Harry studies hard, snogs Tom (a lot), and doesn't want to leave home.

I just realised, these two chapters have been up for a while on AO3 and I forgot to cross-post them on xD Oops! So enjoy a double-whammy of WMLALAYT?

LAST TIME: Harry and Tom deal with the aftermath of The Kiss. Harry is initially pleased and flattered by the revelation that Harry's death is Tom's boggart, but also remembers that Tom splinched his leg off. Orion enters and questions Harry about the time sand, which Harry answers by making up a story about him being from a different dimension. Good job, Harry. Just to finish it off, Tom reveals how he has killed his father. A strong foundation for a relationship. Harry decides against a relationship with Tom for obvious reasons (general dark lordy-ness), and Tom is not pleased. When Orion comes to visit, he tells Harry that he honestly thinks Tom has changed and Harry should offer him a chance. The Quidditch team also come to visit (Harry is popular), and reveal that Grindelwald is getting bolder, and Tom has been worried sick. Harry, struck by Tom allowing others to see his weakness, promptly plants one on Tom and agrees to date him. Atticus is not pleased.

There really was very little difference in dating Tom and not dating him.

Neither Harry nor Tom were particularly tactile. Tom had grown up in an orphanage, and the closest thing to intimacy Harry had experienced during childhood was his head under Dudley's armpit, so you could understand his distaste. Besides, Harry had Orion to provide all the suffocating affection he needed. What Harry and Tom were rather fond of, however, was snogging and arguing. And there was plenty of both now that NEWTs were upon them.

Tom took great pleasure in pressing books into Harry's arms and then raising a mysterious eyebrow when he questioned whether this was in the curriculum. Harry suspected that only about 50% of the material actually was, but he could hardly fact-check whilst he was trapped in a hospital bed.

When Harry finally got out of the hospital wing, it was the day before NEWTs began. Honestly, the preparation for NEWTs may have been the most stressful few weeks of Harry's life, and he'd faced the Dark Lord practically every year since he was into double digits. (And now he was smushing lips with him - Merlin, Harry needed to look at his life choices.)

Merrythought had been merciless in her support, and had increased their sessions to once, sometimes twice a day, so that when Harry walked into his first Charms exam it was with a sense of relief. Whatever and however he did in the exams, at least it would be over. And the stress of Charms was much reduced on the grounds that Tom didn't take it, and therefore couldn't regale Harry with the correct answers immediately after, as he did for Potions and Transfiguration.

Harry pretty much wrote off the Potions exam as soon as it happened. Half way through the allotted four hours, his scars had started phantom-prickling, and he'd dropped in three more drops of Sopophorous bean juice than necessary. Nothing had exploded, but his Draught of Living Death had still been lilac when he handed it in. If anything saved his Potions grade it would be the written section, which was a thought Harry had never before had in his entire life. Tom, of course, had finished ten minutes early.

Transfiguration actually went rather well. Harry could safely say that McGonagall would be proud of him - she might even have smiled. He'd successfully turned a table into an aardvark and his vanishment of said aardvark was nearly perfect. Harry was fairly sure he'd aced it.

Herbology was easy. Harry felt bad thinking it and he sent up a little apology to Neville, but he'd barely studied and he already knew he had an O. Maybe it was all that gardening Aunt Petunia made him do - Merlin knew, most wizards could barely hold a spade.

It was three weeks later, and then came his last exam. Defence. Harry had honestly never had so much fun in his life. A full hour of nothing but jinxes, curses and manoeuvres. Harry wasn't in danger, there were no beams of bright green light hurtling towards him, but Harry trusted that he'd know what to do if they did. And he was good at it, satisfyingly, marvellously good- so much so that he'd been able to correct one of Tom's answers when they came out of the Defence written exams. If Harry didn't get an O for that alone, he'd revolt.

It was after his final Defence exam, walking down the corridor with Orion, that Harry saw Septimus. His (ex-boyfriend? Ex-fan? Ex-one-time-date?) friend was standing in the courtyard, hanging on a pillar and leaning in to laugh with a girl. She had her back to Harry, but it was probably Artemis. Harry paused to watch him, something funny and sour in the pit of his stomach, and then Septimus' head popped up and like he had a sixth sense of some kind, his gaze directly met Harry's.

His face lit up.

"Harry!" Septimus called out, and now Harry couldn't pretend that he hadn't been staring creepily so he smiled, waved and meandered over as if he'd been planning to all along. Orion was caught up in conversation with a fifth year.

"Septimus."

Artemis gave Harry a small sort of nod and wandered off, placing a parting hand on Septimus' shoulder. Harry dug his hands into his pockets.

"How are you feeling?" Septimus' face was just as kind as he remembered. "I heard you were in the hospital for a while."

"Oh, yeah. Well, I'm out now." Harry chuckled half-heartedly. He glanced down at his hands. The scars had finally healed up and they still held their golden gleam, so he looked barely different at all. He felt different though. Less heavy. There was an ease to every spell and every step that he hadn't realised he was missing.

"What was it?"

"Hay fever. Bad… hay fever."

"Oh." Septimus raised an eyebrow. "Myrtle told everyone you were dying."

"That explains some of the well-wishers I've had," Harry chuckled. The members of the 'Saviour of Hogwarts' fanclub had made their concern known. Loudly and frequently.

"She seemed very concerned."

"She's dramatic, bless her."

Septimus snorted. "How are exams? I'm not looking forward to next year."

"Oh, I just finished. It was my last one."

"Did it go well?" Septimus perked up with excitement.

Harry smirked. "Yeah."

"I love your modesty."

Harry squinted. He could never work out whether Septimus was serious or not. All that damn earnestness. He winced. "Look, Septimus, I just wanted to apologise-"

"It's fine. I heard about you and Tom. I was right, huh?" Septimus shrugged, and his grin was sort of sad.

"I realise that I didn't speak to you properly after that whole Hogsmeade thing - a lot of stuff was going on, Tom wasn't speaking to me - but that's not an excuse. I'm sorry."

"I understand." Septimus' smile gained a mischievous quality. "Besides, I'd have never gotten to know Cedrella if you hadn't run off to save the school."

"You rogue!" Harry felt a cool wash of relief and playfully slapped Septimus' shoulder. "Did you protect her from the Dark Lord?"

"No, we hid behind a case of Cauldron Cakes until the fighting stopped."

Harry considered that for a moment. He didn't understand how you could just hide away when the people around you were in danger, but he supposed this was that self-preservation instinct everyone was always going on about.

"Anyway, Cedrella's a Black, so her family would have killed me if I'd let her wander out into danger. We thought best to stay out of it."

"She's a Black?" Merlin, how many of them were there? It was a bloody infestation.

"Mm," Septimus scratched his chin self-consciously. "And a Slytherin, so my blood traitor family will be delighted. I've never cared much for house divides though," and he looked pointedly at Harry's own green badge. "I don't think her family will agree."

"It'll work out if you like each other enough. It's not as if she murdered your parents," Harry chuckled faux-lightly.

"…That's very specific."

"Just considering the possibilities."

"NEWTS and OWLS are over, and Hogwarts is officially lifted from its dark curse!"

