While it was often tempting to avoid the Great Hall and all the attention that came with it, Harry tried to make a point of putting in at least a short appearance at every meal — both for the people who might worry for his safety, and the people who were waiting for a sign of his weakness to begin picking apart.
So Harry hadn't been down to the kitchens in a fair while. The route was familiar enough, though, and he couldn't help but grin as the giggling pear in the fruit bowl painting allowed him entry, revealing the hive of activity within. Several elves stopped to stare at him with their huge eyes. "Master Snakey is in need of food?" one elf asked, making Harry stifle a chuckle — Hannah had told him about the new form of address since their taking of the wards, getting a great amount of amusement over being called 'Missy Badger' by the tiny creatures.
"No, not food right now, thanks; lunch was brilliant, I'm still stuffed," he assured them, scanning the crowd for the bright explosion of colour that usually signified his elf friend. "I'm here for two reasons, actually. I— I was looking for Dobby. And also… whichever one of you is in charge? If you have a system like that?" He wasn't sure of the hierarchy of house elves, or if they even had one.
A quiet pop, and suddenly Dobby was at his side, wearing a pair of lurid green football shorts beneath a bright pink unicorn-printed tank top. "Harry Potter sir is needing Dobby?"
At the same time, an elderly elf shuffled through the crowd — this one wore the same white toga-like uniform as the rest of the elves, printed with the Hogwarts crest on the bottom. "I is being Lula, Master Snakey. I is the oldest elf at Hoggywarts."
"Oh, brilliant. It's nice to meet you, Lula." Harry smiled at the elf, who looked at him like he was just as strange as Dobby. "Can we— will you sit with me? I have some questions. If I'm not interrupting anything, of course."
Lula eyed him appraisingly, then nodded. Harry and the two elves went over to the small table nearby — they both looked deeply uncomfortable at sitting on stools at the same table as a wizard. All around the kitchen, elves were watching them.
"Well, the first thing I wanted to ask… I'm sure you're all aware of the war, right?" Several heads bobbed, not just Lula and Dobby. "Okay. Well, I'm fairly sure there's going to be fighting at Hogwarts, when it happens. Probably quite soon. And, well, I wanted to make sure you were all safe. And ask if there was anything you all would be willing to do to help."
Dobby almost fell off his stool with the force of his gasp. "Harry Potter sir is asking elves to fight with wizards?"
"Not if you don't want to," Harry hurried to assure. "It's our fight, not yours. I won't have you putting yourselves in danger for our sakes. But… there might be people in the castle who don't want to fight, either. Or people who are too young to fight." Harry couldn't guarantee that the fighting would wait until the students left — or that the students would even be able to leave. "I was hoping the elves might be willing to help move them to somewhere safe. I know you can't take students off the grounds, but if you could grab all the young students and take them to the same place — maybe down here, where the fighting isn't likely to touch. And maybe be willing to help injured people up to the Hospital Wing? Your ability to travel within the wards is really amazing." They could save lives, with that kind of speed.
Lula frowned at him, huge blue eyes a little rheumy. "Master Snakey is… asking? These is not orders?"
"Merlin, no! Like I said, it's not your fight. If you all want to huddle up down here, that's absolutely fine by me. Wizard magic is dangerous. But… this castle is your home, too. You deserve the chance to help defend it, if you want." He looked over the crowd of elves, almost all of whom had stopped their work to listen in. "If any of you are willing to help, we would be in your debt for it. But regardless, we'll do what we can to keep this castle safe. Keep your home safe."
With elves like Dobby amongst them, Harry didn't doubt that the Hogwarts elves knew exactly how many of the people on Voldemort's side treated their elves. They wouldn't want the castle to be taken any more than he did.
Lula hummed, tugging at their ears. "Elves will discuss. Think it over. We is… never has a wizard spoken so plainly to an elf. Like equals." Many elves nodded, muttering quietly to each other. Harry flashed a grin.
"Well, that's something we'll have to work on once the war's over, then," he said cheerfully. "This castle would be nothing without you lot!" The food, the laundry, the cleaning — the hundreds of other things the elves kept in order that he probably didn't even consider in his day to day life.
"Dobby will fight with Harry Potter sir," Dobby declared boldly. "Dobby would be honoured to help!"
"Thanks, Dobby," Harry said, patting the elf on his skinny back. "I appreciate it."
Dobby looked like he might faint from joy.
"Master Snakey is saying he wants to talk about two things," Lula piped up, somewhat hesitant, like Harry's second request might be so much bigger than his first. Harry chuckled, running a hand through his hair.
"Oh, the other thing is simple, really," he assured. "See, I'm planning a little birthday party…"
.-.-.
Draco was used to his birthday being somewhat overshadowed, as a student. June 5th might not be an exam day itself, but it was close enough to it — usually by now everyone was far too busy studying to do anything in particular.
This year, there were no exams. In solidarity with the OWL and NEWT students, McGonagall had cancelled exams for all year groups, claiming they had enough on their plates as it was. This decision made her wildly popular, even amongst Slytherins. And that little spark of hope within Draco caught alight.
He was turning seventeen. Coming of age in the wizarding world. He had the day off classes, to welcome in his maturing magic — which would set in at 11:02 in the morning, a perfectly respectable time to be born — and he thought maybe, this year might be different. This year he could sit publicly with his boyfriend and his friends and not have to pretend to hate any of them. He didn't have to hide birthday presents in his trunk to avoid questions about who they had come from.
