Year 7-08: Alone Together

"Good morning, Harry!" Luna said cheerfully, skipping alongside him as he entered the Great Hall for breakfast.

"Morning, Luna," Harry greeted her. "Looking forward to the start of classes?"

"Oh, yes," Luna nodded eagerly. "Professor Firenze said I would enjoy N.E.W.T. lessons in Divination this year, and I'm so happy your mother is still here to teach us Potions."

Harry was amazed by Luna's optimistic attitude. She seemed to be the only student in the castle acting as if all was normal, as if it was just another typical year at Hogwarts. Harry walked Luna to her seat at the Ravenclaw table before making his way up to the Head Table to eat.

"Won't you sit with me?" Luna asked hopefully. "Just for one meal? No one else in Ravenclaw ever does."

Harry glanced around the Hall; it wasn't very full yet, but he could see surreptitious glances in his direction from all sides. "Are you sure you want to be seen talking to me, Luna?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't I?" Luna asked, frowning.

"Because it's not safe to be associated with me right now," said Harry in an undertone. "Nobody trusts me. You'll be ostracized."

"I'm already ostracized," Luna shrugged. "And if anything, you might be the safest person to associate with in the castle. No one will bother me if they know I'm your friend, will they?"

Harry considered this. There was logic to it – Luna might not get bullied to the same extent if people knew Harry was protective of her. But was it wise in the long term? Would Luna suffer future consequences if the tides turned, if she was known to be friends with Dumbledore's killer?

"Just be careful is all," he sighed. "I won't be able to protect you if things go wrong. Just keep your head down and try not to stand out too much." And he bid Luna farewell, knowing that this was perhaps an absurd request. If there were two things he knew about Luna Lovegood, is was that she stood out like a sore thumb and lacked the self-awareness to keep her head down.

After breakfast, Harry joined the queue of Ravenclaws waiting to receive their class schedule from Professor Flitwick. Others noticed him in line behind them and quickly scurried away, allowing him to skip ahead to the front of the line. Harry grimaced, but did not call any of them back to keep their place.

"Morning, Professor," Harry greeted his favorite teacher hopefully. Flitwick glanced up at him, a look of hurt and deep betrayal on his face. Harry's stomach sank – he wanted nothing more than to reassure him, to explain to Flitwick that it was all a misunderstanding. But that was an impossibility, not with Voldemort's lackeys watching his every move. Flitwick merely handed Harry his schedule and ushered him aside without another word.

Harry glanced at his timetable – it would be a light load for his seventh year, thanks to testing out of three core subjects the year before. It meant he would have several afternoons free, which normally he would have jumped for joy at. More time to relax, to fly, to enjoy the company of his peers. But such free time would not be used for leisure activities this year. He had to spend his time more wisely, to try and win the war without tipping his hand to the enemy.

Fortunately, his week began with a friendly face, as he had Potions with his mother. He had not gotten the chance to speak with Lily in over a month, as she had been staying at Spinner's End since the 'scandal' broke. He worried about what kind of treatment she might receive from the other students, given the scandal and her status as an exempted Muggle-born.

Lily appeared more muted than usual as the seventh years filed into the classroom for the lesson. Harry glanced around – there were fewer N.E.W.T. students than last year, and those that remained were largely Slytherins, loudly laughing and conversing as though their teacher was not right in front of them. Eventually Lily cleared her throat loudly to begin.

"Welcome back to year seven," she said. "This year we will be preparing you for the N.E.W.T. exam at the end of term. You are expected to be able to brew any of the potions you have studied over the past six years, as well as several new recipes we will be – yes, Miss Parkinson?"

Pansy Parkinson had raised her hand. "Yes, Professor Potter— oh, whoops," Pansy giggled. "Sorry, is it Professor Snape now?" Her surrounding Slytherins snickered loudly at this.

Lily's face colored at the quip. "Professor Evans will be fine," she said coolly.

"Right, Professor Evans," Pansy drawled. "How come you weren't put on the list with all the other Mudbloods?"

"Muggle-borns, Miss Parkinson," Lily corrected her. "I was questioned early after the Registration Act was passed, and subsequently cleared to continue teaching."

"Right, but why?" Pansy demanded. "I would have thought you were exactly the kind of Mudblood we are supposed to be removing from our society."

"This is not pertinent to your Potions studies," Lily snapped. "Please keep all future questions to the course material."

Pansy snickered with her fellow Slytherins at the successful disruption. She preened at Draco sitting beside her, looking to him for affirmation, but he paid her no mind, staring glumly down at his textbook.

