The next morning Harry woke up early, so he left the dorm quietly and headed down to breakfast alone. There was only a handful of students in the Great Hall already, and as Harry walked towards the Gryffindor table, someone slammed into his shoulder. "Watch where you're going, Potter." It was Draco, glaring harshly at him, and Harry returned the look even as he brightened up internally, shoving a hand in his robe pocket and wrapping his fingers around a scrap of parchment that hadn't been there a second ago. He waited until he was sat down before unfolding it under the table. Tonight, after curfew, fourth floor Charms room?
He glanced up at the Slytherin table, giving Draco the barest of nods, trying not to outwardly smile.
"Morning, Harry!" The cheerful greeting came from Susan Bones, sat on the Hufflepuff bench nearby, absently braiding her wavy copper hair over her shoulder.
"Hi, Susan. Good summer?"
"Wasn't bad until the Cup happened. Aunt Amelia's barely been home since, it's all madness." Harry remembered that her aunt was the head of the DMLE, and grimaced; no doubt she'd been even busier than Mr Weasley was. "Did you end up listening to that lecture I told you about, by the way?" In one of Susan's last letters, she'd told him about a lecture that was being broadcast on the Wizarding Wireless, all about how the lack of information for muggleborns entering the wizarding world was leading to a slow muggle-fication of their society, and it was going to lead to them being discovered eventually. It was an incredibly controversial topic.
"Yeah, it was really interesting!" Harry enthused, straddling the bench so he could eat his porridge while keeping up the conversation. "He had a lot of good points, but I did think it was a bit extreme. The wizarding world can be dragged into the future without getting over-run with muggles. I mean, wouldn't it be so much easier to use pens and notebooks in class instead of quills and a million rolls of parchment? Or hell, computers! They're getting more popular with the muggles. If someone could figure out how to make muggle technology work with magic, it'd be a total game-changer."
"That would just increase the likelihood of the wizarding world being discovered, though," Hannah Abbott pointed out, jumping into the conversation. Her dad was muggleborn, having taken her mother's pureblood surname when they married, so she was fairly familiar with muggle technology. "Imagine, even if someone managed to figure it out and we had a whole separate internet for the wizarding world. All it would take is one particularly tech-savvy muggle to crack it and we'd be out in the open for everyone to see."
She made a fair point, and Harry hummed thoughtfully. "Okay, maybe not that much of a cultural exchange, then. But you can't argue against pens."
"Oh, Merlin, no! Dad's been saying the wizarding world should switch for years. One of these days I swear I'm gonna do my homework in biro just to see what the teachers say," Hannah said with a laugh.
"The fact of the matter is, if we keep pushing away everything muggle and refusing to learn about them, we'll only stand out more," Susan continued, bringing them back on track. "Harry, you were at the World Cup, weren't you? You saw what half the older folks thought was a good example of muggle clothing! How do they expect to stay incognito if they've got no idea about muggle life?"
Harry remembered some of the more… interesting outfits he'd seen at the Cup. Susan was right. How could wizards blend in with muggles if they didn't know the first thing about them?
They were interrupted by the arrival of Ron and Hermione, who looked bewildered by the company Harry was keeping. "There you are!" Hermione said by way of greeting, dropping a stack of books on the table beside her. How she could have so many when they didn't even have their timetables yet, Harry didn't know.
She and Ron both seemed set on ignoring Harry's Hufflepuff companions, talking to him as if he was alone. The two girls shared an annoyed look, getting to their feet. "See you later, Harry," Susan said.
Once they were gone, Ron turned to him. "What you talking to Hufflepuffs for?" he asked suspiciously. Harry raised an eyebrow.
"I didn't realise it was such a big deal," he retorted a little sharply. "We were talking about the World Cup." Sort of. Eventually. Tangentially. Ron seemed a little wrong-footed that Harry didn't immediately see the problem in speaking to those outside his own house. "Really, Ron, it's not like they're Slytherins," Hermione pointed out diplomatically, buttering a slice of toast.
Harry wondered what they would've done if he had been talking to Slytherins, and scowled into his orange juice.
