A/N: I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO UPLOAD!
For some reason Microsoft Word deleted over half the chapter so i had to rewrite it, which was not my faovurite thing in the world to do espeically since it's an actually pivotal chapter in terms of plot and the direction of this story. sigh.
but here it is finally!
"Alright," Harry began once his last first year had trickled into the classroom, "Today we're going to talk a little bit about some similarities in some well known evil Muggles and well known evil Wizards." The class tittered excitedly, as if learning about evil was the best news they'd received all week. Harry laughed to himself as he turned toward the chalk board.
He drew four columns on the board and turned back to the class. "I think we all know at least one evil wizard that we'll be talking about today," he said. There were some whispers, but no one said anything out loud, so he continued on. Turning back to the chalkboard he wrote Tom Riddle in one column.
"We're going to try to keep this discussion simple and factual, alright?" he continued on. "If anyone is upset for any reason, please tell me so we can pause. Some of what we're hearing about are things we all lived through. Some of it is going to mirror things we lived through. It's okay to be upset or need a break, alright?" Twenty nodding faces with solemn eyes looked back at him.
"When we talk about the most recent war, we're not going to use titles like He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named or Lord Voldemort, either." You could tell the muggleborns, he thought, because they were the ones that didn't flinch when he said the name Voldemort. "His name was Tom Riddle, so we can either call him Tom Riddle or Riddle. None of this fancy name business.
"Does anyone know the name of another wizard who started wars before Riddle, when many of your grandparents or great-grandparents were young?"
Dozens of hands were raised – all except for a couple of kids who were muggleborn and really, really didn't do any extra reading. "Randy," Harry said, pointing to a Hufflepuff boy at the back with his hand halfway up in the air.
"Grindlewald," the boy said in a near whisper.
"Right," Harry said, turning back to the chalkboard to write Gellert Grindlewald in the next column. Randy was quiet, Harry was fairly certain he was a half-blood or pure-blood, although he had asked none of his students about their blood status. It was clear he had never been to school before Hogwarts – he often seemed overwhelmed by the number of people in his class and the noise around the castle.
"Can anyone think of any Muggles that may have been starting wars around the same time?" Harry asked once he had turned back to the class. Fewer hands went up, and this time it was easy to identify the purebloods by the uncomfortable glances they cast around the room.
"Arwen," Harry said, pointing to a muggleborn Ravenclaw girl at the front of the classroom.
"Hitler!" she said, beaming when Harry nodded at her. Adolf Hitler was the next to go on the board.
"Now there's one more muggle I'm thinking of, from around the same time as Hitler. I'm not sure if anyone will know who I'm talking about or not," he said, but Mar's hand had already shot into the air for the fourth time that day. "Alright, Mar, who do you think?"
"Stalin," she said confidently. Harry couldn't help but shake his head in amusement. Of course if anyone had an answer it would be Mar. He wrote down the last name and then picked up a stack of parchments from his desk, handing them out manually to each student since he couldn't use his wand.
"I'd like you to each take some time to read what I've handed out and then we'll use the knowledge you've learned to help us list some of the similarities between these men, alright?" Most of the class nodded, but Arwen, raised her hand. Harry raised his eyebrow at her and gestured for her to speak.
"Why do we have to read this? Shouldn't we all know about them already?" she looked genuinely confused, and there were more than a couple students who looked like they agreed with her. He settled himself on top of his desk and regarded the class.
"Some of you might know about them already, you're right," he said with a nod, "but not all of you. You're in a unique position Arwen, because you've been to non-magic school and now you're at a magic school. But many people in your class haven't had the chance to go to a school that isn't magic, and even if they did you don't always learn about the same things. And there are some people here, like you, who didn't know they were magic until they turned eleven, but they haven't been interested in spending their time reading up on people like Grindlewald." He let a teasing note enter his voice, "Believe it or not, there are some things that are more pleasant to read about."
She regarded him for a moment, then shrugged. "I guess you're right."
"I know I am," he said with a gentle smile. "Now get reading, the lot of you."
By the end of the day, he was so tired he was ready to drop – but he still had at least three essays to work on, not to mention the amount of reading and lesson planning he needed to get done, and a reflection to write for their muggle studies seminar the previous evening. Perhaps Pansy would help him with that one.
He dropped into his bed in the eighth year dorms after his last class of the day, Arithmancy, and groaned. It wasn't long before Draco, Pansy, and Blaise trooped in from Ancient Runes. Draco dropped onto the bed beside him.
