Harry's jaw dropped, and he continued to stare at the portrait. The man, dressed in a very old-fashioned dark green robe, with long black hair and skin much the same shade as Harry's, crossed his arms over his narrow chest and stared back.
"Are you daft, lad?"
He was speaking Parseltongue. That shouldn't have been a surprise, given who it was, but Harry had only heard one person speak the language before and it was under very different circumstances.
"I'm sorry," he replied, having to look at the painted snake wrapped around Slytherin's shoulders to make sure he didn't speak English. "I wasn't expecting you. My name is Harry. Harry Potter." A pause. "I'm your heir."
"Potter, eh?" Slytherin said, raising one imperious eyebrow. "A strong family, good line. Though I don't recall our main lines combining — is it a recent tie? I confess, it's been so long since my last visitor, I rather thought the Slytherin line had died out."
A sudden, awful thought hit Harry. "When was your last visitor? Was it a boy named Tom Riddle?" Surely if Voldemort had found Salazar Slytherin himself, he wouldn't have left the portrait under the school. Nor all of these books, most of which looked as old as Hogwarts itself.
"Riddle? No, no. It was a Gaunt lad, I forget the first name. Quite some time ago, now. Seventeen-something, maybe early eighteen hundreds."
Harry wasn't ready for the punch of relief that hit him, his knees buckling for a moment.
"Should I know the name Tom Riddle? What year is it now, anyway?"
"Nineteen ninety-five," Harry relayed, watching the painted man's eyes widen. He swore, in a language that wasn't English but wasn't not English, shaking his head.
"Good lord. What happened? The knowledge is supposed to pass down the line!"
Harry gave a heavy sigh, Scourgifying the sofa before taking a seat.
He hadn't anticipated spending his evening relaying recent history to the thousand-year-old painting of Salazar Slytherin, and yet.
He was Harry Potter, after all.
.-.-.
It took over an hour, explaining to Slytherin what he knew — which, admittedly, wasn't much. He knew nothing of the original Slytherin line, just that it culminated in Tom Riddle, who was childless. That led to an explanation of how Harry had ended up the conquering heir of the Slytherin line, and everything that came after.
He'd never spoken so much continuous Parseltongue in his life before, and his lips and tongue felt weird by the time he finished. Slytherin's heavy brow was furrowed. "Well," he hissed eventually, stroking at the short black beard on his chin. He looked to be in his fifties or so; painted long before his death, evidently. "That is quite the tale. I can assure you, this Tom Riddle never found his way into my private office as you have."
Harry let out a breath of relief, then a startled laugh.
How arrogant of Riddle, to find this Chamber, and the basilisk, and think he had discovered everything.
"I, uh, I'm sorry I killed your snake," he said sheepishly. Slytherin's lips pursed.
"A tragic event, but necessary. It is a shame my poor girl ended up so lonely she could not recognise a true heir, but I do not blame you, child." Then he smiled, expression warm and entirely unlike anything Harry expected to see from the famed dark wizard.
He remembered what the goblins had told him before his third year, about how Salazar's father was the one who did the terrible magic, but history had confused the two. "I have so many questions," he admitted, running a hand through his hair.
"I would be happy to answer them for you, lad," Slytherin assured. "But perhaps another time. You have given me a lot to think about."
Harry looked at his watch, and winced at the late hour. "Yes, I should get back to Gryffindor Tower. But I will come back, when I can."
Slytherin chuckled. "To think, my heir, in Gryffindor!" He shook his head, amused. "Perhaps you making your home there is the most Slytherin act of all — a cunning man disguises himself in plain sight."
That was definitely a compliment, and Harry preened slightly.
"Speak to the snake on the wall three columns to the left of my office," Slytherin advised, "Behind it is a passage that will take you up towards Gryffindor Tower."
"There are multiple entrances?" Harry asked, surprised. "Other than the bathroom?"
Salazar sneered. "Of course! Did you truly think I would only have one entrance — and that it would be in a lavatory?" He looked entirely disgusted by the concept. "I built this chamber as the last defence for the students, should we become over-run with Witchfinders. There are entrances all over the castle, in case of emergency. If you look, you will notice the carvings. As my heir, Hogwarts will guide you."The words echoed in Harry's head, a million questions sparking. The Chamber had been built for protection! Not as a secret lair to plot the death of all muggleborns. No wonder it was so large, if it was designed to house the whole population of Hogwarts through a siege. There had to be dozens of passages to explore!
