On Sunday evening, Harry put his wand to the silver plate on the bottom of his HA inkwell for the first time that year.
On Monday morning, half his year mates — and plenty in the years above and below — had a certain kind of glint in their eye when they met Harry's gaze at breakfast. They were more than ready for another meeting, at last.
And with Dumbledore out of the castle most days it seemed, Harry couldn't think of a better time to start.
They were back in the Room of Requirement now — no reason to head down to the Chamber, not now they didn't have Umbridge trailing their every steps. Only a few faces looked disappointed; most people seemed relieved not to be in Salazar's enormous underground hideaway.
"It's good to see you all," Harry greeted, once he was fairly sure the whole group had arrived. "I'm glad you're all back. It was… a long summer." Several sympathetic nods and grimaces answered him. "You've probably noticed we've got a few new faces with us. I can promise you, they're all trustworthy — most of them were getting HA training in secret one way or another last year."
He gestured with an arm to the cluster of Slytherins stood behind him. Draco, Theo, and five of the kids from the Pottery. With their allegiances now known, there was no point in keeping things secret. Unfortunately not all of his Slytherin allies could be so open; especially not since he'd burned the HA contract at the end of the previous year.
"Just how long have you been befriending Slytherins in secret, Potter?" Terry Boot asked, looking more amused than anything else. Harry shrugged sheepishly.
"Longer than most of you would expect." He admitted. "And I'm sure none of you will be surprised that these aren't the only Slytherins I'm friends with. There are plenty more who aren't able to be quite so open with their friendships, so don't start assuming that everyone who isn't in this room is a Death Eater."
Several people snorted, Blaise being one of them, his lips quirking.
"So," Harry continued, "I know this group started as a way to make sure we all passed our exams. And I know we kept it secret because we didn't want Umbridge on our backs. But things are bigger than that now. There's a war coming."
Every face looking back at him was dead serious, determined. Harry resisted the urge to smile. "I'm not going to put another contract in place, but I'm going to ask you to continue to pretend this club doesn't exist. If you know someone who genuinely wants to be involved, send them my way. But we aren't just about passing exams anymore." He ran a hand through his hair, thinking over his next words. He didn't want to scare anyone, but… "I'm not going to force you to fight in this war. No one should be forced into that kind of a fight. But I also can't promise that the war will leave you alone — we all know how ruthless the other side can be. All I can do is give you the tools to defend yourselves, whether or not you choose to seek out the fight when it arrives. The headmaster doesn't want me to do this — he thinks that if everyone sits back and lets the adults handle things, the Death Eaters will be perfectly happy to leave us kids out of it." He rolled his eyes, and was glad to see several expressions of disgust in his audience. "So if Dumbledore asks, we disbanded at the end of last year. If anyone asks, we disbanded."
"What's the deal with you and Dumbledore, anyway?" Cho asked boldly, raising her eyebrows at him. "All that stuff in the paper over the summer…"
Harry grimaced. "Let's just say that Dumbledore has been planning for his own glory far too long to consider I might not want to be used as a weapon." He didn't dare say anything more, not when half this group didn't know the truth, but he hoped that would be enough. It would certainly get them thinking.
Still, he didn't want their first session back to turn into an interrogation. He clapped his hands together, grinning. "Right, then. Let's get started."
They had a lot to get through, after all.
.-.-.-.
It was a rare evening that found Harry alone in the Gryffindor common room. Normally, he tried his best not to be in that space for any decent length of time, but Neville and Ginny had gone for a romantic walk by the lake before curfew, and Harry had been out doing something or another every night that week so far — he didn't want people to start getting suspicious about where he spent his evenings.
Unfortunately, being alone in the common room made him a target for exactly the kind of thing he was hoping to avoid.
"I know what you're doing, you know." Hermione stood over him, arms folded and eyes narrowed. Harry glanced at the parchment in front of him.
"…My Transfiguration essay?" His facetiousness made her scowl, and he fought a smile. There were any number of things she could've figured out that he was up to; which one had a bee in her bonnet now?
