"Ah, Mr. Potter. I am glad to see that you've woken."

Truth be told, Harry didn't feel much woken at all. His head ached like the hangover of 98' (which was never to be talked about) and his body was pins-and-needles with what had to be healing magic. The whole world felt fuzzy and distant. However, Harry was a creature of instinct—and if anything sent his instincts into action, it was proximity to Albus Dumbledore.

Eyes snapping open, Harry struggled to pull himself to a defensible position. Had he been a little more cognizant he might have thought to play dead, so to speak, but alas. The unexpectedly trapped couldn't be expected to strategize, or something like that.

"Ah, ah, ah," the old man tutted, stilling Harry's attempts with a well-meaning look. Harry barely restrained a flinch. "Poppy will have me thrown out if she think's I have upset you. I merely wished to inform you about your incident before your guardians arrive."

Incident? What? With a gasp, realization struck. Oh, Merlin. He'd fallen off his broom! Or, rather, been thrown off it. Memory of those hateful eyes rose up in Harry, venomous with icy rage. A lingering impression of that rotting death-stench filled his nose. He had to suck in a breath or risk losing his lunch.

Ron and Neville must be going mad, Harry thought, using the idea to focus. Where were they? Had Dumbledore blocked them from the room? How long had he been unconscious?

"What?" Harry wound up croaking, his voice rough with disuse. His thoughts seemed to chase themselves around in his head. He swallowed, throat sticky, but didn't try to gesture for the water at his bedside. Later in life Dumbledore would become infamous for lacing the lemon drop candies on his desk and his tea service with a myriad of trust potions. Harry didn't put it past the old codger to dose the water. Dumbledore didn't offer, besides. Maybe he wanted Harry as ruffled as possible? Or maybe he just hadn't developed the lacing technique yet. Thinking of all the variables made Harry's head hurt. Where were Neville and Ron? Draco, Daphne, or any of the others? What was going on? How long had Dumbledore been skulking at his bedside? Against his best intentions, Harry found himself thinking of his first time around. How the only adults who had seemed to care about his near-death from magical exhaustion were Dumbledore and Hagrid. Surely that wouldn't be the case again, right?

"It would appear that someone has tampered with your broom, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore clarified, his words dragging Harry from his head. Harry studiously avoided making eye-contact, aware enough at least to know that the occlumency shields he had built since returning would be nothing against Dumbledore. Instead, he tried to look a bit stunned by the news and perhaps a bit cowed by the presence of such a powerful wizard.

Dumbledore smiled at him indulgently. Harry hoped that meant he was a better actor than he was an occlumens. "They," Dumbledore continued, "Whoever they were, laid a quite nasty curse that caused the broom to jump about and then disintegrate. If it had not been for the quick spellwork of myself and Lord Malfoy, I fear events would be much less fortunate than they are now."

'Myself and Lord Malfoy?' Draco wasn't yet a lord. Wait, was Lucius at the school? What? Maybe Harry wasn't sunk.

Harry brushed that detail away for the moment, his head swimming with too much information. Doubtlessly Dumbledore at least suspected that Quirrell was behind the broom curse. Keep your enemies closer, after all. But the old man was trying to sell the, for lack of a better word, cold as part of Quirrell's curse? That was new. Widening his eyes in innocent fear, gaze directed just down a bit, Harry decided two could play Dumbledore's game.

"How is that possible, sir?" Harry asked, his voice quivering just a touch. "I've kept the broom in my room since I received it."

Dumbledore sighed, his shoulders rolling as though to adjust a crushing weight. "I am afraid, Mr. Potter, that dark times are coming to these halls. Sometimes those closest to us are those who make the most terrible decisions."

Was the bastard actually implying that Harry's Slytherin dorm-mates, his friends, had cursed his broom? As far as Dumbledore knew not one of them was over eleven! How could school children have somehow worked such malicious magic? Well, Harry guessed school children had thought to trap another student in with a troll. Perhaps cursing a broom wasn't completely outside the realm of possibility. Dumbledore didn't know about the troll bit, though.

Harry decided Dumbledore was still a tosser for trying to turn him against his housemates. Their being actually murderous held no bearing. Not when Harry was quite probably the worst of them.

Not that Dumbledore was to know that, either.