Fortunately there were no further provocations as Lily outlined the year's course work for the remainder of the lesson. Once the bell rang, Harry hung back as the rest of the class filtered out of the room. He approached Lily's desk, where she was sorting through papers and preparing for her next lecture.

"Hey, Mum," he greeted softly as he approached. "How're you—"

"What is it?" she said with surprising heat. "Come to rub more salt in the wound?"

"I—what?" Harry stammered, perplexed. "No, of course n—"

"Did your father send you to taunt me some more?" Lily demanded. "Does he wish to turn his own children against me even further?"

"What…?" Harry began, but she gave him a significant look to stay quiet. Then he understood. Lily was being watched, too. She was intentionally putting distance between herself and her children, maintaining the guise that she was estranged from the Potter family. It broke his heart to realize that his mother had to put on a show of her children hating her to protect herself – and perhaps them as well.

"Just go," Lily muttered, turning away from him. "This will do no good for anybody."

Harry sighed, knowing he could say nothing to reassure her. He turned to exit the dungeon, lamenting the state his family found themselves in. He heard Lily shiver behind him – she undoubtedly felt the nonverbal Warming Charm he'd cast on her, which would go unnoticed in any memory invasion Lockhart performed. It was the best he could do to show affection towards the person he owed his entire existence to, in more ways than one.

His other classes didn't fare much better. Most of his professors, like Sprout and Sinistra, preferred to ignore him completely, giving him the occasional rueful glance that told him they quietly disapproved of his actions. Others, like Binns and Babbling, continued on as if there was nothing different, teaching their usual material without regard to the war going on around them. Harry supposed he could handle being ignored – better that than to face the daily disappointment of his two favorite professors, Flitwick and McGonagall, both of whom had hinted at private tutoring in his seventh year before everything went to hell.

But the class Harry dreaded the most was Muggle Studies, now a required course for all students. He filed in with the other seventh-years as Alecto Carrow stood smirking at them from the front of the classroom. Her crimes in the last war weren't quite as sadistic as her brother's, but Harry got the same slimy feeling from her, knowing that she could likely be just as cruel and evil as Amycus.

"Welcome to Muggle Studies," said Alecto once the class settled in. "For those of ya who took this class before, forget everything you learned. For those who're new 'ere, we will be studying the inferior human race and talkin' about why they are beneath our notice."

Harry saw Sue Li and Padma Patil exchanged worried glances. He knew they'd both been taking Muggle Studies since their third year – he often heard them at meals, excitedly discussing Muggle inventions they'd learned about in class. He doubted they would be learning about any positive contributions Muggles made to society from now on.

"You, girl," Alecto barked, pointing at a startled Hannah Abbott. "What's one thing Muggles can do better than wizards?"

"Erm…" Hannah stammered. "My mum told me about something called a 'telephone' that lets Muggles talk from long distances to one another—"

"Wrong!" Alecto snapped. "Muggles can't do nothin' better than wizards! They are dirty savages who steal their ideas from us. Tellyphones are just copyin' what we can already do with owl post."

"But...owl post isn't instant," muttered Anthony Goldstein. "If anything it seems that telephones are the superior form of communic—"

"Lies!" Alecto seethed. "Twenty points from Ravenclaw, Goldstein. What are ya, some kinda Muggle lover? You got Muggle relatives, do ya?"

"I'm a half-blood, so yeah," Anthony said defiantly.

"Then I'll be passing a note along to Dolores Umbridge to look inta yer file, Goldstein," Alecto sneered, causing Anthony to pale considerably. "Anyone else feelin' bold? Or will ya shut up and learn what yer meant to be learnin'?"

Nobody dared say a word, looking fearful at the prospect of their family coming under investigation. Under normal circumstances Harry would have jumped to Anthony's defense, telling Alecto off for her blatant corruption and lies. But he could not be seen defying Voldemort's wishes, so he remained silent, praying that the other students would fall into line without him needing to intervene on the Carrows' behalf.

By the end of the week, Ravenclaw had yet to earn a single House point. They were the most naturally inquisitive ones, voicing their confusion at why the course material was so different than in years past, which earned them nothing but reprimands and detentions from the Carrows. Slytherin held a comfortable lead, recognizing that the new world order favored them and that they could quietly bask in the rewards. It only intensified the hatred between Houses that had been fomenting for years prior.