Rupert's dramatic declaration sent a ripple of excitement through the Slytherin common room. A first year started clapping, and suddenly the entire room was applauding, the other seventh and fifth years whooping and hollering. Rupert caught a thrown bouquet and took a deep bow.

"Thank you, thank you! I take full responsibility for the end of exams; May they never darken our doorstep again!" He sniffed the bouquet appreciatively. "And great conjuration, Beastone. It'll be a travesty if you don't get an O."

Bea grinned viciously. "Too damn right!"

"Can you conjure me up a date?" A fifth year boy with a shock of black hair sent a lecherous wink across the room, and Bea gestured rudely.

"Fuck you, Michaels!"

Her insult provoked an even louder cheer and the party properly began. His acceptance speech over, Rupert collapsed onto one of the sofas, a self-satisfied smirk plastered firmly onto his face.

"Done holding court?" Harry asked drily.

"I can't help it if they worship me," Rupert shrugged carefully. "Besides, if you want to talk about holding court, look at you and lover-boy there."

Harry had to admit he had a point. The seating arrangement, which had become fixed throughout the year, was centred around Tom, who sat in the comfiest and largest armchair by the fire. The rest of the group had situated themselves on the surrounded sofas - except for Harry who, due to his new relationship status, was perched on the arm of Tom's chair.

"There's no need to be jealous, Rupert," Tom said calmly, moving his hand to rest on Harry's knee. "Just because Mariana Wheelan found studying for her OWLs more interesting than your penis."

Rupert's cheeks gained a light flush of colour and he sank back into the sofa, his movement almost disguising his faint muttering of "iron". Tom's hand squeezed Harry's knee lightly. A seventh year leaned over Rupert's shoulder to offer a congratulatory drink which he accepted and as he brought it up to his lips, Harry saw Tom's wrist flick subtly. Moments later, Rupert spectacularly spat his drink into Atticus' face.

"Morgana, that's grim!" he spluttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Must have had dirigible juice or something." He turned around to try and catch the boy who'd given it to him, but soon returned his attention to the group, evidently giving up. "I can still taste it," Rupert complained. "Fucking dirigible juice. Here, Atty; you're weird. I bet you like it." He offered the glass to Atticus who looked offended.

"I'm not 'weird'. And I don't like dirigible juice."

Orion frowned. "You were drinking it at breakfast this morning."

A pause. Atticus accepted the drink bad-temperedly and mumbled, "Whatever."

Harry peered down at Tom and saw a tiny smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. He rolled his eyes and flicked Tom's ear.

Tom jumped minutely and glanced up. "What did I do?"

"You know what you did."

Tom's eyes sparked with warmth and he sent Harry a sly smile. Harry tried to react purely with exasperation, but he couldn't contain his amusement. They grinned at one another.

"You two are so sweet," Orion cooed. "Look at you, doing all that secret couples communication."

"I'm telling him he has three days to live," Harry said very seriously, and Tom nodded.

"I suggested he make it two."

Orion sighed. "Adorable."

The events of earlier that day crawled uncomfortably under Harry's skin and he leaned in closer to Tom. "Did you know Septimus Weasley has a girlfriend?"

"That awkward ginger boy you went to Hogsmeade with? No, I didn't know. Or care."

"They're keeping it quiet, I imagine. It's Cedrella Black."

"Orion's cousin?" Tom's eyebrows shot up. "How peculiar. I imagine the Blacks won't be best pleased with that."

"No, probably not." Harry frowned and considered it. The silence lingered for too long.

"Why do you care so much about the Sepsis boy?" Tom asked, watching Harry carefully. "Jealous he has a new obsession?"

"No, of course not. Maybe. I don't know." Harry focused intently on tracing patterns into the pattern of the armchair fabric. "Maybe I'm worried about him. Or guilty about how I treated him. Or maybe I just… liked being liked. I'm allowed to do that, right? I can like some attention. It doesn't make me Malfoy just to like a bit of attention."

Tom grasped Harry's chin and directed his gaze up to meet his. "I have no idea what you're talking about, but I do know you have something infinitely better than Weasel."

"What?"

"Me."

Harry considered. "I like to think of you as a consolation pri- mph!"

But Tom had already pressed his lips to Harry's and Harry relaxed into the kiss, surrendering to the pressure of Tom's mouth against his. He pressed closer, falling into the seat of the armchair until he was half-sat on Tom. He brought his hand up to tangle his fingers in Tom's hair, tugging lighting and eliciting a light hiss from his boyfriend. Harry drew back slightly and mumbling teasingly: "If only it was ginger." When Tom re-initiated the kiss, it was bruising.

Atticus' petulant whine interrupted them. "Some of us are trying to eat nibbles. I think I just threw up a little in my mouth."

Rupert's response was more jeering. "Well, I was enjoying the show."

Harry rolled his eyes and finally pulled away from Tom. "I know watching us is the only action you get, Atticus, put you can look away," he said, perhaps a little cruelly.

"Shut up, muggle-lover," Atticus snarled, and there was deep, deep hatred in his glare.

One of the passing prefects tapped Tom on the shoulder: "Tom, I've seen the new rota and I can't do Tuesdays-"

Harry moved away to sit next to Orion. Tom was insufferable when he started talking schedules.

"That was mean," Orion reproached.

"What?" Harry lowered his voice. "Atticus has been unbearable ever since Tom and I started- you know."

"It's hard for him. He's always liked Tom, you know."

"What- 'liked'?" For some reason, Harry hadn't thought Atticus was capable of feeling anything beyond disgust or muggle-hating.

"For years."

"But why-"

"His parents would never have tolerated it - and Tom certainly wouldn't have - but he's never been able to get over it." Orion hesitated. "I'm not saying he's a good person or even vaguely pleasant-"

"Orion!" Harry crowed delightedly. "That was almost snide!"

"-But there's a lot more going on. It's hard for him to see something coming true that he… that he thought was impossible, but it's just not happening to him." And if Orion's smile was a little pained, Harry didn't say anything.

Harry considered Atticus thoughtfully. He was conversing with Rupert, but every now and again his gaze would flicker towards Tom, constantly checking whether he was looking at him, noticing him. Harry felt a tiny pang of sympathy. He knew what that was like: to have Tom become the centre of your world, against everything you'd ever thought you knew.

Atticus was attractive, he noticed, probably more so than Harry, but there was something underconfident and insecure that shrunk him, reduced every fine symmetrical feature until they seemed deceptive and false. And for the first time, Harry wondered when that had come about. Had it been in third year, when he started noticing Tom's smooth gait? Had it been first year, when he'd first met Tom's eyes? Or had it been sixth year, when Tom introduced them to Harry and Atticus fell another rung in the ladder?

"He's still a wanker," Harry said thoughtfully.

Orion hugged a pillow to his chest. "That's fair."

"Who's a wanker?" Rupert interrupted eagerly, catching the tail-end of their conversation.

Harry thought quickly. "Ringo Starr."

"Who's that?"

"He's a muggle thing."

Harry saw Atticus' nose wrinkle with disgust and decided, yes, he was certainly a wanker.

"So how did Defence go for everyone?" Orion asked loudly, a very obvious attempt at distraction that the group simultaneously decided to allow.

