Warnings for this chapter:

—OOC (Out of Character)

—Some (very little actually, it feels a bit ridiculous to put the warning in at all) cussing

—Not yet proofread


AN: It took a week longer than I expected it to - going on a spontaneous holiday with little to know wifi can really mess up my writing schedule for some reason - but here is the third chapter. I don't even have much else to say, except thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it!


Chapter 3 Welcomed


We were both, the witnesses of the second war's beginning and its first victims.

—Ginny Weasley


Harry wasn't happy. He had spent the majority of the train ride so far avoiding his fellow students—Ron, Hermione and Pucey being a notable exception—and he had done it for a very good reason: after his stressful holidays, he simply wasn't up for it. He wasn't in the mood to socialise and ask questions and pay attention and smile. Especially not smile.

Naturally Hermione had chosen a compartment with five of their other friends in it to hide from him. Friends he would be expected to greet and talk with. So, no, Harry wasn't happy. He wasn't surprised, but he definitely wasn't happy.

Sending a silent prayer to whomever was willing to listen up there, Harry took the last few steps towards the compartment of doom—one that was holding more people than should have been possible, but that's what an enlargement charm was for. Briefly he wondered whether Hermione had been the one to use spell the small room and invite even more students inside, just to spite him.

But no, Hermione wasn't spiteful. Not because she wasn't capable of it, she could be as cruel as any other young woman with a sharp mind if she so desired. She simply deemed such actions beneath her, because. They weren't efficient.

As Harry approached the compartment that he knew with absolute certainty held Hermione—those nifty tracking charms never got old—he watched the other occupants through the glass window. They hadn't even thought to ward the door to ensure they wouldn't be watched. He could observe their interactions from where he stood, could even read their lips should he choose to do so. And as convenient as that would be, Harry doubted he was the only one with such a skill.

Now, if the occupants of said compartment had been first or second years he wouldn't have held it against them. Actually he would have let most third, fourth and fifth year get away with it too, even if it was incredibly stupid on their part. But they weren't. The group was a strange mixture of houses and years, something that would immediately draw the attention of other, more observant by-passers. And their age didn't matter to Harry because out of the six people he recognised in that compartment every single one should know better than to be so damn careless. He had taught them better.

Or at least that was what he'd thought. Apparently he'd overestimated their abilities. And that wouldn't do. No, that wouldn't do at all. Naivety, light laughter and an unconscious trust in their fellow students morals were all well and good—only they couldn't afford it. Not in times like these, where a single mistake could lead to the death of hundreds.

But as Harry approached the compartment, he didn't see wariness and he didn't see worry. Instead he saw teasing comments and gentle touches that spoke of familiarity and ease. He saw jokes they'd all heard a hundred times before and exchanged stories of their holidays and humorous excitement humming underneath their skin. He saw innocence and Harry hated it with a passion he hadn't felt in a long time. Not since the Ministry two years ago, not since he'd lost the last reminder of the life he could have led.

He hated that the lesson he'd learned that night had been one that could not be passed on, one that had to be experienced—one that these students, his friends, had yet to learn. And they would learn it, just like they would all have to choose a side eventually.

Voldemort's power was growing steadily. With his return from certain death his influence was impossible to stop, because nobody could deny his power. And in the face of such a dangerous foe the Order had grown harder, more capable and more determined with every loss they faced. The front lines were being drawn even now and Harry knew, with a deep understanding he'd gained during his weeks in Grimmauld Place, that this war, when it was all said and done, wouldn't leave room for ignorance—or neutrality.

He swallowed.

Most of the time it was easy to talk about the war. Usually he had Ron by his side, muttering about the likelihood of one outcome over another and Hermione ranting about the rules and limits of magic even as she broke them all. It was easy because his friends were brilliant and wonderful and he would have never made it as far as he did without them, but. They weren't normal.

They were—had been—innocent in their own ways, but even when they had been eleven year old children Ron had calculated the best chances to make it to the Philosopher's stone in time and ensured his friends' success at the cost his own life. And Hermione had broken every rule she preached, every rule she believed in with all her being when she'd cast logic aside and followed him through the flames.

Ron and Hermione were brilliant, they were flawed, but above all else they were exceptional. And despite the doubts he'd had, despite the insecurity and constant worry about their lives, he'd never once felt like he'd ruined them.

Now, staring through the small window into a compartment filled with an air of carefree happiness he was about to destroy, Harry realised with stark clarity that he couldn't say the same about his other friends.

Hannah, Susan and Zacharias were Hufflepuffs in his year who had grown close to him during their fifth year under Umbridge—terror had a way of unifying the most curious people, he'd learned that year. But in some ways they were still recent additions to his group of friends, recent because they hadn't fought Quirrel or Tom Riddle or Sirius Black or Voldemort with him, not even in spirit. They hadn't been there during those life-changing events and sometimes it still showed.

Then there was Dennis Creevey, fifth year Gryffindor, Colin's younger brother with a boisterous, go-lucky attitude that granted on everyone's nerves. Now him Harry wasn't surprised to see acting so carelessly. It wasn't that Dennis couldn't be trusted, it was more that he didn't really think. And yet, somehow, always managed to produce the results he was supposed to. Harry had long ago decided that he really didn't want to know exactly how that boy's luck worked—or his mind for that matter. But he'd still have to talk about the necessity of security charms with him. Again.