McGonagall came around to hand out timetables, and Harry eyed his over. Herbology with the Hufflepuffs first thing. Maybe Harry would sit with Hannah and Susan instead of Ron and Hermione, just to show them.
He couldn't, though. He couldn't risk Dumbledore getting suspicious of him, and it would be an obvious sign that the Compulsion charm was gone if Harry started socialising with people outside his own house. He was supposed to be the perfect little Gryffindor — and evidently that involved only valuing the opinions of other Gryffindors.
Was it normal, he wondered? Kids spending their whole Hogwarts career only talking to people inside their own house? He glanced around the hall; no, there were plenty of groups with mixed colours on their robes. It wasn't common, but it wasn't unusual either. Finishing his breakfast, Harry slowly began to plot. If he could get all the houses mixing together more without it being just him, maybe Dumbledore wouldn't realise Harry knew the truth. He could pass it off as school unity in the face of international competition; they would all have to rally behind the Hogwarts champion, whoever it ended up being. That would be a good start.
He ignored Ron and Hermione bickering about house elves and stood up, making a vague excuse about needing to get his Herbology book. As soon as he could, he'd have to get the heirs gathered and start tossing ideas around; between them they could surely think of something.
Baby steps, but they'd get there eventually. He was playing a dangerous game, going against Dumbledore right under the man's nose. But as much as Harry had promised Sirius he wouldn't go looking for trouble, he wouldn't just sit and do nothing. Whatever Dumbledore's plan for Harry was, it was clearly supposed to come to a head before he turned seventeen; the goblins had assured him that with the block on his core, Harry wouldn't have survived his coming of age. That meant he was running out of time to get the upper hand. He'd spent most of last year keeping his head down. It was time to get the pieces moving.
.-.-.
That night, Harry donned his invisibility cloak and made his way towards the fourth floor Charms room, grinning when he saw Draco waiting for him, deck of cards in hand. The blond perked up when Harry removed the cloak. "You're late," he reprimanded, and Harry offered an apologetic look.
"Ron wouldn't go to sleep," he explained. "Are you alright?" Harry was still a little shaken from watching Moody turn Draco into a ferret and bounce him all over the hall. Ron thought it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen, but Harry was horrified a teacher would use that sort of magic on a student. He was glad McGonagall seemed equally horrified.
"I'm fine. Uncle Severus gave me something for the bruises," Draco assured. "It's just my pride that's wounded."
"Moody's a dick," Harry declared. He paused, thoughts turning to graver matters. "How did things go after— after the Cup?"
"It could've been worse. Father was fairly happy with how things went at the Cup; no one got caught, and with all those articles that bloody Skeeter woman put out it's certainly made it memorable." Harry made a face; that was an understatement. "But… Harry, I heard some things this summer. Father… Father said the Dark Lord is coming back."
Harry pursed his lips, staying silent. Wishing he could assure Draco it wasn't true. The blond's face crumbled. "We don't know how, or when," Harry said quickly. "But it's inevitable now. Snape says his Mark is getting darker." He told Draco about the prophecy Trelawney had made at the end of the year before, and how Wormtail was probably with Voldemort now, judging by the dream he'd had.
Not only did Draco know most of Harry's secrets — he was the only one of Harry's friends who knew about Seren Du, after all — but between his father and Dumbledore he was walking the tightrope almost as much as Harry was. It was a relief, being able to talk freely with someone who understood. By the end of it, Draco was even paler than usual. Both of them had abandoned their cards, and Harry's foot was bouncing anxiously. He was aware that in this particular circumstances, Draco was in far more danger than Harry. "If he comes back, what if— what if Father tries to make me join him?"
Harry reached across the table, taking Draco's hand tightly in his own. "I won't let anything happen to you, or your mother," he vowed. "You can come hide at Seren Du if it comes down to it. No one will find you there. And even if he does come back, surely your father won't expect you to do anything until you're of age?"
Draco scoffed, looking bleak. "You don't know my father."
"If he wants you, he'll have to go through me," Harry declared fiercely. Draco met his gaze with a hesitant smile, then his eyes dropped down to their joined hands. Harry blushed, letting go and hastily picking up his cards.
