Chapter 38

Harry stayed with Draco until they were almost at Hogsmeade, when he reluctantly left him to go back to Cid and Tyler's compartment so he could change into his school robes. He stopped briefly by a compartment with Ginny in so he could apologise about burning her hand. She accepted it, but she seemed a little more wary of him than before.

At Hogsmeade, when they went to the carriages that took them up to the school, Cid stopped short, staring at the Thestrals. "Fuck, those things are cool!"

"If cool means creepy," Tyler said, while Harry looked away, only to notice Hermione a little further up, also staring at a Thestral that she could only see because of him.

Once they arrived, getting into school took a little longer than usual because they all had to get checked over by Filch with a Secrecy Sensor. Harry stood through it tensely, afraid as it passed over his left arm even though he knew his magic would hide the Dark Mark from detection.

At the feast, Dumbledore introduced Sirius, James, and Slughorn as the new teachers, and announced Professor Sinistra was taking over as Head of Slytherin. After, he mentioned that new protections had been placed on the school, warned them against breaking the rules, especially their curfew, and asked they be extra careful and vigilant in these dangerous times.

Harry was eager to get to bed that evening, but when he reached the Slytherin common room, Theo Nott was ahead of him and headed straight for the sixth years' dorm. Harry hung back in the common room, convincing Draco to sit with him in one of the darker corners for a while. Draco's brow furrowed slightly, but he complied and they settled on one of the sofas, Draco sitting and Harry laying across it, head in Draco's lap.

For a while they just sat in silence, Draco combing his fingers through Harry's hair, until the common room started to empty and Draco asked, "What are you watching?"

Harry didn't deny it. Draco must have seen his magical eye moving to keep an eye on Theo. Theo had showered briefly, which Harry hadn't watched, then changed for bed, brushed his teeth, and returned to the dorm.

"Theodore Nott."

"Should I be jealous?" Draco asked.

Theo was in bed by now, curtains drawn around him even if he wasn't yet sleeping, so Harry finally turned both eyes up to Draco's face.

"No. I love you, I would never…"

"I know," Draco said softly. "I'm kidding."

"His dad," Harry said, and then stopped.

"What about him?"

Harry didn't answer. He turned onto his side, putting his face away from Draco. The hands in his hair stopped moving.

"His dad's a Death Eater," Draco said, his voice suddenly tinged with anger. "Was he… did he…"

Harry didn't know if Draco was asking if Frederick Nott was the one that raped him, or just if he'd tortured him, but he nodded.

"Bastard," Draco spat with a vehemence Harry had never heard from him before. "That fucking complete absolute shit head bastard."

Harry rolled back, looking up at him, impressed. "That was almost as good as Cid."

Draco glanced down, unamused. "Harry—"

He reached up, placed a hand on Draco's cheek. "It's done," he said quietly. "I'm not allowed to take revenge for what was done to me, you know that. I'm dealing with it, slowly, but I… I just need you to be here for me, but not angry. I appreciate you standing up for me, but your anger doesn't help me."

Draco nodded, a little stiffly. Harry guessed he'd need a little time to handle it. He dropped his hand and sat up, turning to kiss Draco. When the other boy had relaxed, he broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together, closing his eyes.

"I love you," he whispered, and felt his heart ease a little when Draco said it back.

After breakfast the next morning, Harry and the other sixth years remained seated as they waited for Professor Sinistra to finish handing out timetables to the rest of the students. She came to them last, checking all their OWL results to ensure they achieved the required grade to take their chosen subjects.

"I see you've been recommended for advanced classes in Ancient Runes and History of Magic," she said when she got to Harry. "Will you be taking them?"

"Does that mean extra classes? I never had a career meeting last year so I don't know anything about them."

"It means you'll be taking seventh year classes at the same time," she explained. "You'll be expected to keep up with both and sit the NEWT at the end of this year, but if it proves too much then you're allowed to drop the advanced classes at any time. You're going to have a busy schedule this year if you do take them; are you sure you want to take all these classes?"

He nodded. Although he dropped Herbology, Astronomy, and Arithmancy, the advanced classes filled up most of the free periods they created.

"Alright. There you go." She tapped her wand to a blank schedule and it filled up with his classes. He had Ancient Runes first and waited for Draco to get his schedule then they headed off together.

"You really are busy this year," Draco remarked, looking over Harry's timetable.

"I want to be. Besides it's not like you can talk. You're taking a ton of classes."

"Everything I need for Healing."

Harry looked at him, surprised. "Healing?"

"Didn't I tell you? I want to be a healer."

"No, you never mentioned. I think that's nice. But I wouldn't have thought you need Ancient Runes for Healing."