And finally there they were, Ginny Weasley and Hermione, the one he'd been looking for and the one he didn't need to, heads stuck together as the younger girl whispered something so fast, Harry couldn't for the life of him decipher the words—so maybe at least one of them had learned something from him after all.

Still.

Should he really do it? Storm into that compartment and berate them for, essentially, being teenagers? Demand an explanation they didn't owe him in the first place? Ruin their fun, like he always did?

The truth was, they deserved this and he had no right to dictate how they should or should not act.

The truth was, he envied them and he hesitated only because he feared it was jealousy and not concern that clouded his judgement.

His hand was already reaching for the door knob when Harry paused. He could give them this. These last few hours of carefree joy. He could find a way to talk to Hermione later on, in the Room of Requirement maybe, or even the Chamber if push came to shove. He could lecture the others for their idiocy during the ride from Hogsmeade to the castle—'the others' because he knew Hermione was aware of his approach, had felt one of her wards the second he left Ron in their compartment and probably tripped a dozen other ones on his way here.

But she hadn't alerted the others of his presence, for whatever reason. And Hermione always had a reason.

No, he could still go back, still allow the illusion to continue, just for a little while, because really, what harm would it do? He could still-

Ginny's head snapped around suddenly—because she's always been more in tune with him than the others, has always known a little more, understood a little better, smiled a little sadder, because she was the First—and the moment was broken before he had the chance to pretend that there actually was a choice.


cross off the colours


"Harry."

Ginny was the first to greet him—Hermione still being to busy to determinedly ignore his existence—and her gentle reception caused the other four students to jump in surprise. It was almost amusing, to read the panic in their expressions as they fumbled for their wands—ridiculous really, he only cursed them once or twice for not paying attention to him—, but he didn't allow himself to smile. There was no reason to make them think they were getting off the hook so early on.

"Ginny," he replied warmly, then nodded at the others in cold acknowledgment.

Zacharias winced.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you like this, but I'd like to speak to Hermione now, if that's possible," he said, not paying the guilty looks the others were shooting him any mind. His words were phrased as a request but it wasn't one and they all knew it.

"Of course!" Hannah exclaimed, scrambling to her feet as fast as she could. Her best friend hastily followed her example. "We'll just leave you two to it, then!"

None of them showed any sign of indignation at being pretty much thrown out of their own compartment. If anything they seemed relieved to get away.

Which wouldn't do at all.

"I appreciate it," he assured them in the most polite tone of voice he could muster. "In fact, there's an empty compartment just down the hallway. I'll stop by as soon as Hermione and I are finished so we can get caught up. It's been, what, three months since we've last had the chance to talk properly?"

The words themselves were deceptively light, but judging by the pale faces and shaky smiles they gained in response, Harry was confident that none of them had forgotten their last talk. He couldn't say he blamed them. It had happened just days after the fiasco that ended with Dumbledore's death and Harry hadn't exactly been stable at the time. Too much grief, too much uncertainty, too much pressure, too much fear. It was a condition he had no plans to fall back into.

The five students left in a hurry and only Ginny hesitated for a moment, lingering near the doorway in a twisted mimicry of Harry's previous internal struggle. They had always been a bit too alike that way.

"You're back," she said in the end, the words soft and gentle, as though not to startle him.

Harry blinked and looked at her, really looked at her this time. The girl with the fiery hair and the shattered eyes. "I never left, Gin," he whispered, suddenly all too aware of Hermione's looming presence in the background and the time that was running out on him.

He didn't have time for this, but he couldn't push her away with a simple 'later' either. This was Ginny, and above all else Ginny was special. And in the end, as always, she made the choice for him.

She smiled, honest and bright and shattered. "Didn't you?" she asked and it wasn't an accusation. It wasn't even a question.

But there was a shadow of the girl Harry had found in the Chamber of Secrets, lifeless and broken, in those words. A shadow of warm hugs and shallow reassurances and You're my world and I wish it would be enough.

Ginny's smile dimmed before he had the chance to react and when she shook her head the shadow retreated, not gone exactly, but hidden beyond his reach. "I'll be with Dean and the others," she said flippantly over her shoulder and strode out of the door without looking back again.

At least Harry didn't catch her doing it—but then Ginny had always been special.


cross off the colours


With a heavy sigh Harry fell into Zacharias' previous seat and crossed his ankles in front of him. Now wasn't the time to contemplate the fragile mess that was his and Ginny's relationship, not when he had to deal with an even less stable mess in the form of his friendship with Hermione.

Harry usually wasn't one to buy much into gender-specific stereotypes, but what were the odds that the relationships with the two females he valued the most among his circle of friends were also the most complicated?

Ron would probably calculate them for him if he asked, but to be honest Harry suspected he was better off not knowing.

Instead he tilted his head to the side and watched his best friend as she stared at a spot on the wall straight over his head. It was one of the reasons Hermione had struggled to connect with her classmates in the beginning. She had a tendency of drifting off in the middle of a conversation, of staring straight ahead at absolutely nothing for hours. And when she tried to reach out to others, used to being made fun off for her 'spacey' nature, she stumbled, was too bossy and certain in her own knowledge.

But that had been when they were eleven and now, almost six years later Hermione hadn't just learned how to temper her corrections and turn them into helpful advice, Harry in turn had also learned how to handle her moods.

Which was why he was one out of exactly three people who could tell when Hermione was actually gone because her thoughts had run away with her again and when she was faking it to avoid an uncomfortable confrontation. And as hard as it was to believe it, given the circumstances, Harry recognised the slightly glazed look in her eyes. She wasn't faking it.

