Now that the enormous basilisk corpse had been reduced to an expanded chest full of potion ingredients, a huge pile of snakeskin, and a mound of ash, Harry was keen to get down to Salazar Slytherin's office once more. He made his escape from the common room and hurried down the secret staircase, hissing at the office's snake guardian.
"Oh, good, you're back," Salazar hissed in greeting. Harry waved.
"I've been quite busy, sorry. School is hectic."
The painted founder chuckled. "That's what all students say. Come, sit; we have much to discuss, I think."
Harry did as asked, making himself comfortable on the sofa opposite the portrait. "Where do I even start?" He ran a hand through his already messy hair. He'd tried to think, over the last couple of weeks, what he might ask Slytherin now he had the chance. But there were so many questions, he couldn't prioritise any of them.
"Tell me about this Riddle fellow," Salazar requested, face hinting at a scowl. "It seems he has done quite a bit to mar the reputation of my line."
Harry wasn't sure Voldemort was the one entirely behind that, and he said as much, explaining what the current common view of Slytherin house was. That made Salazar's eyes darken, his hands clenched around the arms of the chair he was painted in.
"It seems you will have much work ahead of you, young heir — once you have destroyed this Dark Lord of yours, it is your family duty to bring the truth of the Slytherin name to light. I will tell you everything, in time, and together we shall repair my house's reputation."
That was a deal Harry was perfectly willing to make. Slytherin house deserved better. "Do the other founders have portraits hidden somewhere?" he hissed. "Or their own secret chambers?"
Salazar shook his head. "I was the paranoid one; I was put in charge of the subtle defences. The other three focused on their wards and traps. As for portraits… I was always telling them to sit for a painting. Godric kept insisting they would all have time later in life, and the girls didn't care enough to argue. They all died before they could be painted." He gave a sad, rueful smile. "I am the only one left."
His tone made Harry's heart clench. "I'm sorry." To be stuck in portrait form, entirely alone in a locked, hidden office… that was no way to exist.
"It is no matter," Salazar waved him off. "You have questions, lad. Ask away."A million and one things jostled for space in Harry's mind, but there was one that rose to the forefront, far more important than any of the rest.
"Do you know anything about horcruxes?"
Immediately, Salazar's expression grew thunderous. "The Slytherin family magics will not allow you to pervert yourself in such a way," he said, a hissing snarl. Harry went wide-eyed.
"No, no, not for me! Voldemort — Tom Riddle — he has horcruxes. I need to know how to find and destroy them." Salazar relaxed a little, though his upper lip was still curled. "There's… there's a horcrux of his, inside me. I was hoping you might know how to get it out."
Harry explained, raising his fringe to show his scar, telling Salazar of the goblins' scans and their current search for a solution. "If I need to die to be rid of him, I'll do it," he said bluntly. "Obviously, I'd quite like a different option."
"Indeed," Salazar agreed, brow furrowed in thought. "It was not common, for horcruxes to be housed in a living vessel. Then again, it was not common for horcruxes to exist at all. But I encountered them a few times, in my travels." He raised a hand, gesturing to the bookshelf on the opposite wall. "I believe there are a few books on the subject in my collection. Memory escapes me on the specifics, but you're welcome to take a look."
Harry looked at the expansive number of books that made up Salazar Slytherin's private library.
It was going to be a long night.
.-.-.
He retreated from the Chamber a little after midnight, his eyes crossing behind his glasses from the strain of reading the ancient books. They were in surprisingly decent shape, but half of them weren't even in English — at least, not any form of English Harry recognised. Even with Translation charms, it was slow work looking for any mention of horcruxes and soul magic.
Especially because he kept getting distracted reading about magic and theories that had fallen out of use in the last thousand years. It was fascinating.
One day, he promised, he would take Remus in there. Or at the very least, copy the books for him to read himself. Draco and Snape, too; all three of them were absolute nerds, and would probably commit murder for the chance to read such rare texts.