"Absolute disaster," Rupert admitted easily, shifting on the sofa so that he lay on his back, his head dangling over the front of the seat and his feet hung over the back cushion. "That examiner bitch asked me to non-verbally reducto this statue, and I could barely get his dick to fall off."

"I don't think you should call someone a bitch for asking you to do something that's on the curriculum," Orion said mildly.

"Whatever. She enjoyed watching me fail."

"Atticus?"

"Fine. It was fine."

Rupert hooted with laughter. "Batty-Atty here forgot the incantation for the Stickfast Hex."

Atticus bared his teeth. "You said you wouldn't tell!" And his arm slashed down and suddenly Rupert was reeling back, clutching his pus-swollen eyes.

"Children!" Tom said sharply. "This is a celebration."

All of a sudden, the door to the common room swung open and Peter Rowling charged in. His eyes were bright and feverish and his face switched wildly, as if he wasn't sure which emotions he was supposed to be feeling. Tom stood, and a hush descended. All eyes turned to Peter.

"I-it's Grindelwald," Peter panted, his voice shrill and high. "He's dead. Dumbledore killed him."

Harry felt an obscene joy rise within him and a smile brighter than any before spread across his face. Dumbledore had finally done it.

"What happened?" Tom asked quietly, and as Harry glanced around the common room, he realised not everyone seemed as delighted as him. There was an odd sort of tension: it wasn't mourning, but it certainly wasn't the joy that Harry was sure was going on in the Gryffindor common room.

"There was a duel in Bulgaria. They say it lasted for hours. But Dumbledore won," Peter breathed, and it felt like the entire common room looked to Tom for their response.

Tom was very still for a moment. "Well, then," he said carefully, and not without a touch of irony. "Long live Dumbledore."

The students returned to the party, but there was something different in the air now. An uncertainty and a suspicion. Over the next half hour around half of the students filtered out of the room, probably to OWL their parents or talk more privately. Atticus and Rupert were among them.

Tom disappeared to talk politics and probably to confirm that the news wasn't just the delusion of a third year. Harry and Orion stayed seated, even if it felt like they should be celebrating. Harry had the odd feeling that if he moved, the spell would be broken and it would all go back to how it was before.

This was the state that Cassius found him in.

"Harrison," Cassius said mildly, and turned his attention to Harry's seat-mate. "Orion. Would you mind going?"

"Oh." Orion blinked at the rather abrupt dismissal. But it was Cassius, after all, so the surprise didn't last for long. "I suppose I'll go and find Stubbs. See what he thinks of this whole business."

And Orion wandered into the crowd, leaving Harry and Cassius alone.

"Cassius," Harry greeted. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"I've been having excruciating headaches." Cassius' expression barely flickered from its default, emotionless state. "I've spent half my time bedresting. Your almost-dying was very loud. Lots of shifting. It's been agony."

"Well, I'm glad I wasn't the only one."

"Yes. At least we both suffered." And even though Cassius' tone barely shifted, Harry still felt an irritating pang of guilt. That had been harsh.

"I didn't mean it like that."

A lock of hair fell into Cassius' eye. "Shouldn't you be celebrating?"

Harry sank further into the sofa. "Probably."

"You're not, though."

"It's difficult to celebrate when half the House skulked off to sob over their Grindelwald shrine."

Cassius tilted his head curiously. "They're only bigots."

"Yes. Well. That's enough for me." Harry sighed with resignation. "I should be happy though. Things are finally moving in the right direction."

"They're certainly moving," Cassius allowed. "I'll give you that."

Harry narrowed his eyes and his spine stiffened. "What are you getting at?"

"It's incredibly broad to classify anything as the 'right direction'. When a mirror cracks, it splinters in all directions, right or wrong." Cassius smiled slightly. "When someone makes an impact, there are bound to be casualties."

Harry tracked Cassius' gaze as it moved steadily over everyone in the room and, despite himself, he felt a cold prickling on the back of his neck. "What do you mean?"

"Just that actions have consequences. The universe is a scale. Sometimes, you might not like how it tips."

Gritted teeth. "Could you give me a straight answer for once in your fucking life?"

Harry met Cassius' eyes, and Bellatrix Lestrange's eyes stared back.

"Carnage is subjective," Cassius said softly. "Get ready."

He left, as he usually did, leaving Harry with more questions than answers.

When the clock struck midnight, Harry and Tom were swaying to the up-and-coming Celestina Warbeck (whom Orion had declared would never last). It still amazed Harry how easily they'd fallen into a relationship. There were no stilted dates or long pauses. But he supposed they'd been kind of dating for a while, and there was nothing like near-death experiences to alleviate awkwardness.

As the saxophone rang out with 'hot, strong love', Harry tentatively tightened his grip on Tom's waist. They hadn't discussed Grindelwald's defeat since Peter Rowling ran in with the news, and Harry's heart pounded at the response he might receive.

"So," he said, gritting his teeth with frustration as his voice cracked. "Grindelwald is dead."

"So Rowling says."

"What do you think?"

Tom studied Harry carefully, and Harry tried desperately to look like he wasn't imagining Tom victoriously scooping up Grindelwald's fallen wand and declaring himself the new Dark Lord.

"I think," Tom said, very deliberately, and the expression he offered Harry was warm, "that before, I had very little care for what Grindelwald did. He could have razed this country to the ground and - as long as I wasn't in the way - I would have gone on living quite happily." Harry's stomach dropped. "But I have something to value now. Protect, I suppose-"

"I don't need protection-"

"I'm aware," Tom drawled, and Harry knew they were both remembering their rather violent duels. "But if I protect you, you protect me, yes? I think that's the deal."

"I dunno if I'd necessarily 'protect' you, Riddle. If I threw you behind me, it'd probably slow Grindelwald's men down."

Tom took Harry's hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. "You lost a finger for me," he said softly, greedily.

"That wasn't for you. Total coincidence."

"I will protect you, Harrison Peters, for the rest of your days. You're mine, now."

"You're so creepy," Harry said fondly. He moved closer, resting his head on Tom's shoulder. "Atticus wanted Grindelwald to win, didn't he?" The words felt taboo saying them aloud.

"Yes, I believe he did."

"I don't understand how he could do that. People were dying."

Tom didn't respond, and Harry knew Tom didn't feel the same as he did. Tom couldn't care less how many people died. Still, it meant something that he hadn't rushed off to conspire as soon as he heard the news; he wasn't launching his ministry spies or contacting dark creatures. He was here, with Harry.

And Harry couldn't stop himself from saying, "Don't do it, Tom," in a choked, small voice.

"Don't do what?"

"You have so much potential for good. Or at least benevolent neutrality. You could be Minister." And Harry's mind was filled with visions of Tom in luxurious, formal robes, exchanging niceties with diplomats and signing bills with a confident smirk.

Riddle chuckled, his chest vibrating against Harry's cheek. "Although I may not know what I'm doing after Hogwarts, I have no intention of working in the ministry."

"But you could." Harry pulled back and fixed his gaze intensely on Tom's. "You and I both know how backwards the Wizarding World is. You could be a force for change, for good."

