Chapter 7 - chapter nineteen

Ginny Weasley is by far the scariest person Harry knows, he's certain of it. 

Ginny was ruthless in a way that made Harry's teeth ring and his nose twitch. She held no punches, and from brief meetings of her and Ron's eldest siblings and knowing the rest of them, Harry knew she was the one to fear the most. She wasn't lying when she said she would raid the twins stashes, as evidenced by the next morning when everyone walked into the hall for breakfast. 

The Great Hall smelled faintly of burnt toast and caramel, and for once, it wasn't because of anything the elves had done.

It was the screaming that alerted them all that this day would be a chaotic one. 

The third year Slytherin who had apparently muttered something nasty about Luna yesterday morning had poured water into his goblet and promptly inhaled a shriek of rainbow-colored steam that made his voice jump five octaves for the next hour. Lavender said it was like listening to an off pitch banshee try to hit falsetto. 

The fourth year Hufflepuff who had called her Ginny's pet freak was coughing up frogs and flies every ten minutes. 

The sixth year Gryffindor who had made the "Loony Lovegood and Loony Potter" comment was riddled with acne now, the zits forming into a word on his forehead, "Micropenis", and a tiny penis on his cheek. 

Seamus accidentally brushed up against a tapestry that now screamed "FUCK YOU" every time someone walked by and said their full name, all except for Luna.

And that was just before breakfast had officially begun.

Harry sat down beside Ginny, trying not to laugh as she delicately bit into a slice of sausage like she hadn't just orchestrated a full-scale psychological operation on half the castle. Her expression was perfectly calm, almost innocent.

"You know," Harry said, pouring himself some coffee, "I think you might be scarier than Hermione when she's doing arithmancy homework."

Ginny tilted her head, eyes sparkling. "Why thank you, Haz. I do try."

Parvati slid into the seat beside her, beaming. "There's now a sign hanging in the second-floor corridor that says Loony Lovegood Is Under Weasley Protection. Every time someone tries to remove it, it zaps them and fries their hair."

"That was Fred and George," Ginny admitted. "I told them it was for a good cause."

Lavender, who had been sitting in front of Ginny, just snorted into her tea. "They've been dying for an excuse to show off. And now they've declared themselves Luna's honorary war council."

Harry glanced toward the Ravenclaw table. Luna was eating her porridge calmly, her legs swinging slightly under the bench as if the chaos around her didn't exist. But her smile was softer today, her posture just a little more relaxed.

He let out a slow breath, something warm settling in his chest.

"You really like her," Ginny said suddenly, eyeing him over her fork.

Harry blinked. "Luna?"

"Yeah."

"Of course I do," He said. "She's my friend."

Ginny gave him a long look, the kind of look that said she was reading every freckle on his face like it was an open book, and nodded once. "Good."

Hermione arrived a few minutes later, looking unusually rested for a Monday morning and only mildly alarmed by the chaos still unfolding around them. "What—what's happening with the tapestries?"

"Public service announcements," Ginny said without missing a beat, her honey brown eyes flashing with mischief even though her tone didn't change. 

"More like public executions," Ron muttered, sliding in beside her. "Did you see the Gryffindor who turned purple? Purple! He looks like he inhaled a whole Fizzing Whizzbee factory."

"Shouldn't have called Luna names," Harry said, biting into his apple and shrugging as if it was gospel. 

Hermione gave him a look, one Harry knew was her attempt to seem less pleased than he knew she was, and then passed Ron the jam. "You sound better today."

Harry looked at her for a long moment, his mind calm and at peace after spending a night with Draco in his arms, and then nodded. "Yeah. I think I am."

"Wonderful, because if I'm correct we have," Ginny reached across the table to pull Ron's arm over to her, checking his watch, "Five seconds before the real show begins." 

"Real show? What do you me—," Ron was cut off by the morning post, the owls all flocking in. 

The last batch of owls seemed to circle the Ravenclaw table for a few seconds, all four of them holding tiny boxes in their beaks. After five seconds exactly, the birds released the boxes. A smell unlike any other, putrid like week old garbage, cat piss, dog droppings, and burnt gum, radiated from the boxes and coated every single Ravenclaw sitting at the breakfast table, all except Luna of course. 

The final nail on the coffin was when a sixth owl flew in and dropped an ink bomb on them afterwards, a tiny owl that looked suspiciously like Pig with a mustache. 

The Ravenclaw table was in full chaos. Students were shrieking, scrambling out of their seats, flapping their robes like that would help, but all it did was spread the stench further across the hall, infecting every other house with the stench. The effect was immediate and merciless, hair frizzed, noses dripped, and several unfortunate first and second years began openly weeping from the sheer olfactory violence.

And Luna, sweet Luna, daintily spooned another bite of porridge into her mouth, completely untouched by the disaster unfolding inches from her elbow. She didn't even blink when someone cried out "Mummy!" 

Lavender was hiding her nose in her robes, gagging and laughing at the same time. Parvati was pinching her nose, clapping her other hand on her arm in an act of respect for the mysterious prankster. Ron was coughing violently, trying to stuff bread up his nostrils to get rid of the smell, all while Hermione was trying not to faint at the smell. 

"Remind me to never get on your bad side, Gin," Harry muttered under his breath, feeling his blood turn to ice in his veins when Ginny just giggled in response. 

"Silence! All students will return to their common rooms! Prefects!" Dumbledore managed to say, the entire staff table gagging and rushing out of the room to escape the horrid smell. If Harry looked closely, he could see a twinkle in Snape's eyes that looked almost.. proud? but it was gone immediately after. 

"All classes are cancelled for the day, Prefects, please escort the first years back to the dorms!" McGonagall called out dutifully as the deputy headmistress, even as she held her nose and rushed out of the room with a stern look on her face. 

"You think the smell will wear off?" Ron asked desperately, tears streaking down his cheeks, not from crying, but from the sheer eye-burning intensity of the stink cloud.

"No," Ginny said serenely, biting into a piece of toast. "But it'll move on after a few hours. Maybe. Depending on whether the twins followed my instructions or got creative."

"You're a legend, Gin, truly!" Parvati cackled, grabbing a piece of toast before swinging her legs over the bench. 

"C'mon, firsties," Ron echoed out to the first year Gryffindors, his voice nasal from his attempt to smother himself with bread. He let Hermione take the lead, bringing up the back end of the line of first years. Harry thought it was probably the bravest thing he'd seen Ron do so far, lingering longer in the horrible smell just so Hermione and the younger students could get out first. 

Harry followed behind Ginny, trying to keep his eyes away from very pointedly searching for Draco in the mess of panicked and stinking students. At the flash of long platinum hair, he almost dared to hope Draco had come to see him, but he could sense it was Luna. Ginny had led them over to Luna, wrapping her arm around Luna's. 

"Oh no you don't, you're hanging with us today, Lu," Ginny smiled, leading Luna to follow the gaggle of Gryffindors out of the Great Hall. 

——

Harry didn't know what exactly possessed him to follow Ginny Weasley into a direct act of dormitory rebellion, other than his usual penchant and somewhat twisted desire to get up to no good, but there he was, slipping past the portrait hole just as it swung shut behind a cloud of reeking chaos and disgruntled students, Luna's arm still looped through Ginny's, her worn dark grey satchel swinging gently against her hip like it belonged here.

The common room was crowded, everyone talking loudly about what just happened and trying to fight their ways to their dorms to shower or the windows of the tower for fresh air. She tugged Luna toward the staircase, barely sparing the chaotic common room a glance.

"You're coming too, right?" She asked, like it wasn't even a question, just a statement, when they reached a small landing. Harry blinked.

"Er. Yeah," He said, adjusting the strap of his bag. "I guess I am."

Ginny shot him a knowing grin, the kind that said good answer, and started up the rest of the stairs that led to the girls' dorms. She didn't expect him to actually manage to get past the staircase charm. He didn't really think he would either. 

Harry hesitated for a beat as Luna looked back at him, her eyes steady, her smile soft in a way that made him feel more confident in himself. He had followed her into stranger places, meditation for example. This one, at least, was just a girls' dorm. 

He stepped forward.

And nothing happened.

The moment his foot touched the first stair, he braced for it, for the lurch, the tremble, the way the stairs usually transformed into a slick, cursed slide that deposited wayward boys all the way back to the common room floor with the subtlety of a howler and the grace of a malfunctioning broomstick.

But… nothing.

No slide. No warning. No magical rebuke. No Ginny standing on the landing cackling at witnessing it and being the reason it happened. 

Just solid, warm stone beneath his foot.

He blinked, lifting the other foot and stepping up again.

Still nothing.

Behind him, the common room crackled gently in the firelight despite all the chaos. Ahead of him, Ginny and Luna were already halfway up the stairs, chatting softly about toothpaste that sparkled and a charm that supposedly kept bedhead away.

Harry followed, step after cautious step, until the staircase and all its rules and roles were far behind him.

It wasn't until they reached the hallway of doors that Ginny turned, her brows lifting in surprise when she saw Harry still following, and Harry didn't know whether to be insulted at her trying to get him injured or smug that he had proved her wrong. 

"You didn't get slide-launched," She said blankly, eyes flicking from his feet to his face. "You didn't… you just walked up?"

