although nobody else knew that; they were merely taking things cautiously, uncertain of how the girl would view their potential relationship dynamic).

            The only upset in Harry’s life was when Draco caught a cold in mid-October and Harry, due to his weakened immune system, was allowed no contact with his friend for about a week, a very hard week for Severus, who had to deal not only with a sniffling Draco missing Harry but a worried Harry missing Draco.  While he’d only spent one day in the hospital wing, he’d had to wear a surgical mask around school to prevent the spread of germs and sit on the opposite side of every classroom from Harry as they spent their entire lecture periods sneaking mopey, pining looks at each other.

            When Pomphrey finally declared Draco no longer contagious, it was October 30, and they were eating dinner at the Gryffindor table, finally together again as a complete group.  Harry was sitting so close to Draco he was practically in the other’s lap while the blonde happily resumed his old routine of arranging Harry’s potions and filling his plate. 

            “Don’t get too comfortable,” Pansy teased.  “Our guests are coming today, so we have to go greet them right after dinner.” 

            Harry buried his head further into Draco’s shoulder.  “Don’t tell me what to do, you’re not my Minnie,” he grumbled.  Draco withdrawal had made him rather cranky. 

            “Well, I tried,” Pansy signed to Hermione, who giggled.

            “What a fussy kitten,” she signed back. 

            “Hey! I am not fussy!” Harry said out loud. 

            Everyone turned to look at him.  “When did you learn sign language?” Ron asked.  Why was everyone like, doing stuff?

            Harry blushed, caught out.  “Those two use it so much that I picked some up.  I can’t really speak it, er, um, sign it,” he corrected, hiding behind his hair.  “But I can catch some of what they’re saying, like Minnie when she speaks Scots.” 

            “Damn it, Harry!  What’s a girl gotta do to have a secret language around here, learn Russian?”

            “Nope, that won’t work.  I used to have a Russian friend in Primary school, so I remember a little of that from when we used to hang out.  But then he learned English, and all the other kids told him I was a freak, so that didn’t last more than a few months.”  Harry explained.  Draco held him tighter.

            “Well, that’s his loss.  You’re mine now,” he said, brushing a curl off his forehead.  Putting the sad story out of her mind, Ginny looked at them being all domestic- when were they going to realise they were practically already dating? 

            “Thanks, Dray,” Harry said, smiling shyly.  “Hey, you want the rest of my treacle tart?  I’m full.” 

            The blond pulled back and gave him a stern look.  “You will finish that dessert or I will feed it to you, Harry.  I put the proper portion size on your plate and you need to eat it all.  Have you been slacking without me?  I told Pansy that she was supposed to do it while I couldn’t!”  Draco waved his hands emphatically, nearly taking Ron’s eye out in the process.  “Oops, sorry Weasel.” 

            “Relax Dray, Pansy did her job.  It’s just that I made shortbread with Winky during study hall and I don’t want anymore sugar.” 

            “Oh,” Draco calmed down.  “That’s okay then.”  Blaise reached out and nabbed Harry’s treat; Pansy had a habit of taking all the last sweets by virtue of being fucking terrifying. 

            Then Minnie called them all up to go outside, subtly tucking Harry’s scarf more snugly around him when he passed by.  He smiled at her, still arm in arm with Draco.  She rolled her eyes- she’d thought about talking to him about his obvious crush on the other boy, but he was just so adorable, all oblivious.  Of course, if she told him that, he’d only get angry about being called adorable, and when he was angry he looked like a baby deer trying to be intimidating, which only made her think he was cuter, and thus the cycle continued. 

            Pansy pulled on a second pair of gloves.  The cold dry air tended to make her scarred hands ache, and she needed her hands to always be ready for a fight.  Hermione had gotten her two thin pairs of gloves for her birthday, one to go on top the other, each with warming charms, so that she was both comfortable and her hands had full mobility.  Hermione was the perfect… whatever they were.  Hermione was the perfect Hermione.  There- that worked. 

            They stood on the cold grounds for a few moments, and some of the younger years were beginning to get fidgety and impatient when at last a great shape loomed over the horizon.

            “Aha, unless I’m very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches,” Dumbledore said.  Minerva snorted derisively. 

            “You’re very much mistaken a lot, Albus, so kindly keep your trap shut until we find out for ourselves,” she told him, loudly enough for Harry and his friends to hear.  Fred and George laughed- they really did have the best head of house.

            Apparently, Dumbledore’s eyes worked better than his brain, at least, as a giant powder-blue carriage the size of a house indeed touched down in the middle of the clearing. It was pulled by a dozen winged Palomino horses, each the size of an elephant.  They snorted and tossed their heads and rolled their great red eyes, and Harry stood on tiptoes to try to get a better look. 

            “Here, lil bro,” Fred said, lifting the little fourth year up to sit on his shoulders, and Harry, although slightly embarrassed, couldn’t help but be grateful as he got a closer look at the beautiful animals.  Their magic, the same colour as their hides, was a force to be reckoned with; it felt like an aggressive headbutt and it smelled like whisky.  He finally stole his eyes away from the horses to take a better look at the carriage, the door of which was emblazoned with the Beauxbatons crest: two golden wands laid across each other, each emitting three stars.

            A boy in pale blue robes came down and pulled down a set of retractable steps as a dignified woman stepped out of the carriage.  If you’d seen her in the streets, you’d have thought she was a government official or the president of a large company, except for one thing: she was the largest woman they’d ever seen, easily matching Hagrid in size, perhaps seeming even a bit larger because she was unfamiliar.  She had an aquiline nose, olive skin, and short brown hair of the style one might have seen in a 1920’s American flapper girl. She had large eyes of the same deep black as Professor Snape, although hers were softer, and coupled with the elegant black satin robes and the large opal at her throat, she looked like the rich widowed benefactress of a post-industrial revolution orphanage.  Her magic was like a warm hug, but with a touch of steel- she was kind, but fearsome. 

            She walked up to Dumbledore and gracefully extended a bejewelled hand, which Dumbledore leant down to kiss.  Harry felt bad for her; Dumbledore was not a person whose lips someone would want touching any part of them. 

            “My dear Madame Maxime,” he said.  “Welcome to Hogwarts.”

            “Dumbly-dorr,” she said in a deep but elegantly effeminate voice.  “I ‘ope I find you well?  I see you ‘ave shaved your beard; I must admit I think eet eez a good idea.  I always ‘ated it.”

            “Yes, well, a matter of opinion,” the headmaster said with a grimace, stroking his bare chin mournfully.

            Harry had already moved his attention onto her students, a dozen boys and girls who appeared to be near the end of their schooling.  He noticed they were all shivering, which was unsurprising, as their robes were made of thin blue silk and not made for Scottish winters.  The warmest thing any of them had on were the hijabs of about a third of the female students, but the others had not even that. He shot a few warming charms in their direction and they appeared to be feeling a little more comfortable.  The first person in the line was a girl who was clearly about a quarter veela from the feel of her magic, although she appeared to be suppressing her aura to the best of her ability.  Harry studied her face with interest.  The only person he’d ever met with features that defined was Draco, and he idly wondered if his friend had a veela somewhere in his ancestry line. 

            From half-listening to the conversation Madame Maxine was still having with Dumbledore, he understood that they were still waiting for someone named Karkaroff, who must be the headmaster of Durmstrang.

            “Would you like to go inside and warm up?” Minerva asked, looking at the thin-robed students sympathetically and interrupting the small talk. 

            “Yes, zat would be nice,” the Frenchwoman said, “but ze ‘orses-”

            “Oh, Hagrid is more than up to the task of taking care of them,” Minnie laughed.  “In fact, I’m sure he would be delighted.”

            “They are very difficult…” Madame Maxine continued. 

            “Are they now?” Severus drawled, for one of the ‘difficult’ horses had stretched its neck out to softly snuffle at Harry’s hair and gently run a warm nose along his cheek as he giggled. 

            “I… ‘zey normally do not do zat,” Madame Maxine looked positively dumbfounded. 

            “Oh, that’s just my Harry,” Minnie smiled fondly.  “He has a way with animals.  Difficult or not, though, Hagrid can manage them.”

            “Very well,” Maxine said, still looking baffled.  “Will you please inform zis ‘Agrid zat ze ‘orses drink only single-malt whiskey?”

            “Oh, you’ll get along well, then,” Severus whispered to his Scottish colleague, who swatted at him playfully. 

            “It will be taken care of,” the tabby animagus promised, smiling comfortably at the Frenchwoman.  “If any of your Muslim students need to do their prayers, you may call an elf to take them to a room on the seventh floor that will suit their needs.” 

            Maxine looked surprised again.  “Why zank you.  Zey are unaccustomed to such courtesy.” 

            The Hogwarts students continued to wait, looking hopefully at the sky, although Harry was looking at the lake… he could feel some distant magic coming through…

            For a moment, the silence was broken only by the horses, who were all crowding Harry, still on Fred’s shoulders, and scuffling amongst themselves for the privilege of snuffling gently at him with their velvet noses.  He tried to give them all equal amounts of attention, and Severus could have sworn he saw whichever horse was being petted at the time give smug looks to the others.

            Suddenly, the grounds began to shake and rattle and, just as Harry suspected, the lake began to bubble, and slowly a whirlpool formed in the middle.  A long, black pole slowly arose, and Harry could dimly make out the sight of rigging through the darkness. 

            “It’s a ship!” he told his friends, curiously feeling around for whatever magic allowed this kind of travel.  Oddly enough, it felt like a very slight variation of just a vastly overpowered apparation spell and a water-repelling charm.  Huh, Harry thought, sometimes the solution was just that simple. 

            The magnificent ship slowly rose out, gleaming in the moonlight.  Harry knew this was a very old ship- he could feel it in the age of the magic permeating every rope, board, and crate.  With a great slurp! the ship pulled itself completely out of the water, gliding towards the bank, where a plank was promptly lowered.  Like with the Beauxbatons carriage, a group of older boys and girls disembarked, wearing heavy furs, except for their leader, who was wearing silver furs that caught the moonlight.  His hair was the same colour, although some strands of its original black clung stubbornly to their vanity, refusing to give way to the indignities of aging. 

            “Dumbledore!” he called in a reedy voice, far thinner than the typical eastern European accent, “how are you, good man?”

            “Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff,” Professor Dumbledore replied, and Harry cast another warming charm over his hands and curled closer into the warmth of the horse that was currently nuzzling him.  He wished they’d get on with it, he was freezing. 

            The Durmstrang headmaster was tall and thin like professor Dumbledore, and his silver goatee did not entirely hide his chin, even weaker than their own headmaster’s.  Pansy looked at him critically and thought that if headmaster chin strength correlated with intelligence, they were in trouble. 

            “Ah, dear old Hogwarts,” Karkaroff said, yellow teeth flashing in an almost feral smile that did not reach cold, fishy eyes.  Harry noticed with a shudder that he had the dark mark, and it was not nearly as repressed as Sev’s had been.  He made a mental note to tell him and Minnie as soon as they went inside.  While he did this, the man kept talking.

            “It is lovely to be here again… Viktor, come along, into the warmth… you don’t mind, Dumbledore?  Viktor has a slight head cold…” Minnie, hearing this, lifted Harry from Fred’s shoulders and as far away from the indicated student as possible, and the large golden horses pouted and stamped at his removal. 

            As the Durmstrang student stepped into the light, Harry could see, even through Minnie’s protective stance, the prominent beaky nose and thick black eyebrows of Viktor Krum, and he knew Ron well enough not to be surprised with his best friend’s squeal. 

            “It- it’s Krum!”  Pansy groaned as they all wandered towards the castle- as if she didn’t have enough romances to coordinate already. 

Chapter Text

             They headed back towards the dining hall because although the Hogwarts students had already eaten, their guests had not, so they, like good hosts, were to keep them company whilst they feasted.  Harry kept a suspicious eye on Karkaroff as they all filed in and took their seats.

            “Welcome to all our guests!” Dumbledore called, “I hope you shall all be comfortable and enjoy your stay!” Down at the Ravenclaw table, the girl with the Veela aura gave a little snort. 

            “Well that’s a little rude,” Ron said, looking at her.

            “I don’t know,” Harry spoke up.  “It is always really cold in the castle, I mean, would it kill Dumbledore to spring for central heat?”  He blew on his freezing hands, and Draco pulled his shivering form closer. 

            “Oh Merlin! It’s Krum!” Ron said as the quidditch player slowly made his way over.  “Be cool, be cool!”  Draco ignored the redhead, pulled a clean surgical mask out of his bag, and handed it to Harry. 

            “Here, so you won’t breath his germs,” the blonde said, and Harry rolled his eyes but put it over his face.

            “Vould you mind sharing your musaka?” he asked, pointing to something that looked like lasagne but was made with potatoes.  “Ve have run out.”

            “Oh, of course!” Ron exclaimed, nearly dropping the dish in his rush to get it into the older student’s hands.  “By the way, I think you were just bloody brilliant in the World Cup!” 

            Krum’s dour expression brightened slightly as he looked at Ron.  “Zank you,” he said, with a slightly bitter smile.  “I am afraid my teammates did not agree vith you.” 

            “They’re stupid, then,” Ron said, still looking at Viktor with stars in his eyes.  “There’s no way they could have caught up, and you couldn’t possibly carry the whole team, no matter how great a seeker you are! I mean, they should be grateful that you caught it and they didn’t have to spend months playing like the World Cup in 1965.” 

            “Ah, you know your quidditch, ven,” Viktor said, looking at him with more interest now.  “Vat is your favourite British team?”           

            “The Chudley Canons,” Ron said, turning red.  “I mean, I know they haven’t won in a while, but…”

            “You like ze underdogs,” Krum finished.  “I am ze same vay vith my favourite teams.  I vanted to play for ze smallest team in my country, ze Zheravna Zebras, but it wouldn’t have paid for my schooling, so I had to accept ze offer to play for ze national team.” 

            “Brilliant!” Ron breathed, putting his chin in his hands and leaning forward.

            “Vould you like to go talk more vith me at the green table?  It has been a long time zince I have found someone vith my taste in quidditch teams.”  Ron practically jumped out of his seat, abandoning his still-full plate of second dinner in his haste.

            “He’s got it ba-aad,” Ginny sang as Harry pulled off the surgical mask in relief.  It reminded him too much of the oxygen mask he had to wear when he had pneumonia; suffocating and uncomfortable. 

            “You think?” Seamus asked, biting into a spicy Bulgarian kabob. 

            “Obviously,” Pansy said, “haven’t you noticed the way he’s been mooning over him for weeks?”  She was about to say more, but just then the girl with the Veela aura came over. 

            “Do you mind if I fill me bowl with ze Bouillabaisse?” she asked Pansy.  “Zey did not put very much at ze table that I sit at.” 

            “Bien sûr, mademoiselle,” Pansy said in perfect French.  “Te prends tout, a nous n’aimons pas les fruits de mer,” she finished politely, rather captivated by the girl’s lovely appearance, but, unlike Weasel, unwilling to make a fool of herself. 

            “Ah, you speak ze French well, zen.  Your accent eez exquisite.  Perhaps you vould like to ‘elp me with mine een English sometime?”

            “I think Mia and I could arrange some time to be dialect coaches for such a lovely Frenchwoman,” Pansy said, putting her arm around Hermione, who was also staring appreciatively at her. 

            “Ah, vonderful! My name eez Fleur, Fleur Delacour,” the blonde said, sticking her hand out for both of them to shake.  When she saw Pansy’s scars, her eyes widened, but, a true sign of her unctuous politeness, schooled her expression into a smile as she finished shaking hands and took her soup back to the Ravenclaw table. 

            “Did you see her?” Pansy asked. 

            “I know!” Hermione said.  “Her skin was like a porcelain doll!  And her eyes…” she sighed.  “Harry, her eyes were as blue as yours are green.” 

            Harry, who had been sharing a small sample of Bulgarian salad with Draco, looked over curiously.  “I didn’t notice; I wasn’t looking,” he said, accepting the spoonful of tomatoes and cucumbers topped with cheese that Draco was feeding him.  “I felt her magic earlier, though, and she’s part veela, so that might explain your reaction.”

            “Veela or no, I could just devour her like a fresh French pastry,” Pansy sighed as Hermione nodded emphatically. 

            “You guys are gross!” Harry made a face.  “Can’t you go be hormonal somewhere else?”  They both looked like they were about to scold him, but just then, Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch came into the hall.

            “Ugh, why is he here?” Hermione groaned, eyeing Crouch with distaste. 

            “I don’t know, but Perhaps I’ll tell Winky.  She’s passed through sadness and into anger, she might want to demonstrate some of the new jujitsu we’ve been learning together,” Pansy said, smiling far too widely. 

            “Forget about that loser; Bagman still owes us our bet money,” Fred said, poking George in the arm.  Before his twin could respond, Dumbledore started talking. 

            “Attention, please: students, I would like you to give a warm welcome to Mr. Barty Crouch, Head of the Department of International Cooperation, and Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.  They have worked tirelessly to organize the Triwizard Tournament over the past few months, and as the time has now come to begin the festivities, they will be joining Madame Maxine, Professor Karkaroff, and myself in judging the champions’ performance.”  There was an excited murmur from the crowd, but Harry groaned… why did he have a bad feeling about this?  Well, besides the fact that it was disrupting Quidditch…

            “Hagrid, if you would bring in the casket?” the headmaster continued. 

            Harry groaned.  He didn’t like caskets, mainly because the Dursleys did everything they could while he was growing up to put him into one…

            But this casket was more like a shipping crate, if shipping crates were encrusted in jewels.  The excited students all looked towards the mysterious box, and Harry and the only other kid his size, Dennis Creevy (Colin’s little brother, for even Colin had outgrown Harry the preceding year), stood up on their chairs for a closer look, but they could still barely see over the crowd of standing students.  They shared a mournful look in solidarity, and Harry wondered if they should start The Being Short Sucks Club together and hold fundraisers to make very high platform shoes.  He was dragged out of his planning by Dumbledore’s continued insistence to make sounds come out of his mouth. 

            “The instructions for the tasks have been carefully selected by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman, and they have made all the necessary arrangements for the three tasks, which will be spaced throughout the year.  They will test champions on their magical abilities, their powers of deduction, and of course, their abilities to cope with danger.”  Severus and Minnie looked at each other and rolled their eyes; only Dumbledore would include danger as an of course.  Stupid old man…

            Hagrid had apparently gotten sick of holding the crate up while Dumbledore postulated and preened for their guests, and he set it down roughly.  Dumbledore gave a short grimace, but apparently decided to wrap things up, and Harry noticed Professor Snape, of all people, giving Hagrid a stealthy high five as the large man walked back to his seat.

            “There will be three champions, one from each school, chosen by our impartial judge, the goblet of fire.”  He looked rather put out by the interruption of his grand presentation as he pulled out a rough-hewn wooden goblet, which even with its blue-white flames was entirely unremarkable.  Harry, who had had to learn to bartend for the Dursleys’ dinner parties, had made flaming martinis that were more impressive.

            “Potential champions will have twenty-four hours to put their names in, and the delegates will be chosen tomorrow night at the Halloween feast.  Oh, and you must be of age to put your name in.  There will be an age line ensuring that.”  Harry looked at Dumbledore in disbelief.  An age line?! That’s was it?  Goodness, Pansy could probably break such a weak spell with one of her daggers! His beliefs were only confirmed as Dumbledore cast the line, and Merlin, you think he would have been more careful after having received what he knew was a harsh lecture from Minnie and Sev for allowing the tournament in the first place.  He whispered something to Draco, who in turn whispered to Pansy and Hermione, and they all subtly pointed their wands at the line and cast a few more spells.  It wasn’t ideal, but it was something… he’d have to bring this up with Minnie and Sev when he told them about Karkaroff after the feast. 

            Dumbledore said something else about how entering the tournament shouldn’t be taken lightly and that it was a binding magical contract, and Harry turned to Draco and mumbled that Dumbledore should have taken his own advice about hosting the tournament.  The blonde laughed and playfully squeezed his arm, and then, for some reason, they both blushed.

            “Alright, alright, back to the ship,” Karkaroff was waving his students through, going to collect Viktor first, who rather reluctantly stopped his animated conversation with Ron.  Then he was berating one of his other students for spilling food, so into his lecture that he nearly bumped right into Harry.  He opened his mouth to scold Harry as well when he suddenly caught notice of his scar.  The entire Durmstrang delegation was suddenly staring at him, and Harry began to wish he’d cast a glamour over his very prominent lightning scar. 

            “Why, Ha-” but the Durmstrang headmaster was cut off as Severus elbowed his way carefully through the crowd. 

            “Yes, Igor.  Harry Potter, a British wizard, goes to a British wizardry school.  Astonishing, isn’t it?” He growled.  “Now, if you’re just going to sit there staring like an idiot, would you kindly move?  Your apparent unconcern for arriving on time with your delegation has already pushed off the feast enough, and I shall not have my students falling asleep in class tomorrow because you can’t stop creepily ogling a fourteen-year-old.” 

            Harry shot Uncle Sev a grateful look as the crowd dispersed and Minnie was able to get out of the hall. 

            “I need to talk to you two,” he told Severus in Latin, before repeating it to Minnie in rudimentary Scots.  They walked along the hallway until most of the crowd was ahead before ducking into an abandoned classroom. 

            “Are you alright, Harry?” Snape asked him worriedly.  “I promise I won’t be letting Karkaroff anywhere near you again.” 

            “It’s not that, per se… well, it sort of is.  When he got off his ship, I… he has the dark mark, and he, well, he wasn’t even trying to suppress it.”  Severus looked at him. 

            “I had a feeling,” he said, a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder.  “While I never saw him personally, he seemed like the type.  I know for certain he wasn’t in Voldemort’s inner circle,” he said, no longer afraid to say the name now that his own mark was gone, “but he had a lot of errand boys, and Igor was one of them, I assume.  Word in Knockturn Alley was that he sold out some of his compatriots to avoid a prison sentence before fleeing back to Bulgaria, where he was raised.”

            “Disgusting, the kinds of people they let run a school these days,” Minnie intoned, clearly not talking exclusively about Karkaroff. 

            “Yeah, about that… you guys might wanna work on the age line a bit.  I felt it; Dumbledore barely even did anything, so we put a few more spells on it, but I don’t think it’s enough to keep even a third year out, if they’re determined enough.” 

            Both professors’ faces darkened like thunder.  “Thank you for telling us, Harry.  Now, why don’t you apparate back to your bedroom and go to the dorm from there so Severus and I can go take care of that immediately; I’d rather not have you walking alone in the hallway at the moment, with everything that has occurred tonight,” Minnie said. Harry nodded and silently popped away. 

[Severus and Minerva are examining the age line; their students have done a remarkable job for the limited education they’ve received, but unfortunately the same cannot be said for Dumbledore]

            As the next day was Saturday, most students slept late, although not Harry.  Since there were so few students in the hall this early, he felt quite comfortable taking Du down to breakfast.  He found Draco waiting for him, which surprised him a little, but the other boy mumbled something about trouble sleeping and put a few extra sausages on his plate, correctly anticipating he’d be feeding some to his snake. 

            The twins cheerily came down about ten minutes later. 

            “Hey mates,” they said in unison.

            “You guys are up early,” Harry said.

            “Professors Snape and our dear McG have asked us to check the extra protections they put on the goblet.  We even have an aging potion from the dungeon bat to do the thing properly.”  Draco, Harry, and a few early-rising Hufflepuffs watched in anticipation as each twin took a few drops and walked towards the age line, only to hit an invisible barrier.  When they drew back, they each had long white beards. 

            “Well that’s just a kick in the pants, isn’t it?” Fred said, laughing.  “Giving us beards when Dumbledore’s had no success growing his back.” 

            “Righty-O, mate,” George said.  “And I must say, you look smashing, dear fellow.  Do you think we should keep them on today, just to showcase our hairy maturity?”

            Snape, who was walking into the hall right at that moment, looked at the twins.  “Detention if you haven’t shaved them by my class; it’s dangerous to brew with those monstrosities growing from your chins.” 

            “Oh Professor,” George cried, clutching his heart theatrically.  “Just when we thought you were getting more fun, you start going on about safety and such madness.” 

            “And that, right there, is why Harry is allowed to experiment in my labs and you are not,” the professor told them, rolling his eyes. 

            “I think it’s just because ickle Harrykins is your favourite,” Fred challenged.  Severus looked at them and smirked.

            “I don’t pick favourites,” he said, deadpan.  “I like Harry’s and not-Harry’s equally.”  The twins only laughed.

            “Touché, Professor, touché.” George said.

            “Yeah,” Fred agreed.  “You couldn’t pick a better favourite; Harry’s our favourite brother, if we’re being totally honest.”  From his seat, Harry was blushing hotly.

            “Guys!” he grumbled, but he couldn’t help a small smile from gracing his face as Draco told him that Harry was his favourite as well. 

[Sirius has tried to make his boyfriend break-fast-in bed and failed miserably.  Kreacher rolled his eyes, grabbed the fire extinguisher, and handed his mutt master the tray he had on stand-by.]

            After breakfast, during which the others had eventually joined them, Ron went to spend more time with Krum, Pansy and Hermione went… somewhere (making out; they were making out), and Draco and Harry went to spend some time with Hagrid.  The Abraxas, upon catching sight of Harry, had immediately swarmed him for attention, and Draco ended up holding Du (who had grown on him) while Harry was accosted by his new friend.  The Abraxas even let him ride them, although once it started to rain they immediately landed as the one carrying Harry turned its head around, grabbed his robe in its teeth, plopped him in Hagrid’s arm, and cast a significant look towards the castle as if to say Well!  Don’t just stand there- this weather isn’t good for tiny humans! 

            After that, Harry and Draco dropped Du off in her tank, put her favourite sweater on, and settled her comfortably on the nap rock in her terrarium before they headed down to the hall again, reading comics and watching students stream in and out to put their names in the goblet.

            Cassius Warrington felt rather nervous when he went into the hall after lunch, hoping nobody would catch him putting his name in.  Of course, it was just his luck that Harry Potter was in the hall, alone and reading a muggle comic book (Draco had gone to the bathroom).  Of all the people to see him, perfect Harry Potter had to be the one to catch him out, awkward Slytherin nobody that he was.  He tried to flee the hall, but Harry, ears finely tuned to pick up on any potential threat after the childhood he’d had, just looked up and smiled at the other kid. 

            “Hey, Cassius, right?”

            Warrington nodded, bewildered.  “Uh, yeah…”

            “I think we’ve played each other in quidditch- you’re a brilliant keeper, gave us a lot of trouble last year.  You gonna put your name in?”

            Warrington, knowing the kid had some Slytherin friends but still a little shocked by his kindness, scratched his cheek a little anxiously.  “Uh, I was gonna, but I don’t know…” 

            “Well, it’s your choice,” Harry said.  “But I think you’d be a great champion if that’s what you wanted.”  He then buried his nose back into his book, giving the other student some privacy to make his decision.  Feeling a little more emboldened, Cassius stepped forward and put his name in. 

            “Thanks, Potter… I needed that.  I wasn’t sure how the school would feel about, y’know, a Slytherin champion.” 

            “Yeah, people haven’t always been the nicest to you guys.  You know, I was almost in Slytherin, but Draco doesn’t make the best first impression,” he laughed, shaking his head fondly at the memories. 

            “You, Potter?”  Cassius stepped closer.  He hadn’t imagined such a thing. 

            “Yep.  Pansy likes to say it was a shame I ended up in Gryffindor, something about my eyes matching Slytherin green or something.  I don’t get girls.” 

            “Me neither, to be honest.  Or guys really… or anyone at all.  Part of why I was so nervous about entering the tournament.”  Cassius wasn’t entirely sure why he was telling Potter his whole life story, but the kid had a weird way of making him feel comfortable. 

