Another day. Another twenty-four hours fueled by adrenaline, glancing over his shoulder, trudging through class, avoiding eye contact, sticking only to those he knew best.
Harry woke at dawn, though he didn't properly register it - the bed hangings deep beneath the castle let in none of the stray glow from the lake. He felt around for his glasses, slipped them on, and the shadows grew sharper at the edges. He took a deep breath and silently began to count to twenty.
At seventeen, a pale hand silently drew back the curtain. Draco, half-dressed, his hair hurriedly brushed, leaned over to mutter, "Fifteen minutes, Potter."
"Got it." Draco disappeared behind the deep green, and Harry blinked himself to full consciousness before rolling out of bed.
Every spray of water, every rustle of fabric, reverberated like a gong in the early morning stillness. Harry dressed as quickly and as quietly as possible, listening attentively for any sign of his peers waking. For the past week, he and Draco had gone through the same routine, staying ahead of the crowd, lingering in classes when teachers were nearby, sticking in groups. Hermione had given them plenty of warning about what happened to gay couples who didn't take precautions; Harry had no idea if students would dare try anything within Hogwarts walls, but he wasn't about to risk it. Already, kids from all houses had been getting bolder and bolder, catcalling Draco and Harry in the hallways, sending Tripping Jinxes, and generally trying to make their lives worse.
But the puerile shenanigans of the younger students didn't bother Harry much. He had Draco, and his friends back, and that was enough for him.
Hermione, a bit uncharacteristically, was already waiting for them in the common room. Unsurprisingly, she had her nose in a book, a slim volume of poetry. Harry wondered when she'd gotten into poetry, and if Draco had finished the collection she'd lent him.
"Good morning," She said politely as Harry exited the dormitory, careful to let the door close slowly behind him. Draco, perched on a chair nearby, stood as Harry drew closer.
"Ready?" Harry held out his hand, and Draco took it.
"As I'll ever be."
"Is Ron not awake yet?" Hermione asked as they headed out of the dungeon. When Harry shook his head, she sighed, "One of these days."
"One of these days, we won't have to be so careful," Harry hoped.
"Your optimism is astounding," Draco said with a raised eyebrow, though his tone sounded more impressed than sarcastic.
The empty corridors seemed to stretch for miles under their quiet footsteps. Dawn filtered from gray to pink through the enormous windows, illuminating the cobblestones. Sitting in one panel of light near the staircase was Luna, softly singing a song under her breath that she evidently made up as she went along.
"Bend like the willows, my dear, my dear, sift through the clouds, my dear, my dear…" She smiled when she spotted her friends but didn't stop singing until they had reached her. "Good afternoon."
"It's morning," Hermione corrected.
"It feels like afternoon to me," Luna said serenely. "Let's go, then." She glided in front, leading them into the dining hall.
The vast space yawned before them, the absence of students palpable in every stretch of empty bench. A single Ravenclaw, around fourth or fifth year, flipped blearily through a textbook and didn't look up when they came in. The only teacher at the head table was Professor Dahlia, who scribbled on a long scroll of parchment between sparse bites of oatmeal.
Breakfast passed with a peaceful mundanity, the smell of cinnamon, eggs, and black pepper drifting from the enchanted plates. Luna did most of the talking, describing an encounter she had with a thestral that weekend, her flow broken only by Hermione's skeptical questions.
"If you doubt me so much," Luna said, swirling a goblet of pumpkin juice, "Why don't you come see them with me?"
Hermione paled. "No, thanks."
At the front of the hall, Dahlia noisily rolled up her parchment and left the chamber. A few students began to trickle in, yawning and chatting. Luckily, they didn't notice Draco and Harry through the mental haze of Monday morning.
"Time to go," Hermione said, and the group hastily stood to leave, Luna and Hermione flanking their friends from the watchful eyes of their fellow students. Luna walked with them all the way to Professor Dahlia's classroom, said goodbye to each of her friends in turn, and twirled away to her own class, humming the same tune from before.
Hermione placed her bag on the floor and slid down the stone to sit. Harry followed suit, though Draco remained standing, rummaging about in his satchel for something. "Today should be easy for you," Hermione remarked conversationally.
"Why?"
"Patronuses, Harry, remember?" Hermione said, gesturing exasperatedly. "Professor Dahlia mentioned it at the end of class last time."
"Oh…I kind of tune out when the bell rings," Harry said sheepishly.
"Hmph. Well, it should be quite easy. Ooh, I wonder if we're learning the theory, too?" Hermione's eyes shone.