He woke up at his usual time in the morning, his fingers and toes tingling, a strange bubbling sensation in his chest. At first he thought it was just excitement — that foolish hope he was far too old for — but then he realised it was his magic, preparing for his maturity to arrive. The Malfoy magic, and the Black magic, and smaller echoes of other families that had married into both lines along the way. A deep, old magic.
"Happy birthday, Draco," Blaise said with a grin, tossing a silver-wrapped present his way before Draco could even properly sit up.
Things were much lighter in their dorm, now that Crabbe and Goyle were gone.
"Thanks." Draco shuffled into a sitting position, glancing at the other bed in the room, which was empty. "Theo in the shower?"
"Oh, no, he never came in last night," Blaise drawled with a wriggle of his eyebrows.
"Oh, I see." Fair enough. It wasn't like he could judge. "And both of you are still happy with giving me my other birthday present?"
Blaise laughed, reaching into his trunk for a white uniform shirt. "Yeah, yeah, don't worry. We've made other arrangements, the dorm is yours." He winked. "I doubt it'll be too much of a travesty for Theo to spend another night in whatever love nest he and Susan have holed up in."
"True. I still appreciate it, though." After all the times Draco had been up in the Gryffindor dorm by now, he rather thought it was about time Harry came down to his level for once. Harry didn't know about his plan yet, but Draco couldn't see him complaining.
With no classes to get to, he had a leisurely morning, taking his time in the shower and strolling up to breakfast far later than he normally would. It surprised him, how many people wished him a happy birthday on his way up to the Great Hall. How many of them weren't even Slytherins.
Entering the hall, he couldn't help the way his eyes immediately sought out a head of wild jet-black hair, nor the way his heart swelled in his chest at the beaming smile bestowed upon him, those vivid green eyes lighting up at the sight of him. Harry Potter would be the death of him, honestly.
There was an empty seat waiting for him at the Gryffindor table, and he stepped gracefully over the bench, bum barely touching wood before he was being kissed firmly. "Happy birthday, love," Harry murmured. "I'll give you your present after classes, yeah?"
A tiny, childish part of Draco wanted to pout and demand it now, but he pushed down the urge. He was an adult now, he could wait.
His present might not be something fit for public consumption, after all.
Several others sat at the Gryffindor table wished him birthday greetings, Ginny even conjuring a ridiculous spray of green and silver confetti that he would no doubt spend the next several days finding on his person.
It amazed him, sometimes, how comfortable he had come to be sat at the table of red and gold, a place he had long regarded as the seat of his enemies. How things had changed.
The morning post came, though there was nothing for Draco. He hadn't expected it. His mother's present — along with presents from anyone else in the family who thought to send something — was waiting in his godfather's quarters, where he would go to safely await his maturation.
Again, once upon a time he might have kicked up a fuss about not getting such things in public where everyone around him could be jealous. But he wasn't the spoiled brat he had once been, and over the years he'd learned the joys of keeping things private. "Here, something you can have now, though," Harry whispered conspiratorially, pressing something into Draco's hand beneath the table. Draco glanced down — it was the two-way mirror. "Your mum's expecting a call sometime this morning."
Draco's breath hitched — he would get to speak to his mother on his birthday, see her face. "And this isn't my present?" he checked, amazed. Harry laughed softly.
"Course not, silly. This is just me wanting your mum to like me," he joked.
"My mother adores you and we both know it." Far more than they expected, far more than Draco had ever dared hope back when he'd first started feeling that fluttery sensation when he looked at Harry Potter.
"Yeah, but this certainly helps." Then, Harry checked his watch, and groaned. "Ugh, gotta go to Charms." He squeezed Draco's thigh, pecking him on the cheek. "Good luck with your magic. I'll see you at dinner." A lopsided grin, a wink that still made Draco's heart flutter even now. "Enjoy your day off."
"I'm sure I will," he replied, waving as his boyfriend left, as his friends left with him. The only people who remained were those who had a free period first thing, none of whom Draco was particularly close to. He glanced up at the head table, seeing his godfather striding away from it. He had to teach, too — he couldn't sit with Draco while he waited for his magic to grow.
What to do with his morning, then?
.-.
Having a whole day off classes wasn't nearly as fun as he'd anticipated, Draco decided; largely because everyone else was still going through a normal school day.
He called his mother from Uncle Severus' private quarters, surrounded by wrapping paper and presents — presents from Sev, from his mother, but also from Sirius and Remus and more Weasleys than he'd ever anticipated, from Andromeda and Tonks and Kingsley.
His mother had laughed fondly, teasing him for making a mess, and cooed with appropriate enthusiasm over each and every present. The brand new watch on his wrist, a gorgeous black and silver creation with the Draco constellation studded in tiny diamonds on the face, felt strange and heavy with the weight of its symbolism, catching the light every time he moved his arm, reminding him that he was seventeen now. An adult in the eyes of the world. Old enough to be Lord Malfoy, as soon as the Wizengamot was safe to enter.
Old enough to start leaving his mark.
They talked for a while, and Sirius popped in to wish Draco well too, but then the morning drew on and the time drew nearer, so Draco ended the call and placed the mirror somewhere safe, somewhere away.