            Harry smiled at him.  “You know, you should really read The Flash,” he said, handing the older boy one of the glossy comic books from his stack.  “I think it’ll help.” 

            “Oh, alright then,” Warrington took the book with a little trepidation, sitting down beside Potter, only to scooch as Draco came back and placed himself firmly between him and Harry.

[Pansy paints her nails as she and Hermione pick their outfits for the feast.]

            Finally, it was time for the feast, and they all enjoyed a variety of international dishes as people speculated eagerly about who would be chosen.  Various students came up to Harry asking them to tell him which of the foreign students had the largest magical cores, but Harry said nothing, knowing quite well that more magic didn’t necessarily mean more capability. 

            Harry was sharing an éclair with Draco when Dumbledore stood up and called for their attention.  He sighed and licked the last of the chocolate on his fingers as the goblet’s flames flared a little higher.  Here comes the madness… he thought, taking comfort in the knowledge that at least he would not be part of it. 

            Dumbledore stepped forward towards the goblet and waved his wand as a spray of multicoloured sparks came out.  “Let the games begin!” he cried.

            Damn, Pansy groaned internally, a bad feeling in her chest.  If this isn’t the way every dystopian novel starts. 

            “The first contestant,” the headmaster cried theatrically as a slip of paper emerged from a now hissing and spitting goblet, “is our Durmstrang contestant, Viktor Krum!” 

            “No surprise there!” Ron cried out as Karkaroff congratulated his student, who ignored him and smiled, a little awkwardly, at the redhead as he stepped through the hall and into the side chambers where the contestants were being directed.  The other Durmstrang students looked a little disappointed but altogether unsurprised. 

            The goblet hissed and spit again as the name of the Beauxbatons delegate emerged.

            “Fleur Delacour!” Dumbledore read, as the girl swept her blonde hair aside and stepped gracefully out of her seat.  Most of her fellow students looked disappointed, and a few gave her dirty looks or even sobbed outright, but the girl she’d been sitting next to, a short, curvy student with almond eyes and a pink hijab to match her dress robes, made enough noise cheering to drown them all out.

            “Whoo! Fleur!  Mabrouk!” she cried, and the blonde leant down to give her a quick peck on the lips before she left for the contestants’ chamber, which had many of the guys (and a few of the girls) in the hall groaning with disappointment.

            Finally, it was the moment the British students had been eagerly awaiting, the choosing of the Hogwarts delegate.  The goblet seemed to gurgle with fire even longer this time, but when it eventually did spit out a name, the entire hall held its breath.

            “And our last champion, from our own dear Hogwarts, is…” Dumbledore looked at the name but drew out a moment of silence that he hadn’t for the others, and Pansy looked like she was inventorying the weapon stash on her body and trying to think of one that she could throw at him to hurry him along without getting in trouble for it. 

            “Cedric Diggory!” the old man said at last, and the Hufflepuff table erupted.  Harry felt a little bad for Cassius, but he was also rather fond of Cedric, and Hufflepuff did deserve glory.  He did, however, catch Warrington’s eye from across the room and mouthed you’re still The Flash, and the other student smiled at him and shrugged as if to say eh, I’m proud I gave it a shot. 

            The noise finally died down, and Harry, ecstatic he’d finally managed to break his string of bad Halloween luck, was just contemplating which book he should read before bed when the goblet, which had burned almost out, suddenly flared up higher than ever.  He held his breath- he desperately hoped it was just a malfunction, but he couldn’t feel the magic of the goblet anymore, which bode ill.  It was like it had suddenly ceased to exist after he’d been feeling it all day, even though it was physically more prominent than ever.  He looked nervously at his friends. 

            I can’t feel it anymore, or see it or hear it or anything, he mouthed to his group.  It’s like it’s suddenly gone, but I can pick up on all the other magic here same as ever.  I don’t like this. 

            Draco gripped his hand tightly.  “I’m sure it’s nothing, Harry,” he whispered anxiously, trying to convince himself just as much.  “Maybe the magic is done and it actually caught on fire.” 

            But the goblet spit out another paper.  Dumbledore, also looking nervous, picked it up and blanched as he looked at it.  He continued to look at it for a long moment, until finally…

            “Harry Potter,” he said, his voice a low, nervous wheeze.  But the hall, which had been silent enough to hear a wand drop, had no problem catching on.  Harry felt like he was about to throw up his dinner and all his potions.  He’d relaxed too soon…

Chapter Text

             There was a moment of complete silence before the hall erupted in noise.  Minnie and Severus stood up, looking murderously at the headmaster.  They knew Harry hadn’t signed up, and Harry’s friends knew the same thing.

            “This is bullshit!” Ron cried, “Harry didn’t put his name in!  Are you trying to kill him!” 

            “What the fuck?!” Pansy cried, and Hermione echoed her. 

            Some other students were shouting about how it was unfair or that must have been cheating involved, and overall it was chaos as Dumbledore, ignoring Minerva and Severus’ death glares, stepped towards Harry.

            “Harry, did you put your name in the goblet of fire?” he asked, anxiously, desperately hoping the answer was yes so he didn’t get murdered.

            Harry was normally very anxious being the centre of attention, and that hadn’t changed.  But right now, it was more important to him that everyone know that this was not his idea.  He looked the headmaster in the eye.

            “No,” he said calmly, “I don’t have a death wish.”

            “Are you certain?” Dumbledore tried again, desperately.  “Because it’s alright if you did, all will be forgiven, we just need to know the truth.” 

            “I didn’t do it!” Harry cried out, voice more emphatic this time.  “Give me Veritaserum if you want; the answer won’t change!”  Dumbledore had no time to respond to that, however, as suddenly Kreacher, who had come as soon as he felt Harry’s anxiety, came charging out waving a frying pan. 

            “HOW DARE DUMBLY-DOOR BE ACCUSING LITTLE MASTER HARRY OF LYING!  LITTLE MASTER HARRY IS BEING IN DANGER THANKS TO STUPID DUMB OLD DOOR!”  He jumped up onto the table before whacking the old man over the head with his cast-iron skillet.  “TAKE THAT! AND THAT! KREACHER WILL BE DECORATING HIS WALL WITH YOUR BONES, YOU UGLY GOAT-MAN!”

            “Easy, Kreacher,” Harry said, pulling the little elf, fists pumping, off of a now-unconscious Dumbledore, “now’s not the best time for aggravated assault, little buddy.” 

            Kreacher dropped his pan and turned to wrap his hands around Harry’s neck before he broke out into sobs. 

            “They’s be trying to kill Little Master Harry!” the elf wailed, pulling his long, wrinkled ears.  “Kreacher cannot be protecting Little Master from this magical contract!” 

            Minerva and Severus were finally able to reach Harry through the chaos, stepping carelessly over Dumbledore’s prone body (okay, they may have “accidentally” kicked him in the face a couple times, but that’s beside the point).

            “We have to get you out of this!” Minnie said, trying to make herself heard over a sobbing Kreacher.  “There must be a way!” 

            “There isn’t,” Severus choked out, “I did the research before the tournament started, in case something like this should happen.  Even if the participant does not enter their own name, the price for backing out is… is death.”  Kreacher wailed harder, and Harry patted the little elf’s head and whispered soothing words in his ear. 

            “I… right before the goblet spit out my name, the magic just… went out.  I couldn’t find it with any of my mage senses,” Harry told them. 

            “The potion!” Severus said.

            “What potion?” Harry had an extensive knowledge of the subject for someone his age, but he hadn’t heard of this.

            “There is a potion, a very expensive potion, with the rarest of ingredients, that can be used to block out any magic used within the hour of its consumption to the perceptions of those with mage senses,” Minnie explained.  “Whoever did this- they were committed.” 

            Snape turned around towards the head table with a murderous look on his face, wand out.  He stalked up towards Karkaroff, who had come back from the entrance chamber to refill his wine glass, before pressing his wand into his neck.

            “What did you do?!” he snarled at the man, who blanched.  “What did you do to Harry?!” 

            “Severus!” Ludo Bagman cried.  “What on earth is going on?!”

            “He was a death eater!” Snape growled, wand digging further into the man’s trachea until he started to wheeze.  “Ask him!” 

            “Oh, and you weren’t?” Karkaroff eventually spat. 

            “I was a spy for the light!” Severus spat in his face.  “Don’t believe me?  Look at my arm!” He lifted his robes again to show his clean left arm, and then showed his right as well, just to cover up the bases.  Then he roughly jerked Karkaroff’s sleeve up, exposing his mark, easily visible in a deep caramel colour. 

            The aurors were called, and Karkaroff was dragged away.  “Don’t worry, Professor,” said a cheerful woman with purple hair.  “We’ll interrogate him under the truth potion and send the results right back to you.  Oh, and I’ve called my cousin and his Remus to come; apparently Kreacher left without taking the time to wake them up and let them know what was going on.” 

            “Thank you, Nymphadora.  Just make sure it’s not your potion you interview him under,” Severus told her. 

            “Oh, I’m not allowed to brew for the department,” she laughed, pulling Igor’s arms further behind his back.  “I know you could be a real hard-ass, but you were right when you said I was bollocks at potions.”  Severus, in a true testament to his concern for Harry, didn’t even take the opportunity for a sarcastic comment.

            “Come on,” he told Harry quietly, prying a clinging Kreacher away from his student and telling him to take the headmaster back to his office (and whispered that he was free to do whatever, as long as it didn’t result in medical intervention being required).  Minnie nervously gripped her son’s hand, trying to hold back tears for his sake. 

            “Don’t worry, Harry,” Severus told him, although he was unable to take his own advice.  “We’ll help you with the tasks, rules be damned!  The only thing required to complete the contract is that you show up and compete in every task, and we’re going to keep you alive,” he promised the small teen. 

            When Harry entered the chamber, the three contestants and Madame Maxine looked at him. 

            “Vat is vrong?” Victor asked.  “And vhere is my headmaster?” 

            “Karkaroff has been arrested,” Severus said gravely.  “Someone has illegally entered Harry’s name in the goblet, and they think it was him.  He’s been exposed as a death eater.” 

            “Mon dieu !” Fleur cried, and Madame Maxine held a bejewelled hand over her large chest.

            “Vhy, I knew he vas a bastard,” Victor swore, “but vis, vis is beyond cruel!” 

            “Oh Merlin, Harry, what are we going to do?” Cedric asked. 

            “Apparently if I don’t compete, I’ll die,” Harry said, “even though I wasn’t the one who entered my name.  I know it doesn’t seem fair for Hogwarts to have two champions, but…”

            Fleur rushed forward and grabbed hold of his face.  “Oh, mon petit chou !” she exclaimed, really getting a good look at him.  “Vhy, you are just a leetle boy,” she gasped, pushing a curl behind his ear.  “Do not you worry about fair, just stay alive.  What a monster, to do such a theeng.  Ze little darling, oh ‘ow you shake.  Ze tasks are less important; we will not let you be ‘urt.” She looked at the other contestants, daring them to argue with her, but nobody did. 

            “Come,” she told him, “let me make you a French ‘ot chocolat.” She led him away by the hand, and Minnie and Severus followed.  

            Ludo Bagman had wandered back in after the commotion.  “Um, madam Delacour, we still haven’t given you the instructions for the first task.” 

            “Veektor e Cedric shall tell us,” the French girl said confidently.  “I must get zis leetle child a beverage, just look ‘ow ‘e shakes!”  Nobody dared contest her, not even Harry, who would have liked to point out that he was technically a teenager.  Damn his short stature and soft green eyes!

            “Right then,” Bagman said as Minerva followed Fleur and her son, who was looking rather bewildered as Fleur just gave up leading him by the hand and picked him up.  “So, it goes like this…” Severus summoned a parchment and began to take notes.  Whoever thought they could kill Harry this way had another thing coming. 

Chapter Text

            Fleur continued carrying Harry all the way to the kitchens, although how she’d found out where it was and how to get in after only a day in the castle was a mystery to him.

            “I ‘ad to find out for Malala, my girlfriend,” she said, seeing his look of incredulity.  “We ‘ad to give ze elves ze instructions for cooking ‘alal.”

            “Oh,” Harry said, not really sure what else to say when his world had just been turned upside down and he was being carried by a part-veela witch like he was a child.

            “You sit, and I make the chocolat,” she told him, setting him down in a chair and waving off the army of elves that came to assist them.  Harry watched as she bustled expertly about the kitchen, pouring milk into a saucepan and melting chocolate in another pot before slowly stirring them together and topping the whole thing with a large dollop of whipped cream. 

            “Ze French, we drink ze rich chocolat; it eez better.  You drink that and I make you a snack; you are so skeeny, I zhink a gust of wind could knock you right over.”

            Harry felt it would be the height of disrespect to tell her he was full, so he sipped on the rich, creamy chocolate while Minnie excused herself for a moment; she felt that if she didn’t get some time to collect herself she might start sobbing in the middle of the kitchens.  Soon Fleur came over and set down a plate with a sandwich topped with bubbling cheese. 

            “Ze croque-monsieur; eet eez ze ‘am and cheese with more of ze cheese on top.  Eet is good for tiny leetle ones who need zheir strength.”

            “I’m not that small,” Harry finally ventured to say, but at Fleur’s disbelieving look, he picked up the sandwich and took a bite.  “It’s very good,” he told her honestly. 

            “In France, we make sure to take care of our leetle ones,” she said, cleaning up her work station.  “Zees Dumbledore, he is rather and eediot, non?”

            Harry nodded around another bite of the sandwich, wiping chocolate off his upper lip.  “You should have seen Minnie when she found out about the tournament.  I was sick, so I didn’t see, but Uncle Sev told me she punched him in the face.”

            “Zees Uncle Sev, ‘e is the man with ze dark robes and ze dark ‘air?” Harry nodded.  “And Minnie, she eez ze one zat came here with us zat left for ze moment?” Harry nodded again.  Just then, Sirius and Remus came bursting into the kitchen, and the elves rushed to offer them help, but at another look from Fleur, they backed off. 

            “And ‘ooh are you?” the blonde asked the frantic couple, hands on hips. 

            “These are my godfathers, Sirius and Remus,” Harry told her.

            “Harry, are you alright?!” Padfoot asked, looking him over.  “We woke up to a floo call from Tonks and Kreacher and his biggest frying pan missing, and then we heard someone had entered you into the tournament?”

            “They think it was Karkaroff,” Harry said.

            “Whoever it was,” Remus growled, “I’m going to kill them.”

            “Calm yourselves,” Fleur scolded.  “Ze leetle ‘Arry ‘az been through enough weezout you making a fuss.”  Harry didn’t dare mention that Fleur had been making a fuss of him all night.

            “Alright, alright, we’re calm,” Padfoot placated, taking a deep breath.  “Just one question: who are you?”

            “I am Fleur Delacour, ze Beauxbatons champion,” she stated, holding her hand out.  “Eet is a pleasure to meet ‘Arry’s godfazers.”  Remus and Sirius looked at Harry, still rather confused. 

            Harry, with difficulty, finished the last of his sandwich.  “She just picked me up and suddenly she was making me food,” he shrugged. 

            “Oh, I daresay she’ll get along well with Molly, then,” Sirius laughed. 

            “I would love to meet zees Molly,” Fleur said.  “But first, leetle ‘Arry, we must get you to bed, mon petit chou.” 

            Harry was feeling very full and sleepy by this point, and despite his protestations, Harry felt himself being lifted up again.  He really would have thought that he was at least too heavy for a petite 17-year-old-witch to pick up, but apparently, she had no difficulties, and Harry soon found himself falling asleep against his will.  Next thing he knew, he was being gently placed in his bed in Gryffindor tower, barely aware of his surroundings as Fleur tucked him in and viciously shushed his roommates’ concerned questions.

[The results are back, and apparently Karkaroff wasn’t the one who entered his name, so the aurors have to start the investigation from scratch.]

            The one thing that seemed to be going Harry’s way was that, with a full-scale investigation going on into who might have put his name into the cup, whispers and rumours of cheating died out, although some still thought it was cool that Harry was in the tournament.  Harry, however, did not, and after Minnie and Sev gave detentions to the first few people that pestered him with questions about it, he was pretty much left alone outside of his group of friends. 

            Pansy had started training them again in the room of requirement, and when the other champions found out, they joined as well.  Fleur, too, had grown up training in martial arts, as well as gymnastics, and she and Pansy were pretty evenly-matched, skill-wise.  Madame Pomphrey refused to clear Harry for intense aerobic exercise, so he focused on strengthening his wandless magic and practiced duelling with Krum and Cedric while Pansy and Fleur practiced hand-to-hand combat and cardio routines.

            “Vow, you fight vell,” Krum said, wiping his sweating forehead as Harry again tried to show him how to cast a wandless Protego.  “I do not think I am good at vith the vandless magic.”

            “We appreciate you trying, Harry, but I think Victor’s right,” Cedric said, chugging from his water bottle.  “Most people just aren’t able to cast wandlessly.” 

            “Eet is time for ze snack break!” Fleur called.

            “Just a minute,” Harry responded, aiming another blasting hex at the moving target.  “Let me wipe off my glasses and try this again.” 

            “No ‘Arry, you eat ze snacks now.  Ze Madame Pomphrey and ze professors Snape and McGonagall inseested zat zey must be every ‘our.”

            Harry sighed as he grabbed a sandwich.  He just couldn’t catch a break…

[Harry’s friends have made badges for all the champions, one set saying Go Harry/Cedric/Victor/Fleur! And the other saying Potter/Krum/Diggory/Delacour Stinks! They were all complimentary, but then the twins got hold of half of them.]

            Harry was changing in his bedroom after training one day when he suddenly felt a stab of anxiety from Kreacher. 

            “You okay?” he asked him through the bond.

            “Kreacher is fine, little master.  Kreacher just cannot find his garlic press,” came back through.  Harry wished him luck and went about changing. 

            Kreacher, in actuality, had been going through his usual routine of secretly checking on his little master through Sirius and Remus’ two-way mirror when he caught sight of little master taking his robes off.  The sight of Harry’s scarred back made him very angry, as he could not imagine that someone would treat little master so badly.  A little research showed him that little master used to live with muggles, and Kreacher stalked off angrily to plan his revenge. 

[Pansy bought Winky a scythe.  Winky is very happy.]

            The next potions class, the Slytherin/Gryffindor class was brewing a Deflating Draught as Snape wandered around looking at their work.  It was nowhere near as nerve-wracking as it had been in first year, thankfully. 

            “Just a little on the thin side, Longbottom.  Your timing was just a little off with the dandelion roots, but if you turn the heat up a tad, it should counteract that.”  Neville nodded and pushed a little more fire from his wand.  “Oh, and Neville?” the professor asked, quieter this time, “if your grandmother continues to insist you use a wand that doesn’t fit you, you may talk to Professor McGonagall or myself to correct the matter.”  Neville nodded again, and Severus moved on to Harry and Draco’s station. 

            “Excellent; it looks exactly how it should.  Good job Draco, Sparky.”  The professor seemed to realise what he’d said at the same moment Harry did, and they both turned red.  Pansy snorted a laugh immediately that quickly gave way to hysterics, and Hermione followed shortly.  Soon all of Harry’s friends were laughing while the rest of the class looked on in confusion.  Well, almost all of Harry’s friends.  Draco, in his best effort not to embarrass his friend, was holding in his laughter as he forced himself to keep still. 

            In the midst of all this confusion, Colin Creevy entered the room.  “Professor Snape?  Bagman wants to see Harry in the headmaster’s office- something about taking photographs of the champions.”

            “Very well, Harry, you may go.  Oh, and 30 points from whoever mentions my… slip of the tongue to anyone.”  Harry gathered up his bags, face still read, and practically booked it out of the room while his friends kept laughing.  Once he’d left, Draco finally allowed himself to stop holding his own amusement in, and a loud guffaw of laughter was followed by him clutching his side. 

            “Pansy, would you kindly take Draco to the hospital.  I believe he’s strained a muscle in his side as a result of all this foolishness.”  Pansy nodded, still wiping tears from her eyes. 

             Colin, still rather in awe of Harry even though he did his best to act normal around him, thankfully did not mention the incident. 

            When they got to Dumbledore’s office, Harry noted that all of his various gadgets and gizmos were gone, and that his desk and shelves were now rather spartan and that Fawkes was not in his cage. He also saw with an internal groan that Rita Skeeter was there.  Luckily, it seemed she had no intentions of saying anything rude to him, as she saw him and blanched.  Harry was glad; he wouldn’t have put it past her to try to get an interview with him, despite her ‘toad problem.’

            Fleur, Cedric, and Viktor were already talking animatedly in the corner and waved him over when they saw him.  Harry noticed that Viktor was wearing a “Krum stinks!” badge. 

            “Oh, you like my button?  Ron did not zhink it vas as funny as I did,” he chuckled.  “He tried to give me his “Go Victor!” one, but I told him he should keep it.”

            “Zhose Weasley twins and zheir buttons,” Fleur rolled her eyes.  “I was wearing my “Go Cedric!” one when it suddenly changed to say ‘Cedric Stinks!’”

            “Oh, and you just took it off right when it started being funny?” Cedric teased the girl, who whacked him across the chest.

            “I swear ‘Arry, I don’t know ‘ow I survive around so many seely boys.  Good zing you, at least, ‘ave a leetle sense in you,” she said, trying to smooth his perpetually-messy hair. 

            Their fun was ended when Dumbledore, still sporting a slight black eye from his run-in with Kreacher, brought in Mr. Ollivander.  His magic felt as dusty as his shop, and Harry had to fight back the urge to sneeze as they all formed a line.

            “Mr. Ollivander is here, of course, to ensure your wands are in good working condition for the tournament.  So, if you would all form a line… oh, I see you already have.  Alright then…” Dumbledore looked a bit put out, but he stepped back behind his desk as Rita got her quill (regular, not quick-quotes; she’d found out rather quickly that that, too, caused toad burps) ready in front of her parchment, and the photographer in the corner did some last-minute adjustments on his camera. 

            “Madame Delacour, you first,” the old wandmaker said, as Fleur stepped forward and handed him her wand. 

            “Hmm,” he mumbled.

            He twirled the wand between two of his long, knobby fingers as it fizzled out a few pink and gold sparks.  He then brought it very close to his face, his spectacles magnifying his eyes to an amusing size as he examined it. 

            “Yes,” he whispered, and Harry had the insane picture of Gollum from Lord of the Ring with his quiet, raspy voice.  He bit back a giggle.  “nine and a half inches… rosewood… inflexible… and the core, dear me…”

            “An ‘air from ze ‘ead of a veela,” the Frenchwoman said proudly.  “One of my grandmuzzer’s.”  Harry tuned in curiously, and the core did have a similar feel to Fleur’s own magic…

            “Yes,” Ollivander continued.  “I’ve never used veela hair myself, of course.  Far too temperamental, but to each their own…”

            He ran his fingers along every inch of it, apparently checking for imperfections, before muttering a quiet “Orchideous!” as a pretty bunch of flowers sprang from the tip.

            “Very well, very well, it’s in working order,” he said, handing her the flowers and the wand.  Fleur put one in her hair and then handed one to each of the boys, who did the same, smiling.

            “Now for Mr. Diggory,” the eccentric man said, as Cedric, still with his flower in his hair, handed the man his own wand. 

            “Oh, one of mine!” he said giddily, practically ripping it out of the Hufflepuff’s hand.  “Yes, this is a rather memorable creation.  One tail hair from a fine male unicorn, nearly killed me when I plucked it, but never mind.  Twelve and a quarter inches, ash, pleasantly springy… ah, you take excellent care of it, then?”

            “Just polished it last night,” Cedric answered proudly. 

            “We’re supposed to do that?” Harry whispered to Krum, trying to wipe fingerprints off his own.

            “Vell, some people do,” Viktor told him, “although mainly eet is an option.  I only polish mine vonce a year, but if your teachers haven’t told you to do it, then it eez probably fine.”  In the meantime, Ollivander had made a series of silver smoke rings emerge from Cedric’s wand, and Harry again had to hold back a laugh at how quintessentially Hufflepuff that was. 

            “Mr. Krum, if you would?” Viktor shuffled forward as the process began again. 

            “Ah, a Gregorovich- he is good at his work, although the styling is never quite what I would… oh, that is unimportant for the moment.”  He took a closer look.  “Hornbeam and dragon heartstring… quite thick, ten and a quarter inches…

            “That’s what the ladies say about me,” the photographer said, crudely, and Fleur suddenly turned a deadly look on him and following it with a harsh stinging hex.

            “Zhere are cheeldren here!” she exclaimed, covering Harry’s ears as the man rubbed his aching chest.  Ollivander cast a look around before shrugging, marking it as just another demonstration of Fleur’s wand’s excellent condition, and continued examining Viktor’s. 

“Avis!”  A number of colourful little birds blasted out of the end and fluttered over to perch on Harry’s head and shoulders. 

            “All right, I guess…” Harry shrugged as a little canary affectionately nibbled his ear. 

            “Good,” Ollivander said, handing Krum his wand back.  “Which leaves us with… Mr. Potter.”  Harry, still supporting the plethora of birds, handed Ollivander the wand, rather uncomfortable with the man’s attentive expression.

            “Ah yes, I remember this wand very well.  Curious, very curious…” he studied it intently, and Harry shot Rita a glare to make sure she and her quill were behaving themselves. 

            “Holly, phoenix feather, eleven inches.  This wand sat in the back of my shop for decades… beginning to think I’d never sell it… let’s see…” the man tried to wave the wand, but in lieu of colourful sparks or flamboyant demonstrations, the piece of wood sprang up, whacked him over the head, and zipped back to Harry. 

            “Well, it’s been a while since I’ve seen that,” the wandmaker said, rubbing his nose.  “It seems the wand has bonded completely with you and will accept no other user.  You must be more powerful than even I suspected, Mr. Potter.  Which brings us to the point that it seems you must perform your own demonstration.” 

            Harry, now feeling thoroughly embarrassed at the attention from the adults in the room, cast a quick augmenti charm and retreated to hide behind his friends/fellow champions. 

            “Alright, just a few photos then, if you please,” Rita said, and Harry resented that he hadn’t made toads come out every time she said anything.  “If you would kindly take the flowers out of your hair.” 

            “I will do zat when you take ze fluff out of your ‘ead,” Fleur told her with a derisive sniff.  The flowers stayed in, and Harry’s birds, unwilling to be shooed out the window, also maintained their position.  It was a very colourful photo.

            As they all filed out, Dumbledore tapped Harry on the shoulder.  “If I could talk to you for a moment, Harry?”

            “Why?” Harry looked at him suspiciously.  The other champions, who had started down the stairs, came back up and waited for him at the door, shooting Dumbledore stern looks. 

            “Tell me child, have you been having any… strange dreams lately?” 

            “What do you mean by strange?” Harry asked, thinking back to last night, when he’d dreamt Hagrid had sprouted wings and flew off to join a hippogriff colony.

            “You know… situations, places, people you don’t recognise… anything that struck you as out of the ordinary?”

            “No…” Harry said, wondering if Kreacher had maybe hit the man a little too hard.  This was strange, even for Dumbledore.

            “Are you certain?  No dreams, no headaches, no strange feelings in your scar?”

            “My scar hasn’t ever bothered me in my life, headmaster, and I’m beginning to feel rather uncomfortable.”

            “Forgive me, Harry, and do let me know if any such situations come up,” Dumbledore said.

            “Zat is enough! Strange old man,” Fleur scolded, pulling Harry out of his reach.  “I would zhink you would stop bothering zis boy after all zees time, but apparently you ‘ave even less sense zen ze ‘eadmaster zat is sitting in Azkaban.”

            As they walked down to dinner, Cedric turned to Harry.  “He really does have an unsettling interest in you, I’ve noticed, and I don’t think it’s just because you’re Harry Potter.” 

