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Chapter Text

In the last year or so, Harry had become somewhat accustomed to getting strange feelings every now and then. Not all of the Voldemort-related variety — though there were plenty of those in the mix, because Merlin forbid he be normal — but the usual teenage sort-of feelings. For the most part, Harry had ignored them; he had bigger things on his mind, after all. It wasn’t like he was going to do anything about the feelings. Not with another person. Not in the ways the Dursleys worried about — with Petunia’s shrill demand for him to ‘keep his freakish hands off any of the nice normal girls in the neighbourhood if he knew what was good for him’ — and certainly not in the ways they had learned about through Madam Pomfrey, in the most excruciatingly awkward hour and a half the entire third year had ever experienced, where she spoke to them about changes in their bodies and the urges of their oncoming adulthood.

Anyway, the point was, Harry was getting pretty good at ignoring weird emotions and funny swooping sensations in his belly. Even when he arrived at the Burrow in preparation for the Quidditch World Cup — and met the two eldest Weasley brothers for the first time. Shaking hands with the handsome Charlie Weasley, Harry ignored the bubbling in his gut, and prayed Charlie couldn’t tell he was blushing. If Charlie noticed, he didn’t say anything.

All of that changed when Harry crested Stoatshead hill behind a slightly breathless Mr Weasley, catching the silhouette of a man in the slowly rising sun — which, as he grew closer, resolved into the smiling face and sparkling grey eyes of Cedric Diggory.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the older boy. It wasn’t even the first time he’d had the tingling, gut-squirming sensation upon seeing him. Before the dementors had interrupted the quidditch match the year before, Harry had genuinely worried he might lose the match due to being distracted by the line of Cedric’s strong shoulders as he bent low over his broom. But this time, it hit Harry like a punch to the gut.

He managed to avoid tripping over his own feet as he and the rest of the group made it up to the portkey. Cedric caught his eye, grinning at him, and Harry’s heart skipped a beat. “Alright, Potter,” he greeted quietly. Harry croaked out something that may have been ‘hey’; if you were feeling generous. His cheeks went red, but luckily — or unluckily — Cedric was distracted from responding by his dad’s bragging about the Hufflepuff’s quidditch skills. The words made Cedric’s smile falter, his brow furrowing in annoyance, and Harry’s face heated up for an entirely different reason.

Mr Weasley derailed Amos by reminding him of the portkey, and soon Harry found himself gripping tight to the old boot, his shoulder pressed against Cedric’s bicep as they all gathered around it. He had a brief, ridiculous thought of his hands getting so clammy that he slipped and let go of the portkey and got left behind.

Then the swooping sensation in his stomach was entirely different. It felt like he was being yanked up by his bellybutton, his world a blur of colours and lights until all of a sudden his feet were on solid ground and his knees were crumpling. He groaned faintly, sprawled on the grass, and looked up at the rest of the group who had all managed to stay on their feet.

“First time using a portkey?” The quiet voice was knowing, and Harry blinked as a hand stretched out in front of him. Cedric was barely even ruffled, his hair just slightly windswept from the journey and making him look even more attractive. Rude.

“Please tell me it gets better,” Harry replied, shoving down the feelings as he took Cedric’s warm hand in his own, the older boy pulling him easily to his feet. Cedric chuckled.

“Eventually. Can’t say it ever gets enjoyable, though,” he admitted. He glanced over his shoulder, where his dad was already strolling off through the field. “I should get going. Enjoy the game, it’s going to be brilliant. I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, you too. Bye, Cedric.” Neither of them moved, and it took a minute for them to realise that Cedric still had Harry’s hand in his.

“Come on, Harry! Let’s go!” Ron’s impatient call was what made them break apart, and Harry ducked his head in an attempt to hide his burning cheeks. Hurrying away from the Hufflepuff, Harry caught up with the rest of the Weasleys and Hermione, falling into step beside the bushy-haired girl. She eyed him curiously.

“Everything alright, Harry?” she asked, and he nodded, clearing his throat.

“Yeah, fine. How come you didn’t fall over from the portkey?” there was a tinge of annoyance in his tone, and she snickered.

“Honestly, Harry; the way you are with the floo, are you surprised?”

Harry opened his mouth to retort — he wasn’t that bad with the floo anymore — but as they turned a corner and saw the tents sprawled out in front of them, he couldn’t pick his jaw up from the ground.

God, he loved magic.

.-.-.

As the summer went on, Harry felt restless. Ron and Hermione chalked it up to the Death Eaters at the world cup — well, Hermione did; Harry was pretty sure Ron hadn’t noticed — but Harry knew it was something different. He couldn’t pinpoint what the feeling was, but it left him feeling like something was bubbling under his skin, like his muscles were itching to do something.

Playing quidditch in the back garden helped. Sneaking around with the twins and their inventions helped. But at night, Harry lay in bed with his eyes wide open and his fingers twisting in his duvet, wondering why he couldn’t relax. Was it Voldemort? He’d had that dream earlier in the summer, with Pettigrew and the old man and the creepy house. What if Voldemort was in his head, doing things to his mind, making him feel this way?

He didn’t say anything to the others. Ron didn’t notice that Harry hardly slept. He was pretty sure everyone else did, but no one asked outright. One of the perks of being Harry Potter was that people excused a certain level of odd behaviour from him.

Finally, they were on their way to King’s Cross, and Harry’s pulse began to thud with more intention; like he was getting closer to whatever the something was. Nerves tangled in his belly, but Harry pushed it away; there was nothing he could do about it. He didn’t even know what it was.

It kept him distracted enough not to blush when Bill ruffled his hair and hugged him goodbye, and soon Harry found himself leading the way onto the train.

“This one’s empty, Harry,” Ron said, pointing to a compartment they’d just passed. Harry shook his head; for some reason, he needed to go further.

“No, let’s keep going.” Behind him, Ron and Hermione shrugged, but continued. Harry followed the rush in his blood until it eased off, right outside a compartment with only one other person inside.

“Hiya, Harry,” Neville Longbottom greeted cheerfully, a book on his lap with a strange plant on the cover. Harry’s brow furrowed; why had the feeling wanted him to seek out Neville?

He didn’t question it, returning the greeting and shuffling into the compartment, stowing his trunk away. Ron and Hermione were happy enough to follow, and soon the four were sat down and happily sharing stories of their summers. Mostly, Ron described the entirety of the quidditch world cup — and everything that came after — to Neville, whose gran hadn’t wanted him to go. Harry was fairly quiet, his eyes regularly drifting back to Neville like the other boy was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. He looked much the same as always — his jawline a little sharper, like he was finally starting to lose his puppy fat, but otherwise just regular old Neville. Only, his knee bounced near-continuously, a small enough motion to go unnoticed, except Harry had been doing the same practically all summer. Harry’s gaze narrowed in on the boy; was whatever affected him also affecting Neville? What the hell was going on?

Trying his best to put thoughts of strange feelings aside, Harry managed to relax a little as they grew closer to Hogwarts. When the trolley lady arrived outside their compartment, both Harry and Neville jumped to their feet, pulling out their money purses on their way into the narrow corridor. Harry wasn’t even that hungry; he just needed to move.

Handing over the money for his snacks, Harry was about to turn back into the compartment when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Hello, Neville Longbottom.” The faintly lilting voice drifted over as the trolley lady moved away. Both boys turned to see a girl with long blonde hair even lighter than Malfoy’s, already wearing her Ravenclaw uniform. She had small radishes hanging from her ears, and her silver eyes almost glowed. “Harry Potter.”

Harry felt like he knew this girl, but he was coming up blank on a name. He’d probably just seen her around school somewhere. “Hello,” he replied cautiously, glancing aside at Neville. The other Gryffindor seemed a little transfixed, and Harry gently kicked him in the ankle.

“Oh, uh, hi. Luna, right? Luna Lovegood?” He coughed, turning red, but the girl didn’t seem to notice. She nodded, smiling serenely.

“That’s me. I’m glad you know my name.”

“Well, uh, you know mine. It’s only fair,” Neville replied, gaze fixed somewhere over Luna’s left shoulder. Harry wondered if this was how he looked when talking to Cedric Diggory at the portkey. Merlin, he hoped not.

“It’s nice to meet you, Luna,” he cut in, attempting to save his friend. “Do you, uh, want to sit with us?” Neville’s eyes widened in alarm, but Luna shook her head.

“No, thank you. It’s not quite time for that yet. But it’s very sweet of you to offer.” Her smile brightened. “I’ll see you both at school.” With that, she turned away, skipping down the corridor and disappearing into a compartment. Harry turned to Neville, eyebrows raised.

“What was that about?” he asked, watching Neville blush brighter.

“I, uh, I have no idea,” the other boy admitted. “She’s in Ginny’s year. I’ve seen her around sometimes, at the outskirts of the forest. She’s always looking for creatures of some kind. She’s… interesting.”

“She seems it,” Harry agreed knowingly. He made a mental note to keep an eye on the Ravenclaw table in future — maybe he could help Neville out a bit with his crush. It would be good for him.

They returned to their compartment, and Ron caught the chocolate frog Harry tossed him, giving him a strange look. “What took you so long?” he asked, expertly biting the head off the frog before it could escape his grasp. Harry sat down, sharing a brief look with Neville.

“Just couldn’t decide what to get,” he replied nonchalantly. He didn’t want to embarrass his friend by mentioning the Ravenclaw girl; Ron wasn’t exactly good with emotions, or subtle about anything. Neither was Hermione, in all honestly. If they were, they’d probably be dating by now.

Absently nibbling on his pumpkin pasty, Harry let his mind wander for the rest of the journey; first to ways of getting Neville to talk to Luna more, then to a fun but ridiculous daydream of impressing Cedric so much with his quidditch skills the boy couldn’t help but kiss him.

Snapping out of his daze when Hermione nudged him in the side, Harry realised the train had halted at Hogsmeade station. His blood was rushing faster now, but that wasn’t unusual; Hogwarts was the first home Harry had ever had, and it always excited him to be back.

The four of them found a carriage, and Harry’s fingers drummed on his thigh as the wheels began to roll, while opposite him Neville’s knee bounced once more. He tuned out Hermione’s fussing over their summer homework, worrying she hadn’t put enough detail into her Charms essay.

All of a sudden, Harry’s spine tensed and his skin tingled. Neville’s leg halted at the same moment. Somehow, Harry just knew they had crossed the wards into Hogwarts — the restless energy in him had ceased, replaced with a warm, comforting sensation, like the school himself was welcoming him back. He wasn’t sure what was happening with Neville, but the other boy seemed to relax too. He glanced at Ron and Hermione, who were still bickering about schoolwork; nothing had changed for them, evidently.

Frowning, Harry shook it off, staring up at the castle ahead. He was home now; that was all that mattered.

Chapter Text

Everyone at school was talking about the Triwizard Tournament. Harry, personally, was only interested from the periphery; he’d had enough drama and danger in his school years so far, and was quite looking forward to watching someone else take it all on instead. The idea of foreign schools coming to visit was intriguing, though. He’d like to learn more about what magical societies were like in other parts of the world.

Mostly, Harry was — as per usual — focused on his own issues. Namely, his dreams.

Almost every night since he’d returned to Hogwarts, Harry had been disturbed by dreams. He could never remember them when he woke up, just the feeling of having them, but they felt… familiar. Like memories, only he knew that he’d never experienced those things before.

He hadn’t had another dream like the one of Voldemort and Pettigrew, but that didn’t stop Harry from worrying the Dark Lord was responsible for them.

He didn’t mention the dreams to anyone. What could he say? ‘I don’t remember any of it but they don’t feel like they’re mine?’ Enough people thought he was crazy as it was; even Hermione and Ron would have a hard time getting some logic out of that one.

So, Harry kept quiet, going about his usual business, and if he seemed a little distracted, no one brought it up. Again; perks of being Harry Potter. Hermione sent concerned looks his way sometimes, when she thought he wasn’t looking, but he pretended not to notice.

With the foreign schools not due to arrive until the end of October, it felt like any other school year for now. “I wish we still had quidditch practice,” Harry muttered, sat opposite the twins at dinner. “Feels like I haven’t been outside except for classes since I got here.”

“Tell us about it,” Fred agreed, George humming in sympathy.

“At least we got to fly a bit in the summer,” he added.

“Maybe I’ll take my broom out at the weekend,” Harry mused. “They can’t stop us flying for fun, surely. There’s just no time for quidditch matches with the tournament happening.”

“Careful; Angelina hears you say that and we’ll have full-team practices every week even without matches,” Katie Bell piped up from a few seats down, eyeing their new captain warily. Angelina was far up the other end of the table, and all she could speak about these days was entering the tournament, wondering what they might have to do and how they could prove they were the best candidate for champion.

Personally, Harry wouldn’t mind weekly practice — maybe if he was exhausted from quidditch he’d stop having weird dreams.

“Harry, have you finished the essay for Professor Flitwick?” Hermione asked. Harry racked his brain.

“You mean the one that’s not due til Friday?”

Hermione’s lips pursed. “That doesn’t mean you should leave it until the night before,” she scolded. “If you do the homework the night it’s set, you’re less likely to get snowed under and have to stay up all night. We have our OWLs next year, you should really get into good study habits now.”

Beside her, Ron groaned. “Hermione, that’s ages away!” he insisted. Hermione turned her lecture on him instead, and Harry shared a knowing look with the twins, who stifled snickers.

He was halfway through the essay. He wasn’t Ron; he wouldn’t leave everything until last-minute. The only reason he had in the past was he’d gotten a little side-tracked by other, more important things; like the strange voices in the pipes that turned out to be a murderous basilisk, or the supposed mass-murderer breaking into the school, or the forbidden corridor that his weird DADA professor seemed very interested in. He always had the best intentions with his schoolwork. It just became a little… hard to follow through sometimes.

Still, Hermione was a girl on a mission, so the trio retreated up to Gryffindor tower to do their Charms essay in a quiet corner of the common room, Ron muttering complaints under his breath the whole time.

“Oh, are you guys doing the Charms essay?” Harry looked up, smiling at Neville.

“Yeah, have you done it?”

“Not yet.” Neville twisted his hands anxiously in his robe. “Could I— could I join you? I could really use some help; I understood most of what Flitwick was talking about, but that bit about the transient properties of temperature charms just went right over my head.” He looked embarrassed, glancing to Hermione as if expecting her to call him an idiot and lecture him on how easy it all was. He didn’t have much to worry about; she saved that behaviour for Ron, mostly.

“Pull up a chair, mate,” Harry offered, shuffling his own to the side to make room. “I’ll help you figure it out.”

Neville beamed, hurrying up to the dorm to go get his parchment and quill. Harry turned back to his own essay — maybe cramming his head full of Charms theory would make him dream about that instead of the weird memory-dreams he’d been having.

.-.

Harry was somewhat reluctant to go to bed when the time came, pestering Ron and Seamus into one more game of exploding snap, then staying up reading in bed once they called it a night. But at around half past eleven, he was hit by an overwhelming wave of tiredness, his book falling to his chest as his eyes slowly drooped. Yawning, he gave in, setting the book aside and taking his glasses off. His head hit the pillow, and he was barely awake long enough to worry about what dreams might plague him tonight.

The dorm was silent but for Ron’s charm-muffled snoring, all of its occupants fast asleep. As such, no one noticed when the clock struck midnight, and behind the drapes of not one, but two beds, a faint white light began to glow.

.-.-.

Barely five years old, sparks skittering up his arms, his father smiling down at him in pride. “You’ll have to be careful with that, son. Don’t let anyone but me or your mother see you do it. Folks are scared of what they don’t know, and their fear can be dangerous.” He nodded, still watching the sparks. He could keep a secret.

He was young, maybe seven, surrounded by grim-faced adults — “I’m sorry, lad. If it helps, he didn’t suffer. Just went in his sleep, like.” “If you and your Ma need anything, love, just let me know, alright?” — a dark-haired woman, his mother, tear-tracks down her cheeks as she attempted a smile. “It’s just you and me now, Salazar, love. We’ve got to look after each other.”

A year later, a similar scene, a crowd of black cloth and a hollow feeling in his chest, his small hands clenched in his pockets. “All alone, poor lad.” “Far too young.” “Happens to the nicest people.” — Scurrying away in the dead of night, nothing but a cloak over his shoulders, a knife in his boot and a pouch full of coins tucked in his trousers. He refused to stay here, surrounded by people who would pity him, the poor orphan boy, people who didn’t understand how special he was. He would go, he didn’t care where; he would seek his fortune, he would find a master to help him hone his skills, the power buzzing at his fingertips that desperately needed direction. He’d do whatever it took to become someone his mother would be proud of.

Animal sweat sour in the back of his nose, the whole world rocking with the motion of the waves, his body curled up in the little corner between the cows and the horses, eyes squeezed shut as he desperately prayed for it to be over. It was a short trip, and then he’d be on the mainland. His journey would begin.

Flashes — nine years old, eleven, fourteen — a different master almost every time, a different country, a different discipline of magic. Practically a man grown now, responsible for himself and all it entailed, growing his power and his knowledge and leaving whenever he’d learned all he could from whoever he was with. Cold winter nights in Poland and Russia, sticky-hot summers in Italy and Egypt and even as far as South Africa. He had no home, but he had power, and that was all that mattered.

Sixteen and finally returning to his homeland. Eight years away, and he was a whole different person, a young man ready to take on the world. He’d learned enough for now; it was time to find a trade and make a name for himself. No one respected a man who had nothing to his name but stories. He’d settle for a while, then when he was older he could travel again. He was a wizard, his lifeline was strong; he had all the time in the world.

Stood at the docks, feet on home soil for the first time since his childhood, looking around the bustle of the town that had popped up on the coast. Wondering which way to go, when his eyes caught on a woman, a little older than him. He could feel the spark from her, his magic trained to recognise like, and when he met her pale blue gaze he could tell she knew. Gravitating towards each other in the crowd, her pale hands reaching for his tanned ones, her dark hair whipping around her face in the cold sea breeze. “My name is Salazar.” His voice deeper than it once was, with a strange lilt that came from never sticking to the same language for more than a few months at a time. “Might I have yours?” A smile, a feeling in his heart that this was exactly where he was supposed to be. “I’m Rowena. I think we’re going to be great friends.”

He and Rowena against the world, posing as brother and sister, or young sweethearts, or cousins — whatever would get them the least attention. She was hungry for knowledge and full of plenty of her own, and the pair of them stayed up late into the night exchanging spells and stories and theories, bright grins on their faces and passion in their eyes. This was what they wanted to do, who they wanted to be. Salazar had spent so long as a student he could hardly see himself as a teacher, but he wanted, oh so badly. It was respectable. It was a worthy profession. And if he could give power to just one poor helpless soul like he had once been, give them agency and purpose and a way to make their own future, he would be happy.

A clash of swords, a crackle of fire, screaming and shouting — “Get down!” — a strong back pressed against his own, shoulder-to-shoulder with this fierce stranger, his hair as red as the fire that was swallowing Salazar and Rowena’s home. Sprinting through the woods, Rowena’s hand in his, the stranger keeping pace easily. “You saved our lives.” “Magic looks after its own. I’m Godric.”

He was seventeen, a man by all measures of the word, yet he’d never felt more like a foolish little boy than when he stared at this vision of beauty, currently levelling an arrow in his face and swearing in Welsh. She was barely tall enough to reach his shoulder, honey-blonde hair tied back in a somewhat messy braid, amber eyes alight with a fire that pierced Salazar’s very soul. “I don’t mean any harm, dear lady. My friends and I just needed somewhere to sty for the night.” Her magic reaching out, searching his, his own reaching in return with eagerness, the feeling like the very bells of heaven were ringing in his ears. Similar to meeting Rowena and Godric, but different, more, this woman was everything this woman was light this woman was his. “What’s your name, my lady?” “Helga. Helga Hufflepuff.”

Dancing and light and laughter, sweet wine and warm bread and magic soothing his skin, Helga’s hand in his and her smile the brightest thing in the room, looking radiant in her gown. “I’m the luckiest man in the world, Godric, I swear.” A laugh, a large hand clapping his shoulder, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I’d fight you for the title, but I fear that’d anger our wives, so why don’t we just share it?” His wife. Married. Helga’s soul twined with his, unbreakable, til death and beyond. Her lips on his skin, amber eyes glowing in the moonlight. “I love you.”

Another trip around the world, this time with company. The four of them, thick as thieves, travelling wherever the wind blew and the magic was strongest. There was so much to learn, and they wanted to know all of it.

Rowena, late at night, surrounded by piles and piles of parchment. “Writing is the future. If I write down all that we learn, it will be easier to take it with us and teach it to others. I don’t want to lose anything.”

“What if we built a school?” The sentence that would change everything, thrown out on a balmy spring afternoon, the four of them relaxing in a field back in England, taking a break in their travels. Salazar still had no home, but he had them, so it was enough. But all four of them had that yearning, that drive, that little voice in their heads that insisted they were going to change the world. And Godric might have just figured out how.

Cresting a hill in the highlands, coming across a breathtaking view, a lake out to the horizon and a forest overflowing with natural magic. “This is it.” Rowena’s voice firm, no arguments. When she had a feeling, you trusted it. “This is where our school will be.”

“Remind me again why we’re calling it Hogwarts?” “Godric thought it was funny.” “And of course, you can’t say no to him, can you?”

Months of sweat and toil and his magic stretching to his limits, but his heart had never been happier — not on the day Helga had agreed to marry him, nor the day they had wed, nor any other day of his life, not to compare to the day the four of them stood and stared at the castle towering over them, the castle they had built with their hands and hearts and magic, preparing for a day when all the magical children of the Isles could come together to hone their skills, no longer having to hide in the shadows and fear for their lives every time they cast as much as a spark.

“I’ve found my first student.” Helga’s voice quiet in the darkness of their room, her body tucked neatly against his own. “She’s a cousin of mine, she wrote me a letter. Word is spreading already, my love — the right people are sharing the news. We will have a school.” A delighted smile pressed against his skin, turning to deeper passions, both of them giddy with the prospects of the future.

Staring out over the small gathering in front of the four of them; maybe twelve students, aged nine to seventeen, and Salazar was astonished that boy had made it to manhood without any formal training — he was a sneaky one, good at hiding, blending in. Salazar liked him already,

“Sal, I’m pregnant.” The words echoing in his head, ringing in his ears, his heart leaping to his throat. A child.

Months later, a similar announcement from Rowena. He and Godric standing, watching their round-bellied wives sit together, knitting blankets for their unborn children, bright smiles and strong magic, happiness bleeding from every pore. “Can you believe this is our life, brother? We get to have this.”

A child. Then another. And another. Balancing his lessons with holding his beautiful sons, his perfect daughter, making sure Helga still had time to teach her own classes. Ignoring all the idiots who insisted it wasn’t proper for a young mother to be working, that the children would grow up neglected.

An egg, delivered by a trained eagle, with instructions to be hatched beneath a magical toad. “What in the name of the gods is that?” “It’s called a basilisk. One of the deadliest snakes in the world. She’s going to keep us safe.” An amused smile from his wife, small fingers running through his hair, a kiss to his brow. “Just make sure the kids know to be gentle. I don’t want to test your ability to brew an antivenin under pressure.”

Their classes got bigger and bigger, too big for them to handle all in one. “We all have our favourites. Why don’t we just split them four ways?” An offhand suggestion from Helga, something to ease the burden. No idea of how revolutionary it would become.

Years passing, decades blurring together — the children becoming adults, going off to seek their own fortunes, returning when they had news or needed familiarity or — eventually — approval for their chosen spouse. For a man who once had no home but the hearts of three people, Salazar finds himself with a castle and a family and several homes he would be welcome in without hesitation, but still the castle is where his soul resides, with Helga and Rowena and Godric. Hogwarts is his home, and this is his calling, and they are shaping the future of magic.

“It doesn’t feel right. It’s not safe.” “Salazar, we can’t steal them from their families! Just because their parents don’t have magic doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to keep their child.” “And if they don’t understand their children? If they become afraid, or even if they say the wrong thing to the wrong person? You’ve seen what it’s like outside these walls, Godric. It’s not safe for people like us in the world.”

More and more letters coming with news of students who were no longer with them, who had been discovered by the muggles and put to death, or killed in their attempts to escape. Children, many barely old enough to have their own wand. Beautiful bright sparks snuffed out too soon because people were afraid of what they didn’t understand, what they couldn’t control.

“I have to go and help them. They’re living in the woods, it’ll be a miracle if they make it back to the castle in one piece — hellfire, it’s a miracle they managed to find each other in the first place! They’re my snakes, Helga love, I can’t abandon them.” “I never expected you to, you silly man. Be safe, and be fast, or your next grandchild will be born without you!” A chaste kiss, a warm embrace, the scent of lavender and baked bread and sweet berries.

His ageing bones ached but he refused to let them falter, his sword in one hand and his wand in the other, magic swirling around him with menacing ferocity. “Go, get to safety! I’ll hold them off!” “But Master Slytherin, what about you?” “Don’t fret about me, I’ll be right behind you.” Screams, yelling, a sharp feeling in his belly. Hands around his wrists, his magic fighting desperately to close the wounds but there were too many, too much blood, oh gods, he was going to die, here in this muddy field surrounded by angry muggles, far from his wife and his children and his best friends and his home. Helga, Helga, I’m sorry, I love you, please be safe, I did this for us, for the children, I love you, I—

Blackness. Silence.

And then.

Light.

Chapter Text

Harry woke, and suddenly he was himself again.

Only, that wasn’t completely true. The memories were still there; sitting amongst his own recollections of school and summers at the Dursleys and all the other small interactions that made up his life, was the entire life of Salazar Slytherin. Both belonged in Harry’s head. Both were Harry. His soul was Salazar’s as much as it was his own; his magic the founder’s magic, his life just a rebirth of the man himself.

Harry stared at the dark red hangings of his bed in Gryffindor tower, wide-eyed, wondering how the hell this was his life. Lives. Merlin.

Why had this happened? What had triggered the memories to return, now of all times? For the first time since the World Cup, he felt utterly relaxed — this was what he’d been waiting for all summer. His body and magic had been preparing for this for months. But why?

It was disorienting, having an entire seventy-three years of life crammed into one night, alongside fourteen years of a completely different one. He’d have to take some time with his occlumency shields and reorganise everything; it would help with the growing headache at his temples. But Harry was still himself, and thus he knew he’d be late to Transfiguration if he didn’t get up and go to breakfast soon. With a groan, he pulled himself to a seated position and tugged his drapes back, unsurprised to see Ron’s bed empty beside his; the redhead wouldn’t wait for Harry when there was food on the line.

He glanced across to see Neville sat on the edge of his own bed, looking about the same as Harry felt. Then, he focused. There was something familiar about him, something from Salazar’s memories…

“Godric!” Harry breathed in awe, and Neville’s eyes went wide.

“Salazar!” He jumped to his feet, running over to throw his arms around Harry’s skinny shoulders. “Oh, thank the gods!”

“I’ve missed you, old friend,” Harry murmured, despite the fact that he’d seen Neville the night before. He hadn’t seen Godric in months before he died in his old life. “What happened? How…?” He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. Neville looked equally perplexed when he pulled back, shrugging.

“No idea. Merlin, this is weird. It’s like, I’m me, but I’m him, but we’re the same person? I still know you as Harry, but I can also tell you’re Sal.” Suddenly, he smirked. “I always said red and gold would look good on you.”

Harry thumped him on the shoulder, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” He paused, biting his lip. A hope was rising that he almost didn’t dare voice. “Do… do you think the girls are back, too?” Surely whatever magic had returned him and Godric to the world wouldn’t leave Rowena and Helga behind? The boys would be nothing without those two genius women. Harry’s heart ached fiercely at all of Salazar’s memories of his beautiful Helga, fierce and loyal and constantly underestimated, always wholeheartedly convincing Salazar he was worthy of good things.

Neville sucked in a sharp breath, and Harry knew his friend was reviewing memories of his own wife, a pained grimace on his face. Salazar had been the first to die, and he had no idea how long the others had lived on without him. From the look on Neville’s face, he doubted Rowena’s death had been a peaceful one.

“Our souls are bound; where we go, our wives will follow, surely. They wouldn’t give us a second chance without giving us love.” Neville didn’t make a guess who ‘they’ were, and Harry nodded in agreement. He hadn’t lived a second without Helga by his side since they’d met, and he refused to do so now. Harry Potter or not, he’d never love another.

“They have to be here,” Harry insisted. “Somewhere. Even if they haven’t woken yet, they’ll be somewhere.” Whatever magic had brought them home once more, they knew nothing about it. The girls could have a different set of circumstances for their awakening. They could be halfway across the world. Harry dismissed that one immediately; even with knowledge of their past life hidden from them, their souls would never let them get that far from Hogwarts. It was home, in a way normal wizards would never comprehend.

Indeed, the castle seemed to be practically glowing with happiness at having its founders home once more. Suddenly eager to see the school in a whole new light, Harry reached for his uniform. “Let’s get down to breakfast, maybe we’ll find them.”

He and Neville dressed hurriedly, following the familiar corridors down to the great hall. It was strange; even after three years living in Gryffindor Tower as Harry Potter, it felt utterly foreign to be arriving from up high instead of from down in the dungeons. He and Helga had always kept to the lower levels of the school; the heights were for Godric and Rowena.

As they grew closer to the crowded hall, Harry stretched his magic out in a way Salazar was easily used to doing, feeling out for something familiar. They arrived in the entrance hall, and his magic sparked, just as Neville let out a gasp.

Stood next to the stairwell opposite, just out of the way of the flow of traffic, was Luna Lovegood. Only her magic was screaming at Harry in an incredibly familiar way, and the smile on her face was so utterly Rowena that Harry couldn’t help but laugh. His heart soared.

Neville dashed across the hall and skidded to a halt in front of the blonde, his arms reaching out in an aborted motion. In his head, Harry could see what he’d intended; dozens of times he’d watched Godric pick Rowena up and spin her, holding her like he never wanted to part with her again. Neville Longbottom doing that right now definitely would have drawn attention to them, but it clearly hurt his friend to hold back.

Harry followed at a more sedate pace, reaching out to squeeze Luna’s shoulder. “Did you know?” he asked wryly, remembering how she introduced herself on the train. She shook her head, quietly tangling her fingers with Neville’s. He was still staring at her like he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. Harry’s chest ached; where was Helga?

“Not exactly. I just felt that you were important,” Luna replied. Her smile softened, and she reached up to cup Harry’s cheek. “She’ll be here, Sal. Magic wouldn’t leave her behind.”

Harry wanted to believe that. It made more sense than the alternative. But he was so used to the universe kicking him while he was down, this would just be another in a long line of heartbreak and disappointments, spread out over both lives.

The three of them entered the great hall, Harry’s eyes and magic scanning the crowd for something familiar. Helga wasn’t in there. His shoulders slumped, and Neville nudged him forward, no longer holding Luna’s hand.

Ron and Hermione were further up the Gryffindor table, but Harry didn’t feel like dealing with them at that moment. He didn’t want to talk to anyone but Helga, to be honest. It felt odd to be perching on the end of the Gryffindor table rather than heading up to the staff table, or over to sit with his snakes. He glanced over at the silver and green clad table, pride twisting with sadness as he watched the reserved children eat their breakfast. So much stigma resting on so many small shoulders, from twisted history and poor logic. He hadn’t argued with his fellow founders and left the school; he’d been out finding students and safely escorting them to Scotland when he’d been set upon and killed by muggles. There had never been a question about the inclusion of muggleborn students; only whether to let them go back to their families during breaks, for fear of danger to the untrained wixen children.

Mechanically eating the food that Luna piled on his plate, Harry let his gaze travel — the hall had aged well. The enchanted ceiling they were so proud of still held strong, and while it was clear the stone had withstood several hundred years of use, magic had preserved things well.

He was impressed with how nonchalant Neville and Luna were being. They sat either side of him, and he could feel them sharing heavy looks over his head, but if he was them he would have run to somewhere private immediately to reunite without prying eyes. He didn’t know how long they’d spent without each other, who had died first — though he could guess. He himself was just on the verge of grabbing his two best friends and sobbing into their robes with relief at having them with him again, at knowing they were okay. It was only the absence of their fourth that kept him tense and alert.

Harry almost choked on his scrambled eggs when it happened. He felt Luna and Neville straighten up on either side of him, all three of them swivelling their gazes towards the doorway, Harry’s heart in his throat and his magic practically screaming in relief.

He met a set of astonished grey eyes, set into a handsome square-jawed face and framed by light brown hair.

Cedric Diggory.

The Hufflepuff was staring at him intently, and Harry didn’t doubt for a second whose spirit was really inside that burning gaze. Before he knew it he was on his feet, hopping the bench and hurrying towards the doors, towards the sixth year watching him — and straight past him, with only a glance over his shoulder beckoning the tall boy to follow.

Neither of them spoke until they were alone, secured in a small passage that even the Weasley twins didn’t know about. Only then did Harry turn and let his hands un-clench at his side, green eyes roaming over Cedric’s face and body.

“Helga?” he croaked, hardly daring to believe it.

“Apparently,” Cedric replied, taking a step closer. He reached out carefully, like he thought Harry might break if he touched him. Harry couldn’t bear it anymore; he threw himself at the Hufflepuff, tucking himself under Cedric’s chin, listening to the strong heartbeat beneath the boy’s ribs. Cedric’s arms wrapped tightly around him, and lips pressed to his hair. “Salazar,” Cedric breathed, the name said just as reverently as it had been in a feminine voice, centuries ago, in these very halls. “I don’t understand. How… Why?”

“We’ve no idea,” Harry admitted. “But I’m not willing to question it. Not now I know all four of us are safely home.”

“Home.” Cedric’s voice was soft and awe-filled. “Oh, gods, it’s been so long. It’s good to be back.” He stiffened, then pulled away, drawing a reluctant whine from the back of Harry’s throat. “None of this makes sense! You’re a Gryffindor and I’m…” he trailed off, looking down at the very male body he now inhabited.

“Snake in the lion’s den,” Harry replied automatically. “I… does it bother you?”

“You being a Gryffindor? Depends how smug Godric is,” Cedric said, purposefully avoiding the point. Harry narrowed his gaze, and the Hufflepuff’s shoulders slumped. “How could it not? I have eighty years of memories as a woman, and only seventeen as a man. I am Cedric as much as I am Helga, and that’s not an issue, but… I am not the woman you married, not anymore.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry snapped, taking Cedric’s hands in his own. “You are always the woman — the person I married. I pledged my life to yours, and I stand by that vow no matter what form your body takes.”

“You’ve never shown an interest in men before,” Cedric retorted. Harry smirked.

“I never had to, I had you. Besides,” he added sheepishly, “speaking as Harry Potter, I’ve fancied Cedric Diggory since last year. Surely you noticed how flustered I was at the world cup.”

Cedric goggled at him. “I— I thought you were just disoriented from the portkey.”

“Distracted by your eyes, more like,” Harry returned, voice growing a little husky. He leaned in further, the combined Helga/Cedric aura warm and inviting. “Can I kiss you, my love?”

Cedric’s breath hitched, and the slightest nod was all it took for Harry to rock up on his toes and press their lips together, cradling Cedric’s face between his hands.

It was better than his teenage daydreams of snogging Cedric Diggory. It was different to his memories of kissing Helga’s soft lips, stroking her sweet round face.

It was incredible, and he wanted more.

Still, he ended the kiss slowly, forehead leaning against Cedric’s and eyes half-closed. “I am yours, as long as you’ll have me,” he vowed. “These new bodies are not an obstacle to me.” As Salazar he’d been tall and lean and handsome, not this scrawny, malnourished teenage body with ever-messy hair and appalling eyesight. He wouldn’t blame Helga for wanting what used to be.

“Are you sure?” Cedric asked, doubt lingering in his eyes. Harry kissed him again, unable to help himself.

“As sure as I was the day I married you,” he promised. “If you want to be a woman again, I’ll help you find a way. But I’m just as happy with this arrangement as I was with our last.” If anything, Cedric should be the disappointed one — he was the most handsome student at the school, while Harry was just… Harry.

A shrill bell ringing reminded the pair that classes were due to start soon, and Cedric cursed in Welsh, making Harry smirk. There was his Helga, sure enough.

“Meet us in the Room of Requirement after curfew,” Harry requested. “We don’t have time to go over everything right now. I’ll let the others know.” It would look strange if the four of them were suddenly friends, so they’d have to wait until after dark to reunite properly.

“Okay. I can do that.” Cedric didn’t move, his hand still resting on the back of Harry’s neck. He sighed. “I’m afraid if we part this will all be a dream, and I’ll lose you again.”

“You won’t,” Harry promised, his heart yearning to just stay holed up in that passageway with Cedric all day. But they both had responsibilities. “You won’t lose me, love.”

Cedric’s lips met his again, fingers hot on Harry’s skin. “I’ll hold you to that.”

It took visible effort for the two of them to part, and Cedric left first. Harry gave him a few minutes before following — minutes spent calming down both his racing heart and his teenage libido. When he finally returned to the hall, he carefully kept his gaze away from the Hufflepuff table, rejoining his friends at Gryffindor. “Everything okay?” Neville asked quietly, eyes dark in concern. Harry nodded.

“As they can be. We’re meeting in the Room after curfew tonight, to figure this all out. For now, just… act normal.”

“Speaking of normal,” Luna muttered under her breath, hopping lightly to her feet and quickly squeezing Neville’s bicep. “See you later, boys.”

The pair were perplexed by her departure, until Harry noticed two familiar figures coming towards him. His stomach squirmed. “There you are, mate!” Ron exclaimed, throwing himself into Luna’s vacated seat. “I was starting to think you’d sleep through breakfast. Why’d you sit up this end?”

“Neville and I woke up late,” Harry replied with a shrug. “It was busy when we got here, so we just sat where there was space.”

“Did I see Loony Lovegood just leave here?” Hermione asked, and Neville and Harry both stiffened.

“Don’t call her that,” Neville snapped with a surprising amount of vitriol. Hermione blinked at him, taken-aback.

“I, sorry, I just, it’s what everyone calls her, it sort of slipped out.”

“You should know better than to use the nicknames the school gives people, Hermione,” Harry pointed out sharply. The bushy-haired girl looked appropriately chastised, but there was still the faintest frown on Neville’s face. “We should get to class,” Harry declared, before any more questions about his breakfast companions or his whereabouts could be raised. “McGonagall will have our heads if we’re late.” Indeed, the hall was clearing out rapidly.

Hermione quickly began hurrying the boys along, and Harry shared a look with Neville, his jaw tight.

Curfew couldn’t come soon enough.

Chapter Text

Going through a day of classes was both strange and achingly tedious. The intrigue in the different teaching styles and the leaps of innovation in the last millennia could only keep Harry interested for so long, and he soon grew vacant-eyed in many of his classes — arguably, not unusual for Harry Potter. Really, he was half in his mindscape, trying to let his memories settle so he felt less like two people in one body.

It helped that, at the heart of it all, Harry and Salazar were incredibly similar people. Something that surprised Harry less than it would have a year or so ago; he’d been learning to embrace his Slytherin traits for a while now. It was just the experiences that were jarring — having lived a whole life in the middle ages and then trying to apply that knowledge to the late 20^th century was somewhat bizarre. He wondered if Neville was having the same issue; the other boy didn’t seem to be paying attention in class any more than Harry did.

If he was going to have to finish the last four years of education at a teenage student’s pace, he might just go insane.

The one saving grace of his day — other than the wards of Hogwarts pressing fondly against his mind — were the few times he managed to catch Cedric’s eye in the halls between classes. It took everything Harry had not to run to the older boy, and from Cedric’s gaze it seemed he felt the same way, but they had to wait.

By lunch, Harry was wondering if someone had cursed time to slow down.

After dinner, it was worse. He no longer had classes to keep him distracted — or to stop Ron and Hermione from asking him questions about his lack of attention. It wasn’t their fault; how were they supposed to know his world had been utterly flipped on its head overnight? But he just couldn’t be the same Harry they were used to. He had Salazar’s entire life with him now, and while he was still Harry first and foremost, he couldn’t ignore that.

He’d find a happy medium soon, he hoped. Things were just a little too new right now.

Eventually he managed to claim a headache and go to bed early, rubbing his scar as he did so — no one ever questioned him when he did that, even if Hermione did give him that narrow-eyed look of concern. Neville was already up there, still dressed in his uniform, reading a book on his bed. He offered Harry a sympathetic smile. “Finally had enough?”

“I just can’t right now,” Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I need…” He trailed off, and Neville nodded. Of course he knew what Harry needed; it was the same thing he himself craved.

“Let’s go,” Neville murmured, marking his page and getting to his feet. Harry rifled through his trunk for his invisibility cloak, holding it up to his friend in offering. Neville rolled his eyes. “I think I can manage.” He waved his wand, and vanished from sight in an instant.

The multitude of invisibility and disguise spells Harry now knew passed through his head, and he blushed sheepishly. “Oh, yeah.” Still, he threw the cloak over his shoulders; it was a powerful magical item and he might as well use it.

Despite the full common room, the two teens managed to slip out unnoticed, heading out into the stone halls. Harry’s breathing eased as he followed the familiar path — he might be used to the dungeons, but this castle was still theirs, and every inch of it felt like home. He could feel Neville’s magic brushing up against his own as they strolled towards the seventh floor. He couldn’t wait until all four of them were together again.

Harry was the one to manifest the room, and when they opened the door it showed a cosy common room with two large black sofas, angled towards a roaring fire. He made a beeline for the nearest sofa and kicked off his shoes, sprawling across the comfortable cushions. “Gods, it’s going to be a long year. Long four years,” he groaned, taking his glasses off to rub his eyes. Neville chuckled, dropping down onto the other sofa.

“We’ll keep ourselves busy. Lots of things have changed since our first time around; there’s bound to be plenty more to learn in the library, and elsewhere.”

“I don’t know about our library,” Harry replied dubiously. “Half the classes we used to teach aren’t even on the curriculum anymore. I doubt there’s texts on them in there. Dumbledore seems the type to control what the students are allowed to read.” His trust in the elderly headmaster had been waning for a while, but now with an adult’s mind behind the matter he could see very clearly how Dumbledore was the puppetmaster pulling everyone’s strings. Not necessarily maliciously — he wasn’t Voldemort — but his idea of for the greater good left much to be desired.

“I’m sure Ro’ll fix that, given the chance,” Neville pointed out.

As if summoned, the door opened and Luna slipped inside, moving with a dancer’s grace to the free space beside Neville. His long arm immediately curved around her shoulders, his lips dropping to her temple and his eyes half-closing in bliss. “I missed you,” he murmured. Luna swung her legs over his, happily accepting the embrace.

“I missed you, too.” She glanced over at Harry, smiling fondly. “Come here, little brother.”

Harry didn’t need much more invitation, crossing the distance and squeezing in on Luna’s other side, catching both her and Neville in a tight hug.

“Starting without me, are you?” The voice made his head snap up, and he beamed as Cedric carefully shut the door behind him, smiling at them. He didn’t wait to be asked before cramming himself beside Harry, his chest pressing against Harry’s shoulder as he stretched his arms wide.

Neville tried to reach around all three of them, like he used to be able to. “This was so much easier when you were a girl,” he grumbled to Cedric, who laughed.

“Yeah, but Sal’s tiny now so it evens out, really,” he teased, laughing louder when he got an elbow to the side.

For a moment, the four of them fell silent, just taking each other in. Somehow, through some blessing of magic, they were all here together, a thousand years from when they’d began, with new lives ahead of them. A new start.

Eventually they parted, Harry and Cedric shifting to the other sofa, pressed together from shoulder to knee. Neville’s fingers ran absently through Luna’s hair as he eyed them contemplatively. “So, we all know you three could out-think me any day. Any idea what the hell has happened?”

“Not a clue,” Harry chirped, Cedric humming in agreement.

“The what is obvious,” Luna replied. “It’s the why and how that’s a little elusive. I think Magic just wants us to bring back a little of what used to be.”

“But why us?” Cedric asked, bewildered. “I can understand Harry — he’s the Boy-Who-Lived, you don’t get much more influential than that these days. But I’m just…”

“One of the most powerful students in sixth year?” Harry cut in pointedly. “A pureblood from a good light family with respectable parentage and a reputation for hard work? Pretty-boy Diggory?” he added with a wink, making Cedric flush. “Don’t underestimate yourself, love. Magic had to know what she was doing. She chose you just as much as she chose the rest of us.” He brushed his lips across Cedric’s jaw.

“Be glad she didn’t pick Malfoy for Salazar, or something,” Neville said, grimacing.

“Oh, that would’ve been terrible,” Cedric agreed, making a face. “Though it does surprise me a little. Everyone always paints you as the perfect little Gryffindor,” he added to Harry. Harry smirked at him.

“The best disguise is the most obvious one,” he retorted. “Fionn wanted to put me in Slytherin, I convinced him around.”

“Stubborn little shit,” Neville teased fondly.

“I wonder how Fionnbharr is doing,” Luna mused, a little sad. “He must be awfully lonely up in our old office with just Dumbledore for company.”

Harry felt a pang in his chest; Fionnbharr had been one of their brightest students, perished far too soon. It had been his wish to have his soul transferred into the hat, to help guide students for as long as the school existed. “I’ll sneak in and steal him for a chat,” he promised, adding it to his mental to-do list. A list that he felt was about to get a whole lot longer. “What I don’t understand is why did this happen today? It’s not a solstice, or an anniversary, or even a full moon. What makes the 24^th so special?”

“It’s, ah, my seventeenth birthday,” Cedric piped up. “That could be it. The first of us to come of age and all that.”

“Is it really?” Harry cracked a grin, kissing Cedric quickly. “Happy birthday, love.”

“That explains the when. I’m sure why and how will make sense to us eventually,” Neville said.

“Regardless of intention, we’ve got an opportunity ahead of us,” Cedric declared, grey eyes alight in the way that on Helga had always made Salazar’s chest grow warm. It was no different with Cedric, and Harry twined their fingers together, already prepared to pledge himself to whatever idea his love was about to suggest. “We can all agree the country is in rough shape right now. With our magic and knowledge, we can revive the school and bring an end to the darkness and prejudice that’s plagued magical Britain for so long. So much has been lost to the ages; everyone thinks Salazar was evil, for Merlin’s sake! And no one understands how magic works anymore — the old rituals have fallen out of favour, they all think squibs are the end of a magical line, and don’t even get me started on their beliefs on muggleborns!” He paused in his tirade, eyeing Harry oddly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m so in love with you,” Harry declared, green eyes dark.

“I’m going to be sick,” Neville groaned, breaking the moment. Luna giggled. “You two are just as bad as you used to be. Worse, maybe. Can we make a plan for five bloody minutes before you start making eyes at each other?”

Harry sighed, shooting his friend an annoyed look. “If we must.” He leaned against the arm of the sofa, turning his gaze to the Ravenclaw of the group. “We need to restore some of the old curriculum. And find out what new innovations our students are missing out on.” He, personally, needed to get more knowledge on the current wizarding world. The others probably knew a lot of it already, having been raised in it, but Harry was woefully uneducated. Dumbledore probably preferred him that way.

“The wards don’t feel as strong as they used to be,” Neville said with a frown. “We’ll have to check on those at the next solstice.”

“I’ll talk to the house elves tomorrow and see what their opinion is on the school these days,” Cedric decided. “And I think we can all agree Dumbledore needs to go.”

“Not until after I’ve taken care of Voldemort,” Harry replied. If Dumbledore was out of the school before the Dark Lord was dead, there would almost certainly be an attack on Hogwarts. They couldn’t risk that.

“Voldemort’s dead.” Cedric’s words were more of a question than a statement, and Harry shook his head.

“Sadly, not the case. He doesn’t have a body right now, but that may change soon.” His dreams from the summer were making more sense with his recovered knowledge, as was the Quirrell situation from first year. It wasn’t painting a pretty picture.

“Well then, why is that your problem? Surely Dumbledore can handle that,” Cedric argued.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Because he’s done so well on that front thus far. He’s my heir, slaughtering in my name, that makes him my problem.”

“If he’s your heir, that makes him mine as well,” was Cedric’s retort.

“The moment he starts killing muggleborns in the name of Helga Hufflepuff, you’re welcome to join me, love. Until then, he’s mine.” He’d be damned if he’d let a disgusting stain on the family tree like that live while he could help it.

“We’ll have to be discreet,” Luna interrupted airily. “People think Harry and I are mad enough without claiming to be reincarnations of the founders.”

Her bluntness made Harry snort. She wasn’t wrong there. “We can do discreet. I have some research to do, but the Voldemort problem shouldn’t take more than a few months.” The man had definitely been dipping into some forbidden dark magic, and Harry needed to figure out exactly what before he could counter it. Hopefully he’d find a good starting point somewhere amongst his old journals down in his chamber.

Suddenly he froze, realisation dawning horribly. He let out a small wounded noise.

“What is it, love?” Cedric asked urgently, clutching his hands.

“Cleopatra,” Harry gritted out, his anger rising. “That filth used her — he killed a girl, and tried to kill several others. I was forced to kill her in my second year. Oh, my poor girl.” She’d been such a sweet, intelligent snake; what had happened to make it so easy for Riddle to control her?

All three of his companions gasped, and Cedric’s arms came around him. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I feel like that’s definitely a story you’ll have to tell me some day, but for now, I’m sure you’ll get revenge for her death. It wasn’t your fault she had to die; he twisted her mind, I’m sure it was a mercy for her.”

“My chamber was in awful shape, too,” Harry commented sadly. It was probably even worse now, after Cleo’s corpse had sat there for over a year. “Gods, what a mess has been made of my house. It’s going to take me years to fix everything — the hatred is so ingrained, and then there’s scum like Voldemort perpetuating it all!”

“We’ll fix it,” Cedric promised, running a hand through Harry’s hair. Harry barely noticed when the Hufflepuff glanced at the other pair, and the room draped a heavy curtain between the two sofas, separating into two private spaces. “Salazar, love — Harry, we’ll fix everything. Between the four of us, there’s nothing we can’t do.”

“It just feels like it’s my fault,” Harry rasped, surprised at the emotion swelling within him. “If I’d stayed, I could’ve done more for the school, history might not have twisted so badly.”

“If you’d stayed, the children you saved would have died,” Cedric retorted. He cupped Harry’s face in his hands, forcing the younger teen to meet his gaze. “Trust me; I spent years after you died thinking about what might have been if I hadn’t let you go, or had gone with you. It doesn’t do either of us any good, alright? Just be grateful we have the opportunity to make things right again. That we’re together again.”

“I am,” Harry assured. “So grateful. I just…” He shook his head, kissing Cedric softly. “It’s a lot to get used to. Learning your legacy was nothing like you hoped it would be.” Nothing he wanted to be proud of, save from attaching his name to Hogwarts itself. History had done him and his snakes so much wrong.

“Maybe that’s why Magic brought us back,” Cedric teased softly. “She knew you’d be too bloody stubborn to let your name be dragged like this.”

That drew a laugh out of Harry, and he leaned back on the sofa, Cedric moving with him. The Hufflepuff’s hair was ruffled, the firelight making it glow gold. Gods, he was beautiful. “I’m so glad it’s you,” he admitted softly. “I mean, whoever you ended up being I would’ve been happy, but… I’m glad it’s you. The body finally matches the strength within the soul,” he added, tone playful. Helga had been a petite thing, underestimated for her delicate form and pretty face, only to round on a person with an iron will and scathing tongue. It never failed to make Salazar laugh watching men run with their tails between their legs after an encounter with her.

“Are you sure you’re okay with it?” Cedric asked, his expression odd.

“Are you?” Harry returned knowingly, hand gently stroking Cedric’s side. The Hufflepuff bit his lip, then sighed.

“It’s going to take some getting used to,” he confessed. “It’s just… strange, for now. But the thought of being a man doesn’t bother me nearly as much as the thought of being without you. I can’t do that again.”

“That’ll never happen,” Harry swore solemnly, taking Cedric’s lips with his own once more. It was strange; he hadn’t hesitated for a second to recognise his love in this male body, and the attraction was definitely already there. But he supposed that was very different to being in a body of a different gender. Regardless of what happened, Cedric would have him. Salazar had left Helga behind in death, Harry wasn’t going to let that happen with their second chance.

As the pair began to relax, the issue shelved — for now at least — the Room dropped the curtain and reunited them with their friends, then manifested a large clock above the fireplace, showing it was almost midnight. Neville snorted. “I suppose Hogwarts wants us to go to bed,” he mused drily.

“Are you sure we can’t stay here tonight?” Harry whined, sounding every bit his fourteen years.

“I think it’ll do us all good to get some privacy and some sleep, to process things,” Luna said, in her gentle no-arguments tone. “It’s been a long day, and not all of us have the same skills in mind-magic as you.”

Harry grimaced, imagining the headaches his companions must have. “Fine, fine. Come on, Nev, let’s get back to the tower. Gods, I miss my dungeons already.” There were so many stairs to Gryffindor.

“You’ll get them back eventually,” Cedric teased, getting to his feet and pulling Harry up with him. He held him close, then gave him a short kiss. “I’ll see you in the morning, love. Sweet dreams.”

Hugging Neville and Luna too, Cedric was the first to leave, having the longest journey back to his own dorm. The other three walked together invisibly until they had to part for Luna to go to Ravenclaw tower, and she and Neville shared a sweet kiss before she pecked Harry on the cheek and went on her way. The two boys continued up the stairs, shoulders brushing every few steps. “We’re so lucky,” Neville whispered, awed. “To have this chance to try again. I thought we’d used up all our luck the first time around.”

“Clearly Magic took a shine to us,” Harry replied.

“We’ll have to be careful. Start small. The school is so fractured, so far from what we hoped it would become…” Neville huffed in frustration.

“It’s not irreparable,” Harry insisted confidently. “It’ll take work, but we can bring things back to their former glory.” Hogwarts had been beautiful back then, a safe haven for magical children from all over the Isles, all of them working together to enhance the strengths of others, following the example the four of them set. How had it all gone so wrong over time?

Small changes. Neville was right; they didn’t have the sway for anything big yet. They were just kids. But kids could force a surprising amount of change when they set their minds to it, and Harry knew exactly where to start.

Chapter Text

Harry was up at his usual time the next morning. He was glad for it, walking down to breakfast flanked by Ron and Hermione as if it were any other normal day. When they reached the hall, Harry held back a step. The huge room was full of students, including the one he was looking for. “You go ahead, I’ll be over in a second,” he said when his friends paused to wait with him. They looked at him oddly, but continued over to the Gryffindor table. Harry turned towards the table of green and silver, a pang going through him at the united front they presented. The rest of the world might have condemned his snakes, but at least they still had each other.