"Sir," Harry gasped, aiming for stunned. "You don't actually think one of my friends might have done this?"

Dumbledore shared a weary, aged look with Harry. "I fear that children do not often understand the gravities of their actions. Actions which sometimes grow from the influence of their parents. Tell me, Harry, can you think of anyone who might have had reason to do this? Perhaps someone who might have been unkind about your parents?"

Harry tilted his head. "My parents, sir?"

The old man smiled kindly. "Yes, they were Gryffindors, you know? My old house. Your father was quite the talented Chaser and your mother was the brightest Charms Mistress of her age. Both quite handy at Defense, as well."

Harry blinked, smiling shyly. "Really? I never knew. Why would someone have a problem with them, sir?"

The old man sighed. "Not everyone is as accepting as you may believe, Harry. I will admit that I worry for you in Slytherin. Please, always know that you may speak to me at any time."

Harry gave the old man a smile. "Oh, I wouldn't worry, sir. The Malfoys have made sure I feel very welcome."

Dumbledore gave Harry a quiet, tortured look. "Oh, my boy. That is exactly what I fear. You must be wary of who you trust—"

The doors to the medical wing slammed open, letting in a thunder of footsteps. Both Harry and Dumbledore jerked, surprised by the sudden intrusion. They couldn't see who had entered, the privacy curtain at the foot of Harry's bed having been drawn. But a barrage of very recognizable voices cut through the thin material and froze him dead.

"Sirius Black, you stop this instant!"

"Lord Black, now, Poppy! And if you had led me to my godson when I damn well asked there wouldn't be anything to stop!"

"Mr. Black, if you would just calm down—"

"Hogwarts, Minnie! You let him nearly die at Hogwarts. If not for Lucius, I might be picking up a corpse!"

"I—, We—"

"I believe my fellow Lord is quite correct, Professor. Now, step aside."

"Please, Professor. The week has already been hard enough."

"Mr. Lupin! I insist you, at least, put an end to this madness! Poppy is perfectly capable—"

"And Lady Black-Malfoy is only more so, Minevra. Let us through."

"Severus!"

A leather-clad arm swept aside the curtains drawn around Harry's 'room'. Sirius Black grinned brightly, a prince among his squabbling courtiers.

"How do you feel about a prison break, pup?"

The next thirty minutes rushed past while Harry sat in a daze.

Upon sighting Dumbledore at Harry's bedside, the last snatch of good humor had drained from Sirius' grey eyes. Had Walburga Black's portrait been present, she would have gone into paroxysms of joy as her eldest dressed down the Light Lord. Harry was convinced the only reason Sirius hadn't gone for his wand was Severus' staying hand. Dumbledore had done his best to use his past relationship with Sirius to his advantage, but Sirius wouldn't have it. Dumbledore had given up and flown the coop as soon as Sirius threatened to sue, Lucius Malfoy grinning gleefully over his shoulder.

The space beside Harry then free, Sirius had set up shop. No one seemed inclined to try and move him. Even Ron and Neville, who had stumbled in with what seemed like half of Slytherin and all of Honeyduke's stock, were made to go around Sirius. Harry got the impression of a large, black guard dog, which was so appropriate Harry couldn't withhold a smile.

With similar authority, Lucius and Remus had taken to soothing the ruffled scales of Slytherin House. In the days Harry had been unconscious, very little information on his condition had been given out. Slytherin, and the Elite in particular, had spent that time worrying.

Slytherins were protective, Harry had found. It manifested in a flair for togetherness that appeared hostile to outsiders. However, being the focus of that protection was just as overwhelming. It took not just Lucius and Remus but a haggard Draco and exhausted Susan to convince Slytherin House to back down.

With Sirius stationed, the Slytherins settled, and Dumbledore (and, on his heels, McGonagall) chased away, Severus set to harassing the last target: Madame Pomfrey. Once Harry's medical scroll was in hand, he sharply dismissed the woman and sealed the Hospital Wing doors. His black wards rolled over the doors smoothly, keeping prying eyes and ears out.

"All they told us was that you were alive, too unstable to move to St. Mungo's, and unconscious," Ron murmured scratchily. His hair was an oily mess, his face ghostly beneath his freckles. At his side, Neville appeared much the same. Dark circles curled under both of their eyes. They sat on the edge of Harry's bed, opposite Sirius. Neville played idly with the fingers of Harry's right hand while Sirius clutched his left.

