The Oak King
Harry settled in at the Gryffindor table as they waited for the Sorting. Instead of Hagrid, Professor Grubbly-Plank had been at the boats to collect the new first-years. Hagrid was also absent from the head table.
“He can’t have left,” Ron said.
“You don’t think he’s…hurt or anything, do you?” Hermione said.
Harry shut his eyes, trying not to lose his patience. “He’s probably out treating with the giants,” he said. “Dumbledore mentioned giant envoys. You were in the same room when he said it.”
“That’s dangerous,” Hermione said. “Giants are violent!”
“Been listening to Ron, have you?” Harry said. “His mother is a giant, if you haven’t forgotten. Hagrid can take care of himself.”
“I didn’t forget, Harry, it’s just that giants—”
“Who’s that?” Ron asked, pointing to the staff table.
“The new defense teacher, I’d reckon,” Harry said impassively, looking over. He narrowed his eyes. “That’s Dolores Jane Umbridge, she works for the Ministry.”
“How do you know that?” Hermione asked.
“She was at my hearing, wasn’t she?” Harry said, accidentally taking a sip of pumpkin juice. He spat it back in the cup. “No wonder the first-years bounce off the walls.” He looked up at the staff table again. “A pink cardigan over robes? She could have at least got a pink cloak.”
They listened as the Sorting Hat sang a song of unity, which Harry clapped politely for. The Hat was leaving it a little late.
Harry was put off his meal as he watched Ron shovel unfathomable amounts into his mouth like some eldritch chipmunk.
Dumbledore announced Grubbly-Plank as the new Care teacher, which Harry approved of given the past two years of flobberworms and skrewts, and the new Defense teacher, Umbridge. The latter interrupted Dumbledore to give her own little speech. It was boring, and no one made much of an effort to hide that boredom, barring a few glassy-eyed prefects.
“The Ministry is interfering at Hogwarts,” Hermione said darkly.
“A high-level Ministry employee being on the staff didn’t clue you in?” Harry said.
Hermione glared at him, then shook her head. “We’ve got to show the first-years where to go. Come along, Ronald.”
The first-years seemed especially anxious around Harry this year, another impact the Daily Prophet was having on his life. He hadn’t felt it much during the summer, being insulated from the rest of the magical world and placed in an echo chamber called the Burrow. Back in Hogwarts, it was apparent how thoroughly maligned he had been. The first-years looked terrified of him.
Harry resolutely didn’t look at the Slytherin table, instead making his way to a fourth floor classroom. He sat at the teacher’s desk, discovering the chair was much more comfortable than the students', and laid his head down on his arms. He closed his eyes and waited.
It was nearly an hour later when Theo slipped into the room. “Malfoy’s letting power get to his head,” he said, sitting on the desk.
“This early in the year?”
Harry glanced up at Theo. He had grown taller over the summer, looking as worn as he ever did when returning to school.
“I missed you,” Harry blurted, burying his head in his arms.
“It was…fine,” Theo said, taking one of his hands. “Father was busy. He mostly left me alone. That book you gave me—”
“The one you still won’t tell me the title of?”
“Yes, that one. It’s about locking and unlocking.”
“More than doors, I imagine?”
“Yes. It’s been useful.” Theo got off the desk. “Stand up, I want to try something.”
Harry pushed the chair back, noting that Theo still had his hand. “What is it?”
“Sit on the desk.”
Bemused, Harry did so, looking up at Theo. “You’re too tall, it’s unfair.”
Theo had a complicated look on his face, and poked at Harry’s legs.
“What now?” Harry asked, watching him move closer. “I’m not sure—”
Theo was blushing now. “It’s hard to explain.” Telegraphing his moves, Theo slightly lifted one of Harry’s legs, then put his arms around him.
“Do you…do you want me to be a koala or something?”
Theo made a muffled noise. “You’re really warm.”
Harry laughed, but obligingly wrapped his arms and legs around Theo.
A little after curfew they went their separate ways. The Fat Lady demanded the password.
"I haven't got it."
"No password, no entrance."
"Fine by me," Harry said, walking away. He could sleep in the kitchens. People did that in castles.
Harry walked back through the empty halls, to the basement where the kitchens were. Inside he found the house-elves busily cleaning. Dobby was the first to greet him.
"I don't have the password for the common room," he explained to his friend. "Can I sleep here?"
