Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Mr. Snape of Number 715, Wrensbury Lane, Iveyworth, was very pleased to say that by far, he was having a rather uneventful summer, despite housing the one and only boy-who-lived . 

“Harry,” Severus cleared his throat, pretending to make a displeased noise when Hedwig, who had just landed through the open window, nuzzled into his neck, nipping the tip of his ear. “Mail for you. I’m leaving it on the coffee table. When you’re done with the dishes, don’t forget to feed Hedwig.” 

“Yes, sir!” chirped Harry from the kitchen, where he was merrily scrubbing away at the plates they had used for lunch. 

While her owner was washing away, Hedwig settled herself comfortably onto the perch Severus had set up for her in the living room, with the perfect window view of the garden, now blossoming with various types of medicinal herbs and berries. By night, she would roam around the plotted patches, preying on the mice that would otherwise tear away at the roots of Severus’s precious plants. 

“Hullo, girl,” whispered Harry softly, gently stroking through her feathers, undoing any knots the wind may have ruffled into her thick white coat. “Hungry?” 

Hedwig preened happily in response, chirping and nipping while Harry poured a pack of healthy, nourishing protein pellets to add onto the owl’s self-caught rodent diet. 

“Eat up,” said Harry, giving her one last pet. With a happy hum, he proceeded to look through the stack of letters he had, shuffling through the senders— one from Hermione, the letter packed so full it was half an inch thick— one from Draco, in fancy paper and with an even fancier luxurious, dark green wax seal— a scrimply one packed in a recycled letter from Ron, and a concrete white letter with a Norse sigil stamped in the center. 

Hermione’s ended up being a 10-page letter detailing on the books she was reading over the summer, and asking about the books he was reading, insisting that he must make notes and share all of his newly acquired knowledge as soon as they met again. 

Draco’s letter was a blatant show-off of his elegant, cursive handwriting, and possibly the most expensive ink Harry had ever seen before. His letters were long and flowy, as if they were dancing across the paper in the shiny emerald that the blonde boy had chosen. 

Ron’s letter consisted of his continuous complaint about his brothers, and also the fact his sister, Ginny, couldn’t stop fawning over the fact her brother was friends with the one and only Harry Potter. There was also a paragraph or so yapping about how he had to fight his brothers for food at the dining table— especially Charlie, who had returned home and was absolutely famished for his mother’s food. 

Harry’s face fell as he got to Theodore’s letter. In between the lines of his Norse experiments, the extensive access to his mother’s library (half of which would be confiscated by the ministry if they knew about it), it was clear that Theo absolutely despised being home. Everius Nott— Theodore’s father— had unfortunately invited his sister, a wicked old hag to stay in their manor over the summer, and of course Theo got along super well with his beloved Aunt Elodie. 

“What is it, Harry?” asked Severus absent-mindedly, noticing Harry’s dismay over the top of his newspaper— finance minister Presley cheating on his wife, again . 

“Theo’s Aunt Elodie’s over at his place,” said Harry glumly, as if that explained everything. Thankfully, Severus, quite acquainted with Elodius Nott, a seven-times divorcee who had, unfortunately, been the guardian of Theo’s he had met when he went through his routine letter-presenting visits to prominent Slytherin families (Draco’s was one, quite unfortunately), understood very well the subject of Harry (and Theo’s) dismay. 

“Ah.” Severus sipped his tea carefully, wheels in his brain snapping into place, whirling. 

“Poor Theo,” said Harry, “If only he had somewhere else to go to.” 

As Harry put away the letter, the same lightbulb lit over both their heads, and the moment Severus processed the idea was the same moment Harry yelled: 

“Oh, Professor Snape, Professor Snape, can’t Theo come and stay—” 

“Harry,” reminded Severus, “No yelling in the house.” 

Looking sheepish in his excitement, Harry clamored down, “Sorry,” the boy said, “Do you think— perhaps— Theo could come stay here instead?” 

Severus considered for a moment. Everius Nott, while inactive in the years of the Dark Lord’s absence, was not a confirmed defect. As far as he knew, the man still lurked within their dark circles. While the potions master had reason to suspect that Everius, like him, stood in the gray, there was no hard evidence, and with the boy-who-lived under his roof, was the risk worth taking to find out? 

“It is,” hesitated Severus, “A tricky matter, Mr. Nott’s family situation.” 

With only one sentence, Harry drooped, his excited composure disappearing into the wind. “Oh,” said the boy forlornly. “Okay.” 

“I will not promise,” said Severus with a sigh, ignoring how Harry instantly perked. “But I will look into the matter. I believe,” the corners of the potion master’s mouth upturned, “It would be a much more enjoyable summer for the both of you should you live under the same roof.” 

Harry’s smile widened exponentially. 

“Unfortunately, a much bigger headache for me, but when does my health ever matter.” grumbled Severus. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

With no news or updates from the professor over the next few days, Harry’s hope was beginning to wane— but when Severus looked up from his morning paper with a glint in his eye, and the following words tumbled out of his thin-lipped mouth, everything in Harry’s world began to align and right itself again. 

“Why don’t you busy yourself with clearing that new room next to you for Theodore’s arrival, Harry,” said Severus, just the trace of a smile behind his coffee cup. “I’ve got work to do today, and it would be good for you to stay out of my way for the day.” 

Without a second word, Harry swallowed his breakfast and darted back up the stairs to find that the corridor on the second floor had been elongated, and a door not previously there had suddenly appeared. With no moment to lose, the boy got to work instantly, making replicates of his green covers and blanket, arranging them neatly onto Theo’s new bed, picking out books from his room to place in Theo’s bookshelf— 

The next day couldn’t come any faster. 

“Harry,” said Severus, exasperated as he picked up his coat from the hanger. Beside him, Harry was quite literally jumping with excitement. “Theodore is not going to arrive any faster if you don’t calm down and let me gather my belongings.” 

“Oops.” Harry smiled, knowing no bite rested in the professor’s words. 

“Why don’t you go find a book and read on the couch for a while? It’ll be a while before I return.” suggested Severus, tucking his wand into the hidden pocket in his sleeve. “Or go clean Theodore’s room for the tenth time, as you’ve done this morning.” 

“Okay!” agreed the boy readily. 

Severus sighed, resisting the urge to face-palm. “Merlin, I was being sarcastic, Harry. Just sit, be patient, and wait for us to return. I’ll be departing now. You know the rules— no leaving, no opening the door for no one—” 

“Be good and wait,” recited Harry. “Yes, professor.” 

“Good.” nodded Severus. “Goodbye, Harry.” 

And with that, Severus apparated out of Wrensbury Lane. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

He reappeared on the front lawn of the Nott Manor, a secretive property to which he had been sworn into. The gray mansion towered before him, accents of Mrs. Nott’s Norse preferences sparking out in the dragon-like statues, replacing the traditional gargoyles. Intricate designs, interwoven with protective sigils, decorated the stone walls, carved into each slab with attention. 

“Severus, it’s good to see you again.” 

The professor bowed at Everius Nott’s clipped greeting, replying with one of his own: “Everius. I see you are still in good health.” 

“Indeed.” Everius nodded his head ever so stiffly. “Theodore.” 

Theodore’s hazel eyes, though sharp, usually contained a warm touch. However, when Severus gazed into the first year’s eyes, he was met with a steeled gaze, a tight line of forest trees packed so close that it resembled a fortress. By the looks of the packed trunk by his side, the boy didn’t intend to return to the Nott Manor for another year. 

“Yes, Father.” replied Theodore, his voice monotone. 

There seemed to be something else Everius wanted to say, but the words were left unspoken. “... Have a good year.” 

“Thank you, Father.” said Theodore, drawing his wand out of his coat pocket. Without a word, his trunk was levitated, hovering at his side as he stared at his professor expectantly, practically imploring the man to remove him from the premises. 

Severus nodded, drawing his own wand, the exchange having gone for much shorter than he had thought. In one of the sleek windows above, he glimpsed the cold glare of Elodius Nott, a long smoking pipe in between her fingers as she looked cruelly down on them. 

“Come, Mr. Nott.” the potions master said, offering his arm for Theodore to hold. “Farewell, Everius.” 

Everius stared into Severus’s soul, as if he were offering his mind up to the legilimens. Not one to turn down an open invitation, the potions master dipped his hand in the water— words sprung at him, like arrows flying past in a battlefield. “Farewell.” 

Severus nodded. With a flash, he apparated away, pulling Theodore with him, and the Nott Manor was no more. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

Not to Severus’s surprise, Theodore settled in nicely in Wrensbury, right alongside Harry. As he sipped his morning coffee once more, and read his morning paper, a part of him felt satisfied— the two first years with the worst family situations were now under his care, poking jokes at each other each day, sharing tidbits they liked or found interesting in his books, toiling in his garden on the afternoons and sharing cookies in the evening. 

All was well. 

Much to his exasperation, however, this meant introducing yet another boy to the overly curious grandmothers on his street. “You remember Harry, yes? Yes, yes, Harris Evans— the son of my sister, and this is Theodore—” 

“Theodoric Sterling,” said Theodore smoothly, bowing to the women, much to their delight, “I’m another one of Uncle Severus’s nephews.” 

“Oh, what polite boys!” cooed the grandmothers. “Severus, do send them for tea whenever you tire of them!” 

“Yes, of course.” sighed Severus. “Unfortunately, we must get going.” 

And indeed they needed to, for it was the time of the year once more— when parents and students crammed into the tight alleyways of Diagon Alley, clamoring over each other to bargain for new year supplies. It was time to shop for the new school year. Now, typically, Severus was smart enough to stay out of the Alley, not wanting to get caught up in pushy crowds, but now with two boys of his own— not of his own, what was he saying — two boys under his care , school shopping was now, unfortunately, one of the duties he had to take on. 

“Hold on tight now.” warned Severus, with Harry on his right and Theodore on his left. With a whisk, they appeared in a designated apparating spot by the Leaky Cauldron— because Merlin forbid people apparated randomly wherever they wanted— that would be absolutely terrifying, to have someone apparate into you where you stood. 

As expected, Harry was looking all around in wonder— Severus swore to bring the boy out more. 

“Hurry along, and don’t get lost in the crowd,” lectured Severus, “Even if you get separated from me, do not separate from each other, and stay in the same place, I will come find you—” 

“Yes, professor, you’ve told us fifty times, we know.” grumbled Theodore. 

“Now,” Severus sighed, craning over the rowdy crowd at the Leaky Cauldron. While he himself fancied a glass of wine— or on one of those days, a large mug of beer— he simply couldn’t tolerate the day drinkers clunking around drunkenly within the pub. Squinting over a mass of heads, the professor searched the audience, almost giving up when— 

Very faintly, amidst all the clamor, there was the dismayed yell of: “Trevor!” 

“I hear him, professor!” announced Harry happily. 

“Yes, we all have functioning eardrums, Mr. Potter,” grumbled Severus. “If only I could see Mr. Longbottom instead of just hearing him—” 

After a long minute of struggle to separate themselves from the crowd, the trio settled themselves by the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, and with much luck, finally met up with Augusta and Neville Longbottom. 

“Good morning, Professor Snape,” greeted Augusta in a semi-wary air. She eyed him up, wrapping her lilac shawl tighter around her bony little body as a chill blew through the alley. “... Harry Potter, and…?” 

“This is Theodore, gran.” said Neville helpfully. 

Even though they were almost the same height, Augusta scrutinized him through her glasses, clicking her tongue. “From the Nott family, I presume?” 

“I prefer to align my alliances with my mother’s ancestral Norse line,” Theodore replied, meeting Augusta’s strict gaze with a steely one of his own. “The Sterling family, actually.” 

While she clearly disapproved of Theodore’s paternal heritage, she begrudgingly acknowledged his assertiveness. 

And while the Neville of a year ago would’ve tried to run for the hills at the mere thought of doing his school shopping with infamous dungeon bat, Severus Snape, the past year had taught him that the Slytherin professor— and that Slytherins— weren’t as evil or scary as the rumors exaggerated them out to be. The potions master, while menacing at first glance, wasn’t a bad man, and if Harry and Theodore trusted him— well, Neville did too. 

“I’ll see you, gran,” said Neville, Trevor safely accio ’ed back into his arms, courtesy of Professor Snape. 

Augusta looked at him pointedly. “Behave.” 

Without further ado, the now-quartet journeyed their way through the crowd, Severus’s plastered scowl enough to give them some moving room and slight-apologetic looks from pushy individuals. Harry, still a little small for his age (Neville was a centimeter or two taller than him now), was especially prone to the rough barging of the packed alley— although, when a bypasser shoved past him so hard he almost fell, Severus snarled so fiercely at the man that he took off running, and from then on, the small boy was squished between Theodore and the older Slytherin, safe from inconsiderate shoppers. 

“Ah, Hermione.” pointed out Theodore, and when the group looked over, sure enough, the bushy-haired girl was standing in front of a bookstore with her amazed and bewildered Muggle parents, who were deciding whether to look at the book with a teethed mouth in the showcase window— or the cauldron across the street with pink substance boiling and growling— yes , growling . 

“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Granger,” Seeing the opportunity, Severus seized the chance to introduce himself formally, “I am Ms. Granger’s head of house and potions professor. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Slightly flustered and completely out of their comfort zone, the two dentists shared a glance— as if deciding who was going to shake Severus’s hand, before Hermione’s father gave in and took the professor’s outstretched hand. “It’s nice to meet you too, ah, Professor Snape— William Granger, my name— and of course, Jeannette, my wife.” 

Severus offered them both a polite head nod. “Ms. Granger has done way above standards in her academic performance last year— I greatly look forward to what she will achieve this year.” 

“Ah, yes!” said Mr. Granger, puffing out his chest proudly. “Our Hermione’s always been excellent—” after a jab from his wife, the man cleared his throat, “Of course, she could’ve only achieved so much under your guidance, I’m sure. Now, uh… says here on your list that you need new textbooks— potion ingredients…” 

Mr. Granger gulped, horrified at the thought of having to go towards any cauldron, especially with the pink growling one right across the street. 

“Not to worry,” interjected Severus smoothly. “Why don’t you join us, Mr. and Mrs. Granger— as I’m accompanying these three boys for their school year shopping, as well?” 

With general consensus, the group began moving along Diagon Alley (away from the growling cauldron and the chomping book, to Mr. Granger’s great relief), with their first destination clearly in sight, the name lit up in blazing gold: “Auric Archivum: A Library of Treasures”. 

“Will we find textbooks here?” asked Mrs. Granger in amazement. The outside of the shop was done decoratively, with exquisite gold ornaments framing the front showcase windows. Delicate self-writing equipment was on display, a beautiful, peacock-feather quill dancing on sparkly white parchment, as well as paper-thin bookmarks carved from gold, which, when placed in a book, would learn all of its contents and could recite any paragraph back. 

“Not textbooks,” said Severus, admittedly, “But extensive, extra reading material that contributes to the syllabus. Mr. Potter, Mr. Nott, Mr. Longbottom— look around, but don’t exit the shop and don’t leave my sight. Am I clear?” 

“Yes, sir!” the boys chorused, and with Severus’s satisfied nod, they all darted off into the shop, Harry into a section filled with potion journals, pages and pages of potioneers’ experiments, procedures and methods that could be used to recreate their inventions; Theodore into the mystical, folklore section, speaking of ancient sigils and symbols that the shamans used expertly, and Neville into the herbology section, pages of plant figures and illustrations, the best environment for raising the various flora, and what fertilizers they thrived under. 

Seeing her friends delve into the shelves full of knowledge, Hermione looked pleadingly at her parents, grinning widely when they gave her the greenlight to go ahead. 

“You can get that if you’d like,” said Severus quietly to Harry as he passed the boy, who was nose-deep in a two-inch thick copy of The Magic of Potion-Making, July 1992 Edition . The young Slytherin lit up instantly, his wordless thanks hanging in the air as the potions master proceeded to circle around the bookstore, looking questioningly at the book in Theodore’s hand— Encyclopedia of Sigils , the boy’s eyes trailing over each curve and stroke of the symbols, as if etching them into his mind for later use. 

“Hello, professor.” said Theodore innocently upon noticing Severus. 

After a second, Severus decided not to note the sigil Theodore’s finger rested upon. Wordlessly, he moved on, and unsurprisingly, found Neville already with a stack of four books beside him, each thicker than the one below it. 

“Hermione!” exclaimed Mrs. Granger, a shelf down. Sensing the commotion, the professor hurried over, finding Hermione tightly grasping a red-bound book to her chest, a pout on her face. “What on Earth’s name are you reading! Oh, professor, thank goodness you’re here—” 

“Ms. Granger,” Severus raised an eyebrow at the girl, who smiled sheepishly. Noticing the title of the book— The Great Book of Hexes and Jinxes — he immediately understood the Grangers’ concern. 

“What could you possibly need that for, Hermione?” fussed Mrs. Granger, “Oh, what are they teaching you at school…” 

Sighing internally at the sight of Hermione’s pleading gaze, Severus spoke: “Self-defense is an important core of our syllabus, and especially of our house of Slytherin. Ms. Granger’s vast knowledge in… ahem, defensive spells, while incredibly deep for her age— has proved useful in many situations, and I believe, will continue to serve her well for the coming years.” 

At the man’s words, Mrs. Granger calmed down, rethinking. “I… I do suppose that defense is very important.” she nodded, becoming more convinced the more she mulled about it. “Yes. It’s best to be prepared, Hermione— you never know what evils are lurking in the shadows.” 

“All the monsters are in the Forbidden Forest, mum,” said Hermione, “I’m safe in Hogwarts!” 

Mrs. Granger smiled wryly, and that was when Severus realized what the woman had meant when she said “evils”— not the dark creatures and monsters that lurked behind the forest line, but the ones that often walked the same corridors as the children did. The existence of Quirrel had proven that. 

“Rest assured, Mrs. Granger,” said Severus, “While I can’t say that such evils don’t exist within the walls of Hogwarts, I can promise you that I have implemented every precaution I can to ensure the safety of my students.” 

The woman smiled softly, knowing that he had understood what she was insinuating. “Thank you, professor. Now, Hermione, gather the things you want— we don’t have all day, and we haven’t even bought your textbooks yet!” 

Following the two Granger women to the paying counter, Severus found his boys— Harry and Theodore (Neville too) already waiting, each with a thick book in hand. Shaking his head in faked exasperation, he plucked (with slight difficulty— the books were heavy) the practically encyclopedias from each boys’ arm, plopping them onto the counter. 

“I haven’t read the June edition yet,” said Severus to Harry, and to Theodore, “It’s about time I developed my knowledge on sigils— Merlin knows if I didn’t, you’d use them to break into my office again .” And with his excuses, the professor purchased the books, handing them back to the respective boy once the cashier had taken his sickles and galleons. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

“Now… ah. Textbooks.” Severus browsed through the list, his lip curling at the six— no, seven books that Gilderoy Lockhart had made compulsory to buy— and all authored by him, of course. Irritatedly, he snapped the scroll shut. “Flourish and Blotts next. Come along.” 

The boys (and the Granger family) trotted after him, although there were many wandering eyes— Neville looked for so long at Botanical Blooms: Enchanted Floristry, that his head was craning at a 180 degrees to stare at it even when they were too far away. 

“Professor Snape!” 

“Ah,” Severus stopped in his footsteps, “Here come the herd of Weasleys.”

 And he was right: marching through the crowd like a giant herd of red-coloured sheep were the Weasleys, led at the front by Molly Weasley, holding Ginny at her side. Behind her flocked the boys: Fred and George (Severus sighed internally— the day they graduated was the day he would stop finding new white hair every day), Percy and Ron, followed by their father— Arthur. 

“Molly,” greeted Severus amicably. Before he could say any more, the hair on his skin stood as straight as lampposts, and he looked around, alert— and to his horror, found three heads of blonde. 

The Malfoys had arrived. 

“Good Merlin,” he muttered under his breath. “Here we go.” 

“Ah, a live rendition of the Malfoy-Weasley feud.” said Theodore, as if noting the weather. “Lovely.” 

“Lucius Malfoy,” said Arthur coldly. Standing across the entrance to Flourish and Blotts was the man himself, a sneer already creeping across his face. Behind him, a beautiful blonde woman— none other than Narcissa Malfoy, couldn’t look any more disinterested in the fight unfolding in front of her eyes. Instead, she stood prim and proper, head held high, the type of class Petunia Dursley dreamed of achieving. 

The potions master grumbled under his breath. “This is about the Muggle Protection Act, isn’t it.” 

“Arthur,” said Lucius cordially, although he couldn’t look more displeased. “Surprised you have time for some casual, ah… second-hand shopping… don’t you have, ah, unpaid overtimes to fulfill? Busy times at the ministry— but all in the name of your respectful Muggle Protection Act, yes?” spat the man disdainfully. 

Before the patriarch of the Weasleys could answer, Lucius went at it again. Behind him, Draco was squirming uncomfortably, knowing that across the battlefield stood the majority of his friends. 

“Tsk, tsk… really, surprised you could even afford to stand here,” laughed Lucius, “Will you have to live off rations for the rest of the year after buying your children’s rotten, second-hand books? Quite cruel that they’re having you work so much overtime when you’re barely paid for it, yes?” In saying so, he peered into Ginny’s cauldron, half-filled with second-hand textbooks that Molly had procured from a cheaper, “preloved” bookshop. The youngest Weasley shied away from him, and with a laugh, he gave the cauldron a mocking pat, turning back to face a furious, red-faced Arthur. 

As the seconds passed, Arthur’s body tightened, like a spring— almost as if he was going to pounce on the other any moment— 

“Why don’t,” interjected Severus smoothly, before the situation escalated further, “We let Mrs. Malfoy and Mrs. Weasley handle the shopping? I believe, Lucius,” said the potions master with a cool expression, “You have got some business to get to? What with the, ah… antiques housed in Malfoy manor?” 

To Harry’s confused expression, Theodore whispered: “The ministry’s been doing routine searches of manors for dark artifacts— Malfoy Manor hasn’t been searched, but they’re no doubt on the list to be.” 

“And, Mr. Weasley,” said Severus with a false smile, “Why don’t you take Mr. Granger and show him the Leaky Cauldron— introduce him to some butterbeer, perhaps?” 

Lucius, looking slightly white at the insinuation of the “antiques” in his house, raised his head haughtily, harrumphing. “How right you are, Severus— I simply can’t waste my entire day brawling with…” he gave a distasteful look to Arthur, but said no more. 

Mr. and Mrs. Granger, astonished from the whole debacle, quickly recovered. As the potions master had suggested, Mr. Weasley coldly turned his back to his feud, happily chatting up William Granger. By the next minute, the near fist-fight had been dispersed, and peace was restored. 

“Draco,” said Ron neutrally. 

“Weas— Ron,” corrected Draco as the two nodded, acknowledging each other, much to their respective mothers’ shock. 

Very quickly, the tension— and shock— was broken, by none other than Harry, who joined in excitedly: “Theodore!” 

Grinning, the boy returned the greeting: “Harry,” 

“Hermione,” said Neville, continuing the chain. 

With a bright, wide smile, Hermione finished it off: “Neville!” 

“Well,” Severus said, amused, “Now that we are finished with the reunion, shall we proceed—” 

Before he could finish, he was interrupted very rudely by a group of middle-aged women, all squealing and rushing into Flourish and Blotts’, gossiping like teenage girls: “Oh, do you think he’s still there— I sure do hope so, he’s ever-so-charming—” 

“Good Merlin,” grumbled Severus, like his day just kept getting worse. As they looked up, they found the source of the squealing— a giant banner stretched across the front of the shop: 

GILDEROY LOCKHART— will be signing copies of his autobiography, “Magical Me”.  

“Oh, it’s him—” exclaimed Hermione excitedly, her face flushing as red as the Weasley’s hair, “It’s him, oh, Harry, he’s the one who wrote half of our book list—” 

“Unfortunately,” snarled Severus, making his opinion of Lockhart instantly clear. “I cannot believe Dumbledore allowed this.” 

“Oh, what could you possibly mean, Professor Snape?” said Molly, looking uncomfortable at the man’s clear display of dislike. “Gilderoy Lockhart— my, it’s an honor to have him teaching the children, he’s such a wonderful—” 

“Wonderfully idiotic baboon, you mean,” interjected Narcissa smoothly, her eyes coloured in silver disdain. Still, she maintained her prim posture, and gestured to her son. “Come, Draco. Unfortunately , we have to spend our money on this… rubbish, as mandated by that fool, Dumbledore. Can’t help but have to agree with your father on this…” 

Molly opened her mouth to defend the headmaster, but was washed out by a loud chorus of squeals, just as the clock chimed further down the street. Deep inside Flourish and Blotts, the crowd began cheering— Gilderoy Lockhart had made his appearance. 

Looking between Molly and Narcissa, poor Mrs. Granger simply had no idea who to agree with. 

“I have to get going, Harry, Theodore—” said Severus, glancing at his watch. “The apothecary in Knockturn closes in half an hour, and we took longer in the Archivum. Mrs. Weasley, Mrs. Malfoy— may I leave them in your care?” 

“Oh, certainly!” agreed Molly immediately with a smile. Narcissa acknowledged his request with a curt nod, and with his boys— Merlin , he had to stop calling them his — in safe hands, Severus took off, his black cloak billowing behind him as the great big, black bat wooshed his way into Knockturn Alley. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

Much to Theodore’s dismay, they were shoved into the line— for Lockhart’s autograph— curtesy of Mrs. Weasley, and despite the looks he threw in Mrs. Malfoy’s direction, the woman shook her head with a thin smile, as if she was looking forward to his squirming. 

“Mrs. Weasley— I think I’ll go grab some of our other textbooks—” grunted Theodore as he was shoved by an overly-eager ( married ) woman, squealing for Lockhart to sign her arm— “While you line up—” 

With great difficulty, the two boys (Neville was thankfully spared) squished their way out of the line, breathing in clear air once more. However— one diverted catastrophe brought another. 

“Is that— Harry Potter?” exclaimed Gilderoy excitedly from the stage, causing the whole crowd to turn and look at his direction. “My, my— the Boy-Who-Lived himself, come to buy my books— of course, as he, and the rest of his peers will be gifted with Magical Me in the coming school year— as in, the actual , ethereal , magical version of me — as their new defense against dark arts professor!” 

The crowd squealed and thundered in applause, as hands and arms reached out to push and pull Harry towards the stage. Theodore yelled in protest, fingers ever-so-tempted to pull out his wand and curse a witch or two. Behind him, Ron, Hermione, and Neville winced in pity— Merlin knew the small, emerald-eyed boy loathed being the center of attention.

“Ah, you must be mistaken,” said Harry uncomfortably, squirming away from the gazes of at least twenty women— “I’m not Harry— how could I be?” he laughed nervously, “I’m Harry Evans, sir— Sir Lockhart.” 

The man frowned, squinting closely at Harry, a centimeter between their noses. “Are you sure?” 

“If he were Harry Potter, sir, surely he would have a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead?” proposed Hermione with a smile. Sure enough, there was no scar on Harry’s head— thanks to Professor Snape’s foresight of a glamouring charm.  

"In addition," Theodore said thoughtfully. "The great Mr. Potter simply has more urgent matters to attend to, such as studying the fifth-year potions syllabus, of course— he's quite the potions genius, haven't you heard? Last year, he invented a sleeping potion strong enough for a dragon ." 

Lockhart pouted disappointedly. “I suppose— excuse my mistake.” 

Crisis averted, Harry jumped off the platform, snaking through the crowd to high-five his friends, who grinned in success. 

“I have to agree with Mrs. Malfoy now,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes. “What an absolute buffoon— he couldn’t even see through a simple glamor charm! What use is he— what in Merlin’s name is he going to teach us when he’s that easily fooled?” 

Theodore snorted. “Nothing.” 

The children giggled among themselves, elated with their victory. Behind them, Narcissa Malfoy smiled ever-the-slightest— amused. She could see now, the potential Severus saw in the ragtag group of twelve-year-olds, and while she wasn’t going to admit aloud that she approved of her son’s friends, something told her that once they became fully-fledged Wixens, they would be quite unstoppable. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“Quality Quidditch Supplies!” jumped Draco all of a sudden, pointing at the shop down the lane. “Mother—” 

“Yes, Draco,” sighed Narcissa, “If you could refrain from acting like a starved man…” she gave her son a pointed look, with the return of a sheepish grin. “Very well. I suppose we can spare some time.” 

The blonde would’ve started jumping in glee if he hadn’t just been told off. Grabbing Harry’s hand— Ron’s protest sounding in the air as he took after the two— the trio of Quidditch fanatics took off towards the shop, Draco already raving about the newest broom model the store was displaying in the window. 

“Children,” laughed Jeannette, “Our Hermione does the same— goes completely crazy within a 20-meter radius of a bookshop.” 

“Mum!” protested said girl, embarrassed. “I’m… going to go take a look too. Neville, Theodore, coming?” 

“Oh, Mum, we’re going to pop—” said Fred, suddenly appearing from behind Molly’s left shoulder. 

“— right over to Gambol and Japes—” continued George, causing Molly to screech as he, too, appeared— on her right shoulder. 

“Be—” said Fred, “— right—” said George. 

“Back.” grinned the two, before dashing in the direction of the joke shop, no doubt making inventory for their upcoming mischief. 

Percy rubbed his forehead in exasperation of his brothers— all his brothers— and patted his mother gently on the back. “I’ll go watch the twins.” he said, a shy Ginny in tow, and the two redheads proceeded after the duo. 

“Children,” echoed all three mothers in a sigh, sharing a glance— a universal understanding that spread across kid-responsible women across the planet. An uneasy tension settled as Narcissa and Molly stared at each other, only to be broken as Jeannette burst into stifled giggles. Molly followed with a smile, which gradually widened into a laugh, and eventually, Narcissa relented with a small, amused smile of her own. 

“Oh, that felt so wonderful to say aloud,” said Molly, smiling, “I do love them so—” 

“— but they can be such a handful sometimes.” finished Narcissa, shaking her head, as if she couldn’t believe she was about to have a conversation with the wife of her husband’s sworn nemesis. “Our Draco is an angel, of course, the heir of the Malfoy family—” 

“And Hermione our dearest, but really—” Jeannette slumped in a giggle. 

“I can’t wait for the school year to start,” said the three women in unison. 

With that, the three women burst into smiles and laughter again, and in the middle of Diagon Alley, an unlikely alliance grew its roots. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“If it isn’t Quidditch celebrity, Mr. Harry Potter!” grinned Cedric, putting down the bottle of broom polisher he was inspecting as the bell of the shop dinged, revealing the trio of first— to be second— years. From behind him, a head of long, silky hair appeared, Cho Chang giving the trio a shy smile and wave. 

“Hullo, Cedric,” greeted Harry with a smile. “And… Cho, I believe?” 

As Harry had insisted Terrence play Slytherin’s final game— against Ravenclaw, for the House Cup, he had never faced off Ravenclaw’s “Silver Raven”, a nickname lovingly crowned on the quiet but stunningly pretty seeker.

“Hello, Harry,” said Cho in return, a flush rising to her cheeks as she ducked back behind Cedric, who snorted at his friend’s shyness. Ron, on the other hand, was flushing red with jealousy, like he wished Cho had said hi to him instead. 

Hearing the name, the shopkeeper— an athletic old man with streaks of white hair to his brown— jumped up from behind the counter, his glasses bouncing on the bridge of his nose as he bounced towards the front of the shop, yelling: “Harry? Harry Potter? In my shop?!” 

“I, Draco Malfoy, heir to the house of Malfoy, am here too.” declared Draco, although the sentence had less dramatic effect than he had wanted. 

“Err… actually, it’s Harry Evans,” said Harry carefully, and for a while the shopkeeper stared at him. Unrelenting, Harry stared back, unblinking, unmoving, and the two stood in a standstill while everyone around them looked on awkwardly. 

“Ah, yes,” said the shopkeeper at last. “Harry… Evans.” Though the man was rather unconvinced, he went along, “And how may I help you today, Mr. Evans? Looking to purchase a new broom, perhaps?” 

Harry took one glance at the price tag of a broom from the previous season and reeled back from recoil. “AH, no.” he coughed. “Not— not in a while, I think.” 

“Mother—” Draco immediately spun to say. 

Having silently appeared from behind him (Harry hadn’t even heard the bell ring), Narcissa gave her son a leveled look. Unlike his father, the woman wasn’t one to simply give into her child’s whims and purchase whatever he asked for. “Do you think you’ve earned a new broom?” 

For a moment, Draco faltered, his excitement ebbing. 

“If you don’t mind me saying, Mrs. Malfoy,” voiced Harry quietly, “I think Draco’s performed really well in the last academic year.” 

Hermione chimed in her agreement to this— “I agree! And Draco’s changed a lot— and for the better— too, he’s been a really great friend lately.”, which caused the said boy to look up in surprise. The Muggleborn offered him a warm smile. “He’s become a lot nicer, to everyone.” 

“I would call him a friend.” Ron offered. “We got off on the wrong foot, but… he’s not a bad person to know… I guess.” 

“And… and he was kind enough to tutor me in Potions,” added Neville shyly, “I got Exceeds Expectations thanks to him— when really, I would’ve failed.” 

Taking in all of her son’s friend’s contributions, Narcissa shook her head wryly. “Well, I suppose that warrants an award.” she said, her expression softening. “Perhaps, one of the Nimbuses?” 

“Ah, of course, Mrs. Malfoy!” the shopkeeper had found an excellent gap to insert himself back into the conversation. “Our newest model— the Nimbus 2001, undefeatable in the industry—” 

“Perhaps… the Nimbus 2000.” settled the woman, completely ignoring the man, “I see no need for the latest model when the 2000 operates just fine. They are sure to release a new model next year— and you are sure to want it— so perhaps we shall just get the 2000, and if you warrant it after your second year, we can see about buying the latest model then.” 

Draco agreed readily to this, and Narcissa flicked an unimpressed look towards the shopkeeper— who even Harry had to feel some sympathy to, sending the man scurrying into the storage room to find a Nimbus 2000 to pack up for the customer. 

“Thanks,” Draco said to his friends, looking flustered, completely out of his depth. “... All of you.” 

Ron sighed and crossed his arms. Undeniably, the redhead was slightly jealous— after all, he still shared a Cleansweep with his sister, Ginny, at home. “Don’t make me regret helping, Mal— Draco.” 

“And if I hear a word of you boasting about your new broom this year,” threatened Theodore with a pleasant smile, “I shall write to your mother.” 

“Not a word, I promise.” reassured the blonde hastily. 

With that, the group bade goodbye to Cedric and Cho, and departed back onto the streets of Diagon Alley, where Fred, George, Percy and Ginny emerged from Gambol and Jakes, with a suspicious bag filled to the brim with weirdly coloured boxes. Percy shook his head in exasperation, giving his mother a look that said: There was an attempt made, and I could not stop them.  

“Now… have we got everything?” said Jeannette peering carefully at Hermione’s letter. “We’ve got your textbooks— and all your clothes from last year still fit, don’t they? Equipment… you’ve got a cauldron already… yes, that’s about everything.” she finished, pleased. 

“Finished shopping already?” said Severus, who cut into the group smoothly, swooping in with his billowing black cape. The great dungeon bat could never make an entrance without sufficient swooping. He glanced over the bags everyone was holding— including Draco’s broom-shaped package. 

“Look, Professor!” said Draco, showing off his package. “Guess what?” 

Hmm, he wondered what the broom-shaped package could possibly be. “Oh, I wonder.” he replied dryly. “The Nimbus 2001, I suppose?” 

“The 2000, actually.” Narcissa rolled her eyes. “No use spending an extra 500 sickles on it when they’re just going to release another new model next year.” 

“Uh-huh,” said Severus, pointing a look at Harry, “And you? Didn’t you get anything?” 

The emerald-eyed boy shook his head, “My broom still works just fine. Don’t need a new one.” That, Severus supposed, was quite true. After all, Harry’s broom— Marcus’s “spare” broom— was the Nimbus 2000 as well, although a year older than Draco’s, still had all its features and charms intact. Severus had made sure of that, of course, after all the mishaps his seeker had had on the stick, although they were mostly courtesy of Quirrell. 

“Very well, then.” Severus nodded. “Shall we get going?” 

The group proceeded in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron, where Mr. Weasley and Mr. Granger were happily engaging in heavy conversation, exchanging muggle and magical information. Arthur was most delighted to be finally enlightened on the use of a rubber duck, which, he discovered, was simply for entertainment purposes. 

“Molly,” said Jeannette unsurely as their husbands wrapped up their conversation, “I have a giant favor to ask from you.” 

As it turned out, Hermione’s grandmother, who resided in a small town in France, had come down with a terrible cold, and while the elderly woman was normally capable of looking after herself, the Grangers had decided it best for them to visit and care for her until her health improved. With only a couple weeks before the school year begun, Hermione was stuck halfway— unable to travel to France with her parents, nor stay at home on her own until September arrived. 

“We would be more than delighted to have her in our household,” said Molly, delighted. “Oh, Ginny would be happy to finally have another girl to talk to! And Hermione shall be such a good influence on our kids. Of course— yes, no trouble at all!” 

And just like that, Hermione would be residing at the Burrow for the rest of summer. 

“Perhaps you two would like to join Ms. Granger?” asked Severus, eyeing both Theodore and Harry. Molly brightened at this idea— yes, the Burrow would be filled to the brim, but it would be lovely to have all the children together. Plus, Hermione, Harry and Theodore were all within top ten of their first-year exams— under the influence of the three, Ron and Ginny were sure to have superb results in the coming year. 

The two boys shared a look, and then promptly decided to shake their heads in unison— much to the surprise of both Severus and Molly. 

“You’re sure?” Severus reconfirmed, doubtful of their decision. “The Burrow is a nice place to stay— better cooking than I can give, for one— and both Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley will be there for the rest of summer.” 

“No,” Harry shrugged. “I’d love to stay with Mrs. Weasley, but I think I'd prefer staying with you. It’s home now.” 

“It’s home,” Theodore nodded. 

“It’d be so much fun though!” Ron pouted. “Man.” Hermione rolled her eyes and patted him on the back, shooting her fellow Slytherins an understanding smile. 

“Ron, don’t be a child,” she chastised (Ron whined, “I’m 12! I’m allowed to be a child!”), “You two enjoy the rest of summer with professor. But I better get tons of letters from you two, or else.” 

As the children huddled together with their last goodbyes before the school year began, Molly whispered to Severus with a knowing smile: "They like you." she whispered, "They chose to stay with you because they like you— and they feel safe with you. And to think you swore never to have kids!” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

In all honesty, Severus had seen it coming. A summons to a secret, private room meeting at the Leaky Cauldron. It had been bound to happen. He tried to tie the boys to the Weasley family, but given that they were Slytherins — friends of Ron, yes, but Slytherins regardless— it was bound to come out that he had deeper involvement with the two first-years than he’d care to admit. 

And there he sat, across from the one and only Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, one of the most cunning women he’d ever met in his life. He knew that the meeting was likely to benefit him. After all, if she was here, questioning his responsibility for the boys Nott and Potter, that meant she hadn’t spilled the beans to her husband yet— which would be epically disastrous, invoking both anger from the former circle of Death Eaters, as well as lightly-masked displeasure from the headmaster himself. 

So, yes, he would rather deal with Narcissa than the old fool. At least she— if she had summoned him— wanted a deal. And that meant that he could stand to benefit from having her as an ally. 

“Let’s get straight to the point,” he said smoothly, “The trip showed you that I may be housing two boys under my roof, one of which is the most wanted child in circles we frequent. And yet, you have not revealed this information to your husband. What is it that you want in return?” 

Narcissa took her time, calmly sipping on her tea as she let him simmer in impatience. “I’m sure you know it is only a matter of time.” 

The potions master laughed, although there was no humor in his tone. “Before the Dark Lord rises once more?” 

“Or before another rises to take his position,” she said. “They are restless for a leader. Loyal as they are to the Dark Lord, if one powerful enough can step into his shoes, their urge for power once more will morph into loyalty to a new leader.” 

Severus nodded. “And what is it you want, by telling me this?” 

“When the time comes, I want you to swear to protect Draco.” Narcissa said, sliding a piece of parchment across the table. The professor eyed it, but made no move to bring it closer. 

“You want me to swear an unbreakable vow to you,” said Severus, equally calmly, “Hardly a small matter. And what do I get in return?” 

“I will protect your boys,” replied the blonde woman easily, “If the time comes in which the boys Nott and Potter are under danger, and I am in position to act, I will do my utmost to ensure their safety. All I ask is that you do the same.” 

Severus ran his eyes over the contract she had presented before him. “... Very well.” 

The woman smiled. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“... Likewise.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

In all matters, Theodore and Harry were destined for the Burrow anyway, for Severus had to return to Hogwarts early, in the last week of summer, to attend head of house meetings and prepare his materials for the incoming first years. Unable to take the boys with him, he sent them packing to the Weasleys’ abode, and they all bade goodbye to Number 715, Wrensbury Lane, for another year. 

“Behave for Mrs. Weasley,” he told them strictly as they landed on the front porch of the Burrow, “I don’t expect any less from either of you. No purposely getting into trouble. Do whatever Mrs. Weasley tells you to do, and in the face of any trouble, shall it find you— Merlin knows you two attract trouble like magnets—” he grumbled, “You think logically and find the least dangerous solution out of there. You hear me?” 

“Yes, professor,” echoed the two boys. 

Once at the Burrow, the two were nicely packed into a room with Ron, who was more than happy to have boys his age to hang around with— who wouldn’t bully him like his older brothers. Next door were Hermione and Ginny, who was starting to come out of her shell with the older girl’s encouragement. 

For the remaining week, they were all treated to scrumptious meals of chicken and a ton of eggs— thanks to the chicken coup the Weasleys kept in their backyard, of course. Harry and Theodore were kept on their feet with chores, as they had been at Wrensbury. Every morning, it was helping Mrs. Weasley prepare breakfast (she had refused their help at first, but then Harry insisted that if Professor Snape ever found out they weren’t doing their part, he’d make them write all their essays two inches longer for the rest of the year), feeding the chickens, tending to the yard, which was Harry’s favorite part— helping sweep and clean if need be, making lunch and spending their afternoons playing games with the Weasley brothers (and Hermione and Ginny). 

“I’ve improved, haven’t I?” Harry asked Theodore triumphantly as he narrowly lost another game of chess to Ron. 

“Sure you have, Harry.” replied Theodore wryly from his position on his bed, a mattress on the floor, curled up with a book in hand. 

“Ron’s just too good!” whined the green-eyed boy, “I am improving!” 

“You tell that to Daphne,” hummed the Norse boy. 

Their evenings were finished with deliciously cooked dinners, which consisted of (you guessed it) more eggs, chicken and vegetables that Harry happily ate up. While washing the dishes, he would answer more of Mr. Weasley’s questions of the muggle world, and end the night with a mug of Mrs. Weasley’s special hot chocolate. 

On their last night, Mrs. Weasley added an extra treat to their dinner— a giant treacle pudding, which made Harry’s mouth water. As everyone sat comfortably in the living room, stomachs full and hearts swoll, Fred and George celebrated the end of summer with a show of Filibuster Fireworks— one of their purchases from Gambol and Japes, sending blue and red sparks all across the room, bouncing from wall to wall in bursts of light and color. 

The day of September, they got up at dawn, even before the sun had begun to rouse. Mrs. Weasley bustled around the house, accio ing the other side of missing socks, quills, and god knew what else. There were always, at a minimum, three people going up and down the stairs at once, with toast in their mouths and a seemingly infinite amount of bags in their hands. 

Percy hollered for his missing prefect badge as Harry and Ron carefully levitated a trunk down the stairs (Mr. Weasley turned a blind eye to their use of magic), which was later found in the twins’ room, much to no one’s surprise. 

“Thank you, Ginny,” said Harry warmly to the younger girl as she carried Hedwig and Hermes (Percy’s owl) down the stairs. She flushed but nodded in acknowledgement and raced out across the lawn to where the car— a Ford Anglia, their ride to the station— was parked. 

As the children’s rooms were emptied and Mrs. Weasley bustled inside, doing a last check of everything, they all gathered before the car as Harry wondered how 10 people, 8 trunks, 2 owls, and a rat were supposed to fit in a car that was designed for 5. 

“That fits just nice,” said Arthur, brushing his hands in satisfaction, as all 8 trunks— miraculously— went into the back of the car with little trouble. He took a peak and found his answer— a magically enlarged trunk space. “Not a word to Molly, aite?” 

When Mrs. Weasley came running back, they seated themselves comfortably into the car. The back seat sat Percy, Ron, Harry, Theodore, Fred, and George nicely, as it had been elongated to resemble the length of two park benches, while Hermione, Ginny and Molly sat in the front, which had been made to resemble the length of one park bench. Arthur’s seat— the driver’s seat— remained its correct length, and once everyone buckled their seat belts (Arthur was about to go on a spiel about its uses), the man of the Weasley family turned on the engine—

Except it didn’t. 

Everyone clambered out as Arthur tried once more to start the car, to no avail. Just as Molly was about to begin freaking out— Ron stepped towards the front of the car and easily popped the car’s hood open. As everyone watched in silent shock, Ron prodded at the struggling engine for a moment, twisted some unknown knobs deep inside the car’s body, sucked in a deep breath, and gave the motor a nice, solid smack.

Arthur yelped as the car shook, but Ron was unfazed, stepping towards the driver’s seat, confidently and firmly twisting the key. With a roar, the Ford Angila burst to life. Fred and George whooped and began clapping, as the patriarch of the Weasleys stared at his son as if he’d never seen him before. “How… how’d you do that?” 

Under the attention, Ron flushed and dipped his head. “Ah… it was nothing. Just some stuff I read up on last year.” 

Molly stood, stunned for a moment as she stared at her youngest son, as if unsure if she wanted to be proud or upset that he was slowly going down the same path as his father. However, time didn’t allow her to stare for long— everyone clambered back into the car as Arthur pulled out of the driveway, leaving the Burrow and a trail of smoke behind them. 

Just as Harry thought he was never going to see the place again, not for another year at least, they turned around and George made a run for his box of Filibuster Fireworks— which, he claimed, he could not start the year without. Another two minutes later, Fred made a run for his broomstick, and another five minutes later, right as they were about to enter the main road, Ginny yelped for her diary, and they turned back once more. 

By the time Ginny bundled out of the house with the little black book, tensions were running high and time was running low. 

“Molly,” tried Arthur pleadingly, having glanced at his watch, “Look here—” 

“Arthur, no.” 

Behind them, Theodore was becoming increasingly interested in the various functions Mr. Weasley had built into the automobile. Seeing the boy’s brightened eyes, Harry immediately jabbed him into the ribs— “Don’t even think about it, Theodore.” 

“Look— but— this little Invisibility Booster here I installed— brings us above the clouds, the Muggles would never see us, and no one would be any wiser, at the station in ten minutes, much time to spare—” 

“And I said no, Arthur, not in broad daylight—” 

“But—” protested Arthur. 

The matriarch of the Weasley family shot him a sharp look, and that was that. Molly Weasley put her foot down, and so the passengers of the Ford Anglia settled for a lengthy trip through thick traffic. When at last they pulled up into King’s Cross Station, everyone was vaulting and sprinting— Fred and George pulled trunk after trunk from the back of the car as Percy and Arthur ran for the trolleys, and then they were all dashing for Platform 9 and ¾… 

“Ten minutes to spare!” breathed Molly, “Come on now, no time to dilly-dally, Percy, you go ahead—” 

Without another word, Percy and Hermes went through the barrier, followed by Arthur, who was pushing a trolley of Ginny’s trunk, as well as an assortment of bags. 

“Fred and George, you two next—” said Molly hurriedly, glancing at the clock every few seconds or so. “Hermione, go on— Ginny, come, take my hand— Ron, Harry, Theodore, you three come in after us—” 

The woman disappeared through the wall, and Harry geared up on his trolley, making sure Hedwig’s cage was securely attached and made a run for it. He tried not to close his eyes but ultimately did— and imagine his surprise when, instead of passing through into the scarlet glory of the Hogwarts’ Express, met a completely solid brick wall and landed on his arse on the cold floor of the station. 

“What?” yelled Theodore, rushing forward and pressing a hand to the barrier. A little far away, a security guard had been alerted of their commotion as Harry hushed, trying to quieten Hedwig’s complaints. “The barrier, it’s—” 

“There’s supposed to be 3 more minutes left!” hollered Ron as the crowd around them started to stare. “Are you sure you’ve…” he too, pressed his hand on the wall, and groaned. “We’ve got the right wall, don’t we…” 

“Yes, we just watched your whole family disappear through it!” said Theodore impatiently. “The train’s about to leave, for Merlin’s sake!” 

Much to their dismay, the clock chimed and struck eleven, indicating the departure of the Hogwarts Express. 

“Well, there’s that.” said Theodore matter-of-factly. “Harry, we better get Hedwig out of here or cover her up— people are staring. And Ronald, for the love of Merlin, has it ever occurred to you that it’s not normal to carry a rat on your shoulder?” 

Hastily shoving Scabbers into his pocket, away from the weird looks of bypassers, Ron huffed. “Now what? The train’s gone.” 

In a sudden stroke of genius, Theodore smiled widely. “But the car isn’t.” 

30 minutes later, they were soaring above the clouds, Theodore and Harry comfortably in the front, bench-wide passenger seat as Ron steered the Ford Angila easily across the sky, the Hogwarts Express chugging smoothly on the railway below them, completely invisible to Muggles thanks to Mr. Weasley’s Invisible Booster. 

At least, that was what happened in Theodore’s imagination. 

Instead, they sat in the parking lot, invisible (as adults were starting to stare at the sight of three children sitting alone in a car), as Harry quickly scribbled a letter for Hedwig to fly to Hogwarts with. 

“Boring,” muttered Theodore, his arms crossed. “No sense of fun at all.” 

“Theodore, Ron doesn’t have a driving license,” reminded the emerald-eyed boy. 

“What’s going to happen?” said Theodore, throwing his hands in the air, “Oh, the sky police are going to pull us over and ask for registration and a look at his license, thank you very much.” 

“Muggles need a license for driving?” Ron furrowed his brows, “That’s ridiculous! That’s like asking for a license to ride brooms.” 

“No, it would really be the equivalent of an apparition license,” corrected Harry. “Acquired at the age of 17 and enforced because of risk of bodily harm.” 

The boys’ conversation jolted to a stop when the car’s invisibility charm faltered. An annoyed look passed over the Norse boy’s features as Harry gave him a clearly expressed ‘I told you so’. 

With a little tinkering around, Theodore reinforced the invisibility charm, drawing various Norse sigils around the booster’s button, and the Ford Angila disappeared from view once more. The car hummed happily, and Ron patted the dashboard fondly.

“It’s alive?” exclaimed the two Slytherin boys in unison, one in delight and one in shock. Theodore grinned and Harry sighed— for as long as Hedwig needed to speed her way to school delivering their SOS message, it was going to be a long few hours until help arrived. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“Of all the people that missed the train, of course it’s those two,” sighed Severus as they landed in a shady corner of King’s Cross Station. Minerva rolled her eyes. 

“Come, Severus. We have missing students to find.” she said, already walking into the open, her clothes magically transforming to fit into the Muggle crowd. With a weary sigh, the potion master followed her, only having enough time to utter one more groan as the endless swarm of people swept him away in their current. 

“Lovely of them to tell us they’re stuck at the station, but not where,” Severus grumbled for the tenth time as he and Minerva completed their third round of the platforms. The boys were nowhere to be seen, and just when they were about to resort to other measures— 

“It’s the professors!” said a familiar voice, somewhere in the crowd. “I told you they’d come—” 

“You didn’t mention it’d take them 5 and a half hours—” followed by another familiar grumble. 

With a little difficulty, the two adults eventually spotted the source of the voices: Harry and Theodore, a bag of convenience store water and snacks in hand, looking relieved for the help that had finally arrived. 

“Where is Mr. Weasley?” questioned Minerva, looking around for the redhead she was responsible for. 

“Waiting in the car!” answered Harry brightly. “With our trunks and all.” 

As Severus questioned why Arthur hadn’t had the idea of shrinking the trunks instead of enlarging the space to store the trunks, the children quickly ran down the deputy headmistress on the events of their day. 

“It’s odd for the barrier to malfunction like that,” frowned Minerva, “Very well. You children did well to react sensibly to this.” At this, Harry shot another pointed look at Theodore, and Severus instantly had a faint inkling of what the other boy’s preferred solution might have been. 

“We’re all done here.” said Severus, pushing the back of the car shut, miniature trunks tucked in the pockets of his billowing cloak. “We’ll be apparating into Hogsmeade. Minerva, if you could bring along Mr. Weasley with you.” 

“What about the Ford?” Theodore said suddenly, “We can’t just leave it here.” 

“I’m sure Mr. Weasley will collect it in due time,” replied Severus suspiciously. “Whatever you are thinking of, Mr. Nott, stop thinking of it.” 

“No one lets me have any fun around here,” grumbled Theodore unhappily as he linked his arm with Harry, who grabbed along with the potion master’s. With a quick snap, the group disappeared, and the Ford Anglia was left all alone in the parking lot of King’s Cross Station, engine whining sadly. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

Chapter Text

“Stay close now,” warned Professor Snape as they re-appeared in Hogsmeade. The boys looked around curiously, amazed by the picturesque little village, complete with flickering candles caged within the six glass walls of lampposts lining the cobbled street. 

As Ron made a move to wander off, he was cuffed in the ear by Professor McGonagall, who gave him a stern look and sent him running back towards the group. Far away in the horizon, back-lit by a beautiful, yolk-like sunset, Hogwarts stood in its humble glory, towering spires and windows glowing in the fire hue. 

“Hogsmeade Station,” introduced Professor Snape curtly as they drew into the structure, a single carriage in an empty lot. “It seems the rest of the school has departed— no time to waste now. Come.” 

With no time to pause, the students trotted after the potions master obediently, and he led them towards one of the carriages, nodding lightly as they approached it. 

“What are they?” asked Harry, grabbing Theodore’s hand as the other pulled him up the high steps of the carriage. “The horses. They’re all… wispy and ghostly.” 

At his question, the professors stiffened, and Ron, on the other hand, furrowed his eyebrows, like he couldn’t fathom what Harry could possibly be referring to. “What do you mean? What horses?” 

“The ones pulling the carriage,” said Harry, Ron’s confusion catching onto him— “Wait, you mean, you can’t see them?” 

