The Hogwarts Express let out a final goodbye whistle and disappeared into the countryside. Sirius stood on the platform, staring after his godson.
It was an experience he had envisioned since before his breakout from Azkaban. To finally be free and see Harry off to Hogwarts. The place where Sirius had found his true family.
He had imagined it so often and so vividly.
Why did it feel as ephemeral as a half-remembered dream?
"How have you been, Sirius?" Arthur's cheerful voice sliced through his thoughts and he spun to face the older man, a smile on his face.
"Certainly can't complain," he said. "The 'cool fugitive' life loses its luster pretty fast. It's nice to rejoin normal life, even if I get a few more obvious stares than I'm used to. How have you two been? I haven't seen you since before my trial."
"Quite well," Molly said, beaming over at Arthur. "He's doing a marvelous job in his new position."
"I don't know about that," her husband said, his ears going pink. "I should thank you, Sirius. If it hadn't been for your insistence that my son and I help your case, I doubt I'd have gotten to work so high up at the DMLE before I retired."
"No thanks needed. I remembered that you were one of the few from the Order who offered to be character witnesses under Veritaserum back when I was first captured. It was the very least I could do. Besides, your son's encyclopedic knowledge of Ministry procedure really sped things up. Sharp as a dragon's scale, that one."
"He got the job right out of Hogwarts," Molly said, beaming.
"The Ministry could do worse than to have two Weasley's at the same time," Sirius said, glancing around the emptying platform. "I'm still enjoying my time out in the world. Would you two like to join me for some early lunch?"
"We'd be happy to," Arthur said, grabbing Molly's hand and turning towards the barrier. "I know a wonderful little muggle shop nearby. I stop in from time to time. I once saw a man pull a telly-phone out of a bag!"
XxX
Harry and Ron sidled into the compartment Hermione had found, surprised to find another occupant sitting in the corner. The girl had sunny blond hair and held an upside-down magazine a few inches from her nose.
They stowed their trunks and dropped down into their seats. Harry apologized to the girl as he jostled her but received no reply.
"I was wondering if you two were going to make it," Hermione said with a smile. "It's good to see you, Harry."
"And it's not good to see me?" Ron groused, stuffing a plastic-wrapped sandwich into one of his pockets. "Rude."
"It's good to see you both," she amended, favoring Ron with a smile of his own. "How were your summers?"
"Not too bad," Ron answered first, much to Harry's appreciation. He found himself glad for the strange girl's presence. Weighty topics would have to wait. "Dad spent most of his time working to help Sirius. After that, he was extra busy because of his transfer, but he seems happy. Mum has let off yelling at Fred and George so much, so the quiet is nice."
They looked at Harry and he couldn't stop a reflexive swallow.
"It was a...hectic summer," he said carefully, keeping his voice neutral. How it didn't thrum with each anxious heartbeat he'd never know.
Hermione's eyebrows disappeared behind her fringe and he mentally cursed. His usual answer was 'fine.'
"How so?" she asked, eyes darting over to the girl.
"I'll...tell you later," he promised.
Despite the convenient opening, he wasn't sure he was ready to share everything.
Would he ever be ready? Did they need to know?
A rustling of paper to his right caught his attention. The girl had closed her magazine and was peering at them through strange silvery eyes.
"This is a private conversation," she said, matter-of-factly. " I don't want to intrude, so I will find somewhere else to sit."
"You don't have to do that," Harry tried.
"Thank you, Luna," Hermione said over him, shooting him a significant look.
Luna bobbed her head in a nod and slid the cabin door shut behind her.
"That was rude," Harry protested.
"Luna is...odd," Hermione said. "And I assumed that a 'hectic' something you couldn't talk about meant it had to do with Voldemort."
"Oh."
His monosyllabic answer hung in the air for a moment, covered by the ever-present hum of the tracks beneath their feet.
"It's not about...You-Know-Who?" Ron asked into the relative silence. "That's what I thought too."
The landscape outside the window rushed by in a blur of shifting colors, a mirror for his turbulent thoughts.
"No," he finally managed. "It wasn't Voldemort."
"Well, that's a relief," she said, relaxing into her seat. He didn't react and saw her pause, lines of worry creasing her brow. "Is everything...okay?"