Harry snuck back into Gryffindor Tower, and was surprised to see Neville sat in the common room by the dying fire, hunched over the table with a couple of textbooks open, quill scribbling furiously. He looked up, wheat-blond hair falling into his eyes. "There you are!" he greeted quietly. "Were you waiting up for me?" Harry asked guiltily. Neville shook his head.
"Nah, just forgot about Binns' essay til about an hour ago," he confessed sheepishly. "Where have you been?"
Harry sank down into the armchair, shaking his head. "Mate, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Some secrets were best kept to himself, for now.
.-.-.-.
The defence club — which, to avoid using the term 'club' around Umbridge's keen ears, had begun to be referred to as 'the Hogwarts Alliance', HA for short, 'Harry's Army' if people were feeling particularly cheeky — was rapidly becoming Harry's favourite part of the week, just below spending time with Draco. His students were coming on in leaps and bounds, once they started to get their confidence in spellcasting. Harry had them working on Stunning charms now; a standard part of the OWL curriculum, but also a very handy spell to have in a fight.
He wasn't training them to become killers. Not like Snape was training him. He just wanted them to be able to incapacitate their opponent, and escape the fight safely. Once they had those skills, he'd look at teaching them some more combative spells.
Everyone was taking it in turns to stun each other, cushions piled up on the floor to stop any major injuries. Some of them seemed to be enjoying the opportunity to hex each other far too much — especially Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was paired with Zacharias Smith.
"You're all doing brilliantly," Harry enthused, walking between the pairs with a spring in his step.
"Thanks, Professor Potter," the twins chirped, winking. Harry's cheeks reddened — they had started calling him that as a joke in the last meeting, but it was starting to catch on amongst the rest of them. Harry couldn't deny the little spark of pleasure in his chest that burst each time someone said it.
Maybe he'd go into teaching, once he was done with his professional quidditch career. It was oddly satisfying, seeing people improve from lesson to lesson, watching their delight as they started to master spells they'd previously struggled with.
Neville was possibly Harry's most improved student. The blond Gryffindor had started out incredibly nervous, stuttering his incantations and giving up before he'd even properly tried. With some coaching from Harry, he was really starting to find his stride. Privately, Harry wondered if the boy's wand — his father's wand — was the problem; Neville had magic, that much was clear, but the conduit was distorting things along the way. Neville wouldn't hear a word about the possibility of replacing it, though. "Gran would kill me," he kept insisting, so Harry let it be. For now, at least.
As Harry observed his classmates, he noticed that more than a few of them had reddened skin on the backs of their hands. He scowled to himself — how many detentions was Umbridge giving these days? Surely someone on staff had noticed? Other than Snape, of course, who couldn't risk his reputation to say anything. Was everyone else hiding it, just like Harry had?
He looked around the room, a faint frown coming to his lips. The pairings were much the same as they always had been; the same people tended to drift together, much like they would in class.
A firework burst from his wand, and immediately the room fell silent. "This is going great," Harry began, "but there's something I've noticed. Look around a minute. What do you see?"
Everyone peered around the room, confused.
"We're all fighting our friends," Susan said eventually, eyes going wide. Harry nodded.
"I don't blame you. It's natural to want to practice these spells with someone who feels safe to you. But always working with the same people can make you too comfortable — you start to learn their tells, and their weaknesses, and you target them. Then, if you fight someone new, it's harder to get a grip on their weaknesses. It's not as big a deal now, since we aren't really fighting each other," he added, before anyone could protest, "but as things go on, it'll become more obvious. Especially when we start working on fighting in groups. You get too used to the same person protecting you, you start to leave openings with the assumption they'll cover it."
He'd listened to a dozen lectures on the matter from Sirius, who apparently had taken personal offence to the Auror department always pairing the same people together for training, back when he'd been one of them.
"Everyone in here is on the same side," Harry declared firmly. "You could end up fighting alongside any one of them. If you know their strengths, their fighting style — that's a huge advantage. I want us to start changing up our pairings. Find someone you've never spoken to before; someone from a different year, a different house. Someone you don't really know anything about. If we keep switching it up, it'll keep things interesting."