“I can.” Theodore raised his eyebrows questionably at the redhead. “Ronald, are you sure your eyesight is functioning as normal?” 

“There aren’t any horses!” said Ron, flabbergasted. “Hey, I wouldn’t put it off Theo, but it’s not like you, Harry, this isn’t a funny prank. Damn, did the twins rub off you two…?” 

Rolling his eyes, Theodore clicked his tongue at the redhead, crossing his arms. “I’m not pulling your leg, Ronald, for Merlin’s sake. There are four horses pulling our carriage— did you knock your head too hard on the platform wall? Maybe you have a concussion.” 

“Those are thestrals,” said Professor McGonagall at last. “And it is… perfectly normal for Mr. Weasley not to see them.” 

The second-years didn’t quite seem to understand, and looked more lost than ever. 

“They… only appear to those who have witnessed death,” Professor McGonagall explained gently, her heart sinking as the two dark-haired boys’ expressions morphed from confusion to a forlorn understanding. By the gaze in their eyes, the two Slytherins had very quickly identified the “why”— or rather, the “who” that allowed them to see the ghostly creatures. 

“Oh,” said Ron finally, silence ensuing. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Despite the impromptu, slightly-depressing thestral lesson, Harry couldn’t help but brighten up as they clip-clopped towards the grand entrance of the wizarding school. Already, he could smell the heavenly food wafting out from the Great Hall, tables full of roasted chicken and pudding and fruit salad— 

“We haven’t missed the Sorting, have we?” said Ron anxiously as they were led around the hall, “Oh, I need to know that Ginny isn’t a Slytherin—” which resulted in him getting dirty looks from three said Slytherins. “Err… I just meant, I just know that Ginny would fit in really well in Gryffindor.” 

“We have not.” said Professor Snape, although he gave the redhead a dark look. “Professor McGonagall and I must be in our positions before the Sorting begins. You will enter discreetly from the side door and not make a fuss or disruption, you understand?” 

In a chorus of nods, the three set off towards the west entrance of the Great Hall. As they crept in, they caught the eyes of their friends— Draco, Hermione and, surprisingly, Neville, who looked incredibly out of place at the snakes’ table with his golden red tie. 

“Hullo,” whispered Harry as he squished onto the bench beside Hermione, “We’ll explain in a bit, Sorting’s about to start.” 

Just as he finished speaking, the grand doors of the Great Hall opened, and in came the batch of nervous-looking firsties, led in the front by the headmistress, looking tiny as ever in comparison to the grand, infinite ceiling of the hall. Murmurs burst across the house tables as the older students pointed and stared, some standing up to wave to their younger siblings. 

Professor McGonagall stepped up towards the podium, and with a wave of her wand, a stool floated into the hall and settled before Dumbledore’s seat at the staff table, where the headmaster was watching in mild curiosity, his half-moon glasses glinting. Professor Snape had also made his way to his seat and was, at that moment, sipping from his goblet, looking incredibly displeased at the thought of another school year. 

Harry smiled. This was home. 

Without further ado, the Sorting Hat— Harry had completely forgotten about that thing— begin bursting into song, smiles of delight and remembrance spreading across the face of each student. As it finished its rhyming, musical piece, the hall burst into applause, and hat grinned, dipping its… head? in a gracious bow. 

“Now,” Professor McGonagall’s voice silenced the hall in one swift syllable, “When I call your names, please come up to the front for your sorting. Brighton, Sage.” 

The crowd of first years separated like a swarm, revealing a little auburn girl, who meekly stepped up to the front, anxiety and excitement written in mixed portions across her features. The hat settled onto her head, frowned— and furrowed his… eyebrows? in contemplation. Sage Brighton squeezed her eyes shut, seemingly caught in argument with the hat, shaking her head unsurely. All across the hall, students watched the girl— including Harry, who was taking a quick trip down to memory lane, remembering how eventful his sorting had been. 

Still in deliberation, the Sorting Hat mumbled and grumbled under his breath, Harmony opening her eyes in an apologetic smile. Across the large room, Harry caught her gaze, and, memory of the terror in his veins a year ago, gave her an encouraging smile and, spontaneously, a thumbs up. 

“Very well,” sighed the Sorting Hat, “SLYTHERIN!”

The Slytherin table burst into applause, although it was clear that several of the upper years from “noble” descent didn’t recognize the surname of “Brighton”, thus deeming the girl a lower born, and shared distasteful looks instead. 

“Welcome!” Hermione exclaimed warmly as Sage approached their table. Similar greetings echoed throughout the table as the now-second-years moved over to make space. 

The sorting proceeded, Professor McGonagall announcing name after name: “Caine, Historia,” “Cordelle, Benjamin,” “Creevy, Colin,” “Danvitch, Phillip,”... until eventually, “Wacthe, Axelle,” and finally, at which point Ron was beside himself with nervousness, “Weasley, Ginerva.” 

Somewhere in the sea of heads, Harry could hear the Weasley twins whistling and hooting for their sister. Stretching his neck, he strained (unlike Ron, he wasn’t quite tall enough to see over everyone else) to see the Weaslette make her way towards the hat, uncertainty written over her face. 

Professor McGonagall nodded, and Ginny took her seat. Everyone held their breath (except Draco, who wasn’t really all that interested and couldn’t see what the fuss was about). Luckily for them, there was no need to hold for long, for the moment the hat touched the littlest strand of red on her head, it hollered for the hall: “GRYFFINDOR!” 

Ron cheered loudly for his sister from the Slytherin table— not that anyone could hear, because over on the lion’s table, the Weasley twins had set off a couple fireworks. 

“As if she could’ve possibly been in any other house,” snorted Draco. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“Odd,” hummed Daphne as she, Tracey, and the rest of the second years— Draco, Hermione, Blaise, and Crabbe and Goyle, who were listening so absently that no one really knew if they were listening— gathered around Harry and Theo as they retold their journey. “Never heard of the platform gate doing such a thing.” 

“How could it be?” frowned Hermione, “Ginny, Mrs. Weasley and I had just passed in seconds before you did.” 

“Maybe it was just bad luck,” shrugged Tracey. “Wrong place, wrong time.” 

“Pretty sure it was just the wrong time,” Theodore shot back. “And no, I’m convinced there was exterior interference. The gate shut off with accuracy — as if someone had been watching us and shut it off right as Harry attempted to cross.” 

“I wouldn’t put it past that,” interjected Damian Everreach, munching on a pastry he had kept from the feast— Harry and Tracey’s fellow Quidditch teammate, the fourth-year chaser on the Slytherin lineup. “I mean, he’s Harry Potter, for Merlin’s sake.” 

Adrian Pucey— seventh-year beater of the Slytherin team chimed in his agreement. “The weird timing throws this off. If it had been anyone else, then yes, probably a malfunction— but Harry Bloody Potter, star of the Quidditch team, youngest seeker in a century?” The beater clicked his tongue in amusement. “Nothing’s a coincidence.” 

“Oi, second-years,” came a voice from the common room entrance, “Shouldn’t you lot be getting to bed? Classes begin tomorrow.” It was none other than Caden Seymour— a sixth-year prefect known for his bark— but no bite. 

“No need to be so brash, Caden,” chastised his older sister, Arowelle Seymour, a star seventh-year student recently named Slytherin’s new head prefect, as Terrence Higgs’ successor. Following behind her were two other prefects— Peregrine Derrick— the other head prefect, as well as Gemma Farley— Caden’s kinder counterpart. “But he’s right. It’s getting late, you kids should be getting to bed.” 

“Not to mention resting up for upcoming Quidditch practices,” winked Peregrine, “Marcus has had a whole summer to come up with new practice regimes— you’d want to start reserving some energy for that!” 

(Not so) quietly, Harry, Tracey, Damian and Adrian all groaned in unison— Marcus had been brutal with their early-morning practices the previous year, and without Terrence Higgs— Slytherin’s former seeker and head prefect— to knock some sense into the captain’s head, they were bound for hours and hours of tireless practice in the coming season. 

“Peregrine, mind, use that authority of yours and knock some common sense into that man’s rock brain,” grumbled Adrian, “What use are you as head prefect if you can’t even save us from some early morning practice?” 

“Word says that Oliver Wood is going at his team harder than ever— so Marcus is determined not to fall behind,” Peregrine shrugged, “Want to change his mind? Start from the root of the problem and tackle the Gryffindors.” 

“Oi, you lot are all friendly with some Gryffs, aren’t you? Infiltrate their system that way— Oliver Wood must be taken down. Man’s crazy.” Damian grumbled. “Shouldn’t be allowed to roam around with no leash, driving our captain up the wall with competition—” 

As the second years marched downwards into their dorm rooms, Damian’s complaints continued ringing out from the common room, but eventually, the Slytherin’s dungeons were all quiet, save for the serene waves of the lake beside them. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Breakfast the next morning was served under a ceiling of dull, gray clouds, which Harry hoped were not the forecast for the next couple days. As rumor was, Marcus had been discussing practice schedules and pitch booking with their head of house, which meant that early-morning rouses were not too far in the horizon. It was bad enough that they had to wake before everyone else for the captain’s training regimes— it was even worse when they didn’t even get to see the sunrise due to the gloomy weather. 

“Fruits, Harry?” offered Daphne as they passed the fruit platter down the table. 

“Yes, thank you.” said Harry, distracted. Professor Snape was at the front of the Slytherin table, already passing out schedules to the itty-bitty first-years. Soon enough, it was their turn, and everyone did a quick scan-through of their timetables. 

“Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall!” Hermione grinned, “Oh, I bet we’re getting an upgrade from doing needles.” 

“Beetles this year, I believe,” said Theodore thoughtfully, taking a sip of his coffee. 

Hermione shrieked at the thought, while Harry stared disapprovingly at the other black-haired boy. “Theodore! You’re not supposed to have coffee!” 

“Oops,” Theodore smiled innocently, his coffee flickering from its blackish color to the translucent red of tea. “What coffee were you referring to, Harry? I would like some, if there were any, of course.” 

As he was well-read over the summer, the task for transfiguration that day— turning beetles into buttons— came easily to Harry. His beetle barely had the chance to scuttle across the table before it plopped into a large black button, matching the ones that were used on their thick winter coats. On the next table, Hermione had also changed hers, out of fear and an urge to rid her table of the beetle as soon as possible. 

“Well done, Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger,” acknowledged Professor McGonagall, “Five points each to Slytherin.” 

It wasn’t long before the rest of the class got it— Theodore changed his to a sleek silver button, while Draco took the time to perfect his into a more fancy, elegant-looking one. Daphne went for a nice rose gold, while Tracey’s resembled the buttons on their Quidditch uniform. Crabbe and Goyle’s buttons were less of buttons but more of… roughly spherical-looking pebbles, but at that point Professor McGonagall had come to accept it and did nothing more than to nod at their effort. 

“Double Herbology with the Ravens next,” announced Theodore after a quick look at their schedule. “Hey, that reminds me— whatever happened to Neville’s Sleeper’s Trumpet?” 

“None of your business,” said Harry quickly, wanting to put a stop to whatever ideas were brewing inside the mischievous boy’s mind. “By Merlin, Theodore, there are no more dragons to smuggle this year.” 

“Hey, you never know.” grinned Theo, already brightening at the thought. “Who knows what this year holds for us?” 

Harry, about to implement his most disapproving stare, was stopped in his tracks when Hermione let out an audible sigh. The two boys spun to see the cause, of course— and instantly grimaced at the sight of Lockhart’s bright turquoise robes, complete with a turquoise headpiece and vest, of course. 

“I sure hope that was a sigh of displeasure and not a swoon, Hermione.” grumbled Theo. “Merlin forbid anyone has a crush on that walking peacock of a man.” 

“You’ve got to admire his sense of style, though,” Draco sighed, “That is such exquisite turquoise fabric— the most expensive kind, I believe, imported all the way from China—” 

“Draco, before Theodore enacts the murder plans he has in mind, I would advise you to discontinue that line of thought,” said Harry quickly. “And maybe pull out your wand in case he attacks.” 

Tracey snorted. “If it helps, I’d willingly help you bury the body.” 

“Your voluntary offer is greatly appreciated,” Theodore smiled. “I will let you know when I require your assistance.” 

“Duly noted.” cackled the female chaser, much enjoying Draco’s look of terror. 

“Ah, class!” beamed Gilderoy Lockhart as the green and blue students assembled. Beside him, Professor Sprout— though a usually cheerful-looking woman— couldn’t look more irritated than humanly possible. “I believe some of us have been introduced, at my book signing, of course— but if we haven’t been, it is I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award!” 

As he finished, he used his wand to conjure a handful of sparkles, which rained down upon his turquoise robes at the end of his declaration. Expectantly, he smiled prettily at the students, who stared questioningly at the man. 

“Do we clap?” whispered Crabbe. Goyle looked equally lost. 

To hurry along the awkward pause, some of the Ravenclaws begin a slow, mournful clapping, and eventually the rest of the group joined along, quite sadly. 

“Gloomy as the weather, are we?” Undeterred, Lockhart marched on, his beam never faltering. “Now, I know it is time for your class, so I shan’t bother you any longer— was just telling Professor Sprout here the right way to treat baby mandrakes— have had some encounters with them in my many travels—” he gasped, covering his mouth scandalously, “Dear me, I haven’t ruined this class, have I? My apologies, Professor Sprout, I didn’t mean to reveal the plant of today’s class…” 

From Professor Sprout’s reaction, she wanted nothing but for him to start running in the other direction and never cross her path again. “No matter. Greenhouse 3 today, folks— door’s already open, go on in.” 

As Harry shuffled along the rest of the group, he was yanked back and plucked from the crowd by the defense professor, who wagged a finger at him playfully. “Ah, Harry, Harry, Harry.” Lockhart beamed at him, shaking his head. “Thought you were real sneaky the other day, hmm, pretending to be someone else at my signing! Ay— when you reach the height of my popularity, I suppose yes, the paparazzi does get a bit too much sometimes— but you're not quite there yet!" 

Unable to do much, Harry laughed awkwardly. “Ah, yes, my apologies, professor.” 

“I’m to have a word with you, young man,” said Lockhart playfully, “Professor Sprout, you don’t mind if I shall borrow Mr. Potter for a few moments, do you?” 

Terrified, Harry flicked his gaze back at the Herbology professor, and, as passionately as possible, tried to convey with his eyes that the last thing he wanted was to be with the man, who was still sparkling from his earlier spell. 

“Actually, I do mind.” Professor Sprout interjected sharply, “You see, Mr. Potter has aspirations to be a healer— a very great aspiration indeed.” she smiled kindly at him, before turning a displeased glare at the glittering man. “As such, this lesson is incredibly important for him, and it is crucial he be there for every minute and second of it.” 

Theodore, who had wiggled his way back out of the greenhouse in search of Harry, smiled brightly at Professor Sprout like he had just found the love of his life. 

“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing I can’t teach him, Professor Sprout—” 

“Professor Sprout’s incredibly right, Harry, this lesson is really important.” Theodore yanked the emerald-eyed boy back from Lockhart, and without letting the man protest, dragged Harry into the greenhouse, “Let’s go.” 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lesson to teach.” smiled Professor Sprout thinly, turning her back on the man. “And if possible, Mr. Lockhart— ah, my apologies, Professor Lockhart— please remove the glitter from the grounds— I’m afraid some wildlife and plants may choke on them. Quite a hazard, they are.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Herbology with the mandrakes had turned out quite eventful. To begin with, Draco fought pretty much everyone for the only pair of green earmuffs, claiming that every other color, including the pink ones, were an atrocious complement to his eyes. 

Then, after Professor Sprout had explained the purposes of mandrakes— well, Professor Sprout asked the purpose of mandrakes and of course, Hermione answered. They were a powerful restorative plant, used to make many reversal remedies to curses or transfigurational disfigurements— all of which Harry had learned from combing his textbook cover to cover. Once the Herbology professor had finished her demonstration, they all got grouped up to perform the same action— pulling the mandrake babies out of their pots and burrowing them in bigger ones. 

And so, Draco, Hermione, Theodore and Harry gathered around their tray, and immediately got to filling their pots with dragon dung— something Draco wasn’t quite fond of, but quickly shut up about once Theodore shot him a sharp glare. 

“In a bad mood today, isn’t he?” Draco whispered to Harry as the latter helped him pat down his pot. 

“About to be in a worse mood if you continue speaking,” hissed Theodore across the table, who had clearly heard them. 

Luckily for Draco, there wasn’t much more time for chatter, as it was time to pull on their muffs and get to work. As easy as Professor Sprout had made it seem, pulling the baby mandrakes out of their pots in a swift tug, the task was much harder for a twelve-year-old, especially when the plants kicked and struggled and did practically everything in their small-limbed power to get away. 

When Theodore pulled out a particularly fat mandrake, it took the collective effort of Hermione, Harry, Theodore, and very minimal help from Draco— to shove the baby into a bigger pot, and even then they had to hold it down for a couple moments, as it kept trying to burst out from the soil. 

The most eventful part of the lesson, however, had been Crabbe and Goyle. Goyle, who was trying to get the other boy to pass the bag of dragon dung, was hollering his request at the top of his lungs, but alas, with the earmuffs on, the other could not hear him. Without thinking much of it, Crabbe pulled off the protective gear to hear Goyle, and, with a ground-shaking thud, fell almost immediately onto the floor. 

Dismayed and despaired, Goyle yanked off his earmuffs to mourn his friend— and quickly fell to the same tragedy. 

Very quickly, Professor Sprout took over the situation and went around the greenhouse shoving every loose mandrake into a pot. Only once was this done did she give everyone the thumbs up for the students to remove their earmuffs, and then moved to inspect the two Slytherins, passed out on the floor. 

“That will be it for today,” she announced, “Rest of you, back to the castle. I shall have to bring these two to the infirmary. Get going, now.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Much to the Slytherins’ great, immense delight, they got to watch the two Gryffindors stumble off after lunch to Lockhart’s first ever Defense Against Dark Arts class, with the wonderful, beautiful weather shining into the castle’s slim, lanky windows. 

Grumbling, Ron walked off, Neville in tow: “Don’t look so happy about it, yall have him after we do.” Which was true— Slytherins had their first DADA period right after the lions did, but that didn’t stop Draco from sticking his tongue out childishly as the redhead scoffed away in the distance. 

“We could always skip the class,” suggested Theodore, while Hermione gasped scandalously behind him. “Oh, get over it, ‘Mione, not every professor is a damn saint and you know it. Lockhart’s a buffoon walking around in overly-expensive robes.” 

As Draco opened his mouth to speak, Harry shushed him. “Now isn’t the time for a compliment on Professor Lockhart’s robes, Draco,” On second thought, the green-eyed boy corrected himself: “Actually, whenever Theo’s in the vicinity, it’s never the time for a compliment to his robes.” 

“Well, as buffoonic as he may be,” Hermione interjected, “He’s still a professor.” Firm to her opinion, the girl plopped herself into the grass— they had chosen a nice shadowy spot on the rolling fields outside castle courtyards to enjoy the afternoon— and dived nose-first into Lockhart’s Voyages with Vampires . Determined not to fall behind, Draco picked out Year with the Yeti from his bookbag and followed suit. 

The hour ticked past and as the Slytherins ventured back into the castle hallways in dread for their Defense class, they bumped into two very unhappy, frazzled lions— Ron’s hair was pulled in more directions than anyone thought possible, and there was a streak of blue sparkles across Neville’s face. Poor Trevor, sticking out of said boy’s pocket, was not exempted, similar blue glitter across his slick skin, although he did look a lot happier than the other two— which may be attributed to the fact that he was chewing something that used to look vaguely like a fairy’s wing.

“I hate pixies, I hate Lockhart, I can’t believe we have him for an entire year—” Ron had already launched into his tirade about the professor, desperately trying to flatten his hair. “I don’t think I would’ve made it out of there with all my hair in place if Professor Filtwick hadn’t come to our rescue. Bless him, I’m never slacking in his class again.” 

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the redhead. “What did Professor Lockhart do?” 

“Released pixies at us,” Ron fumed, “ Failed to catch them when the whole class couldn’t, then bolted— locked us inside and told us it was a good hands-on experience — and didn’t come back until Filtwick heard Lavender’s screams and came to our rescue.” 

“By the way, a pixie threw Lockhart’s wand out the window,” Neville supplied helpfully. “Dunno how he’s getting it back.” 

“Did Trevor eat one of the pixies, by any chance?” asked Harry in concern.

“Oh, yeah. Good on him, Trevor. Was actually more helpful than Lockhart, which says a lot.” Ron grumbled as Neville patted the amphibian happily. 

“Well, it’s time.” Harry quipped, as light-heartedly as he could. “We’ve got to get to class. Shall we?” 

“Shall we not?” Theodore replied, equally light-heartedly, although his thinly-veiled sarcasm reflected his true feelings about their class. “The meadows look particularly welcoming right now.” 

Despite Theodore’s vocalized complaints, they arrived at the door of their class, brightly greeted by the man himself. Gilderoy Lockhart flashed his whitest smile at the group of Slytherins, although they noted the small, little red bites on his skin, and the lack of a wand anywhere near the man. 

“Welcome!” he said dramatically at last to a room of unamused snakes. Picking up Bulstrode’s copy of Wanderings with Werewolves , he tried to begin, leaning against her table as if posing for a full-body modeling shot. “It is I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Mer— aah!” He cleared his throat as the whole class watched him narrowly avoid Bulstrode’s snap at him, a snarl on her lips. 

At the back of the class, Tracey couldn’t help but snicker.

“Ahem, as I was saying,” began Lockhart again, straightening his robes, “It is I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award!” 

As if giving a demonstration, he flashed a suave smile at the class, only met by blank stares as a response. 

“Well— I see you’ve bought all my books, very good—” Lockhart hummed approvingly. 

“Sir,” piped up Theodore at the back, to everyone’s surprise. “I have a question.” 

“Ah! I appreciate your eagerness, Mr…” Lockhart squinted at him questioningly, gesturing for him to stand up. 

“Most professors don’t require students to buy textbooks written by them, not to mention seven of them, as it creates an impression of education as a monetary venture rather than a reflection of the professor’s passion for teaching. What are your thoughts on this?” asked Theodore innocently. 

Lockhart’s smile faltered. 

“Oh, my apologies. That was insensitive of me— of course you wouldn’t want to reveal your earnings from taking up such a prestigious position at the school.” Theodore continued. “Please excuse my impertinence, Mr. Lockhart.” 

The class sniggered at Theodore’s refusal to use the title “Professor”— perhaps inspired by Professor Sprout’s misstep at the greenhouses earlier that day. 

Desperate to move the class along, the man cleared his throat, silencing the class once more. “Ah, um, well, since— er, I thought we could start today with a quiz. Just a quick one— some basic knowledge— to see how well read you are…” 

He then began the meticulous task of handing out the quiz papers, one by one. 

“Thank you, sir.” said Daphne gracefully as he passed her desk. The Slytherin cohort had more-or-less came to a united conclusion about the man and was beginning its silent attack back. 

The man faltered, but slapped a charming smile over his face. 

Beside Daphne, Tracey had quickly caught on and was wearing her most innocent expression. “Thank you, Mr. Lockhart— sir.” 

One by one, the class chimed in as he passed their tables: “Thank you, sir!”, each and everyone of them refusing to address the man as a professor— somewhere down in the dungeons, Severus Snape was feeling oddly proud of his second years. 

“Ehem!” Trying to gather the remaining of his dignity before the 12-year-olds, Lockhart commenced their quiz. “Thirty minutes for your quiz— begin!” 

To absolutely no one’s surprise, the quiz was three double-printed pages of nonsense, questions like “What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color?”, up until “When is Gilderoy Lockhart’s birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?”. Up at the front, Lockhart finally got himself a break from the vicious snakes— although as he sat inspecting his nails, he was miraculously unaware of the incredulous looks of disbelief each and every student threw at him. Nearly no one took the paper seriously— save for Hermione, who instantly went at it with her quill, and Draco, who could not bear to fall behind the muggleborn in any circumstance. 

The rest of the class spent their thirty minutes in varying manners— for example, Theodore began coming up with the most ridiculous answers for the questions. Tracey simply stared out of the windows onto the faraway Quidditch pitch longingly— Blaise and Daphne had seemingly begun a game of chess, the two staring each other down as they stated their moves and played on an imaginary board. 

“Alright, times’ up!” said Lockhart giddily, clapping his hands. Most of the class ceased their activities to pinpoint him with a look of annoyance. “Come on, hand up your papers…” 

He began flipping through them before the class, pursing his lips at the mostly empty answer sheets, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Looks like most of you need to study your books more,” he clicked his tongue, “This simply will not do! Most of these answers are easily written out in your readings for you— for example, what are Gilderoy Lockhart’s three greatest wishes? The first chapter of Wandering with Werewolves , I believe— I would wish for everlasting peace in the magical and non-magical world, for all hunger and famine to be eradicated, and—” 

“To have more silky robes imported from China?” said Theodore sarcastically. 

Lockhart looked up in surprise. “Well, no— for there to be no orphaned children in the world, of course, as a reflection of my philanthropic personality— but that could be my fourth wish. Quite excellent! Ten points to Slytherin.” 

Harry had never seen Theodore so murderous. 

“And let’s see here— Yes, Ms. Granger— got nearly all my questions right!” Lockhart beamed, holding up her paper for all to see. “Simply astounding! Knew my secret ambition— to rid the world of evil and launch my series of hair-care potions— my ideal birthday gift, yes, and even childhood ambition! Amazing work, Ms. Granger— yes, take another ten points to Slytherin!” 

“I can’t believe you,” hissed Theodore at the brunette. “What, did you swallow all seven of those ridiculous things he calls books ?” 

“Know your friends well and your enemies better,” retaliated Hermione, “And I was bored over summer.” 

“And here… Mr. Malfoy!” Lockhart smiled, pleased to find another contender to Hermione’s marks. “Not nearly perfect a score as Ms. Granger— but clearly someone here understands the importance of cuticle care— correctly listed all steps of my routine, as written out in Year with the Yeti — cuticle care is especially important in low-humidity environments— and even wrote out his own recommendations for products! Simply well done— another ten points to Slytherin! Boy, you guys are just racking up points today, aren’t you?” 

If Lockhart awarded another singular point to their house, Harry had a foreboding feeling that Theodore was going to leap over his desk and strangle said man with his silk magenta tie. 

“Now!” The blonde man brandished the covered cage sitting atop his desk, “To our lesson for the day. Listen closely— these are no other than vicious creatures, simply ask your fellow Gryffindor yearmates—” 

“Ah, Mr. Lockhart?” Daphne interrupted politely, “There’s someone at the door for you.” 

It was Professor Filtwick, looking strangely annoyed. “Ah, apologies for interrupting,” he said gruffly, “Just here to return…” 

Clearing his throat, Lockhart quickly retrieved his wand from the smaller professor’s hands, hiding it behind his back although the entire class had seen, clear as day, the exchange. “Thank you— Professor Filtwick, for your— ah, assistance. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I’ve yet to get through my syllabus for today, so, ah—” 

“A freezing charm,” said Professor Filtwick pointedly to the class, glaring at the cage on Lockhart’s desk. “Works wonders.” 

“Thank you, Professor Filtwick!” said Tracey brightly from her desk. “Really looking forward to your class tomorrow.” 

Catching on, the rest of the class echoed their sentiments. “Thank you, Professor Filtwick!” they chimed one by one, each sniggering at the annoyance flitting past Lockhart’s perfectly powdered face. 

Though thoroughly confused by the Slytherin class’s sudden love for Charms, Professor Filtwick smiled and left the classroom, confused— but amused nonetheless. The second-year class was spersed with brilliant students, and when a group of snakes got together under a common goal— well, the Slytherins had a reputation, didn’t they? 

“Class!” Back in the classroom, Lockhart cleared his throat, determined to get the lesson back on track. “As I was saying— this is a vicious creature, not to be taken lightly—” 

Before he could finish his warning, the bell overhead rang, and from behind the bell emerged a pixie, grinning wickedly. Caught up in his annoyance, the blonde man paid no notice to the blue, winged straggler. 

“I have yet to dismiss you,” said Lockhart, waving his wand around as if trying to be intimidating (it wasn’t very successful, as the students continued packing up their bags anyway). “The bell may have rung, but—” 

To the great delight of the entire Slytherin class, the Cornish pixie chose that very moment to swoop towards the man, grabbing his loosely-held wand. Terrified at the sight of the creature, Lockhart jumped— and tripped— over Bulstrode’s bookbag, landing on his arse. In the commotion, the pixie made a wild escape for the windows, and as the man struggled to get to his feet, tripping over his magenta robes, the creature— along with the wand— burst out of an open window disappearing into the blue skies. 

“We’ll get going now, sir.” said Daphne politely, and with her the class filtered out, their faces alight with smiles as they chimed their goodbyes: “Thank you for the lesson, sir,” “See you next, Mr. Lockhart,” “Bye, Mr.”. 

Out in the corridor, the second-year Slytherins were alight with laughter, student after student high-fiving the one and only Tracey Davis for having cracked the window open amidst the chaos, a crucial agent in the pixie’s escape. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Amidst the excitement of the semester beginning, there was the matter of Quidditch practice . Much to the entire Slytherin (and Gryffindor) team’s exasperation, Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood drove each other up the wall with their endless drive for competition, and consequently, began to slander their teams with training sessions stuffed in the early mornings and late evenings. 

“Bloody hell,” grumbled Damian, shooting sharp glares toward the Gryffindor team, who were leaving the pitch just as the Slytherins were walking in. Marcus had gone ahead to the pitch (to pick a fight with Oliver, obviously), leaving the rest of the team dredging miserably out into the fields. “Oi, you lot! Tell Wood to calm his ass down, will you?” 

“Pass the message along to Flint, you snake,” shot back one of the Weasley twins— Harry didn’t even bother attempting to tell them apart. It was late in the evening, just past dinner— and he longed to join his friends in their eerily-calm common room under the lake— but no, he had to attend Marcus’s training, planned at an atrociously late time as the two captains scrambled over each other to book the pitch. “We’re being driven up the wall, too!” 

“Merlin’s beard,” Tracey muttered. “Someone should lock those two in a room together.” 

Across the meadow, the twins lit up. Slowly, mischievous grins grew across their face, and with renewed vigor, they traipsed up the hill towards the castle. 

“I think you either just gave them a very good, or a very, very bad idea.” said Peregrine slowly. “And as head prefect, I am going to pretend I did not witness this exchange.” 

As the Slytherin team trickled sullenly into the pitch, they were gifted with front seats to the two captains’ newest row. Oliver was waving his arms around like a madman, loudly accusing Marcus of copying his hard-planned and strategized training system, while the Slytherin captain— not one to back down from a fight, ever, was making similar accusations. 

“I spent all summer drafting these!” Oliver was saying, fuming, wriggling his finger at the other. Oliver, while skinnier and slightly less well-built as Marcus, had a slight height advantage over the other, and was taking full use of it. 

“Hah!” scoffed Marcus, his eyes glinting as he squared up, his shoulders a good three inches broader than Oliver’s. “That’s the most beetle-dung accusation I’ve ever heard in my entire life, if anything, you—” 

“Alright, alright, break it up, you two.” interjected Peregrine wearily. “Oliver, for the love of Merlin, it’s been a long day. You two dunderheads are just equally block-headed enough to create the most disastrously grueling training routine, alright? You share a love for torturing your teammates, what a coincidence. Enough of this.” 

Oliver opened his mouth to argue. “Torturing? Hah, would you look at that. Even your own teammates—” 

“Excuse me?” interrupted Marcus before the other could finish, “What are you trying to insinuate here?” 

Before Wood could reply, explaining in scathing detail just exactly what he was trying to insinuate, Peregrine cleared his throat loudly, sending the two captains a deathly glare. 

“Not one more word from either of you.” stated Peregrine firmly. “Wood, please leave. I believe the Slytherins have the pitch booked. And Marcus, go take a walk around the pitch.” 

The two stared at the chaser disbelievingly, neither budging. When a few more seconds passed and no one moved an inch, Peregrine’s patience just about snapped. 

“Should I have to repeat myself? Wood, leave , and Marcus, take a bloody walk.” he said, making a zipping motion with his hands when both captains opened their mouths to protest. “ And , I’m not telling either of you this as an opposing team member, or your teammate, I am telling you this as Slytherin’s head prefect . Go. Now. Walk in opposite directions, please, or Merlin help me if you two start a riot again.” 

Under Peregrine’s scathing gaze, the two sullenly walked off, Oliver harrumphing and stomping off the pitch towards the hall, where his scarlet-cloaked teammates had just disappeared around the bend, and Marcus begin his angry walk around the perimeter of the field, like a child who had just been told to stand in the corner. 

“By Merlin, I can’t wait to graduate and not have to deal with this mess any longer,” muttered Peregrine to the rest of the team, who stood in awe of his exerted authority. “... What are you bunch standing around for? Go get changed before Marcus comes back and starts a yelling fit about how we’re behind training schedule already.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

And so the days went on. By the end of the week, no member of either team could recall the blissful feeling of sleeping in anymore, as they began all their days with their captains barging in, announcing practice starting in fifteen minutes. 

Taking the brunt of the early-morning regime was Miles Bletchley, the surly, sixth-year Slytherin keeper, who shared a dorm with Marcus. Once, when he grumbled and muffled out Marcus’s demands with his pillow, he next woke up to the captain banging his metal cauldron with a ladle beside his bed. Fortunately, this method was quickly discontinued as Caden Seymour, fellow sixth-year, threatened to confiscate all Slytherin team brooms if Marcus didn’t cease banging the cauldron at dawn. 

Like a clockwork guard, Marcus would make his rounds into all the Slytherin boys’ dorms, beginning at his own with Miles (and Caden, by unfortunate extension), then to the seventh-year dorms, where Peregrine and Adrian were unceremoniously roused. Consequently, Lucian and his newly-appointed beater substitute, Timothy Caine, from the fifth-year dorms, Damian from the fourth, Harry from the second, and a shy, little boy named Atsushi Takagi from first year, who had done so spectacularly in his first flying class that Marcus snatched the boy up to become a chaser-slash-seeker in training. 

Fortunately for Tracey, Marcus was barred from entering the girls’ dorms, and hence, resulted to knocking loudly outside their door— however, when he was once greeted by a politely, gracefully glowering Daphne, who graciously greeted him with a sharp stinging hex, as well as a loudly yelled threat from Millicent’s bed, he learnt the error of his ways and kept his distance from the second-year girls’ dorm. 

As Marcus’s grueling training regime droned on, the Slytherin team had very quickly forgotten about Tracey’s bypassing remark about the two captains— as well as the Weasley twins’ mischievous, no-good reaction. However, the pranksters had not forgotten, and never failing to impress, their idea came to fruition at last, come Wednesday evening. 

The Great Hall was all empty, save for the two Quidditch teams scheduled for practice that evening. The snakes had resorted to grouping together by the end table, staring outside the castle’s paned windows to see the absolutely dreadful weather: it was pouring cats, dogs, griffins, dragons, and all the like outside, and no one could muster the will to fly around in the rain. 

Unfortunately, a little weather never deterred Marcus. Or Oliver, in any matter, seeing as how he was happily describing to his team, across the hall, the drills that they were going to go through that evening. 

“I’m going to go get today’s drill plans from the dorms,” announced Marcus, mirroring the lion’s captain, getting up from the table. “The rest of you, don’t take too long and show up at the pitch 8.30pm sharp , you hear me? Evereach, Pucey, Davis, I’m looking at you three. Extra ten laps around the pitch and thirty push-ups if you’re late, got it?” 

“Yes, captain,” the team chorused depressively. 

Without another word, the captain marched off into his quarters. Across the hall, one of the Weasley twins leaned over to Wood’s shoulder, whispering in his ear. Much to everyone’s amazement (everyone being the Slytherin team, as the hall was empty save for the two teams), Oliver stood up, enraged, banging his hands on the table, and furiously stomped after Marcus. 

“What in Merlin’s name…?” said Adrian, astonished. 

It took him a second, but the pieces clicked together and an understanding passed over Peregrine’s face. Despite that, he feigned the most innocent look he could, mimicking the other boy’s astonished tone. “I have absolutely no idea! Merlin, would you look at that— the Gryffs’ are sending us a note! I wonder what the message could possibly be!” 

As Peregrine said, the twins were grinning like two cats that got the mouse— or bird— or both, waving and elbowing each other in fun, as their note, which was charmed into a fluttering paper bird landed right in front of the head prefect’s plate. 

“ Take the evening off, lads ,” read Peregrine aloud, “ Won’t be seeing those two tonight .” 

There was pause for a moment, and then the Slytherins quickly caught on. Slowly, smiles lit up on each player’s face. 

“You heard them!” Lucian grinned broadly. “Never thought I’d say this, but,” the Slytherin beater gave a mock salute towards their red-dressed counterparts, across the empty hall. “Thank you, brothers!” 

By the Gryffindor table, the Weasleys’ cheered, although one of the female chasers— Katie Bell— hollered back an, “Oi!”. 

Lucian shook his head. “My mistake! Thank you, er… comrades…?” 

“Better!” yelled back the lion's female seeker, Natalie, who shot the Slytherin beater a thumbs up. 

“Of all the things for us to unite under,” Adrian laughed. “Never thought I’d see this day come. United over our captains’ ridiculous rivalry.” 

“Well,” Peregrine smiled innocently, “Guess if our captains are going to be occupied, no use heading out to the pitch in this weather, yes? Feels more like a night to kick back, relax, play a couple games of chess and snap…” 

“What’s snap?” asked Atsushi cluelessly. The boy had come from a Muggle family, and had absolutely no knowledge of the magical world whatsoever— he was quite baffled when he was thrown into Quidditch practices with zero forewarning.

“Only the best game in the world!” At the thought of introducing exploding snap to the unknowing first-year, Damian smiled giddily, like Christmas had just come extra early. “It's blasphemy to not know it— I've got to teach it to you. Oi, Davis, you coming?” 

The female chaser grinned widely. “Never said no to a game of exploding snap. Count me in!” 

“ Exploding ?” sputtered Atsushi. Harry gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. 

“Don’t worry too much about it.” said the green-eyed boy solemnly. “If it gets serious, just back away from the table and duck where you can.” 

To everyone’s shock and surprise, the consistently-grumpy Miles cackled at Harry’s remark, down the table. After a few seconds of the entire team staring at him in bewilderment, the keeper scowled, grumbling under his breath. 

“Would you look at that! Our grumpy little keeper cracked a smile today,” teased Peregrine. “Aww, don’t get all prickly now! 

As the two teams retreated down their respective corridors, laughing and chatting, eons of prejudice set aside in favor of— well, in favor of missing practice — the castle of Hogwarts thrummed with a new warmth, the spiderweb-thin truce between the two houses strengthening into something much, much more promising. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Thanks to the Weasley’s elaborate… "captain-napping” scheme, the two captains finally got the memo, and begrudgingly agreed to lessen the atrociously early/late training sessions as long as the other would as well. 

“So,” Arowelle began casually one evening, “Care to explain why I have been hearing Marcus grumbling about three hours in a broom closet with Wood?” The two Slyherin head prefects were seated cozily next to each other in matching, jade-green armchairs, textbooks in their laps as they made preparations for the most important exams of their schooling years. 

Peregrine glanced away from his Charms notes and tilted his head innocently, looking as clueless as a newborn fawn. “I have absolutely no clue. He just disappeared one night before training— seems like he accidentally stumbled into a jinxed closet— and Wood just happened to be there, what a coincidence. Perhaps, at the next prefect meeting, we should propose a full sweep of the castle, make sure there aren’t any similar jinxes lying around. Could be quite dangerous, especially for the young kids…” 

“Right. A coincidence.” Arowelle said, although the smallest smile on her lips indicated her true thoughts on the matter. “Well, you’re right. Make sure it doesn’t happen again.” 

“Of course, ma’am. Not under my watch, never again.” the Slytherin chaser winked. 

“Oh, get out of here, Derrick.” Laughing, she smacked him with her textbook, shaking her head fondly. Peregrine grinned, leaning over her chair, but just as he was about to crack a silly joke, or perhaps a suave remark— there was an explosion across the room, and beside it, an incredibly stunned Atsushi. 

Wearily, the head prefect ran a hand through his brown curls. “I better go take a look at that,” he grumbled, the moment gone. 

Arowelle hummed, hiding a small smile behind her book. “You should.” 

“But, before that…” 

As Arowelle spun to face the other, she found him hovering mere inches from her face, and before anyone else in the common room could take notice to the duo, the Slytherin chaser pecked a quick kiss from his fellow prefect, who, as it turned out, might be more than ‘just a fellow prefect’. Satisfied, Peregrine straightened himself, giving the room a quick glance to make sure his little stunt had gone unseen. 

“Go!” she shoved him away playfully, rolling her eyes as he innocently straightened his tie, glancing over the room, where Harry was helping Atsushi up, brushing soot off his clothes. 

“Yes, yes.” he grinned. “Oi, you lot! Everything alright over there?” 

As Peregrine joined the rest of the group at the table, a light chastise on his tone as he berated Damian and Tracey, a matching set of Cheshire grins on their faces, Arowelle hid her smile behind her textbook, watching them from afar with a fond adoration in her eyes. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

In stark contrast to the warm, homey atmosphere being cultivated in his house’s common room, Severs Snape was having an absolutely miserable time in the teacher’s lounge. When he let out his fifth sigh in the minute, Minerva snapped. 

“By Merlin, what is the matter with you, Severus?” she said, exasperated. “I can’t even enjoy my tea in peace!” 

The man grumbled unhappily in response, moodily crossing out a whole sentence of atrocious, fictitious dung, a streak of red against a poor 4th year’s essay. “Nothing’s the matter.” 

“I know you enjoy brooding, but this is extreme even for you,” said the Gryffindor head of house, raising an eyebrow as she took a tentative sip of her steaming tea. A stack of Transfiguration essays rested on the desk beside her, nearly as intimidating as Severus’s own stack. “So either you air whatever’s been on your mind, or go do your ridiculous sighing in your own office.” 

Severus gave the older woman a pointed look, but when she returned his look with a face that said ‘you dare challenge me?’, the Slytherin had no choice but to back down. 

“It’s the boys,” said the potions master at last, sullenly. 

“Mr. Potter and Mr. Nott?” Minerva clarified. “What’s the matter? Are those two meddling in trouble once more?” 

“No,” said Severus, and then took a moment to remember who Harry was— and then also, that questionable book of ancient sigils that Theodore had bought at the Archivum. “Not yet, at least. But it’s not that.” 

Through the months they had spent at Iveyworth, the Slytherin trio had curated a routine, special to their habits— and one component of this routine that Severus (secretly, he would never admit it) liked was their daily tea-time. Well, it was less tea-time and more… post-dinner, tea time, when they would sit together— Harry and Theodore usually snuggled together on the couch— in the living room, and Severus would exasperatedly brew cups of sweet-smelling tea, infused with ginseng and honey, accompanied by the boys’ favorite chocolate chip cookies and books in their laps. 

Now, he would rather swallow a vial of poison than admit it aloud, but Severus enjoyed that part of the day the most. He had allowed the boys full perusal of his book collections (of course, the dangerous ones that were off-limits had been taken away and locked in his potions lab), and being the bookworms they were, not unlike himself, they had taken to swallowing his entire library, one book at a time. This included potion journals, several editions dating back to his school years; pieces of classical Muggle literature— of which Harry’s favorite by far was Oliver Twist , to no one’s surprise, and Theodore’s King Arthur , although he voiced loudly his displeasure at the Muggle interpretation of Merlin; as well as wizarding storybooks like The Tale of Beedle and the Bard , which the boys had enjoyed laughing over for a good day. Severus smiled fondly at the memory— Theodore had taken to quoting lines from the book in a weird, squeaky accent, and it never failed to make Harry laugh so hard that his stomach hurt. 

“So,” Minerva sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re saying that you’re being this miserable, glooming the entire staff room with your mere presence because— you’re too afraid that Mr. Potter and Mr. Nott wouldn’t like to have tea with you anymore?” 

Severus grumbled. “When you put it like that…” 

“Severus, for the love of Merlin,” the Transfiguration professor clapped her hands together, “It doesn’t take much for anyone to see that those two adore you. I doubt that just being back at Hogwarts would make them go, oh, we don’t want to have tea with Professor Snape anymore because he’s a—” 

“Batty old man?” Pomona suggested playfully, having just entered the staff lounge, catching the tail end of Minerva’s exasperation. “Oh, look at you. Barely one year into having kids of your own and you’re already depressed about them leaving the nest.” 

With another grumble, Severus slumped onto the table. “They’re not my kids.” he corrected sullenly, to no avail. 

“Don’t be bloody ridiculous, Severus.” Minerva said at last. “Who knows, maybe those two miss having tea with you as much as you do— but are too afraid to say anything. Maybe they think you’re too busy for them.” 

“Sure,” mumbled Severus. 

Despite Severus’s skepticism, Minerva had indeed hit the mark. Both Theodore and Harry missed terribly their daily tea-time with the professor, but worried he was too caught up in work and no longer had any time for them. However, being the woman she was, Minerva McGonagall was not going to stand by and allow for the giant misunderstanding. And so… 

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Nott,” the Transfiguration professor cleared her throat as the Slytherin second-years cleared out of her classroom, stopping the two boys in their tracks. “A word, if you could. Stay back for a moment.” 

Hermione gave the two boys pointed looks. “What did you guys do?” she hissed. 

“Nothing!” Harry raised his hands defensively. “I swear. You guys go ahead,” he glanced back at the professor, as if trying to gauge how mad she was and racking his brain for what he could’ve possibly done this time. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” 

Although doubtful, Hermione reluctantly retreated out of the classroom, a curious Draco in tow. 

“Professor McGonagall?” asked Harry carefully. “You asked to speak with us?” 

“Yes.” The Transfiguration professor stacked up their essays neatly, wrapping it with a ribbon with a quick wave of her wand. She lowered her glasses, peering at them seriously— and just when Harry was about to jump out of his seat in nervousness, she cracked a gentle smile. “Don’t fret, Mr. Potter. It is nothing serious. This is simply regarding the matter of… tea.” 

Theodore raised an eyebrow. “Tea?” 

“Indeed.” said Professor McGonagall pleasantly, crossing her fingers together. “ Someone is too prideful to ask you to join him for tea.” 

The two boys glanced at each other, then back at the professor, and although they tried (but failed) to hide it, smiles stretched across their faces as they quickly realized what this meant. 

“I believe Professor Snape has nothing on schedule this evening.” the deputy headmistress winked. 

“Duly noted,” Theodore nodded politely, even though the excitement in his eyes was clear as day. “Thank you for letting us know, Professor. If that is all— have a wonderful rest of your day.”

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

While he would normally grumble about Minerva’s interfering hand, Severus had to begrudgingly thank to headmistress as his kids— not his kids, his… second-years— stumbled down into his office, already chattering away about their classes and how interesting Filtwick’s new Charms lessons were (after the Slytherin cohort collectively redirected their hate of Lockhart into a love for Filtwick), and how absolutely ridiculous Lockhart was (this part was mainly narrated by Theodore). 

When he returned from his built-in kitchen with warm tea and cookies (graciously delivered by the kitchen elves), the two boys had already made themselves comfortable in the living room of his quarters, Theodore’s sniggers at Beedle and the Bard overlapping with Harry’s infectious, tinkling laughter. Severus couldn’t help the slight upturn of his lips as he settled in opposite to them, a stack of his seventh-years’ papers on his lap. 

“Haven’t you read that book a million times already? Give the poor Bard a rest from your mockery.” Severus raised an eyebrow, raising his tea to take a sip. 

“Never,” Theodore declared. Beside him, Harry was wheezing so hard that no sound came from his lips, struggling to hold his cup upright. As Theodore reeled up to deliver another over-exaggerated impression of Beedle the Bard, a wave of cold air shuddered its way through the professor’s living quarters, the temperature dropping drastically, even for dungeon-levels. 

Before Severus could make a mental note of re-calibrating the temperature in the dungeons, a startling crash echoed through the room as the shards of Harry’s teacup scattered on the stone floor. Immediately the professor was at alert, his wand already in his hand— Harry’s face had turned ghostly white, and although there was nothing visibly threatening in the quarters, he knew the boy well enough that something serious had happened to trigger such a reaction. 

“Harry?” Severus said at once, cautiously, eyes tracking the emerald-eyed boy, his heart racing. 

“Did you not hear it?” whispered Harry, his eyes brimming with horror. “The… The voice?” 

Theodore’s face scrunched into one of puzzlement. “What voice?” he demanded, and out of the corner of his eye, Severus could already see the faint glimmers of Norse magic working their way into the air. It was honestly endearing how protective of the younger boy Theodore was— but now wasn’t the time to focus on that. 

“What voice, Harry?” asked Severus, trying to keep his voice level. 

“The voice,” said Harry, still ghostly white. Another wave of cold, shuddering air swept through the room, and again Harry’s eyes widened, his gaze darting between the other two Slytherins as he realized neither of them could hear what he did. “It— It spoke again. It said—” 

“What did it say?” Severus asked urgently. 

“It said,” Harry whispered, shaking, “Kill,” he said, the word stumbling out of his mouth like a foreign object, “It said, ‘Must kill— Someone must die tonight’.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

As Severus checked every inch and corner of his quarters, Theodore remained latched to the younger boy, both of them huddled in fluffy white blankets as the older hissed angrily at every passing ant and spider. 

“There’s nothing here.” said the potions master at last, after he’d gone through every safety spell over every wall of the room a total of three times. There was no safer room in the entirety of Hogwarts. “... Let’s get you two back to your rooms for now. You can take your books with you if you’d like.” 

Just as they exited the doors of Severus’s quarters, Minerva’s tabby cat patronus emerged before them, paws pattering silently against the stone-cold floors. “ Severus, your presence is required immediately. ” 

“What’s that?” asked Harry, eyeing the glowing patronus from behind Theodore’s cloak. 

“It’s a patronus,” said Severus, his mind whirling. The mysterious voice— and now a mysterious summons from McGonagall. “The two of you, head back to your common rooms. I must find Professor McGonagall immediately.” 

“We’re coming with you,” replied Theodore immediately. 

Severus opened his mouth to refute, to tell the boys to follow his orders and return to the safety of their common rooms— but then he caught how Harry was still trembling— and how, even though he put on a brave front, Theodore was just as jilted as the younger boy. Perhaps he shouldn’t have, but the potions master took a slight dip in Theodore’s mind— “ must stay with the professor, don’t know if my sigils and protection spells are enough, what if I can’t protect Harry ”— and although he wouldn’t admit it, his heart softened. 

“ Expecto patronum ,” whispered Severus under his breath, his heart hitching as the form of Lily’s doe took silvery shape in the air. The patronus trotted gracefully over to the two boys, where it affectionately nudged them with her head. “She will follow you back to the common rooms. If anything happens, I will know immediately.” 

The emerald-eyed boy reached out curiously to the silvery doe, silence falling in the corridor as the creature gazed at the boy quietly. Gently, she pushed her nose into his open palm, a wispy magic spreading from between the patronus and Harry’s fingers. 

“... Okay,” Theodore agreed reluctantly. “... Goodnight, professor.” 

“Goodnight, Theodore, Harry.” said Severus, gently patting the Norse boy’s head. “... Do not worry. I won’t let anything happen to the two of you.” 

Minerva’s patronus meowed impatiently at him, its ghostly tail waving through the air soundlessly. With a last acknowledgement at his doe patronus— and the two boys, who were still staring at him somewhat unsurely— the great dungeon bat flapped his way down the halls of the castle, determined to identify the new threat looming over Hogwarts. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

“She’s so pretty,” whispered Harry, his hands caressing the doe as they descended down the corridors towards the Slytherin common room. “Do you think we get to learn to do this, too? What was the spell again?” 

“ Expecto patronum ,” said Theodore thoughtfully, watching the way the doe’s magic intertwined with Harry’s fingers. “I’m sure I can track the spell down. Or, if I can’t, Hermione surely can.” 

Kill… Must kill more…  Again… Again… 

Harry froze, his feet planting onto the ground. Noticing his pause, the doe turned to stare at him, her gaze soft and worried. “Theo… I heard it again.” whispered the boy shakily. “It keeps repeating ‘again… again’...—  it wants to kill again—” 

“Again?” Theodore’s eyes widened as he caught the detail. “As in… it’s already killed something? Someone?” 

Blood rushing through their bodies as realization dawned on them— that some sort of murder had occurred in the castle, the very Hogwarts that they thought was safe from dangers of the wizarding world. 

“Professor McGonagall must’ve found the victim— that’s why she summoned him!” said Theodore, his mind spinning and whirling, clicking facts together. “And if it wants to kill again— what if it’s a trap?” 

Horror draped over Harry’s eyes as the boys realized their favorite professor— and basically their foster father, at that point— could be in the line of danger. 

“We must warn him,” said Theodore fiercely. He turned to the patronus, who presented them with her calm gaze— as if she was almost sentient. “Can you… can you take us to him?” 

The doe glanced between the two boys, and perhaps in seeing how desperate they were to warn her caster— she bowed her head, and without another word, begin trotting down the direction they came from, tilting her head to look back at them, as if waiting for them to follow her. 

Kill… Must kill… Must find another… 

“It’s moving—” gasped Harry, “Theodore, the killer is moving, I can hear it—” 

As they entered the main halls, a familiar face caught the two boys as they were running past, calling after them: “Oi!” yelled Peregrine, Arowelle at his side, the two looking confused at the urgency in the two second-years, “Don’t run in the halls!” 

Must kill… Must shed blood… 

Harry cried out in pain, his chest throbbing in sharp stabs as his lungs struggled to keep up with the pace they were going at. “I think… it’s outrunning us.” 

“Hey, you’re not allowed to pass through here—” The Fat Friar, who was stationed at the mouth of the corridor, attempted to stop the trio from passing through, but the doe simply leapt past him lightly, followed by Harry and Theo, in the ensuing confusion. “H-Hey! Baron, stop those kids—” 

Rip… Tear… Kill… 

“Hurry, Theodore!” Harry cried out. The murderous voice was all around him— Harry felt it was sometimes behind him, sometimes beside him, under him— it was moving in patterns he could hardly keep track of, but all the boy could think about was getting to the professor. 