            “It’s like he couldn’t believe it when I told him that I dream like any other person,” Harry agreed.  “Somehow, I always feel like I have the wrong answers for him about my own life…” 

Chapter Text

            “You and McGonagall need ta meet me in the entrance hall at nine,” Hagrid whispered to Snape the next morning.  “Don’t be seen.”  Severus nodded at him, correctly figuring it had something to do with the first task. 

            Meanwhile, down at the Hufflepuff table, Harry and his friend group, which had expanded to include Cedric, Viktor, Fleur, and her girlfriend Malala, were talking about the Hogsmeade trip that day. 

            “Just wait until you try butterbeer; it’s amazing!” Harry told Fleur, who was smiling fondly at him. 

            “Zees butterbeer, is it ‘alal?” Malala asked.

            “Well, there’s no actual alcohol in it, so I think so…” Harry said, thinking. 

            “Ze butterbeer, ze cream comes from ze cow, yes?” Fleur prompted. 

            “Oh, yes.  Madame Rosmerta says she uses her own cows for it,” Hermione said.  “And I know it’s safe for vegetarians and those with gluten allergies.” 

            “Zen unless one is very orthodox, eet is ‘alal,” Malala said, smiling. 

            “Ron, vould you like to try ze Bulgarian sausage?” Viktor asked, turning to the redhead sitting next to him.

            “Sure; it looks good,” Ron replied. 

            Pansy made sure Harry was looking at Draco and couldn’t see her hands before turning to Hermione.  “I think he’d eat just about anything if Viktor suggested it,” she told her best friend, who giggled. 

            Minnie made sure Harry was wearing two jumpers and his good mittens before she waved them all off, as it was even colder than normal for November, and she could feel in her bones that the first snowfall was only days away.

            They all made a quick stop at Honeyduke’s, and the twins spent some time in Zonko’s, but Fleur noticed Harry beginning to shiver and soon insisted that they spend the rest of their time in the fire-lit warmth of Madame Rosmerta’s.

            “Butterbeers all around please,” Pansy requested, and Rosmerta winked at her. 

            “Sure thing,” she said.  “And I’ll throw in a plate of biscuits, fresh from the oven.  This one could use some more meat on his bones,” she said, gently patting Harry’s shoulder. 

            “Look at you, getting us free sweets, you bony little thing,” Ginny teased, elbowing him.  He stuck his tongue out at her. 

            “One day, I’m gonna be taller than you,” he told his surrogate little sister, nudging her under the table with his foot.

            “You keep telling yourself that, golden boy.”

            Harry insulted her in Latin, and she leaned forward to launch a sudden tickle attack. 

            “Hey, sto—ooo----p it!” he ordered, pulling back and gasping for breath.  “You don’t even know what I said!”

            “I know it was rude, you adorable little prat.”

            “Hey! I am not adorable!” he pouted. 

            “Yes, you are!” everyone at the table answered simultaneously.

            Harry pouted, adorably, and buried his nose in his butterbeer as soon as it arrived, refusing to engage anyone in conversation. 

            “Soo, has Harry showed you guys his animagus form?” Susan asked the newest members of their group.

            “You’re an animagus?!” Cedric, especially, was surprised, as he’d been at Hogwarts with Harry for four years and didn’t know. 

            “Yes, but it was sort of an accident,” Harry sighed, finally emerging from his self-imposed silence. 

            “’Ow do you do ze animagus by accident?” Malala wondered, and Fleur leaned forward.

            “Never mind that, Habibti,” she told her partner.  “What eez ‘is form?”

            Hannah leaned forward.  She didn’t usually join the other girls in messing with Harry too much, but this was just too good.  “He’s a teeny little kitten!  With wee bitty paws like this,” she squealed, holding her hands a few inches apart. 

            “I cannot wait to see!” Fleur exclaimed, looking at Harry like she was about to start pinching his cheeks.  He scooted a little further away. 

            “Wait,” Cedric interjected, remembering McGonagall’s lesson on animagi, “don’t you keep the same form forever, so…”

            “He’ll be a kitten forever!” Pansy squealed.  Harry sighed.

            “I mean, at least you can fit into small spaces,” Draco tried to cheer him up, before shoving another biscuit at him with a significant look. 

            “Yeah,” Harry conceded, nibbling on the proffered sweet.  “Although to be fair, I can do that in human form too.  Would it kill whoever’s in charge of this whole thing to grant me a couple inches?” By this whole thing, he meant life.

            “I would pray to Allah for you, but I think He thinks you are too cute to answer it,” Fleur’s girlfriend teased, shoving an escaping lock of hair back into her hijab, which today was a lovely lavender colour. 

            Harry groaned and put his head in his hands.  “Did nobody see me disarm Cedric and Viktor- wandlessly and at the same time- during tournament practice the other day?”

            “Oh, we all saw,” Pansy said, reaching across the table to bop his nose with her finger.  “And you looked like an adorable wittle baby deer while you did it,” she said in a dramatically sweet voice, cooing at him.

            “I think I’m going to call you Fawn now,” Luna said in her soft, dreamy tone of voice. 

            “Oh!  And your dad’s animagus was a stag!  It’s perfect!” Ginny cried. 

            “I thought his nickname was kitten,” Seamus said, mouth full of biscuit.  Hannah rolled her eyes at him.

            “He can have two nicknames,” the blonde Hufflepuff said.  “And say it, don’t spray it.” 

            “Just be glad it’s crumbs and not fire,” Dean said, relieved he hadn’t had to cast an emergency augmenti yet. 

[Kreacher is in the Black Library looking at torture magic.  Nobody messes with his little master.]

            “You have your disillusion charm up?” Severus asked Minerva that evening as they headed towards the meeting point. 

            “I don’t know Severus; do you see me?” she asked her colleague.

            “Fair point, I invited that one.  I suppose I am just worried about Harry,” he admitted.

            “Look at you, admitting you have feelings like a normal person,” Minnie joked, trying to take the edge of her own anxiety.

            “Don’t push it.”

            Minnie didn’t push it, but only because at that very moment, they reached Hagrid. 

            “Good, yeh made it,” the large man grunted, unusually serious.

            “We wouldn’t have missed a chance to keep Harry safe, Hagrid, you know that,” Minerva told him.

            “I know tha’, I was jus’ worried Dumbledore might need ye fer summat. Wouldn’t put it past him, what with the load of hippogriff dung he’s been pilin’ lately,” he grunted.  His only greater loyalty to that of Dumbledore had been to Harry, which had taken priority and eclipsed any fond feelings he held for Albus.

            “We’re goin’ down behind ma hut,” Hagrid whispered, as quietly as he possibly could. 

            “Hagrid, tell me honestly, how bad is it?” Severus asked gravely.

            “Shhh, we’re gettin’ close ta people, so I can’t say anymore,” he said.

            Suddenly, the two professors felt a blast of hot air and heard a series of loud roars.  Their stomachs sank, and only kept sinking as they got close enough to see four great mother dragons, with dozens of handlers running around, trying to restrain them and ineffectively shooting stunning spells at them. 

            “Not only dragons- but nesting mothers!  Are they insane?!” Severus spat in a low hiss.

            “Dumbledore and the ministry organised the damn thing; of course they are!” Minerva responded, not angry at her colleagues but rather, the situation. 

            “Should we tell Harry immediately?” Severus asked.

            “No, he’s had such a good day, and you know the stress is so bad for his health.  Poppy said he’d lost three pounds at his last check out.  Let’s just let him have tonight; we’ll tell everyone tomorrow,” Minnie said. 

            They stopped talking immediately when Charlie Weasley saw Hagrid and came their way.  “I’m so sorry about this, mate.  I told them if they were going to do dragons, they should do yearling males- not half as aggressive.  But they insisted on nesting mothers.  I… just make sure Harry stays safe, yeah?” 

            “I promise, Charlie.  Nobody’s goin’ ter let anything happen ter ‘im,” Hagrid said, feeling it with more conviction than he’d ever had.  “Even if I have ter strangle one of the beautiful creatures myself, we’re gonna keep him safe.” 

Chapter Text

            Harry and his many friends were all out relaxing by the lake the next morning when Severus and Minerva found them.  Cedric was trying to show Harry how to skip stones, and the teen was laughing as he failed miserably. 

            “C’mere Draco, you try.  I bet you’ll be bloody brilliant at it, you prat.”  Draco, blushing, stepped forward, but he was blushing brilliantly and nervously dropped the pebble Harry handed him.  Harry had leant down to pick it up and press it back into Draco’s palm when he caught sight of the professors.

            “Hey Minnie, Uncle Sev!  What’s up?” he asked, smiling at them brilliantly.  It hurt them that they were about to give him such ominous news. 

            “Would you please gather all the champions to within hearing distance?” Minnie asked, smoothing the front of her robes.  “We have an announcement to make.”

            “Okay,” Harry said, looking over to where Fleur was climbing trees and walking across the outstretched limbs like a tightrope with Pansy, and where Viktor was over by the shoreline talking to Ron.  He reached out and gave them both a gentle nudge with his magic, and Fleur immediately hopped lithely down from her branch to reach them at the same time the Durmstrang student did, despite his being some distance closer.

            “Was zat you, with the magic teekling feeling, ‘Arry?”  Fleur asked, frantically checking him over to make sure he was unharmed. 

            “Yes, that was me,” he said, trying to step back from her hands gripping his chin to look over his face for injuries.  “But I’m fine- ah, Fleur!” he gasped, as she checked over a particularly ticklish spot near his shoulder.  “I just, Minnie and Sev have something they wanted to tell all of us.”

            “Oh?” the French girl finally turned her attention on the two adults, whose presence she’d missed in her frenzied mother-henning.

            “Yes, we know what the first task will be,” Severus said, discreetly wiping off some of Fleur’s body glitter that had landed by Harry’s ear.  “It’s… it’s dragons.” 

            The champions all gasped, and Du, who up until had been lackadaisically napping on Harry’s shoulder, lifted her head at the nervous energy coming from her human. 

            “What issssss it, hatchling?” she hissed at him.

            “The first tasssssk, it issssss dragonsssss,” he told the adder, gently stroking her scaly nose. 

            “That issssss no problem,” she soothed him.  “I wassssss hatched on a dragon resssserve; their language issssss closssssee to oursssss, I will teach you.”

            “What, what’s happening?” Cedric asked.

            “Du speaks Dragon; she can teach us!” Harry said brightly.  “We can start right now!”

[Kreacher begins his revenge slowly, with a silent assault.  From now on, the Dursleys will always feel as hungry as his poor little master did at their house.]

            With a week and a half to go before the task, Harry caught on brilliantly to the language of the dragons.  The same could not be said for the others. 

            “Not quite,” he told Fleur.  “The phrase I mean you no harm sounds more like this.” He made an incomphrehensible hissing noise with some soft growling interspersed.

            “Eet is no use, ‘Arry,” she groaned, throwing her hands up.  “My mouth just weel not make zees sounds, and I speak French! I think I need a deeferent approach.”

            “I think the same goes for Viktor and me,” Cedric said, sighing.  “If you’ve managed to learn essentially a whole language in a week, and the rest of us are still caught on hello, I think that’s a sign the rest of us have reached a dead end with this method.” 

            “I think you might have a point,” Harry conceded.  “I didn’t want to say anything, but your pronunciation is terrible.”  They all laughed. 

[Petunia has never had a large appetite, but now she’s wondering why she just cannot seem to eat enough to quash the empty feeling in her stomach.]

            The night before the task, Severus insisted on giving Harry a dreamless sleep potion, worried that he wouldn’t be properly rested without some sort of help.  Harry, although nervous, didn’t think his anxiety levels approached nearly those of his guardians, or of his friends.  Come to think of it, he didn’t think he’d seen Draco relax since his name came out of the goblet. 

            The next morning at breakfast, which the group ate at the Hufflepuff table (because there’s nothing like a large group of badgers for positivity and moral support), Harry noticed that all his fellow champions were watching him carefully as he worked on his breakfast.  He gave them a look around a mouthful of oatmeal. 

            “Hey,” he said, swallowing.  “I’m doing just fine over here, but you guys haven’t touched your breakfast.  Eat!” he commanded, enjoying the feeling of superiority that came with telling someone else to eat, for once.   

            “Fine, I guess eet eez time to practice what we preach,” Fleur sighed, shovelling some yoghurt in her mouth.  It tasted like ash, but she didn’t make a face.  Ron, who had been prodding Viktor to pick up his fork all morning with no success, shot his best friend a grateful look, and Harry gave him a thumbs-up. 

            At last it was time to head out to the crowded fields for the task, and Harry squeezed both Minnie’s and Sev’s hands reassuringly. 

            “I’m gonna be fine,” he promised them. 

            “Shouldn’t we be the ones telling you that?” the tabby animagus quivered with a shaky laugh. 

            “Hey,” Harry shrugged, “when has our family ever been normal?”  Then he entered the contestants’ tent, shooting them a last reassuring smile.

            “Did you hear that?” Minnie asked the potions master, wiping her eyes.  “You’re family now.”

            “Shut up, woman,” he grumbled, discreetly reaching for her extra handkerchief.  “I have a reputation to uphold.”

            Fleur was already in a corner of the tent, hands on her knees, looking rather pale and clammy, and Viktor’s expression, which was normally set at what Pansy liked to call his “resting bitch face” was even surlier than normal, although Harry, as his friend, knew that it wasn’t irritation but rather nerves.  Cedric was pacing up and down, agitated and far removed from his normal relaxed demeanour.  Harry gently pushed a little calming magic in each of their directions, just enough so they wouldn’t catch onto the fact he was doing it. 

            “Oh, Harry, you’re here,” said Bagman, “Good-O.  So, here’s how it works.  The task is to get a golden egg… out of a dragon nest,” he seemed to be waiting for their mannerisms to devolve into further anxiety, and they all gave a weak gasp for the sake of performance, except for Harry, who, beginning to enjoy this, made a show of making his face look as surprised as possible and swooning dramatically.  The other champions chuckled just a little. 

            “Right then,” Ludo said, unsure of what dynamic was occurring here but considering it least on his list of worries right then.  He had a lot of money riding on Harry’s capabilities today, so it boded well for him that the kid seemed to be doing okay. “I have here a bag with four little dragon figurines, and you will each draw one which will show you both the species you are to face and the order in which you are to compete.  Your task is to collect the golden egg from its nest.”  Well, there was the thing they didn’t know, although owing to the fact that it was mother dragons they were to face, they’d all figured it had something to do with the nests. 

            “Ladies first,” he said, offering the bag to Fleur.  She rolled her eyes but stepped forward and drew a tiny, perfectly crafted model of a Welsh Green with a number two around its neck.  Viktor pulled the Chinese Fireball with the number three, and then it was Cedric’s turn, and he pulled the Swedish Shortsnout, the first to go.  The others all blanched as Harry pulled out the final and most vicious dragon, the Hungarian Horntail. 

            “No!” Fleur gasped, forgetting that they were supposed to at least pretend they all cared more about winning than each other.  “Zat one is too cruel; you must let me trade with ‘im!”  The others all echoed her sentiments.

            “I’m sorry, students, but there must be no trading.  It’s in the rules,” Bagman said, now looking rather confused.  “I… I have to leave now, because I’m commenting.  Mr. Diggory, you’re up first, just step out when you hear the whistle.” 

            “Oh, ‘Arry,” Fleur wailed as soon as Bagman left.  “You ‘ad not even a choice, and zen zis!”

            “Hey,” he said, giving her a reassuring hug.  “I’ll be fine, I promise.  Just be safe, all of you, okay?”

            “Yes,” she sniffed.  “We weel all be fine, non?” she smiled shakily, wiping tears from her sapphire-blue eyes.  Just then, the whistle blew. 

            “Well, that’s me,” Cedric exhaled nervously before forcing a smile.  “I’ll see you guys on the other side.”  There were a series of nervous chuckles and “good lucks!” before he left.  There were mere seconds before the crowd started making a racket, meaning Cedric had gone from looking at his model to looking at the real thing.  It was awful, far worse than facing his own dragon would be, Harry was sure, as they all listened anxiously to the reactions of the crowds- the gasps, the screams, the yells, and soon he and the others were all anxiously gripping hands, desperately hoping their friend would be alright.  Bagman’s commentary only made everything worse, with statements like “Oh, narrow miss there, very narrow…” and “clever!  Pity it didn’t work…”

            “Do you zhink ‘e is okay?” Fleur asked the room at large. 

            “I vould assume so,” Viktor said, sounding like he was trying to reassure himself just as much.  “At least, in quidditch, death or serious injury vould be announced.”

            And then, fifteen minutes later, there was a deafening roar that surely meant Cedric had gotten his egg, followed by “Ah, very good!  And now for the judges!”  The three students in the tent breathed a collective sigh of relief. 

            “’e is okay, zen,” Fleur said, ceasing her nervous hair-braiding. 

            “Yes, and now for the rest of us,” Viktor sighed.  “Good luck, Fleur.” 

            “Zhank you,” she said, giving Harry’s nose one last affectionate tweak before stepping forward to exit the tent. Then it was just him and Viktor, waiting with baited breath. 

            “Goodness, how that body moves!” was the first thing out of Bagman’s mouth, and Harry and Krum shared a look, silently agreeing they’d get him back for it later.  This was followed by comments such as “Oh, I’m not sure that was wise!  Oh, nearly had it that time…. Careful now, good lord!”  Finally, after ten minutes and three more sexist comments from Bagman, and a number of insults towards the man from Harry in Latin that, had it been ancient Rome, would have fuelled a duel to the death, Fleur got her egg, and soon it was time for Viktor to leave as well. 

            Harry was acutely aware that he was alone in the tent now, and he took a few deep breaths as he listened intently to the crowd and to the Fireball’s angry, ear-splitting roar.  However, it was only moments before he heard “My, what daring!  And yes, he’s got the egg!”  Harry felt immensely relieved that his anxiety for Viktor hadn’t been drawn out, and of course, that Ron hadn’t had to worry too much either.  He knew they were close.  Now it was his turn, and he squared his shoulders and drew himself to his full, regrettably miniscule height before walking out to face his own dragon. 

            The mother dragon was standing at her full height, like a muggle skyscraper, looking out for her opponent, and was very surprised to see it was just a little tiny wizard hatchling.  Even more surprising, however, was the force of his magic, and it struck her like the blazing fires of her homeland.  She stood still for a moment, waiting tensely to see what this little one would do.  He did not rush forward like the others had with her kin; instead, he stood respectfully some distance away, hands up placatingly. 

            “Hello, great mother,” he said, and she nearly bellowed flames in her surprise- this strange little human spoke her language!  And he kept speaking her language…

            “I mean you no harm,” he told her.  “And I’m very sorry you have to be here… I promise you, it wasn’t my idea.  But well, you see… there’s an egg in your nest that isn’t yours, and I have to retrieve it to complete my task.” 

            “And what task is that?” she asked softly, reaching forward to, ever so gently, bump this little human hatchling with her snout.  She heard the great collection of humans gasp in anxiety, but she had no plans to hurt this little one.  She could sense the good in his heart.

            “I was entered in a tournament against my will by someone bad, I don’t know who, but I have to complete three tasks or else the contract that this person put me in will kill me.”  The mother dragon had to work very hard not to snort angrily- who would do that to a child, especially one as precious as this?!

            “Of course, you may take the imposter egg,” she told him gently, “but perhaps you could do something for me as well?”

            “If I can,” answered Harry, “but what could I possibly do for a creature as powerful as you are?”

            “A great deal more than you think,” she replied.  “One of my eggs is very weak, and I didn’t think they would survive, and it has hurt my soul greatly.  But your magic burns like the fire of the great creator inside of you, and I think you can heal my child.  Will you?”

            “Of course!” Harry told her.  “Whatever I can do, I will.”  He heard the crowd gasp as the dragon motioned for him to sit on her snout, but she merely spirited him into her nest. 

            “It is that egg,” she said, motioning to one in the middle, but Harry didn’t need to be told, he’d already felt the waning spirit.  He gently crawled towards it, pulling the large egg into his lap and humming a soft tune he used to use while cleaning, whenever the Dursleys wouldn’t hear it and punish him, as he laid his hands across the scaly shell and let healing magic pour into it, until it burned bright and the baby inside felt strong again.  The mother dragon gasped.

            “You have done better than even I believed you could,” she told him.  “You have bonded with this hatchling, and you will always be connected.  A good thing,” she continued, “to have a partner in a dragon, with all the danger the humans seem to be putting you in.”  She snorted disapprovingly.

            “Well, not all of them are bad,” he said, smiling at her.  “I have a wonderful group of family and friends who do their best to keep me safe.  May I please take the golden egg so I can get back to them?”

            “In a bit, hatchling,” she promised.  “But for now, it is very cold, and you are very small.  Just sit down and let me warm you first,” she said, giving him no choice as she wrapped her body very gently around him, stoking the flames in her belly to be just the right temperature for shivering little humans.  She liked this hatchling, and she was very reluctant to let him go.

            Beside the pit, in the stands, Minerva and Severus had watched the entire thing, first with fear, then disbelief, before they began to roar with laughter. 

            “Did he just….” Severus gasped, turning to his colleague.

            “Make friends with a fearsome mother dragon? I believe he did!” she snorted, showing no signs of calming down. 

            “Um, mother dragon?” Harry asked, about fifteen minutes later, as he watched his friends looking at the nest in disbelief and his adult family clutching their sides.  “I’ve very much enjoyed this, but I really should get back to my human family…” 

            “Very well,” the great Horntail sighed.  “I suppose I cannot keep you forever, although make no mistake, we will meet again, and I look forward to it.”  She nudged the golden egg towards him before boosting him up onto her snout again and carrying him to the end of the barrier, setting him down softly.  “You will feel when your bonded hatches, just to warn you, and you will feel as they grow.  If you need me before they are old enough to join you, you may call me through your bond with them.  I will know.  Be safe, youngling.  Be safe.”  Then she nudged him through the barrier that she could not pass.  Minnie went to wrap him in a hug, but before she got to it, he was suddenly being swept up by green robes and the smell of mint.

            “OH MERLIN, HARRY!  I WAS SO CONCERNED, AND THEN SUDDENLY YOU’D MADE FRIENDS WITH A HUNGARIAN HORNTAIL AND YOU WERE IN HER NEST AND OH MY GOODNESS I WAS FRANTIC BUT THEN YOU JUST MAKE A NEW FRIEND AND I WAS WORRIED FOR NOTHING AND DON’T EVER SCARE ME LIKE THAT AGAIN AND UGH!”  Harry wasn’t sure how to respond to Draco’s frenzied, very loud babbling, and he didn’t have time to think of a way, either, because suddenly Draco’s mouth was on his and they were kissing and ohdeargodsnothinghadeverfeltlikethisandohheshouldprobablyrespondandjustwraphisarmsaroundhimlikethatandkisshimbacklikethatandtheentireschoolwaswatchingbutwhocaresletthemtalk and it was the greatest thing ever as his friends wolf-whistled and Minnie and Sev smirked and even the dragon was smirking and Draco’s toothpaste smelled like his magic and his mouth was hot.  Harry’d heard someone say that first kisses were always the most awkward, and if that were true, he couldn’t wait to get to the rest of them, because this one was the greatest thing he’d ever felt. 

            Draco, suddenly very aware of what he’d just done, pulled back, turning red.  “Oh Merlin, Harry!  I’m so sorry- I realised I just kissed you in front of the entire school and ohmygodI’veruinedourfriendshiphaven’tIpleasedon’tleaveme!”

            Harry looked at him in exasperation.  “You haven’t ruined anything, you prat, now shut up and kiss me again!”

            He kissed him again. 

Chapter Text

             When they finally came up for air, Harry noticed everyone was still smirking at them.

            “About damn time!” Pansy cried, pumping her fist.  “I was wondering when you two fools would figure it out.”

            “Hey, to be fair, I figured it out last year,” Draco said, smiling wider than he ever had in his life.  “It’s how I produced my first Patronus.”

            “Aww, that’s so sweet,” Harry said, laying his head on Draco’s shoulder. 

            “Hey, I yelled him into it, where’s my credit?” Hermione teased. 

            Before Harry could ask about that, Narcissa and Aralynn came down from the stands.  “Finally!” Draco’s mother cried, picking Harry up and spinning him around.  “He finally kissed you!  No more lovesick moping!” 

            “Mum!” Draco cried, turning red again. 

            “It’s okay Dray; I think it’s sweet, you moping over me,” his boyfriend (!!!) teased, pecking his cheek.  “Wait a minute, where’s Cedric?” he asked, finally coming down from his lovesick high to notice one of his friends was missing. 

            “He’s getting treated for some minor burns; the dog-as-rock thing went well until the dragon decided Cedric looked better,” Pansy said.  “He’s perfectly fine; shame he won’t have any cool scars, though.”

            “Only you would say that, Pans,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. 

            “C’mon Harry, we have to go get your score,” Minnie told him, putting a gentle arm around him and squeezing his arm proudly.  There were four judges, as Karkaroff was now sitting in a jail cell.

            First came Madame Maxime, and a silvery ribbon twisted out of her wand tip to form a number 10.  “Wonderful, ‘Arry!”  Fleur said, squeezing his shoulder ecstatically.  Her headmaster was not easily impressed; she’d lost two points when her sleeping spell worked a bit too well and the Shortsnout’s snore let out a jet of flame that set her skirt on fire.

            Dumbledore came next and he gave Harry a 9.  “His method must not have been dangerous enough,” Minerva sniffed disdainfully, clenching her fists.  Harry put a hand on her forearm to calm her. 

            Ludo Bagman gave him another 10, but Barty Crouch gave him a 4. 

            “That biased scumbag!” Snape swore.  “He’s probably still mad about what happened at the World Cup!”

            “It’s fine, Uncle Sev, just relax,” Harry said, smiling from ear to ear.  All his friends were okay, he had a boyfriend, his family liked his boyfriend.  He literally couldn’t be happier.

            “Harry, you’re tied with Viktor!” Ron cried.  “You did amazing!”

            “Well, I had a really nice dragon,” Harry brushed off the praise, putting his arm back around Draco’s waist. 

            “You vere amazing, Harry, Ron is right.  Ve are all very proud of you,” Krum told the smaller teen, ruffling his hair.  Harry batted his hand away. 

            “If I could just have a moment of your time,” Bagman said, and Harry glared at him.  He was still very angry over the things he’d said about Fleur, but the man didn’t seem to notice.  “Excellent job, everyone.  The next task is February 24, so you’ll have plenty of time to figure out the clue, which is in your golden egg.  If you look, you’ll see hinges.  Just pop it open whenever you’re done celebrating and want to start working on the next one.  Anyway, I’m off to go see some people…” he wandered off, muttering about something. 

            Sirius and Remus came sprinting up just then, sweeping Harry up into a joint hug.  “You were amazing, pup!  We’re so proud of you.  We would have gotten here sooner, but we got caught up by a bunch of ministry officials trying to schmooze with Lord Black,” Sirius groaned, pulling a face.  Harry laughed.

            “It’s okay Pads; I’m just glad you’re both here,” he said honestly. 

            “Oh, and congratulations on your boyfriend,” Uncle Mooney teased him, smiling. 

            “Guys!”  Harry blushed, hiding his face. 

            “Sorry pup- godfathers’ rights to tease you about this stuff,” Sirius said, setting him down.  “Now c’mon, let’s go get some lunch.” 

[Kreacher has moved on to phase two of his revenge; every bed the Dursleys sleep in feels like a cupboard under the stairs, and every time they sit down, they feel like they’re sitting on fresh bruises and cuts.]