"Everything I need for Healing, plus Ancient Runes because it's fun," Draco admitted with a smile.

Their classes were all shared that year. As well as him and Draco in Ancient Runes, there were Hermione and three Ravenclaws: Terry Boot, Mandy Brocklehurst, and Su Li. Harry found the class noticeably harder than the last time he was in a classroom, but he didn't struggle. Professor Babbling set them a monster-load of homework though.

They had Defence Against the Dark Arts next. Harry compared schedules with Hermione as they headed over; she was taking Herbology and Advanced Arithmancy so hers was almost as busy as his.

"Do you think it'll be weird having your godfather teach Defence?" she asked him as they reached the classroom. Harry just shrugged.

James was sat behind the desk, with Sirius perched on it, watching them all file in and take their seats. Harry sat with Draco, with Hermione and Neville in front of them and a couple of Hufflepuff girls behind them. Sirius smiled at him and Harry returned it with a small one of his own.

James took the register when they were all sat down, while Sirius made a seating chart and asked them all to keep to the same seats until they'd memorised faces and names.

"Alright," Sirius said after, "first things first—it's Sirius and James. We're pretty lax when it comes to the rules and Professor Potter and Professor Black is way too pompous and authoritative."

"At least you don't have to worry about slipping up with that then," Draco muttered to Harry.

"On that note," James said, leaning forward to rest his arms on the desk, "anyone who makes Sirius-serious jokes gets jinxed. I don't care how smart you think you are, I shared a dorm with this idiot for seven years and I promise you I've heard them all before."

There were a few laughs at that and Sirius affected an offended expression, but it soon passed. "Okay, one other thing before we get started: we're kind of famous. Not our fault. I've got a pretty face and it gets noticed; Merlin only knows why James does."

"Shut up, Padfoot. Most of you have probably read about us in the Prophet and you're all curious, so this lesson, and this lesson only, you're free to ask whatever questions you've got."

Immediately several hands flew into the air. James pointed at a Lavender Brown.

"Is it true Evans isn't your son?"

Harry wasn't really surprised that was the first question. James glanced at him and Harry nodded.

"Yes," James said. "It's true."

"Your wife really had an affair with Snape?" blurted Seamus Finnigan.

"Must have been blind," muttered Hannah Abbott. Harry whirled on her.

"Shut up," he snarled, and everyone in the classroom looked at him.

"Harry," Sirius said, and he reluctantly turned back to face him. "Let's not scare your classmates, yeah?"

"As long as they don't talk shi- rubbish about my parents," he said stiffly.

"Why aren't you called Snape then?" Finnigan asked.

Before Harry could answer, Ron Weasley said, "Bastards don't bear their father's names."

"Oi!" Sirius said while Harry turned on him with a glare. "None of that, thank you."

"He's not wrong," drawled Blaise Zabini.

"You would know," said Lisa Turpin. Blaise looked supremely unconcerned at her snide tone.

"Settle down, please," James said loudly. "Harry's name is his choice, and we said you could question Sirius and me, not him. If no one has anything else to ask—"

Instantly several hands rose. James nodded at Parvati.

"How come you're both teaching?"

Harry watched them, wondering what reason they'd give. They hadn't said anything to him about how they planned to handle the inevitable queries and attention they'd get.

"I don't do so well on my own," James answered simply, only the slight hunching of his shoulders indicating any discomfort. "Dumbledore offered Sirius the job; I came along with him."

"Is that because of what Lucius Malfoy did?" Ron asked, and the tension in the room increased tenfold. Next to Harry, Draco sunk in his seat a little.

"Yes," James said, glancing briefly at Draco.

"Doesn't it bother you that you have to teach his son?" Parvati asked.

"No. Draco had nothing to do with what Lucius did."

"You believe that?" Ron said sceptically. "Everyone knows he's basically a junior Death Eater just like his dad."

"Draco's nothing like Lucius," Harry snapped. "Keep your stupid mouth shut, Weasley."

"Alright, let's calm it down," Sirius said with a warning glance at Harry. "No one in this classroom—no one in this school—is a Death Eater and I don't want to hear any accusations to the contrary."

He has no idea how wrong he is, murmured the voice, and Harry resisted the urge to rub at his arm.

"What exactly did Lucius Malfoy do to you?" asked Ernie MacMillan. "Surely he didn't just lock you up for fourteen years."

"I've no interest in discussing that. Suffice to say it wasn't pleasant."

"What about this summer? You were kidnapped with Evans, weren't you? Was that Malfoy?"

"I don't know what happened. My memories of that time were wiped."

"Were yours?" Ernie asked Harry.