Allowing his body to sink deeper into the comfortable seat he crossed his arms in front of his chest as well and busied himself with observing his friend. He'd give her two or three minutes to work out whatever problem she was pondering right now—she always got awfully snappy when someone broke her concentration without just cause—and then they would talk.

Hermione was pale, several shades paler than she had been at the end of the last school year. There were fine shadows under her eyes, a testimony that—like all of them—she had gone with too little sleep for much too long. But besides the obvious there were other signs, less obtrusive ones.

It was in the way her left hand shook slightly whenever she lifted it in an unconscious gesture of drawing random patterns into the air—because it helps me concentrate, Ronald, now cease your incessant chatter if you please! It was in the hollow of her cheekbones that stood out sharper than Harry remembered seeing them in a long time. Since third year perhaps, when the girl before him had almost succeeded in working herself into an early grave. It was in the slump in her posture that even her painfully straight back couldn't hide, as though her entire body was sagging into itself with nothing but sheer will power keeping it upright.

And the worst was knowing that he really should have seen it. Harry knew his friend, he knew her better than anyone else—bar Ron—did, and he should have noticed that something was wrong days, maybe even weeks ago. Merlin, when had he last taken the time to truly talk with her? About something besides war and contingency plans and creating better warding systems? When had he last taken the time to simply stare at her while she looked at nothing the way she did now, a habit everyone used to tease them about because it was apparently creepy?

Harry didn't know.

"You're not talking," Hermione's voice mercifully interrupted his mental break-down and Harry blinked in surprise at her sudden return to the world of consciousness.

He scowled. It wasn't normally in his nature to act so distractedly, yet today everyone and their Slytherin year mate seemed to catch him off guard. He really needed to up his game, otherwise he would be eaten alive before dinner had even been served.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked and sternly reminded himself that his friend didn't deserve to be on the receiving end of his frustrations. She wasn't even the real target, she was just there and Harry had sworn a long time ago that merely existing would never be enough of a crime to be punished for.

Hermione looked straight at him then, brown eyes surprisingly cool. Surprising for those whom had never had the pleasure of meeting Hermione Granger at least, because—as most of the Hogwarts' student body had learned by now, the idea of brown eyes being warm by default was as much of a myth as Voldemort being dead.

"You're not talking," she repeated blandly. "You said you wanted to talk."

There was no question mark at the end of that sentence but Harry recognised an inquiry when it slapped him in the face.

"I've just realised what a terrible friend I am," he answered honestly. It wasn't much in the way of an explanation, but calling Hermione brilliant was nothing short of an understatement, so he didn't see the need to waste more time explaining a thought process she'd probably already guessed.

"I see."

He smiled at that, just a bit. "You're not going to disagree?"

"Would it change your mind if I did?" Hermione raised her eyebrows in a wordless challenge.

It was a reference to his tendency to blame himself for other people's mistakes—they'd been over that particular psychological weakness of his so many times none of them could stomach these conversations any longer, but that still made them the bud of a joke every once in a while—and Harry could do nothing but ruefully shake his head in reply.

He wasn't sure he'd ever get over that fault, wasn't even sure if it really was a fault or just an inherent part of his character he had to learn to work around. The latter sounded much more promising than the former, if nothing else.

It was fascinating as much as it was odd how much Hermione was able to read out of just a handful of words—and how utterly incapable she still proved herself to be of engaging into everyday social exchanges. But it was like Ginny had once told him; the sea is as deep as it is shallow, the soul as pure as it is tainted.

Or something like that.

"So," Harry drawled, unable to think of any way to draw this conversation out for a little while longer. "Are you gonna tell me what's bothering you?"

There, he said it. Asked directly even, efficient and everything. Just how Hermione preferred it. Ron would be so proud. If he wouldn't be laughing himself sick at their awkwardness that was.

Hermione nibbled on her lower lip, an old nervous habit that made her appear younger than she really was. "I'm not sure I can," she admitted finally, quietly, as though confessing a terrible crime.

"Just try me. I could follow your reinterpretation of the impact of physical forces when you factored magic into the equations," Harry noted drily. "I think I can keep up."

His comment—intended as a joke—earned him an irritated frown.

"You're not stupid, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed heatedly. "I don't know why you keep putting yourself down for our benefit, but you're smart. I'd like to think I've never told you anything else. But this isn't about intelligence, it's- I don't know, alright? I don't understand it myself, I don't get it! I just don't know!"

There was such raw desperation in her voice that Harry flinched back just a little. He cleared his suddenly way too dry throat, unaccustomed to such an emotional outburst from Hermione of all people, and eventually settled on a simple "Then talk. Just talk and I'll listen. Maybe we can make sense of it together."

Hermione smiled a little at that—probably remembering their fourth year, when they'd done this all the time, bouncing her thoughts back and forth between them when they got too much to be kept inside her head—but there was a glint in her eyes that turned her expression around, gave it an edge of something.

"There's no reason to return to Hogwarts," she said after only a moment of hesitation and those words were enough to break the dam. "And you still haven't told us why we're doing it! You have Ron calculate all kinds of eventualities and give me one project after another but you've never even told us what you're going to do about the prophecy, about Riddle! And I don't mind that you're keeping us busy, I don't mind that you're using our abilities to get things done because I prefer you over anyone else and I know you're not using us, just what we can do! I don't care about that! But I care about you!"

