The Stealing Harry 'Verse Collection

Sam Starbuck

Contents

Stealing Harry

Tales from the River House

Laocoon's Children

Unfinished Tales and The Rest

Part 1: Stealing Harry

listen: there’s a hell of a good universe next door, let’s go!

— e.e. cummings

Preface

Stealing Harry began at the start of October 2003, with a small snippet of Chapter One and a poll: If Remus Lupin owned a bookstore near Privet Drive, and one day eight-year-old Harry Potter wandered into it, expressly against his aunt’s wishes—and Lupin could give him any book in the store…. What would he give him?

The Fellowship of the Ring actually won, but I felt it was a bit “old” for Harry, so he ended up with The Magician’s Nephew, the first book (chronologically) in C.S. Lewis’ epic, the Chronicles of Narnia.

At the time I had not intended to write an epic myself; I didn’t even intend to finish the snippet I’d started. Still, the idea was interesting and I wanted to develop it further, for my own entertainment. It really didn't have a plot for several chapters, as I explored how Harry would react to his new life and how Remus and Sirius would react to suddenly having a child who depended on them. It felt at times as though Sirius in particular was growing up even as Harry was learning to be a child.

Stealing Harry was, as Laocoon’s Children continues to be, a wild and fascinating process. I have learned more about grammar, structure, characterisation, and fidelity to plot than any writing program could teach me, and in studying J.K. Rowling’s work I’ve reached a more thorough understanding of why and how the world of Harry Potter is so fascinating to so many.

I owe as much to Stealing Harry as the story itself owes to me; Sirius isn’t the only one who grew up during its creation.

Chapter 1

Summary: In an alternate universe where Sirius Black never went to Azkaban, Harry divides his life between the Dursleys' house and Mr. Black's bookshop -- until Sirius realises what the Dursleys are doing to him, and takes him away from their care.

***

Harry Potter was eight years old, and he had a wonderful secret.

Harry had a lot of secrets: that his hair, even when freshly cut, grew so fast it was always unruly the next morning...or that sometimes he seemed to make things happen without meaning to...or that he swore sometimes he could understand what snakes were thinking.

But this was the best secret, especially because it involved doing something that was Against The Rules, and any eight-year-old knows that Against The Rules is more fun than anything.

It had to do with the house on the corner, and the Sandust Books shop on High Street.

Sandust Books was the shop that he and Dudley were never allowed to go into, the one that Aunt Petunia always dragged them past with a tightly-set frown on her face and her considerable jaw jutting out. It was strange, too, because it wasn't like Woman's Intuition, the bookshop a few doors down. All the children were banned from that bookshop, but nobody else was forbidden to go to Sandust Books.

Dudley didn't like books, and so didn't care, but Harry had once stopped to press his nose to the glass of the front display, and seen all sorts of wonderful, colourful books in it, and instantly his heart was set.

He had to get into Sandust Books.

Perhaps he and Dudley weren't allowed in because, it was rumoured, the bookshop belonged to the strange man who lived on the corner of Privet Drive, the only one on the whole block who didn't own a car or have gnomes in his front yard. Instead his yard was overgrown with rows of strange herbs, and he owned -- this was the most brilliant part -- he owned a motorbike.

Harry didn't see why sharing a street with strange Mr. Black should mean he couldn't go into the bookshop. After all, nobody actually knew that he owned it, and he had it on good authority that the shop itself was mostly run by another man named Moony. Harry reasoned that anyone named Moony could hardly be a bad person. And he'd often seen a great black dog lazing on the doorstep, its coat dark and sleek in the afternoon sun. It had a collar that read "Padfoot" and all the children said it was a brilliant smart dog who would fetch books if Moony told him to, or do tricks or watch little children while their parents browsed.

Harry thought Sandust Books might just be the best place on Earth, especially since it was Forbidden.

So, today, he'd crept away from Aunt Petunia while she was doing some shopping -- knowing that, having met one of her friends in the market, she could gossip for hours -- and sidled along the alley next to the bookshop, and peeped in the back door.

Inside it was dim, but he could see shelves and shelves of books crammed together, and tables, and large wing-chairs.

And two giant glowing yellow eyes.

He yelped and tumbled backwards, and saw teeth flash --

The enormous black dog, Padfoot, was gripping him by the shirt with his teeth, preventing him from tumbling off the back step. The dog gave a little growl and tugged him forward, and Harry realised Padfoot probably didn't want to eat him.

Probably.

Once he was inside, the dog let him go, and he put his hand on one of the tables for balance, pulling his shirt straight. The dog whined, almost apologetically, and nudged him with his nose.

"Padfoot, what are you doing back here? I thought I heard someone -- "

Harry looked up as a tall, well-dressed man appeared, towering over him. He was thin, with a strange face and brown hair; Harry thought he looked older than he really was, somehow. At the moment he was frowning, perplexed. Padfoot whined again, and moved to stand behind the tall man's legs, staring up at him.

"Pads, what did you do?" the man asked quietly, entirely as if the dog could answer.

"He caught me," Harry said. "Don't hit him."

"Hit him?" The man asked. "I'd as soon hit a child. Caught you from what?"

"Falling," Harry said, gesturing to the back step, then to his shirt, which was stretched slightly. "I got scared...he was just guard-dogging."

"Yes, well, I'll deal with Padfoot later. Are you all right?" the tall man asked. Harry nodded. "Not scared, are you?"

"Course not," Harry said scornfully. Padfoot slunk out from behind the man's legs, and nudged him again. "Hey, stop that!"

"I think he likes you, Harry," the man said, with a smile.

"How'd you know my name?" Harry asked, curiously.

"That's not important. My name's Moony," he said, holding out his hand. Harry took it, feeling very grown up.

"I know. Everyone talks about you."

Moony smiled. "Does your aunt know you're here?"

"How do you know -- "

The man waved a hand. "That doesn't matter."

"She's in the market. She won't be done for hours," Harry said, expressively. Padfoot nosed under his hand, begging to be petted, and he skritched behind his ears.

"You'd best come in now, it can't be helped," Moony said with a sigh. Harry wasn't sure he understood, but he followed Moony through the shelves, to the front of the store. Padfoot followed him, head nuzzling under Harry's arm.

"What can't be helped?" Harry asked, when they reached the front of the store. Padfoot sat next to him, tongue lolling out.

"Oh -- I was just talking to myself," Moony replied. "You like to read, Harry?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Pads, what sort of book do you think Harry would like?" Moony asked the dog. Padfoot's tail thumped on the floor. "You find something," he said finally, and Padfoot, to Harry's amazement, rose and trotted away.

"He's a smart dog," Harry observed.

"A little too smart for his own good," Moony said cryptically. He reached behind the counter and located a jar of yellow humbugs, popping one in his mouth before offering them to Harry, whose eyes went wide.

"How'd you know I like humbugs?" he asked. Moony winked.

"Magic," he said. Harry took one, carefully, and crunched up the peppermint outside, until he could taste the caramel in the centre.

"Aunt Petunia never lets me have humbugs," Harry said, around the caramel in his mouth.

"I reckon there's a lot of things Aunt Petunia doesn't let you do," Moony said sadly.

"I get by."

"Yes, Harry, I'm sure you do. Ah, here we are," Moony continued, as Padfoot returned, pushing a book with his nose. "Oh, excellent. Pads has very good taste in books," he added.

"Good dog," Harry said dutifully, patting Padfoot on the head. "Can he read?" he asked, impressed. Padfoot yawned.

"Well, Padfoot's literacy is neither here nor there, at the moment," Moony answered. "Can I trust you to keep a secret, Harry?"

"Course," Harry answered stoutly.

"You know you're not supposed to be in here. So when you leave, you can't tell your aunt you've been, or else you'll get Pads and me in trouble."

"I won't tell," Harry said fervently. Padfoot whined.

"And you can't show anyone this," Moony said gravely. "It's a book just for you, Harry, and you're not to even show Dudley or anyone at school, or tell anyone where you got it."

Harry didn't even think to ask how Moony knew who Dudley was. He was quite sure that Moony knew the secrets of the universe, and if Moony couldn't answer a question, Padfoot could.

"I promise," Harry answered. "Cross my heart."

Moony smiled, and reached out, lifting up the hair on Harry's forehead. Harry felt him touch the odd-shaped scar there, gently.

"Boy's as good as his word, you think?" he asked suddenly, turning to Padfoot. The dog's tail thumped again. "Right then," he said. "Here you are, Harry. A present from Padfoot."

Harry accepted the book, looking down at the cover.

"The Magician's Nephew," he read aloud. He looked from Padfoot to Moony and back. "What's it about?" he asked. Padfoot regarded him solemnly.

"If we told you, it'd spoil it," Moony said. "There, will it fit in your pocket?"

Harry nodded, and shoved it in the front pocket of his oversized, hand-me-down coat.

"You should get back to your aunt," Moony said, with a small frown. "She'll be looking for you soon. Wait..."

Harry had turned to go, but Padfoot put out his head, blocking the boy from moving. Moony scrabbled behind the counter for a small paper bag and poured some of the humbugs into it.

"There. Don't tell," he said, with a grin. Harry grinned back, and scratched Padfoot under his collar. The dog's tail thumped wildly against a bookshelf.

"Off you go, then. Padfoot'll go with you as far as the market," he said. Harry, proud master of a sack of his favourite candy and a new book all his own, put one hand on Padfoot's broad back and followed the dog out of the shop.

***

"Oh, bugger," Remus Lupin said softly, when they'd gone.

He walked around the counter and found a scrap of parchment and a ballpoint pen, writing quickly and neatly, before folding it and crossing to a window that opened into a side-alley. Outside, perched on a potted tree, an owl was sleeping, head under wing. He poked it.

"Claw, please take this to Dumbledore," he said, holding out the letter. Claw -- Sirius had been allowed to name her, a mistake Remus would never again make -- hooted irritably, accepted the letter, and flapped off.

He had barely turned around again before Padfoot returned, heaved a doggy sigh, and trotted into the back office, where they kept the books-to-be-shelved, the books-we-can't-show-the-Muggles, and the ancient electric teakettle. There was a soft noise, like an exhalation of breath, and Sirius Black walked out of the office, head bowed, face grave. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and leaned against the counter, thoughtfully.

"You tell Dumbledore?" he asked.

"Just got through," Remus answered quietly.

"I couldn't help it."

"Wasn't your fault," Remus replied, without looking at him. He picked up the jar of humbugs, and turned it over in his hands, thoughtfully. "He came looking for us, not the other way around."

"I didn't mean to scare him."

"I don't think you did."

"He'll like the book."

"Course he will."

"Think he'll tell?"

Remus glanced at Sirius then, and shook his head. "I think Harry keeps too many secrets already to go blurting this one out to that odious aunt of his." He turned the jar again. The remaining humbugs rattled. "You know when I found out he liked these, I started keeping them in the shop...I'm not sure if I was trying to lure him in, or just waiting so that when he did come -- "

"I know." Sirius took his hands out of his pockets, crossing his arms. "I put the book aside for him. I thought about Tolkien, but he's too young -- I thought, you know, he ought to be reading about magic and that..."

"We're pathetic, aren't we?"

"We're looking out for the boy." Sirius shrugged. "It's my job. Merlin, but he looks like James."

"That he does. Smart as a whip, too. You saw. He's got Lily's eyes."

"Wish I could've seen him in colour," Sirius mumbled.

"Well, I sent you off so that you could Change if you wanted. I thought you would."

"I couldn't."

"Of course you..." Remus trailed off. He set the humbugs back on the counter, slowly. "Oh."

"If I could talk to him I wouldn't have been able to keep myself from blurting the whole thing out. If I'd had arms to -- to hug him -- nobody thinks it's weird if a strange black dog wants to be petted, but god forbid his own damn godfather should want to..." he put a hand over his face, composing himself. Remus waited patiently. "It would have scared the boy."

"He liked you."

Sirius met Remus' eyes, and a smile spread slowly across his face. "He did, didn't he? He liked me. He wasn't even scared at all, was he?"

"Did you see the way he looked at us?"

"Like we were...magic."

They shared a happy grin, before Remus' fingers plucked nervously at the bookmarks sitting near the cash register.

"He'll come back, you know," he said. "It's dangerous. If That Woman finds out...or his uncle..."

"Well." Sirius looked grave. "We'll just have to make sure that he doesn't get caught."

"Which means...?" Remus lifted an eyebrow.

"Which means that next time, we find him."

"Sirius, you know what Moody and Dumbledore will say about that."

"Moody and Dumbledore don't have to know."

"We promised we wouldn't make trouble for Harry. We swore up and down and on Moody's disgusting removable eye that we would keep our distance."

"Well, we did, didn't we? It's not our fault That Woman wouldn't let him in our shop. He was bound to want to see what all the fuss was about, sooner or later."

"It's not right, Sirius."

Sirius gave a dramatic groan, and flopped into one of the wing-chairs nearby. "Listen, all right, here's what we'll do. The next time his aunt brings him along shopping, I'll follow around. If I see him sneaking away, I'll make sure she's occupied. By force, if necessary," he said, with a toothy grin. Remus smiled. "Woman's Intuition has a dog, he's unusually bright and I'm sure I could show him what he needs to watch for."

"Right. Somehow you'd think they'd own a cat, really."

Sirius shrugged. "Anyhow, he can keep a lookout and if we see That Woman coming, we can hustle Harry out the back door and claim ignorance complete."

"You know you'd think after seven years at school and ten years out in the world, I'd be able to say no to you, once in a while."

"Thwack me with a newspaper," Sirius grinned. He streched, and Remus pushed away from the counter as a customer entered, fluidly transitioning into his professional, bookish 'shopkeeper' demeanour. Sirius, who had never mastered the art of politeness to strangers, left him to it.

***

Aunt Petunia hadn't even noticed he was gone, but Dudley had; Harry had to bribe him with a handful of the precious yellow candies before he'd keep mum about it, but there were still three or four left after Dudley's cut.

Moony was a magician. Harry was sure of it. You didn't get giant black dogs who could read if you were just a regular old bookstore owner. Moony was a magician and the reason Harry wasn't allowed in the store was because Aunt Petunia didn't hold with any fantastical nonsense.

When they got home he wanted to go straight to his cupboard and look at his book some more, but he had to help put the groceries away, and then clean up after Dudley dug a hole in the flower bed, and then he had to help cook dinner. He wasn't able to get away from the Dursleys until after dinner.

He picked up his coat and pulled the book out of the pocket with some difficulty. It was a small, cheap paperback, with a yellow cover and a picture of a forest on the front. He curled up on his bed, back to the door so that even if someone did open it unexpectedly he'd have time to shove the book under his pillow. It looked exactly the sort of book Uncle Vernon would take away from him, if he was caught, and then what would he say when he went back to Sandust Books?

He grinned. Of course he was going back! A real live Magician was not the sort of thing you ignored, once you knew about it!

Eventually Aunt Petunia did thump on his door and tell him to turn out the lights, and he pulled on the chain that would turn off the one bare overhead bulb. After waiting to a count of four hundred, just to be safe, he fumbled under the bed for an old battery-powered torch he'd salvaged from the garage. The glow was dim and the batteries dying, but it was enough to read by.

He read through the night, fascinated. Evil magicians and good boy heroes and witches and lions, and animals that talked, and good magicians too. Maybe Moony was from Narnia, and Padfoot was a talking dog. Harry hoped he'd talk to him next time.

Across town, Remus stood on the front step of Sandust Books and locked the door, checking the knob as he had every day for nearly seven years. Padfoot sat on the step, patiently. He waved to a couple of fellow shopkeepers, shouldered a battered satchel, and began the walk down the street to the bakery, Padfoot at his heels. He always bought an apple turnover or a muffin for himself, and usually they had some treat or other for Pads, as well; three years ago the big dog had run down a thief who'd made off with most of their money, and Moony'd had to pull him bodily off the man, who by that time was gibbering in fear.

Everyone agreed that Moony was nice chap, a bit odd, but his dog was all right.

At the end of the street, they ducked into an alley briefly; Moony emerged on the other side alone, walking towards his flat. After a pause, a black-haired man in a leather coat walked out of the alley, got onto the motorbike that was always parked nearby, and drove off.

Chapter 2

It was fully a week before Harry got another opportunity to go near Sandust Books, and even then he couldn't get away from Aunt Petunia -- she was taking Dudley to get his hair cut, and made Harry sit next to her the whole time. He gazed longingly across the street at the dusty-windowed bookstore and the glossy black dog who was delightedly eating ice cream off of the fingers of a couple of children. Moony emerged and seated himself on the broad front step, obviously basking in the late-afternoon sunlight; he noticed Harry and reached out to nudge Padfoot, pointing and waving. Harry very carefully waved back.

Padfoot bounded up and dashed across the street, wriggling with excitement, but stopped himself at the last minute from putting his paws up on the window when he noticed Aunt Petunia. His lips pulled back, teeth showing. Harry grinned and made a shushing gesture; Padfoot backed away, tail between legs, and trotted dejectedly back to Moony, who rubbed behind his ears and made a scowl of disappointment.

Harry watched as people came up to talk to Moony and pet Padfoot; children came and went and Moony occasionally followed a customer inside to help them find books.

Behind him, Dudley wailed in the chair that he didn't want to get his hair cut, that he wouldn't hold still, and that they were going to cut his ears and head and, though this did not seem logical to Harry, his nose. But on the other side of the glass, across the narrow street, Moony made faces at him and Padfoot did silly doggy acrobatics.

Harry decided he had to go back to the bookshop. And there was only one way he was ever going to.

He'd have to talk to Mr. Black, who owned the shop.

He resolved to do it that day, but three days later he still hadn't had his chance. He had to do it when Aunt Petunia wouldn't be watching, and when Dudley wouldn't follow him, and when Mr. Black was at home.

So Harry watched, and waited, and invented his excuse, and finally, after school one day, he got his chance. Aunt Petunia was having tea with one of her friends, and Dudley was upstairs playing video games. Harry heard the motorbike roll down the street, heard it cut off and thought he could even hear the faint sounds of the garage being opened.

He very quietly put on his coat, tucked the book into the pocket again, and crept out the back door. He circled around the house, down the street, and behind a hedge. He peered through the branches at Mr. Black, who had rolled his motorbike into the garage and was lying underneath it, tinkering with something.

He glanced around, made his decision, and dashed madly across the street, ducking behind the edge of the garage. Mr. Black, hearing his footsteps, slid out from under the bike and propped himself up on his elbows. Harry dashed inside the garage and hid himself to one side of a tool rack.

When Mr. Black saw Harry, he blinked and turned pale.

"Hello," Harry said, quickly. "Do you own the bookstore?"

Mr. Black continued to stare at him, open-mouthed.

"Only I'm a...I'm a friend of Moony and Padfoot and they gave me this book -- " Harry held out the book, " -- and I really liked it but it says there're a bunch of others and I wanted to see if I gave this one back if maybe Padfoot would let me have another one...but I can't go to the bookshop, see, because my aunt won't let me...and she says you own it..."

He trailed off. Mr. Black's unblinking stare was beginning to make him anxious.

"I...I'm sorry..."

"No, no no...stay right there," Mr. Black said. He pushed himself to his feet gracefully and backed away -- eyes never leaving Harry's face -- until he was standing next to a sink. Slowly he turned to wash his hands and wipe the grease off his fingers. When he finally turned back, Harry was trembling with nervousness.

"Don't be afraid," the tall man said, gently. He walked forward again and knelt to take the book from Harry's hands.

"I own the bookshop," he said. He thumbed through the book. "You read the whole thing?"

"It was brilliant," Harry answered. Mr. Black looked up sharply, and Harry wondered if he'd said something wrong. "Padfoot said I could have it," he added.

"Padfoot doesn't talk."

"Yes he does. I bet you anything he does. Cos Moony's a magician," Harry added. Mr. Black smiled.

"My name is Sirius Black," he said. "Like the star. You can call me Sirius."

"That's a funny name."

"I suppose so," Sirius said, turning the book in his hands. "You should keep this, Harry. Padfoot gave it to you. I'll give you the next one, if you like."

"I can't anyway," Harry said gloomily. "Aunt Petunia almost found it. If she gets hold of it she'll wreck it, and I'll get Moony and Padfoot in trouble."

"Ah, I see," Sirius said gravely. Something in his look reminded Harry of Padfoot's sober doggy gaze. "Well. In that case, I'll keep it safe for you."

"So...does Moony work for you?" Harry asked, as Sirius put the book in his back pocket.

"In a manner of speaking. I own the shop, and he runs it, so that I don't have to."

"Are you a magician too?"

"No, I'm a talking dog."

Harry scowled. Sirius grinned.

"As for being a magician..."

"Sirius!"

Both of them looked up. Harry beamed.

"Moony!" he said, excitedly, but the brown-haired man, standing in the drive, was glaring at Sirius.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"Lad wanted to return the book," Sirius answered.

"Where's Padfoot?" Harry asked, looking around for the big black dog.

"Padfoot's in the doghouse," Moony answered. Sirius grinned.

"Harry thinks that The Magician's Nephew was brilliant, and he wants the next in the series," he said, standing and touselling Harry's hair. His hand was big enough to cover the whole top of Harry's head.

"Harry, you run along back to your aunt and uncle before they catch you," Moony said. Harry's disappointment must have showed on his face, because the older man sighed.

"I don't want you getting into trouble," he said. "I'm not mad at you, Harry, I'm mad at Sirius. Go on, run on, and I'll make sure you get your book, all right?"

Harry, still not understanding what was going on, nodded, and ran down the drive, nearly tripping on the sidewalk. As he left, he heard Moony say to Sirius, "You managed to restrain yourself, I see."

"I had to."

"You can't just talk to him about magic like that, he's only eight years old."

And he thought he heard Sirius reply, "Well, he's got to find out sooner or later, and he thinks you're a magician, Remus."

Then Uncle Vernon's car roared by, and Harry ran to be home in time for dinner. It wouldn't do to be late -- there would be Questions, and then the whole thing might come out.

***

"You can't send him that one, Moony, he's a kid."

"Sirius, this book was written for kids. You're just upset because I'm sending him your copy."

"Well, it's mine!"

"He'll give it back, don't worry."

"He's a kid. He'll spill something on it."

"You own a bookstore. It's not as if this is the only copy of the book in existence. Don't you want your godson to read it?"

"Yes, but..."

"Well, that's settled then."

"I wanted to read it to him. I was saving it in case."

"Once he turns eleven you can visit him at Hogwarts and read to him all you like."

"He'll be too old, then."

"He's nearly too old now."

"I hate the Dursleys."

"The Dursleys protect him."

"Hell of a job they do of it. You know he goes about in The Piglet's castoffs, don't you?"

"His name is Dudley."

"I don't care."

"My, we are petulant this afternoon, aren't we?"

"It's not right."

"Listen, this is dangerous enough as it is. I know Moody yelled at you once already. If we get caught sending him things -- "

"What? What exactly are they going to do to us? I'd like to know. They can't lock us up for wanting to look after the boy. It's not a crime, you know."

"Dumbledore has friends at the Ministry. Arthur Weasley could make life really miserable for us."

"Arthur Weasley? You must be joking. The man doesn't swat flies, let alone make trouble for other people."

"Well, Sirius, you have a lot less to hide than I do, don't you?"

"Dumbledore wouldn't do that. He wouldn't, would he?"

"The point is, we're endangering Harry as well. If he leaves the Dursleys, he'll be a lot harder to protect."

"Fine. Fine, fine. I'll keep quiet. But if he comes to talk to me again I'm not going to throw him out of my garage."

***

Harry waited patiently for the rest of the week, wondering how Moony would get the book to him. He didn't have another chance to nip down and talk to Mr. Bla -- to Sirius -- though he kept a careful eye on the house. The only people who visited Sirius were Moony, once, and an old man with a peg-leg and a bowler hat tipped low over one eye.

He was sitting out in the backyard, hiding from Dudley, when the book arrived. He'd been behind a rosebush, studying history, and a package literally fell into his lap.

He looked up. A tawny, vicious-looking owl sat above him, clicking its beak.

He tore open the brown-wrapped package. Another yellow-covered book fell out, and a battered second book, and a piece of strange cream-coloured paper.

Dear Harry,

Don't tell!

When you're done with the books, bring them back to Sirius.

-- Moony

PS: If you want to write back, write on this paper and give it to the owl. He's trained to take letters for me.

There was an inky pawprint, too.

Harry excitedly pulled out his pencil and wrote a thank-you note and a promise not to tell. The owl accepted it, nipped him on the finger, and flew off.

Harry turned over the books in his hands, grinning. Another one by C.S. Lewis -- The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe -- as well as one called Truckers, by a man named Pratchett.

It took Harry three nights and two lunch periods at school to finish the second Narnia book; it wasn't as interesting as the last one. He went through Truckers almost as fast as he had The Magician's Nephew, and then -- since he didn't know when he'd get to return the books -- he read it again.

Sirius spent almost the entire next Saturday with the garage open, pretending to work on his motorbike, but Harry was trapped inside helping Aunt Petunia clean, and couldn't get away.

On Monday, however, something brilliant happened.

Just before lunch, Harry happened to glance up from his math problems, and saw a blur of black through the window. Sitting on the schoolyard grass was Padfoot, tongue lolling, ears perked towards the classroom. Harry's world brightened. Padfoot must be here to see him. Padfoot had come all the way from Sandust Books to see him, Harry Potter.

It seemed to take forever for the bell to ring; Harry gathered up his backpack (threadbare, falling apart, and covered with insane cartoon characters -- it had been Dudley's) and ran outside to throw his arms around Padfoot's neck. The dog whined with excitement. Harry threw himself down in the grass and pulled a somewhat smashed ham sandwich out of his pocket, offering half to Padfoot, who took it with grace and shredded it before devouring it.

"I saw Moony again. He gave me two new books. Did you pick them out?" Harry asked. Padfoot, mouth full of ham sandwich, whined. "I thought so. I met Sirius too. He said you couldn't talk, but I bet you can. You can around me, you know. I've never told."

Harry waited, entirely expecting that Padfoot would open his mouth to tell a joke, but instead he saw that the dog was looking past him.

Oh.

Dudley and his gang.

"Look, ickle Harrykins has a new best friend," Dudley said, stopping to put his hands on his hips. "Better make sure you don't give him fleas, Harry."

"Shut up, Dudley," Harry answered. There was a soft growl from Padfoot.

"Ooooh, what're you gonna do, sic a big stupid mutt on me?"

"He's not stupid," Harry answered. "He's the smartest dog ever, like movie dogs."

"He looks dumb to me," said one of the other boys.

Padfoot, very slowly, rose from his reclining position. Standing, he was as tall as Dudley. His lips were drawn back over sharp white teeth.

"Nyah, big dumb dog," Dudley said, throwing a wad of paper at him. Padfoot didn't even flinch, didn't track the paper with his eyes; instead he lunged for Dudley, and caught him by the waistband, ripping his trousers apart before flinging the boy to the ground.

"I'll tell!" Dudley screamed, and fled, the other boys already having deserted him. Padfoot snorted, and trotted back to Harry.

"You should go," Harry said. "You'll get in trouble."

Padfoot whined and nudged him with his great doggy head.

"Go on, go find Moony before a teacher shows up," Harry said. "Go on, Padfoot."

The big black dog huffed, but turned and ambled away reluctantly.

Harry faced the schoolyard again and composed himself to tell a lie about a stray mutt wandering through.

***

"That's it. That is the ultimate end."

Remus looked up from the counter of Sandust Books. It was late afternoon, a time when business was always at a low ebb; the only people in the store were the Baker brothers, ages five and two respectively, whose mother was next door shopping for shoes.

"Surely not," he said. "I was certain that the sun had at least another few billion years before the ultimate end. And you know the universe might go on quite a bit longer after that, even."

"Do you know where I was at lunch, Moony?"

"Yes, getting us into trouble," Remus replied, making a note in a ledger. "And then I have it on good report you went down to Diagon Alley and sulked for hours on end. Listen, we could have Pratchett in for a signing on the twelfth, but it's a full moon so you'd have to handle everything and I know you hate that."

"I went to his school. I waited for him to come out. I was going to spend lunch sharing his sandwich and having my ears skritched," Sirius stormed.

"You were also going to pick up the books from him. I see you got distracted."

"The Piglet won't even let the poor lad alone when he's just sitting on the grass minding his own business. I mean really. And have you seen how he looks in those old clothes? No wonder he hasn't got any school friends."

Remus looked up. "Dudley bothers him at school?"

"Not today," Sirius said, a trifle smugly. "I broke his trousers."

"Broke...?"

"Well. Ripped 'em. Reckon that'll show him. Wouldn't mind seeing that one sing falsetto if you get my drift."

Remus took his glasses off and folded them carefully. "Sirius, getting your drift is not difficult. It's really more of a projectile than a drift. You attacked Dudley Dursley?"

"He was picking on Harry!"

"We are in so much trouble," Remus murmured.

"No, I'll tell you who's in trouble. Petunia Dursley is in trouble. Vernon Dursley is in trouble. Dudley Dursley is in for a world of trouble as soon as I can arrange a pack of wild dogs to rend him limb from limb. We? We are not in trouble. We are going to storm that house and -- "

"Sirius."

Sirius subsided, when Remus indicated the two small boys in the corner, watching him rave.

"I mean it this time," Sirius continued, in a lower voice. "He's getting old enough that it's starting to affect him. I'm not going to stand for it. I'm his godfather. I have a right to make sure the boy's happy."

"I think all we can hope for is that he's not dead," Remus murmured softly. "He's got to stay with his family. Dumbledore said so."

"I'm his family!"

"Not his blood."

"You're his blood!"

Remus lifted an eyebrow. "I'm a second-cousin of James' mother, once removed. There's a difference."

"James and Lily would be furious if they knew -- "

" -- but they don't know, Sirius, because James and Lily are dead," Remus snapped. There was a gasp from behind them, and Sirius whirled.

"Harry," the men said in unison.

Harry Potter was standing by one of the bookshelves, clutching his backpack in his hands, staring wide-eyed at them.

"How long have you been there?" Sirius demanded.

"Where's your aunt?" Remus said, cutting him off.

"We just...she wanted to buy...Dudley...new trousers..." Harry said, eyes still wide as saucers, staring at Sirius. "I..."

He let his backpack fall, and Sirius saw he was holding the books they'd sent him.

"I came to give back the books," he said, in a small voice. Sirius put out his hand to accept them, and Harry flinched back.

"You were talking about my parents," he whispered.

Sirius glanced at Remus, who laid down his pen and rubbed his eyes. Finally, he sighed.

"Yes, Harry, we were," he answered.

"You knew my parents," Harry said.

"Yes," Remus continued. Sirius seemed dumbfounded.

"You said you're my godfather," Harry continued, as if processing the information. Sirius made a strangled noise.

"Do you remember your parents at all, Harry?" Remus asked gently. Harry shook his head.

"Got a picture of them in my cupboard..." he said, eyes never leaving Sirius' face.

"In your bedroom?"

"Where I sleep," Harry said helpfully. Remus saw Sirius' fists clench.

Just then there was a shriek from next door, Aunt Petunia calling his name, and Harry gathered up his backpack and fled, dropping the books where he'd stood. They watched him go.

"Did you hear that, Moony?" Sirius said hoarsely.

"Well." Remus closed his notebook and tossed it on the counter. "Might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb, as my dad used to say."

"What the hell has -- "

"I think we ought to pay the Dursleys a visit tomorrow afternoon."

Sirius glanced at him. There was something strange in Remus' eyes, something he didn't think he'd ever seen before. A mixture of pity and rage that perfectly echoed what he himself was feeling.

"I'm leaving in two days for India," Remus continued. "Apparently there's a cult in one of the northeastern provinces that worships the rat. That sort of thing would be very attractive to Peter, you know, and I think he may have gone to ground there. But I see no reason not to put the fear of God, not to mention Moony and Padfoot, into the Dursleys before I leave." He pointed at Sirius. "You will stay very quiet, and look menacing, and let me do the talking."

"Can I menace them? Physically?"

"If you behave yourself I might let you give Dudley a clip round the ear."

Chapter 3

Remus had seen the outside of the Dursley house many times; in the days just after Voldemort's fall, most of the Order had, at some point or another, covertly come to gawp at it. When it became evident that Harry would have to stay there, and Sirius bought the house nearby to be close to the boy, Remus had spent hours standing at the window of Sirius' house, looking up the street. He imagined Sirius did the same, when he wasn't about.

He'd never seen inside the place, though. He wondered if, today, he might actually get to.

Sirius stood behind him, arms crossed. Remus had to admit that if you didn't know how idiotic Sirius could be, you'd probably be afraid of him.

Well. Up to Remus Lupin to be the voice of reason, as usual.

He knocked on the door. There was a pounding of feet, and Harry opened it, breathlessly. His eyes widened.

"WELL, WHO IS IT THEN?" drifted a voice from inside.

"We'd like to speak to your uncle, Harry," Remus said. Harry nodded and turned.

"UNCLE VERNON!" he called. There was the sound of someone getting to their feet, and Vernon Dursley's heavy footfalls. Harry scurried away fearfully, as the thick-necked, red-faced man reached the doorway.

"You," he said, eyes narrowing. "Black," he added, speaking over Remus' shoulder, to Sirius, who -- true to a promise coerced out of him earlier that day -- didn't say anything.

"Mr. Dursley, My name is Remus Lupin," Remus said smoothly. "I see you've met Sirius. May we come in?"

Dursley stood aside, and they stepped into the dim house. It was obsessively clean, but it smelled...well, wrong. Remus could hear Sirius sniff, behind him, and knew the other man was thinking the same thing.

"We'd like to have a word with you about Harry," Remus continued. "As I'm sure you're aware, Sirius is Harry's godfather, and while we understand -- "

"You? The freak with the motorbike?" Vernon said. Sirius let out a quiet growl. Remus, dumbfounded by the man's sheer audacity, gathered his wits.

"Surely you knew James and Lily had named Sirius in their will," he said, hurriedly. "We know that Harry needs protection and that's why he's been placed with blood family -- "

"HA! Protection from the likes of Black! And the rest of the -- the freak world his parents came from!"

"Mr. Dursley, please stop using that word," Remus said, trying to be patient.

"And you! I suppose you're one too," Vernon said, turning on Remus. "A wastrel like my wife's sister and her good for nothing -- "

"If you say that about James again, I will personally put your nose through the back of your head," Remus growled.

"I'd like to see you try it!" Vernon blustered. Remus gritted his teeth.

"Your son's bullying Harry. We want it stopped."

"Dudley's doing nothing of the kind."

"We saw it happen, Dursley."

"He's fed and clothed and has a roof over his head, which is more than you or that godfather of his ever did for him," Vernon said, face turning beet red. "Never saw a penny to help out with our expenses, either. The boy goes about breaking things, making the place untidy -- "

"He's eight years old!" Remus waited for Sirius to break in, but apparently he was exercising some modicum of self control. "Your son throws rocks at old women!"

"Lies and slander!" Vernon roared.

"Sirius, I think you can menace now," Remus said. There was no reply, and he glanced behind him.

Sirius stood in the doorway, one hand in Harry's, the other carrying a disturbingly cheery backpack. Harry's backpack. Harry was clutching a small plush frog in one hand.

"You keep him in a cupboard," Sirius said quietly. "With no lights except a torch he had to steal. You lock him in when you're tired of dealing with him. Your son has broken every toy the boy has ever managed to scrounge up. He torments him mercilessly. So, I suspect, do you."

Sirius picked up Harry, and handed his bag to Remus.

"You're lucky I don't kill you," he said fiercely. Vernon Dursley was too stunned to do more than gape. "You're lucky I don't call the Aurors -- "

" -- police -- " Remus coughed.

"And have you arrested and sent up for being an absolute -- "

"Sirius," Remus said sharply. "Let's go. Now."

Sirius growled at Petunia, who had entered when Vernon started shouting, and was standing between him and the door. She scuttled aside. Harry, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, shivered.

And then they were outside in the sunshine, moving quickly down the street, Sirius grave and furious, Remus silent, Harry still clutching Sirius' neck, and the frog squashed between his hand and Sirius' collarbone.

The door of Sirius' small house slammed open and he stormed inside, setting Harry down on the counter in the kitchen so that the boy's legs hung over the edge. Remus laid the backpack carefully on the table.

"Everything the boy owns fits in a backpack," Sirius muttered.

"His clothes, too?"

"I wouldn't touch those clothes," Sirius said sharply. "he won't need them. We'll buy him his own clothes."

"Dumbledore's going to kill us," Remus said slowly.

"I don't care."

Remus looked at Harry. "Really, they locked you in a cupboard?"

Harry, terrified, nodded slowly. He had both arms around the toy now, and was shaking.

"Nothing else to be done, then," Remus mused.

"You're damned right!" Sirius shouted. Remus saw Harry wince. "Did you see? You talked to that monstrous Muggle!"

"Sirius, you're scaring him."

"Well, I'm angry!"

"And he's eight! Shut it, or I'll shut it for you!" Remus snapped. Sirius, stunned by his words, stopped mid-diatribe. He glanced at Harry, who was staring at them.

"I...I'm eight and a half," Harry said quietly. There was a moment of absolute silence.

Sirius threw back his head and roared with sudden laughter. He moved to the counter, wiping tears from his eyes, and hugged Harry tightly. Remus sank into a chair, resting his head on his hands, exhausted.

"Well, what do you think of that, Harry?" Sirius said, when he finally got himself under control. "How'd you like to come live with your godfather Sirius?"

"Can I have books now?" Harry asked timidly. There was a distinctly amused noise from Remus' general direction.

"Absolutely," Sirius promised. "We could go to the bookshop right now -- "

Remus lifted his head. "I think we ought to," he agreed. "I don't think Harry ought to stay here. It's too close to the Dursleys. It's dangerous," he added, significantly, to Sirius, who nodded.

"Your flat?"

"It's a bit small," Remus sighed. "But I think it'll be safer."

***

Harry wouldn't let go of the frog, and wouldn't stop shaking, until he was installed in one of the enormous wing-chairs in Sandust Books.

"I think I'll put off that trip to India," Remus said thoughtfully, as Sirius located Diggers, his own personal copy, and gave it to Harry. The boy solemnly tucked his frog between his hip and the arm of the chair, drew his knees up to prop the book on, and began to read. "If we're going to get in hot water over it, both of us ought to be here."

"You'd think you were his godfather."

"James was my friend too," Remus said reproachfully.

Sirius crossed his arms, also watching Harry. "If you want to go, you should go, but I'd rather you stayed."

"Then I'll stay. Besides, you don't know where anything in my flat is," Remus said, lips quirking up slightly. "There's only the bed and the couch, I'm afraid."

"We'll put Harry on the couch, and he can share it with Padfoot," Sirius said.

"You shed."

"I'm getting my summer coat."

"You've been continually getting your summer coat for twelve years, then," Remus answered, aware that he was talking around the problem at hand. "So."

"So."

"Do you want to send the owl to Dumbledore, or should I?"

Sirius sighed. "I'll do it. Watch the lad."

"Doubt I'll be doing much else, for the next few years," Remus murmured, when Sirius was gone. He saw Harry's eyes dart up from the book, then back down. After a moment, he did it again.

"Harry," Remus said, slowly, "Are you scared still?"

"No," Harry said, clutching his frog. Remus crouched next to the chair.

"You did want to come with Sirius, didn't you?" he asked quietly. Harry nodded. "Can I see your frog?"

Harry offered it to him, and Remus turned the battered plush toy over in his hands. It was the cheap sort you got from carnival fairway games; Remus reckoned he'd found it somewhere, and turned it into a sort of teddy bear. It was threadbare, leaking stuffing from one of its webbed feet, and unwashed; he considered it for a minute before saying his next words.

"Sirius tells me you think I'm a magician," he said.

"Aren't you?" Harry asked. "Your dog is magic."

"Harry, what sort of magic do you suppose I do?"

"Making dogs smart and making things disappear and turning things into other things and all," Harry said promptly. "And knowing things about people."

"Harry...there are two different worlds, you know. There's the world your uncle and cousin and aunt live in. And we call them Muggles," Remus said carefully. "And then there's another world that you and Sirius and I are a part of. And that's called the Wizarding World."

"Me too?" Harry asked.

"Yes, I should say so, Harry," Remus said. "You're magic. Like us." He took his wand out of his back pocket, and pointed it at the frog. "Want to see some magic, Harry?"

Harry nodded eagerly.

"Scourgify," Remus said, and the dull green shade brightened as a brief cascade of soap bubbles passed over the frog. "Reparo," he continued, and Harry's eyes grew wide as the rip in the webbed foot healed, the stuffing snaking back inside it. The threadbare patches seemed to grow new plush. Remus shook it, making sure there was nothing else to fix, and handed it back to Harry.

"Are you from Narnia?" Harry asked, awed.

"No, Harry. I'm from Yorkshire," Remus grinned. "Listen, you understand you can't tell anyone about this magic, all right? About any magic."

"I won't tell!" Harry squeaked.

"Cross your heart?"

"Cross my heart!"

"There's a lad," he said, as the door to the back office swung open and Sirius walked back in.

"I've sent it off," he said. "Hallo there, Harry, I see Moony fixed your frog."

Harry stroked the frog's head. "Are you magic too?"

"Yup," Sirius said, as Remus straightened. "Like you and your...your dad and mum," he finished, after only a slight hesitation.

"And Padfoot," Harry said. The two men exchanged a quick look.

"Harry..." Sirius said.

"Not right now, Sirius," Remus murmured. Sirius gave him a rebellious look, but subsided. "I think we ought to get Harry something to eat, and show him my flat. I want him fed and rested by the time Dumbledore hears."

"Got to get him some clothes, too," Sirius rumbled.

"Let's take care of that once he's settled. Come on, Harry, you can take the book..." Remus picked up his backpack for a second time, and stared as one of the shoulder straps snapped.

"I tell you what," he said quietly, to Sirius, "We'll get the boy settled, then we'll go back and massacre the Dursleys. Agreed?"

"I wanted to do it the first time round," Sirius said, with a grin.

It wasn't a long walk to Remus' flat from the bookstore; they arrived about the same time a tall, red-headed man did, from the opposite direction.

"I floo'ed Arthur, too," Sirius said sheepishly, when Remus glared. "I thought he'd know what to do."

"Hallo lads!" Arthur Weasley called, hurrying up while Remus unlocked the door. "Oh, blimey, are you in trouble!" he said cheerfully. "Kidnapping and spellbreaking -- "

"We were hoping you'd come down on our side," Sirius interrupted.

"And is this Harry? Tiny bit of a lad, aren't you?" Arthur said, crouching and clapping Harry on the shoulder. Harry, behind his frog, grinned. "Just about the age my Ron is, I'd wager. Eight, eight and a half?"

"And a half," Harry said shyly.

"Harry, this is Mr. Weasley, he's a friend of ours," Remus said, as they trooped inside. Three grown men and an eight-and-a-half-year-old filled the small living room entirely, and Remus ducked into the kitchen. "Just be a mo, get us some tea -- do you like scones, Harry?"

"Yes, thank you," Harry said, as Sirius helped him up onto the battered, much-gnawed couch. Arthur dropped into a creaking chair, and Sirius leaned against the mantel.

"Now, I want the whole story, before the Aurors and the Ministry get hold of it," Arthur said, leaning forward. "You said something about abusing the lad, Sirius?"

"His cousin bullied him, continually," Sirius replied. "You should see the size of him."

"He eats all the breakfast I make," Harry scowled.

"You make breakfast?" Arthur asked.

"Aunt Petunia makes me."

"And he sleeps," Sirius said, slowly, "In a cupboard. That they lock him up in when they think he needs to be punished."

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"Dudley has two bedrooms," Harry whispered.

"What sorts of things do they lock you up for, Harry?"

"My hair," Harry said, ruffling it. "It sticks up too much. And once I...." he glanced at Sirius, who gave him an encouraging look. "Once I said I was talking to an animal. Only really it was talking to me," he said mournfully.

Arthur rested a chin in one hand.

"I think I could make a case for child endangerment if I worked with the Muggles on it, but I'd rather we not bring them into this. Will the Dursleys complain?"

"I'll kill them," Sirius said calmly, "If they do."

"Now, now," Arthur remonstrated. Remus entered, carrying a kettle and three cups, against the laws of physics, in one hand, and a plate of scones on the other.

"They're not terribly fresh -- I was leaving, I hadn't done shopping..." he said apologetically. Harry eyed the scones covetously, looking surprised when Remus gave an entire one of them to him. He ate neatly, spilling no crumbs and sipping his tea as silently as possible while the other men held a conference of looks and significant throat-clearings. Finally, Remus gathered the remains of the tea things and asked if Harry wouldn't like to help him wash up. Harry obediently hopped off of the couch and followed him into the kitchen, leaving his frog behind.

"Boy are you bollocksed," Arthur said frankly, when Harry had gone. "You do know the reason he was with the Dursleys was a protection spell?"

Sirius stared at him. "Of course I did. I didn't think you knew too."

"Which means now he's no longer protected."

"He's got me. He's got Remus. Aren't two better wizards in the world. We'll figure something out."

"There are a lot of old Death Eaters who'd like nothing better than to get their hands on him, you know that," Arthur said soberly.

"Nobody knows he's here. I'll sell my house and get a place somewhere -- maybe in Hogsmeade -- "

"You know you won't be allowed to have the boy around other wizards."

"I don't see why not."

"He's famous, Sirius. He'll never have a moment of peace."

Sirius rubbed a hand across his face. "Well, I've lived around Muggles this long, a couple more years won't matter. Then he'll be at Hogwarts. He'll be safe there."

"If he's shown magical ability," Arthur replied.

"He's James' son! How could he not?"

There was a crash from the other room.

"All right, Remus?" Sirius asked.

"All right," Remus called in reply. "Just a broken cup."

"Well, you know poor Neville Longbottom still hasn't shown any magical ability at all," Arthur said. "There's rumours going about that he might be a squib."

"Sirius! Arthur! Come and see this!" Remus' voice drifted up from the kitchen. The other two crowded into the doorway.

Harry was sitting on the counter, absorbed in a pile of white stoneware chips. Carefully, he plucked one out of the dustpan and stuck it to the jagged remains of what appeared to be a recently-dropped mug. The crack sealed itself over and Harry grinned proudly.

"I think that answers your question," Sirius said quietly.

Chapter 4

Remus, declaring that Harry had been through more than any child ought to in one day, made Sirius talk him into taking a nap; the tall, dark-haired man left the boy curled in a nest of sheets and blankets in Remus' bed and came back out to the kitchen, where Arthur and Remus were in solemn conversation.

"So now we wait for Dumbledore's wrath?" he asked lightly. Remus swallowed compulsively, a sure sign that his nerves were on edge.

"Dumbledore's reply, at any rate," Arthur answered. "How are the wards on this place, Lupin?"

Remus shrugged. "Pretty good. I'll be putting some more on before nightfall. The ones on now are rather...specialised."

"Brilliant at Dark Arts, Remus is," Sirius put in. "Defence, I mean," he added hastily.

"Got to be," Remus muttered. "You spend half your time in zombie villages in Africa and the like..."

Arthur's brow furrowed. "Are you still running about?"

"Peter's still loose."

The red-headed man scowled. "You're the only one who thinks so."

"Listen, all I know is they didn't find a body -- "

" -- fingers! -- "

"And if there's no body I'm not satisfied," Remus continued. "Fingers aren't a body."

Arthur shook his head. "I never could fathom how Malfoy got there before you did."

"I have my theories," Sirius said darkly.

"I for one am glad he did," Remus continued. "Otherwise it'd've been Sirius."

"I could have handled him!"

"Well, that's a moot point."

"What on earth happened that day?" Arthur asked. "I've been meaning to ask you. Dumbledore never gives a straight answer, and you know what the Prophet reporting is like..."

Remus crossed the kitchen, opening one of the cupboards deliberately, and withdrew a bottle of firewhiskey. He uncapped it, and poured a decent amount into Sirius' cup, and then, after a nod, into Arthur's.

"Sirius was going to be their Secret-Keeper," he said. "But he knew the Dark Lord would look for him first. He thought it ought to be someone that wouldn't be suspected. At the time they thought I was a spy," he drawled, with the amused perspective of one who has had seven years in which to consider matters. "Peter went to the Dark Lord that night, and told him where to find them."

"I can tell it," Sirius said, sipping his tea. "By the time I got there it was over. Hagrid was there, with...with Harry," he said, clenching the mug. "I was going to go find Peter and rip his bloody arms off -- "

"I wasn't even supposed to be in the country, I had a job I was supposed to be taking in Rome," Remus put in. "They were sending me money for travel, but the owl got lost...when I heard, I left for Godric's Hollow."

"Made me send Hagrid off on the bike with Harry," Sirius grumbled. "We started looking, but we took a wrong turning -- "

" -- my fault -- " Remus muttered.

"And Lucius Malfoy got there first," Sirius finished. "They say there was a struggle, a duel. Twenty Muggles dead."

"The papers said eight," Arthur said, astonished.

"The papers lied," Sirius answered. "They got Lucius, and they found a couple of Peter's fingers."

"Which is not proof he died," Remus interjected.

"And the Aurors had Malfoy. Moody says it took three of them to disarm him," Sirius added. "They had him locked up and a Dementor got in..."

"...and he's now a raving maniac," Remus said, only a small note of triumph in his voice. "And serve him right."

Arthur was drinking his tea, listening carefully to the shared narrative.

"Sirius bought the house on Privet Drive and the bookshop, and after realising that he hated selling things and I was about to be thrown out into the street to starve..." Remus grinned. "He hired me. And then we kidnapped Harry Potter and Dumbledore beat us to death with Harry's stuffed frog."

"He failed Divination," Sirius said, gesturing to Remus with his mug.

"I didn't fail. I refused on principle to take the test," Remus answered.

"And what are you going to do with the boy now?" Arthur asked. "Send him off to school as if nothing happened? You can't watch him every second of every day."

"I'm distant blood-kin to him, the protection spell should at least keep him safe out in the world. The rest of the time Padfoot can watch him."

Arthur grinned. "Where is the big oaf? I thought for sure he'd want to be underfoot during all the excitement."

"Hiding under the bed, I imagine," Remus answered smoothly. "We can keep Harry safe until he goes to Hogwarts. Then it's up to Dumbledore."

"I don't think he ought to go back to that school," Sirius said suddenly. "Not with Dudley Dursley around."

"There are bullies at any school," Remus reminded him.

"Not like Dursley there aren't. And anyway, I don't see why he has to go to school at all, they're not teaching him anything useful."

"No, only reading, writing, maths, and basic science," Remus said, a twinge of sarcasm in his voice.

"I think I'll leave you two to your fistfight," Arthur said. "I've got to get back. Owl me, I'd like to know what happens next," he added, and Disapparated with a crack.

Silence fell over the kitchen.

"Do you see me looking longingly at the remains of that firewhiskey?" Sirius asked.

"That's all I need, Harry Potter napping in my bed, Dumbledore on my front step, and Sirius Black drunk in my kitchen," Remus snapped.

"Didn't say I was going to DO anything about it," Sirius muttered.

***

When Harry woke, it was to the sound of faint doggy snores and the heavy weight of Padfoot's head on his legs. The lights were out, and dim illumination from the streetlamp outside the window turned a stripe of Padfoot's black fur to silver.

Harry slid silently out of bed, and walked down the narrow corridor. Light shone out of one room, and he peered inside, carefully.

Moony was sitting at a desk, writing something with what looked like a feather -- a quill, Harry thought, recognizing it from paintings in history books. He took a pinch of something from a jar and sprinkled it over the paper, then poured a few drops of some cloudy green liquid into his palm, and scattered that over the powder. There was a brief flash of light and Moony looked pleased, folding the paper and tucking it into a crack in the wall.

Harry, not eager to be caught watching Moony do magic, hurried out into the kitchen. He found a glass in one of the low cupboards, and was contemplating how to reach the sink when a pair of hands lifted him under the arms and propped him against the counter.

"Thirsty?" Moony asked, with a smile. Harry turned the spigot and filled the glass, and Moony set him down.

"A little," Harry answered, sipping. "Where'd Sirius go?"

"Home, for now. He'll be back in the morning. You're safe here with Pads and me. Now back to bed with you, Harry."

"Where are you sleeping?" Harry asked.

"I don't think I'd sleep much tonight, even if I had a place," Moony said. "But if I'm tired I'll sleep on the couch."

"Are you in trouble cos of me?" Harry asked.

"Sort of. I spent a lot of this afternoon being yelled at, while you were asleep. There's a man named Albus Dumbledore -- you'll meet him when you start school at Hogwarts -- and he wasn't very happy that we took you from the Dursleys."

"I hate the Dursleys," Harry said vehemently.

"Fortunately, you're not going back."

"I'm not?"

"No. You're going to live here, with me. Or possibly we'll move somewhere safe. We don't know yet."

Harry looked up at him. Moony's hair was brown, but already going grey; his face was lined and worried, but his eyes were bright and warm. He wasn't used to seeing affection in anyone's face, and the sensation was unfamiliar to him.

"What if they take me back?"

"Nobody's taking you out of this flat, unless it's over my dead body, and I am a tenacious bugger," Remus said. Harry laughed. "And once they got past me they'd have to get past Padfoot," he added, following Harry into the bedroom. He took the glass from the boy and set it on the beside table, clearing away several large books. "Go back to sleep," he said.

Harry curled up, his back pressed to the bony, fuzzy back of Padfoot, and closed his eyes. Remus waited for a minute, looking down at the child -- he was smaller than Padfoot, still.

Remus could remember the day he was born; could still see James holding his son in his arms, absolutely incapable of saying a word. The first child of the four friends; back then none of them ever thought Sirius would marry, and Remus kept his affairs private, and Peter was...well, Peter...so it wasn't surprising that all four of them looked on the child as their own.

He could remember holding Harry in one hand, and wondering how on earth James Potter, of all people, could be a father.

He could remember standing in Godric's Hollow amid the wreckage of what had been the Potters' home, and wondering how on earth James could be dead.

Padfoot lifted his head and regarded Remus over one shoulder with solemn, dark doggy eyes. Remus closed his eyes and shook his head. He turned and walked out of the bedroom, and down the hall to his small office. If they stayed, it could be Harry's room. If Sirius stayed too, he'd have to get a smaller bed and share his bedroom with Sirius, unless Sirius wanted to spend every night as a dog.

He'd no idea what he'd do when the full moon came again. Fortunately it wasn't due for nearly three weeks, so he had time.

He paused in the office. He could do no more wardings tonight. He'd put every possible protection on the place, at least every protection he could do alone. In the morning perhaps he'd make Sirius help him do a few more.

He turned out the lights and locked the office, continuing into the kitchen. The firewhiskey was still out, and he filled a mug with it halfway, adding cold tea and stirring with his wand to heat it.

Dumbledore had arrived that afternoon, furious and terrifying. He'd actually shouted, and Remus had never in his life heard Dumbledore shout.

Sirius had shouted back.

Remus had sat quietly until Dumbledore's wrath had turned on him, at which point he'd calmly repeated what Harry had told them about how he lived. He'd pointed out, heart thudding in his ribcage, that the spell was already broken, and that he himself was blood kin to Harry, however distant it might be. He'd listened to everything Dumbledore had said and then he had simply said no. No, we are keeping Harry. No, we will not give him back. No, he will stay with us. No, you don't get to tell us what to do.

He understood why Sirius was Harry's godfather -- James and Sirius had always been the closest of the four -- but sometimes he wondered if Sirius understood what was expected of him. He knew his friend would die, without hesitation, to protect the lad. He knew Sirius would kill without hesitation too. But he wondered if Sirius would or even could do the small things that Harry needed much more: feed and clothe the boy, consider his education, teach him some kind of morals, show him how a man ought to live. Reassure him when he was frightened. Listen, even in the middle of the night, for the soft footfalls of a child who was thirsty, or sick, or upset.

He had no doubt that Dumbledore would send them instructions on what they would be allowed to do. They had already been expressly forbidden to take him to Diagon Alley, or Hogsmeade, or anywhere they were likely to run into wizards.

Tomorrow they would buy Harry new clothes, and some proper toys. In the afternoon they would sit at the kitchen table and decide what they were going to do, whether they would stay in the small flat near Sandust Books, or sell the bookshop and move somewhere remote, somewhere they were unlikely to be found. Whether Harry would be sent to a boarding school, perhaps, though Remus cringed at the idea of finally having freed Harry from the Dursleys, only to send him off again.

So many questions.

This must be, he thought with a bitter smile, how James felt, eight and a half years ago.

***

Harry was ecstatic. Shy, it was true, but deliriously happy. Sirius wasn't sure how one small body could hold so much pent-up excitement.

Remus had stopped only briefly at Sandust Books to hang a sign in the window, announcing the store was closed for the day. Several of the locals, including Clara, who owned Woman's Intuition, and one of the many brothers who worked at the bakery, had met Harry and made much of him as Sirius' godson. They'd gone to the shoe store and bought Harry new trainers; the department store yielded clothing, including a scarlet-and-gold rugby shirt that Sirius insisted on buying though it was a size too big, and which Harry rapturously refused to take off.

Remus found a baseball cap with a frog on it, and talked Sirius out of buying a child-sized safety helmet so that he'd have an excuse to take Harry on the motorbike. Harry was allowed to pick out a brand new book bag, one with thousands of pockets, and Sirius quietly slipped nearly ten pounds' worth of sweets into it, purchased while Harry and Remus were next door in the toy shop.

Sirius fully expected Harry to want one of everything, but the boy was grave and choosy as he picked out a robot that lit up, a new pencil-case shaped like a dragon, and a see-through globe of the world.

"Isn't there anything else you want?" Sirius asked, as he paid for the toys in strange multicoloured Muggle money. Outside, Remus was being accosted by a few of the bookshop's regulars, who probably wanted to know why they were closed.

"No," Harry said, easily. "I needed a new pencil case," he added, holding it up so that the dragon's face was pointing at his own, and growling at it.

"But there's thousands of toys here."

"Yeah, but I don't need 'em," Harry answered. "I like the robot though. It'll light up at night and then it won't be so dark."

"But you know you don't have to have a reason to want a toy," Sirius said desperately. Harry looked up at him, curious.

"I like globes," he said, finally, as if that settled things. Sirius tucked the box with the globe in it under one arm, sighed, and led Harry from the store. Obviously he'd got Lily's pragmatic genes.

They bought ice cream and sat down amid thousands of shopping bags, as Harry was tired and Sirius never passed up an excuse to eat ice cream. Remus has been silent ever since they'd bought Harry's book bag, and while Sirius was used to a certain amount of thoughtful contemplation on Moony's part, this was a bit much.

Harry wouldn't shut up.

"And then I'm going to put all my pencils in my dragon, and try on all my socks, and -- look," he said, pointing to the globe he'd removed from its box. "That's where we are. And there's a boy at school who's from..." he spun it carefully, and jabbed at China, "There, and he brings all sorts of funny food for lunch, it's brilliant. And that's America, and that's Australia, they're upside-down there, you know..."

"All right, Moony?" Sirius asked quietly, when Harry stopped to take a bite of his ice cream. Remus glanced up at him.

"Can't think and talk at the same time," he said, with a small grin. "And I'm thinking really, really hard."

"About Harry?"

"Among other things."

Sirius nodded. "You're thinking about school."

"Eight hours a day we can't protect him, you're bloody right I'm thinking about school," Remus answered.

"What're you talking about?" Harry asked curiously, standing on his chair to lean further over the table. Sirius reached over and lifted him up, setting him back down in the chair firmly.

"School," Remus answered. "And what we're going to do with you."

"I like school. Sort of."

"Harry, how'd you like to go to a different school?" Sirius asked, picking up the globe and re-packing it. Harry fiddled with the sleeves on his rugby shirt. Remus glanced sideways at him.

"What sort?" Harry asked finally.

"Well, what if you could go to a really small school? With only a few other kids?"

"Sirius, what are you on about?" Remus asked.

"Molly Weasley teaches her kids at home," Sirius replied. "I know she sometimes has a few other kids, too, takes in a little extra money that way. Bet you anything she'd let Harry in."

"We're not supposed to expose him to other magical -- "

"Oh, come on, it's just the Weasleys, it's only school. He can play with Ron, they'll get on well together."

"It'll all end in grass stains," Remus sighed.

"I'd like that," Harry said decidedly. "Can I take my new book bag?"

"I'll speak to Molly about it," Sirius said. Remus gave him a peculiar look. "What?"

"Nothing...that's good. Good," Remus said, and bent to finish his sherbert. Sirius smiled as he watched the child play.

"He's where he belongs now," he said, very softly, to Remus.

"Now we've got to make sure he stays alive long enough to enjoy it," Remus replied.

So like Moony. Always the worrier.

Chapter 5

Remus didn't have a floo hookup in his flat; there was one in Sandust, in the back, and it was dangerous for him to have one at home -- occasionally he was required to lock himself in the flat for the full moon, and he never knew what might happen. So Sirius ended up at Sandust again, engaged in a negotiation-by-floo with Molly Weasley, who was understandably nervous about having Harry Potter in her informal little school. Still, Sirius was willing to pay -- Sirius had plenty of money to pay, especially after his mother's death -- and Molly had a soft heart for a little boy who'd spent his whole life among Muggles.

Remus, meanwhile, was clearing out his office, moving the books into the living room, floating the desk awkwardly through the door, showing Harry where his own bed would be, and the dresser and bookshelf, and a desk if Harry wanted it, until Harry was entirely overwhelmed.

Crowded into the tiny dining room of Remus' flat, the three of them ate dinner, Harry quiet and exhausted, Sirius thoughtful, Remus worried.

"Where's Padfoot gone?" Harry asked finally. Sirius sighed quietly.

"I think we ought to tell him," he said, to Remus, who nodded.

"Tell me what?" Harry's voice was curious.

"Harry...you thought Padfoot was a magic dog," Remus said. "And we didn't want to show you too much magic at once, it's hard to get used to..."

"I knew it! Padfoot can talk!"

"Not exactly," Sirius said. "Harry...you have to keep it a secret."

Harry nodded. Sirius wiped his mouth, stood up, and looked to Remus, who nodded.

"Don't be scared," he said.

Remus, who had seen the Change before, watched Harry's face as Sirius' body twisted, warping slowly into the shape of the big black dog who'd caught Harry from falling the first day.

Padfoot hung his head, and looked up at Harry warily. Harry glanced at Remus.

"Sirius is Padfoot," Remus said, feeling that this was unnecessary, but doing it anyway. "And Padfoot is Sirius."

Harry looked at the dog again. Carefully, he picked up a sausage from his plate, and held it out. Padfoot took it, delicately, and swallowed it. Harry patted his head.

"My godfather's a dog," he said.

"Well, only once in a while."

"Was he a dog and you changed him into a human?" Harry asked.

"No."

"Is he a werewolf?"

Remus felt something tighten in his chest. "No," he managed. "He's an Animagus. He's a wizard who can turn into an animal."

"Oooh," Harry said. He patted Padfoot on the head. "You can go back now," he announced. A second later, Sirius was standing there, hands at his sides, looking expectant.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Harry," he said. Harry looked up at him.

"Good dog," he said. Sirius smiled warily. "I knew you were magic."

He hopped off his chair and went to the sink. "Pick me up?" he asked. Sirius lifted him and let him fill his glass again. "We need a stool," Harry mused.

"Harry, your godfather's a dog," Remus pointed out. Harry climbed back into his chair.

"I knew Padfoot was magic," he repeated, calmly. "Do you change into an animal?" he asked Remus, who choked on a piece of chicken and had to be thwacked on the back by Sirius.

"Remus isn't an Animagus," Sirius said, while Remus recovered from a close encounter of the poultry kind. "Listen, Harry, I've spoken with Molly Weasley -- she's Arthur's wife -- and she says she'd like to have you come to see her tomorrow."

"Mkay," Harry said, finishing his dinner. "Can I go read?"

Remus waved him off, and Harry ran into the living room. They could hear him flop onto the couch.

"I erm...reckon you'll be around again this evening?" Remus said, when he'd fully recovered. Sirius was pushing food around his plate.

"I'd like to stay. I can take the couch this time."

"I think Harry's happier when Padfoot's the one sharing the bed."

"Your couch is not fit for sleeping on," Sirius said sternly.

"Never stopped me before. Listen...what're you going to do? With the house on Privet Drive?"

"Well, reckon I could sell it...not that I want to move in if you think there's not room -- "

" -- no, it's not that at all -- "

" -- just, you know, there's no point to keeping the house, now that Harry's here," Sirius added.

"I mean, Harry's going to have my office and you and I could -- there's enough room in the bedroom for two beds..."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "You sound like you've been thinking about this."

"Well, someone had to, didn't they?" Remus sipped his water. "Long as you don't mind sharing a room again."

"I suffered your snoring for seven years, I can probably get used to it again."

"My snoring!" Remus snorted. "What about your bloody sleepwalking?"

"That was ONCE, and I still say James hexed me."

"You can have a doggie basket," Remus said magnanimously. Sirius made a face. "Listen though...what about your things?"

"I'll sell the furniture, most of the stuff in the house isn't important anyhow."

"And..." Remus looked uncomfortable. "Well."

Sirius waited patiently.

"If Harry's here, you know...you can't be bringing women back here all the time," Remus blurted. "I mean it's bad enough when I show up to drop off a book and there's some unknown girl running about -- "

"It happens THREE TIMES and he never forgets -- "

"Well, imagine what Harry would think."

Sirius leaned back in his chair. "Fine. But in that case, you can't be bringing men home anymore either."

Remus blinked at him.

"I've known you for seventeen years, I'm not blind you know," Sirius said with a grin. "You think Padfoot never noticed those 'rare-book collectors' hanging about?"

Remus was still staring.

"Pity of Merlin, Remus, I don't care," Sirius said finally. "It was just a joke."

"Oh," Remus said finally. "Well, I never do anyway."

"No wonder you're so anxious all the time."

"Not funny, Sirius."

"It is from this chair," Sirius grinned. Remus shook his head, and smiled slightly.

"Pads and Harry can have the bed again tonight. You are going to get Harry his own bed and set up the rest while he's at school and I'm working, tomorrow."

"Sirius Black, Homemaker of the Year," Sirius answered, saluting.

"And for the love of God, if you bring that hideous painting in your living room to my flat, I will burn it," Remus added, as he set their plates in the sink. A brush on the counter leapt up and began to wash them, automatically. They heard a snort of childish laughter from the living room, and Sirius rose.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, with a dignified look, "I have a godson to read to."

***

"Lunch?"

"Uh huh."

"Books? Quill? Sirius gave you some parchment, didn't he?"

"Uh huh."

"Got all the sweets Sirius kept slipping you?"

"You weren't s'posed to see that."

"I see everything, Harry."

"Everything?"

"Well. Almost everything. You're to be polite to Molly, she's your teacher now."

"Kay."

"And no fighting with the others."

"What if they don't like me?"

"Harry, they're like you. They're special. They're wizarding children, same as you. Of course they'll like you."

"But what if they don't?"

"Well...give them some of Sirius' sweets."

"Does that work?"

"Worked for Sirius when he was starting school. He gave your dad a fizzing whizzbee and they were friends for life."

"I got humbugs and a chocolate bar and some funny-lookin' jelly beans."

"You're armed and ready. You'll be fine. Go on now."

"Moony?"

"Mmm?"

"Are they gonna laugh?"

"No, Harry."

"Even if I have Frog in my bag?"

"I guarantee you, Harry, with a stuffed frog, you will be the envy of all the children."

***

Time passed, it seemed, at once quickly and slowly. They settled into a routine, hard to adjust to at first but, as with most routines, soon so familiar that they couldn't recall it being any other way. Remus and Sirius had their beds on opposite sides of what had been Remus' bedroom, with dressers between them, subtly dividing the living space; Harry had his room off the hallway, and sometimes Padfoot, if Harry was having a particularly anxious day, slept on the foot of Harry's bed. In the morning, Remus took Harry to Sandust and saw him off, via floo, to The Burrow; in the afternoon Harry returned, by which time Sirius (or Padfoot) was there to watch over him as he studied in the bookshop or played with the other children.

They never let him go very far, certainly not out of earshot, and Harry chafed, but he had been raised to be obedient and quiet. And besides, there were few places he could go that Padfoot couldn't follow.

He even saw Dudley, once, shopping with his mother in the market, but he hid behind Padfoot, and the big black dog growled so menacingly that several passers-by stopped to make sure Harry was all right.

Their lives had settled so quickly, and so surprisingly seamlessly, that Sirius was almost taken aback when Remus, bent over his meal, remarked quietly that it would be the full moon in two days. Sirius hadn't noticed the gaunt, drawn look that Remus always got a few days beforehand; Harry didn't know anything was wrong. Normally it was simple -- Remus would ask Sirius to dinner, and Sirius would realise that it was the full moon, and for two days and the full moon night he would stay at the flat, as Padfoot, to keep Remus company. It wasn't perfect -- the wolf often got restless -- but nobody got hurt, and Remus survived with his sanity intact.

"Wossat mean?" Harry asked, around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. He was still fascinated with magic, though he saw enough of it by now. "You gonna do a spell at the full moon?"

Remus looked uncomfortable. "No, not exactly. This is grownups business, Harry."

Harry looked sullen, and stabbed his roast beef viciously.

"Perhaps we ought to talk about it later," Sirius said pointedly, and Remus nodded. "Harry, how're you getting on at The Burrow?"

"Ron showed me how to get rid of gnomes," Harry muttered. "And Ginny pulled on my hair."

"Girls do that sometimes," Sirius agreed. "Having fun?"

Harry shrugged. "Guess so."

Remus sat back a little, kept out of it, as Sirius quizzed him about school, about his studies, about what he was reading from the bookstore. It was Sirius' job to do that; Sirius recommended the books he read, watched over his studies, tucked him in at night.

Remus, meanwhile, was going to have to find somewhere to go for the full moon, lest he turn into a slavering monster and try to eat his best friend's godson.

He felt this was somehow vaguely unfair of the universe.

After dinner was done, and Harry'd washed and brushed his teeth and been put to bed to read, Sirius leaned in the doorway of the living room. Remus was working at his desk, checking the month's accounts for the bookshop.

"You should have told me sooner," he said quietly. Remus shook his head.

"Didn't think about it myself -- the whole Dursley affair put me off my schedule, having Harry here, all of it."

"We could send Harry to the Weasleys'."

"Not for two nights running -- you know how I get the night before the full moon, I might as well be a wolf anyway," Remus sighed. "I mean to say. What would they think? They're bound to ask questions." He put his head in his hands. "You ought to take Harry away," he said. "We can put wards on any other flat just as well as this one. Get your own place, you and him."

"Is that what you want?"

"Of course not. I want Harry here. Where I can watch him too. But what I want doesn't come into it. He's your godson, and you're not the one going feral every twenty-eight days."

Sirius considered this. "We couldn't ward another flat like this one. Not without your blood connection to James."

Remus let his head slide down onto the table, covering it with his hands. "Well, I've gone over my options. I was hoping you'd have some. I've just got the one."

"Sending Harry off?"

"No. But you've got keys and you know how the shop is run, you can look after Harry. I think I've got to go back to Hogsmeade."

Sirius flopped on the couch, confused. "What's in Hogsmeade?"

Remus lifted his head to look at him. Sirius' eyes widened.

"There is no way in hell you're going back to that pit, Moony," he said, urgently. "Not after all this time."

"It's the only safe way."

"You're not going back there!" Sirius insisted.

"Don't be ridiculous about it."

"I know what your transformations were like, I saw you afterwards," Sirius continued. "I didn't spend two years learning to be an Animagus just so you could go back to the Shrieking Shack and go through it all over again."

"Then come up with another option, Sirius, by all means." Remus spread his hands. "It's not like I want to go back to that. Merlin knows I don't."

Sirius could count the number of full moons that Remus had spent alone, after that first Animagus transformation, on one hand. Once when the tunnel had collapsed while they were still at school, and none of them but Remus could get to the Shack; once, after school was done, when Sirius had been in St. Mungo's with a vicious magical pneumonia; twice when he was traveling, in search of Peter, and couldn't make it back to Sirius and his flat in time. Four times in twelve years -- in over one hundred and fifty full moons.

"You can't, because there isn't," Remus said, calmly. "It's all right. Day after tomorrow I'll see Harry off to school and Apparate to Hogsmeade. I can take Dumbledore a peace offering, he's still furious with us...might even be a Quidditch game I could see."

"And then go lock yourself in a shack and try to rip your own skin off," Sirius growled.

"Better mine than Harry's," Remus replied evenly.

***

Harry didn't see why he couldn't go with Sirius to fetch Moony from wherever he'd gone. Moony'd been away for two days, and Harry missed him, which was odd, because Moony was quiet and never said much -- not like Sirius. Moony was like a dog himself, Harry decided; you didn't see him a whole lot when he was there, but when he wasn't, you missed his presence.

Instead, he stayed late at Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys' house, until Sirius came to get him. It wasn't so bad; Fred and George taught him how to pick locks, and Ron and he shared an apple, and Ginny spilled paint on him, which was always fun, as he got to watch Mrs. Weasley clean it magically.

When Sirius unlocked the door and swung it open, Harry dropped his book bag and immediately ran into the kitchen to find Moony; when he wasn't there, he pushed past Sirius and ran to the bedroom.

Sirius' hands caught him before he could get all the way to Moony's bed to jump up on it. Harry got only a glimpse of Moony, curled shirtless on the counterpane, but it was enough. There were large scratches along his ribcage, vicious open welts of a sort Harry had never encountered before. Moony was shaking, arms clutched around his body. There were scores on his face, too, and what looked like bitemarks on his hands.

"What's wrong with Moony?" he demanded loudly, as Sirius carried him away from the bedroom. He squirmed in Sirius' grip. "What happened to him? You didn't bite him, did you?"

"Shh, you'll wake him," Sirius answered, setting Harry down in his own bedroom, and closing the door. He crouched. Harry stomped his foot.

"Why's he hurt!" Harry shouted.

"Harry, it's a disease. There's nothing you can do by shouting. I didn't hurt Moony, all right?" Sirius said, his voice almost panicked. "It's okay. He's going to be fine. He'll be fine in the morning, you wait and see."

"He's all bitten and stuff!"

"It looks that way, I know, but I promise you, Harry, in the morning he'll be fine. Trust me, will you, kid?" Sirius pleaded. Harry scowled.

"Is he catching?" he asked, finally. Sirius shook his head.

"He's safe. He just got sick, that's all. Moony...he's going to get sick sometimes. He's not as strong as you and me."

Harry's eyes widened.

"So you just have to understand that sometimes you can't be with Moony, okay?"

Harry sat on his bed, and crossed his legs, looking thoughtful. Sirius stayed in his crouch, waiting for a sign of acceptance.

"Does he want Frog?" Harry asked, picking up the plush frog from a mostly-empty toy chest, and holding it out to Sirius.

***

"Does it hurt?"

"Only while it's...healing. It'll be fast. Usually doesn't...umm. Take more than a day."

"How much longer?"

"Another two, three hours. I think. Jesus Christ in stilettos..."

"You've been around Muggles too much, picking up their profanity like that."

"Ha bloody ha. Ow."

"Anything I can do?"

"Yes. Kill me."

"I told you it was a mistake."

"Oooh, or tell me what a fool I am, ta ever so, Pads."

"Sorry."

"Sirius..."

"What?"

"Harry saw, didn't he?"

"Just a glimpse. I told him it was a magic flu."

"I should have stayed in the Shack until I was healed fully. Shouldn't have let you Apparate me back. Next month. Next month."

"You can't do this, you're not thirteen anymore."

"I can do this. Argh."

"You'll scar."

"Sirius, go away and let me die in peace."

"I only came back to leave something off. Harry sent it."

"I'll bleed on it."

"We'll clean it. Take it."

"How stupid do I look?"

"Really stupid. You feel better?"

"...yes."

Chapter 6

In the morning, Harry peered into Remus and Sirius' room, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Sirius was curled up in a ball in his bed, as usual, but Remus was sitting up, a book propped on his lap, piles of photos and papers surrounding him. He looked up, held a finger to his lips, and gestured Harry forward.

"Morning, Harry," he said softly, hoarsely. Harry, clutching Frog -- who'd been returned to him at some point in the night, probably by Sirius -- came forward. Moony lifted him up and placed him in his lap, so that Harry could see what he was doing.

He was pasting photographs into an album, magical photographs. Harry never got tired of looking at the moving pictures.

"This is for you," Remus said, pointing to the piles of pictures. "I thought, I have all these photos and I wanted you to see them, and Sirius brought me a box too."

"Who are they?" Harry asked.

"Well, that's me," Remus indicated a barely-grown boy, who was standing in the photo holding a stack of books, in what looked like a library. "And there's Arthur and Molly Weasley when they were about my age."

Harry could have told him that; the couple were surrounded by redheaded children in matching knit jumpers.

"And this..." Remus flipped back a page. "Is Hogwarts, where your dad and mum, and Sirius and I, all went to school. It's where you're going in a few years."

Harry stared in awe at the castle, with its pennants waving and strange flying specks in the distance. Remus flipped back another page, and Harry gasped. His father and mother -- he recognized them from the one faded and torn photo he had -- waved at him as they held a baby that must be himself, eight years ago.

"That's James and Lily, your mum and dad," Remus said, unnecessarily. "You're about three months old there -- " he chuckled as the Harry in the picture squalled, and James looked stricken. The chuckle turned into a momentary cough, and Harry noticed the fresh pink skin on his hands, where bite-marks had been the night before.

"Are you gonna be okay?" he asked. Remus nodded, rubbing his throat before speaking.

"I'll be fine, Harry. Look, there's your dad -- " he pointed to what looked like a photo of the sky; after a second, Harry saw a broomstick sweep through it, and a young man that looked like himself, in a set of brilliant scarlet-and-gold robes, riding on it. "Brilliant Quidditch player, he was."

"Fred and George told me 'bout Quidditch," Harry said. "They say it's brilliant. Mrs. Weasley won't let us fly till Ron and I turn nine."

"And right she is," Remus agreed.

"Can we go see a Quidditch game sometime?" Harry asked. Remus stared at the photos a while before answering.

"Perhaps once you start school," he said finally.

"Do people not like me?" Harry asked.

"Why do you say that?"

"I never get to go anywhere. Ron gets to go to Diagon Alley, and Quidditch games, and that," Harry said. Remus touseled his already-tangled hair.

"Harry, there are things I can't explain to you now," Remus replied. "Well...it's not my job. Sirius can tell you..."

There was a grunt from the other bed. "Wossum?" Sirius asked.

"Go back to sleep, you great git," Remus said amiably. There was another grunt, and the blankets shifted slightly.

"We wanted to make sure you were happy here," he continued. Harry turned to look up at him. "There are reasons you can't go to those places, Harry. But it's not my place to explain them. Sirius and I answer to other people about your safety."

Harry turned the pages of the album in Remus' hands. "That's silly."

"Seems like it, doesn't it?"

"Who's that?" Harry asked, pointing to another photo. Remus leaned forward, over his shoulder. A dark-haired boy looked up from a sheet of parchment, brushed hair out of his eyes, and smiled charmingly. Remus smiled.

"That's Sirius," he said, tickling Harry under the ribs. The boy giggled, and jumped off his lap, running to Sirius to leap onto the pile of blankets. Sirius yelped.

"Frog says wake up!" Harry cried. Remus watched as Sirius went through the morning ritual of stifling the urge to strangle Harry.

It was quite sweet, really.

***

They'd had breakfast, of course, after Sirius stopped being cranky, and Sirius and Moony had talked in low, serious "grownup" voices -- Moony had said it wouldn't scar, and Sirius had said darkly that he didn't like it, and Harry had put in that Sirius said that Moony was going to get sick again. Moony had said that he'd been getting sick for many years and never died yet, but after that, he went silent for the rest of breakfast. That seemed to end that discussion, and the rest of the week passed mainly uneventfully, except for Harry's excited anticipation of a visit from Ron and Ginny on Saturday.

They arrived by floo just as Moony was turning the "open" sign around at Sandust Books. Harry had made a deal that Ron should come visit him at the bookstore -- Ron wanted to see how Muggles did their shopping -- but the grownups had insisted that Ginny should come along too.

"Where d'ya wanna go?" Harry asked, sitting on the front step with Ron, Ginny, and Padfoot. Ginny was petting Padfoot, admittedly stroking his fur the wrong way, but he merely nudged her hand with his nose, making her giggle.

"Got a Joke Shop?" Ron asked. Harry shook his head. "How about a broomstick shop?"

"We've got a hoover-repair shop," Harry said dubiously. "Or we could go to the pet shop. Ginny, you stay here," he said. "Padfoot, come?"

The great shaggy black dog heaved himself to his feet, and herded Ginny inside. They heard Moony say something quietly, and Ginny answer. Then Padfoot was outside again, and Harry led the procession down the street.

Ron was amused by how everyone knew Harry and Padfoot -- especially that more people could name Padfoot than could name Harry. He was appropriately impressed by the electronics shop, especially the televisions; he was nonplussed by the pet store, which hadn't a patch, he said, on the one in Diagon Alley. He laughed at the photo store where none of the pictures moved, and stared every time an automobile rumbled past.

"Ginny, we brought you an ice cream," Harry said, as they wandered back into Sandust Books.

"That was nice of you, Harry," Moony said. He was reading a newspaper behind the counter; Harry could tell by the moving pictures that it was the Prophet. "See your dad's made the news, Ron, tell him congratulations on catching that rogue Ever Talking Telephone. What's he going to do with it?"

"Dunno," Ron answered, licking a drip off of Ginny's ice cream cone before handing it to her. "Probably take it apart. Dad's always taking Muggle things apart."

"Yes, I remember the Transistor Radio Incident a few years ago," Moony murmured.

"Burns didn't even leave a mark," Ron said proudly. "Dunno how Muggles do it."

"We do all right," Harry said.

Ron, Ginny, Moony, and Padfoot all looked at him. He looked back, curiously.

"You're not a Muggle, Harry," Ron said. "You're a Wizard. Like us."

"Am I?" Harry asked Moony.

"I've told you that, Harry," Moony answered. "Don't you believe me?"

"Well, we don't live like Mr. and Mrs. Weasley do. She cooks by magic," Harry said.

"We're still wizards," Moony answered.

"M'kay," Harry said agreeably, not wishing to press the point. Moony watched him over the edge of his paper as Harry led Ron into the back room.

"S'wonderful, this Muggle stuff," Ron said, poking the electric kettle that Moony made tea with. "Dad ought to come by sometime. You could show him the 'ektricks."

"Electrics," Harry corrected. "Wish I could see your High Street."

"What, Diagon Alley? S'not so great."

"Really?"

"Naw, really it's the best," Ron said, grinning, as he crunched up the last of his ice cream cone. "Don't see why you can't."

"Me either."

"No, I mean, there's the floo and all. We could nip out and nip back, nobody'd miss us."

Harry looked askance at the fireplace in the back of the room. "I'm not s'posed to go anywhere without Padfoot or Moony," he said.

"Don't see why. Not like Padfoot did much, other than bark at that strange dog," Ron answered. "Fred and George go to Diagon Alley all the time."

"They're big kids."

Ron scoffed. "I'm tall as them already."

Harry considered matters. It was true that nobody would miss him and Ron for five minutes; he could hear Moony helping a customer, and Ginny was sitting on the back step sharing her ice cream with Padfoot.

"You could just see Flourish and Blott's and come right back," Ron said. "I know exactly how it's done."

"And other wizards," Harry mused.

"Might even see a hag."

"And I could buy a chocolate frog."

Ron waited patiently. Finally, Harry went to the fireplace, and took down the jar with the floo powder in it.

"You first," he said, holding out the jar. Ron tossed the powder into the fire and stepped inside.

"Diagon Alley!" he said, and grinned at Harry as he vanished.

Harry threw another pinch into the fire, set the jar down, and stepped inside.

"Diagon All -- Pads!" he said in a panic, as Padfoot pushed the door open.

The world spun, and Harry at least remembered to tuck his elbows in, but he knew something had gone wrong; when he tumbled out onto the hearthstone on the other end, it was into a dim, dingy, and apparently empty shop.

He glanced around, confused, as he pushed himself to his feet. This couldn't be Diagon Alley, could it?

There was a noise, and he whirled; someone was pushing open a door, and it was ringing a rusty, corroded bell on the handle. A squat, elderly man appeared behind the counter on Harry's left and waddled up to the front of the store without so much as glancing in Harry's direction.

"Ms. Malfoy, always a pleasure, always a pleasure," he toadied, bowing and rubbing his hands.

The tall woman who'd entered had a mane of white-blonde hair, and was dressed in black and green; she carried a small leather sack in one hand, and was followed by...

Harry, half-hidden by a corner of the counter, stared. It was a small...green...thing, with huge bat-ears and bulging eyes, tottering under an enormous armful of packages and sacks. It appeared to be wearing a tea cozy and a pillowcase. Harry had never seen anything like it.

He was aware that the pair were speaking, but all he could do was stare at the green thing. It watched the blonde woman -- Ms. Malfoy? -- with unblinking attention. Harry was only brought back to himself when he heard the click of coins on glass, and saw money exchanging hands. She thanked the shopkeeper, added something to the leather sack, and turned, walking with a snakelike grace as she moved to leave.

There was a man standing on the step, hand outstretched to push on the door. Harry saw a narrow, sallow face, long black hair, and slim white fingers.

"Narcissa," the man on the doorstep said, coldly.

"Severus," she replied. "Fancy meeting you here. I didn't think you were allowed in Knockturn Alley."

The man drew himself up. "I go where I please," he snapped.

"Still teaching at Hogwarts, Severus?" she asked, a sneer in her voice. "Surprised they pay you enough to do any shopping at all."

Harry watched as the man stepped aside, gesturing elegantly to the street. "You were leaving, I believe," he said.

Narcissa Malfoy swept past him, and the man she'd called Severus watched her go. After a minute, he stepped into the dingy shop and the door closed again.

"I require no assistance," he said to the shopkeeper, curtly. Harry watched as his hands moved confidently over the jars on the table, taking measure of this and that, pouring them neatly into small glass vials produced from his pockets. He didn't realise that the man was moving closer and closer until --

He gasped and stepped back as the edge of the man's cloak nearly brushed his arm. The man turned, eyebrows raising in surprise.

"What have we here?" he said, in a low voice.

"I'm lost," Harry blurted.

"Undoubtedly," the man replied. "Wander off, did you? Do you know what they do to children who are disobedient to their parents, in Knockturn Alley?"

Harry gulped. The man crouched until they were on eye level.

"They eat them," he said softly. "Or turn them into mice. Or perhaps they hex them so that they shrink down until..." he spread his fingers, expressively, "...they simply disappear."

Harry wished desperately for Moony, or Padfoot, or even his frog.

"So, little lost mouse, what do we do with you?" mused the man. He tossed a few silvery coins onto the counter and swept the vials into his pocket. He took Harry by the arm and pulled him from the shop, walking almost faster than Harry's short legs could carry him.

"Who are your parents?" he asked as they walked along dirty, crowded streets.

"They're dead," Harry answered.

"Who did you come to Knockturn Alley with?"

"I was trying to get to Diagon Alley -- my friend's there..." Harry said, fighting the urge to cry. The man, frustrated with his slow pace, stopped and lifted him, impatiently.

"Why do I bother," he muttered, as he carried Harry out into a wider, more pleasant street.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, in awe. The man glanced at him, once again looking surprised.

"Diagon Alley. Where else? Haven't you been here before?" he demanded.

"No," Harry said. "I'm not allowed."

"Not allowed...then what are you doing here?"

"I snuck in," Harry said miserably. The man stopped at a bench, outside what looked like a pub, and stood him on it, examining him critically.

"I like you the better for that," he said frankly. "Who looks after you?"

"Moony, mostly," Harry said thoughtfully. "And Sirius."

The man went very still.

"Sirius Black?" he asked. Harry wondered what he'd done wrong. "What's your name, boy?"

"H-harry Potter," Harry replied, nervously. The man's dark eyes bored into him.

"So it's you," he said softly, sneering a little. "I might have known."

Harry was about to ask what he meant by that, but the man swept him up again, carrying him swiftly inside.

"I need your floo," he said to the barman, who opened his mouth to ask a question. "I'm not interested in having a conversation about it, I need to use your floo," he repeated.

"HARRY!" someone shouted. Harry saw Sirius pushing his way through the lunch crowd. He arrived breathless and then he, too, froze.

Harry could feel the tension in the pale man's body.

"Snape," Sirius said, low, and Harry was frightened by how much hate went into the single word. "Give him to me."

"Glad to unload the brat, I'm sure," the man replied, setting Harry down. Harry ran to Sirius, who bent to embrace him.

"Harry, I thought you'd disappeared forever," Sirius said, roughly, holding him tight. Harry saw, over his shoulder, Moony arriving behind him. "Don't ever, ever do that to me again."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, but Sirius was still talking, reassuring himself that Harry was all right, that he hadn't been hurt, that nobody'd laid a hand on Harry or so help him he would kill them --

"Nobody hurt me. The tall man brought me back," Harry said, as Moony reached them breathlessly.

"I found Ron," he gasped. "I sent him back to The Burrow."

"I'll thrash him within an inch of his life," Sirius growled. "Him and anyone else who laid a hand on you."

"The tall man saved me," Harry said, twisting to point...

But the tall man was already gone. Harry saw the front door of the pub swing shut.

"Let's get out of here," Moony continued. "Now."

Sirius nodded and picked up Harry. "Hold tight to me," he whispered, and Harry clung to his neck as they stepped into the floo. Harry found himself in the back room of Sandust Books again; with a loud noise, Moony appeared next to them. He hurried to the fireplace and knelt on the hearth, calling Molly's name. Sirius carried Harry out into the shop and set him down in one of the leather wingchairs.

"You're okay, Harry?" he asked. Harry nodded. "Nobody hurt you?"

"No, I told you," Harry said, slightly petulant. "The tall man found me in the shop and he took me to the pub."

"The tall man. Snape?"

"The lady called him Severus."

"Lady?"

"She had a green thing!" Harry said. "It had big ears and big eyes and it was wearing a tea cozy!"

Sirius blinked.

"Are you sure you're all right, Harry?" he asked.

"And then the lady went away and the tall man found me and he said if I didn't go with him someone would turn me into a mouse," Harry continued breathlessly. "And he asked me who I was and then he got angry and he took me inside and then you and Moony found me," he finished. Sirius rubbed the back of his head, thoughtfully.

"Severus found you. Where?"

Harry screwed up his face. "Knocker Alley," he said.

"Knockturn Alley?"

"Maybe."

"Severus Snape found you in Knockturn Alley?" Sirius demanded.

"I didn't mean to go there!" Harry said, bursting into tears. Sirius stared at him for a second, in confusion, before pulling the boy forward into his arms. Harry, feeling foolish, sniffled against the shoulder of Sirius' shirt, listening to the low, calm reassurances that it was all right, he wasn't mad at Harry, Harry was just tired, he understood.

"I just wanted to see what Diagon Alley was like," Harry mumbled, after a while. Sirius sat back, brushing tears from Harry's cheeks with his thumb. "Ron said it was the best thing ever and I wanted to see it."

Moony emerged from the back room, then, looking suddenly tired, his face an unappealing shade of grey.

"I've spoken with Molly," he said, dropping into another wingchair nearby. "She says Ron and Ginny are home and safe, though from the sound of it Ron's only safe from the world at large, and not from the considerable wrath of his mother."

"It's not his fault," Harry protested. Moony leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

"No," he said quietly. "It's mine."

"Ours," Sirius corrected. Remus shook his head.

"My idea, Sirius, my responsibility, you were busy minding Ginny," he said. "I haven't the energy to argue right now, however, so if I might be allowed to simply have my heart attack in peace..."

Sirius smiled, and Harry risked a damp smile himself. "You all right, Moony?" Sirius asked.

"I'm fine. How's Harry?"

"I'm fine too," Harry piped up. "I told him."

"Guess who brought Harry back to the Leaky Cauldron?" Sirius asked, the smile fading from his face. "Severus bloody Snape."

Remus' eyes opened. "Severus? How on earth...?"

"Harry ended in Knockturn Alley. He says Snape found him and brought him back."

"Lurking about Knockturn Alley, is he? Remind me to be shocked," Remus murmured. "What'd he say to you, Harry?"

Harry glanced from one man to the other. "He asked who I was and who looked after me and that. And said that boys in Knockturn Alley get turned into mice."

"Round the twist," Sirius announced. "Absolutely stark-raving round the twist, that one."

"He found Harry," Remus answered. "And brought him back to us."

"Probably wanted to sell him to the highest bidder," Sirius grumbled.

Chapter 7

The day after Harry's misadventure in Diagon Alley was Sunday, and it was not surprising to Remus that Severus Snape appeared in his bookshop, shortly after it opened at noon. He'd been expecting it, in a way, and had asked Sirius and Harry to buy groceries. This was guaranteed to keep them out for hours, considering Sirius' attention span. He'd never gotten used to Muggle grocery stores, and was forever discovering strange new delicacies like 'Honey Nut Cheerios' and 'Marmite'.

Of course Severus Snape would come to the shop. He was not the sort to heroically and moreover anonymously save the day; he would vanish at the time, so no thanks could be forthcoming -- though Remus had owled him the night before, thanking him profusely -- and then reappear to rub their noses in (in no particular order) their lack of parenting skills, their lack of finding-Harry skills, his own heroic and unassuming rescue of the boy, and the indignities he suffered for the greater good. All of this was expected. Especially since one of the two men caring for the boy was Sirius Black.

What was unexpected was the sealed letter from Dumbledore which accompanied him.

"Severus," Remus said, looking up from his reading as the man walked into the shop. At least he'd had the decency to use the front door, and not floo in, like some of Remus' less astute wizarding customers did. "I thought you might be by."

"Lupin," the other man growled.

"Harry and Sirius are out, I'm afraid, but let me thank you again on their behalf -- "

"No need. I saw the boy and I knew he was lost," Snape said with a shrug.

"Still, it was good of you to bring him back to us. Sirius was out of his mind with worry."

"And you?"

"Well. I tend to be more sane than Sirius even on a bad day," Remus answered, with a small smile. "Is there something I can help you with? Do sit down. Humbug?"

Severus stared at the proffered jar. Remus set it on the counter again.

"I spoke with Dumbledore about yesterday's...incident," Snape said.

Tell-tale, muttered the voice in Remus' head that thought all the things he never let himself say. It usually sounded like Sirius.

"He has...concerns about the situation," Snape continued, handing Remus the sealed letter. "He suspects that you and Black may require some assistance."

Remus opened the letter, glancing at Snape as he did so. He read it quickly; frowned; read it again.

"You?" he asked. Snape nodded. "But you hate children!" Remus blurted.

That was probably a Sirius thought.

"I hate idiots, and most children are idiots," Snape replied. "The boy seems to have a spark of intellect. Dumbledore thinks I may be able to temper his natural...exuberance."

Remus set the letter down. "So. Because everyone knows that Sirius Black and Remus Lupin are caring for Harry Potter, we can't take him to Diagon Alley or -- or Hogsmeade or anywhere. And because everyone knows you hate James Potter, nobody will notice if you do."

"Dumbledore suggested a slight glamour on the boy -- perhaps a change of hair colour, and something to hide the scar, of course," Snape replied.

Remus was silent for a long time.

"No more than once a week, if that," he said firmly.

"I am no more eager for this than you are," Snape replied.

"You're not to go poisoning his mind with stories about -- "

"The less I speak to the boy, I feel, the better."

Another long pause.

"He wants to see a Quidditch game," Remus said quietly. "We'll pay for the tickets, of course."

Snape regarded him evenly. "Your face is scratched."

"Yes."

"It was a full moon, recently."

"Do you have a point, Severus?" Remus asked, slightly impatiently. The dark-haired man shook his head.

"Merely making an observation," he said, standing and tossing his hair out of his eyes. "I will owl you to arrange a time to collect the boy next week-end."

His hand was on the door before Remus said his next words. "You won't talk to him about James," he said. It was not a question. It was the closest thing to an order he'd ever given.

"Oh?"

"You will not talk to Harry about his father, Severus. There's no need for that. If you persist in holding a grudge from before the child was born, you take it out on Sirius, or on me. You don't get to use Harry as a pawn."

"I'm surprised you'd think of such a thing," Snape said nastily. He pushed open the door, and was gone.

***

The shouting match that afternoon was truly epic in nature. Sirius, Remus had long ago learned, was not one to store up rage for when it was useful. Quick to hurt, quick to yell, quick to heal, that was Sirius. Remus had finally ascertained, after two years' experimentation, that if he didn't mind a few hours of noise, he could simply keep quiet and Sirius would eventually go hoarse. If he wanted it over quickly, all he had to do was yell back. This generally shocked Sirius into silence.

Even Remus Lupin yelling didn't shut him up this time, however.

Remus waited until they were home, to tell Sirius -- Sandust was only open a few hours on Sundays -- and he took the thoughtful precaution of casting a silencing spell outside their bedroom, so that Harry, happily drawing crayon pictures in the living room, could not hear the shouts.

In the end, of course, Sirius caved. He normally did. He didn't like it, and he sulked through dinner, but by the time Harry was ready for bed, he was at least not growling under his breath anymore about greasy-haired gits, Snivellus, and what he'd like to do to a certain Hogwarts Potions Master.

Besides, by Tuesday he had something entirely different to worry about.

"Sirius, I think you ought to find a wife."

Remus was so startled by the phrase, coming from Molly Weasley, that he didn't even realise what she'd said.

"A wife?" Sirius asked, and bits of Remus' brain promptly fused together. "What on earth are you on about?"

Molly had asked them to dinner as a gesture of goodwill -- she still felt bad about Ron tempting Harry into going to Diagon Alley, and none of them were sure Ron's grounding would ever end. Neither man was loathe to spend an evening eating her excellent cooking, and Harry was excited to be allowed to watch the twins demonstrate Quidditch tactics in the early spring evening.

"It's not right, Harry growing up with only men about," Molly continued. "A boy needs a mum."

"Well, he spends all day with you, doesn't he?" Remus managed.

"It's not the same," Molly said, passing Arthur the rolls. "Besides, you need looking-after. You're both far too thin," she added, elbowing Remus in the ribs. He glared darkly at her. "And if you found a nice girl who was related to James, Remus could have his flat to himself again."

"I like having them there," Remus said sharply.

"Of course you do, but I imagine it's awkward, isn't it?" Molly answered cheerfully.

"Don't know any girls I'd fancy marrying," Sirius said, chewing thoughtfully. "Not really the marrying sort, me."

"Nonsense. You find someone who likes Harry and tolerates Remus, and that's that. Not that I think you oughtn't to marry for love, but if you're not in love with anyone, you might as well provide the poor boy with a mother."

"This is your wife, isn't it?" Sirius asked Arthur, who grinned.

"She's just looking out for the lad, aren't you?" he asked, and Molly smiled.

"Harry's got Sirius and me. That's more than enough. Especially so soon after the Dursleys. More change'd only upset him," Remus muttered.

"I tell you what, I happen to know a lovely young woman named Moira Sparrow, I'm sure you'd get on very well -- and her sister Allison might do for Remus, you know," Molly winked at him, and Remus gave up on being outraged, settling for numb, temporary hatred of Molly Weasley instead.

She went on to arrange the whole mess with Sirius, only giving up on Remus when he flat-out refused to consider the matter in a logical light, and instead went out back to make sure Harry hadn't accidentally died of excitement at being allowed to throw fake Bludgers at the twins.

He sat on the railing of the Weasleys' back porch and watched Harry delightedly play at throwing Bludgers while Ginny cheered him on. It was sunset, the light turning Harry's eyes a vivid green just like his mother's, and making the shadows of the house fall slantwise away from them.

Of course he didn't actually hate Molly, he was quite fond of her in fact, but the last thing he needed was her trying to set either of them up.

Then again...

He sighed, and followed the arc of the Bludgers with his eyes. It wasn't that it was difficult, sharing a bedroom with Sirius Black. It was pleasant. It reminded him of school. It was best for all concerned. But there was one little corner of him that tugged away at his complacent life and said, there should still be only one bed in your bedroom.

He liked Sirius. He drew his salary from Sirius, though that had never really come between them, as he wrote his own salary cheques and Sirius never paid much attention to bookeeping at any rate. He shared Sirius' anguish over losing James, losing Lily, losing Harry. He shared in his joy at reclaiming the child for himself.

He loved Sirius. And had, for some long time now. Nearly a decade -- it would be a decade, on the anniversary of James and Lily's engagement.

It didn't hurt, loving Sirius. Sirius spent nearly every waking moment with him. It hadn't, until now, bothered him very much. There was the odd moment when he skritched behind Padfoot's ears and wished it were Sirius' hair he was touching. There were times when they'd gone out drinking when he'd been perilously close to pinning the man to a wall because he was so desperate for touch, and there were a lot of rather disappointed people in Remus' past who'd had to compete with, and fail against, Sirius Black. But it didn't hurt.

It was just...difficult. Seeing the man. Every morning, every night, eating every meal with him, sharing a bedroom with him.

A Bludger went stray and he reached out to catch it, tossing it back to Harry with a smile.

If Sirius married it would take him away. And Harry would go with him. And they would be a family, and Remus would be...a good friend, invited over for Sunday dinner, probably Harry's Uncle Moony or something similarly disgusting.

Well, what happened, happened. He wouldn't worry about it until he saw this Moira creature for himself.

Most of him wouldn't worry about it, anyway.

There was Owl Post waiting for them when they arrived home; a letter from Snape, saying baldly that there were no Quidditch games on Sunday, but Slytherin House had kindly agreed to allow Harry to watch practice. Remus wrote back, before Sirius could see the letter; at least that way it was a fait accompli.

He was glad the boy was going to see Hogwarts. He often found Harry gazing at the pictures of it, in the album he'd given him. And Hogwarts was safe. If someone didn't take Harry to see the places he'd heard about, sooner or later he'd run off again. It shouldn't be Severus Snape looking after him, that much was obvious, but Remus knew Snape, trusted him as far as their old Order connections went, and knew that he was a responsible if unpleasant teacher. He might not be kind, but he wouldn't be cruel, not to a child so young.

Sirius, when Remus told him, merely grunted.

"You're plotting something, Black," Remus said, as he changed into his pyjamas.

"When am I not plotting something?" Sirius answered, from the bathroom, a toothbrush in his mouth.

"You can't kill Snape, you know, it reflects badly on your character."

"I don't want to kill him. Maim him, perhaps," Sirius said, over running water.

"At least Harry'll be safe. Would you rather he try it on his own?"

Sirius was silent, and Remus listened intently for any sound.

"Why would Dumbledore let him do this?" Sirius asked finally.

"Perhaps he thinks you need to learn to get along with the man. I manage it, you know."

"You do not."

"Well, at least we can speak civilly to one another. And I tried to kill him, so -- "

"That wasn't you."

Remus sighed. "Are we going to spend the rest of our lives arguing about it?"

Sirius emerged from the bathroom, and lay on his bed, back to his friend.

"We were stupid kids, Sirius. You managed to grow out of it, lord alone knows how, so I think you might at least give him the benefit of the doubt."

"Why are you defending him?" Sirius demanded. Remus gave a shrug that his friend couldn't see.

"Because there's nothing we can do about it, so we might as well smile," he replied. He heard Sirius breathing, slow and even.

"I wish I could be like that," Sirius said finally.

"Like what?"

"You're a better man than I am, Moony," he answered, and no matter what Remus asked after that, he wouldn't reply.

***

The week passed more or less uneventfully, though Harry reported that Ron was grounded for a whole month, and seemed confused why he, Harry, was not. Sirius replied that having to spend his week-ends with Professor Snape was punishment enough for any boy, and Moony made him promise not to repeat that to Professor Snape. By the time Sunday came around, he was too excited to even remember it; he could barely sit still in one of Sandust Books' old leather wing-chairs, while he pretended to read his homework, and a growl emanated every once in a while from Padfoot, curled up under the chair.

"All right, Harry," Moony said, emerging from the back room. "I've spoken to Professor Snape. He's ready for you."

Harry nearly leapt off the chair and ran into the back room, where Moony caught him by the waist and stopped him from grabbing the floo powder off the table.

"You be polite, he's a teacher at Hogwarts," he said. "In another few years he'll be your teacher. Say please and thank you."

"Yes Moony," Harry said impatiently.

"When you step into the fire say 'Dumbledore's Office' just like we practiced, all right?"

Harry nodded and held out his hand. Moony sighed and dropped some floo powder into it. He tossed it into the fire, stepped in, and said the words carefully; after a spinning, dizzy moment, the world ceased to move, and he found himself on the hearth of a richly-decorated office, staring up at a tall man with an enormous white beard.

"Hello, Harry," the man said kindly. Harry could see Professor Snape standing off to one side. "All in one piece, are we?"

Harry checked himself over. "Yes...sir," he said carefully.

"Splendid. My name is -- "

" -- Headmaster Dumbledore," Harry finished for him. "You're on a chocolate frog card."

Dumbledore smiled. "I see Sirius hasn't wasted any time introducing you to wizarding sweets. Severus, if you would inform Remus that Harry has arrived safely..."

Harry found himself led through the office, while Professor Snape crouched on the hearth to speak to Moony. When they stopped, Headmaster Dumbledore took out a wand, and smiled.

"We have to make you look a little different, Harry, and give you a new name," he explained. "Cicatrix evanesci," he commanded, and Harry felt his forehead tingle. "Capellum Muto," he added.

Something fell around Harry's ears, and he gasped. Dumbledore turned him so that he could see a small mirror on a shelf.

His scar, which had been a part of him for as long as he could remember, was gone; it would have been hard to tell anyway -- where his short-cropped, unruly hair used to be, instead he now had long, straight black hair hanging to his shoulders.

"And you need a new name," Professor Snape added, coming to stand next to Headmaster Dumbledore.

"Why?" Harry asked. The older men exchanged a knowing look.

"Because we have to keep who you are a bit secret, for now," Dumbledore answered. "Can you understand that, Harry?"

"No," Harry said honestly. "But okay."

"A name, now..." Dumbledore tapped his lips, thoughtfully. "Parvus."

"Parvus?" Harry asked.

"Parvus Rana," Dumbledore continued. Harry tried it out silently. He could see Professor Snape mouth it once or twice, and then smile. It was not a nice smile. Professor Snape didn't look like the sort of man who was able to smile nicely.

"Headmaster, if we do not leave soon for the pitch, my students may wonder..." Professor Snape said, and Dumbledore, who'd been staring at Harry, nodded.

"Of course, Severus. Enjoy practice, Harry -- Parvus," Dumbledore corrected. Harry grinned and -- after two months of living with Moony and Sirius -- automatically held up his hand to be taken by the Professor.

Snape looked down at him for a moment, in surprise, and then took his hand, leading him through the office and out, into a long stone corridor.

Chapter 8

As they walked through Hogwarts, Harry stared around him, eyes wide, trying to take in everything -- the paintings, the hangings, the big kids walking through the hallways. Few of them looked at him, though many of them stared at Professor Snape.

They made their way out of the castle, Harry turning as soon as they were outside, to take in the building he'd looked at so often in pictures.

Professor Snape led the way down to a large grassy enclosure -- a real Quidditch pitch, Harry thought with wonder, gazing at the golden hoops --

And the seven robed figures already soaring around them.

Harry stopped, stunned and in awe, so that Professor Snape halted and turned to him.

He'd watched Fred and George fly, and seen photos of professional teams, but that was nothing to seeing it live, done by experienced players. His eyes tracked the Quaffle as the students passed it quickly from one to the other -- he gasped when a Bludger nearly hit one of them.

"Come to the stands," Professor Snape ordered, but Harry didn't hear him; one of the students had gone into a dive, chasing after a small glint of gold. It vanished again, and the girl pulled abruptly out of the dive.

Professor Snape gave him a small shove, and Harry snapped out of his reverie, running ahead to the ladder that led up to the stands, already climbing it by the time Professor Snape, following at a more leisurely pace, arrived. The rungs were designed for bigger children, but Harry managed, tumbling breathless onto the landing at the top.

They were unutterably, completely graceful -- completely free. Their green robes flashed in the sunlight, whipping out behind them as they flew, their leather gloves and greaves creaking a little when they moved.

"That is the Slytherin House team," said Professor Snape's voice behind him. "My House team. They're favoured for champions this year."

Harry watched as one of the Beaters ducked the Quaffle and, in the same movement, batted a Bludger away from another player. He felt Professor Snape guide him down the aisle to a front-row seat in the stands, where he hung his arms over the edge and looked up, craning his neck to keep watching.

It was brilliant; it was Quidditch. Harry felt he could never get tired of watching them weave in and out of each other, play small skirmishes against one another, compete to get to a Bludger. He wasn't aware of how long he stood in the bright, chilly afternoon, his new, long hair whipping in the wind, Professor Snape occasionally calling out orders from a seat nearby. Soon, however, he was being pulled gently away from the front railing, and led back down to the Pitch, where the students were landing, gathering with their brooms to talk, and stow the game balls, and begin to unstrap their gear.

"Oi, Professor!" called a tall, blond-haired boy. "Who's the sprog?"

Harry realised the boy was referring to him; he dropped back to half-hide behind the edge of Snape's robe.

"This is my nephew, Parvus," Professor Snape said, smoothly. The others glanced at the blond boy who'd asked as if he might be in for trouble ahead. "He will be...visiting me, occasionally."

"Titchy little thing, aren't you?" one of the girls asked, crouching to be on eye-level with Harry. She was much older than most of the others, Harry could see that, but she was still the shortest on the team. "What'd you think of our playing?"

"Itwasbrilliant," Harry said breathlessly, not moving from his place of safety behind Professor Snape's right leg. The girl drew a small golden ball out of her pocket, and Harry watched silvery wings unfurl. A real, live Golden Snitch. He followed it as she held it between thumb and forefinger.

"Think you can catch it?" she asked. Harry nodded. She let it go, and Harry's hand snapped out almost instinctively; he saw she was reaching for it too, and knew that she didn't believe he could -- but that didn't matter, because his hand was already around the small golden ball, fingers crushing one wing slightly.

The students were looking at each other in surprise. The girl almost tumbled backwards out of shock.

Professor Snape was staring down at him.

"Give her back the Snitch, Parvus," he ordered. Harry held out his hand and let the girl, righting herself, take it from his fingers.

"Chasers, your passing skills require improvement," Snape announced, while the students exchanged looks. "You will practice again tomorrow evening, after dinner. Beaters, know your vectors; Keeper, attempt to prevent a few goals next time. Seeker..." he turned to the girl, who was repeatedly releasing the Snitch and re-capturing it, as if to test her reflexes. "Try and make sure you can beat an eight-year-old child to the Snitch, if you please."

She flushed crimson, and Harry saw a sudden look of hate wash over her face, directed at him.

Then the players were turning to leave: talking, shoving, whacking each other across the backs of legs with their brooms. Harry, following at Professor Snape's side, had a moment where he wanted nothing more than to be a member of the Slytherin House Quidditch team, and wear a glittering green robe and leather gloves, and get told he was a bastard by his captain, or get his hair pulled by the Seeker.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a mass of red, and he turned.

There was another team gathering on the Pitch, in scarlet and gold, talking and laughing together, one of the players obviously demonstrating a new trick -- his broomstick spiralling almost straight up, the player himself only clinging by his hands and tightly clenched knees. One of them had his arm slung around one of the girls, and the remaining players were showing a very young-looking boy how to capture a Bludger.

"Who're they?" Harry asked, pointing. Professor Snape took his wrist, lowering his hand.

"Gryffindor," he said, with loathing. "Come along."

"My parents were in Gryffindor, weren't they?" Harry asked, turning to look as Snape led him forward.

"As well as the pair of incompetents now looking after you," Professor Snape said. Harry scowled, but he remembered Moony's admonition to be polite.

They left the Slytherin team at a shed near the Pitch, and made their way back to the castle. Now that he could spend several minutes looking at it, Harry took in every detail -- the turrets, the gates, the narrow windows crowned with gargoyles and high carved arches.

Professor Snape had to speak to some of the other teachers, and he couldn't, as he pointed out, leave a child to his own devices, especially in a Potions workshop, so he took Harry along. It wasn't exactly a guided tour, but Harry generally got succinct if curt answers to his questions, and he got to see a good deal of the school. Professor Snape had to carry him up one staircase, as his legs wouldn't stretch to go up three steps at a time, and the steps inbetween, the Professor explained, were only half-real.

Another staircase started to move while they were on it, and Harry very nearly fell over from excitement.

By the time they'd picked up a book from Professor McGonagall, left a packet of strange green powder off for Professor Flitwick to use in class the following day, and quickly hidden from Professor Trelawney -- Harry didn't blame Snape for a moment, she looked decidedly frightening -- it was nearly dinnertime.

"You will eat in the Great Hall, with the students," Professor Snape said, as Harry followed him towards the front of the castle. "Find Alexander Lestrange, you met him this afternoon, he's the brown-haired boy from the Quidditch practice. He is to watch over you and make sure you don't break anything."

Harry thought the last was rather unfair, as he hadn't broken anything all afternoon, but he opened his mouth to agree as they entered the Great Hall -- and then the grandeur of the seemingly-roofless, enormous, table-lined hall drove all thought of speaking from his mind.

Snape gave him another light shove, and he stumbled towards a table over which hung a black and green banner with a snake slithering its way up it. One table over, he could see some of the Quidditch players from Gryffindor House, and the much smaller boy in their midst. Alexander, the Slytherin captain, wasn't too far away from them, and Harry approached warily.

"Hallo, Sprog," the big boy said. "Lose your uncle, did you?"

"He said I should eat with you," Harry answered, successfully preventing himself from stammering nervously.

"Right then, up you go," Alexander said unconcernedly, and Harry climbed up on the long bench.

He listened to the others talk about the practice, and about classes, and in surprisingly derogatory tones about fellow classmates. Sirius would have his hide if he heard Harry talk about the Weasleys that way. He didn't take part, and except for a few inquiries about why 'Parvus' was there, they ignored him.

"Psst!"

Harry turned in his seat, slightly, trying to find out where the whisper had come from.

"Psst! Behind you!"

Harry craned his neck. The small Gryffindor boy from the Quidditch Pitch grinned at him.

"Our table's out of rolls," he said. "You got any?"

Harry reached for the basket and passed it over, unnoticed and unremarked by the Slytherins.

"Ta!" the boy said, taking two and handing the basket to the boy on his right. Harry turned in his seat, a little, so that he could grin back at the boy.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Oliver," the boy answered. "But I'm not supposed to talk to Slytherins."

"I'm not a Slytherin," Harry said. "I'm just visiting."

The boy took him in, cocking his head. "Yeah, you're a bit small, even for a first year. Why're you here?"

Harry lied, uncomfortably. "My name's Parvus. I'm Professor Snape's nephew."

"Yeah, I heard 'em talking about you!" Oliver said, grinning. "Gryffindor Captain said that Slytherin Captain said that you're a better Seeker'n their House Team Seeker."

"Naw," Harry said, grinning. "You on the team?"

"Me? I'm a first year, we're not allowed," Oliver scowled. "See that big boy?"

Harry noted the tall, red-headed boy sitting nearby. He looked a bit like Ron. "That's Bill Weasley. He's Quidditch Captain. He's lettin' me carry brooms and chase stray balls and that, since I can't play till next year. I play Keeper. I'm gonna be the best Quidditch player ever," he added.

"Here, sprog, what d'you think you're doing? Wood, mind your own table," Alexander Lestrange said nastily. Oliver, blushing bright red, turned around quickly, and hunched over his plate. Alexander turned Harry around and shook him gently by his collar.

"We don't go talking with them," he said.

"Why not?"

"Cos we're Slytherin. What do we need to be talking to a load of poufy Gryffindors for?"

Harry didn't understand it, but he understood that if he tried to turn around again, he'd probably get in trouble. So he sat, and ate, and continued to listen.

***

"And then I talked to this boy named Oliver and then we had dessert and it was pudding and then I got to go see the Owlry and there was owl poop everywhere and then we went back to Dumbledore's office and he gave me a sherbet and showed me all the other Headmasters and he's got a PHOENIX and he gave me short hair again and my scar again and then I came home."

Sirius had been unaware that a child with such small lungs could talk so continuously for so long.

He had been treated to a running thirty-minute monologue as he ate a late dinner, listening intently to Harry's description of his day while the boy bounced excitedly in his chair across the kitchen table. Harry didn't seem traumatised at all.

"And the BEST PART IS," Harry said, finally drawing a breath, "I got to see a real live Snitch."

Sirius stopped chewing. "Did you now?" he asked, pleased. Harry nodded.

"There was a girl on the Slytherin House team and she showed it to me and said could I catch it and I said yes and she didn't believe me but she tried to catch it and instead I did. I don't think she liked that much," he finished, thoughtfully.

"You caught a Snitch?"

"Mmmhm. Not on a broomstick, like. On the ground."

Sirius mulled this over. "Sounds like you had a good time."

"Uh huh. Where's Moony?"

"He's gone out tonight."

"Will you show me your chessboard?"

"Sure, if you like." Sirius had refrained, until now, from letting Harry see his wizarding chess set; he'd taught a few key pieces to swear, over the years, and it tended to scandalise people. Still, the lad had to learn sometime.

Harry stood on his chair as Sirius rose and walked to a closet in the hallway, taking down a thick wooden case. He opened it, revealing two compartments for pieces -- each piece nestled in an indentation in the velvet lining -- and an elegant chessboard, in shades of cream and black.

"This belonged to my grandfather," he said. "He gave it to me when I was fourteen."

Harry picked up one of the pieces, laughing when it squirmed and demanded to be set down. Sirius tapped twice on the edge of the board with his wand, and all the pieces, except the rook that Harry was holding, leapt into place.

"Come here, and I'll show you how it works," Sirius said, picking Harry up and settling him into his lap. Harry leaned forward eagerly. "Now this is the knight, and he moves in an l-shaped pattern..."

***

When Remus arrived home, he found Sirius slumped back in the chair, eyes closed, and Harry curled up against him, hand clutching at his shirt in his sleep. He shed his coat, took off his shoes, and picked up Harry, carrying the sleeping boy to his bed. Harry stirred.

"M'not tired," the boy yawned.

"You were asleep."

"Moony?"

"Mmhm."

"Where were you?"

"Out. I was meeting someone."

"I met a lot of people today."

"I'll bet you did. I want to hear about it after school tomorrow."

"Moony?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I want a racing broomstick for my birthday."

Remus laughed. "Sure thing, lad. I'll tell Sirius."

Harry's eyes closed, and Remus switched out the light. The nightlight -- Harry's toy robot -- glowed a pleasant yellow in the dark room.

In the kitchen, Sirius was sitting up, closing the latches on his chessboard.

"Didn't realise how late it was," he said, sleepily. Remus went to the sink, pouring himself a glass of water. He handed Sirius a second one. "Ta, Remus."

"Did Harry have a good time?"

"Sounds like it. Dumbledore showed him Fawkes, and he met a couple of the professors. And he saw a Quidditch practice."

"Full day for the lad. How about you?"

"Worked on the motorbike. You know Arthur Weasley says there might be a market for 'em. Thinking of buying another one and charming it, see if I can't sell it."

"Sounds good."

"How was your date?"

Remus shook his head. "Immensely boring. And a smoker. I give up."

"Molly could still set you up with Allison Sparrow. I'm taking Moira to the Muggle cinema next Wednesday. Did you know she's never been?"

"This is the woman Molly thinks ought to be Harry's mum?" Remus asked, somewhat sarcastically.

"Well, it can't hurt. I haven't had a decent date in ages, you know how it is with Harry about," Sirius answered. "I love the boy but he does put a bit of a crimp in one's social calendar."

"The way mine's been going, it's a welcome relief."

"Moony, not that it's any of my business, but after seventeen years you have yet to explain to me just whether or not you're even interested in girls," Sirius said. "You were at school."

"Does it matter so much to you?"

"Well, it'd matter to Allison Sparrow, you know."

Remus leaned back on the counter, looking up at the ceiling. "No. Not interested in girls so much."

"Because you know, it's not that I don't know any chaps who aren't -- "

"Sirius, don't finish that sentence. I'm not having my best friend set me up."

"Who else ought to do it?"

"I can find my own dates, I'm not quite that pathetic," Remus said, with a small smile to take the sting from his words. "I hope Moira is everything we expect her to be."

Sirius grinned. "You know, when it comes time to explain the birds and the bees to Harry, you'd better let me do it."

"We'll see. He might take after me, you never know."

Harry, tucked in his bed with Frog in his arms and a star-patterned eiderdown keeping him warm, smiled in his sleep as he heard Moony and Sirius laughing in the kitchen.

Chapter 9

"You're going here?"

Harry was sitting on the bed in Remus' room, holding his world-globe under one arm; he was pointing at India, and looking up at Remus. Remus took his finger and moved it gently about half an inch to the northeast.

"I'm going there," he said, returning to the medium-sized satchel on the bed. He picked up three books and laid them on top of some clothing.

"For how long?"

"Don't know yet. Not more than a week."

"Are you gonna get sick again?"

Remus smiled at the boy. "It's possible, but I shouldn't worry too much. I always get better."

"Harry? Where've you gone?" Sirius' voice boomed from the other room, and they heard the front door slam.

"In here!" Harry called. "I'm helping Moony pack!"

Sirius loomed in the doorway, shedding his leather jacket and boots. "Just been out to see Moira," he said, by way of explanation. "Playing world traveler, are we, Harry?"

Harry presented his globe to Sirius, gravely. "Where's Iowa?" he asked. Sirius frowned. Remus reached out an arm and spun the globe, his finger tapping the appropriate place gently.

"There you are then," Sirius said, as if he'd come up with it himself.

"I made up a game," Harry continued. "It's called Where."

"Where what?"

"Just Where. See, I spin the globe, and I find a place..." Harry demonstrated. "And then I go to the encyclopedia you brought from the book shop and find it." He peered at the globe. "Cuz...Cuzek..."

"Czechoslovakia," Sirius corrected. "Tell you what, how about you look up Kyoto instead. It's easier to say."

Harry nodded and left the room, globe under one arm. Sirius leaned against the door-frame, watching Remus pack.

"Thought maybe you'd given up on India," he said. "It's been weeks since you were going to go."

This was true; he'd meant to go to India before they'd even brought Harry to his flat, and that was months ago, now. Harry'd gone on one more 'field trip' with Severus, and Ron's grounding was nearly over. The full moon was looming next week, but he planned to be back before then. He shook his head.

"I won't be gone long, it shouldn't be too difficult -- I have a friend in Calcutta who's going with me, he speaks the local dialects."

"Listen, Moony -- " Sirius rubbed the back of his head. "Do you think Arthur might be right?"

"About?"

"About Peter. About him being dead."

Remus paused in the act of closing his satchel. "I don't know," he said.

"Then why do you keep...why are you still looking for him?" Sirius asked. "You know I'd come with you in a heartbeat if you asked me to, but you seem to enjoy running off alone, and you know how I feel about the whole mess."

"You'd rather it wasn't remembered at all," Remus murmured.

"I just think after seven years, if he hasn't shown himself, he's probably dead. The British Government thinks so, you know. After seven years missing they declare a chap dead. And I wouldn't put it past Malfoy to kill him, he killed all those Muggles."

Remus sat on the bed, one hand toying with the grips on his satchel. "And if he's not dead?"

"The Dark Lord's gone. Vanquished. Even if Peter tried to come for Harry, or for one of us, he was never a match for us. You and I, Moony, we'll protect the kid. We have so far."

Remus bowed his head. "I know. And this is my way of doing that."

"Chasing ghosts?"

"Dreams," Remus answered, impulsively.

"What?"

"I'm not chasing a ghost," he said, standing and rubbing his neck, distractedly. "I'm trying to settle something, all right?"

"Settle what, exactly? Make a bet with Dumbledore that you could catch Peter if he was still around?"

"Listen, three years ago I was entirely ready to give this up," Remus answered sharply. "Do you think I like getting stuck for days on end in some backwater in Chile? You think I actually enjoy awful seedy motels in Toronto?"

Sirius stared at him. Remus was...Remus was angry. That didn't happen. Not without Sirius yelling for at least half an hour first.

"I don't like it, I don't want to believe he's alive, unless it's so that I can strangle the man barehanded, but I think I've pretty much got that impulse under control," Remus continued. "And I was ready to give it up and if these bloody dreams hadn't started up I would have, but they did, and they won't stop, and they don't change, and so I'm stuck wandering the globe when believe me, I would much rather be here listening to you whine about Snape!"

Sirius waited until Remus had let out the rest of his breath. "I don't whine," he said sullenly.

"I'm sorry, Pads. I didn't mean that."

"What dreams? You never told me about any dreams. You sleep like the bloody dead."

"They're not the screaming kind of nightmare," Remus answered, calmer now. "They're not really nightmares at all, I suppose. They're just...things."

"About...about that night?"

"Sort of." He sat on the bed again. "You know how I'm always going on about how if I hadn't been held up from going to Rome, and hadn't made you take that wrong turn while we were looking for Peter, it might've been you who got to him first?"

"Well, I don't know about always, but you do seem awfully fixated on it."

"Listen to me. I have this dream." Remus took another deep breath. "And in it, somehow everything's gotten bollocksed up. It's not now, it's a couple of years from now, and I'm not me. I'm a teacher. At Hogwarts. Only I am me, but not..." Remus shook his head in frustration.

"You're mental."

"Do you want to hear this or not?"

"Go on."

"I'm in the Shack. And you're there, in the shack with me. Only you're not you. You're awful, and thin, and your hair's matted. It's a terrible sight, Sirius. And you're telling me that Peter survived, that you tried to kill him but he framed you, made it look like you were the spy, and he got away. And he left fingers behind. And you're telling me this and then you're saying that he's right there in the room with us. Only I can't see him. And I have all these thoughts. They're not mine, but they're about us."

Sirius tilted his head, listening to the low, grave tones. Remus was a werewolf, and werewolves were Dark creatures; still, he'd never heard of a prophetic one.

"The thoughts are...I think to myself, oh god, Sirius has been in Azkaban for twelve years, and I've been spending the whole time just...drifting...thinking you were the spy, and...Sirius, if you could see what you look like in the dream. And you keep telling me he's here, Peter's here, we have to kill him, and I can't find him."

Remus paused. Sirius had slid down the doorframe until he was crouched against the wall, looking up, hands clasped between his knees.

"I have to find him, Sirius. He's alive, and if I don't find him, he'll come for us."

Sirius nodded, slowly. "You believe the dream."

"I believe something really, really bad might have happened if you'd got to Peter before Lucius Malfoy did. And I do believe Peter is alive. And I do believe he's dangerous."

"You don't go about as often as you used to."

"Well, I've learned to tell a decent tip from a dead end, for the most part," Remus answered. "And I won't go about as often, not with Harry here."

Sirius looked thoughtful.

"Could you put the dream in a pensieve?" he asked, after a few minutes' contemplation.

***

Pensieves were expensive to purchase and difficult to make, but Remus balked at asking Dumbledore if they could borrow his. It seemed presumptuous, when they'd caused the Headmaster so much trouble so recently, to go asking him for something like that.

So Sirius did it.

It was the work of a few minutes to get to Hogwarts, and barely a few minutes more before Sirius was standing outside the entrance. He rapped the old Order knock, and sure enough, Dumbledore hadn't taken the charm off; he fancied he could hear, somewhere distant, a bell ringing. It had been their code -- if you knocked in the right way, Dumbledore knew you were with the Order, and a bell in his study notified him.

The door swung open, and it wasn't long before Sirius, nearly twenty-nine years old and a respected businessman, found himself standing in Dumbledore's study like an errant fifth-year.

"I hope you're not having trouble with Harry," Dumbledore said pleasantly, but there was a note of iron behind his blue eyes.

"No, Harry's..." Sirius realised he didn't have words for the way he felt about Harry. He settled for "...fine."

"Molly informs me he's doing well in his studies."

Sirius cursed inwardly. Of course Dumbledore was keeping an eye on Harry through the Weasleys.

"He's a smart boy. He made up this game..." Sirius grinned, and then realised this was neither the time nor the place to play the proud father. "He's fine."

"I notice Remus did not choose to come along for this visit."

"He doesn't know I'm here."

Dumbledore lifted an eyebrow.

"Listen, I'm worried about him and I need your help. I know you're furious that we took Harry and I know it's presumptuous of me to ask, and that's why Remus won't, but I need to borrow your Pensieve."

The other eyebrow raised. Sirius fought the urge to snicker.

"My Pensieve?" he asked, slowly. "Why on earth would you need that?"

Sirius toyed with a strap on his leather jacket. "You know he's still looking for Peter."

"As am I."

Sirius glanced up sharply. Dumbledore smiled. "In more subtle ways than your friend."

"Well, he says he's doing it because he's having these...these dreams," Sirius said. "About Peter. And truth be told, I've had a few screaming nightmares of my own about the man, but these sound like they're something more."

"Prophetic dreams?"

"Or...I don't know. Visions of what could have been?" Sirius shrugged. "I want to see them for myself."

"That's rather dangerous, sharing another man's dreams," Dumbledore pointed out.

"Also I want to..." Sirius felt a small shame creep over him, but he kept on. "Listen, Harry needs to be told who he is and what happened to his parents. He still thinks it was a car crash. I haven't told him, and it's a miracle one of the Weasleys haven't, but it can't go on forever."

"And you want to be rational when you speak with him of the death of your best friend," Dumbledore finished. Sirius nodded. "That is...more understandable. Are you familiar with their use?"

"Yes, more or less. Remus knows more."

"You will be very careful, will you not, about what you show?"

Sirius nodded. Dumbledore rose, and walked to a locked cabinet, removing the Pensieve carefully. He placed it into a wooden case, and Sirius flicked the latches shut.

"I owe you an apology," Sirius said. "I knew it was wrong to take Harry."

"You seem to be settling into fatherhood nicely," was Dumbledore's only reply. "What is done, is done, and perhaps it was for the best, though that is yet to be seen. Severus Snape will collect the Pensieve when he comes for Harry."

Sirius nodded. "Thank you."

"Have a care, Sirius."

Sirius left the office, the wooden case in one hand, the warning still in his ears.

***

"You know who's really good at this?"

"Don't say Snivellus."

"I do wish you'd stop calling him that, Pads."

"When he stops being a snivelling git, I will."

"He saved Harry."

"And he'll hold that over our heads for the rest of our lives."

"It's probably good for at least ten years, that's true."

"So how do we do this?"

"Well, I very carefully do this..."

"My god, what is that?"

"It's a memory."

"Somehow I thought it'd be less...slimy."

"Thank you. My slimy thoughts."

"Why are you taking out more of them?"

"I've had the dream more than once, you know. I thought if I put a couple of them in there, it'd be more vivid."

"This is disgusting."

"I'm not asking you to drink it, you know."

"All right. So."

"Go ahead."

"Right. I just lean over?"

"Sirius, do you want me to come along?"

"If you think you should."

"All right, on three. One, two, three..."

***

The memory began in the middle of a word, spoken by Remus Lupin, though not at all the voice Sirius was used to; a hoarse, exhausted voice that was closest to how he sounded on full-moon days.

"...rius?"

Sirius opened his eyes, and felt Remus, next to him, gripping his arm. And saw Remus in front of him, horribly changed, face lined and grey, eyes tired, shabbily dressed, even skinner than he was now -- badly underfed.

"You see what I mean," said his Remus, the real Remus. Sirius turned in time to see...

Himself. Horrifying, but himself. Changed even more than Remus, skin stretched tight across his skull, yellow and dead-looking, eyes sunken beyond belief, matted hair falling past his shoulders. If Remus was shabby, Sirius was in rags, collapsed against one wall. He could hear a sharp intake of breath. There was a blurred moment, as though for a moment the dream faltered, and then he heard this other-Remus again.

" -- unless he was the one...unless you switched...without telling me?"

The guilt flooded Sirius. He had heard those words before, seven years before when he had explained to Remus that he wasn't the Secret Keeper.

He saw himself nod, slowly. In the background were other voices, inaudible, high children's voices, asking questions, but in the room, only Sirius and Remus, staring at each other across an expanse of dusty board.

He heard a rustling and felt Remus brush past him, hurriedly. Remus seized Sirius' hand and pulled him up, embracing him tightly.

"You big girl," Sirius said.

"I haven't seen you in twelve years," Remus answered, watching the pair of them hug. "That's a hug of brotherly devotion, that is."

"Twelve years?" Sirius asked, and as soon as he said it he could hear dream-echoes -- the inside of Remus Lupin's thoughts. Twelve years, twelve years, twelve years...

Still children's voices in the faded background, but they were hardly important. Another jerk, as though the dream had for a moment lacked cohesion, and when it was clear again, the pair had separated.

" -- rauder's Map. I was in my office examining it," Remus said. Another disturbance. "And then I saw another dot, moving fast toward you, labeled Sirius Black.... I saw him collide with you; I watched as he pulled two of you into the Whomping Willow --"

"What's going on?" Sirius asked.

"It's a story I'm telling someone, someone I can't see," Remus answered. "It explains how I got to the Shack."

"Little Peter got the better of me... not this time, though!"

They watched as the monstrous Sirius Black lunged for something neither could see, and Remus looked on in worried consternation.

"I can't see him," both Remuses said in unison.

"They need to understand -- we've got to explain --" Remus continued.

"We can explain afterwards!" snarled Sirius, as Remus tried to grab hold of him. There was another jarring moment.

" -- ever you like. But make it quick, Remus. I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for..."

Sirius gasped.

"I told you," Remus said.

"There were witnesses who saw Pettigrew die," Remus said. "A whole street full of them..."

"They didn't see what they thought they saw! The Marauder's map never lies...Peter's alive."

"Where?" both Remuses said in unison. "Where, Sirius, I can't see him!"

"Peter's alive..." Sirius insisted. "Peter's alive."

And then there was a rushing feeling and the sensation of being pulled away, and Sirius Black came to himself, sitting at the table in the back room of a tightly-locked-up Sandust books. Across from him, Remus was breathing hard, his eyes unnaturally bright.

"My god." Sirius exhaled shakily. "If you'd told me it was like that -- "

"Now you see," Remus was almost as hoarse as the man in the dream had been. He picked up his wand to begin replacing the memories, but his hand was shaking, and after a second he set it down again.

"You all right?" Sirius asked.

"I'm fine. It's more intense, seeing myself live it, that's all."

"I'll make tea," Sirius said decisively. If his back was turned it would hide the shaking in his own hands.

There had been emotion sensations, not quite identifiable, but Sirius imagined that a regular pensieve memory wasn't like that. It was a memory of a dream, and everything was intensified; taken with the fact that Lupin kept so much of his emotions in his head, it was bound to be a more powerful experience.

When he'd seen that shabby, grey-faced Remus hug his own ragged self, there had been some emotion there that was not the brotherly devotion Remus spoke of. Then again, laced all through the dream, there had been raw feelings -- feelings of loss, of frustration, of fear.

He wondered if his friend lived his whole life that way, with the feelings in his head. And that caricature of Remus -- he felt an overwhelming gratitude that he would never see that particular sight again.

"And you see it all the time," he murmured. Remus, who had let his head slide to rest on his arms on the table, looked up.

"What?"

"I said the tea's ready. Lemon?"

"Just milk."

Sirius brought the tea to the table. Remus wrapped his hands around the mug.

"Remus?"

"Mm?"

"You looked...gaunt."

"From what I can gather, the world is not kind to men who don't have their best friends to provide them with indoors employment and overpay them," Remus replied, with a wan smile.

"You been skimming the books again?"

"Yes, as soon as I get a million I'll vanish in the night," Remus answered. His hands were steady, now, and he began to slowly restore the silvery threads of memory. "Harry'll be home soon."

"You're leaving for India tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Want me to come?"

"Nonsense, Harry needs you."

Sirius nodded. "But I need you."

He saw a brief flash of...of something, in Remus' eyes, quickly killed before it even fully became.

"You've got to learn to call out for pizza sometime," Remus said, with a smile. "I'll only be gone a few days. I'm planning on being back two days early for the full moon."

"The Shrieking Shack again?"

"It's not so bad."

Sirius shook his head. "Liar."

"Tu periurare timeto -- commodat in lusus numina surda Venus," Remus replied. Sirius grinned.

"I'll have that translated by the time you're back."

"You always say that, and you never do."

Chapter 10

Harry was drawing in the living room, after dinner, when Sirius picked him up -- both men had that habit, of simply lifting him by the waist or armpits, moving him about as if he was a piece of furniture, much to Harry's delight. Harry shrieked happily and let Sirius hold him up in the air, legs kicking.

"All right, Harry?" Sirius asked. Harry squirmed, and Sirius tossed him onto the couch.

"All right, Sirius!" Harry cried. "Do it again!"

"Not right now, Harry, I've got to talk to you," Sirius answered, dropping onto the couch. Harry crawled across him and grabbed a book. Sirius closed the book gently.

"We need to talk, Harry," he said, putting it aside. "I need to tell you a story."

Harry looked up at him and grinned, and Sirius ran a hand over his face. In the other room, the actual emotional memories were waiting in a Pensieve; he ought to be able to do this and retain his composure.

"Harry, your aunt and uncle told you that your parents died in a car crash," he said, as Harry settled in comfortably. "And now I have to tell you the real story."

"The real story?" Harry asked, curiously. Sirius nodded.

"Has Molly been teaching you about You-Know-Who?" he asked. "Voldemort?"

Harry shrugged. "A little. He was a Dark Wizard. He killed a lot of people."

"Aye, so he did. He was a very Dark Wizard, and there were...wizards in Britain who were fighting him."

Harry nodded. Sirius sighed.

"Your parents were two of the people fighting him," he said. Harry's eyes widened. "Along with me, and Moony, and Headmaster Dumbledore, and Professor Snape. Your parents found out he was going to try to kill them, and you, when you were just a wee one." Sirius paused, to make sure Harry understood, and then continued. "So they decided to hide, and they only told one person where they were hiding. One of our friends, named Peter Pettigrew."

"You and Moony talk about him, sometimes," Harry observed.

"That we do," Sirius answered. "He was a good friend, so we thought. But he was a spy for Voldemort, and he told him, and the Dark Wizard came to your home, to kill you and your parents."

Harry, caught up in the story, snatched in a breath.

"And that's what really happened to your parents, Harry," Sirius continued. "He killed them. And then he tried to kill you. That's how you got your scar," he added, lifting Harry's hair to press the small lightning-bolt scar with his fingers. "But for some reason he couldn't kill you. He tried, and the spell rebounded. It hit him instead. It killed him."

Harry leaned back against Sirius, curling into one of his arms. "So I killed him."

"No, Harry. He killed himself, trying to kill you." Sirius stroked his hair. "You, little one, are a hero. Everyone in the Wizarding world knows who you are. That's why when you go around with Professor Snape, you have to be in disguise. That's why we have to make sure you're safe, all the time."

"He killed my mum and dad?"

"Mmhm, and he still has followers out there, who might want to hurt you."

Harry considered this. "What happened to Peter?" he asked.

Sirius saw Moony's shadow, leaning in the doorway. "He ran away," Sirius said. "And one of Voldemort's followers tried to kill him. But he got away. He's in hiding somewhere."

"Oh."

"But you're safe here, Harry," Moony added, from the doorway. "There are protections on this flat, and on you."

Harry sat in silence for a while, secure against Sirius' warm body, while Sirius stroked his hair.

Sirius could only see the rise and fall of Moony's shoulders, but he knew his friend too well not to see that Moony was weeping, silently. He felt no need to join in the grief; he felt distant, detached from the story he'd told, and knew that the Pensieve had worked.

"Why is Moony crying?" Harry whispered.

"He misses your dad and mum," Sirius answered.

Harry slowly disentangled himself from Sirius' arms, and walked over to Moony, who crouched and hugged him when he held up his hands.

"I miss them too," Harry said, and Moony pressed Harry's face to his neck. He felt a few hot tears slide out of his eyes, for the parents he didn't remember.

"We will always, always protect you, Harry," Moony said hoarsely. "Sirius will always look after you, I will always make sure you're safe."

Harry nodded, against his neck. He heard Sirius moving, felt him brush past them into the kitchen, and after a while, felt him return. Moony gave him to Sirius, and wiped his face. Sirius was grave and silent, Harry's head pressed to his hip, one of his large hands covering the boy's head.

"It's so close to being done," he said, to Moony. "It's so close to being history. They're hardly ghosts anymore."

"Except for Peter."

"Except for Peter," Sirius agreed. "I hope you find the bastard."

"I'll keep looking until I do."

***

As it turned out, Remus didn't get back 'from India' for a week solid, and then some; he sent a desperate telegram to Sandust saying that he was going straight to the Shrieking Shack, and would Sirius please tell Harry he was simply delayed. The telegram was probably the best thing to have done -- Sirius was still wary around telephones, even after seven years in the Muggle world.

Harry knew better, this time, than to shout and stomp when he came home to find Remus curled on the bed, covered in cuts and scratches. Instead, he clung to Sirius, who made them a quiet, subdued dinner, and took soup in to Remus. Harry, not wanting to be left out, listened secretly at the door as Remus ate his soup, hunched over the bowl, Sirius sitting on a chair nearby.

"This can't go on," Sirius said quietly.

"Other people do it. I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You're about as far from fine as you've ever been."

"It's not scarring," Remus said petulantly. "And your soup is awful."

"Don't change the subject."

"We've gone over this," Remus said, proving his lie by drinking the soup hungrily. "It's the only way to keep Harry safe. If neither of us are human it's as bad as if we'd left him alone all night. One of us has to be human and sane."

Harry stared hard at the two dim figures.

"What about that potion you were reading about in the Prophet?"

"It's not finished yet," Remus said, coughing as he choked on a noodle. "Mightn't be for years. It's just until Harry starts school, Sirius, that's not long at all."

"Twelve times three is thirty six," Sirius said.

"Two and a half," Remus countered.

"Thirty."

"Minus two -- "

"This isn't a bidding war! This is your life!"

"Yes, it is my life," Remus replied, softly. "My life, Sirius, not yours, not Harry's. We knew there'd probably be some time when you married, or when I moved on from Sandust. You can't be my guard-dog forever." A pause. "What? What's that look?"

"I always thought...I know you don't spend much, I thought maybe you wanted to buy half of Sandust. Someday. Own it with me."

"Oh."

The pair of them lapsed into silence, and Harry slunk quietly into the room.

"Hi there, Harry," Remus said, smiling suddenly. He set the empty soup bowl on his nightstand, and gave Harry a hand onto the bed. He might look sick, Harry thought, but his grip was still firm. "And how've you been? Haven't starved, I hope?"

"Nope," Harry answered. "How was India?"

Remus smiled. "Crowded. And futile. But I did bring you a present."

Harry's eyes lit up, but he waited patiently while Remus directed Sirius to his satchel, and a paper-wrapped parcel inside it, tied with twine. He untied the twine deftly, and Harry tried not to look at the marks on Remus' hands, as he accepted the box from them. He tore off the paper, pulling up the lid, mindless of the tape and slightly torn cardboard.

"What is it?" Harry asked, delightedly. He lifted an oblong bronze object out of the tissue paper. It had a scowling, toothy face on one end, and a strange triangular blade on the other.

"It's called a Phurba," Remus supplied. "Tibetan Buddhists believe it's the only kind of knife that can kill a ghost."

"You got him a knife?" Sirius asked.

"It's not sharp," Remus answered.

"Did you go to Tibet?"

"Of course not, do I look daft?"

Harry, meanwhile, was jabbing at Remus' pyjama-clad chest, prodding him with the rounded, dulled blade.

"So if ghosties and ghoulies try anything smart," Remus said, catching the blade in one hand, "you'll be prepared."

"Where can I get one of those?" Sirius asked, with a grin. Remus gestured at the satchel.

"Under my socks," he said. Sirius lifted an eyebrow, and pulled out another parcel, rather more flat.

"What, you think I was going to bring Harry something and not you, o spoilt one?" Remus asked. Sirius grinned and tore the paper off with significantly more abandon than Harry. He pulled out a flat piece of glass, about the size of a Galleon coin, covered in what looked like gold leaf.

"It's your name -- the name of the Dog Star in Hindi," Remus said. "It's for..." he tapped the side of his neck, and Sirius grinned, unbuttoning his shirt collar to reveal the thin nylon dog-collar, reading PADFOOT along one side, underneath. He hooked the glass onto the collar, and leaned over Harry.

"Think it's good?" he asked. Harry grinned, and nodded, and poked him in the collarbone with his dagger.

"Hey!" Sirius swung him up, holding him upside down; the dagger fell onto the counterpane. "I'm not a ghost!"

Remus watched as Harry wrestled his way around Sirius' side, grabbing onto his belt and hitching it up. After a moment they both tumbled to the floor, roughhousing, until Sirius cried uncle.

He thought briefly about the memory he'd shown Sirius in the Pensieve, and gave a little prayer of thanks to any god that might be listening, for the lost owl that had kept him in England on that awful night seven years ago.

***

This time, one of the cuts on Remus' face didn't heal fully, and there was a thin brown scar on his cheek, just in front of his left ear; when he returned to Sandust, several of their regulars commented on it, until Sirius -- slumped on the floor as Padfoot, enjoying the squealing attention of a couple of youngsters in the children's section -- began to growl whenever anyone brought it up. Remus didn't seem bothered by it, but then with Remus it was hard to tell.

It might almost have seemed that their lives had settled once more. Sirius wasn't satisfied with Remus' solution to things, but he accepted it. Harry was attending school, and every so often would go to Hogsmeade, or Hogwarts, or Diagon Alley with Professor Snape. Remus twice caught Sirius trying to sneak after him as Padfoot, and while he agreed that this would have been smart, he didn't approve of spying on them. How was Harry to trust the pair, if he knew they were following him? he asked, and Sirius...caved.

As usual.

It even seemed as though some kind of truce had been made with Dumbledore, between Remus' peace offering of a rare volume on Phoenix mythology and their agreement to allow Snape to be a part of Harry's education. Snape kept his own counsel on that, though there were murmurings from both men living with Harry that he spent entirely too much time with Slytherins.

Which was why, though Sirius shouted, Remus was pleased when Harry tumbled out of the fireplace one afternoon, after a Saturday spent at Hogwarts, to announce that he'd been invited by Oliver Wood (whowaseleven, Sirius, andkneweverythingabout QUIDDITCH!) to stay in the Gryffindor dormitory for a night.

"He's arranged it with Dumbledore and everything," Remus said reasonably. "And it shows a remarkable independence of spirit..."

"It shows remarkably stupidity on Dumbledore's part!" Sirius was shouting, but at least he was shouting in the mainly-soundproofed back room of the shop, while Harry was out in the front.

"It'll do the boy some good, to see how Wizarding kids live," Remus countered.

"He's ours, Remus! He doesn't belong to Hogwarts yet!"

"Oh, I see," Remus said, only a trifle sourly. "This isn't about Harry, this is about what you own and don't own."

Sirius was suddenly dangerously quiet.

"He's ours only in as much as we raise him, Sirius," Remus continued. "He doesn't belong to us. He's a boy, not a book or a strange new toy to play with."

"I know that! Don't think I don't know that!" Sirius ranted.

"Then act like it," Remus said sharply. Sirius stopped, mouth open to reply. After a moment, he shut it.

"You have to be so fucking logical," he said sullenly.

"Well, excuse me for spending two minutes at a time in thought, I'm sure," Remus replied, not at all in the mood to deal with Sirius' hysterics.

"I don't want him sleeping in some strange place where we're not there in case he -- in case he needs us!" Sirius continued.

"Sirius, when was the last time Harry needed either of us during the night?" Remus asked mildly.

"He might yet!"

"He's a boy, Pads, he wants to spend the night with his friends in the dormitory. Wood's a Gryffindor, it'll do him good to escape the Slytherins for a while. Why are you so against this?"

Sirius gave him another sullen look, and Remus shook his head. He knew why Sirius was against it. He was used to the lad, used to him being there, used to expecting to wake in the night with Harry needing something, even if he never had.

They were used to Harry.

And Sirius didn't like change.

"He'll have fun," Remus said quietly.

"I know."

"Be good for him to make more friends than just Ron and Ginny and the twins."

"I know."

"Give us both the night off. You could..." Remus swallowed and played a bitter but important card. "Take Moira out somewhere. And...and stay out, if you wanted to. Without having to explain it in the morning to Harry."

Sirius rubbed his eyes. "If you make me go out with Moira one more time, Remus, I might kill her."

Remus stared at him. "Make you go out with her? You do realise how very little I like her, don't you? You know those remarks about her were sarcastic?"

Sirius stared back.

"But I thought you...you kept bringing it up..."

"Well, I'm not happy about the idea, you know! But I thought I ought to at least show willing!"

"Show willing?"

"Willing to let you marry if that's what you wanted," Remus answered, controlling himself. "I don't know that it's really very...healthy, the two of us giving up our lives completely, that's why I thought, I don't like the idea of marrying just to give Harry a mum, but..." he made a frustrated noise. "If that was what you wanted I thought I ought to at least offer to watch Harry for an evening."

He gave Sirius a sudden smile.

"And it's not right, you know, a sex manaic like yourself not getting any," he added. Sirius, who'd been staring in consternation and deep thought, grinned.

"Who says I'm not?" he asked.

"I see you in the mornings -- "

"Locker room talk from a shopkeeper like yourself! For shame!"

"Well, are you or aren't you?"

Sirius laughed. "No, as it happens, I'm not. And now that I know you aren't actually behind me going out with Moira, I can stop doing that, and I won't even have any female contact," he sighed.

"She's that bad?"

"She's just not for me. Perfectly nice girl on her own. Not my type."

"Well, what is your type?"

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, making some of it stand on end. "Well, you know. You've met my dates."

Remus made a gesture, that might have looked to a casual observer as though he was holding two cantaloupes in front of his chest. Sirius laughed. Harry's head poked through the door and he emerged from the front of the store, carrying a quill, inkpot, and roll of parchment.

"I need help," he said plaintively. "Mrs. Weasley wants two inches on Muggle literature by tomorrow."

"Well, Harry, welcome to Sandust books," Remus said, with a wry look. "That's all we sell, you know. Mostly, anyway," he added, glancing at one of the high shelves, with the magical books locked in it.

"No, she wants it on someone named..." Harry consulted the scroll. "James Joyce. I'm supposed to find a bi'graphy and Copy Down Important Facts."

Remus saw Sirius' eyes light up. Sirius, against all odds, was passionate about Joyce. Remus privately decided it had something to do with a similarity in lack of coherent thought between the two.

"All right, Harry, let's see what we can find," Sirius said, leading him out into the shop and towards the back sections. Remus was going to follow, out of curiousity, but just then Mr. Barin came in, for his weekly helping of gory murder mysteries, accompanied by his daughter, and Remus stopped to talk to them instead.

When he glanced over from his conversation on the merits of Rex Stout, he saw Sirius lifting Harry up so that the boy could pull a weighty volume on Joyce off the shelves. Sirius pulled the boy back, whispering something in his ear, and Remus could tell by Harry's reaction that he'd just told him he could spend the night in Gryffindor with Oliver.

It would have been impossible for Remus to say which of the two he loved more, in that moment.

Chapter 11

Most of the Gryffindors knew of Parvus, Professor Snape's nephew, because they'd seen him in the halls or heard talk of him; none of them but Oliver had ever had anything to do with the boy, and there were some disgusted looks at Oliver for having invited the eight-year-old to stay in Gryffindor. Some of the seventh-years were a full ten years older than Harry, after all, and were put out enough that they had to share a Common Room with sprogs like Wood.

But Oliver shared a love of Quidditch with Harry, as well as the feeling that he was always the youngest in the room -- he'd yet to hit any kind of a growth spurt, and was easily the smallest of the Gryffindors. One student, a Slytherin, had remarked nastily that Oliver just wanted someone around who was tinier than he was.

Oliver didn't care. It was worth it to see the look on Harry's face when he walked into the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Hallo then, Wood, is this Parvus?" someone called. Harry glanced up at the portraits on the walls, the old Gryffindor banners, the high windows, eyes wide.

"Say hi," Oliver urged. Harry grinned shyly, and set down the knapsack he was carrying.

"Hi," he said. "Do you really live here?"

There was a general wave of amused laughter.

"Most of the time," one of the bigger kids said. "You like it?"

"Oh, yes," Harry breathed. It was much...well, it was warmer, and friendlier -- though a little shabbier -- than Slytherin's dungeon quarters, which he'd seen a peek of once, on his way to Professor Snape's office.

"Wotcha, Parvus, I'm Bill," said the big red-headed boy, who bore more than a passing resemblance to Ron. "That's my brother Charlie," he added, and another redheaded boy, somewhat younger, waved where he was bent over some schoolwork. "And that's my other brother, Percy." he pointed to a first-year even smaller than Oliver. Percy waved. "Oi, Perce, come say hi."

"I'm studying," Percy complained. Harry wandered over and peered at his book, which was full of strange symbols.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Percy's advanced," one of the other Gryffindors said, rolling her eyes. "He's already taking second-year Transfiguration. And he's at school a year early."

"Transwhat?" Harry inquired.

"Transfiguration," Percy said. "Want to see?"

"Here, Perce, better not be like last time," another of the bigger kids called. A couple of the younger ones crowded around to watch.

Percy took a chocolate frog out of his pocket and unwrapped it, holding it between his fingers until the charm wore off and it stopped squirming. He set it on the table, pointed his wand at it, and said a few words in what Harry vaguely recognised as the same language Remus and Sirius used when doing magic. The frog twitched.

"Did it work?" Bill asked, leaning over the smaller students.

"I don't think so," Percy sighed.

Suddenly, the frog twitched again. There was a collective gasp. It seemed to leap into the air, and Harry watched, utterly fascinated, as it changed into --

A small, yellow rat fell to the table with a thud. Percy looked pleased.

"Caramel!" he said, picking the rat up. He snapped it in half and offered the head and shoulders to Harry. Harry, in turn, broke off half and gave the head to Oliver before popping the front legs into his mouth.

"Not bad, Weasley," Oliver said, around the caramel. The other Gryffindors, with looks of approval, began to disperse. Oliver led him over to a table where some children were playing Gobstones.

Harry cast longing looks at the other end of the table, where there was a Wizard's Chess game going on. One of them noticed, and grinned at him. "Like the chesspieces?" he asked, holding up one of them. "Kinda looks like Gryffindor Tower, doesn't it?"

"That's a Rook," Harry said, a trifle scornfully, and the boy grinned.

"D'you play, then?" he asked, as Harry moved away from the Gobstones game.

"Siriu -- " Harry stopped, realising he'd almost made a mistake. "My dad taught me how," he said carefully.

"Want to watch?"

"Check mate," said the girl he was playing against. The boy thudded his head on the table. "Ought to let Parvus play, I bet you two'd be a match," she teased gently.

"I can play," Harry said stoutly. The girl grinned, and gestured him forward.

"You sit with me and play Richard, and I'll help you," she said, scooting over and pulling up another chair. Harry sat down, and realised his eyes were about level with the table. Bill grinned and, with a flick of his wand, the chair shot upwards, legs lengthening until Harry was on a level with Richard.

Oliver found him, ten minutes later, deep in contemplation of the chessboard. He was looking at it carefully while explaining to Richard how his dad had trained some of the pieces to swear. Richard had obviously decided this was a good idea.

"Who's winning?" Oliver asked.

"He is," Harry answered. "But I'm..." he glanced at the girl, who'd given her name as Nina.

"Making him work for it," Nina said. Harry nodded. Richard made a move, amidst jeering from Harry's pieces.

"He's got the house chess champion helping him," Richard complained.

Oliver patted Richard on the back, comfortingly, as Harry moved a knight, and took one of Richard's bishops.

Harry lost, though it was a close thing, and Oliver took him up to see the first-years' dormitory rooms, showing him the big four-posters and the pictures pasted over peoples' beds, the school trunks and books and rolls of parchment that were the normal detritus of a student bedroom. They looked at Oliver's Quidditch books until the others began to troop into the room and Charlie Weasley, who was apparently a Prefect, poked his head in.

"Lights out, lads. Parvus, are you bunking with Oliver?"

"My dad gave me a bedroll," Harry said, digging in his knapsack and pulling out what looked like a small, squashy red sack. He shook it once or twice and it snapped out into a full, child-sized sleeping bag. Charlie looked impressed.

"Your dad's got a knack, all right," he replied, ducking out again. Harry climbed into his sleeping bag next to Oliver's bed and listened as the others talked about classes, traded quips and teasings. Somehow, he felt as though they were trying to include him in a way the Slytherins, when they talked about things, never did; with the Slytherins he sometimes felt a little ignored, while with the Gryffindor boys it seemed as though they were sometimes talking for his benefit alone.

He sighed, happily, and curled up in the thick scarlet sleeping bag, listening until he drifted into sleep.

***

In the night, the wind howled around the Gryffindor tower rooms and Harry woke with a start as something crashed; he could see the other children sleeping, and thought it must be something they were used to, but not before panic had made his heart thud in his ribcage.

Oliver snorted and rolled over. Harry fumbled for his knapsack and dug around until he found Frog in the very bottom. He hadn't wanted to take Frog out in front of the older boys, but they were all asleep and he wanted something from home. He curled around Frog, pulling the sleeping bag over his head, and tried to block out the sound of the whistling wind, the spring storm that was attacking the castle.

Inside the sleeping bag, it smelled of good things; their flat, and Sirius -- who smelled like leather and motor oil, and usually chocolate -- and Remus' old dusty books, that he was forever bringing home to read. Harry inhaled, deeply, comfortingly.

"Parvus?" a voice said softly. There was another crash; Harry identified it as thunder. Oliver Wood lifted the top of Harry's sleeping bag, slightly. "Are you scared?"

"No," Harry mumbled, against Frog's soft fur. There was a rustling, and Oliver crawled into the sleeping bag with him.

"I was, the first time there was a storm. It's all louder up here," Oliver said. The bag was big enough that Oliver could sit crosslegged in it, though the top pressed against his head and made him slouch. Harry grinned, a little, at the way it flattened his hair. He sat up too, trying to pretend that he wasn't holding onto a plush frog for dear life.

"We don't have to be scared, though," Oliver continued. "I mean really, we don't, the castle is safe as anything."

"It's loud," Harry whispered. Oliver grinned.

"But we're Gryffindor!" he said. "We're stronger and braver than any other house."

"Do you get to pick what house you go into?" Harry asked. Oliver shook his head.

"You get Sorted," he said. "You should come watch the Sorting next year if Professor Snape lets you. It's brilliant."

"What happens?" Harry asked. Oliver launched into a whispered, detailed description of the Sorting ceremony, complete with a boat ride across the lake, a singing hat, and Professor McGonagall, who could turn into a cat, Harry recalled, whenever she liked, just like Sirius could be a dog.

Harry held Frog, and listened, and thought about the fact that years ago, before he was born, Remus and Sirius would have slept in Gryffindor Tower, and his dad and mum, too.

At that moment he wanted nothing more than to be Gryffindor House, and play Gryffindor Quidditch, and wear a scarlet-and-gold badge on his school robes.

***

"It's quiet without the lad around, isn't it?"

Remus looked up from where he was stirring the sauce, and grinned. "You can say boring if you want."

"I'm not bored," Sirius replied, checking on the noodles. "Five more minutes...you have to admit it is quieter without him."

"He's a good lad."

"I'm just used to being pelted with a thousand questions while making dinner," Sirius continued. "Here, let me..." he took the spoon as Remus stepped aside, and licked the end of it. Remus made a disgusted noise.

"Yes, because you never borrow my hairbrush, or razor, or anything," Sirius replied. "Meatballs ready?"

"Mm, I think so." Remus pushed Sirius' legs out of the way, and took a pan out of the oven. "Looks it. Shall I?"

"Be my guest." Sirius stepped back and let Remus add the meatballs to the sauce, turning down the heat on the noodles. "Shame neither of us took magical cooking seriously."

"Well, I personally remember a black-haired young man announcing he was going to live on Chinese take-away the rest of his life," Remus said, stirring again. Sirius moved to a foil wrapped package on the table, and pointed his wand at it. It began to steam.

"I'm glad Harry asks questions," Remus continued. "Shows he's thinking. He'll be years ahead of everyone else when he finally gets to Hogwarts."

"Molly says he's a bright lad."

"Of course Molly says that, she loves the boy like her own," Remus answered with a grin.

Sirius took two wide, shallow bowls from the cupboard, along with a colander. "Well, it's easy, isn't it? I mean, he's smart, and he's a happy little lad, though Merlin knows how that happened, growing up with the Dursleys, and he's going to look -- "

" -- just like James," Remus finished in unison with him.

"I took him to lunch last weekend and the waiter asked me what my son was going to have, when he took our order," Sirius said, slightly wistfully.

"Well, it's the hair," Remus answered. "And probably the predilection for making trouble."

Sirius grinned, and poured the noodles into the colander, shaking it before dumping them into the sauce. Remus obligingly spooned the spaghetti into the bowls, and Sirius added the garlic bread from the foil package.

"Not too bad, for two confirmed bachelors," Sirius announced.

Remus gave him a dry look. "It's a Friday night, and our idea of a good time is Muggle cooking."

"Well, it's sort of like a hobby, I suppose. And besides, it's a full time job, caring for the lad."

"Mm. I don't know about you, but by the time he's in bed, I'm knackered myself."

Sirius, who didn't often talk at dinner, nodded over his meal. They ate in companionable silence, occasionally broken by a comment on the food, or a question about something to do with the bookshop. When they were finished, Remus gathered up the plates, carrying them to the counter and putting the garlic bread away. Sirius took the glasses and the pots to the sink, where the scrub brush began to wash them. He turned to take the dishes from Remus, who was hovering behind him. They nearly collided, and Remus froze, dishes in hand.

Sirius was shorter than he was, and Remus had to tilt his head down just slightly, while Sirius, in surprise, looked up.

Remus held his breath, pulse humming. Sirius' nostrils flared.

"Good thing we stopped," Sirius said, after a second. "That could have been a mess."

He stepped back, and Remus exhaled quietly, moving to put the dishes in the sink.

"What cologne are you using now?" Sirius asked, as he bent to wipe down the kitchen table. Remus raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I borrowed some of it. Good stuff, thought I might get a bottle."

"Use mine, it's all right," Remus offered. "Less clutter that way."

"Ta. I'll pay you back."

"Wasn't that expensive."

Sirius set the rag next to the sink, washing his hands with some spare suds from the scrubbing brush. Remus leaned on the counter, hip propped against it, watching him.

Sirius stopped, dried himself on a towel, and in one swift, fluid movement, turned and twined both hands in Remus' hair, and kissed him.

Remus was so stunned that for a full three seconds he didn't even tense, and by then Sirius' tongue was working its way between his lips and warm laziness was flooding his body. His hands reflexively gripped Sirius' biceps, mouth opening to deepen the kiss, skin oversensitive to the touch of his fingers down his neck, across one shoulder, around his jaw --

He stopped, and pushed Sirius away, slowly. The other man looked puzzled, breathless.

"Did I do it wrong?" he asked, tense and wary. Remus reached up unconsciously to touch his own lips.

"No," he said, hand slipping down to rub his chin. "I'm sure you never do it wrong. Why...?"

Sirius looked embarrassed. "Erm. You all right, Moony?"

"Sirius, I..." he shook his head. "Listen, if you want to know what it's like, that's great, I could show you ten or twenty men who'd be glad to tell you, but...you don't get to use me to find out, all right?"

"I wasn't using -- "

"No, it's fine, I know you'd never -- but I'm not a toy, Sirius. For anyone. I stopped that game a long time ago," Remus added. "However good your intentions are, I'm not the one to try them out on. For my sake, for Harry's sake -- not me."

Sirius, dark eyes watching him, nodded slowly. Remus felt his shoulders relax, felt his body settle back into something approaching normal.

"I'm sorry," Sirius muttered.

"It's fine, I said," Remus replied.

He wandered out of the kitchen, sitting at his desk in the corner, neatly sorting the papers waiting for him there. He heard Sirius go into the bedroom, and then duck into the bathroom. Water ran for a moment, before Sirius re-entered with a book, and settled into the battered old couch to read. Remus breathed a barely-perceptible sigh of relief.

Chapter 12

Remus, recovering from the kiss he'd just received and the feel of Sirius' body against his, was halfway through a calming letter to Dumbledore, carefully and possibly redundantly updating him on Harry's progress, when Sirius, from the couch, cleared his throat. He glanced up. Sirius was staring at his book, one leg drawn up against his chest.

"You know when we were in school, James and I..." he said, trailing off. Still looking at the book, Remus noted. "Well, we'd been down to the pub after the Cup match, sixth year, you remember after the party, we went out."

"Yes, because the Slytherins came looking to murder you and nearly got hexed by Lily instead."

"We nicked some firewhiskey and went up to the Shrieking Shack to celebrate."

"Hell of a place to have a party."

"And James said to me, oi Sirius, you ever kissed a boy?"

Remus' breath caught, sharply.

"And we were drunk, and stupid, and what the hell, right?" Sirius said, an embarrassed crimson creeping over his cheeks.

Remus examined himself for bitterness, and was pleased to find none; ten years ago he would have hated Sirius for having let James do that, for having played that game with James and not with him, but James was dead and Sirius was a grown man now, and Remus had done some growing-up of his own.

"Is this supposed to make me feel better about the fact that I'm not going to let you fool around with me because I'm in love with you?" Remus asked, before he could think what he was saying.

Sirius stared at him. It took Remus a minute to figure out why.

"Me?" Sirius asked, slowly, while Remus panicked with his usual quiet grace.

"If you must know," Remus answered tightly, dipping his quill in the ink and bending to finish a sentence.

"Me, Moony?"

"You're not stupid, Sirius, don't act like it."

"You're in love with me?"

"Yes, well, why else would anyone tolerate your atrocious taste in art," Remus replied. "You daft idiot, did you think I kept working at Sandust because I didn't realise I liked it there? I could have bought a partnership in it twice over. I didn't want to. I wanted to work there, still, not have you hire some spotty teenager to do my job while I took in profit and did nothing. I wanted to be around you. Or for you to keep me around. Either way," he added, with a shrug.

"Moony, that's a hell of a thing to tell a man you're supposed to be platonically sharing a bedroom with."

"You're the one who kissed me. Don't tell me you weren't planning to drag me down the hall and seduce me on one of those twin beds."

Sirius brooded for a while. Remus kept writing, though he'd no idea what he was saying; words about Harry and school, his friendship with Ron and Oliver, and Molly's regard for the boy kept flowing from the pen without any attention on his part.

"You don't seem too upset about it," Sirius said finally.

"About the fact that I'm in love with you and you sleep with any female who'll give you the time of day?" Remus asked. Sirius winced. "Well, after nine years -- "

"Nine bloody years, Moony?"

" -- one becomes rather resigned to one's fate. Besides, the physical aspect of any relationship is the least satisfying."

"Wow, have you been sleeping with the wrong people."

Remus laid his quill down, and rested his chin on one hand.

"We spend every day together, Sirius," he said softly. "Whether you're you or Padfoot. We've talked about everything there is to talk about in this world and still we find new things, every day, so that neither of us like it when an actual customer comes in and I've got to help them. You come to me when you need reassurance, when Padfoot wants to be skritched behind the ears, when you don't know what to do. I come to you when I want company, when I'm unsure of myself, and you keep me sane during the full moon, or patch me up after it. We almost never fight. We get drunk together. We're raising a child together, Sirius, for God's sake. You tell me I need to have sex with you to be happy? I have a good life. I don't regret much. I love you. That's enough."

Sirius looked as though his world had been destroyed, and Remus felt a moment of regret, but what could he have done? The words were spoken. There wasn't any way to unspeak them.

"Nine years?" he asked, hoarsely.

"Probably longer," Remus admitted. "But you know, it was James and Lily getting engaged, that really made me think about it."

"For crying out loud, Moony. Why didn't you say something?"

"Because you'd sit there with your jaw open and ask ridiculous questions. Love isn't all grand passions and dying confessions, Sirius. You read too many Russian novels."

Sirius seemed to check himself, and rubbed a hand over his face. Remus finished the letter to Dumbledore, and set it aside to be sealed and sent. What was next -- oh yes, he had a list of things to buy for Harry in Diagon Alley, from Molly, and he wanted to send a note back asking if she wanted him to get anything for her class while he was there...

"Moony, what am I supposed to say to you?" Sirius asked finally.

"Unless you're planning to radically readjust your sexuality and your idea of what love is, I doubt you can say anything," Remus replied.

"What you said about us, doing all those things together, I'm half of that, you know."

"Yes, and you love me like a brother, I'm sure. But you don't want me, you don't desire me, and, ergo, you don't get to seduce me just so you can feel what it's like to be with another man, which, aside from the fact that you haven't been laid in too long, I can only assume is your motivation. Now let's close the book on this and forget it happened," Remus added, setting Molly's note aside. He found his desk clear, and glanced up. Sirius was staring at him still. Remus stood, and walked to the bookshelf, taking down a copy of Euripides' selected plays.

He felt the warmth behind him, the hand on his, before he even realised Sirius had stood. Sirius' hand made him push the book back into the shelf. Sirius' other arm went around his waist.

A small ache started in Remus' stomach. Sirius didn't understand, he was still going to try this, and Remus would have to push him away again.

"I've done my experimenting," Sirius said softly, into his ear. The ache spread upwards, changing as it did so. Remus was familiar with pain, and he knew that it was modulating from the ache of wanting something you couldn't have to the ache of being touched after so long without touch...

"With James," Remus answered.

"I know how it feels."

"Bully for you."

Sirius nuzzled him in the place where his neck met his shoulder, and Remus twitched.

"You smelled so good," he said, his hand bringing Remus' -- still raised to touch the book -- down and across, until both his arms were wrapped around Remus' slim body.

"You didn't borrow my cologne, did you," Remus moaned. "Sirius, stop it -- "

"No," Sirius answered. "I'm half of all we've done, Remus."

The ache had clenched the muscles at his throat, now, and the pleasurable pain where Sirius' lips were pressed to his pulse was almost unbearable.

"You like women," Remus protested, tilting his head back a little to provide Sirius easier access to the sensitive skin of his throat.

"I like you," Sirius replied, breathing small puffs of air along his skin. They stood there for what seemed like too long, until Remus relaxed, slowly, into Sirius' embrace. He turned his head, let Sirius kiss him on the lips again, let Sirius' tongue explore his mouth. He could feel the same sensual, tingling ache in every place their bodies touched; lips, throats, Sirius' chest against his shoulderblades, Sirius' hips against his, the arms around his body, very nearly holding him up.

"Sometimes love is about grand passions," Sirius murmured, into his mouth.

"Too many Russian novels by half," Remus replied, a sigh catching in his throat as Sirius released him, steadied him on his feet. He turned. Sirius was staring at him as if he'd seen a revelation. "It's no good, Sirius," he said softly. "Don't think I don't want this, I'd kill for it, but I don't want you if you're going to enjoy yourself for a few weeks and then go back to chatting up the customers in Sandust."

"That must have killed you," Sirius whispered.

"You are who you are," Remus shrugged, unwilling to admit that the first time it had happened, seven years before, he'd nearly put his fist through the wall. He ran his fingers through his hair, re-ordering it where Sirius' attentions had tangled it. Sirius smiled and stepped close. Remus lifted his head and Sirius bent slightly and their foreheads pressed together, and Remus thought he might just die from the ache that was now covering his skin, making it hypersensitive to touch.

"I don't know why I thought it," Sirius said. "God, you smelled good, and I thought...I wanted to touch you. I didn't know how, Moony."

"You did all right," Remus answered. Sirius moved slightly so that their lips were touching again --

There was a knock at the door, and Sirius let out a moan of frustration.

"We're not finished," he said, as Remus pushed past him to answer it.

It was Arthur, a sheepish grin on his face. "Harry forgot his books," he explained. Remus held out a hand to accept them, examining the titles carefully before passing them to Sirius. "Molly says they've reading for Monday, so I thought I ought to bring them by."

"I've a note for Molly, actually..." Remus ducked back towards his desk, fetching the parchment.

"Thank you, Arthur," Sirius said, with a smile. "I'm sure Harry will appreciate that."

"Also, I wanted to ask if you wouldn't mind showing me -- that is to say, I know Harry took Ron around the Muggle shops near Sandust," Arthur said. "As a curiousity, I'd like to see them too, but I'd rather not get into trouble without a...well, a guide."

"No trouble at all," Sirius said, over Remus' shoulder, as he passed him the letter for Molly. "Drop by anytime."

"Ta, lads," Arthur said, giving them a jaunty grin as he and Disapparated from their doorstep. The pair of them stood there for a minute, looking out, before Sirius closed the door, slowly. He turned, and leaned against it, crossing his arms.

"What do we do now, Moony?" he asked, handing Remus the books. Remus set the books down on the hall table, and tried to breathe. Sirius was giving him a look that made it difficult.

"Tea," he said finally. Sirius blinked. "I need tea," he repeated.

"You do realise you're compulsive about tea?" Sirius asked, following him into the kitchen.

"I'm English."

"You're compulsive even for an Englishman."

Remus filled the kettle with water, and pointed his wand at it. It sparked, and steam began to emerge.

"D'you want some?" he asked, taking down two cups. He heard Sirius walk forward, felt his arms go around him again...he was not going to be able to take much more of this relentless affection...

Sirius' right hand turned the cups over, dropped a measure of loose tea into each. Remus leaned back into him, slightly, covering Sirius' left with his where it slid around his waist. Sirius poured the hot water.

"Sugar," Sirius murmured, picking up the shaker and pouring some into one of the mugs. "Honey," he continued, adding it to the other. "Milk?"

"No..." Remus moaned.

"Drink," Sirius said, picking up the cup with the honey in it, and holding it to Remus' lips. He drank, smoothly, the hot tea warming him. Sirius' fingers made small circles against his shirt, just above his hip.

The mug clicked on the counter when Sirius set it down.

"You don't understand," Remus said, gently and reluctantly prying Sirius' arm away.

"I do," Sirius answered, stepping back. "I do understand and you're just frightened."

"I have everything to lose."

"Me?"

"Yes. And if I lose you I lose Harry -- he's not my godson -- "

"You won't lose me."

"Prove it," Remus said quietly. Sirius looked lost.

"How?"

"Be you," Remus replied. "And I will be me. And we'll go on for a while. Like we have been."

Sirius let out an impatient whine, a note of Padfoot in it.

"And if you stay, knowing what you know -- at least until the next full moon is done -- then I'll believe you," Remus said finally. Sirius bent his head, rubbed his neck anxiously.

"Fine," he said. "But after that you don't get to tell me what I'm thinking anymore."

Remus felt a twinge of shame and fear, but Sirius smiled, and reached around him to take his tea.

"I think I'll go read a Russian novel," he said loftily.

***

In the morning, Harry woke to find himself draped across the foot of Oliver's bed, rolled up tightly in Oliver's blanket, while his own sleeping bag seemed to be covering the other boy, who was sleeping properly on the bed, snoring and tossing occasionally.

"Morning, Parvus," said one of the other boys, and Harry slid off the bed. "Sleep all right?"

"Yes, thank you," Harry said politely, digging in his knapsack for clean clothes. The other boy didn't seem at all worried about undressing, so Harry merely turned his back as he changed, packing up his pajamas and laying Frog carefully on top.

"Coming to breakfast?" Percy Weasley asked. "The rest of them'll probably sleep through it, but you can come with me if you like. When're you going home?"

"This afternoon," Harry said sleepily, falling into step with the red-headed boy. "I'm s'posed to go to the Headmaster's office before lunch."

"Right, I can show you were that is," Percy said, as they crossed the silent common room and passed through the portrait hole. "It'll probably be a bore, but you can come to the library with me if you want. I've a paper to write."

"On what?"

"Dark Creatures," Percy answered.

"What're they, then?"

Percy looked down at him curiously. "Like vampires and werewolves, and ghouls, and all. We don't really get to learn about 'em until third year, but we're supposed to write a paper about the different kinds. Sort of a...an overview," he concluded. "It's for Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Harry nodded, and let Percy ramble on, while they found their way down the stairs and into the Great Hall. A couple of early-rising Slytherins waved to him as he sat across from Percy at the Gryffindor table, and he saw Professor McGonagall talking to Headmaster Dumbledore at the high teachers' table.

Once he'd woken up a bit, with help from some really excellent fried eggs, he peppered Percy with questions about his classes, until Percy laughed and said the younger boy could help him with his research in the library. Harry, who had been quickly infected with Remus' love of books, followed Percy eagerly, and helped carry books to a study-table.

"You look for pictures of werewolves I could copy out," Percy ordered. "I'm going to find some facts about vampires."

Harry paged through the volumes slowly, staring in awe at the printed plates of various monsters and magical creatures. Percy muttered to himself, copying things down occasionally.

Harry turned a page, and looked down. There was a cartoonish drawing of a normal-looking man, with a little diagram nearby; arrows pointed to his hands and his eyebrows.

"The only way to tell a werewolf from an ordinary human being is to look for hair on the knuckles and a single eyebrow crossing the bridge of the nose," Harry read aloud. "Though not all werewolves possess both these traits, one or another will usually mani...mafi..."

Percy leaned over. "Manifest," he said.

"Manifest itself in an adult werewolf," Harry finished. "Golly, they look just like everyone else."

Percy nodded. "They're savage during the full moon, though. I heard my mum talking about it once. If there aren't any humans around to attack, they'll attack themselves."

Harry, staring at the illustration of a slavering wolf on the opposite page from the smiling, cartoonish man, felt a sudden shock.

He's just sick, Sirius' voice said.

A vision of Remus, lying on the bed and shivering, covered in clawed cuts and bite marks, rose in Harry's mind.

"But they only change on a full moon," Percy said. "And there's only twelve, thirteen of those a year."

Twelve times three is thirty six, Sirius' voice continued.

Two and a half, Remus' voice replied.

Twelve full moons a year and two and a half years until Harry started school...

One of us has to be human, said Remus, in his head.

Harry let out a small gasp, and nearly fell off his chair.

"What?" Percy asked, anxiously. "What is it?"

"N...nothing," Harry stammered. "A picture scared me, that's all."

Percy gave him a tolerant, slightly condescending smile, and returned to his essay.

Moony's a werewolf, Harry thought, staring in shock at the vicious, frightening drawing in front of him. He could even see Remus' hands, deft, nimble-fingered, tying one of Harry's shoes, and the light-brown hair across the knuckles.

He slid off the chair, closing the book suddenly. "I have to go," he said. Percy looked at a clock on the wall.

"There's an hour yet," he said.

"I need to talk to the Headmaster," Harry insisted. "And get my knapsack."

"All right, do you want me to -- "

"No, I know the way," Harry said, hoping he did.

"Are you sure?"

Harry nodded, and fled the library.

He ran down the hallways, navigating by faint memories of following Professor Snape through the castle, until he reached Gryffindor Tower. Oliver and the others were dressing, and Harry pulled the sleeping bag off Oliver's bed, squashing it up until it was once again about the size of his fist.

"Thank you for inviting me," he gasped, because even Moony being a werewolf was not more important than the good manners Moony had taught him. "I had a wonderful time."

"Are you going already?" Oliver asked, disappointed.

"Got to. I'll be back...thanks again..." Harry called, as he ran out.

He found the Headmaster's office without error, but ran into a problem once he arrived; he could knock all he wanted, but the door remained firmly shut.

"Password," a gargoyle said, and Harry almost burst into tears of frustration.

"Cadbury Creme Egg," came a voice from behind Harry, and Harry nearly jumped out of his skin.

Albus Dumbledore stood behind him, smiling gently. "I had not expected you for a while yet," he said, offering his hand to lead Harry into the stairs that led to his office. "Homesick already?" he asked, going to Fawkes' cage and dropping in a handful of some kind of strange feed.

"I...I wanted to ask you..." Harry stammered. Last time, Oliver had asked permission for him to come stay; Harry was still in awe of the Headmaster.

"It's all right, Harry," the Headmaster said, tapping him with his wand to remove the glamour on his scar, the extra-long hair. After nearly two days of having it, Harry felt strange to feel his own close-cropped cut again.

"Is Moony a werewolf?" he blurted. Dumbledore looked down at him, thoughtfully.

"I did think you might come to that conclusion, though I don't think anyone expected it to be so soon," he said, still in the same gentle tone. Harry thought for an awful minute that the Headmaster might tell him that it wasn't his buisness to tell, but instead he said bluntly, "Yes. Remus Lupin is a werewolf." He paused. "You aren't frightened of him, surely?"

"No," Harry said angrily. "He's Moony."

"Ah, the logic of youth," Dumbledore smiled. "You understand that he can't help the way he is?"

"He's not bad, is he?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, he's not. Merely unlucky."

Harry contemplated this. "Should I tell him?"

"That he's unlucky?"

"That I know."

Dumbledore regarded him gravely. "That is your decision, my boy. Now, I believe your guardians are expecting you..." he guided Harry to the large fireplace, and tossed in a handful of Floo powder. "Mr. Lupin, Mr. Black?"

"Here, Headmaster," came Sirius' voice, faintly. "You're early."

"I'm sending Harry through now."

"All right..." Sirius's voice trailed off as Harry stepped into the fire, and announced, "Sandust Bookshop!"

Chapter 13

There was a certain amount of tension that Harry could sense, when he arrived in the bookshop; having grown up with the Dursleys, Harry was unusually attuned to the moods of the people around him. It was a survival trait more than anything.

Sirius, though he welcomed him back, didn't stay human very long after Harry returned. Remus smiled and was happy to see him, but he was also quiet -- even for Moony -- as Harry sat in one of the wing-chairs, Padfoot's head resting on his knee, and told them about his sleepover in excruciating detail.

Except, of course, for what Percy had been researching.

It was a quiet group that left Sandust as Remus locked up, and Harry, arm slung across Padfoot's broad doggy shoulders, followed him down towards the bakery. The brothers who worked there had already assembled their evening purchase -- a day-old bagel with honey for Padfoot, an apple turnover for Moony, and an oatmeal cookie for Harry.

Harry fed Padfoot the bagel in little bits, as they walked towards the flat. Moony was silent, lost in his own thoughts; Harry was watching him, covertly, to see if it was really true -- if you really couldn't tell a werewolf from a human.

By the time they reached the front door, he'd decided it didn't matter.

"Come into the kitchen, Harry, you ought to wash up. I don't care if he's an animagus, dog drool is dog drool," Remus called, setting his satchel down in the kitchen. Harry came in and climbed the stepstool to the sink, while Remus unpacked his turnover and set it on a plate, leaning on the counter to eat it tidily with a fork.

"Is Sirius changing back tonight?" Harry asked, hearing Padfoot throw himself down in front of the couch in the living room.

"I don't know," Remus replied. "You could ask him."

"Are you fighting?"

"Who?"

"You and Sirius." Harry dried his hands. "When Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia used to fight, she wouldn't speak to him."

"No, Harry, we're not fighting," Remus said, around a mouthful of apple. "When civilised people fight, they sort out their differences as they go, so that they don't have to resort to childish things like the silent treatment."

"But Sirius can't talk when he's Padfoot."

Remus considered him shrewdly. "Harry, you know how you have Frog?"

"Yep."

"And you know how afraid you were when you first came to live with us? And you wouldn't let Frog go?"

Harry grinned and nodded.

"Well, being Padfoot...for Sirius, it's rather like Frog. When he's upset...it gives him space to think about things."

Harry reached up and broke off a corner of his apple turnover. Remus pushed some icing onto it. Harry popped it into his mouth and chewed, thoughtfully.

"So what's he upset over, then?" he asked.

Remus looked startled. Harry waited patiently.

"Well...erm...it's difficult to explain," he began. Harry sighed.

"Is this another grownup thing?" he demanded, slightly impatiently.

"I guess we've used that excuse a lot, these past weeks, haven't we," Remus admitted. "It's just...Sirius is sorting a few things out. He needs to think really hard about them. That's all."

Harry considered the wary-looking man in front of him. After a moment, he nodded.

"All right. But if he isn't Sirius again by tomorrow I'm going to make him take a bath," he concluded. Remus smiled and ruffled his hair.

"Run on in, maybe Padfoot wants you to read to him tonight," he said, watching as Harry left the kitchen and clambered up onto the battered old couch. Padfoot joined him, and Harry took a copy of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes from the end-table. He listened to Harry read for a few minutes, over the occasional thump of Padfoot's tail against the couch when Harry spelled out a particularly long word, before turning back to the kitchen. There was dinner to make, after all.

He'd stood just about here when Sirius had kissed him. And he'd stood just about here when they'd made tea together, and --

Crockery crashed, and Remus swore.

"All right, Moony?" Harry called from the living room. Padfoot's ears perked.

"Fine, Harry, I just knocked a plate off the counter," he called back, hurriedly fixing it with a Reparo! and a flick of his wand.

Enough of this foolishness. They would go on as they had gone on, hadn't he said that himself?

Better get on with going on then, hadn't you, Lupin...

***

Padfoot slept on Harry's bed that night, though he was human and hogging the shower when Remus woke the next morning. He seemed as though whatever issues he'd been sorting out had been sorted, and for Harry's sake, Remus tried to treat their interactions as normal, but it was difficult. He hadn't realised how much they ribbed and teased each other, until he was no longer comfortable doing it.

It was almost a relief to leave for Sandust, and know that Sirius was taking Harry to a Sunday matinee at the cinema. Sometimes he rather thought it was Harry taking Sirius -- Harry was much more accomplished at handling Muggle money, and better at choosing which movie they ought to see.

This week it was a comedy of some sort, as far as Remus could tell, when Harry and Sirius met him at the door. It was Sirius' turn to cook, which meant that as long as he didn't smell smoke when he stepped inside, it would probably be edible. He sniffed; pork chops. Mashed potatoes...and mushy peas.

Sirius Black comfort food. The sort of thing you'd cook if your best friend was upset with you. Despite the fact that Remus didn't like mushy peas, or have a particular affection for pork chops.

He shook his head. Sirius, so haplessly self-absorbed sometimes.

"Early dinner tonight," Sirius called, from the kitchen. "We're going stargazing."

"We're what?" Remus asked, as he walked towards the bedroom, Harry trailing him.

"Astronomy. Do you know Harry doesn't know a single constellation?" Sirius said, from the kitchen doorway. Remus pulled off his shirt, changing it for a Muggle t-shirt and a jumper.

"Not one?" Remus asked Harry, who shook his head. "Well, that definitely has to be solved, but..."

"I thought we could take the motorbi -- " Sirius paused at Remus' look. "Or the train, the train works too. Get outside the city a little, take a star-chart, you've still got your old textbooks, haven't you?"

"Somewhere."

"We can be back in plenty of time for Harry to get a good night's sleep for school tomorrow, and they're going to start on constellations soon anyhow, Molly said," Sirius continued. Remus, realising that Sirius had planned this carefully, if quickly, dug around in the bureau for his gloves.

"Sounds fine," he answered, walking back down the hallway, Harry running on ahead. Sirius looked at him blankly.

"It does?" he asked.

"Sure, as long as Harry'll get enough sleep. I haven't done any astronomy since school," he said. Sirius continued to look at him. He flashed the other man an enthusiastic grin. "Let's eat, then," he continued.

Sirius, after a few seconds, matched his grin.

"Splendid," he said. "Grand. Let's eat."

"Yay potatoes!" Harry said, climbing into one of the dining-room chairs. Both of them looked at him.

"Did you like mashed potatoes when you were eight?" Remus asked.

"Hated them."

"Me too."

Sirius shrugged, and pushed Remus gently towards the table. "He can have my peas, too..." Remus called after him.

***

"Oi, Moony."

"Hm?"

"Cold?"

"Not after the brandy. You?"

"Got a warming charm on."

"Where's Harry?"

"Asleep. On top of my leg."

"Serve you right."

"For what?"

"Being all...parental and that. Serve you right, kid falling asleep on your leg."

"You weren't supposed to drink the whole flask."

"I didn't. You had at least half."

"A quarter, and I hold my liquor better."

"Lies and falsehoods, Padfoot!"

"You'll wake Harry."

"Well, we did come all the bloody way out here on account of him."

"Look at that."

"What?"

"There's the dog star."

"Hmm, and Orion. I always liked Orion."

"Why?"

"Easy to find."

"No, really, why?"

"First constellation I ever learned. My dad taught it to me."

"One of the first Harry learned, too. We taught him."

"Indeed we did, Pads."

"Taught him the dog star first, though."

"Well, of course."

"I don't mind, you know."

"Mind what?"

"Harry sleeping on my leg. I don't mind...I love him, Moony."

"Course you do. Course you do."

"No but like...not on account of he's James' son or on account of I'm supposed to. I love him. Cos he's him."

"Good."

"D'you hear something?"

"Like what?"

"Dunno. Probably nothing."

"Move over a bit."

"What're you on about?"

"You're warmer than me. I'm cold."

"We ought to go soon."

"Hmm. Soon."

***

Harry was indeed lying on Sirius' right leg, head pillowed on his calf, but he wasn't asleep; he was looking past Sirius' boot, to where a pair of low, shining eyes glittered in the dark.

Hello, said Harry, barely above a whisper. Do you live here?

Hello, big one, said the snake. I live here. Do you?

No, I live in the city, Harry answered.

Then why are you in my field?

Harry thought about this. Sirius took me to look at the stars.

The snake bobbed its head. The what?

The stars.

What are those?

Look up above you, Harry said.

The snake turned its head to look up, then looked back at Harry.

I don't see anything, it said.

I'm sorry, Harry said politely. Maybe you're too small.

There's a mouse next to you, the snake said. I'm going to eat it.

Harry heard movement, felt Remus shift his weight on the blanket the three of them were sharing, moving closer to Sirius. When he looked back, the snake was darting away, after a shadow -- the mouse it had intended to eat.

"Sirius?" he said, sleepily.

"Yes, lad," Sirius' voice, low and even. "I think it's time we packed it in for the night."

Harry pushed himself up, and saw Sirius sitting up too, rubbing the back of his head. Remus was lying next to Sirius, hands behind his head, still staring up at the stars. "Come on, Moony," Sirius said, poking him. Remus smiled, barely visible in the starlight, and rolled off the blanket. Sirius folded it a few times, then wrapped it around Harry and scooped him up in it. Harry shrieked, surprised.

"Come on, we'll catch the last train back," Sirius said, setting Harry down again and giving him the blanket to wrap around his shoulders. "Coming, Moony?"

Both turned to see Remus, standing there, looking up at the moon. He glanced at Sirius, then back up again.

"Moon's waxing," he said quietly.

"Does every month," Sirius answered.

"So I'm told," Remus said, with a sudden smile. "Right, we'd better get back or Harry'll fall asleep in school tomorrow and Molly will tan both our hides."

***

The next week-end, Harry visited Hogwarts again, excited to be able to see his first actual Quidditch game. It was going to be Slytherin against Hufflepuff, and Harry wanted to sneak away to sit with Oliver and listen to his play-by-play, but he was content enough to sit next to Professor Snape and cheer on his friends in Slytherin house.

"I hope you aren't cold," said Professor Snape, as he followed Harry up the ladder and into the stands. Harry waved his black knit gloves, and pulled his red hat tighter on his head. "You must take care, it's quite windy today."

Harry didn't point out that he'd been in the stands when they were empty, many times before, without accidentally falling to his doom. Instead he let Professor Snape put a steadying hand on his shoulder, and lead him to a pair of really great seats. He waved at Oliver, who grinned and waved back.

"You may see your friend after the game," Professor Snape said, coolly. Harry perched himself on the bench, and sat, fidgeting excitedly. "Do be still, child," Snape said. Harry satisfied himself with looking over every inch of the Pitch, and trying to name off all the students nearby. He knew a good number of them, by now, mostly Slytherins and Gryffindors. He still found it peculiar that the two houses didn't talk.

A small waxed-paper sack appeared next to him, and he glanced up at Professor Snape, who was apparently watching the players walk out onto the Pitch. He picked it up, feeling it warm against his palm. The sack was filled with sweet roasted almonds, the sort that one of the students was selling before the game.

"Thank you," he said, below the cheering of the students. Professor Snape didn't answer.

He cheered fairly indiscriminantly; it was fun to yell for Slytherin, who were winning, but also a secret sort of joy to root for the underdog Hufflepuff, who were obviously trying harder. Oliver seemed to be pulling for Hufflepuff as well.

Then he saw the Slytherin Seeker dive, and knew she'd seen the Snitch -- he fancied he could make out the small golden ball as well, and he actually caught his breath when her hand snapped closed around it, and she pulled away from the dive, circling the stands to riotous cheers.

"They won! Did you see?" Harry asked, forgetting himself and tugging on Professor Snape's arm. He let go immediately, but the older man merely glanced at him, and the edges of his mouth quirked momentarily.

"I did see," he said, calmly. "It was well done."

He waited while Harry ran across the stands to talk to Oliver, who was less cheerful, but no less excited.

"This means Hufflepuff's out of the Cup running, and it'll be Gryffindor and Slytherin for the cup," he explained, sharing the last of Harry's roasted almonds. "Bill Weasley promised me I could help them get dressed and carry their brooms for them before the cup, what'd'ya think of that?"

Harry was awestruck. "I'll root for Gryffindor then!" he said. "I'm sure I'll be let come back to watch the last game. I've got a red and gold shirt even, and Si -- and my dad'll give me a sickle to buy a pennant with."

"Parvus," Professor Snape called.

"I've gotta go. Tell Hufflepuff I'm sorry!" Harry called, as he ran back towards Professor Snape, shoving the empty waxed paper into his pocket. He held out his hand, and like second nature, Professor Snape took it, leading him through the crowds, towards the ladder.

"Where're we going now?" Harry asked.

"Back to the dungeons, you've had enough excitement for one day," Professor Snape replied. "You may help me feed the animals."

Harry clambered down the ladder, waiting at the bottom for Snape, who dusted himself off before joining the crowds walking back towards the castle.

"Will you take me to see a grownup Quidditch game sometime?" Harry asked. "In a stadium and everything?"

"We shall see," Snape replied. "I think you are rather too exciteable."

"I'll be good," Harry promised. "Please?"

"We shall see," Snape repeated. "Until I decide, do not speak of it further."

Harry obediently fell silent. He'd found the best way to please the cranky professor was to be quiet, and do as he was told; it was hardly ever a chore, especially if he was being quiet and doing as he was told in a place like Diagon Alley, where one didn't need to talk to experience the wonders of the magical shops.

Chapter 14

When they arrived back at the castle, Snape unlocked the small, warm room labeled "No Students Allowed", and Harry stepped inside, enjoying the heat on his face after the chilly outdoors. He knew the dungeons quite well by now; there was the Potions classroom, with a storage closet on one side and the artificially-warmed animal room on the other, and the large rack of student-access ingredients in the back. Beyond that, the Slytherin common room, and Professor Snape's quarters, neither of which he'd seen for more than a minute or two.

He'd been in the animal room once before, but only briefly; now, Snape led him inside, and gave him a small jar of white pellets.

"The far wall, the mice," he said, and Harry crossed the dim space, curiously eyeing a glass case full of mice. Snape appeared behind him, his hand dipping into the terrarium to retrieve a small blue bowl. Harry filled it, stopping when Snape told him to, and watched the mice rush to the bowl as Snape set it down again.

"Does it tickle?" he asked, seeing the mice brush past the Potions Master's pale fingers.

"I don't notice it," Snape replied.

"What're they for?"

"Snake food. And some spells," the man added thoughtfully. Harry watched them, thinking of the snake in the field when he'd gone stargazing with Sirius and Remus. "The larger ones have already been fed, or I would demonstrate," Snape said, with a toothy, not-very-pleasant grin. Harry followed him to a stand against one wall, climbing on top of a chair to press his nose to the glass of another terrarium. A small garter snake lay lazily in this one, forked tongue flicking out every once in a while.

"You like snakes, huh?" Harry asked.

"Whether I like them is immaterial," Snape answered.

"Then why've you got so many?"

"They're necessary. Snake-skin is a common potions ingredient, and some breeds are useful for augury."

"What's that?"

"A method of telling the future. Far more accurate than pasteboard cards and tea dregs," Snape said, and Harry formed a mental picture of Professor Trelawney. "This specimen is useful mainly for its unique skin. It's called -- "

"Hello, snake!" Harry said, as the snake began to move. Professor Snape scowled.

"Don't you want to know its name?"

"Snakes haven't got names," Harry replied scornfully.

"How do you know?"

"I asked one once. She told me," Harry answered absently. How are you today, snake? he asked. The snake bobbed its head. Are you hungry? he continued. What d'you eat?

Littler things, came the reply.

Harry grinned up at Professor Snape, who was staring at him in shock. "What do you feed this one?" Harry continued, blithely.

"Can you understand what it's saying?" Professor Snape asked.

"Oh, yes. Sometimes, they don't like to talk. They're shy."

The professor didn't seem to be doing anything, so Harry jumped off the stool and went to the opposite counter, where a large jar of crickets stood. Crickets were little, after all.

"How do I just get a few?" he asked plaintively. As if pulled out of a trance, the man picked up the jar swiftly, releasing a catch on the lid, and let two or three insects slide out through a narrow gap, into the snake's cage. The snake made short work of them, hissing with delight, while Harry watched in fascination.

"Mm, Crickets!" Harry exclaimed. "I bet those are like chocolate for them, huh?"

"I...had not considered the matter," Professor Snape replied, fingers tapping on the glass of the cricket jar. "How did you know it wanted crickets?"

Harry sighed. "He told me."

"How?"

Harry paused, and met Professor Snape's eyes directly, something he very rarely did. They were dark, but gleaming with curiosity.

"My aunt and uncle didn't believe me either," he said.

"Didn't believe you?"

"I told them I could hear what snakes were thinking," Harry explained. "And I can," he added angrily. "I'm not telling tales."

Professor Snape was very quiet. After a moment, he turned, and picked up a strange-looking contraption from the table.

"Come with me," he said, leading Harry deeper into the gloom. They ended in a dark corner, where the only light was cast by a heat lamp above a small case. Inside was a thin, black, angry-looking reptile.

"This is a Black Tiger. Its venom is prized for its magical properties. It is the basis for a number of extremely complicated potions, the compositions of which are..." he paused. "...of no interest to eight year olds. The venom is collected through a process known as milking."

"Like a cow?" Harry asked.

"Rather not. The snake bites the rubber pad, here..." Snape indicated the lid of the contraption, "...and the venom drips down into the jar. Unfortunately, they are...tempermental beasts."

"Oh," Harry said thoughtfully. He regarded the snake. "He looks mean."

"As such, I have been unable to successfully collect any venom. So," Snape said, lifting the lid. "Let us try an experiment, shall we?"

"Okay," Harry agreed.

"You believe snakes can understand you?"

"Yep."

"Can you tell this one to do as I've shown?"

"To bite the rubber bit?" Harry asked.

"Precisely."

Harry leaned over until he was on eye level with the snake, took a deep breath, and said, Hello, snake.

Sod off, said the snake. He sounded remarkably like Professor Snape, and Harry grinned.

Don't you like your cage? Harry asked.

My what?

Do you like the heat?

Yes.

Harry nodded. Bet you wouldn't like it much if the heat went away.

Sod off, the snake repeated.

My uncle wants you to bite the little thing he's sticking into your cage, Harry continued. And if you don't we'll make the heat go away.

The snake stared at him. He reared, suddenly, and hissed. Harry felt Professor Snape grip his shoulder, ready to pull him back.

Bad snake, Harry scolded. Do as you're told.

Why should I bite a silly thing like that? the snake said sullenly. Harry thought about it.

If you do, we'll give you a mouse, he said.

A whole mouse?

"Can we give him a mouse?" Harry whispered. Snape glanced down at him.

"Yes."

A whole mouse, Harry promised. Still alive, even.

The creature darted forward, faster than Professor Snape could draw back; before either human knew it, the snake had thrust its fangs into the rubber covering of the jar, and was thrashing back and forth.

Snape held it until the snake was exhausted, thumb behind the head, deftly keeping it in place. When he released it, it snapped half-heartedly at his hand before slinking into a hollow in one of the rocks.

Harry ran back to the terrarium with the mice in it, and reached in, unsqueamishly grabbing a small one and carrying it back to Snape, who was fascinated -- glancing from the jar to the snake and then back to the jar again.

"We promised," Harry said. Snape took the mouse and dropped it, by the tail, into the cage.

"Come away now, boy," he said, though Harry wanted to stay and see if the snake could really eat an entire live mouse at one go. He covered the jar with a glass stopper, placed it in a chilled cupboard, and led Harry out into the Potions classroom. Harry sat on one of the workbenches, and Snape leaned on his desk.

"Did the experiment work?" Harry asked, suddenly afraid he'd done something wrong.

"Yes, Harry," said Snape, using his real name for once. "I do believe it did."

***

Harry's visits with Snape always made Sirius cranky, and Remus tried to distract him; in this case (though it wasn't what Sirius would have picked) he had slyly arranged an invitation to an early dinner out of Molly. Sirius, who knew when he was being manipulated, refused to change back from Padfoot. Remus, undaunted, brought the dog along, giving the excuse that Sirius wasn't feeling himself, much to both of their amusement. At least this way he didn't have to make dinner conversation and answer questions about Moira.

He'd spent a lot of time as Padfoot lately, Remus reflected. It was slightly worrying.

Still, being a gigantic black dog did nothing for Sirius' desire to be left alone; all through dinner the children slipped him scraps of Molly's excellent meal, and afterwards his presence was demanded on the lawn. Fetch might not be as entertaining to an animagus as to an actual dog, but it did give him a chance to stretch his legs a bit. Remus, meanwhile, sat with Molly and Arthur near the back door, watching the children play and sharing the wine he'd brought as his contribution.

Ginny and Padfoot ran up as Fred and George got into a wrestling match, and threw themselves down on the lawn near Remus, who, it was suspected, was the object of Ginny's seven-year-old adulation.

"There now, Pads, don't smash her," Remus chided, as Padfoot nearly sat on Ginny, who squeaked and moved out of the way.

"That your only worry, with a dog his size?" Arthur asked.

"Pretty much. The worst he ever does is accidentally knock over furniture," Remus answered, while Padfoot allowed Ginny to rest her head on his neck.

"He's such a gentle dog," Molly said. "And good with the children -- Harry's always talking about him. Really, it's rare to find that in big dogs."

"He's a child himself," Remus murmured. There was a twitch of the ears from Padfoot.

"Ought to breed him, Remus," Arthur said. Padfoot snorted suddenly, and Remus hid a smile.

"Oh, I don't know, perhaps he wouldn't take to it," Remus replied.

"Well, then you ought to get him neutere -- my!" Molly exclaimed, as Padfoot yelped. "Ginny, don't pull his ears."

"I wasn't!" Ginny said petulantly. Padfoot slunk most of his enormous bulk under Remus' chair.

"Especially since you don't keep him on a lead. I mean who knows what he might get up to while you're not watching him," Molly continued.

"I'm not sure I want to know," Remus answered easily. Padfoot, head poking out from under the chair, was glaring balefully at him. He reached out to skritch him behind the ears. "He's a good dog."

"Well, if you do stud him out, we wouldn't mind a puppy, would we, Moll?" Arthur said. Molly looked dubious, even at the prospect of gentle Padfoot's pups. Arthur reached over and pulled Padfoot's muzzle up slightly, checking his teeth.

"Ought to have some of these looked at," he said, with the air of a professional. "There are chew toys that clean the teeth, I've heard..."

Remus coughed to hide his laughter as Padfoot tugged away, resting his head across Remus' shoes.

"Is he a mutt, now, or purebred?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, very pure," Remus replied. Padfoot bit his ankle. "His mother was quite a fine bitch."

Padfoot lapped at the bite, apologetically.

"How does Sirius like him? I thought he and Sirius didn't get on so well."

"Not at all. Sometimes Pads even sleeps on Sirius' bed," Remus said, amused. "Though of course he likes Harry better."

"Really? I'd think an eight-year-old wouldn't hold much interest for a dog like him."

"Well, Harry feeds him," Remus grinned.

He was going to get thoroughly yelled at later by Sirius, but it was entirely worth it.

***

"It is not so unexpected, Severus. We know Voldemort was a Parseltongue, and that the boy is closely linked to him, in ways we are only beginning to understand."

"But in a child so young, Headmaster, certainly something ought to be done."

"What precisely would you do?"

"...I don't know. Educate him somehow."

"He is receiving an excellent education at the hands of Molly Weasley, and will be attending Hogwarts. Do you propose to tell his guardians?"

"I hardly see how we can keep it from them. Surely we have an obligation to use this knowledge."

"Do we? Of what use is his ability, at the moment?"

"Use? He's a boy, he shouldn't be talking to snakes. And let us not forget many dark wizards began as parseltongues."

"Many dark wizards were parseltongues, Severus, there is a difference."

"Black and Lupin ought to know."

"Surely they'll notice, in their own time."

"I don't like them, you know, but they are responsible for Harry's welfare."

"And you like Harry."

***

Severus paused in his pacing of Dumbledore's rooms, stopping so sharply that his robe hems swirled around the tops of his boots. He stared at the Headmaster, dumbstruck.

"He is a charming little boy, there's no sin in being fond of the lad," Dumbledore continued imperturbably.

"I'm responsible for his education in what it means to be a wizard, that is all," Severus said tightly.

Dumbledore smiled. "And you have no personal feelings towards the boy."

"None whatsoever."

"Purchasing treats for him at the Quidditch match, I suppose that's merely -- "

" -- making sure he's well-nourished. I don't trust Black to keep milk cold, let alone fix edible meals for him."

"And your boasts to Minerva of his intelligence?"

"Observations shared with a fellow teacher."

Dumbledore's fingers tapped on his desk, thoughtfully.

"It's..." Severus began, stopped, tried again. "When he is...Parvus...it is very easy not to see his father in him. It is easy to think of him as...a nephew. Family."

Dumbledore's gaze was unnerving. Severus shifted his weight and changed the subject quickly. "He doesn't think it's anything unusual, you know. All children think they can talk to animals, it's -- young ones have vivid imaginations. He simply never grew out of that delusion, because that delusion happened to be true. To him it's as natural as speaking to you, or to myself. Perhaps more so. He perceives them as his equals. He's not squeamish, either, he wanted to feed that mouse to the viper himself."

"He understands the orders of nature," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Severus, let the boy be. You will not speak of this to Sirius. If he discovers it on his own, well and good; if not, I see no harm in allowing it to continue."

"Yes, Headmaster," Snape said, sullenly. "Shall I fetch Harry?"

"Please do."

The dark-haired man passed into the outer chamber, and held out his hand. Harry glanced at it for a moment, surprised -- Professor Snape had never offered his hand before, merely taken Harry's when it was held up -- and took it, allowing himself to be led into the office. Dumbledore was just leaning out of the fireplace.

"You're ready, Harry," he said, as Severus removed the glamour from his scar and hair. "Do travel safely."

"Thank you," Harry said politely, well-used by now to the trip. He tossed a handful of floo powder into the flame, stepped inside, and said, "Sandust Books!" clearly.

Dumbledore looked up at his Potions master, who was watching Harry vanish from sight.

"There is no harm, sometimes, in letting a child be a child," he said gently.

"Harry is more than a child," Snape replied. "But I hardly imagine that will change anything. Good day, Headmaster."

***

Harry returned to Sandust to find Remus gone again; Sirius was quiet and Harry thoughtful as they ate, and Harry spent the evening reading about Wales, where Remus had apparently gone exploring. Harry slipped a glance at the calendar, where the full-moons were pre-printed, and realised that Moony was timing his travels now. He'd get sick while traveling, and come back in...well, Tuesday was the full moon, so, four days from now...

He curled closer against Sirius' hip. His godfather was reading a novel of some kind, and he glanced down as Harry shifted.

"You look worried, pup," he said quietly.

"M'not," Harry answered. "Just thinkin'."

"About?"

"Snakes," Harry lied. "Professor Snape's got tons of 'em."

Sirius grinned. "You like reptiles?"

"Yeah, I guess. Snakes are neat. They never lie," Harry added. Sirius rubbed his hair, and closed his book.

"I know we've been asking you to keep a lot of secrets, Harry," he said. "But they're for your own good. When you start school, everything'll change. Not so many secrets," he continued.

Harry privately reflected that Sirius didn't know the half of it.

"And we're better than the Dursleys," Sirius said. "Er...we are better, aren't we? You don't want to go back there, do you?"

Harry shook his head vigorously. Give up Sirius and Remus, his new friends, his books and toys, Professor Snape and the snakes, all because of a couple of secrets?

Sirius was smiling at him. "Good lad," he said. "No fear, eh?"

"No fear," Harry replied. "Am I really gonna go to Hogwarts?"

"Course you are, why wouldn't you? You've got magical ability and you're a Potter. Very old respected wizarding family, the Potters," Sirius said, almost to himself. "And you've got me and Moony too. There's nobody better at Dark Arts than Moony, you know."

"What about you?"

Sirius paused. "I'm more sort of an all-over wizard," he said. "I do a little of everything."

"Are you from a Very Old Respected Wizarding Family?" Harry asked.

"Well, I don't know about Respected, but Old certainly applies. The Blacks are a very ancient house."

Harry got the mental image of a house made entirely of mummies. Sirius saw the look on his face, and grinned.

"What I mean is, they've been around forever," Sirius said. "It's not a literal house."

"Do you have a dad and mum?" Harry asked.

"No, Harry, they died. All I've got is -- " he paused. "Well, you. And Moony. It's us three, you know. All we've got is each other."

"And the Weasleys," Harry added.

"All right, and the -- "

"And Professor Snape and Oliver."

"Well, that might be stretching things a bit," Sirius temporised. "Not that Oliver's not a nice enough lad, I'm sure, but he doesn't feed and clothe you, you know."

Harry grinned and jumped down off the couch. "Let's go play chess," he said. "Nina's been teaching me."

"Oh?" Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Who's this Nina now?"

"A girl in Gryffindor."

"A girlfriend?" Sirius drawled. Harry laughed and hooked a hand in his pocket, pulling him along. "All right, short stuff, calm down..." He reached up into the cupboard and took down the gameboard.

All in all, he thought, there were far worse ways to spend an evening than playing chess with his godson.

Chapter 15

It was the third full moon since Harry had come to live with them, and things were not getting easier.

Remus had expected that at least the years of Changing with Padfoot around would have taught him some self control, in that he felt more...more himself, when he was with someone else who was both animal and human. He'd feared that the opposite would be true, as well, that the years of not having to control himself would result in having no control.

The truth was somewhere in the middle; it was just like it had been when he was a young boy, only now he was more conscious of what happened when he Changed -- he couldn't stop himself from clawing and biting, but he remembered it more clearly afterwards.

This was not exactly a comfort when he found himself on the hard, dusty floor of the Shrieking Shack, and had to slowly pull himself up onto a bed, uncoordinated, half-blind, and nauseated.

He was nearly asleep, so exhausted that breathing was an effort, when he heard the sound of someone Apparating into the dim, dusty room. He didn't have the energy to move.

"Moony?"

Sirius.

"Give me the day, Pads," he said, appalled at how little sound actually made it past his cracked lips. "Come back tonight. I can't travel right now."

"I didn't come to take you home," Sirius said, and he heard him draw closer. "I wanted to see how you were."

"I'm okay. Where's Harry?"

"School. Molly's taking the boys and Ginny on a picnic."

"Harry'll like that," Remus said, trying hard to concentrate on the words, and what they meant. "I'm fine, Pads. Just sleepy."

There was a brief rush of cold air, and he hissed; then warmth again, under the thick, ratty old blanket that had been in the Shack time out of mind. A separate warmth, human and physical, pressed against his back.

"Sirius..."

"Shh. I read about this," Sirius said, body molding to his angular lines, knees curling against his. "You know, your whole body's one big heating pad, right? And heat's good for healing."

"You're mad," Remus replied, but he let Sirius pull the blanket closer, let the heat of the other man seep into his skin.

"If I were Padfoot you'd let me sleep on the bed," Sirius pointed out. Remus winced, slightly, as Sirius' hand, draping over his hip, touched a sore spot just below the waistband of the cotton pyjama pants he wore.

"Sorry," Sirius mumbled, and Remus felt the roughness of Sirius' trousers on his bare waist.

"It'll heal," Remus answered. The world seemed unreal; warm, to be sure, full of a distant pain, and somehow slow -- as if time was not passing the way it normally did.

"How are you, Moony?"

"M'okay."

"You smell dusty."

"Can't be helped."

"I didn't say I minded."

Remus was aware of Sirius' face, pressed against his neck; of Sirius' lips, moving against his skin. He did not wince, this time, when they slid over a healing cut on his back. Sirius' breath warmed his skin, his shoulder now, and the sensitive, uninjured stretch of his neck...

"Sirius," Remus muttered, the light kisses moving closer to his jaw. "What're you doing..."

"Shh, don't worry," Sirius answered. "Just lie still."

Sirius' hand, Remus realised, was rubbing small circles on the mostly-intact skin of his stomach.

"Sirius, you should stop..." he said, turning his head with supreme effort, and Sirius, now propped on one elbow over him, silenced him with his mouth.

Remus moaned into the kiss and fell back, face upwards, with Sirius bent over him, hand still pressed to his stomach, lightly. Sirius leaned forward, moving gingerly, not wanting to hurt him.

"Heat's supposed to be good for you," he said, his body shifting to cover Remus entirely -- jumper soft against him, hands now holding Remus' head gently, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. Remus closed his eyes, too exhausted to do more than feel -- Sirius' warmth, Sirius' careful movements, Sirius' lips tracing electric sensation across his jaw, back up to his mouth again.

"Lie still," Sirius repeated, into his mouth. "I'm here. I'll take care of you."

Remus gasped softly, through the fatigue and the pain and the sudden joy pooling in his stomach at the thought of Sirius, his Sirius, here, caring for him...

He didn't know how long they lay like that, Sirius propped over him, legs and hips lying against his, kissing him, hands on his face -- had no idea how much time passed until he began to feel numb, even to this, as fatigue overcame him. He heard Sirius murmuring reassurances as he slid into sleep.

***

Sirius felt the moment Moony slipped from consciousness, and drew back a little, moving to curl around his body, covering as much of it as he could with his own. The other man's breathing deepened and slowed, and Sirius felt it slowing his own; he had time to sleep a little, if he liked. Harry wouldn't be arriving at Sandust until late this afternoon.

Moony had said wait until the next full moon, and Sirius was not a patient man. The full moon was done; he was here.

It was different, wasn't it, from women; he knew that vaguely from one rather fuzzy night with James, years ago. For one thing, most women weren't ridiculously tall, as Moony was. There were more angles to his body, fewer curves, though part of that was simply because in addition to being ridiculously tall he was ridiculously skinny, for a man who ate three square meals a day. His jaw was stubble-rough, which was certainly something Sirius had never encountered in any of the many women he'd taken out.

But he was Moony.

Sirius took care of him, had always taken care of him. Since the first day of classes at Hogwarts, when one of the older Slytherin girls was picking on him in the hallway for being the smallest (and for the way, the night before, the Sorting Hat had fit over almost his entire head), and Sirius had made her shoelaces tie themselves together magically while Remus tried not to laugh...

They'd grown up together, explored Hogwarts together -- there had been two or three years when Remus was looking for a job and Sirius was being a useless ass, living off his inheritance -- but then after James and Lily died, and Sirius realised that Remus wasn't eating, couldn't afford to -- Merlin, Moony, you couldn't have told me you were starving?

He paid his salary, kept him company on the full moon, gave him free rein in running Sandust, and in return Moony...

Loved him.

He sighed, and pressed his face to the soft brown hair which was already turning silver. Had he been doing this for years because Moony loved him or had Moony loved him because he'd been doing this for years -- or had he been doing this for years because he...

...or did it matter?

You like girls, Moony had said, and Sirius had replied I like you.

Well, he wasn't going to break Moony's big stupid heart. He liked Moony and liked the sound of Moony's voice and the way he always crouched to hug Harry goodnight and the look in his eyes when he was frustrated and Moony when he was tired and Moony when he burned the scrambled eggs in the morning and then ate them anyway, and he liked how Moony's body felt against him.

The idea of a life where Remus Lupin wasn't the one behind the counter at Sandust was a chilling one. He would do what he had to, to keep the happy life he'd built.

"Moony," he said softly, and felt the other man shift to curl closer to him. He repeated the name, over and over, soothingly.

"Pads," Moony muttered softly, in his sleep.

***

"Ninety-six...ninety-seven...ninety-eight..."

Remus woke to the comfortingly familiar sound of Sirius counting his press-ups, and drowsed his way through Sirius counting his sit-ups before bothering to move. He was warm, and surprisingly comfortable; not nearly as sore as he'd been the past two Changes. Perhaps he really was getting used to it. He vaguely remembered the morning after the Change, being bundled up by Sirius and brought back to the flat, and the usual trauma, the shakes, the pain, the half-consciousness; seeing the sunlight now on the floor of their bedroom, it was probably morning again already, day after the Change. Moon waning.

He pondered, watching Sirius through slitted eyes as he performed some kind of bizarre slow-motion martial arts.

A strange memory from the day before floated to the surface, and he prodded it, while his hands explored the few vicious wounds still healing on his ribcage and hips.

It wasn't as though he'd never had dreams about Sirius before. They spent all their time together, after all. And it was true that his dreams did tend to be more vivid around the full moon. But that one, sometime between Changing and waking again to Sirius bringing him home, had been...particularly so.

Well, obviously he'd heard Sirius talking and worked it into a dream, or some such.

He gingerly pushed himself up, carefully noting just where it hurt. Less stiffness in his back than usual. Good shoulder rotation. He turned his head.

"Daft underwater kung-fu," he said, in a hoarse voice, and Sirius at once dropped what he was doing, like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Good morning," he said, and Remus thought he detected a note of caution in his voice. "Sleep well?"

Remus rolled his shoulders. "What time is it?"

"Coming on ten. Feel all right?"

"Sort of." He shook his head to clear the last of the cobwebs from it. "I had strange dreams."

"I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself -- "

"Yes, yes," Remus cut him off, a trifle irritably. "That was bad dreams, and you're not allowed to inflict Shakespeare on me until at least after tea."

Sirius shrugged and tossed him a shirt from a nearby chair, following it with underwear and trousers, turning so as to give him some privacy as he dressed.

"Close up Sandust for the day?" Remus asked, buckling his belt. Sirius heard the clasp, and turned to look over his shoulder.

"Just the morning. Thought I'd see you with lunch and then go in and do a half-day. Got to pick up Harry, anyhow."

"Mm. He only has another week of school, you know."

"I know," Sirius said calmly. "I've been talking to the Weasleys about it. He's going to see the Cup next weekend, at Hogwarts, and then I thought perhaps we'd...do something."

"You can't take him to a game yourself, Sirius, you -- "

"No -- I know," Sirius said, and Remus saw a wistfulness in his face that made him turn away, as if he were seeing something he had no right to intrude on. "But -- we can do Muggle things. A touristing trip, somewhere. Italy or Egypt or something."

"Well, I'd be happy to run Sandust," Remus offered. Sirius threw himself onto the edge of the bed, flopping back to stare at the ceiling.

"I was hoping you'd want to come along," he said. "You've been all over, you'd know where to go."

"The places I go aren't really hot tourist spots."

"Well, if you don't want to come, don't feel you must," Sirius answered crossly. Remus was silent, wandering into the bathroom. He never really felt functional in the morning until he'd had a shave.

He examined himself in the mirror, not entirely displeased; he didn't look so much like a walking skeleton as he sometimes did. He touched the corner of his jaw, and suddenly flinched.

The memory crossed his mind so fast he almost missed it. Sirius' lips on his jaw, at the precise point where the joint was, where the muscles bunched and ached after a night of trying to keep them from latching onto his own skin as a wolf.

Sirius lying in bed with him, not only in a dream set in the Shrieking Shack but in his own bed here, as well. Perhaps part of the same dream. Waking twice to find Sirius' arms around his body --

He lifted his shirt, unsure what he would find; nothing but fast-healing dark patches which had been nasty open wounds yesterday.

He probed his memory, laying out the day's events like tools on a surgeon's tray.

He had woken from the Change and crawled into bed, dreaming of Sirius. Woken again to muscle spasms and aches that had made it nearly impossible to stand, even with Sirius supporting him. A few fuzzy moments which must have been their Apparation onto his front step. The sight of Sirius' fingers wrapped around the key to the front door. Bed. Pain. Tremors.

Harry's voice, high and childish, comforting as he and Sirius brought in some dinner. The odd, unpleasant tang of soup broth, irritating his dry throat, followed by cold water -- one of Sirius' hands on the back of his neck while the other hand held the cup to his mouth. Stumbling into a bath, at least able to do that on his own, which allowed him some shred of dignity. Then cotton pyjamas and hot tea with a shot of firewhiskey in it.

Slipping back into sleep and...and dreaming again, the same dream in a different place, warm bodies pressed together, hands covering his.

And then waking this morning to Sirius' usual routine.

He gave up on the mystery and lathered his face, shaving carefully around a small scar, sharp bones, slightly-twitching lips. He almost felt good enough to go in to Sandust himself, and said as much to Sirius, as he patted his face dry.

"You should rest," Sirius rumbled. "It's not like I'm going to dock your pay, you know."

"I like work," Remus answered softly. "And it's nice to be there when Harry comes in."

Sirius was silent for a while. Remus sat on his bed, elbows on knees, thinking.

"Hungry?" Sirius asked, after a while.

"Not really." Remus considered things. "Do I talk much in my sleep?"

Sirius sat up, forehead wrinkling in perplexity. "Not that I've ever heard. Why?"

Remus shrugged. "Just curious."

"Dream about Peter again?"

"No," Remus replied, cheeks reddening slightly. "Other dreams. Nothing really."

Chapter 16

"You know, I was thinking," Sirius said, over dinner that night, after Harry had given his usual monologue about the day's events.

"Oh, dear," Remus sighed. He'd been quiet through dinner; there were a few new scars, and he was self-conscious about the one on his hand. "It's never good when Sirius has been thinking," he said to Harry, who laughed and took an enormous bite of his roll.

"Smaller bites, please," Sirius scolded, before continuing. "As I was saying before the peanut gallery interrupted, I've been thinking that there's no actual reason we can't go see the Cup, as well."

Remus and Harry both looked at him, perplexed for a moment.

"But I thought Professor Snape was taking me," Harry said.

"Well, there's no reason Remus and I can't go root for Gryffindor as well," Sirius said reasonably. "Plenty of parents come to see the Cup. I'd be willing to bet Arthur and Molly are going. Bill's captain now, they'll want to see his last Cup game."

"It might be dangerous. If people see us they'll be looking for Harry, and I've never thought that a little glamour and some long hair were enough to hide him," Remus said warily.

"Well, they won't look for him in the Slytherin stands," Sirius answered. "Which is where he'll be."

"I wanted to sit with Oliver but he gets to carry broomsticks and towels and all so he's going to be out on the field," Harry interjected. "I guess I'll sit with Professor Snape."

"Who're you going to root for?" Sirius asked. Harry looked pensive.

"Snakes are cool," he said. "But Oliver's cooler and he's a Gryffindor."

"If you're in the Slytherin stands you should probably root for Gryffindor very quietly and circumspectly," Remus advised.

"Up Gryffindor!" Sirius cheered.

"Up Gryffindor!" Harry chimed in.

Remus smiled.

"We'll go and cheer for you, won't we, Moony," Sirius said.

"Perhaps we can get seats with Arthur and Molly, make an afternoon of it," Remus agreed reluctantly.

"Molly makes good potato salad," Harry advised. "But she puts ham on her sandwiches. So I fed it to the ducks."

"Ducks?" Remus asked. "Is she keeping ducks now?"

"The whole sandwich?" Sirius asked.

"No, we were in the park," Harry replied amiably. "Just the ham. I took it off. I didn't know ducks liked ham."

"When were you in a park?" Remus inquired.

"Yesterday. We all went for a picnic and to study..." Harry thought hard. "E-co-systems. Molly says it's a Muggle idea. Bout how everything feeds everything else. And then we fed the ducks, which just goes to show," he finished, setentiously.

Remus was staring at Sirius.

"Where's Harry?"

"School. Molly's taking the boys and Ginny on a picnic."

"Harry'll like that. I'm fine, Pads. Just sleepy."

He thought he'd dreamed it, though...

Sirius stared back, guilelessly, eyes almost inviting the question. Not here at dinner, however, not with Harry going on about ecosystems.

"...so we tried to catch a real frog, but they're too fast, and Ginny said she didn't want a frog anyway, she wanted a rat like Percy has. Sirius?"

Sirius broke the stare, and glanced down at Harry. "Yes?"

"I'm done."

"Take your plate to the kitchen, then, and I'll be in to read with you in a little while."

"Can I bring my markers?"

Sirius nodded, and touseled his hair as he took his plates to the kitchen.

"I want a word with you," Remus said, in a low voice, when Harry was out of earshot.

"After Harry's asleep," Sirius answered.

"I don't like this, Sirius -- "

"You were hurt, you needed me. We'll talk later," Sirius added, as Harry returned, carrying a package of cheap coloured markers and a pad of thick white paper.

Remus worked at the desk in the corner, settling Sandust's book-keeping -- which was always a little fractured after the days Sirius had minded the shop -- while Sirius read a book about sled-dogs to Harry and Harry drew picture after picture of sleds, and dogs, and occasionally a little green frog off in one corner. Neither man could honestly claim that they thought Harry had any great talent, but by god he knew what he liked. Dogs and frogs.

It was very difficult to stay angry with Sirius.

It was very difficult to figure out why he was angry with Sirius in the first place.

It was an abuse of trust, that was what it was, crawling into the bed of a man who could barely move and kissing him like that. He couldn't shake the belief that this wasn't Sirius-in-love (and Sirius had been in love once or twice, Remus knew, but for one reason or another it never worked out). This was Sirius, knowing that his best friend fancied him, and enjoying the fact.

Sirius hadn't asked him for anything, though. He'd just lain there and held him and been a really good kisser.

Remus watched as Sirius closed the book and crawled down onto the floor to lie there on his stomach, next to Harry, and admire his drawings. It really wasn't fair that Sirius was such a natural father on only three months' practice.

It wasn't fair that he was forced to live with Sirius and Harry and watch that and not really be a part of it. It wasn't fair that he wouldn't leave now even if he could.

It wasn't fair that Sirius was such a bloody genius when it came to magic and yet too stupid to realise that he wasn't in love, he was just...bored, or lonely, or something.

It wasn't fair that Sirius should kiss him like that. It wasn't fair that he didn't even remember it fully and it was still better than anyone else he'd ever had.

It wasn't fair that Sirius was charming and handsome and his best friend.

Sirius glanced up, smiling from something Harry had said, and caught him staring. The look in his eyes darkened, into something like desire.

Remus glanced away, then back down at his figures. Accounting. A steadfast rock of mind-numbing boredom in a world that was rapidly going to pieces.

***

Sirius looked back down at Harry's drawings, realising that he'd just embarrassed his friend, and also that he was far more turned on by the intensity of Remus' amber-brown stare than a man ought to be when he was supposed to be playing at markers with his godson.

"What's that now?" he asked, as Harry drew a lopsided square in black, colouring the bottom a sandy tan shade. Harry uncapped a dark brown marker and drew a squiggle. He was pleased that his voice didn't tremble.

"It's a...terr...arr...ium," Harry said carefully. "Professor Snape showed them to me."

"And this?"

"That's a tree for the snake to crawl on."

"The snake, eh?"

Harry nodded and drew a black lump in the corner. "An' that's a place for them to hide. Snakes like to hide."

"Is the snake in there?"

"No," Harry said scornfully. "Where's the fun in that?"

Sirius heard Remus chuckle, from the desk.

"Where's the snake going to be?" Sirius asked.

"Right here," Harry said, pointing to a little dent in the sand, beneath the squiggly tree. He looked up. "Remus, what colour should I make the snake?"

Remus glanced up from his paperwork, surprised. "I don't know, Harry."

"Well, what colours do you like?"

Remus considered the matter. "Red," he said finally. "And brown."

Harry nodded, and selected a red marker. "I saw one that was white and red striped with Professor Snape."

Sirius watched as Harry finished the snake, drawing careful diamond patterns and a brown outline, and then tore the page out of the book of paper, standing and carrying it to the desk. He presented it gravely to Remus.

"That's for you," he said.

Remus accepted the paper, looking down at it, perplexed. Sirius could see Harry's face, hopeful and growing worried. Remus' fingers traced the square of the terrarium, drifted up to a couple of small frogs in one corner of the page. Finally, he smiled.

"Thank you, Harry," he said. "It's great. I'll hang it on my wall."

"Next to the picture of the tree?"

Remus nodded. "Sure. I'll get a frame for it tomorrow."

"Harry can help you hang it," Sirius suggested. "Come on, lad, it's time you were getting to bed."

Remus set the drawing carefully on a corner of the desk, rising once Harry and Sirius were brushing their teeth, to tidy up the markers and set them and the paper in a neat pile for Harry to take back to his room. He went into the bedroom, fingers drifting idly over the assortment of things on his dresser top, the detritus of emptied pockets and knick-nacks collected over the years, odd bookmarks, spare change in a small wooden bowl, the bottle of cologne Sirius had said he'd borrowed, a tin of Magic Hair Demessifyer he used occasionally, when he had to look more presentable than a casual bookshop-owner generally did.

How had he filled this room on his own? Well, his bed had been a bit bigger, and he'd taken out a bookshelf, but still. The flat must have been echoingly empty without Harry and Sirius here. How had he not noticed?

And what would he do if one day Sirius decided to leave? Harry would, anyway, and sooner than it seemed. Two years was hardly anything. Sirius would no doubt get a place in Hogsmeade so that he could be near the boy, probably sell Sandust. It wasn't as though Sirius lived on the income from Sandust, though you probably could.

You probably could, he heard himself think. You could buy Sandust, you've enough saved for a down payment.

He heard Sirius close Harry's door, and pad down the hall to their bedroom, closing that door too. He was still standing, staring at the things on his dresser, when Sirius spoke.

"I was going to explain it to you," he said. "After Harry was asleep. I was."

"I'm sure you were," Remus replied. "Tell me, was it both times, or did I dream the second time?"

He glanced up at Sirius, who looked vague, and spread his hands. "Both times."

"Was this time the first time you'd done that?"

"Listen, it's not as though I committed a crime," Sirius tried. "You were hurt."

"It's exactly as though you committed a crime," Remus sighed. He hadn't even the energy to shout. "You didn't give me a choice. I couldn't very well push you away, could I. You took advantage of that."

"If you'd told me to stop I would have."

"I did tell you to stop, Sirius."

"Yes, and then you kissed me back." Sirius leaned on the top of the dresser, so that Remus could either meet his eyes or move away. "If you'd told me to stop twice, I would have."

"And if you didn't? Would it have been three times?" Remus crossed his arms, bowing his head. "What you did was wrong, whether or not I...enjoyed it."

"Did you?" Sirius' voice cracked. Remus looked up.

"I trust you to help me when I'm sick, Sirius. I trust you not to use that to your own ends. And now I can't. So whether I enjoyed it is immaterial. Whether I want you coming to the Shack the next time is a question we have to settle now."

Sirius turned pale.

"Was it so awful?" he asked quietly.

"How do you think I felt, thinking it was just one more dream and then finding out it wasn't and I'd been acting like a fool all day? Do you think I enjoyed finding out from Harry that it hadn't been?"

Sirius looked like he might even be near tears. "You were in pain. I hate to see you like that. Why do you think...why do you think James and Peter and I spent three years trying to find a way to help you? And now because I have everything I wanted, because I have Harry, you have to go through it all again. I just wanted to help you. I wanted to make you feel better."

"If I want your help, Sirius, I'll ask for it," Remus said, gently.

"But that's just it, Moony, you won't," Sirius exploded. "You weighed nine stone when I hired you for Sandust. How much do you weigh now?"

Remus muttered something rebelliously. At Sirius' look, he cleared his throat. "Twelve, maybe thirteen."

"You won't even ask for things you need, let alone things you want."

"I'm a grown man -- "

"Starving, Remus. You were starving to death. Every bloody week you said you'd a new job and you were sure you could hold this one and every bloody week you lost it because they found out what you were which is not your fault, or they wanted you to work a full-moon day." Sirius growled. "And you didn't say anything until you went to stand up and fell bloody over and I had to take you to St. Mungo's. And it's the same now. I don't know what you want me to do because you won't tell me -- "

"I don't want you to do anything! You have Harry and you're happy, that's all I care about."

Sirius regarded him carefully. "What about you? Don't you want anything?"

Remus sat on his bed, miserably. Sirius circled the dresser and crouched next to him, brushed hair out of his eyes. He flinched away, and Sirius sighed.

"Everything you want is right here for you to have, if you ask for it," he said softly. "Harry loves you. You can care for him too, it's okay. You can take him places and read to him, and tell him to do his homework and buy him things and teach him things. All you have to do is ask." He swallowed. "And...you can have me, too. Everything you want. Harry and me and a partnership in Sandust and a place in the world."

Remus was silent, lost in some inner thought process Sirius couldn't decipher.

"But you have to ask for them," Sirius added. "If you want it you have to take it."

Remus leaned forward and put his face in his hands.

"I need more time," he said finally. Sirius sighed.

"Another full moon?"

"Please, Sirius. If you lose me all you lose is me. You still have Harry and Sandust and stable income. If I lose you I lose Harry, I lose Sandust, I lose everything." He looked up. "And I need to know that I can survive that, first. If we...have...anything, it needs to be because we want it, and not because if it ends one of us is going to starve again."

"I'd never let that happen."

Remus gave him a bitterly amused look. "You'd be surprised what happens when people start to hate each other. One more full moon, Sirius."

"Let me show you," Sirius said, as persuasively as he knew how. "Just until then let me show you, Remus -- " he swayed forward, and pressed his face in Remus' neck. This time the other man didn't shy away. "Look what you could have," he murmured, against his skin.

Remus made a soft little moan, in the back of his throat. "Egotist," he replied, breathlessly. Sirius, in reply, slid his lips up over the edge of Remus' jaw, pushing him slowly backwards.

He resisted.

"Harry's in the next room," he whispered, though he was turning his head to find Sirius' mouth as he said it. Sirius ran his tongue along his lower lip, heard that pleasant moan again. "Sirius, please."

Sirius leaned back, heart racing.

"One more full moon," he said. "I can wait that long."

A small smile curved Remus' lips. "The patience of Atlas," he said.

"But..."

Remus lifted an eyebrow.

"Can I kiss you?" Sirius asked plaintively. "Not when Harry's around or out in public, just -- once in a while -- I think you ought to know what you're missing," he added, with a stab at his usual good humour.

Remus reached out, hesitantly, and touched his hair, stroking it a little.

"All right," he said quietly.

"And can I -- "

"No."

Sirius smiled again. "Can't blame a chap for trying."

"Can and would," Remus answered. "Don't do that again, Sirius. Bad dog," he added lightly, though it sent a shiver down Sirius' spine.

He nodded. "I should...change. For bed. My own bed," he added virtuously.

He was halfway across the floor before Remus said, "Sirius."

He turned.

"If...if Padfoot liked, he could sleep on my bed," Remus offered. "I...did...like having someone there."

The next morning he woke with the heavy weight of Padfoot's shaggy head resting on his hip, the enormous dog curled up between him and the wall. Padfoot didn't move or even open his eyes when Remus stroked the silky fur between his ears, and murmured, "Good dog."

Chapter 17

Sunday came hard on the heels of the full moon, and Sunday meant the Quidditch Cup. Harry barely slept from excitement, the night before.

Sirius was wiser and Remus more cautious than to dress him in Gryffindor scarlet and gold, despite the fact that he had a plenitude of clothing in the colours -- his rugby shirt was already fading from continual wear. They did, however, have just enough House spirit to keep him from wearing green. Instead he went in carefully chosen black and blue...but only after Sirius promised to wear the same.

Sirius brought his field glasses, but spent more time scanning the stands than the grounds; they found seats in the informally-declared Parents' section, a row behind Arthur and Molly, across the aisle from their boy Percy, who was willing to sit near his parents if not precisely with them. When Sirius finally saw a black-clad shape rise over the edge of the Slytherin stands, he elbowed Remus, and indicated Harry following the dour Potions Master. Neither of them had ever seen Harry in his disguise, and even Remus had to admit that he mightn't have known Harry if they passed on the street.

"Big git," Sirius muttered, watching Snape lead Harry to a seat next to a couple of big Slytherin boys, who gave him familiar if not terribly friendly waves. Remus was grateful that Sirius had a grudge to occupy his mind with; it kept Sirius from pestering him. There hadn't been a repeat of that angry, confusing night; sometimes he woke with Padfoot on his blankets, but more often Sirius was in his own bed, and he was beginning to grow comfortable with the idea of...of all of it, he supposed...

There was a sudden crash, and bits of burning things peppered his shirt and arms. Remus flinched and brushed at them -- not actually on fire, just very, very hot --

"Oh, bloody -- Dora?" Sirius asked, brushing his own shirt to get rid of the extremely hot popcorn that had showered on him as well. Remus wasn't sure where to look first; the great crashing thing turned out to be a thin young woman, already trying to help him pluck the fast-cooling popcorn from his clothing.

"Listen, if I have to yell at one more person to call me Tonks -- " the girl stopped, suddenly. "Sirius?" she asked, gaping at Sirius.

"Little Dora?" Sirius demanded. "Merlin, look at you!"

"I haven't seen you in ages!" the girl blurted. Remus, now completely at a loss, gave up and concentrated on brushing salt from his arms.

"Not since you left for Hogwarts -- "

"Mum's been wondering where you'd got to!"

"Oh -- you know how it is...do you remember Lupin? I'm sure you met him at least once before you went off -- "

"...yes..." the girl called Tonks said uncertainly. Tonks -- Sirius' cousin had married a Tonks, hadn't she? And they'd had a little girl -- he'd met her once when visiting Sirius over a school holiday. "I'm so sorry -- "

"It's fine," Remus said, giving her a reassuring smile. He shook the last of the kernels from the folds of his shirt, flicking one into the aisle, where Percy's pet rat darted out and grabbed it. Percy gave him a shy grin as the rat raced up the ouside of the boy's trouser leg and perched on his knee to eat it; Remus turned back to the conversation.

"...like Muggles, it's sort of like long-term camping," Sirius was saying. "Of course we have some conveniences..."

"You should write to mum, dad's Muggle-born you know, and he gets Muggle post all the time," the girl replied. "She says she hasn't heard from you in months."

Sirius looked uncomfortable, and then the girl's mouth formed a small 'o' of surprise.

"It's true, isn't it?" she asked, her voice dropping. "You went into hiding!"

"I wouldn't say hiding. No, I wouldn't call it that," Sirius stammered. "Listen, I meant to write to your mum and I just didn't -- "

"Is it true then? You've got Harry Potter? There were rumours going around that someone saw you with him in the Leaky Cauldron, but everyone says if you haven't had him up till now you wouldn't be allowed -- " she clapped a hand over her mouth.

A slow smile spread across Sirius' lips.

"That's a good way to be, Dora," he said quietly. "Hand over mouth, when it comes to Harry Potter."

She nodded, wide eyed. Remus coughed.

"Oh, I've gotten your shirt greasy, haven't I?" she asked, flustered. "I'm so sorry. Here, I'll clean it -- "

"No -- " Remus put up a hand quickly. "Thank you, I'll just do it myself," he said firmly. He was remembering more about Sirius' cousin's daughter, now -- Sirius sometimes came back from lunch with Andromeda Tonks with amusing stories about Dora's latest mishaps.

"Well -- all right then..." she looked uncertain, and he smiled at her as he charmed the shirt clean again. "I should go -- friends waiting -- game about to start..."

"Run on then," Sirius smiled. "Say hi to your mum for me!" he called after her. She waved and dashed off, tripping several people in the process.

"Rumours," he said darkly, while Remus, amused, watched her extricate herself. "I've wondered what the Wizarding world had to say about us..."

"Yes, I'd rather thought we'd have more people gawking at the bookshop," Remus agreed. "But then, nobody's known where Harry was for almost eight years, so why that should change at all -- and we were only seen in the Leaky Cauldron for a minute. I know Molly and Arthur are circumspect, and the other children probably simply haven't had the opportunity to mention it to anyone who would care. It's remarkable how well some secrets get kept," he added.

"I should have words with Andromeda," Sirius said.

"I agree. It's not as though you actually are in hiding," Remus answered. "Look, the game's about to start."

"Where's Harry?" Sirius asked, picking up his field glasses again.

"Aren't you going to watch the game?"

"No," Sirius said with a grin. "I'm going to watch Harry watch the game."

Silence. He glanced over at Remus, who was looking at him with an indefinable expression; confused wasn't quite the word for it, but it came close. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Remus said quickly, turning to watch the players enter the Pitch. "Sometimes you surprise me, that's all."

***

The game was a good one, close and well-played; Slytherin cheated, but Remus had somewhat resigned himself, long ago, to Slytherins being cheats. Normally he would have had to hold Sirius in his seat to keep him from crying foul and trying to start a riot, but Sirius wasn't paying the slightest attention.

Sirius didn't even notice Gryffindor had lost until they were back at Sandust, waiting for Harry.

Remus, listening to Sirius talk, was rather reminded of Harry, come to that.

"Did you see his face? It just -- it just lit up. He followed everything. He's going to play Quidditch, you know. We'll get him the best broomstick you can get. What is that now, a Nimbus?"

"Probably," Remus murmured, doing a crossword. He always felt drained after a Quidditch match; he'd never particularly liked the sport. He hoped Harry was eating all right -- Snape had said he would feed the boy dinner in Hogsmeade after the game, before sending him back.

"He says one of the Slytherin girls once let him catch a Snitch. Small enough to be a Seeker. James was too, really, but he didn't think there was enough action -- the way he looked when Gryffindor made that save, you'd think it was him." Sirius vanished into the back room, but his voice drifted out. "We had some books on Quidditch, didn't we?"

"Had an enthusiast come in, he bought a few," Remus called. "Try the shelf above the Dark Arts books."

Sirius came out carrying A Beginner's Guide to Quidditch and Quidditch Through The Ages. Remus gave him a mild smile.

"He's read those."

"Has he?"

"He asked me for them a few weeks ago. And I think his friend Oliver's been lending him copies of Quidditch Monthly."

Sirius looked mildly dismayed. "He never told me."

"When you were nine, Sirius, didn't you have hobbies you didn't tell your parents about?"

"I didn't tell my parents anything, ever, but please, tell me you're not comparing me with them. I'll slit my throat."

"They weren't the most hospitable of people," Remus murmured. He'd met Sirius' mother once, before her death; she'd actually come to Sandust, Merlin alone knew why. It had been ugly.

There was a whooshing noise from the fireplace, and a young voice piped "Sirius!"

Sirius dodged into the back room and swept Harry up into a bear-hug, dragging him out into the bookshop and settling him on the counter. Harry helped himself to the jar of humbugs, greeting Remus with a wave and a grin.

"Were you there?" he asked. "Did you see me?"

"We did," Sirius answered. "Have you eaten?"

"Mmmhm, Professor Snape bought me dinner at the Three Broomsticks," Harry said. "And he said he wants to see you tomorrow."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Me?"

Harry nodded. "He said he wants to talk to you and will you please floo his office tomorrow at two," he recited.

"Did he say why?"

"Nope. Maybe he needs books," Harry shrugged. "He reads a lot."

Remus and Sirius exchanged a look.

"Two o'clock tomorrow," Sirius repeated. Harry nodded.

"I'll bring the teacakes," Remus said grimly.

***

A letter arrived by owl post the following morning, and Remus handed it to Sirius, who took it sullenly and slit it with the air of a long-suffering martyr. Harry was off at the Weasleys', his last week before Molly closed up the little home-school for the summer and the other Weasley boys came home -- Percy from his first year and Bill, no doubt, to recuperate from NEWTs; Charlie had got a very prestigious assistantship, and wouldn't even be home before he packed it off to Japan for two months.

Sirius was grumpy. He hadn't slept well or enjoyed his breakfast. He hadn't actively, personally encountered Snape since the day in the Leaky Cauldron, and before that, well, not in a long, long time. He used to hate Snape for no reason, and after Harry's weekends with him, he had a thousand reasons. But all that was forgotten for a moment as he sat up and stared at the letter.

"Good news?" Remus asked, shelving a handful of books.

"It's from Andromeda -- Dora must have spoken to her about seeing us at the Quidditch game. She and Ted want to buy the townhouse on Grimmauld Place."

"That old deathtrap? Isn't it...still...full of things?" Remus asked. "I didn't know you owned it."

"Yes, well, my esteemed mother didn't leave a will, at least not that anyone could find. Everything comes with the house, and that's entailed on the male line or she probably would have left it to that Malfoy spawn by Narcissa. As it is, I got saddled with it. I haven't even thought about it in years. "

"Your family," Remus sighed. "So charmingly archaic."

"She says now that Dora's leaving school next year they want a big place, in London -- want to make the bottom floor into some sort of shop." Sirius grinned and shook his head. "They can have it for a sickle. I certainly don't want it."

"Might want to hold onto it for Harry."

"I'll buy Harry something nicer than a mouldering ancestral home full of Dark materials and House-elf heads," Sirius replied. "Goodbye and good riddance."

"Speaking of which, it's about time you floo'ed Snape," Remus said, checking the clock on the wall. "Shall I close up shop and come chaperone the pair of you, or do you think you can be civil?"

"I can if he can."

"More reassuring words were never spoken," Remus said, and turned the sign on the shop door to "closed", following Sirius into the backroom. Sirius knelt on the hearth, and Snape's head appeared in the flames.

"Harry says you wanted a word with me," Sirius growled.

"Not hunched on a hearth, if you please," Snape replied. "I'll come through."

Remus opened his mouth to remark that this was an incredibly bad idea, as Severus and Sirius in one room could very easily destroy themselves and ten surrounding blocks, but Snape was already appearing in the fireplace, stepping out, dusting ash off his severe black robes.

"An inelegant way to travel," he remarked. Sirius crossed his arms. "Do all your patrons receive such a warm welcome, Black?"

"You're not my patron, Snape," Sirius replied. Remus, behind him, poured himself a cup of hot water and added tea contemplatively.

"I should think not," Snape answered.

"Did you want something from me?" Sirius asked.

"Thankfully, no. Except your permission."

Remus cocked his head, interested. Sirius was silent. Snape cleared his throat.

"I understand Par -- I understand Harry will be nine on the thirty-first," he said slowly, in the deep-throated growl which, doubtlessly, struck terror into the hearts of his students. "I would like to give him a...gift. A pet. Something to teach him some responsibility."

Sirius looked stunned, but gathered his wits a little too quickly. "What do you know," he drawled. "It has a heart after all."

Remus began to wonder if perhaps he should have brought popcorn. Or something heavy with which to separate them.

"I am not required to stand on your hearth and accept your abuse," Snape snapped. "I merely thought that someone ought to be teaching the child something more than..." he flicked his fingers, "pranks and bad cooking."

"And you're the one to do that, are you?" Sirius asked, dangerously still now. Remus remembered that stillness. He'd seen it at school whenever Sirius was about to do something violent, or stupid -- usually both, really...

"May I remind you that it is on Dumbledore's orders -- "

"To hell with Dumbledore's orders! I'm his godfather!"

Snape smiled a terrible, cruel smile. "Ah, yes. So trustworthy that the boy was sent to live with Muggle relatives -- "

Sirius was across the intervening space before Remus could move, and in reality he was disinclined to try. Snape was no slouch at fighting, even without wands; he had his hands up and had got hold of Sirius' collar by the time Sirius was drawing back to punch him in the head. Sirius couldn't get enough leverage for one really good hit, but Snape couldn't get away; they grappled for a few seconds, shouting obscenities at each other, before either even thought to go for their wands. Fortunately both thought it at the same time, and each blocked the other's hand.

Remus sipped his tea.

When they were coming close to knocking up against a shelf of rare books, he thought perhaps it was time to intervene. He never had at school, and Sirius had never tried to assault someone since, so it required a little thought.

"Yes, it is absurd, isn't it, Harry?" he said.

Both men instantly stopped and glanced around, expecting to see the boy. Remus continued, addressing an empty chair.

"That's how immature people solve their problems. No, I don't understand it either."

He knew that both Sirius and Severus were staring at him as if he'd gone round the twist, but at least embarrassing himself in front of them was going to get them to stop for a moment.

"Oh, I shouldn't, if I were you, Harry, you're far too intelligent to go wasting time hitting people who don't agree with you," he said, to the imaginary Harry. "You're far better off trying to set an example for those who look up to you."

Sirius sullenly shoved his hands in his pockets. Severus dusted off his sleeves, imperturbably.

"You wanted to give Harry something for his birthday, I believe?" Remus asked mildly. "That's very kind of you, though not at all expected."

The professor glanced warily at Sirius.

"I thought...perhaps..." he began, sulkily. "He seems to have taken a liking to the snakes I keep. It crossed my mind he would like one of his own. I felt it would be polite to speak to you first," he said, to Sirius, who looked away, studying the bookshelf. "I will supply everything necessary, of course."

"Harry'll like that," Sirius muttered, rebelliously.

"Then you have no objections," Snape stated, straightening his collar slightly. Sirius shrugged.

"Do what you like," he said, and brushed past Remus, out into Sandust again, slamming the door after him. Snape turned to go.

"A moment please," Remus said amiably, crossing his arms. The Potions Master turned back. "If I ever catch you coming here and deliberately provoking Sirius in that fashion again, Severus, I will personally make sure that you don't walk for a month, and don't speak for two. Understood?"

Their eyes met. Severus nodded slowly.

"I'm sure Harry will love anything you give him. He speaks very highly of you," Remus continued. His tone hadn't once changed. "For the sake of my own nerves, I would appreciate it if you didn't give him anything too poisonous."

"I'll arrange things," was all Snape said, before vanishing back into the fireplace.

***

The last day of school, Remus and Sirius both came to the Weasleys' for dinner, bringing soup and a bottle of wine to celebrate the end of Molly's classes and the return of the Hogwarts boys. They also had to have words with the Weasley parents about their children; it seemed obvious that Harry would still visit over the summer, and as Bill and Percy -- who knew him only as Parvus -- would be home, they would have to be sworn into the secret.

The pair of them minded the children while Arthur and Molly went to gather their sons from the station; Harry joined in the rush of redheaded children as they ran out to greet the two.

"Hallo, Parvus, what are you doing here?" Bill cried. "And your nice hair's been cut -- "

He stopped, then, when a breeze lifted Harry's fringe off his forehead, and looked up at his parents, who were standing with Remus and Sirius.

"What...?" he said, confusedly.

"His name's not Parvus," Ron said scornfully. "That's Harry Potter!"

Percy joined Bill in his bewildered stare.

"Bill, you remember Sirius Black, don't you?" Molly said significantly. Bill, still looking at a loss, shook Sirius' outstretched hand.

"Like a word with you boys," Sirius said, slinging an arm around Bill's shoulder and leading him away, his other hand guiding Percy with a firm but gentle grip on the back of his neck. Bill glanced over his shoulder to watch the others hustle inside.

"I could swear..." he said, slowly. "That's Harry Potter? The rumours -- "

"Yes, all true," Sirius said, turning the boys so that they faced him.

"He's got a bloody twin, you know," Bill said.

"Professor Snape's nephew looks just like him!" Percy blurted.

Sirius sighed.

Remus, helping Ginny up from a spill on the steps, watched as Bill and Percy's faces changed from confusion to shock, and then to recognition, while Sirius explained the situation. They were both very quiet when they passed through the house and out into the back garden, where Molly and the twins were laying a table. Neither boy took their eyes off Harry -- who was busy sticking the blunt end of a fork up his nose to impress Ron and Ginny -- until the meal began.

"Did you know, Bill's taken his specialty in hexes and charms?" Arthur said to Sirius, who nodded politely. "He's going to India in a few months, they've had some nasty problems with some old tombs there."

"Interested in Eastern work, then?" Remus asked.

"Nah," Bill shook his head, and accepted the potatoes from Fred. "Pyramids are where the real work is. This is just a stepstone."

Molly tsked. "Far too dangerous if you ask me."

"Aw, but they're brilliant, Mum!"

"I've some very interesting manuscripts on translating magical idiograms at the bookshop, if you'd like to come by sometime," Remus offered. "Sirius, pass the rolls? -- and I'm sure we're never going to sell them otherwise. We don't get all that many magical customers."

"D'you sell Muggle books?" Percy asked.

"Mostly," Sirius rumbled.

"Sirius rather likes Muggle novels," Remus said with a sidelong smile at him.

"Don't suppose you sell car-repair books," Arthur inquired. "Only I've acquired an automobile and I'm trying to discover what precisely makes it tick."

"A real auto, dad?" Bill asked. "Can I see it?"

"After dinner, if you please," Molly cautioned them. "At any rate, you'll have a solid month before you've got to leave for India, and I shouldn't wonder if you need it, poor boy," she added.

They spent the next few minutes coming to the satisfied consensus that Bill looked ruddy awful, that NEWTs were a grueling and terrifying ordeal, and that what he wanted was rest and lots of feeding up.

"And what're you doing this summer then, Harry?" Arthur asked. "Godfather of yours going to take you on a holiday, perhaps?"

"Thinking about it. Might take a house in the north and spend a month or two teaching him Quidditch," Sirius answered. "Haven't made any plans yet."

"But you'll be here for your birthday, Harry?" Molly inquired. Harry grinned at his godfather and nodded, mouth full of chicken. "Your first birthday in the Wizarding world. We ought to have a party."

"I don't -- " Remus started, but Ron and Ginny drowned him out.

"Do lets," Ron begged. "He's never had a proper birthday, he told me so."

"Would you like a party, Harry?" Sirius inquired.

Harry put down his fork and appeared to think seriously about it for a minute.

"Can I have a cake?" he finally asked. Sirius grinned. "And party hats?"

"And balloons if you like."

"I'd like that."

"Then it's settled. We'll have it here," Molly announced. "With the twins and Ron and Ginny, and Percy and Bill."

"Can I invite Oliver too?" Harry asked Remus, who glanced at Molly.

"Oliver?" she asked.

"He's a friend from school," Percy put in.

"The one who's always loaning out his Quidditch magazines to Harry," Remus reminded Sirius.

"I don't think so," Sirius said gently. "He doesn't know who you are, Harry, and the more people who know...the more danger you're in."

"Percy, don't let Scabbers up on the table," Molly scolded. "It's unhygenic."

"He got away from me," Percy protested, plucking the unlucky rat from a bowl of roasted potatoes.

"But you'll have all the Weasleys, and Sirius and I," Remus continued. "That'll be enough, won't it, Harry?"

Harry nodded and exchanged a grin with Ron, who flicked a piece of chicken at him.

Chapter 18

"We are going," said Professor Snape, the next weekend, as he led Harry down the now-empty corridors of Hogwarts, "to get you a haircut today."

Harry, trailing behind him, felt odd wandering through the nearly-empty castle without his usual long hair, but still wearing the glamour on his scar. "It never works, you know."

"What never works?"

"Haircuts," Harry said, slightly morosely. "Aunt Petunia used to give 'em to me all the time. They never worked. My hair always grew out again."

Professor Snape stopped, and turned to regard him curiously. "Do you mean to say it grows like that on purpose?"

"Shouldn't it?" Harry asked.

"I had assumed your maladjusted guardian had something to do with it," Snape muttered.

"Besides, Sirius said I could grow it long," Harry added. "Like yours. Only I didn't tell him that part. He doesn't like you much."

"The feeling is mutual," Snape growled, leading him onward again.

"Why doesn't he like you?"

"I'm sure I couldn't say."

"Why don't you like him?"

"I'm sure I wouldn't be allowed to use words like that in front of you."

Harry pondered this as they walked, finally giving up. "What about Remus?"

"What about him?"

"Do you like him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Small children who ask too many questions about things that don't concern them get turned into frogs," Snape said sharply.

"I wouldn't mind being a frog," Harry said contemplatively. "They get to swim all the time and hop and such."

"You'd mind very much having to live your whole life under a log, or on a lilypad."

"My friend Ron says if you hold a frog too long you can get warts."

"And what does your friend Ron have to say on the subject of haircuts?"

"Dunno," Harry answered. "I saw pictures of Remus and Sirius, they had long hair when they were at school. My dad didn't though. His hair looked like mine."

"Regrettably."

They wound their way across the Hogwarts grounds, down to the bridge that passed from the school through the Forbidden Forest, to the main street of Hogsmeade, Harry asking his usual rapid-fire questions, Snape answering calmly but shortly. When they reached the steps of the barbershop, Harry stopped.

"You're just trying to make Sirius mad," he said, crossing his arms and fixing the professor with a defiant gaze. Snape looked down at him in surprise. "Cos you know he wouldn't let you do it if you asked him nicely."

"We don't have to cut your hair, Harry, if you'd rather not."

Harry considered this.

"I'll do it if you will," he said finally. Snape blinked.

"What?"

"If you get your hair cut, I will," Harry said.

"I have no need -- "

"Your hair's all long and greasy."

Snape paused.

"We are," he said slowly, "at some point, going to have to look up the definition of 'tact' together, Harry."

"If you get your hair cut I will," Harry persisted. Snape sighed.

"Entirely too little discipline at home," he muttered, as they passed inside. He continued a low, internal monologue on Sirius' failings as a parent while they settled into chairs, and a pair of magical scissors suspended itself over Harry's head.

"Bit of a trim for young Master then?" a voice asked behind them, and a man emerged from the back room carrying two towels. Harry stared at the reflection of him in the mirror.

"Professor Snape," he whispered. "He's blind!"

"As a bat, young Master," the man said cheerfully. "Hasn't stopped me yet. Hallo Professor, your usual trim?"

"Something a bit different today," Snape said, and the scissors moved to hover above Harry's right ear. Harry noticed, only slightly disturbed by such things now, that the scissors themselves had eyes. He watched in fascination as a brush, with a single eye in the handle, floated over to join them, and the barber began conducting them, almost like a symphonic conductor would. "The boy first, please."

"Oooh, a challenge," the blind barber continued. Harry closed his eyes tightly as the scissors began to snip. "Curly hair's always a bit difficult, isn't it lad? Friend of yours, Professor?"

"My nephew," Snape said, while the scissors and brush danced around Harry's head.

"And what'll it be for yourself today?" the barber continued. Harry wished he'd concentrate on controlling his scissors, and not on talking.

"The same as the boy."

The scissors stopped moving.

"The same as the boy...but that's nearly all your hair!" the barber blurted.

"You heard me."

"Well, damn me. You've done what his barber of seven years couldn't do, lad," the man said, to Harry. "A proper haircut for Professor Snape, post-haste before he changes his mind -- "

"That will be quite enough, thank you," Snape snapped. "Please try not to lop off an ear in your excitement."

"Nosir, of course not, Professor Snape." The scissors left Harry to the mercy of a floating comb and a tin of mysterious ointment, and moved on to Professor Snape. "So have you heard the news yet today?"

"News? I thought Hogsmeade seemed emptier than usual. Large Quidditch game somewhere, I suppose."

"Anything but, Professor! I just had it now over the Floo News Network -- ain't even in the papers yet, though no doubt the evening Prophet'll have something about it. That Lestrange woman's escaped from Azkaban!"

"Bellatrix Lestrange?" Snape's head whipped around so fast the scissors nearly did take off an ear. The barber tsked.

"S'right. Her what was You-Know-Who's left hand and all. They say she's stark raving mad."

"How?"

"Dunno, like. Alert just went out. People're locking 'emselves up, I can tell you that. Say it's a sign when You-Know-Who's leadin' supporter just up and walks out of Azkaban."

"Can't you go any faster?" Snape demanded.

"Now, then, Professor, there's plenty of anticipation's gone into this moment, you can't rush a good haircut." The man chuckled. "Ain't like she's going to come after yourself, now, is it? Reckon she's got some scores to settle with her own folk before she goes bothering good honest -- here now, hold still!"

Harry watched in fascination as the older man seethed under the scissors, rising as soon as they were finished and shaking his head to dislodge any loose hairs. The scissors had clipped his hair short, close to the skull, and Harry thought he looked like one of the old Roman wizards from Molly Weasley's history books. He paid the man carelessly, didn't wait for change, and led Harry quickly away from the shop, glancing over his shoulder every few feet.

"What's Azkaban?" Harry asked as they walked, trying to keep up. "Who's Bell...a...trix -- "

"Be silent," Snape answered. "I'm taking you back to the bookshop."

"But I've all afternoon -- "

"Not anymore."

As they approached the steps of the castle, Harry saw Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall waiting for them on the steps.

"I assume you've heard," Snape said, as they approached.

Harry saw Professor McGonagall hide a smile behind her hand.

"As have you," Dumbledore replied, leading them inside. "You will return with Harry, to ensure his safety on the other side of the floo network..."

"...of course, Headmaster..." Snape murmured.

"...bringing this with you." Dumbledore reached into his volumnous robes and pulled out a sealed parchment letter. "If you are needed there, you will remain; otherwise please return here at once. Harry is not the only one in danger from Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Longbottom," Snape breathed. "Of course."

"Indeed. Now, Harry..." Dumbledore was leading them, not to his own office, but to a close-by classroom with a hearth in it, "Professor Snape will go ahead of you to be there when you arrive."

Harry nodded, and waited while Snape stepped into the floo, and vanished.

"Did you arrange his new appearance, Harry?" Professor McGonagall asked, quietly.

"Yes, Professor."

She smiled at him. "Good lad. Off you go then..."

He saw her exchange an amused if somewhat strained look with Dumbledore, which quickly faded from his view when he called out "Sandust Books!"

He stumbled out into the warm, familiar back room of Sandust, and felt Professor Snape catch his arm to keep him from tumbling over.

"Harry?"

He looked up and saw Sirius standing in the doorway, staring. "You're not supposed to be -- ah -- hah -- "

Harry watched Sirius point at Professor Snape, cover his mouth, and go into the sort of badly-hidden convulsions of laughter that he sometimes had when Remus did something silly without meaning to.

"Oh my god, what did you do to him?" Sirius asked, gasping for air.

"I did nothing to the boy -- "

"I wasn't talking to you -- bloody hell -- Remus, come have a look at what Harry did to Snape -- "

Harry saw Professor Snape's eyes flash with annoyance and scowled. "Sirius, stop making fun, something awful's happened," he chided.

Sirius stopped, as Remus walked into the room, carrying two copies of The Empty Space in his hands. He blinked.

"It's not that awful," he said. "I rather -- "

"Bellatrix Lestrange has escaped from Azkaban prison," Snape said sharply.

"Who is she?" Harry demanded. Sirius crossed to him and picked him up, forcing Harry to let go of Snape's robe.

"Someone very bad," he said softly.

"Where did you hear?" Remus asked, his voice tight and tense.

"Dumbledore. He's sent this," Snape added, passing them the parchment. "I imagine it's instructions."

Sirius, busy with Harry, nodded to Remus, who accepted the letter and slit it open. Snape waited expectantly.

"He says we're to stay here -- not here, but at my flat. Harry's not to leave the shop or the flat until we hear word. They'll run a story about her in the evening Prophet edition. We're to put extra wards on the flat again..." Remus' eyes widened slightly. "Dumbledore wants you to leave, Sirius."

"What?"

"You might be more of a target than Harry -- " Remus began, as Sirius freed a hand and snatched the letter from him.

"I'm not leaving my godson. Not again," Sirius said.

Snape cleared his throat. They both looked at him.

"If I might suggest," he said slowly, "You may be useful in locating her."

Sirius glared at him.

"If it is publicised that Sirius Black has joined the search..." Snape trailed off delicately. "If she is indeed bent on destroying you, in particular, then you make excellent bait, Black."

"So do you, Snape."

Snape closed his eyes, clenched his fists, and then re-opened them. "Put the boy down and come with me. Lupin can take him home."

"No. I'm not leaving Harry."

Remus touched Sirius between the shoulderblades, lightly.

"Go with him," he said, and Sirius turned, an almost accusatory look on his face. "Sirius, go with him. I'll take Harry home. We'll be safe."

"She killed Regulus," Snape said, voice slick and persuasive. "This is your chance -- "

"Don't talk to me about Regulus -- you -- you have no right -- " Sirius stammered.

"Regulus was my friend," Snape answered him.

Sirius only released Harry, and then with great reluctance, when Harry reached for Remus' neck, wrapping his arms around it.

"Straight home," he said, to Remus, who nodded.

"I'll put up new wards when I arrive. Don't worry about finding us, I'll find you."

Sirius nodded, curtly, and kissed Harry's head.

"Behave yourself," he said. "I'll be home tonight."

Harry glanced from his godfather to Snape, and then back again, watching until they had both floo'd out to Hogwarts. Remus set him down but didn't release his hold on Harry's shoulder as they walked out into the front of the store. Harry was silent while Remus locked the doors, pulled down the blinds, and secured the till; it wasn't until they were out the back door and away that he felt he could speak.

"Who is that woman? Who's Regulus?" he asked.

"Not now, Harry," Remus answered. "Wait until we get home. I want you to be silent until we get home, all right?"

Harry nodded, wishing for Frog, or Padfoot -- something warm and comforting to wrap himself into. Remus made sure Harry walked just a little ahead, and he could feel Remus' eyes on him, when he wasn't peering down side-streets and around corners.

Remus locked the door with extra energy when they were finally inside the flat.

"Come with me. From now until whenever Sirius comes back, you're not to be out of my sight," Remus said, leading him into the bedroom. Harry got up on Sirius' bed, crawling until he could sit next to Sirius' pillow, which smelled like his godfather.

"Normally," Remus said, fingers drifting along the shelves of books, "I would leave this sort of thing to Sirius, but it's best you know now." He began removing books, mostly small, thin, handwritten manuscripts, the ones on the high shelves where Harry wasn't allowed.

"Why's everyone so afraid? Sirius is the best wizard in the world and so're you. And Professor Snape knows all sorts of things," Harry said, burrowing his feet under Sirius' blankets.

"It's down to family, I'm afraid," Remus sighed. "Bellatrix Lestrange was one of Voldemort -- "

"You-Know-Who?"

"Yes -- one of his inner circle. She was a very powerful woman, very evil -- like her husband. She's also Sirius' cousin."

Harry watched as Remus' deft fingers sorted through the books. "I didn't know Sirius had cousins."

"Yes -- you'll meet some of them someday, I think. One of them has a son about your age. Bellatrix...did some quite awful things. Sirius had a brother, too, named Regulus. Younger than Sirius, quite as brilliant, though not..." Remus paused, and looked at Harry. "I liked Regulus, very much -- Sirius and he were close, once. But the Blacks, by and large, are not very nice people, Harry. They're a very old family, very prejudiced in their thinking."

"Not like Sirius."

"No, Sirius is certainly a sport. Regulus was too, in his way. He was one of -- one of You-Know-Who's followers as well. He tried to escape, because he decided he didn't like killing people." Remus looked down at his hands, holding the manuscripts. "Bellatrix killed him herself. Her own cousin...and that's not the worst of it -- I'm sorry, Harry, these are awful stories for you to hear. But -- necessary, for you to understand where Sirius comes from."

He set two books on his dresser, opening one of them.

"She was sent to Azkaban prison, a wizarding prison -- a horrible place, by all accounts. She went mad there, and now she's escaped."

Harry found that he was not particularly afraid, except because the adults were afraid. But that was only in an abstract way. He didn't fear this Bellatrix woman herself. Really, it was all like something out of an adventure novel, the sort Sirius gave him to read.

"And she might want to hurt you, or Sirius. We don't know what she's thinking," Remus continued, opening the bottom drawer of the dresser and taking out several bottles. "Now, on short notice there's only so much I can do -- will you help me, Harry?"

"Can I?" Harry asked, sliding off the bed.

"You're going to have to. I think a Deception charm, a Misdirection Potion, and..." Remus pressed his palm flat to one page. "Well. One more."

Harry followed him as he took the bottles from the dresser into the kitchen and pulled a few more out of the cupboard, putting them in a saucepan to boil. He continued outside briefly as they laid herbs in the corners of the front landing and along the windowsills they could reach, Remus clutching his wand and chanting in Latin under his breath. Back inside, the flat smelled pungent, like some kind of strong tea, and Remus stirred the ingredients before adding more water and sitting down at the kitchen table.

"How's it work?" Harry asked.

"It's working already. The vapours fill the rooms, misdirecting anyone who comes near. We'll have to watch for Sirius," Remus added.

"As soon as we do the last spell, right?" Harry asked. Remus looked at him sharply.

"You may not want to watch it, Harry," he said slowly.

"I want to help."

"Have you ever seen blood?"

Harry was thoughtful. "I skinned my knees a lot when I was little."

Remus seemed to find this very amusing. "When you were little, of course. All right, well, if you want to close your eyes, you can. In the drawer by your elbow there's a white-handled knife with a silver blade. Bring it to me, please."

Harry did as he was told; it was a small knife, but Remus lifted a napkin out of another drawer, wrapping it around the handle, before he would hold it.

"You're going to learn, sooner or later, that blood is powerful magic, Harry. You and I are related -- your father was my second-cousin, two generations removed."

"Are we cousins?" Harry asked. Remus looked down at the knife.

"Sort of. Very distantly."

Harry laughed. "But you're old!"

"Thank you," Remus said with a small smile. "The reason you've been allowed to stay with us is that my blood, being your blood, protects us. It's an ancient magical quality that can't be overcome, except with great difficulty."

"What's it got to do with now?" Harry asked.

Remus held out his hand. "I'm going to cut myself, Harry, and put the blood on the doorway. This is very old, very frightening magic. You don't have to watch."

Harry looked at him carefully.

"You're just a child," Remus said, slightly desperately. "You shouldn't have to watch."

"Why's it always you?" Harry asked. Remus tilted his head. "Why're you always the one has to get hurt?"

"Harry -- "

"It's not fair," Harry said.

"No -- but nobody ever promised me life would be," Remus sighed.

"I'll watch," Harry said. Remus nodded.

"You can close your eyes, if you want," he repeated, walking into the foyer. When he saw Harry was resolutely standing behind him, he tightened his grip on the blade, and drew it slowly across his left palm.

The cut wasn't deep, but Harry saw red blood well up, and Remus reached above his head, running his hand over the lintel of the door. That done, he cut across the index finger, and wrote, above the drying red streak, NOMOS.

"Bandages," Remus said briskly, moving back into the kitchen and setting the knife in the sink. He seemed to relax once the silver blade was further away, and he dug one-handedly in the cupboard, coming up with white gauze. "Healing charms don't work well on me," he said, wrapping his hand and finger in the stuff, and tying it off, biting the end to separate it from the roll.

"What's Nomos mean?" Harry asked. Remus tapped the bandages with his right hand to make sure they were secure, and began to run water over the knife. It had all been done so...efficiently.

"It's from the ancient Greek," he said. "It...means a number of things. It's part of the rules for the way they live, sort of. It's about...the way people are treated, protected. It's about providing shelter. The way we do for you. Now," he added, businesslike once more, "let's get something for you to read -- we're going to have to sit near the window so we can watch for Sirius, because odds are until he's been inside he won't be able to find the place."

He followed Harry even into his room, to get the book (and Frog) and back out, into the living room, where they settled into the couch, Remus with his legs propped up sideways so that he could look out, Harry on the end with Frog. When Harry looked up from his book, Remus was gazing out the window, rubbing the bandaged hand back and forth across his chin.

"What if she hurts Sirius?" he asked softly.

"She won't. Sirius is smarter than she is."

"But she killed his brother."

"Sirius isn't his brother."

"But what if she does?"

Remus was quiet for a while.

"Professor Snape will make sure she doesn't," he said finally.

"Professor Snape hates Sirius."

Remus bowed his head. "Perhaps. But that doesn't mean he won't protect him."

Harry turned to look at him. "Really?"

"Really," Remus said, absently, without explaining further. Harry was left to muse, in silence, on the contradiction.

***

And then...

...nothing happened.

The Aurors could find no trace of Bellatrix Lestrange. Sirius, doing all he could to look like unprotected bait, didn't even get a nibble from her. For three days he went out with the Aurors, under the careful (and magical) eye of Alastor Moody; he came back to the flat only briefly to sleep. He and Remus both lived on nerves, eating little, speaking little except to Harry, and never letting him out of their sight -- or out of the flat.

Harry slept in Sirius' bed, with Padfoot curled up on top of the blanket. Sandust bookshop remained closed so long that when Remus finally did leave Harry with Sirius to go check on it, half of the High Street business-owners cornered him to ask what was wrong. He excused it with an illness in the family, and fled back to their home.

He opened the door with a password, a key, and a tap with his wand on what appeared, to outsiders, to be a solid brick wall. One made enough noise these days just getting into the flat that usually anyone who came in could expect to be greeted by Harry and whoever was looking after him; when he opened the door into a silent room, his heart jumped into his throat.

"Shh," Sirius said quietly, and Remus breathed a sigh of relief. He was sitting on the couch in the living room, next to a bundle of blankets and pillows which looked like it might at some point have devoured Harry.

"Asleep in the middle of the day?" Remus asked softly.

"He was restless last night. I think he's having nightmares, but he won't tell me," Sirius answered, setting down his book and standing, rolling his shoulders.

"I didn't notice."

"Well, you sleep like the dead," Sirius answered with a grin, as Remus shed his coat and set his keys on the table. "Plus, you're not the one he kicks at night."

"We could move his bed -- "

"I'm fine with it, he pulls on my fur or kicks for a little while and goes back to sleep," Sirius said. "Besides, it'd be more cramped than it already is."

Remus turned to agree with him, and found Sirius standing dangerously close.

"You can't give a man a little warning?" he said quietly, as Sirius slipped one hand over his neck, pulling him forward. The last word was almost against his lips --

"If I warned you, you'd run away," Sirius said, into his mouth. Remus heard a whimper, realised it was him, and pulled back slightly.

Sirius followed, gripping his neck firmly, backing him into the table. Remus closed his eyes, tasted Sirius, felt his broad warm body. And bent a little, into it.

"See?" Sirius said, breaking the kiss. Remus felt an inappropriate blush crossing his face. Sirius was breathing hard. "Got to catch you by surprise."

Remus ducked his head, unwilling to scold, and Sirius sighed.

"You watch Harry -- I'll make lunch," he said resignedly. Remus dropped down onto the couch, and poked the pile of blankets experimentally. Something deep inside it giggled sleepily.

Chapter 19

And still nothing happened.

Three days stretched into a week, and then a week and a half. There weren't even any sightings of the woman. Slowly the tension in Sirius' shoulders began to ease, and Harry was allowed out of their sight as long as he was still in the flat. Remus began to talk of opening Sandust after Harry's birthday. Sirius was home more often.

Someone suggested that Bellatrix had drowned swimming to shore. Others thought perhaps her madness went so far that she was incapable of coming up with anything so complicated as revenge. The rest of the Wizarding World began to go about their business again, though still with an ounce of caution; people could be heard saying they wouldn't let their children out alone until she was captured.

Sirius asked for and got permission for them to take Harry to the Weasleys' for his birthday, although Dumbledore was quite worried. Remus received a private owl from him requesting that he be on special alert. It only made sense -- Bellatrix might be Sirius' cousin, but Remus had far more experience defending against the Dark Arts.

