LAST TIME: Halloween reached Hogwarts and- look, character development, it's miserable. Cassius dickishly reminds Orion of Druella's unhappiness, which leaves Orion vulnerable and desperate for intimacy- cue attempted snog with Harry. Caspar Grahams interrupts. The next morning, Harry has a Quidditch match, which he wins, and Septimus asks him on a date. Harry agrees, even if no one thinks the date will go well (especially not Tom.) Harry has another attack in the changing rooms, and he is found by Bea and brought to the hospital wing. Hallpepper tells him that it's probably stress, but to come to her if it gets any worse. I think we all know that's never going to happen. Hagrid and Harry have a cute little conversation that serves little purpose, but reminds us that Harry has done some good in the past. Harry senses that Tom is not overly happy, so shows him to the Room of Requirement where they chat about the Deathly Hallows.

Harry stared up at the door, his hand frozen in a knock. A sign hung at a jaunty angle read 'STUDENTS KEEP OUT. SILENCE IN THE CORRIDOR'.

"She really likes people," Orion said cheerfully. "You'll be fine."

Harry gripped the letter tighter. 'Come and see me if you don't want to fail in life' was the main message, and so understandably he'd gone straight to Merrythought once he finished his toast. His first Sunday theory session. He wondered why he'd agreed to this in the first place.

"Go on, then." Orion gestured supportively. "Knock."

Harry took a deep breath and rapped quickly on the wood, flinching back like he'd been struck. The door opened almost immediately.

"Peters," Merrythought said, sipping on a cup of tea. Her gaze travelled to Orion. "And boyfriend."

"Oh no-"

"I'm engaged-"

"Calm down," Merrythought snorted. "Don't young people joke anymore? Go on then, get out of here, Black."

Orion obviously saw Harry's uncertainty. "You know," he tried. "I could use improvement in theory too-"

"I'm not running a club here. Go on, Peters will do without his twin for an hour or so."

Orion hesitated.

Merrythought sighed. "Neither of you will die . Honestly, every time I separate you I feel like I'm tearing apart mother and child." Merrythought waved Harry in, and slammed the door shut before Orion could follow.

Harry glanced around the office. It was quite minimalist, very barebone. A desk, two chairs, cabinet and a painting of a stormy landscape, the faint sound of waves crashing against the shore. Merrythought guided Harry towards the chair, and took a seat behind her desk.

Merrythought set the teacup down on her desk and gave Harry a very intimidating look. "So you want to be an Unspeakable, huh?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, I can tell you now, you're not going to make it," she said sternly, pursing her lips. "At least not if you carry on as you are."

"Hey!" Harry protested, but Merrythought was already raising her hand.

"How many hours of independent study do you do, Peters?"

"The normal amount-"

"Outside of homework?"

Harry sat back in his chair, considering how he spent his time: Quidditch, Orion, Tom- even a bit of chess if he was bored. "Not much," he admitted.

"And what kind of marks do you get?"

"A and EEs? Mostly."

"That won't cut it. Unspeakables get Os. All Os. And that requires independent study, I'm afraid."

Harry sat up defiantly. "Tom doesn't study."

"Riddle's a fucking genius, and of course he does. Knowledge doesn't just appear in his head- although sometimes I do wonder," she added thoughtfully. "Be assured, Riddle does still have to study, even if it is just a little bit less than the rest of us mortals."

"I don't think I could get all Os," Harry admitted. He never found school hard, exactly- the As and EEs were easy enough, but he wasn't exceptional. He was no Hermione.

"You can and you will. You just need to get your arse in gear."

"It's not possible," Harry said slowly, slumping. He could feel a sort of hopeless numbness creeping over him. "I can't."

Merrythought narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "You won't tell anyone else this if I reveal to you, understand?"

Harry nodded.

"...I failed my TOADS twice." Merrythought got up from her chair quickly, looking embarrassed as she dusted off her trousers and moved towards the window. "I was a rather terrible student, to be frank, but I always had a knack for Defence, so I decided I should go into that. I got through my OWLs, scraped through NEWTs, but TOADS were a reach too far. I decided that I couldn't do it, and I was probably too lazy or scared to actually try. And then, third time around, I met Diana. And she was bloody good motivation, let me tell you that." His teacher smiled distantly, and Harry reallydidn't want to ask. "So, yes, it's been a long ride. But trust me, if you decide you want to do something and you decide you're capable, you can do it."

"I don't think I have the same kind of 'motivation' as you did."

This brought a smirk from Merrythought. "Oh, I think you'd be surprised."