Harry looked down at himself, then back up. "Yeah?"

Ginny tilted her head. "Huh."

"That's not normal, is it?" Luna asked, her voice laced with curiosity more than concern, the Ravenclaw dorms were different to the coziness of the Gryffindor tower.

Ginny snorted. "No, Lu. That's the opposite of normal. The stairs are enchanted to repel any boy who tries this. It's been that way since before my mum was here. They're worse than Filch with a new rulebook and a grudge."

Harry looked at his hands, flexed his fingers. "Maybe I'm just… not a threat?"

Ginny gave him a look. "Harry, you're the guy who didn't die. If anything, the stairs should've drop-kicked you through the fireplace."

"Maybe the magic knows better," Luna said, her voice dreamy, like she was talking about a friendly cat or a ghost with good taste in scarves. "Maybe it knows you needed to be here."

Harry wasn't so sure that was the real reason, but he let Ginny guide them the rest of the way to the fourth-year girls' dormitory. It was warm and cozy inside, with soft burgundy curtains pulled back from four-poster beds and glowing lamps that floated lazily near the ceiling. There were piles of books on the desks, socks hanging off the ends of bedposts, and an unspoken understanding that this space had long since become more than just a sleeping place. It was home to three girls. 

Ginny kicked off her shoes, flinging herself backward onto her bed with a dramatic sigh. "Home sweet home."

Luna stood near the doorway for a moment, just taking it all in. She had a quiet way of observing everything around her, like she was absorbing the magic from the air itself, cataloging it by scent and sound and softness. She and Harry knew which bed was Ginny's, even before she had tossed herself down on it. The homemade quilt smelt so strongly of Mrs. Weasley's magic, the Holyhead Harpies posters taped near a poster of the Weird Sisters on the wall behind the bed, the desk beside it cluttered messily with books, inkwells, and magazines. 

Harry lingered by the door, still half-expecting the ceiling to drop on his head or for McGonagall to apparate through the floorboards in a fury.

But nothing happened.

No sirens. No enchantments. Just the soft shuffle of Ginny scooting over to make room for Luna on the bed.

"You're staying until tomorrow," Ginny said, matter-of-factly, like it wasn't even something worth debating. "I've got some old pajamas. And if you snore, Agnes will just hex you in your sleep like she did to Dorothea last year."

Luna smiled, setting her bag down beside the bed and toying with the hem of her robes. "That sounds lovely."

Harry couldn't help but smile as Luna slid onto the bed beside Ginny, curling up like she'd done it a hundred times before. The early morning light slanted through the dormitory windows in gentle golden beams, illuminating the specks of dust in the air and casting a warm glow over the room. Ginny reached over and grabbed the faded, overstuffed patchwork quilt, pulling it lazily over Luna's lap, who took to it immediately. 

"Still can't believe the stairs let me up," Harry said, glancing back toward the corridor like it might suddenly change its mind and pitch him back down three flights. He wouldn't blame it if it did. 

"Maybe they finally realized you're more girly than a regular boy is," Ginny replied, smirking as she sat up. "Or maybe they're just scared of me now. Either way, I'm claiming this as a win."

"Definitely girly," Luna said serenely, plucking a linty Bertie Bott's bean from her pocket and inspecting it with interest. "But only in the most sacred, sword-wielding, spectral forest witch kind of way."

Ginny cracked up. "What does that even mean?"

"It means the castle likes him," Luna said simply, popping the bean into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "It's listening."

Harry dropped his bag beside Ginny's trunk and rubbed at the back of his neck, still a little unsure if he was dreaming. "I feel like McGonagall is going to come flying in here with a whole team of Aurors."

"Oh, please," Ginny said, waving her hand. "The moment she hears why that all happened in the hall, she'll probably smile at Luna and join my cause. I'm just doing what our professors should've done years ago."

"Declare psychological warfare?" Harry asked.

"Protect our own," Ginny corrected, tugging one of her socks off and tossing it with expert aim at her hamper. "With flair."

Luna nodded dutifully, her expression serene as she reached over and casually pulled Ginny's hand into her lap, observing her palm. She traced the lines like they were something holy, delicate and with reverence. Ginny didn't bat an eye at the action at first, just softened and looked at Luna with a smile that was so soft, so different to the Ginny Harry knew, it made Harry blink and take a moment. 

There was.. something.. there. Harry suspected it. 

He didn't say anything, not yet. It didn't seem like something that concerned him yet, or something that even needed to be pointed out. Luna would have told him if she was seeing Ginny, and Ginny would more than likely not be subtle if she was dating anyone. No one batted an eye when Sirius and Remus were touchy and they were very obviously together, and Draco's Slytherin's had all seemed welcoming of Draco and Harry's relationship, so Harry assumed being gay wasn't a crazy thing in the magical world. 

Harry did what any polite brother, or dyad apparently, would do. He looked for an excuse to leave and let them have their moment. 

"I'm gonna go take a shower, get all this stink off. I'll see you at lunch, yeah?" Harry spoke up, picking up his bag once more and giving them a brief wave. 

"Bye, Harry." Came Luna's twinkly voice. 

"See ya, Haz." Came Ginny, faint and like an afterthought. 

——

By the time Harry reached the boys' showers, the stink from the Great Hall was practically embedded in his skin. His eyes were still watering faintly, his robes had absorbed the worst of it, and he swore even his socks had picked up the scent somehow. He shoved open the door to the shower room, already tugging at the collar of his shirt.

"Merlin's bollocks!" Ron's voice rang out as Harry stepped inside. "I think it's in my lungs!"

The room was thick with steam and shouting. The fifth-year boys' shower room was a wide chamber with rows of maroon red curtained cubicles, hot water charmed to be endless and blessedly scalding. Towels were hanging off every hook, and the floor was already flooded with soggy footprints and a half-used bottle of whatever-scented shampoo.

Seamus had his head stuck out of one cubicle, his hair lathered in a neon pink foam. "I can taste it, lads. It's like licking a cursed bin."

Neville, from the far end, let out a wet sneeze. "It's not just the smell, I think the stink made my nose go numb. I can't even smell my peppermint soap anymore. Just despair."

Dean, already halfway dressed in a towel and dripping all over his trainers next to his folded pile of clothing, shouted over the hiss of water, "Okay, but you have to admit—whoever pulled it off? Legendary."

Harry snorted and ducked into the last cubicle, yanking the curtain closed behind him and immediately stripping off his clothes, deciding to join in on the conversation. "Could've done without the acne hex, though. Did you see Micropenis McLaggen?"

Seamus cackled, his laugh ringing around the room, and Harry blinked in surprise. Last he knew, Seamus hated his guts. "Best nickname I've heard of all time!"

"You know it had to be one of the Weasley Twins," Dean said thoughtfully. "Or maybe Ginny's friend Luna? That girl's quiet but kind of terrifying. She probably brewed the stench from Mooncalf sweat and dark secrets."

Ron gagged loudly, his voice still sounding slightly nasal. "Don't say Mooncalf sweat while I'm trying to scrub out my very soul, Dean!"

Harry dunked his head under the hot water, sighing as the steam and soap started to lift the worst of the mess from his skin. His muscles relaxed, the heat sinking into his bones, and he let the noise of his friends(?), wash over him. For once, no one was talking about last year, or Harry possibly having gone mental.

Just mega stink bombs, chaos, and teenage speculation.

"Whoever did it," Ron groaned, "better not have put whatever that was in the pumpkin juice. I drank twocups."

Seamus laughed so hard he slipped, thudding into the tile with a loud thunk and an undignified yelp. "I told you your stomach was gonna rebel one of these days, Weasley!"

"I hate all of you," Ron grumbled. "And I hope your conditioner turns into bubotuber pus."

"Love you too, mate," Dean called cheerfully, now dressed and tying up his laces.

Harry chuckled to himself as he scrubbed the last of the stray flying droplets of ink from his neck. Maybe everything wasn't perfect. Maybe they were still hurt, still healing, still bracing for what was to come, still reveling in their own prides. But right now, they were here, together, laughing in their respective soap-covered, water-logged chaos. It was a start, right? 

——

Seamus and Dean had left the dorm rooms as soon as they could, talking about wanting to go see if they could sneak a look at the professors and elves cleaning the stink cloud up. Neville had left a few minutes after, saying he was going to go down to the greenhouses and check on some of the plants. It was just Ron and Harry respectively, Ron still in the showers trying to scrub his body raw because he swore the stink was still on him. 

Harry was in his bed and hunched over his journal, deciding on what to do for the CA whenever he was ready to tell everyone it existed. He was effectively going to help teach a bunch of students Defence lessons, and he wanted to do a good job. Draco had helped with lesson plans, mostly with a kiss-drunk look in his eyes and swollen pink lips, and Harry had double checked with Hermione on some of the details he wanted more information on. They had decided the first lesson would be a "back to the basics", learning how to disarm. It's what helped Harry most last year, or really every year after he turned twelve. 

Harry bit his lip, maybe Remus would be more help? He had actually been a defense teacher, after all. The best defence teacher Harry thinks he's ever had, the most competent one too. He didn't give himself time to make an excuse. He was already putting it off, talking to Sirius and Remus with the mirror. He was terrified it would be awkward. 

