It was one of the rare times Harry and Snape were training together, without Draco or anyone else involved. They were only a few days away from returning to school, and the Slytherin was pushing Harry to his limits, making absolutely sure they had done everything they could. Not that their lessons would end when school began — Harry was fully expecting a slew of detentions in his future — but there were certain spells Snape wouldn't risk even in the Chamber of Secrets.
But after a full summer of pushing himself, Harry was very much starting to see the benefits; these days, duelling against Snape had him winning just as much as he would lose.
This was not one of those times, though; Harry blinked his eyes open to discover himself lying on the floor, Snape stood over him with a faint smirk on his face. Harry huffed, but accepted the hand to pull him to his feet.
"That frustration will get you nowhere," Snape warned him. While Harry was getting better at using the man's first name out loud, he would still only ever think of him as Snape. "Remember, your duel with the Dark Lord is not likely to last as long as I have been training you for."
"But how many people will I have to fight to get to him?" Harry retorted, running a hand through his hair.
"Should the battle go as planned, not nearly as many as you seem to expect." Snape shot him a pointed look. "We are not sending you out onto a battlefield alone, Potter."
Harry knew that, but he also hated the idea of any of his friends throwing themselves between him and a Death Eater's wand. "It still doesn't feel like enough," he insisted. "I mean, I know you're one of Voldemort's best, but if I can't even guarantee a win against you…" He clenched his teeth in frustration. "He's going to be so much more ruthless than even you will be." He knew Snape was duelling him as he would were he a loyal Death Eater, but the man couldn't deny he was still treating this as a training setting, not a proper battle. He never threw anything that would actually kill Harry before they got a chance to reverse it.
"Look at me, Potter." Harry's gaze snapped up automatically, conditioned by years in the classroom with this man. Snape's dark eyes were intense as he stared Harry down. "You are capable of defeating the Dark Lord." His voice was clear, curt, with absolutely zero doubt to it. Harry gaped at him. "You may have seen him duelling Albus Dumbledore and been impressed, but we both know neither of them were truly aiming to kill in that duel. They were aiming to intimidate. You have seen the way the Dark Lord fights when his emotions get the better of him; he is sloppy. Foolish. Far too arrogant — there is a reason he surrounds himself with so many powerful, competent fighters. Those fighters will be busy elsewhere when the final battle comes." The man smirked slowly. "If nothing else, letting the Dark Lord know you have destroyed all his horcruxes will surely cause him to lose his composure long enough for you to finish him off."
Harry wished he could have the same level of confidence. "Provided we have destroyed all his horcruxes by then," he retorted. "We don't even know how many are left."
"As I told you, I suspect Albus knows the answer to that. Or at the very least, he knows someone who might." Snape had already shared his suspicions of Slughorn with Harry, and Harry had absolutely no idea how he was supposed to make this man like him enough to share such sensitive information. Snape seemed to be confident it would be easy for him.
"That's the other half of my problem, though," Harry burst out, "Dumbledore has been trying to get at me all summer, and I'm walking right back into his clutches! He's going to be making my life hell enough as it is without me trying to suck up to Slughorn right in front of him!"
Snape didn't look bothered in the slightest. "Albus is dying," he said bluntly. "He knows his time is limited. The only manipulations he cares about now are the ones that will set his legacy in stone — not with the Wizengamot, or even as headmaster of Hogwarts, but as the mentor of the Boy-Who-Lived, defeater of the Dark Lord. His rumour-mongering in the Prophet is all to paint himself as the kindly, concerned guardian trying to pull back a poor young man from the clutches of the Dark. Either he will succeed — in that you will kill the Dark Lord — or he will fail, and the public will rally behind him in the face of a new threat; you."
Harry's stomach churned at the thought of Dumbledore manipulating the public so thoroughly that they truly believed Harry would turn Dark. Sometimes he felt like they were already halfway to that belief.
"But surely he knows I'm not just going to stand back and let him claim he mentored me?"
"No, he expects you to die in the battle in order to release that horcrux in your skull, remember?" Snape retorted sharply. "Then he can claim whatever the bloody hell he likes before he dies. Worse, if he dies at my hand — which he fully expects to do — he won't need to claim anything because the public will create the story for him."
"I'm not letting that happen," Harry retorted automatically, earning a glare.
"Yes, because the story that will come from you killing Albus is so much better."
"No, but the story that comes from me telling the public everything he's done to me is," Harry insisted, not backing down. He had more optimism than Snape, at least with regards to changing public opinion on Dumbledore. Amelia and Mrs Frobisher were working on it.