            There was a large feast in the Gryffindor common room that night, with the whole school, and the other delegations, enjoying the atmosphere of success.  Fred and George were selling their new invention, Canary Creams, of which Sirius and Remus bought nearly the whole lot.  At Lee Jordan’s prompting, they tried opening one of the golden eggs, but the ear-splitting screech that it emitted had them shutting it immediately.  By nine pm, Harry had fallen asleep in Draco’s lap. 

            “Aww, look at him, all tired out,” Pansy cooed, tucking one of his wild curls behind his ear.

            “I mean, it’s understandable,” Fred said.

            “Yeah,” George agreed, “he faced a dragon today, and she mothered him to exhaustion.”  They all laughed. 

[Mother Dragon nudges her healed egg, marvelling at its strength.  It will be the greatest their species has ever seen.]

            Monday saw them back in their normal routines.  Harry approached CoMC with a smile. 

            “How are your skrewts, Hagrid?” Harry asked, hand-in-hand with Draco. 

            The man stroked his singed beard.  “Difficult,” he grumbled.  “Not for children, definitely.  Today we’ll be gettin’ a close look at some unicorns, although only the girls can get real’ close, unfortunately.” 

            “Hah!” Pansy said, “finally an animal that’ll like me and not you,” she gloated at Harry, only to be proven wrong when a unicorn from the field completely bypassed everyone else and wandered up to Harry. 

            “Damn it, golden boy!  When are you gonna stop breaking all the rules of magic?” she groaned, putting her head in her scarred hands. 

            “Um, sorry?” he tried, as the other unicorns gathered around him, shoving Draco out of the way in their desire to have Harry all to themselves. 

            “Well I never,” Hagrid grunted, watching the lead mare nudge him up onto her back and try to take him back to the forest with her.

[The Dursleys hear pained groaning coming from the cupboard.  Kreacher congratulates himself on slowly driving them to insanity as he polishes his beat-down frying pan.]

            Harry and his friends were at their usual hange-out spot at the lake on Saturday, with Cedric treating himself to his weekly blunt to relax.

            “I want a puff,” Pansy said, snatching Cedric’s and inhaling deeply without waiting for an answer. 

            “Pans, come on!  I work hard all week; this is my one treat,” the Hufflepuff groaned.

            “And now it’s mine too,” the Slytherin responded, blasé. 

            “Oh, ‘Arry, you are getting cold,” Fleur said, “we must move ourselves inside.  I don’t know why we came out anyway; eet eez snowing so ‘eavily.” 

            “I’m wearing three—e—e jumpers and a co—a—t,” he shivered, snuggled up to Draco.  “I’m f—i—ne,” he protested, teeth chattering. 

            “Let’s get you eenside,” she said, ignoring his arguments. 

            “We can take him to the prefect’s bathroom,” Cedric said, finishing his weed.  “It’s got this big bathtub and we can all put our bathing suits on and warm up.” 

            “Good idea,” Pansy said.  “Come on, let’s all go get changed.” 

            They all went to their own dorms to get dressed, and Harry put on his swim trunks and his sun shirt to hide all the scars on his back, chest, and torso, and they all met at the prefect’s bathroom fifteen minutes later. 

            “Pine fresh,” Cedric said, and the door opened to reveal a bathtub the size of a swimming pool.  A picture of a mermaid brushed out her long, blonde hair on the wall, and with her bright pink tail it was clear she was one of the more traditional-lure-type Caribbean mermaids that the muggles tended to picture whenever they heard the word. 

            “Alright,” Cedric said.  “Let’s turn on the taps to be nice and warm and add lots of bubbles.”  Since he was the only one that knew how everything worked, he bustled around turning on water and various nice-smelling bubble taps until the great tub filled up with steaming, sweet-smelling water. 

            Harry was glad he’d learned to swim so he could properly enjoy the soothing hot water as he relaxed into it.  Soon they were all enjoying the water, including Cedric and his golden egg.

            “Why’d you bring your egg?” Ron asked.

            “I don’t know.  Why do I do anything?  I’m high and I thought it would be fun,” he shrugged, going under the water with it and swinging it open.  A minute later, he popped up.

            “Guys,” he exclaimed.  “It talks- like, with words and everything!”  Soon everyone had their heads under water as they listened to the riddle. 

“Come seek us where our voices sound,

We cannot sing above the ground,

And while you’re searching, ponder this:”

            This was the point at which Harry had to surface, his diminished lung capacity not allowing him to hear the rest, but he knew the others would tell him, so he sat there panting as he tried to catch his breath. 

“We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss,

An hour long you’ll have to look,

And to recover what we took,”

            Ron and the twins had popped up, along with Hermione, Luna, Neville, and Susan, but Ginny, apparently determined to prove her superiority to her brothers, stayed down with Pansy, Viktor, Cedric, Fleur, Seamus and Dean.

But past an hour- the prospect’s black,

Too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back.” 

            Everyone popped up except for Pansy and Fleur, who, with their athletic endurance and determination to show off, apparently, stayed down to hear it one more time, coming up barely panting.  Harry envied them, he was still breathing heavily. 

            They shared the complete riddle with the rest of them, and Harry pondered the implications as he resolved to pack up all his parents’ old things under the strongest locking and warding charms he possibly could.

            “So, people who can’t use their voices above ground…” Draco pondered, arm around Harry as he stroked his boyfriend’s wet, soapy hair with his other hand.  He thought for a moment more before Pansy sighed exasperatedly and pushed her own locks out of her face. 

            “Mermaids, doofus!” she exclaimed.  “Come on, I know Harry’s still trying to catch his breath, but your lungs are great.  Use all that oxygen to think,” she ordered, rolling her eyes. 

            “I think you’re super smart,” Harry told his boyfriend, snuggling closer.  “And we’ve already figured out the next task, so we’ve got time.  Let’s just enjoy each other for a while.” 

            So they did.   

Chapter Text

           “Quick announcement,” Minerva said to the school at large at lunch one day, “I have decided as the deputy headmistress that if we are holding this dangerous tournament, we are also hailing back to the old tradition of having a Yule Ball.  Students who wish to go home may floo back the day of.  That is all.”

            There was a sudden flurry of conversation as students already began making plans for the dance, and Viktor tapped Pansy on the shoulder as soon as they’d all been dismissed.  “You are the boss lady, yes?”

            “Pansy flashed him a sly smile.  “Yes, and I know you’re coming here to ask me how to ask out Ron.”  At Viktor’s look of surprise, she rolled her eyes.  “I know everything, and also, you two are so fucking obvious.  Ron’s used to being overshadowed by his siblings, and he loves quidditch, so make it flashy and do it in the air, yeah?”  She sashayed away from a gobsmacked Krum.

            Harry held hands with Draco as he walked back to the room, wondering how he should ask his boyfriend to go with him.  As he was wondering, they very nearly ran into Cho Chang and Cedric Diggory, having a conversation. 

            “Look, Ced, I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out for weeks, and I’m pretty sure you like me back, so will you just go to the dance with me?” the Asian girl was saying, her practicality so quintessentially Ravenclaw. 

            “Um… yeahalksaseto,” he squeaked, before clearing his throat.  “Yeah, I’d like that,” he amended.

            “Great, I’ll pick you up by the kitchens at 8,” she told him before walking back towards Ravenclaw tower. 

            Cedric, smiling goofily, also wandered off, but it didn’t look like he had any clue where he was going.  Harry gulped; people were already asking people, he’d better get on that…

[The Dursleys have been calling the police repeatedly, rambling about wrinkly goblins and frying pans.]

            “Cissa, Ara,” Harry called tentatively through the fireplace in his bedroom that night. 

            “Harry, what a lovely surprise,” Narcissa told him, pulling away from where she’d been kissing her wife.  “What can we do for you?”

            “I wanna ask Draco to the Yule Ball, and I was wondering if you had any ideas?”

            Both women cooed.  “Aww, that’s so cute!” Ara squealed. 

            “Yes, yes, we’ve established that I am unfortunately adorable, now can you help me?”

[Pansy has snuck out to make friends with the unicorns.  Without Harry distracting them, they like her quite well.]

            Meanwhile, in the Slytherin dormitories, two things were happening at once.  Pansy and Hermione, for one, have marched into the dormitories, where Millicent was reading on her bed. Pansy smacked it down with one scarred hand before carefully shutting it and setting it on the night table.  Millie looked up at her, face neutral.

            “Yes?” she asked, knowing after sharing a bedroom with her for four years that there was no such thing as telling Pansy Parkinson no. 

            “I’ve tried everything, you obstinate, thick-headed girl, but you just don’t seem to get it.  So, now I’m gonna spell it out in very simple words so there’s no miscommunication- you, me, Hermione, Yule ball?”

            Millie looked at her again.  “Yeah, alright,” she shrugged.  “I mean, you weren’t exactly romantic, but romance is dumb anyway.  Plus, you’re both hot.  A girl could do worse.”  And that was that. 

            Draco, using the floo in Sev’s office to call Grimmauld place, was having a bit more difficulty as he reached his second hour of brainstorming over the floo.

            “And then we could bring in the doves,” Sirius suggested, winding down his play-by-play of his latest extravagant suggestion. 

            “I don’t know…” Draco said.  “Harry’s just so perfect; do you think it’ll be enough?”

            “Good point,” Sirius said, stroking his chin.  Remus slapped him upside his pretty head.

            “You’re both idiots,” he sighed.  “Harry hates being the centre of attention.  What you need is something simple and heartfelt.  Bake him something and put a cheesy card with it, and he’ll be tickled pink for months.”  He really should have spoken up when this madness started…

[Someone’s showed Dobby the Spice Girls, and the manor is rocking with the sound of sick beats.]

            Harry padded through the castle on little kitten paws, a note in his mouth asking Draco to go to the Yule Ball with him.  Inside the note was a little golden snitch with the words “you’re a real catch, can you be my keeper?” because he knew his boyfriend loved pretty things and also wanted to take care of him constantly. 

            Draco was on the way to find Harry with a homemade treacle tart and a big sign that said “It would be sweet of you to go to the Yule Ball with me” when he almost tripped over a tiny kitten.  Wait… that was his tiny kitten!  And he had something in his mouth.

            Harry saw Draco with his sign and his baked good and understanding dawned.  He popped back to human form before he realised he probably should have taken the note out of his mouth first…

            “I can see we both had the same idea,” Draco mumbled, blushing.  “Yours was probably better, though…”

            “No- I love yours,” Harry said shyly, scratching his neck.  “You even made my favourite dessert.  All I got you was this little snitch,” he said, handing over his own note with the gift inside. 

            “Aww, it’s so pretty!” Draco exclaimed.  “You know me so well; of course I’ll go to the ball with you.  Also, don’t eat the treacle tart; I’m not very good at baking and I think it might just kill you.”  They shared a sweet kiss right before Peeves came by and dumped a bucket of water on their heads.   

Chapter Text

            “Ugh, I’m gonna kill that stupid poltergeist!” Draco grumbled as he pulled away from a sodding Harry.

            “I’m pretty sure you can’t kill a poltergeist, babe; they’re already dead,” Harry pointed out as his boyfriend looked for something warm to wrap around him.

            “We better get you to Minnie before you catch a chill,” the blonde told him right as Myrtle came zipping through a wall to grab a still-cackling Peeves by the ear.  His expression quickly turned to one of fear. 

“PEEVES!  WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT PLAYING MEAN PRANKS?!” the tiny ghost bellowed as she twisted Peeves ear further and further until he whimpered.

            “Um…”

              “I can’t believe you would disobey a direct order from one of your superiors!” the Ravenclaw ghost continued, ignoring his stuttering.  “I’m going to have to consult with the Baron.”

            Peeves, if it was even possible for a ghost, paled even further.  “No, not the Baron!” he pleaded.  “It was just a little water…”

            “Cold water, in the middle of winter!” Myrtle scolded.  “Now you’re going to go to the forest until you learn some manners while I talk to the Baron about what we are going to do with you!  Go on: GET OUT!”  She physically tossed the poltergeist out the open window and slammed it shut with a gust of wind as the mischievous spirit wandered disconsolately to the forest. 

            “That ought to teach him,” she muttered angrily before looking back down at Draco and Harry, who had been watching the entire spectacle with faces of awe.  “Now go get dry and warm- especially you, Harry, you’re shivering!” she ordered, hustling them towards Gryffindor tower. 

            “Oh, goodness!” Minnie gasped when they entered, immediately grabbing for some warm blankets.  “What on earth happened?!”

            “P—p—eev—es,” Harry chattered, now thoroughly freezing.  “But the g—oo—d news is, D—Draco’s g—going to the Yule B—ball with me.”  He smiled goofily as Minnie vigorously rubbed the blankets up and down his arms. 

            “I’m going to do bad things to that awful creature,” Minerva growled, ignoring the part about the ball.  She hadn’t expected anything else, after all. 

            “Myrtle already beat you to it,” Draco said, chuckling at the memory as he pulled his own blanket closer.  “She banished him to the forest!”

            “I will have to send her something, then,” the tabby animagus noted, feeling Harry’s forehead.  “Come on kitten, let’s get you to Pomphrey.  You’re already sniffling.” 

            “M’na, no I’m not!” Harry argued, before: “AHHCHOO!” She gave him an unamused look. 

            “Come on luv, if we catch it fast, maybe it won’t stick around too long,” she said, picking him up (against his protestations) and carrying him to the floo.  Harry shot his boyfriend a mournful look, but Draco just shrugged- he had to agree with Minerva on this one. 

[Madame Pomphrey clucks her tongue disapprovingly as she looks at the thermometer and wraps Harry in blankets.  Kreacher takes a momentary break from his revenge to come help.]

            Harry would forever regret that being sick made him miss witnessing what happened at breakfast the next morning, as it was certainly, at least in the mind of a fourteen-year-old, one for the history books, and no pensieve viewing could possibly compare to the real thing. 

            “Where’s Viktor?” Ron wondered, a bit concerned, at breakfast the next day. 

            “I don’t know, Ron,” Pansy said, even though she knew quite well.  She turned to Millie, who was sitting with them now.  “Weasel has a raging hard-on for Viktor Krum.” 

            “I do not!” the youngest Weasley son gasped, scandalized. 

            “But you’re desperately in love with him?” Hermione said, not really asking. 

            Ron turned red.  “That… that is an entirely different matter,” he mumbled, shoving another bite of waffle into his mouth to escape the conversation.  The girls all smiled at each other as they suddenly heard a commotion outside the doors.  It was starting. 

            Seven adult wizards in brilliant orange robes suddenly streamed into the hall.  Poor Ron choked on his waffle. 

            “The… The Chudley Canons…” he wheezed as Susan smacked him on the back to help him breathe.  The canons suddenly formed two lines, holding their brooms up above their heads at an angle to make a sort of tunnel as through it came none other than Viktor, holding his one-of-a-kind quidditch jumper.  He shuffled, a little awkwardly and blushing a lot, up to Ron. 

            “I… I vas vondering if you might vear my quidditch jumper and… and let ev’ryvone know zat you are going to the ball vith me… zat is, if you vant to?” He proffered the jumper, now very nervous, and Ron just squeaked. 

            “That means yes,” Pansy supplied, smiling.  Then she turned to the Canons.  “As he will not be talking for the next several hours, I am going to go ahead and ask you for your autographs for him.” 

Chapter Text

             Severus pinched the bridge of his nose as he pored over yet another potions periodical, trying to find something, anything, that might help Harry’s immune system.  He had eight new subscriptions to every medical potions’ journal he could get his hands on, but every article, recipe, or experiment he’d found required ingredients that Harry’s system couldn’t take, or that were too strong, or that would react badly with other potions he was taking.  Many of them were just experimental alternatives for vaccinations, which of course Harry’s system was too weak to receive, hence this whole search in the first place. 

            He’d found very few articles dealing with the effects of chronic malnutrition in young wizards, and none at all that examined the effects of physical abuse in conjunction.  He took another sip of his coffee and picked up his quill again, scribbling and crossing out various calculations and cursing the Dursleys all the while. 

            “I’m trying Lily, really I am, but I don’t know what to do,” he groaned into the empty room.  “Harry doesn’t deserve this, you didn’t deserve this.   Merlin help me, even James Potter didn’t deserve this.”  He angrily scratched out another set of formulae and accidentally knocked ink all over his desk and the periodical he was currently working on.  He groaned again, but it wasn’t like this one had been any good either…

            He was staring at the dripping ink in lieu of banishing it when the floo flared to life.  Poppy’s face popped through. 

            “Severus- I think I may have found something; come through for a moment.  But be quiet; Harry’s napping.”  Severus jumped out of his chair and didn’t even bother to take care of the still-dripping ink mess.  It was nearly time for a new desk anyway…

            As he reached Poppy’s office, he caught a glimpse of Harry’s soft expression as he slept, and with a jolt he realised that it had been a long time since he’d thought of Harry as James’ son or Lily’s son, and that somewhere along the way he’d become Harry, his own person, a person that Severus had somehow, despite every wall he’d put up against his emotions, had come to care for very deeply.  He shook his head.  Newfound emotions were all well and good, he supposed, but they needed to be dealt with when Harry was healthy and didn’t need Severus using all his skills to take care of him. 

            “What is it, Poppy?”

            “I’ve been going through old medical records for the school and I noticed that we had a much higher instance of illnesses, amongst muggleborn students in the years 1845-49, 1914-18, and 1940-45,” the nurse said. 

            Severus scanned through his knowledge of muggle history.  “The two World Wars and… the Irish Potato Famine,” he surmised. 

            Poppy nodded briskly.  “Yes, all periods of great food shortages, most especially in the muggle world.  We had a high number of students with chronic malnutrition, and although none of them were to the extent or lasted as long as it did for Harry, there were some remedies that the nurses had been working on…”

            Severus took the aged notes.  “Yes, these are… promising.  Of course, they’d need a few adaptions, and some of these ingredients have since been proven unsafe, but at least it gives us a place to start.  Perhaps I could see if the chamber library has anything that could help me adapt the formulas…” 

[Kreacher is angry that his little master is sick again; he has gotten the Dursleys sick as well.  They do not take it nearly as well as Harry and their whinging was grating on Kreacher’s nerves, so he has beaten them unconscious with his frying pan.]

            Poppy allowed Harry to go back to his bedroom in Minerva’s quarters that night, provided he had one more day of rest before he went back to classes.  He was wrapped in blankets with Du resting on the chest of his fuzzy pyjamas when he felt a tickling sensation, like the pleasant warmth of a flame, starting from his core and working its way down through his stomach to his toes and up again to tingle in his scalp.  He knew immediately what it was, and he jumped out of bed, stopping for just a second as he was hit by a dizzy spell, before rushing to Minerva’s office excitedly and ignoring Du’s hissed chastisements to come back. 

            “M’na, M’na!” he rasped, not even bothering to knock. 

            “Harry?” she looked up in surprise from where she’d been grading a paper.  “Why aren’t you in bed?”

            “It’s hatching!” he cried, ignoring her question.  “My egg, it’s hatching!”

            “What egg?” Minerva pursed her lips, trying to steer her excited son back to his room as he hopped about like a child. 

            “The dragon egg I bonded with.  C’mon- I want you to be with me when your grand-dragon is born!”  He grabbed her sleeve and thankfully headed back to his room, hopping back against the headboard of his bed as Minerva took the arm chair and watched him fondly. 

            “Back under the blankets, please,” she ordered, fluffing the pillows.  “This might take a while.”  Harry watched the nimbus-shaped minute-hand of his quidditch clock tick slowly by as he stroked Du’s scales impatiently.  Minerva idly thought to herself that the last time he’d been this outwardly hyper was on his birthday under the influence of catnip.

            “Ugh, it’s too bad everyone’s in Uncle Sev’s class; they’d love to see this.” 

            “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one that’s seeing anything, Harry,” Minnie chuckled, rolling her eyes.  “I’m just watching you narrate what you see through the bond.” 

            “Oh right,” he mumbled, blushing a little.  “Are you getting bored?”

            “No Harry, I’m fine,” Minerva promised, brushing his fringe out of his eyes.  “I can just as well work on my grading here as I can in my office, and I’m glad to be a part of something you’re so happy about.” 

            “Wow!” Harry suddenly gasped, squeezing her hand.  “The nose is poking through!  Oh- the horns!  They’re so shiny!”  He was waiting with baited breath as his eyes stayed straight ahead, focused not on what was in front of him but far away, where he was watching something nobody else could see, nobody, that is, besides a mother dragon who knew that somewhere, a little human hatchling was as excited for this as she was. 

            “What’s happening now?” Minerva asked a few moments later.

            “The last pieces of the shell are falling away.  Wow- the tail has seven spines! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod it’s a girl!” he exclaimed.  “She’s got such pretty wings!”

            “Does she have a name?” Minerva asked, laughing just a little. 

            “Shhh, I’m waiting for her to tell me.  Oh, she’s sneezing- whoa, that’s a big flame!”  He listened quietly for a moment before his face lit up.  “Lily!” he gasped in wonderment, tears in his eyes.  “Her name’s Lily!”

Chapter Text

          Severus came into Harry’s bedroom after dinner that night with a brown paper bag of the type found in muggle grocery stores.

          “Whatcha got there?” Harry inquired, putting his book down.

          “Since the nutrient potions aren’t helping you gain weight quite the way you should, I thought we’d try something to supplement it.”  The sentence was all well and good, but Harry didn’t like the smirk on the man’s face.

          The reason quickly became apparent when he pulled out a six pack of little plastic bottles with the word “PediaSure” written across the top in big bubble letters. At the bottom of the bottle, under a picture of a happy toddler, was the subheading “for when your little one is a little behind.”

           Harry glared at the man. “Really?”

           Severus, still smirking, proffered a bottle. “Just drink it, Harry. It might help you grow.”

           “There’s a picture of a smiling baby on the front! This is NOT funny, Uncle Sev,” the teenager grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and making no move to reach for the drink.

           “Come on Harry, don’t you want to grow big and strong?” Severus teased, and Harry hated how much he seemed to be enjoying this. He reached out and snatched the bottle, looking at the label.

            “It says for ages four to eight; this is just insulting,” Harry griped, shaking it.

            “They don’t make them for big boys.” Now the man was just trying not to laugh.

            “I am not drinking something made for pre-schoolers, Uncle Sev. I refuse!”

            “Alright, fine,” the professor said, putting his hands up in surrender. “But if your dress robes for the ball have a bow tie on the top and little dinosaurs all over them because you can’t fit into the big ones, I’m going to say I told you so.”

             Harry, still glaring, untwisted the top. “You know, sometimes you really are insufferable.”

           “Cranky child; you’ll feel better after your shake. It’s ‘chocolate chuckle’ flavoured.”

            Harry threw a wandless hex at the man as he fled, laughing hysterically.

[Lily the dragon just sneezed and accidentally burned down her first tree- pretty impressive for one day old.]

            “My Gods!” Sarah gasped through the floo as Harry caught her up on everything that had happened in the last few months.  “Mother of fucking Merlin!”

            “Yeah,” Harry giggled.  “That was pretty much everyone’s reaction.”

            “Well, I was wondering why you hadn’t been sending me any letters.  I suppose it was because you were busy trying to stay alive,” Sarah harrumphed, not at all pleased with Dumbledore.  It was a good thing for the old man that she was an ocean away…

            “Yeah.  I’m kind of worried about the second task; the riddle said they’re going to take something that means something to me.  I’ve locked up all my parent’s old possessions and warded them really strongly, and Kreacher helped, but something tells me it won’t be that easy.”  Through his bond with the elf, he felt a stab of anger at Dumbledore, as well as some sort of vindictive glee.  He didn’t inquire about the second one.  If Kreacher was spraying his godfathers with the garden hose again, well, it was their fault for being into exhibitionism. 

            “So, besides the horrid death tournament, how’s everything else going?” Sarah asked. 

            Harry suddenly blushed brilliantly.  “I have a boyfriend now…”

            Sarah pumped her fist in the air.  “You finally got together with Draco!  Gods, you talked about him so much that I was wondering when you’d realise.” 

            “Why didn’t you tell me that I was in love?!” Harry cried.

            Sarah had that expression on her face that, had they both been in her office and not talking over the floo, Harry knew she’d have reached out and ruffled his hair.  “Kinda something you gotta figure out for yourself, lil’ dude,” she laughed.  “So,” she digressed, her face becoming more serious.  “How are the nightmares and stuff- any flashbacks or panic attacks?”

            Harry smiled at her.  “One or two nightmares a month, maybe, but it used to be three or four a week, so I’m doing a lot better.  You’re brilliant!”

            Sarah tossed her hair over her shoulder, except it didn’t quite work due to the fact that her textured curls bounced right back into place.  “Well, I wouldn’t say brilliant…”

            “Shut up, you know you’re fantastic,” Harry said, sticking his tongue out at her. 

            “What can I say?  I love praise,” she responded, laughing again.  “Oh, this must be Du!” she exclaimed as Harry’s adder slithered up to drape herself over his shoulder. 

            “Yeah,” Harry confirmed, rubbing her scaly head as she relaxed, a pleasant expression in the line of her mouth.  “She’s been a little clingy ever since my dragon hatched.  Don’t worry girl, I won’t forget about you,” he hissed, switching to parseltongue to reassure her.

[Kreacher has gotten more creative; every time they reach for something to eat, they feel a hard smack or a whack or a kick, just like Harry did.  They also randomly feel the horrid pain of a belt coming down on them.]

            Figuring out the dynamics of a make-out session with three instead of two would normally be a daunting task for fourteen-year-olds (let’s be honest- kissing in general is pretty difficult for fourteen-year-olds), but Pansy, Hermione, and Millie were no ordinary fourteen-year-olds, so they were managing nicely.  When Daphne walked into her dorm room that night after dinner, she got a nice eyeful of Pansy showing Millie that incomparable trick with her tongue while Hermione kissed her neck.  Rolling her eyes, she walked out into the common room, only to find Harry and Draco being disgustingly domestic, with their nose kisses and their snuggling, and Blaise Zabini with his hands gradually working their way under the shirt of his latest (a sixth-year Hufflepuff guy who seemed to be enjoying his ministrations).

            “What does a girl have to do to find a quiet place to study?!” she groaned in exasperation as she stomped out of the portrait hole, hoping that everyone in the Hufflepuff common room (her new destination) could keep it in their pants. 

Chapter Text

           “What’re you looking at?” Harry asked, trying to break into the circle of girls crowded around a magazine as they relaxed in the Gryffindor common room on Friday night.

            “Dress robes; we’re trying to get an idea of cut and style and everything for when Sirius and Remus take us shopping tomorrow,” Pansy said. 

            “Are Viktor and I supposed to colour-coordinate?” Ron asked as he munched on a scone and looked over as well, although unlike Harry, his added height actually allowed him to catch a glimpse of the glossy photographs in the catalogue. 

            “Nothing goes with your hair, Weasel, so you’re pretty much screwed either way,” Pansy told him, before slapping his cheek.  “Now stop getting crumbs on the pages.”

            “Why,” Fred began.

            “Are you making fun of the Weasley hair?” George continued.  “You’ll hurt poor Ginny’s feelings.” 

            “Eh, the hair works on me, plus I’ve got a cute face,” Ginny shrugged.  “And we’ve already decided I should try to find something in lavender.” 

            “How are you even going to the ball?” Ron asked his little sister.  “I thought you would wanna take Luna, and you’re both third years.  You have to be a fourth year to go to the ball.” 

            “Oh, we’ve got that all figured out,” Ginny said, waving her hand dismissively.  “Officially, Lavender’s taking me and Parvati’s taking Luna, and then we just trade off dates as soon as we get in.” 

            “Parvati’s taking Lavender?” Seamus asked, looking up from where he was repeatedly striking and putting out matches.  “Since when are they an item?”

            “Since forever, Pyro.  You’re just so oblivious I had to ask out Dean for you,” Pansy rolled her eyes. 