He wasn't sure how his magic might react to his maturation, how the magic around him might respond. Severus had accounted for this, setting up the spare bedroom of his quarters without anything magical inside it. Draco sprawled out on the bed, his wrist already feeling naked without his new watch. He stared at the muggle clock on the wall, and waited.
When it hit, it was less… dramatic than he anticipated.
Of course, he knew it wasn't going to be some flashy light show or miraculous influx of strength. While the maturation hit at the moment of birth, his body had been preparing for it for years now.
It was weirdly like an orgasm, without the pleasure. The white hot rush of something from the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair, pulsing through him as magic burned new pathways and filled his body. The bed beneath him rattled, but didn't break. The clock on the wall shattered. With nothing else in the room, he didn't get to see if his boost would be enough to cause damage worth bragging about.
It didn't feel as foreign as he thought it might. The magic within him, while stronger than he'd ever felt before, was like a long awaited growth spurt; now it had happened, he felt more like himself than ever.
He smiled, sparks tickling over the backs of his hands. This was the kind of power he needed to keep Harry safe.
Severus returned to eat lunch with him, wishing him a happy birthday and barely letting their food settle before he was putting Draco through his paces, seeing what he could achieve now. Letting out the build up of new magic and feeling how fast the well refilled.
The strength felt so good. He understood, now, why so many of his friends and housemates started holding themselves differently after their coming of age. He had thought it was just them trying to project their maturity, looking down on their younger peers. But it was a bone-deep thing, an awareness of the body that could hardly be described.
"Harry's going to blow up half the school when he comes of age, isn't he?" he remarked wryly, watching his godfather's lips curl.
"We are hoping to avoid that scenario," Severus told him. "Harry insists the wards will have it in hand."
That wasn't a no.
Draco didn't feel jealousy over it, not like he might have done once. He felt only pride, and satisfaction — with that kind of power, Voldemort didn't stand a chance.
Severus had to leave for his afternoon classes, and so Draco went for a walk, trying to get used to the way his body felt now. There was still a strange discomfort in his chest; nothing to do with his magic, but a kind of sadness, one he barely even wanted to admit to.
Turning seventeen was nice. Getting the day off classes was nice. But… where was the celebration?
It was fine, he told himself. He had the evening to spend with Harry, the dormitory for just them. They could celebrate wonderfully by themselves, all night long.
But… he had hoped for just a little more fuss, he thought quietly to himself at dinner, which felt like any other dinner at Hogwarts. Some presents from his friends in other houses, perhaps. Certainly not the ridiculous cake hat that Hufflepuff house delighted in forcing upon newly adult students, but something more than a quick 'happy birthday, Draco — pass the potatoes, would you?'
As dinner came to an end, Harry's arm curled around his waist. "You feeling up for a walk?" the Gryffindor asked.
"I'm of-age, Potter, not an invalid," Draco pointed out dryly. Harry made a face, kissing Draco's nose.
"That a yes, then?"
A walk sounded nice. A stroll by the lake, perhaps; a quiet celebration, watching the sun set on his youth or some poetic bullshit like that. So he agreed.
Only Harry didn't lead him outside. He turned instead towards a suit of armour nearby — or rather, the passage behind the suit of armour, which certainly had not existed before in Draco's living memory. Dating an heir to the castle was convenient and baffling in equal measure.
"Where are we going?" he asked warily, wondering if Harry was going to absolutely scupper his plan to have his way with his Gryffindor in the Slytherin dormitory by leading him to some romantic bedroom setup elsewhere in the castle. Perhaps he shouldn't have kept his birthday plans secret after all!
"Just for a bit of a wander. I want to show you something." Well, then. That sounded less like an intention to ravish him and more like Harry had found something weird and possibly extremely ridiculous, knowing that Potter luck. Like another secret chamber from the founders' era, or something left behind by Merlin himself. Draco was braced for the extreme, and thus surprised when the passage ended in a familiar corridor. The seventh floor corridor, on the way to the Room of Requirement.
Had Harry been rooting around the room of Hidden Things again? Draco knew his boyfriend had looked into it once or twice, since finding the horcrux. Had he unearthed some other lost treasure?
Harry took him by the hand, opening the door and leading him inside.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY DRACO!"
He stumbled against the wall of sound, wide-eyed at the sight of a room full of people; all his friends, even Pansy and Millie — even the Weasley twins, which explained both the fireworks exploding above his head and also Blaise's lack of complaints about vacating the dorm for the night. The room was decked out in silver and green, with a table groaning with snacks and drinks along one wall, a huge cake in the middle of the table decorated with snakes and snitches and the words 'Happy 17th Draco' in neat icing on top. Beside it was a smaller table, stacked with wrapped gifts.
Draco turned to Harry, who was beaming at his side, eyes sparkling. "You… you planned this?"
"Couldn't let you turn seventeen without a decent party, could I?" Harry said with a wink. "Do you like it?"
A long stare, and then Draco pulled his boyfriend into a toe-curling kiss, their friends whooping and whistling when it dragged on far too long. Harry's mouth was swollen when Draco let him go, hair even more wild than usual, green eyes bright behind his glasses. He was gorgeous, and he was Draco's, and this was the best birthday ever.