"As long as you are careful, Harry," Snape said, and Harry never knew what to do when the man's voice softened like that — the same voice he spoke to Draco with.
"I will be," he promised. "But being careful with Dumbledore won't get me very far if I can't defeat Voldemort when the time comes. Duel me again."
Snape stared at him for a moment, then sighed, but obligingly drew his wand.
.-.-.-.
Lying under a blanket on a conjured futon in the back garden of Seren Du, staring up at the stars with Draco curled up beside him, Harry was fairly sure he'd found the definition of perfection.
It was a beautiful cloudless night, still surprisingly warm even with the sun long since set. The whole thing was Draco's idea — teasing Harry about his Astronomy grade, saying he spent too much time indoors to even recognise stars anymore. So they had set up their little haven, with hot chocolate delivered by Ceri; the closest they could get to a date night while cooped up in Seren Du.
Harry pressed a kiss to Draco's hair, hand running gently up and down the blond's side. "This was a really good idea," he said softly, feeling Draco smile against his collarbone.
"It was, wasn't it?" he agreed, only a little smug. His fingers curled slightly around Harry's hip, just beneath the hem of his t-shirt. "I'm glad the weather worked out for us. I was worried we'd only have cloudy days before we had to go back to Hogwarts."
Harry sighed quietly; school was approaching far, far too close on the horizon for his liking. "I don't want to go back," he confessed. "I wish we could just stay here until I turn seventeen." Then he would have his full adult power, could finally take on Voldemort and Dumbledore both. But there was work to do in the mean time. "Quit being such a pessimist, Potter," Draco scolded lightly. "This year won't be nearly as bad as last. No Umbridge, no awful exams, and a reason to put two fingers up at Dumbledore. Not to mention, we won't have to pretend to hate each other any more." Thanks to Narcissa's bold moves over the summer, everyone knew that the Malfoys were on the side of the Light — and that Narcissa and Sirius had reconnected as family.
"I'm looking forward to that part," Harry agreed with a slight smile, pulling Draco up gently to kiss him. "Maybe we'll be out properly before the end of the year." He wanted that, so very badly, but not at the expense of Draco's safety.
"Mm, we'll see how it goes," Draco agreed, their foreheads pressing together. Harry's glasses dug into his cheek a little, but he didn't care. "There are a lot of good things ahead. Even Dumbledore can't ruin that."
"I suppose." It was hard for Harry to remember all the things he was worried about when Draco was winding his fingers through his hair, lips skating down Harry's jaw.
The conversation was derailed as they kissed languidly, Harry slowly turning boneless beneath his boyfriend's fingers. Their touches weren't designed to arouse — they might feel alone out there, but they were both aware their guardians were still in the house and perfectly capable of looking out a window — but Harry arched up into Draco regardless, wishing it were somehow possible to get even closer, to surround himself with the blond's scent and warmth and love. Draco removed Harry's glasses so he could kiss him better, and the Gryffindor grinned playfully.
"How will I see the stars, now?" he asked, making Draco snort.
"You gave up on the stars ages ago," he teased. "But if you want to go back to them, by all means…"
Harry whined, kissing the smirk off those pale pink lips.
They did eventually settle back down to look up at the stars, not wanting to waste such a gorgeous night. "I'll admit," Harry said after a long silence, "I'm glad that this time I'm leaving Sirius a free man. He won't be trapped alone in Grimmauld." That had been one of his biggest worries the year before, carefully watching the shadows in his godfather's eyes whenever they spoke in the mirror.
"Even if he were still on the run, he wouldn't be alone," Draco pointed out. Harry hummed; that was true. Narcissa and Remus were planning on sticking around. And, of course, there was Charlie. "Even better." He smiled, thinking of Sirius and Charlie, how he'd been so perplexed by the unlikely couple at the beginning of summer. Now, he couldn't imagine either of them with anyone else. They just worked. "I never thought I'd see him as happy as he is with Charlie."
"They are certainly smitten," Draco agreed. "The only worry you should have about leaving your godfather to go to school is the pair of them eloping while you're gone."
Harry laughed quietly. "Padfoot wouldn't do that. He'd never miss an excuse for a party." When he and Charlie got married, it would be an event, not an elopement.
Draco hummed, conceding the point. "Well, it's one less line for you to provide an heir for, at any rate," he remarked. "Which can only be a good thing, considering how many houses you've got to your name."