He was drawing attention, but Harry resolutely continued walking, until he was stood directly behind Draco Malfoy. Malfoy had turned in his seat, eyeing Harry with a suspicious silver gaze. “Potter,” he spat, and Harry offered a brief nod.

“Malfoy,” he returned neutrally. “I’d like to offer a truce.”

Malfoy stared. Around him, the Slytherins were dead silent, and a hushed whisper was coming over the other tables. Everyone in the hall was watching him by now, even the teachers.

“What are you playing at, Potter?” Malfoy asked with raised eyebrows.

“I suppose I’ve grown up a bit,” Harry remarked wryly. “We’re both a bit old for all the name-calling, aren’t we? There are bigger things in the world than house rivalries.” At that, the Slytherin’s eyes sparked knowingly, and his lips thinned.

“And what, you’re hoping we can all hold hands and skip into the light together?” the blond retorted. Harry let out a snort; even he wasn’t going to be skipping into the light these days.

“We can at least greet each other with honour in the grey. At the very minimum, I’d rather not have more enemies than I need. Especially not in the heir of the house of Malfoy.” Harry’s words were quiet enough that only Malfoy and the nearest Slytherins could hear them, but he could practically see the gears whirring in the students’ brains. Subtlety worked best with snakes — he didn’t want them to fight with him, he just didn’t want to fight against them. He wanted them to have a choice. “Of course, I’ll still kick your arse on the quidditch pitch,” he added with a grin, making the other boy bark out a surprised laugh.

“You wish, Potter,” was the automatic response. Harry held out a hand, and after a brief hesitation, Malfoy shook it. “A truce, then.”

It was clear he was confused, but he was Slytherin through and through; he wasn’t going to turn down a potentially beneficial alliance.

Letting go of Malfoy’s narrow fingers, Harry tilted his chin to survey the rest of the Slytherin table. “I’d also like to apologise, publicly,” he said, a little louder now. “To the entirety of Slytherin house, for any offence I may have caused you in the past.” With hindsight and the knowledge of Salazar Slytherin, Harry had realised he’d probably made a thousand social blunders as the Potter heir, and that was probably the reason most of the green-clad students had issue with him. “Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t raised in the wizarding world, and I still have a lot to learn about proper customs. I’m also learning that I have previously been working under some rather… biased opinions.” His gaze flicked up towards the headmaster for the barest of seconds, but he knew the snakes would catch it. “I wish to have no issue between my house and yours. Please forgive me my errors as I learn how to properly represent House Potter.”

Silence. You could’ve heard a pin drop in that hall — even the other students had frozen. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Ron red-faced and furious, only held back by Hermione’s vice-like grip.

“Slytherin house appreciates your apology,” Malfoy said, when it became clear no one else was going to speak for his table. “Forgive us if we wait to accept it until we’ve seen if you’re true to your word.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” Harry smiled slightly, the part of him that was Salazar beaming in pride at his house. “Thank you for allowing me to disrupt your breakfast. I’ll see you in Potions,” he added, glancing to include the few Slytherin yearmates surrounding Malfoy in that sentence. With that, he headed back to the Gryffindor table, hiding a smirk at the glances and whispers that started up once more.

He caught Cedric’s eye on his way across the hall, and the Hufflepuff winked at him, sending a flash of warmth through Harry’s body. The warmth hadn’t left him when he took his seat opposite Ron and Hermione, and didn’t falter at Ron’s glare. “What the hell was that?” the redhead exclaimed. Harry shrugged.

“Exactly what it looked like. This petty rivalry has gotten out of hand, and I didn’t want it to cause any major problems in the future.” Sure, he might not have made such a bold move without Salazar’s memories and confidence, but even before he awakened he was getting tired of the fighting. Malfoy was a bit of a git, but most of that was probably just because Harry was a git to him in return.

“But it’s Malfoy!” Ron argued, as if that were reason enough. “And you apologised to the whole of Slytherin house, have you lost your marbles? They don’t deserve it!”

“Why?” Harry asked plainly. Ron blinked.

“Why what?”

“Why don’t they deserve my apology? My respect? Why doesn’t Malfoy deserve me being civil to him?”

“They’re Slytherins!”

“So?” Harry’s voice was acidic, growing louder in his anger. “You can’t honestly tell me you think an entire quarter of the school can be deemed evil? They’re kids! Half of them can’t even cast a bloody disarming charm yet, they’re no threat to anyone! And after what happened this summer, I don’t think treating them like they’re already a lost cause is the way to build bridges!” He jumped to his feet, suddenly too angry to bother placating his friend. “Grow the fuck up, Ron.”

Apparently not done making a scene, Harry stalked from the hall, scowling. He could only hope some other students might hear his words and think on them, reassess the way they were automatically treating Slytherin students.

Hurried footsteps behind him had him tensing, before the familiar magic reached out and he relaxed. Neville slowed to match his stride beside him, offering a knowing half-smile. “You always were a drama queen,” he teased. “Here, I saw you didn’t get the chance to eat anything.” He held out a napkin-wrapped bundle, and Harry unwrapped it to find an enormous sandwich stuffed with breakfast foods. His stomach growled.

“Thanks, mate.” He took a huge bite, mulling over his thoughts as he chewed. “How bad did I screw up, do you think?”

“I don’t think you did at all,” Neville replied. “I mean, yeah, Ron’s a bit pissed. But honestly he’s needed a smack round the head for a while now. If he sulks, it’s his loss.”

“I just feel so much older now,” Harry complained, and the other boy hummed in agreement. “I don’t want to alienate them, I really don’t. But we can never tell them.” They could never tell anyone, most likely. Even if they were believed, it would lead to more trouble than they would ever want. They’d be studied, thrust into the spotlight, their current identities erased in favour of their past selves. Harry loved his best friends, but this was a secret he couldn’t trust them to keep.

“I know what you mean. I’m glad I’ve always been a bit of a loner, to be honest. It’s easier that way.”

“Well, those days are long gone now. No more peace and quiet for you, brother dear,” Harry teased quietly, bumping their shoulders together. Godric was always prone to fits of melancholy when left alone too long, and the last thing Harry wanted was for that trait to resurface. Neville laughed.

“Wonderful.” The sarcasm made Harry snicker. “But seriously, Sal, don’t worry about it. You made the right call — if the rest of the school will listen to anyone, it’s you, and they might start to follow your example eventually. Sod what Ron Weasley thinks; he just doesn’t want his best friend spending time with anyone else.”

Harry hummed, but was still thinking about it even as they took their seats in Charms. Ron and Hermione filed in with the rest of the Gryffindors, Ron glaring at Harry and Hermione looking upset and conflicted. Harry rolled his eyes at the redhead, turning back to talk to Neville before Flitwick could come in and start the lesson.

Regardless of whether it was the right call, Harry had made his move now. All that was left was to see what came of it.

.-.-.

For the next couple of days, Harry’s truce with the Slytherins was all the school could talk about. Listening to the gossip, Harry was amused and a little saddened by the people who thought it was all the set-up for some elaborate prank; luring the Slytherins into a false sense of security. All he could do was prove his motives were noble.

Walking into the Potions classroom, Harry grinned to himself when he saw the seat beside Malfoy was empty despite all the Slytherins already being in the room. The last two lessons, he’d had to arrive early to make sure to seat himself next to the blond. “Finally decided I’m not a total lost cause?” he said by way of greeting, setting his bag down beside the desk. Malfoy smirked.

“Your potions are passable,” he replied, which was the closest to a compliment Harry was likely to get.

A couple tables over, Neville sat beside Blaise Zabini; Malfoy’s previous partner. That pairing seemed to be working out surprisingly well, though Harry couldn’t tell if it was just Godric’s memories that were helping Neville improve. The Gryffindor founder had never been fantastic at brewing — he had Salazar and Helga for that — but he at least wouldn’t be intimidated by Snape anymore. Zabini seemed perfectly content with the arrangement, at least.

Snape certainly didn’t seem to know what to make of the whole situation, but he couldn’t punish Harry’s grade without also punishing Draco. He could take plenty of points, but Harry hardly cared. If tradition held, Dumbledore would find some daft reason to give Gryffindor enough points to win sooner or later.

He could feel eyes glaring daggers at his back, and he didn’t bother turning around. Ron had hardly spoken to him since the truce had been called, and Hermione still held too much of a grudge over the Slytherins’ treatment of her blood status to sway towards Harry’s side. She still spoke to him, but she treated him a little like he’d lost his mind, and Harry grew sick of it pretty quickly.

Silence fell abruptly as Snape swept into the room, and Harry sat up attentively, his fingers itching to get brewing. If there was one huge difference between Harry and Salazar, it was his attitude towards the art of potion-making. Harry was quite happy to adopt Salazar’s feelings on the matter — and his skill. Now that he understood why certain ingredients reacted the way they did, why certain methods of preparation made a difference, he could get why Snape regarded the art so highly. If only the sour man would bother to share that knowledge with his students.

.-.-.

The four founders had met up together every evening since their awakening, but this time they had other plans.

Harry met Cedric down in the dungeons, not far from the Potions classroom. They were both shrouded by invisibility spells, but Harry would know his love’s magic anywhere. He smiled to himself in the darkness. “Shall we?” he murmured softly, feeling Cedric’s shoulder brush his own.

“Lead the way,” the older boy replied, twining their fingers together. Harry took them around a corner, facing a mostly nondescript stretch of wall — except for the tiny snake carved into one of the stones.

“Open,” he hissed, watching the stones fold back on themselves to reveal a narrow archway. The pair stepped through, and another hiss had the wall back to rights. He couldn’t risk the main entrance in the bathroom, not with Myrtle living in there. That ghost would never keep such a big secret.

Alone, they dropped their invisibility spells, Cedric offering a crooked smile and squeezing Harry’s hand. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, grey eyes concerned. Harry hid a grimace, knowing what he would find at the end of the tunnel — he wasn’t, but he couldn’t put it off much longer.

He leaned up, pressing a kiss to Cedric’s lips. “Let’s just get it over with.”

They started walking, torches flaring to life on either side. All it did was highlight the truly astonishing number of small animal carcasses littering the tunnel. “You weren’t kidding when you said it was a state, were you?” Cedric remarked, joining Harry in casting several high-powered cleaning charms.

“Just wait until we get to the main chamber.”

They weren’t far from the central chamber itself, and Harry’s brain couldn’t help but superimpose Salazar’s memories onto his current view; he could remember so clearly what the chamber looked like new, when the stone gleamed and the fire made everything inviting rather than creepy. Contrary to what legend had made it, the chamber had never been a secret — not from his fellow founders. It had been a failsafe. A last resort should it ever be needed, big enough to house the entire population of the castle in case of emergency, with a fearsome guardian to protect them from whatever might threaten their safety. He’d kept the passwords in Parseltongue mostly to annoy Godric, who wanted to sneak into his private office and deface his journals.

“Why didn’t the children ever change the passwords?” he asked suddenly. All three of his and Helga’s children had inherited the gift of snake-speak; any of them could have made a more user-friendly password.

“We thought about it,” Cedric admitted with a sigh. “But… Arcturus was the only one left at the school by then, and he liked having the connection to you. I suppose we assumed when the time came that there was no one gifted in residence, it would be changed. I don’t know why that never happened. We’ll have to look into it. I… I’d like to know what happened to the kids, after I died.”

The pain in his voice made Harry’s heart clench, and the Gryffindor squeezed his partner’s hand comfortingly. He too would like to know what became of their family — between Salazar and Voldemort, obviously. And what of the Hufflepuff line? Their second son had taken that title for his own, and he’d had a young daughter when Salazar had died. Was she the last, or did the name carry further on?

The questions died before they could reach his tongue, as the narrow corridor opened up into a huge chamber, the smell of stagnant water and old blood permeating the room. In the centre, still in the same position twelve-year-old Harry had left her, was Cleopatra. Unmoving, eye sockets a congealed bloody mess, but body otherwise in surprisingly good shape for just over a year deceased. Basilisk venom was so potent that none of the usual bugs and bacteria would survive in their body, and the rats certainly wouldn’t try eating her flesh. Her mouth was open, showing both the broken fang and the hole through the roof of her mouth. Harry swallowed thickly.

“Oh, my poor girl.” He let go of Cedric’s hand, taking several slow steps closer to the enormous snake. “My darling Cleo. How could you let him manipulate you so?” How lonely must she have been to take the orders of any speaker who wandered into the chamber, to accept orders that put students in danger. Before Tom, when was the last time someone had visited her?

Large hands rested on his shoulders, and he startled before he realised who it was. His mind was Salazar’s now, and had been expecting Helga’s petite fingers. “I’m so sorry, love. I know how much you cared for her.” Cedric’s chin rested against the back of his head. Harry leaned into the contact for a moment, then pushed away, running gentle fingers over dull scales.

“I should’ve thought ahead; provided better for her. Given her some sort of instruction for what to do if I died, if there was ever a long time without a member of the family in residence. I thought… I thought I had more time.” When he’d left, it had been nothing more than a routine trip to pick up some students and bring them safely to the school. He’d never dreamed it would be his last. So many goodbyes he never made, so many things left unsaid… He turned suddenly.

“Did I tell you I loved you?”

Cedric looked at him oddly. “At lunch,” he said, sounding amused. “And a hundred times before that.”

“No, when I left. Before I… when I never came back.” Green eyes met grey as comprehension dawned. “I remember packing, I remember kissing the kids and promising you I’d be home by Yule. I told Bethan not to give birth before I returned. But I don’t remember telling you I loved you.” What had his last words to his wife been? Some snarky remark? Some banal instruction to keep his store cupboard stocked?

“Oh, Salazar,” Cedric — Helga — sighed, pain in his eyes. “If you didn’t, it doesn’t matter. I knew.” He stepped forward, bending his head to press his lips to Harry’s forehead. “I knew with every breath I took that you loved me more than anything. It broke my heart that you never came back, but that was never a doubt in my mind.”

“We’ve been given this second chance,” Harry said somewhat desperately, pulling Cedric closer. “I’ll tell you every day. More than that, even.”

Chuckling as his hands slid to Harry’s hips, Cedric kissed him firmly. “You could never say the words again and I’d still know,” he murmured, lips still pressed to the Gryffindor’s. “All I want is for you to be a little more careful in future. You’re right that this is a second chance, and I doubt we’ll get a third, so I want you around for as long as possible.”

Harry snorted, raising one dark eyebrow. “Boy-Who-Lived, remember?” he pointed out. “Dark Lord after my head? I’ll be as careful as the circumstances allow.”

“Please, now you’ve got your full power back, you’ll take care of that little upstart heir in no time,” Cedric said confidently. “Just don’t do anything stupid. Especially not without me by your side.”

That drew a smile to Harry’s lips, and he leaned in for another kiss, having to rock up on his toes to get the angle he wanted, coaxing Cedric’s mouth open. When they eventually parted, his lips turned in a frown. “I miss being the tall one,” he muttered, making Cedric snicker.

“Turnabout is fair play, dearest,” he teased. “Now, I hate to ruin the mood, but… what do you want to do with Cleo?”

Heart sinking, Harry turned to the corpse of one of his oldest companions. “Harvest her for parts, I suppose. It’s cold down here; most of it will have been preserved well enough. It’d be a shame to let things go to waste by burning them.” He wasn’t going to just toss a fifty foot poisonous snake corpse into the forest; the centaurs would have a fit. He’d harvest what he could, and burn the rest — they could throw in all the shed skin and other detritus, too. He’d get his chamber back in shape no matter what it took.

He looked up at the enormous statue, still with its mouth open. It wasn’t Salazar, as he’d believed when he was twelve. He had no idea who it was. “That’ll have to go,” he mused, shaking his head. “I wonder which egotistical heir decided to build that one.” He could see the family resemblance — Helga’s nose, Salazar’s own jawline, his father’s stature.

“One with far too much free time on his hands,” Cedric agreed. “It’s a bit much. Doesn’t it block your office?”

Harry’s eyes widened. His office! So much knowledge in his private library and journals — knowledge that, in the wrong hands, could have horrible consequences. Tom Riddle had been down here in his youth; had he found his way in? Was whatever twisted magic he’d performed in the search for immortality something he’d found in Salazar’s books?

He hurried forward, reaching out with his magic to look for the door to the office. When he’d built the chamber, it was hidden in a wall not unlike the entrance he’d come through that evening — another precaution against Godric, and any potential intruders. Helga had been the only one ever allowed in; even the kids didn’t know where it was. A sigh of relief escaped him as he sensed his own wards, still untouched after all these years. The room hadn’t been entered since he’d last been in there. The knowledge was safe.

“I couldn’t go in there,” Cedric piped up. Harry turned to him, confused.

“The wards were set to allow you entry.”

“That wasn’t the problem.” Cedric’s jaw tightened, pain flashing across his features. “I couldn’t bear it. There was so much of you in that room, so many good memories for the two of us. It hurt too much to even think about going inside. I tried once, after your funeral. Made it as far as the door before I broke down crying. I didn’t come down here afterwards; only Arcturus did, to check on Cleo.”

Harry could hardly imagine what it had been like for Helga, living in the space they had shared, alone, for seven years. He wouldn’t have been able to handle it. But he’d always insisted Helga was the strongest of them all. “Come here,” he said, voice choked. To his surprise, there were tears running down his cheeks. Cedric didn’t hesitate, stepping into Harry’s open arms. It was awkward; they were more Salazar and Helga than they were themselves at that moment, and they were used to fitting together differently. There were too many elbows, and Helga was too tall, and Salazar far too skinny. Though both of them were crying, they couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s going to take some getting used to,” Cedric sighed, adjusting them until it was his arms around Harry, Harry’s face tucked into his neck.

“I miss being able to hold you like I once could,” the younger boy admitted in a frustrated whisper. He hadn’t hated his body before he had memories of what it was like to be in one that was tall and strong and hadn’t been denied nutrition for most of its early development. Cedric wasn’t the tallest boy in his year — a good four inches shorter than the Weasley twins — but Harry would be hard pressed to catch up to him.

“As long as you hold me, that’s all that matters,” Cedric said, tightening his hold. “We’ll adjust. We have plenty of time.”

Harry knew he was right — he was young, still potentially growing, and they would figure it all out in time. But at this moment, he just wanted things to be how they used to be — his body, his chamber, his life. Things were far too complicated as Harry Potter.

At least he had the others with him. Helga, and Godric and Rowena. He couldn’t stand it if he’d been alone.

Chapter Text

At last, it was the weekend.

Ron still wasn’t thrilled with Harry, so it was pretty easy for him to beg off going to Hogsmeade and stay back in the dorm. At least, that’s where he’d told them he would be. In reality, Harry was back down in the chamber, carefully dismantling Cleopatra’s corpse into its useable components.

Cedric had offered to help. Luna and Neville, too — though Neville had looked a little green around the gills when he did so. But Harry wanted — needed — to do this by himself. Cleo had been his responsibility, and he had been the one to end her life. He could mourn her in every delicate sweep of his knife, every reverently folded pile of scales. Vials upon vials of venom were lined up against the back wall, and slowly the bones were becoming clean. The flesh was practically worthless, and Harry had it piled up to burn, but the rest of it, he could use. The goblins would appreciate parts of the skeleton, should he ever need a bargaining chip with them — basilisk bone was excellent for blades, if you knew how to shape it properly.

He was dripping with sweat as he worked, muscles burning with a feeling he usually only got doing chores for the Dursleys. It was weirdly nice, doing these things because he wanted to. A pair of house elves had left him a packed lunch, and he was taking his time to process his grief — both for Cleopatra, and for everything else he’d lost to time.

When he was finished, he stood with his hands on his hips, watching the burning pile of remains with tears streaking through the ash on his cheeks. He had a spell venting the smoke out safely, but it wasn’t perfect. For a while he’d thought about letting the fire consume the whole chamber, starting afresh, but he couldn’t risk it.

Instead, he turned to the awful statue blocking his private office. He and Cedric had made pretty decent headway on destroying it a few nights ago, and a few waves of Harry’s wand later he had the doorway to his office cleared if nothing else. Carefully levitating his new potions ingredients behind him, he stepped up to the office and spoke the password, letting the ancient wards flow over him and recognise his magic. The wall slid aside, and his breath caught in his throat.

It was almost exactly how he remembered it. A little dusty, but not as much as one might expect after a thousand years. The fireplace jumped to life with a gesture and light spilled through the room. The loveseat he and Helga had often curled up on was still in front of the fire, a book resting on the arm, her yellow shawl draped across the back. The desk was neat, as he always kept it, with a stack of parchment in one corner, Salazar’s handwriting scrawled across every page. Looking at the long wall of bookshelves, Harry couldn’t see any glaring omissions — truly, no one had been in since he’d left.

He glanced at the door to his private potions’ lab, grimacing at the prospect of what a thousand years might have done to his ingredients cabinet. Tackling that was a task for another day.

Much like in Salazar’s time, when the castle was full of life the chamber was the only place he could truly get peace. Sinking into his armchair, body relaxing as the cushions gave way as they always did, Harry closed his eyes and let himself truly relax.

His patched-up occlumency shields had held for the week, but it wasn’t a permanent fix. Now, cocooned in the safest place he’d ever had in his past life, he could finally start processing things properly.

A few slow, steadying breaths later, and Harry was deep in the task of building Salazar’s old mindscape. A castle, much like Hogwarts, but with more traps and tricks than even the school had.

It was easy, with Salazar’s memories. There had been a time where they were all he had, and every single one had a place already marked out for it. The real problem was in finding space for Harry’s memories within them. He didn’t want his old life to overtake the new — he was still Harry Potter, and he had too much to do in this life to let it be erased.

He eventually decided to house like with like; if he kept Harry’s memories entirely separate from Salazar’s, he worried he’d end up with some sort of split personality disorder. Instead he filed away Harry’s memories next to Salazar’s of a similar age, somewhat bewildered at the differences between them. At fourteen, Salazar had been considered practically a man grown, travelling the continent with whichever master would allow him to apprentice. He wouldn’t meet Rowena until he was sixteen, she eighteen. Then within a year they would meet Godric and then Helga, and by Salazar’s nineteenth birthday he would be married and the four of them would be nigh on inseparable.

The further back into his life he went, examining his memories with more care than he’d had the ability to do before Salazar’s memories came to him, the more he noticed something was… off. There was a strange darkness lurking in the back of his mind, present throughout all his memories — more noticeably present during any memory that contained Voldemort. In his memories of fighting Cleopatra in the chamber, the darkness was practically choking him.

Harry narrowed his eyes. He had to look closer.

Abandoning his sorting task, he focused on sniffing out the darkness, using all the mental magic skills he’d been taught over Salazar’s lifetime to follow it until he reached the origin point. It clung, thick and oily, to the memory of the night Harry’s parents were killed. Prodding at it with his magic, Harry’s heart turned to lead. He knew what created that kind of darkness.

It was hard to reach Harry’s magical core — at fourteen, it was still growing, fluctuating, changing every second. But tied to it was a fragment of something else, something black and sticky and oppressive. A soul that did not belong.

“No,” Harry whispered, horror in his eyes. He didn’t dare touch it; didn’t have to. It all made sense — his dreams, the strange ache in his scar, everything.

There was a horcrux within his scar.

Sucking in a harsh gasp, his eyes snapped open and he lurched forward. His stomach rolled; for a second he thought he’d be sick. Hands clenched on the arms of the chair, he steadied himself, though his pulse still raced.

How had it taken him this long to notice? A fragment of a soul so twisted, tangled up in his own… he’d never seen anything like it.

Salazar Slytherin was widely regarded as one of the most fearsome wizards in the history of magical Britain. Granted, most of it was exaggeration, but still — he’d seen and done a lot of powerful, terrible magic in his time. He’d seen horcruxes before. But to attach one to a human?

Harry jumped to his feet, scrawling three identical notes and sending them off with a quick flick of his wand, hurrying out of his office and towards the nearest exit of the chamber. He needed assistance on this.

He was glad to see his three friends waiting for him in the Room of Requirement when he raced into it, varying expressions of concern on their faces. All he’d said was ‘meet me in the Room immediately’. Probably a bit more ominous and urgent than the situation warranted, but it got them there.

“What’s wrong?” Cedric asked immediately, reaching out towards the younger boy. Harry grimaced, turning instead to Luna.

“There’s a horcrux in my scar,” he blurted. “How do I get it out?”

Her face paled, and he heard gasps from the other two. “Are you sure?” Luna asked, far more serious than he was used to seeing on the blonde. Harry nodded.

“Completely. I can’t miss it, now I know it’s there.” Even out of his mindscape, now he knew what to look for he could feel the darkness heavy in his chest. No wonder he’d always been prone to fits of anger. “Please tell me you know of some ancient ritual to remove it without killing me.” In the past, they only way they’d ever successfully dealt with horcruxes was to irreparably destroy the container. They’d never encountered a live one before.

“A horcrux… how is that even possible?” Cedric asked, his hand gripping tight to Harry’s. “You have a soul of your own.”

“Turns out it’s even more crowded in my brain than we thought,” Harry replied bitterly. “I don’t know if Voldemort even knows he made it; it seems like it happened the night he gave me the scar. I’d imagine he was a bit preoccupied with everything else going on.”

“He must have more than one, then,” Luna declared, sending a stab of fear through Harry’s heart. She was right, of course.

“What? Why?” Neville’s voice was alarmed, and Harry looked to him with a grimace.

“A horcrux is the reason he didn’t die that night; he was discorporated, as happens with those who have split their souls. If the horcrux in me was the only fragment of soul split from its owner, he would’ve been surprised at what happened to him, looked for a way to figure out what was going on. The fact that he spent several years in hiding and then started working to get his body back suggests he was prepared for such an outcome.”

“The diary,” Cedric piped up, pulling Harry protectively against his chest. “It must’ve been one. Gods, he was sixteen.”

The other founders knew all about the events of Harry’s second year now — they’d all spent hours trying to learn each other’s new lives as well as they knew their previous ones. Cedric was right; the diary had to have been a horcrux. The way it tried to leech Ginny’s life force… Harry’s blood went cold at how close they’d inadvertently come to having a fully resurrected, sixteen year-old Voldemort on their hands.

“At least one good thing came of Cleo’s death,” he murmured to himself, lips curling up ever so slightly at the kiss Cedric dropped on his temple.

“I don’t have a ritual,” Luna said sadly, “but I’m sure one exists somewhere. You should try the goblins first — they’ve cornered the market on Egyptian tombs these days, and you remember what kinds of magic were involved there. They’re likely to be your best bet.”

Salazar had once spent a little time in Egypt, learning more about parselmagic — a much more common trait over there. Some of the tombs he’d seen were… intense, to say the least.

“I was planning on paying Gringotts a visit anyway,” he mused, lips pursing. “See exactly what’s going on with the Potter vaults — the family moved over from India back in our day, I refuse to believe the trust vault is all I have. And as the last living member of the family, I need to know the full extent of it.” If his family affairs were being kept from him on purpose, that was a criminal offense. Besides, he wanted to investigate the emancipation laws of this time.

“You’ll have to sneak out sometime with that cloak and map of yours,” Neville told him. “I don’t like the idea of waiting ’til solstice.” At the winter solstice, the four of them could finally renew their connection to the school wards, allowing them all to apparate in and out of them at will.

“I mean, it’s been in there for thirteen years now,” Harry pointed out, but Cedric jabbed him in the side.

“You’ll go as soon as possible,” he insisted. “Merlin only knows what it’s been doing to you all these years.” Harry glanced up, seeing his boyfriend grim-faced. “How will we know about any other horcruxes? Is there a limit to how many a person can make? I’ll admit, I’m not particularly familiar with most aspects of soul magic.”

“The only limit is their power, but the soul and mind do tend to get more unstable with every split. So I’d guess he made a few,” Harry surmised. “I’ll have to do some research — which means figuring out where to get good books from these days — but I’ve got some notes on soul magic in my office that might lead me to something, from when we made Fionn.”

“I’ll look into it as well,” Luna volunteered, a faint frown creasing her features. “But like Harry said, it’s been there for a while now. Taking a few more months to look into it won’t hurt. And we do have other things to work on.”

It took a little more time to talk Cedric down from his worry, but Harry and Luna eventually got him to agree to shelve the topic for a little while. Neville merely rolled his eyes, telling him to leave the nerds to it. Luna sent a tickling jinx his way in response.

They had plenty of plans to be dealing with. As far as Harry was concerned, this was just another one on the list. He’d learn to ignore the stickiness of dark magic in his own aura sooner or later.

.-.-.

As October arrived, the school moved on from the drama of Harry’s truce with the Slytherins to eagerly discussing the foreign schools that would soon be at their doors. Harry was glad for it, though he was still looking for ways to encourage inter-house cooperation.

The other Gryffindors were warming up to him again, though Ron still didn’t seem keen to mend things. Which is why Harry was surprised when Hermione approached him in the common room, biting her lip hesitantly. “Mind if I join you?” she asked, gesturing to the empty seat beside him. He shrugged.

“Go for it.” She sat, straight-backed and fingers curling anxiously in her skirt. “Where’s Ron?”

“Off with Dean and Seamus,” Hermione replied. Her eyes softened. “Harry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let the fight between you two affect me. I just… I don’t see how you can just turn around and decide to be friends with Malfoy of all people! After all the things he’s done — all the awful names he’s called me.”

“I never said I agree with all that,” Harry pointed out. “But be honest with me, Hermione — if you were raised by a man like Lucius Malfoy, and then sent to school and put in a house that everyone tells you is full of evil people, regardless of your own thoughts on the matter, and everyone starts treating you like you’re already a Death Eater, even when you’re eleven… what would it make you?” He ran a hand through his hair, wondering how best to explain things to his stubborn friend. “The sorting hat almost put me in Slytherin. I would’ve let it if I hadn’t already heard so many awful things about the house, and seen the way Ron treated Draco just on the assumption of what house he’d be in.”

“I— I hadn’t thought of it like that,” Hermione admitted, abashed. Harry’s mouth quirked in a half-smile.

“I’m not saying I want to be best friends with all of them.” Even if Draco was a much more entertaining class partner than Ron, and Harry belonged with them in a way he’d just never be capable of in Gryffindor, not now. “I just think they deserve a fair chance to choose what they want to do with their lives. And if a war does come, I’d rather they be on my side — or at the very least, stay out of it altogether.”

“You could’ve been a little nicer in explaining it to Ron, though,” Hermione reprimanded. “It’s not his fault he’s been taught to hate Slytherins his whole life.”

“No, but he’ll never question those beliefs if I’m nice about it,” Harry retorted. “Besides, he seems perfectly happy with Dean and Seamus.”

That made Hermione look pained. “Harry, you two have been best friends since first year.”

“Yeah, and people change,” Harry said bluntly. “He’s still my friend. But if he can’t get over his views, we won’t have much in common anymore. I can find other people to spend time with.”

“Like Neville, and Luna Lovegood,” Hermione finished knowingly. Harry shrugged.

“They’re good friends. And they don’t judge me.” If his voice was a little more biting than intended, making Hermione flinch, he wasn’t going to apologise for it. She had chosen to take Ron’s side over his.

Hermione paused, then looked at him furtively. “Lavender said she saw you in the library with Cedric Diggory the other day,” she said, seemingly out of nowhere. Her dark-skinned cheeks were a little flushed.

“We were studying,” Harry replied, frowning in confusion. Really they’d been looking for some sort of record or word of what had happened to their children, but he couldn’t exactly tell Hermione that.

“Together? He’s a sixth year, you’re only in fourth,” she replied, clearly suspicious. “And Dean told Ron he saw you both on the quidditch pitch on Sunday.”

With the horcrux revelation of Saturday afternoon, Harry had needed some stress relief — he hadn’t flown since before the summer. He and Cedric had spent some time having a one-on-one seekers’ match, which turned into just floating aimlessly up high, looking down at the school they’d built.

“There’s no quidditch on because of this stupid tournament. We didn’t want to get rusty, so we thought we’d train together. We might ask Cho and Draco next time, but this was sort of a last-minute decision.”

Hermione’s brown eyes narrowed as she seemed to search his face for something, and it clicked. Internally, Harry smirked — she wanted to know about Cedric, did she? Perhaps it was time to lay some groundwork. He let himself blush, ducking his head like he was embarrassed.

“Look, we just got talking about quidditch the other day, and he— I— he’s a nice bloke, alright? He was helping me with Transfiguration. In the library.” He was laying it on a little thick, but it seemed to be exactly what Hermione was looking for. She smiled knowingly to herself, leaning back with a satisfied nod.

“That is nice of him,” she agreed in a poorly feigned innocent tone, before growing more serious. Her hand reached out to squeeze Harry’s knee. “You’re right that people change, Harry. If you’ve been, y’know, figuring some stuff out, that’s totally fine. Great, even. But whenever you’re ready to share with us, that’s great too.”

He resisted rolling his eyes at her heavy-handed attempt at reassurance — it wasn’t her fault she was a fifteen year-old Gryffindor girl with admittedly not great social skills. Pre-Salazar Harry probably would’ve been overjoyed at her obvious allusion to the heart of the matter.

She smiled at him, moving her hand back. “We’re all growing up, Harry. Things are bound to be different as we get older, you’re right. But I don’t think you could ever change so drastically that Ron wouldn’t want to be friends with you anymore.”

Harry choked back a snort. Oh, if only she knew.

.-.-.

Harry was surprised when a nondescript brown owl dropped a letter on him one evening as he walked the edge of the lake by himself, enjoying the cool autumn air and the quiet of the grounds near curfew. The handwriting on the front made his heart jolt — Sirius.

He’d almost forgotten about his godfather in the wake of all the drama with the founders and the horcrux and the upcoming tournament. He hadn’t had a response since his letter in the summer about his dream.

He read through the letter quickly, stomach clenching at the thought of the innocent man hiding gods only knew where, alone. He hoped Sirius was okay — he seemed cheerful enough in his letter, but Harry of all people knew how easy that was to fake.

Harry sat down with his back against a tree to compose his reply, the brown owl waiting in a branch above his head. What could he say? ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got it all under control, it’s due to the horcrux in my brain but my newly acquired memories of being Salazar Slytherin will help me get that out’.

Snorting to himself, he shook his head. Not quite.

He managed to pen a fairly neutral letter assuring Sirius he hadn’t had any other dreams like it, and he was being careful. He told him a little about the tournament, and his friend troubles too — he wanted to sound like a normal teenager. At last, as normal as Harry Potter ever got anyway. He might be an adult in his mind, but at the same time he was still that fourteen year-old boy raised by the Dursleys and desperate for a parental figure to care about him.

He had to do something about freeing Sirius. But what? Pettigrew was with Voldemort — would it have to wait until he could confront Voldemort? That could take months! Maybe even years! How long could Sirius survive on the run? The marauder was clever, and his animagus form was handy, but a man couldn’t live as a dog forever.

The thought of his animagus form made Harry think of two things — the first, his own form; Salazar’s had been a cobra, but Harry doubted it would be the same in this life. He’d have to start working on that if he ever got free time.

The second; Remus Lupin. The other remaining marauder. Harry should write to him, too — the man was a connection to his parents, and towards the end of his third year Harry had started to get the feeling that the man wanted to be part of his life somewhat, but was just too awkward to push through the student-professor barrier. Harry didn’t care that he was a werewolf. Maybe Lupin and Sirius could help each other out?

Sending his reply off with the patient owl, Harry made a mental note to send something to Lupin before he went back to his dorm. The more adults he could have on his side while he still looked like a child himself, the better.

Chapter Text

One rainy afternoon in the middle of October, Harry ducked out of lunch early, exhausted by Hermione’s stilted attempts to mend the rift between him and Ron. He appreciated what she was doing, but it would probably be better for everyone if she just left them drift, as teenage friendships were wont to do. He would always be grateful for everything Ron had done for him over the years, and he was still on great terms with the twins, but he and Ron were just… such different people these days. Harry, quite literally.

Instead of wandering the castle aimlessly until Divination, Harry decided to tick another thing off his to-do list — he headed up to the hospital wing, hoping Madam Pomfrey wasn’t busy with her own lunch. He was in luck; the mediwitch was stocking some potion vials in a cabinet, and she looked up in surprise when he entered. “Mr Potter!” she greeted. “What sort of trouble have you got yourself into now? You don’t look injured.”

Harry laughed. “Can’t I come to see you without needing you to fix me?” he teased, earning a pointedly raised eyebrow. “Fine, fine. Are you busy? I can come back another time—” She shook her head, setting down the last few vials.

“It’s nothing that won’t keep. Have a seat.” She gestured to the end of one of the beds, and Harry hopped up onto it, swinging his legs absently. “What can I do for you, Potter?”

“I was talking to Neville the other day,” Harry began, setting the scene for his supposedly innocent inquiry, “and he mentioned something about a vaccine he got as a kid? And it made me wonder — I know my parents probably got me everything I needed while they were still alive, but what about after? And I’ve never really had a proper medical check-up before — is that… is that something you can do?”

With every word he spoke, Pomfrey’s brows drew closer and closer together, her lips pursing in distinct disapproval. “Did your guardians never take you for your vaccinations?”

“I live with my muggle aunt and uncle,” Harry explained. “They didn’t tell me anything about magic until I got my Hogwarts letter.”

Surprised flickered across the matron’s face, and she clucked her tongue. “Right. Well. To answer your question, yes, I can do a full medical check-up, when asked by a patient. I’m surprised you haven’t asked for one before now, with all the times you’ve been through my doors.”

“I suppose it didn’t occur to me to ask,” Harry said with a shrug. “My guardians never really bothered taking me to the doctor or anything, and I’ve always been fine.”

Pomfrey’s eyes narrowed even further. With a wave of her wand, a clipboard flew to hover at her shoulder, a quill floating above it. “Sit still, please, Mr Potter.” He was stock-still as she cast diagnostic spells over him in a soft murmur, the quill jumping into action to record the results. She looked into his eyes with a lumos spell, then checked his throat and ears, then tapped his glasses with her wand. “Date of last eye test?”

“Oh, uh — early October, 1987, I think? A lady came to our primary school, told the Dursleys I needed glasses. She gave me these for free,” Harry supplied, inwardly smirking at the outrage the mediwitch couldn’t hide. Oh, Dumbledore was in for a thrashing.

“And they never took you back? In the last seven years, your prescription has never been updated?”

“No, ma’am. Things are a bit blurry, but I manage alright.”

Pomfrey stared at him. “Sweet Merlin, boy — the fact that you manage to be as good a seeker as you are is astounding.” She shook her head, glancing at the parchment on the clipboard. “And you said your relatives weren’t much for getting you medical care. Would you give me a rough estimate for how many times you saw any sort of medical professional before you arrived at Hogwarts?”

“Does the school nurse count? Playground scrapes and things?” he asked. When Dudley had pushed him down on the playground, he’d been sent to the nurse several times before the Dursleys could intervene.

“No, just any time your relatives had to take you to receive care,” Pomfrey clarified, a knowing edge to her tone. Harry thought back carefully.

“Three times, I think? Once I had the flu, my temperature got really high and my aunt thought I might die on them. Then once they took me to a child psychologist to try and fix me. And once I had a really bad stomach ache and they thought my appendix was bursting, but it was just food poisoning.” He could remember each time vividly, begging the doctors and nurses with wide eyes to notice something off about the Dursleys, but his relatives were very good at pretending to care.

“I beg your pardon? Fix you, Potter? What was there to fix?”

“Everything, as far as they were concerned, ma’am,” he replied wryly. Internally, pre-Salazar Harry could hardly believe he was being so candid about it all. But now he knew it was abuse and neglect and people needed to know about it. They needed to be aware of what Dumbledore was willing to do for the greater good. “I think they hoped to stamp the magic out of me before I could grow into it.”

That made Pomfrey scowl. “Ever seen a dentist, Potter?”

He shook his head. She cast one more spell that made his skin tingle, then plucked the clipboard from the air, reading over the results. Harry watched her face darken with every line.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Mr Potter — do you know the circumstances that led you to living with your relatives? Have you never asked for an alternative guardian?”

“Professor Dumbledore put me there,” he explained. “When I was younger, I didn’t know of any alternatives — other than the orphanage. And I asked the headmaster several times since starting Hogwarts, I told him what things were like there. He always said it was best for me to stay with blood relatives.”

Harry was glad he wasn’t Dumbledore, about to be on the receiving end of the thunder in Pomfrey’s eyes. The mediwitch softened, patting the back of Harry’s hand where it rested on his knee. “I’m so, so sorry you’ve had to deal with all that, my dear,” she said earnestly. “Had I known sooner, I would’ve done something about it. The results show a broken ankle about four years ago — you never got medical help for that?”

“I wrapped it myself, and tried to stay off it. I didn’t realise it was actually broken,” Harry said in surprise. He’d always assumed it was just a bad sprain.

“And the multiple ear infections? Cracked ribs? Second degree burns? The multitude of other things the spell is telling me?” When Harry shook his head, Pomfrey sighed, cursing under her breath. “I’ll be having words with Dumbledore,” she muttered softly, reading through the results once more. “Luckily, the skelegrow I gave you when that imbecile vanished your bones has aided the fracture sites, so I’m not worried about them — you might be slightly more prone to repeated fractures in the same area, but quite honestly I’d say that regardless, just because of your bloody luck,” she added ruefully, making Harry snicker. “I’m going to prescribe you some nutrient potions — you’re skinny for your age, and now I know better than to assume it’ll even out as you grow older. I’m afraid we’re a little late for the potions to correct everything, but they’ll get you up to a healthy weight, and give you a few more inches to get you closer to the height you were supposed to be. The house elves will deliver them to you at breakfast and dinner, you’re to drink them before each meal.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry responded with a nod, grinning. That was far more than he’d anticipated! He’d only hoped to make Pomfrey — and through her, some of the other staff — aware of the home life Dumbledore had sentenced him to. “Thank you.”

“Just doing my job,” she dismissed. “I’m also sorry to say that while your eyes are within the range to have full vision restored, it’s a potion I cannot provide without a legal guardian’s permission.” She looked truly apologetic, and eased Harry’s glasses off his face, tapping them with her wand. “I’ve updated your prescription to match what you need, now — any time you feel your vision is getting worse, feel free to come to me for a test.”

“I will, thanks.” Thanks to Salazar, Harry was familiar with the potion, and could probably brew it himself when he had the time. “Oh, wow.” He set his glasses back on his nose, blinking as the world came into sharp focus. He’d forgotten what it was like to see properly outside his own mind!

His reaction drew a smile from the usually severe woman. “Finally, I need you to take off your robe for me. Mr Longbottom was right to worry about vaccines for you — according to your charts, you haven’t had a thing since your parents died, muggle or wizarding. Wizarding vaccines are just potions, but I’m afraid I’ll need to use needles for the muggle ones. I can cast a numbing charm, though — you won’t feel a thing.”

As Harry took off his robe and rolled his sleeve all the way up to bare his shoulder, Pomfrey bustled around with several vials and syringes. “Better late than never,” she remarked as he downed the fourth of seven foul-tasting potions, in-between her furious mutters about Albus Dumbledore. One numbing charm, six needles and a promise to return in six months for boosters later, Harry was strolling out of the hospital wing with a small bar of Honeydukes’ finest in his hand — to get rid of the awful taste, Pomfrey said. Harry was pretty sure she just felt bad for him, but he’d take free chocolate wherever he could get it.

Either way, the seed had been planted; he wondered how long it would take for the whole staff to be aware that Dumbledore had abandoned Harry Potter to abusive muggles. Maybe it would even end up in the paper! He’d hate having his home life bandied about like that, but he’d had worse, and it would do wonders for his private campaign to get Dumbledore discredited. Time would tell, he supposed.

.-.-.

Before he knew it, it was the night before the foreign schools were due to arrive, and Harry was once again sneaking around under his invisibility cloak, though this time he had an agenda. The other three had wanted to come with him, but Harry wasn’t entirely confident in his ability not to get caught, and Dumbledore would let him off a lot easier than any of the others if that happened.

He approached the stone gargoyle guarding the headmaster’s office, resting a hand on the creature’s head. “Godric is an ass,” he hissed in Parseltongue, chuckling to himself when the gargoyle moved aside and revealed the staircase. His personal override password hadn’t changed, that was good to know. Quickly, he set up the stairs, muffling the noise of the door with a spell. He’d already checked the map; the office was empty. Dumbledore was likely far too distracted by the arrival of the other schools — it was why Harry had waited until tonight.

The familiar office was silent but for the snores of the previous headmasters and headmistresses in their portrait, and with a silent spell Harry froze all of them — no need for them to know what he was up to. Then he strode towards the towering shelves, reaching up to grab a handful of ragged black fabric. He made himself comfortable in the chair opposite the desk, setting the fabric on his head. “Hello, old friend,” he thought warmly.

The sorting hat jumped to life, shock and surprise echoing through Harry’s mind as he rifled through the memories on offer, quickly followed by a low chuckle. “Well, well,” came the reply. “You four always were full of surprises.”

“It’s good to see you well, Fionnbharr.” They’d hoped, but never dreamed the hat would survive so long.

“You as well, Salazar! Good lord, I never expected anything like this. The others are back as well, truly?”

“I’ll take you to them,” Harry replied, getting to his feet with the hat still on his head. The other three were waiting in an empty classroom nearby; the closest compromise Harry had bargained. “We can’t keep you forever, but it’ll be long enough to have a bit of a catch up.” Fionn had seen Hogwarts through the centuries, and would know more about the school than any of them combined by now. He’d also sat on the shelf of Dumbledore’s office for decades — if anyone could give them an idea of what the old man was truly up to, it was him.

“I’ll take what I can get, my man — good company is rather hard to come by, these days. They just plop me on a shelf and take me out once a year as if they expect me to go to sleep between Sortings!” Fionn made a sound of annoyance in Harry’s head. Then he laughed. “Bet you’re regretting arguing with me now, Potter! I told you, I said you were destined for Slytherin. I should’ve ignored your wishes and sent you there regardless, but it wasn’t worth the grief you’d get.”

Harry grinned to himself. “And I thank you for that,” he replied. “As much as I miss my dungeons, Gryffindor is where I need to be for now.”

He opened the door to the classroom, smiling at his eager friends, his heart warm — it was nice to talk to someone who knew the real them. Even if that person was technically a soul within a hat.

.-.-.

The entire school was abuzz with excitement the next day. Harry was impressed with the teachers that still bothered to attempt a regular lesson; the attention spans of their students were worse than the day before Christmas break. Even Harry had to admit he wasn’t giving it his all — he knew most of the work anyway, and he was awfully curious about these foreign schools. When they had created Hogwarts, it had been the only one of its kind. He was itching to know what other schools of magic might be like; when he was young, he’d apprenticed with many masters, all with vastly different teaching styles. He’d read a little about the other schools in books, but he was keen to meet their students in person.

The entrances of both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons were impressive. Harry stood between Neville and George Weasley, watching with impressed faces. They followed the rest of the students into the hall, swept up in the excited whispers about Viktor Krum, and Ron’s disappointment when the Durmstrang students sat at the Slytherin table made Harry smirk. Draco certainly looked pleased with himself.

He mostly tuned out Dumbledore’s welcoming speech, perking up when the huge casket was brought into the hall. That was their impartial judge? An enchanted goblet? Sure, they’d left the Sorting of students up to a hat, but he was a hat with a soul embedded in him. Basically a poltergeist! He sincerely doubted the goblet had a similar situation — how was it supposed to choose fairly?

Slowly, a sense of impending doom began to grow in the pit of his stomach. Both Salazar Slytherin and Harry Potter were well acquainted with that particular feeling, and neither liked it one bit. He had a bad feeling about this whole tournament situation.

He was quiet through the feast, and Neville and the twins definitely noticed, the two redheads trying extra hard to make Harry laugh with their antics. He appreciated it, but there was just something… off, in his gut. And it wasn’t the bouillabaisse.

Because he’d apparently developed some sort of radar for these things, Cedric spent half the meal eyeing Harry across the hall with a frown. When they were released for the evening, Harry felt a hand slip into his on his way out of the entrance hall, and let an invisible Cedric lead him through to a secret room near the entrance to the dungeons. When they were alone, Cedric cancelled his spells and conjured a loveseat, tugging Harry down beside him.

“Look,” the Hufflepuff began, “I know you’re probably not thrilled about it, but it’s just something I have to do. I’ll be as careful as I can — I daresay I’ve got more of an advantage than most.”

Harry blinked, confused. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he admitted. Cedric gave him an odd look.

“…You mean, you’re not sulking because I plan to enter the tournament?”

“No?” Harry narrowed his eyes. “You’re going for it? Really?”

“I knew you’d make that face,” Cedric muttered, leaning in to kiss the frown off Harry’s lips. “It’s dangerous, I know, but I can handle it. If it’s designed to challenge seventeen year-old students, it should be a piece of cake for an eighty year-old witch in a seventeen year-old boy’s body, right?” He gave Harry his best winning smile, one hand resting on the Gryffindor’s hip, and it was hard to be angry when Cedric looked like that. Besides, he had a point — with Helga’s memories he was far more prepared than anyone else who might enter. And Harry couldn’t really argue with wanting to bring glory to Hufflepuff house; he still didn’t understand how over the years the house’s reputation had turned from ‘honest and hardworking’ to ‘rejected from all the other houses’. He was the first to declare that Hufflepuffs were not to be underestimated.

“Be careful,” he said eventually, thumb stroking Cedric’s cheek. “I haven’t had you back long enough to lose you to some stupid tournament.”

“I’ll be fine,” Cedric promised, smile softening. Then his brows furrowed. “So if that wasn’t the bee in your bonnet, what’s the matter?” He tugged Harry a little closer. The shorter boy sighed, shaking his head.

“Nothing, really. I just have a bad feeling about this whole thing. No evidence behind it, just… a feeling.”

Cedric frowned, eyes soft with concern. He swept Harry’s fringe out of his eyes, fingers lingering on the scar on his forehead. “If anything happens, we’ll face it as it comes. All four of us,” he assured. “Just try and relax until trouble actually appears, yeah? Worrying just means you suffer twice.”

The oft-used saying made Harry smile, leaning into his partner’s touch. “I suppose,” he relented, shifting to get more comfortable. “I just hope the bad feeling isn’t related to you entering this bloody tournament.”

“It won’t be.” Cedric’s voice held confidence. “I’ll be fine. Trust me.” His cocky grin was annoyingly attractive, and Harry leaned forward, kissing it off his stupid smug pretty face. Cedric hummed in surprise, but relaxed into the kiss, one strong hand bracing Harry’s back while the other tangled in his dark hair.

Harry was suddenly reminded of many ways Helga had previously distracted him from his bad feelings in scenarios that started much like this, and heat pooled low in his gut. He swung one leg over Cedric’s lap, pulling closer, a hand sneaking between the buttons of the Hufflepuff’s school shirt. Cedric froze.

Immediately, Harry pulled back, guilt rising. “I’m sorry, I—”

“No, no, don’t be, it’s me,” Cedric hastened to soothe, his face falling. “I just— I love you, I want to be with you, it just feels a bit— weird. You’re fourteen, and I’m… not what I’m used to.”

Harry tried to remove himself from Cedric’s lap, but the older boy held him in place. “I keep forgetting,” the Gryffindor admitted. “I don’t feel fourteen. And good lord, when you look at me like that… I’m only human, love.” Cedric grinned smugly once more, making Harry growl at him.

“Sorry,” he said unrepentantly. “I don’t mean to tease. And fourteen isn’t that young, I know. But, well, I don’t know about you, but as me, as Cedric, I’ve never… been all the way. Or much of the way at all, really. And my memories from Helga are obviously a bit different.”

Brows rising in surprise, Harry eyed his boyfriend over, his meaning clear. Cedric shrugged. “Never found someone who was worth it,” he said. “And now, it’s never going to be anyone but you. But I want to do this right. I don’t want anyone to think I’ve taken advantage of you.”

“I understand,” Harry replied. “I got a bit carried away, I’ll admit. And for the record, we’re working on the same level, there. Never even kissed anyone before you.” He leaned in for a quick peck, then groaned, forehead resting against Cedric’s cheek. “I can’t believe I have to go through puberty a second time.” It had been bad enough the first time round. “And with a boyfriend that looks like you do! Please don’t make me wait until I’m of age. I might die,” he said seriously, and Cedric laughed.

“Pretty sure you won’t,” he assured drily. “But I doubt I could wait that long either. Just give me some time to get used to things, yeah? It’s taking a bit for my brain to catch up to my body these days.” His smile softened, his fingers brushing over Harry’s lips. “We took things rather quickly, in our first life. Now we’re in the position to go slowly, really make the most of it. I want to take my time learning what drives Harry Potter wild.” There was a glint in his eyes that made Harry suck in a sharp breath, his trousers becoming painfully tight.

“You can’t just say things like that, Ced,” he whined, resisting the urge to press himself against the Hufflepuff’s thigh. Cedric’s smirk widened.

“But I’ve never had a body like this before,” he reasoned, dropping his hand to run gentle fingers down Harry’s ribs. “Think of all the new things we’ll get to explore together.”

“You said you didn’t mean to tease,” Harry gritted out in annoyance.

“I’m not,” Cedric replied. “We’ll follow through. Eventually. I’m just building the anticipation.” He kissed Harry thoroughly, their tongues tangling together, his lips swollen when they parted. “Besides, it stopped you thinking about that bad feeling of yours, didn’t it?”

A beat of silence, then Harry scowled, hitting the older boy lightly in the side. Hufflepuffs were twice as devious as Slytherins, and anyone who said otherwise was an idiot.

.-.-.

The only thing anyone was talking about the next day was the Goblet of Fire, and who had been seen placing their name inside it. Several people, including the Weasley twins, had tried to fool the age line, but so far none had succeeded. Harry was mildly curious whether he could get past it, but he didn’t bother trying — it wasn’t worth the hassle.

“I suppose you want Cedric to be picked, hmm?” Hermione remarked, a book in her lap as they watched several Ravenclaw seventh years enter their names. Cedric had already been through, with quite the fan club following. He’d blushed brightly when he caught Harry’s amused gaze, not approaching to be teased about his entourage.

“I think he’d do well at it,” Harry replied, trying to look like a person who had a crush without looking like a moony-eyed second year Gryffindor. “Who’s your choice?”