"Let's get this party started, then!" Fred announced, letting off another firework and starting up the record player in the corner, filling the room with fast-paced muggle music Draco vaguely recognised. Draco couldn't stop looking at Harry, wondering what in the world he had done to deserve this life he now lead.
"Not too much? Harry fretted. Draco scoffed.
"When has anything been too much? I'm a Black," he said proudly, making Harry laugh.
"Good. I know next year your birthday is gonna be a bit mad with NEWTs and everything, so I thought… well, this year is a special one. You deserve to make a big deal out of it." He looked bashful, and Draco kissed him again, hand at the small of Harry's back, loving the way the shorter boy just melted against him. "Are you two gonna suck face this entire time, or would you like to join the rest of the party?" That was Susan, grinning far too devilishly for a Hufflepuff, a pair of drinks in her hands that were bright coloured and very likely alcoholic. She thrust them towards the two boys. "Come on. You've got plenty of time for that later," she added with a suggestive wink.
Harry looked a little confused by that, glancing at Draco, who just smirked and sipped his new drink. Definitely alcoholic. "I've got the Slytherin dorm to myself tonight," he whispered in Harry's ear, leaning in close enough to brush his lips against the delicate skin. "Thought you might like to join me. Let me repay all your hospitality up in the Gryffindor dorms."
He watched Harry's eyes darken, and lust flared hot within him, tangling up in the rush of the new magic in his system. Everything felt that much more intense, and Draco couldn't wait to see how that translated to getting Harry's hands on his skin.
But he had a party to enjoy, first.
.-.
They were very lucky that Harry was the heir of Slytherin — they likely never would have made it down to the Slytherin common room without getting caught otherwise, as tipsy as they were. Neither of them had wanted to get too drunk, very aware of their evening plans. But Draco was buzzing, with alcohol and magic and sweet sharp arousal simmering below the surface, rearing up every time his gaze caught on the line of Harry's neck or the sliver of skin below the hem of his t-shirt that flashed tauntingly when he danced.
The party ended just before midnight, the Room providing safe passage back to common rooms, though with the number of couples involved Draco doubted everyone would be returning to their own beds, or even beds at all. He didn't care, as long as Blaise and Theo found other places to be.
Harry was handsy as they crept towards the entrance to the common room — he hadn't been drunk often, and wasn't truly drunk now, but he was an affectionate little sop at the best of times and with his inhibitions lowered that just made him all the more eager to press himself against Draco and whisper sweet nothings in his ear, all while grinding a huge erection against his hip. It was a miracle they didn't fuck right there in the corridor. But the desire to have Harry in his dormitory bed — and the fear of possibly getting caught by his godfather — had Draco pressing on, murmuring the password, feeling Harry's magic trickle over both of them as the stone archway revealed itself. That shouldn't have been such a turn on, knowing that even drunk and half-blind with lust Harry was still capable of a Dissillusionment charm to cover them both, wandlessly at that. But Draco had long since stopped denying that he was attracted to power, especially the power that poured off Harry in waves.
There were only a couple of people in the common room, and neither of them noticed the two invisible sixth years creeping towards the boys' dorms. Harry's breath was hot on the back of Draco's neck as they hurried through, slipping into Draco's room and shutting the door behind them. Immediately, Harry burst into giddy giggles, leaning back against the door.
Draco felt the flare of magic, the privacy wards springing to life. He swallowed, surveying his boyfriend. Merlin, he was exquisite. "I want you naked," Draco growled, reaching for the hem of Harry's t-shirt — one of the slogan ones from Infinite, with rainbow lettering bold across the chest, declaring that 'the first Pride was a riot'.
"Where and how?" Harry asked without hesitation, so trusting as he looked at Draco, the openness of his face and eagerness in his eyes making Draco's cock twitch in his jeans.
For a brief moment he hated Albus Dumbledore for tying Harry up when he kidnapped him — the Gryffindor would look incredible all trussed up in Draco's bed, restrained by the drapes or perhaps a Slytherin tie or two. But that kind of restraint was absolutely not fun for Harry anymore, so Draco didn't even suggest it, leaving that play firmly in his fantasies and reaching for the next thought. He had so many, battling for space in his brain, all the while Harry was revealing more of that glorious burnished bronze skin and making it impossible for Draco to think through the lust clouding his mind.
One thought stood out above the rest. "I— remember the last day of Yule break?" he gasped, gaze dropping lower as Harry shucked his trousers. He wasn't wearing any underwear, and Salazar, if Draco had known that sooner they never would have made it through the party.
"Yeah," Harry breathed, stalking closer to Draco now that he was naked, the blond still far too dressed. It felt so forbidden, having Harry here, in the heart of Slytherin. Bare and unashamed and staring at Draco with such fire in his eyes. They would be in so much trouble if they got caught, but that just made Draco's blood pump that much faster. "You want that?"
For a moment, Draco forgot what they were talking about. Then he remembered — Harry, in his bed, beneath him. "Your mouth, like that," he confirmed, shoving Harry down onto his bed, kicking off his trousers and boxers as quickly as he could, wanting to match his boyfriend's nakedness. "Then— then I want you in me, up against the wall. Right there." He pointed to the space between the two tall wardrobes, the patch of stone wall with a Slytherin banner hung on it, directly opposite the door. The place where they had no chance of hiding if anyone walked in. Not that anyone would, not with Harry's wards, but it made the fantasy so much hotter to think about it.