But it was late, and he had to get back to bed. "Thank you. I'll be back soon," he promised, offering the painting a short bow on his way out. A quick hiss had the stone wall returning; there was no sign of the office entrance, but for the tiny snake scratched on the surface.
"Holy shit," Harry muttered, wild-eyed. He had just had a conversation with Salazar Slytherin.
His body was tired, but his mind and magic were buzzing. He hadn't done what he had come down to do, thanks to that unexpected detour. He needed to shed some energy, fast.
Harry looked around the room, at the dirt and detritus filling the expansive space.
He might not be able to do anything about the basilisk corpse, but he could practice his cleaning charms.
Twenty minutes and an exhaustive amount of magic later, Harry felt much calmer, and the Chamber was on its way to being habitable. It would take many more visits to get it properly clean, but Harry was pleased with his progress. Now it was time for bed, if he could possibly sleep with all the new information circling his brain.
Heading for the section of wall Slytherin had suggested, Harry hissed to the snake, and the passageway revealed itself.
Like with the main entrance in the bathroom, it sealed itself once Harry was through it. He was left in a pitch black stairwell, and quickly conjured a ball of light to float ahead of him.
There was certainly magic in the passageway, as the number of stairs did not equate to the actual distance between the Chamber and Gryffindor Tower. Sure enough, he emerged from a blank section of wall only a few feet to the left of the Fat Lady's portrait. When he turned back to study it, safely covered by his invisibility cloak, there was the tiniest little snake scratched into the stone.
Well, then.
That was unexpected.
.-.-.-.
Harry thought about it for a long time, but ultimately he decided not to tell anyone about Slytherin's office. Not even Draco. Not yet, anyway — not until he'd had a bit more time to process things, and to investigate the room's contents. The way Slytherin had talked, it was supposed to be a room only for those of the Slytherin blood and family. He didn't want to risk upsetting the portrait by bringing a stranger to the office.
Besides that, he had bigger things to worry about — the first Defence Club meeting had arrived.
Harry arrived at the Room of Requirement a good twenty minutes early, determined to make sure everything was in place and ready. The doors offering passages to the house common rooms were there, he had plenty of cushions in case people got a little rough with their Disarming charms, and there was enough space for — hopefully — everyone to practice at the same time.
As the clock on the wall ticked closer to seven, the nerves started to rear their head. Harry paced anxiously, wand in hand, wishing he'd asked Neville or someone to come wait with him. Someone to calm him down, assure him he could handle it.
You'll be fine, Potter, his inner voice insisted, sounding remarkably like Draco. Thinking of the blond made Harry think of the last time they'd met up, and as such he had a slightly dazed smile on his face when the door opened and the first group of people arrived.
"Wow," Ginny said in awe, looking around the room. "This is brilliant, Harry!" She was not, as Harry might have expected, with Michael and the usual Ravenclaw entourage. Instead she was with Neville and Luna, who were both equally impressed.
Soon, Harry could hardly keep up with all the people flooding in, arriving in pairs and threes and hopefully having been discreet on their way up. They were all astounded by the room, murmuring about how they'd never seen anything like it in Hogwarts before.
"That door definitely didn't exist when I walked up here the other day," Cho remarked, making Harry grin.
"Sometimes if you ask nicely, Hogwarts provides," he replied in an appropriately mysterious tone.
At last, everyone was safely inside, and Harry shot a small firework from his wand to get their attention. "Right, then. Thanks for coming, everyone. I thought we'd start off with something simple today, just to get to know each other. How do you all feel about Disarming charms?"
There was a brief silence. Then, "What use is a Disarming charm against You-Know-Who?" Of course, Zacharias Smith had some opinions. Harry was going to find whoever invited that prick, and he was going to put itching powder in all of their school robes.
"It saved my life last June," Harry answered without missing a beat.
"It's a second year spell." Zacharias still wasn't impressed. Harry smirked, eyes flashing.
"Go on, then."
The Hufflepuff froze. "What?"