“I think Angelina would be good. It’d be nice to see a Gryffindor win. I’m surprised more aren’t entering, to be honest. House of the brave and all.”

“Bravery’s much easier in theory,” Harry pointed out wryly. “I’m sure there would be plenty more if the age line weren’t in the way.” He’d already heard Ron complaining loudly, boasting that he’d be the easy choice for champion if he was old enough.

“Would you?” Hermione asked curiously. Harry snorted.

“Merlin, no. I have enough trouble when there’s not a tournament designed to test people. Just once, I’d love to have a year at Hogwarts where nothing’s trying to kill me.”

Hermione laughed, conceding the point.

Out of nowhere, Luna appeared, skipping up to Harry and sitting beside him with a smile. Hermione looked like she’d swallowed a lemon — for all her talk of growing up, she didn’t seem to like that Harry was making new friends.

“The sun’s almost set,” Luna greeted, and Harry checked his watch in surprise.

“Blimey, time flies!” He hopped to his feet, offering Hermione a smile. “I’ll see you at dinner, yeah?”

It was clear the girl was hoping for an explanation, but Harry didn’t give her one, linking his arm through Luna’s as they left the hall.

Neville and Cedric were waiting for them outside, stood at the edge of the stone circle. A small fire pit was built in the centre, unlit so far. The pair smiled at the arrival of their other halves, Neville greeting Luna with a kiss while Cedric just grinned and winked at Harry, just in case anyone happened to be watching. They couldn’t sense anyone close by, but you never knew at Hogwarts. “Are we ready?” Neville asked, squaring his shoulders. The three of them nodded.

Neville murmured a spell, and the fire jumped to life. The four of them took the cardinal points around it, faces lit by the glow of the flames. With her quiet, lilting voice, Luna began to chant.

This was what they’d built the stone circle for. It had clearly fallen out of use as the old ways had, but it was designed for seasonal rituals; Samhain, solstices, Yule, anything they were all four together for. Sometimes the students had joined them, but mostly it was just for them.

Harry lost himself in the swirling magic as he joined Luna in chanting, the words coming easily. The fire grew, making him glad for the notice-me-not wards he’d placed before starting. His blood raced, his heart swelling as he spoke the words to honour the dead and bless the veil between worlds, asking for their favour and protection. The darkness that had suffocated him ever since he’d discovered the horcrux seemed a little bit lighter, his shoulders a little more relaxed.

When they finished the chant, and the fire died down once more, Cedric took off at a run and leapt over the flame, skidding to a halt in front of Harry and kissing him through a beaming smile. Harry laughed, hands settling low on Cedric’s hips. “Easy, there,” he said, “you’re a little early for Beltane.”

“Still can’t hurt, for a little extra protection,” Cedric replied with a grin. “I’ve just missed doing this with you.”

Harry couldn’t help but kiss him at that. “We won’t miss another. And we can both jump at Beltane,” he promised, winking. Cedric beamed.

“Maybe we’ll leave you two to the Beltane fire, then,” Neville broke in, chuckling. The pair blushed. “It’s good to be back doing this. The castle feels better for it, too.”

It was true; the wards felt a little stronger, buzzing with more life than before. Harry couldn’t wait until they could properly renew the wards at the solstice.

Luna sidled up to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Feeling better?” she asked knowingly, and he sighed; he never could get anything past her.

“I still think Halloween is cursed,” he declared. “But yes, I do feel better. Thank you.” He kissed her forehead, then reached out to clasp Neville’s forearm. “Thanks, for agreeing to this.”

“Don’t be daft; we wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Neville replied, pulling him into a proper hug. “But we’d best get inside; the feast will start soon. Then someone’s got to go get his time in the limelight,” he added teasingly, looking to Cedric. The Hufflepuff rolled his eyes, cheeks turning pink.

Harry stole one more kiss before he dropped his wards, then the four of them trudged across the damp grass back towards the castle. Harry still had a bad feeling, but he was starting to think he might get through the day unscathed.

Then his name came out of the Goblet of Fire, and he chastised himself for being so foolish.

Halloween was definitely cursed.

Chapter Text

Harry tried to argue that he hadn’t put his name in the Goblet, but he was fairly certain Crouch, Bagman and the foreign heads of schools didn’t believe him. Krum and Delacour seemed on the fence, mostly just annoyed that regardless of whether he’d entered on purpose, he was being forced to compete and would now be an extra obstacle between them and winning.

Dumbledore was clear; the Goblet was a binding magical contract that could not be circumvented, and there would be dire consequences if they were to try. The four of them were released after a far-too-cheerful Bagman gave them the non-clue about the first task, and Harry and Cedric immediately found Neville and Luna waiting for them outside the hall. They retreated to a quiet spot for privacy, and Neville turned to Harry with a serious set to his jaw. “What did they say?”

“Half of them think I entered myself. Regardless, I’m the fourth champion whether I like it or not.” Harry gave a fake smile, shaking his head. “Merlin, I should’ve known something like this would happen. Fucking Halloween.”

“I think Moody’s right, you know,” Cedric piped up, hand running soothingly over Harry’s back. Neville and Luna looked at him enquiringly.

“Moody thinks whoever entered my name is trying to get me killed,” Harry supplied, grimacing. “And I agree, he’s probably right. Which means it’s probably something to do with Voldemort. Very likely, him trying to get his body back.” There were any number of rituals he could be using, several of which would involve Harry himself.

“You’re going to let them try,” Luna said knowingly, her silver eyes practically glowing in the low light. Harry nodded.

“There’s nothing I can do to stop it. Whoever entered me is expecting a scared, untrained fourteen year-old wizard. They’re in for a few surprises on that front. But we’re already looking for ways to destroy Voldemort, and it’ll end in us destroying his mortal body. If this tournament can get me closer to meeting him, I might as well follow it through. Maybe I can end it all before the school year is over.” He was all about turning crappy situations to his advantage, and this was a prime example of that.

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” Neville pleaded, making Harry roll his eyes.

“It’ll be fine,” he insisted. “Sorry I stole your limelight, love,” he added, kissing Cedric on the cheek. The Hufflepuff frowned, one hand gently rubbing the nape of Harry’s neck.

“I’ll happily share it with you, I’m just worried you’ll get hurt,” he replied.

“I’ll look after myself if you promise to do the same,” Harry said. “Now, I suppose I’d best face the masses.” He wasn’t looking forward to dealing with the reaction of the Gryffindors.

“If it’s bad, I’ll distract them, you run up to the dorm,” Neville half-joked. Harry sighed.

“Go celebrate with your house,” he said to Cedric, pulling him down into a proper kiss. “You deserve it, and I’m proud of you.”

“I love you,” Cedric returned, saying his goodbyes to the others and slipping out of the room. Harry, Neville and Luna walked together as far as they could, and when Luna parted to head to Ravenclaw, Harry’s stomach began to churn anxiously.

Far from the anger he’d expected, he opened the portrait to raucous noise — a party had started in Gryffindor tower. All over, people were calling out their congratulations to him. Did they think it was all intentional?

“I knew if anyone could fool the line, it’d be you, Harry!” Seamus cheered, seemingly forgetting that he’d been blanking Harry in favour of Ron for the better part of a month. Harry gaped at him.

“Do all of you seriously think I put my own name in?” he asked incredulously. The cheering died down a little bit.

“You don’t have to lie to us, Harry!” Angelina called. “We won’t dob you in!”

“Just own up to it,” Ron’s voice cut through the crowd, far harsher than Angelina’s. “You’re the Boy-Who-Lived after all, it’s not like you’ll get in trouble. You never do.”

“I’m flattered you think I’ve got the power and skill to outdo a spell set by Dumbledore,” Harry bit out, though he knew it probably would’ve been easy had he actually wanted to. “Not to mention, fool a centuries-old magical object into forgetting there’s only supposed to be three schools competing. But I didn’t put my own name in.”

Mutters circulated, the more sensible Gryffindors realising he had a fair point. Ron just scowled. “You’ve managed to do the impossible before,” he pointed out. “How do we know you didn’t find a way? You’ve been awfully secretive lately.”

“Just because I’ve been hanging out with people who aren’t you doesn’t mean I’m being secretive,” Harry retorted hotly. He shook his head, scowling at the room. “Sod this, I’m going to bed.”

With Neville helping clear the way, Harry wrestled his way up to his dorm, sinking down onto his bed with a sigh. Neville patted his shoulder sympathetically. “So much for a quiet year,” he mused. “Cheer up. There’ll be enough who believe you, it just might take a bit of time.”

“I hope so,” Harry replied vehemently. He tugged at his tie, suddenly desperate to be in pyjamas in and bed.

What he really wanted was to be curled up in Cedric’s arms, but he wasn’t going to get that. Still, he could dream.

.-.-.

The next day was chaos. It didn’t seem to matter whether people believed him about not having put his name in or not; everyone had something to say about it. Harry kept his head down, sat between Luna and Cedric at breakfast — the Hufflepuff seemed to have taken it upon himself to present a united front, making it clear he was on Harry’s side. It was very sweet of him, making Harry want to kiss him in front of the whole school, but it didn’t make much of a difference. The Hufflepuffs hated Harry for stealing Cedric’s thunder, the Slytherins hated him for giving extra glory to Gryffindor, and the Ravenclaws hated him for not playing fairly. The Gryffindors seemed split between congratulating him, and following Ron’s thoughts of being jealous he hadn’t shared his methods to get past the line.

Throughout the day, a few people dared to approach and tell him they believed him, and that was the only thing that made classes bearable. Snape was extra spiteful, and Draco refused to partner with him. He sat with Neville instead, which was fine — it just frustrated him that all his work towards breaking down the boundaries between houses had been undone in a matter of minutes. If anything it was worse now, splitting the school between Cedric and Harry no matter how much they tried to stop it.

He couldn’t face dinner, getting food delivered to the Room of Requirement — to his surprise, Dobby was the one who delivered it. He hadn’t realised the house elf was working at the school, but he was glad. Cedric was still trying to be the perfect Hufflepuff to the rest of the school, so he couldn’t hide out too, but Luna was with him. It was nice, spending a little time just with her. Rowena was his first and closest true friend, and he hadn’t known Luna at all before they awakened. It was strange, her being a year younger than him when he was used to her being older.

To keep his mind of things, he and Luna worked on finessing their plan to bring the school to rights. She was currently looking over the old school charters to see exactly when the classes started to get cut, and see if they could reasonably reintroduce them. She told him that Neville, as their resident ward master, was prepping everything they’d need to renew the wards on the solstice — all Harry and Cedric had to do was focus on the tournament, and the horcruxes, and knocking Dumbledore down a few pegs. Three tasks that were all tangentially connected; if Harry could get Voldemort out of the way with minimal fuss, Dumbledore would lose a lot of his influence. Even the people who didn’t believe Voldemort would ever come back were only safe to do so because they believed Dumbledore would protect them if they were wrong.

“I suppose it’s too much to ask that someone else will take care of Voldemort?” he sighed, once they’d exhausted their current avenues for researching soul magic. It was hard, as teenagers, to find books on incredibly dangerous and dark subjects.

“It has to be you,” Luna declared, and there was something other in her voice that made Harry sit up a little straighter. He knew she had Seer blood — the reason so many people thought she was crazy.

“Did you See it?”

“Not me, but another,” Luna replied, still in that same tone. “You’ve been Marked, and thus it must be you.” She blinked, shaking her head slightly. “I’m sorry, Harry. I wish I could give you better news.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he assured, bumping their shoulders together. “I always figured it would have to be me.” He wondered if Dumbledore knew, if the man had been raising him like a pig for slaughter this whole time. Worse; did Dumbledore know about the horcrux in Harry’s head? The thought made him scowl. “Enough planning for tonight. I don’t want to think about anything serious anymore.” He made himself more comfortable, and the smile he shot Luna was only a little bit forced. “Tell me how things are going with you and Neville.”

Luna rolled her eyes, but let him change the subject. He both loved and hated that she knew him — at least, Rowena knew Salazar — better than he knew himself sometimes.

.-.-.

Now that everyone’s eyes were on him for an entirely different reason, it was hard for Harry to get time for himself. But with a little help from Neville, he managed to claim a full Saturday for ‘studying for the tournament’ and snuck into Hogsmeade with his cloak, quickly apparating to Diagon Alley. From there he slipped into Gringotts, strolling confidently up to a desk. “I wish to speak to the Potter accounts manager, and your senior ritual master, if you please,” he said in fluent Gobbledegook. Back in Salazar’s day, the goblins wouldn’t bother doing business with anyone who didn’t attempt to learn their language.

The goblin’s eyebrows rose high above the rim of his spectacles. “Interesting. Very well, Mr Potter. Follow Tarlan, he’ll show you to Clawrun’s office.” He gestured to a young goblin stood off to the side, who stood to attention.

“Follow me, sir,” Tarlan urged, hurrying on short legs to lead Harry through a corridor and down a short set of steps, eventually stopping outside an office. He knocked smartly, and the door opened. “Harry Potter to see you, sir,” he declared, gesturing Harry into the office and into the chair opposite the desk.

The goblin sat behind the desk was much older, with steel-grey hair and the gnarled hands of a man who had seen many knuckles broken in battle. He eyed Harry over with a sharp gaze, nodding shortly. “Well met, Mr Potter. Thank you, Tarlan.” The young goblin left, shutting the door behind him. “I am the manager of the Potter accounts. I expected you far sooner, Mr Potter.” He spoke in English, but Harry replied in the goblin’s mother tongue.

“My magical guardian neglected to inform me of my duties to my house,” he said, watching the goblin’s eyebrows go up in the same way as the teller’s had. “If you don’t mind, I would like an inheritance test, a full vault assessment, and a meeting with Gringotts’ senior ritual master, in that order.”

The elderly goblin was clearly baffled at being ordered around in his own language by a fourteen year-old wizard, and he pursed his lips. “An inheritance test? An unusual request for one whose bloodline can be traced so clearly. Are you concerned of another line on your mother’s side?”

“Not quite,” Harry replied, smiling lopsidedly. “Just do the test, please. Then everything will make sense, I hope.” Goblin tests checked blood, but they also checked magic. If his hunch was correct, there was enough of Salazar in him to show up on paper.

Clawrun pulled some parchment from his desk and waved a hand over it, murmuring a quiet spell in Gobbledegook. “Seven drops of blood, if you please,” the goblin requested, handing over the parchment and a knife. Casting a wandless sanitising charm on the knife, Harry did as bid, watching his blood drip onto the parchment. He waited patiently as words began to form.

Unlike a usual inheritance test, which would list the name and birth parents of the person as well as any heirships or lordships available to them, this parchment was split down the middle, showing two sets of inheritances.

Harry James Potter

Born to James Charlus Potter and Lily Marie Evans

Heir Potter

Heir Black

And on the other half of the paper:

Salazar Gregorius Slytherin

Born to Gregorius Roland Slytherin and Oleana Elizabeth Black

Lord Slytherin

Heir Black

Harry smirked. Clawrun gaped. “I— I don’t understand.”

“Reincarnation, rebirth, we’re not exactly sure,” Harry said with a nonchalant shrug. “All I know is, I’ve got the memories and magic of both Harry Potter and Salazar Slytherin. So now you understand why I wished for the test.”

“We?” Clawrun was sharp, Harry would give him that.

“The other founders. All of us have found ourselves returned into the bodies of Hogwarts students. The others will try and make it to the bank to claim their vaults when they can, but I had more urgent reasons for requesting the aid of Gringotts.”

“Shall I assume those urgent reasons are why you need a ritual master, Lord Slytherin?” Clawrun asked, and Harry nodded. “I shall send a message to summon Goldaxe.” He wrote something down on a piece of parchment, which vanished in a flash of gold. “I’m afraid it may take a few minutes to provide a full vault assessment. I of course have the file for the Potter holdings — as well as anything you’re entitled as the heir to the Black family — but the Slytherin vaults have been locked for quite some time.”

Harry was surprised to hear that; he’d assumed he’d have to fight Voldemort for control of them. “Not a problem, I don’t have anywhere to be.” He leaned back in his chair a little. “Would you mind going through the Potter estate with me while we wait for Goldaxe? As I said, I was never informed of my holdings, and I would hate to waste your valuable time by sitting here waiting.”

Clawrun gave a sharklike smile, reaching into a drawer of his desk and pulling out a thick file of parchment. Harry’s stomach sank; that was going to be far more effort than he was hoping.

.-.

Goldaxe arrived right when Clawrun finished giving Harry a vague overview of the current state of the Potter accounts and investments, and Harry was glad for the interruption. “Do you have time to discuss changes with me after I’ve finished with Goldaxe? And perhaps go over the Slytherin holdings?” he requested of the elderly goblin, noting Goldaxe’s surprise at his use of their language. Clawrun nodded.

“Go, I shall have everything prepared for when you return, Lord Slytherin.”

Harry got to his feet, offering Goldaxe a toothy smile as the pair of them stepped outside of Clawrun’s office. “Well met, Master Goldaxe. I request your services for a high-level purging ritual, at your earliest convenience.” Goldaxe shot him a surprised look.

“What will I be purging from you, Mr Potter?”

“A horcrux, if you can.” That made Goldaxe almost trip over his own feet, his eyes going wide.

“Excuse me?”

“There’s a fragment of Voldemort’s soul inside my scar,” Harry explained, tapping his forehead in demonstration. “I was really hoping you or someone at Gringotts might know of a way to remove it without killing me.”

The goblin’s eyes trailed up to Harry’s scar, and he hummed thoughtfully, then swore under his breath. “It can be done,” he declared. A weight lifted from Harry’s shoulders. “It hasn’t been done in centuries, and will require a full team of ritual masters, but it can be done. Come with me.”

Goldaxe led Harry further down into the bowels of Gringotts, eventually arriving in a large stone ritual chamber. Several other goblins were writing or casting around the room, and they all stopped and jumped to their feet when Goldaxe walked in, looking surprised to see a wizard with him.

Harry tried halfheartedly not to eavesdrop as Goldaxe explained the situation to his team, and a female goblin hurried out of the chamber, returning with an ancient-looking book almost as big as she was.

“Mr Potter, if you wouldn’t mind lying down in the centre of the circle. Please relieve your person of anything magical,” Goldaxe requested.

Harry left his bag, wand and glasses by the door, hearing several goblins take sharp breaths as he happily abandoned his wand and stepped into the ritual circle. It made him angry at the way modern wizards treated goblins, that his actions and respect were so rare.

“This will hurt, I’m afraid,” Goldaxe told him, once he was reclined on the stone floor. Harry shrugged.

“I expected as much. As long as I’m alive at the end of it, I don’t mind.” There were more gasps at his use of Gobbledegook. Harry considered speaking to Luna about adding a languages class to the Hogwarts curriculum.

Then the goblins becan to cast, and he couldn’t think of anything except the blinding pain in his forehead.

It felt like his blood was made of fire, and all of it was pouring out of his scar. The darkness hooked its claws into his soul, refusing to give without a fight, but the goblin magic fighting it was stronger.

Harry couldn’t have said whether he was on the floor for ten seconds or ten hours. All he knew was that when it was over, he felt like he’d run an entire marathon with a spiked vice around his head. He groaned quietly, dragging himself to a seated position. Someone thrust a potion in front of his nose, and he drained it with only a cautionary sniff. “Is it gone?” he asked, his voice croaky. He must have been screaming.

“It no longer resides in your body,” Goldaxe confirmed, sounding a little worn out. Harry turned to the blurry form of the goblin, starting to regain his energy as the potion took effect. Goldaxe pointed to his left, and Harry squinted to focus on a small black crystal sat just inside the ritual circle. “That is now the horcrux. In case you need it for any further rituals of your own.”

Harry raised an eyebrow; he’d expected the goblins to just get rid of it, no questions asked. “Thank you,” he said, cautiously pocketing the crystal. He stepped out of the circle, then wandlessly summoned his glasses. He really had to brew that potion to fix his eyes.

He looked around the gathered goblins, none of whom seemed to know what to make of him. A quick prod of his mindscape, now he knew what to look for, confirmed Goldaxe’s words; the horcrux was no longer part of him. “I’m eternally grateful to you and your team for aiding me so efficiently. I’ll make sure you’re properly recompensed for your services, and if there’s anything I personally can do for the goblins of Gringotts, I would be happy to assist.” It wasn’t a vow made lightly among goblins, and Goldaxe looked at him with an intent gaze.

“We treasure that offer, Mr Potter,” he returned solemnly. “I’m glad we were able to rid your body of such foul magic. Allow me to return you to Clawrun’s office.”

Harry nodded respectfully to the rest of the goblins, then left with a spring in his step.

The rest of his time at Gringotts was fairly uneventful in comparison. He was gobsmacked at the true extent of his wealth, having been sure the Slytherin vaults would have been near emptied over the years. So many of his descendants had hoarded things away so tightly that even their own children couldn’t access them, but Harry now could.

He didn’t have time to compile a proper investment portfolio, but he started off with some suggestions and promised to arrange a proper meeting sometime in the Yule break. Then, the thing that made the whole adventure worth it in Harry’s eyes even more than the removal of the horcrux; Clawrun offered him emancipation. Apparently there was a clause in the Potter family charter that should the heir have no available Potter guardians, they could emancipate themselves and claim lordship any time after the age of fourteen. Signing those papers was the best feeling in the world to Harry — now there was no legal way he could be forced to return to the Dursleys, ever again. Dumbledore had no hold over him anymore.

He was walking on air when he left the bank, surprised to find he’d only been in there for a couple of hours. He’d thought for sure the ritual had taken up most of the morning!

With half the day behind him and no one expecting him back at the castle until dinner, Harry disguised himself with a few spells, his magical trace easily lost in Diagon Alley, and set out to do some shopping. He was in need of new potions’ ingredients that were a little too volatile to owl order, and wanted to take a look in Flourish and Blotts for some books that weren’t available in the Hogwarts library. Not to mention, he needed new clothes — he was a young lord now, and he refused to wear Dudley’s cast-offs any longer.

His new self-filling money pouch hanging securely from his hip, Harry set off into the alley with a grin. This was going to be fun.

.-.-.-.

It was a little past five by the time he returned to the school, and after sending a message to Cedric to assure his boyfriend he’d made it back safely, he snuck up to Gryffindor Tower long enough to grab all his belongings, then disappeared into the chamber to go through it all in peace.

Now he and Cedric had cleaned up all the corpses and the hideous statue, the chamber was much closer to what it had been when he’d first built it, and Harry happily built a fire in the centre to begin burning Dudley’s old clothes. For the first time in this life, he had an entire wardrobe of clothes that actually fit!

He wasn’t surprised when Cedric appeared halfway through his little ritual burning — his love had learned to copy certain parseltongue phrases long ago. Harry greeted him with a kiss, and Cedric eyed the scene with a raised eyebrow. “What brought this on?”

“Did some shopping,” Harry replied cheerily, gesturing to his half-full trunk, which he’d had to magically expand to fit everything. “I don’t need Dudley’s disgusting clothes anymore. I’ve been emancipated.”

“Really?”

Harry gleefully told Cedric all about his trip to Gringotts, relishing in the delight on the boy’s face when Harry showed him the horcrux crystal. “You’re free?” the Hufflepuff murmured in wonder. “From the horcrux, and your awful relatives?”

“Free as a bird,” Harry confirmed. Cedric whooped, lifting him by the waist and spinning him around excitedly, making him cry out in alarm. When his feet touched the ground once more, he was laughing.

“I’m so happy for you, love,” Cedric said, their foreheads pressed together. “You deserve that freedom more than anyone I know.”

“I’ll have to find somewhere to live this summer. Maybe when I do, you could come visit for a while,” Harry drawled, running a hand through Cedric’s hair and smirking as the older boy’s eyes darkened.

“Wild hippogriffs wouldn’t keep me away,” he promised. They shared a long kiss, reluctantly parting when Cedric straightened up. “Mm, as much as I’d love to keep doing this, we’ll be late for dinner if we don’t head up soon. If you’re done playing pyromaniac, of course.”

With a careless wave of his hand, Harry shrank his trunk and warded the fire so it would harmlessly burn itself out. “Let’s go,” he declared, dread building in his belly at the thought of facing the school again.

“Do you want me to sit with you?” Cedric asked, noticing the change in his mood. Harry shook his head.

“No, it’s fine, you stay with your friends.” The shine hadn’t worn off yet for Hufflepuff, and Cedric was practically royalty in his own house. “Meet in the Room after curfew?” The four of them were forever low on sleep, but it was worth it for Harry to spend that extra time with his three favourite people in the world.

“Sounds like a plan. See you later, love.” Before they left the chamber, Cedric kissed him, then stepped out into the corridor. Harry gave him a few minutes head start, then followed, joining the crowd filing into the Great Hall for dinner. There was a seat open between Hermione and Neville, unfortunately opposite Ron, and Harry sunk down into it.

“Where have you been?” Hermione asked sharply, making Harry roll his eyes.

“Hello to you, too, Hermione,” he muttered under his breath. Neville half-stifled a snort in his roast beef. “I’ve been studying, like I told you.”

“You weren’t in the library.”

“I wasn’t,” he agreed. “I wanted to practice spells, and I didn’t think Pince would appreciate it. I was in one of the empty classrooms on the fourth floor.”

“You missed lunch,” Hermione continued, apparently unsatisfied.

“Dobby brought me something.”

That set Hermione off on a rant about house elves and slavery, and Harry ignored it, sharing a long-suffering look with Neville. Across the table, Ron glared at him, then went back to pointedly ignoring him. He didn’t seem to like it when Harry didn’t react.

God, Harry just wanted them to get over themselves and leave him be, at this point. He was too old for this shit.

Chapter Text

Before they knew it, it was close enough to the first task that the school was starting to hum with anticipation, and at any given time Harry could hear other students speculating about what he and the others might have to face. The Hogwarts students had warmed up to him a little after it got out that he’d refused an interview with Rita Skeeter at the wand-weighing, and also insisted he and Cedric take pictures together instead of individually. It hadn’t stopped her article from being ninety percent filled with the Boy-Who-Lived, but Cedric was making it very plain that Harry hadn’t asked for any of it. People were finding it hard to argue with the Hufflepuff when he had that earnest look in his grey eyes. Harry couldn’t blame them; he foresaw a lot of folding to that look in his future, but he couldn’t really be mad about it. Helga’s eyes, though amber as honey, could pull off the same expression, and he’d long ago made his peace with caving to it regularly. The things he did for love.

Neither of the Hogwarts champions were particularly worried about what the first task might entail. They were working at the distinct advantage of having over seventy years of extra memories in their heads, from some of the most skilled wix in the history of magical Britain. They’d be fine.

Then, one evening, Hagrid showed an invisible Harry into the Forbidden Forest under the guise of taking Madame Maxime on a romantic moonlit stroll — to see some dragons. Four of them, all nesting mothers. Harry wondered, not for the first time, if today’s governments had any sense left between them.

He stared up at the huge ferocious beasts, listening to them spit and snarl in the harsher dialect of Parseltongue that dragons spoke in. That would make the task easier for him, at least — Cedric wouldn’t be so lucky. He was good at mimicking certain phrases in Parseltongue, but that only worked for passwords and sometimes snakes — and knowing when Salazar was cursing up a storm or professing love in the secret language. He wouldn’t be able to hold a conversation, especially not in the dragon-tongue variant.

Hagrid was extolling the virtues of the beasts to the French headmistress, who didn’t seem quite as enthusiastic as her companion. Harry only half-listened, edging closer under the invisibility cloak to get a better look. He recognised Charlie Weasley among the dragon handlers, and remembered the man’s words in the summer about seeing them sooner than expected. Gods, that all felt like a lifetime ago now. So much had changed since then.

When it became clear that he wasn’t going to get more information about the actual task, Harry left Hagrid to his odd attempt at a date and hurried back towards the castle. He didn’t turn for the stairs back up to Gryffindor, however — instead he let his feet lead him to the Hufflepuff common room; a place he hadn’t been in this lifetime, but still knew like the back of his hand. Tapping the barrel for entry, he moved silently through the darkened common room, heading straight for the corridor to the boys’ dormitories. It was easy to find the sixth year dorms; easier still to sneak in silently, reaching out with his magic to find Cedric’s bed. A small thrill went through him, the illicit teenage feeling of sneaking into his boyfriend’s room at night, but he pushed it away; that wasn’t why he was here.

Shrugging off the cloak, Harry nudged the drapes back, his expression fond as his eyes landed on Cedric’s sleeping face. The Hufflepuff’s hair was in total disarray, his brow smooth and peaceful in sleep, the faintest smile at the corner of his mouth. Harry was loathe to wake him. He did so gently, fingers running through the older boy’s hair. “Cedric,” he breathed, watching the boy frown and slowly blink his eyes open. Sleep-fuzzy and squinting, it took him a minute to recognise his unexpected visitor.

“Mm, Harry?” he murmured blearily, frown deepening. “Whassamatter?”

“Budge over,” Harry urged, squeezing his small frame onto the edge of the single bed and closing the drapes, putting up a silencing ward just in case. He kicked off his shoes to tuck his feet up, and Cedric’s body curved automatically towards his, still warm and soft. Harry’s heart ached. What he wouldn’t give to wrap himself up in this boy and never leave.

“Not that I’m not happy to have you here,” Cedric said, voice husky from sleep. “But this is a surprise. Are you okay? Is something wrong?” His eyes narrowed with concern in the near-blackness, and Harry shook his head.

“The first task is dragons,” he whispered. With the ward up, there was no reason to keep his voice down, but it was past one in the morning and this moment felt too fragile to break with noise. Cedric tensed beside him.

“Lie down, love, it’s hurting my neck to look up at you,” the Hufflepuff requested, tugging Harry until they were lying down side-by-side, facing each other. Cedric grinned soppily, stealing a quick kiss. “Hi,” he breathed, making Harry snicker. “So. Dragons?”

Harry relayed his adventure into the forest, and Cedric slowly shook off his drowsiness, listening with furrowed brows. “Well, that’ll certainly make things interesting,” he mused, letting out a quiet sigh. “Maxime and Karkaroff both saw?” Harry nodded. “Good; it’d be a hell of a thing for the others to go into unaware.”

“Could you imagine?” Harry agreed with a shake of his head. Sending three seventeen year-olds and a fourteen year-old to face surprise dragons was the work of an absolute lunatic. “I knew something was off with the wards around the forest.” His connection to the wards was much weaker than he was used to, but they’d all agreed something felt strange about the forest this last few days. Dragons definitely shouldn’t have been able to get through. It only made Harry concerned about the similar off-ness he felt around Professor Moody, not only because the man was somehow able to cast bloody unforgivables in the castle, on students — solstice couldn’t come soon enough.

“Well, it won’t be the first dragon we’ve ever faced,” Cedric pointed out wryly.

“The last one took all four of us to subdue.”

“Only because Godric was an idiot who enraged it to begin with,” the Hufflepuff argued, making Harry snort. There was a reason the school motto was what it was, and it was entirely Godric’s fault. Harry shuffled in closer, forehead pressing to Cedric’s.

“I can talk to mine, calm it down. Please be careful with yours.”

Cedric tilted his chin up, sealing their mouths together in a slow, lazy kiss. “I’ll be fine,” he promised softly. “No unnecessary risks, I promise. I’ll leave the showing off to you.” His voice was teasing, and Harry nudged him in the side with a playful scowl.

“I won’t show off. I’m not that much of a Gryffindor these days.” That made Cedric laugh, and he reached out one long arm to pull Harry against his chest.

“You could’ve told me all this in the morning, you know,” he pointed out, face tucking into the hollow of Harry’s jaw. Harry let their legs tangle together under the duvet, relaxing into the embrace.

“I could have,” he agreed, voice a little muffled against Cedric’s cheek. “But I missed you.”

He felt Cedric smile, the older boy’s hand stroking Harry’s side. “Showing that soft underbelly of yours, little snake,” he teased. Harry leaned down, capturing Cedric’s lips.

“Only for you,” he muttered into the kiss. Cedric chuckled, trailing reverent kisses across Harry’s cheekbone. The embrace wasn’t designed to arouse, and Harry was hit with such a sense of home that for a second he couldn’t breathe, eyes stinging when he squeezed them shut. Sometimes he couldn’t believe how lucky he was, to have this chance.

“I should go back to my dorm,” he said halfheartedly. Cedric’s arms tightened around him.

“You should,” he agreed, at odds with his motions. Harry sighed, pulling back enough to meet the Hufflepuff’s gaze.

“I want to stay. I’d forgotten how good this feels.” Sharing a bed with someone he loved, breathing the same air and feeling like they were the only two people in the world. Of course, he was used to their positions being reversed, his long limbs wrapped around Helga’s petite frame, but… being completely honest, Harry liked this way a lot. The last had been for Salazar and Helga — now, as Harry Potter, after a childhood of feeling unloved and unwanted and tossed aside, having Cedric’s large body tangled around him, protecting him from the world, leaving no room to doubt the Hufflepuff’s feelings… he felt more cared for than he ever had in his life. Maybe magic knew what it was doing when it chose these lives for them to be reborn into.

“Patrick is an early riser,” Cedric pointed out reluctantly. “He’s up at five every bloody morning. If you get caught in here…” He didn’t need to finish the sentence. The entire school would know in moments, and it would be absolute pandemonium. Harry didn’t plan on keeping their relationship secret forever, but coming out through rumours of a late night rendezvous was not the way to go.

He let out a sigh, curling up against Cedric’s chest. “Yule break, when the castle is quieter, can we spend a night in the Room together? Just sleeping,” he added hurriedly, not wanting Cedric to think he was pushing. “I just… I want to fall asleep in your arms.”

Part of him, the part that was Salazar, felt foolish voicing such a simple thing as if it were the only thing he’d ever wanted in the world. But at his heart he was still Harry Potter, and Harry Potter wanted to feel this safe and secure all night, and wake up in the arms of a person he loved. Just once, just to know how it would feel.

“It’s a date,” Cedric promised. He propped up on one elbow, leaning over Harry with fondness in his gaze. “Now go back to your own bed before I keep you here forever.”

“You say that like it’s a threat,” Harry teased in reply, sliding a hand into Cedric’s hair and pulling him down for one last kiss, their tongues twining lazily. “I’ll see you at breakfast,” he said once they parted, reluctantly shuffling into a seated position. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Cedric replied, lying back down and looking up at him adoringly. Harry couldn’t help but kiss him again after he’d put his shoes on, running his thumb over Cedric’s lips.

“Sweet dreams.”

“With you in them? Always.” Cedric winked, bringing a flush to Harry’s cheeks, and the Gryffindor swung his invisibility cloak over his shoulders, slipping out through the drapes and leaving the dorm.

When he made it back to his own room in Gryffindor Tower, he got ready for bed to the sound of Ron’s loud snores, and scowled when he slid between the cold sheets of his four-poster. Yule break felt so far away.

.-.-.

The next morning, Cedric sidled up to Harry on his way out of the great hall after breakfast. “Y’know, I had the strangest dream last night,” he murmured, his lips barely brushing the shell of Harry’s ear, making the shorter boy shiver.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. A certain snake in lion’s clothing slipped into my bed and told me a story about dragons in the forest.” Cedric’s gaze was knowing as he watched Harry for a reaction. “Not a dream, was it?”

“Not exactly. Depends what happened in this dream after the story about dragons,” he replied flirtatiously. Cedric chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

“Sadly, the little minx left me to sleep alone — I should’ve known my subconscious would never be so cruel.” His face grew serious. “Dragons, really? Blimey.”

Before Harry could respond, the corridor began to fill with people heading to their classes. He and Cedric took a step back from each other, putting a much more platonic distance between them. “You’re a smart bloke, you’ll figure it out,” he teased with a wink. “Have fun in Transfiguration.”

They parted ways, and Harry’s grin lasted all the way until he met with Neville outside Moody’s classroom. They were thankfully done with being subjected to the Imperius curse, but that didn’t mean the class was any more enjoyable. Not when both the founders were dealing with a distinct sense of wrongness about the professor, the wards distorted around the man like he didn’t belong. It was frustrating as hell that Harry couldn’t figure out what the problem was. He just knew that he didn’t trust the man as far as he could throw him, and his three best friends felt the same.

“Potter, a word!” Moody barked after the class had been dismissed.

“Sir, I’ll be late for Herbology,” Harry began to protest, but Moody snorted derisively.

“Sprout’ll forgive you.” Considering the Head of Hufflepuff had taken three points off Harry for watering incorrectly the other day, Harry doubted it, but it was clear he wasn’t being given much of a choice. Shoulders tense as he and Moody were the only ones left in the room, he hovered by the door, eyeing the grizzled man warily. “You accepted Hagrid’s invitation last night, I gather?”

Ah. Of course. Moody wanted to talk about the dragons. “I know about the first task, yeah. So does Cedric.”

“You told him, then? Noble of you.” The professor crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing Harry with an unreadable look. “What do you think of them?”

“I’ve got some ideas. Look, I appreciate the concern, but I’m really going to be late for my next class. Can I go?”

“Just play to your strengths, lad,” Moody said pointedly. “Take what you’re good at and use it.”

“Right. Thanks.” Harry gave up on waiting for permission to leave, shouldering his bag and turning for the door. What the hell was Moody playing at? Was he just trying to even the playing field, since he thought someone was trying to kill Harry with the tournament? Or was there something more to it?

Shaking his head and slipping into a secret passage to get him out to the grounds quicker, Harry shoved the thoughts from his mind. He’d find out what the deal with Moody was when they refreshed the wards. Until then, there was no point in worrying about it.

.-.-.

Harry stifled a smirk as he noticed Hermione peering over his shoulder, poorly-hidden shock and surprise on her face as she saw the O at the top of the essay McGonagall had just handed back to him. “Good work, Potter,” his housemistress declared with an approving nod. “Nice to see you finally applying yourself.”

“Thank you, Professor,” he replied earnestly. He didn’t feel like it was cheating to suddenly be improving in his classes — he wasn’t doing it dramatically enough to be alarming, just enough that people thought the tournament had lit a fire under him academically. He couldn’t exactly just not use the memories and knowledge that now floated around his head. Besides, it was all stuff that Harry had always been capable of; he was just finally applying himself, as McGonagall said. The Harry of before had been so used to giving the bare minimum in class so as not to upset the Dursleys when he did better than Dudley, it just took him a while to remember that he didn’t have to do that anymore. He’d been determined to care more about his grades even before he awakened; he wanted to do well in his OWLs next year. It was just helpful that now he knew half the curriculum without needing it to be taught to him. There were enough new things in it that he still had to study, but he was actually willing to do so these days.

“Maybe you really are studying with Diggory,” Hermione muttered, more to herself than to him, but he rolled his eyes all the same.

“I told you. He makes a good study partner. And with the tournament, we’re both looking at the same sorts of things.” Things that happened to have nothing to do with the tournament, and instead were more about the developments in magical theory and other such breakthroughs in the last thousand years. He couldn’t disappear into the chamber every evening without being suspicious, so he and Cedric — often joined by Neville and Luna — were taking advantage of the vast Hogwarts library to try and catch themselves up in their preferred fields of study.

Not to say he wasn’t spending plenty of time in the chamber, whenever he could sneak away. Progress researching into ways to destroy Voldemort without access to all the man’s potential horcruxes was slow going, but Harry was certain he was on the right path. Added to that all of Luna’s  research into the Wizengamot and how far Dumbledore’s roots had dug — deeper than any of them had anticipated, but Harry was confident they could unseat him. If he didn’t have Salazar’s previous knowledge, he wouldn’t have had time to even finish his homework, let alone score so well in it!

Harry put the essay away in his bag, turning attentively to the front of the classroom as McGonagall began her lecture. He didn’t have time to soothe Hermione’s fragile ego over not being the smartest student in Gryffindor anymore.

She huffed beside him, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes, wondering how he was supposed to spend the next three and a half years surrounded by lions. Godric had been bad enough! If only there were a way to get re-sorted partway through his schooling.

Then again, being thrown in with the snakes would be a whole other set of challenges. Probably a more entertaining one than dealing with Gryffindors, though.

Maybe he’d just spend more time hanging out with the Weasley twins until they graduated. They were the closest thing to snakes he was likely to get in the lion’s den. Having access to their pranks could be useful, too — Neville was far more trusting than Godric had ever been, and Harry wasn’t afraid to take advantage of that in the name of his own amusement. He was still a Slytherin at heart, after all.

Chapter Text

The morning of the first task dawned crisp and clear, and Harry and Neville both woke earlier than the rest of their dormmates. “How you feeling?” Neville asked once they were dressed and on their way to breakfast. Harry shrugged.

“Just want to get it over with, to be honest.” He hadn’t asked to be in the damn tournament, and he didn’t agree with purposely riling up nesting mothers for sport. Quite frankly, he was surprised the dragon sanctuary had agreed to the whole affair.

Whispers started up in the hall when he entered from the few early risers who were already up, and Harry wasn’t surprised to see Cedric and Luna sat together at the end of the Ravenclaw table. The two Gryffindor boys moved to join them, sitting opposite their partners. Downing his nutrient potion, Harry flashed Cedric a quick smile — the older boy looked fairly at ease, though there was an anxious twist to his lips when he thought no one was looking. “Got your plan?” Harry asked, already knowing the answer. Cedric nodded.

“You?”

“Less of a plan and more of a vague guideline,” Harry joked. “You know I don’t like to think too far ahead on these things.”

Neville snorted, rolling his eyes. “Understatement,” he muttered around a mouthful of toast, earning an elbow to the side.

Across the room, Fleur Delacour entered with her usual posse of Beauxbatons friends, offering Harry and Cedric a solemn nod as she sat at the other end of the long table. She had a hard set to her jaw, and determination in her eyes. “I wonder what the other champions will do,” Luna mused, watching Viktor Krum arrive shortly after, practically hidden amongst several of his classmates. The hall was filling up now, everyone eager to get to the task.

They didn’t linger on their breakfast, despite several members of their houses coming up to wish Harry and Cedric good luck. The twins promised they were offering good odds on Harry, taking bets from all over the school. When they had no more reason to delay, Harry’s eyes flicked to the door. “Shall we?”

Cedric sighed, nodding. “Might as well.” He got to his feet, and Luna wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

“Good luck, Hel,” she murmured softly. Then, raising her voice, “leave all the stupid heroics to him, won’t you?”

Harry made an offended face, and Cedric laughed. “I always do.” Neville rounded the table, squeezing Cedric around the shoulders.

“Just don’t do anything I’d do, and you’ll be fine,” he joked.

“Where’s my hugs and caution?” Harry said in mock-complaint. Neville smirked at him.

“We’re not worried about you, snake-face,” he teased. “Besides, any words of caution would be utterly wasted on that thick skull of yours.”

For a moment, Harry thought about arguing, then shrugged and conceded the point. “Yeah, okay, fair. Well, you two enjoy the show!” He accepted a kiss to the cheek from Luna and ducked away from Neville trying to mess up his hair, then he and Cedric walked together towards the doors. Whistles and whoops rose from the Hogwarts students as the pair strode side-by-side. Whatever they did, they tried to present Hogwarts unity above all else.

Delacour and Krum joined them at the doors, both looking slightly pale despite knowing what they were about to face. None of them spoke as they headed towards the quidditch pitch.

The four champions were directed into a tent, and found uniforms hanging up for each of them to wear. Harry and Cedric looked at theirs, then grimaced in unison. “Really?” Harry muttered, shaking his head.

“Let’s put them on, we’ll fix them then.”

Ducking into the curtained off cubicles, the two boys changed, stepping out in similar — but distinctly different — outfits. Where Harry’s was adorned with red and gold, Cedric’s held bright yellow accents against the base black, their house crests on the breasts. “We’re representing our schools, not our houses,” Harry said, looking down at himself in annoyance. “This won’t do. Hold still, Ced.”

Keeping an image firmly in his mind, he waved his wand and muttered a spell. Slowly, their outfits morphed until they were completely identical. Jet black trousers tucked into black dragonhide boots, and equally black robes in the same style as the previous ones, with gold piping and embroidery. Only these had the Hogwarts crest displayed proudly on the back, and on the breast. Harry eyed his boyfriend over appraisingly; black was a good colour for Cedric. “Much better.”

“Impressive transfiguration,” Delacour complimented, looking over the pair of them. “And a good eye for design.”

“Thank you,” Harry demurred, smiling. “It’s much better than what they gave us, don’t you think?” Now it was clear that he and Cedric competed for the same side.

Bagman faltered somewhat when he saw the change in the boys’ uniforms, but he blustered on, revealing the task to four teens who only halfheartedly pretended to be surprised.

Naturally, Harry ended up with the most vicious of the four. Well, rather him than Cedric.

Cedric was up first, and Harry wished he could kiss him before sending him out to his death. There were too many people watching, though — instead he clasped the taller boy’s forearm, stepping up to press their foreheads together briefly. “Good luck,” he murmured, hoping the words conveyed everything he couldn’t say. Cedric flashed him a quick grin.

“You too.”

Then, he left the tent.

It was agony for Harry, waiting for his own turn and unable to see what was happening, listening to the gasps and cheers of the crowd. Delacour was called about twenty minutes after Cedric went out, so Harry was at least assured his boyfriend had completed the task. He and Krum waited in silence, until the whistle blew again and the Bulgarian left Harry alone. At last, he was summoned to the arena.

The crowd went hushed as he walked into the stadium, staring up at the furious Hungarian Horntail he’d been assigned. Below her, as promised, was a nest of — thankfully fake — eggs, as well as the gold egg that was to be his prize. The dragon roared and cursed at him, and Harry took a deep breath. Showtime.

“Sonorous,” he murmured with his wand at his throat. Feeling the magic at work on his vocal chords, he turned his gaze to the reptilian beast, trying to focus. It was a very long time ago that he’d last attempted dragon-speak. “Great mother!” he called, his voice coming out in a rasping, growling hiss that made the crowd gasp in shock. The dragon froze, her wings flaring as she lowered her head to look at him. “I apologise for disturbing your nest.”

“This is not my nest, speaker!” the dragon argued. “I have been torn from my nest, and given these wrong-smelling eggs! How dare you humans take me from my young!” She blasted a jet of fire towards him, and only a quick spell had it directed elsewhere.

“I was not at fault for this! It was the other humans — they wish to use you and your nestmates for sport. I am sorry, they do not understand the power of your species. They are fools.”

“What sport is there to be had? Are they harming my eggs?” The dragon suddenly reared up in panic, and Harry held out his hands in what he hoped was a soothing gesture.

“No, your eggs are safe, I swear it,” he vowed hastily. “You are right that the eggs they have given you are wrong-smelling. There is one in the mix, a metal one, that my challenge is to retrieve. That is the sport — stealing the fake kin of a great mother.” It was easy to let his own disgust colour his voice, his throat sore at the noises he had to make. The dragon’s lip rose in a snarl, smoke puffing from her nostrils.

“You are a speaker. You will tell the humans that if they ever consider such a thing again, my nestmates and I will burn them to ash. If it will end this sooner, I will allow you to take the metal intruder.”

“I will tell them, great mother,” Harry promised. “Please, apologise to your nestmates on behalf of myself and the other challengers. We were given no choice in this matter, and I know none of us wanted to harm such beautiful, fierce creatures as yourselves. They only did what they had to do to survive.”

The dragon lowered her head, one huge amber eye staring directly at Harry. She sniffed him, as if checking for truth. “You are not afraid of me, small speaker.”

“I have respect for you. I have no need to be afraid unless I anger you.” Dragons were peaceful until provoked, and he didn’t want the nesting mother to think he likened them all to mindless beasts. She nodded in approval.

“I like you. You may enter this false nest.” She straightened up, flaring her wings once more, and Harry began to walk towards her over the conjured rocky terrain. He made sure to keep his stride confident, no hesitations — if she thought he was scared, or duplicitous, it would signal his death.

The eggs were convincing, he’d give them that. But of course a nesting mother would know the difference between her real young and some bespelled copies. Careful to keep his movements clear, he reached in to grab the golden egg, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. Then he stepped back, offering a bow to the horntail. “Many thanks, great mother, for allowing me to pass unharmed. I wish you and your nest many blessings, and a safe return to your homelands.”

“Good luck with your challenges, small speaker. I shall tell my nestmates that not all humans lack respect for our kind.” As if wanting to prove how angry she was, the horntail sent a huge blast of flame up into the air and let out an enormous roar of rage, louder than Bagman’s whistle to signal the end of the task. The dragon-tamers rushed in, wands raised, but it was clear they didn’t know what to do. Harry removed the sonorous charm and rounded on Charlie, the one familiar face in the bunch.

“They’re not happy with you,” he declared, coughing as his voice rasped. “What the hell possessed you to take away the entire nests of four nesting mothers in a foreign territory?”

“You… you can speak to them,” Charlie stuttered, gobsmacked.

“If we’d left the nests with them, they could have crushed the eggs!” one of the other tamers pointed out hotly. Harry rounded on her with a glare.

“You shouldn’t have been using them at all! They don’t understand that it’s only sport, they’re terrified that they’re never getting their babies back!” he argued, staring the woman down until she began to look abashed.

“Harry, we weren’t given a choice,” Charlie said earnestly. “The task was arranged, they wouldn’t take no for an answer. If we didn’t provide, they would’ve just gone elsewhere.”

“I don’t care,” Harry spat. “Imagine what your mum would be like if someone took her babies away without explanation and then shipped her off to another country?” Charlie went pale — the wrath of Molly Weasley was about on par with an angry dragon, in all honesty. “She says that if you ever do anything like this, she’ll burn the whole reserve to the ground. I don’t blame her. These four dragons will never trust you again. I wouldn’t be surprised if they leave the sanctuary once their hatchlings are old enough.”

Charlie and several of the other dragon tamers looked heartbroken at that, but Harry didn’t bother comforting them. They should’ve thought about that before they agreed to such a stupid task. He noticed Professor McGonagall approaching, and let her lead him with a hand on his shoulder to the medical tent.

“That was certainly a unique solution,” she remarked briskly. “I had no idea dragons spoke Parseltongue. And, indeed, no idea you could be so restrained when faced with danger.” That made Harry laugh, which turned into another coughing fit.

“Maybe I’m growing up, Professor,” he joked. The Scotswoman sent him a long-suffering look.

“We can only hope, Mr Potter,” came the dry response. She nudged him towards Pomfrey. “Go, get seen to, they’ll post your scores shortly.”

The other champions were inside, looking a little roughed up but none the worse for wear. Cedric had a smear of blood on his forehead and some ash along his jaw, but he gave Harry a thumbs up.

“Mr Potter, are you hurt?” Pomfrey asked, waving her wand over him. Harry shook his head.

“Something for my throat would be great, but the dragon didn’t touch me.” The mediwitch pursed her lips, then reached into her bag and eventually pulled out a vial of thick yellow liquid.

“Drink it all, and try and limit speaking for the next couple of days. If the pain persists, or the cough gets to your lungs, come see me,” she instructed. Harry nodded, knocking the potion back without hesitation. It went down like drinking honey, coating his throat and immediately soothing the raw flesh. He grinned at the woman in thanks, waiting for her permission to hop off the bed and head out to get his scores.

The judges seemed torn about his performance. He was the fastest, and the cleanest by far, but it hadn’t exactly been a great feat of magic. With wildly varying scores, he ended up in second place behind Cedric — fair, he supposed.

“Brilliant, Harry!” Cedric cheered once they were free to go, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “I knew it’d be an easy one for you.”

“It wasn’t bad,” he croaked, waving as Neville, Luna, Hermione and the twins all came running up to them. The twins whooped, clapping him on the back.

“Harry Potter, dragon whisperer!” Fred cheered, laughing. Harry rolled his eyes. “There’s gonna be one hell of a party in the common room, mate! We’ve been prepping this one for weeks. Don’t take too long, yeah?” He paused, then glanced at the lone Hufflepuff in the group. “We’d invite you, Cedric, but the Hufflepuffs probably have their own plans for you.”

“Cracking job, though, mate!” George congratulated.

“Thanks, guys. Try not to burn the tower down,” Cedric teased, getting twin grins in response.

“No promises!” they chirped in unison, ruffling Harry’s hair and sprinting off back towards the castle.

“Harry Potter!” Hermione exclaimed, eyes narrowed. “You could’ve been killed! Just going in there and hoping to talk to a dragon! What if she’d blasted you to a cinder?”

“I did my research,” Harry rasped, affronted. “I knew she could understand me. And I had a back-up plan if she didn’t want to listen.” Just because he had a bit of a track record for running head-first into dangerous situations didn’t mean he had a death wish!

“You did wonderfully, Harry,” Luna complimented, beaming at him.

“You really did,” Cedric insisted, giving Hermione a bit of a glare and tugging Harry protectively into his side. “And Madam Pomfrey told you not to talk for a while. Neville, hold him to that, yeah?” He glanced over his shoulder, seeing a group of Hufflepuffs calling his name. “I should get going. I’ll see you all later.” His gaze dropped to Harry’s for a second, then he smiled at the group. “Enjoy your party.”

“Yeah, you too. Mind you don’t get too drunk,” Neville teased. A flick of Cedric’s wand had the boy’s tie yanking hard, making the knot tiny and almost impossible to undo by hand. Neville huffed. “Git.”

They started back towards the castle, Harry still keeping the egg tucked under his arm. He was curious; the magic coming off it was odd. He couldn’t wait to start investigating it. Mostly, though, he wanted a cup of lemon tea with honey, a shower, and some sleep. And his boyfriend, but he couldn’t have everything. He just had to suffer through this damn party, first.

.-.-.

There was no time for things to settle after the first task — not with the announcement of the Yule Ball. Harry really should have figured it out himself, what with the inclusion of dress robes on the school list. Almost every student above fourth year, and many in third, had signed up to stay for the break. So much for getting a quiet night with Cedric in the Room without anyone noticing.

With all the anger at him for stealing Cedric’s glory, Harry hadn’t thought he was that popular amongst the students. Apparently, being a Triwizard Champion overruled that — girls were asking him to the ball left, right and centre, and Harry was running out of ways to politely turn them down. Some of them were truly determined, cornering him between classes or outright chasing him down the halls. Neville couldn’t stop laughing; it was alright for him, he’d asked Luna right when the ball had been announced.

Dodging a particularly ambitious — and amorous — Gryffindor fifth year, Harry skidded around a corner and reached for the nearest open door, shutting it behind him and leaning back against it, panting.

“Can I help you, Mr Potter?” His head snapped up, surprised to see Professor McGonagall sat behind a desk. Then he realised he’d accidentally taken refuge in her office.

