Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter
Harry picked up an exploding bonbon from the pile in the middle of the room. All of the boys were crowded around their array of sweets, stocked up from their most recent visit to Hogsmeade.
It had been Valentine's Day, so a lot of the students had been going to cafés or pubs with their dates, unfortunately – or perhaps, fortunately – none of the third year 'Claws had a date, which meant they were free to roam the streets of Hogsmeade without having to wade through the usual crowds.
Somehow their stock had survived a week – though with the rate the pile was declining it was unlikely it would make it until March.
Harry leant back on to the side of his bed. They'd all propped pillows against the hard wood to make a den of sorts. Michael's quill and essay lay shoved to the side as they talked.
"Nice." Anthony laughed as Terry ate a Pepper Imp, breathing out fire onto the room. Luckily, the flames weren't real, and just flickered out as they reached the beds.
The room was already full of pale blue coloured bubbles, which bounced along the floors. They'd been that way since Anthony had broken his resolve and opened the gum last night – celebrating the end of a particularly tiring week.
It had proven to be a poor decision – though funny at the time – as throughout the night bubbles would bounce around, driven by the small gale let in by a cracked open window, up onto the faces of the sleeping boys. Let's just say when a bubble goes up your nose it's hard to stay asleep.
Anthony got up to the window, drawing out an image on the fogged-up glass with the nail on his finger. "This is what I imagine divination to be." He said as he turned round and plopped back onto the array of cushions and pillows, snuggling into a thick blanket.
The other three laughed at the already disappearing image of Trelawney with her eyes wide and manic as she stared into a crystal ball.
"I don't understand how Dumbledore even hired that fraud." Terry added, still aggrieved at the time she gave him detention for failing to foresee Parvati Patil (Padma's twin, and coincidentally, one of Trelawney's favourite students) would trip down the stairs.
He'd been unfortunate that the usually reclusive professor had been on a stroll with Parvati and Lavender, and Trelawney had concluded that Terry knew Parvati would fall, and purposefully did nothing to stop it – citing the growing tensions before the match between the two houses as his motive.
"It's Dumbledore." Harry replied dryly and Terry obliged him a wry smile as he sucked on a blood red lollipop. They were advertised in Honeydukes as 'fit for a vampire', but, in reality, they were just strawberry lollipops with a charm on them to make them last longer than usual – and to give the appearance of bloody dripping down the chin for whomever ate them.
Terry shifted around the cushions anxiously. "I heard Draco's father is trying to get Buckbeak – the hippogriff – executed." He told them.
"Draco?" Harry responded with a quirked eyebrow. Since when were Malfoy and Terry on a first name basis.
"Habit, sorry." Terry waved off, as if that was a good explanation. Terry – and by default Harry – had been spending an increasing amount of time with Blaise, and occasionally Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis.
Clearly, though individually not bad people, in fact Harry was quite fond of them, especially Daphne who (after you got past her cold exterior) had a quick and sharp sense of humour that he found amusing, they had been a bad influence on Terry – evidence: he called Malfoy, Draco, as though he was just any other third year and not a racist prick.
Not that Harry was even sure he believed that anymore. Ever since Harry had punched Malfoy, he'd been surprisingly amicable towards him. There'd been no attempts of retribution – in fact, strangely enough, Malfoy had even apologised to Harry for using the slur in their flying lesson.
Their lessons had also become… surprisingly fun. Malfoy was still a prick – obviously – but he was a good flier, and he knew some tricks he'd taught Harry, plus, it was nice to have competition. It made Harry better – and if there was anything Harry appreciated, it was getting better, he really wanted Ravenclaw to win the quidditch cup.
In their most recent lesson Malfoy had even let Harry ride his broom. Malfoy had a Nimbus 2001, which, whilst not quite as astonishing as the newly released Firebolt, was an amazing broom. It made Harry bitter in a way, not because his broom was bad – it was a similar level to what most of his team had – but because as a seeker, the best way for him to improve was to have the best equipment.
Sometimes he'd go to sleep dreaming about riding one of those Firebolts. The speed at which he could play at, crossing the entire pitch in seconds. If he had that then he could try out all these turns he read about in a quidditch book Michael had gotten him for Christmas – he was particularly enraptured with the Wronski Feint, but he knew for certain that if he tried that on his Nimbus 1700 (only two issues behind Malfoy's Nimbus 2001, but vastly inferior) he would likely plummet to the ground.