"You just want us all to be friends, Potter," Daphne called, stood beside Blaise and the rest of the Slytherins in the room. Harry winked at her.
"I will neither confirm nor deny that," he joked. "Seriously, guys. We've all been going to school together for years now, and yet I'm learning new things about all of you just from watching you work. And Daphne isn't wrong — you might find your new best friend in this room, you just overlooked them because they wear a different coloured tie."
He watched them, expectantly. At first, nobody moved. Then, slowly, the divides were crossed. Harry felt a swell of fondness in his chest as George Weasley strode across the room, offering his hand to Blaise Zabini. Susan walked up to Luna with a tentative smile; Cho bravely approached Angelina Johnson. One by one, people extended the hand of friendship to each other, and the room filled with noise once more as they resumed their spell practice. The atmosphere was different, this time; Harry could feel it. Everyone was a little more on their toes, keen-eyed — they were learning to spot the differences in each other's movements, to look for their advantages. There was regular conversation, too; Patrick kept up a lively chat with Lavender Brown as the pair exchanged Stunning and Shield charms, trying to catch one another off guard. Harry smirked, seeing the way Lavender's eyes trailed over the handsome older Hufflepuff; the way Patrick started to flourish his wand a little more, showing off for the pretty girl.
All kinds of bonds would be made, in this room, he could feel it.
His chest was bursting with pride as he continued the lesson, observing all the progress being made. Not for the first time, he wished the rest of the Slytherins could be there to share in it all, but it wasn't time for that yet. He had to make do with training Draco privately, and letting Blaise and Daphne pass the lessons on to their secret little group of Slytherins rebelling against the Dark and their parents.
It had taken a tricky little addendum to the contract, to allow the pair to talk about what they learned from Harry enough to be able to pass the knowledge on to others, but it was worth it.
Curfew approached, so Harry wound down the session, ready to carefully send people on their way. They left in small groups; some from the main door, others through the doors closer to the common rooms, trying to leave in intervals enough to not look suspicious. They had been lucky, so far; Umbridge seemed satisfied that her Educational Decree had stamped out any rebellion, and was focused more on inspecting the teachers again. "Hey, Susan," Harry called, gesturing for the girl to stay back. She bid Hannah and Ernie goodbye, wandering over to Harry's side.
"What's up?"
Harry shook his head, waiting until the pair of them and Neville were the only ones left in the room. "I've been thinking," he finally said. "I think it's time I start properly gathering my case against Dumbledore."
Susan's eyes widened. "Why now?"
"He's ignoring me," Harry said. "I don't know why. Maybe with Umbridge about he's worried he'll be seen playing favourites. But he's leaving me alone, which means it's the perfect time for me to start the proceedings. I'm going to write to the goblins over Christmas, once I'm out of the castle." They still had the sample of magic from Harry's blocks and compulsions, not to mention the records of Dumbledore's unlawful access of Harry's vault.
"Okay. What do you need from me?" Harry could have kissed Susan for not asking any more questions.
"Nothing much, yet. Just thought I'd give you the heads up. Even if I have a case, I still can't do anything while Voldemort's at large." He wasn't stupid enough to rock the wizarding world by denouncing the leader of the light while the dark faction could stand to benefit from it. "I know your aunt has been gathering her own evidence, for things he's done at the Ministry — if you're going home for Yule, maybe you can let her know, so when I've got everything I can find I can coordinate with her on the rest."
A vindictive smile formed on Susan's face. "Sounds perfect. I'll pass a message along when I can. Y'know, add it to the list," she joked, winking.
"Brilliant."
When she disappeared through the door to the Hufflepuff corridor, Neville turned to Harry. "Are you sure about that? If he catches on before you're ready…"
"I don't know when I'll be ready," Harry admitted, "but knowing the way my life goes, it'll be sooner than any of us anticipate. I want to make sure I don't leave any chance for that meddling bastard to worm his way out of the consequences."