"Disarm me," Harry challenged. "It's a second year spell. You're a fifth year. Should be easy, right?"
Suddenly, Zacharias was not quite so confident. Harry heard the Weasley twins snigger.
"It might be basic, but there's a reason it's taught so early. If you can get your opponent's wand away from them, you've ended the fight." Unless they were capable of wandless magic, but that was fairly uncommon. "Of course, it's a fairly easy spell to block, too, but it's worth trying if you can get your opponent off guard."
Everyone was listening intently, and Harry kept going. "Pair up, take turns disarming each other. If you find the spell itself easy, practice trying to block it, or resist it. It's all a matter of willpower — someone else wants your wand, you want to keep your wand. You have to make your will stronger than their magic." There were enough sixth and seventh years in the group that he expected at least some of the group would find this first lesson simple. "In a fight, your opponent isn't going to wait for you to be ready before they start casting spells. They're not going to politely take turns. You have to be ready to react to anything. It's not just about knowing lots of spells, or complicated magic. That's flashy competition stuff. I'm teaching you to survive a life or death, no rules, anything goes fight."
Had Harry been watching himself, he would've realised how much he was channelling Severus Snape — which, considering Snape had been the one to teach him such things, only made sense. He was pacing in front of his gathered students, a serious look on his face. They needed to understand that real life was not like school.
"So give it a try, and we'll see how it goes. Then, if it goes well, maybe I'll tell you all about the time I disarmed Voldemort," he added with a wink, sending a ripple of shock through the group.
He didn't mind talking about bits and pieces of his past, if it helped people understand what was coming for them. What it was like to face the Dark. Besides, many of these people were Cedric's friends, his classmates — they deserved a better explanation than the bullshit Dumbledore had given them. He clapped his hands together, and immediately everyone scrambled into action.
.-.
Harry was disappointed, but not surprised, to see how many people struggled with a simple Expelliarmus. Despite Zacharias Smith's derision over the second year spell, it seemed many people had not brushed up on it in quite a while. Even the people who could successfully cast the charm were doing so with exaggerated wand movements or wide open weak spots, giving their opponent plenty of time to figure out what they were doing and respond in turn.
After observing for a few minutes, Harry shot up another firework, grabbing their attention. "Okay, not bad," he said, rolling up his shirtsleeves. "But certainly room for improvement." He surveyed the group, wondering who might be best for a little demonstration. "George, can I borrow you for a minute?"
The redhead grinned, happily strolling to face Harry. "I'm going to disarm you, and I want you to try and resist me."
George nodded, face set determinedly. In an instant, Harry's wand was raised, a spell was spoken — and George's wand was flying into his hand. The redhead blinked, shocked. "Blimey, Harry."
Hary couldn't stifle his smirk as he handed the boy his wand back. "Did everyone see that?"
"See what? That was bloody quick!" Lee Jordan called out, to several nods of agreement. Harry's smirk widened.
"Exactly. In here, you're not trying to show off your perfect wand movements or your excellent pronunciation. Hell, if you can manage it, wordless magic is much better in a fight." To demonstrate, he disarmed George silently; this time, the redhead just looked amused. "You all know the proper form, that much is obvious. But you have to mean it. Intent goes a long way with magic. The stronger your intent, the less effort you need to put in with the movement and incantation. And the smaller your movement, the more you'll keep your opponent off guard. They can't defend against something they don't see coming. And if a well-placed Expelliarmus is your first spell, it could well be the only one you need."
He could see in their eyes, the slowly dawning understanding. He grinned. "Keep going. Anyone who finds it easy, do what you can to make it harder. Just watch out for the people around you." The room might be big enough, but there was still risk of disaster from a wide-flying spell. The room was soon full of shouted incantations, and Harry walked around the pairs of students, offering advice and corrections. "Try and bring that elbow in a bit tighter," he said to Ernie, who was giving his wand an extra wide flourish when he cast. A few times, Harry would repeat the spell himself — slower than his instinct, but still quicker than most in the room — to show someone what it looked like.
Slowly, he began to see improvement. People who before had been miscasting entirely or failing to put enough power behind it were now sending their opponent's wands soaring. People who had cast well enough at the beginning of the lesson were stepping up their game, trying to dodge or defend against it. He saw Angelina with a vicelike grip on her own wand, while Alicia tried her best to magically wrench it from her grasp.
