Disclaimer: "There is no one else," JK Rowling said. "In this universe, there's just you and Harry Potter."

A/N: Okay, the consensus is that the rating for this story is fine, so it will stay at T for now.

I've received a couple of comments about Chiara, and I want to clarify for those who don't know that she is not a character of my own creation. She is from the Hogwarts Mystery mobile game.

Protip: if you find yourself writing code to support your worldbuilding—and not just in Python, but in C++ too, you may be taking it too far.

Chapter 28: Sixth Year

Beauxbatons Academy of Magic was accessed via a magical train from Paris, much like the Hogwarts Express, although it was powder blue instead of scarlet red. Hermione looked happier than Harry had seen her in a long time as she took in the sights and sounds of the train platform in Paris when they boarded. He was trying to be happy for her too, but he just couldn't share her enthusiasm.

"What's got you down, Harry?" she asked when they found their seats.

"What do you think?" he grumbled. They'd been talking about it all week—at least obliquely.

"I know it's hard going back to school in the middle of a war," she said. "Especially a new school. But you should try to make the most of it."

"I know," he said with a heavy sigh. "It's just…"

"What?"

"Well—it's like, 'What's the point?' I mean, Beauxbatons gives its O.W.L. qualifications in sixth year, remember? Half of Europe is on fire; our family and our friends' families are out there fighting, and here we're gonna be safe in a castle five hundred miles away learning things we already know. Are we actually doing anything productive here?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "We'd better be," she said. "I'm not letting you slack off in your studies just because there's a war on, little brother."

His jaw dropped. "Really? You're playing the 'big sister' card, now?"

"Only when you act like it, Harry. I know things are bad, but the world isn't ending; we don't know how long this will go on, but we'll get through it. And we still have to go to school."

Harry crossed his arms and grumbled, "It's still gonna be stuff we already know."

"Not all of it. Their exams are different. Besides, we're not alone here. Almost all of Europe is having problems with its schools right now. What else can we do?"

"We could be out there!" he yelled, and he waved his hand at the window. "We could be helping the fight."

"We're sixteen. It's not our fight," Hermione insisted.

"It bloody well is. Voldemort's after me, remember?"

"Harry, stop it! This is a continent-wide war. It's not going to end when Voldemort dies, not with La Pantera and Kinani Ngeze running around and Jugashvili helping them. If it were just Voldemort, and we still had control of the British Ministry, maybe we could keep working with Dumbledore behind the scenes like before, but this is bigger than us now, even with the prophecy—ha. The original prophecy, I mean. We've got more of those now, too, don't we?"

Harry sat silently, but he couldn't refute that. For the past year, after Voldemort had come back—maybe ever since he'd heard Trelawney's first prophecy—if he imagined it at all, he'd imagined that winning war would involve sneaking around with Dumbledore and outmanoeuvring Voldemort in the shadows, or something of the like. Silly, of course, when he knew that La Pantera was around and had heard Cho's first prophecy, but he'd been at the centre of things for so long that he couldn't help feeling adrift now.

"And it's not all bad," Hermione said after a little while. "We'll actually have a good teacher now for Defense Against the Dark Arts—someone who's been doing it for a long time. That's important, isn't it? Learning how to fight better?"

He rolled his eyes: "I know how to fight, Mione."

"Harry—"

"I do. Beauxbatons held a duelling tournament today, I could probably win the all-school. You know I could."

"Harry James Potter!" she snapped, standing up. "You might win it, but that is not a sure thing, and besides, we're up against a lot worse than a duelling tournament. If we don't want to get ourselves killed, we need all the training we can get."

At that moment, Neville walked into the compartment. "Ah, there you are," he said cheerfully. "I thought I heard you arguing in here." He stepped over to Hermione's side and kissed her.

"Neville, tell Harry he's being an arse," she told him.

He looked ove at Harry. "Oh, yeah, you're definitely being an arse, mate."

"You don't even know what I did!" Harry exclaimed.

"No, but I know how annoyed Hermione sounds with you."

"I'm her little brother. It's my job to annoy her."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry's not happy about going back to school," she said. "He thinks we could be doing more good out there, joining the fight."