“Oh. Sorry Professor.” He ran a hand through his hair sheepishly. “I, uh, needed somewhere to hide. Some people aren’t happy taking no for an answer when it comes to the ball.”

McGonagall’s lips tightened in a way that Harry knew meant she was hiding a smile. “Have a biscuit, Potter.” She waved her wand, summoning a biscuit tin from off the shelf. Cautiously approaching the desk, Harry plucked a custard cream from the tin.

“Thank you.” He sat in the chair opposite, nibbling on the treat. “Can I, uh, help with anything? Since I’m interrupting you?” It looked like she was marking essays, though Harry couldn’t see what year. He felt a strange pang in his chest — he missed teaching. Didn’t quite miss marking homework, but missed standing at the front of a classroom with a room full of rapt faces, helping with spells and potions and watching his students improve. Salazar’s memories of teaching were nothing but fond.

“No, thank you, Potter — your grades have been improving, but this is seventh year material, so it might push even your limits,” she replied, scratching out a line and writing a comment with a faint frown. “I meant to congratulate you on that, by the way. Several of your teachers have expressed surprise in how well you’re progressing this year.”

“I suppose being warned of the danger I’m in gives me time to study for it,” he joked, offering a half-smile. “I did some thinking over the summer. At muggle school, my studies weren’t exactly… encouraged.” An understatement, if he’d ever heard one. “I guess it took me a while to realise that things would be different here.”

“Indeed,” McGonagall replied, something knowing in her gaze making him wonder if she spoke with Poppy Pomfrey all that often. “Well, I’m glad to see the change in you. I always knew you were a bright lad, and I’d hate to see that potential wasted. If there’s anything we can do to encourage you further, please don’t hesitate to ask — it’s not just the Ravenclaws who can do independent study projects, should the desire arise.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry said, pleasantly surprised. He hadn’t realised independent study projects were even a thing! “Perhaps not this year. I’ve got enough going on, I think.” McGonagall’s not-smile returned. “But maybe next year. I’ve been looking into magical theory, in the library, and I find the whole thing really interesting.”

“Quite an intriguing subject, especially for one with your magical potential. Professor Vector would be one to talk to on that. I must say, Potter, it’s quite a shame you’re not taking Arithmancy or Runes.”

“Tell me about it,” Harry agreed ruefully. “I wish I could switch. But Cedric said it might be possible to self-study and take exams at the Ministry in the summer whenever I’m ready.”

“Mr Diggory is correct,” McGonagall confirmed, looking pleased that he’d considered the matter. Harry supposed she wasn’t used to him thinking much about his future. He had to admit, before Salazar’s memories gave him hope in defeating Voldemort, he hadn’t expected to have much of a future. “Is everything alright with you, Potter? I’ve noticed you and Weasley aren’t quite as attached at the hip as you used to be.”

Harry’s smile faltered, and he shrugged. “Ron and I are growing up, and finding we have less in common,” he said evasively. “But I’m okay. I talk to Neville loads, and I’ve got more friends in other houses, too.” Draco was back to partnering with him in Potions, and he even studied with him and the other Slytherins in the library sometimes. It was nice, surrounding himself with snakes again.

“Glad to hear it. Teenage friendships can often be fickle — no need to force yourself into a role that doesn’t quite fit you anymore. I admit, I had wondered if your new academic leanings were Miss Granger’s doing, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. If only Mr Weasley could follow your lead.”

Snickering, Harry shared a look with his housemistress. “I think that might be asking too much of him, Professor,” he mused.

“Perhaps next year, when his mother starts threatening him about his OWLs,” McGonagall sighed in response.

There was a long pause in which Harry finished his biscuit, and then he looked at his professor in consideration. He’d been meaning to ask her something for a couple of days, but he wasn’t sure how it would be received. “Professor,” he piped up, hesitation in his tone. McGonagall looked up from her marking, and as soon as she saw his face she set her quill aside. “Is it— can I— do we—” he made a noise of frustration. “I know you said the champions have to bring a date to the ball,” he started slowly. “Is… is there a rule that says my date has to be a girl?”

To her credit, McGonagall didn’t react outwardly overmuch. Her eyebrows rose for a split second, before she schooled her face into a soft smile. Harry stared, unused to the expression on his usually stern housemistress’ face. “Harry,” she started gently, “you may take whomever you wish to the Yule Ball, as long as they are a student at one of the three participating schools.” Her gaze turned concerned. “Have you experienced any discrimination here at school? Because I assure you, that is not acceptable and action will be taken.”

“No, no, it’s all fine,” he hurried to assure. “I, uh, haven’t really told anyone yet. Outside a couple of friends.”

“Well, whenever you choose to tell people, if that is indeed your choice, you will have the full support of the Hogwarts staff. Should anyone take issue with it, send them straight to me, and they shall be dealt with,” she added with a glint in her eyes.

“Thank you, Professor. I’ll keep that in mind.” His heart made a strange twisting sensation at the protective look in the woman’s eyes — he was glad, and he knew Godric would be too, that the lions had such a fierce den mother. “I, uh. One more thing.” She looked at him inquiringly. “Is there anything in the rules about a champion going with another champion?” She would find out anyway if Cedric said yes, and he didn’t want to cause another issue with the tournament.

This time she couldn’t hide her surprise, blinking at Harry in astonishment for several moments before she regained her composure. “I don’t believe there is anything in the rules about that, no,” she replied. “You and Mr Diggory will make a fine match.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed, and he ducked his head. “I haven’t asked him yet,” he mumbled. “But. If he says yes. I just wanted to know.” Cedric might not be ready to come out to the school yet, to have people analysing their relationship. He was hiding it well but Harry knew he wasn’t completely adjusted to being male and in love with a boy, not with Helga’s memories butting in all the time. The love for Harry was there in spades — the love for himself was a little more complicated.

“Then best of luck to you in asking,” McGonagall returned, actually smiling now. “And, Potter… in case it ever weighs on your mind, you should know that your parents had friends who were of a similar persuasion, and it was never an issue for them. They would have loved you regardless of where your affections lay — I daresay you could’ve brought home Professor Snape himself and James would have tried his best to support you!” she joked, winking at him.

A lump rose in Harry’s throat, startling him with its suddenness. He hadn’t really thought about that. He’d been so caught up in everything with Salazar and Voldemort and Dumbledore… “That’s— that’s really good to know,” he choked out, wishing he could still blame his sore throat on his sudden raspiness.

“Lily and James both would be enormously proud of the man you are becoming, Mr Potter,” McGonagall told him softly. “Don’t ever think otherwise.”

For a moment, Harry couldn’t speak, emotion swelling within him. “I— no one’s ever said that to me before.” Sure, Sirius and Remus had both said they were proud, or that James would be proud — no one ever said what Lily Potter would have thought of him. “Thank you, Professor McGonagall.” Part of him wanted to hug the woman, but he wasn’t quite that brave.

He cleared his throat, jumping to his feet and blinking away the itchiness in his eyes. “I should get going,” he said hurriedly, glancing over his shoulder. “That girl has probably given up, and I have a Potions essay to finish.” He couldn’t quite meet his housemistress’ eyes, looking just over her left shoulder instead. “Thanks for the biscuit, Professor. And— everything else.”

“My door is always open to you, Mr Potter,” she replied. “Though perhaps not as a refuge from amorous ladies in future, yes?” Harry’s smile turned sheepish, and he nodded.

“Yes, ma’am.” He practically fled from the classroom, heart hammering in his chest. That had been… a lot more emotion than he’d anticipated in an afternoon.

.-.-.

That evening, he and Cedric met up down in the Chamber, retiring to their sofa in Salazar’s office. With the fire roaring and Cedric’s fingers playing with his hair, Harry almost forgot about his conversation with McGonagall until Cedric mentioned the number of girls who had asked him to the ball. Abruptly, Harry tensed. “I, uh, spoke with Professor McGonagall today,” he began, aiming for nonchalance and failing. Cedric raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? About what?”

“She said there’s nothing in the rules that says champions can’t be each other’s dates to the ball. Or— or stopping boys from going with other boys.” The silence after Harry’s words felt decades long. Harry coughed. “You don’t have to if you’re not ready,” he blurted, cheeks reddening. He tried to pull away from Cedric, but the Hufflepuff held him in place.

“You’d go with me?” Cedric asked, surprise clear in his tone.

“Of course I would,” Harry responded instantly. “Who else am I gonna go with? Ron?” He made a face showing exactly what he thought of that, and Cedric laughed.

“Well, no, but — you’re ready for that? You know people will talk.”

“People have been talking about me since I started this bloody school,” Harry pointed out with a roll of his eyes. “Might as well give them something more interesting to talk about than whether I’m a lunatic or a liar.” He brought one knee up underneath him, turning to properly face Cedric. “I would like nothing more than to walk into that hall with you on my arm and let everyone know how proud I am to be yours,” he murmured, cupping Cedric’s cheek. “But if that’s not a step you want to take just yet, please don’t feel pressured to on my account.”

Cedric sucked in a slow breath, then pressed his lips to Harry’s. “It would be my honour,” he declared in a solemn whisper. “Yes, I’ll go to the ball with you.” All of a sudden his face lit up in a grin. “Merlin, it’s been years since I last went to a ball! These modern dresses are all a bit much, but I suppose I can find something suitable in— oh.” His excitement faltered, and he looked down at himself, giving a quiet chuckle that didn’t reach his eyes. “It’ll be dress robes, rather, won’t it?”

“You can wear a dress if you like,” Harry replied with a shrug. “You’ll look beautiful in whatever you choose, and quite honestly as long as you’re on my arm you could be wearing a potato sack and I’d be happy.”

“Charmer,” Cedric teased, bussing his cheek. He bit his lip. “You really mean that?”

Fingers curled in the hair at the nape of Cedric’s neck, Harry nodded. “I can’t say I understand what it’s been like for you, going from Helga to this. I’ve been assuming you’re fine still being male, but if that’s not the case — you can tell me anything, love. Whatever you feel, however you want to express yourself, I’m right here with you.”

Cedric shook his head slowly, shifting them until Harry was lying against his chest. “I like being a boy,” he assured. “I feel like a boy, most of the time, despite Helga’s memories. I like this body, and I like the way people look me in the eye as a man — I certainly like not having to bleed every month. It’s not that I want to be female again. Just, every now and then, the memories slip and I…” He sighed, pressing his lips to Harry’s temple. “Gender is confusing.”

“It is,” Harry agreed. “I just want you to be happy, love. And I’ll hex anyone who has a bad word to say about it.” Cedric snorted, squeezing him around the waist.

“I wouldn’t doubt it for a second.”

They lay there on the sofa, Harry ensconced in Cedric’s arms, their legs tangled together as they listened to the fire crackle. “Can I tell you a secret?” Harry said eventually, lacing his fingers with Cedric’s on his stomach. Cedric hummed in assent. “I like that you’re bigger than me now. I like that you can cover my whole body with yours, and hold me like this. It makes me feel safe.” He spoke no louder than a whisper, but the words still seemed loud in the near-silent room.

Cedric turned his hands over, squeezing Harry’s tight between his own. “Oh, my love,” he said, and his voice was a little hoarse, like he might start crying. “If you thought that was a secret, you’re losing your touch.” He effortlessly manhandled Harry, flipping them over on the sofa until they were face to face, Cedric on top of Harry and propped over him on his elbows. He smirked, his eyes suspiciously shiny. “I can see it in your eyes every time I do this.”

Harry’s pupils were blown, his body thrumming with arousal as he looked up at Cedric. The Hufflepuff leaned down, practically doing a push-up over Harry to press their lips together. “Want to know a secret of mine?” the older boy mumbled into the kiss, and Harry nodded. When Cedric pulled back, his grey eyes were stormy with lust. “I like being bigger than you, too.” He carefully lowered himself so as not to crush Harry, head resting in the crook of the Gryffindor’s shoulder. “But I like that you still think I’m pretty.”

Harry grinned, holding Cedric tight. “You’re mine, Pretty-boy Diggory,” he teased. “And if you want to wear a dress to the ball, you’ll look gorgeous.” He paused, considering. “Just, please, don’t wear heels. You’re nearly a foot taller than me as it is.”

Cedric laughed, muffling the sound in Harry’s neck. “Okay,” he promised, smiling against dark skin. “Maybe you can wear the heels instead.”

“Only if you want me to step on your feet all night,” Harry warned. Salazar was a fair dancer, but Harry had never danced in his life, and he doubted the moves from a thousand years ago were quite so in fashion now. He’d have to fix that before the ball if he didn’t want to embarrass himself.

He felt Cedric yawn into his throat, and ran a hand through caramel-coloured hair. “Go to sleep, love. I’ll wake you before midnight.” He had some reading to do. If he could even concentrate with all the emotions swirling around him, making him feel fit to burst.

Gods, the things Cedric did to him.

Chapter Text

Since their awakening, the four founders had tried to spend as much time together as possible. Usually it was all four of them in the Room, or they split into two couples to get some time alone. Fairly often, Harry and Luna would have study binges, getting to the point where they would finish each others’ sentences and reference magic well beyond Cedric or Neville’s understanding, gesturing excitedly at each other as they spoke what might as well have been gibberish. And of course, Harry and Neville were roommates, so they spent plenty of time together.

This was the first time Cedric and Luna had spent time together, just the two of them. Cedric couldn’t believe it had taken him this long. Back in their first lives, they had often shooed the boys away, insisting they needed some time without their block-headedness. Cedric missed his dearest friend — it was wonderful to spend time with Harry, but Luna was different. Rowena was different.

They were sprawled on two sofas in the Room, a plate of cheese and crackers on the low table between them as they discussed their classes, and Luna’s issues with the other Ravenclaws, and Cedric’s thoughts on the Tournament. It felt good, having someone he knew would never judge him, but also wouldn’t take any of his problems personally. Harry was wonderful, but he did love taking the entire world’s burdens on his shoulders.

“How are you adjusting?” Luna asked, when there was a lull in the conversation. Cedric sighed —she always was far too observant.

“Fine, on the whole. I’ve got my memories mostly sorted out now.” Salazar had taught him enough mind magic to organise his thoughts, even if it took longer for him than the Slytherin. “Sometimes it still catches me out, though. I’ll hit my head because I’m not used to being so tall, or I’ll spend ten minutes searching for hair pins before I realise I don’t need them.” He’d already told Luna about the incident when Harry had asked him to the ball, and he bit his lip against his last secret. Then, he shook his head; if he couldn’t tell Luna, who could he tell? “I miss feeling pretty, sometimes.” He’d sort-of admitted it to Harry, but not in so many words.

“Well there’s no reason you can’t still feel pretty,” Luna pointed out, sitting up properly. “It’s all just about what does that for you. Different things feel pretty to different people.” She smiled, that serene, non-judgemental look that always made Cedric’s heart ease. “All you need is a little something that's just for you, something that makes you feel good. I felt pretty when I put on nice shoes; we spent so much time in work boots back then, silk shoes felt like a treat. I feel pretty now when I braid flowers in my hair. Neville feels pretty when he scrubs all the dirt from under his nails and I paint them. Godric felt pretty when his armour was perfectly polished.” She reached over, taking Cedric’s hand in hers. “What makes you feel pretty?”

“I—” He thought about it — what did make him feel pretty? When he was Helga, it had been soft silks, and sweet-smelling perfume. As Cedric… he’d never really considered it before. “I don’t know.”

“Well, now’s a good time to find out,” Luna chirped brightly. In the blink of an eye, the room changed slightly — their sofas nudged closer together, the low table shot up several inches, and suddenly multiple boxes were on its surface. Luna opened one of the boxes, revealing a mass of make-up and other beauty products. “I’ve never really had friends to do this with, but I’ve heard it’s supposed to be fun.”

“You want to— make-up? Really?” Cedric spluttered, eyes doubtful.

“Unless you have any better ideas?” Luna asked. She held two tubes of foundation up against his cheek, then put one back in the box with a decisive nod. “I thought if we start with the more stereotypical things that make people feel pretty, we can see how they feel for you and go from there. Now close your eyes and sit still.”

.-.

Cedric couldn’t say how long he spent sat with his eyes closed, following Luna’s instructions as she covered his face in creams and powders and whatnot. Make-up hadn’t really been around in Helga’s time, but if it had Cedric knew he would’ve been all over it. Nerves bubbled in his gut as Luna worked — what if he looked ridiculous? Hell, what if he looked good?

“Stop worrying,” Luna scolded, swatting him gently on the shoulder. “I’m almost done.” She swept a gentle brush across his nose and cheekbones, then sat back, beaming. “There. See what you think.”

The room dropped a mirror into Cedric’s lap, and he stared at his reflection. Wow.

It looked like him, but… somehow both softer and sharper at the same time. Luna had highlighted his cheekbones, making them stand out even more than usual, and there was a shimmery gold powder over his eyelids, his lashes dark and much longer than usual. The foundation was a little sticky, and he didn’t like the way the lipstick made his lips look. When he mentioned that to Luna, she handed him a cloth, helping him carefully wipe the red off until his lips looked more natural again.

“I like the eyes,” he admitted, studying the dark sweep of eyeliner outlining his grey eyes, making them look even brighter. “The foundation and the — contour, was it? — That I could do without, but… I like the eyes.” He couldn’t stop staring at himself. He couldn’t help but wonder what Harry might think if he saw him.

“You have beautiful eyes,” Luna agreed. “Does it make you feel pretty?”

It did, and Cedric could see himself maybe doing this again for special occasions, but it wasn’t it. “I think we need to keep trying.”

“Okay,” Luna said, unfazed. “Are we going more masculine, or more feminine? I’m sure Hogwarts could provide some clothes if you want to try some outfits on, or I could paint your nails — just your toes, if you want. Or there’s always weapons; I know plenty of people who feel pretty with a sword in their hands.”

Cedric blinked. “I was always more for the bow than the sword,” he reasoned, shrugging. “Let’s just… try all of it. Could be fun, right?”

Luna beamed, jumping to her feet like he’d just handed her the keys to the Library of Alexandria.

“It’s going to be great,” she promised, eyes bright. “We’ll get you comfortable in your own skin again, I promise.”

Cedric hadn’t even realised that was the real problem, but of course, when Luna put it like that, it made perfect sense — he didn’t feel like Helga, but he didn’t quite feel like Cedric anymore either. He was somewhere in between, and he needed to figure out what made that person happy and comfortable. And pretty. Whether it was considered male, female, or something else entirely. Regardless of what other people thought of it.

They’d been pioneers in their past life, creating a school for magic when people said it shouldn’t be done, that it wasn’t the proper way to go about it. Helga had defied expectations and gender norms all her life.

Maybe Cedric could do the same, in his own way.

Chapter Text

Harry thought he’d made it clear to Yule break. Word was starting to get around that he had a date to the ball — though no one knew who yet, as he and Cedric wanted to hold off the drama for as long as possible — so only the truly brave girls were asking him out. He and Cedric had a fairly good idea of what to do with their golden eggs — Mermish was a pretty distinctive language, but they’d wait to find out exactly what it said until after Christmas. He had his dress robes the way he wanted them, he was up to date with his homework, and he was looking forward to plenty of free time to keep working on his personal research into soul magic and horcruxes.

Then, as he was leaving Potions on the last day of term, Snape’s voice rose above the student chatter. “Potter, stay behind.”

Neville shot him a questioning look, and Harry shrugged — he had no idea what the man wanted. Taking his seat once more, he sat silently until the classroom was empty but for him and Snape, waiting for his professor to speak. Snape strode across the classroom until he was right in front of Harry. Then, to the boy’s surprise, drew his wand and pressed it to Harry’s throat. “Who are you, and what have you done with Harry Potter?”

Harry gaped. “What?”

“Where do I start? Making friends with Slytherins, suddenly excelling in your classes, ignoring Weasley and Granger. I’ll admit, the Parseltongue in the first task was a convincing touch, but there are ways to fake that if you know what you’re doing. I know you’re stealing Polyjuice ingredients from my private stores, so tell me, where is Potter?”

“Professor Snape, you’re mistaken. I haven’t stolen anything from your stores!” He had his own, down in the Chamber. But he wasn’t using it for Polyjuice! “I’m Harry Potter, I swear.”

“Potter has never been so civil to me,” Snape spat. Suddenly ropes jumped from the end of his wand, wrapping around Harry’s wrists and ankles, securing him to his chair. “Legilimens!”

Instinctively, Harry raised his occlumency shields, forcing Snape from his mind. The professor blinked, then snarled. “Aha! There’s no way a fourteen year-old boy would be capable of that, especially not one as mentally inept as Potter. Who are you?” His dark eyes were narrowed intently. “I have veritaserum in my pocket if that would help loosen your tongue.”

“I am Harry Potter!” Harry argued. His shoulders slumped; he was going to have to come clean. “But I’m also Salazar Slytherin.”

Snape’s hand slapped Harry clean across the face, his cheek stinging. “Do not play games with me!”

“I can prove it!” Harry insisted fiercely. “I know how to get to the Slytherin common room. All the entrances to the Chamber of Secrets. I know this castle inside and out, passages even the headmaster doesn’t know about. I know the true name of the sorting hat. I can speak Parseltongue,” he added in a sibilant hiss. Snape leaned against the desk opposite, arms folded over his chest.

“None of that explains how you could possibly be both Harry Potter and Salazar Slytherin. Which, quite frankly, is the most ridiculous attempt at a cover story I’ve ever heard.”

“Exactly!” Harry retorted. “Would I really try and insult you with something so ludicrous if it wasn’t the truth? I woke up in mid-September and suddenly had the memories of the entire life of Salazar Slytherin in my head. I don’t know why, or how, but they’re there. If you give me some warning,” he said pointedly, “I can lower my shields and let you take a look.”

Snape’s thin lips curled in distaste. “Then consider this a warning. Legilimens,” he murmured, wand raised once more. Feeling the unfamiliar magic slam against his shields, Harry took a deep breath, going against his every instinct to lower his mental barrier and invite the Slytherin housemaster into his mindscape. He was careful about the memories he picked — a handful of Harry’s, both from school and the Dursleys, and then a handful of Salazar’s throughout his life at moments no one but the true founder would be able to replicate. Eventually, when the memories were through, he nudged Snape and closed the barrier, gently ejecting the man from his mind.

He opened his eyes, seeing Snape watching him incredulously. “Believe me now?” he asked somewhat haughtily. The ropes binding Harry didn’t vanish.

“Salazar Slytherin was one of the darkest wizards to exist,” Snape drawled. “His heir is the current Dark Lord. What makes you think the knowledge that you’re telling the truth is in any way reassuring to me?”

“History got a little lost over time,” Harry said. “I was never a dark wizard. I studied dark magic, and a lot of what I used back then would now be classified as dark, but the other three used the same spells! I was never against muggleborns in the school, I just didn’t feel it was safe to return them to their parents, and nine times out of then I was right! And that foul, death-fearing little upstart is no more than a stain on my family tree. I will destroy him if it’s the last thing I do. You can put me under veritaserum if you want.” He would rather Snape didn’t, as there were some secrets he’d very much like to keep, but the last thing he wanted was the man running to Dumbledore.

“Why did you not tell the headmaster?” Snape asked with narrowed eyes. Harry scoffed.

“Because I trust that man with my school as far as I can throw him,” he retorted. “I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m taking nutrient potions at mealtimes. Go ask Madam Pomfrey about my medical records if you want to know the kind of people Dumbledore thought it prudent to leave me with for the greater good.” Something flickered in Snape’s eyes, and Harry smirked. “Familiar with that phrase, are you?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Dumbledore has had magical Britain dancing to his tune for far too long, and the balance of magic is failing. The wards are weak, the old ways are barely even acknowledged, and several important aspects of magic are completely ignored at this school. I intend to fix that. Getting rid of Voldemort is somewhat of a side project to all of that.”

Snape gazed flatly. “A side project,” he repeated.

“I want to rebuild the good name of Slytherin house, and he’s making it rather difficult,” Harry confirmed. “If my suspicions are correct, I should be done by the end of this school year. If he’s trying to kill me, he’ll have to come face to face with me eventually. He doesn’t seem the type to let someone else vanquish his enemies,” he added with a roll of his eyes. “Look, these ropes are starting to hurt, would you mind…”

A twitch of Snape’s hand, and the ropes vanished. “Thank you, Professor.”

“Why have you not told anyone? This seems like an extraordinary task to undertake by onesself, even with your… history,” Snape remarked, looking the closest to overwhelmed Harry had ever seen him. He thought about telling the man about the other three, but decided against it. He couldn’t trust Snape fully, not yet.

“I don’t want Harry Potter’s life to be eclipsed by Salazar’s,” Harry reasoned. He ran a hand through his hair, grimacing. “Besides, there’s rather enough special about me without adding one more thing. If I tell people, I’ll get taken to the Department of Mysteries and never see the light of day again. If I keep it secret, I can do what needs to be done, and get on with my life at the end of it.” He met Snape’s gaze boldly, letting a little of Salazar slip into his posture. “Will you help keep my secret?”

“You think anyone would believe me if I told them?” Snape pointed out. Harry snorted, conceding the point. “I’m still not entirely certain I believe it myself. I’ll be watching you, Potter.”

“I’d expect nothing less from the head of my house,” Harry acquiesced. “All I ask is you look after my snakes as you have done so in the past, and consider what I’ve told you when you think about your future, and what side you’d be on if war comes before I can stop it.” He stood, offering the man a sharp nod. “If you find you believe me, and you can get past your hatred of James Potter long enough to see the real me, I would enjoy brewing with you occasionally. I’ve got some experimental recipes I was working on back in my own time, it would be good to have a potions’ master who is up to date on current potions to tell me if I’m wasting my time.”

“Prove to me in class that your brewing is worth my time, and I’ll think about it,” Snape retorted. Harry grinned cheekily, heading for the door.

“Challenge accepted, Professor. Have a good evening.” He slipped out of the classroom, immediately heading for the Room of Requirement where he knew the other three would be waiting for him, if Neville had done what Harry expected him to do.

Sure enough, his friends were already there, and Cedric jumped up with concern in his eyes. “What did he want?”

“To ask where the real Harry Potter was,” Harry explained with a wry twist to his lips. “He knows about me, about Salazar. I didn’t tell him about the rest of you, but he knows me. He’s still thinking on whether he believes it.” He shook his head, hardly able to believe the turn his day had taken. “Gods, as much as I hate that he knows, it was nice having someone talk to me like an adult other than you three.” He couldn’t wait until he was an adult again.

.-.-.

Several days into Yule break, Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room to find a shaky-looking Ron being comforted by Hermione and Ginny, though Ginny looked a little amused. Harry raised an eyebrow at the scene. “What happened to him?” he asked, approaching. Ever since the first task, Ron had decided Harry had to be mental to want to take part in the tournament, and they could be friends again. Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about this decision, but it was less effort than actively antagonising Ron.

“He asked Fleur Delacour to the Yule Ball,” Ginny supplied, a giggle slipping out at Harry’s wide-eyed response.

“Blimey. It, ah, didn’t go well, then?”

“How d’you think it went?” Ron retorted, looking up with a glare. “I’ll never get a date to the Yule Ball!”

“I sort-of assumed you’d go with Hermione,” Harry remarked, mostly because he was sick of the two of them dancing around each other. Hermione squeaked, blushing.

“Wait.” Ron looked up, as if seeing Hermione for the first time. “He’s right. You’re a girl! You could go with me.”

That made Hermione turn scarlet for an entirely different reason. “For your information, Ronald, there are plenty of other people who realised I’m a girl before now. I’ve already got a date.”

“Yeah? Who is he?” Ron challenged. Hermione bit her lip.

“None of your business.”

“Oh, come off it,” the redheaded boy groaned. “No reason to make up a bloke, you can just tell me you don’t wanna go with me. Can’t see why, mind—” Hermione slapped him.

“How dare you assume that no one could possibly have asked me already!” Huffing, she stormed off towards her dormitory, and Ginny let out a low whistle.

“Nice one, big brother. Very smooth.”

“Shut up, Ginny,” Ron complained. He rounded on Harry. “Who are you going with, then? You’ve been turning down girls for weeks.”

“Sorry, secret,” Harry replied with an apologetic shrug. That made Ron’s scowl deepen.

“Not you too,” he muttered. Then his eyes trailed off to the stairs Hermione had just retreated up, narrowing suspiciously. “You’re not going with Hermione, are you?”

“What? No!” Where the hell had he got that from? “I’ve got no idea who she’s going with, but it’s not me.”

“Then why won’t you tell me?”

“My date wants to keep it secret ’til the ball,” Harry replied. Ginny snickered.

“Bit of a drama queen, is she?” she sounded a little wistful, making Harry wonder if she was one of the many girls who’d apparently been working up the nerve to ask him before he said he was taken. That was awkward.

“Everyone’s got a bloody date,” Ron grumbled. “If I don’t hurry up, I’ll have to take Ginny or something.”

“Don’t bother,” Ginny retorted sharply. “I’m going with Michael Corner.”

“What? How do you even know him, he’s in our year!”

When the argument turned to ‘that prick putting his hands on my sister’, Harry quietly backed out and fled to his dorm, not wanting to get involved in the family argument. It served Ron right, really; if he didn’t have such high standards, he would’ve found a date ages ago.

Harry grinned to himself, thinking of the looks on everyone’s faces when they saw him with Cedric. It was going to be spectacular.

.-.-.

Harry was surprised when a soot-black owl swooped in through his dorm window one evening, dropping a letter onto his head. Harry tore it open, lips spreading in a slow smile with every word.

Pup,

I’ve heard you’ve got a Hogsmeade trip this weekend. We’re in the area — fancy a visit? Meet me out by the Shack at noon on Saturday. Don’t bother replying; if you haven’t made it by one, I’ll scarper.

Love,

Snuffles

Harry had a sneaking suspicion he knew who the other part of that ‘we’ was — a certain werewolf had been rather vague in his last letter.

The owl had already left, so Harry burned the letter, mentally rearranging his plans for the weekend. His friends wouldn’t mind waiting a little while for him.

.-.

That Saturday, Harry parted ways from his three friends and slipped behind a building to cover himself with the invisibility cloak, heading out towards the Shrieking Shack. He was early, but he could see a familiar black shape curled up in the snow. He edged closer, wondering if Sirius could catch his scent under the cloak.

“Oi, Padfoot,” he hissed under his breath, watching the dog’s ears prick up. “I’m under the cloak. Lead the way.”

Padfoot stood, trotting around towards the back of the Shack, then wiggled through a gap in the fence. Harry followed with slightly more difficulty, letting his godfather show him to the back door of the shack. Sirius didn’t transform until they were inside, the room’s windows boarded up. Harry lit his wand, grinning when he saw the other person in the room, waiting on the sofa. “I knew it!” he exclaimed, hugging his now-human godfather. “Have you been hiding out at Remus’?”

“For the most part,” Sirius confirmed. “They know we were friends back in the day, so every now and then an auror comes snooping. Moony’s very good at playing the betrayed best friend, and the woods behind his house are easy to hide in.” Sirius held him close, kissing his hair. “How’ve you been, Pup?”

Twelve different answers fought for space in Harry’s mind, all of varying degrees of truthfulness. Part of him wanted to tell the pair the truth — if Snape could know, surely they could too — but… Snape was a Slytherin. He had a modicum of respect for his house’s founder. Sirius and Remus were Gryffindor to the core, and no doubt believed every lie history had ever told about Salazar Slytherin. He didn’t want them thinking he was like that. He didn’t want them turning him away because of it.

But he didn’t want to completely lie to the man who was the closest thing to a father he had.

“I’m dating Cedric Diggory,” he blurted. His eyes went wide — that wasn’t what he’d intended to say.

A beat of silence, and then Sirius let out a loud bark of laughter. “Suck it, Prongs!” he exclaimed, grinning. Behind him, Remus put his head in his hands.

“What he means to say, Harry, is that we’re very happy for you, and we’re pleased you felt you could share that with us,” he said, giving his friend a long-suffering look.

“No. Well, yes, very proud and all that,” Sirius hastened to assure. “But what I meant was old Jamie can do one because he always talked about you growing up and getting girlfriends and I told him not to assume anything. I mean, look at Moony and me!”

“What? You two are…?” Harry trailed off, looking between the pair in confusion.

“Not together,” Remus finished, seeing where Harry was going. “But not straight, yes.”

“Queer as a brass galleon, me,” Sirius confirmed. “Prongsie was the only straight one of the lot of us, when the traitor wasn’t around. Even your mum said she might’ve stuck to girls if she hadn’t loved James so much.”

Harry was wide-eyed; that was definitely information no one had told him before. “I— what?”

“Sirius, you’re going to traumatise the poor boy.” Remus finally got up from the sofa, tugging Harry out of Sirius’ grasp and into a gentle hug. “It’s good to see you, Harry. You’re looking a lot better than last year.”

“Pomfrey prescribed me some nutrient potions,” he explained. “Good to see you, too, Remus.”

“So, an older boy, eh?” Sirius cut in, smirking. “And the other Hogwarts champion to boot! I saw the pictures in the paper; he’s a bit of alright, isn’t he?”

Harry blushed through his grin. “You’d like him. Not just because he’s fit,” he added with a faint blush.

“Sit down,” Remus suggested, gesturing to the sofa. “Tell us about him. And everything else you’ve been up to lately.”

Beaming, Harry made himself comfortable in the decrepit shack, sat between his father’s two best friends, and told them all about his boyfriend and his school term — except for all the parts that involved him, his boyfriend and his two best friends being the reincarnations of the four Hogwarts founders. That was information he didn’t need to share just yet.

Chapter Text

The night of the 21^st of December found Harry and Neville sneaking out of their dorm, silent as mice on their way down to the entrance hall. Cedric and Luna were already waiting for them, dressed in warm cloaks, eyes bright in the moonlight streaming through the window. They greeted their partners wordlessly, and the four of them walked together out of the castle and around to the stone circle, practically vibrating with excitement. Finally, it was time.

The winter solstice had arrived, and they were going to renew the school wards.

Neville approached the circle first. He was their ward master, their ritual master, and had been the first to offer his magic to Hogwarts back when they had built it. Now would be just the same.

They took their cardinal points, corresponding to their elemental representatives. Neville lit a fire at his own feet. Luna’s hair was ruffled as the air began to swirl around her. The snow cleared in front of Cedric, the earth erupting in a small mound. Harry summoned the melted snow into a sphere of water floating between his hands. He closed his eyes, letting the cold seep beneath his skin and the water brush his fingers, grounding him as Neville began to chant. His magic flared to life, and he felt his friends’ magic responding. Several moments later, the wards began to hum.

Before doing this, they’d worried Dumbledore might notice. As headmaster, the man was supposed to be connected to the wards. But it had become incredibly clear to them that the man had barely a tangential connection to the school; probably didn’t want to relinquish any of his power, even in maintaining the safety of the students.

Neville’s chanting grew louder, and Harry joined in, hearing Cedric and Luna do the same. The water in his hands swirled faster, his breath coming harshly. He could feel the wards connecting to his magic, taking what it needed and nourishing him in return. The castle sang as its wards, left to language for decades, were finally replenished.

It was like filling a bottomless well. Harry was appalled at how long the wards kept reaching for them — all four of them were far above average on the raw power scale, and yet he could feel the ritual tugging deeper into his core, yearning for more. He was going to be exhausted in the morning.

Finally, it was done. The castle stopped pulling, and the ritual washed over their own magic, neatly closing off the connections between them and the wards. Harry smiled to himself when he felt Cedric’s magic reaching towards his like it couldn’t help itself, brushing soothingly over Harry before retreating.

Neville went silent, and the sounds of the world crept back in. It took a few moments for Harry to stop hearing his own pulse in his ears, and he shook his head, letting the water between his palms fall to the ground. “Wow,” he breathed eventually.

It was like the first time they’d built the wards all over again. The castle felt like it was part of him; he could feel every inch, every student and creature within its walls. He could sense every house elf working hard in the kitchens, every prefect out on late-night patrols, all the personal wards around the professors’ offices and quarters — including some pretty heavy-duty wards around Snape’s private stores. Harry let his search spread, gritting his teeth when he felt the familiar slickness of dark magic within their school. There were three signatures with darkness attached — two in the castle, and one over in the Durmstrang ship. And there was something awful, something that felt suspiciously like a horcrux in the Room of Requirement. Fury blazed through Harry; how dare Riddle put something so foul in a place so full of joy and innocence.

“We can feel it too,” Neville said, looking grim. “It’s another horcrux, right? Not the one you still have?” The horcrux that once resided in Harry’s scar was still safely in his office in the Chamber; he could feel that too, but it didn’t bother him as much.

“Yes, it certainly feels like it. I’ll pick it up on my way back to the dorm.” Harry let out a long breath, relishing in the feel of the wards so whole once more. No one would get anything through their school anymore; especially not Dumbledore.

“Merlin, that feels better,” Cedric murmured, and the others hummed in agreement. “I vote we deal with all the weird shit we can feel tomorrow, and go to bed now. Agreed?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Neville agreed, rolling his neck out with a loud crack. “I don’t want to be up before ten tomorrow.”

The four of them trudged through the snow back to the castle, Harry’s fingers twined with Cedric’s. He pulled his boyfriend in for a soft kiss before they parted, leaning against his chest for a moment. “See you at breakfast.”

As promised, Harry took a detour via the Room, pacing in front of it and thinking hard about the horcrux within. When he opened the door, Rowena’s diadem was sat on a velvet cushion in front of him, swamped with darkness. Harry’s fury returned — not only was he hiding horcruxes in their school, he was violating their possessions with them! What else had he stored his soul in? When Rowena found out, she was going to flip.

Harry almost wished he could just set her on Voldemort and watch the sparks fly, but the man was his heir and his responsibility.

Tiredness beginning to seep into his limbs, he forced himself to keep going long enough to toss the diadem through an entrance to the Chamber for safekeeping, then finally retreated to Gryffindor tower, barely having the energy to change before falling into bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

.-.-.

All four of them were late to breakfast the next morning, but no one really seemed to notice. It was only three days until the Yule Ball, after all. Yawning into his porridge and using Neville to keep himself propped upright, Harry managed half a conversation with the twins and then begged off to go back to bed — instead, he and Neville made their way up to the Room of Requirement, Harry with the Marauder’s Map in his pocket.

As soon as they arrived, Harry flopped onto the nearest sofa, one arm hanging off the edge. “I’m never moving again,” he declared with his eyes shut, not noticing the door open.

“Shift over,” Cedric said, nudging his thigh. Harry groaned. He halfheartedly obliged, just enough for Cedric to squeeze in behind him and wrap an arm around his waist.

“Okay, now I’m definitely never moving again,” he said, bringing Cedric’s hand up to his mouth and kissing the knuckles. He frowned at a glimmer of gold, and nudged Cedric’s sleeve up to reveal a delicate gold chain looped around his wrist, a little snitch charm decorating it. “This is new,” he remarked, stroking a finger over the fine metal. “S’nice.”

“Luna got it for me,” Cedric replied, and there was something a little hitched in his tone that made Harry’s frown turn puzzled. He studied the jewellery closer, reaching out with his magic, but it seemed to be just an ordinary bracelet. From the guarded look in his love’s eyes, there was obviously more to it, but now wasn’t the time to press. Cedric would explain later, if he wanted.

“I like it. It’s pretty,” he complimented, slurring a little in exhaustion. He watched the tension ease in Cedric’s shoulders, a small smile flickering across the Hufflepuff’s face. His arm tightened snugly around Harry’s form.

“Yeah,” he agreed, lips pressing to Harry’s hair. Luna cleared her throat, and the pair looked up, remembering the task at hand.

“So, list of problems by order of priority?” Neville asked, a quill in his hand and parchment on the arm of the sofa. He and Luna were cuddled together, looking equally tired. But they had to take care of things before they rested. The ritual was only half the battle.

“The horcrux is mostly taken care of,” Harry volunteered. “I chucked it in the chamber, I’ll put it with the other one later.”

“That’s good. Karkaroff has the Dark Mark,” Cedric added.

“Oh, that’s what that feeling is,” Luna realised. “Then Snape has one too.”

Harry had felt that at breakfast, and it made something sit uneasily in his gut. “I’m going to talk to Snape about his after Christmas. He knows about me, and I can get the truth out of him — he’s had years to try and do me in, and he’s only ever tried to protect me.” As much as his eleven year-old self had thought otherwise. “I think there’s more to the story there.”

“He’s your house, your problem,” Neville told him, smirking. “What about Moody?”

“Obviously the one stealing Polyjuice supplies,” Luna agreed. The wards were able to pinpoint the wrongness now, and it was clear he wasn’t who he claimed to be. “What do we want to do about it?”

Harry wiggled around just enough to get the map out of his pocket, ignoring Cedric’s grumbling. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he declared, watching the ink spiderweb over the parchment. He gazed over the map, trying to catch sight of any names that shouldn’t be there. He paused on the dot in Moody’s office. “Barty Crouch?”

“The Ministry bloke?” Neville said, leaning over to take a look. “What the hell would he be doing posing as a Defence teacher?”

“Shit,” Cedric muttered softly, reaching over Harry to take the map. “Could it be his son?”

“I didn’t know he had a son,” Harry said with a perplexed frown.

“He was convicted as a Death Eater.” Surprisingly, it was Neville who answered, his voice hollow. “He was one of the ones that tortured my parents.”

“Oh, fuck, Nev.” Harry made to sit up, but Luna shook her head, stroking Neville’s cheek gently.

“But he died in Azkaban,” Neville pointed out. Harry felt Cedric shrug.

“Him somehow faking his death and escaping seems more plausible than Crouch Senior somehow impersonating Moody. Especially as we’ve all seen Crouch and Moody in the same place at the same time, several times.”

“That’ll be the other Dark Mark, then,” Harry guessed. “And, I’d hazard a guess, probably the person who put my name in the goblet.” Definitely a plot by Voldemort. That was a plus for his plans, at least.

“What should we do about him?” Luna asked.

“If we expose him now, it could screw up whatever Riddle’s got going on, and I can’t risk that if I want to destroy him by the end of the year,” Harry pointed out. “Let him keep hiding for now, but be cautious. You especially, Nev,” he added, heart clenching in sympathy. He wasn’t sure he could stare one of the people responsible for him growing up an orphan in the eye and do nothing, but Godric had always been far more noble than him.

“No wonder he was trying to give you advice on the task,” Cedric remarked, running a hand through Harry’s hair. “He needs you to get through to the end, evidently.”

“Fancy that, so do I,” was Harry’s dry response. “He’s on standby, then. Next on the list? Peeves, or the forest?” There was a tangled mess of varying magical signatures within the forest, from hundreds of creatures that weren’t supposed to be there.

“Edgar has Peeves under control,” Luna assured. “I think he’s rather funny.”

It bemused Harry, how the ghost of Slytherin house ended up being Godric and Rowena’s daughter’s ex-lover — even more than the ghost of Ravenclaw being Helena herself. He was glad Luna and Neville had that little bit of their past with them now. “He does have his moments,” he assented.

“I think the forest is likely to be a summer project,” Neville reasoned. “Once we’ve got Dumbledore out, certainly. It’s too risky to do something that big until he’s out of the way.”

“I still can’t believe he hasn’t realised,” Cedric murmured. The headmaster had been at breakfast, happily munching away at toast and jam with seemingly no idea the school wards were now supercharged. How could a headmaster be so disconnected from the castle and get away with it? No wonder Harry had almost died so many times already.

Never again, he vowed to himself. They’d have Dumbledore out before Harry could graduate, and then things would get better from there. McGonagall would be a much better headmistress — until one of them could take over, at least. Harry dreamed of the day the four of them could reclaim their school as teachers, properly help shape the future of magical Britain.

“Is there anything currently happening with the wards that actually needs our attention, or can I go back to sleep?” Harry asked, eyes half-shut already. He couldn’t help it; surrounded by Cedric’s warmth, the older boy’s fingers tracing runes against his stomach, it was the most relaxed he’d felt in days.

“Everything seems to be back in order, and other than what we’ve discussed I think we’re alright,” Neville said, closing his eyes briefly to check. He was probably the most connected to the wards out of all of them, as their ritual master. “There’s some cursed books in the library we’ll need to check out, but it’s not urgent.” Most of the Hogwarts wards were reactive — designed to stop students hurting themselves or each other, or bringing in contraband, or unfriendly beings getting in. If everyone was behaving, they would be fine.

“Good.” Harry rolled over, burying his face in Cedric’s soft jumper. “Naptime now.”

“Does this mean it’s naptime for me, too?” Cedric sounded amused, but Harry could hear the fatigue in his voice.

“Yes,” Harry said petulantly, snuggling closer.

“I think it’s naptime for everyone,” Luna said, watching Neville yawn. “I’ll set an alarm for lunch.”

Thanks to the room, the sofas were wide enough for both couples to comfortably cuddle together, and with the familiar magic of the castle at full strength surrounding them it was much easier to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

Harry wasn’t used to the school being so full during Christmas break. Waking up in a dormitory full of people with presents at the ends of their beds was a novelty — to be totally honest, it was a little overwhelming. Harry mostly ignored Dean and Seamus crowing over their presents, working his way through his own pile with a quiet grin on his face.

He was pleased to see Mrs Weasley had sent him a jumper and some fudge, even if the sight of the present made Ron scowl. There was nothing in Harry’s pile from him, and even Hermione’s present was far less enthusiastic than it might have been in previous years; some liquorice wands and his own copy of Hogwarts, A History. That made Harry snort — if she only knew the irony of giving him such a gift.

There was a box of prank items from the twins and some chocolate from Ginny; a neatly wrapped parcel that turned out to be from Sirius and Remus — a wand holster, and a short stack of books. The first two looked interesting, both about little-known defensive magics that Salazar hadn’t encountered before. The third made Harry blush bright red; Sirius — because it was definitely his doing — had sent a small book that Harry couldn’t figure out if it was a self-help book or a gay sex manual. Knowing his godfather, it probably leaned towards the latter. Harry tucked it back inside the wrapping paper, but green eyes kept lingering on it as he went through his other presents. Embarrassing as it was, it was a well thought-out present. Neither Harry nor Cedric had more than a rough idea of what to do when alone, and while Cedric was still working through some things in his own head regarding his gender… Harry wanted to be prepared for the future.

He’d have to thank Sirius. If he could ever bring himself to look the man in the eye again.

Luna and Neville had combined forces on his present — a beautiful set of potions’ knives in a dark green dragonhide wrap. He’d been using Salazar’s old knives, and while they were perfectly serviceable they were definitely getting up there in age. These were sleek and sharp, with obsidian handles, a tiny snake carved into the end of each one. Harry flashed a grin up at his friend. “Thanks, Nev,” he murmured, earning a thumbs up in reply.

“You too, Harry. I love it!” Harry’s present to Neville was a selection of rare seeds from all over the world. He’d thought about getting a weapon to replace Godric’s immense armoury, but Neville had made his own trip to Gringotts and it turned out many of his old weapons were still in the vaults. The boy had returned to carrying around the same dagger Godric had once refused to be without, hidden beneath his robe.

Finally Harry was just left with his present from Cedric, and he opened the small package with bated breath. His eyes went wide when he lifted the lid of the box. Inside was a pendant, sterling silver and gleaming, in the shape of a badger. Held protectively between the badger’s paws was a vivid green emerald. Magic practically sang from the jewellery, and when Harry turned the pendant over in his hands he noticed runes carved all over the surface. There was a note inside the box, and Harry picked it up.

Wear this, and I will always be able to reach your side, no matter how far apart we are. I will always bring you home, my love.

His heart squeezed near-painfully at the words in Cedric’s familiar neat print. Of course, the runes were all about location and protection — with it, Cedric would be able to apparate to Harry’s side at any moment, regardless of wards trying to prevent it. There was very likely something in it that told Cedric when Harry was in danger, too.

There would not be a repeat of Salazar’s death, alone and far from Hogwarts and with injuries that Helga could have healed if she’d been there in time.

With trembling fingers, Harry secured the pendant around his neck, feeling it settle into the hollow of his throat. Cedric’s magic against his skin sent warmth through his veins.

He’d bought Cedric a full Healer’s kit bag, knowing his love would want to regain those talents and study further once he’d graduated. It didn’t feel like nearly enough in the face of this.

Shaking off the mist that had gathered in his eyes, Harry forced a grin back on his face and carefully stowed his presents away in his trunk, except for the Weasley jumper, which he pulled over his head. This year’s was bright green, with a dragon on the front. A pattern Mrs Weasley had obviously gotten pretty good at with Charlie in the family; she’d even made it look a bit like a Horntail.

Breakfast in the Great Hall was fairly chaotic, with everyone full of excitement for the ball later that evening. Girls were already fussing over having to do their hair and make-up and nails in time, making plans to group together in various dormitories. On the other side of the spectrum, the Weasley twins were recruiting from all schools and houses for a snowball fight out on the grounds. Harry passed on the offer with a chuckle; it was tempting, but he had other plans.

Cedric fell into step beside him halfway to the door, the Hufflepuff’s shoulder brushing against his. Together, they walked out into the cold, scarves tucked around their necks to ward off the chill. Harry hadn’t brought gloves, and he regretted that a little, but cast a warming charm over his hands instead.

“Thanks for the kit bag, it’s beautiful,” Cedric murmured, tangling his fingers with Harry’s and squeezing once they were closer to the lake, away from the mass of students preparing for war under Generals Gred and Forge. “So much has changed in the field in the last few centuries, I’ve got so much to learn anew.”

“I’m sure it’ll come just as easily to you as healing used to,” Harry replied, smiling. “My gift pales in comparison to yours, though. The craftsmanship is exquisite, and the magic…”

Cedric’s arm slung around his shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss to the temple. “Just doing what I can to make sure I don’t lose you again.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Harry agreed, casting a strong notice-me-not just so he could kiss Cedric properly. “Happy Yule, love.”

“Happy Yule. You ready for the ball tonight?” Cedric’s smile was teasing, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“For everyone to learn that you’re mine and to show off how gorgeous you are in your dress robes? Absolutely. For dancing in front of hundreds of people? Merlin, no.” He faked a shudder, making Cedric laugh.

Thanks to Neville, Harry was no longer as concerned about his ability not to make a fool of himself on the dance floor. But he still didn’t enjoy dancing; certainly not with everyone in the room staring at him. Luckily the champions were only required to open the ball — after that, the floor would be full, and even if he did dance more it wouldn’t be watched so heavily.

“Seriously, though,” he added softly, leaning into Cedric’s side. “I’ll be glad when we don’t have to hide this anymore. I’m not so much looking forward to some of the reactions, but I can’t wait to be able to kiss you before we part for classes without having to check for prying eyes first.”

“Me, too,” Cedric agreed. His grey eyes were warm as they met Harry’s. “I’ve only got a year and a half left at school before you’ll have two years without me. I need to make sure everyone knows you’re mine by the time I leave.” He winked playfully. Harry tugged on the end of his Hufflepuff scarf, pulling him in closer.

“Oh, trust me, Mr Diggory, there’ll be no doubt of that,” he promised. “Those two years are going to drag.”

“Just think of how productive you’ll be without me around to distract you.” The teasing words made Harry’s eyes darken.

“But I happen to like when you distract me,” he purred in response. Cedric’s next words were muffled by Harry’s lips, but he didn’t seem to mind much.

.-.-.

The four founders spent most of the day together — once Harry and Cedric stopped snogging down by the lake at least — until the evening drew nearer and they separated to get ready for the ball in their own dorms.

The fourth year boys’ dorm quickly succumbed to chaos. Ron’s dress robes were no less awful than they had been when Mrs Weasley had bought them — if anything, they looked a bit worse. “Nope. That’s it. I’m not going,” Ron declared, staring at himself in the mirror with a look of disgust. As far as Harry knew, the redhead still didn’t have a date. “I’ll be laughed out of the bloody castle if I turn up like this.”

Now, Harry could have offered to help — as demonstrated with his spells on his and Cedric’s uniforms in the first task, he was fairly proficient with clothing transfiguration. He could have easily changed Ron’s robes into something tasteful.

But. Harry was a Slytherin at heart. And Ron had been a dick lately. So, he sat back and watched as Seamus attempted a cutting charm on the lace ruffles, only succeeding in charring them at the edges. Dean’s colour-changing charm was a little better — now the fabric was closer to burgundy than maroon.

Harry and Neville exchanged amused looks on the opposite side of the room. “Sorry, Ron,” Harry called apologetically. “I’d offer you my old ones, but I think they’d be a bit small.” Thanks to the nutrient potions, Harry had grown and filled out enough to not fit into the bottle green robes Mrs Weasley had bought him. Instead he’d ordered his own set from Gladrags — a slightly brighter green, with pale gold piping and embroidery. Not quite green and silver, but close enough to his house colours for him to be happy. And with the way the colours made his eyes pop, and the gold complimented his dark skin, no one could call him out for disloyalty to his house. It wasn’t his fault Slytherin colours looked better on him.

Neville, on the other hand, looked like the epitome of a Gryffindor. His robes were deep crimson with gold accents, a lion-shaped pin at his breast that Harry recognised as Godric’s wedding present from Rowena. He was glad that had still been in the vault.

The pair of them were every inch the young lords, and looking at them made Ron scowl.

“Come on, Ron,” Seamus said, “no one’s gonna care what your robes look like. They’re really not that bad.” Harry had to give it to the Irish boy for keeping such a straight face while lying through his teeth. Ron’s scowl deepened.

“You can’t let Padma down, Ron,” Dean urged. Harry raised an eyebrow — was Ron going with Padma Patil? How much bribery had that involved?

“Besides, don’t you wanna see our Harry’s secret date,” Seamus teased, glancing at the black-haired boy. “Not to mention find out who Hermione’s going with.”

That made Ron pause for a moment, and he huffed. “I still think they’re going together,” he muttered darkly.

“I promise you, we’re not,” Harry replied. “I’ve only ever seen Hermione as a friend. Maybe you should have a think about why her going with someone pisses you off so much.” He was starting to wonder if the pair might just be oblivious forever. He checked his watch, then glanced in the mirror to straighten his tie. “I’d better go pick up my date, it’s almost time. You coming, Nev?”

“Yeah, let’s go. We’ll see you down there, guys.” Neville followed Harry out of the dorm, squeezing past the crowd of Gryffindors in the common room waiting for their dates to be ready. “Who do you think Hermione’s going with?” he asked curiously, and Harry shrugged.