"I'm not talking about it," Harry said without looking around. In front of him, Neville's shoulders hunched and Hermione folded her arms on the table, plucking at the sleeves of her robes.

"That's a no, then? What—"

"I said I'm not talking about it, Macmillan."

"Professor Bl- uh, I mean, Sirius," Mandy Brocklehurst said, "what was it like in Azkaban?"

"In a word? Horrible. I don't know how close any of you got to the Dementors guarding the school after I broke out, but they suck the happiness out of you. In Azkaban, it's constant. Every moment you're miserable, forced to relive the worst memories of your life."

"How did you break out?"

"I'm not allowed to answer that; the Ministry doesn't want me giving people ideas. Any more before we get started? No? Alright, so you've had, what? Six teachers in this subject?"

"Only five," Ernie said. "Quirrell, Lockhart, Lupin, Moody, and Umbridge."

"Yes, but for a few months Moody wasn't actually Moody, it was Barty Crouch the younger, so six really. I hear he was about what you'd expect from a half-made Death Eater pretending to be a half-mad Auror, but I'm sure the real thing was better. I know Umbridge and Lockhart were crap; I don't know much about Quirrell aside from being stupid enough to let Voldemort into his head; and I'm sure Remus—Lupin—was great, but it does mean—"

"Lupin was a werewolf," Theo interrupted, and Harry couldn't suppress a shudder.

"He was also my lover," Sirius said in a dangerous voice and Theo shut up.

Behind Harry, Hannah sighed.

"The handsome ones are always gay."

"Well that wasn't awkward at all," Draco remarked later after a lesson of practising to silently cast Shield Charms.

"It probably won't happen again," Harry replied. "It's just because it was the first class."

"You're painfully optimistic, Harry. You didn't have to stick up for me against Weasley, by the way."

Harry scowled, digging his toe into the dirt of the courtyard they stood in for morning break. "I don't like people saying that. I know he's your father and you probably… but you're not like him. You wouldn't do the things he's done."

"I don't know half the things he's done."

"You don't want to," Harry muttered. "I should go. I've got Advanced History next. What are you going to do?"

"Spend my free period working on that mountain of homework Babbling gave us."

There were only two other people in the seventh year History of Magic class—Logan Sparrow, the new head boy, and Katie Bell, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. Binns showed no surprise at having an extra student in his class; in fact, Harry wasn't sure he even noticed. He never took the register and Harry had never heard him get a student's name right. He was also still as boring as ever; apparently he didn't consider NEWT level classes worth a change in teaching style.

He got his first free period right before lunch, but it was spent working on the Defence homework Sirius set, which, for someone who claimed to disapprove of excessive studying, was a lot, and then he had double Potions for the last class of the day. There were eleven students in the class—him, Draco, Theo, Pansy, and Blaise from Slytherin; Hermione the only Gryffindor and Ernie Macmillan the only Hufflepuff; and Terry Boot, Mandy Brocklehurst, Su Li, and Padma Patil from Ravenclaw.

Harry sat between Draco and Hermione, who seemed to decide that sharing a workbench with Draco was worth sitting with Harry. Each workbench seated four students and Ernie, after a few moment's indecision, apparently decided his long running animosity with Harry was worth putting aside to sit with them when his other options were sitting alone or joining Pansy, Theo, and Blaise.

Slughorn already had three cauldrons set up and he asked them about each, looking amused but impressed at Hermione's eagerness to answer each question. Draco looked annoyed, especially when Hermione earnt twenty house points for Gryffindor.

"If you'd put your hand up you could have got us some points," Harry muttered to him. "He's not Snape; you don't get any favouritism anymore."

"How would you know if Snape showed me favouritism?"

"Hermione and Neville complained about it enough."

"Do you have something to share with the class, boys?" Slughorn said loudly, a disapproving frown on his face as he looked between them.

"No, sir. Sorry," Harry apologised.

"Yes, well, keep your conversations outside the classroom, thank you. As I was saying, Amortentia doesn't create true love, of course…"

Harry glanced at the cauldron nearest them, which was full of a potion giving off little spirals of steam and a thoroughly relaxing and almost seductive smell that reminded Harry of books, the Lake District, and freshly laundered clothes. Even the voice thought it smelt good, making a satisfied little noise when Harry inhaled

Slughorn set them to brewing the Draught of Living Death with the promised reward of a vial of Felix Felicis—liquid luck—to whomever brewed it best. Harry had no expectations of winning, but he didn't expect it to be because he had a seizure halfway through class that managed to not only knock his head, but also make him drop the mortar of powdered asphodel into his cauldron. It promptly melted and the ruined concoction proceeded to blend with the rest of the ingredients laid out in his workspace, and destroyed his book and part of the desk before Hermione vanished it.