But that hatred wasn't only reserved for other Houses...Harry continued to receive dirty looks from his fellow Ravenclaws, both in classes and at meals. Daphne also seemed to have been iced out of Slytherin House, as her fellow snakes could often be seen laughing and throwing derisive looks up at the two of them at the Head Table. Even Tracey Davis seemed to have fallen in line, spending more time with Pansy and Millicent and avoiding her former best friend like the plague.

At least we don't have to share a dorm with them anymore, Harry thought grimly. The private quarters were the only reprieve they got from the scorn of their peers. He often heard Daphne sniffling quietly to herself in her adjacent room, knowing that she was not as used to being a social outcast as he was. Status was everything in Slytherin House, and despite her stature as Head Girl, she found herself at the bottom of the social order, nobody willing to associate themselves with her any longer.

Nobody outside of Daphne or Luna dared to speak to Harry until the second week of classes. Harry entered the Great Hall for breakfast, only to hear someone clear their throat and approach from behind. He turned to see Terry Boot stiffly walking up to him, scowling heavily.

"Boot," Harry nodded politely.

"Potter," Terry muttered through gritted teeth. "I just wondered when you planned on holding Quidditch tryouts."

Oh. Harry had completely forgotten about Quidditch with everything else going on. He had already written off the idea of playing again after last year's final, and realized that he was still technically the team captain.

Harry dug into his bag and fished out the captain's badge, which had sat there untouched since last term. "Here," he said, tossing the badge to Terry. "Congratulations, you're team captain now."

Terry looked down at the badge, confused. "But...you've been captain for years," he said.

"I'm not playing this year," Harry shrugged. "If you don't want it, give it to Kim or Frasier. I couldn't care less." And he strode onward to the Head Table, leaving a perplexed Terry behind.

Even with all of Harry's newfound free time, he had no intention of wasting it on Quidditch. He'd wasted enough of his childhood on frivolous activities, which could have instead been used fighting the war. But now he was out of time. He had to devote himself to finding the horcruxes and training to defeat Voldemort.

He spent countless hours in the Room of Requirement, practicing his spell work and technique. He'd grown rusty over the summer, neglecting his training after the battle, and knew he needed to sharpen his instincts further. To his surprise, the Elder Wand did not perform significantly better than the Kneazle core wand in these sessions – without a human enemy to fight, it was just like any other wand, performing its duties as he instructed it to do.

But Harry was not naive enough to believe it was just any ordinary wand. He still remembered what happened during the Battle of London, how the wand had taken over and performed incredible feats against the most feared dark wizard of all time. What was the Wand's true aim? Did it seek to convince him that giving up control was the only way? Was it just a false sense of security to lead Harry to believe that it was his only chance of beating Voldemort?

Harry had to admit it: he was scared of the Elder Wand. Scared of what might happen if he surrendered to it entirely. The wand was not infallible, that much was clear; countless other wizards before him had tried and failed to master it. Even the great Gellert Grindelwald had succumbed to its wiles, losing to the superior wizard in the moment of greatest need. And Harry knew that he faced another far superior wizard in Voldemort, and his need would be even greater.

He had to improve. There was no other way. Harry did not want to wind up in a situation where his options were to either surrender control to the Wand, or die. He needed to be as strong as Voldemort no matter what wand he was using, to give himself the best chance at victory.

But that was easier said than done. His Kneazle core wand was giving him troubles again for the first time since his very first year in the timeline. He found it difficult to regulate the power level of his spells; sometimes his Stunners failed to stop the target dummies from advancing, while other times they ripped the dummies right off their posts with near-lethal strength. It was almost like the wand sensed his loyalty to another wand and was jealously trying to get his attention back, demanding that he re-dedicate himself to the wand that chose him at eleven years old.

So Harry decided to stop using the Elder Wand for the time being. He kept it on him, just in case, but always used the Kneazle wand for training and in classes. It had served him well enough so far and didn't try to convince him to murder everybody in the room in every waking moment. He could not believe Dumbledore had spent half a century resisting the Wand's allure – clearly the man was far stronger-willed than Harry was.

Harry also made an effort to check in with his relatives often. Clearly Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had their share of in-fighting as well; both Dahlia and Damian seemed to be on the outs within their respective Houses. Harry spotted the latter heading towards the Quidditch pitch after Herbology one afternoon and jogged to catch up with him.

"Hey, cousin," he said as he fell into line with Damian. "Getting ready for tryouts?"

"Nope," Damian said glumly. "Not trying out this year. Just felt like flying for fun a little."

"What? You're not playing Quidditch this year?" asked Harry, confused. "But you're the best Beater in the school!"