So no, recently Malfoy hadn't been a prick… but old habits die hard – and he still did use that slur. Harry didn't even know why. The two hadn't really discussed that day in Hogsmeade.
Harry didn't want to bring it up because he was scared Malfoy would want revenge for the punch. Malfoy didn't bring it up because… well Harry didn't know why. The first flying lesson after it… well he'd almost seemed embarrassed… ashamed maybe. But that surely couldn't be right? Malfoy had been openly blood purist since first year. Why would anything have changed now?
"Hagrid's really torn up about it." Harry tuned back into the conversation to hear Anthony speak. He sounded genuinely sad for the groundskeeper.
"Hagrid?" Terry asked. "Why Hagrid and not Professor Lima – it happened on his watch… it was his fault."
"It's Hagrid." Anthony replied as if that explained everything.
"Not everyone goes down for tea and rock cakes with the groundskeeper 'Tony." Terry replied, peeling at the label on the bottle of his pumpkin juice.
Anthony and Hagrid had become friendly at some point towards the end of last year. Anthony's cat had gotten ill, and Cameron suggested going to Hagrid. The man was apparently an expert with magical creatures. Perhaps if he wasn't so emotional and unpredictable it would have been him who'd replaced Kettleburn.
"Right." Anthony said. "Hagrid cares about creatures, a lot – I mean, remember first year, with his dragon? I've asked him about it since – he's still really upset about it all. He'd even named the dragon; Norbert."
"Also, it wasn't really Lima's fault." Michael defended. "Malfoy insulted it to it's face after being explicitly told to not."
"Actually," Terry began, pausing as he surveyed the state of his lollipop – luckily for him the advertisements were, seemingly, accurate, as it appeared as though he hadn't been sucking the sweet for the past ten minutes, having only minutely decreased in size. "Apparently that's not what actually happened."
"Wait, what?" Harry asked confused. The story of Malfoy insulting the hippogriff, and being the cause of his own injury, had spread through third year like wildfire – as gossip at Hogwarts tended to do.
"Yeah. Blaise told me – he was there. It was actually Goyle who insulted it, and seeing it rear up, Draco tried to push him out of the way."
Harry frowned. "Are you sure?"
"That's what Blaise said." Terry replied. "And I trust Blaise to not lie about something so… pointless."
"It's just… why wouldn't Malfoy have said that was what really happened?" Harry asked.
Terry shrugged. "Who would he have explained it to? All his friends are in Slytherin, and all the Slytherins already know it was Goyle's fault – he didn't need to declare it. Plus, I think he doesn't really like bringing it up…"
There was some truth to Terry's words – truth which Harry knew, but still confused him. Malfoy seemed to get edgy whenever his father's plot to get Buckbeak (the hippogriff) executed.
"He doesn't agree with his father, you know." Terry continued. Harry hadn't been sure, but it made sense. It would explain Malfoy's odd behaviour regarding Buckbeak. "He told Goyle off for insulting it – he blames him for what happened to his arm, it looked painful,"
"He used it as an excuse to wimp out of the Gryffindor match." Harry responded, still feeling aggrieved at how the Slytherins had cheated their way out of a match in the stormy conditions.
"That was Flint." Terry waved off. "He forced him to because he didn't want to play in that storm – and who's Malfoy to deny a sixth year, especially one like Flint, that guy is built like an ogre on steroids."
"Right." Harry replied pensively. To the side Anthony had dropped his head into Michael's lap, tired and content with a stomach full of sugary goods – and clearly bored with the conversation.
"It's also why…" Terry trailed off before shaking his head, as though tracking back on his decision to speak.
"Why…?" Harry prompted; his curiosity piqued.
"Never mind." Terry shook his head, taking a sip of the pumpkin juice they'd gotten from the Great Hall at dinner.
"Come on, you can't just start something like that and not follow through." Harry replied, a little irritated at his behaviour.
"But-"
"He's got a point, Ter." Michael cut off, and Harry felt grateful for the boy. Michael was clearly also interested in the conversation (unlike Anthony who faked a yawn).
"When we saw him in Hogsmeade, separated from his group and-"
"And saying that slur." Harry interrupted and Terry shot him a glare.