"I'm not going to ask what that meant."

"Wise." Merrythought moved back to her desk. "Do you know what TOADS you want to do?"

"I have to do, er, a Magical Theory one, don't I? And something else." Harry turned deep red. "I haven't really looked."

Merrythought raised an eyebrow. "Luckily for you, I have. Now I reckon your best bet is a Applied Defence. Perhaps you could get away with a Study in Defence, but that's quite theoretical; maybe Charms, but I think you'd tear your hair out. I did Applied Defence and Magical Theory. They're a good combination."

Harry nodded, the words swimming before through his mind. "Right…"

"Peters? Are you listening?"

Harry took a deep breath, and at last a faint sort of calm washed over him: the feeling he'd get before a Quidditch match, or some other kind of life-threatening stunt. "I came here because you said you'd help me become an Unspeakable."

"And I will. If you let me."

"I can do it, right?"

"I certainly hope so."

"So what do I need to work on now ?" Harry said, clenching his fists with determination. If he had to work hard to get back home, to see Ron and Hermione and Neville and Luna- well, he was going to do it. He'd been lazy. That had to stop.

Merrythought bent down and picked up a thick wad of paper, heaving it onto the desk with a definite bang. She selected a sheet from the top. "Well, your defence marks are about the only adequate part of your record…"

And thus they ploughed through Harry's results: analysing every little quiz or last-minute essay. Harry had never heard the phrases 'lazy' or 'could do better' so many times in thirty minutes, and he'd lived with the Dursleys.

When it was all done, Merrythought sat back, and sighed. "You're an intelligent student, Peters, and you do fine as it is. Average. But you need to be exceptional."

Harry, his head still slightly spinning with numbers and goals, just nodded.

"I can help you make a timetable, if you'd like. Just a few more hours sprinkled in here and three- using your weekends usefully, for example- could make a hell of a difference." Merrythought must have taken in Harry's wide-eyed panic, because she added a sympathetic "perhaps later, though."

Harry checked his watch and swore. "Shit, I've got a date."

"A date?" Merrythought's eyebrows shot up. "The boy moves faster than I thought."

"The boy? You know Septimus Weasley?" Harry repeated in confusion.

"Oh. Weasley? I stand corrected," Merrythought shook her head with a wry smile. "Go on then. Get out of here. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Harry thought that left quite a few avenues pretty open to him, but he hurried obediently away, nonetheless.

Harry arrived at the entrance hall wearing a jumper and baggy jeans, Septimus arrived in full formal robes.

Harry thought that set the tone for their date rather well.

"You look lovely," Septimus said very eagerly, reaching out a hand.

Hesitantly, Harry shook it. "Thanks, I, er, feel a bit under-dressed."

"No, it's perfect," Septimus assured him. "Perfect. I- I'm just really glad you agreed to this. Honestly, I was watching that match the other day, just sitting there thinking: Merlin, he's really beautiful, isn't he? And here you are. Standing here. It's almost unreal."

"Don't faint," Harry said helpfully. He glanced around at the other students, wrapping scarves around their necks and scurrying into the chill of the cold autumn day. "Shall we set off then?"

"Of course." Septimus frowned at something over Harry's shoulder. "Is Tom coming with us?"

"Huh?" Harry said, raising his eyebrows. "No, I shouldn't think so."

"He's just, er, watching, over there. And frowning. Why is he frowning?"

But when Harry glanced behind him, Tom was striding towards Orion and Atticus, looking as composed as ever. Orion gave Harry a thumbs up. "He probably had something in his eye."

"Yes," Septimus agreed. "You're probably right. Are you, er, absolutely sure-?" Septimus shook his head, chuckling slightly. "No, never mind. I'm being silly."

Harry punched Septimus in the arm jokingly (he immediately regretted it), and then Harry and Septimus set off towards Hogsmeade.

"So, what are your family like?" Harry asked curiously. That was what people did on dates, wasn't it? Got to know one another? He didn't have much practise.

"Oh, they're all very lovely," Septimus said, a faint, fond blush stealing over his cheeks. "I live with my mum and my dad- he works with in the Creatures department at the Ministry. I get my hair from my dad- we're all ginger, bless him, it's like a disease. Then there are my two sisters: Meg and Caroline. Meg's three years older than me and Caroline's- six years older? Maybe seven."

"Are they all 'married with kids' then?" Harry asked.

"No kids. Caroline got married last year to a really nice bloke, and they live over in Kent. Meg works in a bookshop, but I think she's seeing someone."