"My teammates made it clear that I wouldn't be welcome back," Damian shrugged. "Guess they took issue with me getting exempted from the Muggle-born registration, when most of them have lost friends and relatives to it."

"But that's not your fault," Harry scoffed.

"Isn't it?" said Damian. "I'm a Potter, or at least that's the story now, and my uncle is the one who pushed for the new legislation. I guess it looks like nepotism or somethin', like I only got exempted for who I'm related to. And they're not wrong."

"They're not giving you problems, are they?" asked Harry. "If you're being bullied, you should go to Sprout and tell her—"

"Nah, people are leaving me well enough alone," Damian shrugged. "They know I could kick their arses if they tried...or worse, you would."

That was partly what Harry was afraid of. It was reminiscent of when Dahlia struggled to keep a boyfriend due to how terrified they were of him. Only this time, people were afraid that Harry might do something truly terrible to them, and get away with it, just like he did with Dumbledore. It was a small consolation to know that his cousin was safe from physical harm, but for all the wrong reasons.

"I think I'll join you for that flight," said Harry, entering the broom shed alongside Damian. "I could use the stress relief."

"You don't have class after this?" asked Damian, as the school bell rang in the distance.

"Yeah, but Alecto Carrow can eat niffler dung for all I care," Harry scoffed. "If I have to hear her lie about one more renowned Muggle scientist being a closeted wizard, I'm going to scream." Damian chuckled appreciatively; the entire school was quickly growing tired of Muggle Studies, which they all knew was blatant propaganda but could not speak out against.

Harry and Damian enjoyed a carefree couple of hours flying around the pitch, laughing and enjoying the warm weather. They took turns passing the Quaffle around and shooting goals against one another, despite neither one of them being a natural Keeper or Chaser. It felt less formal and more like casual play for the fun of it, something the both of them needed. They both used Quidditch as an outlet, something they would be deprived of this term, and carefree flying sessions like this would help them stay sane.

Harry also occasionally joined his sister in the library to study and do homework together. Dahlia seemed to enjoy the company, since she too had lost her usual social circle of friends.

"How is Amycus Carrow treating you so far?" Harry asked one afternoon, as he helped Dahlia with her Defense essay.

"He's a right proper git," Dahlia groaned. "Keeps taking points away from every House except Slytherin, and berating us for every little mistake."

"But he's not...doing anything to you, is he?" Harry asked cautiously. "Just point deductions and yelling?"

"He makes all the cute girls sit in the front row," Dahlia grimaced. "Gave Ginny Weasley a month of detention when she kicked him for brushing her thigh while walking by her desk."

"That bloody bastard," Harry said through gritted teeth. "If he ever takes it too far, I swear—"

"I know, Harry," Dahlia said. "I'm sure Professor Snape wouldn't let him get away with anything truly awful. Please don't make a big fuss about it."

Harry knew Dahlia was merely downplaying her discomfort to calm him down. But he also knew that she was right – he couldn't afford to blow his lid and pick a fight with the Carrows right now.

"Ginny still not talking to you, then?" he asked instead.

"Course not," said Dahlia. "She and Tori have turned most of Gryffindor against me."

"Astoria's still taking Ginny's side?"

"Hard to blame her, really," Dahlia shrugged. "Ginny's the most popular person in Gryffindor these days. Everyone knows her family was loyal to Dumbledore and that Ron is helping Neville, so she's become a symbol of resistance of sorts."

"She has to be careful about that," said Harry. "If Snape or the Carrows suspect that she's still loyal to Dumbledore—"

"Ginny doesn't care to hide it," said Dahlia. "She wears it like a badge of honor. She's been putting up fliers in the Gryffindor common room advertising a new secret dueling club, like the one we had two years ago."

"If she gets caught doing that, she might be expelled, or worse," said Harry. "You have to convince her to stop."

"As if she'll listen to me," Dahlia laughed bitterly. "It would probably just make her want to do it even more. It's our family everyone is rebelling against, don't you get it?"

"You Gryffindors always have been too rebellious for your own good," said an unexpected voice, as Daphne Greengrass walked up to their table and sat in the empty seat beside Harry's. "Figures my sister would only learn to conform to a crowd when she's in the lion's den."

"Hey, Daph," Harry greeted her. "Not studying in your quarters today?" Daphne had spent much of her spare time holed up in her private dorm, not socializing with anybody in Slytherin or otherwise.

"I've decided I'm not hiding from my peers anymore," Daphne sniffed, her head held high. "I am the Head Girl of this school, and I will not be shunned for it any longer."