            “Yeah, thanks for that, by the way,” Dean said from where he had his arm around his new boyfriend while he made sure the carpet didn’t catch fire. 

            “I’ve pretty much accepted that Mia and I are the ones who take care of everything around here,” the Slytherin said, sighing theatrically. 

            “Oh, quit playing the martyr, you know you love to meddle,” Draco told her, Harry’s head in his lap as he gently played with his boyfriend’s hair. 

            “And you’ve all benefitted,” she smirked at him as Harry slowly drifted off to sleep, a smile on his face as he leaned into Draco’s touch. 

[Remus and Sirius are washing each other’s hair in the bathtub, because not all of their favourite romantic things involve sex (just most of them).]

            Harry, in preparation for his fitting, was putting up glamours over all his scars when Minerva knocked on his door. 

            “Just a minute, Min!” he called as he searched for a shirt to cover up with. 

            “I want you to let me put the glamours on, Harry,” she said through the door.  “You don’t need them draining your energy all day.”  There was no arguing with his guardian when she used that tone, so Harry gave up looking for something to cover up with and let her in, preparing not to look at the flash of pain on her face as she saw his bare chest and back.

            “All done,” she said a moment later as she put away her wand and discreetly wiped her eyes. 

            “Thanks Mins.” Harry didn’t comment on her leaky eyes but instead gave her a big hug.  “I love you; I’ll see you tonight.  That is, if the girls don’t take all weekend.” 

            The tabby animagus chuckled and ruffled his hair.  “Love you too kitten.  Try to find something in green, to match your eyes.”  Said emerald eyes rolled at him as he headed to the floo, but he conceded (especially because Draco had already planned for them to go in complementary colours of green and silver, and there was no talking that boy out of his fashion choices). 

            “Little Master Harry!” Kreacher said, rushing up to give him a big hug as soon as he stepped through.  “Kreacher is being so happy to see you’s!” 

            “Hey Kreach,” Harry laughed, patting the little elf’s head.  “You act like I’ve been missing for the past five years or something; we just talked over the mirror yesterday.”  Kreacher ended up using Padfoot and Moony’s mirror more than they did (maybe because to use it, they had to pry it out of his hands and risk a frying pan beat-down first). 

            “It is not being the same as hugging little master.  Now come; Kreacher made your favourite brownies.”  He dragged a smiling Harry into the kitchen, waving off his godfathers as they tried to sneak in for a hug.  “You’s can be having little master after he has been having a snack,” he told them sternly. 

            “Oh dear, Mama Kreach has gotten hold of him again, we’ll be lucky to leave within the hour,” Remus chuckled, rolling his eyes.

            “Eh, we’re in no hurry,” Pansy dismissed.  “Now where’s those brownies…” 

[Kreacher’s fed Harry two brownies and a glass of warm milk, hoping to put him to sleep and get to keep him for the day.  Sirius’ solution to a sleepy Harry was to buy him a coffee as soon as they got to London.  That went well…]

            “You don’t get a kid that size a Venti expresso!” Remus scolded his boyfriend.  Honestly, he’d left him alone with the children for five minutes to go to the bathroom...

            “To be fair, I got them all Venti expressos,” Sirius sort-of defended himself. 

            “Yes, and now Luna has joined Harry in cartwheeling all down the sidewalk, and Ginny seems to be making her best effort to bounce without her pogo stick.  Excellent call, Pads.”

            “I thought Fleur would stop me, but she got distracted mocking American pastries with Malala.”

            “And Cedric didn’t showcase any of that famous Hufflepuff responsibility?” Remus prodded, unable to believe that no one had thought badly of Sirius’ hairbrained idea.

            “Hey, I get stoned on Saturdays.  I’m just along for the ride,” the student defended himself.

            “Viktor?”

            “Hmm?” the Bulgarian seeker asked, pulling his eyes away from where they’d been dreamily glued to Ron. 

            “Pansy? Hermione? Millicent?” Remus tried, a little desperately. 

            “We found where Ceddy keeps his weed,” Pansy giggled, studying her and her girlfriends’ joined hands with fascination.

            “Oh Merlin, what have I gotten myself into?” the former werewolf groaned as he tried to steer them all towards the Leaky Cauldron.

[Minerva drags an unwitting Severus into helping her set up an empty classroom so they can give the kids dance lessons the next day.]

            Three very trying hours later, they all left, loaded down with 200 galleons worth of formal wear (that Sirius had insisted on paying for because he’s a good guy, and also because maybe this will make Minnie less mad at him for over-caffeinating her child).  Remus carried a passed-out Harry, Sirius carried a similarly slumbering Luna, Ginny and Draco leaned on each other, stumbling along half-asleep like drunken sailors, and Cedric, Hermione, Millie, and Pansy worked their way through what seemed like half the meat-pie shop in carryout orders.  Fleur and Malala were still making fun of the ‘cake pops’ that they’d seen at Starbucks earlier, and Viktor and Ron were engaged in an energetic discussion about quidditch (so essentially, those two were acting normal, at least).  They all stumbled through the floo, and Remus gave thanks to every deity he could think of that they’d made it out of Madame Malkin’s alive. 

Chapter Text

            When Harry stumbled downstairs the next morning, he found Sirius sleeping on the common room couch. 

            “Siri?  What’re you doing here?” he asked through a yawn, rubbing his eyes.  Sirius groaned at being shaken awake before slowly sitting up. 

            “I’m in the doghouse, pup,” he told him, too tired to do more than smile at his own pun.  “Kreacher felt all that coffee through the bond, so I came home to an angry elf threatening me with a frying pan, so I wisely retreated through the floo.  I’m gonna let it cool off for a while…”

            Harry was saved from commenting by a very stern-looking Minerva McGonagall stalking down the stairs.  She stopped in front of Sirius’ couch, arm crossed.  “Kreacher and I had a very interesting conversation over the floo last night- care to guess what it was about?”

            “Um…” Sirius looked desperately to his godson, but found no help, as Harry was too busy trying not to laugh at the prospect of what he was certain would be a magnificent spectacle. 

            “A Venti latte, Mr. Black?  24 ounces of espresso?  Need I remind you that Harry is the size of a small first year, and you gave him 24 ounces of espresso?!  Kreacher said he could feel him vibrating through the bond,” she disciplined, her voice only slightly above normal volume but very, very displeased. 

            “I, um… he liked it?” Sirius tried desperately. 

            “Of course, he did- Harry is not a picky child,” and Harry, again, didn’t dare point out that he was technically a teenager (why did everyone keep forgetting?!).  “But you, Sirius Orion Black, are an adult, at least nominally, and as such, you are the one responsible for making good decisions for the children.  And if you had to make the dumb decision of giving excitable teenagers coffee, why so much?!”

            “I don’t- I just ordered what I usually get?” Sirius shrugged, trying to sink into the couch. 

            Minnie rolled her eyes as if she didn’t quite believe what she was hearing.  “You’re an adult, again, and need I point out that Harry gets the recommended amount of sleep for his age group, whereas I am reasonably certain that however long you stay in bed these days, not nearly enough of it is spent in slumber.”   

            “M’na!” Harry gasped, screwing his face up in disgust.  She merely patted him on the head.

            “Oh darling,” she said fondly.  “You wouldn’t have lasted a day with James and Lily.”

            “I WAS MADE WITH CUDDLES AND MAGIC WISHES AND THAT’S THE END OF IT!” Harry exclaimed in horror, putting his hands over his ears.  “I’M GOING TO BREAKFAST!”  He ran for the portrait hole, face on fire. 

            “Apparently getting a boyfriend hasn’t made him any less of a prude,” Sirius chuckled.  Minerva smacked him.

            “Watch it mutt; you’re still on thin ice,” she said, and Sirius stared at her in horror- she sounded far too much like Snape in that moment for his comfort. 

[Kreacher hums as he polishes his beat-down pan; stupid Dursleys got blood all over it.]

            Breakfast, unfortunately, provided no reprieve, as Severus came up to the Ravenclaw table, where they were all eating.  He added more bacon to Harry’s plate with a forlorn expression on his face. 

            “I’ve been tasked with informing you all that the Champions and their partners, who will be opening the ball, shall be receiving mandatory dance lessons,” he shuddered as he spat the words out as though they had a bad taste.  Harry, taking his potions, could not bring himself to feel bad for the man.  “We, as I have apparently lost so much of my fearsome reputation that people feel comfortable forcing me into such things, will be meeting outside the hall after breakfast.”  His bit said, and Harry’s plate comfortably overloaded, he slumped disconsolately back to the table, a miserable picture. 

            Pansy, looking at Harry’s stricken expression, laughed outright.  “Aww, you don’t know how to dance, do you Fawn?” 

            Harry sighed.  “Does dodging snarling dogs count as dancing?”

            Pansy stuck her tongue out at him.  “Of course dodging snarling dogs doesn’t count.  Also, why do you always have to ruin my fun with your sob stories?”

            “This conversation is a sob story,” he quipped back, pouring himself another pumpkin juice. 

            “Harry!” Hermione gasped, stricken.  He looked at her and laughed.

            “C’mon Mia, you expect me to spend as much time with Severus Snape as I do and not use sarcasm as a defence mechanism?”

[Meanwhile, Kreacher, whose bond with Harry had strengthened as a result of their close relationship, caught an unwitting flash of Harry’s memories of being chased by Aunt Marge’s dogs.  He expands his revenge plans.]

            “Alright,” Minerva said, smiling as she led them all into the transfigured ballroom-esque space.  “Let’s have an introduction to ballroom dancing.  I see you’ve all come, even though it was optional for most of you.”  And indeed, Harry’s entire friend group was there, even those that didn’t need to be, although whether it was to laugh at their attempts or due to an actual enjoyment of the sport wasn’t entirely certain.  “First of all, you need to decide on who’s going to lead.” 

            Everyone paired up, and Draco, who had experience, thankfully decided to lead for Harry, who gave him a quick kiss of gratitude.  Fleur took the lead for her and Malala’s dance, Cho gracefully allowed Cedric to take the traditional “masculine” role (she was already the dominant one in their relationship, but the spectators at the Yule Ball didn’t need to know that), and Hermione, Pansy, and Millie joined forces with Ginny and Luna in some sort of mystical fairy circle dance (because why not?).  Viktor and Ron both looked at each other, each a bit awkward on the ground and each horrified at the idea of dancing in front of half the school and everyone related to the Tournament, before Viktor eventually offered to lead, since of course he was the reason they had to do this in the first place. 

            “Alright, lovely.  Now, it’s a fairly simple three-step pattern.  Severus, come here please.”  The potions master crankily slinked forward and went to put his hand behind Minerva’s shoulder blade, but she swatted it away. 

            “I’m leading, if you please.” 

            “But I don’t please,” he muttered.

            “Well, too bad, because I’m older and I have more experience and I say so.  Now, the music.”  With a flick of her wand, the instruments in the corner started performing an independent orchestra, and while their expressions were a bit awkward, the colleagues knew each other well enough that the dance was exemplary. 

            “And one-two-three, one-two-three,” Minerva chanted, before she spun the Slytherin around, and his dramatic robes betrayed him as they billowed out to twirl like the skirt of a ballgown.  They demonstrated the entire piece one more time before Minerva silenced the music and they stepped away from each other (Severus as if he had been burned).

            “Well, well, I’ve finished making a fool of myself, so I think I’m going to go drown myself in firewhiskey,” he grumbled, stalking out of the classroom-turned-ballroom and slamming the door for good measure. 

[Severus has run into Sirius, who tried to go home but was again chased off by Kreacher.  Both a bit grouchy (or a lot grouchy) they are sharing a bottle of firewhiskey.  And the castle is still standing. Oh, dear Merlin… they- they’ve just shared a joke….]

            “You’re doing great, Harry.  You’re a real natural at this,” Draco praised his boyfriend as they waltzed around the room.  There was a bit of accidental toe-trodding at first (not that it really hurt Draco, as his Harry was still pitifully light), but they quickly got into a rhythm. 

            “This isn’t nearly as hard as when I had to learn to climb trees,” Harry said, pleasantly surprised (although the use of the word had gave Draco even more intense feelings of burning hatred towards the Dursleys, something he hadn’t thought possible). 

            Ron and Viktor, unfortunately, were not having nearly enough luck. “Oh no, I’ve stepped on your feet again- I’m so sorry!” Ron’s face was as red as his hair; he was flustered by being this close to Viktor and also embarrassed with his dancing skills. 

            “Eet eez alvight, snidget,” the seeker told him.  “I am not doing very good eizer.” And it was true; they were both miserable at this.  Ron groaned and put his head on Viktor’s chest as Harry and Draco spun gracefully by.  Even the other Hogwarts girls, who were doing some sort of dance to “summon the nargles,” looked far more elegant than he and his date.

            “Alright,” Minerva called, looking at her watch, and the others came to a stop as Fleur gave Malala one last graceful twirl and Viktor and Ron tripped over each other and fell, becoming a hapless pile of limbs.  “It’s time for lunch.  I think we can call almost everyone sufficiently prepared, although Mr. Krum, Mr. Weasley, I’d like to give you some more focused instruction, so if you would please report back here after the meal.”  Viktor shyly gave Ron a soft kiss on the forehead as he helped him up.  Maybe a little more time to practice without everyone watching them would actually be nice…

Chapter Text

           On Christmas Eve, after Kreacher had finished making dinner (which lulled Remus and Sirius to sleep) and wrapping little master Harry’s presents, he gathered his frying pan and popped away to the middle-class neighbourhood home of one Marge Dursley.  He scanned the plethora of dogs until he found one with the nametag that said Ripper on the collar.  He muttered a few words in elf language and waved his hand as he sent a spell into the dog.  Come morning, the dog would begin to direct his slavering, vicious behaviour towards Marge, who would be chased until she and the dog both collapsed of exhaustion, only to begin the cycle again the next day. 

            His work completed, he turned to leave the house when he saw a canvas bag emitting some weak cries.  Looking inside, he found a small puppy, the runt of the litter no doubt, and a heavy stone.  Angrily, he realised that the woman intended to drown the poor thing in the river, and he gently picked up the little puppy, a tan girl with a white star on her chest and adorable floppy ears and popped away with her.  He would give her to his mutt masters; maybe something to care for would mean less time he had to spend scolding them for getting into things (and having sex in places) that they shouldn’t.  

[Harry crawls into Draco’s bed in the manor that night to snuggle with his boyfriend, as has become their Christmas ritual.]

            After presents were opened (and Harry was certain Dobby nearly cracked one of his ribs with his thank-you hug for the socks he’d gotten the elf) and Christmas lunch eaten, the girls retreated upstairs, giggling, to get ready.  Dobby went with them as well, and the sound of Spice Girls and teenage laughter soon drifted downstairs as the boys warily edged as far away as possible from this strange female cult ritual.

            Harry was taking a nap by the fireplace in his kitten form when he found himself lifted up.  He mewed indignantly at his captor, and when he changed back to give them a piece of his mind, he noticed with a nervous gulp that it was Minnie, Narcissa, and Aralynn proffering a bottle of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. 

            “Alright luv, let’s see what we can do with this hair,” his guardian said, and Harry was tempted to apparate very, very far away, but he knew that they’d find him wherever he went. 

            An hour, six broken brushes and combs and two empty bottles of potion later and Harry’s hair still maintained its stubborn mess of haphazard curls.  As soon as one woman managed to finagle one stray lock into place, another popped up of its own accord.  Narcissa licked her thumb and tugged a loose curl behind his ear, only for a cowlick to spring up at the back of his head.  Aralynn, laughing, swore there was an audible boing as Harry’s hair resorted to its natural state of chaos. 

            “Pansy!” The women called desperately, as a last resort.  If she couldn’t do it, then they’d give up.  The Slytherin, in a dressing gown and bunny slippers, her makeup done and her hair half-up with brightly-coloured clips and pins used as placeholders, stalked down, hairbrush in hand. 

            “Yes?” she called, clearly enjoying having three capable grown women at her mercy. 

            “Help…” Aralynn tried weakly.

            “Alright everyone, step back,” the teen said, preparing for battle.  She cast an eye over their sad attempts and sighed.  “Oh my, let’s get all this grease off.  The trick is to work with the hair, not to dominate it.”  She cast an augmenti charm to get rid of all the hair potion, and the adults watched in awe as she deftly treated each lock to a low-powered drying charm before gently nudging them into place, just far enough from their usual places as to not try to restructure them, but merely polish them a bit.  A few carefully hidden pins and Harry’s hair, in place of its usual chaotic mess, had an artfully mussed appearance. 

            “By Merlin, she’s done it…” Narcissa gaped, her expression certainly not possessed of her usual pureblood poise. 

            “Yes, yes, I’m amazing,” Pansy acknowledged with a bow.  “But I must get back to my own metamorphosis from huntress to goddess now, if you please.”  She slipped around the three impressed witches and back up the stairs. 

[Sirius, as Padfoot, curls up for a nap with their newest family member.]

            There were a seemingly interminable number of photographs before they floo’ed back to Hogwarts, and Minerva, Narcissa, and Aralynn insisted on keeping Draco and Harry back for even more after the others had left. 

            “Oh please, Harry,” Minnie begged her son, arranging his robes, emerald with silver accents (to compliment Draco’s silver dress robes with emerald accents).  “I’m still eleven years behind on photographs.”  Harry couldn’t bring himself to point out that she’d also said that two years and twelve photo albums ago but instead merely sighed and allowed himself to be posed.  They only stopped when the camera ran out of film and there were hundreds of shots of him and Draco with their arms around each other, Harry on tiptoes to kiss Draco’s cheek (and Harry overreaching, losing his balance, and being caught by Draco as he tried to kiss his cheek), Draco leaning down to kiss Harry’s forehead, and just about every other first dance position ever thought up by proud parents since the beginning of time.

            “Muuuums, we’re gonna miss the first daaaance,” Draco whined eventually, and Harry and Draco were finally ushered through the floo (as a pair, of course, everyone was still reluctant to let Harry floo unaccompanied- honestly, you miss one grate…) followed by Narcissa, Aralynn, and Minerva.

            Ron, unable to find something he liked and didn’t clash with his hair, had gone with a neutral, muted beige to complement Viktor’s burgundy robes, but Ginny had gone a bit more daring with a simple lavender Greek-style chiton that floated in diaphanous ripples from her waist, her bare arms peeking through the slits in the unstructured billowing sleeves.  Her red hair was arranged in tight curls around a simple silver circlet, and Luna had a sparkling tiara atop her hair, loose and down to her waist.  The blonde wore a knee-length dress in the bluey-white colour of ocean spray, the skirt formed by large, soft, overlapping silk petals that gave her the appearance of a garden fairy.

            To say that Hermione’s royal-blue robes made her look like Cinderella would be unfair, because Hermione had the bearing of a true queen- the plunging neckline was balanced by the teardrop pendant of a pearl surrounded by delicate gold filigree, and her tight, textured curls had been relaxed only slightly to allow them to be pulled back in a more elaborate version of a high ponytail, with a few loose wisps left to frame her forehead and a gold clip in the shape of a camellia positioned on the left side of her head.  Her only makeup was a soft sweep of gold eyeliner that brought out the hints of mahogany in her molten-chocolate eyes and a soft, shimmering pink gloss on her lips to soften the edges of her regal appearance. 

Pansy had her chestnut hair in a loose chignon and her robes were blush-coloured and cut in a simple A-Line, her statement pieces the lace-work patterned silver collar necklace and matching bracelet. 

Millicent’s black hair had been styled in soft waves that flattered the strong cut of her jawline and prominent cheek bones, and her robes hovered on the colour-line between beige and shimmery gold, the slit on the side offering a glimpse of muscular legs.  The bodice was tight, decorated with tiny pearls, and the partial sleeves left the prominent line of her collar bone visible. 

            Malala’s robes were a simple white and her hijab etched with complicated gold filigree. Fleur wore simple, fitting periwinkle robes with long sleeves with a Bateau neckline, but that didn’t stop her from looking, as the muggles say, “fit to stop traffic.”   Every eye in the room was on their group; they made a stunning ensemble.  Cho, in her buttercup-yellow hanbok, looked like a Korean Belle as she led Cedric, in a cerulean waistcoat, to the dance floor.  Krum and Ron’s extra waltzing lessons had paid off, for, while they wouldn’t have won any competitions, they managed to hold their own.  Harry may have been clumsy at times, but for dancing he managed to channel the same grace that he had on a broom or that he made extensive use of when scaling trees, walls, and fences as a child, and with Draco’s years of pureblood etiquette, they made a handsome pair as their visage flashed in and out of view behind the girls’ swirling ball gowns. 

            As they finished the dance, Harry, with a bit of surprise, felt Percy Weasley’s magical signature coming up to join Madame Maxime, Bagman, and Dumbledore’s.  He didn’t wonder long, however, as Percy’s pompous voice loudly proclaimed that he was standing in for his boss, who was apparently tired from all the stress of the tournament.  Oh sure, he’s tired, thought Harry, mentally rolling his eyes.  It must be very difficult to do all that sitting and watching while he and his friends tried not to die. 

            The waltz came to an end, and soon the dance floor was full of kids.  “Apparently Crouch was in charge of the music,” Draco said as they inched along to Haydn’s 22^nd Symphony. 

            “I can tell; it’s a real snooze-fest,” Pansy groaned, miming a yawn. 

            “I know,” Hermione said, a sly smile springing to her face as she pointed her wand at the Orchestra, which changed its tune as the microphone began belting out “Cotton-Eye Joe.”  Many of the children looked confused, but Harry cheerfully pulled Hermione up by the arm as they and the other muggle-born and muggle-raised children began energetically linking up for the folksy routine.  The music list that Barty Crouch had organised was thereupon ignored as kids began calling out their requests.  Lee Jordan cheerfully swung his hips to the Bachata as Fred and George gave the traditional Dominican dance their best (i.e. hilariously terrible) efforts.  Then Cho cheerfully conjured some large drums to join their string orchestra as she pulled a laughing Cedric through the Samgomu Ogomu.  A drunk Hagrid and Maxime cheerfully did their best impression of a Nordic Opera.  Pansy put a rose in her mouth and swung her girlfriends through a shockingly graceful three-person modification of a Tango, and despite being a pureblood, Luna did the best Macarena in the school (that girl was an enigma, and Ginny loved her all the more for it).

            By the time dinner was served, Percy was looking very grouchy indeed as the traditional Yuletide celebration had become a lively celebration bearing no resemblance to stodgy English court dances, and Hagrid and Madame Maxime were nowhere to be found (they were talking in the garden, each pleased to have found someone to talk about their giant heritage with, and the beetle in the corner had to run off the property as she was forced to transform for a long bout of belching amphibians at the mere thought of publishing the information).  Even those that normally had trouble drifting off slept soundly that night, tired from the exertion and the joy of Christmas at a unified Hogwarts. 

Chapter Text

                The week between Christmas and New Years always seems suspended in a slight warp on the space-time continuum.  For Harry, this week used to mean misery as Dudley, angry that Christmas was over, took his irritation out on Harry, broke things, and blamed them on Harry, which of course meant even more beatings, less food, and more time in the cupboard than usual.  Now, however, the period held a unique sort of soporific bliss as he took naps on the manor lawn in his kitten form (kept warm in the winter chill by the flock of white peacocks eager to cuddle with him), read some of the things on his book list (more volumes from the chamber library, novels he’d been longing to make time for, and the subscription to Teen Potions Monthly that Uncle Sev had gotten him for Christmas), and spent quality time with Draco, walking through the gardens holding hands and trading chaste kisses over cups of hot cocoa. 

                Pansy took the time to teach the manor’s house elves modern dance (and also train them in various fighting techniques, but she was keeping her reserve army of combat-ready house elves a closely guarded secret), Hermione and Millie helped her (because they were automatically included in any secret of Pansy’s, closely-guarded though it may be), and Ron played quidditch and took romantic broom flights with Viktor.  The seeker loved to entertain his boyfriend with sweet nothings whispered in his native Bulgarian, laughing when Ron tried to repeat them and failed miserably. 

             Things weren’t much different for Dean, who went about his usual routine of trying to keep his boyfriend from setting things on fire, or for Narcissa and Aralynn, who went about their normal routine of sex at all hours of the day, although it was made slightly more interesting by their efforts to find creative, hidden places where the children wouldn’t walk in on them (and unlike Sirius and Remus, they succeeded, and no horrified screaming was heard as a door was opened that should have stayed closed).

               New Years’ Eve found them all in the living room as they waited to ring in 1995.  Harry tried valiantly to keep his eyes open while the adults (including Snape, who had been dragged out of the sanctity of his office and through the floo to the manor) passed around a bottle of firewhiskey.

             “Wow, that burns!” Dan Granger gasped as he took his first sip of the acrid wizard alcohol. 

             “Quite agree mate, that’s why we always have you over for wine.  Besides the occasional party, I haven’t had the stuff since I was seventeen,” Pansy’s dad told his best friend. 

             “Can I have some?” his daughter asked, reaching for the bottle.  Her father gave her a look. 

             “We already let you have a glass of red at dinner; don’t push it, flower,” he told her.  Pansy rolled her eyes at him but let the matter drop.

              “Another blanket, kitten?” Minerva asked Harry, who had his head on Draco’s chest.

              “Mins, I’m trying to stay awake,” he protested as she wrapped it over his shoulders without waiting for an answer.  He was only kept from losing his fight to the sandman when, at fifteen minutes to midnight, the fireplace flared green and Sirius’ head poked through. 

              “Everybody, come through to Grimmauld Place; we’ve got a surprise.”  The Marauder looked deliriously happy, so they all were somewhat wary as they swept through the floo. 

               When they got through, in lieu of a hippogriff petting zoo or drunk midnight quidditch or whatever other chaos they might have expected, they found an arch decorated with an ivy trellis above the fire place, Sirius in his leather jacket, Remus in his favourite tweed suit, frantic banging noises in the kitchen, and a very sleepy wizard dressed in official ministry robes. 

               “Surprise! We’re getting married!” Sirius exclaimed, throwing his hands out excitedly.  Before everyone else had the chance to respond, he waved his wand in a flourish, and gold sparks flew out.  “Everybody take a seat on the floor, and this here,” he motioned to the lethargic ministry official, “is Ivan.  I called in one of my many favours from the ministry (a lord of a prevalent ancient and noble house locked up without a trial and later proved innocent could indeed get away with just about any ridiculous request) to get him here on such short notice, and that banging noise from the kitchen is Kreacher cooking hysterically to make a wedding feast, even though we told him he didn’t have to.”

                “Mutt masters will be having proper nuptials!” the elf yelled from the kitchen.  “Mutt masters do not be arguing with Kreacher!”

                 Minerva looked at her former students.  “And why now, at the drop of the hat, do you decide to have a middle-of-the-night wedding in your living room with some poor ministry bastard who’s only half aware of what’s going on?” 

                 Remus took this one.  “Well, we were talking, and then we realised about an hour ago that we had this wonderful chance to be together again, and we wanted to make it forever.  Even if the country doesn’t recognise our marriage, it will be official for us, and we wanted to start our first full year of being together again as a married couple.” 

                “That’s actually… really sweet and… surprisingly sentimental,” Narcissa told her cousin.  The dog animagus smiled at her.

                 “Plus, I heard someone say that married couples have better sex, and I feel we owe it to science to see how in the world it could get any better than what we’ve got.”

                 Narcissa rolled her eyes.  “There he is.” 

                 “Alright, alright, everyone take a seat.  We’re gonna get married!” Remus interrupted their familial banter as he grabbed Sirius’ hand and pulled him under the arch.  Sirius waved his wand, and a rapid version of the wedding march played and they mimed marching up the non-existent isle. 