Dobby prevaricated for a bit, and Harry realized him staying overnight might make the house-elves anxious. "It doesn't have to be here, but is there anywhere else I can sleep? I could find an empty classroom…"
"There is!" Dobby squeaked. "The Come and Go Room!"
Harry thanked him, then made his way all the way back up to the seventh floor to find the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls how to dance. It was a noble effort, and the trolls had a certain presence which more traditional ballerinas lacked.
He walked past the wall, thinking of his room at Grimmauld Place, and opened a familiar looking door to a near perfect replica. He got on the bed and pulled out his mirror to call Sirius.
"You'll never guess where I am."
Harry walked down for breakfast, flush with excitement over his new discovery. The Come and Go room, or the Room of Requirement, was a castle secret of monumental proportions. The sheer potential of it was staggering. He could recreate the training room at Grimmauld Place. Could it do just one room? An entire house? Could it replicate all the contents? Food? Animals? It had added a bathroom for him too, so he knew the space was malleable. He’d written to Theo about it, where it was and how to get inside, as soon as he was done bragging to Sirius. True, it was something he learned from Dobby, but no one ever thought to ask house-elves for anything. They were constantly underestimated.
They wouldn’t have to find abandoned classrooms anymore.
He walked into the Great Hall in a relatively good mood, until he saw how worried his friends looked.
“Where have you been!” Hermione shouted. “We’ve been worried sick! I was just about to speak with Professor McGonagall—”
“I’m sorry,” Harry said, sliding into a seat. “I didn’t have the password by the time I got back, and the Fat Lady wouldn’t let me in.” He poured himself a cup of tea. “It’s not as if she’s known me since I was eleven, or that I’m one of the most famous wizards alive.”
“Then where were you?”
“Kipped in an old classroom,” Harry said lightly.
“Where did you go after dinner?” Ron asked.
“Walked around the castle, needed to clear my head.” Harry took a sip of his tea. “Lost track of time. What’s the password, anyway?”
“It’s one I’m actually going to be able to remember,” Neville said. He opened his mouth, paused, then said, “It’s the name of that plant I showed you.”
“Which one?” Harry asked, smiling. “That’s rather sly of you.”
“Yeah, well,” Neville said, turning back to his food, “I remember what happened third year when I ran my mouth about what happened on the train. Sorry about that, I never did apologize.”
“Sorry about Hermione petrifying you first year.”
“Harry!”
“Listen, mate,” Ron started. “Last night Seamus—”
Angelina Johnson interrupted, “Hi, Harry. Good summer?”
“Hi—”
“I’ve been made captain.”
“Well deserved,” Harry said, nodding.
“Since Oliver’s gone, we need a new keeper. Tryouts are this Friday, and I want the whole team there.”
“Yes, captain.”
Angelina rolled her eyes goodnaturedly and left to find the rest of the team.
They got their class schedules and Ron swiftly demonstrated why he shouldn't be a prefect.
It was an awful schedule for the first day. Binns, double Snape, Trelawney, and double Umbridge. Harry was glad to have Ancient Runes instead of Divination to break up the tedium. He’d skimmed the Slinkhard book. Harry wasn’t opposed to nonviolent approaches to defense, but Slinkhard’s prose was anemic, his methodology untested and ignorant, and assigning such a book on the brink of magical civil war was suicidal. Voldemort wasn’t going to be talked down. He’d crucio you before you got a word out.
“I wish Fred and George would hurry up with those Skiving Snackboxes,” Ron said wistfully.
“Hogwarts prefects surely don’t wish to skive off lessons?” Fred said, him and George sitting down next to them.
Harry listened as they explained their new products, which were in the testing stage. He nudged George and whispered, “Remember our deal?”
George looked over at Ron then leaned down. “We’ve been slipping them in his meals, but we need a larger test group.”
Harry nodded, taking a sip of his tea.
“You can’t advertise for testers on the Gryffindor notice board,” Hermione was saying.
“Says who?” George asked.
“Says me. And Ron.”
“Leave me out of it!”
“Hermione,” Harry said, “you can’t just make up rules like that.”
“I’m a prefect.”
“Yeah, but you’re not a god, or some petty tyrant like Malfoy. Your job is to apply the school’s rules, not enforce your own morality.”
“That is not what I’m doing!”
“Then find a rule that says Fred and George can’t advertise for testers!”
Harry felt a hand on his arm. “What?” he snapped.
Fred gave him a concerned look. “It’s alright Harry, she’ll be singing a different tune around O.W.L.s.”