"This is why I stopped." He said, giving him a pointed stare and Harry raised his hands in mock-surrender, gesturing him to go on. "Apparently he'd just had a confrontation with Hermione, she'd gone on a tirade, blaming him about Buckbeak's fate – this happened just after she found out he was going to be executed, and you know that their lot is close with Hagrid,"
The Gryffindor trio did often seem to be making that journey across the ground to his hut. And the giant of a groundskeeper seemed very jovial whenever he saw Neville when Harry was walking with him.
"She'd been telling him it was all his fault and slapped him. Then we came along only two minutes later."
"It isn't a good excuse to call someone a…" Harry couldn't even say it. Knowing what it means… it was too horrible. "That word."
"No, no, of course not." Terry quickly placated. "But the context at least makes him seem like a little less of an ass – plus if it helps redeem him at all more, he was alone at the time because he had a headache so was returning to the castle to try and get a potion."
"God," Michael laughed suddenly. "So, Hermione Granger slapped him, and then, what, five minutes later Harry decked him – whilst he had a headache as well. Oof." Even Anthony let out a small giggle from his position on Michael's lap.
"Why are you trying to redeem him so much?" Harry retorted, trying to not sound at all irritated at Terry, but likely failing given his small, almost imperceptible frown. There was just something about Draco Malfoy which never failed to rile Harry up.
"I'm not." Terry replied softly. "I just think… I think at the moment he's a product of his upbringing – of his father. And I don't think his father is a particularly good person. I'd have thought you, of all people, would understand something like that…" Terry continued calmly, but Harry despised that he related Malfoy to him.
There situations were nothing alike. The Dursleys had almost killed him – not that Terry knew that much. He knew they were bad people. He'd probably guessed that they were abusive. He probably hadn't figured out that they were that bad – how would he have. It isn't like Harry ever told him, he never even speaks about it in general to anyone, even Luke, except for the extremely rare conversation or comment.
Or perhaps he hated that despite Harry telling Terry merely scraps about his life, he still knew Harry so well, he understood him down to the bone… and that was scary – terrifying. Terrifying that anyone can know you so well. Terrifying because it means he can – and probably should – walk out at any second. But mostly terrifying because Harry knows that he will inevitably lose the best friend he's ever had.
All because he's too scared to tell him the truth.
It's a stupid motive really… Harry knows that Terry wouldn't treat him differently. That they'd still be friends. And that, yes, it was late and Harry should have told him sooner, but that Terry would still be chuffed he told him now, that yes, it was late, but it wasn't too late. Not yet at least.
"I of all people understand how you aren't the people who raise you. Malfoy called Hermione – who yes, is annoying as Merlin some days, but she tries. She tries to be nice and helpful and she's so damn clever, and powerful even… Yet he still used that word."
"Which was wrong. But Harry, imagine being raised in that household, by Luciu-"
"I don't need to imagine Terry. I know what it's like to be raised in a shitty place-"
"But it's not the same." Terry interrupted, raising his voice purely to cancel Harry out, to just make him hear him, make him understand him. "You were raised in a house where your aunt and uncle were the clear villains." Terry understands him too well. "Malfoy was raised in a house where his parents were the heroes, where he was brought up to believe in them, in their ideals. I'm not saying it's right. I'm not saying that he shouldn't grow up. But it isn't as easy as you're acting. Stop being so fucking idealistic into thinking that everyone is either good or bad, and that there isn't any in-between."
Harry felt like he'd swallowed hot coal. "I know there's an in-between Terry…"
"Do you? Because you don't act like it. You don't give any margin for error. You don't seem to understand that Malfoy is just a stupid, scared thirteen-year-old and that he's not a bloody Dark Lord in the making."
Harry half-felt like screaming back that he knew that. That he knew about Dark Lords enough and didn't need Terry throwing that back in his face like he threw back his shitty childhood. But luckily there was still a small rational part of him that reminded him he needed to calm down and not out his identity.
He knew Malfoy wasn't a fucking Dark Lord. He knew Malfoy wasn't evil – because he knew evil. He knew the Dursleys. He even knew that whilst Vernon was indisputably evil, Petunia wasn't. She was just extremely flawed, she was bad, but she still had a sliver of good in her which showed when Harry was starving and she sneaked him in some food, even though she knew Vernon wouldn't want it.