"That's the spirit," Harry appraised her. He knew how much Daphne cared about her reputation, and how devastating her new circumstances were for her. Any chance to bolster her confidence he would jump at.

"I thought you would be angry at Astoria," Dahlia frowned at Daphne. "Considering she's distancing herself from you and your father."

"She has always done so anyway," Daphne shrugged. "But now that the Greengrass name is in disrepute, it may be her saving grace. I cannot begrudge my sister for choosing self-preservation over the family that failed her."

"Who says your name is in disrepute?" Harry said. "Your dad is the most powerful man in the Wizengamot. That must count for something."

"Everyone knows now that he's a lackey for your father," said Daphne. "He took a large risk in supporting the Minister, and now he's tied his fate to the Potters. As long as your father is controversial with the public, so is mine...our centuries-long reputation of neutrality is now gone."

"Even so," Harry shrugged, "you must feel badly that your own sister is shunning you. I couldn't imagine being estranged from a sibling."

"She has every right to save her own hide," said Daphne indifferently. "She is not the heir to the Greengrass line; I am. It is my burden to bear, and she can do as she chooses."

Harry and Dahlia shared a grim look. They may not understand the nuances of pure-blood politics, but they both shared an unspoken sadness at the thought of being shunned by a sibling. Daphne may act like she didn't care, but Harry saw the hurt in her eyes, betraying her mask of indifference at Astoria's decision.

Suddenly, a Hufflepuff third-year rushed into the library, waving around a stack of papers over his head. "They've been sighted, they've been sighted!" he shouted breathlessly, drawing the curious eyes of everyone upon him.

"Young man, lower your voice!" Madam Pince admonished the boy.

"But ma'am, Longbottom and his friends have been sighted!" the boy protested. That got the attention of the entire room; even Madam Pince seemed intrigued, joining the throngs of people crowding around the boy as he plopped whatever he was holding onto a table.

Harry, Dahlia and Daphne shared incredulous looks and stood to join the crowd. Other students saw Harry approaching and scurried away, allowing him to push through to the front of the group and see what all the hubbub was about. The boy was holding a special evening edition of the Daily Prophet, which featured full-page images of Neville, Ron and Hermione along with a headline:

LONGBOTTOM AND CO-CONSPIRATORS SPOTTED IN LONDON!

By Regina Hornsby, The Daily Prophet

"Earlier this morning, an employee of the Ministry of Magic reportedly saw Neville Longbottom, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger snooping around the public entrance to the Ministry in downtown London. The employee, who wishes to remain anonymous, reported the sighting to the Auror Department, who quickly locked down the area; however, Longbottom and his friends were nowhere to be found.

Longbottom, Weasley and Granger are currently wanted for their conspiracy to overthrow the Ministry of Magic, along with Albus Dumbledore. They are considered highly dangerous, and anyone who comes across them is encouraged to stay away and contact the authorities immediately. The reward for a successful capture of the trio currently stands at ten thousand Galleons.

The three teens have been on the run since late June of this year, after their scheme was thwarted by former classmate and son of the Minister, Harry Potter. Mr. Potter is currently serving as Head Boy at Hogwarts School, and was recently awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, serving as a shining example for today's youth—"

Harry set down the paper, not willing to read any more. The article went on for several more paragraphs, but it clearly had nothing more substantive to say. If there was any actual news about Neville and his friends, the Prophet would have said as much...in fact, he strongly doubted that the trio was even spotted in the first place. It was simply a convenient way to keep the public distracted, to keep them afraid of an imaginary enemy outside of the obvious one staring them in the face.

But to his surprise, both Dahlia and Daphne drank in the article hungrily, scouring the paper for the next hour searching for more clues. "What could they have been doing in London?" Dahlia wondered aloud. "Trying to get into the Ministry?"

"That would be suicide," Harry muttered. "That's the last place any of them want to be right now."

"What if they were trying to contact somebody?" Daphne asked. "What if they need help?"

"Then they would've been better off going to the Burrow," Harry pointed out. "Why risk entering the Ministry themselves when they could just visit Ron's father at home?"

"D'you think they're okay?" Dahlia wondered. "Are they safe out there?"

"I think so," Harry shrugged. "They have Dad's Cloak, and they're smart enough to avoid any dangerous situations."

"Yeah...yeah, you're probably right," Dahlia said uncertainly.

Harry had not heard Dahlia talk about Neville since the day after he ran away. He knew she had broken up with him the last time they spoke, but from the fear and worry in her expression, she clearly still had feelings for him. And based on the way Daphne hung on their every word, it was clear she too feared for the fate of the trio on the run. Harry had never seen her look so happy as when she was with Ron last spring, and suspected that what they had was more than just a brief fling as well.