"Where were you at lunch?" Draco asked in a voice muffled by the bedsheets.
"Library," Harry grunted back. "Hoping my transfiguration essay would write itself."
Pansy snorted from the other side of the room. "So you just stared at it for an hour?" she asked in amusement. Harry just made a face at her – mostly because she wasn't wrong.
"I want to get Muggle Studies out of the way," Blaise said with a sigh. "No use in putting it until the last minute and then not being able to graduate after all this."
Blaise was right – it was a stipulation of the class. They weren't graded, per se, but they needed at least a mark of Acceptable to pass the class and they needed to pass the class to graduate. It wasn't designed to be particularly challenging, but it was designed to be thoughtful and require participation. Honestly, Harry sort of hated himself for creating it now that his work load was so great.
"I'm not going to get any work done here," Draco said with a huff. "Too small, not enough desks."
"Library or common room?" Pansy asked. Harry hoped it wasn't the library – if he had to spend any more time in there his brain would start leaking out his ears, he was sure.
"Common Room," Blaise said with finality. "We can hunt for some sixth or seventh years to help us with muggle studies."
"It's not a hard assignment," Draco said, giving Blaise a look as he packed up his stuff. He paused to read from the piece of parchment in front of him. "Write three feet on areas in which muggles are superior to wizards," he read in a monotone voice. "That's easy. Medicine, psychology, they've been to the moon! All we can do is magic. If it's a race of who's superior, wizards lose."
Harry gave Draco a look. "Some of us can't even do magic," he griped. Draco just rolled his eyes back at Harry.
"That's temporary, Potter," Pansy said with a look. "You'll be good as new in two weeks."
Harry couldn't help but doubt that – something in him felt off. Maybe it was just his magic being worn out, it probably was, but sometimes it felt like he couldn't feel anything magical at all. Like the magic in him had dried up.
Of course, the Slytherin common room wasn't at all peaceful when they walked in. It rarely was, but especially now. There were some second and third years playing a loud game of gobstones near the fire, the first years were running around led by Mar (who paused to give them all a wave as they came in). Some seventh years were crowded around a couple tables pushed together, though. They made their way toward them, the boys trailing behind Pansy.
One of the seventh year prefects, a boy named Andrew, gave them a look when they approached. "We're just deciding if we should tell the first years to get lost or not," he said as they approached. "It's become impossible to get work done."
Harry sighed when every single head at the table turned toward him for advice. "I'll handle it," he said dully. They all seemed pleased by the answer. Wankers, the lot of them.
"Oi!" he called as he approached the first years. Mar stopped short when he called out, prompting another first year, Jason, to bump into her. "Don't you have work to be doing?" he asked, in his best stern professor voice.
"We're hunting for fish," Mar said, so innocently Harry had to focus to keep from laughing. Draco and Blaise were both watching from somewhere behind him – he only knew because he could distinctly hear both of them laughing.
"Don't you usually fish for fish?" Harry asked with a sigh. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.
"Not the really big ones," Jason said. The other first years nodded their agreement. Honestly, Harry thought, they had a point.
"Alright," he said gently. "Well, the older students have a lot of studying to do. Would you be able to hunt for fish outside?"
Mar started to nod, but another girl – Jessamine, gave him a doleful look. "It's raining," she said glumly. Harry tried not to sigh – at least not too aggressively.
"How about this," he began. "There's no one in the Great Hall right now and there won't be until dinner. Why don't you take the second years with you? I'll write you a note that gives you permission."
Technically he couldn't write such a note – he wasn't fully staff, but he doubted any of the teachers would begrudge him. "If you find any first years or second years in other houses that aren't doing work, take them too," he said.
"Awesome," Jason breathed. They took off towards the exit to the common room, only Jessamine remembering to go tap some of the second years on the shoulders. After the roar of noise as they exited, the common room became strangely quiet. Harry felt more tired than he had been before.
"Abuse of your power so that we can study?" Pansy asked as Harry made his way back to the table. "I didn't think you had it in you."
"Does it count as abuse of power if I don't have any power to begin with?" Harry asked tiredly. Harry sat down at the table next to Draco, leaning into the other boy's warmth. He was just too tired for this.
