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Chapter Text

Not for the first time, an argument broke out at Malfoy Manor.

They became more and more frequent these days. The war caused a lot of stress, forming a wedge between Lucius Malfoy and his wife, Narcissa. When the disagreements began, they chalked it up to the hormones that came with expecting a newborn. The first child is never easy, but even after Draco was born—perfect and healthy—the arguments never stopped.

It was hard enough convincing the wizarding world of their rightful superiority over muggles, but having to convince his own wife on how necessary everything he did was, became exhausting.

Together, they possessed greater wealth and influence than most of Britain, even before the Dark Lord rose to power, and their status has only improved since. Lucius sat at his high table. He wore his Dark Mark; he was his most loyal follower. The Dark Lord rewarded his followers tenfold for their loyalty and only punished the betrayers and mutineers. Narcissa was afraid for nothing, they had no reason to fear Him.

“What would you have me do, Narcissa?” Lucius bounced his leg, sitting in their son’s nursery. “Refuse the Dark Lord’s command?”

Narcissa rocked Draco in her arms and said, “If you had any care for your family, you would.”

“You think it so simple? I cannot refuse him.”

“You will not refuse him, you mean? What has he done to frighten you so?”

“It’s not what he’s done. It’s what he can do for us.”

“There is nothing he can do for us, Lucius!” she exclaimed as loudly as she dared to not wake up their son. “When will your sycophancy reach its end? When will you realize he needs our support more than we will ever need him? Our support adds legitimacy to his reign. Without us, he has nothing.”

“You forget yourself, wife.” Lucius’ leg stopped bouncing, planted firmly on the ground. “He is a powerful sorcerer.”

“No, husband, you forget me.” She’d stopped rocking Draco, her eyes locked on Lucius. “Before I was your wife, I was Narcissa Black. Daughter of the most ancient and noble House of Black. My family built the wizarding world in Britain; without us, there wouldn’t be wizards in Britain for this ‘powerful sorcerer’ to rule at all. It is my family that holds the real power in the wizarding world. My family, not yours. It’s our support that keeps him relevant and grants him a place at the table.”

“Held,” Lucius glowered. “Held the real power, Narcissa. You and your sisters married out of the Black family. All that’s left of them now is that cousin of yours. And I don’t recall your parents, let alone Walburga or Orion, shying away in their support, rest their souls. They knew the Dark Lord would bring about a new age for wizards like us.”

“Yes, but they were intelligent enough not to brand their arms with that hideous mark.”

“Your sister did.”

Narcissa scoffed. “Don’t suggest Bellatrix is the precedent here.”

“Then what about Regulus?” Lucius asked, hitting where he knew it would hurt.

Her younger cousin, Regulus, had died only a few months prior, and the circumstances were mysterious at best. There wasn’t a body found, and no one knew what happened except for his elderly house-elf, who was loath to speak of it even under direct orders and threats of clothes. Rumors swirled that The Dark Lord tasked Regulus with a secret mission gone awry. Others speculated the Dark Lord himself killed the boy for his own purposes.

It had quieted her, and she lowered Draco into his crib. “Regulus was a boy. He had no business wearing that mark or doing the Dark Lord’s bidding.”

“He was seventeen. He was a man, he knew what he was doing.”

“He was a boy,” she said sharply.

“Would rather he have been like Andromeda or Sirius? A blood traitor?”

Andromeda, Narcissa’s sister, another daughter of the House of Black, did not find a suitable match in a similarly powerful pure-blood family like her sisters had. Instead, she opted to marry a battering ram of a man, name of Tonks. A muggle born ‘wizard’ who was no more fit to marry such a skilled witch as he was to wield a wand. 

As for Sirius, it would be a shorter list of what he’s done right than to list all of his transgressions.

“I’d rather he be alive.”

“Alive and a traitor to the Dark Lord?”

“No, Lucius. Just alive.” She walked out of the nursery, pursued by Lucius. After leaving the door open a hair, they continued their discussion. “We don’t know how he died. We don’t even know what happened to his body.” She shook her head. “Is that what you think of me? A blood traitor? Because I refuse to bow? You’ll have to forgive me, my love. I don’t have the practice.”

“Of course I don’t…” Lucius stroked her cheek.

Narcissa pulled away. “Of course you don’t.”

“Still, I cannot refuse him.” He wrung his hands.

The look Narcissa gave was harsher than any slap. “I do not want him hosting his war councils in my home! Not around our son!”

“He’s not holding it in the damn nursery, Narcissa!” Lucius slammed his palm against the wall before regretting that it might’ve woken Draco. Lowering his voice, he said, “You’re not expected to attend. You can stay up here with Draco until it’s over.”

“My attendance is not the issue here. I do not want him and his followers to feel comfortable taking over my home whenever they wish!”

“This is a great honor.”

She looked at him incredulously. “You truly believe that, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. They’ll be here soon.”

“Of course they will.” Narcissa walked off down the hall to their room. “I won’t wait up.”

“You know your sister won’t leave without seeing you!” He called after her, but she only responded by firmly shutting the door. Lucius groaned and smoothed out his robes, walking to the staircase. “Elf!”

With the sound of a whip crack, Lucius’ house-elf apparated beside him.

“Y–yes, Master Malfoy, sir?”

“Have you prepared the Manor for the Dark Lord’s arrival?”

“Yes sir, Dobby has polished the floors, and scrubbed the walls, and dusted the—”

“That’s enough! I don’t need a list. They’ll be arriving soon. I’d better not see a spec of you while the Dark Lord is here or I’ll allow him to use you the same he did with that old monster the Black family owns.”

“Y–yes, sir, of course. Dobby will remain hidden while Master Malfoy entertains his guests.”

“Good.” Now at the foot of the stairs, Lucius looked at the wide-eyed, big-eared, and miniscule creature. “And I don’t want to hear a sound coming from Draco’s room, either. If he wakes, I expect you to cast silencing charms and to get his mother. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

From outside, there was a series of CRACKS. “Be gone. You can tend to my guests from the shadows.”

Dobby disapparated to wherever he normally went to hide, while Lucius adjusted his appearance for a last time. From the walking stick he used, he twisted free the serpent-head topper, revealing his wand. Eighteen inches, dark elm, dragon heartstring. After decades of us, it had turned nearly black, the tip a sharpened point. A rather dull thing, Lucius spent a considerable amount of galleons to have a pure silver serpent forged to loop around the length of the wand. The snake served as a grip, curving to the contours of Lucius’ hand, and as the menacing topper of his walking stick. The snake’s head portrayed him ready to lunge, mouth wide and sharpened fangs bared. A pair of brilliant emeralds acted as the eyes.

With a flick of the wand, the massive verdant doors to Malfoy Manor creaked open.

In the courtyard were a dozen of his fellow Death Eaters, arriving just in time. Most gave a curt or respectful nod to Lucius as they entered the manor, exchanging brief pleasantries. Others walked past without a glance. It was all the usual sort: The Carrows, Mulciber (father and son), MacNair, Crabbe, Goyle, Avery, Crouch, Dolohov, Parkinson, Travers, Yaxley, Lestranges et al., and others he never cared to learn the names of.

“Lucy!” chirped Bellatrix, her arm wrapped around her husband’s. “Always so glum.” She gave him a mocking frown. “Don’t look so nervous, dear.” She extended her free hand out to Lucius.

“Bella,” Lucius sneered, kissing her outstretched hand. “A pleasure. Rodolphus.”

Rodolphus was a tall, black man with a strong jaw, closely cropped hair, and naturally suspicious eyes. He shook Lucius’ hand sternly, always a man of few words, unlike his wife or brother. A skilled spellcaster, and devastating to any who crossed him; it wasn’t often he got dirt on his hands, but even Lucius pitied those that came across him when he did.

“I’ll keep your advice in mind, dear sister. I appreciate your concern.” Lucius did his best not to roll his eyes.

“Good. Now, where’s Cissa?” she strutted into the foyer. “I miss my baby sister.”

“Upstairs. Raising a baby is tiring work. She’s resting while the boy sleeps.”

“Pity. I thought motherhood would become her. Oh, well, I’ll just pop up to see her.”

Lucius held his hand out to stop her. “Now, now, Bella. Let her sleep.”

Her shoulders slumped and she scoffed. “Fine, but I will see her before we leave.” She stared intensely at Lucius with her wild, heavy-lidded gray eyes before twirling and heading for the dining room. Her heels echoed through the cavernous room. “Come, Rodolphus!”

Scratching his eyebrow, Lucius could already feel the migraine growing behind his eyes.

“Severus,” he greeted the latest arrival. A prodigious young man with sunken, dark features. He often looked sickly. His long black hair and clothing did little to help this. But he was a talented Potions Master and spell-caster, having created more than a few of his own.

“Lucius.” He didn’t feign a smile like the others did when greeting him. “A pleasure. Thank you for hosting—”

“Oh, God, not you too.” Lucius ushered the younger man away from the door and lowered his voice. “Has he told you why he’s called this meeting?”

“I do not presume to know the Dark Lord’s reasons behind his decisions. I’m sorry to tell you he acts of his own accord with no… input from me.”

Lucius sucked his teeth in disappointment. That’s what he was afraid of. “I only assumed that after warning him of the prophecy, he’d have made you privy to his plans.”

This year past, a few months before Draco was born, Severus convened the Death Eater court and made the Dark Lord aware of a prophecy given to Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts. It foretold the birth of one possessing power to defeat the Dark Lord, born to ones who have thrice defied him at the end of July. Unfortunately, the brute operating the Hog’s Head Inn threw Severus out before he could hear the rest. They spent weeks unraveling the lines they knew, and ultimately Lord Voldemort marked the son of James and Lily Potter for death. 

“Half a prophecy. Something he is quick to remind me of. Not enough to make me any more privy to his machinations than the rest of you. I’d thought if anyone were aware, it would be you, Lucius. After all, this is your house.”

“Yes, you would think, but no. I’m as oblivious as the rest. Come along.”

Together, they walked up the malachite steps to the Malfoy dining room where the rest of the Death Eaters were sitting around the long rectangular table. The only seats remaining were the two nearest the head of the table, which was reserved for the Dark Lord. Lucius assumed one of these as this was his house, with the other reserved for Severus Snape.

Despite not gaining more insight than the other Death Eaters, Snape’s revelation of the prophecy and playing spy within Dumbledore’s Order has secured him a place at Lord Voldemort’s right hand. The second youngest in their ranks and not one from a noble pure-blood family, his appointment to such a revered place came as a slight to many amongst them.

Though none would ever say so out loud.

None of the Death Eaters made idle small talk while waiting. No one spoke at all. Their eyes flicked towards the door sporadically or studied the woodgrain of the table. They fidgeted with their rings and sleeves or fussed over their appearance. All of them except for Severus, who had his hands laced together and resting on the table in front of him, looking content and slightly bored. Nothing of how he felt escaped from behind those dark eyes.

The constant fidgeting and silence must’ve been too much for Rabastan Lestrange, the younger brother of Rodolphus. Always an impatient one, he was incapable of keeping still for long. He shared his brother’s warm brown complexion and handsome look, though he kept his hair in braids tied behind his head. He sighed loudly and dropped his hand on the table. “Malfoy, why don’t you call that elf of yours and get us a glass of wine? We’ve come a long way, after all.”

“No, Rabastan…” A cold, soft voice spoke before Lucius could. Forming from the shadows beyond the open door, a figure appeared. “I need all of your minds clear… for we are on the precipice of our victory…”

The Dark Lord glided silently down the long length of the table and assumed his seat at the head. The silence was even more palpable now than it was a moment ago, lingering heavily in the air. No one fidgeted anymore. Iron rods replaced their spines.

It was Severus who asked, “Our victory, my lord?”

A thin-lipped smile spread across the Dark Lord’s pale face.

“Severus, my faithful companion, it was only a few months past that you enlightened us with the news of a prophecy… ‘the one to vanquish the Dark Lord’…” He let out a raspy, hollow laugh that the others hesitantly joined. “For months, we have devoted our energies to avoiding this outcome… weakening the Order… crippling the Ministry… searching for James and Lily Potter… Unfortunately, my faithful friend did not collect the full prophecy, leaving us in greater uncertainty than we ought to be…” His slitted scarlet eyes rested on Snape, neither showing malice nor disappointment.

Severus turned his head to meet his gaze, not showing any reaction of his own. “My lord, I would have given you the full prophecy had it not been for that fool of a barkeep—”

“Ah, Severus, fret not. One of your old schoolmates has provided us with an answer to our prayers… Wormtail?”

The red eyes shifted their gaze towards the shadowed doorway, and Snape followed. Trembling, another figure stepped into the room. This Wormtail was a short, stocky man with straw-colored hair, watery eyes, and a large pair of buck-teeth. He wore a flannel shirt and khaki-colored pants. He looked as far from the Death Eaters, dressed predominantly in black, silver, and green finery. Still, a wave of familiarity washed over Lucius, though he couldn’t recall from where.

A few of the others did not have the same lapse in memory.

The younger amongst them, including the typically measured Snape, shot to their feet in haste, their wands aimed right for this stranger. He threw up his hands in terror.

“Immobulus!” Snape’s wand flashed blue, and the stranger froze in place.

The Dark Lord let out another hollow laugh. “So passionate…” Lord Voldemort said. “Calm yourselves, gentlemen, calm yourselves…”

“My lord,” Snape refused to take his eyes or wand off the stranger, “I would never presume to question you, but this man is a close friend of James Potter and Albus Dumbledore. He is a member of the Order of the Phoenix. I have seen him attending meetings and performing missions without question. He acts to protect the boy you’ve marked for death.”

“I am aware, Severus…You are not the only mole… or rat… we possess.”

Lucius’ memory finally caught up to him. Peter Pettigrew, a Gryffindor boy who was close friends with Narcissa’s cousin, Sirius Black. Though so many years younger, his reputation for following Sirius and James Potter around like their shadow was a well-known one. Despite barely knowing him, his betrayal was hard to believe.

“Sire,” Evan Rosier spoke, still keeping his wand on Pettigrew. “I’ve known this one since we were boys. He holds no loyalty to us, likely he’s feeding information to the Order.”

“Is that true, Wormtail?” Lord Voldemort asked in a hushed voice. His wand flashed and Pettigrew could once again move.

“N–no, my lord.”

“He lies!” Snape spat.

“Severus…” the Dark Lord’s eyes once again fell on him. “I recall you being quite a skilled Legilimens… Surely, you could find any sense of betrayal I may have missed… you seem so sure that I am wrong.”

Snape’s wand wavered and fell to his side. “I beg your forgiveness, my lord. I did not mean to insinuate—”

“Of course you didn’t, my boy… mark it down as boyhood grievances… For those of you still unconvinced, please tell me which of you, my most devoted, was responsible for the death of the McKinnon Family?” His burning red eyes flicked from each one of them to the other . “Come now, claim your laurels… They were so devoted against me… Rosier? Crabbe…? Avery…? Travers…?”

“I had the McKinnon girl marked ,” Travers shot to his feet. “I was following her day and night, preparing to make my move—”

“And were you successful?”

“…No, my lord.” He sat back down. “Another murdered her and her family before I could.”

“And do you know by whom?”

“No, my lord.”

“Severus, do you know? You work so closely within the ranks of the Order, do they have any suspects?”

“No, my lord,” said Snape. “All the Order is sure of is it being a Death Eater.”

“They’re right of that…” Lord Voldemort laughed again. “Your arm, Wormtail?”

Everyone’s attention floated back to Pettigrew, still trembling at the foot of the table. He undid the buttons of his cuff and rolled up the sleeve. Outraged gasps filled the room as he revealed the Dark Mark burnt into the underside of his left forearm. Protests broke out immediately, with most of the table jumping to their feet.

“Quiet!” snapped the Dark Lord in the same hoarse whisper. The protests ceased as quickly as they started, with everyone returning to their seats in shame. “You all know how that mark is earned… you all know it does not come lightly… isn’t that right, Wormtail?”

Pettigrew gave a shaky nod, covering the mark on his arm.

“It is our newest comrade that accomplished what you could not, Travers.”

“Marlene McKinnon and her family were not as dear to him as those you have marked, my lord,” Snape boldly said. “Pettigrew would not turn his back on James Potter, let alone aid in his demise.”

“Severus, again you are so sure… In all your time with the Order, can you tell me the location of the Potters?”

“…No, my lord. Dumbledore has kept that close to the chest… especially with me.”

“And you do not see the hindrance there? My most trusted… my spy within their ranks… and yet you cannot give me that which I need most to secure my victory… Do you know how they’re being protected?”

“From what I gather, it is a Fidelius charm, seeing as none can speak of it.”

“And if it is, then who is their secret-keeper?”

“Sirius Black,” Lucius chimed in. “Everyone knows how close he is to Potter.”

“Everyone knows…” Lord Voldemort’s eyes rested on Pettigrew. “Don’t they, Wormtail?”

Pettigrew once again had the floor. “Th–They figured everyone would suspect Sirius… so at the last minute… he chose me as their secret-keeper, t–to throw you off the trail…”

“Little did he know, you were a clever one and knew where the power lied… even when he did not…” Lord Voldemort rose from his seat and walked along the length of the table, running his fingers over the shoulders of each Death Eater he passed. “My friends, as you know, the Fidelius charm is ancient magic… difficult to conjure… difficult to dispel… He who holds the secret is bound to it… and may only provide it willingly… no matter of coercion would work. I could torture young Peter for decades and never hear a whisper of what he kept… but I do not need to… do I?” He’d reached Pettigrew and stood behind him, hands on both of his shoulders, looking down at him as he waited for a response.

“N–No.” From the pocket on his breast, Pettigrew pulled a slip of parchment and presented it to the Dark Lord.

Lord Voldemort savored every word before passing the note to Rodolphus, who passed it to Bellatrix, then Rabastan, and so on until it reached Lucius. Written on the scrap of parchment was a single sentence:

Lily and James Potter are hiding their son at a cottage in Godric’s Hollow.

That was all.

All the Order’s protections culminated into fourteen words. Lucius passed the note to Severus, who snatched it from his hand greedily. He read it several times over, perhaps analyzing it for any sort of hidden message or trap the Dark Lord could not have foreseen. But he came up short and passed it to Yaxley beside him.

“Godric’s Hollow,” Lord Voldemort cackled.

“What do you plan to do, my lord?” Severus asked.

“Pay them a visit…”

The Death Eaters chuckled.

“When do you plan to have this visit, my lord? Shall we accompany you?”

“There will be no need, Bella… I am capable of killing the babe and his parents myself. There is much and more I intend for the rest of you to take care of in my stead. As for when… what better evening than that of Hallowe’en…?”

“Tonight, my lord?” Lucius asked with too much surprise.

“You object to this, Lucius?”

“No. Of course not, my lord. I am merely surprised by how quickly this was happening.”

“Surprised?” Lord Voldemort rounded the table to stand over Lucius. “Did you think the months spent preparing for this were all a charade? When would be a better time to enact my plan, do you think? Forgive me for not checking your schedule…”

“Apologies, my lord. I did not mean—”

The Dark Lord ignored him. “Tonight, my friends… everything we have worked for… everything we have prepared for… it will all be ours. The boy will die, and any threat to my power extinguished.”

“What of Dumbledore, my lord?” Yaxley asked. “Surely, we will still have to contend with him and his Order.”

The Dark Lord resumed his place at the head of the table. “Surely… Severus?” Looking at the younger man on his right, he laid out his hand for him to hold court.

Snape rose from his seat. His fingertips remained on the table and he stared straight ahead as he addressed them all. “Albus Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix…” he said in his usual monotone, seeming to pick each word carefully. “Have put much stock in their… prophecy. They’ve clung to it like a shield, willing the… Potters and the Longbottoms into hiding with their sons. I am of the opinion that Dumbledore does not seek to merely keep them safe because it is the right thing to do… He is keeping them safe to ensure the survival of the boys so they may live to fulfill their… purpose.”

“And?” Rabastan said impatiently.

Rather than turning to face the Lestrange, Severus only moved his eyes to look at him. “And should these prophesized babes be… removed… The Order’s shield and their hopes of success will go with them. Dumbledore is but a man, without his secret weapon… he is lost. The ground will fall from beneath him, his supporters will lose faith, and the Dark Lord will rise with no one capable of stopping him.”

“But this only takes out one boy,” Barty said. “We need to deal with the Longbottoms all the same. Just in case.”

“Agreed… You will each have your tasks to perform. But rest assured, today our reign shall begin and none will be able to stop us.”

The Death Eaters toasted to their assured victory.

“Barty… you and the Lestranges three I entrust to take care of the Longbottoms.”

“Gonna have another McKinnon family on our hands,” Rabastan laughed.

“We will not fail you, My Lord,” Bellatrix swore.

“I know you won’t. I need The Ministry and Order distracted… This, I leave in the capable hands of the rest of you. Except for you, Wormtail. You alone will accompany me to Godric’s Hollow… You know what the ramifications are, should you be less than truthful?”

“Y–yes, m’lord.”

“And us, my lord?” Lucius couldn’t meet his gaze. “Severus and myself?”

“Ah, concerned about your status in my court, Lucius?” asked the Dark Lord. “Worry not. You’re correct in your belief I have a task of your own to fulfill. Leave us,” he commanded the Death Eaters.

All of them filed from the dining hall, and Lucius heard them disapparating from the foyer.

“Don’t go too far, Wormtail. The hour of your deception is nearly upon u s.”

All of them filed from the dining hall, and Lucius heard them disapparating from the foyer. “Don’t go too far, Wormtail. The hour of your deception is nearly upon us.”

“My lord.” Snape lingered for a moment. “If I could speak privately with you before your departure?”

“Of course, Severus… You will have my ear once I have finished with Lucius. I have my own tasks for you…”

“Thank you, my Lord.” He gave a polite bow and a brief look towards Lucius before exiting, flicking his wand with a flourish to shut the doors.

“You,” Lucius cleared his throat. “You have something for me specifically, my lord?”

“Yes, Lucius…” The Dark Lord rose once again from his seat. “I can trust only you with this… You are the most… practical of my followers… A stable man… a family man…”

“My lord?” Lucius’ stomach clenched and flipped. Asking something of him was enough, but to bring in his wife? God forbid his son? Draco was not yet two. What use could he be to the Dark Lord? Then again, so was the Potter boy, and his name was marked for death.

“I have no need of your son, Lucius… at least, not yet. No, only your promise to keep a possession of mine safe.”

“A possession? Of course, my lord. Whatever it is will have the utmost security.”

“Good…” The Dark Lord waved his hand through the air and, from a dark cloud of smoke, he retrieved a leather-bound book and bestowed it upon Lucius. Flipping through the black book, Lucius found the pages to be blank. The only thing written in it was the name “T. M. Riddle” inscribed on the inside cover.

“Is… Is there a spell to conjure its contents, my lord?”

“No, Lucius. That diary contains far more than any simple spellbook or grimoire. Though its pages remain blank, they hold the secret to our future… You see, many decades ago, while I was still a boy at Hogwarts, I was fortunate enough to attend with the Heir of Slytherin. It was he who opened the mythic Chamber of Secrets during our time there, released the ancient Basilisk from its tomb, and used it to rid the school of the muggle-born filth that pervades it.

“Unfortunately, he was unsuccessful in his attempt… the creature killed only one Mudblood girl and back to its slumber, it went. This diary contains the knowledge to open the Chamber once more. When the time is right and there is no one—especially Albus Dumbledore—to stand in our way, you will ensure this diary finds its way into the school and into the hands of an impressionable student… and we will purge the greatest wizarding school in the world of all those impure and unworthy once and for all.”

— —

“It’s all a lie!”

“They certainly don’t think so.”

“Yes, and they also think it’s appropriate for muggle-borns to attend our schools,” Lucius said. “I hold little stock in what they think… so much of it has so little basis in reality.”

He stared into the lit hearth. The flames danced across his slate-blue eyes. His wife, Narcissa, sat in front of the fire, joining him in the library to discuss the news that came with the end of term at the Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.

“Draco seemed convinced enough.”

“He’s a child. The Dark Lord is dead,” Lucius spat. “Has been for over a decade; and if He weren’t, it would take more than an eleven-year-old boy to defeat Him.”

Narcissa sipped her tea, shooting her husband a look that spoke for itself.

“We don’t know the truth of what happened that night. A baby could not conjure magic enough to defeat Him. It was a fluke—a mistake.”

“And whatever it was, did defeat the Dark Lord.”

Lucius exhaled deeply. “Regardless, one thing is certain: He is dead . The only one in the dungeons with the Potter boy weeks ago was an inept half-blood wizard who had no more business invoking the Dark Lord’s name than he did teaching our children.”

“How are you so sure? That he’s truly dead?”

“Because we would be the first to know if he weren’t!”

“Do not raise your voice.”

Lucius grit his teeth. “I was ever faithful to Him. He would reward our loyalty, Narcissa.”

“Reward?” Narcissa stifled a laugh. “As soon as the news came of his disappearance, what did we do? Claimed ignorance. Claimed we’d been bewitched and forced into his bidding. Would he see that as loyalty? Or is your certainty that he’s truly gone, a false hope that he won’t come after you for what you’ve done?”

“I did what I had to do!” he stormed. “He would understand that I am of more use to him in my current position than I’d ever be locked up in Azkaban with your sister. Or would you rather have raised Draco on your own all this time?”

She remained silent, but did not take her eyes away from him.

“As I said. It’s all a lie. The Dark Lord is not back, nor did Harry Potter face him. All he found down there was that frightened fool, Quirrell. A powerful gust of wind would have killed the man had Potter not. Though, his propensity to kill the half-breeds shows promise that not all hope is lost.” Lucius scoffed and rubbed his eyes, sitting in the chair beside Narcissa’s. Their hands lightly wove together.

“It was enough that Quirrell was a professor at all. muggle Studies , of all things. A joke. But for Dumbledore to take him on as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? That should have removed him from his post then and there. I tried, of course, but the other governors refused… Utterly foolish. Likely came up with the Dark Lord returning to cover up his own ineptitude for hiring Quirrell in the first place.”

The silence lingered for a while before Lucius’ attention turned to the bookcase, and a book he’d placed there so many years ago. He rose from his seat and collected the leather-bound journal.

“Do you think anyone else will believe Dumbledore’s claims?” Narcissa asked.

Lucius flipped through the blank pages of the journal, knowing he wouldn’t find anything on them. “That’s yet to be seen… still, Quirrell’s alleged allegiances don’t bode well. I’m sure there are more than a few within the Ministry looking for an opportunity to climb the ladder.”

Narcissa finally got to her feet and walked over to him. “Then you, Lucius, need to do everything in your power to keep them away from our family. I won’t have anyone asking questions in my home, not in front of my son.”

Lucius never looked up from the blank book. “You worry too much. And he’s our son.”

“No, Lucius. You said it yourself. You’re more useful not in Azkaban. So, do whatever you need to do to keep it that way. I want all of your trinkets gone, anything that even whispers of the dark arts, anything that shows any sign of your previous allegiances and pay off whoever you need to—will you put that damn book away!” She slapped the journal from his hands, forcing it across the room.

Fury rose in Lucius’ eyes. Narcissa did not flinch or look away. Her jaw tightened.

He summoned the book back to him, but he didn’t open it again. “I’ll forgive your ignorance, my dear.”

With a pitying look, Narcissa returned to her seat and crossed her legs. “I didn’t ask for your forgiveness, husband.”

Looking at her with a mixture of trepidation and adoration, he held up the book. “What if I told you this would give us both what we want?”

“A cure to my migraine?”

“Something to rid us of—”

Raising her hand to stop him, Narcissa returned to her feet and walked over to her husband again. She softly caressed his cheek, coarse from the new hair growth, and kissed the other. “Deniability, Lucius. Deniability. I trust you to do what needs to be done, and the less I know, the better.”

She left the room without another word.

Lucius turned the book over in his hand, glowering at it. It was the only gift he’d ever gotten from the Dark Lord. And one he said to protect at all costs. He’d flipped through its empty contents a few times over the years, especially after the Dark Lord’s death. Frankly, he didn’t see what was so important from the old thing, a diary from some muggle shop. But the Dark Lord claimed that when the time was right, they would use it to purge Hogwarts of all muggle-borns once and for all. How such an object could do that, Lucius still didn’t know. He was only told that it was bewitched. How it worked didn’t matter, Lucius needed it now.

He summoned his quill and opened the diary

Chapter Text

“Has anyone ever talked to you about writing in a diary, Tom?”

The slight boy shook his head, avoiding the old man’s eyes.

“Hmm…” The doctor nodded and pulled a journal from his desk drawer. “Would you like to try? I think it could help you understand how you’re feeling if you put it down on paper.”

Tom nodded and accepted the journal. It was a black leather-bound book with unlined pages. He turned it over in his hands in silent curiosity.

“I think it’d be good for you… Our next session isn’t for a few weeks; so, during that time, I would like you to write it in daily. We can discuss how you like it when we meet again, and if it doesn’t seem to help, then you won’t have to do it anymore.”

Tom flipped the cover open, T. M. Riddle already inscribed on the inside.

“Okay…” Tom Riddle said.

The doctor gave a soft, awkward smile. “Very good. I look forward to hearing how it helps.” 

He began packing his things into his briefcase. 

“Besides, your birthday is at the end of the month. That ought to be fun. And I heard the matrons are taking you all out for the holidays.” He squeezed Tom’s shoulder. “Happy Christmas, Tom. I’ll see you in the new year. Try to have a good time.”

Tom left the office a few moments later, his new journal in hand. He couldn’t take his eyes off the blank book. While wholly plain and ordinary, it certainly tickled his curiosity. What was he meant to really use it for? What was he supposed to write in it? It seemed utterly foolish to use a diary.

Writing down his thoughts and feelings? What good would that do?

Tom sighed. 

Another stupid gimmick to get him to open up. Only the latest inane idea the doctor thought up. But he didn’t want to open up. He had nothing to open up about. All he wanted was to be left alone—

“OW!”

A sharp thump hit Tom across the arm, knocking him hard to the ground. His diary flew from his hands and skid across the linoleum floor. Turning over, Tom found another boy and his friends standing over him. It was a thirteen-year-old boy named Peter that slammed his shoulder into Tom as he passed. Obviously, it was funny enough to make him and his stupid friends laugh themselves to tears.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going, freak?” asked Peter, sparking more guffaws from his friends.

Glaring up at them, the ten-year-old Tom tried to collect himself and reached for his journal, only for another boy, Billy Stubbs, to kick it further away.

“What’s wrong, freak?” Billy asked. “It’s right there. Just grab it!” 

He shoved Tom back to the ground. There was more laughing. Billy was holding his pet rabbit, Flatfoot; a black and white critter with a soft pink nose. Nearly everywhere he went, he brought it along, stroking its fur with his gangly fingers. The rabbit was the last thing he’d gotten from his parents before they died and he got sent to Wool’s with the rest of the orphans.

Tom finally got to his feet, his eyes still burning into the boys as he dusted himself off. It wasn’t bad enough Tom was forced to live in Wool’s Orphanage because his mother died after giving birth. It wasn’t bad enough the matrons were obsessed with constantly knowing how he felt. It wasn’t bad enough they couldn’t just leave him alone.

No, on top of all of that, Tom had to deal with other, dumber orphans whose idea of fun was picking on the younger ones. As if they weren’t biding their time until they aged out and got thrown onto the London streets with barely a name and a couple quid. There’s no university or Miss Havisham in their future. They’ll be lucky to find some factory job to waste away in, but that’s been a futile endeavor for years.

Tom didn’t know if he believed in a heaven or a hell despite the matrons making him attend church each Sunday; but he was certain wherever these boys’ parents were, they must be in a better place now that they didn’t have to live with their worthless sons.

Peter shoved Tom again. 

“What’re you gonna do? Huh, freak? Did you tell the doc about your ickle feelings?”

There was more laughing, but they stopped when the diary suddenly appeared in Tom’s hands once more, knowing it had been across the hall only a second before. Tom gave a slight smirk before turning to return to his room, number 27.

“Y–Yeah, go cry in your room and write in your diary, you pansy!”

The lights then flickered and cut out completely, leaving the corridor completely black except for the dim lights from the streetlamps outside. Snow continued to fall in droves, piling on the windowsills. Everyone froze in the dark before thunder erupted and shook the old building. A bright flash of lightning came simultaneously, illuminating the dark hallway for only a moment.

Then the screaming started.

“N–NO! GET AWAY FROM ME!”

Other kids ran this way and that, crying and shrieking at the top of their lungs. 

Tom pressed himself against the wall to prevent being trampled.

“DID YOU SEE THAT?” Tom heard Peter screech in a high voice. “WHAT WAS THAT!”

“IT WAS THE FREAK! HE TOOK FLATFOOT!” Billy cried, the sobbing apparent in his voice.

Mrs. Cole, one of the orphanage’s matrons, stepped into the chaotic hall holding a candle that barely illuminated a foot around her. “Calm down, children! Settle down! It was just some thunder and lightning. Calm down! Wendy, quit that screaming!”

“Mrs. Cole, Mrs. Cole,” Peter ran to her with Billy; their third friend had run off to hide in his room. “There’s a demon!

“A demon? Peter, calm down. You’re far too old to be scared by the weather. For God’s sake, boy, calm yourself!”

“No! I saw it! There’s a demon in the hall!”

There was more screaming and running. Kids bumped into Mrs. Cole. One girl stepped on Tom’s foot as she ran past.

“Now, you stop that! I’ve had enough of you scaring the other children.”

“No, ma’am! I saw it too!” Billy added through his sobs. “It was Tom that summoned ‘im! He was crawlin’ toward us on all fours with burning red eyes! We only saw it when the lightnin’ flashed, then he ripped Flatfoot from my hands!”

“Nonsense! You likely dropped your rabbit when you were startled by the lightning. Your eyes and imaginations are playing tricks on you. Now it’s time to grow up,” Mrs. Cole said sternly. “You two had better stop making up stories and blaming Thomas for everything. He hasn’t done a thing to you!”

No sooner than she finished speaking did the lightbulbs flash back to life. The other kids stopped running and froze in place. Tears streaked down their cheeks, their faces red from screaming. One girl, Amy, trembled beside Tom so closely he could feel her vibrating against his arm.

“There now, see? You were all overreacting for nothing. Crying and screaming because of the dark, you ought to be ashamed. All of you, return to your rooms until it’s time for supper. Perhaps that will teach you not to behave like a bunch of wild—”

Her sudden slipping cut her words off. She clutched the wall to keep from falling over, but she couldn’t stop her candle from toppling to the floor. Mrs. Cole looked to see what she had slipped on, her eyes going wide when she did. A girl shrieked at the sight. The puddle that caused her to slip was a pool of blood slightly larger than a double sovereign.

“Wendy, that’s enough!” She surveyed the surrounding children. “Alright, which of you is injured?”

None of them moved forward, looking at each other to see who the blood was coming from. That’s when Wendy let out another horrible shriek and pointed above their heads.

When Mrs. Cole looked up, another drop of blood landed on her forehead. “Oh, my heavens…”

“FLATFOOT!” Billy sobbed again.

Indeed, hanging from the rafters, blood dripping from its throat, was Flatfoot. 

Tom’s eyes were alive, staring at the hanged rabbit.

~ ~ ~

For the first time, all was quiet over breakfast at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Harry’s grounding ended a month ago, and he hadn’t heard from a single one of his friends since. He’d sent Hedwig out countless times, and each time she returned empty-handed (except for some mice she found). A few times he even tried calling Hermione on the telephone, but only got a busy tone in return. Aunt Andromeda was the only one outside of Sirius he’d seen this whole time.

At first, Harry thought maybe Ron and Hermione’s punishment lasted longer than his did. But even when Sirius sent out messages of his own, they were similarly ignored. Now, Harry was miserable. They’d made so many plans to see each other, but once they said goodbye at King’s Cross at the start of summer, there’s been nothing.

Had he done something wrong?

He’d gotten them into a lot of trouble this past year and endangered their lives more than a few times.

Maybe they finally realized it wasn’t smart to hang around him.

Against Sirius’ wishes, Harry spent his free time reading up on all the books Hermione told him about that went over the history of the First Wizarding War and what happened with his parents. He read through Modern Magical History , The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts , and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century .

Well, not through, but at least the parts that concerned him.

He learned a lot more about Voldemort’s rise to power and his Death Eaters, Professor Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix, and The Ministry’s offense led by Head of Magical Law Enforcement Bartemius Crouch, Sr.

None of the books he read, however, said anything about a prophecy like Sirius told him. All they said was that Lord Voldemort targeted known Order members James and Lily Potter, likely seeking to eliminate them the same way they did with the McKinnon and Bones family. In doing so, Voldemort attacked their son Harry Potter with the forbidden Killing Curse, but the infant survived and Voldemort destroyed. Since then, the Wizarding World knew Harry Potter’s name and praised him at the Boy Who Lived, their savior.

With Voldemort defeated, a lot of his Death Eaters went into hiding, but a few made their last stands. Four known Death Eaters: Rabastan, Rodolphus, and Bellatrix Lestrange (Sirius’ cousin) joined Bartemius Crouch, Jr. in torturing Frank and Alice Longbottom, Neville’s parents, before their capture by aurors. Though Barty claimed his innocence, his own father sentenced him and the Lestranges to life in Azkaban, the wizarding prison.

Thanks to testimony from Igor Karkaroff naming other Death Eaters, dozens of them followed the Lestranges and Crouch, Jr. to Azkaban over the months after that.

Then Harry read something that horrified him in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. On top of its mention of a Dark Mark that Voldemort made his followers brand on their arms (Harry bet if he rolled up Snape’s sleeve he'd find one), the book mentioned a shared speculation from convicted Death Eaters, suspected Death Eaters, sympathizers, and Wizard Supremacists. This shared belief was that in defeating the Dark Lord, Harry proved his own dark power and would usher in a new age of the Dark Arts.

This made Harry shut the book; he didn’t want to usher in a new age of the Dark Arts. 

Was this what Hermione read that made her not want to be friends anymore? 

Had she read it and told everyone else? 

Do they all think he’s going to be the next big dark wizard?

They couldn’t. He would never. He defeated Voldemort again just a few months ago.

Sirius had to console him a lot after that, but nothing seemed to work. Not hearing from his friends, worrying about whether he was meant for dark, evil things in the future, the thoughts of facing Voldemort and killing Quirrell… These only made Harry more morose and forced him to sink further into himself.

Maybe he was as bad as they thought.

They took a lot of trips into London, raced their brooms down the Thames, and used them to fly over to Paris for a weekend. Sirius even taught him how to ride his motorbike. They did everything he could think of to distract Harry or make him happy.

Despite everything Sirius did to cheer his godson up, he couldn’t give him what he wanted the most. Today was Harry’s twelfth birthday. They’d decorated as they usually did with plenty of streamers and banners, though Harry couldn’t find the joy he usually had. Sirius got him a pile of presents gift-wrapped in scarlet and gold. Kreacher made all of his favorites for breakfast.

But it looked like they would be the only ones celebrating with him today. They sent Invites out weeks ago, and Harry invited everyone. Hermione and her parents, all the Weasleys he knew, the Gryffindor boys, the Patil twins, Lavender Brown. Not even mentioning everyone who’s always come to his birthday parties, like the Tonkses, Neville and his Gran, and Hagrid.

None of them responded.

“Know what?” Sirius said at breakfast, tossing his napkin onto his plate. “Why don’t we take a trip? We’ve had so many parties, why not change things up this year?”

Harry didn’t answer, still pushing his food around his plate.

“I hear there’s a quidditch match in London today. How about that? It’s not the Cannons, but still, going to a game is always fun. We could fly the bike.”

Harry didn’t look up, but he nodded.

“I think it’d be fun… er, Kreacher, would you mind picking up some tickets for us, please?”

“Of course, Master Black.” 

The old house-elf disapparated with a faint POP .

After he left, Sirius scooted closer to Harry. “Lad… My boy… I’m sorry that no one could come today. I suspect they all just… had rather busy summers.”

“…Did I do something?” Harry muttered.

“What? No, of course not.” He pushed Harry’s hair out of his face; It had grown longer than usual over the summer. “You’ll see. Once you get back to school, it’ll be like nothing’s happened at all.”

“Then why aren’t any of them coming? They all said they would.” 

His eyes burned with tears to come.

Sirius paused. “I don’t know… I sent owl after owl. I tried calling and using floo, but I could never get through. I even thought about showing up to their homes.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“It would be overstepping… Like I said, I’m sure they’re busy… I’m so sorry, Harry.”

But being sorry didn’t make Harry feel any better. He missed his friends and Hogwarts so much it felt like there was a physical hole in his chest. Of course, he loved being back home with Sirius and Kreacher, and even when he was “grounded” they had fun together. Maybe he wouldn’t miss it so much if he had his friends around, but their absence only made it ache worse. No amount of flying, or Kreacher’s cooking, or going to quidditch games could replace how it felt being at the castle.

With how upset he’s been these past few weeks, Harry had hardly even ridden his top-of-the-line Nimbus Two Thousand (other than when Sirius tried to cheer him up), let alone cracked open any of his spell books. He hardly cared if it meant he lost his place on the Gryffindor quidditch team.

“I think I’m gonna spend some time outside,” Harry said and left for the backyard.

“That’s a good idea. It’s beautiful outside today. I’ll give you a ring when Kreacher returns.”

💀 💀 💀

“Come along, children, not much farther. Stay close!”

Tom trudged along through the tall grass behind the rest of the group. After the incident with Billy’s rabbit, Wool’s Orphanage devolved into a flurry of panic that lasted for days and forced the matrons to reschedule their holiday. Billy turned into a blubbering mess as he mourned his beloved pet, but that quickly turned into rage he channeled directly at Tom. Often picking on Tom for how small he was for his age already; Billy and Peter now devoted all of their energy towards making his life hell, fully convinced he’d been the one to murder Flatfoot.

Many stern talks from Mrs. Cole did little to dissuade their convictions. She told them repeatedly there was no demon in the hall that evening, and it would have been impossible for Tom to put Flatfoot in the rafters with no one else noticing. But their belief that he was guilty was a double-edged sword. In believing he somehow transformed, stole the rabbit from Billy’s hands, slit its throat, and strung it up from the ceiling in a matter of seconds, they also garnered a considerable level of fear towards him. For all they knew, Tom was at any point moments away from transforming into a demon who could kill them.

Still, their fear didn’t keep them from making vague threats. They promised Tom that he would get what was coming to him while on their holiday, so perhaps it wasn’t the wisest decision to walk apart from everyone else. But Tom didn’t care. The matrons brought them to the ruins of some old castle built along the edge of cliffs overlooking the sea to appreciate the scenery and history. All it would take was a light shove, or a misplaced step, and anyone could plummet hundreds of feet into the crushing waves below.

How unfortunate.

Not that anyone on Earth would miss one less orphan.

Honestly, if the day ended without Tom being held over the cliffs, he would be surprised.

“Alright, you lot!” Mrs. Cole announced. “We’re going to prepare your lunches. Keep away from the edge of the cliffs! You can see everything without getting close. Don’t need any of you tumbling over.”

While he wished they’d left him at the orphanage, Tom appreciated the matrons hadn’t brought them here in December. Even in late March, the sea breeze made it cold despite the sunshine, it would’ve been unbearable to stand here in the Winter. The nearly thread-bare coat he wore left him shivering as he approached the edge of the cliffs.

The bright green grass he and the other children walked through ended abruptly to reveal a shimmering blue ocean. He could hear the churning waves crashing against the rock face below them. The salt and sea spray lightly washed against his face. Around him, the other orphans approached the edge of the cliffs hesitantly, standing several meters away. Billy and Peter went further than the others, but not by much, then started shoving each other forward to scare the other. Even further than them was Tom, who approached the edge unafraid.

“T-Tom,” a trembling girl’s voice called from behind him. “D-don’t stand so close. You might fall.”

Tom turned to see the voice came from Amy Benson. She was a pretty girl with warm blonde curls and a full face. Her father died when she was three leaving her mother inconsolable. They sent her mother to a sanatorium while Amy went to Wool’s. Often, Amy shared her belief that any day her mother would return for her. Not likely. But she was the only one who had been at the orphanage almost as long as Tom, and the closest person he could consider a friend.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t fall.”

“Well, you heard Mrs. Cole. You still shouldn’t stand too close. It’s awfully windy.”

But Tom didn’t care, he wanted to see over the edge. He wanted to witness the power of the oceans crashing against the gray rock. The way the waves threw themselves at the cliff mesmerized him. He grew jealous of their ferocity, their relentless power. If only he had that power, he wouldn’t be stuck in an under-funded orphanage surrounded by annoying matrons, bumbling doctors, and stupid orphans. Billy and Peter would really be scared of him then.

But even more than the waves, what intrigued Tom was the cave carved into the cliff face across the bay like a wound. It was dark and completely uninterested in the roaring waves beating against its entrance. He traced the angular curves of the cave entrance, shaped like a spearhead. It called to him, and he wished to answer. Something within held the answers he desperately sought. Within held power that rightfully belonged to him.

Suddenly, Tom was shoved forward and nearly over the cliff, before a hand grabbed his arm just as suddenly to catch him.

“Ooh, careful there, Freak,” Peter said. “Wouldn’t want you falling over, would we?” He held onto Tom’s arm so roughly there would surely be bruises later.

Billy stood beside him with an ugly grin.

“I don’t know, Pete. I think it’d be fun to see what happens if he did.” He grabbed the collar of Tom’s shirt and pulled him close. Tom could smell his acrid breath as he talked. “I know what you are, freak. I know what you did. Mrs. Cole might fall for your act, but I know what you really are. I’m going to throw you over that cliff, but first I’m going to beat the—”

“William! Peter!” Mrs. Cole’s shrill voice shouted as she approached them, leaving Amy behind her. “You let Thomas go right this instant and get away from the cliff!”

Billy and Peter let Tom go begrudgingly and approached Mrs. Cole to spew their lies.

“Tom was standing close to the edge!” Peter said.

“Yeah, we were worried he was going to fall,” said Billy. “We were just tryin’ to bring him away.”

“Enough! I’ve heard enough of your rubbish,” Mrs. Cole snapped. “Tom, back away from the edge, come here.”

Tom complied reluctantly, and the matron immediately fretted over him, smoothing his dark hair and looking him over for injuries.

“Thomas, what happened?”

Tom’s eyes flashed over to the older boys, who stared daggers back.

“I was standing with Amy, too afraid to go near the edge.” Tears rolled down his cheeks. “Then Peter and Billy grabbed me and dragged me over to the cliff.” He pulled down the shoulder of his jacket to show her the faint bruises left behind from where Peter had grabbed him. “I begged them to stop, but they still think I killed Billy’s bunny. They said they were going to beat me and throw me over the cliff.” He let the tears stream uninterrupted as he spun his tale.

“He’s lying!” Billy shouted.

“That’s enough!” said Mrs. Cole. “You think he made those bruises himself? I saw you two grabbing him.”

“Because we were trying—”

“I said that’s enough! The two of you are done for today. I thought this would be a fun treat for you all, but you’ve proven yourselves to be too irresponsible to enjoy it. You’ll spend the rest of the day on the bus and if I hear as much as a peep from either of you, you’ll be cleaning the toilets for a month each.”

“But—”

“March!”

With another hateful look towards Tom, they slunk back to the bus.

With them gone, Mrs. Cole finished smoothing Tom’s hair before returning to prepare their lunch, allowing Tom to freely wander again. He walked through the castle ruins, absentmindedly perusing the crumbling stone walls. But nothing on the sea-smoothed rock intrigued him half so much as the cave. The cave continued calling to him. No matter how far from the edge he went, the call found him, hard and strong. He knew there was no going back to the cliff anytime soon, not without garnering the attention of Mrs. Cole. But he was desperate to know what lay inside the cave.

If only he had a way over.

The sound of everyone talking became grating. The wind and fabric against his skin felt like sandpaper. Everything became increasingly overwhelming and would remain so until he went to the cave. He squeezed his hands into fists, growing more and more irritable.

“Are you okay, Tom?” Amy asked.

“What?” He barked. “I’m fine. Why?”

“You seemed really scared after what Billy and Peter did. I thought they would throw you over.”

“Oh. No, I’m okay.”

Tom turned to see her joined by another orphan boy, Dennis Briggs.

“It looked really scary,” Dennis said. He was a boy a year younger than them, with thin pale-brown hair and deep inset eyes. Dennis was even smaller than Tom was, but this was mainly because his meals were constantly stolen by the older boys. Every Winter since he came to the orphanage, he’s fallen incredibly ill and the matrons would whisper he wouldn’t make it. But every year, the frail boy miraculously pulled through to live another year.

He never said it out loud, but Tom found his frailty and regular illness annoying. His weakness was an annoyance rather than anything he pitied him for, even when the same boys that bullied him went after Dennis. At least Tom never missed out on a meal because they targeted him.

“Yeah, it was scary,” said Tom carelessly.

“What were you looking at anyway?” Amy asked.

“The waves. The way they hit the rocks. And there’s a cave.”

“A cave? Where?”

Tom led them a little closer to the edge of the cliffs to a point where they could see the cliffs on the opposite side. He pointed to the wound on the side of the cliffs, beckoning him closer.

“It looks—”

“Entrancing,” said Tom.

“Scary,” said Dennis. “I’m glad we’re not near it.”

“Don’t be such a baby. I wish we could get closer. I want to go inside”

“Tom, don’t be mean. Denny is right. It does look scary. I bet there’s nothing good in there, just looking at it gives me the heebie-jeebies…”

“I want to get a closer look.”

“No, we can’t! Mrs. Cole will have a fit if we wander too far.”

“She doesn’t have to know.”

“Tom, don’t. If she catches you, you’ll be stuck on the bus with Billy and Peter.”

“We won’t go too far, come on.”

“N-no, Tom,” said Dennis. “W-we shouldn’t.”

“It’s just a cave. There’s nothing to be scared of.” He grabbed Amy and Dennis’s hands. “Now come on.”

The world spun around him at the last word. Tom couldn’t understand what was happening. The bright greens and blues transformed into a dreary, dark gray. The sea spray had become much more severe against his face as waves crashed closer than they had been. It took him a second to realize where he was. Somehow, in a matter of seconds, they wound up at the rocky entrance to the cave. Damp sand, broken shells, and scattering critters covered the gray stone ground.

“Wh–What happened?” Dennis trembled. “Where are we?”

“We’re in the cave somehow…” Tom said. “It was like—”

“That doesn’t make sense!” Amy shrieked. “We were just on the cliffs. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything! I don’t know how we got here either.”

“We need to find a way back. Mrs. Cole will be very cross.”

“There’s no way back from here,” said Tom. “We’d have to climb the rocks and risk slipping, or swim. Do either of you know how to swim?”

Amy and Dennis both shook their heads. He didn’t even have to ask. Swimming wasn’t something taught at the orphanage; the only ones who could, were taught by their parents before coming. Tom hadn’t been deeper in a body of water than waist-high. He’d drown before reaching the opposite shore.

“Maybe there’s another way out deeper in the cave…”

“Tom, no!” Amy grabbed his sleeve and turned him around. “We need to stay here. We’ll have better luck flagging down the others from here.”

Before Tom could say anything else or tug his sleeve away, the sea began encroaching on the cave. Water poured over their shoes, wading in deeper and deeper until it covered the ground.

Amy screamed as the water pooled around the ankles and threatened to go deeper; Dennis tried to climb onto a rock to avoid it. The tide came in faster. Soon they would be underwater. Tom grabbed the wrists of the others and dragged them deeper into the cave to outpace the rushing water.

Their short, skinny legs weren’t fast enough to prevent them from being overtaken by the flood that swept them even further into the dark. Soon, the torrent pulled their heads under as it carried them away from each other. Tom could only muster a sip of air before being dragged under.

He couldn’t tell how long he was held under, nor which way was up. Doubtless, the water reached the very top of the cave, anyway. His lungs burned from lack of air. Tom bitterly began despising the cave, which enticed him into it only to kill him. No matter the burning in his chest, no matter the pressure building around his frail body, Tom refused to let the cave use him as a sacrifice. He would survive. He refused to die.

Perhaps that was the test. The cave sought to try his resolve, to prove himself, because just as Tom could feel his consciousness pulling away from him, the water receded, throwing the three children onto a rough, stony floor surrounded by the retreating sea. Tom and Amy coughed painfully, hacking up water and gasping for breath. His damp clothes had grown heavy against his body. The only one staying quiet in the pitch darkness was Dennis, who Amy started calling for once she could breathe again.

“Denny! Tom, do you hear him?” she asked frantically. “I can’t see anything! Tom?”

Though Tom recognized the dark surrounding them was impenetrable, he found himself able to navigate with ease, unblinded. Somehow, he could see fine in the pitch black. Amy was on her knees and crawling around blindly, patting the ground in front of her. And lying unmoving face down on the rock, was Dennis. He was not breathing.

“I found him,” Tom said.

“Really? Dennis, are you okay?”

“He’s not breathing.”

“What? Denny, no! Tom do something! Where are you? I can’t see, keep talking so I can find you.”

But Tom remained silent, watching Dennis’ lifeless body. Through his unnatural sight, he could tell Dennis’ lips had turned blue. His eyes stared with nothing behind them. Frail little Dennis survived over half a dozen seasons of illnesses only to be taken by the cave. Tom was right to think he was weak. Amy continued pleading with Tom to say something. She was crying and still scuttling around in the dark. But as Tom stared at the lifeless corpse of Dennis, the sickly boy gasped for life, coughing up gulps of seawater.

“Dennis?” Amy called.

“He’s okay,” Tom said. “He took in a lot of water.”

Amy followed the sounds of Dennis heaving over to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Denny. We’ll get out of here.”

Dennis didn’t seem to register her words as she cradled him.

Tom continued staring at him as Dennis shook and stared back through the dark. He must be able to see him, too. He must know Tom was the reason he was alive. Tom didn’t know how he did it, but it was the truth. Dennis was dead and Tom brought him back. Just like he stopped himself from dying. He could control it. He could do it again…

The water hadn’t fully retreated back to the sea yet. He could hear it lapping against the shore of the rock they were on. The cave beckoned to him for a reason. This is where it wanted him to be. It sought to show him the truth, reveal his own ferocious power. The ocean was the answer. The ocean held its own power… apathetic and unyielding. It killed without care… so, too, could Tom… But only he could pull those killed back from death. That was his power. He could do it again.

His gaze turned back to Amy, still cradling and soothing Dennis. She could hear him approaching, but she jumped when she felt his hand on the back of her neck.

He would do it again.

~ ~ ~

Being outside did little to improve Harry’s mood.

Not that he thought it would; he only wanted to get away from all the reminders of how crappy this birthday was. Harry slumped onto the bench in their garden and tried to enjoy the pleasant summer day. The sun was out; the clouds were scarce; and the wind kept the day cool.

The only thing keeping Harry company was his shadow beside him. Just as lanky as he was, it showed off Harry’s messy jet-black hair and even the silhouette of his round glasses. It almost made him look like a normal boy. The only things the shadow couldn’t show were his vivid green eyes and the shocking lightning scar that spread across his forehead.

He’d read so much about his scar in the books he read, but learned so little from any of them.

A souvenir he received when he was only a year old; one that made him unique, even amongst wizards. Somehow, he survived what should have been a fatal encounter with the Dark sorcerer, Lord Voldemort, whose very name struck fear into the hearts of most witches and wizards. Voldemort’s attack had killed Harry’s parents and left him mysteriously destroyed when he failed to kill Harry. Even with the books written by the smartest witches and wizards of their age, none of them had an answer to how he could’ve survived.

Since then, his godfather, Sirius Black, had brought Harry up. 

He was the best godfather a kid could ask for. Always there, he made sure Harry always had everything he wanted. Though sometimes he was a bit overly protective.

The bright sun blazed overhead, burning the back of his neck.

His eyes stung from tears still yet to come. Sirius was wonderful, and Harry loved him with all of his heart, but he wanted the rest of his friends here, too.

Instead, there were no cards, no gifts, not even a letter from any of them. He had never felt more alone. No matter how much he missed his friends; Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, they didn’t seem to miss him at all. He wished to hear anything from anyone at Hogwarts. Even a note from the King of Prats himself, Draco Malfoy, would’ve made Harry happy.

To make matters even worse, Harry continued to have nightmares most nights. They started when he first got to Hogwarts a year ago and have only gotten worse after his altercation at the end of the school year.

After taking his final exams, Harry came face-to-faces with the very man who tried to kill him as a baby, possessing the body of his Defense teacher Quirrell. Voldemort attempted to return, not being as destroyed as people thought. He may have been a ruin of his former self when Harry faced him, but he was no less terrifying, no less cunning, and no less determined to take power.

Harry narrowly escaped from Voldemort’s clutches for a second time, and the nightmares that followed had been the worst of all. They woke him most nights, drenched in a cold sweat, wondering where he was hiding now. He still heard Quirrell’s screaming and felt the phantom pain in his scar.

Suddenly, Harry’s attention snapped to a nearby bush where he thought he saw something move. From inside the bush, between the tight branches, an unmistakable pair of enormous green eyes stared back. If not for the color, Harry would have thought it was Kreacher watching him. He shot to his feet and started walking towards the bush when a disembodied voice spoke from his chest and made Harry jump out of his skin.

“Sorry to interrupt, lad,” Sirius’ voice came from the ring around Harry’s neck. “Kreacher’s back with the tickets. The game isn’t a long time from now. Why don’t you get ready and we can head out?”

The ring was a gift from Sirius for Harry’s eleventh birthday. It was gold, set with a large ruby. The impression of a stag laid on top of the crimson gem. At one point, the ring had been his dad’s, letting him and Sirius communicate in secret. Now, Harry wore it on a chain around his neck beside his mother’s lily pendant and the Heir of House Black ring.

Sirius had a golden ring of his own, though he had a dog rather than a stag. He also wore the Head of House Black ring, though only sparingly.

“Okay,” Harry spoke into the ring. “I’m coming.”

When Harry looked back at the leering bush, the eyes were gone. Harry shook his head. Surely he must have imagined it.

Wish they could all see the famous Harry Potter, now, Harry thought savagely. No friends on his birthday, seeing eyes in bushes.

Sirius was waiting when Harry walked back into the house. “How was it out there? Did it help?” he asked.

Harry shrugged in response.

“Well, Kreacher got tickets to the Bats versus the Tornados game and he thoughtfully got you kits for both teams. They’re waiting for you on your bed. You can surprise me with which team we’ll cheer for.”

Harry forced a smile and walked up to his bedroom to pick out a kit to wear.

He didn’t have any strong leanings towards the Ballycastle Bats or the Tutshill Tornados, and neither was playing exceptionally well this season. He didn’t feel like going to the game even a little. All he wanted to do was collapse into his bed and fall asleep until his birthday was over. When he opened his door, the quidditch kits were there on the bed.

The problem was, they weren’t the only thing on it.

💀 💀 💀

“I appreciate you coming to see me, Tom.”

Tom was once again in the psychiatrist’s office at the orphanage. It had been weeks since he visited the cave, and the doctor visits only became more frequent after.

“How have you been?”

The line of questioning was always the same. First, it’s casual, just a normal check-in. The doctor pretends he’s interested in how Tom is doing with his studies and his friends, asks if he’s attending Sunday school, but that’s just to ease him into asking about how he feels about the strange things happening around the orphanage and what happened in the cave.

Tom was the only one normal when they were found in the cave, and the only one who has spoken since. Dennis and Amy became withdrawn and silent, they had a difficult time staying lucid or present, and struggled with basic tasks.  He’d heard the matrons talking about taking them to a sanatorium, but were fearful of what might have happened to them that could’ve done this. Whispers were that being underwater for as long as they were deprived their brains of oxygen and left them in the state they’re in now. As the only one still conscious enough to talk and remain focused, Tom was their only source of answers. 

But he couldn’t explain how they got down to the cave. He couldn’t see anything after the tides pulled under them, and they found themselves on a rock. The other two were unconscious and Tom thought they’d drowned before they came back to life like that after a few minutes.

He didn’t know why they seemed so afraid of him.

It’s the same thing he told all of them repeatedly. Still, they badgered him with the same questions week after week. The story never changed. But the Matrons looked at him differently after the incident, even Peter and Billy gave him a wider berth.

“With all that’s happened I completely forgot about the diary I had given you,” the doctor said.

That was new.

“Have you been using it? Do you think it was working?”

Tom hoped the doctor never remembered the diary. He used it every day, filling the pages, but he had no intention of anyone else ever reading it. The doctor’s memory wasn’t a coincidence. He wanted answers Tom was keeping from him.

“No.” Tom stared straight into the doctor’s eyes. “Billy stole it before his bunny died. I never wrote in it.”

The doctor backed away in his seat and cleared his throat.

“Hm, ah, pity. I really hoped that would have helped you. I suppose we’ll have to try something else, unless you’d like to still try…?”

“No, thank you. I don’t think a diary is for me.”

Chapter Text

Harry almost screamed.

The tiny creature on his bed had large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls. It was another house-elf, though one significantly younger than Kreacher was. And by house-elf standards, that could mean hundreds of years. Harry knew in an instant that they were the one that had been watching him in the garden.

They stared at each other, frozen in space.

The elf slipped off of his bed and bowed so low that the end of their long, thin nose touched the carpet. Kreacher never bowed to them. It wasn’t something Harry was used to and not something he was comfortable with. They wore what looked like an old pillowcase, very similar to the simple robes Kreacher wore.

“Er—hello…” Harry said nervously, giving a small bow in return.

“Harry Potter!” the creature said in a high-pitched voice. “Bowing to me? So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir… such an honor it is… Kreacher spoke of Mister Potter’s good nature, but to bow to Dobby?”

“Th–Thank you,” Harry said. His eyes never left the house-elf as he walked over to his desk and sank into the chair beside Hedwig. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

“Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf,” they said.

“Pleasure to meet you—”

Dobby squealed with excitement.

“So… you’re a friend of Kreacher’s?”

Dobby wrung his hands. “Yes, and no. Kreacher can be mean to Dobby. But we are working together, we are.”

“Working together?” Harry asked. “On what?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” Dobby said earnestly. “We is… it is difficult, sir… Dobby wonders where to begin…”

“Take your time, sit down,” Harry politely gestured for the bed.

Harry immediately became confused when, instead of merely having a seat, the elf burst into obnoxious tears. “S–Sit down!” he wailed. “Never… Never ever…!”

Harry thought he heard Sirius calling him from downstairs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, not wanting to gain his godfather’s attention. “I didn’t mean to offend you or anything, just please—”

“Offend Dobby!” choked the elf. “Dobby has never been asked to sit down by a wizard—like an equal—!”

“Shhh!” Harry tried to be as comforting as he could while ushering Dobby back onto his bed. The elf finally calmed down and sat with his globes for eyes fixed on Harry in watery adoration. “You can’t have met many decent wizards,” he said, trying to cheer him up.

Dobby shook his head. Then, without warning, he leapt to his feet and began banging his head furiously against the wall, shouting “Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!”

Harry sprang forth, pulling Dobby away from the wall and from hurting himself further. “Stop! What’re you doing?”

The noise had woken Hedwig from her slumber, screeching and beating her wings wildly against the walls of her cage before slipping through the open cage door and flying out of Harry’s open window.

“Why’d you do that?” Harry asked.

“Dobby had to punish himself, sir… Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, sir…”

“Your family makes you punish yourself? Who are they? Why do they do that? Do they know you’re here?”

Dobby shuddered and shook his head, making his ears flop around. “Oh, no, sir, no… Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously for coming here, sir. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. If they ever knew, sir…”

“Won’t they notice you shutting your ears in the oven?”

“Dobby doubts it, sir. Dobby always must punish himself for something, sir. They lets Dobby get on with it, sir. Sometimes they reminds me to do extra punishments…”

“That’s barbaric! Who are they? Maybe we can help.”

At once, Harry wished he’d said nothing. Dobby became a wailing mess of gratitude, and Harry internally groaned.

“Please,” Harry whispered desperately, “please just be quiet!”

“But Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby… Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but Kreacher never told me of your kindness. Dobby never knew, sir…”

Here we go, Harry thought.

“Whatever you heard about ‘my greatness’ is a load of rubbish. I’m not even top of my year, that’s Hermione, she—” Harry cut himself off because thinking about Hermione was too painful. He thought for sure she was his friend… but he was wrong.

“Harry Potter is humble and modest,” said Dobby reverently. Harry Potter speaks not of his triumph over He Who Must Not Be Named!”

“What, Voldemort?” Harry asked.

Dobby clapped his hands over his ears in horror. “Speak not the name, sir!” he cried. “Speak not the name!”

Harry groaned internally again. Not this again. “Sorry,” he said half-heartedly. “Forget people don’t like it. My friend, Ron doesn—” He stopped himself again and grit his teeth. Thinking about Ron hurt just as much.

Was he even his friend even more?

“Dobby heard that Harry Potter met the Dark Lord again… a few weeks ago… that Harry Potter survived and escaped for a second time.”

“Yeah… good shout.”

Dobby’s eyes flooded with thick tears suddenly.

“Ah, sir,” he gasped, dabbing his eyes with Harry’s blanket. “Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter, to warn him, even if he does have to shut his ears in the oven door later… Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts!”

The silence that followed made Harry’s ears ring.

“W–What?” Harry stammered. “Are you mad? Of course I’ve got to go back, you loony! Term starts in September and I’m going back!”

“No, no, no!” Dobby squeaked, shaking his head and making his ears flap again. “Harry Potter must stay where he is safe! He is too great—t–too good—to lose! If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in grave danger!”

“What?”

Dobby fumbled with his pillowcase outfit. “There… is a plot, Harry Potter… A plot to make the most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year,” Dobby whispered. He was suddenly trembling all over. “Dobby has known for weeks, sir… Harry Potter must not put himself in harm’s way… he is too important, sir…”

“Wait—what terrible things?” Harry’s head was spiraling. “Who’s plotting?”

Dobby choked before running to the wall and bounced his head off it again.

Harry cursed and rushed after him. “Alright!” he cried, pulling the elf’s arm to stop him. “I get it, you can’t say! But then, why are you warning me now?” A sudden, horrifying thought struck him and sent shivers through his body. “Hang on—this hasn’t got to do with Voldemort—”

“Speak not the name!”

“Ugh, this hasn’t got to do with You-Know-Who, does it? Just shake your head or nod. No, don’t bang your head on the wall.” Harry added hastily as Dobby tilted his head closer to the wall again.

Dobby froze for a moment, still trembling, before slowly shaking his head.

“No… Not He Who Must Not Be Named, sir…” Dobby looked like he was trying to tell Harry telepathically.

Harry, however, was hopelessly un-telepathic.

“He hasn’t got a brother, has he?”

For a moment, Dobby shook his head while squinting his eyes, as if he concluded maybe Harry wasn’t as bright as he thought.

“Well then, there’s no one else who’d have a chance at doing horrible things at Hogwarts,” Harry said. “It’s protected by Professor Dumbledore—you know who Dumbledore is, don’t you?”

Dobby bowed his head.

“Dobby knows Albus Dumbledore, sir… The Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry… Dobby has heard Professor Dumbledore’s powers are greater than those of He Who Must Not Be Named. But sir,” Dobby’s voice dropped to a terrified whisper, “there are powers, even Dumbledore… powers no decent wizard…”

Before Dobby could stop him, Dobby was once again leaping off the bed, but this time he grabbed Harry’s desk lamp and started smacking it against his head with ear-splitting yelps.

“Harry?” Sirius called from downstairs. “Is everything alright up there?”

“Yeah!” Harry called back, wrestling the lamp from Dobby’s surprisingly strong grip. “Still getting ready! Just— er —stubbed my toe!”

“Alright… Well, be careful and get a move on! If you want to take the bike, we’ll need to leave in a few minutes!”

“Okay!” Harry finally wrenched the lamp away and lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “Can you knock it off? I don’t want Sirius knowing you’re—”

POP!

The sound of a whip cracking filled the room as Kreacher apparated in.

“Dobby shouldn’t be talking to Master Harry!”

“Dobby is sorry!” He trembled. “Dobby was punishing himself.”

“Dobby should be with his family.” Kreacher grabbed Dobby’s ragged pillowcase and dragged him to the window. “Master Harry must be kept safe.”

“Wait, Kreacher, stop,” Harry said. “Don’t hurt him. He was telling me that someone was trying to hurt me.”

“Kreacher knows. Dobby is helping Kreacher keep Master Harry safe from harm.”

“You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Kreacher was trying to keep Harry safe.”

“Kreacher, he’s saying I can’t go back to Hogwarts! I have to go back. It’s where my friends are!”

“Friends who don’t even write to Harry Potter?” Dobby said slyly.

“Th–They’ve been—hang on.” Harry frowned. “How do you know they haven’t been writing to me?”

Dobby shuffled his feet. “Harry Potter mustn’t be angry with Dobby or Kreacher… we’s did it for the best…”

“To keep Master Harry safe.”

“You’ve been stopping my letters?”

“We has them, Harry,” Kreacher said.

Dobby stepped out of Harry’s reach and pulled a thick stack of envelopes from the pillowcase he was wearing. Harry was too angry to ask where he was keeping them. There weren’t any pockets he could see. From where he was, he could make out Hermione’s neat handwriting, Lavender’s large loopy font, Ron’s untidy scrawl, Hagrid’s scribbles, even some shamrock postage that must’ve been from Seamus.

Dobby blinked anxiously.

“Master Harry mustn’t be angry…” Kreacher said. “Kreacher and Dobby hoped… if Harry thought his friends had forgotten him… then Harry would not want to go back to school, sir…”

Harry saw red. All this time, he thought his friends had abandoned him, but no. It was all a plot from two house-elves to keep him from going back to school. One of them was someone he thought he could trust no matter what. Who knew him from when he was little. Harry jumped for the letters, but Dobby was a second faster, leaping further away.

“Harry Potter may have them, sir, if he gives Dobby and Kreacher his word that he will not return to Hogwarts.”

“ Harry! ” Sirius called again.

“This is not a danger you must face, Harry. Say you won’t go back!”

“No!” Harry said, full of rage. He jumped after the elf again. “Give me my letters!”

“Harry!” Sirius’ footsteps were heard coming up the stairs, making them all freeze.

“Dobby will return with Harry Potter’s letters if he says he will not return to Hogwarts.”

With another CRACK , both house-elves disappeared as Sirius knocked on the door.

“Hey, I’ve got a sur—you’re not even dressed yet?” Sirius asked, then sighed, a smile on his face. “Well, you won’t need it anymore. Why don’t you come downstairs? I’ve got a surprise.” Before Harry could respond, Sirius shut the door and walked down the stairs.

Still fuming, Harry rolled off his bed and smoothed out his clothes. He left his room, slamming the door behind him, and stomped down the stairs. How was he going to explain his sudden mood change to Sirius? Should he tell him what Kreacher was planning? He never got on well with the house-elf for as long as Harry’s been alive. This might make his temper flare if he found out. Even so, he’d been working with who knows how many other house-elves to make sure he had no contact with his—

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

A cacophonous choir interrupted his thoughts with cheers and noise-makers. When Harry looked up, his eyes grew as big as Dobby’s when he saw all of his friends waiting for him in party hats. All the Tonkses, the pack of Weasleys, Hermione and her parents, Neville, Dean, and Seamus, Lavender Brown, even Oliver Wood showed, and Hagrid, of course. Sirius was beaming in the center of them all.

Hermione threw herself at Harry in an instant, wrapping her arms around him. She was prone to doing this, and even when she did it a little too often, Harry couldn’t have been happier for her to do it again now. Before she could release herself, the rest of the Gryffindor students joined her in a massive group hug that made it hard to breathe.

After they all pulled themselves away, Hermione being the very last besides Ron, and Harry could breathe again, he said, “I can’t believe you’re all here!” His face was sore from smiling so much.

“Course we are,” Ron said. “You didn’t think we’d miss your birthday, did you?”

“We were all so worried when we hadn’t heard from you all summer,” said Hermione. “It didn’t seem right, so we all figured we’d surprise you for your birthday.”

“After we made sure you were alright, of course.” Mrs. Weasley pulled Harry into a tight, swaying hug.