Tom laughed. "I want power, not good will." And as Tom's eyes meandered over the purebloods of Slytherin, it was clear where he thought that power lay.

"And you could have it. The world inevitably moves towards progression, new ideas. Look at Dumbledore. He's one of the most powerful wizards in the world. For Merlin's sake, his defeat of Grindelwald is a fucking metaphor! Progression beats tradition. You could be that progression."

"Dumbledore hasn't actually achieved anything."

"But you could. You have the perfect story: muggleborn-"

"-halfblood-"

"-orphan, incredibly talented. You're an unbelievable success story."

"It's true, I am."

"This isn't meant to be an ego trip for you."

"How could it not be, when you're saying such nice things?" It was clear Tom was trying his very best not to take Harry seriously.

"Listen to me," Harry said firmly. "You can convert people to believing that muggleborns are decent people. Look at Orion. Look at what interacting with a few muggles did for him. But you can't make people who already know the truth believe a lie-"

"Maybe it's not a lie."

"Tom, you know as well as I do that muggleborns are just as talented as purebloods. And muggles aren't the devil incarnate."

Tom's face was unreadable. "Not all of them."

"Not all of them. You could have power," Harry offered. "But people would give it to you. Capitalise on all of-" he gestured around them "-this."

Tom's eyes were set, glazed over Harry's head and Harry realised he was no longer in the room. He was somewhere else, thinking on something else. He hoped it wasn't about becoming a Dark Lord.

"Tom?" Harry asked, and he didn't realise how vulnerable his voice was until Tom looked down at him with an expression so soft and comforting. This was the Tom Riddle no one else got to see. Harry wondered if this was the Tom Riddle who died when Voldemort was born.

"Shut up, Peters," Tom said fondly. "I've got a cauldron full of hot, strong love, it's a recipe so rare…"

They swayed to the deep hum of Tom's voice in Harry's ear.

Dumbledore's defeat of Grindelwald was understandably the most popular gossip in Hogwarts, Mary Walgreen's pregnancy scare coming a close second. Just to fuel the rumours, Dumbledore hadn't returned to school and his classes were taken over by Dippet. There were whispers of him either on the cusp of death or planning a campaign for minister of magic. Harry assured everyone that he'd be back teaching Transfiguration next year, but no one other than Tom or Orion believed him.

The accounts of the legendary duel only grew in drama. It began as a respectable fifteen minute wizard duel where Grindelwald slipped for a moment and Dumbledore incapacitated him, but grew into an epic tale: Dumbledore rode into battle on the back of a dragon, trampling the Dark Lord in his path; Dumbledore had been disarmed and injured but decimated Grindelwald with the pure strength of his wandless magic; Dumbledore summoned mysterious creatures of great power from the depths of a great lake to overwhelm the dark forces and then put on a pantomime for the local children. Dumbledore might as well have been Merlin by the time the game of Chinese whispers was done. The best part of it all was how progressively irritated Tom got (although he'd been weirdly distracted; Harry had expected more fuming and less contemplation.)

Harry had to admit the defeat had lifted a weight from his shoulders. For the first time since he had been aware of magic, there was no Dark Lord to defeat, no villain to overcome. Except the one he was dating.

Still, Harry had more important things to focus on. Applications for TOADS had opened up only a week after NEWTs ended and he had a short three week-long window to get his in. He and Tom had returned to their regular library sessions together, so Harry was using it as an opportunity to get the application done without distraction.

It was a terrible idea.

Harry stared mindlessly ahead, avoiding the mind-numbingly boring application ('list three scenarios where you exhibited due diligence') and let himself get lost in the sharp lines of Tom's jaw, the gentle curve of his ear. Could you be attracted to someone's ear?

"Ogling hardly seems conducive to your application," Tom said mildly, although his eyes never left the parchment in front of him. How had he known? "You're quite obvious."

Great, now he was reading minds as well. "Yeah, well, you're an obvious arsehole," Harry muttered half-heartedly, and let his forehead fall to rest on the table. "This is so boring."

"That may be, but you want to be an Unspeakable, don't you?"

"Less so by the minute."

"Well, you might not even make the NEWT requirements, so no harm applying."

"Wow. Your support is overwhelming."

Tom smirked. "I'm very supportive." And suddenly his lips were on Harry's neck, peppering kisses from his neck to his ear and biting teasingly at the lobe. Harry blushed hotly and pushed Tom away.

"Th-that's not fucking conductive to my application," he stuttered, and instinctively glanced around to check if anyone had seen.

"Conducive, dear," Tom said smugly, and with a careless shrug, returned to his studies.

Harry watched Tom, suspicion that he would let it go just like that and half-hoping he wouldn't. When it finally became clear that Tom was once again immersed in his work, Harry let out a deep sigh and went back to doodling a broomstick on the table. When he was done he'd clear it away with a quick scouring spell and start over again. The word 'diligence' loomed out at him from the form.

Finally bored with his illustrated Quidditch match (he'd never forgive himself for missing that match and losing Slytherin the cup) Harry shuffled over to the edge of his seat so that he could peek at Tom's work. When he saw the word 'APPLICATION' printed across the top, he tried to grab at it to take a closer look, but Tom quickly slid it underneath a book on the evolution of the modern unicorn.

"What are you applying for?" Harry asked curiously, trying to get a glimpse of Tom's neat notes. Tom placed an obscuring arm over them and rolled his eyes.

"Nothing relevant to you."

"Are you applying to do TOADS too? I've always wondered why you're not- I mean, you're a million times cleverer than me-"

"Because I don't need to, we've had this conversation. Everything I want to do only needs practical knowledge and besides, I can always do TOADS later if I want. They're not going anywhere."

"Then what are you applying for?"

"None of your business."

"Tom…" Harry wheedled, running a gentle hand over his shoulder.

"I'm not telling you, Harrison."

"Please?"

"Just give me some trust," Tom snapped, and Harry flinched back in shock. "I feel like I'm constantly under suspicion."

"You're not-" Harry began to say, and paused. He kind of was.

"Precisely." Tom slid his parchment out from under the book and began to scribble again, angling his body to disguise it from Harry.

"I'm sorry," Harry said softly. He turned his attention back to his own form, staring at the words. They began to swim before his eyes. "Hey, Tom."

"Mmm?"

"What does diligence mean?"

"Oh, for Morgana's sake-"

"So I just need you to write my reference and then I can send the application off."

"Yes, I understand that," Merrythought said, still raising a quizzical brow.

"I just thought you would be the best teacher to ask."

"I agree."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, leaning forward in his chair. "But why do you look so confused?"

"…Why is Black here?"

Orion perked up in the seat next to Harry. "Oh, I'm applying to do TOADS too. And I need a reference from my Defence teacher."

Merrythought considered the pair of them doubtfully. "I feel like I'm ordaining your wedding."

Orion laughed. "Don't be silly. Besides, it's not me that Harry would be marrying."

Merrythought rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "I'm not so sure. Riddle's never struck me as the marrying type."

This was not a conversation Harry wanted to be having with a teacher. He fixed his eyes on the painting on the wall. "You know about that?"

"Despite what my old age may suggest, I do still retain the ability to spot two of my students furiously snogging at the back of my classroom."

