~ Chapter Fifty-Two ~

Harry tucked his left fist further into his sleeve, keeping it on his lap as he leaned over the table and picked despondently at his food with his right hand. He could feel the nervous glances from his friends seated all around him, but pretended not to notice. He didn't want to answer any questions, nor did he have the energy to try and pretend he was fine. He had managed to keep the words etched onto his hand from his detention with Umbridge a secret so far. Even Moody, when they had met for their lesson the night before, hadn't noticed the scars in the dark.

It was Friday evening, and after the long, frustrating first week of school Harry was impatient to finish dinner and finally meet up with Remus. Miraculously, he had made it through his first Potions class without getting a detention, and only lost five additional points for talking during the lesson—which, to be fair, he had been hissing at Hermione to stop pestering him with questions at the time, so even he could admit that the point loss was justifiable. If he didn't know better, in fact, he would have thought that Snape was trying to give him a chance to recover from whatever had brought him to the lesson dirty, sweaty, and shaken.

From there, unfortunately, the good news ended. By dinner Wednesday night, news of his showdown with Umbridge had spread through the school. Hermione assured him that "Statistically, there must be some students in the other houses who agree with you and believe you…" but if there were, they were keeping quiet about it. Who wasn't keeping quiet, however, were the many loud, opinionated students who felt that Harry was attention-seeking at best, dangerous at worst. Between Harry's unapologetic stance on Voldemort's return and the continued backlash to his marriage with Charlie, The-Boy-Who-Lived could no longer safely navigate the halls of Hogwarts without the aid of his invisibility cloak or a posse of protectors.

Fred and George were taking their self-proclaimed 'body-guard' roles very seriously. No one would admit it to Harry, but he had quickly picked up on a rotating schedule of people who walked him from class to class, surrounded him at meals, or spread out around him as he studied in the library or walked out in the fresh Scottish air. Neville, Lee, and Luna had quickly gotten dragon pendants of their own, though Harry noticed that neither Ginny nor Hermione had them. As the week continued, all of the Gryffindor quidditch team were surreptitiously sporting pendants, and just that morning Dean had come down to breakfast proudly playing with a chain around his neck. He had barely left Harry's side the entire day, and would casually angle himself between his small friends and the worst of the hecklers as they walked between classes.

Harry had been furious when he had first seen the dragon pendant hanging around Neville's neck as his dorm-mate sleepily stumbled towards the bathroom the first morning of classes in just pajama bottoms. He had dragged a very startled Neville into the room that the twins shared with Lee, taken one look at the pendant hanging from a peg on Lee's bed, and immediately sent Fred and George hurtling from their beds with a whip-like wave of wild magic. The row that followed—Harry furious that the twins had asked even more people to pledge to protect him, and the twins in turn stubbornly repeating that it wasn't Harry's call to make—might have gone on all morning, had Neville not stepped in.

"Harry mate, if I tell you why I signed that parchment, will you promise to listen to me before you start shouting again? Just listen to what I say."

Harry ground his teeth together, still furious with the twins, and scared that even more people could get hurt because of him. None of it, however, was Neville's fault, and he forced himself to take a deep breath and nod for the other boy to continue.

"V-Vol-Voldemort is back." Neville said forcefully, immediately grabbing the attention of everyone in the room. Harry felt a swell of pride for his friend, and could tell that it was easing away some of his negative emotions. "I'm not going to sit back and watch him take over just because the Ministry is dumb. Fred and George, they told all of us a little about what Dumbledore has been up to to fight him. They said we all needed to make an informed decision before we made an oath. I think Dumbledore is a great wizard, Harry, but I think he's had to be The Leader for so long, he doesn't remember how to be part of a team. And that's… that's not someone I trust to lead me or my family safely while I fight against V-Voldemort. And I WILL fight," Neville added, sounding more passionate than Harry had heard him since their first year when he had tried to stop Harry, Ron, and Hermione from going after the stone. "I trust you. I believe you will always do whatever you can to keep me safe. I know you won't forget how to ask for help when you don't know the answer-I've seen you admit you were wrong. I made an oath to protect you, Harry, but I know you'll be protecting me right back."

Neville blushed suddenly, but straightened his shoulders and walked up to Harry, before sinking to one knee, laying his wand on the floor in between them, and placing his hands out as though making a pureblood greeting.

"Lord Potter-Black, as Heir Longbottom I pledge to you the loyalty of my blood and my magic. I no longer recognize the authority of a Ministry which hides from the truth and leaves its citizens wide open to attack. I humbly offer my loyalties, High Lord Potter, and those of my family. Sword and wand at your command, so mote it be." As Neville spoke in an uncharacteristically formal tone, the magic began to swirl around them, and Ana slid up out of her pouch and around Harry's shoulders. A razor-sharp silver dagger appeared in the air above Neville's outstretched hand, pointed down towards his palm. The young man kneeling in only his pajama pants paled slightly at the sight, but held steady.

Harry was trembling with the force of the magic swirling in and around him. He remembered Bill and Sirius talking about 'High Lords,' how in times of political upheaval when the Ministry lost its authority, Old Families would band together behind powerful witches and wizards, pledging their loyalty in return for the High Lord's leadership. He had never been taught the ceremony, but he somehow knew what he needed to do, like a whisper directly into his memories, the magic leading him through. He had never wanted to be special, never wanted to lord over anyone, but he also knew that Neville was right; the Ministry and Dumbledore may be trying to 'fight for the light,' but they weren't protecting those who were loyal to them. He knew he would do better; or he'd die trying. Taking a deep breath, Harry held his hand straight out above Neville's wand and summoned it into his palm, his other hand taking the dagger into a death grip before slicing a very thin, shallow line down Neville's middle finger all the way across his palm until the tip balanced at the pulse in his wrist. If Neville lied during the next part of the ritual, the dagger would plunge down into his wrist, and Harry was praying he wouldn't have to find out if his healing magic was powerful enough to save his friend.