“An’ that yeh didn’ hate us,” Seamus added, earning a smack on the arm from Lavender.

“Parvati and Padma wanted to come, too,” Lavender said. “But they’re still in India visiting family. They said they got you something from there and they’ll give it to you on the train.”

“So, where’ve you been, bruv?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Neville added, “we all sent owls—”

“tried the phone—” said Lavender.

“Floo,” Fred and George said.

“Had my mum show me how to send a letter through muggle post,” Dean said.

“I tried sendin’ a carrier pigeon I still had flying ‘round,” Hagrid said.

“I even tried to stop by once, but your grumpy house-elf said you didn’t live here!” exclaimed Hermione.

“He did what?” Sirius demanded.

“I didn’t get any of them,” Harry admitted. “I tried sending all of you messages, too—owls and phone calls, I swear! I thought none of you wanted me around anymore.”

“Where’d you get that idea?” Ron asked. “You’re my best mate. We all stuck our necks on the line for you. Kinda hard to stop being friends after that.”

“Even if we did hate yeh.” Seamus earned another smack. “Ah! Bloody bain mo lámh as!”

“An’ yer th’ best Seeker we’ve got.” Wood stood beside Percy Weasley. Maybe closer than most friends would.

“Well, thanks for coming anyway… all of you.” Tears welled in Harry’s eyes.

“Alright.” Tonks shot to her feet. Today her hair was gold, kept in pigtails that faded to a shiny white at the tips like a snitch. She was wearing a crimson top with black leather pants. “None of that. We’re here to celebrate!” Tonks pulled him into a hug. “Happy birthday, Harry. Can’t believe how grown you’re getting.” She gave him a peck on the cheek before heading to the kitchen, tripping over the rug.

Dean and Seamus were not-so-subtly freaking out over Harry getting a kiss from her.

“Nymphadora—”

“DON’T CALL ME NYMPHADORA!” Tonks shouted from the other room.

“—Tonks, sorry,” Sirius continued, “is right. It’s time to celebrate!” He clapped his hands and finger-food and drinks appeared on hovering trays for everyone to pick at. 

While people mingled, the other adults came up to Harry to wish him a happy birthday.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” Aunt Andromeda kissed him on the forehead. She was, maybe for the first time in Harry’s life, not wearing green. But she hadn’t strayed far. Today, her dress was teal. Her curly brown hair cascaded past her shoulders.

“Thanks, Aunt Dromeda. I’m glad you’re here.”

She smiled. “I couldn’t be the only one in the wizarding world that didn’t come. Seems you’ve made plenty of friends.”

Harry smiled too as Ted approached and clapped him hard on the back.

“Course he is. Look at ‘im! Boy’s more handsome than half’a Britain, ain’t he? Not to mention THE YOUNGEST SEEKER IN A CENTURY!” Whoops filled the room at Ted’s announcement. He pulled Harry into a hug and whispered, “Have a wonderful birthday, yeah? I’m so proud o’ you, lad.”

“Thanks, uncle Ted.”

“Oi, what’re these?” He’d found the quidditch tickets Kreacher had gotten. “Ballycastle and Tutshill?”

“Sirius thought a quidditch match would be fun for my birthday…” Harry said sheepishly.

Ted turned to face Sirius with crazy eyes. “Yeh havin’ a laugh, Black?”

“They’re all who are playing today!”

“Ah, we could put on a better match here!” He walked off to continue tearing into Sirius.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t kill your godfather,” Dromeda caressed his cheek. “Have a good time.”

Hagrid was the next to come up, everyone parting like the Red Sea to make way for him. “Happy birthday, Harry!” He was beaming under his massive beard and pulled Harry into a hug.

“Thanks, Hagrid!”

“Not too tight, Hagrid,” Oliver Wood said. “I still need ‘im for the quidditch season. Happy birthday, Potter.”

“Thanks, Wood.”

“Happy birthday, Harry,” Percy said succinctly. Pinned to his shirt was his shining Prefect badge.

After welcoming everyone and getting birthday wishes from all of them, Harry returned to spending time with the rest of his Gryffindor friends.

“I cannae believe yeh got a kiss from her!” Seamus said in an excited whisper.

“Yeah, she’s mad fit, bruv,” Dean added.

“Shuttup. She’s my friend. She’s like my cousin.” Harry tried to keep himself from blushing. “She used to babysit me.”

“Can she babysit me?”

“You two are disgusting.” Lavender rolled her eyes. “Come on, Hermione, let’s leave the dogs to their barking.”

Hermione looked back as Lavender dragged her along to talk to Tonks and Ginny. Harry already missed her being at his side. Especially since Dean and Seamus left soon after to join Oliver and Ted’s talk about quidditch, leaving Harry with Ron and Neville. Percy was still at Oliver’s side, even though he was obviously checked out of the conversation.

“I’m just glad we put this together,” Ron said. “I was worried when you didn’t answer any of my letters. I thought it was Errol’s fault at first—”

“Who’s Errol?”

“Our family owl. He’s ancient, older than Dumbledore, I think. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d collapsed delivering something. So, I tried to borrow Hermes—the owl mum and dad got Percy when he became a prefect—but he wouldn’t lend him to me.” Ron shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Said he needed him. He’s been sending out lots of letters and spending loads of time shut up in his room… I mean there’s only so many times you can polish a prefect badge.”

Harry watched Percy for a moment, Oliver right beside him.

“I’m surprised Oliver came. Didn’t think he even knew when my birthday was.”

“Oh, he didn’t.” Ron stuffed chips in his mouth. “He’s been comin’ over to the burrow all summer to hang out with Perce. It’s the only time he’d come out of his room.”

“Really?” Harry asked with more surprise than would’ve been polite.

“Yeah. They were hanging out all the time, but mum caught them in Percy’s bedroom one day and now they’re not allowed to be alone anymore.”

Harry was even more confused.

“What were they doing?” Neville asked.

Ron shrugged. “I dunno. But Percy’s face gets really red when you bring it up. Fred and George say they know but only laugh when I ask and mum said it’s none of my business. He deserves it though; he got his exam marks back yesterday; twelve O.W.L’s and he won’t shut up about it.”

Neville asked more questions while Harry took a moment to take everything in. Everyone he cared about was all in one place, laughing and talking.

Tonks was regaling Ginny and Lavender with stories from her Auror training and going on about her trainer, an old Auror named Mad-Eye Moody. The girls were enamored and hung on every word with countless questions. But every time Harry looked over, Ginny would already be staring at him before pivoting her head back to Tonks.

Hermione had floated over to talk to Percy and Andromeda, who were having a lengthy discussion about things Harry couldn’t hope to understand.

Sirius and the twins spoke so quietly, Harry couldn’t make out anything they were talking about.

Mr. Weasley was fully enraptured in the conversation he was having with Mr. Granger and Dean Thomas about muggle culture.

Ted, Oliver, and Seamus were having a heated discussion over the current quidditch season.

Finally, Mrs. Granger was sharing notes with Hagrid and Mrs. Weasley on recipes and raising animals.

Then, the lights dimmed and a giant chocolate cake in the shape of a golden snitch levitated into the room, fully lit by a dozen bright candles in various colors. The room erupted into a chorus of Happy Birthday, and Ron nudged Harry forward to take center stage. His smile still hadn’t left his face. The candlelight illuminated his glasses.

After the singing reached its conclusion, Hagrid bellowed, “Hip-Hip!”

Everyone replied with, “Hooray!”

“HIP-HIP!”

“HOORAY!”

Cheers filled the room with calls for him to make a wish. But he didn’t need to make one. He already got what he wished for. Still, he blew out the rainbow of candles and they sent out miniature fireworks into the room that exploded and left ᏂᎯᎮᎮᎽ ᏰᎥᎡᏖᏂᎴᎯᎽ ᏂᎯᎡᎡᎽ spelled out in sparkles. Sirius wrapped Harry in his arms immediately from behind, vibrating him with excitement and giving him a kiss on the top of his head.

“Happy birthday, lad,” he whispered. “What’d you wish for?”

“Oh, now you know he can’t tell you that,” Mrs. Weasley grinned, playfully slapping Sirius’s arm. “Come on, Harry, let’s get you a piece.” She ushered Harry closer to his birthday cake and handed him the knife. “In the Weasley house, the birthday boy— or girl —cuts their cake first. Go on, make it as big as you want, that’s it.”

Harry cut off a massive slice of cake for himself that oozed hot fudge onto his plate.

“Oh, Arthur!” Molly called to Mr. Weasley.

“Already on it!” Mr. Weasley rushed back into the room with a bucket of ice cream. He wasted no time scooping enough onto Harry’s slice of cake to match its size.

After Harry got his piece, everyone else swarmed the cake, leaving with their own mountains of sugar. (“Everyone, make sure you remember to brush your teeth after you finish,” Mr. Granger said).

With everyone stuffed full of sweets and pudding, they felt much drowsier, but no less happy. Harry reclined in his seat, about ready to burst from how much he ate. Ron and Hermione sat on either side of him and he couldn’t imagine a better way to spend today. Until, at least, Sirius announced it was time for presents.

“Wait!” Harry said, “Neville, I’m sorry. I didn’t get you a present this year…”

“It’s okay. Everyone else got me stuff and I don’t need much.”

A memory suddenly came back to Harry. “Hold on. I think I do have something for you.”

Harry stormed up to his room to get Neville’s gift. But as he got closer to his bedroom, he wondered if he’d find Dobby or Kreacher in there again. He took a deep breath before slowly turning the doorknob. Edging the door open, Harry pinched his eyes shut and poked the corner of his eye inside. Even slower, he cracked his eye open, until he confirmed that the room was indeed empty.

Full of relief, Harry went into his trunk and dug through his school supplies until he found what he was looking for at the bottom and pulled it free. A transparent glass orb with a white cloud inside—Neville’s Remembrall that Harry saved from Draco a year ago. He’d forgotten all about returning it. Bounding back down the stairs to the parlor, Harry presented the ball to Neville.

“Happy birthday, Neville!”

“My Remembrall!” he exclaimed. “I’d forgotten about it! Thanks, Harry!” Almost as soon as Neville took it in his hands, the white cloud turned red. “Oh, bugger.”

Sirius started organizing the gifts Harry had gotten.

“Hope you like what we got,” Ron said. “None of us could get through to you to ask what you might want.”

“I’m sure I’ll love everything. Having you all here is already better than anything.”

“Yeah, yeh’d better,” Seamus said. “Yeh know what was keepin’ our letters from reachin’ yeh, anyway?”

“Oh—er,” Harry hesitated, but realizing he had a reason gave Sirius pause, and garnered his attention.

“Harry?” he asked. “Do you know why we weren’t getting letters?”

Harry took a breath before nodding.

“What?” Sirius rushed over and crouched beside him. “How? When did you find out?”

“…Right before the party started, when I was up in my room…” Harry explained finding Dobby the house-elf on his bed and that he plotted to make it look like Harry had no friends that wanted to write to him so he wouldn’t want to return to Hogwarts. There was a long, shocked silence when he’d finished.

“Fishy,” Fred finally said.

“Definitely dodgy,” George agreed.

“Why doesn’t he want you to return to Hogwarts?” Hermione asked.

“They said there’s a plot to…” Harry’s eyes flicked to Sirius, terrified of what he would do if he found out.

“To what, Harry?”

“They said there was a plot to kill me.”

Gasps filled the room.

“To kill you?” Mrs. Granger asked. “Who on earth would want to kill you?”

“You-Know-Who?” Mr. Weasley asked.

Harry shook his head. “Dobby couldn’t say. He would hurt himself anytime he got close to letting something slip. But he did say it wasn’t Vol—You-Know-Who.”

“Who’s his family? Who’s responsible for him?” asked Percy.

“I dunno. He wouldn’t say.”

“The Malfoys…” Andromeda relieved Harry of everyone’s attention. “My sister talked about him when we were younger. I remember Dobby being her husband, Lucius’s, house-elf.”

“Draco wants me dead?” Harry exclaimed.

“I knew that bloke was no good,” Dean said.

“We just gotta kill ‘im first!” Seamus announced, shooting to his feet.

Lavender immediately pulled him back into his seat. “Will you calm down?”

“Why would Draco want me dead? I thought we might be moving on from all that!”

“Once a prat, always a prat,” Ron said solemnly.

“Well…” Fred and George exchanged a glance.

“What?” Harry asked. “You think he’s not a prat?”

The adults in the room hemmed and hawed over their response.

Fred and George looked at all of them, twiddling their thumbs instead of answering.

“No one?” George said, “Alright, guess we’ll do it. Here’s the deal, Malfoy probably isn’t trying to kill you. He’s an annoying little git, sure, but—”

“It’s more likely he sent his house-elf to scare you into not going back to school for a laugh.”

Harry looked around at the adults, who seemed to be in unspoken agreement. Harry was similarly silent. Sending the family servant to stop Harry going back to Hogwarts sounded exactly like the sort of thing Malfoy would do.

Had I been stupid to take Dobby seriously? Harry wondered.

“I don’t know how one house-elf could hide all of our communication.” Sirius shook his head.

“Well… it wasn’t just one house-elf…” Harry couldn’t meet Sirius’ eyes.

He already said so much more than he intended. How much more could he say before Sirius would forbid him from returning to Hogwarts? And Sirius was never on the best of terms with their house-elf, their cordiality hung by a thread—that being Harry himself, wanting them to get along. But if Sirius found out that Kreacher did something against Harry…

Sirius’ eyes went wild, fury filled his face.

“Kreacher?”

“He said he was trying to protect me!” Harry added quickly.

“KREACHER!” Sirius bellowed.

Andromeda quickly got to her feet and rushed to Sirius’ side. “Sirius, calm down.”

“No! Not this time, Dromeda—KREACHER! GET HERE, NOW!”

“Don’t do this. Not in front of guests.” Andromeda spoke in a harsh whisper, pulling on Sirius’ sleeve.

CRACK!

Kreacher, the grumpy house-elf, apparated into the crowded parlor, scowling at everyone attending.

“You’ve done it this time, you old bat!” Sirius charged at him. “How dare you steal Harry’s letters? He is the only reason you still have a place in this house! Do you not understand that?”

“Kreacher was only intending to keep Master Harry safe from harm.”

Sirius shook his head. He was trembling all over.

“And why keep it a secret? Why not entrust me with this information?”

“Master Sirius promised not to interfere with Harry Potter’s life at school… Kreacher did not think he would help.”

“How dare you! Now you’ve done it—CLOTHES!”

“NO!” Harry exclaimed.

“Sirius, be reasonable! Don’t do this.” Andromeda pleaded, trying to force herself between him and the house-elf.

“No! I have had enough of this mongrel infesting my home!”

“Sirius, no! I don’t want him to leave!”

“Percy!” Sirius called. “Go up to my room and get me a pair of socks!”

Ever dutiful, and mostly full of shock, Percy rushed up to Sirius’ bedroom despite pleas from everyone else not to.

“Fred! George! Stop him!” Harry begged. “Please! Don’t let him bring back any clothes!”

Mr. Weasley nodded, and the twins raced after Percy.

Hagrid, Ted, and Mr. Weasley intervened now, doing their best to calm Sirius down as he wrestled against them to attack Kreacher. Tonks ushered Ginny, the youngest, out of the room. Mrs. Granger was wrangling the other children the best she could. Harry was beside himself, collapsed to his knees on the floor and pleading through sobs for Sirius to stop; Hermione and Mrs. Weasley held tightly onto him.

Down the hall, Fred and George tackled Percy to the floor, trying to rip the socks from his hand.

Andromeda had her head in her hand, pacing the floor in frustration.

“I’ll kill you!” Sirius grabbed for Kreacher.

“STOP! SIRIUS, STOP!” Harry wailed, tears poured down his cheeks.

“Enough!” Andromeda announced. She marched over to Sirius and, with more strength than her thin frame seemed capable of, tore him backwards by his collar away from the other men. Before he could fall onto the floor, she gripped his arm tightly.

SNAP!

With a crack of a whip, both of them folded together and vanished from the room. The immediate silence was disorienting. They all shared awkward glances between each other, otherwise frozen in place. Kreacher disapparated after a moment passed and everyone else gathered themselves.

“Fred, George, get off your brother,” Mr. Weasley mumbled.

The twins rolled off of Percy and helped him up. The prefect brushed off his clothes and stuck his nose up as he returned to Oliver’s side.

“Kids, why don’t we… get you back home…” Mr. Weasley gestured for the fireplace.

Dean, Seamus, Neville, and Lavender bid Harry awkward goodbyes and happy birthdays again before using floo powder to return home under his supervision. Mrs. Weasley took it upon herself to clean up the plates, enlisting her children to help her. Harry was still frozen on the floor, tears dripping from his chin. Hermione still held onto him.

“I…” Mr. Granger began hesitantly, “I’m sorry… What just happened? What did he mean by ‘clothes’?”

“House-elves are devoted to the families they serve fer life,” Hagrid said quietly. “Only givin’ ‘em clothes can undo tha’. Bein’ freed by their family is th’ wors’ thing that can happen to a house-elf… and one Kreacher’s age…” Hagrid shook his head.

“Sirius and Kreacher have never really seen eye-to-eye, yeah?” Ted whispered. “Except for when it came to,” he nudged his head towards Harry. “You alright, little lad?”

Harry didn’t even feel like he existed in his own body at the moment. He felt like he was a million miles away, watching everything unfold around him. He felt numb and empty, like the tears had taken everything out of him. Even how happy he felt seemed like it was in the distant past rather than a few minutes ago.

“Do we know where Andromeda took him?” Mr. Weasley asked, but Ted only shook his head.

“Mum’ll be giving him more than a piece of her mind.” Tonks shivered. “Don’t envy him that.”

Ron joined Hermione at Harry’s opposite side, his and Harry’s arms pressed closely together. The adults congregated together and lowered their voices to where Harry couldn’t hear much anymore.

“Can’t just leave him… we don’t know… could be all night…who knows what state he’ll be in… don’ know how ter tell ‘im… he can’t stay on his own… no… well, Sirius could use some time alone… we’ll take him… I don’t know, few days while Sirius cools off…We'll reach out tomorrow to see how he is...”

At last, the adults broke from their huddle and approached Harry, Ron, and Hermione in a semicircle.

Ted crouched beside them and laid his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I’m sorry all of this happened today, yeah…? I know that was a lot. We, er, don’t know how long your Aunt Dromeda is going to talk to Sirius, but—er—”

Tonks crouched beside Harry as well and took his hand in her lap. “But it’ll all be alright, babe… we were talking, all of us, just now, and…”

“And we think you should come stay with us for a bit, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said with a soft smile. “We’ll take your presents and you can open them there, too.”

“Make up for the lost time from earlier this summer,” Mr. Weasley mimicked his wife’s kind smile. “Ron, why don’t you go help Harry pack his trunk? Get everything he might need.”

“Hermione, why don’t you help them,” Mrs. Granger suggested. “We’ll be cleaning up down here.”

The trio nodded and went up to Harry’s bedroom.

For a while, they packed silently, moving back and forth around Harry’s room to his open trunks until he had everything he would need for at the Weasleys. He wondered how long he might be there. A few days? Should he pack his school things for his return to Hogwarts if he didn’t come home before then? He’d wanted nothing more than to spend time with his friends, stay over at their houses, and go back to Hogwarts all summer… but not like this. Once the final clasp of his trunk was shut, Harry started crying again. As much as he wanted not to, he couldn’t stop them from coming.

Before Hermione even had the chance to throw her arms around Harry like she normally would, Ron was there. He hugged Harry tightly, without embarrassment. Hermione seemed stuck in shock behind them.

“Mione, can you get my mum?”

With a slight hesitation, Hermione ran out of the room.

“Hey, mate,” Ron whispered, rubbing Harry’s back as he sobbed into his shoulder. “It’s gonna be alright. You get to stay with me for a few days or however long you want and we’ll have loads of fun. There’s nobody around for miles and the ones that are are wizards, too. We can fly our brooms all day, and practice magic, it’ll be a lot of fun. I promise.”

Mrs. Weasley burst in a second later and rushed to envelop Harry in her arms. “Oh, my dear—Ron, have your brothers come help with these trunks.” She rocked Harry in their embrace. “Harry, dear. I know this is all a lot, but we’ll have Sirius visit as soon as he can and we can always bring you back home once he returns. But until then we are so excited to have you stay with us.”

The tears slowed until they finally stopped.

“Are you ready to head down? We don’t have to if you’re not ready yet.”

Harry nodded and wiped the tears from his cheeks. “I’m okay.”

Once he was down the stairs, it was finally Hermione’s turn to pounce. She threw her arms around his neck and clung to him like a monkey on a branch. “I’ll come visit you at Ron’s, I promise,” she said. “You’ll love it there. Ginny’s told me all about it.” She finally released Harry, but he realized he was holding her just as tightly and awkwardly let her go before anyone noticed.

The other Grangers said their goodbyes and wished Harry a happy birthday, hoping he liked the gift they got him, and said he’s always welcome to visit. 

“Don’t even have to call or write,” Mrs. Granger said. “Just stop by whenever you’d like and we’ll make room for you.” She caressed Harry’s cheek and gave him another tight, motherly hug.

Mr. Granger clapped Harry on the shoulder, gripping it tightly and reassuringly. “Hermione’ll come and visit you, too. I’m sure she’ll already be asking come morning,” he laughed. “And we still have to get her school supplies. Maybe we can all meet up at— er —sweetheart, what’s that place called? Dragon Alley?”

“Diagon Alley,” Hermione corrected.

“Yes, Diagon Alley. What do you say, Molly? Think we can find time for us all to meet up there?”

“Of course, why not this next Saturday? The eighth? Hopefully, Sirius will be better by then and he can join us.”

“Let’s hope,” Mr. Granger said. “Happy Birthday, Harry.”

Hermione and her mum echoed his sentiments, with Hermione giving him another hug goodbye before they all left.

Then came Hagrid, massive as always, even in the large rooms of Grimmauld Place. “Happy birthday, Harry!” He beamed and placed a large hand on Harry’s back. “Don’ worry ‘bout Sirius. He’ll come ‘round and be alright. He’s always bin a fiery one.”

“Thanks, Hagrid,” Harry tried to put on his best smile.

Finally, Tonks and Ted came to say farewell.

“We’ll make sure Dromeda doesn’t kill him,” Ted said. “Sorry about the rough birthday this year, lad. Next year, I promise we’ll make it the best one yet.”

“Thanks, Ted…”

He gave Harry a sad smile before rustling his hair and Tonks gave Harry a hug. “I’ll come visit you at the Burrow. Still remember how to get there from Charlie, we’ll have loads of fun.” 

Harry nodded and hugged her tighter, wishing she could at least go with him now.

“Don’t let today be ruined. You still got loads of presents you get to open and a whole evening to spend. Besides, we didn’t finish the cake, you can go absolutely ham on the rest of it all by yourself.” Unlike everyone else’s smiles that were tinged with bittersweetness, Tonks’ seemed genuine, like she was trying to radiate happiness into Harry.

“I’ll miss you, Tonks.” Harry still didn’t want to let her go.

“Aw, babe. I’ll miss you, too.”

With the last bit of cleaning done, they were ready to head out. Harry wished Kreacher would reappear so he could say goodbye and tell him he was sorry. Ted left first through the fireplace back home. Then Oliver Wood threw his floo powder into the grate to somewhere everyone referred to as ‘the burrow’. Then went Percy and the twins, then Ron, each of them bringing one of Harry’s trunks with them.

“Alright, Harry, you next.” Mrs. Weasley beckoned him forth. “Remember to speak very clearly: ‘the Burrow’. That’s where we live, you’ll end up there. Got it?”

Harry nodded and stood in the fireplace with a handful of floo powder. He had little practice using floo. He never really needed to. Before last year, Sirius wouldn’t take him when he went out and whenever they went somewhere, they’d take his bike or the car.

Harry sneezed, almost dropping the powder in his hand.

Another reason he rarely used it, floo powder made him sneeze unlike anything else.

With another sneeze on the cusp of his nose, Harry quickly shouted, “The Burrow!” and threw the powder at his feet.

Then the fire erupted and everything turned green.

Chapter Text

CRACK!

Sirius fell hard onto the ground. Andromeda stood over him, dusting off her hands before raising them towards each of the walls. Her palms glowed a faint amber as she did. As Sirius recollected himself, shaking off the dizziness, he got to his feet.

“Where are we?” he asked.

The room Andromeda brought them to was vaguely familiar. The claret walls held only a few paintings and no portraits. A gold-framed mirror hung on the mantelpiece over a cold fireplace. The only furniture in the room was a small sofa and two armchairs placed around a low coffee table. A Persian rug draped over the dark hardwood floors. The far wall held large windows overlooking the vast field outside.

Andromeda never responded, continuing with her spell.

“Dromeda, I asked: where are we?”

“Somewhere for you to calm down,” she breathed.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “I am not a child! You cannot send me to my room—or whatever room this is—when I misbehave. You’ve made your point. Now, take me back home so we can celebrate Harry’s birthday.”

“I haven’t made my point yet.”

Scoffing, Sirius said, “Honestly, Dromeda, you’re not my mum. She was far less theatrical, if you remember. I don’t need you to scold me.” He tried disapparating, but nothing happened. He tried again, but still nothing. “What did you do?”

“Anti-Disapparition jinx. Couldn’t have you leaving before I was finished.”

“If you think I’m going to sit through a lecture…” Sirius shook his head and walked to the door. He jiggled the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge.

“Did you really think that would work?”

Sirius pulled his wand out and examined the lock. “Just makes it more of a challenge, cousin. You forget our time at Hogwarts. There’s not a door that exists that can keep me out.”

Andromeda raised her hand and twisted it, her fingertips glowed red, and Sirius’ wand flew into it. “Will you knock it off and sit down?”

“No! Now let me out!”

Andromeda furrowed her brow and sent another spell at Sirius. In an instant, he froze in place. His arms and legs clapped together at his sides, perfectly rigid. He was completely frozen, save for his eyes following her.

“God!” she exclaimed. “You say you don’t want a lecture, you say you’re not a child! Yet, you insist on acting like one every chance you get! Do you honestly think I want to be here right now? Having to mother you?”

You are the one who brought us here, Sirius thought.

“Do you think I want to be scolding you like a misbehaving child? I don’t! I raised my child! Very well, I might add. All I wanted to do today was celebrate Harry, to watch him open his presents and be happy. I wanted cake! But you are so—!” She pinched the bridge of her nose.

Sirius was only half listening to her ranting, instead focusing his full thoughts on casting the counterspell to the Full-Body Bind non-verbally.

“You threw a fit because Kreacher kept letters from Harry…! I’m not endorsing what Kreacher did, but can’t you see he was doing it for the same reasons you do? You’re both trying to keep Harry safe!”

That old foolish elf was only doing it to hurt him. He doesn’t care about his safety.

“He loves Harry! I’ve only seen him show that much affection for one other person before. Kreacher might’ve been led astray, but there’s not a doubt in my mind that you would have taken Harry out of Hogwarts had you heard about this plot first.”

I’d never take him out of school.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Andromeda said, though Sirius’ face remained frozen. “We had a talk about you not wanting him to go only a year ago. Don’t think I forgot.” She sighed, placing her hands on her hips. “Why must I be the one to always talk sense into you? For ten years, I hadn’t needed to offer any advice or step in. You did a wonderful job raising Harry by yourself. I mean that. But, God, once he turned eleven, you’ve lost all sense of reason! You’ve become so terrified that history will repeat itself that you refuse to let Harry out of sight! And you’re still so selfish that you can’t even let him have a proper birthday party without flying off the handle! Honestly, Sirius, if I didn’t know you as well as I do, I’d never let you near my children again. It was terrifying.”

Sirius did all he could to force her voice from his head, focusing harder on his counterspell. But the last bit drilled through. He never meant to scare them. He never meant to lose his temper like that at all.

God, what must they think? He’d never hurt any of their kids… but how could they know that?

“I told you before Christmas that you are Harry’s father, or the closest thing he has. And being a parent means putting your child first. I understand he’s not a normal boy. He has more stacked against him than even the most notorious wizards do.” She sat down at the edge of the sofa. “But, Sirius, you can’t protect him from everything—”

“I know! I am very aware of everything I can’t protect him from!”

Sirius finally performed the counterspell to free himself. The act took Andromeda aback and she quickly shot to her feet.

“Yeah, you’re not the only one that can perform spells without their wand. So, if you want to continue your lecture, you’ll have to listen to me, too.”

Andromeda pursed her lips and ceded him the floor.

“First, if you insist on us being here, do we have something to drink?”

She summoned a serving tray holding a pitcher of water and a teapot.

“I meant something stronger.”

“I’m well aware of what you meant. This is what you’re getting.”

Sirius held his gaze on her, but poured himself and Andromeda a cup of tea.

“You insist on treating me like a child so much as you insist that I treat you like a surrogate mother.”

“You made a scene at Harry’s birthday party and tried to dismiss the house-elf that’s been in our family for generations because of a misunderstanding. A child’s joke.”

“It was not a misunderstanding, Andromeda! It wasn’t a joke! You didn’t see how Harry’s been. Today was the first time I’d seen him smile in weeks! Weeks! Not hearing from any of his friends, not getting a response to any form of message he sent them, it devastated him! He thought there was something wrong with him, that they hated him! That’s Kreacher’s fault.”

“Kreacher couldn’t have known it was a cruel joke. He believed he was keeping Harry safe.”

“Then he should have brought it to me! I am Harry’s godfather! And for him to suggest I am not doing everything I can to keep him safe…”

“There is no one in the world that does not think you have Harry’s absolute best interests at heart.”

“Did you not hear what he said?”

“I did! I just don’t understand why it affected you so much! He’s a house-elf, Sirius, you know they only say whatever is told to them. But Harry cares about him. He’d never forget if you cast Kreacher aside out of anger. What did the two of you do during this past school year when Harry wasn’t around?”

“Ignored each other mostly. He’d make breakfast, lunch, and dinner, we’d eat, and that would be the only time we’d be in the same room… You didn’t grow up with him, Dromeda. He’s always been cruel, he loved taking my mother’s side, he loved all the punishments she inflicted. Do you think I can forget that?” Sirius shook his head.

“What could he have done? A house-elf’s life is to serve, he had no choice. He has to obey his master’s commands whether he wants to or not.”

“He never seemed so happy when the punishments came down on Regulus. He hated me.”

“Your mother wanted to play favorites and keep you separate from Regulus… She taught Kreacher all of her…” Andromeda sighed. “Is there nothing for you to find a middle-ground on?”

“I thought the middle-ground was Harry. It seems I was wrong.”

“Oh, come off it. He was misled. You act as if doing so is a damn crime. He cares for Harry, that is certain.” Andromeda rose from where she rested. “You have a lot of apologies to make.”

Sirius nodded. “Wouldn’t be the first time I burned my friendships away… Damn good at it by now.”

“We’ll start with apologies. We can have a pity party later.”

“I’m sorry, Dromeda.”

“I know you are.” She kissed him on his cheek.

Sirius rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, exhaling loudly. “Where the hell are we?” he asked, looking around the room.

“You really don’t recognize this place?”

“Should I?”

“We used to come here when we were kids.” She pointed out the window at the tall tree standing outside in the field. “You and Regulus would climb that tree when you were boys, looking for squirrels and baby birds. You broke your wrist falling from it one summer and your mother forbade either of you from going near it after.”

Sirius rubbed his right wrist thoughtfully. It still got sore when the weather changed and made clicking sounds when he moved it in specific ways.

“Uncle Alphard’s,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve been here since I got accepted to Hogwarts…”

“You aren’t the only one he left his possessions to. You got his money and the car. I got the house.”

“This isn’t your house… I’ve been to your house.”

“It’s not my home, but it is mine. You picked a good time to have your little outburst. I only recently finished renovating it. It was the first place that came to mind to bring you.” She walked to the door and opened it without issue. “I already have my home with Ted, so this will one day be Nymphadora’s—”

“She prefers to be called Tonks.”

Andromeda smiled. “She does… It’s still something I’m getting used to. I’m getting better, though.”

Sirius joined her in the hall, brightly lit and freshly painted.

“I’ve had plenty of downtime with her finishing school and starting her career. She likes her flat in London for now, but it’s small. It’s not on her mind yet, but I know how hopelessly romantic she is. She’ll fall in love one day and, God willing, start a family of her own. There were never terrible memories for us here, and if you could turn Grimmauld Place into somewhere warm for Harry…”

“She’ll love it,” Sirius said.

Andromeda smiled and looped their arms together. “Come, cousin, let me show you around.”

~ ~ ~

“AH-CHOO!”

Harry let out a loud sneeze. The green fire died down and revealed an entirely new house he’d landed in. The room he stepped into was untidier than any room in Grimmauld Place had ever been. Clothes, shoes, toys, and books all strewn about the woven furniture. Not to say it was messy, there was a sort of manic order to everything that came naturally in a home hosting seven children. It was cozy and comfortable.

Behind Harry, Ginny arrived in a burst of green flame. She ran into him head-on, stepping out of the fireplace.

“Oh, sorry, Ginny,” Harry said.

Immediately, her face turned as red as her hair and her eyes went wide.

“Are you okay?”

Without an answer, Ginny ran off up the crooked staircase. The twins sniggered behind Harry, and Ron came up. “Dunno what’s got into her. She’s been talkin’ about you nonstop all summer.”

“Thought she’d be all over you asking for an autograph,” George laughed.

Turning pink, the fireplace erupted again. This time it was Mrs. Weasley, dusting the soot from her clothes. “Oh, good, Harry, you made it. Arthur’s just behind, then we’ll get you settled.” She looked to her sons to take mental attendance. “Where’s Ginny?”

“Hiding upstairs,” Fred answered.

“Percy and Oliver?”

“Hiding upstairs,” the twins answered together with knowing grins.

“Oh, no they don’t.” Mrs. Weasley stomped to the foot of the stairs. “Percival Ignatius Weasley! You and Oliver get down here this instant! And you too, Ginevra! We’re still celebrating Harry’s birthday!”

“Oh, it’s okay, she doesn’t—if she doesn’t want—”

“Nonsense, dear. She’s just being silly. Percy Weasley! Oliver Alder Wood! If I come up there, you won’t be seeing each other for the rest of the summer!”

With another flash of emerald light, Mr. Weasley arrived as Ron leaned over to whisper in Harry’s ear. “Word of advice: don’t let mum know your middle name. There’ll be hell to pay when she full names you.”

Harry gulped. He was all too familiar with the sort of trouble he was in when Sirius called him by all three names.

“Everything’s all locked up, left a note for Sirius, and the place is spotless,” Mr. Weasley said as Percy, Oliver, and Ginny were walking awkwardly down the stairs. Oliver bit his lip, expecting what was surely due to come while Percy and Ginny had bright red faces. Mrs. Weasley dragged Percy and Oliver to take seats on the couch, with her sandwiched between them.

“Perfect, dear. Now, everyone gather around. Harry still has gifts to open.”

The rest of the Weasley family sat in a circle on chairs or on the floor of the family room.

“Come on, Harry, dear. You can sit beside Ron,” Mrs. Weasley beckoned him to join.

Harry still hesitated. “…er, we don’t… I can open them later, but I don’t… I’m feeling kind of tired.”

All of their eyes were on him. He wished he had his Invisibility Cloak right now.

“Well, we won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to,” Mr. Weasley said with a soft smile. He rose and placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “We can leave your gifts with the rest of your things for when you’re ready. And if you end up wanting to open them with everyone later on, just say the word.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Mrs. Weasley rose from between Percy and Oliver. “Alright, then, how about some dinner?” The Weasley kids all grumbled. “I know, I know, you’re all stuffed full of cake, but you need some proper food in your bellies or you’ll never get to sleep. Up, up, all of you. Fred, George—”

“Set the plates,” they said together, already on their way to the dining room.

“Yes, and don’t forget Harry’s. Percy and Ol—” Mrs. Weasley squinted at them suspiciously, debating her decision. “Silverware and napkins… but I want to hear plenty of noise!”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Weasley,” Oliver said in his Scottish brogue. “I’ll make sure to use the loud napkins.” He gave her a grin, and she playfully slapped his arm.

“Ginny, would you mind helping me in the kitchen? The roast is nearly done.”

Ginny practically ran to the kitchen.

“And Ron, show Harry up to your room. He’ll be staying with you while he’s here.”

Ron nodded and grabbed one of Harry’s trunks, struggling with the weight. “Hope you’re stronger than you look. I’m all the way at the top.”

Harry didn’t know why that was such a problem until he looked up from the bottom of the stairwell and found that the top must’ve been at least five stories up. He took a deep breath and hefted his suitcase up. Before he took the first step, he saw a pair of green eyes staring at him from around the corner where the kitchen was. Once Harry spotted them, they quickly disappeared behind the wall.

Ron shook his head. “Ginny. You don’t know how weird it is for her to be this shy. Normally, you can’t get her to shut up.”

The staircase was uneven and tilted this way and that as they lugged the heavy trunks up them. It zig-zagged its way up the lopsided house. A few times, they had to stop and catch their breath before continuing. Finally, after five steep flights, they reached a door with peeling paint and a small brass plaque on it that read: ‘Ronald’s Room’.

Harry stepped in, craning his neck to avoid the sloping ceiling. When Ron flipped on the light, Harry thought he’d walked into a furnace. Nearly every surface was a violent shade of orange. The walls, the ceiling, the bedsheets, even the creaking wood floor was tinged orange. Then Harry realized Ron covered every inch of the shabby wallpaper with posters of the same seven witches and wizards, all wearing bright orange robes, carrying broomsticks and waving energetically.

Harry’s eyes went wide, and he dropped his suitcase, in awe of the shrine to the Chudley Cannons.

“I was so nervous at your party,” Ron said. “Being so close to one of the Cannons’ old beaters. I wanted to talk to him all evening, but couldn’t muster the courage.”

“Yeah…” Harry muttered, still lost in the sheer absurdity.

Ron stacked his school books haphazardly in the far corner next to a pile of comic books. His wand was tossed on top of a fish tank full of frogspawn on his windowsill, right beside his fat gray rat, Scabbers, who was busy sleeping.

“Right where I left ‘im,” said Ron.

The purple and pink sky peered through the circular window, casting shadows over the extensive field that was the Weasley’s yard. Harry hefted his suitcase and trunk onto Ron’s bed, covering the Chudley Cannons logo spread over the comforter. Then he turned back to face Ron, who watched him nervously, as though waiting for what Harry thought.

“I know it’s small,” he blurted. “Nothing like your room back home… or the rest of your house. The floors creak, the ceiling is too low. Oh, and I’m right under the attic—there’s a ghoul locked up there… he’s a bloody menace, always banging on the pipes and groaning…”

But for the first time since Sirius disappeared, Harry managed a small smile. “This is the best house I’ve ever seen.”

Ron’s ears went pink. “Really?”

“Yeah. I love Grimmauld Place, but it’s nothing like this…”

“Well, if you ever wanna switch places, let me know,” Ron laughed.

“Boys!” Mrs. Weasley called from downstairs. “Boys, you can finish up later. Dinner’s ready. Come on down!”

Getting down the stairs felt like a relief without having to lug the heavy bags. It smelled wonderful downstairs. The scent of Mrs. Weasley’s roast beef filled the air, making Harry’s mouth water. The other Weasleys and Oliver were already sitting around the long edge of the table with Mr. Weasley at the head. Harry took a seat between him and Ron.

Mrs. Weasley went around the table, filling everyone’s plates with plenty of roast, potatoes, and vegetables coated in thick brown gravy with warm buttery bread rolls served with it. It was the most delicious thing Harry had ever eaten, and he’d grown up eating Kreacher’s food. Not even the food at Hogwarts had as much flavor as this roast did. The beef and vegetables were all so tender, Harry hardly had to chew. He soaked the bread in the gravy and savored every bite.

Harry was about full after finishing the first plate, but Mrs. Weasley filled up another for him as he took the last bite. After finishing that plate, Harry was positively stuffed and couldn’t spare another bite, despite Mrs. Weasley claiming he needed another bowl.

“Well, if you’re sure, dear. Don’t want you going hungry while you’re here.”

Just as he was about to shovel another forkful into his mouth, Mr. Weasley was called to the fireplace. Everyone turned their attention to the simmering flame, where a voice called again. In front of their very eyes, a man’s face poked through the embers.

“Arthur!” the face called.

“Perkins?” Mr. Weasley rose from his seat and went over to the fire. “What on earth? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, yes, everything’s fine,” Perkins said. “I just got a report in… Hate to be calling so late… we have some more raids lined up.”

“Well, that’s fine. Leave them on the desk and we’ll hop to first thing.”

“That’s why I’m calling, Arthur. Upper levels want them done as soon as possible… Now, actually.”

“Now?” Mrs. Weasley rushed to her husband’s side. “Certainly they know what time it is, Perkins? We’re right in the middle of dinner. Arthur’s been up all day.”

“I know… I wouldn’t bother if it didn’t seem necessary… They said that since he had the day off, he should be rested enough for it…”

Mr. Weasley groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Alright, I’ll be there. Just give me a minute and I’ll be over.”

“Please, hurry.” Perkins’ face disappeared from the fire.

“Blast that Ministry!” Mrs. Weasley shouted. “It’s almost nine in the evening! Have they no sense? No consideration?”

Mr. Weasley held up his hands to placate her fury. “It’s fine, Molly.” He lowered his voice to a hush. “Besides, the kids’ll be needing their school supplies soon. We could use the money from this…”

She seemed to settle down in defeat.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can… hopefully before the sun’s up.” He kissed her forehead and turned back to the dinner table. “Right, boys. I’ll be heading out, all of you be good and listen to your mother. Gin.” He kissed Ginny atop her head. “Love you, sweetling.”

After shoveling a few more bites of dinner into his mouth, he summoned a briefcase from his bedroom into his hand. “Love you, boys. Save me some breakfast in the mornin’, won’t you? Goodnight, all.”

Everyone wished him a goodnight, and he disapparated in a swirling flash.

Mrs. Weasley looked sullen and wiped her hands with the towel she held. “Alright, you lot finish your dinner, then off to bed. I’ve got plenty of work that needs doing come tomorrow; and Oliver, I’m sure your parents will want you home soon.” Without another word, she walked off into the kitchen and began scrubbing the dishes.

“What— er —what does your dad do at the Ministry, anyway?” Harry tried to break the suffocating silence.

“Nothing exciting,” Fred and George said.

“Works in the most boring department,” said Ron.

“Does not!” spat Ginny.

“Does too! It’s the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Even Perce would find it dreadful.”

Percy didn’t disagree.

“It’s all to do with bewitching things that are muggle-made, you know, in case they end up back in a muggle shop or house. Like, last year, some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an antiques shop. This muggle woman bought it, took it home and tried to serve her friends tea in it. It was a nightmare—Dad was working overtime for weeks.”

“What happened?”

“The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over the place. One chap ended up in the hospital with sugar tongs clamped to his nose. Dad was going frantic, it’s only him and that old warlock Perkins in the office. They had to do all sorts of Memory Charms to cover it up…”

Fred and George were laughing.

“Dad’s mad about everything to do with muggles,” Fred said.

“You must’ve seen him with Granger’s dad,” George added.

“Shed’s full of muggle stuff. Likes to take it all apart—”

“Put some spells on it—” George said through the side of his mouth.

“—And put it back together.”

Percy didn’t seem as amused as the twins did about their father’s projects.

“Drives mum mad,” Ron said. “Says if he raided our house, he’d have to put himself under arrest.”

“What… What raids is he doing?”

“Usually,” Percy chipped in matter-of-factly, “He only performs a few raids a month. Any witch or wizard suspected of tampering with muggle devices or putting magical objects into muggle hands, stuff like that. But recently, the Ministry’s decided dad’s department can help the auror office with tracking down dark magical objects.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Could be,” said Fred.

“But dad can handle it,” Ginny breathed.

“‘Course he can, Gin.”

“Alright, time for bed.” Mrs. Weasley returned. “Make sure you all brush your teeth.”

Everyone groaned in protest.

“No, no, none of that. Now, up you get. Goodnight, all of you.”

Muttering indignantly, they all rose from their seats and bid Mrs. Weasley a good night, walking single-file up the slanting stairs.

“Not you, Mister Wood,” Mrs. Weasley called, as Oliver attempted to blend in with the rest of them. “Your parents will expect you.”

Head drooping, Oliver returned to Mrs. Weasley and kissed her on the cheek, “Goodnight, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Goodnight, Ollie.” She gave him a similar peck on the cheek before he walked over to the fireplace and threw Floo Powder into the grate. “Oh, and happy birthday, Harry, dear!”

After they all changed into their pajamas and huddled around the bathroom sink to brush their teeth, Harry flopped onto the cot next to Ron’s bed.

“What a day, eh?” Ron fell into his own bed.

“Yeah…” Harry muttered. For a moment, he’d gotten lost in everything else and had forgotten everything that had happened before they fled to Burrow. A long day wasn’t even half of it.

“Glad to finally have you here, mate. Hope mum doesn’t have too many chores planned for the morning. I’ve been wanting to show you my broom all summer. Nothing as good as yours, mind; but it gets the job done.”

“Yeah…” Harry yawned widely. “Can’t wait. Anyway, I think I’m—”

Before Harry could finish, Ron was already snoring.

~ ~ ~

Life at The Burrow was as different as possible from life in Grimmauld Place.

Kreacher always kept their home clean, neat, and organized. Sirius, for all the mischief he caused in his youth, similarly appreciated organization beyond what Harry has seen in most other wizards. The Weasleys; however, was an explosion of the strange and unexpected, and nowhere near organized.

While Harry had no shortage of fun with his godfather, the Burrow was significantly louder than the quiet Harry was used to. The animals the Weasleys kept made enough noise of their own. Explosions were heard often from the twins’ bedroom without fanfare. Mrs. Weasley constantly had music playing as she cooked or took care of the home. Ginny had her own, louder, music blasting from behind her shut bedroom door. Mr. Weasley spent his time in the garage tinkering with whatever muggle object he’d gotten his hand on. And Ron played quidditch matches all day long on his miniature spell-e-vision. Not even having five other kids in the house, the ghoul in the attic liked to howl and throw pipes around whenever he felt things had gotten a little too quiet.

The first day there, Harry spent the morning de-gnoming the garden with Ron and the twins, launching garden gnomes over their hedge to see who could throw theirs the farthest. He’d never worried about chores before, not since they had Kreacher to do them. It was fun to experience what other kids did with their families. It felt good to act like a normal kid.

A few days in, Tonks stopped by as promised, bringing a record player along. Harry still hadn’t opened his birthday presents, still raw after how things ended, but Tonks hinted that he’d need it for what she and her mum got him. Harry and Ron immediately got to work unwrapping the parcels from Dromeda and Tonks, finding five brand new albums—none of which Ron recognized. The one Harry chose to show Ron first was The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars. A note from Aunt Dromeda said it had been Sirius’ favorite when he was Harry’s age.

That made him feel queasy. He hadn’t forgiven Sirius for what he’d done. He’d never seen him that angry before. How could he do that to Kreacher? To Harry? It was like he’d turned into a different person. Harry tried to convince himself that he had become someone else, that wasn’t really the godfather he’d grown up with.

But he was never that good a liar.

When Tonks left after a long day together listening to the records and messing around with the Weasleys across the Burrow, Harry had as much a hard time saying goodbye as he had days before.

It was a week after Harry came to the Burrow that the owl post arrived as usual during breakfast, this time with Hogwarts letters. Percy, his prefect badge pinned to his nightclothes, gathered the stack of mail, a letter for each of them, from the owl, and sent it on its way. He handed them to each of his siblings and was surprised to see one for Harry.

“Dumbledore must know you’re here, Harry.”

“Doesn’t miss a trick, that man,” Mr. Weasley said.

Harry and Ginny reached for their letters from Percy simultaneously, their hands briefly brushing against each other. Yanking her hand back faster than a lightning bolt, she accidentally knocked her bowl of porridge onto the floor with a loud clatter. She seemed more prone to knocking things over whenever Harry entered a room. She dove under the table to gather the bowl, emerging with her face glowing like the setting sun. The twins sniggered and bumped elbows together, which didn’t help her state.

“Come on, Gin,” Mr. Weasley said, “no need to be nervous, open yours first.”

“Family tradition,” Ron said. “The first-year opens theirs first.”

Everyone turned their undivided attention to Ginny, making her even brighter red. Gulping, she shakily tore open the envelope addressed to her in green lettering.

“…Dear Miss Weasley,” she let out a shaky breath of relief, “We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the 1992 and 1993 school terms! I got in!”

Applause and cheers rang out around the table.

“Don’t know why she thought she wouldn’t,” Ron whispered to Harry. “The whole family’s gone, of course she’d get in.”

“Knew they let you in, Gin,” George said.

“Yeah, they keep letting me and George back, you were a shoo-in.”

“Ignore them,” said Mrs. Weasley, as she smothered Ginny in a massive hug. “Congratulations, dear, we are so proud. Alright, the rest of you can open yours now.”

The table went quiet except for the sound of parchment tearing as the boys read their letters. Harry’s confirmed he was welcomed back for the 1992 and 1993 terms—after the events of last year, that wasn’t as sure as he hoped. It also reminded him to catch the Hogwarts Express from King’s Cross Station on September, the first at eleven o’clock in the morning. Attached to the letter was his Hogwarts report from his first-year and a list of what he’d need for the upcoming year.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Uniform

All second-year students will require:

1. Three sets of work robes (House color or enchanted black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One pair of earmuffs (Puffskein fur, MMA rated or better)
5. One winter cloak (black, fur-lined, silver fastenings, may have house colors)

For male students:

Five pairs of trousers (black or charcoal gray)

Five dress shirts (solid white or ivory, no pockets)

Two ties (house colors or Hogwarts embroidered)

Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags.

Set Books

All second-year students should have a copy of each of the following:

A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 2) by Miranda Goshawk

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart

Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart

Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart

Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart

Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart

Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart

Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart

Other Equipment

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

1 basic potions ingredients kit

Parchment

Quills

Inks (blue, black, and red)

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

Second-year students may bring their own broomsticks.

Fred, who’d finished reading over his own list, looked over at Harry’s. “Oof. You’ve been told to get all Lockhart’s books, too!”

“This lot won’t come cheap, mum,” George said. “The new D.A.D.A. teacher requires the entire set of his books and they’re really expensive…”

“Must be a fan,” Percy said.

“Must be a witch,” Ron grumbled, but he caught his mother’s eye and quickly shoved bacon into his mouth.

“Well, we’ll manage,” said Mrs. Weasley, but she looked worried. “We can get some of Ginny’s things secondhand or from any of the boys’ old things.”

Percy must’ve noticed the same worried look because he said, “You know, mum, we don’t all have Defense at the same time or even the same day. I’m sure we could share the books between us. We don’t all need our own.”

Harry caught a brief glance at the anxious looks on Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s faces before they forced smiles back on.

“No, no, that’s sweet, but no bother. We’ll make it work,” Mrs. Weasley said. “Besides, it’s past time you all read some real literature.” She kept the smile plastered on her face as she returned to the kitchen. But Harry saw her shoulders slump when she thought no one could see and sharply threw the dish towel onto the counter.

“It’s a good idea, son, thank you,” Mr. Weasley reclined in his chair and scratched his chin as he analyzed the lists through the top of his specs. “Probably best to still get a few sets, so you aren’t all fighting over them to do your homework. Harry, have you heard anything from Sirius? Is he planning on joining us and the Grangers in Diagon Alley? Mols and I spoke to him a few days ago, but we’d forgotten to bring it up.”

“Arthur!” Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen.

“Just a minute, Mols!” he replied, eyes stuck on Harry.

Mr. Weasley had spoken to Sirius? Why hadn’t they told him? Had Sirius wanted to speak to him? Had he told them not to tell him?

The questions made his head spin. He hated how confusing things had gotten.

“Oh, er , no. I’ve heard nothing from him yet. I’ll send Hedwig out to ask after breakfast.”

“Good lad, I hope to see him there.” Mr. Weasley rose from his chair to join his wife in the kitchen. Though they kept their voices hushed, Harry and the other kids could still hear them arguing.

A sinking feeling settled into Harry’s stomach. Was he imposing by being here? He didn’t want to cause the Weasleys stress when they were trying to help him. Did Mr. Weasley want Sirius to take him back already? He didn’t know if he wanted to go back to Sirius. Not after what he did.

Harry shook the thoughts from his head and tried to distract everyone from the fighting in the other room while also trying to make Ginny more comfortable with him being there.

“Congratulations on getting into Hogwarts, Ginny,” Harry said. “You must be excited. I was when I got my letter.”

But Ginny didn’t respond. She blushed to the roots of her flaming hair, staring like a deer in headlights before running from the table and back up to her room. The door slammed shut a moment later.

As they finished eating their breakfast, Harry watched another owl swoop down from the sky towards the window. It aimed for the open dining-room window the previous owl landed though, only this one ran head-on into the unopened glass pane with a loud BANG.

“Ooh…” the boys winced.

The owl recovered and flew up to perch on the windowsill. He looked more like an overused feather duster with his wild array of brown and gray feathers sticking out in all directions. His yellow eyes sat on his flat face and stared wildly as if he’d seen all the secrets of the universe.

“Errol!” Ron exclaimed as Scabbers plunged into his shirt. “Bird’s a bloody menace. What’d I tell you? Hopefully, he has Hermione’s letter.” 

He pulled the letter from under the bird’s wing and indeed, it had a familiar handwriting addressing the parcel. A few days after Harry came to the Burrow, they wrote to her to let her know Harry was alright. Ron tore open Hermione’s letter and read it out loud:

Dear Ron and Harry,

I hope you’re both alright and that Harry is doing okay after everything. Mum and dad are worried about him and Sirius. They said Harry can always visit if he wants to. We’ve been really worried about him. It was awfully frightening. I’ve never seen Sirius like that. I’m sure they’re overreacting, but mum and dad aren’t sure about me going back to Grimmauld Place for a while.

Of course, Harry thought bitterly. Why shouldn’t they be scared? He’d been scared too. He thought his summer had turned around, he’d been so happy to see everyone again. Now none of them would want to come around again, they’d be too afraid of Sirius flying off the handle.

If Harry’s alright, will you please let me know as soon as you can? And perhaps it would be better if you used Hedwig or another owl, because I think another delivery might finish this one off.

Harry and Ron looked at Errol, almost teetering off his perch while picking at his feathers.

I’m very busy with schoolwork, of course—

“How?” Ron said in horror. “We’re on holiday for three more weeks!”

—but we’re excited to see you all on Saturday in Diagon Alley if you’re still able to come.

Let me know what’s happening as soon as you can.

Love, from Hermione ♡

“Let her know we’re still planning on Saturday and it’ll be lovely to see her.” Mrs. Weasley began clearing off the table. “What are you lot up to today?”

The plan was to march up to a small paddock the Weasleys owned. Tall trees protected them from the view of the village a few miles away, making it completely perfect to play quidditch in so long as none of them flew too high. They even had hoops erected for a keeper to defend. The Weasleys loved getting turns riding Harry’s Nimbus Two Thousand, a faster broom than any of theirs, even the ones Sirius gave the twins for Christmas last year.

“Perce, you gonna join us?” George asked, but Percy only scoffed in response.

“Oh, come on, Percy,” said Fred. “Ollie would love seeing you ride a broom.”

Percy turned poker red from anger and embarrassment. The twins cackled as he stomped back upstairs and slammed his bedroom door shut.

Harry never saw much of Percy other than at mealtimes or when Oliver visited. Most of the time, he was at Oliver’s house in Scotland or locked up in his room, working on something in secret. Whatever it was he was doing, he kept his pet owl, Hermes, busy delivering letters back and forth.

“He’s probably off to polish his prefect badge again,” Fred said. “Maybe he thinks he’ll get a thirteenth O.W.L if it’s shiny enough.”

“What is an O.W.L?” Harry asked.

“Ordinary Wizarding Levels,” George explained. “Exams you take in year five. Bill got twelve, too. If we’re not careful, we’ll have another Head Boy in the family. I don’t think I could take the shame.” He laid his hand across his forehead and pretended to swoon.

Bill was their oldest brother. He and the next oldest, Charlie, had already left Hogwarts. Harry had only met Charlie once when he helped them clean up a dragon mess Hagrid roped them in on, but he still hadn’t met Bill. All he knew was that he was working in Egypt for the wizarding bank, Gringotts.

“More fun for the rest of us, anyway,” Fred said.

“You boys ready?” asked George.

“Yeah, ready to kick your—Ron didn’t finish. His mum was standing beside him, hands on her hips, her eyes daring him to.

“I gotta send a letter to Sirius first,” Harry said. “Make sure he’ll be coming to Diagon Alley.”

“Well, don’t take too long,” George said. “We still have to get dressed anyway, so we’ll see you up there.”

“Last one there throws the apples!” Fred announced, and the twins ran up to their bedroom.

Ron groaned as he and Harry climbed the stairs. “I’m gonna end up throwing the apples. I always throw the apples.”

They couldn’t use real quidditch balls because of how they acted, it was too risky to have them flying around when one could wind up in the village. So, the Weasleys used apples and cabbages instead. Harry made a mental note that once he was back with Sirius, they needed to buy them some tennis and footballs to use instead of the produce. During their first game, Harry asked why they didn’t bewitch the apples to fly around instead of having to throw them. The Twins told him that Bill thought of that once; it ended with the apples firing themselves like cannonballs towards the village.

“You don’t have to wait up for me,” Harry said. “I can send Hermione the letter with Hedwig and ring Sirius before meeting you there.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, get dressed and beat ‘em there. I remember the way.”

“You’re the best, Harry!” Ron ran up the rest of the way to his bedroom.

After getting dressed into shorts and their orange Cannons jerseys, Ron thundered down the stairs with his and Harry’s brooms while Harry stayed behind to write his letter to Hermione.

Dear Hermione,

Thanks for your letter. I’m doing well here. It’s been a lot of fun spending time with Ron and his brothers. If you haven’t come by yet, you definitely need to visit the Burrow. Ron’s mum makes the best food I’ve ever had! Mrs. Weasley would love to have you over and maybe you can figure out what’s going on with Ginny.

I don’t know if I’ll go back home before we go back to school, I haven’t spoken to Sirius since I’ve been here. I don’t know if he’s feeling any better yet. I’m going to ring him after I send this out to you. I hope he’s okay. It’s always scary when he gets upset like that. Mostly, I hope he hasn’t gotten rid of Kreacher. I don’t know if I could forgive him if he did. I’m sorry about what happened. I Hope you still had fun on my birthday.

You can tell your parents that I’m okay. I don’t want them to worry. I opened my presents a few days ago, and I loved your gift. Thank you so much, and tell your parents I said thank you to them, too.

We checked with Mrs. Weasley and she said they’re still planning on bringing us to Diagon Alley on Saturday. We’re all super excited to see you!

Have you gotten your Hogwarts letter yet? Whoever the new D.A.D.A. professor is must really love Gilderoy Lockhart. They want the entire set! I don’t know if you’ve read his books already, but Mrs. Weasley loves him. Sirius always said he was a tosser.

I can’t imagine what school work you could do already, but I hope it’s going well.

Can’t wait to see you Saturday.

Love Harry

P.S. Hedwig loves Eeylops treats if you have any.

After sealing the letter, Harry walked down the stairs after the twins and headed for the Weasley barn. Hedwig perched in there with Errol and Hermes, cleaning her feathers. She found him the day after he arrived, almost as if she expected his coming to The Burrow. She was happy with so much room to explore, having the company of other owls, and all the vermin she could hunt. Once she saw Harry enter, she swooped down beside him, eager to send a letter.

Harry gave her scratches under her chin the way she liked. “You ready for a trip? You wanna see Hermione?” It was almost past time to send her on a delivery. She got grumpy when she hadn’t delivered anything in a while. Her bite was a lot sharper than you’d think.

He tied the letter under her wing and pet her head one more time before sending her off to Sirius. As soon as she disappeared into the clouds, Harry raised his stag ring to his mouth, still uncertain of what to say.

“Padfoot…” Harry spoke into the ring, making the ruby glow. “I got my letter from Hogwarts for this year.”

After a moment, Sirius’ voice came through the ring. “That’s great, Harry! I’m glad it found you.”

Harry paced across the width of the barn as he spoke. “Yeah, and Hermione sent an owl… She said her parents are still taking her to Diagon Alley tomorrow. I wanted to see if you were gonna be there, too.” He didn’t know how Sirius would take it if he found out about the Grangers not wanting Hermione to visit Grimmauld Place.

“Of course I will. I’ll stop by the Burrow in the morning to join all of you.”

“Perfect. I’ll, er, let Mister and Mrs. Weasley know.”

“Can’t wait. I miss you, Harry.”

Holding back a scoff, Harry felt himself getting angry. “We spent the whole summer together,” he said.

“I know. That doesn’t mean I don’t still wish you were here, lad.”

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t be if—” Harry stopped himself before he finished. 

There was a moment of silence before Sirius spoke again, “I know. Have you been having fun over there?”

“Yeah.” Harry said forcefully. “I’m actually about to go play quidditch with Ron and the twins.”

“That’s wonderful. Well… don’t let me keep you, go have fun—”

“Sirius?”

“Yeah?”

“Is Kreacher okay?”

There was a long silence that followed.

“Padfoot…?”

“Yeah, no, sorry, Kreacher is fine. Your aunt and I decided it’d be for the best if he stayed with her for the time being.”

Harry nodded even though Sirius couldn’t see him. “You’re not going to still give him clothes, are you?”

“No. Dromeda convinced me otherwise. I just need some time to cool down. I’m really sorry for ruining your birthday, lad.”

“It’s okay—”

“No, Harry, it’s not. I shouldn’t have done that, and I promise I’ll make it up to you. I’m so sorry.”

“Okay… I love you, Sirius.”

“I love you more, my boy. I’ll see you tomorrow. Counting down the minutes already.”

Harry smiled sadly. “I’ll see you. Wish it was sooner.”

“As do I,” Sirius said, and the glow dimmed.

A few minutes later, after collecting himself, Harry marched up the hill. The Weasley boys were already on their brooms, hovering over the paddock.

“Dunno how mum and dad are going to afford all our school stuff this year,” George said. “Even if they don’t get each of us a set of Lockhart’s books, it’ll still be crazy expensive.”

“Yeah, and Gin can’t wear any of our old robes,” said Fred. “Plus, she’ll need a wand and everything…”

Harry felt awkward. He’d never heard of anything being too expensive. Sirius was wealthy and Harry himself had a mountain of gold stored in an underground vault at Gringotts. They’d been doing so much for him. The least he could do was help them get their school supplies. He decided not to tell them yet. They were too kind to accept it.

He’d just have to surprise them.

* * *

Waking up Saturday, Sirius was more anxious than excited.

He had really made a mess of it this time. Dromeda couldn’t save him from making a complete arse of himself—and in front of all of Harry’s friends, no less. He couldn’t blame the Grangers or the Weasleys if they never wanted Sirius around their kids again. If Sirius were in their shoes, he would feel the same trepidation. Still, they invited him to Diagon Alley. He’d have to collect Harry anyway, The Weasleys had done more than enough looking after him 

Looking in the mirror, Sirius only had disdain for who he saw looking back. Being so quick to anger was not a new trait, only one he thought he had outgrown.

Bad public opinion was not anything new either.

Growing up a Black meant growing up in the public eye. The day he was born was front page news. He was a Daily Prophet favorite; first as the perfect darling heir; then the rebel child, then the debutant playboy. His teenage years found him mired in controversy that the wizarding world ate up. He was the Black family bad boy, the prodigal son, the rebel, and the bachelor. Flashbulbs illuminated everywhere he went and think pieces knew more about his life than he often did. Any time he stepped outside, the media circus was there to accompany him.

The only place he was safe from their watchful eye was at Hogwarts, but even that was only just.

The war fixed it best of all. Public opinion of the family changed when they discovered so many members were in league with the Dark Lord. None were too keen to keep up with the Blacks after learning the family wanted them dead because of their impure blood status. Living in hiding also did a lot to help Sirius and Andromeda live relatively normal lives, free from the public eye.

At least, until Voldemort died.

Then, there was renewed fervor and media attention, but not for the Black Family. Though, it was a field day when Bellatrix and the Lestrange brothers were thrown in Azkaban and every paper wanted a quote on Lucius Malfoy allegedly being under the Imperius curse. But more than anything, they were clamoring to ask about Harry or get the rare picture of The Boy Who Lived.

One unlucky fellow tried breaking into Grimmauld Place to get his fifteen seconds, only to wind up covered in painful boils and warts, his earlobes inflated to the size of softballs, and himself dangling naked above The Daily Prophet building. Kreacher cast at least one of those curses. Last they heard, the photographer was fine. The boils had healed mostly, but his earlobes were stuck looking like deflated balloons. Needless to say, no one was foolish enough to try anything like that again, and no one ever got their picture of Harry.

Sirius cared none about what The Prophet , or the tabloids, or wizarding society thought of him. Their opinions changed with the wind, and were so rarely thought out. But Sirius did care about what his friends thought, and more than anything, he cared what Harry thought. Never having the highest opinion of himself, Sirius often saw himself at his worst, but he always tried to do the best by his friends and godson. It was not always easy; more often than not, he was terrified about making the wrong choice, teaching him wrong, or sheltering him too much.

Then, Sirius goes and blows up at his birthday party in front of everyone.

Birthday parties had been a big deal since Sirius was in school. James would’ve let him really have it if he heard.

He didn’t know how he could look any of them in the eye again.

All he could do now was get dressed, put on his best face, and accept whatever came. That was better said if Kreacher were here to help him.

Life without a house-elf made Sirius realize how utterly useless he was around the house. Cooking was the greatest challenge. No matter what he made, it always ended up burnt to a crisp or raw enough to still have a pulse. Not even his tea was safe from his lack of culinary talent. Mrs. Potter, James’ mum, would roll in her grave if she saw how incapable he had become in the kitchen and he could see Mr. Potter holding his head in shame at how many galleons Sirius had exchanged for muggle pounds just to eat at a restaurant.

Sirius had laughed once with his friend Remus about living on their own, neither of them knowing how to cook. He wished they’d followed up on that, but the war didn’t leave much time for honing their culinary skills. He wished thinking about his old friends didn’t hurt as much as it did even after so long.

Sirius fidgeted with his rings as he looked himself over in the mirror. Everything black. His mother taught him from infancy to always dress his best when out in public. People were always watching, and it was their responsibility to set an example. He wondered what she would think of him now, wearing tight jeans and a short sleeve buttoned shirt to show off his patchwork of tattoos covering his arms. He planned on wearing a jacket as he normally did, but if Walburga Black had any say, he would never be able to remove it. Or she would take a cheese grater to his skin, which was more her parenting style.

He could not stall much longer. Molly wanted to head out early. Grabbing a green leather jacket, the world spun around Sirius and his stomach sank. In an instant, the golden walls of Grimmauld Place transformed into a wheat field on either side of him.

There were animal pens holding dozens of fat chickens, goats chewing on grass, and massive pigs. The house itself—if you could call it that—was an architect’s nightmare. It looked more like a late-game Jenga tower than anything someone should live in. Starting as a large stone hovel, extra rooms were built hither and tither, stacked one over the other until it was several stories high and made the Tower of Pisa look straight. Multiple chimneys stuck out of the red-tiled roof and dozens of other wooden support beams were stuck in the ground.

As Sirius approached, he passed a sign that read THE BURROW. It was covered in various painted handprints, one over the other, repeated hundreds of times in different sizes. Another kind of family tree, Sirius thought, one less oppressive than that which he sits in the shade of.

Around their front door were several pairs of brightly colored rain boots and a well worn welcome mat resting on the step. Sirius took a breath and knocked on the yellow painted door.

“Coming!” Molly’s voice called from inside, but it was not her who answered.

“Percy,” Sirius greeted the boy with a smile and a handshake. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Mister Black.” Percy’s thick curly red hair was still unruly from waking up and even in his pajamas, he wore his prefect badge.

“Ah, call me Sirius, please. I see you’ve been keeping your badge shined. You all set for your classes? Sixth-year, am I right?”

“Yes, sir, and I will be after we visit Diagon Alley.”

“Good lad.” Sirius patted him on the shoulder as he walked inside the dining room. “Morning all!” he announced to everyone around the table.

“Good morning, Sirius!”

“Morning, Sirius!”

“Mornin’.”

Harry sat between Ron and Arthur, obviously deep in conversation, before Sirius interrupted. Sirius did his best to tamp down the disappointment he felt when Harry did not immediately run over to embrace him like he used to.

The boy’s growing up. He has every right to be upset.

Oh, how he hated witnessing the passage of time.

Molly, however, did pull him into a tight hug. “Good to see you, dear.” She grinned and smoothed out the shoulders of his coat. “Still have some breakfast left. Can I get you a bacon sandwich? A spot of tea?”

“Yes, please, Molly. That’d be lovely.” He did not want to admit how bad it had gotten without Kreacher, but he couldn not deny the rumbling in his stomach. Sirius took the empty seat across from Harry and beside Arthur, flashing his godson a brief smile. It was hard to ignore the awkwardness between them now, all of his own making.

Things remained tense until Molly placed the sandwich and tea in front of Sirius. Trying to diffuse the tension, he asked, “Is everyone ready to get their school things? Ginny, I know you must be raring to get your first wand. That’s always a big moment. Harry could barely contain himself long enough to get his.” Sirius laughed. “Bet you can’t stop talking about it. Come on, what do you think yours’ll be?”

“I don’t know,” she said, making Harry curiously jump. “Charlie’s got a dragon heartstring in his and he loves it.”

“I do too,” Sirius said. “It’s very effective. Never let me down.”

“And for wood, I like hazel like the one Bill’s got, but yew is also really nice. I’ve seen a few of those, or maybe holly—”

“Harry’s got a holly wand, don’t you lad?”

“Yeah,” he pulled his wand from his pocket.

After only a year of use, it’s already started transforming to fit him. No longer the generic straight wand it was when they bought it. Now the wood was considerably lighter, and it had become more jagged. The curves followed along those of his hand perfectly, but the way it bent and curved made the wand look like a bolt of lightning.

Suddenly, Ginny froze before she bolted from the table and up to her room, claiming she needed to get ready.

Sirius looked around the table for an explanation for her bizarre behavior. “Did I say something?”

“No,” Percy answered. “She’s been like that since Harry got here.”

“Did you do something to her?” Sirius asked Harry.

“What? No! Or at least I don’t think I did. That’s the most I’ve heard her talk this whole time. Every time she sees me or I try to talk to her, she runs away.”

“Probably ‘cause you’re ugly,” said George.

“Or because you smell bad,” added Fred.

“Alright, boys,” Arthur said.

“Thanks, guys, maybe I should’ve been born ginger, then she’d talk to me.”

The twins and Arthur laughed.

“Maybe she heard your snoring,” Ron shrugged.

“My what?” Harry’s eyes went wide.

“Only jokin’…”

Seeing Harry banter with the other boys strangely made Sirius happy. With no brothers of his own, he was glad his godson had friends close enough to mess around with, with none of them taking it seriously. Just like he once had.

“It is odd,” Percy ignored his brothers. “Ginny couldn’t stop talking about Harry the whole summer, but as soon as he’s here, she won’t say a word to him. I don’t get it.”

“Really?” asked Fred. “You don’t?”

“Maybe Ollie can explain it the next time you’re allowed alone in a room together again.” The twins laughed as their older brother stomped upstairs in a huff.

“Alright boys,” Arthur said. “That’s enough. Quit picking on your brother. Finish your sandwiches so you can get ready.”

Both twins took another bite of their sandwiches, and so did Sirius. Even bacon and bread tasted better than anything he had since Kreacher has been gone.

“Oh, Sirius, wait ‘til you hear this,” said George. “New D.A.D.A. professor has all of us getting all the Lockhart books for class.”

Sirius almost choked on his sandwich. “What self-respecting professor would ever think to use that drivel for defensive lessons? That man wouldn’t know real Defense if it sat on his chest. I swear—he was a few years behind me in school, you know. Ravenclaw somehow, same class as that Quirrell from last year, in fact. But even back then he would’ve sold his own mother for two seconds of fame. All glory, no talent.” Sirius shook his head.