And, as Dumbledore reminded him -- not that he could ever forget -- most Unforgiveable curses didn't work on a werewolf. The worst thing Avada Kedavra had done to Remus, during his dangerous days with the Order, was give him a two-day splitting headache.

Remus, like the Aurors, had trained himself over the years to run towards danger, instead of away from it. Not because he was willing to give up his life, but because it was bloody hard to take it away from him. Aconite in sufficient doses; silver; fire; other werewolves. Beyond that he was well-near indestructible, and that meant that if he got between Bellatrix and Harry, they had a pretty good chance of survival.

Which, as it turned out, was a good thing for all concerned.

***

The day of Harry's birthday, the first he could remember where someone else would care what the day was, dawned bright and sunny and noisy; Sirius, singing "Happy Birthday" at the top of his lungs, carried him, still in his pyjamas and squirming happily, to a breakfast table laden with food and brightly-wrapped gifts. There was a new bookshelf, and books to go in it; two magical moving posters of Quidditch stars, a few Muggle toys, lots of sweets from Sirius, and one rather plainly-wrapped object in brown paper, as tall as Harry was -- a new Nimbus Racer Twelve, one of the finest brooms on the market.

Harry could barely eat his breakfast, he was so excited. He'd never been given the chance to tear wrapping paper before, or open cards meant for him and only him, or have Sirius tell him which gift to open next. There was a new wallet with ten whole Galleons in it, from Remus, and the sort of rugby shirt Harry liked...

There was more, too; a cloth-covered crate on one end of the table turned out to be a medium-sized terrarium with a muddy-blue snake drowsing lazily inside it, much to Harry's delight, and even a card from Professor Snape -- admittedly it was plain white, and merely gave instructions on the snake's care and feeding, but it did say Happy Birthday in quite small letters and that was all that really mattered.

"Are you going to take him out?" Remus asked, while Sirius tried not to scowl. Harry peered through the glass and shook his head.

"He's sleeping. I'll wait till he wakes up," he said decidedly.

"What're you going to name him?"

"Snakes don't have names," Harry said absently. "They're just called Snake."

Remus exchanged an amused look with Sirius. "All right, then. Do you like him?"

"Very much," Harry replied. "Almost as much as my racing broom."

Sirius smiled at that.

Remus opened Sandust for the morning, and several of the locals came past to wish Harry a happy birthday and make much of his nine-year-old self. Being nine was wonderful, Harry decided, and although he didn't see how, he was sure being ten was going to be even better. For the moment, he forgot the deep worried lines in Remus' face and the constant if suppressed fear lurking at the back of Sirius' eyes, and allowed the future to stretch out before him, full of wonderful things -- holidays with his godfather, Hogwarts school, showing off how well he could take care of Snake to Professor Snape -- there would be flights on his new racing broom, Quidditch with the twins and one day at school with Oliver, and sharing sweets with Ginny and Ron. He'd get to find out what the Groundskeeper, Hagrid, was growing in his garden, and explore every nook of the school, and one day he'd graduate and be an animagus like Sirius and ride a motorbike too, and read all the books that Remus kept on the top shelf because they were Big Dangerous Magic.

But before all that he was going to have his first ever birthday party -- at least, that he could remember.

There were party hats. Of course, they were wizarding party hats, which meant that in addition to the usual cone they had a floppy brim and sometimes a feather or a few artificial cherries on them, but the point was that there were party hats, and there was a cake, and a jumper from Mrs. Weasley, a set of quill pens from Bill and Percy, a pan of fudge from the twins, and a copy of July's Broomsticks Aloft magazine, which featured an article on the Nimbus Racer 12, from Ron and Ginny (along with a handmade card). Everyone crowded around to watch Sirius show Harry how the Nimbus flew, and once confident he could steer it on his own -- "Boy's a natural," Sirius proclaimed proudly -- he was even allowed to take Ron and Ginny on rides, as long as he didn't go too far off the ground.

By the time the sun was setting, even Remus had relaxed a little; Molly and Arthur were sitting at the table with Bill, discussing his packing for India, while the rest of the Weasleys watched Harry try to hover without using his hands -- a feat that resulted in more than one grass-stain on his trouser legs, though there hadn't been any serious injury thus far. Sirius was spotting for him, and Remus was settled on the grass next to the table, keeping one ear on the India conversation, one on the flying lesson.

"Next year Harry'n'Ron can play and then we've nearly got a team," Fred was saying. "Reckon Ron for a Chaser?"

"Nah," George answered. "Your classic Keeper, Ron."

Ron, Remus noticed, was gazing longingly -- and a little enviously -- at Harry's new broomstick. Remus remembered that gaze. It was the look of a child who was happy for his friend, but who was also regretful that he could never have what they had, and would be forced to plead to borrow theirs. He remembered it a little too well.

Seven children raised on a Ministry salary didn't leave much overage for whatever the youngest son wished he could have.

"Harry," he called, "Let Ron have a go on his own, there's a lad."

Sirius glanced quizzically at him but helped Harry off the broom, and Harry happily gave it to Ron, helping him get it into the air. Ron raised it a few more feet, until he was over their heads, and zoomed around the yard, laughing, Harry and Ginny following him on the ground. Sirius put his hands on his hips, watching.

"Never thought I'd see the day I trusted Sirius Black with a child," Molly said quietly. Remus leaned back, propping himself on the bench of the picnic table, and glanced up at her.

"He does well with the boy," Arthur added.

"Harry's very tolerant of our mistakes," Remus replied, with a grin. "After the way he was living, my little flat might as well be a castle." He watched Ron dismount and offer the broom shyly back to Harry; he could tell Molly was pleased when they saw him mouth "thank you" politely.

"Complete with moat?" Arthur asked.

"We've done everything we can. Sirius is restless, he's tired of being locked up. So am I. I -- "

Arthur and Molly looked down at the brown-haired man, but Remus' body had gone rigid, nostrils flaring, eyes wide and scanning the yard.

"It's her," he breathed, and he was up and running in a fluid motion that was so quick it took Arthur and Molly by surprise. Bill was after him in an instant, because Bill had seen it too -- a pair of eyes behind the hedge the bordered the yard.

"Harry, get down!" Remus cried, but it was too late -- A bolt of blue light flashed through the sunset sky and slammed into Harry's broomstick, pinwheeling it. Harry shrieked a sound that blazed itself into Remus' mind and, with that detached logic which comes while the rest of the brain is panicking, Remus thought that he now had new fodder for his nightmares.

Sirius dove but Remus, with werewolf reflexes, was faster; he caught Harry around the shoulders in a dive and rolled, curling his body protectively around the boy --

Green light burst behind his eyelids and he heard another scream, this time from Ginny -- a high, childish scream of fear. Pain ripped across his body. Killing curse, they'd tried the killing curse. Please god let it not have hit Ginny.

Then there were arms hauling him up, and in the confused half-balance of the spinning world, he could see Sirius charging forward after a flitting shadow. But only one, and suddenly he had the terrible certainty that Bellatrix was not alone.

"Sirius, no!" he shouted, as Sirius crashed through the hedge, an opening forming at a shouted word and a flick of his wand. He shoved Harry at Bill, shouted for him to take the boy inside, and pulled his own wand.

Another burst of light hit him off-centre as he turned, and he slammed into Bill, taking the brunt of the second killing-curse. The younger man collapsed, and Remus clutched at his head, gritting his teeth. He pulled Harry against him, steadying himself on the boy's shoulder, and looked up.

Peter Pettigrew stood between them and the door to the Weasley house.

Remus heard his own breath rattle in his throat. His wand lay on the ground a few feet away, and thank god Harry was behind his hip, because he was everything between Harry and Peter now.

"I knew he didn't kill you," he said, and was surprised at the roughness of his own voice, through the pain.

"Give me the boy and I won't kill you," Peter said.

"Peter -- Wormtail -- he can't mean anything to you. He's just a child."

"Give me the boy, Remus."

"You killed his parents, isn't that enough?" Remus pleaded. He did not let his eyes flick past Peter to the doorway, but he could see Arthur padding silently through it, wand out, waiting to get into range.

There was a shriek somewhere out in the fields, where Sirius was pursuing Bellatrix. Peter's eyes flickered. Arthur raised his wand --

In a heartbeat Peter had whirled to cast another curse, and Remus didn't wait to see if it was another bolt of green light. He picked up Harry bodily and flung them both sideways, around the corner of the house, running like a batallion of Death Eaters was after them. There was a gap between wall and hedge and he slid through it, desperate to be anywhere away from the house, to get Harry somehow to safety.

"Remus -- " Harry shrieked, and Remus realised he had the boy gripped by an arm and a hand on his hip, a painful hold for the child. He shifted Harry without missing a stride, though his head pounded and his legs were already protesting the run, plus the weight of a nine year old boy. Harry's arms wrapped around his shoulders --

And suddenly Sirius was there, matching stride, shouting that Bellatrix and Peter were giving chase, and they'd have to find somewhere to turn and fight. Remus slipped and slithered into a gully, and released Harry roughly.

"Give me your wand," he said, and Sirius tossed it across as he covered Harry with his body, their years of Order training leaping to the fore.

But then there were two more bodies in the gully, and it was suddenly hands and hooked fingers and good god, Bellatrix very nearly had claws. Her face was ravaged by her time in Azkaban, hair cut to uneven lengths around her head and flying out like a harpy's, and there was suddenly a glint of silver in Peter's hand, arcing towards Sirius, underneath him, and Harry screamed. And screamed, and screamed.

Remus watched in horror as Peter raised his face over the limp body of Sirius Black. His cheeks and hands were smeared with blood, and he held a small vial between two fingers.

"Good to see you, Moony," he said.

Remus scrambled for Sirius' wand and heard footsteps approaching; Peter looked up and, apparently not liking his odds, vanished with a crack, Bellatrix following a half-second later with an insane laugh.

Harry was still screaming.

Remus, fingers numb, scrambled across to Sirius, rolling him aside and lifting Harry away, conscious that the blood had not been Sirius', but dripped from a deep gash on Harry's shoulder. Arthur skidded to a stop, kicking dust over them, and Bill leapt down, rolling Sirius the rest of the way as Molly accepted Harry from Remus' hands. His tongue felt thick in his head, as he stared at Bill, who was running his palms over Sirius' neck and chest, searching for -- for a pulse?

God please --

It had been short and brutal and Peter hadn't hesitated to use the killing curse on Remus --

"Missed him," Bill breathed. "He's just stunned. Dad -- "

Arthur slid down next to them, helping Bill haul Sirius up onto flat ground. Remus crawled up with their help, was promptly ill, and collapsed.

***

Sirius woke to a splitting, world-rending hangov --

Harry.

He didn't know where he was or who had wrapped his head in cotton wool, but he had to make sure Harry was all right. He rolled off the bed (bed -- always a good sign)...

...and fell over.

There were a few confused minutes after that, composed of hands lifting him, voices shouting insensible things at him, and something cold and wet smacking him in the face, but when the confusion lifted he found himself seated on the edge of a mattress, a cold cloth being held to his face, and Ted Tonks physically restraining him.

"Harry's all right," he heard Andromeda's voice, and immediately the world was a better place. "Stay there. He's just in the next room with the Healer, I'll get him."

"Thought you were done for, mate," Ted said, as Sirius pulled the cloth from his face. The older man gave him a cheerful smile. "You should've seen it when they brought you in. I thought Lupin was going to pass out again."

"Is everyone all right?" Sirius managed.

"More or less. Nasty gash your lad took. Nasty shock my Nymphadora had, too, she's the one answered the floo. Dunno that Lupin's right in the head yet, but I'm sure he's getting there."

"And here's our boy," Andromeda announced, leading Harry into the room. He broke into a run when he saw Sirius, and Sirius caught him around the waist, lifting him carefully into his lap, pulling his head against his chest. "The better for some rest, I'd say."

Sirius felt Harry shiver against him; he also felt a swath of bandages under his shirt, and pulled him back a little. The white crept up his left shoulder, over his neck.

"Merlin, what did they -- " Sirius stared, but Ted put out a hand to stop him.

"Not around the lad," he said softly. He and Andromeda exchanged a glance. "Listen, there's food downstairs if you think you can walk, old man, and tea and all."

Sirius let Harry slip to the ground, but kept hold of his hand as he stood.

"Andromeda," he said slowly, as she gave him a supporting shoulder, "not that I'm not glad, but what are we doing at -- "

And then it really, really hit him.

"What," he repeated, "in the bloody hell are we doing at Grimmauld Place?"

"Safest place," Ted grunted. "Bout a million wards on this monstrosity. Arthur called us soon as they could, and we agreed to meet here. Andromeda found a Healer who'd come with a minimum of stories told -- old Black name's good for something, eh?"

"Damn Peter Pettigrew," Andromeda muttered. "I always knew that little kiss-up was going to cause trouble..."

They reached the bottom of the stairs, Sirius with his ears ringing, and emerged into a warm kitchen, lit by what must have been every butt-end of a candle in the whole house. Andromeda and Ted pushed past him, walking towards the far end where a very shy, frightened-looking Nymphadora was absently spilling the sugar as she added it to a cup for Bill. Remus sat near them, and --

Severus Snape, black robes swooping around him, was pacing back and forth. He looked older without the long, lank hair hanging about his face, and almost unrecognisable -- he hadn't seemed to change over the years from the weedy teenager he'd been, but now Sirius could appreciate that they had all grown up -- that they were adults now. Snape clearly had no idea how to deal with short hair, and it bristled a little around the edges; in fact he looked almost a little like James...

When he saw them, he stopped, and then moved forward quickly. Harry took a hesitant step away from Sirius, who let go of him reluctantly. Snape bent to examine Harry and Sirius noticed suddenly, to his shock, that the other man's hands were shaking.

He was sure he could detect sarcasm in Snape's tone and was nearly sure that Snape was saying something in that half-insulting way he had where he could take the most innocent of statements and make it into something hateful, but all of Sirius' attention was focused on the slight tremor of Snape's right hand as the pale fingers ran over Harry's cheeks, his shoulders, plucked up his wrists to examine his hands, pressed on his chest to make sure he was all right.

And then, tearing himself away from the odd phenomenon of Severus Snape showing some emotion that wasn't anger or hatred, he looked up as Snape stood to see badly-hidden fear in the man's dark eyes, tension in his jaw.

Sirius had not realised anyone else might love Harry the way he did, with no thought of self or pride, because Harry was Harry and you couldn't help love him. He knew Remus did, of course, but...Remus was...well, Remus liked everyone, it was only natural he'd take to the boy.

In his mind Harry's visits with the Potions Master had been Snape's way of manipulating something in Sirius' life, to annoy and enrage him.

He glanced at Remus, who was sitting with his face in his hands, not shaking but looking quite shaken. And then he looked back again to Snape's trembling fingers. Harry was smiling up at them, looking from one to another with a gaze of polite bewilderment that he should be the subject of so much attention.

Something momentarily monstrous in Sirius told him that this was a new and interesting weapon he could use against someone who had been more or less his enemy for almost twenty years, and he hated himself. When good sense spoke up, he let it override the small, petty voice, and insead he thought to himself My god, Snape's actually human.

"Perhaps now, someone will be kind enough to explain to me why my student nearly had his throat slit," he said, and Sirius was back to the old, smoldering rage at the utter insolence of Snape even existing.

"Pettigrew," Remus rasped, from the table. He wrapped his hands around a chipped and dusty-looking teacup. "Peter and Bellatrix. They surprised us at the Weasleys' house."

"I told Dumbledore this party notion was a -- " Snape said, wrathfully, but Sirius held up a hand and for once, the other man fell silent.

"If I don't sit down," Sirius said unsteadily, "I'm going to fall over. So your diatribe is going to wait."

Andromeda helped him to a chair across from Remus, and Harry followed. Ted put a hand on Snape's arm, pulling him across the other room with the promise of an explanation, and a request that Snape have a look at some really nasty Dark goblets that he wanted the good Professor's opinion on. Sirius noticed with amusement that both Bill and Nymphadora, recent students of Snape's, skittered out of his way quickly.

"Like to tell us what happened?" Andromeda asked quietly.

"I was about to say the same thing," Sirius replied. Remus pushed his tea across the table, and Sirius nodded his thanks before taking a sip.

"Molly Weasley floo'd us, said she didn't know who else she ought to call on. She called Dumbledore, too, once we'd gotten you here and called a Healer. When we arrived, Harry was bleeding, you were out cold, and Remus was in no condition to explain much of anything...the Headmaster sent Snape to help -- he hasn't been here long..."

"All right now?" Sirius asked Remus, who nodded.

"From what Bill tells me, he took two direct killing curses without missing a beat," Andromeda continued.

"Well -- yes -- " Sirius stumbled.

"It's all right, I've told her what I am," Remus put in gently. "Had to anyway, she tried to serve the tea in a silver service."

"Sorry about that," Andromeda murmured. "All I could find around this place, at first."

"Not at all." Remus gave her a crooked grin. "Adds flavour."

Sirius, whose worldview had just shifted to include the definite existence of Peter Pettigrew, the likely humanity of Severus Snape, and his own sudden presence in his childhood home, felt that this was all a bit much.

"I don't know what they were after," he said miserably.

"Harry," Andromeda supplied.

"No," Remus corrected. "Just part of him."

"That's very reassuring, Moony," Sirius muttered.

"Peter took a vial of his blood. I uh..." Remus hesitated. "I think he might have drunk some."

Andromeda looked vaguely horrified. Remus continued hurriedly.

"I, I think he would have killed him, but Sirius was on top of him and he...couldn't really get enough leverage."

"I don't remember that," Sirius muttered.

"No, you wouldn't," Bill said, joining them. Nymphadora hung back, vacillating between wanting to see the Dark things her father was showing to her Professor and wanting to be as far away from Snape as possible. "Tried to kill you too, but he missed. Barely. That's why you feel like a dragon trampled you."

"Two dragons," Sirius answered. Harry smiled up at him, at the mental image. "Is there a reason we've got him bandaged up like a Muggle, then?"

"Enchanted knife," Bill answered. "I think. Wouldn't heal up under a spell. Mum and Mrs. Tonks and I all tried, and the Healer too."

Sirius sat for a while. Nobody seemed to be willing to bother him, which made for a pleasant change.

"How did he know?" Remus finally asked. "How did they know?"

"Wormtail," Sirius muttered. "Bloody rat probably -- "

There was a thoughtful pause.

"Not all this time," Sirius said, horrified. "He hasn't been...not the Weasleys."

"Not us what?" Bill asked, glancing from one to the other. "What's he on about, Lupin?"

"I'll go," Remus said. "I can walk without thinking hard about it."

"Go where?" Bill demanded. "What's going on?"

"You should come too," Remus said. "I think I may have to replace Percy's rat."

"Scabbers?" Bill raised his eyebrows, as they walked towards the fire burning at one end of the kitchen. "Why -- I don't -- "

"I'll explain after we've gone," Remus said, and he and Bill vanished into the flame, back to the Burrow. Andromeda reached over and put one of her hands over Sirius'; they sat in silence until she cleared her throat softly.

"Hadn't seen you in a while," she said.

"I'm sorry."

"When we came through and saw you laid out on Molly Weasley's dining table like some kind of corpse -- "

"I'm sorry, Andromeda."

She lifted her hand and smoothed his hair. "Don't be angry with me, Sirius. I'm trying to tell you..." she sighed. "Listen, we were scared, all right? And it's...it's down to you and me now, really, there aren't many Blacks left. Everyone else is dead or Narcissa -- "

Sirius gave a snort of laughter. Andromeda smiled.

"Ted got some time off from work, and Nymphadora's not starting training until September, so we can stay here with you for a while," she continued. "If you are...that is, if you do want to sell us the place, we could start on cleaning and such."

"Yes -- of course..." Sirius paused. "Training?" he asked curiously. Andromeda flushed with pride.

"Dora got into the Auror's academy. Top NEWTs across the board. Ted's that proud."

"That's grand, Andromeda. Really and truly."

Andromeda smiled. "I'm just glad she survived Hogwarts," she murmured, as Nymphadora came back into the kitchen, followed by her father and professor. There was a clatter, before she could get very far, and Remus and Bill came tumbling out of the fire, Bill smacking into Nymphadora, Remus stumbling a few feet before straightening.

"I think we have a problem," he said, a small grey rat held firmly in one hand.

Chapter 20

"Try him again."

Remus, chin resting on his crossed arms on the table, watched as Scabbers heartily, and with no sign of being an evil traitor, nibbled on a cob of corn.

"He's a rat, Snape," he sighed.

"If you tell anyone -- anyone -- about the Animagus transformations -- " Sirius began, but Snape held up a hand, and prodded the rat with his wand. It squeaked.

"I'm not going to go squealing your dirty little secret," he said drily.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Sirius muttered rebelliously.

The three men, along with Andromeda, were crowded around the kitchen table, while Nymphadora and Bill went about the business of making up enough beds for people to stay the night. Ted kept Harry occupied by making various bits of crockery crash into the wall. Sirius had given this activity his wholehearted permission and approval as nominal owner of the place, and Andromeda had finally admitted she'd always hated that pattern anyhow. Snakes, the pair of them agreed, had no place being painted onto plates, creamers, water jugs, or sippy cups (the sippy cups were proving extremely durable).

"If I could go over this again, for clarity's sake..." Andromeda said, crossing her arms as Remus began to pull bits of corn off the cob for Scabbers to eat. "Remus."

"Werewolf," Remus said, without looking up.

"Sirius?"

"Animagus," Sirius replied.

"At age fifteen?"

"Aye."

"How?"

Sirius rubbed his jaw. "Lots of trial and error."

"And Peter too?"

"Even more trial and error," Remus sighed. "And James too."

"And Lily?"

"Nah -- she thought it was sort of..." Sirius wrinkled his nose. "Well. She thought it was a bit like playing dress-up, you know."

"And none of you were suspicious of the fact that one of your closest comrades' inner animal was a rat?" Snape asked sardonically.

"I'm more concerned with the fact that when Peter vanished, nobody mentioned this," Andromeda said sternly. Sirius gave her an utterly unashamed look.

"Nobody would have believed us," Remus replied. "Sirius didn't even believe that Peter might still be alive. And it would have meant trouble for us. It seemed safer to do it this way."

"Up until he tried to slit Harry's throat," Snape put in, glancing over his shoulder. Harry cheered as a large platter smashed to smithereens.

"Listen, the point is, this isn't Peter," Remus said, tiredly. "It's just a rat. I don't see any reason Bill can't take him back to Percy with my most heartfelt apologies."

"So how did he know?" Sirius asked, rubbing his eyes. His head still ached, though it was slowly improving. "They must have known we'd be there on that particular day. The only people who knew were you and I, and the Weasleys, and Dumbledore and Snape."

"We didn't talk about it -- except at the shop, but then only..." Remus paused. "Do you suppose..."

"No. No, there's no way, we'd know," Sirius said. "If Peter Pettigrew was hiding out in my bookshop, we'd know."

"If he was there when we put the wards on it they'd have -- " Remus covered his mouth with his hand. "If he was in the shop -- like you -- the wards wouldn't affect him, he'd be a part of them, he'd be able to hurt Harry anytime he liked."

Sirius let his head drop to the table, quietly. "He must have...seen an opportunity. Helped Bellatrix escape -- a rat can go a lot of places in a prison. Do you think -- "

Remus nodded, slowly. "He must have been."

"In my bloody bookshop!"

"It'd be a very Peter thing to do," Remus shivered at the idea of Peter Pettigrew, living as a rat right under their noses. And he foolishly running off to the four corners of the earth in search of him --

"How long, do you suppose?" Sirius asked softly.

"Years, if I know Peter," Remus replied. "He wouldn't have tried to do anything so long as we were stronger than him -- and where's more safe than where he can hear every word we say? There's the bakery down the road if he's hungry, and an animagus knows better than to make noise during the day when someone's about..."

"I need a long bath," Sirius growled. "And then I'm going to burn the bookshop."

Andromeda stroked the hair on the back of his head, comfortingly. "We're safe here, though. This place was warded empty. Everyone in here's safe."

"We should go to Sandust, just in case -- " Remus began to rise, but Andromeda stopped him.

"The pair of you are in no condition to check anything out -- you shouldn't even have gone to the Weasleys'. Severus can do it, can't you?" she asked. Snape looked taken aback.

"I see no reason -- "

" -- no reason why not? Excellent. You're welcome to stay here once you've returned, or -- you can floo back to Hogwarts from Sandust, can't you?"

Snape was silent, but there didn't seem to be any way out of it. "I'll look in on it, on my way to Hogwarts," he said finally, and swept towards the fireplace. When he was gone, Andromeda sighed.

"Such a nice-looking man to be such an absolute prat," she said, and Sirius grinned at her as she summoned Ted and Harry.

"I think it's time for bed," she said, giving Harry a small shove towards the stairs. "Bill! Dora!"

"Don't call me that!" came Nymphadora's reply.

"We're going to bed!" Andromeda called. Bill came down the stairs, accepting Scabbers from Andromeda and tucking the rat in his pocket.

"I'll sleep with Harry," Sirius said, but Andromeda shook her head again.

"You need to actually sleep. Bill can stay with him. Ted and I'll be next door, and Nymphadora can have the little bedroom next to that. You can have the room across the hall," she said firmly, and before Sirius could object, she'd begun to lead Harry up the stairs, followed by Ted, and Bill.

"Did you ever have even the slightest upper hand against her?" Remus asked.

"Not in my life," Sirius sighed. "Good thing she likes me. Let's go then..."

They climbed the stairs slowly, calling good-nights as doors closed, until they were alone in the dim corridor.

"I think the bedroom only has one bed..." Sirius began, but Remus laid a hand on his arm, stopping him. He rubbed his face again. "I don't know if it's wise, leaving him in another room."

"Sirius."

"I know that Andromeda's nearby and Bill's there, but -- "

"Sirius -- "

"I just think..." Sirius ran a hand through his hair, and met Remus' eyes. "What is it?"

Remus moved forward, forcing Sirius back against the wall with his presence, a serious look on his face, though his eyes were warm.

"Are you all right?" Remus asked slowly. "Your head, I mean, and all."

"Yeah, reckon so. Be better in the morning, if I can get any -- " Sirius broke off. Remus had bowed his head a little, and his breath warmed Sirius' jaw. "Are...are you all right?"

Remus' nose bumped against his cheek, and Sirius exhaled slowly.

"So...full moon..."

"Not waiting," Remus murmured, and Sirius felt the press of his body, pinning him to the wall. It was rather sudden, but not unwelcome, to feel the warmth of another person after a very long, painful, confusing day.

"Any...reason?" he asked, barely finishing before Remus kissed him.

His mouth was warm, lips smooth, and his hands, always stronger than they looked, slid down Sirius arms, fingers twining around his wrists. Sirius closed his eyes, having run out of stupid questions for the moment.

"I thought you'd died," Remus said, against his cheek, lips moving along his jaw. "I haven't..."

Another warm breath stirred the hair behind Sirius' ear.

"I haven't been very grateful for what you've done," Remus said, tugging on an earlobe with his teeth. Sirius moaned. "And I was wasting time when I knew..."

Sirius raised a hand to turn Remus' head, pulling it back so that they could kiss properly again. They pushed away from the wall and stumbled backwards, into the other side of the corridor. Remus winced and reached up to rub the back of his head, laughing, when it knocked against the stone.

"The door would have more give," he said, smiling. Sirius smiled back, in relief as much as anything. Compared to what was happening here and now, the pain and fear was becoming something pleasantly distant...and Bill was watching over Harry...

"Bed'd be favourite, though," he answered, and then realised he'd probably said too much. Remus was going to bolt again --

Remus' smile spread slowly.

"Yeah...door has a knob on it. Might poke," he agreed, reaching to his left to open the door. Sirius, hardly believing his luck, allowed himself to be tugged inside.

The door closed behind them, and Sirius absently slid the lock, while Remus lined kisses down his neck, nipping and sucking. Sirius hadn't been aware people could kiss like that, and certainly hadn't expected Remus to --

Remus laughed against his skin, when he met Sirius' shirt collar, and began work on the buttons on his shirt. It was all Sirius could do to find his hands, let alone do more with them than tangle in Remus' hair, head tipped back, breathing deeply against the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm.

"Don't fall down," Remus said, one arm slipping around his waist as he straightened, and Sirius realised he'd been about to overbalance.

"Bed," Sirius answered, and Remus nodded against his forehead.

"We did discuss that," he murmured. "Sure you're all right?"

"...overwhelmed..."

"Yes," Remus said critically, slipping his shirt off his shoulders as he walked Sirius towards the enormous old bed, sheets musty but freshly laid. "I've been doing this a lot longer than you."

Sirius dropped backwards onto the bed, propping himself up on his elbows, watching Remus undress with remarkable grace. When he fumbled with his belt, Sirius reached out and took his wrist, pulling him forward.

"Wasting time," he said, and Remus laughed against his neck, nuzzling the nylon dog collar Sirius wore under his shirt, the one with the nametag-charm he'd given him hanging off of it.

"Put a little effort into it, Pads," he replied, and Sirius gripped his hips suddenly, pulling them tight against each other.

Remus growled, and for the first time Sirius realised it was a heartfelt reaction, that it was him, and not even the idea of someone, anyone, touching Remus -- that it was his hands making Remus plead into his mouth, it was his body Remus was pressing further onto the bed, his stomach that those long deft fingers were brushing against as they pushed his trousers down.

Remus was pleased, and it was Sirius' doing.

Sudden jealousy washed over Sirius -- jealousy of all the 'rare book dealers' who had come to see Remus in the shop over the years, of the other men who'd discovered Remus before he had. He wondered if Remus had felt this flare of loathing and regret for every woman he'd seen Sirius with --

They struggled out of the rest of their clothes, wrestling a little on the bed, until Sirius ended up pinned by Remus' hips and legs, brown hair brushing his forehead, brown eyes open on his as they kissed. And then closing as his hands slipped down over Sirius' hips and thighs.

Sirius tensed, suddenly in unfamiliar territory, unsure what was expected of him, and Remus immediately froze.

"What's wrong?" he asked, voice rough and low. Sirius dropped his head back, closing his eyes again. This felt so good, and so confusing, and so much a release that he wasn't sure he could form words.

"I just...I've never..." he swallowed. Remus' hand left his thigh and slid up his body, stroking his cheek lightly. "I don't quite know what to do."

Remus' voice was rich with confusion. "But you said...you and James -- "

Sirius swallowed again. He'd thought he could wing it, but this was a little more complicated -- and he didn't want to screw it up. This was Remus. This mattered.

"We never really got this far," he whispered, feeling himself turn scarlet with embarrassment.

"Sirius Black," Remus said, and the confusion had modulated to something that sounded perilously close to rage. "You utter, utter sham."

Sirius opened his eyes. It wasn't rage -- it was amusement. Remus was laughing, silently, eyes dancing.

"Faker of the first order," he gasped, dropping his forehead to Sirius' collarbone, resting it there. Sirius, relieved, tipped his chin up again.

"But you've done this before," he prompted imploringly.

"Many, many times," Remus said smugly. "I don't know how your luck's been over the years, but there is a certain segment of the population who enjoy the sight of a scruffy werewolf in a waistcoat..."

"Like me," Sirius said. Remus' breath hitched, and Sirius became suddenly aware that they were naked, and that when Remus breathed in like that, his whole body moved -- sharply -- against Sirius'. Remus bent, hooked a finger in the collar and used it to lift him an inch or two from the bed. He kissed him almost chastely, and then nuzzled him just under the jaw, releasing him back to the bed. Sirius felt his own breath draw in sharply when he realised Remus wasn't going to take the collar off...

"Fake," Remus murmured, kissing his way over his collarbone, down his chest. "Phony."

"I had to be -- uhm -- persuasive," Sirius answered, as Remus' teeth grazed the smooth skin of his abdomen. Remus' hands were on his thighs again, thumbs drawing small circles.

"I wonder," Remus continued, lips sliding along the edge of a hipbone, "Why you bothered, when you know..."

Lower still, and on skin sensitive to the touch.

"That sooner or later I always say yes to you," Remus finished, lifting his head for a moment.

"It's the -- " Sirius had intended to say it was the getting there that mattered, but Remus had just done something with his tongue that made Sirius incoherent, and then he gave up; Remus, after all, had his mouth already occupied. Sirius wanted to push himself up on his elbows again, watch just how Remus covered the head of his cock with his mouth, see his tongue dart out to lap over sensitive spots, but he could only arch and moan and promise himself that next time -- a world of next times -- he'd make Remus teach him that, and the idea of doing to Remus what Remus was currently doing to him, with such thorough enjoyment that Sirius felt him moan, nearly put him over the edge. Remus heard the ragged quality of his cries, and leaned back slowly. Sirius whimpered.

"It's been rather a long day," Remus remarked conversationally, although Sirius could hear the desire welling up in his voice. "Perhaps tonight isn't the night to try everything new."

"Remus, I don't know what you're on about," Sirius gasped, "but please make your point and let's go back to doing that..."

Remus' warm weight left his thighs and moved up, along the length of his body, slightly to the side. He rested a hand on Sirius' stomach, and when Sirius turned his head, smiled.

"This?" he asked softly, backs of his knuckles brushing Sirius' erection tantalisingly.

"Something like that," Sirius moaned. Remus continued the gentle stroke, two or three times, before wrapping his fingers around Sirius' cock and breathing into his ear.

"I thought I'd lost you," he said, as Sirius bucked and thrust, writhing against the steady rhythm of his hand. "I'm sorry -- I was an idiot to wait -- when I could have you like this -- an idiot -- "

Sirius fumbled, hands still not quite his own, finding the hard, smooth muscles of Remus' hip. He walked his fingers down the skin until Remus jerked and caught his breath.

"Please, Sirius," he said, softly, in his ear. The quiet, imploring tone, combined with the sudden heat of his arousal, made Sirius' fingers twitch. Which in turn made Remus tighten his grip, slightly, and stroke faster --

He tensed as he came, mouth open but silent, muscles clenching, eyes tightly shut. Remus continued to move, against him, brushing his hand, and Sirius was just barely conscious enough, above the distraction of his own pleasure, to open his eyes and watch Remus' face as he came, and gasped, and collapsed a little.

They lay, Sirius exhausted and Remus warm and heavy on top of him, until Sirius began to shiver. They parted company just long enough to mutter a cleaning charm and crawl under the heaps of blankets on the bed, and then Sirius curled close, Remus drawing up against him. He wanted skin contact, everywhere possible, and Remus seemed more than agreeable.

"Long day," Remus whispered again. "Time for sleep now?"

"Yeah," Sirius answered, feeling his body fully relax for the first time in -- well, weeks, at least.

"D'you know," Remus mumbled, already drowsing, "why I always made you shelve the books at the shop?"

An odd question to ask, but then it had been a very strange day.

"No, whyzat?" Sirius muttered against his shoulder.

"Hands," Remus answered. "I always thought you had the most splendid hands."

"Mmh."

Remus inched closer, until Sirius could comfortably bury his face in the soft hair at the back of his neck. "I wasn't wrong."

Sirius drifted one of the hands Remus had so admired, over his waist and down across his body. "Thank you," he murmured.

"For what?" Remus asked, around a yawn.

"Trusting me."

"Mmh. You made it worth my while, I feel," Remus remarked, and Sirius smiled. "This is what I wanted. It's...what I didn't remember. From the Shack. This part."

"This part?"

"Warm. Safe. You," Remus mumbled, as his breathing slowed and deepened. "M'sorry," he muttered sleepily.

Sirius, feeling as though he'd somehow won a prize he didn't really deserve, fell asleep with Remus' skin under his lips, the smell of him in his nostrils, feel of his body against him.

***

Andromeda Tonks (though she'd never, in her mind, stopped calling herself Andromeda Black, a conceit common to the women of the Black family) was a wise and forgiving woman, if somewhat negligent in the baby-names area. She knew Sirius and Remus were friends; had suspected something more, as indicated by two unmarried men pushing thirty who spent all their time together. She hadn't known Remus was a werewolf, but she suppressed the instinctive horror of it which most old Pureblood families instilled in their children. After all, it wasn't as if he wasn't also a nice person.

She certainly hadn't known Sirius was an Animagus, but nothing her cousin did could surprise her anymore -- really it had been that way since he was eleven, and the Sorting Hat called him for Gryffindor.

Sirius answered her knock, the morning after Peter and Bellatrix's disastrous attack, half-dressed, trousers hanging loosely off his hips.

Over his shoulder and only out of the corner of her eye, she could see Remus, quite clearly naked, sprawled and tangled in the sheets of the bed.

"Sleep well?" she asked innocently. Sirius tried to put his hair into some kind of order, and nodded. She kept her eyes firmly on him. "Good. There's breakfast, if you'd like. Ted's cooking."

"Thanks -- we'll be down -- " Sirius said muzzily. Behind him, Remus stirred. "Ten minutes?"

"I'll hold you to that," she said, and kissed him on the cheek.

And murmured "Well done, Sirius," as she walked away.

***

"Who was that?" Remus asked, pushing himself up, blinking sleep from his eyes. Sirius shut the door.

"Andromeda. She says breakfast's up."

"Mm." Remus rubbed his eyes, and Sirius allowed himself to enjoy the sight of Remus Lupin, naked, newly-awake and entirely unself-conscious about it. "Good, I'm starving."

He slid out of bed and was halfway through dressing before he paused, and turned.

"Sirius," he said slowly.

"Yes?" Sirius asked, pulling his shirt around his shoulders.

"Last night..."

"Don't tell me you thought that time was a dream, too."

Remus blushed deeply. "No, it was...much...better..." he stammered. "I just -- are you -- "

Sirius looked up from his buttons. Remus' face was crossed with fear and concern, eyebrows vaguely knitted together. He crossed the room, holding out Remus' discarded shirt as a sort of bizarre offering. When Remus grasped it, he pulled, bringing the other man off-balance up against him.

His arm went around Remus' waist, and his mouth was on Remus' before either of them could properly draw breath.

"I'm not scared if you're not," he said, and Remus laughed at the ancient in-joke between them -- that had always been what they'd said at school before starting some monstrous prank or other.

"Is it okay if I'm scared?" Remus asked quietly. "A little?"

"Yes -- yes of course -- Moony..." Sirius cupped his face with one hand. "You did it. You took what was there for you. I'm there. Here, I mean."

The reaction he was having to the proximity of their bodies could, he thought ruefully, leave very little doubt of that.

"I told Andromeda we'd be down in ten minutes," he said, "or I'd remind you."

Remus grinned wickedly then, and slipped a hand down over his stomach, and lower -- stroking him gently through his trousers. "Feels as though you'd like to anyway."

"Moony -- I can't go down to breakfast with -- " Sirius' half-whine was cut off by a gasp as Remus' fingers slipped his flies open, tugging his trousers and underwear down. Mouth followed fingers a moment later and Sirius moaned, softly, as Remus used his tongue again -- really, one day, must learn that --

He was still barely awake and susceptible to all sorts of things; Remus kneeling in front of him and the idea of Remus kneeling in front of him, the warmth of his mouth and the slight graze of teeth all seemed to hit him at once, in a wave. His hips thrust, body moving seemingly independent of thought, and he doubted they'd even taken five of their ten-minute alottment before he sucked in a tight breath and tried to push Remus away. Remus gripped his hips tighter, pulled him closer, and Sirius came, legs nearly giving out.

Remus smiled and licked his lips, and then Sirius' legs did give out and he stumbled backwards against the bed.

"We now have..." Remus glanced at the clock, "three minutes to make ourselves presentable."

"But you -- " Sirius stammered. "I mean I could..."

Remus grinned as he pulled his shirt on.

"Some of us have a little more self-control," he said loftily. Sirius stared.

"I'll take that out of your hide, later," he growled.

"I look forward to it."

They dressed, more or less neatly considering their clothes had already seen a birthday party and an attempt on their life, and descended the stairs in a clatter. Harry met them halfway, cannoning into Sirius.

"Morning!" he cried. "Come have sausages and waffles!"

"Sausages and waffles, how can I say no?" Sirius asked, allowing the boy to lead him into the kitchen. Remus followed, a hand placed gently on the small of his back until they parted to sit. A nearly-empty plate showed Bill must have gone home with Scabbers already, and Ted and Nymphadora were helping themselves to the dish of sausages, passing the syrup and jam.

It was the most bizarre breakfast Sirius had eaten in some time. To be sitting in the home he'd spent his mostly wretched childhood in, listening to his godson prattle on about Bill and having just survived a spirited attempt on his life -- all this was strange enough.

But then he would find his attention had drifted to where Remus was very carefully licking a bit of jam off his fingertip, with a tongue that, half an hour before, had been --

Sirius had to pause, at this point, and take several deep, calming breaths.

Remus smiled wickedly at him over his plate.

"Have you thought what we ought to do next?" Andromeda was asking, and Sirius turned to face her.

"Next?" he asked, and then remembered that someone had tried to kill them the day before.

"Clearly you're going to have to tell the Ministry about Peter's abilities," she said, cutting up her sausage. "Arthur Weasley's already given the Aurors a report about the attack. Severus Snape sent an owl to say he looked in on the shop but didn't find anything, and Albus Dumbledore's in a state." She whistled low. "I don't think you're in the running for Head Boy right now, Sirius."

"Never wanted to be," Sirius replied evenly.

"Yes, well, Remus is about to lose his prefecture," she added. Remus cocked a half-smile at her.

"You know, they act as if we do this sort of thing on purpose," Sirius said to Remus. "I don't enjoy fleeing for my life."

"Did enough of it at school," Remus answered.

"Yes, but the point is, I didn't arrange it. It's not our fault my psychopathic cousin and ex-best friend want my godson dead."

"Sirius," Andromeda warned, and cut her eyes to Harry, who was putting syrup on his latest helping of waffles.

"If we can't keep him safe..." Remus left the thought hanging in the air until Andromeda put her hands, palm down, on the table.

"We'll find a way," she said. "If I have to find her myself. Harry belongs with you. And besides," she said, more thoughtfully, "She's wrecking our good name."

Sirius had a moment of deja vu -- Andromeda was a good woman and had never shown an ounce of the old Black priggishness or bigotry, but she was still a Black, to the very core, and the Black name still meant a lot to her. He met her eyes, and finally, nodded. It was his name. It meant something to him, too.

"So we'll have to tell the Ministry -- can we pass it through an Auror? Moody'd be able to handle them. Do we..." he paused. "Do we have to tell them about me? Or Remus?"

Andromeda glanced at Remus, who was studiously helping himself to some sausages. "I don't see why," she said finally. "Though you ought to register, Sirius, if only to avoid trouble later."

Sirius grunted noncommittally.

"Snape had an...an interesting suggestion," Ted said hesitantly, from the end of the table. "He thinks Peter might go back to the bookshop."

Sirius chewed thoughtfully. "You know, he's just dumb enough he might."

"Surely not," Andromeda said. "Peter wasn't very good at magic, but he had a deviant little brain."

"Not a very original thinker, though," Remus put in. "I mean. Once he found something that worked he stuck with it. He wouldn't have gone after us for no reason -- life was more comfortable with us in it. He wouldn't leave somewhere safe unless he had to."

"We could set a trap," Nymphadora suggested, then flushed scarlet when all eyes turned towards her.

"Auror training, did you say?" Sirius asked Andromeda, who grinned and nodded. "Bout time she met an Auror proper then, isn't it?"

Chapter 21

Alastor Moody hung up his Muggle bowler hat on a hook inside the front door of 12 Grimmauld Place and growled a greeting at Sirius as he stumped inside.

"Dumb luck," he said. "Pure dumb luck."

"Seems to run in the family," Sirius replied, knowing that Moody's grim and threatening tone was an act; Remus was still somewhat in awe of the older man, but then Remus liked to circumvent authority by other means than confrontation. One or two good shouting matches, over the years, had brought Sirius and Moody to an equable if somewhat tense understanding.

"Not a single ward on the Weasley place. Big high hedges for hiding in. Are ye daft, man?" Moody continued.

"No, sir," Sirius said. "Just wanted to let Harry have a real birthday for once."

"Constant vigilance!" Moody boomed, following Sirius into the kitchen. He thumped his way to the middle of the floor, and took in the breakfast table where Ted, Remus, and Andromeda were sitting. Nymphadora stood nervously behind her mother, and Harry behind Remus. Moody let the sack he was carrying fall to the ground.

"Lupin!" he barked. Remus nodded. "You saw her first."

"Smelled her," Remus answered. "Bill Weasley saw her, though, I think."

"Smelled her?"

"She hadn't washed," Remus said simply. "She smelled like rot."

"Where's the Weasley boy?"

"Gone home," Sirius said.

Mad-Eye seemed resigned to this, and nodded, with muttered greetings, to the Tonkses. "Speak with him later."

He kicked the sack he'd dropped towards Remus, who bent and lifted it, untying the knot holding it closed. "Brought the lad's broom. What's left of it," Moody added. Remus took out a handful of slivers, each about as long as his hand, and glanced over his shoulder at Harry, who bit his lip.

"My racing broom..." the boy said, voice shaking a little.

"We'll get you another one," Remus said softly. "We should be grateful. This could have been your leg," he added, holding up a smashed piece of wood.

"Never mind that now. Black's got a plan," Mad-Eye prompted, turning to Sirius, who was staring at the piece of wood with a hard, cold look on his face.

"I'll kill them both," he said softly. "With my bare hands."

"Better to toss 'em in Azkaban. Really make 'em suffer," Moody put in.

"The plan is Nymphadora's idea," Sirius said, pulling himself back to the present. The girl opened her mouth to protest the name, but Sirius continued. "Snape -- "

"Right," Moody barked. "That one. Taking the lad places he oughtn't be going, Dumbledore said something about it. Go on then."

"Peter must have been hiding out at the bookshop. Snape thinks he might go back there, especially if he doesn't know we've guessed he's holed up there. We thought we ought to try trapping him."

Moody scratched his chin with a sound like sandpaper on wood.

"There are spells to expel an animagus from animal form..." Nymphadora said hesitantly, suddenly shy in front of this strange, claw-legged man.

"Aye," Mad-Eye agreed, regarding her. "You'd be the trainee, then."

"Yes, sir."

"Scared of me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Ought to be," Moody grunted. "Right then. Takes care of half the problem. Can't find the fugitive without the rat, though. Any ideas on that front, trainee?" he asked.

Nymphadora bit her lip. "Veritaserum on him when we catch him, though that's dangerous. Or...we could...use him to catch her...he's hiding her somewhere. Probably warded," she said, gaining speed. "And if we want to catch her we've got to lure her out, so -- get her to come to the bookshop -- "

She faltered under Moody's unblinking gaze, and fell silent.

"I think it's a good idea," Harry piped up, fearlessly. Moody glanced at him.

"Not bad," he agreed, and Nymphadora swelled with pride. "Black, you're the chess player. Your own home, your own child, so we're at your disposal."

Sirius sat, and let his fingers drift over an empty teacup, considering matters. Remus coughed quietly, and Sirius glanced at him. The brown-haired man tilted an eyebrow, and stroked the scar on his jaw.

Message sent and received. Indestructible Lupin is also at your service.

Damned if he'd send Remus into danger alone. Not now. Not when he was so close to everything he needed for happiness, with only Peter Bloody Pettigrew and his own cousin Bellatrix standing in the way.

Besides, Remus didn't have it in him to kill two people.

At least, Sirius didn't think he did.

"We need to make them think they're safe at the bookshop," he said slowly. "Bellatrix needs a reason to come after us there."

"I think they already took what they needed from us," Remus said, touching Harry's hand where it rested on his shoulder. "Though I don't know why."

"We should...find out," Sirius answered. "And...we should -- we need to know what they're thinking, what they're planning."

"Shouldn't be too hard," Andromeda put in. Sirius glanced at her. She looked down. "She's family," she said. "We remember."

Sirius bowed his head. He couldn't deny it, much as he wanted to. And Peter had been one of their inner circle; no matter what he was now, ten years ago only James and Remus had been closer to Sirius than Peter.

Moody was watching him with a look that was almost smug. He and Dumbledore had warned them of the dangers of taking Harry from the Dursleys.

"Right then," Sirius said finally. "Harry stays here. Andromeda -- "

"We'll stay also. We can clean," Andromeda said brightly. Nymphadora let out a tiny groan.

"Remus, can you find out why he'd want that blood?" Sirius asked. Remus drew his eyebrows together.

"I'll need a few books from the flat. And..." he paused. "It would help if I had...well -- "

Moody cleared his throat. "Saw Dumbledore before I came here. Said we might put Snape to work. Man's climbing the walls for lack of employ."

"He could mind his business, if he wanted a job," Sirius grumbled.

"Snape would be a help," Remus said. "He has access to Hogwarts' library, and he...well, he knows Dark Arts."

"So d'you," Sirius replied.

"Not the way he does," Remus murmured.

"Merlin forbid you ever should," Moody snapped. "Blood magic and kin-protection charms! Damn mess, the lot of it."

"Can I see Professor Snape?" Harry asked, and most of the adults looked at him. "I'm good at books. I could help."

Sirius covered his face with one hand, rubbing his jaw in thought.

"Why don't we go and look at the library," Remus suggested. He gave Sirius a warning look as he left, leading Harry. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, children."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Nymphadora demanded, as the kitchen doors swung shut.

"He's worried we're going to hatch a half-witted plan," Sirius answered absently.

"Well, you have done in the past," Andromeda pointed out. "Really, Sirius, stealing the boy from his family without even making any preparations beforehand -- "

"How many times do I have to say this? They were locking -- " Sirius began to snarl about what the Dursleys had done to his godson, then caught himself, glancing at the door Harry had just passed through. "I'd rather take my chances with Peter than with the Dursleys," he muttered.

"And I'm sure Harry feels the same," Ted said smoothly. "That's not the problem right now. The problem right now is that Bellatrix Lestrange is loose, and Peter Pettigrew too, and they clearly have a plan. We might consider telling the Ministry there's a dead man on the loose. They've got a lot more firepower than an Auror and a couple of shopkeepers," he added ruefully.

"I'll talk to the Aurors," Moody grumbled. "Ought to know there's been a sighting of Lestrange, and that Pettigrew's still alive, fingers or no." He pointed at Sirius. "You give Lupin and Snape today and tomorrow to find out what the wicked pair're after. If we don't know by then, we'll bloody start putting out mousetraps."

Sirius nodded, slowly. "In that case, I ought to help with the research also," he said, almost as a question.

"I'll go back to your flat with you," Ted said. "Looks like your wards may or may not work -- you can fetch clothes, and anything you're worried Pettigrew might get his hands on."

"Take the lass," Moody grunted. Nymphadora blinked. "Nothin' like field work. I'll fetch Snape, explain everything. How're the Weasleys holding up?"

"Fine, so far as I know," Ted answered. "You might check in on your way to get Snape."

Moody nodded curtly, and without another word, floo'd out to the Weasley house, leaving the Tonks family and Sirius in the kitchen.

"Well," Andromeda said, after a brief moment. "That'll clearly take some time, he'll have to argue a bit with Severus. I'm going to go home and get some cleaning supplies."

"You don't have to do that," Sirius protested weakly.

"Well, I might as well, if you're going to be here a while, and anyway, if you're serious about selling it to us, I'd have to do it then." Andromeda gave him a falsely bright smile. "Besides, it'll keep my mind off of things. Don't wait for me; I won't be gone long, but you might as well get a jump on the day."

She tossed a pinch of powder into the fireplace, stepped inside, and vanished; Ted glanced at his daughter, who was watching Sirius, wide-eyed.

"I'd better go tell Remus we'll be gone," Sirius said. "I'm not sure we ought to leave just the two of them alone in the house."

"Moody and Snape'll be back soon, I'm sure they'll be fine," Ted said reassuringly. "We'll wait here."

"Ought to lock them in the library," Sirius grumbled, as he climbed the stairs. He heard Ted chuckle, behind him, and ask Nymphadora something indecipherable. He caught the words "Moody" and "dangerous job", and grinned a little to himself.

He let himself into the library quietly; his father had charmed the bookshelves to spit books at anyone who talked above a certain level, and he'd been a very bruised young child when he'd finally taken an interest in reading but hadn't figured out the charm. It had, on the up-side, taught him to be nimble since he was forever dodging large leatherbound books until Bellatrix had taken pity on him, despite her belief that he was insane for wanting to read for pleasure, and told him about the charm.

Bellatrix had once been beautiful and nice to her young cousin and everything Sirius wanted to be.

He shut his eyes, standing in the entranceway of the library. He'd genuinely liked Bellatrix, as a child.

Then they'd grown up, and it had all gone to hell the day Sirius walked out of this awful old house, if it hadn't already gone to hell when Bellatrix joined Voldemort.

And she's the one, he reminded himself, who's responsible for that bandage on Harry's shoulder.

The thought gave him strength, of a horrible sort, and he opened his eyes, taking in the long, dusty shafts of sunlight thrown across the floor by the library windows. If he listened hard, he could hear Harry's high, child's voice asking a question, and Remus' deeper reply. He followed the sound silently until he could make out the words.

***

" -- actually read all these books?"

"I don't know, Harry. Some people buy books just to own books."

"Why?"

"Because they like having books around, perhaps. Or they think it makes them look clever, I suppose."

"I don't think some of these books would make anyone look very smart at all. This one's too big."

"Put it on the table, there, I need that one."

"I guess just about everything in the world is in these books somewhere, huh?"

"Everything we know about it, anyway. You know, all these books belong to Sirius. He inherited them after his mum died."

"Sirius had a mum?"

"Course Sirius had a mum. So have I. Well -- his mum and mine are both dead, like yours. And Sirius' dad, too. Which is why all these books belong to Sirius."

"Sirius hasn't any parents either?"

"No, Harry."

"Like me?"

"Sort of. His parents weren't as nice as yours."

"Sirius could open another bookshop with all these books."

"That he could, but I don't think he will. Some of them are...not very nice books."

"Like the ones you keep on the top shelf?"

"In a way. If I lift you up, can you take that one for me? Grand, Harry, thanks."

"Are there fun books in here? Like storybooks?"

"I doubt it. Maybe. Sirius told me he used to spend a lot of time in here, reading. Which explains a lot, really."

"What's he gonna do with all these books, then?"

"I don't know. Sell them to Andromeda, maybe."

"I like her. When I grow up I'm going to marry Nymphadora."

"Have you told Nymphadora that yet?"

"She said she wouldn't have me till I was eighteen, and I'd have to fight Bill, but that's all right, as he's wretched at duelling, she says. I'd definitely marry her if her mum has all these books."

"Well, Sirius might give them to you, instead, you know."

"I'd rather have Sandust's books."

"Me too, Harry."

"Sirius hasn't any parents? Really?"

"Really."

"He must get lonely."

***

Sirius rapped on the edge of the bookshelf, softly, and Remus looked up from the book he was reading, startled. "Making trouble, Harry?" he asked. Harry, who'd been happily building a tower out of Caspan's Magical Grimoire Index, volumes E through X, smiled brightly at him.

"Harry's been helping me get books off the high shelves, haven't you lad," Remus said, setting a red, cloth-bound book on a table he'd apparently charmed to follow him around. It was floating an inch off the floor, already groaning under the weight of dozens of various-sized volumes. Harry nodded solemnly.

"Finally earning your keep, eh?" Sirius asked, leaning against one of the shelves. "Harry, there's a window-seat the next shelf over, if you lift it up there should be a box of comic books in a hole under the cushion."

Remus lifted an eyebrow as Harry crossed the central aisle. Sirius gave him a grin, and a shrug. "Had to stash them somewhere, and the house elves were always poking around my room."

They heard Harry laugh delightedly, and Sirius leaned just enough so that he could see the boy settling onto the cushion with a Wizarding comic in his hands.

"What's the decision?" Remus asked softly.

"We have until tomorrow evening to figure out what they want. After that Moody's going to call the Aurors in, I think. I'm going back to the flat to pick up some clothes, and Frog -- is there anything you need?"

"My shaving kit, and a few books -- I'll give you a list," Remus said, taking a scrap of parchment out of his pocket and scrawling on it with a quill from the table.

"Andromeda's gone to get some cleaning supplies -- she's determined to dust from cellar to attic," Sirius added. "Ted and Nymphadora are going to come along with me."

Remus was nodding as he wrote. Sirius grasped the end of the quill between two fingers, and the brown-haired man looked up.

"You'll be all right? Here alone with Harry?" he asked.

"We're safe here. From the outside," Remus added, dusting off a book. "Nothing in here I can't handle."

Sirius let go of the quill, and Remus dotted a final i, handing it to him. Sirius' index finger brushed his thumb, and they both smiled.

"Listen...I don't, you know. Get lonely," Sirius said. "I hated my parents."

"You heard us talking."

"Some of it. I'm not lonely," Sirius repeated. "I'd better to say bye to Harry. I won't be long."

He felt Remus' eyes on him as he bent to kiss the top of Harry's head; as Harry lifted his face to Sirius, stiffly because of the bandage, and smiled encouragingly. He felt Remus still watching him as he turned to leave, letting himself out as quietly as he'd arrived. It made his skin tingle in unfamiliar, not entirely unpleasant ways.

***

Andromeda was noisily cleaning the kitchen when Sirius and the rest of the Tonks family returned; Moody was sipping tea in a corner of the kitchen, and indicated with a mutter and a wave of a hand that Snape was already in the library. Sirius barely paused to set down two hastily-packed satchels of clothing in their bedroom, snatch Frog, and grab the pile of books Remus had requested, before he pushed his way into the library.

The table Remus had charmed to follow him was now resting firmly on the ground in the central atrium of the library; he was hunched over it, sunlight turning the book-pages -- and his hair -- bright gold. Snape was standing to one side leafing through another volume, and Harry was sitting crosslegged on the table itself, still reading comics. He looked up and grinned when Sirius entered. Snape looked up also, and scowled.

Sirius set the books at Remus' elbow, deliberately brushing his arm with his hand, and passed Frog over to Harry.

"Thanks, Sirius," Harry said, tucking Frog next to his hip. "Gonna read with us?"

Sirius reached into his pocket and took out the rest of his cargo for Harry -- the blue snake that Snape had given him as a birthday present. He saw Snape's eyes follow his hand as the small reptile curled close to Sirius' fingers before sliding across them and around Harry's wrist. Harry, delighted, held up his hand to Snape, who gave him a brief nod before returning to his reading.

"Ted and Nymphadora are going to help Andromeda -- they thought they'd get in the way here. Where've we got to, then?" Sirius asked, seating himself next to Remus and picking up a book off the pile. Remus rested his cheek on his hand, a gesture left over from their Hogwarts days.

"I'm on blood rituals, and Severus is looking at hexes aimed primarily at children. Though I do think if he'd wanted Harry dead he could have been more direct about it than he was. Wouldn't have taken all that much effort to roll you off him," Remus said quietly. Snape flicked the fingers of his left hand dismissively before turning another page. "Most blood rituals require willingly-given sacrifices on the part of the wizard performing the spell -- like the nomos spell I cast on the flat. Things that require innocent sacrifice..." he glanced at Harry, who had hung the docile snake around his neck; he leaned closer to Sirius, lowering his voice further. "This is deep, dark magic, Sirius. We're talking necromancy, demon-raising, torment curses...the sort of thing Bellatrix would practice, I suppose -- I always pegged Peter as more of a yes-man who found the wrong person to say yes to." He took the book out of Sirius' hands, replacing it with another. "Have a look at some of the necromancy stuff. Possibly Peter's trying to resurrect...someone. I don't know that he's bright enough, but..."

"Lupin." Snape's voice was quiet but crisp, as he held out the book he'd been reading, so that Remus could examine the text. "Quite possibly it's not actually for a spell at all. There's a compendium of potions by base ingredient, I believe; I'll retrieve it from Hogwarts tonight. Have you a copy of Libris Sanguinorum?" he asked Sirius, who looked surprised at the directness of the question.

"The one with the bloody hand on the cover?" Sirius asked.

"Yes, the third edition."

"I think so. Fascinated me as a kid," Sirius said, not quite able to believe he was being civil to his archnemesis. "Try the third aisle down, with the house-elf head on the end."

Snape swooped off, and Remus made a notation on his parchment. Harry appeared to be watching them over the edge of his comic.

"Can people talk to frogs?" he asked, when he saw Sirius watching back.

Even Remus tore his attention away from his book, for that one.

"Not normally," Sirius answered cautiously. "I guess there are spells...don't see why you'd want to, really. Frogs can't have much to say."

"Snakes do," Harry answered. "Snake says he likes me better than your fuzzy old pocket."

Remus looked amused.

"He says you had coins in your pocket and they were lumpy," Harry added. Sirius reached into his pocket and brought out a handful of sickles. "Also they were cold," Harry added, as Snape returned, carrying a ghastly green book with a lurid bloody hand on the front cover.

"It was that or he starved," Sirius answered. "I don't know when we'll be able to go home again, Harry."

All three men stared as Harry hissed.

"Harry -- " Sirius began, but Harry continued to hiss and make small, strange noises in his throat, as the snake curled up over one of his ears and down near his mouth, looking for all the world as if it were trying to hear him better.

"What on earth..." Remus said, now totally distracted from research.

"He says it was still cold." Harry shrugged and returned to his comic.

"Harry, did you just talk to that snake?" Sirius demanded. Harry grinned and nodded. Remus' jaw had dropped. "Not for play, Harry. For real."

"I'm not playing," Harry replied. "Or telling tales. Ask Professor Snape, he believes me."

Sirius turned, ever so slowly, to regard Snape, wearing one of the most smug expressions Sirius had ever seen.

"Is he a Parselmouth?" he asked, feeling like the biggest fool in the world.

"I was," Snape said, silkily, "forbidden from telling you. Dumbledore's orders. I understand you take great delight in defying such things, but I, unfortunately, had a career to consider. I cannot, after all, be responsible for your lack of obser -- "

"YOU KNEW?" Sirius roared, and a flock of books immediately flew out of the nearby shelves in attack formation. Harry squeaked and ducked, Remus tried to fend them off, and Snape stood very still, like a Zen master witnessing an avalanche of a very literary nature. When Sirius emerged from the melee, Snape raised his index finger to his lips and made a very soft shushing noise.

The shush may have been his death knell, except that Remus instinctively blocked Sirius from getting his fingers around Snape's throat, and after a second, Sirius realised that Harry was watching with great interest.

"Outside," Remus ordered. "Now. Go. Shout at Dumbledore if you have to, but if you're going to be uselessly loud, you may as well let the rest of us work in peace. And you," he added, turning to Snape, "Are going to tell us everything you know, just as soon as I get through this section on poisoned daggers."

"How can you -- " Sirius sputtered, but Remus pressed his thumb over Sirius' lips, silencing him quite effectively.

"I have a limited capacity for dealing with crises," he said, emphasising each syllable. "I cannot at once process an attempt on Harry's life, Peter living as a rat for eight years in your bookshop, two grown men who can't be arsed to be civil to one another, and Harry's Doctor Doolittle act simultaneously without a great deal more alcohol than I currently have. Either go shout somewhere else, the both of you, or stay here and actually make yourselves useful."

Both men were silent for a minute; finally, Sirius picked up a book and plonked it down on top of the first one, flipping angrily to the index. Severus, hesitating, took a careful seat well on the other side of the table. Harry leaned forward over his comic, and whispered to Remus, "You're not going to turn them into turtles, are you?"

"I'm seriously considering it, Harry," Remus replied. "How long, incidentally, have you been able to talk to snakes?"

Harry shrugged. "Since I can remember. Nobody ever believed me. Am I in trouble?"

"No. But I wouldn't start hissing in public, all right?"

"It's not like anyone ever notices," Harry sulked.

"As a favour to me, Harry?"

Harry lifted a hand to delicately stroke the snake's head. "All right, Remus." He bent forward. "I'll keep your secret, too."

Remus bent forward. "What secret is that?"

Harry turned his comic around, and showed Remus one of the picture pages. In it, a caged werewolf was savagely attacking the bars of its prison.

"Oh bloody hell," Remus said, with feeling, right before five or six books attacked him.

***

"Those were some very bad words," Harry said over his crisps, as he and Remus recounted the library attack for the Tonkses and Moody, minus a few key details.

"Indeed they were," Remus agreed. "I'm sure a couple of grimoires upside the head were only what I deserved."

Down the stairs floated the muted sounds of Sirius and Severus having a really mighty row. Harry seemed unconcerned by it; Remus was going to leave them to it. Moody seemed to be positively enjoying it. The general drift seemed to be that Severus ought to have told Sirius his own godson was a Parseltongue, and Sirius ought to have noticed it himself if he was so bloody great at being a godfather in the first place. Remus had quietly confiscated both their wands just before announcing they ought to stop for dinner.

"We should look into getting rid of that particular charm," Ted said, around a mouthful of sandwich. Nymphadora had made the sandwiches, and none of them wanted to see what the kitchen looked like after half an hour of crashing and clattering, but he had to admit they weren't bad-tasting.

"You say you wanted to put in a shop on the ground floor, Andromeda?" Remus asked.

Andromeda smiled and nodded. "We thought we could get one of those new portkey-storefronts, have you seen them? The storefront opens onto Diagon Alley but the actual shop can be nearly anywhere in London. Certainly wouldn't get much business around here. Neighbourhood's definitely gone downmarket in the last ten years."

"Give you a hand, if you like, once everything blows over," Remus offered. Upstairs there was a crash.

"Reckon we ought to go make sure nobody's going to die?" Ted asked.

"Let 'em to it," Moody grunted. "Do 'em no harm."

"I could certainly show you how to set up accounting, I've been keeping Sirius' books for a few years," Remus continued. Andromeda seemed to choke on a piece of chicken, and Ted thumped her back.

"We'd appreciate that," Ted said, scraping the tomatoes off his sandwich. There was a muttered "Sorry, dad" from Nymphadora.

"How did your research go?" Andromeda asked, when she'd cleared her throat. Remus frowned.

"I'm not sure. It...worries me," he said slowly. "I don't think it's meant to harm Harry at all, or Peter wouldn't have -- " he broke off, glancing at Harry, who was stealthily stealing one of Ted's discarded tomatoes. Andromeda nodded. "Severus thinks perhaps it's a potion, he's going to do more research tonight."

They all listened philosophically to another thud from upstairs.

"It's a good thing he likes Harry," Remus said with a smile. "I can't imagine either of them would take the sort of abuse the other dishes out, otherwise."

"Hard to imagine him liking anyone," Nymphadora muttered.

"At any rate, we're narrowing the field on why they wanted that blood. Slowly. We won't know what to do until we know what Peter's planning, but by the time we find out he may have already done it."

"S'why there's a time limit," Moody put in. "Can't afford to wait any longer, not with that crazy b -- " he looked at Harry, who was interestedly examining his false eye. "With that Bellatrix on the loose."

"Why's it move on its own?" Harry asked. Moody reached up and, to a chorus of disgusted groans from the rest of the company, took the eye out, dropping it in his water glass and holding it out for Harry to look at. The eye rolled around in the water until the electric blue pupil was fixed on Harry.

"Must you give anatomy lessons at the dinner table?" Andromeda asked delicately.

"He asked," Moody grunted. He took the eye out of the water and popped it back into place, where it swiveled upwards. "Looks like Black and Snape're pretty well finished," he added, as Sirius came clattering down the stairs. He gave them all a sullen, angry look, and threw himself into a chair next to Remus. Snape followed. Andromeda offered sandwiches.

"Nymphadora made them," she said, just as Sirius bit into one. Sirius paused for a moment, apparently decided to go through with it, and bit the rest of the way. Snape eyed them with the suspicion of a man who's seen exactly how many ways the sandwich-maker in question could screw up a potion.

"I'm going to Hogwarts," Snape growled. "For further research. I'll return tomorrow."

"Don't hurry back," Sirius said under his breath. Remus kicked the back of his leg. Harry got up from his chair, took a sandwich off the platter, and offered it to Snape. He hesitated a moment before accepting.

"I'm sorry Sirius yelled at you," Harry whispered.

"I'm not," Sirius added. Snape gave them all a sweeping, slightly disgusted look, tried to look as though he wasn't actually bending to hug a nine-year-old boy goodbye, and then vanished into the kitchen fire with a toss of floo powder and a snarled "Hogwarts!"

"Good talk, was it?" Remus asked mildly.

"He should have told us."

"Does it occur to you he was trying to, without breaking a promise?" Remus asked.

"No, that doesn't occur to me, why didn't he just tell us?"

Remus sighed. "He gave Harry a snake, Sirius."

Sirius frowned for a moment, until comprehension dawned in his eyes. Remus saw his suddenly understanding look, and nodded.

"Why didn't you point that out before?" Sirius demanded. Remus shrugged.

"Does you both good to shout a bit," he said calmly, and Andromeda began to laugh.

Chapter 22

After dinner, Remus returned to the library and took Nymphadora with him as a research assistant. Ted and Andromeda did the washing-up, while Moody stumped around the place hexing all the creepy-crawlies that the Tonkses hadn't felt were within their abilities to dispatch. Sirius betook himself and Harry to a quiet corner of the library, keeping one eye on Remus and Nymphadora while he pored over decades-old Wizarding comics with Harry. He wondered how many other things he'd stashed about the house were still there, waiting for him to remember and rediscover them. He hadn't gone to see his old bedroom; he wasn't sure whether they'd locked it up, or cleaned it out, or perhaps turned it into new House-Elf quarters. He didn't really care to know. He'd never kept anything of particular worth there, because Kreacher was likely to steal it or destroy it "accidentally". Sirius decided he'd let Andromeda take care of it.

None of them seemed to want to go to bed that night; the library, ghostly as it was, still felt better than the cold, musty bedrooms, however clean Andromeda had made them. Remus, he knew, was most at home among books; Nymphadora, he suspected, quite possibly harboured a lingering fear of the dark, which Twelve Grimmauld Place did not exactly put to rest.

Sirius just didn't want to leave Harry alone, though sooner or later he'd have to. Bill wasn't around this evening, after all; they'd had an owl from him saying he was staying with his father in St. Mungo's until Arthur had fully recovered. He couldn't spend the rest of their lives together sleeping in Harry's room, even as Padfoot. Besides, the house might be an evil, tired old place full of decay, but he couldn't deny it was safe. Even Bellatrix couldn't get in, not since he'd changed the passkey to the hexes on the doors.

Harry clearly didn't want to go to bed, either. He seemed all right, most of the time, but Sirius had seen the way he watched the adults, always keeping near one of them, putting Sirius between himself and the others if he could. He clung a little more -- like he had in those first days after they'd taken him from the Dursleys -- and he was more watchful than he had been. Sirius wondered what was going on inside his head, and if he ought to do something about it, but he didn't know quite what.

But it was well past Harry's bedtime, and Harry was beginning to nod off against Sirius' arm. Sirius shook himself out of his contemplation of Remus, bent by candlelight over the books, and closed the comic that was slipping from Harry's fingers. He cleared his throat, quietly, and Remus and Nymphadora both looked up.

"We can't do anything more tonight," he said quietly. "You both look done in. You'll start to miss things you can't afford to miss," he added, as Remus opened his mouth to protest. Harry, rubbing his eyes, looked up at his godfather sleepily.

"Both of you had better get to bed," he continued, sliding off the window-seat, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder to make sure the boy didn't stumble. He made sure Nymphadora had put down all her books and Remus had left his parchments behind, before following them out of the library and locking it with a tap of his wand. Neither of them protested as they broke away to go to their bedrooms while he followed Harry into his. Harry held up his arms and Sirius tugged the shirt off over his head with one hand, pulling his glasses off with the other. He folded the shirt, turning away to give Harry his privacy as the boy changed into a pair of flannel pyjamas and climbed into bed.

"I could stay with you tonight, or you could stay with Remus and me," Sirius said quietly, as Harry curled into his pillow. "If you're scared."

Harry shook his head, green eyes bright, if a little unfocused without his glasses. Lily's eyes, in James' face; it was still bewildering, even after all this time. "I'm okay," he said stoutly. "I've got Snake," he added, as the small blue creature coiled itself near Frog on the nightstand.

"Brave lad," Sirius said with a smile, bending to kiss him on the forehead.

"Aw," Harry replied, squirming away. Sirius grinned.

"If you get scared in the night, or you need anything, you just yell," he said. "I'm right across the hall, and Nymphadora's next door."

"M'kay," Harry said, eyes drooping. "Sirius?"

"Yes?"

"Are you my dad now?"

Sirius bowed his head. "Your dad is James, Harry. Always will be. But I'm like...you know how Remus has that first-edition E.W. Hornung?"

Harry nodded.

"Right, okay, and you know how you've got a copy of it that's...sort of newer?"

"Yeah. It's brilliant," Harry said. "When I grow up I'm going to be a jewel thief like Raffles."

"I hope not," Sirius said. "Listen, it's sort of like...they're the same book, right? It's just...you can't read the first-edition, because it's delicate. So you've got a new edition. One that you can beat up on and read and drop in puddles and such. It's all the same words, but it's not quite the original. I'm like your copy of the book. You get it?"

Harry considered him solemnly for a moment. Finally, he nodded, and Sirius breathed a sigh of relief.

"Night, Sirius," Harry said. Sirius noticed that Frog had been placed on the nightstand -- not quite on the bed, but within easy reach in the night.

"Night, Harry," he answered, as he left.

***

Remus was in bed, already half-asleep when Sirius opened the door quietly, throwing a flare of light onto the floor through the doorway.

"Harry's tucked in," he said.

"He could have slept in here," Remus murmured, half-against his pillow.

"He said he didn't want to. He said he'd be okay."

"You believe him?"

"No."

Remus yawned. "Me either. He'll yell if he's upset."

"Yes."

There was a moment of silence, and then Remus realised that it had definite awkward overtones. He rolled, leaning on one elbow to look at Sirius, who was standing in the dim room, unbuttoning his shirt anxiously.

"You all right?"

"Fine," Sirius grunted. "I thought maybe..."

Remus looked up at him, peering through half-open eyes. "Yes?"

"Listen, I can't...that is...I think tonight -- " Sirius sighed. There was a noise like air shifting over shapes, and Padfoot nosed his way along the bed, looking up at Remus with pale doggy eyes.

"If you kick in the night I'll kick back," Remus said, sliding his legs over so that the enormous dog could haul itself up. Padfoot curled against the bend of his knees, pressed nose to bottom, and let out one large sigh before his eyes closed. Remus, who understood that sometimes Sirius needed to be Padfoot in order to clear his head, ruffled the short bristly hair behind his ears and fell asleep to Padfoot's even breathing.

He woke the next morning, just before dawn, to find himself on his side, arm curled around Harry's slim body over a blanket the boy must have dragged in with him sometime in the night. Padfoot's head rested on Harry's hip, and both boy and dog were snoring lightly. He grinned, and lay back on the pillow; he was just drifting off to sleep again when he heard Padfoot change, and Sirius was bending over them.

"I'll put him back in bed," Sirius murmured, gathering up Harry, almost too big now to be carried. Remus waited for him to come back, expecting possibly a cold nose under his palm, but instead of changing into Padfoot Sirius pushed him over gently and slipped under the blankets, facing him, curled close on the small bed. He kissed him slowly, fingers tipping his chin up just slightly.

"You all right then?" Sirius asked. Remus grinned.

"A bit, yeah," he replied, just as casually. Sirius pulled him close and Remus happily buried his face in Sirius' neck, inhaling the smell of his skin. "You're a quick study," he said, and Sirius laughed low.

"Dunno what I'm thinking, really," he said. "Never fancied blokes before."

"Not once, Sirius?"

"Worl, James, but you know. That was friends really. I mean -- not that you and I -- "

Sirius' suddenly panicked tone made him laugh again.

"It's all right, Sirius. I've had years to work this out. You've had...well, days. Hours."

He felt Sirius nod. "You were right, you know. I'd no idea what I was doing, really."

Remus pulled back a bit, brought one of Sirius' hands up to his face, resting his knuckles against his chin. "Why'd you do it then, Sirius? Why now? And not sometime in the last ten years, thereby saving me the trouble of comparing everyone I went out with to you. Some of them were quite a lot better-looking than you, you know. Bastard."

"I dunno," Sirius muttered.

"You do. I know you, Sirius. You amble along in life until you have some great revelation and then you act on it and that usually gets at least one of us in deep trouble. And then you amble along until the next epiphany hits. So. Why now?"

Sirius scowled. "Just...staying with you and all -- "

Remus lifted an eyebrow.

"All right, it was that blasted blond fellow."

Remus blinked.

"What?" he asked, confused suddenly.

"I don't know his name, and I'm sure I don't care," Sirius said defiantly. "The blond one. The nancy."

"Some nerve, Sirius, calling anyone a nancy in your current position."

"You know the one. Buys old bibles and silly Muggle prophecy books."

"Mr. Fell?" Remus said, with a sudden smile. Sirius' look told him he didn't like that smile at all. "Sirius, of all the people to be jealous of, you picked the pudgy blond with an unhealthy interest in bibles?"

"It's not like I was asked," Sirius muttered. "But he came by the shop, you know, a few days after Harry and I moved in with you. And I saw you talking to him, and there was this book, and you were both leaning over it..."

Remus rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You can't do anything normally, can you?"

"I saw the way you smiled at him, you know. And I thought you're my Remus, and here you are being blatantly -- blatantly -- "

"Flirted with?"

"Yes -- no! Wooed!"

"Wooed? Sirius, you big nancy."

Sirius growled. "But you were seeing him, weren't you."

"Not just then, but I had at one time, yes. I gave up extremely good sex, by the by, when I gave him up."

Sirius paused. "Why'd you give him up?"

Remus sighed. "Because he wasn't you. And it always comes down to that."

Sirius looked rather pleased at this.

"And I'm bloody glad something finally lit a fire underneath you, because sometimes you're no picnic, you know," Remus added. "Jealous of Fell, of all people. Next you know you'll be wanting to throw Anthony Crowley out of the shop."

"Which one's he?"

"Tall chap, follows girls in sometimes, buys comic books. Looks like you."

"Flash bastard," Sirius grumbled.

"I never slept with him."

"And never you shall."

"Big talk," Remus said affectionately, and they were silent until he cleared his throat softly. "So Sirius...what precisely are you?" he asked. "Granted, there's me. But then there's also half the female population of England."

Sirius didn't reply for a while. Finally Remus closed his eyes, and relaxed against the pillow. "It doesn't matter," he started, but Sirius overlapped him.

"I'm here," he said. "I'm...Harry's godfather. I'm your friend. I'm Sirius."

"You're scared."

"Wouldn't you be?"

"I was," Remus yawned. "You forget you've finally found something I did first."

"Yes, I envy your forays into shirt-lifting when I was still learning how to unhook a bra," Sirius said sarcastically.

"Rude," Remus mumbled, against his cheek, eyes closing.

***

For a while, in the predawn gloom, Sirius lay in the bed and thought. He'd known Remus would understand his changing into Padfoot; he'd needed to sort things out, and he always saw clearer through the big black dog's eyes. It wasn't that the world was any less complicated, but dogs didn't have a whole lot of room for extra thoughts. It sort of...streamlined the process.

Which he needed, because now that...whatever it was...had actually happened, he wasn't as confident anymore. Now that it had, he was free to be just as anxious and upset and uncomfortable about it as he pleased.

Or, if he wanted, he could be deliriously happy and enjoy being in love and finally having got what he wanted. Namely, Remus Lupin.

Remus, he realised, was frightened of having him; fine, let him be scared. Sirius knew the truth. Remus was only frightened because he didn't know he'd had him for the last ten years, as well.

Three of the six events which had changed his life since he was eleven had involved Remus, and two of those after they had already left Hogwarts. Going to school and graduating were two, of course, and the third was the death of James and Lily; one could hardly push that aside, and that had been the turning point to end all turning points. But that didn't mean there weren't others, others in which the lanky man sleeping with his hand curled around Sirius' hip was inextricably entwined.

He'd become an Animagus at the age of fifteen for Remus, he and James and Peter, the little tag-along. Granted, back then he'd been seeing one of the Ravenclaw girls on a fairly regular basis, but then a man changes, doesn't he, between fifteen and twenty-nine? The point was, the three of them had been thinking of Remus -- and possibly a little about what a grand adventure it would be -- when they'd finally made the transformation.

Becoming an Animagus changed a person. Yes, you became an animal physically, but the animal also became a little bit of you. Sirius knew this, and he didn't mind it, but he also knew it had shaped the man he became.

The other two events that had altered him...well, they'd brought him to this point, hadn't they? He supposed he ought to count stealing Harry from the Dursleys as a turning point, but that was too recent for him to know what it would mean in another ten years. Not the way he knew, now, where the last two had led.

They even started the same way.

***

"I'm looking for Remus Lupin."

The waiter wrinkled his brow, then nodded, and jerked his head at the far corner. "Brown haired chap? Third booth from the end."

Sirius thanked the man, took the menu handed to him, and crossed to where Remus was seated, sipping a glass of water.

"Ordered yet?" he asked.

"Not yet," Remus replied. "I just ate. You can if you like."

"Might do. Christ, Moony, you look awful."

"Ta, Sirius."

"No, I mean -- you getting over the full moon all right? You're sort of drawn about the eyes."

"I'm fine, Sirius," Remus said, but even this wasn't snapped, merely sighed.

He knew Remus had been having a bad time of it lately, between the full moon and finding a new job, but the man looked downright ill. Sirius wondered how long he'd looked that way -- surely they'd seen each other since the full moon...

No, they hadn't really, had they? After James and Lily died, they met for the full moon, and once in a while for drinks -- Remus usually teetotal so that at least one of them would be sober enough to get them out of the bar. But not so much in-between. Remus always brushed it off.

"Sure you're not going to eat?" Sirius asked, as he ordered. Remus sipped his water.

"I told you, just had a huge lunch," he said.

They spoke of nothing much, over Sirius' sandwich and Remus' lemon-water; news of old school acquaintances, what Sirius was doing, what Remus was reading. Sirius was paying the bill, well-satisfied from a decent lunch and good company, when he realised Remus was eyeing the remains of his lunch, hungrily. Remus glanced up, saw him, and sat back nonchalantly.

"I should go," Remus said reluctantly. "Listen, I'd like to come by the bookshop sometime, maybe we could meet there the next full moon?"

"Right," Sirius agreed. "Not a proble -- Remus?"

His friend had slid out of the booth gracefully, but he'd stumbled on standing; now he was pale, clutching the table for balance.

"I'm fine, just a head-rush," Remus mumbled, but when Sirius touched his elbow, he leaned into the support. Sirius was shocked to feel how little he weighed -- light and almost breakable, like a bird.

"You're ill," Sirius said firmly. He began to notice things the table had hidden -- a tight belt and too-loose trousers, a shirt that seemed a size too large.

"No, it's just some..." Remus trailed off, and Sirius watched in horror as his eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped to the ground.

The next hour or so was probably blissfully blurred; waiters had stopped, and someone had called for a Healer, who tsked and took a pulse and before Sirius really understood what was happening he was sitting in St. Mungo's, on a remarkably uncomfortable chair, listening to some other Healer's promise that the service was confidential and nobody would be told Remus was a you-know-what.

"It's amazing how long they can survive, as a species, without food," the man said, and Sirius hated the way he referred to Remus as a "species". "The truth is, it's impossible to starve a werewolf to death -- they just get thinner and thinner until their body shuts down. You're lucky we caught this one when we did."

"We" consisted of Sirius, but he paid no attention to that.

"How long has it been since his last meal?" the man asked. Sirius considered it.

"He had broth on the ninth, after the full moon," he said, trying not to think about the fact that it was the twenty-seventh. "I haven't seen him since then."

"Has he done this sort of thing before? Some werewolves do -- they get in the habit of not eating because they don't have to. Or they do purposefully dangerous things, knowing it won't permanently injure them."

"He's not like that," Sirius said sharply.

"Then he's never shown any signs of malnutrition before?"

"Well, he's never been the most ravenous person. But he's always eaten."

The man consulted another form. "When was his last date of employment?"

Sirius thought back. "I'm not sure," he admitted.

"Did he have a fixed address? Was he paying rent?"

"As far as I know. Look, I'm his friend, right? He'd have told me if he was starving."

The healer merely nodded. "He should be waking up soon. That restorative potion the nurse poured down his throat is pure energy, so he should be out of danger soon. I'll leave you here."

Sirius nodded, and the man left. When he was gone, Remus groaned quietly, turned his head, and opened his eyes. Sirius almost flinched. They were too bright, too sharp -- how had he not noticed?

You can't notice what you can't see, a guilty little voice said in his head. You can't notice if you aren't there.

"All this fuss," Remus muttered.

"You, shut up," Sirius said, suddenly furious. "What the bloody hell do you think you were on about?"

"Did I think," Remus corrected, rasping a little.

"What?"

"You used a tense shift -- "

"I should beat the hell out of you myself," Sirius shouted. "Starving! What sort of idiot idea is that?"

"I wasn't starving. I would have bought food when my next paycheck came in. It was food or rent," Remus added.

"You couldn't have borrowed a few quid?"

"Neither a borrower nor a lender be," Remus groaned, pushing himself up to a sitting position. The hospital pyjamas hung on his frame, loosely, and his cheekbones and collarbones stood out against his skin with frightening sharpness.

"You were starving yourself," Sirius said. "Why didn't you say something?"

Remus shrugged. "Didn't want you worrying."

"You complete idiot."

"Listen, do you think it's easy trying to support myself on three-day jobs and commission work? I can't work two or three days out of every twenty-eight, and I can't find a job where they don't figure it out and fire me like I'm some kind of monster. I'm trying to get by, Sirius, and you don't -- "

" -- fine, I'll hire you."

"Sirius -- "

"I need someone to run the bookshop. You're hired."

Remus looked down at his hands. "I don't want to live on someone's charity my whole life."

"Work for me a week and try calling it charity," Sirius said. He did, however, smile a little.

Remus was silent for a while.

"Can I have a sandwich?" he asked softly. Sirius rose and went to the door, catching the nearest orderly by the arm.

"Be a mate, pilfer a few lunches for us, will you?" he asked, pressing a few Galleons into the man's hand. When he turned around, Remus still hadn't looked up.

"I'm sorry. I was just trying to prove I could do it," he said. "I'd have asked if I thought I was really sick."

"You are," Sirius said drily. Remus put his face in his hands, fingers rubbing his forehead.

"You had your shop and all," he said. "You seemed happy -- not like after -- after James, you know, and I thought here we are, almost putting our lives back together again, and there didn't seem to be...I just didn't want to wreck what you'd built by barging in and being miserable at you."

Sirius sat, perplexed. "But we're friends," he said slowly. "Isn't that sort of the point?"

Remus looked up at him, dropping his hands back to the blankets. "Do you actually need someone at Sandust?"

"Yeah, I hate doing the shelving and book-keeping myself," Sirius said with a grin. There was a brisk knock on the door, and the orderly had returned, carrying a handful of sandwiches. Sirius, brushing off Remus' protestations, crumbled them up into small bits and fed them to him slowly, refusing to let him eat too much at once.

Two weeks later Sirius led him into Sandust and put a pile of books in his hands.

"I've no idea where these go," he complained. Remus smiled, and looked down at one of the titles.

"I'll figure it out," he said. And he did.

Then he'd gone on to figure out the till, and the accounting, and the inventory. He'd figured out the whole shop. And there came a point when Sirius realised that his bookshop would probably have failed, or fallen apart, or caught fire, if it wasn't for Remus. He found that if he left Remus to his own devices when it came to fixing a paycheck, the other man's pride and indepdendence were assuaged enough that he didn't mind being his best friend's employee.

After all, Sirius needed him. And it was good to be needed.

***

"I'm looking for Remus Lupin?"

Sirius looked up from his crossword, sitting behind the counter of Sandust, and jerked his head towards the back. "He's sorting new stock. Can I help you?"

"Oh -- perhaps so -- you must be Mr. Black."

The man who held out his hand was friendly-enough looking, with a mop of curly yellow hair and a round, cherubic face. Sirius took it, wondering if this was Remus' latest "rare book dealer". Come to think of it, the man did look a bit dodgy. Nobody wore cardigans anymore, did they?

"I am," he allowed, shaking the hand grudgingly. The other man's smile stayed in place.

"I was wondering if you'd had that order in yet, the one from the estate sale a few weeks ago. I spoke with Remus about purchasing one of the collection he won the bidding on; an old family bible, not worth a terrible lot, but interesting as a curiousity."

Sirius slid off his stool. "Probably what he's sorting now," he said. "I'll check."

He walked into the back room just as Harry tumbled out of the fireplace, fresh from Molly's lessons, and touseled his hair as Harry hugged his waist. "Bloke for you out front, Remus," he said. "The fellow who likes the bibles."

"Oh -- Fell!" Remus said, with a broad grin. "Yes, I've found three for him -- " he lifted a few more volumes out of a packing-crate, carefully, and then picked up the crate, carrying it out into the front room. Sirius followed, dragging Harry, who was still attached to him at the hip and laughing loudly.

"There you are," the man said, as Remus set the crate down on the other side of the counter. Sirius stood back, just past the door to the back room, and detached Harry, dropping into one of the overstuffed chairs and listening idly to Harry's chatter while watching Remus and the blond fellow.

Remus reached into the crate and held out one of the bibles he'd acquired, opening it carefully, smoothing down a page gently with one hand. Fell's eyes lit up when he saw it, and Sirius narrowed his own. Remus began showing off good points and bad points -- foxed corners, frayed edges, illuminations and annotations. Sirius, annoyed with himself for glaring at a customer, turned back to Harry, and helped him sort out his books and homework. He wished the ridiculous decree for the restriction of underage wizardry wasn't in effect; he wanted to be teaching Harry charms and hexes and pranks, as well as boring history and composition. Still, Harry was bright, every bit as bright as James had been, if perhaps a little behind from living with Muggles for so long.

When Harry was settled and engrossed in his latest pleasure-reading, a new book Remus had recommended, Sirius leaned back in the chair and looked up again.

Remus and that man, whatever his name was, were examining another one of the books, heads bent over it, speaking quietly. Remus' eyes examined the man's face as they spoke. Really, Sirius didn't like the look of the blond man at all. He looked like trouble. Clearly he was no good for Remus, and Sirius ought to know; hadn't they been friends for years?

He paused, then, and straightened in the chair, slowly, though it felt as if he'd been hit in the head with a bludger.

That man was trouble, and not because he looked suspect or was far too interested in strange Muggle religious literature. He was trouble because Sirius didn't want him having anything to do with Remus.

Because Sirius wanted Remus.

And clearly, so did the blond man whose face was currently two or three inches from Remus'.

Sirius took two deep breaths, to stifle the urge to throw the man out of his bookstore then and there. He hadn't had to learn much self-control over the years and it was quite an effort, but he managed to wait until money had changed hands and Remus had put a lid on the crate, and the irksome blond fellow with the suspiciously cherubic face had left.

Only then did he relax, shoulders lowering, muscles in his neck loosening slowly.

And that was when he decided on the Plan. It was a good Plan, and it only really had one problem, which was that Sirius had never fancied a man before and had really no clue how to go about it. All he knew was that he was going to have to somehow prevent himself from hitting the next used book dealer who came through that door and within ten feet of Remus Lupin.

***

Clearly he'd gone insane, Sirius reflected, lying in the dim room in his family's house, grey dawn filtering through the drapes.

Not a bad insane, howev --

Oh.

"Morning," Remus said, against the skin of his throat, which he'd just...licked.

"Do that again," Sirius ordered. Remus smiled.

"Good thing you went canine last night," he said, hair tickling Sirius' chin. "Harry's had enough trauma without coming into the room in the middle of the night and finding his godfather curled up naked with a werewolf."

"He's not an early riser..." Sirius pointed out.

"Doesn't matter."

"Oh? -- oh."

"While you were off meditating on the cracks in the ceiling," Remus said, "I was putting an alarm on the door."

"From the bed?"

Remus shifted a little, and held up his left hand, spinning his wand across his fingers. "Just a little charm to warn us if Harry gets close. Ever prepared, me," he said, and bent to kiss Sirius on the lips.

Sirius hadn't known it could be like this; not tripping over discarded clothing in the dark and fumbling with flies and hooks and straps; there wasn't that familiar sort of desperation to have it done with. It wasn't that he hadn't enjoyed all those times, it was just that there had always been...a goal. Now he didn't actually feel any particular desire to...well, he felt plenty of desire, actually, but...

He hadn't known you could wake up and find someone waiting for you and simply enjoy seeing the way the light caught the folds of the blankets, the fall of hair in their eyes. Remus tilted his head and propped himself on his elbows.

"Did I do something you don't like?" he asked softly. Sirius closed his eyes and shook his head.

"We're new together," Remus continued, bending to kiss his shoulder, brushing his lips over his collarbone. "Frightened?"

"No," Sirius grunted, sliding a hand over the ridge of his spine, fingers working up along his neck and into the hair just above the nape of his neck.

"Bet you are."

"I'm not if you're not."

Remus laughed.

Sirius was not accustomed to being laughed at in bed. Which was probably a good thing, he reflected, but now he wondered why. He liked that laughter.

He rolled without warning and tangled them in the sheets as he pinned Remus down, kissing him fiercely, wanting to lay claim -- wanting to drown out the voice in the back of his head saying maybe it had never been this way because maybe fancying girls was a habit and not an instinct.

Girls were nice. Remus was nicer.

Remus was also pulling him closer, twisting a little so that their bodies fit together, moving with a practiced grace that made Sirius moan and bury his face in Remus' chest. Fingers stroked his hair away from his face, smoothed it around his ears, lifted his jaw and tugged a little so that they could kiss again.

"How much," Remus asked softly, "Do you want to learn?"

"Everything," Sirius breathed. "Right now."

He leaned back and Remus drifted a hand up to stroke his arm, thoughtfully. His fingers moved up over Sirius' neck and jaw, pressing his thumb to his lips as he had earlier, when he'd wanted to silence him.

Sirius opened his lips and nipped the pad of his thumb, gently. Remus closed his eyes.

"I'm not sure," he said huskily, "That you need all that much teaching, Sirius."

Sirius shifted his weight, hips sliding forward, and they both gasped. Remus arched his back and the sensation, rippling up through his body, didn't stop. Sirius couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, just wanted to keep moving, keep feeling what he was feeling. Eager heat, a pulse that had nothing to do with blood and everything to do with the rhythm of his body against Remus, the almost painful pressure of Remus' fingers on his hips now.

None of it was more than touch, just pressure and movement, but Sirius didn't even realise he was growling until Remus growled back, and pulled himself up using Sirius' collar as leverage, and kissed him. The change in position made Sirius dizzy, and he clutched warm skin and bucked his hips once more and came, almost howling, as Remus tried to swallow the sound, moaning into his mouth when he followed a moment later.

They fell back on the bed, Remus boneless and smiling blissfully, Sirius feeling like a dead weight on top of him but too comfortable to move, skin tingling pleasantly.

"Well," Remus said. "I think we can consider your first lesson a resounding success."

Sirius would have laughed if he hadn't been devoting all his energy to the feel of Remus' skin under his cheek. He heard the other man retrieve his wand from the bedclothes where he'd dropped it, and murmur a cleaning spell, just before the door glowed bright yellow.

"That'll be Harry," Remus said, and Sirius slid out of the bed hurriedly, fumbling for his trousers.

"Remus! Sirius!" Harry yelled through the door. "Time to get up!"

Remus pulled the tangled sheets up far enough to preserve his dignity, and Sirius managed to fasten the flies with one hand while opening the door and catching Harry with the other.

"Good morning!" Harry shouted, bumping into Sirius and almost knocking him over. "Come make breakfast!" he demanded, running to the bed and grabbing Remus' hand, trying to tug him off it. "Professor Snape's here and we're hungry."

"Andromeda put a big bowl of fruit on the table if you're starving," Remus chided.

"I want oatmeal!" Harry said. Remus watched, amused, as Snake slithered up around his neck and peered at Remus from over one ear.

"He wants oatmeal. He wants oatmeal. There's clearly something wrong with the boy," Remus said, over Harry's head. "I blame you, Sirius."

Harry grinned as Sirius pulled a shirt on and buttoned it, hardly waiting for him to finish before pulling him out the door. Sirius cast one look back over his shoulder as Remus slid out of the bed and began to dress also, before it closed behind them. Remus flashed him a grin that even Snape's surly early-morning scowl couldn't ruin.

Chapter 23

Remus dressed quickly, but by the time he reached the kitchen he could smell food already cooked and hear voices at the kitchen table. Perhaps Snape had started the oatmeal while Harry had run up to fetch them. Considering his skill with potions, it ought to be more than edible.

Remus paused in the shadows of the kitchen doorway, watching as Sirius carried a small tin to the table and sat down next to Harry; Andromeda and Ted sat on the other side, with Snape at the head -- he'd probably staked that for himself -- and Nymphadora at the foot. There was just enough room for a skinny werewolf on the bench next to Sirius, he noted with a smile.

" -- easy on him," Andromeda was saying, as she daintily cut the crusts off her toast.

"He does all right," Sirius answered. "Trooper, he is."

"Didn't I read somewhere -- Snape old man, you ought to know this -- some sort of potion for sedating them?" Ted asked.

Remus realised they were discussing him, and drew a little further back into the shadows.

"It's still being formulated," Snape growled. Harry had pried open the tin and was sprinkling tiny, shining eggs into his oatmeal, while Sirius helped himself liberally to the strawberry jam. "The base is a middle-eastern formula; they have trouble with loup-garou on some of the nomadic trade routes. Apparently the brewing is a rather delicate process."

"Is it a daily dosage?" Andromeda asked. "I mean, I don't see why they'd need sedating the rest of the time. I'd hate to see Remus..." she gestured with her spoon in the air, and glanced at Harry. Remus saw Sirius' head turn to regard his godson, though he couldn't actually see his face. Harry was anointing the eggs in his oatmeal with milk, which was making them hatch -- ah yes. Harrison's Wondrous Eggs; you added them to any cereal with milk, and they hatched into animated candy dragons. He could see the little creatures, made of maple sugar, crawling around in Harry's bowl.

"Monthly," Snape said. "So I'm given to understand."

Remus leaned against the doorway, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. Everyone in that room knew what he was; barring Snape, none of them seemed to bear him any particular ill will on account of it, and Snape could hardly be blamed for disliking a creature who'd once spiritedly tried to disembowel him.

They all know, he thought.

It was comforting, in a way. Even if he wasn't keen on their discussing ways to sedate him in his absence. Ted was Muggle-born, and probably had no fear of werewolves -- probably hadn't been aware they even existed, as a child. Snape and Sirius had known since they were schoolboys, and while their feelings on the subject were probably polar opposites, at least neither of them walked on eggshells around it. Andromeda had been raised in a family of taste and good manners, if not the best social philosophy, and she handled this as she handled everything, with poise and confidence. Dora was their daughter and would no doubt do the same; besides, any girl who had bright blue hair was probably fairly progressive in her thinking.

Harry was Harry, and had solemnly promised, in his little-boy way, to keep Remus' secret. Remus wondered idly, watching Harry devour a squirming maple-sugar dragon, how long he'd known.

"Is that you lurking in the doorway, Remus?" Andromeda called, with a smile. "Come in, your oatmeal's getting cold."

Remus smiled back and ducked inside, helping himself to a bowlful from the pan on the stove. He reached around Harry, took a handful of candy eggs, and sprinkled them on his cereal, wrinkling his nose at the vaguely pink cast of Sirius' breakfast.

"Jam again?" he asked.

"You'll rot your teeth with those," Sirius answered, as Remus added milk.

"Tell your godson, not me. Morning, Severus," Remus said cheerfully. Snape grunted and plucked a miniature dragon off of Harry's spoon as the boy offered it to Snake. The creature didn't seem to be in any danger; he was clearly having no part of this strange human food. Snape dropped the squirming candy dragon fastidiously onto the table, where it disintegrated completely. Harry, eyes big as saucers, tried dropping one himself -- or rather, throwing one down onto the table -- and it splatted quite satisfyingly. Snape wiped the area next to his bowl with his napkin, and set a book down there.

"If any of you are remotely interested in the welfare of the child we have apparently gathered to raise, as it were, as a village," he drawled, "you may want to pay a desultory sort of attention to this."

Remus leaned around Sirius, interestedly, while Harry peered at the book.

"The particular element in question," Snape said, "Forms the base of a number of more advanced potions. I believe we ought to seriously consider the thought that Pettigrew is attempting a resurrection. I don't think we need look very far for the name of his intended beneficiary. There are a few other uses for this...fluid, but they require other ingredients -- " Snape reluctantly allowed Remus, who had stretched out his hand, to take the book.

"For speaking to the dead...fortunetelling using the -- er, yuk," Remus said, reading one of the potions. "Preservation of the dead...Resurrection, under certain magical circumstances...having the body in one's possession is rather important in these, isn't it?" Remus asked, flipping the page. Snape nodded, grudgingly. "I don't know, he didn't leave a corporeal body behind, which is one of the reasons Dumbledore's convinced he's still out there...for the empowerment of the spirit..." he trailed off, eyes scanning the potion.

"What?" Sirius asked, mouth half-full of oatmeal.

"This requires the blood of two innocent children," Remus said, "taken forcibly, and consumed in part shortly thereafter..."

Snape's eyebrows drew together.

"I saw blood on Peter's face," Remus whispered. "What if -- "

Upstairs, a door slammed, and Moody's voice called urgently. "Black!"

"Down here, Moody!" Sirius called, rising and walking to the doorway. Moody clunked down the stairs, moving as fast as Remus had ever seen him move, and growled when he reached the bottom.

"We're not waiting any longer," he announced. "Pettigrew went after the Longbottoms early this morning. If he's set up in your bookshop, odds are he'll be back by this evening; probably isn't risking getting caught Apparating, specially with a broken leg. Setting traps even as we speak," he added. "Broke the lock on your shop, sorry about that. Aurors'll reimburse you if we catch the little bastard."

"Are the Longbottoms all right?" Andromeda asked. "It's just Frank and Alice's child and his gran, isn't it?"

"Just the child now," Moody grunted. "Far as we can tell, the gran caught them takin' the blood, and there was a right row. Found the boy hiding under the bed, half-dead, told us his gran hexed that Bellatrix woman and from the sound of it broke one of Pettigrew's legs. Boy should be fine," he growled, when Andromeda gave him a look. "Got a great-uncle can take him in -- "

"Algernon Longbottom?" Andromeda demanded.

"Aye, that was -- "

"The man dropped him out of an upstairs window! It was in the Prophet!"

"A concern for later, darling," Ted said, putting a hand on her arm as her eyes flashed indignantly.

"Traps in the bookshop?" Sirius asked. "They're not lethal, are they?"

"Course they're lethal," Moody scoffed.

"Yes, what's the point of traps that let you off with a static shock and a light warning," Remus murmured. "I should make sure they don't destroy anything valuable," he said, to Sirius. Snape was already making notes on the potion Remus had been looking at, muttering to himself under his breath. "Coming?"

Sirius shook his head just as Moody growled that he didn't want the entire city descending on Sandust Books. "I don't want Harry anywhere Peter might be," he said quietly. "And I'm not leaving Harry."

Remus gave him a quick nod, and turned to Moody. "I'll come back with you. Snape -- "

"I need a book," Snape said, snapping the one he was holding shut. "Have you a copy of the Obscurato Legionis?" he asked Sirius, who shook his head.

"Our father thought it was too liberal," he said. "Bought a copy for burning, I think, back in the day when that sort of thing was done."

"It would be illegal for Sandust to stock one," Remus said properly, glancing at Moody, who shook his head in disgust and began clumping up the stairs. He risked a quick confirming nod at Snape.

"The eye sees through walls," Moody called, and Remus looked guilty. "That's a thirty Galleon fine for importing contraband, Lupin, and twenty more for possession."

"I didn't import it," Remus answered, as they climbed the stairs. "It came in a lot I purchased at auction."

"Ten for receiving illegal goods, then," Moody replied, as they emerged from the stairwell into the main hall, and followed him out the door.

"Might we continue this discussion after I've seen the book?" Snape asked impatiently.

"Sandust Books," Moody said. "Remember to Apparate behind the shop; it's on a Muggle street."

They both nodded, and followed a split second after his own Disapparation.

***

"Algernon Longbottom indeed," Andromeda said, as the three men vanished up the stairwell. She reached for her cloak, hanging by the fire, and began to pull it on. Ted put out a hand to stop her.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Going to see the poor boy," she replied, "and prevent Algernon from coming anywhere near him. You remember, we met him at that dinner party, he's quite entirely mad, Ted."

"The hospital isn't open to visitors for another two hours, and you'll only get into trouble if you go now," Ted said calmly. "I'm sure they have guards on him, knowing Moody, and if he was as badly hurt as Moody implied, he'll probably be there some time."

Andromeda lifted her chin imperiously and Sirius, watching, had a moment of deja vu; it was a gesture not uncommon in the family, when a woman of the Blacks was being argued with.

"Who's Neville?" Harry asked, before Andromeda could speak. "Did they do to him what they did to me?"

Andromeda, distracted, turned to look at the boy.

"Worse, love, because he didn't have Sirius protecting him," she said, as Sirius pulled Harry close to his hip, careful of the bandage on his shoulder and neck. "That's why he's in hospital," she added, glaring at her husband, "And that's why we ought to go see him."

"I'm not saying you shouldn't go see him," Ted sighed. Sirius glanced at Nymphadora; she was calmly finishing her cereal. Clearly she'd come to an understanding of her parents'...dynamic relationship. "I'm saying you ought to wait until he's allowed to have visitors. We could take Harry to see him, get us out of the house for a while. We could have Harry's cuts looked at while we were there. I'm sure they wouldn't deny the Boy Who Lived a chance to visit with Neville."

Sirius took a moment to admire the sheer brilliance of Ted Tonks.

Even if Andromeda had gone during visiting hours, they weren't likely to let the sister of the woman who'd helped to maim Neville in to see him. The Boy Who Lived, on the other hand, would make a lovely photo op for the reporters and good publicity for the hospital. And it would still get Andromeda in to talk some sense into anyone attempting to send Neville Longbottom home with a man who'd dropped him out his bedroom window last year.

"Can I bring Snake?" Harry asked.

"As long as you hide him," Sirius said. Andromeda pulled off her cloak, grudgingly.

"We'll go promptly at ten," she announced. "Dora, I want you to take Harry to the library. Sirius will be up shortly."

"I will?" Sirius asked.

"I'll do the washing-up here," Ted said, kissing his wife, who accepted the kiss with only a slight sulk.

"Yes," Andromeda said to Sirius. "I'd like a word with you."

Sirius obediently followed her up the stairs, and down the corridor that led to the front door. Near the entryway she stopped, and leaned against the wall, regarding him with a look so like his father's that he almost flinched. It wasn't anger, though; it was just that piercing gaze that she and Bellatrix and Narcissa all shared.

"I know we haven't always been close, Sirius," she said quietly, "and with you living mostly-Muggle, and especially lately, I guess I can understand that, though I always felt perhaps...we being the only two decent ones left..." she shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I think you ought to know I know about you and Remus."

Sirius gaped at her.

"And you're two grown men, and while I'm sure I don't know how it's done, what you two do in the privacy of your own home is your own business..." she said, waving a hand dismissively. "I don't mind you sharing a room here, either. But I think perhaps you ought to consider telling Harry soon. And consider how you ought to. He's getting bigger, he'll start noticing. If he hasn't already."

"Harry?" Sirius fumbled. "But we haven't even told -- how on earth did you know?"

"The man was naked in your bed, Sirius," she said, with a hint of a smile. "I saw when I came to wake you up yesterday. I can't say I disapprove of your choice."

Sirius put a hand over his face. Andromeda continued.

"And I suppose -- you could have told me, you know. When you ran away from your parents. I know you wanted to stay with the Potters so as not to cause trouble for me, and that was very thoughtful of you, but you could have told me it was because you were in love with a half-blood. I assume you didn't tell them about the werewolf part." He saw a thoughtful look cross her face, through his fingers. "Did they know it was a man? I can imagine that part wouldn't go over well either -- "

"No, Andromeda -- you've got the wrong end of the stick," he said, desperately. Her smile widened.

"It's all right, Sirius, we're family, you don't have to lie to me."

"I'm not lying. I didn't run away because of him -- well, sort of," he allowed. "But it wasn't because -- oh, any of those reasons. You know how Dad was. He just...he said something about Dark Creatures once too often and I let him have it."

"Yes, I remember the bruise where he punched you," she said, a trifle sadly. "But you are in love with Remus, aren't you?"

"I..." Sirius paused. "Yes, but -- no, wait, there is a but -- it's not like it's been ten or twelve years, Andromeda. It's barely been two days."

It was Andromeda's turn to stare. "Two days?"

Sirius nodded. "Just since the attack. Well. I'd been...we'd been...discussing things for a while before that, but not nearly so long as you think. A few weeks at most. Night before last it sort of...exploded on us."

"But you've been friends for years, I just naturally assumed...and nobody ever asked you?" she asked. Sirius shook his head.

"Wait, you assumed?" he demanded. Andromeda nodded. "When? Why did you assume?"

"Well, you never were the settling-down-with-a-nice-girl type, and you spend an awful lot of time with him, and it's so easy to see what he feels," Andromeda said. "When you come into the room, he could get mauled by a Hippogriff and not notice it. The rest of us become background noise."

"That's not -- " Sirius crossed his arms, ducking his head. "Is that really true?"

Andromeda nodded gravely.

"Oh." Sirius rubbed his jaw with one hand. "That's...good. Thank you, Andromeda."

"You should still tell Harry," she said, stopping him as he began to walk away. "Especially if it's new. He'll see it. I'm not one to tell you how to raise your child, Sirius, but it'll only lead to a very confused young boy if you don't at least give him a few facts of life. There are books," she said helpfully.

Sirius turned and stared. "Books?" he asked, voice cracking slightly.

"Well, of course. Don't you have a shelf for that kind of thing in the bookshop?" she said, with a laugh.

"Books about...that?" he asked. "For...for men?"

"Sure. I wouldn't recommend you give them to Harry directly, but they might pave the way a bit."

Sirius resolved to stop by the shop that afternoon and have a brief and instructional discussion with Remus about Books On This Sort Of Thing. Forget educating Harry -- he needed an education of his own.

"Don't look so thunderstruck, Sirius," Andromeda said, taking his arm as they walked towards the library. Clanking from the kitchen told them Ted was doing dishes Muggle-fashion. "I bet," she said, teasingly, "there are even a few in the Black family library."

"Never," Sirius answered. "Blacks Don't Do That Sort Of Thing, Andromeda, you know that. I'm fairly sure my mother was working on a needlepoint concerning that when she died."

Andromeda grinned. "We shall see."

She pushed open the doors to the library, and stopped on the threshold. "Now if I were a book about naughty things like this," she said, tapping her finger on her chin, "I'd be on a high shelf, in a very dim corner, perhaps hidden behind something..."

"I'm going to go sit with Harry," Sirius said. "Remus left some reading, might as well be thorough about it."

Andromeda nodded and wandered off; her daughter poked her head around a corner and waved to Sirius, who picked up a handful of books from Remus' study table as he passed.

When his father and mother had still been alive, the reading nook was, it was always clear, a place to See, rather than a place to Sit. It commanded the best view of the front street outside the house -- which was not all that splendid a view anymore, really -- and it was a place his father might take someone to have brandy after dinner. It had several lush couches and chairs, but Sirius had never, of course, been allowed on any of them on pain of one of his father's infrequent but not ineffective whippings.

No wonder I became a dog, he thought, only slightly morbidly. Even when I was a kid they didn't want me on the furniture.

Now, of course, he grinned to see Harry, tucked in a corner of a richly brocaded couch, his sneakers up on the end of it, a book propped on his knees. Dora was lounging across a chair, blue-tinged hair falling over one armrest, listening to him read. Snake was gliding silently across the couch, towards an unsuspecting spider spinning a web on the windowsill.

" -- advancing over the sea, two immense serpents. They came upon the land, and the crowd fled in all directions. The serpents advanced directly to the spot where he stood with his two sons. They first attacked the children, winding round their bodies and breathing in their faces. The father, attempting to rescue them, is next seized and involved in the serpents' coils," Harry read. Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Brilliant," Harry added, lifting up the book to show Sirius a picture in it.

"What on earth are you letting him read?" Sirius asked. Nymphadora grinned.

"Bullfinch's Mythology. Muggle book about Greece," she said. "Brought it from home, it's mandatory reading in the Muggle Studies course I've got this fall at the Academy. Harry likes it, don't you?"

"It's all gods and magic and all," Harry agreed. "I don't see why the snakes had to kill his sons though."

Sirius settled in next to Harry, taking great delight in propping his feet on the low table in front of them. Take that, house, he thought.

"Anyway, they're the bad guys, because La...oo..." Harry gave Dora an inquiring look.

"Laocoon," she said, pronouncing it "Lay-uh-kwan."

"Right. He's trying to stop the Spartans invading Troy. Bit stupid, really," Harry decided. He leaned on Sirius' arm, and flipped through the rest of the book. "And they're not the only ones who die, Dora says."

"Maybe this isn't a book you should be reading," Sirius said gently, lifting it away.

"I'm not gonna die, am I, Sirius?" Harry asked.

"Not in the near future. Why?"

"Mr. Moody said they almost killed another boy like me."

"Well, he didn't have me protecting him, and you do." Sirius looked down at him. "All right then, Harry?"

"I'm scared," Harry whispered, which is a large admission for a nine-year-old boy.

"It'll be okay," Sirius answered, when what he really wanted to say was I'm scared too. He put his arm around Harry, pulling him closer, and thought to himself Hell, I think I've finally grown up.

"Sorry," Dora murmured. "I didn't think it could do him any harm."

"Not your fault," Sirius replied, as Andromeda appeared. She smiled.

"Aren't you three a picture," she said. "Here, Sirius, I brought something for you."

Sirius took a look at the book she was offering, blushed, and quickly tucked it under a cushion, away from Nymphadora and Harry's curious eyes. "Where'd you find something like that?"

"There's a row of suspiciously healthy potted plants on one of the shelves. Turns out they were an illusion charm," Andromeda replied, as Nymphadora snuck the book out from under the cushion. Her eyes grew wide as dinner plates, and she shoved it back quickly.

"I'll...read it later. Thank you, Andromeda," Sirius said firmly. "For now..." he sighed as he picked up one of Remus' books. "I hate doing nothing, you know. Being stuck here."

"Better to be here with Harry than off somewhere trying to get yourself killed," she said comfortingly. "It's only until the hospital's visiting hours, then we can go see the Longbottom boy. In the meantime," she said, settling herself composedly on a chair, "Dora, sit up straight and don't make Harry do your homework for you."

Sirius exchanged a grin with Nymphadora, who rolled her eyes and straightened in the chair, opening Bullfinch's Mythology, while Sirius found a more appropriate book for Harry from the pile on the table, and opened one of the ones Remus had been annotating, handing one to Andromeda. Comfortable, bookish silence settled on the room.

When he thought everyone was sufficiently distracted, Sirius pulled out the book Andromeda had brought him, and placed it inside the larger book he was reading.

Andromeda grinned behind her own volume.

***

There was an owl for Sirius just before they left for the hospital, a hastily-scrawled note from Remus saying all was well and he'd meet them at St. Mungo's for lunch, unless there was a change of plan. Sirius tucked the parchment in his pocket and gestured for Andromeda to Apparate; Nymphadora floo'd out first, and Sirius wrapped his arms around Harry, floo'ing with him cautiously.

St. Mungo's smelled of antiseptic and made Sirius nervous. He kept a grip on Harry's shoulder while Andromeda wrangled with the mediwitch, backed up by Ted; Nymphadora had wandered off and knocked over someone's chair, and was trying to help right it and repair it, apologetically.

"All right, let's have a look at the lad," someone said, and Sirius instinctively stepped in front of his godson, snarling. The Healer almost leapt backwards.

"It's all right, Sirius, I asked him to," Andromeda said sharply. Sirius stayed where he was, Harry peering around his hip. "Perhaps a private room?" she asked, with all the self-assurance of five centuries of good breeding behind her. The Healer, still looking warily at Sirius, gestured to a room down the hall.

"As soon as Harry's checked out, we're all going to go see Neville," she said, while Sirius watched the Healer prod Harry. She showed him the satchel she'd been carrying, which had two pairs of Harry's pyjamas and some books in it. "I can't imagine he's had much to do, sitting in hospital all day."

"He looks fine," the Healer interrupted, pressing a new bandage over the vicious slice that ran from the corner of Harry's shoulder and neck, across his collarbone, and nearly over the hollow of his throat. Sirius winced, seeing the deep gash. "There's not much more to be done for him; I think you're right, Madame Tonks, the blade must have been spelled. Here you are lad, I think I've got a box of juice around here somewhere..."

"He's fine," Sirius said, brusquely, and helped Harry off the table. "We'll go see Neville now."

Andromeda and the Healer exchanged a look, but she shrugged, and he seemed content to follow her lead. Up a flight of stairs they went, down another hallway, past two Aurors without trouble, and into a small white room. A young boy in white hospital issue clothing was lying in the bed, curled up, back to the door.

"He hasn't spoken much. His great-uncle was here early this morning, but he's not able to stay -- pressing business, apparently," the Healer said. Andromeda snorted. "I understand you've brought young Harry to give him a bit of company?"

"Yes, that's right," Andromeda said smoothly. "Thank you, we'll call you if we need anything."

The Healer, looking as though he'd like to object, shut his mouth at a glance from her, and left, door swinging a bit behind him.

"Is that him?" Harry whispered to Sirius, who nodded. "Is he asleep?"

Andromeda leaned over the bed. "Doesn't look like it. Hi, Neville. My name's Andromeda."

The boy didn't move, except to raise a hand to rub one eye, irritably.

"We heard you were here and thought we'd bring you some books and things," she continued. "And we brought Harry along. He's about your age, aren't you Harry?"

"Hi, Neville," Harry said, following Andromeda's example. The boy buried his face in the pillow. Harry and Andromeda exchanged a look so comically helpless that Sirius hid a grin. Ted didn't bother to hide his.

"Wouldn't you like to have a look at a book?" Andromeda asked. "It must be boring, being here alone."

"No," Neville said, into the pillow.

"They're good books," Harry said. "They're about magic and -- "

"I hate magic!"

Harry frowned. "Why? Magic's brilliant."

Neville didn't answer.

"You wouldn't feel like that if you grew up with Muggles," Harry said confidently. Andromeda put a hand on his shoulder.

"Maybe we ought to leave the books on the bed for him," she said, eyeing Neville curiously. "And we brought you some nice soft pyjamas, much nicer than the hospital ones."

"They're mine, but you can use them," Harry said. "They're clean, and all. You want red stripes or Snitches-and-Broomsticks?"

Neville lifted his head a little. "You've got pyjamas with Snitches on?" he asked. Andromeda beamed and held up a pyjama shirt.

Sirius, who had become a father without going through the intermediary stages of birth or toddlerhood, watched with a little awe as Andromeda deftly helped the boy into the new clothing, seemingly without disturbing the blankets at all. Neville looked down at the cuffs and smiled a little. Then he moved his head too quickly, to look up at Andromeda, and whimpered when the bandage at his neck pulled. Harry watched idly as the other boy breathed deep.

"Mine hurts too," he said, pulling down the collar of his shirt. "It's getting better though. Hey, you want to see my snake?"

Neville looked rather alarmed at this. "You've got a snake? Does it bite?"

"No, he's tame," Harry said, pushing up his sleeve and showing off where Snake was wound around his arm. Neville made a small noise of fear, and Harry stroked Snake's head.

"He'll be nice if I tell him to," Harry reassured the boy. "Go on then. He's sleepy."

Neville, hesitantly, stretched his hand out, barely touching the smooth, soft snakeskin. "He's warm!"

"Yeah, had him under my sleeve all morning," Harry said. Andromeda stepped backwards, until she was standing with Sirius and Ted. Harry launched into a detailed lecture on how snakes were cold-blooded creatures and what that meant, as he unwound his pet and placed him on the blanket, so that Neville could pet him more easily.

"Poor boy," Andromeda said softly. Sirius glanced at her. "I know the Longbottom family, passingly. Not to speak ill of the dead, but I'll bet this is the first time he's been allowed anywhere near someone his own age. And I'm sure it's the first time he's been let near a snake."

Sirius watched as Snake, apparently on command from Harry, reared up and hissed. Neville smiled anxiously.

"Andromeda," Ted warned.

"Yes, dear?"

"You've got that look in your eye."

"What look is that?" Andromeda asked, as Harry and Neville giggled over something.

"The same look you had when you took in that boot-faced stray cat for the sole reason that it was horribly ugly," Ted answered. "That mama-lion look."

"Nonsense," Andromeda replied. "I just think it's madness to entrust the boy to a man who pushed him off a pier."

Neville had consented to have Snake coiled up on top of his head, and was sitting very still while the animal explored his fringe.

"He does look like a very sweet boy, doesn't he?" Andromeda mused, with an absent sort of smile.

Chapter 24

Between the power of the Black family name and that of the Boy Who Lived, they were mainly undisturbed that morning; mediwitches came and went occasionally, giving Neville a potion or taking his pulse, but that was all. Neville accepted the solicitude shyly, as he did any attention from the other adults. He seemed fascinated with Harry, and especially with Nymphadora when she joined them -- by the time Remus arrived for lunch, Nymphadora was sitting on the edge of Neville's bed, legs crossed, running the complete range of odd faces she knew how to make, with Harry imitating voices he thought would go with them. When Remus entered, she glanced up and immediately let her hair fall down into shaggy brown, turned her eyes the same light brown shade, and jutted her chin out into a more masculine shape.

"Now then, young Harry," she said, in a voice that was not-quite-convincing, "Run along with you, it's time for your lunch."

Sirius covered his mouth with one hand, and even Remus looked amused; Dora shook her head and her features settled back into the more familiar snub-nosed, heart-shaped face that they recognised as her own. Harry jumped off the bed and ran to greet Remus.

"Did anyone die?" he asked. Remus frowned. "Sirius said that Mr. Moody said that the traps you were putting on the bookshop could kill people."

"Well done, Sirius," Remus drawled. "No, Harry, nobody died. We hope nobody's going to, either."

Sirius saw Andromeda glance at Neville, who was plucking at the blanket on his lap, suddenly shy and quiet again.

"Let's have some lunch, eh?" Sirius asked. "I'm sure there's somewhere in this building to get a decent sandwich."

"Go on then," Andromeda said. "I'll stay with Neville."

Neville glanced up. "You can go," he said. "It's okay."

"They'll bring me something," Andromeda said firmly. "Now, I think you'll like this book," she said, picking up one of the volumes she'd taken from the Black family library. "Why don't you help me read it?"

"That's our cue," Ted said, giving Sirius a nudge towards the door. They trooped out, Sirius and Remus following Harry, Dora trailing behind her father. When they were safely in the hallway, Ted sighed.

"Guess we'll have to muck out another bedroom at Grimmauld Place," he said. "Should have known better than to let Andromeda near the boy."

"She can't be thinking she'll be allowed to bring him home with her," Sirius said.

"That's exactly what she's thinking, and the worst is, she probably will. You know, Sirius. You're a Black. The name means something, even if she did marry a good-for-nothing Muggle-born," he added, with a grin. "She'll probably badger and charm the Longbottoms into believing that it's best for all concerned if she takes in the child. And it probably is, if what she says about his great-uncle is true."

"It's the boot-faced cat all over again," Nymphadora agreed.

"It's not any business of ours," Remus said firmly. "I need to talk to you about the traps, Sirius."

"I want to hear!" Harry complained.

"So do I," Dora put in.

"Food first, I don't want anyone starving," Remus announced, leading them unerringly towards the little hospital canteen. When they were settled with only slightly soggy sandwiches and cheap bags of crisps, he seemed to relax a little.

"We cleared out the inside first -- or rather, they did, before I got there -- so we know at least that Peter wasn't there. They've put hexes on the floo, both doors, and the attic-trap, not that I've ever been able to get it open, I think it's got about eight layers of paint sealing it shut," Remus said. "Nothing fatal on the doors, just some boils and a nasty warning, in case someone legitimate tries to get in, and once they're in, there's a Slime-Slogging curse -- you remember, we put it on that idiot little Ravenclaw who used to try and tell on us..."

"Right. Slows you down till you stop and lock up altogether," Sirius grunted.

"That's the one. If he does manage to break that, the till will now knock you unconscious if you don't enter zero two two as a code first. The doorway between the shop and the back room does have a fatal hex on it, but only if you try to charm it unlocked. I've shifted all the really valuable books there. The rest of the books have the same hex as your library -- they'll attack anyone making too much noise."

Nymphadora was listening interestedly; Ted, only mildly paying attention, was playing a stealing game with Harry, sneaking crisps from his bag and allowing Harry to steal them back.

"If Peter comes back, odds are he'll trip at least a few of the hexes. In theory, we'll nail him to the floor and we can use him to get to Bellatrix," Remus said, somewhat more bloodthirsty than Sirius had seen him in some time. "It's impossible to search every corner of the shop -- he may be hiding things there," he continued. "Hell, without us there, he may think it's a perfect place to do the ritual."

"How's Snape's research coming?" Sirius asked.

"He seems to have found what he needs. He tells me, for the spell -- the one that...well, there's a potion needs brewing, a charm dipped into it, and an incantation. It's tricky, but not impossible. It could give Peter a...a lot of power," Remus said hesitantly. "He has the two vital ingredients."

"Now could I drink hot blood, and do such bitter business as the day would quake to look on," Sirius murmured.

"He's likely to come at night," Remus said. "We've been invited to sit guard duty in shifts with the Aurors -- Moody has some influence, and you and I know that shop better than anyone." He paused. "Snape sort of...volunteered the first watch, as well."

Sirius glanced up from his sandwich. "Why would he do that?"

Remus shrugged. "I think he'd like to get his hands around the throat of the man who hurt Harry."

"Not if I get there first," Sirius growled. Harry butted his head against Sirius' arm, and Sirius responded, ruffling his hair.

"I'll take that as a yes on the guard-duty front," Remus replied, a slight smile on his face. "He'll fetch me at eleven and I'll fetch you at three. That way you don't even have to see him, and I don't have to wake up and stop the two of you fighting."

"What if Peter's not coming back?" Sirius asked.

"His picture is in every Auror office in the country. Man and rat," Remus said. "He's got to be human to make the brew. We'll find him."

"I'm more worried about that Bellatrix," Ted said. "She's a right nasty character. Was even before Azkaban. Bad egg, through and through."

"Takes after her family that way," Sirius muttered. "Reckon Narcissa'd take her in?"

"Aurors are already watching her," Remus said.

"I hate this, you know," Sirius said. "I hate having to hide. And depending on Moody's people to hide us."

"We'll get them. Sooner or later, and probably sooner. Neither of them are precisely candidates for World's Sanest Evil Mastermind," Remus said. Sirius snorted. Dora laughed.

"And it gives us until ten to...talk," Remus said, in a low voice meant for Sirius' ears only. Ears that flushed red when he realised what 'talking' meant.

"Andromeda gave me a book about talking," Sirius answered, just as quietly.

Remus choked on his sandwich, and Ted had to thump him soundly on the back, while Harry and Nymphadora looked on amusedly.

***

On their way back to Neville's room with a hastily-wrapped meal for Andromeda, they ran into Bill Weasley coming down the stairwell.

"Fancy seeing you here!" Bill cried. "We're just getting dad discharged, you should come say hello. Wotcha, Harry, how's things?"

"Wotcha, Bill," Harry said, grinning up at the redhead who towered over him.

"Just now getting out?" Remus asked, curiously.

"Oi, yes, some complicated hex," Bill replied dismissively. "Dad's been fine, they just wanted to make sure. Here, what're you lot doing here?"

"Had to get Harry checked out," Sirius said. "And Andromeda wanted to visit a friend of hers."

"I owled you," Remus said. "Well, I owled the Burrow, anyway."

"Mum probably got it," Bill shrugged. "I'll ask her. She's here now if you'd like to come see her and dad. I know they'd like to see Harry," he added.

"I'll go with him," Nymphadora said, a little too eagerly. Ted grinned.

"I'll come," Sirius said, and Ted looked approving. "Remus?"

"Actually, I need to see to something," Remus said. "You go on. Give Molly my love, and tell Arthur thank-you, would you, Bill?"

"Sure," Bill agreed amiably, leading Nymphadora and Harry down another flight of stairs, followed by Sirius. Ted gave Remus an odd look.

"See to something?" he asked. Remus nodded almost absently.

"Won't take long. See you in a bit, yeah?" Remus said, effectively preventing Ted from volunteering to come along. The other man smiled, tapped his finger to his lips, and began walking back towards Neville's room.

Remus checked the directory and went down a flight of stairs, passing unobtrusively into a part of the hospital that looked more like an office wing than a medical establishment. The man behind the counter looked up when he approached, hesitantly.

"Can I help you?" he asked briskly.

"I was...er, wondering if Healer Rubin was in," Remus said hesitantly. "I don't have an appointment, I'm not really here for a professional visit..."

"I believe he's having his lunch," the mediwizard replied. "Go on back, if you like. If he doesn't want to see you he won't answer."

"Thanks," Remus said, wandering down the corridor until he came to a door with "Healer Seth Rubin" charmed on it. He knocked, and heard a muffled "Come in!"

He pushed the door open into an office cluttered with paper and piled high with folders, some of them charmed to float in the air. From within the chaos, someone cried out "Lupin! How are you?"

"Seth, I didn't know if you'd remember me," Remus said with a smile. "where are you?"

"Left...not quite that far...look past the folder near your right hand..." Remus stepped carefully through the office, ending in a space free of paperwork, in which sat a small, studious-looking man, who was bent over a plateful of what looked like shepherd's pie. He waved at an empty chair. "Sit! Sit. This isn't a professional visit, is it? You're not due up for another assessment for at least two years -- but I'm sure I have your file -- "

"No -- purely social call," Remus answered. "And it's two-and-a-half years."

"So it is, so it is. You've had no incidents?"

"Going on fourteen years, I think, except the malnutrition admit, but even they had to admit that wasn't purely a lycanthropy-induced incident."

"Ah yes, that Snape business. Bad stuff, that."

Remus, as always, marveled at the perfect memory of a man with such disorganised habits. "Yes. I actually did want to ask you a few things, off the record."

"Always, my dear boy. Still having the dreams, are we?"

Remus looked down. "Well, sort of. It's not the same dream anymore."

The man chuckled. "You're not going to be dramatic on me like last time, are you? 'I think I'm going insane, I've caught a Muggle psychology'..."

Remus grinned. "No. Caught a psychology indeed. I finally told someone about the dream, by the way. One of the reasons I wanted to talk to you."

Seth set his meal aside, and leaned back, fixing dark, analytical eyes on Remus. "I suppose it's too much to hope that you finally told the man you were having the dreams about?"

"No, it was -- got to show him, actually. Pensieve."

"Useless things, except for that kind of work," Seth wrinkled his nose. "We're not speaking, I suppose, of the dreams which thrust you into such excruciating sexual confusion?"

A slight blush crossed Remus' cheeks. "I'm not all that confused anymore," he murmured.

"I didn't think so."

"Neither is he."

Seth leaned forward. "Not to be a gossip, but do you mean you converted the womaniser?"

"He converted himself -- that's not the point."

"Beg pardon, I think it's very much the point."

"No, I mean...the dream's changed now," Remus said, anxiously. Seth tilted his head slightly.

"How old were you when you came to me, nineteen, yes? Saying you had a frightening dream and were in love with another man. You thought you were going mad. You seem to have survived it," he added drily, before continuing. "I used what Muggle skills I have to counsel you, and it seems to have worked for the better part of ten years. I can only imagine that this self-conversion, as you say, of the object of your desire is responsible."

"There's been a lot going on," Remus said quickly. "I just...I wanted to tell you about it and see what you thought, as long as I was here -- we're visiting a friend."

Seth smiled. "Tell away then, lad. I have no appointments until two."

Remus took a deep breath. "I need to tell you about Harry first..."

***

Ted arrived back at Neville's room to find Andromeda sitting, working on a parchment tablet with a portable inkwell clipped to it; she seemed to be doing figures. She smiled and put a finger to her lips when he entered, nodding at the bed. The boy was curled up once more, but he seemed to be sleeping this time; round face smoother and younger-looking, more relaxed.

He had a right to be tense, Ted thought; to lose one's parents so young, and he'd probably seen them kill his grandmother...

"What are you working on?" he whispered, leaning over the back of his wife's chair.

"Conversions," she said. "I think the Galleon's a bit weak against the pound right now. Converting to Muggle money might turn a slight profit."

"Oh yes? Inconvenient though, as we do all our shopping at Wizarding shops at any rate," he answered, kissing the crown of her head. "We're not wanting for money, love, are we?"

"No, not in the slightest -- I was thinking of when we buy the Grimmauld house from Sirius. If we changed all the cash to Muggle money, we'd do well, and Sirius would, too. Plus I think there's some sort of tax break that way," she added, making a notation in the margin next to a few calculations.

"You really want to go ahead with this? Turning that old mausoleum into a shop?"

"Yes, and the upstairs would make nice guestrooms and a lovely big flat for us, with a few walls knocked out. Especially if we're going to need three bedrooms."

"Three?" Ted asked, trying very hard to sound surprised.

"Yes -- one for the two of us, and one for Nymphadora, and one for Neville."

"Mmm. Of course, how silly of me," Ted murmured. "Do you really think you can take him from his great-uncle, Andromeda?"

She cast a glance at the sleeping boy, and Ted saw that look again; the one she still gave Nymphadora when she thought the independent young woman couldn't see her. Her fingers twiddled the quill she wrote with, getting small drops of ink on the parchment.

"Dora's leaving," she said finally. "Whether she lives with us or not, she'll be off, and I know she was always gone for school, but it feels...different now. I've gotten used to the...the difficult years."

"Masochist."

She lifted her face just enough for him to be able to kiss her forehead. "What does that make you?"

"Mr. Masochist."

She laughed, softly.

"Everyone else still at lunch?" she asked. He shook his head.

"They went to see the Weasleys -- apparently Arthur's still here, getting discharged today. Remus ran off, said he'd be back soon."

"I don't think he likes hospitals much," Andromeda mused. "Then again, I guess nobody actually likes hospitals."

Neville stirred in his sleep, a little, and brushed ineffectually at some hair falling in his eyes. Ted reached over automatically and smoothed it away; when he realised what he was doing, he glanced down and saw Andromeda beaming at him.

***

"Remus, I'd like to say something that may sound, in my profession, rather mad. Will you bear with me?"

"Of course."

"You know of the theory of alternate universes? Existences in which our choices were different, and led us along different paths?"

"Yes...I've read books...the, er, Trousers of Time."

"Hah! Good, yes. Excellent metaphor. And you are aware that, as a creature at once human and non-human, you are particularly sensitive to magic of an intrinsic kind that is not necessarily...oh, how do I put this. You're familiar with Muggle electricity?"

"Yes, we use it."

"Good. There is electricity of the sort you plug into a wall, and then there's a more free-floating sort, the kind that gives us static shocks. As a werewolf, you're sensitive to magic of the second sort; not necessarily usable, but intangibly there."

"I'd read studies about it, but I can't say I've ever felt it personally."

"To you, being Changed so young, it would seem normal."

"What does this have to do with my dreams?"

"Patience, Remus. I think you may be tapping into this magic, and it may be leading you down a path to these other worlds."

"Oh. What does that...are you saying I'm seeing what might-have-been?"

"No -- what is, in another reality."

"So this...but it can't get into this one, can it?"

"I don't think it works that way, no. And anyway, it's just a theory. Who knows? I certainly can't see how it all fits together psychologically. Not in a way that makes sense given your personality."

"But in some other world...?"

"It would appear so."

"Excuse me, I -- I should go, I didn't realise we'd talked this long. Thank you...this was...enlightening."

"Come speak to me whenever you wish, Remus. Especially if the dreams change again. Free of charge. I'm fascinated by the idea, frankly."

"I -- yes. Thank you. Goodbye..."

***

Sirius didn't really listen to the talk going on around him in the little hospital room; instead he watched the door.

Remus had gone off without saying where he was going, and while Sirius realised that he had, in fact, done this thousands of times before in their lengthy acquaintance, right now the world was crawling with people who might be Peter in disguise, people who might be helping Peter, people who might realise that as a hostage for Harry, Remus was a good deal...

It ws absolutely ludicrous, but he was still mildly anxious. Ted had told him Remus said he'd only be a minute.

"Don't you think so? He's going off to be a charmbreaker," Nymphadora was saying. "So I said he ought to send me something from Foreign Places and he asked for our address..."

The door clicked and Remus let himself in, looking vaguely embarrassed but not at all as though he'd just battled off ten or twelve villains who were after his head. He nodded his greetings to the four of them and pulled a chair quietly up next to Sirius. Their knees bumped, his left with Remus' right, and Remus smiled when Sirius gave him a sidelong look.

"The mediwizard outside said that they're closing visiting hours soon," he said. "I'm willing to bet you can stay, but I think it's best if we take Harry back," he said, glancing at Sirius for confirmation. "They'll probably want Nymphadora out too."

"Yes, I'm a troublemaking adolescent," Nymphadora said, with an uncrackable ego that someone twice her age might have admired.

"Be a good girl," Andromeda said, as her daughter stood and straightened her robes. Harry, unusually solemn and silent, allowed himself to be led -- walking between Sirius and Remus, with Nymphadora on his heels -- out and down to the floo network, where they returned to Grimmauld Place.

"I don't guess I'm gonna be a Healer when I grow up," Harry said, reaching for some fruit on the table. "Hospitals're boring. And creepy."

"Thankless job, anyway," Sirius said, dropping into one of the chairs.

"Dora, can we go finish reading Bullfinch's Mythology now?" Harry asked. Nymphadora gave Sirius and Remus a questioning look.

"I don't see why not," Sirius said, touseling the boy's already-disorderly hair as he passed. "We'll come up later. Mind the naughty bits, Dora."

"Bullfinch already did that for me," she said sourly, stealing some crackers from the pantry as they headed for the staircase. "And why," came the rhetorical plaint from the stairwell, "can nobody remember to call me Tonks?"

Remus chuckled, leaning on the kitchen counter, shaking his head. Sirius rubbed his eyes.

"Hell of a day," he said.

"We've definitely had better," Remus agreed. "And I imagine we'll have worse if Peter abandons the bookshop. I hope we're right about all this -- if he's already long gone, we'll never find them in time. Especially if he has a safe place to brew the potion..."

"I wonder," Sirius said. "I wonder if it's even for him. Bellatrix was...there were many stronger men than Peter that she'd already wrapped around her little finger by the time she met Lestrange, you know. My mother..." and he spat the word, "admired her reputation as a man-wrecker. That was her idea of power, you know, seducing men and then destroying them."

"I hardly know where to begin listing all the things wrong with that," Remus sighed. Sirius stood, and walked to the pantry, rummaging around and coming up with a handful of peppermint humbugs.

"I had Andromeda buy some, and then forgot we had them," he said sheepishly. "I'll take some up to Harry later."

"I'm sure he'd like that," Remus said, somewhat distractedly, and Sirius realised the other man was watching him eat one, watching the way he rolled his tongue around the sweet...

"You did say we should talk, though," Sirius said, coming to lean on the counter, facing Remus, who was standing in profile. Remus turned to grin at him, and dropped his head shyly. "I got about halfway through the book, and it's not a slow-moving book," Sirius continued. "I'd no idea people got up to some of the things they did." He moved closer, so that Remus' shoulder touched his chest, his hip touched his stomach.

"Trust you to go to books," Remus murmured, and Sirius grinned, crunching up the peppermint.

"Andromeda recommended it," he pointed out.

"And I thought Molly Weasley was meddlesome," Remus replied. "How are they, by the way?"

"Fine. We're not discussing the health of the Weasley clan right now," Sirius chided. He swallowed the last of the sweet-toffee centre, and reached out, touching Remus' jaw, turning his head. His body naturally followed, and they leaned away from the counter, kissing, touching, exploring each other's mouths. Sirius shared the taste of mint and toffee, and Remus accepted it eagerly, palms pressed flat on Sirius' chest, while Sirius pulled him close by the waist.

He hadn't known it could be this good, and it was just getting better.

Remus broke the kiss and nuzzled his neck, lips finding his pulse and resting there, saying something he couldn't hear, but felt through his skin. He slid his hands up, over the other man's back, tangling them in shaggy brown hair.

"Think we can make it upstairs?" he asked, gasping as Remus' palms slid across his shirt, teasing him through it.

"How accurately can you Apparate?" Remus replied, with a grin. Sirius growled and they Apparated nearly at the same time, Sirius first to the bedroom with his usual pinpoint precision. Before Remus could recover, he pushed him back onto the bed and climbed over him, straddling his thighs and sliding his hands up his outflung arms, until their fingers tangled together. Remus arched up to meet him, erection evident even through his trousers, and Sirius moaned into his mouth.

"So you've been doing your homework," Remus said, around kisses that made Sirius feel seventeen. "Care to give a practical demonstration?"

Sirius grinned at him and released one hand, reaching into his back pocket for his wand. He pressed it to the collar of Remus' shirt, drawing it down in a line over his chest to his belt, and muttered, "destringo." Remus gasped when his clothes vanished, and Sirius' a second later.

"Some other time," Sirius said, as he bent to bite Remus' neck gently, Remus nuzzling the dog collar he still wore, "I'm going to spend an hour undressing you." He slid his lips down Remus' throat, licking delicately at his collarbone. "Touch every inch of skin on your body..." lower, cheek sliding over his chest, "...with my mouth..."

He felt Remus thread his fingers through his hair, enjoying the pleasurable pinpricks of sensation, akin to being petted, and he loved being petted; this, however, was not a child sharing his ice cream with Padfoot on a sunny stoop -- this was Remus begging him for more, as he nuzzled the line of his hipbone and explored a single scar on his belly.

"Sirius, let me show you -- " Remus gasped, as Sirius nipped the inside of his thigh, but Sirius shook his head.

"It's all right," he murmured, grinning. "I've read books."

Remus laughed, head tilting back, the line of his neck as beautiful a thing as Sirius had ever seen, and then gasped in the middle of it when Sirius slid his lips over his cock, tongue working around it gently. His hips bucked upwards and Sirius pinned them, exploring this new thing, feeling hard heat against his tongue, inside his mouth, wondering a little that this should arouse him -- to have Remus at his mercy, back arching, fingers clenching now in his hair...

He let his teeth graze the sensitive skin just a little, and was rewarded by a moan he hoped they couldn't hear in the library. He tried to take more, and heard Remus swear; his throat closed up for a minute, and he withdrew, heart racing.

Remus, chest heaving, propped himself on one elbow. "All right then?" he asked, worriedly. Sirius grinned, and swiped his tongue around the head of his cock, and the other man collapsed again.

"All right," he answered, vibrations in his voice making Remus tremble. "How'm I doing?"

"Please don't stop," Remus moaned, and Sirius was nothing if not obedient; by the time he had satisfied himself that he was getting the hang of things, Remus was incoherent, writhing beneath him, thrusting up into his mouth. He sat back for a second, hearing Remus whine in protest, and crawled over his body again, settling on top of him, kissing him, stroking his hair. Their bodies rubbed together in a slow rhythm, almost unconsciously, skin-on-skin, fever-hot.

"Top marks," Remus gasped. "Must thank Andromeda -- "

"Shh," Sirius answered, kissing him to quiet him. "Want to feel this -- feel you -- "

Remus smiled wickedly at him, and they were rolling suddenly, Sirius landing on his side and feeling a warm body curl around his back, Remus' cock sliding down his arse.

"Another lesson?" Remus inquired in his ear, voice low and compelling, and Sirius pushed back against him -- he wanted to feel...everything...

"Yes," he managed, and then, "There was a spell -- "

"I know it," Remus replied, one of his hands sliding down Sirius' hip, slipping over his belly to stroke him, slowly, lightly. "Restare aselli ..."

Sirius gasped and bit his lip when he felt warm slickness flood through him, followed by an almost unbearable pressure.

"All right, love," Remus murmured soothingly, still stroking him, "You'll get used to it, relax -- that's it..."

Sirius consciously relaxed, breathing deeply, concentrating on Remus' hands, his voice, and the aching fullness began to fade to something more pleasurable. He felt Remus press against him, tantalisingly slow, and then the fullness of before was nothing compared to this --

Remus moaned low as he pressed inside him, and sudden pleasure raced through his body, white-hot in his veins; another movement and he could breathe again, but then Remus thrust once more and he couldn't bite back a cry.

"Am I hurting you?" Remus asked roughly, face pressed to his neck. Sirius shook his head, trying to find words to plead for more. "I want to please you, Sirius..." he continued, as his hips began to move in a slow rhythm that was probably going to kill Sirius from the pleasure of it. "Oh...I want..."

He caught his breath, the motion tensing his whole body, and Sirius covered the hand on his cock with his own, guiding it, trying to fall into the movement of hips against his, shuddering when Remus' fingers tightened, and when his cock inside him was right...there...and Remus said his name...

He arched and came, feeling the pulse of orgasm through his entire body, barely aware that Remus came also, senses overloaded with the feel of warm skin, nimble fingers.

When he thought he might be able to speak coherently again, he drew a deep breath.

"I could have done that spell," he said. Remus, catching his breath, buried his face in the nape of Sirius' neck, and laughed.

"Full marks for effort," he said, voice pleasantly low, sounding satiated.

"I should think so. That was..." Sirius fumbled shyly for words.

"...better than I'd even imagined," Remus finished, muttering some spell to clean things up a bit. How did Muggles manage without magic...

Sirius realised what he'd said, and the mental images flooded him -- Remus imagining this, imagining him, touching himself. Pleasure that was nearly over the line into pain flooded him. He moved, turning so that he could face the brown-haired man, seeing something almost desperate in his eyes.

"You don't have to imagine now," he said, and Remus smiled, a true, honest smile. When had the world begun to light up when he smiled like that?

"I know," he said, drawing him closer for a kiss. "Are you all right?"

"You can stop asking," Sirius said, nibbling the corner of his mouth. "That was....very good."

"Good," Remus nuzzled his cheek, their bodies fitting together, arms securing each other in place. "I wanted to let you try it the other way round, first, but...sort of, in the moment -- "

"Shut up now," Sirius ordered, and Remus laughed again. "If I wanted to stop you, I would."

"You always can," Remus said softly, eyes closing as he rested his head in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. "Never want to hurt you," he said, breath deepening. Sirius closed his eyes also, enjoying the warmth of his body, the fact that this was Remus -- here -- trusted -- the man he trusted above anyone else in the world.

They lay together for a while, silent, matching each other's breathing, until Remus stirred and pulled back a little, sitting up. "We should check on Harry," he said, sliding a hand possessively down Sirius' arm, exploring the corners and ridges of his knuckles.

"So we should," Sirius answered reluctantly. Remus slipped off the edge of the bed and picked up his clothes from the floor where they'd been sent, offering Sirius his shirt. Sirius watched the way he dressed; settling the shirt around his shoulders, tightening his belt around his hips. He'd never paid particular attention to men, or to Remus, not as objects of desire; now he wondered why. The fall of white linen over broad, unmistakeably masculine shoulders shouldn't do this to him, but he had trouble caring. Remus turned, and grinned at him.

"You're supposed to put that on, you know," he advised, laying Sirius' trousers on the bed. Sirius broke away from his contemplation and nodded, pulling the shirt back on, doing up the buttons slowly. He saw Remus' eyes darken slightly, and glanced down; just his hands, doing up his shirt...

Hadn't Remus said something, before they slid into sleep at some point in a past that seemed more distant by the hour, that he'd admired his hands? Sirius smiled, and did his buttons slower, slipping fingers under the edge of the shirt occasionally, to graze bare skin. Remus caught his breath.

"You're supposed to put those on, you know," Sirius said conversationally, indicating the socks Remus held clenched in one hand. He watched in fascination as the blush spread all the way down his throat.

"Hoist on my own petard," Remus muttered. They made themselves presentable, more or less, and Remus smiled suddenly when Sirius spread his arms, tacitly asking if there was anything amiss.

"What is it?" he asked, and Remus shook his head. "What?"

"You've got a bite-bruise, just here," he said, tapping his own shoulder. Sirius touched it, and felt a slight tenderness. "Sorry, I don't think anyone who isn't looking will see it under the shirt..."

"Are you sure?" Sirius asked. "Not that I mind all that much -- "

"Fairly sure," Remus answered. "That wasn't why I laughed."

"Oh?" Sirius asked, drawing closer. Remus kissed him, seductively.

"I was just wondering how I'm going to get through dinner if I get hard every time I see it," he whispered in Sirius' ear. A pleasant tingle worked its way down Sirius' spine and settled in his own groin.

"You'll just have to, now, won't you?" he answered, lowering his voice. Remus growled and nipped his earlobe before stepping back. Sirius, conscious of the bruise now, felt it ache a little; he wondered if he ought to heal it, or put a prolonging charm on it.

He rather liked belonging to someone, and didn't at all mind being marked for it.

"You're going to have to lend me that book," Remus said, as they walked down the hallway towards the library.

Chapter 25

Severus did not return for dinner that night, and Neville didn't, after all, come home with Andromeda. Instead, Ted took a basket of food to the Aurors who, with Snape, had set up camp above the hair salon across the street from Sandust, watching for Peter's return. Andromeda arrived home with an armful of hospital paperwork, and spent a significant amount of the evening filling in her name, her birthdate, her references, her economic status, and her intentions towards young Mr. Longbottom. His great-uncle had been almost relieved not to be burdened with a young child, but St. Mungo's wanted to make sure that the boy wasn't being taken willy-nilly like a picture book from the library.

"I'm sure I can steal Nymphadora's old tutor back from the LeVances, they don't know what he's worth anyhow," she said, as she shuffled papers. Remus, next to her, filled out the Black family tree for God-only-knew what purpose, with the help of an elderly book. "He'll have a proper education that will prepare him for Hogwarts. None of this pushing-off-piers business. His parents would be horrified, I'm sure."

"Be sure you put something in that short-answer question about taking him to see them on week-ends," Ted put in. "He told me while you were getting the papers that his gran takes him every Sunday."

"Morbid," Andromeda sniffed. "Scaring the poor child that way. Still, I suppose seeing the truth is better in the long run. I wonder if anyone's bothered to sit him down and explain it to him what's happened, or if they presume he somehow just knows. Really, people oughtn't to be allowed to raise children without taking some sort of class first."

"Yes, love," Ted murmured, exchanging a mildly amused glance with Remus. "Speaking of raising children, where's Dora got to?"

"Research in the library," Sirius answered, walking into the room with a handful of books. "Is it normal to be studying this much before she even starts classes? She's reading loads more than Lily did when she was getting ready for the Academy."

"Competitive field, I would imagine. That's what Lily always said, and I'll bet it's worse now. Harry asleep?" Remus asked.

"Very nearly," Sirius answered. "I thought I'd read up in -- " he coughed, "the room across from him...."

"Your bedroom?" Andromeda asked helpfully. Both men turned slightly red. "Remus, you should sleep too. Isn't Severus coming to fetch you at eleven?"

Sirius frowned at her. "Andromeda, are you meddling?"

"Yes, Sirius," Andromeda replied, head once again bent over her paperwork. Ted couldn't quite stifle a laugh. "Now run along."

Sirius glanced at Remus, who shrugged and smiled a little, eyes drifting down the line of his neck to the purpling bruise on his shoulder. He left, and Sirius glared uselessly at Andromeda before following.

They didn't make it quite to their room before they gave in, hands hooking in belts and cupping chins to kiss, noses bumping, pulling each other along the hallway and into the room they shared. It was good, in general, Sirius felt; though it was very peculiar that the first bed they shared should be a musty guest-bed in the house of a family that would have screeched in shame to see what went on in it.

They fell back on the bed together, Remus curling against him as though that was the only place he fit.

"I should sleep," he said in Sirius' ear, as their hands roamed, exploring each other, learning new sensations.

"We're lying down," Sirius answered. "That's almost sleep."

"Not by half," Remus murmured, but he didn't protest when Sirius dipped his head, tasting his skin. They kissed and touched, tangling the bedclothes around them, until Remus lay back again, breathing hard. Sirius sank down beside him, nuzzling shoulder and neck.

"I have something I need to ask you," he said quietly, and Remus closed his eyes, smiling.

"Oh yes?"

"Mm." Sirius lay his hand possessively across Remus' stomach, fingers curling over his hip. "This afternoon. When you left. Where did you go?"

Remus covered the hand with his own. "Is it so important you know?"

"I'd like to. If you'd rather not say, I'll understand, but these are," he kissed his shoulder again, "uncertain times. I didn't like you being alone and unprotected."

"I can defend myself," Remus answered, but his tone was gentle. "I went to see the man in charge of my..." he sighed. "My registry file with the Ministry. The one I had to see after I tried to kill Severus."

"I'm sorry."

"I know you are."

"I never meant -- "

"Sirius, if I was still angry at you, I would have left you behind long ago."

Sirius considered this in silence, until Remus drew a breath and continued. "The dreams are changing."

"The ones about Peter?"

"Yes..." Remus put one hand over his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "They're not about Peter anymore, not directly."

"What are they about?"

"Harry."

Sirius felt his breath hitch. "What about Harry?"

"Him being hurt. I don't know." Remus rolled away, turning his back, legs curling slightly. Sirius let his hand slip until it was just barely resting on his hip, afraid to move closer for fear Remus would move away again. "There's a...it's some empty place, there's a tree, and Harry's there, but he's -- he's older. At first I thought it was James, but he has green eyes."

"How old?" Sirius asked, sliding closer slowly. Remus didn't shy away.

"Fifteen, maybe. Maybe a little younger. He's hurt -- his blood -- like Peter actually took. I think...I don't remember it very clearly. Peter has a silver hand, I don't know why, and when I see that I always wake up. It's blurred. But Harry gets hurt, and Peter somehow...resurrects Voldemort. Like Snape said he might."

Sirius pulled him closer. "How long have they been going on?"

"A few days. Only since Peter attacked Harry, but every time I sleep, they're there. It worries me."

"But your last one didn't come true."

"Not yet."

"Not ever."

"Peter did come back, though. And he was right under our noses."

Sirius sighed. "Harry's already been hurt."

"He could be hurt again."

"We won't let that happen."

He heard Remus draw breath to remind him that they hadn't been able to stop it, and he spoke before the other man could. "They're just dreams."

"But they might be things that are happening, somewhere. In some other world. This one isn't like the last one; it feels like a story I've been told, not one I've seen. But it still feels too real, Sirius." Remus sighed. "I need to sleep. Unless you want a very cranky werewolf on your hands come morning."

Sirius curled every inch of his body he could against the other man, trying to comfort him with heat and contact. "Planning on sleeping here?" he asked lightly. "Snape's going to have a really fascinating reaction to coming to fetch you and finding me," he said, "wrapped around you like a second pair of pyjamas..."

Remus snorted. "With Snitches on, I suppose."

"Any way you want," Sirius answered. "I -- what is it?"

Remus was sitting up, pushing him away gently. "Do you hear that? It sounds -- "

He slid off the bed, crossing swiftly to the door and opening it, peering out into the hallway. Ted and Andromeda's door was closed, and Nymphadora's also, though a light was on under hers; there was a thudding noise, as though someone was running up the stairs...

"Snape," he said, as the black-cloaked man turned onto the landing. "What on earth -- "

"There's no time," Snape growled, running down the hallway. "Sandust -- Peter -- "

"He's come back?" Sirius demanded. Snape shook his head.

"Come back, yes -- but not captured -- the shop, set it on fire -- "

Remus bolted for the stairs, and Sirius gripped the doorframe tightly. Nymphadora had come to the door of her room, and Andromeda moved to stand next to her daughter, Ted nearby.

"Peter," Snape said more clearly. "He's set Sandust on fire. Go."

"Neville," Sirius said, pointing at Andromeda, who nodded agreement and ran inside to change, Ted following her. "I'm going. Stay here. Dora, you mind Harry. Do as Snape tells you!" he shouted over his shoulder, as he followed Remus' mad dash for the stairs. He heard the Tonkses following him, and barely paused to toss floo powder into the flame before ducking into it and shouting "High Street Watchroom, Little Whingeing!"

He emerged into confusion, backlit by a fierce, terrifying orange light; ahead of him, Remus was slithering down the stairs and out into the street, running towards flame -- flame licking out of the windows of Sandust, his bookshop, his haven --

"Remus, no!" he shouted, dropping hard to the ground and running off-centre to catch up with him. Remus stopped barely shy of the flames, staring in horror, and then turned to Sirius.

"The spell," he said. "The books -- your wand!"

Sirius drew his wand almost on instinct, and Remus steadied his arm, wrapping his wrist around Sirius', his own wand clenched tightly.

Flame was consuming the wooden wall-beams; heat-shattered glass littered the pavement, and the air reeked of smoke and burning trash. Inside, he could just barely see shelves, beginning to warp with the heat, books beginning to blacken and char. For a split second he thought he saw a long-limbed, almost apelike shape moving within the flames, but a second later it might have been a trick of the light; Remus was holding him with his left hand so hard he was going to break bones if he wasn't careful, and it distracted him.

"Eripio libris," Remus said in his ear. "Say it, Sirius."

"Eripio libris," Sirius repeated, chanting the words. "Eripio libris. Eripio libris. Eripio libris -- "

"Get back!" Moody was running towards them, pulling them away as the storefront began to crumble, but Sirius could feel the magic coursing through them now -- an old spell they'd put on the bookshop, just in case, to rescue the valuable volumes should something dire happen. But why was the fire burning still -- the Aurors should have been able to put it out with a simple freezing charm...

Moody finally tore them back just as the facade of the building fell forward, and they were pelted with sparks and burning ash. Sirius heard himself cry out and felt Remus move to block the cinders even as others pulled them across the street again.

"Did we save them?" he panted, as they backpedaled, running back into the brick wall of the hair salon. Remus pushed his hair out of his eyes and gasped for breath, a nasty burn showing livid on his throat. Fire, Sirius recalled. Silver, beheading, other werewolves, and fire...

"I think so," Remus rasped. "Felt like it. We can check with Dumbledore in the morning, they should have gone to the Hogwarts library -- oh, Sirius..."

Sirius turned to face him properly, and saw tears soot-streaking Remus' cheeks as he stared at the flame-engulfed remains of Sandust.

"My bookshop," Sirius said brokenly. Moody pressed cups of water into their hands, turning to stare at it also.

"Tis an awesome sight," he agreed, seamed face etched with anger and sorrow. "Been enchanted against simple fire-fighting charms -- called in specialists -- " he faced Sirius, curiously. "And how'd ye know about it, then? Alarms we weren't told about?"

Sirius shook his head. "Snape came for us. We left as soon as we heard."

Moody stared. "Snape? That one hasn't left the Healers -- " he gestured with his hand to where a small crowd of Aurors were being treated for burns, and sure enough, in the thick of them they could see a pale, soot-smudged Snape, bereft of his outer robes, holding a bandage to his temple, another taped over his cheek.

"But he came to -- " Sirius paused, then ran across to the knot of Healers, shoving them aside roughly, lifting Snape with one hand. "Did you call us?" he demanded. When Snape looked at him, bewilderedly, he shook him. "Did you come to Grimmauld Place this evening?"

"No -- I was attacked..." Snape winced as he was set on his feet, and took the bandage away from his head, where a square patch of flesh was missing along his hairline. "They only found me because -- "

"Polyjuice," Sirius growled, turning to Remus, who was helping support Snape as he eased himself back down. "He's polyjuiced himself -- "

"Merlin," Remus breathed. "We left Harry and Dora with him -- "

Sirius Apparated out of instinct, back to Grimmauld Place, running through the wards and nearly knocking down the front door, bursting inside and up the stairs.

"HARRY!" he shouted, dashing into Harry's room. Nothing. "DORA!"

He could hear Remus, on the floor below, pelting up behind him. "HARRY? NYMPHADORA!"

"HARRY!" Sirius shouted desperately. "HARRY!"

Remus caught him as he passed, almost swinging him around. "Sirius -- "

"No -- "

"Sirius, they're gone."

***

He had not been treated as an equal by the Aurors, which rankled Severus Snape deeply. If there was one thing he knew, it was how to keep watch. Wasn't he just as responsible for the boy's welfare? Hadn't he spent hour upon hour of his own spare time with the child, trying to give him some kind of civilised upbringing?

So, when he saw the shadow scuttling into the bookshop, rather than alert the others, he simply slipped out of the watchroom, down the stairs, and into the darkened street, black cloak hiding him from not-terribly-attentive eyes -- Moody was on break, otherwise he never could have made it -- and down the alley to the back door of the shop. If he could catch Peter himself, the reward would be great, and not just in terms of showing up the arrogant Aurors chatting away to each other in the watchroom.

He let himself into the shop, mindful of the hexes, and stalked stealthily towards the front, where he could hear voices -- that was Pettigrew's irksome squeak, he remembered it, and the other must be Bellatrix...

He stepped out from behind a shelf and raised his wand, the end glowing faintly with a hex at the ready.

"Don't move," he said.

He had a moment in which to examine the almost cherubic face of Peter Pettigrew, blond hair shaggy around his head, pudgy fingers clenched around a chalice. The look was faintly surprised, eyes slightly wide, though still not terribly intelligent -- much as they had been at school, when someone had said something that didn't fit into Peter Pettigrew's mental script.

He had another moment to notice that Bellatrix was not in his line of sight, right before something hard and cold connected with his temple and the world went away for a while.

When he woke, it was to choking smoke and unbearable heat; a pain in his head told him he'd been cold-cocked, and worse, sucker-punched, by a woman. A tiny rational voice in the back of his head said that at least it was a Black, and their women hardly counted, they were that manly, but this was not a comfort when one of his shoes was on fire...his robes were gone, just his tunic and trousers remained --

There were shouts outside, and he crawled towards the noise, eventually pushing himself upright, stumbling against the white-hot front door, trying to shoulder it open. Fire; the bookshop was on fire -- the books --

He had that moment's hesitation which comes when all true book-lovers are faced with a decision between personal destruction and literary travesty, but his self-preservation instinct got the better of him, and he staggered out into waiting hands, which dragged him away from the awful, awful heat and into the cool night air.

Bandages were pressed to his head, lung-clearing charms were applied and a salve for burnt skin was spread on his hands. When he was finally fully aware of his surroundings, he found himself in a small knot of concerned Aurors and Healers, holding the bandage to his head, watching in horror as a bookstore burned. It didn't matter that The Most Despised And Hated Sirius Black was its owner; setting books aflame simply Wasn't Done.

"Are they getting the books?" he thought to ask. "Is someone saving the books?"

"It's a goner, mate," replied one of the Healers. "Be lucky if there's slag left by the time that thing burns itself out."

"But the books..." Snape insisted, just as he saw Black and Lupin arrive.

The man said something else, but Snape was intent on the pair standing too-close to the fire, arms outstretched, wands at the ready; some sort of charm? They couldn't stop the flames or the aurors would have by now, but perhaps there was hope yet --

The world became a blur for a while, as actual pain began to set in, and he began to wonder if the dizziness was lack of oxygen or blood, or simply confusion brought on by being left for dead in a burning building. He didn't pay attention to anything else until he saw Sirius charging towards him, and then he could hardly move before he was being lifted off his feet and shaken until his teeth rattled. Black was shouting something about Grimmauld Place; Snape winced and took the bandage off so he could hear better.

"No," he replied, trying for Haughty and barely making Coherent, "I was attacked...they only found me because -- "

Black cut off his explanation, and Snape realised something was very, very wrong.

"Merlin," Remus breathed. "We left Harry and Dora with him."

He saw both men Apparate, and realised finally what was going on; the fools had left Harry with Peter Pettigrew, disguised as himself, and run off to protect their bookshop. Cursing them for idiots, he stood and took two swift steps away from the knot of people trying to restrain him, and Apparated also, praying the concussion he was no doubt suffering from wouldn't cause him to splinch.

***

"This isn't Hogwarts," Nymphadora said, which may have been stating the obvious, but clearly did need to be stated anyway. Professor Snape had taken them here with a crudely-made Portkey, since Harry couldn't Apparate; she didn't consider it odd that he carried a Portkey to a deserted graveyard in his pocket. This was, after all, Terrifying Professor Snape, who for seven years had reminded her just how stupid she could be. She trusted him, to a point, in that he had still helped her score highly on her Potions NEWT, but that didn't mean she didn't fear him.

"No," Snape said. "We'll be safe here."

Nymphadora looked around at the windswept graveyard. "We will?" she ventured, holding Harry's hand tightly.

"Cool," Harry said, looking around.

"Come with me," Professor Snape snapped, and she followed as he stalked through the gravestones, towards a tree overlooking the back edge of it. Harry trotted to keep up.

"Slow down, Harry's out of breath," she said, but he whirled on her and nearly snarled.

"Do you want him happy or do you want him safe?"

She felt Harry's hand tighten in hers, and saw Snake's head poking out of Harry's collar, the rest of the coiled body wrapped around his shoulder and arm. Harry bowed his head a little, and then stopped walking altogether.

"Come on, Harry," she urged, but Harry shook his head stubbornly. "What's wrong?"

"That's not Professor Snape," Harry said. Nymphadora looked at the tall, black-clad man, who had turned ominously when he heard the words. "That's not Professor Snape, and I don't trust him, and neither does Snake, because Snake says he taste-smells wrong."

Nymphadora met Snape's eyes, which flickered for the barest second. She went for her wand, but he was faster; roots sprang from the ground, grabbing her wrists like bony, withered hands, clawing their way up the back of her robes and settling in a choke-hold around her neck. Harry went for the wand, but offshoots wrapped around his whole body, pinning him against her hip, snaking down his legs to keep him from struggling. He hissed, and Snake wriggled out of his shirt, but a single branch forked around and caught Snake's writhing, wriggling body in a v-shaped prong against the bindings on Harry's arms.

Snape leered down at them.

"My old companions are too trusting by half," he said. "But then Moony always was a fool and Padfoot never did well in emergencies. I suppose you're meant to be his nanny. Plain little thing, aren't you?"

Nymphadora snarled and tried to lunge forward, but the branches throttled her, and eventually she gave up struggling. Instead she tried to change face, but the plants moved with her, tightening when her neck narrowed, expanding when her body widened.

"And a metamorphmagus! Perhaps I spoke too soon." The man in Snape's body clapped his hands delightedly. "We might keep you. Bellatrix would have a use for you, I have no doubt. Shame about the boy. He looks rather like James."

Harry gazed up at the man, eyes almost placid behind his glasses. "I'm not scared of you," he said. "I bet you're Peter Pettigrew. Everyone says you're dim."

"Hold your tongue," came the reply. Nymphadora tried to calm herself, but her heart was threatening to pound so hard it would break her ribcage.

"So you're Peter," she said softly. "I remember you."

He glanced at her, almost idly. "You're far too young."

"I'm Nymphadora, Andromeda's daughter. You came to our house once, when I was seven or eight. Sirius made fun of you for falling out of our orange tree," she said, with an almost preternatural calm. He backhanded her hard, and the branches caught her other cheek when her head turned.

"You keep your hands off her!" Harry shouted, struggling again, but the branches tightened and, when Snake hissed and writhed, he stopped.

"It's impolite to hit a woman, Peter," said a new voice, with the velvet-softness that comes from psychopathic insanity. The man with Snape's face turned, and Dora craned her neck as much as she could.

Bellatrix, the aunt she'd never seen, was perched on an old above-ground tomb as if it were a park bench, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, though her clothes were a tattered Azkaban prison uniform and a disturbingly jaunty hat. She wasn't much older than Andromeda, Dora remembered; her face was lovely, pale and smooth except for deep shadows under her eyes, and her black hair was swept back in two shining braids, which lay like silk rope over the dusty tatters of her clothing.

She took the hat off and turned it about. "I found this. Do you think it belongs to Sirius?" she asked.

"That's Remus' hat!" Harry squawked, indignantly.

"The halfblood werewolf?" Bellatrix wrinkled her nose, and threw it at them, trying to get it on one of their heads as if they were a carnival game. She slid off the bench with disturbing grace, and circled them, picking up the hat and placing it on Nymphadora's head. She giggled.

"Queen!" she declared. Nymphadora shook her head, trying to dislodge it, and felt Bellatrix's fingers clamp down on her scalp, through the brim of the hat. "Hold still, my dear," Bellatrix breathed, and Nymphadora held her breath against the stench.

"This," Peter said, wrinkling Snape's nose in disgust, "is Andromeda's daughter, Bellatrix."

The woman made a vaguely displeased noise. "You shouldn't have hit her, Peter. It's wrong to hit girls. Especially Blacks. Even if they are unnatural mudblood spawn. We tend to hit back."

"I'll do as I please," Peter answered sullenly. "We should begin."

"Pretty baby," Bellatrix murmured, moving to crouch in front of Harry.

"Leave him alone!" Dora ordered, struggling to free herself until the branches tightened so much she could barely breathe.

"Pretty green-eyed baby boy. Will you be my baby boy?" Bellatrix asked.

Fast as lightning, Harry craned his head forward and bit a chunk out of her jaw.

Bellatrix drew back, shrieking, and clawed at his face, but only succeeded in knocking his glasses away. Harry spat blood at her, straining against his bonds, while Peter yanked her away.

"You can kill him in due time," he growled in Snape's voice. Bellatrix shrieked, and he held onto her until she had spent herself trying to get to Harry, who glared defiantly at her. Peter pressed the tip of his wand to the wound, healing it.

"You're a crazy old woman and when my godfather gets here he'll show you!" Harry shouted, and then Nymphadora heard him drop into Parseltongue, furiously. Bellatrix stopped cold, staring in fascination as the small, tightly bound child hissed and spat.

"Call for help, Harry," Nymphadora urged softly, but if Harry heard her, he paid her no mind. "Harry, call for help in Parseltongue, maybe there are snakes nearby -- " she cut off as the bindings tightened again, squeezing the breath out of her briefly.

Bellatrix wrenched Peter's wand from his hand and said a word, tremblingly, and the branches holding Harry clamped his jaw shut, encircling his head. Harry continued to glare fiercely, if somewhat unfocusedly.

"Quite finished?" Peter asked, taking the wand from her trembling hand. "Very well."

Bellatrix dropped to the ground, and began drawing in the dirt; at first Nymphadora thought she'd gone into a fit of some kind, but then the etchings glowed green, and earth seemed to fall away, leaving a narrow, deep pit into which she reached.

Was that rustling in the wilderness beyond the graveyard?

Bellatrix drew out a sack, cackling to herself as she unpacked it.

Tails in the tall grass, or merely a trick of the moonlight?

A cauldron, full of liquid; two vials, and a strange circular wooden pendant, on a tattered green ribbon.

Nymphadora was sure she saw eyes watching them, but if Harry couldn't talk, he couldn't tell the snakes what to do. She looked sidelong at Harry; he'd gone almost rigid, and his eyes had closed; his lips moved, even though his jaw couldn't.

Then Peter picked up a shining metal knife from the ground where Bellatrix had thrown it, and Nymphadora's whole world closed to a single tunnel with that knife at the end of it.

"What're you going to do with that?" she asked. "You have his blood, you don't need -- "

"I have his blood," Peter agreed, almost absently. "But you see, we're doing two spells tonight, aren't we, Bellatrix?"

The woman grinned up at him.

"One is going to make me powerful," Peter continued, tipping up her chin with the point of the knife, "beyond your wildest dreams -- beyond anyone's," he corrected smugly. "And the other is going to help me find my master, and to find my master, we have to use the boy. Because the boy, you see..." he added, drawing the blade now down Harry's cheek, not quite opening the skin, "carries my master's scar."

He seemed to choke then, for a moment, and Nymphadora wondered if they were saved, but all that happened was he began to shrink, his face to puff out and nose to shorten. Before long, he was not the intimidating, tall potions master, but a small, rodentlike man with beady eyes and wispy, dead-looking hair. He smiled a sharp little smile at her that was completely unterrifying in his round face. She'd never felt so much like laughing in her life, somehow.

"Handy of him to happen along into Bella's trap," Peter said, as his hands shortened. Nymphadora hadn't noticed what elegant fingers Snape had until they were growing back into the stubby, ugly ones that belonged to Peter Pettigrew. "We were hoping for Padfoot, but Snivellus isn't too useless. And of course the floo recognised him. Couldn't have got into your house, otherwise. Dear, trusting Padfoot."

Harry was too still, but Nymphadora didn't dare stare, and Peter didn't seem inclined to notice.

"It's ready," Bellatrix said, behind him, and Peter turned away, shoving the knife into the turf near the now-bubbling cauldron.

"Stewed in a grave," he said. "And brewed by a madwoman. Fed the blood of two innocents..." he added, breaking the seals on the two vials and dumping them unceremoniously in, "...and bathed in the moonlight. Old magic, older than Latin, older than book-learned charms."

He hovered his hand over the seething mass, the odd wooden amulet clutched in one hand. Bellatrix drew her legs up and rested her chin on them, watching him.

"Get on with it then," she muttered.

"It's going to hurt," Peter said. "I'm steeling myself."

"Life is pain."

Nymphadora heard him mutter something extremely similar to "Thank you, Nietzsche" under his breath, and tried to suppress hysterics. Harry was beginning to twitch a little.

"Harry," she said, in a whisper, without looking away from the hesitating Peter, "snap out of it. We've got to get out of here. If you move your jaw just a little you can call the snakes. Come on, Harry."

Harry wasn't listening. Harry, she suspected, wasn't actually there.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Bellatrix said, and slammed her hands down on Peter's wrist, forcing his entire fist into the seething cauldron. He screamed, shrilly, and cursed as she held his hand there -- seemingly for an eternity before he broke, panting and sweating, body going limp. Then she smiled nastily and lifted his hand again. Nymphadora closed her eyes against the sight of his scalded skin.

She couldn't stand not knowing, however, and when she looked again Bellatrix was lovingly holding the amulet against his lips -- no --

Nymphadora watched as she shoved it, ribbon and all, into his mouth. Peter gagged and tried to scream again, but she kept pushing, and finally he swallowed.

He ate it, she thought. Oh Merlin he ate it look at his hand we've got to get out of here --

Peter toppled backwards onto the weedy dirt of the graveyard, chest heaving, right hand flexing and unflexing spasmically.

The little shining snake eyes were still watching. Nymphadora willed them forward, not that it was likely to do any good.

Then Peter sat up again, and opened his eyes. She stared. They were jaundice-amber, and the pupils had changed into the strange cross-shape of a goat's eyes, horribly intelligent goat's eyes in a human face.

He pushed himself to his feet. Bellatrix giggled. He lifted the cauldron with his right hand, which looked as though it had scarred over in the ten seconds between his falling and rising, and emptied it onto the ground. Mud splattered across Bellatrix's legs.

Peter held out his right hand, and Nymphadora quite literally felt her heart stop. He squeezed, and it beat. Palm; stop; squeeze, beat. He dropped his hand and she sagged into the now-welcome support of the restraints, heart finding a normal rhythm again.

"Now," he said, kneeling before Harry and cupping his face in one scarred hand, "We get to play with your baby boy, Bellatrix."

Chapter 26

The house on Grimmauld Place was heavily warded, but it could recognise its owner; Sirius and Remus had no difficulty getting inside, and Snape felt barely a tingle as he followed them. He caught up to them on the landing just as they were turning, and suddenly froze. The look of loathing on Sirius Black's face had, he realised, nothing to do with him, but it was still one of the most chilling sights he'd ever seen.

"Where would he take him," Sirius said hoarsely. "They could be anywhere -- how do we find him?"

"I need Frog," Snape said determinedly. Remus opened his mouth, confused. "Show me his bedroom. Right now."

"What are you going to do?" Remus demanded, even as he stepped back to lead the way. "Sirius, tell Moody. Get the Aurors searching, we'll find you at Sandust."

"No, stay here, we'll go together," Snape said, deftly picking through the bedclothes until he found the well-loved toy near the foot of the bed. He picked it up, eyes glittering, and turned to Sirius. "The Aurors can't help now. I can find the boy."

"You -- " Sirius said derisively, then stopped himself. "Can you?" he asked, and Snape heard every ounce of pride that it cost him. Sacrificed for Harry.

Because that was what one did for Harry.

"Be silent. Both of you," Snape said, and clutched the toy tightly, aware of how ridiculous he looked. Children didn't have the barriers that adults did, but finding Harry in the mass of humanity that populated England -- if he was still in England --

He'd gone into the boy's mind precisely twice in the months he'd known him; Harry had never noticed. It wasn't invading his privacy, he reasoned, if the child's own welfare was at stake. The first time, he wanted to be sure Harry was safe with his new guardians, that Harry was well-fed and well-loved. He had been satisfied to see the utter contentment of a child who was cared for, adequately, for the first time ever.

The second time he'd gone into Harry's mind had been the petrifying, terrifying day after Harry's birthday -- only a few days ago -- when Harry had been hurt, when he'd seen his own hands shake with anxiety over the child's safety. And then it had been, he told himself, no different from a Healer closing up his wounds; if Harry was upset or troubled, he merely smoothed it over.

The touch of the boy's mind was unmistakable. The thoughts of most children were more or less alike to any witch or wizard without a personal attachment to them, but Harry's always carried with them a distinct touch, associated in Severus Snape's mind with Voldemort and the night he'd been given his Mark, a bitter mental taste, like a bad memory.

"Please," he heard Black's ragged voice. "Tell me what to do."

"Be quiet, damn you!" Snape snarled, spreading mental touches out across vast distances. It would never work; Harry was too far away, too young. He was not that unique, just another child; the only uniqueness he posessed was that the first child Severus had cared for was --

Harry.

Pain and terror flooded his mind, heavily tinged with defiance. He saw through Harry's eyes, blurred; the boy must have lost his glasses. After a brief second he pulled back instinctively, caught halfway between where he was and where Harry was, unable to locate either one.

Tell me where you are, Harry.

Professor Snape?

Don't speak, Harry. Tell me where you are.

An uncertain moment. I don't know.

Are you in a room?

No, it's a graveyard, but I don't know where --

Tang of blood.

Did they hit you, Harry?

There's plants holding me down.

Are you bleeding?

No, a satisfied thrill, but she is.

She?

The bad woman. Bellatrix.

Sirius grabbed his arm. "Bellatrix?"

He must have spoken aloud. "Be quiet or leave -- " Harry, are you there?

I'm scared. Where are you? Where's Sirius? I want Sirius.

Show me where you are, Harry. Do you remember names on the gravestones?

He's here, Peter's here, he's going to hurt Nymphadora --

Harry, stop panicking this instant. Can you see houses? Trees?

I saw a big tree.

Harry, open your eyes.

Sight blended into shadow and Snape fought the urge to pull back again; looking through someone else's eyes was sickening and difficult. He saw Peter Pettigrew, arm outstretched, and heard through Harry the sound of Nymphadora Tonks' erratic, laboured breathing. A surge of power from Peter's direction nearly knocked him off his feet.

Harry, we're coming for you. I have to leave you now but we'll be there soon. If you get free, find a place to hide, stay low to the ground.

Don't go --

I won't be gone long, Harry, I promise.

In a graveyard in Little Hangleton, Harry opened his eyes into Peter's goatlike amber ones.

"Now," Peter said, "We get to play with your baby boy, Bellatrix."

"My godfather's going to kill you," Harry replied calmly. "And then you're going to be sorry."

***

In the house at Grimmauld Place, Severus Snape opened his eyes.

"I know where he is," he said. "It's an old meeting-place for Death Eaters. I can take you there, but you'll have to follow close. It's heavily warded."

Sirius stared at him. "You're the spy," he breathed, as Severus began to walk quickly towards the door. "The one Dumbledore's been protecting for seven years. You're the Death Eater who turned traitor for us -- "

"And if we don't leave now another traitor is going to kill your child," he answered, as they swept down the stairs and towards the front door. He turned once they were outside. Sirius surged forward.

"I left Harry alone with you, alone with a Death Eater -- "

"Do shut up, Black," he snapped, grabbing the other man at the side of his throat, his other hand catching Remus' wrist. "Look where I'm going. Follow me there. Look," he urged, and Sirius drew a quick breath, as the image flooded his mind. "Can you follow?"

Sirius nodded, and let the breath go when he was released. "Go. We'll follow."

Severus looked at Remus, who nodded also, gulping. He closed his eyes and Apparated to the graveyard of Little Hangleton, somewhere he never thought he'd be forced to go again. He wasn't even fully sure he was there before two cracks followed him, and Sirius and Remus stumbled out of the air.

Peter stood in front of them, one hand wrapped almost gently around Harry's throat, pinning the boy back against his body. He looked only mildly surprised.

"I heard you coming," he said pleasantly. "Just like old times, isn't it?"

"Let him go, Peter," Sirius growled. Behind Peter, Nymphadora was struggling with some sort of plantlike restraint. Bellatrix held a dagger in a perfectly flat line across her throat.

"You even brought a substitute for James," Peter said, still smiling a horrible smile. "Doubt Snivellus is James' calibre, but then, so few were."

Severus was staring at Harry, unblinking. Harry stared back calmly, then flicked his eyes to Sirius.

"Move and I'll crush his little lungs," Peter continued. He held out his free hand, and light crackled around it.

"He's done the spell," Remus murmured. "I didn't think you had it in you, Peter."

"I wouldn't, if you hadn't left your books lying around," Peter answered. "Good show, Moony. I blame you, personally."

"Kill him and we'll kill you, so it comes out even in the end," Severus said, because it was obvious Sirius wasn't going to.

"Oh, I doubt it," Peter laughed. "I very much doubt it."

The light crackling around his hand took on form, and seemed to rise in a spiky, flashing column, behind which he and Harry could hardly be seen.

"Can you get through it?" Severus asked, softly.

"Got a plan?" Remus replied. Severus thrust the idea directly into their minds, and felt Remus tense, Sirius' hands clench into fists.

Remus dove for the column of magical light at the same time Sirius raised his arm and shouted "Stupefy!" at Bellatrix, who dodged away from Dora, nicking her with the knife. Severus saw Peter and Remus hit the ground together, rolling, as he dealt with the burst of energy caused by a werewolf passing through a sheer magical barrier. Harry, landing hard on his elbows, began to scrabble towards Sirius, who scooped him up and shielded him behind a gravestone, against a sudden attack by Bellatrix. The stone cracked and began to crumble.

Remus screamed in pain as Peter pressed hands to his bare skin, hands that transmuted the air around them into silver for as long as it took to burn a werewolf, and Severus leapt, rolling and pulling Remus off of him, both of them slamming up against a tomb.

Light crackled around them, and he felt his muscles cry out, his very bones scream. Crucio --

It lasted only a second before it ended, but he dropped to the ground, exhausted. Next to him, Remus was panting for breath; Sirius, nearby, was trying to get his strength back. He'd hit all three of them at once with the Cruciatus. The power it would take --

Why had he stopped?

Then Severus looked up further and saw Peter reel and catch himself on a tombstone, forehead split open and bleeding.

Harry had a piece of the broken gravestone in his hand. Another one, sharp and bloody, lay near Peter's feet. All three men stared as Harry hurled the second, less effectively than the first one -- it glanced off Peter's chest, tearing fabric -- before picking up a third.

Severus shouted a warning just as Bellatrix lunged from behind, and Sirius turned, wand out, casting a killing curse at close range. Bellatrix screamed once, but only once. There was a dull thud as she fell.

Sirius pushed her body off of himself, crawling towards Harry, who was advancing on Peter. Peter pushed himself upright, finally, and stared at the boy. Remus reached down and pulled Severus bodily up by the collar of his shirt. Sirius stood, supporting himself on a gravestone, reaching uselessly for Harry.

Harry hissed.

From every direction, thousands of slim, sinewy bodies converged, crawling over stone, over grass, slithering their way with eerie, silent speed over the shoes of the men watching Peter, only Harry cutting a swath in their way. They twined up Peter's arms, around his legs, his waist; he shouted in Latin and some of them dropped away, but there were far too many --

"They'll kill him," Remus breathed.

"Good riddance," Severus couldn't help reply.

Sirius reached Harry, finally, pulling the stone from his hand and wrapping his arms around the boy's slim body. Harry pointed to a white object on the ground, a little china dog, and Sirius picked it up, closing Harry's fist around it and whispering a word. They vanished with the Portkey, a disant sound compared to Peter's shouted hexes. Snakes fell, writhed, surged up again; Peter was bodily tearing them from him, now.

Severus turned to see Remus supporting a nearly unconscious Nymphadora.

"We have to leave him," he said. "If they win, they win; if he wins, we're all in trouble."

"He's too powerful," Severus answered. "He'll win."

"She's going to die," Remus answered. "And if you stay you'll die too."

He nodded. "I'll follow you to St. Mungo's."

Peter's screams continued to ring in his ears as he Disapparated.

***

Nymphadora was bleeding, but they'd staunched it before it became life-threatening, and she'd managed not to splinch; Bellatrix had apparently kicked her in the head, but the Healers seemed optimistic that she'd be all right. Snape followed Remus' instructions up a floor to fetch her parents, who immediately took control of the situation, found her a private room, had a specialist woken and dragged in to the hospital, and generally made it known that if Nymphadora so much as sneezed wrong when she woke, there would be hell to pay.

Remus was bleeding from open sores on his arms where Peter's silver had burned him; Ted and two Orderlies had to restrain him from leaving the hospital when it was discovered that neither Sirius nor Harry were anywhere to be found. Moody was summoned from the aftermath of the Sandust fire, and stomped around shouting orders until he was thrown out of patient care; then he stomped around in the lobby shouting more orders. Snape, when he heard, had to be sedated while they treated him for aftereffects of the Crucio hex.

Remus, bandaged shoulder to wrist and across part of his collarbone and throat, finally slipped away and ran down to the recieving area, skidding to a stop in front of Moody.

"Any news?" he asked breathlessly. Moody crossed his arms.

"Not hide nor hair, though Bellatrix Lestrange is dead," he said bluntly. Remus sank into one of the chairs, stunned. "Pretty clearly self defence. Had a knife in one hand still. Haven't told Tonks and her brood yet. Don't think she'll take it well."

"What about Peter?"

"Found some bloody footprints. Hell of a tangle of snakes. Probably escaped," Moody grunted. "Next time, finish the job."

"You can have Peter dead or you can have the rest of us alive but you can't have both," Remus answered sharply. Moody snorted. "No word on Sirius or Harry? None at all?"

"Sure they're somewhere safe," Moody said almost placidly. "You'd know where. You know 'em better'n I do."

Remus raised his head, slowly, and met Moody's eyes.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I suppose I do."

***

The library was always empty this late at night, but especially, almost tangibly so in the summer; it was also dark, but that was the reason Remus had learned one of the few wandless tricks he'd learned, years ago. Ignoring the fire that burned along his arms from Peter's attack, he held up his right hand, green light licking across his palm.

He wandered quietly through the stacks, remembering the smell of old books that even Sandust had never quite imitated -- Sandust, which was now ash and ruin. He passed two tables piled high with books, probably the ones they'd sent here; valuable, rare, and magical volumes, irreplaceable knowledge.

Remus walked until he heard soft breathing, quiet sobbing. He cleared his throat, scuffed his feet on the floor as he moved, so that he wouldn't frighten them.

Sirius was sprawled in one of the enormous sofas the library boasted, next to a window that looked out on the moonlit Hogwarts grounds. Harry was curled on his lap, face buried in his shoulder, sobbing softly.

"It's me," Remus said unnecessarily. Sirius didn't move. Harry stilled, when he rested a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"He won't wake up," Harry said indistinctly. Remus knelt, fingers shaking, and checked for a pulse. The steady throb of blood through the vein seemed to take forever to find, but it was there, strong and even, and Remus felt his whole body relax with relief. He spread his hands across Sirius' face, over his shoulders and down his chest, searching for lingering effects of the hex, or any major wounds; when he was satisfied, he sank down next to them, pulling Harry from Sirius' lap to his, cradling the boy.

"He's just tired," he murmured. "He'll be fine. Are you all right?"

Harry nodded against his chest. "Peter killed Snake," he said softly. Remus stroked his hair.

"How do you know?"

"I heard him die. When he bit him, when the others were biting him..."

"I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry's limbs seized up for a second, and Remus recognised the whole-body sob of a grieving young child. "He tried to kill you and Sirius..."

"We're okay. Shhh, we're all right," Remus soothed. "It's going to be okay."

"Is Professor Snape okay?" Harry asked.

"He's at the hospital with Dora. They'll be fine. Hush now," Remus said.

"He tied us up and the awful woman hurt Dora..."

"Shh. It's okay. We're safe here."

"That's what he said right before -- "

"It's okay, Harry. It's me. Sirius is right here and so'm I. This is Hogwarts, nothing bad can get us here."

Harry fell silent, but Remus could feel him still shaking; when Harry finally began to breathe normally again, to slip into sleep, Remus realised he was shaking, too.

He shifted a little, careful not to wake the boy in his arms, and leaned against Sirius. He ought to be notifying Moody and St. Mungo's; he ought to be there for Andromeda and Ted, and be seeing to it that someone stopped Snape from tormenting the mediwitches. But this was the Hogwarts library, in a stone castle far away from the rest of the world, and he very nearly believed it when he told Harry nothing could hurt them here. If it could just be easy enough, for one night, to believe that there was Somewhere The Bad Guys Can't Get Us...

He listened to Harry and Sirius' even breathing as the moon moved through the sky; not until it was near to setting did he fall asleep, cheek on Sirius' shoulder, Harry still huddled in his arms.

***

"Oh Merlin, Sirius -- "

Sirius, walking stiffly into the ward the morning after the fight in the graveyard, accepted Andromeda's hug gingerly, head still aching, muscles sore and complaining. Ted, not far behind her, clapped him gently on the shoulder, and he winced; they moved on soon enough to Harry, who was in his arms, Andromeda lifting the boy into her own and making much of him, while Ted greeted an extremely exhausted Remus, who plucked shyly at the edge of his bandages. A whole cadre of Healers and Aurors descended, and Sirius clung tightly to Andromeda's arm, unwilling to be separated from Harry. They worked their way through the crowd, to the room Nymphadora and Neville now shared, and Andromeda set Harry on Neville's bed, carefully. Nymphadora waved, and changed her nose to a pig's snout. Harry smiled at her in greeting, and waved back a little.

"Worried about you, old man," Ted said to Sirius, who was suffering a Healer to examine him impatiently. "Snape's been telling us horror stories."

"All true," Sirius said grimly, as a mediwitch scolded Remus for pulling one of his bandages loose. "I thought it was better to keep Harry away from everything until morning."

"Could have told us where you were going," Andromeda said severely. Harry looked like he might burst into tears again. "I'm not mad at you, Harry," she said quickly. Harry scooted back on the bed, away from the Healers, until his back was against the wall.

"You let him alone," Neville said, to the world at large. Harry drew his knees up against his chest, and wrapped his arms around them.

"Snape all right?" Sirius asked Ted gruffly. Ted gestured to the doorway, where the Potions master was lingering, watching the rest of them warily; a patch of his hair near his temple was still missing, and a large plaster was fixed over one cheek. Sirius turned, and after a moment's eye contact walked forward, hand out.

Snape eyed it, before accepting.

"Thanks," Sirius said gruffly. "You found him; you saved him."

"I didn't do it for you," Snape replied.

"I know. I'm grateful anyway." Sirius released his hand. "No permanent damage?"

Snape touched the plaster on his cheek self-consciously, then peeled it away. Three jagged clawlines ran from temple to lip. Andromeda sucked in her breath sharply.

"It's not a scar," he said. "It's his mark. He clawed me -- when we fought he...changed it somehow." He rolled back one sleeve of his tunic, revealing a faint stain on the skin of his left arm. "Like this one."

Remus and Sirius both looked at him, curious and confused.

"He's gone to find Voldemort," Snape continued, and nearly everyone in the room flinched. "But he has his own power now. He has his own followers, or will soon. And he'll have his own mark. I doubt," he added drily, "that theirs will be as conspicuous."

"Can't it be removed?" Andromeda asked softly. He shook his head.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "It only means he's used me. A cheap taunt, and I've suffered cheap taunts before."

"But your face..."

"It doesn't matter," Snape repeated sharply, and Andromeda fell back a little. Sirius sat on Neville's bed, pulling Harry close, and Ted began quietly to herd everyone else out of the room, until it was just them -- Ted and Andromeda, Dora and Neville, Harry, Snape, Sirius and Remus. There was a collective moment when it seemed everyone was simply too tired to do anything more. Sirius gathered Harry into his arms, cradling him, and Andromeda reached out to stroke Neville's head when she saw the envy in his eyes. Remus picked at his bandage again, looking down.

"I kept Dark Arts books in the shop," he said quietly. "It wasn't a secret. They were curiosities, I always checked buyer references before I sold them, and I almost never did, you know. Sell them, I mean. The spell he found...could have been there. Or there could have been other spells, that would help him find what he wanted."

"It's not your fault, old man," Ted said.

"He said himself he wouldn't have had it in him to do what he did, if I hadn't left those books out -- " Remus stopped in a convulsive choke, still picking at the gauze wrapped around his wrist. "Our shop's gone. Harry's hurt and Neville...he never did anything to deserve -- "

"It's just a shop, Remus," Andromeda said.

"It was our home." Remus sighed, and looked up. "It was the only place I ever belonged. I'm so sorry, Sirius."

Sirius, head bowed over Harry, looked up.

"Don't pick at that," he said, and Remus' hands froze in the act of plucking a stray edge of bandage out. "You'll scar."

Remus stared at him.

"Peter laid hands on him, you know," Sirius said, to Andromeda.

"I know, Sirius," she answered.

"He went right through all Peter's magic," Sirius continued.

"I threw rocks," Harry added.

"You were very brave," Sirius said, and while it was clear from his tone he was talking to Harry, his eyes didn't leave Remus' face. Remus ran his fingers up and down his sleeve, scratching through fabric and gauze. Ted moved slowly to sit on his daughter's bed, and a great sense of exhaustion filled the room.

After a moment, Snape cleared his throat.

"If we're done feeling sorry for ourselves and each other," he said, "I'd like to point out that we are still in danger. Harry won't be able to stay in England. Not with Pettigrew so powerful. You're not safe here."

Sirius glanced at him. "We can find him -- "

"And what, let him kill you? I think not," Snape said sharply. Andromeda put a hand on Sirius' arm.

"He's right, Sirius," she said softly. "Until Peter's caught, you're going to have to take Harry away somewhere."

"This is his home," Sirius protested. "He goes to school here, all his friends are here."

"This is bigger than school and friends, you know that," Andromeda answered. "Remus, tell him."

Remus was still scratching his arm, almost absently.

"Remus," Andromeda prompted, and he started, turning to face her.

"Do try to pay attention, Lupin," Snape drawled.

"There's nothing left," Remus said, with a shrug that was made stiff by bandages and pain. "Not here. We'd only endanger the Weasleys. Until Harry's old enough for Hogwarts..."

"Unless," Snape said, very carefully, "He came to Hogwarts now."

"No," Sirius said.

"I know the boy's habits -- "

"No," Sirius repeated.

"Then you had best prepare him for hiding," said a new voice, and they all turned towards the door.

Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway, hands clasped, looking grave and unflappable. "Arrangements are being made," he said, calmly. "I've been informed of events. You were warned, Sirius, when you took Harry from his family -- "

"I won't let you take him," Sirius growled. Remus moved slowly to stand between Dumbledore and the bed where Sirius and Harry sat. Andromeda drew closer to Neville.

"Then you must go with him," Dumbledore said smoothly. "Peter should have no more use for young Longbottom," he continued, and Andromeda sighed with relief, "but if he is to find Lord Voldemort, he will require Harry. We cannot allow that to happen."

"Clearly," Snape said, sarcastically, but also very quietly. Remus fought a sudden, hysterical smile.

"Harry will be taken to Hogwarts, and conveyed from there to a safe place until an Auror escort and a Fidelius charm can be arranged to take him into deep hiding," Dumbledore continued. "This is not a point for debate, Sirius," he added, as Sirius opened his mouth to protest. "You may either accompany him or entrust him to my care."

"We'll come with you," Sirius said. Dumbledore gave him an inquiring look.

"We?" he asked.

Sirius gestured with the hand that wasn't wrapped around Harry's waist. "Remus and I."

"Remus cannot come."

Remus turned to look at Sirius, and then back to Dumbledore. His mouth worked for a moment. "Why not?"

"You're needed for the Fidelius," Dumbledore answered. "You will be the Secret-Keeper."

"But I'm -- "

" -- not necessary," Snape said suddenly, cutting him off. "Surely you see what an easy target he'd be, Headmaster. He hasn't an ounce of guile, and aside from sheer bloody-mindedness, very little grip."

Sirius was glaring daggers at Snape, but the dark-haired man moved forward, until he stood next to Remus. "You'll use me," he said. "My qualifications are far superior. This is not a point for debate either."

Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Snape met the headmaster's eyes unflinchingly, though colour rose in his face and the mark on his cheek seemed to throb faintly. Finally, the silence broke.

"I'm hungry," Neville said petulantly.

Dumbledore turned away from Snape as if he'd just noticed the small boy in the hospital gown, and they heard a slight snort of triumph from the Potions Master.

"Sherbet?" Dumbledore offered.

Chapter 27

"What about France? France has some lovely bits."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's France, Remus."

"Your Francophobia is appalling, Sirius. It borders on misfrancophy."

"That's not a real word."

"It could be. Fine, not France. Germany's nice. Good music, good beer."

"Nah. Can't speak German."

"Sirius, if we're confined to places that speak English, that's pretty much the States and Canada, Australia, bits of South Africa, and New Zealand. Not that New Zealand isn't lovely, but there are more sheep than people and I am not going to spend the next two, possibly nine, years where the livestock could outvote the residents."

"I wouldn't mind Canada. I've been there, I like Canada."

"One week every few years for a booksellers' convention doesn't count for much."

"Yeah, but it's big, Moony. Easy to get lost in."

"Yes. Easy to get lost in."

"Point taken. Fine. Australia. Anything wrong with Australia?"

"You mean, other than it not being England?"

"Well. Yeah."

"Nowhere's going to be England, though."

"No."

"How's Harry?"

"He's all right."

"How're you?"

"I'm all right. How're you?"

"Righteously pissed off, Sirius."

***

Sirius gave Remus a small smile, and went back to examining the extensive list of materials required for the Fidelius charm. It'd been eight years since they'd cast it last, and he hadn't been in on all of the work; Peter and Dumbledore had taken over from him in the last stages, so Sirius only knew theory a lot of the time anyway.

They weren't required to gather any of the items, at least; Snape was doing that, in bits and pieces, supplying most of them from his private brewing stash at Hogwarts.

"Me too," Sirius said, in answer to Remus' calm expression of rage. Remus glanced at where Harry was sitting at the boarded-over window, peering through cracks into the summer sunlight below. If they had gone to Sirius' hell when they went to Twelve Grimmauld Place, now they were in his own. He'd cleaned the dust and debris as best he could, when he started coming here again after they took Harry from the Dursleys, but there was no disguising the fact that it was a ripped-up, run-down empty building and no place at all for a child.

He smiled at his own judgementalism. It was the same thing his father had said on being shown the place where his son would spend his transformations. No place at all for a child. But it had heavy locking charms on the doors, and a place to keep food, and beds enough. The logic was sound; they would leave from the Shack for -- well, not-France-or-Germany-or-New-Zealand -- at the same time as decoys left from Hogwarts, and if they were being pursued, the decoys would be the ones followed.

Until then, however -- until Snape had the ingredients for the charm, and the pair of them picked a place to hide -- they spent their days and nights here, and Harry, as any nine-year-old would, was beginning to chafe.

He'd been quiet, at first, and withdrawn to a degree that worried Sirius. Not until Snape had arrived with their belongings from Grimmauld Place, including Frog, did Harry show any glimmer of interest in what was going on around him. He clung tightly to Remus or Sirius, often curling up next to one or the other of them with a book brought from the Hogwarts library by Snape. The rare volumes saved from Sandust by the eripio libris spell were being left in Madam Pince's excellent care, and putting her into fits of bibliophilic glee.

They, for their part, could do nothing but wait, and watch Harry, and try to induce him to go exploring in the old house with them. At night he slept in the largest of the beds, with Padfoot curled up on top of the blankets and Remus on a cot, reassuringly close. After three days, they no longer worried about Harry, except as parents of any child will do; he smiled and laughed more easily, and had stopped kicking Padfoot in his sleep over the nightmares he had.

Remus had nightmares too, but he hadn't anyone in the bed to be kicked, and besides, they weren't his usual sort. They were almost reassuring in their surreality, not at all the frighteningly-real dreams that showed him might-have-beens in other worlds, where Sirius was a convict and Harry perhaps dead, he could never tell.

If Severus Snape had nightmares about having lost Harry and being unable to find him, or about Harry wrapped in roots that grew and thickened until the child was part of a tree he could only pound on in a panic, he never said.

The touch of Sirius' fingers on his arm drew Remus back from his idle contemplation of Harry, and the worries circling in his head.

"We'll have to decide soon," Remus said, and Sirius nodded.

"My vote's for Australia," he replied, still touching Remus, hands moving gently over the lighter bandages Remus had been able to wear this morning; not the full-gauze wrap, just squares taped over the worst of the burns. Some of the lighter ones, more like bad sunburns than a reaction to silver, were visible, shaped like Peter's stubby-fingered hands. Remus hadn't let him see the worst ones, but assured him that in shape, if they did scar, they wouldn't look like handprints, for which Sirius was grateful. The idea of Peter's hands marking Remus for the rest of his life was something Sirius didn't want to think about.

"I don't want to leave Great Britain," Remus said quietly. "But...Sandust is gone, Grimmauld Place is Andromeda's, or soon will be, the lease on my flat was up in a month anyway...the bridges are burnt, Sirius."

"I should never have taken him away," Sirius murmured. "He's still locked up in a cupboard. Or might as well be, in this place."

Remus leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "If you hadn't, he'd be in that cupboard and still be stuck with the Dursleys, too. He wouldn't have people who love him. Even Snape." He swallowed. "And I wouldn't have you, would I?"

Sirius touched Remus' knuckles, scarred where he'd manage to crack Peter across the face.

"I don't know," he said. "We don't know what consequences our decisions have."

"We know some of them," Remus murmured.

"We can't help but wonder," Sirius continued, the tips of his fingers exploring every ridge and valley of Remus' left hand. "But we won't ever know, not really. In another lifetime, I guess I didn't take Harry."

Remus smiled mirthlessly at the cobwebbed rafters. "In another lifetime you couldn't."

"Do you think that's true?" Sirius asked. "Do you think there's a...a me, out there somewhere, who never bought Sandust, or moved to Privet Drive, or any of it?"

Remus didn't answer.

"I think you died," he said finally, in a voice so soft Sirius almost didn't catch it. "I haven't dreamed that. Yet. But I think one day I will. I have these half-memories...I think I lost you in far worse ways than I was afraid of losing you, here and now."

"But I'm not dead," Sirius said, voice deep, not questioning. Certain. His thumb brushed Remus' wrist before he withdrew his hand.

"You are not," Remus agreed, sitting up. "So there's no use dwelling on it, I suppose."

"No. No use dwelling." Sirius drew a breath. "What do you think Peter's likely to do, if he can't find us?"

"You remember Peter. He needs someone to tell him what to do. With Bellatrix dead...he'll pick up someone. Maybe even break someone else out of Azkaban. That's not our worry, Sirius."

"If it involves bloody Pettigrew -- "

"Our concern is keeping Harry safe. Let Dumbledore and Moody worry about Peter. It's what Moody's paid to do, you know," Remus said, drily.

Sirius' gaze drifted to Harry again, only to find Harry watching them talk. He spread his arms, and Harry jumped down from the windowseat, crossing the room to hug his godfather, hanging a bit on his neck. Sirius turned his head a little to kiss Harry's cheek, and Harry grinned and wiped it away.

"Tell us, Harry," Sirius said, turning to face him. "If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?"

Harry considered it thoughtfully. "On a holiday?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Hogwarts," Harry said promptly. Both men smiled.

"That's my lad," Sirius said. Remus raised his head, holding up a hand. There was noise on the stairs, and he picked up his wand, crossing the room to open the door.

"It's Severus," he said, over his shoulder, as the other man rounded the end of the staircase. Harry ran to meet him, and Snape spared enough of his dignity to pat him on the head before walking into the room, nose wrinkled with disgust at its state.

"I've spoken to Dumbledore," he said, without preamble. "You're leaving tonight. Be packed and ready to leave by sundown."

Remus glanced at Sirius. "But we don't know -- "

"A place has been chosen. Aurors will escort you directly there. Your flat is being packed as we speak," he continued.

"My flat -- "

"Alastor Moody is there."

"Couldn't warn us in advance much, could you?" Sirius drawled. Snape barely spared him a look. "Where is it then?"

"I've not been told. Headmaster Dumbledore -- "

"I don't suppose we get any say in it," Remus asked, slightly bitter. Snape turned to him.

"If you hadn't taken the boy from his family -- " he began, but Harry took a sharp breath, and all three men turned to him. Snape hesitated. "Harry, I didn't mean..."

"It's not your fault," Sirius said swiftly, pulling Harry towards him. Harry went reluctantly, but eventually relaxed against Sirius' side, his godfather's arm slung around his shoulders.

"Well," Remus said, into the strained silence that followed, "Looks like it might be New Zealand after all. Best get on with it then. Thank you, Severus. I presume we'll be performing the Fidelius late tonight, after we've arrived?"

"Early tomorrow morning, by that time," Snape replied. "Everything's been prepared. I suggest you sleep this afternoon as well."

"We'll take that under advisement," Remus agreed, taking Snape's arm and guiding him towards the door. "Thank you for bringing that message. Is there anything else you require from us...?"

Sirius felt Harry relax a little further as Snape left the room. "He didn't mean it that way, lad," he said, more out of sympathy for Harry than any desire to defend Severus Snape.

"S'true, isn't it?" Harry asked. "If I wasn't here -- "

"Don't say that, Harry."

"But it is true," Harry insisted. Sirius cocked his head.

"Would you rather have stayed with the Dursleys?" he asked, heart in his throat. Harry shook his head without hesitation, and Sirius could breathe again.

"It's not fair," Harry said, rebelliously, as Remus returned. "I'm just me. I can't help it."

"Nobody blames you," Remus said reassuringly, as he sat at the table again, eyes sweeping the room. Sirius released Harry, gently, and began to pick up odds and ends that had acumulated over the days, piling them haphazardly near the door to be packed. Harry threw himself into Sirius' chair and watched, sulking.

"Don't see why I'm so special anyway," he said, into the back of the chair. "Don't see why stupid Peter Pettigrew cares."

"Harry -- " Remus began, then stopped. What should he say, after all?

"Don't see why I have to leave all my friends and Professor Snape and the bookshop," Harry continued. "He's not so great. I hit him with rocks," he added. It had been a familiar phrase, since the battle; Remus fretted about some sort of memory-impairing brain damage, but Sirius had realised it was simply Harry's way of remembering that he had some kind of power. Dwelling on the ways he'd hurt Peter rather than the ways Peter had hurt him.

"Stupid Peter Pettigrew," Harry finished sulkily, and kicked the table leg. Sirius straightened from where he was collecting a pile of parchment sheets covered in crayon drawings, and began to roll them into a tube.

"It's only two years," he said lamely. "And then you'll get to go to Hogwarts and see everyone again. And you'll make friends in the meantime, wherever we are."

They were silent for a while, the only noise the crinkling of the paper as Sirius rolled and unrolled it, anxiously. Eventually, Remus rose from the table and began to help pack, and Harry moved back to the window once more, contemplating the road leading out of Hogsmeade wistfully.

Shortly after sundown, Severus returned for them, carrying a bound bundle slung over one shoulder -- three broomsticks, plus a paper-wrapped packet of ingredients for the Fidelius, and a small packet of letters for Sirius. While Remus checked their bags and Harry pulled his cloak on, only slightly sullen with the Potions Master still, Sirius picked open the twine and flipped through them.

"Andromeda says goodbye," he said regretfully, reading one of the letters. "She has permission to take Longbottom in."

"Well, that's something," Remus said, taking one of the broomsticks Snape carried. Sirius made a small, surprised noise. "What?"

"You opened a bank account for me?" Sirius asked Snape.

"Moody," Snape said curtly.

"This is more than my Gringott's account had," Sirius said, holding up a formal-looking, cream-coloured letter. "Even accounting for the exchange rate."

"Yes, that was Andromeda Tonks and her annoyingly cheerful husband," Snape replied. "Down payment for the health-hazard you call an ancestral home."

"Samuel Brackenridge?" Sirius asked, reading the name on the bank-statement. "Remus, there's one for you too. John Langley."

"A small precaution, for banking purposes only," Snape said, as Remus made a face at his new alias. "Identification is included. Moody is very thorough."

Sirius scowled at the address of the bank. "Where the hell is Llangynog?"

Snape smiled mirthlessly. "Your new home."

***

Harry flew with Sirius, flanked by two Aurors, with Snape as point and Remus following below and behind, eyes scanning the empty night sky keenly. It was a long journey south from Hogsmeade, and Sirius kept one arm firmly wrapped around Harry's waist, for fear the boy would fall asleep and lose his balance. He grumbled continually about the idiocy of not simply using a portkey, but portkey travel was more easily detectable than broomstick flight, and clearly Dumbledore was taking no chances. They'd seen two separate teams of Aurors leave Hogwarts as they'd walked through the foothills outside of town, dark shapes against moonlit clouds; Sirius wondered if any of them had encountered trouble.

Harry had drawn an excited breath when they kicked off, and he sat a broomstick like a natural -- like his father had, Sirius thought, and he felt the familiar twinge in his chest for James, dead nearly eight years now. Harry didn't notice the slight tightening of Sirius' arm around his waist, too enthralled by the sight of the ground dropping away, the glow of Hogsmeade in the distance back-lighting the view. Sirius had made sure Harry was well-wrapped in a thick cloak and a woolen hat Snape had brought; he and Remus both had gloves and cloaks, but he still felt chilled to his fingertips.

They were leaving his home behind. Not the house on the corner of Privet Drive where for years on end he'd lived each day in the hope of seeing even a glimpse of his godson, or the tiny flat where he'd shared rooms with Remus and learned new ways to love, or even Grimmauld Place, where he'd tried to lay old memories to rest. He was leaving Sandust, the place he'd built as his life, and that hurt most of all, because there wasn't even a Sandust to leave. It frightened him, made him cold from the inside out.

Snape's words from that afternoon rang in his ears. If you hadn't taken the boy from his family --

Harry would still be in his cupboard under the stairs, ignorant of who his father and mother were, of the world he came from. But he wouldn't have the shallow, pink scar on his collarbone; Remus wouldn't be bandaged shoulder to wrist, and Snape wouldn't have three jagged clawmarks across his face. Sandust would still be standing.

Decisions done and sealed. A misstep eight years ago had meant the difference between Sandust and Azkaban prison for Sirius Black, if he believed Remus; who was to say this misstep was anything other than a miracle.

After all, he thought, as Harry turned to ask him, voice nearly snatched by the wind, how much longer it would be -- after all, he had Harry. And Remus. That was what mattered. Their new home would probably be all right. Maybe the High Street would be in need of a bookshop...

They touched down a little later, Sirius following Snape's lead, the Aurors dropping more slowly, scanning the darkened field for any sign of danger. There were two figures awaiting them; Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, the latter carrying a small black case and a plaid Muggle thermos.

"Welcome," Dumbledore said, as Sirius helped Harry to the ground before dismounting the broom himself, and allowing one of the Aurors to take it from him. "I hope your flight was not entirely unpleasant."

"Where are we?" Remus asked, and Sirius noticed he was rubbing his throat, fingers scratching irritably over his skin -- he looked uncomfortable, downright twitchy.

"The feeling will pass," Dumbledore said calmly. "This is Rhos Y Beddau, near the town of Llangynog, county Powys. Housing has been arranged for you nearby, but you must understand something first, and this is the simplest way to show you. Are you cold? Harry, are you well?"

Harry, standing next to Sirius, shifted uncomfortably. "Yessir," he mumbled.

Remus was still fidgeting. McGonagall offered him the thermos, and he sipped judiciously before passing it to Sirius, over Harry's head. Sirius tasted firewhiskey in the hot mulled drink; it didn't seem to do much for the werewolf, but a slight tension in Sirius' chest faded. The Aurors waved it away, and Sirius set the thermos on the ground near his feet. Dumbledore held out his hand, and McGonagall put the black case in it, carefully.

"Rhos Y Beddau was once a stone circle, of fair size and some import," Dumbledore continued, opening the case to reveal several pairs of glasses, neatly folded in velvet pockets. "It has since, however, sunk into the bogs on which it was built. We are standing in what would have been its centre, once."

Sirius didn't bother to ask Dumbledore what his point was, yet; he had learned Dumbledore would get there in his own time, though he was impatient to be out of this windswept bog, with Harry tucked up in a proper warm bed, and if Remus didn't stop fidgeting soon --

Dumbledore was offering him one of the pairs of glasses, delicate wired contraptions with thin, tinted lenses. Sirius held them up to the light of the moon, and scowled.

"Rose-tinted glasses, Headmaster?" Remus asked, a tinge of amusement in his voice as he accepted one also. The Aurors looked on disinterestedly, and Harry flopped to the ground to sit in the grass until the grownups decided to come to their senses.

Sirius raised the glasses to his face and hooked the earpieces over his ears. Dumbledore touched the bridge between lenses, gently, and suddenly the world filled with white. He could tell by the surprised gasps nearby that Remus and Snape had done likewise.

Looking through the glasses, their surroundings glowed bright; no longer a darkened valley in the middle of the Welsh countryside, the small bowl of land they stood in was ringed with columns of white, as though Muggle spotlights had been planted in the ground. The ground itself glowed dimly as well; Remus was outlined in a vibrant amber halo, and a point of green light on Harry's forehead all but obliterated his scar. Dumbledore seemed backlit by a faint blue glow, a little stronger than McGonagall's and Snape's; Sirius looked down at his own hands to find them surrounded by the same nearly-invisible blue light.

"You are seeing the world," Dumbledore said, as Remus raised on hand and turned it, examining the amber glow curiously, "as Peter Pettigrew now sees it."

"We're seeing magic," Sirius deduced, gazing again at the white lights encircling them. Off to his right, an avenue of light led away from the circle, off into the distance. Dumbledore gave him a faint smile.

"Peter will, of course, be able to manipulate it as if it were solid; he cannot avoid seeing it. Likewise, however," he added, "there are some magics which will indeed be solid against him."

Remus pointed to a halo of white light in the distance. "What's that?"

Dumbledore turned to regard it, beyond the avenue leading out of the circle. "Walk with me," he said, and turned towards the avenue. Snape fell into step behind him with McGonagall -- teacher's habit, Sirius guessed.

"Up, lad," Sirius said gently, and Harry stood, moving instinctively to walk between him and Remus, the Aurors following.

"Beyond the avenue is the village of Betwys Beddau," Dumbledore said, loud enough for them to hear, as though he were leading some sort of peculiar field-trip. "You're to live on the outskirts. It's a very pleasant little house, comfortable, with a river running past the back garden. Your belongings have been placed in the garden shed for safekeeping; you may unpack at your leisure."

"Why here?" Remus asked, and Sirius watched in fascination as his halo rippled slightly. Werewolf, he thought. His magic's different from ours.

"Betwys Beddau is smaller than Llangynog, and has...other advantages," Dumbledore replied. "As with Rhos Y Beddau, it is surrounded by bog-land, though we've determined the foundations of your house are sound."

Sirius, annoyed with Dumbledore's whimsey, crossed his arms over his chest as they entered the avenue, and the white of the stones -- stones swallowed centuries since by bogland -- rose like columns all around them.

"What does it mean?" Remus asked, reaching out to trail his fingers through the white light, curiously. His amber light spread through the white for a second before fading. "Rhos Y Beddau..."

"Moor," Dumbledore translated calmly. "Moor of the Graves."

"Ill-omened," Sirius muttered. He opened his mouth to ask what Betwys Beddau meant, since it wasn't likely to be much better, when they crested a low rise at the end of the avenue, and the distant white glow was suddnely visible -- and spectacular.

It looked like a night sky, Sirius decided; spread below them was another hill-ringed valley, larger than Rhos Y Beddau, containing a small village laid out in the old medieval plan, with a spired church at its centre, shadowy against the sky. White columns ringed the village in a perfect circle that must be miles across, and within the circle, among the houses and shops, the streets and gardens, rose strange, intangible constellations of light.

"This is Betwys Beddau," Dumbledore said softly. "Known to its founders as the Temple of the Graves."

Sirius felt Harry grope for his hand, and took it, holding tightly.

"The earth has swallowed the stones, but they remember," Dumbledore murmured. "Men defiled by blood sacrifice cannot cross here. Here you will be safe."

"But then -- the Fidelius -- " Remus began.

"Merely a precaution," Dumbledore said briskly, all business again. "You'll be able to come and go as you please; I leave it to you whether to enroll Harry in the village school. Your wands will be charmed with restrictions to the most necessary magic only; they'll be attuned to Harry, and available only when he is in mortal danger. You will not be connected to the floo network, or allowed Owls except in an emergency. Severus, once the charm is completed, will not return."

"And that's our new home, is it?" Sirius asked. "Living like Muggles, in fear for our lives?"

"It was your decision, Sirius, to take the boy into your care. If you were not willing to sacrifice for him, you would better have left him be."

"So I'm continually told," Sirius muttered, gazing down at the village of Betwys Beddau. Remus put a hand on his back, just below and between his shoulderblades, as he removed his glasses. It was a comforting reminder of one more thing they'd gained from all this, but after the first pleased rush, Sirius felt himself flush at the casual intimacy of it. He glanced at the others, who were removing their glasses as well.

"Come," Dumbledore said. "It's a short flight to the village."

As they settled on the broomstick again, Harry twisted around, and craned his head upwards so that he faced his godfather, questioningly.

"Do you wish you hadn't taken me away?" he asked, and Sirius tried, for the thousandth time, to smooth the hair off his forehead.

"Never," he said, gently pushing Harry's shoulder so that he faced forward, as the others kicked off from the ground. He leaned over Harry's shoulder, and whispered in his ear.

"Stealing you was the best idea I ever had."

Chapter 28

They reached the small house on the outskirts of town a few hours before sunrise, and they were busy hours; Harry, who had moved past childish fatigue into childish hyperactivity, explored the little home from cellar to ceilings, laying claim to the rear room that overlooked the back garden, and opening and shutting all the doors as he passed them. Severus, McGonagall, and Dumbledore went about preparing the Fidelius charm, while Sirius chased after Harry.

Remus, because it was what he defaulted to whenever he was upset or frightened or bored, made tea.

Sat and drank tea.

Watched Severus through a window as he spread strange oils on the corners of the house.

Watched the Aurors charm their wands not to respond to any but the most dire of emergencies.

Drank more tea.

Fixed tea for Sirius, who had finally managed to corner Harry and wrestle him into a chair in the kitchen. Found crackers for Harry to eat, in the well-stocked pantry.

"You're twitchy," Sirius observed, as Remus sliced open a lemon for his third cup of tea in two hours.

"I can't think why," Remus answered. "My flat is gone, your bookshop is gone, we've vanished with not a word to anyone, we're hiding from a psychopath who used to be our best friend, and we're living in a place named the Temple of the Graves."

Sirius couldn't argue. Remus flexed his fingers around the cup, and sighed.

"I feel like my skin doesn't fit right," he admitted. "I have since a little before we landed."

Sirius nodded. "Perhaps it's the circles. Didn't you say you...pick up on things like that?"

"It could be."

"Dumbledore said it would fade."

"I hope so," Remus answered. "If I have to spend the next two years like this I'm going to be a wreck inside of six months."

Sirius glanced at Harry, who -- once stationary -- had begun to gnaw on a cracker and was nodding off slowly. If Dumbledore was to be believed, their beds were with the rest of Remus' flat, out in the garden shed, but he hadn't the energy to consider fetching them. At the moment there was a table in the kitchen, a rather battered sofa in the living room, and one large bed, in the room that Harry had decreed would be Sirius'.

The door opened, and murky grey predawn light filtered in from outside. Severus, looking exhausted, stepped inside.

"It's nearly complete," he said tiredly. Remus offered him tea, but he waved his hand away, placing a cauldron full of shredded herbs and various objects on the table. "You'll need to dispose of these," he added. "Burn them in the cauldron."

Remus nodded, and Snape began to turn, when Remus put out a hand, not-quite-touching him.

"Severus -- " he said stumblingly. Snape stared at him. "Er...thank you. For this. Doing it instead of me, I mean."

"I'm the better candidate," Snape said stiffly, dismissively, and beckoned to Sirius, who stood and walked around the table to face him, slightly defiantly.

"As householder, this involves you," Snape said. "Hold out your hand."

Remus watched as Snape placed the key to the front door in it.

"Do you trust me?" he asked ceremonially.

"Yes," Sirius replied.

"Do you entrust your lives to my discretion?"

"Yes."

"Come outside. All of you."

Harry hopped off the chair and stumbled sleepily through the kitchen door, out into the dew-damp grass after Sirius and Snape. Remus followed, and heard a soft exhalation behind him; when he turned, the house was invisible, seemingly hidden by the grove that was actually on the other side of their new home. Sirius covered his face with one hand.

"It is done," Dumbledore said softly. "Tell them, Severus."

Snape turned to the three of them. "Listen closely," he said, crouching to speak to Harry with their faces on a level, "because I won't be returning to see you before your Hogwarts letter arrives. Your home is The River House, Nineteen Cwndu Road, Betwys Beddau, Powys, Wales. Say it after me, Harry."

"The River House, Nineteen Cwndu Road, Betwys Beddau, Powys, Wales," Harry repeated obediently. Remus closed his eyes and memorised the names, unfamiliar syllables strung together with familiar -- Cwndu Road; Powys, Wales....

When he opened them, their house stood before him again. Small, gabled, with large windows and slightly shabby paint, with a garden that was more "fertile" than "pretty".

Home. For now.

"There are other duties to attend to," Dumbledore reminded them gently, and Severus stood abruptly, turning away from the house. Remus watched his shoulders pull in, his fingers flex -- he remembered that posture from years ago.

The Aurors were already preparing to fly. Harry touched the Potion Master's arm, and Dumbledore -- who could see his face, though Remus and Sirius couldn't -- gave them a sage look. Slowly, Severus crouched again, turning his head slightly so that Harry could speak into his ear. Harry said a few quiet words, and Snape replied with a nod, and a hand on Harry's shoulder, briefly, before he stood and dropped his hand, moving away.

Harry ran to Sirius, burying his face in Sirius' shirt as the others mounted their broomsticks, rising and vanishing quickly in the sudden yellow light of the sunrise. Remus shaded his eyes to follow them as long as he could, then turned to the River House once more.

Back inside, Sirius lit a match from the box near the stove, and tossed it into the cauldron on the table, which flared up and burned quickly, settling to ash within seconds. Remus cleared away the tea things, already missing the charmed scrubbing brush. Harry sat, chin on hands, at the table, swiping at his eyes once in a while in embarrassment.

"We should sleep," Sirius observed, while Remus rinsed out the mugs. "When we wake up we can walk into town, it'll be good to stretch our legs. We can buy bicycles -- Harry should learn to ride one. We'll start unpacking the garden shed, too. Harry's new bedroom is bigger than his old one, we could put up some more shelves..."

"Please don't," Remus said softly. Sirius bowed his head. "Let him grieve for a bit."

"There's something in the cauldron," Harry said suddenly. Both men looked over, worried.

"Harry, don't -- " Sirius warned, but Harry was already reaching into the cauldron, making ash fly up.

"The flowers turned into something," Harry announced, lifting out a square, twine-tied packet. The two men watched as he picked the knot and brushed the last of the burnt "flowers" off the cover of a book -- two books.

"What are they?" Sirius asked, with unusual gentleness.

"Books," Harry answered, distracted by the slick card cover of one of them. He set it aside and opened the larger one, in hard black binding, with some kind of fantastical illustration on its cover. Sirius, as if shaking off a freezing charm, came forward to pick up the smaller book.

"The Dark is Rising," he read aloud. "Apt," he muttered.

"And the other one?" Remus inquired, crossing to the table as well.

"The My...big...onion...." Harry tried.

"Mabinogion," Remus corrected.

"Snape must have left these for him," Sirius said.

"Figures he'd leave that one."

"For Harry Potter," Harry read aloud. Remus and Sirius leaned over his shoulder to read the inscription on the inside cover of the Mabinogion.

For Harry Potter,

To keep you from making mischief, as you will no doubt be encouraged by your godfather to do.

Please make study of this volume in particular, as its educational value is of great import in the absence of

Your Professor

Severus Snape

PS: You will be tested for content.

Sirius scowled; Remus smiled slightly.

"This is quite enough excitement for one day," Sirius said, closing the book and lifting it out of Harry's hands. "Run on to bed now."

Harry slipped off the chair and made for Sirius' bedroom, and the only bed in the place. Sirius glanced up at Remus, whose fingers were, of their own accord, flipping from front to back in the paperback novel, and then back to front again. He put a hand on Remus' to stop them.

"Still twitchy?" he asked. Remus nodded. "Going to be able to sleep?"

"I don't know," he replied truthfully. Sirius took the book from his hands and put it on the table. "You sleep with Harry," Remus continued. "I'll take the sofa. I don't want to kick," he added.

Sirius wrapped his arm around Remus' waist for a brief moment, and kissed him, their foreheads touching.

"When Harry has his own room, we'll turn yours into a library," he whispered against his temple, "And my room into ours. How does that sound?"

Remus gave him a reassuring smile, one he didn't quite feel. "Of course. It'll wear off soon, Dumbledore said."

***

Sirius had shut the heavy curtains in his room, and curled up on the bed as Padfoot -- at least this magic was still allowed to him -- with Harry's head pillowed on his ribcage, Harry's fingers twined in the wooly fur of his forelegs. Remus had made sure they were warm, and then walked back into the sparsely-furnished living room, sitting on the sofa. He didn't expect he'd be able to sleep; it was daytime, for starters, and however tired he was, the strange itch just under his skin persisted. Deep magic in this place; sacred stones swallowed by the earth itself, leaving their protection behind. Rubin was right -- werewolves were sensitive to background magic, but he'd always found the magics at Hogwarts and Diagon Alley comforting, welcoming, whereas this place seemed designed to thrust him away.

He sighed and stared at the ceiling, arms pillowed behind his head. If he had to leave, he could at least come back to visit; he wouldn't think that far ahead right now. After all, thinking ahead had nearly lost him Sirius once.

It wasn't any use.

He stood and wandered down the hallway, lingering in the door of Sirius' new bedroom. Harry's chest rose and fell, and he scratched his cheek in his sleep; Padfoot's legs twitched a little, and his breaths were deeper than Harry's, slower. They were barely more than two shadows in the dim room anyway, but they were his shadows.

Yes. It had been right to take Harry. Surely it had. He had no idea how they'd lived their lives without him. He had no idea how he'd lived his life without the promise of Sirius every morning, every evening.

He crossed to the bed, and Padfoot woke. In a heartbeat he was Sirius again, curled protectively around his godson, who slept on, exhausted and oblivious. They regarded each other across Harry for a moment, and then Remus circled, easing himself onto the bed and wrapping his arms around Sirius' waist from behind, burying his face in the back of Sirius' neck.

"All ri', Moony?" Sirius inquired sleepily. When Sirius spoke, something inside him -- something physical, he felt it -- cracked and snapped, like a twig under pressure, and warmth filled his body. His muscles relaxed, one by one, and the itch faded.

"Oh," Remus said softly. "That's better."

"Gon' sleep?"

"Yes."

"Got Harry," Sirius mumbled. "All ours now."

"Ours," Remus echoed. There was time enough later, after all, to be afraid or worried, and time to worry over the proper things; packing boxes and bicycles, school lessons and bookshelves -- time enough to turn a house into a home, to raise Harry to be a man.

Their home.

Their Harry.

Soon the house was silent, as they slept, and the golden sunlight filled the garden and the river and the grove.

END

Stealing Harry: Deleted Scenes

DELETED SCENE #1: Harry Wants Hogwarts

(intended to fit somewhere just after Harry discovers Remus' lycanthropy)

"I want to stay at the school," Harry said suddenly. Dumbledore's smile faded. "On full moons, I want to come stay at Hogwarts. If I stay here than he can stay at home and he won't be all..." he shivered. "It's awful," he said. "You ask Sirius, he'll tell you. I bet if I stayed here he could be at home and he wouldn't bite and stuff."

Dumbledore sat down and regarded him gravely.

"Do you know," he said slowly, "Of the six grown adults who are primarily responsible for you, Harry -- out of your godfather, Remus, Arthur and Molly, Professor Snape and myself...none of us even considered that thought?"

Harry decided he was either about to be praised, or in serious trouble.

"Perhaps..." Dumbledore pulled a sheet of parchment towards him and began to write. He spoke as he did so. "You are quite a unique young man, Harry, in ways other than the world at large may know..." he dipped his quill in the ink and continued. "I want you to give this to Sirius. Not to Remus, is that understood?"

Harry nodded, watching as Dumbledore sealed the folded parchment with wax and a large stamp. He accepted it and carefully tucked it in the pocket of his corduroys.

"I take it you enjoyed your stay with the Gryffindors?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes, sir," Harry answered. "But please, sir -- "

Dumbledore held up a hand.

"We shall see what comes of that letter," he said firmly.

***

(Notes found below this scene, which I'd forgotten existed:)

Sam: The letter states that they WILL send Harry to stay with Snape for the full moon, this is NOT negotiable, and by the way did you really think you could hide that Sirius was a dog for NINE YEARS? Sirius, of course, thinks "Harry cannot spend three days with Severus Snape, Snape doesn't know what kind of pajamas he likes or how to treat a child and might just cook and eat him!" I think Dumbledore probably found out a few years ago. Put two and two together. Like the fact that you never see Padfoot when Sirius is around. It's kinda like Superman and Clark Kent.

DELETED SCENE #2: The Child's Caretakers

(alternate scene from the graveyard fight)

Harry was sobbing, curled up and frightened, and Snape eased him to the leafmould of the Forbidden Forest, crouching over him.

There was a centaur towering above them, looking down disdainfully -- but then centaurs always looked disdainful.

Touch him and I'll slit your throat," Snape snarled.

The centaur smiled, faintly.

"I should kill you for that," he said, in a deep voice, "except that your work is dictated by the stars, and far from being done. Still, I had not thought to see the boy so soon."

Snape lifted Harry, staggering a little.

"Come. I'll lead you out of the forest," the centaur boomed. "None shall harm the child. Or his caretakers."

Part 2: Tales from the River House

Russian Literature

Summary: Nine year old Harry confronts the mystery of death.

***

"Harry! Sirius!"

Remus entered the River House with barely a shiver; passing the threshold always pinpricked his skin, feeling the Fidelius charm at work. He'd asked Sirius, once, and Sirius had said he didn't feel anything, but then life within the hidden circle of stones surrounding Betwys Beddau was more peculiar for Remus than for Sirius at any rate.

Since coming here, seven months ago, Remus had gotten used to the odd twinge or tickle on the edge of his consciousness, subtle magical variations more detectable to a werewolf than a human. His dreams were remarkably peaceful; no more visions of Sirius starved and ragged from Azkaban, or Peter slicing his own hand off in service of Voldemort. Still, when he went into the town proper he passed three sunken stones that always gave him the creeps, and he had to be careful not to twitch nervously whenever he was near the school-house. He'd never been inside it -- they'd come to the agreement that Sirus handled school matters, and Remus handled issues of feeding and clothing, because if let Sirius would order Indian food four times a week and allow Harry to run about in Remus' cast-off old shirts.

He tossed his keys on the table near the doorway, and closed the door behind him, doing a double-check that his bicycle was locked to the post out front -- not that anyone could see it, but it was habitual by now. The rooms were dark, the sunny kitchen empty; Sirius' boots were missing. They must have gone down to the river below the back garden. He noted with approval that Harry's cloak and the blanket off the back of the couch were gone too.

He passed down the hallway towards the back door, peering in Harry's room, in his own office and in the bedroom he and Sirius shared -- still peculiar to see one bed, and imagine what the neighbours would think. Except they only had one neighbour and nobody came to the River House anyway, as they couldn't see it unless Severus Snape told them. And Severus Snape was in Scotland, and would not come to see them again before they put Harry on the train to Hogwarts in a year and a half.

It was nice though. Nice to see only one bed in a room where two people slept. Or didn't sleep, he added to himself, with a small, wicked smile.

He lingered outside of Harry's room, smiling at the neat bedspread, the general messiness of the rest of the room, the books strewn everywhere and the new posters on the walls -- constellations, dinosaurs, drawings Harry had done. He was improving at a marvelous rate; Remus still had the red-and-white snake he'd drawn, a typical childish marker portrait, but lately Harry's sketches of the wildlife in their garden had taken on a decidedly realistic style. Birds, hares, the occasional stray cat, fish and frogs, even funny looking plants...

But not snakes.

Harry didn't draw snakes, didn't talk to snakes or seem to notice them. Remus knew they were around -- he'd seen one or two, harmless little garden snakes, and a slightly larger one that was probably the reason they had no troubles with mice -- but as far as Harry was concerned, they didn't exist.

He hefted the courier bag over his shoulder and pushed the back door open, ambling down the path Sirius had worn to the river, the banks just out of view down a slope at the garden's bottom. Harry was there, on the blanket, propped up against the rock, Sirius' boots and his own backpack nearby.

"Wotcha, Harry," Remus said, dropping down next to him and unshouldering the pack. "How goes it then?"

"All right," Harry said, wrinkling his nose and scratching the cast on his right leg. "I itch."

"Good! Shows it's healing."

"You always say that."

"It's always true," Remus replied. Harry held up the drawing he was doing, a rather cartoonish sketch of Padfoot with a fish dangling from his mouth. Remus glanced up and saw Padfoot himself splashing up the river, fishless but perfectly happy, spattered with mud. "Are you cold?"

"Nah," Harry said, turning his face to the afternoon sun. March in Wales was still chilly, but there were beginning to be warm days again, and Harry had a good thick cloak. "What'd'ja bring me?"

"Oho! 'Bring me anything', he says," Remus replied, unbuckling the top flap of the courier bag. "Padfoot!" he called, and the enormous dog bounded out of the river, shaking himself on his way up the incline. Just before he reached them, he changed, and Sirius dropped onto the unoccupied corner of the blanket, hair wet, wearing only a white shirt and trousers rolled to the knee.

"Lend us your coat, Remus," he begged, and Remus slipped out of the thick warm tweed, passing it to Sirius, who covered his chest with it and curled so that he faced them both, pillowing his head on Harry's backpack. "Brilliant fishing," he added.

"Bring us dinner?" Remus asked.

"Brilliant, not successful."

"I'm sure you'll catch one someday," Remus grinned.

"What'd'ja bring us?" Sirius asked. Harry giggled.

"Let's see." Remus dug in the bag. "Wee pencils?" he asked, holding up a handful of small library pencils. Sirius snorted, but Harry took one and started drawing with it idly, while he watched Remus dig further. "Overdue notice in the amount of eight pounds, two pence," he continued, passing the bill to Sirius, "and half a chocolate bar from the library vending machine."

"Mine!" Harry claimed it and ate it enthusiastically.

"Books, Remus! The people must have books," Sirius cried.

"Next time you go, the mud on the road is unbelievable, and I nearly got run down twice," Remus answered. "You're lucky I brought you anything at all. I did get a rather nice biography of Byron -- "

" -- scandalous. Don't let Harry read it."

"He was in love with his sister," Harry said, not looking up from his drawing.

"Who told you that?" Sirius asked, flabbergasted.

"Boy at school," Harry replied.

Remus shrugged. "Your job, not mine," he said wickedly to Sirius, drawing out another volume titled Guards! Guards! "New Terry Pratchett paperback... "

"The suspense is killing me," Sirius said, clutching his heart and wrinkling Remus' coat. Remus peered into his bag.

"Well, I have the Mabinogion -- have you read it, Harry?"

Harry scowled at the teasing. "I have and you know it," he sulked.

"All right then. Here's a good one! Poems about dinosaurs."

Harry glanced at it. "That's a kids' book," he said dismissively.

"Who said it was for you? I rather like it." Remus opened it and read aloud. "Dimetrodon, Dimetrodon, you were here, and now you're gone. More lovely verse was never spoken. True, too, which is an added bonus."

Harry put down the pencil and paper, and tugged at the bag. Remus relented and took out a handful of books.

"For Harry, we have The Hobbit and A Wrinkle in Time," Remus announced. "Also a book on art, as per requested, and one on treasure hunting."

"When I get outta my cast, I'm gonna go treasure hunting in the river," Harry announced. The list of things Harry would do when he got out of his cast was an impressive one, and included chasing the neighbour's cat that kept tormenting Padfoot, building a tree fort, and discovering the secret entrance to Narnia he was sure was somewhere nearby. He was also going to excavate for dinosaur bones, which was part of the reason he had the cast in the first place; a misstep while climbing a tree so he could "see like dinosaurs did" put him in a leg cast and Sirius in hysteric parental hyperventilation until the ambulance arrived.

"Somehow, Harry, I doubt there's any Spanish gold in the river, but I'm sure it'll be fun to look," Remus said.

"Me next," Sirius added, leaning across Harry. Harry tickled his ribs, and he pinned the boy against the rock playfully, until Harry cried surrender.

"For Sirius Black, gourmet of depressive literature, I have Anna Karenina, Heart of Darkness, and a couple of cheap murder mysteries. And the paper," he said, passing across the local rag, irredeemable except for the crossword, which it stole from back copies of The New York Times.

Sirius accepted the books, and gave Remus a grin that made his pulse race before withdrawing back to his side of the blanket. "Librarian recommending things again?" he asked. "I think she fancies you."

"She's got very low standards, then," Remus replied.

"Eight pounds in late fees and she still lets you take books out. She glowers at me if I even go in."

"Miss Howards fancies Sirius," Harry announced, drawing up his good leg and propping The Hobbit open on it.

"Does she now?" Remus asked, amused.

"She always makes sure she looks good before he comes to get me," Harry said. "And she does this, you know, when she says hi to him." He put his hand on Remus' arm and threw his head back. "Ahahaha, Mister Black!" he said, in a high voice.

"That's her!" Sirius said, falling over laughing. "Reckon if I asked her to dinner she'd let you skip a grade?" he asked, and Harry grinned at him.

"Well, while you two plot to commit felonious acts, I'm going to go start dinner," Remus said, kissing Harry on the forehead, even though Harry pulled away and scrubbed at it afterwards. Sirius kissed the boy too as Harry leaned back, and Harry wailed in nine-year-old embarrassment.

"We'll be up in a bit," Sirius promised, settling back against the rock and opening Anna Karenina.

"I'll call you for dinner," Remus replied, rising and passing towards the house. He turned as he crested the incline, and could see two black-haired heads bent over their books, in the waning spring light.

***

Sirius was deep in the first chapter of his novel when Harry took a deep breath, the sort small children take before speaking, and often have to hold when they decide whether to speak or not. Harry, apparently more indecisive than most, let out the breath, and then drew it in again.

"Sirius," he said, then exhaled once more.

"Yes?" Sirius asked, sensing that he should probably pretend he was still reading his book.

"Why d'you read sad books?"

Sirius hmphed. "I don't know. I like tragedies. I like seeing how people can be brave and dignified even when they're in trouble."

"Like Aslan in the Narnia books."

"Yes, like Aslan. It was sad, but it was sort of good, wasn't it?" Sirius asked, glancing up at Harry, who shrugged.

"I guess so."

"Something troubling you, pup?"

"Dunno." Harry broke the lead on the little pencil, and picked up the big one he'd been using before. "People die a lot in sad books."

"Sometimes they do."

"Do they become ghosts?"

This would have been much easier if they'd been Muggles. Muggles didn't have ghosts as House chaperones at school. "Sometimes. Usually not."

"What happens if they don't become ghosts?"

"Nobody really knows. Some people think they get reborn into other bodies, some people think there's a place they go after death," Sirius said, rather pleased with himself for being so rational and coherent about this.

"You think snakes go somewhere when they die?" Harry asked, in a very small voice. Sirius closed his book, and wrapped his arm around Harry's still-thin shoulders.

"Of course, lad," he murmured, kissing Harry's hair, and this time the boy didn't pull away. He glanced down and saw Harry was drawing a coiled, sinuous figure. "Thinking about Snake?"

"Sorta." Harry curled into his godfather's warmth, slightly. "A snake came and talked to me today."

"Really?"

"Right up on the rock, while you were fishing. She said Hello Boy and I said Hello Snake without even thinking about it." Harry put the drawing pad down. "She was nice. She's got a burrow down by the river."

"Yeah? You have a good talk?"

"Yeah. She didn't know my Snake. Snakes aren't really very bright, sometimes," Harry added. "My Snake was pretty smart, for a snake."

Sirius smoothed Harry's hair, gently. "I'm sorry, Harry."

"S'okay," Harry said. "When I get outta my cast I'm gonna go see her burrow. She said I could if I kept you and Remus from walking on it."

"Promise we won't," Sirius said, with a grin.

"I liked talking to her," Harry continued. "Maybe...after school some day can we go to the pet store? They have snakes there. I could say hi."

"You could," Sirius agreed. "As long as we distract the owner."

"And if one of them was smart, like Snake, could we take him home?"

Sirius wondered how he'd ever lived without Harry, without the swell of his heart when his boy was near, the cold-sweat terror when he was hurt, the stunning pride when he'd done well. And sometimes, like now, all three at once.

"Of course, Harry," he said. "Whichever one you like."

Harry nodded, and gently pulled out of his godfather's embrace, pushing himself up on the rock and reaching for his crutch nearby. "I'd like that," he said, as Sirius gathered the drawing supplies, and folded the blanket over his arm. "I hope we're having potatoes for dinner..."

***

Sirius much preferred washing up after Remus cooked to cooking himself; not a little of this was the fact that Remus, being a tidy-minded person, tended to wash as he went, with the result that usually there wasn't much left to clean by the time he got to the sink. So he dutifully rolled up his sleeves and set to work with the distinctly non-magical scrubbing brush and soap while Harry went to his room to study and Remus, as usual, lingered in the kitchen, either reading or doing the crossword.

It was a comfortable existence for the most part. During the day, Remus worked at the little bookshop in town, cycling in every morning and evening while Sirius walked Harry to school. For a while he had Loafed, something he was extremely good at, until it was time to pick Harry up; eventually he'd taken up studying the town's history and found a job giving once-daily tours of Rhos Y Beddau, the less-than-impressive moor which had once hosted a fair-sized circle of standing stones and now hosted the bog that had swallowed them.

It was easy enough work once he learned how to operate an automobile, and made him an object of attention, which he somewhat enjoyed. It also meant he was back at Betwys Beddau in time to pick Harry up and take him wandering or, lately, try to occupy him with more sedentary activities. Harry was not, by and large, a sedentary child.

"What's a six letter word for an aging muggle rock star?" Remus asked, tapping the pen against the newspaper.

"Harry wants a new pet snake," Sirius said, resting his hands on the rim of the sink.

"That's a lot longer than six letters," Remus said mildly, looking up. "Really more of a band name, that one."

Sirius glared at him, over his shoulder.

"Sorry," Remus muttered. "Well, I think that's grand, of course. How do you know?"

"He told me."

"I'd hoped he might, sooner or later. I was..." Remus pursed his lips. "Sorry, I suppose, that he'd stopped."

"I wasn't," Sirius grumbled. "Well, all right. I'm sorry the lad's pet died and all, but it's a very Dark Arts sort of a talent to have, you know."

Remus folded the paper and stood, crossing to lean on the counter near the sink. "You are," he reminded him, "Cohabitating with a Dark Creature, you know."

"You aren't a creature," Sirius answered, drying his hands on the dishtowel. "But you know, Voldemort was a Parselmouth. A lot of Dark wizards have been."

"A lot of Dark Wizards have also come from the Black family," Remus said with a smile. "It doesn't mean anything, beyond what it means. Which is that somehow Harry ended a Parselmouth, and would like a new pet snake."

"It worries me."

"He's a bright, cheerful little boy, Sirius. We're raising him right. He's seen what Dark Arts do to a person, even more than you and I have."

Sirius bowed his head, and Remus reached up to brush a lock of hair away from his temple.

"We never saw it coming, with Peter," Sirius murmured.

"We didn't want to," Remus corrected, gently.

"Well, I bloody well don't want to see Harry -- "

"Harry won't," Remus said quickly. "We'll make sure of it."

"How?"

"We just will."

Sirius looked pensive. Remus sighed.

"Too much Russian literature, Sirius, I've told you. When he said he wanted another pet, what did you think?"

Sirius shrugged. "I was glad. He'd stopped mourning Snake."

"And have you ever been known to ignore your impulses?" Remus asked with a smile.

Sirius scowled, and muttered, "No."

Remus took his arm and led him gently down the hallway, stopping outside Harry's door. Harry was perched on a chair, one leg awkwardly tilted off it, bending over his desk to take notes out of a history textbook. They stood there for a moment, watching him, until Remus' fingers slipped down Sirius' sleeve and twined with his.

"That's your boy, Sirius," he said softly.

Sirius was still a little while longer, and then his thumb brushed the back of Remus' hand. Remus smiled and left him there, watching Harry work until the boy turned and gave him a bright smile. Sirius smiled back, and went to do the rest of the washing up.

END

Fever Dream

Summary: Remus drifts between worlds sometimes.

***

Remus Lupin once read that a werewolf was one of the most efficient sentient machines ever to exist. For something which could read, philosophise, consider its own soul and use spoken language, it was also disease resistant, with a metabolism that didn't quit and an enviable capacity for healing. Werewolves could go without air for three days before their brains shut down, survive ten without water and indefinitely without food, though of course there came a point where weakness set in and they died of thirst or inability to operate their own lungs. They felt cold, but did not die from it until their blood froze solid -- and their blood had a lower freezing point than humans'.

Still, they were susceptible to certain things -- for one, self-mutilation in wolf-shape. There was also Lycanthropic Degenerative Neuropathy, the great fear of a werewolf's life, in which blindness and hallucination led to incurable neurological decay and madness. No one bothered to study it. One less werewolf, after all. The general cure was a pistol and a chambered silver bullet.

There were also certain forms of diseases, specifically magical influenzas, that affected them -- maladies called the three-hour-bug in humans because they were there and gone so fast, but which, because of their own speedy metabolisms, kept up with a werewolf for days.

A few months after Sirius fell through the veil and shortly after Harry's arrival -- sullen, angry, and apathetic -- at Grimmauld Place, Remus fell ill, which was something of a relief to him, as it meant he wouldn't be asked to comfort Harry. He was the logical choice; he had known Sirius the longest, and Molly felt comforting Harry would help him struggle through his own mourning. Harry hated him, though, and Remus was glad of any excuse to be out of the boy's furious presence. He, after all, had held Harry back; had not protected Sirius as a friend ought; had failed to be the great Defence Against the Dark Arts master which Harry remembered from two years before.

He drifted, mostly, conscious enough to know where he was, fevered just enough for his perceptions to be slightly distorted. Molly brought him meals and a soothing potion that made it possible to sleep; he felt he could taste the bitterness with which Severus must have brewed it. He still took it though, at least at night, and it kept him from kicking the covers away and wandering the house, unable to be still.

It was late afternoon, though, and he was slipping in and out of sleep, and the dreams that came with it...

He woke with a start to find himself standing in an unfamiliar room, brightly lit by the afternoon sun. He rubbed his eyes blearily, but he felt alert and awake -- perhaps he'd been walking in his sleep when the fever broke.

This didn't look like Grimmauld Place, though. There were bookshelves along the walls, filled with texts and odd knicknacks, broken by the presence of two dressers, with the usual spare-change-and-cologne detritus on them. Drawings hung on the walls where the bookshelves weren't, some by a childish hand, some clearly purchased prints.

The bed was large, simply made, and covered with a green-patterned quilt which was rumpled beneath a sleeping body --

"Sirius," he breathed softly. God, he'd died. He'd died and there was an afterlife and Sirius was here waiting for him. He knew that broad back, the smooth black hair the way Sirius used to wear it, cropped short --

Sirius was holding someone in his arms, and Remus felt the usual twinge of disappointment. Not me, not ever me, the litany went in his head, replacing the usual chorus lately, he's dead, he's gone now.

He circled the bed, wondering if Sirius was awake, but he was struck instead by something else...

He's holding me.

Himself, a little less careworn by years, less grey in his hair, fewer lines on his face and a different pattern of scars, but undoubtedly him. Shivering, eyes closed, face flushed. Feverish.

He crouched at the edge of the bed until he was on eye-level with the other Remus, and put out a tentative hand.

Brown eyes snapped open, and regarded him warily, pupils slightly more dilated than they ought to be.

"You," the bed-Remus croaked hoarsely. "Who are you?"

"It's me, Moony," Sirius mumbled against his neck. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I'm sorry, I don't know how I got here," Remus said, softly, to his other-self on the bed. Sirius didn't appear to hear him.

"You're me," bed-Remus mumbled.

"Hush, you're delirious," Sirius said.

"Somehow," Remus agreed.

"I'm ill. Dreaming."

"That's right, Moony. It's okay, I'm here."

Remus' heart seized up, when he saw Sirius plant a kiss on the side of the other Remus' neck, wrap his arm around his waist more tightly, fingers spread intimately over his belly.

"Boggart -- spirit -- incubus -- " the fevered Remus continued. "You're not real."

"I am real," Sirius protested affectionately. "You're just a bit sick, that's all. Try to sleep."

"Why're you here?" Bed-Remus demanded of him. Remus shook his head.

"I don't know," he said, at the same time Sirius said "Because I love you."

The other Remus closed his eyes and seemed to melt back into the warmth of the man holding him. Remus watched in a certain amount of agony -- his Sirius was dead, his Sirius had never said that, his Sirius couldn't hold him through his illness.

"Where's Harry?" Bed-Remus asked after a moment, and Sirius murmured reassuringly to him. Remus moved away, around the bed and towards the door, wondering if Harry was here in this strange place -- and if that meant Harry was dead also.

He turned in the hallway towards a faint sound and found another door; putting his ear to it he could hear childish humming, and every horror film he'd seen as a boy (his Muggle mother had adored the cinema) came back to him. Haunting, ghostly humming --

He turned the knob, however, and opened the door; on the other side was a brightly decorated child's room, lined with bookshelves as the other had been, though there appeared to be more books in piles on the floor, bedside table, desk, bed --

At the desk under the window was a small, thin boy, nine or ten at the most, doing sums out of a textbook. He was humming to himself as he did them and a snake, coiled nearby, was idly swaying in time to the wordless noise. The boy turned when the door opened, and Remus stared at him in shock.

It was Harry, but not Harry as he'd ever seen him -- too young to be even thirteen, though the bright green eyes and the dark scar on his forehead were the same. James' face. Lily's eyes. He had never even seen James when James was this young, but who else could it be?

"Hi Remus," Harry said nonchalantly, and turned back to mark his place in the book. He held out his hand to the snake, which slithered up under his shirt-sleeve and wrapped itself around his neck. "Are you better?"

"Hi...hello Harry," Remus said uncertainly. "I...I'm not sure."

Harry shrugged. "I'm almost done with my maths homework, will you read it when I'm finished?"

"Er...yes, if you like," Remus answered. "Harry -- "

"Do you want lunch? Sirius forgot breakfast," Harry said, slipping off the chair. "I made some eggs but they tasted funny, so I threw them out."

"Wise boy," Remus murmured bewilderedly, as Harry brushed past him into the hallway. He followed the boy into a kitchen near the front of the house, slightly messy but fairly well-organised, with a pan -- clearly from Harry's failed eggs -- soaking in the sink.

"You want cheese toasties?" Harry asked, standing on his toes to reach a loaf of bread in a cupboard. Remus reached past him and took it down, setting it on the counter. Harry took out eight slices -- "We'll make one for Sirius, he didn't eat at all since yesterday," -- and began to butter them placidly, handing a block of cheese from the Muggle fridge to Remus, who found a knife in one of the drawers and cut enough slices for four sandwiches. Apparently Harry ate two.

Harry lifted the lid on a contraption Remus recognised as a waffle iron, with the irons inverted to make a griddle, and placed the sandwiches on it carefully, closing the lid and plugging it in.

"I'm glad you're better," he said, resting his hands on the counter and his chin on his hands to watch the toasties cook, through the narrow gap between the two griddle-irons. "Sirius said if you weren't better by tomorrow, charm or not he was going to leave me with Bethany and go fetch a Healer from St. Mungo's."

"Bethany?" Remus asked. Harry gave him a grin, but did not explain.

"She says next time I come to see her we're going to make peanut-butter cookies," he said. "Last time she told me she thinks you and Sirius are Pagans and she always has to watch me on the full moon because you go out to do sacred-arcane-rites-of-power at Rhos Y Beddau. She says that's why Sirius is always running off the kids who go up there to smoke and stuff."

Remus murmured something neutral, and Harry lifted the lid of the iron, wrinkling his nose. "Few more minutes. Are we Pagans, Remus?"

Remus shook his head. "No, I...I doubt it..."

"When I get to be a wizard, can I do sacred-arcane-rites-of-power?"

Harry turned his face up, questioningly, and Remus looked down at him, still confused but very pleased to see Harry so talkative, so cheerful.

"I imagine you could," he muttered.

"Can you get the plates?" Harry said, gesturing to a cupboard, and Remus took down three plates. Harry left the counter and went to the fridge, pouring two glasses of milk and one of orange juice into tumblers procured from another cupboard. He checked the food again and deftly tweaked the toasties, now a golden brown, onto the plates. He took the milk-glasses and tucked them into the crook of one arm along with two of the plates. Remus was automatically reaching for the orange juice and the third plate, when Sirius appeared in the doorway.

Remus felt himself stumble a little against the counter, but there was a peculiar sensation that he was leaving his body for a moment --

"Harry, who are you talking to in here?" Sirius asked, as Remus gasped for breath, feeling like he was dissolving.

"Remus," Harry answered, with a nod of his head -- and then stared at where Remus had been standing, but was now slowly drifting away.

***

In the sunlit kitchen, Sirius looked at Harry, concerned for a moment. "What do you mean, Harry? Remus is in bed."

"He was just here," Harry said. "He got the plates down for me."

He held out one of the sandwiches, which Sirius took absently, and set the tumblers back on the table. "He came and got me in my room."

"Harry, tell me honestly, no pretending."

"I'm not pretending," Harry said indignantly. "I'm almost ten, you know, I'm not a child."

"I know, Harry, but this is serious. If you saw a ghost, or some kind of spirit -- "

"He wasn't a ghost. He sliced the cheese for me and everything. I'm not making it up!" Harry insisted. Sirius took a thoughtful bite of his sandwich.

"Did he say anything to you?" he asked.

"I guess. He said hi, and that he'd look at my homework when it was done. When you came in he just disappeared."

"He left?"

"No. He disappeared. Like dissolving in the air."

Sirius reached up into one of the high cupboards and fumbled for a moment before bringing down a velvet-wrapped object. He unrolled it slowly, revealing his and Remus' wands -- charmed not to function unless they were in danger. He gave his an experimental flick. Nothing happened.

"I think you'd better spend the rest of the day with us," Sirius said, gathering up the juice and the other sandwich. "Come on, you can do your homework in our room. I'm sure Remus would like some orange juice."

Harry shrugged and helped carry the food into the bedroom his godfather and Remus shared. Remus was asleep, breath rattling a little in his throat; Harry climbed up on the edge of the bed and carefully balanced his milk against his knee, eating neatly.

"We'll let him sleep," Sirius said softly, setting the juice on the bedside table. He put a broad, capable hand over Remus' forehead for a moment and then gave Harry a smile. "I think the fever's going down."

He settled onto the bed and kept dark, watchful eyes on Harry and Remus, but when Remus woke that evening the fever had gone, and Harry and Sirius agreed not to tell him about the stranger in their house.

***

Harry spent most of his time in 'his' room these days, the room in the old Black townhouse which Molly had fixed with bright Quidditch posters and a desk and chair for him. He did a lot of his summer homework, because he didn't want to do much else. Lately he'd taken to sleeping twelve and fourteen hours a day.

He was curled up on the bed, reading a boring text on advanced Charms, when there was a brief knock on the door.

"Go away," he called, but the knob turned, and he rolled to glare at whoever had interrupted his sulking.

Remus stood in the doorway, hand still on the doorknob, wearing a threadbare white shirt over equally worn green pyjama bottoms. Harry hadn't bothered to see him while he was sick, and he looked rather ghastly, skin tight over his cheekbones, eyes sunken more than usual and a little too bright.

"What do you want," Harry asked, sullenly. He knew Remus had been avoiding him because the older man hated him, wished he had gone through the Veil instead of Sirius, because everyone knew Remus loved Sirius and Harry was just a stupid boy Sirius had been defending. Harry had merely been waiting for Remus to say even a word to him, to open his mouth and confirm it.

He had thought Remus had favoured him just a little, at school, but clearly he was just another reminder of his dead parents, whom Remus had loved much more than he loved Harry.

"Stand up," Remus said, voice soft but clear, tones steady. Harry scowled but obeyed, defiantly looking him in the eye, daring him to say it. Remus moved forward slowly and slightly unsteadily, as if he was unsure of his feet.

"Are you still sick?" Harry said, because it looked as if the man was going to fall over if he did much more.

"The fever's broken," Remus answered calmly, now standing in front of him, sweeping Harry with his eyes. Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"Do you need something?" Harry asked angrily.

To his shock, Remus reached out and pulled him into a hug, wrapping his arms around Harry's shoulders, one hand on his neck, firmly holding him in the embrace. After a confused second, Harry leaned into the sudden warmth, resting his palms flat on Remus' chest, burying his face in the collar of his shirt. He felt Remus stroke the back of his head, and something broke; he sobbed, convulsively, and Remus made a soft shushing noise as tears poured out of him, getting both their shirts wet.

Remus murmured words, but Harry couldn't hear them over his own ragged breathing; he suspected they were more a comforting background noise in any case, and let the tension drain out of his chest and shoulders in tears, for minutes on end.

"I'm sorry," he heard Remus say, when his sobs had subsided a little. "I'm sorry I didn't come for you sooner, Harry. I'm sorry I didn't take you away from them the minute you showed magic, even before -- " the other man's voice cracked, but when Harry looked up, Remus' eyes were dry. "I'm so sorry, Harry."

Harry burrowed into the soft white shirt again, until his breathing had steadied. Remus spoke in a low monotone, but the words were soothing.

"I loved your father as much as it is possible to love," he said, rubbing small circles on Harry's back. "And your mother too. She was the most wonderful woman, you know, more forgiving than James had any right to deserve, and she loved us more than we deserved, too, once we stopped being idiots. By god how she loved you, Harry. She made up songs for you, bought you more toys than you knew what to do with, sat and held you for hours -- the rest of us could barely get a look at you. James was no better. All he did was brag about what a bright, handsome little boy you were, and he was right."

Harry felt the arms around his shoulders loosen, and moved back a little, wiping embarrasedly at his eyes.

"Sirius had no idea how to be a parent, Harry, but he loved you just as much as James and Lily did," Remus said. "It all went wrong, I know that, but he did love you, and so do I."

Harry glanced up sharply. Remus gave him a small smile.

"I've neglected you because I thought there were others who could better help you find your way, Harry, but it hurts to see you so lost." He drew a deep breath. "I won't leave you alone anymore."

Harry felt tears threaten again, so he sat on the edge of the bed, wiping his nose with his hand. "I thought you hated me," he muttered.

"I know. I didn't. I was scared of you. Scared that you hated me," Remus added, dry irony seeping into his tone. "And it's a big job, you know. It's easy to take responsibility for teaching a few hundred children how to hex a Hinkypunk. It's a little more difficult to take on just one."

"You needn't, then -- " Harry began, defiant once more, but Remus held up a hand.

"That's why I'm here," he said. "It's my job now. So," he added, sitting on the bed next to Harry. "The rest of the summer, I am at your disposal. What do you need?"

Harry considered this for a minute, but he suddenly wanted to be out of this room, somewhere warm and safe, and there was only one place like that in Grimmauld Place.

"We could have lunch," he said hopefully, and Remus grinned at him.

"Lunch sounds fine," he answered, and followed Harry out of his room, down into the heated comfort of the kitchen.

END

Bullfinch's Mythology

Summary: Severus Snape discovers he's been hauled kicking and screaming into having friends.

***

Severus Snape would never admit in a thousand years that he enjoyed visiting the Tonkses.

Perhaps he didn't even believe it himself, at times; it was always difficult to convince himself to go, and he usually tarried until the last possible minute. It was uncharacterstic of him, really. He'd always been the sort, even as a child, to rip the sticking-plaster off his cuts all at once or jump into freezing water without hesitation.

Even with his reluctance, however, he was always prompt; so much so that on the first few occasions he surprised Andromeda -- who was used to the disorganisation of the Tonks side of the family and, as a child, the imperious Black assertion that whenever they arrived was the proper time. Being on time was something that did not happen to Andromeda, except by accident.

Of course, she joked, he was probably making up for the first few times she'd invited him to dinner, when he hadn't arrived at all. Severus, after pointing out to her that he had declined her invitations in writing and well ahead of time, gave up. It was little use arguing with Andromeda, even about such ridiculous things as dinner invitations.

Andromeda's tenacity was why he had begun visiting the Tonkses for dinner in the first place, after the mess with Peter Pettigrew and Harry's flight to Wales. He knew of the Tonkses better than he actually knew them; they'd both been years ahead of him in school, and his friendship with Regulus had not extended to the rest of the family. Even as little as he knew them, he was aware Andromeda and Ted must have discussed him; Andromeda as much as told him so, when she came to visit him in his quarters one day, after he'd declined her fourth invitation.

"I know we aren't friends," she'd said, accepting tea from him politely -- never let it be said he was a bad host -- "But you've been good to Harry and Sirius, and of course we know you helped Dora pull through her NEWTs."

"There is nothing owed on either account," he'd replied stiffly. "I am paid to ensure that students manage to retain something between their ears, and assisting Harry was -- "

He stopped, suddenly; he had almost been about to confess what a pleasure it was to spend time with the young, inquisitive child he knew more by the name Parvus than by his real name.

Andromeda smiled and filled the silence smoothly. "Nevertheless, though I've always found terms like 'debt' to be distasteful, my husband and I find ourselves in that position. We also wonder if you aren't slightly at a loss, having had to give up Harry so quickly. It must be quite...isolated, here at Hogwarts."

He'd snorted derisively. Isolated wasn't the word for it; after the initial settling-in of the new school year, teaching became somewhat tedious, and he'd never got the hang of befriending the rest of the staff. Now, self-conscious about the peculiar scars that crossed his right temple and without the thought of a trip to Diagon Alley with Harry to look forward to, things did seem...emptier than they ever had before.

Lonely. That was the word for it.

Not that he'd ever have admitted that, either. But he knew that on some level, Andromeda saw it anyway.

"I understand your schedule and responsibilities don't permit much free time away from the school, but we would like to have you to dinner. I'm sure you'd be interested in Dora's progress in the Aurors' Academy, and you've yet to properly meet Neville," Andromeda continued. "I'm afraid our hospitality may leave something to be desired, as we're in the middle of knocking down walls and laying carpet and the like, but there's always Sosi Alley -- or we could meet you in Hogsmeade!" she said brightly.

Her requests in writing he could easily reject; it was much harder to do so when he faced her, and he'd found his much-prided sarcasm had left him.

"Hogsmeade, perhaps," he allowed.

"Oh, excellent. I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself, Severus. Shall we say Friday at eight?"

"I'm not -- "

"I'll make sure Dora's free, and we can take Neville up for the afternoon, then meet you for dinner," she'd said brightly. "What a splendid idea, Severus. I'm sure visiting Hogsmeade will be good for him. You do have a way with children, don't you? Then again, I'd expect nothing less of a Hogwarts professor."

And that, it had appeared, was that.

He'd loathed the idea of dinner, in public, with near-total strangers except for Nymphadora, who'd been his student -- and not a particularly stellar one, or one he had been very lenient with. And a nine-year-old child along too, no doubt a troublesome, noisy brat. He didn't often make conversation and didn't particularly care to try. He disliked arranging to meet people, as he found they were rarely on time; he had no inclination to be nice to Ted and Andromeda Tonks. Andromeda had a habit of guessing what he was thinking and feeling that had nothing to do with Legilimency and everything to do with watching him more closely than he liked.

And yet...the long walk to Hogsmeade in the late-summer evening had been soothing, and he found the restaurant Andromeda had directed him to nearly empty. Nymphadora was quiet and respectful, even if she did knock over the gravy boat and tread on his toes, and the Longbottom child was as well-behaved as one could expect from a nine year old. He was a roundish, harmless-looking boy, though he seemed drawn and pale, and his dark eyes watched Ted almost continually.

Somehow, though Severus never really discovered their methods, Ted and Andromeda kept the conversation light and continuous. Now they asked questions about his classes, now they spoke to Nymphadora about her training, now Andromeda urged Neville to tell, in slightly halting, shy sentences, about their visit to Honeydukes that afternoon. When he knew the Tonkses better, Severus studied how they did it, but he simply didn't have the knack. He was grateful that they did. Otherwise the meals they took together might well have been intolerable.

The third week of classes, Ted sent him an invitation to dine with him and Neville at their new home; Andromeda was in Ireland looking at textiles for the shop, and Nymphadora was doing a weekend training intensive. He didn't bother to decline this time, mostly out of a vague fear that Ted might take it into his head to visit Hogwarts also, in order to convince him face-to-face.

There was a Hallowe'en party in the gutted ground floor of Grimmauld Place that October, made all the more eerie by the sheets hanging from the walls and the occasional bit of bared lumber. In November a Muggle festival at a brewery, where Severus found himself fascinated by the pure chemical nature of the brewing process, and came away with several books on the subject. In December there were dinners and rambles through Hogsmeade, with the ground covered in frost and snow. Sometimes the entire family appeared, sometimes just Ted, or Andromeda and some of her friends. He liked it less when she or Ted brought people along; he withdrew to the edge of the group and kept mostly silent, unsure how to interact with people who were neither student, nor colleague, nor (and this was the third classification he was only beginning to build) a Tonks.

He was not entirely as isolated as the Tonkses might have believed; he had contacts throughout Europe and America, other potions specialists or subscribers to journals he read or was published in. Some were friendly enough that they sent Christmas cards, and he set them on his mantel, which was essentially what mantels were for, he decided. He didn't expect much more than that; Dumbledore always gave his faculty some small gift or other, and usually Professor McGonagall sent him some fruit or a small basket of sweets, but he neither expected nor wanted anything else.

Certainly he did not expect, on that first Christmas since Harry's exile to Betwys Beddau, that he would be woken by a childish voice shouting, "Happy Christmas, Professor Snape!"

For a split second he thought it must be Harry, but it was slightly off, a little too high and with the wrong accent. He pushed himself out of the bed and pulled his robes on over his pyjamas, peering into his sitting-room. Standing on his hearthstone was Neville Longbottom, carrying a large parcel. He'd sent small gifts to the Tonkses, of course, it was only polite, but he hadn't expected they'd send him a Longbottom in return.

"Shove over, Neville!" someone said, and Neville was poked in the back until he complied, to reveal Nymphadora Tonks and her parents, stumbling out of the floo hookup that he'd thought (curse Dumbledore, they must have put him up to this) was secure.

"What on earth...?" he asked, bewilderedly, as the Tonks family, en masse, beamed merrily at him.

"Christmas!" Neville said, and offered him the parcel.

"We thought we'd surprise you," Ted added, as Severus accepted the parcel, still at a loss, and turned it over in his hands. "Go on then, open it up."

"Not there," Andromeda ordered, unwrapping an enormous red muffler from around her neck, while the rest of her family began shedding coats and gloves they'd clearly worn for the cold walk to the Leaky Cauldron -- the nearest floo point -- from Grimmauld Place. "Put it on the table first."

"We fetched it from Diagon Alley this morning," Neville said. Severus decided that, while he'd definitely improved over the months, this was the most talkative the boy had ever been. "Before the sun rose, even!"

"Is it up now?" Severus asked, slightly acidly.

"Sorry, but we wanted it to be fresh," Andromeda said. With an odd excitement he wasn't sure was quite proper in a fully-grown adult, let alone a Hogwarts professor, Severus picked the knots on the ribbon that bound the parcel, and then pulled back rustling red and green paper.

Now he understood why he'd been instructed to place it on the long worktable; out sprang five place settings and an elegant white tablecloth. The smell of sausage and bacon, eggs, buttered toast and fresh fruit, coffee and tea washed over him.

"We brought you breakfast," Ted said with a grin, as the platters of food expanded from their charmed place inside the parcel. Charmed serving forks and spoons began to fill the plates.

Severus felt rather like Scrooge in the old Muggle faerie tale when he finally got the giant roast turkey at the end. Except he wasn't having with any heel-clicking nonsense.

Still, he decided he could allow himself a genuine smile, as he turned towards their expectant faces.

"Well," he said, "sit down then."

It was somewhere during breakfast that Severus -- who had long ago decided family, especially his family, was more trouble than it was worth -- realised he had acquired another one. He rather felt this family was an improvement on the other, even if Andromeda scolded him for not finishing his egg, and Neville, in what was quite a daring feat for the boy, stole his toast.

It wasn't as if the egg or toast were really that important anyway, compared to being brought breakfast by four smiling faces on Christmas morning.

***

In the weeks following Christmas, he never even considered turning down an invitation from the Tonkses unless his school duties absolutely prevented him from joining them. He could quite happily sit on one of the Hogwarts porticos with a book while Nymphadora studied nearby and the rest of the family indulged in snowball fights; he listened, with more interest than he showed, when they plotted a spring planting party for the first fine spring weekend, since Grimmauld Place had a fair-sized garden that had gone to ruin in the years it stood empty.

The first week in February found Severus in Diagon Alley, picking up potions supplies for his NEWTs class and a few odds and ends for some of the other professors. He was supposed to have dinner with the Tonkses, which would be a welcome respite from wandering around Diagon Alley in the bitter chill. He felt himself begin to warm up almost as soon as he entered the old house on Grimmauld Place through the portkey-doorway near the top of the alley, and by the time he'd passed through the shop, ignored by the attendants who knew him by sight, he was shedding his muffler and overcoat, bundling them over one arm as he tucked his packages under the other. The upstairs door was open, and he knocked on the doorframe as he entered.

"Professor Snape!" Dora called, from the kitchen. "Is that you?"

"Nymphadora," he answered, hanging his coat on the hook and settling his things on the table in the foyer. "I was unaware I was early -- "

"You're not," she replied, appearing in the kitchen doorway. "Mum ran out for some wine and Dad went to get some fresh potatoes for the mash -- apparently what we had wasn't up to standard -- and Neville's having a sleepover with Madam Malkin's little boy -- have you met Russel?"

"I haven't had the...pleasure," he said drily.

"He's a sweet kid. Not very bright, but friendly enough. I was just watching the roast," she added, stepping back into the kitchen and stumbling a little on the hem of her robe. "You can come in here if you like, or wait in the living room."

He followed her into the kitchen, where she took up her seat at the little breakfast table near the window, and rearranged a few books laid out on it.

"Academy classes," she said, looking sardonically at the spread before her. "I have a preliminary exam next week. Defensive Magical History."

"Not your favourite subject, I take it," he said, for want of something else to talk about. She glanced up at him, as if confused for a moment, then shrugged.

"It's all right. I'm learning things. I'm just not sure how they're going to help me as an Auror. Some of the reading is great, though."

He picked up one of the books, examining the spine. "Bullfinch's Mythology? Muggle books?"

"They're not actually Muggle, really," she protested. "Well, they publish them in Muggle, but that's the assignment. We have to read the book and sort out what's Muggles making things up from real events in Magical History. You'd be surprised how normal Muggles used to think this kind of thing was."

She held up a book entitled Bullfinch: A Magical Concordance. "It's all explained in here. Bullfinch got most of his myths from Ovid's Metamorphosis, which was written by an Animagus back in ancient Rome. It's all about transformation," she said, with a wide grin. "I mean do you realise that almost all of the stories we have of ancient Greece and Rome, mythological or otherwise, are concerned with...well, people turning into other things? It's all down to change."

Severus studied her for a moment before replying. "You must feel very at home with these stories."

"Well -- " she paused. "Yes, I -- I suppose I do. But I think anyone would, I mean...who doesn't have change in their lives?"

He considered it in silence while she rose to check on the roast in the oven -- Ted enjoying old-fashioned Muggle cookery as a hobby -- and sat down, cleaning up the mess of papers and books a little before proceeding.

Change didn't come easily to Severus Snape. Change meant upset, which in his young world had meant punishments and people shouting; to change one's mind in Slytherin was to back down, to show weakness, and to become a target.

You could forget about it in the Death Eaters. Regulus -- who was a friend, despite his older brother's moronic posturing -- had been murdered in front of his eyes for wanting to escape. And then, after all the upset and turmoil, finally, he'd been taken in by Hogwarts, where some things hadn't changed in a thousand years, and where a man could pass a decade of his life -- nearing a decade -- in quiet, comforting routine.

The slam of a door brought him back to himself, as Ted arrived home with the potatoes, his wife just behind him with a bottle of wine and a basket of fresh rolls from the bakery down the street.

"Good evening, one and all," Ted said, mock-gravely, as he shook Severus' hand in greeting and set the potatoes in the sink, peeling and scrubbing them with a flick of his wand. They leapt to the cutting board and a knife began to dice them as Andromeda set the basket on the table, and Severus grudgingly allowed her a greeting kiss on his cheek. Dora carefully lifted a handful of plates and walked very slowly into the dining room with them.

"Just about finished, I'd say," Ted announced, removing the roast from the oven. "The thing about Muggle cooking, which I always say," he added, addressing himself to Severus, "Is that the fullness of time is almost an ingredient. I could cook the roast in about two minutes with magic, but you wouldn't have the lovely smell of it all afternoon, and the anticipation and such."

"On the other hand, after a twelve-hour day downstairs in the shop, I'm just as grateful that I don't have to wait half an hour for my spaghetti," Andromeda replied. "You're NOT going to Muggle the potatoes, are you, sweetheart?"

"No, the roast is too close to done," Ted said, piling the heap of cold, uncooked potatoes on a plate.

Oh, Severus, would you...?" Andromeda gestured at the bottle of wine, and he accepted it from her hand, casting a quick accio on the cork to remove it while Ted hexed the potatoes into a steaming mash and carefully whisked some gravy from the roast on the stovetop.

"The plates are out," Nymphadora called as she ducked back into the kitchen for some silverware. Severus collected the wineglasses in one hand and brought the wine to the table in the other, pouring while Dora laid out the silverware. He gave her a questioning look, bottle hovering over the lip of her wineglass, and she nodded, holding up thumb and forefinger to indicate just a little. He set the wine down and quickly pulled her back from the doorway before she could run into Ted, who was carrying the roast out. Andromeda followed with the rest of the food, bread and potatoes, gravy, the vegetables that had been cooking with the roast, and a pitcher of water, some of them floating around her head until she plucked them out of the air and set them down.

"Did you know," Ted said, as he began to serve out slices of the roast, "Dora's been taking a course in Muggle socialisation at the academy, Severus?"

"She was telling me about some magical history..."

"Well, that too -- a regular scholar, is our Dora, and you should see her hexes. She's got them honed," Ted said proudly.

