September 1996, 6th year
"May I sit with you?"
Theodore narrowed his eyes and turned around – presumably to tell off whoever had managed to slip past Harry's privacy magic.
"Of course, Luna," Harry said, having already recognized her unique magic. "I wanted to talk to you about renewing the binding magic, anyway, so this suits me well." He watched his friend smooth out his expression and glanced at Susan, who was watching them curiously. "Come and sit with us. How has your summer been?"
"Lovely, thank you for asking. Daddy and I went to Loch Lomond to watch the Moon Frogs and spent a week in Sweden. It was very lovely."
"Why Sweden, specifically?" Harry asked, sliding his hands through the air around Luna, feeling for the binding magic he had cast on her a few months ago.
"The Crumple-Horned Snorkack lives there," Luna replied. "Sadly, we were unsuccessful to find one."
"That's unfortunate," Harry said. "Maybe you can try again next year. And if you don't find one that time, either, then you could go looking for a skvader instead."
"Oh, that would be wonderful," Luna said. "I heard that skvaders are very adorable. Your magic is as beautiful as ever, Harry. I think it is an especially dashing shade of silver today."
"Thanks," Harry said, giving the spell a final once-over. "There, all done."
The girl thanked him sincerely and then pulled out an issue of The Quibbler to read. Theodore had buried his head in a book and Susan was now looking at Harry as if he'd grown a second head, but quickly caught herself when his gaze fell on her. She seemed reluctant to join the conversation, but eventually got used to Luna's unusual ideas and perhaps even warmed up to the other girl. Harry let them carry the discussion, leaning against Theodore and occasionally reading along in Theodore's book, sometimes making a comment about something Luna or Susan had said.
Their companionable time got interrupted sometime after noon by a young girl that kept walking past their compartment with increasing distress until Harry took pity on her and disabled the privacy wards, so she could finally deliver the scroll of parchment meant for him.
It was a message from Professor Slughorn, inviting Harry to lunch in his compartment.
Harry was not surprised to find a few other students already present, and even less surprised when Slughorn introduced them to each other. The boy with the permanent smirk Harry was familiar with, having shared a dorm with him for the past five years. Another boy from Gryffindor Harry also knew, having watched the boy melt his cauldron during Potions once too often. The Weasley girl was also there. The rest, Harry had never seen before.
The teachers did not usually ride the train with the students, though Harry thought he held a vague memory of a teacher on the train some years ago. But like the Slytherin he was, Slughorn used the opportunity to network at his earliest convenience.
The food was good, the conversation not so much. This was not exactly Professor Slughorn's fault, but mostly that of the students Slughorn had invited aside from Harry, the boy with the permanent smirk and the Weasley girl. Once Slughorn noticed this, he ventured off into various anecdotes about all the illustrious students the man had taught during his time at Hogwarts and his little 'Slug Club' (which was a terribly unfortunate way to use his own name, Harry thought).
By the time Harry was finally free to go, the sun had already sunken below the horizon and twilight had fallen. Harry was still lamenting the time he had wasted in that stuffy compartment, when he entered the one his friends were in and caught the end of what must have been quite the story.
"There is a chequered path of black and white winding between grassy hills," Luna was telling a contemplative looking Theodore and a bewildered Susan. "There are lovely flowers to one side and bright, poisonous mushrooms to the other – a bee here, a butterfly there, and a slashkilter up ahead. At the end of the path is a house. It is small and has a door but no windows. The house does not look sturdy, but it will stand fast against the oncoming storm and its thatched roof will not be blown away by the fierce winds. Behind the house, there is nothing, only mist and fog. You can see the mountains in the distance, though, bleeding into the dark clouds that hang low in the sky."
Luna turned her head and smiled at Harry, who was still standing in the doorway. "And that is the story of how Ellie learned that you should not give your dog a bad name."
Harry was kind of curious about the kind of story that would end like that, but also felt somewhat apprehensive to ask. He decided not to risk it.
Soon, the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station and from there the students took the carriages up to the castle. They listened to the Sorting Hat's weird song, watched the Sorting, and enjoyed the Welcoming Feast until it was time for the headmaster's usual speech.
"We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year," the old man said eventually – as if they didn't welcome a new member of staff every year. "Professor Slughorn is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master."
Harry blinked. "Huh."
Several people repeated the word 'potions' in surprise.
"Professor Snape, meanwhile," the old man said, raising his voice over the students' muttering, "will be taking over the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."
The Slytherins applauded. They were the only ones.
Harry thought this unexpected development might be a good thing for Defence, but also a bad thing for Potions.
