The door to the third floor storeroom creaked open, tossing a small beam of amber light across the narrow, mahogany floor planks. When it unlatched in earnest, the ray inched across the room, illuminating several large crates and cupboards that would serve as tempting hiding spots to amateur mischief-maker.

But Harry was no amateur. He crouched down behind a large stone pillar in the far recesses of the storeroom and, hidden behind its stature, discreetly reached into his robes for the invisibility cloak he kept stored within the folds. Though the war had ended some seven months ago, he'd found daily use for his father's robe; though less threatening than Voldemort and his followers in a traditional sense, Harry was growing more certain that constant camera flashes and the not-so-subtle advances of admiring witches and wizards could prove equally fatal.

It was for that reason—his desire for privacy—that he still carried the cloak. It was also the reason that he'd elected to return to Hogwarts after the Final Battle. To a certain extent, the castle walls shielded him from the paparazzi, allowing him to have some semblance of a normal life. Having a thousand sets of eyes follow his movements daily wasn't ideal, but it beat the millions he faced every time he left the castle.

He was grateful that the Hogwarts apparition wards kept out the majority of the wizarding world. However, in this moment, he wished they were a bit easier to break.

"We know you're in here. Unfortunately, these ancient doors attract a lot of attention when they're pulled shut."

Harry flinched at the familiar voice. His fingers tugged at the smooth, silver fabric and, feeling it give way, he shimmied the cloak across his body, watching his feet, legs, and torso disappear before he was finally encased in its invisible armor.

"I promise you, we mean you no harm," the voice reassured. Harry could hear his ginger footsteps lightly plodding across the floor, slow and deliberate, as if to not scare him off. "You aren't in any kind of trouble. We aren't concerned about your being out after curfew. We just want to talk to you about what we heard tonight."

A few moments of silence passed. Harry took deep, measured breathes. He glanced around the room for a potential exit route, but knew he'd find none; the only exit was the entrance: a hidden door behind a tapestry hanging in the Gunhilda of Gorsemore corridor.

"For Merlin's sake. This is ridiculous. Lumos!" a second, deeper voice commanded as heavy footsteps walked the perimeter of the circular storeroom. "Just come out and talk to us if you don't want a week's worth of detentions."

Golden light filled the cluttered room. Harry grimaced and bit his lip, covering his face with his right hand as he retreated further into the cover of his cloak.

"Sirius, we agreed on calm and nonthreatening," Remus Lupin reminded him, but a touch of amusement undercut his chiding tone. "I don't think your approach qualifies as either."

Sirius laughed and pocketed his wand, but continued his search with no less intensity.

"You have a knack for hiding yourself. I'll give you that much," Remus noted as he casually peered behind an antique armoire some ten feet from Harry's hiding spot—the exact spot where Harry had first come across the Mirror of Erised some seven years ago. If he were to glance in it tonight, he was sure it would show him a way back to his dormitory and out this mess. "That's two impressive talents of yours that we've discovered tonight. I'm sure I can speak for Professor Black when I say that we both like you already. So, why not come out, show us who you are, and let us praise you properly?"

After a few more minutes of searching, Remus sighed. "I don't think anyone's here, Sirius. Whoever this boy is, he's clever; he must have slammed the door as a red herring to distract us."

"Maybe," Sirius grumbled, eyeing the room suspiciously, as if it had consciously played a part in shielding the boy from them. "I just don't understand why he would run in the first place."

"Students tend to be a bit leery of teachers after curfew," Remus offered. "Or perhaps he was embarrassed. He obviously didn't intend for anyone to hear him tonight."

"Embarrassed?" Sirius questioned, one eyebrow raised. "Embarrassed about what? I haven't heard a voice like that since Lorcan d'Eath. And even then…"

"He could give him a run for his galleons," Remus agreed.

Sirius nodded. "So who the hell is he and how do we convince him to join the choir?"

Harry remained frozen beneath his cloak for nearly an hour after their departure, not daring to move in case Remus and Sirius had decided to wait outside the door for him to emerge. He hadn't forgotten that they were Marauders.

Hoisting himself to his feet, he pulled a wrinkled parchment from the inner-lining of his pocket and tapped it with his wand. "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good."