Silence suffused the cabin again as long seconds turned into quick minutes. A distant part of himself warmed at the time his friends were giving him. Another balked at the fact it was so obvious he needed it.
"It is now," he said, hauling the words from the depths of his chest.
He leaned back, resting his head against the cool fabric of the seat. Sweat trickled down his neck and he had to fight to keep his breathing steady.
"Harry?" Hermione asked, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"I...spent the last part of the summer with the Delacours in France."
He might've expected a noise of complaint from Ron or a barrage of questions from Hermione. He received neither, their silence prompting him further.
"They sort of...rescued me. From the Dursleys."
"Rescued you?" Hermione echoed while Ron turned to face him.
Why was it not any easier the second time?
"I...uh," he tried. His voice cracked and trembled. He cleared his throat. "Most of my life...the Dursleys would uh-" He felt like he was going to be sick. "They...hurt me. To discipline me."
Explanations rose and tried to fling themselves free. Excuses for keeping secrets. Promises of trust.
But none burst forth, leaving his darkest secret to hang between them, its ruinous potential-
"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, face stricken and ghost-pale. "All these years I thought-I should have…I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be sorry," he said, dumbfounded.
She bit her lip but didn't speak further. Ron shifted slightly, his freckles standing out on a pale face.
"But you're...you know...not going back. Right?" he asked, flickers of thunder behind his eyes. "I mean, you can't. That wouldn't be…"
Harry shook his head. "I'll be living with Sirius once he gets his title back."
"I'm sure Mum and Dad would let you stay with us," Ron said. "Percy moved out not too long ago, so we wouldn't even have to share a room. You might have to fight Fred and George though. They wanted it for storage."
"I'm sure my parents wouldn't mind," Hermione jumped in, her hands clenched atop her thighs. "It wouldn't be as exciting as the Burrow, but still…"
He could almost see Fleur's smug smile through the tears that threatened his vision.
He coughed and wiped his eyes with a covert swipe.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
"You don't have to tell us anything," Ron said with a shrug. "But you can if you want."
Harry stared at him a moment and watched his ears flush. "I er...stole that from her," Ron said, jerking his thumb to Hermione.
"Which means he's right," she said with a nod.
"And-" Ron jumped back in, his gaze on his lap. "I know why you wouldn't want to tell me. I was a pretty bad friend last year."
Harry opened his mouth to reply but was forestalled by Ron holding up a hand.
"Hermione absolutely slaughtered me one evening. I was complaining about how you got to be in the tournament. This was before you were...before the First Task." He smiled weakly. "She made me swear not to repeat the words she used. She said that if I ever got my head...well, if I ever owned up to being a rubbish friend that you'd tell me it was fine. But you deserve better than that, so I've been trying to be better."
"You are a good friend," he replied doggedly. "I didn't spend the summer convincing Fleur that you're not a fairweather friend just to have to convince you too. I'd rather us be friends than to let one thing get in the way."
Ron only nodded, though his jaw was set with minor disagreement.
"How did…" Hermione began, then hesitated. "You don't have to tell us if you don't want to, but how did you end up at the Delacours'?"
"Fleur wanted to exchange letters, so we used the muggle post. She wanted to keep in touch after what happened…"
Hermione frowned deeply but didn't say anything.
"She...er...mentioned that she thought that something was wrong. I hadn't really planned to tell her what was going on, it just sorta...happened."
"Then they...showed up?" Ron asked.
"It took a couple of weeks since they wanted to take me out of the country, but eventually Mr. Delacour came and got me."
They lapsed into an anxious silence. Sure they hadn't outright spurned him, but would they treat him differently now? All he had ever wanted was a normal life with friends.
"So…" Hermione said. "Did you have fun in France? Did you go to Paris?"
Harry and Ron shared a glance and he felt some of the tension bleed from his shoulders.
"We didn't really go anywhere," he said. "I spent most of the time at their manor. The only other places I went to were the Ministry and Diagon Alley."
"A manor, huh?" Ron said, eyes thoughtful. "You could do worse for a vacation. That's for sure."
"What was it like?" asked Hermione.
"It was nice. Big, too. Most of their land is wooded, except for a lake they keep magically warmed."
Hermione perked up. "How did they manage that?" She paused. "Why did they do it?"
