The sound of ripping paper punctuated the Monday morning quiet as Ron opened his present from Harry. He grinned at the sight of the white box, filled with identically shaped, puffy, golden pastries.
"Mate, you didn't!" Ron said with delight, examining the package of Creature Creams.
"Came in last night," Harry told him, smiling. "George's mail-order system operates with the speed of light, honestly…"
"Doesn't it?" Hermione said appreciatively. "Here, Ron," She said, handing him her gift, "Lee said these aren't even on the shelves yet."
Ron opened the package eagerly, his grin growing even wider. "'Mystical Mind-Strengthening Potion,'" He read the label aloud, "'Sharpens the most easily-distracted of minds,' Hermione, this is brilliant!"
"Don't use it on exams," Hermione said sternly, but she softened when Ron kissed her on the cheek.
"Thanks, you two," Ron said, stacking the boxes, "Nearly thought you'd forgotten."
"Ah, now you're being thick on purpose, Ron," Harry teased. "'Course we wouldn't forget."
"Honestly, I wasn't expecting presents…" Ron trailed off, his smile shrinking slightly as he spotted someone emerging from the boys' dormitory.
Draco hovered by the couch his boyfriend sat in, unsure whether his presence was intrusive or not. "Good morning," He said neutrally, and the trio responded with equal politeness. "Someone's birthday?" He asked, eyes lingering on the torn wrappings.
"Mine," Ron replied.
"I didn't know. I would've given you something."
"Oh, er…that's alright," Ron said awkwardly - even after a couple months of being tentative friends, he and Draco hadn't gotten comfortable with one another yet.
"Breakfast?" Hermione suggested, vanishing the wrapping paper with a wave of her wand. The three young men murmured their assent, and the four students left for the Great Hall.
A fine mist descended upon the castle that morning, cloaking the windows and enchanted ceiling with light gray. The morning was still young; the tables had only been filled about a quarter, and the owl post had not yet arrived. Hermione, Ron, Harry, and Draco sat in a loose bunch at the Gryffindor table, helping themselves to still-steaming porridge, kippers, toast, bacon, and eggs. As usual, Draco threw a furtive glance around, but the surrounding students were either too tired or too immersed in their own conversations to notice that a Malfoy was sitting with the Golden Trio. And yet he kept a meter of space between himself and Harry, lest anyone mistake their relationship for more than acquainted classmates.
Harry noticed this deliberate distance and frowned, but didn't dare start an argument. He understood the stakes, which had been raised significantly after his coming out. Though no one was likely to comment at eight in the morning on a Monday, Harry knew the stares and whispers would rise with the day's progression.
"We've got career meetings today," Hermione informed her classmates as she poured milk into her porridge. "They'll take the place of first period, but it's with our head of house, so we're with Professor Dahlia anyway. And you with Slughorn," She added for Draco's benefit, and he nodded as he buttered his toast.
"Won't the classes be too small, then?" Harry asked after a sip of pumpkin juice.
Hermione rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "Didn't you read the notice?"
"No," Harry and Ron said in unison. "We've got you to keep us informed," Ron pointed out, "You always know what's going on."
"You would, too, if you read the notices," Hermione sighed, but continued, "We're with seventh years as well, with Ginny and the others. They're graduating with us this year, you know."
"Good thing we've got Dahlia," Harry remarked, "Since she used to be an Auror."
"I forgot about that," Ron said, talking expertly around a heaping mouthful of bacon - Draco looked both disgusted and impressed at this - "She'll know all the different departments."
"There are different departments?"
"Oh, yeah, haven't I mentioned? Dad told me, but he doesn't know all of them or the details of what they do. I expect we can ask. Hermione, are you going to be an Auror, too?"
Hermione stirred her porridge thoughtfully. "I've thought about it…" She said slowly, "I'm decent at combat…"
"You're brilliant," Harry and Ron spoke at the same time again, making Hermione laugh.
"Thanks. But I don't think I'd like being in the thick of it for a career. Probably something in the similar, though. I still want to help people."
"Damage Control," Draco suggested suddenly, and the trio all turned to look at him. Draco continued, "It's part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They usually clean up after Aurors - not tending to the wounded, but Obliviating surrounding Muggles, restoring any battle areas to their original state."
