lomonaaeren

Harry stood up from the Gryffindor table, swallowing a little. Today was the first Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch game where he would be playing against Adrian in two years. At least whoever the actual Slytherin Captain was this time had had the good sense to put Adrian back on the team.

Harry couldn’t help shooting a glance across the Great Hall. Adrian was sitting beside his teammates and eating like all the rest of them, with a calm, bored expression on his face. He looked at Harry as if he’d never touched him.

“Can I do it? Can I do it?”

Harry shook aside the temptation to keep staring at Adrian and turned to his best friend, who was so nervous that Harry wondered if something spontaneous would happen to him before they got on the pitch. “You’re going to be fine, Ron.”

“But you saw how I let through some of the Quaffles in practice…”

“You’re going to do fine, or I’ll know why not,” Kate Bell said, pausing behind them.

“Yes, ma’am!”

Harry hoped that his snappy salute to Katie would calm Ron down, but Ron just shook and trembled more as they walked out to get their brooms and robes.

Harry sighed a little. He hoped that they would win, or Adrian was probably going to be intolerable.

*

Harry was distinctly pleased, as they rose from the pitch, to notice that Malfoy looked ruffled. He kept glaring around at Harry, at Ron, at the other Quidditch players, as though he thought someone was going to sneak up behind him and yank on his robes.

Not a bad idea, really.

“Cat got your tongue, Malfoy?” Harry taunted as he swept past him and jerked his broom back and forth as if he’d seen the Snitch. Of course he hadn’t, but it made Malfoy, like the inferior player he was, glance back and forth wildly.

“What did you do with it?”

“I haven’t swallowed the Snitch this time.”

“No! My notes! My song!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Malfoy.”

And since Harry really didn’t, Malfoy just cursed him and took off in another direction. Harry turned back to keep an eye on the Bludgers, and caught a glance from Adrian, who had the Quaffle for a moment until a coordinated attack from Angelina and Katie took it away from him.

Spontaneous? Harry mouthed.

Adrian’s smile glinted for a second before he dived out of the way and spiraled up beneath Katie to grab the Quaffle again.

Harry threw himself into the game. Ron was missing Quaffle after Quaffle, but the Gryffindor Chasers were good enough to keep them from falling hopelessly behind, and Fred and George operated like one brain in two bodies. He danced through the Bludgers and led Malfoy on a neverending chase.

Malfoy’s broom wasn’t as fast as the Firebolt. He wasn’t as fast as Harry. He wasn’t as graceful, as skilled and confident in the air.

Harry’s training sessions with Adrian had improved his skills as much as they’d improved Adrian’s.

But, of course, that was the point, and the same reason that Adrian and his spontaneity had happened to Malfoy’s notes, whatever they’d been. Adrian wanted to win a fair game. To him, nothing else mattered.

Of course, that didn’t keep him from snatching the Quaffle out of the air when he could get it and flying at Ron frighteningly fast. Ron dived to the side, and Adrian sent the Quaffle through.

Cheers broke out from the Slytherin stands. Harry saw Fred and George charge in Adrian’s direction, and he promptly shot into the air and then back down again, around and around the pitch, scanning for the Snitch.

The only way to prevent further humiliation for Ron and damage to Adrian was to find the Snitch quickly.

“Losing your temper, Potty?”

Harry arrowed forwards, Malfoy right behind him. Then Harry spun the broom so that he was riding backwards and smirked at Malfoy, who gaped at him with his mouth hanging open.

“Just proving how much better I am than you,” Harry said flippantly.

Malfoy opened his mouth to shout, and one of Fred’s Bludgers, which Harry had seen coming, slammed into his shoulder. Malfoy cried out and wheeled to the side, clutching his collarbone and whimpering.

He really doesn’t deal with pain well, Harry thought gleefully, and descended like a hawk as he saw the Snitch ahead.

He grabbed it and held it up, shouting out loud. Immediate cheers broke out from the Gryffindor stands, and Harry saw Ron drag himself back onto his broom and smile with something like relief.

Harry caught Adrian’s eye on the way as he flew over to get hugged by his teammates, and Adrian tilted his head towards him. His face was flushed, exhilarated.

He might have lost, but he got the fair game he wanted.

*

“I know you had something to do with my notes getting destroyed, Potty.”

Harry rolled his eyes and turned around. He was on his way back from another detention with Umbridge, and all he wanted to do was let his hand rest in the combination of potions that Adrian had prepared for him earlier and then go to sleep. He didn’t want to be debating his nonexistent crimes with Malfoy in an empty corridor.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about, Malfoy.”

“I had notes for a song that was going to show everyone exactly who Weasley is.” Malfoy stepped towards Harry, one hand resting on his wand. “How he was born in a bin and always lets the Quaffle in.”

