Author's Note: The pandemic took out all my writing inspiration for a bit, and then I got sucked into a bunch of other WIPs, but I'm not giving up on this, I swear. No WIPs are abandoned.

Harry flirting with Slytherins without even knowing it and Tom being jealous is my lifeblood at this point. NGL. I've nicknamed this fic "snake charmer!Harry" in my notes because of it. Ah, the Slytherin harem. It's what keeps me coming back to this fic!

True to form, he and Malfoy had gotten properly sozzled, and stumbled out of the Room of Requirement hours later. Out of the Room of Requirement and back into the infirmary, which hadn't seemed to have noticed their absence. Madame Pomfrey was asleep in the corner, and her patients' screeching had blessedly died off.

"We'll have to do this again sometime," Malfoy slurred. "'specially with our new class."

"Cheers to that," said Harry. He raised his arm to clink an imaginary glass. They hadn't finished off the whole stash, in preparation for another night of much-needed drinking that would no doubt come sooner than either hoped. "Night, Malfoy."

"Night, Potter. Let's hope tomorrow doesn't go to shit too quickly."

"Cheers to that, too."

He lay himself down on his cot, snuggled into the blankets, and prepared to go to sleep. He considered what he'd find in his dreams, if he was ready to face any form of Tom Riddle. But the doors of the Hospital Wing flew open with a bang before he could wrangle his thoughts into anything coherent. Well, of-bloody-course they did.

He looked up, bleary-eyed, and adjusted his glasses. A mop of wild red hair, beside a mop of even wilder brown. "Oh, thank Merlin's bloody bollocks," Harry said. Damn, he was still drunk.

"Language, Harry! We're not the only ones in the Infirmary, you know!" Hermione sounded a little too amused to be handing out reprimands. "But, yes, it's good to see you, too."

The weight eased off his shoulders, and he went boneless with relief. He knew Ron and Hermione were talented, a damn sight better than him at most things, actually, but even the most powerful wizards could be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. He could see them now, Death Eaters swarming like locusts around the two people in the world he treasured most, gnawing at their defences, bite-by-tiny-bite. Getting swarmed had lost Dumbledore an arm, and very nearly his life. He could still hear the sick thump of the severed limb hitting the dirty cave floor.

"You'll never guess the whirlwind we got caught up in, mate," Ron started. He always had the same expression, the same tone of voice when he was trying to play himself up a little. Harry had been terrified he'd never get to see it again. And roll his eyes at it. "I scared off a whole horde of Death Eaters. At least five!"

Hermione nudged him with her elbow. "You blew up a shop, Ronald." Her mouth struggled not to twitch up at the corners. Harry knew she worried they'd attempt something even more monumentally stupid than usual if she forgot to protest each time.

Ron shrugged. "That, too."

"We've been told you fought off an attempt to take over the castle. Are you alright?"

"Only that I celebrated a bit too hard," Harry confessed, and grinned nervously at Hermione's sharp stare. "I was only being a good host! Malfoy, tell her! I was welcoming you into the Order!"

Malfoy sighed at the unwelcome reminder of his new allegiances. "He was, yes."

"The Order? Of the Phoenix?" Ron sputtered.

"No, of the unicorn," Harry said seriously. Hermione covered her face with one palm and rubbed at her eyes wearily.

"But why?" Ron's voice had taken on a distinctly whiny tinge.

"Of course!" Hermione said. "You've been behind more than just that Vanishing Cabinet, haven't you, Malfoy? You've also had a hand at cursing jewelry and poisoning wine. Wine meant for the Headmaster. When you failed, Dumbledore must've told you you had to go into hiding..."

Malfoy shifted, already pale hands turning whiter as they gripped the bedsheets. Harry couldn't tell if he looked more ill from the guilt or from the alcohol. "He'd have killed my parents if I didn't do it! And given that I obviously still haven't, we've nowhere to go except here. Not unless you want us dead... Not that I'd be particularly surprised if you did."

Harry frowned. "Nobody wants you dead, Malfoy."

"Given a right punch to your smug mouth, maybe," Ron added, under his breath. From Malfoy's sour expression, he'd heard anyway.