“No idea. It’s gotta be someone that would piss Ron off, though, with how tight-lipped she’s being about it. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was Draco.” The Slytherin was going with Pansy Parkinson, and seemed quite pleased about it. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

The two boys stopped outside the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room, and Harry felt Neville use the wards to alert Luna. A few moments later, the blonde emerged from behind the statue. Beside him, Harry heard Neville’s audible gasp.

Luna’s dress was a knee-length royal blue gown, bronze thread shot through the shimmering silk. It had a wide neckline that flattered her shoulders and floaty half-sleeves. Her hair was up in a half-bun, the rest of it hanging in platinum waves down her back, pale blue flowers braided into the tresses. A large sapphire necklace glittered at her collarbones. She was wearing make-up, too; neat winged eyeliner and glittery dark blue shadow, making her silver eyes even more luminous than before.

“My lady,” Neville murmured, bowing to her. When he straightened up, there was a rose in his hand the exact same shade as his dress robes. “May I?”

Luna giggled, stepping closer to allow him to fix the rose in her hair. His fingers slid gently down to cup her jaw, and he leaned in for a slow kiss. “You look like a goddess,” he breathed, awed.

“You’re a lucky, lucky man, brother,” Harry agreed quietly, drawing the attention of the pair. Seeing them stood together like that, dressed to the nines and so obviously in love, made his heart skip pleasantly. They looked different to Rowena and Godric, but they felt just the same.

“Don’t I know it,” Neville agreed, looking as if he’d marry Luna right there on the spot, age laws be damned. She beamed at him, looping her arm through his.

“You boys clean up very nicely, as well,” she complimented. “Now come, Harry looks quite eager to find his own date.”

The thought of seeing Cedric had Harry rocking on the balls of his feet, and Neville chuckled, escorting Luna back down the corridor to the stairs.

He and Cedric had agreed to meet in the secret corridor between the entrance hall and the Hufflepuff common room, to avoid prying eyes until they had to enter the ball together. As such, Harry parted ways with Neville and Luna, promising to see them inside before he ducked behind the tapestry that would lead him to Cedric. He sent a ball of light overhead, and when it caught the figure waiting further down the corridor for him, he almost tripped over his own feet.

Cedric’s dress robes were jet black, with a silky yellow-gold trim and lining, matching his tie of the same colour. They fit tight across his broad chest and shoulders, flattering his frame, and when he stepped forward the light hit his face just so, highlighting his strong jaw, the faint gold powder on his lids and cheeks, his hair only just falling into his eyes. Eyes that were fixed on Harry, with a dumbstruck expression that was probably very similar to Harry’s own.

“Green is still very much your colour,” Cedric said eventually, making Harry grin.

“And you’d look good in anything, but black and yellow still suits you best,” he returned. “I love the make-up.” Unable to help himself, he smoothed a hand over Cedric’s chest, feeling the soft fabric over hard muscle. “I’m the luckiest person in Hogwarts tonight,” he declared softly.

“I’ll fight you for the title,” came Cedric’s playful return, eyes sparkling.

“How about we just share it and make everyone else in there jealous,” Harry suggested with a smirk. Cedric laughed, arms looping around Harry’s waist to pull him in for a kiss.

“Works for me. Or we could stay in here all night and admire each other in private.”

Though Harry knew the words didn’t mean that, his brain went immediately southwards, arousal flaring in his gut at just how much he’d like to admire Cedric in private. “No, with you looking this good it’d be a crime to keep it to myself,” he reasoned. “If only to brag about how I’m the one that gets to keep you.”

“Still a Slytherin,” Cedric laughed. Harry winked.

“Always, my dear,” he hissed in reply. Reaching up to straighten Cedric’s collar fondly, he pushed up on his toes to kiss the older boy. “Shall we go? McGonagall will be looking for us.” So far, she was the only person — other than Neville and Luna, of course — who knew the two champions were going together.

Reluctantly keeping his hands to himself, Harry walked with Cedric out of the passage to the entrance hall, seeing the other champions waiting by the antechamber while students filed in through the main doors. Fleur was the only one with company — a seventh year Ravenclaw Harry recognised as Roger Davies, who seemed quite pleased with himself for acquiring a part-Veela champion as a date. Viktor, on the other hand, was stood alone. He nodded to them both when they arrived. “Are you meeting your dates here also?” he asked, his eyes flicking to the main staircase. Harry and Cedric shared a look.

“Something like that,” Harry replied evasively. He hadn’t heard anything about who the Bulgarian seeker was going with. Perhaps another Durmstrang student, or maybe someone from Beauxbatons? Surely a Hogwarts girl would have made the gossip mill by now.

Harry watched the couples enter the hall with a soft smile on his face — gods, they were all so young. He wondered how many sobbing teenagers and blistered feet and amorous encounters would happen throughout the night. There weren’t enough teachers in the whole school to patrol every part of the castle that could be used for a private rendezvous. And the wards would only alert the founders if something non-consensual was going on. He really hoped they wouldn’t have to deal with that tonight.

Abruptly, Viktor straightened up, taking a step towards the stairs. Harry turned, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline at the sight of the girl approaching. Dressed in a floaty periwinkle blue dress that made her brown skin look even darker, her bushy hair now silky and arranged in an intricate up-do, was Hermione Granger.

She had a shy smile at her pink-painted lips as she took the last few steps, clearly a little unsteady on her high heels. Viktor strode forward to meet her, offering an arm with a low bow and murmuring something Harry couldn’t hear, but made Hermione blush. Cedric let out a low whistle. “Well, that’s unexpected. Good for her,” he breathed in Harry’s ear. Harry hummed in agreement — their friendship might be fraught right now, but he still liked Hermione, and he was glad she hadn’t waited around in the hopes of Ron asking her. Especially when her other option was an internationally famous quidditch player and Triwizard champion.

As Viktor led her back to where the champions were waiting, her eyes darted between Harry and Cedric, before lighting up triumphantly. “I knew it!” she hissed when she reached Harry, smirking. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes; it’s nice that one of us isn’t surprised by the other’s date,” he replied pointedly, gaze flickering to the Bulgarian wizard. Hermione’s blush brightened.

“He’s been spending a lot of time in the library. We got chatting.” Her tone was defensive. Harry grinned.

“Looks like you did a bit more than chat with him,” he returned with a wink. She slapped him lightly on the shoulder.

“Don’t start, Harry James Potter,” she hissed. “Or I’ll start asking exactly what you and Cedric were doing while you studied together for the tournament.”

Harry’s grin widened, his face utterly unrepentant. “Oh, snogging, definitely,” he declared, laughing when Hermione spluttered. She was saved having to find a response by McGonagall approaching, her eyes trailing over each champion and their partner. They lingered a little on Harry’s shoulder pressed lightly against Cedric’s, and Harry could’ve sworn her face softened a fraction.

“Wonderful, you’re all here. Line up, it’s time.”

Fleur looked about to argue, until she saw Harry offer his arm and Cedric accept it. Her jaw dropped a little, and Roger Davies let out a soft ‘blimey’. Harry ignored the reaction, walking with Cedric to line up outside the door to the Great Hall. The pair of Hogwarts champions went last — the biggest impact.

“You ready?” Cedric whispered to him, and Harry grinned, darting up to press a quick kiss to the handsome boy’s cheek.

“Let’s do this.” Anticipation thrummed through his veins as McGonagall opened the doors with a spell, and then he was utterly calm, his shoulders proud and his head held high as he walked into the great hall on Cedric’s arm.

The hall was even more decorated than it had been at lunch — the house tables had been replaced with smaller round tables, each one with an ice sculpture in the centre. Lights twinkled all around, glinting off the tinsel on the multiple trees and the silver and blue ribbons on the walls and ceiling, stars twinkling overhead. It was a true winter wonderland. And everyone in the room was staring at Harry.

That’s what it felt like, anyway. As the champions walked in, a wave of whispers overtook the crowd.

“Is that Hermione Granger? With Krum?”

“Fleur is so pretty, why is she with Davies of all people?”

“Did Potter and Diggory come together?”

That last one seemed to make the rounds more than any others, though that could’ve been just because Harry was paying closer attention to it. He heard multiple people express shock — and a few angry — that the two champions were together. He felt Cedric’s arm tighten on his own. Neither of them looked into the crowd, keeping their eyes ahead until they reached their spot on the dance floor, then turned to face each other. Looking into Cedric’s grey eyes, Harry couldn’t help but relax the tension in his jaw, taking up proper hold position. Cedric, as the taller of the two, was the one leading — something that had taken both of them some time to get used to.

The music began, and the pair started to move. It was easy to get lost in the rhythm of the dance and the feel of Cedric in his arms, focusing just on not making a fool of himself rather than what people might say. For all his cockiness beforehand about making people jealous and showing Cedric off, he was more anxious than he cared to admit about the reaction of the school. Despite having been told several times that it wasn’t uncommon in wizarding society these days, there were no out same-sex couples at Hogwarts that he knew of — certainly none as high-profile as him and Cedric. And while the wards had already blocked Rita Skeeter from sneaking in using her unregistered animagus form — information Harry would be keeping to himself just in case he ever needed it — he knew the news of his relationship would be all over the papers by New Year’s Day. People wouldn’t keep their mouths shut.

It was all worth it, though, to hold Cedric in his arms and spin him around the dance floor, bowing to each other when the music finished. “Was that so terrible it shan’t be repeated?” Cedric murmured as they left the dance floor to take their seats at the champions’ table. Harry smirked.

“I think I could be persuaded into a few more,” he acquiesced. Just the same as they had once been — Cedric loved to dance, and Harry loved making Cedric happy. Some things never changed.

There was an awkward moment when the two empty spaces intended for Cedric and Harry to bring separate dates had to be vanished and the table readjusted, but soon the pair were seated between Percy Weasley — standing in for Barty Crouch, information that Harry filed away for later use — and Fleur Delacour.

Dumbledore gave a speech to properly open the ball, and as food began to appear on tables at the request of the diner, Harry’s skin crawled with the feeling of eyes on him. Just because he was used to it, didn’t mean he could ignore it.

Cedric leaned in to kiss his cheek, and a new wave of whispers set off around the room. Harry huffed — it was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

Dinner was only mildly excruciating, with Harry attempting to weasel information about Crouch out of Percy while pretending to be interested in the man’s job and promotion. On their other side, Fleur had Roger hanging on her every word as she described how much better Beauxbatons was at Christmas, and Cedric used the opportunity to learn a little more about the foreign school and the other ways it differed to Hogwarts.

When the plates had been cleared and the conversation picked up, Dumbledore made a gesture that had the music getting louder. He offered a hand to Madame Maxime, and the pair of them stepped out onto the dance floor.

That seemed to be the cue for several other pairs who had been waiting to dance, and soon the floor was full of spinning couples. Harry could see Neville and Luna in the mix, neither putting a foot out of step, gazing adoringly at each other the whole time. God, they were cute.

He leaned back in his chair, slinging a possessive arm over the back of Cedric’s chair as Fleur’s Veela allure began to drift towards them. Cedric didn’t even blink, shifting to lean against the arm and carrying on his conversation, smiling when Harry’s fingers began to play with the hair curling over the back of his collar.

Across the table, Hermione and Viktor seemed in their own little world, Hermione trying to teach Viktor how to properly pronounce her name. She looked up, catching Harry’s gaze, and offered a half-smile. “So how long has this been going on then?” she asked with a gesture to Harry and Cedric, her meaning clear. Harry shrugged, still fiddling with Cedric’s hair.

“A while,” he replied vaguely, the understatement making him smirk to himself. “And this?” His nod in return made Hermione blush.

“Just a few weeks.”

“I hope you’re prepared, Viktor,” Harry remarked, earning a raised eyebrow from the Durmstrang boy. “Hermione’s the most capable witch in our year. I’d hate to see what she’d do if you upset her — it’d probably be detrimental to your quidditch career.”

Instead of feeling threatened, Viktor barked out a laugh. “I do not doubt that,” he agreed. “But do not vorry, I haff no plans to upset Hermy-own.”

“Glad to hear it.” Harry turned when Cedric brushed a kiss against his cheek.

“Fancy a dance, my love?” the Hufflepuff murmured quietly. Tingles shot down Harry’s spine.

“Oh, I suppose,” he said with a theatrical sigh. “Just because you’re pretty.” He got to his feet, taking Cedric’s hand in his. “Hermione, Viktor, we’ll catch you later,” he bid the couple, letting Cedric lead the way.

As they danced, Harry couldn’t help but tune into the whispers that were so close.

“What does Diggory see in Potter? He could have anyone!”

“I didn’t know Potter was even bent.”

“I bet they’re just faking for attention. Or trying to prove they’re in this tournament together or whatever.” That last one made Harry snort, and a glance at Cedric confirmed the Hufflepuff had heard it too.

“Think we should prove we’re not doing this for school pride?” Harry teased. Cedric rolled his eyes, kissing him solidly.

“Stop caring about other people and dance with me,” he urged, ignoring the mini-explosion that his bold move had set off amongst the gossipers. “You look divine and I want to make the most of it.”

“I’ll happily dress up for you any time you wish it,” Harry assured, before winking devilishly. “Or undress for you, if you’d prefer.”

Cedric’s cheeks flushed bright pink, and he purposefully stepped on Harry’s foot. “You little minx,” he muttered, scowling when Harry chuckled.

The song ended, and Harry felt a tap on his shoulder, familiar magic reaching out to stop him from startling. Luna stood behind him with Neville at her shoulder, and she beamed at him. “Mind if I steal your boyfriend for the next one?” she asked, already reaching for Cedric’s hand. Harry shrugged.

“I suppose I can trust you with him,” he teased. “But I’ll steal yours as ransom.”

“Do I not get a say in that?” Neville grumbled, but he obligingly took Harry in hold when the next song began. It was much less intimate than dancing with Cedric, for obvious reasons, but Harry and Neville still had enough memories to know each other inside out and easily stay in step. “How’s it been?” Neville asked.

“Not terrible. No one’s said anything to our faces,” Harry replied. “But they could just be scared to. We’ll see how things go.” He rolled his eyes when Neville spun him out of hold, before reeling him back in. “You two having fun?”

“Yeah, it’s been great! Ron’s sulking already, by the way. We were at a table with him — between Hermione with Krum, you with Cedric, and Ginny being all lovey-dovey with Michael Corner, he’s about ready to explode. Or Padma will hex him; I don’t think he’s said two words to her since they got here.”

“And he wonders why none of the girls wanted to go with him,” Harry muttered derisively. It was a shame, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. “With any luck, he’ll take his sulking up to the dorm so he doesn’t ruin anyone’s night. I can’t tell what would be worse; him picking a fight with Corner, or Hermione.”

“Definitely Hermione.”

They switched once more when the song ended, Harry with Luna and Cedric somewhat awkwardly with Neville, very much used to the height difference being reversed.

“You look happy,” Luna commented, sounding fond. Harry grinned, tearing his eyes away from the way the twinkling lights glanced off Cedric’s honey-brown hair.

“I am happy,” he promised. “Ced and I don’t have to pretend to barely know each other anymore. The castle feels good. And I can’t remember the last time I got to just let loose and enjoy things like this.” Certainly not in Harry’s lifetime. “How about you, sister dear?”

“I think the older Ravenclaws are jealous of how handsome my date is,” Luna replied impishly. “I heard a couple of them talking to some Gryffindor girls about how they didn’t realise Neville had grown up.”

It was true, Harry realised — it had happened so slowly it was easy to miss, but take him out of his school robes and put him in dress robes and it became abundantly clear how much puberty had hit Neville this year. He wasn’t sure if it was Godric’s influence or just the natural way of things, but it was now becoming very clear that he was going to grow up to be a very attractive man.

“Well, if they start trying to take it out on you, don’t leave evidence of your retaliation,” he warned half-seriously. Luna had told him about how she used to be bullied by the older girls in her house, but Rowena’s memories gave her the confidence to start fighting back — discreetly, of course.

Finally the song ended and their partners returned, the four of them heading off the floor to rest for a bit. Cedric’s hand settled on Harry’s hip, and he leaned in close. “I’m gonna go get us drinks,” he murmured. Harry turned his head to capture his lips gently.

“Okay, we’ll wait here.” Cedric grinned, then disappeared into the crowd. Harry sank into a chair at a nearby empty table, rolling his shoulders back.

“I’ve heard they’ve got the Weird Sisters booked for the second half of the ball,” Neville remarked, claiming a chair beside Harry. Instead of sitting in the next chair, Luna perched on his knee, his arm coming around her waist. “So we won’t have to deal with the stuffy music much longer.”

“That’s good.” Harry was even less familiar with how to dance to music like the Weird Sisters, but at least there was no real wrong way to do that. For once in his life he wanted to loosen up and have fun like any other teenager.

Looking onto the dance floor he saw Padma Patil spin past with an unfamiliar older boy, and he looked around, eventually seeing Ron sat off by himself in a corner, looking like someone had just killed his kneazle.

“Hey, Potter!” Harry glanced up, seeing a quartet of Hufflepuffs in his own year approaching. “What are you and Cedric playing at?” The question came from Ernie MacMillan, and Harry stared the boy down unflinchingly.

“We’re not playing at anything,” he replied. “I asked him to the ball, he said yes, we’re here. Or did you want the more intimate details of our relationship?”

“He said yes? To you?” came rather boldly from Susan Bones. “No offense,” she added belatedly. Harry snorted.

“I’ll try not to take any. But yes, he did. Problem with that?”

“If this is some sort of trick to get one over him in the tournament,” Justin Finch-Fletchley started, hand on his wand threateningly.

“In case you hadn’t realised, I don’t give a shit about this tournament other than staying alive through it,” Harry retorted a little sharper than intended. “I asked Cedric because I like him a lot, and I want to date him. Now I ask again, do you have a problem with that?”

Susan Bones met his gaze pointedly, but he didn’t look away, his green eyes flat until she gave in. “Hufflepuffs look after our own,” she warned him. “If you’re messing with him…”

“For Merlin’s sake,” Cedric cut in, returning with four drinks hovering in the air behind him. He set them on the table, pushing through the gathered badgers to take the chair next to Harry, pulling it close enough to press their thighs together. “We’re barely an hour in, could you please stop trying to scare my boyfriend away?”

The b-word made the Hufflepuffs blink, looking between Harry and Cedric like they were completely re-evaluating the whole relationship. “This isn’t a trick, or a scheme, or anything else,” Cedric promised. “‘Puff’s honour. Harry’s here with me because I fancy him and I thought he’d look fit in dress robes. Which I was right about.”

“Eye candy, am I, pretty-boy?” Harry teased, resting a hand on Cedric’s knee. “I see how it is.”

Cedric smoothed Harry’s ruffled hair down, giving him an affectionate pat to the cheek and a kiss. “Stick to your strengths, darling.”

“Ugh, okay, we get it,” Ernie muttered, while Hannah Abbott made fake gagging motions over his shoulder. “You can stop now, before I throw up.”

“Oh, this is nothing,” Neville chirped brightly. “You should see them when they really get going. They’re sickening.”

“You’re just jealous,” Harry accused, snorting when Neville tightened his arm around Luna, using his other hand to flip Harry off.

“If anyone else wants to come threaten Harry on my behalf, tell them it’s very sweet but not to bother,” Cedric told his housemates, taking Harry’s hand in his own. “It’s none of their business who I date, and it’s got absolutely nothing to do with the tournament.”

The four mumbled their apologies and disappeared into the crowd, and Cedric let out a long-suffering sigh, dropping his head onto Harry’s shoulder. “Merlin save me from nosy teenagers,” he muttered. Harry laughed, running a soothing hand through Cedric’s hair, careful not to mess it up too much.

“It’s sweet,” he insisted. “Being threatened by Hufflepuffs. Adorable.” Cedric jabbed him in the thigh, his gaze daring him to say anything about how adorable Hufflepuffs were. Harry merely laughed harder.

They sipped their drinks and watched the crowd, pretending to ignore the many glances sent their way in return. When the announcement was made that the Weird Sisters would be on after the next song, Harry set his empty glass down, kissing Cedric’s temple. “One more dance before the music changes?” he offered. The tall boy nodded, getting to his feet. Neville and Luna followed.

When they reached the edge of the dance floor, Harry paused. About fifteen feet away, Professor McGonagall stood chatting to Professor Sprout, close to the edge of the mass of dancing students. An idea sparked in Harry’s mind, and he smirked to himself, nudging his partner. He gestured towards the two teachers — Cedric caught on after a few seconds. He laughed, but nodded. “Yeah, alright then.”

The pair changed course, making a bee-line for their housemistresses. When they reached them, both boys stood side by side and offered identical bows. “May we have this dance, professors?” Cedric asked with his best charming smile, offering a hand to Professor Sprout while Harry held his own out to McGonagall. The two women stared at the students, then turned to each other. Sprout giggled in a way that had Harry wondering what was in her goblet.

“Go on, then,” she agreed, taking Cedric’s hand. It took a beat longer for McGonagall to accept Harry’s offer. He led his housemistress out onto the dance floor, keeping a respectable distance between them as they went into hold.

“The pair of you have rather caused a stir,” McGonagall remarked briskly. Harry snorted.

“We didn’t exactly mean to.”

“I don’t believe that for a second, Potter,” she replied with a knowing look. “You’re certainly demonstrating your Gryffindor bravery, though. And his Hufflepuff loyalty. It’s plain to see he cares a lot about you already.”

“I feel the same,” Harry said. “Cedric is… special.” If only she knew just how special.

“Aye — the last time I saw a Potter look the way you do at him is when your father would look at your mother,” McGonagall remarked, the words startling Harry so much he almost missed his step. “I’m glad to see the tournament isn’t creating issues for the two of you. I’d hate for that to cause a rift.”

“Cedric knows I don’t want to be part of it all. He just wants me to be safe. We’re not competing against each other — regardless of what the Goblet says, we both compete for Hogwarts.”

“Good. You remember that. Don’t you dare try and lift me, Harry James Potter,” she added in a soft warning voice when the song approached a crescendo. Harry laughed.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Professor,” he returned cheekily. The song came to an end, and the band set down their instruments. Harry bowed over McGonagall’s hand. “Thank you for the honour of dancing with me.”

“Don’t think that being charming will get you out of any of the trouble I know you to be capable of,” she retorted, though Harry was sure she sounded at least a little bit fond. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cedric escorting Sprout towards them, and the Herbology professor took Cedric’s hand and tucked it into Harry’s with a pat, beaming at them.

“Thank you for the lovely interruption, boys,” she enthused. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.” As they moved away, Harry could’ve sworn he heard her remark ‘ah, young love’, but he didn’t quite hear McGonagall’s response.

They could tell when the Weird Sisters arrived, because the crowd of students immediately erupted into screams and cheers. The atmosphere changed in the blink of an eye — no longer was it a stuffy, formal ball, but instead a private concert, groups of teens shoving up as close to the stage as possible. The music started up with a loud guitar riff, and Harry yelped when Cedric tightened his grip on his hand and pulled him into the fray. “I love the Weird Sisters!” he yelled into Harry’s ear, his chest pressed against Harry’s back as they danced. Harry grinned, letting the beat roll through him as he tried to match Cedric’s movements, not caring about the students crushing him in at all sides. The music was good, he’d give them that.

At some point Luna and Neville joined them, and Harry could see plenty of other familiar faces in the crowd; Draco and Pansy and some other Slytherins, Dean and Seamus with Lavender and a Ravenclaw girl, some of Cedric’s Hufflepuff friends nearby, and even Hermione with Viktor and a bunch of other Durmstrang students, a beaming smile on her face as Viktor spun her around and danced somewhat awkwardly at her side. Best seeker of the modern age he may be, but he was not particularly graceful with two feet on the ground.

He lost track of how many songs they danced for, his muscles beginning to burn and his cheeks sore from grinning, Cedric never moving more than a few inches away. People seemed to finally be getting the picture that the two of them had come together together, rather than just as a show of solidarity — any girl who sidled up to either champion was promptly redirected elsewhere, and the two boys were not shy about showing affection. As far as Harry was concerned, he had nothing to be ashamed of and no reason to hide how he felt, not anymore.

When his throat became dry and his legs a little sore, he tugged Cedric out of the crowd in search of more drinks. Before they could get completely clear, however, two pairs of arms grabbed them by the shoulders. “Not so fast, lovebirds,” the twins said in unison, directing the pair towards an empty table. Harry groaned.

“Really? Do we have to do this now?”

“We could’ve done it another time if our dearest, darlingest baby brother had told us—” Fred started.

“About his buff older boy-toy,” George finished, folding his arms and giving Cedric an appraising look. “We’ve known you for a long while now, Diggory—”

“And you’re not a bad sort—”

“Being a badger and all—”

“But as Harry’s big brothers, it’s our job to make sure—”

“That he’s being treated properly by anyone who might want to get close to him.”

“And with him being him, you understand why we have to be so careful. Don’t you, old boy?” Fred finished, his eyes daring Cedric to argue. Cedric sighed.

“I suppose I should’ve expected this,” he muttered ruefully.

“It’s really not necessary,” Harry insisted quietly, and was completely ignored.

“So we ask you, oh esteemed Hogwarts champion,” George resumed, “what are your intentions with our Harrikins?”

“Entirely noble, I assure you. Well,” Cedric added, eyes running over Harry’s form with poorly-hidden desire. “Mostly noble. I’m only human.” The twins snickered, and Harry blushed. “But I promise I’ll try my best not to hurt him. I care about Harry, a lot.”

Merlin, this would be so much easier a year or two down the line when their relationship was old news and it wouldn’t be considered weird for Harry to declare love without hesitation.

“Good. And Harry?” Fred said, meeting Harry’s gaze with surprisingly serious blue eyes. “If he ever does anything you don’t want, you come straight to us, alright? He might be the pride and joy of Hufflepuff House, but we’ve got plenty of tricks up our sleeves.” He winked, giving Cedric a threatening glare. The Hufflepuff held up his hands.

“Believe me, I know better than to get on your bad side,” he assured. “Or Harry’s. He’s in control in this relationship.”

“Ooh, kinky,” George murmured under his breath. Harry kicked him in the shin.

“Will you two piss off and stop threatening my boyfriend?” he muttered in annoyance. “I can look after myself.”

“You’re family, Harrykins. You don’t have to,” Fred insisted. Harry refused to acknowledge the warmth in his chest that flared at those words. “But fine, we’ll leave you two to canoodle in peace. Just be safe, use protection, and watch out for Snape — I heard he’s patrolling looking for couples trying to get some alone time.” Both Harry and Cedric turned bright red, and the twins cackled.

“Our dates await,” George declared. “Have a fun night, boys! And remember, Diggory—”

“We’re watching you,” they warned in unison, their eyes creepily intense as they bored into Cedric’s. They disappeared into the crowd, and after a beat of silence, Cedric huffed out a laugh.

“It’s official, then. My house have threatened you, yours have threatened me — we’re a proper couple now,” he teased, taking a sip of his water. Harry groaned, leaning into Cedric’s chest, the older boy’s arm tucked around his shoulders. People were still staring at them, giggling with their friends and whispering. He was having fun, but he was a little sick of it already.

“I’d say don’t worry about the twins, but you should always worry about the twins,” he joked.

“Don’t I know it,” Cedric mused wryly. “We used to play together as kids, way before Hogwarts. I’ve learnt my lesson about letting my guard down around them.”

“You’ll be fine as long as you don’t break my heart, though.” Harry’s words were playful, but Cedric met his gaze entirely serious.

“Never,” he vowed, tilting his head to kiss Harry. Unable to help himself, Harry deepened the kiss, one hand moving up to Cedric’s jaw.

“Mr Potter, Mr Diggory.” The pair jumped apart, going bright red as Professor McGonagall stared down at them, unimpressed. “Might I remind you that you are in public, and mistletoe is no excuse for that sort of behaviour.” Harry glanced up, realising for the first time that he and Cedric were under a sprig of white berries.

“Sorry, Professor. Won’t happen again,” he assured, face burning with embarrassment. McGonagall nodded sharply.

“See that it doesn’t, gentlemen.” She swept away, going to yell at Cormac McLaggen before he could spike the punch bowl.

“Whoops,” Harry muttered sheepishly. Cedric snorted. He got to his feet, tugging on Harry’s hand.

“Come on, let’s go for a walk.”

“But the band…” Harry trailed off as Cedric shook his head.

“Will be playing ’til midnight. I could do with some fresh air.”

The courtyard had been turned into a rose garden, and Harry smiled as fairies flitted from bush to bush, leaving trails of sparkling light that faded after a few moments. Arm around Cedric’s waist, he leaned into the taller boy’s side. “I’m so glad you agreed to come with me,” he sighed. “It would’ve been hell doing this with anyone else.”

“As if I’d let anyone else stand by your side at something like this,” Cedric returned, squeezing Harry gently. There were other students around them, sat on benches or strolling hand-in-hand, but none of them paid the other any mind, all caught up in their own private worlds. “I’m glad too, though. Tonight has been fun. I wish Hogwarts did events like this more often.”

“When we’re back where we belong, maybe we can introduce something,” Harry suggested softly. “It’ll be peacetime. The students would love a chance to dress up and have fun.”

“That sounds perfect.” Cedric’s voice was wistful. Harry let him imagine what it might be like; the four of them running the school again, getting it back to what it once was, teaching classes and watching the children blossom into capable young adults to go and take the wizarding world by storm. Harry couldn’t wait. “I think I’ll get my healer’s qualification before I come back to teach,” Cedric mused. “Maybe a Charms mastery. It’s going to be a while before Luna graduates, and I’ll need some worldly experience in this life.”

Harry felt a pang in his heart at the prospect of being separate from Cedric for even a little while, though he knew it was inevitable. “I want to get a mastery, too — I was thinking perhaps Spellcrafting. I know plenty will expect me to get one in Defence, but…” He was good at the subject, but it just didn’t spark the same joy that working with raw magic did. “I could always get a History one. Take over from Binns.” The ghost had to go.

Cedric snorted. “As if. You’d go spare,” he pointed out, rolling his eyes. “I think Spellcrafting sounds like a great idea. Get your mastery, maybe we could travel a bit, I’ll get my healer training and look into a Charms apprenticeship. Then I’ll take over from Flitwick, and you can start up a new Theory class, or even take Arithmancy. Hell, they’d probably let you teach anything, especially if McGonagall’s headmistress by then.”

“We’ll see what happens when Dumbledore’s out.” Harry didn’t want to plan too far ahead — their plans needed to be flexible, so they could get in as quickly as possible. “But… travelling sounds nice. I’ve never left Britain.” Of course he had memories of all sorts of places from Salazar, but he was sure the world had changed drastically in a thousand years. It would be nice to make more memories.

“We can go anywhere you want, love,” Cedric promised, a little breathless. Looking around to check no teachers were nearby, Harry arched up, pulling Cedric down and quite happily resuming the kiss McGonagall had interrupted. Cedric groaned low in his throat, his chest pressing against Harry’s  and his hand sliding to the small of Harry’s back, the other in his hair. Harry wished there were a wall nearby, or a chair; anything but the blasted rosebushes. He needed more. His mouth trailed a hot path down Cedric’s jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin of his throat and smirking against him when Cedric let out the tiniest whine. He loosened the older boy’s tie to get better access, leaving dark purple marks on his tanned skin. He was hard, and so was Cedric, pressing urgently against the crease of his hip. Harry’s blood felt like fire as he held Cedric closer, lips colliding once more, tongues twining fiercely.

A loud screech broke them apart, and they panted, staring at each other with lust-blown eyes as in the background Snape took twenty points from Ravenclaw for a couple canoodling in the bushes. Harry suddenly realised how exposed they were, and how easily they could’ve been caught.

“Let’s… let’s go back inside. Save that for later,” Cedric suggested hoarsely. It was on the tip of Harry’s tongue to suggest they skip the rest of the ball entirely and go continue what they were doing in the Room, but he held the thought — Cedric liked the band, and it was a fun night, and they would have time later to be alone.

“Yeah, let’s go find Nev and Luna,” he agreed. Taking a minute to compose themselves — and a few spells to make their hair look presentable again — the pair headed back into the hall. In the entrance hall, they skirted around a blazing row between Ron and Hermione, tears glistening in Hermione’s eyes.

“Blimey,” Cedric muttered. Harry sighed.

“Saw that one coming. He’s been sulking all night about her going with Viktor.” He’d managed to avoid Ron, thankfully. He was surprised the redhead hadn’t bailed out earlier, with how unenthusiastic he’d seemed about the whole thing. He hoped Hermione’s night wasn’t completely ruined.

The volume turned way up as soon as they stepped into the hall, and it was easy to find Luna’s bright blonde hair in the throng of people dancing. Harry and Cedric made their way over, joining in as Neville and Luna kept dancing, and the pair grinned at them in welcome. Neville took one look at Harry’s face and laughed. “You two are so predictable!” he yelled over the noise. Harry blushed.

A couple of songs later, the lead singer stepped up to the microphone. “Time to cool it down with a slow one, folks.” The tempo changed, and there was a shuffle as people split off into pairs, wrapping arms around each others’ hips and shoulders and doing the somewhat awkward teenage slowdance-shuffle-in-a-circle. Harry looped his arms around Cedric’s shoulders, leaning into his boyfriend’s embrace.

He let his head fall to Cedric’s shoulder, holding him close as they danced, the singer crooning out what was definitely a love song. His eyes fell half-shut, a small, blissful smile on his face. The tournament might be putting him through hell, but he was grateful this night came out of it — one night to be a normal(ish) teenage boy, having fun with his boyfriend and his friends. He wished he had a camera to capture the memory.

.-.

A little before midnight, the party began to wind down, most students headed off to bed — or at least to be alone somewhere. Harry and Cedric were sat at an empty table, leaning against each other, watching Neville and Luna dance to the last song of the night. “D’you think we can get away with staying in the Room tonight?” Cedric asked quietly, stroking his thumb over Harry’s. Harry sighed.

“Probably not. After all the fuss we’ve caused, people will noticed if we’re not in our beds come morning. I don’t want people saying anything untoward about you.” The fact of the matter was, Harry was still underage, and they didn’t want to get into any trouble. “But we can probably spend an hour or two up there.”

“We’re going to head up,” Neville declared, Luna’s hand in his. “I’ll walk Luna back to Ravenclaw. What are your plans?”

“Room for a bit, then back to the dorms,” Harry answered, dragging himself to his feet with a groan. “Will you cover for me if anyone asks?”

“Sure. Don’t stay out too late, mind,” Neville teased with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Cedric huffed, shoving the boy gently.

“Don’t tell us what to do in our own castle,” he joked in reply. “Goodnight, you two. We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Sleep well,” Luna replied, kissing both Harry and Cedric on the cheek before walking out of the hall at Neville’s side. Harry pulled Cedric to his feet, the pair doing the same at a leisurely pace.

The first thing Harry did upon entering the Room of Requirement was undo the clasp of his dress robes, letting them pool on the floor. That left him in just a shirt, tie and trousers, and he kicked off his shoes as well. “Gods, that’s better.” The robe had been sweltering in that crush of dancing people.

Cedric’s gaze trailed over him, and the Hufflepuff mimicked his movements, leaving his robe and shoes next to Harry’s. Then he tugged his tie off and undid the top two buttons of his shirt, revealing the hickeys Harry had left there earlier. The Gryffindor smirked — then his gaze was derailed entirely by Cedric unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves, revealing muscular forearms. Harry dropped onto the sofa, reaching out with grabby-hands for his boyfriend. Instead of sitting down beside him, Cedric moved to stand in front of Harry, and the black-haired boy leant his forehead on Cedric’s stomach, sighing contentedly when Cedric’s hand found his hair and began stroking. “Thanks for an amazing night, love,” Cedric murmured. Harry hummed.

“You too,” he replied drowsily. “Way better than I thought it would be.”

Eventually he tugged Cedric down, cuddling him close. “Well, we’re out now. Give it a couple days, the papers will all know,” he remarked, lips curling briefly in distaste. One day they’d get sick of nosing into his private life. Or he’d sue. One or the other.

“Just means I can ravish you in the hallways between classes,” Cedric replied delightedly. Harry laughed, kissing him.

“Any time you like,” he agreed. “Until we get detention for it. And then maybe just a bit more.” Cedric’s shirt was coming untucked from his belt, and Harry helped it along the way, running his hands beneath the fabric and up Cedric’s strong back. The boy arched into the touch, sighing softly.

They were both too tired to be particularly involved, but they were still teenagers, and Harry had spent most of the night with a low-level hard-on from the way Cedric looked in his dress robes. Though he was of the mind that his boyfriend looked even better now, relaxed and dishevelled and utterly Harry’s.

“I hate that you look this edible and I’m too damn exhausted to take advantage of it,” he muttered, making Cedric blush.

“Maybe another day,” he remarked lightly. “When we’ve both got more energy. I’m keeping the dress robes, there will be other occasions.”

“Holding you to that,” Harry smirked. “Wanna snog like teenagers for a bit before we go back to our dorms and probably jack off in the privacy of our own beds?”

Cheeks flushing red, Cedric looked at him amusedly. “Harry, we are teenagers.”

“Exactly,” Harry purred, yanking Cedric down. Cedric’s laugh quickly became a moan as the kiss deepened, shifting so they were both more comfortable sprawled out on the wide sofa, Cedric’s body covering Harry’s.

When they finally went to bed forty minutes later, it was to do exactly what Harry had predicted. His sixteenth birthday felt so far away.

Chapter Text

After any large gathering of teenagers there’s bound to be a flood of gossip, and the Yule Ball was no exception. Harry and Cedric could barely make it through breakfast the day after the ball, they were getting so many questions and looks and whispers. It bemused Harry — all the crying people, the screaming fits, the cheating partners and date-swapping and Snape catching two Gryffindors and a Ravenclaw together in a broom cupboard, and his comparatively chaste evening with Cedric was still the hot gossip?

“I mean, I know we look good together,” Harry remarked as the pair of them walked out of the great hall after lunch, wanting to spend a little time together before afternoon classes. “But really, you’d think they’d never seen two boys kiss before.” He was fairly certain a third year girl had actually fainted when he’d pecked Cedric on the lips when they separated for classes that morning.

“They’ll get over it,” Cedric agreed, slinging his arm over Harry’s shoulders. “When they realise we’re not all that interesting. For heaven’s sake, Jacob Keane is likely to be in the hospital wing for a week after his girlfriend cursed him. Well, ex-girlfriend now, I suppose. People are bound to leech off that one for ages.” The Slytherin fifth year had stupidly tried to sneak away into the rosebushes with a girl who wasn’t his date. His girlfriend — a Ravenclaw seventh year — had needed to be dragged away by Snape before she could render him little more than a stain on the floor.

“Hopefully they’ll at least realise this means I really don’t want to compete with you for the title of Hogwarts champion,” Harry said, sighing. They walked past a group of younger girls, who broke into hushed giggles at the sight of them.

“I do wonder what to tell my friends, though,” Cedric mused. “When they ask how we got together and everything. Can’t exactly explain that we were married in a former life.”

“Just tell them I’ve fancied the pants off of you since last year and we got talking at the Cup, then stayed friends when school started back up and it ended up becoming more. It’s not entirely untrue,” Harry pointed out, leaning up to kiss Cedric’s cheek with a grin. “I have been drooling over you in your quidditch robes for a while now.”

“Mm, shame there’s no games this year for you to see them again. It’ll have to wait until next year,” Cedric teased. Harry’s grin turned wicked.

“Oh, I’m sure I can persuade you to put them on before then,” he murmured, winking. A surprised laugh burst from Cedric’s lips, even as his cheeks flushed pink.

“I don’t doubt it,” he agreed ruefully. He tugged him into a proper kiss, breaking away when a couple of girls nearby screeched and giggled at the movement. A disgruntled frown crossed his face. “Maybe being out isn’t great, if it’s going to be like this the whole time.”

“They’ll get over it,” Harry insisted, echoing Cedric’s earlier words. “And if they’re still doing it by New Year’s I’ll start hexing them.” That was said loud enough for the girls to hear, and they turned bright red. Cedric snickered.

“Always so quick to get your wand out in my honour.” He seemed to realise the double-entendre in his sentence as soon as it left his mouth, his eyes narrowing as Harry’s face lit up in a smirk. “Don’t,” he warned. Harry cackled. The Hufflepuff shook his head in a despairing manner. “You’re fourteen, remember?”

“Age of consent didn’t exist when we first got together,” was Harry’s impish reply. Cedric groaned.

“You’ll be the death of me, Harry James Potter,” he muttered under his breath. Harry’s grin didn’t falter for a second.

.-.-.

True to his word, Harry began hexing anyone who gave him and Cedric more than a sideways glance after January 1^st. Discreetly, of course, so he couldn’t get detention during the holidays, but it was enough that people reluctantly moved on. Rita Skeeter’s Witch Weekly article about them — all hearsay and speculation, as the updated Hogwarts wards hadn’t let her into the castle — had been predictably overdramatic, and Cedric took great pleasure in setting it on fire in the great hall over breakfast the morning it came out.

And so, life moved on at Hogwarts. Hermione seemed to be the new target of the school’s rumour mill; people were beginning to remember that she went to the ball with a literal quidditch star, and that had earned her both scorn and admiration alike. She wasn’t around as much, though Harry knew she’d been run out of the library by Krum fans long ago, and he wondered if she’d taken refuge on the Durmstrang ship. He didn’t blame her — with Ron still bitter about how the ball had gone, Gryffindor tower wasn’t the most welcoming place for her right now.

Harry was conflicted about his friendship with the other two Gryffindors. He still liked them well enough, but he’d never be able to go back to how he’d been before Salazar, when his entire life had revolved around them. He had different people who were his whole world now, and — no offense to Ron and Hermione — had an entire lifetime’s worth of memories to back that up that a pair of teenagers just couldn’t compete with. Also, he didn’t like the side he was seeing of Ron these days. He hoped it was just the boy being bent out of shape over his feelings for Hermione and he’d level out as he matured, but if he didn’t…

Either way, he’d had a chat with the twins about it a couple of days after the ball, and they’d promised him that he was family now and that couldn’t be rescinded, so he was stuck with them regardless of Ron’s feelings on the matter. That suited Harry just fine.

With only a few days left until term resumed, Harry and Cedric turned their attention back to the second task. Having recognised Mermish the second they’d opened their eggs, the two boys met up after curfew one evening, and Cedric led the way with Harry’s hand in his, grinning conspiratorially.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t just do this in the Room,” Harry whispered. “Guaranteed privacy, there.”

“I’ll ward the room, don’t worry. You haven’t seen this part of the castle yet, it’s way better than anything we imagined. Just trust me.” Harry couldn’t say no when Cedric looked at him so earnestly, so he merely rolled his eyes and allowed the older boy to lead him to the fifth floor. “Pine Fresh,” the Hufflepuff declared softly. The door in front of them opened with a click.

Harry didn’t turn to get a good look at where they were until Cedric had securely locked and warded the room. Then, he gaped. The prefects’ bathroom was certainly something. “See?” Cedric murmured, nudging him in the side. “Totally worth the trip.”

“This is ridiculous,” Harry declared, staring incredulously at the swimming pool sized bathtub and the veritable fountain of taps. “It makes absolutely no sense! Unless all the prefects are in here having shared baths or incredibly clean orgies?”

“Not that I know of,” Cedric replied. “Not in Hufflepuff, at least. Who knows what your lot do in here.” He dodged the elbow to the ribs, laughing. “It’s entirely over the top, but it is pretty great. And I’ve heard it’s even better with company.” He reached to turn on a few of the taps, and Harry only barely caught the hesitant look on his face. The Gryffindor eyed the rising water level and its multitude of bubbles in trepidation. They hadn’t bared themselves to each other in these bodies, yet.

When Cedric turned back to him with his usual smile plastered across his features, Harry raised an eyebrow at him. “Are we transfiguring swimwear, or…?” Cedric’s cheeks pinked as the younger boy trailed off expectantly.

“Up to you, I suppose.”

Harry took a deep breath, steeling his reserve. “I don’t need them.” For once, his Gryffindor and Slytherin sides were entirely in agreement — he’d been good long enough, and if Cedric was on board he wanted to move things forward a little.

“Good.” Cedric’s voice had grown husky. “Neither do I.” There was a faint tremor there that Harry only caught after decades of knowing Helga, and he stepped forward, squeezing Cedric’s hand.

“Only if you’re comfortable. Like you said, we’ve got all the time in the world.” Harry had spent a lot of time looking in the mirror the last few months, cataloguing the changes in his body as the nutrient potions worked their magic — and the changes in his body from what Salazar had been. He could only imagine the process was doubly conflicting for Cedric.

“I want to,” Cedric insisted, leaning down for a soft kiss. “I miss feeling your skin on mine.” A thrill of arousal travelled down Harry’s spine, and he arched into the kiss, almost dropping his egg.

“I see how it is, Diggory,” he teased quietly. “Lure me here under the pretence of tournament business, but really you just want to get me naked.” He wiggled his eyebrows, making Cedric laugh.

“You’ve got me,” he confessed. “It was all a ruse.”

Boldly, Harry stepped back, setting his egg down beside the edge of the bath and stripping his t-shirt and jumper off in one go, careful not to choke himself with his badger pendant. He heard a sharp intake of breath from his boyfriend. “Now remember, I’m still growing,” he mock-threatened, refusing to allow his hands to shake. This was Cedric, Helga, his love — there would be no ridicule in those eyes. Indeed, all he could see was love and heat.

“You’re not as scrawny as I thought you’d be,” Cedric blurted. Harry glanced down; his stomach was no longer concave like it had been for most of his life, and there was actual muscle to his chest and arms.

“You should’ve seen me three months ago,” he admitted ruefully, still quietly amazed how far his body had come in such a short time. Pomfrey wanted him on the potions for a full year, and he couldn’t wait to see the final results.

He stepped out of his shoes and moved his hands to the fly of his jeans, seeing Cedric’s eyes zero in on the motion. “Don’t leave me hanging here, Ced,” he pleaded, not quite making the joking tone he was aiming for. Cedric flushed, but obligingly kicked off his shoes and socks, then stripped his t-shirt off. Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from the tanned skin stretched over sculpted muscles and broad shoulders, the golden expanse broken only by the occasional freckle or mole. His boyfriend had abs.

“Well,” Harry said eventually, once the silence had stretched a little too long between them. He coughed, his throat suddenly dry. “That’s certainly a better view than I imagined it to be under those quidditch robes.”

Cedric chuckled, shrugging bashfully, one hand twisting in the snitch bracelet on his wrist. He didn’t wear it all the time, Harry had noticed; just when he felt he needed a boost. He wondered what Cedric had been anticipating when he’d brought Harry here. “It might be the total opposite to what I was before, but… I can’t really complain much. Like I said, I like my body.”

“I like your body, too,” Harry agreed quickly. “I’d like it even better if you got those jeans off.” And before he could think too much on it, he let his own jeans fall off his hips, hitting the tiled floor with a muffled thump. Cedric’s eyes went wide.

“You’re, ah, not wearing any underwear,” he commented. Harry refused to look down at his bare form, his arousal obvious.

“Indeed I am not.” He forced some levity into his voice, winking. “Are you?”

When Cedric’s jeans dropped, they revealed dark green boxers, tented quite prominently. Harry swallowed thickly. Gods, he was going to love getting to know this brand new body of his partner’s.

“Wearing my colours? One might think you planned this,” he drawled, watching Cedric’s cheeks go pink.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, “one might not be too far off the mark.”

Then the green boxers were on the floor too. Harry’s breath caught in his throat. “You’re beautiful,” he said reverently. “Gods, Cedric.” Helga had been softness and curves that fit his hands perfectly. Cedric was long lines and hard muscle, but Harry had no doubt his hands would fit just as well. He glanced to the bath, which was now full and had a thick layer of bright green bubbles across the top of the water. “Shall we?”

He took Cedric’s hand, the pair stepping into the hot water side by side, and only once they were in up to their chests did they embrace, finally feeling skin on skin. Harry hadn’t realised how much he’d missed that feeling.

“How far do you want to go tonight?” he asked breathlessly, one leg wrapped around Cedric’s hips, pressing their cocks together as Cedric’s hand moved to support him. Cedric’s eyes were wild and lust-blown, but he met Harry’s gaze with enough coherency to think of an answer.

“This is good,” he said throatily. “Hands. Hands are good. Anything more might be a bit… much,” he admitted. It probably would have surprised anyone else that Cedric, the older of the pair, was the one setting the boundaries, but Harry knew he had a lot more to work through when it came to this. Sure, he was nervous — Salazar had never had sex with a man, and Harry had never had sex with anyone — but his body was much the same as it always had been, in a vague sense, and he trusted no one more than he trusted Cedric to be taking these steps with him. Salazar had been the more dominant partner in their relationship, both in the bedroom and outside it. It felt only natural to return to these roles now, despite their age difference, when they were still so unfamiliar with each other in these new forms.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” Harry declared, and while they’d both said as much a dozen times or more, now it felt more like a promise than ever.

It was a long time before the pair got around to submerging their eggs in the water.

.-.-.-.

The egg wasn’t the only thing Harry had been putting off until after Christmas — the day before term resumed, he walked into Snape’s office without knocking, earning a sharp glare from the man at his desk. “Potter,” the head of Slytherin spat. Harry smirked. A wave of his wand had privacy wards raising around the room, and Snape’s eyes narrowed. A reminder of who exactly he was dealing with, these days. “What do you want?”

“I take it you’ve accepted who I am, then?” Harry said by way of reply, pulling a chair in front of the desk. “All of who I am?” Snape was possibly the only person in the castle who would have more of a problem with him being Harry Potter than Salazar Slytherin.

The man scowled, but nodded tersely. “As ridiculous as it sounds, I have accepted your words as truth,” he assented. “I can only assume you need something from me that has to do with that.”

“Of a sort,” Harry agreed. He rocked back in his chair, mentally smirking at how much his casual stance was clearly frustrating the potions’ master. He might be the head of Slytherin, but he was still no match for the original snake himself, even in a teenaged body. “You probably haven’t noticed, but the school wards have been refreshed, and are much more powerful than they used to be. I can sense every living creature in this school, plus the ghosts, and I am informed if any dark magic is used or present anywhere within these walls.”

Snape stiffened the barest fraction, and Harry smirked. “You and Headmaster Karkaroff have something in common, don’t you, Professor?” He watched the little colour Snape had drain from his face, the dark eyes flicking to his left forearm for the briefest moments.

“Headmaster Dumbledore is aware,” Snape bit out. Harry scoffed.

“That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence,” he muttered. “Tell me why I shouldn’t throw you out of my castle this second for tying yourself to that filth. The full truth, if you please — I don’t have time for deception.”

Harry wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the tale Snape began to weave was definitely not it. The tale of a teenage boy ostracised from all but his housemates, cast aside by his only childhood friend and lured into the shadows by a man who spoke of knowledge and power and respect. A prophecy, overheard and reported, only to target the wrong person. That teenage boy, now a man, begging for help from a kindly headmaster, selling his soul a second time in his life to repent for the first. His soul not being enough to save his childhood friend.

“There you have it, Potter,” Snape said sharply, looking strung out. His hands were clenched on the edge of his desk, and Harry was sure only the man’s impressive occlumency skills were keeping the emotion from his face. “I am the reason your parents are dead. Punish me how you will.”

Rage bubbled in Harry’s gut, but not directed at the man in front of him. No, Snape was not worth his fury. “Voldemort is the reason my parents are dead,” he insisted, spitting venom with every word. “And believe me, his punishment will come. No, Professor Snape, you are merely the exact type of person I will spend the rest of my life trying to prevent — a child who is judged for a house he had no choice in joining, and whose life is directed and stifled by that choice he didn’t get to make. Slytherin House has suffered horribly under the misconceptions that have become fact since my death, and I am truly sorry you too suffered because of that.”

That seemed to be the last thing Snape expected — all the man’s spying prowess went right out the window as he openly gaped at his student. “I… but had I not told the Dark Lord the prophecy, Lily and James would be alive.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. But if you had been sorted into, say, Ravenclaw, you would not have been forced to the Dark Lord’s side to begin with. If Slytherin House had a reputation worth being proud of — outside of bigoted pureblood arseholes — you wouldn’t have had to offer your life to Albus Dumbledore in penance.” Harry had a lot of things he would love to say to Dumbledore, and he prayed that one day he would get to truly speak his mind. The more he learned, the more he wished the man had never ended up in a position of power, even if he had gained it by defeating Grindelwald.

“Regardless, I owe you a life debt, Mr Potter,” Snape declared solemnly, bowing his head. Harry eyed the man thoughtfully.

“Let me examine that Dark Mark of yours,” he said eventually. Snape looked at him, perplexed. “Let me learn the magic, see if I can tweak it a little. I’ve put a lot of thought into the matter lately — there’s no point in destroying Voldemort if his loyal followers are still free, and able to band together in his name. However, I highly doubt you’re the only person with the mark who has seen the light, so to speak.” His lips quirked wryly. “Ultimately, I would like to use his connection to his followers through the mark to burn the magic out of all those who are loyal to him. There are a few different rituals I have in mind for the job, but I need to know exactly how it’s connected before I can narrow things down.”

Snape stared at him for a long moment. “You want me to play guinea pig for you,” he declared flatly. Harry grinned.

“That’s certainly one way of putting it,” he agreed. “Let me study the mark. Maybe run a few ideas past you. And take me up on my offer of brewing together when we have free time. Do all of that, and we’ll call it even once I manage to wipe that stain off my family tree.”

The last words had Snape’s gaze narrowing, but Harry didn’t flinch. He might need Snape for something else before he could get rid of Voldemort; he wasn’t going to limit his options.

“Deal,” Snape said eventually, and magic sparked between them to seal the exchange. “I don’t exactly have much of a choice in the matter.”

“Oh, you do,” Harry returned. “But this is the best one you could make. If I’m right, the ritual will kill his loyal followers, and remove the mark from the disloyal. If you’re telling me the truth, and you no longer serve him, then you’ll be free — unmarked, unquestionably loyal to the light. Especially if the Boy-Who-Lived himself declares he couldn’t have defeated Voldemort without the help of his Potions’ master,” he added, putting on an innocent voice and wide eyes. Snape’s expression changed, and Harry smirked knowingly. “Your soul will be your own,” he promised. “Dumbledore won’t have anything over you once I’m done. You could leave this castle and never return if you so wished.” Not that he thought Snape would; he could feel people who were connected to Hogwarts in a soul-deep way, who thought of the castle as their home and sanctuary and could never stray too far. Harry had been like that even before Salazar. Snape was one of those people, too. “And between you and me, if I have my way Dumbledore won’t have anything over anyone before long.”