Harry tensed, ever so slightly. He hadn't thought about it like that; of course, any kids Sirius had would be more direct Black heirs than Harry. "Oh." He bit his lip anxiously, staring up at the twinkling stars. "I mean… it wouldn't be so bad to have enough kids for each house, would it?" His hand settled on the small of Draco's back. "And the Malfoy line, of course. Four is a pretty reasonable number. Five if Sirius and Charlie don't have kids." Not that he could see that happening; Charlie wasn't shy about voicing his hope to be a father in future.
"That's four times we'd have to find someone willing to carry for us," Draco pointed out. His tone was frustratingly even. Harry tilted his head, looking the blond in the eyes.
"But would you want to? If we could?" They'd never spoken about kids before, not really. Harry held his breath, waiting for a response.
"I… I hated being an only child," Draco said eventually. "Father was only interested in securing an heir; once he did that, he was satisfied. And most pureblood families have trouble carrying to term these days — all the in-breeding, I suppose. Mother's pregnancy with me was difficult, I don't think they wanted to risk a second." Harry saw Draco's throat bob. "I always expected to be married off to someone who would only want the same. An heir to the Malfoy line, and nothing else."
"I'd have a whole quidditch team of kids if we could manage it," Harry blurted, unable to hold it in any longer. He turned his gaze back to the stars, not wanting to risk seeing Draco's judgement. "I know we probably won't — though I bet there's plenty of women who would happily carry for the Boy-Who-Lived, but… I don't care about heirs or lines or any of that. I just… I love kids, Draco. Can we— I mean, do you—"
Draco cut him off with a firm kiss, and the knot of tension in Harry's chest began to unravel. "As many as you want, Potter," he promised, grinning against Harry's lips. Harry sucked in a sharp breath.
"Really?"
"We can certainly afford it," Draco pointed out. "I… the only thing I know about being a father is what not to do, but I'll learn. I want to learn." He pulled back, smirking slightly. "I'd have more kids than the Weasleys with you, if we could."
"Maybe we could adopt some," Harry suggested. "Orphans. Like I was." Like Tom Riddle had once been. Kids who deserved to be shown what a family really was.
"Magical orphans with no other family are rare, but I'm not adverse to it," Draco replied. "And Pansy has already agreed to carry at least one for me. Granted, we made that deal when we expected to be betrothed to each other, but she's told me she'll still honour it. As long as I agree to father a Parkinson heir for her should she manage to avoid marrying. Not the traditional way," he added hastily, seeing the alarm on Harry's face. "With spells."
"Oh." Harry frowned, confused. "Does Pansy not think she'll get married, then?" Harry didn't know much about Pansy, but he knew she wasn't dating anyone.
"If Pansy marries, it'll be out of expectation, or financial security," Draco replied. "She doesn't do relationships, or sex, or anything like that. The muggles have a word for it, she told me. Ar…Ae… Asexual, I think she called it."
Harry remembered seeing books and things with that in the title, back at Infinite. "Oh. But she's always so flirty?"
"She thinks it's fun. And it's a power play thing," Draco dismissed with a vague gesture. "People will do a lot for you if they think they'll get something in return — especially if they think they might get sex out of it. I keep telling her it might backfire on her one day, but she's not bothered. Her mother taught her a Castration charm when we were teenagers and adult men started letching on her." Harry shuddered. "She would've been happy to marry me, if we'd been forced into it — I wouldn't expect anything from her like that. And she likes the idea of being a mother. So we agreed that unless she was forced into another betrothal contract, I would father the Parkinson heir for her to raise unwed. A bit scandalous, but not the end of the world."
"Is she likely to be betrothed to someone else?" Harry asked in mild horror. He knew marriage contracts were a pureblood thing, but they seemed utterly barbaric to him.
"If her father manages to survive the war with his reputation in tact, yes," Draco replied. "He's determined to marry her off as soon as she graduates."
Harry's nose screwed up in disgust, and he made a mental note to keep an eye out for Mr Parkinson on any future battlefields. "That's awful. None of our children are ever getting betrothed," he declared firmly. Draco gave him a fond smile.
"Yes, dear," he agreed obediently. "Though not all betrothals are bad. Millie's been betrothed to some German boy since they were twelve — he goes to Durmstrang — and she's absolutely head over heels for the bloke."
Harry hadn't known that, either — he really had to get to know Draco's friends better. Though it was difficult, with both girls still pretending to be loyal future Death Eaters.