Her left hand was drawing patterns into the air at a dizzying speed and every word that fell from Hermione's lips was sharp and cutting, even as her body started to tremble. Harry wanted to reach out to her, to hug her and hold her close, but he knew better than that. He knew better than to interrupt.

"You have no bloody clue just how special you are, Harry! You're my best friend, you understand me even when I don't and I can't lose that. I don't know where I'd be without you and I don't want to find out either, but you just have to be the most unreasonable git I've ever come across! You keep risking your life, you keep gambling on likelihoods and instinct and I can do nothing to stop it! I can't stop caring for you and I can't stop making stupid choices and mistakes because of it and-"

She stopped mid-rant and Harry couldn't remember the last time his best friend had looked so defeated.

"Hermione," he whispered. "I'm not-"

"Don't." The word was sharper than the dagger Harry kept hidden underneath his pillow. "Don't you dare and make an empty promise to me Harry Potter. We're both too intelligent to fall for that. Besides the emotional approach doesn't work with me, you know that."

She sounded almost indignant and the tension between Harry's shoulders eased a little at that. Oh, and how he knew it. He still vividly recalled her eleven year old self after the incident with the troll. How he'd tried to hug her and tell her that everything would be alright, only to have her push him away and tell him off for attempting to soothe her mind with empty platitudes when she was far to rational to buy into any of them because highly intelligent people don't react the same way to such comfort, don't you know that? So instead Ron had calculated the probabilities of her being attacked by a troll again and Harry had researched a couple of spells to use in self-defence against one and for some reason that had been enough to make her sleep with a smile on her face for weeks. Not that Harry was aware of that last part, mind you.

"Not the emotional route then," he agreed and straightened in his seat. "I can't pretend to understand how unsettling it must be for you to be unable to figure something out, but the truth is that there's no guarantee that I'll survive this year. That's never certain. Even if there wasn't a Dark Lord and a blood-thirsty Order breathing down my neck I could still stumble on the moving staircase to the fifth floor and break my neck. Life doesn't offer certainty, Hermione. You know that."

It was a bitter truth that had almost cost Ron his sanity before he'd finally started to make his peace with it. He could calculate and predict everything he wanted, but there was always a margin of error, no matter how small and seemingly insignificant it may be. There was always something that could throw the equations off the balance, there were always actions that could not be properly predicted and it killed Ron. Apparently it killed Hermione as well.

Harry reached out and took Hermione's trembling hand in his. It was a testimony to how far she had come that she didn't pull away from the physical contact even though she struggled to process it.

"Coming back isn't an illogical decision as you're well-aware. We've talked this through multiple times. At Hogwarts, we have resources. We have easy access to information. We can prepare and figure out our next step. Running around the country without a clue would be stupid, especially with the Order still firmly in charge of the school. Yes, there are risks, but there are risks to every path we could have chosen. And I can't promise that we'll make it, but I can promise that we'll give it our best. We have Ron, Hermione. We have you. We know our chances of success, we know that there is a chance."

Hermione's fingers clenched around his own. "That's not good enough," she said frostily. "I don't doubt Ron's numbers, but we're banking on them with your life, Harry, and that's just- it's not good enough."

Outside the window a familiar landscape flew by, the last remains of the warm summer months still hidden away in the bright, green grass and the open sky. Inside their compartment on the other hand there was no sign of a similar warmth. It was ironic, in a twisted, bittersweet way, that one of the most open, most emotional conversations Harry had ever shared with Hermione was still so cold.

"We're doing the best we can. Rationally you know that," he ended up telling her because there really wasn't much else to be said. There were no assurances that would convince her completely because Harry wasn't capable of ensuring they would come true. There really was nothing he could do to ease his friend's mind, how ever much it pained Harry to admit that.

Hermione lowered her head, brown locks hiding her face from view. She still made no move to free her hand though.

"I know," she admitted weakly. "That's the worst part."

And Harry understood. Because, for perhaps the first time in her life, there was something Hermione couldn't rationalise, something she couldn't accept as the best possible solution and move on. For the first time knowledge wasn't the safety blanket she could usually rely on. For someone with Hermione's mind such a conclusion had to be—well, to be honest Harry wasn't sure how she dealt with this, if she was able to handle it at all.

He wasn't sure how he was supposed to help her with it either.

"There's nothing wrong with feeling, Mina," Harry ended up saying. It was probably unfair of him to use the one nickname she had never complained about against her, but he really, really didn't care at the moment. "There's nothing wrong with caring about someone. It's what makes you human."

The words were scarily similar to the ones Ron had shared with him. It made Harry wonder if maybe both of them needed the occasional reminder of that fact.

"Rationally I know that as well." She sent him a tiny smirk. "Doesn't make it easier."

"No, I suppose it doesn't," Harry agreed. "But you're aware of it. You know your weaknesses. Now you can plan accordingly and adjust your decision making process to factor them in."

The smirk on her pale lips widened and when Hermione slowly pulled her hand free from his grip he let her.

"I hate it when you're the voice of reason," she muttered and the comment wasn't quite playful, but it was as close as she would ever get. It was more than enough.

Still. Maybe it was a remnant of a little boy locked in his cupboard, but Harry couldn't stop himself from asking. "Does that mean we're okay now?"

And maybe Hermione understood—like she always did—because her countenance softened considerably.

"We're always okay, Harry," she said forcefully.

It was as much a promise as it was a vow.


cross off the colours


The second Harry entered his fourth compartment in the same train ride, he fell into the closest seat with no plans on getting up again before he absolutely had to. That said seat wasn't as much a seat as it was Seamus' lap did not deter him in the slightest.

