The only person who seemed to be aware that Harry had snuck back into the Gryffindor dorms at the crack of dawn was Neville, who kept alternating between smirking at him and looking vaguely ill when he started to think too hard about what Harry and Draco might have gotten up to. He didn't know where they'd been, just that Harry had planned a surprise for his boyfriend.
"Went well, then?" he asked under his breath when they eventually went down to breakfast on Sunday morning. Harry's beaming grin was enough of a response. "Spare me the details," Neville said, laughing. Harry stuck his tongue out at his friend.
"Planned on it." What had happened between him and Draco down in the Chamber was just for them.
And maybe George Weasley, once Harry was done teasing him to high hell.
Speaking of which; the twins were sat at the Gryffindor table already, and Harry slid in beside George with a smirk. "Good morning," he greeted in a quiet drawl. "You've been holding out on me, Weasley." George looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "I saw you and Blaise in Hogsmeade yesterday."
"Oh." A faint flush dusted the redhead's freckled cheeks. "Yeah. So I was gonna tell you…"
"Sure," Harry agreed sarcastically. He eyed the redhead over, grinning. "You look positively smitten, my friend." It was true; he was happy in a way that for once had nothing to do with mischief-making, his brown eyes bright, his gaze occasionally darting towards the Slytherin table. "How long has that been going on, then?"
"Few weeks," George confessed. "We paired up in HA, when we started learning the Impediment jinx." Harry's eyes widened; that was ages ago! "Turns out when he's frustrated that cool-and-collected mask of his tends to slip a bit. It was very fun making that happen," he added lightly, and there was the mischief again. "Didn't realise I'd been going out of my way to pair with him til we left for Christmas and I missed him. So, ah, I did something about it."
"Always knew you had a thing for snakes," Harry commented, making George cackle.
"Like you can talk."
Harry couldn't argue that one. "You two had a good time yesterday?" That made George blush brighter.
"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."
"Good thing you've never been a gentleman," came Harry's instant retort. George laughed, running a hand through his hair. "He's a lot funnier than most people expect from him," he said eventually, smiling like an absolute sap. Harry, familiar with Blaise's particularly dry sense of humour, nodded. "Hell of a snog, too," George added lasciviously.
"So it's official, then?" Harry asked, watching the redhead's face soften as he nodded.
"We can't exactly hide it now we've been all over Hogsmeade together," George pointed out. "He says he's happy to call me his boyfriend, even to the other Slytherins." There was a wistful note to his tone, and Harry made a mental note to have a chat with Blaise about breaking his big brother's heart. Then again, anyone who tangled with a Weasley knew full well what they were getting into.
Michael Corner's quills had been regularly exploding ink on him since January.
"Oi, you two," Fred barked, tossing a satsuma at Harry, who caught it instinctively. "Save your little gossip session for later, yeah? My brother and I were having a conversation before you rudely interrupted." He was grinning, and Harry tossed the fruit back.
"My apologies," he teased. "Did you want me to ask how your date with Angelina went, too?"
Fred's face turned positively filthy. "Harrikins, I'm quite certain you don't want to know."
Harry made a face of disgust, turning back to Neville, who had been listening to the whole exchange in amusement.
"George and Blaise?" he asked in an undertone, and Harry nodded. "Blimey. Good for them."
"Did you see Luna and Daphne, too?"
That made Neville's eyes go wide, and Harry reached for the strawberry jam, settling in to tell his friend that particular tale.
Really, from the number of couples that seemed to be sprouting from the HA, Harry could start offering his services as a matchmaker.
.-.-.
While Harry did have a large pile of homework to do that afternoon, he wasn't remotely interested in working on it when the heirs study group gathered in an empty classroom. Not all of them were there — a few had gone down to Hogsmeade, now it was slightly less full of loved-up couples — but Blaise and Daphne were.
"I'm offended, you know," he said to the pair, entirely too smug. "Both of you found romance through my defence club, and I don't even get a single thank you!"
"Technically, the club was my idea to begin with," Blaise retorted without missing a beat. Harry scoffed.
"Yeah, but I was the one who insisted people mix up partners. If not for me, you never would have discovered the charms of George Weasley," he teased. "Or Luna Lovegood," he added to Daphne. The blonde girl sniffed haughtily.