"Dunno how," he said with a shrug. "And she said they kept it that way so they could swim comfortably."
"Oh. I suppose that makes sense, doesn't it?"
Ron stared between the two of them, confused.
"Veela have a fire-affinity," Hermione explained. "So they tend to feel cold. A normal lake would probably be too chilly for them to swim in."
Ron winced. "I'll bet the Black Lake was a nightmare then."
"It was," Harry said, his voice a controlled whisper.
"Was her family nice?" Hermione cut in, perhaps sensing a dangerous precipice."I barely saw them at the tournament, and her mother and sister weren't with them at the World Cup."
He spent the rest of the trip describing their incredible home, the baking he had done with Apolline, and the English he had practiced over chess with Gabrielle. He told them of their walks through the woods, though he omitted their clearing.
Despite everything he had told them, that place still felt too private to share.
He spoke of shopping with Sirius and small parties after major victories. He detailed the magnificent ballroom and formal dining room, as well as the far more practical dining room they used most often.
He left out his persistent nightmares of Fleur's silent screams. He left out the scalding water and Fleur gluing his shattered pieces back together.
And most private of all, he kept his feelings quiet and buried.
XxX
The brakes of the Express tore through the evening air, dragging the train to a halt at Hogsmeade station.
"It was nice to not have our annual visit from Malfoy," Hermione said, straightening her robes as she stood.
"You can say that again," Ron said. "I nearly swung at him last year. Not sure I have it in me to hold back again."
"Violence isn't always the solution. No matter how big of a jerk he's being."
"Says the only one of us who's gotten to lay him out."
Harry followed his friends from the cabin and out to the cramped hall. Shuffling feet, dense thrumming conversation, and hooting owls filled the train car as one by one, they stepped out into the comfortable evening air. Once outside, he scanned the station for Hagrid, only to find Professor McGonagall herding the first-years into crisp orderly lines. He followed Ron and Hermione to the horseless carriages, stopping mid-stride as they drew into view.
Large winged skeletal horses were tied to each one. Obsidian black hooves tamped the dirt path and transparent wings flexed with impatience.
"What are those?" he breathed, catching up with his friends.
"What are what?" asked Ron, following Harry's pointed finger to the carriages.
"They're thestrals," a soft voice answered from directly behind Harry. Despite her quiet intonation, her words cut through the din around them. "I didn't think anybody else could see them."
"Luna…right?" Harry asked, turning to find the strange girl peering at him. Only just shy of his average height, she still somehow managed to appear diminutive and was easily overlooked.
"That's right," she said, a slight smile curving her lips.
"I don't see anything either," Hermione said, squinting at where Harry had pointed.
They drew nearer and the one closest to them swept its wings out to their full extended length and swung them down. Harry braced himself but they buffeted no wind.
Luna stepped up to it and placed a small hand on its neck, stroking it gently. "You can only see them if you have seen, understood, and accepted death," she explained, her serene voice distinctly at odds with the subject matter.
"Accepted death?" Hermione echoed, face pale. "That seems…"
Luna trailed her hand down its flank, and it moved its wings to allow her to run her hand all the way down to its rump.
"They're quite friendly," she said, letting her hand fall and turning to Hermione. "Some sort of metaphor, I expect. I think you have to see and accept death as a part of life in order to see them, not necessarily accept it presently for yourself."
Harry stared into the thestral's eyes, visions of hate-filled curses and the calm control of acceptance settling just beneath his skin.
He shuddered.
The four of them climbed into the carriage, the mood decidedly somber, with the exception of Luna. No sooner had they started rolling than she pulled her upside-down magazine from her robes and began to read from a dog-eared page. Wooden wheels clattered along the path beneath them, jostling the silent occupants.
Ron was the first to break.
"How can you read that upside down?" he blurted after Luna turned another page.
She flipped the magazine around for him to see. The words were all printed right side up.
"This was a misprint," she said, holding it up to Harry and Hermione like a class project. "Daddy accidentally knocked this one over, then set it back on the pile backward. He can't sell it, so I took it for some light reading on the way back to school."
Content with her startlingly reasonable answer, Ron simply nodded, and they finished the ride in companionable silence.
Luna wished them well and thanked them for their company once they entered the great hall. She turned and made a beeline for an empty seat at the very end of the Ravenclaw table.