Damn, but he couldn't remember his previous train rides ever being so tiring. Alright, fine. That wasn't completely true. Riding Arthur Weasley's car in second year certainly hadn't been what one would call relaxing. Nor had his heart-warming encounter with the Dementor the year after that. And just last year he'd wasted most of his time unsuccessfully stalking Malfoy, which had really just been one big embarrassment for everyone involved.

Maybe Harry simply didn't have much luck with train rides. It would certainly fit, considering how inept he'd proven himself to be when it came to flooing and traveling by Portkey. Who ever said riding a magical train would be easy?

"Comfortable?" Dean laughed from where he sat with his arm around Ginny's shoulders.

Harry sent him a saccharine smile and purposefully wiggled around a little, ignoring Seamus' half-hearted protests, before he leaned his back against the other male's chest. Despite what the rumour mill would likely tell you Harry had found a very good friend in Seamus. He wasn't brilliant, but he was funny, open and warm, like sizzling flames.

No, if anything it was his relationship with Dean Thomas that was—out of his dorm room at least—the most complicated one. Thankfully Dean was a fairly laid-back guy who didn't care much for unnecessary dramatics—and was also willing to overlook his personal issues with Harry in favour of working together against Riddle. Say what you want about the guy, but he sure had his priorities straight.

"Yep," he chirped happily, not letting any of those thoughts show on his face. "A little bony, but it will have to do for now."

The compartment exploded in laughter at that, almost drowning out Seamus' scandalised "Oi!" in the process. It was a well-known fact that the Irish male took great pride in his looks and body, which only made teasing him about it all the more fun. He still wore his customary good-natured grin though, so Harry wasn't all that worried about suddenly finding himself in a heap on the floor. Besides Seamus had an almost unlimited amount of patience when it came to Harry's antics, which was a rare and very much under-appreciated power, all things considered.

"'Sides 'm too tired to move right now," he proclaimed and promptly yawned.

"How come?" Seamus asked curiously, his arms reflexively tightening around him.

Both expertly ignored the cooing from Luna, who was still convinced that they could only overcome their nargle infestation together, and Neville's shit-eating grin. The shy, somewhat plump boy they'd met in their first year had really grown into himself over the last two years. From what Harry remembered it had started some time during the DA but that had only been the beginning. Successfully surviving a couple of run-ins with homicidal Death Eaters and dating sweet Hannah Abbot had really done wonders for the boy's self-esteem.

"People are exhausting," Harry complained—more like pouted, though he would deny it to his dying day—and burrowed his face in Seamus' shirt as though it could hide him from the rest world. It was certainly worth a try.

The blonde let him, chortling softly as he did so. "You have any new orders for us, boss man?"

Harry snorted and gently slapped the boy's shoulder. "You make it sound like we're part of the Irish mob when you talk like that."

"As if," Seamus sniffed, attempting to look down his nose at Harry and failing terribly at it. "As I am the sole representative of the Irish nation in this little vigilante group of yours, it should be obvious that we must be an international crime organisation."

Neville blinked. "But we're not doing anything illegal, so how can we be a crime organisation?" he asked, causing Dean to slap her forehead in despair, murmuring "Really, that's the only thing you think is wrong with that statement?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Seamus shot them a look as though he couldn't believe he was supposed to suffer through their obvious lack of understanding even the most basic concept. Nobody present appreciated said look. "The Ministry is going to crumble the very second He-Who-, I mean Riddle," he hastened to correct at Harry's glare, "-knocks on their front door. And I should know, my mum works there. Now I don't like the red-eyed frea-Riddle—will you stop hitting me?—anymore than the next halfblood, but if he takes over the Ministry he essentially becomes the government. Which makes us the terrorists trying to overthrow it."

There was a pause as everyone pondered that shift in perspective.

"I think it'll be fun playing the field from their position," Harry eventually said with a shrug.

"I've never been a terror-ists before. Do you think that's what Professor Flitwick meant when he told me I was allowed to try out different occupations before settling on one?" Luna wondered at the same time.

Another pause followed as the four other occupants regarded their friends with various expressions ranging from incredulity to amusement.

"I've never been a terrorist before, they say. I think it'll be fun, they say." Dean looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Merlin, the world is doomed."

Ginny gently patted her boyfriend on the head. "And we'll be right along for the ride," she told him with a smile that was as bright as it was dangerous.


cross off the colours


Approximately five minutes before the train reached Hogsmeade—the announcement to prepare themselves had already been made, resulting in a protesting Harry being forced to vacant his surprisingly comfortable seat so Seamus could change into his school robes—the light atmosphere was broken by Hermione who came barrelling into the compartment with no regard to the five wands that were immediately and unwaveringly pointed at her face.

Harry hadn't moved from where he was sprawled out over the window seat with his feet in an indulgent Luna's lap—apparently his small toe was attracting a magical creature she called 'Fangaris Fungus', the name being enough reason to not ask any further questions, and she was trying to figure out why hers weren't doing the same thing.

At the questioning look Ginny shot him he merely grinned. "Proximity ward," he said like those two words explained everything. And well, when you took into consideration that the whole DA had learned how to set up a security ward that would only be triggered by specific magical signatures under Hermione's tutelage, they kind of did.

"Thanks for the warning," Ginny snapped sarcastically, but put her wand away with a sigh anyways. The others followed her lead.