The ghost of Slytherin emerged before them, but the doe patronus was undeterred. The Baron, hovering in his bloody chains, attempted to block the creature, but she was too quick for him, prancing around him, always a leap away, jumping circles around him while the two boys got through. 

“Baron!” The Friar exclaimed, watching the two Slytherins proceed down the hall. “The boys!” 

As the Baron realized the two snakes slipping past, the doe, satisfied with what she had done, leapt away after the two, her silvery trail dissipating into the air as she quickly caught up to the two boys she was escorting. 

“We must alert Argus as soon as possible…” hushed Professor McGonagall as the two boys finally entered the scene, dashing to a stop, the doe clip-clopping gracefully by their side. As she turned to instruct the Head of Slytherin of their next actions, she caught sight of the new intruders. “Severus, please— Mr. Potter! Mr. Nott! What in heaven’s name are the two of you doing here?” 

The Head of Slytherin spun on his heels at the sound of their names, his eyes widening when he caught sight of his patronus, sporting an innocent, quiet expression, gazed into his eyes, her stance neutral— yet somehow protective, as if she was shielding the boys. 

“Professor,” Theodore heaved, still attempting to catch his breath. “We needed to talk to you. The monster—” 

There was an audible gasp from Harry. 

“— has struck.” said Theodore, his voice dropping to a whisper as Severus’s silhouette moved, revealing Mrs. Norris’s stiffened, stone-cold body, completely motionless as menacing, red words painting the wall behind her. 

“The Chamber of Secrets has been opened,” whispered Harry, “Enemies of the Heir beware.” 

“What is going on here?” said a calm, airy voice approaching from behind. The two Slytherin boys jumped at the sight of Dumbledore, while the doe stared blankly at the headmaster, standing before the children. 

“Headmaster,” said Professor McGonagall, acknowledging the man. The headmaster examined the scene through his half-moon glasses, nothing changing visibly in his expression, although his gaze hardened. 

“Has Argus been made aware?” said Professor Dumbledore grimly. 

“I was about to find him,” said Professor Snape, slinking across the room. “Right after I escort these two back to their common rooms, where they should be.” The Head of Slytherin shot his patronus a sharp look, although she only blinked back at him glassily. 

“Minerva, gather more of the ghosts and have them stationed further down the corridors and redirect the students returning to their common rooms for the night.” said Dumbledore airily. 

“I have already done so, Albus.” said Professor McGonagall. “However.. given that students are clearly able to get past them, perhaps I should call for some reinforcements. I will alert the head prefects and have them block off all the corridors.” 

“What’s going on here?” 

Walking into the hallway, lamp in hand, was none other than the caretaker himself, squinting at the gathering of professors until he realized the cause of their gathering. Horror fell upon his face as he stumbled back, falling onto the floor, his face becoming deadly white. 

“Mr. Filch!” cried out Harry, rushing across to help the man up. 

“M-My cat!” shrieked Mr. Filch, stumbling onto his feet with Harry’s help, limping across to where Mrs. Norris’s body hung, stiff as cardboard, from the torch bracket. “M-My cat— what’s happened to Mrs. Norris? Who did this to her?” 

As if matters couldn’t get worse, Gilderoy Lockhart strutted into the scene, looking all-important as the Fat Friar trailed after him unsurely. 

“Professor McGonagall— I know you said not to let anyone pass, but Professor Lockhart—” The Friar explained apologetically. 

“No matter, Friar.” said Professor McGonagall, although the distinct tint of annoyance flashed by her eyes. Down the hall came the distant commotion of students walking past. “... Perhaps we should continue this discussion elsewhere.” 

“Yes.” agreed the headmaster, and before anyone could say anything else, Lockhart took it upon himself to volunteer, exclaiming eagerly: 

“My office is the nearest, headmaster—” said Lockhart, looking unusually happy in contrast, “Feel free— yes—” 

“Thank you, Professor Lockhart.” said Professor Dumbledore pointedly. The man swept forward, towards where Mrs. Norris hung, but as he reached towards the feline, the caretaker screeched once more. “Is anything the matter, Argus? We are simply going to move her somewhere safer.” 

“Have Mr. Potter do it,” said Mr. Filch stiffly, gesturing at Harry, who was still crouched beside the caretaker, his eyes brimming in tears as he stared at the cat’s motionless body. 

“Oh.” the headmaster blinked. visibly surprised by the request. “But… perhaps Mr.Potter isn’t quite tall enough to reach…?” 

Mr. Filch only grunted in reply, gently lifting Harry up on his shoulders until the boy could wrap his fingers gently around Mrs. Norris, detaching her from the torch bracket. As he was lowered back down, the Slytherin boy caressed the feline mournfully, combing his fingers through her fur gently. 

“... Very well. Argus, Minerva, Severus— and perhaps Mr. Potter and Mr. Nott as well—” said the headmaster, “Come with me.” 

Lockhart led the head of the procession eagerly, and while Harry was too preoccupied with whispering reassurances to Mrs. Norris, Theodore counted 15 eyerolls between Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape in the duration of the 3 minute walk. 

When they finally arrived, the professors parted for Harry to approach Lockhart’s polished table— and although the boy noticed a slightly irritated twinge on the defense professor’s lips as he laid the feline on the surface, Harry couldn't care less in the moment. 

“It was definitely a curse that killed her— probably the Transmogrifian torture—” Lockhart was saying, his words punctuated by Mr. Filch’s sobs, which he paid no attention to, “I’ve seen it many times, such a pity I wasn’t present— I know the countercurse, yes— I could’ve saved her.” 

The headmaster, as it seemed, was barely listening to Lockhart (in fact, no one was really listening to Lockhart), gently prodding at Mrs. Norris’s body, Professor McGonagall beside him. Harry, still teary, gently patted Mr. Filch’s back, attempting to provide some comfort to the poor caretaker as he watched the headmaster mutter under his breath, tapping at the stiff body with his wand— to no avail. 

“Yes— such a pity she’s dead— I remember similar cases in Ouagadougou, yes— a series of attacks, the townsfolk were incredibly panicked— of course, you can read all about it in my autobiography. Yes— I cleared the matter up immediately, of course— solved it with a handful of amulets, it was nothing, really—” 

“She’s not dead, Argus.” said the headmaster softly. 

(“That was exactly what I had thought!” chimed Lockhart.) 

“What?” Argus whispered, hope filtering into his eyes. “N-Not dead? Then why’s she all— all stiff and frozen?” 

“She’s been petrified, I believe,” said Professor Dumbledore gently. 

“Will we be able to help her?” asked Harry quietly. 

“I believe Professor Sprout is growing some mandrakes at the moment,” said Professor Snape, who had been silent the whole time, at last. “This is fortunate— it will be difficult to get them off the market at this time of the year, but we will have our own supply once they mature. As soon as they are ready, we will be able to make the mandrake restorative draught to return her to normal.” 

Mr. Filch cried out a breath of relief at this, his sobs softening as he brushed his hands on Mrs. Norris, whispering to her that she would be back before she knew it. 

“Ah, yes, the mandrake restorative draught— I must’ve brewed it a thousand times, I could probably do it in my sleep—” clamored Lockhart. 

“I believe,” cut off Professor Snape coldly. “I am the potions master of this school.” 

There was a stagnant pause. 

“For the time being, we’ll do what we can to ensure Mrs. Norris’s comfort.” said Professor McGonagall at last. “Severus, perhaps you would like to bring Mr. Potter and Mr. Nott back to where they belong?” 

“Yes.” nodded Professor Snape. “Come, Mr. Potter, Mr. Nott.” 

Giving Mr. Filch a last reassuring pat, Harry trailed after the other Slytherins, giving Mrs. Norris a last mournful look before the door shut behind them. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Halloween descended onto Hogwarts with the mystery of Mrs. Norris’s petrification traveling around the halls in hush-hush whispers. Even the magically-carved pumpkins that grinned and cackled as you passed by them did little to lift the foggy mood hanging around the castle. 

With much, much persuasion from Harry and Hermione (and threats of a jinx that no one would be able to find the reversal for), the gang was looped into helping Mr. Filch set up a shrine where Mrs. Norris had been petrified, mopping up the puddles of water and charming candles to stay alight infinitely below the torch bracket she had been hanging from 

“There, there, Mr. Filch.” Harry reassured, patting the caretaker sympathetically as the man bawled at the sight of the shrine. Sitting in the middle of their setup was a beautiful portrait of the feline, which had been charmed to show the feline licking her paw gracefully. “She’ll be back before you know it.” 

“Not. A. Word.” hissed Hermione at Ron and Draco, who, despite their best efforts, struggled to stay solemn. When she raised her wand at them, however, they instantly sobered and kept their most serious faces for the remainder of their time there. 

“We’ll be leaving now, Mr. Filch,” said Harry at last, after they had stood in silence at Mrs. Norris’s shrine for Merlin knew how long. “We’ll be down at the feast— I’ll make sure to grab some pumpkin pie for you and Mrs. Norris, okay?” 

“She did always love pumpkin pie,” sniffled Mr. Filch. 

The group marched down quietly to the Great Hall, where Halloween festivities had taken off and were in full swing, the tables littered with sweet pumpkin pies, thick, herbal pumpkin soups, baked pumpkins with oregano and every other pumpkin dish possible under the stretch of the sky. 

As a whole, the hexad of second-years plopped down on an empty section of the Slytherin table, Ron and Neville ignoring the pointed looks several upper-year snakes shot them as they began digging into the food. 

“Bad time of the year for those who don’t like pumpkins, huh.” Theodore commented idly, chuckling at a couple first-year Ravenclaws who were making faces at the plethora of orange food. “Would you like some pumpkin-based gravy drizzle on your chicken, Hermione?” 

“Oi, Draco, pass the pumpkin pie, would you?” called out Ron. 

“You mean, the Weasley pie.” snickered Draco, passing the pie nonetheless. “Since it’s the color of your hair.” 

“Lame joke, Draco.” Daphne commented from the other side of the table. “Harry, pass the jug of pumpkin juice, please?” 

Beside her, Ron and Draco had already begin engaging in meaningless banter over the colors of their hair, for absolutely no reason, the red-headed Weasley jabbing that Draco’s platinum blonde hair was the same color as the crust of the pie, so it was really a Weasley-Malfoy pie. Hermione raised her eyebrow questionably at the content of their argument, but Neville simply patted her shoulder and shrugged, wordlessly telling the Slytherin to leave the two to their family feud. 

“Look, it’s Potter,” whispered a third-year Ravenclaw as they passed by the Slytherin table. “I heard he’s the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets— must be, since he’s Slytherin and all— can’t be a coincidence, right?” 

“Better keep our distance,” hushed another Ravenclaw, “And keep your voice down, for Merlin’s sake—” 

The second-years bristled, and just as Theo was about to make a smart retort— 

Caden Seymour stood up abruptly from the Slytherin table, a cold smile on his face as he stared down at the Ravenclaws. “Excuse me,” said the prefect coolly, “I’d like to remind everyone that school policy doesn’t encourage baseless accusations of other students based on house biases.” 

“Come on, no one adored that cat more than Harry did,” Cedric added good-naturedly, the Hufflepuff popping out of nowhere, his friendly smile a stark contrast to Caden’s stony one. “He was starting to teach Mrs. Norris tricks off of catnip, for Merlin’s sake.” 

“If anyone had a vendetta against that ol’ cat, it was probably one of us Gryffindors,” interjected one of the Weasley twins, elbowing the other— “Eh, Fred? That ol’ lampy-eyed thing will be missed, she will… can’t say I’ll miss her chasing us down the halls after curfew, though!” 

“Hah!” Fred cackled. “Who knows… maybe we opened the Chamber…” 

George grinned frightfully at the Ravenclaws, who shuddered and backed away. “Ooo, you better watch out!” He raised his hands in a claw-like motion, his brother cackling behind him as the third-years yelped. 

As if a lightbulb had lit off in his head, Fred’s eyes and smile widened, and he began shaking his hands in the air— “You better— not— cry...!” Fred sung slowly, the twins’ grins growing as they begin wound up into the song, “You better not pout, I’m telling you why—” 

“Who taught the twins Muggle Christmas songs?” Hermione yelled over the Weasleys as she squinted at Harry, who shrugged, equally clueless. Up at the staff table, the professors were sitting in absolute bewilderment, save for Dumbledore, who was swaying side to side delightfully with the song, and Professor Snape, who was sitting with his face in his hands. 

“--- Santa Claus is coming— to town—!” The twins sang, ending the verse with red and green confetti shooting out of their wands. 

“It’s October, for Merlin’s sake!” yelled out one of the Hufflepuff Muggleborns as the remainder of the wizarding population sat in absolute confusion. 

“He sees you when you’re sleeping, he—” The Weasley twins yelled at the top of their lungs, to the horror of all the students in the hall. “--- knows when you’re awake!” 

Axelle Wacthe, a first-year Slytherin, stared at the redheads in terror. “Who’s spying on us in our sleep?”. Beside her, Sage Brighton, a Muggleborn fellow snake— choked on her food. 

“Who in Merlin’s beard is Santa Claus?” frowned Marcus, eyeing the twins suspiciously. “Some strange man that watches us when we sleep? And what town does he go to?

“He’s a Muggle myth,” supplied Hermione helpfully as the Weasleys continued their terrible rendition of the song. “He appears during the Muggle equivalent of Yule. We call it Christmas. And, according to the legend, he goes to all the towns in the world over one night in a flying sleigh, sliding down chimneys and giving all the good children Christmas presents.” 

Theodore chewed his pumpkin-gravy chicken thoughtfully. “So, like the Floo network? Traveling by chimney?” 

Opening her mouth to clarify that Santa Claus was nothing more than a myth— Hermione stopped mid-motion, her eyes widening as she suddenly considered Theodore’s suggestion. 

“ Oh my god, is Santa real ?”

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“Ms. Granger, you don’t have an essay due for the next month,” Severus pointed out as the little Muggleborn girl stepped into his office. “I’ve answered all 26 of your questions from your dropbox. What more could you possibly need at…” the man squinted at his office clock. “Eight thirty at night?” 

“I was just wondering,” she smiled sweetly, looking up at him through her innocent eyes. “If you happened to have a copy of Hogwarts: A History.” 

“I swear on Merlin’s beard I’ve seen you memorize that book cover to cover.” The potions professor rubbed his temple. “I admire your tenacity for reading, Ms. Granger, but there’s simply no need to seek me out when you crave a little light reading— besides, doesn’t the library possess a copy of it?” 

Hermione pouted. “They do! But the waitlist for it is two weeks long…” she slumped dejectedly, as if someone had just told her the world was ending and there was not enough time to finish her latest book. “Could I pretty, pretty please borrow your copy of it? I’ve seen it on your shelves…” 

Pausing to look concerned at the fact the Muggleborn knew exactly what he had in his shelves— the professor gave in. “Very well. As if you’ll leave me alone if I turn you down.” Severus grumbled, becoming acutely aware of just how much power the little Muggleborn had over him. It was borderline terrifying. She was using her ability to annoy him as a leverage and he hated it, but god forbid he had to say no to those big, curious eyes. 

“You’re the best, Professor Snape!” the Muggleborn girl was smiling from ear to ear, her bushy hair bouncing from her ponytail as she bounded after the professor, who wearily slinked across the office floor to find Hogwarts: A History. 

“Why’s there a two week waitlist, anyway?” grumbled the professor. “Since when has anyone other than you been so enamored with this book?” 

“... No reason.” Hermione answered sheepishly. “Maybe… there’s a reading club somewhere that’s… reading Hogwarts: A History this week?” 

The professor gave his second-year a pointed look. “Ms. Granger, you can come up with a better excuse than that. That’s just shabby.” 

“... Professor Binns assigned extra credit if we… answer a niche question that can only be answered by Hogwarts: A History…?” tried Hermione again. 

Resisting the urge to rub his nose again, Severus waved her off dismissively. “... Nevermind. What am I doing, teaching you to tell better excuses. Curfew is arriving soon— return to your commons before your prefects get worried.” 

“Thanks again, professor.” chirped Hermione. “Goodnight, Professor Snape!” 

“Goodnight, Hermione.” said Severus wearily, plopping back into his office chair. As the door shut behind the girl, her giddy skips echoing back into his quarters, the man couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“I knew it!” Hermione exclaimed triumphantly. The group was gathered in a corner of the library, a stack of their textbooks sitting neglected to the side. Pointing her finger onto the line of words, she began reading aloud: “The Chamber of Secrets is a legend transcending decades of history, telling of a massive catacomb leading to a hidden chamber, constructed by Salazar Slytherin when the castle was first built…” 

“All the way to the beginning, huh…” murmured Ron, scooching closer to the girl. “And says here, there was an argument between Salazar and Godric— yes, the beginning of the whole Slytherin vs. Gryffindor rivalry— on the selectiveness of students that the school accepted!” 

Neville pursed his lips. “Right— Salazar believed that education should be restricted to pure-magic families— in other words, the pureblood lines.” 

“Right— and this argument caused Salazar to leave, prompting him to seal the Chamber of Secrets until his one true heir arrived at Hogwarts.” Harry read. “Unleashing onto the school the monster he had sealed within, ridding the school of the ‘impure’ students.” 

“The monster’s going to go after the Muggleborns,” whispered Hermione shakily. “That’s what this is saying, isn’t it…” 

“Well, you don’t have to worry,” said Draco, unnaturally fiercely. “Weasley, Longbottom, Nott and I are all purebloods— the monster wouldn’t dare to attack us purebloods, so as long as we’re always together, you’ll be safe! The monster wouldn’t even think of trying to get us, or I’ll get my father and the school board involved.” 

“Plus, it’s not like the monster’s gone after any students. Just Mrs. Norris,” added Ron helpfully, looping his arm around the girl. “Nothing’s happened!” 

Theodore spun his quill between his fingers. “And there’s no concrete proof thus far that the Chamber is anything more than a legend, right ‘Mione? For all we know, the voice Harry heard and Mrs. Norris’s petrification could be separate events— a cruel prank, maybe.” 

“Right.” Hermione nodded, and while she didn’t look completely reassured, she smiled at her friends, shoving Ron playfully. “Okay, let’s think about this logically: if the legend is true, the monster’s been around for a couple what, hundred years?” 

“Plenty of magical creatures have startlingly long lifespans.” Theodore pursed his lips, fiddling with his quill. “Or, it could be an immortal creature— oh, or maybe— maybe Salazar placed the creature in a hibernative state before he left the castle.” 

“It must be a reptile of some sort, too.” Neville added quietly. “Since Harry can hear it.” 

The blonde boy pouted at this. “I wish I was a parseltongue.” 

“Irrelevant, Draco.” Theodore flicked the other pureblood boy. “So, some type of long-living or immortal creature, likely a reptile, with petrification abilities.” 

“That narrows it down a good bit.” Harry nodded, picking out a hefty book from their pile: Magical & Mythical Monsters 101. “We’ll keep making notes as we go— grab a book and start searching for a creature that meets our criteria.” 

The second-years grabbed a book each, hasty flipping resuming at their table as they slowly dug their way through their research. 

“Any luck?” asked Ron tiredly as he made his way through his fifth book. “Nothing concrete from me.” 

“Nothing thus far.” Hermione slumped, Neville shaking his head beside her. “Draco, Theo, Harry, anything?” 

“No luck.” groaned Draco, running a hand through his messed-up, gelled hair. 

“Well, we better get going.” said the Muggleborn at last. “We’ve got Binns in fifteen minutes.” 

“This day just keeps getting better,” complained Ron, “Unfruitful research and two hours of Binns’ immensely captivating lecture on the creation of Wixen unions across Europe.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

To everyone’s relief, Mr. Lockhart had learnt his lesson and ceased bringing live creatures to class. Instead, he resolved to re-enacting his great deeds in true theatrical fashion, utilizing the front of the classroom as a stage, directing magically-charmed lights to follow him like a personal spotlight. 

“Defense Against Dark Arts my ass , more like Defense Against Dramatic Arts.” grumbled Theodore as they trudged into the classroom, finding their seats at the very back. 

Completely ignorant to the Slytherins’ consensus of dislike for him, Gilderoy Lockhart swooped into the classroom, draped by a star-patterned, bright magenta cloak that Dumbledore himself would be jealous of. “Good morning class!” greeted Lockhart with all the enthusiasm of a chirpy kindergarten teacher. “Who would like to join me in recreating my triumph over the Banshee today?” 

The Slytherins stared at the man in dead silence. 

“No volunteers? Mr. Potter, how about you? You’ve got quite the natural affinity for stardom, yes—” tried Lockhart. 

“Ah, no, I’d love to, professor, but I must write down your every word. In case… I ever get interviewed by reporters about how great your classes are.” blinked Harry innocently. “I simply must make sure I can give them the most accurate transcripts.” 

The flamboyant professor stood in despair and dilemma, looking genuinely delighted at the thought of Harry reporting the great quality of his lectures to the media. “Oh… well… how about you, Ms. Granger?” 

“Oh, I can’t possibly.” said Hermione hastily, “I must take after Harry, sir, just in case he misses any important details, you know?” 

The professor glanced at the remainder of the class, and in seeing their collective death glares, decided against asking anyone else. 

“Since you’re such a naturally-talented actor, sir, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble enacting all the parts by yourself!” chirped Hermione helpfully, to speed the class along. This seemed to do the trick— Lockhart brightened in agreement and swooped back towards the table, brandishing his autobiography ‘Break with a Banshee’. 

Theo perked up in mild interest, absent-mindedly levitating his quill and making it do little spins in the air. “Is he going to play the banshee part, as well?” Glancing back at his friends, the Nott heir sniggered another comment under his breath: “At least he already looks the part.” 

Just as Lockhart reeled up to enact the climax of the story— when he came face-to-face with the Banshee somewhere north of Ireland— the bell rang, and with incredible efficiency, the Slytherin class began swiftly evacuating the classroom. 

“Ah, Mr. Potter!” Lockhart called out, struggling to see Harry amidst the swarm of second years. “Heard about the Gryffindor - Slytherin game tomorrow— you know, I used to be a seeker in my time, asked to play for the national British team, I was— can supply you some private training, was the best of my generation—” 

“I greatly appreciate it, Mr. Lockhart,” called out Harry apologetically as he was being tugged out of the classroom by Theodore, “But I must decline— Marcus has implemented a very strict and regular training schedule and insists we don’t practice outside of those times— might place too much stress on our bodies, he says. Thanks again!” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

Despite the gloomy, rainy weather on Saturday morning, the entire school swarmed onto the Quidditch field nonetheless, sporting reds and greens in support of the lions vs. the snakes. 

Up on the Slytherin seats, the Hexad’s banner from the previous year, charmed by the combined genius of Hermione, Theodore and Daphne— flapped merrily against the wet wind, the words ‘Go Potter + Davis’ glistening through the miserable weather, the animated snake flicking its’ forked tongue. Across the pitch, determined not to be out-done, the Gryffindors had put up their own, a gigantic lion roaring as the words ‘Go Gryffindor!’ circled the majestic creature in gold. 

“Alright, team.” said Marcus uncomfortably, doing his best pre-game pep talk, although he wasn’t doing a very good job with how constipated he looked giving the speech. The green-clad players stood fully dressed in their game gear, brooms clutched at their side as they waited for Madam Hooch to call them onto the pitch. “Um. Play good. Or else.” 

The Slytherin team stared in a unionized deadpan. 

“... Good talk, captain.” Adrian sighed, pinching his nose. “We really need Terrence back, huh.” 

As if remembering that they had yet another head prefect on their team, the Quidditch players turned to look at Peregrine expectantly, who gave in at last with a reluctant sigh. 

“Listen up!” Peregrine cleared his throat over the roar of the crowd outside— a beautiful, large-scale show of Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry. “It’s pouring cats, dogs, griffins and dragons right now, but guess who’s trained us for worse?” 

The team blinked quietly before Lucian yelled enthusiastically from the back: “Marcus!” 

“That’s right! We were trained— excessively, if I may say so— to fly through any weather, so let’s all get out there and show the Gryffindors just what we’re made of!” Peregrine pumped his fist in the air, grinning when the team whooped and cheered back, morale levitating off the ground. “All that said, safety is your priority! Do not put yourself in any unnecessary danger! Don’t do anything that I— or Terrence— wouldn’t approve of. Go team!” 

Just as he finished, the megaphone blasted outside, Lee Jordan’s voice reverberating around the pitch: “Without further ado— the Slytherin Quidditch Team, ladies and gentlemen!”

Kicking off into the pouring skies, the green-clad snakes circled the pitch, relishing in the rain and the cheers of their housemates. Harry and Tracey, flying side by side into the stadium, grinned and waved to their friends, who raised their banner aggressively as they darted by. 

“Alright, let me hear you put your lungs into this— can we get a roar of applause for the one, the only, the stunning, unmatched, unrivaled— Gryffindor Quidditch Team!” There was no mistaking Lee Jordan’s sheer bias for the lions, but the stadium rose to their feet and shook the ground with their applause regardless. “Before we get into it, joining me today as your commentator is—” 

“I can introduce myself, thank you very much,” interrupted a new voice, sharp and eloquent. “Ladies and gentlemen, I— Draco Malfoy— will be co-commentating today’s match. To begin team introductions, let me have the honor of presenting the thus-far undefeated Slytherin team, led by captain and chaser Marcus Flint!” 

At the professors’ stand, Severus Snape crossed his arms, smirking as Minerva sat with her lips pressed in a thin line. When the Head of Slytherin presented the headmistress with the idea of a co-commentator, she was initially against it— but when he added along the multiple cases of Lee Jordan’s blatant bias towards the Slytherin team (or any team that wasn’t Gryffindor, really), she had no choice but to agree. And who better to deflect Lee Jordan’s bias than Slytherin’s greatest defender, Draco Malfoy? It was fighting fire with fire. 

“Captain Flint, wearing jersey number one, plays an integral role in the chaser lineup as a primarily defensive player, finishing last season with a total of 32 steals from opposing teams— although he certainly isn’t lacking in the offensive front. Flint is an overall well-rounded player, supporting his members in his full capacity, acting as a reliable cornerstone for his teammates.” 

As the captain swooped by the Slytherin stands, his housemates clapped enthusiastically, although not many dared to whoop— the 6th year had a scary reputation, and no one wanted to trigger the captain right before the first game of the season. 

“Following Flint is chaser and Slytherin head prefect Peregrine Derrick, wearing jersey number two, level-headed and steady in his balanced attack and defense performance, finishing the previous season with the highest throwing power and furthest goal yet recorded, spanning from the center-field to the center hoop. Let’s give it up for Slytherin’s head prefect!” 

Draco was falling naturally into his new position, introducing the Slytherin team with just the right balance between eloquence, class and dramatic flair. The snakes, who were generally more reserved than the other houses in their showing of house spirit— were going all out under the lead of the new co-commentator, whooping and cheering as each player’s name was called. 

“Last but not least on our chaser lineup, the youngest chaser of the century— jersey number three, Tracey Davis, one and only woman on the Slytherin team! Being the lightest and fastest chaser we’ve seen thus far, she definitely earned her spot on the pitch, having finished the previous season with an impressive number of 16 goals!” 

The Slytherins roared in thunderous applause, several upper-years setting off magical, green fireworks shooting up in the rain. Sitting among her friends, Hermione smiled proudly, knowing that her meticulous recording of the snakes’ game statistics had paid off. 

“That’s our girl,” Peregrine grinned, giving the second-year chaser a high-five. Across him, Marcus gave the girl a customary nod, although there was no mistaking the tiny smile on his face. Although Tracey was a natural chaser and flier to begin with, she still lacked the experience going into the sport from a Muggle-based family. Going into the new season reinforced with Marcus’s carefully-curated drills and Peregrine’s logical advice, however, Tracey Davis was back better than ever. “Going to try beating that record this year?” 

Tracey smirked. “You bet.” 

“Come on, Slytherin, we can do better than that,” Draco clicked his tongue over the microphone, his voice crisp. “I believe sonorous is only a 2nd-year spell— so let’s hear it for the Slytherin beaters, jersey numbers four and five, Adrian Pucey and Lucian Bole!” 

Never ones to back down from a challenge, the snakes upped their applause, shaking the pitch with their sheer volume. Sitting beside the Slytherins, a good number of Hufflepuffs— led by a very excited Cedric Diggory— whooped and joined the snakes’ excitement, jumping as the players swiftly flew by, bare inches above the stands. Looking disgruntled by Cedric’s side was the Hufflepuff captain, Naoki Suzuka, his arms crossed as he scowled at the passing green-robed players. 

“Pucey and Bole— truly an unmatched duo, given that Bludger hits taken by the Slytherin team have halved since their appointment on the team in ‘89. Can’t say the same for the Gryffindor team, though— from what I remember, captain Wood was on bedrest for what, two weeks back in ‘88—” 

“Blasphemy! Slander!” spluttered Lee Jordan, and up on the pitch Oliver Wood flushed so red that his face almost matched the color of his robes. “Irrelevant commentation!” 

Draco outright ignored his fellow co-commentator and marched on. “Strongarming the team’s defense is jersey number six, keeper Miles Bletchley, with a defense stronger than steel and a reaction speed faster than a rattlesnake!” The blonde grinned, reveling in the attention and reaction he was gaining from the pitch. First-year Draco was devastated to not have made the team— but second-year Draco found an even more natural way for him to participate in the sport nonetheless. “Reportedly here I have statistics that Bletchley has blocked over… let’s see… 85% of Gryffindor’s shots in the last season!” 

“Well, get ready to update those statistics, Malfoy— because the Gryffindor team’s bringing their A-game today!” Lee harrumphed. 

“We’ll see, Jordan.” Draco smirked. “And last— but certainly not least— drumroll please— can we hear it for jersey number seven, youngest seeker of the century— HARRIS! EVANS! POTTER!” 

Any person walking through Hogsmeade may have thought that an earthquake was taking place from how much the entire area shook from the sheer tumultuous applause resonating from the Hogwarts stadium. 

“Seems that Mr. Potter has quite the fanbase, huh,” Draco chuckled. Up in the air, Harry tucked his hands into his gloves in embarrassment. “Lastly, introducing the Slytherin reserve players: jersey number eight, chaser Damian Evereach, ending his last season with a stunning performance after stepping in against Hufflepuff. Following, jersey number nine, first-year chaser and keeper in training, Atsushi Takagi— and jersey number ten, beater Timothy Caine!”  

“Well,” snapped Lee Jordan, snatching the spotlight as the Slytherin team did their last lap of the pitch, “Let me start off Gryffindor team introductions— the clearly superior— ahem— team— beginning with the one and only, captain and keeper Oliver Wood! Wood holds an integral position in the team as an anchor for the players— always bringing morale up with his flawless defense and well-written speeches— ” The Weasley twins both made a flabbergasted face at this, “not to mention his charming face. Unfortunately, I have to announce he’s no longer up for grabs in the market, ladies.” 

The stadium slumped collectively, a chorus of disappointed sighs going all around. Sitting cross-legged on the Gryffindor stands, a conjured umbrella over his head, Percy Weasley couldn’t help but smile, a blush rising to his cheeks as Oliver flew over the stands, a suave smirk on his lips as he saluted his boyfriend. The girls around him swooned, but Percy alone knew who that smile really was for. 

“Following it up, very happy to announce that the Gryffindor team is a strong supporter of women in sports— our beautiful and equally capable chaser lineup! Starting it off with jersey number two, Angelina Johnson— looking great today, Johnson— the irreplaceable defensive cornerstone of the Gryffindor chaser lineup. Next, jersey number three, Alicia Spinnet, the fastest chaser on the team— phew, look at that girl go!” Lee Jordan whistled appreciatively as the chaser crossed the commentating platform so fast that all anyone could hear was a sharp whistle. “Let’s see Slytherin try to stop that— and jersey number four, chaser Katie Bell, small but impressively tight in her defense— that girl can snatch a Quaffle out of the air like it’s nothing.” 

“We’re all feminists here, Jordan, but you take it to another level.” Draco snorted. “Take it a notch down, for Circe’s sake.” 

Lee Jordan shot the blonde a dirty look. “Continuing with our beater line— a pair unlike any other— they’re like a pair of Bludgers themselves, really— jerseys five and six, Fred and George Weasley!” 

Down on the pitch, Madam Hooch hooted her whistle angrily at the two commentators, tapping her wrist aggressively. “Get it going you two! You can keep the chatter to the actual game, if you’ll actually let me get started!” 

“Oh, fine, fine. Finishing up the Gryffindor team, seeker Natalie Williams!” Lee Jordan introduced, “She’s got a logical head on her shoulders, a set of eagle-like eyes— and really nice brown curls, goddamn, woman, how’s your hair staying so intact in this weather? You’ve got to spill that haircare routine.” 

Surprisingly, the Slytherin commentator had no retort for that, instead nodding appreciatively. 

“I want a fair game!” Madam Hooch demanded on the pitch, giving both captains a deadly glare. “Nothing suspicious from either of you!” 

With a sharp tweet, the Bludgers went flying into the pouring skies, and with another tweet, Madam Hooch tossed the Quaffle into the air, instantly snatched by Gryffindor’s Katie Bell before anyone could say ‘Merlin’. 

“Angelina!” yelled Katie, hurling the Quaffle to her fellow chaser as a Bludger came hurtling towards her. Unfortunately, Peregrine had taken the chance and swooped in, snatching the ball mid-air, stealing the offensive power for the Slytherins. “Bastard!” 

Derrick grinned, maneuvering his broom sharply past Spinnet, who wasted no time taking chaser after him. Completely blindsided in the rain, the Gryffindor chaser never noticed Marcus approaching the duo, caught by surprise as the snakes’ captain swooped from under her to take the ball from Derrick, already making a beeline for the goal hoops. 

“Take this!” One of the Weasleys yelled, whacking a Bludger straight towards Marcus. 

“I got it!” Tracey zoomed past the captain, catching the Quaffle as Marcus dodged the Bludger. 

“Nuh-uh,” Oliver Wood gritted his teeth, his broom steadily hovering before the center hoop. “I see you, Davis! You’re not getting past me.” 

Tracey shrugged. “Oh yeah?” 

The keeper opened his mouth to respond, his jaw dropping instead as Tracey let the Quaffle slip out of her hands, the ball pelting towards the ground— 

— where Peregrine swooped into place, the Quaffle steady in his two hands as he controlled the broom with his legs, shooting into the hoop from below Oliver. 

“— and Slytherin scores!” came Draco’s voice over the speakers as the snakes cheered. “Slytherin-Gryffindor, 10-0.”  

“Nice one!” Peregrine flew up to level with the two other chasers, high-fiving his teammates. “I knew the drop trick would work. Wood never saw that coming.” 

“Good work.” Marcus nodded gruffly. “Let’s keep it up.” 

Up high in the sky, Harry and Natalie circled the skies, their hands tense on the neck of their brooms, knowing that a fraction of a second could make the game for them. 

Catching a glint of light, the two seekers lurched downwards, pelting towards the glint before Natalie whipped back, realizing it was just the reflection off the Weasleys’ watches. 

“Damn,” cursed the Gryffindor seeker under her breath. She glanced up to see Harry, a few feet away from him, and he looked up to meet her gaze. The boy tilted his head slightly, offering her an awkward smile just as he drew away— 

“Whoa!” Harry swerved, a Bludger having been so close to his face that he could feel the wind of it against his cheek. “That was— 

The boy didn’t have time to finish his sentence before the same Bludger turned sharply from its path of direction, making another beeline towards the seeker. Astounded, Natalie watched as Harry dodged the Bludger time and time again— and yet, it came back for him, as if it had a really, really serious vendetta to carry out. 

“Oi, you good, Harry?” Pucey, having spotted the brewing accident up in the seekers’ height, flew closer to intervene, grunting as he gave the Bludger a strong whack away. The three players watched as the Bludger literally turned 180 degrees— and came straight back for the green-eyed boy. “What the actual fu—” 

This didn’t go unnoticed by the watchers down on the field. “What the hell’s going on up there?” Theodore squinted through his binoculars. “Harry’s up there with Pucey— there’s a Bludger— why the hell does the Bludger keep going back to him?” 

“What?” Hermione adjusted her view from where Tracey was chasing after Alicia Spinnet to Harry, high, high up in the air. “Oh gosh, you’re right— the Bludger’s following him! Is it jinxed?” 

The two second-years paused, taking off their binoculars to stare at each other. Wordlessly, they begin combing the stands, desperately trying to find any student or staff muttering suspiciously under their breath. 

“I’ll keep searching the stands, you go get Professor Snape!” hissed Hermione, nudging Daphne beside her. “Check the stands for jinxing!” 

Daphne blinked. “Again?” 

The Nott heir wasted no time scrambling out of his seat, ignoring the upper-years’ indignant yells as he shoved past them towards the staff seats. Every once in a while, he would spin around, making sure Harry was still up in the air. 

When he reached the professors, both Heads of Gryffindor and Slytherin were casting wordless anti-jinxes, the tip of their wands glowing as they tried to resolve the jinx on the Bludger. 

“I can’t go a fucking season without people trying to kill my seeker, can I?” hissed Professor Snape angrily. 

"Language, Severus!" said Professor McGonagall indignantly. 

“He’s Harry-fucking-Potter,” said Theodore. 

McGonagall looked scandalized. “Language, Mr. Nott!” 

“Sorry, Professor.” Theodore shrugged, plopping himself down beside Professor Snape, his fingertips glowing as he began etching lines into the air, his Norse sigils thrumming with a silvery magic only he knew the secrets of. Up in the sky, the same sigils embedded themselves into Harry’s Quidditch cloak, Theodore’s protection spells weaving themselves into the younger boy’s clothing. 

“Mr. Nott, you’re not permitted to practice Norse magic unsupervised.” said Professor Snape offhandedly, straining as he continued battling with the anti-jinx. 

“I wouldn’t call this unsupervised.” retorted Theodore. 

Professor McGonagall’s eyes widened as the sight of the ancient magic being performed beside her, but said nothing, turning her focus back to the game. 

“This isn’t Wixen magic,” said Snape, frustrated. “Nothing I’m doing is working. Have you—” 

“Searched the stands?” Theodore raised an eyebrow, his fingers never ceasing their movement as he continued drawing sigils in the air— now his magic was weaving a silvery web, forming under his fingertips. Little but little, the web was floating and lifting in the air against the rain, magnetically moving towards the pitch where Harry was. “Hermione and Daphne are on it. We’ve already checked Lockhart. He’s busy fretting about his hair falling out of place in the wind.” 

The Head of Slytherin breathed, stress etched into his forehead. “Alright. You continue… doing whatever it is that you are doing. I’ll try casting some force-absorbing charms— but it’ll be a challenge to make it really lock in from this distance.” The professor paused. “How are you attaching your sigils onto Harry from this far away?” 

“I have something of his.” said Theodore blatantly. 

Professor Snape blinked. “I’m sorry?” 

The hazel-eyed boy gestured towards his coat pocket with his gaze, his fingers preoccupied. “I have something of Harry’s. One of his ties. Norse magic can be applied as long as you have something belonging to the subject that they are in constant contact with. Really advanced Norse magic practitioners can cast on anyone as long as they have sight of them— but I’m not powerful enough to do it at such a distance, so I use an object that’s tied to Harry.” 

“Right.” Snape nodded slowly. “Okay.” 

Up in the sky, a vast majority of the team was still unaware as to the assault happening above them. “Harry, keep dodging!” managed Adrian as he swung hard, again , sending the Bludger in a random direction, groaning as he saw it return. “What the actual fuck? Where’s Lucian?” 

“It’s fine, I’ll manage!” said Harry over the wind, thanking Merlin that Hermione cast anti-fogging on his glasses. “Go back to the team! I’ll just stay out of the way, I’ll find the snitch soon—” 

“Gryffindor scores!” announced Lee Jordan down on the stands, enthusiasm oozing out of his voice. “Slytherin-Gryffindor, 50-40.” 

“They’re catching up,” urged Harry, ducking down to let the Bludger pass him. “I’ll be fine! They need your help.” 

Adrian looked unsure, but he agreed nonetheless. “But you remember what Peregrine said, alright—” 

“Don’t do anything he or Terrence wouldn’t approve of,” repeated Harry, “Yes, I know. I’ll be fine, go!” 

The beater nodded, swerving lower to rejoin where the majority of the team was playing. Somewhere in the distance, Harry heard Marcus yelling: “Where have you been, Pucey?” Before he could hear Adrian’s reply, he heard the tell-tale whoosh of the Bludger behind him, and leaning on his right hand, did a full cartwheel in the air, watching the heavy, black ball speed off into the distance. 

Having glanced a sliver of light, Harry spotted the unmistakable glimmer of Theodore’s magic on his cloak, silver lines already fading into silver threads conforming onto the green fabric. He smiled, knowing that somewhere down on the pitch, his friends had his back. 

“Okay, Harry,” he whispered to himself. “Head in the game.” 

“And Slytherin scores!” came Lee’s announcement, dismayed. 

“Slytherin-Gryffindor, 60-40!” came Draco’s voice next, an incredible amount of pride injected into his words. 

It was at this moment Harry spotted two things: the glisten of the Golden Snitch, flapping innocently a few feet underneath him; and the Bludger, pelting back at him from behind the Snitch. 

Without pausing longer to consider his options, Harry pulled his broom into a dive— and sensing his drive, the Snitch took flight, the two beginning an intense chaser— joined shortly by the Bludger behind Harry. 

“What in Merlin’s name…? Is that… the Snitch… being chased by Harry Potter… being chased by a Bludger?” Lee Jordan stated disbelievingly. 

Natalie, hearing the commentary, had quickly followed after Harry, quickly overtaking the Bludger behind him, quite nearly on the tailend of Harry’s broom— but sensing his opponent’s presence, Harry gave a last push and followed the Snitch into a sharp turn, his fingers reaching— and grasping the cold metal of the Snitch. 

The Slytherin team roared with applause, accompanied by a good batch of Hufflepuffs (again, led by Cedric Diggory) as the game ended. 

Breathless with victory, Harry smiled, but in the corner of his eye he saw something moving deathly fast— 

“Natalie!” yelled Harry, but before the Gryffindor seeker could react, her Slytherin counterpart had grasped her broom handle and swung her around— the Bludger slamming head-on into Harry’s chest, knocking the wind out from the boy’s chest— followed by the boy himself, free-falling towards the field below.

“Shit!” The Gryffindor seeker cursed, chasing after the boy. The crowd gasped audibly, every breath in the stadium held. They were 60 feet from the ground— 50 feet— 40— 30— 

Natalie caught Harry’s wrist, and with the pull of her broom, slowed their descent— but neither was strong enough, and with gravity’s tug, they both crashed onto the ground, both seekers yelling out in pain as their collision came to an end. 

“Slytherin wins 90-40! Got to go, wrap up here, Jordan.” came Draco’s hurried commentary as he rushed out of the booth, tumbling over students as he literally leapt down onto the field. 

“Are you okay?” winced Harry as he turned to face Natalie, the two lying flat on the muddy grass. 

“Are you stupid? I should be asking you that!” Natalie said incredulously. 

“You are both very stupid,” hissed Snape, McGonagall on his heels. The rest of the players landed around the seekers, gathering in concern around their respective teammates. Instantly, the two Heads of Houses were by their students’ sides, inspecting them for injuries. 

“Wood, cast a shielding charm, for Merlin’ sake,” said McGonagall, annoyed at the pelting rain. 

“You’ll manage, you said!” Adrian shot at Harry angrily, “You’ll manage to fall 30 feet out of the sky is what! How the hell am I going to explain myself to Terrence— fuck, he’s going to have my head.”

“You both have broken bones,” informed Professor Snape. “We’re going to need stretchers. Derrick, let Madam Pomfrey know that we’re on our way.”

“Everyone calm down!” breezed Lockhart into the circle, even though everyone was pretty calm, looking strangely delighted at the two injured seekers. “I have got the situation handled, I’ve fixed many bones before! Ah, Harry, Harry, let’s start with you, shall we— just be in and out, you’ll barely feel a thing—” 

“Oh no, you don’t.” Marcus interjected, looking every part an angry guard dog. “You stay away from our seekers.” 

“I believe we have a very capable mediwitch, Mr. Lockhart,” snapped Snape, “And you are as much a mediwitch as you are a potion master. Please tone down the overstepping and stay in your profession.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

To no one’s surprise, Madam Pomfrey wasted no time expressing her great dislike of the flying sport, questioning time and time again why the students were so committed to an activity that put them at consistent risk of broken bones. 

“I’ll never get it,” she grumbled, tapping her wand to Natalie’s arm. The Gryffindor seeker winced at the movement but braved through it anyway. “Whatever were the headmasters thinking, introducing a dangerous sport to encourage unfriendly rivalry between students, for absolutely no reason—” 

“It’s fun, Madam Pomfrey,” protested Natalie, yelping as her bones snapped and formed back into place “Ow!” 

“Fun,” Madam Pomfrey gave her a pointed look. “Yourself and Mr. Potter have been in and out of my infirmary countless times since last year. Broken bones, broken noses, sprained ankles… should I continue?” 

Trying desperately to change the subject, Natalie turned to the Weasley twins, the rest of the lions’ team behind them. “Where’s Oliver, anyway?” 

“Making his best drowning attempt in the showers,” said one of the twins solemnly. “We think he’s very close to succeeding.” 

Across the infirmary, Harry was in the process of being patched up by Professor Snape. Circling his infirmary bed was the entire Slytherin team, centered by Draco, Hermione and most importantly, Theodore, who was still silently fuming at the unknown hexer of the bludger. 

“It’s the Potter luck,” snorted Draco. “Can’t get on a broom without going through a life-threatening experience can you, Harry?” 

“Don’t jinx it,” snapped Theodore. 

“We are in a good position for the Quidditch cup, though,” provided Hermione helpfully, showing Harry the statistics she had recorded in her Quidditch-dedicated notebook. Marcus raised a confused eyebrow at all the numbers she had on the page, but didn’t attempt to make any sense of it. “Looking at past statistics— so long as Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw don’t defeat each other with over 60 points— highly unlikely, they haven’t done it before with their past lineup— we’ll be on steady running for the cup.” 

“Fascinating,” said Peregrine, peeking over Hermione’s shoulder. “Considering to take Arithmetics next year, Granger?” 

“Yes!” Hermione’s eyes glimmered. “Oh— yes, I nearly forgot— we get to select courses at the end of this year!” 

“Only ‘Mione could be that excited about selecting classes for third year.” grumbled Ron, Neville chuckling beside him. The room collectively eyed the two lions, who were seemingly out of place, standing next to the Slytherin seeker when their own team was gathered on the other side of the room. 

“Alright, Mr. Potter and Ms. Williams need their rest,” hustled Madam Pomfrey. “Mr. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, please ensure that Mr, Wood does not drown himself. I have had enough Quidditch-related incidents for a day. Rest of you, hurry on along! Broken bones need rest and sleep and quiet .” 

“But Madam Pomfrey—” protested Katie.

“No buts. Patients need rest and no one is getting any rest in here!” said the mediwitch sternly. 

As the two teams filed out slowly, Madam Pomfrey turned to eye Harry’s bed, pursing her lips. 

“What did I say, Mr. Nott?” she said, crossing her arms. 

“I’m staying,” said Theodore firmly, already attached to Harry’s side with a random notebook in hand. The mediwitch glanced at the Head of Slytherin for help— but the man simply shrugged and made no move to interfere. 

“Severus!” hissed Madam Pomfrey. 

“Mr. Nott,” sighed Severus half-heartedly. The Norse boy simply raised an eyebrow at his professor and made no move to leave. “There. I’ve tried, Poppy.” 

The mediwitch made an indignant noise. “You call that trying?” 

“Mr. Nott won’t disturb either Mr. Potter or Ms. Williams.” Severus reasoned with a shrug, already slinking out of the infirmary. “I would even go as far as saying that they’d be safer and more comfortable with him around.” He smiled, gesturing at the Slytherin boys as he stepped out the door, prompting Poppy to look: and indeed, soft, silvery sigils were already embedding themselves into the fabric of Harry’s and Natalie’s blankets, both seekers sighing at the warmth that instantly ebbed out from the material. 

Clear that her efforts would be futile, the healer sighed. “You owe me an explanation, Severus Snape, or Merlin help me.” she muttered lowly. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Hours and hours later, when Madam Pomfrey had extinguished all the torches and left the three to slumber (she had offered Theodore a separate bed but he was insistent on staying latched to Harry, so she gave up and simply threw them an extra pillow)— Harry woke up groggily to a muffled yelp, a small creature with tennis-ball-sized eyeballs, and Theodore angrily holding up a wand to said creature’s neck. 

“Merlin— Theo, what—” shocked awake, Harry jolted up and immediately regretted it, pain shooting down his arm. Or at least, what felt like his arm, which was millions of toothpicks jiggling around under his skin. “What’s going on?” 

“This,” said Theo accusingly, his wand still pointed sharply at the creature, “Is the little bastard who jinxed the bludger. I knew it! The jinx was too muddled to be Wixen magic— elf magic, of course.” 

“Dobby was just trying to help Mr. Potter,” the creature reasoned shakily, “Dobby knows there is great danger in Hogwarts, Mr. Potter must go away—” 

Hastily, Harry said: “Merlin, Theo, put your wand down—” 

Although unconvinced, Theo complied nonetheless, lowering his wand. “It isn’t like I would’ve been able to hurt him, anyway.” said the Norse boy sulkily. “Elves apparate too quickly for any sigils to latch on and do lasting damage.” 

“Mr. Potter must leave the school,” said Dobby, persistent as ever. “Hogwarts is not safe, Mr. Potter must go— Dobby tried to stop Mr. Potter from coming to school, but—” 

“It was you at the Kings’!” said Harry incredulously. “You were the one who shut the portal on us!” 

The elf looked away guiltily, pulling on its oversized, bat-like ears to cover his face. “Dobby just wanted Mr. Potter to be safe! You see, Dobby has heard of Mr. Potter’s greatness, sir, all the house elves have, and we looks greatly upon Mr. Potter, sir—” 

“Please stop calling me sir,” said the green-eyed boy winced. “Err, look, Dobby, I appreciate trying to, err, protect me—” Beside him, Theodore made an indignant noise: (“Trying to protect you? More like tried to murder you!”). “But I’m safe here, really. I’ve got Theo, and Severus Snape, and Hermione, and Ron and Neville and Draco—” 

Dobby winced. 

“And Hogwarts is safer than any other place, so—” Harry paused. “Hold on. You said… a great danger here…” 

It was almost like a lightbulb went off atop of the two Slytherin boys’ heads. “The monster!” they whispered in unison, whipping back to face the house elf. “Dobby, you know what the monster is!” breathed Theodore. 

The house elf’s eyes shone. “Yes— Dobby has known for months, this evil plot. This is why Mr. Potter and Mr. Nott must leave!” 

“Dobby, what is the monster?” urged Theodore, gripping and shaking the elf by the shoulders. When the creature started shaking, raising an arm, as if to hit himself— Theodore restrained him, smacking the elf’s hand away from the water jug by Harry’s bed. “No, no, you can’t answer that question. You must have a master, don’t you—” 

“A master?” Harry asked quizzically. 

“House elves obey a master,” explained Theodore quickly, “They’re usually tied to Noble houses, and they’re bound to be eternally loyal and faithful to their masters, or else they are magically-inclined to punish themselves.” 

“Right— so then Dobby’s master… is the one trying to wake the monster.” Harry concluded. 

To their astonishment, Dobby went even more wide-eyed than he already was, and stared at them intently, as if trying to give some sort of clue— without opening his mouth. 

“Dobby’s master is… not the one trying to wake the monster.” Theodore tried. Upon this, the elf nodded vehemently, and the two boys stared at each other in confusion. “But you just said that your master was the one behind the… ‘evil plot’.” 

“Yes, but—” as if realizing what he was about to give away, Dobby made another grab for the water jug. Fast as the elf was, he couldn’t beat Harry’s seeker reflexes, and the Slytherin boy easily yanked the creature away from the object. 

“No, Dobby,” said Harry sternly, keeping a firm hand on the elf. 

“So what you’re saying,” said Theodore slowly, “Is that this is your master’s plan, but someone else is enacting their plans in his stead.” 

Dobby neither nodded or shook his head, but from the shine in his eyes, they had hit the mark. Then, quite starkly from his excitement of getting the message across, he looked miserably forlorn. “Bad Dobby, bad Dobby!” wailed the house elf, “Dobby doesn’t want Mr. Potter and Mr. Nott to go searching for the monster, sirs must go home before dangers transcend Hogwarts— terrible things are going to happen, perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let Mr. Potter remain here when the Chamber of Secrets is opened once more!” 

The elf made a mad grab for the water jug and lunged over the bed— thankfully, Theodore pulled it over his head and the elf toppled over the edge, landing on the infirmary floor with an audible thud. 

Across the infirmary, Natalie stirred. “You okay there, Potter?” 

“Y-Yeah,” Harry reassured nervously. “Um, Theodore fell over. Sorry for waking you.” Thankfully for the Slytherin boys, the curtains had been drawn around the bed partially, and in the darkness of the room, kept Dobby hidden from sight. Once Natalie had shifted and settled back to sleep, the emerald-eyed boy quietly cast: “Silencio. Dobby, you alright there?” 

“No more reaching for the jug, Dobby, or I will …” Theo paused, contemplating. “I will hit Harry. You don’t want me to hit Harry, do you?” Beside him, the boy-who-lived looked scandalized. 

With a pop, the elf apparated back onto the bed, looking teary. “Mr. Potter and Mr. Nott are such good, kind sirs,” he sniffled. “Dobby just doesn’t want Mr. Potter and Mr. Nott to be in mortal danger, Dobby watched sirs over the summer—” 

“That’s not creepy in any way.” Theodore grimaced. 

“So sirs must leave Hogwarts, as soon as they can,” wailed Dobby. “Dobby could not live with himself knowing the evil plot and not keeping sirs away!” 

“Dobby,” said Theodore sternly, “Harry and I— we have no homes to go back to, okay? The Nott Manor is not safe for me— and Harry’s legal guardians, the Dursleys, they’re muggles, they’re even less able to protect him. We are safest here, Dobby, where Professor Snape and our friends are. And if you really care about us, Dobby, which we know you do, you can help us by, I don’t know, not jinxing us to fall 50 feet out of the sky. You can’t tell us information directly, but if you could find some… indirect way to tell us without breaking your bind to your master, that would be really helpful.” 