"Luna is a law unto herself, and I'm sure I would have discovered her charms exactly when she wanted me to, club or no club," she insisted. There was probably some truth to that, but it didn't stop Harry grinning.
"I'm surprised you're even admitting to having emotions, let alone falling for Luna's charms."
The faintest blush crept up Daphne's neck. "She's interesting," she bit out defensively. "And she's not scared of me."
Harry didn't think Luna was scared of anything at all. "It's just nice to see you snakes shedding those stone-cold outer shells," he joked. "Good to know Slytherins have hearts, too."
Under the table, Draco kicked him in the shin. "Just because we have enough decorum not to wear them on our sleeves," he retorted. "It's called discretion, Potter. Something you seem to be lacking in."
Harry almost shot back a retort asking where Draco's discretion was when he was leaving the enormous hickey that Harry had needed to heal with Bruise Balm that morning, but he held his tongue.
"You can't get at them for not sharing about their relationships when you've not told a soul about your secret boyfriend, Harry," Susan piped up from further down the table. Harry's smirk widened.
"And would you like to share anything about secret boyfriends, Susan, dear?" he asked smoothly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Theo's quill pause mid-sentence. Susan tensed, and narrowed her eyes.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, nothing," Harry drawled. "Just that you should really be more careful where you choose to stop for a quick snog, especially if you aren't going to bother putting wards up."
The Hufflepuff's face coloured, her jaw dropping in horror. "You— we didn't— you saw that?"
Harry nodded. "I was doing a bit of sneaking of my own, last night. I'm surprised you didn't feel the Notice-Me-Not I left to cover you." A pause, then, "I suppose you were a bit distracted."
Susan's wand twitched, and a light Stinging charm caught Harry's shoulder. "Ow! Rude! I haven't even said a name," he groused lightly. He wouldn't out the two, not if they truly wanted to keep it secret, though the group was as much of a safe space as they were likely to get.
"We may as well own up to it," Theo sighed, and the whole room stared at him in shock. "Potter will be insufferable otherwise."
"I— Susan!" Ernie stuttered, looking between the Hufflepuff and the Slytherin. "You and Theo?"
Susan nodded, not a hint of embarrassment on her face. "We spent a lot of time together over Christmas," she admitted, fighting down her blush. "There's certainly something to be said for — what was it, Harry? Ah, yes — shedding those cold outer shells," she teased, making Theo duck his head bashfully.
"Ah, Slytherins in love," Harry cooed playfully. "See how much wider your options yet when you look outside the snake pit?"
He wiggled his eyebrows pointedly at both Pansy and Millicent, who looked distinctly unimpressed.
"No, thank you," Pansy said flatly.
"I'm good," Millicent agreed.
"Are you done acting like a third year now, Potter?" Draco drawled, sounding bored. "Because the rest of us came here to work, so if all you want to do is gossip I suggest you seek out Weasley and Lovegood."
"I'll do that later," Harry replied breezily. "And don't act as if Slytherins aren't the biggest gossip-hounds in the school. You all just call it blackmail instead."
"Knowledge is power," Draco retorted. "Something your tiny little Gryffindor mind might struggle to comprehend."
The bickering was almost instinctual, Harry fighting against a smile as he argued with Draco, riling the Slytherin up.
Suddenly, a loud thud cut them off as Parvati dropped a stack of heavy books on the tabletop. "For the love of Merlin, just kiss already!" she said, glaring at them. "I need to finish this essay before dinner." Both boys froze. Draco let out a slightly strained laugh.
"I beg your pardon, I—"
"Oh, come off it, guys," Hannah cut in. "We figured it out ages ago. You're not subtle, either of you."
Harry looked around the room; none of them seemed surprised by the accusation. Even Theo, the newest member of the group, just looked quietly amused.
"When you say ages," Harry started nervously.
"Since, like, Christmas," Susan dismissed, waving a hand. "Like Hannah said, you're not subtle. And you've got your reasons to keep it quiet, so we never said anything." Then she smirked, entirely too smug. "But we know."
Harry turned to Neville, who shrugged helplessly. "I never exactly confirmed it."
The green-eyed Gryffindor looked to his boyfriend, who looked offended that his emotions had been read so plainly. "This is all your fault, Potter," he muttered, making Harry grin.