“Maybe it’s a course on what to avoid.” Arthur shrugged. “I suppose there’s still a deal of real magic in them… sometimes.”

“But the complete set for what not to do? That’s doing a bit much, isn’t it?”

Molly answered. “It would do a lot for the kids to learn from an actual practitioner. His books will teach them what to do in real-world situations!”

Sirius shot Arthur a questioning look, but he only shook his head subtly in response. Silently telling Sirius it was not worth it to argue.

“Alright, boys, time for you to get ready. No dilly-dallying, we need to leave soon,” Molly said. “March!”

The remaining Weasley boys and Harry all climbed the stairs to finish getting ready. Before he took the first step, Harry looked back at Sirius and returned the brief smile he gave. And that made all the difference.

Our Ginny fancies your boy, you know,” Molly said, having taken Harry’s seat.

“Poor girl’s been tripping over herself and hiding in her room since he got here,” Arthur laughed.

“Yeah… I picked that up,” he laughed. “Do I hear wedding bells in the future?” Sirius smirked and took a sip from his tea. “There are worse in-laws, I suppose.”

“Hear, hear,” Arthur clinked his teacup against Sirius’.

Molly shot Arthur a stern look before sipping her tea. “I think it’s still too early for all of that. They’re still kids. Just a little crush.”

“Speaking of little crushes, Percy and Oliver?”

Molly turned red.

“Lad’s, er , becoming a man, shall we say,” Arthur said.

“He is not!” exclaimed Molly. “Not if I can help it, and not in my house.”

“He’ll be sixteen in a few weeks. It’s natural for boys their age. Mols walked in on them… ‘rounding the quidditch pitch’ a few weeks ago.”

“He is still a boy, and until he graduates, I’ll have none of that in my house.” Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a finger to stop him. “One more word, and that will go for you as well, Mister Weasley.”

He shut his mouth, and Sirius chuckled.

“Now, dear.” Molly’s attention turned to Sirius. She folded his hand into hers. “I don’t want to pry, but are you doing okay? That was quite a stir last week.”

“Molly…” Arthur moaned. “Leave the man be. He doesn’t have to explain himself.”

“I’m not asking him to explain. I’m asking if he’s alright.”

“I’m fine. Thank you, Molly. I’m really sorry for how I—Kreacher and I haven’t had the best relationship. He often parroted the wizard supremacist dogma my mum and dad believed as I grew up. Bringing Harry around made him warm up. He truly loves and cares for him. More than I’d ever seen him care for me. We agreed to remain cordial for his sake. But I guess all the feelings I held towards him from throughout my life finally bubbled up when he said he was trying to keep Harry safe. It felt like an insult because he hadn’t come to me about any of this. I can’t tell you both how sorry I am and how grateful I am for you taking Harry in.”

Molly looked at him with pity and kindness, rubbing his knuckles with her thumb.

“Ya know,” Arthur said. “One of the biggest things to relearn is how to trust others. It’s not an effortless task, especially when you’ve had your trust broken before. I can’t say there won’t be people that will try to hurt Harry, there will be. But there are people who do have his best interests and his safety at heart, and you cannot keep him safe alone. None of us can keep our kids safe alone.”

“You’re right.” Sirius nodded. “Molly, I also have a favor… Little embarrassing… I’ve realized without Kreacher I am an utter menace in the kitchen. Do you think after the kids are away you could teach me? At least until Kreacher gets back?”

“Oh, dear,” she tried to mask her laughter. “Of course I can, and we don’t have to wait either. You can help me make dinner tonight. I’ll show you how to make the easiest things that will keep for a while and I’ll send plenty home with you.”

Before he could express his gratitude, the thundering Weasley brood was coming down the stairs.

Molly rose from her chair and said, “Alright. Cloaks and jackets on, all of you. Line up in front of the fireplace.”

Sirius and Arthur followed her into the family room.

Taking a flowerpot from the mantlepiece, Molly looked inside with a frown. “We’re running low, Arthur,” she sighed. “We’ll have to buy more while we’re out… Ah, well, guests first! Come along, Harry dear!” and she offered him the flowerpot.

Sirius and Arthur followed her into the family room. Taking a flowerpot from the mantlepiece, Molly looked inside with a frown. “We’re running low, Arthur,” she sighed. “We’ll have to buy more while we’re out… Ah, well, guests first! Come along, Harry dear!” and she offered him the flowerpot.

“Careful Molly,” Sirius said. “He’s got a slight allergy to it, makes him sneeze a lot.”

“Oh, right, right, sorry dear. Er, Fred, George, why don’t you two go first, make sure he gets there alright?”

“See ya there, Harry,” Fred took a pinch of the glittering powder from the flowerpot, stepped into the fire, and threw it into the flames. With a roar, the fire turned violently green and rose taller than Fred, who shouted, “Diagon Alley!” and vanished as the flames consumed him.

A moment later, George did the same thing and similarly vanished.

Sirius was not nervous. All Floo powder did was make Harry sneeze and maybe made his eyes itchy for a bit after. He had seen it done countless times and has used it himself. He gave Harry a reassuring smile as he stepped into the grate.

“I’ll be right behind you, lad,” he said.

After a deep breath, Harry sniffled, the powder in his hand. He opened his mouth to speak. “Di–Di–Diagon A–Alley.” He sneezed as he dropped the powder into the fire, and he was gone.

Sirius cursed and grabbed his own pinch of powder. “Diagon Alley!” he shouted, barely in the fireplace; he felt the flames cover him, and the unmistakable feeling of being sucked into the ground.

Chapter Text

It felt as though he was being sucked down a giant drain .

Harry spun very quickly. The roaring in his ears became deafening. He tried to keep his eyes open, but the whirl of green flames and constant sneezing made it impossible. Something hard smacked his elbow, making him wince and clutch it tighter to him. Squinting through his glasses, he saw a blurry stream of fireplaces and the rooms beyond. He screwed his eyes shut again, wishing he’d make it out already, then he fell, face forward, onto the cold, hard stone floor and his glasses shattered.

Dizzy, bruised, and covered in soot, Harry climbed painfully to his feet. He rubbed his bruised nose and injured elbow. Whatever he hit had torn his sleeve and made him bleed. Holding his broken glasses up to his eyes, he found them useless in their current state. His eyes burned from tears wanting to come. He swore under his breath and punched the fireplace, only hurting his hand along with everything else.

Looking around the room, he saw he was alone, but where he was, he had no idea. It seemed to be some sort of wizarding shop, though dimly lit, and selling nothing he would find on his Hogwarts school list.

Inside a glass case was a terrifying collection of objects. There was a withered hand resting on a cushion, a pack of tarot cards that looked like they were drawn with blood, and an eye following him wherever he went. Demented masks leered from the walls, human skeletons (both full and partial) laid on the countertops and in caskets. Rusted, spiked instruments and weapons dangled from the ceiling. Even worse, through his blurry vision, he could still tell the dark, narrow street this shop sat on was definitely not Diagon Alley.

Using the glass cases and counters as his guide, Harry headed toward the door, only for a horrible withered hand to grab his wrist. Harry tried to yank his hand free, but it held on painfully tight. Gritting his teeth, he pried each of the fingers away until he managed to free himself, falling onto the hard ground again, smacking the back of his head against the hardwood corner. Nose stinging from the first fall, elbow throbbing from whatever hit him in the fireplace, now a knot on the back of his head, Harry wanted to get out of here as fast as possible. Climbing achingly to his feet, Harry continued swiftly and silently towards the door. But before he’d gotten halfway towards it, a pair of patrons appeared on the other side of the glass.

Even through his limited vision, Harry could tell one of them being the very last person he wanted to see when he was lost, injured, covered in soot, and wearing shattered glasses: Draco Malfoy.

Harry looked around and spotted the large black cabinet he’d smacked his head on; bolting inside of it, he pulled the doors closed, leaving only a small crack for him to peek through. The bell above the door jingled, and Malfoy stepped into the shop with an older man Harry recognized from the graduation ceremony a few months ago. He could only be Draco’s father. Just like Harry was the spitting image of James Potter, Draco was the mirror of his dad. They shared the same pale, pointed face and stick-straight silver-blonde hair, though his father’s was considerably longer, passing his shoulders. Again, like Harry, Draco must have his mother’s eyes.

The older Malfoy crossed through the shop, looking lazily at the curiosities on display before ringing the bell on the counter. He turned to his son and said, “Touch nothing, Draco.”

Scoffing, Draco pulled his hand away from the watchful disembodied eye and said, “I thought you were going to buy me a present.”

“A racing broom, is what I said.” His father drummed his fingers against the counter impatiently.

“What good is a new broom if I’m not on the house team?” said Malfoy, sulking, as he looked over the items around the store. “Perfect Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Pfft . Special permission from Dumbledore just so he could play for Gryffindor. Obviously playing favorites. He’s not even that good, it’s only because he’s famous… All because he has an ugly scar on his stupid forehead…” He bent down to examine a shelf of skulls from various creatures, picking at the sharp fangs of an orc-ogre. “…everyone thinks he’s so smart… so great… Wonderful Harry Potter with his stupid scar and his stupid broomstick —”

“As you endlessly remind me,” Mr. Malfoy said with a disapproving look. “Just as I must continue to remind you, it is not— prudent— to appear less than fond of the Potter boy.”

“Who cares if I hate him?” Draco scowled.

“ You should. Especially when most of our kind regard him as the hero who defeated the Dark Lord. We have images to uphold, Draco. We all have parts to play, and you will play yours. I told you to keep useful people close. This year, I want you to play nicely with him.”

“What? No!”

Mr. Malfoy shot another quelling look at his son. “You will, and if all goes well, you won’t need to for long.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ah, Mister Borgin.” Mr. Malfoy ignored his son’s question.

A stick thin, seedy man appeared behind the counter, smoothing the few greasy hairs he still had away. His eyes were deeply sunken into his sallow face. “Mister Malfoy, a pleasure to see you again,” said Mr. Borgin in a reedy voice. “Delighted—and the young Master Malfoy, too—charmed. Perfect timing, just in this morning, and very reasonably priced—”

“I’m not here to buy anything today, I’m afraid, Mister Borgin.”

“Well, don’t be afraid, then.”

Mr. Malfoy sneered. “I’m here to sell some items, actually.”

“To sell?” The smile wavered on Mr. Borgin’s face.

“Someone like yourself must have heard that the Ministry is conducting more raids.” Taking a roll of parchment from his jacket pocket, Mr. Malfoy unraveled it for the old shopkeeper. “I have a few… effects… at home that I wouldn’t like to be found if the Ministry were to call…”

Mr. Borgin fixed a pince-nez on his nose and perused the list.

“But the Ministry wouldn’t dare, sir, surely?”

Mr. Malfoy’s lip curled. “They’ve not visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There are rumors of a new Muggle Protection Act—no doubt that flea-bitten, muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it—”

Harry felt the urge to jump out of the cabinet in Arthur’s defense.

“—and as you can see, some poisons and literature might appear—”

“I understand, sir, of course,” said Mr. Borgin. “I work with a great deal of men in similar circumstances. I’ve become well adept at operating in what’s left unsaid… let me see…”

“Can I have this?” Draco interrupted, examining a black fur cloak.

“Ah, the Hellhound Cloak!” Mr. Borgin abandoned the list to scurry over to Draco with renewed vigor. “It can transform the wearer into a hellhound for up to six hours. But be warned, if you don’t transform back before the six hours are through, you’ll remain a hellhound forever. Your son has fine taste, sir.”

“I imagine my son has no need to ever be a hellhound, Borgin,” Mr. Malfoy said coldly.

“Oh, no offense, sir, no offense—” groveled Mr. Borgin.

“Though, if his school marks don’t pick up,” said Malfoy, more coldly still, “perhaps it will be all he’s capable of.”

“I’m still second in my class!” Draco retorted. “Besides, it’s not my fault. All the teachers have their favorites. If it weren’t for Hermione Granger—”

“And here I thought you’d be ashamed that a girl who had no idea of the magical world just a year ago bested you in every exam.”

Harry laughed internally, pleased to see Draco looking abashed.

“Not in Potions,” he grumbled.

“And that says more about Snape than your proficiency.”

“It’s the same everywhere,” Borgin said. “Proper wizarding blood is counting for less and less these days—”

“ Not with me.” Mr. Malfoy’s nostril’s flared.

“No, sir, of course not. Shall we return to your list?”

They soon began haggling.

Draco drew nearer to Harry’s hiding place, examining all the objects for sale and making Harry more nervous with every step. He examined a long coil of silver hangman’s rope and to read the card propped on a beautiful necklace of opals:

Caution: Do Not Touch

Cursed

Has Claimed the Lives of Nineteen muggle Owners

Draco turned away and looked at the cabinet right in front of him, staring right into the cracked door. He walked forward. Harry held his breath. He started reaching for the handle. It was in his hand.

“Deal.” Mr. Malfoy sharply knocked on the counter and shook Borgin’s hand. “Come along, Draco!”

Harry finally breathed a sigh of relief as Draco turned away and walked to the door.

“Good day, Mr. Borgin. I’ll be expecting you at the Manor tomorrow morning to pick the items up.”

The moment the door closed behind the Malfoys, Mr. Borgin dropped the jovial manner. “Good day yourself, Malfoy , and if the stories are true, you haven’t sold me half of what you’re hiding in your manor… ” He threw the parchment aside behind the register and muttered to himself as he disappeared into the back room.

Harry counted to one hundred in case they came back, then, quietly as he could, slipped out of the cabinet, past the glass cases and out of the shop door. In the daylight, he could see shapes well enough to not need his glasses, though anything not a few inches from his face was still extremely blurry. He emerged into a dingy alleyway that seemed to be made up entirely of shops devoted to the Dark Arts. The one he’d left, Borgin and Burkes, looked like the largest and oldest, but opposite was a nasty window display of shrunken heads, and two doors down, a large cage was alive with gigantic black spiders. Two unsavory looking wizards watched him from the shadow of a doorway, muttering to each other. Feeling jumpy, Harry flattened his fringe over his forehead, hoping no one would recognize him. He hoped against hope he’d be able to find a way out of here.

A few meters down was an old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling poisonous candles that he squinted to read, discovering he was somewhere called Knockturn Alley.

Knockturn Alley.

Harry was relieved. Sirius had told him about this place when they came to Diagon Alley last year. That meant he didn’t land too far from where he meant to. Trying to stay calm, he wondered which way would lead him towards Diagon Alley.

“Not lost, are yeh, dearie?” An unsettling witch hovered behind him and made him jump. She slithered to stand in front of him, staring unblinkingly. In her hands was a tray holding what looked uncomfortably like whole human fingernails. She leered at him, grinning with missing teeth.

“I’m fine.” Harry backed away, gripping his wand tightly beneath his cloak. He put on a haughty expression. “I doubt you could help me find anything.”

Her smiley demeanor changed to rage. “You li’l Hogwarts brat—!” she reached out to grab him just as Harry raised his wand.

“HARRY! What d’yeh think yer doin’ down here?”

Harry’s heart leapt. So did the witch. Her tray clattered to the ground, spilling fingernails everywhere. She cursed at the sight of Hagrid’s massive frame as he strode over to them, his beetle-black eyes flashing over his great bushy beard. If Harry didn’t know him well, the sight of him stomping over would’ve terrified him, too.

“An’ what d’yeh think yer doin?” he asked the witch. “Yeh don’ know who this is, do yeh? ‘Course yeh don’t. Mark my words, he’s taken on a lot scarier than you even at twelve.” Hagrid seized Harry by the back of his shirt and hefted him into the air away from the witch, knocking her not gently against the wall. Her shrieks followed them all along the twisting alleyway.

Eventually, Harry saw the familiar snow-white and crooked marble building of Gringotts Bank. Once safely back in Diagon Alley, Hagrid set him down. “Now whadder yeh doin’ skulkin’ ‘round Knockturn Alley?”

Harry took a deep sigh of relief. “I got lost… Floo powder… I didn’t know which way to go…”

Hagrid nodded. “Ah well, yer safe now… Yeh here with Sirius? Sure he’s worried sick about yeh. An’ look at yeh, yer a mess.” he brushed soot off of Harry so forcefully it nearly knocked him over. “Dodgy place, Knockturn Alley, don’ want no one ter see yeh down there—”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that… What were you doing down there then?”

“ Me? Ah, I was lookin fer Flesh-Eatin’ Slug Repellent,” growled Hagrid. “Bloody things’re ruinin’ the cabbages at school. Yeh know where yer god-dad went?”

“I don’t know. We used Floo powder, so wherever that takes you, I guess.”

They set off together down the street. Harry had to jog just to keep up with Hagrid, but it didn’t take long for them to be found.

“Harry! Harry, over here!”

Harry looked to see Hermione standing at the top of the marble steps to Gringotts. She ran down to meet them, her bushy brown hair flying behind her. Without slowing down even a little, she threw herself around Harry, almost taking him down. Mister and Mrs. Granger hurried down the stairs after their daughter.

“The Weasleys said you came out of the wrong fireplace! We’ve all been looking everywhere for you. What happened? Are you hurt? Where are your glasses? Oh no,” Hermione said when he showed her how shattered they were. From her cloak pocket, she retrieved her wand. “Hold still, not supposed to use magic outside of school.” She gave him a mischievous smile. “Oculus Reparo.” In a flash, Harry’s glasses returned to their unbroken state.

“Thanks, Mione.”

“We’ll need to find Sirius and the Weasleys,” said Mr. Granger. “They were worried sick about you.”

“I can take care o’ tha’. Hold tight, Harry,” Hagrid hefted Harry high into the air again and onto his shoulder. “Yeh might want ter cover yer ears.”

Harry and the Grangers all pressed their hands against their ears.

“SIRIUS BLACK! ARTHUR WEASLEY! MOLLY! I’VE GOT SOMETHIN’ YER LOOKIN’ FER!” Hagrid bellowed, making everyone in the alley turn to stare. His method worked. Within seconds, Sirius, Ron, Fred, George, Percy, and Mr. Weasley were seen sprinting through the crowded street from all directions towards them.

Harry waved sheepishly, and Hagrid set him down. Just like Hermione, Sirius barreled into him. He winced at how tightly Sirius held him.

“Harry,” Mr. Weasley panted. “We hoped you’d only gone one grate too far…” he mopped his glistening forehead with his handkerchief. “Molly’s frantic—she’ll be heading here now.”

“What happened?” Sirius evaluated every inch of him, checking every bump and bruise he had.

“Yeah, where’d you come out?” Ron asked.

“Knockturn Alley,” said Hagrid grimly as Harry listed all of his injuries to Sirius.

“Brilliant!” Fred and George said together.

“Totally wicked! We’ve never been allowed in,” Ron said enviously.

“And for good reason!” Hagrid, Sirius, and Mr. Weasley growled in unison.

Sirius pulled out his wand and beckoned for Percy to help him cast healing and cleaning spells on Harry.

As if on cue, Mrs. Weasley bounded over, her handbag swinging wildly on her arm, Ginny being dragged with the other, her feet tangled behind her as she barely kept up. “Oh, Harry! Oh, my dear! You could have been anywhere—thank goodness!”

Desperately gasping for breath, the twins urged her to calm down. Instead, she pulled out her wand and helped remove the soot, heal the injuries, and even repaired the tear on Harry’s sleeve. Once he was in better shape than when he left the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley hugged him tightly and gave him a kiss on the top of his head, still going on about how glad she was that he was safe.

“Well, now tha’ Harry’s tip-top, I’d better be off,” said Hagrid, who was having his hands wrung by Mrs. Weasley and Sirius (“Knockturn Alley! If you hadn’t found him, Hagrid!” and “I owe you more than one, Hagrid, anything you want, it’s on me.”) “See yeh all at Hogwarts! Don’t go stumblin’ down any more dark alleys!” Then he strode away, full heads taller than anyone else on the street.

“You’ll never guess who I saw in Borgin and Burkes,” Harry told them as the group climbed the steps of Gringotts.

“Who?” Ron asked.

“Malfoy and his father.” Harry said it in the same snooty way Draco always did.

“Malfoy? Lucius Malfoy?” Mr. Weasley pushed himself to walk beside Harry.

“Er, I don’t know. Is that Draco’s dad? He had long blond hair and walked with a serpent cane.”

“That’s him. Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?”

“No, he was, er, selling Mister Borgin some stuff.”

“So, he’s worried…” said Mr. Weasley with grim satisfaction. “I’d love to get that arrogant bastard—”

“Arthur!” Mrs. Weasley chided.

“Sorry Mols. Oh, I’d love to get him for something. Did they say what he was selling? Anything at all?”

“No, he had a list. He didn’t say much out loud, but they did mention poisons and books he was keen to get rid of. Mister Borgin still has the list in his shop and grumbled it wasn’t even half of what Malfoy had. Said he would pick it up tomorrow morning.”

Harry could see the wild ideas turning in Mr. Weasley’s head.

“You need to be careful, Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley said sharply as a goblin bowed them through the door. “That family is trouble, always has been. I don’t want you biting off more than you can chew.”

“What? You don’t think I’m a match for Lucius Malfoy?” asked Mr. Weasley indignantly.

“As someone who knows Lucius and the Malfoys personally,” Sirius said. He kept a hand on Harry’s shoulder, as if he were afraid Harry would get lost again. “You are more than talented enough to take him in a fight, Arthur, but the Malfoys aren’t ones to duel. Lucius is a slippery one with more than enough influence and money to make things very hard for you without ever raising his wand. Still, I would love to kick his pedestal out from under him. You have my support if you go after him. He’s been standing in the way of some policies I’ve been working on within the Ministry.”

“The Ministry?” Harry asked. “Since when are you working with the Ministry?”

“Hagrid and I have some ideas, which reminds me. Molly, would you be able to get me in contact with Charlie? Some of what we’re kicking around would benefit from his area of expertise.”

“Of course, he’d be happy to help. But what could you possibly need help with dragons for?”

Sirius’ eyes shifted and Harry understood what he couldn’t say here. Deep in the bowels of the labyrinth spanning miles beneath Britain was a Ukrainian Ironbelly guarding the highest security vaults. The Gringotts goblins kept it trapped kilometers underground, away from any light or freedom to fly around. Its scales had turned pale, its eyes milky, holes dotted its wings. They tortured it, cutting so deep there were gashes in its hide. The sight made Harry sick to his stomach after his first trip to the bank and Hagrid was nearly homicidal when he discovered it.

“Another time, Molly.”

Once inside the bank, the group split up. The Grangers went to exchange muggle money (Mr. Weasley was very excited about the notes Mr. Granger possessed) while Sirius, Harry, and the Weasleys went to meet with a teller to take them to their vaults.

“We’ll meet you back here when we’re done,” Ron told Hermione.

“Unless,” Sirius said. “I don’t know if you’ve seen the vaults yet, but if you wanted to join us. We don’t mind waiting.”

“Oh, don’t worry about us,” Mrs. Granger said.

“Yeah, Hermione’s told us about the winding tracks that lead to each vault, and we’re not big on rollercoasters.” Mr. Granger held his stomach.

“Rollercoasters? What are those?” Mr. Weasley asked, only for Mrs. Weasley to drag him off to a Gringotts goblin. “Ah, yes. The Weasley vault please, number three hundred and ninety-eight.”

“No, no,” Sirius held up his hand. “Just a withdrawal from vault seven hundred eleven, the Black family.” He turned to Mister and Mrs. Weasley. “I cannot thank you both enough for what you’ve done for Harry. I was not myself, and you welcomed him into your home without question. Please, let me cover the cost of the kids’ supplies. It is the least I could do.”

“Oh, Sirius,” Mrs. Weasley said, “no, we couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t, which is another reason.”

“Sirius, that’s too much,” said Mr. Weasley. “We can handle it. It was no problem to take Harry in.”

“Thank you for that, Arthur. But I have made up my mind, and you can ask anyone: I’m not one to change it once it’s been made.”

“We will pay you back.”

“I would not accept it if you did.”

The Weasley parents opened their mouths to continue arguing, but the goblin teller interrupted. “Are we done here?”

The Weasleys gave up their position. “Yes, just the one vault, please,” Mrs. Weasley said.

“Very well, right this way, Mister Black.”

Mrs. Weasley hugged Sirius tightly. “You are a godsend, Sirius. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, Molly. It was the least I could do.”

Mr. Weasley clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you, mate. But lunch is on me, I won’t hear a word about it.”

Laughing, Sirius said, “Cheers, Arthur. Sounds like a deal.”

“We’ll wait for you up here with the Grangers, let you have your privacy.”

“Aw, come on,” the twins groaned.

Sirius smirked. “If your parents say it’s okay, you gents are welcome to come.”

Fred, George, and Ron looked eagerly at their parents for permission.

“Alright. Go ahead.”

“Yes!” The boys raced after the goblin.

“You comin’, Percy?” Sirius asked.

The prefect vigorously shook his head, obviously of a similar mind to Mr. Granger.

“Very well. We’ll be back in a flash.”

The cart sped off through the winding and whirling track as fast as it had a year ago. The boys threw their hands in the air, screaming as it dropped and looped through the various curves. The tracks led them straight through an underwater waterfall that Sirius told them washed away all enchantments should anyone try sneaking their way in. They came to a sudden stop near a platform with polished stairs leading up to the High-Security Vaults. Bolted into the stone wall was a bronze sign that read:

DRAGON PROTECTED.

“A dragon!” The twins rushed to jump out of the cart to see it.

“Aht!” Sirius pulled them back into their seats. “This is where I leave you, lads. Charlie is the only one allowed to scare your mother with thoughts of dragons. You’re not turning into a pile of ash on my watch.”

“Oh, come on, Sirius!” they pleaded.

Sirius cried mockingly as he climbed out of the cart with the goblin. “I know, I know, I’m the worst. Cheers.”

The Weasleys slumped into their seats, crossing their arms.

“You don’t wanna see it anyway,” Harry said glumly. They could hear clankers ringing from where Sirius went. “They torture him… his wings are all torn and there are cuts all over him… it can’t even see all that well, its eyes are all milky. Hagrid almost kicked the goblin helping us into the cavern when he saw it last year.”

This made the Weasley boys lose their excitement over seeing a dragon.

Soon enough, Sirius returned with the goblin, and after another breakneck cart ride, they were back in the main Gringotts hall.

“This will be more than enough for all of your school things,” Sirius divided the galleons between each of the kids, including Hermione. “I’m also giving each of you a little extra to pick out something you like as a back-to-school gift. BUT you need to get everything on your set list first before you even think about what else you want. That means quills, parchment, new robes, and anything you are not reusing from last year or from your older brothers. Gents—” Sirius turned his attention directly to Fred and George. “I mean it. If you buy something frivolous before your school things, it’ll be you paying me back— not your parents.”

After his lecture, they stepped out onto the marble steps and ran off their separate ways.

“We’ll all meet back at Flourish and Blotts in TWO hours to buy your school books! You all had best be there!” shouted Mrs. Weasley after the scattering pack. “And not one step down Knockturn Alley!”

Percy muttered about new quills and more parchment. Fred and George spotted Lee Jordan and raised their money pouches over their heads, making Sirius shake his. Mrs. Weasley giddily took Ginny to Mae’s shop to get her school robes. Sirius told her to mention him. Mr. Weasley insisted on taking the Grangers and Sirius off to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink and lunch, which Sirius was happy to join. He whispered something about hoping to talk to them.

“You three okay to head off on your own?” Sirius asked Harry, crouching in front of him.

“Yeah, I think I got it.”

“Okay.” He ruffled Harry’s hair, but had a pained look on his face. 

“We’ll be fine, Sirius. I won’t go into any more fireplaces.”

Sirius chuckled. “Yeah, okay. Stick together, yeah?”

“Okay.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yessir.”

Unsure of where to go first, Harry, Ron, and Hermione strolled off along the winding, cobbled street. Their sacks full of gold, silver, and bronze jangled cheerfully from their belts, clamoring to be spent. Before they stopped at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, Harry poked his head into Madam Malkin’s.

“Hey Mae!” he shouted.

“Harry, love! Are you here for your robes?”

“Not yet. We’re gonna get ice cream first, but I wanted to ask something before I forgot.”

“Ask away, love.”

“Do you think there’s a way to make our robes warmer in the winter and colder in the summer? The castle is horrible with temperature, we’re dying.”

Mae’s eyes lit up, and she pinched his cheek. “You bet your arse I can.”

“I knew it,” said Harry with a big grin. “Thanks Mae, we’ll be back soon.”

“Looking forward to it, love. Make sure you tell your godfather I expect to see him, too.”

True to their word, the kids grabbed double-stacked ice cream cones they happily ate while wandering the alley and perusing the whimsical shop windows. Eventually, they made it back to Madam Malkin’s to get measured for their new robes and laughed at all of Mae’s stories about Sirius and Ron’s family while simultaneously answering all of Hermione’s questions about magical tailoring.

Next, Ron stared longingly at the full set of this season’s Chudley Cannon robes they had in Quality Quidditch Supplies, ready to spend everything he had on them before Hermione dragged them off to buy ink and parchment. In the stationery shop, they found Percy, deeply immersed in a small book called Prefect to Power.

“A study of the prefects of Hogwarts and their later careers,” Ron read aloud from the back cover. “Wow. That’s amazing…”

“Shut up,” Percy snapped. “Go away!”

“Percy’s very ambitious,” Ron said as they left the shop. “Fred and George say he should’ve been in Slytherin. He’s got everything planned out for, like, the next fifty years. Prefect, Head Boy, then a Ministry job and eventually Minister of Magic.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having aspirations, Ronald,” said Hermione.

“I know! It’s just a bit extreme,” he grumbled.

In Gambol and Japes’ Wizarding Joke Shop, they met Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, who were stocking up on ‘Dr. Filibuster’s Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks’.

“Don’t tell mum or one of these’ll end up in your bed when school starts,” they warned.

Stopping in The Leaky Cauldron, their parents bought them fish and chips, which Ron devoured two servings of. Any tension that existed between the Grangers and Sirius had been worked out while the kids were away, and they’d thankfully reached an understanding before it was time for them to meet back with everyone at Flourish and Blotts. However, they were not the only ones making their way into the bookshop. A massive crowd congregated outside the doors, shoving each other, trying to get in. A banner stretching beneath the shop sign illuminated the reason.

GILDEROY LOCKHART

will be signing copies of his brand new autobiography

MAGICAL ME

Today Only: 12:30p - 4:30p

“Oh, my gosh!” Hermione squealed. Her voice was a higher pitch than Harry had ever heard it. “We can actually meet him! He’s written almost the entire book list! I can’t believe it. How do I look?” She anxiously smoothed out her hair and blue jumper.

“The same,” Ron said. “Why are you freaking out?”

“She’s a bit of a fan,” Mr. Granger said.

The crowd was made up mostly of witches around Mrs. Weasley’s age. A harassed-looking sorcerer stood at the door, saying, “Calmly, please ladies… don’t push, there… mind the books, now…”

“Nelle!” Sirius called over the crowd. “NELLE!”

The sorcerer at the door spotted him and Sirius gestured for all of them to cut through. Who Sirius called Nelle nodded and flicked their wand, parting the crowd, allowing the group to pass through to the door.

“Some crowd,” Sirius said.

“You’re telling me,” Nelle said. “I never expected it to be this much mayhem when we booked him.”

“Well, at least you’ll be getting plenty of business.”

“You can say that again. This lot’s all with you?”

“Aye. Arthur Weasley and his sons, Percy, Fred, George, and Ron. And that’s Audrey and Stephen Granger, their daughter’s the finest witch of her age, you’ll love her. And this is Harry.” He pulled Harry up to the front. “Wish there were better circumstances for you two to meet at last. Harry, this is Villanelle. They’re the current operator of Flourish and Blotts and a good friend.”

“Pleasure to meet you!” Harry had to shout to be heard over the bustling crowd.

Nelle shook his hand. “The pleasure is all mine. It is wonderful to meet you all, despite the chaos.” They were a bald sorcerer with warm dark skin that seemed to exist beyond the usual gender norms Harry was familiar with. All he could tell was that they were particularly striking and intelligent-looking in fashionable, but comfortable robes.

“You wouldn’t have seen my wife, would you?” Arthur asked Nelle. “She’d have been with a girl, eleven, both with ginger hair?”

“I saw them, yeah. They’re already inside. Come on, I’ll escort you up.”

Harry had not been inside the bookshop before. It was more of a labyrinth than any shop he had ever been in. Slinking aisles stocked full of books wound this way and that throughout the length of the store. If it weren’t for the long queue stretching from the doors to the very back of the shop, where Lockhart was signing his books, Harry didn’t think they would ever find their way. They each grabbed their heavy stack of school books, groaning under the weight, and snuck up the line to where Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were waiting.

“Oh, wonderful , there you are.” Mrs. Weasley sounded breathless and kept fussing over her hair. “Won’t be long now. We’ll be able to see him soon.” Her whole body was vibrating with excitement as she extended herself, trying to catch a glimpse.

Slowly, Gilderoy Lockhart came into view, seated at a gold-draped table surrounded by large photographs and cut-outs of himself, all of them winking and flashing his dazzlingly white teeth at the adoring crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing a well-tailored set of robes in forget-me-not blue that perfectly matched his eyes. His wavy blond hair seemed almost fixed in its well-coiffed state, no matter how much he moved.

“What do you think, Audrey? Veneers?” Mr. Granger asked his wife under his breath.

“If this was our world, without a doubt, but who knows with wizards.”

There was a photographer dancing around with a large black camera that shot out puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash. He had no care for anyone else around as he tried to get the next shot.

“Outta the way, there,” he spat at Ron, stepping on him and shoving him aside to get a better shot. “This is for The Daily Prophet .”

Ron shoved him back and said, “Big deal,” rubbing his stepped-on foot.

The photographer turned around, red-faced, but Sirius was already standing in Ron’s place, stern and daring him to say something. All the photographer muttered were quiet apologies before going back to snapping picture after picture.

Gilderoy Lockhart must’ve heard the commotion and looked up. He saw Ron; he saw Sirius; finally, he saw Harry. He stared, squinting to be sure. Then he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, “It can’t be? Harry Potter?”

Oh no.

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly. Lockhart dove forward and seized Harry’s arm. “You don’t mind a photo, do you, Sirius?” he asked without waiting for a response, pulling Harry to the front. The crowd burst into applause. Harry’s face burned as Lockhart made a show of shaking his hand for the photographer, clicking away madly.

“Nice, big smile, Harry,” Lockhart said, through his shining grin. “Together, you and I are worth the front page.”

It was then Sirius stepped in and stood behind Harry, creating at least a little distance from Lockhart. “Then imagine what it’s worth to have Sirius Black there as well. Been a while, hasn’t it, Gilderoy?”

When Lockhart released Harry’s hand, he could hardly feel his fingers.

“Of course, of course!” Though Harry could see his smile waver. Refusing to be upstaged, Lockhart squeezed between them, wrapping his arms around their shoulders and clamping them to his side.

After a few more photos of all of them, Lockhart announced, “Ladies and gentlemen,” waving for the crowd to hush. “What an extraordinary moment, is it not? What more perfect moment is there for me to make a little announcement I have been sitting on for quite some time!

“When young Harry Potter here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today to purchase my autobiography Magical Me —now celebrating its twenty-seventh week atop The Daily Prophet bestsellers list—he had no idea that he would, in fact, be leaving with my entire collected works…” He dropped a heavy stack of novels into Harry’s arms. “Free of charge.”

The crowd burst into further applause. Harry could see Mrs. Weasley and Hermione swooning over Gilderoy Lockhart as he postured for the camera. Seeing how adoringly Hermione looked at him made Harry’s face even hotter and tied his stomach into a knot. Sirius leaned back to look at Harry, nudging his head away. Harry understood, allowing Sirius to take his hand so they could sneak back to the Weasleys and Grangers while Lockhart pontificated. Gilderoy smiled so widely, Harry thought his face would freeze like that.

“But that is not all! Harry is getting much more than my books. He and his schoolfellows will be getting the real, magical me.” His smile was blinding. “Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have the greatest pleasure and most pride to announce for the first time to all of you that, this September, I will be the latest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at my alma mater, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

“What?!” Sirius exclaimed.

The crowd cheered and clapped while Sirius hung his head in his hand.

“Arthur,” Sirius muttered through gritted teeth. “Could you do me a favor and kill me?”

“Only if you agree to do the same for me,” Mr. Weasley said. “It’s not too late to take the kids out of school for the term, is it?”

“Afraid so…”

Staggering under the weight of his books, Mrs. Weasley took them from Harry and offered to have them signed. He was just relieved to be out of the spotlight, joining Ginny and the other Weasleys off to the side.

“That was awful,” Harry mumbled. “What’s the big—”

“Bet you loved that, didn’t you, Potter ?” said a weasel-y voice Harry had no trouble recognizing.

He swore internally before straightening up and finding himself face to face with Draco Malfoy, wearing his usual stupid sneer. “ Ugh. What do you want, Malfoy? Done with your dealings in Knockturn Alley?”

“Famous Harry Potter,” he spat. “Can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page. Can’t believe you really tried to trick me into thinking you don’t love the limelight.”

“Leave him alone.” Ginny stepped between them. “He didn’t want all that!” She glared daggers at Draco.

“Ooh, Potter, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend!”

Ginny turned scarlet as Ron shoved his way through the crowds.

“Oh, it’s you.” Ron looked at Malfoy as if he were something unpleasant he’d stepped in. “Bet you’re surprised to see Harry here after all your scheming, eh ?”

“Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley ,” retorted Malfoy. “I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month, having to pay for that lot. I think they should turn out all your pockets before you leave to make sure you haven’t stolen anything.”

Ron turned as red as Ginny and threw his books onto the ground with a THUD. Balling his fists, he charged towards Malfoy, but Harry grabbed the back of his cloak just as a familiar man approached behind Draco.

“Now, now, Draco, play nicely.”

Mr. Malfoy stopped his son from engaging by clamping the fangs of the snake head topper of his walking stick onto the boy’s shoulder. Harry hated feeling bad for the way Draco winced in pain. Mr. Malfoy pushed his son aside and turned to Harry, shaking his hand.

“Lucius Malfoy… at last we meet, Mister Potter. Forgive me—” Using the topper of his cane, he pushed back Harry’s fringe to examine his scar. “—your scar is legendary, as, of course, is the wizard who gave it to you.”

“Voldemort must not have been all that legendary to be defeated by a baby.”

Mr. Malfoy twitched slightly. “Bold of you to say his name.”

“Harry?” Sirius struggled through the crowd with Mr. Weasley and the twins. “What’re you doing?”

“Well, well, well—Sirius Black… and Arthur Weasley.” He sneered in the same way Draco did.

“Lucius Malfoy,” Sirius replicated their sneer with expert precision. A smile that never quite made it to his eyes. “Never a pleasure.” He brushed Mr. Malfoy’s cane away from Harry’s face.

“Malfoy.” Mr. Weasley nodded coldly, sharing none of Sirius or Mr. Malfoy’s posh passive aggression. He held Ginny’s cauldron and multiple sets of Lockhart’s books in his arms. “Come on, kids. It’s a madhouse in here, let’s wait outside for Molly to finish—”

“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,” interrupted Mr. Malfoy. “All those late night raids… I do hope they are paying you overtime?” He reached into Ginny’s cauldron and pulled, from amidst the glossy Lockhart books, a brand new copy of A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration . His gaze flicked to Sirius.

“The raids are going well, thank you. In fact, I recently learned some new information about a certain manor we’ll have to visit soon.”

Mr. Malfoy’s sneer dropped. “Being a charity project has emboldened you, has it, Arthur? What’s the use in being a disgrace to the very name of wizard if you’re not even paid well for it?”

Mr. Weasley darkened. “We have very different ideas of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy.”

Harry looked over to Sirius, who remained silent, but was subtly removing his rings. His hand drew closer to where he kept his wand.

“Clearly,” said Mr. Malfoy, his pale blue eyes straying to Mr and Mrs. Granger, watching apprehensively. “Sirius, have you no shame? Blood traitor to no end, I see.”

“Rather a blood traitor than a Death Eater, Lucius. I know where I stand.”

Mr. Malfoy clenched his jaw, fire in his cold eyes, but he remained composed, turning his attention back to Mr. Weasley. “The company you keep, Weasley… Blood traitors, front page fiends, and muggles… here I thought your family could sink no lower”

There was a loud THUD of metal as Ginny’s cauldron fell to the floor. Sirius threw a punch straight across Mr. Malfoy’s pinched face and Mr. Weasley fully threw himself into Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backwards into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks dropped onto their heads. It was no wonder the twins were such talented beaters.

“Get him, Dad!” Fred, George, and Ginny cheered.

Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, “No, Arthur, no!”

With Mr. Weasley raining fists down onto Mr. Malfoy; Harry and Ron looked at each other before tackling Draco the same way. Draco tried using a copy of 101 Ways to Read the Future to block their punches. He’d gotten one good hit in, making Harry’s glasses fly sideways. Hermione echoed Mrs. Weasley’s sentiment about their fighting, trying to pull the boys away.

Nelle had come from their place at the back. “Gentlemen, please—please! Sirius, help me with this!”

Sirius, who had taken a step back to allow Mr. Weasley free range to express himself, agreed this had gone far enough.

“ALRIGH’ THAT’S ENOUGH!” cried a voice louder than all. “Break it up, break it up—” Hagrid pushed through the crowd and waded through the sea of fallen books. In an instant, he had Mr. Weasley pulled off and Mr. Malfoy back on his feet.

At the same time, Sirius and Mr. Granger grabbed Harry and Ron, pulling the boys off of Draco and carried them a few feet away. Hermione tried to help Draco to his feet, but he swatted her hand away in disgust, Making Harry want to lunge again. Unfortunately, Sirius kept a strong grip on Harry’s shoulder. Mrs. Weasley had similarly dug her fingers into Ron’s shoulder the moment Mr. Granger set him in front of her. With a reproachful look, Hermione handed Harry back his glasses.

Mr. Weasley rejoined the family, Mrs. Weasley taking his hand into a vise. He now had a split lip and a bruise on his jaw.

Mr. Malfoy and Draco were far worse for wear. They tried to smooth out their expensive robes. Their straight silver-gold hair was no longer perfectly maintained on their heads. A black eye formed on Mr. Malfoy, and Draco’s face was pure red, his lip bleeding. Still holding Ginny’s Transfiguration books, Mr. Malfoy thrust it at her, his eyes gleaming with malice.

“Here, girl —take your books—suppose your father is teaching you well to accept handouts. Let go of me, you oaf!” He yanked his arm away from Hagrid’s grip and dragged Draco from the shop.

“Yeah, Malfoy, jog on!” Harry shouted, unable to help himself. “See you at school you pointy face—” Mrs. Weasley shot him a terrifying look that cut him off.

Keeping a firm grip on Harry, Sirius ushered him over to the shop owner. “Nelle, I am sorry for all of this.” He shook Harry’s shoulder for him to offer his own apology.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Thank you, love.”

Sirius flicked his wand, returning everything to its original state. “I’m sure you’ll want another donation? Even if it will mostly be going to…” He nudged his head back towards Lockhart.

Nelle smiled and shook their head. “You have done enough for today, Mister Black. At the very least, gave me a distraction from putting up with—” They nudged their head towards Lockhart.

“Well, let me know if you change your mind. Again, I am very sorry.”

“I will keep that in mind. For now, you owe me a drink.”

“Of course, just say when.”

~ ~ ~

With all the hullabaloo over with the Malfoys, the group left Flourish and Blotts with Hagrid.

Mr and Mrs. Granger were shaken and unsure of what to say. Mr. Weasley and Sirius intelligently stayed quiet other than to apologize to the Grangers profusely or promise to explain themselves another time. But Mrs. Weasley, beside herself with fury, and Hagrid both had plenty to say to all of them.

“Whadder yeh think yer doin’ startin’ fights with Malfoy like tha’?

“A fine example to set for your children…! Brawling in PUBLIC! I bet you both feel like such big, strong men starting fights in bookshops! What Gilderoy Lockhart must think…”

“I wouldn’t worry about him, mum,” Fred said. “He was lovin’ it.”

“Yeah, didn’t you hear him as we were leavin’?” asked George. “He asked that bloke from The Prophet if he could work the scrap into the article—said it would boost publicity.”

“Yeh should’ve jus’ ignored ‘im,” said Hagrid, creating a path in the crowd for them to follow behind. “Rotten ter the core, them Malfoys, whole family—not includin’ those by marriage, Sirius. No Malfoy’s worth the effort teh listen ter. Pureblood—” he spat. “That’s bad blood if I ever saw it.”

After double-checking everyone had purchased their entire set list—Ron and Harry excluded from getting to spend their extra galleons for joining the fight—the subdued group headed back to the fireplaces in the Leaky Cauldron.

They said goodbye to the Grangers, who were leaving the pub for the muggle street on the other side. Hermione thanked Harry and Sirius for her school equipment, new robes to combat the summers and winters, and the books she purchased with her extra galleons—From Romans to Britons: The Sorcerers that Built England and Alchemy in Practice .

Then, the Weasleys, Harry, and Sirius lined up around the fireplaces. Before anyone went, all eyes were on Harry and Sirius. Harry hadn’t thought of it yet, but he supposed he’d have to go back with Sirius now. He didn’t know why the thought made his stomach clench, he felt guilty for not wanting to go back.

“You two don’t have to get back home yet, do you?” Mrs. Weasley asked, breaking the silence. “We’d love to have you for dinner. Why don’t you pop in before heading back? Sirius, I could show you a few things in the kitchen.”

Harry perked up. “Can we, Sirius?”

“Of course, lad. Thank you, Molly.”

Harry didn’t even care how itchy the floo powder made his eyes as he threw it into the grate and called out, “The Burrow!”

Chapter Text

Dear Diary,

I’m so happy you landed in my bag today.

I didn’t even realize I wanted a diary until now. I have so much I want to tell you!

But before Ginny’s eyes, everything she’d written vanished, as if the pages absorbed the ink. And her joy quickly evaporated just like it.

No, she thought.

“Mum!”

She was about to throw the cursed book across her room when something else appeared on the pages. Right where she’d written, more words appeared in handwriting that wasn’t hers.

Hello,

My name is Tom Riddle, it’s nice to meet you.

What is your name?

“Yes, Ginny? What is it?” Her mother stood in the open doorway.

Ginny, meanwhile, stared at the page in disbelief.

“Everything alright, dear?”

“Oh, er, yes!” Ginny snapped back to reality. “Sorry. I thought I saw a–a roach! But it was just a, er, sweets wrapper.”

Her mum stared at her curiously for a moment.

“Okay… Well, don’t fill up on sweets. Sirius has been working hard on dinner for us, it’ll be ready soon.”

“Is that what that burning smell is?”

“Very funny, young lady.”

As soon as her mum shut the bedroom door, Ginny turned her attention back to the enchanted diary.

Are you still there?

I hope I didn’t frighten you.

 

No, you didn’t. I’m sorry.

My mum had come into my room. It’s nice to meet you Tom.

My name is Ginevra Weasley, but everyone just calls me Ginny.

 

Wonderful to meet you, Ginny.

I look forward to getting to know you.

 

I didn’t know there were talking diaries. This is incredible.

 

I am one of a kind.

How did you come to find me?

 

I’m not sure. My family visited Diagon Alley earlier today and somehow you wound up with my school books!

Mum must’ve thought I’d like a diary and got it as a surprise or an early birthday gift.

 

When is your birthday?

 

August 11th. Next week! I’ll be 11 years old!

 

Wow!

That’s an important age for a young witch. You must be very excited.

Have you gotten your wand? What school are you going to attend?

 

I am excited! I can’t wait. 

Yes, we got my wand from Ollivander’s wand shop today. He kinda gave me the heebie-jeebies, but I love my wand! It’s made of yew wood, 12 inches, and a dragon heartstring core!

I’m going to Hogwarts! Just like all of my brothers and parents!

 

How splendid.

I had a yew wand too; you know.

 

You had a wand?

How does a diary use a wand?

 

I wasn’t always in this diary.

“Ginny!” her mum called. “Dinner’s ready, love! Wash your hands and come eat!”

Groaning, Ginny shouted, “Coming, mum!”

Sorry Tom, I have to go down for dinner. I can’t wait to hear about how you went to Hogwarts. I’ll write to you again before I go to bed, I promise.

Love Ginny x

~ ~ ~

The last few weeks of Summer passed far too quickly at The Burrow.

Sirius hadn’t made Harry choose where he’d like to spend the rest of the Summer while at The Leaky Cauldron. Instead, he went back with Harry and the Weasleys that evening. He helped Mrs. Weasley prepare dinner for all of them that night and it only came out slightly burnt, but nothing unsalvageable. Besides, everyone got a laugh out of the floral, ruffled apron he borrowed while cooking.

After dinner, Sirius returned to Grimmauld Place with leftovers, but not before asking Harry to join him on a walk. The setting sun turned the sky into a vivid mural of orange and purple, casting dark shadows on the hedges and wheat fields. Sirius wrapped his arm around Harry’s skinny shoulders, holding him close.

“You seem happy here,” said Sirius.

“I am. I like it here.”

“I’m glad. I wish you could’ve spent time here sooner.”

“Me too.”

Sirius looked down at Harry and ruffled his hair. “You know, Harry, if you want to stay longer, it would be okay. You and Ron can catch up on lost time.”

“I don’t want—I should go back home.” Harry’s gaze turned toward the ground.

Eyebrow cocked, Sirius looked him over.

“Why’s that? Grimmauld Place desperately awaits your return, but it doesn’t feel like that’s why you’re wanting to. What’s wrong?”

“I just—it’s—”

Sirius crouched beside him and looked him in the eye with worry.

“Harry, what is it?”

“I,” Harry sighed. “I’m worried I’m making things harder for them by being here.”

“Oh, my boy, why would you ever think that? They all adore you.”

“Because when we got our letters; Mister and Mrs. Weasley were stressed over how expensive everything was and having to scrape by… I don’t want to make things harder for them.”

Sirius caressed Harry’s cheek.

“You’ve grown up so much. You have your father’s heart, you know?” He sighed. “The Weasleys are modest people. They wouldn’t turn someone away, even if it made things harder for themselves. But Molly also wouldn’t stop singing your praises while we made dinner, and Arthur was the same way at lunch. Fred, George, Ron are all your friends. Ginny,” Sirius chuckled, “is acting like girls her age tend to and Percy has other things on his mind, but I know they enjoy your company, too. I’ll check with them before I leave, but don’t think for a moment that your existence here burdens them.”

“They wouldn’t admit it even if they did.”

With a sad smile, Sirius chuckled. “You’re right on that. If you’re sure about returning home, then we’ll go. I’d love to have you around again. My heart aches every moment we’re away.”

“Then… then why did you do that with Kreacher?”

“Harry…”

“You know how much I love Kreacher. He’s part of our family and… I was sad that he hid my letters from me. But… Why did you try to give him clothes? I don’t want him to go anywhere. You say you want me around, but the only reason I’m here is because you couldn’t–couldn’t…”

“I know. I’m sorry, Harry. Truly. I owe you both so many apologies… I already apologized to Molly, Arthur, and the Grangers, but I have a lot of work to do to make it right. I won’t let anything like that happen again.” Sirius sighed. “There’s… there’s a lot you don’t know yet. Kreacher and I had a whole life together before you joined it, and not a very pleasant one. He’d done a lot of… There’s a lot of…”

Harry watched the pained look on his godfather’s face as he struggled to find the words.

“Would you visit if I wanted to stay?” Harry saved him from having to explain.

“O–of course, as often as I can. And you can return home any time you’d like if you change your mind, and the Weasleys are all welcome to come along. I’m sure little Miss Granger will want to come over to see you and Ron soon, too.” Sirius pulled Harry into a tight hug. “I love you, my boy. I’m so sorry.”

Harry hugged him back. “It’s okay. I love you, too, Sirius.”

“Are you ready to go back inside?”

Harry nodded, and Sirius got back to his feet.

The Weasleys were all waiting for them in the dining and family rooms. After a brief discussion in private with Mr and Mrs. Weasley, Sirius returned.

“Alright, everyone,” said Sirius. “I’d best be on my way.”

“Are you absolutely sure, dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked. “I can make up Bill’s old room for you if you’d like to stay the night.”

“Thank you, Molly, but it’s time I get back home.”

“Oh, well, don’t be a stranger. You’re welcome here anytime. I’ll make a chef out of you in no time.”

Sirius laughed and gave her a hug.

“Thank you. I’ll need plenty of practice if I have any hope at all.”

After Sirius grabbed the food Mrs. Weasley packed for him to take back to Grimmauld Place, everyone’s attention once again turned to Harry.

“Are you goin’ back, Harry?” Fred asked.

“Tired of us kicking your butt in quidditch already?” asked George.

“You’re more than welcome to stay if you’d like, lad,” said Mr. Weasley.

With one more look at Sirius, Harry nodded. Ron clapped him on the back in excitement. With a smile, Sirius approached Harry and kissed the top of his head.

“Have fun, my boy. I’ll come see you again soon and I’ll be at King’s Cross when you’re heading back to school.”

Harry gave his godfather a long hug. 

“I’ll miss you.”

“I already do.” Sirius returned the hug. “Alright. Be good, yeah?”

“I will.”

“Good.” He ruffled Harry’s hair again. “We’ll need to get you a haircut before the start of term or else you’ll be returning to school with a full mane.” His hands held Harry’s face. “I love you, Harry.”

“I love you too, Sirius.”

With one more sad smile, Sirius turned towards the Weasley fireplace before looking back to address the family. “Goodnight, all!”

There was a chorus of goodnights and expressions of gratitude from the Weasleys before Sirius threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fire and shouted, “Number twelve, Grimmauld Place.”

In a flash of green fire, Sirius was gone, and Harry missed him already.

“Come on, Harry,” said Ron, “we can still catch the end of the Cannons game!” 

Before Harry could respond, Ron was already running up to his room.

⚝ ⚝ ⚝

Dear Tom,

I’m so glad I found you in this diary. It’s like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket!

 

Of course, Ginny. You can tell me anything.

 

Thank you, Tom. It means a lot that you’re so understanding.

I’m the only girl in a family of six boys, and the youngest of them all, so I have NO one to talk to except for mum, but she only ever wants to talk about girly things. Don’t get me wrong, I love her and I like girly things, but it’s not ALL I like. I love quidditch and boy-ish things, too!

I wish my brothers would let me do things with them.

Whenever my brothers go play their stupid fake quidditch, they don’t let me play. They just want me to throw cabbage and apples at them so they can practice. We can’t use bludgers or snitches because muggles live too close. I don’t even have my own broom! All they do is laugh at me when I ask for a turn on theirs! Even Ron, who isn’t on the house team, has his own broom!

I thought Ron was my best friend. We were the two youngest, so we did everything together. Then, he started his first year at Hogwarts and now he’s turned into a giant jerk that never wants to spend time with me anymore.

And you should see how Fred and George, the twins, like to pick on our brother Percy for spending time with his friend Oliver and for being a prefect. They can be really mean sometimes. I know they’re trying to be funny, but sometimes I wish they wouldn’t.

Oh!

I forgot to even mention that Harry Potter is staying with us!

 

I’m sorry your brothers treat you so poorly. You deserve to be treated better.

But I am glad Harry is staying with you. Is he one of your friends?

 

Yeah!

Well, sorta.

He’s Ron’s best friend. I can’t even talk to him.

 

Why can’t you?

 

Well…

 

Come now, Ginny. You can trust me. I’ll never tell, that’s what friends are for.

 

You’re right.

I’m just nervous talking to him.

I know I’m being silly, mum tells me so all the time.

He’s been living with us since his birthday, July 31st, and his godfather, Sirius Black, came with us to Diagon Alley today. I was so scared Harry would go back home with him, but he didn’t!

He’s staying with us until classes start!

Oh, Tom, he’s so handsome! He has dark, messy hair, and a deep tan, and the most beautiful green eyes! They look like emeralds! Plus, he plays quidditch at school. He’s the youngest seeker in a century! Last year, he caught the snitch in less than five minutes! I saw it in person! He’s the BRAVEST boy I’ve ever met and SO sweet! He always says hi and tries to talk to me even when I freeze up and run away.

But he’ll never like someone like me.

 

I don’t think that’s true.

From how little I’ve had the pleasure of knowing you, I believe any boy would be lucky to date you. Besides, he’s already your brother’s best friend. Why wouldn’t he like you just the same?

 

Because he’s famous!

And I’m just Ginny Weasley.

All of my brothers are cooler, or funnier, or smarter than me. Ron is funny and cool and in the same year and house as Harry at school. It’s obvious they’d be friends.

 

You don’t give yourself enough credit.

What is Harry famous for?

 

Because he’s the Boy Who Lived, of course!

 

I’m sorry, I don’t know what that means.

 

Sorry. I forgot you’re a diary.

Harry Potter is the one who defeated You-Know-Who when he was a baby and saved the Wizarding World! And did it again at the beginning of Summer to stop his return!

 

You-Know-Who?

 

The Dark Lord!

 

Which Dark Lord?

Ginny held the quill to the paper, but couldn’t will herself to write the name.

It scared her enough to even think it.

The twins told her He Who Must Not Be Named could read the minds of anyone thinking about him and that’s how he communicated with his followers and beat his enemies. Her father always warned them to ever say the name, even as a joke, because that’s how his followers found their victims and they always hurt the person who said it.

But she didn’t know how to tell Tom about him without saying the name.

Ginny?

 

I’m not supposed to say his name.

 

Well, technically, you wouldn’t be saying it. You’d be writing it down.

 

I suppose that’s true.

His name was Lord Voldemort. He was the worst Dark Lord of all time.

Her hands shook as she wrote his name, unsure if she’d even spelt it correctly.

Harry Potter defeated Lord Voldemort as a baby?

 

Yeah. Now he has a scar spreading across his forehead that looks like a streak of lightning.

 

How did he defeat him?

 

I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does. If mum and dad know, they haven’t said anything, and they said I’m not allowed to ask.

 

He must be an incredibly powerful wizard to defeat the worst Dark Lord of all time.

I wish you knew how he did it. I’d love to hear all about the Boy Who Lived. I always loved to hear about the downfall of Dark Lords. Do you think you could find out for me? It would mean the world.

 

I don’t know, but I can try!

 

You’re wonderful, Ginny. I would love to hear about how he did it. It gets so boring in a diary. 

What else is Harry Potter like?

 

He’s handsome, funny, and so sweet.

He gives me butterflies every time he talks to me, but I always feel bad afterwards because even though he’s so kind and sweet, I always run off without saying a word.

He probably thinks I hate him.

“Ginny! Boys! Time for bed!” Ginny’s father shouted as he came up the stairs. “Brush your teeth then it’s lights out! All of you! Yes, Percy that means you, too! Fred, George whatever you’re working on will wait for you in the morning! Come on, hop to!”

Sorry, Tom, Dad just said it’s time for bed, but I’ll write to you all day tomorrow!

Goodnight!

Love Ginny, x

~ ~ ~

The Morning of September first arrived at last, and Harry would wake up in a bright orange room.

Despite how much he missed Sirius, Harry didn’t regret his choice to stay. Life with the Weasleys was never boring and there was always fun to be had with Ron and his brothers.

The first thing they did when they received their new robes from Madam Malkin was try out the new temperature features. They stood in front of the roaring oven at the highest temperatures it could muster until Mrs. Weasley kicked them out of the kitchen. Then, the twins cast a freezing spell some bales of hay they stood between until Mrs. Weasley kicked them out of the barn. Both in the sweltering heat and frigid ice, the boys remained comfortable in their school robes as though they were wearing them on a perfect spring day.

Hermione kept true to her word and stayed for a few days the week following their trip to Diagon Alley to celebrate Ginny’s birthday with them. She’d started reading (or rather, re-reading) all of Lockhart’s books and raved with Mrs. Weasley over all the details like their own personal book club. Her visit made Ron happy too because she could toss the apples and cabbage at the boys during their fake quidditch matches so he could play, too.

When she got bored tossing food at them or tired of listening to the boys’ dumb jokes, she spent time with Ginny. They seemed to become fast friends during their time together, and Ginny talked more to Hermione than Harry had heard in his weeks living there; though she still froze and dragged Hermione away whenever Harry tried to join their conversation. Ron and Harry eventually asked pointblank what was going on with Ginny, but Hermione refused to answer and only told them to leave her alone.

After weeks of her daughter running away and acting like a buffoon in front of Harry, Mrs. Weasley chided Ginny and told her to be more welcoming. This at least made her stay in the room with Harry when he walked in, and she even said a few things to him (mostly mumbling a greeting in return). Still, when Hermione wasn’t there, Ginny spent most of her time locked in her room. Once she left the door cracked and Harry glimpsed her writing in a diary before she caught him and slammed the door shut.

He continued wondering what he could’ve done to make her avoid him so much until the twins finally spelled it out for him.

“You really are thick, aren’t you, Potter?”

“Nothing gets through that head, does it?”

“Shut up,” Harry said. “Just tell me. Was it something at my birthday? Because of the arguing?”

“No, mate. There’s nothin’ you did.”

“Unfortunately, our little sister’s been hit by Cupid’s arrow.” 

George pretended to swoon after Fred shot an imaginary arrow at him.

“Cupid?”

The twins looked at each other in disbelief.

“Mate, she likes you.”

“Obviously, a lack of brains isn’t a deal-breaker.”

“What do you mean, she likes me? She can’t even sit in the same room as me!”

The twins shrugged and shut their bedroom door in Harry’s face. He was glad that Ron was as confused as he was when Harry told him what they said.

“She’s barkin’ is what she is,” he said.

On the evening of August thirty-first, Mrs. Weasley conjured her best dinner yet. Sirius came over to share the dinner with them and he must’ve told her what Harry’s favorites were, because they were all there alongside Ginny’s. As a surprise for Ron, Sirius brought along a personal dinner just for him: a double helping of fish and chips still hot out of the fryer. After stuffing themselves with mouth-watering treacle pudding; Fred and George entertained everyone with the Filibuster Fireworks. Red and blue stars bounced around the home for a half hour as they digested their food. Finally, late into the night, Sirius returned home. 

They all had one more mug of hot chocolate, before being sent off to bed.

⚝ ⚝ ⚝

Dear Tom,

Sorry I haven’t written as much as I had been. My birthday passed and I’m officially 11!

Ron’s friend, Hermione, came to spend a few days with us and we spent a lot of time together. I got to tell her all the stuff I tell you and she listens just as well. She’s so smart. I think you’d like her. She’s still here for a few more days and we’re sharing a room.

I’m thinking about showing her the diary. I know she’d love it.

 

No, Ginny. You shouldn’t do that.

 

Why not? She’s really nice and loves magic. You would love her.

 

Because I’m your friend, Ginny.

When the last owner showed someone else, the magic in my diary dimmed until I couldn’t write back anymore. Without being able to write back, they stuck me on a shelf for years and I had no one to talk to until you found me.

I’m scared of being alone again.

 

I’m sorry that happened to you. I won’t let that happen again. I won’t show anyone, I promise.

⚝ ⚝ ⚝

Dear Tom,

It’s time! I’m starting at Hogwarts tomorrow!

I’m so excited. I’ve been dying to attend forever! Mum says I tried to crawl after the Hogwarts Express when Bill left for his first year.

 

Did I tell you I attended Hogwarts, too?

 

You’re funny, Tom. How did a diary go to Hogwarts?

 

I wasn’t always a diary, Ginny. I was a boy once, but I got put into this diary.

 

How did you get put into the diary?

 

That’s a long story.

 

Did the person who showed someone else put you in here?

 

Yes. 

 

How long ago did you go to Hogwarts?

 

1938.

 

Wow. That was so long ago. Not even my parents are that old.

 

What year is it now?

 

1992.

 

That is a long time.

What Hogwarts house do you think you’ll end up in?

 

Gryffindor, I hope.

 

Because of Harry Potter?

 

Not just because of Harry!

My whole family has been in Gryffindor. My parents, brothers, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. Except one who’s a squib.

But I’m nervous that I’ll be the first one who isn’t. What if I end up in Slytherin?

 

What’s wrong with Slytherin? I was in Slytherin.

 

I meant nothing bad. You’re different. It’s just that they’re Gryffindor's rivals.

I don’t want to make mum and dad mad.

Do you know how the Sorting works? I’ve asked everyone, but no one will tell me or they tell me different things.

 

It’s nothing to worry about, you’ll do great. And don’t worry about being in Slytherin, your parents won’t be as upset as you think.

In my opinion, you’d be a great Slytherin.

~ ~ ~

After waking up, the morning quickly turned frantic.

Unlike the year before, where they had all of Harry’s things packed and ready days ahead of time, the Weasleys still had a great deal to do. Living out of his trunks the past few weeks meant all of Harry’s things were ready to go, but Ron was shoving his books, supplies, and clothes haphazardly into his trunk for the first time that morning. Harry had to sit on the lid to make sure Ron got it fully closed.

Mrs. Weasley seemed to have multiplied. Her children were asking her where this book was, or where their quills were, or if she knew where they left their socks. They all kept colliding on the stairs as everyone ran up and down over and over again, all with their hair unkempt, half-dressed, and trying to eat bits of toast between it all. Once they had a trunk packed, they’d lug it down the stairs for Mr. Weasley to carry to the car. He nearly broke his neck carrying Ginny’s when he tripped over a stray chicken crossing the yard.

Around nine, Sirius arrived to find the disarray and immediately joined Molly in organizing the chaos and carrying the kids’ things into the car. Even after growing up with Sirius’ De Ville, Harry couldn’t figure how nine people, six enormous trunks, carry-ons, two owls, and a rat would all fit into one small powder blue Ford Anglia. But Mr. Weasley was of a similar mind to Sirius and had cast expansion charms on the boot, allowing all of their trunks ample room.

“Not a word to Mols, yeah?” he whispered to Harry and Sirius.

Inside, the car was expanded similarly, so both the front and backseats were as long as park benches. Sirius told them he would meet them at King’s Cross so there’d be room for the Weasleys and Harry as they piled into the Anglia.

“Everybody ready?” Mr. Weasley asked, starting up the engine.

Harry took a last look at the house, wondering when he’d be back.

It was a lot sooner than expected because only a few minutes after leaving they returned to get George’s astrolabe. Five minutes after that, they skidded to a halt in the yard because Fred had to run in to get his broomstick. Everything was fine until they just about reached the motorway when Ginny shrieked that she’d left behind her diary. Mrs. Weasley ordered everyone out of the car when they returned to The Burrow for the third time and demanded they scan the house for anything else they may have left behind because if they forgot anything else, they’d be without it until Christmas.

Harry became scared then that he might’ve forgotten something somehow, but Mr. Weasley calmed him down by saying she makes the same threat every year. They always send an owl with it the same day.

By the time they all clambered back into the car, they were running very, very late, and tempers were running high. Mrs. Weasley was fuming, so much so that Harry thought her hair would catch fire.

Sirius called Harry through his ring, asking where they were. 

This prompted Mr. Weasley to check his watch, then glance at his wife.

“Molly, dear—”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Come now, no one would see. I added an invisibility booster, see—we get into the air up above the clouds and be there in ten minutes. No one would ever know.”

“I said no , Arthur. Not in broad daylight.”

“What’s he talking about?” Harry whispered to Ron.

“Dad’s car flies. He enchanted it ‘bout a year ago. Mum hates it.”

“Mum,” Percy interrupted. He was already wearing his Hogwarts robes, his prefect badge glowing on full display. “We’re running really late and I’m a prefect, could I—?”

“No! You will sit right there. There will be no unlicensed apparition around me.”

Percy groaned and slumped back into his seat, bouncing his leg anxiously, wishing they’d hurry.

“Er, Padfoot,” Harry whispered into his ring. “We’re on our way…”

Their eyes were all glued onto the dashboard clock, watching the minutes draw closer and closer to eleven, their anxieties growing the closer it got. Mr. Weasley drove as quickly as he dared—and he was certainly daring—weaving through the traffic almost recklessly.

Finally, at ten to eleven, they reached King’s Cross. Sirius paced anxiously beside his motorbike while Mr. Weasley dashed to get trolleys for each of them as they ran into the station.

Harry made it on time to the Hogwarts Express last year. Though, he thought his godfather had gone round the bend when he first told him the way onto the platform. Hidden from muggles, you got onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters by running through the seemingly solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. You phased through harmlessly, but you had to do it carefully to avoid any muggles noticing.

That was a secondary aim right now, with only five minutes left to board.

“Alright, come along, Percy you first, don’t dilly-dally, get on the train as soon as you cross.” Mrs. Weasley nervously watched the clock overhead.

Percy strode briskly forward and vanished through the brick. Mr. Weasley followed Fred and George as they left in quick succession.

“Molly, you get Ginny aboard, I’ve got the boys,” Sirius said.

Molly nodded, grabbing Ginny’s hand and shoved her trolly forward. In the blink of an eye, they were gone.

“Alright boys, not much time. You’ll have to go together. No time for proper goodbyes, so I want both of you to have an excellent term, learn a lot, I’ll see you both when quidditch starts—and no getting into any trouble. Come on, I’ll be right behind you.”

Harry adjusted Hedwig’s cage to be secured on top of his trunk and pointed his trolley towards the barrier. He took a breath. This wasn’t anywhere as bad as using Floo powder; he’s already passed through it a few times already. The boys bent over the handles of their trolleys and rushed forward, gaining speed. A year ago, Harry had been terrified of colliding with the exposed brick, but no longer. Only a few feet away, they broke into a run, ready to phase through and—CRASH.

Both trolleys hit the barrier and bounced backwards. The pain Harry felt in his ribs from the trolley’s handlebar was tremendous.

Ron’s trunk fell off with a loud thump, Harry was knocked off his feet, and Hedwig’s cage crashed onto the floor; she rolled away, shrieking indignantly. Harry knew if he could understand her, she’d be using words that would make a sailor blush.

People all around them stared and a guard nearby yelled, “What the devil d’you think you’re doing?”

Sirius tried to smile placatingly. “Boys lost control of their trolleys, bit heavy for them. Sorry, mate.”

“Yeah? Well tell ‘em to keep it together or you can kiss your tickets goodbye.”

Sirius chuckled slightly until the red-faced guard turned away. “What the hell happened?” he asked in a frantic hush, helping the boys to their feet.

Harry clutched his sore ribs as he got up. Ron ran to pick up Hedwig, who was causing an even bigger scene. People seemed to have a lot to say about animal cruelty. 

“The barrier wouldn’t let us through,” Harry groaned.

“Wouldn’t—?” Sirius leaned against the barrier and his hand went through like normal. “Boys, we’re already late. Quit messing about. There’s no time for your trunks now. I’ll have them sent after you. I’ll meet you in Hogsmeade with your uniforms.”

He shoved Harry and Ron forward and, like the first time, their bodies slammed into the solid wall.

“OW!”

“UGH!”

“We still can’t get through!” Harry gasped, his face pressed against the rough brick.

“What on earth?”

Ron looked wildly around. A dozen curious people were still watching them.

“We’re going to miss the train!” Ron whispered. “Why is the gateway blocking us?”

Sirius stared at it in equal confusion and horror. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Harry looked up at the giant clock with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Ten seconds… nine seconds…

He wheeled his trolley forward cautiously until it was right against the barrier and pushed with all his might. The brick remained solid.

Three seconds… two seconds… one second…

The clock reached eleven.

“It’s gone,” said Ron, sounding stunned. “The train’s gone! It doesn’t wait for anyone. What if mum and dad are trapped on the other side?”

“Sirius, what do we do now?” Harry asked.

Mind racing, Sirius seemed to go through every possible solution.

“Alright. The train stops in Glasgow around half four. I can—” he groaned. “I’ve never gotten off the train there and I don’t know that I remember the station well enough from passing to apparate us all there safely.”

“Well, can’t you apparate us onto the train?” Harry asked.

“Doesn’t work like that, lad. Side-along apparition is hard enough, but with two others—neither of whom can apparate on their own—and onto a moving target that I only have an approximate location for? Impossible. Even if we waited until it reached Glasgow Central, you can’t apparate onto the train, anyway, just like Hogwarts.”