If he didn't have the measures in place to slap Dumbledore with an arrest and a trial that would absolutely destroy his reputation, ready to go as soon as Voldemort was defeated, Harry knew the old man would be right there to turn the crowd in his own favour — and paint Harry as the next Dark Lord, if necessary.
He was playing chess with the chessmaster himself, and he had to be several moves ahead.
.-.-.-.
Sirius shuffled down the corridor of Grimmauld Place, hands in the pockets of his cardigan. He was feeling cold, today — really, had been a little cold ever since Moony left for the werewolf packs. Merlin, he missed being able to feel sun on his face whenever he wanted.
He turned a corner, then paused. Tonks was stood at the top of the stairs, looking… quite different. Square shoulders, with an entirely flat chest and more masculine waistline. A more masculine jaw, too — similar to Sirius' own, just without the stubble. And cobalt blue hair, shaved close at the sides and longer on top.
A suspicion began to appear in Sirius' gut. He cleared his throat. "Is that my t-shirt?"
Tonks whipped around, looking down at the Guns N Roses insignia, offering up a guilty smile. "It was. But then I nicked it." Voice a touch deeper. Nervous, too.
"I've been looking for that," Sirius mock-grumbled. He raised an eyebrow at his younger cousin. "You feeling alright?"
Tonks' cheeks went pink. "Yeah. Just. Y'know." An awkward glance to the side. "Feeling a bit more masculine today." This was followed by a strained laugh.
Sirius' suspicion grew. "Fair enough. Changing pronouns?"
Tonks froze. Electric blue eyes widened. "You— Um. He is good. When I'm like this. Which isn't often, but— sometimes."
Sirius nodded, his suspicion confirmed. "Will do. Now, are you actually feeling alright? That was a nasty curse you caught last night."
The whole reason Tonks was even at Grimmauld was because of a concussion sustained in a raid the night before. Kingsley had been worried enough to insist upon keeping his partner somewhere that was easy to supervise. Since Sirius — supposedly — never left Grimmauld, it had been the logical place.
Tonks grinned, the anxious tension flooding from his shoulders. "Oh, that, yeah. Doing just fine, promise. No more double vision or anything."
Sirius eyed him over, looking for any trace of a lie. "Okay. I'd still prefer someone check you over, though." Tonks couldn't go to the Ministry medics; the raid had been Order business, not Auror.
"Charlie will be here in a little bit," Tonks assured. Sirius ignored the tiny flop his belly gave at the news. Suddenly, Tonks frowned. "Are you sure you're alright with — y'know. This." He gestured to his very male body. Sirius rolled his eyes, slinging an arm around Tonks' shoulders.
"Look, little cuz; I used to hang out with all sorts of people, back in the day. Gender fluidity is not a stranger to me." Some of the social circles he'd run in between Hogwarts and Azkaban, the clubs he used to go to — Tonks would've fit right in. "Of course, you get to cheat and use your metamorph abilities when all my old mates had to settle for glamours and padding," he teased, ruffling Tonks' hair. He patted his cousin's cheek playfully. "Still keeping the Black cheekbones, I see. Good choice."
Tonks grinned back, and the next thing Sirius knew he was being bundled in a tight hug. Tonks was still shorter than him, his head tucked just under Sirius' chin. "You're the best," he murmured vehemently. Worry grew in Sirius' chest.
"Is your mum not alright with it?" He hadn't thought Andi was the type to judge.
Tonks pulled back, shrugging. "She doesn't mind, but she doesn't really understand it. She just lets me do whatever." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I don't tend to let myself have masculine days unless I know I'm in safe company. I sort of forgot you lived here, today; I woke up with my brain all scrambled and I needed to be a boy and that's as far as I got."
"Scrambled, huh?" Sirius narrowed his gaze. "Thought you said it was fine?"
"It is now," Tonks hurried to assure. "Just wasn't when I got up. But y'know; took a piss, splashed some water on my face, I'm all set."
Yes, Sirius was definitely getting Charlie to check him out later. He'd recruit Kingsley, if he had to.
"Right. Well, consider this a safe place for any sort of gender expression, at least when I'm around. Moony, too." He grimaced briefly. "Maybe not when Molly's here."