Voldemort wasn't getting to Draco. Not if he had anything to say about it. Draco was Harry's.
Harry was only just starting to realise how desperately he wanted that to be true.
.-.-.-.
Thanks to a note passed to Hannah in Herbology, and another to Daphne in Transfiguration, Harry managed to have all the trustworthy heirs meet him in one of the abandoned sixth floor classrooms after dinner the first Thursday back. He made an excuse to Ron and Hermione about having detention with Snape — a cover the man would probably be happy to corroborate if needed — and hurried up to the little-used corridor, slipping into the room after checking no one was watching him.
He seemed to be the last one there. He looked around the familiar faces; eleven of them in total, twelve including him. Harry was amused to realise that between them, they had an equal number from each house. "What's this about, Potter?" Cassius Warrington asked, leaning back in his chair, eyebrows raised. Harry perched on the edge of the teacher's desk, eyeing the group.
"Partly I just wanted to check in, see how everyone was doing. I know a lot of you were at the Cup. But mostly… mostly I had an idea, and I was wondering if you would be willing to help me."
Eleven faces stared at him expectantly. "Voldemort is coming back," he declared. Several people gasped. "Don't ask me how I know. Just call it special Boy-Who-Lived sense." He tapped at his scar pointedly, hoping that was enough of an explanation. He couldn't exactly tell them he'd seen Professor Snape's Dark Mark and it was growing clearer. Or that he'd watched Peter Pettigrew escape and Professor Trelawney had predicted he would aid Voldemort back to power. They'd think he was bonkers. "I don't know how long it'll take, but it's coming. We can't afford to wait until we're all of age to start making changes."
"What do you want us to do, march into the Wizengamot and demand to take our seats early?" Sullivan Fawley scoffed. Harry shook his head.
"No, no, that won't work. I had something a little more… simple in mind. Dumbledore's counting on house rivalries to keep people isolated — not just with the Slytherins. If people don't socialise outside their house, they get more and more narrow-minded, until no one can see anyone else's point of view. And those who need help aren't willing to ask for it because it often means going to someone outside their house. If people keep telling Slytherins they're all dark wizards, of course they're going to end up going down that path. I was thinking that, since the theme of this year seems to be international magical cooperation and unity and all that bollocks, we could start off a little closer to home."
"Hmm." Padma frowned thoughtfully. "What did you have in mind?"
"I'm not really sure yet. Obviously I'd like to spend more time with all of you, but it can't just be me — if Dumbledore thinks I'm up to something, he'll start pushing. He's got a lot riding on me being the good little Gryffindor Golden Boy." He hadn't told them about the Compulsion charm, but everyone with eyes could see that the way Dumbledore treated Harry wasn't a normal headmaster-student relationship. "If all of you start hanging out with people in other houses — it doesn't even have to be the people in this room, it could be anyone — then when I start doing it, it won't look as out of place. I hope."
"What about a study group?" Hannah suggested. "We could have a smaller, private group — just us, meeting every other week or so, to make plans. But then outside of that we could have a big group, any house welcome, any year. We could say that with the tournament disrupting the school year so much, we want to make sure we don't fall behind in our classes. I bet a bunch of the fifth and seventh years would go for it, too; they've got exams they won't want to fail. Then it doesn't have to come from you, Harry."
"Hannah, that's brilliant," Harry enthused. "It wouldn't even have to involve everyone meeting up together all at once; they could meet based on year and subject, get everyone studying the same thing studying together." If there was one thing that would give people common ground, it was complaining about homework.
"I'll talk to some of the other prefects," Cassius volunteered. "It might be too early to start yet; term's only just begun, and the tournament hasn't even started yet. Besides, half the sixth and seventh years are planning on entering the tournament, so they're a little preoccupied. But we can start branching out our friendship groups in preparation."
"What about the rest of the Slytherins?" Ernie asked, holding his hands up defensively when Daphne whipped around to glare at him. "Obviously you three are alright, but how do we know who else is trustworthy? We don't know who might already be on You-Know-Who's side."