"Well," said Hermione. "I'm willing to make an effort at civility if you are. In wars like this, being caught up by infighting just makes us more likely to lose." Malfoy's face perked up a little. "But one hint of calling me, or anyone like me, that foul word, and I won't hesitate to repeat what I did in Third Year. I can be civil, but I can't forgive you still repeating the things we risk our lives fighting against."

At this, Malfoy nodded hurriedly. "I won't." More airily, he added, "At the very least, I have to stay on your good side if I want any more of Potter's stolen goods."

"His what?"

"His nothing," said Harry.

Malfoy glared, accusing. "Oh, come on, Potter, fess up or she'll bloody well beat it out of me!"

"I may have... relocated some of Trelawney's private store of Firewhisky."

"You did what?"

"It's not like she'll be feeling the loss! The woman has enough alcohol hidden in this castle to get the whole school drunk. Including the house elves!"

Hermione threw up her hands. "Why on Earth did you think it would be a good idea to get drunk now of all times?"

"Potter and I will be attending remedial classes starting from tomorrow," Malfoy said miserably. "With the Headmaster, and Snape, and Potter's newest bosom buddy, the Dark Lord himself."

"Remedial classes?"

"I can't blame them," Harry admitted. "They don't trust that I'm strong enough to face Voldemort without getting my arse handed to me yet. And Malfoy, too, I suppose."

Hermione hummed in approval. Charming, her faith in him. Truly. "Would they accept additional students, do you think?"

Ron's eyes widened. "'Mione, no!"

"We can hardly go in unprepared, Ron! Especially if we're searching for-" She cut herself off.

"The Horcruxes," Malfoy finished. "Yes, I heard about that positively charming little quest you've given yourselves. You've gone quite mad if you think you're going to get anywhere with it, and I'll make sure to write a nice eulogy for you when you inevitably fail, likely almost as soon as you start."

Ron growled. "Oh, screw you, too, you overbred, ferrety little wanker!"

"Don't underestimate us, Malfoy." Harry crossed his arms. "We can get a lot done when we put our mind to it." He gave a lopsided smile. "Otherwise we'd all already be dead by now."

"Oi!" said Ron. He knew Harry was right, though. There was no denying it, not when they'd started their tenure at Hogwarts by fighting a troll, solving a series of deadly trials, and then confronting a Dark Lord. All at the tender age of eleven.

"Well, when you put it that way." Malfoy sniffed. "You know, I know a lot about magical artefacts. I might be persuaded to help, provided you don't ambush me in my sleep, of course. And if you keep up that supply of whisky."

Ron snorted. "What, like you could help at all-"

"Actually," Harry said. "He probably could. He has a lot of really rare books in his personal collection, stuff that seems straight out of the Restricted Section. I'm sure 'Mione would love to get her hands on them."

"Hey!" Malfoy yelped. "How would you know about my book collection?"

Harry shrugged, very reluctant to give out any further details. Merlin knew what choice words Malfoy would have to say about Harry's dreams as of late. "If Voldemort knows it, I usually end up knowing it, too."

"How does the Dark Lord know about my book collection?"

Harry shrugged again. "He likes books and he lives in your house. I guess he just helped himself."

Malfoy looked like he'd swallowed spoilt milk. "Well, then. Naturally."

Hermione balked. "You can't bribe Malfoy with illegal contraband, Harry!"

"I think I'm going to have to, actually."

"You have yourself a deal, then, Potter." Malfoy yawned, exposing rows of pristine, pearly-white teeth. He seemed the type to cover his mouth with a hand when he was forced to do something as unseemly as yawning, but perhaps exhaustion had eclipsed manners, after all. "Now we've got all that out the way, can I finally get some bloody sleep?"

Hermione sighed, put-upon. It was a familiar sound, one that had almost become comforting. "We'll see you in the morning, then, okay? And please, for the love of everything and anything, make sure you don't smuggle anything else while we're gone! Or else you'll have Professor Snape to face down tomorrow, and we can't hunt for any cursed objects if you've been Hexed six ways to Sunday." Hermione grabbed Ron by the arm. "Now, we have a Headmaster to see about adding an extra class, don't we, Ronald?"

Ron gulped. "Yes?" he offered, hesitantly.

Hermione smiled, satisfied. "Good answer!" Then, she tugged him firmly out the door.