"All your new friends. I didn't think anything of it until I came across a book about the Wizengamot this summer. But it all makes sense — Susan Bones, Zabini and Greengrass, even Neville! And now you're all cosy with Malfoy; conveniently right after his mum takes over a whole load of seats!"
As she got more progressively worked up, Harry leaned back in his chair, setting his quill down. He had to admit, he was surprised it had taken Hermione this long to figure things out.
"Draco and I have been friends for far longer than just this summer," he pointed out. "There was just the minor issue of his dad wanting to kill me, so we didn't think to publicise it."
Hermione huffed. "So? He's still exactly what you're becoming; an uppity pureblood who thinks they're better than the rest of us."
"I'm still a half-blood, Hermione," Harry said, but she just rolled her eyes.
"A half-blood who's planning on joining the same government system that's been oppressing muggleborns for decades! We don't even get a say in how this country is run, we're just expected to shut up and let the purebloods walk all over us! How could you possibly support them, Harry — how could you think your mother would be happy about that?" It was clear she had a whole speech prepared, and Harry wished he could send her Justin's way and have her actually listen to his and Susan's plans for the future of the Wizengamot, but he knew she would just take everything straight to Dumbledore — if she even paused in her ranting long enough to actually listen.
"You have to have control of the government before you can change anything about it," he pointed out patiently.
"Like any of them would change a system they benefit from," Hermione dismissed, making Harry scowl.
"What do you propose, then, Hermione?" he retorted. "We should all just give up our seats and let the Death Eaters have full control? Or do you think all of us should give proxies to Dumbledore, so he can go ahead and do whatever the hell he wants with this country? Because he's done so much good with the seats he's had the last few decades." His disdain was blatant, and Hermione glared, hands on her hips.
"Professor Dumbledore knows a lot more about politics than you and your friends," she spat. Harry couldn't help but scoff.
"You're so sure about that, are you?" he shot back reflexively. "Look, Hermione, I don't care what you think of me or my friends, but I'd suggest you do your research before you start accusing people of oppression. My Wizengamot seats are part of my family heritage, and I'm not going to ignore them just because you think anyone who isn't a muggleborn is immediately out to get you. Especially not when you're just jealous I have decent friends that aren't you."
He started packing up his books and parchment; his essay would get done much faster in the privacy of his dorm, even if it would be a bit uncomfortable to have everything balanced on a conjured lap desk. Hermione continued to splutter at him, half-starting a dozen different sentences, her tirade utterly derailed by his complete lack of interest or defensiveness.
"I never thought you'd be such a blood purist, Harry," she declared as he stood — loud enough to draw the attention of the few people in the common room who weren't already watching their interaction. Harry rolled his eyes; wonderful, now he'd have that added to the rumours about him going Dark.
"And yet I'm entirely unsurprised by you shoving your opinions on people before you even know enough about the subject to properly understand it," he replied evenly, turning away and heading for the stairs to the dorms.
Let that start circulating for a while — his reputation couldn't get much worse amongst those who were already thinking poorly of him, after all.
.-.-.-.
It was unsettling to hear so many voices at Seren Du, Severus thought as he let go of Ceri's hand and looked around the entrance hall. For so long it had just been him and Remus and Sirius — Harry during the summer, but otherwise, quiet. Hell, for half of the year before, he and Remus had often been the only ones in the enormous house.
Now, Narcissa lived there full time, and Charlie Weasley, and the Tonks family were over so often it sometimes felt like they lived there. Indeed, they were there now; Andromeda and Narcissa and Sirius having tea in the kitchen like he was sure none of them imagined they ever would when they were teenagers. Out in the garden he could hear Charlie, Tonks and Kingsley — it sounded like they were duelling, the aurors putting the dragon tamer through his paces. "Severus!" Narcissa greeted brightly when he entered. "We weren't expecting you home."
It still baffled him just a little bit to call this place home, let alone to have people there who might be expecting him in it. People other than Remus.
"For once, I don't have any miscreants in detention today." Something he'd done purposefully — he hadn't spent more than an hour with his partner since school had picked back up.