They looked around. People continued to stare, mostly because Hedwig was still playing up the theatrics with her relentless screeching.

“We can take the bike!” Harry said, excitedly.

Sirius laughed. “No.”

“Oh, come on, Sirius. Ron said Mr. Weasley’s car flies, too. We’d catch up to the train faster than we’d ever be able to otherwise.”

“Wicked! I’ve never been on a flying bike!”

Sirius sighed, “Boys…”

“Sirius, come on. We’re going to school. Why can’t we have just a little fun?”

Sirius shut his eyes and exhaled.

“Alright, I’ve got an idea. Come on.”

Grabbing the boys by their shoulders, Sirius led them out of the station to his motorbike. Before getting his Nimbus two thousand, Harry loved nothing more than riding on Sirius’ bike, especially when they flew it.

“Are you really going to take us on the bike to Hogwarts?” Harry asked excitedly.

“Unfortunately. If we fly, I can get you there in no time. But first, Kreacher! ” he called.

Harry dreaded what he might have planned for the house-elf to be calling him here after their last encounter a few weeks ago. Ron seemed to be in a similar mind, grimacing as he awaited the familiar sound of apparition.

BANG.

Sounding like a car backfiring, Kreacher arrived in the blink of an eye. 

“Master Black calls Kreach—Master Harry? It is past eleven, Master Harry ought to be on the Hogwarts Express. Kreacher is glad he is not. He will be safer not attending Hogwarts this year.”

“He is still going to Hogwarts, Kreacher,” Sirius said. “The barrier to platform nine and three-quarters was blocked. I’m flying the boys to Scotland. I need you to take their trunks to Hogsmeade Station. Make sure their school robes are ready for them when they arrive. I trust your familiarity with other house-elves doesn’t end with Dobby? Ask the elves at Hogwarts to assist with getting their effects to their dorm.”

“Of course, Master Black, but—”

“But nothing, take care of it, you old bat,” spat Sirius as he straddled the bike.

Kreacher disapparated with their trunks while Harry and Ron climbed into the sidecar with Hedwig in their laps.

“What about mum and dad?” asked Ron as Sirius passed him a helmet.

“I’ll tell them everything once I’ve gotten you to school. Now strap in, it’ll be a long ride. We have to hurry if we’re going to catch up to the Express. Alright lads, make sure no one’s watching.”

“All clear!” Harry gave a thumbs up. He was glad Ron didn’t take up much room. With how skinny they both were, they fit into the small sidecar without issue. How comfortable it would be after a few hours, Harry couldn’t tell, but it seemed like a good idea.

“Arms in and hold on!” Sirius revved the bike’s guttural roaring engine. In a flash, he sped forward. The seat vibrated beneath Harry, the sound of the engine filling his ears and rattling his bones. Ron beside him was gripping whatever he could with an iron fist.

Once Sirius had the bike going fast enough, he popped the front tire into the air, riding only the rear until it too eventually left the ground and they soared into the bright Summer air. The ground and buildings fell away and dropped out of sight as they rose higher and higher. Within seconds, the whole of London lay beneath them. But before they were too high, Harry caught a few muggles pointing up at them.

“Sirius!” Harry shouted over the rushing wind. “I think a few people saw us!”

Sirius flicked his head to look down a few times to confirm. 

“Yeah! That’s going to be trouble!”

“Dad’s got an invisibility booster on his car, you know!”

“I’ll need to talk to him and add that to the bike!” With another rev of the engine, they sped northward. “Either of you have eyes on the train?”

Ron and Harry twisted around in their seat, squinting at the ground.

“I can see it!” yelled Harry. “Straight ahead—right there!”

The Hogwarts Express streaked along below them like a scarlet snake.

“Good eye, lad! Still due north. We’ll have to check on it every half hour and we ought to be fine! Hang on!”

Sirius revved the engine again and shot them upward through the clouds.

Harry’s ears popped, but the surrounding view left him amazed. They passed through to a completely different world. The blazing sun illuminated the tops of the clouds below them as the wheels of the bike skimmed through them like a boat across a river. Behind them, the clouds parted from where they rode through.

Once Ron had gotten past the initial fright, he raised his arms in the air and whooped.

With a press of a button, the bike began flying on its own and Sirius could recline on the seat back he conjured.

Now safely on their way to Hogwarts with no foreseeable problems, Harry also relaxed. He placed Hedwig’s cage between his and Ron’s legs on the floor. This, thought Harry, was surely the only way to travel: past swirls and turrets of snowy cloud, on a bike soaking in the bright sunlight, and the prospect of seeing Fred and George’s jealous faces when they landed smoothly and spectacularly on the sweeping lawn in front of Hogwarts castle. He may never ride the Hogwarts Express ever again. Then, he imagined how disappointed Draco Malfoy would be when he discovered Harry still got to school despite his pranks earlier that Summer and a smile broke across his face.

London was soon in the distance, replaced by expansive green fields that became wide moors covered in purple growth. Then there were small villages, rolling hills, and finally the city of Glasgow, alive with lights and cars that looked closer to hundreds of multi-colored ants from this height.

After so many hours cramped tightly in the sidecar, Harry’s knees ached and the sun had become oppressively hot. Thoughts of this being the only way to travel to Hogwarts quickly retreated from his head. He was relieved to have finally reached Glasgow, where the Hogwarts Express would come to its second stop. Now, he wished for nothing more than something to drink. At least on the train there was the kindly trolley witch selling ice-cold pumpkin juice. Ron’s face had already turned as red as his hair from sitting in the sunlight, and he’d surely be aching from the sunburn tonight.

“And there’s Glasgow Central!” Sirius checked his watch. “The Express made it! Like I said, I’ve never been there before, but I imagine the platform number is the same to make it easier! Kreacher’ll have your school robes ready when you reach Hogsmeade!”

As Sirius began lowering the motorbike towards the station, a thunderous chopping sound joined them in the air.

WHOPWHOPWHOPWHOPWHOP.

An intense, blinding light shone directly into their eyes as Sirius careened to the side to avoid it. Harry’s eyes went wide as he read “STRATHCLYDE POLICE” in bold yellow print on the side of a navy blue helicopter they shot past. Being so close, the blades shook their bike and came close to making them flip. The sudden lurching forced Harry to tumble over Ron, nearly throwing him out of the sidecar. Had Sirius not hastily grabbed the back of Harry’s shirt, he surely would’ve been in a free fall.

The police chopper made a quick about-face and fell into hot pursuit.

“HOLD ON, BOYS!” Sirius gritted his teeth as he pushed the bike faster.

Harry and Ron wisely strapped their seatbelt on and white-knuckled the sides of the side-car.

The helicopter pilot shouted something from his loudspeaker, but over the sound of the wind rushing by, Harry couldn’t make out what it was. He doubted they were telling them how cool the bike was.

The city of Glasgow flew by too closely beneath them, and with the helicopter flying right behind, it would have been impossible for no one to notice them.

“Harry!” Sirius shouted. “I’m going to distract them! When I do, you need to hit that button!” He pointed to a glowing red button. “Ready?”

Harry nodded shakily and leaned forward to be ready.

Sirius swiveled in his seat and pointed his ebony wand at their pursuers. They must’ve believed he had a muggle weapon, because they quickly pivoted to the side to avoid him firing. From the tip of Sirius’ wand, dozens of brightly colored fireworks exploded, aimed directly for the helicopter. They bounced off harmlessly, but distracted the copter enough to slow down their pursuit.

Just as Harry’s fingers grazed the red button, Sirius shouted, “ARRESTO MOMENTUM!”

Their bike lurched forward as dragon fire spit from the exhaust, launching them hundreds of feet away from the muggle helicopter, now frozen in midair behind them. They continued rocketing forward at speeds faster than Harry’s Nimbus Two Thousand until they were miles past the city.

Sweating and panting from exhaustion, Sirius raised the bike above the clouds once again, allowing it to hover for them to all catch their breaths.

“Not—hah—not the first time this bike’s outrun the law,” Sirius chuckled through heavy breaths. “Your dad was there for that one. muggle cops had no idea what to do when we took off into the air.”

Harry and Ron were too shaken to respond with anything but their bulging eyes.

“Well… Glasgow won’t work out.” He checked his watch again. “Express ought to be leaving in an hour. We’ll just hang out up here until it does. Hopefully, that’ll buy us enough time for the heat to die down.”

From beside Harry, Ron’s stomach audibly growled. Harry was right there with him, having eaten nothing but buttered toast that morning. After a moment, the shock had worn off from the police chase and Ron, Sirius, and Harry broke into a mad laughter that almost lasted until it was time to move again.

Chapter Text

Once the clock reached six, the Hogwarts Express blared its horn and churned out of Glasgow Central Station with a plume of smoke trailing behind it.

After another couple of hours passed, the blistering sun started dipping past their cloud river, transforming their bright blue world into one of dozens of brilliant colors. The sky was alight with gold, orange, pink, and violet. Despite the heat (both from the sun and the police) and their hunger, the beauty of it all mesmerized Harry.

Following the setting sun, the sky grew dark. Hundreds of stars lit up the world alongside a toenail shaped moon. Without the sun beating down on them, the temperature dropped significantly. Harry really wished he’d taken a page out of Percy’s book and worn his school robes to King’s Cross. Mae’s temperature controlling robes would be perfect for flying above the clouds.

“Not much further, lads.” Sirius flew them back beneath the clouds to check on the train, harder to spot now in the darkness, but they no longer needed to follow it.

“There!” Harry shouted. “Straight ahead!”

Silhouetted on the dark horizon, high on a cliff overlooking the lake, stood the many turrets and towers of Hogwarts castle. The windows all lit a warm and welcoming gold.

Sirius smiled as the boys exhaled gratefully. “Welcome home, boys.”

But all was not yet smooth sailing. As soon as they flew over Hogsmeade village, the bike began to shudder and lose speed. Sirius swore under his breath as he did his best to control the bike.

The shaking grew worse.

It pulled hard to the left.

Then the right.

Sirius gripped the handlebars with all his might. The bike took them into a nosedive straight for the Great Lake. Harry watched the smooth, glassy surface of the water quickly approaching.

“Up! UP! ” Harry screamed.

Ron was screaming louder and higher than Harry imagined possible.

Sirius kept wrenching the handlebars upward with his whole body in a desperate attempt to correct their course. He angled them up again just in time, their rear wheel skid across the top of the lake, splashing them all with water.

They sped towards the castle now, rising gradually.

Sirius could not move the bike in either direction with the handles anymore. Forced to tilt the bike, he narrowly avoided the incoming dark stone wall by mere inches. They soared over the greenhouses, leaving a tire mark on some of the glass panes. This took them over the vegetable gardens, then the surrounding fields.

Any time they gained even a little height, the bike immediately dropped again.

“We’ll have to jump!” Sirius shouted. “I can’t control it!”

The request positively petrified Ron. Harry went to work undoing their seatbelt, but it stayed locked in place.

“We’re stuck! ” Harry pulled Sirius’ attention away.

Ron pulled his wand from his pocket and attempted to cast the severing charm on their seatbelt.

“MIND THAT TREE!” bellowed Harry, but it was too late.

CRUNCH!

Harry and Ron came to an abrupt stop, hitting their heads against the front of the sidecar. Their jammed seatbelt saved them from flying forward, but definitely caused some bruising on their stomachs. Sirius wasn’t so lucky. The crash launched him across the field into a limp heap. Hedwig shrieked in terror at Harry’s feet. His head bouncing off the side car’s bonnet left Harry in a daze despite his helmet. Beside him, Ron let out a low, despairing groan.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked urgently.

“My wand…” Ron was almost in tears. “Look at my wand.”

The old hand-me-down wand had snapped, hanging on only by the thin unicorn hair core.

“Be glad it’s not your neck. I’m sure the school can—”

Before Harry could finish, something struck the sidecar with the force of a charging bull, throwing him sideways into Ron. Another equally heavy blow struck from behind.

“What’s—” Ron gasped.

A tree branch as thick as a firehose swatted them away. Harry struggled to rip their seatbelt off so they could escape.

“We’re done for!” Ron screamed.

Another tree branch reached for them, aiming to come down right on their heads.

“Immobulus!”

Before the branch struck them dead, it froze in place along with the rest of the tree. Sirius had gotten unsteadily to his feet and cast the spell that saved their lives. He ran towards the side car, throwing aside his helmet, and leaned inside with his wand pointed.

“Diffindo!” A flash of pink severed the polyester seatbelt, freeing the boys. Sirius pulled them from the car and hugged them tightly. He was shaking as much as they were. Sweat and water from the lake had him drenched. The boys similarly threw their helmets at the ground in relief.

Once released from Sirius, Harry pulled Hedwig’s cage from the floor and opened it. She flew out of it instantly, straight into Harry’s face with a series of loud, angry screeches, and sped off towards the owlery.

Spitting the feathers out of his mouth, Harry said, “You’d think I did it on purpose from how she’s acting!”

A loud WOOF broke through the night air and Fluffy, Hagrid’s pet three-headed eleven-foot tall dog, bounded toward them at full speed. The ground shook as he approached, his tongues hanging from each one of his mouths. A year ago, seeing an elephant-sized three-headed dog racing toward them would’ve made Harry die of fright. And most reasonable people would do the same.

The end of last year changed that.

Hagrid and Professor Dumbledore used Fluffy to guard the Philosopher’s Stone when they locked it away at the school. Fluffy was much more aggressive and reactive when cooped up in a hall that didn’t let him get his energy out. But Sirius had a heated discussion with Dumbledore about the dog’s treatment being locked up after they destroyed the Stone. Now, Fluffy was free to frolic in the fields around the school to his heart’s desire and has become much more playful as a result. Obviously, getting to play with someone other than Hagrid for the first time in months has made him more than excited.

Fluffy skidded to a halt, uprooting the grass in front of Harry, Ron, and Sirius. Each of the heads took their own interest in each of the wizards. The left head dragged its tongue across Ron’s entire body, coating him in slobber.

“Ugh!” Ron groaned.

Harry scratched above the middle head’s nose as it nuzzled him. His hot, excited breath dried a lot of Harry’s soaked clothing. Seeing the mammoth dog overjoyed Sirius, greeting him like an old friend. It wasn’t long before all three heads shifted their attention to Sirius alone as he struggled to pet all of them with only two hands.

After a moment of them all vying for his attention, something else pulled Sirius’ attention away from Fluffy.

From the opposite side of the tree, Sirius’ motorbike roared to life on its own. Sirius watched it suspiciously, which turned into concern, then incredulity, then despair as the bike did a burnout in the grass and sped off into the Forbidden Forest, its rear lights blazing angrily.

“No! Come back!” Sirius wailed, hopelessly taking a few steps after it before falling to his knees. “I loved that bike…”

The bike disappeared into the brush, and the night fell silent.

Exhaling, Sirius absentmindedly scratched one of Fluffy’s snouts before a jolt ran through him. He shot back to his feet and rushed over to the kids. “You two need to get up to the school!”

“What about our robes?”

“No time. The feast’s already starting. Get up to the castle, I’ll explain everything to Professor Dumbledore.”

Harry and Ron nodded to each other and sped off towards the school. Scabbers the rat woke up in all the commotion and poked his head from Ron’s collar briefly before slinking back into his shirt.

“Can you believe our luck?” Ron asked. “Of all the trees we could’ve hit, we had to get the one that hits back!” He glanced over his shoulder at the tree, which returned to flailing its branches threateningly.

This wasn’t at all the triumphant arrival Harry had pictured. Stiff, sunburnt, cold, wet, and bruised, they climbed the steps leading to the great oak front doors.

“Sirius was right!” Ron’s teeth chattered as he crossed the Entrance Hall lit with ensconced torches to peer into the Great Hall. “Harry, look! We weren’t that late, after all—they’re still Sorting! We’ll have plenty of time to watch Ginny.”

Harry hurried over and joined Ron in peering into the Great Hall.

Hundreds of candles floated in mid-air above four long tables crowded with students of each house. The golden plates and goblets resting empty on the tables sparkled in the candlelight. Seeing them made Harry’s stomach grumble loudly. The bewitched ceiling of the Great Hall mirrored the sky outside and now sparkled with thousands of stars.

Through the forest of pointed black hats the students wore, Harry saw a long line of nervous first-years filing into the Hall, staring around in astonishment. Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall, the head of Gryffindor House, placed the famous Hogwarts Sorting Hat on a stool before the newcomers. She was a stern older witch with rectangular glasses and her graying dark hair tied back in a tight bun beneath her green pointed hat. Ginny was amongst those being Sorted, easily visible from her vivid Weasley red hair.

“D’you think anybody told her how the Sorting works?”

“Nah, she asked, but for some reason I couldn’t get the words out, so I told her it was a spelling test.” Ron chuckled. “Get it?”

Every year, this dutty old hat—patched, frayed, dirty, and possibly bug-infested—Sorted every new student into one of the four Hogwarts houses. Eleven-year-olds from across Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and England became brave Gryffindors, loyal Hufflepuffs, intelligent Ravenclaws, or ambitious Slytherins. Also, it sang sometimes.

Harry remembered putting it on a year ago all too well.

The hat transported the wearer to a dark void with nothing but themselves and the memories of the four Hogwarts founders that deliberated on where they belonged. Each of the founders saw something in Harry that piqued their interest. For a moment, Harry was terrified that the hat would Sort him into Slytherin, the house that produced more dark wizards than any other. Also, the House all of Sirius’ family before him joined. Desperate to follow in the path of his parents and godfather, Harry asked the hat to put him in Gryffindor and so that’s where the hat Sorted him, along with Ron, Hermione, and all the Weasleys.

Last year, Harry, with the help of his friends, got enough points between them to help Gryffindor with the House Championship, beating Slytherin (their rivals) for the first time in seven years!

As they watched, a tiny, mousy-haired boy was called forward. He gleefully hopped onto the stool and Professor McGonagall placed the hat, covering the top of his head completely as he vibrated with excitement. Harry’s attention wandered past the Sorting ceremony to the head table where Headmaster Dumbledore sat at the center and watched with vested interest, a kind smile beneath his beard. His long snowy beard and half-moon glasses shone brightly in the candlelight. A few seats away sat Gilderoy Lockhart, dressed in garish robes of aquamarine, his bright smile plastered on his face. At the opposite end, sitting beside the Charms professor, Filius Flitwick, was Hagrid, massive and hairy, drinking from a large water goblet.

“Hang on…” Harry muttered to Ron. “Snape’s missing. His chair’s empty.”

Professor Severus Snape was the head of Slytherin and Harry’s least favorite teacher. Harry also happened to be Snape’s least favorite student. This was mostly because of some unsettled feud Snape held with Sirius and Harry’s dad. Cruel, sarcastic, and disliked by everybody except the students from his own house, Snape was the school’s potion master.

“Maybe he’s ill!” Ron said hopefully.

“Or he’s left! Lockhart got the Defense job he wanted, so he jumped ship!”

“Or they sacked him! Sirius was sending those letters and everyone hates him—”

“Or maybe… ” said an icy voice behind them, “he’s anxiously waiting to hear why you two didn’t arrive on the train.”

Harry whipped around in terror. There, in his typical black robes rippling in the still air, was Severus Snape himself. A thin man in his early thirties, the same as Sirius, though you couldn’t tell by looking at him. He had sallow skin, a hooked nose, and shoulder-length black hair as dark as his eyes and robes. Whenever he looked at you with those dark eyes, it seemed as if he could look straight into your mind.

“Follow… me.”

Not daring to glance at each other; Harry and Ron followed Snape back into the vast, echoing Entrance Hall. Snape led them far away from the warmth and light, and down a narrow stone staircase that led into the damp, cold dungeons where his office was.

They entered Snape’s office, shivering in their damp clothes. Shelves holding large glass jars, in which floated all manner of revolting things, lined the shadowy walls. The fireplace, as always, was cold and empty. Snape slammed the door shut and rounded his desk. He held up today’s issue of the Evening Prophet, showing them the headline:

FLYING MOTORBIKE MYSTIFIES MUGGLES

Scotland Law Enforcement Left Gobsmacked

“You were seen!” he hissed. “By no less than twenty-seven muggles!” He began reading the article aloud. “Two muggles in London, convinced they saw a motorbike flying over Highbury… at noon in Norfolk, Mrs. Hetty Bayliss, while hanging out her washing… Mister Angus Fleet, of Peebles, reported to police… Two helicopter pilots with the Glasgow Police Department! The list goes on and on… I understand, Mister Weasley, that your father works in the Misuse of muggle Artifacts Office?”

Ron stared back in terror before Snape’s attention turned to Harry.

“It appears your godfather’s disregard for the law has spread to you, Mister Potter. Do either of you have any idea how serious this is? You have risked the exposure of our entire world! Not to mention the damage you inflicted on a Whomping Willow that’s been on these grounds since before you were born! ”

“Honestly, that tree did more damage to us—” Ron blurted out.

“Silence!” Snape snapped. He walked around the desk towards them, his dark eyes never once breaking their gaze. “I assure you… were you in Slytherin and your fate rested with me, the both of you would be on the train home tonight! As it is, I shall fetch the people who do have such power.”

Harry and Ron stared at each other, white-faced. Harry’s hunger faded into oblivion. Now, all he felt was extremely sick. He tried not to stare at the large, slimy critter suspended in green liquid on a shelf behind Snape’s desk. If Snape had gone to fetch Professor McGonagall, they were hardly any better off. She might be fairer than Snape, but she was still extremely strict.

A few long, dreadful minutes later, Professor Snape returned, and sure enough, Professor McGonagall accompanied him. With all the mayhem over the past year, Harry had seen Professor McGonagall angry on multiple occasions, but it must’ve been too long since the last time because he couldn’t remember her ever looking so furious. As she entered, she flicked her wand. Ron and Harry flinched, but all she did was make the fireplace erupt in warm blue flames. Professor McGonagall sat behind Snape’s desk, her eyes locked on the boys. The firelight glinted off her glasses ominously, making it impossible to make out her eyes. Snape hovered behind her with a look of pure hatred.

“Sit.” She waved her wand again, summoning a pair of chairs that pushed themselves forward and forced the boys into them. “Explain.”

Ron and Harry launched into the tale, starting with running late to King’s Cross and unable to pass through the barrier.

“…So we had no choice, Professor. We couldn’t get on the train…”

“Why didn’t you send us a letter by owl? I believe you have an owl?” Professor McGonagall said coldly to Harry.

Harry gaped at her. Now she said it. That seemed the obvious thing to have done. He didn’t know why Sirius hadn’t considered it. Maybe he didn’t know how an owl would ensure they got to school. But a sinking feeling hit him far too late. It hadn’t been Sirius’ plan to take the bike. It was Harry’s.

“I–I didn’t think—”

“That,” said Professor McGonagall, “is obvious. And where were your parents during all of this?”

As if on cue, there came a knock on the door. Snape opened it with a flick of his wand. There stood the Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, and Sirius, a knitted blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Sirius looked messed up in the firelight with a bruised face and several cuts; his hair was a tangled mess. Harry was nervous to find out what he might look like if Sirius looked like that.

Harry’s whole body fell numb. Dumbledore looked unusually grave. None of the typical sparkle shone in his piercing blue eyes. McGonagall ceded her seat to the elderly wizard, and he graciously accepted. Dumbledore stared down his crooked nose at them and Harry wished the Whomping Willow had finished the job.

There was a long silence filled only by the cracking fire. Then Dumbledore finally said, “I’ve spoken to Mister Black…”

It would have been better if he had shouted. Harry hated the disappointment in his voice. He could not meet Dumbledore’s eyes.

“We’ll get our stuff,” said Ron hopelessly.

“What are you on about, Weasley?” barked Professor McGonagall.

“Well…” He turned to Harry to make sure they were on the same page. “You’re expelling us, aren’t you?”

“Not today, Mister Weasley,” said Professor Dumbledore. “Unfortunately, your summer holiday remains ended. But I must impress upon both of you the seriousness of what’s happened. What Mister Black did comes with serious ramifications, not only for him, but for the entire wizarding world—“

“It wasn’t his fault, Headmaster,” exclaimed Harry. “Really. It’s my fault. He wanted to send an owl and floo to Hogsmeade, but I made him fly us on—“

“Harry, that’s enough,” Sirius croaked. His voice had gotten rough and hollow from shouting over the wind. “I’ve already taken full responsibility. I was the adult, you are twelve. I should’ve put my foot down. It’s my fault.”

“As such,” Dumbledore continued, “his punishment does not fall on either of you boys. However, I must warn you that should any more trouble come from the pair of you, I will have no other choice but to expel you from Hogwarts.”

Snape looked as though Dumbledore had slapped him. He cleared his throat and said, “Professor Dumbledore, these boys have flouted the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry , caused serious damage to a tree that’s been on the grounds for decades… surely acts of this nature…”

“I’m well aware of our bylaws, Severus, having written more than a few myself. However, I trust Professor McGonagall to decide their punishments,” Professor Dumbledore said calmly. “They are in her house and are therefore her responsibility.”

Snape shot a look of pure venom at Harry, Ron, and Sirius as he flew from his office.

Dumbledore turned to Professor McGonagall. “I must return to the feast now. There are a few notices I must dispense, and I’m afraid of leaving our newly appointed Professor Lockhart too long in the spotlight.”

“Uh, professor, sir,” Harry stammered.

“Yes, Harry?”

“S–Sirius took the blame for what we did…” Harry looked back at his godfather, who gave a somber smile. “W–What’s going to happen to him?”

“Worry not, Mister Potter. Your godfather will not face Azkaban. I’ll do what I can to ensure a suitable punishment is found. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve saved someone from the Dementors.” He gave a kind smile before exiting the office, leaving them alone with Professor McGonagall, who continued eyeing them like a wrathful eagle.

She stood behind the desk chair, her hands ringing the wooden back. “You three will need to visit the hospital wing. Bruises, cuts, who knows what else, and Weasley, you’ll need something for that sunburn. You look more a tomato than a wizard. Doubtless, you won’t be getting any sleep in that state.”

“I’m okay, professor,” Ron wiped the cut over his eye with his sleeve. “Actually, I was hoping to see my sister being Sorted—”

“The Sorting Ceremony is over, Mister Weasley. You’ll be pleased to know that Ginevra Weasley is also in Gryffindor.”

Ron and Harry exhaled and smiled at each other.

“But speaking of Gryffindor—”

Before she could continue, Harry cut in. “Professor, please . We took the bike before term had begun, right? So, Gryffindor shouldn’t have points taken away since it didn’t happen during the school year… should it?” He gave an anxious smile.

Professor McGonagall gave him a piercing look, but he was sure she had almost smiled. “I will not take any points from Gryffindor,” she said, and Harry’s heart lightened considerably. “But you will both get detentions. The earliest in all my years at Hogwarts.”

“What about—” Sirius chimed in, but Professor McGonagall’s gaze quickly quieted him.

Professor McGonagall raised her wand again and pointed it at Snape’s desk. A large serving tray holding a tower of sandwiches, two silver goblets, and a pitcher of iced pumpkin juice appeared with a POP.

“I won’t have the two of you gallivanting into the Great Hall after your little stunt. You will eat in here, then go straight up to your dormitory,” she said. “Mister Black, please visit Madam Pomfrey about your injuries. Then the Headmaster would like to see you in his office. I must also return to the feast. Oh, and Mister Weasley, I’m restarting the Chess Club. I expect to see you at our first meeting on Friday next.” She and Sirius both left the room with him giving Harry a kiss on the top of his head before his departure.

Once the door shut behind them, Ron exhaled deeply and sank into his chair. “I thought we were done for,” he said, grabbing a sandwich.

“Me too,” Harry grabbed his own sandwich to devour. “I’m worried about Sirius being in trouble.”

Ron shrugged. “‘umbledore’ll take care o’ it,” he said with a full mouth. “Can you believe our luck, though? Fred and George’ve flown dad’s car loads of times and no muggles ever saw them.”

Harry threw his second sandwich down in a huff. “I wish McGonagall or Dumbledore knew why the barrier wouldn’t let us through! Or told us if they did. We wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with if we could get on the platform.” He took a heavy swig of pumpkin juice.

~ ~ ~

After eating as many sandwiches as their cavernous twelve-year-old stomachs could handle, Harry and Ron climbed out of their seats and left the dark, damp office, trekking up the familiar path to Gryffindor Tower. 

The castle was quiet; the feast had ended. They walked past the muttering portraits and creaking suits of armor. There were multiple flights of shifting staircases, both wide and narrow but never two exactly the same. At last, they reached the passage where an old oil painting of a rather obese woman in a pink silk dress hid the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.

“Password?” she asked sweetly as they approached.

“Er—” Harry looked at Ron, who cursed in frustration.

“Absolutely not, Mister Weasley!” The Fat Lady clutched her pearls, aghast.

McGonagall hadn’t told them the new password, and they hadn’t seen a prefect to ask. Thankfully, their saving graces arrived almost immediately. Hurrying up the stairs behind the boys were Hermione Granger and Lavender Brown.

“Thank goodness! There you are!” Hermione exclaimed. The girls wrapped the boys in tight hugs, one after the other. “Where have you been? The most ridiculous rumors—”

“Yeah, someone said they expelled you for crashing a flying car!” Lavender found much more humor in this situation than Hermione.

“Well, we haven’t been expelled ,” Harry assured them.

“And it was a bike, not a car,” Ron added.

“You’re not saying you actually flew here?” Hermione sounded almost as severe as Professor McGonagall.

“You really flew here?” Lavender said, full of excitement.

“Can we get the new password?” asked Ron impatiently.

Just as impatiently, Hermione said, “No, that’s not the point—”

“It’s ‘wattlebird’,” Lavender interrupted.

The Fat Lady’s portrait swung open, and a storm of applause interrupted them. The entire Gryffindor house was awake, packed into the main circular part of the common room, waiting for Harry and Ron to arrive. Arms reached through the portrait hole and yanked them inside, hefting them onto their shoulders and leaving the girls to scramble after them.

“Brilliant!” shouted Lee Jordan. “Inspired! What an entrance! Flying a bike right into the Whomping Willow! People’ll be talking about that one for years! Decades!”

“Absolute legends!” Angelina said.

Fred and George shoved their way to the front of the crowd and said together, “Why couldn’t you’ve called us back?”

Ron turned scarlet in the face (not only because of his still untreated sunburn), grinning through his embarrassment. But Harry could see one other person besides Mione who didn’t look happy at all. Visible at the edge of the crowd was Percy, trying to get near enough to tell them off. Harry nudged Ron in the ribs and nodded in Percy’s direction.

Ron got the point at once. He yawned, almost cartoonishly. “Should get to bed,” he said. “So tired.” The students holding them above the crowd set them on their feet, allowing them to push their way towards the spiral dormitory stairs on the other side of the room.

“Goodnight!” Harry said to Hermione as they passed, but she was still wearing the same disapproving expression Percy had on.

It took longer than it should have, but they got to the stairwell after getting their backs clapped by dozens of their housemates. Even without them there, Harry knew the other Gryffindors would continue partying late into the early morning. He and Ron raced to the second floor where the dormitory door had a golden sign on it saying “second-years”. They entered a familiar circular room, identical to the one they shared last year. Set against the wall were five four-poster beds hung with red velvet curtains all equidistant to each other, with high, narrow windows separating them. Kreacher had gotten their trunks brought up for them and placed at the ends of their beds.

Ron grinned guiltily at Harry. “I know I shouldn’t’ve enjoyed that or anything, but—”

The dormitory door flew open before he could finish and in swarmed the other second-year Gryffindor boys, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom.

“Unbelievable, lads!” beamed Seamus.

“Completely wicked!” said Dean.

“I can’t believe it,” said Neville, awestruck.

Harry couldn’t help it. He grinned, too.

* * *

When Sirius woke up that morning, he didn’t think the day would end with him being sent to the headmaster’s office.

“Right then, good as new,” said Madam Pomfrey, the school’s matron. “You know, I didn’t think I’d still be mending your broken bones so long after you’ve graduated, Mister Black.” A kind woman, she was notoriously strict regarding the well-being of her patients.

“Neither did I.” Sirius winced as he rose from his hospital bed. “Honestly, never thought I’d step foot in this school again once I left.”

“I had the same thought once, but here we are.” Pomfrey gave him a sympathetic smile and an elixir to continue taking at home. “Have a good night, Sirius. Try not to hurt yourself any further.”

Sirius smirked. “You know well enough that I can’t promise that.”

“Well, one can hope.” She pulled the blanket from his bed and began folding it.

“You wouldn’t be the only one sharing that hope.” Sirius was walking out of the hospital wing before turning on his heel. “Oh, Poppy?”

“Yes, Sirius?”

“I know you’re soon to have your hands full, but would you mind checking on Harry and Ron Weasley? They were in the crash with me, and I don’t think they’re going to bother paying you a visit before they return to their common room.”

She exhaled and pinched her lips. “These boys. I’ll make sure they come by before classes start tomorrow if they don’t stop in on their own.”

“Thank you. Goodnight.”

The motorcycle ride had left Sirius in agony. All his muscles, especially those in his arms and torso, screamed with every slight movement. Even walking was an ordeal. The elixir Pomfrey gave him helped tremendously. The pain subsided, but lingered nevertheless. At least, now he could stand for the first time since the shock faded. No longer was he bleeding internally, dealing with broken ribs, or the horrible concussion. Despite how much he recovered, Sirius still wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed. He had half a mind to ask if he could stay overnight in the hospital wing to sleep, but he knew Dumbledore was waiting.

Walking the corridors to the Headmaster’s office were an arduous trek that Sirius was sure the castle drew out for its own enjoyment. At least he wasn’t dripping wet anymore.

His footsteps echoed around him. The feast had ended. All students were in their common rooms now, preparing for their first day of classes. The flaming torches lining the walls had grown dim as they lit his path.

Walking past a tangential hall, an arthritic knobby hand suddenly grabbed Sirius’ wrist painfully tight. The castle’s caretaker, Argus Filch, held his lit lamp inches from Sirius’ face. “What’re you doin’ out of bed? First night! We’re in trouble now!”

“What? I haven’t been a student here for fourteen years!” Sirius snatched his hand away.

“And still a troublemaker! Lurking the halls after dark. I heard what you did with that bike o’ yours. Crashin’ it into the Willow!”

Mrs. Norris, Filch’s feline companion, crossed through Sirius’ legs.

“Well, it just so happens I’m already on my way to see the headmaster, so I’ll save you the trouble of doling out my punishment.”

Leaving Filch with a nasty scowl, Sirius continued towards the Headmaster’s office. It wasn’t much longer before he was on the second floor and strolling through the Gargoyle Corridor. Large stone gargoyles of various beasts lined the walls, separated by tall windows. At the end was one of the largest, made of stone and bronze, carved into a griffin with its wings outstretched. This was the doorway to the Headmaster’s office. Godric Gryffindor must’ve been proud when he thought of an actual griffin door.

“I don’t know the password,” Sirius told the griffin. “I imagine it’s still some sweet or other?”

There was no response.

“Listen, Dumbledore’s expecting me already. Will you let me in or must I go through the entire Honeydukes catalog?”

The gargoyle tilted its head in disapproval but stepped aside. The wall behind him split in two and a spiral staircase formed leading upwards. Sirius stepped onto it, rising higher in a smooth circle until he reached an intricate oak door. Before he had the chance to knock, the door opened to an immense circular room filled with books, trinkets, plants, and all matter of ephemera and curios. Dozens of portraits hung against the walls of previous headmasters. One of which Sirius owned a replica of and kept locked away in his family’s drawing room.

Framed in gold, the portrait featured a deceptively clever-looking man with neatly kept dark hair graying at the temples and a pointed beard. Often, the portrait reminded Sirius of muggle depictions he’d seen of the devil (which seemed fitting). The artist painted him as being dressed in the richest green and most expensive silver jewelry money could afford, and Phineas had no shortage of it. His shrewd, gray eyes were a family trait that passed down to each generation and now lived in Sirius. As Sirius walked into the office, those cold eyes followed him with disapproval.

“Good to see you’ve stopped drinking long enough to make a complete arse of yourself,” the portrait said. “Or are you still planning to mope around my home like a little girl whose toy’s been taken away?”

Following a terrifying and quite lucky encounter with a troll that Harry survived last Hallowe’en, Sirius fell into a deep depression. One he treated by self-medicating with copious amounts of alcohol while lying in the locked drawing room of Grimmauld Place. There, the hundreds of faces painted onto his family tree surrounded him, allowing them all to judge the last in their line. Once Harry moved in, Sirius moved his copy of this portrait into the drawing room to spend with the rest of the Black family he was so proud of, and he had much and more to say about Sirius’ stupor.

Phineas Nigellus Black.

Sirius’ great-great-grandfather. Though, to Sirius, the greatest thing he’d ever done was die. The famed patriarch of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. The man for which all living Black members have descended. A staunch believer in blood purity and wizard supremacy, he was the headmaster of Hogwarts in the late nineteenth century and ended his tenure as the least popular the school had ever seen.

Still, his criticisms stung in a way only those coming from your family can.

“Phineas,” Dumbledore chided from behind his desk, his hands interlaced and resting atop it.

“Headmaster,” Sirius greeted politely, wincing from pain as he took a seat.

“Goodnight, Sirius. It seems Madam Pomfrey has taken good care of you.”

“She has. Only some lingering pain. Thank you. I was told you wanted to see me.”

“I do.” Dumbledore rose from his seat. “The Ministry has informed me they have a warrant out for your arrest.”

Sirius’ stomach sank.

It was stupid to think there wouldn’t be consequences; but for so long, there hadn’t been. A privilege of wealth. Fines were nothing more than a fee to break the law when you had as much money as Sirius; and there was no shortage of Ministry employees looking for more than their government salaries provided. No matter what he did, he always left with a slap on the wrist. Or he threw enough galleons at the problem that it went away on its own. He didn’t think this wouldn’t have the same outcome, not after so many previous occurrences.

“You’re going to turn me in?”

Dumbledore paused. Sirius had undoubtedly been a thorn in the elderly wizard’s side for decades, especially after Harry was born. He’d do well to be rid of Sirius once and for all. But Harry needed him. He couldn’t protect him while locked up in Azkaban. If the Ministry came and Dumbledore handed him over, Sirius would not go quietly.

“No,” said Dumbledore. “I have no intention of turning you over to the Ministry.” He scratched the underside of Fawkes’s beak, his pet phoenix.

“You don’t?”

“No, my dear boy, I fear I must deprive the Dementors of yet another soul.”

The portrait of Phineas Nigellus scoffed. “Of course, saved from the consequences of your actions yet again, Sirius! All for the best, no grandchild of mine—even one as disgraceful to the Black name as you—has any business in Azkaban prison!”

“You should tell that to your granddaughters,” Sirius said.

“Bellatrix went to Azkaban as a Lestrange. I care nothing about the legacy of their family. They made their decision throwing their hat in with that half-blood charlatan—”

“That’s enough, Phineas,” Professor Dumbledore interrupted. “Another outburst and I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Half-blood charlatan?

The concept piqued Sirius’ interest. He didn’t know who he referred to. His family lauded blood purity as a signifier of their greatness. Who could they possibly have thrown their hat in with that wasn’t a pure-blood?

“Although, Sirius, I suppose I’m not being entirely truthful. Your imprisonment hinges on the decision you make next.”

Of course. Why should he expect a magnanimous act? Everyone always wants something.

“I thought of a proposition. One I will gladly bring to the Ministry as an alternative to serving your time in prison.”

“Which is?”

Dumbledore rested against the edge of his desk, standing above Sirius with a smile. “Community service. Here, at Hogwarts.”

“Teaching?” Sirius asked incredulously.

“Oh no,” Dumbledore laughed. “All of my positions have already been filled this year. Though I do think you would be an asset to my teaching staff when I next have an opening.”

“Really? You think I could teach? Me?”

Phineas Nigellus scoffed in outrage and Sirius had to agree. The notion was ridiculous.

“I believe you’d make a fine professor, Sirius. In fact, the position I wish for you to take is adjacent to teaching. I intend to have you serve as a teacher’s aide, a tutor to the students here at Hogwarts. The typical sentence for breaking the statute of secrecy depends on the severity. If we’re lenient, I surmise you’d spend nearly a year in Azkaban. I propose you fulfill community service to the school as a teacher’s aide for the full school term.”

“I don’t imagine I would be a good fit—”

“Oh, but I do. I’ve seen Mister Potter’s marks from his first year, fifth in his class. His professors agree he has a remarkable natural talent in practical spellcasting, though he falters in the theory of it. To his credit, the theory is awfully boring. I cannot conclude that it is not in part because of the man who raised him. Your support for not only Harry, but other students within this school has not been missed by the faculty. And I remember your talents. You are exceptionally gifted, Sirius. Your presence would be a boon for the whole of the student body. And I daresay, you do spend an awful lot of time here, anyway.”

Sirius became contemplative. A year of tutoring students, grading papers, correcting wandwork, and no trip to Azkaban.

“Who would I be aiding? Professor McGonagall? Flitwick?” Please not Snape. “I’ll remind you, I’m dreadful at Potions.”

But Sirius already knew the answer, he only prayed he was wrong.

“No, while I remember how naturally talented you are at Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall requires no assistance after holding the job for so long. But I also remember how talented you were in Defense Against the Dark Arts. I believe you’re familiar with our new professor? Gilderoy Lockhart? He is a novice to the profession and would benefit from your assistance in his role.

“You mean because he’s—”

Dumbledore held up a hand to cut Sirius off. “Your personal opinions aside, Sirius, this is my proposal if you would like to avoid the dementors. I’d also need to tell you that this is not what you might call a, ‘get out of jail free card.’ I expect you to be a model example for the students at this school and act responsibly at all times. You will perform any duties Professor Lockhart assigns you to the best of your ability, without protest, unless you believe doing so will endanger a student or himself. Am I clear?”

Harry was the only reason that kept Sirius from taking his chances with the Dementors.

Shutting his eyes, Sirius exhaled and accepted his fate.

Chapter Text

After meeting with Dumbledore, Sirius had to stay at the castle overnight.

This was, as Dumbledore said, to ensure the Ministry didn’t apprehend him before he could put forth his plea deal. Sirius asked if he could stay in Hogsmeade at least, but Dumbledore deemed that too precarious as the owners of whichever inn he stayed at would have to turn him over. Instead, Dumbledore offered Sirius the Governor’s apartment in the Headmaster’s Tower. Originally intended to house any of the twelve on Hogwarts’ Board of Governors, it’s been a long time since any of them have made Hogwarts a permanent residence.

“Kreacher!” Sirius called.

A moment later, the house-elf appeared before him.

“Yes, Master Black?” he asked. “Kreacher was incredibly worried when Master Harry and his Weasley friend did not arrive at Hogsmeade.”

“Yeah. Plan didn’t work out.”

“Kreacher must also tell his master the Ministry is looking for Master Black.”

“So I’ve heard. I need you to bring my wardrobe here.”

Kreacher eyed him suspiciously.

“I’m not giving you clothes, you insufferable—” Sirius exhaled and rubbed his eyes. “It appears I’ll be staying here for the foreseeable future, and I will need things to wear.”

“Of course, Master Black. Mistress Andromeda has also asked about Sirius. She has asked Kreacher to tell if he hears anything.”

“Right… tell Andromeda I’m alright, Harry’s alright and made it to school. Ask her to reach out when she can.”

“Master Harry made it to Hogwarts?”

“Of course he did. Where do you think we are now? Anyway, tell her I’ll explain everything, and that Dumbledore and I came to an agreement that will hopefully satisfy the Ministry. But make sure you bring my wardrobe here first thing. I need to bathe. I’m expecting fresh clothes when I’m done.”

“Yes, Master Black. Kreacher will do it.”

“Good,” Sirius said. “Now, begone.”

“I daresay you could be kinder to him,” came another voice behind him.

Sirius jumped and turned to find Professor Dumbledore had returned.

“He’s never been kind to me. I don’t see the point in returning the favor—Are–are you going to be popping in here whenever the mood suits you? If that’s so, I may need to rethink our agreement, Headmaster.”

“No, of course not, my dear boy.” Dumbledore chuckled. “The door was still open, and I merely wanted to tell you I’ve sent owls out to the Ministry and the Weasleys informing them that their son has arrived safe and sound.”

“Oh, good… Good. I’ll be sending them an owl myself after I’ve had the chance to wash.”

“A wonderful plan. Goodnight, Sirius. I’ll see you first thing to get your started with Professor Lockhart.”

“Goodnight and… Thank you for your help.” Expressing his gratitude felt like pulling back a fingernail.

Dumbledore gave him a soft smile. “That may be the first time I’ve heard anyone from your family say thank you. You truly are one of a kind, Sirius. You’re welcome.”

Following a steaming shower, Sirius was relieved to find Kreacher had fulfilled his duties. His clothes filled the wardrobe and dressers, allowing him to slip into a pair of freshly washed pajamas just as the fire in the hearth turned green.

“Kreacher just told me,” Andromeda said, her spectral image dancing in the flames. “Sirius, what did you do?”

“Something stupid,” he sighed, buttoning his top. “Somehow, the barrier to the platform was sealed, but only for the boys.” Sirius rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “I made no sense, Dromeda. The rest of the Weasleys all went through without issue just ahead of us; my own hand passed through like it normally would. It was only Ron and… Harry…” He shook his head in exasperation.

“Seems the pranks hadn’t ended with the house-elves keeping parcels away.”

“No. And I think they might’ve had a hand in this as well.”

“How do you figure?”

“Kreacher, after I called him to get the boys’ bags, was relieved Harry had missed the train. And when I called him here, he seemed concerned that he’d made it to the castle… He still believes Draco’s jokes.”

“Well, what matters is you got him here. I suppose the real question is why you went about it the way you did? The bike, Sirius? Why didn’t you take the boys back to Grimmauld Place, send an owl to the school, and Floo them to Hogsmeade?”

“If Kreacher could block the platform barrier, who’s to say he couldn’t stop us from using Floo powder?”

“Then you could’ve brought them to my house. What was going through your head?”

“I don’t know,” Sirius admitted. “Nothing. As always. In truth, I had the same thought as you, but then Harry suggested we fly the bike. I refused, but just… the way he looked at me once he thought of it. Harry hadn’t looked at me with that much joy and excitement since… I didn’t want to disappoint him anymore. I just wanted to make him happy, and bloody hell! There have never been consequences before, have there? I was daft to believe the bill would never come due, but it finally caught up to me, didn’t it? Or it tried to. The Ministry has a warrant out for my arrest, but Dumbledore offered a plea bargain on my behalf.”

“A plea bargain?”

“Yeah,” Sirius scoffed at the ridiculousness of it all again. “Community service at the school for the term.”

“Community service? Doing what? Teaching?” The notion was as ridiculous to her as it had been to him and their grandfather.

“Close. He wants me to be a teaching assistant… to Gilderoy Lockhart.”

“What, the author?”

“The charlatan. He’s the Defense teacher this year.”

“What does he know about defense? I thought he wrote fantasy novels, he’s not claiming them to be fact, is he?” Andromeda sighed and shook her head in disbelief. “Well… I suppose it’s better that you’re here and I won’t have another member of the family in Azkaban. That’d be half of us that are left if you went.”

“I imagine I could escape if I wanted to. I’m much cleverer than Bellatrix.” Sirius smirked.

“I do believe that you believe that. How long will this community service last? You said the term. Autumn and Spring?”

“Dumbledore said a lenient sentence would be a year in prison, so it will be the full school term. I’ll be locked up at the school until the summer, at least. That is, if the Ministry accepts. It could always go for longer.”

“You see the humor in this, don’t you? You, the pampered spoiled aristocrat who hasn’t had to work a day in his life suddenly being the assistant to a fantasy author you despise, teaching of all things and unable to go wherever you want.”

Sirius cracked a mocking smile. “It’d be hard not to laugh.”

“Good luck, cousin,” Andromeda said. “You’ll need it.”

~ ~ ~

Opening his eyes, Harry blinked into the sunlight pouring through the windows.

This was the second time he’d woken up. The first time was when Ron wouldn’t stop tossing and turning. His sunburnt skin had finally caught up to him, making it unbearable to lie in bed and left him incapable of falling asleep. Harry finally threw his pillow at him and told him to go see Madam Pomfrey.

But waking up made him realize just how sore he was himself after his body finally relaxed. The pain that screamed through his muscles kept him awake. He got out of bed before Ron left their dorm to join him. They heard the other Gryffindor students still actively partying in the common room when they were leaving, so Harry dug his Invisibility Cloak from his trunk and draped it over both of them. As quietly as they could, they pushed through the other Gryffindors. Ron yelped and whined every time someone bumped into him. Harry couldn’t laugh or say anything because the pain he felt walking down the stairs had him the same way.

After leaving the Common Room, they hid the Invisibility Cloak in a suit of armor before entering the hospital wing, careful to make sure Peeves was nowhere around to find it. Madam Pomfrey was still awake, waiting for them in the candlelight.

“Well, it’s about time you two came in.” She ushered them each to their own beds. “Goodness, look at yourselves. Skin near blistering, bruised beyond recognition. You both should’ve come straight to me. Lie back.”

She treated Ron first, muttering to herself. There must not have been many things wrong because she only needed to mend his cuts and applied a thick orange paste to his face, neck, and arms.

When she got to Harry, she hovered her glowing hands about a foot over his body, moving them steadily down from his head to his feet.

“No breaks or bleeding, thank goodness,” she said. “Couldn’t say the same about your father.”

The statement confused Harry for a moment.

“Don’t worry, I patched him up well enough and sent him off to the headmaster.” She pulled out her wand.

“You mean Sirius? ”

“Yes, of course.”

“He’s my godfather.”

Waving her hand dismissively, she said, “Semantics, Mister Potter. Now, lie back and hold still so I can mend the bruising.” She pushed his head back into the bed. In no time, all of his cuts, scrapes, and bruises had vanished.

After mending the injuries, Madam Pomfrey walked over to a cabinet and measured out two doses of a viscous yellow elixir. She handed them both a vial and told them to drink. It resembled mashed bananas, but that’s where the similarities ended. The elixir was bitter and hard to swallow. Harry nearly gagged when it sank into his throat, but he held it down.

“Oh, calm down. It’s not that bad. Do you want your aches to go away or not?” She pulled the vials from their hands. “I’ll bring you both another dose before your classes in the morning. Mister Weasley, make sure you continue applying that paste, but you both should feel well enough now to return to bed. Off you go.”

Returning to the common room under the Invisibility Cloak, the celebration had mostly died out, with only a few people still awake, including a fifth or sixth-year witch and wizard snogging in the corner. Harry quickly looked away and rushed Ron up the winding stairs to their dorm.

Bleary-eyed, Harry flopped into his bed and slept until morning.

He woke up early before the other second-year boys to take a full shower before his first class. The events of yesterday left him disgusting and in desperate need of a wash. The magically heated water felt like heaven.

Following the shower, Harry dressed in his full school robes: a white dress shirt, his scarlet-and-gold Gryffindor tie, charcoal colored trousers and jumper also with red and gold accents, and finally his outer black robe with the inside lining and hood a deep crimson. The last pieces were his golden snitch pin he attached next to the Gryffindor patch on his robes and his black pointed hat, both of which he put on before leaving his dorm.

The second, and more important, reason Harry woke up so early was likely already down in the Great Hall or would be soon. Walking in, he discovered he was correct.

Hermione was already eating breakfast at the Gryffindor table, her copy of Voyages with Vampires open in front of her. The four long tables were full of tureens of porridge, mountains of buttered toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon. The ceiling reflected the dull, cloudy sky from outside. Hermione was one of the few in the Great Hall so early. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye when he took a seat beside her.

“Good morning,” said Harry.

“What are you doing awake so early?”

“Needed a shower… and I was hoping to catch you before everyone else woke up.”

“And why’s that?”

“Figured you deserve an explanation.” Harry shrugged. “I don’t like when you’re mad at me and everyone else is gonna be saying stuff, so I wanted to… you know… tell you what really happened.”

Pinching her lips, she shut her book and turned to face him. She raised her eyebrows, prompting him to continue.

Harry dove into the tale: running late with the Weasleys, the impassable barrier, and decision to fly, the helicopter chase over Glasgow, losing control of the bike, and being taken to Snape’s office. She seemed invested in every word and came to understand as she heard more.

“So, you asked Sirius to fly the motorbike? And he agreed with you? What happened to him?”

“Madam Pomfrey said he stopped in the hospital wing last night then went to see Dumbledore.”

“But did he get into trouble? Breaking the statute of secrecy is really illegal, Harry.”

“I don’t know.” Harry shrugged. “I don’t see what the big deal is. People have seen us on the bike other times. Nothing’s ever happened before. Besides, Dumbledore said he’d take care of it.” Harry’s mouth twisted. He couldn’t deny this time felt different from any of the times Sirius had been in trouble before. Sirius hadn’t rung him last night, or if he did, it was when Harry was asleep.

Hermione must’ve sensed his anxiety and said, “Maybe we should ask him what happened. Before we get too worried.”

Harry nodded and pulled the stag ring from beneath his collar. “ Padfoot… ”

The ring glowed, but there was no response.

“Padfoot…!”

Still no response.

“It’s still early,” Hermione said. “He’s probably still sleeping. It was a long day, after all.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Dread filled Harry completely.

What if Dumbledore couldn’t keep him out of trouble? Was Sirius on his way to Azkaban?

Harry had heard enough about Azkaban. It was the wizarding prison, a horrifying place on an island off the coast of England where they sent the most vile dark wizards and witches to pay for their crimes. Sirius said Dementors ran the prison and sucked any sense of warmth or joy out of their prisoners. How anyone could manage surviving there, Harry didn’t know.

Hermione placed her hand over Harry’s, calming him down. “It’ll be okay, Harry. You said Dumbledore would help him and he’s the greatest wizard to ever live.”

“Y–yeah… Yeah, you’re right,” Harry said, but he didn’t fully believe it. His head hung low, forcing his fringe into his face.

Hermione giggled and pushed his hair back. “You really need a haircut, you know?”

It made Harry feel fuzzy to have someone pushing back his hair to see his face rather than to see his scar. Harry did his best to laugh, too. Sirius had told him he needed a haircut, but with how much fun he was having at The Burrow, they’d forgotten about getting it done.

“H–Have you gotten your timetable? What’s our first class today?”

“No, Professor McGonagall hasn’t handed them out yet. I think she’s waiting for more students to wake up.”

Harry enjoyed eating his breakfast alone with Hermione. She caught him up on what he missed on the train, during the feast, and all the rumors that floated around his spectacular arrival. Someone said Ron and Harry figured out how to grow wings, while someone else said they had the entire Queen’s Royal Air Force after them, and others were certain they outran a dragon.

Not much longer, more students woke up and swarmed into the Great Hall, including the other Gryffindor second-years. Parvati and Lavender were the first to arrive along with Parvati’s twin sister Padma, who was in Ravenclaw. All the girls smelled like flowers.

“Morning, Harry!” the twins said cheerfully.

Harry got up to hug Parvati and Padma, who were excited to finally give him his birthday present. It was a brilliantly dyed shawl of deep crimson covered with a pattern of gold sunbursts. As it moved in the light, the suns danced across the rich fabric and would flash into a roaring lion. But most curiously were the green gems sewn into it here and there.

“Because of your eyes! Obviously!” Parvati said.

“We told our Nani there was a Desi boy at school and she couldn’t wait to make this,” said Padma.

“Desi?”

“It’s someone like us, from India or around there. One of your parents is, weren’t they?” asked Padma.

“Or, er…” Harry hadn’t thought about it before. Sirius never mentioned it, but he was undoubtedly darker than just tan and so was his dad. “I suppose my dad was. I’ll have to ask Sirius.”

“Well, we also told our Nani about how much danger you like to get in,” said Parvati. “So, she charmed it with extra protections to keep you safe!”

“Wicked! I don’t think I should ever take it off!”

“Maybe just in Potions,” Lavender laughed. “You know how Snape is.”

Their laughter died when they looked at the head table to see Professor Snape glaring at them.

“I think that’s when I’ll need it the most…”

Now that things were tense with Snape’s eyes on them, Padma said, “I’m glad you liked it, Harry. Hope to hear about your flying car soon!” Then she walked off to join her other friends at the Ravenclaw table.

Lavender and Parvati wasted no time telling Harry all about their summer while Hermione went back to reading her Lockhart book. He never spent as much time with them as he did with Hermione, but he suspected all girls had the superpower to talk at a million words a minute. Thankfully, Hermione had gotten him adjusted to it and could follow along no matter where their trains of thought took them.

One of Lavender’s brothers tried to sneak onto the Hogwarts Express even though he wouldn’t start until next year. Parvati learned a lot of wandless magic from her family while in India and said she doesn’t think she even needs a wand this year.

After about fifteen minutes of hearing every single detail of both of their summers and telling them about his voyage to Hogwarts, the boys arrived.

“There you are!” Ron shouted. “Been lookin’ for you all morning!”

“Yeah, we checked th’ dorm, an’ th’ showers, an’ th’ common room—” Seamus counted on his fingers before Dean elbowed him and made him stop.

“Yeah, sorry guys, I was starving when I woke up and I wanted to spend time with Hermione,” said Harry. He realized quickly what he said and asked, “Where’s Neville?”

“He should be down in a minute,” Dean said. “He lost Trevor again, and we opted to find you over his toad.”

“Nice scarf, Potter!” shouted an annoying voice from across the hall, one that, of course, came from Draco Malfoy. “Your mum give that to you? Oh, wait—” His typical gang laughed alongside him.

Harry shot to his feet. “You wouldn’t know what it’s like to get gifts from your friends when your dad pays them to hang out with you, Malfoy!” This made the Gryffindors break out in more laughter. “But open your mouth again and I’ll give you another black eye if you really want something!”

“Mister Potter!” Professor McGonagall shouted from the head table.

Harry took his seat as Neville arrived, Trevor in hand, and greeted them all cheerfully as he squeezed between Seamus and Ron. “Good mornin’, Harry! That’s a nice scarf! I haven’t missed the post yet, have I? Gran’s sending a few things I forgot.”

“Not yet.”

Harry had just finished his porridge when a sudden rushing sound came overhead and dozens of owls streamed in. This was a shock when he first saw this a year ago, but now it was commonplace. The owls circled the Great Hall, dropping letters and packages into the crowd. One owl was noticeably absent, an unmistakable snowy owl, obviously still cross with Harry after their crash landing. Harry made a mental note to get some owl treats for her, and soon.

A big, lumpy parcel bounced off Neville’s head, and a second later, something large and gray fell into Hermione’s milk jug, spraying them all with milk and feathers.

“Errol!” Ron shouted, trying to stand the dazed owl on his feet. Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air, and two damp envelopes in his beak. As Hermione prodded the bird to make sure it was still alive, Ron pried the letters from Errol.

“Mum sent me and Gin letters.” Ron looked down the length of the table until he saw his sister sitting with another first-year girl. “ GINNY! ” he shouted, startling her enough to throw her toast in the air. Before she could react, he’d already flung the letter over to her like a throwing card, landing a few feet short in a pile of bacon.

Rolling her eyes, she climbed out of her seat to collect the envelope.

“Congratulations on getting into Gryffindor, Ginny!” Harry said, chorused by his friends.

This made the girl turn scarlet and knock the tray of bacon over. Harry grimaced and turned straight ahead awkwardly. “Er, Ron, what’d your mum say?”

Using a butter knife, Ron tore the envelope open and pulled out the parchment. “Er… ‘Sirius told us what happened… got a letter from Dumbledore… wouldn’t be surprised if you were expelled… this better not be how the rest of the year goes… didn’t bring you up like this…’ buh, buh, buh… Oh! ‘Your father is working on a defense for Sirius!’ So, that’s good.”

Harry was relieved, but still burned with guilt. Sirius really was in trouble and Mr. Weasley was having to add on extra work to defend him. It was all Harry’s fault for wanting to take the motorbike. Sirius might go to prison, and after everything Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had done for them this summer now they have to clean up this mess… But there wasn’t much time to dwell on this; Professor McGonagall walked along the Gryffindor table, handing out timetables. Harry took his and saw that they had double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs right after breakfast.

“Professor Sprout asked me to tell you all to bring your gloves and earmuffs to her class,” Professor McGonagall told them. “Make sure you give yourself enough time to get back to the common room before attending her class. I won’t have any of you running late or arriving unprepared.”

When she walked away, Dean pumped his fist. “No more full Mondays!”

“And three-day weekends, lads!” added Seamus.

The second-years celebrated their far easier schedule and continued catching up on their summers until they had to leave for their common room. Harry tried to put on a happy face, but his thoughts lingered on what could happen to Sirius and the additional stress Mister and Mrs. Weasley were facing.

~ ~ ~

After collecting their dragonhide gloves and puffskein earmuffs from their dorms, the second-years bounded out of the castle.

They crossed the vegetable patch, Harry and Ron still in rough shape from their crash landing, and made for the greenhouses where the school kept their magical plants and held the Herbology classes. Harry left his new shawl in his dorm to avoid any dirt that usually came with Herbology.

As they neared the greenhouses, they found Emma and Sally-Anne (the other two Gryffindor girls) with the Hufflepuff students outside around the spiraling greenhouse tree, waiting for Professor Sprout. It wasn’t long after they joined the class that she strode into view across the lawn, accompanied by the smiling Gilderoy Lockhart.

She didn’t look particularly enthused by the companion talking into her ear. Her arms were full of bandages, and with another twinge of guilt, Harry spotted the Whomping Willow behind her, several of its branches now in slings.

Professor Pomona Sprout was the school’s Herbology teacher and the head of Hufflepuff House. She was a squat little witch with a round face and consistent smile who wore a patched pointed straw hat over her flyaway hair. There was usually a large amount of dirt over her well-worn clothes from her time spent in the gardens. 

Gilderoy Lockhart, however, looked like he’d never even heard of dirt. His appearance was immaculate in pristine sweeping robes of turquoise, his golden hair shining under a perfectly positioned turquoise hat.

“Oh, hello there!” Lockhart called as though he’d just happened to stumble across a pack of second-years. “Was only showing Professor Sprout the proper way of caring for a Whomping Willow. But don’t worry,” he flashed a bright smile, “I won’t be replacing your Herbology teacher. I happen to have plenty of experience with exotic plants from my many travels.”

“Greenhouse Three today, chaps!” sighed Professor Sprout, who looked distinctly disgruntled rather than her typical cheery self.

There came a murmur of interest through the second-years. Last year, they only worked in Greenhouse One—Greenhouse Three was where most of the interesting and dangerous plants were. Sprout took a ring of keys from her belt and unlocked the door. Harry caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer, mingling with the heavy perfume of giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. He was about to follow Ron and Hermione inside when Lockhart nearly clotheslined him.

“Harry! I’ve been wanting a word—you don’t mind if he’s a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?”

“Do you have the time, Professor Lockhart? I’m sure your students are wondering where their Defense teacher has gone.”

“Never fear, as fate would have it, the Headmaster has issued me a teaching assistant! He’s getting the class warmed up for me.”

Professor Sprout scowled and Harry wished she’d refuse him, but Lockhart shut the greenhouse door before she could say anything else.

“Harry, my boy.” Lockhart shook his head. “Harry, Harry, Harry…” he clicked his teeth disapprovingly.

Completely nonplussed, Harry said nothing. He hadn’t a clue what was happening.

“My boy, when I heard—well, of course, I knew it was all my fault. Could have kicked myself. I didn’t, obviously, but I could have.”

“What’re you talking about?” Harry asked. “…sir?” He added as an afterthought.

“Come now, you can be honest with me! There’s not much that surprises me, but flying a motorcycle to Hogwarts! Well, I knew at once why you’d done it. Stood out a mile away.”

It was remarkable how he could show so many of his teeth even when he wasn’t talking.

“Gave you a taste for publicity, didn’t I?” He whispered to Harry. “Your godfather’s kept you out of the public eye your whole life, but I gave you the bug. One front page spread with me and you couldn’t wait to do it again.”

“Oh—no, Professor, I didn’t—”

“Harry, it’s okay. I understand.” Lockhart reached out and grabbed his shoulder. “It’s only natural for you to want more once you’ve had that first taste. Your godfather deprived you of that and you’ve been starving for it. I only blame myself for giving it to you, because it was bound to only go to your head. Tsk, tsk, tsk—but see here, young man, you can’t just fly bikes or cars around so people will notice you. There’ll be plenty of time for all that when you’re older.”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t get the words out in time.

“Yes, yes, I know what you’re thinking! ‘Easy for him to say, he’s an internationally famous wizard already!’ But when I was a second-year, I was as much of a nobody as you are now. In fact, I’d say I was even more of a nobody! I mean, more than a few people have heard of you, haven’t they? Eh, Boy Who Lived?” He glanced at the lightning scar on Harry’s forehead. “I know, I know, it’s not as interesting as winning Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award five times in a row, as I have—but it’s a start, Harry, it’s a start.” He gave Harry a wink and strode off towards the castle.

Harry stood stunned for a few seconds, then, remembering he was supposed to be in the greenhouse, opened the door and slid inside.

Professor Sprout stood behind a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse. The class was laughing at some story she’d been telling when Harry had taken his place between Ron and Hermione.

“Ah, wonderful. Now that Professor Lockhart has graciously allowed me to borrow my student again, we may begin!” Professor Sprout said. “First things first, five points from Gryffindor—”

There was an immediate cry of outrage from the Gryffindor students, demanding to know what they’ve done before the class had even begun.

“—For the damage Mister Potter and Mister Weasley caused the Whomping Willow—and for making me endure Professor Lockhart’s yammering all morning.”

There were more protests as she waved her hands for them to settle down.

“Oh, don’t lose your heads. You’ll make them back by class’s end! Now, we’ll be learning to re-pot Mandrakes today! Who can tell me the properties of a Mandrake?”

To nobody’s surprise, Hermione’s hand was first in the air. 

“Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative,” she sounded as though she’d swallowed the textbook. “It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed, to their original state.”

“Excellent, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor.” The professor held her hands out as if to say, see? What did I say? “The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?”

Hermione’s hand narrowly missed Harry’s glasses as it shot up again.

Professor Sprout smiled. “Is Miss Granger the only one aware that classes started today? I already know she knows. Does anyone else? Someone from my house , perhaps?”

A cute blonde Hufflepuff girl raised her hand. Harry remembered her from last year, she’d said goodbye to him on the platform before summer started, but he’d never spoken to her otherwise. “It’s their cry,” she said.

“Precisely. Thank you, Hannah. Ten points to Hufflepuff. Their cries are fatal to anyone who hears them. Now, these Mandrakes here are still quite young.”

She pointed to a row of deep trays and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A few hundred tufty little plants, purplish green, were growing there in rows. They looked quite unremarkable to Harry, who didn’t have the slightest idea what they meant by the ‘cry’ of the Mandrake.

“Does everyone have their earmuffs?” asked Professor Sprout. “Raise them up, let me see.”

The class lifted their earmuffs in front of them for her to check.

“Perfect. Now, when I tell you to put them on, make sure they completely cover your ears. That’s very important. Once it’s safe to remove them, I will give you a thumbs-up. Right—earmuffs on!”

Harry snapped the earmuffs over his ears. How effectively they shut the sound out surprised him. Professor Sprout put on her own pair of fluffy pink earmuffs over her ears, rolled up the sleeves of her brown robes, firmly gripped one of the tufty plants, and yanked hard. Instead of roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby emerged from the earth like a deformed potato. The leaves Sprout pulled were growing straight out of its head. He had the brown skin of a potato and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs.

Grabbing a large plant pot from beside her, Professor Sprout plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were still visible. Once fully buried, she dusted off her hands, gave them all a thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs.

“These Mandrakes are only seedlings, so their cries won’t kill yeh,” she said calmly. “That being said, they will still knock you out for several hours, and I’m sure none of you want to miss your first day back. Isn’t that right, Mister Entwhistle?”

Hufflepuff Kevin Entwhistle was notorious for going to the hospital wing as often as Neville was. But while Neville’s visits were because of his general clumsiness and misfortune, Kevin’s always coincided with exams and essays.

“Thought not, so let’s make sure we all keep our earmuffs securely in place while we work. I will get your attention when it’s time to pack up. Four students to a tray, two from each house, you anti-social butterflies—there’re plenty of pots here, compost in the sacks down there—and don’t bother the Venomous Tentacula, it’s teething.” She gave a sharp slap to the spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching over her shoulder.

Before Ron could make Harry his Gryffindor partner, two curly-haired Hufflepuff boys Harry knew from their previous classes joined Harry and Hermione at their tray. This forced Ron to join Neville with Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones, the other pretty Hufflepuff girl that said bye to them at King’s Cross at the end of last year. Harry watched Ron’s ears turn bright red.

“I’m Ernie MacMillan,” their first Hufflepuff partner introduced himself. He was a thin boy with soft features, pouty lips, slate-blue eyes, and fluffy light brown, almost blond hair. Harry had overheard Lavender saying he was cute once.

“Justin Finch-Fletchley.” The other boy shook Harry’s hand vigorously. His curly hair was dark brown just like his eyes. There was a gap in the middle of his grin, and an air of aristocracy about him. “We know who you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter… And you’re Hermione Granger—always on top in everything…”

Hermione beamed as she had her hand shaken. It was apparent that Ernie was the more soft-spoken of the two Hufflepuffs, and Justin loved to talk.

“That Lockhart’s something, isn’t he?” said Justin happily.

“Isn’t he?” Hermione exclaimed, ecstatic to finally find another student that shared her enthusiasm for the new D.A.D.A. professor.

Harry met Ernie’s gaze as they raved over Lockhart and shook his head in disagreement, making Ernie laugh as they filled their plant pots with dragon-dung compost.

“He’s awfully brave,” Justin gushed. “Have you read all of his books?”

“Of course! All of them! Twice!”

“Me too! I swear, I’d have died of fright had I been cornered in a telephone box by a werewolf, but not Lockhart! He stayed cool and—zap—just fantastic!”

“I know! I’m reading Voyages with Vampires again right now! I couldn’t imagine handling an entire coven on my own…!”

As Hermione and Justin continued their discussion, Ernie mimed pulling out a Mandrake prematurely and knocking himself unconscious to escape, making Harry laugh.

“My name was down for Eton, you know?”

“No way!” Hermione exclaimed. “Are you muggle-born?”

“Both parents are muggles!”

“Mine too! They’re dentists!”

“No way! But I can’t tell you how glad I am that I came here instead. Of course, mother was disappointed, but I had her read the Lockhart books and I think she’s come around on how useful it’ll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family…!”

Harry felt an odd annoyance bubbling up within him from how friendly they were becoming so quickly and was relieved when they clapped their earmuffs back on and couldn’t talk anymore.

The Mandrakes required a lot more concentration than Professor Sprout made it seem. They didn’t enjoy coming out of the dirt at all, but almost didn’t want to go back into it more. The stupid roots squirmed, kicked, flailed their little fists, and gnashed their teeth; Harry spent ten whole minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot. He was glad everyone was wearing earmuffs, so no one could hear all the swearing that came out of his mouth.

By the end of class, Harry, like everyone else, was sweaty, aching, and covered in dirt and compost. The Gryffindors spent the long walk up to their common room complaining about how annoying the Mandrakes were. But Hermione brought up how great it was meeting Justin to which the others agreed to liking their Hufflepuff partners, especially Ron and Neville. Ron had gone through an entire personality shift after working with them. Hannah and Neville had the best luck of everyone with getting their Mandrakes to cooperate and even earned Professor Sprout’s praise at the end of class.

The rest of their morning was free for them to wash up before lunch.

~ ~ ~

“What’ve we got this afternoon?” Harry asked, grabbing a turkey sandwich from a platter.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Hermione said adoringly before he could finish the question. “With the Slytherins. But first Transfiguration and History with the Ravenclaws. Too bad the Hufflepuffs won’t have Defense with us, I’d love to partner with Justin on any of Lockhart’s projects.”

“Why? I could be your partner!” Harry said.

“And why,” Ron snatched her timetable, “have you outlined all of Lockhart’s lessons with little hearts?”

Hermione seized her timetable back, flushing furiously. “I’m going outside.”