"Neville Franklin Longbottom, Heir to the Noble House of Longbottom; do you swear on your blood and magic that you intend no harm to myself, my family, or the magic folk pledged to me?"

"I swear." The dagger in Harry's hand held steady with Neville's quick and sure response, and Harry felt the urge to pull the other boy to his feet and hug him. He knew the ceremony had to be completed, though, and pushed forward.

"Are you bound to any other through vows of blood or magic?"

"I am not."

"Are you a follower of the Dark leader Voldemort?"

"I am not."

"Are you a follower of the Light leader Dumbledore?" Neville paused, and the whole room collectively held their breath.

"I am not." Harry huffed out a sigh of relief when the dagger remained floating motionless above Neville's wrist.

"Are you prepared to make my allies yours in turn, to train your body and mind to best protect yourself and others, and to head my orders into or out of battle?" Harry had fought with the magic guiding him, editing his questions to be more about Neville's safety and less about his compliance. He saw that the other boy was giving him a strange look as he agreed, no doubt having learned the traditional words of the ritual long ago, but Harry was going to do this his way or not at all. Harry focused his seeker-honed reflexes and stared intently at the dagger before asking one final question of his own.

"If a time comes when I tell you to save yourself and leave me behind, will you do as I ask?" Neville gaped at him, and as their gazes locked Harry could see the internal battle waging behind his eyes. Part of him felt guilty for asking, but he needed to know that his friend would stay safe; that no one would throw their lives away for his sake. Finally, after several minutes had stretched on, Neville squared his shoulders nearly glared up at Harry.

"No, I wouldn't," he said, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes never so much as flickered towards the dagger… the dagger which continued to hover undisturbed above him. Harry's eyes widened, the full impact of Neville's response leaving him nearly breathless. Somewhere in the bag of his mind, some piece of him tried to break free from the ancient magic swirling around them, tried to run from the weight of responsibility resting on his shoulders. It would do no good, though; whether or not they completed the ritual, Harry held no doubt that Neville would follow him to hell, back, and beyond. Harry had been wrong: he couldn't turn down Neville's pledge of loyalty. He didn't have the strength.

When Harry answered, he did not bother to hide the thick cracking in his voice brought on by his emotions.

"I, Harry James Potter-Black, Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter and the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, ask a pledge of faith and allegiance from your house to mine." Neville's face reflected the gravity of the moment, but his eyes simply gleamed with pride.

"With blood and magic, I grant it." A thin line of blood seemed to be sucked away from the wound on Neville's palm, up onto the blade where it lay glistening in the light of the room while the cut healed shut, leaving behind a shiny white scar, only visible if you knew to look for it. Harry raised the dagger towards the palm holding Neville's wand and hesitated. The magic was telling him to nick his own palm with the blade and mix Neville's blood with his own, to show the authority he now held over the other family line. Harry didn't want to symbolize his authority, though; he wanted to declare to the world that he was making a commitment to care for his friends, and to honor the gift they gave him with their loyalty.

Thinking quickly, Harry pushed the over-large shirt from Dudley up to his armpits, exposing his stomach and chest. Taking the dagger, he made a quick, clean, inch-long cut directly above where his heart was beating steadily. Neville's eyes widened and his mouth fell open, but he did not otherwise react, knowing the ritual required him to remain still and show that he trusted Harry to stand over him holding a sharp weapon stained with his blood while his wand was still kept from him.

Neville's blood on the blade shone a brilliant silver before disappearing, as though Harry had incorporated it into his own. Harry then took Neville's wand to heal the small wound, before laying it down in their clasped hands and speaking his final words of the ritual, bracing himself mentally for Neville's response.

"Well met, faithful one."

"Well met, My Lord." And with that, the magic surrounding them swirled powerfully one final time, then faded away. Harry looked down at where he still clasped Neville's hand, a single wand between them, and the image of his unique family crest popped into his head.

Sometimes, he swore the fates just enjoyed messing with him.

By the time Harry had arrived at his detention Wednesday, Umbridge was feeling emboldened and vindicated in her treatment by the harassment Harry's classmate's had heaped on him all day. He had been dreading the time with the toad-woman, but was honestly shocked at the depravity of her blood-quill punishment. That she had stolen his heartfelt words, 'I must not tell lies', and twisted it into something so dirty just added insult to injury.

He hadn't shown anyone his hand, only telling his friends vaguely that he had been set lines for his detention when they asked afterwards. He couldn't explain exactly what the feelings were that were holding him back from being open with the people closest to him. He had come clean to Ana, staring at the top of his four-poster in the middle of the night, unable to sleep and protected both by his parseltongue and his nightly silencing charms. Together, they had painstakingly pulled apart some of the emotions he was feeling: vulnerable, embarrassed, even weak. She had almost convinced him to write to Charlie about what had happened, but Hedwig had returned the next morning with the letter he had written Charlie earlier that week still tied to her leg, and Harry had been fretting over what to make of it ever since, hesitant to send her out again when he wasn't sure she was feeling well. He had briefly considered a school owl, but knew that Hedwig was special in her ability to come and go through the reserve wards; the school owls were unlikely to even find them much less get through.