"If you've got the hang of it, practice directing their wand back to you," he called over the din, putting a little Sonorus magic in his throat to make himself heard. "If you can get their wand away from them, great. If you can get it in your own hand, even better." Sending the wand flying was nice, but came with the risk of them being able to run and grab it, or summon it back. "In a real Death Eater fight, I'd be telling you to get your hands on their wand and snap it."
That seemed to shock a number of people. "Snap someone else's wand?" Parvati asked, horrified. Harry nodded.
"Not necessarily every time. But if they're shooting Unforgivables, you don't want to risk them getting their wand back and continuing the fight. Wands can be replaced, lives can't." His expression was grim, but he saw several hard-eyed nods of understanding at his words. He would bet at least half the people in the room had lost a family member in the first war against Voldemort.
If his training could save even one life, Harry would consider himself successful.
.-.
That evening, still riding high on the exhilaration of a successful first lesson, Harry got comfortable in his bed and called Sirius on the mirror.
"There's my little freedom fighter," his godfather greeted, grinning. "How'd it go?"
Harry gushed about the meeting, proudly declaring that by the end of the first session, every single one of them was able to disarm their opponent competently. "If they practice, they'll all be great," he enthused. "I'm going to do Shield charms next week, so they can take turns disarming and blocking. Might add in a Stinging hex to mix it up a bit." He was well aware that most people had signed up to the club to learn spells for their exams, not to fight a war. He wanted to keep a good mix between real-life necessities and curriculum spells.
"Sounds great, pup. And how did they take the rest of it?" Sirius' brow furrowed in concern, and Harry's smile faltered.
Telling the huge group of people about the events of the graveyard had been… hard. "I think they believed me." It was hard to tell, when most of them had just seemed too shocked and horrified to really respond. "I gave them something to think about, at any rate. And I gave them closure for Cedric. I hope."
"You did the right thing, kiddo," Sirius assured. Harry leaned back against his headboard, sighing.
"I hope so." He didn't want to seem like he was sensationalising Cedric's death for credibility points. He just wanted people to know the truth. "Anyway, tell me about what you've been up to. How are things with the Order?"
Sirius scowled briefly. "Useless as always. Dumbledore's got everyone taking shifts guarding the Department of Mysteries. And of course, whenever he's here he takes great care to remind me that the best thing I can do is stay in the house."
"Has he seemed suspicious to you? Of anything?" Harry was still worried about how little attention Dumbledore seemed to be paying to him these days. Was the headmaster truly just focused so much on Voldemort, or was there something bigger at play?
"He's very interested in how often you write to me," Sirius remarked. "I told him about Umbridge trying to steal your letters, though, said you'd decided not to risk it anymore. He wasn't too pleased about that. Think he wants to know how you're feeling." He rolled his eyes.
"God forbid he just ask me," Harry muttered derisively. Not that he would tell the truth if he did. "Feels like he's forgotten I exist. It's actually quite nice." If the headmaster could keep ignoring Harry, that would be great. That felt like far too much to ask for, though.
Sirius told Harry about the most recent visit from Bill and Charlie, a grin on his face as he recounted their raucous game of exploding snap. "I'm glad you've got more company," Harry said, smiling. Sirius was a social creature; he needed people around him other than Remus and occasionally Snape. And the two eldest Weasleys were perfect for that. "You said Tonks has been around a fair bit, too?"
"Yeah, she tries to stop by a couple times a week. Asks for all the juicy stories of her mum as a teenager," Sirius joked. Then, he grew a little more serious. "I think her and Kingsley would be willing to follow you over Dumbledore, y'know. Both of them are getting a bit fed up with Order meetings, and from what Tonks has said to me, Kingsley is still suspect of Dumbledore for not letting the guard interfere in you being locked in your room all summer."
"You think we can trust them with the truth?" It would be good, having two aurors on his side, but it was a big risk to take.
"Maybe?" Sirius looked thoughtful. "Tonks certainly has the Black family loyalty. And Kingsley is the only one in the bloody Order who seems to accept that we aren't getting through this war without a fight. Dumbledore's got the rest thinking we can bring down Voldemort and his Death Eaters with the power of love or some shit, as if we've just got to band together and they'll lay down their wands and come quietly."