They hadn't fucked against a wall before. Draco was keen to find out what it was like.
A growl rumbled in Harry's chest, the sound hitting Draco hard. The Slytherin took a moment to admire his nude boyfriend lying against his green and silver sheets, then joined him on the bed, straddling his chest, feeling desperate hands grip his thighs.
Bracing himself with a hand on the headboard, Draco locked eyes with that vivid green stare, sinking into the hot wet welcome of Harry's eager mouth.
Best birthday ever.
.-.-.
If the world was normal, Ginny would be taking her first OWL exam in the morning.
Instead, she would be going to class just like normal, teachers going over things they'd already learned — the staff were just as adrift as the students, with these extra two weeks to come up with lesson plans for. She couldn't even adjust her schedule to prepare for when she would take her exams; none of them had any idea how long it would be before that was even possible.
"I thought I'd be a lot happier about not having to do exams than I actually am," she sighed, curling a lock of hair around her finger.
Neville, knelt nearby over a raised bed filled with more plants than Ginny could remember the names of, looked back over his shoulder with concern in his hazel eyes. "It's weird, isn't it?" he agreed. "Last time they were cancelled was, well, y'know."
Ginny grimaced — exams had been cancelled after the whole Chamber of Secrets situation, but she had been in no fit state to notice or care by that point.
"Didn't really matter as much back then. Second year exams and all," Neville finished, shrugging. Ginny hummed in agreement.
"I just… I just want to get them over with. Do my OWLs, get my results, start working on the next things. I don't want to waste my first term of sixth year having to revise everything all over again." That would just leave her behind in her NEWT studies, which would make her last two years of Hogwarts that little bit more gruelling. Ginny wasn't a swot, but she still wanted decent grades, and having such disruption felt supremely unfair.
"It probably won't be the whole first term," Neville said. "Just the first month or so. I can't see it taking that long to get everything back up and running."
Ginny's gaze darkened sadly. "Depends how bad things are over the summer. There might not be a school to come back to for a while." She wasn't stupid, she could see Harry and her older friends and all the professors quietly preparing for war. She was part of the HA, she felt how their training became more and more serious as time went on. And there was no way Harry was with Draco every time he was out past curfew. Those boys were insatiable, to be sure, but they weren't that bad.
"Don't talk like that, Gin," Neville protested. "Everything's going to be fine."
There was such confidence to his voice, such utter faith in his best friend. Ginny had faith in Harry, too, but that didn't stop her worrying. Even a battle won could do irreparable damage.
She sighed, but didn't say anything else, watching Neville tend to his plants. She knew it calmed him to work in the greenhouses, and it was oddly soothing for her just to watch; his repetitive motions, his sure and steady hand, the quiet murmurs of encouragement to the plants that he probably didn't realise she could hear. He was adorable, honestly.
Professor Sprout didn't mind her sitting back here with Neville, not now she'd proven quiet and trustworthy and unlikely to damage any of the more delicate specimens. The first few times, she'd had the Herbology Mistress' keen-eyed stare on her the entire time, worried that she and Neville might be using the quiet space to get up to something scandalous.
Not that it wasn't tempting, in the back of Ginny's mind. Since falling for Neville Longbottom she'd developed a disturbingly high number of greenhouse-related fantasies. But most of those worked just fine in his greenhouses at Longbottom Manor, where they weren't likely to be interrupted by a teacher or another student. Ginny just wanted to hang out with Neville, really. Watch him enjoy his happy place. Especially when her own emotions were restless, her quick temper battling with her disappointment in a confusing muddle of moroseness. She just wanted to be able to take her exams and have the owl come with her results in July like normal, a little piece of paper she could show to her parents and her big brothers and have them be so proud.
She wanted life to go back to normal.
She felt bad for thinking it, sometimes. She wasn't that badly affected by things — her family were in the thick of it, but they were all still around. She wasn't like Harry, with such a huge burden on his shoulders. She would fight when the time came, but through her own choice, not because anyone expected it of her. Most of her family would probably prefer she didn't, in all honesty. And she didn't even have it as bad as the seventh years, who couldn't graduate until the whole mess was over, had to put their futures on hold in this already uncertain time.
She didn't have that much to sulk about, but she still felt it all the same. She had been able to pretend, up to this point; pretend she was a normal fifth year with a great boyfriend and a spot on the quidditch team and a solid friend group, the teenage life she'd dreamed of as a child when all her older siblings went off to Hogwarts and left her with Mum, coming back at holidays with stories about all their cool friends and cool classes and cool student life.
But OWLs being cancelled due to the Ministry being run by Death Eaters was not something that happened to normal fifth years.
Ginny shook her head slightly, ridding herself of the depressing thoughts. Her brown eyes went back to Neville, a smile tugging at her lips as he leaned over to trim some dead leaves off a tall plant with bright blue flowers. He was humming to himself, speaking softly to the plant, promising it would all be over soon and it would feel so much better when he was done.