Harry smoothed out his now cold mound of mashed potatoes with the back of his spoon for the fourth time and had just began to drag checkered patterns through them with his fork (again) when there was a loud sigh and fork, spoon, and plate were all whisked away from him. He looked up startled to find Lee shoving his plate away with a smirk and an eyeroll while Fred and George each had one of his utensils pointed at him with matching mock-annoyed looks.

"Well oooobviously…"

"…you won't be eating anything more…"

"…no matter how long we sit here…"

"…watching you play with your food."

Harry blushed a little at the gentle reprimand, but gave his brothers a shrug and a grin.

"So come on then…"

"…let's get you to Remus." The twins said, pushing their own half-finished dinners aside and making to stand.

"No, guys, you haven't finished. He's probably not even here yet. I can wait…" Harry protested, his stomach starting to clench with guilt.

"I can go with him," Ron said, following his offer up with a loud belch and a satisfied look at the two plates sitting empty in front of him.

"You are so disgusting," Ginny and Hermione said as one, though Ginny's eyes gave away her amusement while Hermione just look faintly offended.

"Yeah, I'm finished too. I'll catch up with you after," Lee cut in gamely, brushing aside the twins' thanks with a smile before carefully untangling his lengthy frame from the bench. Harry opened his mouth to point out that he could always head out to Hagrid's hut on his own (in a rare moment of agreement, Harry, Lupin, and Dumbledore had all decided that keeping Lupin's presence at the castle unknown to Umbridge would be best all around, and had chosen Hagrid's as a suitable alternative). He hadn't even spoken, however, before all three Weasleys, Lee, and Dean were glaring at him, as though daring him to tell them their escort was unnecessary after the week of shoving, name-calling, and increasingly vicious hexes Harry had endured from his classmates.

"Mind if I join you, Harry? I'd love to see Professor Lupin again. He helped me so much when he was our professor third year, I'd like to thank him." Harry smiled at Neville, and felt himself relax. All week, it seemed, Neville had been able to pick up on when Harry was reaching the end of his rope with his friends' protectiveness. Neville always managed to turn the situation around so it seemed as though Harry was doing him a favor. His protectiveness towards the quiet boy had grown exponentially since the magic they had performed together days before. Not that it was necessary; no one could remember seeing Neville so calm and collected, as though he had finally found a place he belonged.

"Alright, let's go," Harry said, shaking his head in defeat, and he, Ron, Neville, and Lee walked out of the hall, purposefully ignoring the sneers and insults that followed them.

xXxXxXxXx

Remus Lupin paced agitatedly back and forth in Hagrid's humble home. He had arrived nearly an hour early, but simply hadn't been able to wait any longer. There was so much happening, so many things he needed to talk to Harry about…

…all of which flew out of his head when Harry and his friends reached the front door and the wolf's senses recognized that his cub was injured.

"You're hurt. What happened?!" Lupin demanded harshly, flinging the door open and startling the four young men just raising their hands to knock on the door. Remus lay his own hands on Harry's shoulders and carefully pulled the boy closer, scanning him quickly for any wounds.

"Whoa, hey, Remus calm down; I'm alright," Harry said, trying to make his startled voice come out calm and soothing. He had reached up to place his hands around Lupin's outstretched arms, hoping the contact would give the werewolf some comfort and reassurance. He didn't realize that this would leave the words etched into his hand clearly on display until it was too late.

"Who did this to you Cub?" Remus whispered brokenly, catching Harry's hand between his own before the younger man could pull it away. There were gasps from his friends as Lupin tilted his hand from side to side and the light clearly caught off of the fresh, raw skin on his healing cuts.

"I'm alright, Mooney, it's not so bad…" He whispered, his eyes focused stubbornly on a little Scottish Crossbill perched on Hagrid's doorframe… anything so that he could avoid seeing the reactions from everyone around him.

"There is nothing alright about this, Harry," Remus said quietly but firmly, carefully reigning in his own emotions so that he could show his pseudo-nephew that he had nothing to be ashamed of… that he had people who cared about his well-being. "Please, Cub… tell me who hurt you," he added softly. Harry bit the inside of his cheek and stayed silent, thoughts racing as he tried to determine whether or not he should come clean to Remus. The little finch he was watching tilted its head, and Harry had the strange feeling it was listening to their conversation. Before he had made up his mind, Ron hissed angrily from beside him and then shot out an arm towards him. Harry flinched, but Ron simply ran a surprisingly gentle finger across the cuts.

"Hang on… 'I must not tell lies.' That bloody hag! Harry, you said Um-bitch gave you lines—is this what really happened?" He made a sound that was akin to a growl and Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him around so that he was facing his best friend. "She used a blood-quill on you, didn't she?" He asked seriously, and Harry felt his eyes drawn up to meet Ron's steady gaze against his will. Numbly he nodded, bracing himself for disappointment or pity or discomfort.

It never came. Ron's lips pursed and his face hardened, looking with flashing eyes over Harry's shoulder to where Lupin stood watching. Harry noticed the little finch ruffling its feathers agitatedly before it suddenly swooped in through the open door of the hut. Harry blinked, startled, and thought about going after it to shoo it back outside, but Ron suddenly began speaking and Harry's attention was drawn back away from the bird.