“Half our year had breakdowns,” George added, looking at Harry. “Seems it’s started a bit early for you lot.”
Harry took a steadying breath, discreetly wiping away the soot marks that had appeared on his cup as Fred and George regaled them with fifth year horror stories. They talked about how they considered not coming back for their seventh year—they were starting their own business, they didn’t need N.E.W.T.s—but decided to use the opportunity for market research. If Harry’s friends weren’t trapped here for the school year, he would have been more opposed to returning himself.
As Ron talked about being an auror—a career Harry despised on principle, barring Tonks—and Hermione about the political potential of S.P.E.W., Harry felt out of place. He would never need to work. He could be a recluse and study esoteric magics with Theo. Maybe he’d become an Unspeakable. The way Sirius described them they seemed more adjacent to the Ministry than part of it, regularly ignoring attempts by the Ministry to interfere or shut them down.
In Potions, Snape gave them a little pep talk.
“I take only the very best in my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying goodbye.” He focused on Harry, sneering. It was a miracle his face didn’t get stuck like that.
Harry raised his hand.
“What is it, Potter?”
“Could you clarify very best?”
“I require an O on your Potions O.W.L.”
Harry nodded, smiling to himself. He would get that O if it was the last thing he did. He would do it out of pure spite.
“But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell…”
Snape assigned them the Draught of Peace, and Harry gathered the ingredients with maniacal glee. Before he was shunted into the Chudley Cannons shrine of Ron’s room for the end of his summer, he had started working on the potions from Regulus’ fifth year books. The Draught of Peace happened to be one of them.
Snape swept by to criticize his work. “Potter, who helped you?”
The surface of his potion was a silver vapor, almost perfectly identical to what was shown in the book.
“No one, sir. I’ve been studying.” He paused, then added. “I do have my mum’s potions books. I hear she was one of the top students in the class.”
Snape looked at him, face curiously blank, then walked away to find someone else to condemn. He chose Neville, his next favorite victim, and vanished his entire potion, giving him zero marks for the day.
“That was really unfair,” Hermione said as they sat down for lunch. “Goyle’s broke the flagon and set his robes on fire.”
“When has Snape ever been fair to us? Me and Nev especially.”
“I thought he might be better this year,” she said, “given the Order and everything.”
“Maybe it’s a cover,” Harry said doubtfully. He couldn’t imagine his mother being friends with someone who acted the way Snape did. He wondered what she had seen in him.
“Poisonous toadstools don’t change their spots,” Ron said. “Where’s the evidence he ever stopped working for You-Know-Who?”
“It’s not as if Dumbledore would share that evidence with you,” Hermione snapped.
“You two are prefects now,” Harry cut in. “You need to start working together, but you’re always having a go at each other!”
Harry stood up, abandoning his food. “I’m done.”
He walked out of the Great Hall, outraged. He was half up the marble staircase when he heard someone coming up behind him. He turned around angrily, but paused when he saw it was Theo.
Theo grabbed his arm and pulled him into an empty room.
“What is it?” Harry asked, trying to control his tone.
“You were loud,” Theo said. “I thought you were working on this. What happened to clearing your mind?”
Theo was right. Harry closed his eyes, breathing in slowly, even as his heart tried to beat its way out of his chest. Slowly, the all-consuming rage he felt abated, leaving him light headed and disoriented.
“I don’t know why I got so angry at them fighting,” Harry said faintly.
Theo placed his hand over Harry’s scar. “It’s warm.”
“You said I’m always warm,” Harry said, blushing.
“Sowilo means sun,” Theo said. “It’s the source of warmth, heat, light, life.”
“So’s the earth’s core,” Harry said, looking up at him.
Theo smiled, then pressed their foreheads together. “I’ve got a free period.”
Harry looked to the side, suddenly nervous. “I’ve got Runes next. I’ve got to keep up with you somehow.”
“Ron and I have stopped arguing,” Hermione said, sitting primly next to him in Ancient Runes. “It’d be nice if you stopped taking your temper out on us.”
“I’m not—”
“It’s not our fault how others have been treating you,” she went on, taking out her notes.
“Maybe I didn’t put it nicely, but I don’t think what I said was wrong.”
“Class is starting.”
Gritting his teeth, Harry turned to watch Professor Babbling construct a runic array on the board.