"Probably not with Dahlia."
"You never know." She sounded hopeful. "Draco, what's your Patronus?"
Draco looked up from the book he'd been perusing. "Didn't hear you."
"Your Patronus," Harry repeated. "I've got a stag. 'Mione, yours is an otter, right?" She nodded.
Draco pursed his lips, eyes barely meeting Harry's before sliding down again. "I don't…I don't have one."
"You'll find out soon enough," Hermione said breezily. "It's simple, especially if there aren't any dementors around."
Apparently, she hadn't picked up on Draco's energy, but Harry didn't miss it - the furrow in his brow when the question was asked, the tension at the word "dementors." Harry cleared his throat to prepare to speak, then decided against it.
Draco noticed this and glanced at him. "What?"
"Nothing, I…" Harry trailed off, biting his lip. Draco's eyes narrowed by a fraction of a degree, and he tilted his head slightly. Harry could almost hear him say, "What is it? Tell me." Harry shook his head, once. Not now. Hermione looked between them but didn't comment.
The door to the classroom suddenly opened. Professor Dahlia stopped at the threshold, surprised to see them, a half-eaten pastry clutched in her hand and a roll of parchment tucked between her arm. There was a beat of awkward silence as she looked at each of them in turn, three students inexplicably hanging about the hallway nearly an hour before class.
"Good morning," She said finally. "What are you all doing here so early?"
Harry glanced at Hermione, then Draco. "We were just…er." He trailed off.
"To be honest, Professor," Draco said smoothly, "That would take too long to explain."
Dahlia gave him a searching look, then shrugged. "Right on. You guys can go in if you want. I'll be back in a mo', just need to send a letter." She held the door open for them, and the trio filed in with murmured thanks. "Oh, hey," Professor Dahlia added, "Could you stack the desks? Just to clear a space."
"Of course," Hermione replied.
"Great. I'll come back with house points." Dahlia winked before letting the door close behind her.
Harry dropped his bag in the corner and walked over to the nearest desk, lifting the chair, flipping it over, and sliding it on top. Then he hesitated, muttering, "We should probably move the desks before stacking them…"
"Potter," Draco said from behind, "What the hell are you doing?"
"Huh?" Harry turned around to see both his boyfriend and Hermione giving him strange looks, their wands out. "I'm stacking the - oh." He felt his face warm. "Magic."
Hermione tutted, smiling indulgently. "If you want to do this by hand, we can."
"No, no, that's all right," Harry slipped a hand into his robes for his own wand. "Sorry. Side-effect of being raised by Muggles."
"I lived with Muggles as a kid, too," Hermione pointed out as she slid a group of desks against the wall with one wave, "You just get lost in your own thoughts sometimes, Harry."
Harry made a face but didn't argue, beginning to float another row of desks on top of Hermione's. Draco frowned as he moved beanbags. "Did you say you were raised by Muggles?"
"Yeah, my whole life." Harry paused his work and turned to his boyfriend, whose silver eyes had gone wide. "You didn't know?"
"No," said Draco in a small voice. He seemed embarrassed. "I thought…After third year, you, I don't know, went to live with my mother's cousin. Sirius."
Harry blinked. "Er, you knew that I talked about going to live with my godfather, but you didn't know that I lived with Muggles for seventeen years?"
"Word gets around, Potter." Draco flushed. "Hold on. Sirius Black was your godfather?" The pitch of his voice rose in confusion.
Hermione, who was about to finish their task, laughed in spite of herself. "Looks like you two have some catching up to do." She put the final chair into place with a clunk.
"You didn't know about Sirius?" Harry goggled. "I wouldn't go live with a stranger."
"Well, you didn't tell me, did you?" Draco's face pinched as if he'd sucked on a lemon. "Ugh, that means we're related. In a way."
"As if all purebloods aren't related," Harry said dryly.
Draco wrinkled his nose. "The worst part of that statement is that it's true."
Hermione made a noise of disgust. "Ugh, really?"
"In one way or another," Draco admitted.
"Yuck."
"I know. Potter, why," Draco began, wandering over to the beanbags in the corner, "Have you never told me about your family?" He flopped down resolutely on one.
Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance. The room temperature seemed to lower by a few degrees; Harry shuddered as he remembered. A flash of green light. The sizzling of bacon. Cobwebs hanging over his bed like unraveling ghosts. "We'll talk about it later," Harry said firmly, and without another word, sat next to him. It took Draco a moment to realize that he'd struck a nerve, but when he did, he murmured, "All right," and put an arm around Harry's shoulder.