"That's illegal. Harry has a lawyer now, let's use him. I want her gone." Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Ron wasn't finished. "She's a Ministry employee and a teacher; there is no way she gets away with using an illegal artifact to torture a student—much less a Lord." Once again, Harry attempted to speak, but this time he was stopped by Ron turning on him with a reproachful look. "And you! You should have told us what happened. We can help you stop this, Harry. What were you planning on doing?! Saying nothing, forcing yourself through her torture all year like some sort of tragically misunderstood teenage martyr?" Harry winced, thinking that didn't sound all that far off from what he had planned, actually.

"Ron, really, it's not so bad… I mean, I've been through much worse…" This argument didn't seem to do anything to calm the red-head down, however.

"Oh don't you go using that bullshit 'it could be worse' logic on me! If someone dies you don't tell their family not to mourn them just because it wasn't a war with tons of deaths so 'it could be worse'."

"Well of course not, but that's not the same—"

"It's exactly the same thing, Harry! You getting hurt matters, why can't you see that?! Merlin, it's like you think you deserve what she did to you." Harry tried to think of something to say, but the silence stretched on and in the end he just hung his head. He could feel Ron, Lupin, and Neville's eyes on him.

"Harry… mate… what have you possibly done to deserve this?" Ron asked softly, his voice thick with emotion. When Harry continued to stare at his feet without answering, Ron pushed. "You didn't even do anything wrong. The stupid cow got her knickers in a twist because you told the truth—about V-Voldemort being back, and about Cedric… it's her fault she can't handle the truth, and that she told you you had to apologize for lieing about it—"

"Yeah, and I let her get away with it, didn't I?!" Harry suddenly growled, his guilt becoming overwhelming as he listened to Ron re-cap the DADA lesson. "She said that Cedric's death was an accident and I backed down. He's a hero, and I didn't fight for his memory!" Harry was almost shouting now, and Lupin, looking startled, was hustling the three younger men into the cabin, rushing to get the door pulled shut behind them. Ron had paled, but was still stubbornly shaking his head.

"You couldn't do anything about that, Harry! You knew you couldn't afford to get another detention, and even if you had argued with her until you were blue in the face it wouldn't have made a difference! She left you no choice—"

"There's always a choice, Ron," Harry cut in, his shoulders sagging as the fight left his body. He buried his head in his hands and his voice was weary. "I owe him more than that." There was a rustle of noise and Harry turned his head just in time to see the little brown finch fly into the air and then transform into a tall, smartly dressed man.

"I don't think my nephew would ever have wanted his friends to suffer for the sake of his memory, Lord Potter," Lord Diggory said quietly, watching him with somber eyes. "I do think, however, that he would feel honored by your loyalty. As do I." He bowed slightly, and then turned to Lupin with a shrug. "I know I told you I would wait until you could announce me properly, but I'm afraid I grew a bit… impatient. My bad," he added with the subtlest of smirks. Harry could almost feel the Slytherin aura around the other man… and yet despite his guilt and the argument and now his confusion at the other man's presence there at all, he found himself biting his lip to hold back a grin. There was just something about the man's snarky, fuck-it-all attitude that appealed to Harry.

"Lord Diggory," Harry greeted, carefully approaching the other man in the proper fashion. They completed the greeting, and Harry took a step back, tilting his head and simply watching the older man, waiting for an explanation.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I am here…"

"It had definitely crossed my mind," Harry agreed, voice intentionally light. He swore he could see a spark of humor in Winton's eyes.

"If I could have a moment alone with you and Mr. Lupin, I would be happy to explain."

"Ah. I'm afraid that's going to be a problem," Harry said in the same light tones, ignoring the startled looks from everyone else in the room. "If you have something to say to me, you are going to have to say it in front of Ron and Neville as well. Ron's ability to strategize and think several moves ahead and Neville's calm honesty are very valuable to me; I am simply not inclined to discuss any new matter with you today without their council."

"It never ceases to amaze me how Gryffindors are willing to risk everything on supposed loyalty from others, without a shred of proof."

"It never ceases to amaze me how Slytherins—normally so shrewd—are incapable of taking advantage of the strengths of a team," Harry replied, just a hint of warning creeping into his tone. Winton raised an eyebrow at the reply, but seemed to concede his point, at least to a degree.

"Be that as it may, what I am prepared to share with you puts me at… considerable personal and professional risk. I neither know nor trust these young men."

"And you trust me?" Harry asked incredulously. He was surprised when Diggory did not immediately reply. Finally, with a half-shrug that seemed to say 'screw it, why not', the other man responded.

"I'm inclined to, yes."

"Why?"

"Because I've seen inside your memories and emotions to know that your heart is pure and your will is strong. Because you have no reason to lie to me. And because, Lord Potter, Cedric trusted you… and I trust his judgment."

"Thank you," Harry said sincerely, and he reached out his hand for a simple, muggle handshake. After a moment of hesitation, his hand was accepted, and Harry gave a genuine smile. "And it's Harry, by the way," he added, trying to sound nonchalant while well aware that for a pureblood, there was nothing blasé about being on a first-name basis with someone.

"No thanks necessary… Harry. And you may call me Winton." Harry nodded, fighting not to show his surprise at Diggory's reply.

"As honored as I am to have you as an ally, Winton, why are you here?" The older man glanced uneasily towards Ron and Neville, and Harry shot a questioning look to Lupin, not sure how to reassure the nervous lord.