"I hope you realise you lost me that Felix Felicis," Draco told Harry as he walked him up to the Hospital Wing.

"Poor you," Harry muttered. His head was pounding and sticky with blood and he couldn't quite manage to care about the damage he wrought.

"Yes, poor me. Granger's going to get it now, or possibly one of the Ravenclaws, which wouldn't be quite so terrible, but I deserved it."

Pomfrey fixed his head up easily and let him stay the rest of the afternoon to rest up. He slept through dinner and woke to find James sat by his bed, flipping through a Witch Weekly magazine.

"Need tips on your autumn wardrobe?" Harry asked, which were the only words he could make out on the front of the magazine.

"It's all I could find," James said, closing it and tossing it onto the end of the bed.

"Why are you here? Where's Sirius?"

"The Great Hall, then he'll be in our office. I'd had enough of people for one day, I thought you might like a friendly face to wake up to."

"Are you okay being this far away from him?"

James smiled and shrugged. "It's not so bad after being together all day. I have to start getting used to the distance anyway. How are you doing? How's your head?"

"Fine. I'm hungry though."

"Dumbledore wants to see you this evening, so you can come up to my and Sirius' rooms, eat there and then floo through."

"Works for me. Where are your rooms?"

"Fourth floor."

Madam Pomfrey came to give him a last check and then he went with James up to the fourth floor. The rooms he shared with Sirius weren't as big as the ones Snape used to have, although it was made up the same with a sitting room as entry point —at the moment sparsely decorated with only a couch before the fireplace and a couple of empty bookshelves— and a bathroom and bedroom coming off it.

"Only one bedroom?" Harry asked, settling on the couch while James lit the fire. They had a couple of windows, but they faced north so the room was already fairly dark despite the sun still being up.

"We've got twin beds," James explained, coming to join him. "But Padfoot usually sleeps at the foot of mine."

James hadn't eaten either so they called for a house elf to bring them a tray each and sat opposite each other, talking about their first days. The rest of James' classes went much the same way as the first one, though lacking the tension caused by having Draco or Harry in the room. Harry had to put up with questions all day about his parentage and kidnapping, but after snapping and glaring a few times people quickly stopped and settled for believing the rumours.

Sirius turned up just as they finished eating.

"Why did I ever agree to take this job?" he asked with a sigh, flopping onto the sofa beside James, toeing off his shoes and turning to rest against the arm and put his feet in James' lap. James shoved them off, wrinkling his nose.

"Your feet stink."

"What wrong with the job?" Harry asked.

"I've just had a fifth year in my office—which is cool, by the way; I like having an office—getting in a state over her OWLs already. I am not equipped to deal with hysterical fifteen year old girls." He wriggled to get comfortable against the cushions and looked at Harry. "Doing alright, kid?"

Harry nodded and repeated most of what he'd already told James. He sat talking with them for the next couple of hours. It was the first time they'd really talked in months, and the most they'd talked without getting into an argument, and it was nice, even if Harry was still aware that Sirius was not as close to him as Sirius probably wanted to be.

At eight o'clock, Harry took some floo powder and stepped through the fireplace into Dumbledore's office. He dusted himself off, took the proffered seat, and refused the offer of fudge flies. Harry watched Dumbledore put the tin of sweets away, trying to figure out if he could still kill him now that he was actually face to face with the man.

It's him or your friends, the voice said, and Harry knew that he could do it, if he had to. So let's find out if we have to.

"Is this about the lessons you wanted to give me?" Harry asked as Dumbledore settled into his chair.

"It is. Are you willing to take them?"

Harry nodded.

"Even though it puts your godfather, James, and several of your friends at risk?"

"As long as he doesn't find out…"

He didn't need to specify who 'he' was.

"I will do everything in my power to ensure he doesn't," Dumbledore promised gravely. "I've no desire to see them dead anymore than you. It's why I had you floo from Sirius and James' rooms. No one will question you visiting them, even if your parentage is now common knowledge."

Harry could hear the implicit question in that. "I didn't want to lie about it."

"Quite understandable. It is absolutely within your right to reveal, and I am pleased that you're willing to finally acknowledge Severus as your father, though saddened that you couldn't do so before he died."

Harry stared at his knees and said nothing.

"I apologise," Dumbledore said, startling Harry into looking up. "I didn't mean to distress you."

"You didn't. It's been two months, I'm fine."