He pulled the shard of mirror from under his pillow, pinching it at the corners and taking deep breaths as he gave himself a mental pep talk. "Sirus Black," He said, nervous. 

The mirror fogged over for a few minutes, the glass rippling like the surface of a disturbed pond.

Then, "Harry?"

Sirius's face came into focus, slightly askew as he fumbled to hold the mirror upright. His hair was messy, more than usual, and he looked like he'd been pacing for the last hour or so. The minute he registered Harry's face properly, he exhaled all at once, his entire posture relaxing in a way that made Harry ache a bit. "Merlin's beard, Harold James Potter, there you are. I was starting to think I'd have to really storm that blasted fucking castle."

Harry laughed under his breath, a smile fighting its way to the surface. "You'd have to get past the stink cloud first."

Sirius blinked. "The what?"

"Long story," Harry said quickly. "Involves owls, ink bombs, and Ginny Weasley's wrath."

Sirius's grin was immediate, gleaming. "That's my girl. James would've given her a medal."

"From what I know of him, you're not wrong."

There was a pause, and Sirius leaned in closer to the mirror, his voice dipping. "You alright? You've been there a week and haven't called once. You know I was this close, this close, to sending Buckbeak on a covert rescue mission."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek. "I'm okay. I swear. Things are… complicated, but better. I've got friends, and, well, someone I can talk to."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, but didn't press. He just nodded, warm and steady. "That's good, kiddo. I'm glad."

Harry hesitated, then asked, "Is, uh, is Moony there?"

Sirius shifted, glancing offscreen. "He's been here all morning. Took him an hour to find the good tea. Hang on, Oi! Moony-love! Your favorite is calling."

The image shifted slightly as Sirius turned the mirror a little, and then Remus' familiar face came into view, his confused expression blooming into something gentle the moment he saw Harry.

"There's our troublemaker," Remus said fondly, sitting beside Sirius and nudging his knee. "I was wondering how long it would take you to call."

"I've been… thinking," Harry admitted, tucking his legs under him and glancing down. "And I wanted your advice. Both of you, really."

"Always," said Sirius.

"Of course," Remus echoed.

Harry took a breath, then sat up straighter. "I'm starting a club, well it was supposed to just be a study group because we have this one awful teacher who we all hate and she's not teaching us anything remotely useful and is a very obvious ministry plant, but it's turned into a defense club where I'm going to help a bunch of people practice and learn spells, and now that I'm thinking about it I'm basically becoming the new defence teacher and I need help with what I should do and what to teach them because I'm just a student like them." Harry rambled, saying most of this in one breath before finally stopping to gulp in air. His heart was racing a little, he's never once asked for help like this before from an adult who actually cared about him. It was new and uncharted territory for him. 

There was a brief pause on the other end, it could have lasted hours or seconds or minutes but it didn't matter to Harry, who felt like it took years. His heart was pounding in his ears, his mind racing on every what if that could happen. He clutched the locket around his neck, squeezing the stone. What if he made a mistake? What if he couldn't trust Remus and Sirius? What if they told him it was stupid? What if they stopped loving h—

Sirius was the first to speak, his voice thick with something Harry couldn't quite place, pride, maybe. 

"Well, bugger me," He said softly, eyes wide. "Look at you. Starting a bloody resistance."

Remus let out a quiet breath, then smiled, a real one, soft at the edges and his eyes looking so fondly at him Harry thought he might explode. "You're not just a student, Harry. You've survived more than any of us had at your age. And you're choosing to help others instead of just looking out for yourself. That's what makes you a leader."

Harry flushed, looking down, the inside of his chest buzzing like a Bludger trapped under his ribs, banging against his ribcage. 

Sirius leaned closer to the mirror again. "You've got guts, kiddo. James and Lily would have.. they would have been so proud of you. So am I, for the record. But we're gonna help you do this right."

"Thanks," Harry said quietly, and meant it. Damn did he mean it. 

Remus rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "Alright, let's start with what you've already thought of."

"Disarming," Harry said. "It's what I used on Voldemort last year. It's simple, but I figured it's a good place to start."

"Perfect," Remus said. "Expelliarmus is more powerful than people give it credit for. It's defensive, it's non-lethal, and it teaches wand awareness. From there, I'd recommend some evasive and shield spells, Protego, obviously, maybe even a few distraction charms."

Sirius cut in, reminding them all that he had once been an Auror before his incarceration. "And some movements work. Nothing fancy, but dodging hexes in a corridor takes more instinct than finesse. I can show you a few moves if you want—James and I had a whole system worked out when he helped me with my Auror courses."

Remus gave him a look. "Yes, and most of it ended in broken noses and hospital visits."

Harry couldn't help grinning. "Sounds like a very Sirius-approved curriculum."

Remus huffed a laugh. "Just be careful, Harry. You're putting yourself in a very visible and dangerous position."

"I know. But someone has to do something. We're not being taught to protect ourselves. I can't just… sit back and let everyone walk into danger unprepared. Not when I know Voldemort's back."

Sirius smiled, all teeth and pride and love. "That's my godson."

"And mine," Remus added, his hand briefly appearing in frame to rest over Sirius's, an intimate move that Harry caught easily. "We'll help however we can. You're not alone in this, Harry."

Harry's throat tightened. "Thanks. Really."

Sirius's eyes sparkled, mischief returning. "Now tell me, do you have a name for this little rebellion of yours?"

Harry's lips twitched. "Cedric's Army."

Sirius's expression faltered for a moment, but then he nodded. "Bloody perfect."

Remus whispered, "He'd be honored."

They sat there in companionable silence for a moment. Two men who had once been boys who fought a war, and a boy already preparing to fight one too. Each hated the fact that the others knew intimately what it was like, being a child raised in wartime. 

"Now then, how are the rest of your classes? Are you doing well in McGonagall's class?" Remus piped up, steering the conversation into a more comfortable and neutral area. 

Harry couldn't help but to smile, to smile big and wide. Having an adult care about him was.. kind of comforting. Maybe he could get used to this? 

——

Harry stepped into the necromancy classroom with his bag slung low on one shoulder, expecting quiet. Low candlelight, that odd hush the room always seemed to hold, maybe Draco pacing alone with his hands in his pockets, muttering about ancient runes and improper wandwork, what he usually did when they snuck in some time together before parting ways for dinner. What he was not expecting was a full council of Slytherins taking up half the room like it was their private lounge.

Pansy was perched primly on one of the student desks, flipping through a battered copy of Witch Weekly and tutting disapprovingly at a page that glittered obnoxiously. Daphne sat beside her, legs crossed, absently braiding her hair while Millicent polished the face of a silver watch that probably cost more than Harry's entire wardrobe. Theo was slouched on the floor next to Blaise, who was leaned back in a chair with his feet kicked up, counting galleons with a sort of exaggerated flair and writing something in a little black notebook that Harry strongly suspected had nothing to do with homework.

And then there was Draco, sitting on the teacher's desk like he owned the place, sleeves pushed to his elbows and his signet ring catching on a loose thread as he twisted the hem of his sweater around his fingers, eyes fixed on the door before Harry had even touched the handle.

Harry blinked, stood there for a beat too long, and finally said, "Um. Why are all of you here?"

Blaise looked up first, the smirk already forming. "We're here to chaperone, obviously. Can't have the Malfoy heir getting defiled in the back of a dusty classroom without supervision. It's unseemly, ghastly even."

Pansy didn't look up from her magazine. "Speak for yourself. I'm here to scout him. Make sure he's worthy of our precious drama queen."

Harry opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, just as Draco groaned theatrically from the desk.

"Merlin's arse, ignore them," Draco said, sliding down from the desk and dusting off his jumper like he needed to physically remove the embarrassment. "They're all complete nuisances."

The rest of the Slytherins didn't even blink.

Theo raised a lazy hand and waved it in acknowledgement, muttering, "That's High Nuisance Nott to you."

Blaise gave a shallow bow from his chair. "Proud to be a problem."

Millicent blew on her watch and tucked it into her robes. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Pansy finally set down the magazine and gave Harry an appraising look that made him feel like she was measuring him for a suit—or a duel. "You're lucky we like you, Potter. Draco was brooding again, that great hall fiasco this morning really ruffled his feathers."

Draco turned back toward Harry, rolling his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't fall out. "I was not brooding, or ruffled."

"You were pacing," Blaise offered. "And sighing. Repeatedly."

"It was very poetic," Daphne added. "Like a victorian heroine trapped in an existential crisis."

Draco threw his arms out in irritation. "I was thinking!"

"And then I said we should come with you," Pansy cut in before Theo could chime in with a sarcastic remark, her smirk deepening. "To make sure your little Gryffindor boyfriend's intentions were pure."

Harry blinked again. "I..what..my intentions?"

"Oh, don't worry," Theo said smugly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. "We already know what kind of intentions you have for Draco."

There was a beat of stunned silence before Draco turned scarlet and snapped, "If one more person says 'intentions,' I swear on Circe's sickles I'll start hexing people into next Tuesday!"

"You said to treat him like part of the group," Millicent said unhelpfully, a poorly hidden look of glee in her eyes. 

Draco turned his pleading eyes to Harry. "I'm sorry. They're like this all the time."