Hermione watched this interaction with a sort of affable curiosity, then turned away pointedly to give them privacy.
It wasn't long before the voices of their fellow eighth years began to leak through the door to the classroom. Hermione rocked back and forth on her feet a few times. "Should we let them in?"
"We can wait for Dahlia," Harry murmured sleepily, his head drooping onto Draco's shoulder. Someone this pointy has no right being such a wonderful pillow, he thought. But Draco's robes were soft and warm and freshly laundered, and his shoulders rose and fell slightly with every breath, with a rhythm akin to a gently rocking boat…
"Don't ever use that word!" Someone shouted from outside, and Harry jumped awake. He and Draco scrambled to their feet as the door abruptly swung open. "Inside!" Professor Dahlia pointed sharply into the classroom, and ten students silently filed in. They all seemed mortified, in varying degrees. Ron's lips were pressed into a thin line as he strode towards his friends.
"What happened?" Hermione asked him under her breath as he approached, and Draco and Harry leaned in to listen.
"Pansy called you," Ron nodded to the boys, "Fa…I mean. You know. And Dahlia heard."
Harry glanced at Pansy, who was flushed, her small, dark eyes fixed on the ground.
"Forward, please, and stop talking," Professor Dahlia commanded as she strode to the front of the room. At her tone, the students obeyed, glancing at each other nervously and bringing their hushed conversations to a halt. "It's come to my attention that some people think it's okay to bully others for the things they cannot change." Her eyes were bright and livid. "But let me make this crystal clear. If I hear anyone using any kind of derogatory slur, I promise you that you'll spend the rest of your afternoons this year scrubbing toilets." Professor Dahlia's stern, McGonagall-like gaze swept over her class, briefly resting on Pansy, who looked more angry than embarrassed. "Is that clear?"
A mumble of assent through the room.
"I said, is that clear?"
"Yes, Professor Dahlia."
She sighed and pressed a hand to her head, leaning against her desk. After a few tense, silent moments, Dahlia seemed to gather herself, and looked about the class again, her face relaxed. "Okay. Let's start the lesson, shall we?" She took out her wand, then looked to Harry, Hermione, and Draco in the corner. "Five points each to Slytherin and Gryffindor, by the way. I haven't forgotten." Professor Dahlia pointed her wand into the air. "Expecto Patronum!"
A silver light bloomed from the tip, and a pale, cat-shaped thing leaped into the air, bounding around the classroom. Harry saw that it was a tiger, its stripes made of slightly darker silver than the rest of it, its large paws pressing powerfully against the imaginary ground. The class oohed and ahhed as Dahlia directed the Patronus with casual flicks of her wand, causing it to finally rest upon her desk, glowing tail swishing slowly in content.
"Light magic," She began, in the voice she used for lectures, and Hermione reached for her bag. "No need to take notes, I promise," Dahlia told her with a smile, and Hermione reluctantly left it alone. "You won't be tested on this, but it's important. Remember that light magic does not come from here," She waved her wand, "But from here." She rested a hand on her chest. "I certainly hope someone covered that for you in first year. All magic, Dark or light, comes from the heart and the mind. Now, can anyone tell me whywe study Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
Harry put his hand up along with most of the class.
"Harry?"
"To learn how to fight back," He said confidently. "To defend ourselves against users of Dark magic."
Professor Dahlia tapped her chin. "That's a right answer," She admitted. "But not the one I'm looking for. Anyone else?" She glanced about the room, but the class seemed stumped. "No? Well, I'll give you a hint. There's more to defend ourselves against than evil-doing outsiders."
A beat of thoughtful silence. Hermione bit her lip, thinking, then tentatively raised her hand.
"Yeah, Hermione?"
"Do you…" She hesitated. "Do you mean ourselves? Fighting against the inherent darkness within ourselves?"
"Well-worded, Hermione. Three points to Gryffindor." Dahlia nodded approvingly. "Yes, that's more or less what I'm getting at. Humans, Muggle or no, inherently have light and dark parts, our wistful hopes and tendency to kindness constantly at war with our nightmares and thirst for revenge." Professor Dahlia swept her wand through her Patronus, which dissipated, leaving the chamber slightly darker. "As magic users, we are able to channel our souls, in their entirety, through our wands. But we cannot treat this responsibility lightly. Let your lightness, your kindness, shine through your magic. 'Cast with compassion,' as one of my own teachers used to say. Because doing the opposite can have destructive results." Her warm eyes landed on someone. "Draco, would you like to share your thoughts on this?"