He discussed the article at length that evening with Fleur via their paired diaries. It makes no sense for them to show their faces in London, Fleur wrote. Even if they sought to enter the Ministry, they would have used Polyjuice or glamours, no?

Agreed, Harry wrote back. It was probably a false alarm. If they were after the ring or after me, there would be no reason to go to London in the first place. Hermione would never have allowed them to take such a risk...they'll listen to her.

You speak highly of this Hermione girl, Fleur remarked. Were you two ever romantically involved?

Not at all, Harry wrote back quickly. Well, aside from a brief crush in our third year. But she was my best friend in a prior life, and she's the smartest witch in our year by far.

Fleur did not respond for a few minutes. Eventually she simply responded, I see. If Harry didn't know any better, he'd think that Fleur sounded jealous of the way Harry praised Hermione. But that was silly...Fleur was a beautiful witch three years his elder, and had no reason to be jealous of immature teenage crushes.

How have things been on your end? Harry asked. Any more troubles from your co-workers?

I have been followed a few times in the Alley, but I always manage to lose them before the Apparation point. And once I am at your home, I am perfectly safe. I thank you again for letting me stay.

Don't mention it. I'm just glad you're safe.

Any progress at Hogwarts? asked Fleur. Or are you still being watched too closely?

Not as closely as I expected, wrote Harry. I'm working on a plan to get in and out of the castle grounds more easily so we can work on things together.

Just be careful, said Fleur. I worry what will happen if you get caught.

I'm something of an expert in not getting caught, Harry wrote with a smile. Don't you worry about me. Sleep well, Fleur.

You also.

Harry returned the diary to its drawer. Writing to Fleur had become a nightly ritual, and a necessary stress relief after the long days of being shunned by his peers. He found himself looking forward to these makeshift therapy sessions, to being able to vent his frustrations with someone who understood his plight. It was a useful way to clear his mind before bed and end the night on a positive note.

But tonight, he was not going straight to bed. He instead pulled out the Marauder's Map, checking to see who was out patrolling the castle. Snape was in his office, pacing behind the Headmaster's desk. Professor Sinistra was patrolling near the Astronomy Tower, while two fifth-year prefects loitered around the dungeons on their night shift. It left Harry a brief window to slip out of the castle unnoticed, so he grabbed a few things from his trunk and took off down the corridor.

Harry had spent a good bit of time thinking about the Hogwarts wards and how they functioned. They had to be powerful, covering the entire school grounds, requiring lots of active magic to operate. As such, there had to be a great deal of rune stones somewhere on the grounds, anchoring the magic and powering the enchantments, just like they had at Nurmengard. And those rune stones had to be accessible by the Headmaster, in case the wards needed to be updated, added or removed.

There were a few places Harry thought to search for the rune stones and study their properties. At first he theorized they might be hidden in one of the tall towers of the castle, but none of them were large enough to house a runic complex large enough to power the entire school. It was possible there was a hidden chamber somewhere in the school that only the Headmaster knew about, but Harry knew the castle layout by heart and found it unlikely. One possibility stuck out to him above all others, and he resolved to investigate that weekend.

Harry snuck out of the castle via the back exit, and began descending the winding steps of the western cliff face, leading down to the boathouses. He then pulled his shrunken Firebolt out of his robes and unshrunk it – now that he wasn't playing Quidditch, he kept it in his dorm for easy access in a pinch. He hopped on and took off over the lake.

Harry flew low over the placid waters, staying perfectly silent and using no light to give his position away. He flew around to the back side of the castle, where a portion of the building stood proudly over the lake on high cliffs. There were ample cracks and crevasses in the rock face, and Harry suspected one of them could be housing the rune stones he was looking for.

He felt a strong pull of magic as he traversed the craggy cliffs, and eventually came across a narrow passage carving into the rock wall, barely wide enough for a person to pass through. He carefully maneuvered his Firebolt through the rocky corridor. Once he was safely out of view of the castle, he fired an orb of light forward to guide his path, cutting deeper into the cliff and underneath the castle itself. Once he reached the end of the passageway, he leapt off his broom onto a rocky outcropping, marveling at the sight before him.

Hundreds of rune stones flared to life all around him, lighting up the small cavernous space he found himself stood within. Harry marveled at the sheer complexity of the design, far more layered and nuanced than the protections surrounding Nurmengard. He did not recognize half of the runes, which were written in a language he had never studied in his classes before. Never had the difference between Dumbledore and Grindelwald's magical prowess been more clear...the Hogwarts wards were far more sophisticated, the handiwork of a brilliant mind unparalleled in his time.