                 “And now for the vooows,” Ivan the unfortunate officiate yawned, and Sirius gave Remus a crooked smile. 

                 “I’m aware we’ve maybe got moments before our godson falls asleep,” he laughed, and indeed Harry, despite all the excitement and his overwhelming happiness for two of his dearest loved ones, was valiantly trying not to nod off from his seat, cross-legged on a cushion on the floor.  “So, I’m just gonna say that Remy, I love you more than anything in the world.  Before Hogwarts, I didn’t think I could ever have a family that I loved.  Then I met you, and I realised that we make our own family.  And every day, I am so grateful that you continue to put up with my bullshit.” 

                 His soon-to-be-husband chuckled.  “I was wondering when you were going to drift away from the sentimental; I must admit you made it longer than I thought.  But I love you too, you bloody irritating prat.  I didn’t think I would ever find acceptance for what I was, and going to Hogwarts was a blessing, but it was also an introduction into a world I could never fully be a part of.  But I don’t regret it, because even if I were still a werewolf,” he looked at Harry, “thank you for that wonderful gift, by the way,” he told the teen, who hummed a sleepy acknowledgment, “I met you.  My mate, the love of my life, and the snuggliest dog I think I’ve ever seen.”  Sirius took one of his hands out of Remus’ to wipe his eyes, which were leaking freely, and they exchanged gold rings as Ivan pronounced them “man” and “man.”  In timing they never could have planned, because things didn’t go according to plan for them, their lips met in their conjugal kiss right as the great grandfather clock on the wall struck midnight.  They kept kissing until the clock struck 12:01, and Sirius gave a watery chuckle as they pulled apart and Kreacher came into the living room with an impressive two-tiered chocolate wedding cake. 

                  “My mother would hate what’s happening in her house,” he said, and they kissed again as Remus blindly reached out to swipe a taste of the chocolate frosting. 

Chapter Text

            When they returned home from school after the holidays, Harry’s group immediately set out to figuring what they were going to do for the second task.  Viktor was planning on doing some complicated self-transfiguration (trying to impress Ron, of course), but Fleur, Cedric, and Harry were all planning to go with the bubblehead charm.  It was a sixth-year spell, but Harry picked it up in less than five minutes, prompting the other champions to all raise an eyebrow at him. 

            About a week before the task, Professor Snape asked him to stay behind after class.  “Everything alright, Uncle Sev?” Harry asked him. 

            “You’re being forced to get into the black lake in the middle of February in Scotland, as if your health weren’t already delicate enough.  Of course everything is not alright,” Severus responded with an eye-roll. 

            “You know what I meant,” Harry sighed.  “And I am not delicate.”  The professor gave him a disbelieving look but said nothing.

            “As for why I’m having you stay after today, I have a plan for the task,” Severus continued. 

            “Thanks, but I already have an idea; I’m gonna do the bubblehead charm.  I’ve got it down pat and everything,” Harry informed him proudly.

            “While that is an impressive accomplishment for a fourth year, I’m afraid it won’t work for you.  Swimming is intense aerobic exercise, especially when you could be expected to traverse quite a lot of the Black Lake in under an hour and I’m afraid it would cause undue stress to your lungs.  Therefore, I’d rather you used Gillyweed; I’ll bring you some the morning of.  As I’m sure you’re aware, Gillyweed allows you to temporarily grow gills, and therefore will spare your human organs the unnecessary strain.” 

            Harry rolled his eyes at the man’s overprotectiveness.  “You just think I’d look funny with webbed hands and feet,” he quipped, and the comment had the desired affect as Severus’ dark expression was replaced with a slight smirk.

            “True,” he conceded.  “You don’t think Minerva’s the only one who keeps a photo album of you, surely?  Mine is just more amusing.” 

            “I’m gonna do my homework, if you’re done tormenting me?”

            “Very well, Sparky, if you are so eager to remove yourself from my presence,” the professor teased, ruffling his hair. 

            “You may be nice now, but you’re still a greasy git, you know that?” Harry groaned, trying in vain to shove his hair back into its former, slightly-less-chaotic state. 

            [Dumbledore, Percy Weasley, and Ludo Bagman sneak through the dorms, putting sleeping spells on children and removing them to a secure location pending the task.]

            February 24, 1995 was a cold, overcast day, the nylon fabric of Harry’s swim trunk and sun shirt felt uncomfortably cool against his scarred skin as he dressed in front of the fire in his bedroom, layering warm joggers, three jumpers, a hat, scarf, and mittens on top as his stomach knotted anxiously.  He hadn’t noted any of his possessions being missing that morning, so what could they possibly have taken…

[Mutt masters are on honeymoon; Kreacher has the whole house to himself.  Well, him and the puppy, of course.]

            Harry collected and pocketed the handful of Gillyweed from Sev’s storeroom where he’d told him to pick it up, and he couldn’t help but smile as he saw the note beside it. 

Harry,

Good luck and be careful.

~Uncle Sev

            He took a deep breath and headed down to the lake, where stands had been set up.  Harry wondered if they just expected the spectators to look at an empty lake for an hour while the rest of them were underwater.  He noted Minnie, Sev, Cissa and Ara, and Remus and Sirius (who had only returned from Venice yesterday to see Harry perform, although he assured them they didn’t have to) sitting in the first row with his friends.  But wait…

            “Where’s Draco?!” he demanded anxiously, “and Ron, and Cho?!” 

            Narcissa pursed her lips, her expression very displeased.  “Apparently, the things you’re all supposed to rescue are actually your loved ones.  They’ve taken Fleur’s little sister as well.  You think they’d require a consent form for such a thing, especially with minors… it’s essentially kidnapping!  But Dumbledore has been rather elusive this morning, and the ministry have yet to respond to our howlers.” 

            “Madame Maxime was infuriated as well; apparently she was the only judge they didn’t involve in the preparation for this task, most certainly because they knew she would have a moral objection.”

            “I certainly vould!” the woman exclaimed, coming up to their group from farther up the field, hand-in-hand with Hagrid.  “To zhink; Gabrielle comes weeth her parents to see ‘er seester perform, and instead she eez kidnapped in ‘er sleep!” 

            “Champions, to your positions, please,” called the headmaster, suddenly in sight now that he was on the judges’ platform and the children were about to go underwater, meaning the timing would be wrong to yell and scream at him.  Harry walked up to the shoreline and reluctantly pulled off his outer layers, teeth chattering.  Viktor, despite wearing only swim trunks, was not shivering at all (apparently Durmstrang, in addition to teaching magic, desensitized its students to normal physiological responses).  Cedric looked rather chilly, although he at least was warmer than Harry, and Fleur’s pale skin was prickling with goose pimples as she stripped down to her simple blue one-piece swimsuit.  Harry heard some wolf-whistles and a few loud laments that she wasn’t wearing a bikini, and he discreetly shot a few wandless hexes at the group of seventh-year Gryffindors who were treating his friend so disrespectfully.  Which reminded him- they’d been so busy lately that they hadn’t gotten around to enacting their revenge on Bagman, and now they only had more to add to his list of wrong-doings…

            A loud noise emerged from Dumbledore’s wand, signalling the start of the tasks, and Harry’s friends all cast their spells as Harry choked down his Gillyweed; the taste wasn’t quite as bad as the worst of his daily potions, but the rubbery texture more than compensated for that, and he had to work hard not to gag as it slid down his throat.  He put that out of his mind as the plant took effect, however, and he cast a quick impervious charm on his glasses before diving under the freezing water.  It was time to rescue Draco…

            Harry didn’t quite know where the mermaid village was located, but he had seen a few mermaids swimming around in front of the glass windows of the Slytherin common room, so he headed in that general direction.  After about five minutes, he ran into a colony of grindlylows, but he easily pried off the long fingers encircling his wrist, and the others surrounding the one who’d tried to grab him scattered when he shot a few hexes their way.  Things were going swimmingly (pun intended) from there when he suddenly felt a very large presence and a squishy tentacle tentatively poking his shoulder.  He turned around to find himself face-to-face with the giant squid, but the gargantuan cephalopod made no move to attack him, and its aura was amicable and calm. 

            “Um, hi…” Harry put forth, cautiously.  The squid made a waving motion with a different tentacle before gently patting him on the head.  It seemed to Harry that he’d made another animal friend. 

            “It’s nice to meet you,” he told the squid, who bopped his nose with yet another tentacle.  “I’d love to hang out, but I’m afraid I have to go rescue my boyfriend.  You wouldn’t by chance know how to get to the mer-village, would you?”  The squishy gentle giant nodded his enormous head before putting out one of his front tentacles, and Harry carefully grabbed hold of it.  He was unprepared, however, for the squid to take off just a little south of the direction he’d been going, and he held on carefully as the sea creature carried him along.  In three minutes, they’d traversed a distance that would have taken Harry at least twenty even at his most breakneck pace, and he thanked the squid as he gently deposited him in the sand near the first underwater hut. 

            “I guess I’ll see you around, then...” he said, and the giant head nodded emphatically before undulating tentacles propelled the creature away.  Harry watched him fade from view for just a moment before he swam towards the village square, where he assumed he would find Draco and the others. 

            He was the first one there, as there were still four sleeping captives tied to large wooden stakes, guarded by armed mermen.  Heedless of the potential danger, Harry rushed towards Draco, not even taking the time to take its wand out of the holster on his arm but rather vanishing the ropes with his hands as he grabbed his unconscious boyfriend, checking for a pulse.  It beat strongly, and Harry gave thanks- he was just asleep, then.  If he had been harmed, not even Harry’s sweet disposition would prevent him from wreaking bloody vengeance on those who dared hurt his loved ones. 

            “You go now,” one of the guards grunted in broken English, but Harry looked at the other three captives and shook his head.  “No,” he asserted.  “I’m not leaving until I know everyone is safe.  I’m calling in my favour.”  The man’s eyes widened as he realised that this was the child that had rescued the selkie governess when she was stranded on the London shoreline.  He backed away respectfully with a bow, and Harry looked at him, grateful that the request had worked but also slightly confused.  He didn’t think that rescuing one ocean mermaid would grant him such reverence.  But he shrugged and sat down in the sand in front of the other hostages, holding Draco in his lap as merchildren swam curiously up to him, feeling his hair, his legs, his feet, his glasses.  He let them, carefully enunciating the English word for each body part they touched. 

            “Nose,” he told a chubby little mergirl with her green hair in two braids.  “This is my nose.” 

            “Theeese eeeeez mah nooze,” she tried, giggling, and Harry repeated the phrase patiently so she could try again.  Then she pointed to her own nose and screeched a series of incomprehensible syllables, and Harry had just memorized and repeated them when Viktor came along.  He spotted Harry on the ground holding Draco, and, although his shark head would not allow for speech, his gestures clearly asked if Harry needed help. 

            “No, I’m just making sure everyone gets out before I go back.  You go on,” he said.  “Really,” he insisted when Shark-Krum looked at him dubiously.  “You entered this tournament to try to win.  Go- I’ll be fine.”  Viktor finally freed Ron and carefully held him as he propelled towards the surface.

            Not five minutes later, the same routine was repeated with Cedric, but as the seconds ticked by, Fleur did not come.  Harry began to worry, casting anxious glances at the little blonde girl, the spitting image of Fleur, still tied up.  Finally, with seven minutes to go, Harry freed the girl, who he knew from Fleur was named Gabrielle, and began to head back to shore.  The mer didn’t stop him. 

            Harry began to have trouble breathing when he was still 30 metres under, and he panted as he kicked desperately, weighed down by the combined weight of Draco and Gabrielle.  He wasn’t going to make it…

            Up on the surface, with ninety seconds remaining, Harry’s friends all held their breath.  Minerva had gotten up and was pacing frenetically, and Severus was viciously berating himself for not thinking to give Harry a second handful of Gillyweed in the event of an emergency, which the situation was rapidly becoming. 

            Meanwhile, right as Harry’s gills disappeared completely, still 20 metres from the surface, he felt suction-cupped tentacles wrap him in a gentle hug as the giant squid propelled him and the others to the surface.  Harry just had the energy to urge his magic through the three of them, protecting their ears and sinuses from the rapid change in pressure, before he sagged back against the cephalopod, exhausted, as the worried animal broke the surface and set them against the shore line. 

            Sucking in great gulps of air as Draco and Gabrielle came to with surprised gasps, Harry felt himself surrounded by people and a blanket thrown over his shoulders and rubbed vigorously up and down his arms. 

            “’Arry!” Fleur exclaimed, breaking through the wall of concerned adults fussing over him, “you are alright! And you ‘ave saved my seester! I was worried she was gone- I was detained by the grindlylows.” 

            “Everyone’s alright,” Harry assured her through chattering teeth, as well as the hovering adults, most primarily Minnie, who was too frantic with worry to even form a coherent sentence but instead hugged him almost uncomfortably tightly, as Madame Pomphrey pushed through, throwing three more blankets over him and casting multiple warming charms. 

            “Oh, you poor child,” she exclaimed with an angry harrumph as she muttered some rather unprofessional phrases about tournaments and headmasters and ministry bastards under her breath.  “Severus, take Harry to the hospital wing, get him dry and in a warm bath, and then give him some pepper up and tuck him into the bed where I’ve rigged a muggle space heater.  I’ve got to tend to the others.”

            “Hospital Wing?!” Harry protested, “but I’m not sick!” 

            “Preventative care, Mr. Potter,” the medi-witch informed him brusquely.  “Three days under my care, and assuming our efforts succeed and you remain unafflicted by some malady or other, I will release you then.” 

            “Madame Pomphrey,” he whined, but he was ignored as Severus, not even bothering with keeping up appearances, pulled a bundled Harry away from a clingy Draco and into his arms as he carried him, tightly held against his chest for warmth, to the hospital wing. 

Chapter Text

            It was the day after the second task, and by some miracle (and a hot bath, a lot of potions, a space heater, and being wrapped in about half of Poppy’s linens closet in blankets), Harry hadn’t gotten sick.  He had gotten bored, however.  He’d read some of his comic books and worked ahead on some of his homework, and he was more than ready to get out of bed. 

            “Ugh!” he groaned into the empty hospital wing.  “I’m boooooreed!”  Of course, because he was the only patient, Poppy was on her afternoon break, and his boyfriend, friends and guardians were either in class or teaching it, he was answered only by an echo.  And despite every excuse that he didn’t need to be in the infirmary, his fingers and toes were still rather cold even twenty-four hours later, and the blankets were so warm…

            Severus brought up Harry’s usual dinner potions that day after classes, only to find his student curled up under his mountain of blankets, his big, baby-deer eyes closed lightly with long lashes brushing his cheeks as he snored softly.  Severus knew that were he aware of how positively angelic he looked at the moment, he would be furious.  The potions master felt his forehead- no fever, thank Merlin.  He looked at his watch, then back at Harry, then at the tray of potions again before he shook the teen’s shoulder gently. 

            “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” he intoned as Harry groaned before stirring slowly to awareness.  “It’s time for your meds.”

            “Uncle Sev?” he asked blearily, his eyes unfocused.  Severus handed him his glasses, and Harry put them on before his brain caught up to how he’d been woken up. 

            “Wait- Sleeping Beauty?!” he cried, indignant. 

            The head of Slytherin gave a wry chuckle.  “Well, you do have a natural proclivity with animals, like a Disney Princess.”

            Harry tried to cross his arms in front of his chest, but they were cocooned in blankets, so he glared at him instead.  “I am not a Disney Princess!”

            “Oh, and making friends with the giant squid was what, something one of those superhero people in your comic books would do?”

            Harry stuck his tongue out.  “I don’t know, batman- Would you?”

            “Why do you all insist on calling me that?” Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  Harry, still trying to free his hands from his blanket prison, nodded his head towards a comic on the table. 

            “See for yourself,” Harry told him.  Severus picked up the comic book, looking at the glossy illustration on the cover dubiously. 

            “I used to read accredited peer-reviewed journals in my spare time; see what you’ve reduced me to, brat?” he grumbled, but he couldn’t quite stop the fond smirk from appearing on his face.  “Now take your potions.” 

            “Wait- there are more of them now!” Harry groaned in dismay.

            “We’re trying out a new immunity-boosting regiment,” the man said, picking up one of the newer bottles.  “Unless you want to spend even more time under Poppy’s tender ministrations?”

            “Give me that!” the teen grumbled, finally disentangling one of his hands to reach for the potions.  “You’re enjoying this way too much, you know.”

[Kreacher is looking at more torture spells in the Black Library; he feels like the Dursleys’ misery is getting a little humdrum.]   

            “Huh, that’s strange,” Pansy said, reading off a parchment. 

            “I’m pretty sure I’m going to regret this, but what is?” Ron asked, momentarily ceasing his mental debate as to whether getting thirds of dinner was worth taking his hand out of Viktor’s for the two minutes it would take to fill his plate. 

            “I’ve just gotten a report from my sources, apparently Barty Crouch has been taking quite a bit of time off of work lately…” she trailed off.  “Interesting; he’s not exactly the type.”

            “Something seems off about that,” Hermione agreed.

            “So, the question is, what is he hiding?” Millicent had blended marvellously into the group and was quite good at picking up on her girlfriends’ train of thought. 

            “Well, you know who to ask if you want to dig up incriminating information,” Susan pointed out.  “Professor Snape was the spy for Dumbledore during the war; he said so on the night Harry’s name came out of the goblet.  If he could get information on all of You-Know-Who’s secrets, then finding out why Crouch is skiving off work should be pretty easy for him.” 

            Their conversation was interrupted when another note popped up randomly next to Pansy’s plate.  “Oh, an update on Harry,” she enthused, scarred hands opening the envelope.  Then her nose wrinkled and she snorted a laugh.  “Oh, that’s just too rich!”

            “Vhat is?” Viktor asked.

            “Harry’s a Disney Princess!” she gasped, now fully devolving into hysterics. 

            “You have spies on Harry?” Draco asked, wondering if he should be offended on his boyfriend’s behalf. 

            “Not spies,” Pansy eventually calmed down and rolled her eyes.  “More like little hidden guardian angels making sure he’s doing alright when he’s not with us.  Don’t worry, he still has reasonable amounts of privacy.” 

            “That makes me feel so much better,” the blonde quipped. 

            “Relax, Draco.  I just wanna make sure some freak isn’t gonna sneak in and kidnap him in the middle of the night during the summer when he’s sleeping in his bedroom.  I mean, he’s famous, and Sirius managed to get into the castle when he was a wanted fugitive after all.  Obviously there needs to be some additional security measures,” Pansy soothed.  “I’m not gathering embarrassing intel or anything.  Well, not much…”

            “So, what’s this about Disney Princesses?” Hannah interrupted, her Hufflepuff intuition telling her to change the subject before the two Slytherins devolved into senseless arguments.

            “Apparently, Sevvy called him Sleeping Beauty, because he like, makes friends with animals and stuff,” Pansy said, reading the note.  “That’s just too good!”

            “Definitely, alzhough I zhink we can all agree little ‘Arry is le Pocahontas because ‘e loves to spend all ze time outside, even when eet eez too cold for leetle darlings to be out zhere,” Fleur added. 

            “No way,” Fred and George said at the same time.  “Cinderella.  He’s Cinderella.” 

            “Cinderella?  Really?” Ginny snorted, smacking George across the chest.  “You think Harry is the white, blonde princess?  How blind are you?!”

            “I mean; he doesn’t look like Cinderella obviously,” Fred equivocated.  “But have you seen the way he’s always cleaning up after the rest of us?  Plus, he always hums under his breath while he’s working on something.  And then there’s the way he grew up with those awful people who were so mean to him…” The redhead’s voice grew angry near the end. 

            “While all of that is true,” Pansy agreed in a tight voice, “I think he’s Mulan; I mean, friends with a dragon, saving the world?  Totally a Mulan thing.” 

            “’E eez Belle,” Malala added in her bit as she reached for an éclair and another Jalebi.  “’Ave you seen ‘is leetle nose always in ze books?  Or translating ze zhings in ze Parseltongue into ze English?”

            “Nah,” Cedric said.  “He’s totally Eilonwy.”

            The rest of them looked at him strangely.  “Are you high again?” Dean asked. 

            “Only on Saturdays,” the badger prefect waved them off.  “You know, Eilonwy from the black cauldron?  It’s not as popular, but I like it.  Besides, it was based off of Welsh folklore, and Harry remembers the Welsh he learned in primary school- he named his snake after the Welsh word for black.  It’s perfect.” 

            “The most famous wizard in our world, and you want him to be the one Disney character that most muggles don’t even know about?” Seamus asked incredulously. 

            “I think he’s Alice; because he fell down the rabbit hole into the wizarding world,” Luna said mildly, accepting another scone from Ginny. 

            “Luna luv, we all know you’re Alice,” Hermione told their friend, chuckling fondly, but the blonde didn’t respond- she and Ginny had abandoned their scones and were kissing each other gently. 

[Madame Pomphrey’s heard about the Disney Princess thing; she calls Harry Jasmine because all she ever hears from him is how he’s sick of being stuck in her domain.]

            Barty Crouch Sr. held his head in his hands as he pored over more old documents.  He’d been having no luck tracking down his son, and attempts to write to Winky to see if she’d heard anything had resulted in his letters popping right back, unopened and with a kitchen knife shoved through them.  He’d called in sick again to work, but Weaselby would make sure everything ran smoothly- what a wonderful little suck-up his assistant was.  It was times like this he deeply regretted giving into his wife’s last wish (but funnily enough, he didn’t think to consider that perhaps the way he’d behaved towards his only child might have had something to do with driving him over the edge).  He wondered if he should come forward about the unaccounted-for death eater on the loose, but he again shoved the little voice of his conscience to the back of his head.  He’d worked his whole career to be where he was; he’d ruin everything if he were to admit everything that had led up to this.  No, he could handle it, and all would be well.  He’d soon be back onto the proper trajectory towards his ultimate goal- Minister of Magic. He was not about to let his ungrateful, good-for-nothing progeny ruin it for him again…

[Meanwhile; Winky hums happily to herself as she debones a chicken with an ornamental butcher knife; unaware that the unbreakable vow she was forced to take by her old master erased every memory she had of Barty Crouch Jr.’s escape the moment his father dismissed her from his service.]

Chapter Text

            Harry got out of the hospital wing and only got sick once in March, which was better than it had been, but Severus, Minnie and Poppy were still frustrated.  They’d rather not be in a position where ‘only’ getting sick once could be counted as a victory.

            Harry, however, wasn’t worrying too much those days- besides the looming worry of the third task, he was fairly happy.  And even the stress of the tournament was alleviated substantially by weekly sessions with Sarah over the floo in his bedroom.  He was finishing up one such session on the last Friday before Easter break when Minerva knocked on his door. 

            “Leave the connection open, would you luv?  Severus and I want to catch up with Sarah for a few moments once you’re done,” she called through the door. 

            “Mm’kay Mins.  We just finished up, so I’m gonna go to the come-and-go room and train with the others, if that’s okay?”  He still occasionally had some anxiety about asking for things, but it was getting better. 

            “Of course darling; just don’t over-do it,” Minnie said, giving him a quick hug.  He rolled his fondly at her but promised he wouldn’t. 

            “He really is doing much better,” Sarah told the adults cheerfully.  “Especially with all the stress that comes with this stupid tournament,” here her expression darkened for a moment before she smiled fondly again.  “He’s strong; truly a remarkable child.” 

            “He is,” Severus remarked.  Sarah’s brow furrowed- Severus Snape openly praising someone without being prompted wasn't normal.  “However, you two look like you could use some therapy.  What’s up?”

            “It’s Harry’s immune system,” Minerva said.  “We’ve been working on trying to find some alternative solutions, and they’re working some, but not as well as we were hoping.” 

            “Hmm… You know, I went to basic healer training with some friends who went on to become Immune Specialists, and I have some muggle friends who do the same thing at some prestigious research institutions,” she told them.  “If you’re still unsatisfied with his progress by the summer, I could put in some calls and you could come back across the pond for a couple weeks.  And you know I’d love to see Harry again in person.” 

            “That’s… definitely something to consider,” Severus conceded, despite his distaste for the United States (minus their processed toaster pastries, of course).  “Also, I would love it if I could get their contact information in the meantime.” 

            “Well, I know you don’t throw the word love around lightly, so I’ll see what I can do,” the mind healer teased as the potions master rolled his eyes.  Everyone loved to push his buttons lately. 

[Marge would be wondering what the hell happened to Ripper to make him behave like this, but she doesn’t have the mental capacity to run and think at the same time.]

            Severus was drafting and re-drafting a letter to Sarah’s magical immune specialist friends later when he heard Harry’s usual tentative knock on his door, followed unfortunately by Pansy’s tendency to burst right in, dragging all their motley group of friends with her. 

            “Sevvy, we have some questions for you!” she sing-songed, arm thrown playfully around Harry’s shoulder, who looked slightly disoriented, as he always did when Pansy was going a thousand miles an hour.

            “I suppose there would be no point in my kicking you out, would there?” her teacher groaned. 

            “Aww, you know me so well,” Pansy said, sarcastically putting a scarred hand over her heart.  “You were a spy, right?”

            “How did you know that?” he asked, face blanching. 

            “Um, Uncle Sev?  You announced it to the entire great hall when you were going Hulk on Karkaroff,” Harry reminded him.

            “Oh yes; I’m afraid I was so angry I don’t quite remember the entire conversation.  And I thought I was Batman- you need to slow down; I’m still on Darkseid vs. Galactus.”  Fred and George looked like Christmas had come early, and the professor immediately realised his mistake. 

            “You tell anyone I started reading Harry’s comic books and I will put you in detention for the rest of your school careers; don’t think that I won’t,” he scolded the two red-heads, who looked like they thought it still might be worth it.  “Anyway, my spying days are over, so whatever hare-brained mission you’re off on, Ms. Parkinson, for the love of Merlin, find someone else,” he groaned.  He was too… Snape for this.

            “We actually needed to ask you something about Barty Crouch,” Draco broke in, hoping they could get to the actual conversation before Pansy drove the professor insane. 

            “Which one?” Severus asked, immediately giving the children his undivided attention. 

            “There were two of them?” Ron asked- Merlin, one of them was nightmare enough. 

            “He had a son, but he died in Azkaban,” Severus informed them, and they all gasped.  Severus remembered when children used to react like that whenever he slunk around, and the idea didn’t bring as much nostalgia as he’d thought it would.

            “Why…” Harry began, but Severus held up a hand.

            “Unlike your dogfather, he was actually guilty.  Got a trial and everything.”

            “Yeah, even batty Aunt Bella got a trial,” Draco mentioned.  “So why didn’t Uncle Padfoot?” Severus gave Draco a strange look at the nickname.

            “Technically, he’s your second cousin,” Severus corrected, “but anyway, it was a combination of things, mainly political.  Crouch, trying to improve his image after his son was put in prison, fast-tracked Sirius into Azkaban.”  Harry noticed with a slight smile that he’d called him Sirius and not some unflattering nickname.  “Then there was the fact that he was the ‘death eater’ who betrayed the Potters.”  Severus rolled his eyes and made air quotes around the words “death eater.”  “The only way that man could kill anyone is if he irritated them into bashing their head against the wall until they decided a self-inflicted killing curse was the preferable option, but I digress.”  His voice didn’t have nearly the amount of venom he was going for… pity; he was going so soft these days.

            “So… Sirius went to prison because of Barty Crouch… er, the dad one,” Harry said, clenching his fists angrily.  The glass surrounding the torches on the wall burst and scattered.  He took a deep breath and waved his hand, and the damage was undone. 