Harry turned a fetching maroon.

"And in the middle of a lesson too. If you drop a mark in Banishment, we'll know why."

"I- I didn't- I-"

"Oh, can it, Peters. I've seen worse." Her expression became reflective. "I remember my first year of teaching, I made the error of not casting a Homenum Revelio before I opened a broom cupboard. Amy McIntyre could never make eye contact with me again."

Oh God, Harry wanted the conversation to end.

"I'll treasure the memory of her traumatised excuses. 'I dropped my quill and I was looking for it. Collin has a bad back, that's why he was stood up, I swear.' It was like she didn't realise I was 30 and had already experienced every-"

"I don't need to know," Harry said very quickly and loudly.

Orion hadn't caught on. "But I wanted to know if she found her quill."

Merrythought squinted. "Sometimes I worry about you, Black."

Orion shrugged.

"But very well, I'll let Peters go back to a normal colour."

Harry sighed with relief and sank into his chair.

"I'll miss tormenting teenagers when I retire."

Harry shot back up. "When you- what?!"

"When I retire, Peters. It's what happens when you get to my age and your bones start creaking and groaning. They never used to do that," she said mournfully. "I reckon they could do their own sound effects."

"But you can't retire."

"And yet I am. Don't be so surprised, Peters, I was all set to retire at the end of last year. I only stuck around because of you."

"Because of me?"

"You and your ridiculous plan to become an Unspeakable based on sub-par NEWTS."

"I wasn't predicted anything below an A!"

"-But now I can leave, safe in the knowledge that if you don't achieve your dream, it will be you - and not your education system - which has failed."

"What a comforting idea."

"I thought so too," Merrythought said bracingly. "Buck up, Peters. You're leaving too so it'll hardly affect you."

It was strange to consider. Harry had never had a Defence teacher for longer than a year, so she had become a kind of staple. There was a moment of silence as Harry considered this, before Orion piped up timidly.

"So, er… could you write our references?"

"Oh, yes, of course-"

"I'm sorry, it's just they need to be in this week."

"So was it just a general character reference-?"

Harry sat back and contemplated a Hogwarts without Merrythought.

Exactly one week before the end of term, and thus Harry's time at Hogwarts, he was taking in the morning sunshine by Great Lake. Tom was deep into explaining some complex Transfiguration theory that Harry was doing his best to tune out, when he noticed two owls winging their way towards the pair.

Harry clambered to his feet and pointed, interrupting Tom mid-flow. "Look!"

"Oh," Tom remarked, standing up and following Harry's gesture. "Offers are out today."

"Shit." Harry could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Offers. TOADS offers. This was the moment that could define whether he managed to get home. Ron. Hermione. Bloody hell, he really hadn't put enough effort into his application. He'd gotten complacent, and he was fairly sure he'd misspelt 'diligence'.

As the owls grew closer and closer, Harry's heart pounded faster and faster. He must have been cutting off Tom's circulation with how hard he was squeezing his arm. To his credit, Tom hardly complained, watching the owls progress with a steady, calm eye.

Two owls, Harry realised. One for each of them. Just what had Tom been applying for?

And although it seemed like it would never happen, the owls reached them at long last, perching on a low hanging branch and waving their legs in what Harry thought was a rather taunting manner.

"I can't look," Harry said faintly. "I actually can't look."

Tom rolled his eyes and patted Harry's head (Harry was too nervous to find it insulting). "I'll do it then."

Harry wanted to call out and stop him - if he never knew, surely he'd never failed? - but he appeared to be frozen. He was powerless as Tom reached out and took the envelope labelled 'HARRISON PETERS', sliced open one side, and unfolded the content. Tom read, his eyebrows raising slightly in surprise. With each silent minute that ticked by, Harry felt his heart rise further and further into his throat.

At least, he managed to gasp out, "Well?"

"You got an offer. Three O's, an EE and an A to qualify."

"Oh, thank fuck," Harry gasped, falling onto his knees. He ran a shaking hand through the grass, letting it ground and soothe him. Maybe this was what a heart attack felt like. His head rose again. "Hang on- Three O's, an EE and an A?"

"Mm. An O in Defence required, but the other marks can come from anywhere. Isn't that generous?"

"That's one higher than the typical offer!"

"I suppose they want you to prove yourself."

"Fuuuck," Harry groaned, and he slumped onto his back. Perhaps he could lie here forever. No one would notice. He hadn't gotten an EE in that Potions exam, he knew he hadn't. Defence should be fine; Transfiguration should be fine; he'd nailed Herbology; but Charms…. He might have missed it with Charms. Shit.

"I got an offer." Tom's voice was soft and disbelieving.

Harry raised his head. "To where?"

"It's two years, but that's a start. It's a taste, at least."

"What is?"

Tom offered Harry a smile. "I got a ministry placement."

Harry lost his tongue.

"I applied late, but Professor Slughorn sent his personal letter of recommendation so they offered me a place. It's a rotating position through each department, with the ultimate goal of a senior position. It's how Minister Spencer-Moon got into the ministry." Tom raised an eyebrow. "Well? Are you going to say anything?"

Harry swallowed, his throat very dry all of a sudden. "B-but I thought you didn't want to work in the ministry."

"Well, I considered what you had to say. Very quickly," Tom said drily, "because the applications were supposed to be in before NEWTS. And I realised you may have had a point. I've always wanted power. Might as well try the easy way first."

"But- defence teacher-"

"A few years of training at the ministry can hardly hurt, can it? Besides, Hogwarts would never hire anyone under 30. Perhaps I'll get some experience in the auror department."

Harry stared at Tom, trying to process what he was saying, trying to hammer it through his skull.

"I thought you'd be happy," Tom said flatly. "I didn't do this for you, mind, but you were a factor. Address some of that suspicion."

And as Harry looked at Tom and Tom looked back, Harry realised that he knew. Knew what Harry had seen, what Tom might one day become. Harry hadn't exactly been subtle after all, and Tom thought he was a seer. Knew he knew the future. He knew.

"You have literally never been hotter," and the words fell from Harry's mouth before he could stop himself.

Tom smirked. "Now I know that's not true. I've seen your face after I get out of the shower."

"You've never been hotter with your clothes on," Harry amended.

"What a compliment." Tom chuckled, but it wasn't genuine. And then he hesitated, and it was so unlike him - this entire conversation was so unlike him - that Harry did something equally out-of-character.

He prodded. "What is it?"

Tom's face barely twitched. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Tom."

Harry watched his boyfriend consider the parchment as if searching for some hidden text or answer.

Harry began to get worried. "What is it? Just tell me, please."

"The placement," Tom didn't meet Harry's eye. "It comes with accommodation. A flat on Intern Alley. So I'll be living there."

"…Are you breaking up with me? Already?"

"What? No," Tom dismissed, shooting Harry one of his patented 'I can't believe you'd be so stupid' looks. "I'm asking you to move in with me. After Hogwarts."

"We've only been together for three months."

"I know."

"Tom, that's crazy. Actually, clinically, insane."

"It's free. Think of it as flat-sharing with a friend."

"But I happen to snog that friend on the side."

Tom smirked. "I hardly think you're complaining about that."