Dumbledore looked a little doubtful, but didn't push it. "As to the matter of secrecy, there is also the issue that Voldemort could read the thoughts from your mind. Severus assured me last year that you proved quite apt at Occlumency; are you still practising it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." He paused, then said, "Would you mind if I tested your defences for myself?"

That bastard just wants to get inside your head, the voice said angrily, and Harry didn't think it was wrong, but he was confident enough in his Occlumency skills. He had to be. If he couldn't keep out Dumbledore then he couldn't keep out Voldemort and they were all doomed. He'd never been sure if Voldemort had ever actually been in his mind and it would be good to test himself against someone other than Snape.

"Alright."

Dumbledore didn't draw his wand to cast Legilimency, he just held Harry's gaze. Harry felt him pressing on his mind, a different sensation to when Snape did it. He couldn't put into words how, exactly, except maybe that it just felt older.

It was also easy enough to mislead. Dumbledore was as good as Snape at coming at Harry's memories sideways, trying to sneak his way around to the ones he wanted. Dumbledore used all the techniques Snape had shown Harry, and Harry defended himself just as he'd been taught, until eventually Dumbledore withdrew.

"You are as skilled as your father was," Dumbledore said. Harry felt unexpectedly touched by the compliment. "Very well then. I would like to begin on Saturday, if you would arrive at eight o'clock that evening."

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed, and was dismissed.

With his own copy of Advanced Potion Making destroyed, Harry had to make do with a borrowed one from Slughorn until he could get a new one delivered. At first he was annoyed to find that the owner—a Half-Blood Prince, the only name he could find—had left not a single page untouched with notes or corrections on the brewing instructions, but then he realised that the alterations actually led to better potions.

"This handwriting looks vaguely familiar," Draco remarked, looking through the book one evening in the common room. He wasn't impressed by Harry's sudden stardom in potions, though he was less annoyed than Hermione, who thought using the Prince's notes counted as cheating, though she at least didn't report him. "Hardly legible, mind you, but kind of familiar. Wonder what these spells do."

"I'll try them out when I've got time," Harry said, bent over his Ancient Runes homework. With all his classes and the homework they set, he'd barely had chance to do more than glance through the book and notice the spells the Prince scribbled in the margins. Not that he was complaining; he liked keeping busy. The more he could focus his mind on something other than his own thoughts, the better.

Even so, he was glad when Saturday came and he could take a break from schoolwork. He spent the morning watching the Slytherin Quidditch team tryouts; Draco was the new captain and they needed new Chasers and a Keeper. Cid was trying out again this year and Tyler sat with Harry in the stands to watch and cheer when Cid got the position of Keeper.

After, Draco flew over to Harry while the rest of the new team and disappointed hopefuls trudged off the pitch, and Harry climbed onto the broom in front of him so they could fly together for a while until lunch.

"That was unpleasantly tedious," Draco said as they drifted lazily over the pitch.

"Well at least it's over and your team seems alright."

"You'd have picked differently?"

"I think you should replace Crabbe and Goyle. I know they're big, but they're really not that good as Beaters."

"Then I would have spent longer in tryouts and upset my friends. They're decent enough."

"Don't say I didn't warn you when you get your arses kicked."

"As if," Draco scoffed. "The 'puffs have made no changes to their team this year and they're barely adequate. The Ravens might give us a bit of a hard time; they got a couple of new Chasers yesterday, but we can still beat them. Gryffindor… well, they haven't had tryouts yet but they lost two Chasers and the Weasley girl is only a semi-decent Seeker. McLaggen's not a bad Keeper but after last year I doubt Bell will keep him on the team."

"So his replacement could be amazing."

"Not amazing enough. We'll win the cup for sure," Draco said.

"If you say so," Harry said with a grin, and wiggled closer against him.

That evening, he walked up to Sirius and James' rooms (they'd added some books and knick-knacks to it now, as well as an Appleby Arrows flag, so it looked more lived in) and took the floo through to the headmaster's office.

There, Dumbledore brought out a Pensieve and took Harry into it to view the memory of a Ministry official called Bob Ogden as he visited a run-down shack of a house. It introduced them to a family called the Gaunts—a horrid man called Marvolo, his equally rotten grown-up son Morfin, and his timid and abused teenage daughter Merope. Ogden was there to arrest Morfin for cursing a Muggle, something Marvolo objected to with yells about how pure their blood was, waving a ring in Ogden's face. When that didn't get the desired reaction, he wrenched his daughter forwards to show off a necklace she wore—a necklace he claimed belonged to Salazar Slytherin, one which Harry recognised all too well because it was sitting in his vault at Gringotts.

Don't mention it. He doesn't need to know so don't you dare mention it.