"She was telling us about how some Muggles pray before meals," Andromeda said. "We had Ted demonstrate."

"Helpful having a Muggle-born for a dad, once in a while," Ted said, with a wink at Dora. "They're training her to do special undercover work, of course, so she has to learn how to blend in with Muggles, just in case."

"How are things up at the school, Severus?" Andromeda inquired. "All going well, I hope?"

"The snow keeps them from running away too fast," Severus muttered, and Ted snickered.

He was quiet throughout the rest of the dinner while Ted and Andromeda talked about politics, both local to the shopkeepers of Diagon Alley and on the grander scale of the Ministry. Dora's comments about change sat uneasily with him; perhaps it was unnatural not to want change. The vast majority of magic was, after all, about turning things into other things. Minerva McGonagall, who could speak for hours on the subtleties of transfigurative categorisation, would have his head for thinking so simply, but in the end, it was true. And he had stood still for a long time.

Eventually he realised he ought to be going, and prepared himself again for the icy wind and cold drizzle outside. Andromeda adjusted his muffler for him, and Ted provided a waterproofing charm for the packages, promising to owl him in a few days about having dinner in Hogsmeade.

He was halfway through the shop, where they were closing up for the evening, when he heard Dora call "Professor Snape!" and turned in time to catch her as she tripped. She straightened herself, dusted down her robes, and held out a black, broad-brimmed hat.

"To keep the rain away," she said, breathlessly. "Mum sent it down."

He accepted the hat gravely. "Tell her thank you."

He was turning away when she called his name again, and he sighed. "What is it?"

"I -- listen, I didn't mean to upset you," she said. It was unusually perceptive of her, and he examined her face as she spoke. "I was just talking about school stuff. I'm always saying the wrong thing, I know, but...I'm writing a whole paper on the important part, and you didn't even hear it."

"And I suppose you'd like me to approve your thesis?" he asked, sarcastically.

"Everyone in the stories changes but no one changes alone," she blurted. He stared at her. "It's all because they're in love, or because they're being comforted about love, or because they've been good people or bad people, but they're never alone. Well, except Narcissus," she said, because even though she wasn't a terribly brilliant scholar, he would admit she'd always been a thorough one. "But his was sort of the point of being alone, and I just thought you ought to know."

He looked at her, considered, and decided he could allow himself a small smile.

"Thank you for the hat," he said. "It seems to be a sound thesis."

She beamed at him as he turned and left the shop, donning the hat against the drizzle, and making his way towards the Leaky Cauldron and the floo portal that would take him back to Hogsmeade.

END

The Birds, The Bees, and the Snakes

Summary: Harry discovers sexual education.

***

Bethany Vaughan had a lot of theories about the two men living on the outskirts of Betwys Beddau, where she had been born and raised. It was a small town, and bred a large number of gossips, but Bethany was an oddity -- she didn't gossip, she didn't want to marry a farmer, and she'd already decided she was going to University. So, despite both subtle and unsubtle needling on the topic of the two men by the older people of the town who had nothing better to do, she kept her thoughts on Remus Lupin and Sirius Black to herself. It wasn't easy; she was the closest to them of anyone in town, because she was Harry Potter's babysitter.

Harry was universally adored by the adults of Betwys Beddau; somehow, probably through hints Mr. Black had dropped, they'd gathered the information that he was an orphan, that his godfather had only recently been able to get custody of him, and that he'd been brought out here to have a healthy upbringing away from the big cities, along with help from Mr. Black's cousin Mr. Lupin. Bethany had her own ideas about the reason two thirtysomething bachelors would be raising an adopted child together, but what consenting adults did on their own time -- and while they paid her to watch their child -- was really no business of hers. Besides, she liked them; Mr. Black was a smiling, easygoing man, and Mr. Lupin always asked after her mum when they met in town, and often slipped her a discount on the music magazines she bought.

She liked Harry too; he was a well-behaved child, when he came to stay -- Mr. Black insisted that he stay the night with her rather than she come to their house, which she'd never seen, but he paid double and Harry was never very difficult, so she didn't mind. So, when she saw possible problems arising, she decided for Harry's own good to have a word with Mr. Black, when he came to pick Harry up that morning.

"Thank you, Bethany," he said, as Harry gathered up his backpack and clung to his arm, beaming up at Bethany. "No trouble, I hope?"

"None at all. We made collages," Bethany said, indicating the rolled-up bit of paper clenched in one of Harry's hands. "Could I have a quick word with you, Mr. Black?"

Mr. Black frowned, but nodded, and gave Harry a gentle push. "Run out to the bikes, Harry, and get your helmet on," he said, and Harry dashed out the door. "Is there a problem, Bethany?"

She twisted her fingers together. She'd rehearsed this speech, but it was much harder with Mr. Black standing there, handsome and imposing and somehow a little larger than life.

"I'm a bit worried about Harry, sir," she said. "He, er...he's been telling me things..."

"Things?" the man asked, suddenly alert, like a hound on a scent.

"Yes, he...I know all boys have a bit of an active imagination, but he's been...telling me that snakes are telling him things," she said worriedly. "His pet snake, you know, that goes with him everywhere."

Relief washed over her when Mr. Black broke into a broad grin.

"Well, all boys do have imaginary friends and that," he said reassuringly. "He doesn't always get on with lads his own age, you know how it is with precocious youngsters. Probably imagines his little snake talks. Quite the fantasy life, eh?"

"It's more the way he said it," Bethany pressed on, not quite convinced. "As if it was something he didn't mean to tell me, as if it were a secret."

"Perhaps the snake told him not to tell," Mr. Black said, and the amusement in his voice cleared away the last of her concerns. Of course that was it; children were secretive sometimes. Well, that solved one problem anyhow, and the other one was something she'd had to broach to quite a few parents, so the words came easier.

"He also, er, he's been asking about sex," she said, and Mr. Black snorted. "I mean, I'm fairly certain he knows some basics, you know how children pick these things up, but we saw a picture of a sheep with a little lamb, and he was sort of asking about how the lambs...get there, and all."

"I see," said Mr. Black, gravely -- taking it much better than many parents of her acquaintance. "What did you tell him?"

"I changed the subject."

"Ha! Well done, Bethany. Not really in your job profile, is it?" Mr. Black said amiably. "Thank you for telling me -- I'll handle it. Had to come up sooner or later," he added.

"Thank you, Mr. Black," she said. "Most people are a lot less understanding."

"I imagine so," he said, counting out her payment and adding a few extra pound coins with a wink. "Thanks, Bethany."

She watched from the window as he helped his godson up onto the bicycle, then climbed on his own. They rode off at a sedate pace, Harry still wobbling a little, Mr. Black riding behind him to watch in case he fell.

Such a nice man, Mr. Black, so even-tempered and normal.

***

Remus was settled in a corner of the big, deep living-room sofa when they returned, curled up under a blanket and nursing a cup of hot tea. Since coming to Betwys Beddau, where Harry could safely be left under another's supervision one night a month, his recoveries from the full moon had been faster; there was a large open space just the other side of the river, where Moony and Padfoot could run wild. Harry was happy to have Remus up and about sooner, and Sirius doubly glad that Remus didn't wake torn and bleeding anymore.

"Hallo Harry," he said softly, and Harry climbed up onto the arm of the sofa, a little too old now to join Remus in an undignified snuggle as he used to. "How was Bethany's house?"

"Fine," Harry said, unrolling his collage to show it off. Remus looked suitably impressed, while Sirius shucked his jacket, and hung up Harry's bicycle helmet. "Did Bethany want to talk to you about me mentioning Snake?" he turned to ask Sirius, who was unlacing his boots. "I didn't mean to tell her he talks to me, but Snake said something really funny," he said to Remus.

"I told her it was just your active imagination," Sirius said. "You have to be careful about that, Harry."

"I am!" Harry said, injured. "It was just the once."

"All right, well, there's no harm done," Sirius grinned as he moved into the kitchen. "Remus, how's your tea?"

"Still hot," Remus called, sipping it and winking at Harry. "So, what're your plans for this lovely Sunday?" he asked Harry.

"Reading to you," Harry said promptly.

"You're a good lad, Harry, but it's a nice cool day out -- sure you don't want to go fishing with Padfoot?"

Harry shook his head, and went to one of the bookshelves on the opposite wall. "Then what would you do?" he asked.

"Oh, sleep and read," Remus replied. "Honestly, Harry, if you want to go out -- "

"No, s'okay, I think it's going to rain," Harry said, scanning the books. "I like reading to you. You explain the hard parts. Do you want Kipling or something gothic?"

"Knows your tastes," Sirius murmured, carrying a mug of tea into the living room and settling into the other corner of the couch. "Something gothic, I think, Harry. Somewhere in the red bookshelf in our room there's a copy of The Picture of Dorian Grey, we'll see if it's to your liking."

Harry nodded and left the room, accepting Sirius' hair-ruffling as he went.

"I do worry that he spends too much time with books sometimes," Remus murmured.

"Worry about me instead," Sirius said urgently. "Bethany said Harry's been asking about -- sex and things."

Remus grinned at him. "Well, you said when it was time you'd be the one to give the birds and bees to him, in case he got ideas from me."

"I'm surprised he hasn't got ideas from both of us already," Sirius answered.

"Not to mention your choice in reading materials."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oscar Wilde, Sirius?"

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but Harry arrived back, flopping onto the couch between them. "What's this about then?" he asked, regarding the cover curiously.

"It's about a Muggle with a magic painting," Sirius answered, because Remus had closed his eyes and was looking slightly exhausted. "Maybe we should read it later..."

"No, it's all right," Remus said, eyes still closed. "It's about a Muggle who never gets old, Harry; everything that happens to him shows in the portrait instead of on his face."

Sirius thought he understood the sudden fatigue, at his summary of the book. It was a tradition among the noble houses of the Wizarding world to have such a portrait done; it wasn't quite as effective as Dorian Grey's, but they did slow the aging process considerably. And Remus, though still young, was already showing grey in his hair and fine lines in his face.

After a minute of silence, Remus smiled and opened his eyes. "I'm all right, Sirius. You won't mind if I sleep a bit while you read, will you, Harry?"

"I never do," Harry answered, paging to the beginning. "Do you want me to read the preface too?"

"That's the best part," Remus answered, and Harry settled himself crosslegged, book open on his lap, to read.

"The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim. The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things..."

***

Remus dozed off around halfway through the first chapter, and Sirius reached over to gently close the book, once he was sure the other man was asleep. Harry set the book aside and looked up at him, thoughtfully.

"There's something you have to tell me, huh?" he said, and Sirius grinned.

"Perceptive kid, you are," he said. "It's nothing bad or serious, just something we have to talk about."

"Okay," Harry said, turning on the couch to face him, and Sirius turned likewise, crossing his legs, a larger, blue-eyed version of Harry, facing him. Harry laughed a little.

"Bethany says you were asking her where lambs come from," Sirius said.

"Sort of," Harry agreed. "I know a bit of it."

"Oh?"

"Well, some of the boys at school talk about it," Harry said, suddenly blushing furiously. Sirius, just as embarrassed, nodded. "And I just thought Bethany might know."

"You think I don't?" Sirius asked, surprised.

"No, but..." Harry squirmed a bit. "You're my dad...I mean, just as good as."

Sirius nodded. "Remus too?"

"I thought maybe I shouldn't be asking about it. The teachers at school looked upset when I talked about snakes laying eggs..."

Sirius touseled his hair. "You can ask us anything, Harry, I promise we'll never be angry."

"Oh, okay." Harry nodded. "So are you going to tell me about it?"

"Yes I am," Sirius said, then paused. "Er. This may take a while."

"That's fine," Harry said encouragingly. Haltingly, Sirius began to sketch out quite a lot about sex -- at least, the biological side -- at least, the heterosexual biological side...

This had been much easier when he was a child. Though of course walking in on Narcissa and Walden McNair in the greenhouse is not the ideal way to discover how things were done.

Nor was a rambling forty-minute monologue on the sins of the flesh from his father, when he was caught at age fourteen studying certain woodcuts in some of the older, naughtier books in the library.

He finished outlining the reproductive process, in a somewhat stammered fashion, and added a few sentences on respecting young women and how one ought to wait until one felt one was ready. He found this somewhat ironic, given his own checkered past, but Harry took it all in with those intelligent green eyes, and when he was finished, Sirius breathed a sigh of relief.

"Er...do you have any questions?" he said, watching as Harry almost visibly digested the information. "Was anything unclear?"

"No..." Harry said slowly. "I knew a bunch of that from the snakes."

"You did?"

"Yeah, but I thought maybe humans did it differently. Cos...when a man and a woman get married he doesn't dig a big hole for her in the back garden."

Sirius fought slightly hysterical laughter.

"No, that's very true," he agreed.

"And girls don't lay eggs?"

"No. Well....no." Sirius decided that he would buy Harry a biology textbook that might explain the particulars better.

"Okay." Harry rested his elbows on his knees, and propped his chin in them. "So what about you and Remus?"

Sirius froze.

"What about us?" he asked.

"How do you do it?"

"Do what, Harry?"

"What a man and a woman do," Harry said. "You aren't a man and a woman but you sleep together and stuff, right? He kisses you sometimes."

Sirius felt the blush returning. He thought they'd been cautious enough that Harry wouldn't be curious; clearly he was wrong.

"And you take care of him when he's sick," Harry said, jerking his head at where Remus slept on, behind him. "And he looks after you when you're sick."

"Yes, but -- "

"And he'd be mad if you kissed a girl, right? You yelled at him when that girl was making eyes at him in the bookshop."

"Well, all right..."

"And you do sex stuff, right?" Harry asked.

"You haven't seen that, have you?" Sirius said, voice cracking.

"No, but it makes sense," Harry answered. Sirius glanced at Remus, willing him to wake up and intervene. "So how do you do it with all boy parts?"

Sirius could hear Remus' sly murmur in his head. Any number of enjoyable ways...

"Er..." Sirius said, stalling for time. "There's more to understand about it than just how it happens, really. The biology I mean. It's got to do with...well, how you choose who you love, or...or how it chooses you...we'll get you a book about it, how's that?"

"Okay," Harry said agreeably. "I don't think the library has books about that, though. Jamie Meredith would have found it by now. He's found most of the books with naked pictures in them."

"You might want to keep your distance from Jamie Meredith," Sirius said slowly.

"Yeah, he's not really interested in real books," Harry agreed. "Sirius?"

"Yes?"

"Remus loves you, right?"

Sirius grinned. Here, he was on firm ground. "Yeah, he does."

"He told you so and all?"

"Yes."

"And you love him?"

"Yes I do, Harry."

"And you told him?"

Sirius bit his lip and wondered if, in all the time they'd spent together, he ever had actually said it. Just for no reason, just because it was true.

"Yes he has," Remus said quietly, from behind Harry. Both of them turned to look at him, but he had already shifted his shoulders and rolled a bit, curling deeper into the blanket, and seemed to be asleep again.

"Good," Harry said decidedly. "Can I have a sandwich now? It's nearly lunchtime."

Sirius laughed, and followed him into the kitchen to make sandwiches, fingers lingering on Remus' shoulder as they passed, affectionately.

END

Author's Endnote: The idea of Dorian Grey-style portraits being done in the Wizarding World is actually Heidi's, used with permission; you can find a discussion of the concept in the Portrait Of Mrs. Black thread at Fiction Alley.

A Lesson in Hiding

Summary: Draco knows how to hide.

***

It would be a fallacy to say that the Malfoy ancestral home was obsessively clean; in the upstairs levels of the mansion, dust covered the white sheets, which covered all the furniture. The kitchen and the small suite of rooms occupied by Narcissa and her son, however, were cleaned on a daily basis by the house-elves, giving them an almost sterile, scrubbed appearance.

Draco privately thought that the cleaning had driven a number of them nuts, since one could only polish freshly-polished silver so many times, but they were on the whole a good sort; they never narked on him without being told to by his mum -- and at that point, as she was the mistress of the house, it was unavoidable that they should tell the truth, so he never blamed them. They often brought him sweets or biscuits on the sly to make up for it; an entire black market trade in marzipan went on in the Malfoy household, as it was Draco's favourite, and there was a complicated chain of communication used to bring it into his hands.

Despite the house-elves' best efforts, Draco was a small, thin child, which in his mind was a good thing: it meant he could squeeze himself into the shadows of the hallway pilaster-columns, behind flowerpots, through small holes in the garden hedges. Smallness was essential to Draco's existence, because the smaller you were, the better you could hide from Narcissa.

Considered objectively -- and Draco did a lot of objective considering -- Narcissa was not a bad mother. She kept him reasonably well-fed, clean, and neatly dressed. He had two excellent if somewhat dull tutors. But he knew she wasn't like other mums. Other mums didn't scream in the hallways when something wasn't precisely as they wanted it. Other mums had people to tea. Other mums didn't curse their husband's name on a regular basis. Other mums took their own sons out to Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade or to museums and libraries. He knew they did. He'd read books.

Draco never went out unless his tutors took him. He knew Narcissa did go out, because he saw her leaving and returning, but she never acknowledged him unless she could help it, or unless he'd done something wrong, so taking him on trips or to go shopping was utterly out of the question.

When he was younger, Draco occasionally did something wrong simply to make sure she still knew he existed. Usually he realised the foolhardiness of this about three minutes after he'd done it. It was one of the many reasons Draco had identified and prepared several hiding places in every room of the house, for when Narcissa began screaming.

He also had places into which he couldn't fit -- or, after a growth spurt in his ninth year, could no longer fit -- and he used those to hide his belongings. They were things he didn't want Narcissa to see, or anything she might take away from him. There was an envelope of newspaper clippings, about nothing in particular, just interesting stories he'd saved; a funny-shaped bottle he'd nicked from the kitchen; a picture of his father he'd found while exploring the upper rooms one day, when he'd cajoled one of the house-elves into unlocking the door at the top of the stairs, which led to the rest of the house.

The problem was the photograph, he thought, as he gazed down at Narcissa, tearing the kitchen apart. If she'd found any of the other things, she would have been furious that he was bringing filthy rubbish into the house, but finding a photograph of Lucius had put her into a screaming rage.

Draco kept carefully out of view, not just of his mother but of the house-elves, so that they couldn't tell on him if she demanded to know where he was. He'd discovered the high cross-beams in the shadowy ceiling a while ago, and knew he couldn't be seen if he kept to the south end of the room.

Clearly this called for some fast thinking. She was going to ask the house-elves, and then she was going to find all the places he kept stuff. He couldn't let that happen. This wasn't childish caprice; this was defending his territory.

He slipped off the upper-beams and down onto the lower ones; from there he dangled by his fingers, until he got a toe-hold on the edge of the hatch that passed between the kitchen and the dining room. He slipped through it, landing lightly, and made for the hallway, arriving there a split second before Narcissa did. She shrieked when she saw him, and the full wrath of his mother descended on his head.

"Keeping this in our house!" she screamed, shaking him by his arm. "How dare you defy me! This for your deceit!" she added, ripping the photograph in half. Draco felt something inside him crumble, but if he was to save himself and his sanity, he knew he couldn't show it. There would be other photographs, and he had memorised every line and shadow of his father's face in that one, every expression and movement the magical photo showed.

"Sorry, mum," he whispered, when she released him. She shook the pieces of the torn image in his face.

"Disobedient, wicked boy!" she shouted. "The house-elves say you've hidden things all over! In every room!"

"Dobby cannot disobey the mistress, Master Draco!" Dobby wailed, in the background.

"A conspiracy! Under my nose! Well, this stops now." Narcissa fixed him with a hateful glare. "Either you can tell me yourself and save a whipping, or I'll ask the house-elves. And you know they won't lie for you, Draco."

Draco studied his shoes. "I'll tell you," he said softly. She jerked him into the dining room.

"Under the table," he murmured, and she found a packet of sweets underneath the table, attached with tape. "Behind the planter." A book he'd particularly liked, stashed where he himself could still fit, in case he got bored while hiding. "That's all here."

Narcissa shot a swift glance at the house-elves, which were now following them around like peculiar chicks after a hen. "Is he lying?" she demanded. They shook their heads woefully.

They continued on through every room in the house: kitchen, den, bathroom, schoolroom, bedroom, even Narcissa's work-room, where she kept her correspondences and files he wasn't allowed to see, though he never hid anything there. He showed her the trick cabinet in the kitchen, the loose floorboard in his bedroom, the hidden ledge on the inside of the schoolroom closet, the cranny in the candelabra that you couldn't see except from below. She didn't bother with the sheet-covered rooms, except the library, since as far as she knew they were all under lock and key the house-elf Mendy kept in the pocket of her tea-towel dress.

When they finally returned to the corridor, Draco was trembling, and Narcissa had left behind a trail of destroyed treasures that the house-elves had quietly and efficiently cleaned up as they went, terror and pity in their eyes.

"That's every room," she said, and Draco suppressed a small breath of relief. "You are a wicked, deceitful child, and you will be punished, Draco. Go to your room. You," she said, turning to the house-elves, "assisted him in this trickery. All of you are to boil your hands."

"Don't -- it's not their fault," Draco said, but Narcissa gripped him by the arm and thrust him into his bedroom, slamming the door after her. Draco stared at the door, wondering if he could even try to help the house-elves, but he knew it was hopeless.

There wasn't a trace of any of his hiding places. The loose floorboard had been fixed permanently to its fellows with a flick of Narcissa's wand, and the draperies on the bed removed. The bed itself had been lowered to the floor, so that there was no space underneath it. And that wasn't even his punishment. His punishment was still to come.

Draco knelt and slid his hand across the formerly-loose floorboard. He felt like crying, but he was too tired to bother. Instead, he slumped back against the footboard of the bed and closed his eyes.

The ruse had worked.

Complete honesty had its place, after all.

Well. Complete honesty after a fashion.

Draco knew that he looked at the world differently than other people did; it had earned him strange looks from his mother and her rare visitors, in the past, and his tutors were constantly trying to understand how he came up with some of the ideas he did. He'd finally stopped voicing them, because clearly they only caused trouble. He had been writing them down, and had kept them where they would be safe -- Narcissa had not found his private book, not yet.

Every room in the house, she'd said, but she hadn't even asked him about the hallway.

Nobody ever thought about hallways properly, really.

And in fact the hiding places in the hallway were not all that difficult to discern. Behind a curtain that hid an old ancestral painting that nobody ever looked at, there were a few books he loved dearly; and then, near the stairs that led up to the locked door --

He was sure his mum must know about the cupboard under the stairs; there were strange trunks stored in it, and someone had to have put them there. True, the door was disguised as a panel, but it wasn't all that well hidden. That was why he'd chosen it. And tucked just inside the door, between a trunk reading HOGWARTS - L. A. MALFOY on it and the wall, he kept his private book, and three little toy soldiers he'd found, which he thought might have been his father's. Certainly Narcissa didn't approve of such things.

If they think you've given them everything, he thought, if they think they've crushed you, they won't ask you for the one thing you've kept back.

He'd creep out of his bedroom tonight, unless Narcissa locked him in, and remember to write that in his private book.

END

Eclipse

Summary: Severus has invited Dora to an eclipse party -- and to stay the night. Nobody's very certain about the relationship, but as Ted Tonks says, the moon does funny things to people.

***

Andromeda Tonks stood at her window, the one that was charmed to look down on Diagon Alley even though in reality it looked down on a quiet side-street of Grimmauld Place, and sighed.

Severus Snape had just left. She liked Severus, and part of her discontent was that she was sorry to see him go. Most of it, however, was because she'd become oddly uncomfortable with his visits in the first place, though they never appeared awkward on the surface.

It was just...well, her friend Severus looked at her daughter Nymphadora in ways that made her feel as though she wasn't sure where she stood. She wasn't entirely surprised by it, but she was discomfited.

Ever since Andromeda had taken Severus under her wing as a sort of third child, though much older than her biological daughter and adopted son, there had been a hint of something peculiar and competitive between Severus and Nymphadora. It had reminded Andromeda of schoolyard games before boys realised that hitting a girl was not the way to win her heart -- or, in Dora's case, before she realised making pig-faces was not the best relationship-building skill.

No, Andromeda was not entirely surprised by the turn of events, though it did worry her. Dora was very young, and though she'd grown up considerably in the past year -- especially since the first accident, the one that forced her into teaching -- Severus was still much older than her. The weights he carried, some deep grief Andromeda had never asked about and a degree of social ineptitude resulting from his intelligence, made him seem older still. He was a good man but not a cheerful one, and he didn't smile or joke like Sirius and Remus did. He loved Harry, that much was obvious, and when he shyly asked Andromeda and Ted for permission to court Dora, she could see that there was love in the offing. But Dora was a very independent girl, and Andromeda wondered if Severus could make her daughter happy -- or if Dora could ever make Severus anything other than lovesick and miserable. And he'd been her teacher, as well, which added to the strangeness.

Still, she couldn't deny his devotion; he'd saved her daughter's life. And besides, he had gone about the thing properly, rather than sneaking about as if he were doing anything wrong. His utter lack of guilt in the matter reassured her, as did Dora's seeming affection for him as well. Andromeda worried, but she kept her concerns to herself.

She had often come upon them together, this past summer, first in the hospital and then in the rooms above Tonks&Tonks -- occupied during the school year by Remus and Sirius -- where Dora had come to recuperate. She didn't know what they talked about, but she did see Severus smile more than he used to. When Dora was well enough he took her walking in Hogsmeade in the late evenings, and she always returned wind-blown and beaming, her hair cheerfully blue or pink.

But now it was nearly August, and Dora was fully healed. She'd been through most of her requalifications and was scheduled to return to work -- her real work, her Auror's work -- before Hogwarts classes began again. She'd be around people who understood her work, young people, people who were not the emotional puzzle that Severus could often be.

So she watched, and felt awkward around Severus, and hoped it would somehow come out all right. Once, she'd even gone to the Black family mausoleum to think about it, a nice quiet place where nobody ever disturbed her, seeing as she, Dora, and Sirius were the only ones left who could even see it in the small, ancient London graveyard.

She'd stood by Regulus Black's tomb -- charming, handsome Reg, so like his brother, right down to the cruel streak -- and thought for a moment that Regulus, if he'd lived, would have loved the match. His best friend and his cousin's daughter, what could be better? Reg would even approve of an older man marrying a younger woman.

But Andi wasn't sure that Reg's approval was a good thing. He'd been a Death Eater, after all, and whether or not he'd tried to get out he'd still thoroughly believed in the family line.

Come to think of it, Reg wouldn't have approved the match, because Reg didn't talk to Andi. God, that had been hurtful. He'd been forbidden, of course, but so had Sirius and when Sirius finally got free one of the first things he did was look Andromeda up.

"Mum?"

Andromeda turned from the window, a smile already on her face. "Hello, sweetheart. Did you and Severus have a nice time?"

Dora nodded and dropped down into one of the dining-room chairs, stretching. "Yes, we did. It's lovely to just sit and talk with someone sometimes, you know?"

"You and Severus have a good deal to talk about?"

"We always seem to find something," Dora replied.

She was twenty four. Severus was thirty-three.

"Actually, today..." Dora looked up as Ted wandered in, kissed his wife, and poured himself some lemonade. "We talked about something that I have to talk to you two about."

Andromeda lifted her eyebrows. Ted brought them each a glass of lemonade as well.

"Are you all right, love?" Ted asked. His daughter gave him an uncertain look. Andromeda's mind immediately settled on the most terrifying possibilities -- that she'd been fired, that she was pregnant, that one of them was sick.

"Yeah, I guess..." she said, sipping her lemonade.

"Something you needed to tell us?" Andromeda prompted, trying to sound gently unconcerned.

Dora bit her lip. "I...guess I wanted to ask you something. Not really ask, actually, but not really tell..." she sighed.

Ted sat down across from his daughter and rested his chin on one hand. Andromeda put her hand on his shoulder, unsure if she was reassuring him or herself.

"Yeah, it's sort of..." Dora glanced up at her father, looking unusually shy. "Well, see, there's a lunar eclipse tonight."

"Is there really? Must have missed it in the Prophet," Ted said. "Funny things, eclipses."

"Poor Remus has an awful time of it," Andromeda added. "So Sirius says, at any rate."

Dora nodded. "And I've been invited to Hogwarts to see it -- all the professors are going to watch it from the Astronomy tower. It's supposed to be one of the best places in Europe to see it," she said. Ted gave Andromeda a quick, bewildered look, which she mirrored.

"Well, I think that's splendid, it ought to be quite a sight," Ted said.

"So...because it's late at night, and all, and I don't have work tomorrow, I've sort of...been invited to stay at Hogwarts tonight." She swallowed, and her almost painfully honest nature won out. "Severus invited me, that is. To stay at Hogwarts."

"With him?" Andromeda asked, relieved. Then the implication sunk in, and her fingers tightened on Ted's shoulder.

"Well..." Dora almost squirmed. "I don't think he meant it...in any sort of...dishonest way, he's not, he's not like that. But yeah...with him."

Ted set down his glass, slowly.

"I wanted to tell you," she added, almost defiantly. "Because I won't be home tonight."

"Oh," said Ted. "Well."

"I'm a grown woman -- " Dora began, but her father held up a hand, and she fell silent. Ted glanced at Andromeda, almost imploringly. He was a good husband and had helped to raise Dora unflinchingly, which not a lot of men would have done. It wasn't easy raising a metamorphmagus, at least those first few years. Still, Andromeda knew he had his limits and he always had fumbled around the idea of Dora and Boys. Mainly, she thought, because he was usually stifling the urge to strangle said Boys.

"I'm sure Severus is quite trustworthy, and if he...well, you're an Auror, you're well able to take care of yourself," Andromeda said. "You don't need our permission, of course, but it's good of you to tell us, so that we didn't worry. And you'll have a lovely time, no doubt."

Dora smiled hesitantly. "Good. I...think I will."

They finished their lemonade in somewhat uncomfortable silence. Andromeda was doing the dishes before she realised Ted had wandered off somewhere and Dora was still sitting at the table, fingers tracing imaginary designs on the surface, nervously. There were things one was supposed to say at this point, surely, about love and making sure he was the right sort of fellow, but the problem was that Andromeda knew, deep down, that he was precisely the right sort of fellow. And maybe he really did just intend that Dora ought to sleep at Hogwarts since it was a long journey back.

But somehow she doubted it, and she knew Dora doubted it too. Dora would never let herself be coerced; clumsy and blunt she may be, but stupid she was not. If Dora was nervous it was not because she was scared of Severus, but rather she was scared that her parents would disapprove. There hadn't been much room in Dora's life for boys, even at Hogwarts. This was near-uncharted territory.

Ted came back into the living room, carrying a thin book and looking somewhat apprehensive. He sat down next to Dora and cleared his throat as Andromeda turned slightly, the better to hear.

"I er..." he said, pushing the book towards her. "When, er, your mum and I started...that is, when we were seeing each other, our last year in school, and my dad knew about it -- you know your granddad, he was always interested in Wizarding things, even if he couldn't do a lick of magic himself -- he took me aside and gave me this. I don't know where he found it...but, the point is...just in case, he said. So I reckon it's time you had it. Just in case," he fumbled. Dora looked down at the book, then back up at Ted, her eyes a little wider than normal. "It's...preventative charms. Against, er, accidental...things. And disease and all. Not that I think Severus is -- but you can't be too careful -- and...it's natural, at your age, it'd be hypocritical to say your mother and I never -- "

"Thanks, dad," Dora said quickly.

"Right, right...not what you want to hear at all, but just..." Ted studied his hands, and Andromeda added one more item to the very long list of reasons she loved her husband, "...I care about you and Severus is a good chap but I don't want to be a granddad too soon, right?"

Dora's smile was a little wider now, a little less forced. "It's just an eclipse, dad."

"The moon does funny things to people," Ted said, darkly. "You read that book now. Just in case."

"Okay. Just in case," Dora repeated, and tucked it into the pocket of her robes. Ted kissed her on the forehead.

"That's a good girl," he said, and fled the dining room entirely.

Nymphadora looked up at her mother, who was laughing, silently, cheeks red already with amusement.

"Just in case," Dora repeated, and started laughing too.

***

Dora apparated to Hogsmeade that evening, in time for an early dinner. Severus met her near the post office, their usual place, and allowed her to kiss him hello, though she knew he hated public gestures. She had an overnight bag, which included her father's "just in case" book, though she'd read it over that afternoon and, with typical Auror application, memorised some of the more useful charms. He'd brought his owl Stryx, an enormous sleek beast which carried the bag back to Hogwarts effortlessly so that they could stroll through town.

She'd been anxious that afternoon, but oddly enough Severus was a soothing presence. He'd certainly been the opposite at school, but he had taught her to work well under pressure, and if he had been demanding, it had been no more than she'd been able to give.

Come to think of it, he had been quite an excellent teacher.

At any rate, his quiet presence leeched away her anxiety, and she could see him relaxing as she linked her arm through his and they went through their usual argument about who should pick where they were going for dinner. In the end he lost and had to choose; he picked a cafe where they could get soup and sandwiches to tide them over -- there would, he said, be food at the eclipse viewing. Dora paid for the meal.

She was never certain how, since neither of them were terribly social, but they always managed to fill their time together with talk -- or if they didn't, the silence was the comfortable result of the natural ending of a conversation. This time he'd been reading a book she'd lent him, and wasn't enjoying it in the slightest; from a dissection of the book's thesis they moved on to a discussion of Wizarding academia and from there to the evening's viewing party. By the time they were ready to leave it was already getting dark, and they had to hurry slightly to reach the castle before full dark fell and the grounds became difficult to navigate, even by full-moonlight.

Dumbledore greeted them at the top of the Astronomy tower while they caught their breath after the long climb up. McGonagall and Flitwick, Binns, Sinistra, Vector and even Trelawney were already there, sipping pumpkin punch from a big bowl on a table just inside the viewing balcony. Outside the moon was rising, full and pale, and Dora paused for a moment to hope Remus wasn't having too hard a time of it. She missed her cousin Sirius and his family, especially during the summer when they were at the River House, but there was room to run wild there, and perhaps during the eclipse that was important.

"There's not a better viewing place in the entire British Isles," Dumbledore said as she leaned on the Astronomy Tower balcony, looking up at the moon. "It was very kind of Professor Sinistra to invite us to view it."

"It's your school," she said with a smile. "Do you have to wait on an invitation?"

"I would not presume to invade her classroom, however," Dumbledore answered. He looked tired, as if the summer hadn't been easy on him. "Have you tried the biscuits the House Elves made?"

"No -- are they good?"

"Dreadful, I'm afraid."

"That's unusual."

"They get a little nervous around eclipses," he said thoughtfully. "It is rather unnerving, I suppose."

She glanced at Severus, who was speaking to McGonagall about something. "Is it?"

"It makes one feel very small," he replied. "To think that the earth is so large as to blot out the moon, and the moon is so large that it requires the earth's shadow to do so. And yet, we are not so insignificant."

"If no-one existed to witness an eclipse, what would it be worth?" she asked, grinning at him.

"Precisely, young Nymphadora. Precisely indeed," he replied, eyes dancing. "Are you quite certain I cannot lure you back to Hogwarts?"

"Not a chance, I'm afraid," she said. "Have you found a replacement yet?"

"Three candidates have come forward; or rather, two have volunteered and one has been put forward forcibly by myself. Do you know Gilderoy Lockhart?"

"Yes -- didn't I beat him for last year's spot?"

"I fear he will be defeated yet again, poor man. Severus has put in his usual application as well, but he is much more valuable where he is."

"Who's the third?"

He smiled at her. "You'll soon hear, I imagine. Severus!"

"Headmaster," Severus replied, emerging from the gloom onto the tower's wide balcony. He brought two glasses of pumpkin punch with him, and Dora smiled at him as he offered one almost absently to her.

"Please, arbitrate a momentary debate between myself and Nymphadora, if you would," he said. To her shock, Severus Snape smiled.

"I'm afraid I'm not impartial, Headmaster."

"Alas! Then I'm afraid I must consult Professor Sinistra. Nymphadora, a pleasure to see you again," he said, disappearing. Severus turned to her.

"What was that all about?"

"I've no idea. I imagine it was an excuse to bring you here and leave us alone, the old matchmaker," she replied, turning to lean on the railing again. He stood beside her, looking up. "He says he thinks eclipses make us feel rather small."

"Yes, I've heard him say so before."

"Do you agree with him?"

"No."

She glanced over her shoulder. "Really?"

"Well, I don't feel small when I see an eclipse," he replied. "Do you?"

"I hadn't given it much thought. At school it was just another assignment."

"You're really not an academic," he said, but there was affection in his tone. Well hidden affection, still present.

"All right, then, Mr. Brains -- "

"I said you weren't an academic, I didn't say you were stupid," he said quickly.

"It's all right, Severus. I was teasing."

He relaxed a fraction. "Of course. What I mean is..." He stopped to look up again. "It's coming. Five minutes or so. HEADMASTER!"

"COMING, SEVERUS!" Dumbledore's reply floated out from inside. The rest of the staff began to drift out onto the balcony. Sinistra ran to her telescope and began making calculations.

"Tell me," Nymphadora murmured to him as the others chattered excitedly.

"It's so fascinating," he said. "That's what I mean; a teacher, even of idiots like mine, finds wonder in things like this. The Headmaster is reminded of his own insignificance, not an entirely bad thing -- "

"Naughty subversive."

" -- and I feel pride," he said.

"Pride?" she asked. He pointed over her shoulder and she turned. The faculty were distracted by the beginning of the eclipse; she felt his arm wrap around her waist, his voice in her ear. "I think of the thousands of years of wizards who came before me, watching the eclipses, recording them, marveling at them. I think of every one of my ancestors who looked up at the sky in awe and tried to uncover its secrets so that I could learn them."

The moon was half-dark. She breathed in sharply as his arm tightened around her waist.

"I think about the clockwork of the universe," he said softly. "The way everything comes in its turn, and how that must mean that -- after everything -- this is where I was meant to end up. And how the magic makes the clockwork worthwhile. Otherwise, life's just a machine; the moon's just a ball of white granite on a little brass model in someone's study, somewhere. But I know that to be untrue."

Instinctively she turned and closed her eyes and kissed him. Somewhere in the distance, there was a deep indrawn breath as the moon disappeared; all she felt was Severus, arms around her body, head bent over hers to return the kiss.

There was a silent moment, and then someone cleared their throat.

Dora felt herself released, suddenly. She turned to see the rest of the Hogwarts faculty, peering at them over their spectacles or smilingly and pointedly not looking.

"Well?" Severus demanded. "Haven't you ever seen an eclipse before?"

"Too bad Nymphadora missed this one," Madam Hooch said, as Dora blushed deep red. Minerva McGonagall gave them both a wise, almost approving glance, and went to investigate Sinistra's notes. Everyone slowly dispersed, except for Professor Trelawney (oh gods) who took Nymphadora by one hand, patting it with her other.

"One never likes to say anything, but it is always such a joy when private visions become reality," she said dreamily. Dora glanced up at Severus, whose lips had thinned to a hard line. "If you ever need advice, my dear, you have only to ask."

She floated away, making for her next target, and Dora heard what sounded distinctly like a suppressed laugh from Severus.

"I'm having a vision right now, as a matter of fact," she announced to him.

"Oh yes?"

"Yes. I've been having it since the eclipse."

He looked down at her, dark eyes curious.

"It involves you and me, in your rooms..." she looked up at him, momentarily uncertain. But she'd started this. "Doing things Professor Trelawney definitely didn't foresee."

His lips curved upwards into a smile that she'd never quite seen on his face before. "Do you have a particular date to put to this image?" he asked.

"About ten minutes from now, if you play your cards right."

END

Flopsy: Chemistry Set

Summary: A gift from Severus Snape.

***

It was just a visit like any other, of course; the child deserved a little experience with the Wizarding world, and certainly his godfather couldn't give it to him.

Severus Snape was unaccustomed to feeling pity for children. He didn't like the sensation. But he did pity Parvus -- Harry -- Parvus. He would have time enough to think of him as Harry, the son of the man who'd tormented him all through school. For now he could be Parvus, nephew of the brother Severus never had.

"Will I get to make potions someday?" Parvus asked, clinging to his sleeve as he spoke with an apothecary who did all his special-ordering.

"Yes," he replied brusquely.

"Like you?"

"You may aspire to be a Master of Potions," Severus answered.

"You're going to teach me?"

"Yes."

"When?"

Severus rolled his eyes and paid for his purchase.

Late that afternoon, Harry returned home clutching a small parcel; when Remus opened it with him, he began to laugh, though Sirius sulked.

"Junior Wizard's First Potion Kit," Remus read aloud, grinning at Sirius. "It looks as though Severus likes small children after all."

Part 3: Laocoon's Children

Laocoon's Children

Year One: The Philosopher's Stone

Twenty-two crystal spheres geared to God’s crankshaft, that’s my idea of a satisfying universe.

— Tom Stoppard

O wretched countrymen! what fury reigns?

What more than madness has possess’d your brains?

Think you the Grecians from your coasts are gone?

— Virgil, The Aeneid

Preface

To be completely honest, I can’t remember the thought process whereby I sat down one day and said, “Hey, a sequel to Stealing Harry! That’s a good idea. I think I’ll rewrite all five existing books. It’s not as though I have a thesis to write or anything.”

Looking back, I recall that I had started on the short stories that follow Stealing Harry before I had written its final chapters, and I had probably already begun outlining the first year of Laocoon’s Children as well. In the end, I think it’s simply that Stealing Harry wasn’t finished. The fun of alternate universes is that you can twitch one event slightly and a whole new set of events fall into place like interlocking blocks; the intellectual exercise in discovering the fit of those blocks is fascinating and addictive.

I wanted to see how a Harry with three years of parental affection and a proper upbringing would fare at Hogwarts; what the influence of Sirius Black would have on his young mind, and in turn how he would manage being famous when he had a steady adult to guide his hand. I wanted to see what would happen to a Slytherin Harry Potter. I wanted to see what would happen to a Draco Malfoy raised without the stabilising influences that Harry had gained.

I simply wasn’t finished.

Although, all things considered, Heidi the beta suggested that perhaps “I responded to the desperate outcry from rabid fangirls. End of story,” would make for a shorter preface.

Chapter 1

Harry Potter's Hogwarts letter arrived on a perfect summer day, when Harry and Snake -- Snake the Second, as Remus and Sirius knew him -- were sunning themselves near the big rock, down by the river at the bottom of the garden.

Remus was still at work at the bookshop, and Sirius was working on the house, a new hobby of his; just currently he was re-securing the guttering in anticipation of a wet autumn. They wouldn't be here in autumn, of course, but Sirius had tried to retain some semblance of normalcy, as the summer drew on; Harry suspected Sirius didn't like change much, and was trying to put off the inevitable.

Harry blinked when the letter landed lightly on his chest, and waved as the owl swooped away. He tilted his head back and saw Sirius dangle from the guttering for a moment before dropping handily to the ground.

"Owl post!" Sirius said excitedly, throwing himself down next to Harry. "Open it then! No -- wait -- camera -- and Remus should be here -- "

"Sirius, don't make a big deal," Harry said. "Let me open it."

"Wait till Remus comes home?" Sirius pleaded. "He'd kill us if he missed it."

Harry sighed. "Why can't I open it? We all know what it's going to say."

"Rite of passage, this is," Sirius said, tapping Harry's letter. "Big moment in a young lad's -- ow!"

Harry bit down a grin as a heavy packet hit Sirius in the back of the head, nearly bowling him over, and another owl flapped away. Sirius rubbed his head, and reached for the thick envelope lying in the grass.

"Bit old for Hogwarts, aren't you, Sirius?" Harry asked. Sirius thwacked his godson, and examined the cream-coloured envelope intently.

"Small wonder," he said. "It's from Severus Snape. He must have told the owls where to go."

"What is it then?" Harry asked. "Or is getting clobbered with a huge bulky letter another rite of passage in a young man's life?"

Sirius gave him a playful scowl, and ripped the envelope open.

"To Sirius Black, Guardian of Harry Potter, et cetera..." Sirius skimmed the letter. "Clippings from the Prophet," he muttered. "News about Peter -- or apparently lack thereof. Suppose this is his idea of a welcome back to the Wizarding World."

"Does he say hello to me?" Harry asked eagerly, craning his neck to see the neat, copperplate handwriting. Sirius snapped the letter shut.

"Not directly," he replied. "Here, you want to look through the clippings with me?"

"Sirius! Harry!" someone called, and both turned to see Remus rounding the corner of the house, carrying a satchel and walking his bicycle. He leaned the cycle up against the house, under the ladder Sirius had used to get onto the roof with, and tossed the satchel to Sirius, who caught it. "Couple of books for you. Library was having a -- is that a Hogwarts letter?" he asked abruptly. Harry waved it and grinned. "Congratulations, Harry. Go on then, open it."

Remus sat crosslegged in front of Harry, Sirius leaning over his godson's shoulder, as Harry lifted the red wax seal and took out his official Hogwarts letter. He grinned as both men let out a low, relieved breath. There was a moment of slightly reverent silence.

"Your dad and mum'd be that proud," Remus said gently. Sirius ruffled Harry's messy hair.

"We'll take you to Diagon Alley, end of August," Sirius decreed. "Get you your robes and your wand and everything. Send you off in proper style for the son of James Potter and heir of the House of Black. Get you a racing broom too."

"Says here first years aren't allowed racing brooms," Harry said, examining the letter.

"Oh, it always says that. We'll smuggle one in," Sirius assured him. Harry looked from Remus' quiet smile to Sirius' broad grin, and sighed happily, leaning back against the rock, basking in the afternoon sun.

***

"Mum! Dad! They've arrived!"

Padma and Parvati raced down the walk and out onto the pavement to greet their parents, waving their Hogwarts letters proudly. Ram Patil caught Parvati up in a big bear hug, and Sarasvati took Padma's hand, accepting the letter solemnly.

"Both of you, then?" Ram inquired of Parvati, who beamed and nodded while he set her down. Padma saw the glance her parents exchanged, and shared in the relief evident on their faces. Parvati had been regularly setting the drapes on fire as proof of her magical ability since she was three; Padma had barely shown any magic at all, and what she did show wasn't really all that convincing. She'd been worried her sister would go off to Hogwarts without her.

It wasn't, she felt, an unjustified worry. She and Parvati had never really been good at doing the twins-joined-at-the-hip thing like the Weasley brothers were; their parents had often wondered aloud how they'd managed to share the same womb for nine months, since they hadn't been able to share a bedroom for more than three before they started wailing at each other whenever they were put in the same crib.

Sarasvati squeezed Padma's hand. "Of course they're both going. They're our daughters," she said proudly, as they walked back up the steps and into the house. "This calls for a celebration. Where would you two most like to eat?"

Padma entered the squabble over restaurants with vigour, as she was usually able to trick Parvati into demanding to go the one place Padma wanted; it was all a matter of triggering Parvati's competitive streak, and then aiming it in the proper direction. Most of Padma's life was spent calmly using her wits to make sure her sister didn't bowl her over with typical Parvati enthusiasm.

The rest of the evening was spent in a flurry of celebratory dining, floo-calls to various relatives and friends, a couple of calls to Padma and Parvati's friends to see if they'd gotten theirs yet (poor Annabelle was a squib, it appeared, though she'd never been much fond of magic so she was taking it rather well). It wasn't until Padma went to put on her pyjamas that night that she really thought about what the Hogwarts letter meant.

She'd be leaving her bedroom, her books, her games and puzzles. She could take a few of them, she supposed, the ones she really liked, but for the most part she'd be going to a new place, with new things, and might end up having to share a bedroom with Parvati, if they were sorted into the same house.

Her mother found her clutching the corner of the bedspread, standing indecisively over it, staring at the letter on her lamp-table. Sarasvati stroked her daughter's hair, soothingly, and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Aren't you pleased?" she asked. "You're going to Hogwarts, like your father and I did. And you'll have your sister there. Besides, all your friends are going."

Padma nodded, and slid into the bed, watching her mother from her pillow.

"It's all right to be a little frightened," Sarasvati continued. "I was. But you'll have a wonderful time, Padma. Hogwarts will be the most fun, and you'll meet so many wonderful people."

"Mum, what house do you think I'll get?" Padma asked softly.

"Well, your father was a Gryffindor and I was a Hufflepuff, so it's anyone's guess, love. Worried about sharing rooms with Parvati?"

"I want to be Padma. Not Padma-and-Parvati," Padma said.

Her mother smiled, and stroked her cheek. "You are Padma," she said softly, kissing her forehead. "That's all you need. Sleep now. Dream good dreams of Hogwarts."

Padma nodded and rolled over, closing her eyes, but sleep was a long time in coming.

***

Narcissa had decided, when Draco was younger, that owls were filthy creatures that should not be inside of respectable homes, no matter how old a Wizarding tradition the Owl Post was. Owl deliverys to the Malfoy estate were redirected to a perch outside the kitchen, where one of the house-elves would accept the post, pay if necessary, and send the bird off without Narcissa ever seeing it. Draco thought it something of a shame, as he liked owls, but he contented himself with watching them from the kitchen window.

His tutors, after thoroughly preparing him for the rigors of Hogwarts, had been sent off in early April with suitable letters of recommendation and small bonuses for their services; Draco had nothing to do all summer but mooch around, keep out of Narcissa's way, and watch for his letter. Surely he'd get one. He couldn't imagine what would happen if he didn't. He'd be seriously contemplating matricide. After all, if it was good enough for Orestes...

They didn't get much post, at any rate, Narcissa being what Draco now knew to call a "recluse", though he rather thought barking mad covered the bases pretty well also. He felt guilty even thinking it; it made him want to hide somewhere, but all his old hiding places were too small for him now, and if he wanted to escape Narcissa he had to retreat to the library, and lose himself as best he could in the sheet-covered stacks. Narcissa didn't like the library, so it was usually safe, unless she was on an especially angry rampage, in which case nowhere was.

They'd only had four owls since April, and two of those had been adverts.

Still, he sat on the stool near the kitchen door that led out to the owl-post depository and the midden, and read, or talked to the house-elves, or simply just stared at the sky. He liked watching the sky change. You never had to worry when the sky changed moods, because even the stormclouds were lovely in their own right. He could get lost for hours, and it was just as well, because otherwise he'd just get into mischief again, and Narcissa would come looking for him.

The plain brown barn-owl fluttered down, squawked when it was denied access to the kitchen window, and landed sulkily on the perch provided. As if in spite, it relieved itself right after it landed. Draco smiled at the caprice, then leapt to his feet when he saw the envelope it held in its beak.

"Mendy is going to get the Owl Post, Master Draco -- " one of the house-elves said worriedly, but Draco thrust her aside and went himself, snatching a handful of owl treats from the bowl near the door, and offering them shyly to the little brown owl, who dropped her letter into his right hand and promptly gobbled two treats from his left. He tucked the letter in his shirt pocket and stroked the soft, downy head -- but only for a moment, before the little owl screeched her goodbye and soared away.

He scattered the rest of the treats on the ground, in case any passing owls should want one, and turned to the kitchen door.

The house-elves, all nine of them, were gathered in the doorway, watching him with wide, bulbous eyes.

"Master Draco is going to Hogwarts!" Dobby squeaked.

Draco smiled.

"Master Draco is going to Hogwarts," he agreed, pleasure welling up inside him at the thought, only pinpricked by fear at the very edges. The house-elves looked at each other.

"Mendy is baking Master Draco a cake," Mendy said decisively, and with that, the congregation of elves dissipated.

Draco sighed as he touched the letter in his pocket, gently.

Now he just had to tell his mum.

***

Neville had, it was true, some training in tolerance. Being raised by his grandmother, he'd had to develop quite a bit of patience. When Andromeda had first brought the boy home she'd found him quiet, polite, shy, and not terribly competent. Then again, after Nymphadora, as long as he didn't drop the dishes on a regular basis, she wouldn't ask for much.

Still, she realised it was a bit much to ask a boy to spend all day in his stifling, formal dress robes, and as soon as they arrived home after Nymphadora's Academy graduation, she let him run upstairs and throw off the robes, changing into more comfortable clothing for the reception that they were holding in the temporarily-emptied show-room on the bottom floor of Grimmauld Place -- now known as "Tonks & Tonks, Purveyors of Fine Wizarding Dress". Nymphadora looked like she, too, would like to change out of her Auror's dress uniform, but she was going to be meeting her trainer -- two years of classes, one year of apprenticeship, that was the Auror programme -- for the first time, at the reception, and she wanted to make an impression.

Neville came thumping down the stairs just as people were starting to arrive, and he greeted them with the hurried politeness of a ten-year-old who knows that delicious things are being prepared in the kitchen and, if he makes a pathetic face, samples will be distributed. Andromeda watched him from the doorway with a smile; two years ago, she would never have imagined this bright, energetic child could be the same frightened boy who'd been taken away from such a dour, unloving home. And to be sure it had been a long two years; Neville still hid under the bed whenever Death Eaters or You Know Who was mentioned, and he insisted on checking all the locks at night himself. Andromeda wondered how he was going to fare, sharing a room with a handful of other boys -- and Hogwarts boys were known for borrowing without asking first -- but she put it out of her mind. He'd come this far. He'd survive.

Besides, Harry would be going to Hogwarts too, and she'd ask Harry to look out for him. She'd already had words with Severus about making sure Neville didn't lose anything -- he was famous for losing things -- or get too badly picked on by any of the other boys. Severus had muttered that a boy had to learn to stand up for himself, but she was nearly positive he'd intervene, if he had to. If he wasn't picking on Neville himself, anyway. Nymphadora still feared the name Snape.

Andromeda sighed, and wondered how she and Ted, who were a fairly normal pair, as Magical folk went, could raise a klutz like Dora and a dreamer like Neville. Not that she didn't love them, of course. She loved them more, on account of it. Still, she did wonder if there wasn't some sort of curse.

Neville was in the kitchen already, pestering Ted for a bite -- just a little bite! -- of the carrot cake he was icing.

"What do you say, love?" Ted asked, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her close as he deftly guided the frosting onto the cake with his wand. He finished with a flourish. "Shall I give him one of the cupcakes I made with the extra?"

"You take the cake in," Andromeda said. "Neville and I can finish in here."

"You just want me out of the way so you can give him two," Ted said, but he kissed her cheek and carried the cake into the other room, calling out the names of a few family friends. Andromeda found the cupcakes and gave Neville one, eating the other one herself as he grinned at her. The charmed wriggling sprinkles on the icing tickled their tongues. Ted had made these especially for them, since wriggling sprinkles were clearly beneath the dignity of most Aurors.

"Dora's a real Auror now, huh," he said, around his cupcake.

"Almost, sweetheart," she replied, licking her fingers.

"I'd be scared to be an Auror," he said. Andromeda, remembering Frank and Alice, smiled gently.

"You'd make a fine Auror. You'll be good at whatever you do," she chided gently. Neville flushed and looked down. She was going to admonish him not to be embarrassed, when there was a scrabbling at the window, and she reached out to let in the post-owl who was scratching at the glass. The big black owl hooted, and Neville shied away a bit as it hopped towards him, holding a letter in its beak.

"Oh -- " Andromeda beamed, accepting the letter and giving the owl some carrot-cupcake to maul. "Look, it's your Hogwarts letter."

Neville's eyes went wide as she opened it and passed it to him. After a minute, he looked up, and a broad grin split his face. "I'm going to Hogwarts!"

"Of course you are!" Andromeda laughed, and hugged him. "Come on, let's go tell everyone!"

He caught her hand, and she stopped on her way to the door, turning to look at him quizzically. He clutched the letter to his chest, tightly.

"But it's Dora's party," he said.

"Yes, but sweetheart, everyone's here -- "

He shook his head. "I don't want to."

She turned and crouched to be closer to his level. "But Neville, it's a big day for you!"

"But it's Dora's party," he repeated stubbornly. "Everyone should be talking about her. Not about me."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. "We can tell Dora and Ted at dinner, and everyone else tomorrow. Please?"

Andromeda looked at his round, solemn face, and finally, she smiled.

"You," she said, "are going to be a wonderful man someday, Mister Longbottom."

He blushed again, and folded the letter carefully, placing it on the windowsill. Andromeda watched him prepare himself to go out into the crowd of people now filling the other room, and followed, joining in the loud admiration of Tonks' new badge and uniform and diploma.

She couldn't have been prouder of either of her children.

***

The day the Hogwarts letters were mailed to the first years, Severus Snape could not stay still, nor eat properly; Dumbledore met him in Hogsmeade, walking swiftly towards the outlying marshland north of the mountains, once known as the Hogsmeade Fens. He was dressed in his usual black trousers, a green shirt hanging off his shoulders, his still-short hair somewhat wild; he looked all of seventeen or eighteen himself, except for the three jagged stripes on his right temple, the mark that was a battle-scar of his fight with Peter Pettigrew two years previous.

"There's no need to be anxious, Severus," Dumbledore said, falling into step next to the pale Potions master. "It's only the letters."

"It's more than that, this year, and you know it," Snape replied, slowing his stride only slightly to match Dumbledore's. "Harry's coming this year."

Dumbledore smiled and walked slower still, forcing Snape to slow as well. "Indeed he is. Are you nervous because he might not remember you? Or because he might?"

Snape looked at him sharply, his expression so surprised that Dumbledore knew he hadn't even been considering that part of it.

"What if the owl can't find him?" he asked finally. "Or -- if they've decided to send him somewhere else?"

"You've told the owls where he lives. If all else, they'll simply wait until he leaves the house. The owls always find the students," Dumbledore said gravely. "That's old magic. And Sirius Black would not send his child anywhere but Hogwarts. He loved this school far too much to deny Harry his place here."

"How can you know?"

"Because I am not hampered by the same affection you and Sirius hold for the boy," Dumbledore answered.

"It's not the boy," Snape muttered. "It's just he's meant to go here and I haven't invested my own time in his education just to -- "

He stopped when Dumbledore held up a hand.

"The owls will find him, Severus. Sirius will bring him to Diagon Alley and then to the platform. The train will take him and all his companions to the school. You will see Harry again, at the feast, in a month's time. You've waited this long, Severus. You can wait another few weeks."

Snape ducked his head and kicked dust of the Hogsmeade road, looking like nothing so much as the sullen twenty-year-old boy who'd come to Dumbledore because he had nowhere else to turn.

"I may have missed his...unique outlook on life," he admitted dourly.

"I am sure by the time he leaves school you will be heartily sick of it, if that is any consolation," Dumbledore said, resting a hand on his shoulder and turning him back, towards Hogwarts. "Come. We have preparations to make for the school year."

Snape sighed, so quietly Dumbledore almost didn't hear it, and followed.

***

After Harry was asleep that evening, Sirius curled up on his own bed, sore from the work he'd done and tired from all the talk that afternoon about Hogwarts. Remus, drowsing against his back, warmed him some; he'd discovered werewolves ran hot, something that was only an issue in the late summer when Remus would threaten to leave them both for somewhere in northern Canada where the weather knew what it was about. Now, Sirius welcomed the extra heat; he could feel it leeching the pain from his shoulders.

"So," Remus said quietly, arm draped over his hip, twining one hand in his, "Harry's going to Hogwarts."

"That's the plan," Sirius replied, eyes closed, tired of thinking.

"Do you want me to start looking for flats in London?" Remus asked.

"No," Sirius said, sullenly.

"It'll do us good to get out of Betwys Beddau," Remus mused, ignoring him. "It's lovely here, but I miss big cities, and being able to do magic whenever I pleased. It doesn't have to be London. We could move back to Little Whinging if you really wanted."

"Don't make fun."

"Or we could go north. York. Newcastle, even. I don't think Hogsmeade would be wise -- too close for my tastes," Remus said. Sirius felt warm lips on the back of his neck. "I mean, if I was Harry I wouldn't want me living that close. Bit embarrassing, like."

"I like it here."

"Mmm, you would," Remus answered, now touching his stomach lightly, tracing small circles just above the loose pyjama bottoms he wore. "Content to dream your days away..."

"I don't see what's so wrong with that," Sirius said, relaxing into the touch, the reassuring solidity of the man now kissing his shoulder.

"I want," a gentle bite on his earlobe, "to be able," a kiss on his jaw, "to do magic again..."

Sirius turned a little to welcome Remus' kiss, familiar after two years, but still with the capacity to take his breath away. They lay there for a while, Remus propped over him, resting against his body, hands inching across his skin before finally tugging at his pyjamas. He could feel Remus' arousal pressed against his hip, but just as warm and promising were his hands, everywhere at once, gliding over sensitive skin, teasing him until he moaned softly, and gave up trying to sulk.

"In London, with our magic back, I could do the most wicked things to you," Remus murmured in his ear. "I know all sorts of lovely charms..."

"Don't need 'em," Sirius answered, gasping under the onslaught of sensation. He managed to catch one of Remus' hands with his own, and guided it across his stomach, and lower. Remus chuckled in his ear, unresisting, and stroked him lightly.

"A vote of confidence," he said, in a voice that made Sirius whimper.

"You...please..." he managed, and felt another laugh rumble in Remus' chest. The deft, slow strokes stopped and Remus reached across, moaning in his ear as he rubbed against him. Sirius fumbled the drawer of the nightstand open, and pressed the small jar into Remus' hand. He felt the other man pause as he warmed the oil, and then a slick pressure, Remus whispering things in his ear one would never believe the studious-looking man could say --

He turned his head for another kiss as Remus pressed against him gently, and then inside him, still wondering at oh how good it was and how Remus, please he had ever gone without it. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the easy rhythm, the unhurried way Remus kissed and touched him. It was effortless, just to allow the other man to draw him closer, away from the world and its threats, from everything he was afraid of. It was all right, here, in this bed, and he barely caught his breath as he came, though Remus shuddered and cried out his name.

Silence for a minute, two, as they cleaned up a bit -- this was so much easier with magic -- and readjusted themselves to sleep. Remus finally buried his face in Sirius' broad back, and murmured softly, lips moving against the skin of his shoulderblade, "We're all right, Pads. S'gonna be okay."

"Yeah," Sirius agreed, unable to remember precisely what he had been worried about. "Love you, Moony."

"Mmm. You too, Sirius," Remus mumbled, slipping into sleep.

Chapter 2

At one point in chapter 2, I have used dialogue verbatim from The Philosopher's Stone. This is intentional; Laocoon's Children is, after all, running parallel to the books. I don't intend this to become common practice, but I will post disclaimers whenever it occurs.

In this instance, much of Ollivander's interaction with Harry is lifted or paraphrased from the book.

***

That August, Diagon Alley was full of parents and students as well as the usual shoppers, the hangers-about, the street vendors and gossips. Andromeda's boutique was doing a booming business as students bought school robes and formal robes; some parents were drawn in while waiting for their children to finish making their purchases independently in other places. No matter that 12 Grimmauld Place was -- for all intents and purposes -- a rundown town-house in the middle of a bad London neighbourhood; inside it was "a shrine to classic fashion and style" (Daily Prophet, 9 April 1990) and it was easily reached through a portkey shopfront in Diagon Alley.

None of this was in the minds of Remus and Sirius as they followed Harry up the stairs from the tube station and out into Charing Cross Road. Harry had a backpack of the few things from home he wanted to bring with him; all his guardians had were their wands, tucked in their back pockets. One of the notes in the packet sent to Sirius was that their wands would re-activate the first time they set foot in Diagon Alley. They were watchful as they guided Harry towards the Leaky Cauldron, but nothing seemed amiss --

Until they stepped inside.

Word had got around in the two years they'd been gone that Sirius Black had taken young Harry Potter into seclusion with some tutor, a chap named Lupin whom some of them had known at Hogwarts, memorable mainly for his lack of memorability and sickly disposition. Sirius' face was relatively well-known, as he was heir to a fine old house, and his name popped up occasionally in connection with Andromeda Tonks; when they walked into the Leaky Cauldron, it was Sirius that everyone noticed first, tall and handsome as ever, trailed slightly by a scar-faced brown-haired man and guiding, by the shoulder, a slim young boy...

Sirius cleared his throat as silence fell throughout the pub. Finally Tom, the barman, came forward.

"To be sure, Sirius, it's good to see you again," he said, holding out his hand. Sirius shook it. "And this'll be young Harry Potter then, won't it?"

"This is Harry," Sirius rumbled, with an ominous look for anyone who would accost the boy or give him grief. Several people leaned in to each other to remark they didn't like the look of the bloke behind them. A bodyguard, perhaps? "Harry, this is Tom."

Harry held out his hand automatically, and Tom beamed wide as he shook it, showing a toothless grin. Other people came forward slowly as they made their way through the pub, introducing themselves and saying what an honour it was to meet the boy. Harry shook hands politely, and grinned once or twice; some of them, it was true -- and after two years in the Muggle world, these things became evident -- were dressed extremely oddly.

"Quirrell, old chap!" Sirius exclaimed, as they reached the back of the pub. A young, nervous-looking man lifted his head -- face pale under a shock of unruly, auburn-brown hair. "Of all the people to run into. Harry, this is Joseph Quirrell. He was with us at school, a year below -- I tutored him for his OWLs," Sirius said, as Quirrell held out his hand to shake Harry's. "Transfiguration and Potions. Good to see you, Quirrell."

"P-p-pleasure, I'm sure," Quirrell stammered. "H-h-hallo, S-Sirius -- L-l-lu-l-lu -- "

"Hi, Quirrell," Remus said, sparing the man. "Good to, er...see you again. What brings you to Diagon Alley?"

"Oh, I-i-i have some p-purchases to m-ake," Quirrell answered. "T-t-t-teaching at Hogwarts this year -- "

"Are you really?" Remus asked interestedly. "Well done you! What's your subject?"

"Best not be Transfiguration!" Sirius grinned.

"D-d-defence Against the D-d-dark Arts," Quirrell smiled weakly. Remus glanced at Sirius, who was hiding some emotion -- concern, amusement, perhaps dismay -- rather well. "I s-suppose I'll see you there, eh H-h-harry?"

"That you will -- which reminds us, we should be getting on. Good to see you again," Sirius continued, gently guiding Harry out the back door.

"Good luck at Hogwarts," Remus added, following. When they were out into the poky little alley behind the pub, he met Sirius' eye. "What on earth happened to him? He was always a bit of a runt, but my god!"

"Dunno," Sirius said, removing his wand from his pocket and giving it an experimental shake. A few reddish sparks flew off the tip. "Oh, splendid; look Moony, they work again."

"And that one's teaching Defence? Very peculiar," Remus continued, while Sirius tapped the bricks in order. Harry, who had come to Diagon Alley as a child in the months between his kidnapping from the Dursleys and their move to Wales, beamed brightly and stood very still as the bricks slid back. Sirius felt happy pinpricks across his skin as Diagon Alley appeared before them.

"Welcome home, Harry," he murmured.

They stepped out into the street proper, and Sirius glanced at Remus to find him holding his wand as they walked, levitating a pound coin in front of them; clearly Remus had missed magic more than Sirius.

"First thing we've got to do is go to Gringotts and get these notes changed," Sirius said, the floating pound coin reminding him. He had a thick roll of hundred-pound notes in his back pocket; hardly the majority of his Muggle bank account, but enough to open and nicely pad an account with Gringott's. "Read off your list there, Harry, and remind me what all you need."

Harry pulled out the already much-worn addendum to the Hogwarts letter. "Three sets of plain work robes -- "

"We'll get your uniform at Andromeda's," Sirius said, pointing as they passed the Portkey shopfront with Hogwarts uniforms in the windows and TONKS & TONKS over the door.

" -- there's a bunch of class textbooks -- "

"Flourish and Blotts," Remus said, and both Harry and Sirius could hear the book-lust in his voice.

" -- a set of potions stuff -- hey, you think we'll see Professor Snape?" Harry asked. Sirius growled.

"Shouldn't doubt he's lurking somewhere."

Harry swatted him with the letter. "If we do, you have to be nice, Sirius," he scolded.

"Fine, fine."

"Anyway, I also have to get a telescope, a pewter size-two cauldron, a set of brass scales, and a wand," Harry finished, staring as they passed a potion supply house, with a barrel of dried rhinocerous beetles out front.

"We'll have to stop by the pet shop, too," Sirius said. "I know a witch -- well, if she's still working there -- who can tell us whether it's okay to bring Snake to Hogwarts..." as he spoke, a small, triangular head poked up over Harry's collar, and he sighed. "I did say you might want to leave Snake home," he said, a trifle scoldingly.

"He wanted to come," Harry replied, not at all put out. "He's having an extremely good time. There are lots of new tastes," he translated, as the snake hissed gently in his ear.

"Boy talks to snakes, I'm sure I don't know where we went wrong," Sirius muttered good-naturedly, as they arrived in front of Gringott's. "Now, if I remember right -- "

"Good lord, look," Remus said. "There's old Hagrid."

"The gamekeeper?" Sirius asked, scanning the crowd of people inside. "I don't -- oh, of course," he added, as a large shape loomed in front of them. Neither Remus nor Sirius were particularly short men, but Hagrid towered over them both, his huge mass of hair and beard making him look even bigger. He was talking to a goblin as they walked, carrying a small, paper-wrapped parcel in one hand. "Hagrid!" Sirius called, and the man turned to look at them. "Rubeus Hagrid!"

"As I live an' breathe," Hagrid said, as the goblin wandered off. He sidetracked from his course and joined them just inside the entrance. "Black and Lupin. Hallo boys, how're things then?"

"Fine, Hagrid," Remus answered, with a grin. "Keeping out of trouble."

"You two? Not bloody likely. The number a' times I had to chase you an' your mates ou' of my pumpkin patch -- here, now, and you're young Harry Potter, aren' you?" Hagrid said, bending over to hold out his hand to Harry, who almost stepped backwards, as though an avalanche were descending. "Knew yer dad an' mum. Good people. Here for yer school stuff, are ye?"

"Shake hands, Harry," Sirius murmured, and Harry took the giant man's hand, nodding as he regained polite composure. "Yes, sir," he added. Sirius knew Harry had seen Hagrid when he'd visited Professor Snape, years ago, but Hagrid would have known him by another name -- if he remembered Parvus Rana at all.

"Here on business?" Remus inquired politely, indicating the package. Hagrid stuffed it hastily into his enormous overcoat.

"Sort of, sort of. Fetchin' somethin' for Dumbledore. Top secret Hogwarts things," Hagrid said, somewhat proudly, and Remus and Sirius exchanged a grin.

"Give him our regards," Sirius said. "Excuse me, I think a window's just opened up..."

They said their goodbyes quickly and Sirius laid down the roll of notes, watching as the goblin behind the counter thumbed through them, weighed out the appropriate amount of gold, and measured it into two sacks, at Sirius' request; a smaller one which he handed to Harry, and a much larger one.

"I'll hold this, and your backpack," Remus said, taking them from Harry. "How'd you like to go see Sirius' new vault with him?"

"Would I?" Harry asked Sirius, who grinned.

"It's the ride of your life, lad," Sirius answered. "Staying here, Moony?" he asked.

"I'll be just outside," Remus promised, waving them on.

***

Breathless and exhilarated from the ride, they rejoined Remus just as he was finishing up a haggle with a shopkeeper outside a second-hand shop next to the bank. The tables out front of the shop were strewn with miscellaneous junk, but Sirius whistled low when Remus held up his find, a set of antique scales that were burnished with age and use.

"Bit of a treasure, this," he said, as the shopkeeper grudgingly wrapped it in brown paper and took his payment. "Thought you might like it for your scales, Harry. It's a bit nicer than the new rubbish they sell for students -- cheaply made stuff. Though if you're embarrassed to be using second-hand scales -- "

"No, I like them," Harry said easily, accepting the package from the shopkeeper and shoving it in his pack.

"When I was a boy I did all my school buying in the second-hand shops," Remus said, as they ambled up the street. "You'd be amazed what you'd find. There's a little street just below Madam Malkin's, Mardjinn Alley...but we'll buy all your robes and books and things new, of course," he added hastily, and Sirius noticed the tips of his ears turning red. Remus had never had much to spend on school things, as a boy, he remembered -- his last two years, he hadn't had much himself, and he had fond memories of their gloriously adventurous shopping expedition in Mardjinn Alley while James and Peter went to Madam Malkin's and Flourish & Blotts.

They bought his cauldron and telescope, potions supplies and dragonhide gloves, and Sirius and Harry took their new acquisitions to the Leaky Cauldron, where they rented the last available room for the night, while Remus went into quiet paroxysms of joy over all the new releases in Flourish & Blotts. By the time they reached him, he'd arranged to have five or six of the most interesting delivered to their room, and gathered up all of Harry's necessary texts, plus a few extras he "thought Harry might enjoy." Harry, who had picked up a rampant bibliophilia from his guardians, added four more to the pile, including one on the myriad uses of snakes and snakeskin in charms, potions, and divination, while Sirius conferred with Remus on what he should buy himself and what he could nick from Remus' purchases. Sirius gave the delivery boy a pitying look when their order was finished, and tipped him a Galleon for his pains.

"We'll pick up your wand next," Sirius decided, while buying ice-cream cones, "and then we can go get your robes just in time to have tea with Andromeda," he added with a wink. He'd sent her a handful of cautious letters over the years, mailed well outside of Llangynog district (outside of Wales, for that matter) by Muggle post, but of couse she couldn't write back. "Be good to see her again."

"And Dora and Neville and Ted," Harry added. "Reckon Neville's still living with them?"

"Don't see why he wouldn't be," Sirius agreed. They stopped outside of Ollivander's, and Sirius held the door.

"I've one or two private errands," he said. "You two behave. I'll meet you outside of Andromeda's shopfront when I'm finished, yeah?"

Remus gave him a quizzical look, but nodded and herded Harry inside.

Ollivander's hadn't changed much since Remus and Sirius had been first years; still the small empty space at the front, the rest of the room filled with row upon row of small, narrow boxes in shelves that stretched to the ceiling.

"Lupin, ironwood, twelve and a quarter inches, bit on the skinny side -- unicorn hair. An unusual wand for an unusual young man, eh?"

Harry flinched slightly at the sudden sound, but Remus smiled and touched his shoulder reassuringly as an elderly man stepped out from the rows, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Yes, Mr. Ollivander," he answered, calmly. "Given me good service, it has."

"Oh yes? Let's see how you've served it, then," Ollivander replied, holding out a dry, callused palm. Remus took his wand out of his pocket and laid it in the older man's hand. Ollivander appeared to weigh it, examined one end and then the other, slid his fingers along its length, and gave a satisfied grunt.

"Always said you'd be a man to take care of your wand," he said approvingly. "Could do with a bit of polish, but in the end that's just appearances."

"Thank you, sir," Remus replied, accepting his wand back again. Ollivander turned his strange, unblinking eyes on Harry, and Remus squeezed his shoulder.

"Ah yes...I thought I'd be seeing you soon," Ollivander said, stooping a little. "Harry Potter. You have your mother's eyes. She had a lovely wand for charm work -- ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand -- eleven inches, pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration." Ollivander gave Harry a not-very-reassuring smile. "Well, I say your father favoured it -- it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course." He leaned closer, fingers drifting towards Harry's forehead. "And that is where -- "

"We're interested in Harry's wand, today," Remus said quickly, and Ollivander glanced up at him, almost reprovingly.

"Of course," he said, and withdrew slightly. "Mr. Potter. Let me see."

Harry held out his right hand and submitted to the fitting calmly, only looking a bit startled when the tape measure began taking measurements on its own as Ollivander withdrew into the stacks. He returned with a pile of boxes just as the tape measure finished, and set them on the counter in front of him. "Try this one to start. Beechwood and dragon heartstring, nine inches. Nice and flexible."

Harry glanced at Remus, who smiled encouragingly. "Go on then, Harry, give it a bit of a wave."

Harry reached for the wand and waved it around, but Ollivander immediately took it away from him.

"No, no, that's no good. Here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy."

Again, as soon as he lifted it, it was taken away again.

Ollivander laid out several more wands, but each was a failure, until the boxes began to pile up in front of them, and Ollivander began searching deeper and deeper in the shelves.

"A tricky customer, eh?" Ollivander said, while Harry looked disconsolate and Remus perplexed. "I have a few more, now..."

He set two down on the table. Harry tried the first one -- ten and a quarter inches, maple and unicorn hair -- to no avail, and was reaching for the second one when he paused.

"Not that one," he said. Ollivander looked at him curiously.

"Why not, Harry?" Remus asked. Harry glanced between the two men, then looked embarrassed.

"Er...Snake doesn't like that one," he mumbled. Ollivander looked up at Remus for an explanation, and Remus tilted his head at the sinuous body wrapped loosely around Harry's neck.

"His snake," he said.

Ollivander leaned forward, and Snake lifted his head to stare beadily at the pale, moonlike eyes.

"I'm a Parselmouth," Harry explained, only a little wearily. "I talk to snakes."

"Why doesn't he like this one, out of curiousity?" Ollivander inquired, taking the confession in stride.

"He says it smells like wicked," Harry replied. "It'd be like us smelling rotten meat, a bit," he added. Ollivander lifted the wand and examined it, then looked up sharply at Harry.

"Neither you nor your serpentine friend could know," he said slowly, "that this wand's wood is from the same tree that supplied the wood for Peter Pettigrew's."

Remus tensed. Harry's face went pale, and then his eyes hardened a little. Ollivander merely looked thoughtful.

"I wonder now -- " he muttered to himself, taking down another wand. "Ask your snake what he thinks of this."

Harry had a private conference with Snake, and turned to Ollivander. "He doesn't care about this one," he said, pointing to it. "Shall I try it?" he asked, and without waiting for Ollivander's answer -- Remus saw the man about to protest -- he picked it up.

A stream of red and gold sparks flew from the end, lighting up the room and making Snake duck his head quickly back under Harry's collar. Remus grinned.

"Holly and phoenix feather," Ollivander said slowly, when the sparks had died down. "Eleven inches. A very supple wand. Very...very curious," he added, as Harry studied his new wand. Snake poked his head out again, tentatively, and then slithered down Harry's right arm to have a better look at it.

"Curious?" Remus asked, wary after the incident with the wood-brother to Peter's wand.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold," Ollivander said gravely. "And there was another wand...thirteen and a half inches. Yew. A very powerful wand, and in the wrong hands..." his unblinking eyes drifted to Harry's forehead. "The phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand gave another feather -- just one other, to the yew wand which -- well, which gave you that," he said, indicating the lightning-bolt scar.

"Mr. Ollivander -- " Remus began, but Ollivander was still speaking.

"Curious indeed," he mused, "how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember...I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things -- terrible, yes, but great."

"That's enough, I think," Remus murmured. "We'll pay for the wand, please."

"I could get another wand," Harry said, hearing the tension in his voice. Remus shook his head.

"The wand chooses the wizard," he said. "Even I know that. The wand, Mr. Ollivander, and two tins of polish, if you would."

Harry put the wand back in its case and held it anxiously as Remus took the tins provided and paid out of the rapidly-depleting sack of wizarding coins. When they were outside, Remus seemed to relax slightly.

"I'm not going to get in trouble, am I?" Harry asked.

"Of course not," Remus answered, giving him a reassuring smile. "It was just a bit startling, that's all. And er...I think you should probably keep it to yourself, Harry, the...origins of the wand. You don't mind, do you?"

"I don't care," Harry answered, stroking the case lovingly. "I like it. It feels..."

"...right," Remus answered, and Harry grinned at him. "I know. I remember buying mine."

***

Sirius was waiting patiently for them on the pavement when they finally pushed through the crowd; he waved, and Harry ran to meet him.

"Bought you a trunk for your school things, while you were shopping -- got your wand?" he asked excitedly, and Harry opened the case, taking it out to show it to him. "Oh, that is splendid."

"Holly and phoenix feather," Harry announced. "And Mr. Ollivander had a look at Remus' too."

"Bought some polish," Remus said nonchalantly. "Otherwise all's well. Shall we?"

The door to Andromeda's shop was propped open to let in the warm summer breeze, and as they stepped over the threshold, there was a moment of dizziness, quickly passing when the portkey had done its work. Inside was a large room, well lit, full of clothing racks and hatstands, with a glass case of strange jewelery on one side, and a counter and till on the other.

"Good afternoon, and welcome to -- Sirius!"

Sirius found himself nearly bowled over by Andromeda, who threw herself into his arms and hugged him tightly before stepping back to give Harry and then Remus the same treatment. "Don't you three look well! I was wondering when we'd see you in here," she added.

"It's good to see you," Sirius said, smiling warmly.

"And Harry!" Andromeda continued, while Harry blushed. "Look at you, all grown up. Starting Hogwarts this year?"

"Just got his wand," Remus said, indicating the slim case.

"It's a proud day, and no denying it," she said approvingly. "Come on, come and have a bit of a sit down, you're just in time for tea. Irene, mind the shop, would you?" she asked, of a plump, friendly-looking woman behind the till, who nodded and turned to assist a customer.

"Business seems to be doing well," Sirius observed, as they made their way to the back of the shop.

"Oh, it's going really well -- I had to hire Irene when we expanded, just to help handle everything," Andromeda said. "Ted's been a dear, he does all the books -- Ted! Look who's here!" she called, as she led them through a door in one corner. Sirius vaguely recognised that they were passing from what once had been the enormous living room of Grimmauld Place, into the former dining room, now fitted with shelves and a giant desk behind which Ted sat doing figures.

"Lupin, Black, and Potter," Ted grinned, standing and circling the desk to shake hands all round. "Good to see you lot again. Welcome back! Has it been two years already? My god, look at you, Harry."

"Grown, hasn't he?" Sirius said proudly. "Going off to Hogwarts tomorrow."

"Well done, lad," Ted said cheerfully.

"I'm taking them upstairs for some tea, love, are you busy?" Andromeda asked, and Ted shook his head, following them up the flight of stairs to the next floor.

Sirius blinked as they ascended; this floor had been bedrooms and bathrooms, opening onto a dim, somewhat poky landing -- but Andromeda's renovations had been vigorous here as well, and now there was a wide open space at the top of the stairs, full of windows through which sun streamed brightly. To their left, a series of doors still appeared to lead into bedrooms -- one of them, slightly open, revealed a mess similar to the appearance of Harry's, back at the River House.

"Don't mind the disarray, that's Nev's room," Andromeda said, leading them through the living room and into an elegant dining room beyond the doorways, fixed up with what Sirius recognised as the old dining room table, refinished and polished to a bright shine. Andromeda slipped around a low counter and into the kitchen, filling a teakettle and setting it on the counter along with a handful of cups. Ted took down a plate of shortbread as she brewed the tea, talking all the while.

"We went and bought Neville's school things yesterday -- Ted was that proud -- and he's hosting a couple of his friends tonight, since their parents had to go home. I think we're taking about five boys to the train tomorrow and picking up three more girls from the Leaky Cauldron on the way to the station."

"It's a nightmare," Ted said frankly, offering the plate to Harry, who took one and thanked him politely.

"Nymphadora's coming to help," Andromeda chided, adding cream and sugar to the tea-tray she was assembling. "I'm sure it'll be fine. Are you two staying the night?"

"Got a room at the Leaky Cauldron," Sirius said, as Andromeda set the tray on the table. Remus quietly moved his chair back a few inches, and Andromeda looked stricken.

"Oh -- Remus, I'd forgotten, I'm sorry -- a silver tea service, how careless of me," she groaned.

"It's all right, really -- as long as the cups are china," Remus protested, while Andromeda moved the tray to the furthest possible point from him, and poured from there. She added milk and sugar for Ted and herself, and glanced inquiringly at Sirius, who requested just a little milk.

"I did remember you take lemon," she said to Remus apologetically, passing him his cup with two slices of lemon in it.

"Really, Andromeda, it's quite all right," he reassured her, as Harry helped himself to a few spoonfuls of sugar. "You were saying, about Neville?"

"Oh, yes -- if you'd like us to take Harry to the train, one more at this point's no trouble," she said, with a smile for Harry.

"We'll take him," Sirius reassured her. "We've no need to leave anytime soon -- we're, er, we're moving up here, actually," he said. "Now that Harry's at Hogwarts, he's safe there, and Remus is itching to rejoin the wizarding world..."

"I missed magic," Remus said calmly.

"All right, so did I," Sirius agreed. "We're thinking London, or possibly Newcastle -- closer to Harry."

"Well, there's close and there's close," Ted said, thoughtfully. "Really, if you can Apparate the distance doesn't matter all that much. You'd be welcome here, you know, we just finished converting the attic -- there's only two bedrooms, but you...er...are moving up here...together, aren't you?" he asked delicately.

"We are," Remus replied, while Sirius blushed. "That would be ideal, really -- it's private, and close. We'd pay rent, of course."

"You'd have very understanding landlords," Andromeda said, with a grin. Just then there was the sound of a small herd of elephants coming up the stairs, which turned out to be in reality a small herd of eleven-year-olds: two fair-haired, tall boys, a smaller sly-looking one, and a round-faced, dark-haired boy who could only be Neville, two years older than the last time they'd seen him.

"Are we late for tea?" Neville asked, breathlessly, as the boys stopped uncertainly in the doorway. Andromeda waved them in, and gave Sirius an amused grin as she went to brew more. They ranged themselves out around the table while Ted introduced them.

"This is Seamus Finnegan -- you remember Brenda, don't you? Her lad -- and Zacharias Smith and Blaise Zabini, there, you can hardly tell they're cousins, they look more like twins -- and of course our Nev," Ted announced. "Lads, that's Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin, and this is Harry Potter."

"I remember you," Neville gave Harry a grin. "You gave me your pyjamas when I was in hospital."

"Cor, are you really Harry Potter?" Blaise asked, studying Harry interestedly.

"Let's see your scar then," Seamus said, equally as unsubtle.

"Manners, boys," Ted murmured, but Harry merely smiled and pushed his fringe off his forehead. Everyone looked suitably impressed as Andromeda passed around more tea.

"Did you get your wand yet?" Neville asked, and Harry nodded, showing him the case. "Cool. Want to see mine? We all got them, they're in my room. You can come see my room after tea if you like."

"After tea Harry has to get his robes," Andromeda scolded. At Neville's disappointed look, she relented. "Why don't you lads take your tea and go play in Neville's room, we'll call you when we're done."

All five boys beamed, and carefully carried their tea down the hallway, until their conversation was merely a commotion of incomprehensible childish voices.

"Bloomed a little, hasn't he?" Remus asked, and Andromeda put her face in her hands, laughing.

"Just you try shutting him up," Ted grinned. "Lately, anyway. He's talked about nothing but Hogwarts since he got his letter."

"Harry either," Sirius replied. "Bit of a weird feeling, really."

"Oh?" Andromeda asked. Sirius shrugged, and looked down at his tea.

"Well, I mean. Wasn't that long ago we were first years," he said.

"Twenty years," Remus murmured, with a smile.

"And, you know, here I am, having tea with other parents, talking about school clothes and the like..." Sirius waved a hand. "Makes me feel rather old, really."

"Wait till he leaves school, then you'll really feel old," Andromeda answered, sipping her tea. "It's good to see you again, both of you -- we've been worried about you, tucked away from the wizarding world, no real outside contact. I was very glad to get your letters, Sirius."

"We've done all right."

"Harry certainly seems happy and healthy," Ted observed.

"On the whole," Sirius agreed, "barring a broken leg and a couple of colds."

"Well, he's back where he belongs now," Andromeda said firmly. "And so are you."

Chapter 3

Harry was deeply involved in a game of Gobstones -- watching, not playing, as apparently Zacharias and Seamus had a grudge match on -- when Sirius appeared in the doorway to summon him downstairs. Harry gathered up his wand and secured Snake around his neck, following Sirius and Andromeda down and out into the shop once more, where Andromeda helped him up onto a stool.

"Now then," she said, as another magical tape measure began its work. "Arms straight out, Harry, there's a lad..." she consulted a series of notations rapidly appearing on a sheet of parchment tacked to the wall, and walked to the racks nearby, taking down charcoal trousers, a white shirt, blue jumper, and plain black tie. "We didn't want to give Madam Malkin's too much competition, she's a good friend and she's been very good to us, so I've priced these a bit high -- sensible people will still buy from Madam Malkin, and we'll deal with the snobs who think costly is better," she said with a grin. "For you, however, free of charge. No, Sirius, let me give the boy a present. It isn't every day one starts Hogwarts, is it, Harry?"

Harry grinned. "No ma'am," he said, as the tape measure wrapped itself around his head, and Andromeda promptly fetched his hat.

There was a soft noise, almost a sigh, as someone entered the shop, and Andromeda glanced over her shoulder as a small, pale-haired boy peered carefully around, trailed by a house-elf, a trunk levitating in the air behind them. The boy looked exhausted, Harry thought, and on the verge of tears.

"You must be Draco," Andromeda said. "Right, Harry, just a minute..."

Harry glanced at Sirius, who had narrowed his eyes when Andromeda said the boy's name. She was crouched in front of him, studying his face.

"You look exhausted. Have you done all your shopping yourself?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Couldn't find your shop, at first," he mumbled. "Thought I might as well get all my things."

"Did your mum leave you in Diagon Alley?" Andromeda asked, shocked.

"She wouldn't go in the Leaky Cauldron," Draco said miserably. Andromeda gave the house-elf behind him a piercing look, and Harry watched in fascination as it cowered behind Draco's knees.

"I'm going to have words with your mum when next we speak," she said severely.

"Dobby is taking very good care of master Draco, miss," the house-elf said querulously.

"I'm sure you did, but a boy shouldn't be wandering around Diagon Alley with only a house-elf for chaperone -- don't you dare punish yourself in here, elf! That's an order! You take Draco's trunk upstairs, now, and Master Draco, let's fit you for your robes, then you can go upstairs too and have a lie-down, how's that?" Andromeda asked, kindly. "You hop up there, I'll just go make sure Dobby's arranged your things," she said, as she vanished once more into the back of the shop.

"Hi," Harry said, as the pale-haired boy climbed up on the stool next to him. Draco flinched when the tape measure began its attack, but held very still once he understood what it was doing. "I'm Harry."

"Draco Malfoy," the boy mumbled.

"It's exciting, isn't it?" Harry asked. "I've done all my shopping today too. Did you see Mr. Ollivander?"

Draco nodded.

"And Flourish and Blott's, isn't it the greatest place ever?"

This brought a shy smile to the boy's face. "Yeah, I never saw so many books in one place, except our library, and I'm not supposed to go in there..."

"Was that your very own house-elf?" Harry asked, jerking his head in the direction Dobby had gone.

"He takes care of me," Draco answered. "He's going home tonight. Aunt Andromeda's taking me to the train tomorrow. Is she nice?"

Harry gave him a quizzical look. "Don't you know her?"

"Mum asked her to take me because she doesn't like crowds. She doesn't like Aunt Andromeda much either," Draco said, mournfully. "But she likes crowds less."

"Draco," Sirius said, startling them both. Harry had forgotten his godfather was there, leaning against the wall next to the trouser racks. "You'd be named for your ancestor Draconis. Draconis Black."

Draco quailed at being addressed by the tall, dark-haired man. "Y-yes sir," he said, cautiously.

"That's my godfather Sirius," Harry said, belatedly. "He's taking me to the train."

Sirius came forward, planting himself in front of the two boys.

"Sirius Black?" Draco asked, in a small voice. Sirius nodded.

"Your mother is my cousin," Sirius said, and Harry blinked. This was the cousin's son Sirius talked about, the one who almost got the Black estates? Sirius gave the boy a wry smile. "If it wasn't for me, you'd own this building."

"Oh," Draco said, nearly panicking. "Oh -- "

"Calm down, lad, I don't bite. Much," Sirius added.

"My mum hates you!" Draco blurted, then looked terrified.

"Yes, I imagine she does," Sirius said with a small smile.

"Sirius, are you harassing my nephew?" Andromeda demanded, returning with a small plate on which sat some of the shortbread left over from tea. "Here you are, lad, no need to panic. His bark is worse than his bite," she added. Draco ate a piece of shortbread, eyes still wide with terror, while Andromeda threw a robe over Harry's head and a needle began to hem it automatically. She fetched more clothing, making a second, separate pile for Draco.

"I'm sure I don't know what your mum is thinking, owling me out of the blue after years and years, asking me to take you to the train when she's perfectly capable of doing it herself," Andromeda continued. "Not that I mind in the least -- I've been wondering if I'd ever get to meet you properly -- but it's very strange, isn't it?"

"Mum's very strange," Draco muttered under his breath, just before a robe descended over his head, too, and another needle began hemming it. Harry stifled a laugh.

"At any rate, you're here now," Andromeda said. "And there's Harry done."

Harry struggled out of his robe and watched as it remained in midair. Two more robes exactly like it floated down and the needle began its work on them. Andromeda winked at Harry, and kissed Sirius on the cheek.

"Remus is upstairs talking with Ted, apparently they're both interested in the new flying bicycles that Nimbus is trying to patent," she said. "You're welcome to stay to dinner, Sirius, if you like. We're already feeding eight, three more won't make that much difference."

"Can I, Sirius?" Harry asked. "Neville's got a wizard's chess set and I bet anything I can beat him -- "

"Go on then," Sirius said with a smile, giving Harry a little shove. "I'll nip down to the shops and see about getting something to help with dinner -- wine?" he asked Andromeda, who smiled and nodded as Harry wandered away. Harry glanced back over his shoulder to see Draco, still watching Sirius with amazed eyes, and wondered precisely what Draco's mum had taught him about Harry's godfather.

He seemed a bit of a wet blanket, Draco Malfoy. Not at all as interesting as Neville or as much fun as Seamus.

***

Dinner that night was a very lively affair; six boys, four parents, and one Cool Older Sister all gathered around the big dining room table, sharing (and occasionally, in Blaise and Harry's case, flinging) spaghetti and meatballs and garlic bread. Nymphadora showed off her Auror's badge and did funny faces on request, the grownups got mildly drunk on the excellent wine Sirius had procured, and Sirius taught the boys a mildly offensive alternative version of the Hogwarts school song. When Andromeda sent the other boys along to bed, they gathered up Harry's things and ambled up Diagon Alley to the Leaky Cauldron.

"One bed?" Remus asked, lifting an eyebrow when Sirius showed them the room he'd arranged for. Sirius grinned and, with a flick of his wand, transfigured a low bench by the window into a small bed.

"Mister Potter, your bedchamber," he said, bowing, and Harry bowed back, before unwrapping the package Andromeda had made up for him, which included some Hogwarts pyjamas. He went to put the rest in his trunk, and dropped it all on the floor when he lifted the lid and saw what was inside.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand," he cried, lifting the broomstick out of the trunk. He glanced at Sirius, who was looking smug, and set the broom down carefully before running to hug him around the waist.

"Lad can't start school without something special," Sirius said, ruffling Harry's hair. "There's a false bottom in the trunk where you can store it -- the trunk's charmed to expand to fit."

Harry carefully eased the broomstick back into the trunk, then took it out again.

"He's going to try to sleep with it," Remus stage-whispered to Sirius.

"Am not. I just want to look at it for a while," Harry said reverently, sitting on the small bed and running his hands over every inch of it, from bristles to logo. "It's great," he said. "Really great, Sirius."

"Only the best for our lad," Sirius said. Harry placed the broomstick in the trunk, then lowered the lid on the false bottom, and began cleaning up his clothing, packing them into it before adding his books on top, and his potions supplies in a fold-out compartment on the left. Remus and Sirius changed into pyjamas while he upacked his backpack into the trunk as well -- more books, some art supplies and drawings, and, tucked carefully away, a worn plush frog. Remus saw one webbed foot poking out from under the Mabinogion before Harry closed the trunk's lid, and smiled.

***

There was an office, a desk, bookshelves, a kettle and a tin of tea-bags (which was peculiar in itself, as he never used tea-bags), an empty aquarium for some reason; his own hands, indubitably, the light dusting of brown hair across the knuckles, the small scar on his left wrist from where he'd cut himself long ago, before he'd been bitten.

He was placing papers in a suitcase on top of old, ragged clothing; packing hurriedly, some fear niggling in the back of his mind though he couldn't identify it when he tried. Instead he kept packing, until there was only one thing left on the desk, a folded piece of parchment with ragged edges.

He picked it up slowly and opened it, and the him that was him, and not simply a man packing as if his life depended on it, smiled. The Marauder's Map. Years since he'd seen it. When they graduated they'd passed it on to a couple of fourth years who'd had it confiscated, so they heard, around Easter the following year.

Someone knocked on the door, and he turned -- Harry. Standing in the doorway, Lily's eyes in James' face, watching him.

He'd done something -- failed Harry somehow. He could see it in Harry's face. Harry was saying something and he was replying, but he couldn't hear the words; all he could focus on was the look on Harry's face, the reproach. He tried to breathe and suddenly couldn't; tried to move and felt fixed in place.

Remus woke with a gasp, drawing air desperately into his lungs; just because werewolves could go without air for extended periods didn't mean they wanted to. He pushed himself up on one elbow, trying to slow the frantic beating of his heart, and realised he wasn't in their bright, booklined room at home; this was a room over the Leaky Cauldron, looking over Diagon Alley.

He rubbed his face with one hand. Next to him, in the bed, Sirius mumbled into his pillow and scooted closer, while Harry, in the other bed, let out a sigh and rolled over. The clock read just past six; too early to be up, but he knew he wouldn't manage any more sleep, and he might as well help them get an early start on the day.

Two years.

Two years he'd gone without the dreams, the unconscious visions so real he felt that there must be another Remus Lupin somewhere, living the life he saw when he slept. He had no doubt the lack was something to do with Betwys Beddau and the ring of standing stones that had once surrounded it. Still, he had hoped he was done with them forever.

He wandered down to the bathroom that the tenants of the Leaky Cauldron shared and washed himself, shaving carefully before returning to the room to put on decent clothing. He descended barefoot into the pub and asked the young woman behind the bar to send up breakfast in half an hour. She looked harried, but agreed cheerfully enough; he gave her his best Charming The Customers smile, learned from years of running a shop, and paid with tip in advance.

When he returned to the room, Harry was awake and sitting on his bed under the window that looked onto Diagon Alley, arms wrapped around his knees, forehead resting on the glass.

"Morning," Remus said, and Harry turned to give him a grin. "Breakfast in about half an hour. Train leaves at eleven; we'll be there well early, but that's just as well."

"I don't mind," Harry answered. "I can save a compartment for Neville and everyone."

"Do you want us to come onto the platform with you? I know I used to be heartily embarrassed when my dad came along," Remus said with a smile.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Harry said.

"Harry -- of course we want to. I'm worried Sirius is going to want to get on the train with you, that's all," he added, and Harry smiled.

"I'm glad you're taking me," he said quietly. "Imagine having to go buy all my things all alone, like Draco did. I would have, I bet, if the Dursleys still had me."

"Not the type to enjoy a trip to Diagon Alley, were they."

"Not by half," Harry agreed. "But..."

Remus lifted an eyebrow.

"Well, it would've been easier," Harry said quietly, chin resting on his knees. "Leaving the Dursleys, I mean. I miss Betwys Beddau already, and I don't really..." he sniffed. "What if I can't find my classes, or nobody likes me -- everyone knows each other already, Neville and Seamus and Zacharias and Blaise -- or I fail out all my classes?"

"Fancy James Potter's son failing anything," came a deep voice from behind them, and Sirius shifted on the bed, curling around Remus, chin resting on his shoulder. "Not to worry, pup, we have every faith in you."

"Yeah, I guess," Harry said, and Remus suddenly wished he did have the Marauder's Map; it was a reassuring tool that he sensed Harry could well have used.

"It'll be fine," Remus added. "You'd better get washed up, Harry, and by the time you're done, breakfast should be ready," he ordered, and Harry climbed off his bed reluctantly, wandering sleepily down the hall.

"Maybe he can take Padfoot with him," Sirius speculated.

"No, Pads," Remus answered. "He's got to go this one alone."

"Seems a shame, though."

"He'll be fine."

"You remember your first night in the dorms?"

"Vividly. You and James levitated water balloons at us. You filled mine with clotted cream, in fact."

"Right." Sirius sighed. "I'd forgotten. Sorry about that."

"Forgiven," Remus said, and graciously allowed Sirius to kiss him.

***

Between Sirius' fussing and Harry's forgetfulness, they were still nearly late getting to the train; Harry suffered his godfather and his whatever-Remus-was -- they'd never really established that, but Remus didn't seem to mind -- to kiss him and ruffle his hair and slip an extra Galleon or three into his pockets for the sandwich trolley. Sirius knelt as they were calling for all students to board the train, and looked Harry right in the eye.

"Remember lad, you're James Potter's son and Sirius Black's godson and you don't take any trouble from anyone," he said gravely. "You do well in your classes and make friends and if you get up to a bit of mischief, well, you come by it honestly."

Harry nodded soberly, and glanced up at Remus, who smiled and laid a hand on Sirius' shoulder.

"You'll be fine, pup," he said quietly, using the pet name that normally only Sirius used. "Owl us, will you?"

Another nod, and Sirius hugged him, nearly crushing Snake in the process, before giving him a gentle shove towards the train. Harry maneuvered his trunk through the crowd, distracted for a minute by the logistics of getting it up the stairs, and when he turned in the doorway he couldn't see them.

He bumped down the corridor, peering into compartments already crowded with children, until he reached the last one. In this one, there was only one occupant; Draco Malfoy, the fair-haired boy from the night before.

"Mind if I sit here?" Harry inquired, and Draco shrugged, gazing out the window. "Where'd everyone else go?"

"Blaise said there wasn't room in their compartment," Draco answered, carelessly. "He and Zacharias and Seamus and Neville all got a compartment, but Neville went off to find his tie, it fell off somewhere, and they pushed me out after he'd gone."

"Bastards," Harry said amiably, and Draco went pale. "What?"

"That's an awful word."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend," Harry answered haughtily, embarrassed by Draco's scolding tone. He looked out the window, scanning the thinning crowd for his godfather, and pointed when he saw him.

"Look, there's your Aunt Andromeda, and Sirius and Remus. Sirius said yesterday that they're going to move into the attic of Andromeda's house."

Draco looked indifferent, so Harry prattled on, mostly to hide his own anxiety; the pale boy across from him seemed unnaturally calm, in the face of what was supposed to be the biggest adventure of their life. He waved goodbye to his godfather until the train had left the platform entirely, and then settled back against the seat, watching the outside world fly by.

It wasn't long before the door of the compartment rattled, and slid open; Neville's cheerful cherubic face peered around it.

"Hiya Harry," he said. "Hi Malfoy. I thought you were in with us."

"Got too crowded," Draco said offhandedly, and Harry -- who had pulled enough pranks at the village school in Betwys Beddau to appreciate a smooth liar -- gave him an admiring look. "Find your tie yet?"

"Not yet, but it's bound to turn up," Neville said. "We've looked everywhere else, mind if we sit with you for a while? Peaceful down this end of the carriage, isn't it?"

At Harry's inviting gesture, Neville pushed the door open fully and flopped down on the seat next to him, while a slightly taller, grave-looking girl lingered in the corridor.

"Come in then," Harry said. "You'll let in a draft."

The girl stepped inside, catching the door so it wouldn't slam, and held out her hand.

"Padma Patil," she said. "You're Harry Potter."

Harry grinned. "Want to see the scar?"

"Do show her, she didn't believe me when I said I had dinner with you," Neville complained. Padma settled herself composedly next to Draco, who watched her as if she were some sort of otherworldly creature. Harry pushed up his fringe, and Padma examined it interestedly.

"I always pictured it a bit more gory," she said critically. "It looks like a scratch that didn't heal properly."

"Oh, well, if you want gory..." Harry pulled his shirt-collar down, displaying the white, puckered gash across his collarbone where Peter Pettigrew had let his blood, two years before. "Neville's got one too, show yours, Nev," he said, and Neville showed off his own, nearly-identical scar with a grin.

Draco gave them an appreciative whistle.

"That's what I call a scar," Padma agreed. "Why didn't it heal properly? Didn't you have a Healer look at it?"

"S'magic," Neville replied. "Have you got any interesting scars?" he asked, glancing at Draco to include him. Draco shook his head, and Padma looked thoughtful.

"No," she said. "But I've got a bit of a dent in one leg where I fell off the kitchen ceiling once."

"Fell off the kitchen ceiling?" Draco asked. "Walk about on it often, do you?"

Padma lifted her chin haughtily. "If you don't want to hear about it I shan't tell it," she said.

"Do," Harry urged. "I want to hear. Neville does too, don't you?"

Neville nodded, and Padma relented. "Well, you know how, when you're little, you show magic?"

"I bounced," Neville sighed.

"I turned a teacher's wig blue," Harry agreed.

"I made a cat disappear," Draco said. They all paused momentarily. "What? They found it eventually, it was only a few miles away."

"Well, that's the way I showed magic. My sister set fire to things and I climbed walls."

The boys looked suitably impressed. "Can you still do it?" Neville asked interestedly. Padma stood on the train seat, rubbing her hands together.

"It doesn't always work, mind," she warned. She held her hands above her head, palms up, and jumped; her palms seemed to stick to the ceiling, and she dangled there for a moment before dropping again.

Harry glanced at Draco and Neville, who were looking suitably impressed, and he could tell they were thinking the same thing -- she's all right, for a girl. He saw Draco open his mouth to say it, but just then the trolley rolled by, and they all stood up to inspect its wares. Harry, who hadn't had wizarding sweets in years, bought a bit of everything; over pumpkin pasties and chocolate frogs they discussed Hogwarts, the train ride, the arrival, and the Sorting Hat -- which naturally turned the conversation towards Houses.

"Well, my mum and dad were both Gryffindor," Neville said, "So I guess I'll end up there. Haven't got the brains for Ravenclaw," he added frankly.

"I don't really care, so long as I don't have to share a room with my sister," Padma rolled her eyes. "Though I think it would be rather frightful to be in Hufflepuff. I hear nobody pays them any notice at all."

"It'd still be better than Slytherin," Draco said. "My whole family's gone Slytherin. I'm doomed to it."

"Slytherin isn't so horrible," Harry protested. "Professor Snape's their Head of House, he's all right. And Hufflepuff isn't ignored, they're just quiet."

"How d'you know?" Padma inquired. "You haven't got any siblings at Hogwarts."

Harry floundered for a minute. "Er -- well, Professor Snape is...my godfather and Professor Snape are..."

It would be a terrible lie to say they were friends, and while Harry wasn't against lying on principle, Sirius and Professor Snape being friends went against nature itself.

"...acquaintances. I used to visit Professor Snape at the school when I was younger," Harry finished.

"You know all about it then, don't you?" Neville asked. "Tell us what House you want to go into."

"Well, my parents were Gryffindor like yours," Harry said slowly. "So I reckon there's a chance there. I don't think I'd much fancy being a Ravenclaw, and I'm not patient enough to be a Hufflepuff. Wouldn't half-mind Slytherin, really, I like snakes, and I like Professor Snape. What about you, Draco?" he asked, because Draco had gone silent, and looked thoughtful.

"Don't know," he said, indifferently. "Won't know until we get there. Doesn't matter where I want to go anyway, Malfoys are Slytherins. Always have been, always will be."

"Sirius said most Blacks were Slytherins too," Harry argued. "But he wasn't."

"Andromeda neither," Neville put in. "And she's your aunt. She told me she was glad because her sisters both got put in Slytherin and she didn't think they were very nice -- " he stopped short, and clamped his jaw shut; Harry saw tension building in his shoulders.

"Well, she's not," Draco murmured.

"All right then, here's what we'll do," Harry said brightly, in his best Remus Distracting Sirius From Something Unpleasant voice. "We'll make a pact here and now. No matter what House we go into, we'll look after each other. Nobody picks on Draco -- " this was an obvious concern for all of them, especially Draco himself, " -- and nobody makes fun if anyone goes into Hufflepuff, and if we end up in the same House as one another we'll share notes and all. Might as well do anyway," he mused. "We'll be our own House."

He spat on his hand and held it out to Padma, who looked doubtful.

"I'm not going to spit-shake," she said. "Mum says it's not hygenic."

"Mine too," Draco chimed in. Harry glanced at Neville and rolled his eyes, then wiped his hand off, picked up a chocolate frog box, and pulled out the collector's card.

"Look, see? Dumbledore," he said, holding it up. "It's a sign."

Draco gasped as Harry ripped it neatly into four pieces. Neville took his easily enough, grinning as half of Dumbledore's hat and a bit of his ear waggled humourously in the photo; Padma giggled as she took hers, and Draco reluctantly accepted his quarter, which had Dumbledore's left armpit and most of his beard.

"Now it's like in pirate stories, everyone has a bit of the treasure map and we're all brothers," Harry announced. "And sister," he added, when Padma cleared her throat.

"So what do we call ourselves?" Neville asked, joining the spirit of the game. Harry shrugged.

"We'll make something up in a bit," he said complacently. The train clacked along, the scenery whizzed past, and he had a full stomach of sweets and pumpkin pasty; in a few hours they'd be at Hogwarts, and they'd see where they were going to spend the next seven years. Now that he'd already made three friends, a little of the fear and homesickness was receding, replaced by a fluttering but almost pleasant anxiety over where he was to be sorted.

All in all, even if Padma was a bit stuck up and Draco unrelenting in his wet-blanketness, it was turning out to be a pretty good train ride.

***

Most of the professors at Hogwarts school spent the final day before the arrival of the students arranging their classrooms, going over their notes, and re-checking their student rosters. It was a soothing habit that well-hid the anxiety even the adults felt, with every new school year. Severus himself generally spent the time cleaning the Potions cabinets and sorting any disarrayed paperwork; he was by nature and neurosis a tidy man, though he necessarily tolerated mess, as it was a rare class indeed where someone didn't spill ingredients, stain robes, or blow something up.

That particular year, however, he found the cleaning didn't soothe him; the papers didn't get any neater no matter how often he reshuffled them, and the jars all looked badly-organised in their racks on the supply cabinet shelf. He had never been so out of sorts over an arrival before. There was always some anticipation when the children were returning, but after a perfunctory cleaning he'd usually simply wrapped himself up in his studies and his books, ignoring it until it was time to go down to the feast.

Even Minerva McGonagall, passing him in the hallway as she was returning from lunch and he, too restless to eat, was on his way to the library to check a reference in one of his lectures, remarked on the tension in his face, asking him if he was ill. Normally, McGonagall not being known for her particular tenderness of feeling, he would have been startled by the question. Instead, he growled a reply, and resumed his pacing of the corridors.

Tonight, Harry would be here. He hadn't seen the boy in far too long; it had been two years since Harry and his godfather and that abominably good-natured werewolf had gone into hiding. True, he was their secret-keeper, and the temptation to simply appear on their doorstep some evening had been great, especially on days when his classes went badly, or he caught people staring curiously at the mark on his face near his right eye, or his usual busy mind sank into something which a less-repressed man might have called depression. He hadn't known how lonely he --

Well, there was no use brooding upon it, not -- he glanced at the clock on the mantel of his sitting-room, -- not when it was time to go down to the feast.

Severus Snape did not run, as a rule, but he hurried down the hallway, cursing himself for having let time slip away; one minute it seemed to drag, the next it seemed to fly. He arrived just as the First-Years did, led by McGonagall. Dumbledore glanced over at him hesitating in the doorway, and winked, waving him on.

With as much dignity as he could gather, he crossed behind the high table, and settled into his seat. He found himself scanning the line of children, eagerly, until a dark head lifted and bright green eyes met his.

Harry saw him and blinked, and then glanced around; self-consciously, he raised a hand and waved. He was taller than he had been, which was augmented by the plain Hogwarts robes, and the last traces of childish roundness had left his face. He was sun-browned, his hair grown rather long and shaggy, and there were definite hints of cleverness in his eyes, a more adult intelligence he hadn't possessed as a guileless eight-year-old. He looked very much like James had at his age, but Severus barely thought on that; he hadn't really linked James and Harry since their first visit together, and Harry was quite his own person already.

Severus, in reply to the waved greeting, inclined his head just enough for Harry to see, and was rewarded with a brilliant grin. He fought his own smile -- a first impression of a kindly, beaming fool was not what he wanted to make on the rest of the children -- and watched as Harry glanced around. Severus saw Oliver Wood do a double take, and the Weasley brood hollered across at him, and their own brother -- Merlin, not another one, had no-one introduced Arthur Weasley to the concept of a prophylactic? -- who had collared Harry now and was speaking excitedly with him.

McGonagall was calling for silence, however, and he kept an eye on the Slytherin table, making sure no-one was being troublesome, while he waited for the names to be called. He let them roll over him without paying too much attention -- Abbot, Bones, Boot, Brocklehurst; Finnegan, Goldstein, Goyle, Granger.

He heard Longbottom called, and watched Neville timidly approach the Hat; the boy gave him an anxious look, but also a wink of recognition that would have outraged his sensibilities if it wasn't, well, Neville. A social maladjust, that boy, no matter what Andromeda had done for him. Nymphadora Tonks had been the same way, though without the utter presumption of familiarity Neville had just shown.

"Gryffindor!" the Hat shouted, and Severus murmured "Surprise," to himself as Neville hopped down and dashed over to the Gryffindor table, giving Harry and an unfamiliar boy pats on the shoulder as he passed. The second boy had pale, white-blond hair, and a somewhat sickly pallor --

"MacDougal, Morag!" "Ravenclaw!"

-- as though he didn't get out in the sun enough; then again, most of the students were pale with anxiety.

"Macmillian, Ernie!" "Hufflepuff!"

There was something about the face, though.

"Malfoy, Draco!"

Severus glanced up sharply at McGonagall as she called the name, and the pale-haired boy stepped forward. Lucius and Narcissa's son, then. A murmur went around the room at the name, and the boy seemed to pull in on himself. His name had already done him no favours; these children had grown up on stories of James and Lily Potter, You-Know-Who, Peter Pettigrew and Lucius Malfoy. Two years ago, the Malfoy name had been all over the papers -- with the seeming return-to-life of Pettigrew, some of Lucius' old cronies had called for his release on the grounds that Peter had killed all those Muggles, but the Ministry had stood firm; Lucius Malfoy was still a Death Eater, and insane, besides.

Despite the whispering and the embarrassed slouch of his shoulders, young Draco's face was carefully schooled to blankness as he approached the stool, and he didn't flinch as some did, when the Hat was set on his head.

There was a long silence, broken only by the occasional murmurings of the Hat in Draco's ear. It almost seemed to be arguing with the boy, until finally it gave a distinctly dissatisfied rustle and called out "Hufflepuff!"

Draco pulled it off, leapt down from the stool and nearly bolted off the platform to the Hufflepuff table. He did not receive the warm welcome Neville'd had at Gryffindor.

More names were called, as the students began to look rather hungry and Severus felt his own stomach churn with a combination of emptiness and nervousness. Nott's boy, Theodore, went into Slytherin, as did Pansy Parkinson; the Patil twins looked relieved to be split up, Parvati to Gryffindor and Padma to Ravenclaw -- indeed, he'd never seen sisters look so happy to be split up.

Severus leaned forward as Sally-Anne Perks left the chair. Soon, now...

And then McGonagall's voice again, tone entirely unchanged.

"Potter, Harry!"

There was another ripple of murmuring that ran around the hall as the boy stepped forward, beamed a wide grin at Dumbledore and himself, and sat confidently on the stool. The hat was lowered over his head, and as with Draco, soft mutterings could be heard; Severus strained to make them out, but the Hat kept its secrets close.

After a moment, and just when the silence in the room became oppressive, it shouted, clear and loud, a single word.

The rest of the professors looked stunned, as did the majority of the students -- Neville Longbottom and the Weasley brothers included.

Severus Snape smiled.

Chapter 4

Dear Harry,

Well, if I wasn't already going grey, I'd be able to send you a picture of myself to show off all the new grey hairs Sirius has given me. Between the trip back to Andromeda's, the day spent calming Sirius' fretting and listening to him pepper me with worries about you having forgotten or lost something -- you haven't, have you? You've only to say the word and it'll be in the post -- and the Prophet (see attached), I'm a wreck!

Nobody's mad at you, of course, in any way, and there's no shame in being a Slytherin. Some of the most powerful wizards in history have been Slytherins, and not all of them have been bad. Remember that yours is a house of ambition, not necessarily amorality. It's possible to want great things and still be a strong, brave, honest boy -- as I know you to be.

Listen, I don't know what Sirius has written to you, and I didn't ask. Just remember that if he overreacts, it's because he loves you and wants you to be happy at Hogwarts, and because he's sometimes an ignorant git. There's a reason Padfoot is a large, droolsome dog, Harry.

Make friends, do well, study hard, and stick with Neville, despite the Sorting. I have a feeling he'll need you, and it never hurts to have a Gryffindor in your corner in a pinch. And if you're hungry, find the painting of the bowl-of-fruit and tickle the pear. Don't be afraid of the house-elves, they like to help.

Write soon.

From the old grey Hogwarts boy, feeling older by the day,

Remus

***

Remus looked up from the letter he was finishing, and watched as Sirius -- unshaved, pyjama-clad, and cranky-looking -- entered the kitchen at 12 Grimmauld Place. Having returned to the Wizarding world, they were loathe to leave it, and Andromeda had offered them a few days' housing before they took the train back to Wales, to pack up the River House. Last night, after the evening Prophet with the list of all the new students and their Houses was published, Sirius had ranted for a good solid hour about Slytherins and their sneaky ways and how no godson of his was going to be one, until Remus had given in and shouted.

It was something he never did, making it a rare reserve weapon that usually got results. It had shut Sirius up, though it hadn't done anything for his mood; still, Remus thought with a fond grin, there were worse ways to end the evening than rough, angry sex. Besides, Sirius wasn't angry at him, so where was the harm?

Sirius was going to like this morning's Prophet even less.

The dark-haired man charmed himself a bowl of oatmeal, perfectly heated despite two years without a wand, and sat at the table, sullenly sprinkling brown sugar on it. Remus wondered if Andromeda still had any of Harrison's Wondrous Eggs, little candy eggs that hatched, when mixed into oatmeal and doused with milk, into sweet sugar dragons that wandered around the bowl until they were eaten. Sirius looked as if he could use a few.

"Morning," Sirius grunted.

"Morning," Remus answered. "You look a mess."

"Thanks."

"Well, you do."

Sirius glared, and Remus' sense of mischief, which was less obvious than Sirius' or James' but often more wicked, made him say something he knew was probably only going to get him into trouble.

"You ought to wash up and shave," he said, tossing the newspaper across the table. "You don't want to lose your reputation."

"Reputation?" Sirius asked. Remus tapped the paper, which was folded to the society pages.

The headline on the page read HANDSOME BACHELOR BLACK RETURNS TO LONDON and, in smaller letters, Potter To Attend Hogwarts As Godfather Is Spotted In Diagon Alley. There was a nice, lengthy article below it, and a photograph of Sirius crouched in front of Harry on Platform 9 3/4, with Remus standing nearby.

Sirius choked on his oatmeal so hard that Remus worried medical measures might be necessary, but when he recovered his voice was more than clear.

"I'LL HEX HER INTO NEXT WEEK!" he shouted, picking up the paper and slamming it on the table. "How dare they photograph my godson! Where are the Prophet offices? I'll go down there right now -- "

"Not in your pyjamas you won't, unless you want to make the actual front page of this evening's edition," Remus said, fighting a smile that was threatening to break through his composure. "Black Menaces Journalist In Sleepwear."

"Fine, I'll get dressed -- it's not funny, Moony! -- and go lodge a complaint. First I'm going to get her fired and then I'm going to make her life an absolute hell -- "

"Look!" Remus said cheerfully, pointing to the caption on the photograph. "I've been reduced to servitude. Farewell on the platform; left to right, Sirius Black, his unidentified valet, and Harry Potter, on Platform 9 3/4."

Sirius, meanwhile, was reading the article itself, muttering the words under his breath until he reached --

"Sirius Black may, after his return from seclusion, be considered the Wizarding World's most eligible bachelor," he read, stunned. "The handsome and wealthy scion of the ancient and noble house of Black is reportedly single. Not for long, however, with wealth, looks, and a knack with small children, evident by his obvious talent with his godson Harry Potter, whose adoring gaze never left his godfather's face until they were parted by the Hogwarts Express -- "

"Drivel," Remus drawled. "Reads like a bad novel."

"Look, there's a whole opinion piece on Harry going into Slytherin, too..." Sirius groaned, sinking into the chair.

"Nothing at all nasty, though, thank goodness. At least someone on the Prophet staff has a sense of propriety. This Skeeter woman's just shameless," Remus tapped the article with his quill. "I'm attaching a copy of the article to my letter to Harry. He'll find it hilarious, I'm sure."

"It's not funny," Sirius sulked. "They've no right at all to do that to Harry. Did you send my letter?"

"It's in my pocket, I'll send it out on the morning post with mine," Remus replied calmly.

"Add onto yours that in case I end in Azkaban for killing Rita Skeeter, I love Harry and I leave all my favourite books to him, since Remus Lupin is a heartless bastard who laughs at his friends when they're written up in the paper," Sirius said sourly.

"It is a bit funny, Sirius, come on," Remus protested. "There's no actual libel in it, and you shouting at some hack society columnist is only going to make more news to put in the paper."

"Are you saying I should just let her say these things?" Sirius demanded.

"They're very flattering things."

"Not about you, they called you a valet!"

"I don't care. Would you rather they called me your lover?"

Sirius wrinkled his nose at the term, and Remus grinned.

"Thought not. Are you going to eat that oatmeal?"

Sirius looked down at it, and then picked up a spoon and slowly stirred the brown sugar into the cereal. He ate a few bites in sullen silence.

"I thought I'd only have to worry about Peter getting to him," he sighed.

"Seems Peter's the least of our worries, if you listen to Severus Snape. Those clippings he sent all say the same thing. Peter Pettigrew, apparently alive, only seen by a very few people, no word since. They had to give Severus veritaserum before they'd even believe him."

"Peter didn't die," Sirius declared.

"I know that."

Sirius smoothed the oatmeal with his spoon, then took another bite. "I suppose it's flattering, in an awful sort of way."

"They do say you're very handsome."

"And I guess if I have to go punch everyone who writes an opinion piece on Harry, it's going to go very ill for me."

"Ignore them."

"Harry won't."

"He'll have to. He's famous, Sirius, there's no getting around that. Besides, how much trouble can he get into at Hogwarts?"

"Do you remember your troublemaking career at Hogwarts?" said Andromeda, from the doorway. She walked into the kitchen to pour herself a cup of tea, and leaned on the counter. "Worried about Harry?"

Sirius held up the newspaper, and Andromeda giggled into her teacup.

"You of all people should know how much mischief can be had at Hogwarts," she scolded.

"Not that sort of trouble, I'm afraid," Remus sighed.

"Well, if it gets too bad we'll hire him a publicist," Andromeda said with a grin. "Do stop to draw breath between temper tantrums, Sirius."

"Yes, you'll need it for beating the women away with a stick," Remus grinned.

"Who reads the society pages anyway," Sirius grumbled, into his oatmeal.

***

Harry woke, his first day in the Slytherin dormitories, to the absolute silence of four other sleeping boys, and the first rays of sunlight filtering in through the high, narrow windows that looked out on ground level of the castle. He'd only briefly been in the Slytherin dorms before, but he knew the general layout; unlike Gryffindor Tower, where the dormitories were stacked one on top of another, the Slytherin Dungeons (what a charming name! he could hear Sirius say) were a byzantine sprawl of rooms and corridors, lit only by windows which were barely visible from the grounds. Harry rather liked the maze of oddly-shaped hallways and irregularly-sized rooms.

He glanced at the ancient clock over the room's fireplace, and saw that it was only five-thirty; he'd picked up the early-rising habit from Remus, and clearly the other students...hadn't.

Blaise Zabini was in with him, as was a smallish boy by the name of Theodore and two hulking hoodlum-looking types named Crabbe and Goyle. Harry wasn't overly pleased with the majority of his new House-fellows, since Crabbe and Goyle seemed a bit dim and Blaise and Theodore rather mean, but no doubt they'd grow on him.

He tossed the covers back and stumbled into the bathroom to wash, emerging to find Snake creeping slowly around the banister of Blaise's bed. Scolding quietly in Parseltongue, he lifted Snake around his shoulders and kept up a near-silent monologue to the small, sleepy creature as he dressed.

Where are the big ones? Snake asked. This place tastes different.

You'll get used to it, Harry answered. Snake was a little smarter than the last snake Harry had kept as a pet, and mischevious to boot. He'd have to have a talk with him about creeping up on sleeping dorm-mates and the possibility of having one's tail smashed in a panic.

I always do, Snake answered calmly. Harry held up his tie -- formerly plain black, now striped with green and silver -- and put it on. Why are you here with all these littler ones?

I told you, it's called school, Harry replied, smoothing his Hogwarts robe and unpacking a few books, putting them into the little shelf at the foot of his bed so that he could reach his new shoes.

Have the big ones gotten rid of you? Snake teased.

You're not too big to be fed to Professor Snape's python, Harry replied.

Don't I protect you? Snake asked, and Harry smiled indulgently. Don't I tell you when there are Bad Tastes? They taste bad, he added, swinging his head around to fix his eyes on Crabbe and Goyle. Bad littler ones.

Harry stroked Snake's head, soothingly. They're my burrowmates, he explained, as he worked at a bit of loose skin just behind Snake's head. You're shedding, he observed. Do you want to go outside? There's some nice itchy gravel in the flowerbeds.

I want to come with you today, Snake answered. I like the way this Indoors tastes.

Suit yourself, Harry said, quickly, because Theodore was stirring.

You don't want the littler ones to know you talk to me, do you? Snake asked. Harry made sure Theodore was snoring again before he replied.

They might thing I was strange. Abnormal, Harry answered.

Aren't you? You're the only one I know who talks to me, Snake said reasonably. Harry felt the coils around his neck tighten just a little, an affectionate gesture.

I want them to like me.

And they won't like you if you talk to me?

They might not.

Stupid humans.

Harry laughed, softly.

You won't stop talking to me, will you? Snake asked, nervously. Harry stroked his sleek head reassuringly.

Of course not. It'll be like at the old school. We'll talk when we're alone.

Snake made the serpentine equivalent of a relieved sigh and coiled his way into a pocket in Harry's shirt, a warm weight against his chest as Harry tossed the black robe over his head. He took out his book bag, stocking it with quills and an inkpot before adding several tightly-wound brand-new rolls of parchment and carefully placing his wand in the special pocket on the outside flap. He added his textbooks for the day and a handful of the sweets Sirius had slipped into his trunk, then buckled the flap over them and reaching out to close his trunk.

One of his old plush frog's flippers was sticking out, and he gently freed the soft toy, laying it on top of his spare robes. There was a slight difference in the colour and texture of the fur, where Remus had repaired it the day they took him away from the Dursleys. Next to the frog lay the copy of the Mabinogion inscribed to him by Professor Snape, and after a moment's hesitation he picked it up and added it to his bag. If nothing else, it was a pleasant, secure weight on his shoulder.

He wondered, for a moment, if things would have been different if he'd stayed with the Dursleys. Well, obviously; he wouldn't have lived the last two years at the River House, or have the long shallow scar where Peter Pettigrew had drawn his blood. He probably wouldn't know who he was, or who Lord Voldemort was, or any of it; he mightn't have even gone to Hogwarts. The Dursleys might have forbade it.

He wandered out to the Common Room, which was also empty this early in the morning, and got his first really proper look at it; there was a long study table in the center of the room, and several old portraits and tapestries hanging on the walls, which were oddly-shaped, with lots of pleasantly cozy-looking nooks and crannies to explore, when he had the time. The deep green rug was thick under his feet, and ancient banners hung from the low rafters.

He smiled and gave the portrait near the door a wave as he left, and she giggled something about first-years as the door closed behind him. From here it was straight ahead and then two lefts to get to the stairs --

He nearly ran into Professor Snape, distracted as he was by remembering how to get up to the main hallway, when the man stepped out of his quarters. They stared at each other in surprise for a minute, and then Harry felt his face redden as he looked away.

"Hello, Harry," Professor Snape said quietly.

"Professor Snape," Harry mumbled. He was unsure why he should be embarrassed; perhaps because he wasn't a child anymore, but a student, and he couldn't hold his arms out for a hug as he wanted to.

"Did you sleep well?" the tall man inquired.

"Yes, sir," Harry answered.

"You're awake rather early."

"I usually am," Harry ventured, and saw the corners of Snape's mouth twitch upwards, slightly.

"A good habit to cultivate. Breakfast should begin soon," Snape observed. "I am walking that way myself."

Harry fell into step a little behind the tall professor as they wound their way through the corridors and up the stairs, out into the more brightly-lit ground floor of Hogwarts. The Great Hall was quite close and, at the doorway, Snape paused.

"It does not do to seem too familiar with one's professors, this early," he said, still in that quiet, subdued tone. "You and I have much to discuss, I believe, but we should wait for a while, first. Do you understand, Harry?"

Harry nodded, though he wasn't sure if he did; the words did call to mind vague memories of various children being taunted in the schoolyard as a teacher's pet or a kiss-up.

"Within the classroom, do not expect preferential treatment. I do not believe you would, at any rate."

"Yes, Professor Snape."

"In a few weeks' time, I should like to speak with you in my quarters. Until then, Mr. Potter," he added, and passed into the Hall through the entrance nearest the high teachers' table. Harry pondered for a moment, then deliberately wandered down to the other end of the corridor and entered through another door entirely.

It was early, very early, but breakfast was already waiting under shining silver covers. Harry lifted one and helped himself to waffles and bacon, then dug out some parchment and his quill and ink to write a letter to Remus and Sirius as he ate. There were only two students beside himself at the Slytherin table, though the other tables were slightly more crowded, mostly with first years who looked as anxious as himself. Professor Snape was sitting with Professor McGonagall, who was showing him something written on a parchment, while Headmaster Dumbledore talked amiably at Professor Quirrell, who was slowly stuttering out a reply.

Harry turned to his parchment.

Dear Sirius and Remus,

I guess you heard by now that I'm in Slytherin since Marcus Flint told me they publish the lists in the papers. Its all right though I think the other Slytherins are sort of strange, don't ask me how. Snake says Crabbe and Goyle are bad but they look like they're really just not very bright. Thats a horrible thing to say I guess. But they really do!

Hogwarts is like you said it would be Sirius, only even better, theres all sorts of interesting things to do. I don't reckon I'll go exploring in the Forbidden Forest like you used to but everyone wants to know whats in the third-floor corridor on the right hand side because Headmaster Dumbledore said it was out of bounds. I heard some of the older kids have already gone up and given it a good looking-at and dared each other to touch the doorway but the doors locked and probably hexed, so I shan't.

My beds pretty nice and the common room is cool. Breakfast is good though the waffles aren't as good as the ones Sirius makes on account of not having chocolate chips in them. I miss you and the River House, but theres lots of kids here and I've already made friends with Neville and Draco and a girl named Padma, who has a twin sister whose in Gryffindor, but Padmas in Ravenclaw. I'm writing this at breakfast but I guess I'll write another letter after dinner to let you know how classes went.

Harry paused, wondering what to write next, and looked up. He was just reaching for the inkpot again when he heard his name shouted, and Draco Malfoy ran down the aisle, skidding to a stop in front of him.

"Look, Harry!" he cried, as Harry turned to regard the smaller boy. He spread his arms and spun around. Harry lifted an eyebrow like Remus did when he was confused and didn't want to show it.

"You...got your robe on okay?" he asked.

"I'm a Hufflepuff!" Malfoy said joyfully.

The eyebrow inched up a little. "Did you, er, want to be a Hufflepuff?"

"Oh yeah, ever since I heard on the train that people don't mind them -- the Hat made a big fuss, said all Malfoys went into Slytherin and that I was sure to catch hell if I didn't, but I said I'd rather be Hufflepuff thanks, and we argued about it for a while, and then the Hat said fine and on my own head be it and look! My tie is YELLOW!"

Harry grinned at Draco's obvious pleasure, and offered him a waffle, which Draco took and nibbled as he sat next to Harry. "What're you writing?" he asked interestedly.

"Letter to my godfather and Remus," Harry replied. "If you think you'll get hell for being a Hufflepuff, just wait till Sirius finds out I'm in Slytherin. He hates Slytherin cos his whole family went there." Harry paused. "But I guess you knew that."

Draco nodded absently. "Will he shout?" he asked. "He might send you a Howler. I think Mum might send me one, except she'd have to go out and have it specially made and she hates going out, so maybe not. She might make our house-elf Mendy do it, but Mendy'd find a way to send me a regular letter instead. She likes me."

"Nah. Sirius isn't like that. Well, not with me. He never shouts at me," Harry answered. He unfolded a copy of his class schedule and began noting it down in the letter for Sirius and Remus to read.

"Not ever?" Draco asked, still nibbling the waffle.

"Not really. He shouted at me when I broke my leg but he said later he wasn't really angry at me, he was just scared and angry at himself cos he was supposed to be watching me," Harry shrugged.

"How did you break your leg?"

"Fell out of a tree."

Draco's eyes widened. Just then, Neville appeared on the other side of the table, and thumped down on the bench across from them.

"Wotcha, Harry! Hi Draco," he said, helping himself to scrambled eggs and toast.

"Hi Neville," Harry and Draco chorused, as Neville began making a very tidy scrambled egg sandwich. "Sleep well?" Harry asked.

"Not a wink," Neville answered cheerfully. "I couldn't think about anything but classes and how scary all the teachers looked last night. Professor McGonagall looks frightfully mean, don't you think?"

"I hear she can turn into a cat," Draco whispered conspiratorially.

"She's an Animagus," Harry put in.

"Well, anyhow, I found my tie so that's something, and I reckon if Nymphadora can get through seven years here, I can," Neville said, around a mouthful of egg and toast. "Look, there's Padma. Oi! Padma!" he called, and the dark-haired girl with the blue bow tied around her braid turned to find them.

"What're you doing here? This is the Slytherin table!" she said. Neville offered her a slice of toast.

"Nobody's here," Draco pointed out. "It's not like we're stealing anyone's seats."

"It doesn't matter! Houses aren't supposed to eat together. Especially Slytherin -- Penelope Clearwater told me they're very particular. Sorry Harry," she added, when Harry gave her a dark look.

"Well, I'm not particular," he said loftily. "Go on Padma, sit down, nobody cares."

Padma sighed and dropped into the seat next to Neville, who gallantly dumped a helping of scrambled egg onto her plate while she fixed herself some oatmeal. Draco finished nibbling his waffle to death and started on a sausage.

"Letter home?" Padma asked, indicating Harry's parchment. "I wrote mine last night, but I've no idea where the Owlery is."

"I'll take it for you," Harry volunteered. "Just finishing copying out my schedule for them, then I'm done, I think."

"Ta," Padma answered.

"Schedules out then," Neville announced, "Let's see what everyone's got."

Padma took out a little card she'd apparently copied her schedule onto, and Harry gave his to Neville once he'd finished writing down the last course. Draco pulled a rather tattered, crumpled sheet of parchment out of his pocket, which earned him a disapproving look from Padma, who at once took out another card and stole Harry's quill to copy down Draco's schedule with.

"Look, most of the classes are doubled up, so we'll always have someone or another in class with us," Neville said. "I've got Harry in Potions and Draco's got me in History of Magic, and Padma and Harry are together for Transfiguration -- "

"We've got Thursday night Astronomy together," Padma added, to Draco.

" -- and then it's me-and-Padma and Draco-and-Harry for Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Draco made a small panicked noise at the mention of Dark Arts, and took a quick drink of pumpkin juice.

"Yeah, scares me too," Neville answered. "Professor Quirrell looks nice, though."

"I've met him," Harry said. "He stutters."

"So do I, when I'm scared," Neville answered.

"I'm not afraid at all," Padma said, passing the neatly-copied card to Draco, who gave her a shyly pleased look before putting it in his breast pocket.

"Me either," Harry agreed. "I think it's brilliant."

"What, not even a little?" Neville inquired. "I'm terrified and Malfoy looks like he might be ill."

"I do not," Draco protested weakly, and as if to prove it, took a large bite of his sausage.

"You don't sound scared," Padma pointed out to Neville.

"Well, that's the trick, isn't it?" Neville answered. "If you talk loud enough about how scared you are you end up less scared."

Padma rolled her eyes and bit into her eggs, as more people began to pour into the Great Hall.

"Look, there's the prefect, we'd better hop," she said, and Harry wondered how she already knew who was his House prefect when he himself was unsure. Draco scuttled over to Hufflepuff, leaving some sausage behind, while Neville hurried almost as quickly to Gryffindor, and Padma walked with dignity, and her plate, to Ravenclaw.

Chapter 5

How could I resist leaving Severus Snape's unusually poetic opening speech untouched? Well...almost untouched.

***

Except for a brief, five-month period at Molly Weasley's small home-school, studying with her children, Harry had always attended Muggle school; first the horrible place the Dursleys sent him to, where he was bullied and ostracised by Dudley's gang, and then the little village school at Betwys Beddau, where he was considered an outsider, but at least not ganged up on or completely left out.

He'd liked the village school, though it wasn't terribly challenging, since Remus and Sirius were intelligent people, who assumed Harry was also (a nice change from most adults) and had made sure that, whatever they did, Harry learned something. This did result in his being a little more advanced than many of the other children of Betwys Beddau, and made him all the more eager for Hogwarts, where he'd be learning what Sirius called proper lessons -- Sirius didn't hold much with Muggle views on some subjects, and had already been teaching Harry basic Arithmancy when the rest of his classmates were stuck in long-division. Harry might not understand Arithmancy as thoroughly as he did long-division, but magic was much more interesting and challenging than boring Muggle school, and Harry was impatient to start learning real, physical magic at Hogwarts.

He just hadn't expected to be one of the lessons.

In his first week at school, it was not just the students who were fascinated by him, but the professors, as well. Some were more subtle than others. In their first Astronomy lesson, that Wednesday night at midnight up in the highest tower, everything had seemed remarkably normal, at least by Hogwarts standards.

"Let's begin with a basic survey," Professor Sinistra had said. "What stars and constellations can you name?"

Hermione Granger's hand went up first, and she reeled off three constellations and their significances in one breath, before Sinistra could gently stop her and call on Neville, who had not raised his hand but bravely pointed out Polaris, the north star. Nott managed to murmur something to Crabbe, when he was called on, and then Sinistra turned her eyes on Harry, who raised his hand before he could be caught not-raising-it, and pointed upwards.

"That's Sirius," he said. There was a quiet murmur. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, "It's the first star I learned."

"I imagine your godfather taught it to you?" Sinistra asked, with a slightly misty look, like the older Slytherin girls got when Oliver Wood passed by.

"Er...yes, Professor," Harry answered.

"Did you stargaze frequently?"

Harry glanced around. Everyone was staring, except Neville, who was still working out which star Harry had pointed to.

"Yeah, I guess," he said. They had gone stargazing, in Wales, though mostly it consisted of Harry using a small telescope and reading books about constellations by flashlight, while Sirius and Remus shared a blanket and a flask nearby. Sinistra went on to pump the whole mythological story of the Dog Star and its accompaning constellation out of him, making what he suspected were sly comments on his godfather, until finally Neville butted in with a question, to save him.

It was almost worse in History of Magic, where Professor Binns gave a lecture on You Know Who -- Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from saying Voldemort, since Sirius and Remus had always followed Headmaster Dumbledore's example and called him by his name, on the rare occasions it was necessary to mention him -- before discussing with them the technique for studying history, using Harry as an example. And he still managed to make the whole thing boring, even for Harry.

In Charms, Professor Flitwick lectured on cosmetic covering charms "good for covering spots, boils, and scars, even magical ones" while never actually looking directly at Harry. Ron, who was less awed by Harry's reputation, having known him from Molly's school, drew funny pictures of the professor while Neville, on Harry's other side, was a wonderful distraction as he buggered up every charm he tried, thoroughly but cheerfully. Blaise glared at Harry from across the room as though he were a traitor for consorting with Gryffindors, but then Blaise was stuck with the Slytherin girls, as Crabbe and Goyle had attached themselves to Theo Nott, who was marginally brighter than they, and seemed pleased with his little gang.

Professor Quirrell -- whose lessons would have been more interesting if it hadn't been for the strong smell of garlic and the constant stuttering -- often singled out Harry to answer questions, apparently assuming that Harry was some sort of Defence expert. He also giggled nervously whenever he looked at Harry. The other Slytherins teased him a bit about how anxious he made Professor Quirrell, but it seemed good-natured, and certainly was kind compared to what the other Slytherins said about Quirrell himself.

In every class so far, Harry had been singled out in some fashion, except for Transfiguration, and Harry felt sure that Professor McGonagall was ostentatiously, purposely treating him like the other students. He was glad that Professor McGonagall was even-handed, as Harry didn't seem to have a strong knack for Transfiguration (something he definitely didn't want Sirius to find out about). He began arriving early to class specifically so he could sit with Padma, who was excellent at it, and sweet-talk her into helping him.

The class he was really looking forward to, however, was Friday's class -- double Potions with Gryffindor. This was Professor Snape's class, and he'd finally be able to see what Snape was like as a teacher. He'd already been warned not to expect preference, which would be a relief, and there would be no talk of scars or You Know Who or the Boy Who Lived, he was sure. For one, Snape already knew all there was to know about Harry; for another, Harry knew Snape well enough to guess that even if he hadn't, he would have kept his curiousity to himself, like Professor McGonagall, and got on with the job of teaching.

Most of all Harry wanted to do well in Potions, to impress Professor Snape.

He could hardly eat that morning, for excitement, though Padma forced him to finish a bowl of cereal and a banana before she was satisfied. He was going to be early anyway; he and Padma had made a habit of eating early so as to avoid the Slytherin prefect kicking her off the Slytherin table. Draco usually joined them, he said to escape his rather dull Hufflepuff mates. Neville, on the other hand, regularly overslept and sometimes missed the meal entirely, meaning Harry only ever saw him when Slytherin and Gryffindor had class together -- like they did for Friday morning Potions.

"Should I go fetch him?" Harry fretted, when Neville was nowhere to be found that morning.

"You're not his keeper," Draco pointed out around a mouthful of potatoes.

"Doesn't mean I can't look out for him," Harry answered, as Snake slithered off his wrist and wrapped himself happily around a goblet of hot cocoa, soaking up the warmth. Harry had assumed, once the novelty of classes wore off, that the reptile would want to spend his days basking on the grounds or sleeping in the Dungeons, but to his surprise, Snake had insisted on accompanying him everywhere. He still spent most of his time asleep, however. Snakes did that.

"Harry's got a pet Gryffindor," Draco drawled, and Padma grinned.

"Remus told me I had to look out for him," he said, which was almost true. "He's family."

"He is?" Padma asked.

"Well, sort of."

"Think you could have given him some of the graceful genes?" Draco inquired.

"Malfoy!" Padma scolded.

"What? In Transfiguration he's always blowing something up, and drawing attention."

"You don't have to be his partner if you don't want to," Padma said severely. Draco ducked his head, and the tips of his ears turned red.

"I didn't know anyone else to ask if they'd be my partner. I don't think anyone else'd have me," he murmured. Harry frowned, slightly; he knew some of the students had been pointedly ignoring Draco -- both those who had been raised thinking his father was a murdering brute, and those who might have approved, but couldn't publicly show their approval. They tended to be ashamed of him anyway, since he was a Hufflepuff; Harry remembered hearing that Sirius had suffered from that too, when the most promising of a long line of Slytherins had gone into Gryffindor instead.

"Then you oughtn't beat bludgers at Neville," Padma continued.

"At least I don't blow things up."

Their bickering was interrupted by the owl post, which coincided with the arrival of the Slytherin prefect, and Padma and Draco ran off to their separate tables, leaving Harry to read his letter from Sirius in the company of Blaise and Pansy, who were discussing Potions.

"I heard Professor Snape hates students and only teaches because nowhere else will hire him," Pansy said, wrinkling her nose at the apparently too-bourgeois-to-eat breakfast food.

"I heard nobody else will hire him because he was a Death Eater," Blaise replied.

"That's not true," Harry said sharply, and they both glanced at him. Theodore might have Crabbe and Goyle, but Harry was the undeniable leader of the first year boys; he was cooler than Blaise and smarter than Theodore, and he was friends with Neville Longbottom, who was the loudest if the least competent of the Gryffindors.

"Then why don't we ever see him?" Pansy asked, as Millicent arrived, trailed by Crabbe and Goyle.

"You would if you didn't spend all your time giggling over the older boys in a corner of the common room with Bulstrode," Harry answered, and Pansy flushed scarlet. "I see him in the dungeons all the time."

Just then Snake uncurled from the cocoa cup, and Harry held out his hand, allowing the small, warm creature to weave itself between his fingers.

"If you don't do well in Potions it'll go hard on you," Harry said sternly, and stood, gathering up his book-bag. "If I catch you losing us points I'll make sure everyone knows what you said about Marcus Flint last night."

"You daren't!" Pansy shrieked, her bobbed hair flying around her cheeks. "You don't know I said anything!"

"I do now," Harry grinned. He noticed Neville arriving breathlessly in the doorway, and picked up a few slices of toast and some bacon, making his retreat as the other Slytherins turned their curiousity on Pansy. Neville waited until they were in the hallway on their way to the dungeons before accepting the food.

"Thanks Harry. I can't seem to get my alarm charm to work," he sighed, sinking his teeth into the hastily-made bacon sandwich. "Just as well, really, this way I won't have time to be nervous. I only got up when I did because Andromeda's owl found me in the dorm and wouldn't let go of my hair till I took the letter," he said, pointing to a bare place just behind his left ear. "Is that post from your godfather?"

"Yeah, just normal stuff. They've locked up River House -- the place where we were living -- and they're still unpacking in the attic."

"That'll be fun," Neville said cheerfully, as they reached the bottom of the stairs down into the Potions classroom. "We'll have holidays together and such. Christmas in Diagon Alley is brilliant, they charm the snowmen to move about and give people directions, since we get so many tourists. Last year Dora and I made fifteen Galleons singing carols on streetcorners. We can't neither of us sing, but lots of young men like Dora and all the mums like me," he added. "We gave half to the Aurors' Relief Fund -- " he stopped in the middle of the Potions classroom, and stared around. "Look at this place!"

Harry grinned. He'd been in the classroom before, many times, in the months he'd spent visiting Professor Snape; he was familiar with the animal room too, where the snakes -- and their prey -- were kept. The peculiar jars, the pitted worktables, the odd smell; all familiar and comforting, if only vaguely, like the memories of Sandust and the early days in Remus' flat in Little Whinging.

"Sit with me, Harry, will you? Otherwise Granger's going to want to sit next to me and tell me how to do everything. She's a bit of a nightmare," Neville said frankly. "I know I'm not that bright, but honestly, I think I'd like to make my own mistakes."

Harry was hesitant about sitting with Neville, who did have a tendency to destroy things, but they had made a deal on the train. He sat down at a worktable near the front, and Neville slid in next to him, taking out a sheet of parchment and tacking it down, idly twiddling his quill between his fingers.

Other students began to drift in slowly, while Neville finished his breakfast and Harry arranged his cauldron and note-parchment, made sure his tie was straight and his robe was properly done up. He gave Ron a wave and a grin when he took the table next to theirs -- joined, oddly enough, by Blaise. Harry glanced around and realised that slowly, all of the students who were arriving were following the seating arrangements: Hermione Granger and Millicent Bulstrode, Theodore Nott and Lavender Brown, Seamus Finnegan and Pansy Parkinson, who glared daggers at Harry and Neville before refusing to look at them at all.

Harry was about to turn to Neville and remark on the unusual seating, when the door flew open and Professor Snape strode down the aisle, turning to face the class.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began. Harry sat rapt, listening intently, as the rest of the class fell silent. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic."

He swept the class with his eyes, coolly. "I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses..."

He gathered his robes around him, suddenly distant and grown-up and slightly dangerous. "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death -- "

Harry risked a sidelong look at the other students, and realised that Professor Snape had the same gift McGonagall had; he was speaking softly, and his words were not precisely kind, but he could keep the class silent by his mere presence.

"If you aren't as big a bunch of idiots as I usually have to teach," he finished.

Harry blinked.

***

"Yeah, he's always like that," Fred Weasley said, flopping back on the grass to stare up at the still-summery sky. Most of the Gryffindor first years, along with Fred, George, Padma, two of her Ravenclaw friends, Draco, Pansy and Blaise were all gathered on the lawns outside the castle, enjoying the early-September sun and relaxing after their first week of classes, making full use of their Friday afternoon off.

Draco was watching clouds cross the deep blue sky, oblivious to the fact that George had charmed little miniature false clouds to drift across his vision, eddying into unusual shapes, until one of them was a little too realistically obscene. The rest of the children shrieked with laughter as Draco flung a clump of grass at George, and George shot it back with a flick of his wand, striking Draco's forehead and leaving a small smear of dirt.

Harry grinned and stroked Snake's head, where the little creature was coiled up on Harry's chest, sunning himself and occasionally threatening to slither off and find a rock that didn't fidget so often. Harry wasn't ready to give up their discussion so easily, though, and he fumbled for the right words to express what he was thinking.

"I thought he'd be...well, not nicer, but..."

"He's not really a bad sort," George said, "He just doesn't like teaching first-years much."

"I think he's horrible," Hermione Granger said. "He didn't call on me once."

"Maybe if you hadn't nearly fallen out of your seat waving your hand around like a know-all, he would have," Ron replied. Hermione scowled.

"He wasn't very nice to Neville."

"Longbottom let his potion boil over," Blaise pointed out. "If he called him incompetent as usual he was only saying what everyone else is thinking."

"If you call Neville incompetent again, Zabini, I'll break your arms," Harry said calmly, without looking at him. Draco gave Harry a small grin.

"Well, he is," Blaise insisted.

"There's no need to keep reminding him, he's doing the best he can."

"You certainly haven't got anything to worry about," Blaise answered. "Pay attention to Potter's chopped Valerian Root, class, note the attention to detail and the precision. Five points to Slytherin," he drawled, in a fairly good imitation of Snape, if Snape's voice had been an octave or so higher than it was in reality.

Harry had been a bit unnerved by the praise, but then he had been fairly proud of his work, and didn't really think it was undeserved. "Well, anyhow, he did send him to the infirmary right away and didn't take any points off. When Seamus accidentally transfigured his fingers into flowers, Professor McGonagall made him wait all class before she let him go."

"I didn't mind," Seamus said. "Cept for the allergies. Kinda cool, really."

"The thing to remember about Professor Snape," George said, sitting up and regarding them with a rare serious look, "Is that he wants you to be perfect and he gets frustrated when you aren't, cos, well, you're ickle screwup kiddies."

"Thanks," Harry said dryly.

"He yelled at us for hours over the Giggling Brew we put in the water last year," Fred added, "But when he got done yelling -- "

" -- and giggling -- " George added.

" -- he made us show him how to do it and he teaches it in fourth year curriculum now. Knows a good thing when he sees it, Snape. Plays favourites and his team cheats at Quidditch, but you'll learn stuff, which is more than'll happen in Defence or Divination."

"Your fan club's back, Harry," Draco called, and Harry propped himself on his elbows to see a couple of second-year Gryffindors wander past, gawking at him.

"Awww, is the Boy Who Lived shy?" Padma teased, when Harry scooted behind Fred and George, out of their direct line of sight.

"I'm going to see Neville in the infirmary," Harry announced, dislodging Snake from his chest as he stood, and gathering him into a pocket. Draco and Padma scrambled up also; the rest of the sunbathers wandered away, or gathered themselves into a closer group to continue discussing classes.

"You can't go anywhere without being stared at, can you?" Padma asked, as they passed into the castle, and a redheaded Hufflepuff stumbled out of their way, staring at Harry.

"No," Harry said glumly.

"Buck up, it'll wear off," Draco said. "You've just got to be absolutely mediocre for a while. You know, what you've got to be is boring."

Harry sighed, and led them onwards towards the infirmary.

Chapter 6

If Harry could have seen Sirius that Friday, they might have commiserated on their sudden notoriety; granted, Sirius didn't have a scar for people to gossip over, but he had an arse, and people were discussing it.

He could tell that was what the table of women across the restaurant aisle were doing, because they kept looking at it. He'd tried hanging his jacket over the chair to block them, but it was a leather jacket, his leather jacket, and they seemed just as impressed by that as by the other thing. He hadn't dared take his motorcycle out since bringing it up from the River House -- where he hadn't been able to fly it, though he'd taken it ground-riding through the hills occasionally -- for fear he might actually be mobbed.

It wasn't that he didn't like attention. He did. It was just that...well, this wasn't the sort of attention he wanted, and it certainly wasn't the sort of attention he wanted for Harry. There hadn't been any more articles about Harry since the first one, nearly a week ago, but one was enough; one was more than enough. Harry didn't need people talking about him, or about his godfather.

Besides, he didn't want women looking at him. A little voice deep inside said he didn't want the temptation, which women certainly had been in the past -- before Remus -- and back then he'd never bothered resisting because there hadn't been a reason to. A louder voice said that he was more than a pocketbook with a pretty face and a famous kid.

The loudest voice said that Remus was laughing at him.

"You should not be amused," he said to Remus, who was savoring a very large turkey sandwich, a specialty of the pub down the street from Andromeda's shop. "You should be jealous, or territorial, or something."

Remus licked a bit of mustard from the corner of his mouth, and Sirius' heart rate sped up just a little.

"All right, tell me this," Remus said. "Do I need to worry about competition from a woman whose first interest in you is your -- "

"No," Sirius said, before he could finish. "But it'd be nice if you pretended."

"Do you find them attractive?" Remus asked, taking another bite.

Sirius snuck a glance at the women, some of whom gave little waves.

"Not them," he said, then gestured with his fork at a solitary diner a few tables away. "Now her..."

"Hmm," Remus said as he swallowed. "I'd almost leave you for her."

Sirius gave him such a horrified look that Remus shook his head. "You can't let it get to you like this, Pads."

"Easy for you to say, you're just an anonymous valet."

"You see the advantages of being plain and only moderately wealthy," Remus answered.

"You're not plain."

"Love is blind."

"Remus -- "

"Very casually look to your left."

Sirius gaped at him for a moment, then slowly bent his head and scratched the back of it while sweeping the area to his left.

A well-dressed young man smiled at him, and gave him a wave very similar to those of the admiring young women.

"Now I'm territorial," Remus said, with a low, wolfish growl. Sirius grinned, then quickly looked away as the young man grinned back. "By the way," Remus continued, "do you remember what I said I could do to you once we had our wands back?"

Sirius drained his beer. "I'll get the tab."

Remus chuckled. "Take your time. We have errands to run this afternoon."

Sirius, whose body had automatically reacted to the almost husky tones Remus had adopted, signaled the waiter anyhow, but after he'd left a pile of coins on the check, found himself following Remus away from the entrance to TONKS & TONKS, south towards Gringotts.

"If you're thinking of a dark alley, I think you should know I'm getting too old for -- "

"What would we do in a dark alley?" Remus inquired innocently. "I need an owl."

Sirius stopped dead. "What are we going to do with an owl?" he asked, in a slightly strangled voice. Remus turned briefly, but kept walking.

"Send post, of course. It's about time we had one of our own."

"Moony -- "

"Patience, Padfoot," Remus murmured. "I promised Andromeda I'd bring her some owl feed for hers, and we could use one." He stretched out his hand to a perchful of owls, most of whom rose up and began flapping insanely, blowing both men's hair into disarray. "We don't want one that scares easy, do we?" he asked, with a brilliant smile at Sirius, who felt the vague arousal from before tighten into something tense and impatient, low in his belly.

"No," Sirius said, moving closer. "We don't."

"We want one like Claw used to be," Remus continued, referring to the old owl they'd had to leave for Moody to sell when they moved to Bewys Beddau. "Except not ill-tempered and hateful."

Two owls had remained calmly on the perch, while the others hooted and flapped at the smell of werewolf; one was a giant, evil-looking creature which snapped its beak at Remus' fingers, clearly choosing attack instead of defence. The other was a snowy owl, which had merely hunched down and hooted once, softly, before complacently ignoring the rest of them.

Remus very carefully stroked the owl's head with his fingers, and she preened a little. Sirius knew the feeling.

"This one," he said. "I like her."

They paid for the owl and the feed, and Sirius waited impatiently while she was put into a cage and handed to Remus, who was quiet and smilingly unhurried as they made their way back to the entrance to the old Grimmauld Place house, through the ground-floor shop and up to their attic rooms. Remus insisted on stopping in the downstairs kitchen to hang their owl's cage next to Andromeda's, and release her so that she could stretch her wings a bit.

"So," he said, as they climbed the stairs, "What do you think we should -- mmh..."

Sirius, tired of playing games, had pinned him to the wall of the landing, in front of the door to their rooms, and made a spirited try at kissing the breath out of him. After a second he felt the other man respond, familiar deft fingers winding in his hair and curling against his back, body swaying forward just a little to press close, mouth opening beneath the assault.

"Tease," Sirius said, fumbling for the doorhandle with one hand and guiding them both inside, the door shutting and locking behind them.

"Territorial," Remus answered, which confused Sirius, but he didn't let that get in his way; his fingers were already working the buttons of Remus' waistcoat, followed by his shirt; Remus, busy kissing and licking his way down Sirius' throat, untucked the plain white shirt and leaned back for just long enough to pull it over Sirius' head. They made their way to the bedroom with a trail of discarded shoes and clothing falling behind them, the occasional moan or gasp escaping as they kissed.

"Eligible bachelor indeed," Remus murmured, turning to push him gently onto the bed, but Sirius rolled and pinned him, straddling his hips and grinning.

"Anonymous valet," Sirius answered, catching his wrists when he reached up, and holding him down. Remus looked up at him, brown eyes wide, hair in disarray on the blanket, and licked his lips.

"That could be fun," he said softly.

"Some other time," Sirius growled, and bent to nip along the line of his collarbone, pressing their bodies together, inhaling deeply. Remus moved restlessly underneath him, rebellious at being held down, but Sirius didn't release his wrists, knowing full well that if the other man really wanted to be freed, he could easily throw him.

They fell into a sort of rhythm, within the struggle, Remus arching and tipping his head back, Sirius buried in the feel and scent of his skin, working his way slowly across his chest, down his ribcage and over his belly. There were old scars here, and he finally released Remus' wrists as he kissed his way over the especially sensitive skin, nuzzling against the ridge of his hipbone.

Remus stopped trying to gain the upper hand and began to beg, words falling from his mouth in an almost incoherent stream as Sirius lapped gently at his cock, pleased at the way he could make Remus lose control. After two years he knew what Remus liked, and was skilled enough -- oh the time he'd spent learning, Remus' hands and voice guiding him -- to provide it.

When Remus fell silent he knew to stop, to move back up his body and kiss him until his breathing had evened again.

"Tease," Remus moaned, around his mouth.

"You love it," Sirius answered, leaning back.

"Where are you -- "

"Shh," Sirius said, putting a finger over Remus' lips, and bent down over the side of the bed, to fetch his wand from his trouser pocket. When Remus saw him grin and twirl it between his fingers, he moaned again.

"I believe you were talking," Sirius said, drawing shapes on bare skin with the tip of his wand, "about what we could do with magic...I remember a spell..."

He said a few soft words, and Remus gasped as the spell did its work; Sirius grinned. He'd always had a way with charms, and that was all this was, really...

"Now, Sirius," Remus urged, rolling to one side, and Sirius slid down behind him, pulling him close and wrapping his arms around his chest, nudging his thighs apart a little. Remus bucked back against him, and Sirius murmured quietly in his ear, soothing nonsense that nevertheless made Remus tremble with impatience and need.

He moved his hips gently, slowly, pushing inside, reveling in the feeling, new each time and still familiar; the sound of Remus' voice, feel of his body, harder and less yielding than a woman's might be. But Sirius loved the shape of it, the skin-over-muscle feeling, and hadn't missed anything from his life before Remus, before this. One of his hands slipped down over Remus' belly and rubbed small circles there, before moving lower to stroke him gently. Remus said his name, over and over, head tipped against his shoulder, eyes closed, until he finally tensed, body nearly convulsing in orgasm. Sirius buried his face in Remus' hair and inhaled as he came, lost in the body in his arms.

***

"Hedwig."

"What?"

"We can name her Hedwig."

"That's what you're thinking about right now, Moony?"

"Mm. Well. I get thoughtful when you're around."

"I see. Next time I'll make sure to ask you where you think the maple bookcase ought to go, before we do this."

"Next to the window on the left-hand side of the kitchen."

"Oh. That would be a good place."

"Clearly we need to do this more often."

"Clearly."

"Remus Lupin answers all your questions, free of charge."

"All right then, I've got one for you."

"Ask away, Pads."

"Why'd you taunt me this afternoon?"

"Hm?"

"At the pub. And then going to buy an owl. You don't usually play games, Moony."

"I told you. I was feeling...territorial."

"And?"

"And I thought if you got impatient I'd know...maybe a better word would have been insecure."

"You still don't trust me?"

"I didn't say that."

"Well, are you satisfied now?"

"Thoroughly, Sirius."

"Good."

"Though I do have a question for you, too."

"Oh?"

"Why don't you want this?"

"This? What do you -- "

"Calm down. I just meant...this world. You know. You don't want to be here again. You must have a reason, Pads."

"I don't know, it seemed like...Wales was just us, you and Harry and me, and...the people there were just people, we didn't really know them, or if we did we weren't going to be there more than a year or two. Now it's real, we're here -- people I've known since I was a child...and not all of them are going to be as accepting as Andromeda and Ted. And with that article, you know it won't be the last one, and this sort of thing -- that is to say, it'd be awful for Harry if there was a scandal, and if they tried to take him away from me -- "

"Sirius, breathe."

"Sorry."

"There won't be a scandal. This isn't anyone's business but ours. They won't take Harry away from you."

"They did once."

"And we got him back, didn't we?"

"Yeah. We did."

"It'll be all right, Pads."

"You know, when you say that, I almost believe it."

***

Harry and company arrived at the Hospital Wing to hear a deep rumble from within: Hagrid's voice, answered by Poppy Pomfrey, the school Healer. Harry stopped at the threshold and held his finger to his lips, listening; Padma and Draco took the other side of the door, pressing their ears to the crack there.

"Lucky I went when I did, an' no mistake," Hagrid was saying, and Draco pushed on the door just a little, trying to see inside.

"They're having tea," he whispered. "Maybe we should come back?"

"Are you kidding?" Harry whispered back, over Pomfrey's reply. "Shut up, I want to hear this!"

" -- an' no word on who tried it," Hagrid finished. "Though I can't help thinkin' they 'ad to have help."

"An inside job?" Pomfrey sounded scandalised. "Certainly not, you know how goblins are!"

"How else did someone get all the way down there an' back withou' gettin' caugh'?" Hagrid asked. "Fer that matter, how'd someone know what was there in the firs' place?"

"I read about this," Padma whispered. "Someone tried to rob Gringotts!"

"Well, it's safely at Hogwarts now," Pomfrey answered, and they heard them sipping their tea. "Though I must say it makes me nervous. I wish Albus had destroyed it on the last solstice, this waiting about for June twenty-first is putting me on edge, I tell you."

"Hagrid was at Gringotts when we were opening Sirius' account there," Harry said, as Hagrid answered something they couldn't make out. Just then there was the rattle of a teacup being set in a saucer, and the squeak of a chair being pushed back.

"Bes' be on my way then," Hagrid said, and Harry signaled the others to follow him away from the door, moving silently back down the hall until they were just around the corner.

"I bet it's whatever's hidden in the third floor corridor we're not allowed into!" Padma said, a trifle louder, as they caught their breath and waited for the sound of Hagrid leaving. The door shut, and Harry resolutely stepped around the corner, nearly running into Hagrid.

"Well, hello there, Harry!" Hagrid said cheerfully. "What're you doing lurking abou' the hospital wing?"

"We've come to see Neville, Mr. Hagrid," Harry answered, while Draco visibly fought the urge to flee the giant, wild-looking man.

"Jus' Hagrid, Harry, that's fine enough," Hagrid answered. "And a good lot you are to come see him," he added, peering in mild confusion at the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff badges Padma and Draco wore. "Come down to my hut sometime an' say hello, have some cake. Bake it myself," he added proudly.

"Thank you, Hagrid," they chorused, and Draco bolted past him, while Harry and Padma followed at a more sedate pace. They heard Pomfrey scold Draco for running in the infirmary, and his stammered apology, as they entered.

"Ah, and the rest of the troublemakers," Pomfrey said, with a warm smile. "You'd be Harry, eh? Lucky you escaped when the cauldron boiled over, isn't it?"

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," Harry answered. "How is he?"

"He's fine. I'm keeping him overnight, but you're welcome to see him, if you like. Only don't give him any sweets, sugar counteracts the antidote," she said, waving them towards a room past the main one. Harry peered inside, then waved at Neville, who beamed and waved back.

"What a mess, eh?" he asked, as Harry led the way into the room. "Hallo Padma, hi Malfoy."

Neville sat crosslegged on the hospital bed, a book and a sheet of parchment on his lap, with a quill and an inkpot nearby. When he'd left the potions classroom he'd been covered in boils from the cauldron overflow; now he seemed to have had some odd variant of the chicken pox, or possibly been attacked by someone with a red permanent marker.

"I'm telling Dora all about it," he said, indicating the parchment. "Want me to say hi for you, Harry?"

"Sure," Harry answered. "Are you catching?"

"Nope! Just itchy," Neville answered, absently scratching his neck. "Anything interesting happen after I left?"

"Not really," Padma said, as Harry hopped up on the foot of the bed and Draco followed suit. "Cept we almost got caught eavesdropping on Hagrid."

"Oh yeah?" Neville asked interestedly. "The groundskeeper? He's huge. What was he saying?"

Harry told him about the meeting with Hagrid in Diagon Alley, and what they'd heard of his conversation with Madam Pomfrey, Draco and Padma adding details. When they were done, Neville looked thoughtful.

"What do you reckon it is?" he asked. "Must be something really valuable, if someone tried to steal it from Gringotts. Maybe it's a treasure."

"Then why would Headmaster Dumbledore want to destroy it? It must be something magic."

"Scares Madam Pomfrey, anyhow," Draco said. "Bet you it's something really cool..."

Padma looked rather worried at the thoughtful expression on Draco's face, but Harry turned back to Neville.

"So when do we get to spring you?" he asked. Neville sighed.

"Not until tomorrow. Madam Pomfrey wants to watch me overnight. Guess I'll get a lot of homework done -- bound to be dull here otherwise."

"We could keep you company," Padma suggested.

"Madam Pomfrey says I can only have visitors until dinner."

"Well, we'll just sneak back, won't we?" Harry said.

"We will?" Padma asked archly.

"I will if Harry will," Draco volunteered.

"Remus told me how to get into the kitchens," Harry added. "We can raid it and have a midnight picnic."

"Am I the only one who thinks it's a stupid idea to steal food from the kitchen and sneak into the hospital wing all in one night?" Padma asked the general company.

"Yes," Neville answered. Padma sighed. "I'm sorry, but it'll be much more interesting with you lot here."

"Fine. If I don't come along you'll probably mess it up anyhow," she said resignedly. Draco bounced on the bed a little.

"We should split up so we don't all get caught," he said seriously. "We'll agree to meet back here at nine? Harry, you can bring the food."

Harry saluted. "Any special requests?"

"Marzipan," Draco said promptly.

"I meant Neville," Harry answered. Neville looked thoughtful.

"I like apples," he mused. "And some bread and butter, if you can get some."

"I dunno what the kitchens are like, but I'll find something," Harry promised. "It's almost dinnertime -- we should go," he said, and Draco slid reluctantly off the bed, following Padma to the door. Harry hesitated, then plucked Snake out of his pocket. "Here," he said impulsively. "Snake can keep you company until then."

He bent his head close to Snake so that Neville couldn't hear him whisper quick instructions. Snake's tongue flicked out, tickling his cheek, and then he slithered across Harry's shoulders and down his arm. Harry placed him on the bed, and Snake wrapped himself around Neville's inkpot. Neville beamed.

"Thanks, Harry!" he called, as Padma and Draco summoned him, and Harry ran out of the room with a hurried wave.

***

Dear Harry,

I'm glad to hear your first week went well, and that you're making friends. Especially Neville. Up Gryffindor, right?

Sorry, it's just taking some getting used to, you know. I'm still proud of you. You see? It's perfectly fine at Hogwarts, people like you and you won't fail anything. Walk in the park, right?

Speaking of which, we've officially finished moving into the new flat. We're fixing up your bedroom so that you'll hardly know the difference from the River House when you get here. At least, if Remus doesn't buy out Flourish & Blotts first, and fill the place with books. Not that you'd mind, I suspect.

There's dinner. Give the owl who brought this a special treat; her name's Hedwig, and we just bought her.

Sirius

***

Harry decided there was hardly any point in going back to Slytherin common room after dinner; they'd only ask him where he was going when he tried to leave. Instead, he hid out in the library until lights-out, hardly a chore even on a Friday night; he loved the Hogwarts library, with its dim stacks and comfortable wing-chairs. Long ago, after Peter had tried to kill him, Sirius had brought him here for safekeeping; Harry associated the smell of the library with comfort, and the feel of Sirius' arms.

When Madam Pince finally shoo'ed him out, somewhat more affectionately than the other students, he made his way slowly down to the dim corridor where the still-life portrait of a bowl of fruit was, the one Remus had mentioned in his letter. He looked at it curiously, wondering if Remus had been entirely serious, but then Remus wasn't overly given to practical jokes.

Feeling a bit of a fool, he reached up and tickled the pear, which squealed -- and turned into a doorhandle. Harry pulled it open slowly, and slunk inside when no-one screamed in outrage or popped out of the woodwork to stop him.

Inside was a room easily the size of the Great Hall, filled with pots and pans, bowls, strange-looking implements for stirring and mixing, jars of spices, ropes of garlic and peppers hanging from the rafters.

There were also a dozen or so small green creatures staring up at him, distracted from various tasks.

"It is Harry Potter," one of them said, obsequiously. Harry sighed. Even house-elves knew who he was.

"Harry Potter has come to visit the kitchens!" squeaked another.

"Er...yes," Harry said. "I...was looking for some apples."

Immediately there was a flurry of activity as they all dropped what they were doing. In barely a minute, a basket sat before him, lined with white linen napkins and half-full of giant red apples. They beamed up at him, clearly awaiting his approval.

"Thank you," Harry said weakly.

"Harry Potter is only wanting apples?" one asked. "Harry Potter does not want a cup of tea?"

"No thanks, these are...for a friend, and I have to take them to him..."

"Harry Potter is a very good boy," said one of them, who appeared to be arguably female. "Does Harry Potter's friend want anything else?"

Harry saw their eager-to-please looks, and remembered Draco's remark from earlier. "Bread and butter, and...do you, er, have any marzipan?"

They began to move, and then nearly as one, paused and turned back to him.

"Is Harry Potter's friend Master Draco?" one of them asked. Harry stared at him.

"Master Draco is a good friend of house-elves," another one piped up. "Master Draco's house-elves are coming to Hogwarts, Harry Potter, and telling us all about him."

"Marzipan!" one squeaked, and rushed off. He returned shortly with a tray of little blue wizard's hats, decorated with shiny yellow stars. Harry broke the tip off one and tasted it; sweet almonds. The elf tipped the rest into the basket, on top of the apples and next to a loaf of bread another one had provided, tucked up against a small box of butter.

Harry tried to recall what special sweets Padma liked, and came up with a vague memory of her eating a chocolate frog.

"Could I have, um, some humbugs? And maybe some chocolate?" he asked, and was hardly finished before the sweets appeared in the basket. He carefully folded the edges of the napkins over the food, and stood there for a minute.

"Thanks," he said finally. "Er, again."

"It is our pleasure, Harry Potter," said the apparent spokesman, bowing. "Harry Potter may visit the house-elves whenever he likes. And may bring Master Draco," he added meaningfully. Harry found himself hustled towards the door, and stepped out into the hallway as the house-elves swung the door shut behind him.

He had time for one deep breath before he realised he wasn't alone in the hallway.

"Harry," said Professor Snape, gazing down at him in mild surprise.

Chapter 7

Harry stared up at his Head of House, wondering what the penalty was for getting caught raiding the kitchen and out after hours in one's first week of school. Probably fairly dire, he decided, while the rest of his brain was busy working on a decent excuse and coming up empty.

Snape's eyes drifted down to the basket he was carrying.

"Stealing sweets?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Harry felt his insides wither a bit.

"The house-elves gave them to me," Harry said, and then, desperately and possibly stupidly, reached inside. "Er...apple?"

"You, Mr. Potter, are out of dormitory after hours," Snape said darkly, accepting the offered apple and considering it, long pale fingers turning it over and over in his palm.

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed, thinking frantically.

"In the kitchens, which are not -- strictly speaking -- a permitted area for students, especially first-years."

"Yes, sir."

"Have you had enough time to formulate an appropriate lie?"

Harry stared up at him. "Nearly, sir," he blurted.

Snape gave him a slightly sardonic smile.

"You will not get far in this world, Harry, if you cannot lie convincingly. I am sure your godfather has taught you as much, though perhaps not as explicitly," Snape continued. "I hope you have risked a somewhat severe punishment for an appropriate purpose."

Harry bridled a little at the mention of Sirius, which, as always, was spoken in a somewhat belittling tone. "Would you like the lie first or the truth first, sir?" he asked.

The smile broadened just slightly. "The lie first, if you please."

"I found a valuable dish in Theodore's trunk and was bringing it back before it got broken, and the house-elves gave me a reward," Harry said, feeling that for a twenty-two second excuse it was rather a good one.

"Incriminating a rival, performing a good deed, and excusing your theft. A decent beginning. The truth now, if you please."

Harry bowed his head. "We were going to meet Neville in the infirmary and bring him a treat."

"We?"

"I -- "

"We, Harry?"

"Draco and Padma and me," Harry said wretchedly. "But it was my idea -- "

"I'm certain it was," Snape drawled. "While your originality is laudable, your purpose is questionable. Bringing a reward to the boy who blew up your first assignment?"

"We rather felt the boils and your shouting were punishment enough for that," Harry answered, looking up defiantly. Snape met his gaze easily, and Harry knew if they got into a staring contest, here and now, he would lose badly. Snape's cool, dark eyes gave nothing away.

"Five points from Slytherin for an unconvincing lie and another five for having abominable timing. Run along then," he said finally. Harry tightened his grip on the basket.

"What?"

"If you're caught by Filch you've only yourself to blame," Snape said, and turned, continuing down the corridor, robes billowing, apple still in his hand. Harry was left standing outside the kitchens entrance, dumbly staring after him.

Then, before Snape could change his mind, he ran.

***

Minerva McGonagall's quarters, like most of the Heads of House, were not too far from her House dormitories, Gryffindor Tower. On the one hand, her windows afforded a truly splendid view of the wilderness around the school grounds; on the other, the trade-off was a three and, depending on the castle's mood, sometimes a four-storey climb to get there.

She also shared a wall with the narrow stairwell that led to the roof, one of the few access points in the castle, hidden behind a painting of Galileo. Few people knew it was there and even fewer knew the password, so when she heard the portrait-door open, squeaking slightly, she pulled her robes on and peered outside. She heard light, swift footsteps on the stairs, as the portrait swung shut.

Probably some seventh years climbing up for a reunion tryst after a summer apart. Well, they could bloody well have their reunion somewhere other than the roof over her head. She found her wand and stuffed it into her pocket, locking her door behind her.

"Password, magistra?" Galileo asked.

"Eppur si muove," she said, and he bowed and swung open.

She climbed quietly to the roof, putting her head out the open trapdoor. A single dark shadow sat on the tiles, legs bent, elbows on knees. A little too well-grown to be a student, a little too thin to be anyone other than Severus Snape.

"Severus?" she asked curiously. He turned to her, the three-line mark on his cheekbone livid on his pale face, a souvenier of his part in the battle with Peter Pettigrew.

"I'm on your roof," he said, voice carefully even.

"Yes, although I confess you're the last person I expected to find here."

He had an apple. Curiouser and curiouser.

"Are you all right, Severus?"

"Quite," he answered shortly, and neatly cut a slice from the apple, eating it with tidy grace.

"Er...you're not going to fling yourself off the roof, are you?" she asked carefully. She was aware that she wasn't well-known for her tact, but tact, she felt, was highly overrated when one wasn't dealing with employers or foreign governments.

He snorted. "If I intended to kill myself I'd be much more efficient about it than this."

"Good to know, I suppose," she answered, sitting on the edge of the trap. He offered her a slice of the apple, and she accepted delicately. She waited; she found silence was usually as effective as active interrogation. It had worked on Severus when he was a student, anyway. And the night he'd come to her, before Voldemort's fall, asking for her help, though never explicitly.

He drew a breath, and ate another slice of apple, transfigured knife glinting in the moonlight.

"Have you ever..." he began, then sighed and started over. "The boy troubles me."

"Harry?"

"Who else?"

She was silent again.

"He is...very like his father. And yet at the same time, completely unlike."

"I think perhaps he's unlike what you thought of his father."

He gave her a sharp look. She shrugged. "You hated James, and he hated you. There's no secret in that. You don't hate Harry."

He didn't answer.

"Are you going to stay up here all night?"

"I'm not a student, you know, you can't give me detention for it."

"Well, if you're going to catch cold up here alone, at least try not to clatter about too much. Some of us sleep when it gets dark."

He nodded, once, and pitched the core of his apple off the roof. She descended the stairs, said a polite goodnight to Galileo, and returned to her rooms. If he did move, he was suitably silent about it; she heard nothing else before she fell asleep that night.

***

Harry arrived at the infirmary wing breathless and nearly ran into Draco, coming from the opposite direction.

"Kitchen -- house-elves -- hats," he gasped. Draco stared at him. Harry leaned against the wall, catching his breath.

"Padma's on her way, I saw her on the stairs," Draco said. "This is exciting, isn't it? Mrs. Norris was after me, but I doubled around the statue of the dog on the second floor, you know, the snarly one -- " he made fangs out of his fingers, holding them up to his mouth. "Then when she came up I jumped out and growled at her -- you should have seen her run. I'm sure she's got Filch scouring the second floor."

"She has," Padma said, as she arrived, so suddenly that Draco jumped. "I watched him from the third-floor for a bit -- nearly got caught myself."

Harry opened his mouth to gasp out something about Snape catching him, then remembered Snape's gaze, telling nothing and asking nothing, and he closed his mouth again.

"Now..." Padma said softly, peering through the crack between the infirmary door and the frame, "...we just need to know where Madam Pomfrey is..."

She fell backwards with a yelp as the door opened, and only Draco's quick hand over her mouth kept the sound from carrying; Neville stood on the other side, holding the door.

"Come inside," he whispered. "Madam Pomfrey's gone for the night, she said, since I'm not in any danger."

"Then why are we whispering?" Draco asked.

"Because it's fun?"

Harry gave Draco a light shove into the infirmary, and followed the rest of them. They arranged themselves on Neville's bed, and Harry began unpacking the food. Draco beamed with pleasure when the little wizard's hats were set out on one of the napkins, and Padma took the chocolate with quiet grace; Neville sliced the bread with a quick charm (shredding one of the blankets in the process, though Padma fixed it so that you almost couldn't tell) and buttered the slices, while Harry unpacked the apples.

"It's brilliant, isn't it?" Neville asked, biting into a large slice of buttered bread. "This, I mean. You going to show us how to get into the kitchens, Harry?"

"I'm not sure I should," Harry answered, rather wanting to keep the painting-entrance a secret. "We're not supposed to be in there."

"Imagine if someone had caught you!" Padma shivered delightedly. Harry, thinking reservedly of Snape's closed, expressionless eyes, said nothing.

Talk turned to a general discussion of the castle's twists and turns: Neville's difficulty discerning doors from walls with vivid imaginations, Padma's struggles with a particularly cranky bookshelf in the library, which Harry advised she try quoting Shakespeare at before taking down a book, and Draco's adulation of the Hufflepuff dormitory, which let out through a little stairway from the cellars into a small walled garden where his House ghost, the Fat Friar, could often be found wandering.

"He's an expert on Hogwarts history," Draco said, eating the brim off of a marzipan hat. "Well, he was when he was alive, and that was hundreds of years ago, so he's been hanging about since then and keeping current."

"He seems nice," Harry agreed. "The Bloody Baron's not much of a help with anything, he just wanders around being creepy. Theo Nott says it adds atmosphere."

"I asked Nearly Headless Nick how the Baron got bloody," Neville put in, scratching his arms. "He said he never asked. I think the other ghosts are scared of him."

"Peeves certainly is," Harry agreed.

"You lived with Muggles, Harry, what are Muggle ghosts like?" Padma asked. Harry shrugged.

"Never met a Muggle ghost. They aren't all that common. There's lots of stories about them, but you almost never see one. Lots of Muggles think they don't exist."

"Weird," Neville said.

"That's Muggles for you," Draco said, a trifle contemptuously.

"They're not so bad," Neville said. "My 'dopted dad Ted's Muggleborn, you know."

"Well, Muggleborn," Draco answered, sneering a little. "I'm talking out and out non-magical Muggles."

"Some of them are awful," Harry agreed, thinking of the Dursleys, now not much more than a distant bad memory. "But they're a nice enough lot on the whole. They have to do a lot more work than we do, you know."

"Is it true you can ride a bicycle?" Draco asked.

"Sure, it's not hard once you get the trick of it. Sirius taught me."

"Ever been on a broomstick?"

Harry hunched down a little, and was grateful for Snake, twining around his neck affectionately. "Once," he said softly. "The day Peter Pettigrew attacked me."

Neville's hand drifted up to his own collarbone, and his matching scar. The four of them shared a quiet moment lost in their own thoughts, before Draco shrugged.

"I never have. Mum said it was dangerous and a sloppy way to travel, besides. Then again she thinks that about every way to travel," he added.

"Malfoy, don't take this the wrong way, but your mum's a nut," Neville said flatly.

"Yeah," Draco agreed. "She is, a bit. Anyway," he said hurriedly, "You've been on a broomstick Neville, haven't you? And Padma has."

"I've fallen off of them quite a lot," Neville grinned. "Flying's all right, but it's no great shakes if you ask me. I like the Underground much better."

Harry sat quietly, listening to the others talk. Of course he had been thrilled to get the Nimbus 2000 as a gift; it was the best broomstick out there, and everyone knew it. What he hadn't considered was that broomsticks were meant for flying on. The last time he'd been on a broomstick, he'd been chased down and slashed by Peter Pettigrew -- and Sirius had nearly died.

"You play Quidditch at all?" Draco asked Neville, who shrugged.

"Dora and I throw around a Quaffle once in a while," he said casually. "You, Padma?"

"Nah," Padma said. "That's Parvati's game. I like football."

"Football? That's a Muggle sport, isn't it?" Neville asked.

"Yeah. S'brilliant," Padma said, picking up an apple and biting into it to clear out the sugary taste in her mouth.

"Only one ball though," Harry put in. "You can't use your hands, see."

"Yep. You pass it around with your feet, and try to kick it through the goalposts. Have you played, Harry?"

The conversation devolved into the comparative merits of football versus Quidditch, with Harry in the middle; he kept silent, still considering the fact that next week was their first flying lesson, and he'd have to decide whether or not he wanted to sign up. Flying meant Quidditch, which was brilliant; Harry had fond memories of throwing fake Bludgers for the Weasley twins and going to school games with Professor Snape -- the taste of sweet roasted nuts the professor had bought for him, the roar of the crowd, the fascinating speed with which the game was played.

But he also remembered the terrible moment when Peter's curse had hit his broomstick, the fall to the ground and Remus' panicked heartbeat as he ran with Harry in his arms for safety. The splintered remains of his racing broom tumbling out of the sack Alastor Moody carried, and the frightened, closed looks on the adults' faces.

"Guess we should be going," Padma said, when the food was mostly gone. "Bet it'll be a lot harder to sneak back into the dorms than it was to sneak out."

"Might be, but everyone's gone to bed by now, I imagine," Draco yawned. "Have fun at breakfast tomorrow, I'm going to sleep all day."

"We should have a study group," Padma said, and the boys all groaned. "Well, we should. We're in all the same classes, just at different times, and it'd be loads more helpful to have four brains working on things than just one."

"Is that an offer to do my homework for me?" Harry asked with a grin; Padma stuck out her tongue. "All right, why don't we meet in the library after dinner."

"I'll do your Transfigurations for you if you write my Herbology essay," Draco offered, as they cleaned up the apple cores, bits of marzipan, and stray breadcrusts, and Harry tucked the basket under Neville's bed. He had a feeling the house-elves would come for it on their normal cleaning rounds, but if not, Neville could always bring it back to him tomorrow.

"Nah, I'd better do it myself," Harry sighed. "Might beg a few hints off you, though."

"Some Slytherin you are," Padma teased. "Won't even cheat when someone offers to do your homework for you for real."

Harry lifted his nose in the air, haughtily. "Ambition requires knowledge," he replied, trying to sound like Professor Snape and only managing to sound as though he had a mild sore throat. Padma was prevented from replying by their emergence into the hallways again. They all stood there for a moment, studying their shoes, and then broke off to go their separate ways.

Professor Snape's door was closed, when Harry passed it on his way to the dormitory, but it looked as though there were candles lit. He considered knocking on the door, to ask why he had been let go and to...say thank-you, or that he hadn't been caught by Filch. He remembered Snape's words about time, however, and waiting for the proper moment; instead he withdrew to the Slytherin dormitory, where his fellow students were fast asleep, Crabbe snoring and Blaise mumbling about lemons and quilts in his dreams.

***

"Oh, Merlin," Andromeda sighed.

"What is it?" Ted asked, as he set the breakfast table. Remus and Sirius, who had their own kitchen but seemed to prefer the Tonks', looked up from their preparation of breakfast itself. A brown Hogwarts owl had swooped in the open window and dropped a letter on the table for Andromeda, flapping to the perch to share Hedwig and Boudicca's water dish. Andromeda had slit open what appeared, from the spidery handwriting on the front, to be a letter from Neville. "Neville's gone and landed in the infirmary," she announced.

"Infirmary?" Sirius asked, eating a slice of apple. Remus stole the rest of them from the bowl under his hand, and mixed in some bananas on his way to making a fruit salad.

"Yes...boils in Potions class," Andromeda sighed. "He isn't any good at cooking, I did worry about him in Potions."

"The boy could burn tea," Ted agreed, pouring himself a cup as he spoke. "I worry about him in every class. Smart as a whip, you know, but not in your regular conventional schooling ways."

"He always forgets when to put the ingredients in," Andromeda said. Then she nearly choked on a sip of tea. "Not to worry however as Harry has come to see me with Draco and Padma and he left Snake to keep me company and he says he's going to come back this evening because he knows where the kitchens are," she read aloud. "Sirius, your godson is corrupting the boy."

"Sounds to me like he's feeding him up," Sirius answered. "Not to mention teaching him run-on sentences. Did you tell him where the kitchens are?" he asked Remus, who froze in the middle of a bite of banana. "You did!"

"We knew early enough, and I never saw you yelling at Persephone Wellwright for telling us," Remus protested.

"I do hope Harry won't get into trouble for that," Andromeda said. "I suppose if you get a letter from the Headmaster you'll know."

Sirius sank into his chair at the table and rested his head in his hands. "I thought Dumbledore was done yelling at us when we graduated, and then I was sure he was done yelling at us when we moved to Wales..."

"He's certainly a product of your parenting," Ted said with a grin. "Oh, dish me some of that -- lovely, thank you Remus."

Remus set a bowl of the fruit salad in front of Ted and one near Sirius' elbow. He glanced at Andromeda, who shook her head. "He's all right though -- Neville I mean -- isn't he?" he asked.

"Oh, he seems cheerful enough," Andromeda answered. "Then again it's very hard to tell with Neville. He seems to take everything so lightly -- I don't know if it's to keep us from worrying, or because he really doesn't care that he's spent the night in the infirmary."

"Well, obviously Harry's looking out for him," Sirius said approvingly.

"That's true, though I think Harry narrowly missed the same fate, Neville says here they were partners," Andromeda said. "Ted, perhaps we ought to get him some sort of educational aide."

"Like a tutor?" Ted asked. "It's only been a week..."

"I was thinking more like a study guide of some sort. Oh -- perhaps a Remembrall. That'd be useful, wouldn't it? He could keep it with him when he's brewing potions and then if he forgets to add something it'll tell him straight off."

"Never thought those were very useful," Sirius said. "Now, a thing that tells you what you've forgotten -- "

"Desk calendar," Remus murmured.

" -- that'd be much more handy." Sirius took on a thoughtful look, as he meditated on the subject. "I'll bet it wouldn't even be that difficult. You'd have to modify the charms a bit, but the essential spell's already on the thing."

Remus saw the look in Sirius' eyes, and sighed. "Shall I pick up a handful when I go out, and you can have fun blowing them up while you try?" he asked.

"I almost never blow anything up," Sirius replied haughtily.

"Going shopping, are you?" Ted asked. "Pick up one for our Neville, then, we've an account at most of the shops in Diagon Alley."

"Job shopping," Remus answered with a smile. "But I'm bound to go into quite a few shops at any rate, so it's no trouble."

"Looking for a job?" Andromeda asked. "Surely you don't actually need one?"

Sirius growled, and Remus grinned at him. "No, not really -- I've my savings from the past few years, which comes to a remarkably tidy sum when one isn't paying rent, but I like to keep busy."

"And your...condition?" Ted asked delicately. "It doesn't harm your chances?"

"Considerably, but then I'm fortunate in that I don't have to take the first job that comes along," Remus said, watching Sirius -- who had once nearly strangled him for starving himself when he couldn't find regular work. "Working as a shop attendant, you know, the hours vary. If all else fails I'll rob Sirius and start a new bookshop."

Sirius dropped his eyes to his breakfast, face carefully blank. "Dunno that I want another one," he said. "When Sandust burned..."

Silence settled over the table, until Remus finally rubbed his forehead and spoke again. "I'll pick up a Remembrall for Neville and a few for Sirius, and if the charm works he'll have the most unique little toy in school. Any other errands need running?"

"Oh -- I have a few things, if you're going by the grocer's," Andromeda said, rising to find the shopping list in the kitchen.

"Oi, Pads," Remus said softly. Sirius looked up at him. "You alright?"

"Useless worry. Must be turning into you," Sirius said, with a small grin, as Remus ate a grape and smiled back.

He returned from his expedition that day with three job applications and half a dozen Remembralls. He said the cost of the things was outrageous, but one of the applications was to Schaeffer's Scholars' Emporium where he'd purchased them, and they weren't the only items in the sack he carried up to the attic. While Sirius happily poked the Remembralls with his wand, muttered reverse-engineering incantations, and ran down to pilfer textbooks from Nymphadora's now-abandoned bookshelf, Remus quietly unpacked bookmarks that told you which page had that quote you wanted to reference, a packet full of sugar-quills to send to Harry, and a set of architecturally-shaped blocks which stuck to each other in whatever order you placed them and changed shape on request.

By the time he'd finished a rather good model of the Pantheon, complete with little statues, Sirius had blown up three of the Remembralls, lacerated himself twice, and gone downstairs again for some of Dora's leftover costume jewelery for some insane reason Remus couldn't fathom. He was just starting on the job applications when Sirius let out a whoop, and a few loose bricks in the Pantheon came undone.

"What've you done now?" Remus inquired, wondering if it was permissible to list one's landlord as a character reference. A small, glittering object arced through the air and he caught it, reflexes moving before his conscious mind had time to think. It turned out to be a little marble, much smaller than a normal Remembrall, with red mist just beginning to fill the centre.

"I kept trying to shrink it without actually thickening the glass any," Sirius said. "but it's all right, because the thick glass magnifies the projection -- see?" he held up another small marble-sized object, and pointed it at the wall. In hazy red letters, the words Your Anniversary appeared.

"Did I forget our anniversary?" Sirius asked.

"I didn't realise we had one," Remus replied. "Would you like one?"

"Not really."

"Me either."

Sirius shook his head. "The point is, what's the good of a Remembrall for Potions if you have to pick it up every time you think you've forgotten something? This way -- "

"Oh blast, I was supposed to get eggs for Andromeda," Remus exclaimed, looking down at where the red light was spreading across his palm.

"Moony, do pay attention."

"Deepest apologies, Padfoot," Remus said, setting the marble carefully in the centre of the pantheon and folding his hands to look up at Sirius. "You were saying."

"Quite. This way, see, I've put it on a chain..." he demonstrated, popping the little marble into a rather industrial-looking chain bracelet with one badly bent-out link, "It's always touching his hand and all he has to do is look down and it'll tell him what he's forgotten."

He strapped the chain around his wrist, and the smaller words "Haircut 1pm" appeared on the back of his hand. "Bugger, it's past one already, isn't it."

"It's a good idea, though I think the temptation to use it during one's final exams might be a bit much," Remus observed. "Still, can't hurt to send it to him, and if it's taken away, well, at least we tried."

"Trust Snape to spoil our fun from a hundred miles away," Sirius said, unstrapping the chain. "I'll throw in a note to be careful with it. Let's go show Andromeda," he continued, as excited as any child with a new toy. Remus gave him an indulgent smile and followed him downstairs, pocketing the other miniature Remembrall as he did so. It was difficult to imagine Sirius as an inventor of educational toys...and yet it would be an awfully interesting thing to demonstrate when he turned in his job application.

As he descended the stairs he heard Andromeda laugh with pleasure and Ted's dismayed groan of "I was sure I'd remembered that!"

Chapter 8

Time seemed to pass quickly at Hogwarts; the weekend vanished almost as soon as it had come, and before Harry knew it, the first flying lesson was fast approaching. He still hadn't decided whether to sign up or not; it would be a terrific waste if he never learned to use his Nimbus Two Thousand, but every time he thought about flying, he remembered the crunch as his broomstick shattered under Peter Pettigrew's curse. He suspected that, like the look in Sirius' eyes when he saw Harry's cupboard at the Dursleys' house, it was something which would stay with him all his life.

He thought of writing to Sirius about it, or, more sensibly, to Remus; Sirius would understand, he was sure, but Sirius might shout a bit first. He had nearly decided to write Remus, the morning of the first lesson, when Marcus Flint, the slightly crooked-toothed, cowlick-haired captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, clapped him on the shoulder as he passed.

"Going to learn flying, are you Potter?" he called over his shoulder. "Try not to fall off, eh?"

Harry, bewildered, kept moving towards the Great Hall, when Theo Nott appeared with Crabbe and Goyle trailing him like extremely ugly puppies.

"Finally decided to sign up, Harry?" Theo said.

"Sign up?"

"For flying lessons! You lost me two sickles, I had a bet on with Parkinson that you'd chicken out completely," Theo said. This did not sit well with Harry, who paused as he moved towards the entrance to the Great Hall. Tacked up outside the door were the sign-ups for first-year flying lessons; he'd stopped every day to gaze at it and finger his quill thoughtfully before moving onwards.

There, at the bottom of the list, in a scrawl that certainly wasn't his own, was a name not dissimilar to Hamg PoHer. Or, if one looked closely, Harry Potter.

"Malfoy," he muttered under his breath, recognising the uneven, childish handwriting. An arm draped itself across his shoulders, and Neville grinned at him, slapping his back.

"Don't look at me," he said. "I didn't put your name down. Can't back out now though. It'd be dishonourable."

"I'm allowed to punch Draco in the head though, right?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, well, you could," Neville allowed, "so long as it was the front of the head and not the back of the head, so he could see you coming. That's chivalry," he added. "Making sure the other chap knows what you're up to."

"That's stupid," Harry replied. "If I'm going to punch someone, I'm not going to tell them so first."

"Slytherin," Neville said, with a roll of his eyes as they entered the Great Hall.

"Gryffindor!"

"See you at flying practice!" Neville cried loudly, leaving Harry to walk to the already-crowded Slytherin table alone.

"Suck on it!" Harry called back.

"That's the spirit, Potter," said a fifth-year girl with straw-coloured hair and shifty dark eyes. "Gryffindors are good for two things -- being insulted and being defeated."

There was a titter of laughter around her, and Harry stared at her with what he hoped were impassive and Snapelike eyes.

"And good for telling the truth, and good for standing up for their mates, and good for helping each other out," he added. "Good for quite a bit, really," he said, in a more thoughtful manner.

"Mind your tongue, firstie," she snapped.

"I bet if you let Oliver Wood help you in Charms you wouldn't be getting letters from your parents about your marks," Harry said, in his most polite voice. "I hear he's top of the Gryffindor-Slytherin class in Charms."

"Oliver Wood is a Quidditch-mad git," she said fiercely.

"Watch how you talk about Quidditch," Marcus Flint said, and the girl fell suddenly silent. "And you, Potter, no lip to the fifth years if you want to survive to be one. Don't think just because you're going to be riding broomsticks means you're anything more than a pipsqueak of a first-year with a funny scar."

Harry's nerves settled a bit now that he'd made some trouble for the fifth-year who talked about his friends that way. With a nod to Flint, he set to eating, though the food was dry and tasteless in his mouth. He was going to have to get on a broomstick this afternoon and try to fly; not his broomstick, since that was a secret, but a broomstick nonetheless.

It was times like these that made being the Boy Who Lived difficult; everyone would be watching him, expecting him to be brilliant -- or expecting him to fail, if they were particularly jealous. He'd heard the expectancy in the tone of the editorial Remus sent him about his going into Slytherin; bad enough Sirius' letter had been falsely cheerful and polite and full of platitudes about the House of Black being Slytherin, as if Harry didn't know what Sirius thought of the House of Black. His letters since were better, but Harry knew he'd somehow hurt his godfather, and now he had to be good at everything, to make Sirius proud again.

Draco, a few tables away, caught Harry's eye and gave him a hesitant, timid grin; Harry scowled, and stabbed his egg viciously with his fork.

***

It was a beautiful clear afternoon by the time they trooped out of the school and down to the smooth, level field near the Forbidden Forest, where the flying lessons were being held. Neville and Padma flanked Harry firmly, as if daring him to try and bolt; Neville must have figured it out somehow, since he hadn't confided to either of them just how terrified he was. Draco ran ahead, school robes flying out behind him as though he were already on a broomstick. It was the sort of day Sirius used to say was perfect for flying, usually while looking longingly at his then-earthbound motorbike. The sort of day Harry would go down to the river and draw, or skim stones and fish with Padfoot, while Remus drowsed over a book on the bank.

There were two neat rows of broomsticks already laid out, and Harry cast an experienced eye over them; it might have been two years since he was a part of the Wizarding world, but once he had been as expert as any eight-year-old could be about broomsticks, from endless hours reading Quidditch magazines with Ron. Ron was there, in fact, and gave Harry a friendly wave from the knot of Gryffindors following him.

"Come to learn how to fly properly, Weasley?" came a taunt from behind Harry, and he turned to see Theo arriving. "Reckon you've never seen a broomstick as nice as these old school brooms. You probably have to use some old straw broom your grandmother handed down to you -- "

"Shut it, Theo," Harry ordered, and Theo looked surprised; Harry imagined he hadn't noticed him, and the dismay in his face spoke volumes. "None of us have got our own brooms now, anyway," he said. "So it's all down to skill, isn't it?"

"I'd be careful how I talk, in that case," Padma added. "Weasley boys always make Quidditch team."

Harry saw Ron flush, out of the corner of his eye, but Hermione Granger had stepped up next to Padma, and crossed her arms. "And if we're all equal, Nott, then that means if he flies better than you, he's just more talented, doesn't it?"

Theo sneered a bit. "Staunch defenders," he said, though he didn't say it as loudly as before. "Do you always get girls to speak for you, Weasley?"

Ron surged forward and Neville and Draco caught him by the arms; Harry had his wand out to hex Theo before he knew what he was thinking, and only the arrival of Madam Hooch stopped him. She was a tall, graceful woman, with short, feathery grey hair and peculiar yellow eyes; they reminded Harry of a hawk -- one that was circling prey.

"What's this, what's this?" she demanded, and Harry shoved his wand back in his pocket, while Neville muttered a warning of some kind in Ron's ear. "Right then, places please."

Neville, one hand still on Ron's arm, guided him into place, and the rest of them formed up; only Draco, dusting himself off after scuffling with Ron, was still in the middle, straightening his tie.

"Places, please," Madam Hooch repeated, and Draco looked up, yelped, and slid shamefacedly into the only empty space -- between Harry and Susan Bones, who gave him a quick smile.

It was a vaguely familiar process to Harry, when Madam Hooch explained it: simply hold your hand out over the broom and say "up!" in a firm, commanding tone. He'd done it for his own broomstick, years ago, and once or twice one of the Twins had let him try starting theirs.

Harry's voice cracked the first time he tried, and he looked around embarrassed, but only Parvati had managed to get her broom in the air on the first try. He swallowed, licked his lips, and said "UP!" louder than he meant to --

And the broomstick smacked into his hand.

"Cool," Draco said enviously, and straightened his shoulders, trying again. Across from them, Neville and Hermione both managed to get theirs to float, and grabbed them firmly.

The wood was smooth under his hand, worn down by hundreds of Hogwarts students before him. Harry swallowed bile, remembering his old broomstick.

"You look ill," Blaise whispered. "Something wrong?"

"Bad eggs at lunch, I think," Harry whispered back.

"Don't throw up on me."

"You're all heart, Zabini."

Madam Hooch was moving up and down the rows, showing students how to sit a broom properly, correcting grips, and reassuring Draco, who was having a bit of difficulty holding onto his.

"Boy sits a broom like a natural," Sirius had said, his enormous, capable hands holding the broomstick steady and Harry with it. Harry remembered a warm palm on the small of his back, and the unequaled sensation of freedom when Sirius finally let him fly.

"Yes, you're quite a natural at this, Mr. Potter," Madam Hooch said. "Just adjust your hands a little, there -- Ms. Abbot, come see how Potter's done it."

Harry, finding himself already astride the broom, held carefully still as Hannah and Draco both inspected his grip. He could feel the broom's impatience to be aloft, and it was all he could do to keep his feet on the ground, desperate not to fly until everyone else was.

Then Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and everyone kicked off, Harry a little after the others. Susan and Draco both shouted in pleased surprise when they found themselves more than ten feet off the ground, but Padma rose with a steady calm that Harry envied; Ron and Neville seemed just as composed.

"Come up then, Harry!" Neville called, as Harry hovered a few feet below the others, calculating precisely how high he could go before he would break something when he fell.

If he fell. If he fell.

Which he wouldn't. He was James Potter's son and Sirius Black's godson. He could feel the weight, even now, of Sirius' little Remembrall in his pocket. He set his jaw and rose another few feet, until he was level with Draco, who was kicking his heels in an effort to go higher.

Madam Hooch showed them how to move forward and backwards, how to rise and drop and steer simple curves, seemingly everywhere at once as she steadied uncertain flyers or stopped Crabbe and Goyle from flying into each other on purpose. Harry, who spent most of his time trying to hover just out of sight of Madam Hooch until he felt more secure, noted with pride that Ron actually was flying circles around Theo, who seemed to have stalled out somehow, like a boat with no rudder or oars.

"Look, Sirius!" he'd cried, rising above the hedges but looking only at his godfather, who had crossed his arms and was staring up at him approvingly. Down below somewhere, Ron and Ginny and the twins were running around underneath him, cheering.

"Aren't you having fun, Harry?" Draco asked, pulling up next to him. "Look, even Neville's enjoying himself..."

Harry glanced over to where Padma was steadying Neville after a near fall. Neville grinned and gave him two thumbs up, then grabbed frantically for the broomstick again.

"I think I'll finish up," Harry said. "Coming back to earth with me?"

"Not on your life! Come on Harry, it's great! You've hardly moved. You race me and you'll see."

"Draco, I don't really want to -- " Harry stopped; Draco had plunged his hand into Harry's pocket and come up with three sickles and the miniaturised Remembrall that Sirius had sent him when Neville's remembrall-bracelet had arrived (to much acclaim; Harry had already written to Sirius with demands for five more).

"Give that back, Malfoy!" Harry shouted.

"Without hands now," Sirius had said, and Harry had held his arms out carefully to the sides like a tightrope walker, feeling coiled power in the magic that drove the broomstick. He balanced perfectly, and Sirius smiled down at him, approval in every line of his face.

"Come and get it," Draco said, with a wicked grin, and raced off on his broom. Harry shot after him without thinking, weaving through the rest of the flying students as Draco dodged between Hannah and Goyle, then rose up above the crowd.

Dimly, in the background, Harry heard Madam Hooch shouting for them to come down and join the class again, but he was concentrating on Draco, Harry gaining speed as the other boy's broom began to, for lack of a better word, sputter. Draco turned suddenly, still clutching the Remembrall tightly, and Harry was right on his tail; another sharp turn, to the left and up forty-five degrees at the same time, but Harry was taking his lead from the way Draco's broomstick-bristles pointed, and didn't hesitate to follow.

"Catch me!" Draco called, over his shoulder, and Harry ducked tighter against his broomstick, inching up on the other boy. Now he was level with his bristles, now with his shoes; he reached out and grabbed Draco's robe.

Draco, surprised by the sudden movement, shouted and jerked; both brooms skewed sideways and Harry saw Sirius' tiny Remembrall slip through Draco's fingers.

"You dropped it!" he shouted at Draco, who looked stunned.

"I'm sorry!" Draco answered, but Harry barely heard it; he pointed his broomstick nearly straight down, remembering to grip with his knees and crossed ankles as he'd seen a Gryffindor Quidditch player do once, and dove after it.

For a minute the world went away, and there was just Harry, matching speed with a tiny glass ball, and a blur of blue that was the sky, a blur of green that was the grass, and suddenly stone -- he was skimming the outside wall of the castle, the masonry barely six inches from his knees.

It was like the one time Sirius had opened up the motorbike on the roads just outside of Betwys Beddau; Remus would have killed them both if he'd ever found out, but when they hit ninety miles an hour the wind stole your breath and every curve was an adventure waiting to happen, and Harry had never felt so alive.

Like that.

Only better.

He saw windows flashing past and heard paper rustle as the wake of his speed blew late-summer air through the windows; all this he remembered later, because at the moment his entire being was focused on the little glass ball....

Six feet from the ground and he pulled up, leaning over to snatch it before it impacted, and the speed he'd already had took him thirty or forty feet before he skewed to a stop, and hovered, the Remembrall cool in his palm.

The sudden lack of wind in his ears made the world seem very silent, as he realised what he'd done. Most of the other students were on the ground; Draco was descending slowly, looking stunned.

What he'd done had probably broken about half a dozen school rules; disobeying a professor, for a start. He looked around for Madam Hooch, and saw her standing, frozen in amazement, near the front gate of Hogwarts.

Professor Snape was standing next to her, looking breathless and somewhat rushed, as though he'd just come running from somewhere.

"Oh, bollocks," Harry whispered. He wasn't sure whether he ought to go to them, or wait for their wrath to descend. Either way, he'd better get off the broomstick. He lowered himself to the ground, slowly, and the full impact of what he had done didn't hit until his toes touched soil.

He'd done it. He'd flown above every other student in the class and done a dive that would have made Sirius whoop with joy. And he hadn't been afraid at all.

No, it wasn't him -- Draco had made him do it.

That boy needed a serious talking-to.

When he touched down, Madam Hooch seemed to snap out of her shock, and began to descend the steps, moving faster the closer she got. Professor Snape was on her heels; she stopped when she reached Draco, while Snape continued past her. He came up short in front of Harry, staring in a way that made Harry distinctly uncomfortable.

"Show me," he ordered. Harry held out his hand, and the little Remembrall glittered in the sunlight. Red light on Harry's palm showed the words Don't Break School Rules. Harry thought he saw Professor Snape's lips twitch slightly.

"That dive," he said, with an odd sort of urgency. "How high were you when it began?"

"I don't -- " Harry swallowed. "Above the spire of Gryffindor Tower at least."

"And by the time you reached the ground..." Snape's gaze intensified, eyes almost sparking, until he abruptly turned away.

"Madam Hooch," he announced. She looked up from where she was haranguing a terrified Draco. "I will deal with Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, if you prefer."

She looked relieved. "As you wish, Professor Snape."

Snape caught Harry by the arm, not too roughly, and hauled him forward; Harry tossed his broom to Neville as they passed and Snape hooked his other hand in the crook of Draco's elbow. He led them swiftly up and into the entryway, stopping just before the second set of doors that let out onto the courtyard.

"Get out of here," he said to Draco, releasing him. Draco stared up at him, confused. "Thank your surname and go," Snape snapped. Draco looked as confused as Harry felt, but he scuttled away, with a backwards look of sympathy for Harry. Snape led Harry onward, muttering to himself. "Never in ten years at Hogwarts -- might have killed you both -- lucky not to be expelled -- "

At least, Harry thought, it was probably a good sign that Snape was talking about not expelling them.

They stopped in front of the History of Magic classroom, and Snape threw the door open, leaving Harry outside while he stepped in.

"Professor Binns, I wonder if I might borrow Flint and Bole," he said, and Binns waved the two boys on. Snape shut the door behind them, and the two bewildered fifth-years stared at Harry, who realised he probably looked even more windblown and disheveled than usual.

"Bole, you're fired," Snape said, without preamble. For some inexplicable reason, Bole looked relieved. "Please inform Stimpson you are to replace him as Beater, and he can find something else to do, preferably something which requires little movement and no skill."

As Bole left, apparently to track down Stimpson immediately, Snape turned to Marcus Flint, who was now eyeing Harry with more shrewdness than Harry was accustomed to seeing from him. Snape's hand thrust Harry forward, towards Flint.

"Potter will be your Seeker," Snape said bluntly. Harry nearly swallowed his tongue.

"Is he any good, or just a golden boy?" Flint asked. Snape looked as though he'd like to slap the Quidditch Captain.

"Slytherin plays to win. I would not handicap you with an idiot, if I had another choice," Snape growled. "The boy did a dive from Gryffindor Tower and caught this -- " he held up the Remembrall, " -- at the bottom of it."

"He's built for it," Flint allowed. Harry, through a haze of surprise, decided mildly that this might not be a compliment, but Snape's words drowned out most rational thought -- Potter will be your Seeker. "He'll need a decent broom -- "

"I've got one," Harry blurted. Both of them stared at him. "My godfather..."

"Black," Snape said, almost resignedly. "Breaking the rules as usual. What is it then? A Cleansweep of some kind?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand," Harry said shyly. Flint goggled at him.

"With a broomstick like that he doesn't need talent," he said.

"Thanks," Harry managed, scowling.

"I want him ready to win at the first game," Snape said to Flint, ignoring Harry for the moment. "If you need special accomodation, notify me at once."

Flint's smile turned slightly predatory at that, but he nodded.

"Back to class with you," Snape said, and Flint ducked back into the classroom. Snape and Harry stood there, both slightly breathless, for a moment.

"Professor," Harry said finally.

"What is it?"

"Are you going to punish Malfoy?"

"No."

"What did you mean when you told him to thank his surname?" Harry pressed.

"You are to practice hard," Snape replied. "Don't think because you're about to become the youngest Quidditch player in a century that you can slack off. You'll be playing against larger, faster, and quite possibly smarter opponents."

Harry realised he wasn't going to get an answer, so instead he settled for "Yes, sir."

"You've been spared a punishment. I'd appreciate it if you didn't noise the fact about. Tell Mr. Malfoy to do the same."

"Yes, sir."

"Go find him, now," Snape continued. "Flint will notify you about your first practice session."

And he walked off, towards the stairs that would lead to the dungeon, just as classes began to let out all over the castle. Harry stood in the hallway, bumped and buffeted by the crowds, before dashing off towards the Great Hall, to find Draco and share the good news.

***

Dear Sirius,

Thank you for your letter yesterday and the spare quill Remus sent, I don't know how I lose them so quick. I think Nevilles been nicking them off of me. Tell Remus hi and that I'm writing a letter to him next so he shouldn't feel left out, but this news could not wait and I am very glad Hedwig is here because she fly's a lot faster than the school owls and I'm not allowed to go to the postoffice in Hogsmeade.

This afternoon I had quite a grand adventure and you will never guess whats happened...

***

"Warugh!"

Sirius ducked as a letter came flying at his head in the middle of the crowded restaurant, and an exausted Hedwig landed on the white-linen-covered table, flapping a little and immediately wandering over to Remus' soup. Andromeda nearly spilled her wine.

"Goodness," she said. "What's Hedwig doing delivering mail here?"

Sirius plucked the letter off of his steak, and turned it over in his hands. "Harry must have told her it was important."

"It's his second week of school; if it's not from Hogwarts itself how important can it be?" Remus asked, sighing and pushing his soup towards Hedwig.

"It's not very good soup," Nymphadora told the owl, who hooted and continued to worry a bit of cooked chicken she'd found in the bowl.

"You know kids," Sirius said. "Everything's life-and-death when you're eleven."

"Excuse me, sir..." said a waiter, hesitantly. "We don't allow owls in the establishment..."

"Of course, I'll just send her home -- " Remus lifted Hedwig off the tablecloth and she took the hint, ruffling her feathers in annoyance and flapping off out of the restaurant again, through the wide, open windows that looked onto Sosi Alley, the dining district above Knockturn Alley and Gringotts Bank.

The other patrons were staring.

"Everything all right?" Ted asked, worriedly, as Sirius' face drained of colour. He was gripping the letter and reading intently, but he didn't look upset; if anything, he looked jubilant. After a second read, he folded it slowly, and tucked it -- steak-juice stain and all -- into his pocket. He signaled the waiter.

"Champagne, please," he said. "Quickly."

"Sirius, stop indulging in melodrama," Remus ordered.

"Wait for it," Sirius answered, with a vague grin in Remus' direction.

"He's gone bats," Nymphadora whispered, to her father.

"He's been bats," Andromeda answered.

"Quiet," Sirius said, as the champagne arrived. He poured five glasses, then held his up.

"To my godson," he said with a grin, "The new Slytherin House Team Seeker."

Nymphadora grinned gleefully and lifted her glass; Andromeda and Ted followed with theirs a second later, but Remus just sat and stared.

"Seeker?" he demanded. Sirius drained his glass and grinned. "Harry's a Seeker? For the House team?"

"Says so in his letter. Says Snape appointed him himself. I told you the boy was a natural! I told you that broomstick'd be a good investment!" Sirius said jubilantly.

"He's a first-year," Ted put in. "How on earth did he get on the Quidditch team?"

"He's my godson," Sirius said, proudly. "Of course he made the team."

"But he's a Slytherin!" Nymphadora observed. "Does this mean we have to start rooting for Slytherin to win games?"

"Oh dear," Remus murmured.

"We won't worry about who he's playing for right now," Sirius declared. "Come on then -- " he filled his glass again. "To Harry!"

This time they all lifted their glasses in unison. "To Harry!"

Sirius took the letter out and passed it to Remus, who read it and smiled. "Good for him," he said warmly, now that the shock had passed. "He can catch a Snitch and fly a broomstick, even if he hasn't yet mastered apostrophes."

"I'm having that letter bloody framed," Sirius answered. "Look, Andromeda, see right here. Professor Snape says I'm the youngest Quidditch Player in a century and Padma says hes right, so I shall probably get tossed about quite a bit because all the other Seekers are much bigger than I am, but I'm not afraid of a few bruises."

"Good for him," Nymphadora said.

"He's going to get killed," Remus added. "He'll probably enjoy it though." He paused for a minute. "James always did."

"The bigger the bruise, the better the fame," Sirius replied. "I remember."

"I wonder what Severus thinks of James Potter's son playing for Slytherin," Andromeda mused.

"They're bloody lucky to have him, that's what he'd better be thinking," Sirius retorted. He gestured for another bottle of champagne. "But we are not going to think about rooting for Slytherin tonight. Tonight," he said, gesturing for the waiter to pour this time, "we are going to celebrate!"

"Remind me to pick up some Pepper Up on the way home," Remus murmured to Nymphadora, who grinned at him.

"You'll need it when I show him the Slytherin pennant I'm going to give you two," she agreed, and Remus laughed.

By the time they reached the Portkey-doorway to Tonks&Tonks, Remus was half-carrying Sirius on his shoulder, and Andromeda's cheeks were cheerfully pink; Sirius and Ted were animatedly reliving the Quidditch matches of their youth, and Nymphadora had nipped down to the late-night grocers to pick up some Pepper-Up, a handful of Sickles pressed into her hands by a relatively-sober Remus.

Irene, Andromeda's assistant, was just locking up, and she grinned and stood aside to let them enter as Dora scurried back, waving the packet cheerfully. She led the way inside and clattered up the stairs to deposit her purchase in the kitchen. Andromeda and Ted followed more sedately, and they could hear Irene locking the door after them and her footsteps down the pavement. Just before Remus reached the staircase, Sirius skewed ahead of him and wrapped one arm around his waist, beaming.

"Hiya Moony," he said, and kissed Remus' nose. Remus wrinkled it and rubbed at the tickling sensation; Sirius hadn't shaved before dinner, and his chin and cheeks were rough. "Hey!"

"Hey what?" Remus asked, the champagne affecting him just enough to stop him caring that they were necking at the bottom of the stairs.

"Nothing," Sirius answered, and kissed him thoroughly. Remus tasted champagne and kissed back; when it ended, Sirius pulled him a little closer, hands straying lower on his back, and Remus realised if they weren't careful they were going to end up performing indecent acts in the stairwell. He glanced sideways and saw Andromeda watching them from the stairs, a small smile on her face.

"All right, Andromeda?" he asked softly, and she coloured a little more. Sirius glanced up, grinned, and nuzzled Remus' cheek. Andromeda descended the stairs and kissed Sirius on the forehead.

"You can know a thing," she said, "and never really know what you're going to think of it until you see it."

Remus, unsure, held Sirius' head against his neck and smiled faintly.

"I'm glad you make him happy," she said.

"Me too," Remus answered.

"What're you going on about then?" Sirius demanded, into his throat.

"Nothing, Sirius," Andromeda said, turning to go. "Come upstairs, before you make a spectacle of yourself."

"Wasn't making a spectacle," Sirius said.

"Sirius, you've got your hand -- " Remus began, hoping Andromeda hadn't seen that.

"Oh." Sirius looked sheepish, then -- in a nearly unparalleled feat -- transmuted it into a wicked grin. "Shall we continue making a spectacle upstairs?"

***

Harry nearly fell asleep in Potions the next day; between the excitement of his first flight in two years, making Quidditch team, and anticipation of Sirius' return letter, he couldn't get to sleep the night before. Eventually he had begun to listen for the sounds of sleep from the other boys, and when he was sure they wouldn't notice, he crept out of bed and opened his trunk.

His Nimbus Two Thousand lay in its special hidden compartment, and he lifted it out as quietly as possible; he wondered if he'd still be able to fly when he wasn't chasing furiously after Draco. Hesitantly, he laid it on the ground and whispered "up!" as loudly as he dared. It sprang up into his hand, solidly, much less skittish than the old school broom.

Oh, it was beautiful. Almost too beautiful to ride.

He carefully climbed onto the broom and tugged gently; it responded easily, lifting him up off the floor of the dormitory, and drifting him gently towards the window high in the wall, which let out barely a foot above ground level, and was just wide enough for a thin eleven-year-old to fit through. He unlatched it, hands shaking in the moonlight -- it would be Full Moon soon, and he'd send Remus a nice long letter for him to read while he recuperated.

Once he'd squeezed through the window, the broom seemed to sense somehow that they were free; he rose quickly, the chest-constricting fear of this afternoon banished in the feel of the wind blowing through his disordered hair.

He'd spent hours flying, learning the feel of the broomstick, how to pick up or drop speed, how to do simple tricks like loop-de-loops and a barrel roll that made his glasses fall off; he dove, squinting, catching just a hint of light reflected in the lenses, and grabbed them instinctively. He hadn't come half as close to the ground as he had with the Remembrall, he saw, when he put them back on. The Nimbus had superior speed, superior handling...it was, simply, superior.

He didn't return to the Slytherin dormitory until the sun was peeking over the horizon, and he'd barely managed to get the broomstick into its compartment again before he fell into bed for an hour or two. In Potions, Neville had to keep poking him to keep him awake, but they did manage not to melt any cauldrons, and Professor Snape didn't seem to notice Harry dozing off with his chin on his hand. If he did, he didn't comment.

At lunch, while he tried not to fall asleep into his sandwich, he got good-natured jibes from the Weasley twins about hitting bludgers his way, and not-so-good-natured glares from some of the Slytherin team, who clearly didn't think he was up to it. Still, Harry wasn't afraid, and just after lunch Hedwig flapped into the Great Hall with a jubilant letter from Sirius, congratulating him with a proud tone even Harry couldn't dismiss. He wondered how Sirius and Remus were going to take to rooting for Slytherin, and he was sure Remus was wondering too, though Sirius sounded too swept up in the excitement to consider it.

At the High Table, he saw Professor Snape looking...well, if he was to be honest, rather smug. Professor McGonagall looked downright murderous; but then Harry knew Gryffindor had been after the Quidditch Cup for years, and Slytherin was their main competition. Surely he alone couldn't annoy her so much, though; she had no idea if he was any good, or any sort of competition for the new Gryffindor Seeker, tapped just this year.

Harry had the sudden presentiment that, while Quidditch could be the best time of his life, it was also about to make said life infinitely more difficult.

Chapter 9

Harry's first Quidditch practice came the Sunday after his first flying lesson, and was unsurprisingly public; Marcus Flint had cleared the Quidditch pitch, but all the other players were notified, and they had taken up positions in the stands. Harry knew why they were there: to laugh at him. He'd heard the talk in the common room -- indeed, they'd made no secret of their contempt for a first-year on their team -- and he didn't blame them for being skeptical. Still, Professor Snape had justified himself to Harry: he wouldn't endanger the team's standing unless Harry was worth his time, and whether or not Flint believed that, Harry did.

Flint explained the game to him as though Harry had never seen a Snitch before, and Harry waited patiently as the balls were unpacked from their trunk. When Flint set a Bludger at him and tossed him the short, round Beating bat, Harry backhanded the Bludger beautifully over the castle, and the talking and jeering and laughing from the Slytherins in the stands ended suddenly.

"Some of the village boys and I played cricket," Harry explained. Flint stared at him dumbly.

"Cricket?"

"It's a game with bats."

Flint was about to say something, when the Bludger came pelting back, and only Harry's quick point over his shoulder drew his attention to catching the rogue ball. He grunted as he leapt on top of it, wrestling it into the trunk. He strapped it back down, and gave Harry a more measured look than before.

"On your broomstick then," he ordered. Harry mounted up, and on Flint's command, showed them what he was capable of; a few jeers returned, and Harry resolved to find a book on stunt-flying in the library.

"Look out, doxie, I'm not going to let the Snitch out 'cause you'll lose it," Flint said, and Harry recognised a golf-ball batted his way with the discarded Beater's bat. He stretched out his palm and caught it easily, zinging it back at Flint. It nailed him in the chest, and the boy bared his teeth. The other Slytherins laughed, this time at their captain.

The next golf ball was wide, but Harry had a Nimbus, and he reached it easily before it hit the ground. The third came on the heels of the second and Harry had to dart up quickly, but it was becoming evident that he'd impressed Flint as much as he'd angered him, and his captain wasn't playing to an audience anymore; he was training a Seeker.

Two hours and innumerable golf-balls later -- or rather, the same twelve, fetched and accio'd repeatedly -- Flint called him down, and Harry descended slowly and reluctantly, reaching him about the same time the rest of the team did. He stood, holding his broomstick expectantly, while Flint closed the trunk and ordered the Beaters to carry it back.

"You'll do," he said, as they started back towards Hogwarts, smacking Harry in the back of the head. Harry took it in the spirit it was meant; he remembered the Slytherins roughousing with each other when he'd been a visitor to Hogwarts years before. "You're not trained, but you'll do. Another few lessons like that, and you can join regular team practice with the big boys."

"Hope you're going to work on his flying," Bole said, grunting under one end of the trunk, while Derrick hauled the other. "Kid's got a great stick between his legs and no idea how to use it."

The rest of them snickered at this, and it took Harry a minute to realise the joke.

"You'd know, Bole," Flint drawled, and Bole grunted again. This time Harry had no idea what they were talking about, but it didn't really matter. He was going to play Quidditch. He was going to get to do what they'd done today, on a regular basis, for Team and House Glory. If he practiced hard they could get all the way to the House Cup, and Sirius and Remus could come watch him play....

He was distracted from these thoughts by their arrival at the school, and the appearance seemingly from nowhere of Professor Snape.

"Flint," he said, by way of greeting. His eyes swept the rest of them, then settled on Harry. "Has your team passed judgement?"

"He's got potential," Flint replied. "He needs training. I'll want the pitch next Friday afternoon."

"If you have difficulty obtaining it, see me," Snape answered calmly.

"Yes, sir," Flint replied.

"Potter, I would like to see you in my office after your training session next Friday," Snape said. "Four-thirty should suffice."

"Yes, sir," Harry answered, hyper-aware of the rest of the team, now, and wondering what they thought of all this.

"Excellent," Snape said, standing aside. They trooped past him and into the entryway, Derrick and Bole breaking off to return the trunk to its storage room while the rest of them headed for the common room. Harry hung back, and once the others had descended the stairs to the dungeon, he turned and made for the Great Hall, regardless of his disheveled, sweaty state.

"Harry!" Padma shouted, waving at him as she arrived also. "I was hoping you'd come early to dinner. Draco and Neville are on their way. How was your practice?"

"Brilliant, once they realised I wasn't an idiot," Harry answered, as Neville and Draco appeared at the far end of the hall. "Are we early enough to eat together?"

"Looks that way!" Draco said, cheerfully. "How was it, Harry?"

"Are you really going to play?" Neville added, leading the way into the Great Hall. The food wasn't even out yet; a house-elf at the far end, who was polishing the high table, squeaked and vanished. The four of them sat at one end of the Gryffindor table, heads bent together so that their voices didn't echo so much in the high-ceilinged Hall.

"I think so. Flint says I have potential," Harry said. "And besides, Professor Snape fired someone from the team. It'd be awfully embarrassing if he backed me out now. Plus Sirius would strangle him. He's really just looking for an excuse."

"Why do you suppose they hate each other?" Neville asked.

"Professor Snape never told you anything?"

"Nope."

"Sirius doesn't talk about it either, and Remus says it's not his place, except to tell me that it's idiotic for two grown men to still be mad at each other over stupid things they did when they were too young to know any better." Harry looked dubious. "Sirius doesn't usually do stupid things. Well, not hurtful stupid things."

Draco opened his mouth to say something, then stared over Harry's shoulder. Harry turned to see one of the house-elves, laden with a tray of steaming plates.

"Merion is bringing dinner," she squeaked, setting the tray down in front of them. Four bowls of hot spaghetti and meatballs, with a plate of toasted garlic bread, greeted them. "Denbigh who is head of the kitchens is noticing that Master Draco and Harry Potter and Mister Neville Longbottom and Miss Padma Patil are eating early. Denbigh is sending Merion with food for Master Draco and Harry Potter and -- "

"Thank you, Merion," Draco said, gently cutting her off. She squealed and beamed at him. "That was very kind of you and Denbigh. May we have some cheese?"

Merion hopped excitedly. "Cheese!" she said, and disappeared, appearing hardly a second later with an enormous block of parmesan cheese and a grater.

Harry and Neville exchanged amused grins as Merion grated cheese onto their dishes for them, did a funny little bow, and vanished.

"A girl could get used to service like this," Padma said, breaking her garlic bread in half.

"They must have been watching us," Draco said.

"Oh yeah -- they all know about you, apparently," Harry agreed, around a mouthful of spaghetti. "I guess one of your elves told them to look after you."

Draco looked alarmed. "They did?"

"Yeah -- what's wrong?"

"Oh, if mum finds out she'll make them broil their feet or something," Draco said worriedly. "Merion!" he called, into the air. "Merion!"

She appeared with a pop, looking worried. "Is Master Draco's food cold?"

"Merion, have my house-elves been visiting you?"

She wrung her hands. "Yes?"

"You must tell Mendy and Dobby not to visit you. If my mum finds out it'll go very hard on them."

Merion looked relieved. "Oh, no, Master Draco! Mendy is being very careful. Oh yes. The mistress will not find out!"

Draco gave her a doubtful look. She smiled encouragingly.

"Master Draco is very good to worry about house-elves, but we is visiting each other all the time and not getting caught. Master Draco mustn't be concerned."

"All right then. See that you don't," Draco said. "Get caught, I mean. Thank you, Merion."

She bowed again and disappeared, and Draco bent to his food with a more hearty appetite.

"You've got two house-elves?" Padma asked, eyes wide.

"Nine actually," Draco replied. "It's silly really, half of them haven't even anything to do, but -- "

"Nine?" Neville demanded.

"Yeah...well, we had ten, but one of them got clothed for letting traveling salesmen into the house..." Draco made a face. "Shame really, the salesmen were fun to talk to."

"Anyway, Harry," Neville broke in, "we want to come watch your next practice, but Draco says he won't cos the Slytherins'll squash us."

Draco blushed.

"They probably would," Harry agreed. "You're the enemy now. I mean. You might tell the other captains what we're doing, and that's no good. I know you wouldn't, cos you're my mates..."

"You going to tell us what you did, then?" Neville asked. "Come on Harry. We won't tell."

Harry grinned and began telling them about the lesson, complete with visual aides in the form of stray meatballs reorganised into representing Quidditch balls and flown around with a hasty leviosa charm, while Harry played himself with a bit of garlic bread on a fork. By the time they were nearly done with their meal, the rest of the school was beginning to appear, and they dispersed to their separate tables to finish, carrying their plates with them.

***

Harry passed the week itching to be on a broomstick again, but he was mindful of last week's Potions lesson, and didn't dare venture out for another night flight. He did get a book from the library on tactical flying, and there was Thursday afternoon's lesson, of couse; he spent a good half the class with the book held open with one hand, trying to figure out the precise movement of hands and feet that would allow him to feint, dive, and corner with precision. He was going to impress Flint with his flying abilities or die trying.

It was the "die trying" bit that worried him. The phrase became decidedly literal when one was atop a stick fifty feet above the ground.

Friday came, however, no matter how much Harry worried privately, and while the others spread blankets on the lawn and had a picnic, Harry and Flint trooped down to the Pitch to practice. This time only Bole, who had been Seeker before, and Montague, one of the Chasers, showed up to watch, and their silent stares were nearly worse than the half-meant jeers of the last practice.

Harry hoped his improved flying would impress Flint, but his Captain didn't seem to be paying attention to that. Instead, he got Bole on a broomstick too, and set them Seeking against each other.

It would have been an interesting challenge, except that Bole inexplicably kept breaking the rules, and Flint kept ignoring his blatant defiance of them -- the fouling, the off-sides flying, the early-starts when Flint made them wait and take off at the same time. Harry was bewildered by this, until Flint began shouting at him to keep up or fail, and Harry realised they were trying to train him into cheating, too.

He scowled, and began marking where Flint hit the golf balls; Sirius had taught him that it wasn't cheating if you were using your brain when other people weren't, and Harry had discovered just how little some people used theirs. It didn't take him long to notice a pattern in Flint's hits, and soon he could predict where the next ball would go, and outrun Bole to it every time, given the predictable head start. After forty minutes of this, it all got rather tedious.

Bole seemed to think so too; he signaled to Flint to hold off, and both of them descended to the Pitch.

"It's like he knows where it's going to go," Bole complained. "Come off it, he's beating me every time and I'm using every dirty trick I know."

"You haven't cast an obfuscation charm, have you?" Flint demanded. "Spellwork during a match is grounds for forfeit."

"If he did, he was subtle about it at least," Bole said approvingly.

"I know the rules," Harry said staunchly. "Since you kept trying to make me break 'em."

"There's a lot of leeway on some of those," Flint replied sternly, "and Slytherins -- "

"Play to win, I know," Harry answered.

"How'd you do it then?" Bole was still clearly perplexed that a first-year had out-flown him, and a Muggle-raised first-year at that.

"Why should I tell you?" Harry asked, insulted.

"Now that's the Slytherin spirit," Flint said. "Fine, tighten up your cornering and you can practice with the team starting week after next. Go on then, we're done here."

Flint looked like he was simply tired of hitting golf balls, and Harry wondered how a dim and lazy Quidditch Captain had gotten the team to the victory they'd had last year -- Slytherin had won several years running, if he remembered right, and it was currently a mystery to Harry how they'd done it.

Still, the early finish gave him enough time to get back to the dormitories and have a shower -- he didn't have a space or a key to the Quidditch lockers yet -- before meeting with Professor Snape. It felt good to be clean, though his legs still ached and his neck was sore from scanning the field.

He emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, and Snake lifted his small, angular head from the bedspread where he'd been napping. Harry hesitated only briefly before hanging Snake over his shoulders, pulling his collar up to hide the dull green body. He felt oddly safe with Snake wrapped around his neck, and he knew it was Snake's favourite place to be.

He tried to brush his defiant hair into some semblance of order, and then gave up and wandered out into the common room, through the portrait-door, and down the maze of hallways to Professor Snape's office, limping a little when the muscles in his left leg cramped.

He was a little early, but he knocked anyway, and pushed the door open when he was bid. He came forward onto the round, dark green carpet that covered the bare stone floor, and allowed himself to look around just a little. Of all the rooms at Hogwarts, this was the room he was the most familiar with; when he was young he'd often spent an afternoon distracting himself with a book while Professor Snape took care of unavoidable paperwork during weekend visits. He took in the walls lined with bookshelves, full of well-used volumes and the occasional odd knicknack -- skulls of various kinds, brass ornaments Harry didn't know the use of, jars containing strangely coloured liquids and powders. Dust danced in the late-afternoon sunbeams that streamed in from the narrow, high windows.

Professor Snape sat at the big, low-topped writing desk, which had seemed much larger when Harry was eight. There was a pile of rolled up parchment scrolls on his left, and a smaller pile of unrolled ones, held down by a green glass paperweight, on his right. He laid down his quill when he saw Harry, and capped the inkwell in which he kept his red marking ink.

"You wanted to see me, Professor Snape," Harry said politely, and only slightly anxiously. The older man pushed his marking to one side.

"You're early."

"Yes, sir. Captain Flint let me out from practice early," Harry answered.

"Oh?" An eyebrow arched a little. "Are you performing to his standard?"

"I think so, sir. He seemed to be bored with drilling me with golf balls," Harry said hesitantly.

"Good. Without a strong Seeker this year, Slytherin has very little chance of retaining the Quidditch Cup, and Bole would not have been adequate. Please be seated," Snape said, waving his hand at the chair on the other side of the desk, which slid a few inches. Harry sat, wary in case it decided to move again.

Snape steepled his fingers, and Harry wondered if he'd done something wrong.

"As loath as I am to admit it," the professor finally said, "Your guardians seem to have done a decent job of raising you with the proper intellectual quality suitable to a Hogwarts student. I had very grave doubts about a Muggle education, but I assume it has been supplemented by Black and Lupin."

"Supplemented, sir?" Harry asked, curiously.

"You've had some magical history?" Snape inquired. "Professor Flitwick informs me that your Charmswork is enhanced by a pre-existent basic knowledge of Latin, as well."

"Oh -- yes," Harry agreed. "Remus worked on Latin with me this summer, and Sirius had me on beginning Arithmancy last year."

"Indeed? And how do you enjoy it?"

"It's a lot harder than long-division," Harry admitted. "But it's loads more interesting."

Snape nodded, and there was the peculiar twitch of his lips again; Harry decided something had amused him, and the twitch was as close as he would ever get to laughter from the grave professor. "And your reading?"

"My reading, sir?" Harry asked. Snape nodded. "I er...do a lot of it?" he ventured, unsure what Snape's question had meant.

"I believe I left some volumes with you, the last time we saw each other..." Snape said, and Harry realised that was what this conversation had been working around to.

"Yes, sir. The Mabinogion, sir, and a children's book," Harry answered. "I was very grateful to have them. Especially the Mabinogion. Seeing as we were in Wales and all."

Professor Snape gave him a rare, fleeting smile.

"And which story did you enjoy the most?"

Harry considered this. "The story of Peredur, I think."

"Peredur?" Snape looked actually surprised.

"Yeah -- well, I didn't really like Peredur. He was a bit of a wet blanket and all, but you can't really blame him, can you? I mean, his mum was nuts and she raised him in the middle of a forest, which can't be good for a person. And he did beat up a bunch of knights, even though he was kind of a dumb farmboy. But I liked Gwalchmai," Harry said. "He was clever and polite and never had to beat anyone up. Is...is that wrong? Not a good story to like? "

"No -- not wrong, precisely," Snape said thoughtfully. They sat in silence for a while, until Harry had gathered his courage and wits about him.

"May I ask a question, Professor?" he asked. Snape gestured for him to continue. "Today at practice...I don't mean to complain, but Bole cheated. And Captain Flint said I should cheat, too."

Snape leaned forward. "And you are reluctant to be dishonest, Harry?"

"No," Harry said, "but what's the point? I know Slytherins play to win," he said hurriedly, "And I'm sure it's a very nice cup, but where's the fun? Gryffindors don't cheat, do they?"

Snape sneered, slightly. "Certainly they do not."

"So where's the fun? Winning only lasts about two minutes. Playing lasts hours if you do it right."

"And you play for the game."

"Why else should I play?"

Snape leaned back, one hand touching his desk, one on the arm of his chair. He was silent, but Harry waited patiently; he remembered Snape's silences.

"In life, Harry, playing for the game may mean losing one's life," he said quietly. "As your father discovered, when he pushed too far too fast for the thrill of it."

Harry sucked in a breath, sharply.

"There are no rules to life," Snape continued. "There are no rules to war, if you want to survive it."

His right hand drifted across his ribcage, touching his left forearm.

"But Quidditch isn't war," Harry said. "It's just Quidditch. And it seems to me..." he hesitated, unsure how free he could be with the suddenly distant professor.

"Yes?"

"It seems to me, Professor, that learning to use what I have against the other team, on even ground, is better than learning to get around the rules that don't exist, not really," Harry said. "I mean, you can't break the rules if there aren't any, and if there aren't any rules, all you've got is your wits. At least that's what I think," he finished, well aware that Marcus Flint, who was a fifth year, probably knew better than him.

Snape turned to regard him with sharp eyes, a look similar to that he'd had the first time Harry had spoken to a snake in front of him. He felt Snake's soothing weight, and met Snape's eyes squarely.

"If you wish to depend on wits instead of lawlessness, Harry, I will not stand in your way. Neither will I stand between you and your team-mates, however," Snape said. "Your guardians possessed very little respect for the rules of this school, but it is true that your father was a truly Gryffindor sportsman."

"You didn't like my dad much, did you?" Harry asked, daringly.

"I believe, Mr. Potter, that you have used up your quotient of impertinent questions for the week," Snape replied. "And mine have been answered satisfactorily. You may go."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, properly chastised. He was at the door before Snape's voice stopped him.

"Harry..."

"Yes, Professor Snape?" he asked, turning.

"It is a commendable thing, in one so young, to understand the difference between cheating and guile," Snape said. "We'll speak again soon."

"Yes sir," Harry replied, and let himself out into the cool, dim hallway.

I like him, Snake said, hooking himself over Harry's ear once they were on their way towards the stairs that led to the Great Hall. He tastes like snakes.

I like him too, Harry answered, grinning to himself.

Chapter 10

Dear Harry,

I apologise for being so late in writing to you, but Sirius wouldn't give me quill and ink any sooner. I'm afraid it wasn't easy this time around, but not to worry: I'm not hurt, just tired and sore. Your letter arrived on the 22nd and I saved it specifically so I'd have something to read in bed on the 24th; thank you for writing such a long letter to keep me entertained, it was very thoughtful of you as usual. Sirius and I both enjoy reading about your Quidditch practices and I think Sirius is almost ready to admit you're playing for Slytherin. He'll come round, Harry. Your story about Padma and the trick Gobstones game had us both laughing until we couldn't breathe; it was very wrong of Draco to charm them to all go off at once, and exactly the sort of thing a certain distant cousin named Sirius might have done when we were at school.

Life has been quiet the last few days. Nymphadora came to dinner last night, which was nice, and she told us she can't wait to see you and Neville at Christmas holiday. Andromeda keeps trying to get her to invite her trainer, Kingsley Shacklebolt, to dinner sometime, but apparently that's 'not professional', according to Dora, who still insists we call her Tonks. I can't imagine what Andromeda was thinking, naming her Nymphadora in the first place.

At any rate, I've spent most of my time in bed, and Sirius has been bringing me books to read, and buying shiny things he thinks will entertain me. I should be up and about again by the time you get this which, if Hedwig is her usual efficient self, should be four days before Hallowe'en. I hope you're looking forward to the feast -- it's quite spectacular. I'll be envying you as Sirius makes me choke down one more cup of beef broth in the hopes that somehow, if I only have enough protein in my system, I'll come to my senses and stop getting ill every four weeks. He's promised to allow me as much pumpkin pie as I like, however. Apparently vegetables are permitted so long as they're mixed with custard.

I'm sorry to hear you're not enjoying your Defence Against the Dark Arts classes; it used to be the most brilliant class in school, but I hear Quirrell's lost his nerve a bit. Go easy on him; he's a new teacher and I'm sure he's nervous about making a good impression. If you want some extra practice over the holiday, I'll do some work with you. I'm glad to hear you're enjoying your other classes, and that Professor Snape is keeping you properly challenged. I hear from Ted that Neville still complains he's a little shirty in class, but then we can't all be as even-tempered and cheerful as Neville, and what a world it would be if we could.

I'll write more later, but Hedwig is eager to stretch her wings and Sirius has returned from his food-foraging, so I'll let you go back to your studies, hopefully, and write again later.

Greetings from all of us here at Grimmauld Place,

Remus

***

Remus capped the ink-bottle and put his quill away just in time; the ink was barely dry on the address when Sirius landed on the bed, grinning, and nuzzled his neck. Remus, propped on his elbows with the folded letter in front of him, merely smiled and laid it aside before Sirius' exuberance could wrinkle it. Sirius pulled the loose blanket higher up over his back from where it had settled around his hips, and draped one arm across him affectionately.

"I'm not dying, Sirius," Remus said with a smile, as Sirius kissed his ear.

"You will be if you don't keep warm, Moony," Sirius answered.

"It's been a week since the full moon, I'm fine."

"It's been four days, and you're not fine," Sirius replied. "Look, I brought you curry."

Remus smiled as a paper carton was shoved in front of him, and a cheap disposable spoon placed in one hand.

"It's good for you."

"I know it's good for me, Pads," he said, opening the top of the carton and stirring up the thick, fragrant curry a little.

"That's not just off-the-cart curry you know, I went down to a real Indian restaurant and had them box some up."

Remus nuzzled Sirius back, just under the ear, and laughed against his cheek. "I'll eat it, Pads, I promise. What's got into you today?"

"Nothing, just glad you're getting better," Sirius said, unwrapping some naan as well, and breaking off a piece to give to Remus.

"I wasn't that sick," Remus grumbled. Sirius caught his wrist, spoon halfway to his mouth.

"You were that sick," he said gravely. "And I was that worried. I don't know why the last moon was so bad for you, but it was, and it worries me."

Remus gently tugged his wrist free, and ate the spoonful of curry before replying.

"It comes and goes, you know that," he said, glancing away. "I haven't had one that bad in a long time, and doubt I will again anytime soon. And I had Padfoot there -- you did everything right. It was just a hard Change. They happen."

"They never happened in Wales."

"Wales was different."

"We could move back there."

"Sirius, there's absolutely no need for that."

Sirius' arm tightened around his waist, and the dark-haired man rested his chin on Remus' shoulder.

"Eat," he said, kissing his neck. Remus ate quietly, finishing every bite; he'd found his appetite again, and the spicy food helped clear his head a little. When he was finished, Sirius rose and took the empty food boxes into their kitchen, returning as Remus slid down until he was lying fully on the bed, head pillowed on his arms. The springs of the bed creaked slightly as Sirius sat next to him and rested his hand between Remus' shoulderblades.

"You're dreaming again," he said quietly, and Remus closed his eyes. He didn't think he'd had that many, but if Sirius had noticed, he must not be remembering them all. "Dreams like you used to have. Aren't you?"

"Am I waking you up at night?"

"No, but sometimes I wake up to get some water and when I come back, I can see..." Sirius sighed. "You move a bit, and you mutter sometimes. Nothing I can understand, but I can see how tired you look some mornings. Do they wake you up?"

"Once in a while. It's nothing, Sirius."

"It's not nothing." Sirius slid down next to him, and Remus curled into his arms, taking comfort in the warm, broad mass of Sirius' body, the scent of him.

He inhaled deeply. For nine years he'd wanted this, and even after two and a half years of having it, having Sirius -- having everything Sirius wanted to give him, plus a home and a share in raising Harry -- he was still afraid that one day it would simply end. Not because he didn't trust Sirius, or had no faith in him, but because he didn't know why Sirius loved him, or what precisely he'd done to deserve getting everything he wanted.

"What happens in this one?" Sirius asked, after a while. Remus felt his heart beat faster, and deliberately calmed himself.

"I don't know. It's not clear, like the others. I can see Harry looking at me, and I've done something wrong, and I'm packing to go somewhere..."

"Away from us?"

"I can't tell."

"I won't let you," Sirius said petulantly.

Remus sighed into his neck. "It's not the leaving that's the problem. It's that I've done something, let Harry down somehow."

"You never would."

"Not on purpose."

Sirius' fingers worked their way up his neck, into his hair, rubbing his scalp soothingly. "You can tell me these things, you know."

"I didn't think it was that important."

"All right."

Remus felt a kiss on his cheek, and turned his head slightly so that their lips met; Sirius might think he was still ill and delicate, but his body was responding to Sirius' closeness, and he wanted the assurance anyway, that Sirius was really there, was really his. His fingers tightened possessively on Sirius' shoulders.

"Moony -- " Sirius said cautiously, and Remus smiled wickedly.

"Padfoot," he replied, voice low, pressing closer. Sirius' lips opened, deepening the kiss almost involuntarily. "Good boy..."

Sirius laughed against his mouth. "Are you sure you're up to..." he paused, as Remus hooked a leg over his hip, brushing their bodies together tantalisingly. "Oh. You are sure."

"Very sure," Remus murmured. "I think you're sure too."

"Oh, yes..." Sirius caught his breath as Remus nuzzled against his shirt, finding the nylon dog collar and kissing the sensitive skin underneath. They rolled until Remus was on his back, grinning up at him and fumbling with his belt. Sirius put a hand on his, stopping him as he leaned back.

"Let me," Sirius said, and Remus paused. "You're still sick."

"Sirius, I'm -- "

"Let me," Sirius repeated, fingers tracing the line of Remus' knuckles. They hooked around Remus' hand, undoing the belt beneath his palm, while Sirius' other hand untucked his shirt, pulling it up and over his head.

Remus released the now-undone belt, and ran his fingers over Sirius' skin, smooth and a little paler than his own, the contrast between them somehow pleasing. Sirius, even if he never craved work or stimulation the way Remus did, was nevertheless an active man, and though broadly built, he was still lean. He was pale, too, and Remus liked the way Sirius' skin made his own seem like rich gold by contrast.

Sirius, however, was not distracted from his purpose, and he bent over Remus to unbutton the pyjama shirt he wore, palms smoothing over his shoulders and neck as he pushed it off and tugged the sleeves up his arms. Remus obediently lifted his hands over his head, and laughed when Sirius held them there, after removing the offending shirt.

"Pinned you," Sirius said, kissing him gently.

"Wrestling is a lot more fun now than when we were at school," Remus agreed, and bucked his hips. Sirius swore, and let go of his wrists, so that he could brace himself on the bed. Remus smiled up at him and rolled his hips this time, and Sirius moaned.

"What you do to me, Moony," he growled, working his way out of his trousers, "oughtn't be allowed."

"I could stop," Remus offered. Sirius brushed a hand across the front of his thin pyjama pants, and he whined, high in the back of his throat. "Actually, no I couldn't -- "

Sirius swallowed the words with his mouth, and they arched together for a few minutes while Sirius tried to undress him, finally kicking the last of the clothing away.

"Much better," he muttered, as Remus reached up to stroke his face. He'd long ago memorised the curve of his cheekbones and the edge of his jaw, but Sirius seemed to like it when they touched like this, and Remus had fallen in love with him as much for his mind as for this line right here, that ridge of bone under skin, the small scar on the side of his nose where he'd cut himself during a school fight years ago. The perfections and the imperfections and oh, Sirius, the way Sirius knew just how to fit against him.

"Moony, do you want -- " Sirius gasped, as their hips pressed together in an increasingly fast rhythm, hot skin against hot skin, delightfully teasing sensations.

"Just this," Remus answered, eyes closing as he threw his head back against the blankets. Sirius saw his opportunity and buried his face in his neck, kissing and biting, the collar he wore rubbing against Remus' collarbone. He felt Sirius tense and the warm rush of the other man's orgasm on his stomach, but Sirius didn't stop moving, didn't stop thrusting and moaning as Remus saw white behind his eyelids and suddenly couldn't breathe. There -- once more -- such delicious touch -- and Remus felt the world, at least for a little while, fade into the feel of Sirius, sprawled boneless and satisfied on top of him.

When his breathing evened out again he felt Sirius move, rolling a little to one side so that Sirius wasn't crushing him and he wasn't a rather bony body pillow. Sirius kept him close, however, and spoke almost against his skin.

"You seem to be feeling better," he admitted. Remus laughed.

"I am, Padfoot."

"I'm glad."

"Me too."

"I stopped by Schaeffer's today," Sirius said, as Remus murmured a cleaning spell and curled closer. "They say you're welcome to pick up a shift tomorrow, if you want it."

Remus stroked the short black hair, rubbing his fingers across one of Sirius' ears. "You just like me working there because they let you wander around in the back room and play with the experimental products."

"And flirt with Madam Schaeffer, don't forget."

Remus yawned. "How could I. You're a cad to lead her on."

"Who says I'm leading her on? I'm a healthy, unwed man with a son who needs a mother," Sirius said, mockingly. "Who better than the proprietess of a store full of educational toys?"

"Well, in that case I suppose I ought to move out and make room for the Missus," Remus answered. Sirius laughed and closed his eyes sleepily.

"Smartarse," he muttered.

"A nap at three in the afternoon," Remus said, as Sirius' breathing slowed, and his muscles relaxed. "Such decadence."

"Naps're good for you," Sirius mumbled. Remus dropped a kiss into his hair, and closed his own eyes, settling comfortably into the tangle of blankets and pillows and Sirius. After a few minutes, Hedwig soared through the open window, landed indignantly on the bed, and pecked until a hand reached out from the confused pile and flung a letter her way. She clicked her beak, picked up the letter with one foot, and hopped to the edge of the bed, swooping back out again.

On the bed, the two men slept on, oblivious to the world.

***

Remus' letter arrived the following morning, at their usual early breakfast, and Draco fed Hedwig his toast crusts -- or tried to, while she stole his bacon -- as Harry read it aloud. The Great Hall was echoingly empty in the early morning, but the four of them found they liked it that way. It had become a regular occurrence for Padma, on her way down from the Ravenclaw eyrie in the west tower, to stop at Gryffindor tower and use a knocking charm Harry had installed to wake Neville. He usually tumbled out of bed and was, due to his previous tendency to oversleep, fit to be seen in five minutes or less. Harry met Draco at the Great Hall entrance, and they waited there, leaning against the wall and facing the staircase, for Padma and Neville to arrive.

Once in a while they were there even before the food had been laid out, and then the house-elves would usually pop up to bring them breakfast; Draco once asked if it wasn't a trouble for them, but Denbigh reassured him that they were already awake to start the fires in the common-room heating stoves, now that it was coming on winter, and he himself never left the kitchens at any rate. It wasn't unusual for Headmaster Dumbledore, who was apparently also an early riser, to arrive just as they were finishing their meal, sometimes accompanied by Professor Snape. More and more often they found that five or ten minutes after Denbigh brought their food, Professor Quirrell would appear five or ten minutes and eat a solitary bowl of oatmeal before hurrying away again.

"Wonder where he's going off to," Neville said on Hallowe'en morning as Quirrell nearly ran into Snape -- one going, the other arriving. Harry, who saw the oddly disdainful sneer on Snape's face when Quirrell passed, thought perhaps he was unpopular amongst the other professors. He certainly spent a lot of time alone, and once or twice he'd been spotted on the edges of the Forbidden Forest; then again he was a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, after all, and if the Forest wasn't full of it, Harry didn't know what was.

"Getting ready for classes, probably," Draco said, rather generously Harry thought, as they were still a good hour away from the first class of the day. Draco finished his toast, and continued. "So what I want to know is if you three are up for a little entertainment after the Hallowe'en feast."

"Not this seance nonsense again," Padma sighed.

"Listen, if you want to chat with a ghost -- " Neville started.

"Oh, let him alone, it's all just for fun," Harry said, waving off their protests. "Isn't it, Malfoy?"

"Sure," Draco said, but he looked a bit cowed by Padma's skepticism.

"Go on then, tell us about it," Neville said, stirring his cereal.

"Well, I just thought it'd be sort of spooky, because it's Hallowe'en and all," Draco said, turning scarlet. "I thought we could sneak out after the Feast and find an empty classroom and do a sleep-over sort of a thing."

"I'm not allowed sleep-overs with boys," Padma said haughtily.

"We're not boys, we're us," Harry answered. Padma gave him a narrow look. "Go on, Draco."

"It was just a thought," Draco mumbled. "I've never had a proper sleep-over. Just...steal some blankets and camp out in an empty classroom and maybe do some charms. I got hold of our Prefect's Divination book and it's full of that kind of thing. It's not ghosts," he added, to Neville. "It's for seeing the future and all."

"You're sure to get caught," Padma threatened.

"You needn't worry then, need you?" Neville asked, automatically approving the plan if it meant Padma was against it. Neville would defy school rules on principle, given the proper opportunity. "As you won't be along."

"I didn't say that!" Padma protested.

"The fifth floor's got an empty storage room I bet we could hide in," Harry said, thoughtfully.

"How do you know that?" Neville and Padma demanded in unison. They tended to view anything above fourth floor as Gryffindor and Ravenclaw property, since there weren't any classrooms above the fourth floor except Divination and Astronomy.

Harry shrugged. "Whenever I get lost I start trying doors," he said. "It's a funny little room with some stairs in it down to another empty room below -- doesn't look like it's been used in years. Neville can lock the door -- "

"Neville's rubbish at locking charms," Padma flared. Harry grinned. Neville wasn't actually that bad at them, but Padma prided herself on her locks.

"All right then, we'll let you do it," he said graciously. Padma looked at once vindicated and suspicious.

"Harry can bring food, and I'll bring candles and the book, and Padma and Neville, you bring cushions," Draco said, triumphantly. "There's the Prefect, we'd better go," he added, gathering up his books and plate. Neville did likewise, departing for Gryffindor, but Padma lingered a moment.

"Are you sure this is wise, Harry?" she asked quietly.

"I think," Harry said, giving her his best Cheeky Sirius smile, "That not-being-wise is half the fun."

"It's just that it's Draco's idea, and well..." she looked indecisive. "He's Draco, you know..."

"Patil, how often do I have to tell you about loitering around the Slytherin table?" Percy Weasley demanded, as he passed on his way to Gryffindor. Padma let out a frightened "eep!" and ran to Ravenclaw, forgetting her plate, which Goyle brushed aside as he sat down.

"Morning Potter," he grunted, and Harry resigned himself to another forty minutes of scintillating breakfast conversation about how brilliant the sausages were and could he please pass the water pitcher.

***

If he was to be perfectly honest, Severus Snape rather enjoyed Hallowe'en. He felt it was the one holiday in the year that really suited him.

Christmas was trite, New Year's gaudy, and Valentine's downright revolting. Easter was redeemed from total uselessness only by coming attached to a week-long break from school. There was an interesting Muggle holiday called Guy Fawkes Day, something to do with blowing up the Muggle Government, which Severus was frankly in favour of; he thought it must also be pleasantly cathartic to build a giant bonfire and throw an effigy on it. Still, he always managed to miss that one somehow, and was left squarely with Hallowe'en.

A good old-fashioned celebration of death, now that was something a person could really sink his teeth into.

He was less irritable with the idiot students that particular day, and more inclined to praise the marginally intelligent ones. He refused on principle to consider any student of his brilliant, since then the ones who actually were brilliant had no excuse to slack off. He did occasionally stroke the egos of idiots who nevertheless had powerful families, because he was not himself an idiot; if the child in question was at least going to grasp the basics, they might as well feel they'd grasped much more, and go home to give glowing reports of the Potions Master to their parents.

Hogwarts made Hallowe'en safe, after all, charged it with floating pumpkins and the promise of an evening feast. Safe for a former Death Eater -- long since redeemed but still stained, he was safe at Hogwarts.

He would not think on that today, however, especially not as he was already ensconsed at the high table, between Quirrell's empty chair and Flitwick's high-seated one. He even tolerated Dumbledore's fearsomely annoying wink, and was pleased to see Harry -- yes, and Draco, though at separate tables -- enjoying the feast.

And he did, of course, turn a blind eye to Harry's exploding certain floating illuminated pumpkins, using a fork transfigured into a catapult and the boiled sweets in the dishes on the table. The third one had just gone off, right over Percy Weasley, when the door slammed and there were frantic footsteps running down the aisle.

Quirrell, pale as a ghost, skidded to a stop, slamming into the high table about two feet to Severus' right.

"TROLL!" he cried, "IN THE DUNGEONS!"

There was a moment of silence, and Quirrell seemed to collect himself.

"Thought you ought to know," he said, and passed out.

The Great Hall seemed to fill with noise, suddenly, and Severus found himself rising just as Dumbledore threw purple firecrackers from the end of his wand, silencing everyone.

"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Feet began to shuffle as the prefects called out to one another, trying to herd hundreds of frightened and quite possibly thrilled children back to the dormitories.

"I'm certain it was Peeves," McGonagall said off to his left somewhere, and Severus was inclined to agree with her, except that he never agreed with Gryffindors. "Either he's frightened poor Quirrell to death or he's let one of those troublesome creatures into the castle and we shall no doubt have a time getting rid of it," she continued, as she led the teachers towards the hallway outside, and the stairwell down to the dungeons.

It was her speech which gave Severus pause, in fact, because if he himself was thinking it was Peeves then he clearly wasn't thinking hard enough. Peeves could never have wrangled a troll into the school, and if he was posing, well, Quirrell was a prat but he was certainly able to tell the difference between a poltergeist and a mountain troll.

Come to think of it...

Where was Quirrell?

He wasn't lying below the table where he'd fainted, but Severus was sure he hadn't seen him in the crowd of professors trailing McGonagall and Dumbledore.

Severus Snape had a sudden awful premonition, coupled with the regret he hadn't thought of the idea first, quickly quashed because he knew he could never have gone through with it, if only because it meant betraying Albus Dumbledore. Hard on the heels of that thought, even as he ran quickly in the opposite direction from the other professors, was a mild twinge of grudgingly respectful admiration for Quirrell.

He rounded the staircase that would have led him to the third floor and kept going, certain he heard footsteps on the stairs. Fortunately there was a faster way that a newcomer to the castle mightn't know about, especially since Quirrell hadn't been a Slytherin when he'd been at Hogwarts as a student....

He arrived in front of an apparently nondescript panel in the wall, only separated from its fellows by a small set of stairs, house-elf sized, leading up to it. He rapped smartly on the panel, twice, and a head emerged through it.

"Why if it isn't Severus," the ghost said, giving him a grin and doffing an extremely old-fashioned hat. "And what can I do for you this evening, fellow-me-lad? Leaving the Hallowe'en party already?"

"Mr. Howson, I have never been more satisfied to see you staunchly at your post," Severus said quickly, pushing the panel open and climbing into the small chamber on the other side. It had been a perfect fit when he was fourteen, but at thirty-one it was slightly snug, and he had to sit against the back of it, drawing his knees up under his chin. "Third floor, if you please."

"Third floor it is," the porter's ghost said, and reached through a wall. He stuck his tongue out in concentration -- it was hard for ghosts to become solid enough to move things, most of the time -- and Severus heard a slight click.

Then his stomach dropped out as the mechanism creaked to life and shot him up three floors in a matter of seconds, the goblin-forged machinery working along much the same lines as the vault-wagons at Gringotts. His head hit the ceiling when it screeched to a halt, and he thrust the door open, stumbling out into the third-floor corridor. With two or three seconds to get his bearings, he was off again, not quite sure if he could still beat Quirrell to the door.

He reached the entrance to the forbidden hallway and opened the lock without stopping to move, thrusting the door open and holding his wand out before him in case Fluffy -- god, what an idiot name for a three-headed-dog -- was feeling especially fierce.

Empty. No sign of Quirrell. No sign of Fluffy, for that matter, though the beast could concievably be hiding in the shadows.

He heard footsteps behind him, and turned just in time to meet Quirrell at the door, wand at the ready.

"Good evening," he said pleasantly. "I see you've recovered from your fainting spell, Professor."

"P-p-p-p -- "

"Yes, indeed," Severus agreed.

"J-j-j-j-just -- "

"Coming to make sure the troll hadn't magically ascended from the dungeon to the third floor? Peculiar that you'd choose to come here, halfway across the castle. Even a very bright troll has trouble finding his arse with both hands," Severus said, rejoicing in the opportunity to use his truly nastiest sneer. "I doubt very much he could find -- "

There was a snarl, and then a snap, and then fire raced up Severus' right leg. Quirrell fled as Severus shouted in surprise and turned to smack Fluffy across one of its snouts with his wand, keeping two heads at bay while the third tried to shake his leg where it had its teeth sunk firmly in his right calf.

"Quirrell, come back here -- bloody hellhound -- fucking Merlin up the arse," he swore, as he flailed at the three-headed dog. Finally he managed to keep the free heads away long enough to point his wand at the one attached to his leg, and gave it a nasty shock that sent it whining into the corner. He could feel blood trickling down his leg, and limped through the doorway, slamming and locking it. On the other side, he leaned against the wall and tried to examine the damage, but it's very difficult to study the back of one's own leg, and finally he gave in and limped off to the hospital wing to fetch some bandages. The trousers were ruined, and from the looks of it his boot had been punctured as well. Every step sent little sharp spikes of pain up his leg.

Quirrell, he decided, was going to pay dearly for this.

The hospital wing was empty and silent, and he helped himself to the bandages, and a bottle of healing salve he himself had brewed for Madam Pomfrey. There was a floo point in her office, and he let himself in, unwilling to walk all the way back to the dungeons when he could floo just as easily. Hopefully the troll had been coralled by now -- if indeed a troll there was, he thought, considering Quirrell's apparent plans to raid the third-floor corridor. He had half a mind to take it up with Dumbledore, but his pride had been injured, and he could handle this personally.

Quirrell was a stammering fool that couldn't out-think a barn owl. A greedy little pip who wanted to live forever, eh? They'd just see about that....

He found a knife in his desk drawer and carefully lifted his leg so that the heel of his boot hooked under the ledge of his desk, grimacing as this sent fresh blood oozing out of the wounds. Deep and vicious, but relatively clean; it could have been much worse. He began to slice the fabric away, exploring more with his fingers, though it hurt to do so.

He cleaned the leg with alcohol and a good solid scrubbing spell before salving it and bending to the difficult task of wrapping the bandage. He had just managed to get it started when he heard a soft gasp from the doorway, and glanced up.

Harry stood there, staring at him in surprise, looking guilty.

"Come in then," he said gruffly, continuing to wind the bandage. "Five points for being out while confined to House dormitories. Bring yourself over here and be useful."

"Professor Binns said he couldn't find you," Harry blurted. "But I heard noises in your office..."

"Professor Binns is an incompetent fool, and dead to boot," Severus replied. "He'd do better to go looking for that troll -- if there even is one."

"They found it," Harry said warily, standing on the other side of the desk.

"Did they now? You're not doing any good over there, come and help me with this," Severus said, and Harry circled the desk, taking the bandage out of his hands and deftly wrapping it around the injured muscle.

"Professor Binns came down to say they caught it in the girls' bathroom. He said Hermione Granger went looking for it and when she found it, it tried to eat her, but Ron and Neville and the other Gryffindor boys showed up and beat it unconscious," Harry said, in a very satisfied voice. He tucked the bandage through a loose loop and tied it at the top, then wrapped another layer back down towards the shredded ends of the boot. "Wish I'd been there."

"No you don't," Severus answered. "You're not completely incompetent at that," he added, as Harry finished.

"Once in a while after a full moon Remus is tired, but Sirius gets caught on brambles and I have to -- " Harry bit his lip, suddenly. He tied the end of the bandage off just above the ankle, and Severus pulled the torn edge of his trouser leg down as far as it would go.

"How'd you get hurt?" Harry asked, finally.

"None of your concern, Mr. Potter," Severus answered swiftly. "Ten points to Slytherin for having more common sense than all the Gryffindor first-years combined. Off with you to the common room."

Harry gave him a proud, quick smile, and scuttled away. Severus slipped his foot off the desk and considered whether he ought to change first, or find Dumbledore and get news of this troll. He tested the steadiness of the leg; the salve he'd used had a numbing element, and he thought it wasn't serious enough to warrant keeping the foot up. He could probably get as far as the Great Hall and back --

For the second time that day a sharp shock caught him off guard, and he clapped his hands to his head as searing pain welled up in his right temple. He hunched over, his own ragged breathing far too loud in his ears, pressing the heel of his right hand to the source of the agonising pain. His left arm began to throb as well.

As soon as it had come, it passed, and he shook his head to clear it, clenching his left fist. He ripped the sleeve up, staring at the faint shadow that never went away, his faded Dark Mark.

Phantom pain, he told himself. Displacement of the pain in his leg, that was all, or some side-effect of the salve. He'd have to brew a new supply; clearly this bottle was going bad.

He ought to put on new trousers, and make sure Quirrell was accounted for, and then as soon as he could gather his wits about him, he and the new Defence professor were going to have a nice long chat about school loyalty.

Chapter 11

"You should have seen it!"

Harry grinned, rolled his eyes, and propped his chin on his hand as one more first-year accosted Neville in the library.

Neville was the hero of the moment, along with the other Gryffindor boys. He and Harry and Padma had hoped escaping to their usual study-table in the library might calm things down. Instead, it seemed like every student in their year -- excepting perhaps the Slytherins, who were mostly muttering mutinously about show-off Gryffindors -- had come up to ask Neville to tell the story.

Hard on the heels of this particular Ravenclaw was Draco, who tossed his book-bag on the table and threw himself into the chair, hastily.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," he said, unpacking his parchment and quill and sparing barely a glance for the girl who was standing next to Neville's chair. "I've had to stop at Professor McGonagall's office to give back a book she said I should read because I, you know, I keep flattening things instead of transfiguring them -- I've no clue why she thinks I'm going to stop flattening things if I do harder stuff -- Neville!" he said, and his face broke into a wide grin. "How many times've you had to tell the story today?"

"Eight or nine," Neville said, with a grin and a nod at his audience. Draco made an 'oh' shape with his mouth. "Have you heard it yet?"

"Just the rumours -- too bad we couldn't talk at breakfast this morning -- and about the thing last night," Draco waggled his eyebrows in what he probably thought was a subtle manner. Padma snickered. "Stupid troll, ruining our fun. Go on then, tell us."

"Do be quiet about it this time, Neville, I'm trying to read," Padma warned. Harry, who thought that even hearing a story he'd already heard twice was more interesting than his History of Magic reading, leaned back in his chair and listened. Neville was not a born storyteller by any stretch of the imagination, but he got along well enough; he paused in all the right places for dramatic effect as he narrated how the Gryffindor boys had realised Hermione Granger was missing, and Parvati had said Hermione was just the sort to go looking for troll-sized trouble. So the boys had gone to see if they could find her, and Ron Weasley ended up locking the troll in the bathroom -- the girls' bathroom. In which Hermione had tried to hide after realising that the troll was, in fact, planning on making her a light snack.

After they figured this out, Seamus unlocked it again and they all charged in, Neville explained, and they all tried to hex the troll at once, which even Ron, who was a gifted storyteller and something of an exaggerator at that (as all good storytellers were), had not been able to deny had fairly absurd results. Neville managed to freeze one of the troll's feet to the ground so that it had to flail around a bit, while Dean accidentally levitated its club and Ron and Seamus sent a porcelain sink flying into its gut. Dean, distracted by the crash, let the club drop on its head, and it fell over as much as it could with one foot still stuck to the floor and Hermione screaming the walls down in the background.

"Brilliant," Draco murmured, as the Ravenclaw girl, satisfied with Neville's story, bounced away to tell her friends. Harry grinned and smacked Neville on the shoulder, resulting in a brief arm-wrestle that Harry won easily. "If I were fighting a mountain troll," Draco continued, "I'd definitely use the sinks thing, only I'd do it on purpose."

"And get water everywhere?" Harry asked. "I'd blind it with a good eye-sticking spell and get on its shoulders and thwack it in the head till it gave in."

"Yeah, or at least stick down both feet," Draco added.

"I'd freeze it up with a petrificus totalus before it even got to the bathroom at all," Padma said, without looking up from her book. The boys all turned to regard her, and she turned a page delicately. "As opposed to locking it in the bathroom with a student, wrecking the bathroom in the course of rescuing the student you locked in there in the first place -- "

"Listen, we didn't tell her to go looking for it, you know, she did that all on her own," Neville replied. Padma, still reading, arched an eyebrow.

"She's got a point, there," Draco said thoughtfully. "I mean, it'd be tough to petrify a ten-foot troll, but I bet the four of you could have done it together," he added, to Neville. "Each take a limb, or something."

"Yeah, well, you weren't staring it in the knees at the time," Neville scowled. "Or smelling it."

"Right, right, fine," Harry said quickly, as Padma looked up from her book and opened her mouth to say something. "The point is it's gone now and good show Neville for helping, and I'm sure if we'd been there we would have done the same."

"Ruined Hallowe'en, though," Draco said, after a few moments of silent study, broken only by Neville's sullen muttering about know-all girls and the troubles they caused. "Our plans, I mean," he added, leaning in closer, conspiratorially. "It won't be the same, but if you still want to give it a try, I've still got the book. We could do it tonight, it's not a school night."

"Are you still on about that Divination nonsense?" Neville asked. "I'm tempted to do it just to get you to shut up about it."

"Well, if it doesn't work we won't do it again, and if it does it'll be fun," Draco said reasonably, though he blushed slightly. Even Padma could not deny this logic. "And you know I'll just keep pestering you about it until I get my way."

"Badgering," Harry murmured, and everyone snickered. "All right then, Malfoy, tonight we'll do it. Same place as before; we'll meet after lights out, and if everyone hasn't shown by midnight we'll do it with those who do. And you keep quiet about it, Neville, I don't want a dozen Gryffindors tagging along."

"I wouldn't tell," Neville said, looking indignant. "It's not like I want people to know I'm going off on some harebrained Hufflepuff plan."

"I am trying," Padma said, patience wearing thin, "to study."

Oliver Wood glanced over at them from another table and shushed her, while the boys tried not to laugh hysterically.

***

Where are we going? Snake asked that evening, as Harry crammed a blanket and a pyjama shirt into his bookbag in anticipation of spending the night in an unused room on the fifth floor of Hogwarts. Harry glanced around to make sure none of the others were within earshot before replying.

Meeting Draco and Padma and Neville, he said.

It's time to sleep.

Not tonight, Harry answered. You can stay here if you like.

I can sleep in your pocket, Snake answered. Harry grinned and picked him up, checking his breast pocket to make sure nothing was in it before depositing the coiled body in it.

Draco had decreed that Harry should fetch the food, which made sense, since Harry was the only one who knew how to get into the kitchens. This was a fun secret, on the one hand; on the other, Draco was closer -- the hallway to the Hufflepuff dormitories led off to the kitchens first -- and it was going to be tedious if he was the one always having to get the snack supplies.

He hesitated at the bottom of the stairs and then slunk around the hallway to the Hufflepuff portrait, keeping just behind a statue of some rather portly Wizard with what appeared to be a jar of preserves in one hand. It wasn't long before Draco's head appeared, a yellow gleam in the dim light as he emerged carrying his bookbag and an enormous book under one arm.

"Psst, Malfoy!" Harry hissed, and Draco looked startled.

"Who's there?"

"Who do you think, get over here!" Harry said, exasperated. Draco hurried over to the statue, eyeing it as if it was possibly the one summoning him before catching sight of Harry.

"I thought we were meeting in the upstairs room!" Draco said.

"We are -- were -- listen, I want you to come to the kitchens with me so you know how to get in," Harry said. Draco nodded agreement and followed him, watching carefully as he tickled the painted pear and pulled the door open.

"Cool," Draco breathed, when they stepped inside. Harry, grinning, barely heard him over the cacophony of a thousand plates and dishes and bowls being washed.

The House-elves, when they saw their visitors, fell over themselves to be helpful; they fawned on 'Master Draco' until Denbigh had to order them back to washing after they'd filled both boys' arms with treats. They ended up stuffing most of the food into their packs and the rest into their pockets before carefully and somewhat heavily making their way to the staircases.

This was the tricky bit about sneaking around Hogwarts. The smaller stairwells were less likely to be patrolled, but were the favourite hangout of Peeves; the larger main stairs were highly visible. The caretaker Filch and his odious cat Mrs. Norris were often prowling up and down them after-hours, as well. Neville said he'd been poking around for back-staircases that Peeves might not know about, but Padma had mentioned to Harry that she didn't think Neville really had the deviousness of mind to properly look for secret passages.

Padma and Neville -- who only had to go down a few flights, rather than through the main hallway and up -- were waiting for them in the fifth-floor corridor Harry had mentioned, lurking in the shadows. Harry was sure it wasn't Neville's fault that he was such a complete Gryffindor, but he couldn't even lurk properly; his shoes shone and caught Draco's eye immediately.

"We brought cushions," Neville said apologetically, pointing to a pile of squashy cushions nearby, some scarlet, some blue with silver edges. "What smells like sausages?"

"Sausages, I think," Draco said. "The house-elves gave us a lot of food."

Harry, meanwhile, had wandered a few doors down, and was trying doorknobs in an attempt to remember which was unlocked.

"It's this one," he said, over his shoulder to the others, and Padma and Neville gathered up the cushions while Draco clutched his book protectively. Harry waved them into the little room, and they all stood inside for a moment after the door shut, looking at each other nervously.

"So," Neville said finally, "Let's see this Divinations spell then. It's a real ritual and all, isn't it? We're not supposed to do actual rituals until sixth year."

"Sort of," Draco said, while Padma tossed the cushions down and charmed up a little fire nearby, in a ceramic plate. Harry, for lack of something better to do, began arranging the cushions and lighting the candles in brackets around the walls. "It's a potion, actually -- oh, don't groan, I won't make you brew it -- and you spread it on paper and it's supposed to tell you what your fortune will be."

"That sounds like fun," Harry said, flopping down on a Ravenclaw cushion.

"It's not too bad," Padma allowed. "Only I didn't know we needed a cauldron."

"I brought one," Draco said, upending a cascade of food from his book bag as he dug around in it. "Here's the book and here's a cauldron and I have all the ingredients -- well, nearly. Did Brecon give you any apples?"

"Yup," Harry said, holding up a small bag. "Four of them."

"We only need one," Draco said, opening the book on his lap. "We have to stew it for a bit and then add some other stuff...."

"Professor Snape'd have your tongue for saying that," Neville said.

"He'd have your tongue, for sure," Padma teased Neville.

"There's good uses for human tongues in potions," Harry added, and Draco laughed.