Harry, trying very hard not to laugh, stepped forward and bumped Draco's shoulder with his own. "Honestly? I'm kind of glad they're here. It's nice to see you flustered for once."

That earned a delighted "ooh" from the Slytherins, like a chorus of smug pixies, and Draco covered his face with one hand and muttered something that might have been, "Merlin strike me down."

Pansy leaned over to Blaise and whispered,loudly enough for everyone to hear, "He's perfect. We're keeping him."

Draco let out a sound like a wounded animal.

And Harry? Harry just smiled, because for all the sharp wit, sideways comments, and theatrical drama… this was Draco's world. His people. And somehow, Harry had been let in.

He kind of loved it here, if he had to admit it to himself. Harry wrapped his arm around Draco and pulled him in, letting the blond rest his forehead on Harry's sternum while he rubbed his back soothingly. 

"Don't fret, love," Harry cooed quietly into his ear, "I'm too far gone to let your snakes chase me away now." 

Harry kept his arm around Draco for a few more moments, long enough for the warm buzz of affection to sink in through his jumper and settle somewhere just beneath his ribs. Draco leaned into it with surprising ease, which Harry took as a win, considering the amount of teasing he'd just endured. He noticed that Draco was a touchy kind of person, something that contrasted with the mask he used around most people, the mask that had been the bully Harry had known for so long. It made his insides warm, seeing the ice prince melt at his touch. 

But his hand, the one not holding Draco, was twitching slightly against the strap of his bag.

Inside, nestled between a sheaf of Transfiguration homework and a folded piece of parchment he'd doodled all over once and on top of all the humbug candies Luna had given him, was the lesson plan. The one he and Draco had put together in between stolen moments of hormone fueled snogging and sleepy cuddles, the one he had been working on every free moment he got, the one he had asked Sirius and Remus for help on. The one that marked the quiet, dangerous beginning of Cedric's Army.

Harry had meant to slip it to Draco when they were alone. Maybe at the end of this meeting, when the rest of the Slytherins had cleared out and gone off to whatever charming chaos they caused in their own corners of the castle. But they were still here, lounging, watching, smirking. Merlin, even Millicent had taken out a jar of cuticle balm and was giving herself a full spa treatment right there on the classroom floor.

So Harry cleared his throat and leaned closer, keeping his voice low. "Hey. Uh. I brought… those notes you wanted me to show you? From Defense. The ones we talked about."

Draco tilted his head, frowning and his eyes narrowing in that way he did when he knew full well Harry was up to something. "What notes?"

Harry shot him a look and gently jostled the strap of his bag with meaning. "You know, the notes.."

Draco blinked once, then understanding dawned in his eyes, sharp and shimmering. He covered it well, just nodding as if Harry had said something entirely ordinary. "Oh. Right. Yes. Those notes. About the… thing."

"I wasn't sure if you wanted me to actually show you here or—"

"They'll be fine with it," Draco said softly, cutting him off, getting his point immediately. 

Harry blinked. "What?"

Draco glanced at his friends. Pansy was now lying across two desks like a cat in the sun, watching Daphne braid her hair with a sleek black comb she'd conjured from Merlin knows where. Theo and Blaise were discussing in low tones the little black book on the desk and the coin purse of galleons that was close to bursting, and Millicent had moved on to buffing her nails with the efficiency of someone trained in close-quarters combat, showing them to Daphne and Pansy like a lioness showing off her claws. 

"They'd be open to it," Draco said again, a little firmer. "Just ask."

Harry hesitated, looking between Draco and the others. "You're sure?"

"They'd want to help," He exhaled slowly, cautious like someone who was about to unearth old wounds. "They're probably the ones who'd be most interested in something like this."

It hit Harry then, the realization. They had it so much worse than the others he planned on recruiting. These were actual children of the enemy, children whose parents only cared about furthering their bloodlines or lining their pockets with more gold, children who endured first hand horrors of deatheaters, not just the aftermath or the byproduct of war like Harry and his friends. Children who couldn't even count Hogwarts as their escape, because they had been sorted into the "evil" house. The war never ended for these kids. 

It was Pansy, always Pansy, who noticed first. "What are you two old hens whispering about?" Her eyes narrowed as she looked over, a perfectly outlined eyebrow raised. 

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He hadn't meant to do this here, not in front of everyone. He had planned to ask them each individually, but Draco's words echoed in his mind. They'd want to help. And now that he'd really looked at them, seen them, not as rivals or bullies or arrogant Slytherins or Draco's chaotic friends, but as kids just like him, frightened, angry, desperate for a sliver of control in a world that was spinning faster and darker than it should, he couldn't not.

So he reached into his bag, hands only a little shaky, and pulled out the parchment.

"I'm starting something," He said, voice rough but steady. "A group. For students who want to learn real defense magic. Not the Ministry-approved, watered-down nonsense Umbridge is feeding us right now. The real stuff. The things we'll actually need when—" he stopped, but they all knew what he meant. When the war comes for them, when the lines were drawn and people had to choose which side they'd be willing to die for.

Pansy sat up straighter, her eyes sharpening like a scalpel. Daphne stilled, her half-finished braid falling from her fingers. Millicent stopped buffing. Blaise stopped counting. Theo's smirk faded into something more thoughtful.

Draco leaned against the desk again, close, solid, a silent anchor at Harry's side. He had already made his choice, and his position made it clear to them. 

"I've got a name," Harry went on. "Cedric's Army. After—after someone you know didn't deserve to die. We're going to teach each other. Train. Fight smart. Fight together."

There was a silence that felt like the whole room was holding its breath, and for one tiny moment Harry thought maybe he was stupid for this.

Then Blaise said, "That's either the bravest or the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

Harry nodded once, because it was that way to him too. "Probably both."

Millicent looked up, face unreadable. "How do you know we won't rat you out?"

"I don't," Harry said honestly. "Just like you don't know if I'll rat you out too. But I don't think you will. Not if you really want to fight back."

Theo laughed, dry and bitter like a man much older than him. "We've all wanted that since we were old enough to understand the family name we were born into."

"I'm in," Pansy said suddenly. Her voice was flat, no teasing in it now, just cold certainty, a glint of hope in her eyes. "If I'm going to have to fight one day, I'd rather know how."

"Same," Daphne said, brushing her fingers through her undone braid. "And I know a charm that can silence footsteps. I'll show you."

Millicent crossed her arms, her mouth set in a hard line. "My uncle was a Hit Wizard. I have his notes. I'll bring them."

Theo nodded once, thoughtful. "I can show wards most people don't know about."

Blaise finally said, "We'll need a contract, or some kind of agreement clause that protects everyone involved. I can help with that."

Draco just looked at them, eyes shining as he realized those he loved would always be on his side. "Told you."

Harry felt something swell in his chest, too big for words, too big for breath. This was what it felt like to not be alone. To be chosen, not just by a wand or a house, but by people. People who knew how bad things really were. People who still wanted to stand beside him anyway. People who wanted to be more than what others tried to make them be. 

"Alright then," Harry said, voice shaking with everything he didn't have words for yet. He pulled out a handful of humbugs, placing them down on the desk in the middle of the room for each of them. "Let's get to work."

——

It was relatively easy to get the message out in a nondescript way, handing one or two representatives from a house a peppermint humbug with a meeting place etched on the inside of the wrapper, the wrapper being the ticket to get into the meeting. Susan and Hannah were more than happy to be the Hufflepuff representative, Susan tucking the wrapper in her bra after handing the candy to Hannah to eat. Parvati smuggled Padma hers, the Ravenclaw a little stunned by the ingenuity of using a simple candy as a revolution tool. Pansy had taken up the role for Slytherin, as self proclaimed queen of the rumor and gossip mill, knew everything that went on at Hogwarts and which of her fellow students to trust as some were sadly too far gone to be saved. Ginny was for Gryffindor, the most popular girl in the tower who could charm anyone into doing anything, especially with all three of her older brothers behind her. 

But before the meeting date, Harry had to tell his housemates a few of the things he was hiding. Hermione knew most of it, but Ron was still in the dark and so was Ginny, Neville, Lavender, and Parvati. 

Harry paced the common room after dinner, barefoot, fingers dragging through his hair as he tried to think of the best way to say it. Not just the part about Draco,but about Draco's friends, the people they'd always been taught to keep a wand's length away from. The people who had hurt them. The people who now… weren't.

He could feel the weight of the humbug wrappers in his pocket, most already handed off to someone he trusted in their own way. And yet, the hardest part wasn't recruiting the others. It was this. Facing his own.

Ron was seated on the edge of an armchair near the fireplace, legs sprawled, absently tossing a chocolate frog card into the air and catching it without looking, looking over at Hermione's opened book. Ginny and Hermione were curled together on the couch nearby, Ginny's feet tucked under Hermione's thigh as they shared a blanket and a bag of sweets, a book perched in Hermione's lap to read. Lavender and Parvati were at the coffee table playing poker and betting different kinds of chocolate. Neville was cross-legged on the rug with Trevor nestled on his knee, humming quietly as he thumbed through a Herbology text.

These were his people. His first allies. His friends.

Harry cleared his throat.

Hermione looked up first, sharp and knowing. She tilted her head just slightly, and Harry could read the silent question in her eyes. Now?

He nodded once.