Sirius. If Harry thought about that too much right now, he might lose his mind. Instead, he snuggled closer into the arm Neville had wrapped around his shoulders.

"Unstable?" Harry asked, frowning. That was new. "I've never been deemed that from just falling off a broom. And how long have I been out?"

Ron's face hardened. "A week," he said and brushed his hand against Harry's leg, as though to remind himself that Harry was alive. "It felt like much longer."

Neville's hand was tight around Harry's. "We weren't told anything or allowed to see you. Lucius and Sirius only knew anything because they're your guardians."

Beside Harry, Sirius snorted. "And we had to fight just for that. Somehow the paperwork still had Dumbledore as your magical guardian. Apparently the Dursleys appointed him." Sirius growled the name, his eyes flashing with the animal brutality of his dog form. "We had to bring in the Goblins and the combined might of the Black and Malfoy lawyers to get the old fuck to give up his claim."

Sirius paused for a moment, his face going contemplative. "Also, can I just say that your having a frame of reference for falling off brooms is enough to make my hair grey, pup. Knock it off before you make me look old."

"You're already old," Harry quipped. He blinked as the remark slipped out. He'd forgotten how easy the relationship between he and Sirius was. Had been. Would always be, dear Merlin, please.

Sirius grinned at him, warm and caring. He, too, bore dark circles around his eyes. The result of late nights spent worrying, pouring over law documents, Harry thought guiltily. The gauntness of his face, however, was more likely Azkaban's doing. "Doesn't mean you need to speed up the process," Sirius said.

"Yes, please refrain for my sake, Mr. Potter," Severus commented, appearing next to Harry's bed as silently as smoke. He held a rolled up scroll in his hands. "He complains enough as it is. I can only imagine how much worse he will be with age."

"Hey," Sirius cried. "You adore my whining!"

"As to your medical observations," Severus carried on, eyes focused on Harry. He completely ignored Sirius, who pouted dramatically. "Your instability was not caused from the fall. Rather, that was due to the curse you smacked your hands all over. It had made quick progress towards your heart."

Harry drew in a deep breath, thinking back to how much pain the cold had caused just to his hands. They were all healed now, not even a scar to show, but Harry doubted he would ever forget the terror of that chill. The solemnity of Severus' expression made him think he was right not to.

Gathering his bravado, Harry managed a scoff. "Yeah, sorry. Next time I'll just throw myself off the steadily climbing broom nice and quick—ouch!"

Sirius smirked, apparently smug for having yanked at Harry's hair. "How about just not having a next time?"

Ron snorted, smiling grimly. "Personally, I'll take broom jumping over mystery curses."

"Because, you know, staying safe is just so improbable," Neville said. There was a sour note in his voice, a bitterness that killed the light air the room was taking on.

The adults exchanged glances.

"I feel that we do not yet know the whole story," Severus said.

Sirius nodded, his fingers wound tight with Harry's. His eyes, however, sought out Severus. "Lucius filled us in, somewhat. But, well, you know. He, Rem, and Cissa—they weren't there for much more than us."

Ron responded, Harry having slipped back into his head and Neville not looking prone to say anymore. "Yeah, we know. We," he nodded to Severus, who inclined his head, "Were trying to get something set up, but, well. That kind of fucked up when someone tried to take out Harry."

Neville smacked his arm. "Ron!"

Ron didn't react. Instead, he curled his fingers around Harry's calf. "It's not like it's not true. Harry wasn't meant to survive this. Whoever cursed that broom was trying to kill him."

"Ron," Harry censured, tilting his head in Sirius' direction. The man had gone pale, his grip on his godson white-knuckled. Severus had come to rest a hand on Sirius' shoulder.

"Sorry," Ron said after a beat. "Just, I hate that we don't know what's going on."

"And we won't be so lost for much longer," Lucius Malfoy commented, stepping into the cubical, which was becoming rather crowded by this point. Remus was at his heel. "I've made arrangements with the school. Harry will be returning with us to the Manor. He can fill us in. I'm also pulling Draco. We can explain this to the press as a family matter."