Malfoy made no fuss when Hermione and Ron were accepted to class. On Dumbledore's good will, of course, as Snape looked like he was close to murdering the lot of them when he was forced to acknowledge the new additions.

At seven, the four of them made their way down to a dusty, mostly-empty room in the dungeons, where they found their would-be teachers waiting for them. Dumbledore was humming to himself contentedly and Transfiguring the spare desks into mannequins, which marched themselves neatly into a line by the blackboard. Behind them, Snape was engrossed in writing something with his usual dramatic flourish. Something or some-ten, really. The board was filled to the brim with diagrammes and bulleted lists. Snape's handwriting had become small and spidery in an attempt to maximise space. Something about it seemed weirdly familiar, beyond simply recognising it from scathing remarks on his essays.

Draco walked right up to the blackboard and peered at it curiously. He gawped. "Surely we're not to learn all of that in one session?"

Snape twitched. "This is your lesson plan, Mr. Malfoy. As many of your future lessons will require preparatory reading, I am giving you the list of topics to research ahead of time." That was positively cheery for his usual dressings down.

"Our first lesson is Healing Potions?" Malfoy asked, excitedly. Hermione was the only one who seemed similarly pleased by the news.

"Of course it's bloody Potions," Ron grumbled. One of the mannequins wagged a disapproving finger at him. He glared back. "What? Come on!"

"Worrying about the sorry state of your offensive spells will come later," Snape said.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Now, now, Severus, these four youths have quite a bit more talent than you give them credit for. They've faced many challenges in their short lives, obstacles some might consider insurmountable, and emerged victorious. Would you put that down to sheer luck?"

"Yes," said Snape.

Dumbledore laughed. "Perhaps the stars aligned for them on some occasions, but not just any witch or wizard could have gotten this far."

For once in his life, Malfoy did not pipe up with some arrogant comment. Instead, he looked away, towards the door, like he was desperate to leave.

"Ever the optimist, I see," said Snape snidely. But he didn't say anything more and returned to writing feverishly on the board.

"Is this a general purpose healing potion?" Harry asked. He scoured his mind for what the Prince had to say on healing potions, and could remember some vaguely, though he knew he'd brewed recently. Everything else seemed to have faded into the background, eclipsed by the whirlwind of events that had unexpectedly assailed him since he woke up face-to-face with Tom for the first time. He hoped it would all come back to him as Snape began to instruct, since his stomach turned at the thought of enduring another session of Snape's humiliation after being finally freed from it.

"To start with," Snape said. "But we cannot afford to leave you with only a rudimentary knowledge of the art. The Dark Lord may not have the ability to kill you, but he is still at liberty to torture you, Potter. And your friends, if he chooses not to end their lives outright."

"Severus," Dumbledore gentled.

"I don't intend to pull the wool over the boy's eyes." Snape continued writing, the tap of the chalk getting decidedly heavier in his frustration. "Ignorance is not bliss in this situation. He must be prepared. Overly prepared. The Dark Lord expects nothing less from him."

"The Dark Lord thinks highly of Potter?" Malfoy blinked. "But he's only ever gotten by on luck!"

"Thanks ever so," Harry groused, despite the fact that it was truer than he would've liked.

"He considers Potter to be an extension of himself. He would never consider that any part of himself was-" Snape seemed to pause here, as he took note that the Dark Lord in question was no doubt listening intently for what he would say next. "He would never consider himself unworthy."

The room seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief when Tom chose not to manifest.

"But Potter is notoriously rubbish at Potions," Malfoy complained. Merlin, did he ever stop whingeing? "He'll likely destroy whatever you have us brew, Professor."

"Be that as it may, he must learn. I trust you will not saddle us with the same burden, then?"

"Of course I wouldn't. I actually know how to brew, sir," Malfoy said proudly. Snot-nosed brat.

Snape sighed. "Pride goeth before a fall, Mr. Malfoy."

Malfoy looked suitably chastised for all of half a precious, satisfying second before bouncing back. "You needn't worry about supervising me." He winced, and added, grudgingly, "You needn't worry about Granger either. It's Potter and Weaselbee that need minding."

"I am distressingly aware," Snape replied.