"Alright," Hermione said, sitting up straighter and nudging Ginny with her elbow. "Listen up, everyone. Harry's got something important to say."

Ron froze mid-catch, the chocolate frog card hitting him in the forehead. "Huh?"

Parvati and Lavender looked up simultaneously, Parvati raising an eyebrow. "This about the prank fallout?"

"No," Harry said, stepping into the warm glow of the firelight. "It's about Cedric's Army."

Neville sat up a little straighter, Trevor now dangling off his lap, staring at Harry like he'd grown two heads. "Wait..you're serious? That's a real thing? I thought Susan was joking."

Harry nodded, hand tightening around the edge of the chair. "Yeah. It is. And we're doing it. I've got help setting it up, a place to meet, spells to teach. But before we go any further… there's something else I need to say, because you all deserve a heads up."

There was a pause. The room felt quieter somehow, despite the crackle of flames and the wind outside the tower window. He sighed, might as well rip the band aid off, right?

"I'm friends with Draco Malfoy."

Ron made a sound like a rubber duck being stepped on, or a dog's squeaky toy being squeezed too hard. 

Lavender choked on a piece of chocolate and started coughing, thumping her chest as she wheezed and tried to suck in air. 

Parvati just blinked, stunned.

Neville looked at Harry like he'd just grown bat wings and declared himself Merlin.

Ginny, bless her, just hummed. "Knew it."

"You what?" Ron spluttered, sitting bolt upright and flinging the chocolate frog card across the room. "Are you joking? Malfoy? Draco bloody Malfoy?"

"No," Harry said calmly, but firmly. "I'm not joking. We've been talking for a while now. Since summer, actually. He..he helped me when I needed someone. He's not who we thought he was."

Ron's mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again, like he was trying to reboot his entire worldview, or give an impression of a fish out of water. "But! He's a git!"

"Harry says he's different, and I trust him on this. We can give Draco a chance, it won't do any harm to give him a shot to prove himself to us," Hermione spoke up, throwing in her thoughts on that matter.

"He was a git," Harry admitted. "And yeah, he still can be. But so can I. So can all of us. He's trying. And he's not alone."

"What's that mean?" Parvati asked slowly, her brows furrowed.

Harry took another breath, the kind that felt like it scraped against his ribs on the way out. They wouldn't like this part either. 

"I've also become friends with some of the Slytherins. Blaise Zabini. Pansy Parkinson. Theo Nott. Daphne Greengrass. Millicent Bulstrode."

Neville made a tiny squeak noise. "Pansy Parkinson? She used to charm my shoes to squeak every day!"

"And you used to lose Trevor all the time, Neville," Harry said gently. "We're all different now. Or trying to be."

Lavender had stopped coughing, and was now blinking slowly, brows pulled together. "Why?"

"Because…" Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Because Voldemort's back. Because the Ministry's pretending he's not. Because Umbridge is more interested in controlling us than protecting us. Because there's a war coming, and they know it just as much as we do. And they want to fight. Like we do. They're not the enemy. They never have been. They're just kids living with the consequences of their parents' actions, just like us all."

There was silence again. The kind that makes your bones ache with the weight of it. Harry's point had been hammered into them, and now they could see exactly where he was coming from. 

Then Ginny, fierce and golden in the firelight and always the one to speak her mind, said, "Good. If they're with us, they're with us. That's all that matters in the end."

Hermione nodded, voice soft even as she thought on it. She trusted Harry. "They're brave to come forward like this."

Neville looked down at Trevor, who blinked up at him, and muttered, "Even Pansy?"

Harry smiled. "Especially Pansy."

Parvati exchanged a long look with Lavender before she finally spoke. "Alright. But if any of them hex me, I'm not holding back."

"Fair," Harry said.

Lavender tilted her head. "I'm actually kind of curious what Blaise Zabini is like when he's not being snarky behind a cauldron."

"Still snarky," Harry said. "But funny, too. Smart. They all are. Just… in different ways."

Ron still looked like he'd swallowed a particularly large Bertie Bott's bean, but he rubbed his face and muttered, "Bloody mental. But… if Hermione's fine with it, and you are, I guess I'll give them a chance. A chance, that's it. As in, singular."

Harry grinned. "That's all I'm asking."

Ginny flicked a piece of a sweet at Ron. "You'll warm up, you bleeding heart tosser. You always do, just like mum."

Harry looked around the room, at his friends, his housemates, at his first family, and felt something click into place. They were going to do this. Together. Not just as Gryffindors. Not just as students. But as a new kind of thing.

A family forged in fire, fury, and something even more powerful than magic. Choice. And choices were a lot more dangerous than people gave them credit for. 

——

Harry was laying in bed, fighting sleep. He hadn't been getting much sleep outside of his late night rendezvous' with Draco that almost always ended with them asleep and curled into one another. He always dreamed of that damn hallway no matter what, but outside of Draco's arms all he could see were nightmares. Death haunted him. 

In moments when he was alone with nothing to do, no distraction available, he felt like he was drowning. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the bright piercing grey eyes of Cedric, staring lifelessly into his very soul. Sometimes, they turned into the icy grey of Draco. Whenever he allowed himself to slip into sleep, he saw the graveyard, saw Voldemort, saw everyone he ever loved dead at his feet, saw Dumbledore's stupid twinkling eyes, saw Umbridge and her stupid quil. Sometimes it was Voldemort hurting everyone, but sometimes it was him. Sometimes it was him with red eyes, cackling and burning everyone to ash with a flick of his wand. 

Not even Draco could keep the after effects away. Couldn't make him stop looking over his shoulder, tense and ready for a fight. He couldn't stop the ache in Harry's bones that told him that last year would be nothing compared to what was coming. The locket only heightens emotions and feelings that were already there, of this Harry was sure. He understood why it was heightening his paranoia and his anxiety, he can even understand it heightening his anger, but the feeling of losing himself.. of being lost to something dark and twisted and not him.. where was that and why was it heightened so much? Why did he feel like he was walking a tightrope as thin as dental floss? 

He didn't have time to continue the ramblings of a soon-to-be madman, as his bed curtains jerked open and he was greeted by the sight of his redheaded best friend.

"Alright, mate. We need to talk." Ron whispered before crawling in and closing the curtains behind him. "You need to tell me more about the Slytherin thing before I lose my bloody mind, I can't sleep because of it." 

"Hello, Ron. Nice to see you too at this late hour, your company is always welcomed," Harry snarked as he sat up against his headboard, crossing his legs and watching Ron mimic the same across from him. 

"Oh don't bloody start," Ron sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "I'm driving myself mental imagining all the worst case scenarios for this happening. Can you please explain to me again why we now trust the Slytherins? Or at the very least, why we trust Draco Malfoy, whose family is in a centuries long blood feud with mine?" 

Harry looked at Ron, really looked, and sighed. "It's not just about trust. It's about survival."

Ron made a face. "You still sound like Percy, and it still freaks me out."

"I sound like someone who's seen someone die in front of me," Harry said flatly, the words dropping like stones between them. He didn't mean for it to come out so sharp. But maybe he did. Maybe it had to.

Ron's mouth shut.

Harry exhaled, rubbed at the spot between his eyes. "Sorry, I just..I didn't just decide one day to make friends with Draco. It… happened. Over the summer. He bumped into me."

"He bumped into you?"

Harry nodded. "Helped me with some injuries I had from, well.. my uncle. He said he didn't want to be his father. Said he didn't think the world we're being forced into is the one he wants to live in. And I, I didn't want to be alone anymore. So I let him in."

Ron was silent for a long moment, processing.

"He was different," Harry said, quieter now. "Not all the time. Not at first. But… he listened. He didn't tell me I was crazy when I said I couldn't sleep. He didn't tell me to be strong when I said I was scared. He just… sat with me. Let me talk. Or didn't. He let me exist without pretending I was okay."

"That… doesn't sound like Malfoy."

"I know," Harry agreed. "But it is."

Ron leaned his head back against the curtain, running a hand through his hair. "Still doesn't explain why the others are in on this."

"They're Draco's friends. They're like… him, but all in different directions. They've all got their reasons for it. I don't know much, only a little from what Draco has told me. Pansy's dad wants to auction her off when she gets old enough, force her to marry whatever pureblooded guy he deems acceptable. Millicent's got a Hit Wizard uncle who practically raised her because her parents don't care. Theo's dad is practically ancient, abusive, and was one of the first to follow Voldemort."

"Bloody fucking hell."

"Yeah," Harry said. "They can't choose who their parents are, but they're trying to be better and make better choices. And they want to fight for something better too."

Ron looked like he'd swallowed a rock.

Harry added, softer, "They've seen the dark side up close, Ron. We think we have, but they lived in it. They know what's coming better than any of us do."

"And Malfoy?" Ron asked, not looking at him, biting his lip in a way that made Harry nervous. "What's he to you now?"

Harry hesitated, then smiled a little. "He's… important. More than I thought. More than I think I know how to explain properly right now."

Ron snorted faintly. "You in love with him or something?"

Harry startled, blinked. "What! No! I..I mean—"

Ron raised an eyebrow, something between tired and amused. "Mate. You snuck up the girls' staircase today. You're organizing a secret rebellion army. Don't tell me you also let a Slytherin crawl into your heart."