She was a terrible person. But she wasn't evil. She was just… she was just terrible. Vernon was evil. Voldemort was fucking evil. He killed, no. He destroyed Harry's life. Perhaps that's why Harry knows that Malfoy isn't evil – his name doesn't start with a 'V', and that seems to be the running theme in his fucked-up life. Based on that logic though, Vincent Crabbe was evil – and Harry knew for certain that that boy was far too stupid to be evil.
All he knew was that just because Malfoy wasn't evil, didn't mean he couldn't hate him… right? Not that he even did at this point… Because he didn't. He didn't hate Malfoy. He just half-wanted to. Half-needed to…
"I know. But he's not good." Harry eventually replied.
"He's a young idiot." Terry said and Harry nodded. "We'll just have to wait and see whether he realises that his parents aren't good role models, or whether he's too stuck." Terry paused. "Honestly though, I think he's already realised that…" He looked pointedly at Harry, who's mind immediately cast him back to that Hogsmeade weekend.
Malfoy had almost talked about his own dad as if he was… Well, he seemed aware that he wasn't good. That he wasn't nice.
"I think he's just going to have to take a minute to adjust." Terry continued. "And what kind of people would we be if we didn't allow someone to make a mistake and learn from it – if we don't let someone change."
The room went silent, Harry leaning back on his pillows, all his energy suddenly sucked out of him.
The door crashed open. The four jumped as a fifth-year prefect's face popped round the door. His face red and eyes alert. "Meeting… Common room…" He ordered breathlessly, his voice already fading into the distance as he moved on to the next dorms.
Harry immediately sat up straight. "What do you think happened?"
"I guess we can only go and find out." Terry replied, his voice quiet and pensive as he reached for a sweatshirt (pale blue and with the eagle flying around on it – house pride was just as important for the 'claws as it was for any other house).
Harry grabbed his arm as he went over the threshold of the door. "You should clean your chin first." He reminded him. He didn't know why, but he had this unexplainable feeling that this meeting was serious – and definitely not the time for gimmicks and imitations of dangerous magical creatures.
"What's happening?" Michael tugged on one of the sixth year Claw's robes, forcing him to turn around. The common room had been too crowded, and too loud, to get any information.
"Sirius Black. He was sighted." The boy replied shortly, clearly disgruntled by the way Michael manhandled him. Harry froze on the stairs.
Why would Sirius Black be in the castle if it wasn't to kill him? To finish off the job he started thirteen years ago.
And now they were standing in the middle of the castle – it wouldn't be too hard for Black to…
"Sirius Black?" Anthony asked. "Did he just say Sirius Black?"
"Don't worry Ant," Lisa reassured, "Trust Dumbledore." If Harry wasn't so preoccupied with his parents' murderer (well, as good as murderer – he was the reason they were dead) he would have snorted.
Trust Dumbledore? You'd have to be mad. As the old man clearly was.
"Yes. Trust the man who put the Philosopher's Stone in the castle as a favour to an old friend, along with a Cerberus – and who did fuck all last year." Harry snarked back. He didn't mean to be rude to Lisa, but he wasn't exactly in the best frame of mind. "Sorry." He breathed out and Lisa nodded sharply.
"You have a point though," Terry sounded tired – to be fair, they all were. They'd been torn awake in the dead of night with the news to convene in the Great Hall, orders to not delay, not take shortcuts, and move as quick as possible, sticking together as a group. "It doesn't feel safe to be moving through the halls unaccompanied."
"Flitwic-" Michael began.
"Is at the back." Terry interrupted. "There's enough of us that Black would be able to…" He trailed off ominously.
"The prefects, the seventh years, Cam-" Michael tried once more.
"Would be no match to Black." Terry cut him off again. "You know he trained as an auror? Graduated near the top of his order in DADA. You-Know-Who trusted him as one of his most elite death-eaters. If his surname by itself doesn't scare you, that should."
The group delved into silence, only the noises of confused first years whispers and urgent footsteps echoed around the castle rooms. Even the portraits were nowhere to be seen.
Every noise caused them all to flinch, hands reaching to their wands if their wands were not already firmly gripped in their hands. Soon even the first years seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, their confused whispers twisted into a silence, even more painful than the buzz from before.
"Why would Sirius Black come to Hogwarts?" Anthony finally asked as they filed into the hall, shoulders dropping as they saw the flood of students and teachers, all armed, all ready – Sirius Black would have to be mad to try and attack them…
Thirteen years in Azkaban… well… that did make a man unpredictable.