"What, for melting that Ice Prince persona of yours," he teased. "Can't say I'm sorry. You're a lot more fun without that stick up your arse."
"I'll show you stick up your arse," Draco muttered, and Blaise's lips twitched.
"Not in public, if you please," he said drily.
"Oh, shut up, you're dating a Weasley," Draco retorted, as if that settled the argument.
"What's wrong with Weasleys?" Neville said, daring him to argue. Rolling his eyes, Harry got up, moving around the table to sit beside Draco.
"Don't answer that," he advised, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Quit being all pouty that our friends know. Now you'll just have to get used to being nice to me in front of people."
"And you'll have to learn that being an annoying little pest to those around you often comes back to bite you on the arse," Draco said immediately, though he twined his fingers with Harry's on the tabletop. "Now, help me with this Transfiguration homework, since you were bragging about conjuring an entire hedgehog the other day."
"I wasn't bragging, I just mentioned it." Harry elbowed Draco playfully. "You'd figure it out if you weren't so set on just demanding things into existence. Sometimes asking nicely gets better results, y'know?"
What followed was a muttered conversation of half innuendo and half comments on Draco being a spoiled little brat; meanwhile, the rest of the group watched the exchange in dawning horror.
"Oh, Merlin," Susan groaned quietly. "This is worse."
"I did warn you," came Neville's sage response.
Harry and Draco ignored them all, too busy arguing, while Draco's thumb stroked lovingly over the back of Harry's hand.
.-.-.
His next lesson with Snape started out as it often did, with the pair of them heading down to the Chamber of Secrets through the passage in Snape's office. When they got there, however, Harry paused at the threshold. "I need to show you something," he said, wringing his hands nervously. Snape looked at him shrewdly.
"What have you done now?"
Harry almost snorted at the automatic assumption. "For once, nothing irresponsible," he assured. "So when I brought you down here, I implied that this main room was all there is to it. That, uh, isn't the case. And I've found this book and I think it's got the answer to our horcrux problem, and I need you to get a copy of it to Bill without anyone knowing where it came from. So I need to show you where I got it."
"You've been reading books you found in Salazar Slytherin's secret chambers and you don't consider that irresponsible?" Snape said sharply. "I thought a summer at Grimmauld Place would have made you aware of what kind of curses can be on books, especially books about dark magic. Are you so foolish as to test that, entirely unsupervised, where no one but you can reach?"
"I wasn't entirely unsupervised!" Harry protested. "And, uh, that's where the other part of this secret comes in. The reason it took so long to tell you. I had to get permission first."
Before Snape could start assuming the worst, Harry strode over to the office wall and hissed the password, beckoning the professor to follow. "I brought company," he hissed in announcement. When he turned around, Snape was stood in the doorway, as close to gobsmacked as Harry had ever seen from the reserved man. "Professor Snape," Harry said hesitantly, "this is Salazar Slytherin. Salazar, meet Professor Severus Snape, head of Slytherin house." He switched to Parseltongue halfway through. Salazar rose from his chair, looking down at Snape with calculating eyes.
Suddenly, Snape dropped into a low, reverent bow. "It is an honour, Lord Slytherin," he greeted, voice positively shaking with emotion. Harry opened his mouth to translate — only for Salazar to smile.
"The honour is mine, Professor Snape. I understand I have you to thank for keeping my young heir alive on multiple occasions." His voice was smooth, a little bit raspy, but his pronunciation was perfect. Harry gaped at him.
"Since when do you speak English?" he blurted. "Proper English, I mean! You always talk to me in Parseltongue."
"It's good for you to get used to speaking it without needing a snake around to trigger you," Salazar replied, unrepentant. "I never told you I couldn't speak English, you just assumed." He narrowed his eyes, like Harry should be well aware of his opinions on assumptions.
"He does tend to do that, my Lord," Snape agreed ruefully. Salazar chuckled.
"It is a habit I shall endeavour to break him of. And please, call me Salazar." He returned to his chair, fingers running over the head of his pet snake. "Now, I believe there is a book young Harry wants to show you."