"I am quite good with Memory Charms," Hermione mused. "I'll ask about that. Thank you, Draco," She added, pleasantly surprised at his good advice.
"How do you know so much about that?" Ron asked curiously.
"Oh…I thought that might be a path I'd follow, someday," Draco said, self-conscious that he'd revealed a former aspiration. "Before…you know…"
"Voldemort," Harry finished, and Draco shuddered. "You could still do it," Harry continued quickly, glossing over the tense moment.
"I don't think I'm interested in that particular line of work anymore," Draco said with a shrug. "Besides, I don't know if I'll even…" He trailed off, and Harry knew he was thinking of Azkaban. Ron looked curiously at Draco and opened his mouth to ask another question.
An interruption swooped over them in the form of a flock of owls. A small, tawny one landed in front of Hermione. The Daily Prophet was clutched in its beak, and a collection pouch tied around one ankle. Hermione retrieved a couple Knuts from her robes, dropped them into the pouch, and took the newspaper. She scanned it and prepared to toss it upon the table, then gave a sharp gasp.
"Blimey, Hermione!" Ron yelped. "I thought someone died, did someone…?"
"No one," Hermione said, eyes wide, "But look." She spread the paper onto the table for everyone to see. All four students leaned in.
Suspected Collaboration Between Death Eaters and Thai Vigilante Groupproclaimed the headline. Beneath it was a picture of a wolfish mask, carved with detailed fur, fangs, and curvy patterns reminiscent of ancient Buddhist statues. One side of the disguise was slightly charred, and as they watched, it was turned and presented from all sides by a dark, beringed hand that Harry knew to be Kingsley's.
Draco and Harry exchanged a look as Ron and Hermione examined the mask. "Looks like the ones we saw on the train," Ron said, perturbed. "Read it, please, Hermione?"
Hermione nodded and read the article aloud to them.
Since the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the wizarding world has enjoyed a period of peace, writes Isabelle Villareal. However, mid-October saw an attack on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, considered to be an impenetrable haven after the demise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Three wizards or witches, wearing masks similar to the one shown, penetrated the school's outer defenses and dueled three professors. Headmistress Minerva McGonagall reported no casualties nor injuries, though the three attackers fled and were unable to be apprehended.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, Dahlia Balengchit, was able to discern certain aspects of the attackers' identity. "They were wearing red robes, as is customary for southeastern Asian wizards," Balengchit reported. "They spoke Thai to each other before Disapparating. From that and the design of the masks, we can conclude that they are from Thailand."
Thailand's Ministry of Magic, however, remained unhelpful in investigating the attack. "We don't know who they are either, and they didn't do any damage, so what's the fuss?" said Anuman Wongsa, the spokesperson for the Thai Minister for Magic.
His sentiment was echoed by many Ministry officials here in Britain, who did not expect the obscure group to appear again. However, en route to King's Cross Station on Saturday, 19th December, the Hogwarts Express was stopped and apprehended by three more masked wizards of the same nature. Inside sources can confirm that the attackers obscured their presence with a mass Memory Charm; they revealed themselves only to Harry Potter and five other accompanying eighth years.
The intentions of the group did not become apparent until a week later. Two anonymous witnesses discovered the mask pictured above at Malfoy Manor, known headquarters of the Death Eaters during the Second Wizarding War.
Harry caught Draco's eye. He shook his head by a fraction of a degree, and Harry took his expression to mean: Let her finish.
The witnesses notified the Ministry of the evidence. The Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, sent a team of Aurors throughout the country to search for more signs of the Thai group. The following months of investigation found more signs of their presence scattered about the UK but did not find the wizards themselves. They concluded the group had perhaps returned to their own country and/or gone into hiding.
The capture of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, known Death Eaters, provided more clues for the intentions of the Thai group.
Hermione glanced up at Draco while she read this, but his face remained stoically blank.
Though both were injured grievously after an attack on their home, an administration of Veritaserum revealed that the group, self-named The Following, approached the Malfoys with intentions of teaming up with the Death Eaters. The Malfoys resisted, but they were unable to learn the plans of The Following.