Squiggles of black ink danced across the eggshell-tinted paper, joining together to form the familiar out of Hogwarts Castle. He exhaled when he was that the path from the third-floor corridor to the Gryffindor Tower was clear; Sirius and Remus were comfortably stationary in the first floor staffroom, no doubt sharing a cup of tea and discussing the night's events.

Harry noted with a grin that Ron and Hermione were huddled up together in the Prefects bathroom on the fifth floor. "I guess that's one of the benefits of being Head Girl," Harry muttered under his breathe. "Mischief managed."

Slipping the invisibility cloak around his shoulders, Harry made his way to the seventh-floor tower and whispered "mysterium amat" to the Fat Lady. As he entered the common room, he spotted Fay Dunbar and Demelza Robins sitting in the armchairs nearest to the boy's staircase. Though younger than Harry, his time spent hunting Horcruxes meant they were now the same year and shared several courses. The pair—like several others in the common room—were leaning close to one another, giggling down at the pages of Witch Weekly magazine and whispering feverishly. Harry caught a glimpse of the article causing the commotion:

POTTER TO POSE FOR PLAYWITCH?

by Antha Blackwood, Witch Weekly

Is the Wizarding World's most private heartthrob set to bare all in Playwitch magazine? Sources close to Harry have revealed that the notoriously camera-shy wizard intends to flash his winning…smile…in January's charity edition.

"Harry likes to keep to himself, but can't say no to a good cause," a close friend of Potter reveals. "When Playwitch approached him about stripping down to stand up for werewolf rights, he couldn't refuse. Especially when all proceeds go to support research on a cure for lycanthropy, a cause that is especially close to his heart."

For all of you readers who are feeling guilty about your desire to watch Harry shed his clothes (and his halo): don't be. Not one of us hasn't fantasized about watching Potter polish his Firebolt.

Do you have a fantasy about Harry that you're hoping to see in Playwitch? Let us know. We'll post the most provocative pose ideas in next week's edition of Witch Weekly.

Harry scowled, cheeks reddening as he sprinted up the staircase and past the 7th-year dormitory to his private bedroom (a precaution McGonagall had insisted upon before allowing him to return to Hogwarts).

"Playwatch?" He growled as he locked the door behind him and depositing his cloak on the dresser. "Not bloody likely."

Harry kicked off his shoes and allowed himself to fall backward onto his four-poster, his tense muscles relaxing against the plush bedding. His mind drifted away from Witch Weekly's latest rumor to his detention earlier this evening and the resulting run-in with Sirius and Remus.

He groaned and buried his head in a crimson pillowcase. "You're an idiot, Harry," he told himself. "You've been keeping this secret for nearly eight years and you almost threw it all away tonight because of your carelessness."

It was all Ron's fault, really.

Harry had been practicing his non-verbal summoning spells when the redhead distracted him with the news that he and Hermione were planning on moving in together after graduation.

"Harry," Ron had said, looking a bit pale as he flipped through the pages of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Seven. "Have you decided if you are moving in with Sirius after graduation?"

Harry shrugged, a small frown fixing itself between his eyes. "I'm not sure, honestly. If you would have asked me a year ago when he was cleared, I wouldn't have hesitated. And it was brilliant of him to offer, but I just…"

"You want him to be able to have his own life," Hermione softly.

Harry nodded.

"I get that, mate," Ron told him. "Especially now that he's seeing that American bird. You don't exactly want to be hanging around if he's bringing her home to shag every night."

"Ron!" Hermione hissed. Harry's cheeks colored and he redoubled his efforts to summon the water glass from across the classroom.

"It's true," Ron continued, seemingly unfazed by Hermione's irritation.

"It doesn't matter if it's true or not," Hermione snapped. "It's impolite and it's none of your business." She attempted to summon her own goblet from across the room; it wobbled, but didn't move. Frowning, she turned to Harry. "I think you're right to give him his space. And…"

Her voice faded. Harry shot her the barest of glances before responding, "You're giving me that look again."

"I'm not."

"You are," he countered hotly. "Whatever you have to say, just say it."

"Alright," Hermione agreed, and Harry felt more than saw her catch Ron's eye. "I think he needs his space, but I also think that you need to take some time to yourself to figure out what you want in life."

"Hermione," Harry started warningly.

"No, Harry. You need to listen. This may not be the time or the place, but I can't hold this in anymore. These last few months, you've been acting like nothing has changed, Harry—like your life is exactly as it was before you defeated Voldemort. But it's not. Everything has changed. Everyone is moving forward and you need to, also."