After Runes, Harry and Hermione walked to Defense together in stony silence. Harry didn’t think he had overreacted; he had felt much angrier than he expressed. But the strength of that anger unnerved him, and he knew if he didn’t deal with it somehow he could hurt someone without even meaning to.
Fifth year Defense, from the outset, was another wash. Umbridge wanted them as a group to respond with Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge and Yes, Professor Umbridge. Harry refused to participate.
Umbridge’s course aims would have been interesting with another teacher. Learning the laws regarding use of defensive magic in particular. Given who she was and who she worked for, Harry thought he’d get more out of learning that on his own, especially when it came to circumventing, evading, or outright rejecting the law. His godfather had escaped Azkaban, after all.
When she assigned them in-class reading, Harry raised his hand.
“Yes, Mr. Potter?”
“I’ve already read the book, Professor,” he said. “Is there going to be a lecture?”
“It won’t hurt to refresh your memory, dear,” she said with a saccharine smile. “Please read the assignment.”
Harry had not been prepared to bring another book to class, not on the first day. He was considering feigning an illness to go to the hospital wing when he noticed Hermione hadn’t opened her book at all. She just stared at Umbridge with her hand in the air. Umbridge ignored her. Minutes passed until Hermione was finally acknowledged.
“Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?”
“Not about the chapter, no. I’ve got a query about your course aims.”
“And your name is?”
“Hermione Granger.”
“I think the course aims are perfectly clear, Miss Granger.”
“Well, I don’t. There’s nothing written about using defensive spells.”
Harry closed his eyes.
“Using defensive spells? I can’t imagine any situation…”
“We aren’t going to be using spells?”
“Surely the whole point of defense…”
“If we’re going to be attacked…”
“It won’t be risk-free…”
“Your hand is not up!”
Harry, resigned, put his hand up.
“Yes, Mr. Potter?” Umbridge asked.
“I was taken from school and assaulted last year,” he said, putting his hand down. “There are extant threats in the real world that Slinkhard doesn’t equip us for.”
“This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world.”
“The school is part of the real world, and when we leave there are threats waiting for us, from violent witches and wizards, to manticores and nundus.”
“There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter.”
Harry clenched his fists, wishing he’d never engaged her at all, but he didn’t want to abandon Hermione to this parody of debate, nor did he want his actual experiences dismissed as delusion.
“Yes, there is. He goes by the name Voldemort. I’ve seen him. I made it clear to our entire world what happened to me that night. Denying it doesn’t make him go away.”
“Ten points from Gryffindor.”
“Excuse me?”
Umbridge stood up, leaning forward over her desk. “You have been told there is a certain dark wizard at large once again. This is a lie.”
“I’ll take Veritaserum right now,” Harry announced, standing up himself. “I’ll undergo any interrogation. I am not lying and I would not lie about something so serious!”
“Detention, Mr. Potter! And sit back down! As I was saying…”
Harry seethed, feeling foolish for not seeing how easily he had been baited. Of course she was towing the Ministry line, and he was the biggest opposition to it, at least in her mind, in this classroom. He was living proof of everything the Ministry had spent months denying, a rejection of the complacency the Daily Prophet spewed out.
Harry got his bag and left the classroom.
Rumors of his argument with Umbridge spread like wildfire. Everyone was talking about him. No one seemed to care he was a student like them, a person with thoughts and feelings. Feelings he hid from himself just so he could get through a meal.
His observations were detached. Did they think of him as a person at all?
He resolved to eat in the kitchens from then on.
Harry vanished his snail, feeling no small amount of existential dread. Where had it gone? Would it ever return? Flitwick held no answers, preoccupied with vanished desks and half-vanished snails writhing in voiceless agony.
The twins had drawn Hermione's ire by testing their products on first-years. Harry agreed they were too young to understand or consent to such a thing, and resolved to talk to Fred and George. He had also seen Hermione planting house-elf sized clothing around the common room. She didn't seem to understand the distinction between being given clothing and touching clothing, nor that she wasn't the person who could dismiss the Hogwarts house-elves. That power remained with the headmaster.
Their first Care lesson was on bowtruckles. Harry had fun feeding them woodlice, unconcerned by Hagrid's continued absence. Harry knew where he was, if not the exact location, and Grubbly-Plank was actually teaching them. He was too entertained by the bowtruckle's antics to pay attention to whatever Malfoy was saying, and was pleased to see Theo working on a portrait of his own bowtruckle nearby.