Harry knew at once that he was out of his depth here. He was a fair hand at Ancient Runes, but this was far beyond his comprehension. He'd hoped to untangle some of the wards, to perhaps give himself a means of Apparating from the grounds without detection. But there was no way he could decode Dumbledore's system, not even if he had decades to study its design.

Suddenly, Harry's left arm burned as the Dark Mark flared to life. He briefly panicked, wheeling around, half-expecting Voldemort to be bearing down on him down the tunnel, having somehow sensed his attempt at subversion…

But no, this was not the same as being summoned by the Dark Lord himself. It was a more subtle burn, a simple beckoning, and Harry knew it did not come from Voldemort. He felt a sudden compulsion to go to the Headmaster's Office, and knew it must be Snape that was calling for him.

Harry hastily mounted his broom and zoomed out of the cave. He flew low up the jagged steps and dismounted in the back courtyard, shrinking his broom before rushing back into the castle. He took two secret passageways en route to Snape's office, out of breath by the time he arrived at his destination. The stone gargoyle stepped aside, and Harry rushed up the spiral staircase, wondering what this was about.

Snape surveyed Harry suspiciously as he entered the office. Clearly he seemed to suspect that Harry was up to no good, but he said nothing.

"Sit," he ordered, beckoning to an empty armchair. The one beside it was already occupied by Draco Malfoy; Draco was massaging his left arm, clearly having been summoned by the same methods. Harry sat beside him and looked up at Snape in silence.

The Headmaster looked up at the clock on the wall before addressing them both. "Eleven minutes," he said. "That is how long it took for the two of you to arrive here. An unacceptable delay."

"I was in bed," Draco protested. "And at least I beat him."

"It matters not," said Snape. "You are expected to respond more promptly when summoned. If the Dark Lord requests our presence, he will not be so accommodating if we are late."

"Will he really summon us while we're at the school?" asked Harry.

"Most certainly," Snape nodded. "He intends to initiate the two of you properly now that you are both of-age. You may be summoned to a raid, or another event requiring prompt timing, in which case tardiness may be punished."

"Why would we come here if we must leave the castle?" asked Draco. "Wouldn't it be smarter to meet at the front gate or something?"

"I have my own methods of transporting us to and from the castle," Snape said vaguely. "That does not concern you. What should concern you is a greater sense of urgency in responding to summons. Is that understood?"

"Understood," Draco grumbled. Snape's gaze lingered longer on Harry until he too nodded in agreement. Harry wondered what alternate methods Snape had of transportation, but he had more pressing questions at the moment – namely, about the Dark Mark.

"How does it work, exactly?" asked Harry, rolling up his sleeve to study the Mark in greater detail. "Can Voldemort track our every movement through the Mark?" Draco flinched visibly at the use of the Dark Lord's name, but Snape was unmoved, clearly used to Dumbledore saying the name regularly.

"If he focuses his attention on you, he can," Snape nodded. "You can resist his presence temporarily, but I would not recommend it. Igor Karkaroff attempted it when he fled to the continent upon the Dark Lord's return, but he was found within months."

Months? Harry thought, intrigued. He evaded Voldemort for that long? That told him that the Dark Mark was not as all-seeing as he feared. If Karkaroff had successfully avoided capture while being actively hunted by the man who had branded him, it meant that Harry's own actions were not being monitored at all times either.

"Can we communicate with one another through the Mark?" asked Harry.

"In a sense," replied Snape. "Only emotions and compulsions can be transferred through them. So for instance, if either of you finds yourself in danger, you can touch your Mark and think of me, and I will know you require assistance and where to find you."

"What kind of danger?" Draco demanded. "We control the entire country, don't we?"

"It would be foolish to assume that we will face no retribution or push-back in the coming months," said Snape. "Rebel forces are amassing across Britain as we speak, attempting to slow the Dark Lord's ascent to power. Both of you would make for powerful bargaining chips if you were to be ensnared by enemy forces."

Harry had not known that there were still people fighting against Voldemort within Britain. Who was behind it? The old Order of the Phoenix? The Weasleys? Neville, Ron and Hermione? It filled him with hope to know that there were still people fighting for the cause of good, even if he was currently viewed as an agent of evil.

"On that topic," Snape continued, "I have heard rumblings of a student-led resistance movement forming here within the castle. I cannot begin to tell you how disastrous of a decision that would be for all parties involved. If either of you catch wind of such happenings, I expect them to be dealt with swiftly, and quietly."