"Well I'm glad for her, but we're still not forcing our kids into anything they don't want."
"Absolutely," Draco confirmed, all teasing gone from his voice. "Our children will be able to love whomever they please, or no one at all if that pleases them too." He dropped another kiss on Harry's lips, and pulled back smiling. "All twelve of them, or however many we manage to gather."
Harry laughed, and suddenly the blanket was tangling around their legs as he rolled them over, pinning Draco to the futon, stars utterly forgotten about. "I love you," he whispered, heart so full he thought it might burst. Draco smiled back, then paused.
"We can wait until I've finished my healer training though, right?" he checked, suddenly looking wary. "I'm not sure I can handle fatherhood and that at the same time."
Snickering, Harry nodded. "We can wait," he assured, stroking Draco's temple. "We'll have all the time in the world."
With a future so bright to look forward to, Harry would do anything to make sure they could have it. No matter how many Dark Lords or controlling headmasters stood in his way.
.-.-.-.
They should have seen it coming.
It was the last day before school was due to return, and the occupants of Seren Du were gathered for one last family dinner. Ceri had outdone herself, cooking all of Harry and Draco's favourites, and even Snape was in good spirits — as much as Severus Snape would ever express positive emotions, even in front of family. Then, before they could even get to dessert, a huge silver lynx burst through the wall. Harry jumped to his feet abruptly — that was Kingsley's patronus. "The Ministry has fallen. We have Amelia at the Den. Medical help required."
The lynx faded, leaving behind a horrified silence. Then, Snape stood.
"I'll get my kit," he declared. "Charlie, Remus, I'll need you two with me."
"I need to go to the Manor," Narcissa said, frowning. "Draco, darling, you too — we may have some new arrivals and I could use an extra wand."
Draco nodded, following his mother without hesitation.
"I'll go to Grimmauld; the Order is bound to gather once they realise what's happened," Sirius decided. "Sorry, Ceri; looks like cake will have to wait."
The house elf's ears drooped slightly.
"Remus, I'm coming with you guys," Harry insisted, turning plaintive eyes on the werewolf. "I'm not sitting here all alone. I can be useful." Kingsley had said we, but not said how many that counted. Or how many were in need of medical care.
Remus frowned at him, then gave a short nod. "Fine, I don't have time to argue with you. But if it looks like there's going to be any danger, you apparate back here, okay? I know you're capable of it."
Harry nodded; he wasn't stupid.
Snape didn't look completely surprised to find Harry striding out of the house alongside them, merely adjusting his satchel on his shoulder and disapparating as soon as he hit the ward boundary. Remus grabbed Harry for the trip — Harry had never actually been to the Den.
It was the name they used for Remus' cottage, not that the werewolf had lived there for quite some time now. But it was a good stopping point for people who did not know the secret of Grimmauld or the Pottery, and could not be trusted to Seren Du. Though Harry wasn't sure why they'd gone there instead of Longbottom Manor. Susan would want to know her aunt was safe.
Harry's stomach churned as he hurried down the path behind Snape, unsure what they might find in there.
Kingsley met them at the door, looking grim. "This way," he directed, heading straight into a cosy living room. Harry walked straight into Charlie's back as the dragon tamer stopped dead in the doorway.
"Percy!"
Wide-eyed, Harry peered past Charlie; sure enough, Percy Weasley was lying on the floor, dangerously pale and holding a blood-soaked rag to his side. Beside him, Amelia Bones was unconscious, with strange black marks like veins stretching across her face and neck. Snape swore, going straight to the woman, opening his satchel. Remus went to his side, waiting for instruction, and the movement jolted Charlie out of his stupor — he hurried to kneel at his brother's side.
"What the hell happened?" Harry asked, glancing at Kingsley. The bald auror didn't look too worse for wear, though his robes were singed in several places and there was a thin cut on his head sluggishly dripping blood behind his left ear. Harry gestured to it, and the man grimaced, healing himself.
"No one was expecting it. I'm not exactly sure how it began; one minute I was in Amelia's office discussing dementor sightings, the next someone's running down the corridor yelling that the Minister's dead and You-Know-Who is in the building. We were over-run with Death Eaters before we could even raise the wards." Kingsley's mouth turned in a disgusted scowl. "Tonks and I were the only aurors actually fighting on behalf of the Ministry."
"Where is Tonks?" Harry asked worriedly, looking around as if the other auror might pop up out of nowhere.