Taking his sandwich along, Harry followed her, despite Ron wanting to keep eating.

“You don’t have to come!” Harry said.

“Yes, I do! What if you two run into a giant chess set again?”

Sitting in the overcast courtyard, Hermione lost herself in Voyages with Vampires while Harry and Ron talked about quidditch. Their peace only lasted a few minutes before Harry felt he was being watched. Across the courtyard was the small mousy-haired boy he’d seen at the Sorting last night. He stared at them as though in a trance. Judging from his robes, the Hat Sorted him into Gryffindor. In his hands was a muggle camera and the moment Harry locked eyes with him, he turned bright red—just like Ginny.

“Uh, hullo,” Harry gave him a small wave.

That was the wrong thing to do, because the boy came over to him.

“Alright, Harry? I—I’m Colin Creevey,” he said breathlessly. “I’m a Gryffindor this year, too!” He pointed at the lion crest on his robes. “D’you think—would it be alright if I could—can I get a picture?” He said, raising a camera hopefully.

“A picture?” Harry repeated blankly, shooting Ron and Hermione a curious look. “What for?”

“So I can prove I met you!” Colin said as if it were obvious, edging further forwards. “I learned all about you. It’s all anyone talks about. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you—although, no one would tell me who that is—but he disappeared and now you have a lightning scar on your forehead.” His eyes raked Harry’s hairline. “ Whoa! That’s a proper lightning bolt! I thought they meant like a cartoon one!”

“That’s what I said!” exclaimed Ron.

“Anyway, a boy in my year told me that if I develop my camera film in the right potion, it’ll make the pictures move!” He drew a great shuddering breath of excitement. “It really is brilliant here, isn’t it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic ‘til we got the letter from Hogwarts. They all thought I was mental. M’dad’s a milkman, a muggle. He couldn’t believe it, thought Professor McGonagall was a loony when she came by to confirm. So now I’m taking loads of photos to send home to him and it’d be really cool if I had one with you—d’you think your friend could take one of us together? And you could sign it?”

“Signed photos?” came a familiar annoying drawl, loud and scathing. “You’re giving out signed photos now, Potter?” He sauntered right over to them and stopped behind Colin, flanked, as always, by his trained apes; Crabbe and Goyle. “Did you all hear? Harry Potter’s giving out signed photos! Everyone form a queue!”

“No, I’m not!” Harry balled his fists and stared down the blond boy. “So, why don’t you shut up, Malfoy?”

“You’re just jealous!” piped up Colin, whose whole body was as thick as Crabbe and Goyle’s necks.

“Jealous?” Malfoy looked like he smelled something foul. “Of what? Dead parents? An ugly scar across my head? I don’t think getting your head cut open makes you special, actually.”

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered stupidly.

“That’s not what you told me in the Forbidden Forest last year,” Harry said. “Or do you want me to tell everyone what you did say?”

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

“Maybe you’ll remember when you screamed like a little girl and ran away?” Ron angrily added. He hadn’t been in the Forest that night, but Harry had filled him in on everything that happened.

Crabbe (or was he Goyle?) stopped laughing and cracked his knuckles.

“Sounds like Weasley wants a signed picture, Potter,” Malfoy smirked. “It’d be worth more than his family’s entire house and he can kiss it to sleep at night.”

A quiver of older Slytherin students laughed nearby.

Ron whipped out his broken wand, but Hermione slammed Voyages with Vampires shut and whispered, “Calm down!”

“What’s this? What’s this?” Gilderoy Lockhart was striding towards them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. “What’s all this about signed photos?”

“Someone kill me,” Harry muttered under his breath.

Lockhart flung an arm around Harry’s shoulders and thunder jovially, “Shouldn’t have asked! We meet again, Harry!” Pinned to Lockhart’s side and burning with humiliation, Harry saw Malfoy slide back into the crowd with a smirk.

“Come on then, Mister Creevey. A double portrait and we’ll both sign it for you.”

“Really?” Colin fumbled with his camera and snapped the picture just as the bell rang for the start of afternoon classes. “Thanks, Harry! I’ll let you know when it gets developed!” Colin raced inside the castle with the other students.

“Off you go, move along, children!” Lockhart beamed as he directed the crowd and set off back to the castle with Harry, who wished he learned the spell Dumbledore used to turn invisible. “Word to the wise, Harry,” Lockhart said paternally, “I covered for you this time with Mister Creevey this time—if they see him photographing me, too, then your school chums won’t think you’re parading yourself so much.”

Deaf to Harry’s protests, Lockhart kept him clasped to his side as students stared.

“Let me just say, handing out signed pictures this early in your career? Not a smart move—looks too big-headed, Harry, to be frank. There may yet come a time when, like myself, you’ll need to keep a stack of photos handy wherever you go, but,” he gave a little chortle, “you’re not quite there yet.

“Fret not, Harry, I will personally take you under my wing and guide you on your journey to fame.” He clapped Harry on the back a few times. “Good boy, now off to class. Don’t want the other teacher’s thinking I’m choosing favorites.”

With a wink, he strode off in a flourish of turquoise robes and left Harry in a daze on his way to Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall’s classes were always bitter work, but there was no easing back into it. Everything Harry had learned seemed to have fled his brain after last term. She asked them to turn a beetle into a button, but as distracted as he was, all he managed was giving his beetle plenty of exercise as it scrambled over the desk to avoid his wand. Frustrated, he managed to at least turn it circular before the end of class.

Parvati had to be reminded to use her wand multiple times, though she had about as much luck performing wandless magic as she did with her wand. Which is to say, none at all.

Ron was in a much worse state.

He’d patched up his wand with borrowed Spellotape, but the wand was beyond repair. It crackled and sparked whenever it felt like, and every time Ron tried to transfigure his beetle, it engulfed him in thick gray smoke that stank of rotten eggs. It happened so frequently that Harry had to abandon him for another desk. Unable to see what he was doing, Ron accidentally squashed his beetle and had to ask for a new one.

Professor McGonagall wasn’t pleased.

At the end of class, everyone filed out of the classroom except for Ron, who smacked his wand furiously on the desk.

“Stupid… useless… thing…!”

“Just write home for another one,” Harry suggested, as the wand fired off unsettling sparks.

“Oh, yeah, and get a howler next?” Ron stuffed the hissing wand into his bag. “That was my mum’s brother’s wand AND Charlie’s. If she finds out I’m the one that broke it, I’m done for! ‘Sides… I doubt we can afford it.”

“Well, if I hear anything back from Sirius we can ask if he can help.”

Their next class was History of Magic with the spectral Professor Binns, a notorious monotonous lecturer that had an easier time putting his students to sleep than he did getting them to understand the importance of the International Warlock Convention of 1289.

“You could’ve fried an egg on your face, you know,” Ron whispered.

“What?”

“During lunch when that Colin kid wanted a picture. Sucks for you, he’s a first-year. Definitely gonna find Ginny and they’ll be starting the Harry Potter Fan Club by the end of the week.”

“Shut up,” Harry groaned.

The last thing he wanted was a fan club.

* * *

For some reason, Gilderoy Lockhart believed Sirius was the captain of his fan club.

After a long, restless night, Sirius woke up early, his thoughts still swimming with anxiety. Despite not having anything to eat since the morning before, Sirius still wasn’t hungry. His stomach had gone sour after everything that’s happened. But there was no more avoiding what was to come. He just had to keep reminding himself he was doing this for Harry.

He knew the headmaster was early to rise, so Sirius went to his office once dressed.

After exchanging pleasantries, Dumbledore brought Sirius to Professor Lockhart’s quarters.

Lockhart opened the door with curlers in his hair and a bright smile on his face, still in his bedclothes. “Headmaster, how wonderful to see you this morning,” he beamed. “And Sirius Black! You know, I heard about that little stunt your godson performed. I do hope you won’t punish him too severely, you know how boys can be.” He laughed at some joke between them, but Sirius barely managed a smirk. “Well, gents, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Good morning, Professor Lockhart,” said Dumbledore. “I’ve come with a bit of good news for you. Sirius, here is interested in academics and has a strong affinity for Defense against the Dark Arts. I know how busy you are, Gilderoy, so I thought it would benefit you both for Mister Black to serve as your teaching assistant during your tenure here.”

Lockhart’s eyes lit up in a way that did nothing to ease Sirius’s anxieties.

“Well, of course. I’d be more than happy to help Mister Black in his pursuit. No better teacher than someone who’s lived it, eh? And anything to keep him away from the bad influences of his family.”

Sirius grit his teeth and forced a smile.

How Dumbledore couldn’t see through this buffoon’s tales was beyond him.

“Precisely. Sirius will help you with your duties as you need him to. He’ll grade assignments, proctor tests, write up lesson plans. He may even teach for you when you’re indisposed.”

“How wonderful! I smell an excellent partnership brewing!”

After their introductions, Sirius headed off to the D.A.D.A. classroom to prepare for the first day of classes while Lockhart finished getting ready. Something he said would still take another hour to complete. Lockhart wasted no time in redecorating the classroom before the first day. Portraits of himself were on every wall, with the largest standing at the head of the class.

“Good morning, Mister Black!” Lockhart announced once he arrived. He’d changed into satin turquoise robes, his blond hair now perfectly coiffed. “I hope you’re as ready as I am to shape these young, impressionable minds.”

“Can’t wait.”

“Brilliant! You know, between you and me, I say this will be the most popular course at Hogwarts. Sirius Black, the Black Prince, and Gilderoy Lockhart, Wizard Extraordinaire! I hope you remember how it feels dealing with fans. I know it’s been a while since you were in the limelight.”

“Padfoot…” Harry’s voice came from Sirius’ Marauder ring. Sirius quickly covered it with his other hand to avoid it being heard.

“What’s that?”

Sirius looked around in confusion. “What’s what?”

“Could’ve sworn I heard something.”

Shrugging, Sirius said, “Old buildings come with all sorts of sounds.” He faked a smile. “But don’t worry about me and the limelight, Professor. I wouldn’t dare try to upstage you.”

Lockhart laughed heartily. “It’s good to have you working for me, Sirius. I’m a very busy man, you know. What with writing, and calls from the Ministry, and answering my fan mail.” He threw his hands up in defeat. “But how could I pass up an opportunity to really leave my mark with the brightest young witches and wizards in Britain? With your help, now I’ll be able to juggle all of it! Tell me, how many times have you read my books? Which is your favorite?”

“I’ve only read a few, and only once each.”

“Oh, Sirius, that won’t do! My books are integral to this course! If you’re going to be of any use to me, I’ll need you to read all of them at least three times to fully understand the nuances of my work.”

Sirius chuckled in disbelief, but Lockhart must have misunderstood his laughter because he gave a cheeky grin.

“Oh, you devil, you! I knew you were a fan! Pulling my leg and pretending you weren’t! I must say this is the most elaborate scheme I’ve seen someone pull to get close to me, but I am flattered. So, which is your favorite? Wait, wait, let me guess… Break with a Banshee ?”

Not saying anything, Sirius merely held up his hands in defeat.

“I knew it! You’re a romantic at heart! Oh, she was a true heartbreaker, that one.”

“Indeed,” Sirius said. “But we can discuss your work another time, Professor. Classes start soon, do you have a plan for your first lessons?”

“Of course! And it will be one the students will never forget, if I say so myself! It’s all planned out. You’ll have nothing to worry about. You can sit back, get a feel for my teaching style, then plan out the rest of them accordingly.”

“I see… would you like to fill me in on—”

“Oh, deary, me…” Lockhart became distracted by something outside. “Your godson really did a number to the poor Willow, didn’t he? Oh, there’s Professor Spout—”

“Sprout,” Sirius corrected.

“Of course. She’s tending to the tree, you see? I better go down and assist. In all my travels, I’ve become quite adept at treating exotic foliage. I won’t be long, but just in case, I have a pop quiz for the students to take on my desk.”

Before Sirius could say anything, Lockhart was already leaving the room.

Do it for Harry, Sirius thought. You’re doing it for Harry.

He looked over the quiz he mentioned to see what he was in for and his eyes nearly rolled out of his head.

1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color?
2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s secret ambition?
3. When is Gilderoy Lockhart’s birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?

Three pages back and front of similar questions, right down to:

54. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart’s greatest achievement to date?

Sirius sighed and almost set the stack on fire. Looking over the D.A.D.A. timetable, it was the fifth-year Slytherin and Hufflepuff being subjected to this first in a double class. The only thing that kept Sirius from losing it was that Harry would be in their last class of the day.

Sirius hoped with him there, these students may actually learn something.

* * *

Hoping he could influence Lockhart was laughable.

Sirius was more than relieved when the last period of the day began, ready to return to his apartment. He doubted anything could be worse than this and seriously considered telling Dumbledore it wouldn’t work out and he’d take his chances with the Wizengamot. It wasn’t only Lockhart’s dragon-sized ego, but the students were starstruck over him no matter what he did.

Then Harry walked in.

Suddenly, all of Sirius’ doubts faded away, and he reminded himself why he was doing this at all. Harry hadn’t noticed him as he took a seat at the very back of the class and piled all of Lockhart’s books in front of him. Sirius wondered why he seemed so avoidant. Had he found out about Sirius’ community service? Did it embarrass him?

The class of Gryffindors and Slytherins continued chattering in. Ron and Hermione sat on either side of Harry. Sirius recognized a few of those in Harry’s year, especially the Gryffindor students. But Draco Malfoy, with his platinum blond hair stuck out like a sore thumb. So many of his soft features he had gotten from his mother.

Once the class was all seated, Professor Lockhart cleared his throat to silence them, standing on the stairs leading to his office. “Allow me to introduce your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher: me!” He gave a wink, making many of the young ladies swoon. “Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner… of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award.” He demonstrated the smile for them. “But I won’t talk about that. I didn’t get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!”

He laughed at his own joke, but only a few students smiled weakly.

Having seen this introduction four times already and will surely see it another eight times, the reaction is always the same.

“You’ve all gotten the complete set of my books. Well done, well done. Now, I thought we’d start today with a little quiz.”

The students groaned.

“Nothing to worry about—just to check how well you’ve read up on the literature, how much has sunk in… but first, allow me to introduce my teaching assistant who will help me with your course. Make sure you mind your manners around him. He’ll be the one grading your papers!” Lockhart laughed again as the students looked on in confusion.

Sirius stepped to the front of the class, causing a few gasps.

“Sirius?” Harry asked from the back of the class, but seemed to immediately regret his outburst as Lockhart’s eyes locked onto him.

“Precisely! Sirius Black. Now, I know many of you already recognize Mister Black, but I’m excited for you to get to know him further as he assists in our classes.” He led the class in a round of applause.

“Thank you. As Professor Lockhart said, I am Sirius Black. Order of Merlin, second class.” He hadn’t mentioned his Order of Merlin in any of the previous classes, not thinking it was necessary to upstage Lockhart. But he figured Harry would get a chuckle out of it. “I, er , had seen the lackluster tutelage of your Defense teacher last term, and I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t help you all this year. I look forward to getting to know you all and assisting you as much as I can.” He flashed a brief smile before handing out the test papers. “ Hi, lad… ” he said when he reached the last table with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

“Sirius, what’re you doing here?” Harry whispered. “What happened last night?”

“I’ll tell you all about it later—Class, you’ll have thirty minutes!” Sirius announced. “Answer as many as you can as best you can. If you finish early, please turn it in to me.”

“You may begin!” chirped Lockhart.

Sirius sat behind his desk as Gilderoy meandered through the desks, looking over each student’s shoulder. One by one the kids turned in their exams for Sirius to grade. If there was one thing he wouldn’t do, it was mark them all by hand. Very early during the first period, Sirius charmed a quill with the correct answers to grade them for him.

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the remaining papers, handed them to Sirius, took the graded quizzes, and rifled through them in front of the class.

“Tut, tut—hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac! I say so in Year with a Yeti . And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully—I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples—though I wouldn’t say no to a large bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey!’

He gave them another roguish wink and laughed. 

Ron was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face. Harry shook his head and rested it behind his stack of books. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, sitting in the front row, were shaking with silent laughter. Draco Malfoy was looking at Pansy Parkinson, the Slytherin girl he sat with, unsettled by how hard she laughed at his joke.

Lockhart sat on the edge of his grand wooden desk, continuing to flip through the papers.

“…But Miss Hermione Granger was the only one who knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my range of hair-care potions. Good girl!” He shot her a wink that made Sirius’ blood boil. Lockhart turned over Hermione’s quiz and saw she’d gotten them all correct. “In fact… full marks! The first one today! Excellent! Quite excellent! Ten points for Gryffindor!”

Gilderoy hopped up from the desk. “And now, to business…!” He ran behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.

This was new. In his previous classes, Lockhart went through the answers, shared anecdotes behind them, and shoved his books down their throats.

“I’ve been waiting to unveil this all day! And thanks to Miss Granger, I finally can. A little treat for you all!” Another grin. “Now, be warned! It’s my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizards! You will face your worst fears in this room… Recognize that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain… calm… ”

This had certainly gotten Sirius’ curiosity, if not his attention. He rose from behind his desk to get a closer look, wand ready. Lockhart placed a hand on the shimmering blue cover. Dean and Seamus had stopped their laughing as poor Neville was cowering beside them. Even Harry raised his head to get a look.

“I must ask you not to scream,” said Lockhart in a low voice, now pointing his wand at the cage. “It might… provoke them!”

With a flourish, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

Inside the cage were half a dozen small electric blue critters about eight inches high with buzzing wings, pointed faces, and voices so shrill it was like listening to radio static. The moment he removed the cover, they started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and pulling bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

Seamus Finnigan couldn’t control himself. “Cornish Pixies?” He let out a snort of laughter which even Lockhart couldn’t mistake for a scream of terror.

Sirius let out his own chuckle and tucked his wand back into his pocket.

“Freshly caught Cornish Pixies! Yes, laugh if you will, Mister Finnigan, but pixies can be devilishly tricky little blighters. Now, let’s see what you make of them!” And he threw open the cage.

“Gilderoy, no!” Sirius shouted, but it was too late.

It was pandemonium.

The pixies rocketed in every direction. Two seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Students ducked under the desk or ran into the hall. Several shot straight through the windows, showering the room with broken glass. The rest wrecked the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. One particularly bothersome pixie single-handedly broke the chains holding the thestral skeleton to the ceiling, causing it to crash to the floor. They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, upended the waste bin, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed window. Within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks, and Neville swung from the chandelier on the ceiling.

“Come on now, round them up, round them up, they’re only pixies, after all…!” Lockhart shouted, a slight laugh in his voice. He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand and bellowed, “Peskipiksi Pesternomi!”

It had absolutely no effect; one pixie seized Lockhart’s wand and threw it out of the window. Lockhart gulped and dove under his own desk.

“That’s not a real spell!” Sirius retrieved his wand. “Damn it. Immobulus!”

At once, all the pixies froze in midair.

“Mobilicorpus!” As though held by invisible strings, Sirius guided each of the remaining pixies back into the cage. “You’re all, er, free to go,” he told the students, still cowering under their desks. “Class is over. Have an excellent dinner.” Harry caught his eye and Sirius nodded towards the door for him to head out as well.

As the students gathered themselves and their belongings and started leaving, Lockhart poked his head out from under his desk. “Oh! Oh, yes, yes! Wonderful job, all! Wonderful job. Remember to read up on your textbooks and I shall see all of your smiling faces next week!”

Sirius grumbled and tried to not roll his eyes too obviously. “Reparo.” With another flash of his wand, the classroom returned to its original state before the pixies tore through it.

“Perfect job, chap. Couldn’t have done it better myself.” Lockhart clapped Sirius on the back and put his hands on his hips in satisfaction.

“What were you thinking? Letting out pixies you had no control over?

“A test! To make sure you could handle things without me, of course! Couldn’t have you teaching these young, impressionable minds if you weren’t up to snuff.”

Before Sirius said anything he might regret, he turned to stomp out of the classroom before he nearly ran head-on into a pair of loafers. He looked up to see poor Neville, still dangling from the chandelier.

“Why does this always happen to me?” the boy squeaked.

Chapter Text

At dinner that night, Sirius Became royally unhinged.

Harry had never seen him looking so irate. Once Dinner began, Sirius devoured it like a hungry dog. This made sense, since Harry hadn’t seen him at breakfast or lunch. It wasn’t until they summoned the puddings that he left his seat at the head table and walked down the Gryffindor table to join Harry and his friends.

He made a brief stop to tell Ginny how proud he was of her for getting into Gryffindor and how excited he was to teach her Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Good thing he spoke to her first, because once he reached Harry, the questions from the Gryffindor first-years never ended.

“What’re you doing here?”

“What happened with Dumbledore?”

“Are you going to be here the whole year?”

“Are you going to Azkaban?”

“Why aren’t you teaching the course yourself?

“What did mum and dad say when you told them what we did?”

“Why Lockhart?”

“Are you and Lockhart friends now?”

“Can you give points?”

“Can you give us all the points?”

“Can you make sure we pass even if we don’t study?”

“Will you show us how to cast spells?”

Sirius did his best to answer all of their questions, though Harry could tell there were some things he wasn’t being entirely truthful about. Once he answered most of their questions as well as they could be, Sirius told them he had to go draw up their next lesson plans so things don’t go the way they did today and bid them farewell.

Having Sirius working at the castle filled Harry’s heart. Not only was his godfather going to be close by, he wouldn’t be going to prison, and they might actually learn Defense!

Professor Quirrell, last year’s Defense teacher, had other things on his mind—literally—and didn’t wind up teaching them much. Even if he did, because of Lord Voldemort being attached to his body, Harry got a searing pain in his scar whenever Quirrell turned his back, making it hard to focus. And this year, Harry shared Sirius’ trepidations about Lockhart’s abilities. He’d read none of Lockhart’s books before they got their set list and didn’t make it very far into the ones he started. Honestly, he couldn’t see what Hermione or Mrs. Weasley loved about the books, and after meeting the author himself, his opinion hadn’t improved.

⚝ ⚝ ⚝

Dear Tom,

I just finished my first day of classes!

That’s wonderful. How was it?

It’s a lot of work. I had Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Herbology, all in the afternoon. So I got to explore the castle all morning. It really is confusing.

I usually like Potions, but Professor Snape is horrible! I thought my brothers were making up how awful he is, but he is truly vile! He’s so mean he almost made a girl cry. I doubt you ever knew him since Sirius said they’re the same age, but you should be glad. I don’t think you’d like him very much even though he’s the head of Slytherin.

I’m sorry he’s so cruel; sometimes the best professors are. My Potions professor was also Head of Slytherin, but he was brilliant. I learned a lot from him, especially outside of the classroom.

Who is the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?

D.A.D.A. is being taught by Gilderoy Lockhart this year. He’s an author and mum LOVES him. She thinks he’s quite handsome and blushes when she looks at his pictures. We met him when we got our course books and I thought she’d faint. Hermione loves him too and thinks his books are brilliant, but I don’t see the appeal. He seems to like himself a lot. In fact, the first thing he did in class was give us a quiz all about him.

But guess what? Harry’s godfather is his teaching assistant this year!

I didn’t know professors had teaching assistants.

Neither did I, but mum and I spent a good deal of time with Sirius last year after Harry started classes. He’s a lot of fun and mum and dad said he’s fantastic at magic. I bet he’ll help me learn a lot like your Potions professor helped you.

Speaking of Harry, you’ll never believe what he did! Instead of taking the Hogwarts Express, he flew to school on a motorbike with Sirius and Ron! The school went crazy once everyone heard and there was a party in the common room all night!

That sounds like quite the adventure the Boy Who Lived went on. Dangerous.

Were they expelled?

No, but they got into trouble. I overheard Ron saying they got detention. That’s why Sirius is Lockhart’s assistant. I think they want him to keep a closer eye on Harry, but I’m not sure yet.

And how did the Sorting go?

I hope you aren’t too upset, but the Hat put me into Gryffindor. Mum and dad are so pleased. But you were right, I was scared for nothing. It was just an old hat and some old wizards.

Anyway, I’m sorry I can’t talk as long as I normally do, but I need to get some sleep.

I promise to tell you more as soon as I can!

~ ~ ~

Harry awoke the next day, dreading what was to come.

Their first class of the day was double Potions with Professor Snape and the Slytherins.

The Potions Master was still very much annoyed that Harry and Ron escaped punishment. He did all he could to set them up to fail and deducted points from Gryffindor students for any minor thing. Seamus’ shoe squeaked on the floor while grabbing his cauldron, three points from Gryffindor. Hermione answered three questions in a row correctly, five points from Gryffindor. Lavender and Parvati were discussing the fire-protection potion they were brewing and lost another two points. Harry, Ron, and Neville (who Snape hated almost as much as Harry) got points docked just for breathing, it seemed.

Trembling through his potion, Neville knocked his bowl of wartcap powder cubes onto the floor. But before Snape had the chance to inflict his wrath onto him, Millicent Bullstrode from Slytherin, who’d been walking past, claimed it was her fault. Telling Snape her sleeve had caught on the bowl when she wasn’t paying attention and knocked it over. Snape looked at her with his dark eyes and Harry couldn’t tell if he believed her or not. Either way, it saved Neville from facing Snape’s abuse, but he still took away four points for Neville keeping his supplies so close to the edge of the table.

By the end of class, they’d lost their house 49 points. The only Gryffindor that hadn’t lost points was Sally-Anne Perks, who they think Snape had forgotten about as she worked alongside Slytherin Stephanie Cornfoot.

Their last class of the morning and the rest of the day was Charms with the Hufflepuff students. Harry introduced Ron to Ernie MacMillan while Justin and Hermione geeked out over Gilderoy Lockhart. Ernie was in the same boat as Ron and Harry, not understanding the fanfare around the new professor, especially after they told him what happened at the end of their first class.

“What a git! He didn’t do anything like that with us. We took the quiz all about him—Justin got the highest score. Then Lockhart went on about how he fought off a mummy in Egypt for the rest of class. He did mention something about a spoiled surprise, but I don’t think anyone cared to bring it up again. I like his teaching assistant, though. That’s your godfather, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, they forced him into it so he wouldn’t get in trouble for flying us to school.”

“Oof. hard luck. I think I’d take my chances with the Dementors than have to work with Lockhart.

“You and me both.”

Hermione, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to ask what Justin Finch-Fletchley thought of his first D.A.D.A. class. Harry couldn’t understand most of what they said because they were both speaking at the same time. He didn’t know how they could even comprehend what the other person was saying.

Their discussion lasted until Professor Flitwick had to clear his throat for the class to settle down. Normally, Hermione was silent and ready for class to begin minutes before the professors were, even shushing Harry and Ron when they’d ask her something.

“Ahem! Good morning, class!” squeaked the miniscule Professor Flitwick. He was the Charms professor and the Head of Ravenclaw. Perhaps the shortest man Harry’s ever met, he had to stand on a stack of books just to see over his desk. He was an excellent teacher who brought a sense of excitement to everything he taught, even the most basic charms. Not to mention an avid quidditch fan, the school choir director, and a retired professional duelist.

After taking attendance, Professor Flitwick began his instruction on casting the Counter-Curse spell.

“A markedly useful spell to have in your spellbook. It terminates all spell effects. Its uses range from duels to basic domestic life; you’ll never know when magic might go awry, but knowing how to dispel it can make all the difference. I’ll be starting you all with the basic counter-spell and we will progress through the next few weeks to a broader, more powerful version. Please open your textbooks to Chapter One: It Pays to Increase your Spell Power.”

Ron’s wand continued malfunctioning and when the time came for them to practice counter-spells, it shot out of Ron’s hand and hit Professor Flitwick square between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck.

⚝ ⚝ ⚝

Dear Tom,

My first week is over! Well, sorta… 

We started on Wednesday this year, so I haven’t met all of my teachers yet. I still haven’t gone to Astrology or Transfiguration.

My first Transfiguration class is on Monday and it’s a double class.

I’m embarrassed to say that I’m a little nervous about it. Not because of the class, not even Bill or Percy could transfigure anything on their first day, and they’re the smartest ones in the family. But everyone says Professor McGonagall is very strict. She’s the head of Gryffindor house and takes it very seriously. I feel like I shouldn’t be as scared as I am, though. Everyone that says she’s strict also adores her; even Fred and George, and they love causing mischief.

You shouldn’t be nervous, Ginny.

Your brothers are right. Transfiguration can be difficult. It was the subject I had the most difficulty with, but in time I could conjure anything.

I also had my share of stern professors in my time. It’s important to remember that the subject is more important than the teacher’s opinion of you. I suppose you could apply that to your vile Professor Snape, too.

I know. I just hope I can impress her the way my brothers and parents have. I don’t care about impressing Snape.

Have you been making friends?

Sorta… The girls in my dorm are nice enough, but we don’t seem to have much in common. I like quidditch and reading and practicing spells; but they don’t care about quidditch except to talk about which players they think are fit and only ever want to talk to me about Harry.

I don’t want to talk to them about Harry though… I knew him first… and some of them are prettier than me…

I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit again, Ginny.

You’re an extraordinary young lady, I’m sure you’ll get Harry Potter’s attention by the year’s end. No doubt in my mind.

~ ~ ~

After Charms, the Gryffindor students were free to spend their afternoon however they wished.

They had no classes until Sunday night when they had their first Astronomy course and were determined to make the most of it. After their first week, their professors, except Sprout, wasted no time in giving them homework. From how they acted, you would’ve thought the students were already weeks behind.

McGonagall and Flitwick asked for notes from their textbooks while Snape wanted a two-foot essay on the fire-protection potion and their lab notes. None of them were sure if Professor Lockhart wanted them to read his books as homework, but they agreed reading through them all in a weekend wasn’t possible, especially since he didn’t explicitly tell any of his classes to do so.

Not even Sirius was sure if they had homework or not.

Ron had his first meeting of the revitalized Chess Club on Friday evening. He said it was a lot of fun once he got to play against some of the older students. According to him, they were the only ones good enough to actually make him think, but he always beat them, too. Despite his pressuring for them to join, Harry and Hermione politely declined.

Harry didn’t get to enjoy his free time as much as the others. His head was constantly on a swivel. To avoid Lockhart’s ‘wing’, Harry jumped behind suits of armor, into empty classrooms, or down corridors whenever he saw Gilderoy Lockhart approaching. More than a few times, the eager Colin Creevey nearly blew his cover by popping out to talk. The excitable boy wouldn’t be half as annoying as he was if it weren’t for him almost getting caught by Lockhart.

Hedwig was still angry with Harry after their disastrous bike ride, even after bringing her Eeylops treats. He wanted to send Andromeda a letter about his first week, and it took a lot of bribing before Hedwig accepted the envelope.

Hagrid even invited the trio to tea on Saturday to continue the tradition started last year.

However, the other reason he couldn’t enjoy his long weekend with the others woke him up several hours earlier than he would have liked. With the sun barely over the horizon, Oliver Wood shook Harry awake.

“Whassamatter?” said Harry groggily, squinting into the dark.

“Quidditch practice!” said Wood. “Come on! Up yeh get!”

“Ollie,” croaked Harry, “it’s the crack of dawn…” He rolled over and shoved his head under his pillow.

“Exactly,” Wood ripped the pillow away and threw it across the room. His eyes were gleaming with mad enthusiasm, the way it only did when he talked about quidditch. “Got a new training program this year. Come on, grab yer broom and le’s go. None o’ the other teams would’a started trainin’ yet. We’re gettin’ an early jump on ‘em this year…”

Yawning and shivering in the chilly morning dorm, Harry reluctantly climbed out of his bed, barely able to keep his eyes open as he tried to remember where his quidditch robes were.

“Good man.” Wood stood with his hands on his hips, full of self-satisfaction. “Meet yeh on th’ pitch in fifteen minutes.” He strutted out of the dorm room door, leaving Harry to get dressed.

After he found his scarlet and white uniform, he threw it on as his head continued to droop. Before leaving, he scribbled out a note to Ron, so they knew where he’d gone this time, and dragged his feet down the spiral staircase to the common room, leaning onto his Nimbus Two Thousand like a walking stick. He’d just reached the portrait hole when there was a loud scramble behind him and Colin dashed down from the dorms. His camera swung madly around his neck.

“Wotcher, Harry! I heard someone sayin’ your name on the stairs! Look what I’ve got! I just had it developed and couldn’t wait to show you—!”

Harry looked bemusedly at the photograph Colin brandished under his nose. A moving, sepia-toned Lockhart was tugging hard on an arm Harry recognized as his own. It pleased him that his photographic self put up a good fight and refused to be dragged into view. As Harry watched, Photo-Lockhart gave up and slumped, panting, against the white edge of the picture.

“Will you sign it?” Colin asked eagerly.

“No.”

This made Colin visibly deflate.

Feeling guilty, he quickly glanced around to confirm the common room remained deserted. Harry sighed. “I’m barely in that one. How’s this? We take a quick one together and I’ll sign it?”

“Really?”

“But just this once! I don’t like pictures and autographs, especially when other people are around. I’m just Harry, I’m not a celebrity.”

“Sure, Harry! You’re the best!”

“Yeah… right, come on.” Taking the camera from Colin, Harry reached out as far as he could to make sure both of them were in frame, grinned, and snapped a picture.

“That was awesome! I’ll bring it back as soon as it’s developed! I’m gonna do it right now if you wanna wait!”

“Can’t. Sorry, Colin, but I’ve gotta get down to the quidditch pitch. I’ll be late for training.” Without waiting, Harry climbed through the portrait hole.

“Oh wow! Wait for me! I’ve never watched a quidditch game before!” Colin threw himself through the hole after him.

“It’s not a game. It’s training. It’ll be really boring.”

Colin ignored him, his face beaming with excitement. “I heard you were the youngest house player in a century. Is that true?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“You must be brilliant! I’ve never flown before. Is it scary? How easy is it?”

“It’s not scary once you get used to it. I’ve been flying since I was little, so it’s no big deal. Your flying lessons should start next week. I’m sure you’ll catch on quick.”

“Is that your broom? Is that the best there is?”

“It is, and it is—or, it was. It’s a Nimbus two thousand, last year’s model, they came out with a new one this year that I suppose is better. But it’s the rider, not the broomstick, that makes it the best. Plenty of pro-quid—professional quidditch—seekers catch the snitch on ‘slower’ brooms than their opponent.”

“You know, I don’t really understand quidditch,” said Colin breathlessly. “I’m more of a football fan, Liverpool. I don’t understand how there are four different balls and two of them are there to knock people off their brooms?”

“Yeah, they’re called bludgers. Each team has two beaters. Ours are the twins Fred and George Weasley. They carry bats to beat the bludgers away from our side to slow down the other team.”

“What about the other balls?” Colin asked, tripping down a few steps because he was gazing open-mouthed at Harry, who had to catch him.

“Then there’s the quaffle—the biggish red one—that’s like our football except we can hold it, it’s the one we score goals with. Each team has three chasers, ours are Angelina and Alicia in fourth-year and Katie in third-year. They’re brilliant on the pitch. Their job is to pass the quaffle between them to get it past the other team’s keeper—their goalie—through one of the three goalpost hoops at the end of the pitch.”

“The last ball is the most important. The Golden snitch. It’s tiny, quick, and very difficult to catch. It’s the Seeker’s— my —job to catch it before the other team’s seeker does, or block them if our team’s behind. The game doesn’t end until the snitch is caught and whichever team catches it gets extra points. In pro-quid, the snitch gets you a hundred and fifty points, but in school-quid it’s only worth fifty. McGonagall will also cut school matches if they go on too long; it almost happened last year during our Yuletide—holiday—game against Hufflepuff.”

“Wow! Is there a football club at the school? quidditch sounds great, but I love football.”

“No,” Harry said, as if it was a ridiculous notion. “But I guess you could ask Dean Thomas, he’s in my year, about starting one. He’s a big West Ham fan, I prefer Chelsea myself. I’m sure there are a lot of muggle-borns that would like a football club.”

Colin continued asking questions and raving about the new Premier League all the way out of the castle and down the sloping lawns to the quidditch pitch, and Harry only shook him off when they got to the changing rooms.

“Only players are allowed in,” Harry lied, having dealt with more talk this early than he ever had.

“Okay!” Colin chirped. “I’ll go get a good seat, Harry! I’ll take loads of pictures to show you later!” And he ran off to the stands.

The rest of the Gryffindor team was already in the changing room. Other than Harry, Wood was the only person who looked truly awake. But Harry doubted it was because he had an over-caffeinated first-year talking his ear off through the castle. Fred and George were puffy-eyed with messy bedheads. Beside them was Alicia Spinnet, nodding off against the wall behind her until she snapped back awake. The other chasers—Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson—yawned widely, leaning against each other.

“There you are, Harry, what kept you?” Wood asked briskly as Harry took a seat. “Now, I wanted to go over this with you all before we actually got onto th’ pitch. I spent the entire summer devising a whole new training program I think’ll make all the difference…”

“When you weren’t spending time with Perce!” Fred piped up, before nodding off again.

“Shut up.” Wood held up a diagram of a quidditch pitch, covered with lines, arrows, and crosses in different colored markers. He pulled his wand from his boot and tapped the board, causing the arrows to shift and move like wasps. As Ollie launched into his well-rehearsed speech about the new tactics, Fred’s head drooped right onto Alicia’s shoulder and he began snoring.

The first board took nearly twenty minutes to explain by itself, but there was another board under that, and a third under that one.

“Now, Harry,” Wood said.

Harry, who’d sunk into a stupor that threatened to put him back to sleep the more the lecture droned on and on, jerked suddenly awake as Wood addressed him specifically.

“You’re a damn good Seeker, but a big problem from last year is you’re too focused on seeking.”

“Y-yeah…” George yawned. “That’s his whole thing.”

“I mean, I don’t want a repeat of last season. Need you to keep an eye on the score, if we’re down by fifty, you need to transition to blocking and distracting instead of seeking. Keep the other Seeker from catching the snitch until we can catch up.”

Harry slumped into his seat, again reminded of his grave error that lost them the second match against Slytherin last year.

“So, any questions?”

“Yeah, I got a question, Ollie,” said George, who’d woken with a start. “Why’s it you couldn’t have told us all this yesterday while we were awake?”

Wood wasn’t pleased.

“All we’re sayin’ is we could’ve been on the pitch right now if you had…” added Fred.

“Now, listen here, lads—”

“And lasses…” Angelina muttered drowsily.

“And lasses,” Wood grumbled, glowering at them all. “We should’ve had the quidditch Cup in th’ bag last year. We’re far and away the best team at Hogwarts right now. But because of circumstances out of my—our—control…”

His eyes found Harry again. He’d been unconscious in the hospital wing during the quidditch Finals, causing them to forfeit the match, allowing Slytherin to take the Cup.

He wanted to say, “you’re welcome for stopping Voldemort from coming back.” But Harry didn’t.

“Anyway… this year, we won’t have any Dark Lords coming back from the dead. We’re gonna train harder than ever before and we’re going to sweep the other houses. Alright, let’s get out there and put it together!” Wood shouted, seizing his broomstick and charging out of the changing rooms.

Groaning, yawning, and stiff-legged, the rest of the team followed.

They had been in the changing room for so long the sun was now well above the hills. As Harry flew out onto the pitch, he saw Ron and Hermione in the stands and hovered near them.

“Aren’t you finished yet?” Ron called out incredulously.

“We haven’t even started! Throw me one.” Harry held out his hand and Ron tossed him a piece of toast they’d brought from the Great Hall. “Wood had us in the changing room going over new tactics.”

“Oi, what’s that clicking sound?” called Fred from the center of the pitch.

Harry spun on his broom, looking through the stands for the source. In one of the highest seats, Colin had his camera raised, taking picture after picture. The sound magnified in the empty stadium.

“Harry!” He waved. “Look over here!”

“Who’s that?” Fred asked, flying over to Harry.

“First-year,” Harry grumbled.

“What’s goin’ on?” asked Wood as he skimmed through the air towards them. “Who’s that takin’ pictures? I don’ like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, tryin’ to find out our tactics.”

“He’s a Gryffindor,” Harry said quickly. “And he doesn’t know anything about quidditch. I was late because he wouldn’t stop asking questions about how it was played.”

“Besides, the Slytherins don’t need a spy, Ollie,” George said.

“And why’s that?”

“Because they came to watch themselves.” George pointed to the changing rooms where several people in green robes were walking onto the pitch with broomsticks in their hands.

“I don’t believe it!” Wood slammed his hand against his broom. “Oi, Flint!” he shot towards the ground, landing harder than he meant to. Harry and the twins followed. “Flint!” Oliver bellowed at the Slytherin captain. “I booked the pitch for today, you bloated toadstool! I got my team up early for it!”

The commotion had gotten the girls’ attention, and they flew over, too. The Slytherin team had no girls, just the dumbest and strongest blokes they could find.

Marcus Flint was built like a brick wall with legs. “Easy, Wood. I’ve got a note.” He passed Oliver a scroll stamped with green wax.

Rolling his eyes, Oliver snatched the note and broke the seal. “I, Professor Severus Snape, do hereby give the Slytherin team permission to use the quidditch Pitch to practice today, owing to the need to train their new Seeker.” He looked up from the parchment. “My arse you’ve got a new seeker. Who?”

Flint and the other five large players stepped aside, allowing a seventh, smaller boy to step out with a smirk on his pale, pointed face.

“Malfoy?” Harry asked in amazement.

“And that’s not all that’s new this year, Potter.”

The rest of the Slytherin team smiled broadly and all seven of them held out their broomsticks. In their hands were highly polished, brand-new handles, each with gold lettering reading: “Nimbus Two Thousand and One” and numbered one through seven. The dark wood gleamed silver in the early-morning sun.

“The newest model. Came out just this month.” Flint carelessly flicked a speck of dust from the end of his handle. “They say it outranks the old Two Thousand series considerably. As for Comets and Cleansweeps…” He smiled with crooked teeth at the twins and Oliver, who had Comet 260s and a Cleansweep Five respectfully. “Oh, look. A pitch invasion.”

Ron and Hermione had raced out of the stands and were crossing the grass towards them.

“What’re you doing here?” Ron called, scowling at Malfoy in his brand new quidditch robes.

“I’m the new Slytherin seeker, Weasley,” said Malfoy, smugly. “We were showing off our new brooms.”

Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him. “Those are Nimbus Two Thousand Ones! How’d you get those?”

“With money, Weasley! ” Malfoy snapped. “You see, unlike some, my father can afford the best!”

“Now turn around and say it to me,” said Fred. “I dare you.”

Malfoy glared and trembled, sheltering himself with the wall of larger Slytherin players.

“A gift from Draco’s father,” Flint said.

“At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,” said Hermione sharply. “They all got in on pure talent.”

Draco glared at her in annoyance, taking a few steps towards her until they were an arm’s length away. Alicia landed to stand behind her as he approached.

“No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood!” he spat.

Then everything went black.

When Harry came to in a daze, his heart was pounding in his ringing ears. He had balled his hands into fists, trembling. The knuckles on his right were bright red and dotted with blood. Malfoy had doubled over on the ground; blood poured from his nose as tears streamed down his face. Ollie had his forehead pressed against Flint’s as they shouted and poked their fingers into the other’s chest. Angelina and Katie were screaming at the Slytherin team as they held back Fred and George from starting a brawl. Alicia and Hermione were beside Harry but he couldn’t hear what they were asking.

“What?” he asked, and his hearing returned to him all at once, releasing a cacophony of screams.

“I asked if you were okay.”

“Yeah, I’m good… what happened?”

Alicia gave him a worrisome look, but before she could speak, Ron shoved her and Harry aside. Draco gathered himself and pointed his wand at Harry.

Before Malfoy could cast anything, Ron whipped out his wand and shouted, “Eat slugs, Malfoy! Slugulus Eructo!”

A loud bang echoed through the stadium and a flood of gray light shot out of the crack in Ron’s wand, hitting him square in the stomach and sending him reeling backwards.

“Ron!” Harry and Hermione ran to his side.

“Ron! Ron, are you alright?” Hermione squealed.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he retched and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap.

The Slytherin team glared at them and laughed, but chose not to continue the fight. Flint helped Malfoy to his feet. Draco spat blood onto the ground next to Harry as the Slytherin team pulled him away.

Oliver also stormed off the pitch.

The rest of the Gryffindors huddled around Ron, who continued vomiting large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him.

“We better get him to Hagrid’s,” Harry told the others. “He’s the closest.” With George’s help, Harry pulled Ron up by his arms.

“I’ll tell Madam Pomfrey,” Katie said and flew off towards the castle.

“What happened, Harry?” Colin had run down from his seat, still snapping pictures. “Is he ill? What’s wrong with him? I’ve never seen anyone puke slugs before!” He ran alongside them as they carried Ron off the pitch. With a huge heave, more slugs dribbled onto Ron’s shirt.

“Gross!” Colin said with morbid fascination, raising his camera. “Can you hold him still?”

“Get out of the way, Colin!” Harry said angrily.

George and Harry each had one of Ron’s arms thrown over their shoulders as they dragged him across the grounds to Hagrid’s hut. Fred and Hermione were chasing behind. Angelina and Alicia volunteered to take all of their brooms back to their dorms and tell McGonagall what happened before the Slytherins changed the narrative.

Hermione did her best to soothe Ron as he turned veritably green and pale. “Nearly there, Ron.” She wrung her hands as the cabin came into view. “You’ll be alright, not much farther.”

Even with Madam Pomfrey on the way, Hagrid was no healer, and Ron needed help quickly.

“Padfoot!” Harry held up his Marauders ring. “Ron’s spell backfired. He’s really sick! We need you to come to Hagrid’s hut!”

“I’m on my way!” Sirius responded urgently.

They were within twenty feet of Hagrid’s house when the front door opened, but it wasn’t Hagrid who emerged. Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing robes of palest mauve today, came striding out.

Harry shouted a word starting with ‘F’ that Sirius heard through the ring and reprimanded him for.

“Quick, hide!” Harry dragged Ron behind a nearby bush with Fred and George. Hermione joined them, but it was obvious her heart wasn’t in it. Fluffy bounded over to them and almost gave away their location as they huddled behind a bush. Luckily, the giant dog thought they were playing a game and hid his heads behind the bush, though he remained very visible.

“So simple once you know what you’re doing!” Lockhart said loudly to Hagrid. “But if you ever need help, you know where I’ll be! Oh, and I’ll send down a copy of my book—I’m shocked you haven’t already got the set! I know you’ll love Year with the Yeti. I’ll sign a copy for you. Ta-ta, Mister Hagrid!” He strode away towards the castle.

Harry made them wait until Lockhart was well out of sight before they dragged Ron up to Hagrid’s door and knocked urgently.

“Wha’ now?”

Hagrid threw open the door, looking very grumpy, but brightened when he saw who it was.

“Bin wonderin’ when you lot were gonna come see me! Bit early, ain’t it? What’s eatin’ him?” he asked, noticing Ron’s affliction.

“Curse backfired,” said Harry as they pushed past Hagrid. They set him down as Hagrid grabbed him a large bucket and Harry held his Marauder ring up to his mouth again. “Padfoot, keep an eye out. Lockhart was visiting Hagrid, and he’s on his way back up to the school.”

“That’s it, Ron. Better out than in,” said Hagrid.

Hermione sat beside him and rubbed his back as he continued hurling. “I don’t know if there’s a way to stop it…” she said anxiously. “But Sirius and Madam Pomfrey will be here soon and they’ll know what to do.”

“Yeah, the slug-vomiting hex is hard to cast on a good day,” George said.

“But with a broken wand…” Fred grit his teeth.

Bustling around his kitchen, Hagrid prepared their tea. His large boarhound, Fang, slobbered over Harry’s thigh.

“What was Lockhart doing here?” asked Harry, scratching behind Fang’s ears.

Hagrid scoffed. “Givin’ me advice on gettin’ kelpies out of a well,” growled Hagrid, pushing a half-plucked rooster off his table and setting down the teapot. “Like I ain’t bin doin’ it since before he got the first tooth in that fake smile o’ his. Then he kept bangin’ on about some banshee he banished.”

“He was only trying to help, Hagrid,” Hermione said. “You should read his books. They tell you all about what he’s done.”

“Says he’s done—HRRK—” Ron chipped in before promptly burying his head in the bucket.

“Right. If there’s one word in them books tha’s true, I’ll eat my kettle.”

It was most unlike Hagrid to criticize a Hogwarts teacher, and Harry looked at him in surprise. He was one of the few to defend Professor Snape and even Professor Quirrell last year (when they still thought he was just a fearful man with a stutter, before the whole Voldemort bit came out).

Hermione, however, said in a voice somewhat higher than usual, “I think you’re all being unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job—”

Before Hagrid could muster a response, his door burst open. Sirius came in like a rocket and was at Ron’s side. “What happened? What spell was it?”

“Slug-vomiting hex,” the twins answered in unison, and Ron vomited a few more slugs.

Sirius grimaced. “Boys, hurry to the kitchens and get a plate of treacle fudge. It’ll fix him in no time.”

The twins shot towards the door, but Hagrid stopped them. “No need. I got some here. My special recipe.” From his ice chest, he retrieved a plate of treacle fudge and offered the plate to Ron, looking pale and sweaty, but took a hesitant bite. He looked as though biting through would break his teeth.

Rubbing Ron’s back, Sirius said, “Good lad, keep eating, you’ll start feeling better.”

“Should we get him to the hospital wing?” asked Hermione. “Katie went to get Madam Pomfrey, we can meet her halfway.”

Sirius shook his head. “Pomfrey seemed to have her hands full when I passed by. The Slytherin lads were acting hysterical. But Ron’ll be getting better soon.”

Ron then threw up three more slugs.

“Who was he trying to curse, anyway?”

“Malfoy,” Harry spat.

“Of course. What happened this time?”

“Ollie woke us up for quidditch practice early this morning to go over some new strategies he thought up and as we were about to run them, the Slytherin team showed up. Malfoy’s their new seeker because his dad bought them all new broomsticks—Nimbus Two Thousand Ones—things got heated and… Malfoy called Hermione a Mudblood!”

“He didn’!” Hagrid growled, looking outraged.

“He did!” the boys all said in unison.

Disappointment washed over Sirius.

“I don’t remember what happened after that,” said Harry. “Next thing I know, my fists were shaking, Draco was on the ground bleeding, and the rest of the team was about to brawl.”

“I’ll tell you what happened,” Fred said. “You laid Malfoy out so hard, his kids’ll feel it!” He threw a hard punch into the air to demonstrate.

“It was beautiful!” George pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. “Really put your weight behind it, Potter.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “No, I’ll tell you what happened.” She walked over to sit beside Harry, taking his bruised hand in hers, making his face warm. “You stood up for me. Even though I didn’t know what that word meant. I mean, I know it must be rude, but…”

“It’s about the most insulting thing he could think of,” gasped Ron, coming back up. He already looked much better as he took another bite of fudge. “Mudblood’s a foul name for a witch or wizard that’s muggle-born, ones with two non-magic parents.” 

Sirius, patted Ron’s back and took over as his head dipped back into the bucket. “There are some wizards—like Malfoy’s family… and most of mine—who think they’re better than everyone else because they’re ‘pure-bloods’.”

“Inbred, more like,” George laughed.

“Blood status was a big reason for the last wizarding war. Being a pure-blood means they are a wizard, bred by wizards. No drop of muggle blood to… taint theirs.”

“But you shouldn’t listen to Malfoy, Mione,” Fred said. “I mean, the rest of us know it doesn’t matter if your parents are magic or not.”

“Yeah, look at Neville—poor bloke’s got ’pure’ blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron up the right way.”

“Weasleys are as pure-blooded as they come and we’re still rolling around in the dirt,” Ron's voice echoed from inside the bucket, making his brothers laugh.

“An’ they haven’t invented a spell our Hermione can’t do,” said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione turn a brilliant shade of magenta.

“It’s a disgusting thing to call someone,” said Sirius. “And I better not catch any of you saying it.” He poured himself a cup of dark tea. “Dirty blood,” he scoffed. “Common blood… asinine. Most wizards are half-bloods, Harry, for example. His mum, Lily, was muggle-born and utterly brilliant. See, what these blood supremacists forget is if we hadn’t married muggles, wizards would’ve all died out centuries ago. It’s one of the few exceptions to the Statute of Secrecy for a reason. You think wizards are behind the times now? Imagine a wizarding world without muggle influence. No Daily Prophet, no Hogwarts Express, no indoor plumbing. You become so reliant on magic that there’s no reason to solve problems any other way.”

“Well, I don’ blame yeh one bit fer tryna curse ‘im, Ron,” Hagrid said. “Prolly fer the best it backfired, though. After what Harry’s done, I ‘spect Lucius Malfoy’ll be marchin’ up ter school to have words with Dumbledore.”

“We’re not worried about Lucius Malfoy.” Sirius sipped his tea. “Let him march.”

“Wait a minute—Harry!” said Hagrid suddenly, struck by a sudden thought. “Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. Ah heard you’ve bin handin’ out signed photos. How come I haven’t got one? Thought we were pals.”

“What?” Sirius almost spat out his tea.

“I am not giving out signed pictures!” Harry snapped, shooting to his feet. “If Lockhart’s telling people—”

He calmed down when he saw Hagrid and the others laughing.

“Ah, I’m only jokin’.” Hagrid patted Harry on the back and back into his chair. “I knew yeh weren’t the type. Told Lockhart yeh didn’ need teh. Yer more famous than 'im without tryin’.”

Sirius barked with laughter. “Bet he loved that.”

“Nah, I don’ think he did. After that I told ‘im I’d never read one of his li’l books an’ that’s when he decided ter head off. Hey, while yer all here, why don’t yeh come an’ see what I’m growin’.”

He led them out to the small vegetable patch behind his hut where a dozen of the largest pumpkins Harry had ever seen were growing. Each was the size of a boulder.

“Gettin’ on well, aren’t they?” Hagrid beamed. “Fer the Hallowe’en feast… should be more’n big enough by then. So long as there’re no trolls again.” He laughed, but there came an immediate tension between Harry and Sirius.

During the last Hallowe’en feast, Professor Quirrell, who was trying to create a distraction to steal the Philosopher’s Stone, let into the castle a mountain troll. Hermione, who Ron hurt with one of his insensitive comments, had locked herself in the girls’ toilets and was unaware of the rogue troll on the loose. While trying to warn her, the three of them wound up trapped in the bathroom with it and only through sheer luck did they manage knocking it out before it could kill them. While it was an exciting adventure, Sirius wasn’t pleased and didn’t talk to Harry for several weeks after. This was a time neither of them liked to remember. 

Hermione must’ve noticed this because she quickly said, “Goodness, Hagrid. What’ve you been feeding them?

Hagrid looked over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. “Just between us… I’ve bin given’ ‘em, yeh know, a bit o’ help.”

Leaning against the back wall of his cabin was Hagrid’s flowery pick umbrella. Harry smirked, knowing that Hagrid secretly concealed his old wand within it. A long time ago Hagrid was expelled from Hogwarts during his third year and forbidden from using magic. The Ministry ordered his wand destroyed. But in all the time Harry’s known him, Hagrid never said why they expelled him, nor did Harry ever tell anyone.

“An Engorgement Charm, Hagrid?” Fred asked.

“Totally wicked,” said George.

“You’ve done quite a good job on them,” Hermione added.

“That’s what you boys’ li’l sister said. Jus’ met her yesterd’y. Sweet girl.” Hagrid looked sideways at Harry with a sly grin beneath his beard. “Said she was havin’ a look ‘round the grounds, but I reckon she was hopin ter run inter a certain somebody at my house.” He shot Harry a wink. Sirius, the twins, and Ron laughed along with Hagrid. “If yeh ask me, she wouldn’ say no ter a signed—”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry growled. The twins started making kissy faces at him.

Ron snorted with laughter and sprayed the ground with slugs.

“Oi, watch it now!” Hagrid roared, pulling Ron away from his prized pumpkins.

After a few more bites of treacle tart, Ron was nearly back to his old self, except for a stray, small slug occasionally. It was nearly lunchtime and Harry was hungry after missing breakfast. They said goodbye to Hagrid and walked up to the castle, hoping they’ll get to eat before whatever punishment for fighting comes.

The twins, Ron, and Hermione led the way back while Harry hung back with Sirius, thinking about Malfoy and the Slytherins.

“I can see the gears turning in your head, son.” Sirius nudged him. “Your mum used to knit her eyebrows together the same way when she was thinking hard. What’re you thinking about?”

“I want to buy new brooms.”

“You know it’s the wizard that makes the broom, Harry. On your Two Thousand, you’ll still run laps around Draco—”

“Not just for me,” Harry interrupted. “I want new brooms for the whole Gryffindor team, just like Slytherin. The fastest ones available. You don’t have to get them. We can use the gold in my vault.”

“That’ll cost a lot of galleons.”

“I can afford it! You said if there’s ever something I want, I have my own money to get it. I want new brooms for the—”

“Harry, I wasn’t saying no.” Sirius smirked. “You think I’m going to let Lucius Malfoy throw his money around and not do the same?” He pulled Harry close to him and laughed. “Have I told you that Devlin Whitehorn, the creator of Nimbus brooms, was a Gryffindor? And I have a lot of friends that Malfoy lacks. I think we’ll be able to get a lot more than some brooms.”

They had barely set foot in the cool Entrance Hall when a voice rang out. “There you are, Potter, Weasley.” Professor McGonagall was walking towards them, looking stern. “I expect neither of you have forgotten about your detentions? You’ll be fulfilling them this evening and the next few Saturday evenings for you, Mister Potter. Tell of your quidditch pitch fisticuffs has spread far and wide, and I should not need to remind you that physical violence will not be tolerated.”

“We’ve discussed it, professor,” Sirius said, holding Harry’s shoulder.

“Good. I’m sure you have a few punishments of your own, Mister Black.”

“I think the detentions will suffice. Harry was standing up for Miss Granger after the young Mister Malfoy called her something that shouldn’t be repeated in civilized conversation. A certain blood-status term…”

Professor McGonagall’s mouth dropped.

“My thoughts exactly. So, I stand by my godson’s actions.”

Mouth still agape, McGonagall nodded. “Perhaps only next Saturday then, Potter. And I’ll be sure Mister Malfoy faces the same.”

“What’re we doing for our detention, Professor?” asked Ron.

“You, Mister Weasley, will assist Mister Filch in polishing the silver in the trophy room, and no magic—he was very particular about using elbow grease.”

Ron groaned pitifully. Argus Filch, a poltergeist and the school’s caretaker, was the bane of every student’s existence.

“And you, Potter, will help Professor Lockhart in his office.”

Harry’s eyes went wide. “Oh no—Professor, can’t I help in the trophy room, too?” asked Harry desperately.

“Certainly not.” Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows.

“Please! I’ll even let Mister Filch tie me to the ceiling or whatever he’s always saying.”

“Mister Potter! Professor Lockhart requested you specifically.”

“Professor,” Sirius intruded. “If I may, Professor Lockhart has taken a certain liking to Harry that he’s not comfortable with. Wants to mentor him personally. Is there nothing else he can do to complete his detention? I’d be more than happy to help Gilderoy in his place.”

“Would that I could, Sirius. But students aren’t allowed to choose their punishments. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen in the future. I’m sorry, Potter, you’re both expected at eight o’clock sharp.” She left in a flutter of robes.

Sirius gave him a pitying look before also heading into the Great Hall.

Harry and Ron slouched into the Great Hall in states of deepest gloom, Hermione behind them, wearing a well-you-did-break-school-rules sort of expression. Harry didn’t fancy his shepherd’s pie as much as he’d thought. Both he and Ron felt they’d got the worse deal.

“Filch’ll have me there all night!” Bemoaned Ron. “No magic! How is that not torture? There must be about a hundred cups in that room.” He slumped his head on the table. “I’m no good at muggle cleaning.”

“Wish we could swap places. I’d let Filch actually torture me if I didn’t have to spend hours alone with Lockhart and his ‘advice’.”

⚝ ⚝ ⚝

Dear Tom,

You’ll never believe what happened today.

What is it? Something with Harry Potter again?

Yes!

I told you he’s the youngest Gryffindor seeker in a century, right? He got on the team during his first year.

Yes, you told me he caught the snitch in less than five minutes. He sounds quite good. Have matches already started this year? Ours never started until October.

No, the season hasn’t started yet, but the Gryffindor captain, Oliver Wood, is rabid about it. At least, that’s what Fred and George say. He’s the one that’s close friends with Percy and visited over the Summer.

Anyway, he had the Gryffindor team out on the pitch for training before the sun even came up and went over all his new strategies for how they’re going to win the cup this year, but when they went out to actually practice them, the Slytherin team showed up!

Fred said Ollie was fuming! And the Slytherin captain acted like nothing was wrong! I don’t remember his name, but he’s an ugly boy with a bad cowlick and crooked teeth. I heard Harry and the twins say he looks like he’s got troll’s blood. And he always cheats when he plays! He said they got Snape’s permission to use the pitch to train their new seeker, Draco Malfoy!

Draco is such a bully. He thinks because his father is so rich, he can just do whatever he wants. That’s how he got onto the team in the first place. Everyone knows his dad bought the entire team brand new broomsticks so Draco could play. The whole team is full of cheaters. He’d never have gotten on otherwise.

But that’s not the exciting part. After the Slytherins came, the two teams started arguing, so Ron and Hermione came down from the stands to see what was going on. Draco called Hermione something absolutely vile, which made Harry punch that slimy git right in the nose! George said he was bleeding all over the grass and fell to the ground! Then Harry kept walloping him and even threw a few hexes at him! I wish I could’ve seen it!

When Draco finally got up, he was going to curse Harry with his back turned! But Ron fired first with the slug barfing jinx!

Unfortunately, he broke his wand when they crashed into the tree, so the jinx backfired and he got hit with it instead.

That’s unfortunate. He needs to get that wand fixed. It’s dangerous to practice magic with a broken wand. 

I know. And I’m sure he does, too. But I don’t think mum and dad can afford to get him a new wand. We could only get new things this year because Sirius offered to help. They won’t want to ask him to help buy Ron a new wand, too.

Well, hopefully he can figure something out.

What did Draco say that was so vile? I knew a Malfoy back in my time; you know. He wasn’t in my year, a few years younger, but he was in Slytherin and a good friend.

Well, if he was a good friend, obviously the apple fell very far from the tree, because Draco and his father are the worst! Professor Snape loves them if that gives you a hint at how horrible they are.

He called Hermione a Mudblood. It’s not only because he’s got a rich father, but because he’s a pure-blood too. He thinks that makes him so much better than anyone that isn’t. My dad says that his father sided with You-Know-Who during the war, and was one of his Death Eaters, but after they lost he claimed he was cursed into working for them against his will. But dad said that’s a lie.

Interesting. I know nothing about these Death Eaters… But I know all about blood purity. My father was a muggle, and my mother was a witch. My father abandoned my mother before I was born. I would’ve never learned magic at all without my mother. Don’t you think the Malfoys have a point?

No! They’re horrible! I’m pure-blood, too, and I don’t act like that.

If you’re a pure-blood, then surely you’ve noticed the difference then? The muggle-borns don’t understand our ways. They didn’t grow up like us and they want to change wizard culture. What’s wrong with how we’re doing things? Why do we have to change to make them comfortable? Why don’t they change to fit in with us?

There’s nothing wrong with being a pure-blood, Ginny. You should be proud to be one, just like Draco. It’s not fair that they get to come to Hogwarts and take the place of pure-blood sorcerers only because of their blood status. It took me a while to realize that my father’s muggle blood held back my magic. You don’t have that same hindrance. You could be a great witch, if only your teachers didn’t have to slow down your lessons to make up for the muggle-borns who could never understand.

I suppose you have a point… But I like some muggle-borns. Hermione is my friend, and she’s incredibly talented. She’s top of the class.

That’s because your professors favor the muggle-borns. Imagine what all you could learn otherwise. In fact, I think you and I have gotten really close and I think we’re friends now, too.

I think we’re friends, too. I’m so glad I have someone like you I can talk to.

I enjoy getting to talk to you, too, Ginny. You’re an incredibly young witch. Which is why I wanted to introduce you to one of my old friends that’s still at Hogwarts.

Really? That’s amazing! I’d love to!

~ ~ ~

The afternoon passed in the blink of an eye.

Now it was five til eight, and Harry dragged his feet towards Lockhart’s office. Gritting his teeth, and praying he would spontaneously combust, Harry knocked.

The door flew open at once. Lockhart beamed down at him, undoubtedly having stood behind the door until Harry arrived.

“Ah, there’s the scallywag! Come in, Harry, come in.”

Glowing on the walls by the light of many candles were countless framed photographs of Lockhart and next to none of anyone else. He had even signed a few of them. Another gigantic pile lay on his desk.

“Make yourself comfortable. You get to address the envelopes!” Lockhart said, as though this was a treat. “Oh, that first one’s to Gladys Gudgeon! Bless her, huge fan of mine. You can never forget your ‘Day Ones,’ Harry. They’re the ones who’ll stick with you through anything.”

The fast pace of today’s afternoon floated away, replaced by a sloth’s crawl. Lockhart signed the stacks of photographs with glee. “Harry, Harry, Harry. Could you possibly imagine a better way to serve detention than by helping me answer my fan mail?”

“Dying,” Harry muttered under his breath. “Being dead.”

“What’s that?”

“I said, not really.”

“I thought not. Could you imagine polishing trophies like your friend Ron?” He scoffed and laughed. “Fame is a fickle friend, Harry. Celebrity is as celebrity does. You’d do well to remember that.”

The candles burned lower and lower, making the light dance over the many moving faces of Lockhart watching him. Harry moved his aching hand over what felt like the thousandth envelope, writing out Veronica Smethley’s address.

It must be nearly time to leave, Harry thought miserably. Please let it be nearly time…

Then he heard something.

Something quite different from the spitting of dying candles and Lockhart’s prattle about his fans.

It was a third voice. One very different from their own. A voice chilling to the bone. A voice of breath-taking, ice-cold venom.

“Come… come to me… let me rip you… let me tear you… let me kill you…”

Harry gave a huge jump, and a large lilac blot appeared on Veronica Smethley’s street.

“What?” he exclaimed.

“I know! Six solid months at the top of the bestseller list! Broke all records!”

“No,” said Harry frantically. “That voice!”

“Sorry?” Lockhart looked puzzled. “What voice?”

“That—that voice that said— didn’t you hear it?”

Lockhart looked at Harry in high astonishment and leaned in. “You know, I heard a voice in my class a few days ago with your godfather. He didn’t hear anything either. What do you think it is?”

“I–I don’t know…”

“Hm… Great Scott! Look at the time, been at it for nearly four hours! Scary how time flies when having fun.”

Harry didn’t answer.

He was straining his ears to hear the voice again, but there was no sound now except for Lockhart telling him he mustn’t expect a treat like this every time he got detention. Feeling dazed, Harry left.

It was so late that the Gryffindor common room was almost empty. The brazier burned low. Harry went straight up to the dormitory. Ron still wasn’t back, but the others were asleep. Harry pulled on his pajamas, got into bed, and waited. Half an hour later, Ron arrived, nursing his right elbow and bringing a strong smell of polish into the darkened room.

“My muscles have all stuck,” he groaned, throwing Scabbers off his pillow and sinking into his bed. “Fourteen times he made me buff that stupid quidditch Cup before he was satisfied. And then I had another slug attack all over a Special Award for Services to the School. Took ages to clean the slime… How was it with Lockhart?”

Harry looked over at their sleeping roommates and pulled Ron onto his bed, shutting the curtains, and cast a silencing spell Sirius taught him.

Keeping his voice low so as not to wake Neville, Dean, and Seamus in case the spell didn’t work, Harry told Ron exactly what he had heard.

“And Lockhart said he couldn’t hear it?”

Harry could see Ron frowning in the moonlight.

“He said he heard something else a few days ago but didn’t say what, and he didn’t seem like he’d heard anything tonight. Trust me, anyone would react if they heard what I did.”

“But I don’t get it—even someone invisible would’ve had to open the door.”

“I know.” Harry laid back in his four-poster, staring at the canopy above him. “I don’t get it, either.”

Chapter Text

In no time, October arrived and with it came excitement for Opening Day.

But even faster came the sudden spate of colds and viruses amongst the staff and students. Madam Pomfrey brewed a Pepper-Up Potion that worked to cure them faster, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours after. Ginny was amongst the ones that became pale and sickly, but she quickly downed a dose when Percy asked her to. Steam poured from under her hair for the rest of the day, looking like her head was on fire.

Hermione had gotten a bad case the day before her thirteenth birthday on September nineteenth that left her a sneezing and feverous mess. Harry and Ron had to give her birthday gifts to Lavender and Parvati so they could bring them to their dorm for her. Harry had gotten Hermione a similar bookbag to the one he had that held all of his school supplies without ever getting heavier, while Ron got Professor Lockhart to sign each one of his books, trading his newly signed copies with Hermione’s. It was a few days before she was fully better and she nearly launched herself across the common room to hug them both.

Soon sunlight became a rarity, covered by a thick blanket of overcast clouds that led to days of rain thundering against the castle. The torrent caused the lake to rise; the flowerbeds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid’s pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds.

If there was anyone’s spirit the dreary weather and contagious plague could not dampen, it was Oliver Wood’s.

The scuffle on the quidditch pitch only strengthened his resolve for them to be the best team in Hogwarts history. He made the team play lower than usual, only a few meters from the ground, to avoid any peeping toms watching them train. It would have been a good idea if it hadn’t led to most of them clumsily falling into the mud before they could correct their brooms.

But not even the miserable conditions could hamper the electricity that flowed through the rest of the team when Sirius came down to the pitch one day during their training session.

“Sorry to interrupt your training, ladies and gents!” Sirius announced. “But if I could get you in the dressing room, please?”

Curiously, the team flew to the locker room, muttering questions. But Harry couldn’t keep the smile from spreading across his face. Inside their dressing room was Sirius wearing a scarlet overcoat, joined by Professor McGonagall in red and yellow tartan lined crimson robes, and a mustachioed man in his late forties with an easy smile who wore a brown aviator jacket and a Gryffindor scarf. Behind them were two tables covered in broad Gryffindor banners.

“Professor McGonagall?” Oliver asked. “What’s all this?”

She looked positively giddy.

“A surprise,” Sirius answered for her. “Harry told me what happened on the pitch with the Slytherin team a few weeks ago.”

The team rumbled to objection.

Sirius held up his hands defensively. “We’re not here to bring up past troubles. I brought it up only because he also told me what started it. It appears the Slytherin team doesn’t share our captain’s strategic mind and gave away their hidden advantage… new brooms courtesy of Lucius Malfoy.” His lips curled into a smile. “It seems to me the Slytherin team has also forgotten a few key things: Lucius Malfoy is not the only one that enjoys doting on his son, my godson is the youngest seeker in a century, I’m richer than he is, and I actually have friends.”

This made the team chuckle, though the impromptu presentation still left them confused.

“That being said, I want to introduce you all to Mister Devlin Whitehorn. He’s a very dear friend of mine, a brilliant inventor, and an avid fan of quiddie.”

“To put it lightly,” Mr. Whitehorn chuckled. He seemed used to attention, but in a more natural way than Lockhart could ever hope to achieve. “Aside from being a good friend, inventor, and quidditch fan, I am also a proud Gryffindor. I was a chaser starting in my third year and team captain during my last two years at school. I have very fond memories from inside this room. Celebrating our victories, commiserating over our defeats. But back in my day, there weren’t any brooms that could go as fast as I wanted them to. I knew there could be something faster, yet I was stunted by what was available. 

“So, after I graduated, I applied my love for quidditch, my desire to go faster, and my natural ability to tinker to create a broom I wanted to ride. One that blew all other brooms out of the sky! It took me five years of hard work spent holed up in my garage and all the knuts I was worth, but in 1967 I started my own racing broom company and released my first ever broom…”

The team was on the edge of their seats, waiting with bated breath.

“The Nimbus One Thousand.”

There was a chorus of gasps and awe.

“Named after my dog, a beagle with ears so big you’d thought he could fly with them. The One Thousand was capable of the highest speeds available at the time, first broom able to turn a full three-sixty on a dime. It’s the broom that put me on the map and since then Nimbus has been a staple on pro-quid teams and the racing circuits.