Tonks made a face. "Yeah, I learned that one years ago. Far too many invasive questions from her." He shrugged, brightening up. "Charlie's good, though, and Bill. They've known since we were kids."
"Knew those two were solid blokes." The two eldest Weasleys were quickly becoming great friends to Sirius, and he was glad to hear they had the right attitude about things. He shot Tonks a playful look. "And Kingsley?"
The metamorphmagus blushed brightly, but the grin that stole across his face spoke volumes. "He's great," he admitted. "Hardly even blinked, the first time. And— well," he cut himself off abruptly, hair turning red with the force of his blush. "Never mind. But you don't need to get all protective big cousin, not on that front."
"Good." Sirius liked Kingsley, he truly did, but he would absolutely hex the man into a puddle of goo if he messed around Sirius' little cousin.
Which, admittedly, might be the reason Tonks hadn't said anything about the relationship until Sirius had caught them kissing in the library a week ago.
He felt the wards twitch, and heard the sound of the front door open. "That'll be the Weasley boys," he said unnecessarily. He shot his cousin a sideways glance. "If you get paint on that t-shirt, I'll never let you borrow any of my clothes ever again."
The relieved smile on Tonks' face made Sirius' heart ache. "I'll try my best. I do have my own boy clothes. Just not with me. And I was never any good at transfiguring clothing."
"Ah, my dear cousin, that is my specialty," Sirius boasted, winking. "Old Minnie will tell you herself. Once, I transfigured her an absolutely stunning dress, really brought out the murder in her eyes."
Tonks burst out laughing, following Sirius down the stairs. He wondered how long his little cousin had kept his feelings bottled up — how much longer he would've continued to hide the truth if he hadn't been addled by the concussion.
Sirius looked down at the drab robe he wore, his wardrobe limited by the things he had at Grimmauld to make it seem like he'd been on the run before moving in there. No wonder Tonks had not recognised him for the beacon of queer solidarity that he was! His eighteen year-old self would be appalled at his sartorial choices.
Making a mental note to do some owl-order shopping, Sirius looked down with a grin at the pair of redheads in the main hall. They smiled back, then their eyes slid past him, and two sets of eyebrows went up.
"Now there's a face we haven't seen in a while," Charlie greeted, cheeks dimpling with the force of his smile. "I was getting worried about you, y'know."
His blue eyes moved to Sirius, question clear, and Sirius put his hands on his hips. "You thought I would have a problem with it? Me?" he said, offended. "Clearly I'm losing my touch." He shook his head, turning back to Tonks. "You and Kingsley were the ones who raided my old flat when I broke out of Azkaban; did you not find my skirts?" They had been in the wardrobe with the rest of his clothes, a good third of which had come from the 'women's' section of the shops.
"Skirts?" The strangled yelp came from Charlie, and Sirius looked back just in time to see the dragon tamer's eyes lift up from where they had very clearly been checking out Sirius' legs. The animagus ignored the thrill down his spine, merely grinning.
"Gendered clothing is bullshit and I look fantastic in a mini-skirt," Sirius informed the trio. "So no, I don't give a fuck about Tonks' gender identity, except to make sure he's happy and feels welcome to present however the hell he wants in this house." He shook his head, bewildered. "Merlin, how old and stuffy do you two think I am?" He knew Azkaban had aged him prematurely, but really?
"Our apologies," Bill replied. He was smirking pointedly at his brother. "We won't doubt you again. Now, I've got some good news for you. I'm pretty sure I've figured out how to get your charming mother off the wall for good."
Sirius lit up excitedly. "Really?" Ever since the kids had left for school, he'd been slowly gutting and re-decorating the whole house — with Molly no longer trying to steamroll his every opinion, it was going much easier. He'd mainly stuck to the upstairs rooms so the rest of the Order wouldn't notice, but now he was working on the more widely used parts of the house, and his mother's portrait had been proving a very difficult sticking point.
"My supervisor promised me that if this spell doesn't work, nothing will," Bill assured. "So I brought a sledgehammer too, just in case. But first, neither of us have eaten lunch yet."