"She's a bit odd," Ron said as they took their usual places at Gryffindor table.
"Some of the girls call her 'Loony Lovegood,'" Hermione said with a grimace. She looked over her shoulder to where Luna sat, all the spots surrounding her conspicuously empty.
Before they could talk further, the doors to the great hall burst open and Professor McGonagall led the orderly procession of first-years in for their sorting.
XxX
One song, sorting, and feast later, Dumbledore held up his hands for quiet. Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned to pay attention, noting that Hagrid still had not shown, his spot taken up by the ancient Professor Grubbly-Plank.
"Welcome back," Dumbledore began once the talking had died down to a murmur. "It is another year and another opportunity for growth and change. A time to make new friends and forge new bonds while strengthening those you already hold dear. In the spirit of new bonds, I would like to introduce our two changes in faculty this year. First, Professor Grubbly-Plank has kindly offered to return from retirement yet again on our behalf."
The elderly woman lifted her hand, scanning the student body with a keen eye.
"And second, as has become an unfortunate tradition, it is my duty to announce that Professor Moody will not be returning this year. Instead, we are joined by the wonderful Professor Dierdra Polder. She joins us from the Auror department of the ICW after thirty years of outstanding service. I expect you to welcome her with open hearts and minds."
A woman with gray hair that was speckled with sparse pockets of dark brown stood and nodded to the students. Her robes were spotless and her gaze unflinching. Her mouth was drawn into a line, though nothing so stoic as Professor McGonagall.
"As always, the Forbidden Forest is just that, and Hogsmeade is off-limits to those students below third year," Dumbledore continued once Professor Polder sat back down. "To close, I will simply say this: The world around us changes constantly, but you will never have more control over your destiny than you will within these walls. Apply yourselves, make friends, and enjoy the process of bettering yourself. The more you endeavor to do these things, the more paths will be open to you in the future.
"Now, I have taken your valuable time long enough. Prefects, please see your students to the dorms."
"Oh, Ron!" Hermione said with a sudden gasp. "That's us!"
"What's you?" Harry asked, looking between his two friends as they rose.
"We were going to tell you on the train…but…you know," Ron said, fishing a small golden prefect's badge from inside his robes and pinning it to his front.
"It doesn't go on that side," Hermione said, pulling the badge free and affixing it to the proper spot.
"They're just little firsties," he said with a shrug. "They don't even know what a prefect is yet, let alone where my pin is supposed to go."
Hermione just shook her head before calling down the Gryffindor table for the first years to follow her and Ron.
"We'll see you soon, Harry," she said as nervous children wandered up to her. "The password is Mimbulus Mimbletonia."
"Bit of a mouthful."
He waved to them as they led the first-years away, then turned as he heard his name called by a familiar voice.
"You trying out this year?" Katie asked, flanked by Fred, George, and Angelina.
Harry nodded, a slow grin of excitement spreading across his face. "I've got the broom situation all figured out. Don't you worry."
'What's the point of being one of the wealthiest families around if I can't splurge on a gift every now and then. Consider it all your missed birthday gifts wrapped into one.'
'That's what you said about the first one.'
'Missed Christmases then. Point is, I could buy you a hundred of em and not bat an eye. Please, take it and have fun.'
"That's good," Fred said with a grin. "It would be a challenge to keep the bludgers off you if you had to run along the pitch instead of flying."
"Not that we don't appreciate your absolute faith in our skills," said George.
"See you at tryouts then," Angelina said, not offering him time to respond.
"I'll be there," he promised.
XxX
He took the quickest route he knew up to Gryffindor tower, hoping to avoid the usual gawking at the Boy-Who-Lived. Trailing so far behind, it was unlikely he would run into any first-years, who hadn't had any exposure to him at all and would be the most likely to gape. Even so, after being so raw and vulnerable on the Express, he wasn't sure he could handle some star-struck kid with rude probing questions.
He slipped mostly unnoticed through the common room, most of the students inside listening to Hermione's long and obviously pre-prepared speech. He climbed the stairs to his dorm and found the room blessedly empty. He popped the latches on his trunk and swung it open, sifting through the clothes Fleur had placed carefully on top.
A faint touch of cinnamon drifted to his nose, causing something inside him to squirm uncomfortably.