Harry snapped back to attention, hurrying towards the copy of the book he'd left on the desk. "Here," he said, flipping it open to the relevant pages and holding it out pointedly. "The language is pretty archaic but I got Salazar to translate, and I think it's exactly what we need. So if you would please take this copy of the book to Bill, however you can, that would be a huge help."
Snape's eyes were already trailing greedily over the titles on the main bookshelf. "And… the rest?"
"All the originals have to stay in the office," Harry warned. "But… I'm sure Salazar won't mind if you want to copy a few for personal use."
"He'll certainly make more of them than you would, lad," Salazar remarked, making Harry roll his eyes.
"There's some Potions books in the mix. I don't know what's what, though. Some of these books might still be around in the world." Not all of the books were tomes lost to the ravages of time. Some were just earlier versions of books that were still in print today.
Snape was hiding it well, but behind the reserved frown he looked like all his Christmases had come at once. With great effort, he tore his gaze away from the wall of books. "You still need to practice your Bone-Breaking hex."
"I can do that," Harry assured. "I'll be just over there. I promise I'll yell if I hurt myself," he added cheekily, watching Snape scowl. There was a brief deliberation on the man's face — whether his need to stop Harry injuring himself was greater than his desire to start going through Salazar's shelves. Eventually, Snape nodded decisively.
"I will choose three books to copy for now," he declared. Harry was reminded absurdly of a small child at a library, trying to reason themselves out of taking the entire shelf home with them.
Severus Snape had absolutely been one such child.
"We will continue our lesson as planned, and then next time, you will bring your homework down here so you have something productive to do while I investigate these books. Provided, of course," he added, glancing back at the portrait warily, "that I am permitted entrance in future."
"It will be nice to have another actual adult to talk to," came Salazar's reply. Harry made a faint noise of indignation.
"Rude. Before I turned up you had no one but your snake," he muttered pointedly.
"One day you will look back on your childhood and you will understand exactly what I'm talking about," Salazar hissed, amused. Snape was eyeing Harry curiously, and Harry just snorted.
"Bold of you to assume I will ever grow out of this," he replied, unsure exactly what part of his general existence Salazar was complaining about now. He could make a few guesses, if he had to.
Instead, he leaned against the back of the sofa, folding his arms and waiting for Snape to choose his three books.
He got the feeling the next visit was going to be a very, very long one.
.-.-.-.
The Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff quidditch match was a surprisingly difficult match for the Gryffindor team, but thanks to Vicky Frobisher's keen defence of the goal, and Harry's speedy capture of the snitch, they managed to pull out another victory. The day ended in another celebration in Gryffindor Tower, and Harry went to sleep with a smile on his face.
The next morning started out great, too. But it didn't stay that way for long.
He was in good spirits at breakfast, until the post owls came in and a veritable storm of feathers swooped in Harry's direction. Some just dropped their letters on his head — or in his eggs — and went about their morning, but others landed on the table, hooting demandingly at him until he relieved them of their burden.
"What's this all about?" Ginny asked, bewildered, as a particularly round owl made itself at home on her plate, pecking at her bacon. "Oi, get off!"
"No idea," Harry replied — and then one owl caught his eye. It held a brown paper wrapped package, approximately the size and shape of a magazine.
He looked up at the Ravenclaw table, and Luna smiled serenely back at him. "Never mind. Figured it out." Harry reached for the package, tearing off the brown paper to reveal the front cover of the Quibbler. 'Harry Potter Speaks Out At Last', it declared, right above a picture of his own face.
"It came out yesterday," Luna told him, having made her way over. "I asked Daddy to send you a copy. I'd imagine these are letters from readers."
His excessive postal delivery had gained the attention of half the Gryffindor table, and a few more people besides. "Well, then," he said, rolling up his sleeves. "Everyone grab an owl. Let's see what we're looking at."
It was something of a free-for-all after that, all of Harry's friends reaching out to pluck owls from the chaos, relieving them of their letters and ripping open envelopes. Remembering Hermione's incident with bubotuber pus the year before, Harry watched them all warily.
"This bloke thinks you've cracked," George volunteered, waving the letter in his left hand. "But this one says he believes you," he said of the letter in his right.
"You've got this woman convinced, Harry," Neville added happily, passing Harry the letter he'd grabbed.
"This one, too!"