"All right. We stew in boiling water for nine minutes precisely and then we add a well-mixed combination of specific ingredients which I have pre-prepared because I am a diligent student and a credit to Wizardkind," Draco said. "Everyone participating contributes three hairs, and then we boil it for another nine minutes, without stirring. After that we use a brush made of," he dug in his bag, "bound straw, and we brush it on the parchment and it tells us our future. Precise enough?" he asked, as he added water from a bottle to the cauldron, which he delicately floated it over the fire with a careful leviosa.

"Sausages!" Neville said, unwrapping a paper packet. He speared one on his wand and held it over the fire. Padma wrinkled her nose and accepted half of a sliced pear from Draco, while Harry helped himself to a handful of sweets.

Draco minded the potion, mostly, while Padma borrowed his book and read it to make sure he was doing it right, and Neville teased Harry about fancying Neville's sister, which led to some rough-housing when Harry protested and Neville asked wasn't Dora Tonks good enough for Harry? And Harry answered that it was her brother that he wasn't sure about....

"You'll knock it over! Stop it right now," Draco said, in such an unnaturally commanding voice that both boys stopped their wrestling immediately to stare at him. He flushed bright red, and bent back over the cauldron, muttering to himself.

"It looks almost ready," Padma said, leaning over his shoulder. "Shall we add the hair?"

Harry plucked a handful of Neville's, and then his own before Neville could retaliate; Draco carefully pulled out his, and Padma broke stray split-ends off of her usual braid.

"Ready?" Draco said. "All at once. And...drop."

The mixture went from a sort of watery soup to a thick, goopy black ooze. Harry peered at it interestedly.

"It's supposed to do that," Draco and Padma chorused.

They passed the next nine minutes fidgeting a little, handing around parchment and 'helping' Draco trim the brush he'd fashioned so that the straws were all even. The potion, meanwhile, began to thin out again, until it looked like very shiny black ink, of the expensive sort some of the older Slytherin boys used. By the time Draco finally pronounced it ready, and Padma doused the flame, Harry had smoothed his parchment so many times it was beginning to get tattered around the edges.

"You first, Padma," Draco said generously, handing her the straw brush. Padma picked it up hesitantly, glanced at the book, and dipped the brush into the cauldron, sweeping it across the parchment in broad strokes. The paper seemed to absorb the ink, and she passed the brush to Harry.

"It doesn't work," Harry said, pointing to her parchment.

"You have to be in the dark," Padma answered. "Go on, everyone do theirs and then we'll put the candles out."

Harry brushed the black concoction on his parchment, then passed the brush to Draco, who did likewise before letting Neville have a try on his paper.

"Ready?" Padma said. The boys nodded. "Nox Omnus!"

The room was plunged into darkness, except for a faint light reflected off each student's face -- light from the parchments, which were glowing strangely.

"It's got words on it!" Neville said. "I didn't write words!"

"That's the fortune!" Draco answered. "What's it say?"

"I'm not sure..." Neville frowned. "It's in really old handwriting -- look."

He held out the paper, and they saw the even but not-very-legible handwriting.

"To Make Brede Blakke..." Padma read, with some difficulty. "And then down here there's another underlined bit, Fore thee makyngie of Brede Brawne..."

"It's recipes," Neville said suddenly. "I told you it was rubbish, Draco, it's bread recipes, for Merlin's sake!"

"Black bread and brown," Padma mumbled. "Some gave them black bread and some gave them brown...it's an old poem," she added defensively, when the boys stared at her. "Listen, you don't have to believe me."

"No, I've heard that one," Harry said. "It's from a book Sirius likes. The lion and the unicorn were fighting in the town -- something like that. And the lion wins."

"Well, Gryffindor's got a lion for a mascot, hasn't it?" Draco said. "Maybe Neville's going to have to fight a unicorn or something."

"Daft," Neville muttered. "If this is so great and prophetic then, what's yours say?"

"Mine hasn't got any words," Draco answered, offering it to the group for consideration. A sinuous shape covered the page, like some kind of primitive drawing, a curving line with four legs coming out of it, ending in vicious claws.

"Looks a bit dragon-like," Harry said, cocking his head.

"I think it looks like a cat, look, it's got whiskers," Padma said.

"Wouldn't mind having a cat," Draco mused.

"Maybe it's some kind of weird dog," Harry pointed to the 'face' of the creature, which had half-folded ears.

"Are they all going to be about animals?" Neville complained. "Padma, show yours."

Padma giggled a little, and held hers up.

"Books," Draco said, staring at the drawing. "How new and different for you."

"Maybe I'm going to be a librarian," she said. "I rather like mine, I think I'll hang it on my wall as a night-light. Anyhow, I'd rather have books than some drawing of a dog that looks more like a rodent. What's yours, Harry, words or pictures?"

"Um," Harry said, looking down at his own parchment, which he'd ignored until now. "I'm not sure."

He spread it flat on the ground, smoothing it. Snaking across the page, sometimes curving and winding in on itself, was a string of letters that were almost recognisable, but not quite; the shapes were slightly different, or in some cases altogether alien.

"That's Greek, that is," Draco said. "My father's library has books in Greek."

"That's pi," Harry said, pointing to one letter. "We learned about it in maths at the Muggle school I went to."

"It's that staff thing," Padma observed. "My cousin's a doctor, she has that symbol everywhere."

"How're you supposed to unravel your fortune if it's in Greek?" Neville demanded. "That's not fair."

Harry shrugged. "It makes a nice design, anyhow. I can ask Remus what it means, he'll know someone who can read it."

"Well, that was a waste of a good apple," Neville said. "Two recipes for bread, some kind of weird...cat...dog...thing, a load of books and some Greek. I don't -- "

He was cut off by a sharp cry from Draco, who scrabbled backwards into the dark shadows when a glowing head appeared above the cauldron. Padma and Harry both yelped too -- the spectral image glowed eerily in the darkness, and it was horribly misshapen --

Neville had fallen over laughing.

"Nick!" he cried, catching his breath. "It's Nick! Draco, come back!"

The image seemed to shimmer and solidify a little, and Harry realised what he'd taken for some sort of horrible tentacle was a long feather in the cavalier hat of Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. Draco, pale as one himself, was still shaking.

"What's all this, then?" Nick said, his floating head peering at them, turning this way and that. The rest of his body was hidden by the floor and the cauldron; it must have been a favourite trick of his, because Neville paid it no mind in the slightest, though it was rather creepy to see just a head floating there. "Having a party, are we?"

"You scared the life out of Draco," Neville chuckled, and Draco, crawling back towards the cauldron, smacked him across the shoulders. Padma found her wand and muttered "lumos omni," re-lighting the candles in their wall-brackets.

"That's very cheerful," Nick said approvingly. "But what're the four of you doing out of dormitory after-hours? That's a detention offence, you know. I ought to report all of you."

"Oh, don't," Padma pleaded. "Please don't, Nick, we were only having a little fun."

"It was my idea," Draco stammered.

"We weren't hurting anyone," Harry put in. "We were doing a Hallowe'en ritual!" he added brightly. "It's like extra classwork! You wouldn't turn us in for doing homework after lights-out, would you?"

Nick seemed to ponder this, as he rose up through the floor. He ended sitting crosslegged a few feet above the cauldron, looking down at the four of them, who had huddled together a little in the face of sudden near-parental authority.

"You'd better tell me what you were up to," he said. "And then I'll decide."

Draco and Neville quickly sketched out between them what they were doing, while Harry quietly gathered up the potions supplies in the background and made ready to make a quick getaway -- not that it would do any good against a ghost, but one never knew. Besides, he liked keeping things tidy.

"Well, seeing as how it was for Hallowe'en and that troll ruined it, I think you might be forgiven, " Nick said finally. "I was most depressed, he wrecked my Death-Day celebration too. I was executed on October thirty-first, you know."

"Really?" Draco asked interestedly. "Chop your head off, did they?"

"Nearly," Nick said with a sigh.

"Oh. I suppose that's how you got your name."

"He's quick," Neville muttered sarcastically, to Padma.

"Alas, yes. And I was supposed to join the Headless Hunt this year, too," Nick said morosely.

"Can't you join?" Padma asked.

"They said it has to be all the way off," Nick sighed. "Otherwise I can't pitch in when it's my turn to be the ball in Headless Lacross and whatnot."

The others looked a little green at this, but Nick continued, oblivious. "One little bit of skin and muscle, you know, it really is ridiculous -- you'd think they could have finished the job. If there's one thing I hate, it's slapdash work."

"I'm very sorry," Padma said sympathetically.

All four of them jumped when a loud noise blared echoingly, and even Nick clapped his hands over his ghostly ears.

"Peeves!" Nick roared. "Stop that this instant!"

"First years out of dormitories!" Peeves blared like a foghorn, pointing.

"Oh hell, let's get out of here," Draco said, grabbing the cauldron and bolting for the door. Neville and Padma were on his heels, Harry scrabbling after them, ripping his parchment in the process as he shouldered his bag. Peeves followed them, still shouting, and they could hear Filch on the stairs.

"Back inside!" Harry called, and they ran through the room, kicking the cushions into the shadowy corners as they made for the little stairwell down to the fourth floor. Nick was still shouting at Peeves, who was apparently enjoying noisemaking so much that he didn't notice them disappearing down the stairs.

They ran through the fourth-floor room and came out onto a landing, looking around frantically.

"This way," Padma said, grabbing Neville's wrist and dragging him towards the end of the hall. "I know a passage up to the towers -- good luck!" she called over her shoulder.

Harry and Draco looked at each other.

"We are in so much trouble," Draco said.

"Maybe Filch'll go after them instead," Harry answered. "Come on, I bet there's some stairs this way. Once we hit the ground floor we'll be all right..."

He led the pale-haired boy under a low archway and down a small side-corridor, which ended in a spiral staircase that he hoped would take them all the way down, though it looked like it ended on the third floor --

They came out into a fairly large room, lit by high windows, and Harry was two steps in before Draco grabbed him and pulled him back into the stairwell.

"What are you on abo -- " Harry began, but then he saw where Draco's shaking hand was pointing.

An enormous dog, bigger than Padfoot and at least twice as wide, was creeping towards them. Its head was lowered, hackles raised, and it was growling viciously.

Heads.

Its heads were lowered, and six pairs of eyes watched them. Heads. It had three heads. It was a three-headed dog...

It snarled and charged, and Harry fell backwards on the stairs. There was a pained yelp as one of the heads collided with the wall, and the middle head extended as far as it could, snapping viciously at Harry's feet. It was close enough for Harry to see that it wore a collar with a shiny brass tag reading "Fluffy" on it.

Draco, squirming out from underneath him, pulled him up the stairs until they were just around the curve of the stairwell, gasping for breath.

"What was that?" Draco asked.

"That was a bloody three-headed dog!" Harry shouted. "What did it look like it -- mmmf..."

Draco clapped a hand over Harry's mouth and jerked his head at the top of the stairs. "Filch," he whispered. Harry nodded.

"That was a dog with three heads," Harry whispered urgently. "Three heads!"

"This is the east wing, isn't it?" Draco asked. "I think that's the third-floor corridor we're not supposed to go into."

"I can see why," Harry answered.

"What do we do now?" Draco asked. Harry tried to catch his breath. "I mean, if it's a choice between detention and being devoured by a three-headed dog, lead the way to Filch..."

They fell silent, as much as they could, and listened. Downstairs they could hear Fluffy breathing heavily, snorting and investigating the steps; Harry hoped the fact that there was no door on the stairwell meant that the dog couldn't get into it. Upstairs, all seemed quiet.

"I bet he's looking around in the room," he said. "You get everything?"

"I think so," Draco said. "Cept for my parchment, but you grabbed that, I saw you."

"No, I took mine..." Harry reached into his bag. He felt Snake shift in his pocket; the silly creature hadn't even woken. He unrolled the parchment in the dark stairwell --

And Draco's strangely animalian fortune glowed up at him.

Harry cursed very inventively in Welsh for a little while, and sat on the step.

"Filch can't prove it's yours," Draco said consolingly, sitting on the step above him. "And I reckon he won't look down here. We could just hide here for a while. Unless Peeves finds us." He leaned against the wall, tapping it idly with his knuckles. "It's a good hiding place," he pronounced, with the air of a connoisseur. "We can sneak back in a bit."

Draco slipped down a step, so that he and Harry were hip-to-hip. They sat for a while, each lost in their private thoughts, until Draco turned and looked at him from under a fringe of pale hair.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Can I ask you something, Harry?"

"Sure, I guess," Harry said, still rather angry about the parchment, more at himself than anyone else.

"What's it like, living with your godfather? Is he nice?"

"Sirius?" Harry looked at Draco, surprised. "You've met him."

"Yeah, but...living with a person, I mean, it's different. He seems nice, and he sends you things and all, and you get letters from him and his butler too, which is pretty cool. But people who seem nice sometimes...aren't."

"Yeah, he's great," Harry said, ignoring the butler remark. Remus had told him not to bother correcting people. "It's just like having a dad, I guess. I don't remember my dad, but it seems that way."

"I don't remember mine either."

They lapsed into silence, ears straining to hear footsteps or Filch's low voice on the landing above. Finally, Harry gathered up his bag.

"I think it'd be safe, if we went now," he said hesitantly. Draco nodded, and they made their way cautiously towards ground level, finally parting with whispered "good luck!"s to each other when they reached the stairs to the Hufflepuff dormitory.

Harry saw Professor Snape's light on, as he passed into the Slytherin dungeons, but he paid it no mind; Professor Snape did seem the type, after all, to be working late. He paused when he heard Professor Snape, apparently talking to someone; he couldn't hear who the other person was -- they must be too far from the door. He pressed his ear to it without even hesitating.

"I thought it best to keep this private," Professor Snape said, his voice cold and hard. He'd never heard Snape use quite that tone before. "Wouldn't do for word to spread about the Philosopher's Stone, now would it?"

A murmured reply that Harry strained to hear, but his bag creaked and he missed it; Snape's reply came hard on its heels, or perhaps interrupted it. The words were like a whipcrack. "Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"

Harry caught his breath.

"You don't want me as your enemy. You know perfectly well what I mean."

Harry grinned. He wasn't quite sure what was going on, but his professor had the upper hand, and that was the important thing.

"We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie."

Harry heard someone walking towards the door, and fled; the last thing he needed tonight, after being chased by Filch and nearly eaten by a three-headed dog (a three-headed dog!), was to get caught eavesdropping on his Head of House. He nearly ran through the Common Room, barely pausing to drop his bag and lift Snake into his box on the nightstand before slipping into bed, not breathing easily until he could no longer be even suspected of having been elsewhere.

He lay in the bed and tried to digest what he'd just heard. Professor Snape knew about the dog -- well, of course he did, he was a professor at the school. The injury he'd had yesterday was suddenly beginning to make more sense. He was trying to get past the dog, to get to something else...the Philosopher's Stone? Or perhaps he'd put the dog there in the first place. Perhaps...

But the bed was warm, and before Harry could puzzle out what was going on, he was drifting off; his last conscious thought was that Professor Snape did not really seem like a 'dog' sort of person.

Chapter 12

At one point in Chapter 12, I have used dialogue verbatim from The Philosopher's Stone. In this instance, sections of the Quidditch Match, especially Lee Jordan's commentary, have been lifted or paraphrased from the book.

***

When they met the next morning for breakfast, Harry was relieved to see that everyone was in one piece; apparently nobody'd been caught and, over toast and cereal, they took turns telling their stories. Padma had been the one Peeves had followed, but she'd lost him in the maze of corridors and stairways leading to the Ravenclaw eyrie, and at least Filch had followed Draco and Harry instead. Neville had fled to Gryffindor at top speed and said he had been too excited and nervous to sleep, and just a little afraid that Filch had seen him and would be coming after him. Instead of going to bed, he'd gone down to the Common Room and sat and talked some more with Nearly Headless Nick.

"You look knackered," Draco said.

"Going to go back to sleep, I think, in a bit," Neville yawned, "now that I know Filch followed you two. Had a thought, though."

"Mark your calendar," Padma teased. Neville stuck his tongue out at her.

"I was talking with Nearly Headless Nick about how he couldn't join the Headless Hunt," Neville continued. "And I had this idea, maybe...well. We all did what Draco wanted to do, I thought perhaps we could take turns..."

"Doing divinations?" Draco asked, delicately pulling the crusts off of his toast.

"No," Neville said scornfully. "Er...I guess you could call it having adventures."

"I think I've had quite enough adventure for one school year," Padma sighed.

Neville looked crestfallen. "But it'd be a good deed..."

Draco leaned forward. "What is it?"

"Well. Nick and I were talking and I thought there might be a way to...get him into the Headless Hunt. It's some work, mind you, but..."

"Is there?" Harry asked warily. "A way, I mean?"

"Should be," Draco said thoughtfully, apparently catching Neville's drift. "Where's he buried?"

"Some chapel in the forest, on a trail off the road to Hogsmeade," Neville answered.

"Oh, I read about that in Hogwarts, A History," Harry exclaimed. "Back in the early days they had a lot of Christians at the school and they insisted they needed a chapel -- "

" -- so they built one down by the river," Padma finished. "Well, what used to be a river. It's in the middle of the forest now, though. People stopped using it a few centuries ago."

"Why?" Draco asked interestedly.

"Dunno," Harry said. "Book didn't say."

"Anyway, he said he was under a stone down there," Neville said. "He got very nostalgic about it, said it was awfully nice for a ghost to have a good-looking grave. He says he goes down and sits and looks at it sometimes."

Padma looked horrified at the notion. "How depressing!"

"He doesn't think so," Neville answered.

"Could you take us there?" Draco asked.

"What're you going to do?" Harry demanded. Draco gave him a wolfish smile.

"Me?" he asked. "Neville did say he wanted us all to do it."

"It's, er..." Neville looked uncomfortable. "Well. It's a very traditional magical activity in some circles...."

"Neville," Padma warned.

"I thought we might go grave-robbing," Neville blurted.

***

It took some time to plan everything out, which was probably just as well; Padma and Harry had both been shocked at the idea, at first. Even Draco, who'd caught onto it early, was squeamish about actually doing it. Still, Neville reasonably pointed out that they'd have Nick's permission, so it wasn't really grave-robbing. It was more like...grave re-decorating. And they had to admit that when Neville asked Nick about it, the ghost's whole face lit up.

"It won't be any work at all -- just a little chop," he said, and Padma looked a little green. "I had a good preservation spell put on; as a ghost one can insist on this kind of thing, but I never even thought of anything like this...."

Padma, out of habit and possibly to get accustomed to the idea, began doing extra-curricular reading on the history of magical grave-robbing, which ran mostly to Dark Arts tools and necromancy. Harry, feeling Padma was more than up to the task, read fictional Muggle books about it instead, and passed on the juicy bits at mealtimes and during their study-sessions. Neville, ever-practical, planned it for the last week-end before the Christmas holiday, and began stockpiling what Harry referred to as 'the tools of the Resurrection-Man's trade': he badgered the Weasley twins into showing him some spells for lifting stones and picking locks, 'borrowed' a crowbar from the strange assortment of Muggle tools behind Hagrid's shed, and got Nick to help him draw a map of the chapel. When it came to thinking up ways to actually get to the chapel, he was out of luck, but that was what Draco was for. Each plan the pale-haired boy came up with was more devious and amusingly complex than the last, like the game of Mousetrap that Remus used to have under the desk at Sandust, back before they'd moved to Wales.

Still, despite their intricate planning, they had schoolwork to do, and Quidditch season was fast approaching. Harry, at team-practice three times a week, often came to the study sessions exhausted and simply sat, chin propped on hands and eyelids drooping, listening while the others swapped research. Poor Neville was still blowing things up in Potions and Draco, despite extra homework, continued to transfigure things into flat things rather than the things they were intended to be. Padma patiently walked them through what they were doing wrong, and only occasionally did they get to pay her back by mocking her inability to remember the proper names for the constellations in Astronomy class.

Harry occasionally wondered if it was odd that he seemed to be competent, if not exactly stellar, in almost everything, but there wasn't a whole lot of time to meditate on it. His first Quidditch game was fast approaching, and although he felt ready, Marcus Flint was not free with his praise for the young, attention-grabbing newest member of the team.

And then there was Wood.

When he was eight or nine, Harry had been allowed to visit Hogwarts and even stay overnight at the invitation of Oliver Wood, who'd taken a shine to the small, dark-haired boy known as Parvus. There were times Harry had wanted nothing more than to be Oliver Wood, to be a Quidditch player in a scarlet uniform and know all about all the different teams. Now he was a first year and Oliver was in fifth, and they were in different houses; Oliver knew Harry had been Parvus, but they had no real reason to speak, and Harry knew it was cool to ignore the first-years.

Still, he often caught Oliver watching him, once he'd been recruited to Slytherin and word had more or less gotten out. He didn't know what to do; if a fifth-year disliked him there was not much that could be done, he supposed.

Oliver was still his Quidditch idol, all the more so now that he was a Captain and not just equipment-boy. Harry worried about playing against Gryffindor in their first game, and what Oliver would think of him if Slytherin won -- or if they lost. He would fly his best, of course, but if his best wasn't good enough, or if his heart wasn't in it, he knew he'd fail. And if he lost his first ever game, there was also Professor Snape's disapproval to consider.

The night before his first game, Harry was trying to soothe his nerves in the library, hiding amongst the books. He'd pretended to read for a while before giving up, and soon he'd have to go back to the dormitories, but at least then he could pretend to sleep. He wasn't expecting anyone to come across him, but as he was preparing to tidy away his schoolwork and go back to the dungeons, a shadow blocked out the light from the candles in the wall-brackets.

Harry looked up into Oliver's face, and swallowed.

"Harry," Oliver said, and sat down. "Can I have a word?"

Harry nodded, heart thudding in his ribcage. What if Oliver threatened him, or told him not to play...

"Listen, Potter," Oliver tried again, then sighed. "I thought for sure you'd be Gryffindor," he said. "When you went up to be Sorted, I mean."

"Sorry," Harry murmured, acutely aware of another person he'd disappointed by being Slytherin.

"No, I mean, you still seem like a decent kid," Oliver said, "It's just, you know. I was waiting for Parvus to come back to school so he could join the Gryffindor team, eventually."

"Oh."

"And nobody expected that you'd make the team in your first year, lucky sod," Oliver added. Harry glanced at his face, and saw an odd half-affection there. "So...."

"So," Harry echoed.

"Good luck tomorrow," Oliver said, holding out a hand. Harry stared at it dumbly before realising he should shake it. "Play like hell, Potter. Gryffindor isn't going to go easy on you lot. Must say I'd half like to see you win, just to wipe that smirk off Flint's face the next time he tries to tell me he's got to babysit you on the field."

Harry grinned a little. The babysitting quip didn't hurt; it was a long-standing joke on the Slytherin team.

"Doesn't mean you're going to win, though," Oliver added, rising to go. "I won't lie and say that winning isn't everything, but I'll give you this advice for free: people remember blokes who played well and honourably more than they remember who won, ten years down the line. You play a good game and you have nothing to be ashamed of. Or afraid of."

Watching Oliver, Harry nodded belatedly, and stood as well. "Why're you telling me this?" he blurted, as Oliver began to walk away. The boy turned as he walked, and grinned.

"Little firstie like yourself needs all the help he can get," he said, and vanished around a corner. Harry gathered up his bag and papers and left the nearly-empty library, heading towards his dormitory and his bed. He didn't think he'd sleep much; now that he knew what was expected of him, he had a whole new set of worries.

***

The following morning dawned clear and sunny, and Harry was woken by Snake tickling his ear with his forked tongue, demanding eggs for breakfast. He was late getting to the dining hall and the other three had already gone to their separate tables, but Draco and Neville waved at him and Padma gave him a broad grin. Neville was wearing Gryffindor colours -- of course he would have to, Harry realised, after a brief pang of betrayal -- but Padma had a green bow tied around her braid, and Draco's highly-prized yellow tie had been charmed green, probably by an older student.

Snake happily devoured the runny yolk on his fried egg while Harry was distracted keeping Crabbe and Goyle from pulling a just-arrived Hedwig's tailfeathers, until finally Hedwig snapped at Crabbe's hand and flew off in a huff, leaving Harry with two letters, one sealed with Sirius' scarlet wax and one with an elaborate fold Remus liked to use. He opened Remus' first; it was a page-long letter, not unusual for Remus. Skimming it, Harry realised it was meant to be a soothing distraction from pre-game jitters, full of news from Diagon Alley and polite gossip about the customers at Madam Schaeffer's shop. He folded it and tucked it in his pocket, turning to Sirius' more imposing-looking note. He slit the wax with his butter-knife and unfolded it, warily.

Inside was an inky canine nose-print and only a few scrawled words:

Fly them in circles, pup. Up Slytherin.

Love, Sirius.

PS: If you show this to Snape I'll be forced to disown you.

Harry grinned, put Sirius' letter next to Remus' in his pocket and picked up Snake. Marcus Flint was rising too, gesturing for the team to finish their meals, and across the room Oliver Wood was already leading the Gryffindor team out of the dining hall.

Harry was used to the peculiar quirks of Quidditch uniforms by now. He strapped up his greaves and shin-guards almost mindlessly, stomach churning despite Wood's advice and his godfather's unexpected support of Slytherin. He set Snake in a little drawer in his locker that he'd lined with rags and, with a whispered promise that he'd be back to collect him after the game, followed the others out onto the Quidditch pitch. They mounted up, the game-balls were released...and the game was on.

This...this was Quidditch. This was the game, the Game that Oliver used to talk about; never mind that most of his fellow teammates persisted in cheating or that Gryffindor scored the first points. Harry was a Seeker for a real Quidditch team and he had a job to do, and he was doing it.

And from where he sat the game was beautiful.

Forget Cricket, which next to Quidditch was a clumsy earthbound children's sport; forget the first time he'd ridden the bicycle by himself or the first time Sirius had taken him on the motorbike. Nothing compared to flying, nothing compared to Quidditch.

"-- that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and -- OUCH -- that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger -- "

He followed the action from a position above it, circling a little lower and to the east of the Gryffindor seeker. Sirius had written to him in the past few weeks, and though it was never obvious, each letter had devoted at least a few lines to Quidditch; only the third or fourth mention of his father that Sirius had ever made said that James had always made their house Seeker fly lower than the other, the better to see the pitch. It had gone off into a discussion of height versus visibility, but that was what had stayed in Harry's mind -- what his father had done.

" -- Quaffle taken by the Slytherins -- that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger -- sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which -- "

Harry took a moment to inventively but affectionately curse the Weasley twins.

" -- Pucey regains the Quaffle, anyway, and he's off dodging another Bludger, excellent double-teaming by the Weasleys -- "

Harry, half-listening to Lee Jordan's commentary, thought he saw a glimmer of gold just above Madam Hooch's ear; yes, the stiff, fixed way she was sitting -- she knew the Snitch was hovering near her head, but she wasn't about to give anything away.

Harry glanced up, and saw the Gryffindor Seeker's eyes on him; he very casually drifted his broomstick away from Madam Hooch, directly into the flightpath of a Bludger. Feigning surprise, he dove for the other way, and the other Seeker saw the Snitch too, but too late; Harry was after the little golden ball, which had zipped away from Madam Hooch as soon as she'd moved aside in anticipation of Harry's charge.

" -- Potter's seen the Snitch! And he's off after it while Wood blocks a throw by the Slytherin Chaser -- gameplay slows as attention is divided between Quaffle and Snitch -- "

The Gryffindor Seeker on his heels, Harry flew past the rest of the game, oblivious to anything but the Snitch in front of him, trusting that the Slytherin Beaters would protect him. He remembered suddenly the first time he'd seen a real one, that afternoon on the pitch when he was eight and a Slytherin girl had shown it to him. He'd reached out just like this, to beat her to the grab --

WHAM! A Bludger slammed into the back of his broom and sent him spinning, his movements making the Gryffindor Seeker tilt off-balance as well; when they finally got control again, the Snitch was long gone. Harry glanced over his shoulder at one of the Weasley twins, who grinned and waggled his fingers in front of his nose, teasingly, before returning to the game. The other Seeker drifted up again, but Harry, on a hunch, dove low. He scanned the bottom of the field curiously, before rising up through the game, blocking a Gryffindor Chaser on his way, and let himself drift towards the Slytherin goal-hoops.

" -- a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble -- "

When I'm Captain, Harry thought, We're going to stop giving away points by fouling the other team...or at least have a Keeper who specialises in protecting against Penalty shots...

He was scanning the field, eye catching a flash of green or scarlet occasionally, when his broom suddenly...lurched.

He gripped it tightly with both hands, surprised, and lifted his face to feel if there was a backdraft coming from somewhere, but the air was still and calm; just then the broom bucked, and he nearly slid off, holding tighter still. He glanced around to see if there was a Bludger following him, but nothing was in sight.

As he turned back, it pulled a complete three-sixty turn and he slewed around, unable to get his balance before it bucked again, and for a terrifying moment his body was in the air. He caught his ankles around the stick, re-seating himself, and suddenly realised he was in a lot of trouble...

***

"What's going on?" Padma demanded, as Draco gazed through his omnioculars at the distant figure in green. They'd been a bribe from his mother, one of the few things he'd ever actually asked her for, in return for having to go to Diagon Alley all by himself. He adjusted a knob and they zoomed in another fraction on Harry, who was hanging onto his broomstick for dear life.

"I can't tell!" he said, panicked. "His broomstick's gone wrong somehow, it looks like it's trying to buck him off -- "

"Let me see!" she implored, and he thrust the brass object at her, twisting his hands in his lap as she peered through them.

"It looks like the charms are breaking down, but it's a brand new broom, he told us himself -- " she said. "Look, nobody's even noticed. Someone should do something!"

""Slytherin in possession -- Flint with the Quaffle -- passes Spinnet -- passes Bell -- hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose -- only joking, Professor -- Slytherins score -- "

"Come on, someone's got to see this," Padma said, looking around frantically. They had gone to sit with the Ravenclaws, since Ravenclaw was right across the aisle from Slytherin and wouldn't mind two Slytherin-supporters in their midst. Draco took the omnioculars back and adjusted the focus outward.

"Oh -- they're not -- " he gasped. "Padma, the Slytherins know, but they're not doing a thing -- there goes one of the redheaded boys from Gryffindor -- "

One of the Weasley brothers had seen Harry's erratic movements and seemed to understand what they meant, but Harry was drifting higher and higher away from the game, and the old broomstick Fred -- George? -- was on didn't have as much speed as a Nimbus.

Padma grabbed Draco and dragged him out of his seat. "Look, Professor Snape's seen -- he's got to do something, come on..."

She led Draco through the stands, towards Professor Snape, whose eyes were fixed on Harry. He seemed paralysed; his lips were moving slightly, but he wasn't doing anything to draw attention to Harry.

Then Harry's broomstick gave a wild jerk and Harry finally fell off, dangling by a hand; now people in the stands were beginning to notice, but Padma, panicked, was hell-bent on reaching Snape. In her haste she dragged Draco down the bench-row, and just as she reached Snape, Draco tripped on a cloak-edge from someone in the row below and tumbled into him, catching himself by grabbing at someone's hair. There was a pained cry, and he picked himself up, going pale.

"P...Professor Quirrell," he stammered. "Oh -- oh I'm sorry -- "

Quirrell was staring up at him, rubbing his scalp and scowling.

"Clumsy ch-child!" he managed, before there was another gasp from the crowd. "Insol-l-l-l -- oh!"

Even the crowd was paying attention to Harry now -- everyone but Marcus Flint and the other Weasley twin, who were engaged in some kind of bizarre one-on-one game that involved a Bludger and a lot of dodging. Padma was pleading with Professor Snape, who ignored her entirely as he stood and vaulted over the edge of the stands, landing in the commentator's box on the other side of the wall. Draco was dusting Quirrell off and doing more harm than good as he tried at once not to annoy him and yet to re-order the professor's short brown hair somehow.

Padma heard Snape shouting at McGonagall; she made out "broomstick" and "stopping play" and "Snitch" before a sigh rushed through the crowd. Harry had regained his seating on his broomstick with the help of one of the Weasleys, who had hauled him up by the seat of his trousers.

From the middle of the Slytherin box, she and Draco stood and stared as Harry began a long descent back towards the pitch, and the rest of both teams began to get their bearings and join in the solitary game Flint and the Weasley boy had been playing. Madam Hooch was flying up to meet Harry, but just then he changed course, abruptly, and Padma sucked in a breath, worried that his broomstick was malfunctioning again. He shot straight as an arrow towards the stands, however, and if one could skid in midair, Harry did so, sliding around and holding out his hand just above Lee Jordan's head.

The smack of the Snitch in Harry's glove was the best sound Padma or Draco had ever heard, shortly followed by the sound of Harry's boots on wood as he dropped into the commentators' box.

Harry, landing between Lee Jordan and Professor McGonagall, held out the Snitch for their inspection, with what looked like an almost hysterical calm.

"Potter...has the Snitch," Lee said slowly, staring at the little ball. "And that's...the end of the game."

"What's the score?" Padma heard Professor Snape demand.

"The score? The score..." Lee had to look up at the charmed scoreboard before he could announce it. "Slytherin wins, one-hundred and eighty points to seventy."

***

Harry climbed down the ladder from the announcers' box to the grass of the pitch as the others began to land, and ran past Flint completely to grab Oliver Wood's sleeve as he was talking to the Weasleys.

"I didn't mean to," he said, as Oliver turned. "We can play it again -- I'm sorry -- "

Oliver looked down at him, blinking.

"Course he didn't mean to," Fred said. "Listen, a first-year doesn't jump off his broom in the middle of a Quidditch game just to create a diversion, even a Slytherin first-year. It's suicide. He wasn't playing about up there. You all right, Harry?"

"Fine," Harry breathed. "It can't have been legal, someone must have called a time out before I caught the Snitch."

"Afraid not," Oliver said reluctantly. "Fair's fair."

"But nobody was playing!"

"Flint was," George said furiously. "Did you see him?"

"So were you." Fred poked his brother in the ribs.

"You told me to!"

"I never did!"

"You said 'I'm going to get Harry, be here and stay down'!"

"I said 'I'm going to get Harry before he falls down'!"

"Quiet," said a new voice, and Harry looked up to see Professor Snape looming over them. "Harry, Madam Pomfrey wishes to see you. Professor McGonagall has your broomstick."

"But I -- "

"Go, before I'm forced to take points from my own House."

Harry gave Oliver a last apologetic look, and brushed past the Professor. As he went, he heard Snape say, "Is there any objection amongst the Gryffindor team to the legality of Mr. Potter's catch?"

Harry paused.

"No, sir," Oliver answered. "Fred's sure it was an accident."

"I am equally sure it was not," Snape said, and Harry's heart sank for a second, before he added "That broomstick was hexed. I should like to know by whom. Rest assured, if it is a Gryffindor, Professor McGonagall and I -- "

He had half-turned as he spoke, and caught Harry lingering.

"Potter! Pomfrey this instant!" he snapped. Harry fled, to where Padma, Neville, and Draco were waiting for him with Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall. He was immediately surrounded by students, pounding him on the shoulders and shaking him cheerfully; Madam Pomfrey was shouting for them to stop it this instant, that he could be hurt and should be seen to, but Harry had never felt happier in his whole life.

***

The thrill of Harry's victory lasted the rest of the day and well into the school week; to be a first-year playing with the big kids was cool enough, but to have won the game after almost falling to his death...that was something else again. The rest of the school didn't seem as bitter about Slytherin's victory as Harry thought they would be; this may have been because of Draco and Padma's deft handling of their respective houses, and Oliver Wood threatening to take a Beaters' bat to anyone who grumbled.

Professor McGonagall went over every inch of his broomstick and could find nothing wrong with it; likewise, Madam Pomfrey said he didn't appear to be under any curses. Harry hadn't heard what Professor Snape said to Professor McGonagall, but Neville, meaning to come by his Head of House's office to ask about a homework assignment, had lingered just close enough to get the gist of it; Snape was sure someone had hexed his broomstick, and didn't know who, though apparently he had suspicions he wasn't willing to share with McGonagall yet.

"Could be him, you know," Padma said, over a study-session-turned-gossip-meeting. Harry glared at her. "Well, if I were hexing you I'd do that to put people off the scent. So would you. That's Slytherin for you."

"What reason would Professor Snape have to hex me?"

"What reason would anyone else?" Neville asked. "Anyway, I wouldn't be surprised if Flint got mad at you for stealing the limelight and did it himself."

"A student couldn't do that kind of magic, not during a match, not against a Nimbus," Draco pointed out. "Maybe it was just...a freak accident or something. And if you had been killed," he said, drawing them back to the reason they were there, "Then at least you wouldn't have to write nine inches for Transfiguration. Ech."

"Nine? Everyone else only has six," Padma said.

"Well, everyone else makes their bowls look like goblets," Draco said embarrassedly. "Not dinner plates."

"Still flattening?" Neville asked sympathetically.

"It's just so boring, making a bowl look like a basically bowl-shaped thing," Draco said. "I lose interest and wham. Dinner plate."

"Maybe you should make it look like a really fancy dinner plate," Harry said. "I mean, if you're going to be bad at something, you should be bad at it with style."

"Slytherins," Padma muttered.

"Speaking of which, did you hear about the Gryffindors blowing up the Potions classroom last night?" Draco said, leaning in close. Neville put a hand over his face.

"I heard something explode, but sometimes that's just Professor Snape making something complicated. He says sometimes potions are supposed to -- "

"No, tell us about it," Padma asked Neville, interrupting Harry. "What happened?"

"Well, Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnegan got in trouble for something or other -- Neville, do you know?"

"No," Neville said, from behind his hands.

"Anyhow, they had a detention from Snape and they were supposed to be organising the potions supply jars. So the rest of the Gryffindors decided to go help them out -- " Draco snickered at Harry and Padma's mutual eye-rolling, "Except Neville, cos he was with me going over Astronomy. They all trooped down there and Granger said she knew a spell that would do it."

"Granger knows spells for everything," Neville moaned.

"I bet she doesn't know -- " Padma began hotly, taking the remark as a personal challenge, but Harry waved a hand to stop her.

"Go on, Draco," he said.

"Well, apparently her spell worked okay but she organised them alphabetically and they're supposed to be arranged so that the most-used stuff is lower down. Which meant Lavender Brown had to have a try and she broke one jar, and then when Ron Weasley tried to clean it up he broke another jar and the two got mixed together and Dean Thomas dropped the jar he was holding and the whole thing exploded." Draco chuckled. Neville moaned again. "So there they all were and Professor Snape came in and found the entire Gryffindor first-year class standing around with their hair on end and soot all over their faces..."

"Six million points from Gryffindor!" Harry said, in a passable imitation of Professor Snape. He'd been working on it.

"Something like that," Draco agreed. "And now they've all got detention together scrubbing out the hospital ward."

"And they all hate me cos I didn't come along," Neville sighed, folding his hands on the table and resting his chin on them.

"You don't care what a load of Gryffindors think, do you?" Harry asked.

"I happen to be a Gryffindor, thanks," Neville answered.

"But you don't, do you? I mean, clearly you are in superior company," Harry gestured at himself, Draco and Padma with a smirk.

"Yeah, but..." Neville wrinkled his nose. "You ever feel like you're a bit of an outsider in your own House?"

Padma gave him a blank look. Draco pursed his lips, and Harry tilted his head.

"I mean. Ron and Granger are practically joined at the hip with Finnegan, and Dean Thomas says Parvati's already his girlfriend -- "

"Tsk, Parvati," Padma murmured reprovingly.

"And Parvati and Lavender are really good friends...I dunno. It seems like I ought to be friends with some of them, you know? That's the whole point of being Sorted, innit?"

Harry considered. "Yeah, well, Theo hangs out with Crabbe and Goyle, but that's just as well, 'cause I don't like them much. And I spend a lot of time with the older kids at Quidditch practice...although they make a lot of jokes I don't always get," he admitted.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Padma said. "I study with other Ravenclaws all the time. I'm just glad Parvati and I didn't get Sorted together."

"It's a bit different in Hufflepuff," Draco said, drawing one knee up against his chest and wrapping an arm around it, hooking the heel of his shoe on the edge of the chair. "Everyone's quiet, really. I guess we spend a lot of time in the common room together, and my room-mates are all right, but I'd rather be here. I like being a Hufflepuff," he added. "Nobody stares at you funny or anything. And it's the first time I got something I wanted without Mum telling me I had to do something different and getting her way instead."

All four of them fell silent for a while, until Padma cleared her throat.

"Well, this isn't getting our Transfiguration papers done, and we'd better start on that now if Draco's going to have to write an extra three inches," she said. "Who's got a good starting-place?"

***

Dear Harry,

You should have heard the shouting when we got the evening edition! POTTER SCOOPS SNITCH! It was all over the sports section, though I think it should have been on the front page. Remus says that he's very proud of you, but he thinks the Floo accident at the Ministry of Magic was probably a little more important to get reported above-the-fold. I say he's nuts, what do you think? I'm sending you a copy you can hang over your bed, and one for your locker, and a few for your friends if you like.

I hope you're getting your broomstick checked out. If we need to buy another one, let me know -- the Firebolts are still just prototypes, but Remus apparently has connections I never knew about and we might be able to swing one. It wasn't bucking too badly, was it? It wasn't much covered in the article, and there was just the one photo of you with the Snitch, and you did say you didn't fall or anything. We'll work on dangerous-flying when you come home for the holiday, how's that? Only another few weeks! Andromeda and Ted have already started plotting lots of things for us to do, and Dora -- sorry, TONKS -- says to tell you you're welcome to sing with her and Neville, whatever that means.

I hope you're studying for exams. I hear from Sources that you're doing well in all your classes, so I won't talk any more about THAT.

Let me know where you want to go for Christmas shopping when you come home. We're thinking of taking a trip to Hogsmeade, so perhaps instead of taking the train home we ought to just come and get you from school? What do you think? Moony says we ought to go down to Betwys Beddau and get a goose from the farm down Cwndu road, and some of that fresh plum pudding from the Beddau Bakery, for Christmas dinner. I think he's hinting I ought to take the motorbike. Haven't been allowed to take her out in ages and she's going to be touchy with me if I don't at least fly her around a bit soon. Can you imagine me flying all over with a goose strapped to one side of the motorbike and a pudding on the other?

Ted and Andromeda and TONKS send their love. And so does Moony, but he's sending you a letter himself.

Sirius

PS: What a silly question, Harry. It doesn't matter to me what house you're in or who your friends are, so long as they're good friends. I will never love you any less for anything you do.

Chapter 13

Buoyed by Harry's success on the Quidditch field, they planned the "excursion with Nick", as Draco called it, for the last Friday before the Christmas holidays, just after exams. Harry, who had spent much of his early life observing other children rather than playing with them, noticed Draco's excitement wax and wane; it as as though the trip was the ultimate dare, like climbing the big standing stone at the edge of his village in Wales, the one with the really big spikes the village put up to stop people climbing on it. Neville and Padma were more level-headed about it, but Draco's good cheer was infectious.

And he noticed when Draco showed up pale and withdrawn to the study-group one day. Padma and Neville didn't -- they were deep in a discussion of revision technique for mid-year exams. They beckoned for Draco to join them, but when Draco simply sat in his chair and stared at his open book without really looking at it, his pale bangs falling in his eyes, Harry edged his chair over and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Going to study?" he asked. "We're all sat over here."

"Sure..." Draco said, but he didn't move. "In a bit."

"Did McGonagall give you another horrible big book to read over holidays?"

"No."

"Professor Snape still ignoring you?"

"I don't mind being ignored. He's pretty mean sometimes. And I don't usually get stuff wrong, so it's not like I need as much attention as Neville does."

Harry bit his lip. "You look awful."

"Thanks."

"I mean -- "

"I'm not going home for Christmas," Draco said suddenly, a little more loudly than he should have; Padma and Neville looked up from their books. He dropped his voice, cheeks colouring. "Professor McGonagall came around today with the list and my name was already on it. Mum owled Dumbledore. She didn't even ask me."

"But -- that'll be fun. You'll have lots of free time," Neville said encouragingly. "You can play in the snow -- "

"Lots of time to revise for the spring," Padma put in. Neville elbowed her. "What? Draco likes revising."

"And it's not like..." Harry paused. "If I was still living with...with my relatives, I wouldn't really...want to go home."

Draco made a quiet little noise that the other three chose to ignore.

"Well, there's still this weekend and the Excursion," Neville said. "And exams'll keep you busy -- and I'm sure you could...well, Hagrid always likes visitors, and eating one of his scones takes up pretty much all of an afternoon..."

"And we'll all send you things, won't we?" Harry said. "Neville and I'll send you a postcard and I'm sure Andromeda's going to have presents for you."

"Yeah," Draco agreed, and he did seem to brighten a little. "You think?"

"She likes you," Neville said. "You're family, course she will. And I bet your mum sends you something terrifically expensive to make up for it."

"If she remembers," Draco said, with a dry little smile. "She forgot Christmas one year."

Horrified silence followed.

"It's all right, the house-elves made me a lovely book to write in -- " Draco paused. "And, and...Mendy always makes lots of sweets...."

"That's awful," said Padma quietly.

"It's all right, really, like you said, Aunt Andromeda's sure to send me something."

"Did she say you had to stay at Hogwarts?" Harry asked suddenly. Draco gave him a funny look.

"My name's on the list. She told the Headmaster," he said, blankly.

"Yeah, but it's..." Harry wasn't sure how to ask "It's just because she doesn't want you home, isn't it?" so he changed tactics. "Would she mind awfully if you stayed with Andromeda? That'd be neat, wouldn't it? We'd have enough to play a decent game of Exploding Snap without having to make Remus play, then."

"But I haven't been asked..." Draco said, glancing at Neville, looking almost afraid.

"Er." Neville blinked. "Do you need to be?"

"S'polite," Draco muttered. "Not supposed to invite yourself over."

"Oh, well then." Neville sat up very straight and held out his hand. "Mister Malfoy, would you come stay with us for the holiday?"

"You haven't asked your -- "

"Ted and Andromeda won't care, there's lots of room," Neville said easily. "I'll write to them right now if you want, Andromeda can write and ask your mum. I think she likes to write to your mum, cos it annoys her."

Draco grinned a little at that. "Will it be an incon -- "

"Shut up, Malfoy," Neville answered cheerfully, already pulling out a sheet of parchment. Draco subsided into embarrassed happiness, while Neville wrote to Andromeda, his handwriting less legible than Harry's or Draco's but his grammar considerably better. He read it aloud when he was done, to the general approval of the others if not the librarian, who gave them a warning look as she passed (she went easy on them because Harry had asked her if the library had any Kipling and won a lifelong friend in Madam Pince, who owned a first-edition of The Jungle Books in her personal collection.)

As Neville ran off to the Owlery to mail the letter, Padma leaned over, whispering to Harry.

"She will be all right with it, won't she?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "The Tonkses are grand. You should come down too. You'll come shopping at Diagon Alley anyway, won't you?"

"We probably will, we nearly always do," Padma agreed. "I'm looking forward to some quiet, though. Not that it ever is in my house around the holidays, my whole enormous family descends on us sooner or later, but usually I can hide behind the shed in the back garden and Parvati'll draw all the attention."

"Must be nice having siblings," Draco said.

"Depends on the sibling, I guess," Harry answered. "I mean. Neville and I are sort of related to you, but it's...well, Neville picked you to come stay with him and Andromeda picked Sirius to come live with them. I guess if you could pick your family things'd be a bit better. I certainly wouldn't've picked Aunt Petunia as my aunt," he added, wrinkling his nose. "She used to give me socks for Christmas. Old knobbly socks."

"Friends are people who never give you knobbly socks," Draco agreed, and the three of them snickered until Madam Pince gave them their second warning and they all had to hush and bend to their books.

***

Exams passed in a blur, it seemed, of revision and last-minute research and Padma's utter adherence to the Wisdom of the Flashcard. There was nothing, she firmly believed, that flashcards could not sooner or later solve. The exams weren't all-consumingly important, since even those who failed had the whole spring to improve their marks, but Draco was shocked and pleased to have passed his Transfigurations task adequately all the same.

"What do you mean, you had to turn a mouse into a snuffbox?" Harry asked, as they assembled that Friday, Neville almost leaping around with excitement, Padma calmly double-checking that the crowbar was packed in the bag Harry was carrying and that Draco really did know the sharpening charm in case the knife he'd filched from the kitchen inexplicably went dull on the walk to the chapel.

"Didn't you?" Draco asked, pulling on his gloves. "It came out pretty nice, ivory and red lacquer."

"No, I had to turn paper into cloth," Harry said. He sniffed. "I was trying for silk but I only got muslin."

"I got corduroy," Neville answered.

"You suppose that's better or worse?"

"Dunno. Padma, what'd you get?"

"Linen," Padma said smugly. "All right. It's almost dark and Sir Nicholas said he'd meet us here after sundown -- "

"Speak of the spectre," Nick said, putting his head through a wall. "Hello, children."

"Hello Nick," they chorused, as if he were a professor addressing a class. He smiled a little and floated fully through the wall, putting his hands on his hips.

"Ready to go then, are we?" he asked, eyeing Harry's bulging bag and Draco's determined grip on the map they'd drawn of the chapel. "And if we get separated -- "

"Meet at the sign to Hogsmeade," Padma said quickly.

"Or go back to your dormitory and don't go wandering about where you might get hurt," Nick said sternly. "If I wasn't coming along myself, I would very much frown on this sort of thing. What're you fiddling with, Miss Patil?" he called. Padma dropped the leather case hanging around her neck, quickly.

"I thought -- since nobody's been there in ages, it might be fun to um...take some pictures," she said, her voice dropping in volume on the last few words. "I haven't taken hardly any pictures, school takes too much time..."

"Well, so long as you're not going to photograph me," Nick said.

"Urk. That'd be creepy," Padma said. "I don't like taking pictures of people. I like buildings and trees and things."

Nick looked rather pleased to be considered "people", then gestured them all against a wall as one of the other ghosts came floating around the corner, and drifted by aimlessly.

"As long as we can keep out of Peeves' way, I happen to know Mr. Filch is up on the fourth floor, so we'll have no problems getting out of the castle," Nick said. "Let me have a scout around first."

They waited, huddling a little bit in the shadows, until Nick reappeared from his reconnaissance.

"This way," he whispered, apparently delighed to be sneaking around the school. Harry suspected most of the ghosts were pretty bored, a lot of the time. This must be like some kind of holiday for Nick.

They made it out of the castle all right, except for one of the portraits threatening to call Dumbledore until Nick bribed her with the promise of a new varnish, and crept slowly through the most dangerous part of the trip, at least in their minds -- the wide open fields between the entrance to Hogwarts and the pounded-dirt road to Hogsmeade, crusted with frost in the midwinter cold. Once on the road they'd be partially screened by the trees, and before long would be in the forest itself -- on a trail, yes, but still surrounded on all sides.

"The Romans built this road when they passed through, I hear," Nick said, as they turned onto the flat track to Hogsmeade, the wizarding town beyond Hogwarts where the third-years-and-up were allowed to visit. Harry could see very distant buildings rising up out of the fields. "Very flat, as straight as possible, strong construction charms..."

"Roman wizards wanted to civilise the locals," Harry said, breathing easier now that Hogwarts was out of sight. "I read about it."

"Or conquer," Draco said unexpectedly, and Harry glanced at him. "Well, that's what the Romans did. All the oldest pureblood families in England are descendent from the Roman wizards -- Nigellus, Mulciber -- Malfeus, where Malfoy comes from," he added, with just a slight hint of pride. "Most of the books I read in my father's library say the people who were living here didn't have any magic, but I don't think that's really true."

"Why not?" Harry asked curiously.

"Cos the Romans didn't build that," Draco said, pointing off in the distance. Harry turned to follow his hand, and saw Padma and Neville stopping to do the same. Across the flat farmland that had once been and was still called the Hogsmeade Fens, there were strange stony shapes rising in the distance, sharp-edged in the frosty air.

"Creadonagh valley," Nick nodded. "We used to play war-games there when I was a boy at Hogwarts. Terribly dangerous and foolish, but back then there were a lot more wizards, and surviving Hogwarts was its own final exam."

"It's just a stone circle," Padma said. "There's lots of them in Britain. That doesn't mean they're magical."

"Some of them are," Harry murmured, thinking of Betwys Beddau, the town whose residents lived their whole lives inside a stone circle, and nearby Rhos Y Beddau, where the bogs had eaten the stones back into the earth.

"It's wild magic," Nick said soberly. "Don't you go near it. The Forest is bad enough, but it still follows some law; Creadonagh valley is its own law. Come, children. You'll have to be back in your beds before dawn."

They followed Nick further along until finally a little footpath, lined on either side with rocks and looking like something a child might have devised in a parents' garden, broke off from the main road.

"Don't go outside the stones," Nick warned. "Inside them you're protected by iron charms buried underneath -- works as well on unicorns as it does on the fey, not that the fey are your biggest worry, mind you -- and the rest of the really dangerous ones won't come near the path at any rate."

"Is the chapel safe?" Draco asked. None of them had moved, and Padma and Harry had huddled in closer, staring at the dreary little trail. It dipped down, where it left the Hogsmeade road, and ran straight into the shadows.

"It's holy ground," Nick said simply, and began to drift down the path. He looked a little less translucent, here, as though being closer to his body made him closer to real again himself.

"We're not supposed to go into the forest," Padma whispered.

"We knew we were going to have to," Harry whispered back. "You want to carry the crowbar?"

Padma nodded, looking a little less frightened when she had a long bar of steel in her hand. Harry silently passed Neville the other one, grinning a little at the boy's thankful look.

"Draco, light your wand," Harry whispered, and Draco muttered "Lumos!", brandishing his wand like a sword ahead of him.

"All right then," Neville said.

"All right then," Padma repeated.

Harry, deciding this was getting them nowhere, shoved Draco hard. He stumbled forward onto the trail and nearly fell headlong, but once one of them had stepped off the road, the rest of them felt better about following.

"You didn't have to do that," Draco hissed to Harry, as they made their way down the narrow path.

"I'm a Slytherin. It's what we do," Harry answered. "Keep that wand lit."

Nick was a glowing silver beacon up ahead, which helped light the trail so that they could see well enough not to go off of it; soon Neville and Padma lit their wands, too. Off in the darkness, things scurried and chirped unnaturally.

Harry, who used to make a habit of going to the Muggle cinema with Sirius on weekends when they lived in Little Whinging, half-expected a frog to poke its head out of one of the little brackish ponds near the trail and cry "Edless-orsman!"

"I hear there are werewolves in the Forest," Draco said, and Neville looked like he wished he'd checked to see if it was a full moon.

"Nah," Harry answered, without thinking. "No indoor plumbing." Which was the reason Remus always gave that he didn't like camping. All three of them looked at him strangely, and he shrugged. "They're people a lot more of the time than they're wolves. I wouldn't want to live in here, would you?"

"Look," Neville said, pointing with his lit wand to where Nick's faint glow had vanished and was replaced by the eerie flicker of silvery light through narrow windows. Even in the Forbidden Forest, with things creeping and crawling all around them, they stopped to take in the Hogwarts Chapel.

It was a squat, low building, with thick-looking walls and narrow windows; it looked more like Hagrid's hut than any church Harry had ever seen. Bits of the roof on one side had fallen in, and here and there he could see loose stonework which confirmed his impression that the walls were built more crudely than the graceful gothic arches of Hogwarts. It was a rude little chapel, square and unassuming, as though it had grown up out of the ground.

Despite that, he could tell that there had been additions over the years; wizards couldn't bear to leave well enough alone. The thin arrow-slit windows had been fitted with bright stained-glass at some point, which was cracking in places, although it still seemed mostly intact. There were strange little crenellations poking up from the four corners of the building, and stone carvings, clearly stuck-on after the fact, decorated the eaves, the windowsills, and massive, open doorway. Grinning gargoyles looked down from the tops of the walls, and Harry thought he could make out human figures over the door. Metal straps still hung like horizontal bars across the doorway, though the wood had rotted away.

They hurried down the hill, then, and as they approached Harry saw that two of the door-bars met in a tarnished lock that was still secure; they ducked under the bars and stepped over two others to get inside, Draco examining the lock interestedly as they passed, Padma putting out a finger to touch the figures that seemed to be climbing up the doorway towards some eroded carving at the summit.

"Oh -- it's lovely," Padma said quietly, once they'd stepped over the leaf-detritus on the inside entrance and gotten their first proper view of the inside. The room was small, barely bigger than a Hogwarts classroom, but it was lined with stone benches, carved into graceful curves on either side of a central aisle. Moonlight filtered in through the broken roof, and below the holes the fallen stones littered the floor. A few had broken cracks into the benches below them.

The stone floor was laid out in unevenly-sized blocks, some of which had begun to heave up with time, and Harry decided that in another few decades roots would probably start to peek through. One, far off in a corner under the roof (where sunlight would fall in the daytime, he realised), already had. There were small clerestory windows set halfway up the slope of the roof, a vertical insert that would let in even more light without letting in rain.

Their lights made the narrow stained-glass windows flicker and seem to move; Harry recognised one or two of the religious scenes from the Betwys Beddau church, where they used to show old films in the evenings sometimes. In one of the unfamiliar ones, a man was putting his hands in another one's injuries; probaby a healing spell, he guessed. In the next window over was a woman holding, of all improbable things, what looked like a red Easter egg.

Nick was standing about two thirds of the way down the aisle, opaque enough now that he was blocking the altar at the front of the chapel, though they could see that a rusting iron cross still hung in fragments above it.

"I'm taking a picture," Padma whispered, and the little magical flashbulb on her camera popped quietly, filling the room with light. Draco wandered down one of the benches to inspect the ceiling holes, then raced back quickly when they creaked and threatened to drop another few stones. Neville was crouching, wand held above the floor so that he could read something carved there, as Padma's flashbulb popped again.

"I didn't think they really buried people under these stones," Harry said, watching Neville trace a line of text with his finger. "I thought they were just memorials."

"I can't speak for Muggles," Nick said, his voice as hushed as theirs, "but in the wizarding world they do. Did, once. Maybe they still do." He shrugged, as if uninterested in the funerary rites of the living, and drifted a little further. "I'm over here, near the front."

Draco, who was closest, wandered over and stood carefully at the edge of the stone, inspecting it critically. Padma's camera flashed again.

"Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, 1450 - 1492. Executed by order of Henry Tudor, false pretender to the crown," Draco read, spelling out the words carefully, working his way around the odd y and spare e that made it slightly difficult to read in modern English.

Nick smiled. "I was very political even as a young ghost. I grew out of it. Notice it doesn't say beheaded," he said sadly. "No matter how much I shouted, they wouldn't put Beheaded on it when they were carving it."

"Why did he have you executed?" Harry asked, joining Draco at the gravemarker. Below Nick's name and the date of his death, there was an elaborate carving of a skeleton in profile, holding a lantern in one hand and a sickle in the other. Behind the skeleton a flat, stylised rose, like a Tudor rose simplified, spread its petals.

"Read the epitaph," Nick said quietly. It was a long one, in small, worn script, but Draco did his best.

If in politics you would muddle

Especially affairs of Muggles

Pay heed to my foul murder

At the hands of Henry Tudor.

I was a stout and loyal Yorkist

A soldier in the War of Roses

Naturally, therefore, did I own

The Duke of York should wear the crown.

Into conspiracy I entered

To kill the false Tudor pretender;

While traveling in France they caught me

Knowing that the Red Rose sought me.

On the chopping-block he placed my head;

The headsman tried to strike me dead.

Forty-seven times he tried

Before I had completely died.

Remember if you will my name;

Sir Nick may lie below in shame,

But while his body this stone lies o'er

The white rose triumphs evermore!

"Remus is from Yorkshire," Harry said, in a hushed voice. "This was about the end of the War of the Roses, wasn't it? He gave me a book on it once."

"What's the War of the Roses?" Draco asked.

"An old, very foolish war," Nick sighed. Padma's camera case clicked shut, and she came forward, Neville following. "And I was on the losing side, as it turned out."

"We should start," Padma said, taking the crowbar from Draco. "All we need is to get it a little bit apart from the others so that we can get the lifting charm underneath it."

"We know, Padma," Harry sighed, but he took Neville's crowbar and circled around to work his into the stone chink on the other side. Neville and Draco, wands ready, knelt down next to them, while Nick hovered and gave generally ineffective instructions.

Once they'd floated the heavy stone away, all four of them focusing hard in order to get it leaned up against a wall, they were faced with a smooth, dark dirt surface, where small bugs were frantically crawling away into the cracks between the other stones.

"Who wants to dig?" Nick asked cheerfully.

"We er, have to do something first," Harry said. "You're all...preserved down there, right?"

"I should be, yes."

"We have to draw lots to see who's going to do it," Harry said.

"Why?" Nick asked, confused.

"Cos...it's a body," Padma said. "I mean. A real dead body."

"It's my body, thank you -- "

"No, but it's...I mean. Someone's going to have to reach down with the knife and, and..." Neville trailed off.

"Oh," Nick said, thoughtfully. "Yes, I can see how that might not be something you're quite used to doing."

Harry, who felt like a horrible friend for what he was about to do, took four sticks out of his pocket. There were supposed to be three short ones and a long one; instead there were four long ones.

"We'll draw by name," Harry said. "Draco, you first."

Draco had once mentioned to Harry, possibly without meaning to, that his mum had a Grave Hand on a stand in her study; it was supposed to have been the hand of a patricide, and he didn't know what it did, but his mum had paid a lot of money for it. Draco was used to strange dark magic, so much so that he thought odd when the others were wary of it; and besides, better Draco than Neville, who was nervous and likely to botch the job, or Padma, who had been the strongest opponent of even doing it in the first place.

Harry just didn't think he could do it himself. Whenever he tried imagining it, he remembered the night Peter had taken him away from Sirius and Remus and tried to kill him, and he shuddered.

No, it was best this way. Draco could do it. He held out the sticks, and Draco's hand shook a little as he drew.

"Long stick, first try," Neville said in a hushed voice, as Draco's face fell. Harry tucked the other sticks back into his pockets, snapping them in half in the process, just in case.

"All right then," Padma said. "Draco doesn't have to help with the digging charm."

Draco stepped back, and the other three began to dig, lifting balls of dirt with their wands and piling it carefully to one side. It was easier than digging with shovels, but Harry was still sore from concentrating by the end of it, when the dirt was whisked away and a plain, warped brown coffin lid looked up at them.

Neville turned away. Padma reached around and turned him back, while she carefully charmed the lid up.

Sir Nicholas looked very peaceful, really, Harry decided.

"That's me," Nick said, pleased. "I look well. I should see about a further gratuity to the heirs of the men who did the preservation-charm."

Draco came forward.

"Knife's sharp?" Padma asked. Harry took it carefully out of his bag, and offered it to Draco.

"We're mad for doing this," Draco said, holding the knife.

"It's for Nick," Padma reminded him.

"We're still mad," Draco continued, as he knelt at the edge. It wasn't quite as deep as they'd expected; he'd be able to lean over and brace himself on the coffin-lid while he...did what they'd come to do.

"Neville, hold my belt," Draco said.

"Your belt?" Neville asked, confused.

"So I don't fall in. I don't fancy landing on top of a dead body," Draco said sharply, pointing to his back, and Neville hooked his hand around the belt, gripping the nearest stone bench-arm with the other.

Draco began to talk as he eased himself out over the grave, not really babbling, but only because it was such a calm monotone.

"I guess they put a preservation spell on the coffin, too. It must be an interesting job, being a mortician for a ghost. On the one hand, you know exactly what your client would like done with the body, but I suppose perhaps sometimes the ghost and his survivors might fight a bit about it. There's a big graveyard near our house and it seems like people enjoy putting really ugly things on top of graves, don't you think? Imagine if you'd bought a tombstone for someone and they suddenly told you it was hideous and they wouldn't be caught dead with it on their grave."

Harry watched as one hand gripped the lid, testing it first to make sure it wasn't completely rotten. He didn't think Draco had even realised the pun he made. Draco's other arm began to stretch out, probing gently with the knife blade below a wide lace ruff.

"I always wanted to go look at the graveyard," Draco continued, "because I think it must be very interesting to read all the epitaphs, like Nick's, but then again I read that there are all kinds of trouble wizards can get into. In America they have these things called Haints -- "

Harry turned his head as the knife slipped forward, and saw Padma close her eyes; Neville hadn't looked at the body since they'd uncovered it.

There was a moment of absolute silence, and then a slightly...wet noise, before the thunk of a blade on wood.

"Oh my goodness!" Nick exclaimed. Harry looked up automatically, and Nearly Headless Nick's ghost floated there, now entirely headless.

"Pull me back pull me back pull me back," Draco insisted, and Neville tugged hard. The lid slammed shut as Draco flew backwards, knife skittering across the stones. He and Neville ended up in a pile, and Padma automatically bent over to haul Draco to his feet.

Harry, meanwhile, was looking down the aisle past where Nick was floating, his body ending suddenly in a fancy lace ruff.

"WELL DONE LAD!" Nick's head boomed, from where it had rolled, near the front pew. It was lying on one ear and beaming joyously. "Where's my body gone -- oh, there it is, just be a second..."

The ghostly body drifted over and, while Harry watched in horrified fascination, picked up its equally ghostly head by the hair. Harry became aware of Draco chanting "ew ew ew" in the background as he brushed off his hands and dusted himself down.

"Look!" Neville said. "It's Completely Headless Nick!"

***

They had pushed the dirt back into the grave and exhaustedly gotten the stone in place, though it was a little uneven; Nick didn't seen to notice, as he was still getting used to having a mobile head.

"Will it stay on?" Draco asked, as they tidied up their tools and repacked Harry's sack. Harry passed around cheese sandwiches from one of the pouches. Draco seemed to be recovering all right, though he was very, very keen on a wash, he said.

"I don't know," Nick answered, and with the air of a man balancing a book there, he put his head on top of his neck. "How do I look?"

"Bit crooked," Padma said critically. Nick opened his mouth and his head toppled forward.

"It might take some practice," he admitted, retrieving it and tucking it safely under one arm. "Oh, thank you! That was a job very well done, very well done indeed."

"Now we just have to sneak back into the castle, and even if we get caught we won't be in quite as much trouble as before," Padma said happily, as they climbed back out of the old chapel. "I want to take a picture of it from the top of the crest, so don't leave me behind, okay?"

They waited patiently while she opened her camera case and uncapped the lens; she clicked the shutter, the flashbulb popped, and --

"What was that?" Neville asked, grabbing Harry's arm. Harry had seen it too; some kind of large animal, nearby. Draco lit his wand and held it up, but it wasn't bright enough; Padma popped the flashbulb again, and this time all four of them saw it -- a horse, a deep grey horse spattered with what looked like silver paint.

"That's a unicorn," Nick said, drifting closer and holding up his head like a lantern at arm's length. The animal, clearly terrified, had stumbled when his light fell on it, and fell to its knees; as they watched, it struggled back up, and the silvery liquid pulsed down its legs.

"It's been hurt!" Draco said.

"Nobody would hurt a unicorn," Nick said to himself. "Unless -- go. Go now," he said, turning to them. "You're in danger here. Go, run and tell Hagrid someone's hunting unicorns -- "

A blast of purple light flew out of the darkness and hit Nick square, and he went pinwheeling backwards from the blow; Harry saw a tall figure in shadow against the nearly-setting moon, and another smaller shape behind him.

"Run," he whispered, shoving Neville down the path. Neville took Padma's sleeve in one hand and managed to grab a corner of Draco's coat in the other, as Harry backed slowly away, wand outstretched for all the good it would do him against a grown wizard.

Two grown wizards; one tall and thin, one shorter and limping badly, almost dragging himself along. Nick had lodged in a tree and was lost in the leaves, crying for help; all Harry saw was shadows as the men crossed the path and one of them wrenched the head of the unicorn to the ground, the taller one -- the other one bent and no he didn't just try to bite the unicorn --

The unicorn screamed and went limp, and before Harry knew it he was running as fast as he could, hearing hoofbeats in the distance and shouting now, calls of "Intruders in the forest!" and "To the path!" and what sounded like names -- Ronan, Magorian, Firenze. The bag bumped against his hips as he ran, and his breath came in short bursts; he caught up to the others only when they could actually see the road to Hogsmeade rising above them, and Draco yelped in terror when Harry passed him on one side.

They skidded to a halt on the road, panting, turning to stare at the forest.

"What happened?" Neville asked breathlessly.

"Someone killed it," Harry said, trying to keep the hysteria out of his voice. "There were two men and they went across the road and one of them bit it and it screamed..."

"You can't kill a unicorn!" Padma said. "It's a horrible curse!"

"Well they did!" Harry nearly shouted. "Do you want to go back and see for yourself?"

"I want to get out of here," Draco whimpered.

"Draco's right, they might have seen us, we should go back to the castle," Padma urged. "It's not safe here."

"Hagrid," Neville said suddenly. "Nick said we should tell Hagrid -- "

Just then they all jumped again as Nick, still vaguely purple from whatever they'd done to him, came zooming out of the forest.

"Back to Hogwarts, all of you," he said. "I'm off to find Hagrid. Now! Go!"

Unused to stern orders from the cheerful spectre, they turned and hurried up the road, Harry unshouldering his bag so that he could carry it more easily.

They woke two portraits as they ran into the main entryway, and both of them began shouting about children out of bed; Neville and Padma made for the side-stairs, while Harry shoved Draco towards the cellars and made a mad dash for the dungeons.

He ran smack into Snape, coming out of his quarters, throwing a black robe around his green pyjamas. Snape reached out and caught him before he could fall backwards, scowling deeply.

"What are you doing out of dormitories at three in the morning?" he demanded. Harry stared up at him dumbly. One of the portraits howled, and Harry found himself thrust into Snape's sitting room. "Bloody paintings," Snape muttered. "Stay there. Don't even think about moving," he ordered, and ran down the hallway. In short order the portraits fell silent, and Harry hoped the others were safer than he currently was.

Snape returned, bare feet hardly making a sound on the stone floor, and shut the door behind him.

"You look ill," he said, before Harry could speak. He went to a shelf above the fireplace and took down a bottle of thin blue liquid, pouring some into a cup. "Drink this."

Harry accepted it and stared at it for a second before sipping it. His shoulders relaxed, and he could feel his cold-numbed fingers again. Snape leaned against the wall next to the fireplace and crossed his arms.

"Out or in?" he asked. Harry blinked. "Were you sneaking out, Harry, or sneaking in? Never mind -- there's leaves on your boots. What were you doing on the grounds at this hour of the night?"

"Unicorns," Harry blurted. Snape frowned. "In the forest. There's a dead one."

"What?"

"There's a dead unicorn in the Forbidden Forest," Harry said. "Nick's gone to get Hagrid."

"You were in the forest?" Snape demanded.

"I was on a trail..." Harry said faintly.

"Why on earth -- Nick? There's no Nick in Slytherin -- "

"No, Nearly Headless Nick. Sir Nicholas. He was showing -- " Harry quickly mentally edited 'us', " -- showing me where he was buried. I thought it would be fun -- "

Snape looked furious. "Fun? You thought wandering about in the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night would be fun? Is insanity genetic to your family, Harry, or did you learn it from that idiot godfather of yours?"

Harry hung his head. After a moment, Snape spoke again, sounding more controlled.

"What's this about a dead unicorn, now? If you've hurt anything in the forest -- "

"I didn't do it! There were men in the forest," Harry said quickly. "Two of them. One of them bit it and, and killed it -- "

"Bit it?"

"It was hurt and it fell down, and Nick said to run, and one of them bit it and it screamed," Harry said, trembling suddenly, eyes still on the carpet. He took another sip of the drink, but his hands still shook. He nearly jumped when he felt Snape's hands encircle his own, clenched around the glass. Snape was crouched, head ducked so that he could see Harry's face. Harry noticed, distractedly, that one of the claw-scars on his temple was a little longer than the others, and not quite as evenly spaced.

"And you saw this?" Snape asked softly. "You actually saw it happen, Harry? It's important."

Harry nodded.

"You said Nick had gone to get Hagrid?"

He nodded again.

"I should rouse the Headmaster, he'll want to know of this. Drink the rest of that and go straight to bed. Don't argue with me, Harry," Snape said, rising. "We'll discuss this further in the morning."

He was gone again, leaving Harry in the dimly-lit room, alone and feeling suddenly very small.

He sipped the drink and glanced around, hoping for something to distract him from the fact that he was probably about to be expelled from Hogwarts. His eyes lit on a clock on the wall, a dozing portrait of a hawk-faced man who looked like he was probably an ancestor of Professor Snape, and an open book on the table. He rose, mindful to take another sip of the bland blue liquid, and peered at the book. French. De L'Emploi de la Pierre Philosophale....Snape's handwriting on the parchment next to it read The Uses of the Stone of Philosophers.

The portrait snorted and woke, and Harry quickly gulped the rest of the potion and picked up his bag, fleeing the sitting room for the sanctuary of his dormitory. Snake, who was hibernating most of the time now, didn't even open an eye when he stuffed the bag under his bed, pulled off his clothing and reached for his favourite pyjama shirt, the one that was a hand-me-down from Sirius which said Phoenikoi Do It Over and Over in faded letters on the front. He slid into bed and lay there, trembling a little -- though not as much, now that the potion was hitting his stomach -- and wrapped the blankets tight around him.

He strained his ears to make out anything, but even if there had been noises in the forest he wouldn't have been able to hear them from here. He didn't think he could sleep, but the warmth from the potion was spreading to his fingertips and toes, and he felt his eyelids droop; perhaps Professor Snape had given him something to -- he yawned widely -- put him to slee....

Chapter 14

"What do you suppose really happened?"

Severus Snape blew on his tea gently, to cool it, and took a sip; he had learned early on in his career at Hogwarts that the Deputy Headmistress liked a good strong brew, and it was best to sip slowly or risk overwhelmed tastebuds. He set the teacup down on the small table in the Professors' Common Room, and shook his head.

"A unicorn is dead; Hagrid says the centaurs won't speak of it, though I don't doubt his hamfisted method of interrogation has something to do with it," he replied. "They're certain something's been drinking its blood. I suspect werewolves," he added, with a nasty look. McGonagall ignored it.

"Oh, that I knew; Headmaster Dumbledore spoke with me this morning while you were meting out Harry's punishment. I meant to ask what Harry was really doing in the forest."

Snape shook his head. "I doubt he will ever say, even to his godfather," he said slowly. "I'm nearly certain he's covering up for something. Very likely his friends were along, though there's no way of proving it. Well, there is," he added, aggrieved, "but I've been forbidden from attempting it on Longbottom, and Malfoy and the Patil girl would prove surprisingly stubborn, I suspect."

"You cannot go about practicing legilimency on the children," McGonagall scolded sharply. "You know you signed the agreement when you began teaching here, Severus. If Albus finds you've been doing anything of the sort -- "

"Legilimency on children?" Snape snorted. "It's hardly difficult to tell what they're thinking without it. I remember my pledge, thank you very much. I was intending merely to shout them into fearful submission."

McGonagall looked mollified, but not by much. "I won't have you terrifying the children either; they've had enough of that this year already," she said firmly. "Although..."

Minerva looked troubled, something she never showed the students, though in the sanctuary of the common room it wasn't all that rare. "I know Sir Nicholas said his head was knocked off by that blast he took, but I still wonder...he is so transparent sometimes..."

"What, you think the children went off to do an incredibly advanced charm on him in the Forest in the middle of the night? With Longbottom along?" Snape gave her a rare smile of amusement over his tea. "No, depend upon it, they were up to some mischief and probably saw Nick going into the forest. A shame Harry won't tell the truth; it's a depressingly Gryffindor quality, covering for one's friends."

"And lying is a distinctly Slytherin one," she shot back.

"I wouldn't be so sure. I know for a fact that the Malfoy boy saves Longbottom from his Potions homework and lies about it."

"He wouldn't need saving if you wouldn't frighten them so."

"Fear is an effective motivator," Snape replied, then winced as he leaned forward too fast. He hadn't had much sleep after Harry's arrival in his quarters at three in the morning, and his head had begun to ache, the right temple throbbing. He was glad there were no classes today, and he could return to his quarters as soon as he'd had his tea.

"Have you had that looked at?" she asked with concern, looking up at him from where she was marking papers.

"Madam Pomfrey provided me with an effective painkiller for tonight. I don't keep such things in my quarters," he replied.

"You can call her Poppy, you know, Severus."

"Indeed, Deputy Headmistress McGonagall."

She laid her quill down. "Soon you're going to have to come to grips with the idea that you aren't junior faculty anymore. Poppy likes you; she wishes you wouldn't be so formal, I've heard her say so. You call Pomona Sprout by her first name."

"We work together far too often in the greenhouses; when one is likely to be devoured by raging ragweed at any moment, formality seems ridiculous."

"Is that the reason?" McGonagall asked, with a smile. "Speaking of Pomona, she says you've been asking after Draco Malfoy. Any particular reason?"

"No."

She lifted an eyebrow. He returned the gesture.

"It has come to the attention of some of the other professors that Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter keep strange company," she said, returning to her grading. "They find it unnerving to see the Houses mixing so easily."

Severus had to admit that his fellow teachers had a point; Gryffindors and Slytherin had always been a step removed from each other, and Ravenclaw normally disdained them both, and all of them ignored Hufflepuff. To see shy, fox-faced Malfoy and scruffy Neville Longbottom flanking Padma Patil, taller than both of them -- to see Harry smile easily and tame a vicious-minded fellow Slytherin with a brief remark, a touch on the shoulder....

Severus knew that Harry was changing the order of things, in subtle ways that they could already see would cause much larger results, years down the line. The Houses wouldn't necessarily alter overnight, but the little knot of interhouse friends had stood firm against all comers so far.

"I'm not sure I like this...intermingling," he admitted, slowly. She nodded.

"Is that your good sense, Severus, or your upbringing showing?"

"A child who wishes to achieve great things must not have others hanging about him like dead weights," he said, rubbing the ache that seemed to lodge under the skin of his temple. "Slytherin has always prided itself on its independence."

"And this hypothetical child you've posited wouldn't happen to have black hair and green eyes?" she asked. "You don't think the other children, Draco and Neville and Padma are...hanging about him? Perhaps acting a bit like dead weights?"

Snape narrowed his eyes. "If the Houses are going to mix with each other in common daily interaction, I don't see why we even have them at all. The whole point of sorting the children is to put them in an environment where they will flourish. I don't see how Neville Longbottom spending every evening studying with Harry is going to cultivate either boy into the man he ought to be. Harry is practically an outcast in his own House already; he may be respected, but they aren't his friends."

"I have heard," McGonagall murmured, "That the usual...shall we say, youthful rhetoric about purebloodedness has come to a stop. Harry having a Muggleborn mother, and pureblood friends in other Houses."

"I hadn't noticed," Snape answered. "Although I imagine there will be some rather surprised parents, this holiday."

McGonagall smiled, and stirred her tea. "And what punishment have you prescribed for Mr. Potter, for being out wandering the grounds in the dead of night?"

"I gave him some extra reading," Snape said, a little too casually.

"Extra reading? To Harry Potter? Isn't that rather like giving him a bar of chocolate and telling him his punishment is to eat the whole thing?"

"It's boring reading," he protested. "And it's things he ought to know."

"Such as?"

Snape looked resolutely poker-faced. She sighed.

"You're not professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts," she scolded. "If Quirrell finds out that you've been giving students Dark Arts reading -- "

"Do you suppose he'll stutter at me?" Snape asked cruelly. "I should think I can handle him."

"Handle whom?" Albus Dumbledore asked, appearing in the doorway. "You're not going to be starting any fistfights in the halls, I hope, Severus."

"No, Headmaster," Snape said, ducking his head.

"Splendid. Oh look, there's Denbigh with the sandwiches. Shall we?"

***

"Are you sure we shouldn't let them ride down with their classmates?" Remus asked, as he stowed the overnight bag in the little cupboard near the bed. "That was always a lot of fun when we were at school."

"Harry said he'd rather ride with us," Sirius answered. "Andromeda feels better knowing Neville and Draco are going to be looked after, and it'll annoy Narcissa if she finds out."

Remus remembered the letter, and grinned. Narcissa's reply to Andromeda had said very elegantly and at the same time rather bluntly that if they wanted to look after another loud, messy eleven-year-old over the holidays it was their funeral, but to please keep him away from Bad Influences. It wasn't hard to translate that Bad Influences was code for Sirius Black.

"It'll be fun, like a day out with the boys. We'll wake up in Hogsmeade just in time to buy them some breakfast before the ride home," Sirius continued, throwing himself down on the bed in their small sleeper-compartment, and Remus agreed that he was eager to see Harry again, eager enough to spend the night on the train in order to see him a few hours sooner. They were catching the ten-pm wizarding train out of King's Cross, and would arrive in Hogsmeade as the Hogwarts Express to London was departing. They could feed the boys in Hogsmeade and then catch the ten-fifteen back to London. The holiday would begin, for Harry and his friends, barely a few hours later than for the other children.

Unlike Muggle transport, the bed they'd reserved was remarkably comfortable; by the time dark had well and truly fallen, Remus had settled into it and was staring out the small window above, watching trees and the occasional hill go past. Sirius, sprawled on his side with his arm flung over Remus' chest, nosed a little at his shoulder.

"Should have gone as Padfoot, could have paid a little less," he said.

"We can afford to pay a full-price train ticket, thank Merlin," Remus answered.

"That's not the point. The point is pulling a fast one on the authorities," Sirius answered.

"We are not," Remus replied, broken by a yawn, "seventeen anymore."

"Yes. Our mischief should therefore get exponentially worse with each passing year."

"Shouldn't we be high-stakes jewel thieves by now, in that case?"

"There's still time."

Remus laughed and fell silent, looking out through the window and wondering if he'd be able to see the Dog Star at any point in their trip.

"It has a rhythm, doesn't it?" Sirius said, fingers curled lightly on Remus' chest, over his heart. "The train, I mean. It's predictable."

"I suppose so."

"Is it strange that I half-want to ride through Hogsmeade and not stop?" Sirius asked.

"What, you mean go straight to Hogwarts? The train doesn't -- "

"No. Go away from Hogwarts."

Remus pushed himself up on one elbow, looking down in confusion. "But -- "

"No, I know, it's ridiculous." Sirius rolled away from him, a little, staring at the ceiling. "It's just...what if he's different?"

"Different? You don't suppose he's shaved his head and has a tattoo, do you?" Remus teased lightly.

"I was fifteen when I did that and I had a very good excuse."

"Being fifteen is almost an excuse in and of itself."

"He's a wizard now. He plays Quidditch on the House team. He has his own friends; it's not like the village boys, either, these are proper wizarding friends."

Remus eased himself down again, slowly. "You're worried he's going to come home and hate you."

"It happened with my parents. I remember it. Being a Gryffindor changed me. I didn't fit in the family anymore. A whole family of Slytherins and I was a Gryffindor."

"That early?"

"That early. I knew. I knew I wasn't part of the family anymore."

"You never said."

"What was there to say?" Sirius buried his face in Remus' neck, breath warm against his skin. "I don't want Harry to hate me because he doesn't fit."

"Harry doesn't hate you. Your family was -- "

" -- awful."

" -- awful, yes, but also intolerant. They didn't love you for being yourself, only for being an heir and a marriageable son."

Sirius snorted. "Showed them, didn't I."

"I think perhaps living in homosexual sin with a werewolf could be considered 'showing them', yes." Remus smiled. "He's still our Harry. That doesn't change."

Sirius was silent again, and Remus almost thought he'd gone to sleep when he asked, "Moony?"

"Mm, what is it?"

"Ever had sex on a train?"

Remus burst out laughing.

***

Andromeda and Ted met them at the station on the return journey, with hugs for the reluctant, self-conscious boys and the promise of a hot dinner waiting at home. Neville, after being hugged smotheringly for the fourth time, announced that they had better go home before Andromeda started in on Harry and Draco, to which Harry replied that Ted was doing a pretty good job, and Draco had better run for cover.

Draco looked quite shocked when Ted released Harry and gave him a second welcoming hug, touseling his fine blond hair. Harry grinned and gave Draco a wink.

"Remember what we talked about," Neville said to Harry, over dinner. Nearby, Draco scowled and flattened what remained of his peas with his fork.

"It's none of our business," he whispered.

"It is our business! Someone's killing unicorns and tried to kill Harry and I bet you anything it's because of that stone Harry talked about -- "

"What are you three plotting over there?" Andromeda asked, as she spooned more potatoes onto Remus' plate, much to his dismay. Neville elbowed Harry.

"Er," Harry said. "Well, we've...Neville and Draco and me...we have work to do over the holidays."

"Homework?" Dora asked, looking up. "On holiday?"

"Just a little," Harry said. "Neville says Andromeda's put all the books from the old library in the back storage room downstairs. We thought we could look around."

"Draco's got loads of work from McGonagall," Neville said. "And Snape's set me two feet of research to do to make up for exploding his last spare cauldron."

"Perhaps we ought to buy you a few extras for when you go back," Ted said thoughtfully.

"What about you, Harry? Professor Sinistra still pumping you for information about me?" Sirius asked, with a sly grin at Remus.

"I have extra Potions too," Harry said. "Professor Snape said I...could get an early start on spring classes if I did some reading he gave me."

"How kind," Sirius muttered.

"We like Professor Snape," Andromeda answered him, meaningfully. Harry knew that Andromeda and Ted had Professor Snape to dinner, sometimes; he also knew that they always carefully arranged it for nights Sirius was going to be out.

"You were saying, Harry," Remus reminded him. "About the spare books in the storage room."

"We were wondering if we could use them for research," Harry said. "I overheard Professor McGonagall say that the Black family library was the best in England..."

Sirius looked at once proud and put out by this, since saying the Black Family Anything was 'the best' bothered him, as the Last of the Blacks and -- this always made Remus groan -- the Black Sheep.

"I don't see why you shouldn't, all the books in the storage room are harmless enough as long as you're careful," Andromeda answered. "Anything in particular we could help with?"

"No, thank you," Draco answered politely. Andromeda smiled a little to herself.

"Thought we might take you lot Christmas shopping tomorrow," Sirius said, refilling his wine glass. "Have a bit of a lie-in, late breakfast, Remus says he'll show you the back-room of Madam Schaeffer's if you like."

"That sounds fun," Harry said. "The Remembrall still works," he added. "Neville never forgets his tie anymore, do you?"

Neville blushed and muttered "thank you, Sirius," shyly but happily. Andromeda patted his hand approvingly.

"They're testing it now against Ministry of Magic standards," Sirius said. "By April or May they should have permission to produce them on a large scale, and your godfather," he said, turning to Harry, "Is going to make enough money to retire young."

"Such an active life you lead now," Andromeda teased.

"I didn't say I was going to be the one retiring," Sirius grinned. Remus mashed up his potatoes.

"I like working," he said.

"Buy you a bookshop then. That's like work, only not, cos real second-hand bookshops -- "

" -- never sell anything," Remus and Harry both said in unison. Draco and Neville stared at them.

"Old joke," Harry said, suddenly rather embarrassed. "Pass the water jug?"

"I've got it," Dora said, but as she picked up the glass jug, her fingers slipped on the handle and it wobbled out of her grip. She made a good attempt to catch it, but in doing so knocked it sideways. It clattered over, spraying water as it went, and ended by landing on Remus' plate, flooding it and drenching him from nose to knees in freezing water. He gasped, blinking water out of his eyes.

"Oh -- Remus -- " Dora gasped, righting the water jug and flinging a last splash onto his lap. "I'm sorry, here, I'll -- "

"No!" Sirius, Ted, Andromeda, and Remus all said in unison. Dora, reaching for her wand, looked only slightly wounded.

Draco tensed immediately; in the Malfoy household that kind of behaviour would get you locked up for the day in your room, or force you to fry your nose if you were a house-elf. He waited for the roar of reprimand that was sure to come from Remus and the shouting...but it never came. Instead, Harry and Neville began to giggle uncontrollably. Sirius chuckled, then joined in the laughter at the same time Ted and Andromeda did. Dora smiled sheepishly, and even Remus was grinning as he brushed ineffectually at the water all over his shirt and slicked his hair back with wet hands.

"I'll get a towel," Dora said briskly, rising from her chair, but Remus stood faster, and caught her attention.

"First," he said quietly, "I have to do this."

"What?" Dora asked. Remus lunged forward and Draco braced for it -- here it came, the laughter was just nervous anxiety --

"Rrrrawr!" Remus roared, and tackled the young Auror in a freezing, wet hug. She squawked as he bowled her over, and when he helped her off the floor she was nearly as damp as himself. Everyone was laughing, now, and Draco hesitantly joined in.

Dora scrambled out of the room, apparently to look for towels, and Remus dropped back into his seat, squelching a bit.

"Honestly, Remus, you're as bad as Sirius and the children," Andromeda scolded. "Imagine, manhandling Dora that way."

"Yes, what are your motives towards my daughter?" Ted grinned.

"Nothing but honourable affection," Remus replied. "Harry's said on more than one occasion that he's going to marry her, though."

Harry turned red, and Remus picked up the water jug. "Here, Harry, have some water..."

Four or five feeble drops spilled out into Harry's glass, and everyone started laughing again.

Well, Draco thought, it seemed to be a very...informal sort of household.

***

Andromeda, being a tidy sort of person, had gone through the Black library and sorted out the useless from the useful and the damaged from the whole. The books which hadn't been sold or (and here Harry, having inherited Remus' love of books for books' sake, winced) thrown out, were arranged neatly on the old library's shelves in a large storage space that had once been Jupiter Black's study. There was a carton in the corner marked "Sirius" which Andromeda had said they were not to look into on pain of a hexing, but otherwise nothing was forbidden.

"Andromeda never let me come in here alone before," Neville said, holding up a candle to the nearest row of books. "She said they're all harmless, but if I tried any of them without a wand I could get into trouble."

"None of these are Dark Arts books, though," Harry said, a little disappointedly. "She must have gotten rid of them."

"Reckon so," Neville agreed. "All right, where do we start?"

"Books about philosophers?" Harry suggested. "The book on Professor Snape's desk was about the Philosopher's Stone, and I heard him...mention it once," he added lamely.

"I don't see why they'd get a whacking great three-headed dog to guard a rock," Draco muttered. "Why don't we just ask someone?"

"Because that would let on that we know," Harry said patiently, "and we don't know who to trust. Professor Snape'd throw an awful fit if he found out I'd been spying on his work. I'll look for books about philosophers and Neville can look for books about rocks, and Draco, you look for books about unicorns."

"Unicorns?" Draco asked. "Why'm I stuck with books about pansy unicorns?"

"I want to know why anyone'd want to bite one," Harry said firmly. "Off you go then. I wonder what happened to the comic books Sirius hid in the window-seat."

"Andromeda gave 'em to me," Neville said, as he wandered down the rows. "Do you think he wants them back?"

"Doubt it. Can I borrow some?" Harry asked.

"Sure. I like Rupert the Vampire Slayer the best," Neville called. "It's got all the most interesting murders in it. They still print it -- Dora buys it for me sometimes. She likes William the Bloody better though."

They lapsed into silence as they searched, only making triumphant noises when they found something that looked useful, or calling out to one another to ask opinions.

"I've found mine," Draco said smugly. "Listen to this. The horns and tail hairs of unicorns are used in many different potions and are popular wand-cores in Great Britain. Horns and hair are harvested only from unicorns which have died or shed naturally."

"What's that got to do with biting one?" Neville asked.

"I don't think it was biting, wait till I'm done. The blood of a unicorn is silver and is only used in the darkest of spellcasting or as a cure for those near death. However, killing a unicorn is considered by the Magical community to be a monstrous act which calls down a curse upon the murderer. The blood may preserve the killer, but the price is believed to be a cursed half-life of the spirit."

"Someone was drinking its blood, not biting it," Harry said in a hushed voice. "Someone who was going to die if they didn't."

"I'm never going in that rotten forest again," Neville announced, "Not for love or Galleons."

Just then Draco gave a startled exclamation. "Have you seen this thing back here?"

"What is it?" Harry asked, leaning around a shelf. "Where are you?"

"All the way in the back -- " Draco was interrupted by the crash of some boxes, " -- ow. There's some huge thing on the wall back here."

"Urgh, squash it," Neville said.

"No, it's not a bug, it's a tapestry," Draco said scornfully, as Harry approached. "We have 'em all over at home. Hold up your light, Neville."

"The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Toujours Pur," Harry read. "What's it doing way in the back here?"

"Andromeda probably didn't want to throw it away," Neville said. "I bet it goes back to the Founders, almost."

"There's Phineas Nigellus," Harry said.

"Who?" Neville and Draco asked.

"Most unpopular headmaster at Hogwarts," Harry sighed. "Listen, I didn't have very many books about wizards at home, I had to make do with what I had and Hogwarts, A History is really quite worth reading -- "

"Andromeda's not on here," Neville said. "Look, neither is Sirius, there's burnt patches where they belong."

"There's Regulus though," Harry said. "He was killed, Remus told me. Sirius doesn't talk about him."

"It must be enchanted -- look, Draco, there's you!"

"Me?" Draco demanded, leaning closer. Sure enough, one of the only names at the very bottom of the tapestry read Draco Black Pur Malfoy. "Look, there's my father, and there's the bit where Aunt Andromeda would go if she hadn't been burned out."

"And there's Bellatrix," Harry said quietly. Neville let out a quiet whine of fear. "It must be charmed, I bet nobody's touched it since Sirius' mum died, but it's been kept up."

"There's only me and two others on our line," Draco said.

"Aren't very many purebloods left," Harry shrugged. "Remus said it's down to breeding."

Draco stuck out his jaw. "What your godfather's valet says about my family -- "

"It's my family too, and he's not his valet, so there," Harry retorted. "Sirius has been my dad for longer than my real dad got to be, and Remus too. I didn't say anything about your family, at least nothing worse than you've said."

"Lads, are you done down here yet? There's snow on the ground in Diagon Alley -- "

Sirius' voice drifted down the stacks, growing louder as he neared the last shelf. When he saw what they were standing in front of, his face went blank.

"Come away from that," he said. "At once."

Harry and Neville hurried forward, out into the long aisle; Draco gave his father's name -- and Sirius' burnt-out one -- a last backwards glance before he followed. Sirius reached out a hand to draw Draco away from it, and the pale-haired boy gave him a startled look.

"There's no good in studying things like that," Sirius said, voice cold -- though Harry suspected it was suppressed fear rather than anger at the boys. "Some history is better forgotten."

There was a silence, then, and Harry felt Sirius' hand on his head, pulling him close for an instant before he drew a deep breath and said, in a falsely cheerful voice, "Come along then, there's snow in Diagon Alley and Florian Fortescue's having a snowman-making contest. Winners get free hot chocolate."

Harry noticed, as they left, that Sirius locked the door behind them.

***

They didn't venture back into the storage room before the holiday was over; every time one of them would suggest it, the other two would sit silently for a while before agreeing that it wasn't worth annoying Sirius over.

Still, despite their curiousity, they enjoyed their holiday; there were innumerable shopping trips with Andromeda, cooking things that almost never came out the way they ought to with Ted, and streetcorner singing with Dora -- who now had the benefit of three small boys who could set their caps out, instead of just one. The day Sirius came along, he got six times as many coins in his cap as everyone else combined, and Remus sulked for two days about all the floo contact numbers he got with them.

There were also adventures in Muggle London with Remus and Sirius; Draco, who had never set foot inside a Muggle shop, stayed close by his cousin Sirius, but then he tended to do that anyway. Andromeda confided to Sirius a few days before Christmas that it looked like he'd picked up a pale shadow.

Christmas morning, Harry woke first, and bounded into the other bedroom in their flat, landing on Sirius' stomach and nearly knocking them both off the bed. Remus moaned and hid under a pillow, but Sirius, after a moment or two of sleepy confusion, roared about young boys whose presents could still be transfigured into coal, and joined Harry in a race downstairs to see who could get to Neville and Draco's room first. On the way they woke up Andromeda and Ted, who stumbled out of bed just in time to blame Remus for it as he came down the stairs.

Ted disappeared into the kitchen briefly to make tea, while the boys shook their wrapped gifts and Andromeda fetched Dora from her flat through the floo portal; Remus went back to sleep on Sirius' shoulder while Neville opened his first gift from Ted, a box with hidden compartments in it for games and things. Harry's first gift turned out to be magical drawing pencils, self-sharpening and guaranteed never to break. Draco, surprised at the oversized pile of gifts with his name on them -- wrapped in sparkling yellow paper, like Harry's green and Neville's red -- discovered a bone tie-pin in the shape of a badger's head and a magical, flame-illuminated booklight that would stick to anything he pressed it against.

The boys were far too busy showing off their gifts to each other, by the time the adults got around to opening theirs, to pay much attention; besides, it was all silly things like umbrellas and scarves and, in Dora's case, a necklace charmed to look like a lizard's tail, perfect for wearing out on her nights off.

It was undoubtedly a good thing that they didn't notice some of the gifts. When Remus opened the package wrapped in expensive but plain cream paper and peered inside, he blushed immediately and closed the box back up again, trying not to choke at Sirius' whispered suggestion that he practice his painting skills with caramel, and preferably a three-dimensional canvas.

"Be good during dinner," Remus murmured, "and you might be lucky enough to model."

"Draco, you look lost in that thing," Ted called, across Harry and Neville's excited chattering over a self-propelling kite kit that Harry was trying to assemble. "All right there, lad?"

Draco looked up and smiled happily; the jumper he was wearing was a size too big, but he'd assured Dora that he liked it and would grow into it.

"There's a lot of presents," he answered. "Mum even sent me a book, and some shoes." He held up a book entitled A Young Wizard's Guide To Etiquette. Sirius snorted with laughter. "Do you think Mum got her present in time?"

"I'm sure she did, and in the meanwhile thank goodness for indulgent aunts. Shoes indeed," Ted said. "Bring that Muggle toy here and let's see it, I used to play with this kind of thing all the time when I was a kid."

Draco obediently rose and began showing off his new box of "Legos" to Ted and Sirius, who was intrigued by what precisely Muggles were on about, playing with little bricks that snapped together. Draco seemed to like the squarish, cylinder-headed little people especially.

When Sirius leaned back so that Harry could join in the fun, Andromeda bent over the back of the couch and whispered in his ear, "Did Remus talk to you about dinner?"

Sirius groaned. "Yes, he told me about dinner, I promise to behave."

"You promise, Sirius? Because if the two of you ruin Christmas dinner over some silly fight that should have ended ages ago -- "

"I'll keep to my side of the table if he keeps to his," Sirius said sullenly. "Though I don't see why we have to spoil the whole dinner by inviting some cranky, irritable -- "

"Severus is my friend, Sirius, and he's a friend of our family. I've tried to make allowances for the little feud you two have kept going, Merlin knows why, but he hasn't got very many friends and I won't see him be alone on Christmas."

Sirius gave her a defiant look, but kept quiet; Andromeda was, after all, the de facto matriarch of the Black clan, and Remus had offered him a tempting bribe if he was good.

Once the boys had shown off all their new things and they'd cleared away the remnants of the wrapping paper, they bundled up and ventured outside for brunch in Sosi Alley; it was a clear, crisp day, and Dora ran ahead with Neville and Harry, singing carols and annoying those who had hoped for a Christmas lie-in. Draco hung back a bit, content to walk between Sirius and Andromeda and occasionally take out the compass Sirius had given him, which, rather than pointing North like Muggle compasses, pointed in the direction of wherever he wanted to go so long as he knew where the place was.

Andromeda exchanged a grin over his head with Sirius, right before Dora threw a snowball that nearly knocked Sirius off his feet with surprise, and the tranquil family moment was broken up by an epic snowball fight the likes of which Diagon Alley would never see again.

***

Severus Snape was not, normally, given to shyness; then again, he was not usually placed in situations where he didn't know the people present, or couldn't intimidate them. Andromeda and Ted, however, were his friends and had utterly refused to be intimidated by him; hence, he was still, after two years, slightly...skittish, whenever he arrived at their house. All the more so because the children would be there, and so would Sirius Black.

He had promised Andromeda he wouldn't needle Black, though it was ridiculously easy to do so; she'd promised the man would behave himself, and while Lupin would also be there, normally if left alone he was harmless enough.

Still, he tightened his grip on the packages he carried -- a bottle of wine in one hand and a small wooden box with airholes drilled in the top in the other -- and stepped out of the floo, into the warm living room of the Tonks household.

"Severus!" Andromeda called, from the kitchen doorway. "Prompt as usual."

"Andromeda," he said, coming forward and allowing her to accept the wine and kiss his cheek. "I trust you've had a good Christmas."

"It was wonderful. How is everyone at Hogwarts?"

"Well, so far as I'm aware." He presented her with the wooden box, and she laughed.

"Thank you for doing that. You know I'm hopeless when it comes to animals. Come into the dining room, we're just setting the table."

He followed her dutifully into a room filled with noise, crashing, and children, as well as most of his living enemies.

"Severus," Remus said politely, holding out a hand. He shook it, reluctantly, then shared a mutually malevolent glare with Sirius before turning to the children.

"Look, Neville, Severus brought you your last present," Andromeda said. "We asked him to pick it out for you. Go on, open it."

Harry grinned and gave his Professor a little wave; Draco and Neville were peering interestedly at the box, trying to figure out how to unlatch it. Finally Neville pulled out the latchpin and lifted the lid.

"GROSS!" said Draco delightedly.

"What is it?" Sirius asked.

"S'a toad!" Neville squeaked, lifting it out carefully. One leg kicked rebelliously until he collected it up into his hand. "Ooooh."

"Now he won't be constantly asking to play with Snake," Harry teased.

"All right, who wants -- haven't you lot finished setting the table yet?" Ted sighed, as he appeared in the doorway. Hovering behind him was a basket of rolls and a large dish of cranberry sauce.

"Neville got a toad!" Harry exclaimed.

"Yes! Well done Severus, he looks very healthy. Put him back in the box, Neville, we're about to eat," Ted said briskly. "Dora, the goose?"

Everyone, Snape included, looked anxious about this, but Nymphadora solved the problem by floating the platter through the doorway, without moving from the spot she was in.

"Er," Snape said, as they were seating themselves. "I was also given parcels for Harry and Draco, from the house-elves."

"The house-elves?" Andromeda asked curiously.

"Yes," Snape said drily. He produced a small, crumpled-looking package from his trouser pocket, and a rather larger one from the pocket of his discarded cloak.

"To Harry, From a Friend, do not open until alone," Harry read aloud, off the tag of the larger one.

"It's been checked for hexes," Snape muttered.

"That was good of you," Andromeda said, smiling indulgently at Ted as he carved the goose.

"Who's that one from?" Harry asked Draco, laughing as he slid his own package under his chair for safekeeping. "It certainly looks like it's been wrapped by a house elf!"

Draco looked for a tag, but finding nothing, tore the paper -- which was glued shut, rather than spelled or taped somehow. He took out the crumpled object inside, and unfolded it carefully.

"It's a hat!" Neville exclaimed.

"Made out of socks," Dora added, staring at it.

"Full of marzipan!" Draco squeaked, removing a smaller package from inside the hat.

"Look, with little..." Harry leaned over and examined the small embroidered figures dancing around the edge of the hat, which did appear to be made out of sock-shapes.

"Dancing...house-elves..." Draco said.

"It's hideous," Snape observed.

"But in a stunning sort of way," Dora added.

"Look, you can tell who they are," Draco said. "That's Mendy and Dobby and there's Denbigh and Merion and Radnor in the muffler he made out of butcher's twine..."

"Goose!" Ted said, effectively ending the conversation. Draco, looking rather secretly pleased, slipped the hat onto his head and proudly ate his entire dinner in the company of a string of tiny dancing house-elves.

Addendum: Caramel

"Hummm," Sirius Black, heir to the Black fortunes and last son of the name, flopped backwards onto the scarlet quilt on the bed he shared with Remus and threw his arms over his head. "Long day."

"Indeed," Remus said, from the dresser, where he was undoing the buttons on his shirt. "Would have been shorter if you and Harry didn't have us all awake at seven in the morning."

"I think seven in the morning shows admirable restraint. When he was younger it used to be five."

"Good God, I remember that Christmas, but only through a haze of sleep deprivation and repeated demands for tea," Remus said, chuckling. He folded his shirt and tossed it into the laundry basket, while Sirius, already in his boxers, laughed in agreement.

"I think you also, speaking of admirable restraint, were very good at dinner tonight," Remus continued. "And I must say it was almost good to see Severus again."

"You're lying."

"No; he's been good to Harry, and we were quite rotten to him, you know, when we were children."

"He was rotten to us."

"Yes, but we were stronger than he was. Unfair advantage," Remus admonished, hanging up his belt on the little rack near his chair. The other chair, by dint of being the one Padfoot liked to shed on, was Sirius'. "That's not the point, anyhow."

"And what is the point, Professor Lupin?"

Remus laughed. "The point," he said, "is that you were very good this evening, and I have a reward for you."

"I like the sound of that," Sirius said, warm from the after-dinner wine and lazy from an evening spent minding three eleven-year-old boys.

"Close your eyes, then," Remus answered, and Sirius obediently shut his eyes. There was a soft noise, like the scrape of metal on glass -- oh lord, the lid of the caramel body-paint he'd bought for Remus' Christmas present -- and then something touched his lips. A finger smeared thick caramel across them, then a hand caught his chin when he automatically opened his mouth to lick it away.

"No, Pads," Remus said softly in his ear, and he felt trouser-clad legs straddle his hips. He closed his mouth obediently. "This part's mine."

Remus sucked on his lower lip, tongue skating along it, cleaning the sweet syrup away before deepening the kiss. Sirius tasted it only as an afterthought in Remus' mouth, hungrily. He brought his hands up to twine in the hair a shade darker than the caramel -- it had caught his eye because it was nearly the colour of Remus' hair -- but the other man tsked and pulled away.

"You're not supposed to move," he whispered, but when Sirius obediently laid his hands back above his head, Remus caught his left hand, and picked up the small brush that had come with the pot of caramel.

Sirius moaned as Remus painted a line down his index finger, carefully, and then turned the hand over, drawing a small circle in the centre of his palm before licking it all away.

"Barely get a taste of it that way," Remus murmured against his palm, shifting his hips a little; Sirius could feel his erection, a tight hardness in the trousers that were rough on his suddenly sensitive skin.

"Don't I taste good enough?" Sirius asked laughingly, and Remus spread another layer of caramel on his lower lip to silence him. This time he didn't even try to lick it off before it was kissed away, and then there were other warm, wet kisses down his throat.

"Here we are," Remus murmured, at the edge of a hollow where the clavicles met, just below the dog collar Sirius never took off. Once it had been habit; now, it was a promise of sorts. Remus liked it. A lot.

Remus dipped the brush again and drizzled the caramel lightly, lapping it up with long, slow strokes of his tongue.

"Moony -- "

"Shh," Remus admonished, kissing him again. The taste was stronger now, sweet with a hint of sharpness, like Remus -- dangerous under his harmless appearance. "You were so good at dinner," he said, as the brush moved over the shape of his animagus tattoo, "It'd be awful to have to stop with your reward now."

"Mm, don't stop," Sirius wriggled a little, and Remus, leaning over to put the brush back, moaned.

"Mischevious dog," he said, starting at the bottom of the tattoo and kissing his way upwards. When he reached the crossbars he went beyond them, nibbling gently on first one nipple, then the other, while Sirius writhed underneath him and tried to stay silent.

"I think," Remus added, his warmth vanishing for a moment, "this is quite -- " Sirius did moan as his boxers were removed and cast aside, " -- the best Christmas present I've ever unwrapped."

Sirius laughed, then gasped when he felt the brush tickle his inner thigh -- no caramel on it, this time, just a caress followed by the warm slide of a hand, holding him gently to the bed. He opened his eyes and saw Remus, tousel-haired, now quite naked, and licking his lips. The sight very nearly undid him.

"You'll never get your present," Remus continued, "If you don't close your eyes."

Sirius closed his eyes again, then felt them nearly roll up in his head when Remus put one hand on his hip and used the thumb of his other hand to smear caramel across the tip of his cock, around the head and down the sensitive vein on the underside. He was almost ready for the tongue that licked it up, in even swipes that made his skin tingle and his blood pound, but the light, gentle scrape of teeth caught him by surprise.

"Sweet," Remus murmured, pulling back a little so that the words vibrated against his cock. Fingers brushed against him again, and this time instead of licking up the caramel they left behind, Remus slipped his lips around him and sucked gently, and Sirius reached for him, cupping the back of his head, running fingers through his caramel-brown hair. Remus didn't notice, or if he did the time for reprimands was over; instead he sucked a little again, head bobbing gently, tongue working slowly. Sirius bucked and gasped and tried to be quiet but when Remus hummed a little he broke and came, moaning loudly.

He felt warm weight move up his body, and then that mouth on his again, tasting of himself and caramel.

"You taste sweet," Remus whispered, when the kiss ended. He nuzzled his cheek a little, and then added, "But if you're that loud again we'll wake Harry."

"Good education for the boy," Sirius mumbled happily.

"Traumatise him," Remus answered. Sirius, feeling hard heat against his hip, drew up one leg invitingly, but Remus took his hand and twined their fingers together instead, wrapping them around himself and stroking lightly. Sirius took the hint and tightened his fingers just slightly, and Remus made a pleased noise deep in his throat that Sirius only ever heard when they were in bed together, and even then --

Well, he'd done a lot in order to hear that noise, over the past two years.

"Lovely reward," he murmured, as Remus moaned and made the noise again. "I'm glad you enjoyed your present."

"Mmm...yes...."

"Easy now. Like that?"

"Sirius -- " Remus let out a much quieter, sharper cry than Sirius' moan, and his hips bucked forward and he came while Sirius murmured nonsense in his ear, reassuring and pleased, voice low. After a moment he reached for his wand to clean them up, and Remus curled close.

"Such a good dog," he yawned, nuzzling the collar at Sirius' throat. Sirius drifted a hand up to smooth his hair against his temple, and rolled the edges of the quilt over them, wrapping his other arm around Remus in the process.

"Your dog," he answered, and Remus smiled against his skin as he drifted off.

Chapter 15

In this chapter, I have used text verbatim from The Philosopher's Stone. In this instance, the card attached to Harry's cloak and the research Padma provides are quoted directly from canon.

***

That evening, the adults (minus Professor Snape, who said he had to at least put in an appearance at the Hogwarts Christmas dinner) talked and drank wine around the fire. The boys played with their gifts for a while, until Harry whispered something to Neville and Draco, and they snuck away upstairs to his room. After he'd closed the door, Harry took out the package Snape had given him earlier.

"I thought it said you should open it when you were alone," Neville said nervously.

"They didn't mean you," Harry scoffed. "You're my mates. They meant...grownups and all."

"How do you know?"

"Hush, Neville, I want to see what it is," Draco nudged him in the ribs as they watched Harry tear off the wrapping-paper. Shimmering cloth, thin and slick, spilled out over his hands. Draco gasped.

"Is that really -- " he began, looking to Harry for permission before touching the fabric, carefully.

"Really what?" Harry asked.

"If it is, it's got to be worth a fortune," Draco continued. "My mum's been looking for one forever."

"What is it, Draco?" Neville asked.

Draco lifted the fabric out of Harry's hands. "Go on, stand up," he said, shaking it out. It looked like a cloak, large enough to fit a grown man; Harry stood obediently and Draco hung it on his shoulders, then came around the front to close it at his throat.

"Merlin," Neville said reverently.

"Look down," Draco ordered, and Harry yelped.

"My body's gone!"

"That's an invisibility cloak!" Neville said delightedly. "Pull the hood up!"

Harry reached behind him and pulled the cowl of the cloak over his eyes.

"You've gone," Draco said. "Brilliant. They're really rare, Harry."

"Look, this fell out when you unwrapped the cloak," Neville said, picking up a slip of paper. "Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you. No signature."

Harry lifted the cowl and took the cloak off, reverently, fingers slipping through the silky mass as he folded it.

"My father," he said, awed. "I haven't got hardly anything of his -- just photos Remus and Sirius gave me..."

"Got a lot more now," Neville said. "Just think of what you can do with that, Harry."

"No more running from Filch!" Draco laughed. "With that you could walk right past him and he'd never know."

"Who do you suppose sent it?" Neville mused. "Can't be Professor Snape, he hated your dad, I heard Andromeda say so -- "

"Quick, hide it," Draco said. "Someone's on the stairs."

Harry slipped the cloak under his school shirts in his trunk, just as there was a knock on the door.

"Harry?" Sirius called. "What're you doing up here, you're far too quiet!"

"Just getting my chessboard, Sirius!" Harry called, and Neville and Draco snickered.

"Oh splendid, shall we have a game?" Sirius asked, when Harry opened the door. "Who's it going to be, you and me? Or were you challenging Draco?"

"You and me," Harry said, grinning as he rummaged under his bed for the chessboard. The pieces complained loudly when he got to his feet and they rattled in their box.

"Good Christmas, then?" Sirius asked, following the boys down the stairs.

"Very good Christmas," Harry answered, firmly, thinking of the silver-grey cloak in his trunk upstairs.

***

Dear Harry, Neville, and Draco,

I hope you three are well. I am fine; it's been clear out lately so I've been escaping to the garden while Parvati distracts my family.

She says to say hello to Neville.

It was nice to see you and Mr&Ms Tonks and Mr Black and Mr Lupin last week at Diagon Alley.

Please tell Mr Black that the seeds I was buying have sprouted already. Also my mum likes him awfully, and Ms Tonks too.

Mr Lupin is very quiet, isn't he? Is he that quiet all the time, Harry?

Tell him thank you for showing me the little greenhouse in Madam Schaeffer's shop, it works very well.

I hope everyone had a nice Christmas. Thank you for the card and the sweets.

Parvati's already stolen some, but I got back at her by putting some of the licorice spiders in her bed.

If she wants sweets she can have them, right?

She just about jumped out of her nightclothes when one crawled up her leg. Thanks, Draco, I know those were your idea.

You'll never guess what I got for Christmas, so I won't tell you, but you'll know when you see me.

Are we meeting at the train station? If so would you please buy two new Ravenclaw ties and I'll pay you back, mine are all worn.

Please write back soon since it's awfully boring here,

Padma

***

They were late getting to the station for the train ride back to Hogwarts, since Neville's toad had got lost again. Half an hour of calling Trevor! all over the old town-house finally produced a half-hearted croak from a kitchen cupboard, where Trevor had somehow managed to climb into a saucepan and was unable to get out. Sirius ran off with an overloaded trolley to get their luggage on the train while Andromeda shooed the boys towards the tail-end of the boarding line and kissed them each goodbye, double-checking to make sure they had money for the snack trolley.

The train jolted into motion just as they found themselves in the corridor, and Neville, who had Trevor clutched in both hands, fell over onto Draco; Harry caught them both and pushed them upright, checking to make sure Snake -- who had spent most of the last two months hibernating -- was still safe in his pocket. They stumbled down the rows of compartments until Harry caught sight of Padma in an otherwise empty one, and they all piled inside.

"I almost thought you'd be left behind," she said, clutching a box on her lap, "and I had to be quite sharp with Nott to keep him from stealing the compartment."

"Thanks," Neville said, flopping down on the bench next to Padma while Draco and Harry arranged themselves on the facing seats. "Does it smell strange in here to you?"

Harry sniffed. "Sort of like a spice shop?" he suggested. Padma giggled. "What's so funny?"

Padma opened the box, and the strong scent of peppers and fire filled the compartment. Neville wrinkled his nose and put Trevor in his pocket, but Harry leaned forward interestedly.

Inside the box was a small, luminescent lizard, white with pale blue mottled spots, gnawing happily on a tiny red pepper. When Harry's shadow fell over it, it looked up and made a sort of crackling noise. Padma scooped it up -- Draco winced as though she might burn herself -- and held it in the palm of her hand.

"He's a salamander," she said, as the small creature curled up on her palm and glowed. Harry thought if he looked hard enough he could see the red pepper in its tiny stomach. "I got him for Christmas. Our parents said we could each get a pet for Christmas. Parvati got a kitten."

"Great," Neville muttered. "Anastasia Brott's cat already shreds my socks every time she brings it down to the common room."

"Is she the fifth-year with the pigtails?" Draco asked.

"That's her."

"Well, Elmo is much less trouble than a boring old kitten," Padma said affectionately. "Though he did keep setting fire to my ties, but he can't help it. When he gets nervous he gets all hot."

"I thought salamanders only lived inside fires," Neville said, leaning forward to put himself on eye level with the small creature.

"I've never seen a magical salamander," Harry said cautiously, "But most normal salamanders live in...wet logs and things."

"As long as he's not in his fire I have to keep feeding him peppers," Padma said. "I've got a little jar of fire mum charmed for me -- he's going to live there, when I get it set up in the dormitory -- but I had to pack it in my trunk." She eased Elmo back into the box and shut the lid after giving him another pepper and a reassuring pat. "What'd you get, Neville -- is that a toad?"

"Oh, yeah," Neville said cheerfully, producing Trevor, who eyed Padma suspiciously and then licked his own eyeball. Harry and Draco, who had not yet tired of this trick, said "Yuck!" enthusiastically.

"You can do all sorts of neat things with toads," Padma said approvingly. Neville looked vaguely worried at her tone. "I mean. They're very good familiars, is what I hear, since they don't get scared easily."

"Oh," Neville said, relieved. "I thought you meant...bits of toads."

"Well, that too," Padma agreed. "Listen, did you find anything out while you were at home? You know, about...what we talked about?"

"Not much," Harry said glumly. "Draco found out that if you drink a unicorn's blood it'll save your life, but you'll be cursed. Then Sirius caught us looking at his old family tapestry and locked us out."

"Such a shame," Padma said. Then she gave them a wicked grin and produced a sheet of parchment. The other three bent over it, reading.

The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make any drinker immoral.

The only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty eight).

"It makes the drinker immoral?" Draco asked, confused.

"Sounds like firewhiskey," Harry grinned.

"Imm -- no," Padma said, snatching the sheet. "That should be immortal, sorry, I was copying in the dark. I had to sneak into Dad's study to find it, I tried looking in my mum's bookshelf but it's all Eastern magic, there wasn't anything about the Philosopher's Stone at all."

"Eastern magic?" Draco inquired.

"Yeah, mum did an advanced degree. Lots of...'different' magic, meditation, that kind of thing," Padma said offhandedly. "She says she'd like to come teach a class at Hogwarts about it, only the Board of Governors are dead set against it."

"Urgh, imagine having to take a class from your parents!" Neville said. "That'd be like...like having Andromeda teach us."

"Or Remus!" Harry laughed.

"Why's the Board of Governors against it?" Draco asked. "My mum's a member. She never goes, though."

"I think they don't like it because it doesn't fit," Padma said. "I mean, not using wands or Latin, or anything."

"Huh," Harry said. "Anyway, least now we know. S'cool, isn't it? I'd like to be immortal. Reckon we need to do some more research? Maybe there's another one somewhere."

"Done all the reading Professor Snape gave you?" Padma asked, grinning.

"Almost. It's really boring, though, and it's not about potions at all," Harry said.

"What's it about then?"

"This and that," Harry replied vaguely.

"Go on Harry, show her what you got for Christmas," Draco said, elbowing him. Harry stood up and reached for the small bag he'd brought on the train with him, drawing the invisibility cloak out. Padma gasped as Harry pulled it on and vanished.

"No more sneaking around the corridors!" Neville announced happily.

"It is wonderful Harry, did your godfather give it to you?" Padma asked.

"That's the best part! It's a secret. The house-elves gave it to Professor Snape, who gave it to me, but the card didn't say who it was really from," Harry said, taking off the cloak and re-folding it. "Go on and show her your hat, Draco."

Draco produced his house-elf hat, and Padma shrieked with laughter until one of the prefects had to tell them to settle down.

***

That night, after the feast and the homecoming and the settling-in, Harry sat on his bed, lost in thought. The other boys had gone to bed; Crabbe and Goyle gorged on the rich dinner, Theo out of boredom since his two goons were snoring away, and Blaise after a few minutes' conversation with Harry about their respective holidays.

The moon outside was waxing, and would be full in about a week; he thought about Remus, who had undergone a Change just before Christmas, and how he ought to get started on another long letter. There wouldn't be much to tell, but he'd fill at least fourteen inches of parchment somehow. Perhaps he could draw him a map of Hogwarts. Remus liked maps; back when they'd owned Sandust, he'd kept a collection of vintage maps in a case in the back.

In fact, he could map out quite a lot of Hogwarts, if he could wander around at night, unseen...

He grinned and got off the bed, opening his bag quietly and removing the cloak. It swirled and settled over his shoulders lightly, and he pulled the cowl down low to hide his face. The edges of it pooled in front of his feet, but if he hitched it up a little over his shoulders...

He turned to the mirror near the door; nothing. Not a ripple in the air or the blur of an outline to suggest where he might be. His father must have done this, once; up in the Gryffindor tower, checking to make sure his feet didn't show underneath it. His father's cloak. He would have been happy if it had been just a Hogwarts school cloak, really; he would never have asked that something of his father's would be so useful, as well.

He could go exploring all he wanted, and when he got back he'd draw Remus a map of where he'd been.

If his father had used this, maybe Remus and Sirius had too, once. The thought of them, sneaking around Hogwarts like he was about to do, made him grin happily and invisibly as he pushed the dormitory door open and passed through the common room, out to the labyrinth of hallways in the dungeon. Light shone out from under the door in Professor Snape's rooms, and Harry was glad he hadn't worn shoes.

He made his way up the stairs and into the ground-floor corridor, stopping in front of the main staircase. From here he could go anywhere; up to Gryffindor tower, back to the stairwell where they'd encountered Fluffy, even right past Filch's office if he liked. Before he could decide, however, he heard footsteps on the stone behind him.

He hung back against a wall as Professor Snape came into view, carrying a lantern in one hand and his slim quill-and-ink case in the other. Innate curiosity combined with hero-worship was no match for an eleven-year-old's sense of discretion, and he followed, almost running to keep up with Snape's long stride. By the time they reached Snape's apparent goal, the library, Harry was out of breath and trying not to pant too loudly.

Another child might have balked, but Harry was at home in the unlit stacks; he had never understood why his fellow children found the darkened library frightening. Sandust had been the safest place he'd ever lived. He stepped through the door in Snape's wake, and only hesitated when the professor strode without pause into the Restricted Section.

He watched as Snape slowed, walking down the aisle with deliberate patience, clearly looking for something. His pale fingers drifted over the covers of books without touching them, and in the dark the three jagged marks on his right temple seemed almost black.

Harry stepped slowly into the off-limits area, and when no alarms sounded, inched his way down the aisle to peer under Snape's elbow. He'd found the 200s, and Harry cast his mind back to the orientation on the Derwent Decimal System -- Magical Lore. He touched one binding, then shook his head and took the one next to it. Harry ducked away as he turned and moved to sit at a nearby study table, opening the book and unrolling a narrow sheet of parchment from inside his quill-case. Harry moved closer, peering at the book.

Looking back on it later, he realised he must have been breathing hard, still, and hadn't noticed that he was not absolutely silent; he also didn't notice Snape's fingers creeping towards the wand lying on the table next to the quill-case until Snape snatched it up and turned in his seat, shouting "Expelliarmus!"

Fortunately Snape's aim was wide, and Harry turned and fled while several books flew out of the nearby shelf and began to shriek. He heard Snape's boots on stone and knew he was being pursued; Filch threw the door to the library open just before Harry reached it, and he dodged past the caretaker, bolting down the hallway as fast as he could go.

Behind him, Snape yelled something in alarm, and he glanced over his shoulder in time to see the two men tumble together into the hallway. Snape was up in an instant and following him, and Harry gulped down the noise of his breathing, trying to run as lightly as possibly. Filch shouted and followed after; Harry came to a turn in the hallway and went left down the better-lit corridor, which proved to be a mistake, as Snape saw the torches flicker in the rush of air as he ran past, and followed again.

Harry had no doubt that if he were caught this time, extra reading would be the least of his worries.

He darted up a flight of stairs but the boards creaked -- clearly invisibility wasn't everything -- and then down another dim hallway, this one unlit. A suit of armor loomed up on his left and he slipped past it into the niche it was situated in, crouching behind tarnished silver kneeplates and trying not to make a sound. At the end of the hallway Snape stopped, listened intently, looked around carefully, and then cursed violently. Filch's footsteps on the stone drowned out Harry's quick breaths for a moment, and then their conversation echoed back to him.

"We've lost it," Snape said, angrily. "Whatever it was."

"Spectre perhaps?"

"I doubt it. There's no reason for any of the ghosts, visible or not, to spy on my personal research."

"And it's dark times," Filch said dourly, as they began to walk back towards Harry. "A bad business, this. Shall I keep looking?"

"Very little point, now. I'll speak to the Headmaster in the morning."

"I don't like it. First that bloody troll, then someone upsetting Fluffy and a unicorn being killed in the forest -- "

"Two."

"Two?"

"Hagrid," and Snape's voice was lightly tinged with distaste for the fumbling, overly-large groundskeeper, "found another one. It managed to escape -- whoever was pursuing it -- but the wounds were too great."

"And the attack on the Potter boy," Filch continued. "Not that that one couldn't use a -- "

"I would appreciate if you did not malign my students to my face," Snape said sharply, and Harry, clutching the stitch in his side, grinned just a little.

"I'll feel better when the last ward is in place on the Stone, is all. Bloody Flamel saddling us with this -- someone's sneakin' around after it, that much's clear."

"I'm handling the situation."

"Dumbledore ought'a -- "

"I'm handling the situation," Snape snapped. "I should think after ten years on the school staff my discretion and judgement would be trusted."

They turned the corner to head down the stairs again, and Harry didn't hear Filch's reply; he counted to two hundred, just in case, and then slowly slunk out of the little display niche, careful not to disturb the armor at all.

He was in an unfamiliar corridor, perhaps a wing of the castle where the upper-level classes were taught; next to him was the doorway to what looked like an unused classroom, full of desks and chairs piled together in a heap. There was a strange light on the ceiling, like the reflection off something shiny, and Harry peered through the doorway, looking for its source.

It turned out to be a tall, gold-framed mirror, shoved off into one corner. It was oval-shaped, and two small rods protruding from either side attached it to the stand, which looked like it was made to resemble horse's legs, with hooves instead of the usual claw-feet one normally saw on old furniture.

There was a single word carved across the top:

Y N I T S E D

He was too far to one side to see his own reflection, but he could see part of the mirror itself; although it reflected light from the moonlit windows onto the ceiling, the glass surface was full of black, roiling smoke, like thunderclouds ahead of the wind. Only on the edges did he see the reflections of things in the room -- a flicker of shadowy desk, or arched window.

He made his way across the floor, towards it, pulling off the cowl as he did so. He breathed easier when the fresh, cool air of the room hit his face, and turned fully to the mirror to see what his floating head looked like. Instead, the smoke behind the glass began to shift frantically, as though it was conscious of his presence and frightened by it, and after a moment of furious movement, it dissipated.

Harry gasped and clutched at his collarbone; the mirror had shown him his whole body, even though in reality most of it was still under the cloak. In the reflection his shirt was torn open, the old scar Peter Pettigrew had left on his chest dribbling blood down over his skin --

His fingers, expecting warm blood, found only the slick chill of the invisibility cloak, and he pulled it off. Underneath his shirt was whole, and he shed that too, until he was looking down at his own bare chest, where the scar was as thin and pale as ever. There was no blood.

He looked up at the mirror again, and the smoke whirled across once more; now he looked older somehow, taller and more lanky. His hands, held in front of him, now reflected back covered in blood, though he could clearly see that his real hands were pale and clean. He turned them over, to be sure, and the mirror-Harry did likewise, a look of horror on his face that was not the reflection of the curiosity on Harry's.

The smoke swirled again, slower now, and the image was less clear, as though he was seeing it without his glasses -- a crowd of people surrounding a young man, surrounding Harry grown to adulthood, holding out their hands in welcome. Not Sirius, not any of the adults he knew, and before he could identify them, the smoke had filled the mirror again, and refused to show him any more.

He picked up his shirt, almost worried that the blood on his hands -- which was not actually on his hands -- would stain it, and pulled it on. He was suddenly desperate to escape this mirror, desperate to get back to the safe Slytherin dormitory where Snake was hibernating and Goyle was probably snoring again. He pulled the cloak halfway round his shoulders and was already stepping out into the corridor before he'd pulled his cowl up, walking quietly and cautiously back in the direction he'd come.

When he reached Slytherin dormitory unharmed, he locked the invisibility cloak in a small box in the bottom of his trunk, and promised himself not to use it unless he really needed it. Relic of his father or not, it was clearly a dangerous tool, and one that could get him in heaps more trouble than he usually was in anyway.

***

The school term began the day after Harry's adventure with the mirror, and brought with it terrible weather and Quidditch. Even Marcus Flint, never the most motivated of captains during practice, put them through their paces in the worst of the rain. If the next game had to be played in a storm -- athletics, with typical British educational equanimity, were never called on account of weather -- then Slytherin, at least, would be ready. Harry was just as grateful for the long hard practices -- his dreams had been unnerving lately, and he slept better when he was exhausted at the end of the day. If his friends noticed, they didn't say anything, although Draco kept shooting Harry worried looks; still, Harry couldn't bring himself to talk about his dreams -- strange dark visions of the scar on his collarbone dripping blood, and the memory of the unicorn screaming.

He almost wrote to Remus, because he knew Remus sometimes had suffered nightmares when Harry was young -- before Betwys Beddau -- but Remus would just fret and tell Sirius and then Sirius would fret, and it wasn't as though anyone could do anything about it. Team practice -- and the ensuing exhaustion -- was a good and practical solution.

The Slytherins weren't the only team hoping to be prepared for anything, Harry discovered, as they passed the sopping, miserable returning Gryffindor team on their way out to the field one day. The twins waved at Harry, who waved back, and all three were promptly shouted at by their teammates for fraternising with the enemy.

Slytherin's defeat of Gryffindor, earlier in the year, had put Slytherin square in first running to play in the Cup, but Gryffindor was playing Hufflepuff in the next game and even Draco would admit that a win was pretty likely for the scarlet-and-gold. That would put Gryffindor and Slytherin up against each other for the championship. If Gryffindor beat Hufflepuff, Slytherin wouldn't even have to play the Badgers -- they'd just play Ravenclaw, and the point spread would decide whether Gryffindor or Ravenclaw went against Slytherin. Gryffindor was favourite.

All of which meant that none of the House teams liked Slytherin very much, but Gryffindor had special reason for rivalry. Especially since Gryffindor and Slytherin had never been the most friendly to begin with.

It all came to a head shortly after the Gryffindor win over Hufflepuff, and Neville was, as small clumsy boys sometimes are, the main casualty. The Slytherins disliked him on general grounds, but at least the first-years could be controlled by Harry, and the higher years felt it was beneath their dignity to notice the firsties. The Gryffindors, on the other hand, felt that Neville was letting the side down by hanging about with a Slytherin.

After it happened, Ron Weasley went to Harry with a solemn promise that none of the Gryffindor first-years had been involved, and Harry believed him; the Weasley twins -- jokesters but not bullies -- controlled everyone below third year, and they played fair. Besides, Neville had said that it was mostly fourth-years: old enough to be bitter and young enough to be unsubtle.

They caught Neville in the library on a warm afternoon before the Easter holiday, when he was fetching books to begin studying for end-of-term exams. Harry and Padma were expected momentarily, and Draco after his conference (yet another one) with McGonagall, but for the moment Neville was alone.

Books and Neville did not agree, particularly. Oh, he was clever enough, at some things, but he was forgetful, and he never took notes properly, and he always seemed to miss the point until much later, when it was too late. He didn't have Harry's love of reading or Padma's love of learning; books didn't comfort him like they did Draco. He thought perhaps it was because he was a Gryffindor and Gryffindors had a certain reputation for obstinate bravery over intelligence. But he did his best, and he followed what the others said, and he fetched the books that Harry or Padma gave him in a list.

He was carrying a list from Harry, scribbled over breakfast that morning, when the candles at the ends of the rows went out, and the stacks were plunged into darkness. On the far side of the library were the windows, and he could press on, but Neville's greatest shame was that he was still afraid of the dark.

His gran had been killed in the dark.

He turned back towards the front of the library where he could still see the glow of lights, and caught a hand in the chest, pushing him back firmly against the shelf. The list fluttered to the ground.

"Doing shopping for the Slytherin?" one of them asked -- four boys and a girl, all Gryffindors, most of whom he knew only passingly.

"He does shopping for him..." the girl said. "And he wears his jewellery..."

The boy holding him against the shelf took the bracelet off his wrist, and Neville reached out for it, protesting.

"Sounds like he belongs to Mr. Potter," said another boy.

"He belongs in Slytherin, with the other turncoats."

"Wasn't a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin."

"I hear some of them kept Muggles as pets."

"Maybe he's no better than a Muggle."

"He isn't very good with spells, that's for sure."

"Bet you he's a Squib."

"Harry Potter's pet Squib."

The boy who was holding Neville as he struggled finally spoke.

"Then maybe everyone ought to know he's not really a Gryffindor," he said, and he raised his wand, pointing it right between Neville's eyes.

Chapter 16

"Well," Padma said cheerfully, "It is a very nice shade of green."

"Makes you look a bit like a pear," Draco added.

Neville, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, sighed and looked down at his hands.

"You have to say who did it," Padma urged. "The professors won't stand for it."

"If I do they'll just do something worse," Neville said.

"Worse than dyeing you green?" Harry asked angrily.

"There are a lot of worse things, really," Draco said, a thoughtful look on his face. "It lacked imagination."

"Insult on injury," Harry pronounced.

"What?"

"He didn't even get pushed around by imaginative bullies," Harry explained.

"It's not like I just let them, you know!" Neville burst out. "I did try to get away! There were five of them!"

"Unfair, unimaginative sods," Padma agreed. "It's not on."

"And they took my remembrall," Neville continued wrathfully. "The one Sirius made specially for me."

"We'll get you another one," Draco said, at the same time Harry declared "We'll get it back from them!"

"You really do look like a pear," Padma said, as the counter-spell began to take effect, and the original deep green began to fade to a spotty mint-and-yellow shade.

"As soon as you get out you can sneak us into Gryffindor," Harry said. "I bet my cloak could fit three of us, at least. We'll find your remembrall and do something really awful to their dormitory in the process."

"A whole jar of bile!" Draco said. "In their beds!"

"You will not," Neville said. "They'll know it was me."

"They'll know it was you anyway when you tell the professors," Padma said briskly.

"I'm not telling the professors! Next time they might not stop with changing my colour!"

"He's right, you know," Draco said. "We'll have to make it look like an accident."

"All right, children, Mr. Longbottom needs time to let his cure take full effect," said Madam Pomfrey, appearing behind them. "You can visit him again this evening after dinner. Run along, now."

With a last regretful glance at Neville, the three of them followed Madam Pomfrey into the outer room of the hospital wing, away from the infirmary itself. Professor McGonagall was there, waiting with apparent impatience to be let in to see Neville.

"We could go do more research on the Philosopher's Stone," Padma suggested, as they walked down the corridor.

"Oh, blow the stupid Philosopher's Stone," Draco said suddenly. "We've done all the research we can and don't know a thing more about it. If they're hiding it here like Harry thinks, I'm sure it's for a bloody good reason."

"Yeah, but..." Padma bit her lip. "Someone's tried to get at it. Harry heard Snape and Filch talking about it."

"Well, if they have to get past Professor Snape to get to it, I think it's plenty safe," Draco sulked. "He could just scowl at them."

Padma opened her mouth to speak, then glanced around.

"I think we need to talk about that," she whispered. "Clearly the library's not safe anymore. Let's go outside."

Harry and Draco followed her dutifully down the stairway and out into the late-afternoon sunlight, across the damp grounds to the relative shelter of a large, lichen-covered rock. Draco scrabbled up onto the wide flat top, followed by Padma and Harry.

"What is it, then?" Harry asked, once they'd settled themselves. "It won't take long, will it? Dinner's in forty minutes."

"Listen, Harry..." Padma bit her lip, then forged ahead. "I think we need to consider the idea that Professor Snape might be the one who's trying to get the Stone."

"No we don't," Harry said flatly, "Cos he isn't."

"Just hear me out? Professor Snape's the one who got attacked by the big dog you and Draco found on the third floor. You said yourself you helped him with his dog bite. He's the one who's been doing all the research on the Philosopher's Stone, and he's the one who was talking to someone else about it. We know he was awake the night the unicorn was attacked because he caught you coming back from it." Padma swallowed. "And one of the people who attacked it was tall enough -- "

"It's not. Professor. Snape," Harry said.

"Harry, I know you like him, but -- "

"It's not him."

"She has a point," Draco said. Harry turned to him, and Draco almost fell backwards.

"What do you know about it?" he asked.

"Well, I know everything Padma knows," Draco said quietly. "And I know that Professor Snape knew my dad."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Harry demanded.

"His dad's in Azkaban, Harry," Padma remined him gently. "Because he was a follower of You-Know-Who."

"Professor Snape is not -- "

"But what if he is, Harry?" Padma asked. "Everything points to him. You know what the Philosopher's Stone is. How many people do you know who'd pass up a chance at that? And he's a Slytherin, and even you can't deny Slytherins are supposed to be ambitious. Even if he doesn't want it for himself, there's a chance he could want it because -- well, nobody knows that You-Know-Who is actually dead..."

Harry scowled. "It isn't Professor Snape. Neville would agree with me."

"Neville's been dyed green by his own housemates, he's not exactly the best judge of character," Draco said. Harry was about to retort when Padma put a hand on his arm.

"Even if it is him there's nothing we can do right now," she said. "All I'm saying is that we ought to keep an eye on him. There's nine weeks until exams, and if he hasn't done anything by then, we'll say we're sorry and admit we were wrong, won't we, Draco?"

"I hope it's not him," Draco said. "I really do, Harry."

Harry, who in his heart was not quite as sure as he'd declared himself to be, nodded and held out his hand. The other two shook it, and then they all turned back to the school, trudging up the hill to a dinner that none of them really had the stomach for.

***

Between Quidditch practice, their new duties bodyguarding Neville, and their reluctant surveillance of Snape, the time passed quickly. Neville had refused to give up the names of the students in question and the resulting loss of seventy-five points hit Gryffindor hard, but Harry made arrangements with the twins to watch Neville when he, Padma, and Draco couldn't, and no further harm came to him.

Ravenclaw played Slytherin the week after Easter holidays, and although Marcus Flint told Harry to draw it out as long as possible so that the Ravenclaws could cover the points needed to beat out Gryffindor for Cup contenders, the Ravenclaw Seeker would have snatched the Snitch and won the game if he didn't get it first, and thus Ravenclaw lost one hundred and fifty to twenty. Harry took a shouting-at from Flint over it, but most of the school agreed it would be more interesting to see Gryffindor and Slytherin in Cup contention anyway. Harry's nightmares about what he'd seen in the mirror slowly abated, to be replaced by anxiety dreams about not being able to find his Nimbus, or the Snitch being greased so that he couldn't get his fingers around it.

There was also, of course, the plot to steal Neville's remembrall back. McGonagall had written to the Tonkses about the bullying, and Sirius, who had been in the kitchen when the letter was opened, sent off another prototype the same day. Still, it wasn't the same, and they all knew it.

"It's got to be vicious," Harry said finally. "So that even when they find out it's us, they won't do anything."

"How does that make us any better than them?" Padma asked.

"We're doing it to people who can fight back," Draco replied. "Besides, I don't care if we're better than them, just scarier."

Padma and Neville, sitting across from Harry and Draco at their usual early-morning breakfast, looked slightly dismayed. Neville twiddled the new remembrall-bracelet on his wrist, anxiously.

"They dyed him green," Harry said. "Listen, if we do it near end-of-term, and we scare them badly enough, they'll have all summer to think about what they did and what we can do to them."

"But we don't have to hurt them, right?" Neville asked hesitantly.

"Nobody said anything about hurting anyone," Harry said, as Snake, recently out of hibernation, peeped out from the collar of his shirt. "We just want them to think we could hurt them, if they dyed you green again."

"Fine," Padma said, "but we all have to agree on what we do before anyone does anything. I'm not going to risk detention to do something I don't approve of just because you two took Ender's Game a little too seriously."

"That was a brilliant book and you know it," Harry retorted. "All right. So we'll come up with ideas and you can say yea or nay as appropriate."

"No," Padma said, "First we'll eat, and then we'll go to class, and then we'll study because exams are only six weeks away, and then, if we have time, we'll come up with ideas together, the four of us."

"Prefects coming," Neville grunted, and he, Padma, and Draco rose as one, spreading to their respective tables. Harry fed a little fried-egg to Snake, and watched the Gryffindor table as students began trickling into the Great Hall. Neville had pointed out the students he'd seen clearly, and Harry's green eyes tracked them as soon as they came in.

"Psyching out the competition, Potter?" Flint asked, as he passed.

"Working on his thousand-yard stare," Blaise answered, seating himself across from Harry and giving him a grin. "Ready for the big game, eh?"

Harry summoned a smile in return, as Blaise poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice.

"Going to show them what happens when you tangle with Slytherin House," he agreed.

***

Exams began to loom large on the horizon by the time Harry had concocted a plan that would please Padma and satisfy Draco's desire to terrorise the Gryffindors. It was low-risk, high-yield, and, while not as public as they would have liked, guaranteed to be the talk of the school. Harry felt he was living up to his godfather's reputation as school prankster quite nicely.

The professors, distracted by the fifth and seventh year students who would be taking their OWL and NEWT exams, left the younger children much to their own devices, with broad hints about the exam's content and review sessions conducted mainly by Ravenclaw sixth-year teachers' aides. Padma made them go to every single one, even the repeat ones. Neville seemed to be struggling along even with the repeats, and Padma decreed they would all make flashcards; they weren't as fancy as the ones Remus and Sirius used to make to quiz him with, where the card actually flashed when you got the answer right, but they were still useful -- especially when Harry and Draco wrote naughty limericks on theirs and shuffled them in with Neville's. After all, Draco was only having trouble with Transfiguration (as usual) and Harry's main weakness was Charms, which flashcards wouldn't help much on anyhow.

It helped, too, that each Head of House, consciously or not, wanted their own students to do best, and would drop more hints to their particular House. Swapping notes, Harry informed them that Professor Snape was more than likely to make them brew a Forgetfulness potion, while Neville insisted that Professor McGonagall was going to give them rodents to be transfigured, though he didn't know what she'd make them produce.

The written papers were far more intimidating, really, since there was less room for error; they were marched into a large classroom and given new quills with anti-cheating charms on them, and set to writing essays from a list of questions on the large blackboard at the front. After doing that for a day, the practicals began to look like a relief.

"I say we do it tomorrow night," Harry said, as they were pretending to study in the library after their first day of practicals. Draco was sulking because he hadn't been given a rodent at all in Transfigurations; he'd been given a magpie and made to transfigure it into five silver sickles, and had barely managed it. Neville was nursing a bite from his rodent, which had nevertheless made an adequate leather cigarette case, and Padma was agonising over whether she had made the Forgetfulness potion strong enough, since after Professor Snape made her sample some she couldn't remember brewing it at all. Harry had gotten through the day uninjured, but he feared that in his Charms practical his pineapple hadn't tapdanced as it was supposed to; it seemed more inclined to waltz.

"Tomorrow night?" Padma asked, looking up from the big textbook on potions she was studying. "Why then? Day after tomorrow we've got our History of Magic exam, and it's another written one."

"Yeah, but the fourth-years all have their Potions final, and it'll be fun sending them off to Snape all upset and scared," Draco said with a grin. "Plus it gets hot down there, and they won't even be able to loosen the collars of their robes."

"But we have to study," Padma objected. "Don't we, Neville?"

Neville gave the other boys a reluctant look. "It would help," he said. "I've not got a clue about the 1635 Werewolf Code of Conduct."

"1637," Padma and Harry corrected.

"It won't take that long. We can study all evening, since they won't go to bed forever anyhow, and then once they're in bed we'll just nip up, do what we came to do, and scoot off to sleep," Draco said. "I'll pretend I'm studying with Neville, and Harry can use his cloak to fetch Padma."

Padma looked reluctant, but there was really no reason to object; besides, Harry had seen a mischevious gleam in her eye once or twice that told him she would, at least, consider their prank a testament to their magical knowledge. Sort of a final practical.

They spent the rest of the evening in much better spirits, went to bed with light hearts, and though the following day was exhausting, exchanged knowing looks over dinner. Neville and Draco went off after the meal to study in the common room, aided -- or perhaps distracted -- by the Weasley twins plus Ron, who were testing out a new Exploding Snap game that involved spiritedly attempting to blow up one's opponent. Padma vanished into the library where she would later be collected by Harry, who went quietly and unobtrusively to his room to spend the evening helping Snake shed his skin.

Soon the school year would be over, he reflected, as he waited for the other boys in the dormitory to fall asleep. There was one final day of exams, a week of waiting during which they'd play the Cup match, and then the scores would be posted and they'd have the Leaving feast. Harry and Neville were going back to London for the summer, and Padma's parents were taking their family to see her great-gran in Agra, which she was mostly excited about because she'd get to see the Taj Mahal. Draco was quietly desperate not to go back to the Malfoy mansion, but there was nothing to be done, and so he was giving Harry a sealed-up box of his private things to keep for him until they came back to school.

He waited until Theo was snoring, a sure sign everyone else had gone to sleep, and then crawled out of bed, taking the cloak from his trunk and wrapping it around his shoulders. Snake, sleeping in his box on the nightstand, hissed a sleepy query, and Harry told him to go back to sleep. He hesitated over whether or not to go barefoot, and finally settled for pulling a large pair of socks on over his trainers.

Padma was waiting for him in the library, hidden in a reading niche that Madam Pince always missed while doing her lights-out check.

"Took you long enough," she whispered, as she ducked under the cloak. "This place is creepy at night."

"It's just books," Harry answered, creeping rather more slowly now towards the stairs. It was difficult, managing the steps with two people under the cloak, but they made it to Gryffindor's portrait just as it swung open to reveal Neville's head, peering out.

"You there?" he asked softly.

"Who's that?" the Pink Lady demanded. Harry touched Neville's shoulder as they passed, and Neville startled, but kept his head.

"Just Neville," he informed the portrait. "Have you seen Trevor?"

"I don't keep track of your silly pets," the Pink Lady replied grumpily.

"Thanks anyway," Neville answered, closing the portrait-hole again. Once in the Gryffindor common room, Harry peered around to make sure it was just the four of them before shedding the cloak.

"Nearly gave me a heart attack, touching me without warning," Neville scolded.

"Sorry. She'd have heard me if I'd said anything," Harry replied unrepentantly. "I've brought the paint. You bring the other stuff?"

Neville gave them a downright wicked grin and held up a bag made of black cloth. "Nicked them from Hagrid's tack-trunk early this morning. They still stink." He opened the bag and a waft of foul, animal-smelling air floated out.

"All right. We'll do the boys first, then send Padma up to deal with the girl," Harry decided. "Draco, you paint."

"Why me?" Draco asked, accepting a small pot of green paint from Harry's pocket. He produced a brush he'd nicked from one of the more artistically inclined Hufflepuffs, and twiddled it between his fingers.

"Because you've got the best handwriting, and Padma's going to be the one looking for Neville's remembrall."

Draco muttered rebelliously, but shoved the paint-pot in his pocket. They all looked at Padma, who bit her lip and accepted the cloak from Harry.

"Follow me up," she whispered. "I'm going to cast the spell and then I'll give the signal for you to come inside the room."

They crept quietly up the stairs to the fourth-floor boys' dormitory, and Padma eased the door open. Harry couldn't see her, but he knew she was checking to make sure everyone was asleep. He saw a ripple of fabric for a moment; without taking off the cowl, she'd produced a packet of powder from her trouser pockets and tapped it out onto her hand.

The powder suddenly dissolved in the air, flying away as if a breeze had caught it, and Harry counted ten, fifteen, thirty, sixty under his breath before Padma shed the cowl, too, and gestured them inside.

"That'll keep them asleep for at least three hours," she said. "You could stampede elephants through this room and they wouldn't wake up, but I'd better keep an eye on it. Work fast," she finished, as she began digging through nightstands and trunks, looking for the remembrall bracelet.

The boys ran to the first bed, and gave each other a final look before setting to work. Draco pulled the blankets down to waist-level and studied the problem of how to get the boy's pyjama shirt up at least high enough to paint properly; finally he settled for slipping the brush under the t-shirt and doing rather sloppy work. Harry and Neville, meanwhile, took one of the wide leather dog-collars Hagrid sometimes used to catch kneazles with, and slid it carefully under the sleeping boy's neck, buckling it in place.

"Did you do the charm?" Harry asked Neville, who gulped and nodded.

"They should be un-removable for almost a day," Neville said. "I hope they work, otherwise they'll be stuck there forever."

"I hope they get stuck," Draco said, as much to his surprise as theirs. "I'm done, how're you two doing?"

"Almost there," Harry said, checking the buckle. "What'd you paint?"

He craned his neck to see, and gave Draco a disappointed look. "Pet? That's the best you could come up with?"

"It's hard to paint under a t-shirt!" Draco protested.

"All right, let's do the next one -- no, not him," Harry said, as they went to the second bed. "He wasn't involved, was he Nev?"

"No," Neville said. "And I only brought five collars. He was, though," he said, pointing to the third bed.

"Oh, and he's shirtless too," Draco grinned maliciously. "I could write an epic poem on him."

He settled for "Slytherin 0wns You" which was all he could manage in the time it took Harry and Neville to fix the collar. "Pet Gryffindor" and "Property Of Salazar Slytherin" followed in short order.

"Careful," Harry warned. "Don't get any on your hands, it doesn't wash off."

"I know, you told me," Draco answered, annoyed.

"Aha!" Padma said triumphantly, and they saw her flash the bracelet. "He was keeping it in his shoes, the disrespectful beast," she said, kicking the bed that the second boy -- "Pet Gryffindor" -- was sleeping on.

"Oh, ta, Padma," Neville said, accepting the bracelet. "Phew. I think I'll wash it before I put it on again. How long does this paint take to wear away?" he inquired, checking the buckle on the last victim. Draco, in a fit of creativity, drew a little snake on the one they'd just done, who had a button-down shirt that was easily opened.

"About two weeks," Harry said, with a satisfied air. "Less if you wash with vinegar every day."

"All done?" Padma asked, as Draco sealed the paint pot and Neville tied up the bag again. They nodded. "Up to me now."

"What're you gonna write on her?" Draco asked excitedly.

"I don't think that would be proper," Padma replied, and gestured at her own chest. The boys blushed slightly. "Don't worry, though, I know all about miss Elaine Brocklehurst. She'll scream louder than the boys when she finds out I painted snakes on her hands, and dyed all her shoes green."

"Brilliant," Neville said approvingly.

"You three wait for me near the portrait-hole. If someone comes down, they won't see you," Padma said, and pulled the cloak around her shoulders again, literally vanishing into the stairwell.

The boys took one last look around.

"I wish we could take pictures," Draco said.

"Too much evidence," Harry replied. "Padma's leaving the paint bottle in the girls' dormitory so that we don't get caught with it," he added, as they began to wind their way cautiously down to the common room. "Neville, maybe you'd better stay with one of us tonight."

"That'd be like...an admission of guilt," Draco answered.

"Yeah, but they can't prove anything, and they'll know it was us anyhow, since the bracelet's gone," Harry answered. "I mean. Better an unprovable admission of guilt than a broken arm or something, right?"

"Do you think they'd break my arms?" Neville asked in a high, nervous voice.

"Not if you're sleeping in Hufflepuff tonight," Draco said. "We can say you walked me back to the dorm and fell asleep on the couch."

"Perfect," Harry replied.

Padma arrived in short order, rolling up the now-empty bag and tossing it on the fire, where a few quick words and a flick of her wand took care of the last of the evidence handily.

"Neville's sleeping in Hufflepuff tonight," Harry whispered, and she nodded.

"Maybe you ought to take me to Ravenclaw and then come back -- I don't think the cloak's going to hold four," she said doubtfully.

"Leave the portrait just a little bit open," Harry said to the other two boys. "I'll be back soon."

He ducked under the cloak with Padma and they made their slow, somewhat clumsy way towards the staircase to the Ravenclaw eyrie. A little over halfway there, they passed the fifth-floor room where they'd held their seance, and Padma's fingers gripped his arm under the cloak.

"Someone's in there," she said, softly. Harry obediently turned into the room, and saw a dark-cloaked figure vanishing down the staircase.

"Bugger," he whispered. "Bet you the dog eats him."

After a moment, however, when there were no screams forthcoming, Harry and Padma exchanged a look under the cloak, and pressed forward, down the staircase that would lead to the three-headed-dog's lair.

Harry barely suppressed a gasp.

Professor Snape stood at the foot of the staircase, calmly, playing a silver penny-whistle. In front of him, the dog was swaying on its feet, clearly torn between attacking and taking a nap. Finally its legs buckled, and Snape didn't miss a beat as it fell to the floor with a thud. All three heads began snoozing at once, and Snape continued to play one-handed as he bent to lift a platform in the floor, behind the dog.

Harry watched in horror as Professor Snape tossed the whistle aside -- it clattered down against the bottom step -- and slipped gracefully into the darkness below the trapdoor.

Chapter 17

"Take the cloak," Harry said. "Go get Neville and Draco. You were right, he's gone after the stone -- "

"Sorry, Harry!" Padma said, distressed, as he shoved the cloak around her shoulders. She bolted up the stairs, and Harry eyed the dog fearfully. Another few steps and he'd be out of the safety of the stairs, but it did seem to be sleeping...

He padded, grateful now for the muffling socks over his shoes, down the stone steps carefully. The dog snorted. Harry bent and reached for the whistle. So far so good -- a little further --

The whistle, made of some kind of cheap tin, clattered against the step when he picked it up, and the dog woke with a start. Harry backpedaled desperately, and the dog's jaws -- all three of them -- clicked shut a bare six inches from his chest. He scrambled up the stairs to safety just as the other three returned and almost tripped on him.

"Snape's gone down there?" Draco asked, wide-eyed.

"Braver than I thought," Neville said. "We've got to do something -- warn someone -- "

"No-one's awake, and there's no time," Harry said. "We have to follow him."

"Follow him?" Padma demanded. "Are you insane?"

"Music puts the dog to sleep," Harry insisted.

"We can't stop him, he's a grown wizard!" Draco protested.

"He's Professor Snape," Neville added frantically.

"It'd be four against one," Harry said stubbornly. "Listen, I'm going. Follow me or don't."

He set his lips to the whistle and blew a sharp, shrill note. It wasn't very soothing, but the dog did stop snarling. It looked almost...surprised. Harry blew another one, clumsily, working his fingers at random on the stops. The dog tilted its heads and made a sort of querying noise.

"Let me," Padma said, as Harry whistled a third, even more dissonant note. She took the whistle from him and immediately began playing again; she wasn't much better, but at least it sounded a little like music.

As Padma played, the dog began to back away from the stairs, stumbling sleepily around the room. Harry advanced slowly, hearing the others follow, until he was almost all the way to the trapdoor. The dog finally threw itself down again, and began to snore. Padma, however, continued to play.

Harry lifted the trap and looked down into the utter, complete blackness.

"We'll have to jump," he said. "If Snape can do it, so can we."

He saw Draco's frightened face and Neville's desperate nod, and slid off the floor, down into darkness feet-first.

He landed with a soft thump, and almost laughed with relief.

"It's an easy landing!" he called up. "Come down!"

He heard Draco and Neville come down in the dark, and then the whistle stopped playing as Padma followed.

"Lumos," Harry muttered, and the end of his wand lit up the gloom.

"Argh!" Draco cried. "It's plants! They're moving!"

Padma let out a tiny shriek. They were indeed sitting on a giant plant, a tangle of vines that were even now reaching out to twine around her ankles -- they'd already got a firm grip on Harry and Neville.

"What is it?" Harry shouted, as one of them wrapped around his chest. "Oh bloody -- "

"Devil's Snare!" Padma yelled back. Their shouts had woken the dog, and in addition to the panic of being trapped by vicious life-threatening plants, the dog was now growling and thumping on the trap-door Padma had closed behind her.

"How do we kill it?" Draco demanded.

"Wait, I know this!" Neville shouted. "We have to light a fire!"

"It's got my wand!" Draco shouted.

"Mine's stuck," Harry gasped.

"Padma, you've got to do it," Neville urged. Padma gripped her wand so tightly it shook, and pointed it at the plant. Fire shot from the end of her wand, nearly singeing Harry's clothing, but it worked -- the plant began to withdraw and cringe away from the heat. As it did so the tangle of vines became looser and looser until Harry fell through, landing on much-harder-stone with a slight oof. Draco, fortunately, landed on Harry, and Padma was able to jump through and help Neville climb down the vines.

"Ow," Harry said.

"Sorry," Draco answered. "Anything broken?"

"Don't think so," Harry replied, accepting a hand to help him to his feet. He looked up as the vines began to twine their way shut again, over their heads. "Guess we have to go on now, don't we?"

"Or we might die here," Padma said.

"What?" Harry demanded. Padma pointed a shaking finger past him.

Professor Snape stood in the only doorway in the room.

"Oh bugger," Draco whispered.

"Children," Snape said slowly. He was staring directly at them, arms crossed over his chest. They stared back in terrified silence.

"We know what you're going to do!" Harry blurted, after a long moment. Snape lifted an eyebrow. "You're going to steal the Philosopher's Stone!"

"Remarkably well-informed and yet still incorrect," Snape sighed. He dropped his arms, and came into the dim room, rolling his eyes. "I'm going to speak quickly since I haven't much time. Someone else has gone in ahead of me and I am in pursuit. Do you understand?"

They nodded, eyes wide.

"Good. Now. I don't know what you were doing out of bed at this time of night and do not care, but you will stay put until the matter is resolved. You will not follow me and you will not cause trouble. Do you understand that?"

"We won't stay," Harry said.

"We'll help you," Neville added, then looked shocked at his own audacity.

"No, children."

"We'll follow you whether you want us to or not," Padma said desperately. It sounded as though she was less eager to follow than she was to escape the Devil's Snare.

"I could, of course, petrify the lot of you, but I prefer not to commit violence against students," Snape replied. "All evidence to the contrary."

"Then the Devil's Snare will get us," Harry pointed to where the plant was already reaching thin tendrils towards them, and Draco jumped back. "How dangerous could it be to go with you?"

Snape gave him a thin smile. "How dangerous, Harry? Do you know how many traps have been placed in front of the Stone's chamber? You've survived two by sheer idiot luck, but there are many more, I assure you. Don't believe me?"

He gestured through the doorway, and the children gathered around to peer through.

On the other side of a short corridor was a high-ceilinged room, filled with what looked like tiny, mechanical birds.

"Keys," Snape said succinctly. "One of them opens that door. Which one, and how to catch it -- HARRY!"

Harry had darted through the passage and picked up a broomstick lying near the entrance. He was aloft before Snape could stop him.

"I saw it!" he cried, as Snape shouted at him to come down at once. He had seen a silver key, matching the motif of the lock, with one slightly-bent wing. He darted after it, through all the other soaring keys, occasionally batting one away when it hit his face or chest. He heard Snape's shouts and the other childrens' cheers as he dodged through the mess of keys towards his goal. Almost there -- his fingers outstretched -- it was just like catching the Snitch --

His hand closed around the key and the wings beat fiercely against his palm as he descended, only to be grasped by the collar of his shirt the minute he touched the ground.

"If you ever -- " Snape began, shaking him like a puppy, but Neville and Padma caught his arm and he stopped, releasing Harry suddenly. Harry, terrified of the rage in the Potion Master's eyes, clutched the key tightly.

"Give me the key, Harry," Snape said coldly.

"You're welcome," Harry answered angrily, placing the key in his hand. Snape unlocked the door with a quick, violent movement, and threw it wide. At the same moment, the doorway back to the room with the Devil's Snare in it slammed shut.

"Go, then," Snape ordered, waving them through. "Clearly you can't be trusted with a broomstick in a room full of potential targets."

They trailed in, chastised, and Snape followed. Again the door slammed shut behind them. Before them stood a huge chessboard, lined with life-sized chess pieces, made of black and white stone.

"McGonagall," Snape said with a sigh. "Such a show-off."

"What do you mean?" Padma asked, turning to look at him. He gestured at the chessboard.

"Several professors were asked to build traps into the passageway to the Stone's chamber. Dumbledore felt it would be...fun," he said, with a slight sneer. "Flitwick, myself, McGonagall, Sprout, Quirrell -- plus that outrageously bad-tempered dog above, and a final puzzle Dumbledore built himself. We weren't told what the others were doing, but this," he said, "Reeks of Gryffindor showmanship."

Neville looked annoyed at this, but said nothing.

"What do we do now?" Harry asked.

"We do nothing," Snape replied. "You four will remain here, and I will play my way across the board. And when all this is quite finished, Harry, I will see to it that the four of you serve detentions for your entire second year."

Snape stepped forward, onto the board, and after careful consideration, took the place of a bishop, which left the board when he touched it. He waited patiently for white to move; nothing happened.

"Infuriating woman," Snape said, with feeling. "We all have to play."

Harry grinned at the others. "Where would you like us, Professor?" he called.

"Longbottom and Patil, rooks please -- no. Longbottom, take the end pawn in front of Miss Patil. Malfoy, queen-side knight. Harry..." Snape seemed to consider. "Here, next to me. The other knight."

As soon as the last piece had disappeared to the sidelines, replaced by Harry, a white pawn moved forward.

"Professor," Harry said hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"Do you even play chess?"

Snape smiled slightly. "Your trust in me can clearly move molehills, Har -- "

He nearly stumbled then, as something seemed to strike him in the head; Harry moved towards him as he pressed one hand to his temple, over the old scar-marks Peter had left on his face.

"No, don't move now -- you'll forfeit," Snape gasped. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, breathing deeply. Down the line, the other three looked terribly frightened.

"What's happened?" Harry asked, hearing the terror in his own voice.

Snape didn't answer; instead he called out an order, and one of the black pawns moved forward. Snape's ragged breathing filled the air as the white players seemed to consider, but by the time white had made its move, he was recovering from whatever spasm had shaken him.

"Who are we chasing, anyhow?" Padma asked, as she stepped forward on Snape's command.

"Quiet, Patil," Snape answered.

He gave an order which sent one of the pawns into danger. A white Knight swung at the pawn and shattered it with his lance, breaking it into tiny pieces. All four children stared wide-eyed as the wrecked pawn disappeared. After that none of them spoke.

Finally there came a long pause in the game, during which Snape appeared to be thinking especially hard. Harry had been playing chess since he was eight, Padma since she was five; Neville knew how, but didn't enjoy it. Draco, never having had anyone to play with, hadn't learned until Hogwarts, but he'd proved an apt enough pupil and sometimes even managed to defeat Harry, if he focused hard enough.

"It's me," Draco said quietly.

"No," Snape replied sharply.

"You know it is. Sacrifice me and you'll have the king in two moves, it's the quickest way."

"I'm not going to let some fool invention of McGonagall's decapitate a student," Snape replied.

"I don't think it'll kill me," Draco said, uncertainly.

"Regardless -- Malfoy, don't you dare!"

But Draco had already moved on his own. A white rook, towering over him, thrust a stone out from its side and knocked him flat, violently.

"Draco!" Neville, heedless of Snape's order, stepped out of line to try and help his friend, and was tripped by a Knight, who thrust him violently back onto his square. There was a whimper of pain.

"Don't. Move." Snape's voice was like a whipcrack in the echoing chamber. Harry and Padma both nodded. "All right. Harry, forward, and take the bishop."

Harry stepped up to the white bishop and touched it; it turned at once and walked off the board.

"Doesn't seem fair, somehow," Padma murmured, staring at the two fallen boys -- Draco curled and huddling in the middle of the board, Neville gasping in pain over a deep cut on his leg.

"All right, Longbottom?" Snape called, as a white pawn moved forward in a desperate gambit to protect its king.

"All right, sir," Neville answered, though there were tears running down his cheeks. "Don't think I'm much good for walking."

"Serves you right. Miss Patil, four squares forward, please -- that's check and mate," Snape said, a trifle smugly. The white king toppled over backwards, shattering as he did so; the other pieces turned and walked off the board, vanishing into the darkness beyond it.

Snape immediately ran across the board, reaching Draco first; Harry and Padma bent over Neville, and Padma took one of Harry's shoe-socks, trying to stop the bleeding with it.

"Sorry it's not very hygenic," she said apologetically. Neville had buried his face in Harry's shirt, and was trembling.

"He's breathing -- I don't think he's hurt badly, merely unconscious," Snape said, bending over Draco. He picked him up, carefully, and carried him to where the other three were huddled. "I warned you it was dangerous," he said, laying Draco down next to Neville.

"I can heal your leg, but it will take time to repair itself. You'll be more of a hindrance than a help if we bring you along," he informed Neville, who nodded and braced himself. He whimpered a little when Snape's hands touched him, but after a moment he sagged with relief, and released his death grip on Harry's sleeve. The wound began, visibly but slowly, to heal itself.

"Patil, stay with them," he said. She gulped, and nodded. "If Malfoy comes round, keep him awake. Harry, come with me."

Harry rose obediently and followed Snape, picking his way over the rubble strewing the board. There was a door beyond the white king's square, and Snape ducked through it, walking swiftly down the long tunnel.

"Why did you bring me along?" Harry asked, voice hushed. Snape lifted a torch from the wall as he passed.

"Because if we die, they might be able to get free, and if I die you can at least send someone back for them," Snape replied.

"Who are we chasing? You said you thought you knew," Harry said, unwilling to ask what would happen if only he died.

"Quirrell," Snape said tightly.

"Professor Quirrell? But -- "

"I've known for some time that he's been after the stone," Snape said, pressing the back of his hand to his temple as he walked. "Mind the pit."

Harry jumped quickly around a deep hole in one side of the corridor.

"I should have gone to Dumbledore sooner, but I had no evidence. He would have laughed -- he would have called it bitterness."

"Bitterness?"

"Quirrell has my job," Snape answered. "It's no secret among the faculty that I've sought the Dark Arts position several years running."

"Several years in a row?"

"It's cursed, didn't you know?"

"Then why would you want it?"

"Because I have a right to it!" Snape snarled, though he didn't stop walking. "And the board of governors refuses me, year after year. They suspect me."

"Of what?"

"What does it matter? I consorted with the wrong type of person, and have since paid the price."

"Lucius Malfoy," Harry whispered. "You knew him."

"Knew him. Yes. That's one way to put it," Snape said, with a snort of wry laughter. "Young Mister Malfoy bears a striking resemblance to him. No self control, no sense of timing in the slightest."

"There wasn't any other way," Harry said. "I saw it too."

"I have been playing chess longer than you've been alive, Harry."

"There wasn't, though."

They emerged into a small room, and immediately both coughed and held their hands over their faces. A troll lay unconscious on the floor, snoring noisily.

"Quirrell's trap," Snape said, as Harry gagged and edged his way around the monster. The stench made his eyes water. "Brute force. Very much his way."

He gave a sharp tug on the door and shoved Harry through. When the door shut behind them Harry could finally breathe again, and he turned to see what new challenge awaited them.

"Ah," Snape said. "Almost over, then."

A row of bottles sat on a long table in front of them, from which hung a large sheet of paper with a poem on it in green ink. Purple fire roared up in the doorway behind them, and black flames in another one, beyond the table.

"This is my trap," Snape said, plucking up the smallest bottle as he spoke. "Unlike the unsubtle troll behind us, this relies on logic; something in short supply among wizards, as Longbottom proved. Drink," he said, holding it out to Harry. "Only half."

Harry stared at the potion for a moment, then sipped from the bottle. Snape upturned the rest into his own mouth as an icy sensation filled Harry.

"Walk quickly," Snape ordered, and Harry felt the Professor's hand on his shoulder as he stepped through the flame.

***

Remus woke from the dream with a yelp of panic, and almost fell off the bed. He caught himself on the nightstand, staggered upright, and stumbled into the bathroom, vomiting. Behind him, he heard Sirius call his name, sleepily.

"In here," he said, cupping his hand under the faucet and bringing the water to his mouth to rinse out the taste of bile. He became aware that he was still breathing heavily only when he saw Sirius in the mirror, resting a hand on his back between his shoulderblades.

"Are you all right?" Sirius asked softly. "Dinner not agree with you?"

"No -- " Remus drank another handful of water, then accepted the glass Sirius pressed into his hand, filling it as he spoke. "A nightmare. I didn't mean to wake you."

"A nightmare?" Sirius asked. "Or one of the dreams?"

Remus calmed himself, comforted by the warm weight of Sirius' hand on his back. After a minute's thought, he drank the water in the glass, and set it down so hard it cracked.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Accident. Listen, we have to floo Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore?" Sirius asked.

"The dream. Something's gone wrong at Hogwarts. Harry's in danger."

"Danger? But it's -- "

"Sirius, please," Remus said, turning towards the doorway and almost falling. Sirius caught him under the arm, hauling him upright. "We have to tell someone. Now."

"All right, we'll go use Andromeda's floo. Tell me what you saw," Sirius said, as he helped Remus out into the bedroom and then through the living room, down the stairs to the flat on the floor below them.

"I didn't see it -- I was reading a letter -- from Dumbledore," Remus said. "It said that Harry'd been in an accident the night before -- that Peter had hurt him, and killed another student, that Harry was unconscious. Something's happening right now, tonight."

Sirius eased him into a chair, worry in every line of his face.

"I'm not hysterical," Remus insisted.

"I didn't say you were," Sirius replied, turning to light a flame in the empty fireplace. He threw a handful of floo powder into the fire and said, "Dumbledore" and then the old passcode, "Order Business," when it flared up slightly. He put his head into the fireplace and barked, "Dumbledore! Wake up!"

Remus, shakily, slid to the floor next to him, and joined him in the flame. He could see Dumbledore's bedchamber, dim and dark, and a figure sitting up on the bed.

"Who's that?" Dumbledore's voice, hoarse with sleep, called out.

"Sirius Black," Sirius called. "Remus is here too. He's had a dream."

Dumbledore rose and crouched on the hearthstones of his own fireplace. "A dream, my boy?"

"There isn't time to explain," Remus said. "Harry's in danger, possibly another student as well."

"Danger? At this time of night?"

"I don't know how, but he is," Remus insisted. "I'm coming through."

Dumbledore looked as though he were about to protest, but he sat back on his heels, giving them enough room to pass through the floo and onto his hearthstones. When they arrived, ash swirling around them, he stood and straightened the night-cap on his head.

"Now, what's all this about students in danger?" he asked.

"Something's happening. Tonight. Peter Pettigrew's involved somehow," Sirius said quickly.

"Pettigrew? Here?"

"Ask Snape," Remus said. "He'll believe us. He can check the dormitory and see if Harry's in bed."

Dumbledore, dubiously, put his head back into the fireplace and called Snape's name. After a moment, he stepped back.

"He's not in his rooms or office," he said quietly. Sirius, at the end of his rope, grabbed the headmaster by the front of his sleeping-robes.

"Where's he taken him?" he demanded.

Dumbledore's eyes flicked down to the hands grasping his clothing, then back up at Sirius' face. Sirius released him, suddenly, as though he'd been burned.

"I do not know where Professor Snape is, but undoubtedly he has his own reasons for being absent," Dumbledore said. "I -- "

He paused, then, and a thoughtful look crossed his face.

"Come with me," he said.

They followed him as he fetched up a dressing-gown off a chair and padded barefoot into his circular office, where a peculiar tray, oblong and apparently made of dark wood, rested near his desk. He waved his hand over it, and a series of walls grew up from the tray, along with what looked like the remains of a smashed chessboard, a tiny flock of birds, and a small planter, among other things.

"For the past year we have been protecting, at the request of Nicolas Flamel -- "

"Your old partner?" Remus asked.

"Indeed. The Philosopher's Stone. He intended to destroy it at the summer solstice, and until that time we felt strict security measures were necessary. Devil's Snare, a charmed lock and key, a chessb -- "

Dumbledore stopped, and peered down at the chessboard. A trio of small, lifelike dolls were huddled on one off-centre square.

"Dear me," he murmured. "It looks as though several students have attempted to break through...come with me."

"I want to know -- "

"Do as I say, if you value your godson's life."

Sirius looked stricken, and allowed Dumbledore to lead them to a paneled wall. One of the paintings obediently swung open at his request to reveal a small cubbyhole containing a gold flask; he took it and stepped in front of the panel next to it, which drew back entirely.

They followed the headmaster down a spiral staircase that seemed to go on forever; they stopped, around the time Remus estimated they'd just passed ground level, and Dumbledore unlocked a door with a small, complicated key he produced from around his neck.

"It is as I feared," he said, when he opened the door.

***

On the other side of the flame, Harry found, was a wide staircase leading down to a large, echoing chamber. In the centre of the chamber stood a mirror and two men, examining it, one tall and one short. Before he could help himself, he'd sucked in a startled breath -- that was the mirror called Y N I T S E D, and he could see the rolling fog inside it from where he stood.

A hand clapped over his mouth as soon as he'd made the noise -- Snape's hand, as the professor came through the flame behind him. Too late, however; the taller man in front of the mirror had turned.

Professor Quirrell's arm shot out, wand pointed directly at Harry's forehead.

"Move and you die," he said. "You move, Snape, and the boy suffers."

"Let him go, Quirrell," Snape said. Harry's eyes were on the other figure, who was pressing his hands to the golden stand, as if exploring it -- leaving small smears of red wherever he touched, apparently ignoring the standoff going on nearby.

"So he can sound the alarm? I think not," Quirrell replied. "Besides, he'll be needed, eventually."

Snape's fingers tightened over Harry's mouth.

"Needed for what?" he demanded.

"Just a little spell you once interrupted," answered a horrible, rasping voice, the voice of the other man in the room, who straightened and turned around.

"Pettigrew," Snape breathed.

Chapter 18

"Sniveheellus," Peter Pettigrew said. "Sohh good to see you haa...gain."

Harry's eyes widened, and if Snape's hand on his mouth hadn't reminded him to be silent, he might have screamed.

Pettigrew stood next to Quirrell, just in front of the mirror, shoulders slightly hunched. His presence alone made Harry want to bolt for cover, made all the horrifying memories of the kidnapping come rolling back to him -- he and Dora, imprisoned and taunted by Bellatrix, forced to watch as Pettigrew completed the ritual that would grant him immense power. The fight afterwards, and the snakes....

The snakes. His first Snake, who'd had his back broken protecting Harry. The snakes had done something horrible to him, Harry realised.

Pettigrew's face, with its curious goat's-eyes, was a mass of what had at first looked like open sores. Now Harry saw them for what they were: old open gashes from snake bites, still leaking little dribbles of blood once in a while. They covered face and neck, even up into his dull, patchy hair. His mangled lips and even part of his tongue made it a horror to watch him talk.

There were bloodstains on the shapeless dun robe he wore, and his hands were thick and swollen with bites, with blood, with infections here and there. Somehow the snakes had done this -- had torn him nearly to shreds, and he hadn't healed.

"Oh, gods," Snape said.

"Ahhrrrn't you pleheased to scheee me?" Pettigrew rasped. "Yhou've grown, Harrh...eey."

Harry stared at him, horrified. Behind them, the smoke boiled in the mirror.

"Make sense to you now, Severus?" Quirrell asked. His voice was lower than usual, and the stutter was completely gone; his face was composed and cold. "The deaths of the unicorns, the troll, my motives? You can see why I wouldn't give you a reason before."

"I knew it wasn't just greed," Snape muttered. "You're a fool, Quirrell."

"A fool?" Quirrell snickered. "It may have taken me longer than you to discover my way to this chamber, but I am here as you are. Does a fool apprentice himself to a powerful dark wizard? Become his right hand?"

"You've been fooled by a ruthless murderer," Snape replied. There was a rasping, choking noise of disapproval from Pettigrew.

"Puhut the wand dow...hng," Pettigrew said. "Ahnd let me show Suhnivellus how ruthless I...cahn be."

Quirrell hesitated, but eventually he spun the wand and tucked it back into a pocket in his robes. Pettigrew reached up to touch his own temple, and Snape would have pitched forward if Harry hadn't been there. As it was they stumbled, and Snape fell to his knees at the top of the stairs, clutching the scar on his face. Harry bent over him.

"Stop it!" he shouted, as Snape struggled to breathe. "Stop it!"

Pettigrew smiled cruelly, and let his hand fall. Snape slumped forward, unconscious.

"Cohme....hereh, Harry," Pettigrew ordered.

"Come here or he dies," Quirrell added, when Harry gave them both a defiant look. "And let me tell you a little story about my master."

Harry could feel his own wand in his back pocket, but there was no way to reach for it and he had no idea what he would do with it if he could. He descended the stairs slowly and warily. Quirrell stepped directly up to him and put his hands on Harry's shoulders, teacher-fashion. Harry suppressed a shudder.

All year while he had sat in Quirrell's class, while he had received grades, answered questions, been praised and occasionally scolded by the professor, Quirrell had been serving Peter Pettigrew. The traitor who had in turn served Voldemort.

"My Master, you see, found me," he whispered, "and asked for my care. How could I say no? My poor Master," he added, turning to look at Peter, who had gone back to examining the mirror. "We tried unicorn's blood, but that only keeps him alive; it doesn't heal his wounds. Wounds you caused," he added, a brief flash of anger crossing his face. "But I know the Elixir of Life can cure him. And so," he said, "we must find the stone."

"It's not here," Harry said loudly.

"Not yet," Quirrell agreed.

There was a deep breath from the top of the stairs, and Snape pushed himself up, just barely.

"You'll never get it," he said hoarsely.

"Tell me how to get it out of the mirror or the boy dies," Quirrell replied.

"You won't kill him," Snape answered. "You..." he wheezed. "You need him. To find..." another choking breath, "The Dark Lord."

"Then you tell us or you die," Quirrell snapped. Snape gave him a ghastly smile.

"The Mirror of Ynitsed," Snape answered. "Unless you're...destined to have the stone...you'll never get it."

Quirrell turned to look at Pettigrew, and Harry made a move for his wand -- but Quirrell's hand shot out and caught his wrist, though the tall man didn't even look at him. Pettigrew gestured him over clumsily with one swollen hand, and Quirrell dragged Harry with him.

What the billowing mirror-smoke showed Quirrell, Harry never found out; he was torn between closing his eyes tightly and looking at whatever horror it had to show him. Pettigrew, shaking his head, pointed a finger at the mirror.

"I see mh...yself whole," he rasped, and Snape let out a small groan of despair behind them. Harry could hear him dragging himself along the ground, towards the stairs. "S...erving mhy mha....ster..."

"Lord Voldemort," Quirrell said, in a reverent whisper. Harry, watching the smoke move faster and faster, waited for the first vision in the mirror to appear. He didn't notice Pettigrew until the man's head snapped up, and he scented the air, nostrils twitching like a bloodhound.

"Bhoy," he said, and Harry's eyes jerked away from the mirror. "Him. His destiny to get the stone."

Quirrell jerked aside, holding Harry in a viselike grip in front of the mirror. The smoke reached fever pitch and cleared; Harry braced for another horrible sight, but all he saw was --

Himself. Uninjured except for a few scratches he'd gotten during the battle with the Devil's Snare. Behind him, he could see Quirrell --

No. Not Quirrell. A ghastly impersonation of Quirrell, sunken-cheeked, grey-faced, eyes rolled up in his head, the whites tinted strangely green. Quirrell's corpse.

On the other side, Peter Pettigrew, whole and rosy-cheeked, smiling horribly.

The mirror-Harry gave him a little smile and held out his other hand, balled into a fist. When he opened it, a small red stone lay on his palm.

It looks so plain, Harry thought. It looked like a smooth river-stone -- pretty enough, but nothing special.

Then the mirror-Harry stepped forward, and his hand, his arm, came out of the mirror as though it were nothing more than a spiderweb or a sheet of thin paper. Quirrell, triumphantly, reached for the stone, but his hand passed right through it; Pettigrew tried a second later, with the same results.

"He has to take it," Quirrell said. Harry was hardly listening; he could see Snape, in the mirror, reach the bottom of the stairs, and roll over onto his back, breathing hard. He was reaching for his wand.

"Take the stone, Harry," Quirrell ordered, grasping him by the hair, forcing him forward.

"I won't," Harry protested, trying to pull away.

"Ta...hake the stone or Snivellus dies," Pettigrew snapped, as much as he could around the peculiar gasping speech impediment.

"Don't do it, Harry," Snape called, but Harry had already reached out and taken the stone from his mirror-image's hand. The moment he did, smoke blew across the mirror for a split second, and everything changed. Even Snape, on his knees behind them, looked different, though Harry couldn't say how. Quirrell's face was beginning to decay, now, and Pettigrew's horrible, unnatural eyes had changed colour, had turned pure white, and something was wrapping its way around his neck --

Harry was thrown away, skidding backwards towards Snape. Quirrell produced a jar from under his robes, filled with a silvery powder, and held it out to his master. Pettigrew dropped the stone into the jar, and the powder began to move, as though it was full of worms, or somehow alive.

"Harry," Snape whispered. "Get out. Go back through the flame, it won't hurt you. I'm sorry."

"I'm not going anywhere," Harry said, trying to help prop him up.

"If you don't go now you won't have another chance -- Merlin fuck," he swore, as Pettigrew gave them a swift glance, and the scars on his face glowed.

"They won't kill you if they've got me," Harry replied. "Someone'll come."

"Nobody's...coming, Harry," Snape managed. "Get out now."

"No."

There was an hysterical laugh, and both of them looked up; Pettigrew had filled the jar with water and was drinking it, with the stone still inside. Quirrell was laughing, applauding delightedly and slightly insanely.

"Is that all?" Harry asked in a whisper.

"Sublimely simple," Snape answered.

"One draught to cure," Pettigrew said, wiping his lips as he finished. His wounds were already sealing over, and when he wiped blood off his face, they could see clean, whole skin underneath. "And one draught to -- "

"Expelliarmus!" Snape shouted as his wand shot out. The jar went flying; there was the sound of breaking glass in the shadows, and they could hear the stone skittering away.

"You never could manage to be anything more than an annoyance, Snivellus," Pettigrew snarled, gaining coherency as the wounds on his throat and mouth healed. "I can live without immortality for a minute or two, in order to take care of you."

He started forward, but Quirrell cried "Master!" and he turned. Quirrell was staring in the mirror, touching his face. Furious, Quirrell whirled on Snape.

"Let me kill him," he said softly. Pettigrew hesitated, but then smiled cruelly, and waved his hand.

"Be my guest," he said. Harry tried to slide in front of his professor, but Snape shoved him away.

"Will you stand, Snivellus?" Pettigrew asked, sneeringly. "Take your death like a man?"

Snape pushed himself upright, drew his feet up under him and stood, swaying unsteadily. He lifted his wand.

"This is your last chance, Quirrell," he said quietly, waveringly.

"Did you hear that?" Pettigrew said, with a sinister smile creasing his now-smooth face. The last of the blood, drying on his skin, flaked and fell away. "He's given you a last chance."

"Very kind of him," Quirrell agreed. "But I doubt," he added, turning back to Snape, "that you have enough energy left for a simple summoning charm. And so, I think -- "

"Avada Kedavra," Snape said, calmly. Harry was blown backwards by the blast, which slammed him into the steps and knocked the breath from his body. Green light filled the room, and Quirrell was thrown into the mirror, which shattered splendidly. Snape turned to Pettigrew.

"Never give a man time to pool his resources, rat," he said, just as Pettigrew lifted a shaking hand and pointed at him. The scars glowed bright amber again, and Snape collapsed completely.

Harry threw himself forward, willing to scratch those goat's eyes out of Pettigrew's face, but an arm caught him around his chest, and two men darted past him from behind. Before Harry could think, let alone react, Sirius was there, running for Pettigrew, who snapped his outstretched fingers and vanished just before Sirius reached him. Dumbledore, on his other side, was already bending over Snape.

"It's all right, Harry," Remus said in his ear. "It's okay, we're here."

Harry looked down and realised that the arm around his chest was wearing Remus' favourite red pyjama shirt. He glanced up, and saw Remus' worried face. Sirius, standing where Pettigrew had been, bellowed in rage.

"He's still alive," Dumbledore said. Harry felt himself trembling, despite Remus' protective embrace. "Sirius, stop being a fool. See to Quirrell."

Sirius knelt, wary of the shattered glass, where the other man lay.

"He's dead," he said, voice shaking. "Someone's used an Unforgiveable on him."

Just then Snape began to cough, and Dumbledore helped him to roll over. He dry-heaved twice, spat, and tried to push himself to his feet once more.

"Now is not the time," Dumbledore said, when he saw Sirius open his mouth, "to ask questions. Someone must go back through to the room with the potions, and drink the smallest but one. Pass through the purple flame and find the other children. Help them through and we'll all go up to the hospital wing, quietly and calmly, together."

Harry turned away from Dumbledore, who was helping Snape to walk, and buried his face in Remus' shirt. Now that it was over, he felt weak, as though he could hardly move; after a moment there were other arms, and the sharp, clean smell of Sirius, who was lifting him, carrying him back through the black flame, towards safety.

***

Severus Snape woke slowly, to sensations rather than a concrete world: throbbing pain in his jaw and one of his wrists, bright white colour, noise. He lay still, unsure where he was or if awake was quite a safe thing to be; slowly the world resolved itself into a pillow under his head, white flannel pyjama trousers, a hospital blanket on his bare chest, something wrapped around his wrist. And words -- voices.

"And Draco?"

"He'll be all right. The chesspieces were designed to be malicious, not murderous, and aside from a nasty bump on his head, he's healing nicely. I'm told Madam Pomfrey's feeding him ice cream."

Severus felt a relief he wasn't sure he understood, since why wouldn't Malfoy be all right?

"What about...the body."

"Quirrell? You heard Harry. It sounds to me as though he got what he deserved."

The second voice, the one answering questions, that was Dumbledore; it took him a minute more to identify the first as Lupin.

"Sirius is with him now," Lupin said.

"I imagine he is being a very solicitous parent."

"Yes, well. As soon as he's made sure Harry has all his fingers and toes still, you should probably prepare yourself for a shouting match."

A pang of amusement shot through Severus. That would be Black, always trying to shout down whoever disagreed with him.

"You aren't shouting, I notice."

"I've found there's rarely any need for it. Especially after the fact."

"You aren't angry that Harry was endangered thus?"

"From the sound of it he endangered himself, and Severus hadn't much choice. It's quite clear he put Harry's interests above his own."

The memories came rushing back, at that point, and Severus moaned. Yes; he had cast an Avada Kedavra to protect Harry. Something he had done only once before, and once had been more than enough to put the fear of a punishment in the afterlife into him.

He was in a world of trouble. Worlds. Many, many worlds of trouble. An entire solar system of trouble.

"Looks like he's coming round," said Lupin, and Severus shifted on the bed. An arm snaked under his shoulder, and Lupin helped him to sit upright, although he nearly pitched forward from the vertigo. He rested for a moment, while the other two were silent, and then drew up his knees, setting his arms across them and resting his forehead on his arms, taking deep breaths.

"Harry's all right?" he asked, just to be sure.

"He's fine. Just a few bruises," Lupin answered.

"Malfoy and the others?"

"Almost better than Harry," Dumbledore said. "Mister Longbottom and Miss Patil are keeping Mister Malfoy company while he recuperates in a more private room."

"The stone?"

"Recovered. Unfortunately we've had to...disable some of the security surrounding it, but several Aurors have already arrived to take personal custody, and are arranging new measures until it can be destroyed."

"Pettigrew."

"Gone."

"He'll be back."

"The wards have already gone up," Dumbledore answered, and Severus turned his head to one side to look at them. "He came in with help, and he left through magic, but he won't be able to get back in either way."

Severus nodded, and turned back to contemplating the sheets. It was a relief not to have to think too much.

"You haven't asked about Quirrell," Dumbledore said gently.

"I don't need to."

There was a long silence, and footfalls could be heard at the far end of the infirmary room.

"Harry's sleeping in the next room." Black's voice. "I've asked Nymphadora to stand guard outside the hospital wing with her partner."

"The school is perfectly safe," Dumbledore answered.

"Forgive me, Headmaster, if I don't have much faith in your ability to protect my son," Sirius answered sharply.

"Here comes the shouting," Lupin murmured. Severus let out a weak, dry chuckle.

"Let us discuss this in my office," Dumbledore said, "away from those who need their rest."

When they had gone, Severus lifted his head and looked around. Sunlight filtered through the windows; he must have been unconscious for hours. It had already been past midnight when the whole mess had begun, and if he could see the sun through the high rose window at one end, that meant it was at least past ten in the morning.

Quirrell dead -- he didn't regret that much, he'd never liked the man, and anyone who hurt Harry deserved to die. Pettigrew healed and escaped -- no doubt he would begin causing trouble soon enough. He'd had no idea Pettigrew was even involved, or how the man had latched on to the Philosopher's Stone as a cure for the perpetual injuries -- or even why those had occurred. It wasn't as though a charm had been cast. He had simply been ripped to shreds by snakes, acting on Harry's command two years before. Two years of life like that must have been torture.

Well. Severus had never liked Pettigrew either.

The Mirror of Ynitsed had shattered. That was just as well. Severus didn't trust centaur magic, and the thing was centaur forged; still, it would create an imbalance --

"Professor Snape?"

He looked over at the doorway, and found Harry standing there uncertainly, clad in hospital-issue pyjamas.

"You should be sleeping," he said to Harry, by way of greeting.

"I was tired," Harry answered truthfully. "But Sirius went a little insane about me getting hurt. I pretended to go to sleep so he'd go yell at Dumbledore instead of yelling about Dumbledore to me."

"Just about Dumbledore?" Severus asked. Harry came forward into the room, wandering slowly down the aisle created by the facing beds.

"And you too," Harry answered. "He wants you sacked."

"How charitable of him. I probably deserve imprisonment."

"Cos you killed Professor Quirrell."

"Not just because I killed him; that was self-defence. It was the manner in which I did so. That spell's forbidden; it's an Unforgiveable curse."

Harry sat on the edge of the next bed over. He didn't ask how Severus knew the curse.

"I told them Peter Pettigrew did it."

Severus stared at him.

"You what, Harry?"

"I told them he did it. Killed Quirrell. They believed me."

"Harry, why did you lie?"

Harry shrugged. "Cos you'd have been in trouble if they knew you'd killed him, and you didn't deserve to be. 'Sides, I'm a Slytherin. Everyone keeps telling me we're supposed to cheat."

Severus considered this. The boy had a point. In Harry's place, had he been quick-witted enough, he'd have done the same.

"That was all right, wasn't it?" Harry asked.

"You may have saved my life," Severus said quietly.

"Good," said Harry, decidedly. He glanced down at his hands. "Professor Snape?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Padma was sure that you were the one who was after the stone. She made a good case for it," Harry continued. "I mean. Who wouldn't want to live forever with all the gold they could ever need?"

Severus watched him for a while before replying.

"Wizards," he said, after a moment, "Witches and Wizards, both, usually live well into their second century. One forgets this, as...so many of those who would still be alive, like Dumbledore, have died. Many in the last war, with the rise of the Dark Lord. The Headmaster is himself well over a hundred years old."

"He looks it," Harry said. Severus smiled thinly.

"Pray you age as well as he has, Harry, or that you are permitted to live long enough to do so. We already witness so much in our lives; I have no desire to live beyond my alotted span. There was a time when I cursed that I had even as much time as I did to live."

Harry gave him a curious look, and Severus realised he'd said more than he ought; he changed the subject quickly.

"As for the fact of the stone turning lead -- or any other metal -- into gold..." he shook his head. "It's a question of economics. Too much gold and the value drops. Beyond that, I've always found it to be a rather gaudy metal."

"But you could quit your job. You hate teaching."

Severus arched an eyebrow. "Hate teaching? Whatever gave you that idea?"

"You're always shouting at someone or telling us our marks aren't good enough, or you're refusing to give us the answers to the homework until we've worked it out our...selves..." Harry trailed off, blinking.

"Tell me, Harry, do you consider...say, Professor Binns to be kinder than I?" Harry refused to answer, but Severus already knew. "And whose class do you work harder in?"

"Yours," Harry mumbled.

"Why?"

"Because it's harder to please you."

Severus nodded. "When I was sixteen I surely never imagined this is where I would be at thirty-two, but I think perhaps I ought to be grateful for that. I don't want to live forever. And even if I had, I would not have gone against Dumbledore's wishes. I do try not to betray those who have placed their faith in me," he mused. "Besides, someone has to ensure competence amongst the students. In my class, you know, you learn more than just potions-brewing."

Harry gave him a troubled look, but he didn't speak; after a while, Severus closed his eyes.

"You could've died," Harry said.

"That's very true. So could you, considering your idiotic refusal to go to safety."

"But he didn't kill you," Harry answered, ignoring the scolding. "He didn't kill you, but when Professor Quirrell dared you to kill him, you did."

"Peter Pettigrew is arrogant, and stupid. He has power for the sake of power and no idea how to wield it; he desires an audience. I..." he sighed. "We all desire an audience, some more than others, but the difference is, some of us are not proud of our atrocities."

"Are you glad you killed him?"

"Yes."

"Me too. I hope they don't sack you. It had to happen."

"Oh?" Severus asked, amused at his childish confidence.

"When I looked in the mirror..." Harry hesitated. "I saw what was going to happen. Sort of. I mean I saw him -- " Severus noticed with a start that Harry never said Pettigrew's name, if he could help it, " -- healed again. And I saw me, and I was okay, and you were -- well, not really okay, but you weren't dead. And Professor Quirrell was. I don't think I liked that mirror much."

"Destiny's tricky," Severus agreed. "It changes with our decisions. The mirror only shows what might happen, and never even shows that very clearly. Which makes sense," he added. "It's just like the centaurs that made it."

"Will they be angry you broke it?"

"Immensely. It was part of a set of mirrors, and their magic was interlaced; without one, the others may become...unstable."

The Erebos mirrors, he thought -- the mirrors that saw into the outer darkness. Ynitsed, Erised, and Noitoved. Without Ynitsed, the other two might have to be destroyed as well. The centaurs would be furious.

Damn.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," said a new voice, and they turned to see Dora Tonks watching them from the doorway, arms crossed. "Nearly gave me a heart attack when I went to look in on you and you weren't there, Harry."

Harry rose, reluctantly, and let her tousle his hair as he passed back into the private room Madam Pomfrey had given him.

"You all right then?" she asked, and Severus realised she was talking to him.

"Fine, thank you."

"I heard about Quirrell."

"Oh?"

"Yeah -- word is, Peter Pettigrew murdered him in order to distract you while he made his getaway."

Their eyes met for a long moment, and then she winked. "My parents send their love," she said, and vanished into Harry's room.

He sat for a long time, watching the fall of light through the stained-glass window, collecting up his thoughts and deciding what to do with them; it was a process he'd learned from an old teacher. To turn over one's thoughts, decide upon one's emotions, and set them aside in a corner of the mind; it was necessary.

He had been arrogant and stupid, perhaps even more so than Peter Pettigrew. He should have gone to Dumbledore after Quirrell released the troll; he had rationalised to himself that Dumbledore would scoff at him, but Dumbledore never scoffed. The truth, and this cut to the bone because it meant that he was indirectly responsible for the childrens' injuries, was that he had wanted the glory of catching Quirrell in the act -- or he had wanted a triumph over Quirrell. That was it; he had wanted to beat the man at his own game.

There would be no publicity about this, whether he had played the hero or the villain in it; Dumbledore would never allow the scandal of a teacher's murder to be published. The Minister would have to be informed, but publicly Quirrell's death would be chalked up to something else -- an unfortunate adventure in the Forbidden Forest, perhaps. The stone would still be destroyed on the solstice, and if Draco's mother was even informed of the accident, which he doubted would happen, she would be told he had tumbled down some stairs, or been fighting with another boy.

The rest of the children would know; Neville Longbottom was indiscreet. But they would only know half-stories and probably embellish those into myths that had so little bearing on reality that they were safe, for now.

He would be called to testify in front of the Minister on the subject of Pettigrew's misadventure with the stone, and he would have to uphold Harry's lie about Quirrell's death. It was a good lie, a lie he was grateful for. He had been Harry's secret-keeper for two years; Harry could keep one of his.

He was so tired.

Madam Pomfrey, having assured herself that Draco Malfoy had enough company to keep him awake until the concussion wore off, and having seen Harry sleeping safely in bed, found her oldest and least compliant patient asleep when she checked on him. It was just as well; Sirius Black had only just stopped his furious tirade, and Severus would only have provided a second target.

Chapter 19

Slytherin played Ravenclaw in the week following the end of exams, three days after the misadventures of the children and Professor Snape; Harry, sore but eager, was allowed to participate only after Severus joined the fray, because Albus Dumbledore was far too pleased by the sight of Sirius Black and Severus Snape arguing the same side to deny them the pleasure of seeing Harry play.

Severus, who after three days was still feeling ill and whose heart made noises that mildly worried Madam Pomfrey, was only barely allowed to attend the game on the condition that he be accompanied by the Healer and obey her mandates absolutely. Madam Rosmerta, a Hogsmeade resident and friend of Dumbledore's, was asked to grade his students' papers and give them their marks, and the results were therefore rather more lenient --and butterbeer-spotted -- than his students would have expected.

The day of the game was sunny and warm, and perfect, because Slytherin won; Sirius even caved and wore a green shirt, though he made up for it by wearing scarlet wizarding robes over it. Still, the spirit of the thing counted.

The children, who had missed out on the joy of seeing their Gryffindor prank victims discomfited at breakfast, were heartened by the way Neville's former bullies avoided their eyes, and sat hunkered in a corner of the stadium, occasionally scratching at the ink under their shirts. The solitary girl, whose shoes had been vandalised by Padma, had received a Howler from her parents, demanding to know why she wanted yet more shoes. Revenge was sweet, and also apparently effective.

It was the day after the game, and the day before exam scores came out (Draco already knew he'd passed Transfig, and Padma had been quietly informed she'd set the record for first-year Charms scores) when Harry was called into the Headmaster's office, to find Remus, Sirius, and Dora waiting there for him.

"Harry, please be seated, if you would," Dumbledore said gravely, and Harry settled himself on the empty chair between Sirius and Remus. "I'm afraid I have some rather serious and unpleasant news I'm obliged to share."

Harry waited patiently. If he had been found out in his lie, there was nothing to be done about it now; if he was being punished, the adventure had been well worth it.

"Having ascertained that Peter Pettigrew is now at the height of what power he has," Dumbledore said slowly, "it has been decided that London is no longer a safe haven, even the excellent protection of the Tonks house."

Dumbledore nodded at Dora, who looked unusually grave -- even her normal pink-or-blue hair had settled into a sober shade of dark brown.

"To return to London, especially a house easily accessible through Diagon Alley, would endanger not only yourself but also the Tonkses and Mister Longbottom. Unfortunately, therefore, we have agreed that a return to Betwys Beddau is wisest."

Harry watched two months' worth of summer plans go straight to hell.

"I know this must be a disappointment," Dumbledore said, "But we do think it is best."

There was a soft snort from Sirius which told Harry that Dumbledore's definition of "we" was different from Sirius'.

"We're taking you this afternoon," Remus said, "As soon as you can pack your things."

"This afternoon?" Harry demanded. "But I haven't had my exam scores yet -- nobody's leaving for days!"

"Which is precisely why you must leave now," Dumbledore said, in that infuriatingly reasonable tone. "You'll be allowed time to say goodbye to your friends, pack properly, and collect your scores."

"But I -- "

"This is not negotiable, Harry."

Harry glanced at Sirius, whose face was set with the determination of a man who is going to follow orders he thinks are idiotic, and then at Remus, who looked more regretful than anything.

"We've already moved back to the River House, Harry," Remus said. "The decision was made the day after everything happened."

"But I won't even be able to send letters to my friends -- they won't be able to send me anything -- " Harry stammered, as the impact of Betwys Beddau's isolation hit him fully. "This sucks."

He thought he heard a half-laugh from Dora, but when he glared at her, her face was fully composed.

"Regardless, it is what must be done to ensure your safety and the safety of your family," Dumbledore answered. "Pettigrew is unaware of the location of the house, or even where in the world you will be; it is the safest place for you until you can return here."

Harry scowled, but there was nothing to be done; after some of the usual farewell pleasantries, Remus and Sirius went to wait in the library with Dora, while Harry packed and said his goodbyes.

He had done quite a bit of packing already, in anticipation of taking the train home with the other students; now "home" would be the windswept Welsh town of Betwys Beddau, full of standing stones and Muggle children. Nobody to play Exploding Snap or Wizard's Chess with except for Remus and Sirius; nobody who knew what Hogwarts was. He wouldn't get to visit Padma's house or have living-room-sleepovers with Neville like they'd plotted. No camping out in Dora's old tent that she'd charmed with shooting stars on the inside roof.

Neville could still have Draco to stay, but he wouldn't get to be there, and he was sure if it was just Neville pestering his parents and not the combined forces of two boys, Draco wouldn't get to stay for nearly as long.

No letters. No visits to Diagon Alley. No wizarding sweets for three. Whole. Months.

A little voice inside him said it was really only two months and a week, but Harry could not be bothered to be logical at a time like this. He paused as he picked up the box he kept his cloak in -- Padma had thoughtfully stuffed it into a pocket of her robes and returned it to Harry after the whole mess was finished.

At least, he thought, his parents were sane. He'd be allowed to run more or less wild in Betwys Beddau, and Sirius never scolded if he spent hours in the garden that led down to the river, reading or drawing or just daydreaming.

Not like Draco. Going home would be even worse for Draco.

His friends were waiting for him as he came up the stairs out of the dungeons, bookbag over his shoulder -- the house-elves had already appeared to take his trunk to the train station. No doubt Dumbledore had summoned the other children as soon as Harry had left.

Padma, who looked upset, didn't say anything; she just hugged him and pressed a sack of fizzing whizbees in his hand (she'd obviously thought over the Wizarding Sweets Dilemma as well). Neville said it was awful, and shook his hand, promising to write him letters anyway and they'd find some way to smuggle them to him. Draco put out his hand to shake as well, and Harry, instead, put a box into it.

"S'my cloak," he muttered. Draco frowned. "You should have it. On account of your mum. So you can hide really well if you have to."

"I haven't got anywhere to hide it," Draco answered. "Well, I have, but what if she takes it away?"

"Don't let her," Harry said simply. "Or give it to the house-elves, they'll keep it safe. Take good care of it. It belonged to my dad."

Draco, still frowning, held the box against his chest and nodded. Sirius appeared, then, and he had to say goodbye once more, and shake all round, and stow the sweets in his pocket, and then it was time to leave.

None of the grown-ups spoke until they were on the train, Remus and Dora on the seat opposite, Sirius next to the window with his arm slung around Harry's shoulders.

"We'll transfer just outside London, and continue on Muggle transport," Sirius said finally. "It's a long trip, but we've got a sleeper reserved on the Muggle train, and when we reach Powys we'll take broomsticks from there. The train's crammed with Aurors -- "

"Five or six," Dora added.

" -- and we'll be at the River House tomorrow afternoon."

Harry nodded, and watched the landscape pass.

"We've arranged your room already," Remus said. "On the bright side, you won't have to help us move -- we did all that beforehand."

Sirius said something about the trouble moving, and Remus went off into a story about it; Harry, half-listening, closed his eyes and tried not to think about three months without magic, or his friends, or anyone who knew anything at all about Hogwarts.

On the other hand, he thought, he was alive, which was something. And he would have three months in Betwys Beddau, which was sunny in the summertime and did have brilliant rocks for climbing on.

"Oh," Sirius said, and dislodged Harry for a minute to dig in his pocket. "Dumbledore said this was for you."

Harry took the letter with a small thrill; it might have come from Dumbledore, but the green ink reading Harry on the outside was in Professor Snape's handwriting.

***

Harry,

Having been informed of the decision to return you to the River House for your holidays, I thought it would be better to write to you than to say goodbye in person, as your time is better spent packing and preparing for the journey. By the time you receive this I will be already on my way to another part of the country for my health, so you see we are both under summer orders.

Enclosed you will find your official Hogwarts letter stating that you are not to use your magic at all outside of term time. You will also find your exam scores for this year's classes; they are adequate enough for an ordinary child, but I shall expect better of you next year. Mister Flint has informed me that your performance as Seeker was satisfactory, and that you will be returning to play for Slytherin House in the fall. As you will not be allowed broomstick flight until your return, I expect you to diligently study the playbook that Mister Flint provided you with at the beginning of your tenure on the team, and to compose at least five new stragetic plays.

I anticipate that you will, as all my students do, forget everything you have learned this year. I have therefore composed a reading list that will remind you of the basics, if nothing more. They are books easily acquired in Muggle bookshops or already in the possession of your dubious godfather, and you will be examined on their contents when you return to Hogwarts.

Do try to stay out of trouble. I didn't risk my life so that you could be killed by a stray Muggle automobile over holidays.

I remain your professor,

Severus Snape

Fell, Bethany. "Herbology Basics"

Friede, Emily. "Magical Portraiture, a Guide for Beginners"

Juniper, Katrina. "The Boy Who Lived: A Biography"

Lockhart, Gilderoy. "Wandering with Werewolves" (for absurdity value.)

Schaeffer, Taisma. "Things That Creep"

Shelley, Mary. "Frankenstein"

Taylor & Tandy's "Elements Of Style"

White, T.H. "The Once and Future King"

***

Harry passed the second sheet of parchment to Sirius, who grinned and slapped him on the shoulder.

"Harry, look at this. Ninety-seven in Potions, ninety in Charms, ninety-four in Transfigurations -- these are great scores! Look, Remus, a hundred in Magical History -- "

"Eighty-four in Astronomy?" Remus asked, examining the scores.

"I kept falling asleep," Harry said.

"That's his lowest score, though -- full marks in Herbology as well, ninety-five in Defence -- "

"Ought to have given you a hundred, all things considered," Remus said, with a grin at Harry. "I think surviving a year of classes with a homicidal lunatic counts for something."

"Snape didn't give him full marks for surviving his," Sirius said, and Harry gave him a good-natured scowl.

"Dumbledore added a note saying your friend Padma took top of first-year, tied with Hermione Granger -- what an awful name to give a child -- and Neville and Draco both passed somewhere in the middle of their class," Remus said.

"What's the letter say?" Sirius asked.

Harry folded it and tucked it into his pocket. "Nothing, just some summer reading I have to do."

Betwys Beddau wasn't going to be so bad, after all.

END

Laocoon's Children

Year Two: Secret Tongues

Chapter 1

9 Aug 1992

Rome, Italy

Dear Andromeda,

Thank you for your letter dated 2nd August. I apologise for having been over a week in replying; the owl arrived, apparently rather exhausted, after I had left for Florence, and my inept landlord felt that it would clearly be pointless to attempt to send it onward. I am well, and Florence was interesting, if -- as all Italian cities seem to be -- overcrowded with tourists and automobiles. I cannot fathom the pleasure in strapping one's body into a deathtrap of steel and glass and hurtling oneself down the roadways at excessive speeds. Then again, I suppose Muggles must take their entertainment where they find it.

As soon as I finish this letter, I begin packing to leave; I must be back at Hogwarts early to prepare for the new school year and, as always, improve on the shoddy housekeeping the house-elves will have committed on my rooms in my absence. I shall be Apparating to France and traveling by broomstick across the Channel; I intend to lodge in a small seaside town that night, Apparate to London in the morning, and collect a few supplies in Diagon Alley before taking the evening train northward. I will be lunching at noon at the Leaky Cauldron, if you and your family would care to join me on the 12th. If not, I will stop by Tonks&Tonks, as I have a parcel to deliver.

I am, as I have assured you before and will continue to assure you, completely recuperated and in excellent health. If you continue to pester me on the subject I shall have no choice but to produce a Healer's note to that effect. In the same vein, I hope Nymphadora continues her recovery.

Give my salutations to your family, though I suspect you would have at any rate.

Severus Snape

***

Dear Neville!!!

OWL POST!!!

Sirius and Remus say Headmaster Dumbledore FINALLY gave permission for me to send you a letter now that we're going to be going back to school soon anyway, since my Hogwarts letter has arrived! Did you get yours? I can't tell you when I'm coming to Diagon Alley but I AM! To get books and supplies and new robes and to see you and everyone.

I missed everyone this summer but I had a lot of fun too! I'm sending you some drawings I did of Sirius being silly. And also one of Snakes snakeskins since if they shed them whole they're supposed to be really lucky. I got to help out in a bookshop in town and we went camping in the big stone circle near here for my birthday last week and this summer all the other boys and me made up a Football team and flattened a team from one town over at it even though we were smaller. Football's like Quidditch only without bludgers and a Snitch and played on the ground and you can't touch the ball except with your feet and head. I miss Quidditch.

Also someone bought a farm next to our house and they had HORSES! which I got to help feed sometimes. And I'm sending you some feathers too from the chickens they're keeping.

I have to go write to Padma and Draco and some other people now. Remus says to tell Andromeda to talk to Dumbledore if she wants to know when we're coming and they're going to move back in with her and Ted for the year unless they already let out the flat, but Sirius is sending her a letter anyway so I don't guess you need to.

OWL POST!!!!!

Harry

***

August 12, 1992
12 Grimmauld Place

Dear Sirius,

I was so glad to have a letter from the three of you at last! It's good to hear that you're all well and apparently happy. I hope this letter actually reaches you -- Dumbledore says you'll pick it up at its destination, but you know how unreliable Muggle post can be.

We're all well here, more or less, though in some cases a bit less than more. I don't know if news had reached you but Dora had a fairly severe accident in early July, and has been off active duty with the Aurors; she was discharged from hospital on Harry's birthday, as a matter of fact, and she's been resting up here ever since. Not to worry, however. Though she's been in residence in what we all think of as "your" flat, she's moving out in a few days, since she's found a new position until she fully recovers and the Aurors are ready to put her back on duty. It may be some time, but the Healers are optimistic about a full recovery.

Neville also caught Kneazlepox, but it was a mild case and we all decided it was better he get it while young, so he spent a miserable, itchy week in bed and a slightly less itchy but still miserable week on the sofa, and now he's up and running around, as healthy as ever. He's been writing to his friends regularly and we had Padma Patil to stay in July, to keep him company while Ted and I were visiting St. Mungo's every day (what a sweet girl she is, though she does come up with all the really innovative trouble they get into). Draco's here now, and will be until school starts; he seems well enough, but I suspect living alone with his mother and a handful of house-elves isn't good for the boy. She's taught him all the proper things for "a well-reared young pureblood" to do and say, but he doesn't seem to be very good with kids his own age -- barring Neville, and I assume Harry and Padma. I'm glad you'll be here before school starts; he's already asked after you twice.

So your flat will be free for you to use, and I've spoken to the headmaster about your arrival; we'll be waiting on the train platform with open arms and have a hot dinner ready. If there's anything you need -- toothbrushes, towels, that sort of thing -- let me know and I'll make sure we're stocked up. Give my love to Remus (tell him I'm fascinated by the book idea!) and of course, lots of hugs for Harry. He's quite the little artist, isn't he? His drawings of you are tacked up in Neville's room, and the portrait he sent me of Padfoot has a place of honour in the living room next to Neville's Herbology exam (full marks! Ted's very proud, you know he was always very good at Herbology also).

Love and impatience for you to arrive,

Andromeda

PS: We had lunch with Severus today. I thought Harry would appreciate knowing that his Professor seems to be in excellent health -- Italy was good for him. He left us a stack of photographs that Harry will enjoy, and brought Ted and myself a basket of amazing Italian foodstuffs.

I'm sure you'll be jubilant to know that his lunch was dampened somewhat by the news Dora had to tell -- but I'll let her tell you herself when you get here.

***

4 August 1992
Board of Governors, Hogwarts School
Ministry Department of Education, London
Ministry of Magic, office 2204
Sec'ty of Board Albert Potblack

To:
Nymphadora O. Tonks
12 Grimmauld Place
London

Ms Tonks,

It is my pleasure to inform you that, pending your acceptance of our offer (enclosed) and return of Board of Governors contract (attached) you are hereby employed as Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please notify us of your decision as soon as possible, as the hiring deadline has already passed and this procedure is therefore highly unusual.

If you accept, you will be expected to arrive at Hogwarts School no later than the fifteenth of August in order to attend the Yearly Planning Session and file your lesson plans in a timely manner. Our information packet (book enclosed) will provide you with everything you need : train tickets to Hogwarts, credit at Flourish & Blotts for educational supplies, credit at Madam Malkin's or Tonks&Tonks for professors' robes, and codes of conduct for the school faculty.

On a personal note, Ms Tonks, allow me to tell you how much I enjoyed our meeting. To be frank, most of the board thought Gilderoy Lockhart was a much better choice, but I think Albus Dumbledore made the right decision in putting his support behind you, even though Lockhart was already all but signed. I wish you nothing but good luck in the coming year, and although I understand your tenure will be of temporary duration until your recovery is complete, I hope you will enjoy your time as a teacher at Hogwarts.

Sincerely,

Albert Potblack
Secretary to the Board of Governors of Hogwarts School
By appointment of the Ministry Department of Education

Chapter 2

Years afterward, Harry Potter would describe his first school summer holiday in Betwys Beddau as idyllic. When Neville asked him what he meant, he was hard-pressed to say, but he finally settled for the explanation that it was the last summer when they were all children.

This may have been slightly inaccurate and was certainly ironic; it wasn't as though they were innocent babes in arms. In their first year at school, Harry and his small band had decapitated a dead man, painted several fifth-year Gryffindors with indelible green ink, and narrowly averted a catastrophe of massive proportions. Still, those had been...adventures.

At any rate, that time stood out in Harry's mind as a wonderful summer, despite his initial disappointment that he would not be spending it in London. He had a long list of books to read, and he spent whole days at a time basking in the sun with Snake, reading and practicing his drawing. He was allowed to run wild so long as he stayed within the borders of the town, and besides he had Padfoot with him almost all of the time. The natives of Betwys Beddau had missed the peculiar family -- the little black-haired boy and his likewise black-haired godfather, the quiet cousin who lived with them and worked at the bookshop sometimes, and their big black Newf who was always joining in the football games (such a clever dog). They were outsiders, of course, but the village owned them and was very proprietary -- they were, as one woman once said while discussing the finer aspects of Sirius Black's arse with a friend, Betwys Beddau's outsiders.

Whether Sirius and Remus were satisfied to leave London behind for a provincial Muggle village, they didn't say, but Harry thought Remus slept more calmly than he had in London. Which of course meant that Sirius slept better as well.

Despite the pleasant weather and the freedom to do exactly as they pleased, however, when the big brown barn owl fluttered down onto Sirius' shoulder and dropped a letter on top of the book he was reading, one day early in August, Harry felt as though someone had thrown them a lifeline back to wizarding civilisation.

"School letter!" Sirius said cheerfully, sailing it across the expanse of grass to where Harry was holding a solemn conference with several snakes who lived at the bottom of the garden. His habit of talking to snakes had unnerved Sirius, years ago, but since the snakes kept the garden free of rodents and Snake kept the house bug-less, he tolerated them. Today, Harry had translated, the subject concerned a shrub which had grown over the best basking rock, and whether Harry would consent to trim it back.

Harry picked up the letter and, with a hiss that sent the other snakes wandering off, opened it. Snake, in his place of honour on Harry's collar, slithered over his ear.

"Go on then," Sirius said to the barn owl which was still perched placidly on his shoulder. The owl shook itself and hooted at Harry.

"Letter for you, too," Harry said. He tossed a thick envelope to Sirius, and a smaller, slightly crumpled one on Remus' chest, where the other man lay sleeping. "Probably waiting for a return letter."

"All right then, but he doesn't need to use me as a perch," Sirius said. Just then another owl appeared, and landed on his other shoulder. "You bloody nuisances!"

"Look, it's Hedwig!" Harry cried, as the snowy owl ruffled her feathers cheerfully. The barn owl hooted at her and flew off, as if that was all he'd been waiting for in the first place.

"You're looking fine, Beautiful," Sirius said, lifting her onto his arm and stroking her head with a fingertip. "Did Andromeda take good care of you?"

Hedwig deposited yet another letter and flapped to the ground, landing on the stone back-porch where Sirius had been lounging. She pecked at the door, and Sirius opened it enough for her to slip inside.

"Come on, we'd better feed her. Wake the lazybones, Harry, would you?" Sirius asked, tucking the letters into his pocket and following the owl down the hallway into the kitchen at the front of the house. Harry nudged Remus, who followed them sleepily inside.

Sirius set out a bowl of water and another with some cold leftover mutton in it, which Hedwig ate daintily while they sat at the table.

"Let's see what the news is," Sirius said, peering over Harry's shoulder. "Letter, booklist, ticket -- looks in order, eh?"

Harry glanced up at him and grinned as he nodded his agreement. "What'd you get?"

"Letter from Dumbledore -- looks like some press clippings, probably about our disappearance -- and..." Sirius' brow furrowed. "Something from some art studio, forwarded on by Andromeda."

"Probably wrongly addressed," Remus said with a grin. "What's Andromeda say?"

"She doesn't, other than to write her," Sirius said, setting aside the letter from the studio. "Dumbledore says...well, he says we're all right to return to London and get some of Harry's school things -- and we can move out of Betwys Beddau for the school year at least. Apparently there's been no sign of Pettigrew since the end of June."

"That doesn't seem right," Remus said. "If I were Peter I'd want all the publicity I could get. You know how he was."

"Mmh...could be a trap, but Dumbledore says he thinks he's being distracted by other things. Says to write back and let him know when we're arriving and the Tonkses will meet us in London."

"Distracted?" Remus rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That's a rather big risk."

"Well, it's not my words," Sirius answered. "What's your letter?"

Remus turned the envelope over in his hands, studying it. "It's from St. Mungo's..." he slit the wax open and unfolded the parchment. "Hmm. Nothing important," he said, folding it and giving Sirius a significant look. "Due for a checkup, that's all."

Sirius nodded, and Harry looked confused for a moment before being distracted by the press clippings. "Look, Sirius, here's one about you."

Sirius accepted the article from Harry. "Wanted, Dead Or Alive," he read. "How utterly tasteless. Look, Moony, it's a wanted poster for me."

"Well, you did go missing and you neglected to notify the press," Remus chuckled. "It's a flattering photograph. There'll be a feeding frenzy among the society columnists when we go back to London. I'm starving," he added. "Who wants waffles?"

Harry grinned and ran into the kitchen, where they heard him clanging about as he unearthed several metal bowls in his quest for the waffle iron.

"I'm due for my five-year test," Remus said hastily, to Sirius, over the racket. "I'll schedule it for after Harry leaves."

"I'll come with you," Sirius answered. "Maybe you ought to take Harry school shopping -- you draw less of a crowd," he said apologetically.

"It's a good idea -- well, we could always disguise you," Remus grinned, just as there was a splashing noise from the kitchen.

"Sounds like the milk spilled," Sirius said. "I'll go help -- sit, man, you're two days from the full moon."

"I'm not an invalid," Remus grumbled, but he did look grateful as he sank into the dining-room chair.

His movement stirred the press clippings that had spread themselves across the table, and he sorted them slowly into order, studying each one. Most of them were frivolous enough -- this person or that speculating about where Sirius Black had absconded to with his young godson. A few concerned Tonks&Tonks, the clothes shop that Andromeda and Ted ran out of the old Black house on Grimmauld Place, and one of them was a mention of Nymphadora receiving some kind of merit award. Most of the ones with photos attached featured Harry's face, or the classic Black profile that Sirius and Andromeda both shared; he paused when he came across one that had his own face, cropped from a photo someone had snapped of him and Sirius having dinner with Harry last Christmas holiday. After a moment he separated that one out, held it flat on the palm of his hand, and gave it an intense, concentrated stare.

"What's burning in here?" Sirius asked, carrying in the first plate of waffles hot from the iron. Harry followed behind, precariously carrying a pot of honey, a jar of pumpkin preserve, and a butter dish.

"Nothing," Remus replied with a real smile. He dusted some fluffy white ash off his hands quickly, plucking the butter dish out of the air and allowing Sirius to present him with the best waffle of the batch.

***

Daily Prophet........28 July 1992

SIRIUS BLACK'S MYSTERIOUS MANSERVANT: WHO IS LUPIN?
Rita Skeeter, Feature Columnist

Much has been written about handsome young playboy Sirius Black, heir to the
Black fortunes and guardian of the Boy Who Lived. Black, who divides his time
between an undisclosed summer chateau and a luxurious flat above the Tonks&Tonks
department store owned by his cousin Andromeda Tonks, is considered an
extremely private man. He has always declined interviews with various news sources
and is demonstrably protective of his young charge, who will be entering his second
year at the prestigious Hogwarts School in the autumn.

There is, however, a shadow hanging over -- or rather, following behind -- Sirius
Black. His mysterious manservant, Remus Lupin, can often be seen in the
background -- of photographs taken of Mr Black, of articles written about him
and his godson. Hovering always in the shadows, the silent Mr Lupin appears as a
sort of butler-bodyguard; he rarely speaks, never smiles for the photographs, and
is almost never acknowledged openly by either Black or Potter.

Who is Remus Lupin?

Your devoted columnist has been hard at work uncovering information about Mr
Lupin, which it must be said is carefully guarded; his medical file at St Mungo's is
under lock and key, his employment history outside of Black's payroll is sketchy
and vague, and his educational records are confidential. A fellow student of Black's
at Hogwarts, Lupin is remembered by most as a "plain, quiet sort of fellow" and a
"decent prefect", faint praise indeed for a Gryffindor whose friends included archvillain
Peter Pettigrew and martyred hero James Potter.

Could it be that Remus Lupin has some sort of hold over an old school chum? Can it be
blackmail, dear readers?

What dark secret does Remus John Lupin hide underneath his quiet exterior, and why
does Black keep him so close? Is he merely a highly-paid confidential employee, or is
he benefiting from knowing where a rich man's skeletons are buried?

***

"Did you ever open the letter Andromeda sent on?" Remus asked, as he undressed for bed that evening. Sirius took a moment to appreciate the line of his spine as he bent to shed his trousers, then answered.

"Not yet -- put it around here somewhere..." he reached for the nightstand, where the letter was already doing bookmark service in his latest reading. "Probably some kind of junk mail."

"You'd think she'd know what to forward, though," Remus answered. He slipped the pyjama bottoms up over his hips and sat on the bed, falling back to rest his head on Sirius' stomach, comfortably. "I'm curious."

"Well, we can fix that," Sirius replied, deftly tearing off the end and shaking out a thin but expensive-looking sheet of paper. "They probably just want to sell me a portrait of myself. Dear Mr. Black, Heir of the Most Noble and et cetera et cetera, patronage of your excellent mother and father -- that's sucking up, that is, nobody who ever met my mother would say that -- understand that your thirty-third birthday is approaching and..." Sirius stared at the letter.

"And?" Remus prompted. "Bit nervous about thirty-three, are we?"

"It has come to our attention," Sirius read, "That you have not yet made an appointment with our studio, and we would like to inquire if you plan on doing so in the near future. Our patented Dorian Gray portraiture process, as we are sure you are aware, preserves the youthfulness of the Wizard painted well into his tenth or eleventh decade if handled with proper care, but requires two to three weeks to complete. Due to your family's long history with the Broosh&Chakle portrait studio, and your approach to the age when portraits are generally taken, we are pleased to offer you the same service -- oh bloody hell, I remember this now..."

"Who're Broosh&Chakle?" Remus inquired, studying the dismay in Sirius' face.

"Dead," Sirius replied. "It's just the studio name now. They do portraits like my mum's -- d'you remember?"

"Vaguely. Didn't it shout nasty things at you when you went with the appraiser to have the house looked at, after she died?"

"More than nasty," Sirius said grimly. "I had some specialists in to remove it. There's a charm done so that the portrait does most of the aging, and the subject stays more or less the way they are until the portraits begins to disintegrate or they die. It's not perfect, but it's popular with the noble families. My father had his done at thirty because he thought he looked respectable enough to get good tables at the best restaurants and young enough to get the waitresses on the side," Sirius sighed. "It's a petty vanity."

Remus sat up and smiled at him. "Going to do it?"

Sirius looked shocked. "Of course not, why would I? I'm not a lecher or a bigot, and I don't need to hide those things like they did."

"Yes, but..." Remus shrugged. "I mean...you shouldn't not do it just because your family did it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Remus took his hand, weaving their fingers together. "I don't care if you look thirty-three the rest of your life or ninety-three. But you are extremely handsome, Sirius -- "

" -- Moony -- "

" -- and if you throw away that letter, I want it to be because you don't want it, and not because of anything your family did or didn't do," Remus continued. "Your family shouldn't haunt you the rest of your life."

"They don't," Sirius said sullenly. He sat up too, resting his forehead against Remus', one hand reaching up to stroke through his hair. "And I like grey hair," he added teasingly, separating out the silvery strands that were beginning to thread more and more through the pale brown. "Do you want me to have one done?"

"Merlin, I told you. I don't care," Remus answered. "But I'm sure you can afford it, and it's a family tradition that does you no harm, and I think it would be sweet, in a rather vain fashion, which is really the phrase that best describes you at any rate."

Sirius gave him a light slap on the cheek for that, and Remus laughed.

"Sleep on it," he advised. "See what you think tomorrow."

Sirius sighed and laid back again, and Remus curled around him, drawing the light summer blankets up over their bodies.

"I was thinking of charming it brown," Remus said after a while.

"Charming what brown?" Sirius asked sleepily.

"My hair. It doesn't mean anything, it's just the lycanthropy. I could charm it out pretty easily."

"I like it."

"Liar."

"I told you I did," Sirius said. Remus snorted. "I do. Makes you easy to pick out in a crowd."

Remus laughed, then, and said something about something Sirius didn't quite catch, because he was slipping down into sleep.

***

When Draco Malfoy arrived at the train platform, Andromeda Tonks had taken one look at him and silently cursed her sister. He looked healthy enough, but he was pale and more gaunt than any twelve-year-old ought to be; clearly Narcissa wasn't feeding the boy properly, and the first thing Andromeda did once they were home was sit him down and bring him and Neville tea while Ted made some rather enormous sandwiches.

"Doesn't she feed you?" Andromeda asked, as Draco eagerly tackled his second turkey sandwich. "I know you have house-elves who cook."

"Yeah," Draco said, after swallowing and setting his sandwich down. Never let it be said she hadn't taught the boy manners, at any rate. "She's been remodeling. The kitchen was the last to go."

"Remodeling? Why?" Andromeda asked, faintly amused. "It's not as though she does a lot of entertaining, Draco."

He shrugged. "Why's she do anything? I don't know. Anyway, it means she spent the summer shouting at the workmen who were doing the redecoration charms and not me. Then she decided to do the kitchen, so Mendy hasn't had anywhere to cook. So we've been mostly eating cold leftover soup and porridge -- we had bread for a while, but we ran out...anyway, Mum told her not to make sandwiches."

"Your mum's nuts," Neville said. Andromeda gave him a sharp look. "Well, she is. Go on, tell her why you couldn't have sandwiches."

"Because they're barbaric," Draco recited, then took another enormous bite out of the one in front of him. "And they're a Muggle invention."

"So is underwear," Ted said, winking at Draco, and the boys laughed. "I'd like to see her face if she found that out."

"Well, you're here now," Andromeda said, daintily eating a crisp. "And as you know I'm a terrible influence on the family, so you say what you'd like to eat and we'll fix it. You are, however, required to wear underwear in the house."

This brought on another wave of laughter from the boys, and after Draco had finished his sandwich she sent them off to Neville's room to play. Once they were gone, their voices (and occasional faint thumps and explosions) muffled by the door, she looked at Ted, who looked back seriously.

"I think perhaps we should talk to Dora about this," she said. "Clearly he's being maltreated, Ted. Aurors have the right to do inspections and take custody of children who're being abused."

"This isn't like Neville, love," Ted answered, sipping his now-cold tea thoughtfully. "Narcissa has a lot of power, whether or not she's gone absolutely round the twist, and she could probably get Dora out of a job if she really tried. Besides, Dora's not -- "

"I have power and influence too. The boy was starving!"

"It'd be hard to prove that. She was feeding him, and she had an excuse. Besides, who's to say taking him away might not be worse? You've seen what they do to children, Andromeda -- look what they did to poor Harry when his parents died, shipped him off to live with Muggles."

"I'm his closest relation -- "

"But you're also a disowned Black."

Andromeda looked at him, shocked.

"Sirius hasn't adopted Harry. If he dies, Draco gets everything that's entailed, as the next male in the line. If you were to try to get custody of him, a lot of people might think it was suspicious. This isn't just child-care, Andromeda, it's politics."

"To hell with politics!"

"You say that now, but I don't want to see Draco put in some Muggle orphanage somewhere. We've got him now," Ted continued, soothingly. "We'll feed him up before school starts and he'll stay here or at school for the winter holidays. Narcissa won't even see him until next June, and by that time I'm sure the remodeling will be over."

Andromeda rested her chin on one hand. "I don't like it, Ted."

"I know, but you can't go around taking in stray puppies when they already have owners," he said with a grin, and rose to kiss her forehead. "I'm going to go down to the market and buy some supplies for dinner. Lamb and new potatoes sound good?"

"And get some eggs, he likes omelettes."

Ted gave her a grin and a salute, and vanished down the stairs. From Neville's room came another explosion and a shriek of laughter; starving or not, he was in good spirits now.

***

"Harry!"

The shout was the first sign they had that they'd been sighted; Remus, who was a good deal taller than Harry and a bit taller than Sirius, shaded his eyes and then pointed in the direction most of the passengers leaving the train were headed.

"There they are," he said. "Neville's spotted you -- no you don't," he added, catching Harry by the shoulder as the boy began to run in the direction he'd pointed. "Not going to lose you in this crowd, Harry."

Neville broke through the sea of people then, followed closely by Draco and Ted; there were a few minutes of confused greetings before Ted pulled them out of the way of other people disembarking, over to where Andromeda and Dora were standing near a newspaper stand.

"Hello Sirius," Andromeda said, giving him a hug, and Remus a kiss on the cheek. "Welcome back to civilisation. Hi Harry!"

"Hi Aunt Andromeda!" Harry said, looking up from his huddle with his friends. "Hi Dora!"

"Hi Harry," Nymphadora said, with a grin. "Wotcha, Sirius, Remus."

"How's the invalid?" Sirius asked.

"If I wasn't leaning on it, I'd shake my cane at you," she said.

"We told her she could wait at home, but she refused," Ted put in. "Course it means I'll have to carry her back -- " He ducked Dora's well-aimed swat.

"I can walk just fine, thank you," she said. "It's good for me."

"Have you got bags we should be collecting?" Andromeda asked, gently steering the boys towards the exit.

"Moody's sending up our boxes in a few days, so we just brought the essentials," Sirius answered. "We're leaving the furnishings there this time -- going to have to buy some new things for the flat."

"How was your summer?" Ted asked.

"Provincial," Remus murmured wryly.

"Pleasant," Sirius corrected. "Harry got a lot of reading done for school, and Remus paid service to his work ethic by being gainfully employed, and I slept a lot."

"How do you manage such a stressful life," Andromeda asked with a laugh. "I suppose your plans for the year include sleeping a lot, as well?"

"I thought it might be a part of the schedule," Sirius replied.

They ambled towards Diagon Alley, their pace set by Dora, who was as she'd promised walking fine, albeit slowly. While Neville and Harry compared notes on their respective pets, with Snake curled around Harry's ear and Trevor placidly croaking in Neville's pocket, Draco hung back a little until he was walking just ahead of Sirius.

"Wotcha, Draco," Sirius said, touseling his white-blond hair. "Keeping out of trouble?"

"Yes," Draco answered. "Mostly."

"Only mostly?"

"The boys think it's fun to try and sneak into Knockturn Alley," Ted said, only mildly disapprovingly.

"Well, it is," Sirius agreed. "Trying, anyhow."

"Don't encourage them." Ted rolled his eyes. "Still, I suppose it keeps them occupied. And now they've got Harry to distract them, don't they, Harry?" he called. Harry, who was showing Neville some trick Snake had learned, shot him a grin before returning to the conversation.

"Harry nearly got us in a world of trouble a few weeks ago," Sirius said, gallantly offering Dora his arm when she stumbled a bit. She glared at him and looked disdainful of it, and he shrugged. "We were at a dinner with some of his football friends -- their parents are always throwing dinners -- "

" -- trying to set him up with an appropriate mother for Harry," Remus added, smiling.

" -- thank you, I'll tell the story," Sirius replied. "We were at this dinner and the boys were talking about school -- they all go to the local comprehensive, except one or two -- and one of the boys turned to Harry and asked what was so special about Hogwarts, what they teach there."

"Oh, dear..." Andromeda said, stifling a grin.

"Harry, cool as you like, turned to the boy and said he was learning how to be a wizard. I thought the Ministry was going to swoop down on us then and there," Sirius recounted, shaking his head. "I couldn't believe he just out and said it, he's always so good about being discreet. And of course the parents are laughing, but the boys all seemed to believe him. So another boy piped up and said there wasn't any such thing, and Harry said there was, and the first boy said he ought to prove it."

"He didn't."

"Well, he didn't have his wand, not that it would have worked anyway, and he knows the rules about underaged wizardry, so I wasn't too worried, but he got that look in his eye like he's about to pull a fast one -- "

" -- not at all like the look you get when you're about to do that, I'm sure -- "

"And he pointed at the boy in question and said Jiggery pokery mumbletypeg!"

Andromeda and Ted burst out laughing.

"And would you believe it, he was so intent and serious about it that the other boy nearly wet his pants in fright and spent the rest of the evening worrying he was going to be turned into a frog."

"When everyone knows that Jiggery pokery mumbletypeg is the incantation to turn someone into a cat," Remus added, grinning. "Fake or not, it almost gave Sirius and me heart attacks."

"Speaking of which," Sirius said, "We haven't had any details on Dora's accident -- Dumbledore sent us some clippings, but nothing about the injury. What happened?"

"Oh, it's so stupid," Dora sighed.

"Heroic, sweetheart, the word is 'heroic'," Ted said.

"Stupid," Dora replied. "We had a call that someone had got into one of the animal pens at the London Magical Zoo, and so Kingsley and Medder and Callie and I all went down to see what had happened. As it turns out, Dung Fletcher had tried to sneak into the Ashwinder pen and fell into the Grindylow pond instead. Well, you know how those little buggers are -- "

"Language around the children," Ted said quietly.

"Sorry dad -- you know how they are, they get hold of you and won't let go, so Kingsley sent me in because I can change my shape a bit if I get grabbed. We didn't know," she said, aggrieved, "that I'm one of the one-in-twelve who are allergic to Grindylow bites. In I went, and while I was trying to get Dung free, one of them latched onto my leg and wouldn't let go. I kicked it a bit and broke its fingers -- all the zoo people are very upset, seems they think their precious Grindylow is more important than my leg -- and it let go and they all started biting me..."

"The end result of which," Ted supplied, as Dora sighed in frustration, "was that Kingsley had to go in and fetch both of them out since Dung still had a Grindylow hanging tight to his -- er -- "

"His danglers," Dora said, sounding satisfied. "He'd cast an invisibility charm, so he was naked -- "

Remus and Sirius winced in sympathy.

"Anyway," Ted said hastily, "Kingsley and Dora between the two of them managed to get Dung out all right, and then Dora went and passed out from anaphylactic shock. The Healers only just got to her in time."

"It was touch and go for a few days," Andromeda said softly.

"I'm fine," Dora announced to no-one in particular. "It's just taking a while to get back on my feet, that's all. And the Aurors say I ought to take it easy for a few months, so I'm on medical pension and they helped me find something to keep me sharp while I do all the recovery stuff."

"Andromeda mentioned that in her letter, what are you up to?" Remus inquired.

"I'm going to be teaching," she replied. "I'm the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. I'm really only down for the day, then I've got to get back -- thought I'd see you lot, and pick up my professors' robes."

"You're the new Defence teacher?" Sirius asked.

"Congratulations!" Remus said. "Good, you can keep an eye on Harry, make sure he's not getting into too much trouble."

"I bet Snape about bit his tongue off when he heard," Sirius mused.

"He wasn't too happy," Andromeda admitted. "Of course he's happy for Dora, but -- "

"He'd like to see her dead in a ditch so he can have the post?" Remus asked, with a mischevious grin.

"Something like that," Dora answered, equally mischevious. "I'm sorry if he thinks I took his job, but he wasn't even the one I beat out for the post -- you know Gilderoy Lockhart?"

"The ponce who writes all the adventure and how-to books?" Sirius asked. "Don't tell me Dumbledore was considering him."

"Sirius is just bitter because Lockhart beat him out for Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile award," Remus grinned.

"Well, there aren't a lot of people who'd take the job," Andromeda said. "I don't know why they keep turning down Severus, he's more than qualified, but apart from him, only Lockhart applied, and then they switched him out for our Dora at the last minute. Apparently Dumbledore would rather have her. Can't say I blame him," she added proudly.

"It's not that big a deal," Dora said, but she flushed happily. "It's just for a year, anyhow. I'll take my requalification exams right after the school year ends."

"I'm glad she's taking some time off," Ted said quietly, to Sirius, as Harry turned around to demand if it was true that Dora was going to be a teacher. "It was quite a shock to Andromeda and me. I don't think Dora herself knows quite how close we came to losing her."

"I wish we could have been here," Sirius answered. "She's all right now, though, isn't she?"

"She's getting there. Been a dangerous summer, really. First Severus' heart nearly gave out -- did you hear about that?"

"We knew he was ill," Sirius said noncommittally.

"Well, that was a worry, though apparently he's recovered. And then Dora was attacked, and Neville caught the Kneazlepox...I'll be a bit glad when school starts and Andromeda can let Madam Pomfrey fret about everyone for a while."

"As if Andromeda would trust anyone else with her children," Sirius said with a grin. "Let me know when she's planning on sending a care package, and I'll chip in a few Galleons."

"Here we are then," Andromeda said, as they arrived at the front door of the Leaky Cauldron. "Ted, you take everyone through and down to the shop, I'm just going to have a word with Tom about buying some wine for dinner."

"Right, everyone, this way," Ted said, leading the little band towards the back, and out through the receding brick wall, into Diagon Alley. "There's a roast in the oven and Neville and Draco made a giant pudding -- sugared violets and all -- "

"Home!" Harry cried happily, and Sirius caught Remus grinning even wider than he was, as they emerged back into the wizarding world.

Chapter 3

"I am not fond of moving. In fact, you know what? I hate moving."

Sirius grinned and charmed another box into the air, landing it on the kitchen counter so that he wouldn't have to bend over to open it. "Dishes or books?" he asked.

"Two Sickles says crockery," Remus answered, maneuvering the new bookshelves into place along the wall opposite. The delivery wizards had left them in the middle of the living room, and Remus was grumbling good-naturedly about having to rearrange them.

"Ah! You owe me two Sickles, it's toys," Sirius replied.

"That wasn't part of the bet, and what toys? I thought we left most of Harry's in Betwys Beddau."

Sirius grinned and held up a smaller box he'd taken from inside the larger, which read Madam Schaeffer's Architectural Building Blocks. "These're your toys."

"Oh, grand! I was hoping those wouldn't get left behind," Remus said, abandoning the bookshelves for the much more entertaining box of blocks. He opened it at once and began removing little wooden buttresses, columns with changeable capitals, and thin arrow-slit windowframes.

"Going to build a cathedral?" Sirius asked, as he unpacked the rest of the box -- a few tea towels wrapped around some blue-glass ornaments that always sat on their windowsill in Betwys Beddau, and some puzzles from Madam Schaeffer's.

"Just part of one," Remus replied. "Where's the -- there we are," he said, taking out a thin wooden circle with an inset rose-window design. Sirius watched in amusement as the front facade of a church was assembled, Remus' nimble fingers joining the blocks deftly. Finally, he pressed the rose-window into the middle, and set it up on the counter against the wall, murmuring a charm to make the window glow.

"And you accuse me of being nine years old," Sirius said with a grin. Remus matched it, but didn't reply; after a moment he felt Sirius' arm snake around his waist, and the press of his chin on his shoulder.

"I know you missed it. This, the magical world," he continued quietly. "Merlin knows why, since it hasn't been kind to -- "

"It's our home," Remus said swiftly, cutting him off, but he didn't pull away. "Home isn't always easy, but it's always home."

"Mmh. That's true." Sirius nuzzled his neck, and Remus leaned back into the embrace a little, his hands covering Sirius'. "You know, we've been working hard all morning..."

"You just want an excuse not to finish unpacking."

"Well, that doesn't hurt," Sirius agreed. His hands slipped a little lower, and Remus let out a soft breath that wasn't quite a moan. "But I was thinking it's a very old and honourable tradition to christen new furniture -- "

Remus laughed. "I hope you're not meaning the shelves."

"I was thinking of the sofa," Sirius said, pulling him slow backwards towards the living room. It was an awfully nice new sofa; soft upholstery, wide cushions, deep and comfortable. Remus smiled and let himself be moved, turning to face Sirius when their legs bumped against it.

"The boys," he said around a warm, affectionate kiss, the sort Sirius had a naughty habit of turning passionate.

"Gone with Ted," Sirius answered. "Won't be back for hours."

Remus was going to reply, something about locking the door, but Sirius put a hand on his chest and pushed gently, angling him down onto the sofa with his back against the armrest. They were good at this, good at moving together and finding the ways the other fit; good at dancing around and with each other.

It was an informal arrangement, unspoken mostly, but it worked. It had been, once, Remus following Sirius because that was what he'd always done, following Harry because he loved the boy as if he were his own blood, but now it was them, a family -- Remus and Sirius, and their boy Harry, theirs, and it didn't matter for the moment if nobody else knew that.

Sirius had straddled his hips and was kissing his jaw, hands unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it haphazardly out of his trousers; he managed to push Sirius away for long enough to pull off the old t-shirt Sirius wore, fingers working at his belt buckle as Sirius slid warm hands inside Remus' shirt. He had followed Sirius for years, wanting this -- wanting the skate of Sirius' fingers over his ribcage, the spread of his hands over his skin. Sirius loved to touch, and Remus had been starved for it.

He managed to get Sirius' belt undone and shove his trousers down far enough that Sirius hissed with pleasure and fumbled with the zip of Remus' flies, the belt sliding easily over his hips if he sucked in a breath for a minute. He often wondered privately what Sirius thought of him, skinny and scarred and ragtag, but when they were together like this, clothes still half-on, hips arching against each other, breath coming fast against slick skin, hands everywhere at once, stroking, encouraging, exploring --

"Sirius, mum says to -- MERLIN."

Remus gasped and opened his eyes, turning his head to see Dora standing in the doorway, one hand still on the doorknob. Sirius tensed and turned as well, his dark hair brushing Remus' chest tantalisingly even as the horror of the situation washed over them.

Dora was flushed bright red, and staring at them; hopefully the fact that their clothing was mostly still on made the situation better, though Remus had a terrible suspicion it somehow made it much worse.

"Dora," Sirius said faintly. "Give us a minute?"

She was still staring. Remus very slowly lifted the corner of his unbuttoned shirt, and pulled it across the bits of his chest that weren't covered by Sirius' head.

"Dora," Sirius said.

"Yes?" she asked faintly.

"You've come down from Hogwarts for lunch?"

"Yes..."

"Good to see you. Close the door and tell your mum we'll be down in a few minutes."

She nodded, mutely, and closed the door.

"Dora."

"Yes?"

"Go through the door and then close it, okay?"

When she was gone, Remus leaned his head back against the armrest and laughed. Sirius kissed his collarbone, and pushed himself up slightly.

"We should dress," he said regretfully. "They'll be waiting."

Remus could feel heat still against his thigh. "Your cousin doesn't seem to have dampened your enthusiasm much."

"Maybe I'm secretly an exhibitionist," Sirius said with a grin. Remus shifted his weight a little, and Sirius moaned.

"Lunch can wait five minutes," he said, pulling Sirius' head up to kiss him on the mouth. His other hand drifted back down to stroke them both, tantalisingly, and he was pleased to hear Sirius' breath hitch. "Poor Dora..."

"Poor Dora?" Sirius growled, falling into a quick, even rhythm, and Remus shivered happily. "Just think of the show we gave her -- oh -- "

He gasped and came, and Remus nuzzled against his cheek, bucking his hips as he followed. They lay for a minute or two, catching their breath; eventually Remus stretched and murmured a cleaning spell.

"Well," Sirius said, as he pushed himself up and reached for his t-shirt, pulling it on before tugging his pants and trousers up, "I'm starving. You?"

Remus laughed and let Sirius button his shirt for him. "Ravenous."

***

The house was empty and quiet with the workmen gone; Narcissa moved through it like a ghost among ghosts. The sheeted furniture lending an eerie surreality to the rooms, as though it was not a place to live so much as a peculiar indoor graveyard.

Her bedroom was untouched, of course; the bedroom she and Lucius had shared, once, the bedroom that didn't change because as much as she hated her husband sometimes, she couldn't bear to part with the shreds of their marriage. For the same reason, as much as she might scream and rave at Draco, she would not send him away without at least a token battle.

Draco was half of her, after all, and she was proud of that, just as she was proud, in a twisted sort of way, that her husband rotted in prison on the Dark Lord's behalf. She had given a husband up to him and did not expect reward for that; she would do better with her son.

She had dreamed of being at the right hand of Lord Voldemort, and if Lucius had abandoned her, Draco would serve here just as well.

She stepped into the library -- Lucius' library; like a good Black woman, when she had married she had gone to her husband's house, and nearly everything in it was a Malfoy possession. These were Lucius' books, would one day be Draco's. Some of them sooner than others.

She took a key from around her neck, the key that opened every door in the house, and used it to unlock the little glass cabinet at the back of the library, next to the cold, empty fireplace. These...these were her things. Her little collection of Dark artefacts, carefully arranged and preserved.

Reaching inside, past chalices made of black stone and stands of velvet with ropes of silver chain on them, she found what she was looking for -- a nondescript black diary, a Muggle thing bought in Vauxhall Road decades ago, to judge from the year stamped on it.

"Narcissa," said a voice behind her, and she pointedly did not start.

"Walden," she replied, removing the book and locking the cupboard again. "So good of you to come."

"For you, always," he answered. "Your elf let me in."

She turned around and clutched the diary tightly, fingers tapping on the cheap cover.

"Is this it?" he asked, eyeing the plain little book carefully.

"Yes," she answered. He stepped closer. Walden Macnair was like the animals he dealt with, dangerous and unpredictable, and while she loved that, she never knew what to expect....

He lifted the book out of her fingers, and placed it carefully in an inner pocket of his leather duster, before shedding the long coat and draping it over a nearby chair. She backed into the cabinet as he came forward, his arms on either side of her shoulders, palms flat against the glass.

"Will it work?" he asked, lips close to hers. He smelled like leather oil and the acrid tang of ground metal; not unpleasant, but always surprising to her.

Macnair was a rangy, weatherbeaten man, with ropy muscles from years of handling and putting-down dangerous animals; surprising too was how firm, how immovable he could be when he pressed against her, how frail she felt in comparison. Everything that Lucius had been -- pale, controlled, calm, vicious -- Walden contrasted. Even his own particular brand of cruelty was animal, predatory but not sadistic.

One of his hands lifted away from the glass -- she'd have to clean it later, she reminded herself -- and gently cupped her breast through the thin straw-coloured robe she wore. She gasped and some of her tension faded away; clearly he was in a good mood tonight.

"I'm not in the habit of failure," she whispered back, as he began to kiss her neck.

***

"Prognosis?"

Madam Pomfrey folded up the small brass device she had, until a few moments before, been holding over Severus Snape's heart, and crossed her arms.

"You're not to exert yourself," she said.

"Do I ever?" he asked, reaching for his shirt. She slapped his hand away, and he gave her a glare of injured dignity.

"I'm not done yet with you, and I'd like to remind you that if you hadn't exerted yourself, last June, you wouldn't be in this predicament now," she replied. "Whatever Pettigrew did to you, Severus, it's had lasting impact."

The worry in his eyes rose a notch, and she shook her head. "Don't fret too much. You're fine, but in order to ensure that you remain fine, I'd like you to take it easy for a few months still."

"Splendid," he growled. "May I put my shirt on now?"

"No. I want to have a look at your lungs."

"My lungs are perfectly functional," he answered, and reached for his shirt again.

"Oh, don't be a big baby, Severus," she replied, and unfolded another device, this one silver. He rolled his eyes and held still while she pressed it to one side of his chest and then the other, carefully studying the dials that clicked and whirred as she did so. "You were out in the forest yesterday, and the late-summer damp -- "

"For an hour," he protested. "Two at most. That's hardly enough time to catch cold, let alone some kind of lung ailment."

"That's for me to determine. What were you doing out there?"

"I had business with the centaurs."

"Hmm, the mirrors?"

He gave her a sharp look. "What do you know about them?"

"Severus, it's a small school. I know the Mirror of Ynitsed was broken. The centaurs have been sending messages up to the castle all summer, asking after you. I assumed from the way Dumbledore spoke that they weren't particularly friendly notes."

He was silent for a moment, as she adjusted a dial.

"Erised has become unstable," he said, after a while. "It no longer shows the heart's desire -- they allowed me to examine it."

She glanced up at his face, worried by his tone. "What does it show?"

"Base desire, as far as I can tell. Violent urges, animal impulses. The centaurs are...upset." He glanced out the nearby window, where one edge of the forest could just barely be seen. "The magic that forged the mirrors is lost, even to them -- they kept repeating 'destiny is shattered'. As though I could do anything about it."

"Have they asked you to do anything about it?" she inquired.

He looked taken aback, as if she had said something he hadn't considered before. "No...no, they didn't, precisely. Are you finished?" he asked abruptly.

"Yes; you may dress now," she said magnanimously. He pulled the white shirt over his head, lacing it in the front, and then followed it with his usual black, buttoning the line of small loops along the arms first, then up his chest. She smiled in amusement as he pulled his professors' robes over them, and wondered how he didn't overheat in all those layers.

"Pomfrey," he said, as he adjusted the robes on his shoulders, "I'd like to ask...."

"Yes?" she said, tidying away the instruments she'd been using.

"How close was it?"

She glanced at him. "How close was what?"

"The hurt I took from Pettigrew. You didn't tell me everything," he said. "You still haven't."

"Mindreading, are we, Severus?" she asked. "Well, I suppose you're entitled to know, now. I didn't want to worry you."

"Am I often in the habit of worrying?" he inquired. "How close was it? To fatal?"

"It was close," she said.

He nodded, impassively, and fixed the sleeves of the robes. "I'll see you again if I have any troubles. And of course at the welcoming feast."

She gave him a smile, which he returned less enthusiastically before vanishing into the corridor leading away from the hospital wing. As a person he was prickly and rude, as a patient incorrigibly disobedient, but he had a good heart. She had reason to know.

***

There were many nights, even now when he had the measure of Remus Lupin as he hadn't when they'd only been friends, that Sirius felt he was as much his protector as he was...well, whatever you wanted to call what they were. Lover -- or companion, perhaps. Sirius didn't really care to label it.

Ever since they were thirteen, Sirius had been there -- hundreds of dawns he'd kept vigil over a sleeping, pain-wracked body, too young to suffer the monstrous indignities of the lunar change. Since they were fifteen, there had been whole nights when he was one of Remus' packmates, the most peculiar pack a wolf ever kept. He had employed Remus when he was starving, and Sirius was proud that he had never once held that over his head -- had never even thought of it. For the past three years he'd been allowed to sleep beside him, to reach out in the night and touch him if he liked.

Or like tonight, to watch Remus as he dreamed, because returning to London meant returning to the odd, unsettling, prescient dreams that were one more disadvantage of lycanthropy. Whether it was a connection to whatever controlled the way events turned in the world, or a knack for Divination, or some peculiar link with another version of their existence (one in which horrors lay -- twelve years of Azkaban for Sirius, continual torment at the hands of the Dursleys for Harry, a decade and more of solitary poverty for Remus) Sirius didn't care. All he knew was that it had saved Harry's life once, and once had driven Remus on an obsessed search for Peter. Too many times to count, it had robbed him of a decent night's sleep.

Remus shifted a little, head turning on the pillow, eyes moving under his eyelids, and Sirius watched. His mouth was open, and a soft cry escaped, but for all Sirius knew he could be dreaming about the afternoon's briefly-interrupted activities. He stretched out a hand and smoothed silver-brown hair back off his forehead, leaning close and whispering soothing nonsense reassurances. Skin cold, almost clammy; perhaps it was no more than a touch of the flu upsetting his sleep.

"Moony," he said softly, "What are you dreaming?"

Remus' eyes opened and it took them a minute to focus; Sirius realised it wasn't just his forehead that was cold -- his whole body was chilled as if he'd come in from a storm. His hands were freezing when Sirius pulled him close, and he tightened the blankets around their shoulders.

"Cold," Remus said.

"It's just a chill -- "

"No -- I was dreaming of cold..."

Sirius gathered as much of the lean, angular body as he could up against him, willing some of his heat into the chill skin.

"Just cold?" he asked, and Remus shook his head. "Just a dream?"

Another headshake. He stayed silent until Remus drew breath, his hands already warmer, his body no longer trembling.

"I was in a classroom," he said softly. "And there was a boy there...not Harry...I couldn't see his face. But I remember feeling so cold. As if just by looking at me, he could freeze me up. And anxious...because I knew who he was, but he didn't know that -- it was -- petrifying..."

"You knew who he was?"

"I knew what he represented," Remus said. "Something horrible -- something poisonous, blood-poison."

"Did he say anything?"

"No, that was a part of it. Fuck, I'm freezing."

Sirius threw his own blankets off and doubled them over the other man, not sure what else to do. He could get up and get heavier blankets, but that would mean leaving him alone in the bed. Instead he leaned back and grasped his wand, which lay haphazardly across the clock on his nightstand. The only warming charm he could remember was one they used to use after Quidditch at school to relax the muscles, but it seemed to work all right; before he could ask if that was better, Remus' body had gone slack against him, and his eyes were closed again.

"All right then, Moony?" he asked, and Remus nuzzled closer, muttering something half-coherently as he dropped off to sleep. After a while, though he had wanted to remain watchful, Sirius slept also.

When he asked, over breakfast the next morning, if Remus remembered waking up in the night, he got a puzzled smile for his pains.

"Why, did I say something stupid in my sleep?" Remus asked, pouring syrup onto his oatmeal.

"No -- just curious if you remembered it," Sirius answered.

"I don't remember, Pads. Maybe you dreamed it."

"Maybe I did."

Just then Harry emerged from his room, yawning and wild-haired, and Sirius was distracted by fixing him breakfast; not that they needed to speak more, he supposed. He was Padfoot, after all, and it was his job to guard Moony; it was what he had done for nearly twenty years. If that meant keeping secrets Moony didn't even know he had, he could live with that. The rewards for being a faithful guardian far outweighed the trouble.

Chapter 4

For a week the boys had talked of very little but school -- seeing the dormitories again, sending letters home, watching the Sorting, taking new classes; how hard the new classes would be, and whether they'd have lots of homework. They had written collective letters to Padma, who was coming to buy her school things soon, and Harry had decided (decreed, really) that Sirius and Remus would take them all shopping together, for their books and potions supplies. Andromeda had already fitted them for new robes, all the while talking excitedly with other Hogwarts parents about how much children grew from one year to the next.

The last day in August dawned fine, and everyone was up early, checking their lists of necessary supplies and anxious to get to the top of Diagon Alley, lest they miss the Patils coming through.

"Harry!" Padma shouted, waving at him from the throng of people emerging from the back of the Leaky Cauldron. "Neville, Draco! Over here!"

Soon the Patil twins were surrounded by boys, and Sirius was introducing himself to Padma's parents, Ram and Sarasvati, whom he knew only slightly.

"Of course we've heard about you," Ram said with a grin, as the children exchanged greetings and Sarasvati took Parvati off to see about new robes. "In all the papers, weren't you, when you vanished last June. And when you showed up again just recently."

"Well, you know how it is -- must keep a low profile at times," Sirius answered. "Sure you're all right with us kidnapping Padma for the day?"

"We don't mind, if she doesn't. Mrs Tonks has invited us up for tea later, I assume we'll be meeting you again then? Padma, don't run off without your Galleons," he added, tossing a small leather sack to Padma. She caught it and peered inside, then laughed and passed small chunks of honey-flavoured sweets to the boys. "Try not to spend too much of it on books, love."

"We'll keep an eye on her -- Remus is taking them to Mardjinn Alley after they pick up their school books at Flourish & Blotts," Sirius said.

"We have to tell Parvati not to buy too many clothes; with Padma, it's books," Ram said affectionately. "Of course, if she runs out of money and there's still something she needs -- or especially wants -- we'll repay you for it. Yes, coming, Sara," he called, as Sarasvati summoned him over to the window of Tonks & Tonks. "See you around three, eh?"

"Three it is," Sirius said, turning to find that Remus was already herding the children towards Flourish & Blotts.

They spent a long time in the bookshop, the children piling up their school-books and restocking their dwindling supplies of quills and ink, parchment, magical ink-erasers, and all the gadgets and pencil-boxes that the shops put on sale every autumn for school.

Remus browsed the section on Dark Arts, looking wildly out of place in his tidy Muggle clothing amongst the hags and warlocks who usually dealt in the volumes kept behind locked cabinet doors; he eventually came up with two new books on lycanthropy, one on the handling of Dark Creatures, and one on Dark magical theory. Sirius made sure Neville didn't knock over the inkpots and kept Harry from climbing the shelves to get at the interesting books even as he approved Padma's purchase of three Wizarding novels and a book about Great Witches In History. Draco managed to slip three comic books and a new deck of Exploding Snap cards past Sirius' watchful but tolerant eye; he only had pocket-money of his own, but Narcissa had an account at nearly every shop in Diagon Alley, and he simply charged it to her.

They left the books packaged in brown paper and waiting to be picked up when they were done shopping, and made their way down the street. They stopped to look at racing brooms and in the joke shops, and buy ice lollies from a cart near the pet shop while Padma went in to see about a bigger jar for Elmo, who had grown a bit over the summer. Harry, meanwhile, stared interestedly at the snake tank in the window.

"Domestic," he finally pronounced to Remus, in a whisper. "Thick as bricks. Not like Snake."

"Glad to hear you've got a smart one," Remus replied with a grin. "Come on, it's not too much further to Mardjinn Alley."

The entrance to the second-hand district of Wizarding London was just past Knockturn Alley, on the right as they approached Gringotts bank. Sirius abandoned Remus to take care of some banking, and eventually caught up with them in a used-cauldron shop where Remus was helping Neville pick out some spares (he always melted a few) so that he wouldn't have to use up all of Professor Snape's.

"They really should put some kind of regulation on cauldron-bottom thickness," Remus was saying, as he showed Neville how to tap them to find the solid ones. "This cheap stuff they sell to the students hardly lasts a year even when you use them properly."

"Remus," Harry called, "Can I have three Sickles for a book about divination?"

"What do you want a book about divination for?" Remus called back. "You won't even be taking it until next year!"

"S'got interesting pictures," Harry said, coming over to show off his find.

"Where's Draco gone?" Sirius asked, ducking around Remus' arm to study the book's woodcuts.

"He and Padma were outside looking at the two-Knut books a minute ago..." Remus turned to glance out the grimy front window of the shop. "Bugger, where have they gone? No, you stay here with Neville and Harry, I'll go track them down, they can't have gone very far."

Outside, he glanced around, wondering if they were hidden behind a cart; satisfied that they weren't on the street, he made for the used-books shop next door, where they'd probably wandered into. Hopefully they hadn't wandered up Parshee Alley to Horizont, the red light district. If they had, he'd never hear the end of it from Padma's parents.

"Aren't you a clever one."

The voice came from inside the bookshop, and stopped him cold; he paused, listening without moving. He knew that voice...

"Well, one needs all the proper supplies, true."

Chill and precise, no wasted words; it was associated with the smell of unpleasant things. Is there any other vermin to be put down?

Yes, it was coming from the bookshop, and Remus passed into it as silently as he could, listening warily.

When he woke with his leg in bandages they had caught the thing that had chased him down in the fields; Alastor Moody was waiting by his bedside, but before he could ask any questions he smelled gunpowder and blood. Through his half-open bedroom door he saw a dead man on the floor of the clean-scrubbed kitchen, and another man spattered with blood still holding a rifle with a clip of silver-coloured bullets on his belt.

Is there any other vermin to be put down?

No, his father said, as Alastor Moody told eight-year-old Remus Lupin to be quiet, to keep still; no, his father said, it didn't bite anyone.

Because if there's anyone it bit it'd be best if they were put down now, said the man spattered with blood, as Alastor Moody muttered and closed the door, and Remus' heart thumped because he realised the vermin the man was talking about was him.

He was eight and Walden Macnair a fresh-from-school eighteen, freelancing for the Ministry, hunting feral werewolves and vampires in the dark old days just before Voldemort's rise had begun. Macnair hadn't even known the family's name; all he'd known was that there was a werewolf in the woods behind the house, and Rufus, Remus' father, had thought he would catch the poor sod, not shoot him. Moody had been there to make sure Remus wasn't a danger to anyone, and had ended up hiding him from Macnair instead.

Macnair had gone on to become a Death Eater, and they'd tangled once or twice when the Order was active, but when it was all over he had an alibi for every murder, an excuse for every action, and he was employed by the Ministry now to handle dangerous animals. Which was sort of a good thing, because nowadays the Ministry did more than frown on people who shot werewolves. Nobody liked werewolves much, but at least they --

"Here you are; run along with your girlfriend, then -- oh, excuse me, miss," said the cold voice. Remus saw Draco and Padma step out into the main aisle of the shop, and realised Macnair must have been talking to them.

"I told you two not to wander off," Remus said, frowning sternly at them. Padma looked penitent, but Draco merely clutched what must be a recently-purchased book to his chest, and jutted out his jaw.

"We were bored," he said. "We only went next door."

"The boy has an inquiring mind," said Macnair, emerging behind them. He laid a hand on Draco's shoulder, and Remus stifled the urge to slap it away. "His mother and I are good friends, I've been minding him and the young miss. They've come to no harm."

"Miraculously," Remus said, and Macnair bridled. "Come along, you two. Sirius and the others are waiting."

"Enjoying playing lapdog to a rich boy?" Macnair asked under his breath, as the children passed.

"Enjoying your job as dogcatcher?" Remus answered. "Keep away from the children, Macnair, or -- "

" -- or you'll call the Order down on me?" Macnair sneered. "They couldn't lay a finger on me the day Lucius Malfoy went to Azkaban, and they can't do any more to me now. Run along, manservant, and tell your master I send my regards."

"You could tell yours to go to hell," Remus snarled, "except he's already there."

Macnair growled and lunged forward, one arm drawing back for a punch, but Remus had moved forward too, closing the space too quickly, shoving him back into a shelf which wobbled precariously. The air whooshed out of Macnair's lungs, and one of the books caught him a glancing blow across the temple as it fell.

"Brilliant!" Draco crowed, and Remus turned around.

"Out of the shop," he ordered, following them before Macnair could regain his footing. Neville and Harry were waiting outside with Sirius, who was juggling a handful of parcels.

"Let's get out of here," Remus said. "I'll tell you later."

***

They collected the books from Flourish & Blott's, and -- weighed down with packages -- were staggering back to Tonks & Tonks when Neville dropped his packet of quills just outside the shopfront, and Padma nearly lost control of her new salamander jar when she tried to help him pick them up. Draco got his foot on most of the quills so that they wouldn't blow away, and nearly unbalanced himself.

"Oof," he said, as Remus caught him one-handed, pushing him upright again. "I wish I'd asked mum to send Dobby along to help carry everything."

"Master Draco!"

Harry blinked as a knobby, pillowcase-clad house-elf raced past them, nearly slamming into Draco.

"I wish I had a house-elf too," Neville said. He looked around expectantly, but when no more elves were forthcoming, he sighed and turned his attention to Draco and Dobby.

"Dobby is so glad to have found Master Draco!" Dobby was saying, bowing and already accepting some of Draco's packages. "Dobby must speak to Master Draco -- " he glanced around at the others, as if only just noticing them. "Dobby is very pleased to see Mister Sirius Black and Mister Remus Lupin and the young misters and mistress," he said politely, then turned back to Draco and said, in a clearly audible whisper, "Dobby must speak to Master Draco in private."

"In private?" Draco asked, as they passed through Tonks & Tonks and made for the stairs that led up to the flats on the upper floors. "Why, is something wrong with mum?"

"No no no, Master Draco, Mistress Malfoy is..." Dobby paused, and his ears wilted a little. "Dobby shall have to iron his hands for thinking ill of Mistress Malfoy," he murmured. Sirius bit down on a laugh.

"I'll give you something else to do," Draco promised absently as they reached the landing, shifting another package to the growing tower of them that Dobby was carrying, so that he could open the door for the others. "Are you sure it has to be private?"

Dobby nodded, and the packages wobbled.

"All right then," Draco said dubiously.

"Use my room, we have to put all our things there anyway," Neville said, as the adults began exchanging greetings and Harry and Remus ran up to stow away Harry's school things in his own room over the Tonks' kitchen.

"Tea, Sirius?" Ted called from the kitchen.

"Yes, thanks," Sirius replied. "Better make Remus' herbal."

"Oh?" Andromeda asked. "Is he...not feeling well?" she asked significantly.

"Had a bit of a scuffle in a bookshop," Sirius answered with a grin. "He hasn't quite told the whole story yet -- "

"He shoved someone into a bookshelf," Padma supplied helpfully. Ram Patil gave Sirius an inquiring glare, the sort that almost asked 'What have you been exposing my child to?' all on its own.

"I'm sure he had reason," Sirius said smoothly. "Sorry, were we interrupting at all?"

"No, I don't think so." Andromda glanced at the Patils. "We were just discussing the new Muggle Protection Act that Arthur Weasley's been sponsoring."

"Oh yes? Weasley's behind that?" Sirius asked. "I'm afraid I'm still not quite up to speed on politics after a summer in the wilds. I'll have to ask him about it."

"Well, he's done most of the legwork," Ram said. "Or so I hear. I'm not entirely sure I'm for it, really, though of course I'm not the one dealing with charmed desk lamps day in and day out."

"Desk lamps?"

"Apparently there's been a rash of desk lamps bouncing off their tables in Muggle households recently, caused by a batch of charmed prank lamps that were sold...injudiciously," Ted said, as he carried Sirius' teacup over from the kitchen counter. "Weasley says children and cats are often blamed."

"Well, having spent a good deal of time living amongst Muggles," Sirius said, as Remus and Harry descended the stairs again, "I think there's probably no harm in a little protective legislation."

Ram shook his head. "I worry about too much integration between magical folk and Muggles, that's all," he said. "I mean, I wouldn't like to see Muggles hurt, but it's rather like...well, vampires, say, or werewolves."

"Werewolves?" Sirius inquired mildly. Remus shot him a warning look.

"Yes -- I mean we have laws regarding dangerous creatures, and Muggles are just as dangerous, in their own way. Who's passing the Wizarding Protection Act? More of us are hurt every year by their lorrys and such than Muggles are hurt by our broomsticks. I wonder if we give them too little credit, that's all."

"Well, it's up to the Wizengamot to decide," Andromeda pronounced. "Ted, did you put tea on for Remus?"

"Oh -- "

"It's all right, I'd rather just have water," Remus said. "I'll get it."

"Sirius tells us you were being a bad example to the children today," Ted said, as Remus found a glass in the kitchen and filled it. He tapped it with his wand, and a thin crust of ice formed across the water's surface, which he broke and stirred into the water, chilling it.

"The children were being quite bad enough on their own," Remus said, with a stern look at Padma. "I caught them sneaking into a bookshop they knew they weren't supposed to, and consorting with people of ill repute."

"Is this true?" Sarasvati asked Padma, who sank a little lower in her chair.

"Yes, mum," she murmured. Parvati looked smug and sipped her tea.

"You ought to give Walden Macnair and his sort a wide berth," Remus continued. "He's a vicious reprobate."

"What's a reprobate?" Padma whispered to Harry.

"I think it's to do with money," Harry whispered back.

"Draco says you shoved Macnair into a bookshelf," Sirius prompted.

"If I hadn't, he would have blacked my eye," Remus answered. "I sent the children out of the shop when I saw him; he made a remark that I happened to take rather personally. I made one back, and he tried to punch me. I'm very sorry you had to see that, Padma," he added.

"What on earth did you say to him?" Andromeda asked.

"Nothing that bears repeating," Remus said, taking a drink of water. "It's not important, Andromeda."

"I don't think I've ever seen you hit someone," Ted said thoughtfully.

"Nor did I then. Just a little shove, enough to keep him from coming back for a second try."

"Wish I'd been there," Neville said enviously.

"Well, I'm sorry our daughter's actions caused you trouble," Ram said, with a significant look at Padma. "If she can't learn to follow directions, perhaps she ought to be given less responsibility."

"It was my fault," said another voice from the doorway, and the Patils looked up in surprise. Draco was standing there, shifting his weight uneasily. "I said we should go in the other shop. I told her Remus said it was all right."

"Did he?" Sirius asked Padma, who looked indecisive.

"I did say," Draco insisted. "It isn't Padma's fault. She oughtn't to be punished."

"Listen to all this talk of punishment," Andromeda said. "Draco, come and have your tea."

"Where's Dobby gone?" Harry asked.

"Sent him home," Draco replied, accepting a biscuit and a cup of tea. "He was keen to iron his hands. I told him to dust the upper floors instead."

"Must he?" Neville asked. Draco shrugged.

"M'not old enough yet to give him orders that contradict mum's, and she says he's to punish himself."

"Well, at least it's not grevious bodily harm," Andromeda said. "And as for your punishment, Draco, we'll discuss that later. Today was supposed to be fun, you know. I hope you did have some fun before you took up a career in misleading people."

"The joke shop was brilliant," Neville supplied anxiously.

"Yeah, and Padma got a new jar for Elmo," Harry put in. "And I got a brilliant book on Divination."

"We'll have to unwrap everything and pack it up after tea," Sirius said.

"That's right, we're having dinner with Arthur and Molly this evening," Remus said. "It's quite good of them, putting us up for the night, all things considered. Haven't properly seen them in donkey's years."

"Dunno how we'll all fit in the Burrow, but I think the lads are going to camp outside," Sirius added. The boys exchanged excited looks.

"Any particular reason for it?" Ram asked.

"Well, yes -- with three boys plus luggage, we thought it might be convenient to have transportation," Sirius said. "Arthur's told me he has a Muggle automobile -- he's going to take all the luggage in the car, and the rest of us are going to floo to King's Cross."

"Some of the rest of us," Remus murmured. Sirius grinned.

"I'm taking my motorbike," he said. "But I've promised not to fly at all."

"Well, we should probably be off," Sarasvati said, finishing her drink. "Thank you for tea, Andromeda. What do you say to Mr. Black, Padma?"

"Thank you for taking me shopping," Padma said to Sirius, with a proper tilt of her chin. "I had a very good time, especially when Remus shoved that man. He called me Draco's girlfriend."

Parvati went off into giggles as Draco blushed furiously.

"See you tomorrow on the train!" Padma said, as her parents said their goodbyes. "Save me a spot in the compartment if you get there first."

"All right," Andromeda said, closing the door behind Ted, who was leading the Patils back out through the store-rooms and shopfront to Diagon Alley. "We've got a lot to do to get you two ready for this evening, and I'm sure Harry has loads of packing to do."

"You aren't going to write to mum about this afternoon, are you?" Draco asked anxiously.

"Well, that depends. Either I can write to your mum and she can decide your punishment, or you can accept mine without complaint and we'll keep it between ourselves," Andromeda said. Draco pondered for about two seconds before nodding.

"You tell me, then," he said. "At least you'll be logical about it."

"Logical?" Andromeda asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Well, you won't go on and all," Draco explained. "I mean. You'll tell me to do something and I'll do it and that'll be the end of it, won't it."

Andromeda smiled. "Something like that."

"Give him detention," Harry suggested. "With Dora."

"Detention?" Andromeda asked.

"Sure. Tell him he has to do a week's detention with Dora -- "

" -- that's Professor Tonks to you," Sirius said, ruffling Harry's hair.

" -- Professor Tonks, you know, scrubbing desks and all."

"It's not a bad idea," Remus said. "That's about what he'd get at school, really."

"Well, if Remus approves, it must be all right," Andromeda grinned. "I'll just send a letter along with you for Professor Tonks -- I do like the sound of that -- and you can serve your detention with her. Now you two go pack, and I'll just dig up something to send along for dinner. I think Ted made you some treats -- but you are to think very carefully about what you've done, while you're eating them," she said sternly, to Draco, who grinned and dashed down the hall after Neville.

"Come on, Harry, I've got something for you," he called, over his shoulder. Harry glanced at the adults for permission before following, and was soon rewarded with the box he'd given Draco, complete with invisibility cloak.

"Thanks, it was great this summer," Draco said, as Harry peered inside to make sure the cloak hadn't come to any harm. "Going to miss it like anything. We'll have to learn some concealing charms, won't we?"

Harry grinned, and stroked the slick material of his father's cloak. "Some of us will."

Chapter 5

The sight of a vintage Ford Anglia, driving down the normally pedestrianised cobbles of Diagon Alley, was something Remus Lupin wouldn't have missed for the world.

"Good afternoon!" Arthur Weasley called, easing the bright turquoise car up against the kerb outside of Tonks & Tonks. Everyone in the vicinity stopped to stare.

"Arthur, how are you?" Remus called, from behind a chaotic mess of young boys, trunks, book-bags, and pet-boxes. "Making an entrance, eh?"

"And why not?" Arthur asked, sliding out of the car and opening the boot. "Need help loading everything?"

"Ah, you're help enough just taking us to the station tomorrow," Remus replied, hefting Harry's trunk and easing it into the seemingly endless boot.

"My pleasure -- any excuse to show it off," Arthur answered. Neville's trunk followed Harry's, and the boys began piling their bookbags on top of the trunks as Remus lifted Draco's into place. "Back-seat, lads, and do up your seat-braces."

"Seatbelts, I think," Remus said gently. "As cars go it's not bad, is it?"

"Well, certainly not for the price," Arthur chuckled. "I got it for a Galleon out of a Ministry impound warehouse."

"How'd you get it into Diagon Alley?" Remus asked, climbing into the passenger's seat as Arthur circled again to take the driver's seat.

"I've lost Trevor!" Neville cried. "Don't leave yet!"

"It's all right, we're not going anywhere yet," Arthur said, then turned to Remus. "I drove it in through the old Roman gate, down near Gringotts. Of course in Muggle London it looks like an empty, fenced-off car park -- took me forever to find it."

As he spoke, Neville fumbled with the car door and dashed across the pavement to where Trevor's traveling box was sitting near the entrance to the shop, nearly forgotten.

"He's okay," Neville sighed with relief, passing the box through the window to Draco.

"All present and accounted for, now?" Arthur asked.

"Just waiting for -- speak of the devil," Remus interrupted himself as Sirius wheeled his motorbike out of a side-street where he normally kept it parked under an anti-theft charm.