"What?" Neville snapped, winding his hand closer with Harry's. "Why?"

"Slytherin will go into chaos without Harry and Draco." Ron added, his voice, though light and high as a young boy's, was every inch a general's in tone. "It's been bad enough with last week and this attack. And I don't want Harry out of my sight, besides."

"Ron—" Sirius began. Ron cut him off.

"No," Ron hissed, "You don't get it. This is how it all happened last time. Love potion poisoning, threats, and assassination attempts. We were isolated and defenseless. Now you want to separate Draco and Harry from the rest of us?"

"There has been an attack," Lucius cut in severely. "It's safest—"

"But it's not," Neville insisted. Harry flinched as Neville's blunt nails dug into his hand. "We've been through this before. The minute we break apart they will pick us off one by one."

"Draco won't go, anyway." Harry stated, interrupting what was becoming a steadily more heated argument. "Neither will I."

"Harry," Sirius said, tiredly, and Harry had to force his guilt to the side. He looked to his lovers instead. He took a deep breath as words flooded into his mind.

"I'm sorry," Harry began, his voice as logical as he could make it. "But, frankly, this isn't the worst situation I've stuck through. Not Draco's, either, or Ron's, or Neville's, or Susan's, or Theo's, or Dean's. We've all lived in worse, before and after you lot died. But, if we scatter, the situation will escalate. Less prepared people will be attacked. Or, what if no one is here to stop Voldemort from getting the Stone? It's still in the school, you know. Or, Merlin forbid, what if Slytherin acting weird tips Dumbledore off?"

"Draco and I need to be here," Harry stated. "If only to mitigate whatever disaster happens next." Harry grinned ruefully. "It's sort of our specialty."

The adults exchanged another round of glances. Harry wondered what would happen if they tried to fight his decision. Technically, they had the authority as guardians to do what they wished, but Harry, Draco, and all the rest—they had the minds of twenty-somethings, of war veterans. They wouldn't take kindly to being told what to do.

"Fine," Lucius sighed at last. There was a concern in his voice that was never present in public. "But over the holidays—"

"We will all come to the Manor," Harry promised. "But we won't run away when the rest of Hogwarts can't."

Sirius shook his head, reaching over to pull Harry into a hug. His arms were strong around Harry, protective and parental. His leather jacket—once again Sirius', not Harry's—felt like a shield. Harry just barely managed to keep his tears under lock.

"How did you manage to go and grow up on me?" Sirius asked as they parted, his smile muted.

Harry laughed. "You won't believe the half of it."

Sirius shook his head, squeezing Harry tightly again. "I will always believe you, pup."

And, meeting Sirius's intent eyes, Harry felt himself trust those words. If only for the moment.

For Harry, Christmas came to Hogwarts in a paranoid haze. Unlike the first time around, where Harry's incident went virtually uncommented upon, everyone was now highly aware that he'd nearly died. The school whispered and gossiped and none of the Slytherin Elite allowed Harry to go anywhere alone. Not that Ron and Neville ever moved from Harry's side, anyway. As they had during the love potion threat, they slept in the same bed and held hands under the table. Ron, who had been frustrated to find out that a betrothal contract would have made he and Neville as privy to Harry's medical information as a guardian, had already sent a letter to his father. Neville had sent a similar letter to his grandmother. Once the formal papers were drafted and sent, it would be up to Lucius and Sirius as his guardians respond.

It felt strange, doing things this way. The last time they had gotten involved, there had been no betrothal, no letters, no permission to ask for. They had been in an auror camp, he, Neville, and Ron all sharing one tent. They had tumbled into each other and then into bed together. It was just a war thing, they had agreed. Like how the alcohol and the violence were just war things. He and Ron, they had both had wives at home. They hadn't been able to imagine being together with Neville ever possibly being beyond a war thing. Or, well, they had—but then the guilt kicked in. They remembered Ginny and Hermione, sitting at home. Of course, then they hadn't known that they were at home brewing love potions. Just that they were at home and he and Ron were not. They were off imagining a life with each other and Neville where Ginny and Hermione didn't factor.

It had been a special kind of hell. Always checking over their shoulders, aware of how the Prophet would crucify them if their illicit relationship were found out. If anything, Neville had it the worst. While love potions created false guilt and agony in Ron and Harry, Neville had felt the real deal. He had thought he was intruding on a pair of genuine relationships. The love poisoning had almost come as a relief to him.