Harry remained unperturbed. "You're welcome."

It wasn't like anything stopped them from taking the same measures he had taken, and they all knew it. They might not be as bad as his Hufflepuffs but it was obvious that they'd let themselves go more than could be allowed during the holidays. Though how a holiday after their school's invasion and the subsequent death of the headmaster could possibly relax them still eluded Harry.

"I've got the list you wanted," Hermione announced, not even bothering to greet the others, even as she absentmindedly cast a Muffliato.

Thankfully none of them appeared all that ruffled at her clear dismissal of their existence. By now they were far too used to Hermione's single-mindedness when it came to one of Harry's projects. Never mind that she rarely acknowledged anybody besides Harry or Ron.

Harry took the parchment she waved in front of him excitedly and idly scanned the list. It was longer than he had hoped it would be.

"So basically, we know absolutely nothing about most of the Slytherins, half the Ravenclaws and a couple of Hufflepuffs," he summed up, a small crease growing between his eyebrows as he did so. "The Gryffindors?"

"No blank spots unless we get some new first years," Hermione replied instantly. "We haven't cleared them yet, but that will be done tomorrow morning."

At this everyone shared a collective grimace of disgust. Ever since the incident with Moody in fourth year the Gryffindor house had established—helped along by some pointed urging from Harry, Ron and Hermione—that nobody found the prospect of spending a year locked in a suitcase particularly inviting. So, to ensure that everyone was exactly whom they said they were, they went through a potions regime during the course of the first week that was supposed to dissolve all magical means of disguise.

So far those measures had proven themselves to be unnecessary since apparently every villain there was to find in the magical world was convinced that infiltrating the school via the one teaching post that never lasted more than a year before something unsavoury was revealed about the candidates was much less obvious than impersonating a student. Harry might have cried if their idiocy wasn't so damn useful.

"Alright, we'll start with the easy stuff. Neville, Dean, Seamus, can you get me copies of the school records of every student on this list?" Duplication charms really came in handy at times like these, he mentally acknowledged. "I want their grades, notes on their behaviour, detentions, point loss and gain, acceptance letters, medical files, everything."

"Sure thing, boss man," Seamus saluted, earning an eye-roll from Harry in the process.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "That's the easy stuff?"

His question was pointedly ignored.

"Gin, I need you to figure out the information on their family background. Track down the old heritage books, ask around for anyone willing to help you. Maybe Percy could get you some records from the Ministry, they might as well be useful while they're still standing. Facts, here-say, gossip, we need to know it all. Get together with the Speakers for that, you'll probably need their help sorting through it all." Harry handed the girl another copy of the list, who simply nodded, a determined glint in her eyes.

Finally he turned to the youngest of the group, the blonde girl with the whimsical voice. "Luna, can you pass these names along to our little Watcher. She'll need to look out for these guys especially and—and I really can't stress this enough—tell her to be careful, will you?"

His voice turned almost pleading at the end, although all of them knew that his words would fall on deaf ears. There weren't many people at Hogwarts more prone to risking their lives for some ridiculous scheme or another than he was but they did exist and it just so happened that he'd grown quite fond of one of them over the last few years.

"The bi-twirled rallymoths will let her know whom you're looking for," Luna stated in her usual, distracted way, her hands still fiddling with his toes. But her lips were drawn into a tight line and that was enough to let Harry know that the fair-haired Ravenclaw was just as aware of the seriousness of the situation as the others were. She was a sharp one, no doubt about that. Doubly so because nobody ever saw her coming.

"Thanks guys," Harry smiled, or tried to anyways. "I know I'm asking for a lot, so don't rush this, alright? The information is important, but it's even more important that we don't get caught getting it. Take all the time you need and double-check everything you can."

Having done at least the bare minimum of what he'd needed to accomplish Harry allowed himself a moment of simply staring through the window and letting his thoughts drift away, even as the train began to slow down.

"Hold on, I thought Hogwarts was safe? Why do we need to be so careful?"

He wasn't sure who asked the question and made no move to avert his gaze from the outside world to find out, but he answered anyways, almost absentmindedly.

"How many people at Hogwarts do you know for sure would give their lives to keep our secrets? For that matter, how many of them would you turn your back on in a fight?" he asked softly, mournfully.

For a home that would never be his home again. For a school that would never be as innocent and safe as it had once appeared to him. For an illusion of safety that couldn't withstand the reality of how things were.

No one had an answer to his questions and privately, Harry thought it was probably for the best.


cross off the colours


Riding the carriages had been a bit of a strange experience, even for Harry's standards. For one it took him half the way just to figure out that the lack of his usual confrontation with Malfoy bothered him—it was not because he had a crush on him, thank you very much for that mental image Ginny, it was simply because it was tradition. And because for just one short moment he'd forgotten about the devastating end of their last year, had gotten caught up in the familiar routine of the beginning of a new school year.

For another he was used to look forward to his return to school. It was his safe haven from the Dursleys, it was the first place he'd found friendship in and despite how things had a tendency of going straight to hell somewhere around March, he had a lot of great memories of his time at Hogwarts as well. This year though, it felt less like coming home and a lot more like taking his last walk.

Ron wasn't responsive yet, still scribbling into one of his many notebooks with a vigour he only ever showed when it came to food otherwise. Hermione was fairing a little better, though not by much. Apparently in desperate need to distract herself she was attempting to talk with Luna. Harry would never understand why she'd chosen her of all people. He loved Luna, quirks and nonsense talk in a very no-nonsense voice included, but she and Hermione had never clicked.