"She went to Headquarters to muster the Order," Kingsley assured. "There's little good they can do now, but Dumbledore will suspect if we don't go straight to him on the matter. But Tonks is fine, only a few bruises."
Harry slumped in relief, looking back at the gathering on the floor. Whatever Snape was doing seemed to be working; the black veins had mostly receded, though Amelia was still unconscious while Snape waved his wand and murmured over her, Remus feeding potions carefully into her mouth. At least Percy's injury seemed an easier fix, Charlie carefully directing his wand to knit the wound back together.
"How did Percy end up with you?" Harry knew from a few cryptic comments made by Charlie and Bill that the redhead's devotion to the Ministry was not all it seemed, but he couldn't see how that may have led to this.
"I was trying to escape the Death Eaters that killed the Minister," Percy piped up. "And smuggle out some files at the same time. I bumped into Auror Shacklebolt and Madam Bones right as Madam Bones was hit with whatever spell made her unconscious. I carried her so that Aurors Shacklebolt and Tonks could keep fighting our way out of there." He spoke clinically, like he was delivering a report on the subject, but Harry could see the fear in his eyes. "I— we didn't expect them. Minister Scrimgeour just had a meeting with Augustus Rookwood. I knew he was a Death Eater, but I didn't— I wasn't expecting this to happen. There was nothing I could do. I had to get the files out safely."
"Why, to stop Scrimgeour being exposed as a fraud after his death?" Kingsley asked sharply. Percy glared at him.
"I couldn't give a fuck about Scrimgeour; those files are the only paper evidence we've got of Dumbledore bribing Ministry officials!" he retorted hotly. Harry wasn't the only one who gaped at that.
"Easy, Perce," Charlie soothed, squeezing his brother's shoulder. "It's alright. No one's going to hurt you here, or turn you in; Bill and I can vouch for you." He looked up at Kingsley, daring him to argue. "And I bet Amelia would love to see those files of yours, once she's awake."
Percy looked mildly offended that his brother was somehow on first name terms with Amelia Bones. Nonetheless, he reached into a pocket of his robe, pulling out a stack of shrunken files. "I hope I didn't bleed on them," he fretted, setting them aside to resize. His hands shook violently, crumpling the parchment. "They're in a shorthand form I created. I'll have to translate."
"You can do that later," Charlie scolded with a smile, ruffling Percy's short curls. "Once you've had some sleep. Hey, Harry, can you see if there's a Blood Replenisher in Severus' bag?"
Harry hurried to kneel by the bag, digging through for the familiar crimson potion without disturbing Snape's actions.
"Why did Severus come with you, anyway?" Kingsley asked, eyeing the man as he finally lowered his wand, flexing his shoulders. "I thought you were all at home."
Harry froze, meeting Charlie's panicked gaze. "He's Draco's godfather," he blurted, thinking quickly. "He came to have dinner before school starts back up."
Kingsley frowned slightly, but nodded.
"She will live," Snape declared, sitting back on his heels. "She will be weak for the next few days, and should avoid doing too much magic. But she will live."
Kingsley visibly relaxed. "Thank Merlin. We can't lose Amelia, not after losing Scrimgeour too. Thank you, Severus."
Snape just nodded. "Mr Weasley, do you have any other injuries?"
Percy became a deer in the headlights under Snape's gaze, but he shook his head. "Uh, no, sir."
"Good." The Potions Master got to his feet, picking up his satchel. "I should get to Headquarters. Albus will want to know why I was not informed of this development," he said with a sneer, giving Remus a quick glance that spoke volumes before he squeezed past Kingsley and left the room.
His words triggered something in Harry's mind — or, rather, pointed out the glaring lack of something. "I didn't feel it," he realised, heart sinking. "This whole time — I didn't have a vision or anything. And I can't feel his emotions." Voldemort would be happy — happier than he was even when he had broken his most loyal out of Azkaban. And yet there was no overwhelming feeling of triumph in Harry's chest, not even a buzz of satisfaction. His scar didn't ache, his head wasn't pounding, his vision wasn't blurring like he was about to drop into a vision at any time.
Nothing.
"Perhaps he's finally started blocking you?" Remus suggested, mouth a thin line. "You haven't had any sort of vision in a while, now, have you?"
Thinking back, Harry realised the man was right; it had been at least a week since his last vision. In his determination to be prepared for school to return, he hadn't noticed; merely been thankful for getting decent amounts of sleep.