When the plant looked perfect, the boy ran a hand through his dark blond hair, sitting back on his haunches and downing tools, lifting the hem of his t-shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face. Ginny's smile widened — he never would have done that, a year ago. Not in front of her, and probably not by himself. He'd been so self-conscious of his soft belly, it had taken a while for him to stop flinching whenever Ginny touched it, and even longer for him to be comfortable shirtless in front of her. Even now, after they'd been naked in front of each other more times than she could count — after Ginny had given him a part of her that no one else would ever have — she still wasn't sure he believed her when she said he was handsome, gorgeous, sexy, any of the words he'd never use for himself.
But he was starting to. And him not even thinking twice before baring that swell of stomach in such an innocent gesture made her think that he was finally starting to be comfortable in himself.
"You're staring at me again."
She blinked, cheeks going red as she met Neville's amused gaze. He was done with his plants now it seemed, sat on the wooden edge of the raised bed and spelling his hands clean. "Sorry," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear.
He smiled. "It's okay. I don't mind." His face flushed a little, and not from the heat. "It's not the kind of staring that makes me worried we'll get in trouble with Sprout."
A laugh burst from Ginny's mouth. "It could be," she drawled salaciously, giving him an obvious once-over. He just rolled his eyes, and started packing away his gardening tools.
"Not in here," he scolded. "I'm not having you get me kicked out of the greenhouses right as I've just got my laceflowers finally blooming."
"Which one's that again?" Ginny asked, peering at the bed full of all of Neville's Herbology projects.
"The one with all the little purple buds. Which you should know, because they're definitely on the OWL curriculum," he teased, hoisting himself to his feet, offering her a hand up. Ginny just grinned.
"Well I've now got ages before my exams, so you'll just have to remind me in a couple of months time," she teased, brushing a smudge of dirt off his face. His jaw was getting stubbly again, which meant he'd probably shave that evening, which was a damned shame. Neville thought his scruff was still too patchy, but Ginny thought it looked extremely sexy.
"I will," he promised. "I'll help you study as much as you need. Probably won't be much help with subjects that aren't Herbology, mind, but I'm sure the others will chip in."
"I'll pester Harry about it." Then Ginny paused, frowning. "Or— maybe not him. He might be a bit busy. Killing a Dark Lord is probably more important than my OWL results."
"Only a little bit," Neville agreed. "When he's done with all that war nonsense, though, I'm sure he'll help."
All that war nonsense. Merlin, she loved this boy.
"You good to go?" she asked, wondering if he had any other projects to tend to. He nodded, squeezing her hand.
"All set, yeah. Thanks for coming with me — it's nice to have company, even if you're just sitting there." Some of his plants he didn't mind her helping with, but most were too fragile for her heavy-handed enthusiasm.
"It's way too sunny to be up in the castle," she returned, tilting her head up to feel the sunlight warm her face through the glass roof. She closed her eyes a moment, and when she opened them again the look in Neville's eyes made her breath catch in her throat.
"You're so pretty," he murmured, reaching out to tangle a hand in her hair, watching the way the light shimmered off the copper-coloured strands.
"And you're far too handsome for your own good," she said, watching his nose screw up in denial. "Did I tell you I overheard Leanne Moon and Mandy Brocklehurst talking about you in the girls' bathroom the other day? Mandy was considering starting some rumour about catching me with Michael in the Ravenclaw dorms so that you'd break up with me and go out with her instead."
"That can't be true," Neville denied, shaking his head. Ginny nodded, grin widening. "Seriously? But— she thought I'd just believe that?"
"She was going to make it very convincing," came Ginny's airy response. "Get Michael in on it and everything. I think she's got some kind of blackmail on him, she was pretty sure he'd be up for it."
"Blimey." Neville blinked, shaking his head once more. "That— Mandy Brocklehurst? Really?"
"You reconsidering your options?" Ginny teased; Mandy was cute, after all. Neville scoffed.
"Don't be daft," he said, not a second of hesitation. "I just… Mandy went out with Roger Malone, what's she looking at me for?"
"Malone has weird hair," Ginny said, grimacing; whoever had told the Ravenclaw boy that curtains suited him was committing a crime against humanity. "And she's looking at you because you're hot. Speaking of," she added, feeling sweat trickle down her back beneath her top. "Fancy going for a dip in the lake before dinner?"
Neville arched his brows, hands settling on her hips. "Are you just trying to get me wet and half naked?" he asked with a sigh. Ginny beamed.
"Yup," she chirped. "What do you think?" She tried not to look too eager, wondering if being shirtless where anyone could see them was too far out of his comfort zone. "Go on, then," he relented, kissing her forehead and directing her towards the greenhouse doors, hand moving to the small of her back. "I swear, I've got no willpower when it comes to you." He didn't sound mad about it, more resigned to his fate. Ginny wound an arm around his thick waist, squeezing lightly, already imagining the bikini she could transfigure for herself. Something that would make Neville far too distracted to think about his own bare-chested state.
Mandy Brocklehurst could go suck a dick; she wasn't getting anywhere near Ginny's boyfriend.
.-.-.-.
With summer break so close, and no exams to direct their focus, the tension amongst the students was getting to unbearable levels. Two weeks before the end of term, McGonagall called a school-wide assembly after dinner one evening.
"It has been decided," she announced, "that Hogwarts will remain open for those in need for the duration of the summer holidays."