"Do you really think anyone who's still a school kid can be on his side?" Harry pointed out wryly. "Even if they think they are, they have no idea what war is really like. I'm not saying go out and hug every Slytherin, but don't treat them any differently than you would a Ravenclaw or Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. If we automatically write them off just because of their house, we're as bad as Dumbledore." How many Slytherins could they save just by reaching a hand out in friendship? From what he'd learned from Remus and Sirius over the summer, everyone assumed the Slytherin kids were lost to the dark from the moment they were sorted into the house. That's how Voldemort ended up with such a huge following; they had nowhere else to go.
"So that's your grand plan?" Blaise asked with a raised eyebrow. "Friendship? You do realise you couldn't sound more Gryffindor if you tried?"
Harry grinned at him. "That's exactly why it's so perfect. Dumbledore couldn't possibly get angry about all his students being friends, not without having to face some serious questions." The headmaster would have no choice but to encourage them. "Think about it; all the school-sanctioned clubs are single-house only. Quidditch teams, study groups, hell, even the gobstones club is separated by house. It's like they don't want us interacting with each other. Shouldn't they be trying to encourage inter-house unity? We're all supposed to work together once we leave Hogwarts, after all." The only attempt at inter-house cooperation was pairing them together for classes, but even then that often stayed with one house on one side of the classroom and one house on the other.
"It is a bit weird," Parvati agreed. "Even when Padma and I got sorted into different houses, people acted like I was supposed to just stop talking to her. She's my twin sister."
"So we make friends, then," Susan declared. "And when the time is right, we start up the study group."
"We can start small," Neville suggested, balking a little as every eye in the room turned to him. "Asking to borrow a quill, complimenting someone's hair. Being nice to Slytherins. It'll look weird if we all suddenly want to be best friends with people outside our houses."
"Neville's got a point," Harry agreed. "We don't want to look suspicious."
"I hope you aren't expecting me to be nice to people, Potter," Daphne drawled. Harry snorted.
"Wouldn't dream of it," he replied sweetly. "Just be a bitch to everyone equally and you'll be fine." That made Daphne laugh. After a summer writing letters to the Slytherin girl, Harry was pretty sure he had a handle on her particular brand of humour.
"If we're starting a study group, can we start now?" Sullivan asked, glancing around the group. "You've all done third year Transfiguration. This essay on mammal transformations is doing my head in."
It turned out a lot of them had brought their books with them, having come straight from lessons, and it was an easy transition to working together. Most of them were fourth years, after all. Cassius, the one sixth year of the group, was saved when he admitted he had Herbology homework, and Neville jumped at the chance to help with the advanced work. It made Harry smile to watch his shy Gryffindor friend slowly gain confidence as he explained things to Cassius, who took diligent notes. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard after all.
.-.-.-.
Hedwig was a smarter owl than Harry gave her credit for; rather than swooping in at breakfast with the rest of the morning post, she waited up in Harry's dorm window, letter securely attached to her leg. Harry was alone when he found her — no need to make up an excuse to hide the letter from Ron and Hermione. As if they had any right to read his mail!
He unfolded the parchment, quickly scanning the goblin's neat cursive handwriting.
Dear Mr Potter
The news of your scar is troubling. I will set my best team on the matter and let you know if we have any results, though this is unlike any prior cursebreaking we have come across in recent memory. It may not be something we can assist with.
The matter of your vault is an easier one, however. I have made arrangements with Farlig for your vault security to be upgraded — no one will be allowed access without you present beside them, unless you have given us prior, in-person permission that can be verified by magical signature. If certain people ask, we will excuse it as standard security changes.
I have also enclosed a list of vault transactions in the last fourteen years — if any of these are unauthorised or unwelcome, we are happy to take recompense from the offender's personal vaults. You are also within your rights to demand any items removed from your vaults are returned.
May your vaults be ever full,
Gorrak
Sr Inheritance Manager, Gringotts Bank
There was a second piece of parchment folded beside the first. Harry opened it up, his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach the more he read.