"That's because Dumbledore's hoping I'll play sacrificial lamb and no one else will have to get hurt," Harry pointed out, bitterness in his tone. Sirius' gaze darkened.
"Over my dead body," he growled. "Even if you do have to be the one to face Voldemort — when you're ready, when his horcruxes are dealt with — everyone seems to forget that there's a whole bunch of Death Eaters who will be happy to kill as many people as they can while your duel is going on."
"We'll deal with that when we get there," Harry assured. "Hell, even if it's only students on that battlefield, they'll be the best damn battle-ready students this castle has seen." He would make sure of that.
"Too right they will, with you in charge! That reminds me," Sirius added, "Moony said he's got a list of suggestions for you — some of his OWL and NEWT curriculum stuff, adapted a little bit. Y'know, a little less intense than the training you got." The dog animagus' lips twitched. "He's handing it over to Severus, so it should find its way to you soon."
"Brilliant." Having Remus' input on his teaching was invaluable. Sirius was right — the kind of training Harry had gone through in the summers was not exactly appropriate for the average Hogwarts student. "Happy to help, kiddo."
In some ways, Harry was glad Umbridge was such an incompetent teacher. He'd never have gained such a perfect way to prepare his peers for what was to come if she'd been decent.
.-.-.-.
Umbridge was still considering the necessity of the Gryffindor quidditch team by the weekend, so Harry was grounded — though, with the weather the way it was, he couldn't be too devastated about that.
And he had the perfect idea for a rainy day activity.
Making an excuse to Neville about needing to do some stuff by himself — which still felt novel, being able to tell his best friend he was just 'doing things' and not needing to give every little detail — Harry snuck down to Snape's private quarters, wearing some of Dudley's better fitting cast-offs beneath his invisibility cloak.
"Hi. Are you busy today?" he chirped, once he was safely warded inside the living room. Snape eyed him warily.
"That very much depends," was the drawled response.
"Well, I was just wondering. Basilisk parts are quite useful in potions, aren't they? And quite rare?"
The sudden interest lighting Snape's gaze almost made Harry laugh. "Explain."
Harry told the Slytherin about his little late-night jaunt down to the chamber; leaving out the whole part about Salazar's secret office.
"I wanted somewhere to work on magic without the school wards catching it. But the massive dead snake is a bit… off-putting. So, if you're free, I thought you might like to come help me figure out what to do with it. Since Remus keeps telling me I need adult supervision for dangerous things."
Dark eyes narrowed. "If you cared about adult supervision, you would have fetched me before you went down there alone," Snape pointed out, sighing at Harry's unrepentant grin. "Give me ten minutes."
Harry sat on the sofa, waiting for Snape to change and gather the equipment for harvesting the remains. Ten minutes later, the tall man was ready to go, a bulging satchel slung over his shoulder.
Having already done some exploring, Harry led the professor to a small snake carving on the wall not too far from his quarters. With a hiss, they were safely ensconced in the passageway. This one, too, was full of animal skeletons and moss, so Harry happily blasted it with cleaning charms as he walked. "Everything is disgusting," he warned, but Snape just hummed.
When they made it to the main Chamber, even the reserved Slytherin couldn't hide his gasp. Harry stepped aside, letting Snape get the full view of the Chamber proper — and the huge dead snake within.
Snape slowly approached the basilisk, his wide eyes trailing over its immense size. "Jesus fucking Christ, Potter," he breathed, and Harry almost tripped over his own feet; he had never heard Snape use such muggle swears in his life. "This thing was living under the castle the whole time?"
"I did tell you it was big," Harry said, only for the man to round on him.
"Big? Big! This has to be at least sixty foot of deadly serpent!" Snape turned back to the basilisk, running a gentle hand over the scales. "In remarkably good condition, too, having been dead for several years." He walked further up beside the body, finally coming to the mangled head.
"Fawkes clawed out its eyes," Harry said with an unnecessary gesture to the bloody holes gauged in its face. "And if the brain is useful for anything, I don't know what shape this one is in, because I sort-of stabbed it with a sword." Here he pointed out the hole in the roof of the snake's mouth. "Also there might still be venom in one of the fangs but the other one broke off in my arm." It was still there, actually, lying on the stone floor next to the congealed black ink-spill from Riddle's diary. "But whatever you can get from it that's useful, you're welcome to keep. I just want it out of here."