And Harry could see how Tom was reaching out; he could see how much effort this must be costing him. He'd been trapped in an orphanage his whole life, never a moment to himself, no peace or quiet. To have his own space and then offer to share it - no matter how he might feel about Harry - was fairly monumental. Tom was giving a lot to this thing they were trying. Maybe Harry should reach back.

Plus, he really needed somewhere to stay when he left Hogwarts.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Sure. This isn't commitment though. I stand by what I said: trial period. This is just the most convenient arrangement."

"Very well."

"And you're not kicking me out if we break up."

"I'll kick you out whenever I like," Tom said tartly. But no matter what he said, Harry knew he wouldn't. And that was how they worked: half-meanings and insults, but Harry liked it. It was exciting, it was dynamic. And there was an odd kind of comfort in it.

And as Harry pulled Tom down next to him, to roll in the grass and breathe in the June air, to feel his strong, safe flesh against his own and to convince himself this was all so very real, he revelled in the fact that he'd changed something. For once, there were no thoughts of the future or the struggle ahead of him or the goals that seemed so far away. Tom was going to work in the ministry. Tom had thoughts other than immortality in his head. Tom was listening to him.

Tom might be okay.

Harry woke up the night before he left Hogwarts in a chill of terror. His breath was shallow and his sheets felt tight around him. He thought perhaps he was having a relapse, that the time turner had come back to haunt him and any minute his veins were going to set on fire- but no. It was just panic.

"Shit," he hissed, pressing a shaky hand to his chest and focusing on slowing down his heart. He'd grown depressingly accustomed to that. Harry stared out into the darkness, but he could make out nothing beyond the inky outline of a wardrobe. This wasn't the Gryffindor common room. He wasn't home. Or maybe he was; he couldn't think, and the panic rose up again-

There was a shuffling sound from across the room and Harry held his breath. He froze as a warm body climbed into bed beside him.

"H-hello?" he choked out.

"For Morgana's sake, Harrison, if I were a murderer you'd be dead by now."

"Tom?"

"You didn't even reach for your wand."

"What are you doing?"

"I could hardly lie in bed and just listen to your pathetic wheezing, could I?" But the way he sidled closer until they were shoulder to shoulder betrayed the harshness of his words. "Now tell me what's rampaging around in that ridiculous head of yours so I can go to sleep."

"I-I-"

"Come on, hurry up. I have an Ancient Runes class tomorrow and I may magically implode Scotland if I don't have enough sleep."

Harry stared down at what he could make out of his hands. "It's stupid."

"Probably," Tom allowed. "But still."

Harry laughed brokenly, wetly. Fuck, was he crying? "I don't want to leave."

"…Well, of course you don't. But you have to."

"I can't-" Harry brought his hand up to clutch at the silk of Tom's pyjamas. "-I can't do the bit that comes next."

"You can and you will."

"I don't know what I'm doing."

"Yes, you do. You're moving in with me, you're studying and then you're becoming an Unspeakable."

"No, you don't understand. I-I have some much to do and I can't."

"You have an offer-"

"What if I can't do it? I'm not clever, I-I'm nothing. I'm leaving, Tom."

Tom's voice flattened. "And so am I. You think Hogwarts isn't my home?"

"That's different."

"Why?"

"I have nothing."

"And I do?" Tom's mocking laugh was more unnerving in the pitch black.

Harry shuffled away. "I didn't-"

Tom's grip on his shoulder was firm - not bruising, or painful, but very definitely there. "Everything I have, I'm sharing with you. Because I know. I understand."

"I'm not strong enough." Harry ran a desperate hand over his face. "I need this place. I need the walls, they're- they're solid."

"So am I." Tom took Harry's hand in his own and laid it over his heart. The steady pulse was almost audible in the hush of the night. "And so are you."

"What?" Harry snorted. "We can be each other's castles?"

"Why not?"

"You don't know me, you don't-" Except Tom did, didn't he? He might not know Harry's past, but he knew his favourite dessert. He knew his Quidditch position. He knew he was shit at Charms. And he knew Harry would be up tonight - or maybe he'd been up himself. Either way.

"I've known you for two years, Harrison-"

"Call me Harry. Just for tonight."

"Harry."

And somehow whilst they were talking, Tom had manoeuvred Harry down onto his side, so they lay in Harry's bed, close enough to feel the other's breath on their face. There was a pause. It could have been ten seconds. It could have been ten minutes. Time was meaningless in the dark.

"I'm scared." Harry didn't think he had ever admitted that before. He wasn't supposed to be scared, not when he faced a troll, not when he fought a basilisk, not when he duelled the Dark Lord. But leaving Hogwarts seemed somehow worse than all of that.

"So am I. The world is vast and unkind to people like us. So we make them be kind."

"I've never done this before. Living alone. I'm so alone-" Harry choked – "What if I fail? There's no one to catch me, but there's never been anyone to catch me, but why is it suddenly so much more real?"

"I'm here." And Tom barely needed to say anymore. Or perhaps he couldn't.

They lay side by side until morning.

The final day of Hogwarts seemed like an out-of-body experience. The seventh-years had packed their bags the night before and they'd been moved to the train in the night, so when they woke up the dorm was startlingly empty. It felt disturbingly like every mark Harry had ever made on the castle was wiped away. He mentioned that to Tom, who told him he was ridiculous and pointed to at least three permanent scorch marks courtesy of Harry on the way down to breakfast alone.

Their morning classes were honestly, barely worth going to. Merrythought merely briskly informed them all of her retirement and let them have a free-for-all duel ("no maiming or murdering, please. Not this late in the term.") Despite her ominous words, the 'duel' turned into a competition on who could cast the most ridiculous spell; a previously-quiet Gryffindor won with a hex that had everyone speaking in limericks for thirty minutes (and with a Scottish accent, bizarrely).

Charms was also a doss. Professor Johnson spent much of the double lesson trying to wrestle back control of the class from Rupert, who'd decided that he should recount every answer he put down for the NEWTS, accompanied by sound effects and re-enactments. It made for amusing (and slightly depressing) listening. You knew it was really something when "when explaining the development of the levitation charm, it all started when this geezer in Ancient Greece couldn't get it up" was one of the more intelligent answers.

Harry wondered how Rupert planned to get a job, and promptly remembered that he had rich parents.

Herbology remained the most boring lesson possibly ever and seemed a fitting end to Harry's education. He spent much of it laughing with Orion over Professor Beery's blocked nose ("yeb de Biblefib ib bery ripe") and cared little when he rounded on them in fury. There was nothing less intimidating than a 5'7 Herbology teacher with hay fever.

Harry spent his final two frees curled up with Orion in the common room, soaking in this room which had once been so strange and now seemed so familiar. It could never be the Gryffindor tower, but it was close.

The entire day seemed to be dragging its feet reluctantly, limping towards dinner.

It was the oddest leaving feast Harry had ever experienced at Hogwarts. The house barriers seemed to have been torn down and although Ravenclaw had won the house cup, no one seemed to much care. It was a tradition during the leaving feast, Orion explained, for those in the years below to express their thanks to any seventh years who'd made an impact, and this usually meant the tables got all mixed up.