Neville pressed his mouth together, and she frowned as she realised he was actually considering that. "Well," he said, "a few months ago, I might've agreed. It was mostly just Voldemort and the Death Eaters, then. Hell, if we could've dug up a lead on the ones who were infiltrating the school…" A pained look crossed his face, and he trailed off. "I mean to say, there's not as much we can do now. I want to help too, but we need to finish school before we join the Expeditionary Force or something."

Harry sat in annoyance. Neville and Hermione were right, he had to admit. What was his value to the war effort now? Morale, for sure. Maybe working with Cho. Political advocacy was important, but he'd been doing that from school just fine for the past five years. Not fighting. Not now. Voldemort's snake was the only horcrux left, but even if Harry was Fated to kill Voldemort himself after that, the best thing he could do was keep training so he didn't get flattened in ten seconds the next time they came face to face.

That still didn't mean he had to like it.

"Hello, Harry," a cheerful voice rang.

He looked up, and his mood lightened when he saw his girlfriend come into the compartment. He smiled at he stood to greet her. As annoyed as he was with the whole thing, he did still have Luna here with him, at least. And she really did need to go back to school. For one, his protective side didn't especially want to see her fighting, and even discounting that, Luna was only fifteen and needed the continued schooling more than he did.

A little while later, Ginny and Colin came in, which cut off any detailed talk of the war. Overall, the trip was uneventful. They knew Malfoy must be on the train, but they never saw him. A few of the French students looked in on them throughout the trip, but as they didn't really know anyone there, they didn't have much to talk about with them.

Upon arriving, the students crowded into the Great Hall of Beauxbatons Palace after passing through tighter security than had been at Hogwarts. It was a different atmosphere—brighter and warmer, but also more crowded. There were more tables than there were at Hogwarts, and they were squeezed in close because the school was overflowing with students right now. That was something Harry hadn't thought much about. Hogwarts and Beauxbatons were about the same size, and so many of them had to fit in one building, now.

"Goodness!" Hermione muttered as they squeezed in. "I hope they hired some more teachers for this year. Classes of forty or fifty students don't help anybody."

"That's what you're worried about?" Harry said.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm worried this place'll be a death trap if anyone attacks," he muttered too softly for anyone to hear.

"Harry! That's…" She sighed. She wasn't going to argue that.

Harry turned away, and his eyes roved the hall. Not everyone was wearing the blue Beauxbatons robes. He assumed not all of the Hogwarts students had been able to get them. He still felt strange wearing one himself. Among those who were, though, he spotted several beautiful girls and what he supposed were very handsome boys who must be Veela. There were others who didn't seem fully human, though he couldn't identify them for sure—a very different sight from Hogwarts.

Madame Maxime stood at the front of the hall, and everyone quieted at once. It was impossible to miss her. Her presence was a commanding as Dumbledore's, though obviously for different reasons.

"Welcome, old students and new, to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic." She spoke solely in French. The school wasn't about to change its instruction for the new students, and anyway, the expats had all been living in France for two months, so they had to pick up the language fast if they didn't know it already. "I will take care of the most important thing first. For our new first-years or those of you who otherwise don't know, we are joined this year by a large number of students from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. With the fall of Britain to Lord Voldemort—" Many of the British students flinched, even though his name was more freely spoken in France. "—many British wizards were forced to flee their country, and Beauxbatons has welcomed them as transfer students for this year. All of them are enrolled as regular students, and I expect them to be extended all the usual courtesy.

It was pretty standard fare. Distracted as he was, Harry was almost at the point of tuning it out and going back to scanning the hall when something caught his ear.

"We have a second group of new students as well," Madame Maxime said. "There was not time to announce it publicly, but a number of transfer students from Czarnokciesto School of Magic will also be joining us this year. A few of them are here now, and more will be arriving in the next few days."

Heads turned as everyone looked around, trying to find the other new students. There wasn't any group that stuck out to Harry as Eastern European, but he realised there were some of those who weren't wearing Beauxbatons robes whom he didn't recognise from Hogwarts. He should be more vigilant about that. He also noticed one person with pale skin who was dressed all in black and was wearing gloves. That one might be a vampire, and as far has he knew hardly any vampires had lived in Western Europe since Grindelwald's War.