Sirius barked out a laugh. "Our godsons are otherwise occupied, then?" he joked — another baffling thing, joking around with Sirius Black. "Moony's up in the library, I think."
Severus tried his best not to blush as both women smiled behind their teacups — it had proven fruitless, over the summer, to try and keep his and Remus' relationship secret from those who frequented the manor, though as far as he knew Kingsley hadn't yet figured it out. He would, soon; it hardly made any sense for Severus to be living there just as Draco's godfather. He was still spying for both sides, he had no reason to be hiding, not like Narcissa.
And, as Remus kept reminding him, they were family now.
"Ceri will be sending up tea for Master Snape," the house elf chirped from her stool at the counter where she was rolling dough for what looked like scones.
"Thank you, Ceri." Severus nodded at her, then cast his gaze over the trio of Blacks. "Enjoy your afternoon tea. I'm sure I'll see you all at dinner." None of the Tonks' would pass up a free meal from Ceri, and if Ted Tonks finished work at a decent hour he was more likely to join them than expect his wife and child home.
He left the kitchen, heading for the stairs, unbuttoning the collar of his robe. Was this what his future was to be like? A house full of people, all of whom knew plain as day that he was in love with Remus Lupin — people he could trust not to use that knowledge against him.
After an entire lifetime of sneaking around and covering their tracks and blatantly lying to most of their friends, Severus couldn't fathom it. He wondered if Remus felt the same, sometimes. Then again, the damned wolf was probably counting down the days until the Dark Lord was gone and he could shout his feelings from the rooftops.
Severus would never admit to the warmth that filled his chest at the prospect.
Sure enough, his partner was curled up in his usual spot in the library, a book in his lap and a cup of tea on the side table. He looked up at the sound of footsteps, and the bright smile that took over his face at the sight of Severus was, as always, enough to make his heart stutter. "Severus!" Remus greeted, setting his book down. "I wasn't sure you'd be able to get away this weekend. You've been so busy."
"Too busy," Severus groused, sliding into the space at Remus' side, leaning in for a kiss. "But I told Harry and Draco to work amongst themselves for today. They both deserve a break — it seems the transition to NEWTs is just as jarring as it was when we were their age."
Remus smirked, happily curling against Severus' side. "I'm sure the boys are grateful." His amber eyes danced playfully. "I certainly am, to have you home."
Severus smirked, kissing his lover once more, relishing in the warm weight of Remus pressed against him. Merlin, a summer of sleeping by his wolf's side always made the first month of school nigh on unbearable.
"Albus will expect me at breakfast tomorrow," he relayed. "But I can stay the night as long as I leave early."
Remus beamed. "Perfect."
A second cup of tea appeared beside Remus', along with a small plate of chocolate biscuits. Remus hummed happily, reaching for both and handing Severus his cup. "So how are classes going? Have you grown used to teaching outside your dungeons yet?" he teased, making Severus snort.
"It will take more than a few weeks to break that habit," he said wryly. It was a good thing his quarters were still in the dungeons — that was no one would ever know how often he had automatically walked towards his old classroom to begin teaching. "Classes are… a mixed bag." Nibbling on a biscuit, he thought back over the classes he'd taught since taking the DADA position. "The second and third years are exactly as dismal as you'd expect." A year with Umbridge, and for the older students a year with Crouch posed as Moody — all too young to have been invited to Harry's secret defence club. "The first years are appropriately terrified."
Remus smirked. "Your legacy continues even without exploding cauldrons," he drawled, making Severus match his expression. "And fourth year up?"
Severus' lips pursed. "The older students… it is inordinately clear to me which of them were involved in Potter's little club." He leaned back, arm settling around Remus' shoulders. "It's quite astonishing, to be completely honest. I had no idea how much work he'd managed to do with them. How quickly they all must have progressed to be as proficient as they are now." Most of his sixth years were already capable of non-verbal casting, while a good number of his seventh years seemed more competent than half the aurors he'd seen in recent years. Those in his fifth year classes who had studied under Potter could take their DADA OWL tomorrow and get at least an E, and while there were only a handful of fourth years who had been involved, the difference between them and their contemporaries was entirely too clear.