"You get on well?"

"Pretty much. Caroline's a bit of a nightmare, but she means well. She's too old for us to really fight. And me and Meg were always close. She's very quiet, but a sweetheart really. What about you?"

"Well, my parents are- they're- well, they're-"

"Oh, yes, sorry," Septimus said, turning very pale. His freckles stood out magnificently. "I forgot."

"No, it's fine," Harry said. "They were lovely. My mum was- she was kind. And my dad... he was a bit of a prankster." Harry fell abruptly quiet, realising with slight nausea that was all he knew about his parents. Niceness and pranking. That was all he'd heard about them, from the people they loved. That was what they amounted to. The nice one and the funny one. They must have been real people- with flaws and ticks and-

"Are you okay?" Septimus asked with concern. "I mean, obviously you're not, but..."

"I'm fine," Harry smiled tightly, and pulled himself together. "It's a bit nippy, isn't it?"

"D'you want my scarf?" Septimus asked.

"Nah. I'm alright." Harry felt like they'd been walking forever. Hogsmeade wasn't this far away, was it? "So what do you like to do?"

"I'm a bit of a gardener," Septimus admitted. "It's not very glamorous, but I love it. The feeling of soil beneath your fingernails, you know? It grounds you- hey," he sniggered. " Grounds you. Get it?"

It was at that point that Harry realised, with slight horror, that he was on a date with Neville Longbottom.

They got into Hogsmeade in record time, according to Septimus.

"I can't believe you walked that fast," he huffed. "You're so athletic!"

Yeah, Harry thought grimly. That was his motivation. Athleticism .

"So where d'you want to go first?" Septimus glanced around the village with interest. "Katie Cash-Lewis was telling me the other day about this really nice date spot. It's this little sandwich place with-" Septimus blushed hotly. "-enclosed booths."

"Let's not," Harry said strongly. Backtracking: "I'm not really a sandwich kind of person."

"Oh, me neither!" Septimus chuckled uncomfortably. "Not that I'm not a sandwich person, I just... yeah, I agree. Not sandwiches. Three Broomsticks then?"

"Three Broomsticks," Harry nodded in agreement, and they set off.

"Hogsmeade is such a nice little place," Septimus said cheerily. "Meg always described it to me in her letters, but she made it sound a bit of a horror show. Loud students everywhere, pushing and shoving. This is all very idyllic."

It was a lot quieter than usual, Harry noted. A lot of the shops were boarded up, magical lettering suspended behind windows reading 'closed temporarily'. "What's going on, do you think?"

"Grindelwald," Septimus frowned. "A lot of people are spending time with their families. He's supposed to be heading over here, you know. The attacks are getting worse."

There was a kind of horrific suspense in the air, Harry noticed. Like everyone had taken a breath and forgotten to let it go. "Do you believe that?" he asked.

"I suppose I almost want to," Septimus shrugged. "It'll end quicker if he gets here, won't it? Someone will have to do something."

Harry couldn't argue with that, and he stepped through the door that Septimus held open.

Harry really did love the Three Broomsticks. It was unmistakably magical , everything from the moving taxidermy heads (also disturbing) to the butterbeers floating through the air and distributing themselves to their wizarding patrons. The Three Broomsticks embodied that kind of wholesome 'fantasy magical realm' everyone wished for as they grew up, Harry most of all. The Hog's Head was more like the grimy reality.

Septimus led them to a table, ordered them both a drink, and then Harry sat through an excruciating thirty minutes as Septimus- who evidently felt he'd let their date wander off into slightly depressing territory- led a very intense , one-sided discussion about plant potting. Harry wondered if this was what hell might be like.

Since when were nice people so boring ?

It was with desperate relief- a drowning man grasping onto a float- that he noticed Tom's entry into the pub.

"Tom!" Harry called out, waving an arm. Septimus paused mid-sentence. "Tom, we're over here!"

Tom, who appeared to have abandoned any friends he'd set off with- glanced over at their table. There was a brief moment between them: where Harry widened his eyes and didn't know what Tom was thinking. And then Tom strode over and sat down at their table with a definite thump. "Hello, Weasley," he said, a slight hiss to his voice. "I don't think we've met."

"You're Harry's friend, right?" Septimus said cheerily. "It's so nice to meet you." He shuffled closer to Harry so he could reach across the table and shake Tom's hand. Harry suffered in silence.

"That's right," Tom agreed. "Harry's friend. How's your little... tête-à-tête going?"