"I know so many new students will make the castle very crowded this year. We are doing our best to accommodate everyone, but there will surely be difficulties throughout the year. I ask all of you to have patience with us and with each other as we adjust to these changes…"

"Well, it makes sense, doesn't it?" Hermione said as they headed toward their assigned dorm rooms. "That's Poland, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and Romania—or I suppose in the magical world, it's Transylvania, Moldavia, and Wallachia. They all need a new school, and I'm sure some of them speak French better than…I'm not even sure what options are left. Serbian or Russian? Maybe Italian?

"Nie," a Polish-accented voice spoke up from behind them. They turned and saw a boy their age coming up to them. "Not Russian. Not yet. Russian Ministry is talking about reopening closed Chelyabinsk campus for us, but is two thousand miles away. And dey are playing politics wiz letting us go to Kiev instead."

"Kiev?" Harry said. "Do they even have jurisdiction over Kiev?"

"They do over the school," Hermione said. "It's like Durmstrang and Germany."

"Tak. And as usual, Poland—how do you say? Gets short end of stick. Pardon, my English is poor," the boy said, switching over to French. "If we had more time, it would be easier. Many of my classmates are waiting for other options. A lot of us had to go to Yugoslav National or nothing, but they don't have the money to accommodate so many new students easily.—Ah, where are my manners. Skuba Wałęsa."

Harry shook his hand. "Harry Potter," he said.

"Yes, I recognise you from the newspaper. It's a pleasure, though I wish it were under better circumstances."

"Ha," Harry said bitterly. "Don't we all?"

They continued talking on the way to the dorms, where they split up. Beauxbatons didn't have houses. Dorm rooms were assigned by year, but the various common areas didn't seem to correspond with that exactly. Still, they found them quickly enough. Harry walked into his assigned dorm room and stopped short. Bunk beds.

That probably shouldn't have been a surprise. He remembered Hogwarts doing that for Natalie's and Demelza's class when so many new students had come in. He was just thinking about Beauxbatons having double rooms rather than group dorms. Harry had been paired with Neville, as he'd requested, but they seemed to have been paired up with two other French boys in a room originally meant for two. After considering it for a moment, he shrugged and started unpacking.

Neville was a little more nervous about the arrangements. "Could I take the bottom bunk, please?" he asked Harry and their other roommates. "I just know I'll fall out if I'm on top."

Harry gave him a funny look: "How many times have you fallen out of bed at Hogwarts?"

"Not often, but it's happened. Besides, you can take the top bunk, Harry. You're a cat; you can land on your feet."

"Not while I'm sleeping," he protested, but even so, he took the top bunk. He didn't sleep well, though.

There was little joy left at Hogwarts Castle as the students marched in. A gloom had fallen over the place, and Dementors guarded the entrances to the grounds, ostensibly for the students' safety. They were ordered to enter in neat formation blocks, and their black robes seemed as dour as funeral garb. Only the Death Eaters in their number walked with their heads held high.

Headmaster Barty Crouch Jr watched from the balcony as his students walked into the Grand Gallery. Slytherin School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was reopening. Many still called it Hogwarts, even among the Death Eaters, and they would be tolerated so long as they didn't make a political matter out of it, but it had been thoroughly rebranded. The winged boars by the front entrance were replaced with cobra heads, and the banners in the Great Hall were all Slytherin's crest, except for a single banner of the Dark Mark as a national flag behind the High Table.

Even during dinner, the Great Hall was eerily quiet. Few people dared to raise their voices, and besides that, it felt so vast and empty with so many students missing. Hogwarts had lost nearly half her students to the exile from Britain, leaving her emptier than she had been in centuries, even more than when the worst deficits of children from the last war had started school a few years ago.

But Barty was doing his best to play everything off as normal—not that anyone would believe it, but if the students were made to live it for long enough, it would become the new normal. And so, he began his speech.

"Welcome to Slytherin School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he told the students, and there was barely a murmur to be heard, they were so subdued. "I am Headmaster Bartimeus Crouch. I was assigned this position by the Chief Warlock—" That, of course, was the Dark Lord. "—in order to protect and preserve this school, and I want you all to know in no uncertain terms that I intend to do so. I know these are dark and difficult times for everyone. Some of you have experienced loss because of this war. Some of you have even come into conflict with the followers of the Dark Lord; I won't deny it. But if you are here today, this is a second chance—for all of you. Rest assured that this school remains strong, and it will continue to protect its students."