Granted, Hermione didn't exactly click with many people, but he still thought Ginny or even Neville would have been a better choice. Both had the patience to walk Hermione through the interactions without patronising her and were smart enough to entertain her, even if they couldn't match her intellectually.

But no, of course he had to flee from yet another argument about the existence of nargles—wasn't doing the same thing again and expecting different results the definition of insanity?—the second the carriage finally stopped.

Yet even his irritation wasn't enough to trump the rising sense of impending doom he felt as he stared up at the open entrance gate to a castle he loved with all his heart. Looking back, that should have been his first warning.


cross off the colours


The Great Hall was never as chaotic as on the first day back from the holidays. One would think with a seven hour train ride the students would have more than enough time to get reacquainted with their friends, share their stories and adventure and, in some cases, settle back into their return to the magical world. Why else would the children be forced to take such a long journey when magic allowed for near instant travel?

As it was the train offered limited space and most where content to meet up with their closest friends and travel in the relative quiet of their compartment. Only to, on their way to the Great Hall, they suddenly got a glimpse at other familiar faces, fellow class- or housemates, members of the Quidditch team and so on.

So really, entering the Great Hall on the first day after the holidays was pretty much a fight-or-flight situation, not recommended for anyone suffering from claustrophobia, sensitive ears or pregnant.

Pushing through the crowd of people—and since when did Hogwarts have so many students?—Harry barely avoided falling over a tiny second year, only for someone to run straight into his back. He lost his balance and would have tumbled to the ground, rather ungraceful at that, if not for a group of Hufflepuff girls whom were hugging the life out of each other right in front of him and indadvertedly served as a great supporting wall, a cushioned one at that.

Groaning in a mixture of pain and embarrassment Harry freed himself from the poor girl that had the bad luck of breaking his fall, apologised and turned around to face his attacker. Off-handedly he hoped it wasn't Riddle because his back was killing him right now and he really wasn't in the mood to duck Unforgivables in a crowd of milling students.

Fortunately his worry was proven unnecessary—and while he was at it, he should probably stop filing every time someone accidentally ran into him as an 'attack' on his person. On the other hand he was Harry Potter and there was nothing accidental about his life, so maybe not—because it wasn't Voldemort who'd managed to personally sneak into the castle. Or if he had, he hadn't revealed himself as of yet.

It was a tall young man with a thin face, dull, blonde hair and shady eyes. Theodore Nott, his mind supplied the name after a moment of silent evaluation. A Slytherin from his year. The second one this day. Dear Lord, he really hoped his friends had miraculously missed this incident, especially since it seemed to have been completely unplanned on the offending party's side if the wide eyes staring at him in surprise were anything to go by.

A moment later Nott gained control over himself again, his face twisting into a familiar sneer. It was a pretty impressive one, Harry had to give him that, but he'd never been one to be deterred by threats. Not to mention that it reminded him a lot of Malfoy—whom he was not missing, damn it!

"Potter," he spat with an applaudable amount of derision in his voice.

Harry blinked owlishly at him, not entirely sure how to reply. Apparently one unexpected Slytherin a day was all his mind could handle. And was it only his imagination or was there something different about Nott?

The Slytherin shifted on his feet, his disgusted countenance wavering the more time passed with no reaction from the Golden Boy. Harry himself was completely obvious to that, far too busy trying to figure out what it was that the other boy had changed and if they had ever interacted before the literal run-in seconds ago.

"Stay out of my way!" Nott finally snapped, probably meaning to sound imperious but coming of as sullen instead.

Harry would have told him so, if the other boy hadn't already turned his back on him—his back on him? What the sodding hell was up with the Slytherins this year?—and if Hermione and Ron hadn't chosen that moment to descend upon him like to enraged mother dragons. Really, not even the one from the Tournament had looked that angry, and that had been after he'd stolen one of her eggs, fake as it might have been!

"What is it with you today?" Hermione hissed under her breath.

Harry eyed the wand in her right hand, almost hidden by the heavy sleeve of her robe, warily—the tip was glowing suspiciously green—and wisely chose not to answer.

Within a few minutes of being painfully manhandled Harry found himself in his usual spot near the end of the Gryffindor table, far away from the professors. You never knew if one of them didn't have Riddle growing out of their skull after all, a certain amount of distance was only sensible. Seamus, Dean, Neville, Ginny and Colin were seated nearby, followed by his other year mates and members of the DA.

He pointedly ignored the knowing grins they sent him and endured Hermione's rant about being more careful and keeping his guard up in public settings without complaint. The irony of him being subjected to the same lecture he'd given a couple of his friends only an hour before was not lost on him.

Giving Hermione the chance to get some of her residual annoyance off her chest had the additional benefit of allowing him to unobtrusively form a first impression of Hogwarts P.D.—Hogwarts Post Dumbledorem.

As it was it would be a couple of days yet before he could come close to passing a properly informed judgement, but there were some chances that already stood out. Most of the students had by now reached their tables, making it easier to get a good look at the hall as a whole, and though the air was filled with excited chatter it wasn't the same exuberance Harry had learned to associate with his first meal back.

Part of it was no doubt due to the, perhaps unknowing, influence of the professors. Most of them were familiar faces, though Professor Flitwick certainly looked more serious than Harry had ever seen him before and there was a foreign grimness in Professor Sprout's expression that made him very glad he'd given up on Herbology in his sixth year, but there were at least three people he had never seen before.