If there was one thing you could say about Harry's two years at 1940's Hogwarts, it was that he'd made an impact; so he was hardly surprised when Myrtle Warren slid into a seat next to him, stealing a carrot from his plate.

"Harrison," she said, and her eyes shone with that uncomfortable hero-worship which had never been there before the Chamber of Secrets incident.

"Myrtle," Harry said politely.

(Orion tried to introduce himself with a "Hello, Miss Warren", but she promptly ignored him and turned her attention back to Harry.)

"I'm glad you're better."

"Thank you. It was just a flu though."

Myrtle's jaw was set with fierce, familiar stubbornness. "You keep saying that, but I know better. Now everyone thinks I'm a liar. They keep coming up and telling me, you know; I was just trying to make sure everyone was worried for you-"

Her voice slipped back into its natural whine, and Harry felt a stab of guilt. Whilst he stood by his right to decide who knew about his health and how, he hadn't meant to discredit Myrtle along the way. And she didn't even know why her disappointment hurt him so much.

"Myrtle," he said, trying to remain detached. "I really do appreciate how much you cared when I was ill. But I'm quite a private person, see? I'd rather no one at all knew what was going on with me unless they're my friend, like you."

"Don't patronise me," Myrtle sniffed. "…I'm your friend?"

"Of course. You cared enough to come and see me in the hospital wing. That makes us friends in my book."

"Oh. Okay, then." The way Myrtle considered him now was more calculating, but overall far more normal, and it swelled Harry's heart. "Can I write to you?" she asked suddenly.

"Er, sure."

And before he knew it, two small arms were wrapped around his chest and he was encaged by a tight hug. "Thank you for saving me," Myrtle murmured. "I hope you're happy."

"I am."

And Myrtle scurried away back to the Ravenclaw table to be greeted by her friends with teasing and excited whispers. It was such a change from the first time that Harry had met her, and he felt his face soften. At least he'd done something good in this school.

"She's a strange little thing," Orion commented.

Harry watched Myrtle shriek with outrage and push a taller girl off the bench. "She's the kind of person to haunt a girls' bathroom."

And there was nothing more to be said on that.

Orion's smile grew as he looked over towards the Hufflepuff table and waved someone over. "Chloe! Over here!"

"Hello boys," Chloe Babbage wandered over cheerfully, leaning casually against the side of the table. Honestly, it was starting to feel like an airport: all this coming and going. She patted Harry on the shoulder. "Hullo, Peters. How were NEWTS?"

"Alright, I reckon." Harry remembered a kerfuffle halfway through an exam with which Chloe was involved somehow. He hadn't thought much of it at the time - there was usually some kind of kerfuffle with Chloe. "What was going on in that Potions exam?"

"Oh, I blew up a cauldron," Chloe said casually. "So I reckon that's a T."

"…Like, 'blew it up' blew it up?"

"Boom," she agreed. "Thank god for the individual silencing spells, else it might have mucked it up for the rest of you."

"How did you manage that?"

"Too much asphodel, I think. Or sloth brain, I don't really remember - I think I blacked out."

Harry took a moment to mourn her NEWT results - all that brain with so little attention span.

"So what were you doing at the Hufflepuff table?" Orion asked curiously.

"I was just saying goodbye to my brother. He has a little Hufflepuff girlfriend - they're so sweet. Although Merlin knows what he sees in the girl; her nailbeds are a disaster."

Harry directed a doubtful look at Chloe, whose nails were often ripped clean off. In fact, there was a bandage covering her index finger even then, which Harry was fairly sure was covering shiny, newly-healed skin.

Chloe noticed the direction of his gaze. "That's different. That's a battle wound. She's a first year, she's not battling anyone."

"It was just a bludger," Harry chuckled. "You weren't fighting Grindelwald."

Chloe grinned. "We don't need to anymore though, do we?"

Harry watched Chloe carefully - you had to watch people in Slytherin after Grindelwald's downfall, watch and judge their reaction - but she seemed genuinely happy. He relaxed. "Not that you'd know that from your nails."

"What are we all talking about then?"

Just to complete the Quidditch reunion, Druella abandoned a brief word with her brother to slide into the conversation. Harry hadn't seen her in ages; just glimpses of first year classes or match refereeing.

"Chloe's Quidditch-related wounds," Orion volunteered.

"It's a dangerous sport. I thought you did rather well this year, though."

"We didn't win," Chloe said, perhaps a little gloomily.

"You had some good matches," Druella said kindly. "Christina would have been proud. It was a shame about the Quidditch cup, but you can't win them all."

Chloe shrugged. "Yes, well. We had a good run."

"It's just Quidditch," Tom said mildly, flicking through a Defence journal with a sprout impaled on his fork.

Chloe regarded him with a deep frown, and looked at Harry accusingly. "You sure know how to pick them, Harrison."

"Don't blame me for his lack of Quidditch appreciation."

Druella snorted. "Tom's never liked Quidditch. It's the one thing he can't do."

Tom sniffed haughtily. "I've never tried."

"Sure." Druella turned to Chloe. "So who's taking over as captain next year?"

"I've asked Rachel Maddens."

Druella elbowed her conspiratorially. "Continuing the streak, eh?"

"She's the best person for the job, it wasn't anything to do with gender. I would hardly give it to Bea if Rachel weren't around - she'd give someone a breakdown. Or," Chloe considered, "perhaps have one herself. No one can quite follow Christina though. It's just a shame you were in the same year. You'd have been an amazing captain."

"I would," Druella admitted. "But this job is half like it. All the organisation with none of the fun."

"You've seemed busy."

"Oh, I have been. Madam Erkings has basically been retired for the last five months, and she's making it official today. I'm taking over."

"Congratulations!" Orion enthused.

"I don't know about that." Druella twisted her face in thought. "No, it's alright. It's not what I wanted, but I'm working and it's Quidditch. If I needed to, I could support…" She glanced involuntarily at Orion, expression pained, and everyone saw it. Orion looked away. "It's alright."

There was an awkward pause.

"So," Druella said bracingly. "The end of the year. How are you all feeling?"

Orion pushed the peas around his plate. "It feels like leaving home. And moving back into home, which is almost worse." Orion was moving back into Grimmauld Place to look after Rigel and Meissa while he did his TOADS. Harry couldn't say the idea sat well with him. "It's okay for Harry," Orion said faux-enviously. "He and Tom have a place together."

Druella's eyebrows shot up. "Isn't this-" She gestured between the two of them "-a relatively new thing? Not that we couldn't all see it coming a mile off. But it's a bit soon to be moving in, isn't it?"

"And what experience would you have with new relationships?" Tom asked, his beatific smile doing little to hide the bite behind his words. Druella flinched.

"Tom gets a free flat with his new job," Harry rushed on. "It seemed logical."

"Good for him." Druella eyed Tom coldly.

The ring of a spoon against was the signal for hush; Druella hurried back up the aisle towards the staff table and Chloe returned to her friends. Dippet rose to his feet.