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands, trying not to reveal anything. "Please never say 'crawl into your heart' again, that's way too weird, even for us. He's just a friend."

Ron laughed, and after a moment, he said, "Alright. Fine. I'll try to be nice to them. For you. And for Hermione, since she'll murder me if I don't and quite frankly, she scares me a hell of a lot more than anyone else does.. But if Malfoy so much as looks at us wrong—"

"I know," Harry said, dragging his hands down his face. "You'll hex him into next week."

Ron nodded firmly. "Exactly. And if he does something weird I don't like towards you, I'm pulling Bill and Charlie out of retirement. Ginny said it best, you're family."

Harry grinned, so wide he thought his lips might crack. "Noted."

They sat in the dim quiet for a long moment, the sounds of the castle creaking in the distance, wind howling faintly against the windowpanes, the snores and soft breathing of their dormmates.

Then Ron muttered, "I still can't believe you're the reason Slytherins are coming to a Gryffindor-led revolution."

Harry snorted. "Tell that to the Sorting Hat, it tried putting me in Slytherin at first."

Ron groaned, grabbing one of Harry's pillows and burying his face into it. "Don't tell me that, I'm spiraling again." 

——

Whenever Ron finally crawled back to his own bed, leaving a trying not to laugh and failing Harry behind, Harry decided to at least try and go to sleep, at least try and see if maybe this time would be a good night, a good dream. 

He wasn't totally wrong. 

The dream starts how it always did, a black tiled hallway with endless doors, but one stood out most to him. There was nothing remarkable about these doors, each as similar as the other, but one for some reason kept his attention. It was tall and black, but nothing stood out about it. All he could hear was a weird noise, something that sounded like whispers, a million quiet whispers luring him in and driving him crazy. 

What were they saying? He was screaming out, wanting so desperately to know what those whispers were about, what they meant, why he was hearing them every single night when he closed his goddamn eyes. It was driving him crazy, and even in dreams when the locket was nowhere to be found, he could feel how insane he was being driven. Harry banged on the door but it wouldn't budge. It never would, it never did. It never will. 

"Just let me in," Harry shouted, his fist hammering into the door. "Just give me some peace!" 

The door didn't move, it was pointless and he knew it. 

"Please!" Harry cried. 

His fists were raw. Blood slicked the black stone, but he barely felt it anymore, or did he even feel anything at all in the beginning? 

Harry couldn't stop. He didn't know how.

The door loomed before him like a monolith, towering, ancient, unknowable. It had no handle, no keyhole, no inscription, nothing to tell it apart from the other eleven doors. Just that endless expanse of shadow-polished obsidian, rippling faintly like something alive, like something watching him. The whispers hadn't stopped. They never did. They curled around the edges of the door like smoke, seeping through cracks that weren't there, pressing into his ears like water, like static, like the memory of voices he should know but couldn't understand.

He screamed again.

"Please!"

His voice tore through the hallway, echoing back at him, bouncing off walls that stretched too high, too far. The sound didn't matter. It was swallowed whole, devoured by the whispering, smothered by the cold that never lifted from his bones.

He was barefoot. Had he always been? The tiles beneath his feet were freezing, biting into the arches of his soles. He felt dizzy. Sick. He couldn't tell if the ache in his chest was grief or fury. Maybe both. Maybe more.

The whispers grew louder the more he begged. They tangled around his ribs, wormed into his teeth, sank into his skull. A language without words. A call without origin. They scraped the inside of his brain like claws made of silk. Familiar. Wrong. Sacred. Wrong. Horrifying. Wrong.

"I'm here!" Harry shouted, the sound half a sob, half a command. "I'm here, I'm right here, just..let me in, please, let me in.."

Nothing.

The door remained. Silent. Solid.

Indifferent.

He threw himself at it. Pounded it with both fists. Kicked it until his foot went numb. He wept against the surface, forehead pressed to the chill. "I don't understand! I don't know what you want from me!"

The whispers laughed.

Or maybe they cried.

Or maybe there was no difference anymore.

Harry crumpled to his knees. His palms trembled as he reached up and pressed them flat against the door, pleading with something,anything at all, that might listen.

"I need this," He whispered. "I need to know. I need to see. I need to understand. You can't keep doing this. You can't keep pulling me here and locking me out..Why do you keep showing me this if I can't get in?"

No answer. No shift. Just the door. Just the whispers. Just the impossible ache of something he could almost grasp if only he could reach a little further. Just the promise of something beyond that barrier, something terrible or divine or both, and the certainty that he was meant to see it. Meant to know.

The pain rose in his chest like pressure before a storm. He clawed at the edges of the door, fingers scrabbling for cracks, for purchase, for any seam that might give. His nails bent. Split. Still he kept going.

His voice broke with the next scream. "What do you want from me?!"

No reply.

There never was.

Only that maddening, endless whisper.

His head fell forward again. This time he didn't move. Just knelt there, sobbing quietly against the cold. His breath fogged the tiled stone. His heartbeat was a drumbeat of desperation.

He wasn't supposed to be here. But he always was.

He wasn't supposed to want this. But he needed it.

He didn't know what was behind the door, but he knew, somehow, that it was the only thing that would make the whispers stop. That if he could just get through, if he could just see, then everything would finally make sense. All of it. Cedric. Lucrezia's prophecy. The looming war. The locket. His magic. Himself.

He just had to get in.

He just had to get in.

He just had to get in.

But he never would.

And something behind the door knew it.

And it laughed.

And it cried.

Softly.

Endlessly.

Always. 

He didn't know how long he spent there, didn't know how long he was kneeling and sobbing. It could have been hours, could have been years, it wouldn't have mattered. All that mattered was he would never find out what was behind that door, what the whispers were. 

Harry's hands fell from the door, useless and trembling. His head throbbed with the weight of the whispers, a thousand ghost-voices pressing against his skull from the inside out. His chest burned with the ache of needing something he could never reach. He felt hollow. Haunted. Fractured from the inside, like a glass just beginning to splinter.

Then—

A creak.

Not behind him.

Beside him.

His breath caught in his throat as he twisted on his knees, bloodied palms still open and pressed against the door. One of the other doors, the fifth on the right, was open, only slightly. Just enough for light to spill out, not golden like dawn or silver like moonlight, but warm and strange and safe all the same.

The whispers behind him receded instantly, like a tide pulled back by the moon, like whatever was behind that door had chased the whispers away. 

The hallway fell silent.

Harry stood. His knees cracked. His feet were numb. But he moved like he had no other choice, like the dream itself had changed direction and now this door was the current dragging him forward. The closer he got, the warmer the light became. It smelled like fresh ink and coconut.. Like parchment and shea butter.. Like.. Draco?

He reached out.

The door opened wider at his touch, silently swinging inward until it revealed—

The soft glow of Hissyfitz.

It was empty, quiet. The shelves were filled with the usual assortment of things, books and a few musical vinyls, a few of the pieces from the hidden junk room that had been cleaned out. 

But none of it mattered.

Because Draco was there.

Standing behind the ugly couch, silky baby blue pajama sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair a little mussed like he'd just pushed his hand through it. His wand was tucked behind his ear like a quill, and he had a humbug balanced on the tip of one finger as he grinned at Harry with a crooked, private sort of smile. The kind that never showed up in the halls of Hogwarts or near his Slytherin friends. The kind only Harry ever got to see.

"There you are," Draco said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like Harry hadn't just crawled out of a nightmare made of teeth and silence and pain. "Took you long enough."

Harry swallowed hard. His voice came out rough as he pointed behind him at the door. "I..I was trying to get through—"

Draco was already coming around the couch, stepping into Harry's space like a tide meeting the shore, the humbug falling into nothingness like it had never existed in the first place. "Shhh," He murmured. "Doesn't matter now. You made it."

Harry didn't argue. He didn't need to. The air here felt real. Solid. Soft. Like warm velvet and candlelight wrapped around his shoulders. 

Draco reached for his hands but stopped. He saw the blood.

"Oh," He whispered. His brows drew together in a furrow of worry as he gently took Harry's wrist and turned it over. "You're hurt."

"I couldn't get it open," Harry said. He wasn't even sure he meant to say it, but certain that he didn't mean for the words to come out so vulnerable and broken. "I tried everything. It wouldn't let me in."

Draco kissed his fingers.

He kissed Harry's fingers oh so softly, so soft that Harry didn't notice at first that with every kiss to each knuckle, the bruises went away and the blood cleared. "How did you..?"

"It's a dream, isn't it, Harry?" Draco replied, his smile coming easy. "You can do anything in dreams."

"Oh," Harry said stupidly, his eyes stuck on the way Draco moved on to kiss his other hand, all evidence of his wounds and fear being washed away.

The blood was gone. His hands were clean. The shop door was closed behind him. Draco was still holding his fingers like they were something sacred, tracing over each knuckle as if memorizing the shape of them. He hadn't let go. He hadn't even looked away.

Harry felt like he might shatter into a million tiny pieces.

"You looked so scared," Draco whispered, his voice softer than moonlight. "I felt it. I don't know how, but I did. It was like… like my chest ached until you walked through that door."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything.