He looked surprised to be addressed directly. The class all turned to look at him, half of them judgmental, half curious. Harry watched Draco's pale throat move with a nervous swallow, his silver eyes wandering in thought. "I…don't have much else to say. I agree with you, I suppose."
Dahlia pursed her lips as if disappointed. "Well, think about it. Okay, spread out, everyone," She said, motioning for them to stand farther apart from each other. "I've heard most of you already know the Patronus Charm, so today should be review. Think of a happy memory, of course, but don't just say the incantation flippantly. Intent, class, intent is everything. Go on."
Separating himself from his friends, Harry meandered to an empty space on the cobblestone, pulling out his wand and shaking back his sleeve. He closed his eyes for a moment, searching for a memory. Draco sprang to his mind immediately, but Harry flipped through the moments spent with him like files in a drawer, digging for one untainted by guilt, shame, or uncertainty.
Blooms of heather and fields of herbs sprawled across a hidden landscape. His hands caressed Draco's tearstained cheeks, lips moving next to his ear, forming words for the first time: I love you.
Harry opened his eyes to the classroom, draped in colorful scarves and filled with murmurs. Feeling as light as helium, Harry threw out a spell as he held the mint-scented memory. "Expecto Patronum!" His trusty stag barreled into the air, tossing its antlered head, leaving vapors of silver as it leapt over his classmates' heads. The students gasped in surprise as the first Patronus galloped around, and a few of them grinned at the sight.
"Nice one," Dahlia said appreciatively. "Focus, the rest of you. I'm sure you can all manage corporeal Patronuses by the end of the year."
As Harry's Patronus faded, more spirals of silver and smoky light burst from his classmates' wands. Hermione and Ron were next to succeed, his terrier playfully chasing her otter. Parvati's butterfly, Dean's boar, Seamus's fox, and Padma's hummingbird followed soon after. Harry grinned, eyes shining with pride as he watched the members of the D.A. execute the spell he'd taught them himself all those years ago.
On the other side of the room, Henrietta only managed slight wisps of white, and Anaya jerked her wand to no effect. As Professor Dahlia walked over to instruct them, Harry sidled up to Draco, who was silently twirling his wand in the air.
"Tried the incantation yet?" Harry asked.
A line formed on Draco's forehead. "Yes. But I can't…think of anything. Nothing happy enough, anyway." He seemed genuinely distressed, his voice trembling and wand dipping in defeat.
Doesn't spending time with me make you happy? Harry almost asked, but he bit his tongue; surely Draco had thought of that already. And he certainly didn't want to make him think his magic wasn't good enough. "You'll get it eventually," Harry told him encouragingly. "It took me ages."
"At thirteen," Draco pointed out. He sighed and let his wand hand drop. "I can't focus in here, anyway." But his words were unconvincing, and Harry read the despondency in his expression like a book.
Harry glanced around the class; everyone was too busy either admiring their Patronuses or concentrating on casting the spell. He rested a hand on Draco's shoulder, and the Slytherin seemed surprised at his touch. "Try again," Harry said softly, remembering what Draco had said to him that blossom-covered day in Hogsmeade. About Harry's presence being enough to make him feel better.
Draco inhaled and exhaled. He pointed his wand into the air, eyes fixated on some imaginary, high-up spot, as if gazing at a star-filled sky. "Expecto Patronum."
Harry didn't blink, certain he'd seen a slight puff of something smoky… "Nothing." Draco said frustratedly.
"Having trouble?" Professor Dahlia said from behind. Harry and Draco turned, a bit startled. Dahlia made no comment on their closeness and continued, "Some people use a trick to help them think of a memory. Say the incantation with a blank mind and see what comes up. Try it."
Draco nodded. Beneath his hand, Harry felt his muscles lose some of their tension. "Expecto Patronum." Again, not even a wisp, and Draco's jaw clenched in frustration. Professor Dahlia didn't seem discouraged.
"What did you think of?" Dahlia asked him.
Silver eyes flickered to Harry. "Um…"
"It's all right if you'd rather not say," She assured him. "But keep that memory in mind when you practice, okay?"
"Yes, Professor."
She smiled and drifted away to Pansy, who was fiercely jabbing at the air while shouting the incantation, to no avail.
"You'll get it eventually," Harry told Draco, squeezing his shoulder.
"Eventually," Draco echoed, absentmindedly twirling his wand between his fingers. His gaze had become faraway again, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what memory he'd thought of.