“Wow, how long did it take you to come up with that one?” Harry had to admit that maybe the words would have destroyed Ron’s confidence, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a stupid rhyme.

Malfoy puffed up and opened his mouth, but Adrian’s voice spoke in a low growl from the corridor behind him. “Piss off, Malfoy. Potter’s mine.”

“He destroyed my notes!”

“Then it’s up to me to punish him. Bugger off.”

Malfoy hesitated as he looked at Adrian. Harry knew that Malfoy’s family was wealthier than Adrian’s and had the “prestige” of being among the Death Eaters, which maybe meant that he would challenge Adrian. But Adrian loomed there with his muscles showing as he folded his arms, and Malfoy must have decided that he didn’t need to challenge his Housemate that badly.

“This isn’t over,” he hissed at Harry, and stalked off down the corridor.

“Good job on looking intimidating,” Harry whispered, when he was sure Malfoy was out of earshot.

Adrian ignored him, staring unhappily at the bloody lines on the back of Harry’s hand. “I told you to stop provoking her.”

Harry closed his eyes, fighting back the surge of anger and the pain in his scar that seemed to show up all the time lately. “It’s hard when she says such provoking things,” he muttered.

“Then I’ll have to stop her.”

“Adrian, you can’t—do something to her without being obvious.”

“But I can do something to her Blood Quills.”

“You can?”

Adrian had a frightening smile, sometimes, although Harry didn’t think that many people would shiver at the sight of it for the same reasons that he was. “I’ve been studying the wards on her office, and practicing with fire spells. Yeah, I can do something.”

Harry bit his lip as he thought about what it would be like not to have to use the Quills in detention, and then swallowed and nodded. “That would be wonderful.”

“Then go soak your hand, and remember that this is the last time you’ll have to do it.”

That didn’t happen immediately, of course, because Harry had to kiss his boyfriend, and that got rather involved. But by the time they released each other, and even though they were both panting a little, Adrian’s eyes were fiery with determination.

“Go on, and remember that this is the last time you’ll have to do it,” he repeated.

Harry flung him a small smile and went on to the Gryffindor common room, where Hermione and Ron would be waiting with the right combination of potions. He daydreamed all the way there of what he could do for Adrian, for doing such a wonderful thing for him.

Annoyingly, he couldn’t come up with much. But he would just have to do better.

*

“If anyone knows anything about a teensy fire that happened to take place, I would appreciate the knowledge.”

Umbridge’s smile was tight as her eyes swept across the room. They stopped and lingered more than once on Harry, but Harry painted his face with innocent confusion and just sat there, and Umbridge had to look past him.

Of course Harry knew what had happened, and he rewarded Adrian for it with plenty of snogging later than night. But no one was going to tell Umbridge.

It was enough for Ron and Hermione that Harry was coming back without bloody lines on his hand anymore.

*

“Are you okay, Harry?”

Harry looked up with a wistful little smile. Sirius was standing in the door of the Grimmauld Place library, where Harry had come to think and dream and be alone for a bit. He and Adrian had agreed to wait to exchange Christmas gifts until Harry got back to Hogwarts, since an owl flying in with a gift for just Harry might be a little suspicious.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“I—you’ve been so quiet. I thought you might still be upset that you couldn’t come here during the summer.”

“I was a little irritated, yeah. But I understand why Dumbledore thought staying in the Muggle world would be good for me, so I could get away from the people who might gape at me and ask about Cedric’s death.”

Sirius stepped into the library and ruffled his hair. “I could tell you some stories about your dad, if it would help.”

It wasn’t really connected to what Harry had said, but he accepted that. Sirius had been in Azkaban for twelve years. Harry wasn’t going to demand the impossible of him, and sometimes, connected conversations were impossible. “Sure, I’d like that. But can you tell me something about my mum, too? I feel like the only thing people ever tell me is that I have her eyes.”

Sirius looked startled, and then he smiled. “Sure. If you want. You ought to know she had a temper, and she didn’t give James the time of day until we were almost finished with Hogwarts…”

*

“I do not need to see memories of you snogging, Potter.”

“Don’t look, then,” Harry spat, straightening up. He and Adrian hadn’t liked it when Dumbledore had said that Harry had to take lessons in Occlumency with Snape, but Adrian hadn’t been worried about Snape spilling that he was Harry’s boyfriend to anyone. Adrian’s parents weren’t Death Eaters, just the sort who would wait and see who won, and pretend they’d always been on the side that did.

Snape studied Harry with glittering eyes for a moment. Harry lifted his head and stared back.

“You have kept the secret of your friendship with Mr. Pucey from everyone for years.”

“Yes.”

“Apply that will to keep secrets to your Occlumency,” Snape said, raising his wand, “and you will do well. Legilimens.”

*

“Snape’s a bastard.”

“Yeah.”