Dumbledore cleared his throat and waited for the conversations to die down and then launched into a speech about the Dark Lord and the importance of unity that Harry only half-heartedly paid attention to. As he let his eyes wander, he found his fellow students either murmuring among themselves, listening to the old man's babbling with apt interest or look about in boredom and indifference. Some of these students believed in Dumbledore's words, Harry knew. Some knew better because of their parents – either Death Eaters or members of Dumbledore's Order or people like Amelia Bones, who had been murdered by the Dark Lord himself for her powerful position and political attitude. Most did not believe in the Dark Lord's return and probably thought the old man had lost his marbles. Harry did believe in his return, yet also thought the old man had lost his marbles.
The Slytherins wisely did not discuss any such things in public and they usually refrained from mentioning the Dark Lord in Harry's presence when they could help it. (They did slander Dumbledore's name in Harry's presence.) No one could help being curious, therefore, when one blonde Slytherin loudly asked Harry about his allegiances right after the prefects' customary speech to the first-years about Slytherin loyalty in times like these.
"I have been granted a privilege," the blonde boy said haughtily. "You might be granted one as well."
Harry blinked at him. "You are aware that he kind of wants me dead, right?"
"But does he, really?"
Harry cocked his head. "Perhaps not. Still, I'm not really interested."
"'Not interested'?" the blonde boy repeated incredulously and he was not the only one staring at Harry, now – which was a rare show of open emotion among the usually composed and restrained Slytherins. "Surely, you must know how powerful he is – what a great wizard he is. It would be foolish to stand against him."
"Sure, but I don't want to have to listen to anyone telling me what to do."
"Not even in return for his power and protection?"
"The Dark Lord doesn't care about his followers," Harry said coldly. "He gives them orders and if they can't carry those out, it's over. Do you think yourself willing and capable to slaughter innocents when your master tells you to? Execute them because the Dark Lord decided they looked at him wrongly once?"
The blonde boy flinched and Harry thought he looked a bit paler than before, conflicted, almost – almost as if he was remembering a traumatic event or something. Harry had expected more persistence, had assumed the boy would continue trying to convince Harry to join his master – but now? Looking at his wide and frightened eyes, Harry wasn't so sure anymore. He wondered what kind of memory he had accidentally dragged up, wondered if it might have been related to Harry or just been a coincidence.
When Harry turned to the crowd of curious onlookers, no one would meet his eyes except for the boy with the permanent smirk, who was watching him with sharp eyes – the boy was smirking, albeit only just, even now.
o
The morning after their return to Hogwarts, Professor Snape made his usual rounds of handing out schedules during breakfast. The sixth-years were required to choose the subjects they wanted to continue this time and their Head of House had to make sure they had acquired the right grades for them, so it took him longer to hand out their schedules compared to the rest.
Harry had actually given this some thought over the holidays and decided to just roll with all eight of the subjects Snape had advised him to take. Only six of those were actually necessary to become a Curse Breaker, but Harry had no personal projects to keep him busy and thought he might as well suffer through the workload no matter how tedious.
His timetable was thus rather full. He wondered how some people had managed to achieve a total of twelve N.E.W.T.s when there was barely enough time to study eight subjects.
Theodore would not continue Arithmancy and Astronomy with Harry, but that still made six subjects they would attend together. Susan would surely share Charms with them, as well as Potions as this subject was apparently now shared by all houses. She later told them that she had also chosen Arithmancy, Defence, Transfiguration and Herbology out of which the first was shared between all houses as well, whereas the other three were not.
Defence Against the Dark Arts was, to the Slytherins delight, only a shared class for Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff did not surprise Harry and he assumed many Gryffindors had decided against continuing due to Professor Snape taking the position. The Slytherins would probably have had their own class either way.
The biggest disappointment of the N.E.W.T. level courses was one that Harry really should have expected. The increase in difficulty was ninety percent due to the required use of non-verbal magic. Which Harry had been using all his life on top of wandless magic. Funnily enough, Professor Snape – now that he taught a class that required actual wandwork – was the first teacher in five years to notice that Harry's wand movements weren't entirely correct, yet the spells worked perfectly. He did not, Harry thought, figure out the true reason behind that, though.
Having never used an incantation in earnest, Harry struggled at first with trying to pretend like he was progressing at about the same speed as his classmates but ultimately failed and gave up on it. So now he was just swishing his wand around, pretending he needed that wooden stick still, while finally allowed to leave all the incantations and 'real' spells behind entirely.
His fellow students, with the exceptions of Theodore and Susan, all looked at him in wonder and envy. The teachers all praised his exceptional talent to the heavens. Harry only wished they would get over it already and stop paying him attention.
The subject that didn't require non-verbal spells, the one that Harry had high hopes for in regards to raised levels of difficulty, turned out to be a complete and utter failure.