“Now, I know Harry’s got the Two Thousand; a damn good broom, and one of my best, if I do say so myself. But what about the Slytherins? I’m running a business, and when Lucius Malfoy says he wants to buy seven brand-new Two Thousand Ones, I can’t say no.”

The team grumbled in disappointment.

“Which is where Harry comes in,” Sirius said. “Lad couldn’t have the Slytherin team riding the best brooms available.”

“That’s why,” said Mr. Whitehorn, “Nimbus Racing Brooms and I are excited to announce our new Gryffindor Signature Line and the donation of seven top-of-the-line Nimbus Two Thousand Ones to the 1992 Gryffindor Quidditch Team!”

With a flourish, he tore the banner off one table, revealing the brand-new, pristine broomsticks. The polished cherry wood shined, the bristles were crimson and gold and looked almost metallic in the signature twisted design, bringing them to a point. The end of each of handle had written in gold: Gryffindor Two Thousand One #01 - 07 with each team member’s name written under their jersey number.

“Wanted to set this team apart from the Slytherins, so I designed a new Gryffindor line. Something I should’ve done a long time ago.”

All of them leapt to their feet, losing their minds in celebration as they ogled their new broomsticks. They cheered on Harry and clapped him on the shoulders for having the idea, thanked Sirius and Mr. Whitehorn for pulling it off, and eagerly showed their new brooms to McGonagall, who was over the moon at the possibilities. If any of the teachers were massive quidditch lovers, McGonagall was the biggest.

“And that’s not all!” Sirius announced. “I coordinated with Professor McGonagall and Madam Malkin’s to come up with these…”

He pulled off the second Gryffindor banner, revealing three sets of new quidditch robes for each of the players. The first of these kits was brilliantly scarlet, with gold accents for their player number, name, and a logo for their position; they came with white trousers lined with gold stripes on the sides and brown leather pads. The second were thinner robes in a pale yellow with crimson accents for training. The last were like the first kit, but slightly thicker with longer sleeves, gloves, and goggles, bewitched by Mae with the same temperature control charms as Harry’s school robes for when they play in the cold or rain. Sirius threw a pitcher of water on them to show how quickly the water rolled off and the fabric dried.

“In the spirit of fairness,” said Sirius, “I’m also donating these poor weather robes to the other three houses in their colors. Can’t give you lot every advantage.” He winked.

After raving over their new equipment and trying on their fresh robes to show off to each other for another hour, the adults left them to enjoy and continue their practice. Professor McGonagall was positively giddy with anticipation for their upcoming quidditch season. But before they left, Harry asked Sirius if he could give his two thousand to Ron. Sirius fully agreed, handing the older model to Mr. Whitehorn and whispering something to him. Mr. Whitehorn looked at the tip of the broomstick where the logo was and tapped it with his wand. 

When they passed the broom back, Harry smiled at the change they’d made.

Rather than soiling their new training robes as soon as they got them in the dismal weather, the team returned to their old (warmer) robes to finish their training. Harry was glad they did, because by the time Wood finished drilling them, they were all caked with mud.

Being the seeker saved Harry from most of it, and he was the first one to leave the showers after practice. He felt lucky, especially since the twins kept finding more and more mud in their hair even after washing it three times. But no matter how clean he was in the locker room, the walk back to the castle caked his boots in mud. Walking back to Gryffindor Tower, eyes glued to his new Nimbus Two Thousand One and daydreaming about how Malfoy will look when they show them off, Harry came across the ghost that haunted it, Nearly Headless Nick, looking just as lost in thought.

The specter stared out a stained glass window, muttering under his ‘breath’, “…Don’t fulfill their requirements…” he scoffed, “half an inch, if it be true…”

“Hullo, Nick.”

“Well met,” said Sir Nicholas, looking around. He wore a dashing, plumed hat over his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. Pale as smoke, Harry could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain hitting the window outside.

“Ah, young Harry, mine apologies.” Nick folded a transparent letter and tucked it into his doublet. “You look well.”

“I wish I could say the same. Are you alright?”

Sir Nicholas waved his hand dismissively. “A matter of no import… Not as though I wanted to join very much indeed… Figured I wouldst still apply, but it appears I ‘don’t fulfill requirements’.” Despite his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face. “But you wouldst think, would you not,” he erupted suddenly, “that being chopp’d FORTY-FIVE times in the neck with a blunt ax would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?”

“Oh—yeah… Obviously…” said Harry, who had no idea what a Headless Hunt was.

“In earnest, do you think anyone wishes more than I that it had been quick and clean and my head had come off properly? Would it not have saved me a most wondrous deal of pain and ridicule! FORTY passes it took before I finally died! Can you imagine the torment? And yet…”

Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously.

“We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You appreciate it would be impossible otherwise for members to take part in Hunt activities such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.”

Fuming, Nick stuffed the letter away again.

“No more than half an inch of skin and sinew holding mine neck on, Harry! Most people would think that’s well and beheaded, but nay! Tis not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated Podmore!”

The rest of Nearly Headless Nick’s frustration was drowned out by mewing coming from around Harry’s ankles. He looked down to see a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes staring back at him. It was Mrs. Norris, the irritating cat used by the caretaker, Mr. Filch, in his endless battle against the students and Peeves.

“you hadst better go, Harry,” said Nick quickly. “Mister Filch is not in a favorable mood. He claims to have the flu and some third-years accidentally plastered frog brains all ov’r the ceilings in the dungeons; he has been cleaning all morn, and if he see you wand’ring the halls so late in the eve with mud-covered boots…”

“Right,” Harry said.

He didn’t understand how Filch, who was a poltergeist, could have the flu, but he was too busy backing away from Mrs. Norris’s accusing stare to ask. Unfortunately, he wasn’t quick enough.

Drawn to them by whatever mysterious tether connected him with his dusty cat, Mr. Filch burst suddenly through a tapestry to Harry’s right, wheezing and looking wildly about for the rule-breaker. He wore a thick tartan scarf around his head, his nose unusually purple.

“Out of bed!” he shouted, his jowls aquiver, eyes popping alarmingly. It wasn’t even past eight yet. “Student out of bed! I’ve had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potter!”

So Harry waved a gloomy goodbye to Nearly Headless Nick and followed Filch back downstairs.

Harry had never been inside Filch’s office; it was, after all, a place most students avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the low ceiling. The faint smell of mildew and fried fish lingered about. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls at all angles; from their labels, Harry could see that each drawer contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished going back centuries. Fred and George had an entire drawer to themselves closest to his desk. A highly polished collection of chains, whips, and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch’s desk. It was common knowledge that he was always begging Dumbledore to let him suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling and bring back the ‘old ways’.

Filch grabbed a quill from an old, empty chamber pot on his desk and began shuffling around, looking for parchment. “Dung,” he muttered furiously, “great sizzling dragon bogies… frog brains… rat intestines… Out o’ bed… I’ve had enough of it…! Make an example… where’s the form… yes…”

He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dipping a long black quill into his inkpot.

“It was just a bit of mud!”

“Just a bit of mud to you! But to me it's another two hours o’ scrubbing! Now sit there and be quiet!” Filch began to scribble across the parchment. “Name… James Potter. Crime…”

“I’m Harry!”

“You can’t trick me, Mister Potter! Wandering the halls like your little friend only a few weeks ago!” shouted Filch, his nose leaking unpleasantly. “Crime… Carrying mud into the school… wandering after curfew… Suggested sentence…”

“It’s not after curfew—!”

“SUGGESTED sentence…!”

Sniffling his nose deeply to suck in all the snot dripping from his nose, Filch squinted at Harry, who waited with bated breath for his sentence to fall. But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on the ceiling of the office, which made the oil lamp rattle.

“PEEVES!” Filch roared, throwing down his quill as his face turned red. “I’ll get you this time! I’ll have yeh!”

Without a backward glance, Filch ran flat-footed from the office, Mrs. Norris streaking after him. Peeves was another of the school poltergeists, an absolute menace who ‘lived’ to cause havoc and distress. Harry didn’t like Peeves much at all, mostly he caused more trouble than he was worth, but he couldn’t help but feel grateful for his timing. Hopefully, whatever Peeves had done (it sounded as though he’d wrecked something big this time) would distract Filch from Harry.

Since the bizarrely ill Filch was so delirious he thought Harry was his father, Harry suspected he could sneak away without ever having to serve whatever punishment Filch thought up. Rising from the moth-eaten chair, he crept towards the door only for a large, glossy purple envelope with silver lettering caught his eye. With a quick glance at the door to check that Filch wasn’t on his way back, Harry picked up the envelope and read:

KWIKSPELL

A Correspondence Course in Beginners’ Magic

Intrigued, Harry flipped the envelope open and pulled out a brochure inside. More curly silver writing on the front page said:

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! 

Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn course. 

Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from the Kwikspell method!

Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes:

“I had no memory for incantations and my potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the center of attention at parties and friends beg for the recipe of my Scintillation Solution!”

Warlock D.J. Prod of Didsbury says:

“My wife used to sneer at my feeble charms, but one month into your fabulous Kwikspell course, I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!”

Curious, Harry thumbed through the rest of the envelope’s contents.

Why on earth did Filch want a Kwikspell course?

What use would it be for a poltergeist?

Harry started reading Lesson One: Holding Your Wand (Some Useful Tips) when shuffling footsteps told him Filch was coming back. Stuffing the brochure back into its envelope, Harry threw it onto the desk and flopped into the chair just as the door swung open.

Filch looked awfully proud of himself. 

“That vanishing cabinet is valuable alright, my sweet,” he said gleefully to Mrs. Norris. “We’ll have Peeves expelled this time for sure. Potter! What are you doing—” His eyes went from Harry to the Kwikspell envelope, now a good two feet away from where it had been. Once again, Filch’s face turned brick red. Harry braced himself for the incoming tidal wave of fury. Filch hobbled to his desk, snatched the purple envelope and threw it into a drawer, shutting it with a loud SLAM!

“Have you—did you read—?” he spluttered.

“No,” Harry lied quickly. “I didn’t see anything.”

Filch twisted his knobbly hands together. “If I thought you’d read my private… not that it’s mine… no… for a friend… however…”

Harry watched him with worry; Filch had never looked madder.

“Go…” was all Filch could muster, pointing a knobby hand at the door.

Amazed at his luck, Harry sped out of the office, up the corridor and back upstairs. To escape from Filch’s office without punishment was probably some kind of school record.

“Harry! Harry! Did it work?” Nearly Headless Nick glided out of a classroom.

Behind him, Harry could see the wreckage of a large black and gold cabinet that looked to have been dropped from a great height. It looked a lot like the one he’d hidden in at Borgin and Burkes.

“I humored Peeves to crash the cabinet right ov’r Mister Filch’s office,” said Nick eagerly. “Thought it might distract him—”

“That was you?” said Harry gratefully. “Yeah, it worked! I didn’t even get detention. I don’t know what his problem is. How am I supposed to get the mud off if I can’t get to my dorm to clean it off? I took off as much as I could in the changing room! I know why everyone hates him now. He’s bloody miserable, him and his stupid cat! Wish they’d do everyone a favor and jump off the Astronomy tower.”

Bitterly, they set down the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick, Harry noticed, still held Sir Patrick’s rejection letter.

“I wish there was something I could do for you about the Headless Hunt,” Harry said, calming down.

Nearly Headless Nick stopped in his tracks, and Harry walked right through him. He wished he hadn’t; it was like stepping through an ice shower. 

“Actually, there is something you could do for me,” said Nick excitedly. “Harry—would I be asking too much—but nay, you wouldn’t want—”

“What is it?” said Harry.

“Well, this Hallowe’en will be mine five hundredth Deathday,” said Nearly Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified.

“Oh,” said Harry, not sure whether he should look sorry or happy about this. “Right.”

“I’m holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons of the castle. Friends of mine will be coming from all ov’r Britain. It would be such an honor if you would attend. Mister Weasley and Miss Granger would be most welcome too, of course—but I daresay you would rather go to the school feast?”

He watched Harry with bated breath.

“No,” said Harry quickly, “I’ll–I’ll come—I’ve never been to a, er, Deathday party before.”

“My dearest boy! Harry Potter, at my Deathday party! And,” he hesitated, looking excited, “do you think you couldst mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?”

“Yeah. Of—of course. Terrifying.”

Nearly Headless Nick beamed at him.

~ ~ ~

“A Deathday party?” Ron groaned.

“A Deathday party?” asked Hermione keenly.

Once Harry got to the safety of the Gryffindor common room, he joined her and Ron as they did their homework.

“I bet there aren’t many living people who can say they’ve been to one of those—It’ll be fascinating!”

“Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?” Ron asked, halfway through his Potions homework and already irritated from it. “Just sounds depressing to me…”

“Guess it’s like how we celebrate our birthdays.” Harry shrugged. “Makes more sense for them to celebrate when they become a ghost… making the best of the situation.”

“Sure…” huffed Ron, shutting his Potion’s book. “Why’ve you got two brooms—Bloody hell! Is that a Two-Thousand One?” He shot up and sat beside Harry to look at his new Nimbus Two Thousand One. “Whoa! I didn’t know they made Gryffindor ones!”

“They do now! I told Sirius about Malfoy’s dad buying new brooms for the entire Slytherin team, and I wanted to do the same for the Gryffindors. He’s friends with the founder of Nimbus brooms and got him to donate brooms for the whole team!”

“You mean Fred and George got Nimbus Two Thousand Ones, too?”

“Yeah, just like this one!”

“Oh, great…” Ron said darkly. “They get top-of-the-line brooms and I’m gonna get stuck with one of their two-sixties while they fly circles around me…”

“I mean, if you want a Comet then I guess I can give my Two Thousand to Dean or Seamus.” Harry shrugged. “Was gonna give it to my best mate, even got them to put your name on it but…”

Ron’s blue eyes went wide. “What?”

Harry handed the two thousand over and showed Ron that where his name had once been etched was now replaced with Ron Weasley.

“Whoa! This is amazing! Thanks, Harry!” He looked at the clock and groaned at how late it was. “Wish you could’ve given it to me sooner, though.”

Harry laughed. “We’ll have time tomorrow to try them out, but we gotta be discreet so the Slytherins don’t find out. Hermione, you wanna come?”

“Oh, no thank you. I passed my flying lessons last year, and that was enough for me.”

It wasn’t long before the rest of the quidditch team arrived at Gryffindor Tower, showing off their new broomsticks just in time for their first match. The entire house was enamored by their new gear and their surefire path to the quidditch cup now. The common room filled with chants of “SWEEP!” as the team held their new brooms aloft.

Another hour passed before things settled back to normal. Rain continued lashing the windows, now inky black, but inside, all was bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed over the countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing homework. Or, with the twins, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster Firework to a salamander. Fred ‘rescued’ the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from the Care of Magical Creatures class and now it was smoldering on the table, surrounded by a knot of curious students.

Harry was about to tell Ron and Hermione about Filch and his Kwikspell course when the salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, sending out loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly around the room.

Percy turned purple from bellowing himself hoarse at Fred and George. Tangerine-colored stars showered from the salamander’s mouth as it escaped into the fire with accompanying explosions. The sheer chaos of it all drove both Filch and the Kwikspell envelope from Harry’s mind.

~ ~ ~

During Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry continued hiding in the back.

But before he could escape at the dismissal bell, Professor Lockhart called Harry to his desk. Sirius watched his cautious approach and lingered behind Lockhart to listen in, pretending to look over papers.

“So, Harry,” said Lockhart. “The first quidditch match of the season is this Saturday, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin? I hear you’re quite an important player. I was a seeker, too, once.”

Sirius interrupted, “I don’t remember you ever playing on the Ravenclaw team when we were at school.”

“What’s that? Oh, no, you wouldn’t. I didn’t join until after you’d graduated, Mister Black, and it’s a good thing, too. Wouldn’t have wanted to come across you on the pitch. I worry I might have embarrassed you too much. I was asked to try out for the National Squad, you know. But I preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still, Harry, if you ever feel the need for a little private training, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m always happy to pass on my expertise…”

“Oh,” Harry’s eyes shifted to Ron, who shrugged. “Thanks, Professor. I’ll, er, let you know if I need any help.”

~ ~ ~

Too excited to sleep for long, Harry woke up early on Saturday morning.

Not only excited about the coming match, he was anxious about what Wood would say if Gryffindor lost today. The Slytherins had no idea about the new brooms and robes the Gryffindor team had, and were in for a surprise when they took to the pitch today. But Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup last year because of a forfeit and now Harry never wanted to beat them so badly.

After half an hour of lying in his four poster with his insides churning, Oliver’s strategies playing over and over in his head, Harry got up. He showered, dressed, stuck his seeker pin to his quidditch sweater, and went down to breakfast early where the rest of his team was already huddled at their table in the Great Hall. They all looked uptight, none of them speaking or eating much. They knew they had the best equipment and the best players, but having to actually play always made the nerves run wild.

As eleven o’clock approached, the entire school started making its way down to the quidditch stadium dressed in their house colors, their arms full of pendants, banners, and sparklers. The other Gryffindor second-years wished Harry luck. Parvati and Lavender gave him big hugs, while the boys clapped him on the shoulders before chanting, “Go, Go Gryffindor!” as they left. Sirius gave him a pep-talk before leaving to meet up with the Tonkses and Weasleys who’d come to watch them play.

Ron and Hermione stayed with Harry to walk him down to the changing rooms where they wished him luck and Hermione threw herself at Harry. This had become their tradition, one Harry had gotten used to and had grown to appreciate the comfort it brought. No matter what he’s been up against, as long as Hermione was there, holding onto him, he knew he wouldn’t be facing it alone.

“You’re going to be brilliant,” she said with absolute certainty.

Ron clapped his hand against Harry’s. “Knock ‘em dead, mate.”

Harry felt nauseous as he watched them walk to the stands. It was a muggy day, a hint of thunder lingered in the moist air. In the changing rooms, the team pulled on their new scarlet and gold Gryffindor robes and leather pads, then sat down on the benches to listen to Wood’s usual pre-match pep-talk.

“This is it,” everyone but Harry said in unison. It was how Ollie always started his opening day pep-talk. Harry was grateful for the levity it added.

Oliver chuckled. “This is it. The big one. The one we’ve been waiting for. This is the best team Gryffindor’s seen in years. We have the best players, the best brooms, the best robes, and there won’t be any professors trying to jinx us.”

“That we know of,” whispered Fred.

“Slytherins think they’ve got the advantage with their fancy brooms, but they don’t know about ours. We’ve got better players on them and we’ve been training harder than they have. They’ll be complacent, won’t know what to do in weather like this, but we will.”

“Too true,” George muttered. “I haven’t been properly dry since September.”

“—and we’re going to make them rue the day they let that little slime, Malfoy, buy his way onto their team!”

Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turned to Harry. “It’ll be down to you, Harry. Show them that a seeker has to have something more than a rich father—”

“Though we do love your rich godfather,” Alicia teased.

“True. Just get to that snitch before Malfoy or die trying, because we’ve got to win today. We’ve got to. Keep a close eye on the score.”

“So, no pressure,” said Angelina, shooting Harry a wink.

The team gathered in the Gryffindor stadium tunnel, Nimbus Two Thousand Ones in hand. They could hear Lee Jordan’s voice through the tunnel gate loudly announcing derby day at Hogwarts. Harry took a deep breath, his stomach still in knots.

“Make some noise for the Roaring Gryffindor Lions!” Lee shouted, and the tunnel opened out to the pitch.

The Gryffindor team kicked off on their brooms and flew out to circle the pitch. Explosions of gold and scarlet fired from cannons on either side of the gate as they passed. A roar greeted them as they flew over the stands. A chorus of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw supporters chanted, “LET THE LIONS OUT!” all of them eager to see Slytherin lose. But the Slytherins were determined to make their boos and hisses heard.

Harry waved to Sirius, Dromeda, Ted, and Tonks as he flew by. Andromeda kept her promise from last year, wearing a Gryffindor scarf. Ted again had his face painted red and gold. Tonks wore scarlet eyeshadow and changed her hair to shimmering gold. She and Ted held a “youngest seeker in a century” banner over their head with a drawn snitch bouncing around it. Fred and George flexed their muscles for their parents. Sitting between Sirius and the Weasleys was Mr. Whitehorn, a Gryffindor scarf tied around his neck.

“Look at that beautiful team led by keeper Oliver Wood, all of them sporting new robes from Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions donated by Sirius Black and top-of-the-line Nimbus Two Thousand Ones part of the new Gryffindor Signature Line generously donated by Mister Devlin Whitehorn!”

Mr. Whitehorn rose from his seat to give the crowd of students a wave.

After circling the pitch a few more times, the Gryffindor team landed around Madam Hooch, the quidditch referee, flying teacher, and former Holyhead Harpy.

“What a glorious showing from the Gryffindor team!” Lee said. “Now everyone, give it up for last season’s quidditch champions: The Ruthless Slytherin Serpents!”

From the opposite side of the pitch, green and silver fireworks exploded and the Slytherin team flew out on their own black Nimbus Two Thousand Ones, all stone-faced and serious as they circled overhead. The Slytherin students cheered on their team while everyone else hissed and booed. In the Slytherin stands, Draco’s father sat beside Snape.

“Look at them go, the reigning cheat—sorry, the reigning champions! Led by chaser Marcus Flint! Each of them riding on brand-new not signature Nimbus Two Thousand Ones bought for by their new seeker’s father, Lucius Malfoy, to ensure his son had a spot on the team—”

The twins and girls stifled a laugh at Jordan’s comment, but Harry could see McGonagall scolding him in the stands.

Once the Slytherin team landed, Madam Hooch asked Flint and Wood to shake hands. The two captains did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping far harder than necessary. Harry didn’t know who would flinch first, but Hooch interrupted before either could break the other’s hand.

“Players take to your brooms,” she said.

Both teams rose into position.

“I want a good, clean game!”

From their trunk, Hooch released the bludgers. The Gryffindor and Slytherin beaters chased after to keep them away from their team. Next, she released the Golden snitch. It buzzed hyperactively in the air before flying off across the pitch. Harry kept his eye on it for as long as he could, but it quickly vanished in the light rain.

“On my whistle! Three… two… one…!” Hooch blew the whistle and threw the quaffle high into the air, creating a mad dash between the chasers to grab it.

Wood and the Slytherin keeper took their positions in front of the goalposts as Harry flew higher than any of the other players, squinting around for the snitch.

“Alright there, Scarhead?” yelled Malfoy, shooting beside him as though to show off the speed of his broom.

“Ready to play some real quidditch, Blondie? How do you like our new brooms—?” Harry couldn’t finish before a heavy black bludger pelted towards him. He avoided being struck so narrowly he could feel it ruffle his hair as it passed.

“Close one, Harry!” said George, streaking past with his club in hand.

Harry watched George whack the bludger powerfully towards Slytherin chaser Adrian Pucey, but as if with a mind of its own, the bludger changed direction in mid-air and shot straight for Harry again.

Harry dove quickly to avoid it smashing into him.

George hit it hard towards Malfoy.

Once again, the bludger arched like a boomerang and shot straight back for Harry.

“Oh, come ON!” shouted Harry, putting on a burst of speed to zoom towards the other end of the pitch. He could hear the bludger in hot pursuit after him. Bludgers never concentrated on one player like this. It was their job to try knocking out as many players as possible. Of course, it was Harry’s luck to have one aimed only for him.

Fred waved for Harry to draw it towards him, his bat ready. Harry ducked as Fred swung at the bludger with a thunderous CRACK and sent it flying off course.

“That’s done it!” Fred shouted happily.

But his and Harry’s grins were immediately wiped away when, as though magnetically attracted to Harry, the bludger pelted after him.

Cursing, Harry spun on his broom and flew off at full speed.

The rain fell harder. Heavy drops fell onto Harry’s face, splattering onto his glasses. So busy trying to see, find the snitch, and shake off the bludger, he hadn’t a clue what was going on in the rest of the game until he heard Lee Jordan’s voice announce, “Slytherin lead, seventy to thirty! Bad luck for the Gryffindor team, but it seems their seeker is preoccupied trying to avoid a rogue bludger chasing him down!”

None of Ollie’s meticulous strategies ever took a mad bludger distracting both beaters into account. Fred and George flew close to Harry on either side, their flailing arms keeping the bludger away from him, but also blocking Harry from any chance to look for the snitch, let alone catch it.

“Someone’s—tampered—with—this—bludger—!” Fred grunted, swinging his bat with all his might each time it launched a new attack on Harry.

“We need time-out!” said George, trying to signal to Wood and stop the bludger from breaking Harry’s nose at the same time.

After a lot of hand waving, Wood finally got the message and called for a time-out. Hooch’s whistle rang out, allowing Harry, Fred, and George to dive for the ground, still trying to avoid the mad bludger until they were safely below the line of play.

“The hell’s goin’ on?” asked Wood, as the Gryffindor team huddled. The Slytherin supporters jeered in the crowd. “They’re flattening us! Boys, where were you when that bludger popped Angie and kept her from scoring?”

“Twenty feet above her!” George retorted. “Stopping the other bludger that’s tryin’ to murder Harry!”

“Someone’s fixed the bloody thing,” added Fred, watching the bludger skirt around the pitch above them. “Won’t leave Harry alone no matter how hard we hit it. Hasn’t gone for anyone else all game.”

Angelina scoffed. “Slytherin must’ve heard about us getting new brooms and done something to it.”

Katie grit her teeth and muttered something that rhymed with “shucking heaters.”

“The game bludgers have been locked in Hooch’s office since last year. Nobody gets to use them except for during matches…” Wood said anxiously. “You three need to get your heads in the game, ignore the bludger and aim it for the Slytherin team. We can’t score if our chasers are being knocked off their brooms. Slytherin is killing us with goals!”

“What part of we can’t shake the bludger off Harry did you not get through your thick head?”

“Yeah, mate, maybe you should do more to keep the quaffle out of our hoops—!”

The twins and Wood got into a heated argument as Madam Hooch started walking towards them. Over her shoulder, Harry could see the Slytherin team jeering and pointing in their direction.

“Listen!” groaned Harry as she came nearer and nearer. “I can’t catch the snitch with you two flying around me all the time. Just go after the other bludger and try to knock out the Slytherins while the girls rack up the score… I’ll deal with the rogue one.”

“Don’t be thick,” said Fred. “Thing’ll take your pretty head off.”

“I’ll just keep flying as quickly as I can so it doesn’t catch up.”

Wood looked from Harry to the Weasleys.

“Ollie, this is mad stupid!” said Alicia Spinnet angrily. “Harry can’t deal with that thing on his own. Ask Hooch for an inquiry. Anybody can see it’s targeting him. That’s grounds for a change in equipment.”

“And what’s stopping them from bewitching the next one?” said Harry. “We’re not losing to Slytherin because of a mad bludger! Ollie, tell them to leave me alone!”

“This is all your fault,” George said angrily to Wood. “‘Get the snitch or die trying’— what a stupid thing to tell him!”

Madam Hooch joined them. “Ready to resume?” she asked Wood.

Wood looked at the determined look on Harry’s face.

“Yeah, we’re ready,” he said. “Freddie, Georgie, you heard Harry—back off, let him handle the bludger, focus on distracting the Slytherins.”

The twins glared at Oliver but didn’t protest. The rain fell more heavily now. On Madam Hooch’s whistle, Harry kicked hard into the air and once he was above the line of play again, he heard the telltale whoosh of his bloodthirsty bludger behind him. Higher and higher, Harry climbed. He looped and swooped, spiraled, zig-zagged, and rolled.

Slightly dizzy, he kept his eyes wide open. 

Rain speckled his glasses and ran up his nostrils as he hung upside down, avoiding another fierce dive from the bludger. He could hear laughter from the crowd; he knew he must look idiotic, but the rogue bludger was heavy and couldn’t change direction as quickly as he could. He began a kind of roller-coaster ride around the edges of the stadium, squinting through the silver sheets of rain to the Gryffindor goalposts, where Adrian Pucey was trying to get past Wood…

A whistle in Harry’s ear told him the bludger had just missed him again; he turned right over and sped in the opposite direction. 

“Training for the ballet, Potter?” yelled Malfoy, as Harry was forced to do a stupid twirl in mid-air to dodge the bludger.

Off Harry fled, the bludger trailing only a few feet behind him. Then, while glaring back at Malfoy, he saw it: the golden snitch. It hovered mere inches above Malfoy’s left ear—and Malfoy, too busy laughing at Harry, hadn’t seen it and didn’t hear the Slytherin crowd shouting at him to look. For an agonizing moment, Harry hung in mid-air, not daring to speed towards Malfoy in case he looked up and saw the snitch.

WHAM!

He had stayed still a second too long. 

The bludger hit him at last, smashing hard into his elbow, and Harry felt his arm break.

“AHH!” Harry shouted in pain.

Dimly, dazed by the searing pain in his arm, he slid sideways on his rain-drenched broom, one knee still crooked over it, his right arm dangling uselessly at his side. The bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time aiming at his face. Harry swerved out of the way, one idea firmly lodged in his numb brain: get to Malfoy.

Through a haze of rain and pain, he dived for the shimmering, sneering face below him and saw its eyes widen with fear: Malfoy thought Harry was attacking him.

“What the—” he gasped, spinning and diving out of Harry’s way.

Realizing what was actually happening, Draco sped after Harry and shoved him aside, shooting pain through Harry’s arm and pulling ahead of him. The snitch led the two Seekers into the trench around the pitch below the stands.

“You’ll never catch me, Potter!” Draco shouted as he pulled ahead.

The bludger continued chasing Harry, refusing to relent in its goal as it ricocheted uncontrollably off the walls. With both boys weaving and circling around each other, it wasn’t long before Draco lost control of his broom and flew out of the trench onto the grass. Harry heard the crowd wince at his crash.

Holding his broken arm close and gripping his broom tight with his good arm, Harry was relieved when the snitch led him out of the trench. He took his good hand off his broom as he closed in, making a wild snatch for the snitch. He felt his fingers close around the cold, slippery snitch, gripping his slick broom with his thighs. A cry from the crowd rang out as Harry headed straight for the ground, trying hard not to pass out.

With a splattering thud, Harry hit the mud and rolled off his broom. His arm hung at a strange angle. Riddled with pain, he heard, as though from a distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting. He focused on the snitch clutched in his good hand.

“Aha…” Harry vaguely chuckled. “We won…”

Then everything went black.

~ ~ ~

When he came back round, Harry found himself in the hospital wing, surrounded by a hoard of people.

Not just the Gryffindor team, there was Sirius, the Tonkses, the Weasleys, Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid. Sirius and Hermione sat on either side of him.

“Ow,” he moaned.

“Take it easy, lad,” Sirius said. “Took quite a spill out there.”

Harry had no choice but to take it easy. Even opening his eyes was a chore. He heard a familiar clicking sound nearby.

“I don’t want a photo of this, Colin!” said Harry loudly. Mr. Weasley ushered the excited boy out of the hospital wing, distracting him with questions about his camera.

“Great catch though, Harry!” said a sweat-drenched Wood, who couldn’t help grinning even with Harry injured. “Really spectacular. Your best yet, I’d say!”

“That bludger really put up a fight,” said George.

“Yeah, it took both of us just to get it back into the trunk,” Fred said.

“That was stellar flyin’, Harry,” Ted said.

“Oh, yeah…”

While Harry’s head was still fuzzy, he was relieved that his broken arm didn’t hurt anymore. But his arm also didn’t feel like anything anymore. Looking at the previously broken arm, Harry found it hanging limply at his side like a thick, flesh-colored rubber glove. He tried to move his fingers, but nothing happened.

“AHH!” Harry’s heart started racing.

“Shh… shh…” Sirius smoothed Harry’s hair. “Madam Pomfrey is going to fix it.”

“What happened?!” Harry cried.

“Well…” Ron said. “After you crashed, we all ran down to the pitch… Only, Lockhart got there first…”

“He was trying to heal your broken arm!” Hermione said.

“Only whatever he did, didn’t heal your broken bones,” Sirius said through gritted teeth. “It removed them altogether.”

“Anyone can make a mistake. It was all quite stressful,” said Mrs. Weasley. “It could have happened to any wizard. He was likely scared for your well-being.”

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, does it, Harry?” asked Hermione.

“No,” Harry grimaced. “But it doesn’t do much of anything now, either.”

“If Lockhart wasn’t scared for your well-being, then he was definitely scared when mum came down and saw your arm,” Tonks said. “Thought Sirius would cast an unforgivable before mum told him to take care of you and she absolutely tore into Lockhart.”

“You should’ve seen how scared he looked as he high-tailed it off to the castle,” Fred laughed.

Andromeda smiled softly.

“No one hurts my kids.” She kissed the top of Harry’s head.

Harry laughed too. “Thank you, Aunt Dromeda. Maybe you can come to my Defense classes for the rest of the year—”

“You should have come straight to me!” Madam Pomfrey interrupted in a rage, shoving through the crowd to get to Harry. She wasn’t at all pleased. “I can mend bones in an instant—but growing them back—?”

“You will be able to, won’t you?” said Harry desperately.

“Of course I’ll be able to. But it’ll be painful,” Pomfrey said grimly. “You’ll have to stay the night. That means it’s time for anyone that isn’t family to go!”

Immediately, everyone broke into explaining how they were related to Harry so they could stay.

“As good as my own—” said Mrs. Weasley

“Ah’ve known ‘im since he was a babe—” argued Hagrid.

“He’s our nephew—” Andromeda and Ted said.

“I’m his cousin—” said Tonks.

“He’s my best mate—!”

“And my best friend—!”

“Enough!” Madam Pomfrey shouted. “Everyone that isn’t Sirius Black must leave!”

Grumbling, they all complied, wishing Harry well and telling him he did a good job during the game. Andromeda, Mrs. Weasley, and Tonks gave Harry a kiss on his cheeks and forehead before saying goodbye. Ted draped the youngest seeker banner around Harry’s neck like a scarf.

“Ron,” Sirius said as he was leaving. “Would you mind bringing Harry his pajamas please?”

Ron nodded before following everyone out of the room.

Sirius helped Harry out of his quidditch pads.

Ron and Hermione returned after a few minutes with fresh clothes and pajamas.

“We’re hoping Pomfrey will still let you go to dinner before spending the night here,” Hermione whispered, showing his jeans and t-shirt.

Harry smiled as Sirius shrugged, taking the clothes from her. While Hermione stood behind a partition, Ron and Sirius helped him get out of his quidditch robes and into the fresh clothes. As he swung himself onto the bed, his arm flapped pointlessly. Hermione and Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain. Madam Pomfrey held a large white bottle of something labeled Skele-Gro.

“You’re in for a rough night, Potter,” she said, pouring a beaker full and handing it to him. “Regrowing bones is nasty business.”

So was taking the Skele-Gro.

It burned Harry’s mouth and throat as it went down, making him cough and splutter.

“What were you expecting? Pumpkin juice?” She placed Harry’s arm into a brace and sling to ensure the bones grew the correct way. Still tut-tutting about dangerous sports and inept teachers, Madam Pomfrey retreated from the wing.

“I’ll leave you kids to watch him, yeah?” Sirius said. “I need a word with the Headmaster.” He kissed the top of Harry’s head before leaving the room with a sigh.

“Good we won, though,” Ron said, a grin spreading across his face. “What a catch! You should’ve seen Malfoy’s face! He looked about ready to kill!”

“I want to know how he fixed that bludger,” Hermione said darkly. “Mister Tonks said he didn’t think it was even possible for a witch or wizard to do something like that. He said most quidditch equipment, even for school use, are protected by spells to prevent this sort of thing!”

“And when we were bringing you up to the school, we saw Flint yelling at Malfoy for not seeing the snitch when it was right on his head. Malfoy didn’t look happy to get chewed out. Guess daddy’s money couldn’t save him from that.”

* * *

Another Hogwarts Derby ended with something happening to Harry.

It’s becoming an unfortunate tradition. Not one Sirius would like to see continue.

Unlike last year when he stormed up to the Headmaster’s office in a fury over Harry’s safety, Sirius didn’t know how he felt this time around. Angry, yes, but at who? He was more curious than anything else. He didn’t expect Dumbledore to have the answers he sought, but who else could he start with? He seriously doubted Madam Hooch had it out for Harry, who was vocal of his adoration of her.

Walking up the spiral grand staircase to the Headmaster’s office as the steps magically appeared beneath his feet, Sirius overheard a familiar voice speaking in a harsh whisper.

“… didn’t spend thousands of galleons buying you and the Slytherin team top-of-the-line brooms just for you to spend the entire match gloating at Potter while the snitch floats inches from your head!”

Lucius Malfoy, tucked between suits of armor, chided his son where he expected no one to hear them.

“I know!” Draco said. “Flint already told me. I wasn’t trying to gloat and I’d have gotten the snitch if it wasn’t for that stupid bludger attacking Potter.”

“I don’t want to hear excuses, Draco. Potter caught the snitch while that same bludger was actively pursuing him AND with a broken arm. I expect you to play better if you intend to stay on the team. But if this is any indicator of the rest of the season, I may as well take you off and return the brooms now.”

“No! I’ll do better. It was a stupid mistake, but we won’t lose from now on.”

“I expect you won’t and I had better hear you’re training hard. Your mother and I will be at your next match, you had better not embarrass us with the same display you put out today.” Lucius sighed. “Go to your common room. We’ll see you at the next match.”

“Yes, father. I won’t let you down.”

“You had better not.”

“I won’t. But why couldn’t mum be here today? I was looking forward—”

“To what? Embarrassing her with that performance you gave?” Lucius scoffed. “No, thankfully for you both she had other business to take care of today. I don’t know what she’d have to say if she saw how you played today.”

“Are you sure she’ll be able to make it to my next match?”

“Yes, Draco. We’ll both be there, and we’ll both be expecting a far better showing. Now that’s enough questions. We’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“Goodbye, father…! Love you!”

Sirius could hear Lucius’ footsteps clicking further away, but he said nothing back. It took a tremendous amount of willpower not to stomp after Malfoy and make him say something to his son. The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that it wouldn’t end well or fix anything.

All he could do at that moment was silently step down a few feet and walk back up as Draco approached to make it seem like he hadn’t overheard.

Despite his best efforts to hide it, Draco’s eyes were noticeably red and puffy.

“Mister Malfoy,” said Sirius, doing his best to sound nonchalant. “That was some excellent flying out on the pitch today—oh no, don’t tell me you’re getting sick?”

“What?” Draco sniffled.

“Eyes are a bit red, lad. Are you feeling alright? Would you like to go to Madam Pomfrey?”

“No.” Draco rubbed his eyes. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Alright. Well, that truly was spectacular flying, I’m really impressed.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” he said bitterly, walking down the stairs.

“No, I’m serious. You think I didn’t see that spin-dive you did when Harry flew at you?” Sirius whistled, walking beside him. “Don’t think most pro-quid players could pull off a move like that.”

“We still lost, it didn’t matter. I should’ve caught the snitch.”

Sirius waved his hand dismissively. “Bit of bad luck, lad. Happens to the best of us. You know, during my first ever quidditch match, I was a chaser and it was raining horribly and I was so nervous that I became all turned around on the pitch. I ended up scoring fifty points in our own goal before our captain knocked sense into me. With a beater’s bat.” Sirius laughed and Draco cracked a smile. “Yeah… we lost that game and I thought they should’ve thrown me off the team. But they didn’t, and it just made me wanna work harder, to prove I deserved to be there, that I was better than my dumb mistakes and bad luck.”

He stopped the young Slytherin. “I want you to know that I don’t think your dad bought your way onto the team—”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, he did. He even says so.”

“He’s only saying that because he’s upset over a stupid game. Ask him how many matches he lost when he played, or how many your mother did. It’s a lot more than one, I’ll tell you that. He’ll get over it. But you should remember that you are more than just a fast broom and you deserve to be on your team. Show them that. You don’t have to prove anything to any of them, as long as you prove it to yourself that’s all that matters. You are a damn good flyer.”

Draco became apprehensive and contemplative.

“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you? Potter told you to—”

“Draco, no. Harry doesn’t know I’m talking to you, he’s still up in the Hospital Wing getting his arm fixed. But I know what it’s like to live in a parent’s large shadow. It’s not easy, lad.”

For a moment, they stood in silence on the staircase before Sirius spoke again.

“Did you want to go to your common room, or would you like me to show you how to get free ice cream and biscuits from the kitchens?”

Draco twisted his mouth as he debated the decision.

“I like ice cream.” He shrugged.

“Of course you do.” Sirius led him towards the kitchens. “I’m guessing a pure-blood Slytherin like yourself wants mint chocolate chip because it’s green and black?”

“No, that tastes like toothpaste,” the boy laughed. “I like chocolate.”

“Ah, that was always your mum’s favorite too. Now, what happened when you and Harry were flying under the stands? We couldn’t see anything, but it sounded exciting.”

On the way to the kitchens, Draco told Sirius excitedly about his favorite parts of playing his first quidditch match. A pang of pain formed in Sirius’ chest as they walked and talked, imagining a life where Sirius had always been present in Draco’s life. Where he could’ve been as much an uncle to the boy as he’d been to Tonks.

He saw so much of Regulus in Draco. Underneath all the walls he’s put up to keep up appearances, and the bigotry his father instilled in him, there was a normal, soft-hearted boy who didn’t even understand what he was saying. There was still a heart in his chest, and it wasn’t too late to save him before the fangs bit too deep.

Maybe there was still a way to save him before history repeated itself.

~ ~ ~

It took several hours, but Madam Pomfrey finally agreed to let Harry go to dinner.

“No! Absolutely not! This boy needs rest, he’s got thirty bones to regrow! He can eat here.”

The stabbing pains spread through Harry’s limp arm, leaving him desperate for something to distract him. It was only after Sirius promised to look out for him during the dinner and bring him straight back to the hospital wing afterwards did Pomfrey relent. Though she wasn’t happy with the decision.

Only Sirius had to return to his quarters before dinner started, leaving Harry with Ron and Hermione to escort him to the Great Hall.

“Bet everyone’ll lose their mind like they did last year,” Ron said, leading them towards the steps to the Entrance Hall. “You’re gonna be a hero!”

Then Harry heard it.

“…rip… tear… kill…”

It was the voice again. The same cold, murderous voice he heard in Lockhart’s office a month ago. He stumbled to a halt, clutching his stinging arm, and rested on the stone wall. He listened with all his might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.

“Harry, what’re you—?”

“SHHH! It’s that voice again—shut up a minute—”

“…So hungry… for so long…”

“Listen!” said Harry urgently. Ron and Hermione froze, watching him.

“…Kill… time to kill…”

The voice grew fainter.

Harry was sure it was moving away—moving upwards.

A mixture of fear and excitement gripped him as he stared at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upwards?

Was it a phantom, to whom stone ceilings didn’t matter?

“This way!” he shouted, and ran up the stairs into the Entrance Hall. It was no good hoping to hear anything here. The babble of talk was echoing out of the Great Hall. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, Ron and Hermione clattering behind him.

“Harry, what are we—”

“SHH!”

Harry strained his ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and growing fainter still, he heard the voice: 

“…I smell blood… I SMELL BLOOD!”

Harry’s stomach lurched.

“It’s going to kill someone!” he shouted, and ignoring Ron and Hermione’s bewildered faces, he ran up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to listen over his own pounding footsteps. Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Ron and Hermione panting behind him, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last deserted passage.

“Harry, I think we better get you back to Madam Pomfrey,” panted Hermione, a look of worry covering her face.

“Yeah, what was that all about?” asked Ron, wiping the sweat off his face. “I couldn’t hear anything…”

But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor. “Look!”

Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Daubed on the wall between two windows were deep red foot-high words, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

“W–What’s that—hanging underneath?” said Ron, a slight quiver in his voice.

As they edged nearer, Harry almost slipped. There was a large puddle of water covering the floor. Ron and Hermione grabbed him before he fell, and they inched towards the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All three of them realized what it was at once and leapt backwards with a splash.

Mrs. Norris, the caretaker’s cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her lamp-like eyes wide and staring. For a few seconds, they didn’t move.

Harry swore, remembering the comments he made to Nearly-Headless Nick about the bothersome cat only a few days ago.

Then Ron said, “Let’s get out of here.”

“B–But… Shouldn’t we try to help—” Harry began awkwardly.

“Trust me,” said Ron. “We don’t want to be found here.”

But it was too late. 

A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that the feast had ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, cheerful talk of well-fed people; next moment, students were crashing into the passage from both ends.

The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. Harry, Ron and Hermione stood alone in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students, pressing forward to see the grisly sight.

Then someone shouted through the quiet.

“Enemies of the heir, beware? You’ll be next, Mudbloods!”

It was Draco Malfoy. 

He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, as he stared at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat.

Chapter Text

“I thought I showed you what happens when you use that word, Malfoy!”

Arm still mostly boneless, Harry lunged for Draco, only for Ron and Hermione to hold him back. Fear and something that looked like guilt flashed over Malfoy’s face before he slunk back into the sea of students.

“What’s goin’ on here?” Mr. Filch demanded, undoubtedly attracted by the shouting. He shouldered his way through the crowd. “What’re you all—?” His eyes fell on the frozen cat dangling from the torch. “M–Mrs. Norris?” He clutched his mouth in horror. The other trembling reached out to stroke her fur. “My cat…” His eyes sparkled with tears, and Harry couldn’t help but feel sorry for the vile man.

“My cat!” Filch wailed. His glistening eyes washed over the students. The look of pain and heartbreak on his face quickly contorted into one of rage and accusation when his eyes landed on Harry. “You!” The arthritic caretaker rushed to Harry, grabbing him by the collar. “You! You murdered my cat! I’ll kill yeh! I’ll—”

“Argus!”

Sirius shoved Mr. Filch away, causing him to nearly topple into Professor Dumbledore, who’d been the one that shouted. The teachers must’ve gotten wind of the chaos brewing and Sirius along with them. He placed himself in front of Harry, between the boy and Filch.

With a great sense of urgency, Dumbledore swept past Sirius and the trio. Over his specs, he examined the unmoving Mrs. Norris, gingerly removing her from the torch bracket.

“Prefects, take your houses back to your common rooms and await your heads of house,” Dumbledore said.

The prefects did just that. Percy could be heard barking orders to the other Gryffindor students. Soon, the corridor was clear as the students dispersed.

“Come with me, Argus,” Dumbledore said to Filch. “Along with the three of you.”

His bright blue eyes looked at Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

Lockhart eagerly stepped forward. “My office is nearest, Headmaster—just upstairs—please feel free—”

“Thank you, Gilderoy.”

Lockhart, looking excited and important, followed Dumbledore with Snape and McGonagall. Sirius never left Harry’s side, keeping a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Entering Lockhart’s darkened office, the photo versions of him all ran out of frame. The real Lockhart waved his wand and lit the candles on his desk.

Dumbledore laid Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began his examination.

Standing out of the way, on the very edge of the candlelight; Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged tense looks between each other and watched the professors work.

Professor Dumbledore’s long, crooked nose was barely an inch away from the cat’s orange fur. He looked at her closely through his half-moon glasses, his deft fingers gently percussing and palpating her body. McGonagall held her hands above Mrs. Norris just as Madam Pomfrey had when Harry and Ron visited the hospital wing. Half in shadow, Snape loomed behind them with his wand raised, its tip illuminated in changing colors as he muttered different spells. And Lockhart hovered behind all of them, making suggestions.

“Twas definitely a curse that killed her. Like the Transmogrifian Torture. Seen it used so many times, tsk, tsk, tsk. How unlucky I wasn’t there. I know the very counter-curse that would have saved her…”

Lockhart’s comments were punctuated by Filch’s sobs. He slumped in a desk chair, damp napkins lying all around him as he dabbed his running eyes and blew his nose. Unable to look at Mrs. Norris, he kept his face in his hands. Even after his accusation, Harry still felt sorry for him, though not nearly as sorry as he felt for himself.

If Dumbledore believed Filch, he would be expelled for sure.

Dumbledore’s examination progressed to him muttering strange things under his breath and tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand. But nothing happened. She still looked very much like she’d been recently stuffed.

“…You know, I remember something eerily similar happening during my trip to Ouagadougou,” said Lockhart. “Whole series of attacks—full story’s in my autobiography, Magical Me. I fashioned the townsfolk various amulets that cleared up the matter at once.”

The photos of Lockhart on the walls nodded in agreement. One of them had forgotten to take the curlers out of his hair.

At last, the professors concluded their inspection and Dumbledore straightened up.

“She is not dead, Argus,” he breathed.

Lockhart stopped in the middle of counting the number of murders he’d prevented.

“N–Not dead?” choked Filch, looking through his knobby fingers at Mrs. Norris. “T–Then why’s she all–all stiff and frozen?”

“Rigor Mortis, of course,” Lockhart said matter-of-factly.

“She’s been petrified—” said Dumbledore.

“Ah! Yes, I thought so!” said Lockhart.

“—But how, I cannot say…”

“Ask him!” Filch shrieked, turning his blotched and tear-stained face to Harry. Sirius immediately pushed Harry behind him, his wand in hand.

“Calm yourself, Argus. No second-year could have done this,” Dumbledore said firmly. “It would take Dark Magic far more advanced—”

“It’s him that did it! He did it!” Filch spat. “You’ve seen where he comes from! You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found—in my office—he knows I’m a–I’m a—” Filch’s face worked horribly.

Everyone else in the room shot confused glances at each other.

“He knows I’m a squib!” Filch finished.

Ron audibly laughed before Sirius covered his mouth.

“I never touched Mrs. Norris!” Harry shouted. “You’re not even a squib! You’re a—”

“Rubbish!” snarled Filch. “He saw my Kwikspell letter!”

“If I may, Headmaster?” asked Snape from the shadows, and Harry’s sense of foreboding increased; he was sure nothing Snape had to say would do him any good. “Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time… However, the circumstances are suspicious. I, for one, expected Mister Potter to be recovering in the hospital wing after his accident, not… wandering the halls.”

“I thought it would help him feel better if he could eat and celebrate the Gryffindor victory in the Great Hall for dinner,” Sirius said. “Madam Pomfrey was hesitant, but she agreed so long as he returned to spend the night.”

“Then why were you three not at dinner?” asked Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. “Why go up the corridor?”

Ron and Hermione looked at Harry.

“Be–Because—” said Harry, his heart beating hard in his chest. Something told him it wouldn’t be well received if he told them he’d been led there by a disembodied voice no one else could hear.

“Because I asked him to put on his school cloak before going,” Sirius said. “I didn’t think it proper for him to go in jeans and a t-shirt.”

Snape stared hard at Sirius.

Dumbledore gave Harry a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze made Harry feel as though he were looking straight into him.

“Innocent until proven guilty, Severus,” he said firmly.

Snape gave an unhappy sneer.

But Filch exploded.

“My cat’s been petrified!” He shouted, eyes popping. “I want to see some punishment!”

“We will cure her, Argus,” said Dumbledore patiently. “As I understand it, Professor Sprout has a very healthy growth of Mandrakes this year. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made which will revive Mrs. Norris.”

“Of course! Leave that to me,” Lockhart included himself again. “I must’ve done it a hundred or more times! I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draft in my sleep—”

“As much as I’m sure your skills would impress us all…” said Snape icily. “I believe I am the Potions Master at this school.”

An awkward silence followed, but Harry heard a faint chuckle escape Sirius.

“You four may go. I’m sure Madam Pomfrey is awaiting your return.” Dumbledore said to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “I’ll ensure dinner is brought for you to fill your bellies.”

The kids and Sirius started toward the door.

“But until the culprit has been caught,” Dumbledore added. “I strongly recommend caution… to all.” His eyes directed the last part towards Sirius.

The four of them went as quickly as they could without running. Once they were a floor up from Lockhart’s office, Sirius found an empty classroom and dragged them in, shutting the door quietly behind them. Sirius squinted at the kids’ darkened faces.

“What happened?” he asked. “I’m fine covering for you this time, but if you know anything, you have to tell me. What happened to the cat?”

“I–I don’t know,” Harry said. “Honest.”

“Yeah, we were telling the truth. We found her like that with the writing on the wall!” said Ron.

“We really were on the way to the Great Hall when—”

“When what, Hermione?”

“I, er, started hearing a voice…” said Harry.

“A voice? What kind of voice?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ron and I couldn’t hear it,” said Hermione. “It’s not the first time this has happened.”

“Not the first time? Harry, how long have you been hearing voices? What have they been saying?”

Harry exhaled and told his godfather all about the strange voice wanting to tear and kill that he’d heard first in Lockhart’s office and again tonight. 

“What happened then?”

“Nothing, as far as I know. I heard the voice and went up to the common room. But I followed it this time, and that’s how we… found Mrs. Norris. D’you think I should’ve told Professor Dumbledore about the voice?”

“No,” Ron answered without hesitation. “Hearin’ voices no one else can hear isn’t a good sign, even in our world.”

Sirius’ mouth twisted, but he seemed to share the sentiment.

Something in the way they acted made Harry ask, “You believe me, don’t you?”

“‘Course I do,” said Ron quickly.

“Of course,” Sirius said.

“But—you gotta admit it’s weird…”

“Obviously!” said Harry. “The whole thing’s weird! What’s that writing on the wall about? The Chamber has been opened… Sirius, do you know what that means?”

“It’s… unclear,” he said.

“You know,” Ron said. “I think Bill told me something about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once…”

“There are dozens of secret chambers within the school that we know of,” said Sirius. “it could mean any of them.”

“And those are just the ones we know of,” Hermione said. “The school is centuries old and Hogwarts: A History says there are thousands of mysteries built into it. But… What’s a squib? And why does Mister Filch think you know he is one?”

Ron stifled a snigger, followed by a stern look from Sirius.

“It’s not funny.”

“You’re right,” Ron said. “It’s not—but… because it’s Filch… He can’t be a squib!”

Sirius sighed. “He’s been on this since before I was in school. We don’t know what’s wrong with him, but he doesn’t seem to know he’s a poltergeist and I guess he’s got it in his head that he’s a squib… don’t know how he rationalizes it since he performs magic enough getting around the school, his connection with Mrs. Norris…” Sirius shook his head.

“But what is a squib?” Hermione asked again.

“Honestly, I’m surprised you don’t already know, Miss Granger.”

“A squib is like the opposite of you,” Harry said. “Someone that was born into a wizarding family, but can’t perform magic.”

“They’re not treated very well,” Sirius said. “For a lot of families, having a non-magical child is an embarrassment. Even the most tolerant of them will try to hide them to save face. My great, great uncle actually had this mad theory that muggles were swapping their children with ours so that they could infiltrate the wizarding world.” He shook his head, incredulous. “A loony. I don’t want you kids using the term ‘squib’ any more. It might be the most widely used term, but it’s not polite.” He checked his watch. “It’s late. We need to get you back to the hospital wing and you two need to head up to bed before Snape comes lurking around to frame you for something else.”

~ ~ ~

Hours passed, and Harry slept.

Nightmares flooded his mind. Visions of Voldemort haunting the halls, whispering his desires to kill the Mudbloods, and no one but Harry could hear it. Malfoy and Snape were behind him, their laughter was heard mixing with the whispers, but they remained stone faced as Hermione froze in place.

Before Harry could reach her, he woke suddenly in the pitch black infirmary, wincing in pain: his arm felt full of large splinters. For a moment, he thought that was what woke him. Then, horrified, he realized that someone was dabbing a damp sponge against his forehead in the dark.

“Get off!” he exclaimed and shoved them away.

It took a moment to register who it was in the dark, but they were undoubtedly small and thin. A pair of goggling tennis-ball eyes peered back at Harry through the darkness. Not Kreacher, this house-elf had a long-pointed nose.

“Dobby? Dobby! What’re you doing here?” Harry demanded.

“Harry Potter came back to school,” he whispered miserably. “Dobby and Kreacher warned Harry Potter. Please sir, why didn’t you heed Dobby’s warning? Why didn’t Harry Potter go back home when he missed the train?”

Harry heaved himself up onto his pillows with his good arm.

“How did you know I missed the train?”

Dobby’s lip trembled, a single tear hanging from his nose, and Harry was seized by a sudden suspicion.

“You! It was you!” he said slowly. “You stopped the barrier from letting us through!”

“Dobby did, sir,” he said, nodding his head vigorously, ears flapping. “Dobby hid and watched for Harry Potter and sealed the gateway when he tried to cross. Dobby had to iron his hands afterwards—” He showed Harry his ten, long, bandaged, fingers. “—but Dobby didn’t care, sir, for he thought Harry Potter would be safe at last. Never did Dobby dream that Harry Potter would get to school another way!”

He’d started rocking back and forth, shaking his potato sized head.

“Dobby was so shocked when he heard Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts, he let his master’s dinner burn! Such a flogging Dobby never had, sir…”

Harry fought the urge to strangle the house-elf and slumped back onto his pillows.

“You nearly got me and Ron expelled! Sirius could’ve gone to Azkaban!” he said fiercely. “You’d better clear off to the Malfoys before my bones grow back, Dobby, or I’ll flog you myself.”

Dobby smiled weakly.

“Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Dobby gets them five times a day at home.” He blew his nose on a corner of the filthy pillowcase he wore, looking so pathetic that Harry felt his anger ebb away.

“Well, what else would you expect from working for the Malfoys? I’m sure Draco’s idea of fun is seeing how far he can kick you down the stairs.”

“N–no. Master Draco never harms Dobby. Master Draco is a kind master to Dobby. Master Lucius—Bad Dobby!” The house-elf began punching himself hard across the head. 

“Enough!” Harry said. “I get it. You don’t have to keep hurting yourself.”

Dobby mopped his bulging eyes and said suddenly, “Harry Potter must go home! Dobby thought his bludger would be enough to make—”

“Your bludger?” said Harry, anger rising once more. “What d’you mean, your bludger? Did you make that bludger try to kill me?”

“No, no! Not kill you, sir. Never kill you,” said Dobby, shocked. “Dobby wishes to save Harry Potter’s life! Better Harry Potter be sent home, grievously injured, than to remain here, sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter hurt enough to be sent home!”

“Oh, is that all?” said Harry angrily. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why you wanted me sent home in pieces?”

“Ohh! If Harry Potter only knew!” Dobby groaned, more tears dripping onto his ragged pillowcase. “If he only knew what he meant to us! To the lowly, the enslaved, us dregs of the magical world! Dobby remembers how it was when He Who Must Not Be Named was at the height of his powers, sir! We house-elves were treated like vermin, sir! Worse than vermin! O–Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, sir,” he admitted, drying his face on the pillowcase. 

“But mostly, Harry Potter, sir, life has improved for my kind since you triumphed over He Who Must Not Be Named. Harry Potter survived, and the Dark Lord’s power was broken, and it was a new dawn, sir, and Harry Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the dark days would never end, sir… And now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more—”

Dobby froze, horror-struck, then grabbed Harry’s water jug from his bedside table and cracked it over his own head, toppling out of sight. A second later, he got back to his feet, cross-eyed, muttering, “Bad Dobby… very bad Dobby…”

“The Chamber of Secrets?” Harry whispered. “What is the Chamber of Secrets? Is that what the writing on the wall was talking about? And—did you say it’s been opened before? Dobby, tell me!”

He seized the elf’s bony wrist as Dobby’s hand inched towards the water jug again. “I’m not muggle-born, Dobby—That’s who Draco said was next. How can I be in danger from the Chamber?’

“Ah, sir, ask no more! Ask no more of poor Dobby!” stammered the elf, his eyes huge in the dark. “Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they happen. Go home, Harry Potter. Go home. Harry Potter must not meddle in this, sir, it is too dangerous—”

“Who is it, Dobby?” Harry said, keeping a firm hold on Dobby’s wrists to stop him from hitting himself with the water jug or his fists again. “Who’s opened it? Who opened it last time?”

“Dobby cannot, sir! Dobby can’t, Dobby mustn’t tell!” squealed the elf. “Go home, Harry Potter, go home!”

“I’m not going anywhere!” said Harry fiercely. “One of my best friends is muggle-born! If they’re in danger, she’ll be first in line if the Chamber of Secrets has been opened—!”

“Harry Potter risks his own life for his friends!” moaned Dobby, in a kind of miserable ecstasy. “So noble! So valiant! But he must save himself, he must, Harry Potter must not—” Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears twitching.

Harry heard it, too. There were footsteps coming down the passageway outside.

“Dobby must go! Harry Potter must, too!” breathed the elf, terrified; there was a loud crack, and Harry’s fist was suddenly clenched on thin air.

He swore under his breath and slumped back into bed, his eyes on the dark doorway to the hospital wing as the footsteps drew nearer.

Next moment, Professor Dumbledore was hustling into the dormitory, wearing a long burgundy dressing down. He was carrying one end of a stretcher, holding what looked like a statue. Professor McGonagall, in her own sleepwear, appeared carrying the other end. Together, they heaved it onto a bed. Following closely behind was Madam Pomfrey, pulling a cardigan over her nightdress.

“Let me look at him!” she whispered sharply, lighting a dim lantern and bending over the statue on the bed.

“It was another attack, Poppy,” Dumbledore said. “The same as with Mrs. Norris.”

“He had a bunch of grapes next to him,” said McGonagall. “We think he was trying to sneak them up to Potter.”

Harry’s stomach gave a horrible lurch. Slowly and carefully, he raised himself a few inches so he could see the statue on the bed. The dim light illuminated its staring face.

It was Colin Creevey.

His eyes were wide, hands held up in front of him, holding his camera.

“Petrified?” whispered Madam Pomfrey.

“Yes,” Professor McGonagall said, brushing Colin’s fringe from his face. “But I shudder to think… If Albus hadn’t been on the way downstairs for a hot chocolate, who knows what might have happened…”

“Do we know who’s behind this?” Pomfrey asked.

McGonagall shook her head, all three of them staring down at Colin. Then Dumbledore leaned forward and prised the camera from Colin’s rigid grip.

“D’you think he got a picture of his attacker?” Professor McGonagall asked eagerly.

Dumbledore didn’t answer. He prised open the back of the camera.

“Goodness!” said Madam Pomfrey.

A jet of steam had burst out of the camera. Harry, three beds away, caught the acrid smell of burnt plastic.

“Melted…” said Madam Pomfrey wonderingly, “All melted…”

“What can this mean, Albus?” Professor McGonagall asked urgently.

“It means…” said Dumbledore, “that our students are in great danger…”

“What should I tell the rest of the staff?”

“The truth. Tell them Hogwarts is no longer safe. It is as we feared, Minerva. The Chamber of Secrets has indeed been opened again.”

Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth.

Professor McGonagall stared at Dumbledore. “B–But Albus… surely… who?”

“The question is not who,” said Dumbledore, his eyes on Colin. “The question is, how… So many years gone…” And from what Harry could see of Professor McGonagall’s shadowy face, she didn’t understand this any better than he did.

* * *

The staff of Hogwarts was called upon before the sun rose.

Professor McGonagall told them in the staff room that there was another attack the night before, this time on a student. A first-year Gryffindor student named Colin, the boy who’d been hounding Harry for photos.

“With two attacks happening so soon to each other,” Professor McGonagall told them, “it’s important the staff stay on alert for any sign of trouble.”

When asked what could be behind these attacks, the professor said it is Dumbledore’s belief that the fabled Chamber of Secrets is once again open.

A shockwave of surprise rippled through the professors, but Sirius didn’t know what to believe. Growing up with the Black Family, the legend of Salazar Slytherin’s secret chamber beneath the school was practically told as a bedtime story. But when Sirius was in school, he and his friends spent nights looking high and low for any trace of it, and they never could. Years spent unable to find it led Sirius’ belief to fade; if they couldn’t find it, it didn’t exist.

It should’ve come as no surprise that when he went to see how Harry was healing afterwards, the boy already knew all of this. Harry had healed beautifully under Pomfrey’s care, and by lunch his arm would be back to normal. He was already awake when Sirius arrived with heavy bags under his eyes.

Before Sirius could even ask, Harry began his tirade about everything he learned that night. Sirius was furious that the Malfoy boy’s prank would go so far as to make his house-elf try to injure Harry. He had half a mind to put the boy in detention for the rest of the year. He hoped his talk with the boy would change his trajectory, but there’d need to be more than one discussion. That would have to wait, there were bigger anxieties ahead than boyhood rivalries.

This was just the beginning.

For days after the attacks, no one in the school spoke of anything but the attacks. The air grew thick with rumor and suspicion. The first-years now traveled in tight-knit packs, terrified they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone.

Colin’s petrification left Harry feeling heavily conflicted. On one hand, the small boy was more than a little clingy; on the other, Harry felt guilty for not being more welcoming of him.

His guilt was only exacerbated by the attack on Filch’s cat, who he had wished harm on not long before. Sirius tried to quell his conscience since he did not intend to ever harm the cat, but he didn’t know how much his words stuck.

Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring black market of talismans, amulets, and other protective devices swept through the school. Poor Neville was swindled into buying a large, foul-smelling green onion, a pointed purple crystal, and a rotting newt-tail before Sirius told the twins and Lee Jordan to stop taking advantage of the boy. Most, if not all, of these trinkets were useless, but Sirius made sure to devote his classes that week to debunking any that he’d seen amongst the student body and offered real solutions to keep themselves safe.

Filch made sure no one forgot about the attacks, either. Day and night, he paced the spot where Mrs. Norris had been petrified, as though he believed the attacker would return. He’d tried to scrub the message from the stone wall with ‘Mrs. Skower’s All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover’, but it was no use. The words gleamed as hauntingly as ever. When Filch was forced to leave the scene of the crime to patrol the corridors red-eyed, he would lunge out at unsuspecting students, charging them with detentions for things like “breathing too loudly” or “looking happy”.

But Filch wasn’t the only member of staff taking the attacks hard. Most teachers cast suspicious glances at the students, wondering which of them was dangerous enough to be behind the attacks. Though none of them were as bad as Hagrid, who’d become far more reclusive. He did most of his work before the sun came up now, spending as little time in the castle as possible before returning to the safety of his hut. Sirius never expected such a fearsome bloke to become so fearful.

Though Ginny Weasley, more than anyone, took the attacks especially hard. The girl had noticeably withdrawn into herself, and Sirius checked on her as often as he could. Not only was Colin in her house and year, Ron said she was a great cat-lover. Still, Sirius felt this went deeper than how other students felt and he owed it to Molly and Arthur to look after their girl as they looked after Harry. After a few days of watching the girl with growing worry, Sirius invited her to have tea with him that Saturday.

She knocked on the door to his chambers a little after eleven in the morning.

“Mornin’, Ginny.”

“Good morning, Professor Black.”

Sirius blinked in confusion and held up his hand. “I appreciate the formality, but except for when we’re in the classroom, you can still just call me Sirius. Please.”

The girl’s face turned pink. “Okay, Sirius… Sorry.”

“No need to be sorry. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

The girl turned even redder.

“Why don’t you come in? I was getting the tea ready. You know, your mum has helped me a lot with cooking. After my spat with Kreacher, I was hopeless, but now…” He poured the boiling water into a cup for both of them. “I daresay I can manage a cup of tea.”

He flashed a smile and dropped tea infusers into the cups, handing one to Ginny.

“It’s good to see you. I’m sorry we haven’t had time to spend together since you started school. I should’ve asked you to come by sooner.”

“It’s okay. You’ve been busy helping Professor Lockhart with his classes.” She added sugar and cream to her tea. “That doesn’t look like it’d be easy.”

Sirius barked with laughter. “You can say that again. Still, something you learn as you get older is that you’re only as busy as you want to be. You can always find the time if you want to, and I should have made time for you and I to catch up. Where to start…? Gryffindor! I imagine you were over the moon when the Hat sorted you. I wish I could’ve been there.”

“Absolutely! Mum and dad are so proud.”

“I can imagine. They’re right to be proud. I am too. You’re going to blow us all away. I have no doubt. And how’re you liking your classes? Your classmates? You’re making friends alright?”

“I am. Being Fred and George’s little sister comes with a lot of friends,” she laughed. “The girls in my dorm are nice, but we don’t talk much… I don’t think any of them like quidditch that much. Besides, I see my brothers and Hermione in the common room often.”

“Not Harry?”

Ginny’s face flushed again.

“I don’t mean to pry. But you shouldn’t be so nervous around him. He’s a boy, just like your brothers. There’s no reason to be nervous around him. Just talk to him, you’ll see.”

She lost herself in contemplation before changing the subject. “Classes are good. I like most of them.”

“Most of them,” Sirius chuckled. “I hope I haven’t disappointed you with Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“No…” she laughed again. “But Snape is—”

“I can imagine. And how about your first quidditch game as a student? How’d you like that?”

“It was terrifying! The bludger chasing down Harry. I thought something awful was going to happen. I was so happy Madam Pomfrey could fix his arm.”

“You and I both. His first games seem to be following a trend. One I’m not overly enthused about. Turns out the same house-elf that kept Harry’s letters away over the summer was behind the rogue bludger and why he couldn’t get on the platform at Kings Cross.”

“Really?” Ginny exclaimed. “I’ve seen Draco in the halls. He’s absolutely foul! I see why my dad hates his.”

“It does seem his father has rubbed off on him, but he’s young… I have faith his heart will lead him back.”

“No. He’s awful! You should hear the things he says when teachers aren’t around. I’m glad Harry hit him. He deserved it! I hope he does it again! Especially after what he’s been saying about muggle-borns after Mrs. Norris and Colin…”

“What has he been saying?” Sirius asked before shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. I was hoping to talk to you about the attacks.”

“Why? Did my brothers say something? Did my mum ask you to talk to me?” She shot to her feet. “Is that why you wanted to have tea?”

Sirius held up his hands and rose to stop her.

“No, no. That’s not and they haven’t. I asked you for tea because you are a brilliant young witch and because I wanted to hear about how school has been for you. But I’ve seen you growing more withdrawn and how often you’ve been crying. I’ve gotten worried. I wanted to make sure you’re alright, Gin. I care about your well-being.

“With all that’s happened, it’s no surprise it would hit you hard and I’m sure you’re scared. Your parents aren’t here, and I know you have your brothers, but I imagine they’re not the easiest people in the world to talk to. So, even if you don’t want to talk to me today or ever, I want you to know that I’m here if you ever need help with anything or if you need to talk. I can understand how frightening this must be.”

Ginny sat back in her seat, her arms crossed. She tried to look angry, but her lip trembled and tears swelled in the corners of her eyes.

“Come on, love,” said Sirius. “Nothing you say between us will get back to your parents unless it’s necessary, I promise. And your brothers will not hear a single word.”

“I sat next to Colin in Charms…” she said. “He talked a lot but was always excited to practice new spells, even if he waved his arms too widely or pronounced them wrong. He was nice and asked about everything, especially Harry. I don’t like how quiet it is in our classes without him…”

“I can imagine,” Sirius said sympathetically, twisting his Marauder’s ring. “I’m familiar with that quietness.”

“And Fred and George are taking turns covering themselves in fur and boils, jumping out at me from behind statues and corners.” There were tears forming in her eyes.

“They’re doing what?” he demanded.

“They stopped after Percy shouted at them. He said he was going to write to mum and tell her I was having nightmares… And Ron said we’re better off without Mrs. Norris…” she muttered. “He said they’ll catch whoever did it, but hopes they petrify Filch before they’re expelled…” As she spoke, she picked at the loose thread on the seat she sat on, unable to meet Sirius’ eyes. “I know a lot of students don’t like them but… that’s terrible to wish on someone… and what if whoever’s doing it doesn’t want to?”

“What do you mean?”

Ginny blanched. “Dad talked about lots of wizards that did horrible things because You-Know-Who cursed them and made them do it. What if this is like that again?”

“That was… different,” said Sirius. “A lot of those wizards lied, for one. But those that were found to have been under the Imperius curse were exonerated… I imagine the same would happen here if it were the case. But it’s likely this isn’t the work of any witch or wizard; even more unlikely for it to be one of your peers, even if under a curse.”

The young Weasley girl trembled as she took another sip of her tea.

“Ginny, I promise this is not something that happens often. Ask your brothers. This is unusual and will be handled quickly. You’ll be back to being bored by your studies in no time. But I don’t want you to be afraid. I won’t let anything happen to you or your brothers. I promise. If you ever feel scared or if you need someone to talk to, you can come get me day or night, okay?”