Perhaps the most honest thing he would say tonight, he reflected. Hogwarts had protested the takeover to the extent she could. He still couldn't get into Dumbledore's office. But no matter who was in charge, she would absolutely protect her remaining students.

"This year is the beginning of a new, stronger magical Britain," he continued. "The Ministry of Magic is secure under the leadership of Minister Rookwood and the Dark Lord. Europe is finally rid of the terror of Fenrir Greyback." He chuckled to himself. Old Fenrir had played his part to a T and was now denounced by the Dark Lord himself for his trouble, just as planned. "Even so, the upheavals over the summer have forced some changes at Slytherin School. Beginning this year, the House system is suspended." That did get some loud shouts of dismay, more so than the name change—a couple even from the former Slytherins. He let the protests die down and explained, "As the traitor, Albus Dumbledore—" More shouts of defiance. The Carrows would be noting those people. "Albus Dumbledore has stolen the Sorting Hat from the school, so the traditional Sorting can no longer take place. All students' classes and dormitories have been reassigned based on other criteria.

"The prefects have been informed of the new arrangements and will be handing out the new room assignments during dinner. We want to make a clean break of this, so we ask all students to respect these changes. As the changes will prevent the House Quidditch League from operating, students will be able to self-organise new teams when sponsored by a professor. This will also allow for wider participation if there is sufficient demand."

Panem et circenses, he thought, but it would work. Keep up a semblance of normal entertainments—even expand them—and it would make the other changes more palatable.

"Due to the long-running curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts post—" Which the Dark Lord had removed, but that wasn't important, "—that class has been replaced with a new Battle Magic class, which will teach mostly the same material in a more well-rounded way." More use of the Dark Arts, he meant. "The teacher for Battle Magic will be Slytherin School's new Deputy Headmaster, Professor Amycus Carrow."

Amycus stood and nodded with a stern expression. Hopefully, that wouldn't end in disaster. The man was an idiot, but he did know his Dark Arts. "Amycus Carrow will also be taking the lead administrative role in discipline. Also joining us this year is his sister, Professor Alecto Carrow…"

To say Seamus Finnigan was nervous was an understatement. He was the only one of Harry Potter's roommates to return to Hogwarts this year. What was more, his father was a muggle, and his mother had gone to great lengths over the summer to ensure he was safely away.

When Barty Crouch had introduced the new teachers, several of them were openly showing their Dark Marks as Death Eaters, as were a handful of former Slytherin students. He didn't like the look of any of them.

Dinner had been…not lavish, but pretty good, though Seamus hadn't had much of an appetite. Now, they were dismissed to bed, and he had no idea what he was walking into. He looked at the slip the prefect had given him—a seventh-year who had been in Hufflepuff—and was startled to see that his new bedroom wasn't listed in any of the four dormitories, but seemingly in one of the dungeons under the North Tower—the farthest corner of the castle.

"Oi! Is this right?" he called to the prefect. "This isn't a dorm."

The boy stopped and turned. "Yes, that's right, Finnigan. North Dungeons. I'm in there too, you know. Look, just get down there; we can talk later."

Seamus did so. It was clear this wasn't the time to ask questions. He walked down the dungeons and found the place marked on the parchment. He'd been half-expecting actual dungeon cells or some other indignity, but…it was a dormitory. Probably recently converted, but it was livable. The rooms were Spartan. The walls were bare stone. There was a heater, but it still looked like it would get pretty cold in winter. The beds were simple twins like he had at home, not the four-posters he was used to. Still, it was clean and fully furnished; there was nothing he could point to and say they weren't providing for the students. It was just that it was the bare minimum.

"So what is all this?" he asked Wayne Hopkins, who took the bed next to his.

"I have no idea," Wayne said. "I saw some people going toward the Hufflepuff basement, I got sent here instead. I'm guessing this is where they send the people they don't like, but I'm not sure what all the people here have in common. Do you reckon you're here because you were Potter's roommate?"