Snape looked like he was about to faint. Whether that was at the idea of Harry facing the snake at twelve, or the concept of being allowed to harvest and keep the entire thing, he wasn't sure.
"This snake; the Chamber?" Snape rounded on Harry, "these are the things you need adult supervision for."
"In my defence, we did bring Lockhart. An attempt at supervision was made."
From the look on Snape's face, Lockhart absolutely did not count.
"This is millions of galleons just of scale alone!" Snape actually looked conflicted. "I can't keep this, Potter. By all rights, this whole thing belongs to you. You could sell it for half the gold in Gringotts."
"I don't want half the gold in Gringotts," Harry pointed out dryly. "I don't want any of it. Except maybe enough scales for some battle armour, I do want that." Over the summer, Tonks had shown him her dragon-hide battle armour, and Harry was incredibly jealous. "You're just handing me a fortune in rare creature parts?" The Slytherin looked skeptical, and a little nauseous. "What do you want in return for such a gift."
"Buy Remus a decent pair of robes," came Harry's immediate response, a smile crossing his lips. "Seriously, Snape; take whatever you want. If it really makes you uncomfortable, just take the useful potions' ingredients and we can put the money from the scales in a vault for the school, or something." Once Dumbledore was long gone and unable to get his greedy hands on it, of course. "You're risking your neck and your job trying to keep me alive long enough to take down Voldemort. The least I can do is make sure you have plenty of money to live on if it all goes tits up."
The Potions Master shook his head, incredulous. "I could live a dozen lifetimes on the money from the fangs alone."
"Brilliant. Remus won't have to worry about keeping a job."
Harry was still grinning, even when Snape narrowed his gaze at him. "I know what you're doing, Potter," he declared. "Trying to sway me into accepting by using Remus. As if he would be any more likely to accept such a fortune from you."
"Then it's a good thing I'm giving it to you instead." Harry didn't back down. "We can argue all day if you want, but I've made my mind up. Whatever you can harvest, you can keep. I'll be over there practicing the Evaporation charm." He jerked a thumb at the pool of water, already on his way over. For a moment, he thought Snape might continue arguing — then there was a quiet sigh, and a call for Ceri.
The little elf appeared, and squeaked in fright at the sight of the snake. "Don't worry, it's dead," Snape assured her. "I'm going to skin it. I need you to bring me a large chest, something I can add an Expansion charm to."
Ceri nodded and vanished. From the other side of the chamber, Harry watched as Snape set down his satchel and began to remove various tools and jars from within. Then, to his surprise, the man shed his robe, revealing worn jeans and a threadbare black long-sleeve t-shirt. That was only for a moment, however — out of his satchel, he pulled a protective over-robe, shrugging it on.
Harry thought about offering to help. But, watching the way Snape began to cut into the snake's gums, carefully avoiding the sharp points of the fangs, he figured it was probably best left to the experts.
Knowing Harry's luck, he'd stab himself on another fang entirely by accident, and then where would they be?
.-.-.
At last, with a bit of assistance from McGonagall, the Gryffindor quidditch team was given the High Inquisitor's permission to reform. Angelina was so delighted, she scheduled a practice for that evening, determined to make up for lost time.
Naturally, that day also heralded one of the worst storms they'd seen all term.
"Oh, Harry!" George called across the Gryffindor common room, he and Fred grabbing Harry by the shoulders. He had just come back from dinner, planning on taking a little time to work on his animagus form before practice.
"Darling, favouritest little brother of ours," Fred continued sweetly. Harry tugged free of their grasp, eyeing them suspiciously.
"What do you want?"
The pair grinned innocently. "Well, my brother and I are in a bit of a predicament," Fred drawled.
"A predicament that is going to make tonight's quidditch practice exceedingly uncomfortable."
Harry looked out the window, where the sky was practically black with clouds, rain pouring down in sheets. "More uncomfortable than it's already going to be?" he asked doubtfully. Both redehads nodded.
"We've been working on a new Snackbox, see," Fred started.