And if some of the whispers he'd heard were to be believed, the club had resumed once more. At this rate, Potter would be doing half his job for him.
"Didn't you talk to him about it over the summer?" Remus asked, one eyebrow raised. Severus shook his head.
"By the time I knew I would be taking over the class, we had bigger things to worry about," he said. "And truthfully, I did not expect it to matter quite so much." He had not expected those students to be so far ahead of their peers. "Harry told me he'd taught them the basics — shields, disarming, stunning. He never mentioned the rest." Once again, Harry Potter had downplayed his skills.
"I suppose you weren't there to see them fighting at the Ministry," Remus mused. "Then you might have seen what they're capable of, thanks to Harry." He kissed Severus' cheek, and swiped another biscuit. "I suppose you're just being even more of an evil git to the ones who already know the curriculum, to stop them getting too much of an ego about it," he teased. Severus' lips pursed.
"I am pushing them harder than their peers," he agreed slowly. "But…" and here was something he wouldn't admit to anyone other than Remus, "I confess, I'm not quite as stern as one might expect. I am keeping up appearances, of course. I certainly can't praise them for their abilities. But damn it all, I find I'm actually somewhat proud of the little buggers. They saw they needed to take their education into their own hands, and they did so without any of us figuring them out." He glared at his partner. "I blame you for this, you know. I never used to give a damn about most of my students before you shoved your way back into my life." A handful of students who were decent at Potions and didn't shrink under his death-stare, that was all he'd had the capacity to approve of before. Other than his Slytherins, of course. But even so, he'd never felt like this about students before Remus — before Harry, and the boy's earnest desire to better himself, to make Severus proud, to pass on that knowledge to his friends with the hopes it might keep them safe.
Remus did his best to look solemn, but his eyes were laughing. "I'm awfully sorry I've brought so much joy into that shrivelled up heart of yours that you're finding it difficult to be a dick to children."
Severus scowled, and Remus chuckled, cupping his jaw for a kiss. "It's not a bad thing, to care," he murmured fondly. "Especially not in the position you're in now. You may have to hide what you're truly doing, but you've got the chance to help Harry teach these kids to survive."
The Slytherin knew that all too well — a Hogwarts DADA education was patchy at best, had been since his own school days, since the position had originally been cursed by a young Tom Riddle before Severus was even born. It showed in their Ministry, in their culture, in the way they had been so easily decimated by the Dark Lord's forces; death on both sides, because neither truly had the advantage.
Severus might only have a year in the position, but he be damned if he wasn't going to cram as much useful information into their teenage heads as physically possible in that year.
"Classes aside," he drawled, before Remus could tease him further about having positive emotions towards students, "I'm concerned about Albus. He's planning something." The headmaster had been absent more days than not since school had begun, and on the days he was present he spent far too much time watching Harry at mealtimes for Severus to be comfortable.
"Has he mentioned anything to you about it?" Remus asked, and Severus shook his head.
"No, which is all the more worrying." Albus still believed Severus was his man through and through. If there was something the headmaster wasn't telling him, thought that even he might not approve of… it couldn't be good.
Remus' fingers slid into his hair, blunt nails scratching gently at his scalp. "All we can do is wait, love," he pointed out softly. "Whatever he's planning, we'll face it as it comes. But your position is too precarious for you to go snooping."
Remus was right and they both knew it, but that didn't make it any easier for Severus to hear.
It was hell, working for two masters and trusting neither of them. Severus desperately hoped Harry's plans worked out, that they were able to find all the horcruxes and destroy them, destroy the Dark Lord as soon as the boy turned seventeen. He wasn't sure he could bear this burden much longer, not now he had a life worth living outside the shadows.
He was so fucking tired.
.-.-.-.
Harry hadn't been able to take Draco down to the Chamber yet this school year, but the chance finally arose when Snape headed home for the weekend and told them to entertain themselves.