"We're on a date," Septimus said cheerily.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, who was beginning to feel like perhaps this idea had been less of a fun way to pass a Sunday and more of a terrible mistake. "A date."

"What have you done so far?" Tom asked.

"We've been here for an hour," Harry said dully.

"But Septimus has barely touched his butterbeer."

"He hasn't had a chance," Harry said, who was just polishing off his second and considering Firewhiskey. "He's barely stopped to breathe."

"I've been telling Harry all about plant repotting," Septimus said with an eager grin. "It's all about the roots, you know. Why, I was lucky enough to work on a mandrake-"

"Fascinating," Tom said shortly. Harry could have kissed him. "I've been meaning to go to Honeyduke's. Perhaps we should all head there?"

Harry felt a leap of excitement at the idea of all those shelves- he could definitely lose Septimus in there. It was then that Harry noticed the glimmer of satisfaction in Tom's eyes, and something inside of him balked. Harry's jaw set. He was proving Tom right about Septimus, and that couldn't do.

"No, actually," Harry said airily. "I think we're good. In fact," and he very deliberately took Septimus' hand (Septimus looked delighted), "why don't we go find somewhere together, Septimus?" Harry lowered his voice suggestively. " Alone ."

"Really?" Septimus squeaked, but Harry barely glanced at him. "Okay."

"I should hardly think you'll find anything like that in Hogsmeade," Tom said faux-casually. "It's crawling with people."

"I should think we'll find an alley," Harry shrugged. "Somewhere private. Or perhaps we should head back to Hogwarts..."

"And waste this lovely day?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "It's October."

Tom smiled, but it looked like more of a snarl. "But it would be such a shame to miss out on all the socialising. Whatever will you do with just the two of you?"

"I'm sure we'll find something."

Septimus grinned cheerfully at the both of them, clearly unaware of any undertones to the conversation. "We could head over to Hogsmeade and then go back to the castle."

"Great," Harry said, sagging in his chair. Honestly: between tolerating Septimus for a moment longer or vindicating Tom: there was no right answer. No, that wasn't fair. Septimus was a nice person. He just had different interests to Harry. Really different.

During the walk to Honeyduke's, Harry found himself exchanging snipes with Tom and- he realised guiltily- perhaps slightly ignoring Septimus. Tom was just so much more dynamic : he parried and slashed and snarked at lightning speed. Harry felt breathless trying to keep up.

"So you like Defence, right?" Septimus asked Tom. "I heard about your duel with Harry."

"Yes," Tom agreed, fixing Septimus with a stare that definitely read 'you are beneath me'. Harry tried to subtly kick him. "I'd say there's certainly a bond that comes from duelling. Trust. It's… intimate ." Tom's tongue rolled over the world as if he was trying to savour every last syllable.

Harry blushed uncomfortably. "Shut up, Riddle."

"But I'm sure you know that too, Septimus." Tom asked very pointedly: "Have you been in a relationship before?"

"Oh, no," Septimus chuckled. "There was this girl in fourth year, but no. Not really."

"Mm," Tom hummed. "What a surprise."

Harry ignored the amused look Tom shot him. "That's stupid," Harry said. "You're sweet and kind and you know a lot about plants- like a lot ."

"Thanks," Septimus grinned.

It was true: Septimus was all those things and more. Harry just didn't think they were what he needed. Or wanted. Or could tolerate for more than half an hour, if he was being truly honest.

Honeyduke's was loud and crowded- Harry relished the relief from the strained tension. He peered around, seeing if he could spot Orion, or just someone to rescue him from this situation he'd somehow gotten himself into.

But no. He suspected Orion had dragged Avery off to get a refill of quills and gotten distracted along the way. Orion really did love quills.

On the positive side (kind of), if Harry'd had any doubts about Tom's feelings towards Septimus, they were now completely and utterly vanished. It became apparent that Tom totally and fully, ultimately and unequivocally loathed Septimus Weasley. Harry didn't know why: honestly, whilst Tom had shown disdain for Septimus before, it was obvious that his feelings had very swiftly spiralled towards hatred so blatant Tom couldn't even be bothered to hide it.

As their mismatched group wandered around the store, Harry found himself playing a difficult game between defending Septimus from Tom's cruelty and using Tom to distract Septimus. He was feeling quite exhausted by the time they reached the hardboiled sweets, and he could have sworn that Tom was getting sharper and sharper.