"Speak freely, Cub. I believe Lord Diggory can be trusted just as much as Lord Gamp."

"In that case," Harry said slowly, burying his nerves as he spoke. "Ron is my brother, and even without his unbreakable pledge he would never betray me. Heir Longbottom, in addition to an unbreakable pledge of his own, has bound his family's loyalty to me as a High Lord. If you trust me as you say, you have no reason to worry about their presence here."

"Neville did what?!" Lupin suddenly cut in, eyes wide as he looked between the two boys, who were watching him with matching looks of half-guilt half-stubbornness.

"I aligned my family under Lord Potter's leadership," Neville said quietly, and Harry was proud that his friend's voice hardly faltered.

"Neville, that's not possible; that sort of ritual magic can only be invoked in times of political upheaval—when the Ministry is no longer recognized by magic itself!"

"Mr. Lupin, if I may… there is a simple way to settle this," Winton interrupted quietly, wand held out in front of him. The younger men watched curiously as he mumbled a low stream of Latin, wand seeming to trace invisible, intricate patterns in the air in front of him. Suddenly, he flicked the point of his wand at Neville, and a bright beam of light shot out from the scar on the nervous boy's palm straight towards the spot where Harry had cut his chest. Winton stared at them in stunned silence, and Lupin's face had gone utterly pale.

"So… what does this mean?" Harry asked nervously, quickly growing uncomfortable as the silence stretched on. Winton seemed to shake himself from his thoughts, ending the spell and watching the light linking Harry and Neville fade away. Lupin sat shakily into one of Hagrid's enormous chairs.

"It means," he explained gravely, "that the Ministry is nearer to collapse than any of us had anticipated. It means the time of war is not far off. And it means, Harry, that at fifteen you have been recognized as a leader in this war." Harry swallowed thickly, meeting the werewolf's eyes and letting the older man see the fear and uncertainty he was feeling.

"Perhaps it is best that everyone sits down and gets comfortable. Clearly, there is much to discuss," Winton said gravely. As the others followed his direction, they missed the calm determination that settled around him almost like a suit of armor. The others did not know him well enough to recognize the signs, but when he returned home later that evening, Roland would be able to see that the spark he missed in his lover was finally starting to return.

xXxXxXxXx

Fred swallowed thickly with nerves as he held the door open for George and watched him walk into their room. They wouldn't have minded going with Harry to his meeting with Lupin, honestly, but they certainly weren't going to argue when Ron and Lee offered to go instead. Between keeping an eye on Harry all week and rooming with Lee (who had no idea that they shared anything beyond a brotherly connection) the twins were desperate for some GredandFeorge time. There had been secret grins and light, fleeting touches under the table as they finished dinner; nothing explicit, but enough to have both young men racing up staircases and through secret passageways to get back to the tower.

It hadn't been until they reached the common room and the obligatory small talk with housemates as they navigated their way towards the dorms that Fred had finally started getting nervous. He and George hadn't been together that way since their first time, and both brothers were eager to experience the closeness and pleasure again. Just the memory of George sinking down around him tighthotgoodsogood could make Fred's breath hitch and his heart skip a beat. He knew George deserved to experience those same feelings—and he would do anything for his love—but he was anxious. The thought of being the one spread open, of having George inside him, left him feeling more vulnerable and off-balance than excited or aroused.

A quiet, questioning sound brought Fred back to the present, and he saw George standing in the middle of their room, watching him with concerned eyes. Fred shook himself and plastered on an easy smile, stepping inside and letting the door shut behind him. He went to George and pulled his twin in close, sealing their lips together and framing his brother's freckled face with his hands. Fred melted into the kiss, into the content feeling that came only when he held his twin in his arms, and he was able to push down most of his nerves. He could do this, because there wasn't anything he couldn't do for George.

Not wanting to give himself time to dwell on his thoughts longer and lose his nerve, Fred deepened the kiss briefly then pulled back to nibble his way up George's jaw, sliding a thigh between his brother's legs and rolling his hips to draw delicious moan's from his twin. As fingers dug into his back and George began pressing back against him with tiny whimpers mixed into his moaning, Fred turned his head to whisper hotly into his brother's ear.

"Mmmm, George, I've wanted to get you alone so badly this week… to have my hands all over you, those delicious sounds panted out against my skin…" George latched his lips onto Fred's neck, sucking harshly and moaning into the bite as he listened to his brother's dirty talk. Fred's voice cracked, but he kept talking, pulling their bodies impossibly closer. "That's it baby, I want to hear how good you feel, I want hear you lose control when push inside of me and feel me clench around you…" It took Fred a moment before he realized that George had frozen against him, hips momentarily still and mouth pulled back ever-so-slightly. It was only for a moment, and George tried to cover it up, but Fred knew his twin much better than that and gently disentangled himself, pushing George back so he could look into his eyes and searching his gaze worriedly, even while his cock strained against his pants with need. "George? What's wrong?"

"Nothing… nothing's wrong. I just didn't realize you wanted that, so it took me by surprise. I can do that, though, Fred; I'll make you feel so good, I promise," George sounded a little hesitant, but otherwise sincere. There certainly was no mistaking the love and arousal in his eyes. Yet Fred could just tell that something was off. He studied his twin carefully for a few moments then slowly replied, choosing each word with care and making sure to keep his own voice neutral.

"I love you baby, and I trust you with everything I have. I am ready to let you be with me—in me—fully… unless that's not what you want?"