"Right, I'm following you," Sirius announced, pulling his helmet on. He was dressed in his riding clothes -- black leather jacket and boots, white t-shirt and charm-reinforced jeans that wouldn't shred even if he crashed. People who had stopped to stare at the car were now staring at Sirius, who was clearly drinking in the attention.

"He looks cool," Draco said, leaning across Neville to stare out the window as Sirius pulled on a pair of black gloves.

"Yes, he does a bit, doesn't he," Remus agreed, voice slightly hoarse. They were very tight jeans.

Arthur turned the ignition, let out the clutch, and eased the car out into the foot traffic once more, Sirius following sedately behind on the motorbike.

They picked up speed as they passed through Diagon Bar, the old Roman gate that led to Muggle London; by the time they were bound for Ottery St. Catchpole, where the Weasleys lived, Sirius had pulled up alongside the car and was grinning fiercely as the motorbike skimmed along the road.

"How are Molly and the children?" Remus asked, ignoring the laughs and good-natured wrestling in the back seat.

"Oh, doing fine -- Bill's out in Egypt, now -- "

"That was his goal, wasn't it?"

"Yes -- he's quite happy there, or seems to be from his letters. Charlie's gone to Romania, still mad about dragons, you know. Percy did terrifically well on his OWLs, he's in a load of advanced classes -- Arithmancy and Potions and all."

"He's always been a bit ahead," Remus remarked.

"In...some things," Arthur allowed. "We worry about him, but the twins are there to keep him from taking himself too seriously. More or less."

"Are they still playing Quidditch?" Harry asked from the back seat.

"That they are, and they've sworn to break your nose with a Bludger sooner or later," Arthur said, grinning at Harry in the rear-view mirror. "Oh, come on, Remus," he added, when Remus gave him a horrified look, "It's not really Quidditch if you don't break any bones, and they're only joking. I'm pretty sure," he said, a trifle uncertainly.

"Be good to see Ron again," Neville mused. "Reckon he's got high hopes for the Cannons this year."

"He always does," Arthur said indulgently. "Poor boy, doomed to a life of disappointment in that regard."

"Is little Ginny starting Hogwarts this year?" Remus asked, having sufficiently recovered from threats of violence against Harry's nose. "She's a year below Ron, isn't she?"

"Oh yes -- she's terribly excited. It was very lonely for her this past year. We spoiled her a bit, I'm afraid, but she's used to having at least a few brothers around."

"Well, it'll be a full enough house tonight," Remus grinned.

"You don't know the half of it -- the twins have invited Lee Jordan over, and Percy has his friend Oliver -- didn't he and Harry used to know each other?"

"Oliver?" Harry asked, eagerly. "He's captain of Gryffindor team, he's brilliant."

"Glad to see such good sportsmanship," Arthur said, pleased. He signaled to Sirius that they were turning off, and Sirius followed behind them, the motorbike kicking up dust as they bumped down the path to the Burrow.

A crowd of redheaded Weasleys poured out of the side door to greet the newcomers, along with the dark, dredlocked head of Lee Jordan and Oliver Wood's sandy-brown. The twins gravitated immediately to the motorbike, while Percy pompously welcomed the younger boys and Oliver grinned and thumped Harry on the back. Molly, standing on the step, gave her husband a kiss hello and invited them all around to the backyard, where an enormous picnic table was arranged, along with two shabby, faded tents.

"Dinner's almost ready -- oh, thank you Sirius, that's lovely," she said, accepting a basket of food from him: crackers and cheese, wine, and a box of cookies Ted had sent along for dessert. "If you want to put your things up in the rooms -- Sirius, we gave you the twins' room, don't mind the strange smell, it's just...something that exploded..." she sighed. "Remus, Percy said you could have his room, or you're welcome to Ron's room under the attic if you like."

"Oh, well..." Remus gave Sirius an uncertain look. "Percy's is fine, that's across the hall from the twins', isn't it? That'll do nicely."

"Arthur, will you help me with the food?" Molly called, over the shouts of the boys as they called back and forth to one another, exploring the interiors of the tents.

"They've got whole rooms inside!" Draco said, poking his head out. "With bunk beds and everything!"

"And the lingering smell of cabbage. Haven't you ever been camping before?" Fred -- possibly George -- asked.

"Mum doesn't like the outdoors," Draco answered. "Harry hasn't either, have you Harry?"

"Not in wizarding tents," Harry said, impressed. "We just had the regular kind."

"The regular kind?" Oliver asked.

"Muggle tents," Sirius grunted. "Same inside as out."

"Ooh," Lee Jordan said, impressed. "That's like...survivalist, innit?"

"Well, we had a camp stove and instant breakfast and such," Remus said, amused. "It's not as though we were living on berries and leaves."

"Here we are," Arthur announced, reappearing at the back door with an enormous bowl of pasta in his hands and a veritable parade of plates and cutlery following him, along with Molly, who had a likewise gigantic bowl of salad and a platter of garlic bread. Sirius took the garlic bread, while Remus marshalled the boys and Ginny -- who was looking shy and somewhat overwhelmed -- into places around the table. This was not easy, since the younger boys were all jockeying to sit next to an older boy they admired, or a best friend, and kept changing seats. Ginny wanted to sit with Harry, but Harry and Neville and Ron all wanted to sit with Oliver, who naturally wanted to sit with Percy, who'd invited him. Draco and the twins (accompanied by Lee Jordan) were vying for seats near Sirius, who really just wanted to sit with Remus, who was trying desperately to sit somewhere -- anywhere -- that he'd have another adult within hearing range.

Finally settled, there was a collective pause while Molly, beaming as only a pleased hostess can, gestured at the food.

"Go on, eat up then," she said, and that was all the benediction they needed. The adults, who had managed to cluster around the head of the table, helped the younger ones dish out food, and soon everyone was contentedly eating (or flinging breadcrusts, or helping clean up Ginny's knocked-over water glass, or "sharing" their food with an enormous beetle that was trundling peacefully along the table).

"Draco, take some more tomatoes," Sirius said, as Draco, at his elbow, very carefully selected bits of salad. "This is wonderful, Molly."

"Thank you," she said, beaming. "It's my pleasure. We thought since Ginny -- " she gestured at Ginny, who was gleefully sitting between the Boy Who Lived and the incredibly cool Lee Jordan, " -- was leaving and it would be just the two of us after today, we ought to have as many people over as we could the night before."

"And of course it's good to see you lot again -- hardly got a glimpse of you at all after you came back to the Wizarding World last year," Arthur said. "But then Molly had taken on a few extra students in her little home-school, and I was working day and night it seemed like, getting this bloody bill ready to go to the Wizengamot..."

"Yes, someone mentioned you were behind it," Sirius said with a grin. "Bit of a departure from your usual chasing-after-enchanted-objects, isn't it?"

"I think it's splendid," Remus said, almost defiantly.

"Good! I'm glad you think so. It's nothing terribly revolutionary, but it will help keep people from tormenting the poor Muggles. Vanishing keys, teakettles that never boil -- and I do mean never -- suicidal desk lamps...it's really like kicking puppies when you think about it. They can't help being what they are. At any rate, it's sort of like the...oh...lads, what's that law you've been working all summer trying to get round?"

"The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery," the twins chorused.

"Boys after my own heart," Sirius laughed.

"It'll detect when someone's put a permanent enchantment on a Muggle artefact, and as soon as that artefact leaves the possession of the enchanter, it'll sound the alarm," Arthur said. "Help with people 'accidentally' picking up enchanted objects, too."

"There's a very careful loophole there," Molly said, a little disapprovingly. Arthur looked guilty. "So long as it's in your possession, of course, you could...say...enchant a car to fly, couldn't you, Arthur?"

"Does that old Anglia fly?" Sirius asked excitedly.

"You got a whole car in the air?" Remus said, the pair of them beginning to resemble schoolboys confronted with the accomplishments of an older and wiser senior student.

"Very wrong of me to do," Arthur said dutifully, "But I thought if ever there was an emergency it's a bit easier to handle than a broomstick -- "

"Imagine my shock and surprise -- " Molly said, " -- George, mind your elbow, you'll put it right in Percy's salad if you're not careful -- imagine my shock and surprise when I -- "

"Neville!" Remus shouted down towards the foot of the table. "No throwing the pasta!"

"He started it," came the faint and impenitent reply.

" -- when I came out to the yard to call Arthur in for lunch last Saturday and found both him and the car completely vanished. A few minutes later I was still wondering what had kidnapped my husband and his latest foolish Muggle toy -- "

" -- they're quite useful, really -- " Arthur put in, plucking Trevor out of the salad.

" -- only to see a blue Ford Anglia come roaring across the open field twenty feet above the ground and land light as you please on my flower bed."

"I didn't mean to," Arthur said. "I did replant them all..."

"How'd you do it?" Sirius asked. "I didn't think cars worked that well in the area of low-level aeronautics."

"Sirius barely got the motorbike up there and it's still not good for more than about six hours at a time," Remus added.

"Most people would be thrilled to last six hours," Sirius said, and Remus choked on a piece of bread.

"Well, it's a very good car, isn't it. I mean, if you wanted to make a car fly, it's a very efficient car to do it with," Arthur pronounced.

"Reckon if you worked in the fuel system..." Sirius said thoughtfully. "When I modified the motorbike, I was just a kid -- I didn't know the first thing about Muggle mechanics..."

"I didn't either, when I started work," Arthur said. "I had the manual though, and that was very useful. I did end up using the fuel system to help power the lifting charm, but of course Muggle petrol's a filthy thing to run a nice car like this with, so I put a perpetual combustion charm on the engine. It activates when you put it in gear."

"An internal charmbustion engine," Remus said, amusedly. Arthur roared with laughter.

"That's it exactly!"

"We should have a race," Sirius said, and Remus noticed the younger boys becoming immensely interested in the conversation. "My motorbike against your car. First one to ten thousand feet wins."

"Absolutely not!" Molly exclaimed. Arthur gave Sirius an apologetic look, and Remus tactfully changed the subject.

When they were finished with the dinner and the washing-up -- and the cleaning the kitchen that was necessary after ten children "helped" with the washing-up -- Sirius lit a campfire outside and they spent the evening sitting in the balmy late-summer air, watching insects buzz against the no-fly charm Molly had cast and talking about school.

When Ginny dropped off to sleep, leaning against one of the picnic benches, Sirius gathered her up and carried her into one of the tents, while Molly beamed approvingly at him.

"He's made a very good father," she said to Remus. "Mind you, I had my doubts."

"So very many doubts," Remus agreed with a grin. "He does all right by Harry."

"You love him, don't you."

Remus' heart jumped into his throat, and he glanced at her nervously.

"That's why you stayed, isn't it?" she continued, blithely. "He is a charming young boy."

"Yes, yes of course," he said, relieved. "Who wouldn't?"

"It must be awfully lonely for the two of you. I've given up on poor Sirius ever settling down, he simply isn't the sort, but you ought to find yourself a nice girl, Remus, and stop hiding in Sirius' shadow all the time."

"Oh, I -- we get along," he said. "I'm not hiding in anyone's shadow, Molly."

She patted his hand, and he was immensely grateful that Sirius returned then, dusting off the seat next to him before sitting down. He was still wearing those impressively tight riding jeans, and Remus felt his face flush again when their thighs brushed.

Hiding in Sirius' shadow was all right, if it meant having Sirius.

***

The next morning, the boys and Ginny were awake at dawn and had thoroughly destroyed any chance of natural hot water by the time the adults wanted a wash. Sirius yelped under the cold water and cast a quick heating charm on the showerhead, while various crashes and shouts could be heard coming from the general direction of the kitchen. He was so distracted by charming the water the perfect temperature that he didn't notice the click of the door opening and closing until the door to the shower opened and a warm body pressed up against his.

"Morning," Remus murmured, hair sticking out at odd angles, arms wrapping around Sirius' waist from behind.

"Moony -- "

"Don't worry -- I charmed the door shut this time," Remus said against his ear, then nipped the earlobe lightly. Sirius leaned back a little, any annoyance at being interrupted vanishing like the steam from the hot water.

"This is Molly and Arthur's shower," he protested, mainly for the form of the thing.

"I know," answered Remus, nuzzling around the side of his neck.

"We'll never be able to look them in the eye -- "

"Worth it, don't you think?" Remus asked, one hand splayed over Sirius' stomach, the other sliding down his thigh. Sirius leaned his head back a little, trying to get the proper angle for a kiss outside of the stream of water. He was going to lose this argument, not that he particularly wanted to win it; he was already hard, and he could feel Remus' erection pressing insistently against him, feel Remus' breath hitch as it moved against his skin.

"Mm, Moony," he managed, as Remus' hand slid up again to curl around him, stroking gently.

"Mine," Remus said in his ear, softly, but with a sort of frightening urgency that Sirius didn't fully understand. He bit again, too, the sensitive flesh at the base of his neck -- Moony didn't like to bite, because it was dangerous --

"Yes, yours," he gasped, as he felt himself turned and pushed against the cool, damp wall. Remus pressed up against him again, kissing him so hard it was difficult to breathe, hips thrusting roughly. Another light bite on his shoulder, a kiss, hands holding his wrists up against the wall.

Sirius made a sound very close to a whimper as their bodies touched, feeling helpless in the onslaught of feeling and scent and Remus, the murmured word Mine still in his ears. He tried not to moan, but it seemed he had no control over the situation in the slightest, not even --

"Fuck, Remus," he cried, as teeth bruised the side of his neck and Remus came against him, silently and more fiercely than he was used to, even from Remus. A hand slid down before he had even processed what was going on, and he came without even being allowed to inhale first. He went dizzy for a moment, and let Remus catch him before he fell.

"Good thing I cast a silencing charm too," were the first coherent words he heard, and he glanced up to see Remus grinning at him, feral light in his eyes.

"What the bloody hell are you on about?" he asked, as Remus smoothed wet hair out of his face and stroked one cheekbone with his thumb, affectionately.

"Didn't you like it?" Remus asked, faltering slightly.

"Well, yes..." Sirius turned to let the water cool him off a bit -- his heating charm was dying. It stung the marks on his right shoulder and neck, where bruises were already forming. "It was just a bit...I mean to say. There was that one time, but normally you don't hold me down -- "

He turned back, and found Remus staring at the bite-marks, horrified.

"What?" he asked.

"I bit you."

"Yeah -- you don't normally do that, either."

"I'm sorry -- "

"It's all right, nothing a few concealment charms won't fix and if I'd really have objected I could have knocked you cold," Sirius said with a reassuring grin.

"I just...turn the water off, all right?"

Sirius turned the knobs and the water died, as Remus opened the door and stepped out, looking rather stunned.

"I didn't mean to," he said.

"Didn't mean to?" Sirius asked. "You don't accidentally bite someone on the neck while you're shagging them against a wall, Moony."

Remus gave him a quick smile, the sort that said he might be funny but he wasn't out of the woods yet.

"It's just -- I missed you last night, and Molly said these awful things about 'settling down', and I wanted to make sure of things," Remus said. "And I think I made it worse, didn't I?"

"I'm not going to abandon you over a few ruddy bitemarks," Sirius proclaimed, reaching for his wand and drying them both with a quick spell. Remus' pyjamas lay in a corner, and the brown-haired man began gathering them up, pulling them on again.

"I don't like that," Remus said. "It's something wolves do, not people."

"I dunno, I knew this one girl -- "

"You know what I mean."

Sirius ruffled his still-damp hair. "It's all right, Moony. Are you still afraid one of these days I'm going to see a short skirt on someone and chuck three years of putting up with you snoring?"

Remus rubbed his forehead with one hand. "The whole world thinks I'm some servant of yours, and sometimes I just need to...make sure I'm more than that."

Sirius grinned. "If you are, clearly I'm not paying you enough. And very few servants shower with their employers, so if you'll excuse me, I'd better run along before Molly catches us. I really won't be able to look her in the eye," he said, as he opened the bathroom door. Remus gave him another smile, more sincere this time, and he laughed as he closed the door.

***

They were late arriving at the train station, in a magically-expanded car that held four Weasley children, five young houseguests, one very patient Remus, and Arthur, Sirius following behind on his motorbike. Padma was nearly jumping up and down with impatience as she waited for them near the entrance to the platform. Arthur took his brood ahead, with Oliver and Lee, while Sirius loaded up their trunks onto a couple of trolleys.

"Ready then? I'll go through first," Remus said, ducking into the magic false wall between platforms nine and ten.

"Harry, you're up, looks like we're last," Sirius said, giving Harry a grin and a gentle push. Harry, nervous, almost broke into a run, and by the time he'd reached the barrier --

-- he hit it with enough force for Snake's box -- fortunately without Snake inside it -- to go flying.

"Watch yourself now, young man!" said a station attendant, as he passed, replacing the box atop the trunk. Harry turned to look at Sirius, wide-eyed.

"It's not working!" he said, shoving the trolley against the barrier again.

"Right, I'm sure it's just some kind of a...." Sirius had no idea what it was. "Harry, move aside and let Draco give it a go."

Draco pushed his trolley forward more hesitantly, and when the edge of it met the barrier, it clanked.

"I'm stuck too," he said. Sirius swore under his breath and moved forward to knock on the wall. Solid brick.

"Listen, are you lot coming or not?" Remus demanded, re-emerging from the barrier. "The train's about to leave."

"We can't get through," Harry wailed.

"Can't get through?" Remus reached out to put his hand through the barrier and taught all four children a new swearword when his knuckles cracked unpleasantly against it.

"Something's gone wrong," Sirius said.

"What if we miss the train?" Padma asked Neville, who shook his head in wide-eyed horror.

"You won't miss the train," Sirius reassured her, glancing around and slowly withdrawing his wand from his trouser-pocket. He tapped the bricks with it and muttered a few charms, but the wall wouldn't budge.

"Dobby," Draco said suddenly.

"What?" Remus asked.

"That little -- Mum's house-elf," Draco said. "He was going on and on about me not going back to school. He said he'd stop me if I tried, and I told him I'd like to see him, a little house-elf, stop a Malfoy doing whatever he wanted -- "

"House-elves have powerful magic," Remus said ruminatively, "but they're not allowed to use it without permission -- "

"I don't think Dobby's much of a one for permission," Draco said.

"Either way, this isn't any use," Remus said disgustedly. "It's five past -- the train must have gone."

"We'll miss the feast, too," Padma sulked. "Wish I hadn't waited for you after all."

"It's all right, we'll think of something," Remus reassured her.

"I think I just did," Sirius announced. Remus noticed that he had a distinctly disturbing look in his eye -- the sort he used to get at school right before some unsuspecting Slytherin suffered. "Come on everyone, this way."

"Are we going to floo my parents?" Padma asked.

"We can," Sirius said, as they made for the exit, "But I have a better idea, if you're up for it."

"Is it dangerous?"

Sirius grinned. "It might be."

Padma looked disapproving, but she didn't say anything. Remus was considering possible counterspells in his head; some of them were useful for charmbreaking, but none of them appropriate in the middle of a crowded rail station. Either that or he was going to get them to Hogwarts some other way.

Some other way...

"Arthur's gone and left the keys right in the car," Sirius said. "Shame that. Anyone could nick the thing."

Remus leaned against the car, and glanced at him. After a few seconds, both men smiled widely.

"You drive," Sirius said. "I'm taking the motorbike."

Chapter 6

If any Muggles had been paying particularly close attention -- and if Remus' concealment charms hadn't been so good -- a blue Ford Anglia could have been seen lifting off from the car park near King's Cross station, accompanied by an old but serviceable motorbike. As it was, some very odd noises, rather like the shouts of several excited children, were heard soaring over the heads of pedestrians at around eleven-fifteen that September first.

Once they'd passed the cloud cover, with Sirius pulling his riding leathers up around his face and muttering warming charms to keep from getting frostbite, Remus released the charm and saluted out the window at Sirius.

"That was brilliant," Harry breathed, from the honoured front seat. In the back, Neville and Padma were plastered to the windows, staring out, while Draco, trapped in the middle, looked like he was going to be sick.

"All right back there?" Remus asked, adjusting the rearview mirror so that he could see the backseat, as there was little danger of being tailgated at this altitude, except by attitudinous ducks.

"Are you sure this is all right?" Padma asked. "Move over, Harry, I want to see the view from the front."

"Well, so long as we get you to Hogwarts on time, I don't see that it matters how you get there," Remus replied, though he looked a trifle uneasy. "Don't open your windows, we don't want you falling out if I have to make a sudden turn."

"I'm going to dip down every once in a while," Sirius called, "And track the train, all right?"

"Sounds fine," Remus answered. "Remember your concealment charm."

"Where's the fun in that?" Sirius laughed, and ducked below the clouds. Remus sighed and continued north, by the dashboard compass, until Sirius popped up far away on their left, and beckoned them over.

"Found the tracks!" he shouted. "Hit a goose, I'm afraid, though!"

"Beware of falling poultry," Remus muttered with a grin, dutifully signalling before angling the car towards Sirius.

They caught up to the train around twelve-thirty, and having established that it ran through a small Muggle village on its way to Hogwarts, landed just outside the sleepy little town and drove sedately through until they found a place to stop for lunch. Sirius ran across the road to buy a map book, and over fish and chips the two men studied it carefully.

"Now I don't expect the railway line to be on here," Sirius said, "but Hogwarts is here," with a stab of finger on paper, "right, or hereabouts?"

"I think it's a bit more north, really," Remus answered.

"Well, anyway, if we head in this direction we're more or less on the right path. So we don't have to follow the train if we don't want to, and this way we'll get there just as everyone's coming up from the station. Grand entrance," Sirius declared. Harry and Neville cheered.

"Do you think that's really wise?" Remus asked.

"We've already stolen a car," Sirius pointed out.

"Borrowed."

"Oooh, I bet Arthur was furious," Sirius mused. "Hope he got home all right."

"Well, without a dozen children and trunks to chaperone, I imagine he could find a nice quiet loo to Apparate from," Remus said, reassuring himself as much as Sirius.

"Well, anyway, we'll fly northwest, yeah? We can cut across where the train takes a bit of a detour, and we'll pick it up near Hogsmeade again. You lads up for another few hours of flying? And lady," Sirius added hastily, glancing at Padma.

"Can't I ride on the motorbike?" Harry asked.

"Two more years," Sirius promised. Harry sighed. "Tell you what, you take the map, and you can navigate."

"All right," Harry said. "But when I turn fourteen you'd better not have sold the motorbike."

"Promise," Sirius said with a grin. "I'll pay up, I think I've still got some Muggle cash on me -- "

"No using Obiliviate to cheat the pub out of a meal, Sirius."

"I never would, Prefect," Sirius sing-songed, while Remus began to herd the children back towards the car.

The rest of the trip went more or less smoothly, except for the somewhat expected stir-craziness on the part of the children. Trevor also made a spirited bid for freedom that would have ended the career of the world's first skydiving amphibian with a resounding splatter if Padma hadn't caught him at the last minute. They still hadn't found the train tracks again by early afternoon, and Remus breathed a sigh of relief when Draco spotted the familiar spires of Hogwarts castle, almost dead ahead.

"Look down," Remus ordered, as they soared over Hogsmeade. "Pretty little place from the air, isn't it?"

"It looks like a toy village," Padma exclaimed, just before they left it behind and began skimming the treetops of the Forbidden Forest.

"Time-check, Harry?"

"Train ought to be just pulling in," Harry replied. "Look -- there it is!"

The Hogwarts Express was standing empty at the platform, and the carriages that took the students from the train to the castle had just disgorged the last of their passengers as the Anglia flew over, low enough for them to see the surprise on the upturned faces watching them. Remus circled the castle once, looking for a decent place to land, before angling low and flat over the grassy hill just past the Quidditch pitch.

"Seat belts, we're about to land," he announced, and the children had just settled in when there was a resounding thump, and the car skidded to a stop on the grass, leaving a muddy track behind it.

"Not the most comfortable landing, but not bad for a first timer," Remus declared, as Sirius brought the motorbike to a perfect two-point landing next to them. "Everyone out, Hogwarts Mini-Express has reached the end of the line."

A swarm of house-elves appeared almost immediately, screeching in shock at the long streaks of uprooted grass Remus had left behind him while landing. Some of the others took control of the trunks, and had soon vanished with them. Denbigh, head of the Kitchen elves and a particular friend of theirs, started to shoo the children towards the door.

"Masters and mistress are so very late!" he squeaked, all but shoving them in the direction of the castle. "The feast has begun! Minerva McGonagall is in a state, sirs and miss!"

"We can't be that late," Remus said. "We saw them going up as we landed."

"Minerva McGonagall is having a letter special express from a Wheezy," Denbigh continued. "About the bloody flying automobile, she is saying. Mistress Padma Patil is being searched high and low for!"

"Bum, we're in for it now," Sirius said, in Remus' ear. "I didn't think about the Patils. Do you suppose we've caused a national wizarding panic?"

"Sounds about your style, yes," Remus answered.

"I didn't drive the car!"

"It was your idea."

They were passing through the front corridor now, towards one of the side-doorways to the Great Hall. Denbigh put a long green finger to what counted, on house-elves, as his lips, and opened the door just enough for them to slip through. They ended up behind a banner at one end of the Ravenclaw table just as McGonagall, a murderous gleam evident in her eye, began wrathfully calling names for the Sorting Hat.

"Well, buck up," Sirius said quietly. "At least if there's hell to pay we'll take the blame. Reckon you can get to your seats without attracting too much attention?"

"Padma can," Harry said, indicating a nearby empty seat. "And Draco and I ought to be able to. Gryffindor's way at the other end though; bad luck," he added to Neville, who gulped. "Look, there's Oliver, you can ask him to move over."

The two adults watched carefully as the children crept into their seats, while the last of the names were being called. Sirius pointed out Tonks, who had keenly noticed Neville sharing half a bench-space with Oliver; if Dumbledore had noticed, and he probably had, he gave no sign.

The Headmaster was just standing to give his usual welcoming speech, when Sirius' focus shifted.

"Hang on, where's McGonagall got to?" he asked, and Remus followed his gaze towards the high table.

"Look, they're missing Snape, too."

"Maybe the bastard finally got himself fired."

"Maybe he's not quite well yet," Remus said, more charitably.

"Maybe he's waiting to find out why four of his students vanished from King's Cross, only to be seen lunching in the company of two disreputable-looking men and a blue Ford Anglia," said a chilly voice behind them.

"Bugger," Sirius said, with emphasis.

"Maybe he's not the only one," came another voice, this time in McGonagall's distinctive brogue. Both men turned to see the two Hogwarts professors, arms crossed, faces masks of annoyance and, in Snape's case, a hint of smug superiority.

"My office," McGonagall snapped. "Now."

"Aren't we a bit old for detention?" Sirius asked. Her mouth tightened into a thin, hard line. "Right, your office. Just seeing the children safe into the Feast," he added, as they turned to walk down the corridor, towards the stairs.

McGonagall was silent as she led the three men up to her office, and even Snape looked a little nervous about being in a small, enclosed space with an enraged Deputy Headmistress. Once the door was closed, she waved them curtly into chairs, and went to the fireplace, kneeling on it and tossing some floo-powder in. They heard her speak briefly to Sara Patil, who sounded relieved.

"Now that's settled," she said, withdrawing from the fireplace, "I should like to know how two grown men, who give every impression of having finally learned how to behave like responsible members of society, could kidnap four children, steal an automobile, fly willy-nilly across the English countryside, and expect that they'll be able to simply sneak the children into the feast as if nothing had happened?"

Sirius shifted uncomfortably. Remus cleared his throat.

"Well, we didn't exactly fly...willy-nilly," he began. "I mean, we knew where we were -- "

"Not a word to the Patils about where their daughter had gone, not even a note left for Arthur Weasley about that -- that -- "

"Blasted flying car?" Snape suggested, calmly.

"Well, it was the fastest route, and we didn't want the children to be late," Sirius began.

"In that case, Mr. Black, I suggest that next time you get to the platform in a prompt fashion."

"We did try," Remus said, spreading his hands. "The platform portal closed on us. We couldn't very well leave the children there, and flying them seemed the most logical thing to do." He paused. "Now that I come to actually say it...."

"You're supposed to be on my side!" Sirius hissed.

"Do you two actually have any idea how much trouble you've caused? Beyond throwing the Patils into a panic and forcing Arthur Weasley to report his illegal flying car -- "

"He's a very safe driver -- "

"Mr. Black, when I am talking, you are not, is that understood?" McGonagall snapped. Sirius hung his head like any scolded third-year.

"Yes'm," he mumbled.

"We were forced to contact Mr. and Mrs. Tonks, as well, who I may say were less than helpful," McGonagall continued. "Andromeda Tonks in particular didn't seem to think there was anything to worry about."

"There wasn't," Sirius muttered rebelliously. "Good for her."

"In addition," said Snape, in a somewhat silky, predatory voice, "there is the newspaper to consider."

He tossed a Muggle paper onto the desk in front of them. Remus pulled it towards him.

"UFO sighted over Yorkshire countryside," he read aloud. "Well, at least they don't know what it is."

"Nevertheless, several people had to be...handled by the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office, after reporting that this 'alien spacecraft' appeared to highly resemble an antique motorbike."

"Told you to use better concealment charms," Remus muttered, over Sirius' enraged "Antique! It's called classic, thanks."

"What's this nonsense about not being able to get onto the platform?" McGonagall continued. "If that's what inspired this mad and reckless behaviour, I should like to hear about it, considering I have spent my entire afternoon hearing about how Padma Patil has been kidnapped and what I ought to be doing about it."

"We arrived in plenty of time to catch the train," Remus said, slowly, once it became evident he wouldn't be snapped at for speaking. "I even went through, onto the platform. When Sirius and the children didn't follow, I came back out, and couldn't get in again. We thought it was some kind of prank," he added. "We were concerned that the children would miss the Feast, so we took Arthur's car and flew them here. They were never in the slightest danger; the car has excellent child-safety locks."

McGonagall looked as though she'd like to take issue with what was obviously a flippant finishing statement, but Remus had not been a Prefect for nothing; his delivery was deadpan serious, and it was hard to tell if he'd been joking at all.

"Sorry about the lawns," Remus added. "I'll pay for the grounds repairs. And we'll return the Anglia to Arthur, of course."

"It's being impounded," Snape said smoothly.

"What?" Sirius demanded. "You can't -- "

"It is illegal to enchant a car to fly without a permit. Or a driver's licence," Snape interrupted. "Arthur Weasley has neither. It's out of our hands, I'm afraid."

"You bastard, you didn't have to TELL anyone," Sirius snarled.

"Didn't have to tell anyone that you abducted my students?" Snape asked, pushing himself away from the table he'd been leaning on. "I didn't have to inform authorities that they were being carried without their consent hundreds of miles above the air in an illegal flying vehicle? I'm sure that would have gone over well with the Patils. Yes, Mrs. Patil, we're unaware of your daughter's whereabouts, but we suspect she's in a flying Ford Anglia bound for Hogwarts, and we don't think it's necessary to inform the authorities. Brilliant plan, Black, as usual."

"Are we finished?" Sirius asked McGonagall, doing the one thing that could enrage Snape more than anything else -- ignoring him. "Or am I going to have to scrub Professor Snape's chalkboards?"

"The Headmaster," McGonagall said, choosing each word with care, "has intervened on your behalf, and I understand that, seeing as you did escort the children without harm to their destination, other than the impounding of the automobile no punitive measures will be taken. Unfortunately, in my opinion," she continued, "your motorbike is specially licensed, although you will be required to pay a fine for being seen by Muggles, even if you were taken for an alien spacecraft. What these Muggles imagine they're seeing..." She sighed then, and shook her head. "I believe you should be grateful to the Headmaster for his handling of the situation, and to your cousin Mrs. Tonks for certain strings she has no doubt pulled to keep your motorbike licence from being revoked."

Sirius was opening his mouth to say something, probably something stupid, when there was a high-pitched squeal outside, and McGonagall turned to look out the window.

"Merciful Merlin," she said, as Snape and the other two joined her.

Below, they could see the Anglia's landing-tracks, and in the floodlight from a Lumos Maximus charm, several Aurors in a loose circle around the car. A few of them were pushing themselves up off the ground. All four of the car's doors were open, as well as the trunk and hood, which seemed to be bobbing up and down -- rather like mouths, really. One of the Aurors stepped forward, cautiously, and the car --

The car moved on its own, jerking forward, feinting at the Auror, who backpedaled quickly. There was a revving noise, and the motorbike drove itself into the fray, settling firmly in front of the Anglia's front fender. Sirius swore.

"What on earth...?" Remus asked, as an Auror approached from the back of the car, only to be thrust rudely away. The Anglia's tyres squealed in place, throwing up mud, and its headlamps flashed threateningly.

"It knows what's going on," Sirius said. The Aurors had managed to get some kind of net over its hood that was anchoring it to the ground, but the Anglia wasn't going to give up without a fight.

"It's a car, it doesn't know anything," Remus replied.

"Nobody charmed it to do that," Sirius said, as one of the doors thumped an advancing Auror soundly. "Look, it's the perfect defensive makeup -- it can see you coming from any direction with those mirrors, and if it can't run you over it can thwack you with its doors."

"I'm not interested in the biology of the common Muggle car," Snape growled. "Why don't they just -- "

"Look at it go," Remus said, pointing. The Anglia had shaken off half the net, and was now doing circles almost in place, back tyres anchoring it while the front ones rolled furiously. The Aurors took cover from the sheets of mud and water it was flinging up, and the occasional defensive dodge by the motorbike. When a sufficient swath had been cleared, the motorbike's engine revved, and the Anglia took the hint -- off it went, bumping over the grass and occasionally managing to soar a few inches off the ground before thumping down again. By the time the Aurors had regrouped enough to give chase, it was nothing more than a fading pair of brake lights in the Forbidden Forest.

There was stunned silence for a moment.

"Guess it didn't want to go," Sirius said, solemnly. The motorbike's headlamp flashed a few times, proudly, and then went out as it fell back on its kickstand.

***

The Flying Car Incident was the talk of the dormitories that night; Draco, painfully shy in the spotlight, hid in the kitchens until lights-out to avoid the attention of his classmates, while the girls who shared a room with Padma all wanted to know how it worked and if she'd been allowed to drive. There was also a significant amount of talk about dashing Mr. Black and his clever valet Mr. Lupin, and how romantic it must be to soar above the clouds in a blue Ford Anglia. Padma ignored it, for the most part, as she arranged Elmo's jar in a little altar next to her bed and made sure he was comfortably stocked with peppers.

Neville was asked to tell the story over and over again, and while Neville was not a gifted storyteller, it didn't really need much embellishment -- especially after Percy Weasley came up to the Gryffindor common room with news that the Anglia had made a daring solo escape into the Forbidden Forest, and the Aurors had given up the chase. Mr. Black was going to have to pay a very large fine, and in addition pay their father back for the car. Ron said it was worth it, and he wished he'd been late too so that he could go with them, and Ginny said wasn't Harry Potter's godfather cool, and the general consensus was that nobody would ever be as cool as Sirius Black, and of course he was a Gryffindor, because that was the sort of brave, cool thing Gryffindors did.

In Slytherin it was a slightly...different story.

Harry Potter had stolen the glory of the new Slytherin first years, had once again consorted openly with other Houses, and -- most importantly -- had gotten to ride in a flying car, which bred jealousy like nobody's business. The older students envied him and hated themselves for envying him, while the newest students talked unsubtly about how they were going to be the best Slytherin class ever, much better than the last one. Harry finally escaped to the dormitory, where Theo Nott and his hoodlums Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles menacingly while he unpacked his clothes and hid his old soft toy, Frog, in the secret bottom compartment, lest there be talk of Baby Harry and his Stupid Teddy Frog.

The only Slytherin who didn't have some kind of grudge against Harry was, apparently, a small, mousy-haired boy called Creevey, whom all the other Slytherin first-years were pointedly ignoring. Word had gone around that he was Muggle-born, though they didn't use quite so nice a term for it. No-one wanted to associate with a runt who had no family and could not be separated from a camera that was bigger than his head.

The next morning, with the rest of the House sleepy and yawning, was at least a little better; Harry was up before most of them, and was gratified to find Draco and Padma waiting for him in the dining hall for their usual early-morning breakfast. Dora was there too, at the high table, and she winked at Harry over her oatmeal.

"I went past Gryffindor, but Neville said he couldn't find his shoes and I ought to go on without him," Padma said. "Thank you, Denbigh," she added, as the house-elf set a plate of fried bread near her elbow.

"He needs some kind of charm," Draco said thoughtfully.

"Who, Denbigh?"

"No, I mean Neville. Something that just somehow attaches everything he owns to him. There's got to be some kind of 'find-it' spell. How do you lose your shoes?"

"You put them in a very safe place," Neville sighed, hurrying up and sliding onto the bench next to Padma. "Sorry. Is there any sausage -- oh, there it is," he added, helping himself to some of Harry's with a grin. Harry mimed stabbing his hand with a fork.

They were just finishing up their meals as other students began to appear, and they were forced to go their separate ways; Padma took a book out of her bag and began to read at one end of the Ravenclaw table, while Draco joined a group of Hufflepuff second-years who were racing tarantulas. Harry sauntered over to the Slytherin table, sitting near the door so that he could be off once he got his morning owl post and class schedule.

A flashbulb popped just as he sat down, and the world was full of purple splotches for a moment; when his vision cleared he found himself confronted by the Creevey kid from the night before.

"What'd you do that for?" he demanded, reaching out to take the camera from the boy. Creevey jumped back.

"I like taking pictures," he said uncertainly. "And you're Harry Potter, aren't you? I hear you can get them developed so that they move, is that true?"

"Not me in particular," Harry scowled, then grabbed the camera when Creevey raised it to take another picture. "There's no picture-taking in the Great Hall, all right?"

"Really?" Creevey asked, wide-eyed. Harry had no clue whether picture-taking in the Great Hall was allowed or not, but a Slytherin takes his opportunities where he finds them.

"Not at all," he said promptly. "Not in the dormitories either. Might catch someone naked, you know."

"Gosh."

"Or in classrooms," Harry said, handing the camera back. "You take a picture of Professor McGonagall and she'll bite you."

Creevey looked terrified and scuttled away.

"Oi, Potter, didn't you know only fourth-years and up are allowed to terrorise the firsties?" said a voice, and Harry grinned as Oliver passed on the way to the Gryffindor table.

"I thought that rule was about bullying Gryffindors!" he called after Oliver, who offered the two-fingered salute over his shoulder. McGonagall, passing out class schedules by table, caught the older boy by the ear and led him along for a few paces before releasing him.

Owls began to swoop in through the windows, carrying letters, packages, newspapers, magazines, and various other odds and ends for the students. Hedwig landed in front of Harry, looking as though she'd flown all night, and dropped a slim envelope addressed in Remus' handwriting on the table before flapping off to the Owlery. Harry, intrigued, slit it open and shook out a letter and a newspaper article inside.

Dear Harry, the letter read, Good luck on your first day of classes. We're thinking of you. Thought you'd enjoy this article from the early edition. If Sirius ever stops getting into trouble, we'll know he's died. We're home safe -- we took the train -- so write and let us know how you are. Love, Remus.

Harry flattened the folded Prophet article, and began to read.

***

NEWS OF THE NATION -- HOGSMEADE

WP -- Rumours abound that Sirius Black, the last male heir to the Black family legacy and debonair wizard-about-town, has been charged by Aurors with several criminal acts. Sources report that Black has been charged with Operating a Magically Altered Muggle Artifact; Detection by Muggles, Grade Three; and Illegal Use of Muggle Airspace. His companion, Remus J. Lupin, has also been charged with a lesser count of Operating a Magically Altered Muggle Artifact in connection with these events.

If convicted, both men face fines totalling nearly a hundred Galleons, and a maximum of thirty days in Azkaban prison. It is unlikely, however, that Sirius Black, a well-connected man highly capable of paying even the most severe fine, will see the inside of Azkaban Prison anytime soon. Mr. Lupin, facing a lesser charge, may have his case dismissed for lack of evidence, the "uttomobile" having been hidden from Auror detection for the moment. Apparently the owner of the Muggle "uttomobile" involved, Mr. A. Weasley, has declined to press charges of theft.

The department of Magical Law Enforcement declined to comment on the likelihood of locating the uttomobile.

***

"Psst! Harry!" Padma said, leaning back across the aisle. "What're you reading?"

"Nothing," Harry answered, folding up the article and stuffing it into his pocket. "Just a letter from Remus."

"Get your schedule yet?"

"Yeah -- what've you got next?"

"Potions. You?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts. Astronomy with you, night after tomorrow," Harry answered.

"Telescope partners?"

"Sure," Harry grinned. Padma matched it before turning around to copy her schedule onto a notecard for her pocket.

It was good to be back.

Chapter 7

Neville caught up with Harry on their way to Defence class, the two boys walking democratically between the Gryffindors, shoving and rough-housing behind them, and the Slytherins, slouching along disdainfully ahead. Theo Nott had decided to lead the rest of the Slytherins, but Harry didn't need to be in front; he could afford to let Theo think he was number one, until he needed to prove otherwise.

"You think it's going to be weird?" Harry asked, over the shouts of the other students.

"What, having Dora as a teacher?"

"Professor Tonks."

"Right, right," Neville looked determined, as though remembering to call his foster-sister Professor was a major hurdle to overcome. Knowing Neville's memory, perhaps it was; Harry saw the Remembrall bracelet on Neville's wrist, mostly hidden under his sleeve, and grinned a little. "I guess it might. She's always bossing me around at home, though, so I don't think it'll be all that different."

Harry laughed. "Think she'll be any good?"

"Sure, why wouldn't she?" Neville asked, defensively.

"No reason, Longbottom, don't get all upset," Harry said, as they ducked into the classroom. He looked away from Neville, eyes scanning the room for Dora -- Professor Tonks -- but she was nowhere to be seen.

Professor Snape was standing at the front of the class, instead, scowling at the Gryffindors as they poured noisily inside. The Slytherins smirked at each other and took seats in the front rows. The Gryffindors barely hid their dismay as they piled into the back rows, and Harry got separated from Neville by Crabbe, who wanted to sit next to Snape's favourite.

"Silence, please," Snape drawled, eyes scanning the classroom. They settled on Harry for a minute, and Harry looked at Neville suddenly; Neville's face was split in a hugely amused grin.

Snape's eyes were the wrong colour.

"If you do not stop fidgeting, Longbottom, I will deduct ten points from Gryffindor," he snapped, and Neville tried his hardest to put on an appropriate poker face. "Professor Tonks, regrettably, cannot attend to her duties today. You find that funny, Mr. Potter?"

"No, sir," Harry replied, promptly wiping the smile from his face as well.

"Good. Now -- "

Snape paused in apparent surprise. The class was staring. One lock of his short black hair had turned bright pink.

There was a slow titter of laughter from the Gryffindors as another, on the other side of his head, popped up vivid purple. The crown of his head suddenly turned blond.

"What on earth -- " Snape stuttered, as his hair became a rainbow of garish bright colours. "LONGBOTTOM!"

Neville had broken down into laughter. He tried to pretend to cringe as the rainbow-haired Snape bore down on him, but it was useless; as Snape ordered him out of his seat, the rest of the Gryffindors and most of the Slytherins were laughing, and Snape's face had turned choleric red.

"LONGBOTTOM, STOP THIS INSTANT!" Snape roared, as his nose began to change. "If you do not CEASE THIS AT ONCE I shall -- "

All of a sudden his voice was softer, much more feminine, and his face had changed dramatically. Nymphadora Tonks stood before Neville, laughing helplessly herself as her hair returned to a sober auburn shade.

" -- be forced to reveal who I really am," she finished, with a grin. "All right, you lot, settle down," she added, as the Slytherins began to grumble and the Gryffindors laughed among themselves. She made her way back to the front of the room, still wearing Snape's usual dour black, though she filled it out a little differently than before.

"Good morning to you all," she said. "As you may have guessed, I am Professor Tonks," she said, as she flicked her wand at the chalkboard. A piece of chalk lifted itself up into the air and began to write her name on the board. Her last name only, Harry noticed. Not that he blamed her.

"I am your new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and what I have just shown you is actually a little test for your first morning. Oh, come on now," she said, as the students universally groaned. "You're not going to be graded on it." She leaned back on the desk at the front of the classroom, and crossed her arms. "How many of you knew it wasn't Snape right before I changed?"

There was an awkward silence. They stared at her, and she sighed.

"Come on, hands up! How many of you knew? I'm not going to bite," she said sternly. Almost every hand went up, except for Crabbe, who was looking a few minutes behind events.

"All right, how many of you knew it wasn't Snape when I started berating Neville?"

Many of the hands dropped.

"And how many of you knew when my hair first went pink?"

Four hands were still in the air -- Theo's, Harry's, Neville's, and Ron's.

"Now. How many of you knew before that?"

Harry fought the overwhelming urge to drop his hand, but he kept it up. Neville, apparently taking courage from him, did the same. She nodded.

"Neville and Harry, as many of you are probably going to protest, already know me. How did you know, Neville?"

"Snape's eyes are darker," Neville stammered.

"Harry?"

"Same," Harry answered.

"Neville and Harry noticed this because they know I'm a metamorphmagus," Dora said, as the chalk wrote out the complicated term on the board. There was a rustle of paper and quills as people scrambled to begin taking notes, and she looked startled for a minute before continuing. "For those of you who don't know, metamorphmagery is a rare magical condition -- some call it a birth defect -- where a person is able to alter their body, to a certain extent. This is not to say that they are perfectly able to imitate people. As Neville pointed out, I got Professor Snape's eyes wrong. I don't know most of you, so I couldn't pick on you by name, as Professor Snape might have done. Not," she added hastily, eyes sweeping the room, "that Professor Snape picks on people, I'm sure."

Another quiet murmur of amusement.

"The key to detecting an imposter, as with all defence, is observing actions and identifying threats. Constant vigilance, as one of my old teachers at the Auror academy says. What I am going to be teaching you, this year, is a combination of observational skill and magical knowledge, so that when you get out in the real world you're prepared to defend yourself. Merlin forbid you have to."

Harry glanced around. The rest of the class was still watching her, intently, and she looked a little anxious under the sudden focus of twenty-odd sets of eyes.

"Uhm. With that in mind," she continued, "we're going to start the class off with a little discussion of ancient defensive magic, and at the end, if there's time, I'll give you a practical demonstration. Who can tell me what an apotropaic is?"

Hermione Granger's hand shot up. Harry rolled his eyes.

"An ancient defensive amulet like a picture of a dog or a demon's head," she said, when Dora pointed at her.

"Well....yes and no. It is an ancient defensive amulet, but it took many forms. Some of which you'll be discussing when you're much older," Dora said. "Today we're going to be discussing one of the most common, which is the Gorgon. Yes, Miss..."

"Granger, ma'am."

"Miss Granger?"

"Like Medusa, professor?"

"Yes, like Medusa. Take five points for Gryffindor," Tonks said. "Who can tell me who Medusa was? Not you, Miss Granger."

Theo raised his hand. "She had snakes on her head."

"Snakes as hair, all right, what else?"

Theo looked thoughtful. "Turned people to stone?"

"And five for Slytherin."

"And she was really ugly," Theo added.

"Not always, which leads us to the lecture," Tonks said, flicking her wand at the chalkboard. It moved and stretched, as though something was pushing against it, until finally a face popped out in relief, a sad-looking woman with a broad face, rich frowning lips, heavy eyelids and thick curly hair.

"This is also a face of Medusa, from Italy, dating to probably about twenty-five hundred years ago," she began. "The Greeks hung the face of Medusa on temple walls and the gates of their homes, as protection against evil..."

***

Sept. 2, 1992
Long, Draughnout, Payne & Assc.

President Andrew Wotton, Broosh & Chakle Studios:

The law firm of Long, Draughnout, Payne, & Associates have been retained to make certain inquiries into the nature of your studio and in particular all charms, spells, hexes, potions, and magical devices used in your patented Dorian Gray portraiture process. Our client, who wishes to remain anonymous, has requested information concerning their possible effects on unusual magical persons.

If you would please forward any and all information concerning the Dorian Gray process and its effects on Animagi, Werewolves, Metamorphmagi, and magical pets such as Kneazles and Salamanders, our client would be much obliged. We will of course sign any confidentiality agreements you require, understanding that you prefer to protect your business interests. We will not disclose any details of the process itself to our client, but rather make a recommendation to said client based upon the information you provide.

You are of course under no obligation to disclose any of the information requested. However, our client has authorized payment of your usual per diem consulting fee, to compensate for your expenditure of time in this matter. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me via Owl or Floo, or to arrange a meeting in person.

Yrs,
Llewellyn Payne, Esq.

***

It had been a long day for Dora Tonks. Between her first day of teaching, the many layers of the costume she'd been wearing, and the frequent body-shifts, she was nearly exhausted. It had, however, also been worth it, she felt. She'd captivated the OWLs-level classes with advanced hexes for them to gnaw on, and gotten on the good side of most of the lower years with her Snape impression. If she could just get the NEWTs students in the special Friday class to accept her...

"Good afternoon, Professor Tonks," Minerva McGonagall said, as she walked into the staff room. Dora, from where she lay sprawled in one of the squashy easy chairs near the windows, grinned and waved in greeting.

"Professor McGonagall," she said, in a carefully respectful voice with just a hint of good humour. McGonagall smiled back, which had been enough of a rarity during her school years that she was still getting used to it as a professor.

"Did you have a good first day?" the older woman asked, pouring herself a cup of tea and stirring it with her wand to warm it.

"Brilliant," Dora answered, enthusiastically. "Now if I could just get up the energy to move..."

McGonagall settled into a chair nearby, and sipped her tea. "It is a little wearing at first. You'll get used to it in time. I heard about your opening lectures from many of my students -- quite a brilliant stroke, a good practical lesson."

"Good," Dora said, "because I'm going to be impersonating you in all of tomorrow's lessons."

McGonagall chuckled into her tea. "I shall have to lend you a hat appropriate to the occasion. I hope you didn't do anything unseemly in the guise of Professor Snape."

"Nothing worse than berating Neville, which I hear he does enough of," she answered. "And I've signed an agreement with Dumbledore not to change while I'm here, except in the cause of education."

"Well, I can't say I blame him. A less scrupulous person might go about collecting gossip and making trouble in the guise of other people. You were always a very honest young woman, however, and I'm certain -- "

She was interrupted by the door to the staff room banging against the wall as someone threw it open rudely. Severus Snape, normally sallow face pale with rage, loomed in the entryway.

"Oh, do come in, Severus," McGonagall said. "Young Dora and I were just -- "

"I beg your pardon, Deputy Headmistress, but would it be possible for Professor Tonks and myself to have a word in private?" he asked, voice tightly controlled. McGonagall gave Tonks a "better you than me" look as she stood.

"I'm not certain I ought, Severus," she answered. "You look rather -- "

"We aren't children, and we don't require a babysitter," he snapped. His gaze fell on Dora. "One of us isn't, anyway."

"Now, Professor Snape -- "

"Professor McGonagall, with all due respect, this is not your concern."

McGonagall set her tea down and put her hands on her hips. "I'm not sure you're quite old enough yet to tell me what is and is not my concern, Severus. It's clear -- "

"It's all right," Dora said, finally finding her voice in the face of Snape's towering wrath. She'd lived through seven years of it when he was her professor, and now that she had a certain right to talk back to him, as a colleague, she found she was itching for the chance. "Professor Snape and I can discuss things like civilised human beings, I'm sure."

McGonagall looked slightly surprised, but she picked up her tea, nodded at Dora, gave Snape a warning look, and brushed past him, closing the door behind her as she left. There was a moment of painful silence.

"How dare you?" he demanded finally. "I had my reservations about your appointment to this position long before you arrived, and now I see them fully justified. Impersonating a professor -- "

"I am a professor," she answered, not rising from her chair.

"Impersonating another person for the purposes of amusing your classes is an outrage to the dignity of this institution!" he roared.

"It wasn't a comedy routine -- "

"Oh? It wasn't? The entire school discussing me with ridiculous -- pink -- hair!" He could barely get the words out, his dignity was so affronted. "I suppose that wasn't intended to be amusing at all?"

"It was intended to prove a point, and if you haven't even bothered to ask why I did it, you shouldn't go poking your nose in -- "

"Outrageous child!" he shouted. "How dare you impersonate me without asking permission?"

"I wasn't aware I had to have my lessons plans checked by -- "

"A person whose face you're wearing? Are you really so incredibly idiotic?" His voice dropped. "No. Of course you aren't. You knew precisely what the effect on those children would be, and you didn't ask me because you knew I would say no."

"I didn't think you'd care!" she blurted. "Professor McGonagall thought it was clever!"

"So I am now the laughingstock of the staff as well as the children?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well done. You've succeeded where a generation of schoolchildren have failed. This isn't Twelve Grimmauld Place," he continued, before she could get a word in edgewise. "This is Hogwarts, and while we are here I am not your parents' friend. I am a professor, senior to yourself by many, many years, and I deserve the respect of that position. I do not deserve to be mocked behind my back!"

"I wasn't mocking you! I was making a point!" she retorted.

"Yes, and a fine point you've made," he growled. "Stay out of my way, and if you so much as colour your hair black, I will ensure that you are removed from your position for irresponsible negligence."

"Professor -- "

He was gone too quickly for her to explain or even apologise. She realised she was shaking, and cursed herself; she'd taken on warlocks a lot tougher than Severus Snape, but they hadn't been her professor or the quiet, sardonic man her parents had over to dinner every few weeks. She'd thought he might be amused; she was used to his dour demeanor, but he did smile once in a while, and she hadn't hoped for anything more emotional than a tight-lipped smile and a nod of acknowledgement over dinner.

There was a soft click as McGonagall let herself back into the staff room. She resumed her seat across from Dora, and waited patiently for the younger woman to gather her wits about her.

"I could have stayed," the older woman said, finally.

"No, then he would have just shouted at me with witnesses," Dora answered. "I didn't think he'd be so angry."

"To be frank, neither did I, and I know him much better than you do," McGonagall replied. "As much as he confides in anyone, I suppose, he confides in me. It's his pride, you know. I think he's terribly afraid the children will realise someday that he's not omnipotent, and when they do, he won't be able to control them." She smiled. "I remember when he started teaching his greatest fear was that he'd be like old Metterley -- Metterley taught Defence Against the Dark Arts, you know, when Severus was a student. He wasn't good at keeping his classes under control -- he wasn't a very bright man, really, and Severus, unfortunately, was. He ran circles around most of his professors."

"Not you, I bet," Dora said with a small smile.

"Certainly not me," McGonagall agreed.

"So I guess I should stick to impersonating famous people, and keep away from professors?"

"I certainly don't mind. I've always wondered what I'd look like with purple hair," McGonagall said, and Dora couldn't help grinning.

"Come by my class tomorrow after breakfast and find out," she replied.

At least if she had to get shouted at on her first day of teaching, it hadn't been Professor McGonagall.

***

Sept 4, 1992
Broosh & Chakle Studios

Dear Mr. Payne,

I have been appointed by President Wotton to address the inquiries your client has made through your offices and forward all information you have requested. I am inclosing a standard confidentiality agreement signed by all clients before they undergo the process. However, I can provide some preliminary information to you at the moment.

The process has not been known to work on magical creatures at all, to discount the second part of your inquiry; usually, if the client requires that their beloved Fluffy be included, it is added in regular magical paint after the portrait is completed. It will show all the signs of a normal magical painting, but will not age nor will it preserve the magical pet in question.

To the best of my knowledge, as a portraitist with the Studio for a number of years, we have never attempted a portrait with an Animagus; as I'm sure you know, they are quite rare. In 1962 we did successfully handle a Metamorphmagus, although they were required not to shift their features or bodies at all for the duration of the sittings, which your client may be aware takes several weeks. An inconvenience, perhaps, but not impossible. I would imagine the same restriction would apply to an Animagus, as the conditions are remarkably similar according to my research.

Having confirmed these two items with the studio's records, I can also report that we have never knowingly dealt with a Werewolf in this particular process. Werewolves being more common than either Animagi or Metamorphmagi, it is possible that we have done so unknowingly; however, as they have distinctive differences in their transformative qualities, I can name three or four issues with completing the portrait right off the bat. None are insurmountable, especially with the assistance of the Werewolf in question.

I must admit that I would be terribly excited to work with any of the abovementioned Magical Persons, and if required could handle the portrait myself, without disclosing their particular unusual status in the Studio's recordkeeping; we pride ourselves on the discretion we employ. Especially if your client is a werewolf, I would like to arrange an interview with him or her. To that end, I have included a mutual nondisclosure clause in the document, ensuring that I, as the artist, will not betray your client's magical status. All the usual punitive damages and magical punishments apply.

If you require more information on the process itself, I have been authorised to answer any and all questions you may have, by owl or in person, upon recieving the return of the signed confidentiality form.

Sincerely,

Helena Broosh
Senior Journeyman Portraitist
Broosh & Chakle Studios

***

Sirius was never comfortable in his solicitor's office; Llewellyn Payne was a kind, elderly man, an incongruous choice for his parents, but beneath that twinkling eye and wispy-hair lurked the mind of a criminal genius and a chess master rolled into one. Still, he was the soul of discretion and tact with his clients, and Sirius wouldn't have had a clue how to go about finding a new solicitor anyway.

"Ah, Mr Black," Payne said, taking a large black portfolio out of his bottom desk drawer. "I imagine you'll be wanting to see your quarterly investment numbers? I've had your accountants -- "

"Uh, no, actually," Sirius said, hesitantly. "I made the appointment for another reason entirely."

"Oh? I hope you've not landed yourself into some new legal trouble. My clerks have had quite the time dealing with your little automotive mishap," Payne chuckled.

"No, I...ah...well, I didn't actually make this appointment under my own name," Sirius admitted.

"I beg your pardon, Mr Black?"

"I, um, made it under another name. I'm the one, Mr. Canis, I owled you anonymously with the inquiry about Broosh & Chakle studios."

Payne stared at him for a while, blinking, before composing himself.

"I see," he said. "Are you perhaps planning on a gift for your young cousin? Miss Tonks, I believe, the Metamorphmagus?"

"Well...listen, I know all about legal confidentiality," Sirius said, leaning close. "And there's privileged information, and then there's Privileged information. I've seen a lot of people slip things out without seeming to."

Payne smiled at him. "Mr Black, not to be crude, but there is a reason lawyers are often compared to a certain class of working woman. It has always been my policy that I am paid to be intelligent, tactful, and silent. My loyalty to those who do not pay me is bought with friendship, but my loyalty to those who keep me on retainer is absolute. If you are a werewolf, Mr Black, the one person in the world you may be sure will never betray your confidence is sitting before you."

"Oh -- Merlin -- no," Sirius stammered. "I mean, I am asking about werewolves, but I'm not one personally."

"I see."

"I'm...are you sure you can't tell anyone if I've committed a crime?"

"I dearly hope you haven't murdered anyone, Mr Black, but even if you have -- "

"I'm an unregistered Animagus," Sirius blurted. Payne raised a white eyebrow. "I've never been authorised to even conduct the ritual required for the transformation."

Payne pursed his lips. "Yes, I believe that breaks -- "

"Eight separate Ministry laws, I looked it up once."

"Nine, if you count the law passed last year against impersonating animals in public. Presuming you have," Payne said thoughtfully. "Ranging in penalties from small fines through imprisonment in Azkaban, if I'm not mistaken. Is this a recent development?"

"Er...no. It happened when I was fifteen."

For the first time in all the years he'd known Payne, the solicitor looked astonished. Sirius stared down at the desk, as if he'd been chided. Closing his mouth with an audible click, Payne shuffled papers on his desk while he gathered his thoughts.

"Well, certainly -- you've read the letter, I forwarded it on to the address that you, er, Mr Canis gave me -- certainly you could approach Broosh & Chakle without revealing your unique status. Although you would not be allowed to become...a...?"

"Dog," Sirius muttered.

"A dog, good heavens, I expected a panther or something," Payne said. Sirius suspected he was being teased.

"There's, um, more."

"Mr Black, are you attempting to give me a heart attack?"

Sirius grinned at him. "Um, my friend, Remus Lupin -- "

"Oh, yes, I believe we've met once or twice. Tall, brown-haired man?"

"That's him. Listen, if I tell you something about him, is that confidential too?"

"I shall be silent as the grave," Payne assured him.

"He's a werewolf."

"Ah. That does muddy the waters," Payne said, after a contemplative moment. "Would he be willing to meet with the studio representative to discuss options?"

"I haven't actually told him I've made the inquiry yet."

"And you'd like my advice?"

"I...I guess, yes."

Payne steepled his fingers, thoughtfully. "Clearly you're contemplating a portrait for Mr Lupin as well as yourself."

"I thought one together, perhaps."

Payne lifted one eyebrow. Sirius flushed.

"You're rather full of secrets, Mr Black. It must be a relief to get a few of them off your chest."

Sirius was silent.

"In that case," Payne continued, "I would certainly advise you to speak with Mr Lupin before taking further steps. Under the confidentiality contract, he would be protected, and Ms Broosh certainly seems to be of a tolerant disposition, but ultimately the decision to admit to someone -- anyone -- that he is a werewolf rests with Mr Lupin. I would not," he added, "inform him that you have shared that information with me."

"No, you're right," Sirius murmured. "Thank you for your time."

"You pay for it," Payne pointed out, with a smile. "If I may, Mr Black -- as I recall your current will entitles Mr Lupin, as executor, to the vast majority of your estate, with significant portions also going to Ms Tonks and her family. May I suggest a specific clause stating that your young ward, Master Potter, is to be placed in his custody in the event of your untimely death? With a subclause stating that no infirmity, condition, or legal infraction shall prevent the letter of the will from being carried out? Otherwise, of course, young Master Potter becomes a ward of the Tonkses, which may in some ways be preferable."

Sirius nodded eagerly. "I, ah, oh yes -- I'll have to get his permission -- I'm sure he'll agree."

Payne smiled and began shuffling paper again as Sirius let himself out, barely looking where he was going until he was back on the street again.

Well, he'd told Payne and hadn't died. Perhaps, if this artist Payne was in contact with could keep a secret...

Chapter 8

This is where they keep the magic.

There's always the chance, after all, that someone might be innocent, and plenty of people serve their time in Azkaban and survive it, even if they're never the same afterwards. They don't snap the wands of prisoners, whether or not they're serving life-sentences. They bring them here.

Only when someone dies is the wand disposed of, in a careful manner, by a trained expert. The current Ollivander, of the generations who have owned Ollivander's, has both provided and destroyed the wands for many of Azkaban's residents.

Among those he'd supplied, and those he had every expectation of disposing of, was the wand of Lucius Malfoy. Ten inches, Yew with a core of unicorn hair. Ollivander found this whimsical, as the boy himself looked vaguely like a unicorn: a pale-haired, inquisitive, and calm child, so very calm that Ollivander had peered into the boy's eyes to make sure he wasn't...damaged, somehow. There had been a keen intelligence there, but also an upsetting coolness of emotion. There was no hint of mercy in those eyes, even when he was eleven. That he should be a murderer had not shocked Ollivander.

This is the room where they keep the wands of the condemned, row upon row of cubicles lined in velvet, a name and the Azkaban serial number etched on the glass front of each small case. Some are empty; not nearly all are full, but enough are occupied that a wizard, on entering, would feel a chill down his spine. A wand is a part of one; seeing this room is like seeing a roomful of extracted teeth, carefully labeled and preserved. It is deep in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, accessed by an unassuming little door labeled "storeroom."

(Real storerooms are never actually labeled that.)

And several floors up, a rat has crept into the Ministry and is beginning what he knows will be a long series of tests against the magical wards placed around the room of wands.

***

Remus finally made the appointment for his examination at St Mungo's in mid-September. It was the Ministry's not-terribly-subtle way of keeping tabs on werewolves, and though Sirius offered to come along, he didn't want Sirius there, hovering and making a fuss. He'd rather just quietly get it over with. Sirius was bound to raise hell if he had to actually see what werewolves underwent on the medical end, and he couldn't come into the private evaluation anyway. It was easiest for all concerned if he simply had the row ahead of time and convinced Sirius to meet him for lunch afterwards.

Not that he was ever very hungry. The whole process was humiliating, and even looking forward to the friendly, scatter-brained company of his official evaluator, Rubin, didn't do much to assuage that.

The medical examination passed without incident; blood, hair, and saliva samples, a detailed history of the last three years' worth of Changes, physical appearance documentation including scars (plenty of those), and the tolerance tests. Remus hated that part more than anything, even stripping down for the physical appearance photographs. Technically the tolerance tests were supposed to measure how close he was to "feral" by exposing him to increasing doses of silver; a nasty side effect was that it also tested his tolerance for pain.

Finally, tired and nursing three bandaged burns on the back of his hand, he walked down the corridor to the evaluation office with something approaching relief. Seth Rubin was a friend of Moody's and had known Remus since he was a child; he'd treated him not only through the incident at school with Severus, but through the scheduled Ministry-required checkups and a brief but memorable flip-out when he was nineteen. He knew everything -- the lycanthropy, obviously, but also about the weird, sometimes prescient dreams, and his feelings for Sirius back before, long before, Sirius himself had known about them.

"Come in!" the Healer called when Remus knocked, and he let himself into the unchanging office full of files, some of them charmed to float in the air for lack of desk space. "Eleven o'clock...must be Remus Lupin."

"Hello, Seth," Remus called, pushing a floating pile of files to one side. A small, tidy-looking man beamed up at him from where he was scrawling notes on a Muggle yellow legal pad.

"Have a seat. I've been waiting rather impatiently for this meeting," the man said with a grin. "You had such exciting things to tell me, three years ago, and then you up and disappeared until last year..."

Remus nodded. "I'm sure you heard about Harry."

"One can hardly avoid it," the Healer said with a smile, passing a sheet of parchment across the desk. "That's your official certification of continuing stability. I thought we might as well get the formalities out of the way."

"Er..." Remus scanned down the questionnaire that Rubins was supposed to administer. "It's filled out."

"Stupid, pointless things," Seth said agreeably, leaning forward. "Only someone who has never had contact with a werewolf would ask if you had come to terms with the fact that you turn into a hairy slavering beast once a month."

"Oh." Remus gave him a slightly confused look. "You never did this before."

"You rarely had anything you needed to discuss, before," Seth replied. "Other than what's on that questionnaire."

"And I do now?"

The Healer leaned back in his chair. "Well, you've been raising a child, and the last time we spoke there was the issue of a relationship..."

"Oh...Sirius. Yes." Remus coughed. "Er...yes. Raising Harry. That's going well."

Seth grinned. "In your own time, Lupin. If you don't want to talk, I won't make you. Tell you what, play you two games of Exploding Snap while you tell me all about Harry, and you ought to be right on schedule for discharge."

Forty minutes later, Sirius sniffed the air as Remus emerged from the hospital, pulling on his coat.

"It smells like sulfur," he said. "What do they DO to you in there?"

"Relaxation technique," Remus answered with a grin, as Sirius straightened the collar of his coat. They were careful, in public; more careful than either of them wanted to be, but there was a lot at stake. The Wizarding World took as well to two men kissing as it did to publicly-acknowledged werewolves. Sirius had begun fussing with his clothing as a sort of substitute affectionate gesture, and Remus rather enjoyed it. "Where are we going for lunch?"

"Actually, we're meeting someone," Sirius said. "My solicitor."

"Ah yes, the Payne," Remus said with a grin. "Business lunch?"

"Yeah, there are one or two things I need to talk to you about before we meet. Er, I'm making you Harry's legal guardian if I die."

Remus frowned. "Can we do that? Does Payne know about...me? I mean, if you're doing it without his knowledge, it'd never stand up in court."

Sirius gave him a guilty look. "I did sort of mention the situation. But -- " he added anxiously, " -- but he knows about me, too, about the animagery, I mean, and about us."

"Us?" Remus asked with a grin.

"He's really very confidential."

"Should be, for what you pay him," Remus sighed. "He knows a way around the laws?"

"He seems to."

"I'm not so sure I'm happy with you telling him about me, but we can have a shouting match about it later."

"I sort of had to, for the other thing."

Remus raised his eyebrows. "There's another thing?"

"Yeah. You remember the Dorian Gray portrait thing?"

"The letter you got?"

"I was thinking about doing it."

Remus grinned. "Vanity, thy name is Sirius. This year is a good look for you, I think."

"I want you to have it done with me."

At that point, Remus blinked in shock and, distracted, walked into a lamppost.

***

The first few days of school went quietly enough, and they were well into the third week by the time Snape stopped Harry as he was leaving Potions class and asked if he could have a word with him that evening. Harry, who had been expecting this, went back to his rooms after dinner and fetched the Quidditch playbook he'd been working on all summer, when he wasn't out with his friends or socialising with the snakes at the bottom of the garden. He assumed Snape had probably been giving him time to finish it at school, without wanting to seem like he had. Harry was keen on Quidditch, though, and if he couldn't play it, making up new plays was the next best thing.

"You've anticipated my request, I see," Snape said, looking up from his desk as Harry entered with the playbook folder under one arm. "Settling into your second year?"

"Yes, sir."

"Gryffindor has already begun practice."

"Yes, sir, Oliver Wood has had to train some new players."

"A good excuse."

Harry smiled a little at the sour expression on Snape's face. "I thought it might be better if you told Captain Flint that he was lagging, Professor. I don't think he wants to hear it from me."

Snape gave him a sharp look. "I'd like you to present your new plays, please."

Harry opened the playbook and turned it around so that Snape could peruse them. "I didn't know what you wanted specifically, so I wrote three plays for Seekers and two formations for coordinated offence," he explained.

"Offence?" Snape asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, when I was playing last year, it looked like nobody changed much," Harry explained. "I mean, the Seekers fly low and high a lot, but mostly the rest of the players stay on a level with the hoops, even midfield. Nobody's really making use of the full space. If a player...here, I drew pictures, but it doesn't help much..." Harry flipped to the first play, and Snape looked down at the page, dismayed. It was covered in notes and scribbles. Harry had copied it out four times, but it was frustrating to discuss a three-dimensional game in two dimensions.

"I did the best I could," Harry said. Snape continued to examine the page, fingers drifting here and there over the notes, until finally he rose and went to the bookshelf behind his desk. He took down a thick book with "Quidditch Practical Guide" in gold on the black calfskin binding, and opened it flat on his desk.

To Harry's delight, it wasn't a book at all -- it was a platform from which six golden hoops sprung, a Quidditch pitch in miniature. Fourteen little figures rose up, half black and half white, along with four dots of light -- two blue, one green, and one gold.

"Show me," Snape said. "Use your wand to guide the players."

Harry, fascinated, prodded one of the little black figures with his wand, and it stuck to the player's robe so that he could move it about. He placed the Keepers at either end, the Seekers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Snitch out of the way, and the six Chasers closely clustered at one goal.

"If a player gets the Quaffle," he said, attaching the little green point of light to one of the black players, near the black goal, "He generally either shoots straight through the crowd, or he passes. Sometimes he'll rise up a little -- " he stuck the player to the end of his wand and drew it along, over the heads of the other figures, " -- but that's considered sort of arrogant, right?"

"Generally," Snape said, reservedly. "It looks like trick-playing. Flying circles around the other team."

"But the problem is, nine times out of ten, if you get the Quaffle, you're going to lose it within ten seconds."

"The Chaser's Median. You've been researching."

"Yes, sir." Harry leaned forward, dragging the player back where he'd been. "But if you can break away from the crowd, in any direction, you've got a good chance of keeping hold of the Quaffle long enough to get in scoring range."

Snape was silent, waiting for him to continue. Harry, carefully, tipped the player's broomstick up in a flyover feint, and then dropped player and broomstick straight down, executing a backwards move in a vertical plane.

One black eyebrow lifted.

"If I may," Snape said, and Harry sat back. Snape took out his own wand and re-set the figures, then flicked his wand over the entire arrangement. The players burst into motion, and he watched for several seconds. Finally, the tip of his wand, hovering over the playing area, dipped. The player Harry had demonstrated with executed the move flawlessly, and sped towards the goal while half the players shot upwards and the other half collided with each other in confusion.

"Seems to work," Harry said, a little proudly.

"Indeed. Did you have much assistance with it?"

"Assistance?" Harry asked, confused.

"From your godfather."

"Well...we talked about it..." Harry said. "I didn't cheat!"

"I'm not implying you did. This is...very reminiscent of his playing style, that's all," Snape said.

"Is it all right?"

Snape closed the Quidditch Practical, and steepled his fingers over it, resting his hawklike nose against his knuckles.

"I'd like to examine the other plays, if I may -- I'm fairly sure I can re-create them from your notes, with the help of the Practical. If they are acceptable, I'll pass them on to Mr. Flint."

Realisation dawned on Harry. "You're not going to tell the team I wrote them, are you."

"Not unless you want to be ostracised by your team for the rest of the year. If you present them to the team, you will be ignored. If I force them upon the team in your name...I think you can see where this is going, Harry."

Harry sighed and sat back. He knew it was no good; Snape was right, of course. But he said it anyway. It had to be said. "That's not fair."

"Life rarely is, especially for those who represent the bottom of the age scale in any given group," Snape said, almost absently.

"On the other hand..." Harry said thoughtfully, "We'll still win if we use them."

Snape nodded, gravely.

"When do we start practice?" Harry asked.

"Sunday," Snape replied. "I'd be ready for an early wake-up. You're dismissed."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, standing. "Sir..."

"Yes?"

"Could I try the Practical sometime?"

Snape frowned. "It's a complicated magical mechanism. Perhaps next year."

Harry nodded and left the office, wandering down the labyrinthine maze of corridors that led to the Slytherin common room. It was disappointing, knowing that he wouldn't get credit for plays that Sirius and Remus had both said were brilliant, but Snape was right; at least this way the plays would get used --

Come...come to me...

Harry stopped, just outside the common room, startled.

Snake? he asked, reaching into his pocket. Snake, now almost too big to be carried around with him, complained sleepily.

What is it? Snake demanded. I was napping.

Harry shook his head. He must have been hearing things.

Let me...

He hadn't imagined that.

Let me...

Rip you, tear you, kill you...

In his pocket, Snake had pulled himself into a tiny ball, and was actually shaking with tension.

What is it? Harry asked. There was silence, and Harry bolted through the portrait-hole, closing it quickly behind him. Only when he was alone in the dormitory, with the door closed on the noise of the common room, did Snake stop shivering. He took Snake out of his pocket and set him on the pillow of his bed, watching as the muscular, sinuous body quivered with alertness.

What was that? Harry asked again. Snake curled in on himself and slithered under a corner of the blanket.

Big, came the muffled reply.

***

Sirius had gone to bed late, having stayed up reading, and he was barely asleep when he was bothered by the noise of the bedsprings and the shift in weight on the bed. He opened his eyes to slits, just enough to see Remus sitting on the edge of the bed, the hollows and ridges of his spine sharply outlined by the moonlight spilling in through the windows. His head was bowed, and his hands were running through his hair, smoothing and then disordering it, as though he were thinking deeply.

"Moony?" Sirius asked, propping himself up on one elbow. "All right then, mate?"

"Didn't mean to wake you," came the reply, slightly muffled. "Sorry."

"Not to worry, I can sleep through the day. Something bothering you? Dreams again?"

"No, just...uneasy sleep. It's all right, Pads, honestly, you can go back to sleep. Sometimes I think better at night, that's all."

"Care and feeding of the urban werewolf, Lupinus bibliophilim," Sirius said, placing one hand on Remus' spine. The skin was cold and taut under his fingers.

"You're warm."

"Come find out just how warm," he invited, grinning. Remus leaned back into his hand a little, but that was all.

"I keep thinking about the portrait," he said. "I'm sorry I haven't made up my mind yet. I know you're waiting."

"Hell, I don't think that much about it. Take your time. I'm still uncertain myself."

"It's not just that. It's...telling another person what I am. Explaining that I'm...sick. Knowing how people think of it."

"She said in the letter she'd be all right with it."

"They always do say."

"I was all right with it."

"Yeah, after a week or two. Don't think I didn't notice. Not that I blame you, mind." Remus was silent for a little while. "Does it strike you, Sirius, that I'm a little high-strung?"

"Not particularly. You worry too much, that's all." Sirius slid his hand down Remus' spine, inching forward to wrap one arm around his waist and pull him gently backwards. Remus shrugged and went, laughing a little.

"That," he said, "is because you don't do this often enough."

"Throw you down on the bed and ravish you? I do it all the time."

"I know," Remus said happily.

"What are you worrying about at two in the morning?"

"Stupid things people worry about at two in the morning. Harry. You. Whether or not I remembered to send off the owl-post orders at the shop yesterday. The portrait."

Sirius snuffled the small, soft hairs on his neck. "The portrait."

"We haven't talked about it in a while."

"I figured you needed to think about it."

"I did. But I haven't been, really. It's just...how do you tell someone that? Hello, I'm a werewolf. This is Sirius, he turns into a dog once in a while, and occasionally we have mindblowing sex."

"Occasionally?" Sirius asked, scornfully.

"All right, well, I'm not going to go into the details of my sex life with anyone, portraitist or not, but if your solicitor guessed, they will." Remus sighed. "It's such a huge...you hide this thing all your life, and then you're expected to just blurt it out to a stranger. You know what I mean. It's like telling people you're an Animagus. It's personal."

"But you do tell secrets sometimes. I mean, you never seemed very careful about people knowing you fancy blokes."

"Not in Muggle society. It's not really okay, there, but it's...more okay than in our world. And it's one thing to talk about that, it's another thing to...to have a bloke, and tell people about that."

Sirius was silent for a while. Finally, he took a breath.

"Want to have sex?" he asked. Remus burst out laughing. Sirius scowled. "It's not funny!"

"Sex is not the answer to every existential dilemma, Sirius."

"I don't see why not. It's a good distraction, and most existential dilemmas are caused by not having enough to do," Sirius said persuasively.

"I'm all right."

"Good, because I'm knackered." Sirius said, eyes drooping shut again. "Remind me at breakfast."

"Remind you?"

"Mmm, 'bout the portrait. We'll talk."

"All right," Remus said, softly.

"Sleep now."

"Yes, Sirius."

***

The next day was Saturday, which meant there was no reason for an early-morning breakfast; Harry and his friends could sleep late until the Great Hall was almost empty and still meet up at the Slytherin table for a breakfast together. Draco and Neville were already in the Great Hall, standing together under the Gryffindor banner and talking, when Padma met Harry as she came down the stairs and he came up.

Harry had lain awake the night before, huddled completely under his blankets with Snake wrapped tightly around his right wrist, wondering if he should share what he'd heard. None of the others knew he was a Parselmouth, although he'd once spoken to Snake in front of Neville, and he wanted to keep it that way. When he was eight or nine, he'd hated all the secrets he'd had to keep -- Remus' condition, his own identity, who his parents were...

Now though, back in this world, the Wizarding world -- back in a place where his scar marked him and everyone knew his history -- Harry clung to his secrets with a perverse determination. And perhaps it had merely been a big snake passing through the area, anyway. It could have been talking to the rats on the grounds, for all Harry knew.

Snake, having migrated upwards and wrapped around his neck like a living choker, still trembled from time to time, and he kept reaching up to adjust the little creature's chokehold on his throat. He used a quick warming charm on a plateful of bacon and scrambled eggs, sharing scraps of the egg with Snake.

"What about you, Harry?"

He glanced up from his plate, blinking. Draco was looking at him intently.

"Sorry, what?" he asked. Neville snickered.

"I have extra Transfigurations, Padma wants to re-write her Astronomy paper, and Neville needs books," Draco said. "But then we're all going on an adventure this afternoon. Game?"

Harry shrugged. "I have to be in bed early -- Quidditch practice starts tomorrow."

"It won't take long," Padma replied. "It's just up near the Ravenclaw tower."

"This isn't going to be the three-headed-dog all over again, is it?" Draco asked.

"Whose fault was that?" Padma retorted pointedly. "It's fine, it's not even dangerous. It looks like it might be a music classroom."

"They used to teach music at Hogwarts," Harry said.

"I hear they still do, at Beauxbatons," Draco put in.

"Beauxbatons?"

"It's a wizarding school on the continent. Mum almost sent me there, except they said they weren't taking any foreign students," Draco answered. "Just as well. Wretched school uniforms, all blue satin and bows."

"Aww, but wouldn't oo wook adorable in ickle bows?" Harry teased.

"Suck it, Potter."

"Don't you wish, Malfoy," Harry replied amiably. "Anyway, they used to teach all kinds of things in the olden days. Music, elocution, dancing -- "

"Ew," Padma said, wrinkling her nose.

"Girls had to take domestic arts," Harry added.

"Did boys have to take a class in being Kneazles' arses?" Padma demanded. "Wait, no, you don't need extra lessons in that..."

"You could go play with Mandy Brocklehurst and Hermione Granger if you want," Neville offered.

"I don't see what's so great about some music classroom, anyway," Draco said.

"You will when you see it," Padma promised. "But first, we have to visit the library so that Harry can help you with your Transfiguration."

"Why, what're you going to do?"

"Neville and I are going to find his books," Padma said, as they rose to leave. They all nodded, including Neville himself. It wasn't that he wasn't good at finding books, it was just that he was easily distracted and tended to wander off in search of interesting books as opposed to relevant ones.

"I have extra Transfiguration, you know, it's not that I haven't done any," Draco complained to Harry, shouldering his book-bag. "I can do it without your help."

"Suits me," Harry shrugged. "I can work on my Quidditch plays, and see if Goyle wants to play a few rounds of Gobstones."

"Goyle's a moron. I don't know how he got into Slytherin."

"Me either, but that's why I play with him," Harry answered. He'd learned that you could take away a lot from playing chess against someone smarter than you, but all you got from a Gobstones opponent with a high IQ was a faceful of noxious Gobstones scent.

Padma and Neville betook themselves to the Catalogue Room, a small cubicle filled with little card catalogue shelves and the only place where students were permitted to speak above a whisper. Harry could hear, distantly, Neville request "books about herbology" and Padma add "magical spices"; after a second, the sound of paper shuffling could be heard as the catalogue reorganised itself, index cards flying madly around the room until the requested information settled into a neat stack in one open drawer. After two years of the little village library, where it was easier to ask the librarian than to check the card catalogue, Harry had spent hours in the catalogue room, watching in fascination as the cards whirled and dipped around his head.

He didn't join them this time, however; instead he sat down at one of the study tables, tucked into an alcove just back from the doorway, and folded his arms on the table, resting his chin on the backs of his hands. He watched Draco unpack his bag, including an enormous book on basic transfigurative spells.

"Catching up from last year?" he asked.

Draco sighed. "Professor McGonagall says if I don't master the basics I'll never get anywhere," he said. "It's just so much easier to do it my way."

"Your way?"

"Yeah. But when she asks me to tell her how I'm doing it, I can't. I'm just as good as any of you, you know," Draco said. "It's like you and flying. You could fly even without having to do all the stupid basic stuff, but they made you do it anyway. Are you going to work on Quidditch? It makes a person nervous when you stare at him."

Harry made a face. "Can I borrow some parchment and a quill?"

Draco nodded his head at the pile of writing supplies, and Harry picked out a short sheet of parchment and one of Draco's quills.

"Where'd you get this nib?" he asked, examining the metal tip of the quill.

"Mum gave me a set," Draco replied. "They're real silver. They write awfully smooth."

Harry tested it out on the parchment. "Guess we know you're not a werewolf," he joked.

"Brrr, don't even think it." Draco shuddered expressively. "Can you imagine?"

"Imagine what, being a werewolf?"

"I think I'd rather die. Ugh."

"It's not like it matters that much," Harry protested. "When you think about it, I mean."

Draco sniffed, and opened his book, beginning to copy notes from a page marked with a brass book-dart. Harry, dipping the silver-nibbed quill in the ink, felt almost like a traitor to Remus for using it.

Instead of doing the usual pitch-overview sketch that he always saw in playbooks, Harry tried drawing a picture of the Quidditch Practical that Snape had shown him, the way Sirius did when he'd doodled on the margins of Harry's drawings when Harry was younger. Harry had learned a lot from watching Sirius, and while he was better at drawing things without straight lines -- snakes and grass, the river, the trees -- he didn't do too badly imitating Sirius' style, which tended more towards odd assemblages of line and angles. He'd just finished sketching out the hoops, which were the hard part, and was beginning to draw in a new play when Padma and Neville returned triumphant from their expedition.

Padma was a discerning sort of scholar, but she was also of what Draco called the Grab and Run school of library research; she and Neville each had an armload of books, and she began sorting them as they were deposited on the table. Harry knew from experience that she would take her time helping Neville go through each book, and most of them would be left on the returns cart when they were done. He set himself to copying his original drawing, fixing the scratched-out bits in the new draft.

"Ready?" Padma asked finally, as Neville carried his final handful of selections to the desk to be stamped and signed out. Harry rolled up the parchment and stuffed it in his back pocket.

"Let's go see this sad little music room, then," Draco said with a grin, and Padma rolled her eyes. They followed her dutifully out of the library and up the stairs, pausing every so often for the stairs to readjust themselves, as they sometimes did. Padma led them further down a corridor, past the portrait-entrance to the Ravenclaw dormitory and around a series of corners, until none of them knew precisely where they were. Finally she stopped, in the darkest part of the castle they'd ever encountered, and stood in front of a large portrait.

"Lumos," she said, and held up her wand, illuminating the figure in the portrait.

It was a blond man, seated at a piano in what looked like a library; behind him a fire crackled soundlessly, and between shelves of books there was a second portrait-within-a-portrait of a striking woman with wildly curly hair. The man looked up at them and adjusted a monocle in one eye, thoughtfully.

"Password?" he asked, fingers picking out a complicated arpeggio of notes on the piano.

"Polyphonic," Padma replied. Harry expected the portrait to swing open, but startlingly, the woman in the portrait-within-a-portrait turned to them, too, and asked, in a deep voice, "Password?"

"JS Bach," Padma said confidently. With a creak, the portrait swung aside.

"How'd you figure out the passwords?" Harry asked, as they filed through.

Padma shrugged. "It wasn't that hard."

The portrait swung shut again behind them as she spoke, and Harry wondered suddenly who had turned off the sound.

"What happened?" Neville asked, in a strangely muted voice.

The room was almost perfectly round, and as Harry looked out the curving, thick windows set in the far wall, he realised where they were -- somewhere inside the curved facade set into the front of the school. Six or seven floors below them, steps led up to the front entrance; above them, a small spire rose out of the dome.

Padma, meanwhile, was pushing Draco to the centre of the room, where a series of triangles set in the floor all met in a sort of bizarre blue sunburst mosaic. She stepped back, and said, in the same muted tones, "Say something."

Draco, as with most people when requested to speak suddenly, stared owlishly at her for a minute, speechless. Finally, he took a deep breath, and even on the breath, Harry knew something important was about to happen.

Know this, the ancient words are not forgot --
Vesuvius the phoenix bodies show,
Their bones unbleach'ed by the waning sun
Which our full faces and strong fingers know.

Draco's young voice echoed off the walls with the clear tones of a precisely tuned bell, each small breath and movement of his lips perfectly audible. Neville was staring, round-eyed, while Padma beamed approvingly.

Unblest by knowledge we these later times
Have sought and to our ruin unwise seen,
Pompeii and Herculaneum sleep fast
While wasteland where a city once had been
O'ergrows once more in tempered steel and glass --
Far better to have died these centuries past.

Draco licked his lip as he finished, blinking at Padma.

"That's a strange poem," Neville said. "Who wrote it?"

"A Wizarding writer in the forties," Draco answered, giving him a sidelong look, as if to ask whether Neville knew anything. "Ellis Graveworthy. It's amazing," he added, turning to Padma, voice still perfect and clear. "It's like I'm not even the one speaking. I can hear myself."

"It's accoustically perfect," Padma said. "And it's blocked somehow -- look."

She went to the windows and unlatched two of them with audible clicks; when she threw them wide, however, there was no change -- the room was still silent except for the sound of Draco breathing.

"You can't hear anything," Neville said. "No birds, no people talking."

"Brilliant place to drop water balloons from," Harry added, leaning out one of the windows. As soon as his head passed the barrier of the walls, he was assaulted with noise -- people splashing in the lake in the distance and gossipping on the lawns, the thump of a football being kicked around by some of the Muggleborn students, and the distant noises of animals and birds in the Forbidden Forest. He pulled his head back inside, and the noise abruptly ceased.

"How did you find it?" Neville asked, as Draco stepped off the centre sunburst.

"Dunno, I was just exploring," Padma answered. "It's brilliant, isn't it?"

"I can see why it was a music classroom," Draco replied, gazing around the room at the wall-paintings of violins, pianos, flutes and harps, as well as chalkboards with permanent musical-notation lines ruled on them in white. Neville sang a note, uncertainly and not at all proficiently, and a small white dot appeared on one chalkboard. Harry laughed.

"Sing something!"

Neville laughed too. "What should I sing -- no, wait, I know." He took a deep breath. "Fight Gryffindor Fight, For we're glorious and might-y! Win Gryffindor Win, Cos we're House Champi-ons!"

"Merlin, what an awful fight song," Padma murmured, even as the musical notes to the old Quidditch cheering song were appearing on the blackboard, together with the lyrics.

"Do you think the professors know about it?" Harry asked, brushing the thickly-coated dust off a bookshelf.

"Wouldn't they use it? Imagine teaching a class in here," Padma said. "I mean, talk about having everyone's undivided attention."

"There must be all kinds of secret rooms and stuff at Hogwarts," Neville mused. "I bet there's loads of places the professors don't know about."

"Yeah, that's what we thought about the room with the three-headed-dog in it," Draco replied.

"Oh, stop complaining about the dog already," Harry said. "Come on, let's go talk Denbigh into giving us some sandwiches and have a picnic. It's too sunny to spend the whole day inside."

The other three agreed, and the man in the monocle gave them a friendly wave goodbye as they left to the faint strains of the portrait's piano being played softly.

Chapter 9

That Sunday morning Harry woke early so as to be ready for practice. Flint, however, didn't come down to the common room until Harry was already washed, dressed in his gear, and fidgeting impatiently to be off. The rest of the team followed, yawning and complaining.

"Pipsqueak's ready to go," one of them observed, and Harry scowled. "You're making us look bad, Potter."

"You're making you look bad," Harry retorted. "Let's go, I want to play already."

Disagreeably, they made their way down to the pitch, where Professor Snape stood waiting for them, wind whipping his loose robes around his ankles and ruffling his short hair. Flint, the trunk following behind him with a floating charm, gave him barely a nod; Snape ascended to one of the spectator towers as the others crowded around their Captain.

One of the few things Harry liked about his captain -- who was a proud, lazy, cheating hack for the most part -- was that he never gave them diagrams. Flint didn't like charts and maps, so he didn't use them. They ran new plays as they learned them, then adjusted for problems mid-flight. It meant they drilled over and over again, while they were learning, but they were more adaptable once they did, and Harry could always plead lack of memory when he refused to cheat the way Flint wanted him to. Cheating, as he'd once told Snape, was a mug's game; you couldn't cheat in real life because the basic rules weren't breakable, so you might as well learn to play within them and use them to your advantage.

While Flint was dividing them up for a scrimmage, in which Harry had little interest since Flint was drilling the team on plays Harry had invented, he noticed a second figure in the spectators' tower. Dora -- Professor Tonks -- had climbed the ladder and was now making her way down the aisle, occasionally tripping on her robe and grabbing onto the benches for support. She was graceful, Harry decided, when she wasn't falling down.

The Snitch whizzed past his ear and he went after it, chasing it down until he had to duck through a mess around the Quaffle to get to it, and it vanished. When he looked back, she was leaning on the rails, watching through a pair of shiny brass omnioculars. Snape did not look happy about it.

"Hey Potter, stop ogling the Dark Arts professor!" Flint shouted, and Harry returned to the game, chastised. The feint maneuver he'd worked out and demonstrated for Snape seemed to be effective, but the players weren't making the most of the idea of level-change; all it had done was brought them much closer to the ground as they battled for the Quaffle.

When Ravenclaw sees this, he thought to himself, they're going to catch on and they're going to do it right, and then all of us are going to be --

"Watch where you're flying!" shouted Bole, one of the Beaters. Montague, a Chaser in his final year and clearly still bitter about not being Captain, had nipped between Flint and Pucey to steal the Quaffle, and in so doing had narrowly missed colliding with Bole, who was riding wing on Flint and keeping a determined Bludger away from him. Montague skimmed past Bole barely an inch from his elbow, and the Beater spun wildly away, clinging for dear life to his broom and trying to bat away a Bludger at the same time. He finally lost control of his broom and fell in seeming slow-motion to the pitch, where he landed in undignified fashion on his tailbone, while Flint went after his flyaway broom.

"Learn to keep on your broomstick and you can yell at me all you like!" Montague called, sneering. The others laughed.

"I should have figured you wouldn't give a damn for proper play, you filthy mudblood!" Bole screamed.

The laughter stopped abruptly. Harry had only heard the word once or twice before, but it sent a chill down his spine; Bole continued to swear, and Montague had gone white-faced.

"You take that back," he said, dropping altitude abruptly and hovering nose to nose with Bole. "I'm not a mudblood."

"Your gran's a Muggle and you've three squib aunts, mudblood, and I bet your father was a Muggle too," Bole snarled back. Two of the others went for Montague to hold him back, but someone else was faster; Dora had run for the ladder when Bole first shouted, and she was between the two before either of them could make a move for the other.

"Hold him," she said over her shoulder, to the boys who were already grasping Montague's sleeves. She whipped around to face Bole furiously.

"Fifty points from Slytherin for conduct unbecoming a student and use of profanity in front of a professor," she snapped. Harry actually saw her grow a few inches, though he didn't think anyone else was in a state of mind to notice. "If I ever hear that word out of your mouth again, Bole, you will never see your NEWTs, let alone graduate."

"Did you see what he -- "

"Two weeks' detention. I don't care what he did. That word," she spat, "is unacceptable on the grounds of this school. Or anywhere."

"Professor -- "

"Would you care to make it a hundred points and three weeks, plus team suspension? That can be arranged."

Bole sensibly shut his mouth and stared at her with wide eyes. A hand touched her shoulder, lightly.

"That will be sufficient, Professor Tonks," Snape said, darkly. "I believe I am best situated to handle this particular disciplinary issue from here."

Harry saw distaste and anger in Snape's face, and realised suddenly that Dora had severely overstepped her bounds. After all, Professor Snape was senior, and he was the head of their House; if anyone was going to threaten team suspension, it ought to be him.

Not to mention her getting there first made him look rather awful, really.

"If I hear that word again from any Slytherin on this team -- " she started, but he cut her off.

"That will do, Professor Tonks. Thank you," Snape said icily. She gave Bole one last furious look before turning and stalking away across the pitch, although the effect was somewhat ruined when, about halfway to the castle, she stumbled briefly on a sudden dip in the grassy landscape.

The silence on the pitch was deafening. Everyone had landed their brooms, and Harry absently caught the Snitch when it made another run past his ear, stuffing it in his pocket.

"It is unwise to use that particular word," Snape said slowly, arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at Bole. "Aside from its unpleasant connotations of intolerance, it is a word which is not found in the polite society a Slytherin aspires to belong to, and it certainly is impolitic to speak it in front of a Professor whose own father is a Muggle-born wizard. As you can see, they tend to take it rather amiss."

Bole's eyes, if it were possible, grew rounder.

"I believe, as I do not wish to take another fifty points from my own House, or suspend an adequate player from the House team, we will make it fifty points and three weeks' detention," Snape continued, "served with Filch and Hagrid. Carry on practice," he added. "Flint, my office after breakfast, please."

He turned and followed in Dora's general direction, moving more easily and confidently across the grounds towards the castle. When he was out of earshot, Pucey let out a low whistle.

"I didn't know Professor Tonks was half-Muggle," Flint said.

"She isn't," Harry said. "Her father's a wizard same as you or I."

"Yeah, but Muggleborn, right?" Pucey put in.

"What's that matter? He's brilliant at everything," Harry retorted.

"Yeah, but blood will out, and all," Pucey said vaguely.

"Don't make me punch you," Montague snarled. Pucey still had him by one arm, and he let go quickly. Bole was looking a little as if he'd been hit in the head by something heavy. "We're not done either, Bole."

"My mum was Muggleborn," Harry said menacingly, to Pucey. "Going to say something about her, too?"

"Nobody's saying anything about anyone's mum or calling anyone a mudblood, all right?" Flint announced loudly. "Harry, if you try to punch someone two feet taller than you are he'll knock you flat, so you might as well not bother. We can all fly a broomstick so let's get back to doing that, all right?"

"Most of us can," Bole muttered resentfully, glaring at Montague, but fortunately the other boy didn't hear him -- or if he did, was more sensible than to make an issue out of it.

Harry reflected, as he shook the Snitch out of his pocket and let it go again, that at least they weren't at each others' throats over whether or not to use his plays. Professor Snape was smarter than most people, Sirius included, would give him credit for.

If only Dora hadn't gone quite so far...

***

Life on the upper floors of Twelve Grimmauld Place (also known as TONKS & TONKS, purveyors of fine wizarding dress) was, outwardly, much more peaceful than it appeared to be at Hogwarts that week. At the civilised hour of nine am on Tuesday, Remus was sipping tea while Sirius made french toast. Downstairs, the shop was opening and various patrons were coming and going, cheerfully met and catered to by Andromeda while Ted dug in and worked on the perpetually-behind book-keeping.

Remus had the paper open and was reading the rather badly-edited Literature section of the Prophet. The pretentiousness of the reviews and occasionally the books themselves were strangely soothing to his nerves. Sirius compensated for nerves by frying things; hence the french toast, not to mention the giant plate of bacon on a heat-charmed plate, already on the table.

"We don't have to go if you really don't want to, you know," he said, as he transferred the last of the food to a plate and carried it to the table. Remus folded the newspaper and set it aside.

"That's a coward's game," he said, transferring a single slice to his own plate and drizzling a little honey on it. "We both know it."

"If it's going to make you anxious -- "

"Not the painting," Remus sighed. "Just the meeting."

"She'll be hexed to secrecy, this Helena person. She's the great-granddaughter of the founders of the company, she seems all right," Sirius said. "I mean, well-educated and that. And she doesn't seem anti-werewolf at all."

"She's a stranger, that's all," Remus said, cutting up his toast. "You never know about strangers."

"Maybe it's more trouble than it's worth," Sirius mused.

"No, but...I want you to have this and I like the idea too," Remus protested. "Honestly, it's no good living like this anyway. If I really wasn't a coward I'd say what I was and have done with it to all and sundry, but it makes life so unnecessarily difficult, and it wouldn't be fair to you, either. And I don't want to," he added defiantly.

Sirius watched him across the table, expression unreadable, until finally he smiled reassuringly.

"If we were to say damn the world, we could say a lot of things. Any time you want to, I'm game if you are. It won't be the first time," he added. Remus smiled.

"There's no need," he replied. "This belongs to us, not to anyone else."

They finished in comfortable if slightly nervous silence and went out into the mild bustle of a mid-morning high street, hands in pockets, strolling down towards Gringotts and the turnoff for Fansif Alley, the arts-and-theatre district. Sirius gave him a sidelong look as he put his hand on the brightly painted green-and-gilt door of Broosh & Chakle Studios, but when Remus gazed back evenly, he shrugged and pushed it open.

The inside room was a cheerful pale ochre, and several portraits grinned and waved at them from the walls, interspersed with the occasional plaster or stone statue.

"Good morning, gentlemen," said a young, formally-robed man, bearing down on them and, Sirius noticed, mentally rubbing his hands. "Do you require any assistance?"

"Is this Helena Broosh's work?" Remus asked, examining a painting of a basket of puppies. One of them kept tumbling out of the basket and clambering back in. Another one yawned humourously.

"Ah yes, Miss Broosh's work is quite popular with the town and country set," the young man said, adjusting his glasses. Sirius saw him eyeing Remus, and wondered whether it was measuring him up for a purchase or measuring him up for personal pleasure.

"We're here to see her, as it happens," Sirius said abruptly.

"I see. Do we have an appointment?" the young man asked, crossing to a desk and opening a leatherbound ledger there.

"Sirius Black? I contacted the office yesterday by owl."

"Ah yes, Mr Black, here we are. This way, please."

"I liked those dogs," Remus said, as they followed him back through a curtain in the rear of the shop. "She's a decent artist."

The back of the shop was wildly different from the front gallery; most of the walls had been knocked out to create a series of open, well-lit stalls in which sculptors and painters were working on various creations, or gathering to sip tea and wait for their next sitting. Some areas were walled off by thick black curtains. In the last stall but one, a woman around their age, in paint-spattered robes, was sizing a canvas on a frame.

"Your ten-fifteen, Miss Broosh," the man said, leaving them only after he'd leered a little more at Remus.

"Mr Black?" she asked, holding out a hand. "Don't worry, all the paint on it's dry," she added. Sirius grinned and took her hand, shaking it firmly.

"Miss Broosh," he said. "Ah, this is my friend Remus Lupin..."

"Yes, I've seen you both in the papers. I am," she said, "very much hoping you're here to commission portraits. You have an extremely good skull for painting, Mr Black, and Mr Lupin's face is an interesting study in itself."

Remus touched the small scar on his jaw, self-consciously, and she laughed.

"No, it's all in the nose and chin," she replied reassuringly. "I read the society pages," she added, by way of explanation.

"Is there somewhere we could speak in private?" Sirius asked. She grinned and pulled a pair of black velvet curtains across the open entrance to the small room, tying them together with a small silk cord.

"There's a silencing charm as well," she added. "We sometimes do nudes, and of course we respect client confidentiality."

"That's much appreciated," Sirius said frankly. "I...am not here for a nude," he added with a grin. She matched it.

"Spoil my dreams, Mr Black," she said.

"Yes, well," he said, as Remus coughed, "I understand you've been in communication with Llewllyn Payne regarding some inquiries into the painting of Animagi."

"Are you Mr Canis, sir? The name did sound rather contrived."

Sirius glanced at Remus. "She's quick."

Remus nodded, watching her intently.

"I had hoped you would come to speak to me in person. It really is a unique challenge, and of course I would be happy to enter into any confidentiality agreement you require -- which of you gentlemen is the Animagus?" she asked, eagerly.

"Miss Broosh, we'd like to..." Sirius paused. "There are other issues at stake, as well. We'd like to ensure that the confidentiality agreement also covers things of a more personal and dangerous nature."

"Well, unless you want to pose with a freshly killed body or something, I think I can keep quiet," she said. "I can provide references from other clients I've worked with discreetly. Men and their mistresses, erotic nudes -- all tastefully done, of course -- even people who would like to be painted in the costume of a historical figure without a fuss being made over it, though that seems pretty minor, in comparison." She glanced at Remus. "Does he talk?"

"I'm sorry, I'm being rude," Remus said, giving her an apologetic smile. "This is somewhat nervewracking." He gave Sirius an anxious look. "I've never voluntarily told anyone this before."

"Perhaps if you would feel more comfortable after any paperwork had been signed -- "

"No, it's all right -- I like you," Remus said. "I...that is, Mr Black and I were hoping to commission a portrait together..."

She nodded, looking not at all surprised and picking up a rag, twining it between her fingers. "I have also protected the confidentiality of men and women like yourselves, whose personal relationships are not the business of the public -- "

"Well, there is that," Sirius said hastily.

"He's the Animagus, you see," Remus said. "And I'm a werewolf."

She dropped the rag in surprise. After a moment of speechless staring, she spoke.

"Oh -- I did hope that you would -- that is to say, of course, I'm sure you'd rather not be treated any differently," she said eagerly, "but it would be such an interesting challenge. And an Animagus -- those are very rare. I hope I'm not overstepping myself," she added, checking herself suddenly. "Am I right in assuming, sir, that you are an unregistered Animagus?"

"You may be," Sirius said with a smile. Remus was looking less nervous, now that the first reaction was over with and her mind seemed wholly concerned with the challenge of painting a werewolf rather than the minimal danger of sharing breathing space with one.

"Of course if you'd prefer to consider it a little more, Mr Black, Mr Lupin, I'd be happy to wait, but I have all the papers drawn up and the charms in place in case you want to sign them -- I have had for a few weeks, only I hadn't heard anything more and I thought you must have decided against it."

Sirius glanced at Remus, who looked back expectantly.

"There are some rather invasive techniques used," she said hesitantly, into the silence. "Nothing physical, but we do like to talk to the sitters while we're painting, and we ask questions that some might consider rather impertinent, especially if the sitters are romantically involved."

"We're getting obvious in our old age," Sirius said quietly. "I suppose that might show in the portrait, too?"

"It might," she said thoughtfully, "but I've been doing lots of animal studies lately -- "

"Yes, we saw the puppies," Remus said.

"Oh, do you like them? Troublesome little curs," she said affectionately. "I think I could actually paint a portrait that made use of both the human and animal form of the Animagus -- in public, that is to say to a stranger's eye, the painting would appear to be of you, Mr Lupin, posing with Mr Black's animal form. It would be a really very interesting experiment," she said persuasively. "With the names changed I could even write it up for a few journals if you were agreeable."

"Up to you, Pads," Remus said gently. "I'm game if you are."

Sirius grinned back at him. "Was that a dare?"

Remus gave him his best poker face. Sirius turned to Broosh, who was smiling slightly. "You'd better get out those papers so that we can look them over," he said. "If you do all right, I might have my godson come sit for a normal portrait sometime."

"I'm sure it would be my pleasure to paint Mr Potter," she said, and left to get the papers. When she was gone, Remus exhaled slowly, and leaned back against the wall.

"All right, Moony?" Sirius asked.

"Yes -- that went well," Remus replied, smiling at him. "It did. I thought she'd -- I didn't think she'd react like that. I like her," he added.

"Me too. She's a little nuts," Sirius said. "Like us, really."

"I suppose she's paid to be open-minded, but..." Remus grinned at him. "Well, treating a pureblood Animagus and his werewolf boyfriend like a new painting technique is above and beyond the call of lucre, I think."

***

While all seemed more or less peaceful on Fansif Alley that Tuesday morning, at Hogwarts the tempest in the Slytherin teapot had grown entirely out of control.

It might have died down if Montague and Bole weren't Transfiguration partners. If they'd been able to avoid each other, the bickering could have come to a slow and tedious halt, but it just kept up in a steady stream every time they encountered each other. Finally it broke out in violence in the hallway outside the Transfigurations classroom on Monday afternoon. A couple of Gryffindors charged in to pull them apart, but before they were both settled down by the arrival of Percy Weasley with Professor McGonagall, Oliver Wood had a really fantastic black eye and Bole had shouted that Montague couldn't always be running to that halfbreed Tonks for help, even if like did attract like.

None of the professors or prefects heard the halfbreed remark, but plenty of the students did, and by lights-out half the school knew that Professor Tonks' father was a Muggleborn, while the other half had been treated to various mutations of the story including, but not limited to, Professor Tonks being a Muggleborn, Professor Tonks' father eating Muggleborns, and Professor Tonks having some form of illicit relations with Montague, which was quashed by a horrified Montague himself.

Harry and his friends were eating their usual early breakfast on Tuesday, discussing the fight and weighing the advantages of having an honourably received black-eye versus not having a painful and ugly swollen face, when it happened. It was perhaps fortunate that it happened so early, considering everything, but unfortunate that they should be inadvertent witnesses to it. They were seated at one end of the Slytherin table, blocked from view by one of the hangings, just able to see Professor Snape eating a solitary bowl of oatmeal, when Dora -- Professor Tonks, Neville still had to be reminded -- entered from one of the side-hallways.

"Can I have a word with you, Professor Snape?" she asked. The sound echoed in the empty hall, fully loud enough for them to hear, whether they wanted to or not, and all four fell silent immediately.

"Professor Tonks," Snape said, impassively. He set his spoon down and turned slightly in his seat.

"Whether or not I chose to discipline your students, which I was within my rights to do as a professor at this school, you had no business discussing my parentage or my personal life with a pair of Quidditch hooligans who don't know better than to get into fistfights in public hallways," she said. There was an odd formal tone to her voice, as if she'd been rehearsing the speech. Neville glanced at Harry, who was watching in wide-eyed awe.

"I'm sure I'm unaware of what you mean," he replied, blandly. A hint of smirk played around his lips.

"Bole called me a halfbreed in front of a hallway full of students. Since then he's been telling vicious stories about my father's parentage. I know where he got that information from."

"I merely explained that it was unwise, given your father's status, for them to use certain expressions to which you overreacted on the Quidditch pitch on Sunday morning."

"Bastard," Padma breathed.

"Shut up," Harry hissed.

"Well, he is."

"Over-reacted? Did you hear the filth coming out of Bole's mouth?" Tonks demanded.

"He's a child, he hardly knows what the word means."

"He's fifteen, he knows exactly what it means and how to use it. That's not the point. No matter how well or badly I handled the situation, there was no call to bring my father into it. And you have the audacity to lecture me on leaving your friendship with my parents out of our professional relationship!"

"I don't see how -- "

"You don't see how?" she asked, and to his credit, Snape didn't flinch. "You don't think your personal knowledge of my father's ancestry is inappropriately applied in disciplining children? Do you think he wants the whole school talking about his parents? My mother and father are the best friends you have in this world, if they're not the only ones you have, and -- "

"That will be quite enough," he said suddenly, standing so quickly his chair fell over. "May I remind you I am a senior professor -- "

"Then act like one!" she snarled. Neville was so startled by the vicious tone of voice coming from his normally placid foster-sister that he dropped his fork.

The clatter of metal on stone was like the roar of a train passing through the hall. Both professors turned to see four students, clustered around one end of one table, looking sheepish and frightened.

"Ah, Severus, Tonks, good morning," said a voice from the doorway. Their savior had appeared; Albus Dumbledore was entering, and immediately both professors moved away from each other, Snape righting his chair, Tonks taking the furthest possible seat from him. Dumbledore sat between them beatifically, and requested an enormous breakfast from Denbigh when the head of the Kitchen Elves appeared, eager to serve.

Students and other professors began to trickle into the Great Hall, then, and the four went their separate ways. The walking wounded put in the briefest, most sullen appearances -- all but Oliver, who was enjoying talking with Lee Jordan while pretending not to notice that he was the centre of attention at the Gryffindor table.

Chapter 10

To her credit, Dora was not one to go crying to her parents. Ted Tonks never heard a word about the incident in the hallway, which was probably for the best, since he was genuinely fond, in his own quiet way, of Severus. As September turned to October, he and his wife may have noticed that Dora was never available to visit at the same time Severus was, but, after all, professors did keep different schedules -- and as the most junior of the lot, she was expected to chaperone a good many of the Hogsmeade trips. She seemed to her parents to be enjoying herself, and aside from the icy and tenuous cease-fire between herself and Snape, she honestly was.

While Harry and his friends went about their classes, attended Quidditch practice, and got detentions for being out after-hours when coming back from writing naughty but melodious limericks in the music room, Sirius and Remus had been just as busy. Remus, who had an eccentric love of selling people things, was hired on for extra shifts at Madam Schaeffer's Scholars' Emporium; Sirius had sold one toy design to them already, and been commissioned to work on a new toy for older children which could be on shop shelves in time for Christmas. His idea for sexual-education dolls had been shot down on the grounds that it would only attract perverts, though Madam Schaeffer herself had been uproariously amused by the prototype. Captain Kneazle, the action-figure feline which came with a variety of heroic costumes, was impractical for this year but had definite potential; toy testers were still recovering from wounds inflicted by the self-retrieving frisbee. Still, he persevered. Madam Schaeffer, having met Sirius, had every faith in his ability to think like a fourteen-year-old.

"I'm thinking about Quidditch," Sirius said, leaning against Remus' leg.

"Oh god," Remus answered.

"Please, just a minute more," said Helena Broosh.

They obediently sat still while she finished her charcoal work, dusted her fingers off, and held up the pad of paper at arm's length, comparing her drawing with the real thing.

"All right, that's good," she said. "It's enough for a first study, anyway, and I can experiment with the charms on it."

"Can we see it?" Sirius asked, from the floor. Remus gave him a hand up, and they both came forward to study the result of their first sitting for the portrait. In sketchy charcoal, smudged and fingerprinted here and there, two men smiled back at them: Sirius, seated on the floor with one arm draped over his knee, leaned back against one corner of the chair on which Remus sat, hands folded quietly in his lap.

"It's not very...dynamic," Remus said, slowly. "Composition-wise, I mean. I'm sort of sitting there like a lump."

"Well, you'll have a book and maybe your legs crossed," Helena said. "And see, when Mr Black is in dog form, he'll be here," she said, drawing in the rough outline of a large dog lying in front of Remus.

"I like that," Sirius said with a grin, winking across the page at Remus, who blushed slightly. "Favoured pet at adored master's feet."

"We could put you both on the floor, if you prefer," Helena said, matching Sirius' grin. "I like the levels, though; I think it captures your personalities. That's half the difficulty, of course -- we've got to get the portrait moving and talking and acting like you, and then over that we have to layer the Dorian Gray charms. When we actually start on the sittings you'll be encouraged to talk to me and to each other; I just wanted something to play with for a few days."

"Don't we all," Remus said gravely. Sirius affected amazement.

"Was that a joke, Mr Lupin?" he asked.

"It may have been, Mr Black," Remus replied. Helena looked amused.

"I'd like to consult with one or two other colleagues throughout the process, but none of the cofidentiality clauses in the contract will be broken," she said. "Can I schedule you for a second sitting sometime next week? I'd like to fit in two more between now and the end of November, though I realise you have busy schedules and I'm somewhat booked myself this time of year -- lots of holiday work. Speak with Crane on the way out, he'll schedule you. He's the young one with the spectacles."

"And the lecherous ways," Sirius muttered. Remus gave him a look, but preened just a little when he noticed Sirius possessively place himself between Remus and Crane while they were discussing scheduling.

***

October was unseasonably warm that year, and Hallowe'en was impending, making all the students restless. It even infected Padma, who usually preferred intellectual pursuits and had a tendency to roll her eyes at the three boys whose company she kept. In fact, though Harry usually planned their evening mischief, and Draco -- whose sense of direction was best -- usually led the way, Padma was the one who suggested they go wandering in the first place, and always found the best places to explore in. It was harmless fun, though there was the odd detention for being caught, and Andromeda would have threatened Neville with strangling if she'd known that he was the one who led them down the narrow tiles of the roof-peak, the one time they managed to get out onto it.

If it hadn't been Percy Weasley who told on them and Dora whom he told to, things might have gone so differently.

Most of the boys above fifth-year or so nursed a harmlessly mild crush on Professor Tonks, as young men will do when they are prisoner to their hormones and confronted with a young, good-looking instructor who could in addition take any one of them in a fight. Oddly enough, Percy wasn't one of them; she didn't keep enough order in her classroom to please him, but then it was doubtful that any classroom which actually had living beings in it was orderly enough for Percy, as his brother Ron was quick to point out. Instead Percy sensibly and boringly took up with the Ravenclaw prefect and was secretly adored by Hermione Granger, who shared his passion for rules and regulations.

They had been down to a not-often-visited area of the dungeons, to see Completely Headless Nick in his first official Head Polo tournament since joining the Headless Hunt. Nick's side lost, but it was a near thing, and after centuries of having to look on, Nick couldn't care less who won or lost so long as he got to play.

Harry wasn't far from the dormitory, of course, and he could slip back without much fear of being caught, especially since Professor Snape's unusually keen eyes tended to fail when a Slytherin was the guilty party slinking along the hallways. He hadn't even bothered to bring his cloak, or he would have thought to lend it to the other three, especially Padma, who had the furthest to go.

They left Draco presumably safe at the bottom of the stairs, barely a minute's walk from the Hufflepuff cellars and under the eye of the Fat Friar, who had been one of the spectators in the Head Polo game. The ghosts especially liked Draco, for reasons that the others could only guess at; perhaps it was that Draco, the child of two ancient, breeding-obsessed houses, valued history and tended to know the names and stories of people long dead. When you can't leave the castle, eat, or indulge in other various pleasures of the flesh, having someone pay a bit of attention is always gratifying.

"Oh bugger," Neville said, as he and Padma made their way down the corridor towards Gryffindor's portrait-entrance and, beyond, Ravenclaw's tower. "I think I've forgotten the password again."

"Got your remembrall on?" she asked, but Neville held up his bare arm. "Neville, remembralls only work if you remember them."

"I know that!" Neville said irritably.

"Well, don't shout at me," Padma sighed. "I don't know the password. Can you knock?"

"Password," the Fat Lady prompted sleepily.

"Hold onto your stockings," Padma replied. "Come on, Neville, it only changes once a month -- "

She stopped, because Neville was looking over her shoulder in terror, and turned.

It would be Percy Weasley, the most officious, rulebound Prefect to ever forget to remove the broomstick from his arse. He was wearing a bathrobe with his Prefect's badge pinned onto it, and his hair was damp; he'd probably come from his bath.

"Longbottom," he said darkly. "Patil."

"Prefect," they chorused.

"You're out after hours."

"Padma was just bringing me some homework," Neville blurted. The fact that he had no parchments or books with him was not lost on Percy.

"Come on, Percy," Padma said. "It's not much after hours, and my dormitory's only five minutes from here -- "

"And you're only twelve!" Percy said, apparently attempting to shame them into something, though a glance at Neville told Padma that he was as oblivious to what that might be as she was.

"I'm almost thirteen," Padma ventured. Percy's eyes darkened.

"Oh, are we having a party?" said a new voice. Percy whirled. Professor Tonks was leaning against the wall, grinning. "I like your bathrobe, Weasley. Hi, Neville."

Percy flushed. "I was coming back from a bath -- "

"Clearly. Personal hygiene, very important," Tonks agreed.

"And I found Longbottom and Patil -- "

"Padma, right?" Tonks asked. "You're the Ravenclaw twin. This isn't your dormitory."

"No, Professor," Padma said, ducking her head. She hated getting in trouble, not really because of the punishment but because getting in trouble was mortifying and shameful. She didn't even like it when Parvati got in trouble, and Parvati got in trouble a lot more often than Padma did.

"Having a midnight tryst?" Tonks inquired. Percy looked a little triumphant. "Or rather, a ten-thirty tryst. Neville treating you like a gentleman should?"

"Awww, Dora..." Neville moaned.

"That's Professor Tonks to you, Neville," she said with a slight grin.

"It wasn't like that, Professor," Padma said.

"Quite right. Well, I think ten points from Gryffindor and ten points from Ravenclaw ought to -- " she paused, and peered down the corridor. "Well, this is a party."

Snape loomed terrifyingly out of the shadows.

"I hardly think that's an appropriate sobriquet for this situation, do you?" he asked. "Weasley, get inside and out of that ridiculous bathrobe."

Percy nearly hopped to obey, crying "Felinus Est!" at the portrait, which obediently allowed him inside.

"Felinus est?" Padma demanded. "That's your Gryffindor idea of a password? 'It's a cat'?"

"I didn't come up with it," Neville retorted.

"I can handle this...pair," Snape said, lip curling slightly.

"You could," Tonks agreed, coldly. One of Snape's hands fell on Neville's shoulder. Neville and Padma exchanged despairing looks. "If I were inclined to use students as pawns in grown-up games."

Snape stared at her.

"Run inside, Neville, and remind Percy to change the password," Tonks said, and Neville darted out from under Snape's grasp and through the Gryffindor portrait. "Padma, off you go."

Padma glanced up at Snape, and then ran off.

"If they were out, you can be sure Mr Malfoy was as well," Snape said. "No doubt he's returned by now."

"No doubt," she replied. "And Harry too, I'm sure."

He was silent at that.

"Shall we take ten points from Hufflepuff and Slytherin as well?" she asked. "On the basis of speculation?"

"What would be the point of taking anything, if all four Houses lost an equal amount?"

"Well, it has a nice symmetry to it," she sighed. "There's little enough balance around here right now."

"I don't believe I know what you mean."

She leaned back against the wall again. "Are we going to spend the whole year sniping at each other? We used to get along, you know. I distinctly remember."

"We tolerated each other."

"Oh, come on, Professor -- "

"Need we be on good terms?" he asked. "You will be here another eight months, at most, and I see no reason for our paths to cross more often than at daily meals."

"Are you still angry about me impersonating you? I said I was sorry."

"Professor Tonks," he said, drawing himself up fully, his face fearsome in the flickering torchlight, "you have managed not only to steal the position which by right of ability and experience should be mine, but you then added insult to injury by stealing my face as well. Kindly keep your own as far away from me as possible, if it's not too much to ask."

Before she could formulate a reply, there was a shriek from the other side of the portrait, and Neville and Percy emerged, Percy gripping Neville's collar.

"Eavesdropp -- " Percy began, but Snape cut him off.

"Longbottom! Detention!" he snapped, and turned to stalk away, leaving Dora there to gently shove Percy and Neville back into Gryffindor's common room and shut the portrait behind them.

"Now what?" she asked the empty, chilly corridor air.

***

"Well, at least we're all annoying together," said Harry the next morning, when they found that not only had Gryffindor and Ravenclaw lost points, but Slytherin and Hufflepuff as well. Not very much, ten points, but still irksome, especially as it wasn't the first time. They were well on their way, those four, to the uneasy status of Fred and George Weasley, who had both their own share and, clearly, Percy's share of mischeviousness as well. They were respected and popular, but nobody was ever very happy with them.

"Cept me," Neville said sulkily. "I'm annoying and I have detention."

"Serves you right for eavesdropping," Padma said, unconcernedly buttering her toast. "You know better."

"You know better than to get caught, anyway," Draco said.

"I don't like the way he speaks to Dora," Neville said persistently. "He never used to speak to her that way."

"Who knows why Professor Snape does anything he does?" Draco asked. "I say we get Percy Weasley back for being a miserable tell-tale."

"A prank?" Harry's ears almost literally pricked up.

"A Hallowe'en prank," Draco said, leaning in closer. He and Harry both glanced at Padma, waiting for the usual objections and reasons, but she gave them a not-altogether-reassuring grin, and leaned in also. Only Neville wasn't yet part of the little crowd of heads.

"Up to you," Harry said, glancing at him. Neville fidgeted with his remembrall-bracelet.

"Nothing too mean," he said. "It's not like we weren't out after-hours."

"If it were me -- " Draco began, but Harry gave him a quelling look, then coughed to interrupt Padma, who had been about to say something about the Weasley family's reputation.

"You know Fred and George are all right, and Ron and Ginny," Harry said severely. "It's just Percy, and he can't help being the way he is. And none of them," he added significantly, "can help that their family's poor."

"Fine," Padma said. "So what do we do?"

"Dye in his bathwater?" Draco suggested.

"We've done that already," Harry pointed out.

"When did we dye anyone?"

"Well, we painted the Gryffindors who bullied Neville," Harry said.

"Maybe that's our signature," Neville observed.

"Maybe that's a good way to get caught and expelled," Padma said.

"What annoys Percy most?" Draco asked.

"Mess," Neville said promptly. The others looked at him. "He hates anything to get out of order. Ron says he irons his socks. Or uses an ironing spell, anyway. And nobody ever nicks ties or robes off him, because he knows and he makes a stink about it."

"Sounds like your mum," Harry said to Draco, who was looking thoughtful. "Any ideas?"

"I have one," Draco said. "How're your sticking charms, Padma?"

***

The Hallowe'en Feast that year was splendid; the house-elves outdid the previous year's culinary delights, with surprise exploding peas, orange mashed potatoes, roasts that howled when you carved them, and chocolate-filled pumpkin pies. The ghosts, who had all been invited to Completely Headless Nick's deathday party, were all at their brightest, and even Peeves the Poltergeist, a notable troublemaker, was spending too much time herding bats around the ceiling to spell out naughty phrases and dodging Filch's attempts to stop him to do any real harm. A troupe of dancing skeletons entertained them all with acrobatics, jaw-juggling, and the ever-popular Bone Explosion, which littered the Great Hall with clicking white bones that slowly reassembled themselves bit by bit.

Even after all of that, however, Harry had to admit that the handiwork before him put all else to shame. It was a thing of beauty.

Hallowe'en was a traditional time for pranks, of course, but tonight they had taken the art to a new level, and he felt a ridiculous amount of pride in it. Padma held up her camera and snapped another photograph. Draco, standing next to her with his arms crossed, gazed up at their night's work like an artist looking at a finished canvas.

"It's wonderful," said Fred Weasley, behind him.

"Don't you feel a bit of a traitor?" Draco asked Fred. "I mean, I don't care, but out of curiosity, you're all right doing this to your own brother?"

"Percy's not stupid," Fred replied. "He'll get it down, no problem. I just hope he isn't alone when he comes up to find it."

"But he's family," Draco continued. "You stick with family."

"He's certainly going to be in a sticky situation after this," Fred assured Draco.

"Even if he is alone when he comes up, he's bound to shout," Harry said. "Go on, Fred, stand under the bed."

Fred moved to stand under the four-poster bed that was now thoroughly stuck, upside-down, to the ceiling.

Sticking the knicknacks to the top of the dresser had been child's play, and even sticking the trunk and the dresser to the ceiling of Percy's dormitory room had been very little trouble, given Padma's inherent talent for it. It was hardly the work of a moment to turn the posters over the bed upside-down as well. The tricky bit had been getting the bed curtains to hang the right way and the linens to stick, but that was why they'd enlisted Fred's help. Padma snapped another picture of the three boys under the bed.

Through the open doorway they could hear George distracting the rest of the sixth-years whose dorm this was; they were feeding fireworks to Padma's salamander, Elmo, who had apparently developed a taste for them after getting loose and eating half the stash of Guy Fawkes pyrotechnics a Muggle-born Ravenclaw had smuggled into Hogwarts. A sharp whistle rose to their ears, and the pranksters hustled out, Fred bolting for his own dorm while Harry, Padma, and Draco slipped down a flight and pulled on Harry's invisibility cloak. The whistle, coming from a Shrieker firework, was to be fed to Elmo as a signal that Percy had returned from his distraction.

The distraction itself happened to be Neville, leading Percy on a wild chase through the school after Completely Headless Nick, who was "having difficulty" locating his head -- I'd lose my head if it weren't attached took on a whole new meaning amongst ghosts. Nick was happy to do it; they all knew he owed his gleefully headless state to the four of them.

They didn't dare stay to hear Percy's reaction, though Neville was planning on witnessing it; having been with Percy the entire time, he had the perfect alibi. They were going to meet Neville afterwards by the stairs to make sure everything had gone according to plan; it was just past the nook in which Nick's head had been hidden.

"You'll be Head Boy if you keep up the way you've begun," Nick had told Neville when he was hiding it (which didn't amuse anyone).

"It was brilliant," Harry said, throwing off his cloak. Padma was busy checking her camera to make sure it hadn't been damaged in their rush for the stairs. "I'm glad we got Fred and George to go along with it."

"I hope Elmo's all right," Padma answered.

"He looked like he was enjoying himself," Draco reassured her. "Neville should be -- "

"Oh Merlin's toes!" Neville said, puffing a little as he arrived to meet them, Elmo's large glass jar tucked carefully under one arm. He was red-faced, not from exertion, but from laughter. "You should have left the camera with me, Harry. I've never seen anyone so horrified. He tried to open one of his -- " he burst into a fresh fit of laughter, and had to lean against a wall for support. "He tried to -- "

"For heaven's sake, Neville!" Padma said, and Harry noticed that she really did look worried as she snatched the jar back from him and busied herself inspecting Elmo to make sure the fireworks hadn't done him any harm.

"He opened one of the drawers and all his socks and pants fell out all over his head," Neville blurted. "I've never laughed so hard in all my life! Fred and George were just standing there, poker-faced..."

Draco chuckled, Harry's cloak still hanging over his arm, and peered at Elmo, who was snorting the occasional puff of smoke.

"So what are we going to do now?" he asked.

"Now?" Neville inquired.

"Well, it's Hallowe'en, there must be loads of stuff we can do," Harry said, nodding at Draco. "We could -- "

...rip...tear...kill...

"Harry?" Padma asked, as Harry turned sharply to the left, the direction the noise had come from. There it was again, and Snake was back in the dormitory --

...come to me and let me kill you...

"Harry!" Neville cried, as Harry stumbled against the wall, almost overpowered by the deep, commanding snake-voice. He'd known all sorts of snakes, small and large, smart and stupid, but nothing like this primal, dark voice.

"Shut up," he said to the others, urgently, and they fell silent. Padma put a concerned hand on his arm.

So hungry, and alone so long...come to me...free me...

"He's sick," Draco whispered to Neville. "We need to take him to the infirmary -- "

"I'm not sick," Harry said. He stumbled forward a few paces, then a few more.

Someone screamed.

The four of them took off running in the direction of the sound, the direction Harry had been stumbling in the first place. Down a flight of stairs, then another; a second scream led them on until they stumbled to a stop, near the bottom of the stairs.

Little Ginny Weasley, the youngest of the Weasley family, was standing on the landing of the central staircase, where it split and went off in two separate directions one storey up from the Great Hall. Pale under the freckles, she glanced at them and pointed at the wall, where large red letters had been painted.

"The Chamber will be opened -- the Heir has come," Neville read. "Urk, is that -- "

"Don't touch it!" Padma said, looking ashen. Draco clung to Harry's arm.

"Ginny, come away," Harry said. Ginny was still staring. "Neville -- "

Neville put his hands on her shoulders; she gasped, startled, but allowed herself to be guided back to where the others stood, burying her face in Neville's shoulder.

People began to arrive then, running up or down the stairs or gathering on the floor below. Snape arrived first, barefoot; McGonagall came shortly after in a crowd of students, a housecoat thrown on over her clothes instead of her Teachers' robes and tartan slippers on her feet.

Someone in the back of the crowd shouted "Mudbloods had better look out!"

Snape whirled on the crowd, eyes blazing, and several of the children at the front drew back.

"Prefects," McGonagall called, putting a hand on Snape's arm to calm him.

"Here, Professor!" Penelope Clearwater replied. She and Percy were standing together, looking stunned; Ginny bolted from Neville to Percy, nearly knocking the wiry Prefect over.

"What's all the -- Merlin," Tonks breathed, coming down the stairs. Dumbledore was fast on her heels. "What happened?"

Dumbledore looked at the wall, and a shadow passed over his face. "Mr Weasley, please escort the Gryffindors to their dormitory," he ordered. "Ms Clearwater will take the Ravenclaws. Hufflepuffs -- "

"Our Prefect's in the loo!" someone shouted. There was a nervous giggle.

"Tonks?" McGonagall asked, and she immediately pushed through the crowd.

"Hufflepuffs this way!" she called, her hair turning to yellow-and-black stripes.

"Professor, would you take the Slytherins, please?" Snape asked, in a low voice. McGonagall lifted an eyebrow. "I'd like to speak with a few students," he added, catching Ginny by the elbow as she moved to follow Percy to the dormitories. Harry wasn't about to go anywhere, and the others stayed with him, huddled in a little group as the rest of the students reluctantly began to leave. Dumbledore joined them.

"What's this, Severus?" he asked. "No student did this -- "

"They were here when I arrived, before the other students," Snape replied.

"Ginevra appears distraught," Dumbledore said. "Did you discover this monstrosity, my dear?" he asked.

"She was here when we got here. She saw it first...sort of..." Draco said, glancing at Harry.

"Sort of? This is not the time for engima, Mr Malfoy," Snape said sharply.

"Ginny saw it first, sir," Padma said. "We heard her scream -- "

"Where were you?"

"At the top of the stairs, outside Gryffindor," Neville said.

"Given the situation, I shan't ask why," Dumbledore assured them. "You saw no one else, Ginevra?"

Ginny gulped and shook her head.

"There were no footsteps, no voices?"

"I wasn't looking, sir," she whispered. "I was just getting my gloves -- I left them in the Great Hall -- "

"And you came down the stairs to discover this?"

"Yes, sir."

Dumbledore nodded. "Professor Snape, if you would accompany Ms Weasley, Mr Longbottom, and Ms Patil back to their dormitories, I will ensure that Mr Malfoy and Mr Potter are delivered safely."

Snape gave him a curt nod and began shepherding the others up the stairs. Dumbledore's hand, gentle but firm, clamped on Harry's shoulder as he shot a sidelong look at Draco. They walked towards the Hufflepuff dormitory in silence, until Dumbledore spoke again.

"Give Harry back his invisibility cloak, please, Draco," he said. Draco flushed crimson and passed it over.

"Is there anything you don't find out about, sir?" he asked, daringly.

"Oh, quite a lot of things, I should think," Dumbledore answered. "In this case, however, I confess to advance knowledge of that particular cloak."

Harry looked up at him, sharply. The cloak had been delivered by Snape, last Christmas, and signed only "From a Friend"; he'd never discovered who'd given it to him, only that it was his father's. But of course Dumbledore would have known his father...

"Perhaps it was a trifle premature to give it to you so soon," Dumbledore continued, "But I suspect you've made good use of it. And here we are," he added, as they descended into the cellar. Tonks was waiting in the open portrait-doorway.

"I thought we'd left one behind," she said. "In you go, Draco. All right, Harry?"

"All right, Professor," Harry answered automatically. Dumbledore steered him back up the steps, and down the long corridor, Tonks following behind until she broke off at the stairs to go up for another look at the horrible wall.

"Thank you," Harry said, as they walked towards the stairs down to the dungeons.

"Your father would have wanted you to have it," Dumbledore answered, almost absently.

"Headmaster..." Harry began, then faltered.

"Yes?"

"Who's the Heir? What Chamber's going to be opened?"

Dumbledore was silent as they descended and began working their way through the labyrinth of underground corridors that led to Slytherin's dormitory.

"The Heir is a silly tale to frighten children with," he said, finally. "And the Chamber is little more than a legend."

"But what -- "

"Here we are," Dumbledore said, and indeed they were -- the Slytherin's entrance-portrait was just ahead. Harry gave the password and crept through, but by the time he'd glanced back over his shoulder, as the portrait-door was closing, Dumbledore was already gone.

Chapter 11

Only after Dumbledore had left him at the entrance to the dormitory did Harry remember the voice he'd heard, the snake-voice demanding to be free and interrupted by Ginny's scream. He ran to his room, where the other boys, and a few of the girls, were sitting on Theo Nott's bed, deep in discussion. He scooped up a trembling, loudly complaining Snake into his breast pocket even as he dropped his cloak into the trunk at the foot of his bed.

"Potter might know," said Blaise Zabini, who moved over to make room for him between himself and Crabbe.

"Know what?" Harry asked, glad enough to be in the company of other people.

"Who the Heir is."

Harry shook his head. "I just asked Dumbledore. He wouldn't tell me anything."

"Bet you it was just Bole, doing it to scare Montague," Theo said contemptuously. "Bet you anything tomorrow Bole's going to be strutting around saying he's the Heir."

"What Heir, anyway?" Harry asked, realising suddenly that they knew more than he did.

"You don't know?" Blaise asked.

"Didn't I just say I didn't?"

"All right, you don't need to jump on me about it," Blaise said. "The Heir of Slytherin. The hundred-times great grandson -- "

" -- or daughter -- " put in Pansy Parkinson.

"Or daughter," Blaise rolled his eyes, "of Salazar Slytherin."

"My mum says there aren't any," Crabbe said.

"How does your mum know that?" Theo asked, contemptuous.

"She says." Crabbe stuck stubbornly to his story.

"Well, I heard about there was a Headmaster at Hogwarts who was a Slytherin and a Parselmouth and he was the last Heir of Slytherin," Blaise ventured.

"What's being a Parselmouth got to do with it?" Harry asked, very conscious of Snake in his pocket.

"Who put you in such a snit? Didn't you know Salazar Slytherin was a Parselmouth? It's hereditary," Theo answered.

Harry opened his mouth to say that it wasn't, since he was one and neither of his parents were, but his first thought was that he didn't know his parents weren't Parselmouths, and his second thought was that he'd almost given himself away.

"Which headmaster?" he asked, instead.

"Don't recall," Blaise said, furrowing his brow. "Philip or something."

"Phineas?"

"Might've been."

"Who's he, then?" Theo demanded.

"Phineas Nigellus. He's in Hogwarts, A History," Harry replied. "It doesn't say anything about him being an Heir of Anyone or a Parselmouth. He just wasn't very popular. And he can't have been the last, because I think he had children."

"He's related to the Blacks, isn't he?" Pansy asked.

"Yeah," Harry replied, remembering the Black family tree he'd seen once, with Sirius and Andromeda burnt off of it and names stretching back almost to the Founders.

"They're famous for being Slytherins, the Blacks," Blaise said. "All but your godfather and Professor Tonks' mum. Malfoy's mum was, though, and her other sister -- "

"Bellatrix," Harry said, the hatred in his own voice surprising him. Blaise and Pansy, who caught on a little quicker than the others, raised their eyebrows.

"My aunt used to be friends with Mrs Malfoy," said Goyle. "She says they were all ashamed of your godfather, being a Gryffindor."

"If you say one word against my godfather I'll knock you flat," Harry said warningly, and Goyle subsided. "Anyway, I don't think there is any such thing. I bet it was Bole," he said, trying to reassure himself. If the Heir of Slytherin was a Parselmouth, then that might have been what he'd heard...

After all, Harry himself couldn't be the Heir. He didn't know anything about painting things in blood on walls, and he'd already been at Hogwarts a year, anyway.

"I hope so," Blaise answered. "If the Heir of Slytherin really is at the school..."

"Then what?" Harry prompted.

"Well, he might actually open the Chamber like he said he would, mightn't he?"

"What Chamber, anyhow?"

"What, isn't that in Hogwarts, A History?" Pansy asked snidely.

"The Chamber of Secrets," Blaise replied. They all leaned in closer, as if they were telling ghost stories around a campfire. "Before Salazar Slytherin left Hogwarts, he built an underground lair and hid a monster there. He left it all behind when he went away. Anyone who could find and open the doors to the lair could send the monster out into the school to eat all the Muggle-born students."

"That's why they were shouting about mudbloods," Harry said, understanding dawning. Every eye was on him, and he realised of all the students in the room, he was the only one with a Muggleborn parent -- with a Muggle of any kind in the family, closer than three or four generations back. Little Creevey in first year was Muggleborn, but he was one of only two with Muggle parents. Of the rest of the Slytherin students, barely a handful had any significant amount of Muggle blood.

"We should be back in the girls' dormitory," Pansy said. The girls slid off Theo's bed and talked quietly as they left; the boys, one by one, went to their own beds to put on their pyjamas. Soon the candles were doused and Harry was curled up under the blankets, whispering soothing reassurances to Snake on his pillow, wondering if even now the primal snake-voice that had demanded its freedom could hear him.

***

Snape returned from delivering the students to their rooms to find Dora Tonks on the landing, arms crossed, staring at the red words painted on the wall.

"Disturbing," he said, finally. She glanced up, as if just noticing him, and stepped aside a little, to allow him to join her.

"How's Ginny?" she asked.

"Hysterical child. One of the Gryffindor Prefects is seeing to her," he said shortly.

"No going easy on account of age," she murmured.

"It wasn't her blood," Snape replied. There was another pause. "Have you tried -- "

"Everything from Scourgify to dissolving spells," she said. "I think we'll have to strip a layer of stone to get it off."

Snape tilted his head slightly, as if a new perspective on the wall might give him new ideas. "Have you tried transfiguring the blood into something which -- "

"No, but the blood's been absorbed into the wall. The stone's porous. I'm not good enough to separate the two out," she said. It was a dare, but he didn't rise to the bait.

"Few would be," he agreed, instead.

"Speaking objectively, as an Auror, it's a good place to put something like that. Hundreds of children go up and down these stairs every day. Any physical evidence is all tangled up in..." she sighed. "Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrappers and crumpled parchment."

Snape looked around, and realised she was right; as good as the house-elves were at keeping the place clean, the main staircase always ended up slightly dingy at the close of the school day. He tended to forget that Tonks was an Auror, with skills and ways of thinking that he didn't have. It caught him by surprise.

"What I wonder now," she continued, in that oddly detached voice, "is where all this blood came from. It would have had to be very fresh to be painted on so easily."

Snape knew from horrifying personal experience how quickly blood clotted. It was one of the primal elements of magic; working with blood was tricky, and there were few charms that affected it. Only the Muggles had ways to keep blood from clotting, by adding other things to it. He supposed those could be detected, but he had little experience with the Muggle alchemy known as chemistry.

As if she, and not he, were the master of Legilimency, she said, "Our alchemists have ways of detecting what sort of blood's been used, but I don't think Dumbledore wants this handled by outside help. You're Potions Master; could you find out?"

"Are you asking me for help?" he inquired, haughtily.

"As you're so fond of pointing out, we're supposed to be professionals. I'm furious with you, but you're useful. You don't like me, but you don't like obscenity scrawled in blood on the walls of our school, either." She shrugged. "If you can't do it -- "

"I can," he said.

"I thought as much."

He took a small folding knife from his pocket, a gift from Minerva after he'd made her nervous by summoning a knife from the kitchen once too often. He found an empty glass vial in another pocket; he always had a few, and they seemed to multiply when he wasn't looking, like clothes-hangers in a wardrobe. She watched as he knelt and tested the blood at the bottom of the wall. When he found it not entirely dried yet, he slipped the blade into the blood and lifted it up, scraping the half-dried residue off on the lip of the vial.

"I doubt it's human," he said.

"Chicken is traditional, in the thriller novels," she replied. She was about to say something else, when Dumbledore appeared, carrying a small jar of powder.

"I see I am anticipated," he said, eyes falling on the vial Snape held. "Shall we, then?"

"Now?" Tonks asked.

"Can you think of a better time?" he inquired. "Severus, I had thought that perhaps you would be short of powdered unicorn dung," he said, shaking the jar slightly. Greyish dust swirled inside it.

"I have sufficient amounts for this," Snape replied, and led the way down into the dungeons, past the Potions classroom and into his private office. He cleared a stack of half-marked papers away, neatly, and took down a glass tray. He emptied the blood onto the tray, where it made a small, ragged-edged puddle, and put both bloody knife and vial into an empty porcelain wash-basin to be cleaned later. His hands found the ingredients he was looking for almost automatically in the supplies case, and Dumbledore and Tonks watched in silence, Dumbledore seating himself on the chair normally reserved for troublesome students, on the opposite side of the desk.

He mixed aconite -- the base of so many potions and the reason Remus Lupin had always had sneezing fits in class -- with a bat's heart for protein, adding a pinch of centaur's hair when the mixture formed a smooth paste. With a muttered incantation, he sprinkled the powdered unicorn dung over the coagulating blood, and spread the paste smoothly across it. He looked at Dumbledore as he picked up a hollow black tube, about the size of a pencil.

"Would you prefer...?" he asked, but Dumbledore shook his head. He didn't bother offering it to Tonks, but instead pressed the tube to his right ring finger, and jerked it slightly. The thin needle inside the tube drew blood, and he dripped three dots onto the mixture on the glass tray.

A puff of smoke spiraled upwards, and Snape seemed to cup it into his hands as if it were clay. In the bowl of his palms, it began to take shape, forming an elongated ball. Legs began to drift out from it, a head and tail; the small creature turned its head, and Dumbledore and Tonks both looked mildly surprised.

"Cow's blood?" Dumbledore inquired.

"The nearest cattle herd has to be miles from here. There's a butcher's shop in Hogsmeade, but they'd notice that much blood being bought," Tonks said. "I can look into it."

"I'm not sure there's need," Dumbledore said softly. "We have our own coldhouse and butchery in the kitchens; I would suggest, Professors, that you begin your search there."

"That means it's a professor, or a student," Tonks said, looking alarmed.

"Or," Dumbledore replied, "a house-elf."

***

The next day was Saturday, and by almost silent agreement, Tonks and Snape met on the steps to the kitchens at eight; they tried bickering about who ought to do the questions-asking, but it was half-hearted in the face of the bigger crime. They got no further than Tonks declaring herself a trained investigator and Snape demanding to know who had spent seven years training her, and who was the senior professor, before they reached the kitchen doors.

Questioning the house-elves proved to be fruitless, however. Since they were indentured to the school, and not any single individual in it, they could not be compelled to answer any question which would mean injuring any student or professor at Hogwarts. When asked if a house-elf could have done it, they merely dithered at the idea. They offered to iron their fingers, apologetically, but Dumbledore had a strict policy against such things, and in the end the questioning resulted in nothing more than the admission that the blood had come from the Hogwarts butchery, a lot of miserable house-elves, and two frustrated professors.

Denbigh, the head of the kitchen-elves, shared this information with Harry when he stopped by the kitchen to get some breakfast after oversleeping.

"But it wasn't a house-elf, was it?" Harry asked, worriedly. Denbigh's ears drooped.

"All the house-elves are busy with the washing up after the feast -- " Denbigh said anxiously.

"Oh, well, don't get too upset about it," Harry said hurriedly. "Can I have another apple?"

"Is Harry Potter seeing Mister Malfoy and Miss Padma Patil and Mister Neville Longbottom?" Denbigh asked. "Is he seeing them in the library, Harry Potter?"

Harry grinned. "We're falling into a rut, is that what you're saying?"

"No sir! Denbigh does not wish to -- "

"It's okay, Denbigh. Yes, I'm going to study group. Then I have practice this afternoon."

"Dobby the house-elf has insisted that we say to Mister Malfoy that he should come home, sir! The Heir, Harry Potter, the Heir!"

The rest of the house-elves took up the cry in their high, squeaky voices, and Denbigh shouted to be heard over the din.

"Mister Harry Potter should go too! He is in danger!"

"Quiet!" Harry shouted desperately. They all fell eerily silent, immediately. "Now listen, nobody's going home. It's probably just a dumb prank."

Denbigh stared at him, enormous eyes unblinking, until finally Harry sighed.

"We'll be all right. If every person with a Muggle relative went home, the school would be almost empty, anyway," he said. "Now listen, I have a game against Gryffindor next Saturday at eleven. Will you make some popcorn for the others to take to the game?"

"Of course, Harry Potter. One sweet, one salted, one sweet with extra butter," Denbigh said, recounting the way the other three liked their popcorn. "And Harry Potter will come to see us afterwards?"

"Sure, Denbigh. We'll have a late lunch in the kitchen." Harry accepted the small sack of food that the house-elves pressed into his hands, put it in his bag, and was just turning to leave when something occurred to him.

"Denbigh," he asked, turning around. "When was Dobby here?"

Denbigh looked frightened. "Dobby and Mendy are coming to help us do the washing up after the feast," he said, in a very quiet voice. "Harry Potter will not tell Mistress Malfoy? She is un -- unki -- " He hesitated, elf-fashion, unwilling to speak ill even of those humans who didn't employ him.

"Unkind to them, I know. It's all right; I won't even tell Draco."

Denbigh sighed with relief, and soon the rest of the kitchen was filled once more with clattering and clanking as the lunch preparations began. Harry shouldered his bag and headed for the library. By the time he reached it, most of the students who had studying to do were there; it was too cold to enjoy being outside, but not quite cold enough to snow, and students in the library were very rarely harassed so long as they kept quiet. Harry waved at Padma, who had staked out and viciously defended a table for their use, and stopped to drop off two books he'd taken out a week before.

"Harry!" someone whispered urgently, and Harry looked up from the returns box to see a cadre of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs gathered at a table near one of the magical fireplaces that heated the library without actually being on fire. A curly-haired boy in Hufflepuff yellow was gesturing madly for him to come over.

"What is it, Justin?" Harry whispered, wondering if he had something in his hair, or if his bag flap was unlatched.

"Is it true you know who the Heir is?" Justin Finch-Fletchley asked. The rest of the table was watching eagerly. "Blaise Zabini said all the Slytherins knew, but nobody's willing to tell us except Colin Creevey, and nobody tells him anything anyway."

Justin glanced to his left, and Harry followed his gaze; Colin was sitting wretchedly at a table with a handful of other Slytherin first-years, and being completely ignored by his fellows.

"He's supposed to be the great-great-whatever-great grandson of Salazar Slytherin, and he can talk to snakes, and if he gets into the Chamber of Secrets which nobody knows where it is, he'll let a monster out and it'll eat all the Muggle-born students."

Justin turned pale.

"But it's just a story, I'm sure it's a prank," Harry said hurriedly.

"I'm Muggleborn," Justin said, then winced when he realised he'd announced it to the world.

"If I were you, I wouldn't tell the monster that -- I'm kidding, Finch," Harry said, when Justin blanched. "Look, it's just a story. Pass it on if you want to, but don't forget to tell people that, all right?"

Padma was waving for Harry to come over, but he held up a finger and walked over to the table where the Slytherin first-years were studiously ignoring Creevey.

"Hey, Cricket," Harry said. Colin didn't look up. "Creevey. Cricket. I'm talking to you."

Colin met his eyes slowly. He looked like he was about to wet himself. Harry wondered if the second-years, or even the other first-years, had been bullying him.

Harry had never himself been a bully beyond the usual cuffing and wrestling between village boys in Betwys Beddau. He supposed if he had to, he could, but he found it distasteful; and besides, if you had to bully, you ought to have a point to it, and you jolly well ought to bully someone your own size.

"Come on, Cricket," he said. The first-years were pointedly not looking at him; they were exchanging anxious glances. This was Harry Potter. What did Harry Potter want with a little Mudblood?

"Um?" Colin asked.

"Come on, Cricket, you'll never get anywhere studying all alone like that. Padma's brilliant at Charms; come study with us," Harry said. Colin glanced at the others, as if asking if this was some kind of joke. When Harry looked impatient, he scrambled to gather up his books, and followed the taller boy back to where Padma was sitting.

"Neville and Draco are in the stacks. Neville's booby-trapping books with some of George Weasley's exploding bookmarks," Padma said. "Who's he?"

"Exploding bookmarks?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, he found out how Exploding Snap works and reversed the polarities so now it goes bang when you open the book," Padma replied. "Who're you?" she asked Colin directly this time.

"Colin Creevey," he said, shyly.

"This is Cricket," Harry said. "He gets a nickname, because it makes the other students jealous, and they all hate him already. Sit," he said to Colin, who obeyed.

"Oh, you're the Muggleborn who got in with the Slytherins," Padma said. "The one with the camera always around his neck."

"Yeah," Colin said glumly, as Neville and Draco emerged from the stacks and sat down with absolutely straight faces.

"This is Cricket, he's studying with us today," Harry said. Neville and Draco nodded and opened their bookbags. There was an explosion from the stacks. Draco fought down a grin, bravely. "He's going to keep his mouth shut about what we're talking about, too, aren't you, Cricket?"

Colin nodded. Padma was reading his book, half-over his shoulder.

"The Slytherins know who the Heir is," Harry said, and the others listened as he recounted the previous night's conversation. "Professor Snape and Dor -- Professor Tonks talked to the house-elves this morning, but they didn't say anything. They're all really upset about it. They said to tell you Dobby says you should go home," he said to Draco, who grinned a little.

"Ginny says she didn't see anyone," Neville said helpfully. "And Dora's not exactly likely to tell me much. I mean, she might if I could get her to, but I'm not that sneaky."

"So if the students and the professors don't know anything and the house-elves don't know anything -- or if they do they aren't telling..."

"Do you think there really is an Heir?" Neville asked. They were all silent.

"I think there's something," Harry said quietly. "I don't know if it's the Heir. It might be the monster."

"We're scaring Cricket," Padma said softly.

"I'm not scared," Colin said hastily. "I just thought..." he paused. "I mean...could you ask the ghosts?"

"The ghosts?" Draco asked.

"They're...always floating around. You can't go to the bathroom but there's a ghost putting his head in to say hello," Colin said. "It takes a bit of getting used to...the others made fun because I...I don't...really like ghosts..."

Draco and Harry exchanged a look. "We could ask Nick to ask around," Draco said. "He isn't much fond of the Baron, but -- "

"I'll deal with the Baron," Harry said. Colin stared at him admiringly. "Let's finish studying and we can go find Nick. Padma, do you want to help Cricket out?"

"I have to finish, too," Padma said, slightly crossly. She shoved a few books into her bag, and took out a roll of parchment. "You keep reading and if you have questions you can ask your benefactor there," she said, to Colin.

"I do all right," Colin said in a small voice.

Harry, unrolling his half-finished Potions essay, glanced at Padma; it was unusual for her to even have any work to do on a Saturday, especially by this late in the morning. She was always done first. She looked tired, though; maybe she'd been doing extra work, and their prank had taken up quite a bit of time in the planning and execution.

They studied in silence, punctuated only by the occasional exploding bookmark in the stacks; Neville and Draco were working together, their heads bent over a Herbology exercise, and Padma was taking notes for the same essay Harry was working on, which was an enormous help as he could glance over at her book and see what she was writing. It wasn't cheating; it was just...getting hints.

When noon tolled, most of the other students rose to get lunch; Harry passed Padma the bag of snacks that the house-elves had given him, and gestured for Colin to pack up his things.

"You should go eat," he said, standing and steering Colin towards the door. "Listen, they don't like you, and they're going to like you even less because I like you. You understand?"

Colin nodded.

"So ignore them. I'll make sure the Gryffindor first-years are nice to you, and if anyone tries to pick on you..." he paused for thought. "Well, let 'em, and tell me after, okay?"

"Why are you doing this?" Colin asked.

Harry had to stop, in the doorway of the library, and think about this.

"Because it's stupid to think someone's not worth knowing just because their parents couldn't do magic," he said finally. "You ought to dislike a person because that person is horrible. How'd you get into Slytherin, anyway?"

Colin mumbled.

"What?"

"I asked," he said.

"To be put in Slytherin?"

"I think Slytherin is brilliant," Colin said. "It's historical, and wizards who're in Slytherin really become something. That's what I heard on the Hogwarts Express."

Harry thought about Bellatrix Lestrange and Phineas Nigellus. And Severus Snape.

"Sometimes, we do," he said thoughtfully, and sent Colin out into the hallway with a gentle shove.

***

Sirius was reading in the kitchen when Remus came in, shrugging out of his coat. The walk from Madam Schaeffer's wasn't far, but it was chilly, and he went immediately to the stove, where hot water was waiting in the kettle.

"Do you ever look at Harry," Sirius said, by way of greeting, "And think just how much he's James' son?"

Remus put a strainer on top of a large white mug and added a spoonful of tea. "Not really."

"No?" Sirius asked. "How was work?"

"Fine. It's bloody cold out. Tea?"

"Just had some. You don't ever look at Harry and see James?"

"No," Remus said, pouring the hot water over the strainer. "I look at him and see Lily."

Sirius glanced up from the letter. Remus smiled faintly. "It's the eyes," he said.

"Yes, well, the disposition is James all over," Sirius replied. He passed the letter to Remus, who removed the strainer and added honey while he read. The corners of his mouth twitched.

"Caught outside after hours, having stuck a dormitory bed to the ceiling as a prank...sounds more like you, if you ask me," he said, handing it back to Sirius. "Dumbledore's not going to punish him for the prank?"

"They can't prove he did anything," Sirius said. "He wants me to have a word with the boy."

"Can't think why, all you're likely to tell him is how not to get caught," Remus said, grinning over his tea. "And you can bet that if he was there, his cohort was too."

"I could send him a Howler," Sirius said. "I used to get those on a regular basis. Went over very well with the girls."

Remus scowled.

"Yes, you never were impressed, I recall," Sirius grinned. "Don't you think it might be fun? I've never sent a Howler. I wouldn't even know where to go to get one."

"Post office down near Gringotts, I think."

"You never got Howlers at school."

"Lupins are genetically disinclined towards shouting," Remus said. "If you could invent a piece of paper that glared like my mum glared, then I'd have had lots."

He sat down at the table, while Sirius folded the letter up and set it aside.

"Do you think Howlers are a good idea?" Sirius asked. "In all honesty."

"No. I never did. It's barbarous to publicly embarrass your children in front of their friends."

"I was never embarrassed."

"Yes you were. You were more embarrassed than most. You smiled and strutted whenever you got one to hide how mortified you were," Remus said. "Even James only looked embarrassed and sat it out, but you made a production out of it. I don't blame you. Your dad had a set of lungs on him."

Sirius was staring down at the table. Remus put a hand on the back of his neck, fingers twining up through his short black hair.

"You," he said, "made trouble to annoy your parents. Harry makes trouble because he has troublemaking in his soul, like James did. He's always going to make trouble."

"I used to wonder how my father reacted to letters like this," Sirius said. "I used to take gleeful delight in wondering, in fact."

"And now?"

"Well, I hope he got more upset than I am. If I went through years of Howlers and detentions and all he got was....was amused, I have failed deeply."

"I think the Howlers themselves are proof of success," Remus said, shaking him gently and letting him go.

"He really shouldn't be wandering around the castle at night." Sirius worried his lip with his teeth, thinking. "He's not an ordinary child. It's dangerous."

"Tell him that and see if you can stop him," Remus said.

"I know, he's young still. It's just...do you ever wonder where Peter is?"

Remus nodded, gravely. "All the time. Where he is, why he hasn't come back to try to kill the lot of us...I trust Severus, though."

"Trust him to do what?"

"To look after Harry. To be...aware enough that if Peter is near, he'll know. He's tied to Peter, somehow. He knows. And he loves Harry, Sirius. I trust Severus to give his own life for Harry, just like you or I would." Remus grinned. "And I know that gets under your skin in a way very little else does."

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but Remus had leaned forward and kissed him before he could say anything.

"I'm still cold," Remus complained. "Want to try warming me up?"

Sirius smiled back. "You're good at changing the subject."

"If I weren't, you'd worry everything to death like a dog with a rag doll."

Sirius laughed, and let himself be pulled up out of his chair, towards the bedroom and a certain amount of pleasant oblivion.

Chapter 12

It was one o'clock before they finished with their schoolwork, owing mainly to the fact that Neville and Draco kept taking time off from their assignments to write notes to each other, flick wads of paper at Padma, and good-naturedly tease Snake with the feather-tips of their quills. Snakes were supposed to hibernate for most of the winter and Snake had always done so in the past, but he was anxious lately, and awake far more often than was usual. It helped Harry's nerves to have Snake distracted.

"I told Denbigh we'd get lunch in the kitchens, then we can go and look for Nick. Where do you suppose he is?" Harry asked, as they put their parchment away and sealed up their inkpots. Draco carefully slipped his silver-nibbed quills into the shallow wooden case he kept in his bag, shrugging.

"He's normally somewhere around the Great Hall. We can find him after lunch," Padma said. She stroked Snake's head with a fingertip, then allowed him to wrap himself around her wrist, loosely. Draco was still wary of holding Snake, but the other two kept equally cold-blooded pets and didn't mind carting him about once in a while.

They made their way towards the staircase that would lead them down past the next two floors and the landing with the bloody scrawl on it that no amount of scrubbing had been able to remove. Despite the previous night's events, they were in high spirits; while most Hogwarts students would spend the entire weekend feeling vaguely guilty about not completing their homework until Sunday night, they were finished and had a whole day and a half of freedom to look forward to, full of the prospect of playing Detective and talking to the ghosts, which was always an interesting experience.

Draco was saying something about Monday's classes, to which nobody was paying much attention, when Padma stopped on the stairs so suddenly that Neville had to dart to one side to avoid plowing into her, and only Harry's quick grab at the back of Neville's shirt kept him from tumbling down the stairs.

"What is it?" Harry asked, as Neville grunted his thanks.

"I bet Moaning Myrtle saw something. She's always here -- the other ghosts don't like her."

"Wow," Draco said. "I mean, hard enough being a ghost without being an unpopular ghost."

"She must have at least heard Ginny scream, and probably what happened before that."

"Can we ask her?" Neville asked.

"I don't see why not," Padma said, striding forward. The boys followed until she pushed open a door across the corridor, at which point they all paused uncertainly. The door swung shut behind her and, after a second, swung open again.

"Are you coming?" Padma asked, peevishly.

"That's the girls' toilet," Neville said.

"And?"

"And we're boys!" Harry replied.

"Nobody ever uses it," Padma said, rolling her eyes. "Come on, the toilets don't bite."

They hesitated on the threshold, but Padma forged ahead and it was cross or be hit by the door.

Entering the sanctum of a Girls' Loo was more than just going where you weren't supposed to go; it was a trespass into sacred space. Even Harry, who would normally go anywhere and do anything, felt a curious mix of anthropological interest and guilty discomfort.

He wasn't sure what he would have expected to find, but the reality was commonplace and eerie at the same time. It looked like most normal Hogwarts bathrooms. There was a long, spotty mirror on one wall, over a row of white porcelain sinks. There were half a dozen stalls with wooden doors, facing the mirror, and one of them housed leaky plumbing. The floor was damp, reflecting the light of Padma's illumination spell on the tip of her wand, and a handful of stubby, low-burning candles.

What was unsettling was the dust that was thick everywhere; it piled in the corners and scuttled in dustbunnies along the drier edges where wall met floor. Neville daringly ran his finger along the mirror and came away with dry brown powder on his hand. It was clear that the house-elves came here only to change out the candles and fled as soon as they could; cobwebs abounded, but even Draco, who was jumpy around things with more than four legs, couldn't spot a single spider.

"Myrtle?" Padma called softly, and the room amplified her voice. "Are you here, Myrtle?"

She was just pushing the door of the last stall open when there was an enormous splash and water slopped out over Padma's shoes, flooding the floor with a stale, rusty wet film. The boys all took a few steps back; Draco, who'd gone past Padma, was trapped against the wall.

Moaning Myrtle floated in the doorway, having apparently just emerged from the u-bend of the toilet. She was a short, lank-haired ghost who looked as if she were -- or rather, as if she'd been when she'd died -- about fifteen. She had pearly, thick-lensed spectacles on, far too big for her face, and she was incongruously chewing gum.

"This," she said snottily, "Is the girls' bathroom."

"I told you -- " Neville started to say to Padma, but she interrupted.

"It's all right, Myrtle, there's no one else here -- "

"Oh, that's just fine," Myrtle snapped. "I suppose I don't count. I suppose from now on, I'm to be a display item to show to boys -- "

"It isn't like that at all," Padma said hastily. Draco, behind the door, was mouthing something at Harry, who was terrible at reading lips. Myrtle saw Harry give Draco a bewildered look, and put her head right through the half-open door so that her body floated on one side near Padma, and her head stuck out of the other, a foot or so from Draco's rather startled face.

"What were you saying about me?" she asked.

"N-nothing," Draco stammered.

"Everyone's always talking about me behind my back!" Myrtle wailed. "Ghosts have feelings too, you know!"

"Oh, don't be such a baby," Neville said crossly. Everyone, including Neville, looked shocked at this. Myrtle gave a little choking sob, and Neville pushed onward. "We never heard of you before today so it's not likely we're telling tales about you, is it?"

"The fact is," Harry added hastily, stepping between Myrtle and Neville before she tried to drown him in a toilet or something equally dire, "you're a very important witness, Myrtle."

She opened her mouth to wail again, but seemed to change her mind just beforehand.

"I know you," she said instead. "You're Harry Potter."

"That's right," Harry said, playing on his celebrity for one of few times in his life. "I'm the Boy Who Lived."

"You're more than that," Myrtle said, and Harry watched in horror as she floated towards him, coyly.

"Yes, well," Harry continued. "The thing is, Myrtle, last night someone vandalised the school, and your bathroom's not at all far away, so we thought, knowing that you're so -- " he swallowed and took a step back; Myrtle was floating disconcertingly close, " -- so observant, we were wondering if you'd seen anything. Or heard anything. Or knew anything. So, anything really," he finished with a gulp.

"Last night?" Myrtle asked. "That was Hallowe'en."

"Yes..."

"Peeves made fun of my costume," Myrtle sulked.

"Oh? Er, what did you go as?"

"You know very well what I went as!" she shrieked. "Ghosts can't dress up as anything BUT ghosts, you know!"

Harry heard Draco whisper "Sod this for a game of soldiers" somewhere beyond Myrtle. He pushed his glasses up on his nose anxiously.

"Yes, but, but, I mean, what's Peeves? He hasn't even got a proper place to haunt. He's just a drifter, really," he said quickly. "Please, did you hear anything at all?"

Myrtle wrinkled her nose. "I don't like people coming in my bathroom," she said. "Coming in and making fun of me -- "

"Nobody's making fun, Myrtle! Honest!" Padma said helpfully.

"Stupid little house-elves," Myrtle snivelled. "He didn't have to clean his filthy old bucket in here."

"A house-elf was here?" Draco asked. Myrtle turned to him.

"Didn't I just say that?" she asked snidely. Harry wondered if he should bolt; the door was barely three feet behind him, but that would leave the other three with Myrtle between them and the door, and that was no good.

"Do you know which one?" Padma asked eagerly.

"House-elves don't talk to me," Myrtle sniffed. "He had big eyes and floppy ears."

"So every house-elf ever, then," Neville muttered.

"I heard that!" Myrtle shrieked, whirling on Neville, who flinched. "It's not my fault! They're all horrible little bug-eyed snobs! They come here just to make fun of me, you know! Replacing the candles as if anyone's ever going to want to come here again!" she howled.

And that was when Harry heard the voice again, the deep, primal snake-voice that terrified Snake and gave Harry bad dreams. Even as Myrtle continued to howl and dive into another toilet, splashing water all over the floor once more, he heard it as though it were rising through the stone floor.

Bite and kill....so close...

Free me....master....free me to feed in the air once more...

Snake had unwound himself from Padma's wrist and dropped, and now he left a pale trail on the damp floor as he slithered frantically towards Harry, who ran forward and scooped him up into his pocket before bolting --

Straight through the door and into Argus Filch.

The door was swinging behind him, and he heard Padma's surprised squeak when she caught sight of the dour caretaker. Hoping that at least the other three would be able to hide out in a stall, he pushed again, almost sending Filch sprawling and maneuvering him away from the door.

"What have we 'ere?" Filch asked, with the air of a wine connoisseur enjoying a fine vintage. "Harry Potter, trespassing in the girls' bathroom."

A thick wash of water spilled out through the crack at the bottom of the doorway.

"Vandalising the girls' bathroom," Filch announced. "I've nicked you, my young prankster. Come on," he added, grasping Harry's sleeve in his dirt-stained hand and pulling him along.

At least the other three were safe, so long as Myrtle didn't howl and ruin everything. In his pocket, Snake was agitated, writhing and complaining incoherently. He put his hand in to soothe the small creature and felt the sinewy body wrap tightly around his fingers, Snake's head burrowing into the fold of his palm.

He was being taken to Filch's office, he realised, a miserable windowless cubbyhole that most students preferred not to investigate. Filch nearly threw him into a chair and ordered him not to move. Harry took the opportunity to look around. There were -- were those manacles? -- hanging on the walls like grisly Christmas garlands, and a small stove with a teakettle and a few dirty plates on it. Most of the space was taken up with filing cabinets, which apparently contained details of every pupil ever punished by the caretakers of Hogwarts.

When Harry noticed that the Weasleys had an entire drawer to themselves, he grinned a little, despite Filch's admonitions to shut up and contemplate his doom. Filch, as he locked several of the file cabinets, mutered about fetching Dumbledore to expel the Vandal. Harry came to realise, with horror, that Filch meant to blame the vandalism in the hallway on him. He considered opening his mouth to protest, but that would probably only make Filch angrier; he decided to wait and appeal his punishment with Dumbledore, who would surely at least want to look into any student blamed for the macabre graffiti.

Finally, Filch's head snapped up and the caretaker fixed him with an icy glare.

"Fetchin' the Headmaster now," he grunted. "Stay there and don't touch anything. I'm locking you in."

Harry carefully did not point out that there was a large bowl of floo powder on the mantel over the fireplace, if should he really want to make his escape.

The door slammed, keys snicked in the lock, and Harry was alone in Filch's office. He investigated the file cabinets first, but couldn't get them open; shame, really, as he was sure there were things in the Weasleys' drawer that they'd like to have back. The desk, considering the bedlam the rest of the room was in, was oddly tidy; the only thing on it, aside from an inkbottle and a handful of quills in a stand, was a large glossy purple folder, lettered silver across the front. Harry picked it up idly, hoping Filch hadn't managed to stumble across the other three as he went to the Headmaster's office.

It seemed to be some kind of correspondence course, the sort he dimly remembered being advertised on television when he lived with the Dursleys in the dark time before Sirius and Remus took him away. Aunt Petunia had ordered a course on gourmet cooking, he thought, and for a few weeks their dinners were either composed of food too disgusting to eat or dishes that had gone subtly wrong in the cooking process.

Kwikspell, A Correspondence Course in Beginners' Magic!
Feel out of step in the world of modern magic?
Find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spells?
Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork?
THERE IS AN ANSWER!

Odd, Harry thought. Filch worked at a school for magic; why would he need a correspondence course? Surely he could get some sort of tutoring if he was having trouble in any particular area.

He opened the folder and sifted through the paperwork inside. A particular page caught his eye.

ONE SQUIB'S STORY
How one man conquered Squibhood and amazed his friends and family

Was Filch a squib?

It explained a lot, but it was still difficult to believe. He had just started to read the letter to Kwikspell from the grateful squib when the door opened and Filch loomed in it, menacingly. Harry narrowed his eyes at the caretaker, tilted down the folder just long enough for Filch to see what he was reading, then closed and set it on the desk. Filch gaped at him.

"You!" he sputtered. "My! What!"

"Headmaster Dumbledore," Harry said, as he moved back to stand before the desk. Dumbledore was attempting to look around Filch to see what the fuss was. Filch had no choice but to stumble into the room, glaring in anger and horror at Harry.

"Good afternoon, Harry," Dumbledore said, gravely. "Mr. Filch has brought me here for a very serious reason."

"Yes, sir. I was caught in the girls' loo," Harry replied. "Well, coming out of it, really, sir."

"He's the vandal!" Filch almost shrieked.

"Harry, Mr. Filch appears to be convinced that you painted the obscenity in the stairwell landing yesterday," Dumbledore continued. He looked so serious that Harry really began to believe he might be blamed, but there was a slight tilt to his lips that Harry hopefully interpreted as amusement. "I must say, it doesn't look good for you, skulking around a girls' bathroom. Especially as I found this while investigating his claim." He held out his hand. There was a red smear on one finger. "Blood on one of the sinks."

The house-elf washing out the bucket....

"I didn't do it, sir," Harry said. "You can ask Neville or Padma or Draco, I was with them when it happened!"

"He's tricky!" Filch shouted furiously. "His friends will lie for him!"

"Undoubtedly; sometimes that's the sign of a true friend," Dumbledore agreed. "Harry, we need to know what you were doing in that bathroom."

Harry bit his lip. "I was talking to Myrtle," he said truthfully, and then realised he might have a good thing, in that excuse. "Nobody ever goes in there, sir, and she's very lonely."

"You were keeping a morose ghost company in the middle of a Saturday afternoon?" Dumbledore asked. There was a definite twitch of a smile around his lips now.

"She's a very interesting person to talk to," Harry answered.

"You know what the ghosts are saying about him," Filch hissed. "You know he's -- "

"That's quite enough, Argus," Dumbledore said gently. "I happen to have spoken with several students, including a handful of Gryffindors, who can say irrevocably that Harry was...otherwise occupied at the time in question. I'm afraid you'll have to look elsewhere for your vandal."

Filch's eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

"By all means, however, it is not right for boys to be in the girls' bathrooms, no matter what the pretext," Dumbledore said. "I think an evening's detention is in order, Harry."

Harry nodded. He was watching Filch now, hoping the man would blurt out something more about precisely what the ghosts were saying about him. He'd said he was the Boy Who Lived and Myrtle had said you're more than that....

"I leave this in your capable hands," Dumbledore finished, and tipped a wink at Harry as he left. Harry, feeling slightly bereft, was startled when Filch grabbed his arm and stared into his eyes, furiously.

"You read my private -- " Filch stuttered. "Not that it's mine -- for a friend -- "

"It was very interesting reading," Harry managed.

"If you say one word -- "

" -- it would make you the laughingstock of the school," Harry finished for him. Filch regarded him warily.

"I won't be blackmailed by some snotty twelve-year-old," he said finally.

"Fine. You don't tell anyone where I was when you caught me and I'll forget about that folder," Harry answered. Filch snarled. "It's not as though I've any proof."

"Detention," the caretaker growled. "Monday night, in the old scullery."

"But I don't know where that -- "

"OUT!" Filch roared, unable to take it any longer. Harry wisely did as he was told, and put as much distance between himself and the unpleasant, fishy-smelling office as he could.

***

The four of them didn't get a chance to meet or discuss what they'd discovered until late on Sunday, as it turned out, and by then, they had bigger problems to worry about.

At dinner on Saturday, thinking it would probably be unwise to be seen with the other three in case they were implicated by association, Harry sat with Cricket Creevey on one side of him (the name had caught on amongst the first years with almost alarming speed) and most of the Quidditch team ranged out along the table on the other side. If the others raised their eyebrows at Harry's protege, they didn't say anything. Most players, sooner or later, did take on someone to shine their gloves and carry their broom, and if Potter wanted a Muggleborn to do it, they weren't going to stop him.

Tomorrow was the first game of the Quidditch season, against Gryffindor, and the rowdy insults between Houses flew thick and fast at dinner. Wood and Flint both ordered their teams away early after dinner and Flint sequestered them in one corner of the snug, dimly-lit Slytherin common room, where they shared around chocolate frogs and talked informally about Gryffindor's plays. Harry knew that at that moment Oliver Wood was going over those plays as well, in a much more organised fashion than Flint. He wondered if, after this year, Slytherin might finally get a decent captain.

Bole and Montague were talking to each other again, grudgingly, because while fistfighting was all well and good on the ground, Quidditch was Quidditch, and team loyalty came before anything else, even for Slytherins.

Sunday dawned muggy, threatening to storm, and as usual before a game, Harry had very little appetite. He picked at his toast while Padma and Neville both ordered him to eat, and when the four dispersed to their respective tables as breakfast properly started he cut up his sausage into very small pieces. He fed most of it to Snake, who was sleepily bored with Quidditch, and the rest to Hedwig, who had delivered a letter from Remus and Sirius which was charmed to make little triumphant trumpeting sounds whenever it was opened.

Harry knew that it cost Sirius a great deal of effort to root for Slytherin, and the sentiments were appreciated. Remus, happily moderate when it came to House loyalties of any kind, actually owned a green-and-silver jumper and wore it on game days, much to Sirius' disgust.

To calm his nerves, he started mentally composing a letter back to them after he left Snake with Neville for safekeeping and followed Flint and the others down to the Quidditch pitch. Dear Sirius and Remus, he thought, I hope you both listened in to the match on the Floo Broadcast this morning. Lee Jordan is still announcing, and I overheard Ron Weasley say that he heard his brother Fred say that Lee wants to be a professional sports announcer after he leaves school. That'd be an interesting job, don't you think? Anyway, lots of people must hear him whenever there's a school match.

The Gryffindors have been training much harder than we have, which should come as no surprise, but we're cleverer, I think, and we're going to try some of my new plays today, so I hope you were listening especially close because I think that feint I was working on during the summer might --

He stopped then, surprised at what he saw; the little building that housed the showers and lockers for all four teams was in sight, and the door to the Slytherin section was open. Colin Creevey stood there with his camera around his neck and Harry's Quidditch gloves, nearly as big as Colin's entire arm, in his hands.

"One of the bigger boys told me I should look after your gear, Harry," he said breathlessly. The other Slytherins looked at each other and exchanged amused grins. "Did I do it all right?"

Harry accepted one of the gloves, turning it over in his hands. A loose tag of fabric that he'd been meaning to mend had been stitched back into the leather, and every inch of the glove shone.

"It's all right, Cricket," he said. "But you shouldn't be here. From now on make sure you do it before game day, all right?"

"All right!" Creevey said rapturously. Montague sniggered.

"Shut it," Harry said, turning to glare at Montague. "Go on, Cricket."

Creevey held up the camera, the flashbulb popped, the entire team roared in blinded outrage, and by the time Harry rubbed the spots from his eyes, the first-year was gone.

"If he does that again, Potter, I'll break that camera over his head, and I don't care how nicely he oils your glove," Flint growled. Montague sniggered again, but Harry was almost positive that couldn't have been as dirty as Montague thought it was.

"Break some fingerbones when you shake hands," Bole said to Flint as they were suiting up. "And hey, Potter!"

"What?"

"You're the wunderkind. Try and play like it, Scarhead."

"Sod off, Bole."

***

"And the Quaffle is up! The first game of the Hogwarts Quidditch season opens with a snatch by Slytherin captain Flint, playing in his final year..."

"Hey, do we have to listen to that?" asked Sara, the newest (and youngest) clerk at Madam Schaeffer's Scholars' Emporium and Educational Toy Shoppe.

"Yes," came a chorus of voices from Ellers, Lupin, Blake, Madam Schaeffer herself, and three patrons, all of whom were sitting at a table playing with Sirius Black's newest invention, gravity-defying building blocks which could be used to build skyscrapers from the top down.

"Don't you like Quidditch?" Ellers asked.

"Not really," Sara replied.

"Heretic," Blake said.

"Honestly, it's not even a real game, it's just a school game," Sara said, rolling her eyes.

"Mind your tongue," Madam Schaeffer said sternly. "That's our Lupin's boy playing Seeker for Slytherin."

Lupin, who was wearing a green jumper with silver cuffs and ringing up a purchase, smiled with pride.

"He's the youngest Seeker in a hundred years," he said. Most of the rest of the staff chimed in on the last few words. "He's going to take Slytherin to the cup this year again, you wait and see."

Over the Floo Broadcast, crackling out of the hearth in the corner, there was a ragged cheer.

"Who scored?" Lupin demanded. "Curse you, Sara, if you don't like it take the day off, I'll pay your wage."

"Gryffindor, I think," Ellers said, as she tossed another log on the fire. The volume increased.

"Gryffindor is playing with razor-sharp precision today but Slytherin seems to be breaking up their formations left and right. Oh, foul!" called a voice. "Harry Potter fouls the Gryffindor Beater -- "

"He never did!" Lupin said hotly.

"Hooch fails to call -- play continues -- "

"You're bloody right," Lupin muttered.

"Where's the proud godfather today?" Ellers asked, during a lull in the action.

"He's at home -- Andromeda's having a bit of a do."

"I could have given you the day off, you know," Madam Schaeffer scolded.

"And miss listening here and bragging to everyone who comes through? I'll make it for the end of the game. And the party afterwards when Slytherin wins," Lupin added. Sara rolled her eyes.

"So he can fly a broomstick, big deal," she muttered.

"He's the best flyer in Hogwarts," Lupin retorted.

"Slytherin scores!" called the announcer. The listeners cheered. "No sign of the Snitch yet as it begins to rain...they appear to be grappling for the ball near Slytherin goal and -- "

They heard the crowd gasp.

"What happened?" Lupin demanded.

"Slytherin has somehow...how did they do that?" the boy announcing the game sounded stunned. "Either that was a complete failure of a broom or a brand-new move in the Slytherin playbook -- Slytherin scores," he added glumly.

"Bet you two Galleons that was Harry's new move," Lupin said to Madam Schaeffer.

"I know better than to bet with you, you shark," she replied with a laugh.

"The Snitch has apparently been spotted but it's tough going through the rain -- both Seekers now in pursuit as Gryffindor scores -- quick steal by Slytherin but there seems to be a problem with one of the Slytherin Beaters, some sort of scrum between players -- Harry, look out -- "

All the colour drained from Lupin's face.

"Potter -- yes -- Potter has the Snitch and the game is over and it's Slytherin the winners, but Madam Pomfrey is already on the field and Potter appears to have fainted -- bad blow from the Bludger he took -- "

They all turned to look at Lupin, who was gripping the counter tightly.

"I'm sure he's fine," he said, sounding as if he was anything but sure. "If he had time to catch the Snitch it can't be that bad -- "

"Go, Lupin," Madam Schaeffer said, taking down a jar of floo powder and offering it to him. "Sara will cover your shift."

He looked indecisive for only a moment, then took up a pinch of powder and tossed it into the fire, calling "Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade" as he stepped inside.

He actually ran into Sirius' back as he emerged.

"It's Harry," Sirius said. "Did you hear?"

"Come on," Remus replied. "We can cut through the forest."

***

Harry woke to the sound of Montague and Bole being furiously shouted at by at least three separate voices, which was a great comfort.

He remembered seeing Montague skim past Bole as he'd done during practice, and Bole had reached out and grabbed him, and then Pucey had sailed in to keep them apart --

And nobody had been free to get rid of the Bludger which had hit him across the left shoulder, knocking him sideways just as his fingers curled around the Snitch. Rapid descent and blackness...

"Harry?" said a voice, quietly, and Harry opened his eyes. Sirius' face filled his vision, worried and pale. In the background, the voices resolved themselves into Professors McGonagall and Snape, and he could hear Remus trying to quiet everyone down. His shoulder was burning.

"Hey, how are you?" Sirius asked, stroking his hair. Harry smiled reassuringly at him.

"M'ok," he said, wanting to sit up but not sure his shoulder would support him. "Why're you here?"

"We heard about you getting hit on the Floo Broadcast," Sirius said.

"Lee's a good announcer, isn't he?"

"Yeah, Harry," Sirius said reassuringly. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Bole and Montague were being arses," Harry said. Sirius laughed, looking relieved. "I thought I'd get in just under the Bludger."

"Hard to judge in the rain, huh," Sirius said, leaning back. Harry scrabbled a little with his right hand, pushing himself up, and felt Sirius' broad hand under his back, helping him.

"It's all right," he said. "I'm fine."

"Your shoulder was dislocated," Sirius said. "It's not all right."

"It's Quidditch, Sirius."

"Yes, and your teammates should have been looking out for you. I'll have a few choice words for your Beaters."

"People get hurt all the time."

"This was preventable, Harry. Even professionals don't dislocate their shoulders."

"Do shut up, Lupin," came Snape's voice, drifting down from where a three-way argument was still going on. Sirius' head whipped around, furiously.

"I think that's quite enough from all concerned," said Dumbledore, loudly. "Omnimutus!"

Snape opened his mouth to snarl something, and no noise came out. The silence was a blessed relief, at least to Harry. Dumbledore smiled pleasantly and gestured for Remus to join Sirius, at the same time as he clearly and calmly placed Montague and Bole in Snape's custody. The furious professor snapped his fingers at the two of them and pointed to the doorway, following them out. Harry was almost positive he saw Snape knock their heads together as they left.

Sirius stood to confront Dumbledore about the muting charm, annoyed, and Remus took his place in the chair near Harry's bed. He folded his arms on the bedrail and rested his chin on them, tilting his head slightly and smiling at Harry. Dumbledore, behind him, flicked his wand again, and suddenly the sounds of breathing, of Remus inhaling to talk, were highly audible.

"Feeling heroic?" Remus asked. "They've been pouring muscle regeneratives down your throat for an hour or two. Madam Pomfrey says you'll have to stay the night."

"That's all right," Harry said uncertainly.

"It was a brilliant win," Remus continued. "Andromeda and Ted send their love, I spoke to them by floo. Though they are rather bitter Gryffindor lost."

"Not for lack of trying," Harry said. "Did you hear about when we tried my new play?"

"Yes, I told Madam Schaeffer that was your idea."

Sirius had begun to drift down towards the other end of the room, as Professor Tonks came in to speak to Dumbledore. Their voices were low, but he heard a few words -- blood and dogs and what sounded like chicken, though that made no sense.

"Harry?" Remus asked, and Harry glanced back at him, ignoring the others. "Are you sure you feel all right?"

"Yeah. It just hurts."

"I can imagine."

"Not as bad as when I broke my leg, though."

"Well, that's some consolation," Remus said with a smile. "Madam Pomfrey says you can have the day off classes tomorrow, if you want, and I think your friends got permission to bring you dinner. I hear the house-elves are making you something really special, they must have taken quite a shine to you."

"And who wouldn't?" Sirius asked, returning. "Madam Pomfrey says we have to leave you, Harry, but we'll be back after dinner."

"M'kay," Harry said, feeling secretly relieved. The attention was nice, but he was still tired. He eased himself back down under the covers as they left, with many concerned backwards glances, and closed his eyes. He could still hear Dora and Headmaster Dumbledore talking, more clearly now that Remus wasn't there.

"Do you think it could have been some kind of purposeful distraction?" Dumbledore was asking. "It would not be unprecedented."

"I don't think so. Montague and Bole wouldn't throw a game, however stupid they are. I think someone saw their chance while everyone was distracted."

"Not dogs, then."

"No. Their throats were cut with a knife."

"How unutterably brutal," Dumbledore said. Harry wondered what they were talking about. It couldn't be good. "The entire flock?"

"The house-elves are plucking and cooking them now. It seems...cold-hearted somehow."

"No use in letting good food go to waste, alas," Dumbledore replied. "I suppose I shall have to resign myself to chicken for dinner for a good many days."

"Sir..."

"Yes, Professor Tonks?"

"There does come a point where the Aurors are going to have to be called. Someone at Hogwarts is distinctly unbalanced, and if it continues, a student is going to be hurt."

"And what will the Aurors do, pray?" Dumbledore inquired. There was a pause.

"If a child is hurt, it will be my duty as an Auror to open an investigation," Dora said.

"Understood, Professor," Dumbledore replied, as impassive as before. Harry barely had time to wonder what the big fuss was about before he was drifting off again, into dreams of the rain-slick, slippery Snitch flicking through the air.

Chapter 13

When Harry woke again it was to the smell of fried chicken and chips, and his stomach growled before he could even speak.

A chorus of giggles answered it and he opened his eyes on Padma, Draco, and Neville, bearing an enormous platter of health-giving fried food.

"Told you he'd wake up for that," Neville said, as Draco shoved another pillow behind Harry's back and helped him sit up. Neville reached under the tray and unfolded four little legs, placing it over Harry's lap. Padma poured pumpkin juice.

"How do you feel?" she asked, passing it to him.

"Like a Bludger knocked me flat," Harry said sleepily.

"Vinegar?" Draco asked.

"A little on the chips?"

Draco shook vinegar over the chips, and Neville began cheerfully eating them, avoiding Padma's warning smack deftly.

"Some game," he said, around a mouthful of potato. "I don't think I've ever seen Dora shout that loudly."

"Did she shout too?" Harry asked.

"Well, not at the team."

"Tell me what happened," Harry commanded, picking up a chicken wing. It was hard to eat it, holding it with only one hand, and Draco helpfully reached out and held the tip of the wing.

"I guess Montague and Bole got into it again, and Pucey decided to come down on both of them, which distracted Flint, and pretty soon nobody was paying attention, which was right about when you grabbed the Snitch," Draco said. "And since all the Beaters were trying to pry them apart, nobody was looking at where the Bludgers were going. Bad form," he added censoriously.

"There is no 'Look Out Harry' in 'Team'," Harry muttered. "Someone might have told me, you know."

"Lee Jordan said it...and that dive you did was pretty great," Neville said.

"What dive?"

"Well, it looked like a dive from where we were. Anyhow, by that time about half the players were on the field, since while everyone was fighting they were also sinking down," Neville continued. "Professor McGonagall said your shoulder was dislocated, and then she and Professor Snape got you onto that floating stretcher they keep around and took you up to the hospital wing while Dora and Madam Hooch got the teams calmed down. Course, then Remus and Sirius showed up and started yelling all over again."

"They said hi earlier," Harry said.

"They had dinner with the Professors in the Great Hall," Draco said, a little awed. "But Remus and Professor Tonks had to sit between Sirius and Professor Snape. I wouldn't like to be a part of that dinner party."

"Was it really that bad?" Harry asked Padma, who tended to have a better sense of proportion than the other two.

"Dinner?" she asked.

"No, the fight on the Pitch."

"Oh," she said vaguely. "I suppose so. It was pretty awful."

"What's going to happen to them? Montague and Bole, I mean."

"I suppose Bole might get expelled from the team," Neville said. "He hit Cricket pretty hard."

"He hit Cricket?" Padma asked, alarmed.

"Sure, didn't you see it? It was hard to miss when he hit the ground."

"What on earth -- oh, no," Harry moaned. "He was taking pictures, wasn't he?"

"Trying to," Draco said. "Before Bole broke his camera. Still, Cricket's not in the hospital wing, and you are."

"Poor little twit," said Neville. "Anyhow, the Headmaster said he's going to punish them personally, whatever that means. He's coming down hard on fighting, is Dumbledore."

"Parents might start to complain. I'm pretty sure Sirius did," Harry said. "I mean, about this and the blood on the wall."

"And the chickens," Draco added. Harry looked down at his half-finished meal. "Did anyone tell you about that?"

"I overheard," Harry said, reaching for the pumpkin juice to wash the suddenly bitter taste out of his mouth. "I heard Dora say she's going to call the Aurors if anything else happens."

"Really?" Padma and Draco chorused.

"Dumbledore didn't seem to think they'd help any, but Aurors are awfully clever. I bet they'd find out what the problem is in no time," Harry said.

"Dora hasn't," Neville pointed out. "Course, she hasn't got all her proper Auroring tools and things."

"Why would someone want to kill all the chickens?" Padma asked, in a hushed voice.

"Maybe it was just wild dogs," Draco said, which was not as soothing as it could have been, apparently.

"Maybe," Harry said, thinking of the conversation he'd overheard. Not dogs, then? No. Their throats were cut with a knife.

He was about to tell them about it when Sirius and Remus appeared in the doorway again, waiting patiently for Harry to finish with his friends. He said goodnight to the others, allowing Neville to deposit Snake (who'd slept through the whole wretched episode in Neville's pocket) on his blanket and take the tray away before Remus and Sirius walked down the long row of beds.

"Now then," Sirius said, seating himself and placing a large bowl of chocolate and shortbread trifle before Harry, who grinned, "I want to hear about this bed-sticking charm you lot did..."

***

Tonks might as well have kept silent, all things considered, since as November wound into December the school settled into the snowy deep-winter months peacefully and without incident. The school was supplied with chickens from a flock in Hogsmeade; every morning the chicken farmer strolled up the hill with a string of magic-stunned chickens following obediently behind him. The kitchen itself was presided over by Fang, the enormous boarhound that Hagrid the Groundskeeper owned, and no more bloody paintings appeared on the walls. As Brecon informed Harry, Fang was a terrible coward, but he did look the part of a terrifying hound.

Even Bole and Montague, who had emerged from Dumbledore's office white-faced and shaking after the match, agreed to peacefully ignore each others' existence. This was made easier by the fact that Bole was thrown off the Quidditch team, and Flint replaced him with a fourth-year named Towler who had apparently played cricket at his exclusive primary school. He explained to Harry that the Dunworth Academy prided itself on teaching its "exceptional students both Magical and Muggle Life Skills" and Harry certainly had never seen anyone hit a Bludger so far one-handedly.

And if Harry sometimes woke at night thinking he heard voices -- thinking he heard that voice, louder than ever-- he chalked it up to the lingering effects of the Quidditch accident, though his shoulder had healed with hardly a twinge.

By the time Professor McGonagall came around to the common room to sign up those who were staying at Hogwarts over the holiday, most students had forgotten the bloody scrawl or chalked it up to a school prank. Bole was sullen and given to spending his evenings alone in a corner of the common room, but he didn't cause any trouble, and the rumours about Montague and Professor Tonks had faded mercifully away.

Dora herself was staying at the school over the holidays to catch up on her reading, though she promised to come home to London for Christmas and New Year's, and even agreed, for the sake of family peace, to drag Severus along with her. Neville was going to spend the first week of the holidays at the Patils', then rejoin the extended family at Twelve Grimmauld Place in time to go caroling and Christmas shopping and such.

Draco was being taken along to Spain with Narcissa, who had decided he was now old enough to travel without complaining and fend for himself if she chose to spend an afternoon in Madrid's exclusive Wizarding Fashion district. He was looking forward to it, in a vague sort of way; Narcissa probably wouldn't bother with him too much, and he'd have the whole complement of the Malfoy house-elves to entertain him. Besides, he had loads of homework to do.

Harry glanced at Neville as Draco delivered this little monologue in the train compartment on the way to London. Neville raised his eyebrows as if to ask what Harry expected him to do about it.

"Will you send us postcards from Spain?" Padma asked, slightly enviously.

"I guess," Draco replied. "Mum says Mendy and Dobby can take me shopping for Christmas things."

"Wish I was going to Spain," Harry said.

"Sure," Draco answered, and twiddled the edge of his coat between his fingers before changing the subject to the truly outrageous Potions essay they'd been assigned. Professor Snape, announcing that the entire second year was falling behind, had given them two feet of parchment each to devote to a new potion of their choice, not covered by class yet, which they would be expected to research during the holiday and brew when they returned to school for the edification of their classmates.

Harry, worries about Draco aside, could not have been happier as they left the train station. He had Remus and Sirius and Andromeda and Ted all to himself for a week, after which he'd have Neville around too, after which there would be Christmas.

With Sirus' hand reassuringly on one shoulder and Remus asking him about classes and the books he'd brought home and whether he'd like to visit Madam Schaeffer's tomorrow, not to mention Ted slipping him sweets while Andromeda said he'd need to have his robes let down a few inches, Harry walked blissfully down the main street of Diagon Alley as if he owned the world.

***

There had been a time, years ago, when they'd tried to keep things from Harry, but it had turned out to be supremely pointless. It had taken him less than a year to puzzle out that Remus was a werewolf, and it hadn't been all that much longer before he'd pointed out that the Birds-and-Bees talk which Sirius was giving him didn't seem to be covering Harry's Two Dads.

So Sirius had stopped worrying, fairly quickly, about Harry wandering into the bedroom to wake them up in the mornings and finding one or both of them without clothes on. They had blankets on the bed, after all, and Harry usually gave them the privacy in which to throw on pyjamas and dressing-gowns and wander out into the kitchen for breakfast.

It was just that Harry woke them up at seven in the bloody morning.

"I'm going to kill your godson," Remus moaned, as Harry cheerfully fled the bedroom, still shouting about breakfast.

"My godson? He's your blood-relation," Sirius replied, rolling out of bed. "I smell sausages."

"SAUSAGES!" Harry shouted, from the kitchen.

"He's going to kill us both in a house fire before I get to him," Remus continued, making no effort at all to get out of bed. Sirius tossed him his dressing gown as he located relatively clean clothing.

"I have it on good authority there are probably pancakes too."

"Harry doesn't know how to make pancakes," Remus said, now truly alarmed, pushing himself up onto his elbows. Sirius leaned over and kissed him, then nearly overbalanced and caught himself with one hand on the other side of Remus' chest.

The early morning, the smell of slowly burning sausages, and the fact that his hair was sticking out every-which-way were suddenly irrelevant, enveloped in the warmth of kissing Remus, his scent, his mouth. He didn't even consciously think as he leaned further over in preparation to crawl back into the nice warm bed --

"SAUSAGES AND EGGS!" Harry shouted. Sirius winced.

"Later," he said, in a hushed whisper.

"Too late," Remus answered. "They'll keep warm -- "

"Close your eyes and think about Cornelius Fudge naked."

"Oooh," Remus said, dropping back onto the pillows. "That worked. Yuck."

Sirius chuckled as he wandered into the kitchen, reaching around Harry for a glass of orange juice.

"Is it really necessary to be awake this early?" he asked, conversationally, as Harry transferred the sausages into a magically heated dish and cracked four eggs into the grease.

"Today?" Harry asked.

"Ever."

"Yes," he said decidedly.

"This is what comes of raising children to have a work ethic," Sirius said, as Remus wandered out, doing up the dressing gown over a pair of pyjama trousers. "I blame you."

"You kidnapped him first," Remus muttered, locating the tea on instinct and heating the kettle with a tap of his wand.

"Are we going to Mardjinn Alley today?" Harry asked. Remus chuckled.

"Now I see," he said. "Bribery! I am not to be bought with sausages."

"That's not what I hear," Sirius said into his orange juice.

"Are we?" Harry repeated.

"Yes, and then to Fansif Alley, and maybe for ice cream," Remus recited. "Sirius wants to sell you off to the art world as a living sculpture."

"I just want him to meet Helena. I want a portrait," Sirius said stubbornly.

"Can't you just take a picture?" Harry asked.

"His breeding is showing," Remus said, patting Harry on the shoulder. "Wealthy pureblood wizards don't stoop to things like photographs."

"I have boxes and boxes of photographs," Sirius protested. "I just think it would be nice to have a painting."

By the time they had eaten and washed and dressed for the chilly London weather, Harry was almost dancing with impatience. They met other witches and wizards they knew, walking down Diagon towards Gringott's, and even a few of Harry's classmates. Oliver Wood waved through the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies where he'd gotten a holiday job; a couple of Ravenclaws came dashing out of Madam Schaeffer's, crying a quick hello as they went. Madam Schaeffer herself greeted them, her arms full of silk cloth and bright ribbons to make soft toys with as they passed. Blaise Zabini and his parents were coming out of Gringott's, and Mr. Zabini stopped to discuss some investment that he and Sirius had both gone in on and how it was maturing. Remus dawdled down towards the big arching gate that was the boundary line between Diagon and Mardjinn, while Harry and Blaise had a snowball fight.

Mardjinn Alley itself was a mess of sales stalls, second-hand bookstores, thrift shops, odd little places full of strange devices, and eateries with peculiar foreign Wizarding food. Most children (Blaise included) thought it was shabby and second-rate, but to Harry it was the strangest place in a world that, as a child, had already been strange and wonderful to him. He dimly sensed, too, that Remus liked it the way he did; he knew Remus had been poor when he was a boy and had bought all his school things there. Mardjinn Alley made Remus and Harry happy, and that meant Sirius was happy.

They visited the bookshops first, where everyone knew Remus and most people knew Sirius; they still talked there, in hushed tones, about the night Sandust Books had burned down. Sirius found a few novels he wanted and Harry found a history of Quidditch which Remus said was wildly inaccurate but which did have brilliant woodcuts. The trinket stores were their next victim, and Harry found a set of engraved brass orbs that had no apparent purpose but which he was sure Padma would love for Christmas.

There were the musty old clothes shops, too, which were mainly filled with shabby robes and clothing of various sorts, but which occasionally yielded a treasure or two. Harry always shivered a little when he saw the shop that sold leather goods, since it had a dusty decades-old display of snakeskin boots and belts in the window, but it was still a dark, sharp-scented and mysterious place with a back room which children weren't allowed into. Remus said they sold mainly dog-training supplies, which Sirius seemed to find extremely amusing.

Finally, loaded with books, Padma's Christmas present and a huge sack of Green Dragon Toffee for Draco, they made their way back up towards Diagon and the second gate that led to Fansif Alley, where Broosh & Chakle Studios stood. It was just past Flourish & Blotts, and as they approached they saw an enormous crowd of people near the doors.

"Has there been a robbery?" Sirius asked a witch he knew slightly. She shook her head.

"It's Gilderoy Lockhart!" she squealed excitedly.

"Gilderoy Lockhart?" Remus asked. His lip curled slightly.

"He's here! And he's doing a reading AND a signing!" she continued.

"Is he laying-on hands, too?" Remus inquired. She gave him a confused look.

"Laying hands on what?" she said over her shoulder, as she joined the crush to get inside.

"Moony," Sirius murmured.

"What's wrong with Gilderoy Lockhart?" Harry asked. "Who is he?"

"A fraud, that's all," Remus replied, clearly tense. Harry had rarely seen him this way; Remus didn't often get angry, except when someone said something about Sirius, or about Harry. Or about werewolves.

Remus had taken Harry's arm and was starting to pull him past the crowd, but it was hard going, and they found themselves shoved inside the bookshop before they knew what was happening. Sirius was a few feet back, elbowing his way through the press and shouting for them to meet him by the Arithmancy section, which was always empty, when another strident voice cut across the crowds.

"Is that Sirius Black?" asked a tall blond man in violently blue robes that matched his eyes. "Make way! I'm sure if Mr. Black has come to hear my reading he must have brought his young charge -- "

The sea of people parted before the blond man, leaving a path straight to Harry, who was afraid for a moment that he was going to be attacked.

"Master Harry Potter, here to attend my reading. Well, this is an honour," the blond man said.

"Who is he?" Harry asked Remus. The blond man laughed, heartily.

"Oh! Such a joker. Surely you recognise me, Harry? Gilderoy Lockhart. Such a pleasure to meet you. And this must be your tutor, Mr. Lupin -- "

"You've been upgraded from valet," Harry heard Sirius say in Remus' ear, as he finally arrived at their side.

"...and Mr. Black," Lockhart finished. "It's good to see you taking such an interest in your godson's education."

Something complicated was going on between the adults, and Harry decided not to announce that they had come into the shop by mistake. He could feel the tension radiating off Remus in waves, and Sirius was trying to be some kind of buffer, which was hard, because he was behind Remus.

"Now, you come right down to the front here near the table and we'll get you all set with an autographed copy of the new book I'm sure you're here to pick up -- Talking Transformations, a limited edition of all my absolute best stories, culled carefully from my vast body of work. A very educational book for a young man like yourself -- " Lockhart plucked a book off the stack and signed it. Harry saw an enormous photo of the man, which took up almost the entire back cover, winking and smiling at him.

"Free of charge," Lockhart said, handing Harry the book. Harry opened it, meaning to read the inscription, but the page fell open to the table of contents instead. Several of the chapter headings were from a book called Wanderings With Werewolves. Remus' anger began to make more sense.

"Thank you," Harry said, rather coldly. "But I think we must be going."

"So soon?" Lockhart asked. "Surely you can stay for at least a few minutes. I do extremely good dramatic readings, though I say it myself."

Remus and Sirius were already trying to push back the way they'd come, but the crowd had closed tightly around them.

"Surely you, Mr. Lupin, would like to stay? Your reputation in Dark Studies precedes you," Lockhart said. "As one expert to another -- "

"Where's the other one then?" Remus asked sharply.

"Don't be so modest! I happen to know that you've applied several of the precepts from my earlier book in your travels before settling down as Master Potter's tutor. Why, I imagine you have the entire library of my works. Isn't it funny, us meeting like this?" Lockhart leaned in, suddenly, and turned his head enough for a small man with a large camera to snap a photo of the four of them.

Harry glanced up at Remus. A terrible, predatory smile was spreading across his face. Harry began to edge closer to Sirius.

"Yes, I've been meaning to question you on several aspects of your writing," he said.

"Splendid! Perhaps over lunch? I'm sure Mr. Black and his godson will want some time alone, and I must say," Lockhart lowered his voice and said something almost in Remus' ear that Harry couldn't catch. A faint tinge of red crossed Remus' cheeks, and suddenly Sirius was tense too.

"Why not now?" Remus asked politely. "I'm sure your audience would be pleased to hear an impromptu discussion of, perhaps, your studies in werewolf biology."

Lockhart beamed as a spate of applause rippled through the audience.

"I was wondering about your methods of detecting lycanthropes, especially in an urban setting. I'm given to understand that in the wilderness you've tracked them by spoor?"

"Yes, though also by the fur they shed -- "

"Ah, yes," Remus cut him off. Lockhart looked annoyed. "You were on the Steppes, I believe."

"That's correct -- "

"In January? No, that can't be right," Remus said thoughtfully. "Werewolves don't shed in the winter months. Too little hair as it is. Oh, I suppose you could recognise one that way?"

"What way?" Lockhart asked.

"Well, a werewolf's coat -- so I've heard -- isn't quite so thick as a true wolf's. Doesn't help much the other twenty-seven days, though. How do you find so many of them in the big cities?"

"The -- werewolves are drawn to big cities."

"Really? Have you read Sanzecki's study of the bioethical urge?"

Lockhart didn't just look annoyed -- he looked lost. "Well, there are differing opinions on the subject -- "

"Of course. But you wouldn't say that werewolves actually instinctively avoid situations where they will come into contact with humans?"

"My dear Mr. Lupin, it's a well-known fact that werewolves hunt humans."

"Have you asked any werewolves?"

Harry felt Sirius' hand tighten on his shoulder.

"They're hardly in a position to say."

"Not in your stories," Remus said drily. A few people laughed. "Generally you pounce rather quickly, eh? Hex first, ask questions later?"

"I am doing a public service -- "

"For whom? It seems to me that most people who attack an individual unprovoked in a -- shall we say a telephone box? -- are arrested for assault. Of course, I suppose most people don't have a notable reputation as a werewolf hunter," Remus added, with sardonic graciousness. "I'd also be most interested in your etymology."

"Mr. Lupin! Not in front of the children!" Lockhart joked. Very few people laughed. Some of them were looking extremely thoughtful.

"I believe..." Remus said, as he took the book from Harry's unresisting fingers, "That you mention it in The Episode Of The Wagga Wagga Werewolf. Let's see..." He flipped deftly through the pages, then glanced up at Lockhart. "Would you like to read, Mr. Lockhart, or shall I? Just there, second paragraph."

Lockhart cleared his throat, stepped backwards, threw back his shoulders, held the book at arm's length, coughed for good measure, and declaimed, "As he howled, I pounced on him from the window and slammed him to the dusty stone floor of the castle ruins. The moon drifted through the skeletal trees above us as I pinned him neatly with one hand. He scratched and snarled, but I was relentless; bruised, bleeding, and exhausted, I pressed on."

Horror crept over Harry as he listened. Sirius was gripping his shoulder so tightly it hurt.

"With my free hand I fumbled for my wand and pressed it into his belly, then screwed up my remaining strength for a final thrust and performed the immensely complicated Homorphus Charm. He moaned, piteously, but within a few seconds the claws, the teeth and hair had begun to recede -- and I found myself pinning an unconscious man to the cold stone floor. Simple but effective, and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks."

This did merit some applause; it was true that Lockhart wasn't a bad performer. Harry, however, was watching Remus.

"Homorphus, did you say?" Remus asked.

"Yes," Lockhart replied, having regained some of his imperturbability. "Homo, hominis, man; morphus, change or transformation."

"From the Latin?"

"Yes."

Harry heard someone draw a sharp breath in the crowd.

"What about the Greek?" Remus asked.

"What about it?" Lockhart replied.

"Morphus isn't Latin."

"Of course it is, man."

"Morphus is a Greek root. As is Homo," Remus replied. Two small spots of colour rose in Lockhart's cheeks. The crowd began to murmur quietly. "From the root Morphe, a noun concerning external appearance, and Homos, meaning similar. You know the modern usage of homos, I'm sure. Homogenous," Remus said. "Or homosexual?"

Lockhart began to sputter when Remus said homosexual.

"I'm sure your spell was just as complex, but I highly doubt it was homorphus," Remus said. "Unless, of course, you made the werewolf look just like you?"

***

"That," Sirius said, as they sat in a quiet booth in the Leaky Cauldron and Remus drank a very large whiskey to calm his nerves, "was brilliant, Moony."

"It was highly stupid is what it was," Remus replied. "Werewolves! Why did I pick werewolves?"

"Brilliant," Sirius insisted.

"I think it was brilliant too," Harry added, around a mouthful of crisps.

"Did I actually say homosexual in a crowded store full of people?" Remus demanded.

"It's not a filthy word, you know."

"Yes but I -- " Remus leaned forward, urgently. "I happen to be one, and there's no need to call attention to the fact!"

"You're also a -- "

"Don't say it!"

"Well, you said that too."

"Yes, because I am stupid. I let my anger get in the way of my common sense. Let this be a lesson to you, Harry," Remus added. "The only thing that happens when you crush stupid people with your intellect is you do stupid things yourself."

"That's not true," Harry declared. "Professor Snape does it all the time and he never looks stupid. And you didn't either," he added.

"Severus Snape making a habit of it is not the best recommendation, Harry," Remus said gently.

"What did Lockhart say to you when he asked you to lunch, anyhow?" Sirius asked.

"I'm not repeating it," Remus answered.

"He fancies you," Harry said.

"You are an odd child."

"Your fault," Harry replied placidly.

Remus finished his whiskey in a swallow, and glanced at Sirius. "We could still stop by Broosh & Chackle if you like."

"Let's go home," Sirius said. "We can get rid of the packages and put Draco's sweets in the mail to him. I'll send Helena flowers in apology. "

***

They left Harry downstairs with Ted, who was more than happy to help Harry package up and mail parcels to Padma and Draco, whom he wouldn't see before they returned to school. Remus carried the rest of the parcels upstairs while Sirius had a word with Ted, and he was leafing through a battered, leatherbound book when he heard the door open and close.

"The day wasn't a complete write-off, anyway," he said, closing the book and setting it on the table. "I found -- "

He was abruptly cut off by Sirius' mouth as the other man kissed him roughly, pushing him back against the kitchen wall.

"Merlin, Sirius -- " he said, as Sirius' body pressed up against his. "The books aren't that good."

"But you are," Sirius replied, kissing the sensitive spot just behind his jaw. "Ted's watching Harry."

"Door's locked?" Remus managed, around a moan, giving up on any attempt to control him for the moment. Sirius' hands were creeping up under his shirt, sliding around his waist to pull him away from the wall. He felt the hard pressure of Sirius' erection against his thigh, through their clothes.

"Locked and hexed shut."

"Been planning this long?" Remus asked. Sirius had hiked his shirt up as far as it would go without pulling it off, which would mean separating for a moment. He drifted his hands down Sirius' back, untucking his shirttails. Sirius laughed against his collarbone, then sucked gently on the skin just over his pulse. Remus tilted his head back, moaning.

"Since the bookstore," Sirius said hoarsely, stepping back to help him off with his shirt.

"Bedroom," Remus managed. They stumbled around the kitchen table, shedding clothing as they went, and tumbled mostly-naked onto the bed in a friendly, groping heap. "Really?"

"Mm," Sirius said, scrambling on top with a laugh and shifting his hips so that Remus could slide one leg up along his thigh, anchoring him in place. "Yeah."

"Why?" Remus asked, arching up. "Oh -- "

"Too many questions," Sirius said, thrusting down against him delightfully. Remus caught his breath and forgot the next question he was going to ask in the feel of Sirius' body on top of his, skin on skin, Sirius' agile mouth and skilled hands.

"Moony," Sirius moaned. "Yes, there -- "

It was messy and fast and too rough, but god it was good to be touched and to hear Sirius swear and say his name. Too soon he felt that blissful high that meant Sirius only needed to thrust and cry out and oh...

When he caught his breath, Sirius was still on top of him, nuzzling his shoulder affectionately and looking only mildly ashamed of himself.

"Good?" he asked quietly. Remus laughed, and nodded, and let his head fall back on the pillow.

"Good, Padfoot," he said, smoothing Sirius' hair with his fingers.

"Good."

"Clearly we owe Ted something really great for Christmas."

Sirius laughed into his skin. "Sorry about molesting you in our kitchen."

"I like it when you molest me."

"It was just..." Sirius was quiet for a while. Remus tweaked his ear. "Ow!"

"Tell your secrets, Sirius Black!"

Sirius laughed again. "It's just that watching you demolish that pompous ass was really..."

"Sad? He's a sad small man and I shouldn't have been cruel to him."

"Arousing."

Remus shook his head.

"Yes, Moony. You were brilliant. I wanted to snog you right up against the table of Lockhart's books."

"That certainly would have been an interesting capper to the show."

"You're brilliant."

"Anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of Greek -- "

"Moony."

Remus fell silent. Sirius drew a breath and continued.

"Plenty of people know Greek. I know Greek. It takes real brains to use it to teach bastards like Lockhart a lesson." Sirius snickered. "Brains and courage. Not to mention being hung like a -- "

"Sirius!"

"Mmm. Say it again."

Remus smiled and spread his hand possessively across Sirius' cheek, more than satisfied with the day's events.

"Sirius," he said quietly.

Chapter 14

Christmas came and went with the usual fuss and mess that year; Dora and Neville came home about the same time, and they enjoyed a week's worth of wintry outings, including the now-traditional carol-singing for cash in Diagon Alley. Dora and Severus even managed to be civil to each other at Christmas dinner, although Andromeda began to suspect something was amiss from the stiffness of their casual interactions. They weren't at each others' throats anymore, time being the balm if not the solution to all wounds, but there was still a certain frostiness when he asked her for the butter dish or she requested the mashed potatoes.

Padma owled at least once a day and it was evident from her letters that she missed the boys terribly, though Dora teased Neville that Padma fancied him. Padma's writing did betray a certain unhappiness which seemed unusual; Andromeda said it was probably growing pains, and that Harry and Neville would want to spend the hols away from their families soon enough. Neither boy protested too loudly at the time, but that night Neville crept out of his own bedroom and up to the flat above the Tonks', where Harry got out the old squashy bedroll Sirius had given him years before and spread it on the floor for him.

"Harry," Neville said, the edge of the bedroll drawn up around his chin and one of Harry's pillows under his head, "do you ever wish you didn't live with Remus and Sirius?"

"No," Harry answered immediately.

"Me either. About Ted and Andromeda, I mean. Do you think they'd adopt me if I asked?"

"Dunno."

"You ever think about asking Sirius to adopt you?"

"Once in a while." Harry wrapped the blanket closer around his shoulders. "I don't think they get it."

"Get what?"

"Sirius still gets scared I'm going to forget my dad." Harry hesitated. "You didn't like your gran much, did you."

Neville scowled. "She was my gran, Harry."

"Yeah, but you didn't like her. I mean. You have to love your family and all, but I heard Andromeda saying she was awful to you."

Neville was silent for so long Harry thought he'd fallen asleep. "I didn't wish she'd die."

"I didn't say that."

"Well, I didn't. But I'm glad for Andromeda taking me in. I never want to live anywhere but Twelve Grimmauld Place."

"You'll get married and move out and such."

"Not forever yet, though. I mean, not for ages. I like it here."

"Me too."

"What were your family like? The ones you lived with, I mean."

Harry shrugged under his blankets. "I don't remember them much, not anymore. My cousin Dudley was rotten. He broke all his toys and threw fits all the time. My uncle and aunt weren't very nice to me."

"Did you love them?"

Harry thought back to the tiny bed and the single bare lightbulb, the locking door on the closet they'd kept him in.

"No," he said. "I don't reckon I did."

"I don't see why Padma's so unhappy, anyway," Neville decided. "She has two parents and she's always had them. And they're not insane like Draco's mum."

"Sirius says Draco's mum is evil, and she went mad on account of Draco's dad being in Azkaban."

"When my mum and dad went mad they locked them up," Neville said quietly. "Andromeda takes me to see them sometimes."

"I know," Harry replied. Neville sometimes went "away" for an hour or two, and came back tired and shaking, and Sirius told Harry never to bother him when he was like that.

"You want to come sleep in my room tomorrow night?" Neville asked, sleepily.

"Sure," Harry said. "We can have cocoa and read your comics."

Neville mumbled a reply as he drifted off, and Harry slid down into sleep shortly afterwards, wondering if Neville might be the only person in the world who really understood how lucky they were to have Ted and Andromeda, Remus and Sirius.

***

The various branches of the Tonks-Black family were up at dawn on the day the children were to return to Hogwarts in order to prevent a repeat of the last time they'd tried to catch the Hogwarts Express. The Patils still hadn't really forgiven Sirius for that, and they politely informed Andromeda that they themselves would be escorting Padma and Parvati onto the train.

Draco was supposed to be portkeying back to England the night before, but his last postcard had said that he probably wouldn't be able to see anyone until they were on the train. While the rest of them made it onto the platform with the minimum amount of trouble that one can expect from two children, a toad, a snake, and an owl (Ted's Christmas present to Neville), Padma was not to be found, and Draco didn't show until the last possible minute, when he had to run to catch the train.

Padma turned up, shortly after the train left the station, with the explanation that her parents had told her not to leave the compartment until they were well underway. Draco, pink-cheeked from his mad dash, flopped down next to her, sprawling.

"I have never wanted to kick a house-elf in my life until now," he announced. Harry tossed him a packet of chocolate frogs.

"What happened?" Padma asked.

"What didn't happen? First Mendy locked herself out of the kitchen where all our luggage was, and then Dobby lost the portkey, twice, and it turned out he'd gotten the wrong one so Mum had to apparate into town to get another one, and then they lost my trunk, so we had to portkey back to find it. So finally we're all in England and all our luggage is in England and then we realise we left Mendy and Brisky behind."

"In Spain?"

"Si. But by that time Mum said bugger all house elves ever, and she had one of the bellhops at our hotel in London take me to the train station. I hope he got my trunk on board," he added, worriedly.

"What about Mendy and Brisky?" Neville asked. "Your mum is terrible about names, by the way."

"Draco Black Pur Malfoy," Draco said. "I'm aware of this, Longbottom."

"No need to get snippy at me, she's the one who named you," Neville said complacently. "I can't help my surname."

"She's going back to Spain to fetch them, I think. I don't envy them when she does. What a ruddy mess!" Draco declared. "Have you done your Potions project yet?"

"Yeah, Neville did Shrinking Solutions and I did Growth Emulsions," Harry answered.

"Emulsions! That's fourth-year work!" Draco said.

"Well, Remus helped. But only a little!"

"How about you, Padma?" Neville asked.

"I found out who the Heir of Slytherin is," Padma blurted. "And did the basic components of pepper-up potion," she added as an afterthought.

"Who is it?" Harry and Draco demanded in unison.

"Well, all right, I don't have names," Padma said irritably. She looked tired; flyaway wisps were escaping where her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and there were dark smudges under her eyes. "But I did some research and I'm almost positive it's someone in Slytherin. There's eight families who claim to be descended from Salazar Slytherin -- I guess he had a lot of kids," she said skeptically. "Anyway, six of them were confirmed to have died out by the seventeenth century, but the other two didn't die out until 1890 -- "

"That's it then though, isn't it?" Neville said. "If all eight families are dead..."

"Sort of," Padma said. "There's something to do with....well, with the Blacks," she said, glancing at Harry.

"What about them?" Harry asked.

"Well, there were two sons of the Black family and two sons of the last remaining Slytherin descendants, the Altairs," Padma began, digging around in her bag. She took out a big book which was flagged all over, looking sort of like a hedgehog made of post-it notes. She paged through it and eventually flattened it on her knee so that they could all look. It was a family tree written in crabbed script, labeled "The Antique House of Altair, Now Deceased", and it made no sense at all to Harry.

"But there was a rumour that the Black family and the Altair family may have swapped," Padma said. "Because, see, the old houses used to do that -- it's called fostering. It helps spread the bloodlines between the great houses. They think that Altair Black might actually have been an Altair, which would mean that..."

She frowned apologetically at Harry, and turned the page. A photograph of Sirius, very young, looked up at him from a book. Oddly, seeing Sirius' photograph in a big scholarly wizarding book was more surreal than almost anything that had ever happened to Harry. The Sirius in the photograph stared stonily out at them, hardly moving, dark eyes burning with sullen anger. Harry recalled that Sirius had not got on very well with his family.

"Altair Black was Sirius' great-grandfather," Padma said. "So...well..."

"I might be an heir of Slytherin," Draco said, hoarsely.

"Yeah. Or, well, Sirius might. Or Dora -- "

"What happened to the rest of the Altair family?" Harry asked, to cover for Draco's shocked silence.

"They both died in duels -- Marvolo Altair wasn't...wasn't a very nice boy, and he got in a duel when he was twenty six, and then his brother Dux -- "

"Ducks?" Neville laughed.

"Dux, it's Latin," Padma scolded. "Dux Altair, who may have been Dux Black, challenged his killer to a duel and died too. Um. The man who killed him went on to become the Dark Wizard Grindelwald."

"Nothing good at all about that story," Harry sighed.

"I'm not the Heir!" Draco said loudly.

"Nobody thinks you are, Draco," Padma said reassuringly. "But you might be an heir. And if...well, if Altair Black had any...illegitimate children, or any of his children did...it's likely it's someone in Slytherin, if so. Blood sort of...tells true. It...it might be Dora, for all we know."

"At least we know it's not Harry," Neville said. "Ted said all his dad's family were Gryffindor and his mum's family are all Muggle."

Harry looked at him.

"What?" Neville asked, nervously.

"When did he tell you about my mum and dad?" Harry demanded.

"Well, he didn't," Neville replied, looking slightly embarrassed. "I overheard it."

"They were talking about me?"

"Well, last year..." Neville shifted uncomfortably. "There was a row about you going into Slytherin, at Christmas."

"With Sirius?"

"No..." Neville sighed. "They were doing the dishes and I was in the dining room and Ted said you didn't strike him as the Slytherin sort. He said some not very nice things about Slytherins....he doesn't mean them, though," he added hastily. "Andromeda got really mad about it and said if he ever talked about Slytherins like that again she was going to do all sorts of dreadful things to him."

"Was she a Slytherin?" Padma asked.

"No -- but you know..." Neville lowered his voice. "All the Blacks were Slytherin, up until Andromeda, so if Altair Black was really an Altair, that might be why. Anyway, Andromeda said there was no call to say such horrible things about children who were only being their own selves, and Ted said, well, then wasn't it strange that your mum's whole family are Muggle and your Dad's whole family are Gryffindor and even Remus and Sirius are Gryffindors and look where you ended up. And then she got so mad she threw a plate in the sink and left the kitchen and didn't even notice me in the dining room. I've never seen them fight like that," Neville said.

"Blood's tricky," Harry decided. "Besides, it doesn't help at all. We know Draco's not the Heir and Dora certainly isn't and the rest of us aren't actually related to the Blacks. So unless we do everyone's family history back three generations, we'd never know. And besides, everyone says it was just a prank pulled by Bole to frighten Montague."

"What about the chickens?" Neville asked. They all fell silent.

"It wasn't me," Draco said defiantly.

"Of course not. You don't even like trimming hangnails," Padma retorted.

"It might make an interesting report for History of Magic, anyway," Harry said, settling the book on his knee and flipping back to the page with Sirius' photograph. Neville leaned over his shoulder. "He doesn't look very happy, does he?"

"There's a family portrait on the next page," Padma said helpfully. Harry turned the page. In this photograph, Sirius was standing, one hand stiffly posed on the shoulder of an older man with a leonine mane of black hair and the angular Black jaw, the familial resemblance more than obvious. Seated next to the older man (Jupiter Black, d. 1982) was his wife; she wore a frilly white dress, and standing just behind her was another young boy. He had the same dark hair, but his face more closely resembled his mother's -- and his expression was much more cheerful than Sirius', which was just this side of scowling.

"Look at his clothes," Neville said gleefully, pointing to the vaguely Victorian-looking suit Sirius was wearing, with a high collar and unflattering knickerbocker trousers terminating in lacy ruffs below the knee. Harry wasn't looking at Sirius, however; he was studying the other boy, Regulus.

"Sirius never talks about his brother," he said. As he spoke, Regulus -- perhaps eleven years old? -- turned his head slightly to smile down at his mother, and she reached up to place her hand on top of his, affectionately. Sirius and his father, on the other hand, gazed at the camera with identical closed-off expressions. It was unsettling to see his joyful, loud, affectionate godfather so young and so angry. In every photograph Harry had of Sirius at that age, he was at school, grinning and clowning with Remus and James, or making faces in the background, or strutting for the camera.

Harry closed the book, handing it back to Padma. As he did so he glanced up at Draco, and was suddenly struck at the resemblance between Draco and Sirius -- aside from the pale blonde hair and a longer, more narrow nose, Draco's jaw was beginning to sharpen and his face had the slightly foxlike, narrow shape that Sirius and Jupiter Black both had. Harry had never really connected Sirius' kinship to Narcissa because the two never spoke, but for a second he was suddenly and furiously jealous of Draco, who was closer by blood to Sirius than Harry himself. Draco wasn't paying attention, however; he had taken the book from Padma and was looking in the index.

"Thought so," he said morosely. "My dad's not in here."

"Well, neither is mine," Neville replied.

"Your dad wasn't the last heir of the Malfoys," Draco replied. "He's not in any of the books he ought to be in -- books about the old bloodlines and all."

"Well..." Harry looked uncomfortable.

"Yeah, I know," Draco said, without looking up. "I wouldn't put him in a book either, it's not as though he's exactly a credit to wizardkind. The only books he gets into are the ones about You Know Who. He's a nutter, and if he wasn't before he went to Azkaban he is now. And Mum's a nutter because of him. I come from a long, proud line of nutters."

Padma touched Draco's elbow, and he glanced up at her, closing the book.

"It doesn't matter," he said shortly. "It's not like I ever knew him, anyway."

Neville, looking anxious, changed the subject back to their Potions assignments, and after a few minutes Draco seemed to have given up on being bitter over his genetics. They spent the rest of the train ride speculating about classes and Quidditch, until the train pulled up to the Hogsmeade station just past sunset. Hagrid, the enormous groundskeeper, was waiting for them there, and he guided them towards a series of old-fashioned carriages, waiting in the gloom near the road back to the school.

For a moment, Harry thought the stamping, snorting creatures were horses, but as they drew closer, the indistinct shadows resolved themselves into spiny, skeletal creatures with sharp cloven hooves.

"What are they?" he asked, stopping a safe distance away to stare in amazement.

"What are what?" Padma asked, even as Parvati and Lavender were grabbing her arms to haul her towards one of the front carriages. Last year the roads had been out and they'd taken the boats across the lake to Hogwarts, as they had when they arrived during first-year; it was the first time Harry had seen carriages like this, and certainly the first time he'd seen the animals pulling them.

"They're all spiky," Neville said. He looked unhealthily pale.

"Where?" Draco asked, clambering up into the nearest carriage. Ron and Ginny Weasley were already sitting in it, bickering.

"See 'em, do yer?" Hagrid inquired sympathetically. "Not ev'ryone does. Those're the Thestrals. Go on; they won't bite."

"What's he going on about? I swear he's not all there," Draco said, as Harry and Neville warily climbed into the carriage after him.

"I've heard of Thestrals," Ron Weasley said. "They're big horselike things."

"They're pulling this carriage, is what!" Neville blurted. "They're horrible!"

"Our dad says you can only see them if you've seen someone die," Ginny piped up.

"I've seen someone dead, and I don't see them," Draco retorted. Ginny scooted closer to her brother; she was only a first-year, and tended to be shy.

"Who've you seen, then?" Ron asked Neville, in the spirit of casual inquiry.

"None of your business," Neville answered, which effectively killed the conversation. They rode through the Forest in silence, and Neville was out of the carriage like a shot when it stopped, skittering anxiously away from the Thestrals. Draco, on the other hand, walked right up to one, clearly unable to see it, and waved a hand in the air about a foot from its nose. The Thestral snorted. Draco leapt backwards, eyes wide, as a puff of hot air hit his palm.

"Creepy," he muttered, and turned to follow the others into the school. Harry decided that it was not, perhaps, the best way to start the new spring term.

***

Harry's brooding forecast was only confirmed by the screams.

It was the day after they'd returned and Harry was sitting at lunch, working on a Charms assignment he'd forgotten to finish over the holiday and absently eating a sandwich (he later got ten points off his assignment for a mustard spatter on the corner of his parchment) when they started. Along with every other student in the Great Hall, he looked up and towards the main entrance; it was a girl's voice, and not the playful shouts of someone rough-housing in the hallway but a real scream of terror, continuous and solid, pausing only for the next breath to be drawn. The Prefects were already swarming towards the door, but the rest of the students stayed rooted in their spots. Harry only realised he had frozen up when McGonagall rushed past him, followed closely by Snape and Dumbledore. He leapt to his feet and ran after, and as if this had broken the floodgates, the rest of the students began to follow.

Hermione Granger was standing on the big central staircase, about halfway between the ground floor and the landing, facing the Great Hall's entryway. She was pointing at something hanging in midair and having a really tremendous hysterical fit.

"Close the doors," Dumbledore said sharply, even as Harry passed through them. Ignoring Harry, Snape and McGonagall slammed the doors shut, locking the rest of the students in; Harry sidled over towards the little cluster of Prefects who were standing against the wall, staring up in horror. One of them clapped a hand over his mouth and began to retch; another pulled him away down the hall, and the rest followed hastily, leaving Harry in the shadows, staring upwards.

Hanging in the air just below the ceiling, on eye level with anyone coming down the stairs, was a cat. It dangled from a hook pierced through its tail, and it was...dripping. A little red puddle had formed on the broad flagstones below. Hermione had abruptly stopped screaming, but Harry didn't look to see if it was Dumbledore or McGonagall who had silenced her. He was staring at the cat. It dangled limply, like a bit of fur coat that had been dipped in red paint.

"My cat," said a hushed voice. This time Harry did look; Filch was standing in the corridor, Dora behind him. He was staring in horror at the cat. "Mrs. Norris," he said numbly.

"Get him out of here," Snape snarled.

"My cat," Filch wailed, and Harry felt a momentary jolt of pity for him; he might be a horrible man, and Mrs. Norris was an awful, smelly, ill-tempered beast, but neither of them deserved this.

"Dora, get him out of here," Snape repeated, shocked into slipping back into the old familiarity. She grabbed Filch's arm but he pulled away furiously, nearly throwing her to the ground. She was up again in an instant, and Harry saw her poised to leap after him, to subdue him in a less professorial style (and that was the first time he'd really realised she was an Auror, someone who wrestled people to the ground for a living) but before she could, a noise stopped them all.

At first Harry thought that the animal was still alive; it was a piteous mewl, the sound, not a happy-cat sound at all. Filch swallowed convulsively. There was silence for a moment, and then another mewling noise, and the sound of paw-pads on stone, dull thuds, and another cat came streaking furiously out of the shadows near the entryway. Harry barely registered it before the animal rocketed into Filch's arms, clawed its way up his shoulders, and settled itself tremblingly inside his robes, a quivering lump under one of his armpits.

Bewildered silence reigned.

Snape slowly lifted both his hands and made a small, gentle swinging motion with the wand held lightly in his left. Chain clanked, and the dead cat descended slowly towards the floor. Really, it did look like --

"It's just fur," Snape said, crouching to study it where it now floated, a few inches above the puddle on the stones.

"What?" Dora asked. Dumbledore was bent over it now as well.

"It's a bit of fur," Snape repeated. "Fur coat. Pinned together to look like a cat."

"Oh my god," Dora said.

"Real blood," Snape murmured, touching the drenched fur. As he prodded it, something white fluttered to the ground.

"Bet you it's cow's blood," Dora said. Filch had moved to the stairs and nearly collapsed there, clucking and cooing to the certainly very alive Mrs. Norris, who looked as if she'd had the fright of all her nine lives.

"The Chamber will be opened," Snape read. "You will be next."

Filch sobbed, clutching Mrs. Norris so tightly that she let out a breathless, complaining yowl.

Harry was watching Dumbledore now; he was looking thoughtfully at the bundle of fur and cow's blood.

"It cannot be Hagrid," he said. "Not this time."

"He hasn't the imagination for something like this," Snape agreed, disdainfully.

"He never meant to make trouble then, and he would never take such joy in brutality now," Dumbledore remonstrated. "No, this is...far more serious. I think that this time, it is truly the Chamber. Someone either wishes to open the Chamber, or wishes us to believe they are capable of it."

"There is no Heir of Slytherin," said Snape, angrily. "I've been through the records a dozen times. The last possible heirs were Dux and Marvolo Altair."

"Or Altair Black," Dora said softly.

"There is no proof -- "

"But you're thinking it."

"Did I not just say that there is no Heir?"

"For all you know, it could be me."

Snape made a disgusted noise. "There is no Heir. It's a legend. If there is a Chamber and if someone has found it when eight hundred years of careful searching has not, and if they are miraculously the last illegitimate heir of Salazar Slytherin, and if they intend mischief, why go about spattering cow's blood on walls? Why not unlease the cursed thing and have done with it?"

"Such a person might feed on fear," Dumbledore murmured.

"Ridiculous," Snape said bluntly. "I think we should know if there was such a madman in our midst."

"It could be Peter Pettigrew," Dora said. Harry felt something cold and terrifying begin to fill his insides. "I know we've put up wards and that there's no basis for it, but it's possible. He's able to conceal himself, and it would be just like him to pretend to kill a cat."

Dumbledore was looking at her gravely.

"I understand that you must do what you promised," he said, soberly. "Call the Aurors if you feel you must, but I will not close the school."

"I'm not asking you to. I'll call Alastor Moody; I know he knows you." Dora grabbed Filch by the arm, lifting him to his feet and leading him away down the corridor.

"I'll see to it that the house-elves clean up this mess," Snape said.

"I'll speak to the children," Dumbledore agreed. Harry, who had hatched an idea in the back of his head several minutes ago, waited impatiently until they were gone, and then dashed across the corridor, flying up the stairs.

He reached Myrtle's bathroom with a stitch in his side and out of breath; ignoring the possibility that she would screech at him, he burst inside, the door slamming open, and skidded to a halt.

Myrtle was sobbing quietly in a stall, the floor near the far end was flooded, and a house-elf looked up at him from where he was bent over a bucket, scrubbing out the inside. Red dripped from the brush.

"Dobby?" Harry asked, stunned.

***

Harry and Draco ended up getting out of classes for the entire afternoon. So did Hermione, but only because she was recovering, under the influence of a calming draught, in the infirmary.

Harry knew, from spending time with the house-elves in the kitchens, that they could vanish and reappear at will; he also knew that if you got hold of them, actual physical hold, then that particular magic stopped working. The first thing he had done, while both he and Dobby were still in shock, was grab hold of one of the enormous drooping ears. Dobby had shrieked the castle down, with some help from Myrtle, but Harry held on like grim death. In the end, all the shrieking did was summon McGonagall, who was returning from delivering Hermione into the capable hands of Madam Pomfrey.

She had found them and promptly realised that something was dreadfully wrong; she didn't understand Harry over Myrtle's shrill shrieks, but she understood the bloody bucket perfectly well, not to mention the pile of fur scraps in the corner. She'd plucked up the bucket and, summoning Harry along behind her, led the way to the Headmaster's office.

Now Harry sat, Dobby's ear still clenched tightly in one hand, waiting for Dumbledore to appear. Fawkes, the phoenix who had delighted and fascinated Harry when he was a child, was in full flare, and the room was uncomfortably warm.

"Please, please, Harry Potter, friend of Master Malfoy, please let Dobby go. Dobby will stop, Dobby promises to stop, but Dobby will have to bake his head -- "

"You're not going anywhere, you little monster," Harry replied furiously. "Hanging dead cat dummies in the halls! Painting blood on walls! Draco's right, you ought to be kicked soundly!"

"Dobby will let Harry Potter kick him if he lets him go, only please -- " Dobby broke off and began shrieking again in despair as Dumbledore entered.

"That will be quite enough of that," Dumbledore said calmly. Dobby fell silent, gulping. "You may release him, Harry. He cannot escape from this office; the walls are particularly well-warded."

Harry slowly let go of Dobby, who at once grasped his mauled ear and began to stroke it, smoothing out the wrinkles Harry's hand had made.

"Now then, let me see. Do you know this house-elf, Harry?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied. "I told Professor McGonagall, sir. That's Dobby, he's a Malfoy house-elf."

"Indeed. One of young Draco's family elves?"

At Draco's name, Dobby's lower lip quivered.

"Yes, sir."

The door opened, then, and Draco entered, followed by McGonagall, with her hand on his shoulder. Harry caught Dobby by his spindly arm before he could make a break for the door.

"Ah, here we are. Mister Malfoy, I wonder if you might help us."

Draco looked bewildered. "What's Dobby doing here?"

"That's what we would very much like to find out. I understand some authority over the family elves has been ceded to you?"

"I can tell them what to do, as long as it doesn't disagree with anything my mum says," Draco said warily.

"Excellent. Have you given any orders to Dobby recently?"

"Not since Christmas, sir."

"You have not ordered him to come here? Or smuggled him into the castle with you?"

"He sometimes comes to have a bit of a chat with the kitchen elves..."

Dobby wailed. "Dobby is a good house-elf, he is only doing what is best for -- "

"Dobby, be quiet!" Draco said sharply. Harry looked at him, startled. "This is the Headmaster's office! Behave yourself!"

"Yes, Master Malfoy," Dobby murmured, nervously.

"I'm sorry, sir. Has he done something wrong?"

"Are you aware of what happened during lunch?" Dumbledore asked.

"Well, the Prefects are saying..."

"Ah yes. Rumour, that most efficient of machines. We suspect your house-elf may have had a hand in it."

"I found him in Myrtle's bathroom, washing the blood out of a bucket of water," Harry said. Draco looked green.

"Dobby," he said, in the most authoritative voice Harry had ever heard the mild, highly-strung Draco use, "Did you hang a cat in the hallway?"

"No," Dobby replied.

"Well, that's sort of true," Harry said, glancing at Dumbledore. "It was a dummy. A fake."

Draco crossed his arms, angrily.

"Dobby, did you paint words on the walls last term?" he demanded. "Did you kill a flock of chickens? Did you hang a fake dead cat in the hallway?"

Dobby quivered.

"Master Malfoy must not be angry with Dobby, Master Malfoy loves Dobby," Dobby said. "Dobby loves Master Malfoy and only -- "

"Dobby!" Draco's voice was like a whipcrack. Harry was stunned.

"It was for Master Malfoy's own good! Master Malfoy must NOT be at school! No student must be at school! It is dangerous!" Dobby said desperately. He hopped from one foot to the other. It would have been funny if there weren't still traces of blood on Dobby's hands.

"Dangerous how?"

Dobby's dance sped up. "Dobby cannot tell," he moaned. "Dobby cannot tell secrets!"

"Stop that at once."

Dobby froze.

"Dobby, who told you to do these things?" Draco asked.

"Dobby was not told -- "

"Did you paint that blood on the wall last term? Yes or no, Dobby."

"Yes," Dobby whispered. Only the force of Draco's orders was apparently keeping him from finding the nearest hard surface to bang his head on.

"Did you hang a dead cat dummy in the hall this afternoon?"

"Dobby -- "

"Yes or no," Draco snapped.

"Yes."

"Did you kill the chickens?"

"No."

"Dobby, don't lie to me."

"Dobby did not kill any chickens!" Dobby shrieked. "Dobby would not kill chickens! That is why Master Malfoy must leave! Master Malfoy is not safe!"

Draco looked bewilderedly at Dumbledore. "I didn't tell him to do it, sir. I don't see why mum would."

"Ask him, please."

Draco turned back to Dobby. "Did mum tell you to do these things, Dobby?"

"No," Dobby answered. "Master Malfoy must -- "

"Be quiet, Dobby."

Harry, nearly forgotten, watched Dobby's ears droop. He knew all house-elves had some quirk which made them adore Draco -- they were like puppies eager to show him new tricks. He'd never known why; he wondered if it was this...peculiar, inherent voice of command. The Malfoys were old-money purebloods like the Blacks; perhaps it was something in the blood, from generations of ordering house-elves around.

"Did anyone in the family tell you to do these things?" Draco asked.

"No," Dobby whispered.

"Why did you do them?"

"Master Malfoy must not stay at school."

"Why?"

Dobby began to dance again.

"Fine, fine," Draco said disgustedly. He glanced at Dumbledore again, hapless, as Dobby began to mutter about having angered Master Malfoy and slamming his head in a door.

"I think you had best send him away for a little while," Dumbledore said gently. "Somewhere we can find him later."

"Dobby," Draco said. "You are not to go slamming your head in any doors. Your punishment is to go to the kitchen and tell Brecon to chain you to the main table. You mustn't leave on any account."

"But Master -- "

"You are, in addition, to spend the entire afternoon chopping onions," Draco said sternly. Harry suppressed a nervous laugh. Dobby bowed his head and walked through the door when Draco opened it, vanishing once he was in the stairwell.

Draco flopped down on a chair, sighing with relief.

"That is a peculiar punishment," Dumbledore said. "There's something very soothing about chopping onions, I've always thought."

"If I don't give them a punishment, they hurt themselves," Draco answered.

"Indeed? And when did you begin this?"

"When I was five or six. You can't stop them punishing themselves, but you can tell them to do things that aren't so awful."

Dumbledore mulled this over, thoughtfully. "I can see why they are fond of you, Mister Malfoy. Now, I think Mister Potter has some explaining to do."

With Draco's help and Dumbledore's gentle encouragement, Harry told the whole story -- how they'd gone to talk to Myrtle, the story she'd told them; how he'd overheard about the chickens being slaughtered, and how he'd watched Dumbledore and Snape and Dora discuss the cat. How he'd come up with the idea of trying to catch Dobby in the act and run up several flights of stairs to accomplish it. Dumbledore sat silent and serene, though once or twice McGonagall looked furious at their antics.

"What's going to happen to Dobby, sir?" Draco asked, into the ruminative silence that followed the end of the story.

"There must be further interrogation, I think," Dumbledore said. "He has committed fairly serious acts of vandalism, Mister Malfoy."

"Yeah, but...do we have to tell my mum right now? Can't we wait?"

"You take an interest in Dobby's welfare?"

"Well, if mum finds out, she might actually kill him," Draco said plaintively. "And if she doesn't do that, she's sure to make him do something awful to himself. He's not a bad house-elf. He's never done anything like it before."

"For the moment she need not be informed. The Aurors will, no doubt, wish to speak with him. It is ultimately their decision."

"Yes, sir."

They might have gone back to classes after that, except that Dora arrived shortly, escorting three other Aurors. Harry vaguely recalled Alastor Moody, the peg-legged, rolling-eyed old man who used to visit Sirius and Remus back before they moved to Betwys Beddau. The other two were unfamiliar; a tall, bald-headed black man introduced as Kingsley Shacklebolt and a woman with white-blonde hair and keen eyes named Anne Delphine. So they had to tell the story over again, answering a hundred questions put to them by the three Aurors, while Dora and McGonagall went back to their classes. By the time they were through the rest of the school had gone to dinner, and both Harry and Draco were exhausted; the Aurors agreed to stay the night in guest lodgings near Hufflepuff's dormitory, and have Draco help them re-interrogate Dobby in the morning.

Harry ate in silence, feeling overhwelmed by the afternoon's discovery and just a little bit as though someone ought to have told him what a splendid, clever lad he was instead of implying that he was far too young to be apprehending house-elves in the girls' loo. Cricket, who had saved him a seat, chattered on regardless, so Harry wasn't required to spend too much time thinking about how to reply.

At least the pranks were done with; that was something. Even if Dobby's refusal to admit to killing the chickens was bizarre, no doubt there was an explanation for it.

When they found Completely Headless Nick Petrified and dangling mid-hallway the next morning, Harry got a sinking sensation in his stomach not unakin to that of falling off a broomstick from thirty feet in the air.

Chapter 15

None of the children actually saw Completely Headless Nick before the professors managed to cast a charm that swept him up to the infirmary. Once there, Madam Pomfrey spent a few perplexed minutes wondering what to do with him before hanging a sheet over him and depositing him safely in a corner. They heard about it through the ghosts; even the placid Fat Friar, the Hufflepuff ghost, went about with a hunted look on his face and tended to poke his head through walls before going around corners, just to make sure nothing nasty was lurking on the other side.

"It can't have been Dobby," Draco said, catching up to Harry as they walked down the corridor towards the Great Hall for lunch. "He was chained up all evening and the Aurors took him away for questioning."

"What's going to happen to him?" Harry asked.

"Dunno," Draco said glumly. "Mum might give him the sock."

"You mean the sack?"

"No -- that's how you fire a house-elf. You give them clothing and then they're freed from service," Draco explained. "That's why all the house-elves wear tea-towels and pillowcases and things."

"What does a freed house-elf do, do you think?"

Draco shrugged as they entered the Great Hall. "Anyway, Dobby didn't do it. Besides, house-elves don't have that kind of power."

"I wonder who did."

"Don't know. I'll ask the Fat Friar if he's heard anything," Draco said, heading for the Hufflepuff table. Harry picked his way along the Slytherin table, heading for the Quidditch team, who were clustered at one end and waving for him to join them.

"Sit," Marcus Flint instructed, and Harry rolled his eyes before dropping onto the bench next to Towler. "We're playing Ravenclaw in two weeks. The good news is, they're just as out of practice as we are."

"The bad news is, they've seen all our moves," Harry said. Marcus nodded.

"Well, we need new moves then," Towler said. "Where'd you get the other ones from, Flint?"

"Professor Snape passed 'em on. He's got mates in professional Quidditch, I guess," Marcus said. Harry glowed with the quiet pride of the virtuously anonymous. "So that won't help. If he had new plays, he'd have given them to me."

Harry almost drew breath to suggest something, then thought better of it. Discretion was what Professor Snape had taught him by giving Flint the plays without his name attached; he would show Snape that he knew how to be discreet as well. Harry had kept a good number of secrets in his life, more than his fair share if truth be told, and while admittedly knowing when to open your mouth was different from knowing when you shouldn't....

Well, this was good practice. So he stayed silent while the others mulled over their options, hoping one of them would come up with the same solution he had. When none of them did, he sighed and finished his lunch before heading off to class again.

In class that afternoon he found it difficult to pay attention. The idea he'd had at lunch niggled at the back of his mind and he tried to look as though he were industriously taking notes while he was, in fact, devising new plays. He had two near-misses when he forgot himself and became so absorbed that he ignored the teacher coming closer, but at the end of the day he'd avoided detention and he had several strategies for coping with the Ravenclaws. Really it was a matter of knowing that they would expect the new plays, and working with their predictable reactions.

Now the problem was how to give the plays to Flint without him realising it. And Harry had one or two ideas about that, too.

They had practice only a scant few days later; because of Nick's "accident", all students were under constant supervision and Quidditch was no exception. Professor Snape met them at the stands as the Gryffindors were departing under the watchful eye of Minerva McGonagall.

Harry had been watching Flint the last few days when he felt he could do so safely, trying to figure out how his mind worked. This was made difficult by the fact that Marcus Flint was not a terribly bright boy and didn't actually seem to use his mind very much. Harry wasn't sure he'd even have to be very subtle, but of course it was a fine balance between being so subtle he went unnoticed and being so blatant the rest of the team caught on.

Three of the moves he'd given Snape were Seekers' moves, which helped; he didn't have to teach the new adaptations to Flint. He could just do them, and pretend they were accidents. It was the two offensive formations that he was going to have to demonstrate with subtlety.

It wasn't until he was actually aloft, the wind ruffling his hair and the familiar thrill of gameplay washing over him, that he discovered the easiest way of demonstrating -- flying it himself. He'd been ridiculous not to think of it before. It just went to show that you had to think differently about Quidditch to be any good at it.

He watched Flint and Pucey run the Slytherin Feint, and in the middle of it he zipped over Pucey's broomstick, barely inches away, chasing after a Snitch that wasn't there. Pucey, shocked, fell backwards instead of reversing intentionally, and the others nearly had to catch him before he tumbled off his broomstick.

"Sorry!" Harry called, drifting back. "I didn't think you'd get up that high before you dropped."

"Bloody hell, Pipsqueak!" Pucey shouted. "You nearly did for me that time!"

"I said I was sorry!" Harry insisted. "I thought I could get more clearance. I knew you were going to drop..."

"And what if I hadn't?" Pucey demanded. This was going even better than Harry could have dreamed. "What if I'd just have kept going?"

There was a brief silence, followed by a noise of surprise from Marcus Flint.

"That's it," he exclaimed.

"What's what?" Pucey demanded.

"That's how we're going to cream the Ravenclaws," Flint said excitedly. "They're going to expect these moves."

"Well, yeah..." Harry said, encouragingly.

"But what happens when you feint, everyone drops expectantly, and you keep going up?" Marcus asked.

The Chasers all looked at one another, thoughtfully.

Harry grinned.

***

Scheduling sittings for the portrait shouldn't have been so difficult.

Sirius was unemployed, after all. Remus only worked when it pleased him. Helena was a painter who worked at all hours and had nearly total control over her own schedule. It should have been easy to find a time at which all three could come together for a two-hour sitting.

Still, they discovered that they were surprisingly busy people. Sirius was invited to all sorts of events as a representative of one of the old Wizarding families, and he liked to go to readings and book-signings at Flourish & Blotts. Remus had bad days around the full moon, and of course during the holidays Helena had been snowed under with people who wanted portraits done as gifts. Their first sitting since December had to be rescheduled three times: once because of a meeting with Llewellyn Payne about Sirius' amended will, once because Harry had a Quidditch match (they creamed Ravenclaw handily -- apparently they had more mastery of tactics and basic psychology) and once because Remus had to take an emergency shift at Madam Schaeffer's when the entire staff caught a magical strain of the flu from one of their younger patrons.

"The entire staff?" Helena asked when they finally met again, after she'd arranged them in their pose. The bare little stall she painted in had been decorated with a bookshelf, a fake window, some curtains, and a large shaggy rug. The wooden posing stool had been exchanged for a comfortable wing-chair in which Remus sat, a prop book open on his knee. Sirius, one arm over Remus' crossed legs, glanced up at Remus and grinned before returning to his prescribed pose.

"Sticky little children," Remus replied, with a sigh. "The child couldn't have been more than two, and he sneezed in everyone's faces as they were passing him around admiring him. Fortunately," he added, a trifle smugly, "werewolves are generally immune."

"Do you know, I think I've learned more about werewolves from two sittings with you than the entire unit we did on them at school," Helena observed. "More accurate information, certainly."

"It's nice to talk about it with someone," Remus replied. "I don't often get the chance, except with Sirius, and he knows just about everything there is to know."

"Oh yes?"

"When I found out, I did a lot of reading on the subject," Sirius said.

"It must have put a strain on your relationship."

Remus chuckled. "It would have, except he found out -- what, fifteen years before?"

"Well, we were thirteen -- so, fifteen or sixteen years before anything happened between us," Sirius said with a nod.

"Thirteen?" Helena raised her eyebrows. "How old were you when it happened?"

"Eight," Remus said softly. Sirius glanced up at him.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to intrude -- it's just we've been trained to ask personal questions," Helena said, looking only mildly apologetic. She had, after all, warned them. "You must have been at school, then? When Mr. Black found out, I mean."

"Yes," Remus replied. "Sirius, and two of my other friends."

"One friend," Sirius replied. "One filthy traitor."

"He was our friend then," Remus said gently.

"Yes, I've retroactively disqualified him."

Remus smiled indulgently.

"How did you find out?" Helena asked Sirius.

"Well, the monthly excuses for his absences were wearing a little thin," Sirius said. "Finally we started keeping round-the-clock watch on him."

"Sirius harboured youthful dreams of being a spy," Remus sighed.

"We saw him leave the school and followed." Sirius shrugged, fingers tightening possessively on Remus' leg for a moment. "Nearly lost James, that time."

"James Potter? Your godson's father?"

"Yes, of course. He was almost James Potter, my friend's midnight snack."

Remus was silent; Sirius bent his head and brushed his cheek against the other man's leg, affectionately. Helena, sensing they were on dangerous terrain even for someone trained to ask impertinent questions, changed the subject.

"Then you haven't been together that long, have you?" she asked. "You've been friends a long time, but -- "

"No," Remus said, relief evident in his voice. "Just four years together. He kissed me while we were doing the washing-up."

Helena grinned, brush still moving over the canvas. "Romantic."

"I was going for the element of surprise," Sirius sulked.

"I did wonder, after that article in the Prophet came out," she said.

"Which one?" Sirius asked resignedly.

"The Skeeter piece, back last summer -- the one about Mr. Lupin."

Sirius' brow furrowed. Helena tutted, and he resumed his pose. "I don't think I saw that."

"Oh, it was stupid -- it speculated that Mr. Lupin was somehow blackmailing you."

"Ha! Blackmail!" Sirius said, before realising what was being inferred. "Oh -- people don't think that, do they?"

"I doubt it," Remus said. "I rarely draw enough attention for people to think anything. Besides, the article was pure speculation because they couldn't dig up anything real on me."

"You knew about it?" Sirius asked. Remus worried his lip with his teeth. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"We had other things to worry about."

"When did you find out?"

"It came in the clippings Severus sent us. I didn't think you'd care, Pads," Remus said. "It wasn't anything, really. Just a stupid little piece on a back page somewhere."

When Sirius looked up at him angrily, Remus glanced at Helena, a not-terribly-subtle signal that they could postpone this fight for when they were in private. She cleared her throat, anxiously.

"I was hoping you'd tell me a little bit about your godson, Mr. Black," she said. "You seem very fond of him."

Sirius, with a last glare at Remus, turned his attention to Helena, giving her a brief history of Harry's life with them, and Remus relaxed by degrees.

They walked home in a somewhat stony silence, however, and by the time they'd reached their flat again Remus was strung tightly, waiting for the explosion he was sure would come. Sirius remained quiet, hanging his coat with particular care and deliberately folding the jumper he'd been wearing, setting it on the arm of the sofa when he was done. Remus almost burst into hysterical laughter at this; Sirius always threw his clothing on the sofa, even if he folded it first.

"You might as well shout, then," he said finally, heart thudding fast at his own audacity. He knew Sirius wouldn't hurt him, but he hated rows and they hadn't had a really serious, important one in years.

"What would be the use? You'd just sit there until I was finished and then change the subject," Sirius said tightly.

"That's not fair, Sirius."

"Not fair? That's rich."

"It's just a newspaper article -- "

"It's more than that, and you know it," Sirius replied. "I realise I'm not the easiest person to live with, you know, but I don't want to be handled!"

"I'm not handling you, Pads!" Remus protested. "I honestly didn't think you'd care."

"Then why didn't you let me see it?"

"I was angry. I burned it before I thought about it."

"You think about everything," Sirius retorted. It was true, and Remus watched him silently. "You are handling me and you know I care what they say about you. If you don't you're a fool."

"It's not your business. It's mine," Remus said. "My life and my reputation."

"It's your stupid damned pride is what it is!" Sirius insisted. "Your life is a part of my life. This is our life together, that's why they call it a life together, you shouldn't be hiding things from me!"

Remus had hidden things from Sirius before they stole Harry, and they both knew it; some things more important than others, but never maliciously. Since the first time they'd kissed he'd hidden nothing, as difficult as it was for the naturally private man to believe that Sirius wanted to know, wanted to hear. The implication angered him, irrationally.

"All right, would you like to know the truth?" he asked, aware that such a phrase was usually the opening of a truly ugly row. "Would you? I hate it when you get angry at the Prophet for running those stupid articles. I hate hearing you rant about them and I don't want you defending me," he said, keeping himself from shouting only through long practice. "I know you've never begrudged a moment you've spent taking care of me and I won't deny that sometimes I've needed help, but I don't want to be taken care of in times and places where I don't need to be. I'm not Harry, I'm old enough to fight my own battles or to choose not to fight them if they're not worth fighting. And some stupid editorial in the Prophet isn't worth it. It isn't, Sirius. But you get so upset over every stupid thing. And it's fine when it's you or Harry, but not me. Because it's exhausting and it frightens me."

Sirius was staring at him in shock. Remus bowed his head and waited. Whatever was said next, he wouldn't speak until Sirius did.

"Frightens you?" Sirius said finally. "Why? You know I don't mean anything I say -- you know I'd never -- it frightens you?"

"Yes," Remus confessed. "Because I'm afraid one day you're going to realise I'm not worth it."

He hadn't raised his head; he wasn't sure he wanted to see what Sirius was thinking, and Sirius always wore his emotions on his face, nakedly.

"You stupid, stupid git," Sirius said softly, and then he did look up. "Remus, the reason I shout is that you're worth shouting over. Don't you see? You're so frightened you're going to lose me that I start to wonder if you're going to leave first so that it doesn't happen, and I don't know how to tie you down. The portrait is permanent, that's why I'm doing it. This is the only -- I'm not good at this, you know, the only things I know about love are shouting when someone I love is hurt and taking care of them and giving them things. Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?"

He looked so confused and unhappy that Remus covered his face with one hand, ashamed.

"I said you can have everything you want if you ask for it," Sirius continued. "But you have to ask, so that I know. What do you want? Anything. Anything you ask for. It's yours."

"Just you," Remus replied, brokenly. "You and Harry, that's all I ever wanted. I don't care about things or the Prophet or any of it. Just you and Harry."

"Well I can't give you that, dolt, you already have that," Sirius said, so gravely that Remus laughed. Sirius took a hesitant step forward and Remus pulled him close, burying his face in Sirius' short black hair.

"I would never have left you," he said. "I wouldn't have the courage."

"You don't need to," Sirius insisted.

"All right then."

"All right."

They were quiet for a few minutes, Sirius breathing slowly to calm Remus' frightened, quick breaths. Finally Remus stepped back, rubbing his forehead.

"That's a hell of a way to end a row," he said. "I thought there were supposed to be doors slamming and flung crockery and the rest."

"I could slam some doors if you want," Sirius said uncertainly.

"No -- no," Remus said, laughing a little. "That's all right. Let's...let's go out and have dinner somewhere. Somewhere very expensive and posh. We can pretend I'm blackmailing you into it."

Remus kissed him, gently but firmly, and Sirius smiled into it. He'd always been the more open one, almost embarrassingly so, but something in their fight had snapped the last barrier he always sensed in Remus, the one that wasn't natural reserve but fear of some kind.

They went to Sosi Alley for dinner, to the exclusive but glass-fronted Pisces Bistro, which Ted Tonks said always reminded him of eating in a fish-tank. And Sirius did not shout about the society reporter who took their picture, even the next morning when the piece on Sirius Black dining at Pisces included mention of his dinner companion Remus Looping.

***

The week after Nick's petrification was especially difficult for Professor Tonks, all things considered. Her students normally paid the lazy attention of children who, because the weather is terrible, have nothing better to do; when word got around school that there was something wandering the halls which could freeze a ghost, they either focused so tightly on her lectures that she found it unnerving, or they distracted her with questions about ghosts, freezing spells, petrification, and charms against the Dark Arts. It was no good her explaining to them that an amulet was worthless if you weren't paying attention to your surroundings.

"I don't know what to do," she complained to McGonagall one afternoon in the Professors' common room. Flitwick looked sympathetic over his digestive biscuit. Sinistra, who was marking sixth-year star charts near the windows where Madam Hooch sat, nodded and frowned.

"It makes them nervous. I've never seen students so reluctant to leave a lesson, but none of them want to be wandering the halls at midnight," Sinistra said. "I have to escort the younger children myself. To be sure, it sometimes makes my skin crawl. Whatever do you suppose could have done it?"

"He's free of hexes and curses, and there aren't many that work on a ghost at any rate," Tonks replied. "Madam Pomfrey's still working on unfreezing him. It must have been something that went through him. Which....which might mean whatever happened was aimed at someone else."

"And you're certain it's not the house-elf?" McGonagall inquired.

"Couldn't have been. He was in custody at the time. Not that I don't think he's capable of it, and certainly now he'd have reason to want revenge -- especially on Harry."

"Oh?" McGonagall raised her eyebrows.

"He's been fired," Tonks said, sadly. "The Aurors couldn't really hold him on anything more than mischief making, and Narcissa Malfoy went down to the Ministry when they released him. She gave him two socks on the spot. And it's Harry's fault, you know, he's the one who caught him and took him to Dumbledore's office."

"Where is the little blighter now?" Madam Hooch inquired, from the window-seat where she was birdwatching with a pair of omnioculars.

"Gone off somewhere to look for work, I suppose. Aunt Narcissa left immediately, of course, and the poor little thing burst into tears on the front steps of the Ministry. My friend Anne -- she's been in on the case since Dobby was caught -- tried to calm him down, but he ran off."

"No more than what he deserves," drawled Snape from his armchair near the fire, where he was reading a literary-looking wizarding novel. "He faked the death of a cat and painted graffiti in blood on the walls, wasting our time and resources."

"He's clearly unbalanced," Tonks said uncertainly. "I think he deserves pity more than anything. He obviously thought there was a very good reason to do what he did, even if he won't say what it is."

"On one point, we agree -- he oughtn't to be running about loose," Snape said. "Unemployed house-elves are a menace and nothing good can come of it. Narcissa Malfoy may be a bigger menace and entirely unfit to command house-elves, but -- "

"She is my aunt, you know," Tonks said, feeling that if anyone was going to call her aunt horrible names, she ought to have first chance. Snape raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, your mother would appear to have got the lion's share of sanity in her generation," he replied. "But of course, your family is a topic upon which I have been forbidden to speak."

McGonagall, sensing the tension in the room -- not that it didn't rather bludgeon one over the head -- cleared her throat.

"The question is, I suppose, what we're to do about your students," she said to Tonks.

"It's not really a problem except that I don't know how to remind them that if they're not paying attention to their surroundings and prepared to cope with whatever comes their way, all the protective charms in the world won't do them an ounce of good. They want practical lessons, but it's hard to decide what I ought to do. It's not as though I can leap out at them in the halls and hex their noses off while they're busy adjusting their lucky amulets."

"Not much chance of an expedition into the Forbidden Forest at this time of year, either," Sinistra said, laying down her quill. "The centaurs have been hostile lately, and you know they hate anyone mucking about down there until the first spring thaw. They hardly even come down to the border to talk to me anymore, and I thought Ronan was rather fond of me," she added sadly. "He did say once that I wasn't entirely incompetent as an astronomer, which is very high praise from a centaur."

"What about some sort of extracurricular activity?" Hooch asked. "You could take them out to the old Shrieking Shack and give them a good scare."

"It's so unpredictable, though," Tonks sighed. "It never seems to perform on command."

"If I may," Snape said, surprising everyone, "perhaps some sort of...competitive activity would be more to your students' liking."

"What, like Quidditch with hexes?" Sinistra inquired.

"I don't think we could be having with that," McGonagall answered, somewhat severely.

"I'm afraid I couldn't approve hexes and broomsticks. It only ends in nasty splatters," Hooch added.

"I suggest something slightly more direct," Snape continued, marking his place and closing the book he'd been holding. "An activity which teaches alertness and defence at once -- perhaps along the lines of dueling lessons."

"By Jove, a dueling club!" Flitwick said, excitedly. "We had one of those when I was at school -- oh, the happy hours spent making people grow garlic out their noses and dance jigs while they tried to cast a gibberish hex....splendid times, wonderful times." He sighed, nostalgically.

"Yes -- I remember some of the senior students had something of the sort, when I was a first-year," McGonagall said thoughtfully. "If I recall, it was put to an end two years later when one of the young women involved became a little overzealous and hexed her partner's wand into oblivion."

"That doesn't sound too terrible," Tonks said.

"It wasn't the wand you're thinking of," McGonagall replied. Tonks looked horrified. Madam Hooch and Professor Sinistra both chuckled. Snape looked extremely uncomfortable. "Fortunately it was not irreparable, but it caused him some definite discomfort for several months, of both the physical and social variety. He was not a very nice boy, so I can't say that I blame his tormentors over-much."

"It's not a bad idea though, as long as we make sure there's no...no hitting below the belt," Tonks said, with a snigger. Madam Hooch abandoned all pretence of birdwatching and burst out laughing, coming to sit next to McGonagall on the sofa, near the small round table with the tea-service on it. McGonagall poured her a cup as Tonks continued. "If it were properly supervised and we made certain that the older students were aware of punishments for using any of the really dangerous hexes and jinxes, it ought to be all right, don't you think?"

"With two professors supervising it? I don't see why not," McGonagall said with a smile. "And I'm certain Professor Snape can put the fear of several of the more ancient and bloodthirsty gods into them."

"I beg your pardon?" Snape said, craning his neck around the wing of the armchair.

"Well, naturally you and Professor Tonks, having formulated the idea, would want to work together on it," McGonagall said innocently.

"Nonsense, I haven't -- "

"Surely the children could benefit from your experiences in Defence?" McGonagall asked. Snape's mouth closed abruptly. "Of course, Professor Tonks may prefer to ask Headmaster Dumbledore -- "

"There is no need to bother the Headmaster," Snape said quickly.

"Grand," McGonagall declared. "Then you'll supervise Professor Tonks?"

Dora didn't care for the idea of being supervised by Professor Snape, considering she'd had seven years of that already, but certainly he was well-informed about the Dark Arts and she'd heard Andromeda say once that he was not inexperienced as a duelist. Aside from that...well, if he seemed to be sizing her up as an opponent, she was already wondering what it would take to beat him. After all, she was a fully qualified Auror now, not a terrified sixteen-year-old.

"I will," Snape replied impassively, "if she wishes to teach an extracurricular course in dueling."

McGonagall, had she been a cat at the moment, would have groomed her whiskers as if she'd just eaten a very large canary, Tonks was certain of it.

Chapter 16

This is where they live, the dark crevices, the corners, the spaces between. They avoid the wide open and the low places where there are threats, but venture out far enough to catch their prey without being prey in return.

Of course, some are foolish or careless, and they deserve nothing more than the death they receive -- being less than a credit to their noble species, why should they survive long enough to breed?

***

It was almost dawn when Snake returned to Harry's dormitory from a nocturnal feeding expedition, one twitching spider's leg still dangling from his mouth. Mostly he hibernated in the cold times, which were less interesting than the warm times when Harry took him to a place where there was green as far as the eye could see and it was just him and his Harry and the two Big Ones. Still, a snake had to eat, and Snake had woken with a hunger for some crunchy creatures. As much as he liked the eggs and bacon Harry fed him, sometimes he itched to hunt, and spiders were delicate and tasty.

He'd found a single isolated web in a corner of the room Harry slept in and devoured the four spiders living in and around it, but his animal instinct told him something was off. Spiders didn't share webs and there ought to be more of them in an underground burrow like this. He was a snake, and it wasn't his place to care about such things, but it made him uneasy.

As he slithered past the wall of the dormitory beneath the high windows that never let in enough proper basking sunlight, even in the warm times, he found his way blocked.

It was as if a human had somehow come across a parade of ice cream cones which had sprouted legs and were all scurrying past. He watched in predatory fascination as a steady stream, a river of spiders made their way towards the windows, across the floor and up the wall. Little baby spiders crawled under and around others which were bigger than Snake's head; brown, black, grey, long-legged, short-legged, creeping and jumping, all moving methodically towards the nearest way out of this burrow. It was like a feast on eight legs.

Harry, he called delightedly, come see what I've found.

***

Harry was unsure why he woke in the middle of the night and for a moment the skewed perspective of not-quite-focused eyes, combined with the Parseltongue voice in his ears, made him wonder if the vaulted ceiling of the dormitory room wasn't the belly of an enormous coiled snake come to devour him. He bolted upright and nearly fell out of the bed, but the movement corrected his depth-perception, and the voice he heard wasn't the horrible predatory voice of last term, but Snake's mischevious tones.

Harry, come see!

Harry grumbled but obediently found his glasses and followed the voice to a corner near the outer castle wall, below the moonlit windows.

What is it? he asked sulkily, crouching next to Snake. Something scuttled over his foot and he flinched backwards; when he'd recovered from the tumble, he crawled forward again, carefully.

Spiders were scuttling across the floor in the moonlight, hurrying with terrifying purpose towards the wall. Hanging down from each window was a multitude of silvery threads to help them along, and one of the windows had actually been pushed open slightly by an enormous tarantula -- it might even have been Lee Jordan's -- who was sitting nearby with front legs upraised, as if summoning the rest with a gesture. Harry had never seen anything like it and, as he watched, he realised that he never wanted to again. Snake, having coiled himself around Harry's ankle, was a soothing weight, but there were hundreds of spiders making for the windows and Harry reasoned that if an entire species was trying to get out of somewhere, there was probably a good reason.

Why are they leaving? he asked Snake. And where are they going?

I don't talk to my food, Snake replied scornfully.

Harry sat on the floor until the sun rose, watching the spiders leave the castle. Just before the other boys woke up their numbers started to drop off, and by the time Blaise sat up and rubbed his eyes and yawned, the last of the spiders had gone; Harry was already dressing and Snake was drowsing in his box on Harry's nightstand.

He was the first into the Great Hall for their usual early breakfast, and Brecon the house-elf brought up a plate of warm buttered crumpets with jam for Harry to start on while he waited. He was expecting Padma, who was an early riser and generally beat all three boys to the Great Hall. It wasn't unusual to find her already buried in a book or working on an essay, but this morning she was nowhere to be seen until long after Neville came down, and Neville was invariably last.

"Wish I'd known," Neville said, around a mouthful of egg. "I'd have run up to the eyrie and fetched her down. It's not like her."

Harry, who was bursting with the news of the spiders' exodus, was almost dancing with impatience by the time Padma did arrive, looking as if she hadn't slept well. Her normally tidy braid was wispy and uneven and she gave no explanation for her lateness. Harry didn't inquire too closely; he had his own story to tell, and once he'd recounted it, her interest (not to mention Draco and Neville's) was renewed.

"Do you suppose it's some kind of migration?" Draco asked.

"I've never heard of any spider that migrates like that," Padma answered. "And Harry said it was all kinds."

"Well, I say the fewer spiders in the castle, the better," Neville said. "Suppose we could get the rats and everyone above fifth year to evacuate themselves too?"

"Brecon begs Master Draco's pardon," said the reedy voice of a house-elf, interrupting Padma's retort to Neville, "but...but..."

Draco glanced down at the bug-eyed, bat-eared elf. "Well, say it then, Brecon. What is it?"

"If Master Draco would be so good -- Denbigh requests -- oh!" Brecon wrung his hands. "In the kitchen there is goings-on!"

Draco gave the other three a wry grin. "Goings-on. Sounds serious. What do you want me to do about it, Brecon?"

Brecon squeaked and wrung his hands.

"I'd better see what's wrong," Draco said. "Though why they'd ask me and not Headmaster Dumbledore, I'm sure I don't know. Coming?"

"Never been to the kitchens," Neville said thoughtfully. "I think I might."

"Come on then, Padma," Harry said, and they slipped out the side door and down into the cellars just as the rest of the school was trickling into the Great Hall.

The kitchen was in chaos, even more so than usual -- great platters of eggs, bacon, sausage, pastries, kippers, pitchers of juices and milk were all being prepared at an alarming rate by the kitchen house-elves who hopped and ran, ducked, shouted, called to each other and wielded knives and frying pans with terrifying speed and accuracy. Neville and Padma, who hadn't accompanied Harry and Draco on kitchen runs in the past, stared at the orderly mess in awe.

Near a great fireplace at one end there was an empty space, and they naturally gravitated towards it as a safe haven, but when they arrived they found a tiny stool and a shivering, miserable-looking creature wrapped in the remains of a jumper with Hufflepuff colours striping the collar and sleeves. Only a pair of bulbous eyes peeped out morosely at the world.

"Dobby?" Draco asked, stopping so suddenly that Neville ran into him. "Dobby, is that you?"

The jumper shivered. The eyes blinked.

"What's he doing here?" Harry asked.

"Well, now we know why they didn't tell Dumbledore. He'd have had Dobby thrown off the grounds," Neville observed.

"He wouldn't," Harry answered. "He knows Dobby had his reasons, whatever they were."

Neville muttered something about house-elves having no reason at all, but Draco was sitting on the hearthrug, peering at the elf.

"It's one of my old jumpers from last year, I thought it had gone for dusters," Draco said, lifting one of the sleeves. "This isn't the clothing mum gave you, is it?"

One trembling foot slipped out from below the jumper, clad in a grimy, tattered sock.

Fifteen extremely trying minutes followed while Draco tried to coax anything more than trembles and whimpers from Dobby, but finally they managed to discover that he'd made his way to Hogwarts from London and collapsed outside the old scullery, where Denbigh had tripped over him while going outside for firewood for the morning fires.

"I think we should talk," Draco said finally, standing and dusting off the seat of his trousers. "The four of us and Dobby. Mum's put an awful fear of punishment in him if he talks, even if he knows she can't get to him anymore. Maybe she can. I don't like it."

"The music room?" Padma suggested.

"There isn't time before class -- Denbigh, can you have someone bring up Dobby and some lunch?" Draco asked, catching the head elf as he went past. "The portrait of the man at the piano, you know the one?"

Denbigh nodded and hurried off, and they all realised they had better do likewise if they didn't want to lose house points for lateness. None of them paid much attention to their lessons, though Padma seemed more tired than distracted, and she snapped at Neville in class, then ran off to her next one with a toss of her braid.

"Do you suppose the spiders have anything to do with Dobby?" Draco asked as he and Harry loitered outside the painting while they waited for the other two to arrive. The man in the portrait was playing the piano softly, and the woman in the portrait-within-a-portrait was reading a novel.

"I don't see how. They've never run away from house-elves before, and even Dobby wouldn't be batty enough to cast an extermination spell or something."

"Not to mention he's not powerful enough."

"Wotcha!" Neville called, trotting down the corridor with Padma in tow. "No sign of lunch yet?"

"Tell everyone in the castle, why don't you," Padma said.

"Nobody can hear us up here," Neville replied sullenly.

"My, we are missish today," said the man in the painting. "Password?"

"You know full well who we -- oh, fine, polyphonic," Padma said. "And it's JS Bach, before you can start," she added, jabbing a finger at the woman behind him.

Harry and Neville raised their eyebrows at each other behind Padma as she stalked into the room, while Draco looked as though he preferred the hallway. Dobby was already inside, cowering behind a small table laden with sandwiches and drinks; Draco crossed to him and began speaking quietly, apparently glad to have something to do. Padma took a sandwich and went to sit by one of the windows, staring out.

"Did you know he'd been socked?" Neville asked Draco. Dobby squeaked.

"I thought he might have been," Draco replied. "Dobby, you can't go around in that jumper forever. At least let me shrink it."

"Make Padma do it, Draco, you're likely to flatten it," Harry suggested helpfully. Draco scowled at him and flicked his wand at Dobby. The elf tried to wriggle out of the jumper, but it was shrinking too quickly; soon his pencil-thin nose had popped out, followed by his fingers, and before long he looked like a rather spindly plush Hufflepuff mascot doll.

"What are we going to do with him?" Neville asked, tearing the crusts off of a turkey sandwich as he ate it. He offered the crusts to Dobby, who took one hesitantly and nibbled on it.

"I don't see why we have to do anything with him," Padma replied. "He's a free elf."

"He's not used to the outside world," Draco said. "He'll starve."

"He has ears, you know," Harry said, sitting down on the floor next to Dobby, who looked up at him with bulbous, wary eyes. "Why did you come to Hogwarts, Dobby?"

Dobby swallowed the crust he'd been eating all in a lump and hacked reedily a few times before speaking.

"Dobby did not know where else to go. All the big houses turn Dobby away. Troublesome house-elf, nobody wants you here," he said morosely.

"Someone's got to look after him," Draco said.

"Well, I wouldn't tell the Headmaster," Neville answered. "Merlin alone knows what he'd do."

Dobby had been slowly inching closer to Harry's knee and was now hiding behind it, only his nose and eyes visible over the top. Snake, sleeping in Harry's pocket, poked his head out to see what the fuss was about.

"He's had his punishment already," Harry said. "Dobby, what would you like to do?"

It was apparently the wrong question. The house-elf burst into wailing tears and began to bang his head on the floor. The others, growing bored with his histrionics, exchanged annoyed looks.

"Stop it this instant, you little green bag of skin!" Padma said, startling the other three. Even Dobby was sufficiently surprised that he stopped his furious self-punishment and looked up at her. "We'll have no more wailing or crying or trembling or any of that silly nonsense from you. Stand up and stop sniffling."

A crisp white handkerchief landed on the floor next to Dobby, who picked it up and wrapped it around himself like a cape, using one end to stop his rather runny nose. Apparently, Draco was not the only one who could summon a voice of command when necessary.

"Nobody's going to give you a job and you can't very well stay here, so you had better put some thought into how you're going to feed yourself, because we certainly aren't going to give up our lunch time to smuggle food to you every day," Padma continued.

"He could get a job gathering herbs and things in the Forest!" Neville suggested brightly. Padma gave him a narrow look. "Well, he's low to the ground, he might see things other people miss..."

"Why couldn't he stay here?" Draco asked suddenly.

"Because Dumbledore won't hire him and he oughtn't freeload off the kitchen elves," Padma said firmly.

"No, but what if someone else did?" Draco said excitedly. "If someone hired him to be their...their valet or something. Then he could pay for his food and have a place to stay -- "

"I don't think that's allowed," Neville said dubiously. "It must be in the rules somewhere, you know. No personal servants to accompany students to school. Otherwise everyone in Slytherin would have one. Sorry Harry," he added, belatedly.