It had the most recent transactions listed first; Harry's name was written next to almost every one of them. However, there were several that didn't add up — a withdrawal of 30 galleons from Molly Weasley this summer. She hadn't bought anything for Harry; why was she taking money from his vault??
The further Harry read back, the less things made sense. A handful of withdrawals from Molly Weasley over the last three years, all for more than she possibly could have spent on Harry's school supplies. Not enormous amounts, but certainly not necessary. And then he got to the withdrawals from Dumbledore.
Regular money withdrawals — far larger sums than Molly Weasley ever withdrew — as well as what looked like several Potter family heirlooms; books, jewellery, art, all sorts. The listings went right back to November 1981; mere weeks after Harry's parents had died.
Even if Dumbledore had been sending the Dursleys some sort of stipend for caring for Harry — which, he knew from their multiple complaints on the subject, he hadn't — that didn't excuse the heirlooms. That didn't excuse the withdrawals during the school year, when the Dursleys didn't even have Harry.
He'd expected this, but he felt sick. Dumbledore had been stealing from him since he was a baby, when he was supposed to be the man responsible for Harry's safety and welfare. And Mrs Weasley…
He refused to believe it was how it looked on paper. There had to be some other explanation. His school supplies maybe cost more than he expected, or something. Surely she wouldn't steal from Harry. Surely she knew that if she needed it, Harry would happily share whatever he owned with her family?
Harry wrote a quick reply, asking Gorrak to keep the transaction list in the same place he was keeping the magical signature, but otherwise do nothing; if he started reclaiming things from Dumbledore now, it would give the game away. He was furious at the thought of his family's belongings in the claws of that manipulative old man, but there was nothing he could do about it now. The new security measures would stop Dumbledore from taking any more, at least.
As for the other issue, Harry couldn't bring himself to do anything about it yet. Thinking about Mrs Weasley being on Dumbledore's side made him feel anxious and itchy. If she was working for him, how many of her children were? Was Mr Weasley? Could he trust any of them?
He could trust the twins, he told himself. They'd known about him looking into his heritage for a whole year and hadn't said anything to anyone. As for the rest… he'd find that out in time.
He would block access to his vaults, and see if anything came of it. There was little else he could do, yet.
.-.-.-.
Harry had revised his opinion of Professor Moody. The man wasn't a dick. He was insane. Everyone else seemed to be in awe of his approach to teaching, but as Harry left the classroom with green light burned into his eyelids, seeing Neville chalk-white and shaking, he couldn't possibly condone the man's methods. At least Moody had confirmed they'd only have to put up with him for the one year. Everyone around them was talking about it like it was some sort of fantastic show the man had put on — even Ron couldn't stop going on about how the spider had died 'just like that!'
Harry pushed past him and hurried after Neville, slinging an arm around the taller boy's shoulders. "You alright?" he asked quietly. Neville's eyes were glazed over, like he wasn't really present.
"I think I might be sick," he admitted in a whisper. Harry urged him over to a nearby alcove, nudging him into a sitting position.
"Breathe, Nev." In their summer correspondence, Harry had learned a lot about the other boy, including what had happened to his parents. Harry could hardly imagine what it was like; having your parents alive, but them not recognising you or anyone else, their brains destroyed by excessive torture.
From Moody's words, they were going to be studying the Unforgivables a lot over the next term. Harry wished it would be worth anything to go to Dumbledore. The man had probably happily consented to showing fourteen year-olds the worst curses known to wizard-kind. Fourteen year-olds with families destroyed by those curses.
There was an odd clunking sound, and Harry turned to see Moody walking towards them. He scowled at the professor.
"It's alright, sonny," Moody assured, clapping Neville on the shoulder. "Why don't you come up to my office, have a cup of tea?" He glanced aside. "You alright there, Potter?"
"I've been better," he bit out.
"I know it seems a little harsh, but you've got to know. No point in pretending… anyway. Come on, Longbottom. I've got some books that might interest you." Neville sent Harry a pleading look, and Harry reached out to grab Neville by the arm gently.