Harry hated that they couldn't work together. Maybe he could convince Grubbly-Plank to assign inter-house pairs.
Afterwards, they intercepted a fourth year Herbology class. Luna floated out, radish earrings swinging, and declared, “I believe He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back, and I believe you fought him and escaped from him.”
"Thank you, Luna," Harry said, while some of his classmates laughed at her. "At least someone around here has common sense."
On his way to detention with Umbridge, Harry ran into an irate Angelina.
"Did you forget about keeper tryouts?” She demanded. “How I wanted the whole team there?”
“Honestly? Yes,” Harry said. “The seeker doesn’t need to worry about team dynamics like that. I don’t even need to practice with the rest of you. My only concern is being better than the other seeker, and we both know I’m one of the best this school has ever seen.”
“I don’t care,” Angelina said. “I want you to go straight to Umbridge and get out of that detention!”
“I’m not eleven anymore,” Harry said, readjusting his bag. “I respect that you're the captain, but I’ve got bigger things to worry about than quidditch. I’ve even considered quitting the team.”
“Potter—”
“I’ll still show up for games if you need me,” Harry said. “I think you should do tryouts for a new seeker as well.”
Angelina glared at him, then stormed away.
When Harry arrived at Umbridge's office he didn't bother asking to be let off. She did inform him he had an entire week of detention for walking out of class.
"You'll be doing some lines for me. Not with your own quill! You'll be using a special one of mine."
She handed him a thin black quill with a preternaturally sharp nib.
"This is a blood quill," Harry said, looking it over. He knew goblins had used them for some of the oldest vault contracts, binding even during their rebellions. The Black family had one as well. "Where did you even get this?"
"I want you to write, I must not tell lies," she said, ignoring him.
Harry stood up. "Absolutely not."
"And what exactly do you think you're doing, Mr. Potter?"
Harry's wand was in his hand. He stuffed the quill into his bag and backed out of the room. "I'm not serving this detention."
She gave him a sick smile. "Are you so eager to be expelled again, dear?"
"That threat won't work on me." He reached the door. It was locked. He thought desperately of it being unlocked and it slammed open. Harry turned and ran. It was still dinner. He knew everyone would be in the Great Hall.
He sprinted for the staff table. McGonagall was standing up. "Mr. Potter, what are you doing? I believe you have detention!"
Harry stopped himself from crashing into their table, dug around his bag and pulled out the quill, all but shoving it into McGonagall's face. "She tried to make me do lines with this! A blood quill!"
"Potter, where did you get that?"
"I just told you! Umbridge gave it to me. I told her I wasn't going to do it and ran straight here!"
McGonagall took the quill from him carefully. "Albus…"
Dumbledore stood. "I believe I need to clarify some things with Dolores."
"We will discuss your detentions another time, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, standing to follow Dumbledore. "For now, join the rest of your house."
Harry did his week of detention with Snape, scrubbing cauldrons. He wasn't sure what happened with Umbridge, but he hoped they'd preempted her physically torturing students in detentions.
Ron made keeper, which made Harry even less interested in being on the team. The other boy was constantly around. Three weeks of being in his cramped room at the Burrow, being in the same house at school, the same dorm, most of their classes together. They shared blessedly few meals, but the abundance of Ron was wearing his patience thin.
Harry avoided the Great Hall and ate in the kitchens. Theo was sometimes there, but they didn't want to be noted as missing at the same times so it wasn't for every meal, or even every day.
One morning there was an article in the Daily Prophet about Sturgis Podmore, an Order member, trying to break into a high security door at the Ministry. He'd been sentenced to six months Azkaban. Harry was appalled that something like an attempted break-in equated to six months of torture.
Harry had ultimately agreed to attend some of the team practices, and was curious to see how Ron would play. After breakfast he went down to the pitch.
Malfoy and an assortment of other Slytherins came by to make classist and racist comments. Mocking Ron's broom, Angelina's braids, Harry's frequent hospital visits, though he hadn't been for a while. Ron was a mess, thrown off what little game he had by the taunting. Angelina was at her wit's end trying to get him in line.
Ron broke Katie Bell's nose with a bad pass and it wouldn't stop bleeding, likely due to a certain Weasley product, so practice was cut short. Harry hadn't even done anything but watch the chaos unfold, cementing his belief that seekers weren't really part of the team dynamic. Nothing else mattered but getting the snitch.