That made a surprisingly vicious smirk tug at the professor’s lips, and he bowed his head in assent. “When do you wish to begin?”

Harry grinned, sitting up properly in his chair. Now he was getting somewhere.

Chapter Text

Once term started and classes resumed, things finally started to return to normal — as close to normal as Harry ever got at Hogwarts these days. The student body seemed to have realised that he and Cedric were a fairly ordinary, boring couple; and he’d long ago given up caring about what the tabloids had to say. Cedric’s Hufflepuff friends had welcomed Harry into the fold, and it was becoming increasingly common to see the sixth year Hufflepuff in the Gryffindor common room, comfortable at Harry’s side.

With a whole month and a bit left before the second task, Harry and Cedric were able to turn their attention to other concerns — horcruxes, and the welfare of the school.

Cedric, with his love of organisation and his bone-deep desire for everyone to be happy in whatever way suited them best, happily threw himself into the task of preparing for the tides to turn as far as the school was concerned. He and Luna had an entire sixteen-point manifesto ready for the second Dumbledore was ousted — a matter Harry assured them he would have well in hand. Until then, it was just about the four of them bridging the gaps between houses as subtly as they could; something Neville was good at, long having been underestimated by just about everyone in the school. He now ran a Herbology study group for third and fourth years of all houses, and even had fifth years coming to him for advice, nervous about their OWLs. He was as patient a teacher as he’d always been, and seemed to thrive on it all.

A few times now, Cedric had complained quietly about Harry taking the bulk of the burden on his own shoulders; usually when he was trying to persuade Harry to put down the books and come cuddle with him for a while. But as far as Harry was concerned, he was only shouldering the parts of the burden that were his to bear — Voldemort was his heir, Slytherin was his house, and the damage to its reputation would take years of work to truly fix, but Harry was the only person who could kickstart the process. He’d learned a few things from his love over the years — he had his own bullet-point plan on how exactly to get things straightened out and on the right path. Slytherin could never be redeemed until Voldemort was dead; but nor could it be redeemed until the truth about its founder was made public knowledge. He had plans to write an exposé on Salazar Slytherin, using the journals from his chamber office as evidence, explaining the truth behind the man’s methods and death. It rankled, having the entire world believe something to vehemently untrue about his past life, something with such terrible consequences.

Those were just the beginning steps of his plan, but they were enough to be getting on with. More than enough, quite honestly, which was why Harry was in a faux detention in Snape’s office rather than snuggled up in the Room of Requirement with his boyfriend.

Snape’s sleeve was unbuttoned, but the Dark Mark was covered; there was only so long Harry could stare at the awful tangle of dark magic before his eyes began to cross.

“I think I’ve got enough information about it to start figuring out the specifics,” Harry declared, shutting his notebook in his lap. “Merlin, it really is terrible, isn’t it? Even at half power like this… he’s a monster for inflicting this on people and calling it a reward.”

“One could argue we brought it upon ourselves,” Snape replied stiffly. Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

“Can you honestly say that by the time you were in a position to earn the mark, if the people who had it had told you how much it hurts all the time, you could have turned around and said no?” came his flat retort. Snape said nothing. “I just have to hope that whatever Crouch is planning isn’t going to happen during the second task; I don’t think I can get a ritual together by then.” He had a little over two weeks left now, and a rushed ritual would lead to sloppy casting, which was something Harry definitely couldn’t afford at this stage.

“Crouch?” Snape asked, baffled. Harry blinked.

“Oh, I forgot to explain that part, didn’t I? Professor Moody is actually Barty Crouch Junior under polyjuice. He’s the one who put my name in the Goblet.”

Snape’s pointed stare could’ve melted a cauldron. “Yes, you neglected to reveal that information, Potter,” he snarled.

“In my defence, it’s better if you didn’t know!” Harry pointed out. “He might get shifty if he thinks you’re onto him. However he’s planning on using the tournament to bring back his master, it’s probably a pretty fine balance to maintain.”

“And of course, if you did anything to warn anyone, it would upset the plan and you may lose your chance,” Snape realised grimly. “Damn it, Potter. Do you realise what this means?”

“Believe me, Snape, I don’t like it any more than you do,” Harry growled. “Letting that bastard strut around my school like he owns the place, casting Unforgivables on bloody children. But he’ll get his, eventually.”

Snape didn’t look entirely satisfied, but he let the subject drop. “We still have an hour before I can let you go. What else can I aid you with?”

As well as having a Dark Mark for Harry to play with, Snape was also proving to be an invaluable source of information about the current political climate that Harry couldn’t get from books. Despite his half-blood status, he was friends with a lot of prominent pureblood patriarchs through Voldemort-related activities, and like any spy worth their salt he knew all of their dirty secrets.

“I’ve been having a little trouble thinking of the best way to introduce the knowledge that squibs continue to carry magic in their blood. Often muggleborns come from long-lost squib lines — especially if those squib lines happen to cross.” The surprise was clear on Snape’s face, and Harry smiled. “It was fairly common back in our time; even if someone had no magic of their own, just the knowledge of it was enough to put them at risk, so people tended to keep their squib children close. They’d often marry back into other magical families, but on the occasions they married outside it, it was fairly common for magic to return to the bloodline after a generation or two. I’d imagine it’s only less common now because people have fewer children these days.” When Salazar had been around, people had as many children as physically possible, both due to lack of birth control and because it was less likely they’d survive to adulthood. If a squib and a muggle had five or more children, the chances were at least one of them would have enough magic to use a wand.

“Merlin’s beard,” Snape murmured. “That’ll put quite the knot in the wands of those pureblood fanatics.” Harry smirked.

“The sooner they come around to it, the better; magic is so much weaker now than it used to be. The old ways aren’t being observed, and the pureblood inbreeding is killing off so many strong lines. If they open things up to squibs and muggleborns, start doing some Beltane rituals, we’ll be overrun with kids in no time.” He understood it was difficult for most pureblood families to conceive even one healthy magical child these days, their bloodlines were so tainted with inbreeding. Hogwarts was built to house thousands of children, they had intended for the magical community to only grow as time went. It was barely fulfilling a fraction of that potential.

“And yet, excuse me for saying so, you are the sole survivor of one of the oldest wizarding bloodlines, and here you are associating with a Hufflepuff boy,” Snape drawled disparagingly. Harry tensed at the insult, then sheepishly began to realise there was another rather important bit of information he’d kept from the professor.

“Yes. Well. Funny thing about that,” he began, running a hand through his hair. “I let you assume that I was the only founder to awaken in this new time. That, uh, isn’t the case. Cedric holds the memories of Helga Hufflepuff. Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood hold the memories of Godric and Rowena respectively. All four of us awoke together, and we’ve been working together ever since.”

Snape’s dark eyes were unreadable. After a long pause, he spoke. “Is there any other information you’re withholding from me?”

Harry thought of horcruxes, and decided the man definitely didn’t need to know about that. He shook his head.

“That does explain a lot about Longbottom’s recent performance in class. I knew Zabini couldn’t have caused that much of an improvement,” Snape muttered, making Harry snort. Of course, the first thing the man thought about was Neville’s Potions’ grade. “I understand the shared life experience creating a bond, but that still doesn’t explain how someone so invested in the growth of the magical population can tie themselves with someone of the same sex.”

“I refuse to abandon my wife, regardless of the forms we find ourselves in,” Harry argued fiercely. “Cedric is mine, and nothing will change that. There are ways to have children together if we so wish; even if we have to go to the muggles for help.” He and Cedric hadn’t spoken about it, but Harry was sure they’d end up with at least a couple of kids. They’d loved being parents more than anything, the first time around.

“Wife?” Snape repeated incredulously. “Salazar Slytherin and Helga Hufflepuff were married?”

“…Yes?” Harry confirmed, confused. “Do the history books not mention that?” The look in Snape’s eye answered that one. “But how can they not? Anyone who can trace their ancestry back that far will know that our lines converge at our children. Surely somewhere in all the knowledge of the school’s founding, someone mentioned that we were wed? No?” Snape shook his head. “What about Godric and Rowena? They were married even before we were, and had twice the number of kids! Helena’s still here!” That too seemed to be news to the dour man. Harry let out a low whistle, astonished. “Blimey. We’ve got more to correct than we thought.”

The knowledge of his marriage had been lost to the ages. He supposed ‘husband of Helga Hufflepuff’ didn’t match up with the evil wraith history painted him to be.

“It seems so,” Snape agreed, looking like he’d swallowed a lemon. “Forgive me if it takes a while to adjust my worldview. Longbottom is Gryffindor himself, dear Merlin. And Slytherin, married to Hufflepuff!”

“There are few things more lethal than a Slytherin and a Hufflepuff working together,” Harry argued. “Whatever their relationship, it’s one hell of a combination.” Their houses had always brought out the best in each other, and helped temper the worst. Just like Salazar and Helga had done to each other.

“And you say Madam Hufflepuff’s memories surfaced in Diggory’s brain?” There was a skeptical look on the Slytherin’s face that made Harry scowl.

“Don’t underestimate Cedric Diggory,” he snapped. “Just because he’s got a pretty face doesn’t mean he’s not a terrifyingly competent wizard. Even before Helga’s memories appeared; his magic had to be capable of merging with hers. Besides,” he added with a sickly-sweet smile, “anyone who wants to get at Cedric has to go through me.”

Snape’s jaw tightened, and after a long pause he let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Merlin help anyone who tries to stand against the four of you when you begin this little revolution of yours,” he muttered. Harry grinned sharply at him, green eyes flashing.

“They won’t know what’s hit them,” he agreed.

.-.-.

Harry had just about forgotten about the second task until the night before, when Neville and Luna were summoned to the Headmaster’s office by a house elf who popped into the Room. He and Cedric looked at each other, grimacing.

“We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss,” Harry quoted angrily. “I bloody knew it would be people. You two be careful, okay?”

“I’m sure they’ll have failsafes in place, mate,” Neville assured. “Besides, I have no doubt both of you will be able to complete the task flawlessly. You know that lake better than anyone except us, after all.”

It was true — the four of them had spent long hours under the surface of the Black Lake when they’d first built Hogwarts, befriending the creatures within and checking it was completely secure to be so close to their safe haven.

“Still, I don’t like this,” Cedric muttered. He hugged Luna tightly, kissing her forehead. “Be safe.”

They said their goodbyes, and soon Harry and Cedric were left alone. “We’d better go and get some sleep,” Harry sighed. “Big day tomorrow.”

Cedric reached out to tug him close, propping his chin on Harry’s shoulder. The height difference between them was closing steadily, but Madam Pomfrey said Harry would likely stop at around 5’9” or so. Cedric had mourned the loss of his ability to put his chin on Harry’s head barely a week into February. “No heroics, alright?” he requested, arms wrapping snugly around Harry’s waist. “I know what you’re like. Just get the task over with as quickly as you can.”

“I’ll do my best to make sure it ends without major incident,” Harry replied. Cedric made an annoyed noise.

“Which isn’t a promise not to do anything stupid,” he pointed out. “I never thought I’d say this, but there’s too much bloody Gryffindor in you these days,” he said, making Harry snicker.

“Can’t help it. Three formative years in that damned tower has messed with all my Slytherin sensibilities,” he admitted. He was still more snake than lion, but every now and then — case in point — his ‘saving people thing’ as Hermione called it would rear its head. “At least I don’t rush headfirst into danger anymore.”

“Do that and I’ll hex your bits off,” Cedric muttered fiercely. “I love you just the way you are, but during this very dangerous, life-threatening event, please do try and embody more of the cunning, selfish Slytherin I married? Just for a while.”

Harry turned in the embrace, kissing Cedric. “I’ll do my best, promise,” he vowed, hoping it was a promise he could keep.

.-.

As they gathered at the edge of the lake, the spectators gathered in the stands erected nearby, Harry wondered at the entertainment value of the second task. Would people really just be looking at the surface of the lake for an hour, waiting for them to pop up?

Neville and Luna, as expected, had never returned from Dumbledore’s office. The thought of them trapped deep below the surface made Harry’s blood boil. He didn’t know who had been chosen for Viktor and Fleur, but they seemed equally furious. Harry eyes Fleur with concern — her Veela blood wouldn’t do her any favours in this water-based task.

The only bright side was that, with their relationship now public knowledge, no one could stop Harry from planting a solid kiss on his boyfriend’s lips before wading out into the water, chewing furiously on Gillyweed. He was entirely proficient in the Bubblehead charm, but considering it was a seventh year charm it was unlikely that even Harry Potter would have been able to master it in time for the task. Also, Helga had always been better at it than him. So, Cedric was the one entering the lake looking like he had a fishbowl over his head, while Harry forced the disgusting plant down his throat and waited for gills to appear. He’d bribed Snape into giving him the plant from his private stores, promising to take the man to see the Chamber in exchange.

He could feel the magic of the merpeople as soon as he submerged himself in the lake, and began to swim in that direction. All in all, the task was fairly underwhelming; there weren’t as many ferocious creatures in the lake as the task organisers seemed to anticipate. Indeed, the giant squid — long ago named Octavius by Godric, who couldn’t stop snickering at ‘Octavius the Octopus’, despite his wife’s repeated insistance that he was a squid — was more likely to be a help than a hindrance, always eager to befriend anyone who might come near him. They’d put him there to protect students, after all.

Unless the merpeople themselves planned to put up a fight, Harry didn’t expect much trouble at all.

Naturally, just as he thought that, the wards started going haywire in his head, alerting him to trouble nearby — specifically, Fleur. He changed course swiftly, heading towards the source of the disturbance, finding the French witch in the grasp of a band of grindylows, all trying to drag her deeper into the weeds. Her eyes were wide in fear, her wand limp in her hand.

Without hesitating, Harry shot several hexes at the creatures, growling at them and pushing on the wards of the lake until they retreated in fear. He swam closer to Fleur, reaching out a hand to steady her. She flinched before she realised it was just him. Luckily, she’d managed to hold on to her Bubblehead charm through the entire encounter, and she shot him a bewildered look. “You ‘elped me?” she said, her words muffled by the bubble. Harry shrugged.

“This tournament isn’t worth dying for,” he replied. “Are you okay?” He looked at the bloody gash on her leg and the many scratches on her arms, and she followed his gaze, then shrugged. A murmured healing spell had the gash healing up, no longer staining the water red.

“I will not forget zis, ‘Arry Potter,” she declared solemnly, meeting his gaze. He nodded.

“Competing against each other doesn’t make us enemies,” he replied. “Though if we don’t get a move on, our hostages may not think the same.”

Fleur’s face paled in her bubble, and she nodded, swimming off and giving the seaweed patch a wide berth. Harry kicked with his webbed feet, recalibrating his internal compass to follow the magic back to the merpeople.

He was unsurprised to see one tether empty and Luna missing when he reached the mer village — Neville floated beside her, and on his other side was Hermione. Next to her floated a tiny blonde girl that could only be Fleur’s sister. Harry felt sick at what might have happened to her if he hadn’t helped Fleur out with the Grindylows.

A brief scan of the wards assured him that both Fleur and Viktor were on their way and set for victory, so Harry cut the tether on Neville with a silent spell, grabbing his friend by the arm and kicking up towards the surface. The merpeople did nothing more than finger their weapons and look menacing — he wondered if they had been instructed not to fight the champions, or if they could somehow sense his connection to the castle and were staying back out of respect. If they weren’t to attack, what was the point in them?

Neville didn’t wake until he was above the surface, and he took one look at Harry — staying just below the water, still possessing gills and flippers — and burst out laughing. “That’s a good look for you, really,” he teased. Harry dragged him back underwater, smirking when the Gryffindor boy spluttered. “Fine, fine,” Neville relented when Harry let him up for air. “I get it, you’re my hero, I’m so grateful. Get me out of here, will you? It’s bloody freezing.”

Casting a warming charm over his friend, Harry began to swim towards the shore, relieved when his gills faded a few feet away from dry land. “Oh, thank the gods,” he muttered to himself once he could breathe air again. “I’ll never get used to that.”

The pair were greeted by a soaking wet Cedric and Luna once they left the lake, both with towels over their shoulders. Harry’s teeth chattered as Cedric kissed him, the Hufflepuff moving the towel around Harry’s shoulders too. “We have plenty of towels for everyone!” Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, thrusting one at Luna, since hers was now wrapped tightly around a protesting Neville. She held one out to Harry, who wrapped himself in the fluffy warmth, letting Cedric bundle him back up in a hug.

“The others are on their way,” Cedric murmured in his ear. “Can you feel them too?”

Harry nodded — the wards told him Viktor was halfway to the surface, and Fleur was just releasing her sister. They would all make it out okay. He could finally relax.

The four of them let Pomfrey hassle them over to the medical tent to wait for their fellow champions and hostages, and the mediwitch huffed when neither couple would separate. She cast drying charms over them and handed Harry and Neville bottles of Pepper-Up, leaving them to their odd penguin-huddle, and soon Viktor was bursting out of the water with a shark’s head, transfiguring back to human mid-stroke as he swam confidently back to shore, pulling Hermione with him. She seemed rather shaken by the whole affair, even when Pomfrey forced Pepper-Up down her throat.

“How could they involve other students in the task?” she muttered, more to herself than to Viktor, who was busying himself checking her over for damage. “I didn’t sign a permission slip or anything, and I doubt my parents did either — surely that can’t be legal?”

She raised a good point, and Neville frowned. “I’ll talk to my Gran about it,” he piped up. Hermione turned to look at him. “I certainly didn’t want to be involved in this, and I doubt she’d consent to a risk like this. I’m the last of the family. If she wasn’t asked, she’ll give whoever condoned it absolute hell.” His smile was somewhat vindictive, and that made Hermione smile back, still shivering.

Viktor gently herded her to a more private area of the tent, speaking quietly, and they waited for Fleur and her sister to return. The young girl was crying and babbling in frantic French when she reached them, far too quickly for Salazar’s rusty language skills, but whatever she was saying had Fleur near-incandescent with rage. Harry was pretty sure if she wasn’t soaking wet and drained from her battle with the Grindylows, she’d be showing off some of her Veela heritage there and then.

“Whoever thought up this whole task needs to be hexed,” Harry muttered, loud enough for the other champions to hear. “It wasn’t even fun for people to watch.” All of them nodded in agreement, scowling. Harry felt like several sets of parents would be getting letters soon.

Once Pomfrey had seen to Fleur’s sister and the champion herself, the Beauxbaton girl hurried over to Harry, her sister’s hand firmly in his. “Because of you, I was able to save my seester,” she declared, throwing her arms around him in a crushing hug, uncaring that she’d also included Cedric in the embrace. “You did not need to ‘elp me, you ‘ad your own ‘ostage to worry about. But you saved me, and now Gabrielle is safe.”

“I just did what any decent person would’ve done,” Harry insisted. “I refuse to believe this tournament wants to teach us to ignore people in peril, even if they are our competition. Like I said, we’re not enemies, Fleur.”

“No, we are definitely not,” she agreed, beaming. She pulled back, then pressed a kiss to each of his cheeks. Beside her, her sister giggled, then leaned in to do the same.

“Merci, Monsieur Potter,” she said quietly. Harry smiled at her.

“De rien,” he replied, remembering at least that much. “I’m glad you’re safe, Mademoiselle Delacour.” That made her blush brightly, burying her face in her sister’s side.

“My family is in your debt, ‘Arry,” Fleur said, her gaze serious. She didn’t walk away until Harry nodded, accepting the offer of alliance for what it was.

“You just made a powerful friend there, I think,” Cedric murmured in his ear once the two girls were out of earshot. “And a new fan,” he added with an audible grin. Harry rolled his eyes, leaning back into his boyfriend’s embrace and closing his eyes.

“They shouldn’t have put a girl that young in jeopardy,” he insisted. “And they shouldn’t have sent a Veela into a freezing cold lake and expected her to be fine.” He wouldn’t be surprised if it took the two Delacours weeks to fully recover. “This task was dumb and pointless and I’m cold and I want a bath.”

“Prefect’s bathroom once they let us out of here?” came Cedric’s quiet response. Harry perked up a little at that.

“Can we please?”

Cedric pressed a kiss to his temple, humming in affirmation. Harry turned to glare at Bagman, who was waffling on about the feats of daring they had all achieved in the depths of the lake — not that he’d seen any of them.

Harry didn’t care about the scores at this point. He just wanted to go back to the castle and have a bath with his boyfriend and be warm again. This tournament was the worst.

Chapter Text

Everyone seemed a little on edge after the second task. There were no awe-filled retellings of events like there had been after the dragons — for anyone except the champions themselves, there were no events to retell. Several people had pestered the three Hogwarts hostages for their version of it all, but considering none of them woke up until they were above water, it wasn’t like they had much to say.

Fleur was withdrawn, keeping her sister close and her friends at her shoulders like bodyguards, having quiet conversations in French and rarely acknowledging anyone outside of her immediate social bubble. A bubble that now included Harry, to his astonishment. Viktor was even gruffer than usual; he’d yelled at a pair of fifth years who were harassing Hermione for details about the lake in the library, getting all four of them kicked out by Pince. People stopped asking after that, giving the champion a wide berth. Giving all the champions a wide berth.

Harry was glad for it, having stopped himself from hexing a few people going after Luna and Neville — they still saw it all as a fun spectator sport, something to make up for the lack of quidditch in their lives. They didn’t know what it was like, getting thrown into that lake knowing that the life of someone you loved could be at stake. The tournament was known for its high death count, there was no guarantee that the hour-long deadline hadn’t been exactly that.

The champions had bonded, that day in the lake. They had all — except for Harry — consented to putting their own lives in danger for the sake of the tournament. They had never agreed to others being endangered on their behalf. The Ministry officials might not know it yet, but they had crossed a line, and they would regret that.

Several days after the task, they were all sat down for breakfast when all of a sudden the doors slammed wide open, and an enraged voice called out “Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore!”

Beside him, Harry felt Neville tense. The entire hall went dead silent — the sharp click of the woman’s heels as she stalked between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables echoed off the stone walls. Harry watched Dumbledore turn a shade paler up at the staff table.

He only knew who the woman was because of the rather distinctive hat perched atop her head — a hat involving a stuffed vulture, that he had seen once before, on the head of a boggart version of Snape in the staff room. He turned to Neville, who looked both impressed and horrified. “Is that…” he whispered, and the taller Gryffindor boy nodded.

“Yup. Gran got my letter.”

Before Harry could ask anything further, Augusta Longbottom reached the staff table, glaring daggers at the headmaster. “How dare you put the students of this school at risk! You had absolutely no right to send my grandson, the only remaining heir to the Longbottom line, mind you, to the bottom of the lake for the sake of your blasted tournament! He is underage, and yet I was not asked nor informed of his involvement. Even he was not informed! You summoned him to your office and drugged his tea.”

A collective gasp ran through the hall at her words. Even several of the teachers looked vaguely ill; McGonagall looked furious. “Albus, you insisted you had sent out permission slips!” she hissed, loud enough to be heard clearly in the hall’s stunned silence. The headmaster’s expression was largely hidden by his beard, until he offered a kindly smile to the furious woman in front of him.

“Now, Augusta, my dear—“

“Don’t,” Mrs Longbottom cut him off sharply, eyes flashing. Harry could feel the enraged magic pouring off her in waves, and knew that despite her formal robes and elderly frame, she could and would have Dumbledore strung up by his ankles with a few short spells if he gave her reason. Harry loved her already. “I have yet to hear back from Mademoiselle Delacour’s parents, but Miss Lovegood’s father had also received no such communication, and poor Miss Granger’s parents didn’t even know what the tournament was!” She turned, offering a stern look to the bushy-haired girl at the Gryffindor table. “They’re expecting a letter from you shortly, Miss Granger. If I were you, I would be generous with the details.” The way her eyes darted pointedly to the Durmstrang contingency across the hall made her meaning abundantly clear, and Hermione blushed bright red.

Mrs Longbottom turned back to the headmaster. “It astounds me to think that someone as worldly as yourself could have possibly forgotten what it means for my grandson to hold the heirship of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Longbottom — even having grown up outside of such things yourself, you have been headmaster of this school for long enough to have encountered plenty of similar circumstances. So I am sure this was all a foolish misunderstanding, and not, what some could take it to be, as an attempt to end the line.” That made Dumbledore choke ever so slightly, and a ripple of horrified whispers echoed around them.

“Augusta, I—“

“Dowager Longbottom,” McGonagall interrupted the headmaster, earning the barest softening of that steel gaze for using the woman’s proper title. “I absolutely understand your outrage — the headmaster told those of us on the staff who were concerned for our charges that permission had been obtained. Shall the headmaster and I escort you up to his office where we can discuss the appropriate apologies and reparations? Professor Flitwick, if you would also like to join us, as Miss Lovegood is involved in the matter?” The diminutive professor nodded sharply, jumping to his feet, and McGonagall masterfully herded the headmaster up and around the table, placing herself between him and Neville’s grandmother before the woman could hex him to smithereens. The four left the hall, and it took a moment or two before normal activity resumed. Harry turned to Neville, whose cheeks were pink, but had a glint of pride in his eyes.

“Your gran’s a bit terrifying, isn’t she?” he murmured quietly. Neville laughed.

“Only if she doesn’t like you,” he promised. “And don’t worry, our houses have been allied for years. I’ll invite you over for a bit this summer, she’ll happily welcome you into the family, small as it is.” That sparked warmth in Harry’s chest; that a woman he’d never met would so willingly accept him just on her grandson’s word…

“I’m glad I still have you, brother,” he said under his breath with a weighted glance. Neville bumped his shoulder companionably.

“Stuck with me ’til I die. And perhaps not even then, if events repeat,” he added with a smirk. “Between the three of us and the Weasleys, you’ll not be lacking in family again.”

That, above all else that had happened to Harry in the last few ridiculous months, was the one thing he still couldn’t quite wrap his head around. Salazar had come to the founders an orphan with no siblings, and such as things were back in the day none of the others saw much of their parents once they’d matured enough to leave home. The four of them had been their own family, building everything up around each other. And of course, the family Harry had left was hardly worth speaking of. To know that not only did he have his love, his siblings, but their families, and more besides! It was… overwhelming, to say the least.

Luna skipped over from the Ravenclaw table, perching on the bench at Neville’s side. “Daddy mentioned he’d had a letter from your gran,” she said by way of greeting. “We’re all to meet for dinner over Easter, so she and I can get to know each other better.”

“She’s going to love you,” Neville promised, kissing her cheek. “It’ll be no more terrifying than the first time around, I promise.”

Harry choked on his tea — the first time Rowena had met Godric’s parents, from what he’d been told, it had ended in a full-on duel. That wasn’t a very high bar to meet.

“Lovely,” Luna declared, looking entirely unfazed by the whole affair. After what he’d just seen of Augusta Longbottom, Harry supposed, the pair should get on like a house on fire.

He glanced at his best friend; Neville didn’t look nearly as terrified as he ought to by the prospect of that alliance.

Ah well. He’d learn.

.-.-.

A public apology in the Daily Prophet might not seem like much, as far as things went, but Augusta Longbottom had single-handedly crossed at least four steps off of Harry’s plan to ruin Dumbledore’s reputation with her bold move without even realising it. Having to admit on an international level that not only had he endangered children, but that he’d lied about receiving permission to his staff, and wilfully put the last scion of a Sacred 28 house in danger — as much as Dumbledore insisted that the merpeople were under strict instructions not to let the hostages to come to any harm. Well, there were plenty of purebloods baying for more than just a slap on the wrist for the man. No longer did they automatically believe he had their children’s best interests at heart. The implicit trust was beginning to crumble, and the four founders couldn’t be happier. Even the Ministry were distancing themselves from the man, insisting they had left that particular part of the tournament up to the headmaster’s discretion and were just as horrified as everyone else.

Forcing a public acknowledgement had gone a long way to soothing the champions’ ruffled feathers, though Fleur was still rarely seen outside of the Beauxbatons carriage these days. Harry and Cedric had sat with her and Gabrielle at meals a few times, and they both agreed the fight had left her — no longer was she determined to win the tournament and prove how talented she was. All she wanted was to take her sister and go back to France. Harry didn’t really blame her.

“Hey, Draco!” he called across the great hall once Saturday afternoon; several heads looked up, including the blond one he had his eyes on. A few of the Gryffindors looked hopeful, like the truce might be about to break. Harry smirked to himself. “We still on for after lunch?” He held up a snitch pointedly, and Draco smirked.

“Of course, Potter. If you’re not too scared.” That made Harry laugh, and he shot the Slytherin a thumbs up, sitting back down at the Hufflepuff table.

Inviting Draco to his and Cedric’s little seeker’s matches was a fairly recent addition, but all of them were benefiting from it. They’d invited Cho too, to even the houses, but she was holding a bit of a grudge over Harry and Cedric’s relationship and refused every time. Even with the three of them, it was still nice to get out and fly for a bit, whether they were chasing the snitch or not. Draco was actually very good company when he wasn’t trying to be a git, and he was even more useful for getting the measure of current politics than his housemaster. Snape didn’t spend much time outside of classes with the teenage generation, after all.

He let Cedric’s Hufflepuff friends drag him into a conversation about Charms theory, and when they were done eating he got to his feet and pecked Cedric’s cheek, intending to head up to Gryffindor and change into his flying clothes. When he left the hall, he heard footsteps following him. He raised an eyebrow. “Did you need something, Gin?”

The youngest Weasley offered a hesitant smile. “Hey, yeah; I couldn’t help but hear you saying you and Ced and Malfoy were going flying. Would you mind if— could I join you?” She flushed brightly, forging on. “Only, in a year or two we’ll have lost half the Gryffindor team, and, well, obviously no one’s going to replace you as seeker but— maybe— I was really hoping to try out for chaser when the girls graduate? And I never get to practice with anyone else, the boys won’t fly with me because they think I’ll get hurt.” A scowl came to her lips, showing exactly what she thought of that.

Harry blinked as he deciphered her rushed babbling. “You want to come flying with us?” he checked. She nodded. “Including Malfoy?”

“He’s not been too bad, since you called the truce,” she reasoned. “I’m friends with some of the Slytherins in my year. I figured I can be civil if he is.” Her gaze became pleading, the wide brown puppy eyes that turned all her older brothers to putty. “I just really want to play quidditch, Harry, and I can’t think of anyone better to learn from than you three.”

“Alright, alright, Merlin, put the eyes away!” he joked, covering his eyes. “Of course you’re welcome to join us.” She beamed at him. “I didn’t even know you liked to fly.” Whenever they played quidditch at the Burrow, she always sat out with Hermione.

“I didn’t want Hermione to feel left out. Besides, like I said, the boys always act like I’m going to get hurt,” she said, falling into step beside him on their way up to Gryffindor tower. “They don’t know I’ve been breaking into the shed and borrowing their brooms since I was seven.” She grinned determinedly, every inch a lion. “I figured if I want to have a good shot of making the team in my fifth year, I’d best start properly practicing now. Tossing gnomes around in the dark won’t cut it for much longer.”

Harry tried to imagine it, little Ginny alone in the back garden at night, pretending gnomes were her quaffle. If she had any measure of the family talent, she’d probably be a force to be reckoned with.

Cedric and Draco seemed surprised to see the redhead when they all gathered at the pitch, but neither commented on it. “I was wondering if you’d gotten lost,” Cedric remarked, grinning. “We’re up to four, are we?”

“We are indeed,” Harry confirmed. “So I thought we might put the snitch away and get a quaffle out, play a little two-on-two.” It was normal in the Gryffindor team practices for players to rotate positions to broaden their flying skills, and Harry was sure the Hufflepuff and Slytherin teams did the same.

“I assume you’ll be with Cedric, then?” Draco asked, smirking. “Since you can hardly bear to part with him these days.”

“Jealousy doesn’t become you, Draco, dear,” Harry teased, looping his arm through Cedric’s. Draco’s pale cheeks went pink. “But yes, Ced and I will team up, if that’s alright with you two?”

Ginny and Draco eyed each other over, brown eyes meeting silver daringly. They shook hands. “Let’s kick his arse, Malfoy,” Ginny declared, making Draco smirk.

“With pleasure, Weasley.”

Harry watched the pair, wondering if he was going to regret that decision. “I think I just created a monster,” he muttered. Cedric laughed against his temple.

“I think you might be right.”

.-.

Sure enough, Draco and Ginny wiped the floor with Harry and Cedric, Ginny proving without a doubt that she was worthy of making the team once Angelina and Alicia graduated. Harry rather thought it was a shame she’d have to wait that long.

After an initial awkwardness, she and Draco managed to find a rhythm as a team — no match for Harry and Cedric’s near-telepathic connection with each other, but enough to get plenty of shots past the pair, spiralling around each other and passing so quickly Harry could hardly keep up.

“How come you never went for chaser?” he asked Draco once the four of them had called it a day, lounging on the grass of the pitch. Draco shrugged.

“Seeker was open. And it put me directly against you,” he added with a smirk.

“Yeah, you were a bit obsessed with me. Starting to wonder if Ced should be worried,” Harry teased, winking. Far from getting embarrassed, Draco merely snorted.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Even if I was into blokes, I wouldn’t chase your speccy self. Diggory can keep you.”

“As if he’s got anything to worry about anyway,” Ginny added, eyeing the couple with thinly-veiled disgust. “You two are basically married already.”

“Both of you are just jealous,” Harry repeated for the thousandth time, smug as he cuddled into his boyfriend’s side. “Getting lonely since you dumped Corner, Gin?”

“Hardly,” the redhead retorted with a smirk. “Just taking some time to survey my options.” Her eyes definitely strayed to Draco as she said this, and Harry watched the motion with slowly dawning horror.

The twins were going to kill him.

.-.-.-.

Harry was surprised that Tuesday morning when a nondescript brown owl fluttered towards him during the morning post rush, dropping a letter into his lap. The handwriting on the front was familiar, and his eyebrows rose; he hadn’t expected to hear back from his godfather so soon. He’d written a few days after the second task, not expecting a reply for weeks! He was obviously closer than Harry had thought.

He didn’t open the letter until he was safely alone in a secret passage halfway to Charms, his first class of the day. He scanned the missive quickly, tension easing in his shoulders when there seemed no sign of danger ahead.

Pup,

Sounds like you got off lightly with that task! Good shout stealing gillyweed from old Snape’s stores. Glad your boy did well, too — how’s the Veela girl doing? We hope she’s okay, and we’re proud of you for stopping to help her out. You’re right; this bloody tournament isn’t worth your lives.

I saw the paper with Dumbledore’s apology in it — having the Dowager Longbottom on your side will keep you in very good stead in whatever your future might hold! Even my mum was scared of her, and though you never met my mum, believe me when I say that’s no small feat.

Moony suggests you look into the defensive texts by G T Markham for ideas on things to learn to prep for the third task. As soon as you get any info on it, let us know and we’ll see what we can figure out. It’s almost over, Pup; just a few more months of this, and you’ll be done with the damned thing.

Any news on who might have put your name in for it? I know better than to assume you’re sitting tightly and ignoring all of that. Just stay safe, yeah? Let me know if you need me, for anything.

Love always,

Snuffles

All through Charms, Harry contemplated his reply. He could mention what he knew about Crouch Jr, only he couldn’t be sure Sirius or Remus wouldn’t go straight to Dumbledore about it. He knew the pair were in touch with the headmaster. It was safer if he kept things to himself; he’d soon have it all handled, and involving more people would just make things messy.

Slytherins worked alone, no matter how often persistent Hufflepuffs tried to persuade them to share their burdens. Harry had it all under control. Everything would be fine.

Chapter Text

As a general rule, Harry didn’t subscribe to any regular news services. He was featured in them enough to make his stomach turn, and even the stuff that wasn’t about him was usually lies and drivel. He had other ways of getting news; honest, helpful, factual news.

The one exception to the rule was currently winging its way towards him on the leg of a beautiful barn owl, and he grinned when the owl fluttered to land on the table beside his porridge, holding its leg out. He relieved the owl of its burden, tucking a sickle into the pouch at its chest, and undid the string holding the magazine rolled up tightly.

“What’s that, Harry?” Hermione asked curiously, sat across the table from him for once. Ron was a few seats down, with Seamus and Parvati; he wasn’t actively hostile to Hermione anymore, but without Harry around didn’t seem to know how to actually work his way into an apology. Harry figured it would all be fine once Viktor left.

“The Quibbler,” Harry explained, grinning at the front cover. ‘The Lost Classes of Hogwarts’, certainly eye-catching. Hermione made a face, and Harry clucked his tongue. “It’s got some pretty good stuff in it this month, actually. You’d like it.” He showed her the cover, unsurprised when she went wide-eyed. “You can borrow it, if you want?” He’d already read the article before Luna had sent it off for her father to publish anonymously. It was well-written, explaining all the arts that had once been on the Hogwarts curriculum and now were lost to all but those who chose to go abroad for knowledge.

“This is… none of this is in Hogwarts: A History!” Hermione exclaimed, skimming the article. “I’ve never even heard of half of these classes!” She looked doubtful. Neville reached over to point at the notes at the bottom of the page.

“The author has left citations on their referenced texts. I doubt any of them are in the library here, but maybe you can write to Flourish and Blotts,” he suggested.

The Quibbler wasn’t the most reputable news source these days, often full of wild conspiracies and stories of creatures Harry didn’t know were even real, but under Luna’s guidance that would change. This was only the beginning; she had a whole series of articles planned, all anonymous, to point out the lack of options Hogwarts offered these days, and the lack of knowledge about the old rituals and how it was causing magic to weaken. Harry had mostly left her to it; if there was one thing Rowena Ravenclaw wouldn’t abide, it was gatekeepers of knowledge. She wouldn’t rest until everyone had equal access to as much information as possible, and the right to learn more about the aspects that interested them.

Aside from his own, he could see a few copies of the magazine about the hall; it wouldn’t take long before things began to spread. Over at the Hufflepuff table, Cedric was showing his own copy to his friends, passing it further and further down the table as more people took interest.

“There used to be a class on Healing!” Hermione said indignantly. “And Spellcrafting! And a dozen others that all sound so fascinating, Merlin, how did people have time to study them all in just seven years?”

“They probably didn’t study them all at the same time,” Harry pointed out. “Pick a couple new subjects every year, pass your courses in them, learn enough to know if you want to go more in depth on the subject when you graduate. And they probably didn’t spend as much time on the core subjects as we do.” He would admit that nowadays there was far more to learn in the cores than there had once been, but the fundamentals were the same. If a Potions’ student didn’t understand how to properly brew after a hundred hours over a cauldron, there was no point in them continuing for different potions they would probably get wrong anyway. And once you knew the basics of Transfiguration, you could turn practically anything into anything else. Too much importance was placed on individual spells, these days; people completely ignored magic of intention. They’d needlessly complicated things, in Neville’s oft-frustrated words. Godric had never had the most finesse in his spellcasting, but his strong will was more than enough to bridge the gap. As he had regularly argued with his wife; why bother learning eight different ways to do essentially the same thing, when you could just get really good at one and stretch it for the specifics?

Up at the staff table, the teachers seemed intrigued by the magazines being passed up and down the house tables, and Harry wondered how long it would be before they got their own copies. How long before another publication would pick it up, or their subscriber base would grow.

It was subtle, and it was slow, but it was a start. It was exactly the kind of start they needed; a strong foundation made for a brighter future, after all.

.-.-.-.

With only one task left to go, Harry spent most of the Easter break tucked away in his office in the Chamber, working on his ritual to destroy Voldemort. Cedric was with him sometimes, but not often — Harry had the two horcruxes out to study, and the Hufflepuff didn’t like the feel of them. Harry didn’t either, but he was at least used to it, after living with one in his head for thirteen years.

He was utterly in his element as he rifled through the ancient books on his shelves, looking up various long-lost rituals and his old investigations into soul magic, writing endless reams of notes and dusting off his Arithmancy skills, leaving pages of calculations and runes for Cedric to complain about when he did come down to visit, mostly to drag Harry up to meals before the rest of the school thought he’d died. They all assumed he was training for the third task, but there was still only so many times he could be absent from the hall.

Sometimes, when he got really involved in his research, Harry forgot who he was — or rather, when he was. It was easy to slip out of the mind of Harry Potter and look up expecting Arcturus available to help him fine-tune some runes, or Helga come to remind him he had classes to teach. When he came back to himself, the reminder was like a punch to the heart, and he had to take a few minutes to compose himself.

Each time, it just made him more determined to fix things, to make things right for this new generation. He just knew that this was the reason he and the others had been brought back. Only he had the knowledge and position to get rid of Voldemort without first suffering through a war, and even Magic herself had to know the four of them came as a matched set.

Chewing absently on his lower lip, he turned back to a stack of letters Salazar had once exchanged with an Arabian witch he’d apprenticed with for a while, discussing the nature of magic’s connection to the body, and to Magic. That was something people didn’t understand anymore — there was magic, your own personal power and ability, and there was Magic; the power of nature itself, the ambient force keeping the balance of the world. A lot of people assumed they were one in the same, but the founders had learned differently during the construction of Hogwarts. The castle contained their magic, of course, but also Magic from the forest and the lake and the stones themselves, the Magic they renewed with their rituals.

Personal magic was easily manipulated. Wizards had long ago learnt spells and breathing exercises and ways to coax their magic into doing whatever they wanted, wand or no. On the other hand, Magic was a force of its own, and didn’t like being twisted to go against its nature. It maintained balance, and would get unruly if things tipped too far one way or the other.

Harry was sure the only reason Magic hadn’t torn Britain asunder was purely how weak it had become in the Isles, with the outlawing of blood magic and ritual magic and just about anything that would connect to Magic itself. The idiots banned what they couldn’t comprehend, and were suffering for it, but that might be Voldemort’s downfall.

The Dark Lord had dug into these forbidden magics, assuming them to be of the darkest nature because the Ministry didn’t want them to be public knowledge. He’d based the Dark Mark on an old ritual of fealty, designed to judge the intention of a serf pledging to a lord and keep them faithful. But, naturally, he’d screwed it up; Snape was a prime example that it wasn’t working as intended.

The fool had modified the mark to be able to inflict pain on his followers, and in doing so he’d tweaked the intention of the magic, and the connection it had to Magic. He’d bound them to himself at their very cores, and if Harry could get the rights strings to come loose…

“This might actually work,” he murmured to himself in astonishment, rushing across to his desk to check the ritual notes he’d already made. He triple-checked his calculations, whooping in delight when they came up the same each time. “Dobby!” The house elf appeared at his side with a crack. “Dobby, tell Cedric I’ve made a breakthrough, and I should be down here for the rest of the evening. Tell him not to worry, I’m not doing anything dangerous.” A lie, and Cedric would probably know it, but he would at least know better than to interrupt.

“Yes, sir!” Dobby replied with a sharp salute, then disappeared.

Grinning to himself, Harry hurried through to the connected experimentation room, seeing the diadem and the soul-crystal sat innocently on the dais in the centre of the stone floor. “First thing’s first…”

Wand in hand, Harry began to draw runes on the ground in magical fire, chanting in a mix of Parseltongue and latin. There was no point in him destroying Voldemort’s mortal form if the man had more horcruxes to leech off of.

He felt the magic build and pressed onwards, keeping his intention clear in his mind. The two horcruxes began to glow, the crystal emitting a low hum that steadily grew higher and higher pitched, the glow turning blacker and blacker, the runes flaring with a bright white light before extinguishing entirely. Harry ended the chant, panting — it felt like it had been mere minutes, but when he checked his watch over an hour had passed.

A brief nudge of the wards assured him that nothing had been noticed or changed, and he felt out with his magic towards the diadem first. It no longer held the air of malice, the slick feeling of dark magic. It felt like Rowena again, like the sensation before a static shock, the rustle of paper.

She would be glad to have it back.

At last, he turned to the soul-crystal. The fist-sized lump was as black as obsidian now, and looking at it made Harry’s very soul hurt. He gave a grim nod of satisfaction, and moved to the second part of the ritual. A vial of hissing blue potions was poured over the crystal, and the spell that came with it was in Arabic — the spell to destroy the soul, and the potion to return the Magic to the earth, rather than to its maker.

The first ritual had drawn together any fragments of soul that were no longer connected to the original creator. Like called to like, and the horcruxes were all just a little adjacent to their previous state of being. Enough to leave the soul in whatever Voldemort was calling a body these days, but remove any other pieces and draw them together in the crystal. It had felt like a significant amount; Harry was horrified to imagine just how many horcruxes the man had made, to splice off so much of his soul like that.

When he was done, he used several spells to check the final result, refusing to relax until he’d confirmed it in at least three different ways. The soul-crystal was empty. The soul was destroyed.

The only surviving part of Voldemort was Voldemort himself. Mortal, once more.

Unable to help it, Harry laughed. He laughed and laughed until the sound became a little hysterical, tears leaking from his green eyes in utter astonishment that he’d actually succeeded.

His little celebration-slash-breakdown was interrupted by a knock on the wards of his office, and he winced at the feel of Cedric’s magic. Leaving the ritual room, he met his boyfriend in the office. “Before you freak out, everything went completely to plan,” he began. Cedric folded his arms over his chest.

“Well, that’s wonderful news, but that doesn’t mean I condone you undertaking dangerous rituals alone, without warning me first!”

“I sent Dobby! That was a warning!” The flat look Harry earned made him flinch. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. But I was on a roll, and I just wanted it done,” he stepped closer, imploring gaze on the Hufflepuff’s stern grey eyes. “I’ve only got one chance to get this right, Ced.”

“Exactly, which is why you should’ve waited for Luna! Or at the very least, called me down for back-up! I might not have the brain for Arithmancy like the two of you, but I’m still no slouch, and I know how to counterbalance a ritual when I have to.”

Luna and Neville were with his gran for the break. Cedric was right, Harry probably should have waited for her to return and check his work, but he was running out of time. “Half of it was Parsel, she wouldn’t have helped,” he replied; a lame excuse and they both knew it. “I swear, Ced, I wouldn’t have done it if I truly thought it was dangerous.” Maybe slightly a lie.

Cedric’s brow furrowed. “I don’t want you killing yourself over this.”

“I won’t,” Harry assured. “I’m just doing what needs to be done. And it worked.”

That finally seemed to get through Cedric’s worry, and the Hufflepuff perked up a little. “Really? It’s done?”

“The only soul left is the part he carries himself,” Harry confirmed. “I was right that the answer was in my letters from Pritya, I just had to get a bit creative. The ritual’s done, we’re on even footing now.” Arguably less, because Harry’s soul was whole and Voldemort’s was a tattered mess. “But you wanna know the best bit?” He grinned, winding his arms around Cedric’s waist. The brunet looked at him expectantly. “I’m pretty sure I’ve figured out what to do about the Dark Mark.”

Cedric gaped, face lighting up. “Really?” Harry nodded smugly.

“I’ll double check it with Luna when she returns, but I’m fairly certain I’ve cracked it.”

Cedric whooped, hugging Harry so tightly his feet left the ground, kissing him firmly. “So proud of you,” he murmured into the kiss, making Harry smile.

“Save it ’til I’ve done the deed,” he retorted, though he didn’t pull away. “It’s all theory at the minute. And I need to talk to Snape.”

“Still,” Cedric insisted, tugging both of them to fall into the one armchair that wasn’t full of books and papers. They were a tangle of limbs until Harry got settled on Cedric’s lap, and the Hufflepuff stroked his cheek fondly. “If you say it’ll work, then I’m sure it’ll work. You know this kind of magic better than anyone else alive. And Magic likes you,” he added with a wink. “You’ve got time. The task is a month and a half away, that’s plenty of time to prepare, especially with Luna helping you.”

“I hope so,” Harry mused, tucking his head into Cedric’s neck. He felt a little punch-drunk with it all, smiling against his boyfriend’s throat. A thought rose unbidden, one he’d been stewing over for a while now, and he was just loose-lipped enough to voice it. “Ced?” Cedric hummed inquisitively. “D’you think we’d have ended up here eventually? Without the founders’ memories, I mean. D’you think me and you would’ve gotten together?”

He felt Cedric’s arms tense a little around him, and tilted back to meet the Hufflepuff’s grey eyes. “Obviously, I’d like to say yes,” Cedric murmured. “But to be honest… you were Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived, Gryffindor Golden Boy, destined to take the Wizarding World by storm. I was a nobody Hufflepuff three years your senior, and the only thing we had in common was quidditch. You were untouchable.”

“We would’ve had the tournament,” Harry pointed out. He would’ve been entered in that regardless of Salazar’s presence in his mind.

“We would. Maybe that would’ve brought us together. Or maybe a few years out of Hogwarts we would’ve bumped into each other and reconnected.” Cedric smiled, pressing his lips to Harry’s. “I like to think we were chosen because of how compatible we’d be — as Cedric and Harry, not Helga and Salazar. I don’t deal in what-ifs very well, but I’m glad we’re here. All past memories aside, I’m glad I have you, Harry. Don’t ever think I’m with you just because of what we once were to each other.” His brow furrowed in concern. “Do you not think we’d be here without the memories?”

“I already fancied you before I was Salazar,” Harry reminded him. “Dunno if I’d have been brave enough to say anything, though. You being three years older and the hottest guy in school and all. But if you’d told third year me that he’d be going out with Cedric Diggory by this time, he’d be pretty damn happy about it.” He offered a lopsided smile. “The memories from our past just offered the starting point for me to love the you of the present.” He couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment he’d fallen for Cedric in the same way he loved Helga, but it had happened; perhaps sometime around Christmas, after they’d had so much fun at the Yule Ball and after everyone knew about them. Maybe before then. It had crept up on him.

“You romantic thing,” Cedric teased softly, kissing Harry’s forehead. Harry screwed up his nose, attempting a glare that probably had the same effect as a particularly grouchy kitten. Now the high of the magic was fading, his limbs were filling with fatigue. Ritual aftershocks could be rough.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he retorted mutinously. “Only you get to see the romantic bits.” A yawn swallowed up the tail of his sentence, so wide his jaw cracked. Cedric tucked him back into the embrace, running soothing fingers through dark hair.

“Rest a bit, love. You’ve done a hell of a thing here today.”

Harry almost argued; he should clean up after the ritual, and do some homework, and make an appearance upstairs before people started wondering where he was.

He had an hour or two before he had to be back in the common room, though. He could take a nap.

.-.-.

When Luna returned and the pair went over his plans, she confirmed what he already knew — for as much as they had the capacity to predict what such an experimental ritual would do, it would work. How well it would work was the only unknown. “Voldemort will definitely be dead at the end of it,” Luna promised. “That’s for sure. It’s what happens to the rest that I can’t pin my finger down. The nuance in this sort of thing is… difficult.”

Harry understood what she wasn’t saying — sometimes Magic had difficulty figuring out true intention, and it could result in anyone with a Dark Mark being entirely obliterated regardless of their true leanings and beliefs.

That’s what had him knocking on Snape’s office door one evening, anxiety curling in his belly. How could he break the news to the man after hanging freedom so close to his face?

It turned out to be a lot easier than anticipated. Once the office was locked and warded, he took his usual seat, explaining the situation to the potions’ master.

“If all goes as I believe it will, the ritual will call on Magic to judge Voldemort and anyone connected to him for the sins of upsetting the balance. I’ve done judgement rituals before — none so drastic as this, mind, but similar pieces of magic. Ideally, those of you who are no longer loyal to Voldemort will be spared, and have his taint removed from your own magic.”

“Less ideally, it will backfire and all of us will die with our Lord,” Snape surmised. Harry grimaced.

“Well. Yes. Basically.” He waited for some sort of reaction from the man, a demand to fine-tune the ritual until he could be positive it would work as intended. Instead, Snape merely inclined his head.

“That is a risk we must take.”

“What? But— you’ll die!” Harry spluttered. Snape’s dark eyes flashed.

“Mr Potter, I have been tied by magic to that madman for longer than you’ve been alive. I have had a long time to consider my fate, and I can assure you I made peace with death a long time ago.” His lips quirked. “I knew as soon as I was Marked that it connected his magic to mine. Surviving when he does not would be a pleasant surprise indeed, but it is not an expectation of mine.”

Harry stared at the man, marvelling at his cool composure, the way he didn’t even hesitate to welcome his own demise. Did he have nerves of steel, or simply nothing left to live for?

Either way, Harry refused to be so complacent. “I’ll do everything I can to try and spare you, and any others,” he vowed. “No one deserves death from a youthful mistake brought about by the influence of society.” He met the Slytherin’s gaze head-on, a look of respect from one snake to another. “I refuse to allow a man who cares so well for my house to be tarred with the same brush as that filth. The world needs more Slytherins like you, Severus Snape.”

Whether it was in the set of Harry’s shoulders or the flicker in his eyes, it seemed obvious which side of him was talking at that moment, and Snape sat a little taller, thin lips curving in the barest of smiles. “It has been an honour and a privilege, Lord Slytherin,” he insisted. “And rest assured, I have arrangements in place should my death come before you are of age to take over. I will not leave Slytherin house unguarded.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Harry said honestly, then offered a small grin. “I thought it’d take at least another year of me wearing you down before you’d agree to eventually handing the house over to a Potter.”

Snape snorted, black eyes glittering. “Keep me alive through this mess, and you’ll have proven yourself more than cunning enough for the honour.”

At that, Harry outright laughed, nodding sharply. “It’s a deal.”

He’d find a way. Snape deserved that much.

Chapter Text

From that night on, time seemed to race ahead, until the third task was almost upon them. The night before, the four founders gathered up in the Room, going over Harry’s ritual and the plan for tomorrow. Bagman had shown them the maze in late May, and the two boys were confident there was nothing in there they couldn’t face. The real challenge would come in whatever happened next.

“Do we have a plan for if there’s no actual secret plot in this tournament, and it just ends normally?” Neville asked, brow furrowing. Harry shrugged.

“I wait ’til summer and go Dark Lord hunting?” he suggested, earning a scolding poke to the shoulder from his brother. “I’m serious. I highly doubt Crouch has gone through all of this to just not have a plan, so I’m working under the assumption that something’s going to happen. I’m just hoping he isn’t going to involve the others. This isn’t their fight.”

“I’ll keep them safe, the best I can,” Cedric vowed. “You just worry about what you need to do.” Between them, his hand was wrapped tight around Harry’s, his shoulders tense and his jaw sharp. Harry leaned into him soothingly.

“It’ll be fine, love,” he assured.