They quickly began to gather two piles; those who believed Harry, and those who thought he was just an attention-seeking nutter. They were so engrossed in the pile of mail, they didn't notice the approach that had the rest of the hall going ominously silent.
"Hem, hem." Harry's head snapped up, his stomach squirming in a mix of dread and excitement. "What is going on here, Mr Potter?"
"It's the morning post, Professor," he replied, watching her eyes narrow.
"Five points from Gryffindor for cheek. Why, Mr Potter, do you have so many letters?"
There was no point in trying to hide it. "I wrote an article recently, about what happened to me last June," he told her, watching a muscle twitch in her cheek as her jaw clenched tightly. "These are letters from people who read it."
"An article?" Umbridge repeated sharply. "What do you mean?"
Harry picked up his copy of the Quibbler, holding it out. "You're welcome to read it, Professor."
Umbridge took one look at the cover and turned a violent shade of red. "I see," she bit out, stubby fingers clenching around the magazine. "Clearly, Mr Potter, your continued detentions are not enough of a deterrent, for you. No matter how hard I try to teach you not to spread your awful lies, the message simply will not stick." Her eyes darted down to the scar on the back of his hand. "Perhaps something a touch more… restrictive is required."
Harry swallowed, wondering what she could possibly do that would be worse that having him carve his own hand open every night for a week. She, too, seemed to be struggling to think of something — until her eyes landed on the huge points hourglasses at the back of the hall. "You do not care about detentions, do you, Mr Potter? Even before I arrived here, you were no stranger to them. But," she said, a slow, vindictive smile spreading across her lips that made Harry's stomach clench. "You do care about quidditch."
His blood went cold. Her smile widened.
"Yes, that will do quite nicely, I think. Removing you from your house quidditch team might make you finally think about the consequences of your actions."
"I beg your pardon!" That was McGonagall, striding over with a look of absolute fury on her face. "You have no right to do that! Potter is a Gryffindor, it is my responsibility to think of suitable punishments! And there is nothing in the school rules that prevents students from writing articles for publication."
"He may be a Gryffindor, but I am the High Inquisitor," Umbridge returned sweetly. "I think you will find it is entirely within my right to punish students, especially when their heads of houses are not fit for the task." She turned back to Harry, triumph on her toad-like face. "Mr Potter, you are hereby banned from quidditch, for life. You will surrender your broomstick to me by dinner this evening."
"What! You can't take my broom!" Harry protested. "This isn't fair — that's punishing the whole team!"
"You should have thought of that before you decided to spread this filth, Mr Potter." She looked very pleased with herself, indeed. "You have such little care for yourself, perhaps seeing that others are affected by your bad behaviour will make you change your mind. And I'll be keeping this," she added, tucking the Quibbler under her arm. She stalked up to the head table, uncaring of the outrage she left in her wake.
Harry looked at McGonagall, who was white-faced, lips pressed tightly together, utterly outraged.
"Professor, surely she can't do that!" Angelina said, aghast. McGonagall turned to her, and nodded sharply.
"I'm afraid she can, Miss Johnson," she admitted reluctantly. "Mr Potter, I would like to remind you of the discussion we had at the beginning of the year."
"We'll be ruined," Angelina murmured, collapsing on the bench, Fred's hand on her shoulder. "No seeker, against Ravenclaw! With the points so tight!"
Harry tore his guilty gaze away from her, and met his housemistress' eyes. "I'm sorry it came to this, Professor." He wouldn't apologise for writing the article. From the look on her face, she didn't want him to.
She knew that some things mattered more than quidditch. As much as this would be a blow to the team.
Harry turned back to Angelina, grimacing. "I'm sorry," he said. "If I'd known, I—" He trailed off. It wouldn't have stopped him, but he might not have been quite so smug about it.
Angelina bit her lip, taking a deep breath. "You can make it up to me by helping me find a new seeker in time for the match against Ravenclaw. We could do try-outs, of course, but it would take time, and who's going to want to play for just one match?"
"She said I'm banned for life," Harry pointed out, absently wondering if that would cause any issues with his future professional career. Surely she couldn't ban him from the league?
"You're banned as long as she's here," Angelina dismissed instantly. "Fuck, I knew we should've trained a reserve team this year."