"I… what does that mean?" Harry asked helplessly. Voldemort had known about the connection between them since he had used the false vision to try and lure Harry to the Ministry — had it taken him this long to realise that Harry could see into his mind even when uninvited? Was he using the same methods as Harry, now, to keep his side of the connection closed?
Did he know what the connection meant?
"It means I need to call Bill," Charlie declared, blue eyes daring Harry to argue with him. "We're taking you to Gringotts. Tonight."
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but his words quickly died; if Voldemort was going to block him out so thoroughly, what was the use in maintaining the link?
"Charlie's right, cub," Remus said, squeezing his shoulder. "If he knows how to block you, he might figure out the rest. We can't have that. Best to cut the link now to avoid the risk." He looked at Harry knowingly. "You couldn't help anyone anyway, if he's blocking you out now. The only things you'll see are things he wants you to see."
Harry's shoulders slumped; they were right, and he knew it, but it still felt like a failure to admit it. His visions had been the one thing that made him feel like he wasn't completely useless in this fight, tucked away behind the wards of Seren Du.
"I'm not going to ask what you're talking about," Kingsley cut in, frowning slightly. "It's not my business. But if you need to talk to Bill, you'd best move quickly; Merlin only knows what Albus will ask of the Order in the wake of all this."
Charlie nodded. "Perce, have you got somewhere safe to go?"
"I have my flat," Percy started, but Charlie shook his head.
"You live alone, that won't slide with me, kid. Come on, you can crash with Bill and Fleur for the night."
Charlie hauled his younger brother up to his feet, and the pair of them left the living room; a few moments later, Harry heard the whoosh of the floo.
There was silence, and then Kingsley let out a long sigh, sinking down into a nearby armchair. "Well, I think it's safe to say I won't be going in to work tomorrow," he remarked, and Harry let out a snort, even as fear tangled in his belly.
Voldemort finally had control of the Ministry. Where did they go from there?
.-.-.
It wasn't long before Charlie returned with Bill, both of them grim-faced. They had left Percy to be fussed over by Fleur, it seemed.
Harry expected Remus to come with him, but the werewolf shook his head. "I'm going to get Amelia back to Longbottom Manor," he explained, carefully lifting the unconscious woman. "I can explain everything to Susan and Augusta, so they know how to look after her." He looked up at Charlie, eyes serious. "Be careful out there. Bring him home as soon as you're done. I'll let Sirius know where you've gone."
Charlie nodded, hand settling on Harry's shoulder. "We'll keep him safe, Moony," he promised.
"I'll keep both of them safe," Bill assured with a small grin. "Come on, then, kids."
Bidding goodbye to Kingsley and Remus, Harry followed Bill and Charlie through the floo. They arrived in a part of Gringotts Harry had never seen before; an office block type room, full of goblins and humans alike. Their entrance drew some raised eyebrows, and one goblin hurried over.
"It's time for the ritual?" he asked in a voice like ground gravel. Bill nodded.
"As soon as possible. I'll get him prepped."
The word sent a shot of alarm through Harry — he was led down a narrow corridor and into a small room, empty but for a single metal wardrobe. Bill reached inside, pulling out a sleeveless grey robe. "Put this on," he urged. "Take everything else off, even your pants, and your glasses. We won't look," he added with a wink, him and Charlie both making a show of covering their eyes and turning around. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Harry snorted. His heart raced a mile a minute as he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, but soon he was dressed in nothing but the robe, his clothes in a pile on the floor.
Bill nodded in approval, and rummaged through the cupboard a second time, coming out with a small clay pot. "Okay, now stand still. This might burn a bit."
With that ominous warning, Bill began to daub some kind of ointment on Harry's face. It did tingle, a little like the muscle balm he sometimes used after quidditch, but the sensation was bearable. It took a few moments to realise that Bill was drawing runes on him, rather than just swiping the stuff on at random. Harry tried not to even twitch, not wanting anything to smudge. Bill drew the runes all over his face and arms, then nodded again. "Good. Okay, you're ready. But… I'm going to need you to trust Charlie to look after your wand for a bit."
Harry's stomach lurched — surrender his wand? When Death Eaters had just taken the Ministry?
"I'm sorry, but it'll interfere with the ritual," Bill told him, crystal blue eyes sympathetic. "I'll be there the whole time, I won't let anything happen to you. Besides," he added with a smirk, "from what I've heard, you hardly need that wand to do damage."
He had a point. Harry squared his shoulders, then offered his wand to Charlie, who took it with gentle hands. "I'll keep it safe," he promised, tucking it securely into his breast pocket.