“And not hitting yourself would be helpful.” added Harry gently. “And… What's that you’re wearing? Do all house elves dress in… err, is that a pillow case?” 

“House elves aren’t allowed clothes,” Theodore explained. “If their masters give them clothes, the master-servant bond is broken and elves are free to do as they please.” 

“Ah.” Harry winced.

“Dobby will never forget sirs kindness,” the elf blinked, tears rolling down his skin. “Dobby will—” Before he could finish his sentence, the creature froze, becoming stone-like as a pair of pattering footsteps sounded outside the infirmary. “Dobby must go. Dobby hopes Mr. Potter and Mr. Nott will stay safe.” whispered the elf before he snapped his fingers, apparating away. 

“Get under the covers,” Harry hurried, the two boys tucking themselves in, becoming still as two figures appeared in the dim lighting of the infirmary, carrying a statue-like object. As they moved, their identities became prominent— it was Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore, shuffling, moving past Natalie and Harry’s beds. 

The two boys stayed eerily silent, watching the silhouettes of the two professors move the statue onto an empty bed. Even through the moonlit shadows of their figures on the light blue curtains, it was clear that the two staff were shaken. Moments later, Madam Pomfrey hustled into the infirmary, pulling a cardigan over her nightdress. As she rounded the corner onto the now-occupied bed, she gasped, instantly clapping a hand over her mouth as she stifled a shaky breath. 

“Albus found him on the stairs,” came Professor McGonagall’s solemn voice. “We think he was trying to bring grapes for Ms. Williams.”

Very slowly, the two boys shifted inconspicuously in their ‘sleep’, until they had angled themselves to see the person of discussion, and in the silvery moonlight, saw the frozen figure of Colin Creevey, his arm extended straight into the air even though he was now lying horizontally, a camera in his grasp. 

“Merlin,” whispered Theodore. 

“Petrified, like Mrs. Norris,” murmured Madam Pomfrey. Gently, she reached forward, carefully prying the camera from the boy’s grip, handing it to the headmaster, adjusting his limbs so he lay flat on the bed, almost like a man in a coffin. 

“You don’t think… that he got a photo of his attacker?” said Professor McGonagall, her voice straining to be hopeful. 

Wordlessly, Dumbledore clicked the back of the camera open, instantly a puff of steam into the cool air of the infirmary. 

“Melted,” said Madam Pomfrey. “How…?” 

Hearing the clatter of more footsteps— and the telltale stride of the Head of Slytherin, the two boys pressed themselves back into the bed. Barely seconds later, Professor Snape, Professor Filtwick and Professor Sprout hurried into the infirmary, flocking towards Colin’s bed. 

“Another victim,” said Professor Snape sharply. “Where was he found?” 

“On the staircase in the west wing— we believe he was on his way to the infirmary, bringing grapes for Ms. Williams.” said Professor McGonagall, quickly catching the rest of the professors up to speed. 

“That’s nowhere near where Mrs. Norris was attacked.” Severus frowned. 

“Yes,” said Dumbledore absent-mindedly. “Head of Houses, inform your prefects to lock down curfew times strictly. No student is to wander out of common rooms after hours, and students must never travel alone.” 

“Headmaster, does this… does this mean what I think you mean?” asked Professor Filtwick shakily. 

“I’m afraid so, Filius.” said Dumbledore, eerily somber. “The Chamber of Secrets has been opened once more.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“Dobby is your house elf?” yelled Theodore. Harry had been discharged that morning, and both boys (Theodore had stuck around) had pretended not to notice the tightly-drawn curtains around Colin’s bed, or the way Madam Pomfrey’s hand was shaking as she ran her final check-ups on the two seekers. 

“Then the person hatching the evil plot must be—” Hermione pursed her lips, coming to the conclusion the same time that everyone else did. The group fell silent as Draco pointed his eyes at the ground, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. “… Draco…” 

“I’ll— I’ll write to him about it.” said the blonde boy, shifting from foot-to-foot uncomfortably. “I—” 

“Well, I’m feeling hungry!” interrupted Ron loudly. “Do you think they’ll be serving mango pudding today? It’s been a while, hasn’t it— hey, Neville, you reckon we could ask kitchens to serve it more often?”

“Y-Yeah, probably!” Neville picked up on the hint easily, sliding a smile on his face. “Maybe we could ask your brother, Ron— he’s a prefect, he’ll probably know how to get the message down to the kitchens— oh, and you guys could ask your prefects, too.” Neville grabbed Draco’s arm reassuringly. “We’ll petition for mango pudding.” 

“Hah,” Draco managed a weak snort. “Is food the only thing you think about in that brain of yours, Weasley?” 

Hermione and Harry shared a smile as Ron and Neville paraded up front, dragging Draco with them. “Just to think a year ago they were going at each other’s throats,” giggled the girl. “Look how far they’ve come.” 

“How sweet,” Theodore rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged on the corner of his lips regardless. They watched the two lions banter playfully with Draco, punching each other’s shoulders lightly, lifting the blonde’s mood little by little. 

“I can’t imagine how he feels,” said Hermione quietly. “Finding out that your dad is…” 

“We’re not our parents.” Theodore said resolutely, his tone strong. “We are not defined by our parents beyond what we choose to define us.” 

“I never said that,” said Hermione defensively, although her gaze softened. “Of course Draco isn’t his father. Look at him with Ron— he’s nothing like him.” 

“Good.” Theodore nodded. “... Regardless, we have to tell this to someone— and we’ll tell Professor Snape. One of the professors has to know, at least, and we know Snape won’t judge.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“... Hello,” Severus blinked as the flock of second-years swarmed into his office with no warning. “How may I help you?” 

“Something happened at the infirmary.” Theodore said, cutting straight to the point. “Harry and I were woken up in the middle of the night by a house elf. He was the one who stopped us from getting past the barrier at Kings’ Cross, and he was the one who jinxed the bludger.” 

“Elf magic,” murmured Severus, setting his quill down. “Of course.” 

“He was trying to stop Harry from coming to Hogwarts because he believed that there was going to be danger at Hogwarts. That he knew his master was ‘hatching an evil plot’.” Theodore plowed on. “But that the Chamber isn’t being opened by his master— someone else is doing it in his stead.” 

The group fell silent after that. Severus raised an eyebrow, noticing how they each stood patiently, as if waiting— and it was then the potions master realized how uncomfortable Draco looked, shirking onto himself when he usually carried himself with an impeccable posture and graceful aura. 

Following the kids’ lead, the professor stayed silent until the boy spoke up himself. 

“It was Dobby,” said Draco at last. “... My house elf.” 

Severus paused. His mind begin racing— just last night they established the Chamber of Secrets was opened and had their first student attack— and now, barely 24 hours later, he was learning that the master of the plan was Lucius Malfoy himself, and to have the confession come from his son— 

“I’ve written to my father, and I’ve asked him about it, but I swear, I— I—” Draco fidgeted nervously, his voice rising as his face flushed. 

“I know you have nothing to do with it, Draco,” said Severus gently. “I know you would never, given how close you are to Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger. And evidently— they too, know that you would never do such a thing.” 

Unsurely, Draco glanced up at his friends— to be met with reassuring and bright smiles. 

“Malfoy’s probably too busy fixing his hair to be opening any chambers,” joked Ron, looping an arm around the blonde’s shoulder. 

Theodore snorted. “I dunno, maybe if he didn’t hog the bathroom for 30 minutes every morning he’d have time to pop over for tea with the monster before class.” 

“Perfection takes time!” Draco huffed, crossing his arms. 

“I’m sure,” said Severus dryly. As the hexad of students joked and took turns at prodding at the blonde’s obsession with his physical appearance— the Slytherin thanked Merlin— and whoever raised those kids— except Lucius Malfoy, that man was not getting any thanks from Severus— for making them who they were. Thank fuck, Merlin, Severus smiled to himself. These kids are going to be alright. “Well, thank you for coming to me with this.” 

“You’ll um, you’ll talk to him, right?” asked Draco hastily. “But— um, can you, err, not tell him that I— that I told you?” 

Severus grimaced but plastered on a serious nod. “Of course not, Draco. Now… don’t you bunch have classes or revision to get to?” 

“Profesor, why’d you have to remind Hermione about revision,” groaned Ron, and in the background, Hermione, who had been reminded, was already counting down the weeks they had until finals. 

The potions master rolled his eyes. “Well, I have better things to do and a stack of essays to mark, so get out of my office and hurry along somewhere else.” 

When his office door slid shut, Severus allowed himself one, loud groan and buried his face in his hands. Draco had written a letter to his father— which meant Lucius would know that Draco knew, and there was no chance the man would reveal the truth to the blonde knowing the friends his son mixed with. If Draco had not sent that letter, perhaps Severus could’ve approached Lucius with the information and pried something out of him, but as it was too late to intercept the letter— his options were limited. 

If he approached Lucius now , there was no doubt that Lucius would suspect that Draco confided in him, straining both the father-son relationship and Severus’s relationship with the prominent Death Eater. Merlin forbid Severus had to mix in those circles again— but assuming the worst, his connection with Lucius needed to hold strong, and once (it would happen sooner or later) Lucius caught wind of Severus’s relationship with Harry— 

In other words, Severus’s hands were tied. 

The potions master crumbled onto his desk. already feeling a headache coming on. “I need a pay raise for this goddamn job,” he grumbled, forcing his body upright, desperately dragging his focus back onto his essays (Merlin, why did he always have essays to mark? Did he really assign them that much?). 

“By Merlin’s name, what in fuck’s name is this—” the professor sighed, underlining whole paragraphs of nonsense his students spouted out, clearly not checking their textbooks or additional material. If only every student could be like Granger— actually, no— if only every student could be like… Nott? … Potter? … 

Severus shook his head, eyeing the student’s name at the top of the parchment. Well, Celina sure wasn’t getting his approval to enter the 5th year potions class— 

Wait. 

Somewhere in the dark depths of his mind, a candle flame flickered with an idea. 

“Narcissa Malfoy.” whispered Severus, a smirk growing across his features. Pushing aside the essays, he drew a parchment out of his desk drawers, and began penning a letter. As he stamped the wax onto the front of the envelope, the man couldn’t help but feel grateful for the little ‘alliance’ they had formed during the beginning of the year— dare he call it the parent committee—

Just as quickly as he had that thought, he threw it out the window. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“Dueling Club?” Ron read quizzically. Pasted on the exits of the Great Hall were posters of two wizards shooting spells at each other, big, bold letters reading: ‘Great Hall, 7pm’. “Would you look at that, it’s tonight!” 

“Ooh, will Filtwick be teaching?” Hermione brightened instantly. “I heard he was a dueling champion when he was younger— and he is Charms professor after all.” 

“That would be useful to know,” hummed Neville thoughtfully. In tandem with the second-year Slytherin class, the Gryffindors had redirected their collective dislike of Lockhart into a newfound appreciation for the short Charms professor. Never before had Filtwick had such a great reputation among the student population. “Filtwick teaching would be really cool.” 

Theodore, who felt that time could be better allocated towards research, did not share the same views. “Oh yes,” he said sarcastically. “If we ever come head-to-head with the chamber monster, let’s just challenge it to a duel. En garde!” 

“Oh, you’re no fun, Theo!” whined Hermione. 

To Theodore’s chagrin, they ended up going— simply because he was outnumbered 5-to-1, and no one refused to let him go to the library alone, citing Professor Snape’s instructions of students traveling in groups. 

When they arrived, the Hall had already been cleared for dueling, rows and rows of tables vanished for the event. A long stage lined one side of the wall, and already students— what seemed like the entire school — were clamoring underneath it. 

“What’s going on?” asked Ron interestedly to Seamus. 

“The professors are going to give us a demonstration!” replied Seamus eagerly. 

“Oh, who?” Harry perked up interest. 

Theodore crossed his arms grumpily, still upset he was dragged there. “Just so long as it isn’t—” 

The crowd quieted as their questions were finally answered, and Gilderoy Lockhart strutted on stage in the color of molded plum skin, tossing his golden locks as he flashed a smile towards the audience. 

“Merlin help us all. If we’re lucky, he’ll manage to teach us how to disgust our opponents with excessive flair.” Theo rolled his eyes. 

“Who’s he dueling, though— Oh .” Neville closed his mouth as Professor Snape followed after Lockhart, his lip curling in distaste as he glared so hard at his colleague’s plum-colored robes that the Gryffindor expected it to spontaneously catch on fire. “Well, there is a bright side to this.” 

“We’re going to watch Lockhart get his ass handed to him by Professor Snape.” Ron cheered, like Christmas Day had just come. “Can’t believe I’m about to root for a Slytherin— but under special circumstances…”

 “God, I hope Snape kills him.” The Norse boy was now smiling brightly. “Go Professor Snape! Damn it, if we knew ahead of time I would’ve made banners. Like we do for Harry and Tracey’s games.” 

“I’m sure Professor Snape would appreciate it.” said Hermione dryly. 

“It’s not so much him appreciating it, it’s more about discouraging Lockhart.” Theodore pointed out smartly. 

“Gather around, everyone!” said Lockhart, his impossibly sparkly voice projected through the use of his wand. “Gather—” 

“They are already gathered.” replied Professor Snape snappishly. “Any closer they get to each other and someone’s going to get trampled.” 

“Ah, thank you for your input, Professor Snape,” said Lockhart brightly. It was unclear whether he was just being positively sarcastic or completely misinterpreted the Slytherin’s tone. “Can everyone hear me? Can everyone see me? Excellent!” 

Already Snape looked like he would rather be anywhere else. 

“Now, Professor Dumbledore has graciously given me permission to start a Dueling Club— and of course, I come to impart to you the vast experience I have had in the years of my career— for more reference, please see my published works.” said Lockhart happily. 

“He’s utterly shameless.” Harry sighed, placing his face in his hands. “Blatant, shameless marketing.” 

“And has no sense of style.” Draco made a face. “Who puts that shade of plum with that shade of gold? It just doesn’t work.” 

“Let me introduce to you my assistant, Professor Snape!” said Lockhart enthusiastically. “He claims— I mean, he tells me he’s had some dueling experience, and has sportingly agreed to aid me in my demonstration today. Don’t you worry, however, you’ll still have your potions master in a single piece when I’m done with him!” 

Behind them, Peregrine was commenting quietly to Adrian: “Lockhart’s out of his damn mind— he’s got to know that Snape was one of the fiercest duelists during the war… right?” 

“It’s Lockhart,” snorted Adrian, “I wouldn’t put it past him.” 

“I’ve never seen that much murderous intent in someone’s eyes.” said Ron, amazed. “Snape looks positively livid . If he ever gave me a fraction of that glare, I would’ve started running for Norway, so Lockhart is either blind or has no sense of self-preservation.” 

“I’d say both,” said Neville. 

As the professors backtracked to two ends of the stage, Lockhart commentating happily despite his incoming doom: “Now, we’ll create some distance and face each other,” The Defense professor proceeded to an overly-extravagant bow, with much unnecessary twirling of his hands, “As you see, we are both holding our wands in an accepted combative position, although Professor Snape’s could do with slight adjustments, it is fine nonetheless—” 

“Professor Snape, if you kill him, I’ll help hide the body!” Theodore said supportively, giving the older man thumbs-ups. 

“Now, we aim, ready on three—” Lockhart smiled. “Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course…” 

The snarl across Snape’s face said otherwise. 

“One— two— three!” 

In a swift bang, Lockhart had been thrown across the stage, his wand flying through the air into the audience. He slammed into a back wall and slid down saggily onto the floor, his hair mussed and redness forming around his forehead and cheeks. Sparsed across the crowd, a couple girls gasped heartbreakingly at their beloved professor being harmed, but for the most part, cheers were going all around. 

“Ah, I, uh, I appear to have been caught… off guard.” Lockhart found his footing unsteadily, brushing off his plum robes. “Yes… excellent demonstration of a wordless spell, Professor Snape, but if you’ll excuse me, it was rather obvious what you were about to cast—” 

“In which case, professor, the appropriate response would’ve been a simple deflecto or protego , no?” piped up Hermione innocently. “As long as properly uttered and cast with proper timing, either of those do an easy job absorbing the mass impact of the spell.” 

From the smug look on Professor Snape’s face— both from sending Lockhart flying and his own Slytheirn publicly calling out Lockhart’s inadeptness before half the school— he was seconds away from awarding Hermione 200 points for Slytherin. 

Lockhart was at a loss for words. “Err, well, let’s pair you up and get some on-hands practice in—” 

“Professor Lockhart,” squeaked a shy voice. It was Lavender Brown, shimmying her way up to the stage, a wand in hand. 

“Ah, thank you, Ms. Brown.” Lockhart beamed at her. “As I was saying, let’s get into pairs— Professor Snape, if you could aid—” 

“Damn it, Lavender.” cursed Hermione under her breath. Her annoyance didn’t last long, however— as little Ms. Brightest-Witch-of-Her-Age put her mind to use. “Hey— guys, gather round, I have an idea…” 

Up on the stage, Professor Snape eyed the huddled group suspiciously, but thought nothing of it. When they at last dispersed, they were grinning, the hexad splitting up in pairs and distributing themselves across the room. 

In the meantime, Lockhart had escorted himself into the middle of the hall, surrounded by pairs of students. “And… on your mark, get ready— three, two, one!” 

Smart enough to stay outside the line of fire, Professor Snape watched the chaos unfold before his eyes. And taking advantage of this chaos… Before his eyes, Snape witnessed Hermione’s cleverly-cast stinging hex, ‘missing’ and flying past Neville to hit bullseye on Lockhart’s wand hand. The professor yelped and dropped his wand, of course— and just as he was about to pick it up, Ron, who had been dueling Draco, backtracked onto the wand, sending it flying through a flurry of feet. 

As Lockhart struggled to chase after his wand, Severus saw out of the corner of his eye— Theodore duck Harry’s tickling hex, and in the process of bending down, murmured an accio , the Defense professor’s wand flying across the floor towards the duo. Pretending to stumble, Harry crossed Theodore’s path, inconspicuously grabbing the wand and pocketing it just as Lockhart came around, glancing around nervously. 

Across the room, a commotion had started: Ron and Draco were firing spells heatedly at each other, although Severus could tell from a glance they were harmless hexes— all bright and no bite. 

“Malfoy!” yelled Ron accusingly. 

“Weasley!” retorted Draco mockingly. 

Lockhart immediately pattered across the floor to break the fight apart, and in his distraction, Harry and Theodore slipped out of the hall and disappeared. 

Up on the stage, Snape couldn’t just believe what he had seen. Just from a few moments of whispering, they had created a coordinated plan to steal a grown adult man’s wand and leave with it unnoticed. Granted, said adult man was Lockhart— but it was still an impressive amount of teamwork. 

“Hah!” chuckled Snape. “Ten points to Slytherin and Gryffindor.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Fuelled by wide-spreading panic and over-exaggerated rumors, Hogwarts’ underground market for amulets, talismans, and protective artifacts saw a massive boom, and really, who could be more excited than Theodore Nott? News had got out about his supply on Saturday night, and by Monday evening, he was the market leader. 

Ever the opportunist, Draco had quickly joined Theodore in his venture, and by Wednesday they had an entire assortment of products you could pick from— small silver pins that could be attached to the back of the house ties, hidden from sight— little flaps of cloth with sigils embroidered onto them (Theo had to draw them on, because as much as anyone tried to copy them, only Theodore’s sigils glowed with magic; and Draco was surprisingly skilled with a needle)— and squares of parchment with luck sigils drawn on in invisible ink. 

“I don’t know if I should feel ashamed or admonished.” commented Hermione as a flock of students rushed the two Slytherin boys the moment they walked out of History of Magic. 

“Business is business.” Daphne said, admiring Draco’s embroidery as a first-year Hufflepuff scrambled by. “But I have to say, that is some impressive needlework.” 

“Never took him for an embroidery guy,” Tracey squinted, but reconsidered her opinion. “Actually, no. I can see it.” 

“Theodore, I feel this is… unethical.” said Harry when they finally managed to drag the entrepreneurs from their market. It had started as a joke— they had overheard some of the first-years gossiping about a family heirloom having protective charms woven into it, and Theo had simply scribbled safety sigils onto some parchment for the younger students— partially to keep their minds at ease and to make a few extra knuts. Things escalated when the older students started catching wind— and worse of all, they believed in Theo’s sigils, and while Harry knew those symbols had saved his skin a couple times— he didn’t think they were going to be, ah, particularly effective against the monster. 

The Norse boy simply shrugged, jingling his bag of newly-earned coins. 

It had gotten so bad, in fact, that Neville approached Theo looking to buy one, and had been promptly stared at by the entire group until he re-pocketed his coins. 

“Neville, he’s scamming people.” stressed Hermione, after the interaction. 

“Besides, you don’t need these,” said Theo airily. “I already have good luck sigils embedded on all your cloaks and ties, anyway.” 

“Sorry— what? Since when?” Ron’s eyes had widened to the size of a teacup as he scrambled to check his cloak for the tell-tale silvery glow of Theo’s sigil magic. 

“I don’t hear a thank you, Weasley.” The Norse boy frowned. “And you’re all… assets. Can’t risk the monster getting to you. We need all the brains we’ve got on cracking what the monster is, anyway.” 

“That’s an awfully weird way to say you care about us,” Neville smiled, although it was a more ‘I think you need therapy’ kind of smile than a ‘Aww that was very sweet, Theodore’ kind of smile. 

“Father’s written me back, by the way.” Draco threw into the conversation casually, kicking a stone as they trudged down the grassy hills to the greenhouse. “... Wasn’t too nice. Told me to keep my nose out, my mouth shut and my head down.” 

The group was silent for a moment, accompanied by the sounds of their footsteps and birds in the distance. 

“He didn’t say very nice things. There was one thing that stood out to me, though— he said to just ‘let things take their course, like they did fifty years ago’,” Draco said, almost like commenting on the weather. “And then more stuff about keeping my nose out of it. I burned the letter the moment I finished reading it.” 

“How arson-like of you!” said Theodore cheerfully, wrapping an arm around the blonde’s shoulder. “I approve.” 

“Were you burning in an enclosed space?” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Cause I’m not condoning that. Not after Hagrid and that whole… Norberta business last year. We’ve established that Hogwarts does not, in fact, have fire insurance.” 

“Maybe the first charm they should teach every first-year is an aguamenti ,” Harry grimaced. “Not to take a shot at Gryffindor, I swear, but with how often Finnigan blows things up—” 

“No, I’m with you on that.” Ron said, wincing. “Seamus was studying last night and got so frustrated with his Charms homework that he started prodding at the textbook angrily— with his wand, mind you, and set it on fire . While it was on his bed .” 

Beside him, Neville also winced at the memory. “Well… it was a learning experience. We now know that Ron has incredible reflexes and can cast aguamenti at a moment’s notice. But also that Seamus doesn’t have the sense to duck before he gets blasted in the face by water. And that textbooks don’t dry easy, because that book has been by the fireplace for a whole night and it’s still soaking wet.” 

“Look at them stumbling like little newborn fawns,” Theo cooed at a group of first-years ascending the hill, clearly having finished their Herbology class before the second-years. 

“We were literally first-years last year. They’re not so small.” Harry scrunched his nose. 

“Maybe to you, Harry.” Ron grinned. “You’re just about their height.” 

“Ha ha, very funny.” 

“Hey, you’re hitting a growth spurt, though! Maybe one day you’ll just about reach my shoulders.” 

Up ahead, the first-years had noticed Theo and whispers had already burst out amongst them. 

“New stock, folks!” Draco announced with a grin. The whole commentator position had really gotten to him and Theo couldn’t have appointed a better marketer. “You’re hearing it first— we’re now doing safety sigils on these things called keychains that you can attach to your bookbag!” 

The muggleborn girl groaned. “I knew something was up when Draco asked me about muggle merchandising last night!” 

“Merlin,” Harry pinched the bridge of the nose. “I swear— Theo, Draco,” then in a lowered voice, he sent the two a reproachful glare. “Come on. Don’t you think this has gone far enough? I mean— it was funny, I guess— but this is getting out of hand. This isn’t going to help anyone stay safer, they’re going to think they’re fine just cause they have a safety sigil on them and for all we know, get reckless.” 

“Which we shouldn’t support, even though we’re actively, you know, being reckless.” Neville grumbled quietly. “No one listens to me.” 

Before either Theo or Draco could respond, however— 

“I knew it!” said an accusing voice. It was a first-year Hufflepuff boy, Richard West, glaring daggers at the group. “Look at that— one of you opened up the chamber, it has to be— and here you are, profiting off of it!” 

(“There goes the Slytherin reputation,” mumbled Hermione). 

“See what you’ve done!” Harry said exasperatedly, throwing his hands at the other Slytherin boys. At least they had the decency to look half-apologetic. “Listen, err, we’re not— we didn’t open the chamber, okay? And those two,” he shot a glare in their direction, “Won’t be selling anything anymore, alright? The best way to stay safe is by following our professor’s instructions, staying in groups, no wandering outside of curfew—” 

“Who do you think you are? I’m not taking advice from you!” a Gryffindor kid, Cole Bridgersson, wearing one-inch thick glasses, harrumphed. “For all I know, you’re hoping to get our guards down and attack us before curfew!” 

(“And there goes Gryffindor’s,” Neville groaned. “Did he not process how stupid that sounded before he said it?”). 

“Oi, oi, let’s not throw accusations around here.” Ron said pointedly. This made the younger lion pause— Ron was tall for his age, a good head above the first-year. “Look, none of us have anything to do with the chamber, and despite the, ah, little entrepreneurial adventure here, none of us were responsible for Mrs. Norris or Colin. Have you seen how much Harry and Hermione love that cat? And I know for a fact that none of them would ever harm Colin.” 

“Don’t take their side.” mumbled the lion. 

“I’m simply telling you not to throw baseless accusations at my friends.” Ron said firmly. “Now, Cole, you better get back to the Gryffindor tower.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

After a collaborated, stern talking-to from Harry and Hermione, Theo and Draco agreed, incredibly reluctantly, to shut down their business, and thus endeth the underground market. 

“I’m going to try combing through the library’s creatures catalog one more time before curfew sets in.” Harry said, noting the clock. “Anyone want to come with?” 

Hermione, catching Harry’s glance at her, smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I promised Daphne and Tracey I’d do a girls’ night with them.” Beside her, Draco was preoccupied with embroidery— despite their reassurances, Neville still felt off-kilter about the monster’s attack on Colin, and the blonde had volunteered to sew sigils into the lining of the Gryffindor’s coat as a result. 

“Fun. Theo?” 

“Coming.” 

“See you, Sssam .” smiled Harry as they stepped out of the Slytherin common room, the silver snake embedded on the door sliding back into place as it shut silently behind them, the emeralds embedded in the reptile’s eyes glinting under the flickering torches. 

“I was thinking we can try expanding our research scope today,” said Theo thoughtfully. “Look beyond European creatures to monsters from the Asian parts, maybe? Who knows— maybe Salazar imported some monster from China years ago and that’s why no one can figure this out.” 

“Sounds good.” Harry hummed, then paused. “Hey, Theo— you see that fine, moving black line by the window or is it just my lack of sleep?” 

“Maybe just the firelight—” the other boy stopped in the tracks, the two staring quietly at the window, where it was unmistakable that there was a string of little, black dots crawling out of the stone-bricked window. “... Are those…?” 

“Spiders.” said Harry, confused, as they stepped closer to inspect. “Where are they going? I’ve never seen so many spiders moving altogether— and so coordinated, too.” 

“Are they fleeing from something?” Theo raised an eyebrow. “What are spiders scared of?” 

Equally befuddled, Harry shrugged. Unable to make much of their new… and profoundly odd discovery, they continued down the hallway, throwing the occurrence to the back of their minds. As they rounded a corner, finding a corridor eerily dark, all of its’ torches extinguished by a cold chill that brushed past the two boys— except for a single torch flame, which portrayed a pair of unmoving, still shadows, save for the flicker of the torch. 

Theodore narrowed his eyes and murmured: “ Lumos !” 

Light ebbed from the tip of the boy’s wand, and an audible gasp slipped from Harry’s mouth as the scene was revealed before them. It was a Hufflepuff boy, Justin Finch-Fletchley, standing still as stone, his mouth opened in frozen horror, his gaze pointed towards another terrifying sight: the Gryffindor ghost, Nearly-Headless Nick, except he was no longer translucent and pearly-white. The ghost was floating, horizontally, immobile, six inches off of the floor, a murky black color, his head swung back and hanging limply from the unfinished cut of his neck. 

“Harry, Harry we have to go,” whispered Theo urgently, although there was no mistaking the fear in his eyes. 

“Professor Snape’s office,” Harry said, shaken. “We need to get—” 

“Potter, Nott, caught in the act—” came Cole’s triumphant voice as he stepped into the corridor behind them, momentarily aware of the petrifications, blocked by the two boys. “What are you two getting up to…” 

It was too late. The Gryffindor boy had seen the bodies, and horror washed his face. “You— You two— caught in the act, I— you can’t get me too!” Without another word, he sped down the corridor, yelling: “Attack, attack— It’s the Slytherins!” 

“Shit!” Theodore cursed, and the two snakes took after Cole— which didn’t help much, as the lion convinced himself that they were after him, too, and began running faster. 

“You can’t get me! Won’t!” Cole screamed, always ten steps before them, his person hidden from sight as they struggled to gain on him. 

Kill… Must kill again… not satisfactory… 

“The monster!” Harry’s heart dropped, and he felt the castle shudder, as if freezing cold wind was scratching against the castle’s walls. “It’s moving, Theo, we have to get to Cole before—” 

Foiled again… I will kill… Kill… 

As the hissing voice faded away, Harry realized that Cole had gone deathly quiet. The two boys finally caught up to the younger boy, much too late. He was petrified, staring emptily at the left wall of the corridor, where an open hallway was to his right, the right frame of his glasses bearing a large crack.

“This isn't good.” Theo breathed. 

“How’d he crack his glasses?” Harry murmured, approaching the boy slowly. As he stepped closer, he realized Cole hadn’t been staring at the left wall— he had seen something behind him, from the open right corridor, through a reflection in his now-cracked glasses.  

Kill— must kill, must kill— the monster screamed, frustrated. Blood— I want blood— 

“The monster hasn’t drawn blood yet,” Harry said slowly, panic rising like water in his lungs. “Theo, we have to go— it’s trying to kill, not petrify— the petrifications aren’t the true goal!” 

“COLE!” 

Theodore’s head spun so fast that he could’ve cracked it. Three first-year boys stood, their eyes drinking in the sight of Cole’s petrified body. 

“He was right!” Richard, the Hufflepuff boy from that very morning, screamed, “He— He accused you this morning, and you— you killed him!” 

“He’s not dead!” Harry tried desperately to explain, “He’s just petrified, the mandrakes can change him back, we— we didn’t do this!” 

“It’s Potter and Nott!” Richard ignored them, and already the snakes could hear more footsteps approaching. A stampede of students begin filling the corridor, clamoring to the front to see one of their own, stone-still. “First it was Colin, then Cole— it’s obviously the Slytherins! Who else would’ve made so many attacks on Gryffindor?” 

“Calm down!” Having heard the commotion, Percy Weasley struggled through the crowd, his chest dropping as he saw the two Slytherin boys in an incriminating scene before one of his first-year lions. “... No, no… what did you guys do?” he breathed, doubt swimming in his eyes.

“Enough!” 

The students stilled as Professor McGonagall stood, her wand raised, having just released a flash of light into the corridor. Immediately they cleared a path for her, and she approached Cole. “... Mr. Potter, Mr. Nott, come with me. The rest of you, disperse! Return to your common rooms at once!” 

“Professor, it’s them, they opened the Chamber, they’re Slytherins ,” tried the first-year Hufflepuff desperately. “He was right, he said it was them, just earlier today, and look at him now!” 

Have to draw blood! hissed the monster, growing angrier and angrier. Have to kill, kill, kill— 

“Theo,” Harry whispered, “The monster’s getting away, we—” 

“Go when I say to go,” Theo said under his breath. The headmistress was getting swept away in a clamor of accusations and protests, demands to put the two Slytherin boys away, turning her back to address the terrified students. Holding his wand discreetly under the sleeve of his sweater, the Norse boy quietly fired a firework spell into the corridor, ricocheting off the walls and riling panic, effectively distracting the headmistress, if only for a moment. “Go!” 

“Mr. Potter! Mr. Nott!” came Professor McGonagall’s frustrated yells as the two boys darted away, their eyes following the slick on the floor, illuminated by torch flames as Harry strained to hear the monster’s anger again. 

Kill, kill— where is my next victim… 

“This way!” Harry hurried as they skidded around a corner. “It’s descending— It’s going deeper down into the castle!” 

“Shit, where’s the nearest staircase?” Whipping his head around, Theodore scrambled for direction. “That way! The west wing staircases!” 

Must find another… must find… 

“It’s getting away— err—” The boy’s breathing quickened, trying to estimate where the monster had gone. “It’s going deeper into the castle, I can’t—” Frustrated, he glanced around where they had come to— “Where are we?”

“We’re on the third floor, west wing,” panted Theodore, “Two corridors off of Myrtle’s bathroom.” 

“Mr. Potter! Mr. Nott!” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“Mr. Potter! Mr. Nott!” 

“I’m getting a little tired of hearing that,” Theodore said tiredly. It was Professor Snape, looking absolutely livid, storming towards the two boys. 

“What do you two think you were doing?” the potions master hissed, fuming. “I heard what happened. Running from a petrification— do you realize how guilty that makes you two look? I can’t possibly fathom any reason you had to run from—” 

Professor Snape stopped in his words, his eyes darkening as realization dawned on him. 

“Don’t tell me you two were chasing the monster,” he hissed. When neither of them answered, his accusations were confirmed. “What were you two thinking? Or were you even thinking at all? I raised the two of you better than this—” 

“There they are!” Professor McGonagall hurried along, looking just as angry as her Slytherin counterpart. “Mr. Potter, Mr. Nott, headmaster’s office! Now!” 

The entire march upwards in the castle was done in silence, as Professor McGonagall was still furious that they had run from her (and did so successfully), while Professor Snape was just furious, period. A few times, he had opened his mouth to reprimand them, but came to a loss for words and just shut his mouth angrily. 

“Lemon drops,” said Professor McGonagall at last, when they came to a circle stone wall, framed by two fierce-looking gargoyles. At her words, the gargoyles parted and the stone wall rumbled, revealing an empty chamber behind it, steps of polished stone forming a curving staircase. “Go on.” 

As they stepped onto the polished stone steps, it started revolving, like an escalator, spinning them up and up and up until Harry felt slightly dizzy— and finally they came to a stop before a grand oak door, adorned with gold linings, a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin staring Harry in the face till he worked up the courage to lift it. 

It slid open silently, and feeling a little nauseous, Harry stood still, afraid to step in. 

“Mr. Potter.” said Professor McGonagall behind him, that the boy had no choice but to obey. The group filed in quietly, Harry, Theodore, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape. “... Professor Dumbledore will be with you shortly. Severus.” 

“I’m staying here.” hissed the Slytherin professor. While neither boy turned to look, Professor McGonagall must’ve made it clear that there was no room for argument, because the door clicked shut behind them, and it was just Theodore and Harry, alone in a large, circular room. It was interesting, to be fair, filled with millions of trinkets and little machines, moving gold parts and crystal glass cases filled with artifacts Harry couldn’t make the head or tail of.

 All across the wall were portraits of previous headmasters, their names embellished on the bottom frame of their portraits, followed by their years of service. If Harry hadn’t been so terrified, he’d have taken the time to examine each professor in great interest. 

“A phoenix,” murmured Theodore, and Harry spun to see what he was talking about. There was a turkey-like creature— a plucked turkey with no feathers— sitting un-elegantly on a golden perch. It coughed and shrieked weakly, looking at the two boys miserably. “I’ve never seen one in person.” 

“It looks so weak,” Harry sympathized. His soft spot for animals gave in at last, and he approached the bird, cooing softly as he reached out slowly to cradle it. The bird eyed him but allowed him to do so, pressing its head into the palm of his hands, chirping brokenly. “Oh, you poor thing—” 

Before he could say anything else, the bird burst into flames, and Harry jumped back, startled, his eyes widening in horror as the phoenix became a pile of ashes. “Um— Theodore, did I just kill the headmaster’s bird?” 

“Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry,” said an airy voice. The boys looked up, and there was Dumbledore, standing in majestic blue robes, speckled with golden stars and golden moons, a matching hat on his head. “They burst into flames when they reach old age and become reborn from the ashes. Look.” 

Still alarmed, Harry looked into the ashes— and just as Dumbledore said, a baby bird raised its head from the ashes, brilliant red eyes blinking softly at the boy as it squawked for the first time. 

“Welcome back, Fawkes.” said Dumbledore with a smile. “They make wonderful pets, phoenixes— loyal, faithful and magical. Their tears have healing properties, you know. Well, to get to business— Mr. Potter, Mr. Nott, I’m sure you know why you are here.” 

Theodore stared at the man stiffly. 

Before Dumbledore could get another word in, the door to his office flew open so hard that Harry was surprised it wasn’t knocked off the hinges, and there stood Hagrid, the Hogwarts’ gamekeeper, a limp rooster in hand. 

“Headmaster!” Hagrid yelled urgently, waking every portrait in the office. “It wasn’t Harry— or, or Theodore, sir, they’re good boys, sir, couldn’t have hurt anyone, I know they wouldn’t—” 

The headmaster tried to interject, but the gameskeeper was getting more and more worked up, swinging his rooster around animatedly as he defended the boys, sending feathers everywhere. 

“I’ll, I’ll testify for them before the Ministry of Magic if I have to, sir, I swear,” insisted Hagrid, “It can’t have been these two, they’ve got hearts of gold, sir, you have to believe me—” 

“Hagrid!” Dumbledore said loudly, clearing his throat. “I do not think either Mr. Potter or Mr. Nott hurt anyone.” 

“You don’t think it was us, sir?” Harry raised an eyebrow. 

“No, Mr. Potter, I do not,” said Dumbledore airily. “I, however, still want to talk to you. Hagrid, if you could wait outside— and Mr. Nott, if you could return to your common rooms, I’ve just got a few questions for Mr. Potter.” 

“Absolutely not, sir.” said Theodore fiercely. “The monster is still at large, and for all we know, on a petrifying streak. We were instructed never to wander alone. I’m waiting for Harry and we’re leaving together .” 

This outburst seemed to catch Dumbledore off guard, but he recovered. “Very well. Then, Mr. Potter… is there anything you would like to… tell me, perhaps? Anything at all that you have… noticed this semester?” 

Harry stared at the headmaster quietly, careful to keep his face completely neutral. He thought about Dobby, the fact he was a parselmouth, the monster’s voice… “No, sir. Nothing at all. I just hope the monster will be apprehended soon.” 

“Are you absolutely sure, Harry?” 

“Yes, sir.” Harry said, staring into the headmaster’s eyes. There was something about those snow-blue eyes of the professor that threw him off. The longer he stared, the more the headmaster looked puzzled— almost if there was a mystery he couldn’t crack. “Is there anything else, sir?” 

Dumbledore looked at him, a tilt to his head as he examined the boy. “No, Harry. Thank you.” 

“Goodnight, sir.” Harry said, lifting his gaze to meet the headmaster’s again, holding the other man’s eye contact before he broke away. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Professor Snape’s doe was waiting for them at the base of Dumbledore’s office. The patronus trotted around the two boys, pressing her snout into their hands, as if she was looking for snacks. 

“Hullo,” said Harry softly. “Here to take us back to our commons, I take it?” 

“Actually,” interjected Theo, “Could you bring us to Professor Snape?” 

The doe twitched her snout, almost like reprimanding them lightly. Nonetheless, she began trotting, glancing back at them when they didn’t follow. 

“We need to tell you something,” said Theodore as they walked into the older man’s office unannounced. Professor Snape was already standing, his desk a flurry of messy paperwork as he paced before his bookshelves. 

“Why don’t you start with an explanation?” glowered Snape. “I thought I would let you two get some rest before giving you a lecture tomorrow morning, but if you’re here, I might as well get right into it.” 

“We were on our way to the library,” explained Harry, “And we saw Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly-Headless Nick. Petrified.” 

Snape nodded, already pinching his nose bridge. “Yes. We discovered them, too, shortly after finding Mr. Bridgersson.” 

“We were going to alert you,” Harry continued hastily, “But before we could, Cole saw us in front of Justin and Nearly-Headless Nick. He started running, yelling that we were the ones behind the attack, and—” he swallowed. “And I heard the voice again, saying kill, must kill again, not satisfactory .” 

“English, Mr. Potter.” Severus pointed out. 

“Oh. Um… kill, must kill, not satisfactory.” translated Harry. “And I realized the monster was still close by, that it was… close to us, and we tried to stop Cole before he got too far, but he was out of our sight and by the time we found him, the monster had gotten to him.” 

“And we noticed where the monster may have escaped, after petrifying Cole. There was some sort of… slick on the ground. Maybe the monster was wounded, or something. Harry kept hearing the monster saying that it needed to draw blood, that it needed to kill, and we realized that the petrifications aren’t the end goal. It hasn’t killed yet— but it can. And it’s trying to.” Theodore finished. 

“I heard it go further down into the castle. We couldn’t follow along with it.” Harry said. 

Professor Snape let out a breath. “It descended into the castle? You distinctively could tell it was… going down?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“... Thank you for telling me,” Snape breathed, “However, I must still reprimand you— may I remind you that you are both only children? What would’ve happened had you caught up with the monster? What would you have done, hmm? Either of you could have died! This is a monster we know next to nothing about and you two go on a wild-goose chase when it had already made three attacks consecutively— what if the monster had turned on you to satisfy itself?” 

Theodore faltered. 

“What would you have done with yourself, then? What would I do? Losing three kids in four years, I—” Professor Snape stopped. 

“We’re sorry, Professor.” Theodore mumbled. 

The older Slytherin man sighed. “Look, I… I know you two followed the monster out of good intentions, but I need you to understand that this is incredibly dangerous. I know you two attract trouble like magnets, and as much as I try to, I can’t keep you out of it, nor can I convince you to walk away. But I need you to know how much more dangerous this is than you think it is. So I need you two to promise me.” 

“Never to run into danger again?” said Theodore quietly. 

Professor Snape sighed. “As if you would keep that promise, Theo. Harry is far too noble to leave behind anyone in danger, and you, Theodore, are too protective to let him do it alone.” The man smiled wryly. “I want you to promise me that the only reason you put yourselves in any danger is if there is absolutely no other choice, and I want you to exhaust and run every single option you have. I will teach you two to cast patronuses, and when you are in any danger, no matter how small, I want to know as soon as you can tell me, do you understand?” 

“We get to cast patronuses?” Harry perked up hopefully. 

“Only if you promise me, Mr. Potter.” said Professor Snape sternly. 

“We promise.” Harry nodded. 

Professor Snape smiled tiredly. “Alright. Come here, you two.” Without warning, he flicked the two in their foreheads, scoffing at the yelps of pain and raising an eyebrow when Theo opened his mouth to protest. 

“Okay, we deserved that.” admitted the Norse boy. 

“Yes, yes you did.” Snape shrugged. Again, without warning, he pulled the two boys towards himself and enveloped them in a tight hug. Just as quickly as they had been pulled into it, he let them go, rearranging his flappy robes. “... I’m glad you two are okay.” 

“We’re sorry, dad.” murmured Harry apologetically. 

The room froze. 

“I-I meant, Professor Snape.” blabbed Harry, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “Err, I, err, Theo, err, I’m getting sleepy, maybe we should— um, go back to our dorms.” Dragging Theo’s arm, the boy hurried out of the office. “Goodnight Professor Da— Professor Snape! I meant Professor Snape! Goodnight!” 

With a flick of his hand, Snape gestured for the doe to follow after the two boys, although he could’ve sworn the patronus smirked at him before trotting lightly after them. In the quiet of his office, Severus Snape allowed himself a smile. “Merlin, I’m a father.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“You’d better stay away from that lot, that’s all I’m saying!” Cole’s roommate, Stanley, hadn’t stopped spreading rumors and dirtying the Slytherin’s name ever since they had all been shut into the common rooms, prefects stationed around hours in the commons to ensure no student entered or left. 

“Harry would never,” protested Ron fiercely. He and Neville were holding down the fort against their Slytherin friends— which wasn’t easy, as they were surrounded by twenty Gryffindors, none of which were particularly keen to defend the green-decked students. Seamus and Dean, the boys’ roommates, sat awkwardly to the side, watching the disagreement unfold. “Neither would Hermione, Draco or Theodore! This is ridiculous.” 

“We’ll see!” a third-year scoffed. “Don’t blame anyone when you’re the next one petrified.” 

“Enough of this!” Percy reprimanded, pulling his brother aside. “We will not be throwing any baseless accusations here.” 

“Is it really baseless? Cole is proof that the Slytherins are out to get us!” the third-year scowled. Behind him, a couple Gryffindors were murmuring in agreement. “You better stay away from that lot, Weasley— you too, Longbottom.” 

“They’re my friends.” defended Ron. Behind him, Neville nodded. 

“They attacked Cole. Look at Ginny— they were friends. Your sister’s friend was attacked by your so-called snake friends. What will you do if she’s next, huh?” challenged the third-year. 

“Oh, don’t be stupid!” Fred— or George— snarled. “Ginny, don’t listen to him.” 

“Stop this at once!” snapped Percy. 

“Don’t worry, Ginny,” whispered Lavender Brown. “They’re only targeting muggleborns— you’ll be safe.” 

“Are you stupid?” Ron snapped at the girl. “Harry Potter is a half-blood.” 

“Yeah, a half-blood who hated his muggle family,” shrugged the third-year. “It’s his way of taking revenge.” 

“They abused him!” yelled Ron. “They were starving him! And for Merlin’s sake, Harry’s too kind to hate them, even though he should but he doesn’t. Harry wouldn’t hurt a soul!” 

“That’s enough!” Percy glared, jumping onto a table, his voice magnified by sonorous . “All students to their dorms at once ! If you let me hear your conspiracies about any students at all again, I won’t hesitate to report you to Professor McGonagall!” 

“Oh, boo , Mr. Prefect thinks he’s all high-and-mighty,” snarled the third-year. “Go fuck yourself, you—”

“Want to finish that sentence?” Oliver’s stone-cold voice didn’t match the smile on his face. The third-year stared at Oliver’s large build, the way he was cracking his knuckles— and decided the fight wasn’t worth it. “You heard him. All students to their rooms.” 

“Now.” Percy reiterated fiercely. When at last the Gryffindors were piling up the staircases to their respective dorms, the prefect sighed tiredly, hopping off the table— but his knees buckled underneath him, and he stumbled into Oliver’s arms. “Oh, hey.” 

“Hey yourself. Are you okay?” Oliver raised an eyebrow, looking concerned. 

“I could really use a cuddle,” managed Percy with a smile. “... I’m worried about Ginny. She just… doesn’t seem like herself, you know? And I don’t blame her. Her first year at Hogwarts and she’s met with this… mess.” 

“She’ll be okay.” the Quidditch captain reassured, the two boys slowly trudging up to their sixth-year dorms. “She’s got four very protective brothers glancing over their shoulders to make sure she’s fine every three minutes. It’s a rough year, but she’ll pull through— and Christmas is just round the corner, it’ll cheer her up.” 

Percy looked doubtful but smiled regardless. “You always know what to say, huh.” He then took an experimental sniff of his boyfriend— and scrunched up his nose. “You’re showering before you’re climbing into my bed.” 

“But it’s so late! Can’t I just change my clothes or something—?” 

“Shower or you’re sleeping in your own bed tonight, Wood.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Even with five petrifications hanging over their heads, no one could feel completely miserable over Yule— or Christmas. A vast majority of the school had rushed home, of course— there was a scramble to secure seats onto the Hogwarts Express— but the remainder was cheery in the castle’s festive air. 

To no one’s surprise, Lockhart dressed extravagantly for the holiday, looking like a walking present with his bright green robes, and patterned scarlet tie. He was a sight for sore eyes— but quite a sight indeed. 

“I think I’m becoming color-blind just looking at him.” murmured Ron as they approached the man, who was giving out signed Christmas cards to anyone who would take them. 

“I have an idea,” said Draco mischievously, “Watch.” 

To his friends’ raised eyebrows, the blonde approached the Defense Against Dramatic— ahem, Dark Arts professor, beaming as he received one of Lockhart’s Christmas class. He then shamelessly drew a quill out of his pocket, signing Draco Malfoy in a flourish and exchanging a card with the man. From the stunned expression on Lockhart’s face, he hadn’t expected someone to meet him on his level of shamelessness, but Draco had gone above and beyond. 

“I must ask, sir,” said Draco, admiring Lockhart’s immaculate hairdo. “What gel do you use? Your hair looks— forgive me— simply stunning. If you’ll indulge me— I must know your hair care routine.” 

“I think I’m about to throw up.” Ron looked appalled as Draco continued to flatter the man, the two engaging in merry chatter about Lockhart’s hair products, of all things. 

“I think I’m about to strangle someone! Maybe two someones!” Theodore said merrily. Eyes widening in alarm, Harry quickly secured a hand around the taller boy’s arm, prepared to hold him back should Theo’s self-restraint snap. 

“What the hell, Draco?” Ron mocked gagging as the blonde re-joined the group after what felt like an eternity. “You can’t possibly be taking fashion advice from a man who looks like a walking Christmas present.” 

Rolling his eyes, Draco smirked at his friends, “Guess what,” he drawled, revealing Lockhart’s wand— that he had pocketed while the other was busy getting overly-flattered by Draco’s compliments. Shortly after duelling club, Lockhart had Filtwick (a very annoyed Filtwick) summon his wand back, and the kids had no choice but to let the wand fly out of their hands. “Had to butter him up to distract him.” 

“I could kiss you,” Theodore had had a change of heart. Overhead the hexad, Peeves the Poltergeist— was cackling, tossing glitter on all the Christmas decorations— which Mr. Filch would no doubt get dunked by when he had to take the garlands down. “Oi, Peeves! Want to take credit for some mayhem?” 

The poltergeist floated down, looking delighted. “Oh ho ho, did Christmas come early?” 

“Now, no telling on us, or we won’t help you get around with mischief anymore,” warned Theodore. “Got it?” 

Nodding so fast that it felt like his head was going to fly off, Peeves glanced eagerly around the second-years. “What is it? What is it?” 

“Here’s Professor Lockhart’s wand. Keep it from him as long as you can, will you?” Draco grinned, brandishing the wand. “Happy Yule and Merry Christmas, Peeves.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Christmas morning dawned with a familiar flutter of snowy-white wings. Harry smiled sleepily as he felt Hedwig’s beak nip him lightly in the ear, and with a murmur, announced that he was up. 

“Good morning, Hedwig.” he greeted, reaching out to pet his dearest owl. Hedwig preened in his grasp, pressing her silver beak into the heart of his palm. “Merry Christmas. Do you have something for me, hmm?” 

The owl cooed intelligently, lifting her claw, where a small brown package was tied. It was from the Dursleys— a singular toothpick, and a note asking if he could stay with Professor Snape over the summer holidays again. Shaking his head, Harry slipped out from under his covers, hearing Theodore’s tell-tale waking-up grumbles from the bed beside him. Opposite them, Draco was still sound asleep, tucked in warmly in his silk green pajamas. 

“Presents,” he said quietly to Hedwig, who had come to perch lightly on his shoulder. “Want to go through them together, hmm?” 

It was his second Christmas receiving gifts, and still the awe of getting presents hadn’t worn off. From Hagrid, he had received a tin of rock-hard fudge; from Ron he had received a Quidditch book, “Seeker Strategies”; from Hermione and Draco, he had received a scarf— that Hermione had knitted in her spare time, and Draco had embroidered snitches on; from Theodore, a new winter coat, and from Neville, a cute, little ivy plant with heart-shaped leaves. 

“Merry Christmas, Draco,” said Harry as he heard the blonde rouse. “Thanks for the scarf. It’s really gorgeous.” 

Harry himself had spared no expense getting gifts for his friends— for Ron, several Chudley Cannons posters— it was the boy’s favorite Quidditch team. For Hermione, a book, of course, “Hexes and Jinxes for Average Witch”; for Draco, a set of beautiful jade-green silk ties that the blonde could swap his house ties for; for Theodore, a fancy new notebook for him to journal in, and for Neville, a greenhouse-shaped terrarium for his assortment of small plants. 

For Professor Snape, the four Slytherins had pitched in to order a custom, new potion-making measuring set from Diagon Alley, complete with four stirrers, eight measuring spoons of different sizes and six beakers. It was rather splendid, the set made entirely of sterling silver and enchanted specially to never tarnish, no matter what it came into contact with. 

By the time the two other boys were fully roused and dressed, Hermione had already been waiting in the common room for half an hour, casually reading through the new book she had received as a gift. 

“Merry Christmas!” she smiled cheerily, ignoring Theodore’s sleepy grunt. “Let’s go for breakfast— I’m excited to see if Professor Snape liked our present or not!” 

While vastly empty, the Great Hall was still filled to the brim with holiday cheer, and as soon as the four snakes emerged from their corridor, they were waved over to the Gryffindor table by Neville and Ron (who was already steadily plowing through breakfast). 

“Merry Christmas,” said Neville with a smile, echoed by Ron: (“Mewi Cwismas,” he said, with a mouthful of treacle). “Thanks for the gifts!” 

“Oh, I almost forgot—” Ron slapped his head, finally swallowing his treacle. It was then they noticed the humongous pile of brown-paper-wrapped gifts beside him, all blobless and sweater-shaped. “Mum sent over sweaters for everyone but couldn’t be bothered mailing them personally to everyone— I’ve got them all right here, you’re all putting them on— yes, even you, Malfoy.” 

Despite his protests, Draco was forced into his first-ever custom Weasley sweater, a big, green ‘D’ knitted onto a background of silvery-blonde wool, just about the same color as the boy’s hair. 

“Mum had the hardest time deciding what colors to give you all,” Ron explained, putting another spoonful of breakfast into his mouth, “I don’t think she’s ever made this many sweaters a year. Not entirely sure how she got all of your sizes, but I’m just going to chalk it up to mum magic.” 

“Would you look at that, Fred!” came George Weasley’s voice, looping all the sweater-decked Slytherins into a hug. “Looks like we’ve got four new brothers and a little sister!” And indeed they did— there was Harry with his emerald ‘H’, Hermione with a lovely beige ‘H’, Theodore with a cobalt blue ‘T’, and Neville— who had gotten a stunning red ‘N’. 