"Nobody has to know, except the kitchen house-elves, and they won't mind," Draco said. "I have some pocket-money from mum saved up, I could hire him to make my bed for me and stuff."

"Why hire him? Can't you....re...capture him or something?" Neville asked.

"No," Draco said.

"Course you can, I've read about it," Padma said.

"No, I can't," Draco insisted.

"Oh, Master Draco could!" Dobby cried suddenly. "Dobby would be pleased to serve Master Draco, Dobby would never do anything wrong ever again -- "

"Yes you can," Padma said, over the racket. "You just steal their clothes and -- "

"No, you can," Draco said. "I can't. I think it's barbarous."

"Dobby does not want to be employed!" Dobby began to wail, but a glare from Padma shut him up again.

"Fine, fine, hire him then, but it'll only get you in trouble," she said.

"Why don't you want to be employed?" Neville asked. "Then you could quit whenever you like, Dobby."

"Dobby does not quit! Dobby is a good house-elf!"

"Oh, for pity's sake, give him a sickle and tell him he's hired, I have class soon," Harry said crossly. Draco jutted out his chin in defiance.

"All right, Dobby, you're hired. No, I'm not going to take your clothes," he said, as Dobby whimpered. "You'll have three knuts a week. You will make my bed, carry books for me in the library, and uh..."

He glanced at Neville, who shrugged.

"He could refill your ink bottles," Harry suggested.

"Sure. Make my bed, carry my books, refill my ink bottles," Draco said. Dobby seemed comforted by his voice. "Go on now. You can sleep in my trunk if you want, there's more than enough room, only don't smash my collars."

Dobby ran up to Draco and threw his spindly arms around his leg, then scurried off through the music-room portrait-door.

"Ew, house-elf snot," Draco said, examining his trouser leg.

"They're odd creatures, aren't they?" Neville asked.

"Bats if you ask me," Harry said. "Imagine wanting to be a slave."

"I don't think they do want to, really," Draco said. "I don't think any living thing wants to be a slave. It's not natural."

"Not natural for us," Harry said, gathering up his book bag. "Maybe it's an instinct to them."

"Or maybe it's like religion," Padma said thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?" Neville asked.

"Well...sort of like monks."

"What's a monk?" Draco said. Padma sighed and shouldered her bag. Draco pushed the portrait-door open for her, then nearly let it slam on her when he ran back to stuff another sandwich in his pocket.

"Someone who promises to serve a god and joins a club to do it," Neville said vaguely. "Dora had to study them for her Muggle Studies unit at the Academy."

"Maybe..." Padma waited until they were all out of the room before continuing. "Maybe they think that by serving humans, they're actually serving whatever gods they have. Or that if they serve in this life they'll be rewarded after they die."

Draco looked troubled. "You don't mean our house-elves think I'm some kind of god, do you?"

"No -- not exactly. But maybe servitude and obedience to humans is what they think is asked of them." Padma shrugged. "I don't know. Do house-elves even have a god?"

"I never asked," Draco replied.

"But then why wouldn't they want to be freed?" Harry persisted. "Don't you think they'd see it as a reward for good behaviour?"

"Well, not really. I mean, when you're free it's a lot harder to be humble and serve others, isn't it?" Padma said. "It'd be like someone who can't have sugar living above a sweets shop. The temptation to do what you want rather than what you ought would be awful. And..."

"What?" Draco asked.

"Well...we sort of take it for granted that freedom is a good thing. I mean, we all think freedom is a basic right, don't we?"

"I like it," Harry put in.

"Yeah, but what if they don't think that way? I mean, if you tell someone who doesn't think freedom is all that great that you want to free all the house-elves, aren't you imposing on them just as much as if they imposed on you?"

"Depends on whether they're the ones being slaves or doing the enslaving," Harry said darkly.

"But that's just it! The house-elves are the ones being enslaved, aren't they?"

Harry looked doubtful. "Isn't that what the Muggles said in America about the slaves? That they wanted to be slaves?"

"Maybe," Padma shrugged as they began to descend the stairs. In the distance, the end-of-lunch bell was tolling. "But look at it this way. If house-elves think it's a religious duty to be enslaved to humans as a sort of...service test, then getting freed isn't a reward. Being free and serving humans is something that you can only do if you're really strong and brave and devoted, because otherwise when push comes to shove you're going to start thinking of yourself instead of others. And there's pride in it, you know, like those old Muggle serving families who've been butlers to the same rich family for five generations."

"That's true," Draco said. "There's a whole hallway lined with house-elf heads at home. They all want to have their heads hung up too, when they die."

"Eurgh," Neville said. "There was a hallway like that at home before they knocked down most of the walls. Andromeda took all the heads down and gave them a decent burial." He paused. "Well, you know. As decent as you can get, burying them in the garden. The rosebushes Ted planted there grow like anything -- "

"That's disgusting, Neville," Padma said.

"What? They do."

"You needn't bring it up!"

"Well, no, but -- " Neville stopped haplessly as Padma ran off to join the rest of the Ravenclaws, who were heading for class. "She always has to have the last word," he said sulkily.

"What's wrong with Padma, anyway? I thought she was going to punch Dobby in the head," Harry said.

"Dunno," Draco shrugged. "My mum's that way all the time, maybe it's something girls just get as they get older."

"Dora isn't," Neville said. "Except -- ooh. Maybe she has Girl Problems."

"Girl Problems?" Harry asked. "What, like, lost her hair curlers?"

"No, sometimes Andromeda and Dora get cranky and angry and Ted says it's Girl Problems. I think it has to do with vitamins or something," Neville said vaguely.

"Do you suppose if I gave mum some vitamins she'd be more sane?" Draco asked, a trace of hope in his voice.

"Sirius says with your mum it's inherited insanity," Harry put in.

"Bother," Draco sighed.

"There's Dora, we could ask her," Neville said, pointing to where Professor Tonks was hanging a large sheet of parchment on the wall outside the main entrance to the Great Hall.

"I'm not asking her, if it IS inherited," Draco muttered.

"What's she hanging up, anyway?" Harry asked, pushing through the crowds. "It looks like a sign-up sheet for something."

"Dueling club!" Neville read, catching up to him. "Learn the techniques and skills required to engage in a wizard's duel. All years and houses welcome to attend."

"Oooer," Draco said. "That sounds brilliant. Even if you only watch, someone's sure to get their nose hexed off."

"There won't be any of that," Professor Tonks said, without turning around. "Professor Snape and I are supervising it."

"Are you going to duel him?" Neville asked excitedly.

"Only in demonstration," Professor Tonks answered. "You'll be late to class if you keep asking silly questions, Neville."

"Sign us up, Harry!" Neville said, Harry being closest. He shouldered his way past a few fourth-years and managed to scrawl their names down before someone else shoved him out of the way to sign up as well.

Dueling was all anyone talked about for the rest of the day, much to the dismay of Professor Snape in particular, who had only gone along with this stunt because it was easier than backing out in front of Professor McGonagall.

Chapter 17

Draco was late to dinner, having had to dash back to the dormitory to make sure Dobby was reasonably well-hidden; he found the house-elf more-or-less cheerfully redecorating the inside of his trunk, piling all the clothing (shirts carefully on top) on one side so as to make a cozy little hut, lined with handkerchiefs and worn socks, in which to sleep. He had even dug up a photograph of Draco from somewhere and hung it on the inside of the trunk in a place of honour. In addition, he had refilled every inkpot in the entire dormitory.

"I don't see how you're going to pull it off, you'll have to keep him a secret," Neville said, as they sat in the library, homework abandoned in front of them.

"Well, I think it's going to be great fun having a valet. He can..." Draco reached deep into the recesses of his memory to dig out a book he'd once read with a valet in it. "...he can brush down my clothing and help me dress, and shave me."

"You don't shave," Harry pointed out.

"Yet!"

"Catch me letting a house-elf near me with a razor," Neville said. "Is it time yet?"

Harry checked the big clock at the front of the library. "Nearly. We can go down, anyway."

"Down to where?" Padma asked, not looking up from the book she was taking notes in.

"The Dueling Club!" Neville said. "Didn't Harry tell you?"

"I thought Draco would, he has class with her," Harry said. "I signed you up, so that's all right."

"Signed me up?" Padma said irritably.

"Dora and Professor Snape are going to teach us about dueling," Neville said. "We're all going, come on."

"Fine." Padma closed her book and stuffed it into her bag. Draco mouthed "Girl Problems" at Harry.

They reached the Great Hall just ahead of a large crowd of Gryffindors. Inside, the tables had been transfigured into a long, elevated stage with soft padding on the floor on either side of it. Snape was pacing back and forth on the stage; Dora sat on the edge, talking quietly with a few seventh-years.

"All right, everyone quiet down," she said finally, pulling her feet up onto the stage and standing in a single, swift motion which would have been graceful if her toes hadn't gotten tangled in her robe. She staggered a little before Snape grabbed her elbow to pull her back into balance. A few students laughed. "Yeah, laugh it up now," she warned with a grin. "You'll feel differently when you're up here at the business end of my wand!"

"She's a good teacher," Draco said.

"She's the best teacher," Neville replied proudly.

"Welcome to the Dueling Club!" Tonks was saying, her voice echoing a little off the enchanted ceiling, which at the moment was illuminating the Great Hall with a combination of floating candles and a meteor shower. "I am Professor Tonks, for those of you who are failing my class, and this is my assistant, Professor Snape," she added with a grin.

Snape looked furious at being called anyone's assistant, but far too dignified to retort.

"Before we begin instruction, we're going to give you a little demonstration. Those of you who are unfamiliar with wizards' duels should probably pay special attention. Miss Brott, will you give us the count?"

Anastasia Brott, a sixth-year Gryffindor, nodded with proud solemnity. Harry was very close to the slightly rounded center of the stage where Snape and Tonks now met; otherwise he never would have heard what they said.

"Don't play nice just because I'm a girl," Dora said under her breath.

"Do I ever?" Snape answered, equally quietly.

They turned their backs on each other and paced the length of the stage, turning when they reached the painted full moons at either end. There was a perfunctory bow, more graceful on Snape's part, and then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

"One -- two -- three -- " Anastasia counted.

They moved almost in unison, swinging their wands over their heads and pointing them directly at each other; Snape cried "Expelliarmus!" at the same time Dora shouted "Referio Erubescaete!" and there was an explosion of light about five feet in front of her. Harry felt Padma pull him back just as a ball of pink light flicked past, striking Snape in the chest and knocking him flat.

When he sat up, the room burst into uproar. Cricket Creevey's flashbulb popped.

Snape's short-cropped black hair, as much a halmark to his current students as the three long scars on the side of his face, was now bright pink.

Dora was moving towards him cautiously, looking like she was trying very hard not to smile. Snape aimed his wand at his own head and muttered a charm that seemed to wash the pink out of his hair. She offered him a hand to help him up, and Harry could see her lips form the words "Told you not to play nice."

He ignored the hand and swung to his feet with startling grace; she didn't back down, and for a moment they stood toe-to-toe, faces only a few inches apart, though Snape's head was inclined slightly to stare down his considerable nose at her.

"What have we learned, children," he said, loudly, without moving, "about the strategy of dueling?"

"Don't play nice," Neville called. Snape's head snapped down and he glared at the boy, but Dora was backing off and so he began to pace again, up and down the left half of the stage.

"Anticipate what is to come," he said clearly. "There was no time for Professor Tonks to hear what I was saying before she had to reply or be defeated. She therefore chose a rather dangerous but effective anticipatory gamble. Betting that I would attempt an expelliarmus, she used a countercharm instead of a hex, one which is only effective against some forms of attack. Had I, for example, hurled an incendite at her -- " he flicked his wand, apparently by accident, and sent a screaming jet of flames in her direction, which she quickly ducked, " -- her countercharm would have been ineffective, and you would now be minus one Dark Arts professor."

"Instead, I deflected the hex he did throw and added a small spell that made use of the expended energy to...redecorate Professor Snape a little," Dora added with a smile. "So you see, even in dueling, you must be willing not only to defend yourself against what is coming, but to anticipate it. Now, who'd like to try something a little more basic? Let's see -- Patil, why don't you give it a go?"

Padma looked around, searching for her sister, until she realised Professor Tonks was pointing at her. Almost reluctantly, she clambered up on stage.

"Professor Snape, would you like to pick a champion?" Tonks asked politely. Snape smiled.

"Potter," he drawled. Harry, who had seen this coming, used Neville's shoulder to hoist himself up next to Padma.

"Don't go easy on me just because I'm a boy," he said with a grin. Padma smiled back, miraculously.

"Face and pace," Tonks ordered, slipping off the stage. Snape jumped down lightly on the other side. Harry and Padma faced each other, turned around, and walked down the stage in opposite directions.

"Turn and bow," Snape ordered. Harry turned, bowing stiffly, and saw Padma flick her braid back over her shoulder when she was done.

"One -- two -- three -- " Dora said, and Harry -- who had anticipated that Padma would probably try Dora's trick -- decided on a little dirty pool.

"Serpensoria!" he shouted, just as Padma let loose an entirely ineffective "Referio boletus!" which would have turned Harry's ears into mushrooms if it had worked. Instead, Harry was unharmed, while a large black snake was crawling towards Padma. It was bigger than he'd intended. There were shrieks from the onlookers, many of whom were backing away hurriedly.

"It's only a snake," Harry heard Goyle say, from the audience. "Here, I can fix it -- "

"Goyle, don't you dare," Dora began, but it was too late; he'd pointed his wand at the snake and bellowed "Aterte!" just as Padma tried an expelliarmus on it. The combined force of her hex and Goyle's garbled attempt to kill the thing sent it flying through the air even as poisonous fangs began to grow from its mouth.

It landed in front of Cricket, who couldn't resist taking a picture. The flash only seemed to make the snake angrier.

"Don't move, Creevey," Dora said. She was running forward even before Snape cleared the stage, but she tripped on the hem of her robe again and crashed down amidst a cluster of fifth-year Ravenclaws.

The snake, undeterred, raised itself up -- as tall as Colin was -- and hissed. Harry knew the posture; it was going to strike if someone didn't do something.

Without thinking, he shouted.

Don't you dare!

The snake paused, confused.

Leave him alone! Shame on you! Bad Snake!

The hissing ceased, and the snake turned its head to regard Harry with two beady, stupid black eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Snape flick his wand at the enormous black snake, and it dissolved gently into smoke.

Ow, it said, as it went.

Through the haze of black smoke, Harry saw Cricket staring up at him confusedly. Others were staring as well, including Padma, still standing at the far end of the stage.

"I think that's enough for today," Dora said, clapping her hands for attention. Harry swallowed, wondering if by some miracle nobody had noticed him. "We'll meet again next week -- off you go, now..."

The crowds slowly dissipated, breaking up into small, muttering groups. Harry heard one boy say "Parselmouth" under his breath as they passed by.

No such luck, then.

He barely saw Snape's dismayed look as the professor helped him down from the stage. Instead what he saw were Neville and Draco standing together, eyes round as saucers, watching him.

"What did you do to that snake?" Draco asked in a hushed whisper.

"Saved Creevey's life, much thanks I get," Harry replied. Cricket had fled the room as soon as the snake had vanished.

"That's...not what it looked like," Neville answered hesitantly. "You sort of hissed at it..."

"What, you think I told it to attack him?" Harry demanded.

"We don't know what you said," Draco answered.

"How long have you been a Parselmouth?" Padma asked, from behind him. The other two winced.

"How long have you been a nosey-parker?" Harry said sharply. "All my life, not that it's your business or anyone's."

"Hardly difficult to make it our business when you start speaking in tongues in front of the whole ruddy school!" Neville blurted.

"I'm not the one who turned it poisonous, I'm not the one who threw it across the room so that it landed practically on top of Cricket," Harry protested.

"But you made it," Padma said. "And then you talked to it. Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because it doesn't matter! It's like...having double-joined thumbs or an extra toe or something, it's just always there and you don't think to go around handing out cards reading by the way, I talk to snakes," Harry said angrily.

The Great Hall was echoingly silent, except for the sound of Harry's own breath.

"Wish I could," Neville said finally.

"Could what?"

"Talk to snakes, idiot," Neville replied. "Are they very interesting?"

Draco looked at Neville incredulously. "They're snakes! They bite things!"

"So do you."

"Not living things!"

"Snake eats bacon, I've seen him do it," Neville said calmly.

Harry had almost forgotten about Padma, as silent as she was, until she cleared her throat.

"It would have been nice to know," she said, scoldingly. "But there's nothing to be done about it now. Everyone's going to be talking about it so you might as well get used to being asked awkward questions. I'm tired; I'm going to bed."

She walked out of the Great Hall, and Draco gave Harry a regretful look.

"I'll...make sure she's okay," he said, following quickly. "See you at breakfast!" he added over his shoulder, as if to reassure Harry that there were no hard feelings.

"I always wondered how you got your snake to do tricks," Neville said. Harry sat on the edge of the stage, brooding. "Dora knew, didn't she? She didn't seem surprised at all."

"Probably. All the grownups know -- Remus and Sirius and Andromeda and Ted, I mean, and Professor Snape and Headmaster Dumbledore. It's not like it was any big secret, it was just...something that was mine." Harry sighed. "Besides, a lot of Dark wizards have been Parselmouths. I'm already in Slytherin, it's not as though that's a glowing recommendation of moral character."

"I don't mind," Neville said. "And Draco doesn't. Padma'll come round if she does. Girl Problems," he added, so gravely that Harry laughed.

"Sure. Like me. I've got snake problems," he answered, grinning. "Want to go raid the kitchen?"

"That was a bloody big snake," Neville said, following him out the door and down the stairs. "Did you really tell it to stop?"

"They're all big softies if you talk sternly enough," Harry replied, tickling the pear in the still-life.

***

News got around the school quickly, as it always did; Harry found himself the target of unpleasant stares and even more unpleasant whispers in the halls the next day, and someone put a handful of rubber snakes in his cauldron during Potions that Friday. He'd thought it was just stupid rumour and that it would pass, but an encounter on Saturday made him aware that there were deeper undercurrents to the sudden hostility of some of the students.

The old rumours about the Chamber of Secrets had started up again, that much he knew, but surely nobody really believed them. It was all Dobby's doing. He hadn't given it a second thought.

Now, however...

He'd been looking for a book on magical creatures for Potions -- more specifically, what bits of which magical creatures were used in some of the size-changing potions they'd been making -- when he heard giggles and whispers from the next row over. Curious, he'd leaned forward and peered through a gap in the shelf, wondering if it was some of the sixth years breaking the library's decency rules again.

Instead it was a group of second and third years. Ravenclaws, mostly, with a few Hufflepuffs around the edges. The shortest of them, a Ravenclaw named Morag MacDougall, had a book open in her hands, and the others were leaning over it.

"What makes you think it's a snake?" one of them asked. "Stop shoving," she added, over her shoulder.

"But I want to see!"

Morag hushed them. "Because it makes sense," she said. "If Salazar Slytherin put a monster in the Chamber of Secrets it's bound to be a snake of some kind, isn't it?"

"How do you know what Salazar Slytherin would do?"

"It stands to reason, that's all," Morag replied irritably.

"I think that's faulty logic," said a Ravenclaw boy. "You just want it to be a snake because Potter talks to snakes."

"It's not faulty logic if it the sequence works both ways," Morag said. "Slytherin liked snakes so he put one in the Chamber. Snakes like eggs; the thing that killed the chickens might have been a snake. Potter talks to snakes; Potter set a snake on Cricket Creevey; clearly he has practice with snakes, of which the beast in the Chamber is one. Potter is the Heir of Slytherin."

"Or there is no Chamber of Secrets, no beast, no monstrous snake, a dog got at the chickens, and Potter played a tasteless joke," the boy retorted.

"Are you going to bet your life on it? The last time there were rumours about the Chamber being opened, a student died. He's already gone after the Slytherin Muggle-borns. You think he'll stop with his own House? Even the ghosts are afraid of him. Look what happened to Completely Headless Nick."

"But he's always been friends with Nick," protested a Hufflepuff.

"So? I hear when a wizard goes bad he'd turn on his own family."

"Oh, that's rubbish, he's twelve years old, he hasn't gone bad."

Harry, who had been listening in a stunned sort of silence, quietly crept away as they began to bicker about what age was appropriate for a wizard to go bad, citing old rumours about teenage Death Eaters and even managing to bring up the age statute on first communions in church. It was all academic to the Ravenclaws but as he sat at the study table, completely ignoring Padma, Draco, and Neville, he watched the group emerge from the stacks, each student going their separate ways. He watched them join other groups, heads bent low in quiet discussion, and occasionally those groups would break up and spread out again.

There was no doubt he was a Slytherin and a Parselmouth, but he would know if he were opening the Chamber, wouldn't he?

The voice in his head, the deep, primal hunting voice that begged to be freed to kill, had not been silent, though it had haunted him mostly in his dreams. Was that the snake Salazar Slytherin had left behind him when he abandoned Hogwarts? Was it drawn out because Harry was a Parselmouth?

Sirius was the blood-descendant of Salazar Slytherin, and he wasn't Harry's blood relation at all, but...well, magic did funny things to family trees. Sirius was his father in all but name and Harry was his Heir in name as well as wardhood. His parents hadn't been parseltongues as far as he knew, but then neither was Sirius.

He couldn't recall a time he hadn't been able to talk to snakes, but he wasn't sure if he'd ever tried before coming to live with Sirius. He'd never tried to recall his life with the Dursleys and the memories had faded into merciful oblivion for the most part.

Harry knew enough about genetics to wonder if Sirius hadn't passed on some recessive gene, somehow, magically. People often said they looked enough alike to be father and son, though Harry knew that his resemblance to James Potter, his father, was much stronger.

"Harry?"

Harry glanced up at Neville, who looked more worried than usual.

"What?"

"I said, do you want to go down to the kitchen and get cocoa?"

"Oh...yeah, okay," Harry said. He felt the eyes of other students on him as he gathered his books and followed the others out of the library.

"Hey Potter!" Fred Weasley called from the other end of the hallway, as they were going out and the Weasley twins were going in. "I hear you're the Heir of Slytherin! You need henchmen, you know who to call!"

It was going to be a long few months until summer.

***

Only the oldest and most adventurous of the Hogwarts students knew that on the far side of the lake, east of the route the first-years took across it in the enchanted boats, was a series of hot sulfur vents cut off from the main body of the lake by a narrow inlet. The Giant Squid often spend his nights there and flocks of late-migrating birds sometimes roosted there for the winter, building nests in the branches overhanging the steaming springs. The only way to the hot springs by land was through the Forbidden Forest without a map; the easiest way was by water, either in a boat or by swimming across the lake.

In a way, it was ideal; one dove into the cold water of the lake from an overhanging rock, and the cold shock became unpleasantly pervasive just as a fast swimmer would reach the warmer water.

Contrary to what his students might write on their desks when they thought he wasn't looking, Severus Snape bathed daily -- just not always in a bathtub. He found it invigorating to be up at dawn for a sulfurous soak and return from the lake in time for a hot bowl of porridge for breakfast. He was hygenic about it, of course; his bathing costume would have put most Victorians to shame, but he rather liked it. It was black, of course, and it reached his knees and elbows -- suitably modest, to his mind. He was aware that as it grew warmer dozens of students would go swimming in the lake clad in little more than a pair of specially-designed boxers, but the young had no shame.

He was just beginning to really feel the icy chill of the freezing water in his fingers and toes as he reached the inlet, and he plunged gratefully into the warmer water without a break in his stroke, dodging around the high chimneys of stone which jutted up from the sulfurous lake floor.

There was one broad, flat rock which was particularly good to stop at; it had a natural seat built into the side, and was long enough to stretch out on if he liked. He made for that, barely lifting his head from the water, and was therefore much surprised to find himself grasping not the edge of the stone, but something soft and rather more yielding.

"Bloody Merlin!" someone yelped, and Snape drew back, shaking his head and wiping water out of his eyes. Someone clubbed him upside the head and he nearly went under; he did go under in order to duck a second wild flail, and opened his eyes on quite a lot more of Nymphadora Tonks than either he or her mother would be at all happy with.

"Desist!" he gurgled, surfacing. "Stop clubbing me, you little fool!"

"Severus?" she gasped. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"Writing a novel, what does it bloody look like I'm doing?" he demanded. "I think the question of what you are doing here in the quite altogether is a much more important one!"

"It's not even dawn yet and there's nobody around for miles! I came down for a soak!" she answered. "Why shouldn't I be in the altogether? And I'll thank you not to go staring at my altogether!"

"I wouldn't have if you hadn't hit me in the head!" he snapped.

"You grabbed my thigh!"

"I was trying to grab the rock!"

"Well you missed, didn't you?"

"Are you insinuating that I go about in the early morning looking for naked bathers to grope?" he demanded.

She stared at him for a moment, open-mouthed, and then burst out laughing.

"Oh Merlin, the look on your face..." she gasped. She was treading water a little ways from the rock-seat now, still quite naked, and he concentrated on continuing not to look down. The water was very warm, and it was also very clear. "You're blushing!"

"I most certainly am not! It's hot here."

"You're blushing because you have a puritan streak in you a mile wide. Your bathing suit hassleeves."

"All proper wizarding bathing suits have sleeves."

"Mine doesn't."

"Clearly," he drawled.

"If you're wearing that for your morning soak, you're missing half the fun," she said, and gave him a look that would put an imp to shame. He barely had time to register it, however, because she had hoisted herself out of the water completely and was standing on top of the rock. He stared at the rock because there was nowhere else that was safe to look; he could see the pink of her bare heels and about six inches of ankle, which was six inches more of Dora Tonks' ankle than he ever wished to see in these circumstances.

"I guess I'm not the only one the Headmaster told about the hot springs," she said, as bright purple fabric swirled around her ankles. "You can look now, my altogether is decently hidden."

"Not from this angle," he said, pulling himself up alongside her. She tightened the belt on the robe she was wearing and sniffed deprecatingly at him.

"There's no need to be insulting."

"You hit me in the head!"

"Haven't we had this part of the argument already?" she asked. "Don't sulk, I promise I won't come here again if you'll tell me when you're going to be here."

"Why? I think I've already had as much of an eyeful as it's possible to get," he sulked.

"I'm trying to be giving, here."

"Don't bother, no-one else does," he said bitterly, before he'd caught himself. She half-sat, half-slipped down next to him. "I don't mean that," he added reluctantly.

"Shouldn't see why not. You're not exactly the popular one, are you?"

"By no stretch of the imagination, but self-pity is a disgusting habit. Besides, it's untrue. Your parents -- "

" -- yes, my parents," she said with a grin. "Stray cat number five, I think you are."

He glanced at her, inquisitively.

"That's mum for you. There were two actual cats, and before that there was my father, who really is quite lost without her, and Neville of course, and you," she said. "Well, dad's debateable. She's pretty lost when he goes off for the weekend, too. But the good news is she only takes in the strays she really likes."

"So I'm a beloved boot-faced cat. How nice."

"Yes," Dora said seriously. "You are."

He wasn't really sure how to reply to that, so he sulked some more.

"I really won't come back in the mornings if that's when you come here," she said. "I could just as easily come in the evenings, only there are more bugs out at night."

"If you weren't sitting indecently in my spot -- "

"Indecently!"

"If you managed to wear something -- something you wouldn't be ashamed to be seen wearing in the Great Hall," he added, when she opened her mouth, " -- I feel the springs are big enough that we could enjoy them while barely even seeing each other."

"Well, in that case how will you know I'm not being indecent?"

"Cheek!"

He knew, somewhere in the back of his head, that if he hadn't reacted to her nudity she wouldn't have made such a point of it. Still, one really couldn't bathe naked in the lake, hidden in the hot springs or otherwise, without some kind of comment needing to be made.

"I don't see what the fuss is. It's much more fun when you're not wearing yards of wet swimsuit," she said. "You can look away if you like, but all my clothes are on the shore at the other end of the lake, so I'm going to have to swim out there and get them."

"What if a student saw you?" he demanded. "Do you think about these things at all?"

"There's a big high hedge near the spot I dress in, and they can't have reacted any more indecently than you did."

"I beg your pardon."

"Close your eyes or be offended," she warned, and he looked away long enough to hear her splash back into the water and swim for the inlet.

When he was sure she was quite out of view, he settled down into the underwater seat and leaned back, closing his eyes.

Certainly one could encounter worse things in the lake than a naked Nymphadora Tonks, of course. In fact there were very few things which were less unpleasant. But the fact remained that this was his place, and she had invaded it with her purple robe and really quite stunning breasts and taunts about puritan streaks.

The thought slipped by him without his even taking notice; it wasn't until he was back in the Great Hall, eating his porridge down the table from a dry and decently clothed Dora Tonks, that the surreality of the situation hit him fully.

He was unusually stern and unforgiving with his students for the rest of the day.

Chapter 18

Not long after Dobby entered the employ of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter became the number one suspect for the Petrification of Nick, the children were given something entirely new to fret about.

In third year, two or three more hours were going to be added to their day in the form of new elective classes, depending on achievement. Sooner or later some of these classes would become important pillars of their OWL and NEWT examinations, and all of them seemed either interesting or necessary. Once in a while they were even both.

Draco, now long indoctrinated in the Way of the Flashcard, made little cards which outlined the benefits and failings of each course as passed on to him by older, wiser Hufflepuffs. He spent a great deal of time rearranging them to see which ones would fit together properly and adding little gold stars to the ones his mum was insisting on, to see if he couldn't possibly take the classes he liked and still please his mother. Harry spent just as much time taking the gold stars off and lecturing Draco on letting Narcissa Malfoy run his life. Dobby happily obeyed both of them, adding and removing stars at their behest until he ran out of stickers.

Neville got advice from Dora and long letters from Andromeda, Ted, and surprisingly his great-uncle Algernon, who had never shown any interest in him since he'd come to live with the Tonkses. All the other Gryffindors were trying to get into classes as a group, which didn't help matters any, especially since a good portion of them were also trying to get into the easiest classes as well. Neville knew he wasn't the brightest student ever to attend Hogwarts, but a year and a half of Padma and Harry's high standards had inspired a certain academic ethic in him.

Padma herself had not, apparently, made index cards -- or if she had, she was keeping them private. When Draco asked her what she was taking, she shrugged and said she hadn't decided yet; she seemed uninterested in discussing the problem of Arithmancy versus Divination, Muggle Studies against Ancient Runes against Care of Magical Creatures.

Harry had letters from Remus and Sirius, of course. In addition, he had the entire Wizarding World to contend with; there were no less than three articles in the Prophet about his academic choices and a contest to "Pick Potter's Picks!" in Witch Weekly. Sirius was all for betting on the one with the longest odds and then telling Harry to choose that one, but Remus was more levelheaded about it.

***

"Oh, that's very good," Helena Broosh said approvingly. "You're both being perfect gentlemen this week. What reason this docility? You didn't have a pint beforehand, did you?"

"It's ten in the morning!" Sirius protested. "Even unemployed layabouts must have somestandards."

He was leaning over Remus' leg, almost draped over it, in fact. In the last ten minutes, Remus' hand had strayed from its posed place on the book he was holding and begun stroking his head, absently smoothing down his hair. The effect had not been lost on Sirius, who was bonelessly relaxed and satisfied with the world. Even Helena hadn't found it in her heart to order his hand back onto the book. Instead, she asked pleasantly, "Good book, Mr. Lupin?"

"Blank book," he replied, tilting it slightly so that she could see the handwritten page tucked inside it. "Harry sent me a letter this morning, I'm reading that."

"He's in the middle of choosing classes," Sirius added. "Far too grown up to take his godfather's advice, of course."

"His godfather's advice is what we call corrupting a minor," Remus said calmly. "He'd do much better to listen to me and diversify his classes. He has the academic standing to take three new courses -- "

"On top of Quidditch?"

"Why not? If he finds he can't handle the workload, he can cut back next year. It'll keep him out of mischief."

"That's not true, that never worked on me," Sirius pointed out.

"You skipped class half the time and copied my notes," Remus replied. His fingers tightened playfully in Sirius' hair before releasing it and returning to holding his book. Sirius gave Helena asee what you've done look.

"How much longer before we get to inspect the masterpiece?" he asked.

"It's almost finished; I think perhaps next time we may start putting the movement charms on it. I'll need to schedule a few sessions with you alone, Mr. Black -- Mr. Lupin is welcome to attend, but we'll need to concentrate on you in order to get the canine half of your personality sorted out quite right."

"If you're lucky she'll play fetch with you," Remus murmured.

"If you're lucky I'll forget you said that," Sirius answered cheerfully.

"You'd sit up and beg if I dangled a treat in front of you -- "

"Mr. Lupin!" Helena said, feigning scandal. Remus laughed. "Mr. Black, what have you done to my polite, obedient sitter?"

"Don't answer that," Remus advised.

"No fear," Sirius said.

"Do tell me more about Harry's classes. What do you think he ought to take, Mr. Black?"

Sirius shrugged without falling out of pose. "Divs is an easy slide and I think he'd enjoy Care of Magical Creatures, but if he wants to spend all his time swotting for Ancient Runes and Arithmancy he's quite welcome to do so. I never tell Harry what to do anymore unless he asks; if I haven't taught him to make smart decisions by now, I doubt he'll ever know."

"That's a very mature attitude for a parent."

"Well, I never had to change diapers. We met Harry when he was already quite well-developed enough to decide things for himself; I just made sure he knew which decisions were going to be good ones."

"Which Divs is not," Remus replied.

"You don't approve of Divination?" Helena asked, paintbrush flicking across the canvas.

"I don't."

"Remus is the only student in the history of Hogwarts School to fail Divination," Sirius said sourly.

"I'm sure that's not true," Remus answered. "And anyway, I didn't fail. I conscientiously refused to take the exam."

"It was an OWL!"

"I didn't need it."

"You refused to take an OWL?" Helena inquired.

"I got tired of faking prophecies and disagreeing with the professor," Remus said. Helena grinned. There was a spark of defiance in his eyes even after twenty years. "I thought it was a pile of bunk, teaching students who didn't have a natural gift and expecting them to actually produce something. Class was structured entirely wrong -- we should have learned Divs theory as a unit of some other course. The professor told me off for being a swot, which I daresay I was, and I told him precisely what I thought of Divination. He sent me to the Headmaster and I told him, too."

"What did the Headmaster say?"

"He said it was nice to see me rebelling a little and then offered me a butterscotch dragonfly, " Remus sighed. "Apparently I was an unnaturally obedient child."

"You were, you know," Sirius said.

"But I'd taken it, thanks to this idiot's suggestion -- "

"Hey!"

"And they wouldn't simply let me drop out, so I refused to attend class and didn't take the OWL." Remus grinned. "Needless to say, I will not be advising Harry to take it. I think Ancient Runes wouldn't present too much of a challenge, he's rather good with languages, and Care of Magical Creatures is fun. He doesn't really need Muggle Studies, but Arithmancy could be very useful."

"What's he going to need a lot of runic tosh for?" Sirius asked.

"He might be a historian."

Sirius snorted. "You don't have very high career standards."

"He's never going to need a career," Remus said firmly, "so he can do whatever he jolly well likes. He ought to be developing his academic mind so that he'll at least put it to some use for the good of wizardkind."

"You'll have to take it back," Helena said to Sirius, laughing. "He wants young Harry to be the saviour of wizardkind!"

Remus flushed and fell silent, but he was still smiling slightly.

"Anyway, it's just a relief he's not an idiot. I can do something with a plucky, bright boy," Sirius said.

Helena smiled and tried to capture, in the brief moment it appeared, the proud smile on Sirius Black's face.

***

Harry was not, however, feeling either plucky or particularly bright that morning.

It was a Monday, and much to his regret he'd been up late the night before, hiding out behind the Quidditch supplies shed with the others. Dobby had been cleaning the common room (as he often had to be commanded not to do twice a day) and found a hidden packet of Lucky Stripe cigarettes, clearly secreted away by one of the older students. He had dutifully presented them to Draco, who had put them before the group for consideration.

Padma had been the one to suggest they try them, as children of a certain age generally do, and while Draco and Neville refused, in fear of their respective mums, Harry hadn't been able to resist Padma's dare. He'd matched her through two cigarettes while all four of them laughed at the colours their eyes changed as they smoked. Afterwards he'd been really splendidly sick, as had Padma, and he'd spent all night with a rotten taste in his mouth that no amount of toothscrubbing charms would get rid of -- and the Voice had lurked on the edge of his hearing all night.

Neville and Draco had gloated indecently over breakfast. His head still hurt.

The screeching chirps of the Cornish Pixies in the cage at the front of class weren't helping. Dora -- Professor Tonks -- had brought in a cageful of them as a practical demonstration. She was showing the rest of the students how they reacted to various stimuli: freezing charms, bright lights, sudden noises. Needless to say, Harry was suffering the consequences of his actions.

Class couldn't end too soon. Even as Dora was dismissing them his headache seemed to be getting better, but then...

It Happened.

"Don't forget to read chapters nine and ten and come up with three questions the chapters didn't cover," Dora said as they were packing up. She leaned on the table on which the Pixie cage rested, crossing her arms. "And no cribbing, I shall know if you do -- "

She raised her hand to shake an admonitory finger at them in jest, but the wide sleeve of her robe caught on the cover she'd just put over the cage, which in turn snagged on the cage and the whole thing, including the now-unbalanced table, went over backwards in a really tremendous crash.

"Not to worry!" Dora called from the floor, as everyone crowded around. "Just got to untangle -- "

There was a scream of joy from the Pixies as their slightly smashed cage door popped open. There was a matching scream, not quite as joyous, from the class.

"Shut the door! Keep your heads!" Dora called, still floorbound by her sleeve. "Remember your lesson! OW!" she added, as one of the Pixies grabbed her nose and tugged at it.

Most of the students took cover as the Pixies began to zoom around the room, knocking over books, flinging papers everywhere, shaking the fixtures and overturning the desks. Harry tried to grab one and nearly lost a finger to needle-sharp teeth. Hexes were flying everywhere but only a few Pixies didn't manage to dodge. The crashing grew louder; a fortunately-unlit chandelier fell, and Dora shrugged bodily out of her still-tangled robes, raising her wand just as the door burst open and thus missing the bulk of the Pixies out of sheer surprise.

"Professor Tonks, my classroom is, as you know, below yours and I cannot -- "

Snape stopped in mid-tirade. A Pixie grabbed him by the ear and he batted it off so hard it hit the wall with a loud thud. He slammed the door shut behind him.

Harry watched, impressed, as he stalked down what had been the central aisle of the classroom, hexing into petrification anything that got in his way. But the Pixies were regrouping and there was another ceiling-suspended candelabra --

"Look out!" Dora shouted, pointing over his shoulder. He turned, ducked, leapt, and knocked her off her feet, successfully if painfully protecting them both from the swing of the second chandelier. Harry saw him rise up on his knees again, twist, and shout a freezing charm that managed to petrify all but one remaining Pixie, which hooted and fled for the safety of the cage.

Snape seemed to take a moment to contemplate his handiwork, then twisted back around to look down at Dora, whose waist he was more or less straddling.

"All right?" he asked.

"All right," she replied. "You?"

He stood and stepped around her, offering his hand. She was already pushing herself up, however, and didn't notice his offer of help as she dusted off the trousers and plain Muggle t-shirt she had been wearing under her robes.

"Class is dismissed," she called. There was a mad rush for the door. Harry, whose books had been scattered, began to gather them together again after the dust had settled.

"You ought to ward the cage doors," Snape said, examining the bent and twisted Pixie cage.

"I didn't intend the whole table to go over," she answered, rather tensely Harry thought. "Thank you for helping."

Snape, with a gracelessness that was rather typical of him, shrugged. "I have a class still in session. If you will excuse me."

"Of course."

He left quickly, shoving hovering Pixies out of his way as he went. After the door shut behind him, Dora slumped down on one of the desks.

"Damn," she said quietly.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked hesitantly, finally standing. She started and glanced at him.

"Oh, yes Harry -- thanks," she said with a smile. "One just feels a fool being a professor of Dark Arts and letting loose a cageful of Pixies."

"Oh," Harry said. He wasn't sure it was quite proper for a student to comfort a teacher.

"Especially in front of Professor Snape. He does still make me think I'm an idiot, a lot of the time."

Harry shifted his weight from foot to foot. "He does that to everyone," he ventured.

"Yes, I know." She shook her head. "I'm fine, Harry. You'd better run along to your next class."

Harry hesitated, then shouldered his bag and left. He could hear her begin to slowly sweep up the debris and re-cage the Pixies as he left.

He was startled to see Professor Snape leaning against the wall outside, eyes closed, breathing deeply. He suspected now was not a good time to disturb him, and crept away in the other direction as quietly as he could.

***

Harry had very little time that week to puzzle out just what was going on between Professor Snape and Professor Tonks, however. The Quidditch season was speeding towards the final championship game, and practices were becoming more intense.

Slytherin, having pretty much wrecked the Quidditch rulebook that year, were well ahead of the rest of the school in terms of game wins. They were slated to play Hufflepuff, who were surprisingly their biggest contender this year, while Ravenclaw would be playing Gryffindor just for a chance to stay in the running. If Slytherin won, as they were expected to, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor would probably be competing for the other spot in the championship.

Harry, adjusting a strap on his glove as they walked out to the field, listened to the usual good-natured bickering between teammates and again wondered how he'd ended up in this position. True, it felt terribly grown-up to walk out onto the Pitch in his Quidditch leathers, but the fact that he was so small that his leathers had to be specially shrunken for him last year sort of balanced that out. Being watched by the entire school was not exactly low-pressure, but then they were all watching him anyway, these days. Watching and saying things under their breath.

Parselmouth. Slytherin. Heir.

Harry watched Flint shake hands with the Hufflepuff captain and prepared to mount; it all fell away when he was in the air, anyway. Then it was tactics, true, but it was straightforward and there were limits to the movements you could execute on a broomstick. And it was flying which mattered, anyway. Nothing could touch him when he flew.

By the time he reached scanning altitude, the Quaffle was already up and the game was well in hand. Hufflepuff weren't strategists, and they relied on good defence and a very solid set of Beaters to carry them through whatever convoluted tricks Slytherin was likely to play. They had one real star player, their Seeker Diggory, who had been mainly responsible for their very decent season and was even now circling Harry's position. He tossed Harry a wink as he dove past him, but Harry didn't follow and the feint proved fruitless.

He could see the glint of Draco's omnioculars from the Hufflepuff stands where he was sharing them with Neville, who had defected to the Hufflepuff side out of sympathy. In the Slytherin stands, Professor Snape was a black blot at the end of one bench. Across the aisle, in the Gryffindor half, Dora was a wild mess of Hufflepuff colours, as were most of the Gryffindors. Harry never thought of Dora as a Gryffindor -- he never thought of her as anything, really, since unlike Snape and McGonagall, she didn't seem to be tied up in House affiliations. He supposed shewould support the underdog; she always did.

He didn't see Cricket, which didn't seem to matter much at the time.

He dipped down into the level of regular game play and dodged around the Hufflepuff Chasers, keeping one eye out for the Snitch while generally making a nusiance of himself to the Hufflepuff team. Diggory was still circling above, but he looked like he was about to dive...

Yes....let me kill...rip...feed --

The Voice brought him up short and he nearly collided with Towler, who shoved him away quickly. He shook his head to clear it and climbed for altitude.

Feed...so hungry...NO!

Harry had no time to be startled by the sudden cry of the Voice; beyond the Pitch, in the Forbidden Forest, an enormous flock of birds took flight. Not simply a flock, in fact, but a multitude, an exodus -- birds of every shape and size and colour, birds of every breed the Forest housed, rising at the treeline and spreading across the canopy. As if some large predator was wending its way through the trees...

Yes....

Prey....

Harry dropped like a stone, catching the Quaffle in mid-toss as he did so and ignoring the furious shouts of the players.

"Stop the game!" he shouted to Madam Hooch, who stared at him. "Stop the game!"

The Hufflepuffs were chasing after the Quaffle, and Lee Jordan was shouting that Potter had just executed an illegal move subject to forfeit, but Harry wasn't giving up the ball.

"Stop the game!" Harry repeated.

"He's right!" Cedric yelled. "Something's happened -- look at the birds."

Hooch turned to see the mass migration; in another minute the birds would be over the stands. She blew her whistle, shrilly, and the players slowly skewed into halts and hovers.

A thick black shadow poured over the stands as the birds, whirring frantically through the air, rushed past. There were nasty crunches as some of them whacked into goalposts in their panic. Diggory, still descending, had to duck low against his broomstick to avoid getting bowled over by a large, ornate bird that looked vaguely like the vicious ancestor of a peacock.

"What's going on?" the Hufflepuff Keeper asked. The other players were drawing into little knots, watching the flight.

"Something's in the forest," Madam Hooch said. Her voice chilled Harry's blood more thoroughly than even the Voice had. He was aware that the Quaffle had slipped his grasp and landed on the Pitch with a soft thud, and that the Bludgers were having a field day with the birds; the Snitch was probably lost somewhere in the avian melee.

There was a shrill, inhuman scream from the forest; Harry dimly recognised it as the furious hiss of a she-snake defending a burrow, multiplied a thousandfold.

The thing that owned the Voice was in the Forest.

He drifted away as the birds continued to flock overhead. The students in the stands were staring upwards, stunned. Professor Snape was watching the treeline from the top of the stands, looking like nothing so much as a large black crow himself. Dora was nowhere to be seen.

"What is it, Harry?" Draco whispered, as Harry drifted over the Hufflepuff stand.

"It's a snake," Harry answered. "A big one."

"How big?" Neville asked.

"I'm going to find out," Harry said.

"Harry -- "

"I'm going to," Harry said defiantly, glaring at Neville. "I can carry one of you, but I haven't got much time before my cover's gone."

"You'd better take Neville," Draco said. "I've been in enough trouble."

"Coming or not?" Harry challenged. Neville looked scared, but he hooked his leg around Harry's broomstick and took the offered hand, hauling himself up. The Nimbus bucked a little under the sudden weight shift, but Harry got control and dropped down between stands. The flock was thinning out.

With a burst of speed, the Nimbus darted out and upwards, almost into the flock itself; Harry slid them around the edge of the flock and up above it, where they couldn't be seen. He made for the place the last few stragglers were fleeing from, Neville clutching tightly to his ribcage.

"Why are we doing this?" Neville shouted into the wind.

"I want to know what this thing is!" Harry shouted back. There was another scream. "Whatever it is, it's angry..."

He scanned the canopy, looking for breaks in the leaves. Out here the forest grew thick and dense, but it was uncultivated and there were a lot of dead branches. He caught a glimpse of a herd of horses -- no, of unicorns, wheeling hard away from the source of the disturbance. He thought he saw centaurs riding the edge of the herd. Looking over his shoulder, he could see deer and some kind of small antelope stampeding in the opposite direction, out towards Hogsmeade. He pulled up sharp and turned west.

Down below there was a flicker of sunlight on something that looked suspiciously like scales.

He hovered, becoming aware that even as he stared at what must be a snake, a snake as thick around as the trees it was moving past, he was also hearing not the Voice but a roar composed of loud clicks and clacks, like rattles banging together.

"Oh Merlin," Neville said, pointing. A head rose out of a clearing in the forest, an enormous serpentine head. It was about a hundred yards away and it was facing the other direction; even as they watched, it ducked back down in a striking motion.

"It's fighting something," Harry said. He dropped slowly down to the canopy-level, then just underneath it. Up here in the highest branches it was cold and wet; he inched forward slowly, then dropped again when the branches thinned a little.

They could see the thing more clearly now, an enormous serpent with a spiky crown jutting out from the back of its head like a dinosaur -- triceratops, his nine year old self reminded him. Up came the old rhyme from a book Remus had found for him which he had treasured for years --triceratops was dangerous, impervious and strong; the predators that challenged it did not last very long.

From here they could almost see what it was attacking; Harry lifted a broad leaf slightly, and he and Neville both sucked in their breath. Down below they could see the high, vaulted opening of a stone-paved tunnel, clearly man-made and vaguely resembling the pictures Harry had seen of Roman viaducts in some of Remus' books. He could even make out the legend over the cave mouth, but that wasn't what stunned him.

In front of the cave was an enormous spider, easily ten feet tall, with fangs upraised and red eyes glistening. Other spiders were clustered around it -- smaller, but still much larger than a man. They were darting forward towards the enormous serpent, trying to bite through its scaly hide and not making much headway. The biggest one was repelling every attempt the snake made to get back into the cave, assisted by a blur of blue and silver --

"The Anglia!" Neville cried.

Arthur Weasley's flying Ford Anglia was indeed joining the fray; its windscreen and rearview mirrors were gone and its bumper and hood were heavily dented, but there could be no doubt that the automobile was alive and thriving in the Forest.

But even as they watched, the spiders were losing ground and the Anglia with them. The serpent had coiled itself through the trees and now, with a flick of its tail, sent the spiders tumbling; the Anglia's horn blew, and the rest of the spiders began to retreat, the smallest leaping onto the Anglia's body. It sped away through the forest, bumping and bouncing, and the way was clear. The serpent, pausing at the entryway, flicked its tongue into the tunnel; satisfied there was no further danger, it vanished inside with lightning speed.

It was only then that Harry realised there were more spiders, and they were climbing up the tree he and Neville were sheltering in. He wheeled the broomstick just as a sticky spiderweb caught him on the ankle; kicking off his left shinguard, he urged the Nimbus on faster while Neville shouted and cursed behind him. Harry didn't know Neville knew words like that.

Branches slapped at their faces and leaves tangled in their hair as they flew, avoiding the leaping, spitting, clicking spiders in fast pursuit. They burst out through the treeline trailing spiderwebs and a split branch of an oak tree, somewhere west of the Pitch. The spiders came as far as the edge, no further, but Harry was not paying the slightest attention. He made for the Pitch like a bat out of hell, which at that point he rather resembled.

Most of the school seemed to be milling around on the grass. Harry dropped down between the stands again and landed, shaking the oak-branch loose and tearing spiderweb tendrils off his clothing. Neville was slapping at leaves, pulling them out of his hair and spitting bark out of his mouth.

"What's going on?" Neville asked, as Harry leaned around the edge of the stands. Two people were carrying what looked like a very small mannequin on a stretcher towards the school. Too small, and with upraised hands...

"Something got Cricket," Harry said, horrified.

"What?"

"Cricket's hurt -- looks like he's been frozen, like Nick was..."

"Harry, this is really serious, we have to tell -- " Neville broke off as a shadow loomed over them.

"Harry," said Headmaster Dumbledore, quietly. "Once more, I think perhaps you have some explaining to do."

Chapter 19

At one point in this particular chapter, I have used text verbatim from The Chamber Of Secrets . This is intentional; Laocoon's Children is, after all, running parallel to the books.

In this instance, much of Dumbledore's second Pensieve memory is lifted or paraphrased from the book.

Fawkes was smouldering in Dumbledore's office, adding a slightly acrid tang to the air; Harry and Neville, who were growing uncomfortably familiar with this particular situation, lingered near the doorway hesitantly.

"Come in, please, and sit down," Dumbledore said gravely. "I trust you understand that the Quidditch game has been forfeited?"

"Not cancelled?" Harry asked, picking up on the subtle difference between the two.

"You executed an illegal move, Harry. Seekers are not to intercept the Quaffle in a pass between members of the opposing team."

"I was trying to stop the game!"

"Nevertheless, especially as a Slytherin, the rules of the game must be adhered to. I shouldn't worry; if Gryffindor gets less than two hundred points against Ravenclaw, whoever wins, Slytherin may still compete in the championship. I say this to lay your mind at rest, because I am afraid I will require your complete concentration for the next short interval."

"What about Cricket?"

"We will come to that soon, I promise you. If, of course, you are entirely honest with me."

Harry, glancing anxiously at Neville, nodded slowly. Neville nodded back. Message understood; obfuscation had its time and place, but now was the time for complete honesty.

"Where did you go when the game was halted?" Dumbledore asked.

"The Forest, sir," Harry replied. "Well, sort of...over the forest."

"With Mr. Longbottom?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

Harry swallowed. "I...heard something."

"And what did you hear?"

"There's this...Voice," Harry said. "I've heard it a few times. It's...I thought it was a snake."

"And is it?"

"Sort of, sir. It's...awfully big. I think it's some kind of magical snake."

"How long have you been hearing this Voice?" Dumbledore asked carefully.

"Uh..."

"Approximately."

"A while after school started this year. It didn't used to be so loud, but I know it's what scared the birds. I wanted to see what it was."

Dumbledore sat back in his chair slightly, adjusting his half-moon glasses thoughtfully.

"And did you?" he asked. Neville whimpered slightly. Harry swallowed.

"I think so, sir."

Dumbledore gestured for him to continue and Harry told the story as well as he could, with occasional help from Neville. The Headmaster seemed particularly interested in the tunnel they'd seen and prompted Harry for the words across the top, but Harry couldn't recall; none of it had been very clear, and they had both been focused on the giant spider and equally enormous snake.

Eventually they were interrupted by a house-elf, who entered carrying a tray of sandwiches. Dumbledore sighed and allowed the elf to serve them, apparently giving up the question for now.

"Sir," Neville said, balancing his plate on his knees, "what happened to Cricket?"

"Ah yes -- young Mister Creevey," Dumbledore said. "He is, regrettably, a victim of circumstance, I suspect. He was found at the bottom of the stands, Petrified. It is a temporary condition, but regrettably may not be cured for some time. I have my suspicions that the creature you encountered was, in fact, a basilisk; they are known for a murderous stare. They are a form of snake, hatched from a chicken egg incubated by a toad during the rise of Sirius -- the dog star, of course," he added, smiling at Harry. "Quite an undertaking, and not an easy accomplishment, for toads are not by and large very good mothers -- but you were asking about young Creevey. It is believed that he encountered the basilisk..."

"But you said basilisks have a...a murderous stare? "

"We are not...certain why he did not die," Dumbledore admitted. "For now, all you need know is that he will recover, given time. And now perhaps a distraction from such serious matters?"

While they ate, Dumbledore gently but firmly guided the subject away from anything having to do with Cricket or the game, asking them what classes they were thinking of taking next year and very carefully not offering any advice.

"Now that you have eaten, I believe you may be dismissed, Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore said. "I will require Harry's help with a little matter, but it need not concern the both of you."

Neville glanced at Harry and gave him an apologetic look before bolting with more haste than politeness would have warranted. Harry swallowed the last bite of his lunch and eyed Dumbledore warily. The Headmaster rose from his desk and went to a cupboard near Fawkes' cage, whistling at the phoenix as he went. Fawkes warbled back, cheerily.

"I am going to ask you, Harry," Dumbledore said, "To undergo something not wholly pleasant. In return, I would like to offer you information which may be of help to you."

"To me, sir?"

Dumbledore grunted, slightly, as he lifted a strapped-up wooden case out of the cupboard.

"It is clear that, serpent or basilisk, you are much better-prepared to detect it than any of us," Dumbledore said. The wooden case thumped down on his desk. "And much more...drawn to it."

"If I had known -- "

Dumbledore shook his head, and Harry stopped talking.

"Harry, I will need to see what you saw in the forest. In return, I would like to show you what happened the last time there were rumours of the Chamber opening. I suspect it will either cure you of your inquisitive tendencies..."

Harry watched as the pensieve was unveiled.

"...or it will help you to survive your curiosity. Do you know what this is?"

Harry nodded. Sirius had used one, once, when he was very young; he hadn't seen him use it, but he'd seen the case before.

"Do you understand how the pensieve works?"

"No, sir."

Dumbledore sat down again, the pensieve before him like an overlarge soup bowl. He took out his wand and touched it to his temple, calmly. When he removed his wand, something stuck to it -- at first Harry thought it was a grey hair, but then he saw that it was more like a silvery strand, an almost elastic cord that finally snapped. Dumbledore let it fall into the pensieve, and then did it again.

"These are memories, Harry," he said. "Memories I would like you to witness. One of them is, unfortunately, of the death of a young woman."

Harry nodded again. He was warned.

"Lean forward until you can touch it," Dumbledore said, placing the pensieve squarely between them. "I will follow you in."

Harry hesitated, but at Dumbledore's encouraging look he leaned forward, craning on his tiptoes to fit his face over the edge of the basin. The strands had filled up more room inside the bowl than he thought; as soon as his nose cleared the rim he saw the silvery mess and was suddenly tumbling through the air, falling...

...and landing.

***

His shoes touched stone and he staggered a little, feeling someone catch him from behind. Dumbledore, face serene, helped him steady himself.

"This is the girls' loo!" Harry said in a hushed voice. There was the row of sinks, there were the stalls -- this was Myrtle's bathroom.

And yet it wasn't; it was cleaner, and somehow seemed younger. The mirror shone and the candles were tall in their brackets. There was no leaking water anywhere on the floor. But he could hear Myrtle sobbing somewhere...

He noticed, with a start, that a young woman in scarlet robes was standing with her back to them, one hand apparently covering her mouth. Behind him someone drew a sharp breath; he turned and saw what could only be another Dumbledore, considerably younger than the one still holding onto his elbow.

"Minerva?" the auburn-haired, side-whiskered Dumbledore asked. "Is that...?"

Harry, still reeling, turned back to the young woman in the scarlet robes, who was staring at --

"Myrtle," Harry breathed. The body of Myrtle, at any rate, crumpled in a corner of the bathroom like a marionette with its strings cut.

"Yes," the older Dumbledore said. "Did you never wonder why she was such a young ghost, Harry?"

"I heard a scream," someone said, arriving out of breath. Harry saw a dark-haired man -- a boy -- in the doorway. "Professor?"

"Come in and shut the door, Tom," said the younger Dumbledore. The boy -- he looked perhaps fifteen -- hurried inside and closed the door behind him as requested.

"Is she dead?" the boy asked, and Harry heard curiosity more than fear in his voice. There was a sharp hiss of breath from the girl in the scarlet robes -- Minerva. Harry could see, now that she had turned, the echoes of Professor McGonagall in her face, an unusually pretty face framed by black hair. She had a Head Girl badge pinned to the collar of her dress robe -- and the boy was in formal green robes with a Prefect's badge...

"Maybe she's just unconscious," McGonagall whispered.

"I think you know better," Dumbledore said. "Do you hear that?"

The silence was punctuated by sobs, Myrtle's sobs, and the boy moved forward, skirting anxiously around the crumpled body in the corner. He threw open one of the stalls.

"Oh, Myrtle," he said sadly. "I'm so sorry."

"Go away!" Myrtle's ghostly voice cried.

"Come on now Myrtle," Tom wheedled. "It's Tommy, look. Tell us what happened."

Harry glanced at the younger Dumbledore, who had moved forward to stand behind McGonagall. He touched her shoulder gently and she turned away from the corpse. Harry had the distinct impression that she was not crying, though her face was buried in the tall man's chest.

"I don't know," Myrtle said sullenly.

Tom was still pleading with Myrtle's ghost. Harry shuddered.

"That is, as you may have guessed, your Professor McGonagall," Dumbledore said. "One of her fellow students found the body and summoned her before she found me. I shall spare you the tedious process Tom went through to discover Myrtle's story; suffice it to say that she was weeping, as she was wont to do -- over a love affair, I think, and a boy who had taken some other young girl to the little dance we had arranged to cheer the students' spirits."

"That's why they're dressed up?" Harry asked. In the background, Tom said "But you must have seen something, Myrtle."

"Yes -- This was in Minerva's final year at the school. The young man beyond her is Tom Riddle, a very promising fifth-year -- I think that is a name you should remember," Dumbledore added. "They made a striking couple; he was rather younger than her, but a very...old soul for his age."

Harry saw McGonagall leave Dumbledore and go to Tom, who was still wheedling answers from the ghost. They did look well together; two heads of black hair, green and red robes, intelligent eyes.

"What did she tell them?" Harry said.

"The same thing she has told me, on the few occasions I have tolerated her long enough to ask," Dumbledore replied. "She saw nothing but a pair of yellow eyes. Her body was stiff when we found it, though she could not have been dead longer than two or three minutes at the most."

"The basilisk?"

"I believe so."

The younger Dumbledore spoke, startling Harry. "Tom, Minerva."

They looked up at him, expectantly.

"I do not wish to alarm the entire school, but steps must be taken. Tom, please go to the Owlry and send an owl to the Aurors at once; tell them Albus Dumbledore wishes to consult with them on a murder at the school. I know you are aware of how to enchant letters; please enchant this one to Elissa Shacklebolt's eyes only. Then find Professor Slughorn and have him call the board of Governors to a meeting."

Tom nodded, swallowed, and left.

"Minerva, you must inform the rest of the professors. Do not -- " he held up a hand. "Do not interrupt the ball. There has been little enough joy in our lives of late. Find reliable Gryffindors and post them at every entrance to the Great Hall. No one is to leave the hall or enter it until the Aurors arrive. Send the Hufflepuff prefects to fetch everyone who may be enjoying an evening...stroll."

"Yes, professor. And I should inform Headmaster Dippet, of course?" she asked, a slight edge to her voice. Dumbledore smiled gently.

"In your own time," he said. "Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, Professor."

When the door closed behind her, the scene began to change, first dipping and turning slowly and then faster and faster, until Harry thought he might be sick; when it slowed again, he was standing at the entrance to the Headmaster's office. The now-familiar red-whiskered Dumbledore was standing in the hallway, apparently speaking quietly with a portrait nearby.

"The Board of Governors determined that the school would be forced to close," the older Dumbledore said. "We began to make preparations. It was clear there was a monster stalking the school, and with the death of a girl..."

The door opened and Harry jerked back, out of the way. The edge of it passed through his toe effortlessly.

The dark-haired boy from before, Tom, passed out into the corridor with a sigh.

"What are you doing, wandering around this late, Tom?" the younger Dumbledore asked. Tom started, but turned obediently and even seemed to incline his head respectfully.

"I had to see the Headmaster, sir," Tom answered.

"Well, hurry off to bed," Dumbledore replied, and Harry almost smiled. Professor McGonagall sounded exactly like that. "Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since..."

"Yes, sir," Tom said, then seemed to hesitate. "Professor..."

"Yes, Tom?"

"Does anyone stay at Hogwarts over the summer?"

Dumbledore scrutinised the boy, carefully. "Why do you ask?"

"Only the Headmaster said," Tom said, hastily, "that I couldn't be let stay. But if one of the professors...Professor Slughorn, for instance..."

"I don't think it would be allowed," Dumbledore replied. "Although I understand your reluctance to return to the orphanage."

Tom's face darkened at this, and Harry glanced up at the older Dumbledore.

"Tom was half-wizarding -- his mother's side," Dumbledore explained. "His mother was dead, his father uninterested in him. He had no relatives."

"But why, sir?" Tom asked. "Surely I could earn my own keep..."

"I do not believe it is a matter of earning keep, as you know," the younger Dumbledore continued. "No doubt the Headmaster has informed you of his plans?"

"He can't close the school, sir," Tom said, sounding nearly hysterical.

"Alas that force of will should make it so. We have not discovered that creature which killed the girl...could Miss McGonagall's family perhaps...?"

Tom shook his head. "I wouldn't intrude like that, sir, and I haven't anything to pay them with."

"Always a very independent boy," the older Dumbledore said. Oddly, he did not sound approving.

"But if the creature were found..." Tom said, almost to himself, and the younger Dumbledore gave him a sharp look.

"Do not endanger yourself, Tom. Hogwarts has always been a sanctum; it should not ask the sacrifice of its students for its own well-being. And now...I think you had better find your dormitory, and your bed."

Tom nodded again. The younger Dumbledore strode off, and Harry made to follow him, but found himself still held by the arm.

They stood there at the juncture of two corridors; Tom vanished down one stairway, but Dumbledore did not go as far as Harry had assumed he would; after only a few minutes, the younger Dumbledore doubled back and, with a whispered incantation, followed on feet that were suddenly cat-silent.

It was almost comedic, like a string of ducklings -- Tom leading, the younger Dumbledore following Tom, Harry following one Dumbledore and trailed by another. They descended into an unlit corridor in the Slytherin dungeons; when Tom paused at a door, so did the younger Dumbledore. Harry edged past him, curiously. The boy seemed to be listening at a crack in the door, stock-still and almost quivering like a dog at point.

Then the door creaked, and Tom backed swiftly away. Harry heard an oddly familiar voice.

"C'mon...gotta get yeh outta here...c'mon now...in the box..."

Harry, intent on the shadowy figure speaking, almost jumped out of his skin when Tom spoke at full volume and commandingly --

"Good evening, Rubeus."

The enormous boy, now visible, jerked away from the door, nearly dropping the box he was carrying.

"What yer doin' down here, Tom?" Rubeus Hagrid asked. Harry gaped. The gamekeeper -- giant even as a young man...

"It's all over," Tom said. Something large and hairy pushed its way out of the box, and Hagrid shoved it back in, carefully. "I'm going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They're talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacks don't stop. I don't think you meant to kill anyone. But monsters don't make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise -- "

"It never killed no one!" Hagrid protested. Harry turned to see Dumbledore's younger self, one hand splayed across his face in a gesture of defeat.

"You said it couldn't be Hagrid this time," Harry whispered.

"You eavesdropped," Dumbledore answered calmly.

"But whatever's in that box..."

"Come, Harry," Dumbledore said, and then they were tumbling backwards somehow, the wind rushing in Harry's ears. He found himself in Dumbledore's office again, but it felt as though the colour had seeped back into the world, and he knew that this was not a memory but reality once more. If he had not, the single Dumbledore replacing the silvery strands in his head would have convinced him.

"Hagrid was expelled, I'm afraid. Oddly enough," Dumbledore said, when he had finished, "the creature in Hagrid's box escaped. I think we shall see him once more in a minute."

Harry looked wildly around the office. Dumbledore chuckled, dryly.

"No, Harry. He is not here. What did you think of young Tom?" he inquired.

"Bit of a tell-tale," Harry decided, after a minute. "He only told on Hagrid because he wasn't going to be let come back otherwise."

"And in the same situation, what should you have done?"

Harry considered matters.

"I shouldn't have told. I wouldn't have waited for Hagrid; I'd have knocked him out and killed whatever it was and not told a soul," he announced. "When the attacks stopped, they would have asked us all back."

Dumbledore regarded him over folded hands, calmly.

"And now, Harry, that I have paid in coin of the realm, I must ask you to share a memory with me," he said. Harry glanced uneasily at Dumbledore's wand. "This afternoon's memory of your adventure in the Forest."

"Does it hurt?"

"No. You must simply concentrate very hard on the memory; remember the feel of the wind, the broomstick, the position of the sun..."

Harry closed his eyes and concentrated, and like the silver threads it unspooled; it rushed past him like a bullet, and there was the sensation of having a loose tooth pulled -- no, there was no pain, but a feeling of something momentarily...missing.

He opened his eyes. There, on Dumbledore's wand, dangled a thin silver strand. It looked more sharply defined than the others, like steel wire instead of thread.

"Shall we?" Dumbledore asked.

"Me too, sir?"

"You too, Harry."

When the tumbling, falling sensation had passed this time, Harry found himself standing on a stout branch near the clearing, well up from the ground. He looked up; there he was overhead, Neville clutching him tightly around the waist. Down below --

"Oh," he said suddenly.

"Yes -- the large spider," Dumbledore said, holding onto a branch for balance. "That was Hagrid's pet; as you can see, a good sort of creature in its own way."

"It's a giant bloody spider!" Harry blurted.

"Language, Harry," the Headmaster reprimanded him gently. "Ah yes, and the valiant Anglia. Now, let us see..."

He pointed past the battle, past the car and the giant spider and the equally giant snake -- the basilisk. Harry followed to where the tunnel mouth opened, its stones covered in moss and ivy. The wording was clearer in the memory, not noticed at the time except in passing.

It was a short memory, and before he could puzzle out even what language it was, he was falling back into reality, but he could hear Dumbledore speaking as they went, chanting as though attempting to memorise the phrase.

"Cavite hospites viam serpentium," the Headmaster said. "Cavite hospites viae serpentorum. Beware, Strangers, of the road of the serpents..."

***

"So what does he want you to do about it, anyway?" Padma asked, later that evening. Harry, who was in bad odor with his House after forfeiting the game, had retired to hide in the library, where Padma and the others had sought him out.

"I don't know," Harry said, somewhat miserably. Draco offered him a marzipan wizard's hat from a box of the stuff Dobby had brought him. Harry nibbled it.

"At least we know what it is now. Heir or not, it's sort of comforting to..." Neville paused. "Well, you know. To know it's a big snake capable of killing people with its eyes, instead of not knowing what it is."

"And that's the point, isn't it?" Draco said. "I mean, that it is basically a very large snake. For all you know it might do what you tell it, Harry. No wonder the Headmaster wants you to be prepared."

"And now there's proof you're not the one already telling it what to do," Padma added. "You were playing Quidditch when it attacked Cricket. Couldn't have been you giving orders, could it?"

"I guess not," Harry said doubtfully. "I don't think very many people are going to be thinking that logically about it, though."

"It all gives me a headache," Neville complained. "Hagrid was the Heir only he wasn't the Heir because he had a spider and not a snake, and the spiders were fighting the snake, and Dumbledore doesn't think he's the Heir, which means there's another Heir, but it's not Draco or Dora or Harry even though he talks to snakes, and there are brothers switched at birth..."

"Hard to remember who's what, isn't it?" Harry asked.

"It makes you miss the days when people just outright were trying to kill you," Neville complained. "At least then you knew when to duck."

"The saddest part of that sentence," Draco said, into the silence that followed, "Is that none of us thinks it's very unusual for a twelve-year-old to say it."

"Spiders and snakes are natural enemies," Harry mused, lost in his own thoughts. "Well, I mean, snakes eat spiders, and when they're not eating them, they're eating all their prey. Snakes are a lot smarter than most spiders, too."

"Well...." Draco began.

"What?"

"Now we know why the spiders were leaving your dormitory, don't we?"

Harry blinked at Draco. "You don't think that thing is somewhere in my dormitory, do you? It's huge! "

"Stands to reason it'd be underground. Where else is someone going to keep a snake that big?"

"It would be a lot more useful if you could talk to spiders instead of snakes," Neville said.

"If you think I'm going in search of that ruddy great spider we saw in the Forest, you're bonkers," Harry said.

"If you think I'm going in search of any kind of giant snake or insect or other brand of crawly thing, you're bonkers," Draco told Harry.

"Well, we're not likely to find it anyway," Padma said suddenly. "You can't think Dumbledore expects Harry to find it, not with an Auror working at the school and all the professors probably looking too. So you might as well just forget about it."

"It's a bit hard to do that," Harry said mildly, "when it talks to me in the walls at night."

Chapter 20

Colin's mishap notwithstanding, as the days blended into weeks a sort of defensive calm settled over the school. The Voice sometimes echoed out to Harry from someplace distant, but when he went looking for it he invariably hit a wall -- sometimes literally. Once he asked Completely Headless Nick to help him by extending his head through the walls and having a look around, but Nick couldn't hear the Voice and was of very little help.

The Dueling Club, after its first mishap, continued fairly smoothly. Having learned a mutual lesson on their first try, Snape and Dora began rehearsing their duels ahead of time to illustrate certain points; it was quite cathartic for them both, as McGonagall observed to Hooch one evening over tea while watching them hex and parry through the window of her sitting room. Down below on the grounds Dora had succeeded in throwing Snape into a hedge and his furious cursing would have curled the hair of a less experienced professor than Minerva McGonagall.

"Cathartic?" Madam Hooch asked, nibbling a biscuit. "What on earth could two people have repressed which requires this much violence to purge?"

"Insecurity, I should imagine. Not everyone is of a stolid and dependable temper around small children," McGonagall replied. "Severus thrives on nerves, you know. And Dora has seven years of pent-up annoyance with her Potions Master, not entirely undeserved on his part."

"Oh look, he's gone and vanished her nose -- tut, doesn't work when you can grow a new one, I suppose," Hooch added, as Tonks concentrated and popped a new nose out of her momentarily blank face. They watched with interest to see what would happen next, and were startled to discover that Severus Snape knew how to laugh. He was howling, in fact, leaning up against the building for support, while Dora Tonks shouted furiously at him.

"It's not that funny," Hooch decided.

"It is to him," McGonagall said smugly.

"You really are absolutely incorrigible, Minerva."

"I've seen three generations of students come through Hogwarts, if you count my own days as a student," McGonagall said complacently. "If I have not learned anything about human nature in that time, I have been wasting my talents in an unforgiveable manner. I know what I am doing."

"Let's hope so. If you don't, it may all end in homicide," Hooch said, sipping her tea. Down below, Dora had given in to the humour of the situation and was sitting next to Snape, back against the wall. He, all angles with his legs bent and his elbows resting on them, had accio'd an apple from somewhere and was peeling it while she broke off parts of the peel and ate them, despite his repeated brandishings of a knife in her direction. Next to him, Tonks looked rather like some kind of parrot sharing a perch with an unusually dour raven.

But they were sharing it, at least, which was more than they'd been doing three months before.

***

Over the course of the year, as she'd worked on their portrait, Remus and Sirius had discovered that Helena Broosh was an enthusiastic young woman, interested in everything and always excited about new events. She had finally declared the portrait itself to be acceptably finished, after two sittings with Padfoot to capture his doggy personality fully, and invited them to an unveiling before she put the final charms on it. She had asked for, and received, permission to invite a few other artists from the studios to be there as well.

"Aren't you excited? I'm excited," Sirius said, as they climbed the now-familiar steps to the green door of Broosh & Chackle Studios.

"I'm nervous," Remus answered. "I mean, what if we hate it?"

"We won't hate it! You've seen her work, she's brilliant."

"All right. But what if we realise that we're both horribly ugly?"

Sirius stopped just inside the door. "What?"

"Well, you know, like that short story where the artist paints a portrait for his odious boss and his boss won't buy it because it was too true to life?"

"Have you gone entirely off your head, Moony?"

"Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin," said Crane, the gallery attendant, as he approached. "Here for an appointment with Miss Broosh?"

"That's right," Sirius said. "Come on, idiot," he added, and Remus grinned at him.

They passed through the gallery and into the high-ceilinged back room with its little painting stalls; at Helena's, near the far end, a small knot of cheerful, paint-spattered employees were gathered around a fair-sized painting draped in red cloth.

"Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin, I'd like to present my colleagues -- Ms. Amano, Ms. Linn, Mr. Simons, Ms. Cara, and Ms. Asoda...."

"Our pleasure," Sirius said, nodding at them. Helena presented them each with a glass of champagne. Sirius raised an eyebrow at her.

"I thought it would be nice. It's a fully-functional portrait right now; to me, that's finished, really," she said. "You just have to schedule one more sitting for the final Dorian Gray charm. Anyway, I have to get you drunk in case you don't like it."

Sirius laughed; Remus ducked his head and grinned.

"All right, all ready?" Helena asked. She grasped the red velvet cloth, held it up, and tugged slightly. The other painters burst into friendly applause, then laughed as the Remus in the portrait looked around, startled -- and the dog at his feet began to bark, soundlessly.

It really was marvellously done, particularly on first glance; light streamed in golden from a window and picked out gold accents in his own hair, illuminating the pages of the book he held and parts of the library bookshelf behind him. Padfoot lay indolently at his feet, black fur contrasting nicely with the red-and-gold rug. The other artists were crowding around, talking with each other and asking Helena the occasional question.

"You never give them voices, Helena," one said. "You really ought to; your voices are beautiful when you do them."

"It annoys people," she replied. "Besides, Mr. Lupin specifically requested that they not speak. I don't blame him; I wouldn't want a talking portrait of me around until after I'm gone. Squeaking puppies are a novelty; talking people are just noise."

"I like the off-centre composition," another said. "Look how Mr. Lupin fits in -- then you've got the dog down here, drawing all the attention..."

"Art imitates life," Remus said with a smile. "It's lovely, Helena."

"All right; viewing over, shoo off, all of you," she said, and the rest of the painters took extra flutes of champagne with them as they went. When they were gone, she gestured at the portrait again; where a black dog had been, Sirius now lounged in black trousers and a dark shirt open at the collar, occasionally turning to look up adoringly at Remus.

"I'm so glad you like it, Mr. Lupin, " she said. "Mr. Black, what do you think?"

Sirius was studying it, an unreadable expression on his face; he glanced at her and smiled.

"It's perfect," he said, and his eyes met Remus' over Helena's shoulder. "I wouldn't change a single thing."

***

Magical mandrake root, the cure for basilisk petrification (according to books; nobody had ever been petrified in such a way in living memory) was much harder to come by than ordinary mandrake, and so it was several weeks before Cricket was up and about again. The mandrake had to be harvested, pressed, packaged; paperwork had to be signed and registered, including import clearances. Once everything was arranged, the pressing was hand-carried via broomstick and Muggle transport only.

The special courier who arrived at Hogwarts carrying it was not only admired by everyone at the school for being a bona-fide world traveler, but a welcome sight to at least one professor.

"Wotcher, Tonks?" Bill Weasley asked, shaking the late-spring rain off his leather hat and doffing it with a swagger. Dora laughed and threw her arms around his neck in welcome, careful not to jostle his bag.

"Welcome back to England! How long has it been?" she asked.

"Two years," he answered. "Look at you, all grown up and a Professor."

She stepped back long enough for him to shed his lethifold-hide cloak and take in the rest of the professors, who were seated around the common room.

"Professor Dumbledore," he said, inclining his head politely at the Headmaster. "I've brought a parcel for you from the Calcutta Arboretum and Nursery." He produced from his bag a large jar of transparent greenish liquid labeled Essence of Mandrake; Mag; 12.22. "That's Essence of Mandrake, Magical Variety, bottle twelve of set twenty-two. Latest pressing -- should be very fresh."

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore answered with a smile, passing the jar to Madam Pomfrey, who vanished into the hallway, heading for the hospital ward. "I hope your journey has not been a long one?"

Bill grinned, showing a set of perfect white teeth. "Not really. I mean they could have mailed you the stuff if it weren't for the import laws, and I wanted to get back to England anyway. They brought it to me in Egypt and I've carried her the rest of the way."

"And clearly you've had a warm welcome waiting for you," McGonagall said, smiling gently at Tonks.

"Dora and I were pen friends for about -- what, year and a half after we left school? Then she had exams and the pace was picking up on the Egypt dig..." Bill shrugged.

"He still sends me bottles of sand from time to time, though, just to annoy me," she replied, shoving his shoulder.

"I sent her an extra-large one when I heard about the Hogwarts job," Bill said.

"It's only for a year. It's not like I'm a real professor," she protested.

"Nonsense, she's a fine one," Madam Hooch said from the windowseat. Dora blushed.

"I'm sure she is," Bill agreed.

"When not knocking over cagefuls of Cornish Pixies," said a voice from the doorway. Bill turned, warily.

"Professor Snape...sir," he said, respectfully.

"Mr. Weasley. Making a mess as usual, I see," Snape said, regarding the dripping cloak hanging on a peg next to the door. "I presume you are our courier for young Creevey?"

"Yessir."

"Still wasting your abilities with that wretched Goblin bank?"

"We like to call it unorthodox application of skills," Bill said.

"Yes, well. You have my thanks for your prompt delivery," Snape said, crossing to his armchair. "No doubt Creevey will wish to thank you personally when he is revived."

"That's his way of inviting you to dinner," Dora said, leaning on Bill's shoulder.

"He knows perfectly well that Hogwarts extends its hospitality," Snape replied. "Do stop hanging on him like a second coat, Professor Tonks."

Madam Hooch badly stifled a laugh; Dora blushed and casually stopped leaning on Bill, who took this as an opportunity to wrap an arm around her waist instead.

"You'll like Cricket, anyway," she said, gently disentangling herself. "He's a sweet little kid."

"Colin Creevey is a useless first-year with a talent only for making trouble for himself," Snape said. "I trust Madam Pomfrey has already gone?"

"She just left," Dora said, an odd edge to her voice.

"I shall see to my student then. Good day," Snape said, stalking away.

"Why does he always do that?" Dora sighed. "Anyway, Bill, come on, would you like to say hello to your brothers and Ginny?"

"Do you, Minerva, happen to know what has gotten into Severus?" Dumbledore asked with the barest hint of a smile, after Tonks had dragged Bill Weasley away.

"I couldn't say, I'm sure," she replied calmly. "It is spring, you know. Perhaps he's restless."

"Ah yes. Spring," Dumbledore replied. "I myself recall the restlessness that spring imposes on young spirits. My great-uncle Gouldian used to recommend cold showers and brisk walks. I may say I indulged in a great many brisk walks with young women of my acquaintance when spring restlessness came upon me, and it did wonders for my mental well-being."

***

"Well, that's settled up, then," Neville said, sitting back and dusting his hands. "There's my schedule. It's perfect."

The other three, seated around the library table, turned to look at his index cards, which were now covered with scribbles and notes about who was taking what when and how likely he was to pass a given subject.

"You've got Charms in there twice," Draco pointed out. Neville's face fell. After a morose minute he sighed, gathered the cards up, took out the extra copy of Charms, shuffled them, and began spreading them out again.

"Well, I'm taking Ancient Runes, Divination, and Care of Magical Creatures," Harry said, "and I don't care sod-all who's taking them with me."

"Didn't Remus want you to take Arithmancy?" Neville asked.

"Yeah, but I'm pants at numbers, and besides, I want to take Care of Magical Creatures instead. I'm taking Runes cos he wants me to, even if he won't say it," Harry said. "And I'm taking Divination because Sirius thinks it'll be fun, and I'm taking Magical Creatures for me."

"Are you sure you're going to do all right with three new classes?"

"Sure, and if I don't, I'll drop Divination. Padma, aren't you taking three?"

Padma, who was writing in a notebook in front of her, looked up wearily. "What?"

"Three new classes. Aren't you? I want to be able to crib your Runes homework," Harry said.

"I don't know," Padma answered. If she had looked tired before, she looked absolutely exhausted now. Harry wanted to chalk it up to nerves -- exams were coming soon -- but he wondered if she wasn't sick. Neville had spoken with Parvati about it, but Parvati didn't know and, what was more, didn't seem to care. She'd declared that all Ravenclaws were moody drama queens and that if Neville fancied tangling with Padma right now, he could do it himself.

"Come on, Padma, tell us what you're taking," Draco begged. "I still can't get mine sorted and Dobby's decorated my trunk with all the new gold stars I bought. Help me decide how big a row to have with mum."

"Oh, your mum," Padma said angrily. "Grow up, Draco, for Merlin's sake. I don't know what I'm taking and I don't care. Maybe I won't even come back to Hogwarts!"

They stared at her, astounded, even as Madam Pince began to glide towards their table to hush the near-hysterical Padma. Before the librarian could reach them, Padma had gathered up her books, thrown them angrily into her bag, knocked over her chair, and stomped off. The three boys exchanged wary looks.

"Should we go follow her?" Neville asked hesitantly.

"I am grown up!" Draco said to no one in particular. "I just don't like being shouted at. There's no reason she oughtn't to help me."

"I think we'd better leave her alone," Harry said.

"She's left her notebook behind," Neville said, picking up a cheap, rather battered book that had fallen out of her bag.

"Oh -- that's not her notebook," Draco replied. "That's her diary."

The other two looked at him.

"Padma keeps a diary?" Harry asked, taking the notebook from Neville.

"Well, I assume that's what she uses it for. I didn't ask," Draco said. "I gave it to her before school started. She writes in it all the time."

"Can't be the one you're thinking of," Harry said. He had opened it without a second thought, but every page was blank. "There's no writing in it."

"I'm sure that's it," Draco insisted. "Mum's friend Mr. Macnair gave it to me ages ago when we were in Mardjinn Alley. He said something about needing all the proper supplies at school. I told him I had tons of parchment but he gave me that old thing anyway. Remember, because that was right before he tried to punch Remus and Remus beat him up."

"We didn't get to see it," Harry said, still slightly aggrieved over this even after several months.

"Right, well, I said I didn't want it so Padma took it. Maybe it was charmed, I don't know," Draco shrugged.

"Well, we can shove it back in her bag at dinner," Harry said. "Here, pass me your quill."

Neville obediently surrendered his quill, and Harry dipped it in the inkpot.

Padma, stop writing in invisible ink -- show us your secrets! he wrote.

To his surprise, the ink faded into the diary, disappearing as if it had melted through the page. He flipped the page over -- nothing.

"Harry!" Draco said urgently. Harry turned back just in time to see the words appearing:

I'm not Padma.

Before he could fathom it, the book had been snatched from his hands and there was a sharp pain in the back of his head. He turned, rubbing it, to see Padma behind him, clutching the book to her chest.

"You hit me!" Harry said, stunned.

"You read my journal," Padma hissed. "How dare you!"

"There wasn't anything -- "

"I hate you!"

Harry blinked. Padma burst into tears and fled.

"We should definitely follow her this time," Neville said apprehensively.

"No," Draco answered. "You stay here, I'll go. Harry would only make her angry. I'm used to it -- mum, you know. I'll calm her down. She doesn't mean it, Harry, people never do."

Draco left his bag and books behind, running in the direction Padma had gone, ignoring Madam Pince's impotent cry not to run in the library.

***

Summer was coming fast, now, and the swim from the edge of the lake to the hot-springs was becoming more pleasant by the day. The giant squid often frolicked at the south shore, making waves that rippled across the water. The waves, combined with an occasional tentacle to dodge, made for refreshing, challenging swimming.

It helped to clear the head, as well; there were far too many worrisome goings-on in the castle these days. Albus had confided to him and to Tonks, as well as the Deputy Headmistress, that the danger was real and pressing -- a basilisk of all fool things. How he felt he could in all conscience keep things quiet Severus was not certain, but he was not going to turn round and tattle to the Ministry or the Board of Governors on the one man who had trusted him for the past twelve years over something quite so stupid as a basilisk. If Dumbledore felt that the rest of the students were safe, then they were safe.

What Dumbledore intended to do about a giant murderous-eyed snake running around the school unchecked, Severus wasn't positive, but the Headmaster had presumably dealt with stranger things in his time.

In addition to which, all this talk of Heirs and Basilisks made the students uneasy. Cricket -- ColinCreevey was making a pain of himself, Harry always looked tired and his marks were slipping, and the seventh years were stroppier than could be believed. Draco Malfoy hovered around that Patil girl like a hen with one chick, and Patil herself, his best student in the year -- not that he'd admit it to her or anyone else -- had actually fallen asleep in his class yesterday.

It was a relief to have only the water and the waves to deal with; those could be overcome by sheer brute force and didn't require careful handling or thought. Madam Pomfrey continued to tut over his exercise in the water and the state of his heart, but if he hadn't killed himself by now he wasn't likely to in the future.

Dora -- Professor Tonks -- had been at the hot springs a few times since their first surprise encounter, but he'd never seen her arrive; he wasn't sure if she swam and then chanced returning through the forest, or had found a safe-passage path from the grounds through the forest to the springs. There were such paths, he knew, lined with iron-ore rocks anchoring charms against wild beasts and...other threats. At any rate, she always wore something that she claimed was a bathing costume, although he didn't call it much more than a handkerchief. He'd told her so the first time she teased him about his prudishness; she'd have been less indecent naked, he felt, although that of course had resulted in her threatening to take off what little she'd managed to put on.

She was there now, seated in the hollow of the wide, flat rock, contemplating the sunrise.

"I'd have thought you'd have brought Bill Weasley along," he grumbled, pushing himself up on the rock and stretching out, letting the water run off him in rivulets. He folded his hands behind his head to cushion them and closed his eyes.

"If I'd known you wanted me to, I would have," she answered.

"I didn't say that."

"Besides, he's gone back to Egypt -- or he's on his way there. He left this morning."

"I'm heartbroken, to be sure," he muttered.

"You might show a little gratitude; it's due to Bill that Cricket's up and running around again."

"It's due to Mandrake that Cricket's up and running around again, and I could wish he weren't; he had nothing useful to tell us at all and he's given the most atrocious indulgence in his schoolwork."

"The boy was Petrified for weeks!"

"That's no excuse."

She splashed water up over her head, and it caught him across the face. "What would you call an excuse then?"

"Death. I give lightened courseloads for death."

"Someone's parent has to die for them to get a break?"

"No. Death of the student in question," he said, and she laughed.

"Why are you so hard on them? I know it's not for some kind of altruistic motivation."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You're not stern with them so they'll try harder. That line might work with fourteen-year-olds but I don't buy it." She crawled up on the rock nearby; he could hear her move. He opened his eyes and tilted his head back slightly and she came into focus, upside-down from his point of view. "So why is it, then?" she prompted.

He closed his eyes again.

"I'm not your student anymore; you can tell me, you know." She had shifted position; when he opened his eyes again she was sitting next to him, and he tilted his head slightly to better watch her reaction.

"I am hard on them not so that they will try harder, but so that they will do as much as they can."

"What?"

"Daily we both see the height of intellect and the depth of stupidity which humanity can produce. It follows that if you are capable of one, you are capable of the other. Why should I expect any less from a fool than I expect from a genius? That way he is marked honestly, and he often surprises himself. You passed NEWTs-level Potions, did you not?"

He sat up, propping himself on his arms and waiting for her answer. She studied him over her shoulder.

"We are not simply weights and measure, you know," she said. "You can't measure each child on the same scale as another."

"Is that not what we do daily?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're not a bad teacher, but you'd never last if you had to do it for a living. You like them too much."

"Don't you like your students?"

"I love them. I'm not required to like them."

"You like Harry."

He fell silent.

"I wasn't scolding you," she said, ducking her head so that she could meet his eyes. "Everyone likes Harry."

"I suspect so," he said. "It matters very little. I've answered you, haven't I?"

She grinned. "Yes, you have. I still don't see why you don't like Bill, though; he's a nice man, and he helped out one of your students."

"I am not required to give reason for my personal dislikes so long as they do not interfere with my professional duties."

"What, is that carved on the lintel over your door?" she asked, amused.

"On my heart," he replied.

"That's a terrible thing to have carved on your heart, Severus," she said quietly.

"Well, for lack of anything better, it is all I have," he answered.

"Not Harry or Neville or my parents?" she asked. "Not me?"

"Definitely not you," he said.

And then, inexplicably, he kissed her.

As kisses went, it was a good one; he didn't have much experience, all things considered, but he knew a bad kiss from a decent one and this was definitely above-par. He knew because she was kissing him back. And because it was becoming difficult to breathe.

When he finally broke the kiss, she hardly moved; just leaned back slightly and caught the inside of her lip with her teeth, worrying it.

"Oh," she said.

"What?" he asked.

"I see now -- you were jealous of Bill."

"I never was."

She grinned and put a hand on his chest and kissed him again, pushing him back for better leverage, and it seemed natural to raise his left hand and rest it on the warm, bare skin in the small of her back. He knew he must actually have lost what little mind he'd had a firm grip on in the first place, because he was kissing a fellow professor, a former student, and the daughter of two of his only friends in the world.

"Good, because you certainly needn't have been," she said against his mouth.

"So noted," he replied. "Dora -- Nymphadora -- Professor Tonks, stop."

"What? Why?" she asked, leaning back.

"Because we're necking atop a rock in the middle of the lake wearing very nearly nothing -- "

"Not true, you're dressed from knee to chin," she replied.

"Yes, well, you're wearing nothing-enough for the both of us," he answered dourly.

"And did you really just call what we're doing necking?" she asked.

"What would you call it?"

"Well, I certainly wouldn't say stop," she said. "Although..." She glanced up at the school, where smoke was just beginning to rise from Hagrid's cookfire. It was as reliable as clockwork; he lit it every day around the time breakfast was starting in the Great Hall. "You're right, we'll be late for class."

She leaned in and kissed him, then scrambled away off the rock and into the water, swimming for shore.

"I'll see you at breakfast!" she called.

"What, is that all?" he called back.

"You'll be later than I will!" she shouted. Realising she was right, he ran to the other end of the rock and leapt into the water, making for the shore even as she was running through the forest. He rather thought he broke his best time; he felt exhilarated, energetic, and quite desperate for the shore, his clothes, and the comfort of his teaching robes.

Chapter 21

"I wish I knew what was wrong with her," Harry said to Draco at breakfast.

He and Draco were sitting at the Hufflepuff table, since the Hufflepuffs never minded and Gryffindor and Ravenclaw's Prefects had already ordered them to their own tables. Harry was watching Padma from across the room; she seemed to be eating quietly and apparently placidly. The problem was that Padma was not placid by nature, and the look in her eyes was upsetting. It was...dull. Sleepy. Not like Padma.

"I told her she should go see Madam Pomfrey, I don't know what more you think I ought to have done," Draco said guiltily.

"I'm not blaming you."

"Good, because it isn't my fault," Draco insisted. "She told me she was fine. She even showed me her diary."

"She did?"

"Oh yeah, it's brilliant -- now I wish I'd kept it. It talks back to you, she made it say hello to me and everything. I mean she didn't show me anything she'd written, you know. Did her good, I think," Draco said. "What I mean is, she saw that it was all right, you know. I didn't tease her, so she wasn't as angry at you for looking in it, after I showed her it wasn't a big deal."

"I don't want to read her stupid old diary," Harry said. "It was just a bit of a joke."

"Yeah, well, girls," Draco shrugged.

"I don't like it, anyway," Harry said. "I'd better go -- Prefects're coming."

He made it to the Slytherin table just in time and spent the rest of breakfast studying what everyone else ate and who they sat with, not with any real purpose but because he had recently received a book of detective stories from Remus and he had decided to improve his odds of having an interesting life by Noticing Things. Mainly what he Noticed this morning was that Hufflepuffs tended to avoid kippers and Dora's hair was especially brilliant this morning, pink with streaks of gold and silver.

***

Severus hadn't been sure what to expect when he entered the Great Hall after drying off and changing; he was certain that there must be some sort of...sign, something obvious that he'd missed but which would tell the whole world that he'd spent the morning inappropriately kissing another professor.

Hardly anyone even reacted, however, though he came in so late that he barely had time for a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of tea. Dora didn't even look at him, though he detected a blush now and then when he would glance down the table at her. Her hair hadn't had gold and silver in it when he'd arrived at the hot springs, he was sure. He wondered if it was supposed to be some kind of sign. He really was rotten at this kind of thing; there was a reason it had been years since he'd had any kind of romantic entanglements.

The problem was that his natural inclination to reserve, which was telling him no good can come of morning trysts at the hot springs, was warring with every other part of him, which was sayingwell, she's not your student now, she won't be a professor forever, and you know her parents like you...

"Professor Snape!" she called, as the students rose to go to their classes and the professors began to file out. She caught up with him in the corridor. "May I have a word with you?"

"Certainly," he said, positive that every single student above the age of fourteen was staring at them. She took his arm and led him into an unused classroom. No sooner were they inside than she'd pulled him down to her height (possibly growing a few inches as she did so; life with a metamorphmagus could be...interesting) and kissed him soundly. His natural inclination to reserve was no match for it, really. She made noises when she kissed, little sighs and exhalations that were --

-- were going to keep him from class --

"This is fun," she whispered, giving him an impish grin before she ran out of the classroom and back toward her first class of the day.

He paused, mouthed fun? incredulously to himself, shook his head, and then likewise hurried away. Not that it did much good; he taught his first two classes in a confused daze and thanked his stars that they were first and third years, since if he'd been teaching his NEWTs students he probably would have blown up the dungeon.

He didn't actually see her at lunch, because he didn't get to eat lunch; he had to supervise four very contrite students who had actually made a spirited if accidental attempt at blowing up the dungeon. They didn't finish scrubbing -- or complaining -- until it was nearly time for his next class. Apparently she'd heard; she sent a note down with one of his afternoon students that was charmed up to the gills and said only Dinner in Hogsmeade - You're buying - Front Gates, 6pm.

It was utter foolishness, of course, and no doubt simply the result of contempt breeding familiarity -- but he did not ball the note up and toss it on the fire as he generally did. Instead he locked it in his desk drawer, smoothed and neatly folded.

At the end of afternoon classes he retreated to his rooms and faced something of a moral quandry.

For years he had adamantly refused to change out of teaching robes when visiting Hogsmeade. He had also adamantly refused to care what his clothing looked like beyond two criteria: it should not have holes, and it should be black. Black was easy and, more importantly for a Potions professor, it did not show stains. Granted, he did own clothing which was considerably nicer than his (black) teaching robes and (black) undertunic and trousers, but if he changed clothing now then it would go against his policy of Not Caring and in addition Nymphadora would notice. She might even tease.

She would certainly tease him for caring this much about such an utterly foolish thing. He snorted, closed his wardrobe, and definitely did not check the mirror to see if his hair looked all right. Instead, he checked to see if he had enough Galleons in his pockets for dinner and made certain he was not on any kind of Detention duties that evening.

He felt oddly as though he were a student again as he made his way down to the front gates of Hogwarts, which led by a rather circuitous path down past the train station to Hogsmeade. The children generally took the back route, over a river footbridge and through a cleared area of the forest atop a small ridge, but the front-gate road was a more pleasant walk. He reminded himself that it was not illegal for professors to leave school grounds to have dinner somewhere more hospitable than a cavernous dining hall full of noisy, annoying children. It was not in any way forbidden to fraternise with other professors, either; hadn't he been spending quite a lot of time with Dora lately at any rate, when they practiced their duels for the club?

It was entirely likely that she merely wanted to talk about the Dueling Club, anyway. He rather trusted her to be above the sort of juvenile tricks that this might look like if they were both fifteen -- the pretty girl and the sort of boy who never got pretty girls -- but he wouldn't put it past her to have realised what a colossal mistake she'd made. He would be calm and collected and take his cues from her.

She appeared at the gates five minutes late, wrapped in a brightly-coloured light cloak against the still-chilly night air.

"I was worried you wouldn't come," she said, shoving her hands in her pockets and grinning at him. "Am I very late?"

"Five minutes," he grumbled. "When one extends the invitation, Professor Tonks, one is expected to arrive -- "

" -- before the invitee, I know," she rolled her eyes. "I got held up by a student who wanted an assignment and it took me a while to find it..."

"Yes, I've seen your office," he said drily.

"I suppose I should clean it up before the next professor comes along, shouldn't I?" she asked, following as he turned and began the winding, scenic walk down the path to Hogsmeade. "After all, I'm leaving Hogwarts in a few weeks. No more Professor Tonks, no more Dueling Club, no more drafty Professors' quarters. No more terrible pork soup."

"Oh gods!" he said, shaking his head. "House Elves should never be allowed to improvise with the food. That was a waste of a good pig."

"It would have been the waste of a bad pig. But the food's been good, by and large. It's not Dad's cooking, though."

"Very little is."

"Was that a compliment? From Severus Snape?"

He smiled, just slightly. "I have been a guest at your parents' table many times. I would hardly have been induced back if the food was inedible."

"We'll have to have you down for a celebration dinner when I'm cleared for active duty with the Aurors again."

"Do you look forward to going back to dodging hexes and apprehending stray Grindylows?"

She shrugged. "Yes. I love my old job. Hogwarts has been nice, though...maybe in forty or fifty years I'll come back and get a job teaching again, like McGonagall. I'll miss it, as much as I like Auroring."

He nodded, contemplating the line of the train-tracks below and the village, now visible ahead to their left.

"This is the part," she added, "where you say you'll miss me too and that I'll have to come visit often."

"You know as well as I do without me saying it," he answered. "You're not moving to the other side of the world, you aren't even leaving the country. You're perfectly aware that you are welcome at Hogwarts and that I will almost certainly be in London to visit your parents before the summer is even properly begun, let alone ended."

"It's the symbol of the thing," she sighed.

"I don't believe in symbols; too often they're actually lies," he replied. He felt the fingers of his left hand clench into a fist.

"All right," she said, making a face. "I won't make you say it but I know you're thinking it all the same and you can't stop me assuming that deep down you have a romantic heart."

"Deep down I have a heart condition," he retorted.

"I bet you tell that to all the girls."

"Are you going to flirt incessantly and shamelessly with me for the entire evening?" he asked. She swung around in front of him and he stopped abruptly as they kissed for the third time that day.

"That was the plan," she said, gazing at him with eyes that were, for the moment, a brilliant grey-blue.

"Oh," he said.

"You aren't going to object, are you?" she asked. He considered it, head tilted to one side, aware that the flush in his cheeks was probably making the scars on his face stand out livid-white.

"No," he said finally. "So long as you don't require any reciprocation. I do not flirt."

"If you did, I'd be distinctly worried for your mental health, such as it is," she said, moving aside so that they could continue down the path. She deftly changed the subject to the question of where they ought to eat, and he found to his relief that he really needn't participate actively much in the conversation at all. Like her mother, Dora had quite enough personality for two people. He had simply never seen it as much of a positive quality until now.

He had the distinct sensation that the phrase "until now" was going to apply to a lot of his immediate future.

***

It appeared, that evening, to be a fine night for romantic dinners all round.

In London, in the little house whose east-facing windows looked onto a grubby Muggle street and whose south-facing windows looked out on Diagon Alley, the Tonks-Black household was dining in elegance -- if only because Andromeda and Sirius, well-bred down to their fingertips, could make even intentionally-messy food look graceful.

"Moony, no, look, don't use your fork," Sirius said, picking up the crab-claw from Remus' plate and cracking it deftly with a steel nut-cracker. He peeled the shell back and slid the meat out whole, much to Ted and Andromeda's delight. Remus, who had been attempting to remove the meat with a combination of another nutcracker and a long-tined fork, sighed and accepted the meat from Sirius' fingers while Andromeda loudly cracked another shell.

"I quite like crab, you know," Remus insisted, wrestling with the other claw until it dissolved in a pile of shredded meat and shell chips. "It's just that normally, it's a little less...organic than this, by the time it reaches my plate."

"That's the charm," Ted said, offering Remus another bottle of beer. Andromeda passed Sirius a handful of legs, which he accepted gleefully.

"It's so much work for so little food, though!" Remus said. "And really, isn't it basically just a vehicle for the butter sauce?"

"Bite your tongue and chip a tooth," Sirius said, looking horrified. "Don't give him any more, he doesn't properly appreciate it!"

"There ought to be a charm to just magic it out of the shell," Remus said with the determination that comes from three beers and not enough actual meat in his stomach. "Some sort of Acciovariant..."

The others laughed and went on eating and talking, but Remus watched the way Sirius' fingers pulled the meat from the shell in whole segments, trying to intuit how it was done and how one might re-create the same results with a spell. Perhaps it would be easier to simply hex the shell into oblivion, but he was willing to bet that would spoil the taste. Perhaps it would anyway, to use magic; apparently the process was part of the meal.

He had focused so closely on the actions of Sirius' hands that for a moment, in the haze of intense concentration, he didn't realise what had happened. After all, it hardly looked real -- Sirius had simply taken hold of his left thumb instead of the crab's leg and tugged, gently.

The thumb came away in his fingers -- smoothly, bloodlessly and without any visible cuts. Remus blinked, staring in horror and fascination. Sirius apparently hadn't noticed, because now he was grasping his index finger. It, too, came away with no trouble at all, and both were laid next to Sirius' hand, on the tablecloth. Still there was no blood, and Remus found himself opening his mouth to speak and absolutely unable to say a thing.

Middle and then ring finger followed so quickly that Remus found himself struggling to swallow so that he could shout something, anything. There were no words, and nobody had noticed.

He watched as Sirius pulled the little finger off his left hand as well, with the same quick jerk as the others, but this one was different; in the palm of his right hand it suddenly began to blacken and ooze thick, dark blood. The hand shook; Remus finally forced his eyes upwards and saw --

It was a pale, intelligent-looking face framed by black hair, but it wasn't Sirius' face at all. There were remote similarities that he would recall later, but at the time all he could see were the fine features of a complete stranger, and the panic in the man's hard, cold green eyes. There was a little spot of red deep in the pupils of each, and even with its handsome look, the face was somehow distorted. The man stared down at the shriveled, blackened lump of flesh in his palm, not with horror but with a sort of sullen, annoyed petulance.

"That was my first," he said, and then Remus managed to jerk away from the table and shout a warning to Ted and Andromeda, who looked up in surprise and confusion.

"What is it?" Andromeda asked, staring at him. Remus looked back at where the man had been sitting to find Sirius, gaping openmouthed at him.

"All right, Moony?" he asked cautiously. He put down the crab's leg he held in one hand -- the left hand, whole again and with all five fingers -- and the steel nut-cracker he'd had in the other. "What's wrong?"

"I -- thought I -- saw something," Remus said, blankly. Andromeda touched his arm, her expression turning from shock to curiosity. "Sorry, I don't know..."

"Did you see one of your...?" Sirius asked. Ted glanced at him, vaguely confused.

"I don't know," Remus repeated. "It didn't seem like it. Maybe -- maybe."

Andromeda tugged gently on his arm and he sat down again, picking up the bottle of beer and taking a deep drink.

"Sorry -- really," he said. "It's all right. It's probably nothing -- I'm just...tired."

He saw the glances that telegraphed across the table, saw Andromeda mouth "moon?" and Sirius subtly shake his head. He might have objected, some other time, but his heart was still racing and it was more important that he try to slow his furious pulse.

"What did you see?" Sirius asked, when he finally felt as though he could function again.

"Nothing -- I'm sure it was nothing," he answered. "Nothing to do with Harry, not like last time -- I just saw a stranger's face and it startled me. Honestly, it probably wasn't anything."

None of them looked convinced, but to his gratification they did look as though they were willing to play along.

"I think I'll just send off a quick owl to Harry tomorrow morning, anyway," Sirius said quietly. Andromeda asked how Harry was doing with his schedule-planning, and slowly the conversation picked up again.

Remus, horrified at what was apparently his own imagination, was quiet and subdued for the rest of dinner. When Sirius crawled into bed later that night and looked anxiously at him again, Remus merely picked up his left hand from where it lay on the bedcovers and spent a long time studying it silently, passing his own fingertips over the creases in the skin where finger joined palm. Sirius, sensing there were some times when questions were best left unasked, waited until Remus had fallen asleep before gently disentangling his hand and examining it to see if he could discern what Remus had found there.

***

At first, Severus thought it might have been the wine they were drinking -- not bad wine, but not great wine either. There was a...not a buzzing, not precisely, but a sensation of pressure in the back of his head, just above his neck. He ignored it through most of the dinner, which was livelier than he had expected (feared) it would be. He had very few topics, outside of his work, which he was interested in discussing, and he had been gripped by the sudden uneasy sensation that this dinner with Dora may in fact have all the makings of the most awkward meal he had ever endured. And yet it wasn't; she had her parents' knack of putting a person immediately at ease. He envied it deeply.

As the meal progressed, the sensation grew worse until he was forced to stop Dora in mid-sentence, much to her surprise, and ask her to be silent for just a minute. He put actual effort into being tactful, but he still saw the perplexed look in her eyes.

"Something's...wrong," he said slowly. "I think perhaps at the castle. I think we should return."

"Severus, if you're not enjoying yourself -- "

"This is not an excuse," he snapped, then stopped himself. "I...apologise. I don't want to leave, but something really is wrong."

"How do you know?" she asked, even as she was standing and taking her cloak from the hook nearby. He threw a handful of Galleons and Sickles on the table, enough to pay for the meal, and led her out the door.

"Look," he said, pointing to Hogwarts, standing against a darkening sky. Every light was blazing; far more than should be.

"It can't be too serious, or someone would have sent for us -- can it?" she asked, hurrying to keep up with his long strides.

"It's quite possible no one has thought to. Did you tell anyone where you were going?"

"Yes -- well, not exactly, I just told McGonagall I was going to have dinner in Hogsmeade and I'd probably be back late, and I think Hagrid saw me -- I waved to him as I was walking to the gates. Why?"

"It looks as though they're searching for something -- someone," he added. "I remember...when I was a student, I -- " he paused, weighing his words carefully. Now was not the time to dredge up that terrible full moon so many years ago. "There was a student who went missing. There was reason to worry. That's the last time I can recall seeing the castle lit up like that."

He reached out with his mind to try and touch someone at the castle -- Dumbledore was unreadable, always had been, but McGonagall seemed worried about something, desperately concerned. Almost fearfully he found Harry; the boy was pacing furiously in the Great Hall with the rest of the students, his thoughts full of unidentifiable terror but his body whole and hearty.

They had instinctively made for the shorter back-route to Hogwarts, avoiding the main gates altogether. Halfway there, a light came bobbing down across the grounds towards them, and in a few more yards it had resolved itself into Hagrid, carrying an enormous lantern.

"Perfesser Snape! Perfesser Tonks! Yer wanted in the Great Hall!" he shouted.

"I know!" Severus called back. "What's happened?"

"Blamed if I know. Dumbledore says Padma Patil's gone missing and t'was a bas'lisk took her."

"Padma?" Dora asked, even as they continued the seemingly interminable journey up to the school. "She's gone?"

"Can't find 'er anywhere, an' there's a message..." Hagrid dug a scrap of parchment out of his pocket. It was hastily scribbled, probably duplicated from someone else's; it read Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever. "Painted on the stairwell it was, 'neath the first one. All the teachers've turned out to look for 'er. Keepin' all the students in the Great Hall, cept for the seventh-years and they're only to search the top floors. Yer to come straight to the Great Hall -- Dumbledore says. Special job for ya."

Snape glanced at Dora, who shook her head in confusion. They hurried up to the school with Hagrid leading, through the doors and into the antechamber where the first-years waited to enter the Great Hall. Dumbledore was there.

"Time is of the very essence," he said, holding up his hands to forestall questions. "I am about to do something which will very likely lose me my job, but it will save the girl. Nymphadora, you and Harry must go into the forest and find the Viae Serpentorum."

"The what?" Tonks asked.

"A large tunnel -- Harry can find the place again, he's seen it once. It is the way by which the basilisk came and went into the Forest. I suspect he was using the old water-system when he traveled within the school's walls itself. I must remain here in case....you do not find it in time."

Tonks, biting her lip, nodded and left the chamber. Dumbledore turned back to Severus.

"Take what Slytherin students you require and search the Dungeons thoroughly. I suspect there may be an entryway to the Chamber there. When you have finished -- "

"The water systems?" Snape asked abruptly. An idea was forming in his head. Dumbledore nodded. "I'll leave the Slytherins to search the Dungeons -- I can think of more efficient uses of my own time."

"Go," Dumbledore urged. Snape ran past him into the Great Hall.

"Sixth and fifth-year Slytherins, to me," he called. Students, sitting in little knots at their tables, looked up. A handful of Slytherins stood and presented themselves. "Potter, you too."

A murmur went round the room as Harry, biting his lip, came forward also. Neville and Draco joined him, silently.

"Not you," he ordered.

"If he goes, we go," Neville said. His voice trembled.

"Don't waste time, you little idiots."

"If he goes, we go," Draco repeated. "Padma's one of ours."

There was no time; he would send them to Tonks and she could stun them and leave them in the hallway or something. "Fine. Go. Professor Tonks is waiting for you in the antechamber."

As he began giving orders to the rest of the Slytherins, he heard Harry's not-yet-pubescent voice asking questions and Nymphadora answering back confidently. He set aside a small place in his mind to worry about them both, to wonder what would happen if he lost Harry and Dora in one single night, and turned the rest of his thoughts to the task at hand.

"This is the Dungeons skeleton key; it will open any door. If there is no lock but the door is warded, press it to the centre of the door," he said, handing the sixth-year prefect his key. "Don't even think of making mischief with it. This is deadly serious. Pay particular attention to the washrooms."

"The....washrooms sir?"

"Do as I say."

She nodded and led the others away, leaving him standing there to collect his thoughts. Finally he turned and ran out the side entrance to the Great Hall. It couldn't be the kitchens, the House-Elves would have seen something before now. He could start on this floor and work his way up.

How many sinks and washrooms could Hogwarts have?

***

Dumbledore had vanished through a door Tonks didn't know existed by the time Harry, Neville, and Draco showed up in the anteroom.

"Professor Snape sent all of us," Harry said.

"He did not," she answered. "Dumbledore says you have to show me where the Viae Serpentorum is. He says you know."

"We'll need broomsticks," Harry answered, already leading the way past her, towards the Quidditch shed. "It's on the way. Come on!" he urged, and she ran to catch up to him and the other two boys. "Neville knows too, so he can set me right," Harry called over his shoulder. "And he'll need Draco to ride second."

He burst through the doors of the equipment shed and picked up his own broom, tossing Flint's to Neville and Draco.

"You start it, I'm pants," Neville said, and Draco got the broomstick in the air before giving Neville a hand up. Harry was already mounted, looking expectantly at Tonks.

"I'm going to get in so much trouble for this," she sighed, climbing on and wrapping one arm around Harry's waist, holding the broomstick in front of her with her other hand. "All right, take me there."

The flight was fast and terrifying; she'd forgotten how children flew when they had no fear of their own mortality. She ducked low for a lot of it, avoiding branches that Harry was too short to even consider a danger. Neville and Draco followed close behind them, occasionally letting out a shriek at a sudden drop or rise.

They touched down in the darkness, in the middle of a small open place; even at night, the white stones of the tunnel were more than clear.

"Merlin," she breathed, staring up at it. "How big is this bloody thing?"

"Big," Harry answered. "Are we going in?"

"You three need to -- " she stopped, because she wasn't quite sure she believed her eyes.

With a creaking, clanking noise, a Ford Anglia had appeared in the clearing and rolled to a stop in front of the tunnel. The fact that this was not the surprising part just made it worse. Along with the Anglia were two small motorised dirt-bikes, moving of their own accord and the same turquoise-blue as the Anglia itself.

"Where did those come from?" Draco asked.

"I think they're her....offspring," Neville answered.

"Sirius is never going to believe this," Harry whispered. He moved forward towards the tunnel, and the bikes revved their tiny engines. The Anglia made a low growling noise.

"It's all right," Harry said. "Please don't attack us."

Tonks looked up and realised that there were enormous spiders in every tree. Hundreds of compound eyes watched them.

"See? Remember me?" Harry asked, taking another step towards the car which was blocking the tunnel. "Harry, right? I rode in you once, on the way here."

The Anglia's growling turned into a low engine rumble.

"I know you're fighting the basilisk. We're fighting it too. If you let us go in, we'll kill it," Harry said. He reached the place where the bikes were sitting, and they eased forward slowly. He patted one of them on the handlebars. "I promise. We're here to kill it. It took Padma. Remember Padma?"

The headlights flashed. Dora held her breath.

Eventually, slowly, the Anglia moved away from the tunnel. The bikes followed rather more quickly, once they realised she -- it -- had pulled to the side.

"This place is really weird," Draco said, staring at the bikes fixedly. Neville gave him a shove and they both ran forward to where Harry was standing, staring up at the inscription. Dora followed hastily.

"I'm not leaving you three here with a thousand acromantulae waiting to make you a snack," she said. "But I'm leading the way, all right?"

"I'll hear it coming, if it goes this way," Harry said. "It talks to itself."

"If it's as big as all this, we all ought to hear it coming," Tonks answered. "You just keep those broomsticks handy."

She lit her wand as brightly as she could and stepped into the gloom of the tunnel. She could hear the boys' footsteps as they followed her, and after a few seconds, Harry took her free hand in his.

Chapter 22

They walked as quickly as they could through the gloomy tunnel, passing the occasional skeleton -- thankfully never human, at least as far as they could tell. The tunnel narrowed slightly as they went, angling downhill, until Dora realised that they must be underground -- possibly even under the lake.

"This could be Roman," she said in a hushed voice, studying the stones as they passed. "Some kind of underground crypt."

"Remus says the Roman wizards got this far, but most of them went native," Harry replied in a hushed voice.

"Makes sense -- the people around here built underground barrows for the dead," Dora agreed. "Never this big, though."

"Remus gave me a book that says all the trouble over purebloods and halfbloods started with the Romans," Harry continued, as if speaking helped keep away the looming shadows. "It says that the Romans thought the Picts and Celts and the Gauls weren't as good at magic as they were, and all the Romans declared themselves purebloods, so the only pureblood houses have Latin names."

"But none of the big pureblood houses now have Latin names," Draco said. "Even Malfoy is French."

"Remus says that's the point," Harry answered. Draco digested this in silence, and seemed about to speak again when they emerged from the tunnel into an enormous cavern.

There was something in the cavern, enormous and glowing pale white with undertones of green and blue, black and red. Harry could feel Tonks grow tense.

"That's not it," he whispered, stepping forward. "The basilisk is green..."

Tonks moved quickly, placing herself between him and the rest of the cavern; she edged toward it carefully, wand held high. Finally the little globe of light thrown by the wand began to encompass it, picking out facets that shone like glass.

"It's the skin," she said, amazed. "It shed its skin."

"It must be..." Draco glanced at Harry. "It must be bloody enormous."

"Yeah," Harry said grimly, reaching out to touch the papery skin, feeling it between his fingers. The thin parts alone felt like thick parchment. "Let's go on."

They edged around the snake-skin and Tonks held her wand aloft again; shadows danced across the far wall and were swallowed up by a great black tunnel nearby. She peered into it as they passed.

"I think this is how it got into the school," she said. "It looks like a drain-pipe. There are thousands of branches off of it."

"Wonder where it leads," Harry said.

"Probably bricked over," Tonks replied. "So much for the secret entrance to the Chamber of Secrets."

She moved closer to the far wall where shadows played like black fire over two figures; on closer inspection they resolved themselves into two entwined serpents, their eyes set with great glinting emeralds. Neville drew a shaky breath.

"They look alive," he whispered.

"I've seen that before," Draco added, pointing to the design. Harry and Tonks turned to look at him. "That's Slytherin's personal crest."

"I don't see any doors," Tonks said, biting her lip.

"We're looking at it," Harry replied. He knew what he had to do; every time he spoke, the emerald eyes flickered. He cleared his throat and spoke in Parseltongue.

Open.

A narrow crack appeared in the middle of the crest and the snakes began to pull apart as the wall slid smoothly out of sight in two halves. Tonks looked pale and frightened.

"We have to go in," Harry said softly.

"I go first," she answered. Harry looked at her, amazed. Even if she was a girl, in that moment he wanted only to be like Dora Tonks when he grew up.

She moved forward, nimbly climbing up to the gaping hole and vaulting through. Harry and the other boys followed less decisively but no less quickly, watching silently to see what she would do next.

This was also a cavern, though it seemed more intentional somehow, as though it had been carved. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place.

"This is it," Tonks said, her voice barely audible. "We're standing in the Chamber of Secrets."

***

He would have recruited the house-elves in the kitchens if he could, but they had no idea what to look for and he had no time to fetch them; he would have to search himself.

Severus had learned detection spells early in his childhood, even before they became a vital part of his life at Hogwarts; a bullied child soon learns every method of detection his father can employ, and uses them himself when he suspects his bullies are hiding in wait for him. Hiding, and discovering when others were, had been twin weapons of his childhood.

Now he went methodically and carefully, never minding that centuries of searching had been futile; they hadn't known what to look for or where to look. He was using at least three on each washroom in Hogwarts: identifying strange drafts, revealing all hidden hexes, and searching for traces of recent magical activity. He found, mostly, graffiti.

In the third-floor washroom, however, he encountered Myrtle.

"Out of my way, you stupid bint," he roared, when she barged out of her stall to demand why he, a boy, was in the girls' washroom AGAIN. "There is a child in danger."

She looked at him, burst into tears, shouted, "I know!" and fled to her stall. He paused, amazed.

"You know?" he demanded, banging the door open. She dove into the toilet. "Damn you! You are still a student at this school and I am a senior professor! Come out of that bloody toilet this minute!"

A pair of eyes peered up at him from the toilet seat. He rubbed his forehead.

"How do you know that Padma Patil is in danger?" he asked, trying not to shout.

"She fell down the hole," Myrtle whimpered.

"What hole, idiot?"

"The hole she made in the sink," Myrtle offered, pulling back a little into the toilet.

"Which one?" he demanded, turning to stare at the row of sinks. He cast a discovery spell without waiting for her to answer. Two of them glowed slightly; recent magical usage.

"Second from the end," Myrtle whispered, pointing to one of the glowing ones. "She made a hole in it by hissing at it."

Severus ignored her; he was, instead, studying the sink itself. He reached out and rubbed some of the grime off the decorative tap; a snake's head, mouth open to allow water through. A similar treatment of the handles showed them to be composed of intertwining snake bodies, sinuous and scaly.

"Severus Snape commands you to open," he tried, feeling an idiot. Nothing happened. "Open, damn you!"

"She hissed," Myrtle said.

"She did?" he demanded, turning to stare at her.

"She hissed and then there was a big hole and she fell into it."

Parseltongue. He didn't speak it; it wasn't something one could learn easily and he'd never seen the need. He tried a random hiss; of course it didn't work.

But any lock with a password could, his devious soul knew, be picked.

He sat down on the damp floor, composed his mind, and began to pick, slowly, at the concealment charms wreathing the sink.

***

"Keep your eyes narrowed," Tonks said as they moved forward, footsteps echoing off the shadowy walls. "If you see movement, shut them."

As they came level with the last pair of pillars, Tonks' lit wand illuminated an enormous statue, as tall as the Chamber itself. Harry looked up, basilisk forgotten, into an ancient wrinkled face with a long thin beard.

"Salazar Slytherin," Tonks whispered, studying the enormous gray feet in front of them. Then she gasped and ran forward.

"Padma," Harry breathed, dropping his broomstick and rushing to the crumpled, black-haired figure. Tonks was rolling her over, running her hands over Padma's arms and chest, checking her neck and head for injury.

"She's not dead -- not Petrified -- there's a pulse -- knocked unconscious, maybe," Tonks murmured. Her hands, when Harry took them, were cold; Neville knelt next to him and looked at Tonks worriedly. Harry turned to see Draco, his face white as a sheet under his pale hair, his eyes like dark, angry shadows in his face. His fingers were clenched around the broomstick so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

"Padma, sweetheart, wake up," Tonks said, cradling the girl's head on her lap. "Padma, come on, it's Professor Tonks. Wake up."

"She won't wake," said a new voice, and all four of them turned. Draco and Harry had their wands out before they'd properly registered who it was.

There was a tall, black-haired boy leaning against the nearest pillar, hands in pockets, watching them. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though seen through a misted window. Still, Harry recognised the green eyes, the tidy black hair, and the narrow, clever shape of his face.

He heard Tonks slowly ease Padma's head back onto the stone and rise. She had come forward and wrapped her arm around Harry protectively, wand outstretched in front of them both, before Harry found his voice.

"Tom Riddle?" he asked hoarsely.

The boy nodded, glancing at Tonks warily.

"Why won't she wake?" Tonks asked. "What do you know?"

"She's still alive," the boy said with a shrug. "Only just."

"Do you know this boy, Harry?" Tonks asked. Harry glanced up at her, then turned back to stare at him. "He's not a student here."

"He used to be," Harry said. "He was a student years ago."

"You're a ghost, then?" Tonks asked. "Can you go for help?"

The boy shook his head. "Can't. I'm not a proper ghost."

"What?"

"I'm a memory," he said. He took one hand out of his pockets and pointed past Padma, to where a little book -- her journal -- lay between Slytherin's feet.

"I don't know if she'll survive being moved," Tonks said, ignoring his gesture. "Boys, take your broomsticks and go back the way you came. Go straight to Dumbledore in the Great Hall and tell him we've found her and she needs -- "

"I don't think that's a very good idea," Tom interrupted.

"Why -- the basilisk?" Tonks asked. "Do you know where it is?"

"No. It won't come until it's called," Tom replied.

"Then they've got to go now -- Harry, fly straight down the tunnel and don't touch the ground when you leave -- you'll have to get out before the acromantulae even know you're there -- "

"You'll never make it out of the Chamber," Tom interrupted again.

"Listen, there's no time for games," Tonks said impatiently.

"Actually, I have all the time in the world," Tom said, grinning. Tonks slowly looked up at him, doubt beginning to show on her face.

"What are you?" she asked.

"I told you. I'm a memory," he said. "It's nice to have a bit of a stretch; I've been in that diary an awfully long time."

"What did you do to her?" Tonks asked. Neville and Draco slowly moved to put themselves between Tom and Padma.

"Nothing she didn't invite on herself, the stupid girl," he said. "She's been writing in my diary for ages, you know. She told me, actually..."

He turned to Draco, grinning at him. "It was supposed to be you, sport, wasn't it? You gave her the diary? Got it from some bloke named MacNair. Sounds like a stand-up character, if you ask me," he added with a laugh.

"Get away from him," Tonks snarled.

"Or what?" he asked. "You can't hex me until I properly exist, can you?"

"Whatever you're doing to her, stop it, or believe me I'll find a way," she retorted.

"Good luck with that," he answered. "It's wonderful, really. I've been gaining in power all these months as she's written to me, even when she was scared I was the one doing things to her -- making her kill the chickens, all that kind of thing. She's a very independent-minded girl, you know. It took a lot to keep her under harness; she even tried to trick me once or twice. And she did slip away from me once -- she was quite mad with fear by then, which I suppose excuses things. She got that Creevy boy. She did it to give you an alibi," he added, fixing his eyes on Harry. "You....are very interesting to me, Harry Potter. Try it and see what happens," he added conversationally, as Tonks made a move to hex him. "She's unconscious, but she can still feelpain."

"Why am I so interesting to you?" Harry asked uneasily. "I'm just Harry."

"Oh, no you're not! You're Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived! Padma's told me all about you. How you defeated the Dark Lord before you could walk, how you can speak to snakes and how you're in Slytherin house too. Delightful."

And then, to Harry's shock, Tom spoke in Parseltongue. Look at all the tricks we can do, Harry.

Realisation slowly dawned.

"It was you, fifty years ago," Harry said. "You let the basilisk out then, too. And then -- then when you were afraid of getting caught, you framed Hagrid -- "

"He framed himself," Tom said, but he was quick to say it. "He was keeping an acromantula in a box under his bed, the fool. Where do you think they came from out there in the Forest? Horrific creatures. Dumb as rocks."

"Smart enough to know a bastard when they see one," Harry replied. "Been giving the basilisk enough trouble, haven't they?"

"Have they? Not quite enough, it would seem," Tom retorted.

"Dumbledore knew, didn't he?"

"Oh, who cares about him? Probably he did, but he never did anything to stop me," Tom answered with studied carelessness. "Still, after that he was annoyingly present all the time, always watching...and I couldn't very well let my beauty roam free again after the monster had supposedly been dealt with, could I? Hence, the journal."

"So that if someone ever got hold of it again...." Tonks murmured.

"I must say, I don't know where it's been all these years. I would think it would be my most prized possession," Tom mused. "Still, it worked."

"Not very well," Harry said. "Nobody's died -- not even Cricket."

"Yet," Tom replied. "Besides, there will be plenty of time for that after I've dealt with you. You don't think it's chance that led you here? You couldn't resist the mystery, and we both knew it. I could have had her bring anyone down here -- even her own sister. But you wouldn't have come yourself for anyone less than the article herself. And look what gifts you've brought with you! Even down to Little Malfoy, son of my greatest supporter -- "

"Oh, god," Tonks whispered. Harry turned to look at her, but she was staring at Tom.

"I see someone's finally figured it out," Tom sneered. He held up a finger and wrote letters in the air with it; they left a glowing aftermark, spelling out the name Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"From the geneaology," Draco murmured. "The one Padma showed us, remember? The Gaunt that wasn't a foster from the Blacks..."

"That's right. Fascinating stuff. Padma copied it down into the journal," Tom said. "I never knew the Blacks were heirs to Slytherin as well. Means I wasn't the last heir of Slytherin after all. In fact, it means that you are," he said to Draco. "The Tonks girl doesn't count; watered-down half-breed. And I don't suppose your godfather's likely to breed any time soon, is he?" he asked Harry. "Padma told me all about him, too."

"I'll show you who's watered down," Tonks muttered, glaring at him. Tom grinned at her and turned his hands palm up, setting the letters into movement; slowly they formed new words.

i aM loRd voldemorT

Draco made a soft, fearful noise.

"I couldn't very well use my filthy Muggle father's name forever, could I?" Tom asked. "I made for myself a new name."

"Same pathetic Muggle blood, though," Tonks said suddenly. Tom stared at her, shocked. "You might think I'm a watered-down half-breed, but your father was a Muggle too."

Tom visibly restrained himself. "What's your point?"

"Only that you're lucky," Tonks said. "You won the genetic crapshoot and can talk to snakes. Big fucking deal. It doesn't make you powerful or special. A toddler beat the shit out of you last time you met him. What do you think he's going to do now?"

Tom took a step forward, bursting the smoky letters that still hung in the air. He stopped himself, then.

"That's the question, isn't it?" he asked Harry. "What are you going to do now, Harry Potter?"

"Picking on a little kid? Why don't you try fighting grownups?" Tonks demanded contemptuously.

"Dora," Neville said nervously.

"It's all right, Neville, he can't really do anything to you," Tonks said. "He only picks on children and the weak. He's a bully, nothing more. A half-blood bully."

"Bitch!" Tom shouted.

"Bastard!" Tonks shouted back. Tom's eyes flared red.

"How dare you, you puny little -- "

" -- half-blood?" Tonks asked. Tom raised his first and she raised her wand. "You really want me to try?"

Tom hesitated, then a smirk crept over his face. He let his fist fall and turned to the statue, raising his arms.

"When I tell you, take Padma and run," Tonks whispered to Harry. He turned to look at Neville and Draco, who nodded to show they'd heard.

Tom spoke again in Parseltongue, even as the other two began to edge closer to Padma's too-still body.

Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four, he said, raising his arms. Almost involuntarily, Harry and Tonks turned to look at the statue. There was the horrible sound of stone grating on stone, and the statue began to move, its mouth opening wider and wider, revealing a gaping hole behind it.

A hole in which something was moving, slithering....

"Do you truly wish to see what I'm capable of?" Tom shouted, over the roar of the stone. The whole Chamber shook.

"Close your eyes," Tonks shouted, shoving Harry towards Padma and the shelter of Slytherin's feet.

Harry shut his eyes obediently, ducking under the shadow of the statue's robes with Neville and Draco. The grinding noise stopped with a sharp finality, and there was silence broken only by the sound of the basilisk, emerging from Slytherin's mouth. Harry squinted; Tonks was looking at Tom.

"Can't fight yourself so you call on something bigger? Typical," she snorted. Harry was no longer at all afraid that Professor Snape was being too mean to Dora.

"Be silent," Tom snarled.

"Make me," Tonks answered.

Tom hissed; Harry heard the order to kill and tried to shout a warning at Tonks, but she was already ducking and rolling behind a column. The basilisk dropped to the floor in front of them, but it was focused entirely on Dora; Harry could see its huge head but not its eyes.

"Dora, it's coming on the left!" he shouted. She wheeled around to the right and fired a lucky shot; something exploded wetly and the serpent screamed in pain. It hurt Harry; it sounded no different from his own Snake when he had died, amplified a thousand times. It drew back and hissed, turning its head; Harry closed his eyes just in time and pulled Neville and Draco further back, away from Padma but into the safety of a low niche. He heard scales grate on stone as the basilisk tried to fit inside, but the crown of horns on its head prevented it.

Not them! Kill the woman! Tom screamed. There was a thunderous booming noise and the basilisk shrieked again, so close to Harry that he thought he might go deaf. Neville was clutching his arm so tightly that his nails were drawing blood.

There was a groan of scale-on-stone as the basilisk pulled away, again chasing after Dora; Harry ducked out of the niche and snatched the diary from where it lay, then darted back into the shelter of Slytherin's robes and began tearing out pages. This time it was Tom who screamed in pain.

"She got the other eye," Draco whispered in his ear.

"HARRY!" Tonks shouted. "THROW IT TO ME!"

Harry darted forward, leapt over Padma and ducked under the basilisk's flailing tail; he threw the diary in her direction, paper flying everywhere, just as the basilisk made a sudden strike.

Tom Riddle laughed as blue light exploded around Dora; the serpent let out a moan of agony and there was a terrible snapping noise. Harry saw Dora struggle backwards, an enormous fang buried in her leg.

The basilisk's tail flopped, spasming, and Harry glanced over his shoulder to see Draco and Neville dragging Padma into the safety of the stone niche. With a crash, the serpent's head fell to the floor, blood drooling out its mouth.

"Dora!" Harry shouted, as she collapsed against one of the columns.

"She'll be dead in minutes," Tom's voice called. He was still laughing. Harry ran to Tonks, who was holding the fang in both hands. Her wand lay next to the book, a few feet away.

"Harry, the book," she said. Harry turned automatically to pick the book up; there was a terrible noise and when he turned around again, Tonks had the fang free. Blood ran in rivulets down her leg.

She didn't even hesitate and Harry had no time to flinch; with a swift movement she swung the fang up in an arc and brought it down, right through the book in his hands.

There was a moment of silence even more terrible than the sound of the basilisk dying.

"Dora!"

Harry heard Snape's voice echoing in the Chamber, but he was busy staring at the book; great bursts of ink were gushing out of it, flowing over his hands and onto his robe. Someone pushed past him; he looked up to see Snape, catching Dora as her leg finally gave out.

"Basilisk venom," she murmured, her eyes turning glassy.

"Idiot woman," Snape snarled. There were noises in the background, someone was screaming and someone else was swearing, but Harry could only stand there, dazed, watching Snape slide one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders, lifting her off the ground.

"Do you know where we are?" he asked Harry. Harry shook his head.

"Under the lake, maybe," he said in a hushed voice.

"Are you unhurt?"

"Padma -- "

"She's all right!" Neville called. "We're fine."

"Right," Snape said. "I'll be back for you -- stay here if you can. Dora?"

"Mmh?"

"I'm going to side-along. Hold tight."

He closed his eyes and Harry saw his lips move; he thought he said Please Merlin let this work.

Then he was gone with a loud crack and a lingering smell of sulfur.

Harry pulled the fang out of the book carefully and walked with deliberate slowness around the blood-drenched head of the basilisk. He put one hand up to touch the lowest spike of its crown, sadly.

You didn't know any better, he murmured. Then he turned to the statue again.

"It's dead," he called. Neville and Draco emerged from the gloom, holding Padma upright between them. She looked confused and ill, but she was walking; even as he watched, she straightened up and began to move a little more confidently.

"Hiya, Padma," he said quietly.

"Is it over?" she asked. Harry nodded, holding out the diary. She let go of Neville and Draco's shoulders, walking up to him unsteadily and accepting the diary from him. Harry watched, wordlessly, as she sat on the ground next to the dead basilisk and began deliberately tearing the rest of the pages out of it. It took all three of them a while to realise that she had begun to cry, and that as she went on she was tearing them out faster, more desperately, until she as merely shredding the paper with her fingers and nothing was left but the cover. She ripped it in two, furiously, and hurled both halves at the basilisk.

Harry heard footsteps and knew that Snape was returning; he offered a hand to Padma and helped her to her feet, then led her around the serpent's head.

"You're not injured? Physically?" Snape asked without preamble. He crouched in front of Padma, dark eyes studying her coolly. She swallowed, lifted her chin, and shook her head.

"I'm taking you directly to St. Mungo's. I can't take all four of you; if you three are unhurt there's a passage back up to the school through the old pipes -- don't go through the forest, you won't last five minutes. Go directly to Dumbledore and tell him that I've taken Padma to the hospital and Professor Tonks is there as well; ask him to send Fawkes."

"Is she going to be all right?" Harry asked. "Professor Tonks?"

The shadows on Snape's face seemed to deepen and shift, frighteningly.

"I don't know," he answered. He straightened and took Padma's hand, wrapping it firmly around his arm.

"Hold on tightly to me, and picture the lobby of St. Mungo's as clearly as you can in your mind," he said. "This won't take long."

They vanished with the same appalling noise and smell; Harry looked at Neville and Draco, wondering if he was as dirt-smudged and messy as they were.

"Let's leave," Neville said quietly. He looked like he was about to cry. Harry realised that it was Neville's sister, not just Professor Tonks, who might die tonight. To his own surprise, he wrapped his arms around Neville's shoulders and hugged him awkwardly.

"It'll be all right," he said. "Come on, we'll find the tunnel Professor Snape talked about."

He led the other two back into the cavern where the basilisk-snakeskin lay, up to the mouth of the giant water-pipe. Even as they mounted their broomsticks there was a creaking crash and a cloud of dust burst out from the tunnel they'd come in by; the Viae Serpentorum was collapsing.

"We should hurry," Harry said, and the three of them together began the long journey back up the pipe.

Chapter 23

Fawkes arrived at St. Mungo's while Snape was still speaking to the Healers about Padma; a little part of his brain was shouting that he made a rotten romantic lead, since any hero in his right mind would be off pining at Dora's bedside, but the rest of his brain was quite sensibly reminding him that he had a duty to his students and that pining did nobody any good.

"Hey, no pets in here," ordered one of the mediwizards.

"He's not a pet, imbecile," Snape said, accepting the letter Fawkes offered him and allowing the bird to perch on his shoulder.

"Well, he can't stay here."

"He can and will," Snape growled, opening the letter. It informed him that Harry, Neville, and Draco were safe and being seen to by Pomona, and that Padma's parents had been notified and were on their way via floo while McGonagall had been sent to get Andromeda and Ted. He had hoped to use Fawkes to get back to Hogwarts and make a report personally, but he would have to go and meet them or they'd probably get lost in the sea of bureaucracy that was the ground-floor of St. Mungo's.

He turned the letter over and took a quill from the fingers of the mediwizard who was making notes on Padma's condition. On the back of the letter he scrawled "Will come as soon as possible, send Fawkes if urgently needed" and gave it to the phoenix before handing the wizard back his quill.

"Go to Professor Tonks," he told the bird, who tilted his head and chirped inquiringly. "Go to Nymphadora and stay there."

Fawkes vanished and Snape ran from the room, making mental notes on how to return there once he'd found the Patils.

It was past midnight, somewhere out in the real world, and the lobby of the hospital was nearly empty -- or rather, it had been before Parents had begun arriving. Technically, though he loved Andromeda and Ted more deeply than he would admit to himself, he hated all Parents. All they ever did was complain and interfere.

Sirius Black was standing in the middle of the lobby in a pair of black silk pyjamas, shouting at the mediwitch on desk duty; Lupin, in a rather more sensible pair of trousers and white pyjama shirt, was busy checking the floors. The Patils, fully if hastily dressed, were clutching each other tightly and looking worried. Ted and Andromeda looked as if they hadn't yet gone to bed, but both of them were barefoot and Ted had forgotten to take off his reading glasses. Andromeda was holding tightly to McGonagall's arm.

"Mr. Patil, Ms. Patil," Snape said, as they hurried up to him. "She's fine. She's awake and she seems out of danger."

Padma's father began to weep.

"I need to speak to the Tonkses," he said. They nodded, but he was already turning; he met Ted's eye and saw the despairing look of a father preparing for the worst possible news.

"I don't know fully what's happened yet," he said. "As far as I can tell, Dora was bitten by a basilisk. They're venomous, but there are several known antidotes and I think she arrived in time."

"What in the bloody fucking hell is a basilisk doing at Hogwarts?" Sirius demanded.

"Shut up, Black, your son is quite healthy and still at the school," Snape snarled suddenly. "Nymphadora may be dying, so you will be quiet."

"They insisted on coming," McGonagall said. "Has Fawkes found you?"

"I've sent him to Dora. You," he said, wheeling and turning on the mediwitch. "Where is Nymphadora Tonks?"

"We can't give out information on patients -- "

"I will strangle you barehanded if I must," Snape answered. She must have seen that it wasn't a lie; she made a frightened noise and looked down at the parchment in front of her.

"She's one floor up in critical care," she said. Ted and Andromeda ran for the stairs, Sirius and Remus heading for the nearest floo portal that would take them to Hogwarts.

"Come with me," Snape said to the Patils. "I'll take you to your daughter."

When he had seen them safely into the room and properly terrorised the staff into allowing them to stay, he headed for the stairs again. He could have -- perhaps should have -- run, but if she was well she would still be there, and if she was not....well, then there was little need to hurry.

He had almost reached the stairs when there was a shout from behind him and he turned.

"Severus!"

Standing in the corridor, leaning on a crutch, stood a young woman in hospital-issue pyjamas with one leg tightly braced from thigh to ankle. Pink hair, blue-grey eyes, and a phoenix perched on her shoulder --

"Dora," he said, suddenly aware that he was trembling as he came forward. "Tonks -- "

"Hi," she said, looking down at the crutch and mistaking his tone for worry. "Oh -- it's nothing, temporary. And they've already healed my arm -- "

In the middle of a hospital corridor, as the mediwitches and Healers walking with Tonks stopped to stare, Severus Snape swooped down on the young woman with the bright pink hair and the crutch and kissed her so hard that they both stumbled and Fawkes took flight, scolding them loudly. The crutch clattered to the ground when he caught her around the waist, pulling her close, and her arms went around his neck. His other hand cupped her cheek just as the Healers began to applaud.

They broke apart, Nymphadora's hair turning deep gold in embarrassment, spots of colour appearing on Severus' cheeks.

"I -- " he stuttered, shocked at his own behaviour. "I -- "

"I've dropped my crutch," Tonks said weakly. He crouched slowly and picked it up, handing it to her.

"They told us you were on a lower floor -- your parents have gone there," he said.

"The Healers wanted to make sure I wasn't hexed at all," she replied. "Can you show me where they went?"

He nodded, taking her hand and leading her away from the hoots of the mediwitches, down to the end of the corridor where a single, magically-operated elevator stood. He helped her inside and it began to creak slowly downwards.

"You have my deepest apologies," he said, shame still burning his cheeks as she turned to face him. "The pressures of the moment -- it's been a long night."

"Of course," she murmured.

"I would never presume -- "

"Severus?"

He looked at her, awaiting what he was sure would be an ill-worded but politely-intended reproof, possibly even a rejection.

"Unless you're actively trying to get rid of me, shut up and stop apologising," she said. "I mean, I know I don't look that great right now, but -- "

"This is ludicrous," he said, bending to kiss her again, if only to shut her up. It was an exceptional kiss, better even than the last one; he felt her fingers thread through his hair as her body pressed against his...

...and the doors opened.

He stepped back so quickly that she nearly dropped her crutch again, then caught her around the waist to stop her from overbalancing. Fortunately, there was no-one in the lobby except the mediwizard at the desk, who gave them both a sardonic look. Even as he helped her out of the elevator, Andromeda came down the hallway, the stormclouds visibly brewing.

"If I am not told," she shouted at the mediwizard, "In ten seconds or less where my daughter has been taken, so help me Merlin -- "

"Andromeda," Snape said quietly. She whirled, furiously; in a split second her expression completely changed.

"Oh, my baby," she said, and he moved away so that she could wrap her daughter in her arms. "You weren't in the room they sent us to and I was so afraid -- "

"It's all right, mum," Dora said, but it was at least another thirty seconds before Ted could pry her mother away so that he could have a good look at her.

"You're hurt," he said, staring at the brace on her leg.

"It's only temporary. I have potions for the poison and the leg's already healing..." she answered, before the wind was knocked out of her by her father's tight hug. She squeaked. "I'm okay dad, really...I got here before the poison did any permanent damage."

"Thank Merlin," he murmured. "It was like the Grindylows all over again..."

"It's all right, really," she said, looking embarrassed as he let her go. "Severus saved my life, you know!" she added, misdirecting their attention. He ducked his head at the sudden looks from the Tonkses.

"Anyone would have," he muttered.

"What, with me and three adolescent boys?" she asked. "He Apparated me to the hospital."

"How did you Apparate from Hogwarts?" Andromeda asked.

"There's time for all that later," Severus said stiffly. "I should notify the Headmaster that you're all right, and check on the children."

"All right," Dora agreed reluctantly. "But come back when you're finished?"

He nodded and would have turned to go, but she put a hand on his arm and leaned up, kissing his cheek. He avoided her parents' eyes completely as he fled into the stairwell, though he did hear Ted say "Dora, are you and Severus -- " before the door shut behind him.

***

Harry, Neville, and Draco were looking much cleaner by the time Snape returned via floo to Hogwarts, and they were vocally requesting that they be allowed to go and see Padma and Dora. Sirius was with them in the still-crowded Great Hall, attempting to keep them under control.

The three boys ran up to Snape as he appeared, demanding to be taken to St. Mungo's; Sirius, who had apparently borrowed a set of robes from a seventh-year to cover his pyjamas, glared at him.

"Stop this infernal commotion at once!" Snape roared. The boys immediately fell silent, which only annoyed Sirius further. "Where is the Headmaster?"

"Here, Severus," Dumbledore called from the high table, where he was in conference with the rest of the professors, minus one or two. "Have you come from St. Mungo's?"

"Yes, Headmaster. Professor Tonks is out of danger; Ms. Patil appears to be well," he said. A wave of murmurs raced around the hall. Dumbledore held up his hands for silence.

"Thank you. Professors, I think you may escort your students back to their dormitories; please remain in the common rooms tonight to forestall any more untoward events. Madam Hooch will supervise the Gryffindors in the absence of the Deputy Headmistress; Slytherins, please report to Professor Sinistra, as I shall require Professor Snape's company a while longer."

Sirius herded the boys forward as the rest of the school began to stream out the doors, whispering and giving them all odd looks. Dumbledore gestured for them to be seated at one end of the Hufflepuff table, then brought a chair of his own from the high table and sat in it, polishing his glasses carefully.

"Now," he said, "having had only the very barest bones of the story, I wonder if we might not fill in a few gaps."

"There are certainly a few I'd like filled," Snape snarled.

"Please, Severus, now is not the time for histrionics."

"Histri -- !" Snape sputtered.

"I'm sorry, Headmaster, I think now is precisely the time for histrionics," Sirius agreed, then looked horrified at having said something in support of Severus Snape. "I'd like to know what's happened, too."

"So you shall. I have sent Mr. Lupin with Professor Kettleburn and Rubeus Hagrid through the portal Professor Snape so obligingly opened for us in the third-floor washroom," Dumbledore said. "Incidentally, Severus, in some calmer time you will have to share with me how you became so adept at magical lock-picking; dropping the visual wards with a hex on the sink was nicely done. In the meantime, let us not see if we might start at the beginning and continue until we come to the end. At which point, if we are able, we shall stop."

"I suspect, Headmaster, that you must begin," Snape murmured. "With Miss Patil's abduction, I think."

"Dear me, no. I believe the story begins in Mardjin Alley, some time last year," Dumbledore replied. "Does it not, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco swallowed and looked apprehensively at Snape before turning back to the Headmaster. "Yessir," he whispered. Sirius laid a large hand on his thin shoulder, and he lifted his chin a little. "Yes, sir," he repeated.

"You were given a journal?"

"Yes, sir. Mr. Macnair -- "

"Macnair!" Sirius exploded suddenly. "I'll fucking have him put down -- "

"Sirius, if you cannot contain yourself, I must ask you to leave," Dumbledore said firmly. Sirius subsided. "Continue, Mr. Malfoy."

"He's a friend of mum's," Draco explained. "He gave me the journal because he said I'd need the proper tools for school. It was the wrong year though, and tatty and old, so I thought I'd just say thank you and throw it out later. But Padma said she'd always wanted to try keeping a journal..."

"I see," Dumbledore murmured. "Did Walden Macnair say where he acquired it?"

"I guess he bought it somewhere," Draco said thoughtfully.

"Not bloody likely," Sirius muttered.

"Continue, Draco."

"So I gave it to Padma. I saw her write in it sometimes," Draco said with a shrug.

"I believe that some -- not all -- of the...mischief and mayhem that has occurred this year is the result of what I understand to be a manipulation of Miss Patil by the diary itself," Dumbledore said. "Perhaps, Harry, you will share this evening's events with us..."

Harry recounted the battle with the basilisk, assisted by Neville and Draco, while Sirius occasionally swore under his breath. When they came to the aftermath of the basilisk's death, Dumbledore turned to Severus.

"I understand you did, in fact, Apparate from within the Chamber of Secrets," he said.

"The wards on the access tunnel..." Snape gestured a little haplessly. "Slytherin was a very flexible-minded wizard. He set charms to prevent his work being found even if the material structure of the school was modified. The dungeons' stairwell has been moved three times by various useless Headmasters and it always moves back, and that's merely a set of stairs. It stood to reason that his inner sanctuary would be impervious to things like anti-Apparation spells."

"That will have to be seen to," Dumbledore said to himself, even as footsteps rang in the Great Hall and they looked up to see Remus, pale and worried, approaching.

"Kettleburn and Hagrid have gone to the kitchens for a stiff drink," he said. "I can't say I blame them. I've never seen a basilisk up close and personal before, and I hope to Merlin I never do again. I assume it was Dora who blew its brains out through its eyesockets?"

"She did what?" Snape demanded.

"Well, that's Kettleburn's professional opinion as an animal handler. He thinks she used a modified, focused expelliarmus. And there's this," Remus said, holding up a leather sack he'd been carrying at his side. It was full to the brim with scraps of paper. Two bits of pasteboard were shoved down one side. "We gathered up every piece, like you told us."

"Torch it," Sirius said, starting forward. Dumbledore pulled the drawstring of the bag tight, tucking it away in his volumnous robes.

"You should know better, Sirius," he said gently. "This will require more than mere fire, that I promise you."

"Poor Padma," Draco murmured. "You should have seen the way she tore into it."

"Understandably," Dumbledore replied. Just then Fawkes appeared and circled the hall, settling on Dumbledore's shoulder. He dropped a bit of scrap paper in his lap. "Ah. Miss Patil and Professor Tonks, it appears, will both make a full recovery; I believe we have reached the end of our story, at least for this evening. All things considered, we shall suspend classes on the morrow. More time for the students to study for their exams, and more time for our young would-be heroes to spend with their friend," he added with a smile. "Mr. Lupin, Mr. Black, under the circumstances I will allow you to escort Neville to his sister's side; in the absence of closer kin, I suspect you may act in loco parentis for Mr. Malfoy as well, as I'm certain he would like to see his cousin. And I cannot, of course, stop you from taking custody of your legal ward for the evening."

He stood, gathering up his robes. "If you will excuse me, there is the disposal of the basilisk's body to be considered, as well as a few other small matters. Severus, you will certainly wish to be a party to the...dissection of the noble if ill-managed beast?"

Snape looked torn. "Y....es, of course, Headmaster -- "

"Very well, I will see that it is put in a stasis charm until you return from St. Mungo's. Please locate Parvati and bring her along with the other children to the hospital."

Sirius glanced back and forth from a grateful-looking Snape to Dumbledore. "Here, why is he -- "

"Do run along, Sirius, there's a good fellow," Dumbledore said with a gentle smile.

Dora Tonks woke, the morning after her battle with the basilisk, to clean warm sheets, a brightly-lit room, and the sound of an almighty crash.

She pushed herself up on her elbows, looking around; a second muffled crash indicated that whatever was going on, it was happening outside her door.

Her leg felt stiff, but it didn't hurt too badly; at least this time she didn't have a hundred small, swollen, itchy bites to tend for weeks and weeks together. She tried swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and then stopped as icy pain raced up and down her body.

Okay, maybe it did hurt too badly.

She carefully lifted her legs back onto the bed and scooted back so that the pillows supported her, drawing her good leg up slightly. There was a pitcher and a water-glass on the table next to the bed, and she helped herself while she waited for her head to clear a little. She'd fallen asleep last night after talking to her mum and dad a little and giving a report to Moody. She remembered that much, and the news that everyone was safe. She thought she'd woken once in the night to the sound of her dad talking to someone -- maybe Sirius -- but she couldn't be certain.

The door opened and she glanced up; Severus entered, shut the door tightly, and leaned on it, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

"Hi," she said in a small voice. He started and looked at her.

"You're awake," he said, coming forward quickly. "Do you need a Healer?"

"No," she said. "I feel all right. What's going on out there?"

He turned to look at the door. "Oh -- nothing."

She raised her eyebrows. It was a move she'd learned from him.

"I may have been a bit impatient with a journalist lurking around your door," he admitted. "And the photographer she brought. Specifically, his camera."

"Oh, dear," she murmured.

"Your parents are having breakfast; I can fetch them..."

"No -- that's all right, let them eat. I've put them through enough yesterday," she said with a smile. "Come on, sit down and tell me what's going on. How's Padma?"

"Discharged to her parents this morning. They're with your parents, and Black and Lupin, and the rest of the troublemakers," he said sourly. "I daresay the hospital canteen has never seen such a circus."

"I'm sure they've seen worse," she answered. "Why aren't you with them?"

"I can go -- "

"That wasn't what I meant," she said, putting a hand on his sleeve. She tugged, gently, until he sat on the edge of the bed, head turned to study her.

"I was just...making sure those imbeciles they employ here had seen to you before I joined everyone else," he said.

"Well, as it happens, they haven't, so I'd be obliged if you'd wait here with me so as to yell at them more conveniently when they do show up," she said. He actually smiled.

"Of course."

"Severus Snape, knight gallant."

"Hardly," he replied. "I'm not the one who saved Padma Patil's life last night."

"No, just mine."

He shrugged. She looked down at her fingers, twisting in her lap.

"About...last night...and yesterday, and really the past few weeks, I suppose..." he began. "What do you think of....what's happened?"

"Aside from the bits where I nearly died?"

"In general terms."

"I've enjoyed them," she said. He worried his lower lip with his teeth; the scars on his temple, three long jagged lines left by Peter Pettigrew, were red against his face, a sign that he was embarrassed.

"As have I, but we must be sensible," he said. "We would do better to consider the situation at large before our...impulses run away with us."

"That's half the fun of this," she answered.

"Is it?" he asked distantly. "I can't say I've encountered it in quite this fashion before."

"What parts of our...situation did you want to consider?" she asked, a little amused.

"Facts of age and experience. I am twelve years older than you," Severus said slowly, and she gave him a bare nod. "When you were born I was already attending Hogwarts. Before you had reached the age of ten, I was a professor there. For seven years you were my student. For much of our lives, the balance of power has been on my side, and that's not easily forgotten by either of us."

"I know," she whispered.

"We are nothing alike," he continued. "You are a clumsy, foolish young woman -- "

"Severus!"

"And I am a sullen, cruel man pushing middle age."

There was a second of silence as she realised what he'd said, and she touched his shoulder. "You are not," she said fiercely. "You're hardly thirty-three, and you just want your students to do well -- you're a good teacher -- "

"The problem is," he continued inexorably, "that I'm fairly sure you are one of the few people on this earth I can tolerate for more than five minutes at a time and therefore I appear to be falling in love with you. I'm not any happier about it than you are," he added. She stared at him. "If you want me to, I'll leave."

"I...everyone's going to be scandalised," she blurted. He lifted an eyebrow. "Sirius is going to make so much fun of me -- Harry's going to positively gloat -- "

"Not quite the admission of affection I'd hoped for," he drawled. "But it will do. You've forgotten what Albus Dumbledore is going to say."

"Merlin," she wailed, and he leaned forward, turning to allow her to bury her face in his chest. She felt him pat the back of her head awkwardly; it occurred to her that he was no more experienced at this than she was.

"My world, in general, is a world of order, of systems and formulae," he said against her hair. "This is much more complicated. I cannot promise that I will always know what I'm doing."

She laughed into his shirt. "Mark the calendar -- Severus Snape admitted there's something he didn't know."

"You're teasing me."

"Yes," she said, tilting her face up and kissing his jaw. He turned his head, catching her mouth with his own.

"I also cannot promise your parents won't disapprove," he said, when they had finished kissing. "They are good friends, but there is a limit to friendship."

"Let me deal with them," she replied. "It's not like you're going to need to get a permission slip signed."

He turned his head away and for a moment she thought he was going to bring up some other troublesome fact, but instead he slipped off the bed and turned to her.

"The circus is coming," he said.

"How did you -- "

"I'll tell you later," he promised, as the door opened and the room began to fill with people -- Neville and Harry climbing up on the bed, Draco standing nearby, the Patil family en masse appearing to thank her, her parents beaming in the background. She did look up from all the attention in time to see Severus quietly leave the room, stopping to say a few words to Andromeda on his way out.

Padma was quieter than usual, a little withdrawn, although that was more reassuring than a laughing, shouting girl would have been. Her parents were grateful, it was obvious, but they were also gracious about it and Tonks found herself liking them immensely.

With her usual aplomb, Andromeda had soon wrangled a small table and several chairs into the room, stolen by Remus and Sirius from a nearby waiting area. Although the Patils were on their way home so that Padma could have a few days of rest, everyone else seemed determined to stay and keep Dora occupied. There was the whole story to rehash once more in detail, with feats of heroic bravery embellished suitably by the boys and admired suitably by Andromeda and Ted. Several bouquets of flowers arrived throughout the morning, and at noon one particularly pretty basket of dahlias arrived attached to the arm of the Headmaster.

"I see that you have been kept busy, Professor Tonks," he said with a small smile, setting his bouquet on the table and tousling Draco's hair as he passed. "How are you feeling?"

"Well, sir, thank you," she said. "They're discharging me this evening."

"Splendid. You will go home, I hope, for some well-deserved rest?"

She looked indecisive. "Final exams start in two days, sir..."

"So they do, so they do. Do you intend to return to administer them?"

"I'd like to," she said, glancing at her parents before turning back to Dumbledore. "I won't be walking much, but I'm not the one who'll need to."

He smiled again, that small, knowing smile, and then rubbed his hands together.

"I was wondering if I might have a moment alone with Professor Tonks, in that case," he said, pointedly not looking at anyone in particular. The boys sighed and began to head for the door; Sirius glanced at Andromeda before he and Remus followed. The Tonkses gave their daughter good-bye hugs and assured her they'd be back later in the afternoon. When they were gone, Dumbledore stood looking down at Dora for a long moment.

"Sir, can I ask..."

"Hmm?" he said.

"What about Padma? And exams, I mean."

"Oh, I think she can be excused from her exams. Extenuating circumstances. Don't you think so?"

"Well...she's a Ravenclaw. And I know her...she likes order. She likes things to happen as they're supposed to."

"I see. You think she would rather take her exams than be forced to miss them?"

She shrugged. "I think you should give her the option."

"I will take that into consideration," he replied. "Quite an ordeal you have suffered, both of you."

"This'll be over soon enough."

"And you will return to your position as Auror. If I may say so, you are remarkably suited to it."

She smiled. "Thank you, sir."

"We will miss you. Severus in particular, I suspect. A little irreverence is good for him." He studied her again, as if he were trying to divine how to ask something. She waited patiently.

"Nymphadora, do you believe in omens?" he finally asked. She tilted her head to one side, considering.

"You're not talking about Divination."

"No. Something larger than tea leaves and star-readings. The confluence of events in time...the preparation of the way for larger things," he said. "Manifest prophecy, if you like."

"I know what you're talking about...but I'm not sure I understand why."

Dumbledore produced a small gold phial from his pocket, no bigger than the end-joint of his little finger.

"This contains all that remains of Tom Riddle's diary," he said quietly. "A little ash, a little grease...I believe you are the most qualified to keep custody of it. It is harmless. Now, at any rate. I would not lay that burden on Padma Patil, but I trust you will keep it secure."

She allowed him to place it in her palm. The top was sealed with scarlet wax and cork.

"Walden Macnair is an ignorant man who follows because he has not the courage to lead, even to lead in the name of a bad cause," Dumbledore continued. "I suspect he was told to give young Draco that diary; I even suspect that Draco was a known and intended sacrifice, though who can say if that is true or not. I don't believe Macnair was ordered by anyone with real power to do this, but I do believe that this...child-resurrection of the man who would become Voldemort may be a sign of things to come."

"What can we do?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"As your own mentor says -- be vigilant. Be careful. Look for things others who are ignorant may not." He smiled at her. "Be honest, brave, and true. And now, my dear, I must return to Hogwarts. Always so much to attend to; there is truly no rest for the wicked."

When he was gone, she stared down at the plain golden phial in her hand. At last, she undid the clasp of the chain and secured it around her neck, tucking it inside the hospital pyjama shirt she wore. When Severus returned that afternoon, he found her sleeping soundly, her face smooth and peaceful in the afternoon light.

Epilogue

Exams had passed and the school term was over almost before Harry could catch his breath. Considering everything, the Quidditch championship was cancelled, which only seemed to speed up the arrival of exams. Padma even came back to school and took her tests, though she went home right afterward and Hermione Granger beat her out for top of the year, which must have been annoying. Neville promised Harry he'd go visit the Patils as often as he could, and Draco swore he would too, although of course for Draco it was a little more difficult. Especially since his mum was apparently in a very foul mood indeed and had been seen publicly fighting with Walden Macnair, up to and including trying to scratch his eyes out. Draco didn't know what it all meant, but he had a feeling he was going to have a very long, very unstable summer. Harry pressed the invisibility cloak on him again, and Draco didn't even make a token objection this time.

Draco did, however, have one consolation for not being able to visit Padma personally. He sent Dobby to the Patils for the summer, with his wages paid in advance, which Sarasvati thought was a very gentlemanly gesture and Parvati thought was pure show-offery. Draco assured Neville and Harry that Parvati was just jealous because nobody had ever sent her a house-elf.

Summer would be different for Harry than it was for the others; he was going back to Betwys Beddau, the little Muggle town where they kept their summer house, and he wouldn't be able to even fly on his broomstick for three full months. Still, there were good points; he had a long, exciting train trip to look forward to, as well as the warm summer days in what Remus always said must be the greenest place on earth. He'd get to see all his old school friends from before Hogwarts and play football again and go fishing in the river with Padfoot, and there would be books from Professor Snape (there always were) and he'd have his bicycle to ride and all the town-folk would spoil him rotten. It didn't look to be such a terrible summer, except that he couldn't write to his friends. And he was only just a little bit envious that Andromeda and Ted were taking Neville to Canada for a whole month to visit Ted's Muggle brother and his family.

Remus had gone down to Wales during exams to take all their things to Betwys Beddau -- the important things, anyway -- and so there was no strict need to stop in London, but they had to transfer trains anyway and Sirius had inexplicably booked them on a much later train for the rest of the trip.

"We have to pick up the portrait," he explained to Harry, as they walked through the crowds in Diagon. "We'll keep it in London most of the time, but I thought you'd like to see it and we can certainly take it to Betwys Beddau for the summer."

"Is it really going to make you look young for ever?" Harry asked. He followed Sirius into Fansif Alley and towards the green door of Broosh & Chackle.

"No," Sirius said, looking over Harry's head at Remus. "We were going to, but..."

"Well, given everything...." Remus added.

"I mean, you wouldn't want your old godfather to look the same forever, would you?" Sirius asked, somewhat anxiously. Harry grinned at him.

"Course not," he said, and Sirius smiled in relief.

"I thought we'd get your portrait done next year," Sirius continued. "Over Christmas, maybe. Helena's dying to be the woman who paints the portrait of the Boy Who Lived."

"Sure," Harry said agreeably. He felt in quite an agreeable state; Peter Pettigrew hadn't been heard from in ages, he'd personally helped save Padma from being eaten alive by a diary, and he had Remus and Sirius' undivided attention. He continued to feel agreeable all through the train ride to Llangynog and the bus from there to Betwys Beddau.

There was a letter waiting atop a pile of books when they arrived, as Harry had expected; Professor Snape's handwriting, in his usual emerald-green ink.

Harry,

I trust that you have arrived safely and without undue incident. Please inform your guardians that I have tested the wards on the house and found them sound, although the state of the garden leaves much to be desired. It is upon this subject that you will conduct your summer studies; I expect full documentation of a proper wizarding herb garden and have provided the appropriate seed packets and a text on their care and cultivation. Please do not allow that empty-skulled mutt of yours to dig it up.

In the interests of keeping you out of mischief, I have also selected several volumes for your summer reading. Try to retain something from them.

Nymphadora insists that I inform you that she "says hello". The woman is infamous.

As ever, I am

Your Professor

Severus Snape

Remus sorted through the books, idly. "Here's the text on Herbology, it's the usual stuff...other books: The Lord of the Rings, Never Cry Wolf, and A Brief History Of Wizarding Politics. Oh, andWizard Bird. Say what you like, Padfoot, but the man knows how to pick books."

"At least one of those is going to bore him to tears," Sirius answered, pouring instantly-hot water out of the kettle on the stove.

"Run and get into your pyjamas, Harry, and if you're in bed in half an hour we'll pretend you're asleep and not reading one of Professor Snape's books."

Harry was allowed to stay up late that night, with his cocoa on the bedside table and Never Cry Wolf propped on his knees; the summer unrolled before him like a splendid panorama, and he was happy.

***

A month into his holiday, Harry woke to the insistent sound of knocking on the front door of the River House. He froze in his bed; nobody had ever knocked on the front door before. Nobody could find the front door. Which meant that either the fidelius was broken, or --

"You stay there," Sirius shouted at him as he ran down the hallway, wand in hand. It wouldn't work unless Harry was in danger -- that was the deal they'd made with Albus Dumbledore -- but he tended to keep it closer than he had in the past. Remus staggered out after him, pulling on his pyjamas as he went and blocking the doorway between living room and hall. Harry saw him nod at Sirius, and Sirius flung the front door open.

"Professor!" Harry cried, slipping past Remus. Severus Snape stood in the doorway, looking exhausted.

"What on earth?" Remus asked, coming forward and putting a protective hand on Harry's shoulder. "What are you doing here? You know you're not supposed to come unless -- "

Snape held up a folded copy of the Prophet and offered it to Sirius, who accepted it with a suspicious look. Harry craned his neck to see the headline.

Lucius Malfoy escapes Azkaban, it read, and then in smaller font, Daring daylight disappearance baffles authorities.

"They say," Snape said pointedly, "that it looked as though a rat had chewed through his straitjacket straps."

Sirius grabbed the other man's arm and tried to haul him inside, but Snape put out a hand to stop him before he could.

"Is he coming here?" Remus asked worriedly. "Do they know? Did Dumbledore send you?"

Snape looked over his shoulder, out through the front doorway. At the end of the garden, where the path to the front door met Cwndu Road, there was a Hogwarts school trunk. Sitting on it, looking very small and bereft, was Draco Malfoy. He was clutching Harry's invisibility cloak, twisting and creasing it between his fingers.

Remus looked at Sirius, then back at the boy.

"I'll go transfigure another bed in Harry's room," he said quietly.

Snape held out a small leather bag with the Gringotts Bank seal stamped on the side.

"For his room and board," he said as Sirius accepted it. "Equal parts Dumbledore and Narcissa Malfoy. I cannot linger."

He walked back down the path to where Draco sat; Harry tagged along curiously as Snape bent to whisper the location of the house in Draco's ear. Draco's eyes widened as the River House appeared before him out of the empty meadow. Before Harry could thank the Professor, he was gone.

"Hi," he said to Draco. The other boy looked pale, and he had deep circles under his eyes that bespoke more than a single sleepless night.

"Hi," Draco murmured. "Brought your cloak back."

"Thanks," Harry said. "Want some help with your trunk?"

Sirius came out of the house when they were halfway to the door and took the trunk out of their hands, carrying it easily into the bedroom. Remus was already in the kitchen, preparing an early breakfast. He offered each of them a plate of sausage, eggs, and toast; Harry led Draco out onto the wooden porch that overlooked the back garden and they sat on the steps, quietly.

"So," Harry said.

"So," Draco echoed. Harry looked sidelong at him, and a grin suddenly split his face.

"This is going to be the best summer ever," he said.

END

Laocoon's Children

Year Three: The Fugitive from Azakaban

Introduction

Please Note: Laocoon's Children is incomplete. I have posted notes which "complete" year III and summarise my plans for the rest of Harry's time at Hogwarts, but the stories themselves are not written, nor do I have plans to write them at this time. My apologies for the incompleteness of this story.

Laocoon's Children is an alternate-universe fic based on the events of an earlier fanfic, Stealing Harry. In Stealing Harry, Lucius Malfoy reached Peter Pettigrew before Sirius could, and as a result Sirius was never imprisoned in Azkaban. When Harry Potter was eight years old, Sirius abducted him from the Dursleys and set about raising him with Remus Lupin's help, resulting in a blossoming romance between the two men. Peter Pettigrew, seeing his chance, attempted to murder Harry after performing a spell which equipped Peter with immense magical powers. Harry was taken away to Betwys Beddau, a small Welsh village, to live in safety until he could attend Hogwarts. Remus and Sirius went with him.

Laocoon's Children takes up the story two years later, and runs parallel to JK Rowling's books. In Harry's first year at Hogwarts, "The Philosopher's Stone", he was put in Slytherin where he made fast friends with Gryffindor Neville Longbottom, Ravenclaw Padma Patil, and Hufflepuff Draco Malfoy, forming an odd inter-house gang of friends who delighted in exploring Hogwarts, playing pranks, and getting into trouble. He was saved from near death at the hands of Pettigrew and Quirrell by his mentor Severus Snape, but Peter escaped and has not been heard from since.

In "Secret Tongues", Harry's gang of friends reunited for their second year at Hogwarts, where they faced a basilisk, a homicidal diary bent on destroying Padma's sanity, and Draco's own mother's unprovable betrayal. Nymphadora Tonks, fresh from a debilitating injury as an Auror, took on the role of Dark Arts professor, and began a stormy relationship with Severus Snape. At the end of the school year, Lucius Malfoy escaped Azkaban prison and Draco was sent to stay with Harry in Betwys Beddau over the summer, for his own safety.

In "The Fugitive From Azkaban", year three of Harry's AU adventures, Harry and his friends must face many new problems: protecting Draco from his father, dealing with their new Dark Arts professor's quirks, helping Padma with her heavy school load, and standing firm against the aura of fear that is pervading the wizarding world.

Laocoon's Children is an alternate-universe fic based on the events of an earlier fanfic, Stealing Harry. In Stealing Harry, Lucius Malfoy reached Peter Pettigrew before Sirius could, and as a result Sirius was never imprisoned in Azkaban. When Harry Potter was eight years old, Sirius abducted him from the Dursleys and set about raising him with Remus Lupin's help, resulting in a blossoming romance between the two men. Peter Pettigrew, seeing his chance, attempted to murder Harry after performing a spell which equipped Peter with immense magical powers. Harry was taken away to Betwys Beddau, a small Welsh village, to live in safety until he could attend Hogwarts. Remus and Sirius went with him.

Laocoon's Children takes up the story two years later, and runs parallel to JK Rowling's books. In Harry's first year at Hogwarts, "The Philosopher's Stone", he was put in Slytherin where he made fast friends with Gryffindor Neville Longbottom, Ravenclaw Padma Patil, and Hufflepuff Draco Malfoy, forming an odd inter-house gang of friends who delighted in exploring Hogwarts, playing pranks, and getting into trouble. He was saved from near death at the hands of Pettigrew and Quirrell by his mentor Severus Snape, but Peter escaped and has not been heard from since.

In "Secret Tongues", Harry's gang of friends reunited for their second year at Hogwarts, where they faced a basilisk, a homicidal diary bent on destroying Padma's sanity, and Draco's own mother's unprovable betrayal. Nymphadora Tonks, fresh from a debilitating injury as an Auror, took on the role of Dark Arts professor, and began a stormy relationship with Severus Snape. At the end of the school year, Lucius Malfoy escaped Azkaban prison and Draco was sent to stay with Harry in Betwys Beddau over the summer, for his own safety.

In "The Fugitive From Azkaban", year three of Harry's AU adventures, Harry and his friends must face many new problems: protecting Draco from his father, dealing with their new Dark Arts professor's quirks, helping Padma with her heavy school load, and standing firm against the aura of fear that is pervading the wizarding world.

Chapter 1

ITEMS OF NOTE

(Clipping: Betwys Beddau Weekly Crier, August 1, 1993)

Youth Cricket: Scythes beat Stones in improbable Upset.

The Betwys Beddau Scythes and Betwys Beddau Stones met on the field of play Saturday last for a much-anticipated rematch after last year's rout of the Scythes. The South of Riverbend Scythes and North of Riverbend Stones have been playing the annual Youth Cricket tournament these past forty years as this reporter well knows, but rarely has the game been so widely anticipated.

The reason for this year's upset as all agree is a slight, spindly lad new to Betwys Beddau and the noble game of cricket: thirteen-year-old Daniel Malfoy, nephew of local tour guide Sirius Black. Young Daniel has taken up cricket with a fierce determination only matched by his companion Harry Potter's well-known passion for football. With little knowledge of the game Daniel has managed to become quite the batsman and while his fielding may still need a bit of work, one might feel that for the game he plays the boy may be forgiven a few trifling inconsistencies.

The Scythes were not favoured to defeat the Stones, captained by the Indomitable Jerry Agnew (whose father Mr. Alex Agnew is well-known to these pages for his yearly Holiday Amusements) but all proved not as it seemed on Saturday's sunny morning....

***

MINISTRY AWARDS ORDER OF MERLIN TO HOGWARTS PROFESSOR

(Photo Clipping: Daily Prophet, July 3, 1993)

MINISTER FUDGE presents the Order of Merlin (2nd class) to Nymphadora Tonks, former Hogwarts Professor, for bravery beyond the call of duty

in slaying a Basilisk recently discovered at Hogwarts School. Ms. Tonks has declined to have a Bertie Botts Chocolate Frog Card made in her likeness but agreed to accept the award "under much pressure from the public and the Hogwarts Board of Governors". Left to Right: Minister Cornelius Fudge; Nymphadora Tonks; parents Andromeda and Ted Tonks, owners of Tonks & Tonks in Diagon Alley; Severus Snaqe, fellow professor at Hogwarts School; Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School.

Scrawled at the edge of the clipping: It's Snape, you damn fools.

***

LUCIUS MALFOY STILL AT LARGE

(Clipping: Daily Prophet, August 9, 1993)

The Ministry of Magic reports today that Friday's attempts to secure Lucius Malfoy, the first-ever successful escapee from Azkaban Prison, were unsuccessful. Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt spoke with the press to assure them that every possible method of capturing Malfoy, a known murderer and supporter of You Know Who, was being employed. He went on to state, however, that Malfoy is "a cagey bloke without any conscience, and it's much harder to catch a nutter than your average

sane person, you know".

Public opinion regarding Malfoy's daring escape suggests that many people believe him to have drowned in the Black Sea off the coast of Scotland....

***

There were a lot of things that the village of Betwys Beddau, as a collective, knew about the Black-Potter family. Or, at any rate, thought they knew.

For example, they knew that Mr. Black was independently wealthy and probably Old Money, because young Harry went to a prestigious, exclusive private school in Scotland during the year while Mr. Black kept a flat in London. Some people, on the other hand, theorised that Mr. Black was some kind of fugitive criminal or member of organized crime, because it was clear that he valued his privacy very highly. At any rate, he had enough money to support Harry without having any real kind of job. Tour guide for the local stone circle, Rhos Y Beddau, didn't count since half the time he'd do it for free.

He had enough money to support his cousin, too, although Mr. Lupin was a proud sort of man who always found some job or other to do while they were there for the summer. Some of the younger and the more astute villagers smiled indulgently on the pair's facade of "cousinly" affection, but Mr. Black was so charming and Mr. Lupin so unfailingly polite and kind that even those who disapproved of "that kind of thing" simply ignored the signs.

The villagers knew too that Mr. Black loved children, he must love children, because not only had he taken in his poor orphaned godson (and quite right) but also a sickly nephew who was down in the country "for his health" the summer that young Harry turned thirteen.

In Betwys Beddau, Harry and the other boys made him feel at home by initiating "Daniel" into the complex, Eleusian mystery of childhood cricket. They also played football among the old standing stones in the village parks and went prospecting for interesting rocks in the river at the bottom of the garden. They walked into town with Padfoot nearly every day to fetch Remus from his job and rarely a day went by that some kind person didn't stop to say hello and offer to buy them an ice lolly or a soft drink from the grocer, because you couldn't find a more charming pair of boys than Harry and Daniel. Padfoot magnanimously condescended to help them finish whatever they couldn't eat.

Mr. Lupin, while somewhat less outgoing than Mr. Black, was more sociable in the general sense. He worked in town, after all, and so saw the villagers more regularly. They knew that he too was fond of children and particularly fond of his big black Newf, Padfoot, the most intelligent dog that the villagers had ever encountered. Mr. Lupin was of a weak constitution himself, but when well he was a hard worker.

What the villagers didn't know about the peculiar family, of course, would have filled a book. But they were unaware of their own ignorance, and thus treated them as no more than a curiosity. Mr.Black's marriage prospects, Mr. Lupin's scholarly turn of mind, Harry Potter's frank and friendly outlook, Daniel Malfoy's shyness and surprising skill with a cricket bat -- these were as far as gossip went.

Had the villagers known that their little town harboured and sheltered a werewolf, a shapeshifter, and two adolescent wizards, Merlin knew what they would have thought.

It was early August, only a few days after Harry's birthday party, and the sun was out in full force in the little Welsh town. In a grassy lot near the main road, most of the Betwys Beddau under-sixteen set were rehearsing a pageant of the town's history, with Harry and Daniel (who would be gone by the time it was performed) as spectators, assistant directors, and general errand-boys. Padfoot lounged under a nearby tree, sleepily watching the proceedings and waiting patiently for Master to emerge from Meredith's Cafe nearby. Very few people were out on the road, except for one elderly man with a prodigious beard, carrying a walking stick in one hand and wearing an enormous, broad-brimmed straw hat.

Inside Meredith's Cafe it was bustling, as was usual at that time of day. The town was not so big nor so busy that a late-afternoon break couldn't be observed, and everyone left their offices and shops at two o'clock to go to one of the three cafes in town and get a scone or a muffin and a cup of tea. Remus called this the "Tea-esta" after which Padfoot had soundly bitten his ankle.

The bookstore hadn't needed Remus this year, they regretted to tell him in June, so he'd found employment at Meredith's instead. He was good at waiting tables, because he was polite, and he excelled at making drinks -- hot drinks, cold drinks, blended drinks, and the occasional alcoholic drink if he were slipped a few extra coins and nobody was paying very close attention. After all, he said to Sirius, he'd had seven years of Potions classes.

So while Lynn was on table duty and Marcus worked the cash register, Remus handled drinks. An order would be placed, Marcus would put their name and drink preference on the cup, Remus would prepare the drink and sing out the name after the patron had paid.

"Abby, your tea's ready," he called, passing the cup across to a young woman who grinned flirtatiously at him and took a seat nearby. "Nicholas? Where's Nicholas?"

"Over here!" said a man about his own age, gratefully accepting an iced coffee. Remus checked the next cup, scooped some vanilla ice cream into the blender, added a cup of lemonade from the refrigerator, tossed in a dash of sugar syrup, and whizzed the whole thing up, pouring the results into the original cup and capping it before bothering to look at the patron's name. He opened his mouth to call it, but the name came out remarkably quietly.

"Albus?" he asked, startled. He lifted his eyes over the edge of the counter and blinked a few times.

"Hello, Remus," Albus Dumbledore said with a smile. "Is that my lemonade cream?"

Remus dropped the drink, caught it before it fell far, and passed it across with a shaking hand.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. Dumbledore sipped the milkshake and smiled appreciatively.

"Taking tea. There is nothing to concern yourself over; this is a social call to ask a favour, nothing more."

Remus wiped his hands on the towel hanging from his belt and licked his lips nervously.

"I believe I shall take my lemonade cream and go watch the play rehearsal that appears to be occurring across the street," Dumbledore continued serenely. "When you are at liberty, please feel free to join me."

Remus passed the next twenty minutes in a state of vaguely fretful confusion, until at last the tea-rush died down and he could take his break. He found Dumbledore sitting placidly on a low tree branch that he was certain had never been there before, under the same tree that Padfoot had been using for shade. Padfoot, muzzle buried in the paper cup, lifted his head and panted at him.

"It is so soothing to see children at play," Dumbledore observed, indicating the pageant rehearsal with a nod of his head. Onstage, someone was being stabbed to death. "So long as one does not harbour any illusions about the content of a child's mind."

"They're good boys and girls," Remus said uncertainly.

"No doubt. Won't you sit down?"

Remus sat next to Dumbledore, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

"Something must have happened for you to come here," he said. "Is it Lucius?"

"Mr. Malfoy has not yet been found. I suspect, as I am sure you do, that he is being concealed and protected by Peter Pettigrew."

Remus nodded. "What about the Tonkses? They're all right?"

"Indeed. Nymphadora thrives, and they send their love. Severus expressed no desire at all to be remembered to you, but he has asked me to ensure that Harry and -- "

" -- Daniel."

" -- Daniel are well looked-after. Which reminds me, I have their Hogwarts letters," Dumbledore said, passing two thick envelopes to Remus, who tucked them absently in his back pocket. "So you see I am not here as the bearer of bad news. It was you in particular I came to see."

"Me?" Remus asked. "Why on earth?"

"I come with the full weight of the Hogwarts Board of Governors and School Trustees to offer you the position of Professor of Dark Arts at Hogwarts for the coming year," Dumbledore said.

Remus fell backwards off the tree branch. Padfoot leapt up at once and ran to him, but Remus was already struggling up onto his elbows.

"You're mad!" he said to Dumbledore, forgetting for a moment that he was speaking to his former Headmaster. "You can't give me a job!"

"That remains to be seen. I am empowered to offer it," Dumbledore replied calmly. Remus stood up and rubbed the back of his head. Dumbledore looked up at him mildly.

"We both know it's cursed, Headmaster," he said. Padfoot stepped across his feet and glared menacingly at Dumbledore.

"Be that as it may, you will do well to remember that werewolves are immune to many common curses and hexes," Dumbledore replied. "The pay is excellent, of course, and -- "

"Two of our Dark Arts professors were eaten by things when we were at school!"

"Remus," Dumbledore said warningly, glancing at Harry and Draco. Remus followed his gaze, sighed, and settled down on the low tree branch once more. Padfoot placed himself ostentatiously between them.

"You can't honestly think I'd be any good at the job even if I were mad enough to take it," he said in a softer voice, one hand placed warningly on Padfoot's neck.

"I know you have spent many years studying ways of combating the Dark Arts while you were searching for Peter," Dumbledore said. "You seem to have an uncanny method of discerning when trouble is looming on the horizon, and moreover, you are a figure of authority in young...Daniel's eyes."

"What has he to -- oh. Oh, I see," Remus said grimly. "Lucius."

"We have no reason to believe he has forgotten his only son and heir. You have the ability to protect him, Remus."

"You're playing dirty, Headmaster," Remus said. "Does the school board know what I am?"

"Do they need to?"

That elicited a small smile from Remus. "No, I suppose not. It'll be hard to avoid telling the staff..."

"No; they would have to be informed. Poppy knows already, of course."

"And Snape."

"He has kept your secret this long. Besides, I have presented you to him as a...challenge."

Padfoot whined. Remus looked perplexed.

"A challenge?"

"Indeed." Dumbledore offered him a newspaper clipping from yet another pocket. Remus stared down at it for so long that Padfoot began to gnaw on his shirtsleeve.

"It was perfected in July," Dumbledore offered. "I know you'd been following the journal articles for years, but they've kept it all very secret. Fortunately, Severus was one of the members of the extended research team."

"He can brew this?"

"He believes so. He's been allowed to brew a test batch for the experimental subjects. They are still alive. He would be capable of providing you with the potion each month, in return for research assistance. There is still some pain, I understand, but the human mind is retained much more fully -- "

"Human," Remus whispered, not looking at anyone now. "I could remember the moon. I'd be safe to be around."

"Alas, the potion does not travel well. Your presence at Hogwarts is required," Dumbledore said. Remus was silent. "I have faith in your abilities, Remus; you might try it yourself some time. Come to Hogwarts. Try the potion, try teaching, and protect your son's best friend."

Remus looked at him sharply. Dumbledore smiled winningly. Padfoot, finally driven to it, ran behind the tree and emerged as Sirius, shaking his shaggy hair out of his eyes.

"You're not bribing him with some potion," he said, pointing a finger at Dumbledore accusingly. "If Snivellus can make it, I can make it, and you know I'm well-connected enough to get a copy of the procedure."

Dumbledore gazed mildly at Sirius' finger.

"Do you wish Draco dead?" he asked quietly.

"Since when was it Moony's job to protect him? Get Snivellus to do it, he was Lucius Malfoy's bumboy at schoo -- "

Sirius found himself suddenly unable to speak. He clutched his throat, swallowed, and glared at Dumbledore.

"As I was saying," Dumbledore continued, "The responsibility for the protection of our children does not fall only on the shoulders of those intimately connected with them. As Mr. Black may be intrigued to know, I myself educated him over the strong objections I held to his family's personal beliefs."

Remus hid a smile.

"The decision is ultimately yours to make," Dumbledore said to Remus, emphasizing yours slightly. "But there is also the fact to be considered that Lucius Malfoy may not only be after his own son. He may be after Harry Potter as well."

Sirius paled, glancing at Harry, who had yet to notice the antics of his elders.

"Revenge," Remus murmured. "Yes. And if Peter had a hand in it..."

Dumbledore was very eloquently silent.

"May I have a day or two?" he asked. Sirius was still rubbing his throat, trying to throw off the hex, but without his wand he wasn't getting very far.

"Of course. I'll send someone for your answer in three days. Give my regards to the boys; tell them I could not stay to say hello."

He rose and smiled at Sirius, who coughed and growled. Remus put out a hand to stop him, however, as Dumbledore made his way back to the road and continued walking towards the path to Rhos-y-Beddau, the ancient stone circle (now submerged in peat) at the edge of town.

"Bastard," Sirius said feelingly.

"He has the best interests of the children at heart," Remus replied.

"He wants us to think that," Sirius retorted. "Moony, you know that job is cursed."

Remus sighed. "Yes, and he rightly pointed out that some curses...don't work on me."

"But this one might! I don't want you eaten!" Sirius dropped onto the branch next to Remus. "Besides, that would mean we wouldn't be able to stay in London this year, and you know you'd miss Diagon."

"There'd be Hogsmeade. You could take a cottage there. I'd have floo access, there's no reason I couldn't come home every night. And at lunches," Remus suggested with a grin. Having two thirteen-year-olds living in the River House, which was small and not terribly thick-walled, made for a rather stifled sex life. Sirius' frustration with it was beginning to show.

"You're managing me."

"Am not!" Remus answered, looking hurt. "I'm rationally -- oh bugger, my break's up," he said suddenly. "Listen, I'll see you at the River House, I'm off at four. Don't tell the boys anything and don't try to argue this out with me in front of them."

"It's going to affect them, you know! It's not exactly easy when your..." Sirius fumbled for the word to express what Remus was to Harry. "Well, it's not easy knowing the person who's grading your papers, is all!"

"Severus does it. I've got to go, we'll ask Harry about it after you and I are sorted," Remus said, running back across the grass.

"WHAT ABOUT THE MOONS?" Sirius yelled after him, and several people coming out of the cafe stopped to stare.

"Argument about astrology," Remus said to them as he brushed past. Sirius, sulking by the tree, ignored the funny looks they gave him.

***

Harry had once told Draco that Remus didn't need any money, since he and Sirius had loads in Gringott's, but that Remus liked to work because he felt useful and anyway it was good to keep his hand in. Draco had replied that he thought he understood that, and it was likely he understood it even better than Harry or Sirius. Remus felt an instinctive affinity for the shy child, as well -- he remembered what it was like to be the quiet one.

Remus liked to work. He'd been raised to it and the few years spent trying to hold a steady job before Sirius took him on at Sandust Books was the most depressing time in his life, bar none. Even now, with the Black wealth and his own meagre savings supporting them comfortably, he liked to keep busy. Sirius did too, even though he didn't admit it; he'd spent half the summer bent over a drawing board, designing new toys for Madame Schaeffer's Scholars' Emporium. Harry, who was a rather better artist than Sirius, occasionally assisted.

And a long time ago, Remus had rather liked the idea of teaching at Hogwarts. It was a long time ago, when he was fourteen or fifteen and thought Minerva McGonagall was the most wonderful teacher in the world (well, he still thought that) and before he'd fully realised just how limiting his lycanthropy would be as an adult. At fifteen he could almost bounce back in a day. Now -- well, now he was in his thirties, and the Change slowed him down a bit more.

But still. Teaching, and teaching something he was good at...

Well, Sirius might be louder and less tactful and a good deal more obstinate about small things, but for sheer bullheaded stubbornness where it really mattered, you couldn't beat Remus Lupin.

Two days after Dumbledore made his offer, while Harry and Draco were puttering around making themselves breakfast in the kitchen, Remus rolled over onto his back and stretched his arms behind his head, shoulder-joints cracking in a satisfying way. Sirius grunted and turned on his side, stealing the blankets.

"Sirius, I'm going to take the Hogwarts job," Remus said. "We're not going to argue about it any more. As long as Harry is all right with having me as a teacher, I can't miss this opportunity."

Sirius opened his eyes wide enough to see the set of Remus' jaw.

"Well, if you'd sounded that decisive when Dumbledore was here," he yawned, "I wouldn't have bothered fighting with you."

Remus began to laugh. "What?"

"Moony, if you had any sense at all, you'd know that as long as you tell me something instead of ask it, I'm going to cave every time."

"Really," Remus said, turning his head. "That could make life interesting."

"Life isn't interesting now?"

Remus grinned. Sirius knew that particular grin, and would have taken full advantage of the impending excitement it had to offer, but there was a pounding on the door.

"EGGS AND BACON IN FIVE MINUTES!" Harry called through the door.

"When did we tell him he could start frying bacon on his own?" Remus asked, sighing.

"I think it was part of our plan to give him more responsibility," Sirius said. "Which was your idea, by the way."

"Bugger. Well, there'll be bacon, anyway," he said, rolling over to straddle Sirius' hips and kissing him on the forehead. "Thank you, Sirius. This means something to me."

"Yes, well, you're in charge of finding me someplace to stay in Hogsmeade," Sirius grumbled. "And nothing stone or drafty, either, it's cold as blue fuck in Scotland."

"Duly noted." Remus slid easily off the bed and reached for his housecoat. "Come on, Harry'll sulk if the bacon's cold by the time we get out there."

Draco was devouring an enormous egg and bacon sandwich when Remus appeared in the kitchen, blinking at the bright sunlight streaming through the windows.

"Morning," Remus said. Harry passed him a warm plate of eggs, bacon, and several slices of fried bread. He reflected that early mornings weren't quite so bad when the reward was fried things.

"Sirius coming?" Draco asked.

"Mmhm. Listen, I need to have a word with you two," Remus said, sitting down and cutting his bread into soldiers.

"If it's about the river, we didn't do it," Harry said promptly.

"And if we did you couldn't prove it," Draco added. Remus rubbed his eyes.

"We'll come back to that, because I know you're not really stupid enough to disclaim knowledge of something ahead of time, but for now, no. It's about Hogwarts."

Harry tilted his head as he slid the rest of the bacon, along with quite a bit of grease, onto Sirius' plate.

"The Headmaster has offered me a job at the school," Remus continued. "Teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Wicked!" Draco said. "Does that mean we'd have to call you Professor Lupin?"

"Yes, and that's what we need to talk about," Remus said, as Sirius walked in and took the plate Harry offered him. "I've decided to take the job, but I want to make sure it's all right with you two. It's not easy having a parent at school -- "

"Yeah, Dora graded Neville really hard, 'cause he's her brother," Harry said.

"Well, yes. And other students might think badly of you. And, if I had to give you a detention, I would," Remus continued.

"Here, Moony, I have a thought," Sirius said suddenly, as he entered the kitchen. "Do you suppose you could talk Filch into letting you into his files and steal back some of the stuff he took off us -- "

" -- twenty years ago? No," Remus said firmly. "Besides, he's probably thrown it all out, and stop distracting me."

"Yes, Professor," Sirius muttered.

"So I want your thoughts and your approval before I tell him yes," Remus finished, looking from Harry to Draco and back. "It'll affect you as much as it does me. I'll be living at school with you, and Sirius will be nearby as well."

Harry glanced at Draco. "I think it's brilliant," he said with a shrug.

"I'm with Harry," Draco agreed.

Remus hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. "Settled, then," he said.

"Is Sirius coming up to live at Hogwarts too, then?" Harry asked. Sirius glanced at Remus.

"Er...probably not at Hogwarts," Remus said.

"Well..." Sirius pursed his lips. Remus gave him a questioning look. "Padfoot could. Professors are allowed a Familiar, aren't they?"

Remus burst out laughing. "You're proposing to spend an entire year as a dog?"

"Not the whole year. Just the bits of it where I follow you to class, bite anyone who's misbehaving, and snag sweets from all the students."

"You'd do that anyway."

"My point exactly."

Remus rolled his eyes. "We've nearly a month to decide all that. I think it's far more sensible of you to take a cottage in town and we'll have it hooked up to the floo in whatever rooms they give me. And you two had better keep quiet about it," he said, pointing with his fork at the boys.

"We're thirteen, Remus," Harry said scornfully. "We're almost grown!"

Sirius tried not to laugh under his breath.

"Good, then I will trust you," Remus said agreeably. "And for the next month you may refer to me as Professor."

Sirius snorted into his fried eggs, but when he looked up, Remus was regarding him with quite an interesting look on his face.

"You too, Sirius Black," he said with a grin.

Sirius decided this Hogwarts business might be entertaining after all.

Chapter 2

Beta Notes: My regular betas are heidi8, metallumai, setissma and villainny, all of whom are owed a great debt. As they work when and how they can, sometimes one or two of them miss a chapter. it is thus unfair to blame any of them for any fic errors you may find. :D Assisting on this chapter were simon and maeritrae; you can go ahead and blame them. *wink*

Please Note: Laocoon's Children is a parallel of the Harry Potter books, and therefore passages from the books themselves are occasionally useful. In this chapter, portions of the Knight Bus and Firebolt scenes are taken directly or rephrased from The Prisoner of Azkaban.

***

The messenger that Dumbledore sent to speak to Remus wasn't Snape, as he and Sirius had assumed it would be; it was a tabby-cat with squarish marks around her eyes. She was waiting for them when they returned from a lunchtime outing, calmly washing one paw and sitting on their welcome mat.

"Deputy Headmistress, this is a pleasure," Remus said, opening the door and allowing her to lead the way inside. "I assume the Headmaster has sent you?"

Sirius shut the door after the boys and the cat stretched and transformed, ending up as a tidy-looking witch with square spectacles on.

"He has," she said with a small smile. "Hello Mr. Lupin, Mr. Black. Harry, Draco."

"Professor," Harry and Draco mumbled by way of greeting.

"Won't you have some tea?" Remus said.

"I'm afraid I can't linger; I'm needed at Hogwarts again by two," she said.

"Of course. Please tell the Headmaster that I've decided to accept his offer," Remus replied. "Contingent on one or two points, but I'm sure those will be no bother."

McGonagall smiled more broadly than Harry and Draco thought possible. "Wonderful, Remus. I'm certain you'll be an excellent professor."

She reached into her sleeve and took out a wooden scroll-case, sealed at both ends with wax bearing the Hogwarts imprint. "This should contain all the necessary information. Albus would prefer you sent him your lesson plans via Muggle post -- there's an address in with your papers -- and ride up to Hogwarts with the children on September First."

"That's easily enough done, but..." Remus glanced at Sirius. McGongall waited. "Well, Sirius had thought about moving up to Hogsmeade. It'll make it a bit rough on him if he can't get there until the term starts."

"Your duties will, of course, require you to room at the castle," McGonagall said significantly.

"Yes, I know, but Sirius would like to be near his godson and his cousin's son, considering everything," Remus answered easily.

"Mr. Black may take a room at the Three Broomsticks until he finds suitable lodging; surely that will be acceptable," she said. Remus sighed.

"I suppose it will have to be. Are we permitted to come to London a few days early, to see Andromeda and buy the boys their school things?"

"I don't believe the Headmaster will object."

"That's fine. Tell the Headmaster I'll take the Knight Bus to London with Harry and Draco, and we'll catch the Hogwarts Express as usual," he said.

"Of course. Good afternoon, Professor Lupin, Mr. Black. Boys," she added. Harry and Draco grinned impudently at her as she passed.

"She doesn't like me," Sirius said, watching the tabby cat wander up the lane to Cwndu Road.

"I think she doesn't like us," Remus answered.

"She loved you at -- "

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh. Oh, do you really think?" Sirius said, turning to look at Remus, who shrugged.

"It may be she simply disapproves of Professors bringing along an entourage," he answered. He looked at Harry and Draco, who were sharing some kind of private joke. "Well, lads, that's done then. Which reminds me, we'll need to speak with Narcissa, or at least have Andromeda speak with her, when we get back; Draco's got to get his Hogsmeade permit slip signed."

"I'll talk to Andromeda about it. I think she likes needling Narcissa once in a while," Sirius said, touseling Draco's hair. Draco beamed up at him, and Remus smiled; he'd suspected years ago that Draco had a deep hero-worship for Sirius, and the summer had only confirmed it. Early on, when he'd just arrived, Draco had clung to Padfoot constantly and followed Sirius around like a pale-haired shadow.

"And I had better start working on a lesson plan," he announced. "I wonder if I still have my old Dark Arts notes..."

"You don't need notes, Moony! You're a walking encyclopaedia!" Sirius grinned.

"Yes, but it'd be nice to remember what was taught at which level," Remus said. "Though it was patchy at best, wasn't it?"

Sirius frowned. "Yeah. The curse."

"Is it real, then? The curse?" Draco asked. Sirius gave him and Harry a gentle shove into the kitchen and followed then in. He sat at the kitchen counter while Remus went to the icebox for some milk.

"Nobody knows if the curse is real or if it's just a self-fulfilling prophecy," he said. "Some teachers while we were there just flat out ran away after a year, as far as we could tell. And you know, Dark Arts is nothing to muck about with."

"Oh god," Harry said. "It's the Talk."

"Talk to your kids about the Dark Arts!" Draco mimicked a popular wizarding wireless advert. "They'll listen!"

"Quiet, you two," Remus warned.

"As I was saying," Sirius continued, "We had -- was it eight or nine, Moony?"

"Eight and a substitute," Remus replied. "Dumbledore certainly treats it as if it were real, you know."

"Dumbledore treats Father Christmas as if he were real. We had a couple of professors with nervous breakdowns; one of them was eaten by a rogue hippogryff and another by a dragon just after her first year ended. One or two were yearly substitutes who weren't planning on staying any longer, like Dora."

"Professor Dora," Harry corrected primly. "You will be careful, won't you Remus?"

"Wouldn't want you getting eaten," Sirius added. Remus smiled.

"I survived seven years there as a boy," he said. "I know Hogwarts better than anyone, except maybe Sirius and the Headmaster. I'm not worried."

"You don't know this," Sirius said to Draco, "But before Harry came to live with us, Remus traveled the world in search of adventure. He's been all over. He'll be fine."

Remus smiled tolerantly.

"Were you really an adventurer?" Draco asked.

"I wouldn't call it that. I did a lot of research, and I did travel, but I never went looking for adventure. It'll be interesting to try teaching what I've picked up to others," he mused. "I wonder...I think my notes are out in those cartons in the garden shed, the ones that we never unpacked. You boys want to go exploring?"

"Yeah!" Harry said.

"Did you really keep all your old school notes?" Sirius asked curiously, as Remus led the boys down the hall to the back door of the River House. There was a little shed to the left of the path that led down to the river, tightly sealed and dusty-windowed.

"Of course. Didn't you?" Remus asked.

"Never took notes, did I? Besides, anything I had left over from Hogwarts was in a box in Sandust," Sirius said glumly. Remus gave him a sympathetic look. Five years later, the burning of Sirius' bookshop was still a painful topic.

He unlocked the door and threw it wide, revealing a messy interior with a few cardboard cartons, one or two empty milk crates, and a very dusty potting table on one side. Fungus was growing out of the table. Draco and Harry stayed on the threshold, peering around the doorway and inside. Remus lifted one of the boxes onto the table, avoiding the mushrooms, and opened it.

"Moody put some never-damp charms on everything, but they might be wearing off..." Remus peered into the box, wrinkling his nose. "Sirius..."

"Mmh?" Sirius asked, spit-shining one of the windows so that more light could come through.

"Is this yours?" Remus inquired, lifting a pair of boxer shorts from the carton. Harry and Draco began to laugh.

"I've been looking for those for years!" Sirius crowed.

"This is all clothing...Sirius, Merlin, no wonder you had to buy all those shirts when we moved here. Half your clothes are in this box," Remus said, shoving it over to him. Sirius took out a couple of t-shirts emblazoned with band names from times long past. He threw them at Harry and Draco, who struggled into them, still laughing.

"Split Enz," Draco said, looking down. "Is that a place?"

"It's a band. Old girlfriend gave me that," Sirius said. "Never listened to them myself."

"Look, I got Pan Demonium!" Harry held out his shirt for Draco to admire. "Remus has a phonograph of them somewhere."

"The sins of my youth revisited," Remus murmured. "I fancied the lead singer."

"What, the one that transfigured horns for himself whenever he performed?" Sirius asked, helping Remus shift another, heavier carton.

"Listen, I didn't say it was a tasteful decision. Phew, this is it!" Remus exclaimed, as a cloud of dust rose up from the inside of the carton. Thick, tightly bound rolls of parchment were stacked on top of a pile of black fabric that itself lay atop a dozen old schoolbooks. Each scroll was bound with twine and labeled -- First Year Potions. Sixth Year Arithmancy. Third Year Defence.

Remus sifted through the scrolls, taking out nine all told, and then lifted the fabric out from under the rest. He shook it, then held it up in front of himself. "Well?"

"Is that your Hogwarts robe?" Harry asked.

"Sixth and Seventh year. It's the one I wore when I passed out of school," Remus said proudly. There was the Gryffindor insignia on the chest; a Prefect's badge was still pinned to the collar, and one of the sleeves was wrapped in gold braid.

"Prefect and high academic honours," Remus said. "Not bad for a scholarship boy, eh? Sirius had high honours too, but James -- "

He hesitated suddenly, glancing at Harry.

"James had high honours and his Head Boy braid, and it snagged on a banister and Lily had to fix it with a transfigured hairpin..." Sirius said nostalgically. "And at the party after he took all his braid off and tied it up in her hair."

Draco looked sidelong at Harry, who was listening hungrily.

"Well. That's the notes I need, at any rate. You, troublemaker, take this back up to the house and figure out if you still want any of it," Remus said, putting the carton of clothes in Sirius' hands. He gathered the scrolls up in his own long, capable fingers and gestured them all out.

"Sirius, can I have this one?" Harry asked, pointing to his shirt as they made their way back to the house. Remus paused to lock the door, listening to them talk.

"I don't need it. Draco, do you want Split Enz?"

"Nah. Have you got any Deaf Wizard?"

"I think so -- how do you know about them? They're not for your tender ears, that's for sure."

"Neville nicked some from Dora ages ago. Them and The Merlingerers."

Remus smiled. Harry and Draco were flapping around in shirts a few too sizes too big -- well, Sirius was a broad-chested man -- and Sirius was trying to sort out when kids who used to listen to Faerie Tails discovered hard wizarding rock. And there he stood with a handful of memories from school, the first step in returning to Hogwarts, which he loved. Oh, he had loved Hogwarts.

Even with Lucius Malfoy on the loose, this was going to be a good year. He could feel it.

***

Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall, and the Headmaster were terrifying enough when seated together, although a little bit of Padma's mind was giggling uncontrollably at the tableau they made, like a rising bar-graph. A larger part of her mind was, however, consumed with curiosity about the tall, dark-skinned man sitting next to the Headmaster.

The rest of her was nothing more than a bundle of anxious nerves. They were all sitting on the other side of the desk from her.

"Mrs. Patil, Miss Patil," the dark-skinned man said, standing as she and her mother entered. "Please, sit down. My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt; I'll be conducting your interview today."

"Thank you," Padma said politely, sitting on the edge of her chair. She glanced at Flitwick, her Head of House, who gave her a cheerful wink.

"We're very grateful for this opportunity," her mother added, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Padma's well aware of what a privilege this is."

"A privilege and a large responsibility," McGonagall said severely.

"She has read the official caveats, Minerva," Dumbledore said, "and no doubt understands them much better than I do."

"Mrs. Patil," Auror Shacklebolt said, "I've received your letter of petition, as well as letters of recommendation from the Deputy Headmistress, Headmaster, and Miss Patil's Head of House. I was a Ravenclaw myself, you know," he said to Padma, who smiled at him. "I'm inclined to approve your petition, but we're all aware of what happened last May. I'm concerned about Padma's ability to handle the stress of an increased workload and, of course, we're always required to ensure that this isn't because of...parental pressure," he said delicately. "I'd just like to ask you a few questions, Padma. There are no right or wrong answers -- you'll just have to trust that I will make the right decision. Do you understand?"

Padma nodded and took a deep breath. Her mother squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.

"All right then. Let's begin..."

***

"Harry -- Draco -- it's nearly time."

Harry rolled over and glanced at the yellow-lit doorway where Sirius was standing. "Muh?"

"Come on lads, up you go."

Draco had spent his summer sleeping in a bed that had been crammed against the wall of Harry's room opposite Harry's bed. Now he rolled over and sat up, automatically avoiding banging his elbow on the wall or his hand on the bedside table the boys shared. Sirius flicked the lights on and both boys winced.

"Sorry," Sirius said, as Harry sat up and reached for his shirt, shedding his pyjama shirt and tossing it into the open trunk at the foot of his bed. "Get dressed -- Remus has gone to fetch the taxi."

Betwys Beddau only had one taxi-cab, and its driver was a retired military man named Carl. He had agreed to drive them to the outskirts of Llangynog, the closest large city, where they would catch the Knight Bus to London and put up with Andi and Ted for a few days. Hedwig had arrived in mid-August with a letter from Andromeda, saying she was expecting them, and took one back from Sirius thanking her and giving her the day they'd be there.

Harry and Draco stumbled out into the chilly Welsh air, lugging their trunks, and reached the main road just as the taxi arrived. Sirius stood and talked to Carl amiably, blocking his view of the fact that there was no house anywhere nearby, while Remus helped the boys put their trunks into the boot. His and Sirius' belongings, as much as they would need for the year, had been shrunk into a third trunk which was settled between the boys and Sirius in the back seat.

"Back to school, eh?" Carl asked them, as Remus climbed into the front.

"Yes, sir," Draco replied.

"Best years of your life. Vocational academy, isn't it?" Carl asked Remus.

"Er, it's certainly a training ground," Remus replied.

"But not one of them poxy, pansy places like Eton?"

"It's up Edinburgh way," Remus said. "Harry does sport, don't you Harry?"

Harry snickered.

"Reckon young Daniel will too, won't you, after this summer?" Carl inquired. "Never seen a better natural batsman in m'life."

"I...I might," Draco stammered.

"Sure, you should try for the house team," Sirius said. "Harry'll have a word with your Captain, won't he?"

Harry shrugged and grinned. "I don't mind trouncing Daniel."

They talked of schools, mainly of Carl's memories of his own academy, until they reached a hotel just outside Llangynog.

"Bus for us from here -- ta, Carl," Remus said as he paid him. They waited until he had disappeared, then looked carefully up and down the street.

"What is the Knight Bus, anyway?" Harry asked, as Sirius took his wand out of his pocket and casually pointed it outwards at the road.

"Wizarding transport -- I prefer trains, but this is a less noticeable way to get to London," Remus answered. Just then there was a loud bang and a screech of brakes. Draco stumbled backwards from the kerb.

Before them stood a violently purple triple-decker bus carrying the legend "THE KNIGHT BUS" in gold lettering on the windshield and the side. A conductor in a purple uniform leapt out of the bus and began speaking loudly, reading from a little card held none too subtly in his palm.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, auxiliary transport for witches and wizards. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I am your conductor this morning -- "

"Right, right," Sirius said impatiently. "Fares gone up this year?"

The rather spotty young man turned the card over. "Eleven sickles for a single fare, orange juice and croissant for fifteen, newspaper eight knuts extra."

"Four breakfast fares and a newspaper, please."

The conductor rang up four tickets. "Three galleons, nine sickles, sixteen knuts."

Sirius paid and Remus shepherded the boys aboard, then reached around for the trunks.

"I'll do that, sir!" Stan-the-conductor said, hurrying forward. Remus watched in amusement as the young man struggled to get all three trunks aboard. He tipped Stan a galleon while Sirius wasn't looking.

"What's the ride like to London this time of day?" Sirius asked the driver.

"Oh," the man said in a scratchy voice, "Got a couple'a pickups to do first. Ever'on's goin'ta Lonnon this time'a year, aren' they?"

"Might as well settle in," Remus said, leading them to one of the many small round tables lining each side of the bus. Sirius sat down with a pleased sigh and picked up the croissant that appeared at his place. Harry and Draco eagerly sat nearby and tore into the chocolate croissants at theirs.

"Sports page?" Sirius asked, offering it to Remus.

"Good god, the Cannons won? Is the world ending?" Remus said, studying the headlines.

"Nice to have Magical news again," Sirius said. He glanced down at the front page, then quickly folded it over and smoothed down the crease.

"My dad's on the front page, huh," Draco asked. Sirius looked at him, then at Remus, pleadingly. Remus chewed on his lower lip.

"Draco," he said slowly, "You're probably going to have to get used to a certain amount of your...family business being aired publicly, until all this is over."

"I'd like to see it," Draco said, in a remarkably authoritative voice. Remus blinked at him. Sirius shrugged and passed him the folded front page. Draco unfolded it and smoothed it out on the table. Harry leaned over his shoulder.

MALFOY STILL AT LARGE, the headline read.

"The Ministry of Magic confirmed today that Lucius Malfoy, one of the most infamous inmates of Azkaban prison, is still eluding capture," Draco read aloud. "We are doing all we can to recapture Malfoy, said the Minister for Magic this morning, and we beg the magical community to remain calm. Meanwhile, witches and wizards live in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago -- "

"Surely they're aware that wasn't Malfoy alone," Remus said, brows knitting.

"Peter's old news," Sirius grunted. "Enough. You'll hear enough about Lucius Malfoy at school, I'm sure, some children being the pissant little scrubs they are."

"Not from Slytherin he won't," Harry said angrily.

"It's all right," Draco said, folding the paper in half. "Besides, I'm only half-Malfoy, right?" he asked, glancing up at Sirius, who grinned.

"So it seems. Hey -- Harry, look at this!"

Harry looked at the paper, which Draco had turned over to the below-the-fold headline. "Ministry of Magic employee scoops grand prize -- that's Mr. and Mrs. Weasley!"

"Arthur Weasley, head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, has won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw. Oh, well done Arthur," Remus said, reading with his head tilted to adjust for the awkward angle. "We'll have to try and catch the Weasleys in Diagon and congratulate them."

"Molly can't possibly still be angry about the Anglia," Sirius agreed.

They spent the rest of the ride to Diagon, amidst the bumpings and bangings of the Knight Bus, reading the paper from cover to cover and making plans for the rest of the trip: school book shopping, a trip to Mardjinn Alley, dinner out with Neville and the Tonkses. Sirius was going to go up to Hogsmeade ahead of everyone and start looking for a flat.

"Are you and Sirius really going to live in different places all year?" Harry asked Remus, bending his head low over the table and speaking quietly. Remus followed his gaze to where Sirius was standing at the front of the bus with Draco, watching the scenery speed past. "I mean, that can't be much fun for you, can it?"

"It won't be so bad; there'll be a direct floo portal, and professors can come and go into Hogsmeade as they please," Remus answered. "You live away from us all year and it doesn't change anything."

"Yeah, but that's -- different."

Remus nodded. "That's true too. On the other hand...Hogwarts is a place with its own laws and its own reasonings. You'd understand this better than anyone. When you become a teacher you make certain commitments, certain sacrifices, because you're invested with an awful lot of power. I...didn't always do as I should have, when I was a Prefect."

"I don't believe that!" Harry laughed.

"We all grew up a lot during the war, Harry. And when we took you from the Dursleys, we had to grow up even more, Sirius and I. At school we were terrors, really."

Remus was staring past Harry now, and Harry had the distinct sensation that where he was looking was not a place, but a time.

"I owe Hogwarts," he said quietly. "More than anyone knows, including Sirius."

Harry was about to ask him to expand on this when the Bus made an enormous bang and wheezed to a stop in front of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Here we are," Remus said with a sudden grin. "Come on, we'll leave our stuff at Andi's and go run amok in Diagon, sound all right?"

***

Andromeda was thrilled to see them, and just as thrilled to see them leave again; she was in the middle of fitting first-year robes to half a dozen new Hogwarts students and begged Remus to take a restless, rambunctious Neville away with him.

"We'll buy you dinner tonight," Remus said, kissing her on the cheek and following Harry and the other two boys out the door. Sirius was already outside, romping around the boys as Padfoot and playing Knock-Over, a spirited if simple game in which the object was to push someone into sprawling on their arse. It had gotten a lot harder in the past year of course, as the boys had shot up in height, but Sirius did love a challenge.

"How've you been, Neville?" Remus asked, as they dawdled their way down Diagon towards Gringott's, where they could change their Muggle cash for Wizarding and make a withdrawal from Draco's trust.

"Brilliant," Neville said. "Harry, I have something to show you. You too, Draco."

He led them down to Quality Quidditch Supplies and elbowed through the crowd with the other two close behind. Padfoot begged for sweets from the children clustered around the display window and Remus leaned forward to try to get a better look.

"It's a new prototype," Neville said. "Professor Snape pointed it out to me."

"When did you see Professor Snape?" Draco asked.

"He's always around, mooching after Dora," Neville said absently. "Look at this."

He gestured at the window. Harry actually gasped.

The broomstick in the window looked almost as if it was moving, though it was resting on a sleek silver stand. It had a wild look about it, predatory in fact. Harry found himself staring at it, nose pressed to the glass despite Remus, in the back, scolding him for it.

"Fastest broom in the world," Draco whispered, awed. Harry studied the little placard below the amazing broom intently.

THE FIREBOLT! FASTEST BROOM IN THE WORLD!

THIS STATE-OF-THE-ART RACING BROOM SPORTS A STREAM-LINED, SUPERFINE HANDLE OF ASH, TREATED WITH A DIAMOND-HARD POLISH AND HAND-NUMBERED WITH ITS OWN REGISTRATION NUMBER. EACH INDIVIDUALLY SELECTED BIRCH TWIG IN THE BROOMTAIL HAS BEEN HONED TO AERODYNAMIC PERFECTION, GIVING THE FIREBOLT UNSURPASSABLE BALANCE AND PINPOINT PRECISION. THE FIREBOLT HAS AN ACCELERATION OF 150 MILES AN HOUR IN TEN SECONDS AND INCORPORATES AN UNBREAKABLE BRAKING CHARM.

PRICE ON REQUEST.

"Ash and birch?" Harry asked Neville. "Is that smart, do you think?"

"Blowed if I know, you're the Quidditch man," Neville replied.

"It's definitely new," Draco said.

"Irish International Side's just put in an order for seven of them," said a man from the shop door. "Hullo Nev!"

"Hullo sir!" Neville called. "Look who I brought!"

"Blimey, it's Harry Potter," the man said. "Thinking of buying one, Mr. Potter? I hear you're going to be playing for England in a few years."

Harry grinned at him. "When I'm making pro-Quidditch salary, maybe. Price on request, huh?"

"Ten percent off for the Boy Who Lived," the man said with a wink, and disappeared back inside. Remus finally managed to "excuse-me" his way through and tweaked Harry's ear.

"No noses on glass," he scolded.

"Remus, look at it!" Harry said. Remus gave the broom a professional once-over and nodded.

"It's craftsmanship," he said. "Might want to wait and see how they do in play, though. Besides, you have a perfectly good Nimbus, lad."

Harry grinned and scratched Padfoot's head; the dog had his paws up on the ledge and was covering the glass in snouty nosemarks.

"Come on, let's go get your books," Remus continued. Harry saw him exchange a significant look with Padfoot, but assumed it was simply a scold for snouting up the glass.

Chapter 3

Thanks to Judy and Heidi for beta work on this one. :)

***

"Spaghetti," Sirius said, offering the menu back to the waitress who was hovering over him. She smiled prettily at him and almost squeaked as she took his menu. He'd forgotten what life in the Wizarding World was like; people stopped and stared and pointed at Sirius Black, heir of the Black family and dapper bachelor about town. The waitress was almost visibly drooling.

"You always get the spaghetti," Andromeda said, grinning at him teasingly. "How boring, Sirius!"

"I like spaghetti," Sirius answered. He glanced at Remus and winked. Remus flushed.

"Shrimp linguini, please," Remus said firmly. The waitress smiled at him too, took his menu, and dashed away to giggle about Sirius with her comrades. Ted refilled their wine and leaned back, holding up his glass.

"To London again," he said, and the other adults toasted. "And to wherever you slink off to during the summers. It's done Draco a world of good."

"I enjoyed myself," Draco said shyly.

"I can tell. You're brown as a nut," Andromeda said. "Nice to see some colour in your skin. Merlin, you boys grow up fast."

"Watch out," Remus said to Ted, grinning at Andromeda. "She'll be looking for boot-faced cats again soon."

"Mum isn't happy unless she's got someone to spoil," Dora agreed. "Ah -- be right back," she added, and everyone followed her gaze.

"Did he have to come?" Sirius asked Ted in a low voice.

"Play nice or kiss your kneecaps goodbye," Ted answered, and raised his hand in greeting to Severus Snape, who had just come into the restaurant. Dora threaded her way through the tables and hugged him hello; to no-one's surprise, his returning hug was fraught with awkwardness. Andromeda gave Sirius a warning look as Harry jumped up and ran across the restaurant to say hello to his professor.

"Good evening," Severus said, taking the empty seat between Andromeda and Dora. "Neville, Draco. Lupin. Black," he added, drawling the last name as disdainfully as possible.

"Don't," Dora said out of the corner of her mouth. The waitress rushed back over and Snape stopped her in her tracks with a glare.

"Penne pasta salad," he said. "Off with you."

"I see your manners are improving," Sirius remarked. Remus' leg twitched slightly and Sirius winced.

"I wish I could say -- "

"Severus, how about some wine?" Ted asked, interrupting him. "We were just saying how big the boys were getting. Doesn't Draco look well?"

"He appears not to be malnourished," Snape allowed. "I suppose it's too much to ask that any of you have retained an ounce of knowledge over the summer?"

"I read the books you sent me," Harry said.

"Repeatedly," Remus added with a tolerant grin. "He's become quite the Graveworthy fan."

"Really! Did you give him Wizard Bird? That was clever of you," Andromeda said. "There's a new one coming out, you know, Harry. And you're a Slytherin, you really should read Two Kneazles."

"Ill-researched," Snape murmured.

"It's all about Salazar Slytherin!"

"That doesn't mean it's objective," Snape answered. "Graveworthy was a Slytherin too."

"Cynic," Dora said affectionately. "You'll be really horrified when you hear about Mum's Grand Plan."

Sirius glanced at Andromeda. "Finally taking over the world, are you?"

"Well, I was thinking of waiting because this is really a dinner to welcome you lads home," she said. "But I'm bursting with the news, so if you don't mind..."

"Go on! We're all fascinated now," Remus said.

"Well, I've been thinking about what to do with the flat on the top floor since you boys are abandoning me for Hogsmeade this year," she said. "And Ted and I talked it over and decided we wanted to do something useful with it. But it's -- well, you know, it's a flat, it's hard to put a flat to good charitable use."

"But," Ted said, "we eventually found a group that'll let us take people in and give them some housing. It's a tax break on the building, too."

"We're registering the flat with the Werewolf Support Network," Andromeda said. "It'll be available for people recovering from new infections, or people who've been put out because of the restrictions on werewolf employment."

Sirius, Harry, Snape, and Dora all instinctively looked at Remus, who had a glass of wine halfway to his mouth. His lips were open slightly. He blinked, looked from Ted to Andromeda, and -- after a very tense moment -- smiled.

"Very appropriate," he said, setting his wine down. His grin widened and he laughed a little, quietly. "Very apt, Andi. Well done."

"You know the kind of attention you'll get for it," Snape said sharply. "You'll lose business."

"We're not planning to broadcast it," Ted said. "Besides, we always have a few job openings now that the shop's really taking off. More work than we can keep up with. We'll be able to pay under the table, help them get on their feet again."

"How does it work?" Remus asked. "I've never even heard of this group."

"It's only about a year old, there's no reason why you should have," Ted said. "When the new restrictions were passed, someone decided to do something about it, I suppose."

"Ah. Yes. Umbridge," Remus murmured.

"Are you sure this is wise?" Snape persisted. "Some of these people -- "

" -- are sitting at this table," Sirius said sharply.

" -- are genuinely dangerous for more reasons than the obvious," Snape retorted.

"Sirius, be quiet," Remus said. Sirius fell quiet, sullenly. "He's right, Andromeda. I think it's great, but he does have a point. People who are down on their luck, who've been rejected by their families -- it isn't pretty. It can be dangerous."

"If nobody ever trusts them, it'll never get any better," Ted replied. "Besides, everyone knows Dora's an Auror, and I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but her mother's pretty fearsome in her own right."

"Look, food!" Dora said with mock-cheer. "Everybody dig in until you've stopped sulking."

"God, you are your mother's child," Ted said, but he smiled as he said it. Across the table, Draco lifted an eyebrow at Harry, who rolled his eyes.

"I'm still interested in how it works," Remus said, once Snape and Sirius' mouths were safely full of food.

"Well, it's fairly simple. Newly registered werewolves are given the Support Network's contact information by Healers at St. Mungo's -- apparently they have to get round the Ministry by privately asking Healers in the intensive wing to hand them out," Ted said. "It's all strictly confidential; any werewolf can contact a vastly underpaid woman who runs the Network. They can give a false name, or no name at all; she meets with them and evaluates what they need. There are apparently a couple of shops that regularly donate food and clothing, mostly seconds and dented cans, that kind of thing. She's in touch with a few Muggle charities too, but she doesn't like to house werewolves with Muggles."

"Industrious woman," Remus remarked.

"I think she lost a son," Andromeda said softly.

"Ah. Yes, there is a certain...parental drive," Remus answered, glancing down at his plate suddenly.

"At any rate, we're on the list now, so she sends them to us and we agree to provide safe housing. In return, our tenants agree to do their best to find work and also to change at the moon in a secure location."

"Such unnecessary charity," Remus murmured. "If it weren't for the new regulations..."

"Things will change," Ted said. "People are still living in fear from when You-Know-Who was in power. This next generation -- the boys here -- they'll change things."

Harry looked at him with such a grave, adult expression on his face that Ted bit his lip.

"Yes," he said. "Count on it."

"Harry's going to be Minister for Magic," Draco teased.

"Great way to pick up girls," Remus added, breaking the tension.

"I'm sure that's why Fudge did it," Snape remarked sarcastically.

"Can you imagine him getting any otherwise?" Remus asked. Sirius almost choked trying to keep his laughter down.

***

Neville wanted Harry and Draco to sleep over that night, and Remus and Sirius were just as happy to have some time alone, so they parted ways after dinner and made for the Leaky Cauldron while the rest of the party wandered slowly back to Tonks&Tonks, a second bottle of wine tucked securely under Severus' arm. Dora held the other one just as securely, since Severus preferred to be seen escorting her rather than childishly holding hands.

Back in Neville's room in the spacious flat above Tonks&Tonks, the boys set about unpacking bedrolls Ted provided and discussing plans for the new school year. Neville joined in Harry's valiant crusade to convince Draco to go out for Beater on the Hufflepuff team.

"You can practice on my Nimbus," Harry offered, as Draco's mother had been horrified, years ago, at the idea of buying her son a broomstick. "You can even play on it when Hufflepuff isn't playing Slytherin."

"I dunno," Draco said. "I was thinking of maybe organising a Cricket eleven. Well, two elevens, really. There've got to be at least that many Muggleborns interested in playing, don't you think?"

"Not with Quidditch around," Harry answered. "Come on, Draco, it's like Cricket in the air! I know you can fly well and you've got wicked aim with a bat."

"Mum'd never allow it."

"Don't bloodywell tell her!" Neville exploded. "You needn't tell your mum everything you do, you know."

"She'd find out anyway," Draco retorted. "They cover the school games in the Prophet."

"Yeah, and your mum of course reads the sports page," Harry grinned. "Just try out, will you? I know there's an opening this year."

"If you stop harping on it," Draco said.

"Done deal!" Harry licked his palm in the style of the Betwys Beddau boys and offered it to Draco, who rolled his eyes. Grinning sheepishly, Harry wiped his hand on his trousers instead. Draco cast around for a subject to change to.

"Tell you what, let's get some snacks and barricade ourselves in for the rest of the night," he said. "The grownups are just going to have boring wine and talk about politics."

"Sounds good," Neville said. "There's ice-cream in the kitchen and a box of biscuits and some sandwich stuff. We'll have to sneak the ice-cream out," he added, turning to Harry. Or rather, where Harry had been. Now there was nothing but a pair of sneakers and about two inches of trouser-leg that ended abruptly in nothing.

"Your shoes are showing," Draco sighed. "Here, take it off, you're doing up the wrong buckles."

Harry shed his invisibility cloak and handed it to Draco. Sewn across the back and at the throat were a series of leather straps, designed so that the cloak could be hitched up or lengthened depending on the height of the wearer. Harry had always buckled the lowest strap across his throat, almost doubling the cloak's material around him. Over the summer, however, he'd gained a few inches and now he was on the third buckle. Draco did the other two up across his chest to keep the cloak closed.

"You two go for the sandwich stuff," Harry said. "I'll snag the ice cream."

In the hallway, however, they stopped suddenly at the sound of the voices in the dining room where the Tonkses and Snape had gathered. They weren't the usual cheerful tones of four people enjoying an after-dinner gossip; Ted's voice was low and serious, and so was Dora's when she spoke. Severus sounded oddly defensive.

"...makes no sense not to tell him," Ted said. "He should know, if only so that he doesn't make risky mistakes. He's thirteen, Severus, and old for his age."

"I'm aware of that," Severus said, annoyed. Neville held up a finger to his lips, unnecessarily shushing the other two.

"They'll listen to you, maybe even more than they will to Remus. You've been their teacher for two years. They need to know how important it is not to go running around in the forest or Hogsmeade or wherever they go when they get bored with school," Andromeda said. "I love them but they're such..."

"They're clever, all four of them, too bloody clever by half," Snape said. "That doesn't mean they need to know this."

"He sort of has a point," Dora said. "Tell one, tell all. I don't think they have any secrets between them."

"Harry and Draco make a pretty tempting target together," Andromeda sighed.

"They will be safe at Hogwarts. Why stir up old trouble?" Snape asked. "Lucius hasn't been seen since his escape. He's probably dead."

Draco made a soft little gasp, quickly stifled by Harry's hand.

"He's not dead and we all know it," Andromeda replied. "And he'll come for the boy sooner or later."

"Draco is not your responsibility," Snape said sharply.

"No -- he's yours," she answered, just as sharply. "Doubly so because of your friendship with Lucius. You knew him better than anyone -- Draco should know about his father, what his father's capable of. You're the only one who can tell him that with authority."

There was a long silence. When Snape spoke again, it was in a surprisingly sad voice.

"The boy is ashamed enough of what his father is," he said. "He's happy at school, away from Narcissa, away from that house. I was just as glad to see him away from it this summer. She fills his head with wrong ideas and I can't even credit how he manages to avoid turning into the perfect little copy of her. Let him have one place where he isn't constantly reminded of his father's misdeeds."

"You don't want him to hate you," Dora said.

"I didn't say that."

"He knows you're not like Lucius."

"I am more like Lucius than anyone ought to be."

"All right," Andromeda said suddenly. "It's your decision, Severus, but I hope you know what you're doing. Let's find something more cheerful to talk about."

Neville turned to look at Draco. The other boy was pale white, fists clenched into balls at his sides. His grey eyes were brilliant in his face.

"Take him back," Harry whispered in Neville's ear, startling him. "I'll get the food."

Neville pulled Draco away from the doorway, back into his room, and when Harry returned they were sitting on Neville's bed, Draco with his fists pressed into his lap, too-long silver hair falling across his face.

"Did you know?" Draco asked them both, in a controlled, furious voice. "Did you know he knew my father?"

"Not me," Neville said, glancing at Harry. Harry shook his head.

"No idea. I don't see why they'd be friends," he said. "It's not like Professor Snape is...I don't think he's even pureblood, is he? Why would your dad be friends with him?"

"I'm going to find out," Draco said determinedly. "Once we're back at school."

"Draco, listen, maybe it's better if you don't," Neville said hesitantly. "I mean. Maybe Professor Snape is right. It's done with now -- "

"He's free, and he's going to come for me. It isn't done with at all!" Draco said, and began to cry.

Neville and Harry looked at each other, utterly lost. Boys didn't cry, especially thirteen-year-old boys. True, he was crying in a very manful fashion, snuffling desperately and trying to hide it, choking on his own sobs, but he was still crying.

"Give him a handkerchief, I haven't got one," Harry said to Neville, who produced a grubby kerchief from one pocket.

"I'm not afraid," Draco said, swiping at his face with the cloth.

"Course not."

"I hate him. My father. And I hate my mum too, and it was such a nice summer..."

Harry mutely offered Draco a biscuit from the tin, and Draco nibbled on it, falling silent.

"You've got us," Neville said. "Me and Harry and Padma, I mean. And Professor Snape, and Remus too. And Dora's out chasing him all the time. And we'll get Hogsmeade weekends, that'll be fun, and Harry and I will make you try out for Quidditch if we have to glue you to the broomstick."

The mental image was apparently funny enough to make Draco laugh -- rather snottily, through his tears, but laugh all the same.

***

"Ghaaaaa," Sirius said, flopping down on the bed in one of the nicer rooms at the Leaky Cauldron. Remus grinned at him and leaned on the bureau, tilting his head from side to side. There was an alarming crack as his bones popped.

"Nice to have an evening to ourselves," he remarked, as Sirius worked his left shoe off using the toe of his right, still lying across the bed.

"You know I love Harry," Sirius said, working at the other shoe, "and I'm in a fair way of being very fond of Draco."

"But it's nice to spend an evening without once feeling the urge to strangle one of them?" Remus asked, smiling. Sirius stretched his arms.

"It's just nice not to have any responsibilities for a bit," he said. He propped himself up on his elbows and grinned at Remus. "Which reminds me, will you open our trunk? I got you a present."

"A present?" Remus asked, sounding perplexed and delighted at the same time. "What on earth for?"

"For getting your professorship," Sirius replied. Remus lifted the lid of the trunk and studied the mess inside skeptically. "Okay, lift up the blue jumper -- no, the knit one -- there -- and then kind of wiggle it out from under my trousers."

Remus grinned at him and grasped something deep in the trunk, tugging it free finally. It was a large, oblong thing, wrapped in brown paper; he tore it off and held his gift up to the dying light coming through the window.

"Sirius, it's marvelous," he said, fingers stroking the leather exterior of the briefcase appreciatively. It was golden-brown and buttery-smooth, the perfect size for carrying student papers and lesson plans. He turned it over to admire the brass latches at the top and burst out laughing.

"Professor R.J. Lupin," he read, tilting the briefcase so that the light picked out the sheen of the gold lettering stamped on the top of the case. He flicked it open deftly, his hands exploring the more durable interior. "Thank you."

"Got to have proper supplies before you go off to school," Sirius replied, grinning. "You like it, really?"

"It's wonderful," Remus said, and Sirius flopped back again on the bed, contented. "You didn't have to, you know."

"Yes, well, I'm Sirius Black, I don't have to do anything." He sighed blissfully. "It's a nice feeling."

"Very nice," Remus agreed, but it sounded as though he'd moved; after a second, Sirius nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand clasp his leg gently. He propped himself up on his elbows and saw Remus leaning over his right knee, kneeling on the floor.

"Though it's not terribly private here," Remus continued, hooking his thumb in Sirius' sock and pulling it down and off. His hands were warm and sure, and Sirius had the sudden idea that perhaps Remus had been as frustrated all summer as he had. One sometimes couldn't tell, with Remus.

His hands moved to the other foot, holding Sirius' ankle lightly. When he was done removing the sock, he slid his fingers up slightly, just under the cuff of Sirius' trousers.

"There are silencing spells," Sirius said, as Remus' other hand came to rest just above his knee. Remus rested his head against Sirius' thigh.

"I've just cast two," he said. "And nobody's going to come knocking."

Sirius sat up further and ran a hand through Remus' hair, affectionately. "Why, Professor Lupin, what on earth are you implying?"

Remus leaned forward and slid his hands down Sirius' calves, then up over the fabric, past his thighs. His thumb brushed Sirius' groin and he smiled when Sirius moaned softly.

"I think you ought to know," he said, curling his fingers in the waistband of the jeans and tugging them down, "that I appreciate what you're going to have to put up with this year."

Sirius' breath hitched as Remus pulled his clothing down and away. His left hand slid under Sirius' shirt, hiking it up.

"I think you ought to know that living apart will be difficult," Remus continued. He rose up and leaned over Sirius, pushing his shirt further up around his chest. The soft nap of his trousers brushed tantalisingly against Sirius' erection. "I want you to know that we'll find ways around it. I'll find ways around it."

"We will," Sirius moaned, head tilting back. He lifted his arms and let Remus tug the shirt up and off.

"So glad to have your cooperation, Mr. Black," Remus murmured in his ear. Sirius shivered. Remus had very few kinks, but they always emerged at the most opportune, entertaining times. He couldn't have known, for example, that he would find lying naked under a fully-clothed Hogwarts professor so very...stimulating. But Remus had known.

"Anything for Professor Lupin," he replied, and Remus laughed and kissed a line down his chest.

"With an attitude like that you'll be head boy before long -- "

Sirius groaned and twined his hands in Remus' shaggy hair. "Awful."

Remus, in reply, hummed deep in his throat and darted his tongue out, licking a line up Sirius' cock.

Sirius decided he could get used to Professor Lupin.

***

In the dream (the dream the dream) he can feel the hollow coldness inside. He remembers from other dreams the way this felt. In the dream he's lost everything -- not just James and Lily and Peter but Sirius too, irrevocably lost Sirius. The ache is always there, like a hollow space between his spine and his heart, for everything he's lost in the dream. His health, too; he can feel how taut the skin is on his ribs, he can see the way it stretches over his knuckles. Fingers metaphorically scrabbling, broken-nailed, for a handhold in the world.

He tries to think about where he really is, which is buried under a rat's nest of blankets and sheets in the Leaky Cauldron with Sirius curled up around him and drooling on his neck, both of them exhausted and slick with sweat from lovemaking. He tries to think about the pasta and wine they had for dinner, still warm in his stomach. He tries to think about the moments he still has, every day, where he looks at Harry or Sirius or the books on the shelves or the nice furniture or the full pantry and feels safe.

But the truth is that in the dream he's a skinny, underfed, ragged-robed man sleeping under a patched cloak in a freezing-cold rail compartment, with a handful of kids who only sat here because it was the last place they could all fit in together. In the dream he hears Harry's voice for the first time, the voice of a stranger with James' familiar timbre nonetheless.

There's Ron Weasley, whose mother had taught Harry before they left for Betwys Beddau, asking who he is, and some girl he doesn't recognise, replying; and there Ron prompts Harry to tell him the story of something, some argument that Ron's parents had. And the girl warning Harry not to go looking for trouble.

"I don't go looking for trouble," says Harry, sounding nettled. "Trouble usually finds me."

Too right, thinks the cold, exhausted man under the cloak.

"How thick would Harry have to be, to go looking for a nutter who wants to kill him?" asks Ron, shakily, and Remus thinks he means Sirius, but that can't be, because Sirius is lying warm in bed with him, not some crazed murderer. Sirius belongs to him, Sirius would never betray him.

Except he has. Sirius abandoned him and went to kill Peter after he killed James and Lily, oh, Sirius.

In the bed in the Leaky Cauldron, Sirius woke suddenly and wasn't sure why, until he heard Remus moan softly. His skin was cold and clammy even under the blankets. His face was twisted up into a pained, wizened expression that made him look far older than he was.

"You killed them," Remus whispered, horrified. Sirius opened his mouth to ask who, but Remus was still asleep, and he moaned again.

"Moony," he said quietly, trying to keep his voice steady. He propped himself up for better leverage and rested a hand on the other man's chest, wondering if he should wake him. "Moony, it's just a nightmare."

But it wasn't nightmares with Moony, not always; sometimes it was presentiments, glimses of some other world that Remus was convinced existed somewhere, a world where Harry had never come to live with them, where somewhere things had gone horribly wrong.

"Moony, come on," he soothed, sliding his hand up to cup the side of Remus' throat. "I'm right here."

Remus' back arched suddenly, nearly pushing him off the bed. As Sirius scrambled for leverage he screamed "Expecto patronum!" and the room was filled with blinding white light. Sirius shut his eyes and buried his face in the blankets as Remus fell limp against the bed again; he sprawled out over the other man and tried to hold him down, but Remus was unresisting now and it wasn't even necessary.

For a few heartbeats, the world was awash in white even behind Sirius' eyes. When he was finally able to open them again, he peered past Remus' prone body to the diminishing source of the light.

"Bloody fuck," he said. An enormous silver-white dog, faintly transparent, was staring at them both over the edge of the bed.

Even as he watched it faded off into little wisps of light and then vanished entirely. He looked down at Remus, who was wide-eyed and staring at where the dog had been.

"My patronus," he said quietly.

"You cast it wandless," Sirius replied, equally subdued.

"I had a bad dream," Remus answered. He rolled towards Sirius, twisting the blanket tight around him and pressing his face into Sirius' chest. Sirius eased himself down slowly, his breathing a little less frantic now.

"Did you see anything I should know?" he asked. Remus shook his head, clinging tightly to him. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

"I love you," Remus replied. "And I don't believe them."

"Them?"

Remus didn't answer.

Chapter 4

Remus showed no sign he remembered his dream the next morning, and Sirius didn't press him. He wasn't certain he wanted to know. And if Remus dreamed again after their midnight upset, it was either much more quietly or Sirius slept deeper.

There was no shortage of distractions, at any rate: rambling shopping outings with the boys, Remus' meetings with Dora to ascertain where she'd left off teaching and where he ought to start, dinners with the Tonkses, and preliminary preparations for the move to Hogsmeade. Remus had made Sirius swear not to buy any furniture without Remus' presence, and much private teasing about interior decorators had followed. Sirius left for Hogsmeade the night before the Hogwarts Express was scheduled to leave and while Harry sensed that something was askew between his godfather and his professor, he doubted it was very grave. Not considering how unhappy Remus had been to see Sirius leave.

Besides, Harry had more important things to concern himself with -- more important to him, at least. Thirteen is a perilous age and its politics are much more seriously played than those of any government. He wanted to see Padma again and find out how she was getting on. He had to talk to the Hufflepuff captain about Draco's prospects, not to mention re-convincing Draco to go out for the team. And he had to make sure that everyone knew the first person who talked down about the new Defence professor was going to feel the full weight of Slytherin's disapproval. Harry hadn't much authority amongst the sixth and seventh years, but if he could convince them that Remus was a friend of Professor Snape, they'd adopt him readily enough. Most of them already knew Remus from his infrequent appearances in the newspapers, usually in the background of some photograph of Sirius.

Even with all the weight of the new school year on their shoulders and a full moon not far past, they made a merry gang on their way to the train platform. Ted and Andromeda cracked jokes about the weight of Neville's trunk and Harry and Draco plotted mischief just out of Remus' earshot, strutting proudly ahead of the new Defence professor. Remus himself was tall and impressive-looking in his perfectly-pressed brown professor's robes, his new briefcase carried lightly in one hand. True, he also looked pale and a little frightened, but Harry knew he wouldn't show it to the students. Remus had thrown himself in front of a killing curse before; he could handle Hogwarts students just fine.

He kept a lookout for Padma and her family, but even so he missed them and saw Dobby first. The house-elf, dressed in a variety of clothing apparently sewn entirely from socks, shrieked with joy and bolted straight for Draco.

"Master Malfoy!" he shrilled, dancing from foot to foot in front of Draco, who eyed him with amusement and just a hint of annoyance. "Master Malfoy! Look, it is Dobby! Dobby has returned to you, Master Malfoy!"

"I see," Draco said drily. "How was your summer, Dobby?"

"Dobby has looked after Mistress Padma!" Dobby nearly babbled, as Padma leaned around a column and waved at them, laughing.

"Hiya, Padma!" Harry called. Padma's mother Sara leaned around the column also, narrowed her eyes, and rested a hand warningly on Padma's shoulder. Padma scowled.

"Looks like she's still mad at you for getting Padma into trouble," Draco said.

"Mad at me? Like she's not mad at you?"

"Course not," Draco said loftily. "I gave her a house-elf."

"If you'd given me Dobby, I'd hold a grudge," Harry answered.

"Come on lads, you might as well load up now," Remus called, standing on the bottom step of a train doorway.

"We'll stay here until the train's away," Andromeda said. "Give us hugs -- mmmh -- and go on. Mind your manners and be nice to the first-years!" she called after them as they ran off.

Harry led the way past Remus up into the train car, searching for an empty compartment. Behind him, he heard Remus welcome the Patil twins aboard and then call out, "Find us somewhere roomy, Harry!"

Harry peered at the glazed, frosted glass of the last compartment left, which appeared to only have one person in it -- but it didn't look like a student.

"This is the last one!" he called back. Remus pushed through the crowd of children and opened the carriage door.

"Excuse me, do you mind if we -- "

He broke off suddenly. Harry peered around his elbow and saw a small, rather stout wizard in pinstripe robes occupying the window side of one of the benches.

"I'm so sorry," Remus said. "This compartment's probably reserved -- "

"Nonsense!" said Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic.

***

Remus was familiar with the concept of the Minister, and he'd seen photographs of Cornelius Fudge many times, but he'd never expected to come face to face with him. He didn't like Fudge's politics much and had often made fun of him to Sirius over the morning newspaper. Fudge had been in office when Umbridge's werewolf laws went through, and while he hadn't backed them, he hadn't exactly fought them, either.

"Come in, come in," Fudge was continuing. "There's room for four or five, really. Professor Lupid, isn't it?"

Remus cleared his throat and let the others push their way in ahead of him.

"Lupin, Remus Lupin," he said. "We can certainly find another compartment, Minister."

"Not at all, don't be silly. This must be young Harry," Fudge said, all but pulling Harry into the small compartment. Draco and Neville had already squashed each other into the seat opposite, totally ignoring the leader of British Wizardry, and Padma seated herself next to Neville, elbowing him sharply when he and Draco didn't stop wrestling. Parvati had apparently wandered off, probably to find her Gryffindor companions.

"I'm bound for Hogsmeade, and I thought I might take the train up. So much more pleasant than floo travel, and it gives one time to get a bit of quiet work done," Fudge said. Remus gave it two seconds' thought and decided Fudge was, if nothing else, a first-rate liar in person. "You've been appointed Dark Arts professor, haven't you?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts," Remus said, putting the slightest emphasis on the first two words. "It's quite exciting, really," he added, somewhat uncomfortably. "Draco, Neville, settle down or you'll be the first students ever to get a detention before the school year actually starts."

"Boys will be boys, eh?" Fudge asked. Harry perched on the bench next to Padma, which left Remus to share the other bench with Fudge.

"Only when absolutely necessary," Remus replied absently. "I hope your business in Hogsmeade isn't unpleasant."

"Not in the least, though I shall probably have a few rather tiresome meetings. I don't suppose you're staying in town?"

"No, up at the school. I do know people in town, though; Harry's godfather is living in the Three Broomsticks right now while he searches out a flat."

"Ah! I was under the impression he lived in London."

"Well, considering everything, he thought it best to be a bit closer to Harry," Remus said significantly. Fudge nodded and glanced at Draco.

"Of course, you haven't been properly introduced," Remus said. "Harry you've met; this is Draco Malfoy, of Hufflepuff -- "

"Ah! I was a Hufflepuff boy myself, you know!"

"Neville Longbottom of Gryffindor, who lives with Draco's aunt Andromeda -- "

"How d'you do," Neville said politely.

"And Padma Patil of Ravenclaw. Who'll have your job one day, I imagine," Remus said, grinning at her. She smiled back shyly.

"Quite a jolly band! Are you all looking forward to the new year?" Fudge inquired.

"Yes, Minister," Harry said. "We start new electives this year, and we get Hogsmeade visits."

"Ah yes!" Fudge said. "Lovely little town. Quite historic."

"It's the only Wizarding village left in Great Britain," Padma said.

"Sure, but that's not why I want to go," Neville said. "I want to see Honeyduke's."

Remus glanced at Harry, who looked as entranced as Neville did. Honeyduke's had been around when he was a boy, and always inspired the same reaction in children -- awe and a sort of covetous longing. In another year or two, the only thing that would inspire that kind of look would be girls -- or boys, he supposed, all things being equal.

His gaze fell on Draco, who looked as though he was trying to hide some disappointment or other. Probably that he didn't get to sit next to Padma, Remus thought with a grin.

The door slid open then and Dobby appeared, arms stacked high with sweets and cauldron cakes.

"Dobby has brought snacks like Master Malfoy requested!" he announced, wobbling unsteadily into the compartment just as the train shrieked loudly and jerked into motion.

"By jove, they have relaxed the rules a bit if children are allowed to bring house-elves to school now," Fudge observed.

"What're you going to do with him, Draco?" Harry asked. "He can't live in your trunk all year again."

"Dunno. Maybe he can get a job in the kitchens? He's been socked, he's a free elf. I don't know why he insists on following me around. I only paid you through the end of summer, you know," he said to Dobby.

"He was a very good elf," Padma said. "You shouldn't let him go to just anyone, Draco."

"You know, Sirius might be able to use him," Harry suggested. "He's going to be living alone all year and he's not really that good a cook, and he never does his laundry. He'd pay his wage, too."

Dobby turned enormous, bulbous eyes on Harry. "Master Sirius...Black?" he asked, tone full of awe.

"Um, yeah," Harry said.

"Dobby would be in the employ of Master Sirius Black?"

"He's very nice, really," Harry said. Remus wondered for a moment why Dobby would want so much confirmation, and then it occurred to him that the Blacks had a certain reputation, above and beyond Sirius' fame as a handsome, wealthy bachelor.

Dobby drew himself up to his full height proudly. "Dobby would be proud to serve Master Sirius Black!" he proclaimed.

"I'll write to him when we get to school," Harry assured him.

"Er, but for now...maybe you could...find somewhere quiet and...go there," Draco said. Dobby obediently tucked himself under the bench and wrapped his arms complacently around his legs. He sat so still Remus wondered if he was breathing.

"That reminds me, Harry, I got you a birthday present," Padma said, digging in the bag at her feet. She produced a small, gaily-wrapped package and offered it to him.

"Hey, ta Padma, you didn't have to," Harry said, accepting it with pleasure.

"Well, it was a bit of a production. Mum and dad are not best pleased with any of my friends. Except Draco," she added, and Draco shot Harry a smug look. Remus' internal amusement leapt up a few notches. "Eventually I talked Dobby into getting it for me without telling on me to mum and dad."

"A sneakoscope!" Harry said, taking a small, top-shaped object out of the paper-wrapped box. "Cool!"

"Very useful things, when they work," Remus said. Harry stood it up on his palm and spun it experimentally. It kept turning in slow, lazy circles, whistling softly. "It all depends on how sensitive they are."

"How d'you mean?" Neville asked.

"Well, the spinning-top is powered by a certain form of energy put out by a charm that detects ill intentions -- it's the same basic principle as a foeglass, except that in this case the magic is much more active, not quite so passive and dependent upon the person carrying it. D'you know what a foeglass is?" Remus asked, and Neville shook his head.

He launched into an explanation of the theories behind the foeglass charm, more than happy to have an audience to share his information with. It was a good forty minutes before he realised that all four children were listening raptly and a few more had paused in the doorway to listen as well. Fudge was calmly reading some kind of legal brief near the window, and Dobby had crept out to sit on Remus' shoes.

"Er. So that's why a sneakoscope's charm is the most important part," he finished lamely. "And why the really professional ones are highly calibrated by experts."

"Have you ever used one?" Padma asked.

"Well, no," Remus admitted. "Most of the time when I travelled, I traveled light. I mean, you could use a sneakoscope, or you could just always assume that you're in danger, and keep a sharp eye out. An old friend of mine says constant vigilance is the key. And an alert mind, you know, is much easier to carry than a dozen amulets and sneak-detectors and that kind of thing."

"You're a born lecturer," Fudge said, looking at him over the edge of his paperwork. "I can see why Dumbledore hired you."

"Thank you, Minister," Remus replied. "Really, though, it's mostly the students -- they're a very agreeable audience."

At that point Harry and Neville broke out a pack of tarot cards (newly bought for Divinations class) and began some kind of furious card-game that Remus recognised as a distant variant on Egyptian Ratscrew. Padma placidly found a book and buried herself in it while Draco cheered Harry and Neville indiscriminantly, depending on who was winning at any given moment. Remus decided Padma's example was probably a good one, and took a book about Macedonian hexwork out of his briefcase.

The time passed quickly enough that he'd nearly forgotten the presence of the Minister for Magic at his elbow until a quiet snore told him that the Minister had drifted off to sleep. He didn't blame him; it was getting quite dark out.

Draco, who was gazing out the window, glanced over his shoulder at Remus.

"We must be nearly there, don't you think?" he asked. "Hard to tell in the fog."

"The fog's probably a sign," Remus replied. "Yes, I think -- "

He broke off as the train started to slow down.

"Grand! Time to put our robes on," Draco announced. "I'm starving, I can't wait for the feast -- "

"We can't actually be there yet," Remus said, putting out a hand to stop him. Padma and Neville looked at him, confused. Harry was asleep as well, head crooked in the corner of the compartment.

"Then why are we stopping?" Padma asked hesitantly.

Remus shook his head, listening intently. The pistons on the engine began to fall away, but the wind was howling against the glass and rain had begun to pelt down. Something felt wrong, quite wrong, and quite horribly right, as well. As though he'd done this before.

Neville opened the door a crack, stepping carefully around Harry, and put his head out.

"Nothing in the -- ow!" he said, as the train stopped entirely with a jerk, throwing him on top of Harry. Harry promptly woke and shoved Neville off him, and Remus caught the boy's wrist in his hand.

"Sit down," he ordered. Neville obeyed, looking startled. Even as he sat, the lights flickered and went out.

"Ow, Neville," Padma said. "Mind your feet."

"Sorry," Neville muttered.

"Have we broken down?" Harry asked sleepily.

"No," Remus said, never more sure of anything in his life.

"Remus, something's moving," Draco said worriedly, pointing to shifting shapes in the fog beyond the train. "Someone's coming aboard."

"Stay where you are," Remus ordered. "Don't move. Stay away from the window," he added. Ice was beginning to form in the corners of the glass. "I'm going to make sure everyone's all right."

He held out his hand and called up a small ball of green flame in his palm, one of his favourite tricks from school and a handy tool at any time. The flickering light illuminated four worried young faces and the still-sleeping form of Cornelius Fudge.

He opened the door with his other hand, wand tucked between two fingers, and stepped catlike into the corridor, nearly tripping over another student.

"Sorry," she gasped. "I was going to ask the driver what was going on -- "

"Get inside a compartment," he ordered.

"Yes, sir," she answered, brushing frizzy hair away from her face. A young man stumbled into them and Remus, with a growing sense of horror, recognised Ron Weasley.

"Both of you. Right now," he said, opening the door of the compartment next to his own and pushing them into it. "Stay there."

That was apparently enough for the rest of the train car; the few heads that had been poking out to see where the light was promptly pulled back. Several doors slammed shut.

He walked warily down the corridor to the front of the car, pushing the door open and stepping out into the fog. Little tendrils swirled and dipped around him, but he couldn't see any more from here than Draco had seen through the window -- just dark shapes moving in the distance. Maybe they were nothing more than birds.

But that was a lie, and Remus knew it. And when he turned around in the doorway there was his proof, because a cloaked figure was standing at the other end of the train car, one grey, slimy hand resting on the door to a compartment.

The door to his compartment.

Time stretched out and seemed to fracture into fragments as Remus hurtled headlong back through the carriage, towards the impossibly tall, ghostly figure that was now opening the door and now reaching inside and now making the most horrible sucking noise as it inhaled --

"Expecto Patronum," he shouted, skidding to a stop in front of it. A silver dog leapt out of his wand ahead of him, and its huge jaws clamped ethereally around the Dementor's arm, throwing it sideways even as the shiny white teeth passed straight through it. The dog circled again, driving it towards the door, and Remus had the presence of mind to look around for any others that might have crept onto the train. A shadowy figure rushed at him from the direction he'd come, and he very nearly sent a patronus straight through the train's driver.

"What in bloody blue Asgard is going on?" the man asked.

"Dementors. Check the other compartments," Remus ordered, propping the door open with his hip. The man ran onwards and Remus was confronted with a scene out of his worst nightmares.

He dimly registered that the Minister was huddled in a corner, terrified; Padma and Neville were clinging to each other on one of the benches. Draco knelt on the floor and looked up at him with a ghostly-white face framed by silver hair that glowed green in the dwindling light.

Harry lay on the floor, arms and legs sprawled limp, head cradled in Draco's lap, glasses gone.

Remus dropped to his knees next to Draco and took Harry's face in his hands. He was breathing, thank god, and even as Remus checked his eyes they were fluttering open.

Remus helped him sit up and lit the tip of his wand so that he could hold both of Harry's shoulders.

"What happened?" Harry asked. Remus fought the urge to pull the boy against him and cry; Harry was thirteen, too old to be cried over -- and Remus was supposed to be a teacher. Teachers didn't cry in front of their students. He fumbled in his pocket for a bar of chocolate.

"Eat this," he said, tearing it open and offering it to Harry with only slightly shaking hands. He broke off a piece for Draco, and gave the rest of the bar to Padma, who bewilderedly shared it with Neville and the Minister. "It'll help. Do you feel cold?"

Harry nodded, nibbling on the chocolate with wide eyes.

"What was that thing?" Draco asked.

"A Dementor," Remus said grimly. "One of the Dementors of Azkaban."

Surprisingly, the squeak of fear that followed the announcement came not from the children or Dobby -- still trembling under the bench -- but from Fudge.

"I was told they'd be guarding Hogwarts, but nobody mentioned they might search the train," Remus continued, still holding tightly to Harry's shoulder. "Is everyone all right?"

"The chocolate helps," Padma said in a small voice.

"Good. Minister..." Remus turned to him. "Do you know the patronus spell?"

Fudge shook his head, chocolate clenched in one hand.

"Bloody hell..." Remus rubbed his face. "All right. Eat the chocolate. If another one comes, everyone scream as loud as you can, right? I've got to make sure none of them got up to any more mischief in the other cars."

"Remus -- " Harry grabbed his wrist as he rose. He stopped, ready to stay at a word from Harry. The boy looked up at him, pleadingly, and then let go of his hand.

"You have to see if everyone is okay," he muttered.

"I can stay -- "

"We're all right," Neville said. "If another one comes, we'll scream."

"Right," Remus said. He gave Harry one last, measured look, and then went out. He had hundreds of children now, not just one, after all.

"I'm not paid enough for this," he muttered, passing out into the fog and hurrying quickly into the next car down, where someone somewhere was crying.

***

When Remus was gone, Draco got his hands under Harry's arms and helped him up onto the bench. Padma wrapped her arms unabashedly around Harry's neck; on the other side, Neville studied him with solemn eyes.

"What happened?" Neville asked. Draco seated himself next to Fudge, on the very edge of the bench and ready to leap up at any second.

"It just felt -- cold," Harry said. "So cold. And -- miserable."

"Like you'd never be happy again," Draco put in. Harry nodded. "We all felt that, didn't we?"

"I heard screaming," Neville said.

"Me too," Harry whispered. "And then I couldn't move, and everything went sort of...white around the edges..."

"You fell over," Draco said. "On me, mostly."

"Sorry."

"S'okay," Draco said. "And then...this big white thing came out of nowhere and knocked the Dementor over, and Remus came back." He glanced at Fudge, who was still holding the chocolate, watching them. "It isn't poisoned, you know," he said. "You should eat it."

This seemed to snap the man out of his stupor, and he looked down at the chocolate, then out at the window.

"Ah -- yes, this is a rather unexpected turn of events," he announced distractedly. "I'm afraid I can't be delayed -- very important business meeting in Hogsmeade -- you'll forgive me if I Apparate..."

They didn't have time to complain even if they'd been capable of it; with a loud bang and a puff of sulfur-scented air, the Minister for Magic disappeared.

"Coward," Padma said contemptuously.

"Too true," Draco agreed feelingly. "I was working up to ask him something important, too."

Padma slowly released Harry and sat back, finishing the slightly melted chocolate and licking her fingers.

"What were you going to ask him?" Neville asked. Padma shook her head at him. "It'll take our minds off -- that thing."

Draco looked morose. "Mum wouldn't sign my Hogsmeade form. I thought -- " he raised his voice over their stunned objections. "I thought the Minister might. I mean, he's the Minister for Magic, that's as good as a parent, isn't it?"

"Why won't your mum sign it?" Neville demanded.

"Says she thinks Hogsmeade'll distract me from my studies."

"She's bonkers!"

"Yeah, but she's probably right, this time," Draco sighed. "It is distracting and I can always use more time to study, you know how I am."

"Then we won't go either, will we?" Neville said, appealing to the other two. Harry and Padma exchanged a hesitant look. "Oi! TRAITORS!"

"No, it's just -- "

"It's okay," Draco said. "Really. Anyway, someone's got to go and bring back sweets and all. Really, it'll be fine."

They all jumped as the compartment door slid back again, but it was only Remus. He hesitated on the threshold.

"Where's the Minister gone?" he asked.

"He Apparated," Neville volunteered.

"Apparated? To the school? Good of him to -- "

"No," Harry said. "He Apparated to Hogsmeade."

"Whatever for?"

"Didn't want to be late to his meeting, he said," Padma put in.

Remus frowned, sitting down just as the train jerked to life and the lights flickered back on. He closed his hand, dousing the green flames.

"He left you here in the dark? Well, it's only what he's been doing to the country," Remus mused. "All right, everyone feeling better now?"

"Yes," they chorused.

"Good. We're only ten minutes from Hogwarts at top speed, and I've sent an owl ahead. You," he said to Harry, "are going straight up to the infirmary."

"Aw, Remus, I'm fine -- "

"Be told, Harry," Remus said, in a severe voice that none of them but Harry had ever heard before. Remus didn't often step into Sirius' shoes, but when he did, he meant business.

"We'll come too," Neville said, glancing at Draco, who was still a little pale.

"That's just as well," Remus said. "You'd best get your robes out. I'm going to have to leave you -- I'll be wanted in the Great Hall."

"We'll miss the sorting," Harry said, but the protest had gone out of his voice.

"Boring, anyway," Padma said, studiously yawning. The train began to grind slowly to a halt, just as the sign for Hogsmeade Station passed their window.

They clattered out into the crowd of nervous students, all of whom were much quieter and more well-behaved than average. The younger ones were huddled in a group around Hagrid, the groundskeeper, who looked even larger when surrounded by eleven-year-olds. The older children were filing into large carriages that waited on the road which wound from the train station up the hill to Hogwarts.

Padma stopped so suddenly that Harry nearly plowed into her.

"What's up?" Neville inquired, brushing past. "I'll save us a carriage!"

"All right, Padma?" Harry asked. He watched Remus climb into the frontmost carriage, and saw a brief flash of silver hair -- Dumbledore was sitting inside. Dobby, on orders from Draco, tottered after Remus officiously.

"I've never seen a Thestral before," Padma said, pointing to one of the spiked, horselike creatures that drew the carriages.

"How come she gets to see one and I don't?" Draco demanded. "I'm the only one now! AND the only one who's actually seen a real live dead person lying in a coffin."

"Come on, Draco," Neville said, rolling his eyes. He hauled open the door to one of the carriages and all but thrust Draco inside.

"It isn't fair!" Draco protested.

"It's not like we picked it, you know," Harry said.

The bickering over the Thestrals continued until they reached the school. Harry almost made it into the Great Hall, but he couldn't quite duck away from Madam Pomfrey fast enough. She led them through the echoing hallways to the hospital wing, clucking over Harry like a hen with only one chick.

"Mr. Lupin wrote that you had a bad fall, is that so?" she asked, as she opened the door.

"He fell on me," Draco said, still aggrieved, then blanched when she turned and began fussing about him, too. Neville and Padma sat on a nearby bed and shared a chocolate frog as amused spectators.

"Dementors in the trains, I'm sure I don't know what the Ministry is thinking," she said, investigating Harry's eyes thoroughly and then pressing some strange metal device to Draco's chest, over his robes. "Well, you both look all right and there's no concussion. Let's just get you a nice restorative potion and send you down to the feast, shall we?"

"I don't need one, really," Harry protested, but she'd already vanished into the other room.

"Hey, before she comes back," Padma said. "I didn't get to show you until now. Look what I've got!"

She tugged at a thin gold chain around her neck, pulling it out from under her shirt. Dangling from the end was a tiny glass-and-gold hourglass, held in place by two or three rings of flat gold with odd inscriptions on them.

"It's...pretty?" Neville said.

"Is that what I think it is?" Draco demanded, scooting forward for a closer look. His face ended up about half a foot from her shirt, which was gaping open to allow the necklace out, and she gave him a gentle shove to bring his chin level with hers.

"Better," she said, and he blushed. "And yes. It's a time-turner."

"Really?" Neville asked. "I've never seen one."

"What's a time-turner?" Harry said.

"I got it from the Ministry so I could take more classes, catch up a bit on what I missed last year, that kind of thing," Padma said. "It's very top-secret. They only gave out two this year, I guess a Gryffindor got the other one. That's what I heard when I was getting mine, anyway. I had to sign all sorts of papers not to tell anyone about it."

All three boys looked at her.

"Well, none of them were hexed, and anyway you lot won't tell," Padma said. "Plus I had to promise not to misuse it."

"what's it do?" Harry asked, but Padma quickly shoved the necklace back under her shirt and sat up straight. A second later Madam Pomfrey came bustling back into the room.

"Drink up," she said, pouring out four helpings of an awful-looking green potion. "Then you may go down to the feast."

Harry and Draco immediately leapt into a competition to see who could finish theirs first, while Neville held his nose and tried to down it in a single gulp. Padma glanced around, made sure Pomfrey wasn't watching, and then poured hers out the window. From below came the stuttery complaint of a bird nesting in the shrubbery.

"Now, off you go," Pomfrey said, herding them out the door. "And enjoy the feast!" she called after them, as they raced each other to the Great Hall.

Chapter 5

Author's Notes: At one point in this chapter I have used dialogue verbatim from The Prisoner of Azkaban. This is intentional, as Laocoon's Children does run parallel to the books. In this instance, the text of Dumbledore's speech is taken directly, with only minor alterations, from canon.

In addition, JKR's system of class scheduling for Hogwarts is absolutely untenable. So I have arbitrarily redesigned it. Cope. :D

***

"Balls, we have missed the Sorting and all the seats are taken," Harry said, when they arrived in the Great Hall. The last of the first-years was just making his way to the Slytherin table.

"Bad luck," Draco sighed, sitting down at the end of the Hufflepuff table, next to the first-years. Padma found a couple of Ravenclaw girls who had saved her a seat, and Neville squeezed himself in on the other side of the first-years, next to Seamus Finnegan.

Harry, undeterred and unashamed, walked down to where Marcus Flint and most of the other Quidditch players were sitting with the sixth-years, elbowing his way in.

"Oi!" said an annoyed sixth. "Find your own seat!"

"Shove off," Flint told him. "Potter's with us."

"Ta," Harry said. "What're you doing back here?"

Flint sneered. "Fumbled my NEWTs. Got to take the year again. Anyone going to say anything about it? Thought not."

"Shh," said Towler, a fifth-year who played Beater for the team. "Dumbly's talking."

"...nother year at Hogwarts!" Dumbledore was saying, standing at the lectern in front of the high table. "I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast."

The Slytherin Quidditch team, en masse, groaned. Dumbledore frowned slightly; behind him, Snape smiled.

"As many of you are aware -- particularly after their search of the Hogwarts Express -- our school is presently playing host to some of the Dementors of Azkaban Prison, who are here on Ministry of Magic business."

Harry turned to glance at Draco and saw a Ravenclaw lean across the space between tables to give him a shove. A few other Hufflepuffs closed ranks around the blond boy.

"They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds," Dumbledore continued, "and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises -- or even Invisibility Cloaks," he added blandly. Harry grinned at him. "It is not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. Dementors are capable of seriously injuring even the innocent when their tempers are aroused. Fortunately, they have been banned from entering school property, but I cannot speak to your safety from them -- or other dangers -- outside of the grounds."

Behind Dumbledore, Remus sat next to Snape with his hands folded on the table, looking pale and grave. Dumbledore turned to look at him. Harry wondered how much Remus' owl had said about what the Dementors had done on the train.

"On a happier note," Dumbledore continued, "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year. First, Professor Remus Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Remus stood and gave a hasty bow to a scattering of applause, mainly from the Weasleys and Harry's band of friends. Several Gryffindor girls were giggling with their heads together, Ginny at their centre. Most of the Slytherins in the immediate area were murmuring discontentedly: "Snape missed it again!" "He'll never get the job." "Dumbledore doesn't like him."

"In addition," Dumbledore said, spreading his hands to quiet the crowd a little, "Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, has chosen to retire in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. I am delighted to say that, after some discussion with the Board of Governors, his place will be filled by our own Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties."

Hagrid, the enormous gamekeeper, stood with an abrupt jerk and gave a clumsy imitation of Remus' bow. Remus clapped him on the shoulder when he sat down again, then winced and shook out his hand to banish the sting.

"Now, with introductions out of the way, let me wish you a bright new year of studies," Dumbledore said. "And let the feast begin!"

Immediately the tables filled with food -- giant tureens of mashed potatoes, sides of beef and roasted chickens, overflowing bowls of bread, pitchers of pumpkin juice and cool iced water. Harry heaped his plate high, being in competition with boys and girls whose arms were much longer than his, and settled down to enjoy the meal, keeping one eye on Remus at the high table. He seemed to be doing all right, making conversation with Hagrid, and Harry felt a surge of pride for his adoptive father.

"So," Flint said, talking around a mouthful of turkey, "We're down seriously this year. We've got me for Keeper, Pipsqueak's bound to be out of practice in Seeking so you'd better find some time to make it up -- "

"I'll be fine," Harry replied, annoyed.

"Sure you will, tiny," Towler put in.

"Pucey's our only Chaser left, and Towler's a hell of a Beater but not good enough for two."

"Care to wager on that?" Towler asked, buttering his bread.

"Not the cup I'm not, but we'll have a contest sometime," Flint answered. "Tryouts are next Sunday."

"It's already Tuesday. That hardly gives people a week and a half to sign up!" Harry said, thinking of Draco.

"Long enough. No slackers on this team, right?" said Flint, which made Harry stifle a grin. Marcus Flint was the laziest Quidditch player he'd ever met. "We'll be looking for two new Chasers and a Beater. Anyone got recommendations?"

"Blaise Zabini flies all right, but I've no clue how he plays," Harry said. "I imagine Colin Creevey'll try for something or other."

"Cricket? He's smaller than you are! If he tried to bat a Bludger he'd fall off his broomstick," Towler said with a laugh.

"Sharp though," Harry answered. "And he's a quick little bug. Are all the teams doing tryouts?"

Flint nodded. "Sure, we're doing a big mass thing, I arranged it with the other captains. Way more embarrassing that way," he added with a chuckle. "Oliver Wood likes Neville Longbottom for Beater, you know."

"Good, 'cause he's pants at it and that'll make it easier on us," Harry replied. "Speaking of flying, have you seen the Firebolt yet?"

The conversation rapidly changed to the merits of the Firebolt, the history of the company, the personal preferences of the players, and several jokes about who liked what kind of wood. Harry listened, actually getting many of the jokes for the first time. He even joined in on the chorus when the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs both broke into a rude song about the Holyhead Harpies and their lovely soft bristles.

Betwys Beddau had been fun, and London had been interesting, but Hogwarts really was the best.

***

It took Remus until after dinner was over to corner Snape. McGonagall had passed word down the High Table that there was to be a gathering for punch and light dessert in the professors' common room after dinner; Remus finally found Snape folded into a chair by the empty fireplace with a cup of punch in his hands.

"May I sit with you?" he asked politely, indicating the other chair. Snape gestured to it dismissively. "I was wondering if I might have a word before classes begin tomorrow."

"Oh?" Snape asked, disinterestedly.

"Listen, I know we haven't always been on the best of terms and you and Sirius are -- well, I won't try to come up with a word for that -- but I think we've managed to reach a sort of detente in the last few years, don't you?" Remus asked.

"A detente?" Snape said scornfully, raising an eyebrow.

"A truce? I don't approve of the way Sirius treated you at school, I never did..."

"Nor, if I recall correctly, did you -- "

" -- do much to stop it, I know," Remus interrupted. "And I'm sorry for that. Honestly, though, we're both adults; we're going to see a fair bit of each other what with the -- potion and both of us living in the castle and all. I'd like to put that behind us, if you will," he continued. "I think we have a lot in common, Severus. I want to make a clean start with you."

He offered his hand. Snape looked down at it, then back up at him. "Nymphadora didn't put you up to this, by any chance, did she?"

Remus looked perplexed. "Do you think I'm not capable of wanting to make amends myself?"

"It has more to do with her annoying habit of wanting me to get on with everyone," Snape said, then sighed and shook his hand lifelessly. "A fresh start, as you say -- but don't expect we shall be great friends or that I'm going to help you with your lesson plans or any of that."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Remus said drily. "That's very decent of you, Severus."

"Yes, well, don't let word get out," Snape replied.

"That you're a decent human being? My lips are sealed. If you'll excuse me..."

"Ah yes. Mingling," Snape said, his lip curling in distaste. Remus picked up his cup and wandered back over to the cauldron of punch, where Madam Hooch and the Headmaster were discussing the events on the Hogwarts Express.

"Our hero of the hour!" Hooch said, smiling at him. "We were just saying how wonderfully pithy your owl was."

"Mr. Lupin has rarely been at a loss for words in his life," Dumbledore added.

"Dementors aboard train; students endangered. All well, proceeding to Hogwarts. Medical attn. for Potter. Signed RJL," Hooch repeated dramatically.

"Yes, well. Therein lies a mystery, you know," Remus said. "Has the Headmaster informed you that Cornelius Fudge was on the train?"

"Was he?" McGonagall asked. "Why would the Minister for Magic want to take the Hogwarts Express?"

"I've no idea," Remus said. "He said it was because he found the train less stressful than flooing straight to Hogsmeade, which is obviously a line, but I can't think of any other explanation. After the Dementors came on board he Apparated away pretty quickly."

"Perhaps he was coming up early for the Azkaban inspection," Flitwick said, picking up a discarded Daily Prophet and folding it so that the headline on the back was visible. "He's supposed to be having a look at the new safety features on the prison."

"Can't imagine that'll be much fun, if he's so skittish around Dementors," Remus said.

"I'm skittish around Dementors. Horrible creatures," said Madam Pince.

"Well, good thing we have a big strapping Defence professor to keep them at bay, eh?" Professor Sinistra said, winking at Remus. "I'm off, children; Mercury's leaving retrograde tonight and I always like to watch that. See you all at lunch."

"I think I will slip away too, actually," Remus said, finishing his punch. "Bit of a long day for me. Besides, I'd better go make sure Dobby hasn't utterly destroyed my belongings -- I left him unpacking my rooms, but he can get a bit overenthusiastic."

"Sleep well, Professor," McGonagall said, putting a slight emphasis on his title.

"Thank you, Deputy Headmistress, I plan to," he answered with a grin, leaving the common room and pausing in the hallway to get his bearings briefly. Then, with the confidence born of seven years' sneaking around the castle, he made his way to the rooms he'd been assigned, near the entrance to Gryffindor's dormitory tower.

He found Dobby in the hallway outside his room, unloading an enormous chair from the old dumbwaiter.

"Evening, Mr. Howson," he said, nodding to the ghost of the old porter, who was directing Dobby bossily. "How are you?"

"Little Lupin!" Howson crowed, tipping his hat. "Fine, sir, and yourself?"

"Getting along. Good to see you're still about the place. Dobby, what are you doing?"

"He's bringing you some proper furniture," boomed a voice from the doorway to his quarters, and Sirius' head poked around the doorway. "Come on then, I didn't sneak all the way here from the Shrieking Shack just to get caught and tugged around by my earlobe by McGonagall."

Remus grinned and took the chair from Dobby, carrying it effortlessly into his rooms.

"Right, elf," Sirius said, "Get ye to the kitchens for a day or two. I'll call when I need you."

Dobby bowed so low his nose banged on the hallway's stone floor before he vanished. Remus shut the door after him and allowed Sirius to kiss him hello before inspecting his rooms.

"Bit poky," Sirius said professionally, looking around. "But then you did always like poky."

"I don't expect to spend much time here -- did you have Dobby refurnish it? My books aren't even unpacked!"

"I just had him take the broken stuff away. And the ugly stuff," Sirius added.

"Sirius, your definition of ugly..."

"Well, I was tired of looking for flats in Hogsmeade. I still haven't found a proper one. There's a nice house out near the fens, though. It's rather big, actually, but -- "

"How big is big?" Remus inquired, amused.

"Three bedrooms, plus a library and a study plus all the usual rooms. But it's a good investment! I can fix it up and then rent it out when or if we move back to London. And it's got a lovely big gardens..."

"One wonders how anyone ever mistook you for straight," Remus said, reaching for a box of books on the floor. "First you redecorate my rooms, now you're going on about lovely gardens. Oof!"

His muscles protested and he nearly dropped the box; Sirius caught one edge and helped him move it onto the table.

"Raw animal magnetism," Sirius answered.

"And your horrible taste in art. Listen, I need to talk to you about Harry."

"No you don't," Sirius said, wrapping one arm around his waist. "We can talk about Harry tomorrow."

"Sirius..." Remus pushed him off, gently. "You know Dumbledore said there were Dementors guarding the grounds?"

"Sure, that's why I went underground when I came in. Did you know the east tunnel collapsed? Looks like it's been years -- "

"They searched the train. One of them attacked Harry."

Sirius froze. "What?"

"He's all right, just a little bruised up. But he passed out, and I thought -- "

"Is he in the hospital wing?"

"No -- Sirius -- " Remus grabbed his arm as he made for the door. "He's fine. Well, probably not completely fine, but he'll be much less fine if you go bursting into his common room..."

"Has the nurse seen to him?"

"Yes, all right? I made sure she checked him out. When I left the Great Hall he was having a grand time and eating ice cream."

"You didn't tell me sooner?" Sirius demanded.

"He's all right, Sirius! I only thought you ought to know, and I didn't want you to panic, which you're clearly going to do anyway..." he tugged Sirius back from the door and gave him a gentle push onto a sofa near the big windows.

"You're sure he's all right?"

Remus crossed his arms. "Do you think I'd have left him alone if I thought otherwise? The boy has to preserve some kind of respect with his friends, though. I promise, Sirius."

"Okay," Sirius said, looking calmer. "Thank you for telling me."

"You're welcome," Remus said, properly interpreting Thank you for telling me as I'm sorry I am insane. "Listen, why don't you Padfoot up tomorrow morning and you can come to breakfast with me and see for yourself."

"Do you have him for class tomorrow?"

"N...o," Remus said, checking his schedule. "No third-year classes at all tomorrow, I won't have Harry in a class until Monday. But if you want to come along, we can have dinner in Hogsmeade after my last class. And this weekend you can show me this house you like so well."

Sirius looked placated, though still a little worried.

"And you can stay here tonight if you like," Remus added, tempting him. "Bet you always wanted to have a passionate affair with a Hogwarts Professor."

Sirius smiled at that and jerked his head at the box of books on the table. "Want help unpacking?"