There was something about the vulnerability in George's hesitation, about the way his body leaned forward in an unconscious request to be held, that managed to send a jolt of energy both to Fred's heart and to his erection. Praying he wasn't misreading the signs, but unable to keep a predatory gleam from coming into his eyes as he crowded George backwards until he was pressed between a bedpost and his twin.

"Unless what you really want is to feel yourself stretched out around me again," he whispered huskily, running a single finger up the inside of George's leg, from his knee to the crease between his thigh and his straining cock. "Unless you want me sliding inside of you, filling you, making you mine," he continued, repeating his action with the other hand so that his hands were framing, but not touching, where George needed him most. Fred watched as his twin's eyes fluttered shut and he whimpered, trembling with need.

George was caught somewhere between the heady, potent arousal of having his twin reacting so responsively and submissively… and a powerful, tender protectiveness. Without giving any sort of warning, Fred grabbed George by the hips, spinning him around and crowding him back up against the bedpost, his hard length grinding against the cloth-covered cleft of George's arse while his fingers deftly undid the button and zip of George's pants, Fred's hand plunging inside to wrap around his brother's cock while his thumb spread around the beads of moisture at the tip.

"I'm right, aren't I baby," he said softly, nipping the back of George's neck possessively between his words while his free hand crept up under his twin's shirt to tweak playfully at his taut nipples. "I think you want me to stay in control. You want me to touch you, open you up for me, play with you until you're so trapped in your pleasure that you aren't aware of anything but my hands on your body and my voice in your ear."

"Oh fuck… oh Merlin, please Fred…" George's voice was a desperate whine, and Fred's confidence increased, his hips starting to thrust against his brother as though he were already making love to him.

"Mmmm, I love how you fall apart when I push inside of you. I'm going to put you on your knees this time, like you were when I first fingered you… your gorgeous arse presented so perfectly up in the air for me… going to watch you scramble to clutch the blankets underneath you as I push… in… and out…" His words were punctuated by his own grinding thrusts and his hand speeding up on George's cock. George, for his part, had reached his hands behind him, one pulling Fred's hip in closer, the other raised back behind his head to cup Fred's neck, leaving his own body arched out in front of him, wide open for Fred's hands to explore.

"FredFredFred… oh please, oh shite, so close love so—don't stop touching me… oh fuck keep talking…" George could barely string together a coherent sentence and Fred re-doubled his efforts, desperate to feel his twin come apart in his arms, overwhelmed by the pleasure he himself was giving.

"Going to make you cum, feel you clench around me, and I'm going to fill you up—"

But George didn't make it to his climax because the next words spoken stopped both red-heads in their tracks, words spoken from a wide-eyed, dark-skinned boy in the doorway…

"OH FUCK!"

…Just before said door slammed shut and Lee ran back out of the dorms.

xXxXxXxXx

Harry raised his hand to knock on the Potion Master's door for a third time, and once again lost his nerve, shoving his fists into his pockets and pacing back in forth in the dungeon corridor once again. He had been overwhelmed with information during his meeting with Lupin and Gamp. Lee had never returned with Fred and George, and Harry was incredibly grateful that he at least had Ron and Neville by his side: Ron was able to explain the merit and strategy in every little scheme or powerplay in a way that Harry let understand their importance. When that wasn't enough, Neville was there to sooth his fears and ease his frustration.

Harry had been surprised to hear that Lord Winton Diggory and Lord Roland Gamp had been secret lovers for nearly two decades. He had been even more surprised that Diggory had so willingly shared this secret, but as Ron had pointed out, his interest in aiding Harry in the first place would have been suspicious without the connection. It was a relief, really; Winton, being an animagus, was able to cross Hogwarts wards undetected—a flaw in the wards that Harry was beginning to find rather alarming. Ron had quickly pointed out the advantage in this, particularly if Winton were to keep his association with Harry secret. Roland could be the public figure, while Diggory was the silent connection between them. Winton had seemed impressed with Ron's perception, and readily agreed.

It was a good thing Diggory would be able to enter school grounds; Lupin was clearly getting in over his head. He had explained the deal he had struck with Rita. Harry had been furious at first, and it had taken Ron and Neville's combined efforts (and a thorough scolding from Ana) to get his emotions in check. Winton had watched Harry converse with the dragon snake almost hungrily, and Harry was now certain that he was correct in thinking Diggory a Slytherin. In the end, Harry had acknowledged that if Remus was right about Skeeter and if his plan worked, a humiliating interview would be worth getting her on their side. He had acknowledged it grudgingly, mind you, and with a great deal of griping and pouting, but he had acquiesced nonetheless.

In addition to coming along to ask Harry to take him into his confidance, Diggory had also, apparently, played a vital role in selecting Harry's new wardrobe. Harry had actually forgotten Sirius and Charlie's plot to replace all of his Dursley hand-me-downs. Remus had originally planned on shopping for him, but Diggory had been able to supply Harry with not only high-quality, fitted casual and school-wear, but a variety of formal wear that he would require for the high-status social events that would let him begin network with other powerful magical families. In fact, Diggory had insisted that he and Harry meet secretly once a week for etiquette lessons.

…After watching Ron rummage through Hagrid's kitchen for rock-cake to gnaw on, he had instructed Harry to include any classmates who might accompany him to these social events as well. Neville had carefully disguised his chuckle as a sneeze while Ron's ears turned bright red; Harry hadn't bothered to hide his own laughter.