Some of the older students were clearly aware of this, still on alert whilst the younger students nestled into the sleeping bags.
"Isn't it obvious?" Terry replied. "He came to finish the job." Harry's heart pounded so furiously that he was surprised that the entire hall couldn't hear it. "He came here to kill Harry Potter."
"To kill Harry Potter? Does he not know he's already dead?" Michael replied sceptically. Harry couldn't help but feel guilt rise up within him: after the fight with Terry at the end of the year he'd begun to feel even more anxious about his clandestine identity – it was a lie.
Harry also knew that if his secret ever did get out, his friends would resent him and feel (rightfully) like he hadn't trusted him – even though they were the people he trusted above nearly all others. He just didn't want to be seen differently.
He knew that they wouldn't out his identity but he didn't want to ask them to lie for him, to have the burden that comes from such a secret… He also really didn't want to be Harry Potter. Especially considering the mass-murderer out for his blood.
"You don't get Daily Prophet subscriptions in Azkaban, Mike." Terry replied, too exhausted to sugar-coat his words.
The boys – Lisa had returned to Padma – started to look for a cluster of empty sleeping bags. "There." Anthony pointed, and they began to make their way towards them.
The hall was quite full already, but students kept pouring in. On a quick glance it seemed as though the Gryffindor house was all already in it – which would make sense if that was where Sirius went too (which appeared to be the obvious conclusion, as everyone knew Harry Potter would be a Gryffindor) – and the Hufflepuff house also seemed present, their dormitories were the closest to the hall.
That left Ravenclaw and Slytherin as the only two houses still piling into the hall.
Harry scanned the room, looking for Neville and Ginny. The two were both together, huddled around with Ron and Hermione, Ron looking particularly shaking as he appeared to be rambling. Harry frowned. Why was Ron this scared?
"Hey." Terry called over Blaise – the two had become friendly over that period towards the end of second year when Terry was (justifiably) giving Harry the silent treatment.
"Do you know what happened?" Blaise sat by a nearby sleeping bag, the other Slytherins more hesitant in joining him. "No one's telling us anything." He sounded annoyed.
"Black." The name drew in the rest of the Slytherins, their desire for knowledge overcoming their desire to keep their reputations intact. "He was sighted."
"In Hogsmeade?" Tracey Davis asked, before lightly blushing as everyone turned to her.
Terry shook his head gravely. "In the castle." Davis gasped as the Slytherins exchanged looks.
"Where?" Blaise quizzed, his hand nervously tapping against the stone floor.
"I don't kn-" Terry began before Harry cut him off.
"The Gryffindor dorms." He told them, as both groups turned to face him.
"How do you know that? No one told us…" Michael asked, confused.
"Weasley over there," Harry gestured to where the boy was sitting huddled. "He seems more anxious than anybody else."
"That doesn't prove anything. Weasley's a wimp." Malfoy inputted.
"Agreed." Harry said, reminiscing the time a spider had appeared in class. "But, in this case, it's more than that. Think about it, if Black was here for Potter, then he'd have come to the Gryffindor house, right?"
"Both of his parents were in Gryffindor. It's only natural that he'd have been." Daphne Greengrass spoke up. It was a weird quirk of seemingly every Slytherin, that they seemed to know everything about your past, your family – every pureblood family at least…
"So, Black would have gone to third year Gryffindor dormitories – everyone was asleep, it's unlikely he'd have been stopped on the way – so he'd have probably gotten all the way, otherwise no one would have seen him, and this commotion wouldn't have happened."
"How would he have gotten into their dorms?" Malfoy seemed sceptic. "Gryffindors aren't the brightest, but they can't be stupid enough to not have a password."
Harry shrugged. "He was a Gryffindor for seven years, I'm sure he knows, not only where it is, but he can also probably figure out how to bypass not knowing the password." By this point Terry was nodding, clearly agreeing with Harry's prediction.
"It would explain Weasley's," Terry paused, glancing over to the Gryffindors, "State."
"Either way, it isn't really relevant." Harry replied, and the attention of both the Ravenclaw and the Slytherin third years returned to him – even if Malfoy tried to make it seem as though he wasn't interested, "Sirius Black got into the castle. If he got past the wards, past the dementors… If he got in once, he could get in again."