"Fever Fudge," George said. "It's working great, gets your temperature right up and everything, except…"
"Except it keeps giving us these huge, pus-filled boils, and we can't figure out how to, ah, fix that." Fred shifted uncomfortably. Harry frowned — he didn't see any boils.
"Boils that will make it quite difficult to sit on our brooms for two hours."
It took a moment for Harry to figure it out, but when it clicked he grimaced in horror. "Oh, fuck."
"Quite," Fred agreed. "Angelina is already quite unimpressed with that situation, I don't think she'll be any more forgiving if we bail on our first practice in ages because of it."
"We've tried every counter-spell and healing charm we can think of," George huffed. "Ointments, potions, the lot. If we can't get them to go down, we'll have to go to Pomfrey." Both redheads looked horrified at the idea of taking that particular predicament to the school mediwitch. Harry didn't blame them.
"Seeing as you're fast becoming the new brain-box of Gryffindor," Fred complimented, "and we know how much Moony worries about your continued health and safety—"
"We were hoping you might have some ideas?" George's brown eyes were hopeful. Harry stared at them.
"You want me to look at your arses?"
"Only if your boyfriend won't get jealous," George teased, wiggling his eyebrows.
"If they're in as bad a shape as you say they are, I can't see it being a problem," Harry replied, deadpan. He frowned in thought; he did know quite a bit of healing magic now, after the three adults at Seren Du decided to cover all bases necessary for the occupational hazard of being Harry Potter.
"I'll see what I can do," Harry agreed, and was immediately tackled in a tight twin hug.
"Fantastic!" George slung an arm over his shoulders. "We thought we'd head down to the changing rooms early, if you're willing? Probably the best place to, ah, get a good look in private."
Harry sighed. "I'll go get my stuff."
The twins beamed at him, each kissing one of his cheeks. "Definitely our favourite little brother," Fred declared firmly.
Across the common room, Ron scowled.
.-.-.-.
Severus didn't get the chance to see Remus until the weekend, when the werewolf flooed into his private quarters, immediately leaning in for a kiss. Severus relaxed into the embrace, a flicker of amusement within him as the greying man let his nose slide down Severus' neck, scenting him quite blatantly. "Feeling possessive, are we?" he drawled. When Remus straightened up, his cheeks were flushed.
"It's been two weeks," he defended feebly.
The pair made themselves comfortable on the sofa, and Severus braced himself for what he was about to share with his partner. He could still hardly believe it himself.
"I promised you an explanation for why I did not visit last weekend," he began, trepidation gathering. Remus frowned.
"You said something important came up."
"I did," Severus assented. "I… perhaps it would be best if I just show you." He couldn't quite find the words.
Remus' frown grew puzzled, but he met Severus' gaze without hesitation, his eyes warm and trusting. So trusting, Severus' heart clenched. Would he ever get used to such a sight?
Pushing past his foolish flutter of emotion, he prodded out with his Legilimency, careful at first. As expected, the wolf reared to the forefront of Remus' mind, growling protectively. Severus pressed no further, waiting for the mind to recognise his own.
Mate, came a quiet, satisfied rumble, and the wolf began to retreat. Not far, but far enough for Severus to offer up his own memory in Remus' mind.
He started out at the beginning; Harry appearing at his quarters, dressed like a street urchin and looking entirely too pleased with himself. He let the memory play out, feeling Remus' sense of realisation dawn.
The memory continued; Severus preparing for Merlin only knew what — with a predictable surge of arousal in Remus' mind when the memory showed Severus changing into more appropriate clothes, something that left Severus equal parts amused and flattered — but as memory-Severus and memory-Harry stepped into the hidden passage down to the Chamber of Secrets, Remus' mind went quiet and still.
When they reached the basilisk, all Severus could feel was horror — his own, and his partner's.
He kept the memory going, long enough for Remus to see his cub's entirely too blasé attitude about facing the huge, deadly predator, only ending it when memory-Severus began the harvest. He pulled carefully out of Remus' mind, meeting glowing amber eyes.
"No wonder he hardly even blinked at fighting that dragon in the first task," was Remus' immediate response. He gripped Severus' hands tight. "It was so big, Severus. Those fangs…"
Severus made a noise of agreement. The bigger fangs had been the length of Severus' entire forearm.