After their failed practice Ron was in a foul mood. His ire was stoked by a letter from Percy, praising him for donning the yoke of authority by being a prefect, and suggesting he distance himself from Harry. Sadly, Ron tore up the letter and copied homework off of Hermione to blow off steam.
Harry left to find Theo in the library.
Dolores Jane Umbridge was front page news, a dubious honor given it was the Daily Prophet.
Ministry Seeks Educational Reform
Dolores Umbridge Appointed First-Ever High Inquisitor
"It's like they don't know anything about muggles," Harry said. "The Spanish Inquisition wasn't that long ago. Did they forget about the witch trials?"
Hermione read it aloud for them, though it contained little new information. Dumbledore had lost his positions as Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump, which Harry had always been critical of, but given the political climate was troublesome. Two members of the Wizengamot, Marchbanks and Ogden, allies of Dumbledore, had resigned for no discernible reason. Harry put his hands over his face, suppressing the urge to scream. It was so stupid.
Umbridge took to her new role like a toad to a swamp. She sat in on all of Harry's classes, interrupting his teachers and further sabotaging what little education he was receiving.
In Defense, Hermione had gone and memorized Slinkhard in an attempt to call out Umbridge, not really understanding that the woman didn't respond to logic or rationality. When Umbridge praised Quirrell's age-appropriate teaching, Harry had to cover his mouth to stop from laughing himself sick.
“I was thinking that maybe the time’s come when we should just…do it ourselves,” Hermione said one evening.
“We’ve only been in school a week,” Harry said, writing in his journal. He needed to order new ones soon, they were almost out of pages. Hedwig had gone on holiday as a golden eagle, so he’d have to ask Sirius to place the order for him. He didn’t trust the school owls.
“The sooner the better,” Hermione said. “This is our O.W.L. year.”
“Do what ourselves?” Ron asked.
“Defense,” Harry said. “What else?”
“Come off it. Extra work? It’s only the second week and me and Harry are already behind on homework.”
“I’m actually not,” Harry said.
“Then what are you writing about all the time?”
“This is much more important than homework!”
Hermione’s face burned with righteousness as she rose in defense of her idea. “We need to prepare ourselves. We need to defend ourselves! We need a proper teacher!”
“Like who?” Harry asked. “Lupin?”
“No, not Lupin. He’s too busy with the Order, and we’d only get to see him on Hogsmeade weekends.”
“Maybe an upper year can help,” Harry said. “They’ve already done O.W.L.s.”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m talking about you, Harry!”
Harry wrote in his journal, H wants me to teach DADA
“Have you forgotten how unpopular I am this year? And last year, and second year for that matter. Who’d want to be taught by me?”
You’d be excellent at it, Theo wrote, but I don’t think this is a good idea
“But you’re the best in our year at Defense!”
Hermione and Ron talked at him about his various feats through the years. He didn’t need to be reminded that he had murdered a man when he was eleven, or killed an ancient creature while dying himself at twelve, or saved Sirius from having his soul extracted, or the unrelenting horror of the third task. Harry knew he was a consummate survivor.
How do you think Umbridge would react?
I know, Harry wrote, but this could save lives
Harry had never been in a dive before, and the Hog’s Head was setting the bar high. It was a cramped space, lit with stubby tallow candles which left everything with a thin layer of grease. The single window was coated with grime, and the stone floor was so filthy he suspected life might have begun developing. The bleeding pig's head on the sign was more of a warning than an invitation.
The clientele were an interesting mix. A man with a head wrapped in grimy bandages doing shots, two people from Yorkshire dressed like dementors, a witch in a full body veil. Harry loved it. He saw another tall, shadowed figure in a corner and held back a smile.
"We really stand out," Harry said, looking at his two blatantly Hogwarts-aged friends. "Maybe we should have met in the castle. Has it occurred to you Umbridge could be under that?" He looked at the witch under the veil.
"We aren't breaking any rules," Hermione said. "We aren't out of bounds, students are allowed in the Hog's Head, and we are allowed to form study groups."
"And how long will we retain those rights if this gets out?"
The barman, an old man with lanky gray hair and an unpleasant expression, approached them from the back room. He was thin and tall, and looked vaguely familiar. Harry fought to keep his face blank when he saw the man's eyes.
No wonder it smelled like goats.
"What?" he grunted.
"Three butterbeers, please," Hermione said.
"And a shot of firewhiskey," Harry added.