            “Good control, Harry,” Severus told him, too softly for anyone else to hear.  Then, louder: “But yes; I’ve never been a fan of his, to put it mildly.  He’s very difficult to get along with- and with Crouch Jr., well, to say he pushed his son rather hard would be an understatement.  Personally, I think that may have been part of what drove him towards the dark arts.  Not that that’s any excuse,” he added quickly.  After all, Harry had a far worse childhood, and he was honestly one of the best people Severus had ever known (he would, of course, be taking that to the grave.  He wasn’t yet that sentimental… or so he told himself, at least). 

            “Huh,” Hermione mused.  “So- he has a checkered past, and it seems like there’s a history of instability in the family; I wonder if that has anything to do with why he’s been missing so much work.” 

            “He’s been missing work? How did you know that?” Severus was surprised. 

            “I have contacts,” Pansy said blithely, examining her nails.  “I would share them with you, but you said yourself that your spying days are over.” 

            “That’s it- get out of my office,” he ordered, groaning dramatically.  “I’ve reached my Parkinson threshold for the day.” 

[At his desk at the ministry, Percy Weasley gets yet another Howler from his mother (his seventh since the second task) telling him that he is “ABSOLUTELY AND UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES ALLOWED TO EASTER DINNER UNLESS YOU ARE READY TO APOLOGIZE FOR KIDNAPPING YOUR BROTHER AND THE OTHER CHILDREN FOR THAT ABSURD TOURNAMENT, YOUNG MAN!”]

                        At Grimmauld Place, it was family movie night, with Kreacher in his armchair (that nobody else, except of course Harry, was allowed to sit in) and Sirius, Remus, and the puppy (who was growing in leaps and bounds) sitting on the couch. 

            “It has been four months, we absolutely need to agree on a name for the puppy,” Remus said as onscreen, Buzz Lightyear struggled with the realisation that he was, in fact, a toy. 

            “Kreacher already suggested a name, but mutt masters didn’t be liking it,” the elf grumbled.  It was apparently a familiar complaint, as Sirius just sighed. 

            “Kreacher, for the last time, we are not naming her Harriet.  Just because you worship our godson doesn’t mean we have to inflict our family pet with an old lady name.” 

            “Oh, and mutt masters be having such better ideas.”

            “What was wrong with Dorothy?” Remus wondered. 

            “Kreacher is not being naming puppy after someone who is having ruby slippers.  It is being too much like something Dobby would be wearing.  Kreacher is not liking that mental image.” 

            “And what about Lacey?” Sirius tried again. 

            “No!” His husband and house-elf both yelled at the same time.

            “Why?” the dog animagus whined. 

            “It’s a stripper name,” Remus answered, while Kreacher went with:  “Old Mistress be making Kreacher wash her lacy underpants.” 

            “Okay, I absolutely in a million years did not need to know that!” Sirius yelled, hands over his ears and looking vaguely green. 

            “Wait,” Remus said as he turned his attention back to the movie, and then to the puppy, who was chewing on the cowboy hat (I’m sure nobody wants to imagine what Remus and Sirius were doing with said hat).  “What about Jesse?” 

            Sirius stopped making gagging noises as a thoughtful expression came over his face (“that doesn’t happen too often,” said a voice in his head that sounded irritatingly like Severus.  He ignored it).  “I like Jesse; it fits.” 

            “Kreacher be liking Jesse,” the elf agreed.  Remus made a mental note to go to the pet store tomorrow; they finally had a name to put on her collar. 

Chapter Text

            It was Easter Sunday, and everyone was getting ready to go to the Burrow for the day.  Sirius, hoping to contribute, was pulling something that looked… vaguely like… a casserole, perhaps?... out of the oven.

            “What is that?” Remus asked, sniffing the… thing, gooey in the middle and crusty and black on the outside. 

            “I made green bean casserole,” Sirius said proudly, proffering the dish.

            “I… would not have guessed that,” his husband responded, patting his shoulder as his face fell.  “But I love your bear paw oven mitts.” 

            “Is it really that bad?” Sirius wondered, looking at his creation. 

            Kreacher’s entrance saved Remus from having to answer.  “It is being terrible; mutt master cannot be serving that to little master Harry and giving him food poisoning.  Kreacher made a casserole; Kreacher’s beans are green.  Kreacher is not having any idea how mutt master be making his purple.” 

[Molly Weasley bustles about the kitchen, preparing enough food for a literal army.]

            Severus was indulging in his not-so-secret morning Pop Tart and black coffee when a tabby cat Patronus came bustling into his quarters.  For a moment, he was immediately on edge, but Minerva’s voice ringing out through her silver messenger was one of amusement. 

            “Severus; meet me in the hallway outside the kitchen, but come quietly! You have to see this!”  He did as instructed to find Minerva giggling like a child, hand over her mouth. 

            “Why exactly are you laughing in an empty hallway?” he asked his colleague, and she pointed to the portrait entrance to the kitchen. 

            “Just… look in there; but try not to draw his attention- I don’t think he has his mage senses extended very far, and I don’t want to draw his attention or he might stop.”  Severus curiously cast a silencing charm before tickling the pear and opened it just a tad, enough to see what had Minerva in stitches.  Harry was dancing around the kitchen, kneading and basting and frosting various batches of fresh pastries, a wooden spoon to his mouth as he belted out the lyrics to Kool and the Gang’s most famous song. 

            “Celebrate good times!” he sang, as the elves all joined in for “Come on!”  Snape couldn’t help it; he snorted, and although the portrait wasn’t open enough for him to see who was behind it, his mage senses quickly picked it up. 

            “Minnie, Sev- what are you doing here?!” he gasped, blushing brilliantly- quite an accomplishment for his skin tone. 

            “We came to collect you to come to the Weasleys, kitten, but I see the party has already started,” Minerva teased gently, and Harry swished his wand as all his baked goods put themselves into a basket.

            “Just- I’m gonna- for the love of Merlin, don’t say anything about this!”

            “Oh, but you were so adorable,” Severus responded, smirking. 

            “I swear to every god in every religion, Uncle Sev- if you tell anyone about this, I will never translate anything for you in Parseltongue ever again.” 

            “Alright, fine, we won’t say anything,” the man sighed.  “I suppose you get enough teasing from your friends, what with them calling you by all those Disney Princess names.” 

            “I’m still mad at you for that, by the way,” Harry sighed, as Minnie relieved him of his giant basket of homemade pastries. 

[Pansy’s parents thought it would be fun to buy a muggle car and pick up the Grangers in it; that went well…]

            Despite the various mini-catastrophes of the morning (such as the green-bean-casserole-that-wasn’t-really-either-of-those-things and the Parkinson’s now-decapitated lawn ornaments), everyone made it to the Burrow by 11.  Well, almost everyone…

            “Where’s Charlie?” Ron asked his mother as she levitated various tables outside. 

            “He should be here any moment, dear,” Molly told him, magically turning off the burner under a pot that was boiling over.  Just then, the floo flared up one last time. 

            “Hi mum!” the voice of Charlie Weasley called cheerfully.  “I brought the kids; hope that’s okay.” 

            “Kids- what kids?” Molly began as she turned around and gasped.  “THOSE ARE NOT CHILDREN, CHARLES; THOSE ARE TINY DRAGONS IN ONESIES!”  And indeed, there were four baby Hungarian Horntails wearing specially-made footsie pyjamas with Easter eggs printed on them.  Harry too gasped, although far more jubilantly. 

            “Lily!” he exclaimed, running up to grab the hatchling in Charlie’s arms.  “That’s my dragon!” The baby dragon jumped into Harry’s arms eagerly; already she was as large as he was, so Harry fell backwards on his bum, still laughing as Lily the dragon snuffled his hair excitedly.  “And you brought her brothers and sisters!” 

            “Yeah,” Charlie said, laughing.  “Mama Dragon was exhausted, and somehow she knew that I knew you, even though I can’t speak dragon, so she let me take them for the day so she could get some sleep.  She’s one smart reptile, that one.”

            “Just… don’t let them get into too much chaos,” Molly sighed, giving in. 

            “I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Pansy cut in, smirking.  “Mulan’s got it under control.”  And indeed, the dragons were all crowding around Harry (who was so happy he didn’t even object to Pansy’s favourite nickname for him), Lily in his lap as the other three scuffled over who got to be closest. 

            “Well, it’s nearly time to eat, so if everyone who’s not part of a dragon pile-up could help me set the tables, that would be a great help,” the Weasley matriarch requested, although she couldn’t help but smile at the adorable visage of Harry giggling as he entertained the young dragons with brightly coloured lights from his wand.  Everyone grabbed either a pile of plates and cutlery or one of the many dishes that Molly made or her guests had brought as they set up a potluck-style buffet in the spring sunshine. 

[Everyone laughs cheerfully as they fill their plates; Jesse the puppy also vies for Harry’s attention.]

            “Harry, if you want to be taller than next year’s first-year students, it would perhaps be prudent to eat your food instead of feeding it to your animal friends,” Severus snarked, and the teen, caught out from where he had been tossing another piece of chicken to Lily, smiled guiltily. 

            “But look at her cute little begging face,” he remarked, as Lily the dragon cocked her head to the side and put out her forked tongue expectantly. 

            “Plenty to go around, just put a little more on his plate and stop being such a cranky old bat,” Minerva told her colleague, piling her son’s plate with more food than even Ron could eat. 

            “It’s okay Har,” Charlie said.  “My friends at the reserve give me grief for the same thing- I don’t think I’ve ever actually finished a sandwich on a shift without one of our dragons snapping up whatever I haven’t gotten to.”

            “It’s because you spoil them,” Remus said.  “Trust me; I let Padfoot snatch a grilled cheese off the table once, and now he’s too good for kibble.” 

            “I am absolutely allowed to eat at the table in my own house no matter which form I’m in,” Sirius told his husband.

            “Mutt master is not ruining Kreacher’s nice linens with his drool and fur,” Kreacher (who of course was invited) ordered strongly.  “He may be saying he is doing it, but he be getting off my table when Kreacher be smacking him with the newspaper and telling him he is a very bad boy.” 

            “Funny, he likes that in human form,” Remus muttered under his breath, and Severus, whose ears were finely tuned to pick up whispered voices after his years as a spy, choked on his drink. 

            “Minerva, kindly hex my ears off, would you?”  Although nobody else heard Remus, they had a pretty good idea.  

            “Prude,” she told him, filling his wine glass again.  “I see why you and Harry get along so well.” 

            “Hey!” the two called out at once. 

            “Oh, I don’t think Harry’s quite as bad as Sevvy,” Pansy said.  “After all, I found him and Draco kissing by the quidditch pitch the other day, with tongue and everything.” 

            “Pansy!” the couple scolded, both blushing. 

            “What?  A little payback was due- you two took the only hedge that was high enough to hide the girls and I; we were planning to do the same,” she replied, faux-innocently. 

            “We’re raising a herd of hooligans,” Dan Granger sighed, pouring himself more wine.  “Horny magical hooligans.”

            “Dad!” Hermione cried, shocked to hear her father, the man who advocated phrases like “son of a biscuit!” even within the home, using such language in public.

            “What?  If you can have two girlfriends and your friends can have pet dragons, I no longer have to censor myself,” he told his daughter.

            “He cursed like a sailor when we first met,” his wife said.  “But after we had you, we figured we ought to be good examples.  Then we got a letter saying you fought a troll and won, and we realised that you became a renegade anyway.” 

            “Good girl Granger?  Shows up five minutes early to every class?  Troll or no troll, I hardly think you’re raising a renegade,” Severus snorted, apparently recovered from his unpleasant reminder that other people have sex lives. 

            “Hah, Snape’s standing up for you, ‘Mione, but you were the one that set him on fire first year,” Ron said before covering his mouth with a horrified expression.  The twins high-fived.  Their babbling bubbly water had just passed its first stage of testing. 

            “That was you?!” Severus turned to Hermione, eyebrows rising to his hairline. 

            “I… we thought you were the one who was cursing Harry in the first quidditch match,” she admitted haltingly, before turning to glare at the twins.  “And what the hell did you two put in Ron’s drink?” 

            “Nothing,” they said in unison, far too innocently.  Molly’s expression said that they’d be having a talk later. 

            “Well, I suppose that it was… not entirely inconceivable that you might have thought such a thing, under the circumstances,” Severus admitted grudgingly.  “So, while such an action would normally warrant a detention, I believe I will give the twin terrors one instead.” 

            “That’s probably fair,” George admitted.  “We’ll definitely do something to earn it later, if we haven’t already.”  A colourful flair of sparks and a banging noise from the twins’ room a moment later reinforced his point. 

Chapter Text

           “Hey Viktor, can I ask you for some quidditch advice?” Harry asked as they all hung out by the lake one day.  He had his head on Draco’s chest as the blonde ran his fingers through his hair, and Ron was in a similar position with Viktor.  The twins were plotting something a little further up the shoreline, Fleur and Malala were rehashing an interesting conversation they’d had with Bill on Easter, Pansy, Millie, and Hermione were a little way behind a copse of trees doing… whatever they did hidden behind copses of trees, and the rest of Harry’s friends were asking Neville questions about a Herbology project they were having difficulties with (namely, how to keep the plants safe, as it was just Susan and Hannah’s luck that they’d been paired up with Seamus and Dean).

            “You need help vith ze quidditch?” Viktor asked.  “From vhat I have heard, you are ze best zat ze school has seen in many years.”  Harry blushed a little at the compliment.

            “I don’t know if that’s true, but I was actually wondering more about conditioning workouts and stuff.  With the tournament and everything, I haven’t really gotten too much of a chance to fly lately, and I was wondering how you stay in quidditch shape on the off-season,” he told the other seeker. 

            “I have some things zat I do, but I don’t zhink your guardians vould let you do them vith your health.  Perhaps I can help you vith a plan zat vould vork for you?” Viktor offered, rubbing circles over Ron’s thumb. 

            “I’d really appreciate that,” Harry agreed happily.  “If you don’t mind, that is…”

            Viktor smiled at him reassuringly.  “It eez no trouble at all; walk and talk?”

            Harry nodded as they each extracted themselves from their respective boyfriends.  “I’ll be back soon, alright babe?”

            Draco rolled his eyes theatrically.  “It’s alright; I’ll just hang out with Weasel as we mope around complaining about how empty our lives our without you two,” he quipped.  Harry gently batted his shoulder.

            “Shut up, you great prat,” he ordered, laughing.

            “I may be a prat, but I’m your prat and you know it,” Draco said.  Harry made a show of groaning and scrubbing a hand across his face. 

            “Yes you are, Merlin help me,” he sighed as he and Viktor started discussing workout routines. 

[Vernon finds himself in the garden; he’s starving, thirsty, in pain, but no matter how badly he wants to, he can’t seem to stop mowing the lawn.]

            Harry and Viktor had developed a tentative conditioning routine for approval by Poppy and now were making their way slowly back around to the lake as they discussed their favourite seeker moves.

            “Corkscrew turns are far more practical, of course, but there’s just something so exciting about pulling off a nice barrel roll,” Harry was telling Viktor (who was totally in agreement with him) when they heard a noise coming from the trees.  The Bulgarian put a protective hand on Harry’s shoulder as they both pulled out their wands. 

            A very bedraggled Barty Crouch Sr. crawled out from under a bush, twigs in his hair and eyes unfocused and deranged as he babbled at an old oak. 

            “And put a fast-track on the correspondence with the French ministry; we need to smooth over this whole thing with the Delacours.  And try to get your mother to send her bloody howlers elsewhere; we don’t want anyone finding out I’ve been missing work,” he ordered, his authoritative voice at odds with his wrinkled, torn suit and dirt-smeared face.  Then his expression grew wistful.  “Are you sure this is what you want, darling?  I don’t see why you can’t realise that he doesn’t deserve your pity.”

            “He’s raving mad,” Viktor whispered to Harry.  “Vhat should ve do?”

            “Um…” Harry said, thinking quickly.  “I’ll apparate to get help if you can stay with him to make sure he doesn’t run off.  Does that sound okay?”

            “Yes; I vill do zat.  Good plan.”  Harry nodded before popping away, sending a quick note through the bond to Kreacher that it was nothing to concern himself with, since he could feel the elf was busy with something else. 

            “Uncle Sev!” he called as he popped right into the man’s office, bypassing knocking on the door completely.  The professor looked up in alarm. 

            “Harry!” he cried.  “What’s wrong- are you hurt?” his face was pinched with alarm as he tried not to panic right off the bat; he acknowledged that there was really no longer any point in denying how completely he cared for the boy. 

            “Shhh, I’m fine, don’t worry.  But Viktor and I were walking and talking about quidditch when we found Barty Crouch wandering the grounds and talking to a tree; he’s gone absolutely mad.  I had Vik stay with him while I went and got you.”

            Severus managed to take a deep breath in and put a neutral face back on.  “Alright, let’s go.”  He made to walk out, but Harry grabbed him by the hand for a side-along apparation.  He’d never done it before, but he knew instinctually that he could, and it was really no harder than taking himself about the castle; the elf magic he’d received through the bond offered what was really a far more comfortable and efficient method of teleportation. 

            They’d only been gone for a total of maybe three minutes, but they returned to find Viktor unconscious against the base of the tree, and Crouch nowhere to be found, not even when Harry extended his mage senses across the entirety of the grounds, a considerable feat of magic.  He swayed slightly as Severus sat him down next to Viktor, who he had just revived. 

            “Vhere could he have gone- he just- he stunned me suddenly, and I don’t know where he could have gone,” Viktor said, distressed. 

            “Shhh, it’s alright, let’s just get you both to be looked at by Poppy.”  Harry groaned- not again. 

[Poppy examines them both and only keeps them one night; Viktor for a mild concussion and Harry for magical exhaustion.]

            “I just… I don’t get it!  Harry exclaimed again a week later, after he and the group picked apart the entire incident again.  “He couldn’t have left the grounds in three minutes- there’s no way!”  They’d run every possible route off the grounds and done the testing and calculations, and even in the best possible conditions, from that tree to the Hogwarts gates would have taken at least 4 minutes and 37 seconds.  They’d even examined Viktor’s memories in the even that they might hold some clue that the seeker hadn’t had time to catch onto the first time, but he’d been knocked out from behind immediately, and there was nothing there that could help them, even after extensive reviewing. 

            “Unless…” Hermione mused, realisation dawning on her face, “he suddenly managed to hide from Harry’s mage senses…”

            “The potion!” Pansy and Millie gasped at once. 

            “Of course!” Susan said.  “It’s the only solution- he must have had a phial hidden in his pocket.”

            “But would the potion be hidden from mage senses even unconsumed?” Neville broke in.

            “It would have to be,” Ron said.  “Harry knows immediately when Fred and George have changed something in their prank kit; there’s no way he’d miss a potion in someone’s pocket when there are only three people in a fairly magically isolated part of the grounds- not unless it was literally impossible to pick it up.” 

            “So now we know that he must have hidden somewhere on the grounds, but where?”

            “Maybe he’s still here,” Dean suggested. 

            “The map!” Draco cried, running up to the Gryffindor dorms as the others followed.  He threw open Harry’s trunk (he was keyed into the wards) and found the map in under a minute in the meticulously organised compartments. 

            “I know we tease you about your cleaning and organising habits, Cinderella, but they really came in useful this time,” George told Harry, ruffling his hair.  Harry just gave him a dirty look at the nickname. 

            “Okay…” Draco said, “there’s a lot of dots here, so why don’t we….”

            “Point me Crouch,” Harry said, immediately catching onto where Draco’s thoughts were going.  To their surprise, Harry’s wand was drawn immediately to a lone dot in the DADA classroom. 

            “He’s in there!” Seamus pointed out, rather unnecessarily.  Pansy quickly pulled the map away from him so he wouldn’t light it up by accident.

            “Well, let’s go!” Hermione ordered, as they all crowded around to have some sort of contact with Harry as he apparated to the necessary location.  But when they got there, they found only Professor Moody. 

            “Professor!  Was there someone else just in your classroom?” Hannah asked- they didn’t have time for subtle enquiries.

            “No, just me,” he grumbled.  “Why?”  Pansy was about to look at the map again- something wasn’t right here, but just then Harry, who had been rather stressed this week and had felt a little off all day, suddenly swooned, and the map was dropped as everyone reached out to catch him.  Pansy sent her Patronus to Severus with an emergency message, and in the ensuing chaos, nobody noticed that Moody had slipped away, quietly slipping the map into his pocket as he left. 

Chapter Text

             Severus came immediately and picked Harry up gently and spirited him away to the hospital wing, where Poppy clucked her tongue worryingly as she cast some diagnostic charms.

            “Case of the flu,” she pronounced grimly, shooing a hovering Severus away to grab some supplies from her potions cabinet. 

            “But the third task is in a week!” Draco cried anxiously.  “And they only told everyone about finding the cup in the maze and the obstacles and stuff last night!” 

            “Apparently his immune system didn’t get the memo,” the medi-witch sighed, tucking him into his usual bed, which she had decorated with Gryffindor curtains.  She’d also hung some quidditch posters up on the wall, figuring that since he spent so much time here that he might as well have a more personal space. 

            “What if he doesn’t get better in time?” Hermione asked, worrying her lip between her teeth. 

            “Honestly, I doubt I’ll be able to cure him in a week, giving the state of his health, but I’ll get him as well as I can and then put him back in bed immediately after the task.  It’s far from ideal, but it’s better than the damn contract killing him if he doesn’t finish the tournament,” Poppy ground out.

            “What’s our treatment plan?” Severus asked, pulling away from where he was adjusting Harry’s blankets and feeling his forehead.  All this nervous fidgeting wasn’t doing any good, so he forced his brain into business mode. 

            “Strict bedrest, no visitors,” Poppy said, already beginning to shoo the other children out, along with a hovering Minnie, who’d been sent another Patronus by Pansy as soon as they’d reached the hospital wing.  “We put in an IV line with all his potions, keep him in a magically-induced sleep except for at meal times.  It would be better to let his body heal more naturally, but we don’t really have a choice at the moment.”

            “I suppose you’re right,” Severus sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.  “Alright- everyone who isn’t a medical practitioner needs to get out,” he ordered, as Minnie and the other children continued to hover around the bed.  “We have work to do.

[Lily the dragon senses Harry’s illness through the bond, and the entire dragon family is nervous and cranky that week; the handlers on the reserve learned quickly to leave them be.  Only Charlie was allowed near at all, and even then, reluctantly.]

            Sarah tugged her new, heavier cloak tighter around her form as she walked through the chilly night air to Hogwarts castle, her stiletto-heeled boots click-clacking as she reached the doors and briskly followed the point-me spell taking her to the hospital wing.  She’d been planning to come see her favourite patient perform in the third task anyway, but when Minerva had notified her about the cancellation of their weekly session due to Harry’s illness, she’d immediately moved up her Portkey to that night.  She knocked softly on the door, and as Severus came forward to open it, the tired expression on his face morphed into one of shock. 

            “Sarah?!”

            “Hi,” she said, leaning forward to give him a friendly hug, which he only resisted slightly.  “I was planning to come anyway, but I heard he was sick and extended my trip.  May I see him?”  Severus led her to Harry’s bed and pulled back the red and gold curtains, and the mind healer had to bite back a gasp.  His mocha skin was clammy and had paled to the colour of weak tea, he twitched uncomfortably in his sleep, and his eyes were ringed with dark circles.  Despites Severus and Poppy’s best efforts, he’d clearly dropped weight he couldn’t afford to lose. 

            “Oh gods,” she breathed.  She had seen patients in some pretty bad states both physically and mentally (during her training, she also did volunteer work with social services and the child protection agency), but this pulled at her heartstrings both professionally and personally.  She logically knew that he’d been in far worse states due to the Dursley’s cruelty, but it was still difficult to see him lying there, unconscious, clearly unwell, and lacking the vibrant joie de vivre that he normally exuded even when facing his most trying memories. 

            “Yes,” Severus said.  “He was doing better for a while, but it clearly still isn’t enough.  We will have to take you up on that offer to come back to New York this summer to see those friends of yours.” 

            “I couldn’t agree more,” she said, a serious expression on her face.  “Where’s Madame Pomphrey; I’d like to meet her and discuss Harry’s care in a little more depth.” 

            “Harry passed a bad night; I pushed her off to get a few hours’ sleep.  It’s about time to wake Harry up to eat though- perhaps you wouldn’t mind helping so I can let her rest a bit longer?” the potions master asked.

            “Of course,” she consented as Severus removed the sleeping spell and shook Harry gently to awareness.  He opened his big green eyes, cloudy with fever, as he saw his therapist. 

            “Sarah?” he slurred.  “What’re you doin’ here?”

            The therapist ruffled his sweaty hair.  “You don’t think I’d miss my favourite patient finishing up the tournament,” she said, mock-insulted.  “But we can talk about that later; let’s get you fed and back to sleep.”   

            “Thanks Sarah,” Harry said with a soft smile, and she leaned down to kiss his forehead softly.  “I know this isn’t exactly part of your job.”

            “Don’t mention it Harry; you’re so much more than just a patient to me.” 

Chapter Text

            The day of the third task arrived, and unfortunately, Harry was still running a fever, which Kreacher could feel through the bond even though his little master was asleep.  He decided that he must be protecting little master, so he headed towards the maze- he would follow Harry and be there to defend him if anything went wrong.  As he headed towards the maze, however, he was so focused on his goal that he didn’t notice he was being followed by a man with a glass eye and grizzled face, and he didn’t even realise he was at risk until he was already unconscious, knocked over the head with a stunning spell and shoved in an empty supply closet.

            For his part, Barty Crouch Junior smiled to himself as he left the little elf in the room and finished putting up the wards preventing apparation by elf-magic.  He figured it was a good use of his time to test them now, what with so much riding on them later. 

[Minerva paces nervously by the quidditch pitch; Dumbledore keeps trying to come talk to her, but with Du on her shoulder (who of course insists on watching her master) hissing at him, he thankfully keeps his distance.]

            The first thing Harry noticed when he woke up was that Kreacher’s constant presence of frantic worry that he’d felt through the bond every time he was awake was no longer there.  Harry figured the poor thing had finally fussed himself to exhaustion and was taking a nap, and he was glad; poor Kreacher definitely deserved it.  The second thing he noticed was that he felt like shit.  His head was pounding, his chest felt like it was on fire when he tried to take a deep breath in, and he was acutely aware of the high fever making him feel both freezing and unbearably hot, somehow at the same time.  He was dreading the third task, but he knew that the sooner he got through it, the sooner he could come back and curl up in bed again, so he pulled himself to a sitting position with a groan. 

            “Here child: drink,” Severus ordered, helping him sit back against the headboard, handing him a pain-relief potion, which Harry took gratefully, not even grimacing at the taste. 

            “Thanks,” he rasped, wincing as the words tore agonizingly through his raw throat. 

            “Oh Harry,” the man said, being uncharacteristically outwardly affectionate as he brushed the teen’s sweaty hair out of his forehead and discreetly wiped at the wetness in his own eyes.  “I’m so sorry about all of this.”

            “Not your fault,” Harry wheezed, gripping his aching head.  “Just… help me out of bed?”  Severus, in lieu of supporting the boy as he got to his feet, just picked him up and cradled him against his chest.

            “I’ll take you down,” he told him.  “Just save your strength.”  Harry didn’t even have the energy to argue as he buried his face in the dark robes, and this worried the man even more.  Oh Lily, he thought.  I hope wherever you are, you don’t have to see this. 

            From beyond the veil, tear-filled green eyes, the same brilliant colour as Harry’s, looked sadly at her old friend as her husband put a supporting arm around her.  Me too, Sev, she sighed mentally.  Me too. 

[Sarah tries to help Harry’s friends and family calm down, but she doesn’t think she’s ever even had this much trouble staying calm herself.]

            “So, what’s our plan?” Cedric asked as Fleur took Harry from Severus’ arms and into hers, down at the entrance to the maze.