Harry grumbled and crossed his arms defensively. Snape was, as usual, dispassionate to his plight. He Conjured up four desks and made sure to place them unpleasantly far from each other. "Collaboration is only allowed under certain circumstances," Snape said at Harry's nasty glare. "Your friends may be the ones in need of these potions, Potter, and they cannot instruct you while suffering from their injuries. All of you must be able to brew the potion without outside help, so inspect what I've written clearly. I do not like having to repeat myself ad nauseam." At this, Snape waved a hand, and a few sheets of parchment settled neatly onto the centre of their desks.

Harry grabbed his quill, dipped it in ink, picked the instructions up, and prepared to be as hopelessly confused as ever. He stared at the page blankly for a moment before he let the words register. Best to get it over with. He sighed, rested his chin in his hands, and read the first word.

Without his conscious knowledge, his hand spasmed, and he knocked over the inkpot, blackness spreading like oil over the spiky letters.

The spiky letters that had greeted him, been his treasured advisor, and comforted him so often the past term. Letters on the pages of Advanced Potion Making.

No, no, no, no. This is a mistake. This has to be a mistake.

"It's you?" Harry gasped out, pointing an ink-stained finger at Snape's bemused face. "It's you! It's been you all along?"

Snape looked at him like he was demented. Very possibly he was. "What on earth has gotten into you now, Potter?"

"Fuck! Fuck, no, this has to be a joke, a mistake, something. This can't happen to me again! Why does everyone and everything want me cozying up to people who despise me?"

"Shh! Careful, Harry!" Hermione hissed, startled. Nobody else spoke a word.

"It's him, 'Mione! He's the Prince!"

Hermione set down her quill. "Oh," she said, faintly. "Oh, no, Harry-"

"Wait, seriously? You're pissing around, aren't you? Aren't you?" Ron spluttered.

Malfoy looked between them, bewildered. "What in Merlin's name are you all nattering on about?"

Dumbledore didn't even bother to look scandalised at his students' sudden foul mouths. His eyes twinkled. "Hmmm, could it be that Harry came across one of your famous annotated guides, Severus? The other teachers do so love to use them. Might one have been misplaced?"

Snape made a choked off sound. "'Cozy up'?" he repeated. "'Cozy up'?"

"You were supposed to understand!" Harry cried out, nonsensically. He didn't even know what he was saying, how he was feeling. The words just spilled out of him, all a mess before everyone in the classroom. Mortification at this loss of control was the least of his concerns. "I wanted to get to know you, if you were still around. See if someone could teach me what I needed to know so I don't get us all killed. But you hate me, too. If I have anything in common with anyone, they always happen to avoid me like the plague! Avoid me like the plague or die because of me."

Snape blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. "Potter," he said. "You cannot befriend a book. You can certainly use one to gain an unfair advantage, however."

"You were supposed to understand!" he repeated, louder.

Malfoy, to his credit, was smarter than he sometimes liked to act. "Oh," he said. "Oh. Wow. Wow, Potty. That's the mystery behind your precious tutor, solved at last? Professor Snape's dusty old notes? Honestly, that's pathetic, even for you. Haven't you been reading the ones he makes available in literally every class? I've certainly been making use of them."

Harry blinked back tears. Malfoy had been improving, raising his hopes, and so now the casual cruelty struck him harder, a sharp, lasting sting like a slap across the face. "He's always too busy berating me for me to pay any real attention, Malfoy! And it's a surprise you get any bloody passing marks yourself, with the amount of time you spend joining him!"

Malfoy had the decency to look regretful. He opened his mouth, then closed it and looked down at his hands.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. His eyes were still fucking twinkling, the old, scheming... "Now, now, gentlemen. There's no need for this level of hostility. Draco, back in your seat, please. Harry, don't you find it's a good thing you've benefited from Severus's instruction? Perhaps you might feel a little more at home here in this classroom knowing your tutor is offering his extensive wealth of knowledge for you to study once again?"

Harry turned on him, Tom's familiar all-consuming rage burning a path up his throat. "When has Snape ever willingly offered me a damn thing?"

"Professor Snape has offered you much more than you think, my dear boy," Dumbledore said. "But I am afraid I instructed him not to show it. I think now is the time you should be made aware of just how deep his loyalty to the Light runs."