Seamus winced. "Could be that, I s'pose. Or it could be 'cause me da's a muggle. I mean, that's not a secret, but…"

"No, I get it. My mum's a muggle, too. She and Dad had a big row over the summer because Dad doesn't think it's safe for her to stay in the magical world."

"Me mam said the same thing. Da's gone off into the muggle world. 'S not like he'll be safe there, either, but hopefully the Death Eaters won't have any reason to go after 'im."

"Yeah…and now I'm wondering if we're both here because we've got parents who are muggles."

Seamus frowned. He hadn't thought of that, but now that Wayne had mentioned it, it was obvious.

It was obvious to a lot of the others people in the dorm, too. Some of the students who had been Ravenclaws took a survey and decided that almost everyone in the North Dungeon was a half-blood with an actual muggle parent as opposed to a muggle-born. The only exceptions were a very few prominent blood traitors who hadn't managed to escape the country, and a single muggle-born boy named Kane, which was probably the biggest shock of the night. Nearly as shocking was that he was willing to open up about it.

"Well, I'd been in foster care for ages," the boy said. "My friends know that already. It's no secret. Anyway, foster parents don't seem to know what to do with a magical kid. We can't all be as lucky as Potter, you know. So over the summer, some blokes I think were Death Eaters came by and asked me a bunch of questions. What do I like to do? Who are my friends? Do I like the muggle world? Of course I said I don't. I don't have anything against muggles, but there's never been anything for me there. There was a ton of weird stuff, too. Do I go on day trips? What books do I read? What do I watch on the telly? How often do I go to Diagon Alley? Do I listen to Quidditch on the Wireless? What music do I like?"

"Blimey, what was all that about?" one of the younger students asked.

"Dunno. I asked them, but they never really said. They just kept asking me about my life, and then they left. Couple days later, this magical family shows up and adopts me, straight up!"

That raised some eyebrows. Adopting a muggle-born couldn't be looked open favourably in the current climate. But Seamus could guess what it was about. He knew the Death Eaters weren't getting rid of all the muggle-borns. They kept trotting out Dirk Cresswell at the Ministry, after all (probably with threats to his family to keep him in line). With Kane, they must've had some kind of test to determine if muggle-borns were "wizard" enough for Hogwarts, and Kane was the only one who passed. (Of course, most of them had fled the country anyway, and since Dumbledore had the Book, the new eleven-year-olds weren't even a question.)

Seamus took stock as he lay in bed that night. People like him were being relegated to second-class citizens, but no one had been tortured or attacked or disappeared so far who had actually made it to the train. Kane's presence was something of an assurance that they weren't going to do that sort of thing just for the hell of it. If he kept his head down, he'd probably be fine.

Now, he had to decide if he actually wanted to do that.

Amanda Brocklehurst had declined to join with the Death Eaters in the assault on the school (not that she remembered being asked). However, her family had elected to stay in the country after the fall of the Ministry. They were an old pureblood family, though not the elite Sacred Twenty-Eight. Great Grandfather held a seat on the Wizengamot; they were prominent in the community through the Theatre, and they had shown a dedication to preserving wizarding culture. They were the sort the Death Eaters shouldn't have any problems with.

Mandy had still been worried. The Theatre's revival of material from pre-Statute of Secrecy days had earned them some ire from among the other purebloods, but Minister Rookwood knew how to play politics, and he and Lockhart had praised them for their contribution to the community rather than criticising their choice of material. Their neutrality was intact.

But being back at school was another matter. Here, she was closer to several Death Eaters than she liked, with few adults around who would or could help her. Hogwarts was a far darker place than it had been last year, and even if she was officially in the clear, she was worried some of the former Slytherins or other junior Death Eaters would cause her trouble, especially as a couple of them were sleeping not ten feet away. And that wasn't the worst. People whispered in the dark that first night that You-Know-Who himself was under the school that very moment, holding court in the Chamber of Secrets.

She didn't get much sleep that night.