He tugged on his boyfriend's hand as they walked down the narrow stone passageway — Draco didn't know it, but Harry's heart was fluttering anxiously. "So, I know I said we could come down here and train," he started, pausing to hiss the command for the other end of the passage to open, revealing the Chamber itself. "And we can still do that, if you want to."
Draco pulled him closer, his silver eyes knowing, his mouth curled in amusement. "I suppose you've got better ideas, do you?" he drawled, his free hand slipping down to the small of Harry's back.
It took a moment for Harry to fight past the sudden haze of lust and remember his original point. "I mean, we can do that, too," he assured, fighting a smile, "but also… I've finally got permission, to make some introductions. If you're interested."
The blond stared at him in confusion for a few seconds, until it all clicked. Then, he gaped. "You mean…?"
Harry nodded. "Salazar is happy to welcome you into his office." The founder had loosened up a little once he'd seen how much care Severus had taken in his office, and Harry privately thought he was a little sad about the idea that Harry was the last true Slytherin heir left.
Draco's jaw dropped, eyes going wide. "I— yes, of course! You couldn't have warned me sooner?" he yelped, looking down at his slightly ruffled school uniform. Harry laughed, kissing him.
"And let you get all worked up about it?" he teased, heading towards the hidden office. Draco seemed to freeze once the door was open, and Harry had to gently nudge him through the doorway. Salazar surveyed them with intrigued dark eyes, a flicker of a smile beneath his short beard.
"Good evening, Harry, my lad. This is your better half, then, is it?" he greeted, thankfully speaking English. Harry grinned at him, while Draco's cheeks went pink.
"Yup," he said proudly, arm around Draco's waist. "This is him. Draco, love, this is Salazar."
Draco took a hesitant step closer. "I— it is truly an honour, Lord Slytherin," he said reverently, and Salazar chuckled.
"Welcome to my office, young Heir Malfoy. It's a pleasure to meet you; Harry speaks very highly of you indeed."
It was Harry's turn to blush, as Draco whipped around to narrow his gaze at the Gryffindor. "I'm just gonna…" Harry trailed off, gesturing vaguely towards the bookshelves. "You two can talk."
Draco floundered slightly at that, but Harry urged him to sit on the sofa, and Salazar — no doubt sensing the teen's nerves — happily asked him about the state of Slytherin house from a student's perspective. That was all it took, and before long Draco was chatting away with the founder as if they'd been friends for months, hardly paying any attention to Harry as he browsed the shelves for anything that might be useful.
Like Severus, Harry had no doubt that once the shock of meeting Salzar Slytherin himself wore off, Draco would be voraciously going through the bookshelves himself, but until then Harry was happy to peruse them at his own pace. All the while, a tiny voice laughed in the back of his head, imagining what Voldemort might say if he knew how close he'd come to meeting his beloved ancestor — and how much that ancestor would have absolutely hated him.
.-.-.-.
Life at Hogwarts began to settle into some sort of a routine, as time went on. Harry got used to his classes, learned which of his free periods needed to be devoted to homework and which could be used to get half an hour with Draco; he worked out a schedule for quidditch practice and HA and training with Snape; and at least twice a week, he chatted to Sirius on the mirror, getting caught up on everything that was going on outside the school. Which, honestly, was very little outside the expected — the Ministry was essentially off-limits and utterly useless, with floo being monitored and the aurors under Voldemort's thumb. The Order were currently trying to get all muggle parents of magical children to somewhere safe, now that the Death Eaters had access to the student registry and the Muggleborn Identification Department. It made Harry's stomach squirm every time he thought about the visions he'd had in the summer of Death Eaters destroying muggle houses — how many of those young children had been future Hogwarts students? How many more were being attacked now they had the Ministry, that Harry was no longer aware of?
The Order could only do so much with the Hogwarts Book of Students, after all.
But Harry tried his best not to let it keep him up at night, even as the ball of guilt in the pit of his stomach grew harder and more painful with each passing day. He certainly had plenty of distractions from it, throwing himself into his classes and extra-curriculars the best he could.
"Mr Potter, a word, if you please." McGonagall's voice lifting over the chatter of students leaving the Transfiguration classroom was a surprise. Harry glanced over at her — as he did, his gaze caught on Hermione's smug expression as the girl gathered her books. Had she reported him to their Housemistress for some perceived slight or another?