Immediately, the hall burst into noise. McGonagall cleared her throat pointedly, staring them all down until the students hushed again. "This does not mean you will be forced to stay. Nor does it mean that, should the battle come to our doors, you will be forced to fight. If you have alternate arrangements made for your own safety, I will do my best to help you keep to those arrangements. But, if you have nowhere else to go, we will not close our doors to you at the end of the year."
Her gaze turned intent, fierce. "However, I will warn you that this school intends to stand as a stronghold against the forces of Lord Voldemort, and as such it may well not be the safest or best place for you. Make your choices wisely; I know all of you are capable of having bright futures, and I would hate to see those futures crushed by the false promise of superiority."
Harry was reminded of the way McGonagall had looked when expelling the six students who had attacked him, stony and yet so hopeful for her students to make the right decisions. There was some dark muttering in amongst the worried voices as they all got up to leave — not just from the Slytherin corner of the room, either.
He wasn't so stupid as to think those six students were the only loyal Voldemort supporters in the school. The others were just biding their time, aware that Harry was practically untouchable here.
As the first students reached the doors, all of a sudden there was a boom so loud it rocked the very foundations of the school. At the same time, four students dropped to their knees with gasps of pain, and the headmistress swooned back into her chair.
Harry hardly registered the smack of his knees hitting the stone floor, his head ringing with the force of the pressure on the school wards. He thought he felt a hand on his back, heard a voice calling his name. "Attack," he croaked, squeezing his eyes shut as there was another assault to the web of magic surrounding the castle. Hogwarts cried out for help in his mind, and he did his best to provide strength.
Had he been more coherent, he would have noticed his friends banding tight around him, protecting him from view. What he was aware of was the connections around him, as his friends moved Neville and Hannah and Luna close to him, the four of them immediately locking their arms around each other, leaning in together as they worked to offer what they could to the school. It was easier, with his fellow heirs beside him.
Harry's entire awareness narrowed down to the Slytherin magic within him, and the foul magic trying to tear a hole in the castle's protections. Nothing else mattered, nothing else even existed.
The headmistress was handling things better than the heirs, though it was clear the strain was on her, too. She hauled herself to a standing position, leaning heavily on Professor Sprout, and hobbled her way over to the four heirs huddled tight together in the middle of the hall. "We need to move them," she said, unsurprised at the solid ring of students shielding the heirs, their wands raised and ready for attack.
"It's You-Know-Who!" Someone came running in — Dennis Creevey, his eyes as wide as dinner plates. No one had even noticed him leave the hall. "There's Death Eaters at the gates!"
Harry had no concept of the panic, sucking the air from the room in an instant. He had no concept of the teachers and the prefects trying to organise their students. He was only vaguely aware of a tiny hand pressing to his back, and the feeling of house elf travel. He remained locked in the embrace with the other three, but the place they arrived was… easier. He strained his neck up, forcing his eyes open, and found himself looking at the Wardstone, its colours swirling angrily. At his side stood Dobby, big eyes round and scared.
"Heirs will hold the wards," the elf said solemnly, "elves will keep Hoggywarts safe."
And then he disappeared. The castle's magic was strongest in this room, the pressure easing slightly, enough for the heirs to disentangle themselves and look at each other.
"We need to outlast him," Luna said, eyes glowing with ethereal light. "If he breaks the wards, it's over."
That didn't sound like the good kind of over. Harry grit his teeth, stumbling to his feet, moving to the same compass point he'd stood at when he'd claimed the wards so many months ago.
"We have all of Hogwarts at our hands," Harry reminded, looking at his friends as they took their positions. "He's just one man. We hold, or we die."
Across the Wardstone, he met Neville's gaze, giving his best friend one last solemn nod. Then he pressed both hands to the wardstone, and sank.
.-.-.
The siege on the wards lasted almost twenty-four full hours. A whole day of Voldemort standing at the gates of Hogwarts, drawing the magic from all of his Marked followers — and several Dark ritual-based sources — trying to force the wards to crack, his followers waiting around him for their chance to claim Hogwarts School for good.
Had the wards been the same as they were when Dumbledore was in charge, they likely wouldn't have lasted more than an hour or two under the onslaught.
Inside the school, the teachers did their best to maintain some semblance of calm. The students were kept in their common rooms, prefects guarding the doors — for Slytherin and Hufflepuff it was torture, trapped in the bowels of the school with no idea what was going on. Up in the towers of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw house, students jostled at the windows, trying to see the crowd of black-clad figures at the very edge of the school grounds. There had to be at least a hundred, perhaps more. Voldemort's army, ready for battle.
No one knew where the four heirs had been taken, just that the school elves had moved them 'somewhere safe'. No one except Draco, who had called Dobby in the privacy of his bathroom and begged for information on his boyfriend. Dobby told him that the heirs were at the Wardstone, though he couldn't tell Draco where that was. That Draco wouldn't be able to go in even if he knew — only the heirs and the heads of school could enter.
So for almost twenty-four hours, they waited. Wondered if this would be it, the beginning of the end. For almost twenty-four hours, four teenagers stood in the heart of the castle, pouring every ounce of strength they had into the wards surrounding them. Channeling all the wild magic of the forest and the ley lines beneath it, the echoed magic from hundreds of years of students growing within these halls, coming of age right here in the castle, leaking magic to be absorbed by the stones and fed back to Hogwarts itself. Finally, a figure dropped to the floor in a dead faint.