There was a knock on the door, and Bill opened it to see a stern-faced goblin, who took one look at Harry and nodded.
It was time for the ritual.
The Gringotts ritual room hummed with magic. Harry could feel it dance along his skin, the crystals embedded in the stone walls glowing with an ethereal light, making the polished stone floor glitter with a riot of colours. It was beautiful, but Harry could hardly focus; not just because he'd left his glasses behind in the other room.
In the centre of the room was a cluster of people, and Harry could make out a ritual circle drawn on the ground. It was too fuzzy for him to see the details, but he would hazard a guess to say it was the same circle that he'd found in the book in Salazar's library; or at least based off that circle. Bill led him to the centre of it, where two more humans were waiting with a goblin. "Harry, all we need you to do is sit down in this spot," the eldest Weasley directed, helping Harry to sit exactly in place. "Hands on the floor — there you go, perfect. You don't have to do anything to participate in the ritual; sit still and let us do the work. Just, y'know— if it feels like it's trying to latch on, give it a bit of a shove for us, yeah?"
His jovial tone wasn't enough to hide the undercurrent of worry, but Harry pretended it had, grinning back. "Will do."
Hopefully after all his meditation and practice with recognising foreign magic due to Dumbledore's compulsions, he would be able to feel the horcrux and give it a hand on its way out.
Harry heard a quiet squeaking noise, and craned his neck to see one of the other humans in the room bringing in something that looked like a small metal box. It squeaked louder, and Harry realised in horror that there was some kind of animal in there; a rat, or something similar.
Of course, the ritual had described transferring the horcrux from one living host to another.
"You ready, Harry?" Bill called. Harry tensed, then gave a hesitant nod. Butterflies swarmed furiously in his stomach, and he swallowed them down resolutely. He would be fine. Bill was confident this would work.
All at once, the room filled with murmurs of a language Harry didn't recognise, and the ambient magic seemed to sharpen, focusing on Harry. Harry breathed deeply, sinking into the best meditation he could manage in such a nerve-wracking situation, making sure not to fight the magic as it washed over him. It felt like ants beneath his skin, searching, converging on his scar with an unbearable itching sensation. But Harry had endured worse, and Bill had told him not to move.
The chanting curse-breakers grew louder, the ants grew more vicious. Harry grit his teeth against the urge to cry out as he felt something start to tear inside his skull.
Bill was right that the magic would try and latch on. The horcrux had been in place for almost fifteen years, and it was not giving up without a fight — but Harry was ready, and he was stronger than this pathetic little scrap of Voldemort's soul. He gathered his own magic, shoving it alongside the ritual magic, forcing the soul out of his body. He could hear screaming — his own, perhaps, or maybe the horcrux's — and then there was a blinding wave of pain, like his head was about to split in two.
And then silence.
Harry sucked in a sharp breath, blinking his eyes open. He didn't dare move, in case the ritual wasn't over. He could hear footsteps, and the rat in the cage was screeching up a storm.
Then someone slid Harry's glasses onto his face, and the world came into focus; Bill stood in front of him, grinning, sweat glistening on his brow. "Hey, kid. How you feeling?"
"My head hurts," Harry replied, his voice raspy — maybe it had been him screaming. Bill chuckled, helping him to his feet, bracing him when he wobbled and almost fell over.
"Yeah, sorry about that. But you can take a potion when you get home, that should help. Hey, stand still a second for me, yeah?"
Bill moved away, and Harry planted his feet while the redhead checked him over with his wand. A huge smile broke across his face. "It's gone," he confirmed. "No trace of it left." He turned to one of his coworkers, calling something in what sounded like Arabic, and Harry was scanned a second time by an older man with a salt and pepper beard. The man frowned, doing another set of spells, then gave a decisive nod.
"No foreign magic," he confirmed, speaking English for Harry's benefit. "The horcrux has gone, and as far as I can see it has not left any damage behind. Bill, you will monitor his progress, yes?"
"As best I can while he's at Hogwarts," Bill confirmed, stepping in to sling an arm around Harry's shoulders once more. That seemed to satisfy his coworker, who nodded and went to help the rest of the team clear up.
"Snape can help with monitoring," Harry offered. "If there's any specific spells you need to use or anything."