“Merry Christmas, Fred, George,” smiled Hermione, ignoring the twins' surprise when she named them correctly. “Oo, are those strawberry pancakes? I’m going to help myself.” 

“Is that… McGonagall wearing a Christmas sweater?” Draco’s jaw dropped as he stared flabbergasted at the staff table. “A… hat-wearing… cat-patterned Christmas sweater?” 

“It came with a matching scarf, mittens and beanie, too, but I think that crossed the line.” shrugged Ron. “Hey, she wore the sweater, though. A win is a win. And it’s a very adorable hat-wearing, cat-patterned Christmas sweater.” 

“We knew we had to get it for her the moment we saw it on that Christmas shopping catalog.” Fred grinned. “It was meant to be!” 

“Wow.” Hermione looked impressed. “Now I’m kinda wishing that we got Professor Snape an ugly sweater instead.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“Severus, don’t you dare laugh.” The Gryffindor professor glared, stabbing her fork into a stack of pancakes. 

The potions master was clearly having difficulty keeping his straightest face, his eyes trailing over the Santa hat-wearing cats on his colleague’s sweater. “I was simply about to compliment your dedication to the holiday, Minerva. You didn’t strike me as the type to… buy this type of apparel.” 

“It was gifted to me,” she said shortly, as if challenging him to say anything further, “My Gryffindors.” 

“Ah, the Weasleys, I presume? And perhaps Mr. Longbottom?” Severus smirked. “Well, my Slytherins prepared a gift as well.” 

The headmistress eyed him and what he was wearing. “Oh, really? What, did they get you another pair of completely black robes, perhaps?” 

“A new set of measuring apparatus,” he smirked, “Sterling silver, custom-enchanted to be anti-tarnishing.” 

“... It’s not a bloody competition, Severus!” 

“Keep telling yourself that.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“What’s that?” Neville paused as they ascended the stairs to the library (despite Ron’s muttered complaints about spending Christmas among books). There was the sound of a shout, an angry outburst, from the floor above them. 

The hexad paused, inclining their heads towards the ceiling. “It’s Mr. Filch,” Harry realized. The caretaker was screaming hysterically. Afraid of another attack, the group hurried up the staircase, the words getting clearer as they drew nearer: 

“Even more work for me! Mopping day and night, like I haven’t got enough to do!” screeched Mr. Filch. “Blasted ghost and blasted toilet!” 

The six second-years peered around the corner to see what had angered the man: the entire corridor had been flooded, a pool of water underneath the torch bracket where Mrs. Norris had been petrified, seeping out all the way from Myrtle’s bathroom. 

“Mr. Filch,” said Harry kindly, approaching the caretaker. “Myrtle’s flooded the corridor again, I see. Why don’t you let us deal with this? We’ll get it cleaned up before you know it, and we’ll talk to Myrtle— see that she doesn’t do it again, alright?” 

“Fine by me,” muttered Mr. Filch, “Can’t deal with any more mopping.” The older man sniffled and nodded ever-so-slightly at the children, almost saying a silent thank you before he skulked off to another part of the castle. 

“He’s just not been the same since he lost Mrs. Norris,” said Hermione sympathetically. “Come on, Harry, Theodore— we’ll go talk to Myrtle.” 

“Hey, does that mean we have to clean up the mess?” protested Ron. 

The muggleborn gave him a pointed look. “You want to go comfort Myrtle?” At her words, the sounds of the ghost wailing inside the bathroom wafted from the doorway, her hysterical cries piercing the nearly-empty corridor. 

“Can’t I stay out here and help clean? Neville can go in my place,” Theodore suggested. 

“No can do— Myrtle has a soft spot for you.” Hermione smiled sweetly. 

“Myrtle?” Harry stepped cautiously into the bathroom, rolling up the cuffs of his pants. The bathroom was soaked, ceiling, walls and floors, half an inch of cold water covering the blue tiles. “Hey, we just want to talk.” 

Though no one thought it was possible, she started crying louder than before, her wails magnified by the echo of the third floor bathroom. 

“What do you want?” Myrtle sniffed. “Here to throw more things at me, I suppose?” 

“Why would we throw anything at you, Myrtle?” said Theodore softly, after getting pinched by Hermione. The hazel-eyed boy waded over to Myrtle’s stall, where he gently pushed the door open. She perched on the top of the toilet, translucent tears streaking down her cheeks as she brushed them away to no avail with her sleeves. “You know we would never do that to you.” 

“Come on down, Myrtle. We’ll sit with you by the windows, alright? Maybe a little sunlight will cheer you up.” said Harry gently. Behind him, Hermione had started vanishing the stagnant water, little by little, the water level receding. 

Reluctantly, the ghost complied, following the two boys to the center of the bathroom, where the sinks stood in a hexagon-shaped ring around the center of the room. They guided her to the glazed windows, where the two boys climbed onto the window ledge, sitting quietly with the ghost, who sniffled the rest of her tears away. 

“Now why don’t you tell us what’s wrong,” Harry smiled softly. “Did someone throw something at you?” 

“Yeah,” she hiccuped. “I was minding my own business, and then I felt something come through my head.” she said sourly. “It’s still there.” 

They glanced over to where she was pointing, and sure enough— as wet as everything else in the bathroom was a little black book, floating underneath the sink. Hermione waddled over to pick it up, squinting at the words on the cover. 

“T.M. Riddle,” she read aloud. “I don’t think I know any Riddle in our year— or any of the other years, for that matter. Must be a muggleborn— the book’s from Vauxhall Road.” 

“Vauxhall?” Theodore raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s a street in London,” Harry recognized, “It’s got a bunch of bookshops and primarily sells schooling materials. But, Hermione, that book can’t be from any time recent— they don’t make notebooks like those anymore.” 

The brunette made a noise of agreement. “You’re right— this must’ve been produced, what, fifty years ago?” 

“Well, we’ll look into it for you, Myrtle.” said Harry to the ghost, reaching out to pat her head gently. “We’ll do everything we can, report it to the prefects— but you can’t keep flooding your bathroom, okay? Mr. Filch has got enough on his plate as it is. If this happens again, you come and find one of us instead, alright?” 

“Fine,” she sulked, although she looked less mopey. “And I’d thought you’d all forgotten me.” 

Theodore chuckled. “We just haven’t had any illegal potions to brew yet. But we’ll be right here when we’re up to something. You’re just the best at guarding our secrets, you know?” 

She perked up happily at this, her cheeks flushing— as much as a ghost’s cheeks could blush, anyway. “You promise?”

“We promise.” Theodore smiled. “Merry Christmas, Myrtle. We hope you feel better.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

There was something unnerving about the little black diary they’d fished from Myrtle’s bathroom. Harry couldn’t explain it, but there was simply… something about it that made him want to yeet it into the Great Lake. 

“Riddle… of course, Tom Riddle,” said Madam Pince to them off-handedly when they asked her if she’d ever heard of the name. “I believe he was a prefect back in the day… even awarded for some special service to the school.” 

This had led, of course, to a scavenger hunt for anything Riddle-related. Hermione had concluded correctly that Riddle’s award would be stored in the trophy room— and true enough, they found a golden shield bearing Riddle’s name in a corner cabinet, although it didn’t state the service he had done for Hogwarts. 

“Well, the award was given in 1942.” said Neville thoughtfully. “That’s exactly fifty years ago, actually.” 

There was a slight pause. It became clear that everyone was thinking the same thing. 

“Both Dobby and Dumbledore said that the Chamber was opened once more,” said Hermione slowly. “And Draco’s dad said to ‘let things take their course, like they did fifty years ago’—”

“So perhaps Tom Riddle got the award for discovering the monster and its’ master fifty years ago,” Draco murmured, his eyes lighting up. The mystery was unraveling, little by little. 

“That would explain why they didn’t detail the reason for him getting the award,” Harry reasoned. 

“The diary could have details on how it was opened, and what monster lives in it, how it gets around petrifying students—” Hermione was getting excited now, tapping on the diary with her wand. “This could have all the answers we need!” 

“Excellent theory, Hermione, except there’s nothing written in it.” Ron pointed out with a raised eyebrow. 

“Could be invisible ink. Or some sort of disillusionment,” said Theodore, tapping his chin. “Well, it doesn't hurt to give it a try.” Swiftly, he drew a complex sigil onto the cover of the diary, the lines burning silver as the Norse magic activated. The diary shivered and shuddered— but fell still and quiet as the sigil ebbed away. “Huh.” 

“ Aparecium !” murmured Hermione, pointing her wand at the diary. Again, nothing happened. 

“That’s disappointing.” Draco slumped. “Maybe we could try diving through old school records, dig out anything about Riddle that could be related.” 

Ron groaned exasperatedly. “Wonderful. To the library we go!” 

“It’s Christmas,” Madam Pince pointed out, ten minutes later, as the hexad marched into the library, completely void save for the librarian. 

“We’re dedicated.” Neville smiled sheepishly. “We won’t bother you, Madam Pince. Promise.” 

The old librarian rolled her eyes and let them pass anyway. Already their hushed whispers were lighting up the cold silence of the library, the second-years scampering between the shelves to collect their materials. Never before in her time at Hogwarts had she ever witnessed a group of friends that spent such an abundant amount of time within the walls of her beloved space. 

Madam Pince closed her eyes slowly. “ They’re good kids ,” Argus had told her gruffly. “ The bunch of ‘em. ” And as she glanced over to their table once more, a pile of books already accumulating as two of the boys sat down and began rifling through the pages, she couldn’t help but shake her head in amusement. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

In retrospect, it was frankly ridiculous that no one thought of writing in the diary. Six of the— possibly— smartest second-year students in Hogwarts’ walls— and no one thought of writing in the diary. Harry had tipped an ink bottle over the diary, and the hexad had watched in amazement as the blotch of black seeped into the page and disappeared. 

“Write something, quick!” hissed Hermione, abandoning her pile of research material to clamor over the diary. 

“ Hello .” Harry wrote, his quill barely lifting from the page as his words, once dark and stark on the paper, vanished into the material. 

“Something’s happening!” Neville murmured, and he was right: words were coming back up from the page, in the same color of the ink Harry had spilled and written in. 

“ Hello ,” the book replied. “ Who are you ?” 

“Wait,” Draco said urgently, “Mother says to never reveal your identity to a magical artifact that you don’t know anything about. Make up a fake name.” 

The youngest brother of the Weasley family nodded in agreement. “Dad’s said the same— never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain.” 

“Err,” Harry pursed his lips, and pressed the quill to paper again. “ My name is Jerry. Who are you ?” 

“ Hello, Jerry ,” replied the diary, “ My name is Tom Riddle. How did you find my diary ?” 

“Let’s stick to the story, we don’t know how much awareness the diary— or Tom— has,” Theodore suggested. “Say we found it in the bathroom. Someone threw it in there.” 

“ It was found in a bathroom. Someone tried to get rid of it by throwing it in there .” wrote Harry. Again, they watched, mesmerized, as the words sunk into the page, almost absorbed into the book. 

“I want a turn!” Draco piped, and the diary was passed across the table. As the book fell into the blonde’s hands, Tom Riddle’s response trailed across the paper. 

“ My memories are not so easily ridden of .” wrote Riddle, “ There are many who want this diary destroyed, for its contents to never be read. But I anticipated this .” 

The hexad shared a glance. “Do you think it knows?” Neville whispered, careful not to let Madam Pince overhear their words. “About the Chamber of Secrets?” 

“We don’t know anything about the diary,” Theodore said seriously, “We need to approach it carefully. Don’t feed it more information that it feeds us. Ask Riddle what he’s talking about.” 

“ What do you mean ?” Draco’s cursive script flowed across the page, disappearing as he lifted away from the paper. 

“ There are terrible things that have happened at Hogwarts, years and years ago ,” the diary paused, inked words hanging in the air, “ Horrible things that were covered up and many want to bury them .” 

“ Is this what happened 50 years ago? ” Draco wrote. 

The hexad watched with bated breath as the diary pondered its response, and a moment later, Riddle’s reply flowed across the parchment: “ Ah, so you know. ” 

“He’s got to be talking about the Chamber of Secrets— our theory must be right— his special service award must be related to the incident,” Theodore murmured. “We’ve got to get him to tell us information without us revealing too much to him. Draco— pass the diary.” 

Reluctantly, the diary slid across the library table in Theodore’s hands, and now Theodore’s scrawl danced across the pages. “ What do you know? ” 

“ Before I reveal anything— I have to know who you are. You aren’t Jerry— and neither was the one before you. Who are you both? How many are there with you? ” Riddle’s suspicion was clear in his tone. 

There was a collective hiss as they all sucked in their breaths. “He knows there’s more than one of us,” Hermione furrowed her brows. “He must recognize our different handwritings!” 

The Norse boy slapped his forehead. “Of course! That’s how he can differentiate us.” 

“Well, no point lying to him now— we’ll just say that we’re Jerry’s roommates. It wouldn’t be too far off of the original story.” Ron suggested. 

“ We’re Jerry’s roommates ,” Theodore wrote back, his scrawl disappearing into the page. “ I’m Timothy and that was Darius .” 

“ I see. And are there others— who are present with you? ” 

Hermione slid the book over the table to herself and began writing her tall, slanted handwriting flowing over the page. “ I’m Jerry’s friend, too. I’m Emma .” 

“ You must understand my suspicion— the previous holder of my diary wanted to bury the evidence, be rid of all the wrongdoings from years ago— wrongdoings that are occurring once more, as I’m sure you know. ” 

Neville’s eyes widened. “It’s like Draco’s father said— ‘let things happen the way they did, fifty years ago’... the monster attacked fifty years ago, too.” 

“ What happened then? ” Hermione wrote hastily. “ Can you tell us? ” 

“ Back in my day, it was said to be a legend ,” wrote Tom Riddle, “ Until it wasn’t. In my fifth year, the monster emerged from below and began attacking students, finally killing one. I caught the culprit, and he was expelled— but the headmaster, Professor Dippet, ashamed that such a crime had happened at the school, forbade me from telling the truth. The story was spread that the girl was killed in a freak accident, and I was given a shiny medal for keeping my mouth shut. But I knew— I knew that the monster would emerge again, and that the one who could summon it was not imprisoned. That’s why I left this diary behind— to record my version of events after I’ve been long gone. ” 

“It couldn’t have been father back then,” Draco whispered. “He was never expelled; he graduated.” 

“Is it the same person that’s commanding the attacks, fifty years ago and now?” Harry furrowed his brows. “Who’s been around for that long?” 

“Ask who it was, last time,” urged Theodore. 

“ Who was it, fifty years ago?” wrote Hermione quickly. 

Riddle’s response came swiftly. “ I can show you, if you’d like. You don’t have to take my word for it— but you can see it for yourself— my memory of the night I caught the culprit. ” 

Hermione’s hand rose to indicate her agreement, but she was halted quickly. “Wait,” said Ron urgently, “This might be dangerous. What does he mean, that he’s going to show you? How? Is the diary a portkey? Portkeys can’t bring you into the past to a memory.” 

“Ron’s right,” Harry nodded. “We don’t know how this thing works. What if it’s a trap?” 

“You five are here, aren’t you? If anything bad happens to me, then you can go get Professor Snape.” Hermione argued. “We are this close to knowing the culprit’s identity. Harry, you said that the monster is trying to kill a student— not petrify one. It managed to kill a student fifty years ago. If we figure out who the culprit is now, we can prevent any deaths from ever happening.” 

The boy-who-lived opened and closed his mouth. “Still—” 

“It’ll be fine,” insisted Hermione, and she pressed her quill to the book, her agreement: ‘ okay ’ flowing across the paper. Immediately, it was as if a whirlwind blew through the diary, and somewhere through the cacophony, Neville cast a silencio , shielding them from Madam Pince’s suspicion. The diary glowed, and Hermione was swallowed into it, the girl slumping into her seat, her face almost submerged in the book, her body limp. 

“Oh Merlin,” Ron gulped. 

“Should we shake her out of it?” Neville asked shakily. 

Theodore shook his head, sweeping out his hand to stop the other two. “She’s fine for the time being. Don’t let this be for naught— plus, if we shake her out of it, Riddle might feel like something’s up.” 

After what felt like forever— Hermione pulled out of the book, like she had been holding her breath underwater, and gasped deeply. “Oh my god,” she breathed, like she had just witnessed unimaginable horrors. “It was him.” 

“Who’s him?” asked Draco, panicked. 

Hermione stared at them like she’d seen a ghost. 

“It was Hagrid.” 

Almost immediately, the table burst into chaos. Harry was gaping in disbelief and Theodore was demanding a full recap of everything Hermione had seen in the diary. 

Once she had caught her breath, the Muggleborn set to recounting everything she’d seen. Tom Riddle— a tall, handsome boy in the headmaster, Professor Dippet’s office, asking to stay back during summer holidays. Dippet mentioning the death of the poor girl, Riddle’s denial of knowing anything about the attacks, and finally, Riddle confronting Rubeus and attempting to kill the presumed monster, a large, hairy creature with too many limbs— the creature getting away— 

“It doesn’t make sense,” Harry defended. “Hagrid’s monster— err— creature— was a giant spi—” 

“Can we not use to s-word?” hissed Ron, who was still shaking from Hermione’s overly-graphic description of the monster Riddle had attempted to kill. 

“How am we supposed to address it, then?” Theodore rolled his eyes. “Fine, Hagrid’s eight-legged creature is not a reptile! It’s an arachnid. Harry’s only able to communicate with reptile s , he’s a parselmouth , not an arachnidmouth .” 

“He’s got a point,” Neville nodded, “Plus, we know that Hagrid has an affinity for… dangerous creatures, which… Norberta can testify to, but he doesn’t have a bad heart. And I trust that he’s honest— if he said that his, err, eight-legged creature didn’t kill the girl, I trust that.” 

“Riddle might be lying, for all we know.” Harry pointed out. “It might be a red herring. We don’t know anything about Riddle. Everything he says is given at his word.” 

“He showed us his memory, though.” Hermione refuted. 

“And memories can be altered,” Draco challenged. “I’ve seen father, mother and even Uncle Severus store memories. I’m sure it’s not that difficult to manipulate them to show slightly different things.” 

“Funny that you should defend Hagrid,” Hermione raised an eyebrow. 

“Funny that you aren’t!” Ron raised. 

“I’m just playing the devil’s advocate,” Hermione snapped. “We can’t all take Hagrid’s side just because he’s our friend. He raised Fluffy and Norberta for Merlin’s sake— and if Riddle is right and Hagrid raised the spi—” 

Ron yelped. 

The brunette girl rolled her eyes. “The eight-legged creature , what’s to say he didn’t raise the chamber’s monster too?” 

Before anyone could answer or attempt to raise an argument, they were interrupted: it was Ginny, who had walked into their conversation, ghostly white and staring at the open diary lying in the middle of their table. 

“Oh, Ginny, it’s just you.” Ron slumped, having thought it was an authority figure of some sort. “Hey, wait—” 

It was as if she had seen Hagrid’s gigantic eight-legged creature at the table instead of the six second-years instead, because Ginny turned even paler than anyone thought possible, gripped her book bag tightly to her chest and took off running. By the front of the library, Madam Pince gave the group a raised eyebrow, as if questioning what anyone had said to make the young Weaslette take off like that. 

“What the…?” Ron said quizzically. “What’s up with her? Hold on— I should go after her, make sure she’s okay. I’ll be right back.” 

“Wonderful,” said Harry miserably. “She must think I’m the Heir of Slytherin or something.” 

In the days that followed, the monster became compliant, and Harry stopped hearing the great creature moving through Hogwarts’ walls. The attacks had seemingly stopped, and with the Mandrakes growing steadily in the greenhouses, the crisis felt averted. 

“I don’t get it,” Hermione stressed, running her hands through her hair. “Why did it just stop ? What’s changed since the last attacks and now?” 

“Well, for starters, everyone’s a lot more careful,” Harry said thoughtfully, munching on a carrot from his lunch, “Security is much tighter. All professors and staff are doing additional rounds and prefects are traveling in groups of three.” 

In absence of any new leads or clues, Hermione and Theodore, in particular, had taken to writing furiously in Riddle’s diary, day and night, trying to pry any morsels of information they could from the diary. Riddle was living up to his name, giving them vague, indirect bits and pieces of information that they scrambled to put together, only for someone to question at the end of it if Tom was indeed telling the truth, which would restart the whole process. 

“Nothing Riddle says is lining up,” Harry protested as the group piled over a corner table in the library once more. “He claims it’s Hagrid’s acromantula that’s responsible for the attacks now, but we’ve seen nothing that supports it. I don’t speak arachnidtongue and as far as anyone’s concerned, we’ve only seen slick from the monster and no spiderwebs— sorry, Ron— and all the creature books we’ve poured over say that acromantulas are hairy and thrive in trees and not underground chambers —” 

“He was awarded a special services medal for his contribution—” Hermione argued. 

Neville raised his hand. “Rebuttal— receiving a medal does not equate an honest person, Hermione.” 

“I stand with Longbottom here,” Draco nodded, trimming his nails with a nail file. “And again, memories can be edited and fabricated , Granger— his testimony is as good as nothing.” 

Throwing her hands up in frustration, Hermione snapped, starkly uncharacteristic of her normal demeanor. “This is the only theory we have and you guys are just turning me down at every corner! If you think you’re so smart, why don’t you come up with a theory?” 

“Wow, Hermione,” Theodore mocked, “How terrible it must be to not have an answer for once. Not quite the brightest-witch-of-your-age now anymore, hmm?” 

The Muggleborn gasped scandalously. “You did not just say that to me. Take it back!” 

Theodore smirked, crossing his arms haughtily. “Make me.” 

Just before the two started going at each other’s throats, Harry and Neville jumped in between, the two peacemakers holding back one student each. “That’s enough!” Harry demanded, glowering fiercely at his two friends. “That crosses a line. Apologize to each other.”

“Oh, don’t think you’re so special just cause you’re the boy-who-lived, Harry, big deal,” Hermione snapped. 

“Hermione, that’s enough,” said Neville firmly. “This isn’t like either of you at all.” 

“I know Theo’s always got a sharp tongue, but Hermione ?” Ron raised an eyebrow, turning to make sure Madam Pince hadn’t heard their commotion. “Something’s not sitting right here.” 

Draco sat up suddenly, snapped his fingers, an enlightenment hitting him. “Wait— I’ve heard of this happening before! It’s an effect that dark artifacts have— they make people more haughty, more snappy, meaner than they usually are—” 

“Sounds a lot like what’s happening here,” Harry shook his head. “You two are the ones who’ve written the most in the diary.” 

“Neither of you should write it in anymore,” the redhead said. “Out of all of us, either Harry or Neville should keep it. You two are the least short-tempered ones of us six.” 

“I’m most well-equipped to protect the diary,” Hermione protested. “What if someone tries to steal it?” 

“In which case, Norse magic is arguably better. Remember who managed to break past Professor Snape’s protection spells?” Theodore grinned cockily. “Just saying.” 

“Neither of you are keeping the diary,” Ron clarified firmly. “It’s either Harry or Neville. End of conversation.” 

“Well, I’ve got Quidditch practice in 10 minutes, so we better decide fast.” Harry glanced at the library clock. “Neville? What do you think?” 

“Maybe you should take it for now,” the Gryffindor boy glanced between Hermione and Theo. “It’s probably for the best that we get it away from these two. The smartest thing would probably be to give it to Professor Snape, you know—” 

“No!” yelled the two Slytherins at once. “We’ll behave,” Hermione insisted. “Please?” 

A glance was shared between the remaining members of the group. “Fine,” said Harry at last, “But we will tell Professor Snape about this sooner or later. Especially now we know that it could be a dark artifact.” 

While annoyed at the idea of handing their one— and last clue— over, Hermione and Theodore agreed, each retreating to a corner of the table to sulk. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“Yo?” Tracey raised an eyebrow at Harry’s sudden movement. The two had met up on their way down to the Quidditch pitch, and as they crossed the courtyard, the boy-who-lived had flinched visibly, practically spinning on his feet to look behind them. 

“I— nevermind.” Harry shook his head. “I could’ve sworn I felt someone watching us.” 

“Well, you’re the boy-who-lived,” snorted Tracey, “And we’re Mr. Youngest-Seeker and Ms. Youngest-Chaser in the history of Hogwarts’ Quidditch, so…” 

Smiling wryly, Harry tugged on the strap of his bookbag, hiking it higher up on his shoulder. He could feel the extra weight of the diary— but beyond the physical weight of it, there was something else— a pair of dark, smoky hands stretching from the little black book tugging down on his shoulder heavily. “Is Marcus putting us on turning drills again today, you think?” 

“Likely.” the chaser shrugged. “Can’t say I’m excited, but his training actually works . I’ve been able to cut sharper turns— if this goes on, I’d probably be able to do a 70 degree turn and attempt a Tyberone feint for the next game.” 

The seeker hummed thoughtfully. “You’ve really been on your game,” he complimented with a smile. “I’ve got to up my game. I saw Cedric checking out Quidditch tactics at the library the other day, think he’s got some new tricks up his sleeve—” 

Before Harry could finish, he was bumped into harshly by a flurry of red hair. The girl let out a squeal as she tripped over Harry’s feet, but was caught by Harry before she collided onto the hard, stone tiles of the courtyard. 

“Ginny,” said Harry, surprised, his arms holding her still. Noticing their position, he moved, pulling her up and stabilizing her onto her feet. “Are you okay?’ 

The Weaslette stared at him, her cheeks almost as red as her hair, and without another word, bolted from the two Quidditch players. 

“Hey!” Tracey yelled after the first-year. The pair watched as Ginny’s red hair disappeared behind another column and she fled towards the safety of the castle, away from the open sky. “Geez, she could’ve said thanks. Rude.” 

“It’s been a rough year,” said Harry forgivingly. “Come on, we better hurry. Marcus is going to have us run extra laps if we’re late.” 

By the time they reached the pitch, the rest of the team was already in the changing rooms, changing out of their sweaters and ties into comfortable sports clothes, old long-sleeves and ratty sweaters that they could tumble around in. Hurrying alongside his teammates, Harry slipped his tie off, pulling one of Dudley’s old shirts over his head. With a loud clack, he shut his locker door, his bookbag safely secured. He slipped his wand into a long, slender pocket built into his pants for safe-keeping during flying. 

“Harry! Marcus is about to start making death threats if you don’t get out here!” came Damian’s voice from outside the changing room. 

“Coming!” the seeker yelped, pulling on old sneakers instead of his polished school shoes. Hastily grabbing his broom from the storage closet— he jogged out onto the field, the changing room left in empty silence. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“Merlin, I’m hungry,” complained Timothy, the fifth-year reserve beater, rubbing his growling stomach. 

“Shower before you head up to the Great Hall or Caden will have your head.” Adrian snorted. “I got yelled at last week for being an ‘uncivilized, mannerless, foul-smelling bastard’.” 

“Why do you let him yell at you?” Miles, who was the same year as sixth-year prefect Caden Seymour, scoffed. “He’s younger than you.” 

The seventh-year beater shrugged. “He’s still a prefect. And, while his wording was a bit… extreme, he had a point. I smelt pretty bad. Even Arowelle grimaced, and that woman has the facial expression control of a saint. I’ve never seen her wearing anything other than a graceful smile. That woman never flusters, I swear.” 

Peregrine smirked, propping his broom against his shoulder as they walked. “Oh, please. It’s that easy,” he snapped his fingers, “To get her flustered.” the head prefect then stopped to look stern. “ Not that any of you are allowed to try to find out.” he scowled. 

The other upper-years raised their eyebrows. “Damn, Derrick,” drawled Miles, “What exactly are we admitting to here?” 

“What are we talking about?” Atsushi tilted his head innocently. 

“I’m not entirely sure we want to know.” Tracey scrunched up her nose in disgust.

The team filed into the changing room, sweat-soaked shirts tossed up against locker doors as they swapped them for their clean sweaters, a few players opting to use the changing room showers, and a few opting to head back to their dorms to clean up. 

Tossing his tie into his bookbag— there was no point in putting it on only for him to tug it off in his dormitory when he went for his shower— Harry packed up his belongings, checking to make sure he didn’t leave anything behind. 

“I’m leaving,” he called out to the team, a chorus of ‘okays’ rumbling from the boys. He tugged his bookbag over his shoulder and ran a hand through his hair. His steps felt oddly light as he trudged back up over the hill towards the castle— and it was only as he stepped across the courtyard that he realized why. 

His bookbag had gotten lighter. 

In a panicked scramble, Harry rifled his fingers through the bag, sifting through his parchment notes and a textbook or two— and came up empty handed. 

Riddle’s diary was gone. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“This wouldn’t have happened if you guys had let me keep the diary!” Hermione snapped, combing her hand through her hair in frustration. “ I wouldn’t have lost it— or let anyone steal it.” 

“I’m sorry,” mumbled Harry, looking incredibly guilty. They were gathered— again— in a corner of the library, away from Madam Pince’s prying eyes. Hermione had been pacing non-stop before the table since Harry broke the news. “I really thought it was safe.” 

“Oh yes, the uncharmed bookbag in the unlocked locker in the unlocked locker room that anyone can get into,” Hermione rolled her eyes, “How incredibly safe.” 

“Alright, that’s enough,” said Neville firmly, “Harry didn’t mean to lose it. Plus, he didn’t lose it— it was stolen . If they were determined enough to steal it, they would’ve gotten to it regardless, whether it was with Harry or not.” 

Ron sighed loudly. “Neville’s right,” he said, crossing his arms. “Besides, with how it was making ‘Mione and Theo act, maybe it’s not an entirely bad thing to have it taken from us.” 

“It could be a clue, too,” said Draco airily, “We can keep an eye out and see who turns extra snippy.” 

“Fine,” Hermione huffed, finally plopping down on a chair, dejected. “Well, that leaves us with one lead.” she deadpanned. “Hagrid.” 

There was a visible slump as everyone groaned audibly. “Won’t that be a nice conversation to have over tea,” Ron grumbled sarcastically, “We’ll just slide right along into his hut and ask him. ‘Hey Hagrid, so we have reason to think you opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago, mind telling us if you’re doing the same this time?’” 

The group snorted. 

“Well,” Theo shrugged, grinning. “He may be larger than all of us, but hey, it’s one of him versus six of us. We’ve got to have some fighting chance. We could force the information out of him. A hostile interrogation.” 

Neville, who was sitting by the window, suddenly looked really alarmed. “Um, guys,”

“Let’s not go around pointing fingers or interrogating anyone,” tried Harry hastily, “We know Hagrid. He wouldn’t do something like this. Plus, it’s not like Hagrid is besties with Mr. Malfoy, no way Draco’s dad would pick him , of all people, as his scapegoat.” 

“Guys,” Neville raised his voice slightly. 

“Harry, did you forget Fluffy ?” said Hermione impatiently. “For all we know, he named the Chamber monster Scaley or something—” 

“GUYS!” said Neville loudly, banging his hands on the table. 

“What?” came a chorus of five voices. 

The Gryffindor boy winced as Madam Pince snapped at them across the facility. “There’s someone sneaking down to the greenhouse,” he said hurriedly, his tone hushed, pointing to a little dark figure from the window, sneaking down the meadows, barely visible in the dying sunset. “It’s after hours, no one should be down there; that’s greenhouse three— that’s where the mandrakes are being grown—” 

There was a collective, non-verbal shit that no one had to say aloud as the six second-years reached the same conclusion in unison. 

“They’re trying to sabotage the restorative draught!” Ron hissed, already shoving their belongings haph-hazardly into their bookbags. “No, nevermind, scrap that— we can come back for our stuff later—”

To Madam Pince’s great annoyance, the group panicked-ly tumbled out of the library, their feet pattering and basically slipping down the long stone staircases, skidding past corners and desperately trying not to fall in their rush to get down to the greenhouses. 

“Ron!” Percy, who spotted them as they rushed out towards the main courtyard, called out. “Have you seen Ginny, she’s been missing all evening—” yelping loudly as they swarmed past him. “Hey, where are you all going— Don’t run, for Merlin’s sake—” 

“I’ll explain later!” yelled Ron over his shoulder. They continued tumbling down the meadows in the dark, the boys hastily grabbing their wands for a quick lumos while Hermione forgoed the spell and conjured her signature bluebell flames, the fire dancing harmlessly in her palm as she rushed down towards the glasshouses alongside her friends. 

“Holy shit,” Ron cursed loudly, his eyes widening as they rounded a hill, the greenhouses in the valley below them. “Is that fire ?” 

And it was indeed. Greenhouse three was going steadily up in flames, the orange light flickering dangerously within the glass windows of the greenhouse. Already, the little black figure they saw was gone, leaving an arson in their wake. 

“We need to save the mandrakes!” said Neville desperately, shaking the group out of their stupor. Having snapped out of their shock, the hexad dashed down the hill towards the fire, already feeling the flickering tongue of the heat on their faces. 

“Neville, let’s not go running into fire—” yelled Harry reasonably, pulling the boy back by the neck of his sweater. Had he not stopped him, Neville would’ve ran into the burning greenhouse with zero reservations. With his other hand, Harry had cast a strong aguamenti , sending a strong stream of water into the doorway of the greenhouse. 

“Only half of the greenhouse is on fire,” said the boy desperately, “If we leave it any longer, there won’t be anything left to save— please, Harry—” 

The emerald-eyed boy was hesitant, but agreed reluctantly. “Hermione, help me manage the fire.” 

No one had to tell the muggleborn otherwise. Already, she was joining Harry, casting the most powerful aguamenti that she had ever done before. 

“Hold on, Neville!” Theodore yelled, grabbing the boy by the collar. With his hand, he began drawing a silver sigil resembling a caged flame— almost like a lantern— onto Neville’s robes. “Let me slap some fire protection charms on you before you start running headlong into a burning building, for Merlin’s sake—” 

“Slap one on me too,” Ron said loudly, the fire’s roar growing louder. It was becoming hard to hear— and see— with the smoke and the blinding light before them. “Neville, I’m coming with you!” 

“Draco, go get Professor Snape!” yelled Harry as he recast his aguamenti , his spell forming an umbrella of water above Neville and Ron as the two brave lions ran into the building, tugging up their sweaters to cover their mouths and noses. 

“On it!” the blonde was hesitant to leave his friends but understood the gravity of the situation. He bounded back up the hill, his silvery hair like a silhouette of the moon over the dark meadows. “No one die while I’m gone!” 

“We’ll try!” Theo yelled back wryly. He had joined Hermione and Harry in their efforts to water down the fire, casting wind sigils in the air to try and limit the air flow feeding the destructive flames. 

Back up in the castle, Draco had reached the courtyard, his chest heaving. He had sprinted over the uphill, and his breath seemed to have been left back at the greenhouse, but he refused to let himself stop. 

“Weaslette,” he called out, panting heavily as he passed the redhead, the girl looking dazed and confused. “Find a professor as soon as you can— send any prefects or upper years down to the greenhouses now — it’s on fire! Anyone you can find who can help— get them down there now, spread the word— go, go, go!” 

She saw the urgency in his face and complied, taking off towards the Gryffindor tower. Slightly relieved that another was helping to spread the news, Draco heaved, his hand leaning against the wall for support, and steeled himself, taking off towards the Slytherin head’s office. 

“Professor Snape!” he yelled, uncaring as he slammed the man’s door open. “We need to go! Greenhouse three is on fire!” 

Any annoyance from Draco bursting in unwarned was instantly erased from the man’s face. “The greenhouses are what ?” The older Slytherin repeated, but he was already getting up, his wand in hand, following Draco as they broke into a run across castle grounds. Along their way, they encountered Peregrine and Arowelle, doing their early-evening patrols, and with a singular look from the professor, the two prefects joined them, racing across Hogwarts’ corridors. 

“What exactly are we running for, professor?” Peregrine asked, keeping up easily thanks to Marcus’s training regime. 

“The greenhouses are on fire,” clipped Professor Snape. 

Peregrine choked on his breath. “The greenhouses are what?” 

As they passed the main entrance of the castle into the open sky, the true gravity of the situation sunk in. Even from high up on the courtyard, they could see the blaze engulfing the greenhouse down below, like a small sun had crashed onto the greenhouse and set it alight. 

“Professor, the greenhouse is on fire, we saw it from the tower—” bursting out of the main doors behind them were Percy, Oliver, Fred and George, Ginny looking terrified behind them. Percy’s jaw dropped as he saw just how much fire there was. 

“I’m aware, Mr. Weasley,” Professor Snape said grimly. 

Taking two seconds to overcome his shock, Peregrine snapped into control. “Professor Snape, if you could let Professor McGonagall know, Arowelle and I can contact Professor Filtwick and Professor Sprout.” 

Already the man was conjuring his doe patronus, the silhouette of the creature bounding into the castle. Peregrine himself uttered the incantation, and Arowelle followed; a grand falcon soared into the skies towards Professor Filtwick’s tower office, and alongside it, a stunning snowy owl, the two prefects’ patronuses flapping their wings soundlessly into the black sky. 

“Ms. Weasley, please return into the castle and find all the prefects you can. Wood, gather all the Quidditch players you can and take them to the skies— we need you to run interference and ensure that the fire doesn’t eat into the Forbidden Forest.” Peregrine instructed. Oliver nodded. 

“Fred, George, gather the other Quidditch teams. I’ll run down to the locker rooms and grab as many brooms as I can,” Oliver delegated, conjuring his patronus— a dark horse that galloped into the castle. “My patronus will inform Marcus Flint.” 

Peregrine nodded in approval. “Weasley, I need you to stay here and organize efforts.” the Gryffindor prefect dipped his head, acknowledging his responsibility. “No students under fourth year are allowed beyond this courtyard.” 

“Scrap that,” Professor Snape shook his head, “There are already five second-years down there.” 

The Slytherin prefect whipped his head so fast he could’ve snapped it. “What? Don’t tell me—” 

Without another word, Professor Snape’s cloak billowed from behind him, resembling a pair of large, bat wings. He became airborne, sweeping his way down towards the fire in a large black mass. The other two Slytherins wasted no time, dashing after the professor down the rolling hills.

“Oh no, you’re not going anywhere,” Percy snapped, moving deftly to stand before Draco as the blonde boy made a move to follow behind the older prefects. “You heard Derrick, no students below fourth-year—- hey!” 

Draco eyed Percy, as if calculating his chances of getting away. Having made his calculation, he darted, the redhead yelling out in frustration as Draco looped around him, the young boy bounding down the hills towards his friends after Peregrine and Arowelle. 

“For Merlin’s sake!” Percy cursed. “Bloody Slytherins—” 

Down at the greenhouses, the situation had escalated even further. The fire raged on despite Hermione and Harry’s efforts, Neville and Ron coming to several close calls as the soot got into their eyes and their lungs. 

“Ron, slow down—” Harry wrangled the much taller and much stronger Gryffindor boy, basically tackling the redhead to the ground when he tried to follow Neville back into the greenhouse. Ron had been coughing non-stop for the past few minutes, and still he braved through the ash in his throat and ran back into the fire, bringing three pots of mandrakes with him each time. “Hold on! At least have some water and breathe for a second, Merlin—” 

“Neville!” Hermione’s scream caused the two to look up. The greenhouse’s supports had been scarred and tormented by the fire, and with a sickening screech, one of the pillars begin to give way. 

“The wind direction’s changing, too!” Theo yelled, struggling to keep his eyes open. His hands glowed bright silver as he redrew his sigils, desperately trying to control the wind from feeding the raging mess of the greenhouse. “Shit— the fire’s getting onto the forest line— it’s going to start a wildfire!” 

Neville, levitating four mandrake pots with him, gasped as one of the structural beams of the building groaned, tilting— and came crashing down in front of him, blocking his exit out of the greenhouse with a wall of flames. “Ah!” he screamed as a portion of the glass roof collapsed, crushing his ankle. The boy fell onto the ground, the mandrake pots he was levitating shattering around him. 

“Neville!” Harry cried out, his fear morphing into determination. “Hermione, on the count of three—” he glanced at the girl, and together, as if of one mind, they pointed their wands at the greenhouse and yelled: “ Wingardium Leviosa !” 

With a shaky shudder, the beam lifted off the ground, trembling as the two second-years fought to keep it levitated. 

Taking the opportunity, Ron tugged off his sweater and wrapped it around his face, running into the greenhouse and sliding underneath the suspended beam. Even though the material was red-hot, Ron wrapped his fingers around it and tossed it away, pulling Neville’s arm around himself. “Come on, Neville!” he urged, helping the boy to his feet. 

“Hurry!” Hermione said weakly, “I don’t know how long we can keep this suspended!” 

Beside them, Theo had gone wordless, his face red with concentration as he tried to eliminate any wind interference around the duo, the flames parting for the two as they stepped through the remains of the greenhouse. 

“Ron, hurry, please!” Harry groaned, his arm throbbing in pain as the spell began to falter. The beam tremored, reflective of the strain on Hermione and Harry.  “Ron!” 

“ Wingardium Leviosa !” 

The kids didn’t have to turn to recognize the voice, relief seeping into their bodies as Professor Snape held his wand outstretched. Behind him, Peregrine sprinted into the greenhouse, easily picking Neville up, ushering Ron out of the greenhouse before him. Arowelle whipped her wand at the burning building, yelling: “ Aguamenti !” as the flames began licking at the forest line. 

“We managed to salvage a good number of mandrakes,” Neville coughed raspily, leaning on Ron once Peregrine had put him down. “But we need to get them away from the smoke or they may not be viable for the restorative potion—” 

“Worry about yourself first, Longbottom,” Professor Snape snapped, his eyes quickly scanning over the boy, his fingers gently examining the second-year’s ankle, which must have sprained when the roof portion fell on him. “Can you walk?” 

“I think so,” Neville said shakily. “As long as Ron helps me.” 

“Very good,” the head of Slytherin nodded. Above them, there was a sharp whoosh , signaling the Quidditch players’ arrival. Led by Oliver, Marcus, the Quidditch players swept over the forest line, a stream of water following their path, driving the ferocious licks of the fire away. Behind the first group of fliers, a second group led by Hufflepuff captain Naoki began casting protective wards and shield charms to prevent the fire from crossing the threshold. 

“Oh thank Merlin,” Theo breathed, slumping onto the ground. Over the hills, there were distant yells of instruction— it was Percy, leading a group of prefects, including Penelope, Gemma, and Caden. 

“Can I trust you all to move the mandrakes back to the courtyard?” the professor eyed them. 

“Yes,” Hermione nodded. 

“And you will stay there,” said Professor Snape sternly. Then, his face softened in the light of the fire. “You have done enough. We will take it from here.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

By the time the fire was completely taken care of, it had already been two hours or so. When the prefects, professors and upper-year Quidditch players came trudging back up the hill (Severus cursed Hogwarts for its anti-apparition charms), sunset had been long over. The six second-years watched as their seniors and staff members stumbled into the courtyard, sweaty and supporting each other; many of the students had tugged off their sweaters in the sweltering heat of the flames, even Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall had taken off their cloaks. 

For the better part of the hour, Neville had meticulously given care to the mandrakes, clipping off their burned leaves and adjusting soil humidities. The fire had severely dried the plants out, and it was under the boys’ care that the screaming plants revived, if only by a little. 

Despite the Quidditch fliers best efforts, a portion of the Forbidden Forest had caught on fire, still— but thanks to their mitigation, the fire was constrained only to the outer border of the woods and no animals or creatures were severely harmed. 

“Good work, everyone,” said Professor McGonagall as the group stunted to a gathered stop in the courtyard. “We will investigate the cause of the fire and the perpetrator will be heavily punished— but without all of your help and contributions, the damage would have been so much more. Thank you to all of our prefects for doing their best to quell the fire—” Peregrine and Arowelle, who were leaning against each other, nodded in recognition; so did Percy, Penelope, Gemma, Caden, and other Hogwarts prefects. “To our Quidditch players— thank you for flying in these low visibility skies and doing your best to protect our forest.” 

Oliver nodded. “It’s only right, Professor McGonagall,” he said. “This is our home.” The other Quidditch players chorused their agreements— even Miles, who was covered in soot and sweat and scowling fiercely at having to stand beside the Hufflepuff keeper, Westwood. 

“Without how fast you all reacted, we could’ve possibly lost more than one greenhouse, and a much larger portion of the Forbidden Forest,” said Professor Sprout, sniffling back her tears as her emotions overwhelmed her. “It will… take us a while to regrow all of our mandrakes, but…” 

“Professor Sprout,” Percy said gently, “We didn’t lose all of our mandrakes.” 

The Herbology professor blinked tears out of her eyes, looking confused. The prefect smiled softly and gestured behind her— where, in the darkness of the courtyard, almost unseen, six second-years stood quietly, a dozen saved mandrakes behind them. 

“I— I thought we’d—” she stuttered, at a complete loss for words. 

“I think,” Peregrine spoke up, smiling. “We owe some thanks and credits to the second-years over there. They were the ones who discovered the fire, and to the best of their abilities, were running into the greenhouses to salvage the mandrakes they could while doing their best to control the fire. It was very impressive— and incredibly brave of you all.” 

“And very stupid,” grumbled Professor Snape under his breath. 

“Very impressive and brave indeed,” Professor McGonagall ignored her Slytherin counterpart, smiling at the second-years. “Thank you very much, Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Malfoy. It is thanks to your efforts that we will be able to brew restorative draughts for our petrified staff and students. 20 points to each of you— and to all of the prefects and upper-year students.” 

“Now,” interjected Professor Snape sternly, “We will all go up to the infirmary to make sure no one inhaled too much soot and to tend to any burns. And then , you can all go to bed.” 

The prefects groaned. For them, bed would have to wait— first, they would have to patrol the corridors until curfew. 

“All prefects can forfeit patrol tonight,” said Severus, rolling his eyes. “You deserve the rest. I will take over all afterhour sweeps of the corridors.” 

The deputy headmistress nodded her agreement. “So will I.” 

A chorus of thank yous rose from the prefects as they began shepherding the group— with the second-years pressed in front— up towards the infirmary. Needless to say, Madam Pomfrey was not happy with anyone, and with the insisting of the upper years, the second-years were checked over first. Neville’s ankle was carefully mended with magic, although he was not to do any vigorous activity for a while; all of the other second-years were given a sweet, honey-like substance to clear the soot and smoke from their throat and lungs. 

“Open up,” she said to Harry, who was the last one to go. He did so obediently and she looked down his throat. “Alright. Make sure to drink the honey salve before bed, and stay away from dry, fried foods for the next few days.” 

He nodded, hopping off of the infirmary bed. The rest of his friends had already been checked over, and were waiting at the side to leave together as a group. 

“Wait a moment— oi, second years,” Peregrine called out as Madam Pomfrey prodded at his throat. “Ow, that hurts, Madam Pomfrey— second-years, hold on. I’ll walk you lot back to your dorms.” 

“No you will not!” said Madam Pomfrey, admonished. “Mr. Derrick, you have numerous burns all around your body. You are not going anywhere until I’m done with you!” 

“They’ll be fine,” Arowelle said, placing her hand gently on Peregrine’s. She glanced over the infirmary. “Gemma, Caden, have you both been checked over?” 

The two prefects nodded— Professor Snape was performing checks on the other side of the infirmary, to help lessen Madam Pomfrey’s workload and hurry along the line. “We’re all clear to go back.” Gemma said. 

“Then you two take our four second-years back to the dorms.” Arowelle nodded. “Rest well. Hey, Gryffindors— any of you clear to take your second-years back to the tower?” 

“I’m done,” said Percy, who was standing by Oliver, who was in the process of getting checked by Professor Snape. The lion’s Quidditch captain tried to speak, but as he was still getting his throat checked, his moment caused the potions master to prod him in the throat, the boy yelping. “Oliver, stop moving.” 

“Thank you,” Professor Snape said, exasperated. “Mr. Wood, this isn’t going to go any faster if you keep trying to speak and close up your throat while I’m trying to look at it.” 

“We can take Ronniekins and Nev-Nev,” Fred perked up. “George and I are done. Perce can stay and wait with Oliver.” 

The Slytherin prefect nodded her thanks. “Alright.” 

“Hold on— before you go,” Madam Pomfrey glanced away from Peregrine, her scowl softening. “Come here.” she pulled the six second-years in for a hug, clearing her throat when she let them go. “Thank you. We have mandrakes still— because of you six. It was very stupid and foolish of you to run into fire— and you’re lucky that most of you got away without many burns— but thank you.” 

“It was thanks to Theo,” Ron said, glancing at the Slytherin boy. “He slapped these protection sigils on us. It’s probably the reason why Neville and I got away mostly burn-less.” 

“Well, thank you.” Madam Pomfrey nodded at Theo, smiling gently. “It must be pretty advanced magic— but you protected your friends with it. Good job, Mr. Nott. Now, you lot hurry along and get some rest. It’s been a long night.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

By the next morning, the entire school had heard of the fire of greenhouse three, and rumors had already started circulating. Each house cheered on their respective prefects and upper-years who participated in the fire-fighting, and Dumbledore, who had returned that morning from business with the ministry— was very astounded that an arson had happened overnight while he was gone. 

“Well, I believe points have already been awarded, courtesy of Professor McGonagall,” the old headmaster’s eyes twinkled as he gazed down at the four houses over breakfast. “Therefore, I will simply thank our valiant upper-year students once more for their efforts. Without any further ado— enjoy breakfast.” 

Of everyone, no one was more disappointed than Lockhart to have missed out on the incident. Throughout the day, he could be heard harping to every class he had— that more mandrakes would’ve been saved had he been there, of course, and that the fire wouldn’t even have gotten to the Forbidden Forest if he had been part of the efforts. By dinner, Lockhart had told pretty much anyone who would listen about how the whole thing could’ve gone better had he been around. 

“So on top of claiming you’re a potions master and a mediwitch,” Severus recounted at the staff table, when literal fumes were coming out of Minerva’s ears from listening to Lockhart yap. If it went on for any longer, the deputy headmistress would have probably started a fire inside the Great Hall. “You’re also a firefighter.” 

Lockhart spluttered. 

“Pick a career, Gilderoy,” Severus said dryly, rolling his eyes. “Honestly.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

One week after the incident, the greenhouse fire had become old news. While the culprit was uncaught, it was clear they wouldn’t be trying something like that again; all around Hogwarts grounds, protection doubled down and there was a gargoyle charmed to screech should anyone pass the courtyard past sundown with the intention of heading down to the greenhouse. 

Bored with the greenhouse fire, the castle had moved onto the next biggest event to happen: the Hufflepuff vs. Slytherin match on Saturday. 

“Excited?” Harry asked Atsushi over dinner one day. The first-year boy had risen quickly in his training, and Miles had begrudgingly taken the boy under his wing. It was the weirdest phenomenon anyone on the team had ever witnessed— Miles was genuinely giving Atsushi tips on his keeper skills and had become some sort of… mentor. He had even gone so far as to suggest Atsushi swap out with him in the Hufflepuff game at half-time, so the younger keeper could get a real taste of the sport. 

“Nervous,” Atsushi corrected, passing the dipping sauce over to Sage. Of the Slytherin first-years, Atsushi, Sage and Axelle were inseparable; they were a trio, basically came as a unit. Whenever the boy wasn’t at Quidditch practice, he was cozied up in the common room beside his friends, playing a game of Wizarding chess or exploding snap. 

“You’ll be fine, Atsu,” chirped Sage, “And we’ll have the banner with your name on it, waving and yelling like mad.” Axelle opened her mouth, but Sage cut back in and corrected herself. “Correction. I will be clapping and waving like mad, but Axelle will clap eloquently and very much like a sane person.” 

The girl defended herself. “I just don’t see the point going feral over a sport!” she said, exasperated. 

“Sage is right,” Harry smiled kindly at Atsushi. “I remember my first game. I felt like my heart was going to jump out of my chest— but it was also the most fun I’d ever had. You’ll be just fine.” 

“Harry, a possessed Defense Against Dark Arts teacher attempted to jinx and throw you off your broom,” said Theodore flatly. 

At Atsushi’s face of alarm, Harry hastily reassured him. “For that reason, Professor Snape has added protection charm on all of the team’s brooms. Plus, Hermione’s always ready.” 

“Ready with what?” Sage, who absolutely idolized Hermione, asked. She stared up at the older girl in wide interest, her eyebrows contorting in confusion as Hermione beamed innocently. 

“Don’t have to worry about it.” The second-year smiled brightly. Beside her, Daphne hid her knowing smile behind an inconspicuous cough. “Just know that if anyone tries anything… Well, then I’d be on a streak.” 

Axelle raised a curious eyebrow, but Daphne, who sat across her, shook her head lightly, a sparkling twinkle in her eyes. “Deniability, Axelle,” Daphne said breezily. “Deniability.” 

“How long’s the game going to be, anyway?” Sage asked. Over the past week, she had been trying very hard to wrap her head around the wizarding sport— so that she could understand real-time when Atsushi took his first debut into the Hogwarts’ Quidditch cup. Draco, who was more than happy to provide various lectures about Quidditch, had graciously taken up the task of educating Sage over evenings by the common room fireplace. 

“It depends,” Hermione chewed thoughtfully. With her free hand, she conjured her notebook— she was giving into Theo’s infectious habit of assigning a new notebook to every subject and purpose— “Let’s see here. The Slytherin matches of the past have an average length of 1.25 hours, while the general average of all games played comes up to 3.15 hours.” she furrowed her brow at her numbers. “Although, that’s largely skewed due to that 5.75 hour game the Ravens and Gryffs played last year. That had been a real fight.” 

“We end most of our games pretty quickly— with victory, of course,” Draco said proudly, puffing up his chest. “Last year, we had the youngest seeker and chaser of the century playing on our team. This year, we hit the record with the youngest reserve keeper! The Cup’s ours for sure.” 

Across the table, Tracey snorted. “You sound incredibly proud for someone not on the team.” 

The blonde shrugged. “House pride.” 

Saturday came, and with it, the school erupted into cheer, the petrifications and arson attempt forgotten for the moment. Students chattered happily in the Great Hall, bets going all around on who would take the game. Up by the staff table, Professor Snape made an attempt at disinterest, but gave himself away when Dumbledore exchanged a quiet bet to Professor McGonagall on Slytherin’s victory. The deputy headmistress, stubborn in her stance to never support Severus’s endeavors, bravely defended Hufflepuff’s honor with 20 sickles. 