"What? What's that supposed to mean?"

"I will let Severus elaborate as he wishes. Suffice to say I appointed him your guardian when you first came to this castle, and I see no reason for that to change now."

"You did what?"

"Surely you didn't imagine it was simply your own good luck keeping you alive, Potter?" Snape snorted. "Without constant supervision, your luck has been... poor, to say the least. Have you stopped to consider why this notoriously bad fortune hasn't yet gotten you killed? Did you think it was as a result of your own hard work and dedication? You, who cannot even muster enough effort to learn something that hasn't been spoon-fed to that arrogant mouth of yours?"

"Shut up!" Harry snarled. "I never asked for this! Yes, I may be the Chosen One, but it wasn't me who got to make that choice." His words choked him, strangling him with the sheer effort of keeping down Tom's fury. He swallowed sour bile, his chest aching down to his very heart. "You think I want everyone I care about to be in danger? That I like how many people have died for me?" Now, he was hoarse. Broken. Softly, to ease the lump in his throat currently threatening to strangle him, he said, "I didn't want to lose Mum any more than you did. Do you really think it's my fault she died?"

Snape flinched away like he'd been met with a physical blow. "No," he said. "No, we know where the blame lies for that."

"Enough!" Tom had finally crawled out from under Harry's attempts at suppressing his usual wild torrent of emotion, spilling out of Harry's skin like blood. "Enough with this pathetic, useless self-pitying!" His voice was high. High and cold. "I killed Lily Potter, and I would do it a thousand more times. She had powerful magic, and my only regret was that she wasted it protecting the weak." Tom injected more hate into that word than almost any other Harry had ever heard leave his mouth. "The most incredible form of blood magic I'd seen coming from a magical core other than my own, and it was for love? Love?" He laughed, mocking and incredulous. "I couldn't fathom why she would do such a thing.

"But now I see. I see that protecting and cherishing those who are important to you doesn't always make you weak. Sometimes it can unlock magic strong enough to deflect Unforgivables, magic stronger than I could even imagine. She, not I, opened the gateway to our greatest magic yet." Tom smiled bitterly. "My magic, and so, her son's. She died so that her bloodline could ascend to the likes of Merlin's own. She has won. Don't you see? The essence of her magic will pass down from generation to generation of superlative witches and wizards. Not many can claim a similar fate."

The room was deathly silent. Harry's voice seemed as loud as thunder when he spoke. "And what if I don't live up to her expectations? What then?"

"Nonsense. You learn from the best, and every day you grow stronger. She should be proud to have a son like you."

To his further mortification, Harry felt his cheeks wet with tears. "I just want to be even half as good as she was, but every time I try to help, to be worth all my fame, I feel like I mess it all up. Sirius is dead because of me."

Snape's eye twitched. "Then let us teach you, for Merlin's sake, you, foolish, reckless, maddening-" The sentence went unfinished, and he sighed. His tone had been more beseeching than reproaching.

"Please," Harry told him. "Please, for once, just give me a chance before writing me off as a lost cause. Stop looking at me and seeing him."

Snape's face was worthy of a painting. The confusion and discomfort in it was almost comical. Harry didn't think he'd seen Snape particularly shocked by anything in his entire life. It was an interesting look on him, mouth slightly parted, eyebrows raised, dark irises stark against the rest of his widened eyes, but it didn't last long. It was shaken off around the same time Malfoy started coughing awkwardly, and fairly inelegantly for someone usually so poised.

Snape turned back to the board. "Then, show me you want to succeed," he said, quietly. "Show me you're ready to face the Dark Lord. The Wizarding World is relying on you to prevent a lifetime of torture and servitude, and you must show them you are prepared to shoulder the burden."

Harry pleaded, "I'm trying."

Hermione and Ron had come to his side, both of them wrapping arms around his shoulders and giving them a reassuring squeeze. They seemed to have gotten used to strange things happening where Tom and Harry were involved. Dumbledore, of course, looked equally as unsurprised; his eyes were still fucking twinkling from behind half-moon glasses.

"Now," he said. "Shall we continue with class?"

Harry looked down at his tear and ink-stained notes and let out a shuddering breath.