She was surprised to find herself back in Ravenclaw Tower—in her old dorm, no less—though the familiar riddle-asking eagle was gone. In its place was a serpentine Watcher: a statue as tall as a man, sculpted and painted as a king cobra, with eyes that seemed to follow you. It made her uncomfortable every time she walked by it, even though it never made any visible acknowledgement of her. It was a few days later that she learnt that the Watcher would open to the correct version of Slytherin's crest on people's robes—and of course the Dark Mark.

By the end of breakfast the next day, Mandy had figured out Crouch's game. Probably many others had too, even if they were smart enough not to say it out loud. Her schedule said she was part of "Group 1" and that her advisor would be Alecto Carrow. The Slytherin crests on each group's robes were different, and hers was more ornate than the others, but that was the only distinguishing feature. The trappings of houses would be removed as much as possible—no colours, no virtues, no House Quidditch teams, no names. Students were reprimanded for using their old house names.

Lisa Turpin whispered to her that her group, "Group 4," had already figured out their qualifications: half-bloods with an actual muggle parent, plus a few outliers. From the fact that Michael Corner was in Group 3, it was obvious that they were the rest of the half-bloods. His group were apparently in the old Hufflepuff basement, even though it didn't look very Hufflepuff anymore. Groups 1 and 2 were both purebloods—or nearly so, there were one or two half-bloods who were probably there because they were uncommonly gifted, but it wasn't clear what the distinction between the two was. It wasn't the Sacred Twenty-Eight because Mandy wasn't one of them, and there weren't enough of them around, anyway. It was only by listening to the junior Death Eaters that she figured it out.

"The ones in the old Gryffindor Tower—they aren't real purebloods," Theo Nott insisted. With Malfoy gone, he ruled the roost—well, him and the Carrow twins—and he was by far the most knowledgeable about family histories. "I mean, they're all third-generation magical, but that means they still have living mudblood grandparents, most of them. You can't have that if you want to really be free of muggle influence. And it's not like they're stuck there. The way the school's set up now, most families will be able to advance by one group per generation. See, it's all very sensible."

So that was it, Mandy thought. Real purebloods were fourth- or fifth-generation magical—not just pureblooded, but culturally pureblooded, with no muggle "corruption," according to the Death Eaters. And their group naturally got the most lavish dorm in the castle. For that matter, the old Slytherin Dorm was directly beneath Ravenclaw Tower, and that seemed to be a special club now for Death Eaters and Sacred Twenty-Eight members. No curfew there, either. And classes were arranged so everyone mostly only mixed with the groups closest to them. It was all brilliantly designed, and she hated it. But she had no idea what to do about it.

Antonin Dolohov looked out over the tables of the Durmstrang Institute. It looked much the same as it had all summer aside from the departure of the Swiss students. Honestly, it was a dreary place, if warmer now. (He had long since ordered fires to be used much more liberally than they traditionally were.) Even the loyalist students were weary of being stuck there for so long. But Dolohov had ordered the elves to prepare a proper opening feast, as if this were an ordinary start to the school year.

The new students arrived, and a few returning students—the children of true believers and those whose families hadn't been able to afford any other options. Only the new eleven-year-olds looked properly awed by seeing a magical school for the first time, but needs must.

The complicated part was just beginning, he reflected. Young Barty had done an admirable job of restructuring Hogwarts—now Slytherin School. Dolohov had thought Durmstrang would be simpler; they had never taken in mudbloods to start with, and the Scandinavians were more careful about blood status, but now, with the Nordic Ministry officially allied with them, they could be more proactive. Personally, he was fine with the old arrangement; just kill the mudbloods and have done with them! But the Dark Lord was at once bolder and more cautious than he had been in the first war, and his plans had changed.

"Magic is Might," the Dark Lord said, and, yes, that was fair, but he had still been surprised when he learnt what that meant for the mudbloods. The adults were a lost cause, and the current students had fled, but for younger children, just as they were doing in Britain (if the Resistance didn't get to them first), the Nordic Ministry was removing them from their parents' custody at the first sign of accidental magic and placing them with low-ranking magical families. They hadn't said it yet, but Dolohov could read the signs. In a few years, Durmstrang would be ordered to accept mudblood students for the first time in centuries.

All in the name of protecting the Statute of Secrecy of course. And that was hardly indefensible; the Americans had done the same at some points in their history. It galled him, but…well, needs must.