            “I zhink we can agree zat our main goal eez to get ze cup as fast as possible,” Fleur said, casting a worried glance at Harry.  “So, to zat end, I was zhinking zat one of us stays weeth ‘Arry while ze other two go in separate directions, zat way ‘Arry is not alone but we also ‘ave the greatest chance of someone getting ze cup queekly.”

            “Zat is a good plan; I agree,” Viktor remarked.  “Cedric, since you and Harry are tied for ze lead, eet should probably be you zat takes him.” 

            Cedric nodded.  “Of course,” he said.  “I’ll keep him safe.”

            “I know you weel,” Fleur said as they heard Ludo announce that the champions should take their positions (in a high, squeaky voice as well, because although the group had been a little too busy for complete revenge, Hermione and Pansy had managed to put a few inconveniencing hexes on the man).  “Not only do you care for ‘im as well, but you know zat if you let ‘im get ‘urt, I vould keel you.” 

            Just then, the bell rang for Harry and Cedric to take their head start into the maze, and the Hufflepuff supported the younger teen leaning on him as they cautiously entered, wands out.

            They had been walking for about ten minutes when they ran into a boggart, and Harry shakily took in a painful breath as he prepared to cast his Patronus, but Cedric just sat him down gently so he was seated on the ground.  “I got this one,” he told the teen, knowing that even if Harry weren’t sick, it would be far easier for him to cast riddikulus than it would be to cast a Patronus on a dementor-boggart. 

            It is a little-known fact that the boggart can sometimes change depending on the situation- that is, a person’s greatest fear at that moment, so Cedric had to cast very quickly so Harry wouldn’t have to look at a visage of himself being violently murdered.  Luckily, the younger teen had his eyes cast downward at that moment, trying to catch his breath and also not throw up, so he didn’t see such an unsettling visual.

            Then they were on their way again, and after Cedric also took care of a blast-ended screwt (Hagrid had been very angry when the ministry had presented him with an order to hand over two of the creatures for the maze; the hippogriffs that night had played with a scarecrow that looked disturbingly like Fudge) things were going fairly smoothly until they heard a scream from Fleur.  Heading in that direction as quickly as they could, Harry spotted Vik sporting the glassy-eyed look of someone under Imperius as he shot some sort of dark spell at the French girl.  Harry pulled the spell out quickly, and both of their fellow champions crumbled from pain and exhaustion.  Cedric sent some red sparks out of his wand, wishing he and Harry could do the same, but the rules had been very clear that they could only use the escape route in cases of life-threatening danger. 

            “I don’t know what the hell happened there, but we have to keep moving,” he told a shaking Harry, who looked rather reluctant to leave their friends.  “Someone will come to get them soon; there’s nothing we can do but try to end this as quickly as possible.”

            The next few minutes were disturbingly peaceful in the kind of way that sets one’s teeth on edge- Harry and Cedric both couldn’t help but feel (rather correctly) that the worst was yet to come.  Rounding a corner, they were stopped by a lioness with the head of a woman, and Cedric groaned- the sphinx.  Somehow, he knew that they wouldn’t be getting the well-known riddle she gave to Oedipus either, because that would just be too fucking easy. 

            Because Cedric wasn’t Dumbledore and the ministry and therefore had more than a modicum of sense and a good intuition when it came to potential danger, he was correct.  The creature opened her mouth, and a regal voice, empty of any sort of emotional intonation, gave them their question. 

Who deals in secrets and tells naught but lies.

Next, tell me what's always the last thing to mend,

The middle of middle and end of the end?

And finally give me the sound often heard,

During the search for a hard-to-find word.

Now string them together and answer me this,

Which creature would you be unwilling to kiss?

            Cedric groaned- of fucking course it would be some such goddamn fucking nonsense.  He hated riddles; whenever he visited his friends in the Ravenclaw Common room, he would usually answer the eagle with the phrase “something that exists in the world,” which, because technically correct, permitted him entry.  He had a feeling that the sphinx would not be amused by such a thing, however, and he was right. 

            “You get one try,” she told them.  “Get it right, you can pass.  Get it wrong, and I eat you.  You may also turn back now and I will let you go unscathed, however, since I am blocking the only path to what you need to reach, you would eventually die of starvation.  I assure you that at least I don’t play with my food, and I promise that your death will be merciful.”  She licked her lips as she sized them up.  The little one was rather runty; honestly, she’d probably just let him go- not that she was allowed to say that, of course.  The older one, however, looked quite tasty. 

            “Um,” Cedric began, thinking desperately and coming up with nothing.  He had almost forgotten about Harry’s light weight against his side, so when the Gryffindor spoke, it surprised him a bit. 

            “A spider,” he said, a calculating look in his fever-bright eyes.  “You’re talking about a spider.” 

            “Smart little one,” she purred.  “A real credit to your establishment.  Shame, though- your friend looked quite tasty.” Despite the aggravation to his headache, Harry had to roll his eyes as they passed- because, honestly, how cliché.

            They continued onward, further into the centre, and Harry had his mage senses extended as far as he could possibly manage, despite how cruddy he felt.  So, when the acromantula came towards them, Harry felt it well in advance.  Unfortunately, before he could warn Cedric, he was seized by a violent coughing fit, so the creature still came as rather a surprise to the Hufflepuff. 

            Pinchers came a hairs-breadth away from snatching up the seventh-year, but Harry managed to recover just in time to shoot a strong stinging hex into one of its many eyes, and it reeled backwards, but not before it swatted him strongly away with a massive, hairy leg, and Harry felt a bone crack violently as he was tossed roughly backwards.  He sighed- he just couldn’t catch a fucking break tonight.  After all he’d been through in his young life, however, he viewed this as more of an inconvenience than a travesty, so he gritted his teeth and pulled himself to his feet, wilfully shoving the pain to the back of his mind as he hobbled towards where Cedric was shooting hex after hex at the unpleasant arachnid. 

            The spider had the misfortune of underestimating the runt it had just cast aside, so it didn’t even see it coming when a high-powered blasting hex blew its guts all over the hedges.  Cedric, wiping spider goop off of his forehead, cast a grateful look at the other teen before he blanched. 

            “Um, Harry… I don’t mean to alarm you, but there’s a bone sticking out of your leg,” he told him shakily, even the sight of the injury making him feel nauseous.  To his surprise, Harry just looked down dispassionately before shrugging.

            “Yeah, I guess so,” he said.  “But can we worry about it after we grab this fucking cup?  I’m sick, cranky, and it is way past my bedtime, and all this talk isn’t getting us anywhere.” 

            “Yeah, okay…” Cedric responded, shaking his head incredulously- every time he thought Harry couldn’t possibly surprise him more, something like this happened… He looked forward, where the Triwizard cup was resting on stone pedestal less than a hundred feet away.  “Here, I’ll take you up so you can grab it; you clearly deserve to win.” 

            “Bullshit,” Harry responded.  “You’ve been working really hard to keep me safe all night, and all year for that matter.  But you’re a Hufflepuff, so how about I just save us some time and we agree to grab it together.” 

            “Together,” Cedric agreed, picking Harry up to bring him to the cup.  “By the way, do you just carry like, essence of Snape with you when he’s not around to make sarcastic comments, or…?” 

            Harry never had the time to give a snarky response to that enquiry, because as they each put a finger on the cup, he felt the violent tug on his naval he knew by now to be a portkey.  Motherfucking magic supressing potion, he thought crankily, before they were each thrown harshly against the hard ground of their destination. 

Chapter Text

             Harry rubbed his head as he looked around, grateful that Uncle Sev had positively pumped him full of pain-relieving drugs before the task, or even his considerable pain tolerance would not be able to cope with the events of tonight.  Speaking of said events…

            They were in some sort of abandoned graveyard, but that was as far as Harry got before he caught the feeling of a familiar magical signature.  Oh, that rat bastard was so lucky he couldn’t get up at the moment, he mused to himself as he reached for Ced’s hand, preparing to apparate them away. 

            “Oh, I wouldn’t try that, Mr. Potter,” Wormtail’s nasally voice squeaked at him.  “We know all about your little elf-magic, and we’ve put up wards to keep you here.”

            “Wormtail, stop blabbering and just kill the spare,” a hissed voice called, the source a bundle supported by a Baby Björn on the rat animagus’ chest. 

            A killing curse was shot at Cedric, but Harry managed to redirect it slightly just in time.  Wandlessly and wordlessly, he stunned Cedric, making it look like the curse had been successful. 

            “Stay there,” he whispered to his friend, who really had no choice, considering the circumstances.  “I’m gonna figure out a way to get us out of here.”  That was all he had time for, however, as Wormtail came up and grabbed his arm, snatching his wand and dragging him over to a headstone saying T.M Riddle before tying him up against it.  Harry glared at him but didn’t try to escape just yet- he couldn’t walk, and he couldn’t apparate, so disclosing that he could do wandless magic would get him nowhere except taking away the only advantage he had at the moment.  Even if he really, really, really wanted to hex the man’s balls off… 

            Wormtail finished tying him up and stepped back as he waved his wand (terrible technique, noted a voice in Harry’s head that sounded disturbingly like Hermione.  He blamed the pain potions).  The grave below him shook as something dusty emerged.  Harry sneezed.  Nobody said bless you (no manners, these people, a Minnie voice in his mind harrumphed.  As grateful as Harry was that he wasn’t in even more agonising pain at the moment, Harry made a mental note to tell his adopted uncle that he may have overdosed him just a bit). 

            "Bone of the father, unknowingly given. You will renew your son!" Wormtail cried, as a Pansy voice added its presence to Harry’s overcrowded brain.  Ugh, it’s still talking, it complained. 

            The Pansy voice squealed in vindictive glee at what happened next.  "Flesh — of the servant — w-willingly given — you will revive — your master,” Wormtail whimpered, cutting off his right hand and dropping it into the large cauldron in the centre of the graveyard (and yuck, Uncle Sev would have a fit if anyone tried to use something in such bad condition in his classroom.  Harry supposed that death eaters didn’t really pay too much attention to safety procedures.  Shame that such gross negligence hadn’t inadvertently killed any of them yet…)

            Harry did not like the next part.  At all.  "B-blood of the enemy... forcibly taken... you will... resurrect your foe," Wormtail hissed through gritted teeth (seriously, what a sissy, Pansy-voice added again.  I didn’t make a fuss when dementors fucked up my hands.  Idiot….)  She (it??? Do drug-induced hallucinations even have gender identities?) would have added more, but just then Wormtail made sliced a deep cut in Harry’s elbow as blood flowed into a vial.  Personally, Harry thought it was rather rude of him to make a new wound when he was still bleeding freely not only from the compound fracture in his leg but also from multiple cuts and scrapes from being thrown around like a bloody ragdoll all night…

            The blood was dropped into the terribly-maintained cauldron before Pettigrew fumbled with the buckles of the Baby Björn, having rather a lot of difficulty with one hand.  As the bundle screamed invectives at him, he finally detached the damn thing and practically threw it into the cauldron, and Harry didn’t even bother hoping that was the end of it.  That would just be too kind for his rotten luck…

            A skeletal figure emerged from the cauldron, naked.  Harry noted that it was clearly Voldemort from the feel of the magic, but the terrifying effect was diminished when the thing looked down, realised it was naked, and squeaked, covering its (rather unfortunately small) private parts with long hands.

            “Wormtail, robe me!” Voldemort demanded, trying to maintain his dignity.  Wormtail, seemingly scared by the embarrassed naked man, for some reason, rushed forward to do as asked.  And okay, he did look a lot scarier robed. 

            “Ah, Harry Potter,” he hissed.  “At last we meet again… and I can touch you now, with your blood flowing through my veins.”  He reached forward and put a finger on Harry’s scar, his weird hands making the teen think of those alien-abduction movies Dudley used to like.  Trying to distract himself from how repulsed he was by the dude’s weird-ass clammy fingers, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

            “Mate, where the fuck is your nose?” he asked, before sneezing and subsequently coughing in Voldemort’s face.  The man (term used loosely) looked repulsed, but Harry didn’t feel bad.  Even besides the fact that he was a megalomaniac mass-murderer, Voldemort had ordered him tied up so completely he couldn’t move his arms to cover his mouth and engage in basic hygienic practices- in other words, it was his own damn fault. 

            “Nagini!” he called, wiping Harry’s snot off his face.  “Teach this boy some respect!”  A very magnificent specimen of reptilian glory came forward, and Harry sighed as he noticed the same sort of slimy black magic that was in the diary oozing around her head.  He reached forward and snatched it out without thinking, and the serpent’s whole expression changed. 

            “Boi, the fuck’ssss wrong wit ‘choo?” she hissed at her master, and Harry chuckled at her sass.  He could tell they were gonna be great friends.  “Firsssst you fuck with my head with your freaking messsssed-up voodoo madnesssss, now you tryna kill a kid?! That’s just sssick.”

            “Nagini?” Voldemort asked in surprise as the serpent lunged for him, fangs out.  He managed to conjure a cage to detain her just in time before turning to Harry angrily.  “You messed up my snake!  Ugh, this whole night is just not going as planned,” he whinged.

            “That must be very difficult for you,” Harry replied, deadpan.  “Because being tied to a gravestone by a madman while he accuses me of being the source of everything that’s wrong with his pathetic little life is exactly how I planned to spend my night…”

            From his position at the other end of the cemetery, Cedric, who could not move or speak but could see and hear everything, groaned internally.  Now was not the time for sassing dark lords. 

            “You’re going to regret that, stupid boy!” he cried, pressing his wand to his left forearm as Harry realised he was calling a death eater meeting.  Well, shit…  He realised in a flash of inspiration that the best way to keep things even was to goad Voldemort into feeling that he must issue a one-on-one challenge to protect his pride. This was the only way he was going to have a fair chance of getting him, Cedric, and Nagini (hissing angrily at her old master from behind the narrow bars of her cage) out alive. 

            “Oh, like you regretted being bested by someone still in diapers?” Harry retaliated, timing it right as the death eaters popped into the clearing, looking around in surprise, shock, and for some, dismay. 

            “THAT WAS A FREAK INCIDENCE AND I WILL PROVE IT!  WE DUEL RIGHT NOW!” He screamed, screeching and practically hopping in his fury.  “BACK, YOU USELESS FOOLS!” he ordered his death eaters.  “HE IS MINE!”

            With a wave of his wand, the ropes tying Harry to the headstone sprang free, and he had to grip it to keep from falling over.  He still managed to catch the wand Voldemort tossed at him with all the grace of a true seeker, however.  Cedric, from his statue position and watching anxiously, cheered mentally at this small victory.  Quidditch boys will be quidditch boys, even facing potential death, apparently. 

            “Now, bow to your superior!” Voldemort ordered, and Harry raised an eyebrow at him with a look that said really, dude?  Enraged and screeching like a pterodactyl with a throat infection, the dark lord shot an imperious curse at him, but Harry just mentally batted it aside. 

            “How about you bow to me first, if we’re doing the whole superior thing?” he taunted the man, whose face screwed up like a toddler right before they make a parent’s life miserable. 

            “Crucio!” he shouted, and Harry didn’t even have time to bat this one aside, it came so quickly.  And damn… if he thought he knew pain before, he definitely knew it now.  The spell was like three days of the Dursleys’ most inventive torture all crammed into a second, and every nerve screamed in pain, adding to what Harry was already feeling as he fought against losing consciousness, biting his lip so he wouldn’t scream.  He refused.  After a full minute of the spell, Voldemort lowered his wand. 

            “Why won’t you scream?!” he ranted at Harry. 

            “Fighting a bit of the flu at the moment and didn’t wanna aggravate my throat,” he rasped, coughing up blood and spitting it to the side.  “A for effort though,” he taunted weakly, gathering all the energy he had to force himself to stay upright.  “Now, are we gonna duel or are you gonna try to kill me before we get to it?”   

            “Oh, just raise your stupid wand!” the nose-less creature snarled, immediately firing off a killing curse.  Harry ducked painfully before responding with a bone-blasting hex. 

            “Well, that’s a little dark for Dumbledore’s puppet, now isn’t it?” Voldemort chuckled to hide his anxiety as he barely sidestepped the curse. 

            “I’m not his puppet!” Harry growled at him.  “And I’m normally pretty chill, but you’re really trying my patience,” he continued as he followed it with a mobicorpus.  They continued to fire curses back and forth, and Harry noticed that Voldemort stuck almost exclusively with the killing curse.  Something that Hermione had been enthusing about the other day popped into his mind.  She’d read this thing in a book about wand cores…

            “Expelliarmus!” he shouted when Voldemort fired off the next killing curse, holding his wand more tightly as it began to vibrate and grow warm. Just as Hermione was saying, the spells met in the middle in an explosion of light as a dome formed around the two of them, lifting them into the air.  Harry grit his teeth and pushed harder as Voldemort’s spell began to gain more ground.  He pushed a little harder.  If he remembered correctly…

            The holographic visage of an old man climbed out of the wand, looking rather confused for a moment.  Then he spotted the thing that killed him doing some sort of lightsabre fight with a little kid, and he thought he’d best figure out whatever is going on later and just offer moral support. 

            “You get ‘em, kiddo!” He cheered on Harry.  “Go all Luke Skywalker on his arse!” (Frank loves Star Wars; it just wasn’t mentioned in canon because it wasn’t relevant to Harry’s story).

            Harry chuckled mentally, not having the energy to do it physically, but he appreciated the old man’s taste in movies.  He and Draco loved watching Star Wars on date nights.  Draco, he reminded himself as he pushed harder.  He needs you; he’s bloody hopeless on his own- thought The Backstreet Boys actually performed in alleyways.  His wand began to shake even more and he felt his headache worsen as the vibrations made his brain feel like it was legitimately rattling around in his skull.

            The moment he’d been both hoping for and extremely nervous about arrived as his parents climbed out of the wand, first his mother, then his father.  Lilly rushed up and tried to put her arms around her baby, forgetting she was incorporeal. 

            “Oh Harry, you wonderful child!  Hold on- I’m so proud of you!”  Harry smiled slightly as tears began to leak from his eyes.  Frank, sensing they might want a moment, began to taunt Voldemort, dancing around and pulling at his own ears, sticking his tongue out, and making funny faces.

            “You’re doing great kiddo, just a little longer!” his father said, desperately wishing he could hug his son.  “You’re really something, and we’re so sorry we couldn’t be there for you.” 

            “When my sister and her no-good husband get over here,” Lily ranted, and by here she meant beyond the veil.  “I’m going to kill them all over again, and it’s going to hurt!” 

            “Ah yes, the wizarding Madonna, everybody,” James teased to ease the tension, referencing the magical press’ tendency to paint his wife as the angelic holy mother of their saviour. 

            “And while I’m at it, I’m gonna give Dumbledore a real piece of my mind and the business end of my wand,” Lily continued, paying no attention to her husband’s jokes.  “Our will specified that you were never and under no circumstances to go to the Dursleys, which is probably why the bastard never opened it.”

            “Lils, I know you’re angry; so am I, but we’re running out of time, and Harry needs medical attention,” James said, drinking in every detail of his son’s tired face.  Seeing him in person was different than watching from beyond the veil, and he never wanted to let him go.  He knew his wife felt the same, but unfortunately, they didn’t have a choice.  It was nearly time to break the connection.

            “The connection’s about to shatter, and we have to leave now, even though we wish more than anything we didn’t,” Lilly said, tears flowing freely down her ghostly face.  “I know you’re hurting, Harry, but you need to leave as fast as you can; Sev and Poppy will fix you up as soon as you get back.  Just go, baby, go, go, go.  We love you more than anything.”

            “We do,” James agreed, feeling it with his entire being.  “And we are watching you all the time, Prongslet, and we are so proud of the way you turned out, despite it all.  And oh-” he added, one final thought coming to the forefront of his mind.  “Tell Sniv- Severus that I’m sorry, about everything that went down in school, and tell him thank you for me, for helping look after you when I couldn’t.”

            “I will,” Harry promised, nodding seriously.  “I… I love you guys, and in a way, I’m glad everything happened tonight, so… we could have a… a real goodbye,” he said, swallowing the sobs in his throat. 

            “This isn’t goodbye forever, baby,” Lily promised, swallowing her own sadness.  “Just for the rest of your long, happy life- then we can spend eternity together.  I promise.”  That was all there was time for, as the connection finally broke.  Harry cast a cushioning charm and used every ounce of pain tolerance and the survival skills he’d learned at the Dursleys as he summoned Nagini to him before running, grabbing Cedric, and wrapping his arms around the cup as Voldemort screamed in fury. 

Chapter Text

             They landed on the ground on the backside of the maze, and the only person visible was Alastor Moody.  Harry looked up at him blearily. 

            “We…. Voldemort… back, get my family,” he grunted at the man, in too much pain to care about being polite. 

            “In a minute, Potter,” the professor told him, and Harry’s stomach began to sink.  He knew after two years in a loving household that good teachers don’t tell clearly injured students to ‘wait a minute.’  “The dark lord… he has returned?” he asked, rubbing his hands together.  “Tell me everything!”  Cedric, newly revived and with a protective arm around Harry, glared at the man. 

            “Later,” he told the professor, casting his badger-shaped Patronus and telling it to go find their friends and Harry’s guardians.  “Harry needs medical attention.” 

            “The dark lord got you good, eh Potter?” the man asked, cackling, and Harry began to feel strange magic poking through the edges of his aura… Polyjuice… the man had been using Polyjuice and covering it with that goddamn anti-mage-senses potion all year. 

            “Who are you, really?” Harry asked, vision swimming with spots.  Cedric looked between his friend and the enemy as he picked up Harry’s train of thought.  Remembering the incident with the map, just before Harry collapsed last week, and realising that in all the chaos they hadn’t even seen the map again or realised it was missing, he put all the pieces together.

            “Barty Crouch Jr.,” he growled, angrier than he’d ever been.  “How are you not dead?!”

            “Huh, smart little Hufflepuff,” Barty laughed, his face resorting to its normal appearance as he smiled maliciously.  “My mother convinced my father to trade places with me; she was dying, so she polyjuiced into me and I to her so I could gain my freedom.  Some freedom it was though, what with being under the Imperius curse and watched by that wretched Winky.  She liked me, however, although even that wasn’t enough to convince my father to let me attend the world cup.  But I forced her to return home and then apparate me there, while my father was busy.  While she and my father were in the stands, I snuck away to hide in the forest, waiting for my moment, waiting to begin the glorious revolution…  It was almost ruined when he fired the stupid elf,” Harry glared at him for daring to insult Winky, “but luckily, for the sake of his own career, she’d been forced to take a vow to forget all about our plan, affective if she were ever to be let go.  So, she didn’t tell you and your meddling friends despite her loyalty to you, because she’d forgotten I’d ever escaped.  From there, it was easy to kidnap the real Alastor Moody and assume his identity, which allowed me to put your name in the cup to complete the plan to resurrect my master.  It was almost ruined last week when my father finally decided to grow a conscience, but luckily, he was easily disposed of, and your sudden illness, Mr. Potter, prevented my imminent discovery, so for that I shall thank you by making your deaths quick.”  He raised his wand to the children and the angry snake, who was still in her cage, Harry not having had the energy or time to disable the wards around it and release Nagini yet, but just as he did, he was nearly flambéed by a jet of fire as a massive female Hungarian Horntail landed protectively in front of Harry and his companions. 

            “I’m so sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, hatchling,” she said, sounding genuinely agonised, “but it’s a long flight from Romania, even without the kids, who I left with that red friend of yours.”  By red friend, she of course meant Charlie.  “Now,” she said, looking at Crouch, “how should I cook you?”  She was still debating between flash-roasted or death eater sushi when Minerva, Severus, Sarah, and all of Harry’s friends came rushing over. 

            “Harry, thank Merlin!” they all cried, a discordant hum of grateful explanations for his continued existence filling the air.  The adults all rushed to Harry, looking positively sick at his terrible condition, but before anything useful could be done, Fudge came with a dementor escort. 

            “I heard a death eater was loose!” he cried, exalting in his perceived heroism.  Before Harry or anyone else could try to summon the energy for a Patronus (or mama dragon could spirit her hatchling away from these scary cloaked creatures), they rushed forward to administer the kiss to Crouch, and by the time Pansy’s red tiger drove off the wretched creatures, the man was already a vegetable. 

            “Why the hell did you do that?!” Minerva yelled at the minister.  “We didn’t even get his confession!”

            “We didn’t need to,” Fudge preened and postulated.  “He was clearly guilty.  Now that I’ve handled the situation, we can all celebrate the triumphant conclusion of the tournament.” 

            “You call that triumphant, you bowler-hat fucker?!” Sarah fumed, waving at Harry’s injured form as Severus administered all the emergency potions he had on him.  “What the fuck is wrong with you British stooges?!”

            “Now, just who are you to…” Fudge began, but Harry, who finally managed to catch a moment where potions weren’t being shoved in his mouth, broke up the argument.

            “Voldemort’s back!” he cried.  “We saw him resurrect- we have bigger things to worry about right now!” He then descended into a coughing fit which had Severus frantically looking for more potions, so Cedric picked up the story.

            “Yeah- I was there, and I saw everything!  Harry saved my life tonight by stunning me right before I was hit by a killing curse, and then he duelled Voldemort, who rose again and called all his death eaters- it was awful.”

            “Now, now children,” Cornelius simpered.  “I’m sure you’re all just overwrought by the difficulty of the tournament, but this is all nonsense.  Crouch must have messed with your minds somehow.”

            “He didn’t!” Cedric yelled, fed up.  “We saw everything, and we’re telling the truth!”

            “Alright, young man, that is enough!  I am willing to pardon you tonight for your disrespect, under the circumstances, but I shan’t hear anymore of this poppycock,” the minister lectured angrily.  “Now take your prize money, get some rest, and cease this insanity.”  He threw a bag of galleons at Cedric.  “Now, I have actual matters of state to attend to,” he muttered as he stalked away angrily. 

            “OH, that man,” Minerva began, but Severus, who had been casting diagnostic charms on Harry, suddenly gasped, and she broke off immediately.  “What is it?” she cried, running to her son, who was fighting to stay conscious. 

            “Magical exhaustion, a compound fracture in his left leg, the flu has advanced to pneumonia, and… ninety seconds of the cruciatus curse,” he said gravely, voice barely a shocked wheeze.  “We need to get him to the hospital wing immediately; Sarah, there’s a ventilator in the back room that has been modified to work with the castle’s magic,” he said, turning to the therapist.  “Do you know how to set it up?”

            “Yes,” she said, nodding, “I’ll go do that right now.  You guys just get Harry to the hospital wing as carefully as possible.”  She ran full-out off towards the castle as Minerva conjured a stretcher and Severus sent his Patronus to warn Poppy of the situation.  Harry’s friends were all openly sobbing by now, except for Draco, whose face was whiter than Myrtle’s as she stood there, shocked, looking at his boyfriend, too distressed and confused and enraged at the situation to cry. 

Tears would come later, when he watched from the doorway as the adults rushed around hooking Harry up to IV lines and the breathing machine and frantically shouting to each other as they worked.  Tears would come later, in the dorms, Pansy’s hand on his shoulder as she cried too, for the first time since her mother miscarried, openly distressed as they all held each other by the fire in the Slytherin dorms.  Tears would come later, as he watched the other champions comfort Cedric as he blamed himself for the entire situation.  Tears would come later, when his mums tried hopelessly to comfort him and his friends as they all cried too.  Tears would come later, when they found Kreacher locked up in a supply closet hours after the events of the night, pounding on the door and the dark wards in front of it with his trademark frying pan as he pulled his ears in distress and wailed about his inability to protect little master Harry.  Tears would come later as they realised they were all about to jump headfirst into another war, but this time with a government determined to ignore its existence as the enemy waged destruction in the shadows.  Tears would come later, and Draco feared that they wouldn’t stop coming for a long time.