Snape looked particularly to Harry as he said this. It was as if he knew Harry was aware of such a movement – hell, perhaps Snape already knew that Ginny was behind it. But the implication was clear: handle it himself, lest the Carrows catch wind of it, or worse, Voldemort himself.

"I will put a stop to it," Harry promised.

But Snape continued to survey Harry, eyes narrowed. "Amycus Carrow tells me you were antagonistic towards him at the Welcome Feast," he said.

"I was."

"I would strongly advise against making an enemy of your superiors," said Snape.

"Amycus Carrow is not my superior," Harry said defiantly. "I'm not in his class, and I don't respect the way he behaves around the girls in this school." Draco shifted uncomfortably in the seat beside him; clearly he too had heard tales of Amycus' treatment of the female population.

"I have already spoken with Professor Carrow about his behavior," said Snape. "I will handle such indiscretions, not you. You will respect him like any other member of the staff. Is that understood?"

"If he shows that respect in return, I will consider it," Harry grumbled.

"That was not a request," Snape snapped. "We cannot afford to show discord in our ranks. If the Dark Lord learns of in-fighting within the castle, he may not grant us as much freedom as we have enjoyed thus far this term."

Harry considered this. It was certainly true that Voldemort was not as involved at Hogwarts as he had feared. Antagonizing Amycus might jeopardize that, forcing Voldemort to be more hands-on and dig deeper into what Harry was doing at the castle. He could not have that.

"I understand," said Harry stiffly. "But I will not allow students to suffer because the Carrows abuse their power and lack of discipline. Do your job and I'll do mine."

Snape's lip curled at this rebuke. Clearly he wanted to tell Harry off for his cheek, but he too understood the gravity of Harry's words. He was ultimately the one responsible for the safety of the students, and if he failed to protect them, Harry would, no matter the cost.

"Dismissed," Snape said curtly. "You will be summoned for your first initiation soon, and I expect better punctuality then."

Draco stood at once to leave the office. Harry made to follow, but he paused in the doorway, glancing up at the Sorting Hat, sitting innocuously on its perch. He needed to find a way to obtain it, either by stealing it or convincing Snape to let him borrow it without drawing suspicion. Both plans would involve some risk, and he needed more time to weigh his options, so he departed the office without further comment.

Once they descended the spiral staircase, Draco rounded on Harry. "Are you genuinely suicidal, Potter?" he demanded.

"I don't know what you mean, Malfoy," Harry said coolly.

"I dunno what you were doing when the Headmaster summoned us, but you certainly weren't in your dorm," said Draco, folding his arms.

"And what makes you think that?"

"I'm sure your private quarters are situated in a windstorm," Draco scoffed, indicating the top of Harry's head. "And you smell like the lake."

Harry felt his hair; it was still windswept from his flight across the lake. It seemed he wasn't as sneaky as he thought he was with his late-night excursion. And if Draco noticed it, Snape surely had too, even if he had not brought it up.

"It's none of your concern what I get up to in my own time," Harry said dismissively.

"Actually, it does concern me," Draco snapped. "Your actions affect other people now, Potter, and if you make us late for an appointment with the Dark Lord, I will be punished just as much as you. We're in this boat together now, and I won't have you sink it with your foolish recklessness."

"You and I are not 'together', Malfoy," Harry spat. "You're a bloody Death Eater."

"So are you," Draco pointed out, motioning towards Harry's left forearm.

"You think I had a choice?" Harry scoffed.

"You think I had a choice?" Draco shot right back. "I was forced to accept the Mark at sixteen, Potter. He made me plan Dumbledore's assassination, as a child. My family was being threatened...do you really think I wanted to do any of this shite?"

"You sure had no problems with Voldemort's ideology before," said Harry bitterly. "Calling people Mudbloods, threatening them with your father's name—"

"I was just a stupid kid!" Draco protested. "I didn't know any better! I was just parroting what I was taught growing up. I know blood purity doesn't mean a damn thing – Granger was the best in our year, and you and Dumbledore were more powerful than anyone else in the school, and you're both half-bloods."

"If you expect my forgiveness for being a little shit, don't hold your breath," said Harry. "I too was just a stupid kid once, but at least I knew right from wrong."

"I don't need your forgiveness," said Draco. "But spare me your moral righteousness. You can pretend to be a better person than me all you want – at least I've never taken a life." And Draco stalked off, leaving a stunned Harry in his wake.