"Actually, Professor, Neville and I were going to go finish our Charms essays before dinner. If you don't mind." He tried to stay polite, aware that the man still was a teacher, but he was reaching the end of his tether. His vision still flashed green every time he closed his eyes.
Moody stared him down for a moment, then nodded, stepping back. "If you're sure, Potter. You boys watch yourselves. Constant vigilance!" With that he limped back to his office, and Neville let out a shaky breath.
"Thanks, Harry," he murmured. "I just… I can't, right now. Not after seeing him do that. You know what they say about the Unforgivables — for them to work, you've got to mean it."
Harry swallowed harshly. Moody certainly meant it back in the classroom, with the spiders. Had the auror used the curses on people before, too? Surely even aurors weren't allowed to use that kind of force.
"What was that about, then?" Ron and Hermione appeared from nowhere — apparently they hadn't gone back to the Tower like Harry thought. Ron seemed entirely oblivious to the tension in the air. "Some lesson, eh? He really knows his stuff. The way that spider just snuffed it, wow, I—" He seemed to realise who he was talking to, growing quickly silent. Harry's patience snapped.
"Fuck off, Ron," he muttered, putting an arm around Neville and heading for the library. He didn't feel like being in Gryffindor Tower right now.
.-.
When he and Neville eventually ran out of excuses to be away from the common room, they made their way back. Harry saw Hermione and Ron in the corner of the common room; Hermione was holding what looked like a collection box, speaking very quickly. Ron looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. He brightened up when he saw Harry, apparently having already forgotten the dark-haired boy was mad at him. "Great! Harry! Hermione, you can tell Harry all about spew, look." "It's S.P.E.W!" Hermione corrected, but Ron had already vaulted over the back of the armchair and headed up to the dormitory. Harry shared a confused look with Neville.
"What's in the box, Hermione?" Harry asked, already sure he was going to regret doing so.
Hermione's following tirade about house elf rights was the last straw for Harry. "Hermione," he cut her off mid-sentence, "have you ever actually spoken to a house elf?"
"Well, no, but—"
"Did you do any research whatsoever into the specifics of a house elf's bond with its family?" Harry continued. Hermione faltered.
"It's really hard to find information on it in the library."
"Hermione, house elves get sick if they're not bonded to a house," Neville piped up, looking puzzled. "I thought everyone knew that."
"They what?" Hermione was round-eyed.
"Their magic needs the bond to balance it. Without access to the family magics that come from being bonded to a house, the elf's magic gets unstable and starts turning inwards. It's awful to watch, I've heard. Back in the olden times they could survive in the wild on the natural magic in the forests, but then the muggles started chopping them all down, so the house elves started bonding themselves to wizard families instead," Neville told her. Harry would bet anything a family like the Longbottoms had at least two house elves. According to Sirius, the Black family had one at every property, and the Potter family had two at their ancestral home and a few others scattered about. Harry wasn't old enough to claim the Potter properties and elves yet, but he would one day.
"Well… that doesn't excuse them from not being paid! If anything it's worse — they can't leave, so they're forced to do all the work."
"House elves like doing work," Neville told her. "Our elf Hetty was devastated when I decided to start tending the greenhouse myself."
"Maybe you should do a little more research before you start jumping in where you're not needed, Hermione," Harry suggested gently, his heart going out to the crestfallen witch. She was just trying to do the right thing. "By all means, focus on laws to make house elves treated better with their owners. But don't assume what they want without even talking to them." He ran a hand through his hair, wincing against the brewing headache. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed. It's been a hell of a day."
"I'll head up too," Neville said quickly, clearly not wanting to be left alone with Hermione after that minor explosion. On the way up the stairs, he put a hand on Harry's arm. "Are you sure you're alright? Seeing that curse in Moody's class couldn't have been any easier for you than it was for me." His eyes were knowing, and Harry sighed. At that minute, all he really wanted was a hug, He hated Sirius and Remus a little bit, for getting him so used to seeking comfort over the summer. He didn't have that anymore.
"I just want to sleep," he admitted, dragging a hand over his face.
And yet, when he was in bed, curtains drawn, he found himself staring up at the ceiling of his four-poster bed, wide awake.