***

"All right, gentlemen," Padma said, sitting at the Hufflepuff table the next morning. Harry, a very sleepy-looking Neville, and Draco were all eagerly eating breakfast while Denbigh, head of the kitchen elves, waited on the early-rising foursome. "You know what time it is."

Draco put his fork down and groaned. "Index cards?"

"Index cards!" Padma said with relish, taking a handful of white cards out of her book bag. "Who's got what when and with whom?"

"Who wants to know?" Harry asked, but he took a card anyway and began writing down his schedule. "You lot all have Arithmancy tomorrow afternoon, don't you?"

"No, I've got Runes," Padma said. "Well, both. You know, it's sort of silly really, I'm not even going to be using the time-turner all that much."

"Not for classes," Harry agreed.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Padma, you have a device which allows you to travel in time. Do you have any conception of how much mischief we can get up to this year with a time traveling accomplice? It boggles the mind!"

"It boggles your little mind, I'm sure," she replied with a sniff and a teasing grin. "Honestly, I can't use it much, I think they monitor it or something."

"Padmaaaaa..."

"Maybe a little," she allowed. "But not much!"

"All right, all right."

"How'd they even let you have one?" Draco asked, writing industriously and with many ink-blottings. "I mean -- after last year..."

Harry saw Neville kick him under the table. Draco winced. Padma's lips were pressed into a thin line.

"I have to catch up," she said determinedly.

"Yeah, but I mean, not about classes, but -- ow! Neville! Ow! Harry!"

"Don't mind him," Neville said. "You're fine, aren't you?"

"Sure," Padma agreed. "Done with your schedule?"

"It's a thing of beauty," Neville said, propping it next to his plate. "We have Dark Arts together, don't we Harry?"

"I think so," Harry said. "Yep. Dark Arts and Divination. You should have taken Divs, Draco."

"No thanks. Besides, it means I have Friday afternoon off," Draco answered. "Listen, people are showing up; you guys had better go before the Prefects get stroppy."

"Sure thing," Harry said, sliding off the bench and crossing the aisle to the Slytherin table. Neville climbed up over the table with simian agility and settled into a seat at Gryffindor just as Percy Weasley, the most officious Prefect in the school, appeared in the doorway. This year, in addition to his Prefect's insignia, he had a Head Boy badge pinned to his collar.

The hall filled up quickly as Harry finished his breakfast and double-checked his schedule. Cricket Creevey brought up his brother Dennis to be introduced; Dennis had gone into Gryffindor and was a little anxious about fraternising with Slytherins. Harry privately decided Creeveys were genetically disposed to making things difficult for themselves.

A shriek of glee near the doorway made him look up, then stand up to try and see over everyone else, who were also standing up. He could see Remus' head bobbing towards the High Table, but surely Remus wasn't causing the commotion --

All became clear as Remus mounted the steps to the High Table's dais, followed by an enormous black dog who came easily up to his hip. Padfoot, tongue lolling, tail-wagging, saw him to his chair and then leapt down, avoiding the many hands outstretched to pat him and making a beeline for the Slytherin table.

"Hello, dog," Harry said with a laugh, allowing Padfoot to lap his cheek affectionately.

"He isn't yours, is he Harry?" someone asked.

"Nah, he belongs to R -- Professor Lupin," Harry answered, as Padfoot leaned past him to steal a helping of bacon from the table. He rubbed Padfoot's jowls affectionately. The enormous dog finished the bacon in record time, then sniffed Harry all over, wagged his tail, and trotted away again, pausing briefly to nudge Draco with his nose. Draco grinned at Harry, but Harry noticed that Dumbledore and Snape were both looking distinctly unamused.

***

Harry's first class was History of Magic, which was boring on several levels; Binns was of the old school (the very old school; he was a ghost) and didn't believe in making learning interesting. Perhaps he really believed history was interesting on its own merits, but his lectures, if possible, made it drier than it had been to start with. There was also the fact that Harry had read several wizarding history books, so some of it wasn't even new information. He spent most of the class doodling an intricate design in the corner of his desk and wondering what Remus was up to.

Remus was not having quite as placid a morning as Harry; after leaving the Great Hall slightly ahead of the crowd, in order to have a few minutes with his classroom before the students began to arrive, he had bid Sirius goodbye, calmly walked to the faculty washroom next to the Defence classroom, and been violently ill from nerves. Twice.

By the time he washed his face and drank enough water from his cupped hands to kill the acid in his throat, he was nearly late. He arrived to find a half dozen seventh-year students already unpacking their quills and books in the expectation of a full morning of teaching. God, seventh years. Too young to have stopped testing boundaries, too old to punish easily, and far too cocky to reason with. He remembered seventh year all too well.

There were two mixed-house classes for seventh years; not enough of any given House wanted to take Dark Arts for him to make a full classroom from them. He had one this morning, for the whole morning, which was clearly some kind of sadism.

Well, at least he had a place to begin.

"Good morning," he said. "My name is Professor Lupin, as you know, and I will be in charge of your education this year. I understand your course of study may have been a little...irregular."

There was a smattering of laughter from the back of the room. Remus smiled.

"So I'm going to make sure that you get those gaps filled in, as well as preparing you for your NEWTs. You are all planning on taking a NEWTs in Defence? How many of you plan to go out for the MLE?"

Most of the hands went up. Remus nodded.

"Very well then. Quills away and books closed, please; pack up your bags, as we will not be returning to the classroom today."

The students all looked at each other, startled.

"Well, come on then, you haven't got all day," Remus continued.

"We normally have a test on the first day," a shy-looking Ravenclaw said, blushing immediately when he made eye-contact.

"What makes you think you won't?" he said, and walked out of the classroom. Behind him there were hurried rustling noises as they tried to strap up their bags and catch up. When the first few appeared at his elbow, he began asking questions.

"What are three ways of disposing of an Ashwinder egg?" he asked. "Come on, it's all right. I'm not talking to myself, you know."

"Uh, freezing, burying in sand, and, uh..." a tall Hufflepuff fumbled on the third.

"A containment charm," another supplied.

"Very good. Who can name the four cagetories of Dark potions?"

"Acquisitive, Manipulative -- "

" -- Unforgivable, and Invasive."

"Hey, I was going to say those!" complained the boy who'd started the list.

"No interrupting, you're all big kids, you know better," Remus said, pushing open the side-door that let out onto the Hogwarts grounds. A group of startled-looking first years were learning to fly broomsticks off to the right. He led them down and across the steep slope, towards a clearing near the lake. As long as he kept them off their footing, they couldn't kick back...

"Where are we going?" someone asked.

"I like the fresh air," Remus replied. "Here we are. All right," he said, stopping on level ground and turning to face the breathless Sevenths. "I know Professor Tonks drilled you in duelling last year -- how many of you are in the Duelling Club?"

Every hand went up.

Remus grinned. This might be fun after all...

***

Following his Charms class, Harry had a free afternoon and he knew everyone else did too; he laid in wait outside McGonagall's classroom for Draco to come out. When the rest of the Hufflepuffs passed by, Harry poked his head in and found Draco still sitting at his desk, working. McGonagall was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey!" Harry called. "C'mon!"

"Can't," Draco replied, half-turning.

"Sure you can, it's our first day," Harry said, walking down the centre aisle. "You can't have that much homework already. We're all going to go to the Defence classroom and play pranks on Remus' students so they learn proper respect for their professor. It'll be fun!"

"Nah," Draco said. "You go on. I've got remedials."

"What?" Harry asked. "Remedials? First day back? McGonagall isn't merciful, is she?"

"Well, I sort of signed up for it," Draco said reluctantly. "I mean, I was middle of the class last year because of Transfiguration, I want to be top of class this year. It's important now, you know."

"So I'll help you, why do you want to spend more time in a classroom?"

"McGonagall says she thinks she knows how to help. It's fine, Harry, go on. See you at dinner, okay?"

"You're welcome to stay, Mr. Potter," said McGonagall's voice behind him. Harry stiffened. It was instinctive -- he swore he'd seen Sirius do it once or twice. "You could use a few extra hours on your diction."

"Ah -- no thanks -- Professor," Harry said, turning around and backing away slowly. "I'll just -- go -- to -- my...common room."

He fled with a backwards glance at Draco, who didn't look as miserable as Harry would have been in his shoes.

Padma and Neville should have been coming out of the free-study class in the library, but when Harry arrived only Neville was there.

"Where's Draco?" Neville asked.

"Where's Padma?" Harry asked.

"Is it just us? Padma's doing extra tutoring to get up to speed on what she missed. She says it'll only be a month."

"Draco's doing remedials in Transfigs."

"Again? It must be some kind of genetic disorder."

"I dunno what it is, but he seems to like it. Come on. We can still spy."

Harry and Neville crept towards the Dark Arts classroom by slinking along the walls and, once, taking refuge in an empty room on the first floor.

"You stand guard," Harry whispered. "Then I'll stand guard and you can have a turn."

"Should've brought your invisibility cloak," Neville sighed.

"Takes all the fun out of it," Harry said. "It's fine in a -- you know, a greater cause, but when it's sneaking for the sake of sneaking, invisibility's boring."

The classroom door was open just slightly, and Harry knelt down and pushed it a little until he could see inside, his head just past the doorjamb. Remus was pacing back and forth at the front of the class.

"So, the theory behind this is -- yes -- "

"Brocklehurst, sir. The theory of equative properties states that the force of magic in a given object is reduced in efficiency by the same amount as a Muggle object in high magical fields."

Remus had moved out of sight now, though it sounded like he was walking past the windows. Harry narrowed his eyes at Elaine Brocklehurst. He had yet to forgive her for helping to dye Neville green in their first year. Perhaps a croak-throat hex...

"And what are the implications of this, Mr. Diggory?"

"Magic meant to interact on a normal basis with Muggles must be slightly stronger than magical items meant to remain in a magical environment, Professor."

"Yes, we all know that," Remus said, sounding much closer now. Harry had just about fixed his wand on Brocklehurst's neck. "What I mean to ask is, with an eye to theoretical experimentation, what can we learn from bringing Muggle objects into a magical field?"

There was a sudden thump. Harry had a brief vision of Remus' newly-shined shoes before all he saw was stars. He tumbled backwards into Neville, who fell over also. The door had slammed shut, directly on his nose.

He sat up slowly, rubbing the tip of his nose where the wood had knocked him backwards. Behind him, Neville pushed himself upright.

"He slammed the door on me!" Harry said, outraged. "My nose is bleeding!"

"He's not half mean as a professor," Neville observed, laughing. "He's got your number right enough, Harry. Serves us right for spying."

Harry, pride and nose both still smarting, stood up and gave Neville a hand up too. "Come on, let's go steal some snacks from the kitchen and plot our revenge."

"He is a professor, Harry," Neville said, slightly apprehensive. "And you did deserve it, you know."

"Maybe," Harry allowed. "But he shouldn't get away with it."

Neville rolled his eyes and tickled the pear at the entrance to the Hogwarts kitchens. "Yes, how dare a professor escape punishment for putting you in your place, Harry Potter."

Chapter 6

At one point in this chapter I have used dialogue or description verbatim from The Prisoner of Azkaban. This is intentional, as Laocoon's Children does run parallel to the books. In this instance, Hagrid's brief lecture on the Hippogriff is taken from canon.

***

Thursdays, Harry supposed, were going to be outdoors sort of days.

He had Herbology in the morning, a double-class with Ravenclaw, and then in the afternoon he and Draco both had Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid. He knew the gigantic gamekeeper well enough to know that Care of Magical Creatures was bound to be...interesting. No one, so far, had been able to get their Monster Book of Monsters open, and most of them had been forced to lock it in a box or tie it shut with various shoelaces and belts. Draco had tied his up with string, which it had then gnawed through and gone on to eat two pairs of socks before he'd been able to get it under control again. All through breakfast that morning he kept glancing apprehensively at his bag, which was moving as the Monster Book inside rattled around restlessly. Neville was gloating just a little that he'd decided not to take the class.

"I'd kill anything I was supposed to care for, anyway," he said. "Dunno how Trevor's survived this long. He's a very hardy toad."

Herbology wasn't really an outdoors class, but it felt like it; all that time in the humid, stuffy greenhouses meant that Harry and Padma showed up to the Great Hall damp and tired -- and not all that interested in lunch after a morning of squeezing various pods and studying diverse saps.

"Ready to go, then?" Draco said, shouldering his bag as lunch ended. "Maybe Hagrid'll let us leave our books with him."

"Doubt it," Harry replied. "See you in Ancient Runes, Padma!"

It was nice to get out of the castle after lunch and stroll down through the grounds to Hagrid's hut near the forest. It was a clear day, slightly windy, and the grass was still wet underfoot, dampening their shoes and the edges of their robes. Hagrid was outside, a cluster of students already gathered around him. Harry heard Theo's voice drift back on the wind.

"...open them!" the Slytherin was saying, sounding injured.

"Yeh haf ta stroke their spines!" Hagrid replied. "Din' anyone get theirs open?"

Harry reached into his bag and stroked the spine on his Monster Book of Monsters, unbuckling the binding around it as he did so.

"I did," he said with a smirk, taking the book out of his bag. It fell open in his hand, making little purring noises.

"Me too," Draco chimed in, fumbling a little with his. Theo looked murderous.

"See? Gen'le as can be," Hagrid said, taking Harry's book in his huge hands and showing it to Theo. It growled a little and made a half-hearted snap at the boy's face. "All right, yehs, put 'em away for now an' follow me!"

"Show-off," Theo muttered as he passed Harry, who smiled serenely and fell into step behind the other Slytherins, just ahead of the Hufflepuffs. To his surprise, Padma appeared at his elbow.

"Did I miss anything?" she asked breathlessly.

"I thought you had Charms!" Draco said, surprised. "Don't Ravenclaws and Gryffindors get Magical Creatures on Fridays?"

"Sure, but Friday I'm in Divs with you," Padma said. She hooked her thumb under the little golden chain around her neck, and Draco's eyes widened. "I'd rather have a busy Thursday and be able to sleep a bit on Friday, so I got permission to take class on Thursdays."

"We have to talk about that -- "

"Don't say it!" Padma said, clapping her hand over Harry's mouth. Then she blushed and pulled back. "We're not supposed to talk about it, remember?"

Harry didn't reply; they'd reached a small paddock at the very edge of the forest, beyond which a clearing cut a swath through the trees. Grazing in the clearing was a herd of what looked like horses, but horses with massively misshapen heads and shoulders. One of them had been cut out of the herd and was serenely strolling around the paddock itself, stopping occasionally to inspect a post or a bit of interesting wildlife.

Up close, Harry could see that it wasn't a horse at all; what he'd taken for deformed shoulders were furled wings. Instead of a normal horse's neck and head, the creature had an elongated neck covered in soft downy feathers, and the head of some kind of bird of prey -- a hawk, maybe an eagle. Its beak looked razor-sharp, and followed the colouration of the rest of the animal: deep steel grey with white dapples. As they approached, it turned its head sharply to reveal one large, brilliant orange eye.

"Look at its hooves," Draco whispered. Harry looked down. Each hoof was cloven, with a talon above it, and all three looked dangerous enough to kill.

There was also a thick leather collar around its neck, attached to a chain which was hooked on a simple locking ring screwed into one of the posts. Hagrid unhooked the chain and held it in his massive hands, standing on the other side of the fence from the students, who were all leaning on the wooden crossbeams, looking at the animal curiously. It looked back.

"This," Hagrid said proudly, "Is Buckbeak. He's a Hippogriff."

"Oh, wow!" Padma whispered, looking entranced. Harry glanced at her, then turned to Draco; he was watching her too.

"Now, firs' thing yeh gotta know abou' hippogriffs is, they're proud," Hagrid continued. "Yeh always wait fer the hippogriff ter make the firs' move. Yeh walk toward him, and yeh bow, an' yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh're allowed ter touch him. If he doesn' bow, then get away from him sharpish, 'cause those talons hurt."

In demonstration, Hagrid reached into his pocket and took out a sizeable dead rat. Amid cries of "oh, gross!" he threw it into the air and the hippogriff leapt upwards with a flutter of its wings, neatly catching the rat between talon and hoof. It ripped it in half with its other talon and commenced eating it happily.

"So," Hagrid said, turning back to them and rubbing his hands. "Who's first then?"

Everyone looked apprehensive. Harry saw Theo smirking back at him out of the corner of his eye, and was about to volunteer when Padma stepped up onto the lowest bar of the paddock fence.

"I'll go," she said. Draco tugged on her sleeve, but Padma gently shook him off and climbed over the fence.

"Padmer! Good on yeh," Hagrid said proudly, as the rest of the class muttered about what a Ravenclaw was doing in a Slytherin-Hufflepuff class. "Now. Stand there, and remember not to blink too much. Hippogriffs don't trust yeh if yeh blink too much..."

Harry saw Padma immediately blink, then wince. Buckbeak stood very still, studying her with his keen orange eyes.

"I can't look," Draco said, both hands covering his face. "She's going to die."

"She's not going to die, nobody dies at Hogwarts anymore," Harry said, but he knew how unconvincing he sounded.

"There yeh are now. Now bow," Hagrid said, one hand on Padma's back. She bowed deeply, her braid falling over one shoulder, and stopped herself from flicking it back when she stood up. Buckbeak sidled back a step.

"Easy now, easy..."

Padma took a step forward, boldly, and bowed again. This time, Buckbeak screeched a little, but after a moment, when Padma didn't move, he bowed back.

"Righ', now yeh can touch 'im," Hagrid gave Padma a slight push forward, and she slowly stretched out her hand to touch his beak.

"It's warm," she said, startled. Buckbeak closed his eyes as she stroked the fluffy feathers just below where his beak ended.

"Yeh like a ride?" Hagrid said. Padma nodded, entranced. "Righ' then..."

He gestured to Buckbeak and the hippogriff knelt on his front legs, extending both wings. Hagrid gave her a slight boost as she put her foot on the top of Buckbeak's wing and hoisted herself lightly onto his back.

"Where do I hold on?" she asked, and Hagrid grinned.

"Anywhere yeh can!" he said, giving Buckbeak a slap on the rump. Most of the students shrieked as his wings suddenly beat the air and the hippogriff leapt into a running start. Padma looked like she was grinning, but it was hard to tell; her hands were both gripping the long, durable-looking feathers on the back of Buckbeak's neck. Just before reaching the end of the paddock, Buckbeak gave a second mighty leap and pumped his wings furiously, while Padma whooped and clung tight. Harry watched in awe as the hippogriff got fully airborne and pulled into a hairpin curve around the paddock. The other hippogriffs in the clearing looked up and screamed encouragement.

It didn't look like a comfortable ride; Harry watched Padma's braid bounce up and down as she was rocked by the beating of the wings just behind her hips. He couldn't see her face, but her shouts didn't sound like they were in fear.

Buckbeak circled the paddock and dove suddenly, pulling his legs up as he skimmed the clearing ground. Just before he would have collided with the fence, he swung upwards slightly, then crashed down into the paddock with all four feet going.

When he finally stopped, Padma half-slid from his back and staggered towards Hagrid. Her usually tidy hair was windblown and wispy, but she looked ecstatic.

"She didn't die!" Draco said, in a tone of utter disbelief. Harry laughed.

"That was brilliant!" she called, running back to the fence. "I nearly fell off like a dozen times!"

"AWrigh', everyone around to the clearing," Hagrid said, gesturing them towards the other hippogriffs. The rest of the class, reassured by Padma's success, began slowly approaching the animals, bowing so often that Harry, who could see the whole clearing, nearly laughed. He grabbed Draco and pointed to an enormous black hippogriff that nobody else had approached yet.

"Let's take that one," he said. "Hey Pansy!"

Pansy Parkinson looked around.

"You partner with Padma!"

Pansy looked put out -- she'd been gesturing at Millicent Bulstrode to be her partner -- but still obeyed, walking over to where Padma was once more bowing to Buckbeak.

Harry approached the enormous black hippogriff, trying not to blink, and bowed slowly. Next to him, Draco followed suit. Its bright green eyes flicked back and forth between them, and then it bowed low. Harry put out a hesitant hand and stroked its beak. Draco touched the feathers below its eye.

"They're not so scary up close," Harry said calmly.

"Speak for yourself," Draco replied. As if to prove his point, the hippogriff jerked backwards with a start.

"That one's a bit testy," Hagrid said. "Come over an' try Buckbeak, Padmer's gentled him a treat."

Harry and Draco joined Padma and Pansy, who were looking uneasily at each other over Buckbeak's shoulders as they scratched his wingjoints. Harry hung back while Draco bowed, received his bow in turn, and was allowed to come closer.

"That was some good flying," he said. Buckbeak's eyes rolled and he pulled away, nearly knocking Pansy over. Draco froze, startled. Padma stepped backwards while Pansy ran for the comfort of the paddock fence.

"Bow again," Hagrid said, looking worried. Draco bowed. Buckbeak whistled, then bowed.

"There's a good -- hoo!" Draco leapt deftly backwards as Buckbeak turned and snapped.

"One more try," Hagrid said encouragingly. Draco put out his hand and Buckbeak allowed him to smooth over some ruffled feathers on his neck. For a few seconds, all was well.

"That's better," Draco said. At the sound of his voice, Buckbeak lashed out again with his hooves, and this time Draco couldn't pull away in time. He went over backwards, knocked down by a blow from a wing, and cried out when Buckbeak's talon ripped into his arm. The other hippogriffs crowed, and most of the students ran for the relative shelter of the paddock.

Hagrid darted forward with surprising speed for a man his size and pulled Draco away from the flailing Buckbeak, who looked like he'd enjoy trampling Draco underfoot. Draco himself was curled into a ball around his arm and had to be dragged a little before Hagrid could pick him up. Hagrid turned, Draco held upright in one arm, and smacked Buckbeak in the beak. Surprisingly, the hippogriff merely snorted and trotted off.

"Class dismissed," Hagrid roared. Everyone fled except Harry and Padma, who waited for Hagrid to get clear of all the hippogriffs before running forward.

"Ow ow ow ow ow," Draco was whimpering, trying to walk as he was half-carried, half-dragged to the fence. Hagrid leaned him up against a post. Both teacher and student were white-faced, Hagrid with worry, Draco with pain.

"We got ter get yeh to the hospital wing," Hagrid said. "Can yeh walk?"

"No -- if we go they'll tell mum," Draco gasped.

"Draco! Now is not the time to worry about your bloody mother!" Padma shouted. A couple of the hippogriffs screamed agreement.

"No no no..." Draco gulped a deep breath. Padma rolled her eyes, took out her wand, and tapped it against his forehead with a muttered "Ibuprofi!"

He sagged backwards.

"Thanks," he said, breathing a little easier.

"No problem."

"If they tell mum, she's on the Board of Governors," he continued, still breathless. "She'll get Hagrid in trouble. Plus she'll have Mr. Macnair come after Buckbeak. My fault, my fault..."

"It wasn't, I saw," Harry said. "He attacked you for no reason."

"Nah, I scared him," Draco answered. "Just, okay -- you know any healing charms?"

"We're taking you to the hospital wing," Padma insisted. "We'll -- we'll say you fell down some stairs."

"And gashed his arm open?" Harry asked.

"Have you got a better idea? No? Then hop to, Potter," Padma snapped. Harry, startled, helped Draco to stand upright and peeled back his shredded shirt-sleeve. Blood dripped down Draco's fingers. "Hagrid, carry him!"

"She's a sharp 'un," Hagrid said to Harry, as Draco protested that he could walk. All four of them made their way slowly back to Hogwarts, where Madam Pomfrey was standing on the steps, shading her eyes.

"What happened here?" she said. The rest of the class was gathered around her. "Merlin, did one of those hippogriffs maul the boy?"

"I saw it!" Pansy said shrilly. "It knocked me over too!"

"It did not, Parkinson," Harry said. "Draco fell," he added to Madam Pomfrey. "And -- and cut his arm on a sharp root."

"All right, everyone run along," the mediwitch said, shooing the rest of the class off. "Potter, Patil, you'd better come with me..."

"All my fault," Draco repeated. "I fell. I slipped."

Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he passed out, landing squarely in Padma's arms.

"Wow, where's Creevey and his camera when you want him?" Harry asked, as Padma staggered under his weight.

***

"Well," said Pomona Sprout lightly, "never let it be said that Hufflepuffs aren't determined, at any rate."

Draco, sitting on a bed in the hospital wing, set his jaw and rubbed his arm, which had been wrapped in white bandage. "I fell," he repeated.

"Of course you did, dear," she replied. "After the hippogriff cut your arm open almost to the bone. I would too."

"Sharp root," Draco muttered.

"It was," Harry and Padma chorused supportively. Madam Pomfrey looked disapproving.

"Ah, Headmaster," Professor Sprout said, as Dumbledore appeared in the doorway. "We were hoping you could have a talk with young Malfoy here."

"Of course," Dumbledore replied, smiling at Draco. "Humbug?"

Draco took the small peppermint sweet, putting it in the pocket of his ripped school robe.

"Now then. We're having lovely weather for this time of year, don't you think?" Dumbledore continued. Draco blinked. "I hear Puddlemere United played last Sunday; aren't they your team?"

Draco stared at him. "Um, yes...sir..."

"Mine too. I hear their Seeker rides a Nimbus two thousand and one; a very good broomstick -- "

"Headmaster," Professor Sprout said, sternly.

"Hmm?" Dumbledore turned to look at her.

"A talk about his injury," she prompted. He gave her a small smile.

"Of course. How silly of me. How did you hurt your arm? I hope it isn't serious."

"Nosir," Draco said. "I fell, sir. Tripped and cut it open on a sharp root."

Dumbledore glanced at Pomfrey. "Seems rather open and shut, to me."

"There are several students who claim he was attacked by a hippogriff," she said.

"Ah. These students here?" Dumbledore said, pointing to Harry and Padma. "You disagree with Mr. Malfoy's tale of these events?"

"No, sir," Harry said. "We saw him fall."

"Very sharp root," Padma added.

"Ah. Well, it would seem to be the word of he who was injured against the word of several...invisible students?"

Pomfrey threw up her hands and rubbed her forehead. Professor Sprout sighed.

"Hm, yes, mass invisibility, that will have to be seen to," Dumbledore said, winking at Harry and Padma. "For now, however, I suggest Mr. Malfoy be sent to his dormitory for some well-earned rest, and Harry and Padma continue on to class. Ancient Runes, isn't it? Very stimulating for the mind."

"But Headmaster..."

"Well, I have enjoyed our chat," Dumbledore interrupted, "but I'm afraid I must be going. Do come say hello any time," he added to Draco, who was smiling. "Good day, Madam Pomfrey, Professor Sprout."

As he left he presented each of them with a humbug. The two women sighed, and Madam Pomfrey shrugged.

"The Headmaster knows best; off you go, then, Draco. Harry, Padma, I'll give you slips for class."

"That was the best thing ever!" Draco whispered to Padma and Harry, as they left the hospital wing.

"I don't know," Padma said dubiously.

"It was your idea!"

"No, that was just keeping stuff from your mum, I think it's good practice for you. I mean, Dumbledore covering for Hagrid that way. What if he really is dangerous, as a teacher?"

"Well, then he's learned his lesson," Draco said. "Bet you we're stuck with really boring animals all year."

"Hey, where're you going?" Harry said, as Padma turned off towards the staircase. "Ancient Runes is this way!"

"I know! I'll see you there," she said, disappearing up the staircase. "Draco, I'll take notes for you!"

When Harry arrived at class, after walking Draco to the Hufflepuff common room, he found Padma already seated with an empty desk next to her and a pile of Arithmancy homework at her elbow.

"Got here early, saved you a seat," she said with a grin.

***

Harry met Draco in the corridor outside the Great Hall the next morning, falling easily back into the habit of early breakfasts. Padma and Neville showed up before long, Neville with his tie askew and hair still a mess from sleep.

"Don't look at me," Harry said, as Neville tried to flatten it down. "My hair's always a mess."

"Yeah, but it's a nice mess," Padma said. "I mean, it looks sort of good that way."

"Oh, sod it," Neville sighed, taking out his wand and pointing it at his head.

"Don't -- " Draco and Harry chorused, but Neville had already spoken the charm.

To be fair, his hair did now lie in a flat and orderly manner. The fact that it was also bright purple was lost on Neville, who couldn't see it. Padma rolled her eyes.

"Capellum fuco," she said. Neville's hair changed mostly back to brown. He mumbled a thank-you around the hot pastry the house-elves had delivered to the end of the Hufflepuff table where they sat. Hedwig, Remus and Sirius' snowy white owl, fluttered in through one window and looked around in perplexity when she found the high table empty.

"Poor Hedwig. It'll be good when Sirius has a real address again," Harry said as she spotted him and soared across the Great Hall, dropping off a Daily Prophet. "She isn't sure whether to bring things here or to Remus' rooms or to the Three Broomsticks."

Hedwig stole a sausage and flapped away while Harry unrolled the paper.

"Looks like Fudge finally made it to Azkaban," he said, studying the photograph of the Minister on the front page. Fudge looked pale even in monochrome, and didn't move except to shake his head from side to side at the camera.

"Says he's staying in Hogsmeade for another few days until the Aurors set up an office there. What do they want to do that for?" Draco asked.

"High time if you ask me. Hogsmeade hasn't got any security at all, and someone's got to keep an eye on the Dementors besides," Padma said. "Maybe Professor Tonks'll get reassigned here!"

"Doubt it," Neville said, looking glum. "She's a hero. She got reassigned to diplomatic last week. She's off running round the continent."

"Bet Professor Snape hates that," Harry said with a grin. Neville grinned back.

"Well, she does get whole weeks off at a time, 'cause they never know how long she'll be on."

"Guess you'll know when she's home," Padma snickered. "Professor Snape'll actually give nine of ten on a paper."

"Not mine!" Draco laughed.

"Uh oh -- Prefects on the way," Neville said, shoving his toast in his mouth and preparing to dash for Gryffindor. It was a standing joke that Percy Weasley hadn't yet removed whatever was stuck up his arse, and hated to see Neville fraternising in other houses.

"Nah, it's just Eddie Carmichael," Padma said, craning her neck. "He's in the year above me. He's a twit," she added. "And his girlfriend Marietta. Ugh, don't make eye contact."

Eddie Carmichael was a plain, studious-looking boy who was followed by a handful of girls in Ravenclaw blue. Harry guessed that the curly-haired girl at his elbow was probably Marietta.

"Hey," he called, spoiling Padma's plans to studiously avoid him. "Hey, Malfoy!"

Draco, looking resigned, raised his head.

"Yes, Carmichael?" he asked.

"I hear you passed out in class yesterday," Carmichael said. Marietta giggled. "Swooning over hippogriffs, eh? About your calibre, I suppose."

"What's that?" came a new voice from the other side of the room. A couple of sixth-years with Gryffindor ties had filed in. "Who passed out?" one asked mockingly.

"Draco Malfoy!" Carmichael called.

"What, the little spawn of Lucius Malfoy?"

"Oh, that's it," Neville said, standing up. All the Ravenclaws made fearful, sarcastic noises, but the Gryffindors hesitated. Two years before, a couple of students had paid dearly for turning Neville green. "Don't think I can't knock you down, Carmichael!"

"Getting your boyfriend to defend you, Malfoy? I hear your dad does the same thing," Carmichael taunted. Neville would have vaulted the table and gone for him, but Padma caught him by the shirttails and gestured to the doorway. Professor Snape had just swept through.

"But they're getting away with it!" Neville fumed.

"No they're not," Harry said calmly. "Come on, we'd better go."

Neville pointedly sat as far from the others as possible at the Gryffindor table, though he glared daggers at them all throughout breakfast. Padma did likewise at her own table, muttering audibly under her breath about Marietta. Harry dawdled at Slytherin until Towler and Pucey arrived.

"Hey Towler," he said, pretending to eat a muffin in front of him.

"Yah, pipsqueak?" Towler asked, spinning a sickle idly on the table.

"You know Edgecomb and Carmichael?"

"Not well. Why?"

"You know anything about Edgecomb she doesn't want public?"

"She'd hardly confide in him," Pucey said. "What gives, Potter? Got a crush?"

"Just playing a little game," Harry said.

"I hear she's a gossip," Pucey volunteered. "And she talks down other girls in her House."

All three boys shook their head, tsking. There was often no love lost amongst Slytherins and they'd stab other houses in the back soon enough, but you stabbed your family, at least, in the front.

"Well, that ought to do it. Who are the fourths in Ravenclaw?"

"Oh well, there's Edgecomb of course, Cho Chang -- god, you know Chang?" Towler asked Pucey. "Ravenclaw Seeker, nice hair?"

"Nicer legs," Pucey observed with a leer.

"Edgecomb, Chang, Gill..." Towler scrunched up his face in concentration. "Dunno the rest."

"That's enough, I think. Hey, you played cricket before Hogwarts, didn't you?"

"Sure. I'd play it here if they had it."

"Will you have a word with Malfoy? He wants to go out for beater and he's a keen batsman."

"Right-o," Towler said agreeably. "Only don't tell Flint, he'd call it traitorism."

"Sure," Harry said. "Now, watch this."

The hall was crowded now, and nobody else noticed as he made his way to where Carmichael and Edgecomb were sitting with the rest of the Ravenclaw fourths. Carmichael was doing an exaggerated imitation of someone having a fainting spell, which drew a lot of laughs. Harry stopped, facing them across the table, and leaned forward between two other students.

"Can I have a word before class, Edgecombe?" he asked. Carmichael howled with laughter.

"Are you going to beat us up too, Potter?" he asked.

"I don't think this is any of your business," Harry replied.

"Oooooh. Wee Potter's got his knickers in a knot."

"What do you want?" Marietta asked suspiciously.

"In private," Harry said gravely.

"Pull the other one," she said. She smiled, but it was an uncertain smile.

"I really think you should," Harry insisted.

"Go on, Potter," Carmichael said, making a shooing motion. Harry ignored it, staring at Marietta.

"Yes," she agreed. "Go on, Potter."

Harry straightened and shrugged. "All right. It's your funeral, not mine."

Then, very deliberately, he grinned at Cho Chang. "See you on the practice field, huh, Chang?"

She smiled back, looking confused but pleased. Marietta's eyes darted from her to Harry. Satisfied, Harry turned, winked at his teammates, and left the Great Hall. Even if she didn't come running after him, the uncertainty on her face was enough for now --

"Harry! Harry Potter!"

Harry stopped on the threshold of the front entrance, smiled to himself, and turned around. Marietta had come after him, just as he'd hoped. He wondered if Towler and Pucey were as amused by the bluff as he was.

"Go on, Edgecombe," he said, imitating Carmichael's shooing motion. She stopped, looking stricken.

"All right, what is it you wanted to say?" she demanded. He waited as she drew closer.

"Oh, that." Harry shrugged. "Nothing much. But I know what you said about Cho Chang."

She froze. Harry wondered if he'd hit more pay dirt than he knew.

"What -- what about her?" she stammered.

"We both know that, Marietta," he said, leering a little.

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Well, that depends on you, doesn't it?" he asked, giving her his best Snape smile. "It's not really any of my business, I'm just a third-year Slytherin. But, after all, I don't gossip about my own House."

"Harry, come on now, we were only teasing Malfoy a little."

"And if you tease him a little again, I'll talk a little to Cho Chang. She'll get the words right from my mouth. Just like I got them from Towler," he added, in a moment of inspiration.

"Towler knows?" she practically howled.

"Oh, he'll keep quiet if I ask him," Harry said. "Cho never has to know, really. But if you tease Malfoy again -- or if any other Ravenclaw teases Malfoy again -- "

"I can't police the whole House!"

"Find a way," Harry said ruthlessly. "Because otherwise Cho and I could get to be really good friends, y'know?"

He left her in the hallway and had almost made it all the way to his morning Potions class before he burst out laughing.

Chapter 7

At one point in this chapter I have used dialogue or description verbatim from The Prisoner of Azkaban. This is intentional, as Laocoon's Children does run parallel to the books. In this instance, Trelawney's speech and portions of Lupin's lesson are taken directly from canon.

***

Harry didn't get a chance to tell Draco about his brilliant politics until lunch; he had double-potions with Padma while Neville and Draco had double-Defence. He was eager, and a little scared, to hear their reactions to being taught by Remus. He'd heard nothing but cheerful gossip about Defence class so far, but he didn't care if the school liked Remus as much as he cared that his friends did. And that they wouldn't give him the cold shoulder if Remus was hard on them in class.

It turned out he needn't have worried. On their way to lunch, Padma and Draco gleefully dissected the morning's lesson on hinkypunks. Harry could hardly distract them long enough to tell the story of Marietta's blackmail.

"But you've no idea what she said about Cho Chang," Padma pointed out.

"Who cares? She doesn't know that," Harry replied.

"You didn't have to, you know," Draco said, slightly sullen. "I mean, I can take a bit of teasing."

"It wasn't just teasing," Padma retorted. "It was cruel and unnecessary. You can't help who you're related to."

"No," said Draco quietly. "S'pose not."

"But it is brilliant, isn't it?" Harry bragged, swaggering into the Great Hall. Snake, sensing food nearby, poked his head out from under Harry's collar.

"Do you really think it'll keep all the Ravenclaws in line?" Neville asked.

"Enough of them," Harry said, heading for Slytherin's table. "See you in Divination!"

"Not me, I've got the afternoon free," Draco grinned at Harry. "Have fun studying your balls!"

Draco's jest, weak as it was, was still the funniest thing about Divination class, as Harry soon found out. For one thing, it was in one of the highest levels of the castle: an entryway on the seventh floor led to a spiral staircase that seemed to go up forever, getting closer and tighter as it went. At the top landing there was nothing more than a trapdoor in the ceiling with a brass plaque on it reading "Sibyll Trelawney, Divination Teacher".

"Bugger this," Harry said to Padma. "How do we get up there? Levitation?"

As if in answer to his question, the trapdoor opened and a silvery ladder descended through it, sparkling in the dim light on the landing.

"Great," Padma said. "Remind me not to wear a skirt on Fridays."

Climbing up the ladder was like portkeying to an entirely different world, one made up mainly of chintz and china. There were a few narrow windows, but most of the light came from a handful of red-swathed wall lamps, giving the entire room a dark, crimson hue. It was packed with small tables, surrounded by armchairs and footstools, some of them looking rather greasy and well-used. It wasn't even cold outside, but a fire was burning at one end of the room next to a larger table that Harry could only assume was the professor's desk. The copper kettle over the fire gave off a smell of stale tea. The walls were lined with shelves, covered with dusty curios and teacups. It reminded Harry a little of one of the Betwys Beddau tea-shops, the one all the older people frequented, and a little of an engraving of Hell he'd seen in one of Remus' books.

He flinched back suddenly; what he'd taken for another heap of curios had begun to move, and turned out to be his professor. She was a thin, bespectacled woman in a gauzy shawl with tiny bells and bangles hanging from it; more hung from thick ropes of beads around her neck and bracelets on her wrists.

"Good afternoon," she said in a soft, misty sort of voice. "I am Professor Trelawney. Do be seated, won't you?"

Harry picked out a table near the back of the classroom, and Neville and Padma followed him there.

"Ah, my dears," the Professor said, gliding towards them. "I am afraid it is an ill omen to have three at a table -- you will sit here, my dear," she said to Neville, gently guiding him to where Ron Weasley was seated, "and you here," she said, returning for Padma, who sullenly followed her to where another Ravenclaw was seated. Harry sulkily kicked out a chair for Theo. Crabbe and Goyle took the table next to them and immediately began scratching swearwords into its surface.

"You may not have seen me before," Trelawney said, taking up a position at the head of the classroom. Harry noticed resentfully that at least two other tables had three occupants. "I find that descending too often into the hustle and bustle of the main school clouds my Inner Eye. So you have chosen to study Divination, the most difficult of all magical arts. I must warn you at the outset that if you do not have the Sight, there is very little I will be able to teach you."

She paused as she passed Neville and Ron's table. "You, my boy," she said to Neville. "Is your grandmother well?"

"My grandmother's dead," Neville replied with a remarkably straight face.

"I knew as much. My condolences," she said, passing onwards. Some of the other Gryffindors looked impressed. Harry wondered if "courageous" was the Sorting Hat's euphemism for "slightly dim".

"We will begin with tea-leaves, then progress to the Tarot. If we finish fire omens, we shall move on in second term to the most sublime of all divinatory devices, the crystal ball. Unfortunately, classes will be disrupted in February by a nasty bout of flu. I myself will lose my voice. And around Easter, one of our number will leave us forever. By the way," she said to Parvati Patil, "beware a red-haired man."

Parvati and Padma both glanced at Ron, the only red-head in the room. Ron looked terrified.

"Now, collect a tea-cup from the shelf, come fill it with tea, and then return to your tables and drink until only dregs remain," she said. She touched Neville's shoulder. "After you've broken the first cup, do choose one of the blue-coloured ones? I'm rather partial to pink. Now," she added, moving on, "Swill the dregs of the tea around the cup three times with your left hand and turn it upside down on its saucer. After the last of the tea has drained away, give your cup to your partner to read, using pages five and six of Unfogging the Future."

"Break a cup!" Neville said hotly to Harry as they stood in line to collect their teacups. "I've managed to feed myself for many years without breaking any cutlery at all, thanks!"

"She's just picking on you," Harry replied as Neville reached up to defiantly take one of the pink-patterned cups. "She -- watch out!"

The cup, which was coated with dust, slipped through Neville's fingers and crashed to the floor. Neville looked horrified.

"Blue-pattern, dear, please," Trelawney called. About half the class laughed, but everyone looked vaguely sympathetic. Neville gathered the shattered pink teacup onto a spare saucer and sheepishly collected his blue-patterned one.

Harry and Theo poured their tea and returned to their table; as one, they opened the window behind them and dumped out most of their tea. Around the room, the rest of the class was drinking and grimacing. Harry stealthily pulled the window shut and sipped the last of the liquid. Theo was a little too enthusiastic, and choked momentarily.

"Swirl!" Harry whispered to him. "Swirl for your life, she's coming!"

Theo hit himself in the chest with his right hand while he swirled with his left and upended the teacup onto the saucer. Harry followed suit and waited for Trelawney to arrive.

"Have you examined your dregs already?" she asked, beaming on them. "You must be very fond of the tea!"

"Absolutely," Theo croaked. Harry turned over his teacup and traded it with Theo, opening his copy of Unfogging the Future (half-price used in Mardjinn Alley, with interesting but mostly irrelevant margin notes and some very naughty annotations to the chapter on Crystal Ball Gazing).

"Um, it looks kind of like a..." Harry studied the list of images in Unfogging the Future madly. It looked like a lump of tea-leaves to him. "A volcano!" he said triumphantly. "Which is an...impending disaster. Well, that sort of makes sense," he said to Theo. Trelawney bent over his shoulder and studied it.

"Excellent, Mr. Potter," she said approvingly. "And yours?" she said to Theo, who was still clearing his throat.

"Right! Right. Uh, it looks like a flower and...a...tree," Theo said. "Sort of like a park...park's not listed...uh..."

Trelawney gave a little shriek and snatched it out of his hands.

"Can you not see it!" she cried, holding it under Theo's nose.

"A spider?" Theo said hopefully.

"My dear boy, I am so sorry to tell you this -- it is a Grim!" Trelawney declared. Harry stared at her, baffled.

"A Grim?" he asked.

"An omen of impending disaster!"

"Sort of like a volcano?" Harry ventured.

"Much worse, my boy! See the horns of a bull, here, and the shape of the Grim's head, the head of a black, red-eyed dog -- to see the Grim is to know that death is upon you!" she announced loudly. "And the horns of the bull, a troubled friendship -- someone close to you is near death!"

"Been there," Padma sighed, looking bored.

"Nah," Harry said, tipping the cup so that he could look into it. "That's not a dog, is it? Looks more like a kangaroo to me."

"What, like this?" Neville said, holding up his teacup. Trelawney shrieked louder.

"The Grim!" she declared. "But not meant for you! Tell me, are any of your friends ill, my dears?" she asked, looking back and forth between them. Harry looked at Padma, who smiled wickedly.

"Professor," she called, holding out her cup. Another very doglike figure had taken shape in her tea-leaves. "What do you think of this?"

Trelawney gave Padma an infinitely sad look. "One you love is near death," she said.

"Must be Draco," Neville said cheerfully.

"Who?" Trelawney asked, delicately.

"Draco Malfoy," Harry said. "He's our mate. A Hufflepuff -- "

"But you probably don't know him. I expect newspapers cloud the inner eye," Padma said.

"My dear, I am not certain you are taking this matter with the gravity it requires!" Trelawney said, scandalised.

"Oh, no, Professor!" Padma gave her a wide-eyed look. "I swear I'm giving it all the respect it deserves!"

Neville tried not to giggle. It came out sounding like someone was choking a frog.

"Clearly," Trelawney said with a significant frown, "Mr. Malfoy should heed the portents!"

"Meaning he should sign up for class," Harry whispered to Theo.

"Alas, we can but hope he will come to his senses in time," she continued, shaking her head. "In the meantime, we must press on..."

Most of the class actually seemed pretty awed by Trelawney's predictions and vague histrionics about Draco, but Neville and Padma were less than impressed.

"Honestly. It's all power of suggestion," Padma said as they walked back down the narrow spiral staircase. "And anyone who really isn't naturally gifted isn't going to get very far anyway."

"Dunno," Harry said. "It did sort of look like you both had dogs in your cups. She seemed awfully convinced..."

"Of course it looked like we had dogs in our cups," Neville scoffed.

"Why would you say that?" Harry asked curiously.

"You didn't see?" Padma asked, putting on her best innocent face. "We rearranged our tea-leaves when she wasn't looking."

***

Saturday morning dawned bright and beautiful. Remus knew, because he was awakened at dawn by a large black dog slobbering all over his face.

"Ugh! Sirius!" he groaned, shoving Padfoot's muzzle away. Sirius transformed on the bed and pinned him down, grinning. Remus saw he was fully dressed.

"Up up up!" Sirius said.

"Merlin, what time is it?" Remus asked.

"Six ay-emme. I want you to see the house. Come on, come on," Sirius said, wrestling him out of bed. Remus staggered towards his closet and began dressing sleepily.

"It still exists after ten in the morning, right?" he asked, pulling his trousers on.

"Yes, cranky," Sirius answered.

"Then why six -- "

"Because you can't really appreciate it unless you see it in the mornings. Come on, I've found a floo point nearby..."

Sirius' floo point turned out to be a little cafe on the edge of Hogsmeade, and Remus sipped tea as they walked, the end of his sleeve wrapped around the paper cup.

"Now, it's a bit far from the village centre but it's got a great big garden for moons," Sirius said excitedly. "And it's big enough for you and me on week-ends -- "

"When I don't have class duties -- "

"Right, right. And big enough for Harry too during the holiday. It's got washing charms in place on the sink and a chill-charmed cupboard, bootscrubbing spells in the front hall -- I checked the heating hexes myself, they're in good order."

"Rent or purchase?" Remus asked, blowing on his tea.

"Well...purchase," Sirius said. "But I can rent it out in summers and Harry's going to need a house of his own one day after Hogwarts, you know."

"Can you afford it?"

"We, Moony, we. That's why I want you to look at it, it'll be yours too, you know," Sirius said. "And yes. We definitely can."

"There must be something wrong with it," Remus said with a grin. Sirius led him around a high hedge and down a small path.

"Erm," he said. "Well, it...does need a new coat of paint and some work here and there..."

He opened a gate and guided Remus through it, almost dancing with eagerness. Remus grinned at him and turned to regard the house.

"Oh god," he said, startled out of any tactful reaction.

The house rose before them on the crest of a little hill, and he would have to admit that the view out the windows on the west side would be stunning -- sunlight touched the grass and stones of Creadonagh valley below the Forbidden Forest, turning it bright gold. But the house itself...

"It's so...orange," he said.

"Yeah, but paint is cheap enough," Sirius said, resting his hands on Remus' shoulders.

"But -- so -- orange, Sirius," Remus repeated. The house, a two-story affair with a handful of odd gables and turrets, might have looked normal enough in other circumstances, but the sheer orangeness of it -- two toned orange, orange with brighter orange trim -- overwhelmed. It was like a giant orange wart in the middle of a lovely green field. "I mean..."

"Come look inside," Sirius urged. "And don't mind the wallpaper, I'm going to pull that down too."

"Is it orange?" Remus asked, still stunned witless.

"It's blue!" Sirius said cheerfully.

"What did you do this morning, Professor Lupin?" Remus asked himself, while Sirius opened the door and led him inside. "Oh, not much, Headmaster. Got some tea in Hogsmeade. Went blind and insane. Bought an orange house. An orange house, Professor Lupin? Yes, Headmaster, with lovely blue wallpaper..."

***

Very few things could kill Harry's appetite. Quidditch matches, of course. Nerves in general. Rarely had excitement done it, but on Monday morning he found himself totally uninterested by the delicacies Denbigh tried to tempt him with. Today he was going to have his first Defence class with Remus, and he was looking forward to it with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. He'd studied with Remus before, of course, since Remus had tutored him in "extracurriculars" when he was a student at the little village school in Betwys Beddau. He'd come to Hogwarts with a reasonable comprehension of Arithmancy and Latin because of Remus, and he'd spent many hours practicing wandwork with sticks in the back garden of the River House. He'd never really considered that to be "class", though. That was just Remus, showing him how to do things.

Neville and Harry left breakfast early and were almost the first to arrive -- Hermione Granger was already seated at her desk with her books out, doodling idly with her quill on a scrap of parchment.

"Morning, Hermione," Neville said, taking a seat next to her. Harry sat on Neville's other side, unpacking his own book. No way was Hermione Granger going to show him up in Remus' class.

"Hi, Neville -- hi Harry," she added, blushing a little.

"Hermione," Harry said, setting out his inkpot. "Looking forward to class?"

"Oh yes. I've heard Professor Lupin knows all kinds of interesting things about the Dark Arts," she said, as other students began to arrive. There was still no sign of Remus, however. "He's going to take over the Dueling Club, too."

"Brilliant," Neville said. "Professor Lupin's great."

"Do you know him?"

"Yeah..." Neville faltered and glanced at Harry. "He's friends with my parents."

Other students began to pour into the classroom and Parvati Patil sat down on Hermione's other side at that moment to engage in what was apparently a hot bit of gossip. Hermione's attention swerved away from them as Parvati whispered in her ear. Harry glanced at the doorway just in time to see Remus enter, carrying the briefcase Sirius had bought for him and wearing his freshly-ironed teaching robes.

"Good morning," he said, putting his briefcase down on the desk. "Please put your books and inkpots away. Today's lesson will be a practical."

There were a few muffled groans as people re-packed their bags. Harry hurriedly shoved his book back and tossed his quill into the bag's pocket.

"I'm Professor Lupin, and I think..." he looked narrowly out at the double class, "I know quite a few of you already. You're Mr. Crabbe, aren't you?" he said to Crabbe, who nodded sullenly. "Yes, you're very like your father. And that must be Parvati -- almost called you Padma -- and there's Neville of course...hallo Ron! I had your sister in class on Thursday...and you must be Hermione Granger," he said to Hermione, smiling. "I've been warned about you."

Hermione turned so pale that Remus hastened to add, "Only good things! Professor McGonagall has nothing but good to say of you, Miss Granger."

Hermione heaved a sigh of relief as Remus continued to name off the third-years, stopping occasionally to be introduced when he couldn't place a student. Finally he came back around to Harry.

"And you're Harry Potter," he said, winking at Harry. "I think we've met once or twice, haven't we?"

"Yes, sir. I believe you know my godfather," Harry replied.

"Just so. Well, I've managed most of your names, and those I've only just learned I'm sure I'll remember with a little occasional assistance. I've rather a treat for you today. I had intended to show you a working demonstration of how Hinkeypunks trap their victims, but over the weekend a much more interesting creature was brought to my attention. Follow me, please. Leave your bags; bring your wands."

He led them out of the classroom and along the empty corridor in the opposite direction from the Great Hall. Harry wasn't sure where they were going, and he nearly ran into Neville when the whole class had to stop suddenly.

Craning his neck, he could see Remus standing at the front of the crowd. Peeves the poltergeist was in front of him, busily stuffing a keyhole with chewing gum.

"Peeves," Remus said in a reserved tone of voice. The poltergeist looked up, then flipped over midair to float upside-down, facing Remus.

"Oooho! It's the new professorling!" Peeves squealed.

"I'd take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you," Remus said, his tone still conversational. "Mr. Filch won't be able to get to his brooms."

Peeves stuck his tongue out and burst into song. "Loony, loopy Lupin! Looney, loopy Lupin!"

A few of the Slytherins giggled. Harry glared at Theo until he smacked Millicent and Goyle in the backs of their heads to stop them. Remus didn't seem affected in the least; he merely raised his wand and said "Waddiwasi!" in a commanding tone. The gum shot out of the keyhole as if it had been fired from a gun, ricocheted off the ceiling, and landed right in Peeves' left nostril. The poltergeist shrieked a startled curse and zoomed off down the hallway.

"Cool!" Dean Thomas exclaimed.

"Effective," Remus answered absently, leading them onwards. He stopped at a door marked "Faculty Common Room" and opened it, gesturing them inside.

The faculty common room, which Harry had never been in before, was a long room paneled in wood and furnished with old, mismatched chairs. A wall of windows looked out onto the grounds, and the fireplace at one end was empty, awaiting autumn's more bitter chill.

At the opposite end of the room from the fireplace, near to the door, was an old upright wardrobe which Harry guessed was meant to hold spare robes and cloaks for the professors. Remus crossed to it and the rest of the class followed, fanning out in a circle -- a circle that got a lot wider as the wardrobe gave an alarming wobble, banging against the wall and tilting forward on two legs for a moment.

"Nothing to worry about," Remus said calmly. "It's only a boggart."

Harry, as well as most of the rest of the class, felt that this was definitely something to worry about. Grimmauld Place used to have boggarts infesting the spare rooms, and he remembered hearing horror stories from Ted about getting rid of them.

"Who knows what a Boggart is?" Remus asked. Harry raised his hand quickly, barely beating Hermione's, but Remus eventually called on Seamus Finnegan.

"I -- it's a shape-shifter, isn't it?" he said uncertainly. "It takes the shape of whatever's most frightening."

"Very good, Mr. Finnegan. Boggarts nest in dark, enclosed spaces -- under beds, in unreachable cupboards, under the sheets on furniture in unused rooms. I once encountered one that had hidden itself inside a grandfather clock," he added. "This one is relatively new; I suppose it moved in over the summer. I managed to save it from the tender ministrations of Professors Snape and McGonagall -- " here everyone laughed, " -- by offering to use it as a lesson for my third years. Now, this Boggart, sitting in the darkness next to the Headmaster's second-favourite cloak, doesn't have a form yet. He doesn't know what frightens us -- yet. When we let him out, then he'll immediately try to become whatever each of us fears most. This means that we have an advantage over the boggart, doesn't it? Anyone care to guess what it is?"

Hermione's hand beat Harry's into the air this time, but Remus smiled at him. "Potter?"

"Uh," Harry said, thrown off by hearing Remus use his last name. "There are a lot of us, so it won't know what shape it should be?"

"Exactly. It's best to tackle Boggarts with company, and not just because you should always try to deal with the Dark Arts with a companion who can watch your back. Now, when Boggarts are faced with a pair of people, they have a decision to make -- what should they become? Headless corpse? Flesh-eating slug?"

The class made appropriately mock-terrified noises.

"I once saw a boggart make that very mistake -- tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening, of course," Remus said. "Now, how do we defeat a Boggart? All right, Hermione, your turn," he said.

"Laughter," she said promptly.

"That's right. You need to force it to assume a shape you find amusing. And the spell we use to accomplish this is, repeat after me, Riddikulus."

"Riddikulus," the class repeated.

"Riddikulus."

"Riddikulus," Harry chorused, along with everyone else.

"So, who wants to volunteer? Neville, a bit of Gryffindor courage?"

Neville grinned and stepped forward.

"Now, what do you find most frightening?" Remus asked.

"Professor Snape," he said, and the entire class laughed. Remus grinned.

"Come on, Longbottom! Professor Snape's scary all right, but there must be something worse."

Neville appeared to give it some thought.

"I don't reckon I like Dementors very well," he said, and the class was instantly quiet. Remus nodded.

"That's uncommonly wise of you," he said. "Very well then, let's see. Ted Tonks is quite the cook; you know that red apron he owns?"

Neville nodded, perplexed.

"And do you remember the time Andromeda played a trick on him and he came running out of the kitchen chasing her with a saucepan full of onions?"

Neville laughed. "Sure!"

"Right. Now, when the Dementor comes out of that wardrobe, I want you to picture it in a red apron, with a saucepan of onions in one hand, all right?"

Neville nodded and took his wand out of his pocket. "I'm ready," he said.

"Very well. On three -- one, two, three!"

Remus aimed his wand at the wardrobe and it burst open. Black smoke spiralled out, resolving itself into a Dementor with frightening speed. Neville turned pale and Harry felt sick, but just when he thought he might bolt, Remus shouted.

"Now, Neville!"

Neville lifted his wand automatically and shouted "Riddikulus!"

The Dementor jerked backwards as if a string had pulled it, and a red apron materialised over its cloak. One slimy hand suddenly grasped a large saucepan, and the other held a spatula. It looked down at the spatula in confusion. The apron read "REAL MEN SAUTEE". Neville and Harry both burst into immediate laughter, followed closely by the rest of the class.

"Excellent! Form up, let's give everyone a try -- you next, Crabbe!"

The Dementor swooped down on Crabbe, turning into a giant spiked ball as the rest of the students fell into line behind him.

"Riddikulus!" Crabbe shouted, and little streamers burst out of the tips of the spikes to the sound of kazoos going off. Parvati was next, her mummy unraveling and tripping on his own bandages, and after her came Ron. The Boggart burst out into a gigantic spider, but Ron was prepared and almost before it was fully formed, it had rollerskates strapped to its feet.

Harry, at the end of the line, watched as each student took their turn, marveling a little at the variety of fears, both concrete and absurd, that were passing before his eyes. Finally, he was next; he lifted his wand, but before he could, Remus stepped forward so quickly he almost collided with the giant jack-in-the-box that was about to have its lid slammed down on top of it by Goyle. It stretched and compressed and shifted into what Harry knew to be a moon, though from where he stood it looked more like a pale yellow balloon.

"Riddikulus!" Remus said almost lazily, and the moon deflated, buzzing all over the room before zipping back into the wardrobe. Remus locked the door and stepped back quickly as the wardrobe nearly toppled on top of him.

"Well!" he said, slightly breathlessly. "I think that's enough for one day. I'll have my fourths finish it off. Let's see; five points to everyone who tackled the boggart; ten to Hermione, Harry, and Seamus for answering my questions, and fifteen for Neville for going first."

Harry stared at Remus as the rest of the class filed out, heading back to the Defence classroom for their bags. Remus checked that the lock was secure, slipped his wand up his sleeve, and turned.

"Did you need something, Harry?" he asked mildly.

Harry was furious, suddenly; he'd known he wouldn't get special treatment from Remus, but he didn't think Remus would coddle him. He never had before.

"No," he snapped. He turned on his heel, almost running out of the room.

Chapter 8

If Harry was struggling with unfairness in Defence class, Draco wasn't doing much better in his morning Potions class with Padma.

"These are," Snape said, looming over him, "without a doubt the most pathetically ill-shredded daisy roots I have ever had the misfortune of witnessing, Malfoy."

Draco's cheeks burned and he pulled the roots towards him, trying to imitate Padma's delicately-diced roots on the cutting mat next to him. Snape continued to stand there, intimidating him.

"I find it difficult to believe that even you can fail to adequately brew a Shrinking Solution, but you may yet prove it possible," Snape said as Draco wretchedly continued to cut up his roots. "Patil!"

"Yes, sir?" Padma asked.

"At the end of the lesson, you will sample Malfoy's Shrinking Solution."

"Me, sir?" Padma asked, looking horrifiedly at Draco, who seemed equally horrified.

"Yes, you! Are all Ravenclaws deaf?" Snape demanded, stalking back to the front of the classroom. On his way, he swept the pulpy remains of a shrivelfig from Morag MacDougal's table into his hand.

"This," he said acidly, "is not a skinned shrivelfig. It is a former shrivelfig, now made useless by Ms. MacDougal's clumisness."

"At least it's not just you," Padma whispered to Draco.

"No, just mostly," Draco whispered back. "Help me! I don't want to poison you!"

"I don't want to be poisoned! Here, swap me roots," Padma said, trading with him and quickly helping him to dump her perfectly sliced roots into his cauldron. She efficiently re-cut his roots and threw them into her own cauldron, then turned to skinning her shrivelfig. Draco had already added his and was stirring it, a worried expression on his face.

"Is it supposed to be pink?" he asked.

"I don't know! I need a rat spleen," Padma said. She leaned forward and tapped Justin Finch-Fletchely on the shoulder. "Justin, got a spare spleen?"

"Take two, they're small!" he said, offering her two small, pinkish objects on the tip of his knife. She plucked one off, grimacing, and added it to her potion. It glowed neon green and she breathed a sigh of relief.

By the end of class, however, Draco's potion was still bright pink, no matter how much work he put into making it turn green, up to and including adding an enormous helping of parsley. The pink absorbed it all.

"Shall we, then?" Snape asked, ladling out a cupful of the horrible liquid. He offered it to Padma, who took it with a grimace. "If even Patil cannot teach you how to make a proper potion, Malfoy..."

But he stopped then, because Padma had already tipped her head back and downed the whole cupful in two long gulps. She set the cup down on the table and glared up at Snape defiantly.

Then, miraculously, she began to shrink. When she nearly slipped off the stool, Snape relented and offered her a small flask from his pocket. A sip restored her to normal size, and she held it out to return it to him, smirking.

"The next time," Snape growled, "it had better be the proper colour, Malfoy."

"Yes, sir," Draco said gratefully, bolting from the room. And, as it turned out, right into Neville.

"Wotcha!" Neville said. "Come on, let's get lunch and bugger off. Harry wants to sit outside."

"Fine by me," Padma said, sticking her tongue out. "That tasted foul, Draco."

"What did?" Neville inquired, leading them towards the Great Hall.

"Snape made me drink Draco's Shrinking Solution to make Draco feel bad about bollocksing it up," Padma said.

"LEECH JUICE!" Draco shouted, stopping suddenly. "That's what I forgot!"

Neville slapped his forehead. Padma shook her head despairingly.

They shoved sandwiches and a few pieces of fruit into their pockets and went in search of Harry, who was sitting on the steps of a side entrance that looked out over the Quidditch pitch.

"He's in a foul mood," Neville said as they approached. "We got to hex a boggart today -- "

"Really?" Padma asked excitedly.

"Yeah, and Remus didn't let him have a go. Harry thinks Remus was coddling him."

"He was," Harry said resentfully, as the rest of them joined him on the steps. "It isn't fair, him treating me like I'm not big enough to face a Boggart on my own."

"You didn't do very well with that Dementor on the train," Neville pointed out. The other three glared at him. "Well, it's true. And you know Remus, he's practically your dad, Harry. Ted'd be really uncomfortable seeing me mucking about with boggarts."

"It still isn't fair," Harry sulked.

"Well, don't dwell on it," Padma advised. "What've you got this afternoon, Charms?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Hey, Draco, are you going to have extra Transfiguration again? Or can you break away long enough to bat some Bludgers around?"

"Today?" Draco asked, alarmed.

"When better? Tryouts are on Sunday," Harry said. "Towler said he'd give you some tips, too."

"It'll have to be after dinner," Draco replied.

"That's fine, Towler has class all afternoon anyway. I'll get the key to the ball trunk from Flint," Harry said, looking marginally happier now that they were talking about Quidditch. "We can play until it gets dark. It's dead easy, you'll get the hang of it in no time."

"Need to borrow a broomstick," Draco said.

"There's plenty in the shed, you can use one of the spares. If you get on the team you can give Sirius some money and he'll buy you one," Harry said. Draco gave him an uncertain look, but he didn't really object. He was good at hitting a ball with a stick, after all, and that ought to be useful somehow. Draco had the uneasy sense that he was not always as useful as he might be -- oh, not with Harry and his friends, but in a general way. He had the dim idea that as a pureblood he was supposed to be safeguarding the heritage and defending the culture and all that. He just hadn't the faintest clue how.

***

"Moony? Moony, are you there?"

Sirius emerged from the floo in Remus' rooms, dusting ash from his sleeves and waving a rolled up parchment scroll importantly. Remus ought to be in his rooms by now; dinner was long since over and he didn't have tutoring on Mondays. At first he didn't see him and wondered if some faculty business had distracted him, but then he saw the tall, slouching figure leaning against the frame of one of the wide windows that looked out on the Quidditch pitch.

"Come here," Remus said quietly, and Sirius obeyed, giving him a curious look. Remus pointed at a couple of kids throwing around Quidditch balls on the pitch and offered Sirius a pair of omnioculars. He took them and twisted the little brass rings until the kids came into sharper focus -- not just any kids, but Harry and another Slytherin boy, Padma, Neville, Draco and one or two others in Hufflepuff yellow. All of them but Neville and one of the Hufflepuffs were on broomsticks, dodging and darting around the pitch. For a moment, Sirius felt a desperate squeeze of nostalgia on his heart. James had flown like that.

"How long have they been at it?" he asked, forgetting the scroll he'd hastily shoved in his pocket.

"About half an hour. As far as I can tell, Harry's giving a lesson."

"Really?" Sirius asked, focusing on Harry. It didn't look like he was snitch-chasing, that much was true. "Well, I expect nothing less."

Remus laughed. "I suppose so. See, he's got Neville and that other boy, Eric something, fielding Bludgers on the ground. Padma's throwing the Quaffle around with the other Hufflepuff and Harry and the Slytherin -- Towler, he's a Slytherin Beater, I'm told -- are showing Draco how to bat Bludgers."

"What does Harry know about batting Bludgers?"

"Not much, but he's practically an encyclopedia of flight dodges," Remus said. "Look at them go. Absolutely unafraid of death or dismemberment. When was the last time you saw professional Quidditch players play like that?"

"Never have done," Sirius replied, handing the omnioculars back to Remus. "They're a bit raw for the big leagues, Moony."

"Yes -- but they're fearless. Reminds me of you and James," Remus said, peering through the omnioculars.

"Well, come on then, let's go say hullo," Sirius said. "Oh! Wait a second."

He dug the scroll out of his pocket and unrolled it. "Sign here," he said, pointing to a blank at the bottom. "It's the deed to the house."

Remus skimmed the document. "I suppose you had Llewellyn Payne draw up the contract?" he asked.

"Old bird made it as airtight as possible," Sirius said, summoning a quill. Remus took it and signed, neatly, adding the date. "Splendid. I've moved in already. I'm going to paint it tomorrow."

"No idle hands for you, hm?" Remus asked. Sirius put the scroll on the mantel above the fireplace. "Where are we going, again?"

"Down to the pitch! Come on, I'll go as Padfoot, there'll be no harm done," Sirius said, shoving Remus towards the door.

***

In less than ten minutes, they arrived on the field, a big black dog chasing low-flying broomsticks and a brown-haired professor who hung back from the crowd, watching with detached interest -- except when Harry cut things a little too fine. Then his fingers tightened into worried fists before forcibly relaxing again.

By the time Harry landed, Padma and Neville were lounging on the grass with Padfoot and the sun was well low on the horizon.

"Good flying," Remus offered as Harry trudged past him towards the storage shed.

"I'm still mad at you," Harry said over his shoulder, stomping off. Remus blinked and glanced at Padfoot, who blinked back and jerked his head in Harry's direction. Remus took the hint and followed Harry into the little shed they kept their broomsticks and equipment in.

"Care to explain why?" he asked, leaning against the doorway. The others brushed past him and went to put their broomsticks away; Harry dawdled and double-checked the lock on the game-ball trunk until they'd gone again.

"Man to man?" Harry asked. Remus fought down a smile.

"Sure. No Professor Lupin here, just Remus and Harry," he replied. "What'd I do?"

"You're a rotten Professor," Harry accused.

"You didn't enjoy the lesson today? Harry -- "

"You didn't let me, did you? Cut me off before I could even get a crack at the Boggart," Harry exploded. "I didn't expect to be treated specially, but you're not my dad in class, you know. How am I supposed to learn anything if you don't let me try stuff?"

"Is that what this is about? You think I...spoiled you?" Remus asked, perplexed.

"Yeah! I wanted to try that spell!"

"Harry -- " Remus rubbed his eyes. "Does that sound like me?"

"No! And that's why I think you're a rotten -- "

"A rotten professor, right. Come on, Harry, it was one class and that's not why I did it."

"Then why?" Harry demanded. "Everyone'll say you're treating me special."

"Okay, okay." Remus made a calming gesture with his hands, palms down. "Right. Harry, I have no doubt that you can handle a Boggart and I'd be happy to have you give Riddikulus a try in private, okay? But you -- have a lot in your past. I was concerned that your boggart would cause a panic."

At least Harry was quiet now, listening intently. Remus took a breath and continued.

"I don't pretend I know your mind as well as you do, you're growing up. I know that," he said. "But I've raised you with Sirius for the last five years. I know a little bit about what you think and feel. I assumed -- maybe I'm wrong -- that your Boggart would be Peter Pettigrew. Or, god forbid, Lord Voldemort. I couldn't risk the rest of the class panicking because of it, Harry. I should have warned you sooner, but it didn't occur to me until class had begun."

He saw Harry staring at him and crossed his arms, almost defensively. "I wasn't trying to spoil you, Harry. I was worried about how little you're spoiled, really."

"That's still a rotten reason," Harry said sullenly.

"Am I wrong?" Remus asked mildly.

"No -- yes -- well, I'll never know, will I?" Harry asked. "Nobody ran away when Neville had the Dementor."

"That's true, but most of them still don't recognise Dementors."

Harry glared at him. Remus sighed.

"I'm sorry, Harry. Do you want a private conference with a boggart?"

"S'the principle of the thing," Harry muttered. Remus waited, uncertain what to do next. Finally, Harry scowled and licked his hand, offering it to Remus. "Truce."

"Truce," Remus replied, gravely licking his palm and shaking Harry's hand. "Promise not to do it again."

"Better not," Harry said.

"We are a spitfire, aren't we? Are you always this catty with your professors?" Remus asked, wiping his hand on his sleeve as they left the shed.

"Only the ones that underestimate me."

"Low blow! I thought we called truce!"

Padfoot bounded across the grass and knocked Harry over before he could reply, but Harry's smile came pretty easily, so he resolved not to worry overmuch.

Something told him this was just the precursor to Harry's teenage years; from here out it would only get harder.

***

The day of Quidditch tryouts dawned early for Harry's foursome, with Draco up at dawn from nerves. It didn't go smoothly, either.

Sunday breakfast was a generally informal affair, carried out more or less all morning as late-sleepers wandered in and a few seventh-years had a snack before going to bed. Fewer people bothered about table rules, so as long as Percy and the Slytherin prefects weren't around -- or weren't paying attention -- Harry and Neville went mainly unmolested while breakfasting at the Hufflepuff table.

"Listen, can't we just -- go do one last practice or something?" Draco said, fidgeting on the bench.

"Eat your toast," Padma commanded.

"The captains are probably already out there," Harry said. "It's a bit hopeless to practice now."

"But my forehand -- "

"It's fine," Neville said. "Um. When you hit the ball, anyway."

"Thanks," Draco muttered. "But I can still back out, right? I mean, I don't put my name on any list until I get there, so if I wanted to..."

"Don't you want to play Quidditch?" Harry asked.

"Well..." Draco frowned. "I should, right?"

"Should?" Padma asked.

"Team glory and all that. And it'd be nice....Harry has friends in all the other classes because he plays. And I like hitting Bludgers, it's just...everyone'll be watching," he said, squirming in pre-emptive embarrassment.

"Short memories," Harry replied. "Do you remember all the stupid moves I made last year?"

"No," Draco said sullenly.

"But you remember that one brilliant dive, don't you?"

"Sure, I suppose..."

"There you are then. It'll be good for you. Show the school you're just as good as anyone. Because you are, really."

Draco was about to reply when one of the other Hufflepuffs at the table (most Hufflepuffs ate breakfast in a timely manner, regardless of the day) leaned across and offered him the Daily Prophet.

"Better read it," he said gruffly, without a hint of the malice that a Slytherin might have used. Draco picked it up even as Padma said, "See? Everyone's watching you anyway..."

Draco's fingers tightened on the newspaper. He laid it flat on the table so that the others could see.

MUGGLE REPORTS LUCIUS MALFOY NEAR HOGSMEADE

WP - A Muggle woman has reported seeing Lucius Malfoy

yesterday evening near the magically shrouded village

of Hogsmeade in Scotland. Unaware that the Azkaban

fugitive is a wizard, she contacted a Muggle "hot line"

which has been set up on the chance Muggles might

encounter Malfoy.

The Muggle claims to have seen a 'filthy blond man in a

bathrobe hiding in the trees' outside Iobair, a Muggle

village located on the far side of the Forbidden Forest

from Hogsmeade.

The Ministry of Magic was notified and has responded,

although there is currently no evidence of Malfoy's

supposed presence in or near the Forbidden Forest. Aurors

say it is likely the woman heard a news report about the

dangerous Dark wizard and imagined seeing him.

"The Forest is patrolled not only by Dementors by several

creatures potentially even more dangerous to wizards,"

reports Kingsley Shacklebolt, who is spearheading the

effort to locate Malfoy. "There is no need for alarm."

The Forbidden Forest encompasses much of the land south of

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, dividing it

from Hogsmeade. It also serves to protect Hogsmeade from

Muggle settlements such as Iobair, which have cropped up

to the east in the last three hundred years.

"I know Mr. Shacklebolt!" Padma exclaimed. "He gave the examination for my...well, you know. And he's really good, Draco, I'm sure if he says it, it must be true."

"Or he's trying not to cause a parental panic," Harry whispered to Neville.

Draco looked doubtful, but he hadn't heard the whisper -- and, in the grand thirteen-year-old scheme of things, the immediate trauma of Quidditch tryouts far overshadowed the vague, distant trauma of his father being mentioned in the newspaper.

"What time are tryouts again?" he asked, glancing at Harry.

"Nine o'clock. Come on, we might as well go," Harry said with a sigh.

Down on the field, the Captains were just setting out the practice pads and broomsticks for the hopeful applicants. Towler and Pucey were sitting in the stands, yawning and looking annoyed at having to be out of bed before noon.

Harry left Draco and the others sitting on a sideline bench and went to say hello to Marcus Flint, who was having a heated debate with the other Captains.

"Listen, we have the most players to recruit for, we should go first," Flint was saying as Harry approached.

"That's crap, you should go last so we can get ours out of the way," Oliver Wood replied. "Wotcha, Pipsqueak."

"Hi Oliver," Harry said.

"Good you're here, Potter, go keep Towler and Pucey awake," Marcus said. "Listen, I didn't come down here at eight oh-bloody-early-clock to wait around all day while you poufs piffle with your broomsticks."

"There's no need for that kind of language," said the Ravenclaw Captain, Ellen Dawlish.

"We could draw lots," suggested Cedric Diggory. "Luck of the draw."

"Why don't you double up?" Harry asked. All four of them turned to him, surprised.

"It speaks!" Ellen said, grinning. "What d'you mean, double-up, Pipsqueak?"

"Well, we've got to get the most players," Harry said. "You're only looking for a Chaser, and Hufflepuff needs new Beaters, right? And Oliver only wants a Seeker."

"One new Beater, one Chaser," Cedric corrected. "What's your point?"

"We'll form up teams and do a few mock matches. Slytherin versus all comers. That way we get a chance to go through all our prospectives, and -- "

" -- and show off," Oliver said.

"It's tryouts, who cares?" Harry asked. "And you lot get as much time as you need to pit your people against the current Cup champions."

He glanced at Marcus, hoping he wasn't overstepping his bounds, but the older boy seemed to at least be considering the idea.

"Well, it seems sensible enough to me," Dawlish said. Oliver nodded agreement. "Ced?"

"Fine by me," Cedric said. "Let's make the roll lists."

Harry caught Cedric's sleeve as the others wandered away. "Diggory, I need to talk with you."

Cedric smiled easily at him. "About your pal Malfoy, right? I'm not going to make him my new Beater just because he's your friend, Pipsqueak."

Harry had the sinking sensation he was never going to outlive the nickname they'd given him in first year. "I don't want you to pick him if he's not best. I just thought you should know if I were you, I'd take him. He's a good flyer. Watch his dodges."

"Okay, Potter. But I want you up in the stands, no helping him from the pitch."

"Sure," Harry said, retiring in triumph. He jogged over to the equipment shed and unlocked his broomstick from its stand, carrying it out to the pitch.

"Here," he said to Draco. "It's faster than the practice brooms. Couple of other students have their own broomsticks, you might as well use mine."

Draco looked at it as if it might bite him. "What if I crash it?"

Harry shrugged. "Then I'll get Sirius to buy me a Firebolt. TAKE IT, Malfoy, and stop cringing."

Fire flashed in Draco's eyes for just a second, but a second was all Harry was asking for. He grasped the Nimbus and reached for the pile of greaves nearby. Harry nodded curtly and gestured for Neville and Padma to come with him to the stands.

"Harry!" Towler waved him over, rolling his eyes at Pucey when Neville and Padma came too. "Come help us make fun of the losers."

"Little Cricket's going out for Chaser, isn't ee a snookum?" Pucey said, pointing to where Colin Creevey was putting on a pair of gloves much too huge for him.

"He'll never make it," Harry said. "He's too small, even for a Seeker. Nother few years, maybe."

"Malfoy all ready to knock them around?"

"I hope," Harry said truthfully.

"No more training with him once we start practice, mind," Towler said. "Can't go giving away all our secrets. Flint hasn't even mentioned a new playbook yet."

"There's still time," Harry said. "Ah, looks like it's starting..."

Other students were arriving in the stands as the prospective players kicked off from the ground, some with a bit more difficulty than others. Draco seemed startled at the speed with which the Nimbus rose, but he covered it well, tossing the bat from hand to hand while he waited for the signal to start.

"Oh god, he's going to drop the bat," Neville said.

"He's a sure hand," said a new voice, and they all twisted around to see Remus and Sirius standing in the row behind them, hands in their pockets, looking for all the world like well-grown seventh years.

"Sirius!" Harry said, startled. Sirius winked at him. "What're you doing here?"

"Came through the floo. Seems a shame to spend the year in Hogsmeade and not see any Quidditch, and I thought Malfoy might like a friendly face," he said, sitting down. He offered his hand to the other Slytherin players, which probably took all the tact he had. "Sirius Black," he said.

"Adrian Pucey," Pucey replied, shaking his hand and looking faintly awed. "That's Towler."

"Martin Towler, sir," Towler said, equally wide-eyed. "I play your position."

"So I hear," Sirius said. Remus had wandered over to a knot of Gryffindors across the aisle and was pointing out one of the Gryffindor hopefuls. "Didn't think anyone would even remember I played at school."

"You nearly killed Hammerhead Gens in the seventy-five House Cup!" Towler exclaimed. Sirius looked rueful. "Knocked the snitch right out of his fingers, they had to have Kennilworthy Whisp himself mediate the call!"

"Who won?" Harry asked.

"Don't you even know?" Towler asked, surprised.

"I live with him," Harry said with a grin. "He's the guy who leaves his laundry on the sofa, not the Quidditch idol."

"Gryffindor won, but nobody was really satisfied," Sirius said. "I mean, we felt like it wasn't a fair win if people disagreed, and Ravenclaw felt like it wasn't a fair win at all anyway."

"So what'd you do?" Padma asked.

"Snuck out of dormitory after hours with pretty nearly the whole student body and had a second game," Sirius said, savouring the memory. "Dumbledore had to punish us -- everyone involved, Detention was so big they had to hold it in the Great Hall -- but he let us finish the match first. Gryffindor won fair the second time and we shook hands over it with Ravenclaw."

"Hey, there he goes!" Neville said, pointing to the pitch. Draco was dodging in and out of a complicated play, riding wing on a Ravenclaw would-be Chaser who was being dogged by a Bludger. He leaned forward, took both hands off the broomstick, swung forehand and smacked it straight into a knot of Seekers following the Snitch. Harry and Sirius cheered loudly.

"How's he doing?" Remus asked, strolling back over to sit with Sirius behind the others.

"Brilliantly, really," Sirius said. "What were you up to?"

"Making illegal bets with students over who's going to be Gryffindor Seeker," Remus replied easily. "My money's on Ginevra Weasley, personally."

"Little Ginny? The girl who used to pour paint in Harry's hair?" Sirius asked. "Is that her out there?"

"Yep. She's only a second-year, but she's clever and she hasn't any bad habits yet. Weasleys are practically born on broomsticks anyway, you remember Charlie Weasley. Wood's a fool if he doesn't pick her."

"Betting with students," Harry tsked. "Bad form."

"Well, if I win they have to write me a paper each on magical ethics, and if they win I've got to deliver a lecture on sex magic for any interested fourth-years and above," Remus said complacently. "Either way, they learn something."

"Sex magic?" asked Towler and Pucey in unison. Sirius sniggered. "Will that be allowed?" Pucey continued.

"Oh, I imagine I'll have to get parental permit slips from anyone who wants to attend, but I don't see why it shouldn't be. If you're allowed to dissect birds in Divination and rats in Potions, I don't think sex ought to be off limits. Besides, I'm sure Ginny will get the spot."

"Oof, there goes Cedric," Harry said, pointing to where the Hufflepuff Captain had grabbed his own broom and taken off to break up a nasty scrum between a couple of Chasers.

"He's rather good looking, isn't he?" Padma asked, leaning on the railing.

"Too old for you," Harry replied. "And too tall to be a really great Seeker anyway."

"There's more to people than Quidditch positions, Harry," Padma said.

"News to me," Sirius teased.

Just then, Draco darted between two other Hufflepuffs, who were both angling for a Bludger that was coming in a high, easy arc towards one goal. He cut close past Cedric and looked like he was going to collied with Ginny for a split second.

They heard him shout "Keep going!" at Ginny, who leaned forward on her broomstick and stretched out her left hand. Draco passed just above and to her left, pulled the Nimbus into a flat 180 spin, and brought his bat up just as the Bludger the others had already hit would have collided with her.

The impact of the spin, combined with the speed of the ball, knocked him backwards and he flailed, hooking his knee and one hand around the end of the Nimbus. Cedric blew a whistle loud and everyone stopped; even the Bludgers dropped flat to the ground.

In the silence, Ginny shouted "I got it!", holding up the Snitch triumphantly. Draco was still grappling with his broomstick. Cedric rose fast, grasping the collar of the other boy's robes and pulling him up onto the hovering Nimbus again. He patted Draco on the back, said something the spectators in the stands couldn't hear, and descended slowly to speak with Oliver Wood. When he'd touched down, he blew the whistle again and the Bludgers immediately rose, play resuming as before.

"Damn," Harry said, as Draco drifted out of play and slowly over to the stands. "He must have kicked him off."

"Stupid," Sirius said. "That was a bloody good play. He knew where the Bludger was going to be before it was even there."

Draco was almost level with the stands now, his face blank, hands white-knuckle gripping his broomstick.

"What'd he say?" Harry asked hesitantly. Draco gave him an empty look.

"He said I'm in," he told them, as if he himself didn't believe it. "He said, good play. You're in."

Sure enough, the rest of the Hufflepuff Beater hopefuls were dropping to the grass as Cedric called them down one by one. Harry and Padma helped Draco off his broomstick and over the edge of the stands, Harry pulling the Nimbus after him. Sirius slapped him on the back in congratulations.

"Now you get to do that," Harry said, pointing at the still-scrimmaging players, "Every week!"

"Well, hopefully not the falling-off-your-broomstick part," Neville added.

"Brilliant, Draco!" Padma said. Even Towler nodded professionally to Draco as one Beater to another.

It took Draco five or six minutes to come down from the adrenaline rush, but when he did, a huge grin split his face.

"I'm in!" he said triumphantly.

Chapter 9

At one point in this chapter I have used dialogue or description verbatim from canon. This is intentional, as Laocoon's Children does run parallel to the books. In this instance, a portion of the Dark Arts class is lifted with minor alterations from canon.

Also, In the interests of DRAMAH, I have moved the full moon slightly, from September 30th to October 2nd. I can do that, 'cause I'm the Author. :D

***

After the excitement of the Quidditch tryouts ended, school seemed to pick up in earnest, though it was an unseasonably hot September and most of the students would rather have been outside. They dreamed of cramming in a few last hours of freedom before the autumn rains began to set in, but the professors kept a tight rein.

Remus' classes continued to be the highlight of the week, and not just for the third-years; everyone seemed to be enjoying them, almost looking forward to them. They didn't face down the Boggart again (he'd been permanently destroyed by some of Remus' fifth-years) but they quickly moved on to Red Caps and Kappas, nasty creatures both and only dispatched through defensive spells. Remus promised he'd stop infringing on Care of Magical Creatures soon enough, but nobody minded; after the hippogriff attacked Draco, Hagrid had reduced the third-years to flobberworms, immensely boring creatures he was growing for Professor Snape's potions storeroom.

Severus found himself nearly as restless as his students, though much better at hiding it, of course. He would not have admitted for the world that he actually missed Dora but he did confess to McGonagall, with some perplexity, that for the first time he was finding the silence of his rooms oppressive in the evenings.

"Perhaps you're feeling pent up down in the Dungeons," she replied knowingly. "It is a rather monastic life for a young man like yourself. Where is Nymphadora these days, anyway?"

He was so aggrieved by her absence it didn't occur to him until later to question the propriety of the inquiry. "On the continent. She sends postcards," he added, annoyed.

"Oh yes! Dumbledore got one of her postcards to you by mistake, didn't he? The one with the -- "

"I'm surprised she isn't cited for sending obscenity through the mail!" Severus interrupted.

"I didn't think she'd written anything so terribly naughty on it -- "

"It was the front to which I was referring," Snape said sullenly.

"Dumbledore seemed very amused by it. I shouldn't worry if I were you. She's bound to be home soon," McGonagall said, patting his arm. "You can shout at her then."

They had been discussing it over tea after a Friday-evening staff meeting, and perhaps McGonagall had a little of the Sight herself -- or perhaps she was merely well-informed. The next morning, Severus woke up to a thump and a curse in his rooms. Instinct overriding common sense, he had thrown off the sheets and taken his wand from the nightstand before he even saw who it was.

"Is that a wand in your hand or are you just happy to see me?" Dora Tonks asked. She was covered in ash from head to foot and rubbing her elbow, which was turning red and starting to swell.

"What on earth?" he asked, not sure even what to demand first.

"You never changed the passcode on your floo," she said, gently pushing his wand-hand away and planting a sooty kiss on his nose. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"I didn't expect seven-am visits from the filthiest Auror of my acquaintance," he said, running a thumb down her forehead and showing her the black dust on it. "Have you been playing in the chimney?"

"I got lost," she complained. "I tripped getting in and my elbow bumped something and I ended up in some pub in Cockerham."

"Cockerham? Where in Hades is that?"

"Well you might ask!" she said. "It's a good thing I still had my robes on!"

He lifted an eyebrow. "Is there a reason, Auror Tonks, that you would not have your robes on while flooing into the private rooms of a Professor at Hogwarts School?"

She grinned and shrugged. One shoulder of her uniform robes slid down her arm, revealing what was definitely not standard-Auror-issue underwear.

"You did miss me, didn't you?" she asked, kissing him. He brought one hand up to grasp the back of her neck, and touched the other -- still holding his wand -- to her bare arm.

"Scourgify," he said against her mouth, and she shrieked as the cleaning spell cascaded over her, raising goosebumps on her skin.

"You," she said damply, through a burst of soap suds, "know how to kill a mood, Severus Snape!"

"I'll ring for breakfast," he said calmly, kneeling on the hearth. "Denbigh! Large breakfast for two, heating charms!"

"I don't want breakfast!"

"You will," he said, and then added over his shoulder, "Especially as I doubt we'll be leaving the room all day."

She stopped halfway through rubbing her hair dry on her now-clean Auror's robe. "Oh?" she asked delicately. He accepted the breakfast tray from the fireplace, set it on the table near the hearth, and crossed to stand in front of her.

"Well," he said, kissing her, "once I'm finished properly saying hello, there's the matter of the postcards to clear up."

***

The same Saturday morning that Dora Tonks was thoroughly enjoying her homecoming, Remus Lupin was still ranting about the events of the night before.

"Moony, you're going to give yourself some kind of health problem," Sirius said, really and truly worried. He wasn't sure he had ever seen Remus sustain any kind of anger for any length of time, let alone nearly twelve hours.

"Well, then they'd have to call in my substitute even earlier!" Remus said, pacing angrily back and forth. He'd come home (such as it was at the moment) and paced all evening; he'd gone to bed and slept restlessly. Then he'd gotten up, made a terrible breakfast, and begun pacing again.

"I mean, how could he?" he exploded, stopping and turning to Sirius, spreading his arms wide. "Dumbledore, of all people. I told him I was handling it, I told him I'd leave notes..."

"Dumbledore does things his own way, always has," Sirius replied. He was still sore from all the fiddly little painting he'd had to do where charms wouldn't work, and tired from the interior work, pulling down the blue wallpaper and preparing the walls for painting. Plus there was unpacking to do and their bed still lacked a frame. He wondered if he could channel some of Remus' anger into helping him assemble some of the new furniture that had been delivered. "What did he say, exactly?"

"I said to him, Headmaster, I'm preparing my notes for the first full moon, I expect I'll be out Monday the fourth and back on Tuesday," Remus recited. "All I wanted to know was who was going to cover for me or if I needed to ask around and find someone myself."

"And he said?"

"He said there's no need, he was arranging a guest lecturer to handle my classes on Monday and Tuesday if necessary, and he'd have others throughout the year."

"Which is thoughtful of him," Sirius pointed out.

"Thoughtful! Sirius, he called the most viciously bigoted, small-minded -- "

"Did he actually call the Ministry and ask for someone? I thought you said -- "

"Will you please be on my side for a minute!" Remus shouted. Dobby, who had been trying to quietly and unobtrusively clear up the breakfast dishes, squeaked and disappeared under the sink. Sirius stared at Remus for a second, stunned, and then grinned. Remus let his shoulders slump and leaned on the kitchen counter.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Don't be! This is all very healthy for you. I've been telling you all these years not to repress!" Sirius said, still grinning. "My fault, Moony. Yes, it's very wrong that your students are going to be placed at the mercy of a Ministry stooge, but I'm sure it's some kind of political move to get the Ministry off his back so that he can call interesting people the rest of the year."

"I think it's a conspiracy to make me come in and teach class. I mean -- I could, you know. I've been up and around the day after a good change before. I could teach class."

"Moony," Sirius said, standing up and walking to where he was leaning against the counter. He wrapped his arms around Remus' waist and kissed the back of his neck. "Go talk to Dumbledore. Shouting at me is fun, but isn't going to get you anywhere. Go shout at him for a bit. He'll be delighted, I promise."

"I can't shout at him, he's the Headmaster."

"And you're not a fifth-year anymore. Tell him you want to choose the guest lecturers for the rest of the year. I'll come and lecture if you like."

"On what?" Remus asked, distracted.

"I'm a Black, we practically invented the Dark Arts. Get Andi to come talk, she can tell about cleaning out Grimmauld Place."

Remus sighed. "I should just let him do it. He probably won't pick an entire year's worth of idiots."

"Remus."

"What?" Remus groaned. "Fine, fine. I'll talk to him on Monday."

"Why not now? He's probably at breakfast."

"Sirius -- "

"No better time to make anyone agree to anything than at a meal. Catch him with his mouth full, then he can't say no."

Remus looked at him suspiciously. "Is that why Harry always asks my permission for something while I'm eating?"

Sirius looked entirely too innocent to actually be innocent. Remus rubbed his forehead, then went to the front door and pulled on his shoes.

"Do I look all right?" he asked.

"You look fine for a Saturday morning. Go," Sirius replied. "And if Severus Snape is there, tread on his toes for me."

"You have to stop being mean to him, he's making this new potion for me and we're very grateful," Remus said, taking down a pinch of floo powder and lighting the pile of dry kindling in the fireplace with a flick of his wand.

"Good luck," Sirius said. Remus threw the powder into the floo, climbed in, and announced "My rooms!"

Sirius, grateful for a few minutes' silence, fished Dobby out from under the sink and sent him to Hogsmeade for some decent sausages, then settled down with tea and a book in the only fully assembled chair in the bare, box-filled living room.

When Dobby returned after ten minutes, he was still engrossed in his book and ate while reading. After twenty minutes he was mildly concerned; at thirty minutes downright alarmed. He was about to floo into Hogwarts himself and demand to know what they'd done with Moony when Remus reappeared in a cloud of ash.

"How did it go?" Sirius asked, trying to sound calm.

"He made me have a bowl of oatmeal with those little sugar dinosaur eggs in it," Remus said, throwing himself down into a chair. He looked a little more relaxed, at any rate. "He said if I wrote up a proposal for the rest of the year he'd have the board of governors sign off on it, as long as the speakers had reasonable merit. He did say you weren't allowed to lecture on pranks."

"He knows me too well," Sirius said gravely. "But that's good news, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose. I mean, yes it is. But, you know..." Remus leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. "Basically, he made me eat a proper breakfast and gave me homework. I'm never actually going to be a grownup, apparently."

Sirius laughed and set his book down, resting his arms on the table.

"So," he said, "let's plot who you want to ask to lecture."

***

Remus' suspicions were confirmed the day he started the Wolfsbane Potion.

"Is all this really necessary?" he asked, shivering shirtlessly in the Hogwarts hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was making a detailed examination of his scars while he listed off everything he'd eaten in the past two days.

"That depends," Snape remarked, a charmed quill hovering over a piece of parchment floating in midair. "Do you wish to receive the Wolfsbane potion or not?"

Dora's presence in Scotland -- he'd seen her around Hogsmeade -- seemed to have done little for Snape's disposition, though apparently he was grading his students slightly easier.

"Yes," Remus answered.

"Then you will please inform me what you had for dinner this evening."

"A rare steak and some of those marinated carrots. A couple of dinner rolls, a small bowl of sherbert, and two glasses of wine," Remus recited, vaguely annoyed.

"Does that constitute an increase in appetite from your usual?" Snape inquired.

"Yes."

"Is this habitual?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "Yes. About a week before the moon I tend to start eating more, particularly rare meat."

"Your weight is listed as...eighty-one point six kilograms. Is that normal?"

"Within reason, yes."

"Mmh." The quill scratched on the parchment. "There are dietary restrictions accompanying the potion."

"Permanent?" Remus asked, looking vaguely worried.

"No. After your evening meal you are not to consume refined sugar, acidic fruit juice, or more than two glasses of water. Once you have consumed the potion, you may sip water; do not consume any food for at least thirty minutes."

Remus saluted. Snape looked at him sourly.

"The measurement is precise, so please drink it all," he said, walking around the bed to where a set of brass scales, a goblet, and a small cauldron stood. He placed the cauldron on the scales, adjusted the weights in the other cup, and began to ladle a smoking liquid into it. The scales clanked slightly; he picked up the goblet and offered it to Remus.

"Severus, I know this is troublesome and I just wanted to say again that I'm -- oh god," Remus said, nearly spitting his first sip back into the cup. "Is it supposed to taste like second-hand bile?"

Snape looked at him impassively. "Bile is one of the ingredients," he said, deadpan.

"Wonderful," Remus said, throwing his head back and downing it in two large gulps. He covered his mouth, winced, and set the goblet down carefully. It was still smoking.

"Sugar makes it useless," Snape continued, picking it up.

"I do appreciate it, you know," Remus said, turning around as Snape crossed back to the cauldron again. "Bile-flavour and everything. If it works, it'll be..." he trailed off haplessly. It was difficult to explain, especially to someone as controlled as Severus Snape, how horrifying the loss of control, the loss of memory always was.

"I shall expect a full report on its effect as soon as possible after sunrise on the third of October," Snape said.

"I'm generally asleep after a full moon sunrise, but I'll do my best," Remus replied. "Thank you, Severus."

Snape did not say "You're welcome," but he didn't scowl as Remus dressed and departed, which he supposed was a step in the right direction.

***

The morning of October fourth dawned remarkably rainy, and Harry wondered whether Remus and Sirius had even been able to venture outside for the full moon. They did all right indoors so long as Padfoot was around, that much he knew, but the new potion Professor Snape was brewing for Remus was an unknown quantity. He hoped they were both okay, and tried to reassure himself that he'd have heard if they weren't.

Remus hadn't told the class he was going to be gone that day, probably because he thought there was an even chance he might still make it in. Harry didn't see him at breakfast, however, and knew with a sinking heart that they were going to have a substitute.

He'd asked Remus what they were going to be doing in class if Remus wasn't there, but Remus had smiled frustratingly and replied, "If you really don't want to be treated any differently, Harry, I can't tell you. I wish I could, believe me -- I wish I could warn you. But if nothing else...it'll be a good test of your critical thinking skills."

And with that enigmatic remark, he'd gone off to Hogsmeade for the weekend.

"Who do you think it'll be?" Neville asked, as they made their way down the corridor towards Defence class. "You never know, it might be Dora!"

"I don't think Remus would be as upset about it as he was if it were Dora," Harry answered. "Whoever it is, he doesn't like them much."

"Cornelius Fudge!" Neville laughed.

"If he's teaching our Defence class I'll laugh in his face," Harry replied. Parvati Patil and Hermione Granger caught up with them at that point.

"Did you hear?" Hermione said to Neville.

"Hear what?" Neville asked.

"Someone from the Ministry's teaching Professor Lupin's class today! He's sick," she added.

"Never," Harry drawled.

"I hope it isn't serious," Parvati said.

"Parvati thinks Professor Lupin is dreamy," Neville told Harry. Parvati hit him in the shoulder. "Ow!"

"All the Gryffindor girls do," she said. "Even Hermione."

"I do not!" Hermione said, but she blushed.

They slowed as they approached the Defence classroom, Harry putting a finger to his lips and poking his head around the doorway cautiously. At first he didn't see anyone; then some of the shadows in one corner resolved themselves into a stout, wobbly sort of shape.

A soft, fluttery, high-pitched voice spoke. "Come in, young man, do come in."

Harry glanced at the others, shrugged, and strode into the classroom, sitting in the back -- far from his usual spot -- and slinging his bag over the back of his chair. Hermione and Parvati, curiousity overcoming them, sat down in front. Neville sat across the aisle from Harry, close enough to pass notes without being close enough that the teacher would immediately separate them.

His eyes adjusting to the unusually dim light, Harry was finally able to make out a figure and a face for their new substitute. After a moment's consideration he decided that "toad" was probably a good description, though that might be an insult to nice toads everywhere.

She was a short, stout woman with a broad and flabby face, no neck to speak of and a wide, almost slack-jawed mouth. Her large, close-set eyes bulged slightly under hair that was pulled tightly back into curls on the top of her head, tied with a black velvet bow. She wore a fluffy pink cardigan as well, and a ruffled pink skirt that would have looked more appropriate on someone around nine years old.

Other students began to arrive, and she greeted the more hesitant ones in the same oddly girlish tone. Surprisingly, the last person to arrive, in a knot of Gryffindors, was Albus Dumbledore.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," he said, striding up to the front. His clear, confident voice was a relief after ten minutes of the woman's cooing. "Unfortunately, Professor Lupin is ill and cannot be with us today. However, in his place I have arranged for a very...unique substitute. Ms. Dolores Umbridge -- "

"Hem, hem," said the woman behind him. He turned to her, curiously.

"I am Dolores Jane Umbridge," she said, stepping forward, "Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge."

"Just so," Dumbledore said drily. "And she has come here today to speak to you about the dangers of magical beasts, which I understand Professor Lupin is currently reviewing with you. I hope you will all give her the respect and attention she deserves, and show her the true spirit of inquiry for which Hogwarts School is so well-known."

With that cryptic statement and a very slight smile on his face, he turned and glided serenely away. The entire class of Slytherin and Gryffindor third-years stared with unabashed amazement at the only human being they'd ever seen interrupt Albus Dumbledore on a technicality.

"Well," she said. "This is nice. Good morning!"

A few people mumbled some form of greeting in reply; most were too amazed to speak.

"Tut! That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good morning, Miss Umbridge'. One more time. Good morning!"

"Good morning, Miss Umbridge," the class echoed back at her.

"There, now, that wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away please," she added, and Harry rolled his eyes at Neville, tucking his wand up his sleeve and taking out his inkpot.

"Now, I understand from an examination of Professor Lupin's notes that he has been educating you on the dangers of magical creatures, although his curriculum is, I may say, not in keeping with current Ministry policies on the subject..."

Harry bridled at the silent criticism of Remus. Hermione Granger's hand shot up.

"Questions at the end," Umbridge said dismissively.

"It's about Ministry policy," Hermione said.

"Stand when you address me, if you please."

Hermione obediently stood up. "With all due respect, Madam Umbridge -- "

"Miss Umbridge. And you are...?"

Harry grinned. Score one for Granger and Gryffindor.

"Hermione Granger, Miss Umbridge. The Ministry doesn't set Hogwarts policy, Headmaster Dumbledore does."

"For now," Umbridge said coolly. "Be seated, Miss Granger."

"Ms. Granger," Hermione corrected, seating herself primly. Umbridge decided to ignore it, taking out her wand and pointing it at a piece of chalk, which leapt into the air.

"I am sure Professor Lupin's approach to 'education' is thoroughly unique," she continued disapprovingly. "But I am here to present the Ministry's views on the topics of..."

The chalk began to write on the board, outlining a short list:

1. Classification of dangerous creatures

2. Identification of dangerous creatures

3. Various situations in which defensive magic may safely be used

4. Proper authorities to notify

It was an extremely tedious lecture, complete with fuzzy black-and-white slides whose occupants themselves looked bored, barely moving in their frames. A couple of Slytherins tried to even the score by raising their hands at various points, but Umbridge pointedly ignored them. First they learned about the X-classification system, which Remus had gone over on the first day of class just to make sure they were aware of it: how various animals were rated as threats, from a single X to five for the most dangerous creatures like dragons and acromantulae. Then they were shown lots of pictures of low-risk animals and the various people who had discovered, and sometimes been killed, by them.

Harry didn't really pay much attention until she reached the end of her second point. Then he sat up so suddenly that he woke Neville, who was dozing across from him.

"The werewolf is considered a five-X rated beast," she was saying, indicating a slide of a man in mid-transformation. Harry recognised it; he'd seen it in a book years before. "There are two methods of detecting a werewolf, one for when it is in what is known as Mortal form, and one for when it is in wolf form. The five methods of detecting it in wolf form are -- "

Harry's hand shot up.

"Yes, Mr...?"

"Potter, ma'am," Harry said, standing. He fought down a laugh; he was tempted to ask her to call him Miss Potter. "The five methods of differentiating a werewolf from an ordinary wolf are in the shape of the snout, elongated in a werewolf, the colour of the pupils, deep yellow, a significant tuft on the tip of the tail, the enlarged size of the paws, and the length of the incisors."

She gave a pleased sort of whistling sigh.

"Very good, Mr. Potter! What a star pupil you are. And can you tell me the methods of differentiating a werewolf in mortal form?"

"You mean human form?" Harry asked.

"When they appear to be human," she replied.

"Doesn't matter," Harry said. "Werewolves aren't dangerous as humans."

Umbridge shook her head, giggling. "Mr. Potter, such naievete! Why -- "

"I suppose you could count not being able to get a job as a way of differentiation," Harry added. She froze. The entire class seemed to grow tense. "And having to undergo painful physical examinations on Ministry orders. But then you know that, Madam Umbridge. You wrote the law."

"Miss Umbridge," she said sharply. Most of the Slytherins snickered. "Sit down, Mr. Potter."

"I have a question, Miss Umbridge," Harry said.

"Questions at the end," she replied. A sickly-sweet tone had invaded her voice; she was going to win, because she was the teacher, and she knew it.

Well, not if Harry could help it.

"It is impossible to differentiate a werewolf from an ordinary human being in Mortal form," Harry said loudly.

"That is untrue, Mr. Potter," she cried triumphantly. "Werewolves in mortal form can be differentiated by the shape of the pupil, the positioning of the eyebrows -- "

"Madam Umbridge, may I ask what source you're using?" Parvati said, standing up. Harry, who was still standing, grinned at her.

"Questions at the end," Umbridge repeated, turning to the blackboard. "The Ministry's approved source on werewolf physiology is Hoff's treatise of 1637 -- "

"Not Sanzecki?" Harry asked, honestly startled this time. "He's much more recent and his book has actual statistics in it, I've seen them."

"Anyone not in their seats when I turn around will be given an immediate detention," Umbridge said. Parvati gave Harry a "what can I do?" shrug and dropped back into her seat. Harry sat down on the very edge of his, thrusting his legs out into the aisle. When she turned around, she smiled sweetly at Harry, who had crossed his arms defiantly over his chest. The score was still technically two to one for Gryffindor.

Theo Nott raised his hand and spoke without standing. "Who's this Sanzecki bloke anyway?"

Umbridge deliberately turned away from Theo and began speaking again. Theo shrugged and put his hand down. "Is he trustworthy?" he asked over Umbridge's pre-prepared speech. She kept talking.

Pansy Parkinson looked positively wicked as she stood up. "Madam Umbridge, I'd like to hear more about why the Ministry's approved source is Hoff's Treatise of whenever..."

"Madam Umbridge said sixteen thirty seven," Hermione replied, also standing. Both girls sat down, grinning. Umbridge was still speaking, but nobody was paying the slightest bit of attention now. Every few sentences, someone would call out a question and a short contest would ensue to see who could keep the questions going until they ran out. By the time class ended, they'd managed to drown her out for nearly forty minutes. Harry was in pain from keeping the laughter inside, because everyone in that classroom knew that as soon as someone laughed, the fun would actually end.

Once in the corridor, however, with the Defence classroom's door shut with a slam behind them, Harry doubled over in the hallway and laughed until he wept.

"Harry Potter, valiant leader of the student insurrection of '93," Neville said, slapping him on the back. "That was brilliant, Harry."

"Thanks," Harry gasped. "Oh god, let's go eat lunch. Remus is going to be absolutely furious if he hears, but it was worth it."

Chapter 10

October 4, 1993
Hogsmeade

Dear Andromeda,

Well, here I am, writing to you -- partly because I want to hear from you, partly for lack of better occupation, I'm afraid. I'm on bed-rest today after the moon, though I don't mind it so much. Teaching is terrifically exhausting and it's almost nice to have an excuse to skive off a day, especially a Monday.

I'm writing from the bedroom overlooking Creadonagh Valley in the house Sirius has purchased, on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. We haven't named it yet. At the start of the school year I thought the Oh Merlin It's So Bloody Orange house would be a good name; Sirius has since repainted it a nice shade of green with white trim and it's almost painfully domestic. Painfully Domestic House, however, doesn't precisely have the right ring to it either.

I was glad to hear that the Werewolf Support Network hasn't caused you any problems so far. It sounds as though you have good, hardworking people staying with you and I'm sure they're grateful for the assistance. I wouldn't worry too much about the younger girl -- pride is hard to overcome, and so is natural shyness. She'll warm up to you if you give her time, I've no doubt. Perhaps Nymphadora might take her to lunch, it's hard to make friends in a strange new city. The important thing is that she's working and earning some money and self-respect. It's a good thing you're doing, despite Severus' reservations.

In fact, speaking of Severus, I've just finished up my first account ever of a full moon spent as a wolf, for his research. It took quite a while to get it all down, though Sirius helped a bit and I wanted to record it anyway. I've spent so many years wondering what it was like, so many years having to go on faith and assurances by Sirius and the others that I hadn't hurt anyone -- hadn't hurt one of them, which was always my biggest fear. Now...

Well, I've never done hard drugs, but I imagine the experience is similar, and similarly hard to describe. I've always remembered the pain; this time I remembered so much more -- the aftershock of pain, you know -- like how a scratch can hurt more an hour afterwards than it did at the time. Even so, it's a background echo in the end. Everything becomes so much more vivid, so much more sensory. Every nerve seems to stand up and scream its presence. You take for granted that cats and dogs and wolves have whiskers, but you never really think about what it must feel like, until you feel it. It's absolutely amazing, Andromeda. All these years I've thought I'd trade in my lycanthropy in a flash for a chance at a normal life, and I still would -- trade it, that is -- but...

I'd hesitate now. I'd pause just for a moment and ask myself if it was worth it. It would be worth it, to live like normal people do, but I'm glad to have at least experienced the wolf on my terms, not on his.

Which leads me to the other thing I thought I ought to tell you. Scent is ridiculously vivid, in the wolf, and the smell of humans and magic are both very distinct. Once we'd decided I was more or less safe, we got out of the house and I must admit I lost myself in the Forbidden Forest for a while, on the Hogsmeade side where the Dementors aren't permitted to go. It was just so amazing, the richness of -- of existence, Andi.

But while we were out there I picked up a scent that I didn't recognise, or rather I recognised it and couldn't place it. I spent all morning wrestling with what it might be, but I think I've finally figured it out. It smells like Peter Pettigrew. Like he was in the Forest, all over it in fact.

I can't be certain, really, it could be my mind playing tricks on me and the Aurors in the paper have said over and over again that Lucius Malfoy can't be anywhere near Hogsmeade. I don't even know that Lucius and Peter are together, though I strongly suspect it. All the same I've written to Nymphadora about it. I can't come out and say it publicly, people will ask how I knew and that's something I have to protect as much for Harry and Sirius as for myself, but Nymphadora can tip off others on the sly, and I thought you ought to know. Draco's your nephew and Narcissa your sister, which makes you a target -- and I'm certain that where Peter goes, Lucius follows. By now it might even be the other way around. Sirius and I are protecting Draco, and so is Severus in his own way, but you and Ted need to be careful too. Please look after yourself down there in London.

Remus.

***

Remus did return to class on Tuesday, against the combined advice of Madam Pomfrey and Sirius. He walked steadily enough and his voice was clear, but his robes hung somewhat loosely on his shoulders and there were dark shadows under his eyes. The Change took more of a toll on a thirtysomething than it had on a teenager, but the potion and Padfoot's presence together had ensured that he came through unscathed, for once. Besides, he'd had two days of bed rest on Snape's orders, plus another embarrassingly thorough examination.

He arrived early to put his classroom in order and look over his notes; apparently that Umbridge woman hadn't left any record of what she'd gone over with Monday's classes, which was shabby of her but probably pretty in-character. His classes went mainly without a hitch until the last hour of the school day, which he had free on Tuesdays. As the students were filing out, Dumbledore looked in -- and some of the students smirked when they saw him, never a good sign.

"Remus, I was wondering if I might discuss a small...disciplinary measure with you," Dumbledore remarked, serenely seating himself in one of the front row desks. Remus took the desk across from him, relieved to be able to sit down.

"Of course -- why me, though?"

"It concerns yesterday's Defence classes," Dumbledore replied, taking a roll of parchment out of an inner pocket of his volumnous robes. "Apparently your afternoon classes were quite docile and pleasant, according to the account I received from Miss Umbridge. Your morning double-class, on the other hand..."

Remus put a hand to his forehead. "My third years," he said. "Harry did something horrifying, didn't he."

"It would certainly seem so, according to this letter of complaint. To judge by Miss Umbridge's vitriol, he only barely stopped short at physical assault. I shall spare you her details, but it appears that Mr. Potter insulted her, encouraged a mass insubordination, argued with her, called her a liar, and demonstrated a complete lack of respect for the institution of Hogwarts, the Ministry and, so it would seem, all of Wizarding Britain. She recommends his expulsion from school. She recommends mass punishment for the rest of the class as well, for disrespectful and insubordinate behaviour hardly befitting children half their age."

Remus stared at him, stunned. "What on earth did they do, tie her up and play may-pole with her?"

"I imagine she's too short," Dumbledore said calmly. Remus tried not to smile. "As I understand it, the debate began over a portion of her lecture regarding werewolves."

Remus was instantly sober. "Werewolves, sir?"

"Mr. Potter has strong views on the treatment of werewolves. So does Dolores Umbridge, as you know."

"I see. What are we to do?"

Dumbledore studied him. "As their teacher, it is primarily up to you. Of course we cannot allow mass disrespect for a guest at the school go unpunished, but I've found corporal punishment very ineffective on disobedient children, on the whole, as I'm sure you'll recall."

"But we have to show we did something," Remus replied.

"Just so."

***

Harry knew that he was in deep trouble when Dumbledore stood up for evening announcements at Tuesday dinner and requested all Gryffindor and Slytherin third-years to report for a special meeting in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom following the meal.

A chorus of knowing "ooooh"s rippled through the hall and Harry looked up to find Remus gazing directly at him; Umbridge must have called a conference or left a note or something. Harry was pretty confident he wouldn't be expelled, but he had no expectations after that -- and while he was fine being angry with Remus, he didn't like Remus being angry with him.

"It'll probably just be detention for a month or something," Neville said bracingly as they walked towards class, extra food wrapped in napkins in their pockets in case it was a long detention.

"That's your idea of whistling in the dark? Detention for a month? I have Quidditch, you know. Merlin, what if I'm thrown off the team?"

"Remus wouldn't do that, he knows you love Quidditch."

"That's exactly why he would do it if he had to punish me badly enough," Harry said.

"When was the last time Remus punished you?"

Harry had to really think about that one. Punishments in the Black-Lupin-Potter house were rare occasions and usually resulted more from getting caught than from whatever he'd done in the first place.

He hadn't actually formulated an answer before they reached the classroom and sat down. Dumbledore was seated off to one side; Remus was leaning against his desk, arms braced on the edge, head bowed in what was probably exhaustion. Harry felt a twinge of guilt over his behaviour for the first time. He hadn't intended it to put any kind of stress on Remus.

"I'm sure you all know why you're here," Remus said, when everyone had arrived. "You're not stupid enough to think that Umbridge wouldn't inform me of what you did during yesterday's class."

Hermione's hand immediately went up. Remus looked at her, and she slowly put it down again.

"I have been given a detailed account of yesterday's class by Ms. Umbridge," Remus continued.

"Miss Umbridge," someone whispered. A good portion of the class laughed. Remus frowned.

"Ms. Umbridge was a guest of the school, and reports to the Minister for Magic himself," he said. "You don't have to like her, but you were required to listen to her and wisdom should have dictated that you give someone in her position a good account of Hogwarts school. A good account of me, if it comes to that, as your teacher and the person responsible for your discipline."

"But she was lying," Harry said, before he could help himself. The rest of the class nodded in assent. "And worse, she was boring."

"Do you think Hogwarts School's primary goal is to entertain you?" Remus inquired.

"Well, you always manage it when you teach, so I should think it would be in the bylaws somewhere," Harry retorted. Others began to speak until Remus held up his hands; everyone fell silent immediately.

"I will grant that Ms. Umbridge's account is likely biased, as I have had some experience with the woman myself," he said. Harry glanced at Dumbledore, who wore a faint smile on his face that told him nothing of the Headmaster's thoughts. "I would like to hear your side, but not from everyone at once."

He consulted a scroll on the desk behind him.

"She names Harry Potter, Parvati Patil, and Hermione Granger by name," he said. "You three, stand if you please. Can you tell me why you are mentioned above and beyond?"

"We're the only ones whose names she learned," Parvati said.

"Oh, I reckon it was because I called her a liar and refuted her evidence," Harry said.

"On the subject of...werewolves, I see," Remus said, consulting the scroll again. "What did you say to her, Mr. Potter?"

Harry swallowed. "I volunteered to give the five ways a werewolf is differentiated from an ordinary wolf. Then she asked me how you tell a werewolf from a human being and I told her you couldn't, and that it didn't matter because werewolves aren't dangerous except at the full moon."

Remus nodded. Harry hesitated, then continued. "She said I was wrong."

"Harry felt he had a moral imperative," Hermione put in.

"A moral imperative?" Remus asked, with a trace of amusement.

"Werewolves are people too, sir," Hermione said. "Nobody goes around teaching us racism. Why should she get away with it?"

"The Ministry-approved source on werewolves is some musty old book from sixteen something that's not even accurate," Harry added. "I asked her why the Ministry didn't use Sanzecki's work, it's barely fifty years old and it involved actual research. I really did want to know, too. Then Theo -- " Harry gestured to him, and Theo glared as if he'd spilled some big secret, " -- wanted to know who Sanzecki was, but she ignored him. So we started asking questions, but she kept ignoring them. So we had to work out the answers, too. That's all. It's not like anyone threw spitwads or anything."

Remus hesitated. "That's all you did? Ask questions?"

"Well, we had to talk over her 'cause she wouldn't stop talking, but yeah, basically."

Remus turned to Dumbledore. "Headmaster, I really can't countenance much punishment for students asking questions. They were only doing what I've taught them to do."

"Indeed, what I advised them to do on introducing Miss Umbridge," Dumbledore said. "Tonight's detention, and a short essay on some subject of your choosing, perhaps?"

"My thoughts precisely," Remus replied. "You can sit down, Harry, Parvati, Hermione. Now, let's talk a little bit about common sense in Defence, as long as I have you all captive as an audience for the next few hours. Defence isn't simply a matter of spells, it's a matter of how to think, and how to look at things. You treated Ms. Umbridge as an enemy, but what did you learn from her first? What does this tell you about the Ministry? About its policies? How does this apply to other dangerous situations you may one day find yourself in?"

At some point, while Remus was writing ideas down on the chalkboard and the students were calling out observations and remarks -- in a respectful if disorganised fashion -- Dumbledore disappeared from class. By the time they ran out of ideas it was nearly time for lights-out. Harry, Theo, and Pansy strolled back to the Dungeons proud of their accomplishment and just a little excited about having gotten away with it so handily.

"See, when they're good teachers, it's not about us versus them," Theo declared to Harry. "Professor Lupin never makes you think he's the enemy."

Harry, privately, thought this was a good thing. If nothing else, the evening's detention had shown just how good thirteen-year-olds were at finding their enemy's weakenesses and preying on them mercilessly.

Himself included.

***

Between classes and Quidditch practice, October seemed to rush past. Harry spent his free afternoons practicing Quidditch plays, usually with Neville's help since Padma and Draco were still occupied with studying on those days. Neville wasn't very athletic, but he and Harry designed a small machine that would shoot golf balls into the air at varying degrees of altitude for Harry to chase down. Sirius gave his approval and helped with the charms when they got stuck, suggesting that they patent it and sell it to Madam Schaeffer's Educational Toy Shop or Quality Quidditch Supplies once they worked the kinks out.

Draco was practicing too, in his spare time and with his team in the evenings, though he took a fair amount of continual ribbing for nearly falling off Harry's broom in tryouts. He hadn't yet bought his own broomstick -- his allowance from Narcissa was generous, but it would take a month or so to save up for it. Any of his friends would have loaned him some money, and Sirius would happily have bought it for him as a gift, but Draco seemed to want to train on a substandard broom. He said it would make him a better flyer when he finally did get his Nimbus.

Harry barely had time to be concerned about Draco's progress anyway, since he and the rest of the returning team had two new Chasers and a new Beater to train. Harry supposed he ought to be happy for Crabbe that he got the Beater position, since Crabbe was in his year, but Crabbe was also exceptionally dim and didn't catch on very quickly to the flexible nature of the Slytherin playbook. Harry, Towler, and Pucey could make mid-air alterations in plays when necessary, but Crabbe sometimes still ended up in positions that made it clear he was working off laboriously-memorised plays and not real-time observation. Colin, as expected, had not even come close to qualifying for Chaser, but the two fifth-year girls that were tapped as Chasers were decent enough. Besides, this year Harry could occasionally suggest new plays without having to go through Snape; he'd been on the team two years and was at the very least senior to the new players.

The weather grew cold and wet as Hallowe'en approached, which wasn't great for Quidditch practice but did help ease the heat a little bit in the stifling Divination class. Harry had started to dread Divs as much as he suspected Remus had when he was at Hogwarts. Sirius was right; it was easy, and Trelawney wasn't exactly great at discerning fake star charts from the real thing. But it was also hot and boring, and Harry began to wish he'd taken Arithmancy like Remus said, or even only taken two new classes like Draco and had a free afternoon a few times a week. He was rather fond of his tarot cards, but only because they were useful for playing poker with when Trelawney wasn't looking.

Before he knew it, Hallowe'en was almost on them and notices had been posted on all the common-room boards that the first Hogsmeade weekend would be the last weekend in October.

"Nice of them," Neville said. "We can buy lots of sweets for Hallowe'en and such, and I bet the whole town will be done up for the holiday."

Draco picked at his breakfast, looking morose. Padma sighed unhappily.

"I'm sure you'll be able to go next time," she said. "Can't you ask Dumbledore or someone to sign it?"

"Did already," Draco muttered. "A professor can't sign for you because then Hogwarts is still responsible if you get hurt or die or whatever. It's fine, I reckon it's not as good as Diagon Alley anyway and I've been there often enough."

"Sure," Harry said. He'd been to Hogsmeade a handful of times and knew that he was lying through his teeth, but it would make Draco feel better, anyway. "I mean, the sweet shop's pretty good and Zonko's has some great pranks, but other than that it's mostly just the Shrieking Shack, and that's not exactly scary most of the time."

Padma rolled her eyes at Harry and he frowned, perplexed, before dismissing it.

The first Hogsmeade Saturday dawned clear but cold, with a sharp cutting wind that promised snow before too much longer. It was also the full moon, and Harry wondered who they'd have as substitute on Monday again as he and the others walked to the entrance hall.

"We'll bring you a load of sweets back from Honeyduke's," Neville promised Draco, who seemed to have made his peace with not going and was walking along with a blank look on his face, hands in his pockets.

"And Sirius is taking us to lunch, so we can see how Dobby is," Harry added.

"I hope you have a good time," Draco said, sounding mildly unconvincing. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

Filch, the caretaker, was standing at the front doors, checking names against a long list clenched in one grubby hand. Draco left them there and retreated before either Filch or one of the other students could make a remark; there had already been a few about ickle wee Malfoy, whose mad mummy wouldn't let him go to Hogsmeade.

***

Draco watched the others walk away, down the path to Hogsmeade, from behind a pillar just inside the grand oak doors of the Hogwarts front facade. When he couldn't see them any longer, he turned to -- go back to the Hufflepuff dormitory, he guessed, or maybe up to the library.

He started back with a shriek when he saw someone else in the hallway, watching silently, but Remus grabbed him before he could stumble and knock his head into the column behind him.

"Hallo," Remus said, grinning at him. "It's only me, don't worry."

Draco smiled, relieved. "Hi, Professor Lupin."

"Like you, I'm good at lurking in corridors," Remus said, but there was no accusation in his voice. "Everyone gone down to Hogsmeade?"

"Yeah," Draco said. "Thought I might go to the library for a bit. Aren't you going too?"

Remus frowned. "Well, I'm supposed to, but Severus said no strenuous labour, and chaperoning several hundred students in Hogsmeade doesn't exactly qualify as restful. The new potion trial, you know," he added, gently guiding Draco away from the front door and down the hallway. "I don't suppose you'd keep me company? It's very boring, being stuck in the castle."

"Tell me about it," Draco answered glumly. "Reckon you're going to lunch though, aren't you? Harry said Sirius is taking everyone..."

"Not even lunch," Remus replied, sounding more cheerful than Draco would have in a similar situation. "Until we know the effects of the potion in full, I've got to do as the good Professor orders -- even grownups are prisoners of one thing or another," he added, his hand still on Draco's shoulder. "You're welcome to come have a cup of tea with me, if you like. It's not Hogsmeade, but..."

"Sure," Draco said eagerly. It beat hanging about with the second and first years in Hufflepuff, at any rate, or sitting alone in the library.

"I missed out on a number of Hogsmeade weekends when I was at school, for one reason or another," Remus continued as they walked. "My parents, you know, were quite as bad as yours. I had to fight with them for weeks to get my permit form signed."

"I don't think fighting with mum -- "

"Oh, I agree. And it wasn't really fighting -- Lupins don't fight -- but it was quite a chilly summer in our household. At any rate, bed rest is no kind of fun when all your friends are down at Honeyduke's nicking chocolates. Nor, I imagine, is tea with your professor," he said thoughtfully. "You know, there's no injunction against a calm stroll. Would you rather explore Hogwarts a bit? I could show you some new places, I reckon."

"Reckon I could show you a few," Draco replied, grinning.

"Oh, you think so?" Remus challenged.

"As long as you don't rat about them to Dumbledore."

Remus laughed. "You aren't wandering round the roof or leaping down stairwells, are you?"

"No."

"Then I think your secret is probably safe with me."

Draco stopped him in front of a staircase. "Do you know about the music room?" he asked.

"Music room?" Remus said, raising both eyebrows.

***

"Wait for it," Draco told him, climbing through the portrait-hole into the music room they'd uncovered last year. "Padma found this place and somehow weasled the passwords..."

"Brilliant," Remus breathed, sounding very like a student as he stepped into the music room. "This place never showed up on -- "

"On what?" Draco asked, his voice muted by the room's accoustics.

"Nothing," Remus said absently, strolling over to the window that looked down on the Hogwarts grounds.

"Now listen," Draco declared, going to stand in the centre of the room, on the sunburst that was laid into the floor. He opened his mouth to sing one of the naughty limericks they'd written last year, then changed his mind and recited, instead.

Derwent College, Oxford, '36

My father's laughter still in echoed halls

The disapproving click of heels on stone

And time, as ever, subjugating all.

Two hours each week I had, in colonnades

Arched slyly over walkways few will see.

My father's world is books and wooden chairs

A lifetime spent in peaceful academe.

But passion spirals down another path

In dreams of books and chairs of different kind

And fame unwanted crowned my sandy head

The colonnades unfaded from my mind.

Sometimes it longs for rich obscurity

(My father walks with Tolkien and Belloc)

But dreams of quiet contemplation yet

Must wait for one more poem, one more book.

Such silence as my father's study saves

Awaits, as my inheritance, the grave.

As he spoke, the words appeared on the chalkboard that took up one wall of the room. When he was finished he glanced at Remus, but his professor was leaning against the window, listening raptly.

"That's impressive, from memory," he said.

"It rhymes," Draco said. "Makes it easier."

"Undoubtedly. Did Harry give you Graveworthy's book? I didn't think he had the collected poems."

"No -- he hasn't. I've been nicking the novels off him, though. One of my tutors gave me his poetry book," Draco admitted. "He said it was one of the Great Works. Mum's never read it or she'd probably make me throw it out."

"Do you know what it means?"

Draco scowled. "I'm not stupid."

"I didn't say you were, Draco."

"Graveworthy's dad was a professor at Derwent, it's obvious enough. He wishes he was too, but he decided to write instead and now even if he was going to go and teach he'd never get any peace because he's famous," Draco said.

Remus smiled, as if he knew something Draco didn't. "Very good. You've given me an idea, actually. I'll work on it later; come on, let's go have that tea. I'm exhausted from the stairs."

He rested his hand on Draco's shoulder again after they climbed out of the portrait-hole, but Draco could feel the weight behind it now, and walked slow so that Remus wouldn't have to hurry to keep up.

Harry, Padma, and Neville returned from Hogwarts windblown and happy, well-fed from a ridiculously large lunch with Sirius and bearing sacks of sweets and jokes. They congregated with Draco after dinner in the library, unceremoniously kicking a handful of first-years out of the study alcove that Madam Pince couldn't see from her desk.

"Hogsmeade's really historic," Padma said, paging through a book she'd bought on the town's history. "The Three Broomsticks was the headquarters for a Goblin rebellion in the seventeenth century, and most of the houses are incredibly old. I don't see why more people don't want to properly study it, it's got to be so interesting living in the last wizarding village in Great Britain."

"Brought this for you," Harry added, upending a small paper bag onto the table. Dozens of sweets tumbled out -- chocolates wrapped in waxed paper, a box of Fizzing Whizbees, Pepper Imps and Green Dragon Toffee (one of Draco's favourites) and a small cheap balsa case filled with exploding bonbons packed in dried coconut shavings.

"We looked at broomsticks too," Neville said. "Soon as you want, Sirius can go down to Dervish and Banges, they have a Quidditch department and they sell Nimbus two-thousand-ones. Really top-level."

"You have to come see the post office at some point," Padma added. "Hundreds of owls all sorted by speed and size -- and the smell!"

"Thanks, I'll pass on that," Draco said, smiling.

"You're in a good mood," Neville observed.

"I had a nice day," Draco replied.

Chapter 11

"Sirius? Sirius, are you there?"

Sirius, yawning sleepily, rolled over in the bed and muttered into his pillow. "Nonnow, s'jussa full moon..."

"Sirius, please..."

Sirius opened one eye at the frantic tone, then sat up in bed quickly. Andromeda's head was floating in the fireplace in their bedroom, looking worried and strained. He glanced at Remus, who was sleeping fitfully next to him, and rolled out of bed. He pulled some trousers on over his underthings and knelt on the hearth, throwing a pinch of floo powder in.

"What is it, Andi?" he asked, muzzily. "Better be good, I'm knackered -- last night was the moon, you know -- "

"Yes, I know," she said worriedly. "It's -- it's our tenants."

Sirius tensed. "Your Werewolf Network Thingy people? Did one of them get loose?"

"No -- " Andromeda bit her lip. "It's Anne, our young girl, she's hurt herself and she won't let anyone near her -- she scratches and bites. We let her use the basement because she doesn't like to go too far from the house."

"How bad?" Sirius asked, glancing over his shoulder. Remus was stirring, sitting up stiffly.

"I can't tell, we can't get close. I thought -- I know it's hard after the moon, but Remus..."

"What is it?" Remus asked hoarsely, resting his cheek on his knees and turning his head to watch Andi with remarkably alert eyes.

"None of your concern," Sirius said, turning back to Andromeda. "He's in no condition to do anything."

"Sirius, I'm all right -- what's going on?" Remus slid out of bed, half-falling to the floor, and edged across to the hearth. "Andromeda, did something happen with one of your Support Network people?"

"Anne's hurt herself and she won't let us near her," Andromeda said. Sirius reached behind him for a dressing-gown slung carelessly on a chair and draped it across Remus, preserving his dignity. "I'm really worried, Remus, I didn't know who else to call -- St. Mungo's will have to report her -- "

"What about the others?" Remus asked.

"They Change somewhere else, they're never home for at least a day after -- "

"Okay, I'll come through," Remus said. Sirius grabbed his shoulder, but he shook his head. "I'll dress and be there soon."

"What should I do, though?" Andromeda asked.

"Have Ted fix some food. Sausages," Remus suggested. His joints crackled as he leaned back and stood up, staggering to the dresser and determinedly taking out a shirt.

"You'll do yourself a harm," Sirius said, hovering anxiously.

"I'm all right, I had the potion," Remus replied.

"You're not all right -- "

"Then come with me, but don't stand there like an arsehole," Remus snarled. Sirius' jaw dropped. "Well, unless you're going to tie me up, I'm going to help that girl, Sirius. What would you do if it were me?"

Sirius sighed. Remus gripped his shoulder for balance as he stepped into some trousers. As soon as they were done up, Sirius pushed him gently onto the bed and took a pair of socks from his drawer.

"Stay there," he said, putting them on Remus' feet, following with his shoes. "We'll go through together. I'll talk, you stay quiet."

Remus nodded and stepped into the greenish flame, wrapping one arm around Sirius' shoulders when Sirius joined him, holding tight.

"Twelve Grimmauld Place!" Sirius said loudly and clearly, and soon they were stepping into the warm, sun-filled living room of Ted and Andromeda's upper-floor apartment.

"Remus, thank you," Andi said, helping them both out of the fireplace. "She's in the basement, she won't come out."

"All right," Remus said. "Sirius, the stairs..."

"You're an idiot," Sirius said, but he helped ease Remus from step to step, down into the back-room of Tonks & Tonks and around the staircase, through the door to the basement.

"Stay here," Remus said. "Nothing happens if she bites me."

"Except you hurt and bleed and -- "

"Sirius!"

Sirius sat down on the top step. "I'm not leaving."

"Fine, but keep quiet, all right?" Remus leaned heavily on the banister and limped slowly down into the basement. From the darkness came the sound of harsh, heavy breathing.

"Anne?" Remus called. "Anne, my name is Remus, Andromeda called me. Is it okay if I light the room a little?"

No reply. Remus muttered a charm and green flame leapt up from one shaking hand, turning the murky blackness a flickering green. There was a curled shape in one corner, shaking.

"Hi, Anne," Remus said.

"Hi," said a young female voice, rich with pain.

"I'm a werewolf, like you. Andi thought I might be able to have a look at your wounds, okay?" Remus took two steps forward.

"Don't touch me," she said. "You're filthy."

Remus smiled a little. "Well, I haven't had time to wash -- "

"Filth," she shrieked. He paused.

"Anne, I just want to make sure you're not hurt too badly, okay?"

"Your kind made me like this!"

Sirius growled low in his throat. Remus shot a look back at him that Sirius had never seen before and never wanted to see again, a look of pure annoyance tinged with disdain.

"Come on, Anne, I know what it's like. Just let me have a look at your cuts," Remus said, but he didn't move forward. "Someone's got to, sooner or later."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine, we both know that. Andromeda's worried about you."

Silence. Remus took another few steps forward and crouched, level with her and perhaps four feet away.

"Who told you we were filth?" he asked, softly.

"Everyone," she answered. "I had a normal life before you -- you freaks!"

"You haven't been a werewolf long, have you?" he asked. "What happened, Anne?"

She pulled in on herself and Sirius saw blood trickle down her cheek.

"What happened?" Remus asked.

"How do I know it wasn't you?" she asked.

"Because I don't bite people. I make sure I'm safe, just like you," he said. "Come on, Anne, I just want to look at your cuts, can you show them to me so that Andromeda won't worry?"

The girl lifted her face, streaked with blood and tears. There was a huge jagged slice down one cheek, but it didn't look deep. She was cradling her left arm in her lap.

"Is your arm hurt?" he asked.

"No," she said rebelliously. Remus held out a hand and, when she didn't flinch, he touched her left shoulder. Slowly he moved his hand down her arm. When he reached her elbow, she grunted.

"It's just sprained," he said with a smile. "Can you show me where else it hurts?"

Sirius hadn't realised until then that she was naked, wrapped in a dirty plaid blanket; Remus looked so clinical that it hadn't occurred to him the girl wasn't wearing much of anything. Then she reached down with her right hand and hiked up a corner of the blanket, displaying her upper thigh. Remus looked down and sucked air in through his teeth.

It wasn't possible for a wolf to bite itself where the bitemark was, high on her thigh, nearly crossing her hip. Besides, it was half-healed, more scar than wound at this point, though Sirius could see her pulse throb darkly where a blood vessel passed too near the surface of her skin. Remus spread his fingers and touched thumb and pinky to the wound; the deep canines were as wide across as his hand, and there was one sharp zig-zag where the wolf's tooth had broken or been pulled crooked at some point.

"Two, three months?" he guessed, looking at her.

"It hurts," she said, her voice a thin, keening whine.

"I know. I know," he said softly, spreading his hands. She looked at him warily, but when he didn't move she scooted forward, letting him pull her and the blanket into his arms.

"Sirius," he said unsteadily, and Sirius bounded down the stairs to help them both up, Andromeda on his heels. Anne gave a little shriek and darted from Remus to Andromeda as if his embrace had burned her. Remus looked at her sadly.

"Take her upstairs," he said to Andromeda, who tightened the blanket around her and obeyed. Once they were nearly to the top, Remus leaned on Sirius and let himself be half-carried upstairs as well. Anne and Andromeda were ascending to the flat, but Remus moved towards one of the stockbenches on the ground floor, sitting on it heavily.

"Well, that was exciting, you idiot," Sirius said. "You could have really hurt yourself, and all she has is a sprain."

"It's not the sprain, Sirius," Remus sighed, rubbing his left thigh distractedly. "She's one of those, you know. Raised thinking werewolves were filth, beneath human notice. It's not easy for her."

"That excuses it, does it?"

"She was assaulted, it's not as though this just happened spontaneously," Remus replied.

"I won't have you running all over England soothing weepy teenagers," Sirius warned.

"I seem to recall you doing quite a bit of running all over England for me," Remus retorted. "Just shut up for a minute, would you? I need to think."

"About what? How you're going to singlehandedly -- "

"She's my family, Sirius."

Sirius stopped dead, eyes widening. "What?"

"Not like that," Remus said, sighing. "Not blood. Just..."

He fumbled with the flies of his trousers, standing to pull them down. Sirius had seen the scar thousands of times, both when they were students and after, as a lover. He'd never paid much attention to it; it was just there, like an oversized birthmark -- on the outside of Remus' left thigh, high on the leg, nearly crossing his hip. Remus spread his hand wide and pressed his fingers against it. The canines were exactly the width of his hand, from tip of thumb to tip of pinky. Just above his index finger was a sharp zig-zag where the wolf's tooth had broken or been pulled crooked at some point.

"Whoever did it to her, did it to me," Remus said. "Which means he's still alive. Which means whoever Walden Macnair shot, it wasn't the one who did this to me."

Sirius stared at the scar, at the way Remus' fingers curled against his skin.

"Even if she weren't, she's a child and she's hurt. If your compassion is big enough for me, it's big enough for her, too," Remus continued. "I can't do much, hardly anything -- this I could do. You have to let me do it."

Sirius took Remus' fingers away from the scar with one hand and hitched his trousers up with the other, re-dressing him carefully.

"Promise me," he said, staring in Remus' dark brown eyes. "Promise me you will never go help someone else before you have help yourself, all right? If you go, I go too. Promise, Moony."

Remus nodded. "All right. I promise."

Andromeda came back down the stairs then, carrying a plate of sausages in one hand and two mugs of tea in the other. Remus fell on the sausages as though he'd never seen food before, picking them up with his fingers and then sucking on the fingers when they burned. Sirius blew on his tea to cool it.

"I can't tell you how grateful we are," Andromeda said, hugging Sirius one-armed around his neck and bending to kiss Remus on the crown of his head. "I was so worried. We love Anne, she's a good girl at heart."

"Better you than me," Remus said around a mouthful of sausage.

"She's just...a little confused still," Andromeda replied. "Ted's fixing her up a sling and working on her face. I just seem to pace and fret."

"You're very good at both," Sirius grinned.

"You're not too big to take a pummelling," she warned. Remus, having finished off two sausages in record time, sucked on the tip of his finger thoughtfully.

"Andromeda, do you know where Nymphadora is, these days? I need to subvert her for personal ends," he said.

"You're more likely to see her than I am, seems she spends every spare holiday she gets up at Hogwarts with Severus," Andi replied. "I'll write to her if you like. Is anything wrong?"

"Too much to list off, I'm afraid," Remus said quietly.

***

Harry didn't expect to see Remus for the Hallowe'en feast, given that the night before had been the full moon. He had made plans to go exploring after the feast; not outside the castle, since they weren't fools, but there were plenty of interesting places to go inside the castle. He and the others had considered a seance, or perhaps merely scaring the bejesus out of some seventh-years. Sporting with the sevenths was one of Harry's favourite pastimes, and he almost never got to do it.

Neville was fond of a lie-in and didn't wake up until noon on Sundays, generally. He probably wouldn't be really human until the feast, so Harry and Draco had spent the afternoon in the library discussing Quidditch in hushed tones until Padma joined them with her loads and loads of homework to do.

"Tonight's the night," Harry told her as she worked. "We're going to misuse your Time-Turner tonight. We've just got to, Padma, it's too great not to."

"Have you got a plan?" Padma asked suspiciously.

"Will you be happier if I do or if I don't?" Harry replied.

"If we're going to abuse a sacred trust we're going to do it properly and with malice aforethought," she said. "So you'd better have a plan, Harry Potter."

"Well, I have a few," Harry admitted. "I was thinking, let's charm our faces glowy-red and jump out at people."

"That's your plan?"

"It has the brilliance of simplicity," Draco said weakly.

"That's not a plan, that's just mean-spirited aerobics," Padma said acidly. "A plan involves split-second timing and possibly the use of pulleys and levers."

"Oh, I'll give you pulleys and levers -- " Harry began hotly, but Draco kicked his shin under the table.

"Pince!" he hissed, and Harry subsided.

"What can you actually do with a time-turner, prankwise?" Draco asked. "I mean, we just assumed it would be the best thing ever, but do we have any actual ideas?"

"Well, you could pick someone and start showing up everywhere they did, all the time," Harry said. "Or keep putting something in their bag after they've taken it out. It must be brilliant for escaping if you're being chased."

"You're thinking about it backwards," Padma said. "It's not something that stops time. It just lets you jump back an hour or two. It'll help with escaping, maybe, but I honestly don't see what else you could possibly plan to do with it."

"Here's a thought," Draco said. "If we go back in time and arrange something, then we'll see it happen, won't we? And then we can figure out what we arranged after we see it happen, and go do it."

"I think that's a paradox," Padma said. "Anyway, it's nearly time to go down to the feast. Pack up your paradoxes and come along."

"Are you hauling all those down to the feast too?" Draco asked as she stuffed books into her bag. "At least let me take a few. And Harry," he added hastily. Padma gave him a lifted eyebrow, but offered each boy two large books.

They ran into Neville on the stairs, apparently coming up to find them.

"I've been down to the feast already, thought you'd be there," he explained, returning down the stairs with them. "It's pretty brilliant this year. There's a great bit marzipan skeleton on each table -- " he stopped in laughter as Draco's eyes lit up. "The House-elves like you, Draco."

"This isn't news," Padma said as they reached the side-entry doors to the Great Hall, pushing them open. Inside, candlelight from a thousand illuminated jack-o-lanterns flickered over the four House tables and the High Table where the professors sat. All the House banners had been blacked out except for a glowing white insignia, and --

Things on the tables were moving.

"Look at this!" Harry said, picking up one of the small white objects that was leaping around the table. It turned out to be a snapping pair of fake vampire teeth. He shoved them in his mouth and grinned at the others, fangs gleaming. "Tafes like bebbermin!"

"Dora!" Neville shouted, pushing past Harry. He ran to the High Table, where Professor Snape was standing by his chair, talking to Dora Tonks. "Hi! What're you doing here?" Neville blurted.

"Hiya, kid!" Tonks answered, bending over the table to tousel Neville's hair. The others joined him in a little knot at the table. "How are you? I'm here for the feast, with Severus."

"Oh," Neville said, glancing with wide eyes at Snape, who glowered. "Sorry, Professor! I mean! Not sorry -- I -- you're...you'd better look after her properly!" he said, face turning red, and bolted away again.

Harry walked past Snape calmly and winked. "You had better, you know," he said conversationally.

"How're you, Harry?" Tonks asked.

"Pretty well. You?"

"Thriving. Is your godfather around?"

Harry shrugged. "Probably down in Hogsmeade."

"Oh! At the Three Broomsticks, probably, they're having a big party. We're going after," she said, then glanced at Snape apologetically.

"Have a good time," Harry said, wandering on. "Say hi if you see him!"

"Will do -- Remus! Hallo, you look like death warmed over!"

Harry turned so fast he nearly knocked Padma over; he stood aside to let her and Draco push through the crowds to their tables, craning his neck to try and see Remus.

When he finally managed to work his way back to where Tonks was sitting, he saw her shaking Remus' hand. Remus looked awful, eyes deep-sunk in his face and skin a pale, almost yellowish colour. He was leaning heavily on the back of Snape's chair.

" -- glad you're here, I need to ask you some questions," he was saying. He didn't even look happy, but rather grim, as though he'd had bad news. Harry wondered if he and Sirius were in a fight. They almost never were, but lately he'd been too wrapped up in his own affairs to notice much.

"Any time -- oh, do you really have to sit at the other end? Professor Sinistra, you wouldn't mind changing, would you?"

Sinistra, who had experienced Dora's accident-prone table manners before, smiled knowingly and ambled down the table to Remus' seat on the end.

"Hi Professor Lupin!" Harry called up. Remus turned down to face him, the unhappy look replaced with a smile.

"Hallo Potter," he said. "Happy Hallowe'en to you!"

"Happy Hallowe'en! How are you?"

Remus glanced down at his hands, where the skin was taut over the knuckles. "Better than I look, Harry," he said in an undertone. "Don't fret about me."

"Never do," Harry answered cheerfully, which only he and Sirius knew was a lie. All the times Harry had read to Remus after Changes, down in Betwys Beddau, had been as much for their sanity as for Remus' own comfort. "Seeya later!"

Remus waved him on and seated himself next to Tonks. As Harry went, he heard him say something to Tonks about research, which must mean he was okay; Remus was always okay when he was researching.

***

"I need your help with some off-the-boards research," Remus said quietly, mindful that other members of the faculty were still passing behind him and students were passing in front, stopping to say hello to their former Professor Tonks.

"Sure, anything I can do," she replied, popping a grape from a nearby platter into her mouth. "Work's taking me away a lot, though. What do you need?"

"Don't make promises you can't keep just yet," Remus said. "I need you to look into some MLE files for me."

She frowned. "What do you want with Magical Law Enforcement?"

"Dark Creatures affairs are all kept in the MLE archives, aren't they? I know formal reports are filed, at least usually."

Tonks was all attention now. "Is this to do with what Mum's up to with the Support Network?"

"Indirectly. I think an error may have been made in one of the files. One of the people staying with your mother has a bite pattern that's too similar to mine," here his voice dropped to almost nothing, "to be a coincidence. For the last twenty-five years we've believed that Walden MacNair -- "

"That arsehole!"

"Yes -- that he shot the wolf who bit me," Remus continued. He nodded to Dumbledore as the Headmaster passed to the front to signal the start of the feast. "We know he shot a werewolf, but if this girl was bitten two months ago by the same person who bit me -- "

Tonks turned to him, horrified. "He shot an innocent person?"

"We don't know that, but I think it might be likely."

"He's got to be brought up on charges!"

"Tonks, you can't. We'd have to testify and the whole thing would come out -- I'd lose my job, she'd lose any chance she had at a normal life. Imagine what Harry would go through on my account."

"But Remus -- "

"That's not why I asked you this," Remus said, helping himself to potatoes with a hand that barely trembled. "I need to know everything you can find about who bit this girl Anne, and where it happened, and whether there were any witnesses."

She gave him a long look under the fringe of her pink hair, then nodded. "I'll do what I can. You may have to settle for copies. I -- "

At that point Severus touched her wrist and pointed upwards, and Remus followed their gaze. The candle-filled pumpkins that had been illuminating the Great Hall were fading into nothing, and the hall itself was falling very dark indeed.

Several of the Hogwarts ghosts suddenly appeared, drifting up through the floor with shrieks and yells. They crowded together at the top of the vaulted ceiling and suddenly arrowed away in all directions. Behind them, wherever they flew, the ceiling burst into points of starlight until the entire room was filled with them.

Remus glanced down and smiled at the furry black head resting on his leg. Sirius had insisted that he could only attend if Padfoot came with him, and Remus was disinclined to argue. The heavy weight on his thigh was comforting, as was the pure adulation in Padfoot's eyes.

He rubbed behind his ears and glanced back up at the brightly-lit ceiling, thinking of other times he had spent with Sirius looking up at the stars.

***

The feast generally lasted quite a while, and often the Professors went down to the Three Broomsticks after to attend the party there, drawing straws to see who would stay behind to keep watch over the school. Remus and Snape had both been exempted from the lottery, because Remus was hardly in a condition to prowl the halls and Severus -- well, young love does have its way. Young was relative, in this case, but he was still the youngest of the professors save Remus, which conferred special indulgences at times.

Remus had wished Snape and Dora a happy Hallowe'en and left the feast early, escorted back to his rooms by his enormous Padfoot. When they were well away from the feast and unlikely to encounter anyone but Peeves, Sirius changed back and wrapped his arm around Remus' waist, tacitly offering support.

"You were very well-behaved tonight," Remus said, smiling despite the pallor of his skin and the slight rattle in his throat. "Good dog."

Sirius smiled and kept walking. "Come on, you sound like you need some sleep. You could have sent me to find Dora, you know."

"I wanted to go to the feast," Remus said. "I loved Hallowe'en at Hogwarts. Remember the costume parties Gryffindor threw?"

"Course I do. Seventh year we all went as Greek Gods."

Remus laughed. "That's right. You went with James as Castor and Pollux."

"And you were Haephaestus, and P -- " Sirius stopped himself. "And Lily," he said, "went as Athena."

"That's right."

"And then James was annoyed because Andrew Bones was only a sixth-year and he showed up as Apollo, but you wouldn't let us prank him at all."

Remus coughed lightly. Sirius turned his head, then stopped in the hallway about ten feet from the door to Remus' rooms.

"Moony," he said, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes?" Remus asked innocently, digging in his pocket for the charmed key to open his door.

"Did Andrew Bones know about the Greek Gods ahead of time?"

Remus gave him a small smile. "Whatever do you mean, Padfoot?"

"I mean," Sirius turned slightly, pressing him into the stone wall, "Were you and Andrew Bones shagging behind our backs?"

"You're very direct," Remus replied, kissing him. "Don't tell me you're going to be jealous of wee Andy Bones, Sirius. He may have looked nice in a chiton, but he's married now, and was never a patch on you anyway."

"You and Andrew Bones?"

Remus nuzzled his ear. "I may have been pining for you, Sirius, but a boy has needs, you know."

"Pining?" Sirius asked, sounding pleased. "Really?"

"Pining," Remus confirmed. "Wasting away."

"Now you're just making fun."

"Step into my parlor and see how earnest I am," Remus replied, pushing Sirius gently down the hall, walking behind him. He was reaching around him to unlock the door, his other hand firmly secured on Sirius' belt, when Sirius grabbed his wrist suddenly.

"Don't," he said.

"Sirius, I'm not going to have sex with you in the hallway," Remus replied, moving forward again, but Sirius held his wrist too tightly.

"Don't touch the door, Moony," he said. The tone of his voice finally penetrated Remus' brain, and he raised his head to see why Sirius was suddenly afraid.

Criscrossing the solid oak door were a series of deep gouges, stained here and there with what looked suspiciously like blood. As though someone had taken a bloody knife and attacked the door in rage.

He watched, the world slowing down to half its normal speed, as Sirius reached out and plucked something small and white out of one of the grooves. He held it flat in his palm, staring at it. Remus stared over his shoulder.

"It's a fingernail," Sirius said. With mounting horror, Remus realised that whoever had done this hadn't bothered with a knife. He'd simply scratched furiously at the door until his nails broke and his fingers bled.

"Peter," Remus said. Sirius shook his head.

"Peter's not this mad," he answered. "This was Lucius Malfoy."

Time actually stopped for a second, Remus was sure. Then Sirius took a deep breath that sounded like a rumble of thunder, and things clicked back into place.

"We've got to warn everyone," he said. "If Peter and Malfoy are in the castle, they'll come for Harry -- fuck, they'll come after Draco."

"Go," Remus said. "I can't run, I'll slow you down."

"Yeah, I'm leaving you here for Lucius Malfoy to find," Sirius retorted. "Come on, we'll go as fast as we can."

His breath was hitching by the time they reached the Great Hall again, but they'd made good enough time -- nobody had begun to leave, and Dumbledore was still at the head table.

"Stay here -- or come in as Padfoot," Remus gasped, leaning against the outer wall. Sirius changed without question and loped inside, making a beeline for Draco. The commotion of a large black dog bolting through the Great Hall did not go unnoticed, and Harry was at Padfoot's side almost as soon as he arrived. Remus leaned in the doorway.

"Close the doors," he shouted to Dumbledore. "Don't let anyone leave. There's an intruder in the castle."

The uproar was immediate, but even over the shouts of confusion Remus heard Sinistra's sudden cry.

"Headmaster," she called, pointing at the windows on the far side of the hall.

Outside it was dark, of course, that was expected; but now the glittering lights of the Hall threw shadows on the darkness, picking out the fall of a cowl or the reflection off slimy grey skin. The Dementors were flocking at every window, gazing in. Everyone fell silent.

Remus hoped he imagined the feeling of a low hum, just below human hearing, coming from the massed Dementors.

Chapter 12

Nymphadora Tonks had really been looking forward to Hallowe'en.

She was going to go to the feast at Hogwarts and sit next to her insanely smart boyfriend and say hi to all her students, and then after that she and said insanely smart boyfriend were going to go down to the Hallowe'en party at the Three Broomsticks. She'd always wanted to go to the party as a student and of course none of the tricks any student tried ever got them in, but that night she had planned on going. And after the party she was going to walk back to Hogwarts under the starlight and spend the night doing things with Severus that made her shiver happily just thinking about them. One of her friends at work had made fun of her for dating her former professor, but Dora couldn't care less. And the way Severus looked at her sometimes told her that he didn't care either, no matter what he said.

Instead of all that, however, she was sitting on the steps to the Hogwarts cellar, offering a handkerchief to a house elf with an eerily-crooked nose that was crusted all over in dried blood.

"Dobby innoo nuffin!" Dobby said, grasping his nose with the handkerchief and carefully bending it back into place.

"We know you didn't do anything, Dobby," the Headmaster said patiently. "We want to know what you saw."

"A MIG MOOT!" Dobby shrieked. Dora looked at Severus, sitting next to her on the stairs.

"A big boot," he muttered in translation. She nodded.

After Remus had burst into the Great Hall with orders not to let anyone leave, there had been a hurried conference amongst the professors before several ghosts were dispatched to check the professors' quarters and House common rooms. After half an hour most of them returned. The Fat Friar, however, was gone for forty minutes, then an hour.

When he finally returned, he reported that the painting covering the entry to the Hufflepuff common room had been ripped to shreds, and there was an unconscious house-elf nearby, just outside the kitchen entryway. Dobby, down from Hogsmeade to help with the feast, had apparently happened upon whoever was trying to get in and been booted in the face for his troubles. The painting's occupants, three medieval men who normally sat around a kitchen table playing cards, were nowhere to be found.

"We must search the castle," Dumbledore said, sitting on the step next to Tonks. He looked worried for the first time she could remember, and Severus looked positively gaunt in his concern. "Nymphadora, I am certain you understand why this is not a matter for the Aurors."

"They'll let the Dementors in," she said in a small voice.

"Yes. If, however, you would remain -- "

"Course I will," she said immediately.

"Stout woman. Dobby, you will return to the kitchen and have the elves see to your nose."

Dobby nodded groggily.

"Tell Denbigh to close down all kitchen entrances and send up hot cocoa and biscuits to the students. They will remain in the Great Hall tonight. No elf is to leave the kitchen without my express permission."

Dobby straightened and saluted with the bloody handkerchief before bolting off down the corridor.

"Come; there is much to do," Dumbledore said, rising and begining the ascent to the ground floor of the castle.

"The elf does have a history of troublemaking," Severus muttered as they climbed.

"With motivation, perhaps, but there is no reason this time -- no, I trust his testimony," Dumbledore replied. "Severus, you will search the Dungeons. If this is Lucius Malfoy's work, he may go to ground there. Nymphadora, take Argus Filch and make sure the other dormitories and tower entrances are sealed tightly. The rest of the professors will search the main halls. Give the passcodes only to the Heads of House."

"Yes, sir," Dora murmured. She glanced regretfully at Severus; no party tonight, no private affection (the only kind he showed) after. Dumbledore could not have separated them more completely if he'd sent her to Sibera.

But his hand did find hers, and he squeezed it tightly in the dim stairwell before letting go again.

"I will mind the children," Dumbledore continued. "Hagrid gets on well with the paintings; he'll try and see where our valiant cardplayers have gone, and make sure the others understand what is at stake. Canvas can be mended. Go now."

Severus veered off towards the dungeons and Dora began climbing the stairs, knowing full well that Argus Filch would be in his odious little office. Privately, she cursed Lucius Malfoy to hell and back.

***

In the Great Hall, the students sat quietly at their tables, watching the High Table warily. McGonagall had briskly taken charge and made the students squeeze down to one end, away from the windows where the Dementors leered in. She had then covered each window with black drapery to block the horrible sight, but nothing could quite block out the knowledge that they were there.

Remus was sitting at one end of the table, drinking a glass of brandy that Professor Sprout had fetched for him. There was more colour in his cheeks, but he looked very ill to Harry. Padfoot had not left Draco's side, and was being petted reassuringly by some of the other Hufflepuff third-years. Draco had his fingers twined in the thick coarse fur of Padfoot's neck and looked about as healthy as Remus did. The ghosts -- almost all of them, now -- were drifting around near the ceiling, speaking in low voices.

Harry glanced at Neville, who mouthed "Lucius" at him. Harry gave a slight nod. Padma was sitting very close, just across the aisle from Harry at the Ravenclaw table, and he leaned back to whisper "Lucius" in her ear.

"I think so," she replied in a hushed tone. "But how?"

"Dunno. Neville can hear them talking, maybe he knows."

He leaned forward again, suddenly, because Dumbledore had appeared in the doorway. The Headmaster crossed the room and stepped up onto the platform where the Head Table sat. He held up his hands for attention, rather unnecessarily; the room was stone-quiet.

"It appears as though there has been an intruder in the castle," he said, looking grave. "We do not know who or how yet, but the Hufflepuff dormitory painting has been slashed severely, and Professor Lupin's quarters were attacked. I am placing the prefects in charge of their Houses; the professors will need to search the castle. This naturally means that you must remain here, where you may be accounted for at any time. Stand, please."

As one, the students stood. Dumbledore waved his wand and the tables rose into the air, stacking themselves neatly against one wall. The benches followed. Another flick of his wand and the room filled with squashy purple sleeping bags.

"I have given orders for cocoa and biscuits to be served," Dumbledore said, just as small trays appeared next to each sleeping bag. "Very good. I will remain here with the prefects, so I would appreciate an absence of...monkey-business."

He turned to speak to the professors, and the students slowly began to unzip their sleeping bags and crawl inside. Harry elbowed Cricket Creevey, who'd been sitting next to him at dinner.

"Do us a favour, Cricket," he said. "Swap out with Longbottom, would you? You've pals in Gryffindor, shouldn't be any trial for you."

"Sure, Harry," Cricket said, looking as though he'd like to be closer to the High Table anyway. Behind him, Harry heard Padma striking a similar deal with one of the Ravenclaw boys, who sidled across the rows of bags and jerked his head at Draco. Draco bent down and spoke briefly in Padfoot's ear, then trotted across the Great Hall while the professors were still conferring amongst themselves. Padfoot slunk behind him, low to the ground, almost comically.

"Any news?" Harry asked Neville, scooting his sleeping bag closer to Draco and Padma's.

"Couldn't hear very well. Professor Lupin thinks it's Lucius Malfoy. Doesn't see who else it could be 'cept Peter Pettigrew."

Padfoot nosed Harry's hand, and Harry absently scratched behind his ears. The big dog wove himself around and between the four children, eyes watchful.

"No pranks for us tonight," Padma said, and Harry remembered she wasn't aware that Padfoot could understand more than he let on.

"You'd better go to Professor Lupin," he said to the dog, who snuffed reluctantly. "He's going to need you. We'll look after ourselves."

The dog gave a heaving sigh, but licked Draco's hand and crept back the way he'd come. Harry sat on his sleeping bag, and the others followed suit.

"Do you think he's in the castle?" Draco asked miserably. Padma patted his leg.

"The professors must think so," Neville said. "Lucky we were all here when it happened, you know. If we had gone pranking tonight he might've got us."

"Wonder how long it'll take word to get out," Draco said. "You know they'll be horrible about it. Everyone, I mean. He must've -- he must've been coming for me, mustn't he? Why else would he try for my common room?"

Harry, not knowing what to say and not quite able to look Draco in the eye, found himself watching the rest of the Great Hall instead. Other students were doing as they had done, brokering small swaps so they could be near their friends. He noticed suddenly that they were nearly encircled by the Slytherin Quidditch team; Towler gave him a small smile and a thumbs-up sign. Hufflepuff's team was slowly drifting over too, and Oliver Wood didn't bother to be secretive; he strode right up to them and hooked his thumbs in his belt.

"All right then, Malfoy?" he asked. Harry glanced over his shoulder. The rest of the team had formed a tight knot around Ron and Ginny Weasley, probably the Twins' doing.

"All right, Wood," Draco replied. Harry had a sudden sense of smallness; next to Oliver, the four of them looked very slight and fragile indeed.

"You, out," Wood said to a nearby Slytherin, and the girl hastily retreated to an empty sleeping bag on the Ravenclaw side. Oliver settled in next to Marcus Flint and silently dared the other Captain to say anything.

"He's a nutter, and he's your dad," Oliver said. His voice was calm and even. "But mostly he's a nutter. You're not. So. Up the school and down with nutters, eh?"

"Ta," Draco replied meekly. Harry gave Oliver a grateful look. Just beyond him, Cedric Diggory was bedding down next to Cho Chang.

"So," Oliver continued, now addressing himself with admirable civility to Flint, "Ja hear about the Cannons? Their Seeker lost an eye last match."

"Perfectly justifiable foul, he was blocking the Chasers," Flint answered. "Besides, he's getting fitted for a magical replacement."

"You can't play Quidditch with a magical eye, it isn't sporting," Oliver retorted. Their bickering was oddly soothing, and Harry turned back to Draco.

"If he's in the castle, Padfoot'll find him," he said. "You can't hide smell."

"Sure," Draco said. "Listen, I'm going to sleep, kay?"

"Okay," Harry replied. Neville followed Draco's lead, and soon most of the students were, if not sleeping, at least pretending to while they talked amongst themselves.

***

"I think you'd better go change," Remus said to Padfoot, when the dog returned to him. "Look, there's tons of big strapping students around Draco, he'll be all right. I want to talk to you."

Padfoot rolled his doggy eyes but crept off the dais, slipping out a side door. He returned a few minutes later, walking up to Dumbledore and greeting him loudly.

"You sent for me, Headmaster?" he said, in a voice that at least the Gryffindors would hear. Dumbledore played along immediately, to Remus' pleasure.

"Mr. Black, thank you for coming. You're well-versed in the school's layout -- I was wondering if you'd lend a hand. Professor Lupin, if you please?"

Remus rose and joined the pair, the three of them now the only adults left in the Hall.

"You two are more familiar with the ways and means of getting in and out of this building than any of the students, and I daresay most of the professors," Dumbledore said in a low voice. "If you have any information, now would be a good time to share it."

"There are six secret passages in and out -- Filch didn't know about any of them when we were here, but that might've changed," Sirius said promptly.

"Seven, weren't there?" Remus asked, frowning.

"No, I'm sure it was six -- " Sirius ticked them off on his fingers. "The one behind the mirror on the fourth floor, the one under the Whomping Willow -- "

"The first caved in, ten years ago," Dumbledore said. "I doubt even Lucius Malfoy could pass the Willow unharmed, but I will see to that myself tomorrow morning."

"Right. Then there's the dumbwaiter -- that won't help, it's only within the school -- and the secret door in the library." Sirius glanced at Dumbledore.

"The library door was sealed the same year you left Hogwarts, I believe," Dumbledore said smoothly.

"That makes four. There's an old servant's entrance behind your chair -- "

" -- removed during the kitchen renovation last year -- "

"And the first-floor boys' toilet. That was the one that led to the sweetshop, wasn't it? That was our favourite."

"The door is still there, but the big oak's roots have completely blocked the tunnel. Oak is surprisingly impervious to most blasting charms," Dumbledore finished.

"That makes six. Were there any others?" Sirius asked Remus. Remus shook his head tiredly.

"I don't think so. I don't remember. I wish we had the map," he said, then realised what he'd let slip.

"The map?" Dumbledore asked, and finally they saw a dangerous look in his eye.

"We used to have a map," Sirius said briefly. "We don't anymore. We gave it to Cara Kung when we graduated."

"A few years later she told me it was confiscated by Filch. He said he was going to burn it," Remus added. "It would have shown every possible way to get into the castle, and everyone within it on any floor."

"I see," Dumbledore said. "It's quite a shame you're much too old to be given detention. Peter Pettigrew knew of these passages?"

"He did, but if they're all sealed anyway..." Remus felt deep shame wash over him. Dumbledore was a good man and hardly deserved the sort of constant betrayal they'd committed at school. Sirius was studying his shoes.

"Sirius," Dumbledore said. "You will investigate both the damaged door and the torn painting, and track any scents you find to their source. Report to me when you are finished."

"Yes, Headmaster," Sirius said.

"Professor Lupin will remain here and supervise the search. Don't trifle with me, Sirius; he's much too ill to run about the castle with you. Go."

Sirius left, looking as guilty and ashamed as Remus felt.

"Headmaster -- "

"You were young, Remus, and I make great allowances for youth, but surely even you could have seen what a dangerous weapon the map could have been. You knew what was occurring outside of the school."

"I..." Remus spread his hands. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Yes, well. The blame is shouldered equally by a dead man, a madman, and your partner in crime. There's nothing to be done now and, as you say, the map has been destroyed." Dumbledore sighed. "We won't speak of it again. Are you well enough to remain here? Please don't lie to me."

"I am. There's nowhere I'd rather be," Remus answered quickly.

"Good. I don't expect that Lucius Malfoy lingered overlong, but one can't be too careful. This search will take time, and there are places I must search personally. Take reports, make sure nothing is overlooked, and in the meantime try to keep the students from killing one another."

Remus watched him leave the Great Hall, feeling very tired by the events of the past hour. He fought down the urge to burst into grateful tears.

***

Harry was nearly unconscious, in the dreaming twilight that was more hallucination than sleep, when he heard rustling and soft movement across stone. He incorporated it into the passing dream, hearing it as Snape walking swiftly across the cobbles of Knockturn, robes blowing in the wind. He was eight again, nearly nine, and it was Severus Snape who had rescued him from the shop in Knockturn and carried him back to the arms of Sirius when he was lost.

Do you know what they do to children who are disobedient to their parents, in Knockturn Alley?Snape asked, not towering over him as he had when it happened, but whispering in his ear. They eat them. Or turn them into mice.

Even as he dreamed it, however, he was aware of other things -- the overheated curl of Draco's back against his own, the soft wheezing of Neville's snores nearby, and of something crawling up his arm.

He started awake, sure that when he struggled out of the dream it would all blow away, but instead he felt the horrible crunch-hard sensation of insectoid legs on his arm, and looked up into eyeless sockets in a red, oozing face.

He screamed, which was all he could think of to do, even as he felt Draco jerk next to him and heard his accompanying cry. The horrible eyeless face jerked forward and Harry scrambled back, tumbling against Neville's stomach.

"OOGA BOOGA!" the face yelled, just as he heard Remus call "Lumos!"

The room flooded with light. Blinded, Harry shouted again in fear and kicked.

The owner of the horrible face grunted whoofingly and keeled over to one side. Harry stared, certain that one kick from a thirteen-year-old boy couldn't possibly have done that much damage to Voldemort himself, when he suddenly realised that the red, melting face had vanished and in its place was Fred Weasley's freckled snub nose and mocking mouth.

Another shape -- George -- tossed himself to one side, away from Draco, and skidded across the floor.

"What'd you do that for?" George demanded of Harry. Harry, furiously, kicked George too and thrust himself to his feet, meaning to leap on the pair and beat them senseless, fifth-years or not.

Remus, seemingly from nowhere, caught Harry by the collar and jerked him backwards, pushing past him. Other students were sitting up and shouting about the racket; Draco was pale and trembling, still only half-out of his sleeping bag. Remus hauled Fred and George upright effortlessly, both boys doubled over from Harry's kicks. Fred clutched his stomach, George his left shoulder.

Harry looked up at Remus, who was white with rage. He didn't speak, didn't seem to be capable of talking, just clenched Fred and George's arms in his hands until Fred cried out.

"Professor, you're hurting us!" he said. Remus shook him silent.

"Good," he replied, in a low and dangerous voice. "Remember it."

He released them both, and Fred rubbed his arm regretfully.

"I should lock you out of the castle," Remus continued. There was a tremble in it that had nothing to do with grief or weakness. "I should shove you into the arms of a Dementor and see how you enjoy it."

"We were only having a little -- "

"Fun?" Remus asked, and Severus Snape could not have poured more scorn into a single word. "You think it's fun to torment other children, do you?"

Oliver Wood loomed up on Harry's other side. Slowly, the Slytherin Beaters got to their feet.

"You enjoy making light of a murderer in the castle?" Remus demanded. "You find disturbing the sleep of others entertaining, Fred Weasley?"

Fred looked down at his feet.

"Do you, Fred? George?" Remus inquired.

"Nosir," they replied.

"What happened, Harry?" Oliver asked softly. Harry opened his mouth and found his throat was too dry for speech.

"Draco, are you all right?" Remus asked, without looking away from the shamed, penitent twins.

"I'm fine," Draco whispered. Padma, who had missed the action, was sitting up in her sleeping bag, arms draped protectively around his neck from behind, chin resting on his shoulder.

Remus lifted his head and raised his voice. "Does anyone else think it would be funny to play pranks tonight? Does anyone else think now is an appropriate time to cause confusion and distress?"

There was a chorus of frightened replies, scored for a few hundred anxious voices to the tune of "No, Professor".

"He kicked me!" George burst out, unable to take the shame any longer. "He knew it was me and he still kicked me!"

"You'll have worse before much longer," Remus answered coldly. "From your Head of House, to start, and I imagine from your Captain as well."

The twins looked apprehensively, pleadingly, at Oliver Wood. Oliver put one large hand on Harry's shoulder. Remus crossed his arms.

"High Table, both of you," he said. Fred and George glanced at each other, then made their slow way across the field of sleeping bags towards the front of the Great Hall. Remus looked at Oliver.

"I can take care of things here," Oliver said. "Right, Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth again and found speech this time. "Just startled," he managed. "We're all right."

Remus nodded curtly.

"Back to sleep, everyone," he called, dousing the lights once more. He charmed a small handful of green flame and Harry watched it dip and bob as Remus followed the twins back to the high table. He sank slowly back down on his sleeping bag.

"We'll kill them," Neville whispered in his ear. Oliver dropped among them, crossing his legs. Harry glanced at Marcus Flint and saw that his own Captain had slept through the entire thing.

"What the bloody hell happened?" Oliver asked in a soft voice.

"Fred and George," Padma sighed.

"I gathered that much."

"They made themselves up to look like -- like monsters," Harry said. "With no eyes and all."

Oliver ran a hand over his face. "And woke you up?"

Draco swallowed. "Guess so," he murmured.

"They're off the team," Oliver told Harry. "There's pranking and that's all well and good, but not tonight. They're off."

"You can't do that," Harry said, though he was startled to hear himself say it. "You're playing us in a week. You won't have time to train new Beaters."

Oliver gave him an odd look. "You're worried about that?"

"Well, they didn't do anything unsportsmanlike," Harry continued, though it felt as if someone else was saying the words. He felt detached from it all, as though "Harry" had fled to somewhere in the back of his brain. Oliver was staring openly at him now. "You can't punish the whole team because Fred and George are arseholes."

"Hear hear," Neville said. "McGonagall's bound to do something really awful to them, Oliver."

"I think they should be expelled," Padma said vehemently. Draco made a little choking noise as her arms tightened painfully around his neck. "Sorry," she added, releasing him.

"Sokay," he gurgled.

"We'll talk about it in the morning, anyhow," Oliver decided. "Think you lot can sleep?"

Harry and Draco nodded, though Harry privately thought neither of them actually would. Oliver waited until all four of them were once again lying silently in their sleeping bags before he crouch-walked back to his own and crawled inside.

Harry lay awake a long time, straining to hear what Remus was saying to the twins, but they were much too far away and the sudden shock had made him strangely tired. His last vision before he slipped back into sleep was of Draco's eyelids drooping slowly over his pale grey eyes.

***

Remus knew he was shaking visibly and he knew he was frightening the twins; he knew that even Molly, who was fairhandedly stern with all her children, and especially Fred and George, would be angry with his treatment of her sons.

"Professor McGonagall will be notified as soon as she is available, though I don't see why you want to waste her time punishing you when a dangerous man could be loose in this castle," he said to the two silent, now-sullen boys. "I will personally notify your parents of what you have done. I won't bother asking what you were thinking, because I'm certain you weren't. You do realise that you may have been mistaken for the man who attacked the castle this evening? That I might have killed you because I thought you were someone else, attacking a student?"

The twins were saved from answering by Sirius, who put his head in the door that Remus was standing in front of.

"I'm bollocks-freezing and the professors are all wandering the halls, running into each other and throwing hexes without thinking," he said. "I've done all I can -- hallo boys," he said, coming around Remus to tousel their hair. "What're you doing up? Volunteering to help? Because if you go out there you're liable to be knocked on your arses -- "

He turned at that point and Remus knew he must look actually terrifying, because even Sirius started.

"What's happened?" he asked.

"You two, sit there," Remus said, pointing to two chairs at the opposite end of the high table. "If you so much as move, you'll be sweeping halls with Filch until you graduate."

The boys obeyed silently and stiffly. Fred rubbed his ribs as they went. Remus took Sirius by the arm and pulled him back out the door, into the dim hallway.

"Did they -- " Sirius managed, before Remus slammed him up against the wall so hard he grunted. Remus pushed up against him and kissed him roughly. He knew he was shaking, knew Sirius could feel him shaking, but all that adrenaline had to go somewhere and Sirius was closest. He had felt a strong and terrible urge to hurt the twins, something that he recognised from full moons as the wolf's urge to eviscerate anything that came near his pack. Even now, with Sirius' fingers in his hair and willing body arching against him, he could feel the low instinctual push to kill.

Sirius moaned. "Moony -- "

Remus bit his earlobe.

"If I didn't have to see to the children in there," he heard his own voice rasp, low and aggressive, "I'd take you right here."

He stepped back, really more like pushed himself back, and Sirius stared at him with dark, confused eyes.

"Get McGonagall," Remus said, breathing deeply. "Tell her Fred and George Weasley assaulted two students and I'm locking them in her office for the night. You'll need to take them there. I have to stay with the students."

Sirius, still leaning against the stone, nodded slowly. He moved forward, kissed Remus a second time, and loped down the corridor, heading for the main stairs.

Remus wiped his mouth, faintly appalled at himself, and walked back into the Great Hall. The rustle of whispers that had risen in his absence abruptly ceased.

Chapter 13

Sunday morning found the search for Lucius Malfoy still continuing, now in shifts. Hagrid had found the Hufflepuff portrait's card-players on the fourth floor, their wounds being attended to by a nineteenth-century portrait of a famous Healer (Ravenclaw, '67). House by House, the students were allowed to return to their common rooms. They went with quiet obedience, under strict orders not to leave for any reason.

The card-players described a man who might or might not be Lucius; certainly a tall, mad-eyed man with a face like a fox sounded like him. The man, they said, had a shaved head and quiet manners and wore fine-looking green robes. They'd almost taken him for a new professor, perhaps a substitute for someone, except that on first refusal he had flown into a rage and torn their painting to shreds. Dumbledore promised repairs, which soothed the agitated men somewhat.

Sirius took Remus to his rooms at dawn and put him to bed while the rest of the professors gathered to sift through his carefully-kept notes and ascertain what still needed to be searched. Being something of a free-agent and wanting to pass on his information to Dumbledore personally, Sirius wandered down to the kitchen for some cocoa and found the Headmaster there, serenely drinking tea at the long kitchen table. The kitchen elves seemed to be split equally between dancing unnecessary attendance on the Headmaster and preparing huge vats of porridge and pans of sausages for breakfast. Sirius collared one and demanded cocoa.

"Everyone's upstairs, divvying up the rest of the castle," he said, by way of greeting. "Remus is asleep."

"As he ought," Dumbledore replied, as an elf served Sirius and skittered away. "I didn't really expect Lucius would stay after being twice-foiled. What have you found?"

Sirius stared into his cup. "I've been back to both doors three times. I thought maybe the first time it was just that I was distracted."

"Oh?" Dumbledore raised one shaggy eyebrow.

"There's Peter," Sirius said. He could hear the puzzled tone in his own voice. "I know there were wards put up around the castle to keep him out, but there's just a trace of him everywhere the damage was done. Otherwise -- the grounds are just animal, and the castle's too full of children to pick up anything vital. I can smell something powerful when I'm at the doorways, but I don't know how he got in, or from one door to the other."

"Could he have been with Pettigrew recently?" Dumbledore asked.

"Well, that'd account for the stray traces." Sirus rubbed his neck, angrily. "I wish I could have got more."

"Even Sirius Black has his limitations, few as they are," Dumbledore said, with gentle reproof in his voice. "Tell me -- is it true that dogs can smell fear?"

Sirius laughed bitterly. "It's not, but I know what you're asking."

"By all means then, answer."

"He's healthy -- probably pretty well-fed -- but he hasn't bathed in a while. The clothes are new, might be stolen from a shop in Hogsmeade."

Dumbledore digested this, sipping his tea.

"Fortunately," he said finally, "whoever it was -- and I agree that Lucius Malfoy is likely -- he is all too human, and has left us invaluable gifts."

He placed a small vial on the table. Inside, two broken fingernails rattled.

"Six fingernails and a few scrapings of blood. Enough for Severus and Minerva to erect wards within the school against whoever they once belonged to," he said. "That will be carried out as soon as the search is complete. These are for you."

"You shouldn't have," Sirius replied drily.

"They are intended to create similar wards around your home in Hogsmeade. It was not by accident that Remus Lupin's door was the one attacked. For whatever reason, he is a target; possibly his close association with you, probably because Lucius Malfoy knows from Peter what Remus is, and that he would be weak. Quite probably, if he is in the thrall of Peter Pettigrew, the attack was meant as belated vengeance."

"Vengeance?" Sirius asked.

"Peter is a small-minded man, and small-minded men make small plans, which is in some ways a mercy for us," Dumbledore told him. "When he was defeated, he wanted the strongest possible ally; Lucius was the most powerful wizard he knew, as a Death Eater, discounting Voldemort himself. The fact that he is now mad would mean little to Peter. I believe that, having recruited a strong partner, he has set out for nothing more or less than full revenge. Remus is the easiest target, the day after a full moon. Harry would undoubtedly be next."

Sirius stared at him in open horror. That Peter might be gathering strength for some atrocity had crossed his mind, and even that Peter might one day try to come for Harry again. Pure, murderous, pointless revenge had never occurred to him. It was his duty to protect Harry, so instinctive that it didn't even need to be spoken, but Dumbledore had always given the impression that it was for some larger cause, as well.

The idea of Peter murdering Sirius' family out of idle spite made his belly clench and his shoulders pull inward.

"I believe Lucius found his way into the castle with the intent of murdering Remus," Dumbledore said in a low voice. "He may have intended to retrieve his son as well, or he may have been sidetracked by the knowledge that Draco was close by."

"There must be a way to find them," Sirius said. "We can't go on double and triple warding forever. There's always a break. James and Lily died to teach us that."

"Indeed. Have you any suggestions?"

Sirius bowed his head, knitting his hands through the hair just above his neck. They sat in silence for some time.

"No," he said finally. "Short of going into the forest and scent-tracking them. But they're all over, there's no way to find out where they're hiding. And I know how dangerous the forest is. I have to think of Harry -- I won't be any good to him dead."

"Then all we can do is make things as secure as possible," Dumbledore said.

"I can help."

"I was depending upon it."

***

There is the feeling of gauntness again, alien to his well-fed body in the other life. There is also cold, the wind in the Quidditch stands whipping through his thin cloak. He huddles down, grateful for the warm bodies on either side of him -- Dumbledore on his left, Sprout on his right. He is watching Quidditch, but not really watching the game; the sport never interested him much at school, nor does it now. He wishes he could be inside, with a book in his lap and a bowl of hot stew in his hands.

He remembers fifteen, sixteen, twenty years ago, sitting between Sirius and Peter (better not to think on them but remembering all the same), wishing for the same things but determined to show willing for James, who would be out on the pitch showing off for Lily Evans. Thirteen years old himself, wanting nothing more to be in the common room with a book, though at the same time feeling oddly glad, in a way he wouldn't understand until much later, that Sirius was so close. And by that time Sirius was playing himself, beating Bludgers every which way.

Now he is watching James' son out on the pitch. Not as showy as James, perhaps Harry hasn't got a girl he wants to show off for yet, but a dark head of hair and a set of Quidditch robes and those wild Seeker acrobatics just the same.

He is watching Harry, so he does not see the Dementors, though he sees Harry halt and then shudder and then slump over, tumbling off his broomstick. Surely not, surely it is just a dive.

But Dumbledore is standing and shouting something and Harry is falling --

This time, though, he slips out of the dream without the usual cold-sweat-waking, as if someone has covered his eyes and wrapped a thicker, warmer cloak around his shoulders. He opens his eyes to see Sirius, head resting on his hands on the edge of the bed, watching him sleep.

***

Sirius came away from his meeting with Dumbledore more confused than ever, but McGonagall said she was "handling" the twins and that he should sleep too, as Sinistra and Hooch and Sprout were doing while the others continued to work. He fled gratefully for the comfort of Remus' quarters and found Remus sleeping fitfully, light enough that he woke when Sirius crouched down to study his face.

"I've been sent up," he said. "They're still working but they don't need me right now. I'm just climbing in -- go back to sleep."

"But Malfoy -- "

"Probably gone, and I've given my report to Dumbledore. He's managing things."

"Harry -- "

"Tightly locked up in Slytherin with most of the Quidditch team guarding him. You can't even see Draco for his Hufflepuff honour guard."

"I should talk to McGonagall about the twins."

"It's being handled," Sirius said, pushing Remus back down onto the pillows. "It's all being taken care of."

"Everything?" Remus asked in a tired voice.

"Everything," Sirius assured him, sliding under the blankets. "We won't be needed for a few hours."

He settled himself up against Remus, in the way they often slept, Remus on his back and Sirius haphazardly flung up against him, arm across his chest. He waited for Remus to fall asleep again, but while the tension was gone from his body, his eyes still stared thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"Did I hurt you last night?" he asked. "With -- the wall and everything?"

"Nup," Sirius said, nosing his shoulder. He felt as pensive as Remus sounded, and wondered if now was the proper time to speak of why. "I worry about you, sometimes."

"I was just strung up -- I could strangle those twins."

"It's not just that," Sirius said. "You know I love you. And I like that you're not as quiet as you used to be."

Remus snorted.

"But -- you're angry. Not at me, not at Harry, just -- you've never had a temper before. Now...you were so furious about Umbridge, and that girl Anne that Andi's looking after, and now the twins. I know what the wall was about, not about you or me, just anger. I worry you're unhappy here."

Remus turned his head to one side, to meet his gaze.

"If you say the word, we'll take Harry and go away," Sirius continued. "Back to the River House. Or to anywhere you want. Somewhere warm and quiet. We can protect Harry on our own."

"I can't do that, just leave. Neither could you."

"Are you unhappy?" Sirius asked, ignoring the unpleasant truth Remus had just spoken.

"No -- I love Hogwarts, I like teaching. I get to see Harry every day. I feel useful here, like I did at Sandust." Remus curled closer. "But I feel like..."

"What?" Sirius asked, suddenly afraid.

"I feel like there's a breaking point coming," Remus said. "Not here or now, just -- in the other place. In my dreams, that place."

"Harry?"

"I don't know. I don't remember. I know I was terribly sad and always cold and always frightened. Am," he corrected himself. "The other me -- I sound like I'm going mad."

Sirius pulled the blankets tighter around them. "You're not mad."

"I know that I helped Harry," Remus stuttered a little. "But I know that I -- he -- he's going to betray him, too. Hurt him. Or maybe it's you he'll betray. Maybe both. When it comes it's going to be bad, it's already echoing across. I hate myself," he said suddenly. His voice was harsh. "I hate to think I'm capable of doing that."

"We all are," Sirius said, after a moment. "Even when we don't mean to. I've done it. I did it to you."

"You've never -- "

"For two years. Before you came to Sandust. I let you starve. Don't tell me you hid it from me, I have eyes, I could have seen. We lost them and Harry and I let you starve, Remus."

Remus was silent.

"But things can be fixed. We fixed it. Or I wouldn't be here with you, I'd be some lonely bastard picking up girls in the bookshop."

Remus laughed, a good sound. Sirius kissed his shoulder.

"Here and now, there's nothing to be done. Just you and me. Dumbledore's here in the castle, he'll take care of everything. He always does."

Remus closed his eyes, nodding.

"But he won't always," he said, trailing off a little as he mumbled his way into sleep.

"Long enough. He might outlive us all."

"No..." Remus muttered.

"Why, you know something I don't?" Sirius asked, amused. "Been scrying with Trelawney in your spare time?"

Remus said something that Sirius couldn't quite piece together; it sounded like "Sixteen" but that made no sense. Then again, he was asleep before Sirius could say another word, and perhaps it was only some random syllables bounced up from his dreaming unconscious.

And anyway, this was Moony. What possible betrayal could he commit? It was probably just his old fear, the fear of hurting someone on the full-moon nights. Always so many questions, after each schooltime moon -- did we see any people? Did I try to hurt anyone? Are you sure? You were always there?

Probably.

***

FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY, YOU ARE TWO OF THE MOST TROUBLESOME CHILDREN ANY MOTHER EVER RAISED. I DON'T KNOW I'M SURE BECAUSE I KNOW I TAUGHT YOU MANNERS. WHAT ON EARTH WERE YOU THINKING, ATTACKING OTHER STUDENTS LIKE THAT? YOU WEREN'T THINKING, WERE YOU? YOU NEVER THINK! IT'S BY MERLIN'S OWN GRACE YOU AREN'T EXPELLED AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT WE SHALL DO WITH YOU AT CHRISTMAS. JUST WAIT UNTIL YOUR FATHER SEES YOU. IF YOU DON'T TAKE YOUR PUNISHMENT WITH THE PROPER HUMBLE SPIRIT YOU'LL BE BANISHED FROM CHRISTMAS DINNER COMPLETELY! I HOPE PROFESSOR LUPIN SHOOK YOU UNTIL YOUR TEETH RATTLED!

AND NO, I WILL NOT STOP SENDING YOU HOWLERS UNTIL I SEE IN HARRY'S OWN HAND THAT YOU HAVE PERSONALLY SAID YOU ARE SORRY TO HIM AND DRACO MALFOY!

Love, your mum.

***

All work on the house in Hogsmeade came to an abrupt halt as Sirius took up his new mission. In the days after the search ended he spent all his time in the castle, carefully walking the hallways and stopping up any gaps, putting new charm-locks on windows, checking false walls long since forgotten by the collective student memory. He became a familiar sight to the students in the corridors, who would gather around between classes and take in an impromptu lecture on repairing weakened charms or blocking off old dead-ends in the towers. Severus seethed and ignored him pointedly, except when he made students late for Potions class. Merlin help the tardy child who had no more wit than to say they were watching Sirius Black lecture the portraits on how to raise an alarm if suspicious villains were lurking.

It did not help his mood that Dora had gone back to London to quietly keep her ear to the ground. Severus would not admit that he ever demanded less of his students than their absolute best efforts, but he was noticeably sharper and marked more severely the day after she left.

The students were more subdued than normal and spoke in quiet tones, even in the hallway, though there was a rash of misbehaviour of the sort that usually only showed up around end-of-term.

"I think I understand it a little better now," Remus said to Dumbledore, standing on the steps to the school. It was a crisp day, promising early snow that year, and he had his hands shoved deep in his pockets for warmth. Severus was sitting nearby, ostensibly supervising the activities on the field but in reality correcting a handful of longwinded seventh-year essays.

"Splendid. No understanding is ever wasted," Dumbledore replied.

"He wants you to ask him what it is he understands," Snape growled. "Don't give him the pleasure."

"I'm quite capable of talking to myself, if you don't care to listen," Remus replied. "I was speaking, generally, of the rash of pranks these past few days and the twins in particular. I think I understand why they did it."

"Because they are two pinheaded brutes in need of a sound whipping?" Snape asked.

"The children are tense. The tension has to go somewhere. Pulling pranks is cathartic. Getting punished is too, in a way. Reminds you that you're alive. Puts blisters on your fingers." Remus nodded to himself. "The game tomorrow ought to put paid to their mischief for a while. Lots of shouting and running around. Do them all good."

"They should have been thrown off the team," Snape replied, without looking up from his papers.

Remus looked out again over the grounds, to where Fred and George were serving their punishment. McGonagall had thrown up her hands, not knowing what to do; for all intents and purposes the prank itself had been a minor event, its crime heightened by bad timing and choice of victim. Dumbledore, who preferred the punishment, when possible, to fit the crime, could not very well spend a week scaring the daylights out of the twins. They had finally settled on something both humbling and apt: Fred and George were to spend their evenings, under adult supervision, teaching the first-years to play Quidditch. They had brightened quite a bit at this suggestion, but were probably now wishing they could have been scrubbing toilets instead. To a fifth-year, the small and homesick first-years were hardly worthy of notice, and now they had to be polite to them and patient with them.

The first-years, who felt a certain solidarity with anyone below fourth-year level, were not making it easy on the Weasley boys.

"I understand it was offered," Dumbledore said. "I'm told by fairly reliable sources that Oliver Wood had every intention of removing them from the team."

"Oh?" Snape asked disinterestedly. "Clearly he was persuaded otherwise."

He finally looked up from his papers, a sidelong glance at Remus which said he knew perfectly well who the culprit would be in that case.

"Yes -- Harry has a very good sense of fair play," Dumbledore said. Snape dropped his papers. Two or three went fluttering across the field and a dozen first-years broke formation to retrieve them for him.

"I understand why he might prevent them being removed," the Headmaster continued. "Unfair to punish Gryffindor with substandard Beaters because two of their number have poor decision-making skills. Besides, it spoils the fun of the thing. Immensely sporting of him, don't you agree?"

"Foolish; he'll never learn to press his advantage," Snape muttered. "Why the boy is a Slytherin I'll never know."

"Harder to play against a decent team," Remus said, looking thoughtful. "Why make life easier now? He knows enough to push when it counts. It's only a game, Severus. Besides, Harry knows how to pick his battles."

"Well, we shall hope he picks tomorrow, then. I would like him to put the fear of Slytherin into those two."

"Merlin, I'll have to wear black tomorrow, I suppose," Remus mused.

"Black?" Dumbledore asked.

"Everyone knows I was a Gryffindor. Bad form to be seen rooting for Slytherin as a professor. Best to be neutral."

Snape looked up again. "Slytherin?"

"Harry's team. I wore green every game day for two years."

Snape cocked his head curiously at Remus. Dumbledore, with his usual impeccable timing, disappeared into the castle. Remus laughed as one of the first-years tumbled off his broomstick and onto Fred's head.

"Rooting for the House is well and good when you're in it," he continued casually, "but we become men and have children of our own, and live and die by their triumphs. Unavoidable, really."

"Vicarious," Snape sniffed.

"No -- well, perhaps for some. I want Harry to be happy; winning Quidditch makes him happy. If winning unfairly wouldn't satisfy him, there's no point in it. Children want to please their parents. Which means their parents should be pleased by things that satisfy their children. Vicious circle, some would call it, but it seems to work."

"You are aware Harry is not your son."

"No more, Severus, than he is yours," Remus replied, confident that Snape would understand. The other man sniffed and rolled up a freshly-marked essay. "Here, pass me some, I'm bored."

"You're notoriously bad at Potions."

"So, I'll mark for grammar and you can mark for content." Remus held out his hand and Snape reluctantly put three rolled-up parchments in his hand. An hour later, Sirius found the pair of them sitting on the steps like bookends, heads bent over the essays, working quietly.

***

Harry woke, the day of the term's first Quidditch match, at a truly unreasonable hour. He knew that he wouldn't sleep again, because his first thought on waking was Quidditch and his nerves immediately strung themselves taut, his stomach cramping with anticipation.

The clock in the Slytherin common-room said it was not quite five, so the kitchen elves ought to be up, at least. He could hear rain pounding against the castle walls as he dressed and wandered up to the Great Hall.

Oliver Wood was sitting at one end of the Gryffindor table, the only other person in the big echoing room. He waved at Harry with his oatmeal spoon.

"You're up early," Harry said, dropping down on the bench across from him.

"Rain woke me," Oliver grunted. "You?"

"Nerves."

"Shouldn't admit that to the opposing team, f'I were you."

Harry grinned. "Like the way you're bolting that oatmeal isn't any kind of sign."

Oliver put his spoon down and swallowed carefully.

"Miserable weather," Harry said, casting about for a new subject. "Rotten playing conditions."

"Part of the game," Oliver replied, looking relieved. "They were going to build a big indoor stadium for the Pride of Portree, and the entire league put their foot down. Wouldn't have it. Said it would kill the surprise of things."

"Well, it'd make the snitch a lot easier to catch," Harry agreed.

"Plus, rebounding bludgers. Buggers would crack the roof sooner or later." Oliver grinned. "I'm going out for Pride as a free agent next year. Would be nice to be able to say Gryffindor took the cup my last year."

"Nicer if you can say I made you work for it," Harry retorted.

"You are the most arrogant little bastard who ever chased a Snitch," Oliver answered.

"Fine talk from someone who sits in front of a bunch of hoops all day," said Harry, and both of them cracked up laughing. "Hey, how do you know when you've got a Keeper as a houseguest? He sits on the sofa, never gets up, and just tries to grab food if you carry it past."

Oliver nearly snorted his oatmeal out his nose. "What does a Seeker do in the morning?"

"Dunno, what?"

"Pays her and goes home."

Harry laughed even as he turned bright red. Oliver leaned in close.

"Potter, all this stuff about House loyalty and rivalry -- off the pitch it's just so much dragon dung, you know that, right? Even when I talk about it, it's utter shite. That's why Flint and I can't get on. He really takes it all seriously."

"Sure," Harry said, though he hadn't known. Or rather...he had known it, in some fashion, but he'd never articulated it. Not that Oliver had put it particularly well, but he'd at least put words to it.

"Good luck," Harry said.

"Fly like hell," Oliver replied.

Chapter 14

At one point in this chapter I have used dialogue or description from Prisoner of Azkaban. This is intentional, as Laocoon's Children does run parallel to the books. In this instance, Harry's Dementor-inspired hallucinations are drawn from canon.

***

The professors came out of the castle like so many enormous birds, heads bowed under umbrellas against the rain and cloaks flapping around their legs in the fierce wind. The students poured around them, louder and much more brightly coloured, bearing gaudy rain-hats and almost to a one in House colours.

Padma and Draco, who had flipped a coin over who to back, were in vivid Slytherin green with Neville trailing behind them, amiable in Gryffindor scarlet. The weather was vile, but Quidditch was worth it, and all three were in high spirits.

Just as they passed the professors, they heard someone shout "Severus!" and Nymphadora Tonks crested the hill from the front gate. She ran through the rain and mud, apparently making for the cluster of professors with umbrellas. At the last minute she slipped, skidded in the mud, and slammed into Professor Snape, who caught her around the waist before she could fall down. She threw her arms around his neck and grinned. The entire student body of Hogwarts hooted and laughed.

"Wench," they heard Snape mutter, but he offered her half of the space under his umbrella, which did necessitate them huddling close underneath it. The students ran on, towards the stands and the paltry shelter they would provide.

"Harry's going to die in this deluge," Neville shouted into the wind. "He won't be able to see a thing!"

"I charmed his glasses!" Padma called back. "They'll keep clear anyway. Are you going over to Gryffindor?"

"I ought to. Where will you be?"

"Other side of the Professors' box, Ravenclaw benches," Draco answered. "See you after the game!"

Up in the stands, they found seats near the Professors' box and watched as their teachers filed in and sat down, passing around thermos bottles full of cocoa and flasks full of something a bit more powerful. Dumbledore, resplendent in an enormous white ulster, was hosting a pair of unknown men in the first row, with McGonagall on the other side of them. Lee Jordan leaned over to shake their hands from the announcer's chair and Padma caught the words "Professional" and "Recruit". Professor Snape and Dora were sitting in the back row, huddled against the wall.

"I THINK THEY'RE CUTE," she shouted, above the roar of cheers as the players took the field.

"WHAT, ALL OF THEM?" Draco shouted back.

"ALL OF WHO? WHAT?"

Draco pointed at the players, and she giggled.

"NOT THEM! PROFESSOR SNAPE AND PROFESSOR TONKS!"

Draco rolled his eyes expressively. There was a whistle from the field and their attention was drawn away as the Quidditch balls rose in the air, the Snitch vanishing almost before it was seen and the Bludgers circling the pitch menacingly.

"Slytherin takes the Quaffle to start, and they're off!" Lee Jordan announced.

***

Harry, if he had heard Remus talk about catharsis and misbehaviour, might have agreed once he was in the air. He always loved Quidditch, but in the screaming wind and furious speed he felt a fierce joy warm him from the inside. He almost believed the rain would steam right off his skin.

He had been a little worried about the game -- they had two new Chasers and Crabbe really wasn't as bright as a Beater ought to be, but then that was Flint's lookout, not his. Harry's job was to get the Snitch, and he had a full year's experience on Ginny Weasley, who had landed the coveted Seeker's spot on Gryffindor. Harry vaguely remembered Ginny putting paint in his hair back when he'd attended Molly Weasley's little home school, and wasn't precisely intimidated by her.

Down below, the Twins were playing merry hell with Slytherin's Chasers, and Harry scowled. They had come and apologised, and seemed to mean it, but he was still angry. Oh, he'd written Molly a letter saying all was fine, and they'd said sorry, but he was unwilling to let them off so easily. School discipline had been satisfied, but Harry had not. He liked the twins, used to play with them, and trusted them; in return they'd embarrassed and frightened him in front of his friends. He was not going to forgive them so easily as he'd said in his letter to Molly.

And he was circling uselessly; the Snitch would be hard enough to see in sunlight, but in the rain it was nearly impossible. He would find it or it would find him so, with one eye on Ginny and the other scanning endlessly for the Snitch, he dove into the middle of the scrimmage and started getting in the way. In the way of the Gryffindor Chasers, in the way of Fred and George's bats so if they hit a Bludger they'd foul him, in the way of Oliver Wood as he dove for the Quaffle.

"What the hell are you doing?" Towler demanded, zipping past him.

"Making myself useful!" Harry shouted with a laugh.

"Don't get killed," Pucey warned him, passing on his other side. Harry saw Pucey drop like a stone and throw the Quaffle straight up to Persephone Ackerly, one of the new Chasers. She fumbled in the rain but overbalanced for a moment and managed to hang on to it, righting herself before ducking under a bludger and racing back to the Gryffindor goal.

Harry rose again, high above even the multi-level play that was now standard for Quidditch at Hogwarts, and circled. He could see Ginny doing the same, and wondered what she'd thought of his dive into the middle of things. She dropped suddenly, but he ignored it; she hadn't looked down first, and it was an amateur feint.

As he was scanning the north end of the pitch, he pulled his broom up short, then eased closer to the Hufflepuff seats, still alert for any flash of gold in the silver rain. Two men were standing next to the side wall of the stadium, nearly on the pitch itself. And they were fighting.

Harry dropped down for a closer look, wondering if it was two seventh-years in a spat. He was so distracted by the men that he didn't hear the shouts of warning or the fearful cries of the other players. The Snitch was forgotten, because one of the men seemed nightmarishly familiar...

The smaller of the two men seemed, oddly, to have the upper hand. He had finally got hold of the other man's arms and was twisting them behind his back. The first man raised his hooded head and the cowl slid off; rain pattered down on a shiny, clean-shaven head, pale and gleaming. The smaller man threw him to the ground and looked up.

Harry caught his breath and froze. The eyes that gazed up at him were goat's eyes, two crossed dark stripes in golden pupils that nearly filled his eyesockets.

He opened his mouth to scream or curse or call for help, he was never sure, but before he could get the words out he suddenly heard other words, words in his head.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl...stand aside, now...."

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead --"

White mist filled Harry's brain and he looked down stupidly. Below him, Dementors were surging across the pitch. He heard students screaming now, but they were dim echoes behind these new voices in his mind.

"Not Harry! Please...have mercy...have mercy...."

There was a shrill laugh, like an icepick in his skull, and then Harry slumped forward, fingers numbly releasing the broomstick as the world went dark.

***

When the Dementors began to surround the Pitch, people started to shout warnings, more to the players than each other. Severus Snape, who had more presence of mind than many, stood up and leapt to the thin edge of the stand's back wall, running along it like a child on a ridgepole. He was sliding down the ladder to the ground when he looked up and saw Sirius Black following. Good; an ally.

They ran, Sirius a step behind, towards the pitch and the black cowled figures seeming to swim through the air across it.

"Expecto patronum!" Severus shouted. A large silver-white fox leapt forward, charging in and around and through the Dementors, who veered off. They went upwards, which wasn't much help; the Quidditch players scattered to the stands.

"HARRY!" Sirius bellowed, bolting straight through the Dementors as if they weren't there. Some small corner of Snape's mind said adrenaline but the rest of him looked up just in time to see Harry slump off his broomstick and tumble down.

At first, he thought that the world was slowing down, the way he had heard it sometimes did when the senses kicked up into overdrive. Then he realised the Dementors were still scattering away from the flashes of silver on the field, at least three of them now, and it was Harry who was falling in slow-motion. He looked up and saw Dumbledore standing like a white pillar with his wand outstretched.

An enormous silver hawk, another patronus, was wheeling and circling over the crowd now, dipping whenever a Dementor tried to rise, herding them towards the wide gap at one end of the field. A bearlike dog was standing in front of Sirius with its hackles raised as he picked Harry up and ran for the safety of the stands.

Nymphadora arrived at his elbow at the same time a silver-white peacock ran furiously squawking across the grounds, wings spread wide, tail in full fan. Severus had enough presence of mind to turn to her, his hair plastered wetly against his skull, and demand, "A peacock?"

"Come on, let's get inside!" she replied, grabbing his arm. "The game's over!"

"I SHOULD BLOODY WELL THINK!"

"No -- it's over. The Weasley kid caught the -- "

"SON OF A -- "

"Snitch!" she finished. She tugged his arm, slipped on the mud, and righted herself using him as leverage. Hagrid, puffing and blowing, trotted past them with a black bundle in his arms and absently shoved his enormous pink umbrella into Snape's hands. As he passed, Remus Lupin's death-white face was visible against the wet, hairy coat Hagrid wore.

"What happened to Lupin?" he asked, bobbing under the ridiculous pink umbrella.

"Passed out," she grunted. "How's Harry?"

"Black's got him," he replied as they half-ran, half-climbed the slippery hill to the castle. Inside, the children had bottlenecked in the doorway, shedding damp coats and shouting excitedly at one another.

"Move aside, you brainless spawn!" he snarled, and the students quickly hurried down the corridors. "Back to your common rooms, everyone! Prefects!"

"Trying, sir!" Percy Weasley, an oiksome boy, was herding Gryffindors up the stairs.

"Try harder!"

"Yessir!"

Severus dropped the pink umbrella in a corner, his sopping cloak and Nymphadora's smart rain-slicker following. They hurried through the halls, occasionally encountering a confused youngster who he dispatched to their House common rooms with barely-veiled hostility.

He ran into Hagrid in the doorway of the hospital wing, and Dora bumped into his back. They both slipped on the wet floor and finally went sprawling. Hagrid hauled them up effortlessly.

"In there," the enormous groundskeeper said, hurrying on his way.

"Nothing broken?" Severus asked Dora.

"If there is, I'm in the right place," she answered, leading him inside. He rubbed his elbow and followed.

Dumbledore and Black were there, deep in conference while Poppy Pomfrey stewed something on a table nearby. Harry lay in one of the beds, his cheeks still damp. Remus Lupin was sitting on another, doubled over, hands on his knees and head bent low.

"How are they?" Dora asked, turning instinctively to Dumbledore as the authority figure.

"I'm fine," Remus answered for himself, sounding irritated.

"You just stay there," Black called back.

"Professor Lupin is, as you see, conscious," Dumbledore said gently. "Harry is well; no broken bones. A bad brush with a Dementor, nothing more."

Severus pushed past them all, passing Harry's bed as Pomfrey bent over it to pour the sweet-smelling concoction into his mouth. Cocoa, probably. Harry was being attended to, at any rate.

He crouched in front of Lupin and picked up his wrist, taking his pulse.

"Let him alone," Black snarled, starting forward, but he heard a scuffle and knew that either Dora or Dumbledore was holding him back.

"Are you nauseous?" he asked. "Has Pomfrey given you anything?"

"No," Remus answered. "She knows I'm on the Wolfsbane."

"Dizzy?"

"Not anymore."

"Any strange tastes in your mouth?"

"Embarrassment, Severus, that's all. This hadn't anything to do with the potion."

Severus, confident that his pulse was even and steady, let his hand drop.

"Did he hit his head?" he asked, standing and turning to look at Dumbledore.

"He was sitting down," Black replied. "Hagrid said he just went over sideways. Fuck," he added firmly.

"You were -- seeing to Harry," Remus said haltingly. "Right where you should have been."

"You'll keep him for observation?" Severus asked, turning to Pomfrey.

"I think that would be best," she said, looking confusedly from Black to Dumbledore to Remus. Harry coughed against the cup held to his lips, and she took it away before he could choke. His eyes opened.

"Just lie still, there's a good lad," she said soothingly, putting a firm hand on Harry's shoulder. He nodded, but his eyes darted around the room.

"You had a fall," Black said, sitting on the other side of Harry. "You're in the castle now."

"Yeah..." Harry pushed himself up onto his elbows, despite Pomfrey's hand. "How bad was it?"

Black grinned a little. "Dumbledore slowed you down. Nothing broken, hard-head."

"I -- " Harry stopped. Severus actually saw his pupils dilate in panic. "Peter," he breathed.

"What?" Remus asked, lifting his head.

"I saw him," Harry said, voice trembling. "Peter Pettigrew. I saw him. He was at the game. He was fighting with someone -- "

"That's the Dementors," Pomfrey said soothingly. "They can make people see things."

"No, before that," Harry insisted. "That's why I didn't see them coming -- "

His whole body went rigid.

"Harry, you're safe here -- " Black began, but Harry was looking past him, past the castle walls. Severus felt a nauseous wave of fear and longing break over him, and threw up his mental walls quickly. Harry was terrified and agitated, and not over some mere Dementor-dream.

"I saw them," he said. "They were there, and then there was screaming..."

"I think perhaps Harry had better rest," Pomfrey said. Severus saw her hold the cup below the edge of the bed and break a capsule into the remains of the drink. She held it to Harry's lips and he drank, though he'd been opening his mouth to say something else. Even before he was finished, his eyelids were drooping. Black caught his head and eased it back onto the pillow.

"My study, I think," Dumbledore said, into the silence that followed. "Poppy?"

"I won't say a word," she said.

"Excellent. I believe we must take Professor Lupin with us, however. Mr. Black is qualified to judge his mental state, I'm sure," Dumbledore continued, and lifted one of Remus' arms around his shoulders without waiting for her to object. Remus stumbled for a few steps, then straightened.

"I can walk," he said, sounding less annoyed now.

Severus followed them out and along the hallway, feeling suddenly tired. He heard Dora gasp.

"I almost forgot," she said, reaching into the pocket of her robes. She handed a small envelope to Black. "It's something Remus asked for -- the files he wanted. Tap it twice and it'll expand."

Black shoved the envelope into his own pocket and nodded. They continued in silence until they reached the high, safe, and warm comfort of Dumbledore's study. Remus eased himself into a chair. Black leaned on the arm.

"That was a brilliant patronus," Dora said to him, in an undertone.

"Wasn't mine," Black replied. "I was going for Harry."

"The big dog?" she asked.

"Mine," Remus said. "I remember just before I went out."

"Who cast the hawk?" Black asked.

"Minerva's, I expect," Dumbledore answered, picking up a basket from his desk. "Toffee?"

They each took one, rather like children, though none of them unwrapped the sweet or ate it. Severus waved it off.

"Now then," Dumbledore said, seating himself at his desk. In the corner, Fawkes crooned reassuringly. "Let us see if we cannot make a coherent tale of this afternoon's adventure."

***

In the Gryffindor common room, all was chaos. The students, confused as to whether they should celebrate or not, talked loudly and animatedly about the game, while Lee Jordan and Hermione Granger pored over Quidditch rulebooks to see if the catch was fair.

Ginny sat at the windowseat, still in her muddy Quidditch things, her hair hanging in two limp, wet pigtails. The three Weasley boys were there as well, trying to cajole her into speaking, but she just stared at the little golden Snitch in her fingers.

Neville was worried about Harry, but he'd seen Sirius catch him, and Sirius was a grownup -- he would make everything okay. He'd seen Padma in the hall, briefly, and knew she was all right too. She'd been with Draco at the game, and she wouldn't bolt on him, so he must be fine as well.

The other students, who knew Neville was one of the knot of interhouse friends who stood fast against all comers, including their own House if necessary, were giving him a wide berth. Even in his scarlet jumper, he was a temporary Slytherin in their midst.

Well, so be it then. He pushed through the crowd and walked up to where Ginny was sitting, daring the Weasley boys to say anything. One by one they picked up and left, until he was alone with Ginny. She looked up at him, smiled insincerely, and went back to studying the Snitch.

"It was a fair catch," he said. "You got it before Harry fell."

She shrugged.

"Tisn't how you want to win your first game, huh?" he asked.

"No," she said softly. "Harry okay?"

"Dunno. Reckon so, he's had worse."

Ginny nodded. Neville sat on the windowseat. He didn't know Ginny all that well, but he knew what Harry would say.

"Honourable thing to do would be to give it back," he began. "Call the game a draw and re-play it. That's what a Gryffindor would do. Don't you think?"

"Yes," she said, no doubt in her voice now.

"Think you couldn't have won against Harry Potter?"

She looked up sharply at him. He shrugged. "You caught the Snitch. If you think you couldn't win, you should call for a draw and re-play. Then you should quit. 'Cause it was a fair catch, and if you don't think you're as good a Seeker as he is, or Cho Chang or Ced Diggory, you should quit."

"I'm as good as them any day," she said, fire flashing in her eyes.

"Then you could have won fair against Harry?" he asked. "Where I sat it looked like he was halfway across the field from you."

"You really think so?" she asked.

"Who're you talking to? Only Harry's best friend," Neville said. "Harry won't say anything different."

"He won't be mad?"

"Nah. Games have rules," Neville said, repeating something Harry had once told him. "If you don't learn to play by the rules, when you're out in the real world you won't know how to play by those rules, which you can't break, and then you'll just lose. Got to play by the rules. Rules say it was a fair catch."

"Hermione thinks -- "

"Oh seriously. Hermione?" Neville asked. "She's a brain and I like her, but she's hardly a Quidditch expert, is she?"

Ginny gave him the first real smile he'd seen since the game ended.

"Now go wash your hair and put on decent clothes, you look like a drowned rat," he added. To his shock, she threw her arms around his neck, hugged him tightly, and bolted for the stairs.

***

One of the greatest regrets of Draco's childhood was that nobody ever saw the Leap.

He hadn't done it for attention or to show off, at the time, but all the same it would have been nice if someone had seen it. It was a glorious Leap, the bravest thing he felt he'd ever done, despite having faced down a Basilisk and survived thirteen years with his mother.

When Harry fell from his broomstick everyone shot to their feet, Draco included, but while he was worrying about Harry he also saw Harry's Nimbus shake free of its owner and go whipping away. Draco knew how much Harry loved the Nimbus, a gift from Sirius, and he knew that if it got free and into the forest Harry would be crushed.

Draco saw the broomstick go racing past the stands. Everyone else ran for the ladders or stared after Harry, but unthinkingly, instinctively, Draco leaned the other direction, over the edge of the railing, and Leaped.

For a long minute he knew what it was to fly, with his coat flapping out behind him and his shoes dripping rainwater over pure empty space. It seemed to go on forever.

Then, with a testicle-crushing jolt that even the cushioning charms couldn't prevent, he landed on Harry's broomstick and hooked his arms around it, pressing his cheek to the pale wood. The broomstick dropped twenty feet at least, emerging from the back of the stands and shooting straight for the Whomping Willow.

Draco let out a warcry he didn't even know he had in him, half yelping pain and half ecstasy. The Nimbus rocked and jerked, spun and bucked, but Draco clung tightly and whooped again. He whipped it round to a halt and felt the brush of a leaf as the Whomping Willow reached out to club him and missed by a hair's breadth. The Nimbus jerked once, rebelliously, and then began to descend. Draco was damned if he'd drop down to the level of the swarming Dementors, even if they were what seemed like miles off by now. He jerked it up, firmly, and shot into the air above the forest.

"Yah!" he said daringly. "Take that!"

He was aware that he was wet and trembling, but he had Harry's broomstick, and that was what counted. Sirius would be proud, he was sure, and Harry would be pleased.

By the time he reached the Quidditch Pitch, however, he was worried. The stand and field were empty, echoingly empty. He hovered the broomstick over the field for a minute, feeling like an intruder, and then hurriedly flew back to the castle, looking over his shoulder for Dementors. It was a long journey, or at least it felt like much longer than usual, and when he arrived at the door there was nobody there, either. It was bolted shut. If the front door of Hogwarts was closed and locked, all of them would be.

He could go to the kitchens and bang on the windows for the elves to let him in, or he could probably knock on the window of a professor's office, but the idea filled him with dread. Hufflepuff dormitory was underground, no help there, and he didn't think he was brave enough to try Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, at the tops of the tall towers.

Harry would be in the hosptial wing though, wouldn't he? And if it came to the absolute worst he could try Remus' rooms. That would be mortifying in the extreme, but Remus wouldn't tell anyone, at least.

He lifted off again and rose slowly, still checking for Dementors. Past the first and second floors and up and up to the windows of the hospital wing. One of them was open and he studied it briefly before sliding inside, pulling the broom behind him.

It was empty and quiet here too, except for Harry, lying on the bed nearest the door. Over the fear and the weird loneliness of the empty grounds, Draco felt a twinge of pride as he set the broomstick by Harry's bed. He could sit on the bed next to him and dry off a bit, then he would go down to Hufflepuff.

He leaned back on the bed, boots dangling off the edge, and stared up at the ceiling. Eventually, without meaning to at all, he drifted off to sleep.

***

Two men stand in the forest, watching the castle and the empty grounds. One is tall and gaunt, but he wears the most expensive clothing it is possible to steal from Hogsmeade. The other is shortish, roundish, with a pointy ratty face. He is ranting, nearly raving.

"I have told you time and again that we will fetch the boy when the time is right, and not before!" he says, quiet but intense. "You've already cost us access to the castle with your stunt!"

"We will take him when we take Potter," the tall man says dully. "When will that be?"

"When we have a safe place to keep him and when he is alone. When he won't be missed. The men watching him aren't fools!"

"Shut up," says the tall man, and the smaller man obeys, looking surprised.

"Lucius," he snivels, after a moment, "There are things yet to be prepared and -- "

"He is my son," Lucius says proudly. Behind him, the smaller man rolls his eyes.

"Lucius, we have to be careful."

Lucius is lucid, for the moment, though he slips in and out.

"Did you see him jump from the high places?" he asks distantly. "Like Astyanax?"

"Who?"

"He leapt and did not fall."

"Come away, Lucius," says the small man, and Lucius smiles proudly.

"Yes, Peter," he replies.

***

Draco woke, several hours later, to a hoarse cry.

"FOUND HIM! HOSPITAL WING!"

The cry echoed weirdly around the room, as if it were passing through the walls. Draco sat up, startled, and nearly banged his head against Severus Snape's beaky nose.

"What are you doing here?" the man demanded.

"Um?" Draco said.

"Malfoy, what the ten kinds of hell are you doing here?"

Draco swallowed. "Brought Harry his broomstick," he said thickly.

"And decided to take a nap?" Snape asked.

"No...I just fell asleep..."

"While we searched the entire castle? Merlin, you are the world's own fool. Did you not hear me order everyone to their common rooms?"

Draco rubbed his eyes. He was not prepared to wake to an interrogation by his most feared professor.

"The door was locked when I came up," he said.

"Where were you before we locked it?"

"Getting Harry's broomstick," Draco said in a small voice. He looked up as Sirius skidded through the door at the same time Madam Pomfrey came out of her office to see what the hullabaloo was.

"Is he okay?" Sirius demanded.

"He won't be when I'm through with him," Professor Snape answered. "Pomfrey! Did you know Malfoy was here?"

"You didn't send him up?" she asked, perplexed. "I assumed he was sent up to keep Harry company."

"We've been searching the castle for him, woman! He was missed in the Hufflepuff headcount!"

"Well, you needn't take that tone," she retorted. "Nobody told me."

Draco slid to his feet and found himself suddenly engulfed in the smell of leather and wet dog. Sirius had wrapped him in a tight embrace.

"We thought your father had got you," he said, releasing a stunned and confused Draco. "We've been looking for hours -- there are Aurors all over the Forest."

And then he said the most dreaded words of Draco's existence.

"We've called your Mum, for Merlin's sake."

Chapter 15

There could now be no doubt in Dumbledore's mind that Lucius and Peter were together, and that they were in the forest.

Harry's testimony might have been befuddled by his encounter with the Dementors, but he was very clear on some things: he had seen Peter Pettigrew's goat-eyed stare. He had seen him struggling with a tall man that had to be Lucius Malfoy. A picture began to emerge of what had happened earlier that day on the Pitch -- Lucius and Peter had come, possibly to harm Harry, likely to harm Draco. The Dementors had been drawn by the high emotions of the game and had fixed on Lucius Malfoy when they were close enough; they surged across the grounds and Pettigrew and Malfoy had fled.

Harry, caught in backlash as the Dementors went past, had fallen from his broomstick. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Remus, and Snape had cast charms at about the same time, Tonks shortly after. Dumbledore had slowed Harry's fall enough for Sirius to reach him. Remus remembered only the urge to cast a Patronus; he had cast it sitting down, his wand half-caught in his sleeve, and had fallen over shortly after.

Padma had assumed Draco was with Neville, and Neville thought he was with Padma, so neither missed him. When Draco finally turned up missing during a headcount in Hufflepuff Dormitory, the alarm was raised and the castle searched. Nobody thought to look in the Hospital Wing, assuming that Pomfrey would have sent him down to his dormitory if he came to visit Harry.

Magical Law Enforcement were summoned and sent into the Forbidden Forest, though Dumbledore made no mention of Lucius Malfoy. Others searched the building with the help of the professors until the child turned up perfectly fine and a little sleepy in the bed one over from Harry. Kingsley Shacklebolt, called to lead the search, shook his head in disgust.

Narcissa Malfoy and Andromeda Tonks were also summoned, Narcissa because she was his mother and Andromeda because only Andromeda could have handled Narcissa without someone getting slapped. As it was, Draco came close. Narcissa was furious that her Hufflepuff of a son had caused her to be called away from a manicure, one hand spiked with long red nails and the other hand's nails still pale and short. If Andromeda had not been there, Draco would have suffered his mother's wrath longer and much more painfully; if Sirius had been there -- and he had demanded it at first -- Narcissa's pretty red nails would have been broken, and probably a few fingers too.

And still nothing was said of Lucius Malfoy.

It was not until that evening, after Narcissa had gone back to her manicure and the MLE agents had left, that Dumbledore called Shacklebolt into his study to dine with him privately. Harry had been woken for dinner and spent a long time speaking to Dumbledore; now Kingsley listened to what Harry had said, nodded gravely, and steepled his long fingers against his lips.

"You have two options, Headmaster," he said cautiously. "Neither of them good ones."

"Endanger a boy or endanger a school," Dumbledore sighed.

"If you formally report a witness account of Lucius Malfoy on your grounds, you can request Auror guards to protect the lad. He clearly needs it," he added sternly.

"Impetuous youth," Dumbledore replied.

"Yes, too impetuous. If Lucius is reported, however, we must insist on allowing the Dementors into the castle. I don't like them any more than you do, but those are my orders. I don't have the political power to disobey or countermand the Minister for Magic."

"And I cannot reason with him, much as I have tried."

"You have wards against Malfoy and Pettigrew encircling the castle. If you choose not to report his presence, what you've told me goes no further than this room. But you won't get guards, and you can't possibly hope to keep every child forever in the castle."

"I don't even propose to try," Dumbledore said.

"You said Lupin could protect him. I asked you to consider Moody."

"If the Dementors were not here, there would have been no need to protect him," Dumbledore said pointedly.

"Dementors or not, Pettigrew and Malfoy would have come up from the forest. And the Dementors did drive them back." Shacklebolt held up his hands, appeasingly. "I know, and I agree -- but I speak as a representative of the Aurors in this case. This is what they will say."

"I will not allow them in the castle."

"Then you will have to ensure his safety yourself."

Dumbledore nodded. "And what becomes of Malfoy the Elder?"

"Now that I have a confirmed presence in the forest, I'm prepared to take a risk," Shacklebolt answered. "I have five or six very loyal, very discreet men and women who can search. Nymphadora among them. If they are caught, you will no longer have a say in the matter. But they will do this for me."

Dumbledore offered his hand, and Shacklebolt shook it.

"What will you do? You still have another search to carry out," he observed as he showed Shacklebolt to the door.

"The decoy search is not entirely useless. We have good intelligence from the continent, and some of our people are tracking where Pettigrew and Malfoy went once they left Azkaban."

"When you have the time, come up to the castle again. There are people I should like you to speak to."

"From the war?"

"Just so. Lupin, Black, Snape -- "

Shacklebolt stopped on the threshold and turned to face him.

"Dumbledore, when Voldemort was in power, these men where eighteen, nineteen years old. I've met them briefly and they seem capable, but then they were inexperienced, and it showed. You nearly lost. Is it wise to depend on them now?"

"Minerva McGonagall was neither young nor inexperienced. Alastor Moody was in his prime. My brother and I were not without some little knowledge. We had no-one else but young volunteers upon whom to depend; the Ministry would not support us then, as it will not now. And these young, inexperienced men survived direct battles with Death Eaters and with Voldemort himself. They are now older and wiser, and have more reason to fight."

Shacklebolt gave him a measuring look, then nodded. "James trusted Lupin and Black, but James sometimes misplaced his trust, and I never knew them; it was not my war. I look forward to the meeting. Good evening, Headmaster."

"Good evening, Auror Shacklebolt."

***

At the same time that Shacklebolt was questioning Dumbledore about his chosen sons, Remus was setting a tray of food on Harry's bed and seating himself in a chair that Madam Pomfrey provided. She had fond memories of Remus from his boyhood, when he had been an earnest young man who spent too much time in the infirmary for a problem far beyond his control.

"How's Sirius?" Harry asked, picking up the cup of warm soup and sipping it slowly.

"He's fine. All this fuss and worry tired him out; he's sleeping in my rooms."

"Didn't tire you out?"

"I was told to sit still for most of it. I'm all right."

Harry nodded. Remus took one of the plates on the heavily-laden tray and cut open his baked potato, spreading butter on the inside.

"I know you've told Dumbledore a lot about what you saw," he said. "But I think there's also more, Harry, and there are things I need to tell you, too. Peter didn't knock you from your broom; that was something the Dementors did."

Harry swallowed. "I heard screaming."

"Did you recognise the voice?"

"Not -- not really," he answered. "But I think I know who it was."

"Oh?"

"I think it was my mum."

Remus froze, a chunk of potato halfway to his mouth.

"I heard a woman asking someone not to kill -- Harry, to kill me," Harry continued. "And someone laughing. Then the screams."

"Laughing?"

"High, shrill -- "

"Like a pain in your head," Remus finished. Harry blinked at him.

"How did you know?"

"I've heard it."

"When?"

Remus set the plate down. "Harry, you must understand...you were born in very desperate days. Nearly every day someone was killed, sometimes whole families together. It was our job to try to stop it. There wasn't much more we could do than that. We had no way of attacking directly. The Dark Lord was much too powerful for that, and he moved fast. Often he sent underlings to do his dirty work. That was how Regulus Black died, you know."

"How?"

"He was sent to kill someone, and hadn't the stomach for it. So he was executed. That is the way they work."

Harry stared into his soup.

"One night we heard that someone was going to try and kill a woman named Dorcas Meadowes, a friend of ours and a powerful witch in the fight. We didn't know who, but we got there as fast as we could -- your father and Caradoc Dearborn and I. We weren't in time, and I don't know why we even survived. Voldemort was there, you see. Killed her personally." Remus shuddered. "We saw him standing there over her body and he laughed."

Harry looked at him, pale and tired, enormous dark smudges under his eyes.

"James went for him, but by then he'd already vanished. I think all three of us heard that laugh for days."

"What happened to C -- Car -- "

"Caradoc? He disappeared, eventually. Died, we assumed. We never found a body. These are heavy things, Harry, and I'm sorry I can't protect you from them. Better you have a name to put with it, though. What you heard was your mother dying, at the hands of the man she died to protect you from. If you can call him a man."

He reached out and brushed Harry's hair off his scar, stroking it with his thumb.

"You know that sometimes I see things, things that never happened," he continued. "Things I hope will never happen. Today one of them did, and there will be more, I think. So I need to ask you something I have never asked you before."

Harry nodded.

"Sirius and I have always allowed you to question us and our decisions, even when we knew better, and have allowed you a great deal of leeway, because that is how children discover the world. For now, however, I need to know that you will obey us. Without question and without hesitation. If I tell you to do something, however foolish or unnecessary it may seem, I need to know that you will do it at once. Do you understand why?"

"Sometimes there's no time," Harry whispered.

"Yes. I promise I won't abuse the sudden power," Remus added with a smile. Harry smiled back, hesitantly. "Now -- eat your dinner."

***

It seemed as though something must break, something must happen next, but as the days passed things returned almost to normal. Remus was in good condition to teach on Monday, and by then Harry had been sent back to the Slytherins. He was not in good odor with the masses, having lost them the game, but Towler and Ackerly put down the most vehement protestors and Harry was capable of dealing with the rest. There was bad blood between Slytherin and Gryffindor, of that there could be no doubt, but the professors kept a close eye on them and eventually it died away. November passed in a blur of lectures and homework, even if they were restricted from going out on the grounds without a professor along. By the end of it, the seventh-years were already swotting for NEWTs and everyone else was preparing for end-of-term exams.

Sirius returned to the house in Hogsmeade, which was still unnamed. With Dobby's help, he painted and papered, tore things out and installed other things in their place, and built a shed onto the side of the house for his motorbike. By the end of the month he was running out of things to do. More and more, Padfoot could be seen heeling at Remus' side or lazing under a student's desk, usually Harry or Draco but also Padma and Neville on occasion.

Remus moved slowly for a few days after the game, but soon he began to walk more quickly, smile more readily, and joke more openly with the students. Yes, the castle was under what amounted to a two-man siege, but even adults have short memories for danger and as days turned into weeks they all relaxed by fractions.

Draco, on the other hand, became progressively more nervous as his first Quidditch match approached. Hufflepuff was playing Ravenclaw on the last Saturday in November, and it would be his first real test as a Beater. It helped not at all that Snape continued to heap scorn on him in Potions, and that the other students each had two carefully-supervised weekends in Hogsmeade while he had none. He might have tolerated it better if he could have sought out Remus again, but Remus had to go along to chaperone, and Draco had many yards of parchment to write for his extra Transfiguration tutoring.

Harry was civil to the twins, but had still not forgiven them. He bided and waited, and thought a great deal. His classwork never slipped, but he was quiet and watchful, and Sirius fretted over him. Remus, who saw him every day and had once been a watchful thirteen-year-old himself, did not worry so much.

On the morning of the match, Draco picked at his food, and all Harry's assurances that he hadn't eaten before his first match either fell on deaf ears. Draco knew that; he'd been there. Half of it was the sinking sensation that he was in far over his head and would never live up to the really pretty meager expectations Cedric Diggory had of him; the other half was the overwhelming terror of his mother finding out.

"Least it's not raining," Diggory said, as the Hufflepuff team changed into its flying robes. Draco double-checked his broomstick; he'd borrowed Harry's Nimbus and wanted to make sure everything was just-so. "Some small mercy, eh?" Diggory continued.

"Good flying weather," added Hawkins, the other Beater. He was a solid and dependable fourth-year, and next to him Draco looked like he was made of sticks.

"Be a good game. All right everyone, form up," Cedric added, and the rest of the team gathered in a circle just inside the changing-room doors. "Come on, Malfoy."

Draco, confused, joined the circle between Hawkins and Cedric. To his surprise, both boys took his hands. All around the circle, the teammates were joining hands and looking at one another expectantly.

"There is no game without players," Cedric said.

"Gamesmanship," the others replied.

"There is no team without people," Cedric continued.

"Loyalty," they said.

"There is no win without sacrifice."

"Humanity."

"There is no failure if we try."

"Triumph," everyone said, and after a collective breath they all chanted together, "Gamesmanship, Loyalty, Humanity, Triumph!"

Draco found it all a little weird.

"What was that?" he asked Hawkins in an undertone as they headed for the field.

"The Catechism of Diggory," Hawkins said with a grin. "We do it before every game. Old Hufflepuff tradition. Boyle used to do it when he was Captain too."

"Oh," Draco said, and suddenly they were there.

Cedric stepped forward and shook hands with Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw Captain. Draco tried to breathe, failed, took another deep breath, and was caught with a lungful of air and nowhere to put it as the balls rose in the air and he jerked upwards with the rest of the team.

***

Below, not in the stands but beneath and behind them, a small knot of Aurors heard the cheers as the game began. Shacklebolt, in the centre, crossed his arms.

"Let me take a moment to remind everyone that we are not here to watch the game. That's Tonks' job. She'll signal if anything in-game goes wrong. Keep your eyes on the forest and the bounds of the stands. Your job is not over until every student is safely back in the castle."

"Yessir," they chorused quietly.

"If you see Pettigrew or Malfoy, do not engage. Call for backup and track their movements. If they're going for the children, you are personally authorised by me to use Avada Kedavra, and I will stand responsible for your actions. Don't get yourselves killed."

They scattered efficiently, covering the ground assigned to them without overlap into anyone else's territory. From above, in the stands, came a cheer; Shacklebolt looked up briefly, but from here all he saw were the sides of the stands.

He had not fought in the last war, at least not at Dumbledore's side; he had been a raw recruit in the MLE, his Auror's badge still shiny and new. He had fought as Aurors could fight, and he sensed that Moody had sounded him out about another kind of war and at the time found him wanting. As a young man he had been too upstanding, too moral, too unable to get round the regulations that the Aurors imposed on their officers to keep them from becoming unregulated killers. He hadn't learned Auror cunning until after the war, during the cleanup, when the older officers took the younger ones under their wings and showed them what was good and what was not good to do. In its own way, chasing after the last remnants of the Death Eaters was more dangerous -- they were desperate then, without the arrogance that made them easier to catch (or evade, depending).

It was only after the war that Mad-Eye Moody had recommended him to Dumbledore, and he had begun to piece together from Moody and Dumbledore and from others he met what must have gone on while he was busy learning his trade.

He heard Lee Jordan call out a score for Ravenclaw, and the former Ravenclaw Prefect smiled a little. It sounded as though young Draco Malfoy was faring well; good, let him. Kingsley had heard enough of his father, and in truth enough of his half-mad mother as well, to wish the boy no ill.

There were two more scores, one by Ravenclaw and one by Hufflepuff, while Kingsley watched and waited. The bait should have been irresistible. Lucius Malfoy, he felt certain, would want to see his son play. On the other hand, Lucius was a madman, and who could predict what madmen would do?

Kingsley turned his head slightly; there was shouting in the match.

"Cho Chang is diving -- this may be the Snitch -- it is! Ravenclaw in hot pursuit with Hufflepuff right behind -- OH!"

The crowds of students cried out; Kingsley turned back to the forest, scanning intently. Wind ruffled the grass.

"Draco Malfoy blocks the Ravenclaw Seeker with a well-timed Bludger -- Malfoy, a new player this -- HUFFLEPUFF! HUFFLEPUFF HAS THE SNITCH! GAME TO HUFFLEPUFF!"

Kingsley let out a resigned sigh and lifted his wand. A bright blue streak shot up from it, and corresponding streaks of colour appeared on the grounds and along the edge of the Forest. Game over; time to come in and make sure the students got safely back.

He hated biding his time and waiting and playing defence; Kingsley was a cautious and patient man, but his instincts told him to fight, if only he could find his target.

The grass rippled and waved as he gathered his people together again and the students began to head back to the castle, crowding around the Quidditch players and shouting in triumph or booing at the triumphant, as the mood took them.

***

"HEY MALFOY!"

Draco, who was already sore and suspected he may have pulled a muscle swatting that last Bludger, turned at the shout just in time to see Harry, Neville, and Padma bearing down on him. Harry punched him in the arm and Neville pounded on his back; he feared Padma might slap him or something, but she grinned and punched his other arm.

"Ow!" he said, rubbing the sore muscle. "Hey, leave off!"

"Great game!" Neville cried, miming a very inexpert swing with an imaginary Beater's bat. Harry took Draco's from him and held it up like a baton, marching proudly in front. The other Hufflepuffs grinned good-naturedly and smacked him on the back of the head or gave him a thumbs-up as they passed. Cedric Diggory fell into step with the four of them, beaming.

"I've got to run and tell everyone good game and handshake and everything," he said. "Brilliant match, Malfoy. Hey Potter, you scout for my team any time you feel like it, okay?"

"Just wait till I get on the pitch with you," Harry replied, and Cedric ran on. Draco was warm down to his fingertips, though he felt as though he'd been used as a punching-bag.

"That was brilliant, Draco, really," Padma said.

"Malfoy, you and me, cricket!" Towler shouted as he ran past with a horde of Slytherins.

"I declare myself king of the pitch," Draco announced, strutting just a little. Then he stopped, because strutting made his arm hurt worse. He unstrapped his Quidditch glove and rubbed it ruefully.

"Better have Pomfrey see to that," Neville said.

"Wounds of battle. Wrap it up in some bandages and show off," Harry suggested.

"Let's go rob the kitchen," Padma said.

"Got to get changed first," Draco grunted. "And there's bound to be a party in the common room."

"Now, aren't you glad we made you try out?" Harry asked.

"All right, all right, you were right," Draco admitted, but it was a sort of triumphant apology. It was ruined, only slightly, by a guilty twinge. Even while he was playing, he hadn't quite forgotten that his mum didn't know. His mum, who wouldn't even let owls in the house because they were unhygenic, his mum who had forbidden him to run in the house (or anywhere else) -- she didn't know that today he had been a hundred feet up in the air, swinging a bat at Bludgers, dodging other children on broomsticks and spraining muscles he didn't even know he had. And if she found out...

He forced himself not to think about that. He'd earned that place, after all. He might be a Malfoy but he was a Black too. Blacks were proud and loud and never afraid of their mothers.

The locker room was filled with the boisterous laughter of normally quiet boys and girls who secretly, in their heart of hearts, were never sure that playing well was its own reward. Lockers slammed, buckles clinked, water roared, bats and broomsticks clattered. Draco felt suddenly shy, and he put away his things carefully and quietly, though he joined in the good-natured banter with a happy heart.

Most of the team were still in towels, or just doing up the buttons on their robes, when there was a rap on the locker room door. Cedric, in worn trousers with a towel slung around his neck, cracked it open to see who it was. Draco was startled to see him fling the door open after a second and step back to allow Cho Chang to enter the locker room. The Hufflepuff team made loud smacking noises and giggled.

Cho held out her hand with a grin, and Cedric took it with a bigger grin; in half a second he'd pulled her forward and wrapped his arms around her waist. Someone blew a raspberry.

Cedric kissed Cho and then hugged her tightly before letting go just enough to preserve the image of decency. Draco felt as if he'd intruded, though clearly this was a common post-game ritual for them. It was odd, really -- he saw the older students holding hands in the halls sometimes and always thought it was sort of show-offy and a little gross, but looking at Cedric and Cho, he felt his stomach tighten unaccountably. It wasn't jealousy, Draco knew what jealousy felt like. It was almost like -- like he was a part of what they were doing, or could feel a part of it. The skin along his shoulders tingled. He wondered, for the first time, if he'd be in that situation one day.

He shook his head, reminding himself that it was creepy to stare.

The rest of the team shoved carelessly past the pair, who were clearly lost to the world, but Draco sidled around them as he left. Still, his shoulder brushed the back of Cho's shirt, and his face flushed.

He ran all the way to the Hufflepuff entrance, confusion replaced with an almost insane exuberance once he was out in the air again. The common room was filled with Hufflepuffs who, in their own way, were celebrating a clean win for the House and a really fun game, too. Draco didn't particularly want to celebrate -- too many people shouting too many questions, too much noise -- but he did his game best and was finally allowed to retire to his dormitory. There was a gift on his bed from the House-Elves: a chocolate cupcake topped with three marzipan broomsticks. He ate it ravenously.

He didn't think he'd be able to sleep, but once he got into bed, even with the other boys chattering loudly about the game, he felt his eyes closing of their own accord. He lifted one sleepy eyelid as a plain white card appeared on the table next to his bed. He recognised Remus' handwriting.

Congratulations, Draco. Fame already crowns your sandy head. RL.

And below that, in slightly different ink and very different handwriting, Sirius Black.

Draco smiled, closed his eyes, and slept.

Chapter 16

During the writing of this chapter I have used dialogue or description from canon. This is intentional, as Laocoon's Children does run parallel to the books. In this instance, text pertaining to the Marauder's Map as well as highly recognisable quotes from HBP have been used.

***

The Quidditch match was on the twenty-seventh of November, and at that point Remus was still well enough to attend. On the twenty-eighth he came down to breakfast but soon after begged off all invitations to come outside with the students or take tea with the professors, and by the twenty-ninth he was in bed not just awaiting the full moon that night, but also with a bad head cold. Snape was annoyed; it was hard to gather accurate data on the potion when the subject was sick. Remus was just grateful he'd prepared his notes ahead of time, so that Tonks could take over his classes with a minimum of fuss.

All the students were glad to have "Professor" Tonks back again, and were suitably exuberant during their lessons. Remus was already a beloved teacher, but his style was very quiet and he demanded good class discipline. Tonks was a bit more lax, the sort of professor who doesn't mind the occasional note being passed or joke being made as long as it isn't too disruptive. Indeed, in her second lesson she tripped on her own robe, went flying into the desk, and came up laughing so hard that everyone else laughed for at least five minutes, and giggled quietly for the rest of class.

It was Tonks, giving a lesson in how to distract a duelling opponent, who gave Harry his Great Idea. It deserved the capital letters; it was quite the most complicated prank he'd ever thought of. He scribbled down a brief play-by-play, Quidditch style, before class ended.

"Now," Tonks said, as the clock ticked towards the end, "Are there any questions today?"

Theo Nott raised his hand, a sly look on his face. Harry braced. He'd learned that Theo loved to stir up trouble for the pure joy of it, which was not necessarily a bad thing but was misapplied in the clever young Slytherin.

"All right, Nott?" she asked.

"Are you and Professor Snape going to get married?" he asked. The class snickered.

"Ten points from Slytherin for being a nosey-parker," she replied easily, and dismissed the class.

Outside, in the corridor, Harry collared Padma on her way to another lesson.

"I've got something," he said.

"Well, there are creams for that -- " she began mischeviously, but he interrupted her.

"A use for your Time-Turner," he whispered, taking her by the arm and pulling her closer so that the others wouldn't hear. There was a sudden tension in her body, and he glanced at her face; she looked oddly embarrassed, but she gave no sign in her voice.

"Something really devious?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"Oh yes," he grinned. "I'll tell you all about it at breakfast tomorrow."

***

"Married!" Severus Snape said, looking truly astonished for only the second or third time in all the years Dora had known him. "What on earth put that idea into their heads?"

"Well, you don't need to sound so skeptical about it," Dora teased gently. They were sitting by the fire in the professors' common room, which was empty except for McGonagall, who was marking papers, and Dumbledore, who was serenely reading Jane Austen, both at the far end of the room. "It is a possibility, one of these days."

"A poss -- it's only been five months!" he said.

"A little more than six," she replied. "I'm not demanding a proposal, Severus, I thought you'd be amused, that's all. No need to be frightened."

"I suppose children will talk," he grumbled.

"They will do," she agreed with a smile.

"I am too old for you," he pointed out. "And I can't ever aspire to the kind of wealth your parents have; it would be an entirely unequal match."

"You're very old," she agreed. He scowled. "But the bride's family is supposed to pay for everything anyway, and it's their money, not mine. It's not even all mine in potentiality -- half'll go to Neville, at least. Besides, they're young yet, they might spend it all."

"Children gossiping -- this is what comes of professors living at the school," he muttered. She leaned across the little tea-laden table between them and rubbed his arm.

"Why don't we just keep on, and see where we end up. I'm not in any hurry," she said quietly. Severus covered her hand in his. And he did smile, a little. "Besides, if you really believed that trash about being too old and poor, you'd already have broken it off. I just can't allow that; I insist on being the one to break up with my boyfriends."

"Headstrong tart."

"Mouldering relic."

They were interrupted, before things could escalate to the heights of passion, by shrieks and laughter in the hallway. Severus, who distrusted laughter on general principle, stood and walked quickly to the door, leaning out to inquire what the noise was about.

Dora sat back in her chair and studied him: the long line of his body as he leaned through the door, the robes brushing the tips of his shoes, the way his close-cropped hair never quite got smoothed down properly in the back. She could hear his voice, though not what he was saying, and ten years ago would have cringed away from it. But ten years ago he'd been charged with teaching her, and since then she'd grown to enjoy the sound.

She wished now that she hadn't told him. Severus was a solitary man, always had been from what she could judge, and it had been an adjustment for him, learning to consider another person's thoughts and feelings, learning to allow someone else to sleep in his bed and to be comfortable with her presence at hours when normally he would be alone. The idea of marriage -- of having her present every morning and evening, of sharing his bed every single night, of his having to consider her before he made decisions -- was plainly frightening.

Still, fear was never got over by not talking about it, and she had planted the idea in his head. And, if it came to all that, in a month or two she could propose to him. Besides, the emotional advantage was not entirely on her side. He was older, much more well-read in some areas, and, though he was not terribly experienced sexually, he was far moreso than she was.

Wealth didn't concern her a bit; she earned a wage that paid her rent and had no need of her inheritance, which she would gladly and with a sisterly heart split with Neville. She'd heard her parents discussing it once and been thrilled to know that Neville would be considered a full, blood-related brother by their legal will. There had even been some talk of adoption, though it seemed Ted and Andromeda were waiting until Neville was older, perhaps old enough to understand better how to cope with loving the Tonkses and not feeling that it betrayed his living parents to do so.

She looked at Dumbledore and McGonagall, sitting across the room. Dumbledore smiled, winked at her, and exchanged a significant look with the deputy headmistress. McGonagall glanced at Tonks, favoured her with a rare warm and unrestrained smile, and nodded slightly.

Well, good to know that the faculty approved.

***

It took no less than three days and two timetables to plot out the intricacies of the Great Monster Caper.

The two timetables were necessary, because of the Time Turner, and because Neville and Draco needed a chart in order to understand it all. Harry was reminded of a Rube Goldberg device, something he'd read about in one of Sirius' books: what do you get when you combine a Time Turner, an invisibility cloak, some stolen Hogwarts robes, an applied knowledge of physics, a handful of booby-trap charms, and two taxidermied animal heads borrowed from a storage room in the Dungeons?

Neville was instrumental as their native collaborator. His was the hardest part, because he would deal not only with Harry and Padma as they were, but Harry and Padma having traveled in time. Draco's job was simply to be present and accounted for, so that he would have an alibi, and to improvisationally distract the twins if need be. Draco preferred to think of himself as the Trojan Horse. And so, in a sense, he was, though the Gryffindors were more indifferent than the Trojans and Harry and Padma more subtle than the Spartans.

Months later, when they tried to set down the story for posterity, they ran across confusion right from the start, in how much to reveal and how much to keep hidden until the end. They all agreed that one had to start with Draco getting into Gryffindor, but what then?

At any rate, Draco did get into Gryffindor's common room, with the aid of Neville, the inside collaborator. Once he'd seen Neville's sign from the Gryffindor window that the twins were in the common room, he came banging on the Gryffindor Portrait's frame (very upsetting to the Pink Lady, who denounced him loudly) and convinced Neville to open the door. Neville left the door open after Draco was well inside.

"Come on," Draco said, agitation evident in his face. "Someone's hexed the Christmas Tree in the Great Hall!"

"So?" Neville asked.

"So it's spitting balls at everyone and loads of people are stuck there! Harry and Padma too! Come on, we've all got to go help get it under control!"

That was more than enough for the twins and, if truth be told, the rest of Gryffindor House as well. The students raced down the stairs, clattering and crashing and drawing others into their orbit as they went. A herd of students stampeded into the Great Hall, Draco and Neville conspicuous as leaders, and then stopped dead as the giant Christmas tree flung tinsel at them in torrents. Most of the students backed away, shielding their faces, and Neville was hit in the head with a fake candy cane.

"OW!" he shouted, diving for cover. Fred and George had already overturned a table and were using it like a shield to advance slowly. Nearby, Padma and Harry were trapped under another table.

"TURN THEM OVER!" Fred shouted.

"YOU CAN'T GET CLOSE ENOUGH!" Padma shouted back. "WE TRIED!"

She pointed to an overturned table very near the tree as proof. She and Harry seemed to confer for a moment, while the twins and a few other hearty souls fired freezing charms and anti-hexes at the rogue evergreen. As one, they lifted the table like a turtle's shell and ran for it, sliding down again once they'd reached the twins. The tables now formed an impenetrable fort, one blocking them from the front and the other blocking anything the tree might lob over the top.

A steady barrage of tiny baby Jesus ornaments rained down on them as they advanced. On their left flank, Neville and Cricket Creevey were moving forward with serving platters in front of their faces, while Draco used a sturdy angel treetopper as a Beating bat, defending against the flying ornaments. The twins began to advance their position, firing through the cracks between tables.

"Just get out!" Hermione Granger called from the doorway, where she, Ron Weasley, and Parvati were trying to draw fire.

"NO SURRENDER!" chorused the twins.

They had nearly reached the tree and were defending against another onslaught of tinsel when McGonagall arrived, pushing through the children in the doorway and putting an end to the chaos with a swift and powerful "Finite incantatem!"

A few final brightly-coloured balls fell to the ground and shattered. Draco, his hair covered in tinsel, looked sheepishly at the Deputy Headmistress.

"What on earth has happened here?" she demanded.

"Rogue tree," Fred Weasley answered. "We were just trying to help. Padma and Harry got trapped."

"Wasn't us, we've got alibis," George added.

McGonagall studied the hall, which was covered in broken glass and Christmas ornaments. Draco carefully set the angel down on the ground. One wing was missing.

"I think you had all better go about your business," she said carefully. Her lips just barely twitched. "I am certain we will locate the perpetrator in due time."

The students left the battleground triumphantly, if carefully, and Neville was very keen to be visible to Fred and George all the way up to the Gryffindor tower. Draco went with them as far as the library, where he was seen entering by at least ten students, and Harry was with them all the way to the doorway, where he and Padma broke off.

"I'll walk her back to Ravenclaw," he told Neville, who grinned and nodded. Harry and Padma ambled off in the opposite direction from Gryffindor, under full view of most of the House.

When they were alone in the corridor, they pulled up short and ducked into a doorway for what cover it could give them. Harry took out his invisibility cloak, unbuckled the clasp, and threw it over both of them while Padma dug the Time Turner out of her shirt.

"How many turns?" Harry asked.

"Two ought to do it," Padma replied in a whisper. "Wasn't it clever of me to hex the tree?"

"Utterly brilliant. When it started raining mangers I was hard put not to laugh," Harry answered. Padma placed part of the Time-Turner's chain around Harry's neck and they huddled close. She held one of the little dial-knobs delicately between two fingers and turned the hourglass in the gold rings.

The corridor around them began to dissolve. Harry felt as though he were flying backwards very fast, a blur of colour and noise and wind rushing past him. He had not been expecting it to be so -- so intense, so real. By the time he was drawing breath to shout, however, it was over and everything was settling back into focus.

"That was -- " he began, and then didn't know how to finish. Padma hushed him.

"We've just got to wait for Draco now," she whispered. As if on cue, they heard pounding footsteps somewhere far down the corridor.

"All right, let's go," Harry said, but Padma put a hand on his arm.

"I'll lead," she said. "You go behind me."

"Why?" Harry asked, confused. Padma's ears turned red.

"Just because," she ordered, and shoved in front of him to lead the way.

Draco was running towards Gryffindor, white-blond hair disordered and eyes wild with glee. He skidded to a stop in front of Gryffindor and cast about wildly.

"We're here," Padma whispered.

"Neville gave the sign," Draco whispered back, then dashed to the portrait and began pounding on it. When it swung open, he leapt inside and Padma and Harry followed, immediately dodging around Oliver and a couple other sixth-years and nipping into the gap created by two bookcases that didn't quite reach each other.

"Come on," Draco said. "Someone's hexed the Christmas Tree in the Great Hall!"

"He's a very good actor," Padma whispered to Harry, who nodded. The common room began to empty out, and soon they were the sole occupants, triumphant intruders with one thing on their minds.

They went first to the third-year dormitory, to get the things stowed in Neville's trunk. Then they dragged them up to the fifth years' room and made sure nobody was there before hauling them over to Fred and George's beds.

The robes and taxidermied animal heads were affixed together to create terrifying, if not particularly convincing, monsters that lay reasonably flat under the blankets. Once completed, they would have to hurriedly set the booby-trap charms that would make the monsters leap up at the twins if they got too close. Then Harry and Padma could get out the same way they'd come in -- all with the knowledge that downstairs, they were their own alibis for this particular prank.

Harry was just putting the finishing touches on his monster when he dropped a handful of bells he was going to hang from the animal's ears for sound effects. They rolled away under the bed, and he got down on his knees. He definitely was not going to go rummaging around under George Weasley's bed without looking first -- that was a good way to lose a few fingers.

The bells had rolled to a stop against a bit of folded parchment, and he used the parchment to roll them back out before crumpling it up and tossing it over his shoulder into the middle of the room. He saw something black scuttle across it as it went flying off, and thought it might be a spider; he had the notion of catching it and putting it in the bed too, which was the only reason he ran across the room to recover it.

"Harry, hurry up!" Padma hissed.

"Just a mo -- " Harry picked up the parchment and smoothed it out. It wasn't a spider at all; it was a word.

Ouch, it said. There's no need to be careless.

Harry's eyes grew wide.

"Stop what you're doing," he said.

"But Harry -- "

"No, I mean it. I've found something," he replied. Padma stopped in the middle of a complicated charm and leaned over his shoulder.

"What do you suppose it is?" Harry asked.

Master Padfoot begs to inform the messy-haired bearer that it is none of his business.

Harry dropped it as if he'd been burned. They both stared down at it.

Master Moony thinks His Shortness should be more careful where he puts his parchment.

"Padma," Harry began, then paused. Padma was stiff with tension behind him, and he remembered belatedly that she'd had certain...dealings with paper that talked back. "I think we'd better clear out. And take the monsters with us."

"Burn it," Padma whispered.

"It's not like the diary," Harry said. "Go on, get the things."

"Harry -- "

"Do it!" Harry said sharply. He gathered up the parchment, shoved it in his pocket, and quickly dismantled the monster in George's bed. Padma had already taken her monster to pieces and was waiting for him with the invisibility cloak.

They heard a crashing noise downstairs as the Gryffindors poured back into the common room.

"Buggery and bollocks," Harry said feelingly. "What should we do?"

"We can't hide up here, they're bound to trip over us," Padma replied. "We've got to chance the stairs."

"There are landings for the other years -- we can stop there if we have to," Harry agreed. "I say we chuck the monsters out the window."

Padma was already at the window, watching the Hogwarts robe billow out around the plummeting deer's head. Harry threw his over and it likewise tumbled down, bouncing off rooftops as it went.

"Let's hope nobody's looking out the window," he said as they shrouded themselves in the invisibility cloak again.

The descent from the fifth-year dormitory was, they later agreed, the longest stairwell they'd ever encountered. Three times they had to rush back up the stairs to a landing as unknowing Gryffindors went up to their bedrooms. When they finally got to the common room, it took nearly fifteen minutes to get Neville's attention and get him to let them out again. He had to excuse himself and claim he was going to the library.

"Now I'll miss everything!" he said to them, when they were safely down the corridor. "I wanted to see their faces!"

"We didn't do it," Harry said, shedding the cloak.

"You what?"

"We didn't do it. We stole this instead," he said, holding it out. Padma made a small gagging noise in her throat.
"Parchment?" Neville asked skeptically. Harry put it in his hands.

"Say something," he said. Neville blinked.

"What's this all about?" he asked.

Master Moony believes he may be as clueless as he looks.

"Moony...that's -- " Neville looked at Harry, astounded.

"Padfoot and Moony are nicknames," Harry said to Padma. "Remus and Sirius used them."

"I think we'd better go find Draco," Neville said.

***

At their table in the library -- the one Pince couldn't see from her desk -- Harry spread the parchment out and all four of them examined it. It was larger than the usual composition-parchment, perfectly square and rather well-worn around the edges. At the moment it was blank.

"Why would Fred and George Weasley have something with Remus and Sirius' names on it?" Draco asked, tilting his head to one side.

"You used to know the Weasleys when you were little, didn't you?" Neville asked Harry. "Might be a present they gave them. A bit of parchment that makes rude insults when you ask it questions."

"Dunno," Harry said. "Maybe they nicked it or something."

"Parchment, what are you?" Draco demanded, touching his wand to the center of the page. All four of them watched as words formed on the blank surface.

Master Prongs and Master Wormtail beg leave to insult his noseyness.

Master Padfoot insists that you keep your pointy face out of our business.

"That doesn't sound like Sirius," Draco said. His face was screwed up in a dubious scowl, and did look rather pointy.

"Wormtail -- isn't that what they called Peter Pettigrew at school?" Neville asked.

"Let me try," Harry said, replacing Draco's wand with his own. "My name is Harry Potter! What are you?"

Ink welled up.

My name is Harry Potter, it said mockingly. Nyah, nyah, nyah.

Harry took a deep breath.

"James Potter is my father," he added. The ink burst apart.

James Potter's son, it said, shrinking and fading slowly. James Potter's Son James Potter's Son James Potter's Son.

"You broke it," Neville said, disappointed. "It's going to tell you it has an out-of-cheese error next."

"Hush, it's doing something," Harry said. New words replaced the old.

Operation Manual and Lifetime Warranty

For

The Marauder's Map

Courtesy

Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs

(But this part mostly Moony)

A small hand appeared, one finger pointing towards the edge of the parchment. Harry tapped it with his wand. The text scrolled away.

To Close The Map:

Tap once with wand and say "Mischief Managed".

To Open The Map:

Touch wand to parchment and say "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Harry glanced at the others. Draco was still looking sulky, Neville intrigued, and Padma --

Padma was biting her lip, her fingers tightly knotted together on the table.

"Sirius wouldn't make anything that would hurt us," Harry said.

"If that's really Sirius," she replied.

"Only one way to find out," Neville said. Before Harry or anyone else could stop him, he touched his wand to the page and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Thin ink lines began to spread across the page like a spider's web, all originating from the point where Neville's wand touched. They joined each other and darted away again, filling the parchment from edge to edge as words began to blossom here and there. Across the top, an enormous banner was unrolling with giant curly green words on it:

Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs

Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers

are proud to present

THE MARAUDER'S MAP

"It's Hogwarts," Padma said, forgetting all caution for a moment. It was indeed the general shape of Hogwarts, and showed the floor they happened to be on, complete with four small dots in the library, each labeled with their own names. As they watched, another dot labeled Pince circled around her desk and started off in the opposite direction from their table, on her hourly rounds.

"Harry, do you see what I see?" Neville asked, eyes traveling over the page.

"I see at least two hidden doorways..." Harry touched one of them and it glowed brightly for a second. The ink seemed to rearrange itself, blurring for a moment, and suddenly they were looking at a map of the floor below the one they were on.

"I definitely see that," Padma said, pointing to a statue in one of the hallways. Harry, somewhere outside of his confusion and glee at this new discovery, realised that the text was all in Remus' neat handwriting. Next to the statue were the words, Cellar of Honeydukes.

"We'd better hide this somewhere really good," Draco whispered. "Fred and George'll know it was us, even if you didn't prank them. They'll know."

"We have alibis," Harry said.

"They'll know!"

"Well, all right, we should hide it," Padma agreed.

"And soon," Neville said. He'd somehow figured out how to get up a level again, and was studying the corridor beyond the library. "Fred and George are coming this way."

Harry cleared the map with a quick "Mischief Managed!" and folded it up, tucking it in his pocket again. He threw the cloak around his shoulders and Draco buckled it for him even as he disappeared from view.

Neville vanished silently into the stacks, tossing Padma a book, and she and Draco bent over it casually. She even had the presence of mind to make sure it was the right way up.

"I'm going to the Dungeons," Harry whispered as he ran out the door. He passed silently by Fred and George, who didn't appear to have noticed the theft yet, and ran onwards, down the stairs. When he reached the Slytherin entrance he slipped in behind Pansy and bolted through the common room so fast that Theo swore he felt a draft.

Up in the dormitory, Harry shed his cloak and wrapped it around the map, shoving both of them down to the bottom of his trunk and triple-locking it. Then, heart pounding, he flopped back onto the bed.

Snake, who had been drowsing in the canopy, dropped down via the bedpost and slithered across the pillow, tickling Harry's cheek with his tongue. Harry grinned and reached up to stroke his head.

Sleeping well? Harry asked.

Very well, Snake answered. You taste funny.

I imagine so. I've been having adventures.

Boring, said Snake. Is it naptime now?

Harry laughed.

After the day I've had, it might well be.

Chapter 17

It seemed to behoove Harry and his friends to lie low for a bit, which they had learned to do with astounding nerve. Fred and George went about scowling, but they could not pin the theft of their map on anyone and didn't even seem to suspect that it might have been Harry. He did, after all, have an alibi. While he had not managed to publicly humiliate them, Harry felt that his own brand of justice was served, and went about with a lighter heart.

Though the term officially ended on the nineteenth, the last class was on the Friday previous. That weekend was a Hogsmeade weekend, with many students planning to meet their parents and travel home with them instead of on the Hogwarts Express. Word had got round about the Dementors on the train, and most parents didn't want to trust that if a Dementor decided to chase down their child, Remus Lupin would happen to be nearby.

Draco was not going home.

He was not even going off to Spain or France or India with his mother, as he might otherwise have done. He was staying at Hogwarts, dismal empty Hogwarts, for the entirety of the holiday. Neville and Padma were going home, though they promised to write; Harry did one better and promised to visit, since he was staying in Hogsmeade and their floo went directly through to Professor Lupin's office. Still, Draco was the only third-year staying, one of only ten students total who would not be going home for the holiday. His mother had announced it would be best for him to stay, and while he couldn't really argue with the logic, he was still bitter and unhappy.

Harry, casting about for a way to cheer him up, had brought the map along to breakfast early on Saturday morning. Even on a Hogsmeade weekend the twins wouldn't be up before nine, and it was only just turning seven when Harry put his finger down on the statue of the witch and looked at Draco.

"There's a passage to Honeyduke's from here," he said. "I don't know how to get into it, but the map says it's there."

"Are you ever going to ask Remus about it?" Draco asked.

"Don't reckon so. He'd have to take it away -- I mean, even if it were allowed, which I'm sure it's not, it belongs to the twins now. Remus can be a spoilsport about things like that."

"What, illegal theft and prankery?" Draco asked. Harry grinned.

"Hey, I tell you what -- you still haven't seen Hogsmeade," Harry said. "Why don't you take my cloak and see if you can get into the secret passage, and we'll meet you there today? Then if that works out, you can come round all you like during the holiday."

Draco looked dubious. "If I'm caught it'll be my skin, you know."

"How many skins can you have? You're always so worried about getting caught," Harry said scornfully.

"Well, it's different for me, you're not liable to get yelled at," Draco retorted.

"It's just yelling. Come on, don't you want to see Honeyduke's and the Owl Post Office and all the shops? Buy you a bag of fizzing whizbees," Harry tempted.

"Well, we'll see if the passage still works, even. Sirius might've sealed it up," Draco said.

"But if he hasn't?"

"If he hasn't I'll meet you in Honeyduke's before eleven, but if I don't show you'd better just go on without me," Draco said.

"Who's going on without you?" Neville asked, appearing in the doorway with Padma. "Merlin, put that thing away!"

Harry was already folding up the map and passing it to Draco, who tucked it inside his shirt.

"We've got a plot to meet in Hogsmeade," Harry said. "I'll run down after breakfast -- DENBIGH!" he called, reminded. With a pop, the head Kitchen Elf appeared.

"Good morning, Masters and Mistress!" Denbigh said cheerily. "How is Masters and Mistress on this morning?"

"Grand, Denbigh, thanks," Harry said. "Breakfast all round? Bacon rolls and some fried egg."

"And some toast, please," Draco added. Denbigh sketched a hilarious salute, nearly taking his own ear off, and disappeared again.

"I'll run down after breakfast and give Draco my cloak, and then we're to meet him by eleven in Honeyduke's," Harry finished. "He's got the map and the cloak so if he gets caught we have to kill him, right?"

Draco laughed. "Right, Harry."

***

Draco was not quite laughing a few hours later, as he wandered in the damp darkness below the Forbidden Forest.

With the aid of Harry's cloak he'd had plenty of time to examine the statue of the humpbacked witch that was supposedly guarding the entrance to the secret passage, but he hadn't figured out how to get in until he consulted the map and found it providing instructions. The little ink Draco in the map tapped the witch with his wand and said "Dissendium" in a speech bubble, so Draco did likewise. The witch's hump had opened and he had just managed to squeeze through.

Unfortunately, behind the hump was a long stone slide, and at the bottom of the slide was an even longer tunnel. Draco had the little bit of light that a lumos provided, but that was really just enough for him to see the giant earthworms and other bugs that crawled in and out of the dirt walls as he passed. He thought too about the basilisk, and the tunnel it had used to get into the Forbidden Forest. Was this one of the basilisk's tunnels? Or worse, the tunnel of something that was still alive?

He thought that by now Harry and the others had probably gotten tired of waiting and gone on, which was all right; that was the point of the journey, to test how long it would take and whether it would even work at all.

He nearly stubbed his toes on the stairway when he finally reached the end of the dirt corridor, and with a huge sigh of relief began to climb. They seemed to go up and up unceasingly, but eventually he reached the top of the stairwell, and found a trapdoor above his head. Carefully, he eased it upwards.

Never had a cellar looked so inviting. It was warm and dry, full of boxes and barrels, and he could hear distant noise from the floor above it.

He climbed quickly out of the hole and closed the trapdoor behind him, noticing how it blended perfectly with the stones around it. Emerging into the light of the sweet shop made him wince, but at least it was light and sound, and there were no giant beetles or earthworms.

A glance at the clock on the wall told him it was well past the time he ought to meet Harry and the others, but he didn't want to go back down just yet. Truth be told, he didn't want to go back down at all; if he could, he would follow the others back to Hogwarts by the high road past the Forbidden Forest.

There are only so many diversions available to an invisible boy, but he managed to nick a package of chocolates and get out the door without much trouble. It was coming on time for lunch; perhaps the others were meeting Sirius at the Three Broomsticks. This seemed to be confirmed when he actually saw Sirius and Professor Lupin walking together down the street towards the pub, stopping here and there to greet people. Draco took up a post near the door and waited for them to arrive. He noticed there was a sign on the door warning people of the Dementors, and also of a curfew.

Neville, Padma, and Harry were nowhere in sight, but Sirius and Remus were definitely headed for the Three Broomsticks. They stopped at the very doorway to greet Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, who were accompanied by Mr. Shacklebolt, the tall, bald-headed man who had led the search for him after Harry's Quidditch game.

Draco, intrigued now, followed them through the doorway and up the stairs, while Sirius stopped at the bar to flirt outrageously with Rosmerta. The others entered a private dining room on the upper floor, where a fire was roaring and a lunch of sandwiches and hot soup was already laid out.

"Make yourselves comfortable," Dumbledore said, gesturing to the chairs. Remus elected a seat near the fire -- it was about ten days to the full moon, Draco recalled -- and McGonagall sat at the table, ladling out a bowl of soup for herself. Draco had to scurry quickly out of the way as Sirius arrived with a tray of drinks and passed them around: cocoa for Remus, firewhiskey tonic for Mr. Shacklebolt, and buttered rum for the rest. Draco eyed the cocoa longingly.

"This is not, perforce, a full meeting of the Order of the Phoenix," Dumbledore said, while Draco tried to find an unobtrusive spot to hide. The door was shut, and so now he was trapped here. "However, we are welcoming Mr. Shacklebolt into our ranks and I believe it is imperative he have certain information from your own mouths and no other."

"You want to hear about the night James and Lily were killed," Remus said, sipping his cocoa.

"Among other things," Mr. Shacklebolt replied. Remus and Sirius exchanged looks. It seemed like they were silently arguing about who ought to go first, until finally Remus drew a breath.

"In nineteen-eighty-one we got word that Voldemort was going to be coming after James and Lily, as he'd done for a few people before then. Personally, you understand," he said. "At the time, for several reasons we don't really need to go into, I was suspected of being a spy, which ruled me out as their secret-keeper when they went under Fidelius in Godric's Hollow. Sirius, at the last moment, decided he shouldn't be either -- he knew Voldemort would suspect him and that he could act as a decoy. So he swapped in Peter Pettigrew for himself, and Peter of course went straight to Voldemort with the information."

"We didn't know how soon he'd strike, so we weren't prepared -- we thought James and Lily and Harry were all safe," Sirius said, taking up the tale. "The night it happened, this would be Hallowe'en of eighty-one, the first I heard was a Muggle news report about a possible bomb blast in Godric's Hollow."

"At this time," Dumbledore put in, "I had been notified of what had occurred, or rather I had been notified that the Fidelius was broken and Voldemort had attacked the Potters, with only Harry surviving. At the same time Sirius was traveling to Godric's Hollow, I had...appropriated his motorcycle from storage in Hogsmeade and sent Hagrid to fetch young Harry."

"We arrived about the same time," Sirius said, nodding. "I told Hagrid to give Harry to me, but he had his orders, so all I could do was send him off on the bike again."

"I was there by then," Remus put in. "They were arguing about who should have Harry when I got there. I'd been monitoring the floo broadcasts for the Order -- hadn't much else to do, I was waiting to leave the country as soon as my travel money arrived."

"We took a broomstick and started looking. We had a wrong turn -- somewhere..." Sirius trailed off. "I never could figure out, was it over Parliament or somewhere along Charing Cross Road?"

"I'm not sure," Remus said, looking embarrassed. "My fault, I had the map upside down for a while."

Draco glanced at Shacklebolt, who had raised one eyebrow.

"The upshot was, we were checking his favourite places to go in London, thinking maybe he'd gone to ground in one of them," Sirius said. "We saw a huge flash of light off in the northeast and by the time we got there Lucius Malfoy had gotten to Peter and Peter had faked his own death."

It took Draco a minute to realise that they were speaking of his father, and what his father had done.

"It wasn't pretty," Remus said, hunching over his cocoa. "There was a crater in the middle of the street, the sewer cracked -- that's how Peter got away, I think -- and dead people everywhere. We still don't know if the deaths were Lucius or Peter. Probably some combination of the two."

Bile rose in the back of Draco's throat.

"He thought Peter had double-crossed them," Sirius said. "Sent Voldemort into a trap."

"Why would he be willing to work with Pettigrew now?" Shacklebolt asked.

"Well, presumably Peter had the time to explain himself while he was helping him escape," Sirius drawled. "Add in that Malfoy is stark, bollocksing mad, and not just in the crazy Death-Eater sort of way -- "

"Yes, I've read his casefile," Shacklebolt said coolly.

"Well." Sirius spread his hands. "What else do you want to know?"

"I'll need to speak to Severus Snape, I think, for the rest. Snape was your mole within the Death Eaters?"

"Not at first -- " Dumbledore began, then glanced at Sirius to quiet the angry growl he was making. "He was swept up into the Death Eaters much as others were, and as with some others," he said significantly, still looking at Sirius, "found that he had chosen very wrong. He has taken his own share of the blame, but there is also some to be placed on Malfoy's shoulders. A man such as Lucius Malfoy could have held a great deal of sway over a young, impressionable boy like Severus."

At that point Rosmerta appeared in the doorway with another round of drinks, and Draco saw his chance; he darted past her and through the closing door, nearly tumbling down the stairs in his haste. He didn't want to hear any more offhanded talk about his father's insanity or the Muggles he'd killed or the inarguable fact that his father had been the servant of the man who killed Harry's parents. Friends with the people who had tortured Neville's parents and killed his gran.

As a child he had dreamed that his father might be innocent and might one day get away from Azkaban and come take him from his insane mother. It was an infantile dream but he had never fully stopped believing in it until this moment, when it became obvious that it was a terrible untruth.

Lucius Malfoy was not just some bogeyman who might one day try to steal Draco from Hogwarts. He was a lunatic, an escaped convict, and if he kidnapped Draco it might be because he wanted to kill him. He had already killed others.

Draco barely remembered the headlong flight down the stairs from the Honeydukes cellar or the long winding tunnel-road back to the castle. When he was finally really aware of his surroundings again, he found that he'd fled to the Music Room, where he had tucked himself up in the window-seat and was shivering uncontrollably. When he finally got the chattering of his teeth under control, he took the cloak off and crept out again, hurrying to Hufflepuff and avoiding the main corridors, not wanting to encounter any other students or -- or Professor Snape.

He crawled straight into bed and hid under the covers, hoping the other students would think his bed was simply rumpled. After a minute or two, he poked his head out.

"Dobby?" he called hesitantly. "Dobby, can you come here please?"

There was a pause, and then a pop. Dobby looked around inquiringly, then beamed at Draco.

"Master Malfoy!" he squeaked. "Is Master Malfoy sick?"

Draco sighed. "A little. Can you tell Harry and Neville and Padma something for me?"

"Dobby is happy to -- "

"Good," Draco said, cutting off the house-elf's effusions. "Tell them I was late, I'm sorry, and I'm sick now so I won't be there for dinner, okay?"

"Does Master Malfoy want soup and -- "

"No, just -- just tell them, okay?"

Dobby frowned at Draco, but finally he nodded and disappeared. Draco put his head back under the blankets and lay there a long time, until the racing of his heart slowed and he could breath easier again.

***

It was winter in London, and snowing in Diagon Alley, and Harry Potter was impatient.

He had decided to pretend to be patient as a Christmas present for Sirius, because clearly this was very important to Sirius, who had apparently lost his mind. Harry felt, as Sirius' godson, he was qualified to judge this.

Sirius wanted a portrait of Harry, not a photograph (not even a formal photograph) but a portrait, painted by Helena Broosh, who had done the painting of Sirius and Remus that hung on their bedroom wall. Harry understood that painted portraits generally did not contain subjects who were wearing jeans and Remus' cast-off sweatshirts, so he would have happily worn formal robes. But formal robes were out, and he felt that getting up in all his Quidditch gear was a bit above-and-beyond.

"Well, it's very...pureblood," Remus had said doubtfully, when Sirius was out of the room. "I mean, it's very old-family, being painted in sporting gear. If we were Muggles you'd be in your Cricket things or on a horse or something, no doubt."

Harry wanted Sirius to have a nice portrait. He wanted Sirius to be happy. But there was only so much patience a young man of thirteen could fake.

"I'm hot," Harry said, trying to hold very still.

"Sorry, Harry," Helena Broosh replied, working at a prodigious rate. "I'll be done with the study soon, I promise. Here," she added, and wafted a cooling charm across the room. Harry felt the sweat on his forehead turn clammy. He sighed. "At least it isn't a really complicated one like I did for your godfather. This'll just be two sittings -- this one to get the general idea and the next one to do colour and a few touch-ups."

"All right," Harry said. His arm itched under his Quidditch glove.

"We could try taking your mind off it. Tell me about Hogwarts -- have you got a girlfriend there?" Helena asked.

"No!" Harry said, half-amused, half-scornful. "I'm too young."

"Of course, of course. What are your -- um -- fathers off doing today?" Helena asked. Harry grinned, then quickly reschooled his features into the faint smile he was supposed to have in the portrait.

"Sirius is Christmas shopping with Neville."

"Last-minute shopper, eh?"

"Yeah. Remus is visiting Andromeda and Ted. He's, uh, friends with some people staying with them," Harry said.

"It sounds like a pleasant holiday. You're staying up in Hogsmeade, aren't you? I read in the newspaper that Sirius bought a house there."

"Yeah, he's been redoing everything," Harry said. "It's nice to be close to Hogwarts, my mate Draco has to stay for the holidays."

"That's a shame," Helena said absently, her hand still working with the charcoal. "Will you get to visit with him much?"

Harry felt a twinge. Draco had said he thought the secret passage was really unpleasant, so Harry's daydreams about being able to spend every day sneaking around Hogsmeade with him had gone up in smoke. Still, Draco promised to come visit at least once before Christmas, and Harry was going to be staying at the castle for the full-moon on the twenty-eighth, so at least they'd see something of each other. For the last two days of term, Draco had been quiet and moody, and Harry almost wondered if he'd done something to annoy the other boy. Generally, as a rule, Harry's ego was much too indestructible for that, but occasionally the old insecurity -- a childish fear that Harry wasn't even conscious he'd picked up in those first seven years with the Dursleys -- crept in.

"All right," Helena said, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Want to come see?"

Harry jumped off the stool he'd been sitting on and began shedding his gear as he walked over to the easel. On it, a detailed charcoal drawing of himself fidgeted and grinned and winked, occasionally checking a strap on his gloves or reaching up to grasp something out of the air.

"I'll put in a Snitch before I'm done," Helena said, pointing to the empty place where the charcoal-Harry was reaching. "It'll be an excellent portrait, I think. Is your godfather coming to get you?"

"HARRY?" someone called from the front, and then a boyish voice. "Harry, come on! It's still snowing!"

Helena laughed. "Sounds like," she said. "Run along and get changed -- we'll keep your things here for the next sitting."

***

Harry, Neville, and Sirius emerged from the green door of Broosh & Chackle Studios into a world of sparkling white. The snow was still falling, but there was no wind; it tumbled gently down and piled up in powdery drifts, perfect for making snowballs with. Remus had said he would be all afternoon with Andromeda and Ted, so there was no reason to rush back; they strolled and snowball-fought their way up the street. Sirius, in the middle of turning Harry upside-down with the threat of burying him headfirst in the snowbank, even managed to smile graciously for a Prophet photographer who wanted a society-page picture of the dapper Mr. Black and his handsome young godson.

They finally arrived back, damp and red-cheeked, to find Andromeda, Ted, and two young men in the middle of rearranging the furniture.

"What's going on in here?" Sirius asked, leaning over the heads of Harry and Neville as Ted and one of the men grappled with the leg of the dining-room table which, against logic, was in the middle of the living-room.

"Too many people!" Andromeda said, giggling as Ted swore. "There's Ted, myself, Dora, Severus -- "

"I can't escape," Sirius sighed.

"Be nice. Neville, Harry, you, Remus, Anne, Tobias, Michael, Marie, and Julian. That's far too many to cram around one tiny table for dinner, so we're blowing it up and putting it in here."

"How do you do it normally?" Sirius asked. Remus, who had sensibly hidden from hard labour in the kitchen, put his head around the doorframe.

"Oh, well, we're rarely all together at one time, and our tenants have their place upstairs," Andromeda said. "Though they know they're always welcome down here for a meal," she added, smiling at one of the young men. He smiled back hesitantly. Sirius saw the same shy, affection-hungry look he'd seen in Remus when they'd been boys.