She nodded.

Sirius gave a slight smile. “Oh, and I forgot all about these that I swiped from the kitchens!” With a wave of his wand, a plate of chocolate puddings appeared on the table. Ginny’s eyes went wide as she immediately snatched one up and began devouring it. “I thought I remembered how much you enjoyed chocolate. Now, for the important things—have you heard how the Harpies are playing this season?”

* * *

But as the days passed by, Sirius became more and more aware of the absence of Colin Creevey’s parents.

A certain level of risk is understood when parents send their children to Hogwarts just for the nature of magic itself; that’s why there wasn’t a constant cascade of parents flooding the hospital wing. Perhaps he was more involved and meddlesome than other parents, but if anything warranted parents—even muggle parents—coming to the school, it was their child being petrified.

After four days of hearing nothing, Sirius asked Madam Pomfrey, “I must have missed them, Poppy. When did Colin’s parents stop in to see him?”

“They haven’t,” Pomfrey said tersely.

“No? Is that odd to you? Sometimes I think I’m more anxious about Harry’s well-being than most guardians are with their children. Am I overreacting in thinking they should have been brought to the school?”

“No,” she huffed, “you’re not. I told the Headmaster his parents should be informed—all the parents should—and we need to bring them to see their son.” The blanket she folded suffered the brunt of her frustration. “He said the parents had already been told, but they would not be brought up to the school.”

“What? Why not?”

Poppy slammed the folded blanket onto the bed. “Wish that I knew. There’s a lot we don’t know about this form of petrification. But if it’s like other kinds, there is a lingering lucidity. The patient can’t control their body, they lie frozen in time. They don’t need to eat or drink, they won’t age; but their mind is still active, tucked away. I wanted his parents here to comfort him. I can’t imagine how afraid he must be.”

Grinding his teeth, Sirius nodded and left the room, ignoring Poppy’s calls after him.

It was a miracle it had taken Sirius so long before he found himself storming up to the Headmaster’s office. He’d done his best to keep his head about him; Dumbledore was, after all, providing him sanctuary. But once again, the esteemed headmaster has made a critical error regarding his students’ well-being.

Sirius’ boots pounded against the stone floors and echoed through the empty corridor. A dozen gargoyles watched him approach.

“Pepper Imps,” he told the griffin gargoyle, which moved aside, allowing him to climb up the spiraling staircase as they magically appeared.

As expected, Professor Dumbledore sat contently behind his desk, his hands folded atop. He wore a soft smile behind his snowy beard and light teal robes embroidered with gold filigree.

“Good afternoon, Sirius. Or should I call you Professor Black, as the students do?” He chuckled lightly. “They seem to have taken to your tutelage. I recall claiming you would make a fine professor. How may I help you?”

“I heard you’re not allowing the boy’s parents to see him?”

“I’m afraid I’m not sure which boy you’re referring to.”

“Albus, do not play games. You know exactly who I mean. Colin Creevey—the petrified lad lying in the hospital wing. Do his parents even know what’s happened to their son?”

“Of course. An owl was sent—”

“An owl?” Sirius demanded. “An owl? He’s muggle-born! His parents are muggles, Albus! They already know little and less of our world, and you tell them their son’s been attacked through the magical post? You should have visited them yourself to explain!”

“I understand your outrage, Sirius. Believe me.”

“Then why haven’t you done more? Why aren’t you doing more?”

Dumbledore rose from his chair and approached Sirius slowly.

“For all my strengths, there are things even I am subjected to.”

“You are the headmaster.”

“I am. And that comes with many privileges. But I am not without my own restrictions in power. There are decisions I am forced to abide by, even when they are against my own desires.” Albus poured two cups of tea on a small serving tray.

“What are you talking about? Who is telling you to abnegate your responsibilities to your students and their guardians?”

“The Board of Governors has decided it was in the best interests of the school and the statute of secrecy to send an owl to the boy’s parents.” He handed a cup and saucer to Sirius. “They instructed me to send a letter—penned by them, signed by me—by owl. It said their son was involved in an accident. A simple spell mishap, but he will recover soon and there is no cause for worry.”

“A spell mishap?”

“They want to avoid inciting panic, it would seem. They do not share my belief that the Chamber of Secrets is open, and it’s my assumption there are a few on the board looking to use this as an excuse to see me sacked.” He smiled with a twinkle in his eye. “This is also why they don’t want the parents visiting the school. It was made abundantly clear that I had no choice but to comply with their decision.” He rounded his desk and once again took his seat and spread his arms. “Alas, my hands are tied.”

“You are the most powerful sorcerer alive,” Sirius said. “You don’t expect me to believe there’s nothing you could do if you wanted to.”

“No, I do not. But my hands are tied.” He took a sip of his tea.

Frustration bubbled up in Sirius. He set his teacup onto the saucer, but found the ceramic plate landed softer than he expected. Looking at the saucer, he saw a slip of parchment resting underneath the cup. Lifting the cup, the parchment had an address in Liverpool written on it.

“I am sorry I couldn’t do more, Sirius. I wish there was more I could do. If only I could live my life as unburdened by authority as you,” Dumbledore said with a soft smile. “But I take comfort that my dear friend Kingsley is the auror patrolling near them this afternoon. He will ensure they are looked after should any… suspicious magical activity occur.”

Sirius took the paper and set down his cup and saucer.

“I’m familiar with Kingsley. Good man. Thank you for the tea, but I prefer Earl Grey. I think I’ll be going now, Headmaster. Lesson planning and such.”

“Sirius, one more thing,” Dumbledore said. He opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a one pound coin, tossing it to Sirius. “For the fare back,” he said with a wink. “And I’ll be sure to have Earl Grey next time. Farewell, Sirius.”

The coin had a faint blue glow when it glinted in the light, and Sirius smirked.

He had no intention of lesson planning as he strode through the grand entryway, passed the courtyard, and headed towards Hogsmeade Village. Once he was clear of the flying boar statues at the gate and therefore off of Hogwarts grounds, Sirius disapparated.

Navigating through Liverpool, a place he’d never been before, proved challenging, but he managed to find the Creevey residence near Wavertree after an hour of wandering. On the narrow road, Sirius found the red painted townhouse. The single bay window jutted out beside the front door, both painted white in contrast to the rest of the house. There was a small bit of shrubbery outgrowing around the trimming.

Steeling himself, Sirius knocked on the door.

After a moment, the white door flew open to reveal a miniscule boy around nine-years-old with the same mousy brown hair as his brother. In fact, this boy looked nearly identical to Colin, but somehow even smaller.

“Afternoon, lad.” He smiled politely. “Are your parents home?”

“They are. Who’re you?”

“I work at your brother’s school.”

The boy’s blue eyes went wide. “Whoa! Are you a wizard? I’m a wizard, too, ya know!”

Sirius held up his hands to quiet his outbursts, looking around to make sure no one had overheard. He lowered his voice in the hopes the boy would get the hint. “That’s wonderful, lad. I’m sure we have a place waiting for you in a few years.”

“I hope so! My name’s Dennis. Colin’s my older brother. I want to be just like him. How is he? Mum said he got hit by a spell, but it’s nothing serious. I hope he’s better soon; I love all the magical pictures he sends us! Do you have a wand? Can I see—”

“Dennis, who are you—?” Mr. Creevey appeared from the other room. “Hullo. Can I help you?”

“He’s a wizard, dad! He came from Hogwarts!”

Sirius chuckled sheepishly. “Aye. Er, Sirius Black.” He extended his hand.

Mr. Creevey shook it. “Pleasure to meet you, Professor Black. Colin’s said a lot about your classes in his letters. He really enjoys them. He loves all of that magical stuff you all teach. And you’re Harry’s father, aren’t you? Our Colin’s really taken a liking to him.”

Immediately, Sirius could see where Colin and Dennis had gotten their rapid-fire manner of speaking from.

“I’m his godfather. And Harry likes your boy, too. He’s been helping Colin navigate through the new world he’s found himself in. D’you mind if I—?” He motioned to be let inside.

“Oh! Of course, come in, come in. Rebecca’s whippin’ up dinner right now. Can I get yeh anything to drink?”

“No thank you, Mister Creevey—”

“Call me Don. Please. So, what brings you all the way down from Scotland? Last time we got an unexpected visit from one of you, it was when that Professor McGonagall told us all about the wizarding world. We were thrown through a loop with that one. So what’s it this time? Has Colin gotten better? He’s not startin’ trouble, is he?”

“No, no, he’s a good lad. I think it’d probably be best to tell you and Mrs. Creevey together.”

Concern flickered over Mr. Creevey’s face. “O’ course. Er, Rebecca, love? We got a visitor!”

A second later, Mrs. Creevey arrived from the kitchen. “A visitor?” She smiled warmly. “Hello, I’m Rebecca.”

“Sirius Black.”

“He’s that Professor Colin’s been writing about. The Defense one. Harry Potter’s his godson.”

“Of course! A pleasure to meet you, Professor Black.”

“Just Mister Black, or actually just Sirius, please. I’m actually not a professor. I am a teaching aide to help the students with their studies.”

“Still, wonderful to meet you. Colin speaks highly of you.”

“I appreciate that. He’s a very sociable young man, and I enjoy our time together. Always something to say, and he’s always excited to learn.”

“He loves all that magical stuff. You should’ve seen him when we went to get his school supplies. I think we visited every shop in that Diagon Alley of yours. So, what brings you by?”

Sirius wasn’t sure where to start.

“You received the owl about Colin’s… spell mishap.”

“Yes, it came a few days ago.”

“Good… good…” Sirius sighed. “I’m afraid to say that it’s more severe than that.”

Mrs. Creevey gasped and gripped her husband’s hand.

“W–What d’you mean?” Mr. Creevey asked.

“Is Colin okay?” asked Dennis.

“He is. That’s the important thing. He is okay.”

“Then what do you mean, it’s more severe?”

Sirius explained what happened with Colin’s petrified state, but he left out the speculation about the Chamber of Secrets.

“The good news is his condition is reversible. The Matron of our school’s hospital wing is incredibly experienced, and Hogwarts has one of the… best… Potion Masters in the country.” Sirius had to fight back the bile creeping up his throat from complimenting Snape. “Not to mention one of the leading minds in Herbology personally tending to the mandrakes that will be used to make the restorative draft.”

“And how long will that take? How–how long will Colin be petrified?”

“We have to wait until the mandrakes are fully matured before we can harvest them… and that won’t be for another six or seven months.”

“Six or seven months?” Mr. Creevey shot to his feet. “My boy’s going to be petrified for seven months? You–you–you don’t have access to this–this potion without making it yourself? There’s not a–a wizard pharmacy or something?”

“The type of petrification he’s in is so specific, there is only one cure, and because of how uncommon it is, it’s not always readily available. I promise, Headmaster Dumbledore has searched high and low, he has contacts throughout the world, but couldn’t find anyone with a draft available. He has reached out to multiple mandrake breeders as well to get their supply should they reach maturity before ours do.”

“So there’s nothing we can do…” Mrs. Creevey looked utterly defeated. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

“You can see him,” Sirius said. “That’s another reason I came. I wanted to escort you to the school so you can visit Colin.”

“Can we? We didn’t think we could since we–we’re…”

“There are charms to keep muggles from stumbling onto the school, and to keep them away, but if they’re invited or brought they’re perfectly fine.”

Still, the Creeveys looked apprehensive.

“Don, Rebecca, I’ve raised Harry since he was a baby. He is as good as my son, and I love him just as much. Let me tell you that if anything were to happen to him, there is nothing on earth that could stop me from seeing him and making sure he was safe. You deserve to see your son. Damn what anyone else says.”

“You’re right,” said Mrs. Creevey. “When can you take us?”

Sirius fished the coin Dumbledore had given him out of his pocket. “Right now.”

“Now?” asked Mr. Creevey. “If we leave now, the fastest we get there, it’ll be after nine and we won’t get back until well after midnight.”

“It would if we took muggle transportation,” Sirius smiled. “This might look like a pound, but it’s actually a Portkey. Portkeys are wizarding transportation. There are a few different kinds, but this one is trigger activated. It will teleport us from here back to Hogwarts in a matter of seconds. So, whenever you’re ready…”

“Oh, my gosh.” Mrs. Creevey shot up. “Don, we have to go.”

“I know we do.” He became frantic, patting his pockets to make sure he had everything. “Er, Dennis, go up to Colin’s room and grab his Liverpool hat—

“No, his scarf—

“Or scarf, grab somethin’. Hurry.”

Faster than Sirius could blink, Dennis ran up the stairs.

“Do we need a coat?”

“What else should we bring?”

Dennis thundered down the stairs holding a red and white scarf and matching knit hat.

“Everyone ready?” Sirius asked.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Creevey.

“Alright. The way the Portkey works is: we are all going to touch the coin, I’m going to activate it, and it’s going to teleport us to Hogwarts. Ready? Everyone, touch the coin.”

The Creeveys circled around Sirius and touched the coin.

“Wait!” Mrs. Creevey exclaimed. “I forgot about dinner.”

Before she could run off to the kitchen, Sirius pulled his wand from his pocket and flicked it, turning off the oven.

“Taken care of. Anything else?”

The Creeveys shook their heads. “Good, hold on tight. Three… two… one…”

The Portkey activated, and the familiar yanking feeling jerked Sirius forward; he could feel the Creevey family bumping their shoulders into his as they sped forward together. Then, in the next instant, their feet slammed into the ground. Mr. Creevey staggered forward until he found his feet; Dennis fell over completely.

Though he landed solidly, Sirius dusted himself off and helped Dennis to his feet. The Portkey had brought them straight to the Hogwarts hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey had a start from their sudden appearance and dropped one of her potions.

“Sirius!” She flicked her wand, repairing the shattered potion vial and returning it to her hand. “How on earth—and who are—?” Her eyes landed on Dennis before returning to look at his parents. “Mister and Mrs. Creevey. How unexpected; right this way, please.”

She ushered the Creevey family over to Colin’s bed at the furthest part of the wing. His parents immediately began fretting over how he looked, in the same position he was when Albus found him. Mrs. Creevey was devastated to see the burnt remains of his camera. Already in tears, Dennis was nudged by his father to put the scarf around Colin.

After filling them in more on their condition, Madam Pomfrey joined Sirius as he sat on the bed Harry occupied a few days before. He flipped the Portkey coin a few times, simply watching the Creeveys tend to their son.

“Bold of you to bring them here.”

“What can I say? I’ve never been one to be told I can’t do something. I hope I can trust you not to say anything.”

“I take patient privacy incredibly serious, Mister Black. You ought to know that.”

Sirius smirked and stopped flipping the coin. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. How afraid he must be, tucked away in his mind the way he is. He could use some company, don’t you think? I mean, you’re awfully busy with how much the students here seem to yearn for an early grave; and his family can’t be here all the time. How would you feel if I came to help? Keep Colin company, I’m good with counter-jinxes…”

“I already have seventh-year students fulfilling their apprenticeships, I hardly need much more help, Sirius. You’re no healer. Besides, I would imagine you had enough on your plate picking up after Gilderoy.”

“I like to keep busy. Especially when things like this happen. I don’t know what else to do, but I can keep him company, I can be there for his parents, I can take some of the load off your shoulders. I can be useful.”

Poppy gave him a smile and patted his hand.

“You’ve always been useful, Mr. Black.”

She left him to continue her work, while Sirius continued to watch Colin’s parents comfort their son and Dennis talked a million words a minute to tell his brother everything he could think of about school and how Liverpool F.C. have been playing that season. After two hours, Madam Pomfrey patted Sirius on the shoulder and signaled it was time for them to go.

Sirius hated to interrupt them, but he knew she was right. He placed a gentle hand on Mr. Creevey’s shoulder that he thankfully understood without Sirius having to say anything.

“Th–Thank you for bringing us here to see him, Sirius,” he said. “I hate to see him like this, but… I can’t imagine how we would’ve felt not getting any letters from him for seven months.”

“It would’ve been devastating. I will make sure your family is kept informed on his condition and the progress of the restorative draft.”

“When will we be able to see him again?” asked Mrs. Creevey.

“Er, well—”

“Thursday evenings,” Madam Pomfrey interrupted. “Six to eight at night each week. I’ll make sure your family has their privacy.”

“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey.” Mrs. Creevey pulled the matron into a hug. “Thank you so much.”

“Yes, thank you. Both of you. But, er, how are we supposed to get here? Not exactly on the map and driving to Scotland every week… Well…”

Sirius pulled the coin from his pocket and handed it to Mr. Creevey. “This already has the spell on it to bring you home.” With the tip of his wand, Sirius tapped the coin, and it glowed blue again. “And now, it is charmed to bring you back here every Thursday at six in the evening, and will return you safely home at eight at night. Make sure you remember and everyone is holding it at precisely six o’clock, or it will leave without you.”

“I’ll make sure everyone is ready every week.”

“Wonderful. Now, the three of you can take hold of it and Mr. Creevey—Don—you don’t need me for the return trip. All you have to do is think of where you want to go, preferably your home, concentrate as hard as you can, and it will take you there.”

Nodding, Mr. Creevey squeezed his eyes shut, all of his family holding onto the coin. A moment later, all three of them vanished in a swirling of light and color.

“It was nice of you to allow them visiting hours,” said Sirius.

“Sometimes my patients aren’t just the ones that are afflicted. I think I’ll take you up on your offer, Mister Black. To keep you busy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sirius gave a small smile. “See you tomorrow, Madam Pomfrey.”

Chapter Text

Dear Tom,

Something horrible has happened.

Last night, something attacked the school. Mr. Filch’s cat was the first attack. Harry found her petrified under red writing on the wall that said The Chamber of Secrets has been opened.

Then a boy was petrified too. He was a Gryffindor in my year named Colin. I heard people say he was bringing snacks to Harry in the Hospital Wing. I didn’t know Colin very well, but I sat beside him in Charms.

The writing on the wall also said, “Enemies of the Heir beware.” But Colin had no enemies. Sure, some people thought he was a bit annoying because of how excited he could get, but he was always so sweet. We could have been friends… we should have been friends.

But…

That’s not the worst part.

Tom, I can’t remember where I was when the attacks happened.

I can’t remember what I did after the quidditch match, and I woke up with paint all down my front! The last I remember, I was telling you about what happened to Harry during his quidditch match… and then nothing… I don’t even remember going to supper.

I’m worried, Tom. I don’t know what to do.

That is horrible, Ginny.

I hoped nothing like this would ever happen again.

What do you mean?

When I was in school, the same thing happened during my fifth-year. It was terrible.

How did they stop it? What happened?

It only stopped after a girl died.

~ ~ ~

While Harry missed having his shadow following him, how the attacks affected Hermione worried him more.

It was typical for her to spend her free time reading while the other second-years goofed off, but now it seemed like she did nothing else. Neither Harry nor Ron, nor anyone for that matter, could get much of a response from her when they asked her what she was up to. And it wasn’t until Thursday the week after did they find out.

Harry had been held back in Potions that morning to scrape tubeworms off the desks, making him late for Charms. When Harry walked in, he quickly took the first seat available to avoid disrupting the class; the one beside Justin Finch-Fletchley. But as Harry opened his mouth to say hello and ask what they were learning, Justin turned away and stacked his books between them.

After Charms was a quick lunch, then straight to the library where Ron, Neville, and Harry worked on their History of Magic homework. Professor Binns assigned them a three-foot long essay on ‘The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards’.

History of Magic was by far the dullest subject they had. Professor Binns, who taught it, was their only ghost teacher, and the most exciting thing that ever happened in his classes was his entering the room through the blackboard. Ancient and shriveled, many people said he hadn’t noticed he was dead. He’d simply got up to teach one day and left his body behind him in an armchair in front of the staff-room fire; his routine had not varied in the slightest since.

“UGH! I can’t believe it! I’m still eight inches short…” said Ron furiously as loud as he dared to avoid the strict librarian, Madam Pince’s ire. “How’s it Hermione’s done four feet seven inches? Her writing’s tiny!”

“Where is she, anyway?” Harry asked, grabbing the tape measure and unrolling his own essay.

Ron waved dismissively along the shelves. “Somewhere over there, I dunno.”

“She’s lookin’ for another book,” said Neville.

“God,” Ron scoffed, “I think she’s trying to read the whole library before Christmas!”

“So what? She likes to read, that’s not news. But I wanna know if Justin’s said anything about me.” Harry told the other boys about Justin Finch-Fletchley avoiding him during class.

“Who cares? I thought that Hooray Henry was a bit of an idiot anyway,” Ron said, back to scribbling away, making his writing as large as he could get away with. “I understand witches fawning over Lockhart, but what’s Justin think he’s so great for?”

Hermione then emerged from between the bookshelves. She looked irritable as she fell into a seat, but at least she seemed willing to talk to them. “I can’t believe it. All of them! Every copy of Hogwarts: A History has been checked out.” She had her arms crossed as she slumped in her seat. “And there’s a two-week waiting list! Of course, the time I need it is when I leave it at home so I could fit all the Lockhart books.”

“Why do you need it?” asked Harry.

“The same reason everyone else does, of course,” she said. “To read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets.”

Harry pursed his lips. “I think I can get us one. Come on.” He rolled up his parchment and got to his feet.

“Wait!” said Ron. “Hermione, let me read your composition—”

“No! You still have an entire weekend to finish it!”

With Harry leading the way back to the Gryffindor tower, Hermione and Ron followed while bickering. Neville walked beside him sheepishly, also enduring the annoying jabbering between them. By the time they reached the Fat Lady’s portrait, Harry had enough and told them to shove it before giving the password and slipping inside the common room. With everyone quieted down, he led them up the spiral stairs to the boys’ dormitory where Dean and Seamus were already lounging on their beds.

“What’s goin’ on?” Dean asked.

“Kreacher!” Harry called.

After a moment passed, the elderly house-elf appeared before them, a smile on his face.

“Kreacher is happy to see Master Harry looking well,” he said.

“I’m happy to see you too, Kreacher,” said Harry, giving him a hug. “I’m sorry for what Sirius did.”

“It’s no fault of Master Harry’s. How can Kreacher be of service?”

Just as Harry opened his mouth to speak, Lavender and Parvati burst through the dorm room door.

“Oi, whaddya think yer doin’?” Seamus exclaimed. “Girls jus’ slammin’ into our room! What if I were naked?”

“We saw Harry bringing everyone up here,” said Parvati, ignoring Seamus.

“We weren’t about to be left out if you were plotting something again,” Lavender said.

Harry rolled his eyes. “We aren’t plotting. Come in and shut the door.” The girls squealed and clambered in. “Kreacher, do we have a copy of Hogwarts: A History in our library at home?”

“You brought everyone up here so we could read a book about the school?” asked Lavender.

“I didn’t ask you to come up here! Hermione said it has a passage about the Chamber of Secrets in it,” Harry hissed. “Sorry, Kreacher. Do we?”

“Kreacher believes so… Yes… from Master Phineas’ time as headmaster.”

“Perfect! Do you think you could bring it to us?”

“Of course, Master Harry, but surely Master Sirius could tell him more about the Chamber than the book.”

“He could?”

“The Black Family has long told the history of Salazar Slytherin’s fabled Chamber.”

This confused Harry. “Then why hasn’t he said anything?”

“Kreacher does not know… but this is what Kreacher feared would happen. If the Chamber is open, then Master Harry is in grave danger. He must leave the school.”

“Not this again. Kreacher, I already told Dobby after he tried to kill me with a bludger, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want you to bring it up again. Can you bring us the book, please?”

“Of course, Master Harry.” The house-elf disapparated in a twisting flash.

“Why wouldn’t Sirius tell us he knows about the Chamber,” Harry asked the others.

“He was probably just being protective,” said Hermione.

Harry groaned. “Of course he was. Well, I’m gonna ask him about it and I won’t stop until he tells me.” He stomped towards the dormitory door before turning back to everyone else. “Are you all coming?”

Without a second thought, they joined Harry in his crusade.

“Harry, wait,” Hermione said, rushing to his side. “Sirius is in class. You know that Lockhart’s having him do all the work now. We can talk to him after dinner.”

Looking at the clock on the common room wall, Harry said, “Last period is almost over. By the time we walk to the D.A.D.A. classroom, they’ll be getting out. We’ll wait for him.”

And so they did. Eight out of ten Gryffindor second-years loitered outside the Defense classroom, waiting for the last class of the day to let out. After about ten minutes, they could hear Sirius wrapping up inside. 

“Great work today, all of you. I’ve seen a lot of progress. I have no doubts about all of you getting O’s on your O.W.L.s. Now, for your homework—I know, I know, how dare I. Few things I need done before next we meet. First, continue practicing Salvio Hexia, ought to be a good reason for you all to fling jinxes at each other,” he and the class laughed. “Just don’t send anyone to Madam Pomfrey.

“Next, the boring stuff: I want an essay on the counter-jinx, its effects, and what sort of curses it can and cannot counter—oh, calm down, I only need a foot, and try to write big. I don’t want to spend an entire week reading them. Last, you’ll have to read chapters twelve and thirteen of Wondering about Werewolves—”

“Wanderings with Werewolves,” a girl corrected, and the class laughed again.

“Yeah, that one,” said Sirius as the bell rang to dismiss them. “Oh, one more thing! Mr. Samuels, I have another assignment just for you: make sure Ravenclaw beats Slytherin this weekend or we’ll all be practicing our jinxes on you next week.” The class laughed, and he clapped in finality. “Alright, you’re all dismissed. Please leave. I’m tired of looking at you all.”

The wooden door to the classroom finally opened, allowing the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw fifth-years to pour out. All of them were discussing how much they enjoyed the class and the funny things Sirius said while he taught them.

“Professor Black really gets it—”

“I feel like I’ve learned more from him than all the other professors—”

“Wondering about werewolves—” a girl laughed.

But most of their chatter stopped when they saw Harry lingering outside the classroom. They all gave him a wide berth as they walked down the stairs.

Once the last student filed out, the second-years swarmed into the room.

“Did you forget some—” Sirius looked up to see them instead of one of his older students, worry immediately covering his face. “Oh no. I can’t imagine what bodes for me seeing all of you together. Everything alright?”

“We were hoping you could tell us about the Chamber of Secrets,” Hermione said.

“Kreacher said you know about it,” said Harry.

“Did he? And when did you see Kreacher?”

“All the books on Hogwarts were checked out of the library, so I summoned him to bring us one from our home library. He said you’d know more than the book would.”

Sirius nodded slowly. “I see…”

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew about it?” Harry demanded.

“Because I don’t think it’s real, lad,” said Sirius and looked at the others. “You all know about the cloak.” His gaze fell back to Harry. “ Your dad and I spent nearly every night for seven years beneath it, investigating every single corridor, every classroom, broom closet, dungeon—we left no stone unturned. By the time we graduated, we had found dozens of secret passages and rooms…”

Seamus looked excited to hear about them, but Sirius cut him off.

“Another time, I promise. But, of all the secrets we uncovered, we found no trace of this Chamber… closest we got was Slytherin’s Scriptorium— still got the scars from that one —if the Chamber indeed existed, we’d have found it. My family loved the idea of it, spoke of it so often I was sure it had to be real… it was my white whale—muggle reference—but alas… not a trace.”

“Well, it seems like someone is leaning into it being real, so shouldn’t we know about it even if it’s not so we can keep ourselves safe?” asked Hermione.

“Well,” Sirius smirked, “you really are the cleverest witch of your age… Fine, I’ll tell you kids a bedtime story…” He rested on the edge of his desk like he did during lectures he gave in his classes. “So, you all know that Hogwarts was founded a thousand years ago by four of the greatest witches and wizards of the age. Each of them apprentices to the Grand Sorcerer Merlyn.”

“What?” Hermione interrupted. “That can’t be right, I read Merlin attended Hogwarts. He was in Slytherin.”

“That’s an even longer story and one for another time. But yes, they were his apprentices. He chose one from each of the rising factions within Britain as part of King Arthur’s goal of unity. Eventually, this led to the exodus to Avalon by Arthur’s court and the Grand Sorcerer with them, but before he left he tasked his pupils with staying behind to usher in a new magical era for when the Once and Future King returned.

“Now, the history of Britain has always been full of warring factions: the Picts, Anglo-Saxons, Romans, Danes, and so on and so forth. When Merlin’s apprentices were given their task, this warring was reaching its twilight under a new king to unify all of them… uniting them all against wizardkind, who he believed to be their true common enemy. It was a dangerous and deadly time. All magical kind were hunted and killed. It was then the apprentices became the founders, seeking a way to not only teach the next generation of sorcerers, but to keep them safe.

“And so, they erected this castle together, deep in the Scottish highlands, far from prying muggle eyes and Hogsmeade Village along with it. Creating the first wizarding school in Britain and the only all-wizard village in the country. The Founders named the four school houses after themselves: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin.”

Sirius paused, obviously hoping if he made his lecture as boring as possible, they might forget all about it. But the kids hung on every word, so he continued, “For many years, the founders worked together in harmony. Seeking children who showed signs of magic and bringing them to Hogwarts to be educated. Then, the disagreements started. A rift formed between Slytherin and the others. He wished they were more selective about the students they admitted. He didn’t like that muggle-borns and half-bloods were being let in, same as those from all-magic families. He believed magical learning should be kept within those pure-blooded. He and the other founders had seen firsthand just how dangerous muggles were.

“He didn’t trust them or any sorcerer that came from them, believing they would side with their non-magical families against other wizards. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Salazar and Godric, both hot-headed men, that ended with Slytherin leaving the school, venturing away and taking students of his own.”

Sirius sighed and began to pace before continuing.

“That’s what the history books say. Little and less is known about the secrets the founders built into the school. One of these alleged secrets is your legendary Chamber of Secrets. The way I’d heard it, Slytherin built a hidden chamber deep in the bowels of the school, secret from even the other founders. They say he sealed the Chamber so that none other than his true heir could find it and finish his great work. The heir of Slytherin alone could unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horrors Slytherin contained within, and use it to fulfill his ancestor’s goal of purging the school of all those unworthy to study magic.”

Silence met Sirius as he finished telling the story. There was an unease between the kids as they continued watching him, hoping for more.

“But like I said, it’s ridiculous,” he said. “Even before Harry’s dad and I scoured the school, it had been searched for any evidence of the chamber countless times by witches and wizards much smarter than we were. I’m sorry kids, but it doesn’t exist. It’s a scary bedtime story. Likely this is an older student playing a prank, found out about the Chamber and how to cast a petrification curse for a laugh.” He sighed again. “But I’m sure you all have questions, anyway. So, who’s first?”

Hermione’s hand shot into the air.

“What do you mean by ‘horrors contained within’ the Chamber?”

“My parents always said it was some sort of monster. One only Slytherin and his heir could control. Based on the tales of petrification, death, and Slytherin’s affinity for serpents, I’ve heard it to be either a Basilisk or a Gorgon, whichever scares your kids more, I suppose.”

“Has it ever been opened before?”

“If the stories are to be believed, yes. My father told us during his time at the school, the Chamber was opened and a girl died. But even back then, they discovered it was not the Chamber or a monster, but a student behind the attacks. So again, there is no Chamber and there is no monster.”

“But,” said Seamus, “If the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin’s true ‘eir. That means no one else could find it, would they?”

“Perhaps, but if a long line of headmasters and overly curious students couldn’t find it in a thousand years…” Sirius shrugged. “Not to mention how many of Slytherin’s descendants attended through the years with none of them being any wiser.”

“Are there any descendants left?” asked Dean.

Sirius searched his brain. “As far as I know, there aren’t. At least not directly. The family tree claims the last wizarding family with direct descent to Salazar Slytherin was the… Gaunt family? I believe. But they all died about sixty or seventy years ago. Being pure-bloods, they married into the Black Family and the other ‘sacred twenty-eight’ pure-blood families throughout the centuries until they grew too poor to afford any sort of dowry then I heard they ‘kept it in the family’ as it were. But nevertheless, there are probably dozens of sorcerers who could claim descent. Most who are likely half-bloods or non-magical, which brings joy to my heart.”

“I read that Salazar Slytherin preferred to use Dark Magic in his conjuring,” added Parvati. “What if you have to use Dark Magic to open it—?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time he used dark magic or unforgivable spells to seal a room he didn’t want people in. Anything else?”

The pride of Gryffindor students looked amongst themselves before shaking their heads.

“Well, if you have any others, you can come ask me. But I don’t want any of you to be scared about a fairy tale. The reality is, someone is attacking people within the school. That means, you all need to be constantly aware of your surroundings and travel together as much as possible. Go to classes in pairs and no nighttime wandering until the culprit is caught.”

He stared straight at Harry.

“Right. You lot get ready for dinner, I need a word with my godson.”

Harry winced, anticipating the scolding he’d get from Sirius. Ron gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as he walked out. Once the last of his friends had left, Harry said, “I only called Kreacher here to—”

“I didn’t want to talk about Kreacher,” Sirius said dismissively. “It’s fine. I actually wanted to talk to you about Ginny.”

“Ginny? I swear I never did anything to her, I don’t know—”

“Harry, I know you didn’t do anything. I know. But surely you’ve noticed how withdrawn she’s become?”

“Y–yeah…?”

“I need you to do more to be a friend to her.”

“I try! She runs away every time I try talking to her. She won’t even stay in the same room as me. Fred and George said it’s because she likes me, but she’s got an odd way of showing it if she does.”

“Girls can be confusing, especially when they have a crush. I take it you don’t feel the same way?”

“No!” Harry’s cheeks grew quite hot.

“Harry,” Sirius chuckled, “it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“But I don’t! She’s Ron’s baby sister, and I hardly know her.”

“Well, lad, you’re not going to like me saying this, but you need to talk to her. No one else around. And tell her that you know she likes you, but you don’t feel the same way. Tell her you’d like to still be friends. She could use more people around her age to talk to, but she won’t talk to you if she still has this crush.”

“I mean… can’t you tell her for me?”

Sirius barked with laughter. “Look at you. The bravest boy I’ve ever met, and you’re scared to talk to an eleven-year-old girl.”

“I’m not scared! I just don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

“That’s admirable. But are you really looking out for her feelings by letting her feel the way she does knowing it might never be reciprocated?”

Harry shrugged.

“I know it will be hard, son. But you owe it to her to tell her the truth.”

Staring at the desk, Harry said, “I guess…”

~ ~ ~

“I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony,” Ron was telling the others.

After leaving the Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower, the Gryffindor students fought their way through the teeming corridors towards their common room to unwind before dinner.

“But I never knew he started all this pure-blood stuff.” He scoffed. “I wouldn’t be in his nuthouse if you paid me. Honestly, if the Hat tried putting me in Slytherin, I’d’ve been on the train straight back home…”

Everyone nodded in agreement, but Harry said nothing. His stomach dropped unpleasantly.

Harry had told no one about his Sorting when the Hat seriously considered putting him in Slytherin until he practically begged to be in Gryffindor. He could still remember the vision of the founders discussing where to place him and the small voice that had spoken in his ear.

“You would be great in Slytherin, you know… it’s all here in your head, and they will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that…”

But Harry, whose parents and Sirius were all proud Gryffindors and expected the same for him, whispered desperately, “Gryffindor, please be Gryffindor.” And the Hat ultimately said, “Well, if you’re sure—better be GRYFFINDOR!”

After reaching the common room, there were more eyes on Harry than normal and conversation hushed. It brought him back to last year when everyone was fawning over the return of the Boy Who Lived. After a moment, the rest of the common room returned to their discussions and the second-years headed down to the Great Hall instead.

“What was that all about?” Lavender wondered.

“Probably think I’m the one that’s petrifying everyone,” Harry sighed, remembering the way Justin tried to avoid him.

“People here’ll believe anything,” said Ron in disgust. “D’you think Sirius is right about the Chamber of Secrets?”

None of them seemed convinced it wasn’t real. They’d seen the petrified bodies and the blood on the wall. Seemed a lot of effort for a prank.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, frowning. “Not even Dumbledore could reverse the effects on Mrs. Norris or Colin, and that makes me think that whatever attacked them might not be human…”

As she spoke, they turned a corner and found themselves at the end of the corridor where the first attack happened. They stopped and stared, a chill running through them all. The scene looked as it had that night, minus the stiff cat hanging from the torch bracket, and now an empty folding chair stood against the wall bearing the message ‘The Chamber has been opened.’

“That’s where Filch’s been keeping guard,” Ron muttered.

They all looked at each other. The corridor was deserted.

“Couldn’t hurt to poke around.” Harry shrugged, bending over to look for clues.

“N–No…” Neville said. “We shouldn’t. W–What if we disturb something?”

“Neville,” said Dean, “there’s hundreds of students coming past here every day. It’s been disturbed.”

“W–Well, I don’t want to get in trouble. I–I’ll save your seats in the Great Hall.”

“Eh, I’ll leave yer Sherlock-ing to yeh, too,” said Seamus and followed Neville.

Harry ignored him as he passed and got fully onto his hands and knees to look closer. Hermione soon joined him while the others looked high and low for anything suspicious.

“Look!” Harry exclaimed. “Scorch marks!”

“There’s another one over here!” Parvati said.

“Come look at this!” said Hermione. “How funny…”

Harry got up and crossed to the window next to the message on the wall. 

Hermione pointed at the topmost pane, where twenty or more spiders were scuttling, fighting each other to get through a small crack in the glass. A long, silvery thread dangled like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

Dean and Harry laughed at the way they tried squeezing through at the same time.

“Have you ever seen spiders acting like that?” asked Hermione.

Parvati, Dean, and Lavender shook their heads.

“No,” said Harry, “What about you, Ron? Ron?”

He looked over his shoulder. Ron stood well away from all of them, seeming to fight the impulse to run.

“You good, Bruv?”

“Ron, what’s wrong?” asked Lavender, hurrying over to him.

“I—don’t—like—spiders,” Ron said through gritted teeth. His entire body was stiff as a board and trembling.

“I never knew that,” said Hermione, watching Ron in surprise.

“Me either,” Harry said. “You’ve used spiders in Potions loads of times.”

“I don’t mind ‘em dead!” said Ron, who was carefully looking anywhere but at the window. “I just… don’t like the way they move…”

Hermione and Parvati giggled.

Ron’s face turned red.

“It’s not funny!” Lavender said fiercely. “It’s okay, Ron. I don’t like spiders either.”

“If you must know!” Ron said angrily. “When I was three, Fred got mad because I broke his toy broomstick, so he turned my teddy bear into a great horrible spider. You wouldn’t like them much either if you were holding your favorite bear and suddenly it had too many legs and a bunch of eyes and…”

He broke off, shuddering. Hermione, Dean, and Parvati were still trying not to laugh.

Lavender was the only one who looked mortified. “That’s horrible!” she said. “I would’ve died!”

“He didn’t mean it,” Ron said. “You know how weird magic can be when you’re young. It’s all over the place when your emotions run… But I still hate spiders.”

Feeling it’d be better to move on from the subject, Harry asked, “Do you remember all that water on the floor after the attack? Where’d that come from?”

Ron pinched his face as he remembered. “It was about here,” he said, recovering enough to walk past Filch’s chair and pointing. “Level with this door.” He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand as though he’d been burned.

“What’s wrong?” asked Harry.

“We can’t go in there!” said Ron gruffly. “That’s a girls’ toilet!”

After hearing that, Dean also took a healthy step away.

“Oh, Ron, come on, there’s no one else in there,” Hermione said.

“No one besides Moaning Myrtle…” said Parvati. “Everyone avoids it because of her.”

“Who’s Moaning Myrtle?” Dean asked.

“You’ll see. Come on, let’s have a look.”

Ignoring the large ‘Out of Order’ sign, Hermione opened the door.

This was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom Harry had ever set foot in. Under a large, cracked and spotted mirror were a row of chipped, stone sinks. Empty cobwebs hung in every corner. The floor was damp and reflected the dull light given off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders; the green wooden doors to the cubicles were flaking and scratched. One of them was dangling off its hinges.

Hermione put a finger to her pink lips, shushing them, and set off towards the last stall. Reaching it, she said, “Good evening, Myrtle, how are you?”

The others hesitantly approached and poked their heads to look into the cubicle. The ghostly visage of a girl only a year or two older than any of them floated on the cistern of the toilet, picking at a spot on her chin. She had limp dark hair kept in long straight pigtails and circular glasses so thick they made Harry’s look fake.

“This is a girls’ bathroom!” she said, eyeing the boys suspiciously. “They aren’t girls!”

“No,” Hermione agreed. “They’re not. We just wanted to, er—”

“To show them how much nicer it is here than in theirs,” Lavender finished. She waved vaguely at the dirty old mirror and the damp floor.

“And we never have to wait like in the others,” added Parvati.

“Ask her if she saw anything,” Harry mouthed at the girls.

“What are you whispering?” said Myrtle, glaring at him.

“Nothing,” said Harry quickly. “Sorry. We wanted to ask—”

“I wish people would stop talking behind my back!” shouted Myrtle, in a voice choked with tears. “I do have feelings, you know, even if I am dead!”

“Myrtle, no one wants to upset you,” said Hermione. “Harry only—”

“Oh, sure! No one wants to upset me! That’s a good one!” howled Myrtle. “My life was nothing but misery at this place and now people come along to ruin my death!”

“We only wanted to ask you if you’d seen anything funny lately,” said Hermione quickly. “There was a cat attacked right outside your front door last week and another boy later that same night.”

“Y–Yeah… Did you see anyone near here that night?” said Harry. “Or see anything?”

“No. I wasn’t paying attention,” Myrtle said dramatically. “Peeves upset me so much with his taunts that I came back here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I’m—that I’m—”

“Already dead,” said Dean and Ron helpfully.

Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose in the air, turned over and dove headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all over them and vanishing from sight; from the direction of her muffled sobs, she rested somewhere in the U-bend. Lavender and Parvati swatted both boys on their arms for saying it.

“OW!”

Then Hermione slapped Harry’s arm.

“OW! That’s my bad arm! What did I do?” he asked, rubbing his stinging arm.

“You scared her!” said Hermione. “You made her think we were talking behind her back.”

With the boys still rubbing their arms, Hermione shrugged wearily and said, “Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle…”

“Better than I’ve ever seen her,” said Parvati. “Now, let’s get out of here. This place gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

They’d barely closed the door on Myrtle’s gurgling sobs when a loud voice made all of them jump.

“RON!” Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the top of the stairs, prefect badge agleam, an expression of complete shock on his face. “That is a girls’ lavatory!” he gasped, doing the math of girls to boys. “W–W–What were you—?”

“Nothing! We were having a look around,” Ron shrugged. “Clues, you know…”

Percy swelled in a manner that reminded Harry forcefully of Mrs. Weasley. He could almost see her appearing before them.

“Get—away—from—there—” he said through gritted teeth, striding towards them and chivvying them along, flapping his arms. “Don’t you care what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone’s at dinner…” His questions seemed more directed at Harry, even though he looked at Ron.

“Why shouldn’t we be here?” said Ron hotly, stopping short and glaring at Percy. “We’re students too! Listen, we never laid a finger on that stupid cat!”

“That’s what I told Ginny,” said Percy fiercely, “but she still seems to think you’re going to be expelled at any moment; I’ve never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out. You might think of her, for once. All the first-years are thoroughly over-excited by this business—”

“You don’t care about Ginny!” said Ron in disgust. His ears were reddening now. “You’re only worried I’m going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy.”

If Percy wore pearls, he would have clutched them.

“Five points from Gryffindor!” he said tersely, extending his prefect badge for Ron to see. “And I hope that teaches you a lesson about respect! No more detective work, or I–I’m writing to Mum!”

And he strode off, the back of his neck as red as Ron’s ears.

* * *

“Mister Malfoy, come on in.”

Sirius held the door to his office open as the young Slytherin boy walked in.

“Afternoon, Mister Black. Did I do something wrong?” Draco asked innocently.

Sirius gestured for Draco to take a seat as he took the one beside it.

“No, no, of course not. I’m just checking on some of my students what with the attacks going on.”

“I’m fine… I’m not scared.”

“Didn’t think you would be. Young pure-blood like yourself.”

Draco smirked.

“Though, some of your peers have said you’re saying things about muggle-borns. Things you maybe shouldn’t be saying?”

“They’re lying! I bet Potter said I was, didn’t he?”

“Draco… I’m not here to accuse you or get you in trouble. I’m here to see how you’re doing, I just want to talk. So, why are you saying things about muggle-borns?”

Draco shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Do you think it’s kind to say these things?”

“No…” Draco turned his attention to the floor.

“I know you don’t. Draco you’re an intelligent boy. You know what you say can affect people.”

“I know.”

“I used to do it too, you know? Say hurtful things just to get a rise out of people. I was a proper arse about it, too. Absolutely no filter. Because saying the mean things made me feel a little bit better about how bad I felt about myself. But, lad, you don’t have to feel bad about yourself. You don’t have to knock others down to feel better. Because it doesn’t help. It just pushes people that would love to be your friend away.”

“I don’t want to be their friend.”

“Why not? What makes them so different? Because they don’t have two magic parents? Pure-blood, half-blood, muggle-born… There’s no difference. You’re missing out on a whole world by isolating yourself in this bubble. You’re more than just a pure-blood. There’s a lot more that makes you special, Draco. You’re brilliant and insightful, I’ve seen your marks and read your essays; a phenomenal flyer, recruiters will love you when you’re older; honest, if perhaps to a fault; charismatic.”

“But… I’m a jerk…”

“Perhaps you can be, but so can I. I’d do well to be kinder and more selfless. What are some more good things you like about yourself?”

The boy shrugged again.

“Nothing? I don’t believe that. I’m sure your mother, or your friends, or teachers could rattle off dozens of things before they ever got to your blood status.”

“What–What if I’m just bad… and I can’t be better?” His eyes began to glisten.

Sirius placed a firm hand on Draco’s thin shoulder. “No one is just bad. Everyone can be better if they try. And honestly, son, you’re harder on yourself than you ought to be. You’re not bad, and much better than you think you are. If you want to improve, then you can—it’s bitter work, I’ll tell you—but I have complete faith in you and I’ll do everything I can to support you. All we need is to bring out the inner Draco.”

“But…” Draco huffed. “Everyone already expects me to be a jerk. I can’t just change, nobody will believe it.”

“Lad, you can change who you are whenever you want. Especially now, you’re young, you can try on personalities like robes until you find the one that fits. If your friends don’t like the change, then maybe they weren’t really your friends in the first place. You’ll find people waiting to love you.”

“Father wouldn’t like it if I became friends with—”

“You don’t have to be your father. My parents were just like your dad, but even sterner. I don’t mean you have to be as rebellious as I was,” Sirius laughed, “your mum doesn’t deserve that. But you deserve to be who you want to be. You deserve to listen to what your heart tells you.”

“Okay…”

Sirius twisted his mouth. “You’re a good person, Draco. I believe that, as much as I believe that you will surprise us all. You can be a better person so long as you try.”

The boy sat in silence, fiddling with the hem of his robes.

“Why don’t you head down to dinner? I heard they’re serving chocolate pudding for dessert.”

Draco nodded and headed for the door, lost in thought.

“Oh, and Draco?”

He turned to look back at Sirius.

“No more of that ‘mudblood’ stuff, okay?”

Chapter Text

Returning to the common room before the other Gryffindors; Harry, Ron, and Hermione chose seats as far as possible from anyone else.

Ron was still in a lousy temper even after stuffing himself at dinner and kept writing his History paper. When he reached for his wand to remove the smudges, the spell ignited the parchment and all his work. Fuming almost as much as his homework, Ron slammed A History of Magic shut.

To Harry’s surprise, Hermione did too.

“Who could it be?” she said, as though continuing a conversation they had just been having. “Who at Hogwarts would want all the muggle-borns and non-magical people out of Hogwarts?”

“Really? Let’s think,” Ron said in mock puzzlement. “Who do we know who thinks muggle-borns are scum?” He stared at Hermione as if the answer were obvious.

Hermione looked back, unconvinced. “If you’re talking about Malfoy—”

“Of course I am!” said Ron. “You heard him: ‘You’ll be next, Mudbloods!’ Come on, you’ve only got to look at his foul rat face to know it’s him—”    

“Draco Malfoy? The Heir of Slytherin?” Hermione said sceptically.

“Look at his family, Mione,” Harry said, closing his books. “The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin for generations. He won’t shut up about it. They could easily be Slytherin’s descendents. His father’s definitely suspicious enough.”

“They could’ve held onto the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries,” Ron said. “Passing it down, rat-faced father to rat-faced son.”

“But you heard Sirius, the last direct descendents were the Gaunts,” said Hermione.

“Yeah, and those pure-blood fanatic families are all sorts of inbred.” Ron said. “Who knows how many times the Gaunts married into the Malfoys?”

“By that logic, the same could apply to you and Sirius.”

“No? We’re in Gryffindor! What would we be doing with Salazar Slytherin?”

“You have to at least consider it’s possible…” said Hermione cautiously.

“It might be possible, but Malfoy is much more likely than Ron or Sirius. I just wish we had a way to prove it.” Harry said darkly.

“Well… there might be a way,” Hermione said slowly, dropping her voice even further. “Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We’d be breaking about fifty school rules, I’d wager.”

“Well, if, in a month or so, you feel like explaining, let us know, will you?” Ron said irritably.

“Alright,” Hermione said coldly. “What we need to do is get inside the Slytherin common room so we can ask Malfoy a few questions in private without him ever realizing it was us”

Ron laughed out loud at the idea.

“Great idea, Mione. Too bad it’s impossible.”

“No, it’s not,” she said with a scowl. “All we need is Polyjuice Potion.”

“Oh no,” groaned Harry.

“What’s that?” asked Ron.

“You really don’t pay attention in class, do you?” asked Hermione. “Snape mentioned it a few weeks ago. It transforms you into somebody else. Think about it! We could change ourselves into three of the Slytherins. No one would ever know it was us, and Malfoy would tell us anything! I bet he’s gloating about the Chamber of Secrets in their common room right now.”

“This Polyjuice stuff sounds dodgy to me,” Ron said, frowning. “What if we get stuck looking like three of the Slytherins forever?”

“I’ve read what little I could on it,” said Hermione. “It wears off after a while, but getting the recipe right is the hard part. Snape mentioned it being in a book called Moste Potente Potions. I checked and the only copies the school has are in the Restricted Section…”

There’s only one way to get a book from the Restricted Section as a second-year: with a signed note of permission from a teacher.

“Hard to see why we’d want the book, really,” said Ron, “if we wouldn’t try to make one of the potions.”

“I think,” said Hermione, “that if we made it sound as though we were just interested in the theory, we might stand a chance…”

“Oh, come on, no teacher’s going to fall for that,” said Ron. “They’d have to be really thick…”

Then a lightbulb went off in their heads.

“No! He’d never fall for that!”

~ ~ ~

Since the episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart hadn’t brought any more live creatures to class.

Instead, after that first disastrous lesson, he’d taken more and more advantage of his teaching assistant. The subsequent lessons saw a strict Lockhart lesson plan over his books and personal life, even making the class read up on Daily Prophet articles about him. This turned into Sirius giving lectures on the books and more quizzes on them. But after three weeks, the dazzling professor seemed to have lost all interest in academic life. He’d pop in for a few minutes at the beginning or end of class to flash his award-winning smile and regale them with harrowing stories from his adventures, but most of the time, he couldn’t be bothered. Answering fan mail and transcribing his latest novel seemed more pressing.

His classes were then left to Sirius to dictate as he pleased, something the student body appreciated—even the Slytherins and Lockhart fans.

Unfortunately for Harry, Professor Lockhart took a special interest in his classes specifically.

Instead of learning practical defense like the rest of the school, the students in Harry’s class were forced to listen as Lockhart read passages from his books, and sometimes re-enacted the more dramatic bits. For these, he usually picked Harry to help him with these reconstructions; so far, Harry had been forced to play a simple Transylvanian villager whom Lockhart had cured of a Babbling Curse, a yeti with a head-cold, and a vampire who could eat nothing except lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him.

Sirius always gave him a somber look and joined in the re-enactments as much as he could in solidarity. He, more than anyone, pitied the fate of the second-year Gryffindors and Slytherin students forced to endure these silly theatrics rather than learning proper defense. After taking over most lesson plans for Lockhart, Sirius began offering a “study period” on Friday afternoons for the second-year students to come and learn defensive magic without distractions.

When the study period first began, it was only the Gryffindor students. But through Sally-Anne Perk’s friendship with Stephanie Cornfoot, more Slytherins joined, until their entire class attended every Friday (despite Harry pleading for his godfather not to let Draco and his friends join). And it wasn’t long before the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs wanted to be included. The study period became so popular that Sirius now hosted one before dinner every day of the week for each year to have their own dedicated time.

During today’s Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, Harry was once again hauled to the front of the class, this time playing a werewolf. If he hadn’t had a reason for keeping Lockhart in a positive mood, he wouldn’t have done it.

“Alright, Nice loud howl now, Harry—perfect—and then, if you’ll believe it, I pounced—like this—slammed him to the floor—thusly—with one hand, I held him down—with my other, I put my wand to his throat—I then mustered my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm —he let out a piteous moan—go on, Harry—higher than that—good—the fur vanished—the fangs shrank—and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective—and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks.”

The bell rang, and Lockhart got to his feet.

“Ah, alas, until next time. Homework: compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copy of Magical Me to whoever pens the best one!”

The class began to leave. Harry returned to the back or the room, where Ron and Hermione were waiting.

“Ready?” Ron muttered.

“Wait till everyone’s gone,” said Hermione nervously.

“Sirius too,” said Harry. “He’ll knock something’s up straight away.”

Hermione looked past Harry at Sirius gathering his things. He glanced at the trio, packing up their bags before leaving for Lockhart’s office.

“Alright…”

She approached Professor Lockhart’s desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand, Harry and Ron right behind her. “Er, Professor Lockhart?” Hermione stammered. “I w–was hoping to–to get this book out of the library… for some background reading.”

She held out the piece of paper, her hand shaking.

“But the thing is, it’s in the Restricted Section, so I need a teacher’s signature to check it out—I think it will help me understand what you say in Gadding with Ghouls about slow-acting venoms…”

“Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!” said Lockhart, taking the note from Hermione while beaming. “Possibly my very favorite book. You enjoyed it?”

“Oh, yes!” said Hermione eagerly. “So clever, the way you trapped that last one with the tea-strainer…”

“Well, I’m sure no one will mind me giving the best student in the year a little extra help,” said Lockhart warmly, and he pulled out an enormous peacock quill. “Yes, nice, isn’t it?” he asked, misreading the revolted look on Ron’s face. “I usually save it for book signings.”

He scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the note and handed it back to Hermione.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione hurried out of Lockhart’s room before he asked about anything else.

“I don’t believe it,” Hermione said, as the three of them examined the signature on the note. “He didn’t even look at the book we wanted.”

“That’s because he’s a brainless git,” said Ron. “But who cares? We’ve got what we need.”

“He’s not a brain—”

“What’re you three doing?”

They froze stone still from the voice coming from behind them. Turning, they saw Sirius waiting for them outside of Lockhart’s classroom.

“We–we were just…” stammered Harry.

“… Just? ” Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Getting what you need? From Lockhart? Why?”

“Because—”

“Because of me, Sirius…” said Hermione.

“I’m dying with anticipation to hear the reason.”

“I–I was hoping to get an autograph… the boys know how much I enjoy Professor Lockhart’s books. And I know how much he likes Harry. I hoped if he was with me then I could get one and we thought Mrs. Weasley would appreciate one too, so that’s why Ron stayed.”

Sirius stared at them in bored disbelief. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“Y–yes.”

“Give me the paper,” he said, holding out his hand.

Hermione looked over at Ron and Harry, who shook their heads.

“How many points from Gryffindor do I have to take before I get that piece of paper, Miss Granger? Two? Five? Ten? Or should I just contact your parents?”

Faster than they could blink, Hermione’s hand shot forward, placing the Restricted Section slip into Sirius’ hand.

“Moste Potente Potions?” Sirius eyed them suspiciously. “Why? And don’t lie,” he said as Ron opened his mouth.

“Snape mentioned Polyjuice Potion,” Harry said bitterly. “I thought it’d be funny if we turned into Crabbe and Goyle to mess with Malfoy.”

“Do you understand how complicated Polyjuice Potion is? And with your marks in Potions?”

“I’m good at Potions when it’s not taught by Snape! Besides, Hermione’ll be helping brew it and she’s got great marks.”

“Really? You’re okay with this, Hermione?”

Trembling, she nodded.

Sirius sighed and folded the slip of paper. “How much longer are you going to be untruthful? I’d really like to skip this song and dance if we could. Or how about this: I give each of you a detention, I write Audrey and Molly about what their kids are up to, I keep this slip, and I send word to all your professors and Madam Pince to ensure none of them give you any access to the Restricted Section. You know what? We’ll do that.” He tucked the slip into his pocket and turned to walk away.

“No!” the kids exclaimed.

Harry grumbled. “Fine. We want to turn into Slytherin students so we can ask Malfoy what he knows about the Chamber of Secrets.”

“What? Why? What would Draco know about the Chamber that I haven’t already told you?”

“We, er, we think he might be the heir of Slytherin,” said Ron.

Sirius paused before barking with laughter. “Draco Malfoy is not the heir of Slytherin.”

“How do you know?” asked Harry.

“Because he’s not! He’s a twelve-year-old boy you don’t get on with.”

“But you haven’t heard him!” said Ron. “He's always bragging about the Chamber and who he hopes will be next!”

“And sending Dobby to mess with Harry so he couldn’t stop him!” said Hermione.

“I’m well aware of what he’s been saying.”

“I knew you wouldn’t believe us,” Harry muttered. “Didn’t believe us last year either…”

Sirius squinted at Harry and pinched his lips.

“Fine.” He tore the slip from his pocket and thrust it into Harry’s hand. “You want to interrogate Malfoy? Be my guest. But when things go wrong and you realize you’ve wasted your time, I don’t want to hear any complaining.” Without another word from the kids, Sirius walked away.

Blinking in stunned confusion, Harry’s hand was still extended with the slip in it. He hesitantly turned towards Ron and Hermione, who looked just as stunned.

“D’you think it’s a trap?” Ron asked.

“No… But we should probably hurry to the library just in case.”

They walked as quickly as they could down to the library, slowing down only as they entered and stiffly walked to the desk. Madam Pince, the librarian, was a thin, irritable young woman who had a preference for dark makeup.

“Allow me,” Hermione whispered, taking the slip from Harry. “She’ll be less suspicious if it’s from me.”

Rather than argue, Harry handed over the permission slip for Hermione to hand to Madam Pince.

“Moste Potente Potions?” Madam Pince asked in the same suspicious tone Sirius used. She tried to take the note from Hermione, but Hermione wouldn’t let go.

“I–I was wondering if I c–could keep it,” she said breathlessly.

“Oh, come on!” said Ron, wrenching it from her grasp and thrusting it at Madam Pince. “We’ll get you another autograph. Lockhart’ll sign anything if it stands still long enough.”

Madam Pince held the note up to the light, as though determined to detect a forgery, but it passed the test. She stalked away between the lofty shelves to the gated restricted section and returned several minutes later carrying a large moldy-looking book. Hermione put it carefully into her bag and they left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty.

Five minutes later, they barricaded themselves in Moaning Myrtle’s out-of-order bathroom. Hermione had overridden Ron’s objections by pointing out that it was the last place anyone in their right minds would go, so they were guaranteed some privacy. Moaning Myrtle was busy crying noisily in her cubicle, but they ignored her, and she them.

Hermione opened Moste Potente Potions carefully, and the three of them bent over the damp-spotted pages. It was clear from a glance why it belonged in the Restricted Section. Some potions had effects almost too gruesome to think about, and there were some very unpleasant illustrations, which included a man who seemed to have been turned inside out and a witch sprouting several extra pairs of arms out of her head.

“Here it is,” said Hermione excitedly, as she found the page titled ‘The Polyjuice Potion’. It was decorated with drawings of people halfway through transforming into other people. Harry sincerely hoped the artist had only imagined the looks of intense pain on their faces.

“This is one of the most complicated potions I’ve ever seen,” gasped Hermione as they scanned the recipe. “Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass,” she murmured, running her finger down the list of ingredients. 

“Well, those’re easy enough. They’re in the student store-cupboard and all over the Hogwarts grounds. We can help ourselves. Oooh, but powdered horn of a Bicorn—I don’t know where we’re going to get that… Shredded skin of a Boomslang will be tricky, too—and of course we need a bit of whoever we want to change into.”

“’scuse me?” said Ron sharply. “What d’you mean, a bit of whoever we’re changing into? I’m drinking nothing with Crabbe’s toenails in it…”

Hermione continued as though she hadn’t heard him.

“We don’t have to worry about that yet, those are the last bits to add…”

Ron turned, speechless, to Harry, who had another worry.

“You realize we’ll have to steal that stuff, Mione? Boomslang skin, powdered bicorn horn, those aren’t things we can get in the students’ cupboard. Sirius won’t help us and he doesn’t make many potions anyway, we won’t have any lying around Grimmauld Place. What’re we going to do? Break into Snape’s private stores? We won’t have to worry about the potion going wrong if we’re caught, because he’ll kill us first.”

Hermione shut the book with a snap. “Well, if you two are going to chicken out, fine,” she said. There were bright pink patches on her cheeks, and her eyes were brighter than usual. “I don’t want to break rules, you know. But I think threatening muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. And if you don’t want to find out if it’s Malfoy, I’ll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand the book back in…”

“I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be persuading us to break rules,” said Ron. “Whole world’s topsy-turvy… All right, we’ll do it. But not toenails, OK?”

“How long will this take to make, anyway? Something like this’ll probably be overnight, right?” Asked Harry, as Hermione, looking happier, opened the book again.

“A lot longer than overnight. The fluxweed has got to be picked at the full moon and the lacewings have got to be stewed for twenty-one days… I’d say it’ll take about a month, assuming we get all the ingredients.”

“A month?” said Ron. “Malfoy could have attacked half the muggle-borns in the school by then!” But Hermione’s eyes narrowed dangerously again, and he added swiftly, “But it’s the best plan we’ve got, so full steam ahead, I say.”

However, while Hermione checked the coast was clear for them to leave the bathroom, Ron muttered to Harry, “It’ll be a lot less hassle if we just knock Malfoy off his broom during his match tomorrow.”

* * *

The annoyance Sirius felt had hardly faded when Saturday arrived.

Don’t believe him?

Of course not in this instance. Draco is just a boy, and while he might stir up trouble and regurgitate his father’s rhetoric, he’s harmless. He could do nothing more than what Sirius did at his age. Draco is a bright boy. But not even he could cast a total petrification curse that Dumbledore couldn’t break. There wasn’t a chance of him being Slytherin’s heir, no matter what he claimed.

The Black Family tapestry traced their family back centuries. Through the years, the Blacks have married into the Malfoys, the Slytherins, and even the Gaunts dozens of times. Their lines were so intricately woven together that if the Malfoys were direct descendents, it would be known. Not to mention, even without the genealogical proof, the Malfoys have attended Hogwarts nearly as long as the Black family. If they ever had a way to open the Chamber of Secrets, they would have done so dozens of times already.

Still, Draco was over the line sending his house-elf to mess with Harry. Sirius had done his fair share of pranks coming up, most of which he wasn’t proud of… But sending Kreacher to mess with Snape was never something he’d thought of.

Though he couldn’t say he wouldn’t have done it if he had.

Since starting their D.A.D.A. study period, Sirius had seen first-hand the animosity between Draco and Harry. Their eagerness to best the other, their willingness to volunteer to hex the other. It did often feel like a glimpse back into time, watching James and Severus, only this time Sirius was twenty years older.

The pranks and jinxes weren’t as funny now as they were back then.

How could Harry say I never believe him?

All of last year, I did nothing but believe him.

I always believe him.

If he and his friends want to chase their tails after Malfoy, then so be it. More likely, they’ll check out the book, realize how tedious it is to brew, and forget all about their asinine scheme. Sirius only hoped this wasn’t a repeat of last year and they won’t try to sleuth their way into further danger.

Sirius knew he acted rashly. But he hoped their endeavours would keep them distracted long enough for the adults to settle the issue before they involved themselves. It would be unrealistic to ever think they’d leave the adults to handle this otherwise. Harry, Ron, and Hermione may very well be the most hard-headed children on the planet.

Throwing on a navy blue jacket, Sirius walked down the corridors to head for the quidditch pitch. Walking down the opposite stairwell to the entrance hall were the three Gryffindors themselves, along with their friends.

“Ready to watch Ravenclaw destroy Slytherin, Professor Black?” asked Dean.

“I’m always ready to watch Slytherin lose, Mister Thomas.” Sirius smirked. He hung back for Harry, Ron, and Hermione, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “So, did you check out your book?”

“Yes, we did,” said Harry.

“And how d’you feel about how long it’ll take to brew it? Did it make you all change your minds?”

“No.”

“Nope.”

“It just takes a while, but nothing we can’t manage,” said Hermione.

I shouldn’t have expected anything less, Sirius thought.

They took seats with the other Gryffindor students in the quidditch stadium, ready to cheer on the Ravenclaw team. Soon enough, Lee Jordan announced the teams. Nothing as show-boaty as the homecoming games. The teams walked out onto the pitch. Madam Hooch asked the team captains, Marcus Flint and Jeremy Stretton, to shake hands.

The whistle was blown, the quaffle tossed, and the match began.

Draco and the Ravenclaw seeker, Linderina Crane, circled the pitch on their brooms. From the Slytherin stands, sitting beside Snape, were Draco’s parents, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

It’d been years since Sirius last saw his cousin. Only Lucius had come for their son’s first match. She looked as ageless as he remembered. Her pale blonde hair and fair skin hadn’t darkened in the slightest. Her features remained soft and delicate. The only thing that had changed was how far she upturned her nose.

Sirius was glad Cissa wasn’t at the first game. He’d completely overlooked that she might appear. It’d been almost as long for Andromeda since she last saw her sister.

Her exit from the family had been as graceful as Sirius’, but with a lot more baggage.

Andromeda loved their family dearly, far more dearly than Sirius did. She was a dutiful and obedient daughter, a supportive confidant of her sisters, a model of excellence if not a little overlooked as the middle child. Though she looked so much like Bellatrix, they could have been twins. Andromeda was always closer to Narcissa. She looked after her baby sister with a special fondness, and they were each other’s closest friend.

The trouble came when Andromeda turned seventeen.

Her parents had no shortage of marriage offers for their second daughter. Bellatrix had been married off to Rodolphus Lestrange, a match their parents were quite proud of. The Lestranges offered their second son for Andromeda’s hand. As did the Rosiers, their thirteen-year-old son; the Greengrasses, their twenty-four-year-old; the Parkinsons, Notts, Flints… The offers were endless. The most scandalous came from Abraxas Malfoy, who offered Lucius to Andromeda, despite all of their parents knowing he courted Narcissa and had been dating her for some time by then.

Bella laughed when she heard. Dromeda was outraged. And Cissa was hurt.

Even after much reassurance from Andromeda that she’d never steal Lucius from her sister, and denied ever desiring to do so, Narcissa found it hard to believe her. But it was true, Andromeda had no desire to marry Lucius Malfoy, whom she often referred to as an arrogant peacock, nor did she desire to marry anyone who offered.

Kept secret from her sisters, friends, and especially her parents, was a romance Andromeda shared with a muggle-born Hufflepuff boy that played beater on his quidditch team. During Sirius’s second-year—Andromeda’s seventh—he caught them snogging while sneaking around with James. She chased after and made them swear they wouldn’t say a word to anyone in their family. He’d never seen her looking so afraid or so serious. He never said a word to anyone and made sure neither did James.

It wasn’t until after Andromeda and Ted graduated she confessed their love for each other to her parents. Whether it was because of how outspoken they’d become against muggles and she reached her wits’ end, or because she couldn’t bear hiding it any further, it didn’t matter. Any love she believed her parents had that would make them overlook this was forgone.

Within the hour, word got to Sirius’ mother, Walburga. Andromeda was derided and shamed. She was thrown onto the porch of her family home and dragged to the end of the drive. Walburga burned Andromeda’s portrait off the family tree tapestry that evening. Narcissa said nothing all the while, frozen beside the fireplace as she watched. When Sirius asked what happened that night, his mother struck him and forbade him and his brother from ever speaking of her again.

Dromeda said their uncle Alphard, a kind man, secretly took her in for a few months until she married Ted and they made a home together. 

They saw little of each other after that. She’d finished school and started her own life and eventually her own family. What little correspondence they had continued only after Sirius was similarly exiled from the family, but the first time they saw each other again was at Uncle Alphard’s funeral. When they finally reunited, they cried. That night was when Andromeda told him everything that had happened, and he was free to tell someone what had happened to him. As much as he loved James, Remus, and Peter, what he faced from his parents wasn’t something he was ever comfortable sharing with them. He didn’t know how to put it into words to make them understand.

But Andromeda already understood.

It wasn’t until after the war that they saw each other again. They were the only family either had left; exiled from hers, orphaned from his, they had each other. But even after all this time, he didn’t know how the sisters would react upon seeing each other again.

Lost in his head, Sirius was forced back to reality by the stands exploding around him. Focusing his attention on the game, he saw the seekers, Malfoy and Crane in hot pursuit of the snitch.

They were neck and neck.

Malfoy shoved Crane hard.

She gave as good as she got, throwing her shoulder at Malfoy.

The Nimbus Two Thousand One held the edge. 

With one more push forward, the snitch rested firmly in Draco’s fist, held aloft over his head.

The final whistle blew, the match ended, and the Slytherin stands erupted in cheers. Harry and the other Gryffindor kids groaned and wasted no time leaving the stands. They knew the Slytherins would revel in their celebrations, but none of the other houses would.

With so many leaving at once down the narrow wooden stairs, it took them a while before they reached the ground. Joining the crowd of the students up to the castle, Sirius was almost swept away before he saw a couple with bright blonde hair exiting the Slytherin stands.

“You kids go on, I’ll catch up,” said Sirius.

“Where’re you going?” Harry asked.

“To, er, catch up with my cousin and Draco’s father. I’ll tell you about it later.”

Before Harry could question him further, the crowd carried him toward the castle.

The Malfoys and Snape lingered outside the pitch, waiting for Draco to celebrate with them. None of them saw Sirius as he approached.

“Lucius!” Sirius called, making Malfoy jump slightly. “Cissa!”

They briefly saw him approaching before shooting a look at each other. It was hesitant and unsettled before they watched him come closer.

“Ah, Sirius Black,” said Lucius with his usual sneer.

“Good afternoon, Sirius.” Narcissa gave him a polite smile.

“It’s good to see you both—Snape.” Sirius gave the Potions Master a curt nod.

“Is it?” Lucius asked. “A pity we couldn’t have seen each other after the last match. I suppose you didn’t feel comfortable without having someone else there to gang up on me?”

“Oh, well, after Harry defeated your boy, I didn’t think it fair to gloat.”

“You know, Severus has told us all about your new position. Who’d have thought—Sirius Black, a teacher.”

“Teacher’s assistant, Lucius,” Snape corrected with a sneer.

“That’s right, my apologies—teacher’s assistant. At least Dumbledore wasn’t daft enough to actually put you in charge of our children.”

“Lucius—” Cissa gripped his arm.

“No, Cissa, it’s alright. The headmaster may not have been daft enough to make me the Defense teacher, but he was still foolish enough to hire Lockhart. Something I am loathe to forget. But at least I can make sure our kids leave the year with some bit of knowledge they wouldn’t get otherwise. And anything to keep Snape from the job, eh, Sev?” He playfully patted Snape on the arm as the man scowled. “Draco shows a lot of promise. He’s a very bright boy.”

“Naturally,” said Lucius. “He’s second in the class. It’s no wonder when you see where he comes from.”

“I agree, Narcissa was always an incredible witch. And have you met the brilliant young witch that’s the top of his class? Muggle-born. Obviously her parents did something right. But I was actually hoping to talk to you about Draco.”

“What could you have to say about our son?”

“Is everything alright?” Narcissa asked.

“Yes and no. I’m sure you’ve heard about his rivalry with Harry?”

Both Malfoys rolled their eyes, clearly having heard more than enough.