"Oh, I see how it is," Sirius drawled, keeping his voice low as they passed the portrait and headed to the kitchen. "Using me for my free food."
"Absolutely," Charlie confirmed, with a wink that sent Sirius' nerves aflutter. Merlin, he was off his game, after twelve years in Azkaban. One handsome young redhead smiling at him and he was turning into a fifth-year Hufflepuff!
Bill made himself perfectly at home in the kitchen, pulling out salad and cold cuts for sandwiches. "Tonks, Sirius, you eating?"
"Please," Tonks requested, sprawling gracelessly into a chair.
"Go on, then. Charlie, would you check his concussion, please?" Sirius requested, resolutely trying not to blush as he looked at the redhead. "He says he's fine, but he also said he was too scrambled to pretend to be female this morning, so I don't trust him."
Charlie was immediately turning concerned eyes on his friend, who glared accusingly at Sirius. "Don't give me that look; you promised you'd let Charlie look you over," Sirius reminded.
With a sigh, Tonks relented, and Charlie soon had his wand out. From his work as a dragon tamer, he'd learned to deal with all sorts of medical maladies — you couldn't always access a healer, if there was an angry dragon blocking your way.
"How long can the three of you stay?" Sirius asked, perching on the kitchen table with his feet on one of the chairs. "Getting the portrait down would be great, but I wanted to strip the wallpaper in all the hallways today, and a couple extra hands would be fab." It looked much better now he'd taken down all the house elf heads, but there was definite room for improvement.
"Depends," Charlie drawled. "What's in it for us?"
Sirius hated the way that voice sent prickles of electricity across his skin. "You mean other than a free meal and the pleasure of my company?" he returned, trying to gather his best flirtatious voice, rusty as he was.
He had no idea why Charlie Weasley seemed so keen to flirt with him, but he was happy to rise to the challenge.
"I'll let you join me in the delight of setting fire to Mum's portrait, once it's off the wall."
"I'm in," Tonks said immediately, beaming.
"Sounds fun," Bill agreed, levitating a plate of sandwiches over. Charlie, evidently happy with Tonks' health, leaned back in his chair, sparkling blue eyes meeting Sirius'.
"I never turn down a chance to play with fire," he murmured, voice edged with challenge.
Sirius swallowed thickly.
That man was going to be the death of him.
.-.-.-.
If Harry had thought that the first couple of weeks of term were the teachers trying to scare them with an enormous workload into taking their OWLs seriously, he was sorely disappointed — it was edging closer to December, and the homework load had only gotten worse. Between quidditch practice, the HA, heirs meetings, and visiting Salazar, Harry was beginning to feel like an overstretched elastic band. Draco, being the absolutely incredible boyfriend and paragon of all things wonderful that he was, had rectified this by outright kidnapping him from a corridor on his way back from dinner, yanking him into an empty classroom and warding the door. "It feels like it has been weeks since I last had a civil conversation with you that didn't revolve around Defence practice or the Wizengamot," he declared in irritation, casting Cushioning charms on the floor and manhandling Harry down. "I'm sick and tired of having to talk shit about you in public, and for once I don't have prefect duties, and you've got a free evening, so we are going to stay in here until bloody curfew and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist." The more he spoke, the more his anger drained into exhaustion, until he was on his knees and staring at Harry with plaintive grey eyes. "Please?"
Harry pulled him forward, cuddling him against his side, running a hand through the blond's soft hair. "That sounds amazing." It was wearing on him, too, only being able to speak to Draco if they were insulting each other. "Fuck, fifth year is hard."
"It is," Draco agreed, voice muffled by Harry's jumper. "But it'd probably be easier if you weren't moonlighting as a Defence teacher and attempting to bring down the Ministry."
"Probably." Harry kept playing with Draco's hair. "Are prefect duties really getting to you?"
"Not by themselves," Draco sighed. "But with everything else — the politics in Slytherin right now…" He trailed off, and Harry squeezed him tight for a minute. "I got another letter from Father today. Checking up on me, making sure I'm applying myself and forging the right connections."