"I'll get in touch with him about it," Bill confirmed. "We're not really worried, but considering none of us have done this before… it'll just be to make sure there's no lingering effects on your own magic. It was part of you for a long time, after all." He squeezed Harry's shoulder at the green-eyed teen's alarmed look. "Don't worry, magic is resilient — your magic especially. You've a strong core, I'm sure it'll plug the gap in no time."
He turned, directing Harry over to the side where someone had set the metal cage. It was indeed a rat inside; a huge grey one, its beady eyes staring at Harry as its tiny body heaved with panicked breaths. "Guess we've just got to dispose of this little bugger and then it's another one ticked off the list." The redhead glanced at Harry. "Any preferences?"
"As long as it's definitely dead, I don't care." Harry just wanted it gone.
"Fair enough. Step back, then. Might as well make sure it's done properly."
Harry did so, and Bill raised his wand, blue eyes narrowed in concentration. The rat stared back, like it was aware of what was to come.
"Fiendfyre."
.-.-.-.
Charlie and Harry appeared at the edge of the wards to Seren Du, and immediately Sirius lunged forward, wrapping them both in a hug. "How did it go? Are you okay?" he asked urgently, pushing back Harry's hair to survey his forehead. The scar looked fresh and raw, like it did after one of his visions, but Bill had told him the wound would probably heal for good now the dark magic was gone. Harry would have to keep a glamour up, if he didn't want Dumbledore to realise what he'd done.
"I'm fine. It's gone," Harry confirmed, leaning into his godfather's touch. Merlin, he was exhausted. "How are things at the Ministry?"
"Fucked, but there's nothing we can do about it," Sirius answered with a grimace, arm slipping around Harry's waist to help him back towards the house. "He's claimed the building, so anyone who works there will either follow orders or just not go back."
"What do we do now?" Fear gripped Harry's chest — if Voldemort had the Ministry, would it even be safe to go back to Hogwarts?
"We get you to school tomorrow, because as much as I hate Dumbledore, that snake-faced bastard won't touch you if you're in the castle."
"What about everyone else?" Harry pressed — what about all the Ministry workers who didn't support Voldemort?
Sirius' face turned grim. "We'll worry about that later."
When they stepped inside the house, Draco was right at Harry's side, grey eyes worried.
"I'm fine," Harry assured, stepping out of his godfather's embrace and into his boyfriend's. "I'm just tired. The ritual took a lot out of me." Even his magic ached, though he wasn't sure how that was even possible. "Go on up to bed, cub," Remus urged — Harry hadn't even realised the werewolf was there. He looked up, blinking, to find the entire household was gathered in the entrance hall, staring at him with varying degrees of concern. "It's late, and you've got to go to school tomorrow."
Harry coughed a laugh — it was hard to imagine something as mundane as riding the Hogwarts Express when the Dark Lord had just stormed the Ministry.
For once, he trusted the adults when they said there was nothing he could do. And he was tired. "Okay. I'll, uh, see you all in the morning."
"Come on, Scarhead," Draco murmured, helping him towards the stairs.
Harry grinned. "You'll have to think of something else to call me when this heals," he retorted playfully, and Draco rolled his eyes.
"I'm sure I can think of something."
He walked with Harry to the Gryffindor's bedroom, deft hands unbuttoning Harry's shirt, gently running over his shoulders as he eased the garment off. Whatever the stuff Bill drew runes on him with was, it had disappeared by the end of the ritual. Harry let Draco undress him, and crawled into bed to watch the blond strip down to his underwear, shuffling in beside him. "Won't be able to do this when we get back to school," Draco sighed, leaning in for a kiss. Harry hummed sadly — that was the worst part about going back, in his opinion. He'd grown entirely too used to having Draco around to cuddle all the time.
After a Headache Reliever followed by a Tooth-Cleaning charm and half a glass of water, Harry sank back against the pillows with a relieved groan, snuggling into Draco's side.
"I expected to feel it missing," he admitted quietly. Draco stroked his hair, humming.
"Maybe you will, once the dust has settled," he murmured. "But maybe you won't. It was never truly part of you, after all." Dry lips pressed to Harry's temple. "I'm just glad it's gone. I hated the thought of him having access to your mind. Hated even more having to watch you get pulled into his."
Harry burrowed closer, wrapping himself around Draco so excessively it made the blond huff with laughter. "I just hope I don't regret it." Whatever Voldemort did next, there would always be a small part of Harry wondering if he could have stopped it, if he'd kept the horcrux for just a little bit longer.
But he couldn't let himself go down that path; not if he wanted to keep his sanity. Whatever was coming would happen, and they would face it the best they could.