That night, Harry donned his invisibility cloak and made his way towards the fourth floor Charms room, grinning when he saw Draco waiting for him, deck of cards in hand. The blond perked up when Harry removed the cloak. "You're late," he reprimanded, and Harry offered an apologetic look.
"Ron wouldn't go to sleep," he explained. "Are you alright?" Harry was still a little shaken from watching Moody turn Draco into a ferret and bounce him all over the hall. Ron thought it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen, but Harry was horrified a teacher would use that sort of magic on a student. He was glad McGonagall seemed equally horrified.
"I'm fine. Uncle Severus gave me something for the bruises," Draco assured. "It's just my pride that's wounded."
"Moody's a dick," Harry declared. He paused, thoughts turning to graver matters. "How did things go after— after the Cup?"
"It could've been worse. Father was fairly happy with how things went at the Cup; no one got caught, and with all those articles that bloody Skeeter woman put out it's certainly made it memorable." Harry made a face; that was an understatement. "But… Harry, I heard some things this summer. Father… Father said the Dark Lord is coming back."
Harry pursed his lips, staying silent. Wishing he could assure Draco it wasn't true. The blond's face crumbled. "We don't know how, or when," Harry said quickly. "But it's inevitable now. Snape says his Mark is getting darker." He told Draco about the prophecy Trelawney had made at the end of the year before, and how Wormtail was probably with Voldemort now, judging by the dream he'd had.
Not only did Draco know most of Harry's secrets — he was the only one of Harry's friends who knew about Seren Du, after all — but between his father and Dumbledore he was walking the tightrope almost as much as Harry was. It was a relief, being able to talk freely with someone who understood.
By the end of it, Draco was even paler than usual. Both of them had abandoned their cards, and Harry's foot was bouncing anxiously. He was aware that in this particular circumstances, Draco was in far more danger than Harry. "If he comes back, what if— what if Father tries to make me join him?" Harry reached across the table, taking Draco's hand tightly in his own. "I won't let anything happen to you, or your mother," he vowed. "You can come hide at Seren Du if it comes down to it. No one will find you there. And even if he does come back, surely your father won't expect you to do anything until you're of age?"
Draco scoffed, looking bleak. "You don't know my father."
"If he wants you, he'll have to go through me," Harry declared fiercely. Draco met his gaze with a hesitant smile, then his eyes dropped down to their joined hands. Harry blushed, letting go and hastily picking up his cards. Voldemort wasn't getting to Draco. Not if he had anything to say about it. Draco was Harry's.
Harry was only just starting to realise how desperately he wanted that to be true.
.-.-.-.
Thanks to a note passed to Hannah in Herbology, and another to Daphne in Transfiguration, Harry managed to have all the trustworthy heirs meet him in one of the abandoned sixth floor classrooms after dinner the first Thursday back. He made an excuse to Ron and Hermione about having detention with Snape — a cover the man would probably be happy to corroborate if needed — and hurried up to the little-used corridor, slipping into the room after checking no one was watching him.
He seemed to be the last one there. He looked around the familiar faces; eleven of them in total, twelve including him. Harry was amused to realise that between them, they had an equal number from each house. "What's this about, Potter?" Cassius Warrington asked, leaning back in his chair, eyebrows raised. Harry perched on the edge of the teacher's desk, eyeing the group.
"Partly I just wanted to check in, see how everyone was doing. I know a lot of you were at the Cup. But mostly… mostly I had an idea, and I was wondering if you would be willing to help me." Eleven faces stared at him expectantly. "Voldemort is coming back," he declared. Several people gasped. "Don't ask me how I know. Just call it special Boy-Who-Lived sense." He tapped at his scar pointedly, hoping that was enough of an explanation. He couldn't exactly tell them he'd seen Professor Snape's Dark Mark and it was growing clearer. Or that he'd watched Peter Pettigrew escape and Professor Trelawney had predicted he would aid Voldemort back to power. They'd think he was bonkers. "I don't know how long it'll take, but it's coming. We can't afford to wait until we're all of age to start making changes."
"What do you want us to do, march into the Wizengamot and demand to take our seats early?" Sullivan Fawley scoffed. Harry shook his head.
"No, no, that won't work. I had something a little more… simple in mind. Dumbledore's counting on house rivalries to keep people isolated — not just with the Slytherins. If people don't socialise outside their house, they get more and more narrow-minded, until no one can see anyone else's point of view. And those who need help aren't willing to ask for it because it often means going to someone outside their house. If people keep telling Slytherins they're all dark wizards, of course they're going to end up going down that path. I was thinking that, since the theme of this year seems to be international magical cooperation and unity and all that bollocks, we could start off a little closer to home." "Hmm." Padma frowned thoughtfully. "What did you have in mind?"
"I'm not really sure yet. Obviously I'd like to spend more time with all of you, but it can't just be me — if Dumbledore thinks I'm up to something, he'll start pushing. He's got a lot riding on me being the good little Gryffindor Golden Boy." He hadn't told them about the Compulsion charm, but everyone with eyes could see that the way Dumbledore treated Harry wasn't a normal headmaster-student relationship. "If all of you start hanging out with people in other houses — it doesn't even have to be the people in this room, it could be anyone — then when I start doing it, it won't look as out of place. I hope."
"What about a study group?" Hannah suggested. "We could have a smaller, private group — just us, meeting every other week or so, to make plans. But then outside of that we could have a big group, any house welcome, any year. We could say that with the tournament disrupting the school year so much, we want to make sure we don't fall behind in our classes. I bet a bunch of the fifth and seventh years would go for it, too; they've got exams they won't want to fail. Then it doesn't have to come from you, Harry."
"Hannah, that's brilliant," Harry enthused. "It wouldn't even have to involve everyone meeting up together all at once; they could meet based on year and subject, get everyone studying the same thing studying together." If there was one thing that would give people common ground, it was complaining about homework.
"I'll talk to some of the other prefects," Cassius volunteered. "It might be too early to start yet; term's only just begun, and the tournament hasn't even started yet. Besides, half the sixth and seventh years are planning on entering the tournament, so they're a little preoccupied. But we can start branching out our friendship groups in preparation."
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