Outside the wards, a hundred or more black-cloaked figures watched in shock as their master crumpled to the ground. For a moment, none of them moved. Then one hurried forward, crouching beside the unconscious Lord Voldemort, gesturing with an arm that ticked like the winding of a clock. "Retreat!" Rabastan Lestrange shouted, trying not to show his panic. "All of you, out! I will take our Lord to safety!"
The students in the tower windows watched the black-cloaked figures disappear, one by one.
Back in the heart of the castle, four teenagers gasped in unison as the pressure in their heads finally abated. The wards settled down, weak but still in tact. The heirs lifted their hands from the Wardstone, groaning as their stiff limbs protested.
"How long…?" Hannah trailed off as Harry did a wandless Tempus charm, and all four of them swore loudly.
"A whole day!" Neville exclaimed. "No wonder I'm bloody starving!"
Harry laughed, the sound rusty. He wanted to walk away, but he wasn't sure his legs would support him if he moved even an inch. "I hope it fucking destroys him." He could hardly believe how much magical power was at Voldemort's disposal, with so little of his soul left. Sure, he had his connections through the Dark Marks, drawing on his followers' power when his own faltered, but even so…
Harry hoped his maturation was as big as they expected. He'd need every last bit of it to win that fight.
Suddenly Hannah's knees buckled, the Hufflepuff girl caught at the last minute by a divan the Room provided. "Ohh, I'm dizzy," she groaned, clutching her head.
"Dobby," Harry called, and the elf was there in an instant. "The school, is it safe?"
Dobby's ears flapped as he nodded. "The students is safe in they's dorms. The wards is not being breached." He looked at Harry worriedly. "We is taking you to Hospital Wing now." It was a statement, not a request, but Harry didn't have it in him to argue. Three more elves appeared, one for each heir.
Madam Pomfrey shrieked in alarm when four patients appeared suddenly in beds in her ward, house elves at their sides. Her hand flew to her face when she realised who those patients were. "It's over, then?" she asked, rushing to aid them. Harry nodded, a grim look on his face.
"For now, at least."
Voldemort would try again, that was for sure — he would not take well to being denied entry, to being made to look weak in front of his followers.
But after that, it would take him quite a while to recover. They had bought some time, at least.
.-.-.-.
Lord Voldemort sat in a high-backed, throne-like chair. Severus, stood in the front row of the gathered Death Eaters, could see the faint tremors running through the man's form.
He had been unconscious for three days straight, after failing to breach the Hogwarts wards. For two days after that he had refused to be seen by anyone but Severus and Rabastan. Severus had been sent a request for restorative potions, and they seemed to have helped — he himself had needed a few, after the drain on his magic through his Mark. He had another one brewing back at the school, one that would take another two weeks to prepare.
But none of them had seen their Lord cast a single spell since.
"Severus," came the hissing voice, halfway to Parseltongue, barely louder than a whisper. "Come forward."
Severus did as bid, kneeling in front of the chair. Rabastan stood at their master's side like an honour guard, wand held in the clockwork hand of the arm Voldemort had so graciously provided him.
He expected the Cruciatus that ripped a scream from his throat. The only mercy was that it came from Rabastan, not the Dark Lord himself. There was a different feel to the magic — just as painful, but not quite as sharp in the aftershocks.
"When my loyal subjects were expelled for their attempt at kidnapping Potter, Severus, you told me the wards had grown stronger. You did not tell me they had grown strong enough to keep me out!"
"My Lord, I did not know," Severus murmured with the appropriate amount of fear and remorse. "The full extent of the heirs' capabilities has been a closely guarded secret. I had no idea they could combine together with such strength." It still amazed him, even now, that the four students had held fast against such a power. "What use is having a spy within the school if you do not provide me with this vital information!" Voldemort snapped, his voice quiet but his fury as strong as ever. "You made my followers look like fools when they were curtailed by the wards. Now you have made me look like a fool with the same! One might wonder if you wanted to keep me out of Hogwarts! I know how… fond you are of the castle, after all these years."
"No, My Lord," Severus said desperately. "I would like nothing more than to see you in charge of that school, turning it into the great academy of Dark Arts it deserves to be. I will do better, My Lord. Minerva is keeping the school open over the summer, a gathering point for the forces of the light. I will stay with them, My Lord, and learn their weaknesses. I will find a way in for you, and if I cannot do that then I will bring you Potter myself."
When he dared look up, Voldemort was smirking. "You will indeed, Severus — this is your last chance to redeem yourself. With the old fool gone, there are few who trust you within the school; if you have not changed that by the end of the summer, have not given me something useful, then you will deliver the brat to my feet or I will kill you myself." His thin lips sneered dangerously. "And if I hear even a whisper that you are no longer loyal to me, your life is forfeit. I do not like it when my plans do not work, Severus. Especially when it is due to information that my spy should have provided me!"
"I am sorry, My Lord. Please, forgive me."
Knowing what was coming didn't make it any less painful.
"Learn from your punishment, Severus. Lord Voldemort does not suffer incompetence."
Severus couldn't answer — he was too busy screaming as Rabastan's magic tore into his skin, ripping at muscles and burning his very bones.
It might take more than just Remus to piece him back together, after this.