“Relax,” Harry advised kindly to Atsushi as the Slytherin team trudged down to the pitch. The rest of the school was still noisily buzzing up in the hall, while the teams had departed early to stretch and take their warm up laps around their playing field. “It’ll be okay! You’re not playing alone— you have a team here to support you.” 

“Good morning!” Peregrine greeted cheerfully as they approached the Hufflepuff team, already stretching on the field, giving Marcus a pointed look to behave. “Foul weather, eh?” 

Marcus and Naoki Suzuka shook hands begrudgingly, and the tension was so thick that no one would’ve been surprised if lightning flashed and shocked the ground between the two captains. “Good morning,” said Marcus, forcing a tight smile. 

“A good morning indeed,” said Naoki equally tightly, his eyes flashing with competitive fire. They had worked more than well together, when directing efforts to protect the Forbidden Forest during the greenhouse fire, but that unspoken truce had, like greenhouse three, gone up in flames. “And it’s about to become much better when we win.” 

Their verbal battle had to take an abrupt end as Madam Hooch marched over the field crossly, gesturing for both teams to step back. “I don’t see a lot of warm up going on!” she frowned. “Go!” 

“We hit them hard and we hit them fast,” Marcus declared, once both teams had retreated out of ear shot. Madam Hooch was pacing tensely at the center of the pitch, sending alternating glares towards Suzuka and Wood every once a while. He grunted as they stretched their arms, legs, and backs. The beaters flexed their right arms and picked up their bats; the chasers pulled on their protective gloves and cracked their fingers, and the seeker rotated his wrists, closing his eyes and visualizing himself diving for the golden Snitch. 

“Let’s start this year off strong.” Peregrine grinned. Already, the bustle of the crowd traipsing down the hill towards the pitch could be heard. “Marcus, should we take ten laps around the field and then get prepared in the tower?” 

The team said as they were told, mounting their brooms and kicking off into the sky easily. The chasers— Peregrine, Marcus, Damian and Tracey— swiftly took the lead, followed atop by Harry, who looped and weaved circles in and out of everyone. They were followed by Adrian Pucey and Lucian Bole, whose bats rested over their shoulders as they steered their broomsticks with the other hand. Lastly, Miles and Atsushi kept a steady pace behind the team, the older of the two glaring at the Hufflepuff team, still stretching on the ground. 

When eventually Madam Hooch’s whistle signaled the end of warm-up, the Slytherin team brushed past their yellow-decked counterparts— all around glares and boos going around until Cedric and Harry passed each other, the two seekers respectfully smiling at each other. 

“Best of luck.” Harry bowed his head subtly, his broom hesitating in the air as he stopped midair beside Cedric. 

“Let’s have a fair game,” the Hufflepuff seeker returned. “All the best.” 

The team ducked into the curtained tower, where they hid until the commentators— Lee Jordan and Draco again— announced the teams. It didn’t take long, the crowd whooping and cheering until the unmistakable, peppy voice of the fourth-year Gryffindor filled the stadium. 

“ Gooooood morning Hogwarts! ” Lee Jordan boomed into the microphone, the stadium shaking as it erupted into applause. “ How are we feeling today? ” 

“Alright, team.” Marcus cleared his throat. He stared awkwardly at his teammates and his teammates returned with a deadpan stare. “... Play good.” 

“Aye aye!” Adrian echoed, mocking a pirate accent. 

Beside him, Damian, broom at his side, nodded seriously. “Hear ye, hear ye.” 

The Slytherin lead prefect chortled. “Alright.” In the distance, Lee Jordan was already announcing the Hufflepuff team, the crowd going wild as they tried to cheer louder and louder for each player that emerged. “Have a good game, stay safe, try not to break any bones, you know the drill—” 

“ And without further ado, ” came Draco’s impatient voice, “ The Slytherin Quidditch team! ” 

Madam Hooch had learned her lesson and forewent the commentators from doing the individual player introductions before the game began. Instead, the teams did their laps around the fields and hovered before Madam Hooch by the center of the field as she held the Quaffle in her hands. 

“A fair game!” she declared, glaring at Marcus. Naoki couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow and smirk at the other captain— afterall, the Hufflepuff house— and team— were well-known for their honesty and fairness. There would be no question about it on their side. As fierce as Naoki could be about the sport, his team was genuine and square. 

“ And… ” Lee Jordan’s voice dropped as the stadium quietened and watched with bated breath. “ The Quaffle is in the air! Hufflepuff chaser Sutherland has snatched it from the air— god damn— I heard he spent his summer in California and I have to say, that tan looks good on him— ” 

The crowd swooned as sixth-year heartthrob, American student Michael Sutherland— with his wavy blonde hair and sun-tanned skin— swept over the pitch, Quaffle safely in hand as he zoomed across the court, in hot pursuit by the Slytherin chasers. 

“Jordan!” came McGonagall’s annoyed warning. 

“ Professor, I’m just giving commentary people actually want to hear, have you seen the Cedric Diggory fangroups— ” 

Up in the air, the Hufflepuff seeker cringed inwardly. 

Draco’s voice filled the stadium instead. “ Sutherland is robbed of possession by Slytherin chaser Derrick— Derrick passes to Davis, wow, that girl is barely a blur— ” 

“ Hufflepuff beater Lin sends a strong Bludger her way— will she dodge it— she swerves— ah, dear, she’s going into a tailspin… ” said Jordan, sounding quite happy as Davis struggled to adjust her trajectory, the Quaffle in her hands preventing full control of her broom.  

“ Davis passes the Quaffle to captain Flint and Flint receives! Davis is pulling out of her tailspin— great recovery there ,” Draco said animatedly, his eyes trained on the match as he and Jordan took turns yanking at the mic for their turn to speak. “ Flint shoots and Hufflepuff keeper Westwood dives— anddd he misses! ” 

The stadium split into cheering and booing as the captain turned his broom around, accepting Tracey’s high-five. 

“ Okay, big deal, Slytherin takes 10 points, 10-0. ” Jordan sighed. The crowd had started cheering on the yellow-decked fliers, though, chanting ‘Come on Hufflepuff, show ‘em that you’re tough!’, students stomping on the seats, the structure reverberating with their support. “ The Quaffle returns into play. Hufflepuff chaser Aurille has got it, passes to captain Suzuka— Slytherin beaters Bole and Pucey send two Bludgers their way— and both Hufflepuff chasers dodge! ” 

The Hufflepuff-supporting crowd cheered and blasted a few soundmakers into the air, confetti raining down on the audience seats. 

“ Captain Suzuka really out there showing us why he’s the captain, really— that is some masterful flying— Merlin, is that the Aleinsky Double-Back? ” Jordan whistled appreciatively. “ Some truly skillful tactic here— Suzuka passes the Quaffle to Aurille and Aurille passes back— captain Flint tries to intervene and— hah, fails— Suzuka approaching the goals, he shoots— ” 

It was as if the crowd stopped breathing. 

“ And he scores! ” Jordan pumped his hand into the air while Draco scowled. “ Hufflepuff pulls back the Slytherin lead, 10-all! ” 

Up on the field, tensions were at an all time high. Maybe it was the weather and the electricity in the air— but Naoki and Marcus would not stop going at each other’s throats. “Is that what you call a steal?” Naoki raised an eyebrow. 

“Shut it,” snapped the other. “I’ll make you regret this.”

Harry, who had been hovering nearby, spotted a strange expression crossing Naoki’s face— like he knew specifically the consequence Marcus was insinuating and was jumping in between blowing Marcus’s short temper into bits or watching his step. From the smile that spread across the Hufflepuff captain’s face, he had made up his mind. 

“Try me,” said Naoki softly. So softly that Harry wouldn’t have heard him— and he didn’t— he merely saw the captain’s words form over his lips. Clearly, so did Marcus, because his expression hardened into a snarl. 

“Oh, I will break you.” 

Harry had a feeling that he really, really didn’t want any more knowledge of anything that was going on between the two— whether it was really just pure, seething rivalry or something more, beyond the lines— and adjusted his attention to scanning for the snitch. 

The game continued on fervently for another 30 minutes or so, with no sign of the Snitch. Down on the pitch, Harry spotted his and Tracey’s banner flapping furiously in the wind, but realized with a start that Atsushi’s was nowhere to be seen. 

It was at that time that Marcus called a half-time, and Harry’s heart dropped. They were switching out Miles for the reserve, and when the Atsushi flew out onto the pitch, his confidence would plummet at realizing that his friends weren’t cheering for him in the crowd— 

“Wait,” said Harry urgently to Marcus before the captain summoned the reserve player out of the reserves’ observation tower. “Let me talk to him before you call him out.” 

The captain raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, gesturing for the second-year to go as he wanted. Hastily, Harry swept into the reserves’ tower, landing in a skirmish. Damian looked at him questioningly, but Atsushi was too nervous to express any other expression besides anxiety. 

“Atsushi, listen to me,” said Harry, his tone as level as he could keep it. “Marcus is about to call you out. You need to listen, okay? Do not look down at the crowd. Keep your eyes trained on the game at all times— you understand?” 

Looking feverish, Atsushi, although confused, agreed to Harry’s demands. “Okay,” he said shakily. “Harry, I’m scared.” 

“You’re going to be great,” said Harry firmly. “And what’s the worst that could happen? You let a couple goals in, and Marcus, Peregrine and Tracey can easily get those back. It's your first game. No one’s going to fault you for anything.” 

Before Atsushi could continue to have a nervous breakdown, a sharp whistle rang; not Madam Hooch’s usual sharp tweet of the metal that signaled the beginning of the game, but a whistle with a tone of urgency. 

“What’s going on?” Damian moved off the wall, his broom gripped in hand as he swept the curtain aside. McGonagall was down at the pitch, waving her hands urgently, and players were descending down onto the field to meet her. “What? Is the game getting called off?” 

“Let’s go.” Harry mounted his broom and swept down onto the field, breaking into a run as his feet made contact with the grass. “Professor McGonagall? Marcus? What’s happening?” 

The deputy headmistress looked unusually grim. Beside her, Naoki and Marcus, both previously about to protest the game’s abrupt end, had quietened, clearly realizing the seriousness of the situation. “Mr. Takagi,” Professor McGonagall said solemnly. “You better come with me.” 

“What’s going on?” Professor Snape, who more-or-less appeared out of nowhere asked, sensing the graveness that the deputy carried around her like a black fog. He eyed the older woman carefully, noticing how the lines around her face had deepened and she looked another 50 years older. “... Minerva?” 

“Three more students have been attacked,” she said, her voice thin. “And two of them are yours, Severus. Professor Filtwick is already with them.” 

There was a soft thump , and everyone turned to see what it was. Atsushi was deathly white, his broom lying on the ground, his fingers loose, slack, as if he had lost control of his body. His eyes were fixated on the stands, where the second years’ banner was visible— and his friends’ weren’t. “It’s Sage and Axelle, isn’t it?” he said hollowly, not staring at Professor McGonagall but in the space behind her. 

She nodded stiffly. “I’m afraid so, Mr. Takagi.” she said quietly, moving forward to offer a hand to the motionless boy. “If you’d like to come with me…” 

“Atsushi, breathe,” said Harry quickly as he noticed the boy’s chest begin to heave. “Atsushi. Atsushi, look at me.” When the boy didn’t respond, he glanced up at the deputy headmistress’ concerned features. “Professor McGonagall, were these only petrifications or…?” 

“No one has been killed yet, Mr. Potter,” she answered swiftly. 

“Okay,” Harry nodded, turning back to Atsushi. “Listen to me, Atsushi. Sage and Axelle were only petrified. They are going to be okay. Our mandrakes are weeks away from maturation, okay? They’re only petrified , Atsushi.” 

The young seeker breathed shakily, his breath catching as he choked on his own swallow. “But they’re— they were fine just two hours ago, they were eating and, and, and—” 

“They’re going to be fine,” Harry restated firmly. “Now, do you want to go with Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape to see them?” 

“Maybe it will be best if you come with us too, Mr. Potter,” Snape suggested gently. “Mr. Takagi, are you absolutely sure you want to come? If you feel that you are not up to it, we can bring you them after they have been moved into the infirmary.” 

“No, I—” Atsushi choked but pushed the feeling down and steeled himself to meet the potion master’s eyes. “I can do it.” 

Almost doubtful, Snape stared at the first-year for a moment but agreed. “Very well. Mr. Derrick, alert all prefects in the audience and start moving them back into the castle. All students are to return to their common rooms now, until further notice from any of the head of houses.” Above them, the crowds were already murmuring in confusion, unsure of why the match had stopped so suddenly. 

“Yes, sir.” Peregrine nodded. “Suzuka, let Jordan announce that the game is over, for prefects to step out and start escorting students into their common rooms. Tell Jordan that we will be leaving in the order of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and Slytherins.” 

The Hufflepuff captain nodded and boarded his broom, taking flight towards the commentators’ tower. 

“Adrian, Lucian, please help prefects where necessary.” Peregrine instructed, pointed at the people as he spoke. “Tracey, Damian, please help return Harry, Atsushi and my brooms on behalf of us. Marcus, Miles, kindly go glare at anyone that’s stepping out of line. With this many students, we need to maintain order or someone’s going to get stampeded on.” The team grimaced. 

“We’ll help too with people-directing,” Cedric volunteered helpfully. “If you lot take the North exit, we can direct the South exit.” Beside him, the Hufflepuff team: Aurille, Sutherland, Lin, Bowman, and Westwood— all fourth-years and above— chimed their agreements. All of their competitiveness and rivalry had melted away in the face of a bigger urgency. 

The Slytherin prefect nodded his thanks. “Excellent. Try not to spread panic just yet; heads of houses will inform their students individually tonight. For now, let’s just move them back into the castle.” 

There was a mumble about the castle being where the monster was— and that they were probably safer outside in the open stadium than indoors— but it wasn’t as if the whole school could camp under the gloomy skies for the better part of the week, so everyone got to their responsibilities and begin slowly bringing the disappointed crowd to their feet.

“Come, Mr. Takagi, Mr. Potter,” gestured Snape finally. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“Prepare yourselves,” warned Professor McGonagall as they reached their destination: the third-floor girls’ bathroom, commonly preoccupied by Myrtle. Harry grimaced as they stepped in, the floor around the sink covered in a weird slick. 

As he looked up from the floor, he couldn’t help gasping at the sight. Sage and Axelle were crouched, holding each other, facing away from the main communal sink, staring directly at the mirror on the end wall of the bathroom. 

A few feet away from them, Penelope Clearwater, Ravenclaw prefect— was standing frozen, her arms outstretched, as if she had been trying to protect Axelle and Sage, her wand still in hand. She was staring straight at the sink, at something that had been tall enough for her to crane her head upwards in horror. 

And just inches before Penelope, laying horizontally, floating atop the slicked floor, her usual translucent-ness now a dirty, matt black— was Myrtle. 

“It’s another ghost-student attack,” Professor McGonagall said grimly. Beside her, Professor Filtwick, usually peppy and cheery, looked unusually somber. 

“By Merlin,” said Peregrine, his voice shaking as he carefully stepped over to examine Myrtle and Penelope. “Two Slytherin first years, a prefect, and a ghost,” he laughed hollowly. “The monster is upping its attacks.” 

Professor Snape was wordless; instead, he waved his wand and a small vial appeared. A few droplets of the slick on the floor floated into the glass vial, and again with magic, he sealed and pocketed it. 

“At least now they can’t accuse the perpetrator of being Slytherin,” Peregrine said, his tone strained. “Two consecutive Slytherin attacks.” 

“It’s okay,” Harry whispered quietly to Atsushi. In lieu of standing frozen, the young keeper had started shaking, trembling within Harry’s grasp. “Do you want to go?” 

“N-No,” Atsushi forced. “I want to help.” 

There was a stagnant pause, and then Professor Snape tilted his head, almost in respect of Atsushi’s determination despite how difficult it was to see his friends frozen in fear. “Very well. Mr. Derrick, Mr. Potter, help Professor Filtwick levitate Ms. Brighton, Ms. Wacthe and Ms. Clearwater to the infirmary,” he delegated. “Mr. Takagi, you should go with them.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“Harry, you’ve been pacing for twenty minutes,” said Ron impatiently. They were, again , at the library, having dragged a blackboard in front of their table. Harry had marked the students’ position in Myrtle’s bathroom and simply could not wrap his head around the mystery. “We’re not getting anywhere.” 

“It doesn’t make sense!” stressed the green-eyed boy. “Okay, so the monster was clearly in front of the sink— and just like with Justin Finch-Fletchley, Penelope Clearwater saw the monster through Myrtle and was petrified. From her pose— her arms were outstretched— she was trying to protect Sage and Axelle.” 

“We’ve been over this twenty times, Harry,” The redhead slumped tiredly onto the table, running his hand through his hair. 

Harry ignored him. “Sage and Axelle were crouched, facing away from the monster and with their backs to Penelope and Myrtle. Why did they stay put until the monster could get in front of them and petrify them? Why didn’t they move?” 

“Maybe they were petrified first?” Neville suggested helpfully. Hermione, Draco and Theo had already tired of Harry’s repeated analysis of the scene and had gone to search the bookshelves for more monster reference books in hopes of cracking the mystery. 

“Then, what, Penelope stood in front of them to prevent the monster from eating them?” Harry furrowed his brows. 

The redheaded Gryffindor sighed loudly. “Well, what if they couldn’t move?” 

“What do you mean?” Harry raised an eyebrow. “We already said that there was no way they were petrified first. Penelope wouldn’t have defended them the way she did if the monster had gotten to them first.” 

“Okay, but what you’re saying is,” Ron rubbed the bridge of his nose, “You’re saying the problem with how they’re positioned is because Sage and Axelle stayed crouched, facing away from the sink, even after Penelope had been petrified, and didn’t move when the monster moved in front of them and petrified them.’ 

“Right.” the Slytherin nodded. 

“Well,” said Ron slowly, his brain clicking like an old clock finding its mechanisms again. “What if the monster doesn’t have to be in front of them to petrify them?” 

“What do you mean?” Harry blinked. 

The redhead sat up straighter, his eyes brightening as it slowly dawned on him. “Doesn’t— Doesn’t Myrtle’s bathroom have a mirror right at the very end? A mirror that would reflect the sink if you looked at it?” 

Harry’s jaw dropped. “You mean—” 

“They saw the monster through the mirror!” the two said at once. 

“And this would align with all the other attacks, too!” Neville stood up, gaping. “Creevey saw the monster through his camera lens—” 

“Justin and Penelope through Nearly-Headless Nick and Myrtle—” Ron’s eyes were almost as large as saucers. 

“Cole through the internal reflection of his glasses and Mrs. Norris through the puddle of water!” Harry jumped up so hard his chair fell to the ground. “No one has seen the monster directly— except Nick and Myrtle, but they’re ghosts, so they can’t die again!” 

“Guys,” the three students glanced up to see Hermione with a thick book in her arms— The Myths and Legends of Europe — a bright spark in the Muggleborn girl’s eyes. “I had an enlightenment.” 

“So did we!” Ron hushed. “Wait, let us go first—” 

Quickly, they explained their theory— that no one had seen the monster directly yet, and linked each and every one of the previous attack cases. As they justified their reasoning, Draco and Theo nodded along, indicating their agreement— it made sense. 

“Your turn. What’s your breakthrough?” Harry asked, eyeing the book Hermione was carrying. “Mythical legends?” 

“All this time, we’ve only been looking at Wixen creatures, right?” Theodore began explaining. “For context: Draco and Hermione were talking about Christmas— and how Hermione once told us about Santa, who comes down chimneys and whatever.” 

“And then you guys told me about the Floo network, and I thought maybe Santa wasn’t a myth, that Santa was possibly real,” Hermione recounted excitedly. “Remember?”  

The group nodded furiously. 

“And then we read that the Chamber of Secrets was a legend, remember?” Draco reminded them. “But it’s turned out to very possibly real, and then we thought—” 

“All this time, we’ve been looking at real creatures,” Theo said, eyes bright with discovery. “Creatures that the Wixen society has seen, have confirmed the existence of. What if the monster isn’t real? Or, what if—” 

“The monster is mythical, or a creature that we think is mythical,” Harry connected the dots, “Because no one has seen it in real life before—” 

“Or no one has seen it and lived to tell the tale,” Ron breathed. “Blimey, guys, this is one heck of a theory. There’s no way… right…?” 

Hermione shrugged. “I didn’t think magic or dragons or flying broomsticks were real, but here we are.” 

The Weasley boy chortled. “Touche.” 

The Norse boy looked triumphant and very, very pleased with himself. With a loud plop , he set the book on the table and grinned. “Who’s ready to do some research?” 

 ────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

With the total attack count— including Mrs. Norris and the ghosts— coming up to nine, no one was willing to take any chances anymore. In the addition of two first-year Slytherin petrifications, no one dared accuse the green-decked house anymore, but still dirty looks were thrown all around, and despite the Hexad’s best attempts, interhouse tensions were at an all-time high. In fact, it had gotten so bad that the first-year Gryffindor-Slytherin classes had to split up and be taught separately. 

“Come along,” Peregrine was already waiting for the Slytherins outside their Charms class when Filtwick dismissed them. “Let’s make this quick. I have to run to Arithmancy after this, and Vector is such a stickler for tardiness.” 

In lieu of enough professors, sixth and seventh-year prefects were given the task of escorting students from class to class. Unfortunately, as many upper-year prefects— including Hogwarts’ head boy and girl, two Ravenclaws— were apprehensive about following Slytherin students around, Peregrine, all while angrily cursing at his ‘fellow’ prefects under his breath, had taken over all supervision and scheduling around the Slytherin cohort. 

“Is this why our house is the only one that has lead prefects?” Harry had asked quietly as Peregrine fumed, marching the second-years to their next class. Of Hogwarts’ four houses, Slytherins were the only ones that named additional ‘lead prefects’ on top of their six prefects from the fifth and sixty years. 

“Yes,” The lead prefect was clearly trying to restrain himself and not take out his anger on the second-years. “The prefect system works well— for all other houses, that is. The head boy and girl this year, Weldon and Carraway, work well enough with the prefects from other houses, but when it comes to us,” Peregrine scoffed angrily. “They couldn’t care less. Professor Snape implemented the concept of ‘lead prefects’ last year— with Terrence and Morgan—” 

“Morgan?” Harry furrowed his brows. 

Peregrine seemed to have caught himself and cleared his throat. “Ahem, with Terrence being the first lead prefect ever appointed. Our role is simple— we do what the head prefects don't do for us. Very often they overlook Slytherin in their planning and scheduling. Frankly, even though prefects are supposed to patrol the entire castle, from what I know, Carraway and Weldon are turning a blind eye to certain prefects skipping the dungeons in their patrol routes. Maybe even encouraging them to skip our portion of the castle.” 

“That’s awful,” Harry frowned. 

“That’s prejudice for you,” snorted Peregrine. “It’s… well, it’s not exactly that their reaction is unwarranted. I’m sure you’ve heard— Terrence wasn’t exactly treated nicely when he first arrived. They only grew to like him after he won us Quidditch games, and even when he was lead prefect, he had to demand respect from several upper snakes. And you’re more than aware of how someone like Hermione is treated sometimes. Slytherins… aren’t the nicest of people, and certainly not to other houses.” 

The lead prefect sighed tiredly, running a hand through his hair. 

“Their animosity against us isn’t completely unjustified. However, their behavior now— ignoring our first and second years’ safety because they assume we’re the ones behind the attacks— that’s just not right.” The seventh-year looked exhausted. “Interhouse prefect politics are something else. Your cohort is much nicer— your group, with Weasley and Longbottom, is a testament to that. But sometimes, when Arowelle and I attend seventh-year prefect meetings— it feels like it’s us against everyone else.” 

Harry looked apologetic as he watched tire lines crinkle Peregrine’s face. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

The prefect laughed. “Don’t be sorry.” Peregrine smiled wistfully. “And it’s not entirely bad— some of them are quite nice. Weasley, Clearwater, Suzuka…” he said absent-mindedly. “Plus Gemma and Caden from our side… the next year of prefects aren’t bad. Weasley and Clearwater would balance each other out very well as head boy and girl— perhaps there won’t even be a need for Slytherins’ lead prefects.” 

“That’ll be good,” Harry agreed. “Percy’s nice.” 

“He is.” Peregrine said readily. “But if all else fails— we have Farley and Seymour the junior. Slytherin won’t be in bad hands.” 

The boy-who-lived smiled. 

“And, if all incoming cohorts are all as nice as yours,” the lead prefect snorted. “Then we won’t have to worry about anything at all.” 

To the second-year Slytherin group’s surprise, they arrived at Transfiguration— a class they usually had alone with Professor McGonagall— to find the second-year Gryffindors already inside. 

“Heya,” Ron grinned from his seat. Neville simply waved. Behind them, their housemates— Lavender, Seamus, Dean, Sally Smith, Sophie Roper— were already unpacked and ready for class. 

“Apologies for the surprise,” Professor McGonagall said curtly to the snakes. “If you could take a seat. Thank you for bringing them, Mr. Derrick.” 

The lead prefect made a casual salute to the deputy headmistress. “No problem, Professor. I’ll get going.” 

The door closed behind Peregrine as Professor McGonagall began to speak. “As you may have heard, the first-year Gryffindor-Slytherin combined transfiguration classes have to be separated due to high animosity,” said the deputy, a hint of annoyance in her tone. “To make way for splitting their classes, we had to combine another cohort of transfiguration classes. After feedback from all professors, your year turned out most amicable with each other.” 

There was a chorus of understanding, oohs and aahs, as the Slytherins slid into their seats beside the lions. 

“This is a compliment .” she told them sternly. “In lieu of your juniors not getting along, we have picked your year as the Gryffindor-Slytherin class that gets along the best. Do not prove us wrong. Is that understood?” 

There was a sea of nods. McGonagall smiled slightly as she surveyed the class— Hermione and Neville seated together; Draco and Ron; Harry and Theodore. Across the room, Daphne had sat next to Lavender and Tracey with Sophie Roper. When no immediate brawls broke out, she tapped her wand on the blackboard and a spell incantation began spelling itself out. 

She smiled. Severus had given her his word; that after a year of potions classes, the ’98 cohort of lions and snakes could get along well enough— even Ron and Draco, despite their family feud. Thus far, they hadn’t disappointed her. “Then, let us begin.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

In another demonstration of Gryffindor-Slytherin unity, both Oliver and Marcus matched each other in fervently protesting the cancellation of Quidditch practices. 

“This is atrocious, Professor!” Oliver argued loudly, Marcus nodding his angry agreement as they stood before the deputy headmistress’s office table. “You cannot cancel Quidditch practices! What is the monster going to do? Come out to the Quidditch pitch and petrify all the players?” 

“If anything, the players are safer on the pitch than in the castle,” Marcus argued. “With all the open space, we’ll see the monster coming miles away—” 

“Mr. Wood, Mr. Flint, that’s enough!’ exclaimed the deputy, exasperated. “Canceled is canceled! There is no argument or debate up in the air! This is the headmaster’s final word. No more Quidditch practices until we know for sure that the threat has been dispelled. Now, if you have nothing better to say, please leave my office and let me have some peace!” 

It was safe to say that, across the Great Hall, Oliver and Marcus wore matching scowls throughout dinner, their attempt at reinstating Quidditch practices wholly unsuccessful. 

“If it wasn’t for the fact that they’re completely different body types, I’d have thought they were twins.” Hermione commented idly. Theodore snorted on his soup. 

At this moment, the potions master slinked into the Great Hall, his brows furrowed as he muttered angrily under his breath. “Sewer water… what the bloody hell does that mean?” 

Hermione perked up, watching the older Slytherin’s retreating back as he grumpily slinked up to the staff table, glowering at Lockhart as he passed. “Sewer water… is that what the liquid on Myrtle’s bathroom was…?” She tilted her head in confusion, her eyes still trained on Professor Snape as he slumped into his seat and began stabbing his food with a knife, much to Professor McGonagall’s apprehension. “Oh my god , sewer water!” 

She slammed her hands on the table, leaving her seat so fast she almost tripped. 

“I need to go!” she told them excitedly, tossing her book bag around herself. “Sewer water— that’s it! That’s the answer! I’ll— I’ll tell you guys later!” Further up the table, Gemma and Caden were preoccupied in conversation. 

“Wait, Hermione, we’re not allowed to leave by ourselves—” Harry said urgently. As per Professor Snape’s orders, they were to travel back and forth from dinner as they did with classes. “We’re to leave the Great Hall with the prefects, remember?” 

The Muggleborn, if she heard him, pretended not to, grabbing a chunk of bread from their table. “Cover for me!” And, miraculously, took off without any of the prefects noticing her absence. 

“Um,” Harry said awkwardly after the silence that followed Hermione’s confusing outburst. “Anyone know what that’s about?” 

Tracey, who had overheard the whole commotion, said unfazed. “Absolutely no clue. Maybe she’s going bonkers. Wouldn’t be surprised. She mutters all sorts of weird things in her sleep sometimes.” she hummed thoughtfully. “She’s been sleep-talking lots about Santa Claus these days, so.” 

The blonde Malfoy heir grimaced. “Wonderful. Granger lost her mind. Hey, at least I get a better chance at first ranking in potions this year.” 

“Not if Harry gives you a run for your money,” Theodore grinned. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

“Hey, you lot done eating?” Caden asked grumpily, surveying the second-year group. His eyes narrowed at the empty seat beside Harry, and he stared at the boy suspiciously. “Do you have everyone?” 

“Yes,” Harry lied through his teeth. 

The sixth-year prefect raised his eyebrows surprisingly high. So high, in fact, that they were touching his hairline. “Wasn’t Granger with you?” 

“That was during lunch,” bluffed Draco smoothly. “She wasn’t feeling well just now, so she stayed back in the dorms before we came down for dinner.” 

“Right. Why didn’t I hear of this?” Caden was becoming more suspicious with every passing minute, his eyes narrowing on each of the three Slytherin boys. “She should’ve alerted a prefect if she felt unwell.” 

“Err, well,” Harry fumbled, trying to create a plausible excuse, wracking his brain. “Um, it’s, it’s the, err, you know, the monthly pains.” 

For a moment, no one said anything. Caden blinked. Draco and Theo held their breath, and Harry seemed to be flushing so much that he would soon be the same shade as the Gryffindor banner. 

“Oh,” said Caden blankly. “Um. Okay. Let’s go.” 

The three boys breathed out a sigh of relief when Caden marched down the table to gather the first years. “Crisis averted,” muttered Harry under his breath, watching the upper-year bark at their juniors to finish up. “Fingers crossed Hermione gets back before anyone notices.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

Hermione couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it before. It was so stupidly obvious— and while not all details were clear yet, the puzzle pieces were falling together, snapping in place, revealing the truth behind all of it. 

“Where is it—” she murmured, tracing her finger across book titles. “I swear I left it here, where’d it go—” 

There was a whisper: “Hermione.” 

The Muggleborn jumped at her name, her eyes widening when she saw Ginny. She had never seen the redhead so pale. From when they first got to know each other, during the last days of summer, when they shared a room— Ginny was bright, vibrant, cheeks always flushed red with blood, although that could be mostly attributed to her shyness towards Harry. The Ginny standing before her, so small and tiny in comparison to the towering bookshelves, looked like she hadn’t slept in days— hair was frayed, eyes sunken, skin deathly pale. 

“I need— I need to tell you something,” Ginny’s voice was frail, almost as frail as she looked. Even then, her eyes were panicked, sweeping from side to side, like she had a life-changing secret. “I— I think,” she swallowed, “That night. The greenhouse fire. I think— that I— the one who—” 

“Weasley!” 

The two girls whipped around. It was Nicole Carraway— the Ravenclaw head girl. She was marching the two of them, her eyes glaring daggers at Hermione’s green-and-silver tie, like she was trying to set it on fire. 

“You should be with your housemates in the Gryffindor tower!” Carraway was furious, her hand gripping so hard on Ginny’s bony arms that the younger girl yelped in pain. “What in Merlin’s name possessed you to leave your group?” 

Ginny shivered. “I— I just, um, I…” 

“You should get back to your friends too,” Nicole Carraway stared coldly at Hermione, her lips disdainful at the green highlights of the Muggleborn’s uniform. “Go.” 

Hermione swallowed thickly. “I just need to find a book. For an assignment.” 

The head girl stared at her a little longer, and then shrugged. “Suit yourself,” Nicole said rigidly. “Not everyone has to be scared of being attacked, I suppose.” 

Freezing up at the head girl’s comment, Hermione steeled her gaze. “Aren’t you head girl?” Hermione asked, her tone now matching the coldness in Nicole’s. “House biases aside, Slytherin has had two first-year students attacked. That’s more students than Ravenclaw. By your logic, shouldn’t Ravenclaw students be suspected?” 

“Wrong,” Nicole’s gaze was pin sharp, her eyes flaring at Hermione’s accusation of her house. “Both Penelope Clearwater and Moaning Myrtle were Ravenclaws.” 

Hermione’s mouth felt dry. “Myrtle was a Ravenclaw?” she said slowly. Something was ticking inside her brain. It hadn’t occurred to her to think about it before. If Myrtle was a Ravenclaw, that meant that she had once been a Hogwarts student— that meant that she— “Oh my god.” Hermione breathed. “Myrtle.” 

“I don’t know what you’re going on about,” Nicole rolled her eyes, her hand still gripping Ginny’s arm. “But you should leave. We’ll all be safer,” without you roaming the halls . Nicole’s unspoken words were clear in the air, but Hermione couldn’t care less. 

She had almost found all her pieces. Ron’s mirror theory, the sewer water, Myrtle. 

Now she just needed the final piece. 

Scoffing, Nicole led Ginny out of the library, Ginny’s whines and cries barely audible even in the quiet. Hermione turned her focus back onto the bookshelf— her eyes trailing over the titles, settling on the ones she wanted. A smirk of victory danced across her lips as she wrapped her hands around it, holding the thick tome in her grasp— Myths and Legends of Europe — the very same book she had shown the Hexad the other day. 

As tempting as it was to simply plop it down on a table out of Madam Pince’s sight and raffle through it until she found what she needed— there was a tugging feeling in the bottom of Hermione’s heart. She squeezed her eyes closed and remembered again what Ginny had said—

“The greenhouse fire. I think— that I— the one who—” 

“I have to find Percy,” she murmured to herself, her eyes solidifying in resolve. She shoved the book into her bookbag— and reasoned that answers could wait. Ginny had been about to tell her something— something important— before Carraway interrupted them. Hermione didn’t know what specifically it was, in regards to the greenhouse, but she knew that she needed Ginny to be safe. 

She drew her wand out of her robes and quickly cast a disillusionment charm— the very same one that they had learned to smuggle Norberta out of the castle, a year ago— and dashed out of the library. Having once tailed a Gryffindor student, she knew the way up to the tower, rolling her eyes in annoyance as she navigated the shifting stairs. Glancing up, she could see Nicole dragging Ginny towards the painting entrance— and hurried her steps. 

By the time she reached the top, the painting had shut and Ginny was nowhere to be seen. Reasoning that she could wait until she saw someone she knew— Oliver, Percy, Ron or Neville would all do the trick— Hermione sat quietly in wait, tugging her disillusionment charm over herself every few moments, rendering herself as part of the castle walls. 

When the painting swung open, a few minutes later, Hermione looked up in anticipation, hoping for an upper-year she trusted— but saw Ginny instead. Her heart dropped. Ginny didn’t look like Ginny at all. Her eyes had been glazed over, and she was staring aimlessly in front of her. Most importantly— she held to her chest a familiar black leather diary— the one they had found soaked in Myrtle’s bathroom, the one they had written in, to find Hagrid ‘guilty’, and the one that was stolen from Harry’s bag. 

With a start, Hermione suddenly remembered the beginning of the year— when Ginny had run back into the house on the first of September to grab the little black book. 

“Oh my god,” she whispered. Harry and Neville had recounted to her how awful she and Theodore had acted when they used it for a prolonged time— she could barely imagine how much more serious Ginny’s condition was. “Ginny, Ginny!” she hissed, still camouflaging under her disillusionment charm. “Ginny, can you hear me?” 

The redhead seemed unaware of anything going on in the world around her but instead started descending the staircases, her pace steady as she moved through the castle. With no other choice, Hermione took after her, all the while calling the younger’s name. 

“Ginny, please!” Hermione begged, even reaching out to touch the redhead. She shook Ginny’s shoulders, and as soon as she did, felt a terrible, chilling feeling crawling up her spine. It was too late when Hermione realized her mistake— she closed her eyes, and she could hear herself yelling at Harry again— ‘ Don’t think you’re so special just because you’re the boy-who-lived, Harry ’, and seeing the hurt that flashed across the boy’s face. “Oh, no, no no no no no—” 

She fought the dark, overwhelming feeling that tried to overcome her. She swallowed, picturing how Harry had reeled back from her words, and gritted her teeth— she would not succumb to the diary’s dark magic again. 

“Ginny, where are you going?” she whispered, to no avail. The redhead could not hear her, and continued walking across the castle when, at last, they stopped before a wall. The very same wall where the first message— enemies of the heir beware, the chamber of secrets had been opened — was left. “Oh, Ginny.” 

Hermione could only watch in silent horror as Ginny conjured her wand, blood-like paint covering the tip of her wand, and began writing the words: Her skeleton will lie in the chamber forever.  

“Snap out of it, Ginny!” The Muggleborn shed her disillusionment charm, wrapping both her hands on the redhead’s shoulders. She shook the younger girl violently, trying to get Ginny to look at her— but Ginny’s eyes were glassy and white, looking far away into the distance and yet looking nowhere at all. “Please, Ginny!” 

There was no use begging, Hermione thought. After all, it seemed like Ginny was no longer in her own body. 

“I’m going to get help,” Hermione said firmly, looking into Ginny’s glassy eyes. “Stay here. Please. I’ll be back.” 

Without turning back, Hermione made a beeline for Professor Snape’s office. Had she looked back, however, she would’ve noticed how Ginny stared at her, expressionless but almost longingly— and with a shudder, almost puppet-like, began moving towards Myrtle’s bathroom. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“Hermione!” Harry hissed, jumping to his feet as the Muggleborn stumbled back into the common room. “Thank Jesus you’re okay— we were about to go find Professor Snape if you didn’t come back—” 

(“Who’s Jesus?” asked Draco in the background, confused)

“No use,” Hermione panted, hand on her heaving chest. “He’s not in his office. We have to find someone, anyone,” she said desperately, wringing her hands. She had felt powerless when she watched Ginny write the message on the wall— and she hated feeling powerless. She was the brightest witch of her age— why couldn’t she have found a solution? “We have to. Ginny’s— Ginny’s been,” The words got caught in her mouth. Why couldn’t she say what she wanted to? 

“What happened to Ginny?” Harry looked alarmed. Beside him, Theodore’s eyebrows were knitting together and Draco was peering carefully between Hermione and Peregrine, across the common room. 

“I— I can’t say!” she cried out in frustration. There must’ve been some sort of magic that was preventing her from retelling the events. Ginny’s being possessed by Riddle’s stupid diary , she wanted to scream, Ginny’s going to help Riddle take someone down to the chamber . “Ginny’s— she’s in trouble, we have to go find someone, please!” 

“Grab Peregrine,” Harry told Draco, all while keeping his hand on Hermione’s shoulders and holding her steady. “Hermione, breathe. Can you tell me why Ginny’s in trouble?” 

“No!” Hermione wailed. “I— there must’ve been some kind of magic that’s— that’s preventing me from saying. Ginny’s— she—” 

“What’s going on?” Peregrine had stalked over, a worried Draco behind him. “Granger? I thought you were sick— Caden said you were unwell and in your rooms, why—” 

“Ginny!” Her words burst out of her. Hermione looked almost feverish, shaking and sweating from the fear and frustration of not being able to communicate what was happening. “There is some sort of magic preventing me from— from saying what really happened,” she wrung her hands desperately. “Please, you have to believe me. We need to go see Professor Snape now .” 

“Hermione, is this to do with the chamber of secrets?” Harry asked, keeping his voice level. She nodded furiously. “Okay. Is someone petrified?” 

“No, b— but there’s, there’s going to be worse.” The Muggleborn looked up at her friends, hoping they believed her. “Please.” 

“Is someone dead?” Theodore asked seriously. She shook her head. “Is someone going to be dead?” 

Tears pooled in her eyes as Hermione nodded vigorously. “Please. We need to find Professor Snape. I can’t explain how I know these things, but—” 

“Okay, okay, you’ve convinced me,” Peregrine stopped her with his hand. He glanced over his shoulder. “Arowelle! I’m taking this lot to find Professor Snape. They’ve got something urgent to say to him. No one leaves until I send a word, understand?” 

Although she looked confused, she nodded regardless. 

“Let’s go,” Peregrine nodded, already moving towards the common room exit. “Come on.” 

To say Professor Snape was furious when they entered the staffroom was an understatement. He was, in fact, confused, worried, frustrated, and furious all at once. “Mr. Derrick!” Snape snapped. The second-years all flinched— they’d never heard him raise his voice so much. Not even when students messed up a potion in his class by ignoring his instructions. “What is this? Students were told not to—” 

“It’s Ginny!” Harry blurted out, holding a shaking Hermione before the rest of the professors. He could see clearly now that they all looked unusually grim— more surprisingly, Professor McGonagall looked like she was on the verge of tears. “What’s… what’s going on?” 

“How’d you know about Ginny?” Snape asked quietly. The rest of the professors were staring at them, borderline horrified. 

“Hermione…” Harry glanced at the Muggleborn, who opened her mouth but could not speak. She wailed silently. “I think… I think Hermione’s been cursed with some sort of nonverbal hex. She came bursting into the common room crying about Ginny being in trouble, but she can’t seem to explain to us how— or where— or what kind of trouble Ginny is in, only that she is in trouble.” 

“She said that someone’s going to die,” Theodore said quietly. Beside him, Hermione had gotten her hands on a notepad and was furiously writing across the page, her handwriting tearing across the paper. 

Draco picked up the notepad and began to read aloud. “She wrote… Ginny is going to take someone down to the chamber. Ginny is cursed.” 

Professor McGonagall sucked in a breath, looking pained. “She’s gone.” 

The Muggleborn furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. 

“Ms. Weasley is already gone,” Professor Snape repeated, his voice strained. “Ms. Weasley was the one taken by the chamber.” 

“What? No.” Harry paled. “No way.” But between the professors’ grim faces, it was clear that no one was playing an extremely cruel prank. “No. Does— Does Ron know?” 

“We are about to alert the Weasleys.” McGonagall swallowed. “Then, we will clear the school and evacuate all students. Filius, if you could please send an owl to Albus, I will address the Weasleys via. fire talking. Severus, perhaps you should escort your students back to their dorms. Hogwarts is closing.” 

“But—” Harry opened his mouth to protest. 

“No buts, Mr. Potter!” Snape snapped. “Do you not understand how dire this situation is? A student has been taken. Hogwarts is no longer safe! You will return to your dorms. I will give Ms. Granger the potion to lift the throat-binding curse— and you will all pack tomorrow morning and leave.” 

“Professor Snape, you can’t send us back home!” Theodore argued angrily. “I’d rather di—” 

“Theodore Sterling Nott, don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Snape glowered angrily. “I don’t want to hear any more arguments. Mr. Derrick, take them straight to the common rooms. I don’t want any more excursions tonight. Am I heard?” 

Peregrine nodded stiffly. “Yes, Professor Snape.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“The potion will work overnight.” Severus said quietly. Hermione nodded silently and accepted the vial, drinking it in one gulp and blanching at the taste. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it, remembering the curse. Glancing around wildly, the Muggleborn tried to pick up parchment, but— “Hermione, that’s enough. Go to bed and pack your things tomorrow. I don’t want to hear another word.” 

She looked up at him, her gaze pleading. 

“Ginny Weasley is gone, Hermione.” Severus said, pulling his occlumency around him and trying not to feel the drop in his heart at the words. “Nothing can change that. We have searched— everywhere— for her, and she is nowhere to be found. Unless you know where we can find her, then— I don’t want any more protests from you, or from your friends.” 

She stayed quiet. 

Severus breathed shakily. “Goodnight, Ms. Granger. I will see you tomorrow at the train station.” 

Even though he didn’t want to admit it, Severus had to take a moment to steady himself upon leaving his common room. Upstairs, the Weasleys would be arriving any moment, and he would have to help Minerva break the news. 

By the time he reached her office, Percy, the twins, and Ron were already present, confused at the sudden summons. Afterall, it was already past 9pm— and all students, as with the newly implemented curfew, should be locked into their common rooms for safety. 

“Are we in trouble?” Fred joked. “If—” 

“— Snape’s here—” George continued. 

“We must be in some serious trouble,” the twins grinned. “Is he going to force feed us poison?” 

Minerva stiffened. “Now is not the time for jokes, Mr. Weasleys.” she said quietly. Sensing her demeanor, they quietened down, their faces turning serious. “Your parents should be here any moment.” 

“Our parents?” Percy raised an eyebrow. “Professor McGonagall, what is going on?” 

At this moment, the fireplace flared, and out stepped Molly and Arthur Weasley, dressed in their pajamas. If not for the circumstances, Severus would’ve snorted at Arthur’s rubber-duck matching pajama set. 

“Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley,” Minerva addressed, gesturing to the seats before her table. The other Weasleys crowded around the corners of her desk. “You might want to take a seat.” 

Severus pulled his cloak of occlumency around his mind and braced himself. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Back in the dungeons, Hermione couldn’t sleep. Whether it was the sore feeling of the potion burning down her throat, dispelling the curse— she’d read about it— it was an old hex that couldn’t be fixed with an anti-hex, but had to be cured via potions— or the responsibility of Ginny’s death hanging over her, sleep simply wouldn’t come. 

Beside her, Daphne, Tracey, Milicent and Pansy were already fast asleep. Hermione sighed, holding her hand to her head, squeezing her eyes shut at the feeling of an oncoming headache. With nothing better to do, she resolved herself to solving the last mystery— the last piece. She opened the book Myths and Legends of Europe. Perhaps she could write to Professor Snape after— and they could catch the monster— and Hogwarts would be safe again— 

Come to me. 

She snapped her eyes open, glancing around wildly for the sound of the voice. There was no one in their dorm besides them; even in the darkness, slightly lit by the eerie glow of the lake, the five girls were alone in their sleeping quarters. 

Come to me, Hermione. 

“Go away,” she said, aloud. Ignore it, she told herself. It doesn’t exist. You’re hearing things. Even so, she began to fumble around her bedside desk until her fingers curled around her wand. Perhaps the voice would simply go away. Her chest pounding, she flipped rapidly through the book, her eyes reading faster and faster as her heart raced. There wasn’t much time, she had to find the answer, leave a clue, so the others would know, the others would understand — 

I know you hear me, Hermione. Come to me. You know where. 

When Hermione opened her eyes again, she knew. Her body was no longer hers to control. Her legs began moving without her awareness, and she slipped out of bed. So quietly that even the ever-light-sleeper Tracey slept soundly as she crept through their dorm. 

Good girl. Come to me, Hermione. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“What do you mean, she’s gone?” Draco yelled, surrounded by bags and luggages in the common room. Daphne narrowed her eyes at his yelling. “Have you looked everywhere? Is she in the bathroom? Showering?” 

“She’s gone, Draco,” Daphne reinstated. Calm as she looked, however, there was no denying the uncertainty in her eyes. They had all heard, of course. Peregrine had announced it to the common room the previous night— for them to get ready to leave, to pack their things and write for their parents to pick them up. “She’s nowhere. Tracey and I made Millicent and Pansy help search. She’s nowhere in our dorm.” 

Harry’s heart dropped. 

“We found this book on her bed.” Tracey said quietly, passing Myths and Legends of Europe to Harry. “This was… the page it was open on.” 

“Read it,” Theodore urged. 

“Of the many legends passed down from mouth to mouth, the tale of the Basilisk , King of Serpents, is second in terror to no other. It is foretold to be hatched from a chicken’s egg, incubated beneath a toad.” Harry read, his voice covered by the sounds of hurried packing around them. “As legend says, the Basilisk has a murderous stare; all those who gaze into its eyes suffer the throes of mortality all too soon. It is told to be the one true enemy of spiders, acromantulas; and yet, flees from the crowing of a rooster, which is fatal to it.” 

“It all makes sense now!” Theodore hissed. “The Basilisk has a killing stare, but no one’s stared into its eyes yet. That’s why it’s so angry to not have killed anyone!” 

“And back when we were summoned to Dumbledore’s office— Hagrid came in swinging roosters,” Harry realized. “They were already dead.” 

“The spiders— we saw spiders running from the castle before finding Justin and Nick—” 

“What’s this she scribbled on the page?” Draco squinted at the corner of the page. “Is that… pipes?” The blonde’s eyes widened as the piece clicked. “Pipes! That’s how the Basilisk is moving around the castle without anyone seeing and—” 

“Sewer water!” Theodore snapped his fingers. “Oh, Hermione, that genius!”

“Hermione must’ve— the curse— it must’ve made her go down to the chamber too, or something,” Harry bit his lip. “Hold on— she’s scribbled something else here, too, what’s— is that…? Myrtle, student.” 

“Myrtle, student?” Theodore squinted at the paper. “What does that mean?” 

“Oh!” Draco jumped to his feet, clapping his hands together. “I get it! She’s saying— Myrtle was a student, Myrtle’s a girl and—” The blonde became so agitated he was at a loss of words. “Don’t you get it? Myrtle was—” 

“The girl that was killed fifty years ago!” Theo said suddenly. “Draco, you’re brilliant. So— if Myrtle was the girl killed, and Sage, Axelle, and Penelope were all petrified in Myrtle’s bathroom, and Mrs. Norris was outside Myrtle’s bathroom when she was petrified, then—” 

“The opening to the chamber,” Harry whispered, realization dawning on him. “It’s the sink, isn’t it? The sewer water around the base of the sink— it explains everything! The basilisk emerged from the sink, that’s why Penelope and Myrtle were facing the sink!” 

All the pieces had come together. “We have to find someone, now —” they were all jumping to their feet, taking advantage of the chaos to slip past the prefects trying to streamline all the students’ luggages.

As they dashed through the castle, they bumped into the Gryffindors leaving their dorms, a river of luggages and bags moving slowly towards the courtyard, where the carriages would drive them to Hogsmeade station. 

“Ron!” Harry said suddenly, spotting the boy. The redhead was solemn, his eyes downcast and swollen, Neville holding his arm gently beside him as they moved along with the rest of the group. “Ron, Neville!” he hissed, hoping he could draw their attention without alerting the prefects. 

“Harry,” said Ron, his voice thick as he spotted the Slytherins. “You heard, huh?” he laughed painfully, his lip quivering. “She’s gone. For good.” 

“We know where the opening of the chamber is!” Harry, who would have usually been a lot more sensitive and sympathetic, forewent the sentiment and went completely straight to the point in favor of the situation. “Hermione’s been taken too, she—” 

“What?” Ron balked. He stared at them and realized they were dead serious. He shook his head fiercely, grief and frustration in his eyes. “No, no no no— it took Ginny, it can’t take Hermione from us too! How long?” 

“Caden’s been by the common room door all night,” Harry rationalized. “He only left his post early this morning— maybe an hour or two ago—” 

“She hasn’t been gone long.” Ron glanced at the front of the line, where Oliver, in Percy’s place, was leading the first years down to the courtyard. “Let’s go. Neville—” 

“I’m absolutely terrified,” the other Gryffindor boy cut him off, but swallowed his fear and nodded. “But I’m coming.”

“Should we tell Snape?” Draco suggested tentatively as they began weaving in and out of student groups, avoiding detection from the professors and prefects. 

“Most likely, but Merlin knows he won’t let us go. We don’t have much time— any longer and Hermione will have been in there too long.” Theodore grimaced. “Merlin, if we survive this, he’s going to have our heads.” 

“He can kill me as long as we get Hermione and Ginny back. At least— at least something of Ginny’s. That we can bury.” Ron choked on his words, but forced himself to look strong. “Corridor’s clear. Let’s go.” 

As they rounded the corner, however, they stumbled by Lockhart’s office— which had been completely stripped of decor, luggage bags (too many to count) stacked by the door. 

“Here’s an idea,” Theodore brought up. “We bring a professor. Adult supervision. He’s always going on about how he killed and captured so and so… we could put his skills to use.” 

Therefore, when Lockhart emerged at his doorframe, five more boxes of clothes hovering behind him, he was held at wandpoint by five second-years. 

“Hello, Mr. Lockhart,” said Draco cheerfully, although there was no cheer in his eyes. His wand was pointed unwaveringly, and even Lockhart was smart enough to know that, inexperienced as they may be, five wands was better than one. “Off to fight the monster, we presume? Since you’ve had so much experience taking on vampires, banshees, and creatures of the sort.” 

The professor laughed nervously. “Y-Yes! Of course. The monster will be vanquished. Um, what’s with the wandpointing?” 

“We’re going to fight the monster, too!” Theodore told him helpfully. “Thought we’d tag you along the ride. Harry, you want the honors?” 

“Happy to.” Harry said calmly. “Mr. Lockhart, you remember Professor Snape’s expelliarmus ?”

Lockhart stared at him dumbly. Then he laughed— once, twice, and then bursting into laughter. “Mr. Potter— are you telling me the spell you’ll cast before you cast it?” 

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “Am I?” He raised his wand slightly, and so did Lockhart. 

“ Proteg— ” 

“ Aguamenti! ” 

Before Lockhart’s shield could go up, he was blasted back into his office by a strong jet of water, landing in a pile of wet limbs on his desk. 

“If there’s one thing that came out of the greenhouse fire, it’s that I’m really good at that spell.” Harry commented dryly, picking up Lockhart’s wand and tossing it to Theo, who pocketed it. “Come along, Mr. Lockhart. We know where the chamber’s entrance is.” 

Wet and being held at wandpoint by five second-years— Lockhart gulped and got to his feet. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

They were quite a weird procession. Lockhart, at the front, his hands raised defensively, followed by Harry and Ron holding him at wandpoint, and the rear with Theodore, Neville and Draco. 

“Where are we going?” Lockhart asked, lip quivering. “This is a bathroom.” 

“We know,” Harry said flatly. The boy, once always polite to all his professors, had no more politeness left to afford Lockhart; his only concern was getting Hermione— and Ginny, if she was alive— back. “Go in.” 