All of a sudden, Septimus slipped his hand into Harry's and began to tug him towards the popcorn selection ('Pops in 9 Different Flavours!'). "We really have to try the latest range," Septimus was chattering away, "Tom, you should-"

"I'm going to find something," Tom said very abruptly and without waiting for a reply, he turned away to wade into the masses. Harry and Septimus froze, watching as Tom strode off. His stride was much sharper than usual.

"What's up with him?" Harry said, shaking his head.

Septimus sighed. "I think I should… Let's go outside."

Harry, feeling rather bemused about the whole affair, let himself be led out of the shop. Outside the sun was finally starting to peek through the clouds and despite his confusion, Harry felt a glimmer of positivity. Perhaps it would be a good day.

Harry saw Septimus' shoulders heave as he took a heavy breath and then finally: "you could have said no, you know."

Harry blinked. "To what?"

"To this… whatever it is. It's certainly not a date." Septimus smiled ruefully.

Harry had fucked up. "I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's okay," Septimus shrugged. "I'm not upset. I just wanted a chance, you know? But I can see now that I never really had one."

"…Why?"

"You and Tom, of course."

"What about us?"

"You…" Septimus looked thrown off. "You do know , don't you?"

"What?"

"I mean, I wouldn't have known it before-"

"Known what?"

"But after spending a day with you-"

"I don't understand."

Septimus' face flushed. "Maybe it's not my place."

"Tell me."

"It wouldn't be kind."

"Screw kindness."

It was then that Harry heard the screams. Sudden, piercing and filled with genuine terror that froze Harry's blood solid; it came from everywhere: the sound of hundreds of screaming children. Harry tensed, ready to charge off blindly into the chaos, find the source of the screaming and stop it, but he hesitated. Perhaps he should see what he was dealing with first.

Harry pushed Septimus back towards Honeyduke's and told him very firmly to gather as many students as he could, barricade the door, hide, and wait for help. And then Harry cast a disillusionment charm over himself and began to steal towards the centre of Hogsmeade.

It didn't take him long to find the source of the hubbub.

Harry didn't recognise the strange wizards launching their attack: all dressed in cultish, scarlet robes, but he did recognise the red and purple spells ricocheting off walls and shattering windows left, right and centre. He took a sharp breath. Harry didn't think any students had been hit yet; the sixth and seventh years sustained shield charms to protect the younger children, and occasionally hurried the children towards shops where they could hide. They huddled in terrified clusters: spilled bags by their feet like some kind of sick mockery of blood. No one seemed to be doinganything though, and whilst the wizards seemed content to just cause terror, Harry suspected they would start tearing the students down once their shield charms weakened.

From nowhere, Harry spotted Bea, dazed and clutching her arm, stumble out of range of the shield charms. And then Harry spotted the exact moment that one of the wizards noticed her.

He didn't have time to think.

"Stupefy!" The spell surged across the square and thudded into the wizard's chest. But as he crumpled to the ground, all attention immediately shot to Harry's direction and, soon enough, Harry himself. A disillusionment didn't tend to hold up under scrutiny, so he dissolved it.

And suddenly, Harry was fighting. It was almost thrillingly familiar, the thud of his heartbeat in his ears and the methodical calm into which Harry sank. Target, plan, execute, target, plan, execute.

Harry's advantage came from the element of surprise: the wizards had no idea of his level. Even so, the underestimation couldn't last long, and it was almost inevitable that Harry would have been overwhelmed by superior numbers had his efforts not incited a tentative courage in the other students. One person sent a stunner, another sent a tripping curse, and soon enough, Harry wasn't the only Hogwarts student fighting back; the courtyard turned into a battlefield.

Harry spotted Orion from a distance, defiantly protecting a group of 3 rd years, engaged in a furious duel. Harry's attention was torn away as strong white flame caught a nearby wizard and set him alight; the wizard screamed as he desperately tried to extinguish the fire.

Harry felt a prickle of warmth. Tom was here. And then from out of nowhere, Tom appeared at Harry's elbow, shooting him a quick, savage smile.

"Stopped sulking then?" Harry quipped.

Tom sent a bone-shatterer over his shoulder, the answering scream sharpening his smirk. "Surely not the priority right now."

"But you don't launch yourself into danger. What are you doing ?"

"Harrison, you could die." Tom rolled his eyes. "Stop talking."

Harry and Tom fought together like a dream. It was like being back at that snowball match from so long ago; they matched and complimented each other's temperaments perfectly; as Harry surged forwards, Tom sent a vicious cutting curse backwards, and their enemies crumbled.

It soon became apparent that the red-robed wizards were barely capable- clearly their leader hadn't expected much resistance.