Shacklebolt remains hopeful that, through further exploration and international cooperation, the Ministry will learn the whereabouts and purpose of the vigilante group. "We will keep the wizarding world informed of this new possible threat," Shacklebolt stated yesterday. "Misinformation from the Ministry contributed to the last war. Rest assured that we will not make the same mistake again. We will keep the public updated as much as possible."
Hermione lay the newspaper down. She and Ron wore thoughtful expressions. "They resisted?" Draco asked quietly. "But…when I was there, they were cooperating." He spoke mostly to Harry, who looked just as bewildered.
"What do you mean, when you were there?" Ron questioned. Draco hesitated to answer.
"They should know," Harry told him.
Draco pursed his lips and nodded. "I left for a few days before the first attack on the school," He began. "Because of a letter I received from my mother." Draco recounted everything that had happened since that day, Harry interjecting when they got to their joint investigation at Malfoy Manor. Draco left out a few details, such as Lucius calling him a homophobic slur - Harry noticed this, but he did nothing to mention it.
By the time Draco had finished, the Great Hall had been filled, and the food cooled. The mist outside had dissipated somewhat, and morning rays of sunshine streamed into the castle. Other students at the Gryffindor table glanced at the lone Slytherin within their midst, but no one dared to approach.
Hermione and Ron kept rapt attention throughout Draco's story. When he finished, they took a minute to process it all, eyes cast towards the table in thought.
"Why didn't you tell us right away?" Ron asked Harry, a bit hurt.
The real reason, Harry felt, was that he didn't want Ron and Hermione to know he'd gone on a concealed escapade with Draco. But admitting that was only one step away from revealing what else they'd gotten up to at the Burrow.
"I didn't know if I could trust you to keep a secret," Draco said, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief - that excuse made much more sense coming from Malfoy. "I didn't really want Potter to get involved, but you know him and his heroics." Hermione and Ron smirked knowingly. "Neither of us knew what was going on. We were too scared to tell anyone unless they could do something about it."
"Makes sense," Hermione said, and Harry saw Draco's shoulders lose their tension. "Can't really blame you."
Harry glanced down at his dented watch as the people around them finished their breakfasts, shouldered their schoolbags, and stood from the table. "Ten minutes, we'd better get a move on."
Hermione folded the Prophet and slid it into her bag as Ron managed a couple more mouthfuls. The four of them stood from the table, Ron casually linking hands with Hermione. Harry saw Draco's gaze flit towards them, eyes filled with what was undoubtedly envy. But he kept a calculated distance from his own boyfriend, watching him with no more affection than he would a classmate.
The precautions were necessary; Harry understood that. But he couldn't help but feel a stab of regret as Draco parted from them to go to the dungeons, without so much as a friendly wave.
• • •
The bell had hardly struck nine when Professor Dahlia entered her classroom. The seventh and eighth year Gryffindors chattered with each other as usual, but the conversation died down when they saw the look on their teacher's face. Dahlia, normally easygoing and jovial, walked sharply to the front of the room, not stopping to say hello to any of her individual students. Her brown eyes stormed with worry and anger.
"Settle down," She said evenly, brushing her short hair from her eyes - today, it was streaked with magenta, the precise shade of the blouse worn beneath her black robes. Though Dahlia spoke quietly, there was something dangerous in her tone that made the class fall silent immediately. Harry exchanged a glance with Hermione and Ron. Something was definitely off.
Then, as if pulling herself together, Professor Dahlia briefly shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and straightened her shoulders. When she opened them again, she smiled, and the class relaxed. "I'll be talking with you one on one today," Dahlia told them. "Chat among yourselves if you'd like, but keep your voices down, or I'll take away House points." She scrunched her face in an expression of distaste towards the idea. "Okay…" Dahlia looked around the room, picking someone at random. "Dean Thomas, we'll start with you."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined Ginny and a couple of her classmates in idle chitchat as the students were called away to Professor Dahlia's desk for five- to ten-minute-long sessions. As he discussed Quidditch with the others, Harry glanced over to their teacher once in a while, but the darkness that seemed to cloud her vision earlier did not make a reappearance.