To think, that idiot little Gryffindor, spelled to the gills with recklessness-inducing magic, had gone to face such a thing with only his useless sidekick and Gilderoy Bloody Lockhart for assistance.
Worse; from what Harry had told him, neither of the two even made it that far.
"There's a pensieve in the Potter family vaults," Remus said, apropos of nothing. "I know there is, because it used to belong to Monty. Next time Harry's at Gringotts, we are making him retrieve that pensieve, and we are sitting down and he is going to put in every memory of every ridiculous, foolhardy, terrifying thing that he has ever done. I can't take any more bloody surprises like that, Severus, I swear."
"You and me both," Severus agreed. He still didn't know the full details of what happened with Quirrell and the stone. Potter was remarkably evasive; like he knew none of them would approve of the situation.
"Thank Merlin the goblins broke the spells on him," Remus murmured, running a hand through his hair. "Can you imagine what he'd be like now if he was still under Dumbledore's influence?"
The thought made Severus scowl; Potter would very likely be the arrogant, idiotic little brat Severus had anticipated the day he'd started Hogwarts. The brat Dumbledore wanted Severus to see him as.
"I can't believe he just gave me the harvesting rights to that monstrosity," he muttered, incredulous. At that, Remus' smile softened.
"Generous to a fault, our cub," he mused fondly. His honey eyes grew teasing. "Once you're rich from it, you can take me out for a proper night on the town," he drawled lightly. "Muggle, of course." They couldn't risk being seen together anywhere magical, and they both knew it.
Severus smirked, bombarded with achingly fond memories of a time long-past. "Fish and chips on Brighton pier, two litre bottle of Strongbow, and that awful underground poetry bar?"
Remus laughed, the sound still fully capable of stopping Severus' heart. "Oh, you do know how to spoil a man," he declared, leaning in for a kiss. "It's not a poetry bar anymore, though. It's a drag club, I think. Or maybe a leather bar. Something queer and seedy."
Severus frowned. He supposed it was too much to ask for things to stay entirely the same, after sixteen years. "Hmm." He let one long arm curl around Remus' shoulders, pulling him close. "Could still be entertaining. Queer and seedy used to be right up your alley."
Remus snickered. "You never complained too much about any of those places," he reminded. His head came to rest on Severus' shoulder, and so Severus felt it when the man's whole body tensed. "Whatever it is, it'll have to wait a bit. Albus is sending me back to the werewolf packs."
Severus' hand curled tighter around the Gryffindor's bicep. "When?"
"I leave on Monday. Enough time to get settled before the next full. Should be back by Christmas at the latest."
The Slytherin sighed, letting his chin tilt down until his nose was buried in Remus' hair. Selfishly, he wanted to tell the werewolf not to go, that it wasn't worth it. But he couldn't bring Dumbledore's suspicion onto him like that. Besides, Severus was stuck at the school, under even tighter watch than usual with Umbridge sticking her nose in all over the place. He hardly saw Remus as it was.
One day, he promised himself, neither of them would be beholden to anyone but each other.
"I'm going to talk to the pack elders about Harry's offer," Remus piped up, one hand playing absently with a loose thread on the hem of Severus' shirt.
"So soon?"
"Better than letting them get swayed by Albus' pretty words," Remus pointed out. "Harry and his friends actually have a plan to back up their offer, rather than just a vague promise."
Severus knew that was the problem for the allied werewolf packs; it was all well and good Albus Dumbledore promising them equal rights, but when the man hadn't actually done anything to achieve that in decades — other than employ one singular werewolf, and allow him to be harassed from his post when the truth came out — his promises fell flat.
"Good luck, then, I suppose. Stay safe." Come back to me.
Every time Remus went to the werewolves, Severus didn't know which fear grew stronger — the fear of him getting into a dominance match he couldn't win, or the fear of him deciding he belonged there after all.
Remus leaned up, kissing his cheek, gaze as knowing as ever. Severus never could hide from him for long. "I'll be back in time for Christmas," he vowed. "Harry can actually come home for this one. Well, Grimmauld." Against Severus' cheek, the werewolf's nose wrinkled. "But close enough. I wouldn't miss it."
Severus hoped that would be the case.