"Who are they?" Harry yelled over the crackle and explosion of spells.

"Grindelwald!" Tom called back.

Fear ran down Harry's spine like icy fingers. So he had finally arrived, just like everyone had said he would. And he had come for Hogwarts. Frozen in horror, Harry let his guard down slightly, and that was enough. He felt a blinding pain in his hand and screamed, stumbling back and barely raising a shield in time to avoid the cutting spell to his throat.

Tom wasn't so lucky. He'd glanced around upon Harry's scream- Harry could only guess why he'd be such an idiot- and in doing so, hadn't seen the block of rock from above. Tom crumpled to the ground, blood leaking from a cut above his eyebrow and pooling on the cobblestones.

Suddenly Harry was on the defensive, pushed back as he desperately blocked and dodged and ducked. The pain in his hand throbbed and he swore, not sure how much of the wet dripping from his elbow was blood or sweat.

Shouldn't there be some kind of support here already? Where were the teachers? Perhaps they didn't know. Harry clenched his jaw and made a decision. It would both attract definitely attention and leave him wide open. But it had to be done.

"Expecto Patronum!" A familiar silver stag burst from his wand. "Find Merrythought. Tell her the village is under attack." His patronus inclined its head and faded away.

And suddenly Harry was pushed to the ground, a repulso narrowly skimming over his head, and shaking hands dragged him behind a fountain to safety. He glanced up, ready to thank Orion, or Bea, or maybe even Rupert at a pinch- but no. His jaw dropped open slightly. "Grahams."

Caspar Grahams smiled weakly, pale and sick looking. "Hello Harrison. Nice weather we're having."

"But you- you-"

"I'm going to see if I can grab Tom. Wait here."

As soon as Grahams crawled away, Harry became aware of the burning sensation in his hand. He glanced down and- wow, that was a lot of blood. And no finger.

"Fucking Pettigrew," he hissed, a stub where his little finger used to be. He gritted his teeth against the scream of pain, and shakily conjured some bandages. They were thin in places, but it would have to do.

Harry blinked fiercely to stop the tears of pain. Now was not the time. He lunged forward as Grahams dragged Tom's body around the corner, checking his unconscious pulse. With his heart in his throat, Harry felt a steady thrum beneath his fingertips.

"Thank fuck," Harry breathed. "I have to go back out."

"Don't be ridiculous," Grahams snapped, and looked surprised by his own anger.

But before Harry could throw himself towards certain death, there was the crack of apparition and Dippet's projected voice boomed through the village, ordering the students to retreat and find cover. It sent great waves of relief rolling over Harry, sinking deep into his pores. Safe. They were safe. The attackers must have disapparated soon after the teachers arrived, because it felt like barely five minutes before everyone was emerging from various shops and hiding places as Dippet assured them of their safety.

It seemed like the whole staff had answered the call: everyone from Dippet to Madam Longstock. They all looked grim.

"What happened?" Merrythought demanded, picking on a little third year who was shaking like a leaf. Harry thought it was rather cruel.

"We-we… I…-"

"They appeared out of nowhere," Matthew Stein, the Slytherin beater, cut in. Harry thought the third year might have been his brother. "We put up shields but we couldn't really think of what else to do. It all happened so fast, and, well, we were barely holding up." He looked ashamed. "And then Peters came out of nowhere and started fighting back."

Harry took a step back as the weight of a few hundred eyes fell upon his face. "It was everyone," he objected. "Everyone fought back. I just got help."

"The patronus was yours?" Merrythought asked, gentler this time.

Harry nodded wordlessly.

"A corporeal patronus," Dumbledore said, the first time he had spoken. He regarded Harry thoughtfully, as if his student had been born anew. "Impressive."

"Not really," Harry said, his jaw hardening as he met Dumbledore's gaze. "I just did something."

"Sometimes that's half the battle."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, looking the Conqueror of Grindelwald straight in the eye. "Yeah, it is."

And for a moment, it felt like the world held its breath.

Harry sat slumping in a hospital wing chair as Madam Hallpepper fussed over his hand. "Dark magic," she fussed, frowning deeply. "I can heal it over, but it won't ever grow back, I'm afraid."

"At least it wasn't my wand hand," Harry said glumly. His finger- or lack thereof- had been numbed by now, but it was utterly strange to look down and see it missing. He felt like it was still there.

"I've at least healed it over," Hallpepper said. "But I can't predict how dark magic will act. Do let me know if anything untoward happens."

"My whole life is 'untoward'," Harry muttered.