It was a testament to how much the Transfiguration professor cared about quidditch that she didn't reprimand Angelina's language.
Harry looked down the table, at the piles of letters all addressed to him, the people gathered to help go through them. His eyes landed on a head of long, fiery hair.
"How about Ginny?" he suggested, making the girl startle and look up at him.
"Me?"
"Yeah. I've seen you fly at the Burrow when you think everyone else is in bed. You're really good." Harry's insomnia in the summers often had him sat at the window in Ron's room, watching the youngest Weasley sneak her brothers' brooms from the shed.
Ginny blushed, but Angelina was on her like a shot. "Would you? Can you come try out after dinner tonight? We already know you fit with the rest of the team — usually the problem we have is people not being able to handle your brothers." The Weasley twins looked mildly offended, and Ginny laughed.
"I— I don't have a broom." She deflated, and so did Angelina. School brooms were okay, but Ravenclaw's chasers had the latest model Cleansweep.
"You can borrow mine." The slightly stilted call came from further up the table, and more than one person turned to gape incredulously at Ron Weasley. The boy flushed, ears going pink. "I've not really been using it and all. It's only for the rest of the year." Then, his face hardened. "Gryffindor shouldn't have to lose just because he keeps pissing off Umbridge."
He didn't look Harry in the eye, but the message went unspoken; he might hate Harry right now, but even he couldn't argue that Voldemort was back, and Harry had done the right thing in sharing that.
"Really?" Ginny looked hopeful, and when Ron nodded again, she dashed down the table to give him a tight hug. "Thank you. I'm sorry I called you a prick."
Ron blinked. "Wait, when did you call me a prick?"
Ginny grimaced briefly. "Don't worry about it." She quickly turned back to Angelina. "Tonight, then? Let's say six thirty?"
Angelina nodded, and Harry's shoulders slumped in relief. That was one crisis averted, at least.
.-.-.
By the end of first period, there were huge signs all over the school declaring that by order of the High Inquisitor, the Quibbler was banned from Hogwarts.
Naturally, that meant that everyone had read it by dinnertime. Harry couldn't help but grin to himself as he listened to people quote the article all through the hall, and watched Umbridge's eyes get so bugged with fury he thought they might pop right out of her skull.
A couple of chairs down, Dumbledore was watching the whole scene, and Harry noticed the man's twinkling eyes were conspicuously dimmed. The headmaster didn't seem to know whether to be pleased that the Ministry had been thwarted, or pissed at Harry for making such a bold move, revealing exactly what happened in the graveyard so Dumbledore couldn't warp or sanitise the story for his own gains.
He wondered sometimes if he was perhaps baiting the headmaster a little too much, but then he decided he didn't really care — all the better, even, if the slow build of annoyance resulted in Dumbledore flipping his lid, preferably somewhere public. It would help enormously once Harry started trying to tear the man's reputation to shreds.
.-.
For the rest of the week, Harry watched as Umbridge tried to ferret out the copies of the Quibbler interview that were clearly circulating the school, the woman growing increasingly flustered and frustrated as her efforts fail. The Hogwarts students were truly ingenious, disguising the pages as homework, or cuttings from Witch Weekly, or letters from home. Even the teachers were in on it, though due to the Educational Decrees they couldn't discuss any of it with their students. McGonagall's ire at Harry didn't last long — especially once Angelina confirmed that Ginny Weasley would make a suitable temporary replacement seeker — and he started earning house points in half of his classes for the most mundane things. Everyone in the school was talking about the article, and Luna told him delightedly that their sales were even better than the issue he'd contributed to the year before. Every day, more letters came in; plenty were still from people accusing him of trying to slander the Minister, but more and more people told Harry they believed him, that they were preparing for the Dark to rise again.
Judging by the low-level fury burning in the corner Harry's mind, right around his scar, there was someone else who wasn't particularly happy about it, either. Voldemort even got so irate one night that he forgot to block Harry, giving him insight into a meeting with a Death Eater named Rookwood, where Harry learned that Bode had been Imperiused into removing something, which was how he ended up in St Mungo's to begin with.
So that was what happened to someone who touched a prophecy that didn't belong to them.