Professor Slughorn was an accomplished Potions Master, there was no doubt about that. He could brew Amortentia and Polyjuice Potion and Veritaserum and even Felix Felicis flawlessly. But he also had assigned them a book full of mistakes and wrong recipes. Harry, Theodore and Susan, having studied advanced potions in their free-time since first-year, took one look at their first assignment – and decided their new teacher was a good-for-nothing. And Harry thought at first that the Drought of Living Death was setting the class up to be quite a nice challenge, but it turned out to be merely for the first lesson and all that followed was mildly demanding at best.
Well, at least there was still the impossibly large amount of assigned homework to deal with and the theory for Transfiguration and Arithmancy at least was satisfyingly complex.
Additionally – Harry had already completely forgotten about it – old man Dumbledore's first private lesson took place on the Saturday of their first week back at Hogwarts. Harry felt rather reluctant to attend, but he was curious enough to agree to a meeting.
The first thing the old man did, was to finally reveal the Prophecy to Harry in full. Harry did not believe in Prophecies and as long as the Dark Lord left him alone, he did not see any necessity in doing anything about either of them. (But Dumbledore didn't need to know that.)
As it turned out, the lessons had nothing to do with Dumbledore teaching Harry anything useful (not that Harry had actually expected that with the old man not trusting him one bit), but a dive into the Dark Lord's past. Using a Pensieve. Harry carefully examined that Pensieve during the old man's long-winded tale about the Prophecy and came to the conclusion that the one he had created for Theodore was far superior.
They began with an excurse in the Gaunt family's history and Tom Riddle's parents. Which – that name sounded so damn familiar and Harry knew he had encountered it before the graveyard to which the Dark Lord had had him kidnapped at the end of fourth-year.
"The thing is," Harry told Theodore later, while they were lying in bed together, "the Dark Lord is half Muggle and half Gaunt and the run-down shack Dumbledore showed me – the one the Dark Lord's mother, uncle and grandfather had apparently been living in – it is the exact same shack we found the Resurrection Stone in."
"Did the Dark Lord not know about the Stone?" Theodore asked.
"He would have used it, had he known – or do you not think he would have? I am fairly sure, now, that it was my soulmate –" Theodore twitched slightly. "– who cursed that ugly ring and hid it under a loose floorboard. That ring … it reminds me of something … but I can't put my finger on it …" Harry sighed. "There is something I am missing."
"I am sure you will figure it out sooner rather than later," Theodore said quietly.
Harry hummed and ran his fingers up and down Theodore's spine. Theodore almost immediately flinched and Harry stilled.
"Somehow, I always end up hurting you," Harry said.
Theodore stayed silent and Harry thought it was because he would not lie to Harry.
"I didn't even mean to, this time," Harry said. "I think I don't want to, anymore."
"Did you find your answer, then?" Theodore asked softly.
Harry lifted his head to squint at his friend, whose expression betrayed nothing. Theodore only looked back evenly.
"No," Harry said. "Yes."
Because the answer had been the same one Harry had gotten at the very beginning of their relationship – even before that, if he was being honest with himself. It was unchanging, an absolute truth. Only, Harry did not quite know what to do with that answer. It was one he wanted. It was the best he could have ever hoped for, wished for, longed for – and yet.
Theodore's loyalty to Harry was absolute and would remain unwavering until the end of time. There was not a single doubt about that.
Harry did not like that and he could not figure out why.
There was just something about the whole situation …
When it came to Harry, Theodore was … vulnerable.
Ah. That was what Harry disliked so greatly – seeing Theodore vulnerable, Theodore being vulnerable. And whose fault was that? Harry's. (Although, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Luna whispered in his head, an infestation of Wrackspurts never befalls one person alone.)
Harry had never wanted to hurt Theodore. He had just been so curious, so fascinated, so intrigued by Theodores unconditional loyalty. But Harry made Theodore vulnerable and Harry did not want Theodore to be vulnerable. Therefore, Harry would have to do something. He would have to start by not hurting Theodore anymore, not until Theodore had overcome his weakness – then Harry could do it, maybe once, maybe twice, just to make sure. Not to intentionally hurt his friend, of course.
Only, how did one go about such a thing? As far back as Harry could remember, Theodore had always been like this. Harry did, admittedly, not quite understand why that was, why him, why at all, why … Harry doubted he would ever be able to understand and Harry did not know how to change the situation without understanding it. But going to those who would be able to understand, to empathise, was not something he wanted to do, either. This was private. This was his and Theodore's. This was sacred.
Perhaps, he thought, he ought to borrow some of Luna's believes and analogies. And make sure Susan never caught wind of this or she would be terribly cross with all of them for not allowing her to help.
But for now, Harry would content himself with lying next to Theodore, running his fingers up and down his friend's spine, while Theodore tentatively played with Harry's long curls.