"What?"

Harry blushed with embarrassment. "Nothing. Er, how's Tom?"

"He'll be fine," she said, smiling kindly. "The injury looked much worse than it was. He should wake up any minute."

Harry released tension he hadn't even realised he'd been holding. He glanced around the wing. "And everyone else?"

"No fatalities, thank Morgana," Hallpepper said, rubbing a hand over her face. "But a fair few injuries. I've already had to send three to St Mungo's, and at this rate it may be four. We're just lucky that Mungo's sent in a few to help here." She pursed her lips. "You poor dears- if I could get my hands on those bastards- oh, good evening, Professor."

Harry glanced up and was only half-surprised to see Dumbledore standing over them, a jovial smile fixed firmly in place. He'd suspected that he'd be receiving a visit after the curious look Dumbledore had sent him only a few hours ago.

"Hello Hannah, dear," Dumbledore said. "I was just wondering if I could borrow Mr Peters?"

"Take him," she said, waving her hands. "I've got more than enough to keep me busy."

"Excellent." Dumbledore set a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Shall we take a stroll?"

Harry clambered to his feet, shaking off his teacher's grasp. "Of course, Professor. Lead the way."

As they wandered down the corridor towards Dumbledore's office- funny, Harry didn't have fond memories of his last visit there either- Harry remained stubbornly silent. He wasn't going to be the one to break the tension.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." But before Dumbledore could continue the small talk, Harry rushed on. "Are they coming back? Grindelwald's men? Is he coming here?"

"I believe this was a… scare tactic. Intimidation." Dumbledore held the door open for Harry. "Gellert has been rather tactical in his movements so far. I highly doubt he'll frequent our shores himself. There's no need to panic."

Harry looked at the man who he knew could end this terror. But why wasn't he doing it? "We're all scared, sir. Someone needs to stop him."

"He can't keep going forever, my boy. Good people will triumph."

"Until they don't."

"There's always hope."

A sharp interruption from the wall: "Oh, don't preach at the boy, Albus."

Harry glanced over to his left, recognising the same portrait he'd talked to all those months ago (maybe it was even a year), when Orion had used Dumbledore's floo to visit home. The bitchy portrait.

"Hello again." The portrait raised her eyebrows at Harry. 'Domineering' once again sprung to mind. "I see you've become sulkier."

"Harrison here has been quite a hero today," Dumbledore said, gifting Harry an approving smile. It was almost like he'd never suspected Harry of being a murderous maniac at all.

The portrait chuckled. "That boy just gave you one of the dirtiest looks I've ever seen, Albus. What did you do?"

"I made a grave error in judgement."

"You have changed much then," the portrait sniffed. "You always were a stupid baby."

"Wait, you're his mother ?" Harry spluttered, finally catching on.

"Unfortunately," the portrait agreed, and gestured to herself sarcastically. "Kendra Dumbledore, forced to watch the error of my womb stumble through life forever more."

" Mother ," Dumbledore rolled his eyes, and it was the oddest thing in the world to imagine Dumbledore as a child. This was why she'd known so much about him, Harry realised. She'd literally raised him.

"So what heroism have you been up to today then?" Kendra turned her attention back to Harry. "Saved a kitten? Invented a new potion? Comforted a Hufflepuff?"

Dumbledore didn't share in her amused smirk. "Gellert sent some of his men to Hogsmeade today. Harrison led the charge against them."

"Gellert? Grindelwald?" Kendra set her jaw. "I told you about that boy, Albus. I warned you he was no good."

"You can hardly claim to have known-"

"A mother always knows. And now look what's happened."

" Mother !" Dumbledore snapped. Harry flinched- he had never seen Dumbledore quite so angry. Dumbledore sighed, tension melted out of his frame. "You didn't see him like I did. He was a visionary. He was so bright ."

"You're too sentimental."

"Yes, well," Dumbledore said, a sharp look in his eye, "perhaps if you'd been more sentimental, she'd still be here."

"How dare you-!?"

Harry felt like he was intruding on something private and wondered if Dumbledore had perhaps forgotten he was there. Involuntarily, his breathing quickened. No, not now. It couldn't happen now.

Kendra must have caught sight of Harry as his face drained of colour. "What's the matter with him?"

"I-I'm fine," Harry said. He felt the attack recede and thanked whatever deity that was looking out for him. "I get these- attacks, I suppose, but I've talked to Madam Hallpepper about it. She says it's stress."

Kendra hummed and narrowed her eyes at him. "Perhaps I'll go and have a chat with Hannah."