One after another, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny left and returned, each glowing with the prospect of the future. The rest of the class seemed excited, too, their voices buzzing with post-school plans, and twice Dahlia had to tell them to be quiet. Finally, she called, "Harry Potter."
The voices hushed ever so slightly. The seventh years, in particular, looked up from their conversations to watch Harry as he made his way to the front of the classroom. He thought he caught his name, echoed in their whispers, but he did his best to ignore it.
"You want to be an Auror," said Professor Dahlia as soon as Harry sat before her. It was a statement, not a question, and he nodded for confirmation. "There are lots of people wanting to be Aurors this year," She continued conversationally. "Minerva said the same influx happened around twenty years ago when You-Know-Who rose to power." Dahlia retrieved a file from a pile on the desk and flipped through it. Clipped to the corner was a portrait of Harry, taken in sixth year. The boy in the photo gave a forced smile for a moment, but his face fell immediately, eyes troubled with his uncertain future. Harry watched his younger self as Professor Dahlia looked over his latest transcripts.
"Grades look good. Remind me what you're taking this year?"
"Defense, Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, and Herbology."
"Herbology? Not required for the Academy, but it's appreciated all the same," As Dahlia spoke, she sifted through a pile of pamphlets and handed Harry a white, maroon-titled one. "As you know, you won't be taking N.E.W.T.s this year - they won't require it. But your end-of-term paper will be looked at more closely as a result."
The front of the pamphlet read Cambridge Auror Academy at the top, with the subtext Spes Perit in Tenebris. Before Harry could open it, Dahlia handed him another leaflet, this one charcoal-gray, and embossed with the Ministry of Magic insignia.
"Read through those when you get the chance," Dahlia told him. "Try to pick a department you want to work in before our next career session in four weeks. Your application will go faster if you know exactly what courses you'll be taking."
"Right." Harry's blood rushed in his ears as he looked at the two pamphlets. The future, adulthood - it was all right in front of him. A year ago, all he focused on was defeating Voldemort and never gave a second thought to what would happen next. Now, it was a little easier to imagine. Three years of hard training, fifteen or so years of fighting Dark wizards - then what? Retire to a cottage in Wales to live by himself? Fade into the workings of the Ministry? Start a family? Harry's mind conjured Draco, then abruptly pushed the thought away. Crazy, Harry told himself. "Professor, what was your time as an Auror like?"
Dahlia smiled, and for a moment, she appeared almost as young as her students. "Finally, someone's asking for the four-one-one," She said, and before Harry could ask her what that meant, continued, "It was wild and exhilarating sometimes, but also terrifying and exhausting. Even after such an extensive education, once you get into the real world, you realize just how despicable people can be. How far some will go to get what they want. But you, as an Auror, have to go even farther to stop them. It's a hard job, Harry," Dahlia emphasized. "Not for the faint of heart. You won't always get credit for your efforts, either. But at the end of the day, you save thousands of lives and get dangerous people behind bars. And that makes it worth it."
Harry nodded, a little taken aback. Professor Dahlia chuckled at her student's apprehension. "I didn't mean to scare you. Those thirteen years I spent with my colleagues in the International Crimes division were some of the most rewarding years in my life. But it takes moral fiber, a willingness to learn, and knowing when sacrifice is necessary to handle it. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Professor." Harry stood from the desk, slipping the pamphlets into his robe.
"There are lot of people wanting to be Aurors this year," Dahlia reiterated. "But not all of them will have the guts to follow through. What about you, Harry Potter? Do you think you can follow through?"
"Yes, Professor," Harry repeated. At least I hope so.
"Alright, you can go," She said cheerily, and Harry left. The bell clanged a few moments later, signaling the end of the first period. The Gryffindors gathered their things and began to exit the classroom. Ginny and Hermione said their goodbyes to their friends and left for class, while Ron mentioned something about the library.
Harry made a statement of agreement; perhaps Draco would be there. But before he followed Ron through the doorway, Harry hesitated. He peered over his shoulder at Professor Dahlia, who was shuffling the students' files. She kept her head firmly bowed, so Harry couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw her hand flit towards her face as if wiping away a tear.