"What are you writing for your muggle studies assignment?" A sixth year girl asked. Harry was fairly confident her name was Amelia, but he didn't know the older students as well as he knew the younger students. "I want to get it out of the way," she said with a sigh.
Everyone was looking expectantly at Draco and Harry. Harry put his head down on the table, which prompted Draco to sigh. "We can't all write about the same topic," he said. There were mutters of agreement around the table, but no one else said anything. Harry assumed they were still watching Draco expectantly by the way he sighed again.
"I'll write a list of topics," he said finally. "Everyone can pick one. But I'm not giving you answers or helping you do the research."
There was the combination of grumbles and explanations of glee around the table, which made Harry snort. Slytherins were a testy bunch, honestly.
"Heard you exploded," said a voice from across from him. He looked up to see a seventh year prefect, Michael, looking at him in amusement. The prefects Harry knew better – he and Pansy were often coordinating with them over patrols and the time they spent in the Slytherin common room.
"I did," Harry responded tiredly. "Boom."
Michael gave him a strange look. "What happened?"
"Gryffindor idiots," Draco said before Harry could respond. Michael was back to looking amused at Draco's response.
"Isn't Harry a Gryffindor idiot?" Michael asked.
Harry found it within him to give the other boy an amused smile. "I feel like I have to disagree with that on principle," he said, "but you probably aren't incorrect."
They turned to their work, then, and Harry put his head back down on the table with a thump. He felt Draco's hand on his knee, and leaned into the touch before forcing his head back up and taking out a piece of parchment.
They didn't work for very long. Harry could barely keep his eyes open after a couple hours of writing, but with Draco's help he managed to finish his transfiguration essay and his muggle studies reflection. The rest of the group was planning on working through dinner, but Draco essentially dragged Harry out of the room, demanding they go rest.
Harry was too tired to argue.
That was how he ended up curled up in bed, half asleep, at a time that was horrendously early, with Draco complaining about how he needed to take better care of himself. Harry could only really grunt in response. He was more focused on the lesson plans for the next week that he still needed to complete.
"I've been thinking," Draco said suddenly. Harry turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow sleepily. "You look a mess," Draco said fondly.
"That's what you've been thinking?" Harry asked.
"Obviously," Draco responded, but he rolled his eyes, which Harry was grateful for. He was significantly too tired to figure out how to react to sarcasm right now.
"What about, then?" Harry asked.
"I'd like to try again," Draco said, "With your friends."
Harry was so surprised he sat bolt upright in the bed. "That ended horribly last time," Harry said. "Are you mad?"
"Perhaps," Draco said, thoughtfully. "It didn't end horribly last time, really."
"Pansy would say something different to that," Harry couldn't help pointing out.
Draco shrugged in what Harry assumed was acquiescence. "I don't want to lock myself in a room with them anyhow," Draco said. "That's asking for disaster."
Harry grinned somewhat ruefully at him. The other boy wasn't wrong at all. In fact, he was quite right. It wasn't something Harry would have suggested in the first place, had he known how it was going to end up from the start.
"Then what?" Harry asked. "I can't see them wanting to speak to you, either way," he said honestly. Draco reached out to tug on Harry's arm, pulling him back down to the bed.
"A letter," Draco said simply. He was running a hand through Harry's hair, now. "They can choose to open it or choose not to, and once they read it they can choose to speak to me or choose to burn it or whatever they'd like. It seems better than forcing my company on them."
"That's not a bad idea," Harry said after a moment of thought.
"I've been known to have them," Draco drawled. If Harry's eyes were open, he would have rolled them, but he was already drifting off into sleep.
Harry woke in time to rush out for his pre-breakfast meeting with McGonagall, leaving Draco fast asleep behind him. He was starving, not to mention still groggy from the extra sleep and anxious about all the school work he had to complete. Perhaps he'd go for a quick run before breakfast, or a fly – but that seemed a waste of time when he could also just get some food from the kitchens and work on his charms essay or lesson plans instead.
He was exceptionally grateful, then, to find tea and toast waiting for him in the spare classroom he and the Headmistress met in. She held a deep hatred for the portraits of the ex-headmasters and their constant need to give opinions, so they hardly ever met in her actual office. Harry wasn't even certain if she ever used it.
"Harry," she said warmly when he sat down.
"Good morning, Minerva," he responded. Her name did not roll smoothly off his tongue, and he had to fight the urge to call her Professor, even now.
"I didn't see you at dinner last night," she said conversationally. He couldn't help but feel as though she was making fun of him.