He grabbed the quill and ink from the bottom of his trunk, fixing the snapped feather with a muttered ' reparo '. He moved to his bed and set the writing utensils on his nightstand. He pulled Fleur's gift from his pocket and unfolded it on his lap.
The original message of ' Happy Birthday ' had already been replaced.
You can do it. I believe in you.
He stared at the words and their loopy calligraphic letters, feeling a powerful mix of warmth and loss.
He flipped the parchment over to his side and dipped the quill in the ink.
You were right. They were really understanding. I told them on the train ride here.
He sat back and couldn't help but notice how blocky and flat his handwriting was compared to hers. He flipped it over, surprised to see the old message already gone, a new one scrawling its way across the page.
You see? No persuasion required.
Let me know when your first Hogsmeade weekend is and I will be there .
Short and to the point. He couldn't help but smile. He flipped the paper over and cleared away his writing with a tap of his wand.
I'll try to find out tonight and let you know.
Any further note-writing was interrupted by Ron, who opened the door and poked his head in. "McGonagall's downstairs looking for you. Getting an early start on the trouble this year?"
"I hope not," Harry grumbled, folding the parchment and stuffing it back in his pocket.
Their Head of House stood just inside the portrait hole, her usual stern expression unwavering as they approached.
"The Headmaster wishes to see you, Mr. Potter," she said, ushering him out of the common room. He glanced up at her and saw the corners of her mouth quirk up into a sliver of a momentary smile. "And your package has arrived at my desk. I will ensure it is waiting for you in the locker room in time for tryouts. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to frighten some first years."
Harry walked the halls at a quick pace, taking care to avoid the more frequented classrooms and broom closets as he went. While not uncommon to find them occupied during the year, they tended to be a bit busier the first weeks back to school. The end of his path led him to the familiar gargoyle statue that hid the entrance to the Headmaster's office.
"Er…she didn't tell me the password," he said, staring into the gargoyle's stone eyes. To his surprise, it jumped aside, allowing him immediate access to the stairs.
Dumbledore waited in his office behind orderly stacks of parchment and books. Two books hung in midair to his right, each flipping a page when he pointed his thin knobbly wand at them. He looked up from his work when Harry closed the massive wooden door.
"You have stumbled upon the not-often-seen benefits to holding a high-ranking position in government. The research and paperwork involved to get what needs to be done, done, is substantial," Dumbledore said, rising to his feet and stepping around the floating books. "I am grateful for the break but I must be brief. Although, I do hope the remainder of your summer holiday was enjoyable?"
"Yes, Sir," Harry said, sitting in a chair that sprang into existence with a flick of the headmaster's wand
"That is marvelous to hear," Dumbledore said, leaning against the front of his desk with a soft grunt and peering down at Harry over his spectacles. "I am working on my proposal to address the Wizengamot regarding Voldemort's return. Until he makes himself known in some way, it will take substantial evidence to push the Ministry into declaring war."
"War…Sir?"
"I am afraid so. Though far from ideal, having the Ministry ready and able to counteract the strikes Voldemort and his followers makes, will drastically reduce the loss of life. We waited too long last time to see what was in front of us. I aim to ensure we do not make the same mistake again.
"The Minister is less obtrusive than I had expected but he has thus far been unwilling to cooperate. At his best, he asks for evidence. At his worst, he attempts to bring Alastor to trial for the murder of Voldemort's Death Eaters."
Harry sat, dumbfounded. Fudge had always seemed a bit…slimy, but he had never expected something like this.
"Can't we show him our memories?" Harry asked, thinking back to Sebastian's request during his first day of freedom.
"Perhaps," Dumbledore said. "The thought had occurred to me but it is not a foolproof method. The Minister would say, and not untruthfully, that memories can be inaccurate or tampered with. It is an avenue we may explore but not at this moment. The reason I called you here was to make you an offer."
"An offer, Sir?"
"Based in part on Voldemort's behavior during your time at Hogwarts, as well as the events of last year, I believe that he has fixated upon you. While Hogwarts is the safest place for you to be, it is not the only place you can be."
Harry nodded, coming up short when Dumbledore peered at him without continuing for a moment.
"You are remarkably unphased for someone who has just received such unfortunate news."
"With all due respect, Sir. I had figured as much. Three out of four years doesn't really make for good odds."