He let Draco pull him closer, let Draco guide him down onto the ugly couch that somehow always felt like the softest place in the world. They didn't speak. There was no need for words. Not here. Not in this pocket of dreamspace that Harry's mind or his magic had carved out for them. This was solace, or maybe heaven if Harry believed in that sort of thing.

Draco reached up and touched Harry's face, cupping his cheek in one hand. His thumb brushed just under Harry's eye, gentle, careful. Like Harry was a spell he didn't dare break. Harry felt tingly.

"I hate seeing you like that," Draco said, voice barely above a breath. "Like you're unraveling and I can't do anything to stitch you back together."

"You are," Harry breathed out, desperate almost.

Draco blinked. "What?"

"You're stitching me back together. Every time I touch you. Every time you look at me like I'm worth anything. Every time you don't run." The words fell from his lips before he could even try to silence them. 

Draco stared at him for a long moment. His expression crumpled, just for a second, before it smoothed over into something more resolute. He leaned forward until their foreheads touched.

"I'm never running," He said fiercely. "Not from you. Not ever."

Harry surged forward without thinking, their lips meeting in a kiss that was anything but soft. It was feverish. Desperate. Teeth clashing. Breath stolen. All the pain and longing and fear of that hallway slammed into the kiss like a tidal wave. Draco always made him better, always, and he was desperate to feel better again. 

Draco responded instantly, one hand gripping the back of Harry's neck, the other curling into his old ratty grey sleep shirt. Harry pushed forward, pressed Draco down into the cushions, crawling above him without breaking the kiss. His fingers threaded through Draco's long white-blond hair, tugging gently, earning a low sound from Draco's throat that shot straight through him.

Their mouths moved like they had something to prove, something to burn away or build back up. This wasn't a kiss. This was a reclamation. This was Harry burying his fear in Draco's skin. This was Draco whispering back you're okay with every tug and pull and gasp.

"You're here," Harry said against his lips, breathless, dizzy, grateful for this dream.

"So are you," Draco whispered, pulling him in again. "Stay."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Harry's hands slid under Draco's silk shirt, curling around his waist, anchoring himself to his chilly skin and steady breath. Draco clung to him like a lifeline, and Harry pressed their foreheads together again, panting against each other's mouths.

The world around them pulsed, the soft amber glow of the shop curling around the edges of Harry's vision like candlelight on water. No whispers here. No doors. No blood. No fear. 

Just them.

Just this.

Draco cupped Harry's jaw again, his thumb tracing Harry's bottom lip, swollen and slick from kissing. "You better not wake up before kissing me like that again." 

Harry grinned, a little wild. "I was already planning on it. A lot."

Draco's eyes sparked. "Good."

And then Harry kissed him again, harder this time, chasing the heat and the grounding and the solid, perfect weight of the boy who made the whispers go quiet. The boy Harry was sure he would go mad without. 

Draco shifted beneath him, warm and real and breathless. His hands slid along Harry's sides, smoothing over old no longer there scars and fresh worries alike. Their kisses slowed, deepened, became something molten and languid, the kind of heat that burned without urgency, the kind that said I'm here. I want you. We're okay.

Harry let his forehead drop to Draco's shoulder, exhaling into his skin. His voice was barely a whisper, more of a plea.

"Stay with me. Don't let me wake up yet."

Draco's fingers curled into the hem of Harry's sleep shirt, tugging gently. "Then don't wake up."

Harry pressed Draco deeper into the cushions of the old couch, their lips locking again in a desperate dance of longing and reassurance. Every brush of their mouths was both a balm and a spark, chasing away shadows and igniting flames Harry hadn't realized were smoldering beneath his skin. Draco's hands roamed restlessly across Harry's back, fingers digging softly into his shoulder blades as if anchoring him, as if terrified Harry might vanish at any moment.

"I'm right here," Harry murmured breathlessly, breaking the kiss just long enough to whisper against Draco's lips. His voice was raw with need, reassurance, and something deeper, something he was still learning the shape of. "I'm not leaving you."

Draco responded by pulling Harry impossibly closer, legs shifting apart so Harry could settle comfortably between them. Harry felt every inch of Draco's tall and lean body beneath him, the silk of Draco's pajamas offering little barrier to the heat radiating between them. Draco's breath hitched audibly, and Harry shivered at the sound.

Their mouths found each other again, feverish and insistent. Harry's heart was racing wildly, his pulse thrumming through every vein, filling him with a heady, intoxicating rush. Draco's hips lifted instinctively to meet him, and Harry bit back a moan, the friction electrifying, searing his nerves.

"Draco," Harry breathed, his voice trembling with emotion and urgency, as his lips traced a heated path along Draco's jaw to the tender skin beneath his ear. Draco tilted his head back, eyes fluttering closed, lips parting on a shaky exhale.

"I need you," Draco confessed softly, fingers tangling fiercely in Harry's hair, guiding him to exactly where he wanted him. "I need this."

Harry's breath caught sharply at the admission, and he gently bit down on Draco's neck, drawing a soft gasp from him that went straight to Harry's core. Draco's skin tasted faintly of sweetness and ice, the intimacy grounding Harry more firmly into this dreamlike space that felt so vividly real. He had given up on questioning it.

With shaky hands, Harry slid Draco's silk pajama shirt upward, fingertips caressing Draco's smooth, pale chest reverently. Draco arched beneath him, seeking more contact, a soft groan escaping his lips that made Harry's head spin with desire. Harry shifted slightly, kissing downward, mapping Draco's collarbone with soft presses of his lips, feeling Draco shiver beneath each gentle touch.

"Harry," Draco pleaded, voice breaking deliciously on the syllables of his name. His hands were impatient now, slipping under Harry's shirt, tracing lines of fire across Harry's spine, urging him on. "Don't stop."

Harry lifted his head just enough to meet Draco's eyes, stormy grey clouded with longing and vulnerability. He held Draco's gaze, pouring everything he couldn't yet say into the silent connection between them, before claiming Draco's lips once more, this kiss deeper, slower, and filled with a profound tenderness that contrasted the earlier desperation.

Their bodies moved in harmony, each touch, each caress driving them higher, building tension that coiled tighter with every gasp and sigh exchanged between them. Hands explored and mouths tasted as the heat built steadily between them, a perfect, aching pleasure that blotted out every nightmare, every shadow, every whisper.

"Stay with me," Draco whispered, urgent and vulnerable, as Harry's hand slipped lower, gently teasing along the waistband of Draco's silk pajama bottoms. "Please."

Harry nodded, sealing his promise with another heated, soul-deep kiss, his heart whispering an answer even more profound than words, Always.

Draco was impatient and needy, gripping at Harry's shirt and pulling it off of him by the hem, his hands following a path down his chest, his abs, admiring his form like an artist admires statues. 

Harry was never one to be out-done when it came to instinctual and impulsive actions, raising up and resting on his knees so he could unbutton Draco's shirt in retaliation. It was striking, the difference in their skin colors contrasting, Harry's warm caramel colored hand against Draco's milky white chest. 

"You're.." Harry breathed, "breathtaking."

Draco's fingers lingered on Harry's skin like he was trying to memorize the heat, the texture, the shape of him. His hands moved reverently, the soft pads of his fingers tracing along the ridges of Harry's ribs, the faint curve of his waist, the dip beneath his sternum. Every movement was deliberate, slow, careful, not out of hesitation but out of reverence.

Harry wasn't used to being touched like this. Like he was fragile, yes, but not because he was broken. Because he was treasured. Like someone had finally found something rare and precious and didn't quite believe they were allowed to keep it. He'd let Draco keep him forever if he could. 

His breath hitched as Draco's hands smoothed up his back, curling over his shoulder blades, drawing him down again until their foreheads pressed together and their noses brushed. Their lips barely touched, just a ghost of a connection, a breath shared, like they were both holding something sacred between them. They were.

"Is this alright?" Draco asked, barely above a whisper. His voice was low and rough, like silk catching on splinters.

Harry nodded, unable to speak for a moment as he tried not to blink and miss anything. "More than alright."

Draco kissed him again, slower this time. Not desperate. Not hungry. Deep. The kind of kiss that settled into his bones. The kind that rewrote the language of every kiss before it. Draco's lips parted, letting Harry taste him, sweet and a little sharp, like peppermint toothpaste.

Their mouths moved in tandem, tongues brushing lazily, noses bumping every now and then, but neither of them laughed, not now. Not when everything felt like it mattered so much.

Harry shifted again, his weight sinking more fully against Draco, pressing their bare chests together. The heat of Draco's skin was searing, grounding, his heartbeat thudding against Harry's with the same frantic rhythm.

Draco moaned quietly into his mouth when Harry rolled his hips, slow, experimental, just enough to feel the friction of their bodies aligned. Harry gasped at the contact, his fingers finding and then tightening in Draco's long hair.

"Fuck," Draco whispered, breathless, the word clinging to the space between them like static. "You feel, Merlin, you feel like—"

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. Harry kissed the words off his lips, swallowed them whole, and replaced them with another roll of his hips, another soft drag of their bodies against each other.

Harry could feel it now, Draco, growing hard against him, silk pants doing little to hide it. He whimpered against Draco's mouth, not embarrassed by the sound, not here. Not in this dream where every inch of him was already laid bare and nothing hurt. It was just a dream, and anything can happen in dreams.