"It's really not that big of a deal-"

"Don't talk back to me," she snapped. "Albus, we'll discuss this later."

"I look forward to it."

Kendra swept out of her frame, and for a few minutes Harry and Dumbledore just studied the background of the painting in silence: a dramatic set of red curtains and a large glass of wine set on a side table.

Dumbledore sighed and moved back towards his desk, straightening a quill. "She was a magnificent woman."

"I'm sure. She's hanging in your office, after all."

Dumbledore shook his head ruefully. "She would accept no other place."

"Where are her other frames?"

"She has one in the hospital wing, and she refuses to tell me where the other is." Dumbledore smiled fondly. "I think she enjoys the mystery." He perched on the edge of his desk. "So, ah, how is Mr Riddle?"

"He's okay. It looked worse than it was. They reckon he should be up any minute now."

Dumbledore paused, and perhaps with a grain of guilt, he said, "You've both done this school a great service."

It was like a bucket of icy water had been emptied over Harry's head.

"I mean, thought I was an attention-seeking liar," Harry said coolly. "But each to their own, I suppose."

"I think I ought to apologise, Harrison," Dumbledore said. "I'm afraid I made a terrible error in my treatment of you following the petrification incident last year. You came to me for help and I, being a stubborn old fool, refused you. Although, I am glad to see that you and Mr Riddle worked it out with no permanent casualties, so I'm content to have no idea what went on." His eyes twinkled in that mischievous way but it seemed darker, somehow. Harry didn't feel nearly as charmed as he once had. "I would also like to thank you for your brave efforts in the village earlier. You- and indeed, Mr Riddle- helped a lot of people, and I daresay saved a lot of lives. I have never been so grateful to be prove wrong."

"I just did the decent thing," Harry said flatly. "What anyone would do."

He watched as Dumbledore twiddled with the edge of his beard and crossed to consider his shelves, passing a hand thoughtfully over a familiar silver instrument. Finally, Dumbledore turned back to Harry with a morose sort of smile. "You're a good boy, Harrison."

Harry stood very straight, trying not to bristle. "I hardly think I'm a boy, professor."

"Ah yes, of course. I suppose you aren't, are you?" Dumbledore shook his head. "It gets rather confusing, you understand, trying to make a decision about when to start calling you all men and women. I often find it sounds very much like an order."

"I would say we're adults by now, sir." Harry had felt quite like an adult since he was fourteen.

"We force our youth to grow up younger and younger. Childhood is so precious ."

"Didn't your mother say something about preaching, Professor?"

"Yes, I suppose she did," Dumbledore allowed. "I suppose she did. Professor Merrythought speaks very fondly of you, you know."

"Really?" Harry's cheeks darkened. "That's nice of her."

"Quite the talent, she says. Perhaps we'll see you come back to Hogwarts in a few years, hm?" He lowered his voice secretively. "Galatea was suggesting that retirement may be in her near future. She says that she's been rejuvenated for the moment, but after that… who knows?"

"I think I'd make a rubbish teacher," Harry said, but he couldn't stop thinking of all the work he'd done in the DA and the pure buzz he'd gotten from it. There was something quite… dare he say it: 'magical' about helping people to become better.

"We can always surprise ourselves. And from what I've seen, you do seem like a natural leader."

Harry let that linger in the air for a moment, unsure how to answer. He finally said: "I should probably go and see if Tom's awake now."

Besides, Harry couldn't help but question why Tom had fought with him in the first place. He doubted Tom had done it on pure principle. There was something in the way that Tom had said 'you could die' that gave Harry the slightest suspicion that perhaps… just maybe, Tom had fought for Harry. And that gave him all kind of odd feelings.

Voldemort , Harry reminded himself. Tom was Voldemort. But the name barely seemed to hold any meaning anymore, and certainly not in connection to Tom: snarky, intelligent Tom, who only seemed to compromise when Harry was involved and looked at him with such intense focus Harry was sure he could see right through to his soul.

Plus, Tom had a nose.

A really nice nose.

"Certainly. Do let me know how you do. And pass on my well wishes to Mr Riddle."

"Thank you, Professor."

Harry nodded politely and left the office. As he closed the door behind him, he heard a rustling of fabric and the quick click of heels on the stone, and when he glanced down the corridor, he spotted the tail end of a robe disappear around the corner.

He had a sinking feeling that it might have been Tom. Who'd heard them talking about the attack, and Kendra, and… the chamber of secrets. Tom's chamber.

"Shit."

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