They were sitting in the stands after another late-evening practice, and Harry was leaning his head against Adrian’s shoulder. Adrian stroked his hair slowly, rhythmically. Harry had never known how soothing someone touching him like that could be.

“Is he teaching you what you need to know?”

“No.”

Adrian just nodded, as though that didn’t surprise him. “Then I want you to promise me you won’t react too strongly to any vision that the Dark Lord sends through. Okay? Check it with someone before you believe it.”

“You think he’d try to trick me with a false vision?”

“Yeah, I do. It’s at least as likely as anything else.”

Harry settled slowly against Adrian’s side and stared into the cloudy night above them. He nodded. “I promise.”

*

“I can’t believe that worked.”

Harry pressed his hand against Hermione’s as they came out of the Forbidden Forest. “It wouldn’t have if Umbridge hadn’t been so stupid and prejudiced. But she just—decided that she could call them half-breeds and get away with it.”

“Yes.” Hermione turned and looked at him earnestly. “And you think we have to go to the Ministry to rescue Sirius?”

Harry took a deep breath and stared up at the stars for a moment. He remembered that evening on the pitch with Adrian, and Adrian’s insistence that Harry check with someone eels about his visions before just assuming they were real.

Voldemort probably knows that if anything could make me panic, Sirius in danger would do it.

“I don’t know if we have to,” he said. “I think—I think I should go and try to reach him on this mirror he gave me for Christmas. A communication mirror. I didn’t use it before, but that’s mostly because I resented that he—didn’t tell me everything about my dad and mum.” Like how big a berk James Potter had been, and how he had tried to blackmail Harry’s mum into going to Hogsmeade with him. “I think I should try it.”

“Yeah, you should.”

*

“I still don’t know why Voldemort wanted me in the Department of Mysteries.”

“I might.”

Harry turned his head and gaped at Adrian. “You do?”

Adrian touched Harry’s cheek, gently. They’d come inside after their latest practice, but they were still far away from both the Gryffindor Tower and the Slytherin common room, in a corridor that Harry thought they might be the only people to see for years. “It’s an idea. I didn’t say I did for sure.”

“Please tell me, Adrian.”

Adrian considered him for a moment, and then nodded slowly. “All right. You told me you had one of those communication mirrors that you used to speak to your godfather.”

“Yeah.”

“Malfoy has something like it. I don’t think it’s a mirror, not exactly.” Adrian frowned for a moment, tilting his head back and forth as though trying to remember. “It looks more like a polished coin. It glows with light when he wants to talk to someone in it, but of course that’s almost always his father. He thinks no one knows about it.”

“But you do.”

“When I was searching for things he was doing that I might need to foil spontaneously, I followed him into a secret passage. It was the only place he felt secure enough to talk to his father. And apparently one of the conversations was partially about that failed ambush in the Department of Mysteries. They study time there.”

Harry blinked. “You think that Voldemort wanted me to steal a Time-Turner for him?”

Adrian still flinched at the name, but he drew in a deep breath and shook his head. “No. There’s—they study the future there, too. That’s what Malfoy was talking about.”

Harry felt his mouth fall open. His mind went back to Divination, which he knew he had failed the OWL for, and—

“You think there was a prophecy?”

Adrian leaned nearer, looking around as though he expected Malfoy or Dumbledore to materialize from behind a tapestry and hunt them down. “Yeah. I mean, maybe. It’s the only thing that would fit all the clues.”

“A prophecy—involving me?”

“Yeah.”

Harry bit his lip, thinking about that. There was some reason that Voldemort had come after him when he was a baby. Dumbledore had said that at the end of his first year. And it sure sounded like it was after Harry specifically, not just because Harry’s mum and dad had annoyed him.

And—

“But why would they need me to go to the Department of Mysteries?”

Adrian shrugged, leaning back. “I don’t know. Maybe it had something to do with the prophecy’s fulfillment? There was supposed to be a confrontation between you and the Dark Lord there?”

“Maybe,” Harry mumbled. He was thinking hard. There had been a few people caught lurking around the Department of Mysteries, the Prophet had announced, but there had been no details, and so it might have been Order members who were doing—whatever—there, like Mr. Weasley, instead of Death Eaters.

But it could have been Death Eaters.

“Thank you,” he told Adrian, dragging his mind back to the conversation in front of him. “I think I have something to talk to Dumbledore about now.”

“Do you have to bring him up now?” Adrian complained, but from the smug way he dragged Harry into his next kiss, he didn’t care that much.

*

“I am sorry, Harry. It would be too dangerous for you to know the secrets of the Department of Mysteries when you cannot yet shield your mind with Occlumency.”

Harry left the Headmaster’s office disappointed, but not surprised. Adrian’s guess was still the best one as to why Voldemort had attacked him, and at least Harry could maybe formulate a strategy for the future based on it.