If Harry closed his eyes, he could remember the night they'd found out like he was living it over. The camp had been given a weekend's unexpected leave as a reward for all the Death Eaters they'd apprehended. Harry had loitered behind, disinterested in going back to Ginny's apartment. Neville, whose grandmother had died before the Battle, had done the same. Ron hadn't. He'd gone home to Hermione, flowers in hand. He'd been planning to surprise her. Heh. He'd been the one surprised.

Harry would never forget the rage on Ron's face when he returned to camp. A pure, burning, dark rage. His magic had crackled brilliant oranges and reds over his skin, lighting up his hair and the sharp angles of his face. Harry had thought him beautiful. Terrible, in his anger, but absolutely beautiful. He had pulled Harry into his arms and kissed him, hard and demanding. With Harry still dazed, he had reached for Neville and kissed him, too.

'Oh, thank Merlin,' Ron had whispered, pulling them both close, his long fingers knotting in their hair. 'It's real, you're real. I love you and that's real. We're real.'

Harry hadn't even found out what had happened until daybreak, with the sun peeking weak and shy through the tent windows. Ron had been too upset to explain, and Harry and Neville too scared to push him. But in that weak light, with Neville warm and loving at his back and Ron pressing kisses into his hair, Harry had felt braver. Watching Ron's face crumple in the wake of his words, he'd regretted that bravery. Regretted it, until Ron had forced the words out.

'They dosed us. Hermione and Ginny. That love potion, Amortentia. You know the one.'

'Amortentia? But wasn't that, wasn't that just for school—how could they—? Ron...'

"They teach it because it's dangerous," Neville's voice, quiet like a ghost, reaching over Harry's shoulder. 'But Ginny and Hermione,' he said, like they were the names of poisons, 'They couldn't...'

'They did. And they laughed about it until they caught me standing in the doorway.'

The days after that had been grey. Hateful at times, loving at others. The divorces of war heroes were always front page news, but in the face of love potions the crucifixion had not been his and Ron's. They had spent most of media circus traveling, anyway. Seeing the world they had fought and killed to save. The wedding—the wedding had been quick. Beautiful, lovely, but their friends hadn't been there. Couldn't, because of the laws. And then, after...

After, everything had fallen down.

But that wasn't going to happen this time. This time, they were doing things traditionally, with a proper betrothal, following traditional customs. With family and friends at every step of the way. How odd, Harry thought. How terribly, strangely, wonderfully odd.

According to Ron, Mr. Weasley had already given his consent. Augusta Longbottom was taking longer but Neville was optimistic. She had apparently replied favourably to his request letter, but wanted to talk the decision over with the rest of the family. Frankly, Harry was prepared to apply all the considerable pressure he had at his disposal to get her agreement. If she wanted to force negotiations with the Boy Who Lived and the media's newest darling family, the Weasley-Prewetts, let her try.

"You have your plotting face on, love," Ron murmured. They were lying in bed, all three of them. In a couple of hours they would all board the Express back to King's Cross, and then on to Malfoy Manor. Christmas was just a few days away.

Lying down together had become a habit. Every free period, every lunch break. They would pick up a snack from the kitchens and crawl into one of their big beds, just for a few minutes of peace. Harry had come to love nothing more, not even his training sessions in the Room of Requirement.

Neville chuckled from behind Harry, "Isn't plotting supposed to be your department, Ron?"

"Oh, no," Ron replied airily. "Common misconception, actually. See, Harry here comes up with a plot and then midway through when everything's all gone to hell, he'll turn to me and say, 'Ron, most clever and bewitching love of mine, what ever shall we do?' And I then save the day in a suitably heroic and romantic way. It's all very Gryffindor, but it tends to work quite well."

Harry didn't bite back his laughter, allowing it to spill forward and fill the dorm. Beside him, Neville grinned broadly. "Really?" Neville queried Ron, "Then why does it seem that, in fact, most of Harry's plans work pretty well?"

"Yeah," Harry challenged. "What do you have to say for that, Mr. Hero?"