“One way or another, it’ll all be over by this time tomorrow,” Luna mused. Harry let her words sink in, trying to imagine what that might be like. A world without Voldemort hanging over his shoulders, shadowing his every step. He hardly dared imagine it.

“Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid,” Neville requested with a long-suffering sigh. Harry grinned.

“Stupid is your area of expertise,” he declared. “I haven’t lost that much of myself to you lions. Every risk I take will be entirely calculated and necessary.”

“Y’know, that doesn’t reassure me in the slightest,” came Neville’s deadpan response. Harry sobered, looking at his three gathered companions, the other three quarters of his heart.

“I swear to you, I won’t do anything to jeopardise this second chance we’ve all been given,” he vowed. “I want to watch this school prosper again. I want to be part of shaping the world. I can’t do that if I’m dead, or lose all my magic.”

“Is that a possibility? Losing your magic?” Cedric asked in a strangled tone. Harry winced.

“A very, very minuscule one?” he admitted. “Like, less than half a percent likely. But still can’t rule it out.” He squeezed Cedric’s hand. “I’m being as careful as I can, but this sort of magic is inherently unpredictable.”

“It’s as sound as we’re capable of making it,” Luna promised. “He’s not going in half-cocked. For once.” That made Cedric grin half-heartedly.

Neville checked his watch, and cleared his throat. “I think we’ll call it a night. Let you two have a bit of time to yourselves. We’ll see you both in the morning, yeah?”

He wasn’t subtle, but Harry didn’t need him to be. When he and Cedric were the only ones left, Harry turned in his seat to press his forehead to his boyfriend’s. “Don’t fret, my love,” he soothed. “This is just something I need to do. One little ritual, and he’s gone for good.”

“Unless something goes wrong and it kills you instead,” Cedric retorted. Harry cupped his cheeks, looking deep into troubled grey eyes.

“That’s very unlikely. The scenarios I’m preparing for are the case in which all Marked people die, or the case in which it backfires and Voldemort lives through it. Even then, he should be mortal enough that I can just curse him and be done with it.” He pressed a quick kiss to Cedric’s lips. “You should be more worried about Professor Snape than me.” His outcome was the most unknown, the one Harry was most concerned over.

Cedric growled. “I’m not in love with Professor Snape!” he retorted.

“I should hope not!” The attempt at levity didn’t work, and Harry sighed. “Listen to me, my love. I am Harry Potter, and my whole life has been leading up to this moment. I’m lucky enough to have been given Salazar’s memories, and given you and the others to assist me, but everything culminates in this, for me. I have to do whatever I can to rid this stain from the world.”

“Just promise me something. One thing,” Cedric asked. Harry cocked his head expectantly. “Promise me you won’t go somewhere I can’t follow. Death is one thing. Our souls are bound, that realm doesn’t frighten me. But you’re messing with Magic here. If you… you could unmake yourself, if you’re not careful. You could unravel everything that is you, and I would never be with you again.”

“Now that I can promise,” Harry said with a relieved smile. “I’d have to make a real blunder — like, first year Potions class sized blunder — to unmake myself with this ritual. I have enough experience with these matters to avoid that outcome.” He was maybe being a little arrogant, but he’d rather that than do anything to make Cedric worry. “I promise you, Cedric Diggory, that my soul will always be in reach of yours. You are half of it, after all.”

Cedric leaned in, kissing him like a man dying of thirst, his hands gripping Harry’s back. Harry leaned into the kiss, pushing back just as aggressively. The Hufflepuff nipped at his lower lip, breathing hard. “Marry me.”

Harry blinked, sure he’d misheard. “What?”

Cedric leaned back a little, reaching behind him on the sofa. When he lifted his hand again, there was a small green velvet box resting in his palm. “Marry me,” he repeated, clearer this time. His mouth was kiss-swollen and his face flushed, but his expression was entirely serious. “I know it won’t be until you’re graduated and of age. But it would be foolish of us to pretend for even a second that I could be happy with anyone but you. You proposed last time, now it’s my turn. Let’s go again, yeah?”

With shaking fingers, Harry reached for the box, flicking it open. He froze instantly, a wave of recognition bowling into him. “I… where did you get this?” It was his wedding ring. Salazar’s wedding ring. Sterling silver with the tiniest chips of emerald embedded in the metal, engraved with runes that simply looked like scales from far away. It was in pristine condition. The last time he’d seen it, he’d been kissing it with the last of his strength before the light left his eyes.

“We recovered your body, eventually,” Cedric supplied, voice trembling. “I wore it on a chain around my neck. When I died, it was put in my vault, and that’s where I found it again. My old ring is there too, but, well, it’s a little small now.”

The ring in the box was too big for Harry, built for a man’s hand, but he’d grow into it. One day he’d be a man worthy of wearing that ring again. With a twitch of his fingers, Harry unhooked the chain of his pendant, threading it through the ring. “Let’s go again,” he agreed. “When I’m old enough. When Voldemort is just a bad memory. This will stay, right here,” he looped the chain over his neck until the ring and pendant settled over his heart, “as a reminder that where you go, I always follow, and I will never go anywhere you cannot. My soul, my heart, my life; they are all yours, and I wouldn’t dare let Magic steal them from you.” He closed the box in Cedric’s hand, setting it carefully aside. “It might take a few years before I can repeat that vow in public, in the way it is intended. But I meant it before and I mean it now.”

Cedric pulled him closer, hands resting on his hips. “I love you, Harry Potter,” he breathed, settling into another kiss. This one was far more languid, though there was still an edge of desperation to it — they both knew what tomorrow would bring. Harry moaned softly, fingers twining in Cedric’s soft hair. Every inch of his body pulsed with heat, the ring on his chest burned like a brand, and he never wanted it to end.

All of a sudden, the sofa they were sat on widened and elongated, becoming a king-sized bed. They broke apart, and Harry raised an eyebrow. “Was that you or me?” he asked amusedly, and Cedric shrugged.

“No idea. Is it… a problem?”

“Definitely not,” Harry assured, eyes darkening. He gave a gentle push to Cedric’s shoulders, until the taller boy was flat on his back on the mattress, his t-shirt rucked up to reveal tanned skin over defined abs. He looked like thirteen year-old Harry’s wet dream, and Harry’s heart sang with want. “Can we stay here tonight?” he begged, one hand over Cedric’s heart. “Please? I just… I want to hold you.” He could be as blasé as he wanted about what the third task would bring, but that didn’t stop him being terrified in the very depths of his heart.

“Yeah,” Cedric agreed, voice a little hoarse, reaching up to stroke Harry’s jaw. “Yeah, that sounds good, love.” He propped up on his elbows, eyes trailing over Harry’s form. “Should we get a little more comfortable?”

Anticipation hummed in Harry’s veins, and he pulled his own shirt over his head. Something about this moment felt different, even from the few times they’d been to the prefects’ bathroom together. Everything felt… more. When they were both naked, but for the chain around Harry’s neck, it felt like their first time.

It felt like their wedding night all over again.

“Come here,” Harry urged, pulling Cedric down beside him, tangling their legs together and arching into the delicious friction. Cedric gasped, fingers curling into Harry’s shoulders, lips finding the sensitive spot beneath his ear.

“Harry, please,” he begged, strung out already. “I— I need you. Please.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked, going tense. Cedric nodded, meeting his gaze. There was hardly any iris left visible, his pupils were so blown.

“You’re mine, I’m yours, waiting a year or two won’t change that,” he babbled, still rocking up against Harry with even thrusts, sending sparks of pleasure through both of them. “If anything happens tomorrow and we didn’t— I didn’t— I want you. However I can have you.”

“I’m yours,” Harry promised, kissing his way up Cedric’s chest to the older boy’s lips, his every touch as reverent as if he were touching Magic itself. “Always yours. I don’t want to do this because you think I might die tomorrow.”

“I want to do this because you’re bloody gorgeous and I love you and I think I might die if I don’t get your cock in me soon,” Cedric growled. “So get on with it, you little snake.”

Harry laughed, a joyous sound, and kissed Cedric harder. “Badger’s got claws,” he teased in a whisper, running his fingernails gently down Cedric’s chest, catching on his nipple in a way that made him shudder with pleasure. “Okay. Okay.”

He wasn’t surprised when a vial of lubricant appeared on the nightstand beside him. He reached for it, shuffling down over Cedric and shifting his lover into a more comfortable position, propping his hips up with a pillow. He knew what he was doing here. Despite the difference in their body types, and the one obvious difference, it wasn’t entirely dissimilar. After a little private experimentation, and an enormously embarrassing but surprisingly informative letter from Sirius and Remus to go with the book they sent him for Christmas, he was pretty sure he had the whole concept down.

Men had been fucking other men since before even Salazar’s time. How hard could it be?

Besides, he and Cedric hand’t been entirely chaste, especially since that first time in the prefects’ bathroom. Harry was pretty good at using his mouth by now, and that’s what he went for first, sliding his lips over the head of Cedric’s cock, adjusting when the Hufflepuff’s hips bucked up instinctively. Carefully, he uncapped the vial and tipped a little onto his fingers, trying to concentrate on both his tasks well enough that Cedric wouldn’t notice. Indeed, he jumped a little when cool, slick fingers began to rub gently at his crease, teasing at his opening. He let out a soft, quiet groan, craning his neck to look Harry in the eye. “Please, before I combust,” he begged, drawing a smirk from his Slytherin-at-heart lover.

“Brace yourself,” he warned, before sliding the first finger in. It was a similar feeling to having a finger in himself, though the angle was easier; hot and velvet-smooth and ever so tight, and Cedric’s mouth opened in a silent gasp.

“More,” he pleaded, once he was used to the sensation. Harry’s other hand was absently stroking his stomach, soothing him through it, occasionally trailing down over his cock when it looked like the pain might overtake the pleasure. Harry took his mouth away, not wanting to overload Cedric so soon. There would be time for that later, when they were well-versed in each other and knew exactly how best to draw things out.

There would be time for a lot of things in the future. Harry would make sure of it.

One finger became two, and then three, and Cedric was a writhing, gasping mess on Harry’s hand, fisting the sheets and arching his back, searching for more. “Harry,” he cried, lust-clouded eyes meeting vibrant green. “I’m ready, come on, before we die of old age.”

“Gods, you’ve always been so impatient,” Harry teased fondly, leaning in for a kiss. Then he paused, suddenly awkward. “Do we, uh, need spells…?” Obviously contraceptives weren’t necessary, but Sirius’ book had talked about other protective spells. He couldn’t remember them for the life of him right now, though; he’d expected a little more warning before he’d need them!

“First time for both of us,” Cedric pointed out with a shake of his head. “We’ll be fine. Not a girl anymore, can’t get pregnant. Just fuck me, love.”

Harry almost came there and then at the words, said in that raw tone, Cedric’s body hot around his fingers. “Okay. Just— just give me a second.” His brain was radically flip-flopping between offering all of Salazar’s worldly expertise on women, and reminding him that he was fourteen year-old virgin Harry Potter with literally no idea what he was doing. It wasn’t remotely helpful.

He pushed all rational thought aside, following his instinct as he poured out more lube and positioned himself, stroking Cedric’s chest as he eased himself inside.

It was glorious. Salazar’s memories hadn’t prepared him for the utter bliss of being inside someone, someone he loved, someone whose body and soul had been practically made for him. Both of them groaned, long and low, as Harry slid in further, until he was fully sheathed. “Gods, yes,” Cedric panted, one hand gripping Harry’s thigh. “You can move. I’m okay, just move, love.”

Harry did as bid, slowly figuring out a rhythm, until he hit that perfect spot within Cedric that had him crying out and curling his toes, pulling Harry closer to him, lips meeting in a messy kiss. “More, there,” he directed, letting Harry brace himself on Cedric’s shoulders. “Ah, yes, yes, there, perfect!”

Harry slid his free hand down between them, gripping Cedric and twisting in a way he knew the other boy loved, and suddenly everything was tight and hot and white fire behind his eyelids as Cedric came, the clench of his passage setting Harry off, orgasm hitting him like a train, a string of Parseltongue escaping unbidden as he rode out the immense waves of pleasure, Cedric right there alongside him. It felt like an eternity before they both slumped, breathing harshly, Harry barely having the presence of mind to pull out gently and slump against Cedric’s chest. “Blimey,” he rasped, tiny aftershocks still jolting his system. “Gods. That was. Something.”

“You still hiss when you come inside me,” Cedric remarked, sounding dazed. “Nice to know some things haven’t changed.”

Harry laughed, rolling sluggishly onto his side to survey his lover. Cedric looked utterly debauched, and a smug sense of pride rose in Harry that he’d been the one to cause that look. The ring on its chain bumped against his chest as he moved, and he was suddenly hit with the most intense surge of longing for the day he could wear it on his finger, as Cedric’s husband.

“Well,” he said eventually, once they’d both had a chance to catch their breath. A wave of his hand vanished the mess, and he turned to curl his body against Cedric’s, pressing a kiss to the boy’s broad shoulder. “Solid starting point, I’d say. We’ve got our whole lives to improve, yeah?”

Cedric made a sound that was half growl, half laugh, rolling over to capture Harry in a bear hug. “That’s what I love about you Slytherins,” he muttered into Harry’s neck, pressing him down into the mattress. “Always striving to do better. Bloody blew my mind and you’re already talking about improvements.”

“Ambition combined with hard work always gives excellent results,” Harry retorted cheekily. “I think between the two of us we can get there.”

“You’re damn right we can,” Cedric slurred, halfway to sleep by now. Sex had always knocked Helga right out; that clearly hadn’t changed either. “‘Tween the two of us, we c’n do anythin’.”

Harry grinned secretively to himself, heart fit to burst as he rearranged Cedric so they could both sleep without his bulk crushing Harry in the night.

Yeah, they could.

.-.-.

Whatever story Neville had made up about Harry’s whereabouts the night before, Harry was forever grateful for his best friend when no one questioned why he hadn’t come back to the common room. Cedric didn’t seem to be so lucky, if the nudges and grins his roommates were giving him at breakfast were any indication. But they were good blokes, they wouldn’t make drama over it.

Harry was surprised when McGonagall summoned him shortly after he was done eating, insisting his family had come to visit and watch the final task. He was even more surprised when that family turned out to be Mrs Weasley and Bill.

“Charlie says he’s sorry he couldn’t make it,” Bill told him, ruffling his hair in greeting. “But he had to get back to Romania. He got to see the first task, though, so it’s only fair I get this one.”

“I— I wasn’t expecting…anyone,” he finished lamely. Mrs Weasley patted his cheek, smiling fondly.

“We couldn’t let all the other champions have the fun!” she insisted. “Besides, it’s been ever so long since I’ve been at Hogwarts! Arthur wanted to come too, of course, but he couldn’t get the time off. He sends his love, and says he’s got every faith in you to win this tournament.”

Harry felt a lump rise in his throat, and he quickly coughed. “It’s— it’s really good to see you guys.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, dear,” Mrs Weasley promised. Her gaze softened knowingly. “Regardless of how Ron’s been acting these days. You’re still one of ours, Fred and George have made that clear. There’s always room at our table for you, Harry, dear.”

For a split second Harry was worried he might burst into tears in the middle of the room surrounded by the champions and their families, and Bill seemed to catch his dilemma, as he smirked roguishly. “So, what’s this I hear about you and Diggory, eh? I knew I caught you staring at him at the World Cup. Charlie thought I was imagining it! His gaydar’s always been shit, no wonder he can’t get a date,” he joked, ignoring his mother’s hiss of “Bill, language!”

Harry goggled. “You and Charlie talked about that?” he exclaimed, and Bill grinned.

“Of course! Nothing better to do than discuss potential future blackmail material for our little siblings,” he teased. “You just had to go and bloody get together with him before we could tease you about having a crush!”

“You can still tease him, if you like,” Cedric’s voice called, amused. Harry whipped around to see his boyfriend approaching, two adults behind him who could only be his parents. Oh, fuck. “He’s adorable when he blushes.”

Harry squawked, and Bill laughed. Cedric winked at his boyfriend, stepping forward with a confident smile and an offered hand. “Nice to properly meet you. Bill, right?”

“Yeah. Good to meet you too. You’d better be taking proper care of our Harry here,” he mock-threatened, squeezing Harry’s shoulder with the hand that wasn’t shaking Cedric’s. Cedric grinned.

“Trust me, if I wasn’t, the twins would’ve dismembered me by now. Your sister, too; she’s fast with a bat-bogey hex. It’s a little bit terrifying.”

Bill barked out a laugh. “Isn’t she though? Comes with having to deal with all of us, I suppose.”

“Oh, Cedric, dear, it’s been far too long. Haven’t you grown up into a handsome young man! The last time I saw you, you were barely a first year!” Mrs Weasley fussed, drawing Cedric into a hug and kissing his cheek. He flushed, but brought out the winning smile that had all women melting; Mrs Weasley was no exception.

“And you don’t look a day older, Mrs Weasley,” he declared, making her giggle and blush.

“Charming bastard, isn’t he?” Bill muttered into Harry’s ear. The dark-haired boy snorted.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Done flattering the Weasley matriarch, Cedric turned a little, sliding an arm around Harry’s waist. Harry tried not to tense as he came face to face with Cedric’s father. Amos Diggory looked mightily uncomfortable, as if he was remembering their last interaction.

“Mum, Dad,” Cedric started, “this is Harry, my boyfriend. Harry, these are my parents, Sophia and Amos.”

Harry’s mind went blank. All the scenarios he’d faced in both lifetimes, and he had absolutely no idea what to say when meeting his boyfriend’s parents for the first time. Helga’s parents had been dead by the time they’d married!

“I, uh, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he stuttered, offering his hand first to Cedric’s mother. She smiled warmly, and the family resemblance became clear.

“Likewise, Harry. Cedric’s told us all about you, of course,” she added.

“Oh dear,” he blurted under his breath, making Cedric snort.

“Shut up, I only told them the good bits,” he teased. Harry smirked back at him.

“Must’ve been a short letter,” he joked. Mrs Diggory — Harry couldn’t call her Sophia, not even in his head — laughed brightly.

“Don’t worry, dear, he was very complimentary. I’d say our boy is quite smitten with you,” she said with a conspiratorial wink. Cedric groaned, going beet red.

“Mu-um!” he complained.

“Oh, hush, you; this is the first person you’ve introduced to us, let us have a little fun,” she teased her son. She gave a pointed nudge to her husband, who coughed awkwardly.

“Good to see you again, Potter,” he said, shaking Harry’s hand mechanically. Cedric and his mother shared a similar look of exasperation. “Now, I hope you know, Ced’s not going to go easy just because he’s taken a fancy to you,” he declared, unaware of his son’s expression of horror. “You’ll have to work if you want to beat him!”

“Dad!” Cedric’s reprimand was sharp. “Could you just— could you think before you speak, like, once?”

“I’m just saying!”

“Harry doesn’t even want to be in the tournament!” Cedric argued. “He doesn’t care about who wins! And it certainly doesn’t have any place in our relationship.”

“Harry, dear,” Mrs Weasley cut in gently, looking between the two Diggory men with pursed lips. “Why don’t you show me what Gryffindor tower looks like these days? I daresay it’s changed a bit since I was last there!”

“Oh, right. Yeah, sure,” Harry agreed, happy for any excuse to retreat. He’d never been good with parents — of friends, of students, of paramours. They just didn’t seem to like him. And as Harry Potter he hadn’t exactly had much experience outside the Weasley family. “We’ll, uh, see you at lunch, Ced?”

Cedric didn’t look happy, but he pulled Harry close, pressing his lips to his forehead. “I’m so sorry about him,” he murmured, but Harry waved him off.

“It’s fine, really. Go spend time with your parents, I know you’ve missed them.” He pulled back, rocking up on his toes to kiss Cedric, unashamed to do so in front of any of their gathered families. “See you later.”

Before Mr Diggory could say anything else, Harry stepped away from his boyfriend and began to lead Mrs Weasley and Bill towards the exit. Before they could reach it, they were intercepted. “Meeting ze family ees not going well, eh?” Fleur asked amusedly, reaching for Harry’s hand. “Eef eet ees not too much of an interruption, my parents would like to meet you, ‘Arry. To zank you for ‘elping me save Gabrielle.” Her accent was strong, no doubt from talking to her family once more.

He glanced over his shoulder, and went wide-eyed when he saw the utterly starstruck look on Bill’s face. He smirked to himself. “Not an interruption at all,” he assured, allowing Fleur to lead them over to her gathered family, all equally blonde and beautiful. “And might I introduce you to mine? This is Molly Weasley, the closest thing I have to a mum. And this is Bill, her eldest son. He’s a cursebreaker for Gringotts.”

Mrs Weasley’s hand went to her mouth for the briefest moment, before she swallowed the emotion Harry’s words had raised. Fleur lit up at the mention of Bill’s career. “Oh! I ‘ave always been fascinated by ze work of the Gringotts cursebreakers!”

“Careful, she’ll talk your ear off about it,” cut in a man who could only be Fleur’s father, his accent faint but still audible. He sounded amused as he settled a hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

Bill, betrayed by the Weasley genes, blushed red to the tips of his ears. “I, uh, I’d be happy to chat about it anytime,” he stammered. Harry wondered why he’d ever thought the eldest Weasley brother was smooth and cool. He was almost as bad as Ron.

Fleur didn’t seem to mind, if her smile was any indication.

“‘Arry!” He tore his gaze away as a silver-haired blur crashed into his knees, hugging him tightly around the waist.

“Salut, Gabrielle,” he greeted fondly, crouching to kiss the girl’s cheek. “Ca va?”

“Oui, Ca va bien! Eet ees good to see Mama et Papa again.” She retreated back to curl her arm around her mother’s leg, and the woman offered Harry a pleasant smile.

Harry had done his research, and he knew that Elodie Delacour was a force to be reckoned with in French politics. Since the second task, she’d been summarily dragging Dumbledore’s reputation through the mud with the ICW, enraging them with how careless he’d been with her daughters. Harry loved her for it already.

“It’s an honour to meet you, Madame Delacour,” he greeted in somewhat stilted French. She beamed, kissing both his cheeks.

“The honour is all mine, Monsieur Potter. Our family owes you a great debt,” she assured. She glanced askance to her daughter and Bill, who were now engrossed in a rapid-fire conversation mixing both French and English words. “Per’aps,” she continued in English, “you and your delightful family would consent to giving us a tour of your beautiful castle? My ‘usband and I ‘ave not been to ‘Ogwarts before. We can all… get to know each other better.” The smirk she flashed Mrs Weasley was entirely devilish, and the woman barely stifled a chuckle, glancing at her utterly besotted son.

“That sounds lovely,” she agreed. “Harry, dear, lead the way.”

Harry did as bid, not entirely sure how he’d ended up in that situation, but knowing it was far better than attempting more conversation with Cedric’s father.

Chapter Text

The crowd for the third task somehow felt four times the size of the previous crowds. Harry peered out from the edge of the champions’ tent, wide-eyed and slightly nauseous. A strong arm slid around his waist, gently pulling him back against a firm chest. “Don’t think about it,” Cedric murmured, nuzzling behind his ear. “You know what you need to do. Don’t think about anyone else.”

The only saving grace in Harry’s mind was that there was no way Crouch’s plan could possibly involve bringing Voldemort here, so at least Harry wouldn’t have an audience for his ritual. He was kind-of counting on that, to be honest; that sort of magic was definitely illegal these days, and it would be incredibly questionable as to how he came across that knowledge. He’d be much better off with privacy.

He could feel the maze. The four of them had been holding the wards lowered all week, to allow the ridiculous amount of dark creatures and magic to be transported within school grounds. Harry was astonished that nobody questioned how it was possible to get these things within what was supposedly the most impregnable fortress in wizarding Europe. It hurt his pride that people seemed to think this was par the course for the Hogwarts wards.

They would learn, eventually.

But for now, they kept the wards down, but both of them had the advantage over Fleur and Viktor in being able to sense every intrusion into their territory. Harry wasn’t going to complain, though; this task was an utter farce anyway, and he’d use every trick in the book to get to the centre quickly and deal with whatever Crouch had set up for him. Amongst it all, he could feel some kind of transportation magic, probably a portkey. That had to be it. It would sicken him to adjust the wards to actually let the portkey take him away from school grounds, but it had to be done.

The crowd grew wilder, and then a hush settled over them all; Ludo Bagman’s magnified voice became audible, though through the tent walls they couldn’t quite make out the words. Harry and Cedric turned to the two other champions, who looked equally grim. Fleur managed a weak smile. “Eet ees, ‘ow you say, no ‘ard feelings, oui?”

“No hard feelings,” Cedric agreed. “May the best person win. And may the rest of us survive trying.”

Viktor chuckled, his face serious. “It has been an honour, to compete vith the three of you,” he said solemnly. “I hope ve can all keep in touch ven this ends.”

“Definitely,” Harry promised, smiling feebly. “Ced and I will come visit sometime. Catch a quidditch match, or something.”

Viktor’s lips curved. “I vould like that, very much.”

The moment was broken when Bagman burst into the tent, beaming like a schoolboy. “They’re ready for you,” he declared, holding the tent open with a flourish. Harry shared a grimace with Cedric, then the pair of them walked side by side out into the roar of the crowd. This time their uniforms were a simple tracksuit — originally in their house colours, but Harry fixed that again, and now they were in matching black with their school crests emblazoned on their backs.

Professor Dumbledore stood at the entrance of the maze, and once all the champions were there he began to explain the rules; Cedric would enter first, then Harry and Viktor as they were tied, then Fleur. Cedric turned, pulling Harry into a chaste kiss, holding him close. “I love you,” he breathed.

“I love you too.”

The cannon went off, and Cedric entered the maze.

The scarce minutes separating them seemed like hours, and Harry jolted forward when the blast sounded a second time. He strode into the maze, letting his senses guide him; they were far more accurate than any navigation spell.

It was impossible to take a path that avoided obstacles entirely, even with Harry’s keen awareness of the maze and its inhabitants. He simply chose what felt like the quickest path to the centre, making his way through without much incident. The boggart — still a dementor, though more for the reason that having his soul sucked would prevent it from joining with his love in the afterlife — was an easy enough opponent, and the sphinx’s riddle was simple, though he did apologise to her for being subjected to such things for the amusement of wizards. She assured him she’d volunteered for the position, out of her own curiosity.

He tried not to harm the few creatures he did come across, but in some cases it was unavoidable; like the acromantula the size of a house that bore down on him barely a few feet from where he could feel the cup. He swore, shooting off a high-powered blasting curse to punch through the creature’s thick hide. It screeched as blood began to pour, and Harry made a mental note to apologise to Hagrid later — though really, what had he expected, volunteering his creatures for the task?

As he approached the glowing Triwizard cup, he was surprised to feel a familiar magic approaching, and Cedric burst out of a different gap in the hedges. He blinked in surprise at seeing Harry, then turned a wary gaze to the cup. “This is it, then,” he murmured, stepping closer. Harry nodded.

“Yup. Final step.”

“Let me come with you,” Cedric pleaded earnestly. There was a smudge of dirt above his eyebrow, and a bruise at his jaw. “I can help.”

“I’m not risking it,” Harry insisted. “The ritual is delicate; having someone of your power there could throw the whole thing off. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“But your own life is a reasonable risk?” Cedric retorted sharply. Harry sighed.

“Do we have to do this now?” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I’m being as careful as I can, but Ced, this is my one chance to end this. I’ll do everything I can to make sure it goes as planned. I need you to stay here, so that I’m not worrying about whether you’re safe.” He reached out, tugging on the front of Cedric’s shirt. “Please, just trust me.”

Cedric didn’t look happy, but he nodded. The kiss he bestowed on Harry was almost bruising, claiming him down to his bones. He pressed a hand over Harry’s heart; over the pendant and ring hanging at his chest. “This belongs to me,” he whispered fiercely. “Bring it back in one piece, yeah?”

“It’ll all be in working order, I promise,” Harry replied with a wink, stealing one more kiss before stepping back. “I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

Before Cedric could change his mind, Harry turned, grabbing the cup.

He was prepared for the feeling of being pressed into a tube and yanked up by the navel, and he stayed on his feet when he landed, his eyes alert as he surveyed his surroundings. He was in some sort of graveyard, and for a moment all he could feel was the awful wrongness of something nearby that could only be Voldemort, in whatever form he currently took. Harry had spent enough time studying the man’s soul lately to recognise that magic anywhere.

Then something moved, and he registered the second presence, immediately snapping out a spell. There was a thud, and Harry turned in time to see a plump figure drop to the ground in a heap. He strolled over, sneering when he recognised the man. Pettigrew.

That would make freeing Sirius easier. He quickly bound the man, just in case his ritual didn’t work as intended.

“Hello Tom,” he greeted evenly, striding towards the awful feeling magic. There was a bundle of robes gathered next to a half-full cauldron, and Harry looked around, cataloguing things and coming to one conclusion that made him groan. “Really? A flesh, blood and bone ritual? How… disappointing.” He’d expected better of the great Lord Voldemort. Useless little upstart.

“How dare you!” the bundle hissed in the croaky voice that had haunted Harry’s dreams all summer. “Where is Wormtail?”

“Unconscious ‘round the corner. Not the sharpest on the draw,” Harry replied, nudging the bundle with his foot until the robes fell away, revealing a hideous homunculus-creature that was somewhat human shaped — if a human had been shrunken, and pickled, and maybe set on fire for good measure. Bright red eyes glared up at him from the grotesque skull, but Harry didn’t blink. “Well, you certainly aren’t what you used to be. That’s going to make my job easier.”

He ignored Voldemort’s spluttering, levitating the creature to a flat patch of grass, where it was easy for him to gouge the necessary rune circle around him. Voldemort watched wide-eyed, too weak to do anything but lie there and wait for his own demise. “Now, I know what you’re thinking,” Harry said conversationally. “‘That Potter brat shouldn’t know this sort of magic! What’s going on?’ Well, Tom, here’s the thing. I had a bit of an interesting experience back in September. Went to bed one night, totally normal. Woke up with an entire lifetime’s worth of memories in my head that hadn’t been there before. I bet you’re curious whose memories they were, aren’t you?” Ritual circle complete, Harry lit a ring of fire around them, smirking as he looked Voldemort dead in the eye.

“I am Harry Potter, and I am Salzar Slytherin,” he hissed in Parseltongue, watching those red eyes widen. “And I am very upset with how you have besmirched my line.” He surveyed his ritual space, double checking that everything was absolutely perfect. “But don’t worry. I’m here to fix that. You’re going to get exactly what you deserve.”

And then he began.

Dimly, he could hear Voldemort screaming — in rage or fear or something else, he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t afford to let his focus slip for even a second. Magic flowed through both his hand and his wand as he chanted the words he’d memorised, thinking hard on his intention for the Magic of the ritual, opening his heart to the force and letting it search him for deception. He couldn’t doubt, couldn’t hesitate, or it would all be for nought.

Take him, he thought desperately. Take him and cleanse him and return him to the earth, so he can never stain this world again. End his life, reclaim his magic, make it do good again. Follow his Mark, judge their minds, weigh their deeds. Those who are true to him, take them too, cleanse everything. Cleanse me if you need to, just don’t let him hurt another.

The ritual ended with a flash of blinding white light and a sound like a thunderclap, the force of the magic sending Harry sprawling back on the dirt. He was in the ring of fire, but it didn’t burn him.

When he could finally see again, blinking away the spots seared into his vision, his first thought was that the runes had blackened and etched into the earth, and that was going to be a bitch to cover back up. Then he looked at the shrivelled, melted mass of flesh in the centre of the circle, felt the ozone-burning sensation of freshly cleansed magic, and his heart stuttered.

Voldemort was gone.

He waved his wand over the mass, just to check — not a single trace of the darkness was left in it, and that could only mean one thing. It had worked! At least in the capacity of destroying Voldemort. The last of his mortal body was dead and soulless, and his horcruxes were all gone too. There wasn’t even a residue of magic left behind; Magic had listened to his plea to cleanse and drain him.

He let the ring of fire die and sprinted over to the bound Pettigrew, rolling him roughly to check for a pulse. Nothing. When the man’s left forearm was bared, the Dark Mark was burnt into it like it had been freshly charred, red and raw around the edges.

A hysterical laugh bubbled from Harry’s lips. He’d done it! He’d actually done it.

He hoped Professor Snape was okay.

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Harry worked quickly, using a spell to lift and churn the earth beneath his ritual circle, breaking it apart. He left a neat six-foot hole in the centre, loose earth spread out around it like it was a grave waiting to be filled. A headstone with a generic name and recent date of death completed the look, and Harry prayed it would be enough for any Ministry officials who might come and check, if they even bothered. Luckily, the Magic had cleansed traces of his own work too, and a quick spell erased any evidence of spells cast afterwards.

Next, he levitated the congealed mass that was once Voldemort into the cauldron nearby, letting the potion within bubble and roil, rejecting the offering it was given. It spat and hissed, eventually cracking ever so slightly. A little nudge from Harry had it splitting entirely in half, leaving a mangled cauldron, a spill of potion, and a soggy blob of flesh. His stomach rolled uncomfortably, but he bit it back. He’d seen worse.

Finally, the hardest step of all. Harry surveyed the graveyard, studying it carefully, and with a deep breath, closed his eyes. He sank into his mind, slowly building a new memory, beginning from the moment the portkey delivered him to the graveyard.

In this memory, Pettigrew immobilised him as soon as he arrived, and bound him to the huge angel headstone. Then he began to undertake a pretty standard flesh, blood and bone ritual, providing his own flesh for the occasion and stealing the blood from Harry. The rat-like man tossed the components in the cauldron, and then everything began to go wrong. The cauldron hissed and bubbled, much like it had done a second ago, until it exploded at the very second Pettigrew dropped dead. The bonds around Harry disappeared as their caster died, leaving him alone in a graveyard, with two fresh corpses — well, one and a half, sort-of.

He kept the memory going all through grabbing the portkey to return home, then checked it over for flaws that a legilimens like Dumbledore might recognise, knowing that was likely his strongest opponent.

Dumbledore was good, but Salazar was better.

Finally, he walked over to Pettigrew and sliced the man’s right hand off, using a little magic to melt it around the edges and toss it into the wreckage of the cauldron. He barely even winced when he sliced down his own forearm, making the wound look just as it had done in his false memory.

Harry surveyed his work, sent off another blast of magic to erase his own magical signature from the scene of the crime, then nodded to himself, calling it good. Not as sophisticated as Luna might do, but it’d suit just fine. “Thank the gods that’s over with,” he muttered to himself. “I’m gonna have to make one hell of a tribute at our next Solstice fire.”

Shaking his head, he grabbed Pettigrew’s wrist with a grimace, then wordlessly summoned the Triwizard Cup, sending himself spinning into oblivion once more.

.-.-.

As soon as Harry disappeared from the maze, Cedric took a deep, steadying breath, then got to work on his own half of the plan.

He raised his wand, shooting red sparks into the air. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest that after a couple of minutes, Professor Moody appeared. The man’s magical eye spun towards the space where the cup should be, and Cedric saw his face light up for the briefest of seconds.

He still had his part to play. “Professor! I got here just as Harry grabbed the cup— was it supposed to be a portkey? What’s happening?”

“You saw him grab it?” Moody checked, and Cedric nodded. The false-professor grunted. “My Lord needs more time,” he muttered to himself. “Not to worry. Cruc—“

Before he could finish the spell, Cedric stunned him, wide-eyed as the man fell to the grass. Not that the spell would’ve worked anyway — no one was going to land a Cruciatus on a student in his school — but he could hardly believe the man would be so bold. He obviously had complete confidence in the ritual and his own ability to worm his way back to his master’s side. Idiot.

For the second time, Cedric sent up red sparks. This time, McGonagall was the one to come to his aid, and she skidded to a halt with horror in her eyes. “Mr Diggory! What is the meaning of this?” She raised a hand to revive Moody, and Cedric flung out his arm to stop her.

“Don’t! Professor, I don’t think that’s the real Moody. He tried to Crucio me.” The colour drained from the old woman’s face, and Cedric ploughed on. “I got here just in time to see Harry grab the cup, only it was a portkey. I didn’t know if it was supposed to be so I put sparks up, and Moody arrived, and when I told him what happened he said his Lord needed more time, and he tried to curse me, so I stunned him. Professor, I think he’s a Death Eater!”

He might have been overdoing it on the panic and hysteria a bit, but, well; he was a Hufflepuff, people would forgive some dramatics. McGonagall let out a gasp. “No, Mr Diggory, the cup was not supposed to be a portkey,” she told him, her voice shaking. “I think we need Professor Dumbledore.”

She made a complicated motion with her wand that sent up vibrant blue sparks, and a moment later the cannon blasted loudly. “Follow me, Mr Diggory.” The Gryffindor housemistress levitated Moody’s stunned form and began to forge her way out of the maze, the hedges neatly parting for her and Cedric. They reached the outside in no time at all, and Cedric stayed silent as the woman hurried towards Dumbledore. The crowd gasped and muttered at the sight of their unconscious professor. Cedric glanced around, seeing Fleur and Viktor had been retrieved from the maze by Sprout and Flitwick respectively. They looked confused, and the other two heads of school were making their way over.

“What is the meaning of zis, Dumblydorr?” Maxime demanded, a hand on Fleur’s shoulder. “Where is the Potter boy?”

“The cup was a portkey,” Cedric blurted. “Harry touched it and he disappeared.”

He was loud enough for the crowd to hear, and it set off another wave of shocked whispers. Maxime looked furious. “Is this some sort of trick?”

“I am saddened to say that I believe my suspicions were correct when I suggested Harry’s entry to the tournament might have been due to a plot from the followers of Lord Voldemort,” Dumbledore declared, keeping his voice low. Karkaroff’s face drained of colour, and he barely managed to stop himself gripping his forearm.

“You-Know-Who is dead!” Fudge spluttered, barging his way into the conversation. “His followers are dead or in prison!”

“I have been telling you for years, Cornelius, that Voldemort had ways of avoiding a permanent death, and has not been as deceased as everyone believed. I fear your reluctance to believe me may have spelled the end for all of us.” The elderly headmaster’s face was grave, and Cedric barely resisted the urge to scoff. Already trying to pass the blame off on the Ministry, setting himself up as the saviour — he was going to be incredibly disappointed when Harry returned successful.

Dumbledore’s words sparked a whispered argument between the minister and the three heads of schools — an argument that was broken when the stunned Moody let out a blood-curdling scream, back arching like he was having a seizure. Half a beat later, Karkaroff screamed too, dropping to his knees and clutching his left arm like it was on fire. Viktor took several steps back in alarm. “Vat is happening?”

Cedric looked into the crowd, meeting the gaze of Severus Snape. Relief flooded him when he saw the Potions’ master on his feet, a faint grimace at his lips but otherwise unbothered. He nodded just barely, and Cedric stifled a grin. Harry was doing it!

The screaming only lasted for a minute or so, and then both Moody and Karkaroff slumped to the ground. Professor Sprout hurried to check Moody, gasping softly. “Albus, he’s dead.”

“Igor, are you well? What happened?” Maxime asked, crouching beside the Durmstrang headmaster. Karkaroff let out a strangled moan.

“I feel— I can’t feel it. I can’t feel my magic.” He was still gripping his arm, and Cedric watched in astonishment as Viktor strode towards his headmaster, wrenching the man’s left arm up and shoving the sleeve to his elbow.

The Dark Mark was blindingly obvious against pale flesh, black as tar and scarred silver around the edges. Karkaroff wailed. “It’s gone! It’s gone it’s gone it’s gone,” he babbled, eyes wide and scared. Viktor dropped the man’s arm in disgust.

Cedric reached out his senses, sucking in a sharp breath when he realised what had happened to the man. Whatever Harry had done, whatever judgement he had brought upon Voldemort and his followers, it had deemed Karkaroff unworthy of keeping his magic. He was now no more than a muggle.

“Alastor Moody can’t be a Death Eater!” Fudge hissed, eyes wide. Sprout rolled the man’s sleeve up, revealing bare flesh.

“I don’t think that’s the real Moody, Minister,” Cedric volunteered, reminding them of his presence. “He tried to use the Cruciatus on me in the maze.”

Before the group could properly react to that bombshell, there was a flare of magic and a loud thud. Cedric whipped around, his heart leaping at the sight of Harry, one hand on the cup and the other on the corpse of a rat-faced man in black robes. Harry’s green eyes met his, and Cedric felt his relief as keenly as if it were his own.

It was done. It was over.

Voldemort was dead.

Chapter Text

Harry’s feet hit hard earth, and his knees almost buckled under the force of the landing. He was back in the stadium, the crowd eerily quiet for what it was. His gaze darted around, taking in the scene before him; Moody, dead on the ground beside Professor Sprout. Karkaroff on his knees, rocking and muttering in despair. Dumbledore grim-faced in front of Fudge. Cedric, beautiful Cedric, staring at Harry with hope in his eyes. Hope that quickly turned to triumph when he saw Harry’s face.

They’d done it.

He flicked his eyes towards the crowd, relief hitting him like a punch to the chest at the sight of Professor Snape hale and whole. His view was then blocked by Dumbledore striding towards him, and Harry took a steadying breath. It was showtime.

“Professor!” he gasped, turning scared-teenage-boy eyes on the elderly man. “Professor, the cup— it was a portkey— it took me to a graveyard and Pettigrew was there and so was Voldemort, only he didn’t really look like Voldemort, he was all shrivelled and small — and there was a cauldron, and he took my blood!” He thrust his arm out to show the weeping wound, and Dumbledore flinched. “He was trying to get his strength back, I think — Pettigrew kept saying about ‘reviving the master’ and ‘renewing the foe’. But something went wrong, it might have been my fault? I just kept staring at the cauldron and begging it not to work, and then the cauldron started to bubble over and it exploded, and Pettigrew was dead. Professor Dumbledore, I think… I think I killed Voldemort. Properly, this time.”

He made sure his voice was loud enough for people other than Dumbledore to hear him. The last thing he wanted was the old man twisting this for his own gain. Fudge looked about ready to faint, and McGonagall had a hand to her mouth in horror. Dumbledore’s expression grew even more grave.

“Harry, my boy,” he started, but Fudge blustered past him.

“Peter Pettigrew is dead!” he exclaimed. Harry glanced down at the corpse at his side.

“Well, yeah, he is now,” he agreed, gesturing pointedly to the man’s body. “But he definitely wasn’t before. I think you owe Sirius Black a proper trial, Minister Fudge.”

“Albus!” Sprout called suddenly, pointing at the body of Moody, which was finally shifting back to its true form. The false leg popped off, and the magical eye leapt out of its socket and onto the grass — within moments, the dead man was Barty Crouch Jr, his bared arm showing a jet black Dark Mark just as raw and twisted as Pettigrew’s.

Fudge made a noise halfway between a whimper and a yelp. “I’m calling for the aurors,” he declared feebly, reaching into his robe. “This must have an investigation!”

“Harry.” He jolted at the soft voice, turning to find Cedric at his side, eyeing him with concern. “Are you okay, love?”

“I think I need to lie down,” he admitted, knees wobbling as the weight of his actions finally began to sink in. Cedric slung an arm around his waist, easing Pettigrew’s wrist from his grasp.

“I’ve got you,” he promised, kissing Harry’s sweaty brow. “I’ve got you. Madam Pomfrey!” He yelled for the mediwitch, who shoved her way through the growing crowd in an instant. “Harry needs the hospital wing.”

“Yes, he definitely does,” she agreed grimly, scanning him over. “The poor boy is suffering from magical exhaustion.” In a moment she had a stretcher conjured, and Harry didn’t put up a fight about lying down on it. He’d done his part. He had to stay coherent long enough to make sure it was all followed through properly, but he could do that lying down.

“Wait one moment, Madam!” Fudge called, puffing himself up. “Potter there is at the centre of this mess, and he will be questioned by the aurors!”

“They can question him just as well in a hospital bed,” Pomfrey argued heatedly. “He is a student at this school, a fourteen year-old boy, and that makes his welfare my responsibility! I will not stand by and wait for your aurors while he is in need of treatment.”

“Poppy, I really should speak to Harry first,” Dumbledore tried to insist. “I can bring him to the hospital wing as soon as we’ve had a little chat in my office.”

“No you most certainly will not, Albus Dumbledore!” There was fire in the mediwitch’s eyes, and Harry watched in wonder as she squared up to the headmaster. “This boy has been through far too much at your ignorant hands, and I’ve not spent all year correcting the abuse of those muggles you left him with just to let his magical core fail while you try and coerce him into whatever scheme you’re concocting now. This is too far, Albus. He will be coming to the hospital wing with me, and I will inform you, Minister, when he is ready for auror questioning. Are we clear, gentlemen?” Her voice was clipped, just daring either of them to argue with her. A beat of silence passed. “Good. Come along, Mr Diggory, I’m sure he’ll feel a lot better with you at his side.”

Harry glanced up at Cedric, who seemed torn; one of them needed to stay to make sure Dumbledore didn’t take control of the situation.

“Go, Diggory.” They both looked up at Snape, who was stern-faced as he approached the group. “I’ll take it from here.”

Harry met Cedric’s gaze, and nodded. That was good enough for him.

.-.

Safe in the privacy of the hospital wing, having downed several potions to aid his magical core in replenishing itself, Harry leaned into Cedric’s comforting hand stroking his hair. “It’s done,” he breathed, still hardly able to believe it.

“You did it,” Cedric confirmed. “I’m so proud of you, love.”

“Now we just have to deal with the aftermath.”

Speaking of which, he felt the approach of several people before they burst into the hospital wing. Remus was first, with Padfoot at his side; Mrs Weasley and Bill hot on his heels, with Luna and Neville just after them. Before the group could reach him, however, Madam Pomfrey was in their way. “Enough!” she shouted, drawing immediate silence. “This is a hospital wing, not a common room! Mr Potter is in need of rest, and if you are detrimental to that rest I will not hesitate to throw you out.”

Suitably chastised, the group continued towards Harry in a much more restrained manner. Padfoot hopped up on the foot of the bed, resting his head on Harry’s hip and letting out a whine. “I’m okay, Pads,” Harry promised softly, scratching behind the dog’s ear. “Just tired.”

“You’d better not be lying, Harry Potter,” Remus muttered, wrapping Harry in a tight hug.

“I’m not, Moony, I promise. Madam Pomfrey’s taking good care of me, there’s no permanent damage. Just core depletion.”

“Core depletion?” Bill repeated, having been shamelessly eavesdropping. “What the hell were you doing for that to happen?”

Harry chuckled, easing out of the werewolf’s embrace. “It’s, ah, kind of a long story, to be honest.”

They were interrupted once more by the arrival of the aurors, who had brought both the bodies of Crouch and Pettigrew, as well as the unconscious form of Igor Karkaroff. Harry stroked Padfoot as the dog’s hackles raised, and he saw Remus tense at the sight of Pettigrew. “Harry,” the man said hoarsely, eyes wide. “He’s—“

“I’ll explain later,” Harry promised. “Properly.”

Pomfrey directed the three bodies to beds, and Fudge and Dumbledore both turned to Harry. Harry raised an eyebrow when the crowd gathered around him drew closer, as if shielding him from the pair.

“We mean Mr Potter no harm, I assure you,” Dumbledore said, smiling faintly. “We would just like to talk.”

They reluctantly parted, and Harry kept a hand tangled in Padfoot’s fur as he eyed the two men warily. “Harry. I understand you have already been through a lot this evening, but I’m afraid I need to ask you to be strong a little longer. We need you to tell us what happened, so these aurors can record your statement.” He was hiding it well, but Harry could see how disgruntled the man was at allowing the aurors to get to Harry before he himself could do damage control. It was immensely satisfying.

“Some privacy, if you please,” Fudge demanded, glaring at Harry’s gathered friends. Harry coughed.

“With all due respect, Minister, I’m just going to tell them anyway. They’re family. Might as well get it all over with in one.” Fudge didn’t look impressed, but after a few stuttered failures at speaking, he relented.

“Fine. But they’d best stay quiet. Auror Shacklebolt, if you don’t mind?” At his words, one the aurors approached Harry’s bed. He was a tall black man with a shiny bald head and kind eyes, and Harry watched him warily.

“You can trust Kingsley, cub,” Remus murmured softly. “He’s a good man.”

Harry nodded, making some attempt of a smile at the auror. “Mr Potter, it’s a pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances,” Shacklebolt greeted. He pulled a small black box from his pocket, and tapped it with his wand. “This is a recording device, a bit like a muggle tape recorder — it’s just to take your statement for evidence, okay? So that you don’t have to do this a dozen times. Are you ready to begin?”

Harry nodded, and the questions began. He kept to the story he’d fabricated in his memory, explaining how he’d been tied to the headstone and had his forearm sliced into by Pettigrew — though he called him Wormtail, as that was the name Voldemort had used for him. He let his voice shake in the right places, and gripped Cedric’s hand throughout for strength, telling the auror how he’d begged with all his strength for something to go wrong, for the Voldemort-baby to die, and then it had, and he’d felt exhausted, but he knew he had to get back. He told them he didn’t know where the graveyard was, but it was wherever Voldemort’s muggle father — did they not know he had a muggle father? — Was buried, if they wanted to see for themselves.

“Mr Potter, are you familiar with a pensieve?” Shacklebolt asked, once Harry had reached the part in his story where he returned to the school. Harry was, but he shook his head negative. “It’s a device used to store and view memories, to allow others to see a memory as if they’d been there themselves. Would it be alright with you if I took your memory of the event, for the aurors to examine? It’s clear some rather complicated magic has occurred tonight, and I think I speak for everyone when I say this is not a situation we want to let lie without checking every avenue.” Fudge let out a tiny whimper.

“Auror Shacklebolt, he’s just a boy!” Mrs Weasley fussed, but Harry ignored her.

“You can have it. What do I do?”

Shacklebolt guided Harry through the process of removing a memory, and Harry easily pushed forward his fabricated version of events, letting Shacklebolt store the memory in a vial. “Thank you, Mr Potter. We at the ministry appreciate everything you have done tonight.” His gaze was pointed, and Harry knew that this man fully believed in Harry’s words, that he had somehow vanquished Voldemort unknowingly. Good, he’d been convincing enough.

He didn’t have to feign his exhaustion when the questioning was over, and Madam Pomfrey took one look at him and began to usher everyone out of the hospital wing. Harry requested his family stay a little longer, and Pomfrey assented — but Dumbledore and the Ministry workers had to go.

Only when they were well clear of the hospital wing — and Cedric had warded the area, to be safe — did Harry let out a long sigh of relief.

“Padfoot, you can trust everyone here. It’s safe, I promise,” he said, stroking the dog’s floppy head. Padfoot let out a reluctant whine. “Trust me.”

He did, transforming into his human self, and Mrs Weasley shrieked, Bill tensing at her shoulder. “It’s okay,” Harry assured her before she could draw her wand. “He’s innocent! He was framed by Peter Pettigrew — the dead man I brought back from the graveyard. Ask Hermione if you don’t believe me, she knows the whole story.”

The two redheads didn’t look entirely convinced, but they didn’t hex Sirius, and that was enough for Harry. He pulled his godfather into a tight hug. “Wormtail’s dead,” the man croaked, awed. A giddy laugh bubbled from Harry’s chest.

“He’s dead. I’m sure you’ll be getting a trial very soon, and everything will be put to rights.” Harry paused, suddenly hesitant. “So, uh, if that offer to live with you is still open…” he trailed off. Sirius pulled back, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Really? You’d still want to?”

“More than anything,” Harry confirmed vehemently. He might be emancipated now, but despite the decades of memories in his brain he was still only a teenager, and he didn’t want to live alone.

Sirius beamed at him, hugging him tightly and kissing his hair. “Absolutely. Soon as I’m free,” he promised. “You, me and Moony, just like Prongs and Lily would’ve wanted. Just like it should’ve been all along.” Harry wasn’t sure if the tears on his face were his own or Sirius’, but he didn’t care. This was everything he’d ever dreamed of.

No one spoke as the pair composed themselves, but Remus leaned in to wrap his arms around both of them. “We’ll make it happen,” he vowed, choked with emotion himself. “You won’t be going back to those muggles, Cub.”

When they eventually untangled themselves, Sirius cleared his throat awkwardly. “Right. Well.” His eyes landed on the Hufflepuff at Harry’s side, and a Marauder-ish smirk crossed his lips. “You must be Cedric,” he drawled, making Harry groan.

“Please, Sirius, not now,” he begged. “We’ll invite him over in the summer, you can do all the interrogation and harassment you want. But I think we’ve all had enough of that for one day.”

The animagus faltered, then nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. But I’m watching you, Diggory,” he added, giving the kind of smile that made it clear why people thought he was an insane mass-murderer. Cedric didn’t even flinch.

“Looking forward to having dinner with you, Lord Black,” he said instead, the epitome of pureblood grace and manners. Remus snorted.

“Face it, Sirius, he’s got to have one hell of a backbone to date Harry, I doubt you’ll intimidate him that easily,” he teased, winking at Harry.

Harry laughed, which turned into a yawn, and Mrs Weasley bustled forward, fluffing his pillows. “Oh, Harry, dear, we should let you get some rest. I… we’ve all had a bit of a shock tonight. I’m sure we can all sit down together when things are quieter; I believe you have some long overdue explanations for me.” This was said with a pointed look at the escaped criminal sat on Harry’s bed, and he offered her a sheepish smile.

“I’ll tell you everything, Mrs Weasley, promise.” Everything he could, at least.

He gladly put up with all the hugs and the fussing, and finally he, Cedric, Luna and Neville were the only ones left. Once they were alone, Neville beamed at him. “You did it!”

“I knew you wouldn’t fail,” Luna declared with that Seeing tone to her voice. Harry shot her a glance.

“You could’ve told me that before-hand,” he mock-grumbled. Somehow, the four of them managed to clamber onto the narrow hospital bed together, Harry needing the reassurance of his best friends. “He’s really gone.” It sounded ridiculous even now.

“He’s really gone,” Cedric agreed, kissing Harry’s temple.

Because apparently the universe wasn’t done with interrupting Harry’s privacy, there was a tingle of Cedric’s wards alerting them to the approach of another. Luckily it was just Snape, so Harry told Cedric to let him in. None of them moved, eyeing the professor as he strode up to Harry’s bedside.