"I think we can all agree that this has been a very eventful year." As his voice echoed around the hall and the tone of the speech hit, the students grew more solemn. "We have had unspeakable tragedies and unbelievable victories, but…" Dippet drew a deep breath and his hands visibly trembled where they rested on the plinth. "I urge you not to forgot what we have lost while we celebrate. Honour and support each other, be a comforting shoulder or a friendly face. We must draw together in the aftermath of chaos." Dippet's face was uncommonly grave and Harry saw where Dumbledore got his penchant for dramatic speeches from. "To those of you who are returning next year, I also ask that you do not harass certain members of our staff."

"Dumbledore's coming back?" Atticus whispered incredulously. "Why?"

Harry didn't know why he bothered. "I did tell you."

Dippet drew to his full height. "I think we can all agree that they have done more than enough to earn our respect and our discrepancy. And now to address those who are leaving us. First, to Professor Merrythought and Madam Erkings, on their way to a well-deserved retirement."

An obedient round of applause followed.

"To our seventh-years, who have formed a crucial part of Hogwarts for seven years. You will be dearly missed, and, in my humble opinion, you are…" Dippet smiled and his eyes glimmered wetly. What a softie. "…a rather incredible year. I have high hopes for the future. It is in your hands."

Hogwarts erupted into cheers and Harry found himself rising to his feet along with the rest of his cohort. There was a kind of rising feeling in his stomach too, a mixture of joy and terrible, terrible devastation. Hogwarts had been his home through thick and thin, through a literal upheaval of everything he had ever known. It felt wrong to leave it. Like cutting out a part of himself. Still, it was a soppy thought, but, as he took in the people around him - Orion clapping his heart out and crying, Tom applauding with ridiculous ceremony - he knew he wouldn't be leaving empty-handed.

"What now?" Harry yelled over the roar. This was all very different to how it was in the future, but he thought seventh-years leaving in the evening gave it more drama: the Hogwarts train speeding across the countryside in the dead of night. He also thought he might have jetlag tomorrow, though.

Orion replied gleefully. "The boats!"

As the seventh years arrived at the port the boats in the harbour were waiting, bobbing on the star-studded lake.

Avery shuffled to the edge and peered down. "We had six of us in one of these when we came across in first year. They're so small."

Rupert sniggered. "Can't believe you squeezed your head in."

"We return how we came," Cassius said softly.

"Not all of us," Orion pointed out. "Harry wasn't here then."

"Just imagine," Tom mused. Harry shoved him for that one. "Well, I suppose we'd best divide ourselves. Harrison, Cassius, you can come with me-"

"Wait!" Orion held up a hand and began rummaging through his satchel with the other. "I just thought- one sec- we can't… I need to- I know I put it in here- aha!" He withdrew a camera and brandished it triumphantly. "We can't leave without a photo."

Tom looked unimpressed, but gave in rather easily when pleaded to. Harry suspected he hadn't been that against it in the first place.

Orion nodded obediently at Tom's firm "just one" (and then grinned when Harry told Tom not to be miserable), shepherding the seventh-year boys into some approximation of a formation: Harry, Cassius and Rupert on the front row, the others standing behind. The lake formed a glistening, rather magnificent backdrop.

"And smile," Orion reminded them. "Or we'll have to take another."

Orion waved his wand and the camera went floating about six feet away, facing the boys. Magical numbers formed above it out of what looked like looped film reel, counting down from ten. Harry fixed his face into a grin and stared into the lens.

Something was bound to go wrong.

When the countdown reached 'one', there was a colossal splash behind them. Harry turned, expecting to perhaps see the Giant Squid out to play or a mermaid having a bit of a laugh. Instead, Atticus and Rupert were treading water, one looking distinctly happier than the other.

Orion charged over towards the camera and took the picture it spat out. "It's ruined," he said with dismay.

When Harry saw it, he couldn't contain his laughter. There were Tom, Harry, Orion and Cassius, all obediently smiling into the camera (or the closest Cassius could get to a smile, anyhow). And there was Atticus, arms like a windmill and clearly being shoved into the lake by Rupert, but managing to grab onto the bottom of Rupert's robe as he fell. It was a move that would end in disaster for both of them.

Orion shot Harry a wounded look.

"Sorry mate," he said, still snorting. "It's funny, you have to admit."

"Right," Tom said authoritatively, levitating the pair out of the lake and confiscating their wands. "We'll take another one. One more. No tomfoolery or hijinks." He glared specifically at Rupert. "Do you understand?"

Rupert managed to agree through his snickers. ("Ha! 'Tom'foolery!"), whereas Atticus tried a different approach. "But can't we have our wands to dry-"

"No."

And so the group fell into formation again, this time with Atticus' teeth chattering audibly. The resultant picture, Harry would later reflect, probably summed up the year fairly well: Orion's disappointment badly hidden by a cheesy grin; Harry's wince as Rupert brazenly slung a soaking-wet arm around his shoulder; Cassius' subtle glee at Atticus' miserable shivering; and Tom smiling pleasantly amidst it all.

The picture done, Tom snapped back into action. "Right, Harrison, you're with me. Atticus and Rupert can go together because at least if Rupert capsizes the boat you're both already wet-"

"I don't want to go with him-"

"-I didn't even think of capsizing the boat until now!"

"-and Cassius and Orion, I suppose that leaves you two together."

They clambered into the boats, which rocked much more dramatically than what Harry remembered from when he was eleven.

"This doesn't feel very safe," Orion said.

Cassius efficiently assuaged his concerns. "That's because it's not."

As the boys settled and the boats finally stopped swinging, Tom whispered, "Off we go". The boats set off as if pushed by an unseen force, and the group were floating away, across the sparkling surface of the Great Lake.

If you had asked Harry at the end of fifth year how he thought he would end his time at Hogwarts, it would not have been in a boat with Tom Riddle. He might have truthfully answered 'in a body bag'.

But there he was, sailing into the horizon.

THREE LETTERS RECEIVED BY HARRISON PETERS
The first letter read:
Harrison Peters
42b Intern Alley
London
England
16th August 1945

NASTILY EXHAUSTING WIZARDING TESTS
Pass grades:
Outstanding (O)
Exceeds Expectation (EE)
Acceptable (A)
Fail grades:
Poor (P)
Dreadful (D)
Troll (T)

HARRISON PETERS HAS ACHIEVED:
Charms: EE
Defence: O
Herbology: EE
Potions: A
Transfiguration: O

Professor Marcus Ward
Governor. Wizarding Examinations Authority

The second letter read:

Harrison Peters
42b Intern Alley
London
England
20th August 1945

Peters,

I got them to send me your results, hope you don't mind. Anyway, that Herbology grade was bullshit. Anyone can get an O in Herbology- it's just gardening. I made them remark it and congratulations, you're going to be an Unspeakable (although god knows why you want to.)

Yours marginally fondly,

Galatea Merrythought

The third letter read:

Harrison Peters
42b Intern Alley
London
England
25th August 1945

NASTILY EXHAUSTING WIZARDING TESTS (REMARK)
Pass grades:
Outstanding (O)
Exceeds Expectation (EE)
Acceptable (A)
Fail grades:
Poor (P)
Dreadful (D)
Troll (T)

HARRISON PETERS HAS ACHIEVED:
Herbology: O

We apologise for the error.

Professor Marcus Ward
Governor. Wizarding Examinations Authority