Of course Snape's expected absence, the ever present need for a Defence teacher and the less expected absence of the Muggle Studies teacher Harry vaguely recalled but couldn't remember the name of, did a lot in explaining the new additions.

It didn't escape Harry's notice that all three of them were male, had a strong built and faces he'd seen during the Order meetings, back when he'd still bothered to attend them. Great. As far as he could tell none of them had been the once hounding him until he'd hexed them into silence, but that didn't necessary mean they weren't sold on the let's-throw-Harry-in-Riddle's-path-and-see-who-makes-it-out-alive plan as well. It just meant they were clever enough to keep their opinions to themselves.

There were other differences as well though. There were no banners hanging from the ceiling, no ghost was in attendance of the feast as far as Harry could tell even though most of them loved to introduce themselves to the first years—or scare the living daylights out of them as the case may be—, and it looked like the Slytherin table had been placed slightly more apart from the other three. Although that last one was probably just his paranoia talking, Ron really was a terrible influence when it came to these things.

Finally there were quite a few empty spots on all four tables. Some of those missing faces Harry could barely recall, of others he'd known beforehand. Justin Finch-Fetchley for example was a Muggleborn from a wealthy family who decided that his chances of survival would increase significantly with a decidedly permanent move abroad.

Harry couldn't blame him, especially considering that he'd convinced his parents to help out a couple of less fortunate families as well. The Browns, the Jacksons and the Carringtons had all been evacuated with the help of their donation, and while it might not sound like much those were seven wide-eyed, magical children that would never be forced to try their luck under Riddle's regime.

Quite a few other families had done the same, others had simply refused to send their children back and then there were the ones whom had been killed during one raid or another. Su Li was such a case, as was a third year Slytherin boy named Caleb Montgomory.

And yet. If one considered the circumstances it was staggering how many students had chosen to return despite the dangers it involved, given how much of a huge target had been painted onto Hogwarts from the get-go—and that had been before Harry Potter had returned as well.

Harry's contemplation was abruptly cut off—as was Hermione's to that point still on-going rant and any other sound for that matter—by the echoing noise of the open entrance door being slammed shut with a deafening bang.

The Great Hall was, as the name would tell you, quite large and could easily accommodate double the amount of people that were currently residing inside and yet in the face of the unexpectedly closed doors Harry was unable to quench the sudden feeling of being locked in.

In retrospect that should have been his second warning.


cross off the colours


Uneasy murmurs rose from the students, many of which surely had to feel the same sense of foreboding Harry himself was unable to shake off.

"What in Merlin's name?" he heard Seamus mutter from his left and expertly ignored Ron's and Hermione's quarrel on his right—"What's going to happen now?"-"I don't know!"-"Why don't you know?"-"There are too many variables, we don't have enough information, okay?!"-"Then what good are you?"—because their bickering would only serve to agitate him further.

"Look at the door!" Ginny hissed to from several seats down, so of course they all immediately whirled around to stare at- the closed, but otherwise fairly unremarkable door?

Harry squinted in suspicion. Ginny's instincts had yet to lead them astray, they were a lot like his own in that regard. When she said that there was something at the door then he wasn't going to waste his time doubting her and instead spent it trying to figure out what she had seen. As such he wasn't surprised—dismayed certainly, but not surprised—when the air to the left of the door flickered unsteadily for a moment before four men seemed to appear out of thin air.

"A disillusionment charm most likely," Hermione theorised under her breath, all the while retaining a hold of her wand in preparation of a possible fight.

The men didn't move to attack, in fact they barely reacted to the agitated students in any way. Harry did notice that all of them had their wands at ready though. But all they really did was spreading out to stand in front of the entrance door, guarding it.

A sick feeling curled and twisted somewhere in the depth of Harry's stomach, even as the sharp, tinkling sound of a knife gently clapping against glass echoed through the Great Hall and successfully diverted the attention of the students away from the unexpected appearance of these not exactly trust-inspiring strangers and towards Professor McGonagall.

Headmistress McGonagall, Harry reminded himself, even though it didn't look like her new position agreed with the woman. She looked taller than he remembered her, but also paler, thinner, worn down. She looked like a woman who had lost her world, a woman fighting a losing battle, knowingly, but refusing to give up anyways.

"Welcome," McGonagall's strong voice rang through the silent hall. It had lost none of its sternness and Harry was glad for it, was thankful for anything that hadn't been changed and tainted, thankful for anything he could still hold onto.

His eyes darted back towards the men that had him—and his friends—tense, coiled so tightly they could explode into action at any given moment, because he didn't trust these guards enough to turn his back on them. For that was exactly what they were, from the nondescript black battle robes to the blank faces and stiff postures, guards.

It didn't escape his notice that they weren't guarding the entrance from the outside either, they were guarding it from within.

Home, sweet home indeed.


End of Chapter 3


And here we are, at the end of this monstrous chapter that didn't at all turn out "short and simple" like I wanted it to. I hope you're not complaining? Also sorry for all mistakes, I'll proofread this as soon as possible, but I didn't want to let you guys wait even longer so I hope you'll forgive me.

You're welcome to share your thoughts and opinions with me on this chapter! I'm always open to suggestions and I'm really curious where you think the story goes from here! A hint: the next chapter involves decidedly more Slytherin interactions ;)

I'll see you guys as soon as I manage to write it. Until then I wish you

smarties and sunshine in abundance,

ReRe