Harry stood in front of the desk, waiting patiently until the classroom had otherwise emptied. McGonagall shut the door with a wave of her wand, and Harry tried not to fidget too overtly. "Don't worry, Potter, you're not in trouble," the Scottish woman assured him, lips curling when his shoulders visibly relaxed. "I merely wanted to talk to you. I did a lot of thinking, over the summer, about the things we discussed at the end of last year."
Harry raised an eyebrow at her, heart leaping to his throat. Did he dare hope? "Can I assume you've come to some sort of conclusion, then, Professor?"
She huffed, lips pursing. "Only more questions," she admitted, frustrated. "I… looking back, the way Albus has treated you throughout your school years. I should have seen earlier that things didn't add up. The way he spoke about your home life, versus the way you've acted. The things I've heard from other… acquaintances, these past couple of years."
Harry winced. That wasn't the part of Dumbledore's machinations he'd hoped to discuss.
"I feel I owe you more than a few apologies," McGonagall continued. Harry tried to wave her off, but she narrowed her gaze. "No, Potter — you have been failed by many members of staff, but I am the one who is supposed to be responsible for you, and I have not lived up to that responsibility."
"Professor, you did what you could," Harry insisted. "You didn't have all the information." His smile tightened. "Dumbledore made sure of that."
The stern woman frowned. "Indeed — I am beginning to realise that." She sighed quietly. "I will admit, I don't know how I can help. If I were to go against Albus' wishes—"
"You'd lose your job," Harry finished grimly. "No, it's not worth it. Just— honestly, I have most of it under control. It's just good to know you're on my side, even if you have to pretend you're on his." She wouldn't be the only person limited by their closeness to Albus Dumbledore. "We'll need someone trustworthy to take charge of the school once we get Dumbledore out."
McGonagall blinked, then slowly raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure I don't want to know who is involved in this 'we' you refer to, do I?" she asked, dryly, making Harry grin. "Well… I did think the headship may be coming for me in the next few years, though admittedly I assumed it would be due to Albus' age. How…" She paused, the topic clearly a difficult one for her. "How long do you expect to take?"
"He'll be gone by the end of this school year," Harry promised her. Whether that was due to his work discrediting the man, or the curse on his arm taking its toll, that remained to be seen — but that wasn't information McGonagall needed.
She gave a tight nod, shoulders tensing slightly. "Right, then." McGonagall straightened some papers on her desk, and when she looked at Harry her eyes were full of pure Gryffindor ferocity. "Whatever I can do to help, Potter, I shall. You only have to ask."
There was a small pain in Harry's chest, a knife worming between his ribs — how different would his life had been if he'd heard those words from her three years ago, or even earlier?
But it was too late to think like that. At least he had her on his side now, when it was truly important. "Thank you, Professor," he said sincerely.
If there were a way to achieve his goals without hurting the people he cared about with the realisation that their idol was a manipulative, selfish man bent on the destruction of magical Britain for the sake of his own glory, Harry would have jumped at it. But there wasn't.
The truth was hard, but it was necessary. He only hoped the rest of the wizarding world took it so gracefully.
.-.-.
As term rolled on, the students of Hogwarts learned to dread the morning post.
The flurry of owls arriving in the Great Hall wasn't as big as it had been in previous years; fewer students, for one, but also many people not finding it safe to write. And plenty of students ending their subscription to the Prophet now that it was essentially Dark propaganda and misinformation.
But in amongst the usual cluster of post delivery, there were black envelopes.
These were a brand new development since the regime change at the Ministry. A way of informing Hogwarts students of a death in the family. Either a thinly-veiled taunt at the death of a muggleborn or blood-traitor parent at the hands of the Death Eaters — always described as an unfortunate accident — or a genuine letter of condolence for a child whose Death Eater parent lost their life.
No one was safe from the prospect of a black envelope. Except, of course, those like Harry — those who had no blood family to be notified about.