“This must be it. But how do we activate it?” Theodore furrowed his eyebrows, staring at the sink. The copper taps looked entirely ordinary, identical to every other sink to be found in the castle. Ron continued holding Lockhart at wandpoint while the other four boys searched around the hexagonal structure. 

“Here!” Neville said suddenly. “There’s a tiny snake embedded into the side of the tap.” he tried the handle and the tap remained dry. “It doesn’t work, either. Harry— maybe say something in parseltongue to it.” 

“I can try,” the green-eyed boy eyed the tap and opened his mouth. “ Open .” 

In horror— and amazement— they watched the sink clink, the structure spinning until it lowered itself out of view, revealing a large pipe— wide enough for a big, burly man to slide down. 

“Here we go.” Draco breathed, grimacing at the sewer water covering every wall and surface the whole way down. “I’m burning this pair of robes after this.” 

“If we come back alive.” Theodore snarked with a smile. “Oi, Lockhart, you first.” 

The Defense Against Dark Arts professor looked at them disdainfully. “Do you know how much this pair of robes cost me? There is no way that I’m—” 

He didn’t get to finish his sentence, because Ron kicked him in the back and sent him flying into the hole and into the darkness below. The other four boys blinked and stared at him blankly. After a moment, Lockhart’s descending screams ended and there was a thud . “What?” Ron asked shortly as he noticed their stares. 

“I would’ve hit him with another jet of aguamenti ,” Harry shrugged. “But that works too.” 

“I sure am glad I didn’t wear my most expensive robes today,” Draco sighed. 

“The incantation for the cushioning charm is molliare ,” Theodore reminded. “Wands at the ready.” 

“Alright.” Harry nodded, taking a deep breath. “I’ll go first. Ron, you come next, just in case Lockhart tries to ambush us at the bottom. Then Draco, Neville and Theo, you bring up the rear.” Without pause, he grimaced and jumped into the pipe, running his hand along the cold metal wall of the pipe, seeing fleeting glimpses of the pipe separating into other paths— he assumed pipes that would allow the basilisk full perusal and roam of the castle— until finally he saw a light at the end, and braced himself to cast a cushioning charm. 

Harry landed relatively on his feet, and Ron behind him stumbled a little. Immediately, they both pointed their wands at Lockhart, who groaned from the floor, still recovering from his crash landing. Draco slid down gracefully, and Neville came down screaming. Lastly, Theo tumbled out of the pipe, slipping on the sewer water but catching Neville’s arm before he fell. 

“ Lumos . Holy Merlin,” Draco breathed, surveying their surroundings. They were in a gigantic tunnel— walls paneled with stone and decorated with large, serpentine statues at regular intervals. All across the walls, large, thick, overgrown vines dug into the crevices, thriving off of the slime and grit. “Never mind the chamber of secrets— this is the chamber of snakes. We must be way under the castle— maybe under the lake, even.” 

“This is the basilisk’s playing field,” Harry grimaced, stepping over Lockhart, who was still groaning on the ground. “Get up, Mr. Lockhart.”

“I’ve— I’ve broken my arm,” said the man pitifully, clutching his arm. In return, Theodore leveled him with a flat stare. 

“Should I try to fix it?” The Norse boy said wickedly, his hazel eyes glinting, twirling his wand playfully. Immediately, Lockhart paled and dropped his arm, stumbling clumsily to his feet. “That’s what I thought.” 

“B-Boys,” Lockhart managed, attempting to reason his way out of the situation. “We— We don’t have to do this.” 

“Shut up,” Ron growled. “We are going to go find Hermione and my sister, and you are going to come with us. Start moving.” 

Once more they resumed their procession, their steps in puddles of water echoing eerily. Water reflected on the ceilings as they navigated their way through the long tunnel— and finally came to a great, round door, nine snakes curled across the front of it. 

“ Open ,” Harry didn’t even need prompting, parseltongue slipping off his mouth easily. Immediately, the snakes started shifting, slithering across the great round door until the mechanism unlocked, the door swinging open. “Let’s go. Stay alert.” 

“Oh Merlin,” Neville whimpered quietly as the ceiling began sloping upwards, revealing a grand chamber. What they were previously in was only a large, stone-paneled tunnel— the true chamber lay ahead of them. The snake statues grew in size, creating the image of an evil reptile god’s underground temple. From the cavern ceiling dangled hundreds upon hundreds of vines, each thicker than the previous. Ahead, the face of a bearded man— only that his beard were snakes — was carved into the back wall of the chamber, his stony eyes soulless and merciless. 

“That must be Salazar,” muttered Draco, pointing his wand light at it. He shrieked. “Holy shit—” 

Lying stretched out before Salazar’s carving was the shed of a very, very large snake, a sick, eerie green, scales dry and ghostly-translucent. The creature it belonged to was at least 20 feet long and with a diameter of Harry’s height. 

“Yippee,” Neville said weakly, giving them all a shaky thumbs-up. “At least we now know how big it is.” 

“There’s someone there,” said Harry suddenly, his gaze moving away from the shed skin. The rest turned to look— and he was right. Lying on the floor, crumpled, was Ginny’s motionless body. Beside her, Hermione was crouched, almost as if in prayer, her shoulders slumped and her head bowed; her hair out of its regular hairstyle and covering her face like a torn curtain. “It’s them!” 

No one wasted any time running over to the two girls. Ron cradled his sister in his arms and pressed his ear to her chest— sobbing in relief. “She’s breathing!” he cried. “Ginny, Ginny, please wake up!” 

“Hermione,” Harry pleaded, grasping the girl’s face in his hands. “Hermione, wake up.” 

“Dammit, Granger!” Draco snapped his hands in front of her, slapping her cheeks lightly. “Granger, come on! Hermione, dammit, look at me !” 

“Theodore?” Harry glanced away from Hermione momentarily, finding the boy’s absence weird. “Theodore, what are you—” 

With a start, the green-eyed boy realized what had caught Theodore’s attention. The Norse boy was standing, quiet, frozen, staring at a little black book on the floor, soaked by water and slick and slime— and yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away from it. 

“Theodore!” Neville snapped angrily, rising from Ginny’s side. “Theodore, snap out of it!” the Gryffindor demanded, kicking the diary away. To their surprise— the diary came flying back, landing with a sick splat before Theodore’s feet. Still, he couldn’t look away, his gaze becoming trance-like. 

“Set it on fire, or something!” Draco hissed, distracted, slapping Hermione hard across the face. He looked stunned as her eyes refocused on him, her face contorting as she registered the pain blossoming across her cheeks. “Granger!” he yelled, holding her cheeks in his hands, “Are you back? Can you hear me?” 

“Draco?” Hermione blinked the confusion out of her eyes— and then looked promptly alarmed at something behind him, “Draco—!” 

“My apologies,” It was Lockhart, grinning. Draco had set down his wand as he desperately tried to wake Hermione, and now the man was gripping it, pointing it at the blonde. “This will unfortunately have to be the end of our journey. I’ll bring Ginny back— and say that the monster got to you six before I could do anything about it. I’ll say that I defeated the monster— even bring some of that skin back with me. It will be a tragic story, I’m afraid… the world will know of the six fools that tried to challenge the chamber by yourselves and got killed—” 

“ Expelliarmus !” 

Lockhart yelped as Draco’s wand flew from his hand, Hermione’s arm still outstretched from disarming him. 

“You never learn, do you?” her lips twisted in disapproval. With a twirl of her wand, a small ball of blue fire appeared at the wandtip, and with a well-aimed flick, the edges of Lockhart’s flammable robes caught the blue fire, said man screaming and fleeing from the chamber, his limbs moving in uncoordinated directions as he attempted to put himself out. 

Apparently, seeing Lockhart set on fire was exactly what Theodore needed to snap out his trance. “Coward,” he shook his head, dizzy, but managed a snort as he watched Lockhart disappear into the darkness. 

“There goes the adult supervision,” Harry shrugged— and then realized who had just saved them. “Oh my god— Hermione! You’re okay!” 

“Well, Ginny’s not!” Ron snapped. His sister was still limp in his arms, and once more he pressed his ear to her chest. “Her pulse is thready— she’s not going to last for much longer,” he said, desperate. “Why isn’t she waking up?” 

“Because she can’t.” 

All six heads spun at the new voice. It was a familiar face. A suave smile, styled, dark curls, familiar school robes and a green tie. The ghostly form of Tom Riddle smiled lazily at the hexad, twirling Ginny’s wand between his fingers. 

“Hermione, can you walk?” Harry said quietly, holding eye contact with Riddle. The girl made a noise of affirmation behind him. “Good. Take Ginny and get out of here. Now.” 

“There’s no use!” Riddle laughed. “Don’t you understand? Ginny has already given her soul to the diary— to me ! Every second, it draws away at her life source and adds to mine!” he stopped, admiring his own hands— which were becoming more opaque by the second. “It’s too late for poor, little Ginny Weasley. There is nothing you can do, Jerry— or should I say, Harry Potter ?” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Harry stared at Tom Riddle. Something about the man made the hairs on the back of his neck stand— and every nerve in his body was telling Harry to run, run, run — but they needed to buy time. For Hermione to get Ginny away from Riddle and the diary, perhaps for Hermione to get some help… 

“How do you know me?” he asked slowly, picking his words carefully. 

“Oh, I know all about you!” Tom smiled, almost delighted. “Little Ginny’s been telling me for months— how her brother is best friends with the boy-who-lived, Mr. Harry Potter— how you were ever-so-kind to her in your short stay at her home— how you have a pair of the brightest green eyes and the kindest smile she’d ever seen…” 

No one said a word. 

“But what I was most interested in, of course,” Tom’s voice was dangerously low now, “Was how you defeated the greatest wizard of all time. How you managed to escape a killing curse with nothing more than a scar—” 

(“And the trauma,” Theodore snarked quietly.)

Riddle ignored him. “— while Lord Voldermort’s powers were destroyed?” 

“He was after your time,” Harry reasoned, eyeing Riddle carefully. “Why do you care?” 

Riddle’s laugh filled the cavern— a cold, merciless laugh— one that shot shivers down every boy’s spine. Ron gripped his wand tighter, and Neville, who was shaking, did the same. Draco scrambled for his wand and backed away from the hologram of Riddle— still becoming more and more real— and stood beside Harry. 

“I care because he— the greatest wizard of all time— is my past, my present, and my future,” Riddle’s eyes glinted with a hungry gleam. “You see…” 

With Ginny’s wand, he traced words in blistering red across the air, lines forming letters: Tom Marvolo Riddle . The five boys watched, haunches raised as Tom flicked the wand once, sending letters arranging themselves, horror sinking into their bones when the new phrase became apparent: 

I am Lord Voldermort. 

“No way,” Draco’s breaths had shallowed and his wand hand started trembling. “But— But you’re gone, you’re dead—” 

“This isn’t him, Draco,” Theodore said logically, his voice seething in hatred as he glared at Riddle, who was completely unfazed by the exchange. “This is a memory of him. The Dark Lord before he became the Dark Lord.” 

“That’s right,” Riddle drawled. “Of course, I wasn’t going to keep my filthy Muggle father’s name forever. No— I am the descendant of Salazar himself, destined to bring Slytherin back to fame. I will not carry that filthy, abandoning man’s name when I show the world how powerful I am— so I made myself a new one, you see; a name the world would grow to fear, so much they wouldn’t dare to speak it— and even now, your friends dare not to say my name—” 

“Voldemort,” Ron retorted, almost like a petulant child. Tom’s smile dropped. 

A little away, Neville flinched— but he, too, steeled his face and stared straight at Riddle, determination flaming in his eyes. “V— Voldermort.” he shuddered at the name, but braved himself again: “Voldermort,” Neville said, clearer this time, his tone defiant as he kept his wand poised. 

“Voldermort,” Theodore glared, his fingers tracing sigils through the air. 

Tom’s nose flared. 

“V-Voldermort,” Draco shivered, but hardened his gaze. “You look a lot better now than you do in ten years’ time. Honestly, I— I can’t fathom why you, V-Voldermort, changed your nose for the slits when you had such a nice nose before—” 

Theodore’s snort echoed around the chamber. “Of course the one thing Draco pays attention to is the nose job.” At this, even Neville, shaking from head to toe, managed a wry smile. 

“This is getting ridiculous,” Tom snarled, looking manic. “And here I thought that you— you were some sort of powerful, genius child wizard— would’ve thought so from all the praises little Ginny sang of you— but you, you and your friends— just a bunch of stupid, idiotic children —” 

Riddle sucked in a sharp breath, as if remembering his poise. 

“But no matter,” he smiled, a strained, trembling stretch of his lips, almost trying to calm himself. “This just makes my life easier. Harry Potter is no weapon of Albus Dumbledore… he is just, after all, a regular, little boy.” 

Call it fate, call it irony— but at this moment, overhead, the chamber filled with the sound of a heavenly, melodious birdsong, as if Merlin himself had heard their prayers. The five boys turned, and so did Riddle, confusion painting his face— and out of the darkness burst a flaming star, vocalizing proudly as it soared into the cavern, a bright beam of hope. Perhaps it was the magic of the phoenix’s song— but Harry felt his heart swell, and all the fear that had been coursing through his body was amplified with a sudden burst of courage. He thought of Hermione, fighting through her tiredness and exhaustion to bring Ginny to safety— and he thought of his friends, who were clearly terrified— Neville, shaking, and even Theodore, who put up a cocky front— but still stood beside him. 

Harry stood with a new vigor, clenching his teeth and clenching his wand. 

“A phoenix,” Riddle spat, eyeing the creature shrewdly. 

“Fawkes.” Harry corrected. The flaming bird was flying circles around them— and in its’ claws, it held an old, raggedy, cloth-like thing— the Sorting Hat, Harry realized with a start. Cawing proudly, the phoenix pattered it’s great wings and landed before the five boys, staring haughtily at Riddle before it opened its beak and cried out beautifully— as if announcing a war song. 

“Hah!” Riddle laughed, high and mocking. “Is this what Dumbledore sends to his children? A bird— and an old hat? This is what he arms you with— this is what he sends you into battle with? Don’t make me laugh.” 

“Dumb o’door’s really lost his mind,” Theodore grimaced. “God— not to agree with Riddle, but I really hope that old buffoon drops dead tomorrow.” 

Ron winced, trying to make the best of the situation. “We could throw the hat at him…? Maybe Fawkes could set him on fire…” 

“What a bunch of fools!” Riddle mockingly swiped a tear from his eye. “I have waited for this for so long— for a showdown— and this is what I get! What a joke…” he shook his head in mirth. “Very well. As if his school hasn’t lost enough children— Dumbledore sends five twelve-year-old boys to fight me , the greatest wizard of all time!” 

“I wouldn’t know about the greatest wizard of all time ,” Harry retorted, feeling a flash of fury every time he thought about Hermione and Ginny— and what Riddle had done to them. “Last I saw you, you were a parasite attached to the back of someone’s head.” 

Clearly, this was new news— and did not sit well with Riddle. “ What did you call me?” he snarled, gaze darkening. 

“You heard me,” Harry raised his head defiantly. “You were a parasite . You were a face molded into the back of someone’s head— and you burned away after a single touch from me.” 

“How pathetic,” Theo couldn’t help but sneer. “You lost once to an infant and twice to his mere touch.” 

“Enough!” Tom Riddle screamed, his face thunderous. “Fine! Then grant me the chance to fight you again, Potter,” his lip curled in disdain at Harry’s name, “And we’ll see.” He turned towards the towering carving of Salazar Slytherin, raising his arms dramatically, as if to receive a god from the heavens. “ Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four! ” 

The chamber began rumbling, the cavern quaking around them, Ron pale as his footing slipped. “Don’t tell me—” 

To their horror, Salazar’s mouth slid open, revealing a circular cavity, and behind it, there was a thump of a large body moving, a monster slithering out from its depths. 

“Oh Merlin,” Neville whimpered. “We’re going to die.” 

“Run!” Draco hissed, although no one needed to be told twice, already scampering out back the way they came. Behind them, Riddle laughed, a high-pitched, maniacal sound of twisted joy. 

“You think you can run?” His voice echoed after them. The ground shuddered— a large creature had hit the chamber floor, and already they could hear the basilisk slithering after them, its scales sound like rough sand pouring in a torrent through an hourglass. 

“Do we have a plan?” Ron yelled, his feet splashing loudly,  not daring to look back. “Guys?” 

“The plan is to run , Ronald, in case you haven’t noticed!” Theodore yelled, swearing loudly as he struggled to draw good luck sigils while moving. “What, you want to fight that thing?” 

“ Bombardia! ” came Riddle’s voice behind them, sending the five boys into a fit of coughs as the ceiling before them collapsed, dust rising into the air. Five matching faces of horror stared at their exit path— now blocked completely by debris. “Where can you run now, hmm?” 

“Change of plan!” Harry yelled, ducking a piece of falling ceiling. “Split and run for it! Do not look it in its eyes! Go!” 

The basilisk lunged at them, face-planting into the collapsed wall, screeching maddeningly in anger as it dove again and again for the five second-years, who had split. 

“ Attack them! Kill them! ” Riddle urged, his laughter heightening as Neville screamed, barely dodging the basilisk’s fangs. Undeterred, the giant snake lurched forward again, this time missing Neville only by a perilous inch. “ Kill them, majestic, beautiful monster of the chamber! ” 

“Neville, go!” Ron dove forward, pushing the boy across the slick chamber floor, putting himself into the basilisk’s field of vision instead. In his haste to get away, the redhead slipped and fell onto the floor with a solid crack, face contorting in pain. Now with a new prey in sight, the basilisk unhinged its great mouth, pearly-white fangs poised to attack— 

“Ronald!” Harry screamed from across the chamber. Recalling the spell that Riddle had used, the boy-who-lived pointed his wand at the cavern above the basilisk, fury lacing his voice as he yelled: “ Bombardia! ” 

A comet of blinding white light exploded the cavern, unlodging a gigantic chunk of stone— which promptly fell onto the basilisk’s head. The snake screeched— and Ron grasped the chance to get his feet. 

Angrier than ever, the basilisk lunged again, its great body moving faster than Ron ever could— 

“No!” Draco yelled in dismay, watching as the scene unfolded out of control. “ Immobulus! ” he screamed, but the freezing charm bounced harmlessly off of the basilisk’s thick skin. When all seemed lost, however— 

“Ron!” Neville cried out, and when everyone— including Riddle, who was just frantically looking everywhere (there were too many kids to keep a track of)— turned to look at him, he was brandishing the Sword of Gryffindor, the Sorting Hat by his feet, as if he were King Arthur armed with Excalibur, the blood-red ruby embedded in the hilt glistening in the light.

art credit: Pieofpye || Instagram || Twitter

(Now, dear readers, we would all like to imagine that Neville, like a true Gryffindor hero, ran towards the basilisk in rescue of his fellow housemate, weapon poised, like a soldier charging into battle. However, let us take a moment to remember that the kids in writing are twelve and, unfortunately, do not routinely visit the gym or weight-lift.)

The moment skidded to a halt as Neville staggered, the sword dropping to the ground, too heavy for him to sustain for more than one moment. Riddle cackled— a horrific, chilling sound that made Harry want to blast him with a powerful aguamenti — at their feeble efforts, but before he could instruct the basilisk to attack again, Neville gave the sword a powerful kick, sending it flying— sliding— across the chamber floor into Ron’s waiting hands. 

Seizing the sword hilt, Ron— the tallest and strongest of the five boys— squeezed his eyes shut and swung blindly at the monster above him, guided by the momentum of fear and nothing else to lose. The basilisk shrieked shrilly as the sword tore a slash into the side of its mouth, and furiously attacked again. Ron brandished the weapon before himself, eyes closed, almost waiting for death to collect him— 

There came a sharp shrill, and the monster thrashed above Ron, the boy rolling out of the way as the snake came crashing onto the floor. He dared to open his eyes— and saw Fawkes’s golden talons digging into the basilisk’s eyes, blood spilling out of the creature’s head. 

“No!” Tom screamed as the monster did the same, so angered that he hadn’t bothered to speak in parseltongue. “No, no, no! Interfering bird! No, no, no— sniff them out, you idiotic monster! Sniff them out and kill them!” 

“Now’s our chance!” Theodore wasted no time, seizing the moment as resolve solidified in his eyes, sigils unfolding numerously across the air. His pendant glowed bright and started floating, humming off of his chest as more and more symbols appeared, the blinding white lines flying across the chamber and embedding into the monster’s skin. The sigils, now embedded onto the target, glowed silvery— and then red-bright, burning and scorching through the scales of the monster as it shrieked and Theodore cheered in success. “Yes!” 

“ Immobulus! ” Draco shot, stronger and more confident now that the monster’s greatest weapon had been rendered useless. Momentarily, the monster shuddered, movements robotic, the freezing charm casting a thin layer of frost over it. Dropping into a dive, he slid across the slick floor, forcing Ron onto his feet, the redhead still stunned from the near-death experience. “Get your shit together, Weasley! This is a battlefield!” 

Across the chamber, Harry was stopping at nothing. “ Wingardium leviosa! ” he flicked his wand harshly, sending huge pieces of debris flying towards the monster’s face. Unable to see where the attacks would be coming from, the snake shrieked, chunks of stone slamming into its thick body from all directions. 

In the back of his mind, Harry registered the cavern’s thick, rope-like vines reaching towards the thrashing basilisk, twisting and— growing— around the monster’s body, slowly but surely restraining the creature. Neville had, somehow, accomplished control of the cavern’s vines, his hands glowing and his eyes narrowing as he directed them towards the basilisk, forming and tightening a restraint of the creature. 

“What the hell?” Riddle howled, livid at the sudden shift in upper hand. “Sniff them out! Use your nose, you stupid—” 

The basilisk screamed, smacking its head into the cavern ceiling, sending a chunk of stone loose, falling and falling towards Draco and Ron— 

“ Protego! ” 

Riddle’s smile faltered as a glistening shield materialized above the two boys, Harry’s magic thrumming as his anger heightened. The boy’s wand was glowing as fiercely as his shield and as his eyes, his fury flaming to life as he turned his nearly-murderous gaze at Riddle. 

“Leave my friends alone!” Harry fumed, his eyes a radiant green. The shield behind him thrummed, the entire cavern shaking as a result— debris around the basilisk falling and crumbling atop the snake’s body. 

“ Bombardia! ” Draco cast, bringing down another section of the cavern. This time, instead of chunks that simply injured and crumbled upon the basilisk’s body, enough of the ceiling collapsed to trap the creature, the snake screaming as it struggled to get free. 

There was the sharp shing of metal as Ron slid the sword off the ground, his strength fuelled by the accelerant of anger. “This is for my sister, you bastard!” he yelled, charging towards the snake— raising the sword and hurling it at the creature. The basilisk shrieked, raising its head, sending the weapon through the roof of the basilisk's mouth and through its brain. 

Between Harry’s shield charm, still thrumming, and Neville’s vines swinging wildly from the ceiling, they dislodged another portion of the cavern ceiling, bringing down a boulder so large onto the basilisk’s head that it caved in, fangs snapping and skittering across the ground as the snake’s head’s body imploded and its body finally stilled. 

For a moment, all anyone could hear was the dust settling, and then— “It’s dead!” Draco yelled in disbelief, their victory almost unreal. 

“Fine!” Riddle fumed, raising Ginny’s wand— “I’ll just finish you all myself! Avada —” 

There was silence as the wand clattered onto the floor, and Tom’s eyes burned with confusion. He glanced at his hands and realized why— with Ginny moving further and further away from him, he had become translucent, his feeding off her soul impaired. He was no longer solid enough to hold Ginny’s wand. 

“What were you saying?” Ron challenged, a smirk on his face even through his heaving. Riddle saw his defeat unfold before his eyes. Harry and Draco were poised, their wands pointed straight at him, chests rising and falling as they fought to catch their breath; Theodore had drawn a dozen silver sigils in the air, ready to attack; Neville’s hands were glowing an earthly green as the vines around him curled threateningly, and Ron— Ron was still holding the Sword of Gryffindor, his gaze as brightly fierce as the ruby on the hilt. 

“It’s over,” Harry said coldly, stepping forward, his wand still aimed, his feet surrounded by the basilisk’s shattered fangs. In the sheer quiet of the chamber, everyone heard the soft squish as his foot made contact with the soaked diary. He paused to look at it, and then at Riddle. 

He smiled. 

Something deep inside him told him it was right— so Harry reached for a fang, and watching the horror blossom across Riddle’s face, stabbed the diary with the tip of the basilisk’s incisor. 

Ink splattered all over Harry’s hands as it spewed from the diary in torrents and Riddle screamed; a horrible, banshee-like sound. The five boys watched as Riddle’s body got lighter, lighter, lighter, and burst into nothing, his existence marked only by Ginny’s wand by where he stood. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Having already gone through extraneous amounts of anxiety and mind-numbing fear in the past hour (or hours , no one could really comprehend how long it had been), none of the five boys gave a real reaction when Lockhart leapt out from behind a serpentine statue, brandishing his own wand, which Theodore had dropped sometime in the commotion. 

“My, my, this’ll be quite the story to tell,” the author’s lip curled. “I’m impressed that you’re all still alive.” 

“And I’m impressed that you’re still this stupid,” Theodore muttered. “I’m too tired to deal with this.” After the battle itself, the boys had to go through the strenuous task of wingardium leviosa-ing away all the debris Riddle had caused when he collapsed their exit until they created a hole large enough to crawl through one by one. 

“I’ll have to obliviate you all, of course— streamline some events across all our memories—” Lockhart continued talking, much to everyone’s annoyance. “Say I saved all of your foolish arses, took on the basilisk on my own… saved the entire of Hogwarts in one fell swoop. Perhaps we can start with you, Harry—” 

“ Petrificus totalus .” 

Lockhart fell motionless to the ground. The five boys glanced up, tired smiles spreading across their faces as they spotted Hermione walking out of the darkness, relief painting her features as she took in the sight of them: battered, bruised and bleeding in certain places, but otherwise all in one piece. 

“Thank Merlin,” she mumbled, tackling Harry and Draco in a hug. The other boys smiled and joined in on the hug circle, each accepting as she fussed and wiped at the dirt on their faces. “I was so scared.” 

“We’re okay,” Harry murmured, gently patting her hair. “We were so worried about you.” 

“Where’s Ginny?” Ron glanced around in the darkness of the passage, worry seeping into his features. “Is she awake?” 

The Muggleborn shook her head apologetically. “She hasn’t woken yet. I hid her behind one of the statues, just in case the basilisk came along. Her heartbeat has become much steadier, and she’s breathing better now, so—” 

Just as they all glanced at the statue Hermione pointed to, there was a shuffle, and a flash of flaming-red hair, and Ginny Weasley sat up shakily, confused as to her surroundings. “Where am I…?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “Hermione…? Ron? Where—” 

Clang! 

There was a loud metal clatter as Ron dropped the sword and surged forward, engulfing his sister in a bear hug, holding her so tightly that she couldn’t breathe for a moment. “ Never scare me like that ever again, Gin,” Ron said tearily, holding his sister like he couldn’t believe she was real. “Swear to me, Gin. Swear you’ll never do that to me again. I thought you were dead , Gin— and Fred, George, Perce, Mum, Dad— they all think you’re gone— Merlin, I can’t stand feeling that more than once in a lifetime.”

“I— I—,” Ginny stuttered, glancing at all the second-years behind her brother, their smiles tired but relieved. “I’m so… I’m so, so sorry,” she sobbed. “This is all my fault. I didn’t… I didn’t realize—” 

“Hush, hush,” Ron comforted, holding her to his chest and letting her tears soak his shirt, on top of the blood and dust embedded into the fabric. “Let’s get you home, okay? Everyone else needs to know you’re okay, too. No one’s going to blame you, alright? We just need you to be okay.” 

And so, despite their utter exhaustion, the group took turns levitating each other up the pipe once more— first Hermione, then Harry, and together, they helped Ginny out— until each and every one of them were seated, breathless, on the floor of Myrtle’s bathroom. 

“Give it a minute,” Theodore groaned, collapsing onto the slimy, cold bathroom floor. Even Draco succumbed to lying down for a moment, reasoning that he was already going to burn his robes anyway. “Snape, McGonagall and the Weasleys can wait an extra minute. Let’s just, you know, catch our breaths for a minute.” 

The Muggleborn chewed her lip, crouched in the slime, Ginny pressed to her side as Ron flopped onto the tiles. “But we’ve been gone for so long, surely they’ve noticed we’re missing and everyone’s worried— oh, what if we get expelled—” 

“We have been fighting for our lives for over two to three hours, ‘Mione,” Harry reminded tiredly. “Plus, like Professor Snape’ll let them expel us anyway. You do see how ridiculous that sounds, don’t you? We risked our lives fighting— and killing— the mythical monster that has been terrorizing the school— they can’t expel us. God, I feel like I can sleep for three days straight.” 

Neville made a dubious noise, his dark hair flopped over his eyes messily. “Sleep?” The Gryffindor boy sounded incredulous. “You think you can sleep after all of that? I’m going to have nightmares for days!” 

“Ask Professor Snape for Sleeping Draught,” Draco suggested wearily, his limbs splayed out on Myrtle’s bathroom floor. “Puts you right to sleep. No dreams, no nothing. Just sleep.” 

“Or like, Zolpidem.” Hermione pointed out. 

“Zolpi-what-now?” 

“... Never mind, discussion for another day.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

To describe their entrance into McGonagall’s office in three words, it was ‘heart-attack inducing’. Theo had rapped on the door for a sharp response from the deputy headmistress— “Not now,” to which he responded wearily: “Okay, then when should we come back?” 

There was some panicked shuffling, and then the loud slam of the door as Professor Snape tugged the door open so fast he almost tore it off its hinges. “Theodore!” he basically screamed, and then noticed the rest of the children— Harry and Draco supporting Hermione in between them, Ron and Neville with Ginny— “Wha— We thought you were all missing! Taken to the chamber!” 

“Well, some of us were taken, and some of us went down there voluntarily.” Theodore said tiredly. “It’s been a few fun hours. Can we come in?” 

McGonagall, who had been at her desk with her face in her hands, stood abruptly, astonished, as the little parade stumbled into her office and collapsed on various chairs and couches instantly. “I— Ginny Weasley?” she glanced between the group and Severus, who looked like he was going through at least six emotions all at once. “I— I’ll alert the Weasleys.” 

“What happened?” Severus looked like he had aged forty years in the time they were gone, taking in how battered and bruised they were. “Merlin’s beard— what have you all been doing?” 

“In a summary, we were fighting a 20-foot long mythical snake monster that kills people on sight,” Theodore supplied helpfully. 

“The snake happened to also be controlled by a manifestation of 16-year-old Voldermort that he embedded in a diary,” Draco shrugged, wincing as the two adults in the room flinched at the name. “Sorry, we said it down there to his face to piss him off. My bad, we saw You-Know-Who.” 

“And there was also Lockhart,” Ron said, crumpling into McGonagall’s couch. “Sorry about dirtying the couch, by the way— Lockhart tried not once but twice to either kill or obliviate us. He’s also still down there. We really couldn’t be bothered to levitate him up after, you know, everything else, but I really don’t think we can be faulted for that.” 

The office door burst open once again, but this time, it was Molly Weasley, her hand flying to her mouth as she caught sight of Ginny cuddling tiredly against Ron. “Oh, thank Merlin!” she cried, engulfing her two youngest children. “You’re both alright— what in Merlin’s name happened? Minerva told me that Ginny went missing last night, and then this morning— Oliver swore he had you in sight one second, and then the next you were gone—” 

“Sorry, mum,” Ron said apologetically, or at least, as apologetically as he could look while being utterly exhausted. “Didn’t mean to put you through the grief of almost losing two kids within one day.” 

“Hold on,” Snape was pressing the bridge of his nose. “Can we take this from the beginning and figure out what in the bloody hell happened— excuse my language, but given that I’ve been fretting about seven children going missing in the same 24 hours , I think it was warranted.” 

“Where do we start?” Hermione raised an eyebrow. 

“Maybe we should start with the voi…” Theodore glanced over at Snape, who reluctantly nodded and fired a spell at the door for privacy. “Wonderful. Harry, since this is all you— do you want to break the news?” 

“Oh, right, um.” Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. “This started with the voices, I guess. I think— back in October— the night Mrs. Norris was petrified— I heard this voice saying kill , must kill — sorry, wasn’t English— kill, must kill.” 

Molly Weasley gasped audibly. “He’s— He’s a—” McGonagall looked like she had just been slapped. 

The green-eyed boy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Um, yeah. I’m a parselmouth. Ha ha.” 

“Moving on,” Theodore said, ignoring the look on the Weasleys’ faces, “There was the Quidditch game where Harry was, once again, sabotaged, because he’s the boy-who-lived and whatever. When he was in the infirmary, we were visited— by a house elf who tried to warn Harry away from Hogwarts, quoting that bad things were going to happen,” Theodore continued. “That same night, Colin Creevey was petrified through the lens of his camera.” 

McGonagall nodded, listening fervently to their story. 

“Then to the night of Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly-Headless Nick’s petrifications,” Theodore plowed on, “Harry and I were heading to the library when we saw a stream of spiders leaving the castle, and then we discovered Justin. Professor McGonagall, you know this part— Cole Bridgerrson discovered us moments after we discovered the two, and he started running.”

“And I heard the monster again, saying that it wanted to kill, and we wanted to stop Cole but it was too late,” Harry said grimly. “And Cole got petrified— but we saw this trail, like a slick, where the monster left, and we tried to follow it through the castle but we couldn’t and we were caught.” 

“Then we were at Dumbledore’s,” Theodore said. 

Snape opened his mouth, like he wanted to correct Theodore for dropping the honorific, but was too tired to care. 

“And Hagrid burst in with dead roosters,” Theodore waved his hand tiredly. “Then Christmas, we heard Myrtle making a fuss in her bathroom.” 

“Someone had thrown a diary at her,” Hermione continued, noticing how Ginny winced at this portion. “A little black, leather diary from Vauxhall Road, belonging to a student named Tom Riddle. And we had, at that point, heard about the chamber opening 50 years ago— and thought that Tom, having been a student from that time, would know what happened.” 

“Turns out, he did! Because he was the one behind it,” Theodore announced cheerfully. “But he didn’t tell us that. He pulled the blinders behind our eyes and showed us a memory of him putting Hagrid away for the crime of opening the chamber and killing the girl from 50 years ago— which, in case no one has caught on yet, is Myrtle, by the way.” 

Professor McGonagall blinked. 

“And the more we wrote in the diary, the more snappy and mean we got— particularly me and Theodore,” Hermione explained, “It got so bad that Harry and Neville interfered, and we were going to go to Professor Snape about the diary, because Draco thought it was a dark artifact and Ron said to be wary when you can’t see the brains of an intelligent artifact,” 

“And we were both right, may I point out,” Draco said, crossing his arms. 

“So Harry and I interfered,” Neville said softly, “Harry had Quidditch practice and we wanted to get the diary away from Hermione and Theo, so he took it with him— but then it was stolen from his locker while he was at practice.” 

Ginny looked up timidly. “I’m sorry, Harry.” 

“Hang on,” Snape sighed, putting his hands up. “Ms. Weasley, you…?” 

“I threw the diary at Myrtle,” she admitted guiltily. “And I stole it back from Harry’s locker. I… I realized that it was me, who strangled the roosters and painted the message on the wall, and I was scared, so I— I tried to get rid of it, but then I saw Harry and Ron and the others with it and I was scared that Tom would tell them all of my secrets, so—” 

“It’s not her fault,” Ron said firmly, wrapping his arms around his sister and staring defiantly at Professor Snape. “It was a dark artifact. And she did try to get away from it, so—” 

“No one is pointing any fingers here, Mr. Weasley,” Snape said, looking tired already. “Continue with the story.” 

“And then we were at the library, and I saw someone sneaking down to the greenhouses,” Neville recounted, glancing at Ginny as he spoke. “We thought someone was trying to sabotage the mandrakes, and by the time we got downstairs, it was already burning.” 

“Then Sage, Axelle, Penelope and Myrtle were attacked,” Harry said, “And I found their positioning weird. We thought about it long and hard, and Ron came up with a theory that all of the victims had seen the monster through something else — Sage and Axelle had seen it through the mirror, Penelope and Justin through ghosts, Colin through his camera, Cole through the reflection of his glasses, and Mrs. Norris through the puddle of water.” 

“And we had been researching all sorts of creatures up till then to try and figure out what fit the criteria, but then I realized,” Hermione spoke up, “That we had only been looking at real creatures, which have been seen and confirmed— and not mythical creatures, or legends.”

The two professors nodded along, while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked more and more bewildered by the tale as it progressed. 

“Then I heard Professor Snape talking about sewer water— the sample of the liquid he had found near the sink in Myrtle’s bathroom, and things started snapping together for me.” Hermione continued, getting excited. “I went to the library to search— and then I bumped into Ginny, who… I think you were trying to tell me that you thought it was you that set the greenhouse on fire, weren’t you?” 

The Weaslette nodded guiltily. “I just… I couldn’t remember where I was, and the first thing I remembered was… being at the courtyard, and Draco telling me to get Percy and Oliver.”  

“Right.” Hermione nodded. “However, before Ginny could tell me anything— the head girl— Carraway— dragged her off. But I had this really, really bad gut feeling, so I followed Ginny back to the Gryffindor dorms, and I was planning to tell Percy or an upper-year to keep an eye on her, but before I could, Ginny left the dorms in a daze by herself.” 

This part of the story none of the others had heard of, so they were all listening intently to Hermione speak. 

“I followed Ginny as she walked to the message wall and wrote out the message and I tried again and again to shake her out of it. I think that’s when the throat-binding curse latched onto me— when I tried to touch Ginny during her trance,” Hermione explained. “And I told Ginny to stay put, that I would go grab someone, but when I got to Professor Snape’s office, he wasn’t there, so I went back to the commons—” 

“Where you met your friends and Mr. Derrick brought you up to see me,” Snape pieced together. 

Hermione nodded. “After that, I went back to the dorms and tried to sleep, but I couldn’t , so I thought I would spend my time better figuring out what monster it was,” the Muggleborn said, “And I figured it out— but just as I did, I felt— heard— Riddle call out to me, and I tried to fight it— but I couldn’t. I was in a trance, just like Ginny was.” 

“And the next morning, Daphne came up to us and told us Hermione was missing,” Harry linked. “Tracey had found the Myths and Legends of Europe book open on her bed, on the basilisk page, which Hermione had realized; we thought it hadn’t been long since Hermione had gone.” 

“She also wrote ‘pipes’ and ‘Myrtle, student’ on the page, so we linked the clues— the monster, a basilisk, had been traveling through the school piping system, and the entrance to the chamber was at Myrtle’s bathroom— which is why so many of the attacks were in close proximity— Mrs. Norris’s attack; Axelle, Sage, Penelope and Myrtle’s attack; and Myrtle’s original attack, fifty years ago.” Theo explained. “On our way to the bathroom, we grabbed Lockhart, because, well, adult supervision.” 

“Which backfired,” Harry muttered. 

“We opened the entrance to the chamber and went down; we found Hermione in a trance and Ginny unconscious. I slapped Hermione and snapped her out of it—” Draco said. 

“Then Lockhart tried to attack us, that bastard—” Theo said darkly. 

“Hermione disarmed him—” 

“And then we met Riddle,” Harry grimaced. “Tom Marvolo Riddle— who was the young You-Know-Who, before he became, you know, You-Know-Who.” 

“Then Harry told Hermione to take Ginny and go, and then it was five of us, and Riddle summoned the basilisk, we tried to run, but then he collapsed the exit and sealed us in, so…” 

“We tried to fight it by collapsing the cavern on it,” Draco continued. “And then Ron was in danger, and then the phoenix came.” 

Professor McGonagall rubbed her temple. “The phoenix showed up?” 

“Fawkes came flying in with the Sorting Hat, and it attacked the basilisk’s eyes and blinded it.” Neville recounted quietly. “And I was terrified, and Ron was about to die, but then I saw the Sorting Hat and there was something silver in it—”

“OH MY GOD,” Ron exclaimed suddenly, slamming his hands on the couch, realizing the absence of the weapon. “Neville, did we leave the SWORD OF GRYFFINDOR DOWN IN THE CHAMBER?” 

There was a collective silence as the group fumbled for the missing sword. “Didn’t you have it?” said Neville, despaired. “I swear you were holding it— I handed it to you after we crawled out of that collapsed wall—” 

The Weasley slapped his forehead. “Oh, I must’ve forgotten about it when I saw Ginny awake, you know, cause I thought my sister was dying!” Ron defended. “Merlin, I can’t believe we left it down there—” 

“Sorry, the Sword of Gryffindor is involved in this?” Snape groaned. “This just keeps getting more and more complicated. So, Mr. Longbottom pulled the Sword of Gryffindor out of the Sorting Hat. Can’t possibly fathom what made Albus think of that, but go on.” 

The group calmed down. “I kicked it over to Ron, and Ron used it to attack the basilisk,” Neville recounted, “And then it was blinded, so we could fight it much better.” 

“Neville gained control of the vines!” said Harry suddenly, remembering. “I completely forgot about that! I’d seen it but I hadn’t had much time to think about it, cause, you know, we were in mortal peril, but—” 

“Yeah— how did that happen?” Ron marveled. 

Neville flushed. “I… I don’t know. I was scared, and I saw the plants, and I kind of just… willed them to help, and then did.” 

“Accidental magic manifesting as a result of extreme fear, perhaps?” Professor McGonagall pondered— but shook her head. It was a discussion for another day. “Please continue.” 

“Then a part of the cavern almost fell on Draco and Ron,” Neville remembered. “But then Harry— man, Harry was scary — he cast this gigantic protego spell over them and basically yelled at Vo— sorry, You-Know-Who.” 

Now it was Harry’s turn to flush, and he quickly redirected the spotlight. “And then— I think Ron picked up the sword and threw it at the basilisk, that was impressive—” 

“Then the basilisk was dead and it was five of us against Riddle,” Draco summed up, “Harry stepped on the diary and stabbed it with the basilisk fang— dunno what possessed him to do that, but it worked, cause Riddle started screaming and there was black ink everywhere, and then he disappeared.” 

“We had to wingardium leviosa a good portion of the collapsed exit before we could get out, and we found Lockhart, who tried to attack us for the second time—” Ron rolled his eyes. “But Hermione froze him up and Ginny woke up, then we had to take turns levitating everyone out of the pipe— and, err, forgot the sword— now, here we are.” 

“Merlin, I’m ready to pass out,” Draco groaned. 

“I’m going to have nightmares about this for the rest of my life,” Neville murmured. “That thing was huge . I never want to do that again.” 

“I should sincerely hope not!” Mrs. Weasley cried out. She and Arthur looked thoroughly overwhelmed by all the information they had just been given, like they weren’t sure if they wanted to hug the kids for making it out alive or for having been down there in the first place. 

Snape put his face in his hands. “Minerva, perhaps we should convince Albus to consider having an in-house counselor or therapist. At this point, it might be a necessity. If not for them, for me.” 

“I’ll let Filius know to call back the express and let the students and parents know that the threat has been nullified.” The deputy headmistress sighed, “I’ll write to the ministry— have Albus un-suspended— perhaps he can explain this whole ordeal to them, too…” 

“Now,” Snape said, “Perhaps a quick trip to the infirmary and then—” 

He blinked. In the short time span that they stopped talking, the seven children had already fallen asleep. Hermione was cuddled up warmly between Harry and Draco, Theodore with his back pressed up to Harry’s, and on the other couch, Ginny was sound asleep against Ron’s chest, and Neville had curled up into Ron’s arm, looped over his. 

“O…kay.” He said slowly. “Perhaps we should leave them be for a while.” 

The deputy shook her head fondly. “I’ll have the house elves prepare some food for when they’re awake. It has been a very long day for them, after all.” 

Snape nodded in agreement. “In all seriousness, I will have Poppy check them for magical exhaustion. The girls were possessed and need to be examined for any traces of a lingering curse, and the boys…” he sighed, trying to look displeased— but in all honesty, was just relieved that everyone was alive. “The boys fought a 20-foot monster most adults would be too terrified to even think of taking on— and then won .” 

“They’re a good bunch,” McGonagall smiled wryly. “A mesh of raw talent, sheer dumb luck and astoundingly-strong friendship. How many people do we know that would walk willingly into a basilisk’s chamber to retrieve their friend and their friend’s sister?” 

Mrs. Weasley choked back a sob. “And to think I once questioned if Ron should be friends with them…” she shook her head, wiping the tears from her face. “Merlin, I can’t believe I ever thought any of them would be a bad influence.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

In the month that followed, Hogwarts was in a perpetual state of confusion. No one— except the hexad— really knew what happened. For the rest of the school, they had simply boarded the train, dejected about never returning to the castle— and then it had simply stopped and began traveling the other way, back to Hogwarts.

The boys had woken up in the infirmary beds after passing out in Professor McGonagall’s office, and, according to Professor Snape, had already been fed supplements to help them recover from magical exhaustion— with the help of IV drips, which, in Snape’s words, was one of the greatest inventions Muggles had ever made. By the time they gained awareness, Hermione had already been discharged, and Ginny already brought home by her parents. 

“I am equal parts annoyed to bits and impressed to bits with all of you,” Professor Snape had snapped, although his annoyance wasn’t very intimidating, because he was going around checking their temperatures. “If not for Professor McGonagall, I would have assigned all of you detention until the end of the school year.” 

“We saved the school,” Draco had pointed out. “And if we had the time, we would’ve gotten you, but you were busy evacuating everyone and you also told us off the night before.” 

The potions master rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mr. Malfoy, which is why none of you are scrubbing cauldrons as a punishment. Now, it’s been approximately a day and a half since you left the chamber, meaning a day in which Lockhart has been downstairs all by himself. In the single day that we’ve tried— not that it’s been at the top of our priority list— Professor McGonagall and I have been unable to find the entrance. As much as I want to, it’s not in our best interests to have a professor die in castle grounds, either.” 

“I’ll come and open the entrance,” Harry raised his hand. “It needs parseltongue to open.” 

Though reluctant, Snape let him get off his infirmary bed. “Poppy, if you could make sure that none of the rest move while I’m gone.” 

“I thought Mr. Potter was to remain in bed?” McGonagall raised an eyebrow when the pair walked into the bathroom— now cleaned and considerably less slimy than it was before. 

“According to Mr. Potter, the entrance needs parseltongue to open,” the older Slytherin grumbled, gesturing for the green-eyed boy to proceed. In mild amazement and distaste, the professors watched the sink disappear from view once Harry activated it, leaving behind the dark pipe leading underground and beneath the castle. 

“Mr. Lockhart should be right at the bottom,” Harry said, glancing into the darkness. “The cavern’s collapsed, so the chamber is sealed away. There shouldn’t be anywhere he can go.” 

“Excellent,” The head of Slytherin eyed the pipe tiredly. “Well, ladies first, Minerva. Mr. Potter, can I trust you to return to the infirmary on your own? No wandering off, or I shall know when I’m back.” 

“Yes, sir.” the young boy nodded. “Have fun?” 

“I doubt it.” Snape said wryly, watching the deputy slide down the pipe until she disappeared from view. “I’ll be back to check on you later.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“Did you—” Ron opened his mouth to ask when the two heads of houses entered the infirmary. 

“Yes, Mr. Weasley,” the deputy headmistress looked exasperated. “We did retrieve the Sword of Gryffindor. You can rest assured that you did not leave a Hogwarts heirloom under the castle.” 

“Is it too much to hope that Lockhart stabbed himself with the sword while he was down there for a day?” Theodore raised hopefully. Beside him, Hermione, who, despite being discharged, was visiting to keep them company, leaned forward to hear the good news. 

To everyone’s surprise (and some horror), Snape grinned . “While I have to report that he is, sadly, very much alive, it’s safe to say that the headmaster is not too pleased with him, after hearing all of your accounts.” he continued. “He’s also lost his wand again but claims to have had it stolen from him—” 

“That part would be true, actually,” Hermione said brightly, brandishing Lockhart’s wand out of her back pocket. “I disarmed and set him on fire the first time he tried to attack them, then used the full body-bind curse the second time he tried.” 

Even the rule-abiding Professor McGonagall managed a smile. “While such behavior is not to be encouraged— perhaps Ms. Granger should take 10 points for such excellent use of advanced magic— in defense of your friends, of course.” the deputy’s eyes twinkled. “And, perhaps, for doing what all the staff have been longing to do since September.” 

Draco scoffed. “He’s barely half a competent wizard! In a two-hour span, he was disarmed thrice — first by Harry, and twice by Hermione! Are they really just giving out Orders of Merlin to anyone nowadays?” 

“And Harry didn’t even use an expelliarmus on him,” Ron snorted. “He just blasted him with a strong jet of aguamenti . It’s really just Lockhart having poor wand grip. Is it safe to say that Lockhart’s getting sacked?” 

Professor Snape nodded. “The headmaster’s probably already drafting a new advertisement for the position as we speak.” 

There was a chorus of cheers as the group celebrated. “Oh thank god,” Hermione sighed in relief. “Thoughts and prayers that Professor Dumbledore hires someone competent this time. I’ve practiced more on Lockhart than he’s taught me.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

It wasn’t even three days before Lucius Malfoy charged the Hogwarts halls, looking as angry as a bull. He had been leaving Dumbledore’s office when he ran into the six children, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of Draco alongside Ron and Neville. Behind him, wrapped in bandages and smiling widely— despite the bruises on his face— was Dobby, who was just elated to see Theodore and Harry alive. 

“Draco,” The older Malfoy sneered. “ This is the company you keep at school?” 

While his friends had expected him to shrink away, Draco did the opposite, keeping his back straight as he stared into his father’s eyes. “Yes, Father,” he replied smoothly. “I’m quite assured of the company I keep. Three of them are sole male heirs of their families— one of them is the bravest, most protective person I’ve ever met, and one of them is the brightest and smartest witch that Hogwarts has ever seen.” 

“Wow,” said Theodore sarcastically, “I’m so glad to know that Ron and Hermione are the bravest and smartest people you’ve ever met and I’m just a male heir , Draco, almost makes me regret covering your ass when you were, I dunno, on the brink of getting killed by the basilisk—” 

Harry couldn’t help but snicker. Beside him, Neville at least had the decency of covering his mouth before he laughed. Lucius, who had been unaware of his son’s involvement in the basilisk fiasco, looked like someone had just slapped him across his face. 

Spluttering, seething and smoking from his ears, Lucius glared at his son. “I told you to keep your nose away from the— and since when have you started talking back to me?” he snarled. “You know your place, boy —” 

Draco flinched. 

“And you should watch your mouth, Lucius,” came a cold voice. It was Snape, who had slid out silently from the darkness, his gaze stony. “Family matters are none of my business, of course, but you remember how I feel about fathers threatening their children.” 

A haughty laugh rang through the air. “I remember well enough, Severus,” Lucius sneered, flicking his blonde hair over his shoulder. “Clearly, my presence is not appreciated here. Dobby, let’s go!” 

“Mr. Malfoy,” said Harry suddenly, his green eyes stony as he stared up at the older man. “Do you beat your house elf, by any chance?” 

“Is it any of your business, Mr. Potter?” Lucius spat. Beside him, Dobby was tugging at the bandages across his body. 

“No,” Harry shrugged, sharing a glance with Theo, who was grinning widely, the embers of an idea burning bright in his eyes. “I suppose not. But, you know, before you go, Mr. Malfoy, I think we have something for you.” 

Lucius barely had time to react before Theo tore off his shoe and sock, chucking the latter into the man’s hands. There was a guffaw in the air as Ron followed suit, and so did Neville, Harry and (a confused) Hermione, until the Malfoy patriarch stood with five dirty socks in his hands. 

“What the—” he looked repelled and tossed their socks aside, his fingers twitching— like he would reach for his wand if not for Snape staring coldly at him behind the six children. “Are you just going to let your students run rampant like that, Severus?” 

The potions master shrugged. “I can’t possibly picture what you mean, Lucius. If anything, these six are far from rampant— they saved the school from the basilisk threat— which I’m sure you are much aware about— afterall.”

If looks could kill, Lucius would’ve set the dark-haired professor on fire where he stood. “I see how it is,” he sneered. “You’ve burned a bridge, Severus— better make sure you don’t regret it.” 

“Really?” Snape smiled, like he knew a secret Lucius didn’t. “Perhaps you should reconfirm with Narcissa— my bridge isn’t one you want to burn, Lucius.” 

A scowl scarred the Malfoy patriarch’s face as he whipped his cloak around dramatically. “Come, Dobby!” and began flapping angrily down the corridor, stopping only when he noticed his house elf wasn’t following. “Dobby, what in the hell are you—” 

Lucius Malfoy’s face dropped. 

“Master has given Dobby socks!” The house elf was holding the five socks in wonder. “Master threw the socks, Dobby caught the socks, Master has set Dobby free!” 

“You—” Lucius Malfoy looked absolutely livid, sweeping his furious gaze over Theodore and Ron, who were grinning like the cats who caught the mouse; Harry, Hermione and Neville, who looked completely innocent, and Draco, who was looking anywhere but at his father. The patriarch was at a loss for words. “I will— I will remember this!” He hissed, and thundered away. 

“Well,” Snape commented dryly, already sliding away. “Perhaps I should go make sure he makes it out of the castle without hexing anyone.” 

“Dobby is free!” The house elf exclaimed again, once Snape was moving out of sight and after a thunderous Lucius Malfoy. He stared at the six kids in bewilderment, and held up their socks to their faces. “Dobby is free!” 

“You are, Dobby,” said Draco kindly, picking the socks away from the elf in mild disgust, “You know what— here, have this instead.” The blonde shrugged, tugging his Slytherin tie off of his uniform, a smile settling on his lips as he placed it carefully into Dobby’s hands. “Keep it.” 

The house elf began to tear up as he held Draco’s green tie in his stringy fingers, like the blonde had just given him a block of gold instead of a house tie. “Master Draco has given Dobby a tie,” he echoed. “Master Draco gave Dobby his Slytherin tie,” 

“Yes, Dobby,” the blonde rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “It’s yours. You’re a free elf now, Dobby.” 

There was a flurry of movement, then Dobby’s arms were wrapped around Draco’s neck, engulfing the boy in a hug. The Slytherin boy stood, stunned, as the elf gave him a tight, grateful squeeze. 