Draco gasped when Harry dipped his head and started kissing down his neck again, slower this time, open-mouthed and warm. He traced his tongue along the sharp line of Draco's collarbone, smiling when he felt Draco tremble beneath him. His hands moved lower, splayed against Draco's hips, thumbs brushing the thin band of silk holding them back from nothing at all.

"Harry," Draco whispered again, the name sounding less like a plea and more like an anchor, a grounding point in a dream that had once been all nightmares and pain.

Harry kissed lower. Down Draco's chest, over one pale nipple, teasing it with a soft flick of his tongue before sucking it gently into his mouth. Draco gasped, hips bucking slightly, and Harry grinned against his skin.

"You're so sensitive," He murmured.

"You're a…a menace," Draco replied, voice shaking, hands sliding down Harry's back and holding on, grounding himself.

Harry hummed. "You like it."

Draco didn't answer with words this time. He just tangled his fingers in Harry's messy hair and pulled him back up, kissed him like he was drowning. Harry kissed him back just as fiercely, one hand slipping between them, curling over Draco's hipbone, fingers teasing along the waistband of his pajama bottoms once again.

"Can I?" Harry asked, his voice hoarse, in between their kisses.

Draco looked at him, eyes dilated and clouded. "Yes, Harry, of course."

Harry smiled, and kissed him one more time before finally, finally slipping his hand beneath the waistband, fingers gliding over the soft skin of Draco's lower stomach, then lower, wrapping gently around him.

Draco let out a strangled noise that made Harry's entire body shiver. His back arched into the touch, and Harry pressed their mouths together again, drinking in every gasp and sigh and hitch of breath.

It was odd, as he's never done anything like this with anyone before, but it was also perfect. It was Draco. It was a dream. It didn't matter that he was inexperienced, didn't matter that he was trying to remember what he himself liked and mimic it in reverse. All that mattered was Draco. 

The basic mechanics are the same, right? Harry wondered very briefly before he just went for it, grabbing the base of Draco's dick and slowly working his way up the shaft in up and down motion. Draco's moan encouraged him, even as Harry swallowed it just to keep their lips pressed together for a moment more. 

Harry pulled away for a second, intending to just spit in his hand to add some moisture so the friction would feel better, but he was met with a surprise. Draco reached and stopped him, and instead pulled his hand to his own lips. 

Harry very briefly heard Draco whisper under his breath, "It's just a dream," to himself, but didn't have time to fully process it before his fingers were in Draco's mouth and all his brain power was focused on not collapsing right then and there. 

Draco's tongue was dangerous, Harry decided it right then. He had some skill, swirling the digits around and captivating Harry like a siren call. He'd do anything Draco said at that moment, do it without question or remorse. 

"You can't just.." Harry trailed off as he watched Draco soak his fingers, as he felt that slightly warm tongue dance around, his brain failing to comprehend what he was truly saying. "..do that." 

Draco didn't reply, just pulled Harry's fingers out of his mouth and started lapping at his palm, and suddenly Harry forgot what words even were. 

What happened after was just instinct, all spurred by Draco finally releasing Harry's hand and Harry deciding he wanted to make Draco feel as good as he made Harry feel every day. His hand went down and wrapped around Draco's cock, firm but gentle. 

It was all worth it, seeing Draco's eyes flutter and roll back at the warm touch, at the way his mouth went slack and released the prettiest of sounds. Harry was already addicted and he just had one taste of this kind of intimacy. No tobacco or marijuana could elicit an intense feeling like this, and Harry would know, he'd done plenty of both. 

His hand moved up and down, slow at first but building momentum as he got comfortable at doing the motion in this new angle. "Is it.. alright?" 

It took a moment for Draco to form words, his eyelashes blinking as he tried to regain some coherent thought. "More than." He managed to get out, his words slurring only slightly. He moved blindly, his hands shaking slightly as they brushed against the hem of Harry's old plaid pajama bottoms, before finally pushing them down and wrapping his hand around Harry's dick.

Harry swore he almost exploded right then and there. And not just in a pleasurable way. 

"Draco..!" Harry choked out, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed. He hadn't been expecting that at all. 

Draco stilled at Harry's reaction, but only for a second.

Then a wicked smile curled on his lips, slow and lazy and dripping with the kind of self-assurance Harry had only seen in fleeting glances before now, the kind Draco wore when he was entertaining other Slytherins. It was the smile of someone who knew exactly what kind of power he held in this moment and wasn't afraid to wield it. It was.. Harry had to admit to himself it was really hot. 

"You didn't think I'd just lie there and let you have all the fun, did you?" Draco whispered, his breath hot against Harry's jaw as he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss there. "Not when I've been thinking about this every time I close my eyes…"

Harry's breath hitched again as Draco's hand moved, curling around him, stroking him in a rhythm that was both deliberate and achingly good, fast enough to make Harry twitch, slow enough to keep him trembling. His entire body was molten. He felt like he might float out of his own skin. Is this how it was supposed to feel with others?

"Draco," He whispered again, voice wrecked, high in his throat like prayer. 

Their hands moved in tandem now, one wrapped around the other's cock, the other clutching tightly to shoulders, hair, skin, anything to keep from flying apart completely. Harry's hips jerked, bucked forward into Draco's grip, his forehead dropping against Draco's as he gasped out a soft, desperate groan, and Draco letting out noises that sounded like whines and high pitched moans. 

They moved together like they were chasing something, not quite control, not quite chaos, something in between. Something only they understood. The bond between them was flaring, their emotions practically one in that moment. 

Draco was a mess beneath him, eyes blown wide, cheeks pink with arousal, mouth parted around breathless gasps that Harry drank down like air. His strokes faltered just a little when Harry leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, just barely brushing it, his own hand not stopping its steady rhythm. Harry wanted to memorize every sound Draco made, every way his body reacted, every flicker of expression in those beautiful grey eyes.

The heat was building now, Harry could feel it coiling low in his stomach, could see it mirrored in the way Draco's back arched into him, the way his free hand fell and fisted in the couch cushion, the way he moaned Harry's name like it was the only word he knew. Harry nearly came right there, hearing Draco moan his name so pretty-like. 

And then Draco's mouth found his again, messier now, more frantic. Their rhythm stuttered, bucked, picked up pace. It was pure instinct, pure hunger, every thought Harry had melting down into this one, blazing point of light and warmth and yes.

He was going to come.

Draco was too, he could feel it in the way his hips jerked, the way he trembled, the way his lips trembled when he gasped into Harry's mouth, "Please—don't stop—Harry—"

"I've got you," Harry whispered back, broken and breathless and his.

And then Draco came, shuddering, biting down on Harry's shoulder with a muffled cry as his body arched and froze, then collapsed into the couch in soft, boneless tremors, his hand still doing its best to work Harry's cock too. 

The sight alone, the feel of Draco falling apart under him and the sticky warmth in his hand, was enough to tip Harry over the edge. He groaned, low and sharp, his head dropping to Draco's chest as he followed him over the edge, clutching him like a lifeline as the dream blurred around the edges in the white-hot wave of pleasure.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Just soft, panting breaths and the echo of something enormous and tender curling around them in the stillness. It was euphoric, it was so many things Harry himself didn't know any words that could truly capture the moment of pure bliss. 

When Harry finally lifted his head, he was stunned to find Draco looking up at him with something far softer than smug satisfaction. There was awe there. And love, maybe, or just the closest thing to it either of them had ever dared to let show. He didn't feel sticky anymore, neither of them did, as it seemed like the evidence of their coupling had just disappeared in a fit of dream logic.

Draco reached up, brushing sweaty hair from Harry's forehead. "Was that… alright?"

Harry huffed a laugh, leaning in to kiss the tip of Draco's nose. "That was… beyond alright."

Draco smiled. A real one. The kind Harry rarely saw outside the safety of private moments between them. "Good."

They shifted a little, lazily untangling themselves enough to get somewhat comfortable, curling up against each other in the aftermath. Draco tucked his head beneath Harry's chin. Harry wrapped both arms around him and closed his eyes, holding him against his chest. He's never known such wonderful peace. 

The shop around them faded into something softer, dimmer, filled with warmth and the smell of something sweet and safe. The whispers never reached them here. The darkness couldn't find him. Not when he had Draco in his arms and the sound of their breathing in perfect sync.

 He was safe here. 

But it was only a dream.

Harry woke up feeling both conflicted and at peace. He was warm and feeling a little fuzzy, the taste of Draco's lips still lingering even as he woke up. Everything was fine for a few moments, while his brain comprehended and processed the wonderful dream he had, recounting every detail and memorizing it. He'd tattoo the sounds Draco made and the way his touch felt on his chest if he could, have it become a permanent part of his being. He very rarely ever forgot dreams, and he knew this dream would be no different, even if he had to think about it every few minutes, he'd do it just to keep it around. 

But the first part of the dream, the nightmare of the hallway, would also never leave his mind. Harry frowned as he remembered it, clutching at the locket around his neck as he remembered that stupid room of doors. His pulse picked up as his mind went over it and found that it was the same thing he'd been dreaming of ever since summer. The only difference was that tonight he had found solace and an escape this time. 

Trying to figure out why it had happened that night was going to plague and haunt him, much like how the hallway always did.

Harry didn't go back to sleep that night.