"Arsehole," Harry muttered, kissing Draco's hair. The blond hummed.
"Good news is, he's agreed to let me stay for Yule."
That was good news, though Harry knew it would just leave Draco in the castle worrying about his mother all of break.
"I think I'm just gonna sleep the whole three weeks," Harry declared mutinously. "Here or at the Burrow or where Sirius is, I don't care. As soon as classes are over, just point me to a bed, and wake me up when spring term starts."
Draco craned his neck up, looking amused. "You're not a bear, Potter. And foxes don't hibernate."
"This one could," Harry insisted.
It was a moot point, of course. Whether he was at Hogwarts or Grimmauld, he had far too much to do to sleep the whole break away. Still, he could dream.
The pair lay together for a while, the only sound in the classroom their steady breathing. Harry began to wonder if Draco had fallen asleep, until he felt the Slytherin's hand reach for his own, tangling their fingers together. Harry frowned when Draco's thumb started to run over the ridged flesh of the scar from Umbridge's detentions. Even with Snape's help, it had left a permanent mark.
"Don't," he murmured, pulling his hand away.
"Does it still hurt?" Draco's voice was worried. Harry shook his head.
"No, I just—" He huffed, looking down at the pale marks on his skin. "You shouldn't have to look at my scars."
Draco propped himself up, one hand on Harry's chest. His blond brows knitted together. "Your scars don't bother me," he insisted. "I mean, they do, because I want to pull that hag's intestines out through her own mouth for inflicting that kind of pain on you," his eyes flashed dangerously, "but I don't think any less of you for it. Or any of the rest." He looked at Harry earnestly. "Does that still bother you? Even now?"
Harry squirmed, unable to meet his boyfriend's eyes. "I know they're not pretty to look at," he mumbled. It was easy for Draco to ignore them, when they met in dimly lit classrooms. It was easy for Harry to pretend they weren't there.
"How many times to I have to tell you you're gorgeous before you'll believe me, Potter," Draco sighed. He grabbed Harry's hand again, bringing it up to press a kiss to the scarred words. "Scars and all. If they upset you that much, you should ask Uncle Sev for some Scar Remover; he has some that works well even on years-old scars. But don't you dare think for a second that they bother me."
"Only because I try not to let you see them," Harry muttered. Draco poked him hard in the chest.
"I've seen enough to think about you naked, and when I do, the scars are still there," he said bluntly. Harry's cheeks flamed.
"I—" Draco cut him off with a firm kiss.
"Trust me," he said, "the scars don't make you any less attractive. But even if you were hideous I'd still probably fancy you."
"Only probably?" Harry teased, ignoring the rest of the declaration before he dissolved from the embarrassment. Draco gave him a look that said he knew exactly what Harry was doing, and let it slide. "Honestly, Potter, you should worry more about that hair of yours than the scars, I mean really, it's like you've never even seen a brush," he muttered, though he happily buried his hands in the tangled black mess. Harry snorted, pushing up and back until he was the one lying half on Draco, pillowed on the blond's narrow chest.
"Don't deserve you," he murmured, feeling those deft fingers scratching gently at his scalp.
"I'm a gift," Draco agreed breezily. A quiet laugh huffed out of Harry; truer words had never been spoken.
.-.-.-.
When over half the members of the Hogwarts Alliance showed up with bleeding hands, Harry mentally revised his lesson plan. He waved his wand, rearranging the cushions on the floor until they were in a rough circle.
"Everyone take a seat," he requested. "If you'd be more comfortable in a proper chair, let me know, I'll conjure one."
They all seemed fine with the cushions, settling down and watching Harry curiously. He sat on a cushion of his own, glad to see that people hadn't automatically sat by their housemates and friends. His insistence on constantly mixing up partnerships was working.
"How many of you have had detention with Umbridge so far?" he asked, dread heavy in his voice.