They had also gotten Harry—reluctantly—to answer a few more questions about his blood quill detentions. Winton was absolutely livid, and Harry remembered at some point during the conversation that this man would have even more reason than Harry to be outraged that Umbridge was denying the true nature of Cedric's death. Realizing that Diggory had the right to fight for respect for his nephew's memory, Harry had stopped arguing and just answered their questions.

Finally, Winton had turned to Harry with a somber expression and explained his main reason for convincing Lupin to sneak him onto school grounds.

"I need to know if someone would be able to illegally access your mind without your knowledge." Harry blinked in surprise; that was not at all what he had expected Winton to say.

"Erm… I doubt it. I mean… I nearly fell over when you searched through my memories at the Council meeting, I don't think I would just not notice something like that…" He trailed off uncertainly, seeing Diggory shaking his head with a concerned look.

"That was pretty powerful legillimacy, Harry. What I'm talking about is someone just lightly brushing the surface of your mind, a gentle scan, nothing more."

"Oh. Uh, I don't… I mean, how would I know…?"

"You're nervous. A little skeptical. But you aren't trying to hide anything from me right now," Winton cut in, and Harry's face scrunched up in confusion.

"Yeah but how—" His eyes widened and he stepped back involuntarily while pointing accusingly at the older man. "You just did it! You 'scanned' my mind, or whatever!" He accused.

"Easily. Too easily. And you didn't have a clue it was happening, did you." It was hardly phrased as a question, and Harry couldn't even bring himself to be offended at the way Winton was watching him with obvious concern.

"Who's been playing around in Harry's mind?" Ron asked suddenly, and Harry finally realized how serious this conversation was.

"We don't know anything for sure…" Remus hedged, but Harry saw that he now looked as troubled as Diggory did.

"But?" Ron pressed, crossing his arms defensively, as though physically preparing himself for an unpleasant answer.

"But," Winton responded, "When Professor Dumbledore met with Roland the first time, he attempted to brush his mind enough to determine his honesty and feelings about his new role with Harry. He backed off almost immediately, finding the occlumency walls Roland always keeps raised. That Dumbledore so casually made the attempt, however…"

"You think it's probably not the first time he's done it," Ron concluded, his eyes narrowed angrily.

"It's a reasonable concern," Winton agreed, trying to keep things light, though no one looked to be falling for it.

"Okay. Okay, so what do we do? Do we call him on it? Press charges? Is it illegal?" Harry wrapped his arms around himself, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he tried to reign in his nerves. The idea of someone being able to read his most private emotions—without him even realizing it was happening—was terrifying. He wanted it to stop. Now.

"It's not technically illegal," Neville said quietly, stepping next to Harry to lay a gentle hand on his arm. "And even if it was, we have no proof. You said yourself you've never noticed him doing it—not that that's your fault!" Neville hastened to add when Harry opened his mouth to object. "But the point is, we'd have no case."

"Then what can I do?" Harry asked, and was confused when the other three men in the room all winced guiltily and looked away. Only Neville seemed oblivious to whatever secret the others were apparently all in on, and he kept talking as though nothing strange had just happened.

"You need to learn to block it, so that it doesn't keep happening. That's all you can do. We'll need to find someone to teach you Occlumency." And just like that, Harry understood why Winton, Remus, and Ron were all refusing to make eye contact. They had all connected the dots: Harry needed to go to Snape. He needed to go to Snape, now, and convince the man to start his Occlumency lessons early… to teach Harry how to keep Albus out of his head.

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands, ignoring Neville's confused questions. He so didn't want to do this…

Now, hours later, as Harry wiped sweaty palms on his robes and prepared to knock on Snape's office door, Harry wasn't looking forward to the task any more than he had when it was first presented to him.

Clutching the pendant around his neck for strength, Harry finally rapped his knuckles against the door. Almost immediately, a harsh voice impatiently ordered him to enter, and Harry slipped quietly through the door, pulling it shut behind him.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" Snape spat. Rather than answering, Harry turned to place the strongest silencing and privacy charms on the door that he knew. Turning back quickly, knowing that Snape would be furious with his actions, Harry quickly blurted out his request.

"Sir, I need you to start teaching me occlumency right away. It can't wait," he explained urgently, not thinking through how much his words sounded like a demand. Severus Snape was not a man who appreciated being ordered around.

Ah, I see… Lord Potter here to lay down his demands to the lowly common-folk," Snape sneered sarcastically. "I realize you have been raised to think yourself above everyone around you, Potter, but in real life the rest of the world does not actually worship the ground you walk on." Harry flushed bright red, wanting to deny the Potion Master's description of him, but he knew it would be a useless effort. Instead, he hastily tried to backtrack and rephrase his request.

"I wasn't trying to tell you what to do, Professor, I'm sorry. I came here to ask you for help. I think someone has been using legillimacy against me, and I—"

"Do NOT lie to me, Potter," Snape hissed dangerously, rising slowly from his chair to tower over the smaller man intimidatingly. "I've grown tired of the way you strut around this school, heinously disregarding the rules and making up ludicrous tales to cover for yourself. Dumbledore may let you get away with such abysmal behavior—Merlin knows why—but I will not!" He was glaring furiously, and though Harry was frustrated with the man's usual accusations, he tried to keep his voice as calm and respectful as he could when he responded.