Harry didn't, keeping his mouth shut as they watched the rest of the memory. There was little more to see: Ogden insisted Morfin appear before the Ministry for trial only to get interrupted by the passing presence of a Muggle outside. It was the same Muggle Morfin cursed and whom Merope apparently fancied, the revelation of which led to her father attempting to strangle her. When Ogden interfered to save her life, Morfin and Marvolo both turn on him and he elected to run rather than fight, and Harry and Dumbledore left the memory then.

"What happened next?" Harry asked once they were back in the office.

"Ogden returned with reinforcements and arrested both men. Merope was quite alright."

Harry nodded, sitting down opposite the desk. "Why'd you show me that memory, sir? I thought you wanted to teach me about the Dark Lord."

In the brief silence following his question, the voice said, You might want to watch that. Only his followers call him that and you don't want to bring suspicion on us, do you?

"I am teaching you about Voldemort," Dumbledore eventually said. "Do you not recognise the name Marvolo?"

"No. Should I?"

"It was Tom Riddle's middle name."

"Oh," Harry said, looking away and mumbling, "He didn't really tell me much about himself. Mostly I talked to him."

"Of course, I shouldn't have assumed. Then let me inform you: the people we just met were Tom's mother, grandfather, and uncle."

Harry looked back, wide-eyed. "That girl was his mum? But she…"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. Harry waved his hands in a helpless gesture.

"I don't know. I just… I guess I thought he came from… more. I mean he's… he's Voldemort. It's hard to believe that his mother was… she could hardly even do magic, but she had a son that grew up so powerful."

"Merope was not quite so powerless as we saw once her father and brother were arrested. Morfin went to Azkaban for three years and Marvolo for six months, and in that time Merope was able to flourish by herself." He noticed Harry's doubtful looked and smiled. "She did not become any great witch as her son would, but she was by no means incompetent. She was skilful enough to enchant Tom's father, whom we also briefly met, into eloping with her."

Harry thought for a moment, then said, "The Muggle that passed the house?"

"Yes. Tom Riddle Senior."

"She enchanted him? With Imperius?" He thought of his first Potions lesson of the term. "Or a love potion?"

"I believe so."

Harry thought about that. "I'm guessing things weren't all happy families if Tom grew up to become Voldemort and hate Muggles enough to kill them."

"Unfortunately. As I'm sure you know, love potions do not create true love and their effects are not permanent. Be aware that at this point I am theorising, but a few months after their marriage, Tom Riddle reappeared in the village speaking of being 'hoodwinked' and 'taken in'. It is not far-fetched to assume he was enchanted, and that the enchantment had now stopped. Merope was, at this point, pregnant, and it is my belief that she either hoped he had fallen truly in love with her, or she was simply so besotted as to no longer wish to deceive him. Whatever the case, she was wrong and Tom Riddle abandoned her regardless, never seeking to discover what became of his unborn child."

"So Voldemort grew up to hate Muggles because his dad abandoned him?" Harry asked.

"No doubt that is part of it, but not the all. You see, Merope died very shortly after childbirth, leaving her son in the hands of a Muggle orphanage with nothing but a name."

"Oh," Harry said in sudden, abrupt understanding. Orphanages were terrible, horrible places, governed by harsh taskmasters that beat and abused their charges, while the older kids picked on the younger ones. Vernon had often threatened to send Harry to such a place, going on about how lucky Harry was to have family look after him, and the stories Harry read only confirmed it. It was no wonder Tom Riddle ended up hating Muggles if that was what he'd grown up with.

"I think that will do for tonight," Dumbledore said, and Harry nodded absently. He had plenty to think on.

That story is a little too familiar for your comfort, the voice remarked not much later as Harry headed back down to Slytherin. Dead mother, father who's not interested, less than stellar childhood…

'Did you know about the locket?' Harry asked, because there was no point arguing when it was true.

How could I possibly know about it? I'm just a voice inside your head.

'Then why did you tell me to keep it when they were going to throw it out?'

I simply thought we should. Does it matter? You realise you now own a priceless artefact? An object from one of the Hogwarts founders must be worth a fortune.

'What good is that to me? I can't do anything with my money.'

I really don't see what it matters. We've got the locket; it's just a fact. Forget about the bloody thing if it makes you feel better.

Afraid of it getting out, Harry hadn't mentioned his lessons with Dumbledore to anyone other than Snape, but as he sat in a corner of the common room with Draco later that evening, he Wished for no one to be able to hear them and told him about it all.

"What good is learning about the Dark Lord's history going to do you?" Draco asked, still looking worried even after Harry's assurances that this wouldn't get back to Voldemort and lead to the Word of Death Curses being activated.