Harry said nothing. He stared at the water goblet and willed it to fly, or fall, or shatter—to do anything to take the focus away from this conversation.

"She's right, Harry," Ron told him. He'd stopped pretending to read A Standard Book of Spells. His full attention was focused on Harry. "You could have done anything after the Battle of Hogwarts. You could have gone anywhere. But you chose to come here. And here you are, sitting in Charms practicing summoning charms. Why? Why come back to Hogwarts?"

"To finish school. You both came back, as well. Or have you forgotten that?" Harry whispered, eyes still fixed on the goblet. He could feel Ron's and Hermione's stares.

"I came back because I'm never going to find an acceptable job in the Ministry without my N.E.W.T.S.," Hermione told him calmly. "Ron came back for the same reason. You came back—"

"—to finish school. Just like both of you," Harry said calmly.

Ron and Hermione exchanged sad looks. "But you didn't, Harry. And you know it."

"Oh, really?" Harry rolled his eyes. "Then why did I come back?"

"To hide," Hermione stated matter-of-factly. "to hide from the media and to hide from reality. You came back to hide from the realization that the last seven years of your life have been focused on getting rid of Voldemort and you don't know what to do know that he's gone."

"That's not true. And," Harry whispered. "And even if it were true, you are acting like you both aren't in the same position."

"Well," Ron began, looking anxious. "We aren't, mate. We know what we want. Percy is helping Hermione land an internship in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I submitted my application for Auror training over a month ago. I start in July."

Harry stared at him, mouth agape. "What? When did you…?" He took a deep breath and, looking between the pair of them, asked," Why didn't you tell me any of this?

"It didn't seem right," He jumped when he felt Hermione's hand on his elbow. "It didn't seem right to tell you about our plans to move forward when you can't seem to move beyond Hogwarts. We didn't want to upset you."

Harry stiffened and rose from his chair. "I'm not upset," he told them quietly. "I'm happy for you. I'm sorry if I made you feel like you had to hide things from me."

"You didn't, Harry," Ron told him, going pink behind the ears. "We knew you'd be happy for us. We're just, well…we're…"

"Worried about you," Hermione finished. "I think it will be really good change for you to be on your own after graduation. You'll have time to yourself to think about what it is that you want. You could do anything now, Harry."

Unsure of what to say, Harry nodded and turned his attention back to water glass. He pictured the water glass in his mind and willed it to come toward him. Come on, glass. Come on, glass, he chanted in his head. The glass began to rise. As it did so, Ron gulped and told him, "Er—there's one more thing, mate. Hermione and I are moving in together."

"Wha—?!" he whipped around, caught off guard. The glass he'd been attempting to summon mirrored his movements. It made a harsh circle in the air, crashing into Professor Flitwick's head as it did so. The tiny teacher was knocked from his seat onto the ground below.

"Potter!" he squealed as he stood, blood streaming down his forehead. "Unchecked power and excess emotion lead to accidents!"

"I'm so sorry, Professor Flitwick," Harry told him, rushing down the aisle to help him. "I just—lost control."

"15 points from Gryffindor," Flitwick told him. Harry had the distinct impression that the man was holding back tears. "And detention this evening! You've made a mess of my classroom. I expect you to spend the rest of the evening cleaning it. And no magic allowed"

Harry cringed. "Yes, sir."

"The rest of you, out!" Flitwick shouted. "Out!"

If it hadn't been for Ron's ill-timed revelation, Harry wouldn't have had detention. He wouldn't have been in the dimly-lit Charms classroom that evening, picking up shards of shattered glass from the ground, organizing cluttered bookshelves, and dusting furniture.

If it hadn't been for Ron, he wouldn't have started to feel anxious about his future and his friends outgrowing him.

And if he hadn't been anxious, he wouldn't have pulled his headphones out of the pocket of his muggle jeans and started listening to music. He wouldn't have turned the volume up and let his mind drift. He wouldn't have begun to lose himself in the music, as he always did when he listened.

And if he hadn't begun losing himself in music, he wouldn't have started singing.