"I was sleeping," he said. "Haven't been sleeping well."
"I wonder why that is," she responded delicately. She was definitely making fun of him, in her own weird way. He fought the urge to blush.
"Lesson plans," he responded, doing his best to look in her eyes.
"I'm sure it's the lesson plans," she said, and anyone who didn't know her as well as he did might not have heard the sarcasm or seen the twinkle in her eye. Merlin, this was so weird.
He did his best to change the topic. "I think Andromeda is bringing Teddy this weekend," he said. "For the whole weekend."
"I daresay that woman needs a break," said Minerva. Harry nodded his agreement as he took a sip of tea. British habits may die hard, but sometimes he really, really wished Minerva was a coffee drinker.
"I wanted to ask you about something," Harry said, "if that's alright."
"It's always alright," she said warmly. A warm Minerva was something Harry was still getting used to. Not that she had ever been cold, per se – just removed, as teachers often were.
"The Death Eater legislation the Wizengamot is pushing through," he began. "Do you think I'd be able to speak against it at the vote?"
She gave him a levelled look. "That would be a highly unpopular stance, Harry," she said. "Sometimes it's best to let these things run their course. The public will realize it's a bad idea, over time."
"When will they realize, though?" Harry asked. "Anyone dangerous is in Azkaban. The rest are serving house arrest sentences, like Draco and his mum. These laws won't do anything but control family and friends of Death Eaters that had nothing to do with the war."
"I don't disagree," Minerva said. "And I admire your tenacity. But you cannot simply force your way through politics by trying to force people to agree with your opinion, especially when it's an unpopular one."
He just looked at her, not sure what to say. His opinion was right, was reasonable – why wouldn't people listen to him? He was the Saviour of the Wizarding World!
As if reading his mind, Minerva sighed. "You have experienced more vitriol than most in the press at such a young age. You have seen first hand how public opinion can change easily and turn you into the villain. This could very well villainize you again." She paused for a moment and Harry felt himself almost subconsciously run a hand through his hair as he waited for her to continue.
"This is not the first time the wizarding world – or even the muggle world has gone through something like this," she said carefully. "People will want to be careful, now more than ever before, that we prevent the same type of war from happening again."
"But we know that doesn't work!" Harry burst out. He felt anger rising, but tried to tamp it down. The last thing he needed was to explode again. "It's happened time and time again through history – all suppression like that does is start more wars."
They fell silent, looking at each other over the desk. Minerva was the first to break, looking down at her clasped hands and away from Harry's face.
"I don't disagree with you," she said after a moment. "I've seen it in my lifetime. I am afraid, sometimes, that war is inevitable, thought I know it is not." She looked up at him then. It was a careful look, adult-to-adult, rather than teacher-to-student. "I do not know that we can do anything about it. We are just two people."
"I think there are more than just us two who feel like this," Harry said carefully. "We just have to find the rest."
"That's easier said than done," McGonagall responded, taking a sip of tea before she continued. With the tension gone from the room, Harry let himself slump back in his seat a little bit. "There is much anti-Death Eater sentiment, and for good reason."
"It's about how it's framed, I think," Harry said. "Not pro-Death Eater, but anti-government control over civilians. Somehow we have to make people see that this is an overstep – that it's wrong."
"And what if we cause in-fighting, or accidentally dismantle the whole government in the process?" Minerva asked levelly.
Harry looked back evenly before shrugging. "Then we build it again, but better."
She nodded once, as if he had passed some sort of test. "You'd best be careful," she said, "Or you'll make yourself a politician."
Harry couldn't help but make a face at that. "Is it so wrong to just want a quiet life?" he asked with a sigh. Realistically, he was only kind of joking. Sort of.
"One could argue that you would have a quiet life if you stopped sticking your nose into everyone's business," she responded.
"I don't stick my nose in other people's business," Harry responded mulishly. Minerva just raised an eyebrow at him as if he were a misbehaving first year. It almost made him feel like a misbehaving first year. "What kind of person would I be," he said after a moment, "if I didn't speak up for the people who needed it? I have a voice, I have to use it somehow."
"You would be a sane person, Mr Potter," McGonagall said, exactly as if he were a misbehaving teenager again. But she looked proud, which was something.
Harry wasn't really sure where to go from here. How did one start a possible insurrection in a week? There was only one good answer. Pansy Parkinson.