It was awful information, but it wasn't anything useful, so Harry pushed it from his mind, happy to focus on Umbridge's utter outrage at the Quibbler. She had given him a few more nights detention — obviously mad that banning him from the quidditch team had not devastated him in the way she hoped — but even that couldn't dampen his spirits, and the first night he was free he happily went down to duel in the Chamber with Snape.
Ever since Harry had introduced him to Salazar, Snape had started pushing him even harder in their lessons. Harry wasn't sure if it was the man's way of thanking him, or just ensuring Harry had all the skills to stay alive longer so Snape would continue to have access to the portrait, but either way as the looming exams began to weigh heavy on his shoulders, Harry was more than glad to let off some steam.
"You're improving well," Snape complimented, once they finished their sixth duel of the night. Harry was sweaty and aching, but his magic was singing. "If only we had access to more people, so you could try your hand at duelling multiple opponents at once."
"I've done a bit of that with the HA," Harry told him, gratefully accepting the conjured goblet of water Snape handed over. "Obviously not with the kind of spells you use, but, y'know. Having a bunch of people come at me at once." From the amount of times he'd been outnumbered in a fight, he'd thought it helpful to teach his friends how to handle themselves in such a situation, and get some practice in on his own. "Indeed?" Snape cocked a curious eyebrow. Harry grinned at him.
"It worked out pretty well. I learned that Justin Finch-Fletchley takes muggle boxing classes during the summers," he revealed. "And isn't afraid to fight dirty." A lot of them had surprised him, honestly, when he'd told them to give it their best shot. They had been lucky not to end up needing the Hospital Wing.
Snape's thin lips twitched in a brief smirk. "I'm glad to hear you're putting your little club to good use."
"You wait until exams come around," Harry said proudly. "Then you'll really see what these students are capable of."
"I'm sure." Snape straightened his robe, then vanished the empty goblets. "I believe that's enough for tonight. I have books to translate."
Harry, desperately in need of a shower and some Bruise Balm, wasn't going to argue. "How's that going?" he asked curiously, wondering what Snape might have uncovered in Salazar's old books. Surely potions had only advanced since then?
"They are fascinating," Snape admitted. "Many of the texts contain references to ingredients that have fallen almost entirely out of use in this age. Of course, many are now extinct, but those that aren't… I will have much to work on over the summer."
"Until Ceri drags you out of the lab and reminds you to eat," Harry joked; a common occurrence at Seren Du. Snape huffed.
"Damned meddling elf," he muttered, though there was no heat to it.
Sealing the passageway, Harry gathered his school bag and went on his way, heading quickly up to Gryffindor Tower. It was technically past curfew, but it was easy for Harry to avoid any patrolling prefects about. Except for one particular gorgeous blond Slytherin prefect, who he couldn't help but pull into an alcove and snog for five minutes before heading on his merry way.
His good mood deflated when he reached the common room, and saw Parvati and Lavender crying over by the fire. "What happened?" he asked, hurrying over to them. Parvati looked at him with puffy red eyes.
"Professor Trelawney's been sacked!" she wailed, crying even harder. Harry gaped at her.
"What?"
Through sniffles and hiccups, the two girls told him what had happened; the way Umbridge had tried to remove Trelawney from the castle as well as her teaching post, but Dumbledore had stepped in. The most surprising part was when they revealed Dumbledore had already hired a new teacher, and he was a centaur.
"Umbridge looked furious," Lavender said gleefully, wiping her eyes.
"What did you say the centaur bloke's name was, again?" Harry asked. Her brow furrowed.
"Firenze, I think Dumbledore said."
"He's gorgeous," Parvati piped up with a wet giggle, her sadness temporarily forgotten.
Harry remembered Firenze. The centaur had saved his life, back in his first year. The rest of his herd had not appreciated him doing so.
Did they appreciate him doing this? Agreeing to work for humans?
"Well, then. S'pose we'll have to see how long before Umbridge finds a reason to kick him out, too," he said, shrugging. "At least it sounds like Trelawney isn't going anywhere, so you can still talk to her." Though now she didn't have to stay sober enough to teach, Harry wasn't sure the Seer would be the best conversation partner. Still, it seemed to cheer up the girls.
Harry went up to the dorm to shower, unease brewing within him. Trelawney's sacking wasn't unexpected, but with her gone, that meant only one thing.
Hagrid would be next.