The room was dark by the time Harry's detention came to a close. Flitwick had never returned to check on him, a fact that made Harry feel guilty enough to stay and spend his evening alphabetizing the tiny wizard's collection of ancient, leather-bound tome—which was no small feat, given that the towering bookcases spanned the entire perimeter of the circular classroom. He had nearly finished when it happened. As he tucket Where There's a Wand, There's a Way on the bottom shelf between W.O.M.B.A.T. Revision Guide and Wizards are from Neptune, Witches are from Saturn, he crooned the final few bars of the muggle ballad streaming through his ear buds. The music faded into a soft hum as the song completed, and Harry sighed in content.

He glanced around for the final volume to be filed (a signed, first-edition of Xylomancy by Selina Sapworthy) and did a double-take as his eyes caught sight of the classroom door.

It was ajar.

Harry tensed. He distinctly remembered latching it before he began sweeping up the broken goblet that had impaled Flitwick. Could a breeze from the corridor have—

"Hello?" Harry froze as he recognized Remus's inquisitive tone, which called out to him from some 20 meters away on the opposite side of the entry. He'd managed to make significant progress into the classroom and was peering around cabinets and under desks. "Who's in here?"

"Who's singing in here?" Sirius corrected, mirroring the other Marauder's movements.

Harry's insides turned icy. He let out a silent string of curses. With slow, calculated movements, he slipped the headphones from his ear and info his pocket. As he deposited them, he retrieved his wand. He was only a few meters from the door. If he could create some kind of distraction, perhaps he could slip out without them noticing.

"I'm sorry if we've startled you," Remus continued apologetically. "I promise, there's no reason to be afraid. This is Professor Lupin and Professor Black. We were passing through the corridor when we heard you heard you singing."

"You're talented—very talented," Sirius told the dark room, the night sky casting a deep, navy shadow across the room's two-story windows. "I'm sure you know that Professor Lupin and I are the faculty advisors for the Hogwarts Choir."

Harry did know. He'd been thrilled to learn that his godfather's had taken up teaching posts at Hogwarts following the final battle: Sirius replacing Binns as the History of Magic instructor and Remus returning to his former position as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He knew their intentions in doing so were as primarily to keep an eye on Harry as he "transitioned," which is how they liked to refer to his adjusting to a post-Voldemort existence. He appreciated the concern.

At the Opening Feast, it was announced that the Marauders were once key staples of the award-winning Hogwarts Choir, a fact Harry never knew. Musical talent in the wizarding world was rare; those who had any semblance of it tended to capitalize on their skills to great success.

Harry preferred his privacy.

According to Sirius and Remus, whom Harry shared a cup of tea with later that evening, they weren't exceptional singers, but were better than most and had spent four memorable years representing Hogwarts at competitions across Europe. It was a highlight of their school careers and they wanted to afford others with the opportunity to experience the pleasures of performing. They'd spent the last four months recruiting interested students and preparing for Spring competition season.

Harry nodded and expressed enthusiasm for their undertaking, but elected to keep his vocal ability unknown. In a world where every facet of his life was put on public display, he wanted to keep one meaningful piece to himself.

"We'd like to talk with you about auditioning," Sirius continued. "We're still in the market for a male vocal lead."

Crouching as low behind the bookshelf as he could manage, Harry pointed his wand directly at his chest and muttered a concealment charm. Those certainly came in handy these days.

Remus circled to look in his direction.

Damn werewolf hearing, Harry screamed internally before aiming his wand at Hermione's unbroken goblet, which was resting a few steps away from Sirius's hand. "Snuffilfors!"

The water glass transfigured itself into a brown mouse, which scurried across the table and into the armhole of Sirius's robe. It perhaps wasn't Harry's most inventive diversion, but it did the trick. Sirius let out a loud exclamation that Harry was sure wasn't classroom appropriate, causing Remus to break his stare.

Harry saw his opportunity and bolted.

"Wait!" He heard Sirius bellow as he slid behind the tapestry at the end of the corridor, wrenching the door shut behind him.

"You're an idiot, Harry," he told himself again, before flicking his wrist to wandlessly blow out the slow-burning candles at the far side of the room.

Tomorrow was Saturday, which meant lunch in Hogsmeade. Tonks and Teddy were on holiday with Ted and Andromeda, which meant that it would just be he, Remus, and Sirius.

They'd surely have a lot to say about their adventure this evening—and plenty of Playwitch jokes, no doubt.

He'd better work on his poker face.

.