Silence, in which many people shared uneasy glances. Then, slowly, hands began to rise. Harry cursed. Even little Dennis Creevey, the youngest person in the room, had his hand up. "That bitch," he muttered, then shook his head. "Okay. Today I'm going to teach you all a few spells. Some of you might know them — either because I've taught you, or someone else did," he looked at Cho, whose jaw was clenched, and she nodded shortly. She had shared the spells with the Ravenclaws. Good.
"First is a charm to drain the magical residue from the wound. Blood Quills are a magical object; even though the injury might look like it's healed over, magic still leaves its mark. If enough of that magic builds up, it can cause problems." He didn't want to scare anyone with the full explanation. "This charm should be cast after every detention. If you know anyone else who gets a detention, you can teach it to them, too."
He demonstrated the charm, and around the circle people began to copy him, wands pointed at their own hands, or their neighbour's.
"How do we know if it works?" Lavender asked, her wand pointed at Ginny's reddened hand.
"You can feel it," Ginny assured her. "It feels like there was something sticky on my hand, and it's gone now." Other people nodded, agreeing with her assessment. Harry was glad they could feel it — maybe it would help them feel any other magic cast on them. Just in case.
Next, he taught them a Healing charm, followed by a Numbing charm to apply before detentions so the Blood Quill wouldn't hurt as much. Harry had never needed that one himself; the pain wasn't even a blip on his radar.
They were all learning quickly, and Harry was wondering if he had time to go back to his original lesson plan, when Katie Bell cleared her throat. "Hey, Harry; would you teach us that privacy ward thing you're always putting up in the common room? The sound-muffling bubble one?"
Harry blinked at her; he hadn't realised people had noticed that.
"You can do privacy wards?"
"And proper Silencing charms?"
Immediately, a flurry of questions came Harry's way; everyone keen to know what other kinds of magic he could do. He raised his hands to get them to settle down. "I can teach you, yeah," he said, smiling a little bemusedly. "I'm sure some of you know similar versions, but we can all teach each other. I'm not the only one in this room who knows spells the other don't," he added ruefully.
It was an interesting meeting, sat in their circle like that; once Harry had taught his privacy spells, Fred had offered to teach them a Proximity charm he and George used to warn them if someone was coming close, when they were setting pranks. Soon, several people had their own contributions — Blaise even demonstrated a spell that Harry didn't know, to make something invisible to everyone except the person who had cast the spell.
Loads of them had little snippets of magic to share; things learned from parents, or older siblings, or out of random books. Not all of them were defence-based — Anthony Goldstein proudly shared a spell he used to soothe and stretch his hypermobile joints when they were painful, and all the quidditch players in the room were delighted by the results.
Curfew snuck up on them, the clock on the wall letting out a loud ringing noise, and Harry jumped. "Bloody hell. Guess we got a little carried away." He stood, looking sheepish. "This was really brilliant, I'm so glad we did this. Before you all go, I've got something for you."
He hurried over to his satchel, pulling out a black cloth bag. Up-ending it onto the table, a bunch of inkwells spilled out. "Everyone, take one of these," he urged. "It's an easier way to spread the word on when we'll next meet." Between three house teams worth of quidditch, and prefect duties for various members, it was hard for Harry to set a date too far in advance. "They've all got a Protean charm on them — look." He picked one up and showed the bottom, which was a flat plate of silver metal. "I'll mark on mine the date and time of the next meeting, and it'll show up on yours. The ink will change colour, too, when I've updated it — to remind you to check it."
"That's a fancy bit of spellwork," Cho teased, reaching for an inkwell.
Bashful, Harry shrugged. "A friend suggested it." It had been Remus' idea, and Sirius had taught him the Protean and Colour-Change charms through the mirror.
"Just don't throw it away when the ink runs out," George joked, picking up two and tossing one to his twin. "Cheers, Harry."
Soon, the table was empty and the students were headed off to their common rooms, hurrying to make it within the generally accepted ten minute grace period post-curfew.
It was nice, Harry thought as he tidied the room up a bit, not to be the only one teaching all the time. Maybe he would encourage the others to share their knowledge more often.