"Know thine enemy. Dumbledore reckons we'll learn something about how to defeat him."

Draco's expression said he clearly doubted it, but asked, "So what did you learn?"

"The Dark Lord's a half-blood. His mother love potioned a Muggle and got pregnant, but then he abandoned her while she was pregnant and she died after having the baby and the Dark Lord grew up in a Muggle orphanage."

"What? You're lying."

"I'm not."

"Dear Merlin. You should tell the rest of the Death Eaters; they'll abandon him in a heartbeat. I can't believe my father grovels to a halfie."

"I'm a halfie. Are you that disgusted about dating one?"

Draco scowled at him. "Of course not. But dating a half-blood is one thing; bending your knee to one is a different matter. It suggests he thinks they're better than him."

"So you think I'm lesser than you because I'm not pureblood."

"No."

"Sounds like it."

"I don't," Draco insisted. "How could I ever think you're lesser than me when you've got the power you do?"

Harry rested his head on Draco's shoulder, not wanting to argue about it further, and said, "They wouldn't believe me about him being a half-blood anyway, and even if they did, they wouldn't leave," he pointed out. "They'd be too scared. Besides, he'd want to know how I know and he'd probably kill me for telling everyone anyway."

"Fair point," Draco muttered, tightening his arms around him and burying his face in Harry's neck. "Keep it to yourself, then."

Once again Harry found himself the subject of much gossip that term. Despite some initial disbelief, he soon heard people wondering how they'd never realised before that he was Snape's son, and some people started proclaiming they knew it all along. He generally ignored it all, unless he heard nasty remarks about his mother, usually something about the sort of loose woman she must have been to sleep with Snape of all people. He was less defensive about Snape, but after a few cases of lime green skin and knees glued together, people quickly learned to keep their opinions on his parents to themselves.

On the second Saturday of term, Harry received an invitation from Slughorn to attend 'a little party' in his rooms for supper. He wasn't overly eager to go, but Hermione, Tyler, and Ginny were going, too, so hopefully it wouldn't be too bad. Draco sulked a little at not getting an invitation himself, but he soon cheered up after spending an afternoon in the Room of Requirement with Harry. Harry only went up there with him to just chill out somewhere nice, but Draco started kissing and touching him and Harry had no objections to taking things further.

It was the first time they'd done it since his birthday. His guilt over the Bennett and Stone deaths, and then his fear of becoming a monster after killing the abusive orphanage manager, had left him only wanting chaste comfort from Draco when he visited. Now, after two weeks of not feeling his arm burn once and the pleasure of being back at Hogwarts, he was willing to let things progress when Draco's kisses became more heated. Both of them were in robes that wouldn't undo only to the waist, but rather than transfigure them they stripped to their boxers. Harry felt terribly self-conscious at first, but Draco's kisses and reassuring words in the soft warmth of the firelight soon relaxed him.

It was a different sensation to have only the thin material of their boxers between them instead of two pairs of jeans. Harry had to stop after they first thrust their hips together, taking a moment to figure out if he could handle it.

Do it, the voice spoke up unexpectedly. The last time made you feel better about what Nott did to us and I won't object to it if this whole business serves some actual purpose.

Harry didn't like how that made it sound like he was just using Draco, but he also couldn't deny the appeal of it. But it wasn't like it was the only reason. He'd enjoyed it last time and while he couldn't say he had any great overwhelming desire to do it again, he didn't not want to either. There was a strange sort of disconnect between his brain and his body. Even knowing it could feel good, his brain didn't care whether or not he did it; it was just as happy to quit as it was to go ahead. His body, on the other hand, was decidedly more interested. That was his hormones, he supposed, although he'd thought they were supposed to make him more mentally desperate for it, too.

Well, whatever. He was happy to go ahead with what they were doing.

"Alright?" Draco asked quietly, stroking his face. They lay side by side on a low circular bed, the dark walls painted gently by the firelight, safe and quiet from the rest of the school—the rest of the world.

Instead of answering, Harry rolled his hips forward and Draco's breath caught, body immediately responding in kind. Harry grinned and kissed him, and as they lay together, kissing and touching and rubbing against one another until they were both satiated, he let his Occlumency take over and made sure Draco was the only one he thought of.

Harry ate lightly at dinner that evening, unsure what would be served at Slughorn's supper party. Draco pouted a little when Harry excused himself, but didn't seem too put out and as Harry left he saw Pansy Parkinson sidle up to Draco. Draco had been spending a lot of time with him over the past two weeks and Harry thought his other friends might be feeling a bit neglected. It'd do him good to spend some time with them.