“Thank you, Master Draco,” Dobby sniffled happily, his saucer-sized eyes becoming plate-sized, welling up with grateful tears. “Dobby will never forget this! And— and Dobby hopes that one day, Master Draco… can be a free boy, too.” 

The blonde boy grinned. “You better not forget, Dobby. I’ll see you around. Goodbye, Dobby.” There was a loud pop! and the elf had disappeared, leaving on the floor their socks, and a void where Draco’s house tie used to sit. He sighed, somewhat bittersweetly. “Well, there’s that.” he turned to face his friends— and scowled when he noticed how warmly they were smiling at him. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Theo shrugged, although the very corner of his lips were upturned. Neville and Harry were smiling at him like they were seeing him in an entirely new light, and Hermione looked like she wanted to give him a tight hug. 

“Come on, mate.” Ron clapped him on the back, grinning, picking up his sock. “I’m famished. Lunch?” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“You’d think,” Draco complained, walking out from the exam hall, “After fighting a 20-foot basilisk and winning , we wouldn’t have to write the Defense Against Dark Arts exam.” 

“Maybe we can convince Professor Snape to hand extra credit below the margins,” Theodore grinned, easily levitating his quill and making it do tricks as they walked. Lockhart had been promptly sacked following the basilisk fiasco, leaving a (surly) Professor Snape to pick up the slack. This meant that the potions master had to pull together whatever coherent material Lockhart had managed to teach his classes, place it in an exam, and mark the thousands of essays from students that barely learned anything that year. 

Following the Dobby incident, Draco was on complete radio silence with his father. He had received a strongly-worded letter from his mother— because who would be responsible for the cooking and cleaning now— but got away otherwise scot-free. There had also been a paragraph or so about his involvement with the basilisk— and Draco had had a foreboding feeling that his father had been screamed at for a couple hours by his mother regarding the matter. After all, he had been the one to set the monster free in the castle their son lived in. 

“By the way, did everyone get these?” Harry raised a letter from Professor Snape, with no other explanation beside a timeslot— his being 3pm the following day. “Hermione’s in her meeting with him now but she never got around to explaining what they’re for.” 

“Oh, yeah.” Ron nodded. “We got ours from McGonagall. They’re scheduling those to help us decide what elective classes we’re going to take next year. Hermione had gone on a whole rant about it back in February, remember? She’d interviewed every upper-year she could get her hands on to ask their opinions—” 

“Right,” the boy-who-lived made an ahh sound in remembrance. “The upper-years all swore to avoid her like the plague the week after.” 

At the very same time, down in his office, Snape was rubbing his temple, insisting for the twentieth time to a very determined Hermione: “No, Ms. Granger, you will not take more than two electives. I will not allow it.” 

“But they’re all so interesting!” she protested loudly. 

“And you are only human with the same amount of hours in your life as everyone else,” Snape was growing more exasperated by the second. “For the love of Merlin, you don’t need more than two electives, Ms. Granger. I’m sure you can find many, many other ways to occupy your time otherwise.” 

“But—” 

“Ms. Granger, we can sit and repeat this conversation over and over, and the final answer will still be no.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

For the lack of better things to do, (there was no more research to do), the Hexad agreed on a visit to Hagrid’s hut. They were welcomed in with open arms, of course— Hagrid had sobbed and hugged Harry and Theo so hard that they had to spend a couple minutes convincing the half-giant to let them go— and when he finally stopped crying, they figured out what he was saying. 

“I’d always known it wasn’ ya’ two!” he said tearily, words muflfed through his large beard. “Slytherin’ prejudice this and tha’, ya’ two are the sweetest boys I’d ever known!” 

“Thank you, Hagrid,” said Harry kindly, patting Hagrid’s arm gently. “We appreciate it.” 

As they settled in for piping hot tea and cakes too hard for their teeth to crack (Ron threw his out of the window when Hagrid wasn’t looking and made a satisfied burp when the groundskeeper looked at him), Hermione remembered a sudden detail. 

“Hagrid,” said Hermione slowly, “Perhaps this is as good a time as to ask.” 

The half-giant turned around, beaming, unaware as to the direction of the conversation. “Shoot away, Hermione! I’ma open book.” 

“So,” Begin the Muggleborn slowly, “When we were investigating the identity of the chamber monster, we came upon this diary. Now, this diary was owned by someone named Tom Riddle— and Tom Riddle showed us a memory of his school years— of, well, you… and a creature that he deemed to be the monster of the chamber at that time.” 

The fire in the hut flickered, dropping the temperature within by at least a few degrees. Hagrid paled and Ron groaned, putting his face in his hands. “Oh boy.” 

“Now,” Hermione swallowed. “We know now that it wasn’t your, um, creature, and that basilisks are the greatest enemies of… Ron, maybe cover your ears— basilisks are the greatest enemies of spiders and, well, spiders’ gigantic cousins, the acromantulas.” 

Every soul in the hut held their breath. 

“So, I guess what I’m asking is,” Hermione grimaced, plowing on. “Whatever happened to that acromantula?” 

“Oh, he’s got a’ big ol’ family in the Forbidde’ Forest,” said Hagrid, as if relieved that the question was much less serious than he thought it would be. “I thought ya’ were gonn’ ask me if he ever killed anyone.” 

Ron, who had tried drinking the tea to calm himself down, choked and spat out the steaming leaf juice. “It’s alive ? Still? And within two miles of me?” 

“Oh, he’s harmless,” Hagrid brushed off. (Draco muttered in the background that he would rather not take Hagrid’s word for it). “Nah, Aragog’s a good friend o’ mine. He’s got grandchildren named after meh!” 

“He’s got grandchildren ?” Ron fainted, at the same time Theo said: “At least he didn’t call it something like Hairy …” 

Hagrid chuckled, pouring more tea in all of their cups. “Ya’ know, if ya’ group hadn’t figured wha’ the monster was, I would’a told ya’ to go follow the spiders. They always knew what the monster was— wouldn’ tell meh, though— they were terrified, they were.” 

“Um, Hagrid, do you have some smelling salts?” Harry laughed nervously as he patted Ron’s clammy cheek. “Ron? Ron? I think he’s really passed out.” 

Hermione managed a weak smile as Hagrid offered her more cakes. In the back of her mind, she got a flash snapshot of an alternative timeline, of what would have happened had they not figured out the monster’s identity through research. The sound of two boys screaming, the pattering of many, many feet over the forest undergrowth, and… the honking of a car…? 

She shuddered at the weird memory. “Well, we can thank Merlin for the little miracles in life. This year could’ve gone a lot worse. Ha. Ha. Right, Hagrid…?” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Thanks to Oliver and Marcus’s combined advocacy efforts, the Quidditch cup was reinstated in the two weeks after exams, during which professors were busy marking and most students had nothing in general to do. Thus began the most Quidditch-intensive weeks that the house teams had ever experienced. 

Slytherin had defeated Hufflepuff 170 - 30 in their rematch, Atsushi performing spectacularly as his friends— Sage and Axelle, who had received the Mandrake restoration potion the night after the basilisk fiasco— cheered him on from the stands. It followed that Gryffindor was to play the last game of the season against Ravenclaw, with the victor of their match— if they won by more than a 150 points landslide— first place in the Quidditch cup. 

Determined to defeat Ravenclaw and snatch the cup from the Slytherins in one fell swoop, Oliver began driving his team up the wall with practices, the snakes snickering in mock sympathy as the fliers were marched away to the pitch every evening. 

“I’m going to die if this keeps going!” One of the Weasley twins groaned dramatically one night, their anguish overheard by the Slytherin team. 

“Say,” Peregrine said, chewing on his steak thoughtfully. “Why don’t we return the favor, team? We do owe them one, after all…” 

True to their reputation, the Slytherins began crafting a sneaky plot. It took some digging, but eventually Hermione procured a niche holiday— “National Loving Day”— that fit the agenda. A roster was created, in which the Slytherin team took turns walking past Percy murmuring loudly about the holiday: 

“Hey, isn't the National Loving Holiday coming up?” Lucian said loudly as they walked past Percy in the library. 

“Yeah,” echoed Peregrine, “I’ve got some plans for Arowelle. She’s been so stressed about exams lately— it’ll be a nice surprise; I’m going to get her some flowers, and those chocolates from Diagon Alley she really likes…” 

And on the next day, during breakfast at the Great Hall: “Any plans for National Loving Day?” Harry said loudly as he and Atsushi passed the Gryffindors’ table. 

“I’m going to buy some sweets for Sage and Axelle,” said Atsushi loudly, “To celebrate our friendship. But National Loving Day is a great day to celebrate lovers too, right Harry?” 

“You’re absolutely right,” Harry agreed, “If you have a lover, it’s a great day to show how much you appreciate them.” 

The final nail in the coffin, of course, was when Hermione, under the guise of spam mail, had a random owl deliver a magazine filled with couple activities— including a romantic picnic— to Percy. The delivery came in on a Wednesday night, the Slytherin team watching carefully over their dinner as Percy opened the mail suspiciously, his cheeks flushing bright as he noticed the lovers’ magazine. 

“Does he honestly still think that no one knows about him and Oliver?” Adrian stared as Percy hastily hid the magazine. “That’s a whole new level of denial right there. At this point, the whole bloody school knows.” 

To give Percy that last nudge, Harry and Hermione were tasked with subtly coaxing the Gryffindor prefect into doing something for the holiday. “Hey, Percy,” Harry said sweetly, jogging up to join the boy as they walked through the corridors. “I was just wondering— are you and Oliver doing anything for National Loving Day on Saturday?” 

Harry stopped to look concerned as Percy seemingly choked on air. “W-What?” Percy spluttered, his cheeks a brilliant red. “Oliver and I are j-just friends, so—” 

“Naturally!” Hermione said brightly. “National Loving Day is a great day to celebrate best friends, you know, best friends are so often underappreciated, they really deserve a little something special to feel seen…”

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“So?” Damian clamored out of his seat as Hermione and Harry entered the common room, his face expectant. “Did you manage to convince him?” 

The Muggleborn girl rolled her eyes, tossing her hair over her shoulders confidently. “Duh. I told you I would! We even helped him iron out some of the details, too— a picnic date on Saturday night at 6pm, because that’s when the sun sets— and helped him place some food orders to the kitchen elves…” 

The Slytherin team cheered, clapping wildly. Their plan had succeeded— to convince Percy to do something for National Loving Day at the exact same time as one of Oliver’s atrocious, three-hour Quidditch practices— and relieve the Gryffindor team for the evening, like they had done for them a few months ago. “Give me a high five!” Peregrine beamed, “Good job, team.” 

Saturday evening came, and from their table, the Slytherin team watched in anticipation, sure that Oliver would tell his team that they were calling off practice for the night, that he had other plans— 

There was a weird quietness as they all watched Percy murmur to the captain over dinner. “What’s he saying?” Tracey hissed. 

“Err— hold on, trying to read his lips—” Harry, who, ironically, despite wearing glasses, was the seeker and had the best eyesight on the team, squinted: “Percy’s saying… ‘free… tonight’? And, um… ‘I made… plans’.” 

There was a pause again as Oliver furrowed his brows and began to talk, his voice inaudible over the clatter and chatter of the rest of the Great Hall. 

“Oliver’s speaking now— he said, ‘but, Percy’,” Harry squinted. “‘Have to… Ravenclaw… two days’...” Harry’s jaw dropped. “He’s going to go to practice anyway.” 

“What?” Adrian slammed the table, making glasses clatter as Oliver began rounding up his players, Angelia and Katie groaning as he prodded at them to finish up and head to the pitch. “Is he serious? When his boyfriend’s got a whole ass picnic planned for him?” 

“You’re kidding!” Peregrine yelled, but it was true— already, Oliver was heading out towards the courtyard— “We’ve got to stop him! This isn’t about returning the favor to the Gryffs anymore— is he honestly blowing off his boyfriend?” 

Already Percy was getting up and leaving the hall, looking dejected. 

Peregrine’s mouth set in a straight line. “Someone’s got to teach Wood how to be a better boyfriend,” he rolled his eyes, formulating a plan in his head, growing determined. “Harry, Hermione, go convince Percy to get the picnic ready anyway. The rest of us will make sure that Oliver shows up, even if we have to body-bind him and levitate him there ourselves.” 

The two Slytherins didn’t have to be told twice, running after the prefect in a hurry, ignoring Snape’s questioning looks as they darted past the staff table. 

“Alright, team,” Peregrine addressed the Quidditch players seriously, Arowelle looking amused at the boys around her. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but let’s go save Weasley’s date night.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“Can you believe it?” Peregrine said dramatically, speaking louder as they walked past the Gryffindor’s locker room. “Did you see Percy Weasley up there all by himself?” 

Lucian hummed his agreement. “Yeah— he’s got a whole candlelight picnic set up and all, up in the astronomy tower ,” if the beater noticed Oliver blatantly peeking out of the locker room, he said nothing. “Can’t believe his date is a no-show. Horrible— absolutely horrible, revolting behavior.” 

“Right! I would never leave Arowelle waiting if she’d ever planned something like that for me,” Peregrine said purposefully. “And I definitely would not blow her off for something like Quidditch practice.” 

“Hey, Oliver—” The Weasley twins squinted as they spotted the two Slytherin players. “Oi, what are you two doing down here?” 

“Oh, just wanted to grab our brooms for a night fly,” Peregrine lied through his teeth. “Hey— by any chance, do you know who your brother’s dating? Someone blew him off tonight— he had this whole candlelight picnic planned for them up in the astronomy tower and his date didn’t show—” 

Fred and George blinked, slowly turning to look at Oliver. “Um,” one of the twins started slowly, “We are talking about Percy, right?” 

“Yes,” Lucian rolled his eyes. “I don’t even know him, but I can tell you for certain that Ronald Weasley is not the type of boy to pull together a candlelight picnic date for National Loving Day, Weasley.” 

They were interrupted by the lion’s female players. “Oliver, can we please please please not practice tonight?” Tiredly stumbling towards the locker rooms, Angelina complained, jumping when she spotted the Slytherins. “Merlin, don’t just stand there like that! I almost had a heart attack!” 

“You know what, yeah, um, let’s go ahead and cancel practice tonight!” Oliver cleared his throat tightly, hastily chucking his broom back into the locker. In their surprise, his entire team choked and stared at him bewildered, as if Oliver had just claimed that the moon was a square. “Take the night off and rest. I err, I think I forgot something, got to go, bye, goodnight—” and began sprinting for the castle like a madman, leaving stunned Gryffindor players in his wake. 

“Mission accomplished,” Lucian grinned, giving Peregrine a high-five. “We just saved Weasley’s date night. Merlin, that’s a phrase I never thought would come out of my mouth.” 

Katie blinked. “Sorry, um, what’s going on?” 

“Consider the favor returned,” Peregrine shrugged, a cocky grin dancing on his lips. “We Slytherins just like more… subtle methods of canceling practice. Not so much, ah, how should I say, captain-napping. Although we somehow helped Weasley set up a candlelight picnic date in the process, which isn't the most orthodox of tactics, but…” 

“Sorry, let’s backtrack that a bit,” Natalie shook her head, bewildered, “Did you help Percy Weasley plan a date night at the same time as Quidditch practice so that you could get Oliver to cancel practice for the night?” 

“Yep,” Peregrine grinned, popping the ‘p’. “At some point it became us being angry that Wood blew his boyfriend off, but yes, that was the general goal.” 

“I—” The other Weasley twin chortled, almost choking on his own laughter. “You know what, I can respect that. That we can respect.” 

The two Slytherins smirked. “Enjoy your night off, gentlemen—” Lucian corrected himself at the sight of Angelina, Katie, Alicia and Natalie. “— and ladies. And ladies.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

While Gryffindor took victory over Ravenclaw in the Quidditch cup, they won only by 100 points, leaving Slytherin in first place for the cup. There was a chorus of groans as Snape, up at the staff table, smirked proudly at his continued streak of 9 years— and down the table, Filius begrudgingly handed 10 sickles to a triumphant Poppy. 

“In other news,” Dumbledore smiled wisely at the students seated below, “We have some special awards to present. Minerva, Severus, would you like the honors?” 

The two heads of houses stood, for once, not looking as stern as they both usually were. With a flick of her wand, six miniature, golden shields materialized beside the deputy headmistress, and she cleared her throat, smiling. “As some of you may have heard, the threat of the chamber of secrets has been vanquished— and the ones responsible should be given credit where it is due. Could I please get Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Potter, Mr. Nott, Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Granger to stand up?” 

The hexad did as they were told, mostly looking bewildered at being called out (Draco preened under the attention). 

“On the behalf of Hogwarts, we would like to present you six with an Special Award for Services to the School,” Professor Snape nodded curtly, managing a small smile at the six second-years. “This is an incredible honor. Thank you for your services to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; we cannot wait to see what else you will achieve in your futures.” 

There was silence as Professor Snape finished speaking. By magic, the six badges zoomed across the Great Hall towards their owners, Professor McGonagall flicking her wand and magically pinning the miniature shields on their robes. 

“Thank you,” the deputy headmistress smiled, clapping her hands. Following her lead, the rest of the school burst into applause (not so much at the Slytherin students’ behalf), cheers, congratulations and curious questions about exactly what happened ringing out. 

When everyone finally settled down, Dumbledore announced the beginning of the Final Feast, and the students began digging in. All around, there were conversations reminiscing about the past school year— laughter and tears all along the house tables. Five minutes in, Ron and Neville joined the rest of their friends at the snakes’ table, chortles and snorts bursting out within their group as they joked about their adventures and prodded at each other. 

“I still can’t believe we forgot the sword in the chamber—” Ron groaned. 

“Circe, I’ll never forget Lockhart’s face when Harry blasted him with that aguamenti —” 

“Oh oh oh, what about that time we stole his wand from him during dueling club— Merlin , remember how Snape absolutely demolished Lockhart?” 

“And the pixies!” Neville groaned. “Lockhart’s first defense class— I think I can still feel their small bites some nights—” 

“Who do you think we’ll get as defense professor next year? I hope they’re good— or else Hermione’ll have to continue her streak of setting defense professors on fire,” Harry joked. 

As the night gradually ended and the food disappeared, their laughter melted slowly into bittersweetness. “I can’t believe the seventh years are graduating,” Harry said mournfully. “I’ll miss Peregrine.” 

“There’s really no need to talk about me like that, you know,” Speaking of the devil, Peregrine appeared over their shoulders, looking mildly annoyed. “I’m not dying , for Merlin’s sake, I’m just furthering my education.” 

art credit: Pieofpye || Instagram || Twitter

Ron perked up in interest. “Oh? What are you doing after graduation?” 

“I’m attending Auror School,” Peregrine grinned, puffing out his chest in pride. “I’ve got a conditional offer thanks to recommendation letters from Professor Snape and Professor Sprout, but they’ll confirm my acceptance when my N.E.W.T. results come back.” 

“Congratulations!” Hermione beamed. “That’s amazing! How many years will you be there for?” 

“Three, two years if I’m lucky,” Peregrine shrugged, “I’m also going to work part-time while I go through my Auror training— I’ve got three years to save up so I can buy an apartment for Arowelle and I to move into when I graduate.” 

There was a chorus of awws from Hermione, Sage and Axelle, while the boys (largely Draco, Theo and Ron) made faces. “That’s so sweet!” Hermione cooed. “Are you planning on getting married after you finish your training?” 

The lead prefect grinned. “That’s the plan. I’ve got to get my life, job and bank account all together before I can ask her parents for her hand in marriage. I’m not taking no for an answer.” 

Up the table, Adrian, who overheard the conversation, yelled: “Sap! Arowelle, your boyfriend’s being completely heads over heels for you again, it’s honestly revolting— don’t shove your relationship in our faces, Derrick—” 

Caden choked on his food, glancing wildly between Peregrine and his sister, a sweet smile dancing on her lips as she smiled innocently at the younger Seymour. “Peregrine Derrick is DATING MY SISTER?” Caden yelled, both baffled and mind-boggled. “Wait— did all of you know?” 

“Literally how did you not know?” Gemma said, exasperated, shaking her head. “It wasn’t as if they were actively hiding it! Honestly, Caden; even Professor Snape knew.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

All too soon, exam results were returned and students were sent packing onto the Hogwarts Express once more. The scarlet locomotive tooted and smoked grandly, the clamor of students all around as the prefects and staff struggled to ensure all luggages and kids were on board. 

“I’ve lost Trevor!” Neville said, patting his pockets all in a panic. 

“He’s right here, Neville,” Hermione rolled her eyes, levitating the toad over from behind Draco’s seven luggage bags. “Draco, did you honestly need that many clothes this year?” 

Harry poked his head out for the carriage. “How many more luggages have we got to load? Oh, for Merlin’s sake— I feel like I’ve already taken five of Draco’s—” he groaned, pointing his wand at three of Draco’s large, fancy luggage trunks. “ Wingardium leviosa — Draco, have you considered helping us, since, you know, most of the luggages we’re moving are yours ?” 

“Fine,” Draco rolled his eyes pompously, drawing his wand out of his pocket. “Coming.” 

When at last everyone— and their trunks— were loaded onto the express, the train tooted, giving its five minutes warning to departure. “It’s hard to believe another year’s gone by, it’s barely felt like a month,” Ron sighed. “But it’ll be nice being home. I’d never say it to mum’s face, but I did miss her cooking.” 

“All settled in here?” Professor Snape slid their carriage door open, eyeing the six students. “It’s a three-hour trip. Can you manage that long without getting into any trouble?” 

“Yes, Professor,” Theo rolled his eyes. “We’ll be as good as we can possibly be.” 

The potions master raised his eyebrows. “Don’t get sassy on me, Mr. Nott,” he drawled. “As I mentioned before, I have some business to finish up here in the castle— you imagine that we can’t simply leave a rotting basilisk corpse in our basement— but I will come find you and Mr. Potter as soon as I can.” 

The two boys relaxed visibly. They hadn’t wanted to bring it up— the head of Slytherin had been nice enough to house them for one summer, and they hadn’t wanted to get their hopes up— but were obviously excited at spending another summer at 715 Wrensbury Lane. 

“For the rest of you, I will see you next September.” Professor Snape continued, looking stern. “I shall hope that you haven’t forgotten all that you’ve learned the next time I see you.” 

“We will spend the entire summer toiling over our textbooks, Professor Snape,” Ron said solemnly, his red hair bouncing as he nodded his head seriously, “I will have memorized the potions manual from cover to cover by the time fall comes around.” 

Snape’s eyebrows rose so high they touched his hairline. “I will hold you to that, Mr. Weasley.” 

“Wait, I was joking—” 

The Hogwarts Express tooted once more, the engine revving to life. “That’s my cue to leave,” said Professor Snape, nodding at the hexad. “Have a safe trip.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

The three hours seemed to fly by as Hogwarts disappeared into the distance and they played a hundred rounds of exploding snap, journeying through various landscapes. At last, the Hogwarts Express gave a triumphant toot, finally pulling into King’s Cross Station. All across the platform, parents and families peered over each other, trying to catch sight of their children. 

“Don’t forget to write from Japan, Atsushi!” Sage cried out some distances away. The platform was packed so full of people that there was barely any breathing room— and barely any standing room, too, as prefects bustled around unloading trunks and luggages. 

“Molly,” Narcissa, who had come alone to pick up her son, acknowledged the matriarch of the Weasley family with a curt nod. “I heard. Is Ginerva doing better?” 

“Yes,” Molly answered, just as polite as her blonde counterpart was. “Thank you for asking. She’s recovering very well— and very excited to see all of her brothers again.” 

Beside them, Jean Granger smiled, rolling her eyes good-naturedly at the two women. “Oh, come off your high horses,” she chided, her face warm. “It’s so good to see you two— come and give me a hug— yes, even you, Narcissa. How are the kids?” 

“You know the drill, Hedwig,” Harry said, unlatching the snowy owl’s cage. She cooed at him sweetly and nibbled his ear one last time. “I’ll see you at Privet Drive.” She fluttered her wings over his head, almost patting him in affection, and stretched out her great, feathered limbs, taking to the sunny skies beyond King’s Cross. 

“There’s gran! Oh, and there’s your mum, Hermione, with Ron and Draco’s—” said Neville suddenly, spotting his grandmother’s unorthodox, vulture-embellished witch hat. “Where are your aunt and uncle, Harry? I don’t see them anywhere…” 

“They won’t be in here,” Harry waved goodbye to Atsushi, who was departing with his Japanese mother. “They’ll be outside— you know, on the Muggle side of King’s Cross. Speaking of which, I should probably get going. They’d probably leave without me if I take any longer.” 

“My mum could drop you off,” Hermione suggested. “Dad’s at work, but mum’s a pretty good driver, so long as I navigate…” 

“I’ll be fine,” Harry smiled. “Thanks for the offer though. Write lots, Hermione— you guys too, Neville, Ron, Draco— I’ll see you all next September?” 

His friends grinned at him. “Until next September.” 

The Dursleys were waiting for him beyond Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, looking highly displeased at the sight of him. 

“You’re alive,” Uncle Vernon said, almost disappointed. Harry knew Snape had, out of courtesy, addressed a letter to his aunt and uncle regarding his involvement with the basilisk, probably with a slight hint that he had had a very real chance of being killed. 

“Yes,” Harry nodded. “I’m alive.” 

His aunt’s family scoffed at him. “Then stop dilly-dallying,” Aunt Petunia snapped. “There's a lot to do at home and you’re earning your keep. Hurry along.” 

Hence, Harry kicked off his summer holidays with a listful of cleaning, cooking and gardening. Aunt Petunia’s garden had withered in his absence— despite him leaving enhancing potions for his Aunt to apply on her roses the previous year. They had also left his bedroom uncleaned, so that it was a junkyard of dust bunnies— although more and more of Dudley’s unwanted toys had been thrown into it. The most recent additions, Harry discovered, included a motor car toy, yet another broken television, and a scooter that had broken into half. 

Hedwig’s return was just as welcomed as Harry’s was to Privet Drive. Vernon had gone wild when he opened the front door to the snowy owl perched on their mailbox unhappily. “I told you to keep your blasted bird out of sight!” he thundered, face so red he was almost a giant tomato. 

“You locked my bedroom windows,” Harry pointed out rationally, Hedwig perched on his shoulder, his eyes narrowing. A part of him was surprised at his defiance against Uncle Vernon— the Harry from before would’ve just shirked away and accepted the yelling. “She had no choice. I did tell her to return at night, but she couldn’t get in.” 

Clearly, his rationale did not sit well with Uncle Vernon, who hated being wrong— and more so than that, he hated having his wrongness pointed out, and especially by Harry. “You think— you think you’re so smart now, eh, boy?” he wriggled his finger furiously at his nephew. “Well, you and your blasted bird can go and f—” 

Uncle Vernon made the mistake of reaching for Hedwig, who screeched angrily and snapped her silver beak at him, her wings flapping angrily as she remained perched on Harry’s shoulder, almost defensive of her owner. The man yelped, retracting his finger, his beady eyes angrier than ever. 

“Vernon,” Aunt Petunia interrupted sharply. “Just go to work. Boy, go lock up your bird in the cage. Now.” 

Harry was more than happy to do so, cooing gently at Hedwig as he brought her up the stairs. “Good girl,” he murmured as he fed her some pellets. “Sorry you had to stay out all night.” 

The snowy owl chirped softly, preening as the green-eyed boy scratched her chin, his fingers combing out the tangles in her feathers. 

“Just a few more days and we’ll be out of here,” he assured her, “You’ll get to roam all around Professor Snape’s garden and fly around as much as you like. Just be patient.” 

He wasn’t sure if his words were meant to reassure Hedwig or himself. As the days droned on, a small, tiny fear took root in the corner of Harry’s brain— what if Professor Snape had changed his mind? What if he decided that he’d rather enjoy his summer on his own, after all? 

A week passed, and the routine set itself into Harry’s bones. He was up before the sun’s golden rays touched the sill of his window, and frying his second plate of bacon by the time Aunt Petunia joined him downstairs. “Good morning,” he would greet quietly for a curt nod from the bony woman, and continue frying another two eggs for Uncle Vernon’s large breakfast. 

She would harrumph at him, strutting around her perfect, tiled kitchen setting the table as her son and husband trampled noisily downstairs. 

“I’ll show myself out,” he said quietly once he had served them, and at Aunt Petunia’s stiff nod, he would slip through the kitchen door into the garden, working his magic at coaxing his aunt’s roses back to life. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

For as long as Theodore could remember, the Nott Manor had always been cold. Towering walls and polished floors of gray stone rose haughtily, the high ceilings adorned with statues of Nordic dragons, each with a snarl fiercer than the previous. Outside their tall, framed windows, a circle of pine trees shielded them from the spying eyes of others, the freezing wind scratching desperately against the silvery glass. 

When his mother walked the halls, the Nott Manor’s sharp, biting edge was softened by her touch; beautiful cobalt and gold carpets blanketed the stone-cold floors, snowy-blue curtains framed the frigid windows, and her warm, engulfing embrace would always quiet the wailing of the wind outside. 

In the spring and summer, she would take him on walks around the manor ground, collecting the wild herbs and spring flowers that sprouted in the shade of their towering pines. Up in the manor, his father could be seen watching them, quiet but affectionate, from the windows of his office. On a rare occasion, he would join them, wordless but more than content to carry a basket of their herbs as they traipsed around the grounds. 

“Why do we have to burn them?” Young, little Theo would peer over his mother’s shoulder in bright curiosity as she grounded up a portion of their herbs and flowers, setting a match to the remains, a smoky aroma wafting around 

“These are our offerings and thanks to our gods,” she would tell him, her eyes mirthful at his interest. “See? Hawthorn for Thor, to bless you with strength to pass through storms; ash and helm for Odhinn, to bless you with wisdom and knowledge,” she pointed out each of the herbs as she explained quietly. “Birch for Frigga, to bless you with clairvoyance; and alder for Loki, to bless your cunning little soul.” 

Little Theodore would burst into giggles as she tickled him, their laughter lighting up the sleek gray walls of the manor. 

“What about you?” he would ask, his hazel eyes peering into his mother’s as he sat cradled in her arms. “Are the gods going to bless you, too?” 

Her eyes softened at his care. “The gods have already blessed me with everything I want,” she caressed his cheek fondly. “They have blessed me with the most beautiful, smart, kind son I could ever wish for— and even more so, they have blessed me with time with you.” 

As the seasons turned and summer succumbed into the flaming colors of fall, into the blankety white of winter, the undergrowth and flora of the manor withered— and along with them, so did his mother. Gone were the sunny summer days when Theodore wandered the grounds with his mother, and the snowy evenings when they sat and read together in his mother’s expansive library by the fireplace, snow falling peacefully outside the glass. Instead, Theodore spent his days and nights curled up by his mother's bedside as she withered away, her bright silver eyes dulling with the wane of the moon. 

And then she was gone. 

Theodore remembered her funeral.

Astrid Nott nee Sterling had been prominent in Norse circles— so hundreds flocked to attend her funeral, her casket adorned with ghostly white flowers from all over Europe, charmed to remain eternally beautiful. There had been a lot of disapproval about her funeral rites— many had thought she would be better sent off the traditional way, sailed out to sea in a longboat and set on fire— but his father could not bear to burn her, and buried her the Wixen way. 

Theodore watched his father wither, just like his mother, only not to sickness but to grief. As the months passed, Everius Nott became a shell of his former self, his cheeks sunken and his eyes lifeless. He became barely present for his son, and eventually, his sister Elodius— widowed— moved into the Nott Manor and became his son’s primary caretaker. Meanwhile, Everius retreated further and further away, shutting himself into his office, barely seen and barely alive.

A few months later, Theodore learned why. 

It had been the middle of the night when he felt the bone-chilling wave shake his body. He recognized it— it was the pulse of Norse magic— incredibly advanced and complex magic— but he had never felt anything as dark as it. His mother had shown him her sigils and her spells, but those had always felt silvery bright, like warmth and light encompassed in the trail of her fingers over the symbols. The pulse he had felt that night was like a black hole, consuming everything good around it and leaving a vacuum, an empty space. 

He almost cried from the sheer force of the pulse radiating through him— but he braved it on and found the source in his father’s office. 

Theodore would never forget the screams he heard that night. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

The Ministry never found out, of course. If they had— well, it would be life in Azkaban for even knowing magic as dark as that— never mind attempting it. But the others— every single Nordic witch or wizard in the country— had felt the pulse. Nowhere as concentrated or strong as Theodore had felt— but they had felt it. Knew, that somewhere, the unthinkable was being attempted. 

Had Theodore not stepped in, opened the door to the office when he had— then, the unthinkable would’ve been done . 

The sheer thought of the what if haunted Theodore. And even more than that, it scared him that some nights, he wished that he hadn’t stopped his father. 

“What on Earth are you daydreaming about?” 

Theodore snapped out his thoughts and forced his face into a scowl. Only Aunt Elodius had shown up on the platform nine and three-quarters, her lips thinning at the sight of him— and even more so when he had to latch onto her arm to apparate. 

“Nothing,” he narrowed his eyes. He glanced around the manor foyer— polished stone walls, except now coated with a layer of dust. As he looked back to snap at her about maintaining the manor’s cleanliness, his anger spiked, watching her draw a cigarette holder from within her coat, lighting the tip with a flick of her wand. “You’re not allowed to smoke inside the manor.” 

She had laughed; a high, nails-on-blackboard kind of laugh. “You make me laugh,” she smirked, her lips drawing unusually wide. Above them, the chandelier began swinging dangerously, in rhythm with Elodius Nott’s display of power. “I’m not allowed ? Says who, hmm?” 

“My father,” Theo snapped angrily, itching to reach for his wand. “You’re not allowed to smoke anywhere on the grounds, actually— unless you intend to burn all of our pines down in a case of stupidity.” 

“Your father,” her voice heightened to a shrill hiss, her gaze sharp as she caught his insult. All around the room, freezing winds wailed despite the fact the windows all locked shut. “Is no longer here. I am the lady of this house, Theodore, and you better get used to that.” 

“Don’t be stupid!” Theodore snarled. Outside, thunder rumbled. “This manor will never belong to you! You’ll have to kill me before you even dream of becoming the lady of this house— my mother ’s house—” 

“Watch your words!” She screamed, swinging her cigarette holder at him, her lips twisting into a smile when Theodore yelped in pain, cigarette ash burning his skin. In the floor above them, something in the manor crashed and shattered. “Your father is no longer here, Theodore,” she cooed. “That makes me the lady of this house. So, if I were you… I’d watch my step . Is that clear?” 

Theodore glared at his aunt with the intensity of a thousand suns. “Clear,” he gritted, clutching his arm, a soothing sigil already glowing on his skin as the red burns faded away. “Crystal. Clear.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Two weeks flew by, and the only joy in Theodore’s life became his scarce letters from Harry. Hedwig was operating around their schedules like clockwork— she could only arrive at the Nott Manor in early mornings, when Aunt Elodie was still passed out from drinking the night before— and could only return to Privet Drive near midnight, when the Dursleys were all asleep. 

Theodore, 

What argument did you use to defend Gabinski’s flish-swick method in Prof. Filtwick’s charms essay? I’ve been digging around the textbook but can’t find a solid defense. I’ve written to Hermione, too, but she’s just gone off to France with her parents and I don’t think she’s answering anytime soon. 

In other news, how has Aunt Elodie been? Hope she’s not as horrible as she was last week. Aunt Petunia is getting used to me being back, I think. At least she doesn’t have to wake up an hour earlier to cook for Uncle Vernon and Dudley. The roses are doing much better— had to give them three regulated doses of color supplement— thank Merlin I had the forethought to bring some back with me— and she seems happy about that. 

Have you heard from Professor Snape? It’s been radio silence from my side. You reckon he changed his mind…?  

Write back soon,
Harry 

p.s. If you can, could you feed Hedwig some scraps before you send her back? Food’s been scarce on my end and I dunno if I’ll have enough pellets to last her. Thanks. 

Almost as if she knew what her owner had written, Hedwig clucked impatiently, nibbling Theodore’s ear as if to chastise him for keeping her waiting. “Yes, yes, Hedwig,” Theodore chuckled. “We’ll get you some food.” 

Theodore relished in the quiet of dawn. Outside, the birds were chirping and dew was dripping from the pine needles, the golden rays of the sun splashing against the castle like a trickling river. 

“Here,” he clicked his tongue, holding out a handful of nuts and assortments for the snowy owl, who preened happily and began going at it. “Merlin, slow down, Hedwig, don’t choke—” 

“What is that fowl doing in my house?” 

Spinning on his feet, Theodore grimaced. Aunt Elodie looked crazily-livid, her hair a frizz and her body wrapped by the most atrociously-feathered robe the boy had ever set his eyes on. Between her fingers, lit and smoking, was her favorite cigarette holder. 

“She’s my friend’s,” The Nott heir responded frigidly. On his shoulder, Hedwig cawed fiercely, sensing the woman’s animosity towards the hazel-eyed boy. “I’m letting her back out tonight. What, am I not allowed to receive owl mail now? Am I to be completely isolated from the outside world now?” 

Aunt Elodie seethed so much that smoke was coming out of her eras. “Keep that attitude up and I will follow through.” she threatened, glaring daggers at Hedwig like she wanted to strangle the owl and wear her feathers as an accessory. “If I see that fowl one more time, I—”

Suddenly, all the hairs across Theodore’s skin raised pin-straight, his senses becoming refined for a moment as the magic of the manor overwhelmed him, like a cold draft sweeping through the building. They were alerting him— someone was at the perimeter of the Nott property. 

This didn’t go unnoticed by his aunt. “Who is it?” She glared fiercely at him, wriggling a bony finger in his face. 

As much as she tried to, Aunt Elodie never managed to gain full control of the manor— after all, Astrid Sterling’s Norse magic never recognized the widowed Nott sister as its master. Instead, it recognized the son that Astrid had left behind— leaving Theodore in partial control of the property, and the only one the ‘magic’ recognized and alerted. 

“Let me focus,” he scowled at her, his fingers tracing the air, drawing the sigil for sight. He closed his eyes, feeling the cold stone of the manor succumb into warmth, a misty fog clearing before his eyes, revealing the stranger at their perimeter. Slowly, the image formed— a dark-cloaked, grumpy-looking, lanky man with shoulder-length hair— 

“What are you smiling for?” Aunt Elodie snapped, her teeth flashing as she stepped closer to him— and yet, nothing could diminish the grin on her nephew’s face. 

“It’s him,” he grinned, and said aloud to the manor: “Let him in, please. He’s a friend, not a foe.” 

Despite her eye twitching, Aunt Elodie could do nothing— she could not challenge Theodore’s authority in the manor, after all. “Who is it, Theodore?” she asked again, forcing her voice to be sweet in the face of his power. 

“Someone who’s going to take me far, far away from here,” Theodore smiled. “Far, far away from you.” Almost as if on cue, the front door swung open automatically, Professor Snape’s arm raised, as if to knock. 

“Ah,” the potions master said pleasantly, lowering his arm, acknowledging the way Elodius Nott’s jaw dropped. “How convenient. Automatically-opening doors. Good morning, Ms. Nott. I would’ve sent a letter ahead of time, but I believe that Mr. Everius Nott has already signed off his consent for allowing the young Mr. Nott to come under my ward for the duration of summer.” 

Spluttering wildly, Elodius swept her atrociously feathered-robe before Snape, standing between him and Theodore. “Y-You can’t take him away from here!” she protested furiously, her eyes darting between the professor and her nephew behind her. “I’m his guardian!” 

“You haven’t acted like one,” Theodore snorted, his eyes narrowing. Before Aunt Elodie could stop him, he had already slinked around and was standing behind Professor Snape, who smiled wryly. “And you don’t want me here anyway,” the boy crossed his arms. “You’d sell me for a carrot if you could.” 

“Ah, but she can’t,” Snape drawled, noticing the Norse boy’s confusion. “See, Theodore, your father entrusted your aunt with your care where no other options present themselves. Having already left the family and previously replaced by your mother as its former matriarch, your aunt no longer has any sway over the Nott Manor. The only reason she has any command of the manor and the property is because she was acting as your guardian— but no more.” 

Aunt Elodie’s eyes burned so hotly that she would’ve scorched a hole where Snape stood if she could. “How dare you—” 

Understanding dawned in Theo’s eyes. “So you mean—” 

“The moment your custody is passed to me and we leave these grounds, your aunt no longer has any magical control over the manor,” Snape eyed the woman haughtily. “Given that your father is not present and you are not of age, the manor will begrudgingly accept her stay in its’ walls, but once you turn eighteen…” 

Theo’s eyes widened, staring between a very pleased Professor Snape and his fuming aunt. “So when I said… she’d have to kill me before she could ever dream of becoming the lady of this house…” 

Professor Snape shot him a sharp look at his wording. “You are right.” he said, annoyed. “She has to displace you in the line of succession for the Nott Manor. However , in recent developments…” 

“What is this?” Aunt Elodie snatched the parchment held out to her by the potions master, her eyes darting over the paper until she screeched angrily. “This is a trick! A lie!” she screamed, her mouth drawn in a thin line as she jabbed her cigarette holder at the man, flicking hot ash across Snape’s face. 

“Don’t you dare!” 

There was a loud bang , and Aunt Elodie had been blown backwards, her cigarette holder snapped in half on the stone floor. Outside the manor’s windows, a raging storm was battering against the glass, the chandelier above them swinging wildly in rhythm with Theodore’s anger. The parchment she had previously been holding drifted slowly down onto the floor before the boy’s feet. 

“You can burn me all you want,” he glowered, voice dangerously low. For the first time, arrogance had withdrawn from Elodius’s eyes, replaced by pure fear as she backed away from her nephew. “But don’t you dare treat Professor Snape with such disrespect.” he spat. On his chest, his mother’s pendant glowed silvery bright, a testament to the fierceness of Theodore’s magic. Over his shoulder, Hedwig cawed furiously, her sharp talons glistening under the light of the pendant, her beak snapping at the woman cowering on the ground. 

“Theodore, that’s enough,” said Professor Snape quietly, “Gather your things. We’re leaving.” 

For a moment, the boy didn’t move, his anger cold and harsh, like a blizzard pounding down on an icy wasteland— but he listened and backed away, Hedwig following him with one last snap. 

Not 10 minutes later, Theodore descended the stairs, levitating two clunking, heavy trunks (no doubt filled to the brim with his mother’s old tomes of Norse magic) with him, “That was fast,” Professor Snape raised an eyebrow, glancing at his watch. 

“I never unpacked. Just had to shove a couple more books in there.” Theo shrugged. His aunt was nowhere to be seen, retreating into a dark corner of the manor after being publicly embarrassed by a boy and an owl. “Are we going to Harry’s next?” 

“Yes,” the potions master nodded, holding out his arm. “Shall we?”

Theodore glanced around the Nott Manor for one last time, crystalline clinks chiming as the chandeliers in the building swayed softly, almost as if the manor was whispering its goodbyes. The boy took the professor’s arm readily. “By the way, what was on that parchment?” 

Snape shrugged nonchalantly. “Nothing much, just a letter from your father stating partial ownership of the Nott Manor to me until you turn eighteen. Do you know what this means?” 

“No?” Theodore furrowed his eyebrows. 

“It means,” Snape drawled, raising his wand for apparition, “That your aunt will have a practically impossible time trying to steal the property from you.” 

A loud laugh rose to the air as Theodore grinned widely. “Sick.” 

With a loud whoosh, the duo disappeared, leaving the Nott Manor quiet and cold once more. Almost in retaliation for attacking the matriarch’s child, every window in the building burst open, letting a tsunami of frigid air into its walls— and somewhere in the manor, Elodius Nott screeched and cursed very, very loudly. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────

Chapter Text

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“Sorry for the intrusion,” said Severus, who did not feel sorry in the least. As tempting as it was to reach out and close Petunia’s gaping mouth for her, he was a mature adult and resisted the urge. “Is Harry home?” 

Behind him, Theodore curled his lip in distaste at the picture-perfect home of the Dursleys. 

“Mrs. Dursley,” Severus repeated blatantly, “Is Mr. Harris James Potter home? Or do I have to come in to search for him myself, just to ensure that you haven’t starved him to death and buried him under your house?” 

“H-He’s fine!” Petunia snapped out of her stupor, glaring daggers at the man. Despite her best efforts, all her glares simply bounced off of him— Severus had been glared at too many people lately, and a Muggle housewife was the least of his threatening concerns. “Harry!” she rolled her eyes in annoyance when he didn’t respond. “He’s probably out in the back garden or something.” 

Severus gave her a pointed look and strided into her home, raising an eyebrow when he passed Dudley, eyes glued to the television. So much so, in fact, that he didn’t even notice the two strangers in his home. 

“How quaint,” Severus commented idly as he walked through the kitchen, grimacing at the sheer amount of oil on the pans. “Honestly, Petunia, are you trying to give your husband and son an early death? Cardiovascular diseases are very much real and very much fatal.” 

Once again, Petunia spluttered, at a complete loss of words. Severus was having a very, very fun time, and from the looks of it, Theodore was enjoying himself just as immensely. Reaching the end of the kitchen, the potions master pressed the back door open, already spotting Harry’s head of dark curls. 

“Mr. Potter,” Severus called out, his heart warming as he watched surprise, overwhelming joy and relief burst across the boy’s face. “Apologies for my tardiness and the lack of communication. A giant basilisk is much, much harder to dissect than you’d think, even with magic. If you’d like to get your belongings, we can get going very soon.” 

“Yes!” Harry was basically jumping with enthusiasm, which grew even more as Theodore peeked out from the doorframe, Hedwig cawing happily at the sight of her owner. “Theo! Hedwig!” 

As Harry bustled upstairs to collect his items, Severus faced a stunned Petunia again. “Ah, I nearly forgot,” he said pleasantly, drawing out Harry’s report card from one of his many hidden pockets. “Mr. Potter, as expected, did spectacularly once more in the academic year. Yes, let’s see here… outstandings in all of his courses, mind you— first placing in Potions and Transfiguration… second placing in Charms and Herbology, third placing in History of Magic and Defense Against Dark Arts,” the potions master reported, “And fourth place in Astronomy this year— an improvement. I’m very pleased with his performance. Mr. Potter has, once again, scored third placing in his year— a very impressive placing to maintain.” 

Harry, who had caught the tail end of his results coming down from the stairs, beamed proudly. 

“Ah, just in case this gets lost before your husband returns and has a chance to look at his nephew’s report card…” Severus paused, holding up the parchment. “Ah, perhaps I’ll just, ah, stick this here…” 

With a flick of his wand, he had cast a sticking charm on the report and plastered it on the main entryway of Number 4, Privet Drive, so that the Dursleys had to look at it every time they entered or exited the house. 

“Oh— I should also mention that Mr. Potter, Mr. Nott— and their friends— were all awarded Special Awards for Services to the School, a very, very honorable title to receive,” Severus said seriously. “You should be very, very proud of your nephew, Mrs. Dursley.” 

“I—” Petunia stared at Harry, as if he had two prongs sticking out of his head and she couldn’t possibly imagine herself ever being proud of him. 

“Now, Mr. Potter, say goodbye to your aunt and let’s get going.” Severus said, already shepherding Theo outside, shrinking Harry’s trunks. “There is much to do.” 

“Bye, Aunt Petunia.” Harry managed as a courtesy, flicking one last glance at his report card, plastered onto the wall. “I’ll see you next summer. Please don’t overwater the roses. And please don’t over prune the new basil plants I just potted.” 

“Harry!” came Theodore’s voice, sparkling with laughter, down the street. “We’ll leave without you if you don’t hurry along!” 

“Ah!” Harry gulped, stumbling on his own two feet on his way out the front door. Petunia watched her nephew go, the boy dashing down the street, vibrant with happiness, not even bothering to throw a last look at Number 4, Privet Drive before he grabbed onto the other boy’s arm, Severus watching the two with a wry smile. 

In a trick of the light— or perhaps in a blink— the three disappeared from the street, despite Petunia’s best efforts to blink back the sun and search wildly for them. There was no trace of them up or down the street, the roses and flowers of Privet Drive dancing lightly in the wind, as if nothing was amiss at all. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

Harry blinked the flash of apparition away, the familiar streets of Iveyworth materializing before his eyes. It hadn’t changed in the slightest— still bricky little roads and lanky houses pressed against each other, each a different color of white, gray or blue. On the black-tiled rooftops, ravens and crows cawed their greetings, some hopping onto the intricate, sparsely-placed lamp posts for a closer look at the three arrivers. Beside Harry, Theodore grinned, almost in awe of seeing the little town again. 

“Let’s go!” said Theodore impatiently. “I can’t wait to see my room again!” 

“Calm down, Theodore,” Professor Snape rolled his eyes. They passed the town roundabout— encircled by the bookstore, grocery, a barber’s, a tailors— and out of these shops peered the curious old aunts, recognition in their eyes as they remembered the two boys from last summer. 

“Hello, Ms. Marfy!” Harry greeted happily, “Oh, and Mrs. Rosette— yes, Theo, you know her— she made the best strawberry cookies, remember?” 

“More time for catching up later,” Snape reminded them, managing a smile at the aunts cooing at his two boys. “My apologies. I have to get them home and unpacked first— yes, yes, I will send them over when they have time— yes, of course, ah— must I come, too? Okay, fine, fine, we will visit, I swear…” 

Slowly, the houses became more and more recognizable, and then once again, they were standing before a familiar cobalt door, and Hedwig cooed happily, hopping off of Harry’s shoulder and onto the mailbox. 

The boys were tripping over each other in their excitement to the front door, practically jittering as Snape slid the key into the keyhole, the house unlocking with a resounding click . Immediately the boys were inside, Hedwig fluttering behind them to her favorite perching spot in the living room. 

With their laughter filling his house, Snape locked the door behind them, already hearing the telltale sounds of the two boys unpacking their trunks and throwing their clothes into their closets. There was a resounding thump as Theodore unloaded all of his books— and Snape patted himself on the back for the forethought of more shelves in their rooms. 

“Theo, Theo, Theo— look, I got new bedsheets, with little golden snitches on them—” Harry announced excitedly upstairs, jumping into the other boy’s room to show off. 

“Oh big deal , mine have dragons and viking boats on them!” Theodore scoffed, laughter bursting like fireworks as the boys shoved each other on their beds. 

Snape shook his head fondly. To no one in his foyer, but to his two boys upstairs, he said with a smile: “Welcome home.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“What’s your bedsheet, Professor Snape?” asked Harry innocently one day over dinner. Snape choked on his spaghetti and had to pat himself on the chest for a few seconds. 

“Ooh, does it have little bats on them? And cauldrons with poisonous green potions?” Theodore suggested with a wide grin. Beside him, Harry tried his very best not to laugh (and then failed). 

“For your information, not that it is your business, it is black.” Snape rolled his eyes. “I prefer simplicity.” 

“Boring. As expected of the great dungeon bat,” Theo snorted, reaching for another helping of spaghetti. “Harry, pass the sauce. No, not the creamy one, Harry, the tomato one— what’s it called, again— bollocks? Bolog? Bulgaria?” 

“Bolognese,” Harry and Professor Snape corrected in tandem. “Honestly, Theo, after a whole summer of living in a Muggle town?” Harry chastised. “ Bulgaria ? That’s a country, for Merlin’s sake.” 

Obviously, Theodore rolled his eyes. “Close enough.” 

“Roll your eyes any more and your eyes will retract into your skull,” Snape warned, spinning his fork into his plate of pasta. 

“Funny, coming from you.” Theodore raised his eyebrows. 

Harry chortled. “He’s got you there, professor.” 

The potions master opened his mouth and then closed it again, pinching his nose. “Fine. Fair argument.” he sighed, and then scowled lightly. “Eat your dinner.” 

Dinner was finished without any further complications. As Harry helped the older Slytherin put away the plates, Theodore wiped their table with a dishcloth and brought their kitchen scraps outside to the compost. In the living room, Hedwig, now wide away, was already looking outside the windows longingly. 

“Give it a moment before you let her out,” Snape said to Harry as he was drying his hands, “I have a letter I need her to deliver— to the Malfoy residence, as a matter of fact. Do you two want to write something to Draco?” 

“I’ll ask him what his argument for Gabinski’s method is,” Harry perked up. “Oh, and he said he would mail me the Quidditch magazine after he’s done…” 

“You can get your own subscription, you know,” Snape pointed out, flicking his wand to polish their counter. Satisfied, he strolled over to the living room, sighing as he sunk into his regular armchair with a newspaper in hand. “It’s not that expensive.” 

“Eh,” Harry shrugged. “No harm in saving paper. Theo, do you want to write to Draco?” 

Theo waved his hand distractedly, already curled up on the couch with a Nordic book in front of him, written in symbols that Snape could barely begin to understand. “I’ll just write in the margins of yours.” 

“Honestly, Theodore, do I have to teach you the etiquettes of letter-writing?” said Snape, exasperated. 

“I’m just saving paper!” protested the boy. 

Snape stared at him over the newspaper. “Touche.” 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ────────── 

“Theodore, Harry, go to bed ,” Severus said tiredly, leaning against the bedframe of Theodore’s bedroom. “For Merlin’s sake, you have got to know that reading by a single candlelight is not good for your eyes. Harry, your eyesight is terrible enough as it is. Make Theo put down his book and go to your own room.” 

“But—” Theo opened his mouth. 

“The book isn’t going to run away from you!” the potions master threw his hands up in frustration. “It’ll be right there tomorrow! If you two want to accompany me to Diagon Alley, you will go to bed early and you will rise early, because if I have to call you more than once, you’re going to stay at home.”

Theodore gasped. “You wouldn’t!” 

“I will!” Severus nodded affirmatively. “So, off to bed with you two! Honestly.” 

Harry slid off Theodore’s bed unhappily, where the other boy sulked and crossed his arms. “Goodnight, Theo. I’ll see you.” he said sadly, waving mournfully. 

“He’s not going off to war, for Merlin’s sake!” Severus groaned. “You don’t have to say that in such a miserable tone, Harry, he’ll be right here tomorrow! Why does it sound like I’m separating two star-crossed lovers instead of two boys who have perfectly nice bedrooms? The two of you share a dorm for nine months of the year, by Jesus…” 

The potions master sighed. At that rate, he was going to have a head of white hair by 35. However, watching the two boys tuck themselves in, he couldn’t help but smile. Sure— Minnie would tease him about turning gray eons before she ever did… but for the two boys to have a home? It was worth it. 

────────── ⋅❉⋅ ──────────