"I've been making more acquaintances," Remus said, emerging from the kitchen now that the table had been settled and Ted was busily enlarging it. "Tobias!"

"Yessir?" said the young man with the heartbreaking smile.

"Come over here, I want you to meet Sirius. Tobias wants to study magical engineering, I've told him about your work for Madame Schaeffer," Remus said. Tobias shook Sirius' hand. "I'm going to introduce him to her a bit later in the year, once he's found his feet."

"Just moved down from Glasgow," Tobias explained. "Couldn't find work there. Tonkses're putting me up."

"And this is Julian, Tobias' roommate, he's interested in history," Remus said, gesturing to another young man who, like Remus, had premature streaks of grey in his dark hair. Julian, busy helping Ted, gave him a perfunctory nod. "He's -- erm, new to...all this. He was a Ravenclaw, left Hogwarts three years ago."

"Pleasure," Sirius said. He noticed, with a sort of sad amusement, that Remus had made himself at home amongst the werewolves almost immediately. He also noticed that Julian walked with a pronounced limp, and wondered if his bite-wound was like Remus and Anne's -- high on the thigh, the width of a man's hand from thumb to pinky, with one crooked tooth.

"Anne's upstairs," Remus added, as if he could hear the drift of Sirius' thoughts. By now, given the number of years they'd spent as friends-and-more, perhaps he could. "And you'll meet Michael and Marie at dinner, probably, they're married. Marie's a werewolf, Michael's not; they have their own place up north. They own a dairy, but he's taking a course in rudimentary potions and salves at St. Mungo's so -- since the inns and hotels won't take them..."

"Stiff upper lip," said a middle-aged gentleman, descending the stairs. "Their loss in missed fees. How's the roast, Tonks?"

"You could check on it," Ted said. The table had enlarged itself, but it had also grown three feet in height, far too tall to sit at. He and Tobias were underneath it now, tinkering with the charm.

"Are you going to block the stairs all bloody day, Black, or would you deign to shift yourself forward so that others may pass?"

Sirius twisted around and found himself looking down at Severus Snape, who was holding three baguettes in a sack in one hand and two bottles of wine in the other.

"Andromeda making you do the shopping now?" he asked.

"Move aside, or I shall move you forcibly," Snape replied. Sirius felt Harry poke him, and he rolled his eyes and moved so that Snape could come through. Remus, meanwhile, had moved away from the kitchen and was standing on the stairs up to what once had been their flat and was now the joint property of four werewolves and one werewolf-by-marriage. Sirius craned his neck around and saw the young girl Anne standing on the stair above him, their faces about even. Remus was speaking in a low voice, his face solemn but friendly, and the girl was listening with a sullen look.

He watched, somewhat entranced, as Remus smiled and clearly made a joke; a reluctant grin spread across the girl's face, followed by a badly-suppressed laugh. She continued to smile as she came past him down the stairs and was immediately conscripted into setting the table.

"How is she?" he asked Remus, keeping his voice low as the others came in and out of the room, carrying cutlery and crockery, baskets of bread and bowls of sauce.

"Well, she didn't hurt herself as badly this past moon, and she's optimistic about the coming one, which is good. It's worse when you try to fight it, you know. I've told her so, but..." Remus shrugged. "She was raised to believe that werewolves are dangerous, evil creatures. Even if she's now learning that they can be human, she still hates the werewolf that made her what she is, and that hatred isn't the kind that stays confined."

"No new information on who did it?"

Remus sighed. "I have the report Tonks smuggled out to me, but with school and the moons I've hardly had time to look at it. Nothing leaps out, and she can't help at all. Perhaps after New Year's and before classes start -- I'll work on it a bit. Thinking that whoever did this to me -- her...well, to us...I don't like to consider it."

"Then don't, tonight," Sirius said, fingers brushing lightly up Remus' arm. "Let's have a nice dinner and go back to Hogsmeade and I promise I'll put all thought out of your head for a little while."

Remus smiled at him. "You're a bad influence."

"Well, you've known that for twenty years, you'd think you expected me to change," Sirius replied. He grinned and shoved Remus towards the table, where people were beginning to sit down. Anne, he noticed, sat directly across from Remus. And Tobias, he also noticed, quickly sat next to Anne.

He winked at Tobias, and the young man shot him a sly look in return. Perhaps Andromeda's big scheme to help the Werewolf Support Network had come with a significant amount of peril, but it clearly had come with its benefits, too.

After all, in what other house could he sit down to dinner with two Hogwarts students, an Auror, a Potions Master, a newly-minted Apprentice Healer, two successful clothiers, and five werewolves?

Or, he thought, not five werewolves, even -- a Hogwarts Professor, a historian, a would-be engineer, an extremely teenaged young woman, and a dairy farmer.

I wish people could see what I saw, he thought to himself, looking around the table.

Chapter 18

At one point in this chapter I have used dialogue or description from Prisoner of Azkaban. This is intentional, as Laocoon's Children does run parallel to the books. In this instance, quotes from the Christmas feast have been lifted directly or slightly altered from canon.

***

Christmas in Hogsmeade was a very communal affair.

It was a small town, whose business was mainly predicated on tourists who came to see the last full Wizarding settlement in Great Britain. Though what Hogsmeade mainly exported was hospitality, there was still a sentiment of disdain about tourists. Sirius, by dint of owning property and keeping house on the edge of the village, was deemed a part of the village and welcomed into its ranks more warmly than he ever had been as a student, all his charm notwithstanding. It reminded him of Betwys Beddau; it was a small town, and Sirius liked small towns.

On Christmas eve there was a jolly party in the pub, with singing and egg-nog and a raffle for ridiculous gifts; he and Harry attended as godfather and heir, while Remus ostensibly came with the professors -- though it was only natural that two old friends should have a drink together, or perhaps two or three.

Still, with Town and Gown intermingling, the professors were required to maintain a certain amount of dignity, and Remus was quite nearly sober by the time he left the pub with Sirius (who was not, though still respectably coherent) and Harry, who had been allowed a nip of someone's buttered rum and didn't enjoy it at all.

The tree they'd decorated that afternoon glittered in the window of the little house that Sirius had worked so hard on. It was a welcoming sight, and Harry ran inside once Sirius had unlocked the door. He threw a handful of floo powder on the crackling log in the fireplace and requested the Wizarding Broadcast Network's Christmas show; it was less obnoxious than the others, and even occasionally played Muggle songs. At the moment, someone was singing about Quidditch players to the tune of Angels We Have Heard On High.

The tree was adorned with NuBurn Candles ("Guaranteed to stay upright and not to drip, sputter, or ignite clothing, trees, and buildings!") and Harry lit a match from the box above the fireplace, stretching to reach the ones on the top of the tree first.

Remus and Sirius had been banging around in the kitchen, preparing a bit of tea before bed, but as Harry lit the last of the candles he realised the only noise now was coming from the fireplace, where the almost mournful strains of O Holy Night

were emerging.

He crept across the living room, back towards the front door, and past it to the hall that led to the kitchen; now he could hear the burble of the teakettle working its way towards boiling, a reassuring noise. He peered around the kitchen door and then quickly drew his head back into the shadows.

Remus and Sirius had spent months hiding from him, back when he was a kid; he didn't really know how long they'd been together, maybe even since before they took him from the Dursleys. He did know by the time they'd settled into Betwys Beddau that the men raising him weren't like Vernon Dursley or any of the other fathers, at least not the ones Harry had encountered. He remembered being blunt enough about it to shock Sirius, who had a delicate ego about such things, and after that --

Well, they hadn't exactly hidden it, but Remus just wasn't physically affectionate by nature, and Sirius always took his cues from Remus, whether he knew he did it or not. Once in a while Harry saw them kiss, and sometimes in the evenings he'd seen them sit closer together than men generally sat, but aside from the shared bedroom and the occasional innuendo, they kept their affection private, even from him.

He peered through the doorway, feeling not so much as if he were intruding but as if he were being allowed to witness something special. Sirius had one arm around Remus' waist and the other on his shoulder, almost careless; Remus' arms were around Sirius' neck, wrists crossed between his shoulderblades, and their foreheads were touching. They were moving to the music, though it was an aimless sort of not-quite-dancing, more an excuse to touch than anything else.

Harry couldn't remember when he'd seen Remus smile so widely. There was something wonderful and -- and solemn about it, like the music. Something important that Harry didn't have a name for yet.

The kettle began to whistle, and they kissed quite naturally and let each other go. Harry made sure he crashed a bit as he came into the kitchen. Remus would be embarrassed if he knew they'd been seen, and Harry didn't want anything to ruin it before he could tuck it up in his memories so that he could study it in more detail later.

"So," said Sirius, once they'd poured the tea and settled into the comfortable sofa and chairs of the living room, "Hogwarts tomorrow, yeah? Tomorrow morning, bright and oh-god early?"

"So we can take Draco his stocking," Harry said nodding. "And then tomorrow night for the feast, right? You promised."

"It means I don't have to cook," Sirius said. "I'm all for it."

"Or else we'd be having spaghetti for Christmas dinner," Remus murmured, teasingly. Harry noticed, though he pretended not to see, that Remus' fingers were twined in Sirius' hair at the back of his head. He found himself wondering -- and then horrified that he'd wondered -- if they were going to Have Sex later that night. He knew about Sex, in theory, and he was pretty sure you weren't supposed to wonder about your nearest and dearest Having it.

"Got your present for Draco all wrapped up?" Remus asked, tilting his head at Harry.

"Yup. And I gave Neville his before we left London and he's giving Padma my present for her when he sees her on Boxing Day, so that's all right," Harry said, covering for his insanely inappropriate thoughts with innocent chatter. They were his parents!

"Well done. And Sirius has got things for Draco since it's bad form for professors to give their students presents," Remus said. "Though I imagine Severus has something for Neville, since someday Neville will

be big enough to flatten him if he mistreats Dora."

"Professor Snape wouldn't do that to Dora," Harry said.

"Yes, well, if he knows what's good for him, he won't. I don't suppose you got Draco a broom finally, did you?" he asked Sirius, who shook his head.

"I asked, he said he wanted to buy his own. Besides, he uses Harry's for games, and Harry has a fine broomstick," Sirius said. "Did get him a professional-grade Beating bat, though. Those school bats are all cracked and badly weighted. You use those, sooner or later you'll break your wrist."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate it. And, I think it's time for bed," Remus added, setting down his empty teacup and standing, stretching slowly. The moon was not that far away; he'd had Wolfsbane before they went out to the pub. His joints cracked.

Harry went up to his room, the room Sirius had decorated with posters of astronomy charts and famous Quidditch players. It was at the opposite end of the upper floor from the other bedroom, but Harry paused in the dark doorway and glanced back as Remus and Sirius stumbled sleepily towards their bed. Just before the door closed, he saw Sirius gently slide a hand down Remus' spine and kiss the nape of his neck from behind.

Harry went to bed very glad that there was a long hallway and a few thick walls between his bedroom and theirs.

***

Draco was awoken that morning first by the sound of Sirius Black shouting "HALLOOOOOO AND HAPPY CHRISTMAS!" through the halls of Hufflepuff dormitory, and second by the crash of Harry Potter landing on his bed.

"How'd you get in?" he asked, rubbing his eyes in the dim morning light filtering through the high windows.

"Remus has the passwords," Harry replied. "Professor, you know."

"Right, right -- " Draco tried to smooth his hair down, aware it always stood up in a cowlick in the morning. Sirius and Remus arrived rather more sedately than Harry had and a pile of gaily wrapped gifts landed on Draco's bed, along with an enormous stocking crammed full of sweets. Harry picked up one of the gifts and held it out. "Mine first!"

Draco had gotten a package from his mother the night before, containing a pair of new pyjamas and a new cauldron for Potions class. While the pyjamas were welcome (in a sense; they had cavorting crups on them) the cauldron was the most boring possible gift Draco could imagine.

Even if Sirius had gotten him a cauldron, however, Draco would have been delighted; and Sirius had not gotten him a cauldron, but a real professional-quality Beater's Bat, numbered by Quality Quidditch Supplies and guaranteed for ten years of hard use. Remus -- though the tag said "Sirius" -- had spoken quickly and quietly with McGonagall, and gotten Draco the Animorum, a hefty volume on the transfigurative arts. He had marked certain pages with little metal clips, much to Draco's delight.

Harry had gotten him a shaving kit; Draco didn't shave yet, but the kit had the kind of hair sleeker he liked, and real cologne, and it looked very grownup sitting on his bedside table.

There were gifts to be given, too; Draco had done all his shopping by mail-order (well, he'd had to) and though the giftwrap was professional and didn't have quite as much character, the presents were all well-recieved. He hoped Padma and Neville were enjoying theirs, too.

By the time all the gifts were unwrapped there were beginning to be distinct rumblings in Harry and Draco's stomachs, and they went out to the Great Hall to find a feast laid on by the Kitchen Elves: bacon, sausage, ham, eggs of all styles, french toast, waffles, oatmeal, crepes with fruit and chocolate, fried potatoes -- even steak, when Sirius jokingly told Denbigh that he wanted a real breakfast.

They couldn't go out on the grounds and couldn't very well take Draco back to Hogsmeade with them, but they rambled around the castle for hours, finally ending up in the music room where Harry and Draco demonstrated their not incompetent grasp of the "naughty limerick" poetic form.

The feast in the Great Hall that afternoon was a friendly affair, with a couple of tables pushed up against each other so that professors and students dined together. Remus, who had begun to look more and more tired, had begged off and gone back to his rooms to lie down, but Sirius stayed with the boys and was perfectly at home as surrogate professor. Snape might glare and grumble at the noise, but the other students seemed pleased to have Mr. Black at the table, and he was always game to pull a cracker and don a silly hat.

Harry was just helping himself to some roast potatoes when the doors of the Great Hall swung open. Everyone looked up, Harry half-expecting a Dementor to float through --

But it was just Professor Trelawney, gliding towards them dreamily. Harry and Draco exchanged a sardonic look.

"Sibyll, this is a pleasant surprise," said Dumbledore, standing to greet her.

"I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster," said Professor Trelawney in her mistiest, most faraway voice, "and to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary meal and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate?"

Harry heard Sirius snort into his drink.

"I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness...."

"Certainly, certainly," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "Let me draw you up a chair -- "

Professor Trelawney, however, did not sit down; her enormous eyes had been roving around the table, and she suddenly uttered a kind of soft scream.

"I dare not, Headmaster! If I join the table, we shall be thirteen! Nothing could be more unlucky! Never forget that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!"

"Oh, that's all right," Sirius said. "We'll just make Professor Snape get up first."

"Cur," Snape muttered.

"We will risk it, Sibyll," McGonagall said, waving to the open seat on the end of the bench, next to Sirius. Sirius glared at her. Madam Hooch, sitting next to her, laughed quietly.

Professor Trelawney hesitated, then lowered herself onto the bench carefully.

"And where is Professor Lupin today?" she asked, after no great chasms opened up to swallow the table whole.

"Bit under the weather," Sirius replied, then looked as though he wished he'd let someone else speak.

"Surely you knew that, however," McGonagall said. From where Harry sat, it looked as though Hooch kicked her under the table.

"I often ask such questions so as not to make people uneasy," Trelawney replied. "My own Inner Eye has informed me much of Professor Lupin...such a dear man, and sadly, not long for this world, I fear..."

"Oh, I shouldn't worry too much," Sirius said. "Lupin's the sort to always make the best of a bad situation. I reckon if he dies he'll probably just be relieved that he won't have to finish marking his sixth-years' papers."

Trelawney looked scandalised, but Sirius winked at Harry and kept going.

"Now look here, professor," he said, "Christmas is a very traditional time for fortune telling and I want my future read. Can you tell me about any grand romances coming my way?"

Trelawney looked delighted, but McGonagall coughed. Harry, watching her watch Sirius, realised that she knew about Remus and Sirius, and moreover, so did Madam Hooch.

The Divinations professor clearly did not, however, and she launched into a long and complicated process of measuring the lines on Sirius' hands, the shape of his remaining dinner on his plate, the position of the stars, and the auspicious symbolism of his name. Finally, she took out her tarot deck, counted carefully through it, and drew out a card, face down. She flipped it over and declared, triumphantly, "The queen of staves!"

Sirius went off into silent paroxysms of ill-concealed laughter. Trelawney looked much put upon, until Sirius wiped his eyes and shook his head.

"Sorry -- not laughing at you -- not, I swear," he said, wheezing. "Queen -- staves -- sure thing. Sounds good. Proceed, do."

Trelawney gave him a suspcious look, but continued. "A strong but gentle woman, dark of hair and eye. Look for her in a public place. You should sleep with one shoe under your pillow, to dream of your true love," she added.

"I will certainly take that into consideration," Sirius said gravely, and the dinner began to break up.

Sirius and Harry were walking Draco back to the Hufflepuff common room when it happened -- when the two enormous owls sailed down the corridor, dropped a heavy package into Draco's instinctively-outstretched hands, and soared off without a word. Draco stared dumbly at the oblong package, which could only really be one thing, and then tore the paper off it hastily.

"Oooooh," Harry said, as the light from the corridor windows caught the glittering polish on the broomstick.

"Is that a Firebolt?" Sirius asked, sounding about ten years old. Draco turned the broomstick over in his hands, studying the registration number stamped on the top of the handle. "Merlin, it is."

Draco let go of the broomstick and it hovered in midair, just at the perfect height to mount it. The smooth birch twigs at the tail trembled eagerly.

Draco looked up at Sirius, his grey eyes wide.

"Did you get me this?" he asked, hesitantly.

"Me? You mean you don't know who gave it to you?" Sirius asked. "I said I'd get you one if you wanted, but you said you didn't -- you didn't buy this yourself?"

Draco shook his head, bewildered. Harry touched the tip of the broomstick. It was smooth and cool, marred only by the registration stamp and the Firebolt logo on one side.

"No card," Sirius murmured, examining the wrapping.

"Might've been Dumbledore," Harry said. "He wouldn't send a card if he were going to give a present to a student."

"It's not his style, though," Sirius said, rubbing the back of his head.

"Wait till Cedric sees," Harry said. "He'll swallow his tongue trying to keep from being envious. Oliver too. Hey, once you've had a ride, can I try it out?"

"Nobody's riding this broomstick just yet," Sirius said sharply. Both boys looked at him.

"Well, not in here -- " Harry began, but Sirius shook his head and reached out, grasping the broomstick firmly.

"Anyone we know would have sent a card," he said. "Andi or Ted -- Neville, Padma -- even Dumbledore would have sent an anonymous note. And I know the House Elves love you, Draco, but they definitely don't have this kind of money. Think who that leaves."

Draco stiffened. "My father," he said hoarsely, looking at the broomstick with renewed confusion.

"Yes -- or an enemy who wanted to get to your father through you," Sirius agreed. "Nobody's riding this broomstick, Draco, until we've looked over every inch of it for hexes and curses."

"But Sirius -- it's a Firebolt!" Harry said.

"Yes, and no son of mine or any of his friends are going to ride a Firebolt -- especially a Firebolt -- that's cursed," Sirius said. Harry subsided, but his eyes still traveled covetously over the broomstick. "Remus can check it for curses. That's practically his job. It won't take long, I'm sure."

"Famous last words," Harry muttered, but out of respect he didn't say them loud enough for Sirius to hear.

***

The broomstick did cause a commotion, and Remus at once put it through several strenuous magical tests, though his abilities were limited by the impending full moon and his own anguished desire not to damage such a perfect piece of craftsmanship as the Firebolt. Remus might not have been the biggest Quidditch fan in the world, but he knew art when he saw it.

He was well enough by the thirty-first not only to resume his testing of the broom but to attend the small New Year's reception in the common room. Sirius was solicitously at his side, dancing attendance and bringing him ridiculous amounts of tea, but eventually he was prevailed upon to sit down before he did someone a harm. Remus told Dora that it was nice to sit among the professors and listen to them talk, especially about the Firebolt; he was picking up plenty of information that would go into the continued testing. He was fond of quiet parties, and while New Year's was a big deal in Scotland, in the little Hogwarts enclave it was enough to count down by Sinistra's precision instruments and warmly wish each other a good new year.

Dora noticed Remus winking at her as Severus kissed her chastely on the cheek, but didn't think any more about it until she saw Severus slip quietly out of the room. He was gone for several minutes, and she was about to go in search of him when Dumbledore ostentatiously checked the clock and held up his hands for attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said. "There is one last ritual to be performed before we retire..."

"First footing!" Dora cried. "I forgot! Is it Severus this year?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore said. "If you will all follow me..."

"What's going on?" Sirius asked, as the professors filed out into the hallway, following Dumbledore towards the front of the castle like so many ducklings.

"You're such a city boy," Dora heard Remus reply. "First-footing, it's where someone purposefully leaves so that they can be the first person across the door in the new year. It's supposed to be a man, dark-haired for preference, and carrying alcohol. Or coal."

"Is this some daft northern idea?" Sirius asked.

"It's a very old tradition!" Remus replied.

"Right, daft northerners it is. Why wasn't I asked to do it? I'm a dark-haired man, and I love carrying alcohol around!"

Remus grinned at Dora and continued to soothe Sirius' bruised ego as they walked.

They assembled before the enormous oak door, locked tightly against the night outside, Dora cheerful and vibrant with excitement, though over what she couldn't quite say.

Dumbledore checked a pocketwatch hidden in one of the many folds of his robes. He snapped it shut with a nod and there was a loud banging noise, as of a fist being pounded on the door. It echoed up the tall beams and shook dust from the highest crossbars.

Dumbledore took out a delicate key, turned it in the lock, and stepped back as several bars and iron fittings slid apart. The doors opened and Severus appeared on the front steps, holding a coal scuttle in one hand and a bottle of firewhiskey in the other.

He stepped across the threshold and gravely presented the alcohol to Dumbledore, who accepted it just as gravely. The coal was offered to McGonagall, who smiled at him as she took it.

"Very well done, Severus," Dumbledore said, as a dozen small champagne glasses appeared. He didn't open the bottle, however. "Now, I believe there is one more point of business before the year is truly rung in..."

The professors all looked at each other, perplexed. This was outside the usual ritual. Severus, however, was reaching into his pocket.

A hushed murmur circled around the faculty as he drew out a small box and moved closer to Dora. She realised what was happening about a split second before he spoke, and was never so grateful in all her life for Severus Snape's decidedly unromantic streak.

"I shan't get down on one knee for anyone," he said, "So don't go thinking I shall."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she replied weakly. One of his fingers flicked the latch up and the box opened smoothly to reveal a small gold ring with a sapphire -- the traditional Wizarding engagement stone -- set atop it.

She wasn't sure she was capable of doing anything other than stare at it. Dumbledore, somewhere in the distant background, chuckled. Dora realised her hair had turned bright gold -- not blond but metallic, sparkling gold.

"You needn't say yes now," Severus said, and she looked up to see sudden uncertainty in his eyes.

"You haven't asked her anything!" Remus hissed. Severus glanced at him, frowned, and turned back to Dora.

"Well, if you'd like to answer now, I can ask," he suggested. "Nymphadora, will you marry me?"

She managed a smile, and her hands only shook a little -- about as much as his were -- when she lifted the little ring out of the box and slid it onto her finger. It sized itself to fit snugly just behind the second knuckle.

The professors burst into applause and laughter. Severus gave her a rather skeptical smile.

"Are you certain?" he asked, stepping close to be heard above the noise.

"Don't tell me you're insecure!" she replied, and laughed and threw her arms around his neck. Remus grinned and offered Severus his hand, and Sirius ruffled her hair affectionately. Someone thrust a small glass of whiskey into her hands, and the sapphire sparkled on her finger as she sipped it. Severus looked as though he could use some alcohol lest he fall over in a faint. Fortunately, Dumbledore provided.

"How long were you planning this?" she asked, once the noise had died down a little bit. They fell into step behind the other professors, some going back to the common room and others to their quarters. "Not since before Theo's impertinence, I hope. I'd hate it if Theo were right to ask."

He gave her a reserved smile. "No. Though it did give me cause to consider matters."

"Staking your claim?" she teased.

"Nymphadora..." he grasped her arm and stopped her, letting the others wander on before he spoke again. "Please take it as no insult that I do not believe any other woman would have the -- the character to see past my flaws -- "

"Severus, are you implying I'm the only taker?" she asked, grinning.

"That is precisely what I do not wish to imply!"

"It's all right, I was only teasing," she said, and kissed him affectionately to prove it.

"I was faced with the awkward conviction that if I did not believe myself capable of marrying you I would do much better to end the thing swiftly, for both our sakes. And if I did believe that we could -- tolerate each other -- "

"Such strong language!"

"Quiet, wench," he ordered. "If I did believe that it was possible to share a highly solitary life, there being no question that I -- love you...why wait?"

Dora stroked his short hair affectionately, her other hand resting over his heart.

"Just when I think I've got you all figured out, you say something like that," she said.

Chapter 19

When school came back into sesson, early on the third of January, there was no end to the gossip that circulated amongst the students. Those who had stayed over the holiday could talk all about Draco Malfoy's mysterious broomstick and Sirius Black's dark-haired, dark-eyed woman that Professor Trelawney had predicted. Harry, who had news straight from Remus (or rather, from overhearing Remus) could and did tell all about Professor Snape proposing to Ex-Professor Tonks.

Neville, who was woken early on the first of January by excited shouts about weddings, wandered out sleepily to find his sister engaged to his professor, walked straight up to Severus and for the first time in many years of association, shook his hand. Even Anne joined in the celebration and shyly accepted when Tonks demanded that she accompany her and Andromeda when they went gown-shopping. Severus took the idea of gowns and formal robes and an actual wedding-date with thinly-disguised horror.

Snape immediately became a romantic object amongst the students, much to his disgust, and all mention of love or marriage were quashed with severe punishments.

At school Draco was nearly as tragic as Snape was romantic, having had the ownership of a Firebolt for a few precious moments before it was snatched away from him. He shrugged; he was used to his mum taking things from him. The school brooms were adequate for training, and besides he didn't want to ride a broomstick that might kill him. It would have surprised many to know how proud Draco Malfoy really was, but it was a peculiar sort of pride that would brook no charity nor spectacle. As wise men have said, the most proud are often the most shy. Andromeda observed quietly to Ted one morning that Draco was really more like Severus than either would be comfortable with.

January passed in a dull sort of rush, highlighted only by the Slytherin-Ravenclaw game, which Slytherin won by a narrow margin. It looked as though they would be the team to beat for the Cup, their loss in the last term notwithstanding. Harry, checking the game schedule, realised that Slytherin would not play against Hufflepuff until April. It was a long way off, but it did make the situation more real: he would be playing against Draco, possibly defeating (or being defeated by) Draco's team. He supposed he would have to reckon with that sometime, as he had with Oliver.

In the meantime, however, he had other concerns -- not only his classes, but the great mystery of who would be teaching during the January full moon.

Remus himself he did not worry about any more than ever. After all, he had lived for years with Remus and his infirmity, not to mention now he was taking Wolfsbane. Remus refused to tell who was going to be his substitute, and Harry began to find out just how good Remus was at keeping a secret. He did seem as though he were bursting to tell, but he refrained with admirable restraint.

"Any new ideas? Last-minute bets?" Neville asked as they walked down the hall towards class. Harry had a cheerful letter from the bed-bound Remus in his bag, but it said nothing about his substitute.

"Nope. He seems so excited though, it ought to be fun," he said. Neville paused with his hand on the door, so Harry shouldered it open and walked inside confidently. If he was going to have to kick some arse, he might as well start early.

A knot of students had been waiting outside the classroom, but they followed him inside with Neville. The room was brightly lit and the man at the desk was hard to miss -- tall and lanky, with a lion's mane of white hair that still had a few hints of sandy brown here and there. He stood leaning against the professor's desk, as Remus often did, arms across his chest. When the door opened, he looked up quickly and gave them a ready grin.

"Come in, sit down," he said, gesturing at the desks. "Your professor didn't leave a seating chart so you may as well sit where you please; I won't know the difference."

Harry hesitantly took a seat in the second row, and Neville slid in next to him. Hermione Granger plonked down in front of the boys. Most of the Slytherins moved towards the back.

"Are we all here?" the man asked, when the door finally swung shut again. The students looked around and nodded. Harry could feel the room warming to the man already. He had a pleasant smile that looked somehow familiar.

"Splendid, I'll just hex any latecomers," the man said, and the class snickered obediently. "Now. You are...third year, Gryffindor and Slytherin double, yes?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione answered.

"Thank you. You are...?"

"Hermione Granger," she said.

"What a pretty name. Your parents are Shakespeare fans?"

Hermione nodded shyly.

"If powers divine behold our human actions, as they do, I doubt not then but innocence shall make false accusation blush, and tyranny tremble at patience," the man said, and his deep voice settled the class into absolute silence. "Shakespeare, from The Winter's Tale, as your name is. Now, let me see...yes. I've forgotten to introduce myself, haven't I. Did Professor Lupin warn you who was coming?"

Headshakes.

"Very well. My name is Ellis Graveworthy. I've been asked by Professor Lupin to lecture in his place, today and tomorrow, while he is away on business. I'm not a teacher by trade; I write novels."

Harry elbowed Neville and grinned widely. The rest of the class was muttering to each other in excited undertones.

"I don't know if any of you are quite old enough yet to know them -- who here has heard of the book Two Kneazles?" Graveworthy continued. Almost the entire class raised their hands. "Well, that's flattering. And how many of you have read it?"

Half the hands dropped. The rest looked eagerly at him.

"Your honesty is appreciated," he said with a smile. "I -- hallo, who's that?"

All the heads turned to the doorway, where the door was just closing, though nothing was visible except a long, shaggy black tail.

"Padfoot!" Harry cried, along with five or six other students.

"Hullo Padfoot," Graveworthy said courteously, as the dog came down one aisle. "School mascot?"

"He belongs to Professor Lupin," Harry said. Padfoot settled at his feet, ears alert, tail wagging gently. "He must have gotten out."

"He won't make any trouble, will he?" Graveworthy inquired. Harry glanced down at the enormous black dog, who was sitting placidly next to his chair.

"No, Mr. Graveworthy," he said.

"That's fine then -- where was I?"

"Two Kneazles," Neville said eagerly.

"Yes! Right, thank you -- " Graveworthy paused. "You're Neville Longbottom, aren't you?"

Neville blinked.

"I knew your parents, you're Frank's spit and image -- sorry, sorry, lecture," he said to the class at large. "You may be able to tell I'm not much one for public speaking."

"Draco'll be over the moon," Harry whispered to Neville.

Graveworthy rubbed his hands briskly. "I'm not very good at Defence and never had much interest in the Dark Arts at school, but what I have done is written a book about the history of Hogwarts. More accurately, its Founders, as seen through the eyes of two kneazle kits adopted by Salazar Slytherin. Now, there's no evidence that Slytherin kept Kneazles, but there isn't any evidence he didn't, either. That's what history is about, you see -- weighing what's there against what isn't. At any rate, while I was researching this book, I learned a lot about Hogwarts, more than I ever did at school. That's what I'm here to talk to you about today: the history of the Dark Arts at Hogwarts."

There was a loud, busy rustle as parchment was unrolled and inkpots were set out. He waited until it had died down before continuing.

"So. Let's start by having you tell me what you know about the history of Hogwarts," Graveworthy began, gesturing idly at a bit of chalk. It rose up into the air and held itself poised over the board. "Four Founders, four Houses, one very drafty castle, and a British institution is born. Yes, your name is?"

"Theo Nott, Professor Graveworthy," Theo said. Graveworthy laughed.

"Just Mr. Graveworthy, I think. What were you going to tell me?"

Harry listened and took notes as Graveworthy began to paint a picture of life at Hogwarts nearly a thousand years ago -- the long drafty dormitories, the half-destroyed castle on the hill, the illiterate students who had to be taught to read by patient Helga Hufflepuff, and the devastating intellect of Rowena Ravenclaw. Also Godric Gryffindor, a lion of a warlock with tangled brown hair...

"And dear wee Salazar Slytherin," Graveworthy said, putting one hand over his heart. "A small man, dwarfed by Gryffindor, mostly Roman blood according to documents. Quick and nimble and quite wicked. He brought the Dark Arts to Hogwarts, which was taught as a class in itself until about 1550. Now thereby hangs a tale in itself..."

The class sat rapt, parchment forgotten on their desks, as Graveworthy unrolled a story for them about scandal and dark doings in the sixteenth century. From there he leapt backwards again to Slytherin and the Dark Arts as practiced five hundred years before, some of which Harry knew all too well from his encounter with a basilisk the previous year. At Ron Weasley's prompting, he guided them up through the end of the Founding, the year that the last Founder died -- Rowena Ravenclaw, whose last words were apparently, "No, you've got the wrong end of the stick entirely!" -- and into what he called the Building Years when the castle was rebuilt and hexed round thrice with protective charms. He wandered off into a story about the perils of blood magic and then the deep, dark necromantic societies of senior students in days gone past until a little bell on the table chimed.

"And that's class! Thank Merlin for alarms, or I'd have kept you all until dinner," Graveworthy said. "Off you go."

They gathered their things reluctantly, already talking about the class, and most of them were gone when he suddenly spoke again.

"Harry Potter," he called, and Harry turned against the tide of chattering students. "May I speak with you for a moment?"

Harry fought his way back out of the crowd and came down the aisle slowly. He'd only whispered to Neville once...

"Don't worry, I don't bite," Graveworthy said, and bared his teeth in a wide smile. Harry smiled back, stopping in front of the suddenly shy-looking man. Graveworthy held out his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, sir," Harry heard himself say, and then blurted, "I like your books an awful lot."

Graveworthy's smile turned genuine. "Thank you. I'm glad."

"So does Professor Lupin -- and -- and my friend Draco," Harry continued, even as part of him was shouting not to be a huge idiot in front of Ellis Graveworthy. "He's in my year but in Hufflepuff, if you could even just say hi to him specially -- "

"Certainly. Did you enjoy the lecture today?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. I hoped it wouldn't be boring. I'm ridiculously anxious in front of crowds. I've been asked to dinner with your Godfather tonight, I don't know if he told you. Professor Lupin, as well, at Black's house in Hogsmeade."

"You know Sirius?" Harry asked, surprised.

"In passing. I'm acquainted with him through the Ord -- " Graveworthy caught himself. "Well, let's say through mutual friends. It's been years, but Sirius Black makes quite the impression."

Harry found himself laughing. "Yes sir. He does that."

"He seems to have raised you well. Otherwise I wouldn't ask this, but I -- I was wondering if I might look at your scar. I know, I know, you probably hate it when people ask that..." Graveworthy began, but Harry had already raised his hand and brushed his hair back from his forehead.

"I don't mind," he said carelessly. Graveworthy's eyes met his, first, and then drifted upwards.

"So that's it," Graveworthy murmured. "The famous scar. I remember..."

He seemed to check himself again. Harry wondered if Ellis Graveworthy had known his parents, but Graveworthy's mind seemed to shift.

"You're carrying a part of history with you, Harry," he said, instead of whatever else he was going to say. "I don't suppose anyone lets you forget it, but that's not to the bad. You of all people understand that we are the result of what comes before, for good or ill."

Harry had not really considered this before, but he didn't say so.

"What a peculiar life for a young boy," Graveworthy mused. "I've often thought your story would make an excellent novel -- though you get rather enough attention as it is, I'm sure."

"It's not all that interesting," Harry protested, letting his hair fall down again. "Mostly school."

"To be sure. And I've kept you long enough. Off you go. If you're late, tell them it's my fault. And Harry," he said, as Harry turned to go.

"Yes, sir?"

"If you ever did want to get your story in print -- I can't resist asking -- I'm at your service," said Ellis Graveworthy, the famous novelist of the wizarding world.

"Thank you, sir," replied Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. "Maybe one day I will."

***

The house in Hogsmeade was quite transformed since Sirius had purchased it, though the view from the rear windows hadn't altered at all. It still gazed down on the ruined stones of Creadonagh valley, deep in twilight by the time Ellis Graveworthy arrived for dinner. He came bearing a bottle of good wine and a ready smile, thought Sirius saw that he was still, as he had been years ago, a little shy of strangers. They had known each other in the Order, but only slightly, and they might as well have only just met.

"Dinner's almost ready," Sirius said, leading him through to the dining room, which overlooked the valley from the back of the house. "How did your lessons turn out?"

"Oh! Fine, I suppose. As well as substitute lessons ever do. It seems as though the children in these years are quieter than when I was at school," Ellis replied. He drifted towards the window, where the stars were visible low on the horizon. "I made the acquaintance of your godson."

"I hope he didn't misbehave."

"Quite the contrary, he seems like a very apt student. I understand he's close to Neville Longbottom? I suppose his parents are still at St. Mungo's."

"Nor likely to change," Sirius said. "Neville's a good lad, though; my cousin Andromeda's taken him in as her own, so he has parents of a sort, at least."

"For ex-nobility, you're quite the Communists, you know," Ellis observed with a grin. "Not that I disapprove; I believe people ought to look after one another."

"Well, family is important to purebloods, too," Sirius said, twisting his smile into a sneer on the word pureblood. "Listen, make yourself at home, I'm going to fetch Remus. Won't be a moment."

The older man listened with interest as Sirius padded to the foot of the stairs, climbed halfway up, and shouted. "DINNER! GRAVEWORTHY'S HERE!"

"Right down!" came the faint reply.

"Now, I was told Mr. Lupin was away on business," Ellis said, when Sirius returned.

"Well, of a sort. His health isn't as good as he could wish. He's been in hospital all day," Sirius answered -- a little too smoothly, in fact. "Nothing life-threatening, but it does rather wear him out."

"Quite a shame. Still, it gives the children a bit of variety, and I enjoyed myself once I got past the terror of public speaking," he said. There was a thudding noise on the stairs, and Remus Lupin appeared.

Ellis remembered Remus less than Sirius, who was boisterously outspoken and young enough to be brash even about war. He recalled James Potter and Sirius Black, of course, and then a skinny brown-haired shadow lurking in the background and a pudgy, slightly annoying boy who seemed always to be in the way without ever trying to be. It was difficult to fathom that of all four, Peter Pettigrew would be the dangerous one.

It was just as difficult, however, to fathom that the man in the doorway was the beige-coloured shadow whom Ellis had been almost unable to put a name to. He looked older than Sirius by at least five years, though they must have been roughly the same age to leave school together. His face was pale and a little drawn, but the grey touching his temples gave him an air of authority the younger Remus had not had (or not shown, at any rate). He wore a tailored suit with the same quiet self-possession that Sirius Black wore his jeans and motorcycle boots and Muggle t-shirt. And his smile was less childish, but far more open than the boy's had been.

"Graveworthy, it's a pleasure," he said, offering his hand. "I hope the classes behaved for you today."

"Oh, yes. Pleasure's all mine," Ellis answered. "I'm El, if that's all right. No need to stand on formality."

"Remus," the other man replied. "I was pleased to have your letter saying you'd come teach. I'm sure it was a real treat for the students."

"Your young Harry seemed to think so, at least I hope he did," Ellis said easily. Remus sat in one of the chairs and turned it slightly so that it faced Ellis and the window. Sirius, Ellis noticed, slipped back into the kitchen.

"I'm certain he did; he and his friends are very fond of your work. Though Sirius isn't letting him read Asarotos Oechus until he's a bit older."

"Well, it's not really a children's book, I'll admit that," Ellis laughed. "Probably wise. Sirius tells me you've been at St. Mungo's all day -- nothing too terrible, I hope?"

"Chronic ill-health. It comes and goes," Remus answered. "One doesn't like to tell the students."

"Certainly, certainly." Ellis rubbed his chin, and a phrase crossed his mind, something about sick-wards -- it might do for a sonnet, if he remembered it later.

"And here we are," Sirius announced, carrying a pot of bubbling stew to the table. Behind him, a bowl of bread and three glasses of wine floated in the air. The wine-bottle and a butter dish followed.

"This looks wonderful," Ellis said, as Sirius ladled out portions into the bowls.

"Lamb stew -- easy enough to make, or we'd be eating take-away," Sirius replied.

"Believe me, I appreciate the effort." Ellis smiled to himself as he took some bread and spread a bit of butter on it. "I'm sorry, if I can ask a personal question -- professional nosiness, as it were, the whole of humanity being my profession when I'm writing..."

Sirius glanced at Remus, who nodded cautiously.

"Without any implication of disapproval -- may I ask how long you two have been together? I recall a newspaper article of a few years ago, but it seemed to intimate that you were Harry's tutor..."

Both men had gone pale -- Remus a shade paler, if possible -- and were looking uneasily at one another.

"Believe me, I keep enough secrets that I have no need to share yours with anyone," Ellis said hastily. "Silent as the grave, as it were. It was only curiousity; you needn't answer if you don't want to."

"I -- don't believe I've ever heard it put that directly," Remus said slowly. One hand twisted in the napkin at the side of his plate. "Are we so obvious?"

Ellis smiled.

"Only to someone trained to watch," he replied. "And someone familiar with the way men live together. As I said, I can be discreet."

"How old was Harry?" Sirius asked Remus, swallowing a bite of stew. "Eight?"

"No, just turned nine," Remus said absently, still staring at Ellis. "Four years, give or take a few months. Harry's aware of it, of course. As are a few close friends."

"It's -- I find it quite intriguing, as a writer," Ellis said. "But then all day I've felt as though I were standing half-in a story that wasn't of my own devising."

Sirius smiled. Ellis saw what he had been trying to convey was getting across, at least to one of the men: he meant what he said. This was not his secret to tell, nor did he even think it very valuable information. It was simply what was. He was no danger to them.

"It would be very hard on Harry, you understand," Remus said, and the napkin was given another twist. "Sirius doesn't care and I don't really -- I mean, I would, but I'd get past it. But Harry..."

"Of course. Parents' lives are always hard on their children, and we live in an imperfect world," Ellis said. He saw Sirius calmly rest his hand on Remus' wrist, and Remus released the poor napkin from its torments. His tightened jaw relaxed as well, and the hunted look left his eyes. Good. Clearly Sirius Black had grown up as well, even if he didn't show it outwardly so much as Remus did.

"Never mind; my curiousity is satisfied," Ellis continued. "I meant to ask, by the way -- when I was at school, the Gryffindor ghost was only Nearly Headless Nick. I understand he's been upgraded to Completely Headless Nick now. Have you any idea how the thing happened?"

Chapter 20

The week after Ellis Graveworthy left, when Remus was fully steady on his feet again, he took Harry aside after class. They walked through the high echoing hallways towards the Great Hall, Remus idling along with his hands in his pockets, Harry looking up at him curiously.

"I've been considering this for a while," Remus said, glancing out one of the narrow windows that looked onto the courtyard. "I'd like to make you an offer, Harry. More as your professor than anything else -- and certainly you're welcome to decline."

"Offer of what?" Harry asked.

"You've encountered Dementors twice now, and both times have been rather dire for you. That's not your fault, and I'm not saying it is, but it is something we must grapple with rather than ignore. It's dangerous to be so unarmed against them."

"Well, I don't go looking for them -- "

"I know! Believe me, I know that. But you never need to look for trouble, is the problem; it always seems to come to you," Remus said. "I want to protect you, Harry, but the wisest way of doing that right now is teaching you to protect yourself. There's a spell that can drive off a Dementor. It's difficult to learn and even more difficult to execute, but I think you're able enough to handle it."

"Extra tutoring?" Harry asked with a sigh.

"Well, I did say you can say no, but I think you ought to say yes," Remus said. "If it starts to interfere with your grades, we can always stop."

Harry thought about the Dementors, about the things he'd heard and the memories just on the edge of his thoughs, not quite complete, like seeing a half-visible film in a dim room.

He wasn't certain he wanted to be able to drive a Dementor off. He wanted to hear his mother's voice again.

"All right," he said, as they reached the doorway of the Great Hall. "When should we do it?"

"How does Thursday sound? You don't have practice that day. We can meet in the History of Magic classroom, that ought to be big enough."

"Okay," Harry replied. "I'll try it, but if I want to stop I can, right?"

"Right," Remus said. He affectionately ruffled the hair at the back of Harry's head, out of view of the students, before walking into the hall and taking his seat at the high table. Harry wondered if Sirius had put him up to it.

The week seemed to drag and fly at the same time -- whenever he thought of the Patronus lesson it seemed like it was too soon, only a few days away. On the other hand, time passed slowly during classes and sometimes all he wanted to do in the evenings was escape down to the dormitory and spend a few hours alone with a book, Snake in his box on the nightstand, the rest of the beds empty.

After dinner on Thursday Harry slipped away from Draco and Neville (Padma was already at the library) and went down to the dormitory, wondering what he should take with him to the lesson. Parchment and pens? Remus didn't often lecture. Chocolate, definitely; he had two chocolate frogs from the last time he'd gone to Hogsmeade, and he put those into his bag along with his Dark Arts textbook and, for no real reason he could think of, the Marauder's Map.

He dawdled along the hallway, not wanting to be early or late, and showed up with five minutes to spare. Remus wasn't there yet, but Harry lit the lamps with his wand and it wasn't five minutes before he showed up, lugging a large carpetbag with him.

"Boggart," he said briefly, tossing it in the corner. "Been chasing that bugger down all afternoon."

"What've you got a boggart for?" Harry asked.

"Practice. So! Ready to work?" Remus asked, clapping his hands together.

"Yeah..." Harry eyed the carpetbag. "I thought I was practicing on Dementors."

"You will be, sort of," Remus said, kicking the bag down the aisle. "How'd you like an impromptu fifth-year lesson in Boggarts, Harry?"

"Sure," Harry said, relieved that they weren't going to jump straight in.

"Half the Boggart's power lies in the psychological effect it has on people. If you know you're facing a Boggart then you're already thinking quite hard about what you're most afraid of, human nature being what it is. If you don't know it's a Boggart, that's almost worse; you realise that it can be anything and naturally you think of what's most dangerous to you, which amounts to the same thing. Take my meaning?"

"So if I think about Dementors...?"

"Well, you should be concentrating on other things. I'll make sure it's a Dementor; I've been working myself up about them since I caught it. Doesn't take much effort; they're quite horrible enough to begin with, don't you agree?"

"So you're fooling yourself into being afraid of Dementors?"

"Something like that. I imagine we're both nervous -- isn't that so?"

Harry nodded. Remus smiled.

"This is advanced magic, Harry," Remus said, undoing his cufflinks and rolling his sleeves up. "You may as well relax; I don't expect us to succeed in one lesson. It took me a long time to learn the Patronus, and I don't believe Nymphadora learned it until her third year of Auror training."

"Is it complicated to do?" Harry asked.

"N...no, though it does involve a little bit of thought. The Patronus is a kind of anti-dementor, a positive force. Theoretically, it is a single happy thought made physically manifest. Dementors feed on hope, happiness, the desire to survive, which is what the Patronus embodies. The difference is, a Patronus can't feel despair or depression, so the Dementor can't hurt it. Each Patronus is unique to its wizard. Nymphadora's, for example, is a peacock."

Harry grinned. "Kind of appropriate."

"I've always thought so."

"What about you? And Sirius?"

Remus frowned. "I've never seen his; he's never had a reason to cast one, at least not while I've been present."

"And yours?"

"Mine is Padfoot," Remus murmured. "Always was."

"You're a bit soppy sometimes," Harry said.

"You're a bit soppy sometimes, Professor Lupin," Remus corrected, smiling at him. "Now, the Patronus is conjured by an incantation, like so...Expecto Patronum!"

He didn't move or wave his wand as he said it, but he looked as if he were definitely trying to cast the charm. There was something odd in his face.

"But that's only part of it," he added to Harry, picking up his wand. "That's the word that makes the thought emerge as a physical being. The fiddly part is that as you say it you've got to be thinking about something else, and definitely you can't be panicking. You have to think about a really happy memory, a good thought. Something with a strong emotional connection. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded, pondering. Remus waited patiently with his arms crossed, leaning on his desk. There were any number of happy memories he could call up -- playing cricket with Draco in Betwys Beddau, playing chess with Sirius, his first night at Hogwarts, or any of a dozen memories of Snake's comforting weight on one ear as the reptile peered out at the world from the screen of Harry's hair. Some of those were tinged with sadness, though; they were twined up with memories of his first Snake, who'd died to save him from Peter Pettigrew, or the fact that while Betwys Beddau was nice, it was also a summer prison.

He settled finally on the day he got his Hogwarts letter, and the way Remus and Sirius had looked when he opened it. That ought to be happy enough, oughtn't it?

"Got it?" Remus asked, and Harry nodded. "Right, then. Remember -- expecto patronum!"

He kicked open the latch of the carpetbag and black smoke billowed out, almost shaping itself into a glowing orb before reforming into the cowled, tattered shape of a Dementor. Remus' eyes were wide and dilated, and it caught Harry off-guard. By the time he'd remembered what he was supposed to be doing he'd forgotten his happy memory, and he clutched at the first thing he thought of -- ice cream in Betwys Beddau -- and stumbled over the incantation. White fog closed in and he was falling and someone screamed...

***

Sirius was sitting out in the back garden of the house in Hogsmeade, watching the sun go down over Creadonagh valley, when Hedwig fluttered down to his shoulder and dropped a letter in his lap.

"Ta, beautiful," he said, picking it up, noting Remus' handwriting on the front. He slit the sticking-charm curiously and unfolded it, then smiled and tucked it in his pocket.

"In with you," he said, shooing Hedwig in through one of the open windows. He closed the window, latched the back door, and stopped at the hallway mirror. His hair was getting shaggy and needed a cut, but he looked all right. He undid the top button of his shirt, straightened his shoulders, and walked to the floo.

"Lupin's Quarters, Hogwarts," he said, tossing a handful of powder in and following in short order. There was the familiar dizziness as he spun through the network, but then he was stepping out of the fire in Remus' warm bedroom at Hogwarts.

A pair of arms wrapped around him from behind and Remus kissed the side of his neck, nuzzling the soft hair under his ear. Sirius laughed and turned for a proper kiss and found Remus' mouth tasted like butterbeer.

"Evening," he said, fingers already working at Remus' shirt.

"Want you," Remus replied, uncharacteristically direct. Sirius tugged his shirt free and fumbled with his belt.

"So I gathered," he answered. "What's the occasion?"

"No occasion," Remus replied. He reached around Sirius' arms and worked at his buttons, trying to get them undone and get his shirt off his shoulders without breaking contact.

"Didn't you -- mmm," Sirius broke off as Remus bit his shoulder. "Didn't you have lessons tonight with -- "

"They went badly," Remus answered, pushing his trousers down and off.

"Badly?" Sirius asked, hesitating. Remus kissed him again, intently.

"Harry's fine. I'm not," he said. "And I need you."

Sirius raised a hand to Remus' hair and ran his fingers through it, worried now. Remus leaned into the caress, closing his eyes.

"I want one thing in life that is simple," he said, as if it were an effort to form every word.

"You and me -- we're simple?" Sirius asked, hooking his fingers in Remus' belt.

"This is the only thing that's easy -- you -- " Remus pulled him close, his arm hot on Sirius' hip. "Please, I just need. I do."

"Shh, okay," Sirius said, kissing his ear. "It's okay, it'll be okay."

Remus nodded and held him close, breathing heavy and deep for a moment, then leaned back enough to kiss his throat. Sirius eased his trousers off over his hips -- still too thin -- and saved his questions for later. He was tugged towards the bed, shedding clothing as they went, and tumbled down on top of Remus, kissing his way down his chest. He nuzzled a hipbone and Remus pulled him up again, securing their hips together, arching his back. Sirius moaned.

"Moony," he breathed, bucking his hips, trying to keep up with the frantic pace the other man set, trying to cover Remus' body with his own. His mate, his partner -- Remus was hurting over something he couldn't articulate. It was making him silent, even in sex, his head thrown back, brown hair shot with grey but almost black in the dim room. Fingers tugging at his shoulders, raking down his back, Remus made no sound louder than a gasp, no movement that wasn't intended to bring their bodies as close as possible. Sirius couldn't remember the last time it had been so intense, the last time there had been so much need. They were comfortable with each other and yet --

Oh --

Moony --

Remus was still silent when he came, eyes closed, holding Sirius' head against his shoulder. Sirius inhaled against his skin and kissed it gently. He'd just been thinking about something, but the warmth spreading through his body and the slowing beat of Moony's heart under his ear was drowning out thought.

He felt a hand stroke through his hair, then drift down to his shoulder, brushing lightly over scratched skin. He slid to the side and murmured a cleaning charm, wondering if he shouldn't throw in a sedative hex for good measure. Still, now that he'd had whatever release he needed, Remus' muscles were relaxed, head tipped to one side. Sirius watched.

He lay so still for so long that Sirius thought perhaps he'd fallen asleep, which might be best, but when he moved to fling at least one edge of the bed's big blanket over them both, and Remus drew a shallow breath to speak. He let it out again, drew another.

"Harry hears James and Lily dying when the Dementors come," he said.

Sirius closed his eyes. Ah yes. That was what he'd been thinking about; what Harry could have done which would upset Remus this much.

"He hears their last words," Remus continued. "And I can see that he's not going to try hard enough to make a real Patronus, because he wants to hear their voices again."

"Why would he want to hear them dying?" Sirius asked, horrified.

"He doesn't."

"So why...?"

"If that's all he can have that's all he'll take." Remus opened his eyes, closed them again. "I see it in the way he acts around them. The Dementors."

"Do you think he'd -- "

"Go looking for one? No. Small mercy."

Sirius had no idea what to say; he didn't know if Remus was jealous, or worried...

"You know he loves us," he tried.

"It's not about that. If all we could give him was a home and decent clothes and food, we'd be better than nothing, and we give him more than that. It's just..."

Remus was silent. Sirius touched his chest, making circles with his fingers over his heart.

"I want to hear them too," he said miserably. "I miss James, Sirius. I still miss him. Both of them."

"Course you do. We do."

"I hate seeing Harry in pain, and it's like there's this wall -- because I'm his teacher, because I'm a grown-up, I don't know, but I can see him missing a man he didn't even ever get to know and there's nothing I can do."

"You're teaching him to be safe. That's what he needs," Sirius said. It was awkward to find himself in the position of the soother, the peacemaker -- this was usually Remus' job.

"I can't even do that right."

"You're tired and upset. Just close your eyes a bit. I'll be here. If it's really so bad in the morning, we'll fix it together, like we always do."

Remus nodded, his body relaxing again slowly.

"Thank you, Sirius," he said. "If I didn't have you I think the world would fall apart."

"Well, I'm fantastic, it's true," Sirius replied, and Remus laughed a little. "Go to sleep. I'll stay."

***

Harry, exhausted, sleeps soundly even though he dreams. They are wonderful dreams, his dreams, and one is best of all.

If only he could remember it awake.

"Want to see some magic, Harry?"

The little boy nods eagerly. He does want to see magic; he's been sure all his life that if he believes hard enough in magic, it will be real.

"Scourgify," says the brown-haired man, and the dull green of the toy he is holding brightens to almost neon as soap bubbles appear from nowhere, scrubbing it clean.

"Reparo," the man continues, and the little boy watches in amazement as the ripped-up webfoot of the toy frog seems to close in on itself, stuffing snaking back between layers of fabric before it stitches itself shut. New patches of plush grow over the worn bits and the part where Dudley once gave Frog a haircut.

The brown-haired man shakes it a little, to make sure it's all fixed, and then gives it back to the little boy.

"Are you from Narnia?" the little boy asks, half-hoping he'll say no, because then the brown-haired magician and the big black dog and the nice other man can stay with him forever and never go away.

"No, Harry," he says, smiling. "I'm from Yorkshire."

Harry knows in that moment he will never see the Dursleys again and never have to sleep in a closet again and the world will be full of magic. It's almost more joy than one small body can contain.

It is his happiest memory, completely untinged by sorrow or apprehension or fear, a moment of pure awe and pleasure.

If only he could remember it awake.

***

"By the way," Sirius said, two days later, "I'm a bit miffed at you."

Remus was not surprised. He'd been waiting for this, in fact; waiting for two days for Sirius to pick a quiet moment and have a talk with him about how it was Not Okay to call him away from his comfortable back garden at the Hogsmeade house and use him sexually because Remus was upset. He hadn't brought it up because he thought there might be a row and Lupins Did Not Like Rows, but he knew Sirius would.

"Hey," Sirius said, elbowing him to get his attention. "Stop staring at the Quidditch pitch all maudlin. You're supposed to ask why I'm miffed at you."

"Why are you miffed at me?" Remus asked, not looking away from the pitch. Down below, the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff teams were assembling, Draco looking tiny and afraid.

"Well, I was going to say because you've had the audacity to keep testing Draco's new Firebolt when he has a game to play, but I think the joke's falling a little flat," Sirius said, and Remus did look up at him then.

"That's why you're annoyed?"

"I'm not actually annoyed, thickhead," Sirius said, smacking the back of his head and disordering his hair. Remus, heart rising, shoved him with an elbow. Sirius responded by tackling him backwards into the next row of bleachers, and things might have got really out of hand if McGonagall hadn't coughed politely.

"Boys," she said, lifting the hem of her robes to pass by them. "Don't make me sit between you."

"Yes, Professor." "Sorry, Professor."

"You might set a better example for your students," she added, giving Remus a dark look.

"Inexcusable. My fault," Sirius replied. "Won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't."

Sirius turned away from McGonagall, sitting next to the announcer's box, and raised his eyebrows questioningly at Remus, who shrugged.

"And the game is on!" Lee Jordan's voice announced, which whipped Sirius' attention back to the game with amusing speed.

Remus had to admit that he lost interest in live Quidditch fairly quickly. He wanted to be fascinated by the game and to be there for Harry and Draco when they played, but Quidditch as an objective event didn't interest him much. It had been particularly nice to listen to the game over the wizarding wireless at the toy shop in London, because he could do other things while keeping alert for Harry's name or any mention of Slytherin Seeker. Actually attending the games was of course a pleasure in the sense that he got to see the boys play, but it was all a little much sometimes.

He scanned the crowds instead, finding Neville in Gryffindor, cheering enthusiastically with Hermione Granger and Ron and Ginny Weasley. Padma and Harry had apparently defected to Hufflepuff and were sitting comfortably next to a knot of sixth-years with their faces charm-painted yellow and black. Severus was two rows down, in neutral black like himself, but Dora's head of wild flyaway hair was striped yellow-and-red next to him. The sun was out and there was a nice breeze, uncharacteristically good weather for February in Scotland.

And there, sitting in Slytherin in a glittering green blouse, was a woman that pinged Remus' radar faintly. At first he didn't recognise her, and he spent a good five minutes wracking his brain before touching Sirius' wrist to get his attention.

"Do we know that woman?" he asked, pointing at her. She'd moved from the back row down to the third, where Harry was, and was sitting about ten feet away, her head turned to study their son.

"She's not a woman," Sirius said, sneering. "She's a leech."

"Who is she? I can't place her."

"That's Rita Skeeter, from the Prophet. What the hell's she doing sitting in the Slytherin stands? I wouldn't think they'd let her come."

"She's covering the game, maybe?" Remus asked.

"She's a gossip columnist. I doubt she knows how the game's name is pronounced," Sirius replied.

"Oh Merlin! She's the one who does those horrible bits on you. Handsome Bachelor Sirius Black Entertains In Style At Diagon Alley, et cetera?" Remus asked, faintly amused now.

"If she goes near Harry, you didn't see me throw the hex," Sirius growled.

"Harry's a smart kid. He outfoxed Dolores Umbridge; a catty journalist isn't likely to give him pause."

"He doesn't need pestering. Oi! Headmaster!" Sirius called, as Dumbledore descended the stairs, carrying a sack of sugared almonds.

"Mr. Black, always a pleasure," the Headmaster answered, seating himself next to them and offering the nuts. Remus took one and crunched it up, eyes drifting back to the glittering woman in the Slytherin stands. "Gryffindor seems to be playing well. I can't help but feel nostalgic for teams of bygone eras, but memories of glory always increase with time, much like one's waistline."

"Who let Skeeter on the grounds?" Sirius asked bluntly, jerking his thumb at her.

"I understood the Prophet was sending a sports writer to report on the Quidditch game," Dumbledore said.

"See? Told you," Remus added.

"Rita Skeeter doesn't know a bludger from her own arse," Sirius retorted.

"Then her report should be particularly interesting," Dumbledore said serenely.

"She's after Harry."

"Quite possibly. He will have to come to grips with his fame sooner or later, however, and I have no qualms about his comporting himself with, if not dignity, then the very least resourcefulness," Dumbledore said. "Though of course it is rather strange that she chose to sit with the students. Professor Lupin is welcome to invite her into the faculty stands as his guest, if he pleases."

"She'd come after you, then," Remus said to Sirius.

"Better me than Harry. Want me to come along?"

"No thanks -- it'll be nice to stretch my legs."

Remus stood and shook out his robes, edging past Sirius and Dumbledore to the stairs; he was halfway up when something in Lee Jordan's voice made him turn, and the crowd fell suddenly hushed.

Two players were falling through the air, one of them entangled somehow in the others' broom. Yellow and red robes fluttered together as the Gryffindor -- Alicia? -- reached down to try and hook the other player's arm. They were still plummeting madly when Remus realised that the Hufflepuff boy, head lolling unpleasantly, was Draco.

He started forward, down the stairs again, as most of the faculty in the stands leapt to their feet and a handful of figures appeared at the edge of the field -- Aurors, set on guard to ensure Peter Pettigrew and Lucius Malfoy didn't return. Remus saw Sirius reach for his wand to stop the deadly fall, but Alicia's broomstick jerked and Draco's head snapped around as she pulled him up by one arm. His broomstick fell to the grass with a thud Remus was sure everyone in the stands heard.

"Call a foul!" Severus yelled. "Stop the play, godsdamn you!"

"Is he hurt?" Sirius asked.

"No, he's moving -- oh, THREE CHEERS FOR DRACO MALFOY!" Nymphadora shouted, as Draco seemed to come to life again, hooking a leg around Alicia's broomstick. They saw him lean up and say a few words; with a laugh she dumped him off, close enough to the ground that he hardly stumbled, and took off again, rejoining play. Draco staggered to his broomstick, jumpstarted it, and lifted off again. Remus sighed with relief and rubbed his forehead. These children were going to kill him.

"Young Draco's a daredevil. How unexpected," said a voice at his ear, and he started. He looked up over his shoulder to see Rita Skeeter standing on the step behind him, smiling the kind of smile a mouse sees before he becomes a cat's supper.

"The children are very resilient," he said. "They bounce back from things that would lay me up for a week."

"Is that so?" she asked, as a QuickQuotes Quill scribbled on a sheet of parchment floating in the air nearby. "It's such an interesting game. I was thrilled to be allowed to cover it, and I'm certain Draco's fall will lose nothing in the telling."

"Excuse me," Remus said, skin crawling. "I should get back to my seat."

"With Mr. Black?" she asked, hooking a handful of sharp-nailed fingers into his robe.

"He's up from Hogsmeade to see the game."

"But Harry Potter isn't playing."

"Sirius likes Quidditch."

"Mm," she said, and let him go. He hurried away, trying not to look back over his shoulder at her.

Perhaps Sirius was right. The further Rita Skeeter kept from Harry, the better.

Chapter 21

Note: Lucius Malfoy's age as relative to the Marauders is usually under question; in this case I have consulted the HP Lexicon, which states that his first year was c. 1965, making him a fifth or possibly sixth year when the Marauders were firsties, depending on the dates of their attendance.

***

Hufflepuffs, often faced with the fact that life was not entirely fair, were experts at taking the good and leaving the rest. They may have lost to Gryffindor in Quidditch but it had been an interesting game and Draco was much feted for his fast recovery on the field. It was moments like that, Cedric Diggory said, which made Quidditch really worthwhile, more than winning.

Draco did his best to believe this.

He went to bed that night feeling very proud of himself, if a little disappointed that he couldn't be proud of himself and a winner, too. Still, that disappointment was not enough to cause the fitful sleep he had, his dreams full of rushing wind and elusive, impossible-to-reach broomsticks. In the dreams, someone's hand was always just out of reach, and he always fell instead.

He started awake to the feeling of his hair still ruffled by the wind as he fell. Or -- no, perhaps not the wind...

Someone's hand was stroking his hair, smoothing the short bed-head spikes down against his scalp. He opened his eyes, thinking it might be his mother somehow, and maybe he really had fallen all the way and was in the hospital wing.

Instead he looked into darkness and saw a pale face, deep grey eyes burning in sunken cheeks, a sharp nose, a twisted smile, a bare scalp furrowed with scars.

"Hello, Draco," his father said. "What a brave young man we are."

Draco swore that he meant to scream but when he opened his mouth he only stuttered instead.

"F-f-father?" he asked. Lucius' eyes lit up.

"That's right! You recognise me," he murmured. "I knew you would." He continued stroking Draco's hair. "You are a good and dutiful son, like Astyanax."

On the inside of his arm Draco saw the faint shadow of a birthmark or a tattoo -- a skull, eating a snake, or possibly a snake emerging from a skull. He'd seen it somewhere before, but his terror-filled mind refused to co-operate. Lucius saw his gaze and smiled.

"I promise one day," he said, "you will have one of your own. Won't that be nice? You will sit at my side, like a favourite prince, and learn to rule."

"Rule who?" Draco asked, caught in his father's grey eyes.

"Everyone," Lucius said.

"W -- why are you here?"

"To see you, my heir, of course."

Draco licked his lips. "How'd you get in?"

"I'll teach you," his father whispered, leaning close. "My beautiful son..."

Draco did scream then. He saw his father's mouth open over rotting teeth and screamed and screamed as Lucius kissed his forehead.

There was a bang -- a door slammed -- and then a hiss and crash, confused voices shouting at each other as his father seemed to disappear. A hex, clearly aimed at Lucius, hit Draco's headboard instead and showered him in splinters. The other boys were sitting up and shouting and the Fat Friar was roaring for silence even as a familiar face appeared above the bed. It was not necessarily an improvement on his father's.

"Where did he go?" Severus Snape demanded. "He was here. Where did he go?"

side of his bed. "It must be a portkey. He's gone now, anyhow."

"Godsdammit, I will not see Malfoy with my own eyes and let him escape!"

"Draco, are you all right?" Remus asked, and Draco pushed himself up on his elbows, uncertain he could answer. "Are you hexed or cursed at all?"

Draco shook his head.

"Say something aloud so I'm sure."

"I'm fine," Draco said.

"What's going on?" one of the other boys asked, sitting up in bed and looking around.

"Everyone on your feet. Dress quietly and decently and form up. Two of you go together and fetch Diggory. Friar, fetch Pomona," Snape said. Unlike the other houses, Hufflepuffs didn't question authority when it came in the form of Professors, and before Draco could even get out of bed half the boys in the room were throwing on trousers and pulling their school robes over their pyjama shirts.

"It wasn't a dream, was it?" he asked Remus, who put a hand on his back and pushed him gently, guiding him out of the bed.

"No," Remus said. "I'm sorry, Draco."

***

In the Faculty Common Room later that morning there was ire and strife.

"I don't see how he could have got in," Pomona said, looking worried. "But if he hasn't been found then he must have got out again. You say he simply disappeared?"

"It didn't look like a portkey," Snape growled.

"No, it didn't, but I can't think what else it might have been. Even Lucius Malfoy can't Apparate within the bounds of the school," Remus added.

"Lucius Malfoy was not supposed to be able to get past the wards erected around the building, either," McGonagall put in tartly. "Have we explored the possibility that he is a ghost?"

"Ghosts don't leave bloody fingernails behind."

"Too right," Completely Headless Nick said firmly. Behind him, the Bloody Baron glowered.

"Peter Pettigrew is powerful," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "He may be circumventing our wards, though I cannot imagine why he would do so for something so harmless."

"Harmless?" Snape asked. Dumbledore smiled tolerantly at his rage.

"Severus, a mass murderer and a Death Eater, both of whom have every reason to wish at least one of our students and two of our Professors dead, do not break the wards on Hogwarts School so that Lucius Malfoy may kiss his son goodnight. Malfoy is mad; this was a whim of his, nothing more. It worries me far more that he is able to enter on a whim."

"And he got into Hufflepuff," the Fat Friar reminded them.

"Indeed. That opens the possibility that a student is collaborating, voluntary or otherwise, with these men."

"If you mean Draco himself -- " Remus began, but Dumbledore held up a hand for silence.

"Draco Malfoy's life is difficult enough without playing double-agent for his psychotic father," he said. From inside his robes he took a red envelope, handling it carefully, and set it on the table. "Student post is monitored quite closely these days; Mr. Shacklebolt brought this to my attention."

"A Howler. So what?" Snape demanded.

"To Draco, from his mother."

"Oh, Narcissa." Remus sighed. "I am going to have to send Sirius after her, aren't I?"

"For the good it would do, I shouldn't bother," Dumbledore replied. "Friar, if you would?"

The Fat Friar put his head into the corridor and spoke a few words; after a second the door to the Common Room clicked and Draco entered, looking tired and drawn.

"Yes, sir?" he said to the Headmaster. His eyes fell on the Howler, and he sighed. "It's my mum sir, isn't it?"

"Your parents do seem to work in tandem, without intention I am sure," Dumbledore said kindly. "Can you think why she would send you this?"

"Who knows why she sends me anything."

The professors exchanged the uncomfortable looks of adults in the presence of a too-old child.

"I have called you here to prevent a certain amount of humiliation in the Great Hall this morning," Dumbledore continued. "Open it, if you please."

Draco put out a trembling hand and picked up the letter, slitting the seal. The envelope unfolded itself and immediately a loud screeching was heard. Snape tilted his head as if he were listening to a composition he was trying to catch the melody of; Remus frowned, and McGonagall put a hand to her ear, wincing.

It took everyone perhaps ten seconds to realise what it was, by which time Draco's hands had formed fists and his face had hardened into ruthlessness.

Then there was a short, sobbing break in the screeching and a high-pitched voice said two words.

"Mistress, no -- "

The squealing began again, and this time it was suddenly, horrifically evident what the noise was. It lasted another ten or fifteen seconds and then died away into sobs.

"That was Mendy," Draco said, into the silence. "She's one of our family house-elves."

Snape sucked in a breath, sharply.

"Mum was torturing her," Draco said.

"Can you think why your mother would send you a Howler consisting entirely of a house-elf being tortured?" the Headmaster asked.

"Well, sir..."

Dumbledore laid a copy of the Daily Prophet on the table. The bottom of the front page had a large photograph of Draco and Alicia in free-fall together. The headline read "Daredevil Draco at Hogwarts" and the name underneath it was Rita Skeeter.

"Guess she saw the paper," Draco said, not without a trace of dry humour. "She's punishing me for lying to her."

"But your house-elf..." Pomona began.

"Mum knows how to put the knife in," Draco said sharply.

"I think I see," Snape said. "Yes...that is Narcissa to the letter."

"I'm afraid I've been left behind," Flitwick said from a corner.

"Draco has an...affinity for house-elves. I believe he's befriended several of ours," Dumbledore said slowly. "As punishments go, it is obscure but effective."

"I'd better quit the team," Draco said.

"I suggest, Draco, that you consult the house-elves first," Dumbledore said. "Denbigh will be able to send a message to your family's elves. In these things it is always best to be well-informed."

Most of the professors saw the perplexed expression on Draco's face but, like most of the students, he loved and trusted the Headmaster.

"Yes, sir," he said.

"Very good. You may go; I hear breakfast is about to begin," Dumbledore said, as student voices in the hallway became evident through the door. "You will be contacted when they are assembled."

When he was gone, there was silence in the room. Snape cleared his throat.

"We have not yet resolved the issue of Malfoy's presence in the school," he said.

"Hogwarts is not a democracy," Dumbledore replied. "And while I very rarely exercise the privilege of rank, I intend to do so in this case. You will not discuss the incident with your students or their parents. No -- " he said, as the professors began to protest. "I understand Lucius is a danger, but I suspect he is wiser in his madness than we comprehend. He is a danger only to us, and I think as grown women and men we may protect ourselves. The alternative is that word will get out, the Aurors will be summoned, and the Dementors will be released into the school."

Remus made a soft noise, half-fear, half-understanding. The others looked at him.

"Dementors in the school mean there will be deaths," he said quietly. "They're not rational. In a place like this, with all these children and their overwhelming emotions..."

"Quite so, Professor Lupin."

"...sooner or later they'll kill someone. They won't be able to help it; it's what they exist for. They'll turn Hogwarts into a second Azkaban."

"But the children know," McGonagall said.

"The children know that something occurred. I doubt highly that Draco has spoken to anyone; when he does it will likely be to children who know how to keep secrets. As for the rest, a night terror or a Lethifold, perhaps; something easily vanquished. Yes, I think a Lethifold is the thing," Dumbledore said.

"If it gets out -- this cover-up we're engaging in -- it'll be the end of Hogwarts," said McGonagall.

"Oh, I very much doubt that. The end of me, perhaps, but Hogwarts has been known to survive without my presence," Dumbledore said. "As has previously been stated, we are not a democracy. Any Professor who would prefer not to be a part of this is, of course, welcome to tender their resignation now."

Nobody moved.

"Settled, then. Thank you all; let us depart. I could just do with a nice fried egg," he said, and left for breakfast.

***

That evening, trailed by Harry, Padma, and Neville, Draco opened the door to the kitchens and walked inside.

Arranged on the hearth were more House-Elves than any of them had seen in one place; first a ring of the Malfoy elves, then beyond that the Hogwarts kitchen-elves. The kitchen was gleaming and clean, all evidence of the mad dinner preparations already put away, all the dishes washed. They were all silent, eerily so, and every head turned when the four children walked into the room.

"Elly is wishing good evening, Master Draco," one of them said.

"Good evening, Elly," Draco replied, leaving his friends and going to sit on the hearth in the center of the semicircle. The others hung back, watching. "I reckon you know why you're here. Mendy," he added, noticing the small, shivering elf with two bandaged hands and a wide towel wrapped around her head, "I hope Mum wasn't too hard on you."

"Mendy is playing worse for Mistress Malfoy," she answered. "Mendy is not so bad, Master Malfoy."

"Not so bad is still too bad," Draco said. "And I guess she did that 'cause she found out I'm playing Quidditch."

"It is being a very good picture in The Prophet," another said, and all of them nodded their heads in agreement. "Rita Skeeter is saying Master Draco is a daredevil. House-elves is very approving."

"Well, it's got to end, that's all," Draco replied. "I won't have Mum torturing you all on account of a game. I'm going to quit; it's only a game anyway."

At this, a torrent of shrieks and denials filled the air; Harry put his hands over his ears, and Padma and Neville gritted their teeth. Draco bore it calmly.

"No, you just don't understand," he said loudly, over the protests of the elves. "I've got to, 'cause I have to look after -- look after you -- quiet!"

Again the eerie silence. Draco looked annoyed. One of the Malfoy elves raised his hand. Padma giggled a little.

"Yes, Niffy."

"House-elves is agreed," the elf said. "House-elves is not wanting Master Draco to stop."

"But you're going to be tortured!"

"Mendy is not so bad," Mendy repeated. "House-elves has ways."

"Ways?" Draco asked.

"Mistress Malfoy cannot have pastries because Mendy is not well," Denbigh said, and the kitchen-elves nodded in agreement.

"I think I get it," Harry put in. Draco glanced at him. "They're her servants, and she can't get what she wants without them. She can't torture them forever."

"She can torture them for long enough!"

"But she'll give up eventually," Neville said. "That's their point."

"It's only a game!"

"Games is important," Mendy muttered.

"You're talking about...about martyrdom!" Draco burst out. "Quidditch isn't worth it."

"I think they're talking about standing up to your mum, actually," Neville said. "I think they think that's worth it. She can't stop you legally, the school doesn't allow it, and anyway Dumbledore wouldn't let her. And eventually she'll have to give up on the elves. So it won't be too long, will it? Especially if you pretend you're worse than you are," he added, addressing the elves. Several of them smiled hesitantly at him. "So...it'll be bad for a bit and you'll get more Howlers, but in the end she's got to back down, is the important thing."

Draco looked at the elves. "That's what you think?"

They nodded.

"It'd make you happy if I kept going, even if it means she's going to hurt you?"

"House-elves is durable," Mendy said.

"House-elves remember," Elly added, and the tone of her voice combined with the silence of the other elves sent a chill down the spine of every human in the room. It was something older than the children and older than the Malfoy elves, and it had no good meaning for anyone who had ever raised a hand to one.

House-elves remember.

Draco studied the assembly of elves before him, his mouth set in a tight line.

"Very well," he said, and they all began to cheer. He shook his head and they stopped; the others blinked. Nobody ever commanded that kind of instant obedience from a house-elf, not even Narcissa.

"I want to say something," he continued. "I want you to listen. So if you do remember all that well, keep this in mind."

Mendy squeaked. Elly put a thin green hand over the other elf's mouth.

"In four years I'll be a man and you'll all be my elves just as much as mum's. She can't do anything about that," he said. "When you're mine, things'll be different. Nobody's going to get beaten or have to punish themselves ever again. If you want to be freed I'll set you free and pay your wages or find someone else who wants a free elf."

Two or three glanced at Padma; they'd heard about Dobby's summer with the Patils.

"I don't forget either," Draco said.

"Mistress Malfoy will be so angry," Niffy whispered.

"Well, when she is, I'll tell her who taught me about standing up to her," he replied. "Go on now, she'll miss you if you don't go soon."

One by one they vanished, leaving gaps here and there in the group of elves until only the Hogwarts kitchen-elves remained. Denbigh stood up and approached Draco quietly.

"Is Draco Malfoy wanting a marzipan frog?" he asked. Draco, looking pale and tired, burst out laughing.

"Very much, Denbigh," he said. "Thank you."

***

Around the same time that the children were attending a summit of House-elves, Severus Snape was paying a visit.

He walked into Remus' office, where the other man was marking fourth-year papers. He didn't knock (the door was open) or say anything, simply sat in the armchair across from the desk and set a plate down. It had shortbread biscuits on it. As a concession to Remus, a few were dipped in chocolate.

Remus finished the paragraph he was on, made a notation in the margin, and looked up.

"Bringing me a snack?" he asked, amused. "One might almost think we were friends, Severus."

"I need to speak with you," Severus replied.

"I rather thought. Tea?"

"Yes."

Remus rose and poured a few spoonfuls of loose-leaf into a strainer basket, setting it on the opening of the teapot and heating the nearby kettle with a tap of his wand. As he poured, he nodded at the jars nearby. "Honey or sugar?"

"Yes. Sugar."

"You know, life might go a bit easier for you if you said 'hello' or 'please' occasionally," Remus added mildly, pouring the tea and adding sugar to one, lemon to the other. He passed a mug bearing the legend "Welshmen Do It In The Rain" to Snape, reserving "I Survived Hogsmeade Hogsfest '76" for himself.

"I'm interested to know," Snape said, "how you were aware that Lucius Malfoy was in the castle before I was. It was my night for corridor-watch, and I'll thank you to let me do my job."

"Ah," Remus said. "Well, I hadn't expected that question, but I suppose you deserve an answer."

"I rather think I do."

"If it's any consolation, I don't follow you; I was fast asleep by the time you started patrolling. Believe it or not," Remus paused to sip his tea and take a piece of shortbread, "I trust you. Incidentally, which of these has veritaserum on it?"

Snape sighed. "That one," he said, indicating the biscuit next to the one Remus had taken.

"Much obliged. It isn't necessary; I keep a lot of secrets, but you happen to know them all, so there's no point in lying, is there?"

"Do I?" Snape asked, sidetracked.

"Well, you know I'm a werewolf and a homosexual and you know where I live in the summers, which are the important three."

"Not to me."

"Not tonight, anyway. So. How did I know about Lucius..." Remus leaned back, considering the biscuit as if it held the answers. "I'm going to sound a little bit mad. There's this...world. Like ours, but different. We all live in it -- well, some of us do. It's like there are two chessboards, sitting next to each other."

"Yes, that sounds mad."

"I did say. We're on one chessboard, moving about, having our little wars and triumphs, and at the same time we're also on the other chessboard, but we're moving differently. Some things stay the same, but somewhere, at some point, something went off."

"Very precise of you."

"I'm not an expert. On this other chessboard, things are different, that's the crux of it. For some reason, when I dream I can see both. Not all the time, just once in a while. I see things that didn't happen to me or Harry or -- anyone, but in that other place they're real. Sometimes I see you," he added. Snape tilted his head.

"Me?"

"Yes. It's reassuring; you're such a constant, Severus. But in that other place there's no Nymphadora, or rather she's not with you, as far as I can tell. I'm pretty sure you hate Harry, which is sort of funny, and you still have that horrible long hair you used to have. And no scars."

Snape touched the three parallel scars on his face, following the lines with his fingers.

"But you're a lot less changed than some of us."

"How does this -- "

"I'm getting there, Severus." Remus leaned forward again. "Last night, I had a dream that a child was being attacked. Ron Weasley, actually, by a man with a knife, an intruder in the castle. In the other world Harry's in Gryffindor, I think, and he's friends with the Weasley boy."

"Poor taste."

"Yes, well. All it said to me was that a friend of Harry's was in danger, and so I got up. I thought I might check on Neville, he's in Gryffindor, but the logical choice was -- "

"Draco. I see."

"Yes. Nothing more than that, and as you can see you were already there so I needn't have worried so much. It's a relief to explain this to you, actually; I've been wondering how to tell you about the other dream."

"And what's that?"

"These dreams don't always come in sequence. Sometimes they're about things that can't have happened yet -- I know because Harry's much taller, or I've got more grey in my hair, something like that."

Snape's fingers twitched against the arm of the chair.

"There's a cataclysm coming. I don't know what it is. I know it happens here, at the school, and I have a part to play in it. There's some...trust, some faith in me that I betray. I don't know why I would do that, but I know it's coming. When it does I've got to leave the school, and a lot of innocent people are going to get hurt. Sirius and Harry among them."

"Because of you?"

"Because of me. So I want you to...keep watch. Sirius won't stop me even if he sees it; he can't."

Snape sneered. "Black's been a fool about you since we were children."

"It's flattering, isn't it? But you can stop me, if you see it. So keep watch, Severus. And if you see what has to be done, I think I can trust you to do it."

Snape's sneer turned to a thoughtful frown, and then he nodded.

"So done," he said, offering his hand.

Remus, surprised, shook it.

***

It went without saying, of course, that the professors kept a close watch on Draco; rarely did he go anywhere without one of them watching, which did somewhat put a cramp in his ramblings around the castle with the others. On the other hand, all four of them were secretly glad of a break; Harry was exhausted from his continuing Patronus lessons with Remus, Padma was tired from all her extra classes, and Neville had always been one of those lucky children who can entertain themselves anywhere, at any time, with anything.

As the week passed the professors began to be less watchful, though Snape was still sharp-eyed whenever the young Hufflepuff was anywhere near. That weekend was a Hogsmeade weekend, which could not have been more ill-timed but could also not be cancelled without anyone being alerted that something was wrong. Draco, excusing himself from meeting his friends in Hogsmeade with the complaint that he was tired, spent the day in the library.

He hadn't spoken any further about his pact with the house-elves or the visit from his father, but the former was a weight on his soul and the latter a weight on his mind. Narcissa had sent a second Howler, which Dumbledore mercifully intercepted and allowed Draco to open in his own office. This time it was Niffy.

Worse than that (though he hated himself for thinking it) was the memory of his father, tall and arrogant even in his insanity, standing over his bed. He had been afraid, and he could manage that; it wouldn't be the first time Draco was afraid. What made it difficult was that he had been happy, too, in some small way. Happy to see his father's face, to see that they had the same eyes.

Happy because as a small child he had dreamed that his father would come and rescue him from his mother, and less than a week ago his father had called him my heir

and promised to show him things, things Draco knew part of him wanted to learn. To be strong and brave like his father.

He sat in the alcove that Pince couldn't see from her desk, the one that belonged to him and Harry and Padma and Neville. Feet propped on the edge of the table, book spread on his knees, he might be studying or reading a novel, but he wasn't.

He was paging through an old year-book, from a year long before he was born. It was the usual wizarding jumble of text and image, filled with prize-winning essays (here was a composition of James Potter's, which had won some first-year paper competition), photographs, Quidditch scorecards, reprints of the school anthem, and other nostalgia. There was a photograph of Hufflepuff House, smiling and waving, with one sly-looking Ravenclaw girl in the back setting a hot-foot on a seventh-year. Draco didn't recognise Sirius in some of the photos until he found one that was captioned. Harry's father was easier to recognise, because he looked like Harry. Padma's father was in a few, too, a beaming, awkward third-year when Sirius and Remus and Harry's dad were all first years. Both of Neville's parents too -- Neville looked like his mum.

There was one photograph of Sirius and Remus, James Potter and the man Draco knew better as Wormtail: Peter Pettigrew. In the photo he looked small and tidy, no different from the other three. Remus had his arm around Peter's neck and was resting his chin on Sirius' shoulder, while James had both arms on Remus and Peter's heads so that they supported him. They looked like boys. They looked, in fact, like Draco and his friends.

He turned the page, and there was what he had been looking for. His father, aristocratic even at fifteen, looked out at him from the year-book page. It was a casual portrait but Lucius Malfoy hardly moved; he was standing in a hallway of Hogwarts, Prefect badge on his collar, speaking to a pair of much younger students whose backs were turned to Draco.

His father, as he had been. And in his own mind, his father as he was now.

Draco sighed. If the professors had their way he'd never see his father again, and that was just as well. His father was evil, crazy, and dangerous, and Draco had other things he should be worrying about.

But before putting the book on the cart to be shelved again, he did tuck a bookmark into the page where his father's photograph was.

No point in having to look through the whole book for it again if he did want to find it.

He sat in the alcove that Pince couldn't see from her desk, the one that belonged to him and Harry and Padma and Neville. Feet propped on the edge of the table, book spread on his knees, he might be studying or reading a novel, but he wasn't.

He was paging through an old year-book, from a year long before he was born. It was the usual wizarding jumble of text and image, filled with prize-winning essays (here was a composition of James Potter's, which had won some first-year paper competition), photographs, Quidditch scorecards, reprints of the school anthem, and other nostalgia. There was a photograph of Hufflepuff House, smiling and waving, with one sly-looking Ravenclaw girl in the back setting a hot-foot on a seventh-year. Draco didn't recognise Sirius in some of the photos until he found one that was captioned. Harry's father was easier to recognise, because he looked like Harry. Padma's father was in a few, too, a beaming, awkward third-year when Sirius and Remus and Harry's dad were all first years. Both of Neville's parents too -- Neville looked like his mum.

There was one photograph of Sirius and Remus, James Potter and the man Draco knew better as Wormtail: Peter Pettigrew. In the photo he looked small and tidy, no different from the other three. Remus had his arm around Peter's neck and was resting his chin on Sirius' shoulder, while James had both arms on Remus and Peter's heads so that they supported him. They looked like boys. They looked, in fact, like Draco and his friends.

He turned the page, and there was what he had been looking for. His father, aristocratic even at fifteen, looked out at him from the year-book page. It was a casual portrait but Lucius Malfoy hardly moved; he was standing in a hallway of Hogwarts, Prefect badge on his collar, speaking to a pair of much younger students whose backs were turned to Draco.

His father, as he had been. And in his own mind, his father as he was now.

Draco sighed. If the professors had their way he'd never see his father again, and that was just as well. His father was evil, crazy, and dangerous, and Draco had other things he should be worrying about.

But before putting the book on the cart to be shelved again, he did tuck a bookmark into the page where his father's photograph was.

No point in having to look through the whole book for it again if he did want to find it.

Chapter 22

At one point in this chapter I have used dialogue or description taken from Prisoner of Azkaban. This is intentional, as Laocoon's Children does run parallel to the books. In this instance, text from Hermione's confrontation with Trelawney and Harry's discussion of Dementors with Remus have been lifted directly or slightly altered from canon.

***

January passed into February and then into March, snow turning to an unpleasant drizzle and the sun slowly beginning to peep through the clouds once more. There were no new attacks by Lucius Malfoy, but the professors did not relax their guard. Now they had more than just Lucius to worry about; they had to worry about the rest of Great Britain finding out as well.

The last weekend in February was a Hogsmeade weekend, miserable and chilly but brightened considerably by the warm fires and hot drinks to be had in the shops and pubs. Better still, from the students' perspective, they were chaperoned by Professor Sinistra, who primarily wanted to have a butterbeer and not be pestered, and Professor Lupin, who turned a kindly eye towards youthful high-spirits. Neville and Padma had run off with a handful of Gryffindors to go scare themselves at the Shrieking Shack, and Harry found himself walking with Remus down the muddy main street towards the Three Broomsticks. Harry had a small paper sack of humbugs, and Remus carried a rather larger bag of various sweets, including several bars of Honeyduke's finest chocolate.

"I think we'll put your Patronus lessons to rest for a week or two," he said, bag banging against his leg as they walked. "I don't like dealing with dangerous creatures so near after the full moon. How was Professor Snape, by the way?"

"Pretty good," Harry said. "Like he always is in Potions, just with Defence instead. Not as interesting as Ms. Umbridge."

"Thank goodness."

"He talked a little about Dementors. Does he know you're tutoring me?"

"I haven't mentioned it, but Severus is sharp; he catches on. I'm sure he's proud of you, in his own way."

"Proud of a cloudy Patronus that doesn't do any good?" Harry asked.

"Don't be so hard on yourself. The Patronus charm is quite difficult. You're not passing out anymore, which is a relief to my nerves as well." A muscle in his jaw clenched. "Have you seen the papers today?"

"No, not yet, why?"

"There's been a decree by the Ministry. The Wizengamot convened last week to examine the sentences and paroles of several Azkaban prisoners. Some people will be going free soon."

"Now? With Malfoy on the loose?"

"Well, that's what most of Great Britain is saying, but there's more to the story. At the same time, they issued death warrants on Lucius Malfoy and Peter Pettigrew." He sighed. "The Dementors at Hogwarts have been given permission to execute them on sight. It bodes pretty ill for anyone caught out on the grounds. Dementors are not known for their powers of discernment. It's a pretty terrible death."

"What happens?"

"It's called the Dementor's Kiss."

"Great band name."

"Don't treat this lightly, Harry."

Harry looked up at Remus, who was staring straight ahead, eyes on the line of the Forbidden Forest in the distance.

"Nobody knows what's under a Dementor's hood, except that they have some kind of mouth, I suppose. They clamp their jaws on the mouth of the victim and -- well, as far as can be understood, they suck out their soul."

"Can you do that?"

"They can. The body goes on, because the brain and heart still work, but there's no memory, no sense of personality. And no chance of recovery. You just exist. As an empty shell. The soul is gone forever."

"Good," Harry said suddenly. Remus stopped and looked down at him. "I think they deserve it."

"Really? Do you think anyone deserves that?" Remus asked, but his tone was intentionally light -- as if he were making innocent conversation. Harry glanced past him and saw a familiar figure in the distance.

"For some things," he said, distracted. "Is that the woman who wrote about Draco in the Prophet?"

"Rita Skeeter? She's behind us?"

"Not for long," Harry said, as a claw-nailed hand clamped on Remus' arm.

"Professor Lupin," Skeeter cooed, joining them in the street. "And Mr. Potter. It must be a Hogsmeade weekend."

"Ms. Skeeter," Harry said, scowling.

"Not a very nice day for a walk, is it?" she asked, smiling at Remus. "I hope you're going somewhere warm and dry."

"Yes," Remus said shortly.

"Good! I'll join you. Perhaps Harry can run along to his friends? I can't imagine he wants to spend the whole day with his Professor, as popular as you are," she said.

"No thanks," Harry said. "We're just going to meet my godfather."

"Mr. Black! How delightful. And I suppose it's good when students and teachers are such particular friends, isn't it?"

"One tries to form bonds with one's students," Remus replied, walking on. Skeeter, one hand still on his arm, followed along. Harry glanced at her sidelong, mistrustfully. "One tries to protect them from bad influences."

"Admirable traits."

"Unlike some people," Harry said pointedly.

"Oh? Like who?"

"People who get my friends in trouble. People who write things about them in the -- "

" -- bathrooms, for example," Remus interrupted, laying a hand on Harry's shoulder in warning. "Youth, eh? They will have their japes."

Skeeter narrowed her eyes at Harry.

"What brings you to Hogsmeade?" Remus continued. "I can't imagine there's much newsworthy action to be had here. It's usually quite peaceful."

"Well, I can't neglect my favourite sport, can I? There's a match next week at Hogwarts, I understand. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw?"

"That's right," Harry said.

"Who do you root for when your team isn't playing, Harry?"

"We flip a coin."

"We, my dear?"

"Harry has friends in other Houses," Remus said.

"Democratic of him. Especially for Slytherin, don't you think?"

"Why Slytherin in particular? They're all students."

"That's a very professional approach, Mr. Lupin."

Remus glanced at her. "That's Professor Lupin, Ms. Skeeter. So you're still covering school sport, hm? Shame, really."

"Oh?"

"Well, I would think while you're exiled to Hogsmeade, your colleagues are covering all the really interesting stories."

"I find Quidditch very interesting. Hogwarts itself, too. I'm thinking of doing a story -- human interest, you know. The Secret Lives of Hogwarts Professors."

Remus laughed -- a very sincere laugh, entirely innocent, quite guileless. If Harry hadn't been raised by him, he'd fall for that laugh completely. As it was, he watched with interest. The grownups were playing a game, and it fascinated him.

"The Secret Lives! We're only schoolteachers. I daresay our extracurricular activities would bore you. And your readership."

"That sounds like a challenge."

"Nothing of the sort. I can give you your story in a dozen words. We mark papers, we have a pint down the pub, we drink tremendous amounts of tea, and we have faculty meetings. If you're really fascinated by where Albus Dumbledore gets his hair cut or Severus Snape buys his potions supplies, I suppose it'd be interesting, but on the whole we're a quiet lot."

He pushed open the door to the Three Broomsticks and held it for her, forcing her to let go of his arm and go first into the pub. Harry followed Remus just in time to see Sirius rise from his seat at the bar and unfold like winged fury.

"You," he said to Skeeter, his eyes taking in the reporter, the professor, and the student all at once. "Out."

"Mr. Black, the pleasure is -- "

"Get out," Sirius said.

"Calm down, Black," Remus began. Harry blinked. He'd never heard Remus use Sirius' surname when he was talking to him; he was confused for a second until it dawned that this too was part of the game. A secret-keeping game. "She's only come in for a quick drink..."

"You're a muckraking opportunist," Sirius said. "And I don't like you, Skeeter."

"One can't muckrake unless there's muck, you know," Skeeter replied composedly. "Fear of the free press is common in tyrants and those with something to hide."

"I'm not afraid of you," Sirius retorted.

"Good! Then I shall have a glass of the redcurrant wine," Skeeter said, seating herself boldly. Rosmerta looked from Sirius to the reporter, hesitantly. When Remus gave her a slight nod, she reached for a goblet and poured from a bottle behind the bar.

"I'm afraid we've been chattering too long," Remus said, jerking his head towards the door. "Go on, Black; Harry's been waiting all week to see you, and I have a few late appointments to see to. Enjoy your wine, Ms. Skeeter," he added, while Skeeter stared at him in consternation, neatly checkmated into staying and drinking while the other three left.

"I hate that harpy," Sirius said, when they were standing once more in the damp cold outside the pub. "You should have let me lay into her. I'd show her a thing or two about the free press."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Remus sighed. "She's chasing Harry around, or any Professor she can get her claws into. She'll cause trouble."

"Which is why I very kindly offered to throw her out. Now we're out in the wet."

"More flies with honey, Sirius."

"She's not a fly. She's less than a fly."

Remus grinned and ruffled Harry's hair, looking for all the world like a professor taking his leave of his student. "Don't underestimate her. I'm going this way; I'll see you tonight for dinner. Harry, run on with Sirius. Enjoy yourselves."

They watched Remus hurry off through the rain, ducking into a bookshop nearby. Sirius crossed his arms.

"He's right, you know," he said to Harry. "That's the worst of it."

"Well, she's stuck in there and we're out here. You want to go to the joke shop? You can buy some pranks to play on her if you see her again."

Sirius grinned at him. "Yes, I rather do."

***

March 7

Clarendon Wizarding Hotel

Boston, Mass.

Dear Professor Lupin,

Please excuse my handwriting; I know the stationery says the Clarendon Hotel but I am enroute to Salem via the train, and finding myself with a few spare minutes I thought to write you before any more time passes.

While I sympathise with Skeeter's curiosity about your young charge, I sympathise more with the natural reticence of a well-reared child towards public attention and your desire to protect him. I believe I understand the mission you have charged me with quite fully, and I am not at all loathe to carry it out. I shall see you for the match and I hope to see Mr. Black and young Harry as well.

I understand that you and Harry spend your summers outside of Great Britain, according to sources which may or may not be accurate. That being the case, I have a favour to ask in return. I am considering giving up my wandering ways for the summer and settling down to the quiet life; do you suppose that excellent house in Hogsmeade would be free to let to a single man of retired habits?

My duties to the faculty and to your family; I'm afraid I must now pay some attention to this lecture I am supposed to be preparing for the Salem Institute. I sense I would have a better audience in your third-years than in the nineteen-year-olds I am about to face. Morituri te salutant.

Regards,

E. S. Graveworthy

***

Spring would not arrive for several more weeks, but the day of the Gryffindor - Ravenclaw match dawned clear, just warm enough to cast off winter cloaks. It was a gala day, with dozens of parents and Hogsmeade locals coming up to Hogwarts for the match.

Even Nymphadora had managed to shake off her diplomatic duties on the continent and come up from London, bringing three of the Werewolf Support Network's people with her -- Anne, Tobias, and a new woman who had replaced Michael and Marie now that they'd returned home. Severus looked askance at the trio of werewolves in school colours, but he said nothing; nobody else thought twice about the brightly-dressed friends of ex-Professor Tonks.

Remus was nearly late getting to the pitch, as he'd been making sure none of the students straggled or wandered; when he arrived it was to find that the faculty stands were packed tightly.

"So this is what comes of inviting friends to Quidditch," he said with a smile, descending to where Sirius was sitting in the front row. "All the seats gone and my friends absconding with coppers and artists."

"Remus!" Dora said, standing up and leaning over a handful of people to give him a hug around the neck. "We were wondering if you'd be late."

"Not quite. Is there room to budge over, or will I have to sit on your lap?"

"That would never do," said the man sitting next to Sirius. He stood up and offered his hand, smiling. "Do take my seat. Good to see you again, Professor Lupin."

"Mr. Graveworthy," Remus said. "The pleasure's mine."

"I imagine it is," Ellis answered, leaning close. "Seen Skeeter about?"

"Lurking in the back."

"That's my call to duty -- ah, Rita," Ellis added, deftly sliding past Remus and elbowing him into the vacant seat. "I'd heard you were covering these matches! Mr. Black, Professor Lupin, Toby, charming girls...I'm afraid I must abandon you. We have so much to catch up on, Rita."

Rita Skeeter, confronted with the gangling, insistent man, blinked owlishly.

"I have half-a-dozen questions to ask you," Ellis continued, guiding her backwards to the steps once more. "Allow me to buy you a bag of roasted nuts."

"Really, Ellis -- "

"Come, we can talk and watch at the same time, can't we?" he said, giving her a gentle shove. "Professor Lupin won't miss us. Loathe her," he added, leaning back and hissing in Remus' ear.

"We'll get you drunk later," Remus replied. Ellis returned to his new charge, beaming.

"Now, I've spoken to your editor recently about a serialised novel, and I was wondering if you would lend an old man a hand," he said, voice fading into the distance as they climbed the steps. "Do you suppose a profile in the paper is in order? I hear Gilderoy Lockhart had one, and you know I can't bear to be upstaged..."

"That's why you never play chess with Remus," Sirius said conversationally to Anne, who was sitting next to him. "Just when you think he's about to fall asleep he destroys you utterly. Graveworthy told me about your plot to get Skeeter off Harry's back."

"For the moment, anyway," Remus said.

"Long enough -- AHA!" Sirius shouted suddenly, pointing to the pitch. The players were rising on their broomsticks and the ball was in play; Remus didn't think he'd get another serious word out of him until the game was over.

He glanced along the line of people seated in the row -- Sirius, then the werewolves up from London, and on the end...

He grinned. Dora, sapphire sparkling brightly on her hand, was curled against Severus, holding onto the sleeve of his robes in excitement.

Severus looked past her, met his gaze, and gave him a long-suffering look. Then he glanced at Tobias, who had awkwardly settled his arm around Anne's shoulders.

All in order, then. Spring hadn't come yet, but there was the definite smell of it in the air; he hadn't dreamed in some time, and Rita Skeeter was being deftly deflected. For the first time in weeks, he felt his shoulders relax.

It was like being a student again, crammed into a crowded bench full of his friends, happily squeezed up against the object of his youthful adulation. And better still, because the boy was now a man who'd made him a place in the world and given him a son and someone to come home to at night.

"I love you," he said, leaning close to Sirius and whispering in his ear.

"EH WHAT?" Sirius asked, distracted by a near miss for the Gryffindor Chasers.

"I SAID I LOVE YOU," Remus shouted, words lost in the roar of the crowds. Shouted it, and nobody even looked twice. "AND WE'RE GETTING ELLIS DRUNK TONIGHT!"

"UP GRYFFINDOR! YOU TOO!" Sirius shouted back.

***

The sun was setting on Creadonagh Valley when the revelers returned to the house Sirius was so proud of. Dora and Severus had left them at the road to Hogsmeade, but Anne and Tobias and Denise, their new companion, were staying for dinner and Ellis would be staying with Sirius and Remus as honoured guest.

Sirius had put up a winter garden outside, complete with a copper fire bowl, and it was pleasant to sit around the fire, drinking firewhiskey and taking the game to bits to study it. Tobias had been a Gryffindor at school as well, and he and Sirius managed to draw Denise into the conversation. Ellis was sitting with Anne, not speaking much but listening intently, and Remus was warming his feet at the fire and studying the stars.

"I think we'd better gather ourselves up," Denise said eventually, finishing her drink. "I've got to have you two back in London by ten."

"Going by floo?" Sirius asked. "Use the one in the Three Broomsticks. The one in the little cafe is closer, but it's a bit dodgy sometimes."

"And look after yourselves," Remus added. "Don't go straying off. If you get lost, send up a flare, we'll see it from here."

"They'll be fine," Sirius said, as he shook hands with Tobias and allowed Denise to give him a kiss on the cheek. Anne smiled shyly and took Tobias' hand as they made their way to the road.

"Hahh," Sirius said, sitting down again and stretching out his arms. "Good day, eh?"

"Quite an excellent day," Ellis answered, shooing a moth off his sleeve. "Very edifying."

"Even two and a half hours spent distracting Skeeter?" Remus asked. "Speaking of which, let me top up your whiskey."

"Thank you. Oh yes; your young Anne just now made up for that entirely."

"Really? It looked like she was talking your ear off."

"I find other peoples' problems invariably fascinating. Such a very sad woman. I might do a novella on the Werewolf Problem, someday."

"It oughtn't to be a problem at all," Sirius said. He slapped at his neck and looked at his hand, frowning. "Fire does draw the bugs. She told you she was a werewolf?"

"I'm very good at listening."

"So is Skeeter," Sirius said. "But, vote of thanks to Ellis Graveworthy, we shan't have to worry about her hounding Harry again for a month or two."

"I don't know; there's plenty of research to be done outside of Hogwarts if she's motivated," Ellis said ruminatively. "I'd watch yourselves, if I were you. She's got it in for you, Black. And the two of you have a dilemma if she digs."

"I'm not going to live in fear of that one," Sirius declared. "Besides, anyone we care about knows, and we don't care about the rest."

"It must not be easy, living apart," Ellis mused.

"Well, we make do. I'm up at the school as often as I can be, and Remus gets down here quite a bit."

"Do you miss each other? No, I'm sorry," Ellis held up a hand. "That's impertinent and inappropriate. It's only that it's an interesting situation from my point of view -- two people very close together and yet quite far away."

"I don't mind answering," Remus said, looking to Sirius, who shook his head carelessly. "Having to live with someone takes time to adjust to, and it's hard to break those patterns when you live apart again."

"Hard to keep busy sometimes," Sirius said quietly.

"I tell him he could get a job."

"My job is to look out for you and Harry, and anyway the house still needs work."

"Hark at him," Remus said, grinning. Dobby appeared at the edge of the firelight, carrying a dishtowel.

"Is Mr. Black or Professor Lupin or Mr. Graveworthy wanting anything?" he asked. "Dobby can make toast, or bring sandwiches."

"Graveworthy? No? Right then, we're fine," Sirius said, tilting his head back. "You're free to run along to bed if you want, Dobby, we won't need anything more tonight that we can't get ourselves."

Dobby bowed, cleared away the empty glasses left by the others, and hopped up the garden path to the back door.

"I thought a lot about the past, on the way here," Graveworthy said, setting his drink down on the arm of his chair. "Remembering the last war, especially with those new edicts about Malfoy and Pettigrew. I know that for you it was a difficult loss, but with the rest of the Wizarding World I did breathe a sigh of relief when it was ended. Now one feels that old fear and urgency slowly creeping back..."

He looked at Sirius, studying him with half-lidded eyes.

"But in the meantime, we must build family as we find it, and store up happiness against the storm, mustn't we?" he said, smiling. "So, tonight...to the peace of home."

"The peace of home," Remus and Sirius echoed, lifting their glasses.

And it was good to toast to peace, because the next week all hell broke loose.

***

It started with, of all things, innocent and bookish Hermione Granger, constantly in competition with Padma for top of their year and something of a swot in Harry's opinion. Neville got on with her all right, and she had helped with the Umbridge Insurrection, but when all was said and done nobody expected her to cause the kind of trouble she did.

She had been growing visibly more impatient with Divinations as the term went on, and the other students did sometimes look to her for a sardonic eyeroll or a sharp retort to the professor. If Trelawney took any notice of these things, she didn't show it, but the students saw.

Still, plenty of students acted up in various classes, and nobody sensed what was coming. Especially not Trelawney.

Harry generally waited for Padma to arrive, so that they could go into class and find a seat together, since Padma was the odd Ravenclaw out and Trelawney never let him sit with Neville anyway. She arrived almost late, out of breath and with the Time-Turner still hanging outside her clothes.

"Sorry," she gasped, grabbing it and stuffing it inside her robes. "Didn't get the time right."

"It's fine," Harry said, as they entered together. Each table, which had formerly held teacups or cards, now held a large, foggy crystal ball. Harry glanced at Neville, who was looking annoyed.

"I thought we weren't starting crystal balls until next year," Padma whispered to him.

"Well, it's something new anyway," Harry said, sitting down at the first vacant table. "Let's study balls!"

"You're gross," she replied, but she did giggle a little.

"Now that all have arrived," Trelawney said, casting a misty eye on Harry and Padma, "We may begin. I have decided to introduce the crystal ball a little earlier than I had planned; the fates have informed me that your examination in June will concern the Orb, and I am anxious to give you sufficient practice."

Hermione, one table over, snorted. "She sets the exam! She doesn't need the Fates to tell her that."

"Crystal gazing is a particularly refined art," Trelawney continued dreamily. "I do not expect any of you to See when first you peer into the Orb's infinite depths. We shall start by practicing relaxing the conscious mind and external eyes so as to clear the Inner Eye and the superconscious. Perhaps, if we are lucky, some of you will See before the end of the class."

"What a waste," Padma sighed, as Trelawney began to lead a relaxation exercise. Hermione nodded. "I could be doing something useful..."

"We all could," Hermione replied in a whisper.

"Shh," Harry said, virtuously staring into the crystal ball. "I think I see something!"

"What?" Padma asked.

"There's going to be fog tonight!"

Padma and Hermione stifled their laughter, but not before it had drawn their Professor's attention.

"Please do not disturb the clairvoyant vibrations!" she called, gliding over to Harry and Padma's table. "Miss Patil, have you managed to discern a sign in the orb? Miss Granger?"

"I don't see anything," Hermione said contentiously.

"Allow me to provide you an example," Trelawney said, pushing her sleeves back to the accompanying crash of her bangled wrists. "Let us see what lies before Miss Granger on the path of life..."

She stroked the crystal ball affectionately, which made Harry want to snigger again.

"I didn't know we were supposed to stroke our balls," Seamus Finnegan said, nearly voicelessly, in Harry's ear.

"There is something here!" Trelawney declared, hunching so that she looked head-on at the orb. Harry saw her reflection in the glass, her nose huge and her face distorted. "Oh, my dear! If you continue on the path you have begun I fear...I fear..."

"What?" Neville asked, caught up in the moment.

"Oh my dear! Such failure and disgrace!"

Hermione sat back, crossing her arms.

"I'll chance it," she said.

"Mr. Potter, quickly, while the Sight is upon me..." Trelawney turned suddenly, making Harry start back, and gazed into the ball sitting in front of him. She let out a delicate shriek. "Peter Pettigrew!"

Silence fell on the classroom, the stony silence of children who know that someone has crossed a very firm line they should not have crossed.

"What did you say to him?" Hermione asked.

"Peter Pettigrew, drawing ever nearer -- " Trelawney said in a voice that wavered slightly. "Beware, Harry, beware!"

"Bollocks," Hermione announced loudly. Trelawney stiffened, then stood slowly, pivoting to face her.

"Miss Granger -- "

"It's bollocks and you know it," Hermione said. "You're just trying to scare him and that was a very rude thing to say."

"I am sorry, my dear, that you do not possess the necessary skills or intellect for the noble art of Divination. Indeed, I don't remember ever meeting a student whose mind was so hopelessly mundane. However, you must not disrupt the rest of the class or cast aspersions upon abilities -- "

"Which don't exist," Hermione replied furiously, standing and in the process bumping the table. The crystal ball teetered on the edge of its stand and then fell to the floor with an enormous thud, rolling a few feet away. "I live in the real world and I've had quite enough, thanks, of airy fantasies in a stuffy, stinky room."

She kicked the ball away and gathered up her bags, flouncing out. Harry had never seen such a pronounced flounce. The silence turned from offended to shocked.

"Well," Trelawney said, sniffing. "I did predict that one of us would leave this class forever -- "

"Guess you were wrong then," said Padma suddenly. Harry looked at her, astounded. "Two are."

She picked up her bag as well, looked around, and followed Hermione out. Harry gaped after them until Ron Weasley spoke too.

"I was really never good at it anyway," he said apologetically, already at the door.

Oh balls, Harry thought with a sigh, standing up.

"I've been faking my homework most of the year," he announced, and was surprised to have Padma hand him his bag, hers already over her shoulder. They left together to a quiet chorus of giggles for his confession. Behind him, he heard Neville say, "Well, he's my best friend, you know. Come on, Parvati."

When they reached the hallway outside the stairs, Padma and Hermione collapsed, bursting into laughter. Neville, coming up behind them, snorted.

"Girls," he said, rolling his eyes at Parvati, who had followed breathlessly.

"We've just dropped out of class," Hermione giggled. "I've never dropped out of a class before!"

"The look on her face!" Padma gasped.

"I didn't even think you liked Hermione much," Parvati said.

"I don't!" Padma blurted, then started laughing again. "Sorry Hermione!"

"It's okay, I don't like you either!" Hermione giggled.

"But that was too brilliant not to join...in..." Padma collapsed in a heap on the floor.

"Harry, why did you come?" Hermione asked.

"Told her I'd been faking my homework all year," Harry said. Both burst into fresh fits of laughter. Padma pushed herself up the wall and reached for Parvati, hugging her sister tightly.

"Oh god, we're in so much trouble," Hermione said. "What do we do now?"

Harry considered all possible options.

"We find Professor Lupin," he said.

"Why?" Ron asked.

"He told me he did the same thing when he was at Hogwarts."

Chapter 23

Remus, sitting at his desk, bent his head forward and laced his fingers across the back of his neck, closing his eyes. Harry knew he looked frustrated, but he could sense that part of the reason he was hiding his face was so that the children wouldn't see him smile.

"So we left Divination, and we didn't know where else to come, sir," Hermione said, wiping the tears of laughter off her face. "And Harry said you'd done it..."

"I, Miss Granger, didn't lead an entire insurrection when I left," Remus sighed. "Or announce that I'd been faking my homework all year."

"It was worth it," Harry answered complacently.

"I imagine so. I'm not sure what you expect me to do about it, though."

"Well, we had to go somewhere until class let out," Harry said. "Where d'you keep your tea?"

"Top shelf, I'll get it," Remus said, unbending and rising to reach into the cupboard for a tin of tea. "You're lucky I have Friday afternoon free."

"You really should have seen it."

"I'd better have a word with the Headmaster...and with Sybil as well," Remus continued, pouring a large portion of loose-leaf into a strainer and setting it over the top of his teapot. "Albus will sort out your classes; I don't think any of you need a replacement, do you? Neville?"

"I do, but Professor Sprout said I could do extra Herbology if I ever wanted to," Neville said. Remus tapped his kettle with his wand, cocked his head to listen for the whistle that said it was done, and poured the water.

"Do you really have to go talk to Professor Trelawney?" Hermione asked.

"I think so. She doesn't deserve a termful of humiliation because you lost your patience. I don't pretend to want to be friends with her -- I'll thank you not to repeat that to anyone -- but she's a harmless woman and rather fragile, I think. Who wants sugar?"

He laid out several mugs and poured tea into each, setting a sugar bowl at the edge of his desk as the children took their drinks.

"I'll tell her that people who have no skills with the Inner Eye are often frightened of Divination, and that clearly you children are in awe of her power, and frustrated that you don't have it," he said. Padma opened her mouth to protest, and Remus cocked an eyebrow at her. She closed her mouth and nodded. "Your houses are most well-known for their individual virtues, but gentleness and compassion -- and discretion -- are qualities that everyone should strive for, don't you agree?"

They murmured affirmatives, drinking their tea while Remus walked to his bookshelf and began taking down several volumes from the lower racks.

"In the meantime, I think you'd better have some extracurricular reading to keep you out of trouble," he said.

"Too late," Ron said glumly.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley. Here you are," Remus handed him a softbound book with stains on the cover. "Auror's handbook. Never to early to think about your career, Gryffindor. Neville, something on Herbology for you," Hazardous Magical Plants And Their Handling, "and you two Boadecias will have to share this one."

He offered a copy of Advanced Arithmantic Theory to Hermione and Padma. Hermione took it and opened it immediately, Padma leaning over her shoulder.

"Parvati, you're falling behind in Defence," he said.

"Yes, Professor."

"Won't do; you're far too bright for that. Here we are," he said, shifting the books to place a copy of The Joy of Hex in her hands. "And, for Mr. Harry Potter..."

Harry got two books, even thinner than the others. One had a plain black cover, the other a spartan red one; The Art of War and The Prince. Remus winked at him.

"Off you go to the library. And if I were you, I'd keep quiet about this affair, lest the Headmaster devise a way to keep you quiet without your consent. You are treading a very thin line; this is twice now that some of you have defied Professors who were only doing their best, by their lights, to educate you. Ms. Umbridge and Professor Trelawney aren't villains; they're just misguided. Try to remember that before you stand up and call someone a liar again."

"Yes, Professor," they chorused as they left. Hermione, ahead of Harry, stopped at the doorway.

"Are you all right, sir?" she asked, giving Remus a searching look that Harry didn't like one bit.

"Of course, Hermione. Just a little tired, that's all. Might be a touch of the flu."

"It'll be all right," Hermione said, and to Harry's shock, she hugged Remus around the waist, blushed, and fled. Remus looked after her thoughtfully.

"There's a full moon on Sunday," Harry said conversationally.

"So there is."

"Are you all right?"

Remus smiled reassuringly. "I am. I'll be down in Hogsmeade for it; you'll enjoy Monday's substitute. Go on."

***

On Monday morning, Sirius woke to insistent banging on his front door.

Remus was still asleep, worn out after the moon, and Sirius couldn't think of anyone who would need him this urgently on a Monday morning, but he threw on a dressing-gown and smoothed back his hair as he padded through the house to the front door.

Opening the door on three large, burly members of Magical Law Enforcement was a very thorough way of waking a man up, even better than coffee. Sirius blinked in the early-morning sunlight and cast about for something to say.

"Good morning," he managed.

"Mr. Sirius Black?" asked one of the men. The little silver badge on his robes sparkled.

"That's me -- is it Harry?" Sirius asked, fear leaping into his throat. "What's going on?"

"You're wanted in London, sir. There's been a bit of trouble with your cousin, Ms. Tonks."

"Andi?" The fear began to scratch at his insides, too. "What's happened?"

"Nothing serious, Mr. Black," another said. "Bit of a dust-up, that's all. Mr. Tonks is in St. Mungo's and Ms. Tonks sent us to fetch you. Favour to Auror Tonks, like."

"Is he all right?" Sirius asked, backing away so that the men could enter. "Was anyone else hurt?"

"He's recovering, no permanent damage done. Some vandalism to their home, no other injuries," the first man said, though he looked sidelong at the others as he spoke.

"I'll get dressed -- there's coffee things in the kitchen," Sirius said, bolting down the hallway. He burst into the bedroom and began pulling clothing out of his dresser. Remus pushed himself up on his elbows, shaking hair out of his eyes.

"Ted's been hurt," Sirius said. "Someone broke into the shop or something last night. Stay here -- I've got to go to St. Mungo's."

"Wha...?" Remus asked. Sirius pulled a shirt over his head.

"Stay here and sleep. Nobody else was hurt."

"But Ted -- "

"It'll be all right. Stay here. Floo up to Hogwarts and -- Christ, I'd better fetch Neville -- "

"No, go ahead. I'll call Albus and have someone bring Neville." Remus tottered out of bed and pulled on some pyjama bottoms.

"Then go back to sleep."

"Right-o, I won't mind that. Floo me?" Remus asked. Sirius, shoes in one hand, kissed him.

"Soon as I know anything," he said, leaving Remus to call the school. He stopped in the corridor to put his shoes on, picked up his wallet, and was handed a cup of fresh coffee as he emerged again into the kitchen.

"Ta," he said, sipping it. "I can Apparate -- "

"No need; we'll go by portkey," the apparent leader said, unsheathing a short, thick stick that had been clipped to his belt. The other officers grasped it, so Sirius did too; at a tap from his wand, the world began to spin.

Sirius stumbled and fetched up against a wall as they arrived, turning to find himself in the lobby of St. Mungo's. Andromeda, with a black eye and blood crusting around one corner of her mouth, was standing nearby.

"Oh, Andi," he said, as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "What in hell happened?"

"There were people," she said, shaking. "Outside the shop, in Diagon -- they broke all the windows -- "

"Shh, it's just glass. Is Ted okay? Are you okay? Where's Dora?"

"Home looking after things," she said, stepping back and wiping her eyes. "I'm fine, it looks worse than it is. Ted ran out to stop them and they kicked him..."

"Can we see him?"

Andromeda nodded, tugging him along down the hallway. Inside one of the rooms, Ted was lying on a hospital bed looking pale and drawn, one of the few times Sirius had ever seen the normally unflappable Ted Tonks upset.

"Merlin," he said. Ted's face was covered in small cuts, and one of his arms was a solid mass of swelling bruises.

"Sons of bitches," Ted replied. "Came after our people."

Sirius turned to Andi. "Wait..."

"It's because of the Werewolf Support Network," she said. "There was a little article about them in the paper yesterday, it wasn't anything really and they didn't mention us..."

"Mary got the worst of it," Ted said.

"Who the hell is Mary?"

"The woman who runs the Network," Andi said, taking her husband's hand and rubbing her thumb across his knuckles lovingly. "They broke into her office -- our address was in her notebook. I think they would have been satisfied just to break the windows, but we didn't know. Ted thought it was thieves..."

Ted laughed a little, then sighed. "I picked up that big cast-iron skillet from the kitchen and we went down to smash some heads in..."

"And got your face kicked about," Sirius finished. "Where are the werewolves?"

"Safe -- Dora's got Anne with her and the rest never come home until the afternoon," Andi said.

"All right, I'll handle things from here. You stay with Ted. Neville's coming, I had Remus call up to Hogwarts."

"Sirius -- "

"What?" he asked, hesitating.

"Mary was hurt worse than we were. We can't find out anything. Find her?"

"Course," he said, and ran out of the room.

He nearly collided in the hallway with Severus Snape. For a second he almost snarled, but he saw Snape had one guiding hand on Neville's shoulder, and the boy was trembling visibly.

"They're in there," he said. "They're both fine. Go on, Neville."

Neville pushed the door open fearfully and ran inside. Sirius circled Snape warily.

"You handle the Healers," he said. "I'll take the MLE."

Snape nodded once, curtly, and followed Neville inside. Sirius paused again, looking down the hall, and then made for the Mediwitch's station. Two of the MLE men had disappeared; the third was talking to one of the mediwitches.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Officer Nick Molsen, Mr. Black," the man said. "I'm at your disposal until further notice."

"O-kay. I need to find the woman who was beat up, Mary, and -- "

"Sir, if I can..." the man hesitated. "There's a lot you don't know, Mr. Black."

"Then tell me," Sirius said impatiently.

"Auror Tonks is at the shop, and she said to inform you that workmen have been sent to board it up and not to worry about the...ah...other tenants," Molsen said. "Investigations are being pursued regarding the assailants -- "

"You haven't caught them?"

"We're very short-handed this morning, Mr. Black. There were targeted attacks all over London. Three in Glasgow as well. They all appear to be much the same as what happened to Mr. and Ms. Tonks -- vandalism that got out of hand. We've had to send more men to the more serious ones."

"More serious?" he asked.

"Two werewolves dead, sir. And one woman has been killed by a werewolf."

Sirius felt his legs starting to go and leaned heavily on the desk. "Three dead?"

"Yes, sir."

***

"Wonder where Neville is," Draco said, as they sat at breakfast that morning. They were no earlier than usual, but even Neville, not known for being a morning person, was usually there by the time Denbigh brought their food.

"Probably still sleeping," Padma said. "I'll go wake him up before class. I like it when his hair sticks out," she added, touching her hands to her head and splaying her fingers. "He looks like a dazed hedgehog."

"I don't see why that's attractive," Draco replied, looking annoyed.

"It's not attractive, it's funny," she said.

"Speaking of sleeping in," Harry said around a mouthful of toast. "Easter hol is coming. We all going home?"

"I am," Padma said. "Mum and Dad said they'd take us to the seaside but Dad's annoyed about the Divs thing, so we might not go."

"Staying here," Draco muttered. "Thank Merlin. Mum thinks it's some kind of punishment."

"Well, she left off torturing your elves, she's got to do something," Harry said.

"I'd rather be here anyway, even if it's boring."

"Won't be boring," Harry replied. "I'll be in Hogsmeade, we'll come up to see you. Sirius can teach us tricks on our broomsticks. "You'll need it," he added, poking Draco in the shoulder. "Hufflepuff's playing Slytherin in three weeks."

"Don't remind me," Draco moaned over his oatmeal. A few fellow students trickled in; Harry gave a quick nod to Hermione Granger, who waved in reply. Behind her, Ron ducked through the door and made a beeline for their table.

"You heard yet?" he asked, standing next to the bench.

"Heard what?" Harry asked. "Trelawney finally have a breakdown?"

"No, about Neville."

"What about him?" Padma asked, alarmed.

"Don't exactly know. Professor Snape came in this morning, right into our dormitory, and took him out. Dean says he heard him say something about London."

The trio of children exchanged looks, as if Ron had been nothing more than a messenger and now had ceased to exist.

"Well?" Ron asked. "Any idea why they'd need him in London?"

"Couple," Draco said guardedly. "Not many reasons why they'd send Snape to fetch him, though."

"Unless it's something to do with Andromeda and Ted," Harry added. "Professor Snape's marrying his sister, maybe it's some kind of..."

He hesitated, because saying "Snape" and "surprise vacation" in the same sentence didn't really go.

"Anyway, thanks," he said to Ron. "For telling us, I mean. I'll find out what's going on and let you know."

"Right, then," Ron said, looking awkward. "See you in Defence."

"We'd better split up," Harry announced, as more students began to pour into the Great Hall. "I'll see you -- "

"Harry, wait," Padma said, grabbing his sleeve. The Daily Prophet had just arrived, and she was holding it, her knuckles white. It looked odd somehow; there was a single blank-backed sheet of newspaper covering the front page. "You should see this."

She turned it around. Harry took the paper, Draco peering around his arm.

DAILY PROPHET UPDATE read the title, and below that a screaming headline: RIOTS ROCK LONDON.

Below that was an enormous photograph of Tonks&Tonks, with boarded-up windows. Dora stood in the foreground, speaking urgently to a pair of men. Harry strained, trying to read her lips.

"Harry," Draco said, pointing to the subheading.

Diagon Alley reels under violent onslaught of anti-werewolf protests.

"Guess we know where Neville went," Padma said, as Harry skimmed the article. Several hurt; three deaths; Werewolf Support Network --

"Ah!" he said, finding what he was looking for. "Ted Tonks is listed in stable and improving condition after attempting to do battle with vandals attacking the storefront of popular clothier Tonks&Tonks. Nothing about Andromeda; she can't have been hurt too bad."

"What about Professor Lupin?" Draco asked in an undertone. Cold fear grabbed Harry and paralysed him; Remus and Sirius ran wild at the full moon, he knew that, and if someone had caught them -- if he had attacked someone, or been hurt...

There was a flash of white from above as Hedwig soared into the Great Hall, landing neatly on the table and dropping a letter from her beak. Harry released the newspaper and snatched up the letter, opening it almost feverishly; he nearly collapsed with relief when he read what it said.

In untidy handwriting very unlike Remus' usually neat scribble, it read:

We are all well here. Sirius has gone to London. Neville and Severus as well. Ted and Andromeda are fine. Do not fret.

"Neville's gone to London," he said, folding the letter up and shoving it into the very bottom of his book bag. Hedwig took flight, hooting cheerfully, and soared out again through the high windows of the Great Hall. "Sirius too. They'll probably send word when they know more."

"It's terrible," Padma said, now studying the article with Draco bent over one shoulder. "Why would anyone do something like this?"

"About time too," Harry heard a voice drawl nearby. He turned to see one of the Slytherin sevenths, an older cousin of Crabbe's named Eric, in conversation with several seventh-year girls. "It'll show them that they can't -- "

Harry moved before he thought, which in retrospect was a stupid idea. He remembered only the feeling of his wand sliding out of his sleeve, a flash of purple light, and the comical expression of Eric Crabbe as he sprouted enormous yellow pustules all over his face and shoulders.

"MISTER POTTER!" roared a voice, and Harry found his ear held firmly by Professor McGonagall. The Slytherins were scrambling out of their seats, some arrowing towards Harry while others bolted for the door or hid under tables. Eric simply sat there, eyes wide, staring at Harry.

They were closest to the Hufflepuff table, and a cadre of large students with Hufflepuff badges stood slowly and with a remarkable amount of menace, stopping both the Slytherins' headlong attack on Harry and the Gryffindors, behind him, who were surging forward to see what the fun was.

McGonagall jerked him through the crowds, leaving a pair of just-arrived Prefects to get everyone back to their seats, and pulled him into the hallway.

"Hexing a fellow student! In the Great Hall!" she said, releasing him and walking quickly along the hallway. Harry ran to catch up. "What were you thinking?"

"He was talking about the riots," Harry said. "He said it was about time someone did it to werewolves."

"And that gave you the right to mete out punishment, did it?" McGonagall demanded. Harry lapsed into humiliated silence, partly because she was now climbing a staircase and he had to save his breath just to keep up. She swept up the stairs as if they were nothing, while Harry began to pant and clutch a stitch in his side. When they finally reached her office, she gestured him into a chair and went to her desk, taking out a sheet of parchment and dipping her quill into the inkpot nearby.

"I am going to give you a quite unusual punishment, Harry," she said, speaking as she wrote. Harry watched in fascination; he wished he could do that. "In the absence of your own Head of House, who I am certain will agree with me, you fall under my authority. I am going to send you to Nymphadora, who is no doubt in need of a helping hand right now, and you are to do precisely as she says. You will remain with her until this evening, assisting her in any way possible. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor," Harry said meekly.

McGonagall folded the letter, sealed it with wax, and came around the desk again, holding it out. Harry stood to accept it, but when he grasped the parchment she didn't immediately release it.

"Listen carefully to me," she said, her face no longer angry but very grave. "You are very much like James, Harry; he was clever and powerful and loyal to his friends, but he also had a temper and he could be arrogant when he wished."

Harry bit his tongue to kill the protest of this slander that was fighting its way out.

"Three times now, this year alone, you have acted in ways which, under other circumstances, would have called for a meeting with your godfather and the possibility of expulsion," she continued. "Far worse, they are actions which concern me because they assume a superiority over others which you do not in fact possess. Severus, who has a unique link to you, may feel it is best to be lenient; I disagree."

Harry stared at her, wondering how much worse this could possibly get.

"I want you to think before you act, Harry, and learn to control your temper. You're acting like a bully; be careful you don't become one."

"A bully!" Harry burst out, unable to contain himself any longer. "I'm not a bully!"

"Not yet. I'd like it to remain that way. But Harry, you cannot justify actions above the law with the excuse that your victim had it coming. You must learn subtlety, and to choose your battles. If your other teachers won't tell you this, I will."

Harry bowed his head. McGonagall released the letter, and he tucked it shamefaced into his pocket. He waited to be dismissed; when he looked up, she was studying him curiously.

"I often think of your father when I see you," she said. "I wonder very much what kind of Gryffindor you would have been."

"Probably a pretty shoddy one," he answered.

"I wonder. Well, in you go..."

Harry took down a pinch of floo powder from her mantelpiece and threw it into the fire. Stepping inside, he turned around and said "Tonks and Tonks, Diagon Alley!"

As the floo network began to spin him around, he caught one last glimpse of McGonagall's face. It was tired, careworn, and seemed much older than it had two minutes before; he felt a stab of regret, and also a stab of surprise for the realisation that Minerva McGonagall was human and fallible, and very concerned about Harry.

***

When Sirius returned from St. Mungo's after a quick check-in with Dora to make sure everything was all right, he found a vat of stew bubbling on the stove and a note saying that Remus had gone upstairs to sleep. He greedily spooned an enormous portion into a bowl, noting that the dishes had even been washed, and took two butterbeers from the antique Muggle refrigerator he'd found and charmed to function normally again.

He climbed the stairs with a little trepidation; Remus must have worn himself out cooking, but at least it showed that he'd been able to get up and about. He wasn't sure if he ought to carry all his news and woes to him first thing.

The small bedroom at the top of the stairs, down the narrow hall from Harry's room, was well-lit and the window was open to let in the cool evening air. Remus lay in the bed, eyes shut, feathery hair drifting upwards occasionally in the breeze. Sirius sat on the edge of the bed, the butterbeer bottles clinking as he set them on the bedside table. He reached out and stroked his hair quickly, almost embarrassed at the affection, before taking a bite of the stew. It had been a long day, and the food was more than welcome. Remus yawned and stretched, one hand drifting out to touch Sirius' back.

"All settled?" he asked, not opening his eyes.

"As much as they can be. You didn't have to cook."

"I wanted to. Knew you'd be hungry. You say Ted's okay?"

"Everyone's okay, more or less, though Ted'll be stiff for a few days, I reckon. Neville's back to Hogwarts. Andi's a bit worried about her guests, though. She asked if we thought we could keep one or two up here for a bit. And I gave Julian about fifty Galleons."

"Mmh? For what?"

"Well, he's working for Madam Schaeffer now, he had nearly enough saved up for a place of his own, and I thought it might be better. He'll pay it back."

"Don't care if he does. Good job."

"Ta. Once we got everyone sorted it was a bit boring, really. But Andi seemed to want me around, so I stayed. I had an idea, too," he added. Remus opened one eye and regarded him cautiously.

"That's so worrying," he replied, inching closer. Sirius offered him a piece of potato from the stew with his fingers and he sat up to eat it, leaning on Sirius' shoulder.

"I'll forget you said that," Sirius said. "Do you want to hear about it?"

"Of course."

"Magical refrigerator magnets."

Remus cocked his head to study him. "Magical what?"

"Charmed refrigerator magnets. You buy two sets, right, and you stick one on your fridge and your friend or whatnot sticks the other set on theirs. But when you rearrange yours, theirs rearranges too. Instant messages."

"Ministry'd never stand for it," Remus mumbled.

"We'll charm them so that Muggles can't see them or something. That's details." Sirius waved a hand. "Think about it. If I had a set and Andi had a set, yesterday she could have just made a single word, like...I don't know, some codeword for trouble, and we wouldn't have had the MLE show up on our doorstep."

"This is what you've been thinking about."

"Keeps the mind off other things. Besides, I'm an inventor, aren't I? It's what I do. Invent things."

"You invent toys."

"This is a kind of toy. You could send all kinds of messages."

Remus yawned. "Well, my brilliant one, go to. As you say, it'll keep your mind off things."

"There's a few other things, too," Sirius said reluctantly, offering him a piece of stew beef. Remus licked his fingers playfully after accepting it.

"Like what?"

"Well, Harry saw the Prophet this morning, and Dora says he hexed some boy who said they had it coming. I've got a letter from McGonagall to Dora about it. Guess she didn't want to get him in hot water with me just yet."

"Why'd she write to Dora, then?"

"He did it in the middle of the Great Hall. Harry spent the day in London doing chores for Dora, I guess, as punishment."

Remus sighed against Sirius' shoulder. "That seems fair. He's gotten into quite a few pickles this year, hasn't he?"

"Yeah."

"Are you worried?" Remus asked, as Sirius set down the nearly-empty bowl.

"McGonagall is. I guess I should be, but I remember what we were like at school. I'm more..."

He fell silent, trying to figure out how to articulate it. Harry was an amazing child and had done things men ten years older might have been afraid of; he'd thrown rocks at Peter Pettigrew when he had no other ammunition to hand, faced him down years later when he broke into Hogwarts, and helped to kill a Basilisk before it killed Padma. He'd taken a chance on little Draco Malfoy when nobody else wanted to. He'd faced down seventh-years when they bullied Neville and thoroughly routed that horrible Umbridge woman. He was a brave, strong boy.

But still in Sirius' heart of hearts, Harry was the little baby he'd held the day he was born, one of the few times he'd ever seen James cry. Harry was the big-eyed, hollow-cheeked child he'd saved from the Dursleys when he was eight, who had clutched his cheap little stuffed frog as Sirius carried him away.

"Come back," Remus said gently.

"Sorry," he answered. "What kind of world is this for Harry? Really? Andi was just trying to make things a little better, she just wants to take in strays and make them happy. Peter's still out there, Draco's father is hunting him like prey, and these stupid little people with their stupid little ideas think firebombing my family home is the way to change the world."

Remus was quiet, his face pressed into Sirius' shoulder, his body a warm presence against his back.

"When we were young men," he said finally, "we were fighting for the world we have now. Dumbledore never promised us it would be perfect. But it's better now than it was twelve years ago. It's better now than it was a year ago, just because of what Andi and Ted are doing. We fought, Sirius. We won because of Harry, but we fought for years just to make sure that Harry had a chance to grow up happy."

"Is he?"

"Reasonably," Remus replied. "I think so. He has friends, he plays games, he skives off on his homework. I'm sure he's not the happiest of children tonight, but I bet you he's not gnashing his teeth over the way the world is."

Sirius smiled. "Is that a subtle hint that I'm moping?"

"Just a little."

"What do you suppose he's up to?"

"Probably plotting something with the others. Don't worry about it." Remus kissed the side of his throat. "You've had a long day. Rest a bit before you decide to start cleaning up the world for our son."

Chapter 24

Harry returned to Hogwarts that evening aching in every muscle, his fingers rubbed raw from scouring and his clothes smelling of cleaning agent and sweat. When he sat down, the Slytherins nearby pulled away slightly.

"Wow, you reek," Cricket Creevey said, wrinkling his nose. "Where were you all day?"

"Cleaning," Harry said tiredly, breaking a dinner roll into tiny pieces and dipping them in the gravy on his plate. "Professor McGonagall sent me to help out in London as my punishment."

"Doesn't sound like much of a punishment to me," Goyle said.

"I spent the whole day scrubbing out the display windows they tried to set on fire," Harry replied. The food didn't taste like much in his mouth; he was too exhausted to really enjoy it.

"By the way, I'm not talking to you," Crabbe said.

"You just did," Harry answered. Crabbe's face formed into a comical look of intense concentration. "Fine, don't talk to me then."

"You missed Defence class," Theo said. He sipped from a cup of pumpkin juice, then continued. "Substitute again. I guess Professor Lupin gets sick an awful lot. Doesn't seem like he would, does it?"

"Who was lecturing?" Harry asked. The other boys sniggered. "What? What'd I miss? It wasn't Umbridge again, was it?"

"Better," Theo said, leering.

"So who was it? I know it wasn't Professor Tonks."

"Well," Goyle said. "There was this woman, right..."

He stopped and burst into chuckles again.

"I swear to Merlin, Goyle, if you don't tell me what happened I'll pull your guts out through your throat," Harry said.

"Yeah, well, if you do that I'll blow your arse up into your stomach," Goyle replied amiably. "Theo, you tell him."

"Sex education!" Crabbe burst out, overcoming his declaration that he was Not Talking to Harry.

"Crabbe!" Theo kicked him under the table.

"Sex education?" Harry asked.

"It wasn't supposed to be," Theo said, glaring at the other two. Goyle was making obscene in-out gestures with the porkchop on his plate. "The woman who came to class said that some Auror named Shacklebolt was supposed to be teaching but on account of the riots he couldn't, so she came from the Ministry for Magical Health instead."

"I'm here to talk to you today about in-ti-mate relations and the human boooooooody," Goyle said in a pinched, lilting voice.

"Every time she said body she did that," Theo related, gleefully. "Booooooooooody."

"Ron Weasley on a dare got up and asked a question about whether our boooooooodies could go wrong and grow horns or something, it was brilliant," Crabbe said. "She didn't even notice."

"Really, you should have been there," Theo said. "Besides, now YOU don't know anything about having sex."

"I do so, my godfather told me all that ages ago," Harry retorted.

"I bet Longbottom doesn't."

"You just shut your fat mouth about Neville," Harry said angrily. "I bet he knows more'n you about girls."

"Bet he doesn't. Anyway, she was dead interesting and funny. Don't think she meant to be funny. I'm going to ask Pansy if she'll help me study the human booooooody, see if I don't," Theo looked wicked.

"Oi, Pansy!" Harry called. Theo flushed scarlet. "Theo's got a crush on you!"

"He just wants to know more about the human boooooody!" Pansy called back. The third-years Slytherins and the nearby Hufflepuff table rocked with amusement. Harry winked at Draco, who looked as though sexual education had been the shock of his young life. "Want me to share my notes, Harry?"

"Is that what they're calling it now?" a fourth-year, who had seen it all and was weary of the constant sex jokes, asked tiredly.

"Settle down, you lot," Flint said, leaning over to be heard down the length of the table. "Potter, I hope you bloodywell suffered. Eric spent half the day in the hospital wing."

"Yeah," Crabbe added righteously, remembering that he was supposed to be angry at Harry.

Harry sighed and picked at his food, looking up gratefully when a wad of paper hit him in the back of the head. He ducked down to retrieve it and opened it to find Neville's handwriting on the paper. He twisted around to see a pale, worn-looking but nevetheless smiling Neville, giving him a thumbs-up from the Gryffindor table.

Music Room after dinner -- lots to talk about.

Harry nodded, turning back to his food while around him the other third-year Slytherins found new and inventive ways to simulate the sex act with mashed potatoes, porkchops, and dinner rolls.

***

"How're your parents?" Harry asked, as Neville joined him outside the Great Hall on their way up to the music room. He'd seen Draco get buttonholed by the Hufflepuff prefect about something, and Padma was talking to her twin; they'd catch up in due time.

"Ted's not so great, but they let him out of hospital this afternoon," Neville answered. "Mum's just a bit bruised. Could have been a lot worse, they kept saying, but I don't want to think about it."

"Did you get any news about why it happened?"

"Nah. Grownups won't talk to me about it, 'fraid it'll upset me I expect. Sirius was there, he kept the MLE from pestering us. Professor Snape was there for a bit but only to make sure that the Healers didn't muck anything up. Where were you? I got back a few hours ago and everyone said you hexed someone and McGonagall dragged you off."

"She made me go help Dora clean up the mess."

"Who'd you hex?"

"Eric Crabbe. He was saying nasty things." Harry gave the passwords to the Music Room and stepped through the portrait-hole. Here, the outside world was muffled and a sense of serene peace prevailed. London and all its troubles seemed very far off. It wasn't long before the portrait opened again and Padma and Draco came through, each carrying desserts scrounged from the kitchen-elves.

"Well, that was a day," Padma said, flopping down on the floor. "Neville gone, Harry vanished, Draco and I left to fend for ourselves in a crowd of horny thirteen-year-olds who can't talk about anything but sex. I imagined my life at Hogwarts would be quite different from this, you know. Draco's still traumatised."

She jerked a thumb at Draco, who frowned. "I am not."

"Are so. You've been quiet ever since class. Don't you want to know more about your booooody?" Padma teased.

"I didn't know it was so...squishy, that's all," Draco said primly. Neville hooted. "I mean it! I didn't know how you did things like that, it's a bit much to absorb. Did you know girls bleed down there?"

"Once a month," Padma said, annoyed. "It's not like it's a constant thing."

"Do you think we bleed?" Draco asked, looking extremely worried.

"Did you not pay any attention at all? Of course you don't."

"This is pleasant," Harry remarked. "I could just sit here and listen to this all day."

"Sorry," Draco said. "Weren't you a little shocked, Padma?"

"Nah, Mum told Parvati and me about all this. Didn't yours?"

"Picture Draco's mum talking to him about sex," Harry said.

"I'm really glad she didn't," Draco said fervently. "Did your parents?"

Harry glanced at Neville. "Well, Sirius did."

"Ted gave me a book about it," Neville added. "He got all red in the face, too."

"I'm just a freak, then," Draco sighed. "Nothing new there."

"You're not a freak, your mum's a freak," Padma said, which was probably intended to comfort. "That's why the Ministry sends people to talk to us about it, so that kids whose parents are freaks still know what's going on."

"Yeah, well, I'd rather just forget the whole thing," Draco said. "I wish Professor Lupin was back."

"Which is a good reminder that you have homework to do," Padma said, poking him. "And I'm supposed to be helping."

"We just got here!" Draco protested.

"Yes, well, when you fail Charms -- "

"Fine," Draco grumbled, rolling his eyes at Neville and Harry. "We have to go to the library. I'm behind on Charms homework. Want to come?"

"Nah, I'm going to stay here a bit," Harry said. "See you for breakfast tomorrow, though."

"Right. Come on, Padma," Draco said, offering her a hand up off the floor. Harry noticed that when she took it Draco blushed pink, and he wondered if Draco wasn't thinking about sexual education tutoring with Padma. She was nice enough, and he'd jump in front of a dragon for her any day, but he'd do that for Draco and Neville too and kissing Padma'd be like kissing a sister.

"Do you suppose we missed anything? Really, I mean," Neville said. "What if Ted or Sirius forgot to tell us something? Or didn't on purpose?"

"I don't think Sirius would do that," Harry said doubtfully. "He was pretty confident about it. And I bet he told me stuff she didn't tell the others today."

"Like what?"

"You know. About men," Harry said vaguely.

"Like, two men?" Neville pondered this. "Nope, my book didn't say anything about that either. How do they do it, then, do you suppose? Maybe it's like when you..." he made a vague gesture.

"When you wha -- oh," Harry said. "You do that?"

"Sure, don't you?" Neville frowned. "Only, if it's two men, you do it to the other person."

"I think this is the most uncomfortable conversation I've ever had," Harry said.

"Well, they must somehow, right? How do you suppose Remus and Sirius do it?"

"Neville!"

"What? They do, don't they? Do you suppose they have a book about it?"

Harry gave him a horrified look, in part because Neville was voicing questions he'd sort of wondered about too. "They're my parents!"

"So?"

"So picture Ted and Andromeda having sex! Reading books about it!"

Neville's face was hilarious to see. "Ew!"

"See?" Harry said. "Picture your gran -- "

"Eeew! Okay, okay! No more parents!" Neville brought his hands down in a placating gesture. Both boys fell silent for a while as they tried to excise the mental image of their parents in the throes of passion. Finally, Neville spoke again.

"Padma's kissed a boy. Sort of. Hermione told me that she heard from Lavender that Parvati said Padma kissed Zacharias, but that was to win a bet," he said. "You ever kiss a girl?"

"Nope. Not properly. You?"

"Nah. I suppose we've got loads of time before we need to worry, don't we?" Neville looked troubled nonetheless. "Though...it'd be nice to know if I'm any good at it."

"Good at kissing? Can you be bad at it?"

"I think so. How do you know, though? I mean, and if you aren't, how do you get any better?"

"Well..." Harry felt very daring. "We could try it."

"Kissing? Reckon I should just go up to Hermione and say Fancy a snog? It's for science! and see what she says?" Neville asked.

"No, I meant, you and me could try it."

Neville looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "What, like kiss each other?"

"It's not like it would mean anything," Harry said defensively. "But then we'd know if we were any good at it or not and if we weren't the other person could say something. You said it yourself. It's for science!"

"It'd be nice to know," Neville said thoughtfully. Harry's heart was racing as if he was in the middle of a really great prank; this was something he knew that kids were probably not supposed to do, but it was exciting to try it out. And who better than Neville? Neville could keep a secret, and he wasn't high-strung about people like Draco could sometimes be.

"So...do you want to?" Harry asked.

"Okay, I guess," Neville said. "Should we stand up or something?"

"No, here, look," Harry said, scooting close to him so that their crossed legs touched at the knee. "Just lean forward."

Neville obediently leaned forward and Harry did something he'd seen Sirius do once, tipping his chin up slightly so that they were more on a level. Neville closed his eyes, so Harry did too; their noses bumped together and Neville laughed.

"That can't be right," he said, and Harry laughed too, opening his eyes and rubbing his nose. He turned his head slightly so that it wouldn't happen again, and then Neville leaned even further forward unexpectedly.

Their lips brushed, and Harry tried not to think so hard about it. What was there to think about, anyway? Neville's lips were a little bit dry, and Harry licked his own before he thought about it. He caught the edge of one of Neville's teeth with his tongue and realised that this was really a proper kiss. He'd seen people kiss like that.

It was strange, not to be kissing another boy or to be kissing Neville but to be kissing anyone that way. It was sort of...wet.

He pulled back, licked his lips again, and glanced at Neville.

"How was that?" Neville asked, looking startled.

"Well, you're all right," Harry said, head spinning a little. "What about me?"

"Yeah, well, I guess you do fine too."

Harry nodded. "So that's okay then, isn't it? Now we know and if you wanted to kiss a girl you won't have to tell her it's all in the name of science."

Neville laughed. "Sure. Let's go to the library and hex Draco's bum to his chair."

***

In the aftermath of the attack on Tonks & Tonks, Sirius spent much of his time in London, helping to put up new wards on the storefront and making sure Ted didn't do any more work than was absolutely necessary. He helped Julian move into a tiny but serviceable flat and, two days after the attacks, brought Anne home with him. The young woman had been terrified to wake up into chaos and even more frightened once she heard what had happened; she didn't even want to leave the house, but Sirius was certain a few days in the peaceful Scottish countryside would do her a world of good.

"It's spring; plants blooming, ducklings on the lake, birds fucking each other loudly in every tree, it takes a person right out of themselves," Sirius said, bringing Ted a cup of tea. Ted sat in one of the comfortable chairs in the living room of the house overlooking Creadonagh Valley while Anne bumped around upstairs, settling into a linen-closet hastily transfigured into a proper bedroom.

"So it is. Are you certain you don't mind? I know the kids have the Easter holiday in a few days, and you don't get much time with Harry."

"Bout as much as you get with Neville, he's home all summer," Sirius replied. "Don't you fret about Harry. He's going to spend most of his time up at Hogwarts anyway, I reckon, keeping Draco company. I've promised to show them some broomstick tricks. Harry tells me Oliver Wood is staying over too -- parents are off somewhere in Hungary, I think -- and he's impartial now that Gryffindor's definitely going to be playing in the House Cup."

"To the House," Ted said, raising his tea.

"Indeed."

"Which reminds me, you've yet to name your actual house, have you?" Ted said. He set the tea down and gazed out the window, watching a pair of kneazles patrolling regally through the yard. He looked tired, Sirius thought, and not at all like his usual genial self.

"Not yet. Remus thought the Valley House might be nice, but it's a little plain. I said we should call it Wolfhold but he says that's right out. He veto'd The Refuge too, said it made it sound like a hut in the woods."

"You could call it your winter house," Ted suggested.

"Rather bleak, don't you think? I'm sure the name'll come in time," Sirius said, sipping his own tea thoughtfully. "How's Mary getting on?"

"No change, she's still unconscious. We've spoken to a couple of other Support Network people about someone taking it over; neither Andi nor myself have the time and frankly I'm not sure my nerves would be up to it after this week. God, Sirius, it made me feel old, facing down those youngsters."

"Well, give the job to a werewolf, then."

Ted looked at him curiously. "Mary was a pensioner, Sirius. There's no salary for the job."

"None at all?"

"Nope. All the income she had was in goods -- clothing, food, that kind of thing. Didn't you know?"

"No, I thought perhaps she had some kind of grant."

Ted laughed bitterly. "From the Ministry? You need to move back down to London and get some perspective, my friend."

Sirius began to feel a little annoyed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ted leaned forward, steepling his fingers. He tapped them against his lips a few times before speaking, and when he did he spoke as if they were being listened to, in low tones. "The climate in Diagon's not very good right now. There's a lot of fear and anger boiling around under the surface. The Prophet doesn't help, either, but it's mostly just the gossip network. Nobody gossips like magical folk do. I'm a shopkeeper, people tell me we're pillars of the community -- we hear a lot."

Sirius sat down, feeling as if he were nineteen again and holding some kind of secret Order meeting. "A lot about what?"

"The Ministry's tightening security, they think Peter Pettigrew's going to...I don't know, blow up a building, murder people in their sleep. People have heard about the Dementors on the Hogwarts grounds, and they're worried London will be next, which seems to be a valid concern. Business is down because people are stockpiling money to get out of the country if things start to go bad."

"Merlin, Ted."

"That's not nearly so worrying as what's coming out of eastern Europe." Ted glanced towards the ceiling; the noise upstairs had stopped. He waited until it started again before continuing. "We do a little foreign mail-order and the embassies at the Ministry recommend us for foreign visitors who want English wizarding clothing. There are upsetting rumours in Romania, Bulgaria, Serbia, even Poland -- which all add up to the idea that Pettigrew may be looking for a way to resurrect You-Know-Who."

Sirius dropped his teacup, cursed, and blotted at his trousers with a napkin.

"It's all hearsay," Ted said, leaning forward to pick up the cup. "But it's coming from people who have no reason to lie, and no real reason to be afraid of Pettigrew. After all, the Dark Lord never really extended his grasp much past this country. They say someone, maybe more than one someone, has been poking around asking nosy questions about You-Know-Who. Did he ever visit the village, are there known Death Eaters in the area, that kind of thing."

"Voldemort's dead," Sirius said, unaccountably angry and frightened by the news. "And when I get my hands on Peter, he will be too. That's all there is to it."

"Maybe for you, but not for Wizarding Britain. And you can bet the werewolves are suffering because of it."

Ted looked up suddenly and Sirius turned to see Anne standing on the stair like a ghost, one hand holding the banister.

"I'm done unpacking," she said quietly.

"Splendid -- how'd you like to go down to Hogsmeade and we'll get some posters for your walls?" Sirius asked, still dabbing at the tea-stains on his trousers. Finally he took out his wand and flicked it at the stains, which evaporated neatly. "It's a nice walk..."

"If you want," she said, still in the same subdued tone.

"And I'm off for home. Enjoy yourself," Ted said, touching her shoulder hesitantly. "You'll have fun. There's loads to do in Hogsmeade."

She nodded and watched him as he walked to the fireplace and disappeared into the floo network. Sirius found himself alone with a young werewolf and a lot of uncertainties.

Still, she wasn't all that much older than Harry, just a few years, and Sirius had spent most of his life with a werewolf, so he ought to know something about it by now.

The silence stretched out between them, tense and thick. Finally, he walked to the entryway and began pulling on his shoes.

"Come on then," he said, with a cheer he didn't feel. "I'll show you the sights."

***

The next week brought a reprieve from school in the form of the Easter holiday, a full week off from school and for most, a much-relished trip home to see their families. Remus and Harry would both be home, all day, for a whole week, and Sirius could visit Hogwarts at any time without having to resort to being Padfoot or coming up with excuses.

It was good, too, because Draco was the only Hufflepuff in his year who was left behind. While he repeated that he was happier than he would be with his mum (and this in itself was depressing), he was still lonely and bored, fractious about spending the time doing homework.

On the first sunny day, a few days after everyone else had left for home, Sirius took Harry and Draco out on the Quidditch Pitch and spent hours showing them trick moves -- daredevil broom-dangles, sharp turns, and a disastrous attempt at the Wronski Feint that nearly resulted in a broken nose. After a few hours he left the boys to their own devices and climbed into the stands, where Remus and Anne were sitting and watching, occasionally calling out encouragement.

"That's no way to go about it," he said, sitting next to Anne and reaching around to ruffle Remus' already windblown hair. He cupped his hands around his mouth. "PUT SOME STICK INTO IT, SLACKERS!"

Harry pivoted on a dime and made a rude gesture.

"You're teaching him terrible manners," Remus commented.

"That's fine, Quidditch isn't the Daughters of the Goblin Rebellion Annual Dinner," Sirius replied. "Wotcha, Anne."

"Hi," she said, her eyes on Harry and Draco.

"Anne and I were just talking about when she goes back to London," Remus said. "Andromeda's holding a spot for her as a shopgirl with Tonks&Tonks, but I thought she might like working in an apothecary's shop."

"Six of one, half dozen of the other," Sirius said. Anne seemed to draw in on herself. "You'll learn more about potions, working for an apothecary, but there's a lot of slimy, slithery work to be done as well."

"Lots of access to potions ingredients, though," Remus said. "Plenty of Master Brewers got their start in shops. It's like an apprenticeship."

"Wolfsbane," Anne murmured quietly.

"Yes, you could definitely get a lot of training about that potion, I imagine it'll be quite popular in the future. And useful to you, of course," Remus added.

"I just meant plain wolfsbane," she said. Sirius saw Remus tense.

"What would you want plain wolfsbane for, Anne?" he asked cautiously.

"Well, it's a cheap way out," she replied, looking down at her hands.

"Out of what?" Remus inquired, a sharp edge to his voice.

"If I wanted...I mean if I didn't want..." she trailed off. "It's not important. I guess whichever you think is best."

Sirius looked over her head at Remus, whose face had gone very pale. What would the girl want poison for --

Oh.

Suddenly the edge in the other man's voice made perfect sense. It was hard to kill a werewolf, unless you knew what you were doing...or had easy access to wolfsbane.

"Anne," Remus said, his voice very distant, "I think you and I had better take a trip to London tomorrow. I think there's a man you should meet. His name is Seth, he's quite nice -- he works at St. Mungo's."

"I don't want someone to ask me if I've come to terms with my lycanthropy," she said rebelliously.

"I know, and Seth won't ask that. He never did me, anyway," Remus said. "He's been my caseworker at the hospital for years. Maybe he can help you in ways I can't."

"No, I want to stay with you."

"And you are, but a visit -- "

"I don't want to!"

Sirius blinked at her.

"Anne," Remus said, in a voice Sirius very rarely heard. "You will come with me tomorrow or so help me Merlin I will ground you like the child you're behaving as."

Anne looked up at him, then at Sirius, who shrugged. "Don't look at me. He knows more than either of us about it. If you won't be told by Remus Lupin you may as well just off yourself now."

"Sirius!" Remus said, looking suddenly furious.

"Well, that's what she's on about, isn't it?" Sirius asked. "Go to the bloody hospital, you silly child."

Anne looked like she was about to cry, but when she opened her mouth she shocked both men.

"You think I should?" she asked. Remus raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, I do," Sirius answered.

"Okay." She stood, shaking out the wrinkles in her robe. "I'm going to go talk to Harry and Draco."

They watched as she climbed the steps to the back of the stand, then disappeared from view down the ladder.

"How do you do that?" Remus asked. "How do you do that to everyone? You just say something and they do it."

Sirius shrugged, smiled, and leaned back. "I'm just that good. You think Rubins will help her?"

"He helped me."

Sirius, in the act of relaxing, found himself suddenly tense. "You never -- you didn't think about..."

"No, not like she is," Remus said, indicating where Harry and Draco had landed and were showing their brooms to Anne. "He just helped me, that's all. We're all screwed up when we're young."

"Good thing you've got me to tell you what to do then, isn't it?"

Remus gave him a warm, tolerant smile. "Good thing."

Chapter 25

On the final day of the Easter holiday, Remus left Sirius and Harry playing chess in the garden and walked along the raised path that skirted the Forbidden Forest, heading up to Hogwarts. It was a bright day, sunny and windy, and the walk did him good -- invigorated him, dropping as he was into the relative calm of the early-waxing moon.

When he reached the rooms they'd given him to live in as a professor, rooms he used rather less than anyone knew, he went first to the windows to open them and let in the fresh air. Then he turned, leaning against the bookshelf next to the window, and regarded the object hanging from the far wall warily.

Draco's Firebolt, tested extensively and all but dismantled in the hunt for whatever hexes might be on it, dangled quietly from a broomstick-mount. As far as he could tell, it was clean; he'd given it one last examination and set one last detection charm on it, a charm that had been left to run all week while he occupied himself with Harry and Sirius, Draco and Anne. Harry and Sirius were occupying themselves, Draco was safe at Hogwarts, and Anne had gone back to London; it was time to admit that the broomstick was clean.

He sighed and took it down, holding it at arm's length as if he could see what was hidden in it just by staring at it. Perhaps there weren't any hexes. In fact, by now he was fairly sure there weren't. Still, it worried him to give it back to Draco, and not only because it was a fast, professional-grade broom that he wasn't entirely sure the mild little Hufflepuff could handle.

Still, nothing to be done about it now. It was the boy's by right.

"Denbigh," he called. "When you have a moment, it's Professor Lupin."

There was a pop as the head of the Kitchen Elves appeared. Denbigh executed a low bow and looked up expectantly.

"How can Denbigh be helping Professor Remus Lupin today?" he asked. "Has Professor Remus Lupin had his breakfast?"

"Yes, thank you. Actually, I'm looking for Draco; I had a suspicion you might know where he is," Remus said. Denbigh nodded.

"Master Draco Malfoy is being in the kitchens with the house-elves," he said. "He is being very entertaining to the house elves, Professor Remus Lupin."

"Very well," Remus said with a smile. "I'll be down shortly. Don't tell him I'm coming, please?"

Denbigh saluted and vanished again. Remus strolled down to the kitchens idly, carrying the broomstick in one hand. If you paid close attention you could almost feel the reined-in power in the Firebolt. Even Remus could appreciate the champion-grade, suspicious or not.

He tickled the pear outside the portrait entrance to the kitchens, feeling a little like an illicit fourth-year again, and opened it just enough to peer inside.

In the hot, good-smelling kitchen, Draco was trying to silence a band of laughing house-elves. When they finally settled down, he bowed.

"For my next trick," he said, and pointed at a large raw chicken, sitting in a roasting pan. "Coquo Dilisius!"

There was a fizzling noise, and a small sandwich sat where the chicken had been. The house-elves burst into applause.

"That was quite good, Draco," Remus said, and the elves fell silent. Draco whipped his head around, turning pale. "No need to be startled," he added, propping the broom against the outer wall and stepping inside. He picked up the sandwich, bit into it, and chewed thoughtfully.

"Any second-year can turn a chicken into a chicken sandwich," Draco said shyly.

"Any second-year can make a sandwich out of a cooked chicken. With a couple of slices of bread, even a Muggle can do that," Remus said. "Raw chicken..." he gestured at the counter, "...cooked chicken sandwich."

He indicated the other half of the sandwich, still sitting in the roasting pan. "Sliced, even. And with just the right amount of mustard."

Draco frowned. "It's not that hard."

"Isn't it?" Remus asked, taking another bite. Draco watched him chew. "All that remedial Transfiguration -- isn't so remedial, is it?"

"It used to be. I got better."

"You have a talent for it."

"No," Draco shook his head. "I just work hard."

"Like a good Hufflepuff," Remus said with a smile. He set the sandwich down and walked back to the portrait-door. "At any rate, I have a reward for your patience and hard work. Here it is -- we've done everything we could think of, and there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with it at all. You've got a very good friend somewhere."

He turned around, broomstick in hand, and Draco's eyes got wide as saucers. The boy came forward almost reverently, taking the Firebolt from his hands.

"I can have it back?" he asked Remus, examining it with wary care. "Seriously? It's safe?"

"As far as I can tell. There's only one test left, of course," Remus added. "That's to put you on it and see how it flies. I couldn't really do that test on my own."

"I can ride it?"

Remus nodded. "Carefully, at first. But if you like, this afternoon we can fly all the way to Hogsmeade. Well, the edges, anyway. How'd you like to show off your broomstick to Harry?"

"I'm not supposed to leave the grounds," Draco answered.

"Draco, I'm going to give you a piece of advice that is going to get both of us in a lot of trouble someday," Remus said, bending and putting a hand on Draco's shoulder, their faces on the same level. The feeling came back to him again, the one of being a young man, the sort of boy who helped James and Sirius execute intricate plots. "There are some times when life requires that, for our own sanity, we break a few rules."

From the air, riding a school broom with terrible aerodynamics, it looked like Harry and Sirius had given up their game of chess and were playing one-on-one football with an old decommissioned Quaffle. He saw Draco drop like a stone and halt smoothly, leaping off the broomstick and leaving it to hover obediently in midair. He would give the young Hufflepuff this much: put him on a broomstick and he was fearless. Draco never ceased to surprise him. Then again, he did have that daring, arrogant, brilliant Black blood in his veins.

Harry tackled Draco cheerfully and the two wrestled for supremacy until Sirius hauled Harry, nominally on top, up by the collar. Remus touched the broomstick down just as Harry was begging pleadingly for two minutes on the Firebolt.

"You're certain it's safe?" Sirius asked, over the heads of the two boys.

"Well, it's a stick meant to hover in the air and support a teenage boy while turning sharply and moving at high speeds," Remus replied. "So, it's certainly not safe. But as for hexes...no."

"But you can't have it at the Quidditch match," Draco said to Harry as the other boy straddled the Firebolt. "We're playing Slytherin and I'm going to kick your arse with this."

"We'll just see about that," Harry said, and the broom took off like a rocket.

"I assume you got permission to bring Draco off school grounds," Sirius said.

Remus glanced at Draco and winked at Sirius. "Course I did."

Draco's smile as he watched Harry try to tame the wayward Firebolt was the biggest Remus had seen since the holiday began.

***

"Okay," Padma said. "I've done it."

She placed an index card flat on the table between herself and Neville. He picked it up, squinting at it, then sighed and dug in his pockets, producing five Sickles.

"What's all this?" Harry said, gesturing at the card with his spoon. School was back in session and entertainment thin on the ground; if there was mischief he wanted to be a part of it. "What are we betting on?"

"Neville's been complaining all week about who he's supposed to root for in the match," Padma said, "because he's too coward and stubborn to flip a coin."

"This much we knew," Draco said gravely.

"So, I told him it was really just a simple formula, weighing pros against cons," Padma continued.

"I bet her she couldn't turn it into a formula," Neville said, passing the card over to Harry. He studied it, perplexed.

set a (if N = S then 0D + 1B)

set b (if N = H then 1D + 1B - 1H)

set c (if (N != S) and (N != H) then -5P)

Ret X (where X = 5N) if (a = b and P = >0) OR (N GROWS A PAIR)

"How do you know it's good?" he asked, tilting his head.

"I don't," Neville replied. "But it looks very official."

Padma rolled her eyes. "It's quite simple. If Neville roots for Slytherin then Draco will be annoyed and it'll seem like Bad Sportsmanship. If Neville roots for Hufflepuff then Draco will be happy but Harry will be annoyed and it'll still seem like Bad Sportsmanship. If Neville doesn't root for Slytherin or Hufflepuff then I'm going to smack him. If Neville balances Slytherin and Hufflepuff without annoying me any further, or grows a pair and picks a team, we return Success. That's 5N, for 'lots of Neville'. You know. Go Neville and all."

"Padma, you're the only girl I know who can make Arithmantical death threats," Draco said. "I -- "

He was interrupted by a cry of "Malfoy!" followed shortly by a different voice calling "Potter!"

The two captains stood in the doorway, Cedric and Marcus, each glaring at their teammates.

"No fraternising," Marcus Flint called. "Time to get ready."

"Good luck," Neville said, as Harry and Draco glanced at each other. "Don't be nervous, if I can't pick a team Padma'll beat me up and then neither of us will see the game anyway."

Harry put out his hand and Draco shook it. Marcus made a disgusted noise.

"When you two are done bonding, we have a game to play," he said.

"Leave them alone. Come on, Malfoy," Cedric said, elbowing Marcus. This was probably a mistake.

"I'll say whatever I want when they're acting like idiots," Marcus answered, elbowing back.

"Shut your mouth," Cedric replied angrily.

"Oh, you want to get into it with me, Hufflepuff?" Marcus demanded, turning to face Cedric. "Go ahead. I know you're dying to knock me out so Slytherin will forfeit -- "

"I wouldn't dream of giving your masochistic soul the satisfaction," Cedric answered.

"I am not a masochistic!"

"Gentlemen," came a new voice, and Professor McGonagall appeared behind both boys. Madam Hooch stood nearby, already in full flight gear. "I believe you have a game to prepare for."

Harry and Draco followed dutifully, pretending not to notice that Madam Hooch gently knocked Flint and Diggory's heads together on their way to the pitch. They parted ways and went to their respective teams, preparing for the last game before the Quidditch Cup, the one which would decide who would play Gryffindor for the House championship. Hufflepuff had already lost to Gryffindor once, but if Draco hadn't tumbled from his broom the outcome might have been very different -- and Draco had a Firebolt now.

Harry knew he wasn't the only one weighing up Draco and his new broomstick as Marcus and Cedric shook hands, but he bet he was the only one worrying about having to play against one of his best friends. At least Draco wasn't playing Seeker; still, a Beater could do a Seeker a lot of damage if they wanted. Harry wasn't sure whether he wanted Draco gunning for him or not. If he did, at least that would show that he could play the game without letting personal feelings enter into it, like Harry did when he was playing against Oliver Wood.

Madam Hooch gave the signal and the teams kicked off from the ground, the Chasers jumping into immediate action while Harry and the Hufflepuff Seeker rose high above the game, circling the Pitch. Down below, somewhere, Lee Jordan was nattering on about the Firebolt as Draco executed sharp turns and bursts of speed to get himself between the other players and the Bludgers; Professor McGonagall kept having to remind him to talk about the game and not the broomsticks.

The Slytherin girls were hogging the Quaffle from Pucey, the only male Chaser on the team now; Mary scored for Slytherin just as Harry spotted a glint of gold near one of the barriers, well under the general level of play. Even as he dove he saw that he was going to have to cut straight through the action, and sure enough --

Well, he thought, as a Bludger whistled past his ear, clearly Draco didn't have any trouble playing to win. He ducked and lost sight of the Snitch; when he looked up again all he could see was Towler hitting the Bludger back towards Draco, and the Firebolt leaping upwards even as Draco leaned low and swung under his knees to hit it wide.

Harry was pleased with what he saw when he rose up out of gameplay again, looking for a flutter of silvery wings or a spark of gold in the sun. Ever since Slytherin had begun to play on levels and not just back-and-forth, and the other teams had picked up on it, the game seemed to be faster and more ruthless, which was how Harry liked it. He felt a little twinge of pride that he had helped to cause the improvement in play --

And then he realised he ought to be looking for the Snitch, which...yes...there, by the Slytherin goalpost. The last he'd heard, Slytherin was up twenty points, which meant that whoever had the Snitch won the game.

He accelerated madly, noticing as he did so that not only Cedric but also both Beaters were following him. Another Bludger whizzed past him, knocking his broomstick slightly sideways. If he could just get to the goalpost before the Cedric saw where he was going...

Harry dropped suddenly into the fray, nearly crossing broomstick-handles with Draco, who pulled back and gave him a startled look. Cedric, taller and riding a larger broomstick, couldn't follow him into the tight knot of Beaters and Chasers, and he hadn't yet seen the Snitch.

He practically had to elbow his way through the scrum. Even as he dropped again, aiming for where the Snitch still hovered by the goalpost, he heard someone shriek. Several people, in fact; Towler, bellowing a warning, was pointing down at the Pitch where three hooded figures were gliding slowly -- almost serenely -- towards Harry.

Dementors.

Harry didn't stop to think about why there were only three of them or why he didn't feel anything at such close quarters; he jerked his elbow, sending his wand out of his sleeve and into his grip.

"Expecto patronum!" he shouted, thinking of the happiest memory he and Remus had managed to unearth for him: the day he got his Hogwarts letter. It wasn't a very impressive patronus, still not much more than a white mist, but it seemed to knock all three Dementors flat while Harry zoomed past, still aiming for the goalpost. With his wand in his hand he couldn't very well grab the Snitch; in a moment of decision, he let his wand fall, hoping he'd be able to find it afterwards, and brought his hand around in an arc, neatly capturing the small, flighty gold ball. The whistle sounded; the game was over.

Harry turned his broomstick to find six green blurs headed straight towards him, and a second later he'd all but been knocked off his broomstick by the congratulatory violence of his teammates.

Beyond them, however, he saw the Dementors moving again; rising, yes, but also...

Picking up the hems of their robes, and running.

Harry cocked his head. That couldn't be right. He was pretty sure Dementors didn't wear Hogwarts trousers under their robes. He could see Professor McGonagall and Madam Hooch both aiming stunning hexes at the so-called Dementors, but the hooded figures were dodging deftly, and after a moment they had disappeared around the corners of the stands, into the Forbidden Forest.

"What the hell was that?" Harry asked Cedric Diggory, who had already dismounted his broom and was walking with perhaps slightly exaggerated dignity towards Flint. He slid respectfully from his broomstick, waiting while they shook.

"Don't know," Cedric replied, rubbing the back of his head curiously. Draco pulled to a stop next to him breathlessly, almost tumbling off when the Firebolt braked faster than he expected. "Prank, I reckon."

"Did you see that?" Draco mock-punched an invisible enemy. "You flattened them, Harry!"

Cedric put a hand on the back of Draco's neck warningly.

"Good game," he said, and forcibly turned Draco, marching him back to where the Hufflepuff team was receiving consolation from their House.

"That was quite a Patronus," said a new voice in Harry's ear, and he turned to find Remus grinning down at him, looking a little shaken but mostly pleased. He passed Harry his wand, a little dirty but none the worse for its momentary abandonment. "A shame you couldn't have tried it on the real thing."

"I was wondering why they didn't affect me," Harry sighed. "Too good to be true, I suppose."

"Ah, looks like they've caught one," Remus added, looking over Harry's head. In the distance, Professor Snape and Madam Hooch were dragging a hooded, protesting Dementor along by the arms, both looking furious. "I think I'll let Snape be the one to lose his temper this time; you carried yourself off quite well and I have no complaints. Well done, Harry."

Harry gave him a nod. "Thanks, Professor."

Remus' grin widened a fraction, and Harry swore he saw a flicker of a wink.

"Well, Potter," Snape said, one slim hand still clenched tightly around his victim's arm as they approached. "Seeing as you are the conquering hero, would you care to attend to the unmasking? You gave our anonymous costume-lover quite a fright."

"An unworthy trick," Madam Hooch said coolly, smacking the still-hooded student in the back of the head as McGonagall approached. "Very unsportsmanlike."

Harry, still much shorter than his opponent, stood on tiptoe to grasp the tip of the hood and pull it off. A messy-haired, red-faced Ravenclaw fourth-year emerged. Harry recognised her, vaguely, but he couldn't place her name.

"Detention," McGonagall pronounced severely. "This way, Ms. Turpin."

She took custody of the girl from Snape, and Harry watched as the girl tripped over her robe, trying to keep up with McGonagall's pace.

"Did you catch sight of the other two?" Remus asked Snape, as the students began to pour forward and around them, congratulating Harry on his win.

"No," Snape said. "Only that they were taller. That robe's tailored for a bigger person."

"That doesn't narrow it down," Remus sighed, watching the Ravenclaw as she was led away. "We've no idea who it was?"

"None at all."

***

"I think I know who it was," Harry said, setting his books down on the library study table. Draco, busily copying notes from Padma, didn't look up.

"Well, let's cream 'em," he suggested, as Padma and Neville closed their books and looked at Harry, who slumped down into the library chair. It was Saturday, but not yet warm enough to spend much time outside; most of the students had taken to the library, where they could gossip and amuse themselves as long as they maintained at least the illusion of trying to be quiet.

"I think it was Gryffindors," Harry continued, leaning in close so that they wouldn't be overheard. He felt slightly sick and headachey; the Slytherins had been celebrating their victory and the fact that they were now going to the Cup against Gryffindor. They'd been up until nearly one in the morning, at which point a lookout had signaled that Snape was coming and everyone scattered before the wrath of their Head of House could descend, Harry grateful for the reprieve and the comfort of his bed.

"Ravenclaw and Gryffindor?" Draco asked. "The Houses don't normally work together like that. Well, cept for us, of course," he added conscientiously.

Harry tapped his quill thoughtfully on the table, his eyes darting away. His friends followed his gaze to where Fred and George Weasley were pretending to study together, heads bent over some new project of theirs.

"Not the twins," Neville said. "I mean, do you really think?"

"Who else is going to pull something like that, especially when they've got it in for me after Remus scared the hell out of them?" Harry asked. "Snape said they were tall, and they're just the kind who could get someone from another House to join in."

"Then we've got to get them," Padma said. All three boys looked at her. "What? I can't be angry they played a dumb trick and made my House look bad?"

"You aren't normally, that's all," Neville said.

"Well, then this time is an exception. What do we do to them?"

"Nothing," Harry pronounced. Draco frowned. "We're going to leave them alone."

"But they're vicious, careless boys," Padma said.

"So are we sometimes. No -- I want to let them off before this gets any worse. Remus is always going to come down on my side if we get into a prank war, which isn't fair, and anyway they've got OWLs coming up."

"Are you sure you're a Slytherin?" Draco asked. "'Cause what you're saying sounds awfully like something one of my Housemates would say."

"I've thought about it," Harry said. "That's the thing. I kind of think it's good that it was them and a Ravenclaw."

"He's lost it," Neville told Padma. "Studying's gone to his head, it's making him go all funny."

"I haven't," Harry protested. "I don't think what they did was very good, but I flattened them then and...I don't want to punish them for this. Not for working together with Lisa Turpin."

"Working together to be mean," Draco said. "Don't forget, I was up there too. All of us saw the Dementors and flipped out."

"Yeah, but at the same time -- well, we've always been stronger because we come from different Houses, right?" Harry asked. The others nodded hesitantly, not wanting to give Harry too much leverage in this fight. "We always know what the other Houses think because we're friends, and that's more important than Houses. Now other kids are learning that it's easier to pull something off if they work with the people who are the most helpful, not necessarily their friends in their own House."

"Stronger for what?" Padma asked.

"Well, Hogwarts is a target for trouble, it's been attacked twice in the last two years, more or less. If something really big ever comes down at the school, we'll be more ready for it. We'll be more unified, as a school," Harry said.

"Nothing like that could happen here," Neville said. "Dumbledore'd protect us."

"Well, either way, I'm putting bans on us going after Fred and George, and I'm going to make sure the Slytherins don't lynch Lisa. How mad are the Hufflepuffs?" he asked Draco, who shrugged.

"It was a well-played game," he replied.

"You Hufflepuffs," Harry grinned, shoving Draco affectionately. "If the world ended you'd all shrug and say that it was a very pretty armageddon."

***

Remus had no hallway-patrol duties that weekend, and he needed to rest at any rate; the full moon was fast approaching, and he seemed to have caught temporary arthritis from this one. Sirius was more than happy to have him come down to Hogsmeade and be fussed over. For once Remus allowed it, sitting in a chair by the window and marking papers with worrying slowness. Sirius, cheerfully quiet and idle, wanted nothing better than to sit nearby in the window-seat and shred the Daily Prophet's Saturday edition, working his way slowly from front page to back, flinging pages aside when he was done with them.

"The Sports section's gone all to shit," he remarked, tossing aside the offending page. "Skeeter's got a shill to do a paragraph about the game, and the rest is all gossip-column about the Firebolt and Harry. And us," he added, annoyed. Remus noticed he was trying to hide just how annoyed he was. Poor Sirius; such a fireball of feelings, to be the -- what, lover? boyfriend? He supposed they qualified under commonlaw for husbands by now -- the partner of a man who did not deal well with high-running emotions.

He leaned over, hearing his spine crack and protest, and picked up the offending page.

"I'm going to write a letter to the Prophet," Sirius continued, as Remus scanned the article.

"Best not," he murmured. "I'm sure plenty others will, and we can ill-afford the publicity."

"Yes, well. Your idea of not sitting together didn't even work." Sirius leaned over and stabbed the paper with his finger. "Proud Godfather Sirius Black was much in evidence, though not seated as usual with Professor Remus Lupin, well-known close friend of the famous bachelor. Dare we surmise the friendship has its rocky moments? Professor Lupin, seated with Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, certainly seemed pained by the lack of his friend, cheering half-heartedly and often seen to grimace."

"I was in pain," Remus said. "That bench is horrible."

"Didn't miss me?" Sirius asked.

"Of course I missed you, but I happened to know that in five or six hours you'd be cheerfully rubbing anti-inflammation salves into my shoulders," Remus said.

"Very erotic, those."

"You seemed to think so!"

"Aww." Sirius kissed him. "Upset that I find you irresistable?"

"No," Remus murmured, setting the paper aside. Sirius slid off the window-seat and helped Remus stand creakily, wrapping his arms around his waist. They stared out at the valley together, Remus tracing his fingers along the knuckles of the man holding him.

"You're not going to distract me from being angry about that article," Sirius said in his ear. "I'll start a campaign or something."

Remus sighed, half-bliss, half-perplexity.

"Sirius," he said. "I know you find plenty of occupation in Hogsmeade, but have you ever thought about having a regular job again?"

"Like what?" Sirius asked, nuzzling under one ear.

"I don't know, something to focus your energy on so you're not always fretting about Rita Skeeter. Or Harry," he added. "There are a few empty storefronts in Hogsmeade, you could open a shop again. Another bookshop, even, like Sandu -- "

"No." The word was sharp and sudden, and Remus could feel his body tense.

"It's only a suggestion. You like books."

"I'm not opening another bookshop," Sirius said. There was an edge to his voice that Remus rarely heard.

"It was just an idea."

"I don't want to hear about that again."

Remus pulled away and turned, studying Sirius' face. It had closed off completely, eyes shuttered against scrutiny, mouth set in a thin, hard line.

"It doesn't have to be Sandust," he said gently. "We could put fireproofing charms -- "

"We're not discussing it," Sirius said. Remus raised a hand to cup his cheek affectionately.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't know it would upset you."

"I'm not upset."

"Sirius, you're practically vibrating with anger."

Sirius ducked his head and turned it away, looking out the window. He glanced back at Remus, looked off in the distance again. His hands were balled into fists, and Remus watched in amazement as the normally cheerful, relaxed Sirius Black forcibly calmed himself.

"I'm going out," Sirius said, turning away and lifting his cloak off the hook.

"Sirius -- "

"Moony, no." Sirius didn't look at him, which was possibly the worst sign of all. "I'll be back for dinner. You have marking to do."

Remus watched as he swirled the cloak around his shoulders and slammed the door. All was silence for a few minutes.

"Well, fuck," he said, and sat down again. He did have marking to do, and notes to prepare for when Kingsley would take over for him in a few days; he owed Anne and Ellis letters, and Dora had written to him to ask if he would look up a particularly complex charm for her.

Instead, he sat and stared out the window, quill tapping idly on parchment, watching the front walk. Sirius would probably just stop and have a drink at the pub, which in itself was not comforting, but Remus didn't know what else to do. There was an unwritten law between them that they didn't discuss Sandust. He'd broken it without meaning to, but five years should be enough to mourn the death of something that hadn't even been alive to begin with.

"If we hadn't had Sandust we wouldn't have Harry," he said quietly, to the empty room.

Chapter 26

When Sirius didn't return by sunset, Remus gave up trying to work for the day and went into the kitchen, rummaging in the pantry and cold-cupboard for something to eat. Nothing looked particularly appetising, and he considered floo'ing the Three Broomsticks and asking after Sirius just to soothe his nerves so that he could settle down and eat something.

He had just about resolved to do it when he heard Sirius outside, knocking the mud off his boots on the small cast-iron guards by the door. He waited in the kitchen, listening to the door open and close and Sirius' keys clatter on the foyer table.

"Moony?" Sirius called.

"Kitchen!" Remus replied. "Just trying to sort out dinner."

"Don't bother," Sirius said gruffly, appearing in the doorway. He had a large, grease-stained paper bag in one hand. "Brought some with me. Got that curry you like from the place near Zonko's."

"That was nice," Remus said warily, accepting the bag and unpacking it. Awkward silence was so much worse when there hadn't been any in years, he reflected. Sirius shoved his hands in his pockets and watched as he unpacked the various containers and began piling food on two plates.

"I don't want to talk about it," Sirius said, startling him. He paused in the act of licking some curry sauce from his thumb.

"I surmised," he answered blandly.

"But I want you to know that I don't want to talk about it. So that we're not snapping at each other all night."

"I didn't snap," Remus retorted, stung.

"I suppose I'm the only one being irrational, then?"

"Sirius -- "

"Don't say it that way. You're the one who insisted on talking about Sandust."

Remus rested both hands on the kitchen counter, bowing his head patiently. After a minute, he picked up one plate and offered it to Sirius.

"I wasn't trying to make you talk about Sandust," he said, carrying his own plate to the table. "But now I sort of think you should, if this is the way you react to me mentioning the name."

"No."

"Yes, you've made that clear." He sat and began picking at the food with a fork. "Thank you for dinner."

"You're welcome." Sirius stabbed his kebab with a fork, yanking the meat off the skewer. Awkward silence unrolled again.

"I still think it might be a good idea, finding something to do," Remus ventured hesitantly. "Like when you give tours in the summer in Betwys Beddau."

"Maybe," Sirius grunted, the implication clear: not bloody likely.

"Anyway," Remus said, "We've only got about another month and a half before exams. Be nice to be back in Betwys Beddau."

"Sure," Sirius said. Remus sighed inwardly, looking forward to a long, uncomfortable evening.

After dinner, Sirius apparently decided that Padfoot was the best silent treatment he could give. Remus spent the evening trying to read while Padfoot snoozed on the sofa and did some arcane inspection of the house, snuffling along the baseboards and inspecting each stair as he climbed it. Finally, Remus set his book down.

"All right," he said. "I'm going to bed. Are you coming?"

Padfoot yelped once and followed him up the stairs to the bedroom, arranging himself on the blankets once Remus had settled in. He glared a little balefully as Remus rolled over, unsettling him from his position at the foot of the bed, but he didn't try to make any noise or hog the blankets, which Remus supposed was something.

***

Remus awoke to the sensation of Sirius kissing him -- not Padfoot's doggy kisses, which were sort of disgusting and anyway rarely bestowed, but Sirius' lips on his throat and shoulder, Sirius nuzzling his skin.

"Whass wrong?" he asked sleepily, trying to get his eyes open.

"Nothing," Sirius muttered. "Want to talk to you."

"Mmh? What time is it?"

"About three."

Remus groaned. "You're lucky it's a Sunday, or I'd smack you on the nose and go back to sleep."

Sirius nipped his throat. More fully awake now, he could feel an arm draped over his chest, hand curled to stroke his other shoulder lightly.

"Make-up sex?" Sirius asked hopefully. Remus wriggled closer, brushing his lips over Sirius' forehead.

"Are we skipping the part where we say sorry?" he asked.

"No," Sirius said, resting his head on Remus' shoulder. "I just need to tell you some stuff."

"Well, I'm all attention. Have you come to your senses?"

Sirius growled. "I was in my senses before!"

"Okay, okay. Don't stop that," Remus said, and Sirius kissed his jawline.

"Everyone says," he said, working his way up to Remus' ear and biting his earlobe gently, "that you shouldn't go to bed angry. So, first apology. I'm sorry I went to bed angry."

"Accepted," Remus replied. "Me too."

Sirius slid his hand down from shoulder to stomach, fingers warm and sure. Remus felt he shouldn't enjoy it as much as he did; felt it was somehow a remnant of a more canine personality, enjoying having his belly rubbed. Sirius knew it, which was why he was using it, of course. Sirius knew how to get right through every defence Remus had, which was a little disconcerting sometimes.

But it felt so good he also didn't care.

"And I'm sorry I snapped at you," Sirius continued.

"Also accepted," Remus mumbled, arching his back a little. Sirius kissed his temple, cheeks, the corner of his mouth. "Don't stop doing that."

"Won't," Sirius assured him, hooking a thumb in his pyjamas and pulling them down. "You know how much I loved the bookshop."

"Yes..."

"And it's only..." Sirius paused to press his face to Remus' throat again. "If I didn't have the bookshop I wouldn't have you or Harry."

"Yes!" Remus said, feeling oddly triumphant and forgetting for a moment that Sirius' fingers were sliding along the ridge of one hip-bone. He pushed himself up on his elbows, dislodging Sirius slightly, and looked down at him. "That is exactly what I said this afternoon after you left! Only I forgot the part about me."

Sirius looked up at him reproachfully. "I'm trying to make out with you," he said.

"Sorry." Remus settled down again, turning to face him. He kissed him on the mouth, something Sirius had still been inching towards. "Can I ask...?"

"Mm," Sirius replied, which Remus took as permission.

"Were you afraid if you opened another shop, it'd burn down too?"

Sirius raised his head and looked at him for a long time, an almost curious look. Remus reached out with one hand and stroked his disordered hair, cupping his cheek.

"No," Sirius said. "That...no. Don't you see?"

"See what, love?" Remus asked. "I saw a man mourning for something he'd lost. Isn't that what it was?"

"Those seven years at Sandust...I loved it so much. It was...quiet, and you were there for a lot of it, and..." Sirius made a vague gesture. "But it was all a lie."

Remus tensed. Sirius put a calming hand back on his chest, rubbing slowly.

"That rat was living in our rafters, listening to us. And that's like...a metaphor, almost. All I did at Sandust was lie to myself," Sirius whispered, and there was real fear and pain on his face, something he didn't often reveal. Remus covered his hand with one of his own.

"You did what you thought was right, to protect Harry," he said.

"Did I? The whole time -- some of the lies were so old and ingrained." Sirius pulled his hand away and Remus could almost feel the tension crackling between them now. If he stepped wrong, this might go very, very badly; but he wasn't sure what Sirius was saying. He took his time, though he wasn't sure the end result was worth the consideration he was giving it.

"Tell me," he said.

Sirius bit his lip, looking like he might weep, which was even more upsetting than being snapped at. Remus rolled and gathered him in his arms, holding his head against his shoulder.

"I thought I was protecting Harry," Sirius said, voice low and uncertain. "But that wasn't so, was it? I let them treat him terribly, like some kind of animal -- for years."

"You didn't know. We didn't know."

"We knew it was wrong. We had eyes to see with, see him wearing hand-me-downs and being shouted at by the Dursley boy."

"That's my guilt too, though. And we fixed it, Sirius. Harry's a beautiful child. He loves us and he has friends, he's as close to normal as anyone could be in his situation."

Sirius was still tense, still holding himself together through sheer physical muscle. "That's not all."

"Tell me," Remus repeated, feeling Sirius' arms creep around his waist, holding him there in case he let go. Poor Sirius; still insecure. Remus couldn't have let go for his own life.

"I lied to myself about you, too," Sirius mumbled. "I lied about what you were going through those first few years -- "

"We've had done with that. That's not something to forgive, Sirius. You helped me when I didn't even want help." Remus kissed the crown of his head. If Sirius still cared that he'd nearly starved before coming to Sandust, then he'd carried that burden of guilt years after Remus had all but forgotten it.

"I lied about what I felt for you," Sirius said, and there was the crux of it; his voice broke. "I lied about who I was. I left you alone because if you'd been there the lie wouldn't have stood, and then when you came to Sandust I had to face that. All the women, I...suppose I lied to them too. I thought that was what men did, young men, I thought...they would give me some kind of answer if I kept at it long enough."

"Sirius, I don't understand," Remus whispered.

"All the time I kept Sandust, up until nearly the end, I thought I was Sirius Black, this -- I don't know, some kind of Famous Bachelor like they say in the papers, and my best friend on earth just happened to like men. And the whole time I thought...I just liked to talk to good-looking men, that's natural, and the whole time I fancied you rotten too and I didn't even notice, right up to the end almost. Even then until Sandust burned it was all this enormous lie. And once that was done I was free of it."

Remus swallowed tightly. Sirius' body had relaxed, now that the truth was out, and in some ways that was even more dangerous. Anything he said could wound him, slice him open and gut him. The tiniest sharp edge could wreck him and even silence could be sharp.

"You were lying about being gay," he said gently. "You thought you were just taking care of me."

Sirius nodded and kissed his skin again.

"And Sandust was that lie," Remus concluded.

"I'm so sorry, Moony."

Remus smiled and tugged his hair a little. "Sirius, I am much more annoyed that you woke me up at three am to say this than I am that you tormented yourself for a decade because if you touched another man's body you might enjoy it too much."

Sirius lay still for a moment, Remus sliding his fingers through his hair.

"You can go back to sleep if you want," Sirius said. Remus tugged his hair, lifting his head until their faces were level, waiting until Sirius met his eyes before continuing.

"I am also more annoyed that you are completely missing the point," he said, tugging gently again for emphasis. "I don't care if you don't open another shop, Sirius. I don't care if you never work again. Why should you, except to be happy? But it wouldn't be like last time. You would lock up your shop and say goodnight to your neighbours and come home, and instead of an empty house I'd be here. Reading or cooking or making the bed we sleep in together. This time I'd be here when you came home." He paused and licked his lips. "And now that you've had your big emotional coming-out, five years after you started sleeping with me, can we go back to the sex? Because this is terrible, terrible foreplay."

Sirius put his head down on Remus' chest and laughed, shoulders shaking, breath warm against his skin. Remus waited while he laughed, full and deep, until finally he slowed and stopped.

"Moony," he said.

"Yes, Padfoot."

"I want to kiss you."

"Well, I'm not exactly stopping you."

Sirius propped himself over his lover and kissed his lips, affectionately, while Remus smiled.

"And I want to touch you," he whispered.

"Oh yes?" Remus raised his eyebrows.

"Mm. I want to touch you until you moan."

"Shouldn't take much," Remus said, the last syllable disappearing into another kiss.

"I want to make you want me," Sirius continued, hands drifting down his body, to his thighs and stomach and cock. Remus tilted his head back, eyes flickering closed, and Sirius took the opportunity to kiss his neck. "I want to touch you everywhere."

"Sirius," Remus moaned, as Sirius' fingers stroked him slowly.

"Would you like that, Moony?" Sirius asked in his ear.

"Yes," Remus hissed.

"Me too. I'd like to lick you, taste you. I want you to be desperate for me."

"Too late," Remus laughed, moaning again as Sirius' hand tightened slightly. Sirius needed this, he knew; not just the catharsis of sex, that was something they'd both needed in the past, but some kind of -- assertion. That what he offered was acceptable, desireable; that Remus wanted him. Because if both of them wanted it, then it was okay, whatever the rest of the world might say. Whatever poor, repressed Sirius had thought years ago when he wondered why the women he fucked never made him happy.

All those women, he thought, as Sirius kissed his way down his chest and stomach. All that sex never made him half so happy as he was with me.

The power was almost more erotic than the feeling of Sirius' mouth on his cock -- the knowledge that he had the ability to make Sirius pleased or miserable just by his presence. He couldn't ever misuse it, or it might be lost, because Sirius always walked a razor-thin tightrope, but then who wanted to misuse it? All he wanted was for his -- boyfriend, his lover -- to be happy.

Then all the philosophy in the world disappeared, because Sirius took his splendid, splendid mouth away and slid back up his body and whispered in his ear, "I want you to fuck me."

Remus laughed again and kissed him. "If I knew you were this good at dirty talk, my own, I would have made you do it years ago."

"Slow," Sirius continued, their bodies pressed together, his hips moving with agonizing deliberation. "I want you inside me. Please, Moony," he begged, which made Remus' head spin.

Remus smiled into his shoulder and let Sirius roll over. He pulled him close, chest to Sirius' shoulders, hips moving slightly.

"What was it you wanted again?" he asked, sliding a hand down his stomach.

"Moony -- "

"Shh. Trust me, I know what I'm doing," he grinned, relief and love flooding through him. They knew almost every charm there possibly was for this kind of thing, which made all that Muggle fumbling with lubricant and fingers seem graceless and clumsy. He whispered a few latin words in Sirius' ear and felt him buck as the charm worked, heard him whine desperately. And, when he pressed inside him, heard him moan even more desperately.

He didn't want to move slowly; he wanted to crawl inside Sirius' skin until they were one person. He wanted to hear Sirius moan and say his name and feel the flickering, trembling tension in his body as he came, a delicious tension that would blank out the afternoon, the horrible afternoon and silent dinner and angry look in Padfoot's eyes. It took all his restraint to give Sirius what he wanted -- the leisurely push of his hips, the loose way his hand stroked Sirius' cock, slow kisses on his neck and shoulders. Even so, when Sirius gasped and his breath began to come shallow and fast, he couldn't help himself; Sirius should know that the desperate fast thrusts were as much a sign as the restraint he had (rather admirably) shown up to this point.

"Love you, Sirius," he said, moaning, trying to apologise for losing control. "Love you -- I love you -- "

He shuddered and felt Sirius stiffen, and there it was -- the drawn-out keen from Sirius that took all thought from both their minds.

Remus gasped for breath as Sirius relaxed, pulling away slightly, rolling onto his back.

"Feel better?" he asked Sirius, collapsing against his shoulder. Sirius mumbled a cleaning charm, which tickled slightly.

"Yes," he answered. "Now you really can go back to sleep if you want."

Remus chuckled. "Not as good at pillow talk, alas."

"Everyone has their skills," Sirius said, making a dignified face.

"That is so." Remus closed his eyes and nosed against Sirius' shoulder, throwing one arm across his waist. They were silent for a few minutes, until Sirius drew in a breath again. Remus tried not to tense.

"This whole sodomy thing," Sirius mumbled. "I think it could really catch on."

Remus snickered, relaxing. "Well, I was a fan way before it was hip."

"Remus!"

"S'true," Remus yawned. Sirius kissed him before closing his eyes.

"There are some empty shops in Hogsmeade," he said idly. "I'd have to wait till next year, though. No point trying to get a shop open in two months before we leave for the River House."

"Don't do it for me," Remus said, already half asleep. "I just want you to be happy."

Sirius stroked his hair. "All right. I'll think about it first."

"Good boy," Remus said, and slipped back down into sleep.

***

Remus reflected over the next few days that something in Sirius had changed; it wasn't as if the sex was ever bad, or ever infrequent, but it felt almost as though Sirius was in some odd honeymoon period. He touched him constantly when they were alone together and Padfoot was at Hogwarts much more often, sleeping under Harry's desk during classes and sitting at Remus' feet at meals. He knew it would probably wear off, but he enjoyed it while it lasted, especially after the April full moon. Despite the wolfsbane potion, he was still weak and tired, and the warm body curled around him at all hours was not unwelcome.

It was as if Sirius had been keeping back one last reserve, some leftover fragment from when they were only friends, and that had disappeared.

After the moon, when he finally moved back to his own rooms at Hogwarts to recuperate a little, he had visitors; Snape, as always, asking brusque questions about his physical condition and insisting on examining his throat and glands. Hard on his heels came Kingsley Shacklebolt, wanting to inform him of his students' behaviour and discuss their treatment of a Real Live Auror teaching them Defence while their professor was sick.

"I didn't expect them to ask so many questions," Kingsley admitted frankly, sitting on a chair next to the bed. Remus grinned at him from his bed, propped on pillows provided and rearranged solicitously by Sirius that morning.

"You don't see many children in your line of work, do you?" he asked. "They're always inquisitive. And you're a bona-fide superhero to them."

"Not all of them," Kingsley said. "Some of the older ones were suspicious. Some of them have parents with some pretty Dark skeletons in their closet, you know. Possibly literal skeletons, if you believe the stories that go round at headquarters. Slytherin, mostly."

"Not all of them, surely," Remus protested. Kingsley smiled.

"Are you asking if Potter was stroppy?" he asked. "I hear what he did to Umbridge, though even from her side of the story it sounds like she deserved what she got."

"Well..."

"I know you're friends with his godfather," Kingsley assured him. "Potter was all right; he even came up to me after class and asked a few...oddly insightful questions. Mostly about Dementors and the Patronus."

"Makes sense, what with all the Dementors around the school," Remus said blithely.

"Yes; I told him a Patronus was advanced magic he wouldn't see till his seventh year, though," Kingsley said.

"Not quite true," Remus replied, exhaustion from the moon loosening his tongue. "I've been teaching him on the sly."

"Have you? I heard he pulled something during the Quidditch game, but I was supervising forest patrols. I'd be shocked if he could create a full-fledged one. He asked me if I could."

"Not yet, but he's working on it. Did you tell him?"

"I said I could, but I didn't have time to show him. D'you know, young Malfoy came up to me too. He seemed pretty interested in what it takes to become an Auror."

Remus smiled. "Draco's a good lad, but I don't think he has the push for it. I could be wrong, but he's so timid, so much of the time. He and Harry get up to mischief together, but he never acts on his own."

"That was the sense I got," Kingsley agreed. "At any rate, they're a good lot, your students, and now I can put it about at the Ministry that when I taught class there wasn't a single problem. That'll get up Umbridge's nose."

"Thanks, Kingsley," Remus said. "I appreciate it."

"One more thing, then I'll let you bide...has Ted spoken to you recently?" Kingsley asked, looking as if he were fishing for something.

"He had a word with Sirius," Remus said guardedly. "Sirius had a word with me. Do you credit any of it?"

"From Ted, I do. Not sure if his gossip is good, but I trust his judgement. Do you think...I have some clout with the youngsters in the Ministry. Do you think it's time we talked to Dumbledore about rebuilding the Order of the Phoenix?"

Remus shook his head. "Not yet. An overreaction now would make us look like fools later, and it's still just stories. I'm sure Dumbledore's keeping a steady hand on things."

"He's getting old, Lupin."

"He's still Dumbledore."

Kingsley nodded. "Well, I'm not giving up my allegiance. But I will talk to one or two promising people. Just in case."

"Thanks, Kingsley." Remus took the parchment scroll of notes that Kingsley passed him. "Stay in touch."

"Practically the Auror motto," Kingsley said, and walked to the fireplace. "Ministry for Magic!" he called, stepping inside.

Remus considered Kingsley's words, toying with the scroll without actually untying the twine that held it shut. He'd heard the rumours about Pettigrew and Malfoy poking around Eastern Europe, but Voldemort was dead. Even if Dumbledore didn't believe it, Remus had to; he'd lost too much to the Death Eaters to believe otherwise, and Voldemort was powerful, even more powerful than Peter. Peter was still, in part, the sly, not-too-clever hanger-on of his school friends, and Lucius Malfoy was a raving madman. Madmen and schoolboys he could handle. Voldemort...

He prayed that Voldemort could not be resurrected. If he were, Remus would seriously consider the suggestion of taking Harry and bolting for safety, because he had lost Harry's parents to Voldemort and he was not about to lose Harry and Sirius as well.

***

I regret to say that at this point I stopped writing Laocoon's Children, and wasn't able to start again. Book three remains unfinished. Because I didn't want to leave it hanging forever, I did do a summary of the end of book three, and provided my notes for the rest of the books in the series.

Part 4: Unfinished Tales and The Rest

Preface

I've been meaning to go back to Laocoon's Children for a long time. I've talked about my hesitation and the reasons for it and I decided finally, in the end, it's too much. There's too much to write, and I want to focus on my own original writing now. But I've felt guilty leaving it unfinished, so I wanted to post my notes.

Turns out I had a lot more notes than I expected. I even had scenes to share. I ended up having to separate it into two posts; there's a link at the bottom of this one to the second half.I spent most of today collating them and assembling them, and I may do Legion of Ghosts this weekend. Needless to say there are spoilers for the Harry Potter books in both sections.

This is a summary of what I had been planning to write, to finish this project. Some of it is a bit vague, and some of it has been adjusted to take in the last two books, which were published after this plotting was finished. I hope you enjoy it; I present it both with pride for what it is, and with my apologies that it isn't all it could be.

Unfinished Tales

Tales from the River House

Tyrannosaurus Was A Beast

Harry's tenth birthday yields a particular surprise; a rare trip outside of Llangynog district, to the Natural History Museum in London. There is, of course, a secret door that leads to the Wizarding wing, which has MOVING dinosaur skeletons and lots of snakes for Harry. The gist of this story was that Remus had invited Snape to come see Harry, so Snape slunk around the exhibits watching Harry have a good time, and was satisfied that the boy was being properly raised.

The Lost Owl

Lucius Malfoy beat Sirius to finding Peter after the deaths of the Potters because Remus, who was meant to leave for Rome the previous day, sent Sirius on a wrong turning. Remus didn't leave because his ticket-money was late; his ticket-money was late because the post owl went astray; and the post owl went astray because it was knocked off course by a mysterious broomstick-riding figure. That's really all there is to this one -- it's just a vivid description of the reason that the two stories, canon and Laocoon's Children, branched. I'll come back to this one in the summary of book seven.

Unfinished Tales

Laocoon's Children: The Rest

Laocoon's Children (The Rest)

Year Three: The Fugitive from Azakaban

With no plans to retaliate against the Twins for their prank during the Quidditch game, May stretched out before Harry as an unending month of study and work, swotting for exams in June and practicing Quidditch for the Cup against Gryffindor. Padma was too busy studying to help them plot pranks of any kind, and Neville swung wildly between studying madly and worrying incessantly. Harry dreaded to think what a wreck Neville might become when they had OWLs and not just regular Hogwarts exams.

He spent a lot of time with Draco, out on the Quidditch pitch, generally when neither of their captains could catch them though Madam Hooch insisted on being present when any student was practicing. The Dementors liked to drift over and skulk in corners, though they didn't like her whistle and would generally disperse if she blew it.

Draco needed help learning to react to the precision flight of the Firebolt, and Harry just plain loved to fly on it. Draco had already said he could borrow it for the Cup, so it was just as well he was learning too -- the Firebolt was meant for adults in professional play, and could be tricky about braking and sudden turns.

"Well, that bollockses the rest of the afternoon," Draco said, leaning on Harry's Nimbus and staring up at the clouds beginning to gather over Hogwarts. Harry, dismounting the Firebolt carefully, followed his gaze. "It's going to rain soon."

"We can practice in the rain, it'll be good," Harry said. "The Cup's two days away, what if it rains during the game?"

"Sod that, I'm not getting rained on for the sake of you winning the Cup," Draco answered with a grin. "Come on, Harry, let's go inside and get something to eat."

"Time to go in, boys," Madam Hooch called, forestalling any argument Harry could have made. She brought her broomstick down next to them and dismounted. "You've done good work, Potter, but Professor McGonagall thinks you're neglecting your studies. Mustn't ignore lessons for Quidditch; you might play for England in a few years' time but you'd better have an education when you get out of it."

"I study!" Harry protested.

"Good; now study more. Think how ashamed Professor Lupin will be if you don't pass your Defence exam," she said, giving them a gentle shove. Harry sulked a little as they hung up their broomsticks, until a thought crossed his mind.

"Do you suppose Madam Hooch knows about Remus and Sirius?" he asked Draco, stepping back outside. The promised rain had begun, just a drizzle for now but intensifying every minute.

"Maybe," Draco said. "Doubt it, though. Why would she know?"

"She's friends with McGonagall. McGonagall definitely knows. I don't think it's as big a secret as they think it is," Harry added. "I mean, people must be able to put two and two together."

"Why should they? That kind of thing doesn't happen a lot in the Wizarding World."

"Says who?" Harry demanded. "It's just not talked about, but I bet there's loads of men like my parents."

"Well, don't snarl at me about it, I couldn't care less. If people don't talk about it then they probably don't even know much about it, so they don't think about it. Anyway, the people who do add it up probably keep shut about it because they'd be accused of thinking about it too much."

"Now I'm thinking about it too much. You don't reckon the kitchen has cold butterbeer, do you? This rain's awfully humid," Harry complained.

"Bet the elves would go down to Hogsmeade and get us some," Draco said. "In fact...Dobby! Dobby, are you around?"

There was a soft pop, and Dobby appeared in front of them so suddenly that they had to stop walking. He was holding a dish in one hand and a towel in the other, obviously in the middle of doing the washing-up.

"Master Draco summons Dobby?" he squeaked excitedly.

"Well, not if you're busy," Draco said, eyeing the plate.

"Dobby is just doing the washing, but Master Sirius Black is not at home, and Dobby can wash it later," Dobby said. "What is Master Draco requiring?"

"We're going up to the library," Draco said. Harry glanced at him, frowning. They weren't supposed to have food in the library. "I need you to bring us something."

Dobby bowed, nearly dropping the plate.

"Please go down to Hogsmeade...here," Draco dug a Galleon out of his pocket. "And get us some butterbeer? And then very, very quietly bring it to me in the library? But put the plate back first."

"Butterbeer, quiet in the library," Dobby said determinedly. "And put the plate back first. Dobby will be doing it, Master Draco!"

"Thank you," Draco said, and Dobby disappeared again. The rain began to fall harder, and Draco pulled the back of his jumper over his head, protecting his face. "Come on Harry, we'd better run for it."

Behind them, the grass began to bend and ripple as the rain fell in earnest.

***

The day of the Cup match dawned clear, despite the heavy rain that had begun on Friday and poured throughout Saturday. Rosmerta took it as a good sign; lots of people would be in town for the match, and if it was clear but muddy they would want to stay in one place to drink. She put mud-brushes at the entrance to the Three Broomsticks, scrubbed the place until it shone, and listened on short-wave Floo broadcast as the game got underway. Rosmerta was not an enormous follower of the game, but its outcome generally affected her income, so she made a point to have the matches on when she was likely to get a crowd. People began to arrive during the game too, of course, but on a day like this most would either be at the match or (wisely) at home and under good cover.

"Reckon that Flint fellow be recruited?" one of her regulars asked, sipping his drink at the bar. On the floo broadcast, the game entered its second, determined, and score-tied hour.

"I don't see why," she replied. "From all I've heard, he's not terribly good, is he?"

"Nah," the man answered. "Made a good go of the team, though. Slytherin been well-night unbeatable this year, eh?"

Rosmerta shrugged just as Lee Jordan's voice, coming over the Wizarding Wireless, picked up in tempo and pitch. Both of them listened intently as the noise began to grow to include the shouts of the crowd in the stands. When the shouting deafened Jordan entirely, Rosmerta switched it off and smiled.

"Stick around," she said. "Sirius Black will be here soon, and you don't want to miss it."

People did begin to arrive a short time later, trickling in at first as the early-leavers arrived and then pouring in as the honoured guests, parents, and professors who had remained behind to congratulate their students realised that what they really wanted was a hot drink to stave off the damp and somewhere loud to re-live the game. A couple of seventh-year students crept in as well, having snuck off from school, and Rosmerta kindly ignored them as a sort of graduation-gift.

HOGWARTS HOGWARTS HOGGY WARTY HOGWARTS
SOMEONE HELP US PLEASE

The door burst open and a crowd of people pushed their way inside, shaking rain from their heads and stuffing umbrellas into the Quick-Dry Charmed Umbrella Stand near the entryway. Sirius Black was in the middle of the group, conducting a pair of seventh-years in a version of the school song that Rosmerta heard far more often than the hallowed halls of Hogwarts every would. Professor Lupin leaned on his shoulder, looking a little less exuberant than the rest, hand clenching Sirius' cloak tightly.

WE'VE BEEN HERE FOR SEVEN YEARS
IT'S TIME WE BUSTED FREE!

OUR HEADS HAVE HAD THEIR FILLING
WE'RE BORED OUT OF OUR SOCKS
AND NOW WE'D LIKE TO FILL OUR THROATS
WITH FIREWHISKEY SHOTS!

She began lining up glasses on the counter as they crowded around the bar, hooting and grinning. A few grim-looking Gryffindor parents in the back seemed as though they were trying to be good sports.

WE'D LIKE TO FIND SOME WOMEN
AND SHOW THEM WHAT WE KNOW
WE HAVE THE FINEST WANDS AROUND
AND THEY KNOW HOW TO -- OH!

HOGWARTS HOGWARTS HOGGY WARTY HOGWARTS
SOMEONE HELP US PLEASE!

The rest of the bar burst into applause. Sirius bowed deeply; Rosmerta saw Remus Lupin stagger as Sirius' arm suddenly threw him off balance.

"Drinking already, Professor?" she asked, over the noise.

"Bad example! Never. I've been ill," he replied. He certainly looked it; his cheeks were flushed with excitement but his skin was pale and his bright eyes were slightly sunken, as if he hadn't been sleeping quite right.

"That's right," Sirius said, turning back to the bar. "Rosmerta. Beautiful corrupter of my youth. Something hot and bracing for Lupin, and a round of firewhisky shots for any who want them. My Harry's won the Cup!"

"I heard," Rosmerta grinned. "I thought you might be by. I never thought I'd see the day you celebrated a Slytherin victory, Sirius Black."

"Tease me now, while I'm in a good mood," he said cheerfully. "And toast, will you?"

"I most certainly will," she said, pouring a small glass of firewhisky for herself and holding it up. Lupin picked up the hot toddy she'd made him and touched rims; Sirius tipped his shot glass against hers.

"To Harry Potter," he said. "The fastest, smartest, keenest boy to ever ride a broomstick!"

"Harry Potter," Rosmerta agreed, taking barely time for the shot before someone tried to get her attention at the other end of the bar.

Slytherin green was everywhere and the parents of Slytherins tended to be wealthy people who wanted interesting drinks; if Gryffindor had won she could have poured beer until dawn and everyone would have been happy, but by the time she'd set up the charms to mix drinks and colour the vodka green and distribute the rum only to those who could really and truly handle rum, Lupin's glass was dry.

"Another hot toddy for you, luv?" she asked.

"Easy on the firewhiskey," he said, nodding. "And nothing stronger than butterbeer for Sirius."

"Oi! We've won the Cup. It's practically traditional to get roaring drunk and mortify myself in public," Sirius replied.

"When you're seventeen, perhaps. Can we settle for only a little drunk and skip the public mortification?" Lupin asked. He coughed, and Sirius looked guilty, though Rosmerta couldn't see why Sirius Black should feel guilty that Professor Lupin was ill.

"Well, I suppose the rest of 'em can do the drinking for me. Sure you're all right, mate?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Lupin said, as Rosmerta pretended to busy herself with the hot water for the toddy. His voice dropped lower and she could only make out a few words; see the Cup from Lupin, and something about two days before from Black. Still, Lupin did seem to perk up a little as he sipped his drink, and Black took advantage of the packed pub to lead another scurrilous anthem.

Oh, there was a maid who loved young Will,
A farmer in Hogsmeade town,
But she was a student on the hill,
And ne'er was allowed to go down, go down,
Sing whack-fol-a-riddle-alla-tay!

So she took the kit of a local boy,
And a fair young lad made she,
But her hair she could not hide away,
For a hat she was in need, in need,
Sing whack-fol-a-riddle-alla-tay!

"I'm quite fond of this one," Lupin said to Rosmerta, as Sirius bellowed the nonsense words. "It's not very clever or original, but it's one of the few where nobody dies of love or gets stabbed in a duel."

Rosmerta, who had been noticing that Sirius Black's hand was in the small of his best friend's back and creeping downward, glanced up at him.

"What do you suppose whack-fol-a-riddle-alla-tay means?" she asked.

"Couldn't tell you. Probably they meant to go back in and put in real words later."

She took up a hat laying on a shelf,
And placed it upon her head,
Did she know not it was a Sorting Hat,
She did not know, she did, she did,
Sing whack-fol-a-riddle-alla-tay!

And her young Will saw her on the road,
A fair boy he thought was she,
So out he called, will ye rest, young boy,
Under the tall oak tree, with me,
Sing whack-fol-a-riddle-alla-tay!

Young Will took hold of the fair boy's sleeve,
And kissed him on the cheek,
And the Sorting Hat cried IT'S YOUR TRUE LOVE!
And Will shouted, OH BUGGER ME! BUGGER ME!
SING WHACK-FOL-A-RIDDLE-ALLA-TAY!

Rosmerta saw Lupin laugh and toast to the singers with the last of his toddy, but it looked suspiciously as though Sirius Black was the only person in the entire room that he personally gave tuppence about. Before she could ruminate on what precisely this might mean, a flashbulb popped and Sirius turned suddenly.

"You!" he said, pointing with an empty shot glass at the photographer in the doorway. A woman was standing just behind him, quill and parchment in her hand. "Sod on off out of here before I break that!"

"Ah, you can't keep the press out," the woman behind the photographer called.

"Watch me!" Sirius retorted, and with a flick of his wand the door closed on the camera and, once the horrified photographer had pulled it out of the repeatedly-slamming door, latched itself. The rest of the room broke into applause.

"One more round on me," Sirius said, even as he took his cloak off the hook by the door.

"Leaving already?" someone called.

"I'll let you lot carry on till dawn," Sirius said with a laugh. "Come on, Lupin, let's get you home, and then I'm off to see if the Cannons have recruited Harry yet. Besides, that Skeeter's bound to skulk round the back. Tell her for me," he said, and the room fell silent, "Tell her for me that if she can write one coherent word about Quidditch on her own, I'll pay her thirty Galleons."

Rosmerta smiled fondly on the pair of friends as they left. She had watched many students grow up and go off into the world and come back to celebrate their childrens' triumphs in her pub, but it had to be said that there was nobody quite like Sirius Black.

***

"How're you feeling?" Sirius asked, as he and Remus walked slowly down the rutted road towards the house overlooking Creadonagh Valley.

"A bit tired, but not too bad," Remus replied. "I'm grateful I shan't have to teach on Monday. Ollivander's coming up on Sunday to get my notes, by the by. I've told him I'll meet him at Hogwarts."

"You couldn't have him come down to the house?"

"I think we've been indiscreet enough lately, don't you?" Remus asked gently. "We'll have all of Saturday together, and I won't be gone long on Sunday. And you can look after me and stuff me with food all day on Monday." He shivered a little as the wind blew against them, and Sirius threw his arm around his shoulder.

"Did you see Harry looking for us after he won?" Sirius asked, trying to keep Remus' spirits high. "Did you see him wave the cup at you?"

"I'm fairly sure he was waving it at you," Remus replied.

"Us, then."

"Us," Remus agreed, stopping at the crest of the gentle slope that led down to the house. He shaded his eyes against the orange glow which was all that remained of the sunset. Sirius ran his fingers up the back of his neck, threading them through his hair. Remus closed his eyes and smiled.

"Reckon we'll have to begin closing it up soon," Sirius said. Remus opened his eyes, glancing at him. "Bound for Betwys Beddau in a few weeks. Strange life, eh?"

"Wouldn't trade it," Remus said, thinking of the dreams he'd had, dreams in which he was always cold, and Sirius was never there. He leaned forward impulsively and kissed Sirius -- a kiss that drew on until Sirius gently stepped back, stroking his cheek.

"Me either. Come on, I'll -- did you see that?" Sirius asked suddenly. Remus glanced at him.

"See what?"

"I thought I saw something in the hedge..." Sirius released him and put a steadying hand on his shoulder before crossing the road to investigate, wand at the ready.

"Probably just a bird or something," Remus called. "Leave it alone, scavenger."

"I'm sure it was bigger than that," Sirius replied.

"Well, then a deer, maybe. Sirius, come away from the undergrowth," Remus said, unsteadily joining him and tugging one shoulder. Sirius, peering into the blackness, shook his head.

"Lucius Malfoy's still out there," he said reproachfully.

"Yes, and if you go hurtling through the darkened forest after him you're liable to get yourself killed. Then I'd have to fill out all this paperwork, and pick you out a burial plot, all of which is an enormous waste of my very vaulable time," Remus said, as Sirius reluctantly moved away and began walking down the road once more.

"Don't bury me somewhere," Sirius said. Remus rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"That wasn't the conversation I wanted to have."

"I mean it, though. Don't Muggles donate their bodies to Science? I want to do that. I'll donate my body to Magic," Sirius said. "Besides, it'll be one up the nose of my family."

"Your family -- Sirius, your family is me and Harry and the Tonkses."

"Well, you know what I mean." Sirius kicked a rock, which thumped down the road and collided with their front door. "All the Blacks are buried in a giant crypt. Dad used to take us there sometimes."

"I remember you saying something about that at school. Isn't your mum there?" Remus asked. He did not have pleasant memories of Mrs. Black.

"Last one ever, far as I'm concerned. When I die, call up St. Mungo's and ask them if they have any use for a handsome daredevil animagus."

"You're so sure I'll outlive you?" Remus asked, unlocking the door.

"All right, what do you want done with your carcass when you die?"

"I don't want to think about it, thanks."

"You won't have to! You'll be all lazy and quiet in your casket and I'm going to have to think about it," Sirius replied, slipping out of his shoes and helping Remus out of his heavy cloak.

"Let's talk about something else," Remus said. "Weren't we discussing Betwys Beddau?"

"Yes, and I've had an idea," Sirius said, flopping down onto the sofa in the living room. "I'll make you a deal."

"Nothing good ever starts with the phrase I'll make you a deal."

"Hear me out! I'll buy a shop in Hogsmeade next year and open it up, but in return, you have to be a gentleman of leisure all summer long. No bookstore clerking, no tea-pouring, no gainful employment."

Remus sat in the large soft chair by the window, relaxing joint by joint, eyes closed. "I like to work. What would I do with all the spare time?"

"I can think of one or two things," Sirius answered, flopping down on the floor next to his legs. Remus' hand strayed down to stroke his hair. "Maybe more than two."

Remus could feel himself dozing off, slipping away from the house and Sirius into blissful darkness. His muscles wouldn't hurt when he was asleep; if he could, he'd sleep until the full moon was over and school was finished, and they were on the train to Betwys Beddau.

He woke in the dark, uncertain where he was at first, conscious that he'd dozed off in the chair -- or had he been in the Forest already when it happened? He was in the forest now...

He pushed himself up off the leafmould that carpeted the Forest floor, the sharp damp bark cutting into his palms, dirt clinging to the skin of his chest and hips. He drew his legs up under him, finding himself naked, vulnerable...weak. Subject to the cold, his body already shaking with fatigue, the sun in entirely the wrong place. Only a minute ago it had been going down over Creadonagh Valley...

And now it was rising in the east, cutting through the trees.

No, he hadn't fallen asleep in the chair, he had been...standing for the Change, and Harry had been there, and so had Sirius.

He moaned and pressed his hands to his face, rocking back and forth. It was one of those dreams, the dreams where he touched a man across some invisible divide, where he looked in on a cold and dark world where he was always scrabbling and struggling and starving. He wished desperately to wake up; he had no desire to share in the other man's misery. He wished he would go away, or die, or something. He wished he could die now.

No, the other him wished he could die...he had betrayed Sirius and Harry, and he had ruined everything. They'd had Peter right where they wanted him and Sirius was going to go free and he'd be allowed to take Harry away from the horrible people who were raising him, and then he, stupid, stupid Remus Lupin, had forgotten the potion and ruined it all.

He felt his body bend back to the earth, pressing his face against his arm, and hot tears poured down over his skin, helpless tears of wrath and frustration.

"Moony?"

He looked up, but it wasn't Sirius standing there; strangest of all strange things, it was Albus Dumbledore. And he was speaking in Sirius' voice.

"Moony," Albus Dumbledore said, in Sirius Black's voice. "You're a disaster, mate."

He opened his eyes, again, and looked up at Sirius, clean shaven, the hollows in his cheeks filled out, eyes bright, silky curly hair falling in his face. His Sirius.

"You've been napping. Come on, up to bed with you," Sirius said, and Remus banished the other poor bastard from his mind, allowing Sirius not only to support him up the stairs but to gropingly feel his bum on the way.

***

The Cup match had been played and it was difficult for the teams especially to remember that there was nearly another month of school still to go; Harry found himself restless, and knew that his teammates were as well. Even the normally quiet Draco strained at the restrictive leash a little, and the professors in general had trouble keeping control over their classes.

Defence Against the Dark Arts, however, was the most well-behaved class in the history of Hogwarts. The Monday after the full moon saw Ollivander substitute teaching -- the Ollivander, who not only already knew the names of everyone in the school but what wands they used and what the core was. He was strange and eerie and the children, even the big seventh-years, stood in complete awe of him. He taught faithfully from Professor Lupin's notes, drilling the students for their exams, but at the end of each class there would be fifteen or twenty minutes to spare, and he would lean back against the desk and give short, oddly mystical lectures about the properties of wands and their relationship to their makers and users.

"Many of you have heard me say," he said, while Harry passed a note to Neville about pick-up Quidditch that afternoon, "that the owner does not choose the wand, but the wand its owner. This is one of many things in your life for which no proof will be provided, and must be accepted on faith. That being said, and this being a class in which you are taught to defend yourselves in, amongst other things, duels,

***

And that's where chapter 27 ends. I don't remember where I was going with Ollivander's lesson but I am sure it would have been awesome. This chapter was going to cover final exams, as well, and end with Draco being kidnapped by Lucius (in the same way Ron was kidnapped by Sirius at the end of the real book).

In Chapter 28, Harry and company were going to follow Lucius' trail back to the Shrieking Shack. In the Shrieking Shack I'd planned for a quite terrifying visual of Lucius stroking Draco's head, being very paternal towards him, creepily paternal, as he waits for Harry to arrive. He wanted Draco back, of course, but Harry is his real target because Harry can be used to find the Dark Lord. Lucius explains also that he's an animagus, a white snake -- Peter, who is in-fucking-sane, came to him as a rat in Azkaban and taught him animagery, and that's how he escaped.

There's a fight, in which Draco is more or less useless because he's scared out of his mind, but Padma and Harry manage to escape when Padma grabs Harry and gives the time-turning a quick flick.

In Chapter 29, Padma and Harry face down the dementors on their way from the Shrieking Shack to Hogwarts, in an attempt to get help. They manage to make it only as far as Remus and Sirius's house. Remus and Sirus, of course, go charging into the fray and get their asses kicked, because Peter is incredibly strong. The problem is that Peter wants to slaughter Remus, Sirius, and the children, including Draco, because he only needs Harry. Peter and Lucius begin to infight, and the adults manage to get free and stage a second attack. Peter, reluctantly, flees; Lucius manages to escape as a snake, leaving Draco behind. It's also admitted at some point during this that Lucius is the one who gave Draco the Firebolt.

This is a scene from when they give chase, after Sirius has been wounded. They're in the forest and encounter some centaurs...

***

Remus stood slowly, holding up his hands. Several of the centaurs notched their arrows.

"We don't mean to trespass," he said slowly.

"You," the dark-haired one said. "You are on Centaur grounds."

"I know, and I'm sorry. Look," Remus held out his wrists. "You know the scent. We've been here before. You know we don't interfere with the Centaurs."

Harry held his breath. Remus swallowed and continued.

"We were chasing a trespasser," he said. "Peter Pettigrew."

Silence. In the quiet of the forest, Harry could hear the bowstrings tightening.

"The man who destroyed the Mirror of Ynitsed," he blurted, clutching Sirius' shirt tightly. A low murmur rippled through the herd.

"That's right," Remus agreed. "We were hunting him. If you find him he's yours, but there are children -- look," he said, gesturing at Harry. "My -- my foal. And three others. And my mate -- "

"Your mate?" the dark-haired one scoffed.

"Yes. He's hurt. Please. Do what you like with me, but give them safe passage. The children and my mate. Please," Remus said. Harry had never heard Remus beg before. "Please -- "

There was the twang of an arrow being loosed, but at the same time the thud of hooves on groundcover, and Harry heard a sickening thud as the arrow found flesh. He waited for Remus' scream of pain, but it didn't come; instead, when he looked up, a pale white body stood between Remus and the herd.

"Get out of the way, Firenze," the dark-haired centaur snarled. A palomino centaur, his hair white-blond and tied back with a leather strap, stood shuddering in front of Remus. As Harry watched, he reached backwards and pulled the arrow out of his flank.

"We do not shoot colts," he said, snapping the arrow in half. Harry saw blood dripping down one leg.

"That -- half-breed is not a colt!"

"He is protecting his get, the same as we would," Firenze answered defiantly. "He did not come here to defy us. If you kill the man and his get, you will have to step over my body to do so."

Several of the bows lowered. Firenze turned his head.

"Is it true you came hunting the man who destroyed the mirror?" he asked.

"I swear to you," Remus said. Harry felt Sirius' heart speed up, and knew that he was waking. He pressed one hand over his mouth in warning.

"And the children?"

"Victims of the man. Take me as a hostage if you don't believe me, just let Harry go."

"There will be no hostages, werewolf," Firenze said. "I remember your scent. Twenty years ago I remember a hunt with your pack. You were a cub then."

Sirius moved his arms. Harry leaned close to his ear.

"Don't move," he whispered. Sirius nodded and fell still.

"Any Centaur who harms a child in this forest will answer to me," Firenze said loudly. His voice echoed back eerily. "The colt will go now."

Harry felt Remus pull him away, and he struggled.

"Go, Harry," Remus whispered. "Run. Run fast and don't look back. We'll come for you. You promised you'd do as I told you. Run!"

He shoved Harry and the momentum put his feet on the path; once moving he could no more have stayed and fought than he could have sprouted wings. He heard crunching behind him, hooves on dead leaves, but he didn't dare turn around.

***

The time travel in this version is purely to free Buckbeak, and sort of a side-plot; Padma also gives up the time-turner like Hermione did, though I think I possibly planned to have it confiscated from her for misuse, I can't quite recall.

At the end of the third book, Remus and Sirius get outed. Skeeter had snapped a photo of them kissing -- you saw that in the earlier scene -- and intends to blackmail Sirius with it, but her plan backfires. This I have written as a scene, starting from the moment Sirius loses his patience for blackmail.

***

"Hell with this," Sirius said, and crossed the space between himself and Skeeter with startling speed. He plucked her up by her robes as if she weighed nothing at all, and her feet dangled a few inches off the ground.

"You listen to me and you put this in that bloody gossip rag of yours, or so help me I'll squash you like the insignificant insect you are," he said, while she struggled in his grip. "I am Sirius Black, paterfamilias of the House of Black, godfather of the Boy Who Lived. I am in love with -- there -- that man, Remus Lupin, and if anyone comes near him or my son or me I will kill them to protect my family. If my son suffers, I will kill them, if my lover suffers, I will kill them, and if anyone so much as dares to say a word against me the wrath of the house of Black will descend on them and everyone they love."

Behind her, Rita's quill was moving madly. She opened her mouth and he dropped her, covering her lips with one hand and still holding onto her robes with the other.

"You tell the world who I love," he said. "You tell the world that man is not a valet or a tutor, he is the man I'm going to spend the rest of my life with. And then you make bloody godsdamn sure they know what I'll do for the people I love. And if you don't tell the world that I love my family and I don't care who knows it, I will kill you. I will kill you. This is not an idle threat."

He released her and she staggered backwards, wiping her mouth.

"The scoop of the century," she said, catching her breath.

"You want a scoop?" Sirius roared. "YOU WANT A SCOOP? You bleeding sore, you fester on the populace? You think I'm the only homosexual in Wizarding Britain? There are thousands of men who would kill to be in my bed. There are women by the score who are going to read what you say on the front page of that cheap bumwipe you work for and turn to their wives and kiss them over breakfast. There are men who will come up to me on the street and kiss me on the mouth. There are boys fifteen years old who will read your words and go up to the boy of their dreams and ask them to the dance because Sirius Black likes men too. You want a scoop, you neutered kneazle? You'll have a bloody sexual revolution! And I say bring it on! So you had better say it, or I will buy the Prophet and burn it to the ground and bury you in the ashes. I will end you."

He snatched the quill and parchment out of the air and thrust it at her. When she hesitated, he drew close again.

"Take it, or I'll choke you with it."

She snatched the parchment out of his hands and bolted.

"READ THAT AND REMEMBER!" he shouted after her, as she ran.

With the roar of his pulse dying in his ears, Sirius caught his breath and became aware of a deep, impenetrable silence. He looked behind him; Remus was standing a few paces away, Harry in front of him. His arms were wrapped protectively around Harry's shoulders, and both of them were staring at him in jaw-dropped amazement.

"I swear to god if you don't kiss me -- " Sirius began, but Remus had already come forward and cut him off in mid-breath with a kiss.

"I love you," Remus said.

"Yeah, well, read the Prophet tomorrow and you'll know what I think about you," Sirius replied, and Remus smiled. "Harry, c'mere."

Harry came forward, smiling uncertainly. Sirius pulled him into the embrace, stroking his hair. They stood there until Remus began to laugh.

"This is not how I expected to come out," he said, around his laughter. "Front page of the Prophet!"

"Well, it was that or take out an advert, and adverts are expensive," Sirius replied, breaking down and laughing as well.

"Ex -- ex -- " Remus tried to get the word out and couldn't. "The front page," he gasped. "Bring on the sexual rev -- revolution..."

"The only homosexual in Wizarding Britain!" Harry hooted. "Men are going to kiss you on the mouth!"

"They'd better not," Remus added, and rested his forehead against Sirius'. "I'LL END THEM!" he added, and burst into laughter again. "Did you call her a neutered kneazle?"

"And a fester on the populace," Harry said.

"Good use of the word populace. Full marks for vocabulary," Remus said, wiping his eyes. "Oh, Sirius. You are trouble wrapped up in skin. Tomorrow's going to be a nightmare."

"I don't care."

"Well, then I don't either." Remus took his hand and kissed his cheek. "Take me out to dinner."

"With pleasure."

"I just have one question..." Remus said, as they began to walk.

"Only one?"

"Did you seriously use the word lover?"

***

The next morning, Sirius was woken with a tremendous hangover by Andromeda banging on his bedroom door.

"SIRIUS AEDELBERT BLACK!" she shouted. "REMUS JOHN LUPIN! YOU COME OUT HERE RIGHT THIS MINUTE!"

"Oh god," Remus moaned. "Make it go away."

"I can't," Sirius replied.

"I think I'm still drunk."

"I'm not. Stay here."

Sirius threw a dressing-gown around his shoulders and pulled some trousers on, opening the door. Andromeda thrust a fistful of Howlers under his nose.

"They're going to explode soon and I won't be responsible," she said. Sirius took them and flung them out the window.

"Let 'em," he grumbled. "Where's tea?"

She held it out to him with her other hand, and he kissed her cheek. She leaned around his shoulder.

"Remus, get up."

"Can't," Remus groaned, burying himself in the blankets.

"Remus, you want to see this."

Sirius heard bedsprings creak, and then the rustle of clothing. He gently shoved Andromeda out into the hall and felt Remus touch his shoulder, following blearily.

They emerged into a living room full of owls. They were perched on couches and chairs, on the light fixtures, on the mantelpiece. Somewhere in all the piles of owl were Harry and Dora, Anne, Julian, Ted, and the rest of the werewolves.

When the owls saw him, as one they dropped the letters they were holding and flew out through every available window. Feathers drifted down in the silence that followed.

"They were waiting for you," Andromeda said. "Though a bunch already left."

"What time is it?" Remus said.

"Noon or so."

"Jesus Christ!"

"You're such a Muggle," Sirius said, leaning back to kiss him. Harry, sitting in the middle of a pile of opened envelopes, snorted.

"I like this one," Anne said to Harry, passing it across.

"Dear Mr. Black," Harry started.

"Oh no..." Sirius said.

"This morning I read the newspaper," Harry continued, "And then I kissed my wife. Best wishes for the wedding. Love, Andrea."

"Wedding?" Remus asked in alarm.

"I think it was figurative," Sirius said. "Do you want to get married?"

"No, and even if it were legal, werewolves need special pass. Do you?"

"No."

"Fine then. Living in sin forever," Remus said, flopping onto one of the recently owl-infested couches.

"Dear Mr. Black, this morning I read the newspaper and then I kissed my wife. Just because. Yours sincerely, Eric Jackson," Dora said. "Well, that's nice of him."

Julian held up another. "Dear Harry Potter, Will you go to the dance with me. That's a bit sick, he's only thirteen," he said. "Still, well-intentioned I'm sure. Oh, the kid's only fourteen himself. That's all right."

"Dear Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin, I think you are -- well, not all of them are kind," Ted added hastily. He picked up another and opened it. "Here we go. Mr. Lupin, I knew you weren't a valet and we all had bets on when everyone would find out. I won the pool. We think you are adorable. I am a..." he squinted. "Bad handwriting...oh! I am a barman at the Owl's Roost in Knockturn Alley and if you ever want a drink ask for Nathan. You can bring Mr. Black too."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sirius asked.

"Some people like a well-groomed man," Remus said loftily, taking a handful of letters from Ted. "Here's one for you, Sirius, and there's a photog -- oh, my." He tucked the photo back in the letter and hastily put it in the envelope.

"This one's from Anthony," Harry said, eyebrows rising.

"Who's Anthony?" Andromeda asked.

"He just left Hogwarts, he was in Ravenclaw."

"Anthony Leeson?" Remus asked. "Let me see."

"Tall bloke, messy hair?" Sirius asked.

"That's the one, he played Beater for Ravenclaw for two years. Dear Professor Lupin, I fancied you for six months..." Remus blushed. "...but now that I know you have a boyfriend I've decided to fancy someone else instead. I reckon you'll get a lot of letters so if you get any from people who like Quidditch and Herbology please forward them. Cheeky bastard. Too clever for his own good by half."

"They're still coming," Ted said, as another letter flew in the window. "And there's Howlers, too."

"Let 'em howl," Sirius replied.

"It'll be trouble sooner or later," Remus said. "I did warn you."

"Well, every time someone's nasty to us, show 'em a letter," Sirius said. "Go on then, give me one." He unfolded the letter and scanned it. "Merlin, this one wrote a novel."

Dora burst out laughing, and everyone looked at her. She waved an envelope that was markedTRANSATLANTIC EXPRESS.

"You've been asked to Fire Island for the summer," she said, giggling. "Apparently the American papers covered it too, or someone in America gets the Prophet."

"And....an advert for a bath house in Exeter. I had no idea bath-houses even still existed," Ted said.

"When did you go to a bath-house ever?" Andromeda asked.

"Never, my own," Ted assured her.

"Dear Sirius Black," Harry said, holding a thick piece of parchment and frowning. The others heard the tone of his voice and fell silent. "My daddies say they would vote for you for Minister for Magic. They said I should write to you because this morning Daddy Alex brought over all his boxes and he's moving in with us and they say it's your fault. I hope you have a nice day. Sincerely, Maggie." He offered it to Sirius. "She's five."

Remus rubbed his eyes.

"Are you crying, you big nancy?" Sirius asked.

"I'm hung over," Remus replied, sniffling.

"Budge down," Sirius said, prodding him, and sat down next to him.

"It's not a revolution," Remus said. "After a few days things'll die down and go back to the way they were. You know that, don't you?"

"Not for Maggie and her daddies," Andromeda said. "Or for you, I guess."

"Slow revolutions are better," Sirius decided. "Pass us some letters, Harry." From below, the indistinct sound of bursting Howlers drifted up, but they were too far away to be heard clearly. "I want to see if there are any more naughty photographs. I think I'll send them to Rita Skeeter."

***

All this being said, Remus does end up leaving Hogwarts, mainly because he has Harry to consider. Dumbledore is more than willing to keep him on and fight for his rights, but Remus feels it's better for Hogwarts if he steps down.

Laocoon's Children: The Rest

Year Four: The Crucible

I have to admit I had very little idea of what to do with book four. I do know that Snake is at this point going to get too big to be carried around easily, so he goes to live in Snape's snake-room.

I know that I was planning on having Barty Crouch Jr. come to the school as an inside agent of Lucius and Peter, but the plot was a little less....well, let's face it, less stupid. The reason Lucius and Peter wait until the end of the year to capture Harry again is that they have to, because it takes a lot of spellwork to set up what they want to do.

I was going to introduce some amusing little touches here and there, but window-decoration is most of what I have: things like tomtens (Scandinavian elves) serving as valets for the Durmstrang kids, and the slight war between the Hogwarts house-elves and the Tomtens. I'd toyed with the idea of Dobby falling in love with one. I also wanted to play with the sophistication of the Beauxbatons students, making them a bit more permissive than the Hogwarts kids -- I had planned a scene where Fleur makes a pass at a totally oblivious Padma.

Interpersonally, Neville is formally adopted as a member of the Tonks household in book four -- until now he's been essentially a long-term foster child, but Ted and Andromeda are both looking to the future and they want to secure the family name for him. There may be some back-and-forth about this because Neville doesn't want to abandon his biological parents, but he loves Ted and Andi a lot.

This causes Sirius to consider adopting Harry, something he's never wanted to do because he wants to be Sirius, not Dad -- he doesn't want to step into James' shoes. Harry himself is ambivalent because of the Black inheritance laws, which would be complicated by this. If Sirius were to die without adopting Harry, the Black estate would legally HAVE to go to Draco as the next male heir, but if Harry is adopted that estate HAS to go to Harry. Essentially it's a case of Neville, Harry, and Draco all being potential heirs to the estate, as well as best friends -- Neville through Andromeda, Draco through Narcissa, and Harry through Sirius. Draco's somewhat jealous over this, because Harry would get the inheritance (ie, the power Draco needs to break away from his mother) as well as a loving home.

Draco has other things to worry about however, because he's been working really hard on Transfiguration. Everyone has always thought he's really bad at it, and there is some truth to that, but only because he's actually really good at it. Draco's always had a natural flair for Transfiguration but he's never done well in class because he can't do consciously what he does instinctively. McGonagall's been well-aware of this for some time -- that Draco will be a genius at it if she can get him trained in the basics -- and all of his hard work is starting to pay off. He's a bit absentminded with the group in fourth-year because he's working with McGonagall on the Animagus transformation. In part because he desperately wants to be like Sirius, who he sees as everything he isn't: strong, charismatic, witty, someone that people love on sight.

Anyway, about 2/3 of the way through the book he achieves it...becoming a white ferret. :D

Initially some of my betas objected to the idea, because ferrets are kind of mean and sneaky, but they're also clever and good at hiding -- and by the end of the fifth book, especially, Draco can be cruel and vicious when he wishes to be. Draco's also still dealing with the fallout from being abducted by his father, and tends to shy away from pranks where they go out after hours or alone because he never wants to be far from a teacher.

Fourteen is a time of Grate Hormones and that is definitely going to start affecting the kids. Draco has had a crush on Padma practically since they met, in one way or another, and in book four actually summons the courage to ask her to the Yule Ball. I do have a snippet of this scene:

***

"All right," Harry said. "Well, we'll draw lots for Padma, and the losers will just have to find someone else."

"No," Draco said suddenly. Neville and Harry looked at him.

"Why not?" Neville asked. "It's only fair that way."

"We can't draw lots for her," Draco replied.

"Sure we can," Harry said. "Long as you don't go doing something stupid like telling her we did it."

"Even if we did, and I wouldn't do that to her, it's too late," Draco said. "She's already been asked."

"What?" Harry and Neville said in unison. "Who asked her?" Harry added. Draco looked down at his hands.

"I did," he said. "And she's said yes."

There was a long moment of silence while Harry and Neville digested this unexpected news. Finally, Harry turned to Neville.

"Right," he said. "I'll go rock-paper-scissors with you for Parvati."

***

Draco in the end gets Padma to set Parvati up with Harry, which is not entirely successful because Harry still isn't interested in girls. Harry and his parents all think that this is probably just late-blooming, but given a scene I wanted to write where Harry has some serious sexual tension with Cedric, it should start to become obvious that Harry Isn't Interested In Girls.

There's an interesting scene I was working on where Padma wears a gorgeous formal sari to the ball, but Parvati turns her nose up at it and wears an incredibly frilly, hideous dress, which isn't helping Harry's interest in girls at all. I never really dealt with Neville's romantic entanglements this early, but I think essentially he's the Neville of the books, shy around girls and working hard to keep up in classes. From the Yule Ball, Draco and Padma do begin a very quiet, very casual relationship, which we'll see expanded on in book five.

So much for the kids. In book four Remus and Sirius do open another bookshop in Hogsmeade, and are struggling with various things -- being Out in a very conservative world, trying to help Harry with the Triwizard Tournament and with being the very famous son of two (now) very famous gay men. I hadn't fleshed this out much, I admit. Much of the adult interaction in this book comes in the form of Remus and Sirius worrying about Harry and trying to be good parents to a teenager, as well as becoming surrogate parents for the others; I also had a subthread of McGonagall being furiously jealous of them because she's been basically married to Madam Hooch for years and is envious that they can afford to be Out. Dora and Snape, of course, are busy trying to help and protect Harry as well, but also working on their own really fairly new relationship.

The labyrinth scene at the end of book four, in this case, is used by Lucius and Peter to capture Harry and help him find Voldemort. The labyrinth itself becomes a magical sort of scrying tool; Harry has to find his way out of it, and at the end lies Voldemort, the Voldemort that Peter in the real books found dying and weak. Harry triumphs, of course, and I intended to have Cedric survive, but Peter and Lucius have found Voldemort now.

One side effect of this kidnapping is that Narcissa insists not even Sirius and Remus can protect Draco; she demands he be returned to her at the end of the summer, so Draco has to go back, after almost two years without her, and live in the horrible Malfoy mansion again.

Laocoon's Children: The Rest

Year Five: The Order Ascendant

I have the opening of book five written, actually.

***

"Parvati, answer the door!"

Parvati Patil, fifteen and very much a fifteen-year-old, rolled her eyes as if getting up from the couch and walking ten feet to the door was an imposition on her civil liberties that was not to be borne. The doorbell rang again.

"PARVATI!"

"Yes, dad," she called, setting aside the magazine she was reading. It was pouring down rain out; only salesmen and fools went out in this weather.

Draco Malfoy stood on her doorstep. Well, fools then.

"Hi, Parvati," he said. "Can I come in? It's pissing down out."

"Sure," she said. "Padma's out, though."

"Yeah, I know -- her last letter told me your mum was taking her to Cornwall for the week-end," Draco said. "Sorry, I'm dripping on your floor..."

"It's fine, we have drying charms," she replied. He shrugged out of his sodden overcoat and hung it on a hook. Underneath, he was dry but dressed very strangely; trousers were a concession to travelling in the Muggle world, but he wore a high, stiff collar and a formal black coat over his crisp white shirt.

"Just come from the opera, have you?" she asked.

"Cheek," he replied. "Your dad's around, isn't he?"

"Who is it, sweetheart?" Ram Patil asked, poking his head through the doorway from kitchen to living room. "Draco, hello."

"Sir," Draco said, smoothing down his wet hair.

"Here, let me -- " Ram flicked his wand out of his sleeve and idly dried the boy off. "Caught out, were you?"

"Started to rain when I left the train station," Draco replied.

"I'm sorry you've come all this way for nothing; Padma's gone for the week-end..."

"Oh, yes, I know, sir," Draco replied. "I came to talk to you."

The older man stared at him, looking concerned. "To me, Draco?"

Draco glanced at Parvati, who looked very interested in the goings-on. Ram followed his gaze.

"Right -- well, come into the library then," he said, jerking his head towards the stairs. Draco followed him up, Parvati remaining curiously downstairs.

The little room off the landing was well-lit, even with the blue and foggy light coming through the wide windows; the Patils had electricity, which Draco was only passingly familiar with from the River House in Betwys Beddau. Ram sat down comfortably in one of the chairs and waved Draco into the other.

"I'd prefer to stand, sir," Draco said. Ram grinned at him.

"All this state, Draco -- it must be something serious," he said. The young boy before him wasn't any older than his daughters, but he was well-grown for fifteen; slim and serious, with a sharp, foxlike face and white-blond hair that could rather use a haircut. And those clothes...

"You see -- well, sir," Draco began, "My family's very big on Tradition, Mr. Patil. English Tradition, I mean -- pureblood tradition, I guess you could call it," he added apologetically.

"Yes, I'm aware," Ram said. "I suspect this has something to do with Padma, Draco, but you'll have to explain it to me a little more fully than that."

Draco nodded. "It's customary, sir, to give honourable notice of intent -- which is to say I've come to ask you as the paterfamilias for your permission to court your daughter."

Ram blinked.

"I'm prepared to make the usual oaths of chastity and temperance if you want them -- "

The older man, who understood the onus of tradition, tried not to laugh. Chastity, temperance, and courting. Oh dear.

"I don't think that will be necessary, just yet," he replied. "Do sit down, Draco."

"Yes, sir," Draco sat and tapped his fingers nervously on his well-pressed trousers. Ram smiled reassuringly.

"And according to Tradition, Draco, what ought I to do now?" he inquired.

"Question me about my intentions, activities, breeding, and wealth," Draco replied promptly. "And then give or refuse your consent."

"We aren't discussing arranged marriages or anything like that, are we? I'm fairly certain your mother would have to broker that particular deal," Ram said.

"No sir. Just courting, sir."

"Which consists of?"

Draco frowned. Apparently the definition of courting was not something he'd prepared ahead of time.

"Taking her to Hogsmeade," he said. "And studying with her. Fighting with people who don't like her. I mean, I do all that anyway, but this would be in a sort of...more exclusive setting."

"I see. I suppose your intentions are honourable?"

"Yes, sir. I like her very much, Mr. Patil."

"I'm sure you do. It's difficult not to. Well, let's see, breeding I think I'm already aware of -- " he hesitated when Draco frowned, and realised his gaffe. "You'd like to give explanation for your father, I suppose."

"I've dissociated myself with him; my parents are fully divorced," Draco said. "I have declared myself his enemy and am prepared to act accordingly."

"I'm sorry, Draco," Ram said gently. Draco bit his lip and inhaled sharply. "Very well, that leaves wealth."

"On my majority at seventeen I will receive a one-third share in the Malfoy family interests, including retail property in Knockturn Alley, investments with Gringotts Bank, and the Malfoy estate, currently held by my mother," Draco recited. "At the age of twenty-four the share rises to two-thirds with the remaining to my mother while she lives. In addition, I am partial heir to the Black family, with properties and investments to be distributed at the discretion of our paterfamilias, Sirius Black."

Ram listened to the young man -- still a boy, really -- recite these statistics, but he didn't really hear them. He was thinking, quite suddenly, of the burden Draco carried. The burden, he supposed, that Padma had equal part in, along with Potter and that Longbottom lad.

He smiled at Draco. "Has Tradition been satisfied, young Malfoy?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Very well; I shouldn't mention this to Padma if I were you, since I believe it's out of date to have the menfolk arranging womens' lives for them, but as far as I'm concerned you have my consent if you need it that badly. Now," he added, as Draco opened his mouth to speak, "let me indulge in a little tradition, please."

Draco sat back, watching warily.

"If you hurt my daughter -- oh, I don't mean spats and breakups, those things happen when one is fifteen -- if you abuse her, injure her, or are cruel to her, you will find yourself hanging by your ankles from the nearest tree," Ram said. "I won't say what you can and cannot do with my daughter, Draco Malfoy, but so help me if my brilliant child has an unexpected baby, the only thing saving you from death will be the fact that you will need to be alive in order to support her."

"I -- " Draco's mouth opened and shut. "I wouldn't -- I would never -- we've hardly kissed!" he blurted. Ram realised he may have reacted more strongly than the situation warranted.

"I believe that," he said. "I do. But you ought to know beforehand that Patils do not brook with their family being maltreated. Not that I think this matters, really; if you hurt Padma she's likely to hurt you back herself before I can get to you."

"Yes, sir," Draco said, regaining a little composure. "She -- yes, that's true."

"There's that done, then. Will you stay for tea? Sarasvati left samosas, Padma's told me you like them."

Draco looked glum. "I'm afraid I can't -- mum's expecting me home soon."

Ram sensed a lie in what he said, but he didn't press; Padma had also told him that Draco and his mother had myriad problems between them, and that was none of his concern.

"I do have a letter for Padma..." Draco dug a slightly creased envelope out of his pocket. "Would you give it to her when she gets back?"

"Of course," Ram said, accepting the letter and rising to see Draco to the door. Parvati was dancing with anticipation and curiosity, but a look from her father warned her not to ask questions. He offered Draco an umbrella, which was accepted gratefully, and helped him into his overcoat.

"Safe travel home," he said.

"Thank you, Mr. Patil," Draco replied. He offered his hand, manlike, and Ram shook it.

But when the blond boy was out the door and halfway down the street, Ram took the envelope up to the bedroom he shared with Sara and studied it. It was unsealed, and while Ram was a trusting father he was no fool either. He opened it and unfolded the parchment inside.

July 2
Malfoy Estate

Dear Padma,

Sorry to come while you were gone, but it couldn't wait and I had to get out of the house while mum was gone to even come to London. I wish I could have seen you though. I'm giving this to your dad to give to you because I'm not allowed to use the owls anymore without mum reading through my letters first, coming and going. Please explain things to Harry and Neville so they don't write anything bad to me, because Mum will read it.

Mum found the last letter you sent and we had an enormous row about it. She doesn't think I should be writing to girls, she's got plans to arrange a marriage for me with some distant cousin. Five years ago I would have said fine -- three years ago, even. That's tradition and I'm supposed to respect her wishes but I can't anymore. She doesn't like you writing to me either, she said awful things that I won't repeat but -- well, Pureblood to her mind means English, or European at any rate. I know you're as English as I am but she's stupid about stuff like that. You're more important than tradition.

I miss you like anything and all I want to do is sneak up to the music room and sit with you like we did last year. I had Dobby sneak a bunch of stuff out of the house so I don't even have the photograph we did at the Yule Ball but I think about it all the time. You looked so pretty. Don't I look pale, too? I was terrified.

It's going to be awful, not being able to write to you for two months, but I'll see you at the platform when school starts and once we're on the train it won't matter who we are, will it? And when I'm seventeen I'll be rich and there won't be anything mum can do about it. I'm going to buy a house in India and study Eastern Magic like your mum does. But I'll come visit you while you're at Oxford, promise.

Anyway, I hope your salamander is doing ok. When you go to India to visit your gran in August will you take lots of pictures for me?

Your boyfriend,

Draco

Ram sat in the bedroom with the letter and thought long and hard, until Parvati gave up in disgust and fixed her own tea. Then he made a copy of the letter, refolded it, and locked both copies in his desk drawer. Padma could have the original when she got home. He didn't know how Sara would take to the idea of Padma dating a young white boy, the son of an infamous lunatic, but if she didn't like it she could read the letter for herself.

Draco was an upstanding kid, if a little wild, and he was a Hufflepuff. He had a good head on his shoulders and was interested not just in Padma but in her life -- her heritage. Possibly as much as Padma was, and certainly more than Parvati was. Moreover, he would be a wealthy man one day and he respected Padma. Ram swelled with pride at the thought of his daughter studying at Oxford. She hadn't even confided that dream to him.

Yes, Draco Malfoy certainly had his consent to court his daughter.

***

I admit that I don't have much of a plot outlined for the rest of the books, and I am finally realising why.

One of the effects of writing an AU like this, which parallels the books, is that you start to see very clearly where the plot holes, the patches, and the failures are. I wrote a bit about this when I was working on book two. Comparing where Laocoon's Children was headed to where the rest of the books went, I can see a sea-change between the first four and the second three, with Goblet of Fire as the turnpiece.

In the last three books, I suspect JKR realised that Voldemort couldn't be the only big bad; there weren't three books left in that idea. So she had to shift some of the antagonism from Voldemort to the Ministry. In a way it works because when you're fifteen-sixteen-seventeen you are rebelling against authority and there's a lot of impotent anger at the seemingly pointless restrictions placed on you as a young adult. It's what makes the last books so difficult to read, at least for me, all that rage and all that restriction and at the time it seems like there's nothing you can do about it. But regardless, they are very difficult books to read because they introduce this horrific police state that can't really be fought against effectively. That's not where I would have taken Laocoon's Children, especially since a major theme of the story up until now has been how Harry could have flourished if he'd had a loving and supportive parental group to guide him. At the same time, are there three more books' worth of story in the battle against Voldemort?

I suspect in book five of Laocoon's Children a major theme would have been a battle Remus had to fight, because he returns to teach Dark Arts now that Crouch is gone. The Ministry certainly doesn't want the Boy Who Lived to be raised by a pair of homosexuals, so Remus teaching at Hogwarts is one way to secure his parental rights over Harry. This would be a major fight, both externally and internally -- every move Remus made would be watched by the public and by the government, and he would face a lot of discrimination from Hogwarts itself. Harry would have to have a hand in that too, giving him a very clear look at the kind of thing Remus has had to deal with all his life.

I think Harry would still start to see visions connected to Voldemort, who don't forget at this point is still very weak. Instead of that useless, ridiculous prophecy, Voldemort would need something in the secure archives of the Ministry for Magic that could revive him, bring him back to his full power. That's what Harry will be seeing, the quest for that item.

I certainly didn't intend that Sirius would die, though I think he would survive only because Remus would begin to have screaming nightmares about him dying, and thus be well-informed enough to be there to save him before he could be hit by the Avada Kedavra -- in LC canon, don't forget, Remus can take a direct hit from an Avada Kedavra and survive. But in saving Sirius he allows Voldemort the time to get hold of the item he needs and revive himself, so there's also a guilt there: he saved the man he loves, but put the world in danger.

Harry and Snape's relationship would also definitely have to change in this. For one thing, Harry would be made captain of the Quidditch team, which is a heavy responsibility. More than that, however, there are the legilimency lessons to consider. I think with Harry less antagonistic towards Snape, and Snape more as a mentor, we would get the story of Snape's history much sooner. Bearing in mind that LC was written and plotted well before books six and seven came out, I'm not sure how to incorporate Snape's crush on Lily, but I would imagine this is where that story would be told. Snape and Harry are coming to see each other, in book five, more on the level of fellow-soldiers than as teacher and student, so it's something they'd have to work through, and something that Snape would have to deal with as well because -- this is the love of his young life, and now he has a new love for the first time in years. How does he explain to Dora that the woman he loved as a boy is Harry's dead mother?

Most of the concrete notes I had made at the time I was writing were relationship notes, to be honest. Not necessarily romance, just relationships. Harry and Sirius are still discussing formal adoption, and I did have a scene in my mind where Sirius takes Harry to the Black family tomb to explain to him what happened to his family, especially Regulus, and how if Harry is adopted it's more than just inheriting money. Harry becomes the presumptive paterfamilias of the House of Black, with rights and duties to perform.

I sort of had Padma and Draco ticking along as a couple, with all the troubles a couple faces, especially an interracial couple. Harry, meanwhile, is definitely coming to realise that he's not a late bloomer, that he's interested in boys, which is complicated by Sirius teasing him that he has a crush on Padma -- because Harry is actually hugely jealous of Padma since he fancies Draco. There's a scene I never wrote, which was nonetheless often at the forefront of my mind, where Harry finally blows up at Sirius and goes off for a sulk, leaving Sirius totally confused about why Harry's angry with him over some gentle teasing. Remus catches on a bit quicker and has a heart-to-heart with Harry where Harry finally admits he might be gay.

I was a bit hesitant to do this at first, because I truly dislike the Everyone Is Gay! trope, but it makes sense to me that if a child were gay, they'd be more likely to be open and comfortable with it, or even realise it, if they had gay parents. I think this shows in some of the arc I had set up for Remus, where he really does worry for a while that it's somehow his fault. A side-arc resulting from this is that Harry takes up with Neville, who is sort of casually bisexual; he's a bit reluctant, but he and Harry fool around a little.

Fifth year is OWLs time and I'm not sure how those go -- Padma of course does extremely well, but Neville gets inches from a nervous breakdown and needs a heart-to-heart from Remus to set him right again. Harry is sort of...uninterested in academic achievement, so he basically does average, and Draco is likewise average except for being able to demonstrate his Animagery. He's on the actual books as an Animagus, unlike Sirius, so he can be aboveboard with it. I suspect he might be offered a scholarship to a special school for Transfiguration and turn it down.

At the end of the book I do know that Draco, having battled his father outright and at least for a little while had him at his mercy, feels strong enough to reject his mother and send her packing, much as Sirius did when he himself was fifteen. When she comes to collect him directly from Hogwarts, he publicly repudiates her on the platform, in front of the school, and renounces his claim to the Malfoy inheritance. Remus manages to stop him before he renounces the Blacks, as well, which means he's still blood of the Blacks and can still go back to Betwys Beddau with them.

I have one little snippet from book five, hardly worth posting, but I found it and I suspect it goes somewhere near the end, when Remus is watching them play Quidditch and thinking about the Order.

***

But out here on the pitch, they weren't men and women about to face danger, they weren't soldiers. They were just children, playing a game. With other children in mufflers too big for them, in gloves and knit hats, cheering on their team.

Just bloody children...

Laocoon's Children: The Rest

Year Six: Soldiers and Princes

You need to bear in mind, again, that books six and seven didn't exist when Laocoon's Children was begun. We knew that book six would be called The Half Blood Prince, which is where I took Soldiers And Princes from as a title. So from here what I have is a mixture of my own notes and what I now know about the last two books, or can remember from the single time I've read each of them. I literally have no plot outline at all for book six.

Here are some of the things I know. Snape and Dora get married in book six, probably a sort of hasty war-wedding analogy; marrying because they might die any day and they want what little they can grasp. I suspect this would have been the opening -- everyone attending the Snape-Tonks wedding, which allows me to reintroduce the characters and what they've been doing all summer.

I know that Draco has been in Betwys Beddau, where he got a summer job because he needs the money. He's too proud to accept much from Sirius, having already accepted his protection. His job, I think, was probably low-paid intern at the Betwys Beddau weekly newspaper, as a sort of lead-in to the career I'm going to give him later. Harry has spent the summer carefree, except for missing Neville, and living with Draco has more or less destroyed the crush he had on him. :D Neville has been working at Tonks & Tonks with an eye towards going into magical tailoring, and Padma spent her summer taking classes in Diagon Alley, so that she could have a leg up when they begin their sixth year.

At the wedding, Neville also runs into Ginny and immediately falls for her, which wrecks his growing relationship with Harry. I have the two of them messing around for a while before Harry finds out and is crushed, leading to a rift between the friends, but it's patched over relatively quickly when they realise they have to stand united or Voldemort's going to win easily.

I have in my notes that Tonks finds a copy of Salazar Slytherin's journal, translated by Phineas Nigellus in the 17th century, but I'm not sure where I was going with that. I also have a note that the Music Room the children know about can be charmed to "play" everything that's going on in the castle, but you have to be trained to pick out the bits you actually want to hear, and I have a note to "use that" but I didn't know where, even then.

One solid arc I wanted to put in was Remus's visions intensifying and becoming inceasingly upsetting. At one point he sees himself in a relationship with Tonks, which is baffling to him because he's never fancied women. Makes things awkward for a while. :D

I had not counted on anything approaching Horcruxes at this point, especially since I'd essentially ALREADY INVENTED THEM for Amid My Solitude, which was also written before book six. I was envisioning the clashes between Voldemort's forces and the Order simply increasing in scale and intensity. I had also planned for Remus to continue teaching Dark Arts, not counting on Slughorn being key to book six. But in the end -- is he, really?

So I imagine that book six would have a similar plot to the real book six: finding out about Tom Riddle's past, and about the horcruxes. I also have it in my notes that Remus knew about them (ala my fic in which he studies them at school) but I don't know where that was going either.

I think it's key that in book six Dumbledore would not die. That entire subplot sucked, and there's no reason to 1. make Draco evil at this point or 2. kill Dumbledore. The point of killing him was to take away Harry's last real vestige of support, but Harry already has a strong support in LC -- the Tonkses, Snape, Remus and Sirius, and the support of the other Houses in the form of his friends. So killing Dumbledore is pointless.

Laocoon's Children: The Rest

Year Seven: Here Be Dragons

(At the time I didn't know what the title of book seven would be, so I titled it appropriately.)

I very strongly want to keep Harry in school for book seven. I think taking him out of school and sending him on the run was a mistake and a waste of time and good storytelling. In rewriting this book, I would base everything out of Hogwarts, a Hogwarts under siege from Voldemort's forces -- subtly at first, of course.

I had the opening written in a way -- it's present-tense, which I would have altered, but I was planning to open it with Oliver Wood, newly-recruited by the Order, coming to bring Harry news as Harry shelters in Betwys Beddau. This begins a sort of dance that Oliver and Harry engage in all year, circling each other. Harry fancies Oliver, but he was burned by his half-relationship with Neville and he knows how hard it can be for a gay man in the wizarding world. Plus he can't think about this shit now, he has a war to win, and yet he wants it. Oliver, on the other hand, is merely sort of in awe of Harry and also feels that perhaps Harry is a bit young for him, despite knowing that he's falling for him. Here's the opening.

***

The cottage in Betwys Beddau is safe, which is why they're there, but when Oliver touches down he thinks it's awfully morbid, as well. He likes the moors and the heath as much as the next cityborn Scot, but out here it can't be much fun for the kids.

He hasn't seen Harry in years, except in photos, and to him Harry's still one of the kids, with his curly little black head bent over a book next to Draco, or further back, eight-year-old Harry afraid of the wind outside the tower and clutching Frog tightly for comfort.

There's a young man standing on the porch, and Oliver doesn't realise it's Harry until one of the callused hands grips his and Harry smiles and tosses his hair off his forehead.

"Good of you to come," he says. "You're looking well."

"Harry?" Oliver asks, because this whip-thin rangy man with a smile like a shark isn't the Harry he recalls at all.

"It's been a few years," Harry agrees. He looks tired, and he moves like a -- more like a snake than a panther, with muscles that seem to slide under his skin. It isn't natural to move that gracefully. "Come inside, there's tea and sandwiches."

"Ta," Oliver replies, unnerved.

But inside, it's warmer and brighter and Remus is in the kitchen with Draco, frying sausages while he assembles turkey-and-cheese sandwiches. When Harry turns back to re-introduce him, the smile is more genuine. Oliver sees that Frog has been placed in a position of honour in the bookshelf, next to all seven Standard Books of Spells, and he smiles back.

***

In book seven, along with the quest for the Horcruces (as in Cartographer's Craft) Harry is searching for items of power to help him in his fight. Possibly these powerful items are drawn from the diary of Slytherin that Dora finds. At any rate, they're not quite the Deathly Hallows, which baffled me and never made all that much sense. I was toying with Harry finding Excalibur, oh so British, but I also did have firm plans for them to locate something called the Servant's Key.

***

"What is it?" Harry asked, eyeing the iron ring cautiously. Snape continued to pull roots and filth away from an object on one end.

"A tool of some power," Snape replied. "It's known as the Servant's Key."

"What does it do?"

"There's an ancient belief that it will summon an army," Snape said with a shrug. "When England is endangered. You find them all over the country -- the beliefs, that is -- about various things. This one is wizard-forged, so it may actually be true. For the Dark Lord to be able to summon an army instantaneously would be disastrous; it's good we've found it first."

***

I was toying with the idea of Snape also getting into Voldemort's good graces by presenting a supposedly "brainwashed" Draco to Lucius and Voldemort. I'm not sure Draco could pull this off but I like to think he could. It's part of a theme of trinity that I was exploring for the last book, two trinities: Lucius-Sirius, Draco-Harry, and Voldemort-Remus as father, son, and spirit. With Draco's defection at the end, Voldemort's power would be weakened.

He would still be strong enough to lay a full-on siege against Hogwarts, an idea I had long before the battle of Hogwarts in the real book seven. I wanted to actually divert the siege from Hogwarts to the Creadonagh Valley, which is the valley that Sirius and Remus's house in Hogsmeade looks down on. That house would become a base of operations for the Order, and the final battle would take place in the valley itself.

While Voldemort's forces are amassing, so are Harry's. The Servant's Key, as it turns out, does summon an army -- of House-Elves. Draco's veneration by the House Elves has been leading up to this all along. There's a code amongst the House-Elves that if the country is in danger they can abandon their duties to fight for its safety. Which would be well and good, but they're not sure they actually want to. Draco is the one who has to talk them into it, because they do adore him. But I was really always very disappointed with JKR's treament of House-Elves, so another attachment to this code is that those who fight for Britain's safety are freed afterwards. I want the House-Elves to go free, and I think it's important that they make the decision for themselves.

***

"Harry," Padma said, looking out the window, "I think Draco's army finally arrived."

The others ran to the window and stared down at the road. There were easily twenty-thousand bodies on the march; they were walking in formation, weapons of various sorts slung over their shoulders, up the path. And they were singing as they went.

"An army of House Elves?" Harry demanded, staring at the little green creatures that were moving with such military precision.

"Why not?" Padma asked, grinning. "Draco's always said house-elves could do anything."

***

Before Harry can defeat Voldemort, however, one of the relics he's unearthed tells him that there's something he has to do. He's known for a while that the Forbidden Forest can not only transport people to different places but also to different times, and at Christmas -- or rather Yule, the longest night of the year -- Harry knows that he has to go into the forest to ensure that this world actually exists.

For some time, Remus has been building a sort of vision of the world he dreams about, a terrible dystopia where Sirius and Dumbledore are dead, he himself has spent years struggling to survive, and Harry is a fugitive. Remus is seeing the canonical books as a kind of horror story. He knows that their world will cease to exist and that world will be the one that triumphs, unless they can find the point where the two worlds diverged. Which, as we who have been reading know, is the "lost owl" that never made it to Remus and thus kept Remus in Britain, allowing him to prevent Sirius from going after Peter.

Harry realises he has to divert the owl on its course, and the only way to do that without a time turner is to go into the Forbidden Forest. This is the plot of the never written Lost Owl short story -- Remus stops Sirius because he never left Britain; he never left Britain because he never got the train ticket; he never got the train ticket because the owl was knocked off-course by a strange hooded figure on a broomstick.

In the Forest, of course, Harry meets his counterpart -- the canonical Harry of book seven, grieving, lost, and battle-weary. I wrote this scene years ago, long before we knew that Harry would have to go into the forest to die in book seven. It is in many ways the crowning scene of Laocoon's Children, and not just because I'm in it. :D

In this scene, Harry has met his counterpart. He's trying to find a way back sixteen years, to the night the post-owl was sent; Harry is (well, now anyway) trying to find his way to the place where he meets the ghosts of his family. They meet the Author, as well as a few other alternate realities...

***

"Shh, do you hear that?" Harry asked the other boy, who stopped and cocked his head, listening alertly. There had been birdsong in the little clearing, but now a pattern was emerging, underneath the birds, coming from one of the trees. As they listened it evolved into a tune, a simple, lilting thing.

Harry hesitantly walked the few feet towards the tree it seemed to be coming from, looking up in the branches. A fair-haired man was sitting on a low bough, and when he saw Harry he stopped and smiled.

"Hello," he said, easing himself off the bough and dropping eight or ten feet to the ground. "Harry. Harry."

He might have been mistaken for a student in the Muggle clothing he wore -- a white Oxford shirt and dark trousers, black shoes. No robe or tie, though, and no Hogwarts crest on his shirt. He carried a small Muggle penny-whistle pipe in one hand.

"Never did learn much skill on it," he said, glancing at the whistle. "Funny, isn't it? Everything's patterns, you know, ways of fitting things together, but some patterns are so much easier than others. Music...not so easy."

"Who are you?" Harry asked.

"Mmh, that should be obvious..." the man's blue eyes scanned the shadows at the clearing's edge. "You may as well come forward," he called. "It's all right, no-one's going to be hurt here."

Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw two or three people come out of the trees from a few different directions. One was Firenze, looking sleeker and much more glossy than Harry recalled him, and with him came a dark-haired man about his own age, which Harry recognised as Sirius, a much younger Sirius, the Sirius of photographs in albums, wearing a red cloak.

A middle-aged man with a narrow, handsome face and grey edging through his hair emerged next, and then -- Remus, looking even more old and careworn, with pale white hair. It looked like he leaned on Dora's shoulder for support, and Dora -- Dora was visibly pregnant.

The pale-haired man smiled and walked past Harry and his counterpart, offering his hand to Sirius first.

"Hallo, Sirius," he said warmly. "How's the map? Firenze, you look well. Looking after our young Tutor, are we?"

Firenze nodded. The young man clapped Firenze on the shoulder, a move that would have terrified Harry, and turned to the middle-aged man who stood alone.

"Tom," he said softly. Harry's companion gripped his arm.

"That's Tom Riddle," he hissed.

"But not Lord Voldemort," the young man called back without looking. "Just Tom Gaunt, Professor Tom Gaunt, eh?"

"So they say," Tom replied. "Pleasure to see you again."

"Pleasure's mine. And here we have -- hullo Tonks, feeling all right?"

"Yes, thank you," she said quietly. "He's not, though."

"Mm, fatherhood weighs heavy on the soul." This was directed at Remus, who smiled with odd pride and glanced at Dora possessively.

"Lighter than you'd think," he said.

"That's the spirit, then. Hup!" called the man, as a final figure ran into the clearing. He caught the little boy in his arms and lifted him up, propping him on his hip and carrying him back to the tree, where both Harrys still stood.

"That's not my Remus," Harry said, pointing to the white-haired man.

"And that's definitely not my Sirius," the other one added, but he looked at the young man with hungry eyes.

"No -- they're mine," the blond man said. Harry studied the young boy in the man's arms, carefully. "Yes Harry -- here you are."

"That's me?" Harry asked. His counterpart was silent.

"This is you." A smile, and a tweak of the young boy's nose. "He has an appointment with a big black dog at Sandust Books tomorrow. Harry -- you," he said, pointing to the other Harry. "Have you found your way?"

The other Harry shook his head.

"It's all right, kid," the man said, gripping the other Harry by the back of the neck. "It'll be okay, I promise. You'd better go soon, though. The world's depending on you."

"It isn't fair," the other Harry protested.

"I know," the man said. "And I'm so sorry. But it'll be okay. You'll know that someday. As for you," he continued, moving on to Harry, "Have you found the owl yet?"

"Not yet," Harry said.

"Well, you'd better do it soon. This one," he tightened his grip on the boy, "Is depending on you. You have one chance to change history -- you won't be allowed to decide where and when, we never are. But how...how is always up to you."

"Who are you?" Harry asked. The young boy in the man's arms wrapped his arms around his neck and looked out shyly at everyone gathered in the forest.

"Isn't it obvious?" the man grinned. "I'm the Storyteller."

"The what?"

"There is a singular world," the Storyteller said. "His was created first -- that other Harry there, he comes from it. He isn't mine. In fact tonight, he's the only one in the forest who isn't. But you, Harry -- and these others -- are my handiwork, my stories, sculpted from a mould another made. They weren't mine, not back when the world was created, but they are now. You're one of them too; that's why you're here. After everything you've done, every story...well. I wanted to meet you. Just once. Here, where the centre holds."

He carried the child to Tom, Tom Gaunt, who accepted the young boy from his arms.

"Take him home safely," the Storyteller ordered. "In the morning this will just be a dream he had. Firenze?"

The centaur bowed his head and gestured for Sirius to come along. They set out back into the forest and were gone as soon as their shadows faded.

"Remus, how goes the war?" the Storyteller asked.

"We're winning," Remus answered.

"Hold onto that then. Off you go -- you too, Harry, and remember what I've said."

The other Harry nodded, looking confused, and after a lingering look at Harry he set off through the trees, in the direction the Storyteller had pointed.

And then it was just Harry and the Storyteller.

"If you follow the polestar, you'll end where you need to be," the man said, with a kind look. "Good luck, lad. You'll need it."

"Can't you come?"

"No! Dear me, no, that would never do. I shouldn't want that," he said with a laugh. "Besides, I have promises to keep. I'm due to watch the sunrise with a dear friend, from the tallest tree in the forest."

"But -- "

"Ah ah, Harry. Run on now." The man swung himself back up into the tree, and gestured with the little whistle for Harry to get a move on. "Go with my love."

***

Ultimately, of course, Harry does knock the owl out of its course, ensuring that his universe will continue to exist. When he returns, only Oliver is still awake, and they share a romantic moment before the sunrise.

The next day, Harry triumphs in the battle against Voldemort, leading his fellow students, some of the teachers, an army of House-Elves, and a last-minute cavalry of the Centaurs. I think a couple of flying motorbikes might be involved, too. :D

Laocoon's Children: The Rest

Epilogue: The Valley House

I never really considered writing an epilogue, but I did have some idea of where the children would go from here, and the adults too. Remus and Sirius stayed on in Hogsmeade, Remus teaching and Sirius running a bookshop in the town. Dora and Snape eventually had a child, who I can now see is Theodore Snape, not an orphan at all but a smart-mouthed, sarcastic metamorphmagus who I have no doubt thrived as a Ravenclaw. Tonks & Tonks became Tonks & Son when Neville joined the family business as a tailor, settling down with Ginny in the upstairs apartment of the Black family home. They proudly employ an all-werewolf staff and shut down for three days out of the month, which makes them exclusive and very desireable as clothiers.

Draco Black, having discovered a flair for writing, eventually becomes a scholar and novelist like his hero Graveworthy, and divides his time between a flat in India and a townhouse in London where he makes sure things run smoothly for his wife, Minister for Magic Padma Patil, who always wears the latest Tonks & Son fashions. She recently signed legislation giving new legal status to the Union of Independent House-Elves, of which Dobby is the president.

Harry Potter and Oliver Wood go on to a life filled with excitement as they captain two separate Quidditch teams, and have made a pact never to talk about the games at home.

Apparently JKR has said that Remus and Tonks had to die so that their child could grow up a, well, I guess a HAPPY ORPHAN, to show that in the world Harry made in canon, someone got a better life than Harry did as a kid. That's...kind of a dumb reason for two of my favourite characters to die. Which is why in Laocoon's Children, Harry and Oliver adopt a child, A HAPPY ORPHAN IF YOU WILL, and given the great brotherhood of their parents this child grows up best friends with the Longbottom-Weasley brood.

I think I would have set this epilogue in the Valley House where Remus and Sirius live, a family reunion crowded with people: Sirius the amiable paterfamilias holding court with Ted and Andi, who are enjoying the retired life; a couple of werewolves from the shop playing cards with Severus and Dora; stroppy young Theo sulking about how embarrassing family reunions are until Harry plonks down his son in Theo's lap and makes him babysit, since even Theo can't resist making faces at a toddler. Padma would be in the kitchen arguing politics with Ginny while Draco and Oliver help Remus cook dinner. Harry would be blissfully in the middle of it all, tasting everything and stealing kisses from Oliver and laughing at Longbottom's kids getting underfoot.

And outside, maybe, Ellis and Dumbledore could have a pint together as they watch the sun set over Creadonagh Valley.

I think that's rather a nice epilogue, don't you?

***

And that's the end. Thanks for reading, everyone, and I am sorry I can't make this live for you. You have been amazing.