Can't say the same for you, muttered the voice as Tyler jogged to join up with Harry for the walk to Slughorn's office. I'm getting a bit sick of this guilt train you're riding.

Harry bit his lip to keep from replying. He couldn't help feeling a sickening surge every time Tyler came near him, more so than with the rest of his friends because Tyler reminded him of Alex and Charlie, but much as he disliked it himself he was also glad for it. As long as he felt guilty, he knew he wasn't becoming a monster.

He hadn't been sure what kind of party a man like Slughorn would hold, but it turned out to be an informal sitting. He lounged in an extravagant squishy chair while Harry and the rest of the students sat in harder, lower seats, and a low table between them was laid with light foods that they helped themselves to as they chatted.

Slughorn did most of the talking. He prattled on quite a lot about past members of the 'Slug Club', as he termed the group, and when he spoke to them he played obvious favourites with the people there. He positively fawned over Cormac McLaggen, who appeared to know half the higher ups in the Ministry of Magic. Tyler, sat beside Harry, looked thoroughly unimpressed by McLaggen's boasting, but when Slughorn asked about the people Marcus knew, Tyler offered little information.

When the party broke up and Slughorn dismissed them all, Hermione caught Harry in the corridor outside and tugged his arm through hers, much to his surprise.

"Walk me back to Gryffindor?" she asked.

"Um, sure," he agreed, and wondered why McLaggen gave him a glare as he passed the two of them. Probably he didn't like Slytherins and Gryffindors getting so cosy.

"How are you doing?" Hermione asked. "I know we're sharing classes now, but we hardly get to actually chat."

"I'm alright," he answered. "Working hard. Glad to be back. How are you doing?"

"Me? I'm fine."

He looked at her and she looked at him, and then she smiled thinly and hugged his arm.

"Really, Harry, I'm okay. It's exhausting to be afraid all the time and I have so much to focus on now we're back at school. I've hardly thought about the curse at all."

"Really?"

"Well, once or twice," she admitted. "I can't ever truly forget about it, but I have plenty to distract me from it. Half the other Gryffindors thought they'd get to doss about during our free periods this year, but we've got so much work. Not that they can complain, most of them are taking half the classes I am, and I'm managing just fine."

Harry laughed. "I'm sure you are."

"How are you managing? You've skipped a whole year, is it a lot more difficult?"

"It's not so bad. I wish there wasn't so much homework, but the material itself is manageable. How's Neville handling it?"

Neville was only taking three classes that year: Defence, Herbology, and Charms. Apparently his grandmother had wanted him to take Transfiguration, but he'd only got an Acceptable in the OWL.

"He's doing alright. He can focus a lot better when he's only taking subjects he actually enjoys." She shot him a glance and added a little apologetically, "I think he's better now he doesn't have to face your dad three times a week."

"Understandable," Harry said with false solemness, and Hermione laughed. She sighed lightly, relaxed, and leant into his side.

"We broke up, you know."

Harry glanced at her, surprised. "You and Neville? Why?"

She shrugged. "It just wasn't working between us. It wasn't messy or anything, we haven't fought and fallen out so don't worry about that. It's just after spending most of the summer with him, I realised we're not really suited like that. We're better as just friends and he agreed."

"Oh," Harry said. "Um… I guess I don't need to give any sympathy if you're happy about it."

"No," she said with a smile. "No sympathy necessary. Except over the fact that McLaggen seems to fancy me."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Doesn't really seem your type. Although he does play Quidditch and you liked Viktor Krum well enough…"

She smacked him lightly. "Shut up. And no, McLaggen is definitely not my type."

"So who is? I'm sure we can find you someone."

"Taking up matchmaking as a hobby now?"

Harry shook his head rapidly. "Definitely not. I had enough trouble with my own romance."

She looked a little startled at that. "Are you and Malfoy…?"

"Oh, no, we're fine." He thought of that afternoon and felt his cheeks grow warm. "We're great. I just meant, I didn't even realise he fancied me until the first time he kissed me."

"When was that?"

"Summer before fourth year, when I ran away."

She stopped short. "You saw him that summer?"

He felt a little twinge of guilt as he realised he hadn't told her that. "Yeah. Briefly, just once. I just found out about James getting kidnapped and Snape being my dad and things were…"

Her expression softened. "I understand," she said and they resumed walking. "So you never realised Malfoy fancied you all that time during fourth year? Your third, I mean."

"No. Cid and Tyler said he did, but I always thought they were just teasing me."

"It was pretty obvious."

"I was a bit distracted that year," he grumbled defensively, "what with the tournament and all."

"Of course," she agreed, obviously humouring him, and laughed when he scowled at her.