"Sir I promise you I am not making this up or asking for your help for any inappropriate reason. I really do think someone has been accessing my mind without my permission. I'm not trying to 'get away with' anything here, I just need someone to help me. I don't know who else I can go to; please, I just want you to start helping me learn a little sooner than you planned. You don't understand how important—"

"Oooh, that's right; famous Harry Potter, so special, so misunderstood—so entitled. Maybe if you hadn't been so bloody spoiled by your parents—" But Harry had finally heard more than he could handle. With an uncontrollable blast of magic that sent Snape stumbling backward several feet, Harry found himself standing at full height and screaming back at the Potions Master.

"Spoiled by my parents? Have you completely lost your mind, Snape? I NEVER EVEN KNEW MY PARENTS! They died when I was a baby! You want to know what I remember of them? I remember my father begging my mother to run and save herself and me while he stayed behind to hold off Voldemort… and I remember his cry of shock when he died. I remember my mother, pleading with the snake-faced bastard to take her life instead of mine… and her desperate sob when she died. That's IT, Snape! I remember them dieing, because I had to listen to it over and over and over again when the dementors were here my third year. But a part of me didn't want it to end, because at least I heard their voices; at least I knew that I had had a family that loved each other. Because I sure as HELL didn't have that growing up! You think I was spoiled as a child? HA! You want to know what it was like? Will that help you take your head out of your ass and at least listen to what I'm asking you to help me do? What will it take, Snape? You want to give me veritaserum, you want to finally have all the answers to 'the-boy-who-lived' that you so clearly feel the need to have? Fucking FINE."

Harry's shoulders sagged, and he felt the anger seeping out of his body. "Tell me what I have to do for you to help me, Snape, and I'll do it, but just… don't refuse to teach me out of spite for things that didn't even happen. You'll have your answers; you'll have your bloody truth. If you still think that I don't deserve your help, then… I guess there's nothing more I can do. But give in this much. Give me the truth serum so you know what I tell you is the truth and then make up your mind." Harry thought about adding on a 'please,' but just couldn't quite bring himself to do it. In all honestly, he was terrified that Snape would take him up on the offer. One thing the professor had said was true: he didn't always think things through before he acted. This was definitely one of those times. Harry hadn't meant to make the deal, but once he started yelling, it was like he couldn't turn it off. He was frustrated with the man's stubbornness, furious with his unfairness, and, though he wasn't ready to admit it, he was hurt.

Snape, meanwhile, was going through some emotional turmoil of his own. On one hand, he had been itching to grab his most potent veritaserum from the moment the brat had foolishly offered. On the other hand, he knew it was illegal to use the potion on a minor, knew Dumbledore would likely be furious, and knew that if Umbridge caught wind he could very well be out of a job despite both Dumbledore and the Dark Lord's wishes. And maybe a tiny part of him was even concerned… concerned that there really was more to Harry Potter than met the eye.

Snape sneered, inwardly stamping down the thought that there could be any depth to the character of a Potter. Decision made, he swept to his private store cupboard with an impressive billow of his robes and unlocked the vial from a hidden drawer in the very back. Striding back over to where the boy stood waiting, he felt a wave of dark satisfaction at the way Harry's face paled and his breath stuttered. Still, even now he had enough self-control and simple integrity to not force the Potter into following through on his word.

"Three drops, Potter. Three drops and you will be incapable of stopping yourself from revealing even your most dark and closely held secrets should I ask after them. You saw Barty Crouch Jr. questioned last year, you know what it will look like; on the outside, you'll be an emotionless shell, rattling off your answers as though you were doing no more than reading a list of potions ingredients. In your mind, though… you will be aware of every revelation, every humiliation, ever ugly truth. You will feel your mind screaming at you to stop speaking and be powerless to stop yourself. This is what you're offering." He watched as the very last of the color in Harry's faced drained away and he struggled to swallow past his nerves. Smirking, Snape rolled the vial between his fingers and slowly made to turn away. "Just as I thought, Potter; you never really intended to follow through. Just more empty words. Get ou—"

Snape cut off abruptly as he felt the vial tugged lightly out of his hand and turned to see Harry holding it gently in his palm, staring down at it as though it held all the hope of his future.

"I need your word that nothing I reveal will be used to get anyone else in trouble. It's not fair to my friends that I take this without consulting them when you can very well ask me things that will affect them." Harry's voice was flat and emotionless, as though he was already locking that part of himself away in anticipation of the potion. Snape felt the first tendrils of real guilt, and found himself answering slowly, just to buy himself time to come up with a reasonable excuse to back out.

"Getting you in trouble for all the rules you have broken should prove more than sufficient, Potter, but I—Potter!" The moment Snape had voiced his agreement to Harry's terms, the younger man had thumbed the cork off the vial and tipped a tiny swallow into his mouth. Severus gaped at the younger man in shock as his face went slack, arms falling limp at his sides as the potion took effect. The vial slipped from Harry's numb fingers and shattered on the stone floor, but neither man reacted. Harry because the potion was blocking his natural responses, and Snape because he was still processing what the idiot child had just done.

Finally, Snape cleared the spilled potion and shattered glass with an absent wave of his wand and then gazed carefully into Harry's eyes, looking for any signs of distress or negative reaction to the potion, almost on autopilot. Automatically, he asked the question that began any veritaserum interrogation.

"What is your name?" In a dull, lifeless tone, Harry responded immediately.

"Harry James Potter-Black." Summoning a high stool to his side, Snape sank slowly onto it, licking his dry lips nervously. The damage was done, now; to not take advantage would simply be a waste…