The frown lines that creased Dumbledore's aged face brought his significant years to bear and the aged man wilted.
"Another tally on my list of failures," he said, shaking his head. "I have done poorly by you, Harry, and I hope to rectify this. One such way is to equip you to the best of my ability."
"Equip me, Sir?"
"I would like to tutor you, for a time. Until Alastor has fully recovered at least. He spoke very highly of you, which is not something he does often."
"H-he did?"
"Oh, yes. Said if he had a group of Aurors that listened and applied half as well as you did, he never would have retired."
Harry felt his face warm at the second-hand praise. Surely anybody could figure out Moody's stunner lessons. He wasn't anything special.
But a chance to learn from Dumbledore himself…
He gritted his teeth. He had to get better. If he could be stronger, faster, his friends wouldn't suffer for their proximity to him.
Maybe he wouldn't have had to tear himself apart to save Fleur from the lake. Maybe if he'd been faster, she wouldn't have had to suffer. If he'd been stronger, he could've taken the brunt of Voldemort's ire without the need for an example.
"I'll do whatever it takes."
XxX
Sirius stood at the end of a long sterile hall. White walls and ceilings clashed horribly with the carpeted floor of the office section of St. Mungos. Even the lingering scent of antiseptic drifted up from the floors below. Most offensive, however, was the stained oak door in front of him with its mocking letters etched in glass.
'Phillip Jacobson' they read in a professional blocky script.
Pretentious. Just like the man himself.
Sirius knew what lay beyond that wooden barrier: Jacobson's smug face and his holier-than-thou tone that came packaged along with whatever sham of a diploma you needed to do this sort of 'work' at St. Mungos.
He stared down at the brass doorknob, the fleeting burst of anger fading against his resolution.
It had been the image of Harry's hopeful face that had brought him back to his court-appointed mind-healer, and it would be that image that propelled him through that door. He'd made a promise, but talk was cheap.
He licked his dry lips.
The door made no sound as it swung open, the weight of it pulling it shut behind him. Jacobson sat behind his modest desk in front of the window with two empty chairs sat opposite him.
He looked up from his work with a smile. "Welcome back, Mr. Black," he said, with a surprising lack of smugness. "It's good to see you again."
"Thanks…" Sirius said, taking a jerky step towards one of the chairs. "And you can just call me Sirius."
"What brings you back in, Sirius?"
"Right to it then?" Sirius said with a wooden chuckle. The insane idea of opening up to a complete stranger twisted his insides.
"Naturally."
"It's my godson," he finally said. "He needs me to take him in."
Jacobson nodded and pulled a blank piece of paper from a drawer.
"And you can't do that without being reinstated as Head of House?" he prompted, both a statement and question wrapped into one.
He licked his lips again. What he wouldn't give to be at home with a drink.
"Not only that…" Sirius managed to force out. "But I need to be good for him. He's had it tough and deserves someone who's got it together. He deserves better than this," he finished, gesturing across himself.
"I see," Jacobson said, scribbling something onto the paper then meeting Sirius's gaze. "This is an excellent start but before we can get to the deeper topics, I need to know more about you."
XxX
Harry dropped down onto his bed at the end of a long first week of classes. He had half an ear turned to Ron, who was, yet again, complaining about his prefect rounds.
It was refreshingly normal.
"-she got so embarrassed the first time that she makes me do it now! Everyone is going to hate me!" Ron grumbled, dropping onto his bed. "I say we just let 'em do it. Awfully rude to be interrupting something like that."
Harry nodded, though he was only vaguely sure what he was agreeing with. He pulled his enchanted paper from his pocket and felt his heart jump when he saw a new message scribbled across the front.
Any luck finding out about Hogsmeade days? I hope it is soon. I am going to lose my mind if I have to look at another apartment this week.
"You know Hermione's going spare trying to figure out how she managed that," Ron said, a wry grin splitting his freckled face.
"She could probably just write and ask her," Harry replied, rummaging through his nightstand drawer for his quill and ink. "When are the Hogsmeade weekends?"
"The last weekends in September and October…I think," Ron said, eyes squinted at the ceiling. "Yeah…that sounds right."
"Are you a prefect or aren't you?" Harry mocked with a grin.
"Shut it."