The man pulled out three bottles that had seen better days, ignoring Harry’s additional request. Harry paid him and followed his friends to a corner table. He pouted when the bandaged man at the bar got another shot.
“Who’s meeting us here?” Harry asked, using his sleeve to wipe off the bottle.
“Just a couple of people.”
Twenty-five people showed up.
The barman begrudgingly unearthed enough butterbeers for all.
There were people from all houses except Slytherin. Harry had talked to Theo about it, but Harry was anathema to Slytherin, if not individually then by their peers. They did practice together, though Theo was less interested in spellcasting than other forms of magic, such as enchantments and ritual magic. Things that took research, experimentation, patience. Harry’s magic had been shaped by necessity and circumstance. It was no mystery why he was the best at defense.
Harry watched the group, answered their callous and invasive questions about all the horrible shit that had happened to him at school, listened to them argue back and forth. He would not have gone about it the way Hermione had, but it was her show. If she wanted to argue people into agreeing instead of presenting an ultimatum—join or don’t, take it or leave it—that was up to her.
The most interesting thing he learned was that Fudge had an army of heliopaths, hiding a smile as Luna criticized Hermione’s standards of proof. They briefly discussed when and where they were going to meet, deciding on neither. Harry knew the Room of Requirement would be a good place, but he didn’t want to give it up. Perhaps one of their common rooms? He didn’t think any of the Gryffindors would betray them, and the common room was already a rowdy place. Maybe they’d encourage some of the lower years to form their own study groups. Or, as was increasingly apparent to Harry, an anti-Ministry coterie with him as the figurehead.
Harry was forcefully reminded of Sirius and his parents being headhunted by Dumbledore while in school. He glanced at the barman, who had been observing them the whole time. It was impossible not to; the bar was packed to bursting with students making no effort to be discreet.
Hermione pulled a piece of parchment and a quill from her bag and made everyone sign it. Harry didn’t. He knew Hermione was too intelligent to have physical proof something like this was going on, and he wondered what, exactly, she had made the others sign.
“I think that went quite well,” Hermione said once they had left.
“That Zacharias bloke…”
Harry waited until they had turned onto the main street and got a good distance away before he made his move.
“I think I’ve dropped something,” Harry said, patting himself down. “I need to go back and look.”
“What is it? We can help you find it,” Hermione said.
“No, it’s alright,” Harry said, waving them off. “You go on ahead. I need some time to think about what just happened anyway. See you later.”
Harry ran back in the direction of the Hog’s Head, slowing down when he got to its gruesome sign, and kept walking past. He walked right out of the village, and swung around until he reached the stile Sirius had described. He found Theo waiting there.
"Hey," he said, looking over Theo's shoulder, scanning the area. No one lived this far out of town, and while there were houses he doubted anyone would recognize him from such a distance. He pulled Theo into a hug.
Harry wasn't sure how he felt after the meeting, but when he held Theo it made him feel much better.
"Sirius told me there's a cave up here," he said, taking Theo's hand and leading him uphill.
"Is there any reason you're taking me to a cave?" Theo asked, leaning down to look at him.
Harry turned his face away. "You're bold."
"I blame you for that. You must be rubbing off on me."
Harry cleared his throat and said in a strangled voice, "What did you think?"
"I wouldn't be surprised if the whole school knew by tomorrow," Theo said, "but we were the only Hogwarts students in there."
"Does that matter? I'm sure someone noticed a bunch of students headed for the Hog's Head."
They paused where a large log had fallen across the path. Instead of using magic, or going around, or anything sensible, Harry climbed it first then helped Theo over. They continued up the path.
"The only other person who looked interested was the owner," Theo said.
"Aberforth Dumbledore."
Theo looked at him, startled. "I'm sorry?"
"Dumbledore's brother. He mentioned him to me once. Hermione and Ron were there too. Said he was illiterate and did some inappropriate charms on goats."
Theo tightened his fingers briefly. "Dumbledore might know."
"We have to assume so."
It was early October, and the leaves were beginning to turn. The sun filtered through the trees, casting Theo in its ethereal light. He looked older, not in age, but something ancient and unknowable that had passed out of the world. A rider in Wild Hunt, dark, ruthless, running him down. Harry couldn't look away from him. He would die of it.
Harry pulled Theo to a stop under an exhausted oak tree that sprawled under its heavy limbs, a tangle of roots breaking through the path.
Theo looked down at him, curious. "What is it?"
Harry reached up and kissed him.