Ron gave a long, beleaguered sigh. "Well, obviously, you, my darling, have the luck of the Devil. Probably won it in a duel, for all I can guess. That, or you pay him with the grey hairs you scare out of me and Neville."

Harry blushed, turning onto his back. "You know I don't mean to, right? And half the time I just wind up in a dangerous situation without me doing anything at all."

Neville hummed, turning to face Harry and Ron on his side. His fingers, chubby still, ran through Harry's longish hair, marveling at how the black was slowly reclaiming ground from Daphne's green dye. "We do, love. But that doesn't mean I don't lose my mind a little bit every time. I swear if I lost either of you I'd turn absolutely mental."

Ron twined his fingers with Neville's, setting their hands to rest over Harry's chest. "And us you, Nev. Sometimes I think you're the only sweet bit left of us."

Neville grinned, a sharp and bloody expression. "That's a dangerous thought."

Harry clasped his hand over theirs, binding the three of them in a trifecta. "I wouldn't say so. Some people hold onto much less tangible things." Duty. Anger. Revenge. Harry had reached for each in times of turmoil, on dark nights where Voldemort's musings painted horrors in his mind. He had never slept with those things clutched in his hands. Clutching Neville and Ron's hands, however, almost always managed to pacify his worst thoughts. It was the reaching out that tripped Harry up, more often than he would like to admit. Like the night he had spent in the owlery.

There would be no owlery to hide in at Malfoy Manor. Harry wasn't familiar enough with the layout to be sure he would have any hiding place at all. And yet, he was expected to have one of the most—for lack of a better word, emotional—conversations of his (second) life there, in just a few hours.

Contrary to what many (including Ron) believed, Harry did not enjoy going into a battle without a solid plan.

"I'm scared Sirius is going to hate me," Harry confessed. His sounded as he had in Umbridge's office, repeating 'I will not tell lies.' Toneless. Resigned.

At his sides, Ron and Neville stiffened. "Why on Earth would you think that?" Neville exclaimed, beating Ron to the punch.

Harry swallowed. Determinedly, he stared at the canopy above his bed, trying to be grateful that everyone was busy at lunch and unable to interrupt the conversation. "We've done awful things," Harry said. "What if he can't accept that?"

"Then he's not worth the worry." There was a livid anger in Neville's voice. "We did what we had to. None of it reflects on us."

"We attacked St. Mungo's, Neville," Harry reminded. "I hacked an entire auror unit into pieces and banished the chunks to the Ministry steps."

"Only because they killed our friends and family first!" Neville ground out, his fingers crushing around Harry and Ron's. "You're thinking as though our side was the only side doing awful things. We weren't. We only took blood for what of ours was spilled."

Neville always spoke like a pureblood when he was truly angry. A lot less destructive that Harry's tendency to break things, Ron had pointed out once. Harry was wont to agree.

Sighing, Harry tried to nod, found the angle was awkward to do so, and gave up. "I just don't know if he'll see that."

Neville pressed a gentle kiss to Harry's temple. "It's not our concern to make any of them see anything. We're there to fill in gaps. Whether people who weren't there to make the hard choices can accept them isn't our responsibility."

"We haven't even made those choices, now," Ron cut in. "That future doesn't exist anymore. Couldn't, with how we've already changed things." Ron pressed closer, winding his legs with his loves' and resting his forehead against Harry's. "We did terrible things but, whether or not they were deserved, they don't exist."

"Besides," Neville murmured, his anger spent quickly and swept away. "This is Sirius. No one knows injustice like Sirius. He won't condemn us for fighting back."

"For protecting ourselves," Ron replied.

"Frankly," Neville grinned, "I'm more concerned about what he's going to say about how we got ourselves snuffed out."

Harry chuckled, letting himself relax. "As long as I have you two, I'm sure I could survive even that," he said, and let the topic close.

When Dean and Seamus stumbled in some twenty minutes later, they found Ron, Harry, and Neville risen. Their suitcases stood by the door and they appeared ready for the train. With Ron's hand in his left and Neville's in his right, Harry almost felt like that was true.

I'm very sorry about how late this is. I am very busy and very tired. I will aim to be faster. I can't wait to hear from you all! You have been the best readers ever. Your support is the reason why you guys have this chapter. Thanks, guys. Edited as of 8/20/2022.

Sincerely,

BlackRoseGirl666