He reached out his left arm, drawing his sleeve up to his elbow, revealing unblemished flesh where the Dark Mark had once been. “I don’t know what you did tonight,” Snape said, with more emotion in his voice than Harry had ever heard from the man, “but whatever it is, I owe you my life for it. I… I never expected to be truly free again. Thank you, Mr Potter. Lord Slytherin. All four of you,” he added, extending his gaze to the other three founders. “You have relieved me of a burden I expected to bear for the rest of my life, and so the rest of my life shall be pledged to you in gratitude.”

“The rest of your life is your own, Professor,” Luna informed him, smiling softly. “None of us want you to enter another form of servitude in exchange for releasing you from the last one. But… your assistance in returning Hogwarts to its former glory would be appreciated.”

Snape looked a little lost, and Harry offered a knowing look. “This castle is your home, much as it is ours. And I think we can all agree that it deserves better. Help us make it better, Severus Snape. Help me restore the name of Slytherin house.”

Harry held the man’s gaze for a long time, before Snape nodded solemnly. “It will be done.” He smirked. “Someone needs to be the adult until you four come of age.”

Snorting, Harry smiled at the man. “If you’re expecting age to bring maturity, you’ll be sorely mistaken. We’re all practically ancient already, remember; this is as good as it gets.”

The professor sent a long-suffering look to the heavens that made even Neville laugh. “Rest, Potter. I’ll handle the headmaster. Between myself and the other heads of house, he won’t get a look in to the Ministry investigation before it’s all out of his reach.”

“Good.” Harry hadn’t put in all this hard work just for Dumbledore to take credit. But he was pretty sure he’d made that impossible for the man — he’d been too loud, too public, too brazen with his information before Dumbledore could filter it. Between his memory and his recorded statement, the truth would get out. Well, what Harry wanted people to see as the truth.

Snape left, and Harry yawned again, his limbs feeling like lead. “God, magical exhaustion is a bitch,” he declared. Magical exhaustion in a pubescent body was far worse than in an adult form, and he could just tell he was in for several long, agonising days.

“Indeed it is, Mr Potter,” Pomfrey agreed, pulling back the curtain suddenly. She hadn’t startled anyone but Harry, the only one of them too tired to be aware of his surroundings. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask your visitors to leave. You need some sleep, dear.” She had a vial in her hand that he recognised as Dreamless Sleep potion.

“I’m not leaving him,” Cedric insisted, holding Harry close. Madam Pomfrey huffed.

“Only because his other injuries are minor, and the emotional trauma of tonight has been far worse than anything physical. You may stay, Mr Diggory. But if the two of you get up to any funny business, you’ll be banned from my ward ’til graduation! Miss Lovegood, Mr Longbottom, back to your dorms if you please.”

They all bid each other goodbye, and Pomfrey left the potion on Harry’s bedside for whenever he was ready to take it, using a spell to change both him and Cedric into matching hospital pyjamas. It was a tight squeeze, the two of them in the narrow bed, but Harry had no problem curling up close to Cedric, his face buried in his boyfriend’s chest.

“I can’t believe it’s done,” he breathed, once they were in total darkness. “All that planning, all those years… I’m free of him, forever.” The shadow that had been hanging over his head since he was born was finally gone — his life was entirely his own, with no expectations or great destiny awaiting. The prospect was foreign, and more than a little bit overwhelming.

“Our future is bright,” Cedric assured him, tilting Harry’s chin up to meet his gaze, beaming. “You vanquished the evil, and saved the world. You’re a hero. Now it’s time for your happily ever after.” He winked, and Harry laughed softly.

“Sounds good.” He doubted it would be that simple — life never was — but it was a start. “As long as you’re there.”

“Always,” Cedric vowed, pressing their lips together gently. “Now take your potion, you deserve it. I’ll be right here to keep you safe.”

He couldn’t argue with that — Cedric wouldn’t let anything happen to him while he was in an enchanted slumber. He rolled over, sitting up just enough to down the potion in one large gulp, then settled back into Cedric’s embrace. Cedric held him close, Harry’s back to his chest, their legs tangled together. “I love you,” the Hufflepuff murmured, lips brushing the shell of Harry’s ear.

Harry was asleep before he could respond.

Chapter Text

At Madam Pomfrey’s insistence, Harry spent the next three days in the hospital wing, letting his magic recharge. In that time, he watched the aftermath of his actions unfold, and desperately wished he were older so he could properly take control of everything. Cedric placated him by pointing out how entertaining it was watching Dumbledore’s fall from the sidelines.

The old man was well and truly losing his hold over everything, and it was so very satisfying to watch. True to his word, Snape was managing much of the school-related affairs, with McGonagall at his side, practically chomping at the bit to restore some semblance of order to the school. Thanks to Harry’s words outside the maze, everyone in the school knew that something Voldemort-related had gone down that night, and the rumour mill was working overtime.

The first thing Harry did when Pomfrey let him go was release a statement to the Daily Prophet — he’d thought about using the Quibbler, but it just wasn’t big enough for what he needed. He promised them a proper interview in the summer, and requested they keep speculation to a minimum, as the aurors were investigating things. But he dropped enough hints and implications for anyone with a brain to understand that Voldemort had not been as dead as they had been led to believe, but now he was, and once again Harry Potter was the reason for it.

The rest of the school were hounding him for answers from the second he stepped foot out of the hospital wing, and he managed it all the best he could — answering truthfully, but minimally, promising there would be more answers once the ministry investigation was through. Not that there was much to investigate, in all honesty; he’d left things pretty cut and dry. The real hold up was in Fudge and his aurors looking for any sort of alternate story to explain what had happened without admitting that the Dark Lord had attempted to return.

There was a nudge to Harry’s side, and he snapped out of his thoughts, sitting up straighter in his seat and focusing on the woman speaking.

“Ladies and Gentleman of the Wizengamot,” Amelia Bones, head of the DMLE, declared to the silent courtroom. “You have heard testimony from the accused under Veritaserum, and testimony from several witnesses. There is nothing left but to make a decision. All in favour of declaring the accused guilty?”

Barely a half-dozen hands rose.

“All in favour of clearing the accused of all charges?”

A wave of hands rose in the air. Harry held his breath. Madam Bones slammed her gavel down. “Lord Sirius Black, I hereby declare you innocent of all charges. You are required to register your animagus form before leaving the ministry today, but there will be no punishment for not doing so before now — I daresay twelve years in Azkaban is plenty. On behalf of the ministry and the Wizengamot, I would like to sincerely apologise for the miscarriage in justice dealt to you, and I can assure you there will be appropriate recompense, and a full investigation into your original arrest and imprisonment. If there is anything I personally can do to help you, please do not hesitate to ask.” A smile cracked the woman’s stern facade. “Congratulations, Lord Black. You’re a free man.”

Down in the base of the courtroom, dressed in sharp grey robes, Sirius stared at her with shining eyes. “A free man,” he repeated softly. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Court dismissed!” Bones declared, slamming her gavel once more. Instantly, Harry vaulted the wooden barrier, racing towards Sirius and throwing himself at the man. Sirius caught him, spinning him around with a loud whoop.

“You’re free!” Harry declared, once his feet were firmly back on solid ground. Sirius beamed at him, openly crying by now.

“I’m free. We can be a family, kiddo. Just like we were always meant to be.”

“Congratulations, old friend,” Remus said, crying too when he reached them. Sirius flung out one skinny arm, pulling him into the embrace.

“Moony,” he breathed, and Remus hummed quietly, the sound more wolf than human.

“I know, Pads. I know,” he soothed. He squeezed them both tight, then broke away, one hand still on Harry’s shoulder. “Shall we go get that paperwork sorted, then?”

Sirius nodded, wiping discreetly at his eyes. “Right, yeah, of course. Animagus registration, release papers. Guardianship claim,” he added with a grin to Harry. As a technically emancipated wizard, the guardianship was more of a formality than a legal document, but it would stop people freaking out about where Harry would be living.

“And…?” Remus continued pointedly. The dog animagus huffed.

“And St Mungo’s registration, I know,” he affirmed with a roll of his eyes. It had taken both Harry and Remus bullying him into agreeing to see a healer, with the intention of getting referred to a mind healer. As much as Sirius insisted he was fine, they all knew better — twelve years in Azkaban didn’t happen without leaving a mark, both mentally and physically. The last year with Remus had done him good, but Harry could tell there was a long way to go.

“Mr Potter!” Harry turned at the call of his name, raising an eyebrow at Madam Bones. “In all the chaos following the tournament, I’m afraid we neglected to give you this.” She held out a brown sack, and Harry looked confused. “Your winnings, Mr Potter. A thousand galleons, as promised.”

“Oh.” Harry took the sack, shoulder jolting at the weight of it. “I… I didn’t really win, though. Crouch sabotaged the tournament so I could get through.”

It had come out through various tests that fake-Moody had cursed both Fleur and Viktor to hinder them in reaching the centre of the maze. As if the tournament hadn’t been enough of a farce beforehand.

“Nevertheless, you were the first to reach the cup. Legally, the money is yours. Congratulations,” she said, lips quirking in a smile. “And thank you, for everything you did that night. The wizarding world owes you a great debt.”

“I, uh, just did what I had to.” Harry couldn’t exactly claim intention, when by all rights his story had him defeating Voldemort with what was essentially accidental magic.

Madam Bones left, and Sirius slung an arm over his shoulders, directing him out of the courtroom, through a side door so as to avoid the clamour of reporters outside. “Do you want to swing by Gringotts before we take you back to the school? Deposit that?” he asked, tapping the sack with his wand to shrink it for Harry.

Harry thought about his vaults, both Potter and Slytherin — a thousand galleons would barely be noticeable in there. Surely there was something better to be done with it?

He glanced back at his godfather, and the man who might as well be a second godfather to him. Looking at them reminded him of another pair of Gryffindors, and slowly an idea formed in his head, and he grinned to himself. “No, I’ve got other plans for it,” he replied, tucking the sack safely in an inside pocket of his robe. Sirius raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question it.

“Alright, then. Let’s get my freedom signed off!”

.-.-.

Harry flooed back into McGonagall’s office, and wasn’t surprised to see Cedric sat waiting with the Gryffindor head of house, playing chess. “Who’s winning?” he asked, leaning over to kiss Cedric’s cheek.

“Professor McGonagall, of course,” the Hufflepuff replied ruefully.

“But you put up a remarkable fight, Mr Diggory,” the professor replied, nodding in approval as he made his move, before cleanly putting him in checkmate.

“How did the trial go?” Cedric queried, accepting defeat with a humble smile. Harry beamed.

“Sirius was cleared of all charges, and guardianship has been signed over. Turns out Dumbledore never actually filed paperwork, so the Dursleys were never my legal guardians to begin with. Not exactly sure why no one noticed I technically had no guardians until just now, but I’m sure the Wizengamot are adding it to the list,” he added with a smirk.

With the revelation that Dumbledore hadn’t noticed that one of his closest friends was being impersonated by a Death Eater for an entire school year, plus Pomfrey’s loud declaration that the muggles he’d left Harry with were abusive, the man’s empire had steadily begun to crumble around him. What had started with the fallout of the second task had turned into the man’s removal from the ICW, and it seemed like every other day another article was released with more news of things the man had manipulated ‘for the greater good’. He was still headmaster for now, but Harry fully expected to be returning for his fifth year under Headmistress McGonagall — he and Neville had a full plan to implement over the summer to make sure of it.

A small, Gryffindor part of Harry felt sorry for the old man, but then he thought of all the danger that could have been avoided if someone else had been charge, and the state of the school before the founders had reclaimed the wards — Dumbledore had had a good run, but he was past his prime, and it was time for the world to move on and stop looking to one old man to solve all their problems.

Many of them were pushing to turn to Harry instead, but Harry quite happily reminded them that he wasn’t even fifteen yet, and that was a ridiculous notion.

“Congratulations, Mr Potter,” McGonagall said, smiling. “I must admit, it never seemed right to believe Sirius so capable of the things they accused him of. His devotion to James and Lily, and to you once you were born… I’m ashamed of myself for not questioning it sooner.”

“He won’t hold it against you, Professor,” Harry assured. “Pettigrew was convincing, and there was no trial. But I’m sure he’d love to hear from you, if you wanted to send a letter. He’s always spoken very fondly of you, since I’ve known him.”

“I think I’ll do that,” she agreed softly. “Off you go, boys — it’s a beautiful day outside, go enjoy it.”

They bid the professor goodbye, walking hand in hand down the corridor as Harry recounted the trial in more detail. “Oh, that reminds me,” he added, pausing mid-stride. He reached for the wards, searching for the familiar gunpowder-feel of magic that belonged to the Weasley twins. They were on the third floor — Merlin only knew why — and Harry changed course, not offering Cedric an explanation. “I have something to do,” he merely said when asked, tugging on Cedric’s hand.

They found the twins in an unused classroom, wands in hand, and Harry knocked on the doorframe. Immediately they vanished several pages of notes scattered around them, pulling a set of gobstones from somewhere and feigning innocence. Then they realised who it was exactly, and relaxed, the notes reappearing. “Blimey, Harry, scared the life out of us there! Thought you were Snape or something,” Fred joked, welcoming the pair inside. “Did you need us for something? Or were the two of you just looking for a quiet place to snog?” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows. Harry laughed.

“We’ve got plenty of those already, don’t worry,” he assured with a wink. “I had something I wanted to run past you. A business proposition, if you will.” Both twins sat up straighter, though George’s eyes lingered warily on Cedric. “He’s trustworthy, I promise,” Harry added, squeezing Cedric’s hand.

With his free hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out the sack, resizing it and dumping it on the table in front of the twins. It jingled tellingly. Their eyes went round. “Is that…”

“My Triwizard winnings,” Harry confirmed. “Quite frankly, I don’t deserve it — the whole tournament was rigged, and I shouldn’t have even been in it. I don’t need this money, I don’t want it, and I know you two would use it far, far better than I ever would. It’s yours.”

“Harry, mate…” Fred started, awed. “That’s— that’s way too much. We can’t take it.”

“Yes, you can,” Harry insisted. “If you have to, consider it an investment in your joke shop. People could use a little more laughter in their life, and you two are so bloody smart, I don’t want to see all that talent going to waste. If you don’t take it now, I’m going to make it my mission to start sneaking it into your belongings, one galleon at a time. As entertaining as that could be, I’m sure you don’t want to consider the places I might see fit to hide a galleon.”

The twins shared a look, then gulped. After several moments of what seemed like telepathic communication, George reached out, grabbing the sack. “Fine. But we’re making you a silent partner. You ever need anything, we’re your guys.”

“Deal. Just, do me a favour?” They looked at him, and Harry cracked a smile. “Don’t tell your mum where you got the money?”

Fred laughed. “As if! She’d make us invest it all or something. Take it from us until we could finish our NEWTs. This is our secret, just the four of us.” He glanced at Cedric, who was watching the whole exchange silently. “Remember this, Diggory, if you ever think about doing anything that might hurt our Harry. He’s the type of bloke who would give away a thousand galleons without hesitating — and we’re the type of blokes who would use that thousand galleons to make sure you wished you’d never been born.”

Cedric nodded, pulling Harry into his side. “Believe me, I’m well aware that he’s the best I could possibly hope for,” he assured, making Harry blush. “I’m holding on to this one as long as he’ll have me.”

It would’ve sounded ridiculous from any other teenager, knowing how fleeting relationships were at that age, but from Cedric the words were a hundred percent serious, and the twins didn’t doubt for a second that he meant it.

“Family lunches are on Sundays,” George informed him. “You’ll have to make at least one of them over the summer. Make sure mum knows your favourite colours well before Christmas, or she’ll have to guess, and that can end poorly.”

“Don’t eat before you come to visit, there’s always enough food for an army at ours,” Fred added. “And don’t ever talk to Ron about pro quidditch, unless you want three hours worth of Chudley Cannons stats recited at you.”

The Hufflepuff laughed, grinning at the pair. “Noted. For the record, I’m a total cliché and a lover of yellow and black.” The twins groaned, making Cedric laugh louder.

“We’ll leave you two to the totally legal and school-appropriate antics you were no doubt in the middle of,” Harry declared.

“Completely school-appropriate,” George agreed.

“Practically an extra-credit project,” Fred piped up, smiling innocently.

“Later, boys,” they chirped together, waving as Harry and Cedric left the room. Cedric kept his arm around Harry’s shoulders, grinning.

“You’ve gone soft,” he teased. Harry elbowed him in the side.

“Blasphemy. I’m a Slytherin,” he retorted indignantly. “It was a calculated alliance move; if we’re going to be running this school, I want to make sure I have an in on whatever those two menaces will be supplying to students for decades to come.”

“Sure,” Cedric agreed sarcastically. “Totally a business move. Nothing to do with them being your brothers and you wanting to give them the best chance of success.”

“Of course not; that’s positively Hufflepuff,” Harry said in mock-disgust. Cedric barked out a laugh, nudging Harry to press him against the wall, crowding him in for a kiss.

“I love you so much, Harry Potter,” he declared. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Sap,” he accused, tilting his head in demand for another kiss. Cedric was smiling as their lips met, and Harry’s chest felt so full of butterflies he thought he might burst. Life was just getting better and better.

.-.-.

The week or so of school after exams were over always felt fairly useless, and this one doubly so with the tournament over. The only good it provided was keeping all the students in one place as news filtered out — first the story of the tournament as the ministry understood it, then of Sirius’ release and innocence, and Dumbledore’s many indiscretions. The students looked at their headmaster a little differently each passing day, and Dumbledore didn’t seem to know what to do with himself — Voldemort was gone for good, Harry was being hailed as the saviour, and his long-standing influence was coming to an end. He’d tried to talk to Harry multiple times while he’d been stuck in the hospital, trying to convince him of the possibility that Voldemort might not be truly dead even now, but Harry wouldn’t listen to it. The man just couldn’t accept the concept of a world at peace — a world that didn’t need him to protect it from itself.

The latest Prophet headline wasn’t a surprise, and Harry read the full article over his breakfast, Neville leaning in to read over his shoulder. “Well, that’s an unexpected bonus,” he muttered softly. Harry hummed in agreement — there was strong evidence for a vote of no-confidence for Minister Fudge in the works, with several prominent figures in the ministry rumoured to be preparing their campaigns to take over.

Fudge had gone the route of denial after the tournament, insisting that despite all the evidence, Harry was crazy and a liar and needed to be locked up. Harry was glad he’d left the graveyard presented so neatly — the aurors and Unspeakables had swarmed it as soon as they could, and examined the remains of the cauldron to confirm a failed flesh, blood and bone ritual. There was no doubt in the minds of the public that things had happened exactly how Harry said it had — considering every loyal Death Eater either dropped dead or lost their magic simultaneously, it was hard to have much of an argument. The only one Fudge was painting as insane was himself, and Harry made a mental note to start looking into the other candidates for Minister.

He was the saviour of the wizarding world once more — once more, for something he supposedly had no control over doing. It was a little grating, but he didn’t mind too much. He was older now, able to handle things better and use his reputation to do good — and able to get Gringotts to send lawyers out to anyone who might even consider using his name inappropriately.

“Hey, Potter!” He looked up, offering a hesitant smile as Draco approached somewhat warily. His relationship with Slytherin house with the tournament was… stilted, to say the least. While students from all houses had lost parents to the Dark Mark, there were admittedly more from Slytherin than anywhere else. Harry couldn’t help but feel responsible for the loss of their families, even if he didn’t regret the deaths of such dark people. “I heard you’re going to be living with Sirius Black from here on out,” the blond boy said, and Harry nodded.

“Yeah, he’s my godfather. Why?”

“Mother would like to extend an invitation to both of you for lunch at the manor sometime this summer. She and your godfather are cousins, and with the recent… changes, she would very much like to reconnect with the little family she has left.” All the Death Eaters in Azkaban had died with the mark, and Lucius Malfoy was as much of a muggle now as Igor Karkaroff. Harry wasn’t sure what had happened to the man after that point, just that he’d fled the wizarding world and hadn’t been seen since. He still wasn’t sure how Draco felt about his father’s fate.

“I’m sure Sirius would love that. I’ll write to him and have him owl your mother, if that’s alright?”

Draco cracked a weak, hesitant smile. “That will do nicely. When you do come over, bring your broom if you can? Quidditch season starts back up next year, and I want to make sure I’m ready.”

Relief flooded Harry’s veins, and he grinned, nodding. No bad blood, then. “You’re on.”

Draco left, and Harry turned back to the paper, which was now in Neville’s hands. “We’re on our way,” the other Gryffindor boy said quietly, a knowing look in his brown eyes. Harry’s lips curled.

“There’s a long road ahead of us. But this is a good place to start.”

The world was changing, power shifting and new values unearthing. It was the perfect time for them to start nudging things in the right direction.

Chapter Text

At last it was time for the foreign students to return home. With no headmaster — Karkaroff had gone somewhat catatonic after his loss of magic, and had been sent back home with a healer accompaniment — the Durmstrang students had readied the boat easily, Viktor assuring that they were the ones who steered it anyway, and Karkaroff just sat in his cabin and drank wine. The Beauxbatons carriage had the horses attached once more, Madame Maxime waiting in the doorway while her students said their farewells.

Harry stood leaning against Cedric’s side, watching as people exchanged addresses and promises to keep in touch, even a few kisses here and there — Viktor looked particularly disheartened to be saying goodbye to Hermione, though Ron didn’t seem remotely sad to see the international quidditch star go.

Fleur hurried up to them, throwing her arms around the pair of them. “Oh, I will miss you both!” she exclaimed, kissing their cheeks. “You will ‘ave to come and visit in ze summer, I can show you around Paris.”

“We’ll make plans,” Cedric promised. “As soon as we know what we’re up to, one of us will owl you.”

“Good. And,” she turned a wicked smile in Harry’s direction, “if you ‘appen to bring zat ‘andsome older bruzzer of yours, I would not mind.” She winked, and Harry laughed.

“You mean you two haven’t already made plans of your own to meet up sometime?” he teased, delighting in the girl’s blush.

“Maaybe,” she drawled. “‘E ees back in Egypt, of course. I ‘ave my graduation exams in a month, and zen I ‘ave applied to apprentice at Gringotts. To eemprove my Eenglish,” she explained, purposefully thickening her accent. Harry snorted.

“I bet Bill would be happy to help you there,” he remarked salaciously. Fleur squealed, slapping him gently on the shoulder.

“William ees a gentleman!” she insisted, laughing. “Enough, you scoundrel.”

“Are ve talking about the eldest Veasley boy?” Viktor asked, striding towards them. Fleur turned a fiery glare in his direction, and he merely laughed. “You vill invite us all to the vedding, yes?”

“I ‘ate all of you,” she declared mutinously. By the carriage, one of the Abraxan horses let out a loud whinny, and Fleur turned in their direction. “I must go with my classmates.” Her voice was sad, and there was another round of cheek kisses, this time including Viktor. “Take care, boys. I ‘ope to see you all again soon.”

“Safe journey home, Fleur. Give our regards to Gabrielle and your parents,” Harry added, earning a bright smile.

“I vill be in France for a time for training camp in August,” Viktor told her. “I vill owl you, ve can make plans.”

That made the Veela girl beam, and she finally dragged herself away to join the rest of the blue-clad students, filing into their carriage. “I must go as vell,” Viktor sighed. “Owl me ven you know vat you are doing this summer, I vill arrange tickets to something.”

“You don’t have to; just coming to hang out would be enough,” Cedric started, but Viktor cut him off with a smile.

“My friends back home are bored of quidditch by now, it vill be nice to have new friends to share it vith. Besides, anything for our hero here,” he added with a playful look at Harry, who mock-scowled. “The Dark Lord’s reach vas further than just Britain. Karkaroff made that clear. But our deputy headmaster is a good man, and hopefully vith darkness gone, ve can enjoy peace. Thank you, Harry. Even if you do insist it vas an accident, it vas still a stronger accident than most can manage.” He shook Harry’s hand firmly, then Cedric’s, smiling in a way that made Harry realise what Hermione could see in the gruff young man.

“Then you’re welcome, for what it’s worth. And next time you’re in England, send us an owl. You’ll always have friends here.” Viktor nodded.

“Travel safely,” Cedric said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Watch out for the giant squid.”

Viktor chuckled, running a hand over his short-cropped hair. “He is friendly enough,” he assured. “Farevell, friends.”

All the Hogwarts students stayed out in the grounds long enough to watch the carriage disappear into the clouds, and the ship sink beneath the lake’s surface. Only then did they begin to disperse; they were all leaving themselves in the morning, and most still had packing to do. Harry sighed, letting Cedric lead him back inside.

He couldn’t help but be on edge still, waiting for the other shoe to drop — his annual end-of-year adventures never went this smoothly. Sure, he’d had one hell of an advantage this time, but it still all felt far too… clean.

“Stop thinking so hard,” Cedric murmured, kissing his temple. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“Can’t help it, you know what my brain’s like,” Harry replied apologetically. Cedric hummed, then Harry felt his lips curl in a smirk against his skin.

“Let’s head down to your office. Everyone’ll be too busy packing today to come looking for us. Bet I can distract that big old brain of yours.” His honeyed voice was full of innuendo, and a spark of heat ran down Harry’s spine.

“An offer like that, how can I refuse?”

.-.-.

Harry couldn’t get comfortable on the Hogwarts Express the next day — not just because of the ache from his and Cedric’s antics in his office the day before. It felt wrong to be leaving the castle, leaving his home. By the looks on his companions’ faces, he wasn’t the only one. But they were still students, and they had other homes to go to. They would be back.

“It’s going to kill me when I graduate next year,” Cedric declared, watching the castle disappear out of view. “Having to be away from the place long enough to get my healer training. Away from you three.”

“Let’s not talk about that,” Harry said stubbornly, refusing to acknowledge the eventuality. It was a whole year away, there was no point in worrying about it now.

“It’ll always be there waiting for us, no matter how much time we’re away,” Luna assured, her socked feet tucked under Neville’s thigh.

She was right, as always; the castle had waited a thousand years and still welcomed them home. A handful of years to further their studies would be nothing. “There’s one thing I’ve been wondering,” Harry mused, looking at his gathered friends. “Do you… do any of you remember being dead?”

Silence greeted his words. Then, Neville snorted. “Gods, always the downer, huh mate?” he joked, shaking his head. “Not a smidge of it. I remember being Godric, and I remember dying, but then it goes straight into my early memories as Neville.”

“We aren’t supposed to remember death,” Luna reasoned. “Not until we’re there again.”

“So do you think we’ll remember what we did in death after our previous lives once we die in this one?” Harry asked. “Presuming there was something to do, and somewhere to do it. Obviously death isn’t just the end, or we never would have come back. But… surely we were together, right? Wherever we were?”

“You and I are soul-bound, love. So are those two,” Cedric pointed out. “Bit stronger than the regular wedding vows. I guarantee wherever you were, I was with you. And if you think for a second that idiot in the red and gold over there wouldn’t follow just to pester us…” he trailed off, yelping as Neville threw a Herbology book in his direction, the text bouncing harmlessly off his hasty shield. “I don’t know what happens after death, but quite frankly, as long as it’s a very, very long time before any one of us sees it again, I’m happy to let that mystery lie.”

“I suppose,” Harry hummed, still thoughtful.

“On a much lighter note,” Neville cut in pointedly. “What are all your summer plans? Normal and otherwise.”

“Daddy wants to take a trip to Norway to investigate some things for the Quibbler,” Luna volunteered. “And I wanted to spend some time catching up on all the new magic I have yet to discover, now I won’t have to worry about being caught reading something outside of my age range.”

“Let me know if you find anything good,” Harry requested. “First thing I’m doing is brewing the potion to permanently get rid of these bloody glasses,” he said, tapping the frames with a grimace. “Sirius bought the house he was looking at, so I think there’s a bit of work to be done there. Then I’ve got some potions’ projects to work on — Snape said I could owl him about a few things, so that’ll be good.” His weird sort-of friendship with the Slytherin head of house was perhaps the strangest thing to come out of the last year, but Harry wasn’t complaining. They were currently working on a potion to counteract long-term Cruciatus damage; with the ultimate goal of curing Neville’s parents. Harry hadn’t said anything to anyone other than Snape and Cedric yet, not wanting to get Neville’s hopes up, but he had a really good feeling about it.

Other than that, he was looking forward to the first enjoyable summer of his life. Living with people who didn’t hate him, able to visit his friends freely and invite them over and not have to worry about dark wizards tracking him. Plus, as an emancipated wizard despite his living sitation with Sirius, he didn’t have to worry about the restrictions on underage magic.

“I’m going to be filling out St Mungo’s applications for after graduation and trying to avoid my dad’s attempts at getting me to consider a ministry job,” Cedric said with a grimace. Harry pat his thigh sympathetically. “And, y’know, the usual; visiting friends, annoying all of you until you’re bored of me, stopping this one from taking over the world for his own amusement,” he teased, kissing Harry’s hair.

“I’m not going to take over the world!” Harry protested. “I just might subtly influence the election. Just a bit. So we don’t end up with another idiot like Fudge.”

“Gran’s going to teach me more about the Wizengamot and my future in it,” Neville said. “I think she’s realised I actually have an interest in it now. After everything it’ll be good to have one of us in good standing in politics.” Cedric and Luna didn’t have the history to their family names like Neville did, and none of them were going to pretend that Harry’s political life wasn’t going to be solely about getting exactly what he wanted regardless of who he might piss off along the way. His combination of Slytherin cunning and Gryffindor brashness, on top of his irritation at the hero-worship sent his way, was going to be an explosive — but effective — method of getting things done.

“Ced and I are apparently going to France at some point. Fleur insisted.” Harry smiled at the prospect. “I’ve not left the country before, not in this life. So that’ll be fun.”

“When do you think they’ll sack Dumbledore?” Neville asked curiously.

“I’m betting early August,” Cedric said. “But Harry thinks it’ll be in the next week or two.”

“There are already parents questioning if they want to send their kids back to the school with him running it,” Harry pointed out. “They won’t want to risk kids being withdrawn when they’ve practically made the decision already. And Fudge wants to do it before he’s officially out of office.” The Minister had announced his impending retirement, not wanting to risk a vote of no-confidence. He was staying in just long enough for an election to be had, and then would bow out gracefully.

“We’ll see, I suppose. I wonder who’ll be deputy head. Flitwick, maybe? He’s been there longest.”

“It’ll be Professor Snape,” Luna said knowingly. Harry made a triumphant noise.

“Good!”

“Why Snape?” Cedric asked.

“Headmistress McGonagall will want to prove that her lead won’t be as controlling as Dumbledore’s — with Snape in the position, it’s showing trust and respect to Slytherin house, but also making sure she’ll have someone who will quite happily argue with anything he doesn’t agree with. She’ll never end up like Dumbledore with Snape at her side,” Luna explained. “I think she’s guilty about not realising how far Dumbledore had slipped until it was too late.”

“She’s far from the only one,” Harry muttered. “Having Snape in there is perfect, though. No risk of him wanting to be headmaster when she retires. He hates the administrative side of things.”

“Leaving the perfect opening for you to step up then, hmm?” Neville said pointedly. Back in their day, they had shared the leadership duties rather than placing one above the rest, but that wasn’t the case anymore.

“And risk me becoming the next Dumbledore myself?” Harry retorted. “I know my faults, and I know I’m too much of a manipulative little shit sometimes to be a good headmaster. Things might change as we get older, but… I had something different in mind, honestly.” He didn’t want to say anything yet. He’d see how things played out, first.

The journey dragged on, and the closer they got to London the more Harry’s anxiety began to rear its ugly head. He couldn’t help it; going home for the summer had always been a horrible thing for him, signalling isolation and starvation and chores until his body gave up. He couldn’t stop his pulse from ticking up, his fingers fiddling anxiously with the sleeve of his jumper. Cedric reached out to cover his hands with his own, pulling them into his lap. “Talk to me,” he murmured. Harry huffed.

“It’s nothing. Just being stupid. Dursley memories,” he explained. Cedric’s lips curved in a frown, the concern in his eyes made clearer by the thin eyeliner across his top lid. He was getting bolder about that these days, now he’d stopped caring what people might say.

“You never have to see them again,” he promised. “Sirius and Remus will pick you up and take you back to the new house, and you can pick out your bedroom and Sirius will probably go completely overboard in decorating it for you, because he still feels like he’s got your entire childhood to make up for. And you’ll spend all summer being able to do what you want, and eat what you want, and see other people and relax and get to know your family properly.” He tugged Harry until he was sat between the Hufflepuff’s legs, stretched out along the bench of the compartment. Harry went with it, letting Cedric nudge him to settle against his chest. “And all three of us will visit, and we’ll write all the time, and you can come see me whenever or I’ll come see you, and we can freak my dad out by snogging all over my house, and go to France and Bulgaria and wherever else you want. It’s going to be the best summer ever.”

All of that sounded far, far too good to be true, but because it came out of Cedric’s mouth Harry tried his hardest to believe it. Still, by the time they pulled into Kings’ Cross, his knee was bouncing just as anxiously as it had been at the beginning of the year, though for entirely different reasons. Cedric took his hand, kissing his knuckles and dragging him out of the compartment.

The Weasleys were the easiest to spot, a mass of red hair gathered off to the side. Harry automatically started drifting towards them, then faltered.

He could see Neville’s gran with her vulture hat, stood next to a man with long blond hair and bright yellow robes who could only be Luna’s father. He and Cedric hugged the pair goodbye, promising to be in touch soon, and Neville and Luna hurried through the crowd to meet their families. All at once it struck Harry that they hadn’t been apart since they’d awoken — what if something happened? What if the memories were lost once they parted?

“Breathe, love,” Cedric murmured, squeezing his hand. “Look.” He gestured with his free hand, and Harry followed his gaze, eyes going wide.

Stood about ten feet to the side of the Weasleys, being given a wide berth and plenty of sideways glances by people who either didn’t read the paper or didn’t believe it, was Sirius. His hair was pulled back in a small ponytail and he had the slightest amount of stubble, and was dressed in muggle clothes. His combination of vintage band t-shirt, leather jacket, red plaid kilt and combat boots might have been assumed as the work of a pureblood wizard who knew nothing of muggle fashion, but Harry knew it was just Sirius and his inability to give a fuck about what anyone else thought of him. Beside him, looking more well-rested than Harry had ever seen from the werewolf, was Remus, in a much more understated brown pullover and faded jeans.

“They’re here,” Harry said, his stomach clenching, He hadn’t realised until just then that a large part of him had truly expected to see Vernon Dursley’s smirking face awaiting him.

“They’re waiting for you,” Cedric confirmed. “Come on.”

It was only Cedric’s hand in his that gave Harry the confidence to make his way towards the pair, though he shouldn’t have worried. Sirius lit up as soon as he saw them, bouncing on his toes and throwing his arms around Harry as soon as he was within reach. “There you are! Are you ready? The house is all set, though I haven’t picked your room yet — I thought you could do that, and we’ll do all the decorating and resize the furniture and everything, and then if you want this weekend we can go shopping for whatever you want for it. Some new clothes, too, you’re growing like a weed! Must be those potions Pomfrey’s got you on; she sent a case over, by the way.”

“Breathe, Pads,” Remus soothed, making Harry choke on a snort at how similar he and Cedric were. The werewolf looked amused, and gave Harry a fond smile. “He’s a bit excited about having you. I swear there’s enough in our cupboards to feed all the Weasleys and then some.”

“I wasn’t sure what he likes, Remus!” Sirius argued. “The boy needs to have options!” He grinned at Harry, winking. “Do you need to say bye to anyone before we go?”

“Yeah, just, give me a minute.” Darting over to the Weasley gathering, Harry tapped Mrs Weasley on the shoulder, eyes going wide when she pulled him into a tight hug.

“Oh, Harry, dear! You look after yourself, you hear? Come visit whenever you like, and if you have any problems, we’re only a floo call away. I don’t want the three of you starving to death in that house of yours!”

“Remus can cook,” Harry assured, though he had no idea if that was true. If not, he could cook. They’d figure it out. “I’ll write, though, and definitely come visit.”

He accepted the pat on the shoulder from Mr Weasley, and the double-hug from the twins, followed by the quick half-hug from Ginny. He was surprised when Ron offered a hand, a sheepish expression on his face. “Reckon I’ve been a bit of a git this year, to be honest,” he admitted. “I know you’ve got Neville and everything, but… still friends?”

“Don’t be daft, of course we are,” Harry insisted, grinning at him. Ron might be an idiot Gryffindor, but so was Neville, and Harry did alright with him. They’d never be best friends again, but he was still family of a sort. Life was too short for teenage drama. “I’ll owl you, yeah?”

Ron’s shoulders eased and he grinned, waving goodbye as Harry headed back towards his godfathers. They wouldn’t be the best friends they used to be, but they could figure something out.

“Ready to go?” Sirius asked, still bouncing. Harry looked to Cedric, biting his lip.

“I’ll floo call tomorrow,” Cedric promised, circling his arms around Harry’s hips. “And visit whenever you need me. It’s only a little while, yeah?”

“I suppose.” Still, Harry couldn’t help but think the last time he’d been away from his love for any length of time, he’d died.

Cedric leaned in, kissing him gently. “We’ll be fine,” he assured. “Normal teenagers, remember?”

Harry snorted. What the hell was normal, these days.

“Merlin’s beard, you two are worse than Lily and James were in seventh year,” Sirius groaned, gagging theatrically. Remus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“Leave them be, Padfoot. You remember what it was like.” He made a face. “No you don’t, actually; you never stayed with anyone long enough to care about being apart for a summer.”

“Moony, you wound me!” Sirius declared, reeling back. “Come on, kiddo. Your boyfriend can visit as much as he likes — but doors stay open, and if he stays the night you sleep in separate rooms,” he said with a stern finger, then turned to Remus. “Is that it? Did I get that bit right? Fuck it, I don’t care; do what you like together, as long as you’re doing it safely. Just lock the door, I don’t want to walk in on a pair of teenagers.”

Harry burst out laughing, his cheeks red, while Remus groaned loudly.

“Merlin help us all,” he muttered. “Let’s just go. Cedric, it’s good seeing you again. You’re welcome at our house as often as you like, as long as your parents are fine with it.”

“Thanks, Professor Lupin,” Cedric replied. Harry felt him move away and gripped tighter, pulling him in for one last kiss.

“I love you,” he said, and Cedric smiled, grey eyes shining.

“I love you too. Go home with your family.” He let go of Harry, then disappeared into the crowd, leaving Harry with his new guardians. He felt like half his heart had just disappeared from his chest, and took a steadying breath. This was ridiculous, he refused to be so co-dependent. He was Salazar Slytherin, damn it!

Sirius wound an arm over his shoulders, beaming as he led Harry off towards the muggle side of the platform. “You are so smitten, pup, it’s disgusting. I thought it was bad just listening to you talk about him, but Merlin, the way you look at each other! I’ll be sick if I have to watch that all summer.”

Harry blushed, ducking his head.

“No more sick than I am watching you flirt with the girl at the pub every other bloody night. And her husband,” Remus said pointedly, and it was Sirius’ turn to blush.

“It’s not flirting, it’s making conversation,” he responded primly. Remus glanced at Harry over Sirius’ dark head, mouthing ‘flirting’ with an exaggerated wink. Harry stifled a snicker.

“Clearly you’re the only one of us without a little romance, Moony dearest,” Sirius continued. “We’ll have to fix that this summer, won’t we, Harry?”

“While I would argue that trying to convince a married couple to have a threesome with you hardly constitutes as romance,” Remus pointed out, “I’m perfectly happy by myself.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, shaking Harry’s shoulder conspiratorially, and his thumb caught on the chain around Harry’s neck, just under his collar. His eyes narrowed, and before Harry could move Sirius had yanked on the chain, pulling out the ring and pendant on the other end. “What’s this, then?” he asked with raised eyebrows, looking the ring over. Harry froze, heart stuttering.

“I, uh… promise ring?” he suggested hesitantly. He couldn’t exactly say he was engaged at fourteen; they’d never let him see Cedric again. Sirius studied it closer, letting out a low whistle.

“Hefty bit of silver for a promise ring! And are those real emeralds? Blimey, Diggory’s either secretly loaded or absolutely bonkers about you, Pup.”

“Family heirloom, I think,” came Harry’s evasive response.

“Either way, it’s one hell of a promise! Should I start preparing the dowry?” Sirius teased. Harry had to choke on his own laugh — the man could never understand how funny that was, considering Helga’s initial ‘dowry’ had involved an entire chest full of swords, courtesy of Godric, who thought it improper for a woman to go into a wedding with nothing but wasn’t sure what else she might need in married life with Salazar.

“Let’s just go home,” he pleaded, not wanting to get the full inquisition on his relationship in the middle of muggle London.

“Oh, did I forget to mention? I’m parked just round the corner.” Harry furrowed his brow, puzzled, and things clicked into place when they rounded the corner, Sat in a parking spot at the side of the road was a sleek black vintage motorcycle, gleaming like new with a helmet on each handlebar.

“I’m going to apparate and meet you at home,” Remus explained. “But Sirius insisted he pick you up on the bike.”

“What do you say, Pup?” Sirius asked, beaming. “Fancy a ride? She flies, too.”

Harry’s jaw dropped, and he nodded eagerly, making both men laugh.

“We’ll see you at home, Moony, love,” Sirius said, passing the silver helmet to Harry while he grabbed the black one for himself. “Put the kettle on for us, yeah?”

“Be safe, Padfoot. If you hurt him, I’ll kill you.” Sirius merely offered a thumbs up, transfiguring his kilt into trousers before swinging a leg over the bike and helping Harry sit securely behind him.

Revving the engine into a loud roar, Sirius sped off down the street, and Harry held on tight to his godfather’s waist, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt beneath his helmet.

Cedric was right; this was going to be the best summer ever.

Chapter Text

Harry strode through the familiar stone halls, his footsteps muffled under the sounds of dozens of smaller feet shuffling along nervously behind him. He paused at the door, checking the wards for a moment, then smiled, turning to his gathering. “It’s time. Come on.” He nudged open the door, unable to stop the small grin that crossed his face at the sight of the four long tables full of students, eagerly awaiting the start of a brand new year.

The first years behind him were wide-eyed and quiet as they followed him up to the head of the room, where Fionnbharr was already sat on his three-legged stool, waiting to sort the children. In front of them was the staff table, and in the very centre were four large golden chairs, only one of them empty.

In the golden chair beside the empty one, Cedric sat, wearing deep purple robes. He smiled at Harry, winking, and the purple eyeshadow on his lids glittered in the candlelight. Harry still felt his chest swell with love when he looked at the man, even now after they’d been married for twelve years. Cedric had broadened a little more in the shoulders since his school days, gained a bit of stubble, but Harry was of the firm opinion that he just got more handsome every day.

On his other side sat Luna, radiant in lilac robes, her blonde hair threaded through with matching ribbons. The swell of her pregnant stomach was barely visible over the edge of the table, and Harry could only take her word for it that she wouldn’t go into labour in the middle of the welcoming speech.

Finally, occupying the last golden chair was, of course, Neville. His transformation since school was perhaps the most shocking of all; it turned out, when he grew into his ears and lost the puppy fat, Neville was one gorgeous man! Luna got all sorts of jealous looks from girls who had known Neville back in school and overlooked him entirely. Not that he would have given any of them a second glance. He wore chocolate brown robes — to hide the dirt, he always joked — and his dark blond hair was combed neatly to the side, his brown eyes shining as he surveyed the new students.

Harry himself wore charcoal grey robes — they had a rule that they didn’t wear any house colours on the first night of term, not wanting to start the divide from the offset. He listened patiently through the sorting hat’s song, then stepped forward, pulling his parchment from his pocket.

“When I call your name, you’ll step forward and put on the hat. He will decide your house, and you will join your new housemates at the corresponding table. Adkins, Liam.” And so it began.

This batch of first years was perhaps the biggest yet; Harry counted at least seventy. They’d have to look at hiring more teachers, soon. The population was booming in the years since Voldemort’s defeat, and it was a constant battle to keep up. Maybe they’d raise the matter at the end of the year; they were already trying something very new — or very old, if you looked at it a certain way.

On paper, Cedric Diggory-Potter was Headmaster of Hogwarts. Minerva McGonagall had finally retired the year before, fifteen years after taking up the position at the start of Harry’s fifth year. Cedric was the youngest headmaster on record. In reality, all four of them were equally both heads of house and heads of school, much as they had once been all those years ago, when they’d founded the school in another life entirely.

Cedric hadn’t wanted to give up teaching Charms, nor being head of Hufflepuff house, especially with no other Hufflepuffs on staff. Headship was usually given to those who were too old to teach but still wanted to be involved in the administrative aspects of the school. That was certainly not the case with Cedric — nor with Severus Snape, who had been offered the position and laughed himself sick at the prospect. Thus they’d all come to an agreement; the four of them would jointly run the school, and distribute the work evenly enough to keep both their head of house duties and their teaching positions. The ministry weren’t totally convinced, but they couldn’t say no to Harry Potter-Diggory these days.

Calling out name after name, Harry paid particular attention to those headed for Slytherin house, making a note to talk to each of his new snakes. Snape was still on staff, but he’d relinquished the head of house position to Harry after four years of teaching, when it was clear the Slytherins were just as devoted to him as they were to Snape. Despite having been a Gryffindor, it was widely known to be a mistake from the sorting hat, and Harry was commonly accepted as a Slytherin — no longer a title held only by social pariahs and dark-affiliated wixen. Snape was quite happy exclusively teaching OWL and NEWT level students, using the rest of his time to experiment with his potions. Draco Malfoy, once Snape’s apprentice and now a qualified potions’ master in his own right, taught the first four years of students. He always said that he had to do something to stay busy while his wife — and hadn’t that been a shocker for everyone but Harry and Cedric — played for the Holyhead Harpies. Ginny Weasley-Malfoy was now captain of the team and on her way to being captain of the England team, too. Much to Molly’s despair, that career kept her far too busy for children, though she and Draco were determined to have at least three once she was ready to settle down a bit.

Next to Snape at the table, on the other side of Harry’s empty chair, Remus Lupin watched the sorting with fond eyes. It had seemed only natural to re-hire him as Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher after the Moody debacle. His furry little problem was managed by the Wolfsbane potion — the improved version that Harry and Severus had worked out, that left no pain whatsoever from the transformation — so he usually only needed a day or so of cover teaching, which Harry often managed himself. Teaching only high-level electives wasn’t exactly a full schedule, even with all his other duties in the mix. As Harry watched, Remus leaned in to whisper something in Severus’ ear, drawing a soft chuckle from the once-dour man. Perhaps the most unexpected relationship of them all, the pair had spent the first year working with each other arguing constantly, until one day Harry had snapped and told them to both grow the fuck up and work out their differences. Being yelled at by a fifteen year-old certainly changed something, but Harry hadn’t expected that to turn into the pair sneaking about the school like a couple of fifth-years themselves, dating ‘in secret’ for six months before finally coming clean to their friends and family. Sirius had gotten over the ‘betrayal’. Eventually.

Harry’s godfather — now Professor Black, Master of Transfiguration — still glared down the table at the pair, though it was mostly for show. He hadn’t settled down at all, happy dating casually and living life to the fullest. Instead he’d adopted a pair of puppies he’d found in a dumpster one summer, and was rarely without his girls. Even now they were asleep under the table, waiting for the feast to begin and scraps to start raining their way.

Finally, Harry reached the end of the sorting list, and moved Fionnbharr off to the side where the hat could chat with several of the staff throughout the feast. Rounding the table, he finally took his chair, and Cedric got to his feet.

“These sorting ceremonies get longer every year,” he mock-complained, and a round of chuckles rang through the room. “New students, welcome to Hogwarts. Old students, welcome back. You might have noticed we’ve a few changes up here this year — Professor McGonagall has retired, as many of you will know, though don’t fret; she’s agreed to come in and guest lecture for a few Transfiguration classes throughout the year. Just in case any of you thought you were safe,” he added with a wink. “With that in mind, we’re running things a little differently. There will be no singular head of school; instead, myself and the other three heads of houses will collectively share the headship duties, and work together to make this school the best it can be. The whole point of Hogwarts, when it began, was to create a place where all kinds of people with magic could come together and learn from each other, figure out their strengths and weaknesses, and become part of this rich and wonderful community on their way into adult life. We feel that by combining forces, as the Founders once did, it allows us to bring in a similar ethos to the origin of this school, as a reminder that while we sort you into houses, and indeed your houses should be your families while you reside here, you will only reach your true potential by cooperating with those outside of your house. Those with different strengths, different ways of viewing the world, different opinions. Diversity breeds strength, and we feel that you will all be the best young wixen you can be when you leave these halls if you embrace the diversity of the four houses and learn to work together. So, for those who don’t know already, I am Professor Diggory, Charms professor and Head of Hufflepuff. To my right I have Professor Potter, Head of Slytherin, professor of Magical Theory, Non-Human Languages, sometimes Defence Against the Dark Arts, and for the advanced NEWT students, a Spellcrafting elective. Merlin, love, we need to get you a shorter job title.”

Harry grinned at his husband, winking. Cedric’s eyes went dark for a minute, before he realised where he was and cleared his throat. “Right. On my other side is Professor Lovegood, professor of Divination and Head of Ravenclaw, who assures us that her due date is September seventeenth and no sooner. That being said, Divination classes will be handled by Professor Warrington until Christmas, though Professor Lovegood will still be present at meals and in the castle for her Ravenclaw-related duties. And last but not least, Professor Longbottom, Head of Gryffindor and professor of Herbology. Herbology will be cancelled from the sixteenth until the tenth of October, but Professor Longbottom has assured me he has self-study booklets for every class, and will be available for regular office hours.

New students, please acquaint yourselves with your house prefects, and enjoy the feast!” With that, Cedric opened his arms, and the tables filled with food. Immediately the hall burst into noise, the students happily catching up with friends and making new ones, the first years nervously introducing themselves to each other and their new housemates. Harry watched them all, surprised to feel emotion welling up in his throat. “One more year,” he murmured to himself, though Cedric caught it. He smiled, reaching for Harry’s hand and kissing his knuckles.

“One more year and we won’t even be free during class time,” he joked. Their eldest son, Archie — Arcturus James — was due to start Hogwarts next year, and Harry could hardly believe how fast time had flown. For Merlin’s sake, he’d turned thirty in the summer! Thirty. After believing for so long he wouldn’t even make it to seventeen.

“You two had better not start crying over there,” Neville mock-warned, eyeing them warily. “You’ll set Luna off, and then all four of us will be going.”

Harry snorted, releasing his husband’s hand and starting to serve himself. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep it together,” he promised. “For now, at least.” If he had a little cry in his room tonight, that was no one’s business but his and Cedric’s.

“Fionn’s gonna have a hell of a time sorting him, though,” Cedric mused sipping at his pumpkin juice. “Even worse than our first go around.” Salazar and Helga’s kids had never officially been Sorted, just learning from whichever of the founders was available to teach them. They’d tried on the hat for fun, but as adults, and even then it had taken twenty minutes for each of them.

“He better not be, we’ll starve to death,” Neville remarked. Luna shifted in her seat with a wince, and Neville almost spilled butterbeer down himself. “Are you okay, love? Is it the baby?”

“I’m fine, Neville. She’s kicking my ribs, but it’s fine. I’m not in labour. This is my fifth time around on this, alright? I know what I’m doing.” She winced again. “And the last, I swear. Five times is plenty!”

“We love you, Luna,” Cedric murmured sweetly, kissing her cheek. Two of those five pregnancies had been surrogacies for Harry and Cedric. Though the kids were aware of their parentage situation, and the four — soon five — were raised practically as siblings anyway. All of them were with Neville’s parents for the night, as they always were for the first and last night of every school year.

Harry felt a nudge under the table and glanced down, rolling his eyes at the soulful brown eyes staring up from his knees. “No, Artemis,” he muttered, nudging the dog gently. It had been cute when they were tiny puppies; now they were enormous Bernese Mountain Dogs, and barely fit under the table. “Oi, Padfoot!” he called, getting his godfather’s attention. “Your daughter’s being a little scrounger.” He gestured beneath the table, and Sirius barked out a laugh, then whistled sharply. The table rattled as Artemis returned to her owner, some of the new students looking up in alarm and confusion. At the Ravenclaw table, Victoire Weasley — daughter of Bill and Fleur Weasley — whistled and waved a piece of chicken, trying to summon the dogs, but they only had eyes for their master. Harry grinned; she’d have plenty of time to cuddle them later.

“Well, cheers to our first year in charge of this madhouse,” Cedric said wryly, raising a glass. Harry reached his up to tap against it, then reached a little further for Luna and Neville as well.

“The first of many, many more,” Harry promised, sipping his drink and looking out at the hall the four of them had built a millennia ago, the hall they had been blessed with the second chance to work with and protect and nurture. If someone had told thirteen year-old Harry Potter where he’d be now at thirty, he would have sent them straight to St Mungo’s. “Meet me down in my office after you’re done welcoming the new badgers?” Harry requested in a quiet murmur, his glance at the floor making it clear which office he was referring to. Cedric raised an eyebrow.

“Sure. Everything all right?”

“Oh, fine. I just want to make sure we don’t get interrupted by any homesick little munchkins who won’t deal with their prefects.” He let his voice go husky, green eyes dark. “We’ve got a lot of things to celebrate, my love.”

Cedric’s eyes went wide in realisation, and he chuckled, leaning over for as lewd a kiss as he dared in front of the entire student body. “You’re on, gorgeous,” he agreed, smirking. Harry grinned to himself, turning back to his dinner with his plans for the evening running through his head, arousal humming low in his veins. Sixteen years since they awakened, and he could still hardly keep his hands off his husband. If anything it was worse now, as Harry was no longer an awkward, scrawny teenager; thanks to nutritional potions and quidditch, he’d grown into a respectable 5’10 wizard, with lithe muscle that wasn’t quite a match for Cedric’s broad chiseled form, but still seemed to keep the Hufflepuff perfectly satisfied. It had become somewhat of a game amongst the older students, to see how many times they could interrupt Professors Potter and Diggory snogging. Harry wasn’t remotely embarrassed by it all; he was proud of his husband, and he didn’t care how many people knew how in love he was. It wasn’t a weakness. His love for Cedric and the rest of his family was the only strength worth having.

He smiled as dessert arrived at the tables, and the first years went round-eyed at the array of sweets. He couldn’t wait until Archie was one of them, soon followed by his sister and cousin-siblings-whatever the hell Neville and Luna’s children were to him. It felt like they’d been waiting an age to get to this place in life, but really things were just beginning.

The future looked good.