This morning, Harry spotted four in the delivery; two headed to the Ravenclaw table, one to Slytherin, and the last to a Gryffindor second year who went the colour of sour milk when the envelope landed on the table in front of him.
One of the Ravenclaws fled sobbing from the hall. Harry's stomach turned. He wasn't hungry anymore.
Ignoring the concerned look in Neville's hazel eyes, Harry shoved his plate aside and stood abruptly, trying not to shudder under the heavy gazes of those who watched him leave.
Were they thinking the same thing he was? Probably. They certainly hadn't been quiet about it in the past.
He was Harry Potter — the Chosen One. He was supposed to be stopping Voldemort, stopping the Dark before anyone else's parents or cousins or siblings could die. Before any more of those black envelopes could be sent.
Every single one was another nail right in his heart, another reminder that he was safe in school while the rest of the world was not. More than once, a recipient of a black envelope had screamed at him over breakfast, blaming him for the death of their loved one. Harry was never sure what to say to that — they were right, of course; he wasn't moving fast enough, was wasting time going to classes and snogging his boyfriend and just waiting to turn seventeen while outside the castle, the fight continued.
A hand suddenly gripped his shoulder, and Harry whirled around with a glare — a glare that faltered at the sight of knowing silver-grey eyes.
Draco tugged him into an empty classroom, warding the door and turning to face Harry, arms crossed over his chest. "Whatever self-flagellating bullshit you've got in your head right now, drop it," the Slytherin ordered. Harry grit his teeth.
"It's not self-flagellating bullshit," he sneered in response. "I could have stopped these, Draco — or at least helped! If I hadn't got rid of that bloody horcrux in my mind, I could've seen his plans. Some of those people might still be alive." It was a thought he had every single time black envelopes arrived. He had led the Order to help so many over the summer, by getting early insight into Voldemort's plans. How was that fair to all the attacks that came after?
Draco scoffed. "He was blocking you long before you got rid of it," he pointed out. "You wouldn't have seen shit." He reached out, and Harry only fought him for a moment, reluctantly letting the taller boy pull him close. "You aren't responsible for every person he kills, Harry," Draco murmured, hand running soothingly through Harry's hair. "Thinking like that won't get you anywhere."
"I'm the only one who can kill him," Harry retorted, and Draco glared.
"But his followers are doing most of the work, and you're not bound to them at all," he argued. "You may be a key player, but this war is bigger than you. Hell, if you want someone to blame, blame bloody Dumbledore."
Harry snorted, guilt faltering ever so slightly. It was true; Dumbledore's insistence on making the wizarding world worship him as everything light and good was what had caused the shadows to grow so dangerous. He had upset the balance long before Harry had been born.
But Harry was the one who would right the balance, and he wasn't moving fast enough. How many more people would die before he could fulfil his destiny?
Seemingly able to sense the turn of his thoughts, Draco held Harry tighter, kissing his forehead. "The Order are doing what they can. Kingsley and Tonks, your godfathers, my mother — all of them are doing their best to help people survive. Nothing can be done until you turn seventeen and have your full magic; no amount of hating yourself is going to change that, you ridiculous lion." He smiled against Harry's scar, and Harry leaned into him, a lump rising in his throat.
"I should be doing more," he rasped. Draco shook his head.
"You're doing so much already. You don't even realise it," he insisted. "Let the rest of us share your burden, alright?" He pulled back, meeting Harry's eyes, a faint smile at his lips. "Honestly, Potter — I'm supposed to be the selfish one in this relationship. Stop thinking everything is about you."
His tone was teasing, and a startled laugh slipped from Harry's lips. Reluctantly, he relaxed into the embrace, trying to shed the guilt that was weighing down his shoulders and filling his chest. He took a deep breath — his boyfriend was right, of course, as always. Harry couldn't make time go any faster. Couldn't summon the remaining horcruxes with a click of his fingers. It was war, and people died. He couldn't take that personally.
That wouldn't stop him having nightmares about it, though. Wouldn't stop him wondering when the day would come that a black envelope arrived for someone he knew, someone he loved.
It was only a matter of time.