“Yes, what about it?” said Lucius. “It’s two boys messing about as they do. Just like you and your friends did in school.”

“On that we agree,” Sirius said. “However, we are adults now and should do the responsible thing. Try to put a stop to it.”

“Potter is a known troublemaker,” Snape interrupted. “It seems to me the responsibility would lie with his guardian to control his behavior first.”

“Yes, Snape, I’m well aware of the blind eye you turn to young Malfoy. But I’m not ignoring my godson’s more reprehensible actions, either. It seems to me if their behavior is allowed to continue, it will lead to either or both of them being injured, like Harry was during his last game.”

Lucius scoffed. “You can’t be suggesting Draco bewitched that bludger.”

“Not Draco himself, no.” Sirius lowered his voice. “But he’s got your house-elf doing his dirty work. Dobby?”

Narcissa and Lucius gasped in disgust.

“I have no reason to listen to your lies,” he spat, turning to walk away.

“I’m not lying!” Sirius grabbed his arm and turned him back. “Dobby, your elf, admitted to Harry in the hospital wing that he bewitched the bludger. That he blocked the entrance to platform nine and three quarters. And that he and my house-elf blocked all messages to our home the whole summer.”

“And why, may I ask, would he do that? To what end?”

“He claims Harry is in danger, and needs to leave the school. I can only imagine this was some misguided prank and one I would like to see the end of.”

Lucius ground his teeth, fury in his eyes. Without a word, he swept away onto the quidditch pitch. Snape left with one more sneer and a flourish of black robes. Narcissa gave one more polite, but pitying smile before she joined her husband as he hefted Draco into the air.

Sirius was left alone, feeling stupid for thinking it would work.

Chapter Text

Harry woke up the next morning to find the dormitory blazing with winter snow.

It was later than he’d normally wake up, but Ron and the other Gryffindor boys were still snoring behind their bed curtains. Nearly Headless Nick had celebrated his five-hundredth Deathday the night before, and Harry kept his promise to attend with Ron and Hermione. It was a terribly frigid event with horrible smelling food that ended with Harry’s bold assertion that Nick was scarier than the Bloody Baron, the ghost of Slytherin House.

Electing to let the other boys sleep in, Harry quietly took a shower and crept down the spiral staircase to a sparse Gryffindor common room. Ginny was one of the few occupying it, curled up on one of the large comfy armchairs. She looked tired and sad as she stared at her diary in her lap.

“Mornin’ Ginny,” Harry said, hoping after all this time she’d warmed up to having him around.

His greeting made her jump and throw the diary onto the floor.

Apologetic for startling her, Harry bent over to pick it up, but Ginny practically threw herself to the ground to keep him from touching it. Harry quickly pulled his hand away as she clutched the diary to her chest.

“I was just trying to pick it up,” he said. “I wasn’t going to read it.”

Ginny only stared at him. It was hard to miss the tears welling in the corners of her bloodshot peridot eyes; the bags beneath them were a deep shade of purple like she hadn’t slept in weeks.

“Is everything okay?” asked Harry, kneeling beside her. “Do you want me to get one of your brothers? Or McGonagall? Or Sirius?”

“N–No…!”

“Okay… D’you want to get breakfast with me? Ron’s still sleeping, but I bet Hermione will be down there already.”

“I–I’m okay… thanks…” she said.

“Okay… Well, if you get hungry, it’d be nice to spend time with you if you wanna join us.”

Harry remembered what Sirius had said about telling her how he felt. But that was easier said than done, and he couldn’t make himself do it. No matter how smart it might be… Ginny would catch on. Wouldn’t she?

Leaving her with the diary, Harry crawled through the portrait hole, only to run into Nearly Headless Nick.

“Harry, my boy! Just the chap I was hoping to find!”

“Oh, er, hello, Sir Nicholas,” Harry said. “Sorry we didn’t stay long at your party. We didn’t want to miss out on the feast since we couldn’t really eat anything at yours…”

“What? We had plenty of—oh… right, the living can’t eat rotten food… After five hundred years, I must’ve overlooked that. You see, you’re the first living person to come to one of my Deathday parties. My apologies for being a poor host. But no matter, I wanted to thank you again for coming at all, and saying I was scarier than the Bloody Baron! Ha! He’ll surely remember that!”

Nick laughed heartily, while Harry forced a chuckle.

“It was no problem. Besides, he isn’t really as scary as everyone thinks.”

“Ha! I almost believe you, my friend. Still, I appreciate your trying—I daresay I’ll be joining the headless hunt in no time!”

Sir Nicholas then floated through the Fat Lady’s portrait, making her giggle, and left Harry alone to continue down to the Great Hall. As he passed the library, Percy strolled out of it, looking in far better spirits than the last time they’d met.

“Oh, hello, Harry,” he said. “Ron’s not with you?” His smile faded. “He’s not in the girls’ bathroom again, is he?”

Harry forced a laugh. “No, he’s having a lie-in with the other boys.”

“Oh, good, good. I was worried about having to tell Mum about that. I’m glad to see Ollie doesn’t have you training today. He could really use his rest, too. I don’t remember the last time he’s gotten a full night—he usually stays awake while I’m up late working on homework and he plans new quidditch strategies. He’s always thinking about quidditch, isn’t he? I had to tutor him for hours last year and he miraculously got five O.W.L.s. Had to figure out a way to tie everything back to quiddie or it would’ve been hopeless.”

Percy chuckled to himself, reminiscing over late night tutoring sessions with Oliver.

“Yeah… he definitely loves it more than most. Anyway, I’m pretty hungry, Perce, so I’ll see you…”

“What? Oh, yeah, have a good breakfast, and keep my brother out of trouble, won’t you?”

Stepping into the Great Hall, it was apparent the Gryffindor boys might be the only ones sleeping in this Sunday morning. Each of the four house tables was packed with their students chattering over their breakfasts. Hermione was sitting at the Gryffindor table with Sally-Anne Perks and Emma Vane going over their homework.

“Hiya,” said Harry.

“Morning, Harry,” the girls replied.

Hermione gave him a smile, while Sally-Anne and Emma hardly looked up from their work. They’d never been as warm to him as the other girls in their house and year—or maybe Harry hadn’t been as welcoming to them as he was with the others. They always seemed to prefer each other's company over the company of everyone else.

“I was going to pay Sirius a visit after breakfast,” Harry said. “Did you all wanna come with?”

Emma and Sally-Anne shot each other a look before refusing.

“I’ll go,” said Hermione, shutting her book. “It’d be nice to spend time with Sirius.”

After finishing a quick breakfast, they rose from their seats and Harry whispered, “You know I wasn’t planning on going over homework with him, right?”

Hermione stared daggers at him. “I know.”

Harry held up his hands defensively. “I was just making sure—here—”He took her bookbag and flung it over his shoulder. Once they were back at the Great Hall doors, Harry said, “I was actually wanting to check on the… you know.”

“I figured,” Hermione said with a smirk. “I think little will have changed since yesterday… Not that it will until we can get the rest of the ingredients.”

“I think I have a plan for that actually,” said Harry. “But I’ll need to check with the twins.”

“A diversion during class?” she asked.

“Great minds think alike.” This time Harry smirked and made Hermione blush.

They dashed up the stairs before Harry spoke again.

“Sally-Anne and Emma don’t seem to like me much.”

“Really? er —I think you’re overthinking it. Of course they like you. They just want to get their homework done.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Mione. What’d I do to them?”

“Nothing! Honestly! They really do like you fine. Just…”

“Just?”

“It’s nothing! Besides, not everyone has to be your best friend, Harry.”

“I know! But I already have most of the school thinking I’m some sort of–of—well, you know what… I didn’t think I’d also have to deal with it in our own house.”

“No, Harry, they don’t think you’re the one attacking everyone. They just think that sometimes you can be… a little bit of a glory hound…”

“A glory hound? How? You know I don’t try to get put into trouble.”

“Harry…!” Hermione stomped her foot. “It doesn’t matter! They’re not going around saying mean things and they still like you well enough. They just don’t want to hang out with you. You still have plenty of friends.”

 Harry grumbled the rest of the way to the second-floor girls’ bathroom. This was where they decided it’d be safest for them to hide the polyjuice potion they were brewing, so no one else would stumble across it. The only issue was trying to keep Moaning Myrtle from interfering, which was easy enough since she spent most of her time crying.

After checking that neither Filch nor any of the prefects were around, they opened the door and walked down to the last cubicle where they were hiding their concoction. Harry and Hermione squeezed into the cubicle. An old cauldron was perched on the toilet. One of Hermione’s signature bluebell flames crackled under the rim. Conjuring up portable, waterproof fires was her specialty. Inside were the lacewing flies they were stewing.

“I checked our star maps,” Hermione said,” and the next full moon is on the tenth. We’ll have to pick the fluxweed then. I’m growing it in my dorm. I should have plenty for the brew. And that works out perfectly because the lacewing won’t be ready until the twelfth.”

“So, when do you think it’ll be ready?” Harry asked. “We have to hurry before someone else is attacked.”

“As long as we have the rest of the ingredients, it should be done by Friday the thirteenth. Then we’ll need to find a time that will work best to get Draco alone. But Harry, I’ve been thinking…”

“Naturally,” he said, stirring the lacewing flies.

“Sirius seems pretty convinced Draco is innocent, and there haven’t been any more attacks since Colin… What if they’re over? You haven’t heard the voices since, have you?”

“No… but he probably knows everyone is onto him.”

“Harry… but—”

“I only wish we knew what monster he was controlling. How can I hear it when no one else can? How has nobody noticed it sneaking round the school?”

From her bag, Hermione pulled out her copies of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and Most Macabre Monstrosities.

“Maybe it can turn itself invisible like a demiguise,” said Hermione. “Or maybe it can disguise itself—pretend to be a suit of armor or something. I read about Chameleon Ghouls that can look like everyday objects. Revelio can uncover them. Maybe we should try it if you hear the voice again…”

~ ~ ~

When the full moon came, Hermione picked the fluxweed, but the potion still had ingredients missing.

They needed the bicorn horn and the boomslang skin, and the only place they could get them was from Snape’s private stores. Harry privately felt he’d rather face Slytherin’s legendary monster than have Snape catch him robbing his office.

While in the common room, Harry, Ron, and Hermione went over their plan as Thursday morning’s double Potions lesson loomed closer. Knowing the twins were sitting on a goldmine of paraphernalia that could help them, Harry asked for one of their Filibuster Fireworks; they gladly lent him one after learning it would disrupt Snape’s class.

“Now, wait for my signal during class and toss the firework,” Hermione said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Then I’ll sneak into Snape’s storeroom and take what we need. “If you two get into any more trouble, they’ll be sure to expel you. I’ve got a clean record—” 

“A clean record this year,” Ron clarified.

Hermione shot him a terrifying look before continuing. “So, you two cause enough mayhem to keep Snape busy for a few minutes.”

Harry smiled feebly. He enjoyed seeing this rebellious side of Hermione, but deliberately causing mayhem in Snape’s Potions class was about as safe as tickling a sleeping dragon.

She must’ve forgotten their school motto.

Thursday morning’s lesson proceeded in the usual way. Twenty cauldrons stood steaming the wooden tables, on which also stood brass scales and jars of ingredients. Snape prowled through the fumes, making waspy remarks about the Gryffindors’ work while the Slytherins sniggered appreciatively. Draco Malfoy, Snape’s favorite student, kept flicking puffer-fish eyes at Ron and Harry, who knew that if they retaliated, they would get detention faster than you could say ‘unfair’.

Harry’s Swelling Solution was far too runny, but he had his mind on more important things. He waited for Hermione’s signal, and he hardly listened as Snape paused to sneer at his watery potion. When Snape turned and walked off to bully Neville, Hermione caught Harry’s eye and nodded.

Harry ducked swiftly down behind his cauldron, pulled the Filibuster Firework out of his robes' pocket, and quickly prodded with his wand. The firework began to fizz and sputter instantly.

Knowing he had only seconds, Harry straightened up, took aim, and lobbed it into the air; it landed right on target in Goyle’s cauldron.

Goyle’s potion exploded, showering the whole class.

People shrieked as splashes of the Swelling Solution hit them. Malfoy got a faceful and his nose swelled like a balloon; Goyle blundered around, his eyes covered by his hands, which had expanded to the size of dinner plates, while Snape tried to restore calm and investigate what had happened.

Through the confusion, Harry saw Hermione slip quietly through the storeroom door.

“Silence! SILENCE!” Snape roared. “Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draft. When I find out who did this…” He unstoppered a vial on his desk, his black eyes boring into each of the students.

Harry tried not to laugh as he watched Malfoy hurry forward, his head drooping with the weight of a nose like a small melon. Ron got a few splashes on his forearm, which Harry hoped would rule them out as the perpetrators.

As half the class lumbered up to Snape’s desk, some weighed down with arms like clubs, others unable to talk through gigantic puffed-up lips, Harry saw Hermione slide back into the dungeon, the front of her robes bulging with jars. With Snape still distracted, she slipped them into her bottomless bookbag before anyone noticed.

When everyone had taken a swig of the antidote and the various swellings had subsided, Snape swept over to Goyle’s cauldron and scooped out the twisted black remains of the firework with the tip of his wand.

There was a sudden hush.

“When I find out who threw this…” Snape whispered, “I will make sure that person is… expelled.”

Harry arranged his face into what he hoped was a puzzled expression. But Snape stared right at him, with his usual gaze as if he could see right into Harry’s head. The bell, which rang ten minutes later, could not have been more welcome.

“He knew it was me,” Harry told Ron and Hermione, as they hurried back to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. “I could tell.”

“There’s no way,” said Ron. “He was looking completely the other way and everyone else was too busy with their potions to have seen you. He’d have to be a mind reader.”

Hermione threw the new ingredients into the cauldron and stirred feverishly.

“It’ll be ready by tomorrow,” she said happily. “All that’s left is to get the bits of who we want to look like.”

Harry wished he could share her enthusiasm, but his thoughts lingered on how Snape could’ve figured out it was him.

“Snape can’t prove it was you,” said Ron reassuringly to Harry. “What could he do?”

“Knowing Snape, something foul,” said Harry, as the potion frothed and bubbled.

* * *

It wasn’t often the Headmaster called for Sirius anymore.

But every time he did, it still formed a pit in his stomach. There were only a few good reasons for him to be summoned in a sea of terrifying ones. Had there been another attack? Has this one gone beyond petrification? Has the Board of Governors discovered he was secretly allowing the Creeveys to visit their son? Was the Ministry here to reverse their decision?

Round and round the questions spun in Sirius’ head. The possibilities were endless, but none any less anxiety-inducing than the last. All he could do was hope his mind was against him as he sauntered down the steps to the Headmaster’s office from the Governor’s residence. After passing the griffin gargoyle and moving up the spiraling staircase, he discovered the room wasn’t empty.

“Snape,” Sirius said with a curt nod. “What’re you doing here?”

“I was summoned by the headmaster,” Snape sneered. “Same as you I would imagine. But you do have a penchant for storming up here unannounced—what is it this time? Has Potter scraped his knee?”

“I don’t think it’s wise for you to talk about my godson in front of me, Snivellus,” Sirius said nonchalantly, running his fingers along one of Dumbledore’s contraptions. “I believe I made my stance very clear on what would happen to anyone that wishes harm on him.”

“Thank you both for coming,” Dumbledore said as he swept in from the study behind his main office. “Please sit.”

Professor Dumbledore sat behind his desk as Sirius and Snape cautiously took their own seats beside each other.

“I have need for both of you. Professor Lockhart has expressed his desire to restart the dueling club.”

“You must be joking,” said Snape.

“Knowing Lockhart, this doesn’t surprise me. He has no business running any such club, Headmaster.”

“I’ve given him my permission already.”

“What?” Sirius and Snape asked in unison.

“The man is a danger to himself, Albus,” Sirius said. “Putting him in charge of who knows how many children casting spells at each other is a recipe for disaster.”

“Hence my need for you two.” Dumbledore rose behind his desk. “Gilderoy has already asked Professor Flitwick to assist him, knowing about his past as a famed duelist, but Filius refused. I told Gilderoy that both of you are accomplished duelists in your own right, and that he would benefit from recruiting you.”

Both men opened their mouths to protest, but Dumbledore held up his hand.

“I believe the dueling club would be beneficial to our students, especially considering the present danger. But I recognize the benefits of experience you two share and could teach. You may not want to help with the dueling club, but this is not something I would entrust with Gilderoy alone.”

Sirius looked over at Snape with his dark, greasy hair and sallow skin, and Snape’s dark eyes looked back. Both of them owed Dumbledore a debt. This wasn’t so much a friendly request as it was an expectation.

They had no choice but to accept.

~ ~ ~

The next day, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked across the Entrance Hall when they saw a small knot of students gathered around the noticeboard, reading a pinned up piece of parchment. 

Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas beckoned them over, looking excited.

“They're startin’ a Dueling Club!” said Seamus. “First meeting tonight! I wouldn’t mind duelin’ lessons, they might come in handy one av these days…”

“What, you reckon Slytherin’s monster can duel?” asked Ron, but he, too, read the sign with high interest. “Think it’s Sirius’ doin’? Could be useful,” he said to Harry and Hermione as they went into dinner. “Think we should go?”

Harry and Hermione were all for it, but Harry said Sirius told him nothing about starting a dueling club.

At eight o’clock that evening, they hurried back to the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.

“If it’s not Sirius, I wonder who’ll be teaching us?” Hermione asked as the second-year Gryffindors edged through the chattering crowd. “You know, I’d heard that Professor Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young. Maybe he’s brought it back with everything happening.”

“Just so long as it isn’t—” Harry began, but his sentence ended with a groan: Gilderoy Lockhart indeed strutted onto the stage, resplendent in his dueling robes.

He had on a sleeveless pale-gray padded doublet with his golden GL crest embroidered on the breast, a loose and flowing poet shirt underneath, knee-high black leather riding boots, and slate-colored trousers with gold seams that were far tighter than they had any right to be. Atop all of it, he wore a deep eggplant and gold half-cape over his left shoulder and a leather glove on his right hand. As usual, his hair was perfectly curled and coiffed and his smile dazzled.

Half the girls present looked love-struck, and Harry thought Hermione might faint.

Sirius stood behind him accompanied by none other than Professor Snape, both in their usual—though very different—black wardrobes, a wide berth between them.

Lockhart waved his gloved hand for silence and called, “Gather round, gather round!” He flashed another smile. “Can you all see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!”

“Welcome, one and all! Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all up in care you should ever need to defend yourselves as I, myself, have done on countless occasions—for full details, see my published works.”

He pulled off his cape and tossed it to a group of girls who immediately fought each other for it.

“Allow me to introduce my sparring partners,” said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. “You all, of course, know my teaching assistant, Sirius Black, but please welcome my newest assistant for the evening, Professor Snape. They tell me they know a bit about dueling and have sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don’t want any of you youngsters to worry. You’ll still have your Potions Master when I’m through with him. Never fear!” Lockhart tittered.

“Wouldn’t it be great if Snape and Lockhart finished each other off?” Ron muttered in Harry’s ear.

Snape’s lip curled. Harry wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at him like that, he’d have been running as fast as he could in the other direction.

“I hope our students will pay close attention,” said Sirius, stealing the spotlight with ease. “This isn’t a chance to just fling curses at each other. Duelling is an important skill for any sorcerer to know. It can be the difference between life and death. Whether you’re eleven or seventeen, you never know when you might face something lurking in the dark. So, pay attention.”

“Well said, Mister Black. So,” Lockhart turned to Sirius and Snape. “Which of you is brave enough to face me first?”

Snape looked at Sirius, who ceded him the first to go at Lockhart.

Lockhart and Snape walked to opposite sides of the long stage, turned to face each other, and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much flourishing of his hands, whereas Snape barely bent his neck. Then they raised their wands over their heads.

“At the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will aim to kill, of course.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Harry murmured, watching Snape stare Lockhart down.

“One—two— three —!”

Both of them rotated and swung their wands forward at their opponent. Before Lockhart could mutter a word, Snape cried: “Expelliarmus!”

There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: he flew backwards off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Malfoy and some other Slytherins cheered while most of the crowd and Sirius laughed.

Hermione danced on her tiptoes. “Do you think he’s alright?” she squealed through her fingers.

“Who cares?” Harry and Ron said together.

Lockhart got unsteadily to his feet and teetered back onto the platform after Lavender returned his wand to him. “An excellent idea to teach them that, Professor Snape, the Disarming Charm. But if you don’t mind me saying, it was pretty obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you, it would have been all too easy.”

Snape looked downright murderous, something Sirius must’ve noticed too.

“Perhaps it’d be better for us to show the students how to block unfriendly spells, Professor.” Sirius gave a subtle smile.

Lockhart paused nervously. Obviously, this wasn’t how he intended his first dueling club to go.

“An, er, excellent idea, Mister Black. Why not put them all into pairs? If you two gentlemen wouldn’t mind helping me…”

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart made Neville and Justin a team. Sirius broke up Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint, knowing a duel between them would only end badly. But Snape reached Harry and Ron first with a menacing smile.

“Time to split up the dream team, I think. Weasley, your wand causes devastation with the simplest of spells. I have no intention of sending any from my house to the hospital wing. You can partner with Finnigan. Potter—” Harry moved automatically towards Hermione.

“No. I don’t think so,” Snape said, smiling coldly. “You are more than capable of handling your own against someone from Slytherin. Malfoy—” He gestured for Draco to partner with Harry. “Let’s see what you make of the famous Harry Potter. And you, Miss Granger—can partner with Miss Parkinson.”

Malfoy sauntered over, smirking alongside a Slytherin girl. Pansy was a petite girl like Hermione, but she was just as bad as Draco. Her brown hair was straight and shiny, cut into a short bob along the edge of her sharp jawline. She had piercing, narrow brown eyes that reminded Harry of his Aunt Dromeda’s. Hermione gave her a weak smile, but the one Pansy gave in return was not friendly.

Harry caught Sirius’ eye, his godfather only giving him a pitying look and a slight shake of the head. Of course, he wouldn’t want Harry to fight Draco, but if Draco started it, how was he not supposed to defend himself?

“Good, now face your partners!” Lockhart called, having returned to the platform, “wonderful, now bow!”

Harry and Malfoy barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off each other.

“Wands at the ready! On my count, you will cast your charms to disarm your opponent— only to disarm them! One… two… three…!”

Harry swung his wand forward, but Malfoy fired on “two”, shouting “Everte Statum!”

Draco’s spell hit Harry so hard he felt as though he’d been hit over the head with a saucepan. He stumbled, but everything seemed to still be working. Not wasting a second for Draco to gloat, Harry pointed his wand straight at Malfoy and shouted, “Rictusempra!”

A jet of silver light hit Malfoy square in the stomach and he doubled over, wheezing.

“Harry!” Sirius scolded.

“I said disarm only!” Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd.

Harry smirked as Malfoy sank to his knees, barely able to move aside from laughing. Harry had hit him with a tickling charm. Harry kept his wand ready, with a vague feeling it would be unsporting to hex Malfoy further while he was on the floor, but this was his mistake.

Gasping for breath, Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry’s knees and choked out, “Tarantallegra!”

In the next second, Harry’s legs began jerking around out of his control in a kind of quickstep.

“Draco!” came Sirius’ voice again as he was also struggling over to them.

“Enough! Stop!” Lockhart shouted, but it was Snape that took charge.

“Finite Incantatem!” he shouted, and all spells and their effects stopped across the Great Hall. Harry’s feet stopped dancing, Malfoy stopped laughing, and they could look up at everything around them.

A greenish haze hung in the air. Both Neville and Justin were lying on the floor, panting; Ron held up an ashen-faced Seamus, apologizing for whatever his broken wand had done; Oliver and Marcus had found their way towards each other after all; but only Hermione and Pansy were still moving. They each had a fistful of the other’s hair as they clawed at each other. Both of their wands lay forgotten on the floor.

Harry and Draco leapt forward, pulling the girls away from each other.

“Dear, dear,” said Lockhart, shaking his head and skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels.

“Up you get, MacMillan…” Sirius said, surveying the injuries. “Careful there, Miss Fawcett, attagirl… Pinch it hard, it’ll stop bleeding in a second, Boot… No, you don’t need to go to the Hospital Wing, Mr. Entwhistle.”

Lockhart stood flustered amidst the hall, unsure of how to recollect composure after the disaster that had occurred.

“I think it’s time to teach them how to block unfriendly spells,” Sirius said. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted. “Harry, care to volunteer?”

Harry nodded and climbed onto the stage to join Sirius.

“And Ron, how about you?”

“Seeking all the glory for Gryffindor, are we, Black? Why not someone from my own house? Malfoy, perhaps?” He turned and gestured for Malfoy to get onto the stage.

Before Sirius could protest, Lockhart clapped his hands and said, “Excellent idea!” He joyfully jogged up to Harry and Sirius. “Now, Harry, when Draco points his wand at you, you do this.”

He raised his wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling move, and dropped it to the floor with a clatter. Harry looked up, and Sirius gave him an uneasy look in return. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked up his wand, saying, “whoops—looks like my wand is a little over-excited.”

Snape bent down and whispered something in Draco’s ear. Whatever he said made Malfoy smirk.

Sirius must’ve seen this too, because he leaned down and whispered into Harry’s ear, “on three, cast Levicorpus… they’ll hate it.”

Harry tried to mask his smile by coughing into his hand as Sirius and Snape walked to the side.

“Scared, Potter?” Draco asked, staring him down.

“You wish,” said Harry with a smirk.

Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. “Just do what I did, Harry!”

“What, drop my wand?”

But Lockhart wasn’t listening. “Three—two—one—duel!” he shouted.

Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, “Serpensortia!”

Just as quickly, Harry shouted, “Levicorpus!”

As a flash of light exploded from the tips of each of their wands, Malfoy suddenly lurched into the air to dangle by his ankle, while Harry watched as a long black snake shot from the end of Draco’s wand. It fell heavily onto the floor between them and raised itself, ready to strike. The room was torn between laughing at Malfoy, trying to keep his robes out of his face, and screaming in terror as they backed swiftly away from the snake.

Snape was furious as he watched Draco dangling upside-down. Sirius laughed as he drew his wand. Harry wished he’d hurry to get rid of the snake about to lunge.

“Harry, stay back,” he said. “I’ll get it…”

“No, no, allow me!” shouted Lockhart, desperate to appear useful. He brandished his wand at the snake. “Alarte Ascendare!”

There was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Now enraged and hissing furiously, it slithered straight towards Justin Finch-Fletchley, standing frozen in fear, and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike.

Harry wasn’t sure what made him do it.

He wasn’t even aware of making the decision.

All he knew was his legs were moving him towards the snake as though he was on castors, and once he was only a few feet away, he shouted stupidly at the snake, “leave him!” and miraculously—inexplicably—the snake retreated from Justin and coiled into a circle, docile as a thick black garden hose, looking at Harry. Harry felt the fear drain out of him. He knew the snake wouldn’t attack anyone now, though how he knew it, he couldn’t have explained.

He looked up at Justin, grinning, expecting to see Justin looking relieved, or puzzled, or even grateful—but certainly not angry and scared. This seemed to be the way everyone looked. All of their eyes were on Harry, full of fear and trepidation. When he looked back, he saw it wasn’t just the students; Gilderoy and Sirius had the same look.

Snape stepped forward, having gotten Draco back onto the ground. “Vipera Evanesca,” he said, waving his wand and the snake vanished in a burst of flame and black smoke. Snape, too, looked at Harry in an unexpected way: it was a shrewd and calculating look mixed with horrified curiosity, and Harry didn’t like it. He was also dimly aware of an ominous muttering all around the walls.

He felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Come on,” said Sirius in a quiet voice. “Let’s get you outta here. Come on.”

Sirius steered him out of the hall, Ron and Hermione hurrying alongside them. Making their way to the doors, the people on either side parted as though Harry had some virus they didn’t want to catch.

Harry didn’t have a clue what was going on. None of his companions explained anything until they had dragged him all the way to Sirius’ office. Sirius set him in an armchair and summoned tea for all of them.

Ron sat right beside him and excitedly said, “You’re a Parselmouth! Why didn’t you tell us?”

“A what?” Harry asked.

“A Parselmouth,” said Sirius gravely.

Ron’s excitement faded, and he sank into his chair.

“It means you can talk to snakes,” he said.

“Oh,” Harry said, almost disappointed. “I know. I mean, I’ve done it before. Last year Sirius took me to the London Zoo, and I accidentally set a boa constrictor on this annoying boy, who turned out to be my cousin—”

“Your cousin?”

“Yeah, long story. But his name—the snake’s—was Asmodeus, and he told me he’d never been to Brazil then I sorta made the glass disappear and let him out without meaning to. But that was before I got my Hogwarts letter.”

“A boa constrictor told you it had never been to Brazil?” Ron repeated faintly.

“That was the only other time, though. Besides, who cares? I bet loads of wizards can do it.”

“No, they can’t,” Sirius said, his jaw held tight. “And that wasn’t the only other time.”

Sirius poured each of them a cup of tea and took his own seat.

“When you were a little lad, maybe around three or so,” He rubbed his eyes as he tried to piece the memory together. “You were playing in the garden one afternoon and you came rushing back into the house. Your eyes were huge, and you were positively raving—incomprehensibly—because a snake had slithered out of the hedges. Naturally, I thought you were frightened, but when I finally made sense of your babbling, you were telling me all these things the snake had told you. At the time, I laughed and played along, chalking it up to your imagination. It wasn’t until I’d gotten you in bed for the night that Kreacher told me it wasn’t your imagination… he’d seen the whole thing. You really had spoken to the snake.”

“So?” Harry demanded. “So what? I can talk to snakes. Big whoop. What’s the big deal?”

“Harry, this isn’t something that happens often,” said Ron. “This is bad.”

“What’s so bad?” Harry asked, feeling quite angry. “What’s wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn’t told that snake not to attack Justin—”

“Is that what you told it?” Hermione asked. She’d become uncharacteristically quiet during the conversation, her eyes continuously trailing away from looking at Harry.

“What d’you mean, is that what I told it? You were all there… you all heard me! You saw the snake back down!”

“No,” said Ron, “we heard you speaking Parseltongue…”

“For all we know,” Hermione said, “you could’ve said anything.”

“Yeah, mate. Sounded like you were egging the snake on or something. It was creepy…”

Harry gaped at him. “I… I spoke a different language? But—I didn’t realize—how can I speak a language without knowing I’m speaking it? Sirius taught me French and I know when I’m speaking French instead of English.”

Ron shook his head. Both he and Hermione were looking as though someone had died. Sirius looked to be wrestling with his thoughts. Harry still couldn’t see what was so terrible.

“Are any of you going to tell me what’s wrong with stopping a snake from biting Justin’s head off?” he demanded. “What does it matter if it means Justin isn’t joining Nearly Headless Nick on the next Headless Hunt?” His green eyes flicked between all of them; Ron and Hermione deferred to Sirius. “Sirius? Tell me… please!”

Clearing his throat, Sirius rose from his chair. “Last year, I told you I didn’t have an answer for how you could talk to snakes. That there have been other wizards able to do it, but it was nothing to be concerned about… Evidently, I was wrong.” He gripped his cup with both hands as he paced back and forth. “Truth is, I still don’t have an answer for how. After that incident in the garden, I had asked some of the greatest minds in the world… None of them had an answer.”

“Then why is it automatically a bad thing?”

Harry felt himself becoming frantic for answers.

“Because,” said Hermione in a hushed tone, still not looking at Harry. “Because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That’s why the symbol of Slytherin house is a serpent.”

Harry’s mouth fell open.

Exactly,” said Ron. “And now the whole school’s going to think you’re his great-great- grandson or something…”

“But I’m not!” shouted Harry, in a panic he couldn’t quite explain.

“You’ll find that hard to prove,” Hermione said. “He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know… you could be.”

“That’s not the worst part,” said Sirius, his back to them. “Salazar Slytherin wasn’t the last Parseltongue. You’re correct that his descendents also shared the… talent. But there was another. One not many knew was capable of such a feat. Even fewer were those outside of his inner circle that knew.” Sirius exhaled and turned to face them. “Lord Voldemort.”

Hermione gasped.

Ron whimpered and trembled.

Harry’s mind raced.

He thought of everyone whispering behind his back after the attacks.

The Sorting Hat’s voice played on repeat.

“…You would be great in Slytherin…”

And at the very back of his head, Harry remembered the talk he had with Draco in the Forbidden Forest about what Mr. Malfoy thought.

“… Sometimes, he wonders if the Dark Lord gave you his power…”

~ ~ ~

Harry laid awake for hours that night. 

Through a gap in the hangings round his four-poster he watched snow drifting past the tower window, and wondered.

Could he really be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin?

He hardly knew anything about his father’s family.

Sirius told him what he knew, but even that felt like it barely scratched the surface.

He didn’t even know if his father was Desi like Parvati and Padma thought. How much more doesn’t he know?

It started to feel like Harry didn’t know who he was at all.

Quietly, Harry tried to say something in Parseltongue. 

The words wouldn’t come. It seemed he had to be face to face with a snake to do it.

But I’m in Gryffindor, Harry thought. The Sorting Hat wouldn’t have put me in here if I had Slytherin blood…

“Ah,” said a nasty little voice in his brain, “but the Sorting Hat wanted to put you in Slytherin, don’t you remember?”

Harry turned over. He’d see Justin the next week in Herbology and he’d explain that he’d been calling the snake off, not egging it on, which (he thought angrily, pummeling his pillow) any fool should have realized.

~ ~ ~

But by next week, the snowfall that began Friday night turned into a blizzard that lasted through the weekend.

By Wednesday, the grounds were covered in several feet of snow and Professor Sprout canceled the last few classes of term. She wanted to fit socks and scarves on the mandrakes, a tricky operation she entrusted to no one besides herself and the top students in her sixth and seventh year classes, especially since it was so important for the mandrakes to grow quickly to save Mrs. Norris and Colin Creevey.

Harry bounced his leg incessantly beside the fire in the Gryffindor common room, while Ron and Hermione used their lesson off to play a game of wizard chess.

“For heaven’s sake, Harry,” Hermione said, exasperated, as one of Ron’s bishops wrestled her knight off his horse and dragged him off the board. “If it’s so important to you, why don’t you find Justin?”

Grumbling, Harry got up and left through the portrait hole, unsure of where to start looking for Justin. The castle was darker than it usually was during the day because of the thick piles of snow at every window. Ever so grateful for Madam Malkin’s temperature enchanted robes, Harry walked past classes in session, catching glimpses of what was happening within. Resisting the urge to peek in on McGonagall shouting at someone who’d turned their friend into a hamster, Harry continued walking; he hoped Justin might use his free time to catch up on other work and started his hunt in the library.

Indeed, a clan of Hufflepuffs that would have otherwise been in Herbology were sitting at the back of the library, though they weren’t doing much work. Between the high bookshelves, Harry could see their heads huddled closely together, deep in conversation. What he couldn’t see was Justin amongst them. He started approaching them when some of what they were saying met his ears, causing him to pause, hidden in the invisibility section.

“—told Justin to hide up in our dorm,” Ernie MacMillan was saying. “I mean, if Potter’s marked him down as his next victim, it’s best he keep a low profile for a while. Course, Justin’s been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip he was a muggle-born. Justin actually told him he’d been down for Eton—some muggle school, I don’t know. That’s not something you bandy about with Slytherin’s heir on the loose, is it?”

“You really think it’s Harry, then?” Hannah Abbott asked anxiously, her honey-blonde hair tied up in pigtails.

“I didn’t at first,” said Ernie solemnly. “Thought for sure it was Malfoy. He does seem the sort. But Harry’s a Parselmouth. Only dark wizards can talk to snakes. Everyone knows that. They called ol’ Slytherin himself ‘Serpent-Tongue’.”

There was some heavy murmuring at this, and Ernie went on, “Remember what was written on the wall? ‘ Enemies of the Heir Beware.’ I heard Potter had some sort of run-in with Filch. Then a week later, Filch’s cat’s attacked. And that first-year, Creevey, clung to Potter like glue, always taking pictures of him. Next thing we know, he’s been attacked, too.”

“But Harry always seems so nice, though,” another Hufflepuff girl with auburn hair said uncertainly. “Besides, he was injured during the attacks—you saw what Lockhart did to his arm. And, well, he’s the one who made You-Know-Who disappear, isn’t he? He can’t be all bad…”

Ernie lowered his voice, urging the Hufflepuffs closer, and Harry edged closer to their table so that he could catch what they were saying.

“No one really knows how he survived being attacked by You-Know-Who… I mean, he was only a baby when it happened. The killing curse has gotten everyone else. Only a really powerful dark wizard could have survived a curse like that.” He dropped his voice even lower, until it was barely more than a whisper, and said, “I heard that’s why You-Know-Who wanted him dead in the first place… couldn’t have another potential Dark Lord competing with him. Makes me wonder what other powers Potter’s been hiding.”

Harry couldn’t take any more. Clearing his throat loudly, he stepped out from behind the bookshelves. If he hadn’t been so angry, he would have found the sight that greeted him funny: every one of the Hufflepuffs looked as though they had been petrified by the sight of him, and the color drained from Ernie’s face.

“Hullo,” said Harry. “I was looking for Justin.”

The Hufflepuffs’ worst fears had clearly been confirmed. They all looked fearfully at Ernie.

“W–What d’you want with him?” Ernie asked in a quavering voice.

“Not to petrify him, since that’s what you think!” Harry snapped before taking a breath. “I wanted to tell him what really happened with that snake at the dueling club.”

Ernie bit his trembling lip and then, taking a deep breath, said, “We were all there, Potter. We saw what happened.”

“Then you saw that after I spoke to it, the snake backed off?” said Harry.

“What I saw,” said Ernie stubbornly, “was you speaking Parseltongue and chasing the snake towards Justin for a laugh.”

“I didn’t chase it at him!” Harry said, his voice shaking with anger. “It didn’t even look at him after I said something!”

“It looked suspicious! And in case you’re getting any ideas,” he added hastily, “You should know that I can trace my family back through nine generations of witches, wizards, warlocks, and sorcerers. My blood’s as pure as anyone’s, so—”

“I don’t care what sort of blood you’ve got!” said Harry fiercely. “Why would I want to attack muggle-borns?”

“Your godfather’s family notoriously hated them.”

“Sirius is not like his family! You’ve seen him in class. He treats everyone equally. Besides, one of my best friends is a muggle-born! And she’s a better wizard than any of you could ever be!” He turned on his heel and stormed out of the library, earning himself a reproving glare from Madam Pince, who was polishing the gilded cover of a large spellbook.

Harry blundered up the corridor, barely noticing where he was going. He was in such a fury. The result was that he walked into something very large and solid, which knocked him backwards onto the floor.

“Oof! Hullo, Hagrid,” Harry grumbled, rubbing his forehead and looking up. Hagrid’s face was entirely hidden by a woolly, snow-covered balaclava, but it couldn’t possibly be anyone else, as he filled most of the corridor in his moleskin overcoat. A dead rooster hung from one of his massive, gloved hands.

“Yeh All righ’, Harry?” he asked, pulling up the balaclava so he could speak. “Why aren’t yeh in class?”

“Canceled,” said Harry, getting up. “What’re you doing in here?”

Hagrid held up the limp rooster.

“Second one killed this term,” he explained. “It’s foxes or a blood-suckin’ bugbear, an’ I need the Headmaster’s permission ter put a charm round the hen-coop.” He peered more closely at Harry from under his thick, snow-flecked eyebrows. “Yeh sure yeh’re all righ’? Yeh look all hot an’ bothered.”

Harry couldn’t bring himself to repeat what Ernie and the rest of the Hufflepuffs had been saying about him. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Anyway, I’d better get going, Hagrid.” He walked off, his mind still full of what Ernie said about him.

“Justin’s been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip he was a muggle-born…”

Harry stomped up the stairs and turned along another corridor, which was particularly dark; the torches had been extinguished by a strong, icy draft blowing through a loose window pane. He was halfway down the passage when he tripped headlong over something lying on the floor, hitting his head for the second time.

Now even angrier, Harry swore and turned over to squint at what he tripped over, but the sight made him feel like his stomach had dissolved. Lying on the floor, rigid and cold, was Justin Finch-Fletchley, a look of frozen shock on his face. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. But that wasn’t all.

Beside him was another figure, the strangest Harry had ever seen.

It was Nearly Headless Nick, no longer pearly-white and transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal, six inches off the floor. His head was half off and his face wore an expression of shock identical to Justin’s.

Harry got to his feet, his breathing fast and shallow, his heart doing a kind of drum-roll against his ribs. He looked wildly up and down the deserted corridor and saw a line of spiders scuttling as fast as they could away from the bodies. The only sounds were the muffled voices of teachers from the classes on either side. 

He could run, and no one would ever know he had been there. 

But he couldn’t leave them lying here… he had to get help.

Would anyone believe he hadn’t had anything to do with this?

Hagrid was at the end of the corridor, dead rooster still in hand. He, too, was frozen in place, his eyes locked on Justin’s body on the ground.

“Hagrid!” Harry called. “You saw it. It wasn’t me! We need to help them! Hagrid, please!”

But Hagrid remained shock-still.

As Harry stood in the middle of the crime, panicking, a door right next to him opened with a bang. Peeves the poltergeist came shooting out. “Why, it’s potty wee Potter!” cackled Peeves, knocking Harry’s glasses askew as he bounced past him. “What’s Potter up to? Why’s Potter lurking—”

Peeves stopped halfway through a mid-air somersault. Upside Down, he spotted Justin and Nearly Headless Nick. He flipped the right way up, filled his lungs and, before Harry could stop him, screamed, “ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!”

Crash—crash—crash: door after door flew open along the corridor and people flooded out. For several long minutes, there was a scene of such confusion that Justin was in danger of being squashed and people kept standing in Nearly Headless Nick.

Harry found himself pinned against the wall as the teachers shouted for quiet. Professor McGonagall came running, followed by her own class, one of whom still had black-and-white striped hair. She used her wand to set off a loud bang, which restored silence, and ordered everyone back into their classes. No sooner had the scene cleared somewhat than Ernie the Hufflepuff arrived, panting, on the scene.

“Caught in the Act!” Ernie yelled, his face stark white, pointing his finger dramatically at Harry.

“You weren’t—!” Harry started.

“That will do, MacMillan!” said Professor McGonagall sharply.

Peeves bobbed overhead, now grinning wickedly, surveying the scene; Peeves always loved chaos. As the teachers bent over Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, examining them, Peeves broke into song: “Oh Potter, you rotter, oh what have you done? You’re killing off students, you think it’s good fun—”

Can’t someone exorcise him already? Harry thought.

“That’s enough Peeves!” barked Professor McGonagall, and Peeves zoomed away backwards, with his tongue out at Harry.

Justin was carried up to the hospital wing by Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department, but nobody seemed to know what to do for Nearly Headless Nick. In the end, Professor McGonagall conjured a large fan out of thin air, which she gave to Ernie with instructions to waft Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs. This Ernie did, fanning Nick along like a silent black hovercraft.

This left Harry and Professor McGonagall alone together.

“Come with me, Potter,” she said.

“Professor,” Harry said breathlessly, “I swear I didn’t—”

“It’s out of my hands,” Professor McGonagall said curtly. “Your godfather will meet us.”

They marched in silence through the corridors and up several stairs. Harry remembered a similar trek they’d take together during his first year. It was right after his first flying lesson, Draco had stolen Neville’s Remembrall and Harry did some crazy flying to get it back. Professor McGonagall had seen this and ordered him to follow her the same way she did today. Harry was terrified that she was going to expel him, only to discover she was recruiting him to the Gryffindor quidditch team. He doubted the same would happen today.

She stopped them before a large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle.

“Sherbet lemon,” she said. 

This was evidently a password, because the gargoyle sprang suddenly to life, and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two. Even full of dread for what was coming, Harry couldn’t fail to be amazed. Behind the wall was a spiral staircase which was moving smoothly upwards, like an escalator. As he and Professor McGonagall stepped onto it, Harry heard the wall thud closed behind them. They rose upwards in circles, higher and higher, until at last, slightly dizzy, Harry could see a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.

He knew where he was being taken.

This was Dumbledore’s office.

Chapter Text

Stepping off the winding stone staircase at the top, Professor McGonagall rapped on the door.

It opened silently, and they entered. Professor McGonagall told Harry to wait and left him there alone.

Harry looked around. One thing was certain: of all the teachers’ offices he’d visited, Dumbledore’s was by far the most interesting. If he wasn’t terrified of being thrown out of school, he would have loved to have the chance to look around for everything it held.

It was a large, circular room akin to observatories Harry had seen, though this was full of far more funny little noises. Multiple curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered in portraits of who must’ve been the previous headteachers, busying themselves in their frames.

On the other side of the office was an enormous, claw-footed desk, covered in tomes and parchment, sitting atop a small platform. But what interested Harry, more than anything, was the shabby, tattered wizard’s hat on a shelf to the left—the Sorting Hat.

Harry hesitated.

He cast a wary eye around the magical portraits on the walls. Surely, it couldn’t hurt if he tried the Hat on again? Just to see, of course… to make sure it hadn’t made a mistake the first time… or hear what else the Founders had to say.

He tip-toed over to the shelf, lifted the Hat from its place, and lowered it onto his head. It was still much too large for him to wear and slipped over his eyes, as it had last time. But instead of the black void it transported him to, all he saw was the black inside of the Hat. Then a small voice said in his ear, “Bee in your bonnet, Harry Potter?”

“Er, yes,” Harry muttered, “I’m sorry to bother you—I just wanted to ask—”

“If I put you in the right house,” the Hat deduced. “You’re not the first to wonder, nor will you be the last. Yes… you were particularly difficult to place. But I stand by what I said—” Harry’s heart leapt “—you would have done well in Slytherin.”

Harry’s stomach plummeted.

He tore the Hat from his head and shoved it onto the shelf, feeling sick. 

“You’re wrong!” he said aloud. The Hat sat crumpled, grubby, and faded on the shelf as various portraits gasped in shock at what he did. They tore into him about his behavior, but he ignored them all. Harry walked over to the chairs near Dumbledore’s desk to sit while he waited when a strange, gagging noise distracted him.

He wasn’t alone, after all. Standing on a golden perch beside the office door was a decrepit-looking bird resembling a half-plucked turkey. Harry stared at it, and the bird looked balefully back, making its gagging noise again. Harry thought it looked very ill. Its flesh was gray and dark, almost black, but what feathers remained were still a brilliant scarlet. The bird’s eyes were dull and even as Harry watched, a couple more feathers fell from its tail.

“You’d better not throw him onto a shelf too, young man!” One of the headteacher portraits scolded.

Harry scowled, but he also considered the last thing he needed was for Dumbledore’s pet bird to die while he was alone in the office with it.

That was when the bird erupted into flames.

“AHH!” Harry yelled in shock and backed away towards the desk. He looked frantically for a glass of water or anything at all to put the fire out, but there wasn’t anything. The poor bird, meanwhile, had become a fireball; it gave one loud cry and the next second there was nothing left of it but a smoldering pile of ash on the floor.

“NO!” Harry cried, unsure of what he should do—what he could do. Of course, now the portraits were silent as he looked around for any help they could give.

The office door opened. Sirius and Professor Dumbledore stepped in, looking very somber.

“Sirius! Professor Dumbledore!” Harry gasped feverishly, “I’m sorry—your bird—there’s nothing I could’ve done—he just caught fire, I swear—!”

Dumbledore smiled and held up his hands while Sirius placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and smoothed his hair.

“Calm yourself, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “Everything is alright.”

“But your bird!”

“It’s about time. Poor fellow’s been looking dreadful for weeks now, I’ve been telling him to get a move on.”

Harry looked to Sirius for clarification that he wasn’t crazy.

Sirius gave a brief chuckle. “Fawkes—the bird—is a phoenix, Harry.”

“Yes, perhaps explanations are in order. You see, phoenixes burst into flames when it’s time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Come, come see…” He beckoned Harry over to Fawkes’ old perch.

Harry looked down to see a tiny, wrinkled, newborn bird poking its head out of the ashes. It looked as ugly as the dying one.

“Such a shame you had to see him on a burning day,” said Dumbledore, rounding his desk to sit behind it. “Sirius can attest, he is very handsome most of the time: splendid red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. Their tears have healing powers, you know. They can carry immensely heavy loads single-handedly, and they make highly faithful companions. Fawkes came into my care some decades ago, wilder than most, he took quite a bit of convincing to let me care for him, but he has been a faithful companion ever since. You may hold him if you’d like.” He gave a soft smile and gestured for Harry and Sirius to have a seat.

In the shock of Fawkes catching fire, Harry had forgotten what he was there for, but it all came back to him as Dumbledore settled himself in the high-backed chair and fixed Harry with his penetrating stare.

Unsure of what else he should do, Harry led the phoenix chick into his cupped hand and gingerly carried him over to one of the chairs. Harry kept his eyes on the small bird, gently petting its bald head with his thumb as he took his seat.

But before Dumbledore could utter another word, the door of his office flew open with an almighty bang. All three of them jumped and looked to see Hagrid bursting in, a wild expression in his eyes, a balaclava perched over his shaggy black head, the same dead rooster he’d shown Harry swinging from his hand.

“It wasn’ Harry, Professor Dumbledore!” said Hagrid urgently. “I was talkin’ ter him seconds before that kid was found, he never had time, sir…” Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid went ranting on, waving the rooster around in his agitation, sending more feathers everywhere. “… It can’t’ve bin him, I’ll swear it in front o’ the Ministry o’ Magic if I have to…”

“Hagrid, I—”

“…Yeh’ve got the wrong boy, sir. I’ve known Harry since he was a babe, he’d never—”

“Hagrid!” Dumbledore loudly said, causing Sirius to start. Hearing Dumbledore shout wasn’t something he was similar with either. “I do not think Harry is the one who attacked those people.”

“Oh,” said Hagrid, the rooster falling limply at his side. “Right. Course yeh don’t. I’ll, er, wait ousside then, Headmaster.” He shot Harry a thumbs up and stomped out, looking embarrassed.

“You don’t think it was me, Professor?” Harry repeated, as Dumbledore brushed the rooster feathers off his desk.

“No, Harry, of course I don’t,” Professor Dumbledore said, though his face became somber again. “But I still wanted to talk to you.”

Harry waited nervously while Dumbledore considered him, the tips of his long fingers held together. Sirius placed an arm around Harry’s shoulders warmly.

“I must ask you, Harry, whether there is anything you’d like to tell me,” he said gently. “Anything at all.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. Sirius looked at him just like Dumbledore, waiting for what he would tell them.

He thought of Malfoy shouting, ‘You’ll be next, Mudbloods!’ and of the Polyjuice Potion, simmering away in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Then he thought of the disembodied voice he had heard twice and remembered what Ron had said: ‘Hearing voices no one else can hear isn’t a good sign, even in the wizarding world.’ He thought, too, about what everyone said about him, and his growing dread that he was connected with Salazar Slytherin… 

“No,” said Harry, “there isn’t anything, Professor.”

“I see,” said Dumbledore. “An old man’s curiosity, forgive me… I fear you’re missing out on your newly freed up morning. Don’t let me take up any more of it.”

Harry and Sirius rose from their seats when a portrait spoke up again, “You won’t confess to what you were up to while alone in here? With him as a godfather, I can hardly say I’m surprised.”

“Ignore him,” said Sirius.

“Oh sure, ignore me. Not like the boy completely disrespected a priceless Hogwarts artifact!”

Dumbledore and Sirius looked at Harry curiously.

“Er… Before you two came and Fawkes burned…” Harry fidgeted with the hem of his robes. “I tried on the Sorting Hat again…”

“And why’s that, lad?”

Harry couldn’t meet Sirius’ eyes. He’d never told anyone about what they said during his Sorting, and Sirius was the very last person he ever wanted to tell.

“Uhm… I wanted to see if he was wrong.”

“Harry…” Sirius said sympathetically, taking a knee to be on Harry’s level. “You’re the bravest boy I’ve ever seen. Of course, you belong in Gryffindor.”

“N–no. Not that… I–I had to ask to be in Gryffindor…”

A look of confusion washed over Sirius’ face. “W–What…?”

“Or, rather, I asked not to be in Slytherin… When I put the Hat on and saw the Founders, they wanted to Sort me in Slytherin and I had to ask not to be… I didn’t want to let you or–or my parents down.”

“Oh, my boy.” Sirius wrapped Harry in a tight hug. “You could never let us down. I’d love you just the same, even if I wore green and silver to your quidditch matches. What house you’re in doesn’t change who you are, neither does it change the pride we have for you.” He pulled away and held Harry’s face to look him in the eye. “Besides,” he chuckled, “I did the same thing at my Sorting.”

“Really?”

“Outrageous!” the portrait exclaimed. “Always the attention—”

“Stow it!” Sirius ordered. He looked back at Harry and exhaled, getting to his feet. “I suppose I should introduce you—you don’t mind, do you, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore smiled and gestured for him to continue.

“Harry,” Sirius said, “this is Phineas Nigellus Black, former Headmaster of Hogwarts, and my great-great-grandfather. He has a portrait at Grimmauld Place in the closed drawing room. Grandfather, this is Harry, my godson, and the heir to the Black family.”

Phineas scoffed. “You dared to make him your heir? He doesn’t share an ounce of our blood. Your disrespect knows no bounds, does it? Can’t even be bothered to give the boy a proper haircut.”

The polite smile Harry had on his face quickly disappeared.

“As you can see,” said Sirius, “he wasn’t very popular, and therefore, he stays locked away. We’ll be leaving now, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore bid them farewell, and they exited down the spiraling stone stairs and past the griffin statue through a hall lined with gargoyles.

“Had quite a day, haven’t you?” Sirius asked. “Not even lunch yet.”

Harry nodded. Quite a day seemed an overstatement.

~ ~ ~

The double attack on Justin and Nick turned what had hitherto been general anxiety into full panic.

Curiously, it was Nearly Headless Nick’s fate more than Justin’s that worried people the most.

“What could do that to a ghost?” people asked each other. “What terrible power could harm someone who was already dead?”

There was almost a stampede to book seats on the Hogwarts Express for students to go home for Christmas.

Harry was glad for the holidays coming up. He was tired of everyone skirting around him in the corridors, as though he was about to sprout fangs or spit poison; tired of all the muttering, pointing, and hissing as he passed. The Hufflepuff team even gave up their matches against Gryffindor because they thought Harry would petrify them on their brooms.

And because of his relationship to Harry, Sirius’s study sessions saw dwindling participation, even from the older students, out of fear they might let something slip about their blood status and Sirius would pass it on to his godson.

But if there was anyone on Harry’s side besides Ron and Hermione, it was Neville. He got into frequent arguments with anyone who had anything to say about Harry being the Heir of Slytherin. Oftentimes, while simultaneously trembling. Harry appreciated his efforts, but hoped after the holidays, everyone would forget all about this.

Fred and George, however, found all of it hilarious.

They marched ahead of Harry down the corridors, shouting, “Make way for the heir of Slytherin! Seriously evil wizard coming through…!”

Percy wasn’t pleased at all with this behavior. “This isn’t a laughing matter!”

The twins merely pushed him out of the way.

“Oh, get out of the way, Perce,” said Fred. “Harry’s in a hurry.”

“Yeah, he’s nipping off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cuppa with his scary servant,” George said, chortling.

But Ginny didn’t find it amusing either.

“Oh, don’t, please,” she begged every time Fred loudly asked Harry who he planned to attack next, or whenever George pretended to ward Harry away with a large clove of garlic when they crossed paths.

Harry told them to stop when Ginny was around and tried to reassure her he wasn’t hurting anyone, but she still never spoke to him. Otherwise, Harry didn’t mind; it made him feel better that the twins, at least, thought the idea of him being Slytherin’s heir was quite ludicrous. Especially since their antics seemed to aggravate Draco Malfoy, who looked increasingly sour each time he saw them at it.

“Bet he’s bursting to say it’s really him,” said Ron. “You know he hates when you beat him at anything, and when everyone talks about you instead of him. I bet he’s dying inside seeing you get all the credit for his dirty work.”

“Not for long,” said Hermione in a satisfied tone. “The Polyjuice Potion’s ready. I say we do it Friday night. That should give us enough time to get the last pieces ready.”

* * *

Sirius’s time in the Hospital Wing only got longer.

With Justin’s petrification came having to tell the very posh Finch-Fletchleys, who were understandably beside themselves with grief. They demanded to see Dumbledore when Sirius first brought them to the school to see their son, then demanded muggle doctors see him, despite everyone telling them there’d be no use. After a long back and forth, they seemed to understand… or at least didn’t see the point in arguing anymore when they could be spending time with their petrified child.

The Creeveys continued coming each week, not wasting a single second of their two hours with Colin. Sirius brought Harry to meet them during one of their visits, they were happy to meet one of Colin’s friends and recalled how highly their son had spoken of him. Harry was very polite and told them that everything was a lot quieter without Colin, he even brought a photograph of himself that he’d signed. Admitting he didn’t normally sign autographs, Harry told them he promised Colin he would sign one before he got petrified, he only wanted to fulfil that promise.

Spending his spare time in the Hospital Wing day after day was no longer only to avoid Lockhart or to keep busy—though it did have that benefit. Very rarely in his life did Sirius feel genuinely needed or useful. He had never needed to work, living was easy, he was a Black. But living easily was never something that left Sirius feeling content. It left too much time to get into his own head. But Poppy gladly put him to work; she taught him a number of healing spells, showed him how to brew various medicinal drafts and potions, then set him to patching up basic injuries and ailments.

Though Sirius often spent most of his time keeping the petrified students, their friends, and families company. He talked to Colin and Justin often as he tidied up, or told them what they went over in Defense that day, anything he could think of to hopefully ease their minds if they could hear him. He even would spend a few minutes stroking Mrs. Norris’ fur to reassure the usually antagonistic cat when Filch was away.

Today, a gang of Hufflepuffs surrounded Justin’s bed, informing him of everything happening around the school. Every visit went through the same cycle. First, they’d discuss what they learned in their classes since their last visit.

“Flitwick is teaching us how to grow and shrink objects,” Susan Bones told him. “I think I’m getting the hang of growing them, but I’m hopeless at shrinking them.”

“Not as hopeless as Ernie, though,” laughed Hannah Abbott. “He still hasn’t gotten anything to grow or shrink all at once.”

“Yeah,” Ernie MacMillan chuckled. “You should’ve seen the teddy bear we practiced on. Mine had one massive button for an eye and a giant foot, but its head and arm shrank t’the size of a bean. I dunno what I’m doing wrong!”

After classes, they told him all about funny encounters or incidents Justin had missed.

“You remember Seamus? the Irish Gryffindor boy? Well, durin’ lunch t’day he tried out some spell or other and made his meat pie explode all ov’r poor Longbottom! He was a good sport about it, but y’should’ve seen his face!” The memory of it made Ernie and their friend Zacharias Smith belly-laugh.

“It wasn’t that funny,” said Susan. “He’s lucky it had cooled down or he could’ve been seriously burned!”

“Sounds like you fancy Long-toothed Longbottom,” Smith teased, making Hannah punch him in the arm at her friend’s defense.

Then, they always discussed what new rumors were going around.

“I heard Padma Patil and Michael Corner from Ravenclaw started dating,” said Hannah.

“Yeah, heard they got caught snogging in a broom closet by a prefect!” Ernie said.

“Shut up, no you didn’t.” Zach scowled.

“Yes I did!”

“From who?”

“From Keeley!”

“You hardly know Keeley, she’s two years above us, why would she tell you?”

Ernie’s face grew red. “You don’t know everybody I know. We hang out sometimes.”

“Really? A fourth-year girl hangs out with a scrawny second-year that fancies her?”

“It’s me Welsh charm!”

“And when do you see her? We’re together all day everyday.”

“No we aren’t!”

“We’re in the same House, we go to the same classes, we eat at the same time, we go back to the same common room, and we share the same dorm. I’d have noticed if you were gone.”

“Shut up,” Ernie grumbled.

The last part of the cycle before their visiting time ended was the part Sirius hated the most. Their voices would get low to prevent him from hearing, but with them being the only ones present most days, it was hard to ignore. The Hufflepuffs were never as discreet as they thought.

“We’re onto him, Matey,” Ernie whispered to Justin. “Won’t be much longer ‘til we prove it’s Potter and catch ‘im.”

Hannah shushed him, their eyes sporadically glancing towards where Sirius was folding blankets and shaking his head. They weren’t the only ones who believed Harry was responsible, but it still hurt Sirius to hear. They grew quiet when they noticed they’d earned his attention.

“It’s nice of you kids to keep your friend company so often. I’m sure Justin will appreciate it when he wakes up, and I know his parents appreciate that their son isn’t lonely.”

The kids stayed quiet as he approached the bed.

“I know things are scary, and we all want someone to blame for this, if only to make sense of what’s happening. But… Harry isn’t the Heir of Slytherin.”

“Of course, you’d say that,” Zach scowled again. “You’re his godfather.”

“I am. And that’s why I know the boy I raised would never do anything to hurt anyone.”

“Then why’s it all the people he doesn’t like getting cursed?” Ernie asserted. “Got into it with Filch, then his cat’s cursed; Creevey follows him like a love-sick puppy, then he’s cursed; Justin fancies Granger, he gets a snake sic’d on ‘im then gets cursed.”

“That’s an awful lot of coincidences, isn’t it?” Sirius said lightly. “So, you don’t think this has anything to do with blood purity, but because Harry has a vendetta against certain people? Wouldn’t Draco Malfoy and the Slytherins have been first on that list?”

“It’s still because they’re muggle-born, too.” said Zacharias.

“Not Mrs. Norris. She’s a cat and a poltergeist. And I think you’re forgetting someone very important to Harry. If he doesn’t like muggle-borns, then what about Hermione? She’s one of his closest friends, he’s risked his life for hers, and they spend every day together. If he’s targeting muggle-borns then why hasn’t he petrified her?”

“Because he fancies her,” said Hannah in a matter-of-fact tone.

Sirius chuckled. “No. Because he doesn’t care about blood status. His own mother was muggle-born. He would never do anything to hurt her, the same way he would never do anything to Justin, or Colin, or even Mrs. Norris.”

“Then how d’you explain him being right where Nearly Headless Nick and Justin were found? Right after he came to us in the library looking for him? I caught him red-handed!”

“No, you came after everything was all said and done, just like Harry had. You saw what you wanted to see to prove what you already thought.”

“So, I’m just wrong then?” MacMillan’s voice broke just slightly. “No one knows who did this to Justin and he’s just stuck like this for months with no answers? We’re supposed to just be okay with that?”

“No, lad, no one is saying any of this is okay.” Sirius knelt down to be level with Ernie in his chair. “This is all terrifying, especially for your teachers. I understand how it feels to want answers, to want some sort of explanation for why this is happening, I want that too. We all do, including Harry. But I promise, we will find out who is doing this and we will stop them. You’ll get your mate back.” He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket and handed it to Ernie. “Allergies are awful in here.”

The Hufflepuff boy’s eyes had gone red and glistened, he took the handkerchief to wipe his eyes and nose, hiding how upset he’d gotten from his friends. “Thanks.”

Sirius stood up again. “We’re going to find out who’s doing this, but if any of you ever need to talk about how you’re feeling, or if things get too scary, or if your allergies are acting up, you can come by to see me at any time—day or night. I promise Lockhart won’t be there.” The kids nodded. “Alright. Now, it’s time to say goodbye to Justin.”

The Hufflepuff students did just that, gently rubbing the boy’s shoulder or arm as they said goodbye.

“Dunno if we’ll be able to come by as often with all the work due before the holidays, boyo,” Justin told him. “But I’ll come see yeh before I head back home, and I’ll bring yeh gifts when I get back. Maybe you’ll surprise me and be back to normal by then. That’d be a good gift…” Ernie wiped his eyes with Sirius’ handkerchief again and walked out with the others.

~ ~ ~

Once Friday rolled around, a week before the end of term, everything was ready.

The first thing Harry did after Hermione told them the last pieces was send Hedwig, who’d finally forgiven him from the bike incident, with a letter to Madam Malkin’s. He asked her for three sets of her enchanted Slytherin robes—two extra large sets of boys’ robes and a set of girls’ robes—he said were Christmas gifts for friends he’d made.

Mae, however, saw through this, but still sent the robes along with a note.

Nice try, young man.

I’m not one to spoil fun, but if Sirius asks, you found these in the school laundry.

Have a lovely Christmas,

Mae x

“Well, that’s one thing taken care of,” Harry said. “Now we just have to get pieces of Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy.”

“Precisely,” said Hermione. “And I’m already ahead of you.” She held up two plump chocolate cakes. “We don’t want them bursting in on us while we’re interrogating Draco, so I’ve filled these with a simple sleeping draft. All you two have to do is make sure Crabbe and Goyle find them. You know how greedy they are. They’re bound to inhale them no matter where they’re found. Once they’re unconscious, pull out a few of their hairs and hide them in a broom cupboard.”

Harry and Ron looked incredulously at each other.

“Mione, I don’t think—”

“That could go seriously wrong—”

But Hermione had a steely glint in her eye, not unlike the one Professor McGonagall sometimes had. “The Potion will be useless without their hair,” she said sternly. “You do want to investigate Malfoy, don’t you?”

“Oh, alright, alright,” said Harry. “But what about you? How’re you getting Pansy’s?” 

“Yeah!” Ron said. “She’s not going to eat random cakes… I think she eats even less than you.”

“I’ve already got mine!” said Hermione brightly, pulling a tiny bottle out of her pocket and showing them the few hairs inside it. “When Pansy and I got into it during the dueling club, I ripped out some of her hair. Got the idea after she tore out some of mine—” she rubbed the back of her head. “But, and don’t get mad, I spoke to Sirius about this.”

“What?” Harry demanded. “Why would you do that?”

“Because he thinks we’re being foolish and still isn’t trying to stop us and because he got into his fair share of mischief when he was in school. He’s an expert in this kind of thing, after all. And… he said we shouldn’t all disguise ourselves.”

“That’s barmy!” Ron said. “Malfoy’ll never say anything if he knew one of us was around.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “He wasn’t saying that! He said it would be smarter to have only two of us take the Polyjuice Potion while the third hides under the Invisibility Cloak in case something goes wrong.”

“What could go wrong?”

Hermione shrugged. “Lots of stuff. But I think it’s a good idea.”

Ron and Harry shared another glance.

“Then… who’s the one that’ll be under the cloak?” asked Harry.

“Likely one of you two,” said Hermione. “You’re both bigger and faster than I am. If something happens, the one under the cloak will have to take the other two back to the common room or the hospital wing.”

“The hospital wing?” Ron exclaimed.

“I think,” Harry said slowly, “Ron should be the one under the cloak. He’s the biggest out of us.”

He and Ron met each other’s eyes, and Harry gave him a subtle nod, having saved him from taking the polyjuice potion.

“It’s settled then. We just have to make sure Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy can’t interrupt us.”

“Yeah—wait, you’ve got Pansy’s hair, but we still need a way to keep her away. Like I told you, she’s not going to eat random cakes like Crabbe and Goyle.”

“I’ve thought of that, too.”

~ ~ ~

Much to Harry and Ron’s amazement, Hermione’s plan went flawlessly.

One well-placed jinx (courtesy of Fred and George for a mere five galleons) sent Malfoy throwing up his dinner at the Slytherin table. With Draco rushed off to Madam Pomfrey; Harry, Ron, and Hermione lurked in a deserted corridor, waiting for the Slytherin goons. Pansy was the first to come through. Picking at her nail beds, she speed-walked towards the hospital wing.

As she passed distractedly, Hermione pulled her wand from her robes. Muttering a spell, a stream of red light shot forward at Pansy’s back. A moment later, Pansy collapsed onto the flagged stone floor in a heap of black and green.

“Whoa!” Ron gasped. “Is she dead?”

“No!” Hermione spat. “She’s only stunned. Knocked unconscious.”

“Where’d you learn that?” asked Harry. “Sirius said we wouldn’t learn stunning spells until next year.”

“I read next year’s books already,” Hermione said matter-of-factly and approached Pansy’s limp body.

“Where’d you get those?” Ron asked.

Hermione groaned. “It’s not hard to borrow books, Ronald! Now, hide and wait for Crabbe and Goyle while I hide Pansy.”

Hermione started dragging Pansy down the hall when Ron said, “Will you show us how to—”

“Ron!” She stared daggers at him until he and Harry backed away, allowing her to continue dragging Pansy away.

“Sheesh,” Ron muttered, “she really runs hot and cold, doesn’t she?”

After Hermione disappeared with Pansy, Harry perched the spiked chocolate cakes on the end of a bannister at the end of the hall. Spotting Crabbe and Goyle’s massive shadows lumbering towards the corridor, the Gryffindor boys hid behind a suit of armor.

“So glad Malfoy got sick,” said Goyle.

“I know,” Crabbe chortled. “Never get to eat that much pudding when he’s ‘round.”

“I hope he gets sick every night—don’t tell him I said that. Bet he’s already wonderin’ where we are.”

“I won’t. ‘Sides, he’s prob’ly too busy with Pansy to notice we stayed late anyway— oi!”

Crabbe gleefully pointed out the chocolate cakes to Goyle and grabbed them. Grinning stupidly, they stuffed the cakes whole into their large mouths. For a moment, they chewed greedily, then their eyes rolled to the back of their heads and they keeled over backwards onto the floor.

“How thick can you get?” asked Ron ecstatically.

“Come on,” Harry said, “before someone sees and thinks I petrified them.”

The most difficult bit was hiding them in the cupboard across the hall. Both of them were twice the size of Harry or Ron; it took them both just to drag one away. Once the Slytherin boys were safely stowed amongst the buckets and mops, Harry cast a careful severing charm on Goyle’s fringe and stole his shoes (almost heaving at the smell) because his own were far too small for Goyle-sized feet. Still stunned at what they’d done, Ron and Harry sprinted up to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

They could hardly see for the thick black smoke erupting from the stall in which Hermione was stirring the cauldron. Pulling their robes over their faces, Harry and Ron knocked softly on the door.

“Mione?”

They heard the scrape of the lock and Hermione emerged, shiny-faced and looking anxious. Behind her, they heard the gloop gloop of the bubbling, treacle-thick potion. Two glasses stood ready on the toilet seat.

“Did you get it?” Hermione asked breathlessly.

Harry showed her Goyle’s hair.

“Perfect. I already set up the Slytherin robes in the other cubicles for after we change.”

The three of them stared into the cauldron. Up close, the Potion looked like thick, dark mud, bubbling sluggishly.

“I’m positive I’ve done everything right,” said Hermione, nervously re-reading the splotched page of Moste Potente Potions.

“It looks like the book describes… Once we’ve drunk it, all of it, we’ll have an hour before we change back into ourselves.”

“Now what?” Ron whispered.

“We separate it into three glasses and add the hairs.” Hermione ladled large dollops of the Potion into each of the glasses. Then, her hand trembling, she shook Pansy Parkinson’s straight dark hair out of its bottle into the first glass. The Potion hissed loudly like a boiling kettle and frothed madly. A second later, it had turned a deep vomit green.

“Uck —essence of Pansy,” said Ron, eyeing it with loathing and wrapping the Invisibility Cloak around himself. “Bet it tastes bitter and sad.”

“You’re more than welcome to try it for me,” said Hermione.

Harry dropped Goyle’s hair into his glass, making it similarly hiss and froth before it turned into the khaki color of a dry booger.

“Guess we’d better switch out of our clothes,” Harry said, taking a deep breath. “See you on the other side… wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Ron said, unlocking the door.

Harry and Hermione each slipped into their own stall, careful not to spill a drop of their potion. He set his potion down on the toilet seat and undressed, constantly checking the toilet to make sure Myrtle wasn’t peeping. Down to his socks and skivvies, Harry felt jealous of Hermione, who was a similar build to Pansy already and only had to change her tie and robes.

“Ready?” called Harry.

“Ready,” came Hermione’s sheepish voice from the cubicle beside him.

“Alright… three… two… one… bottom’s up.”

Pinching his nose, Harry drank the potion in two large gulps, doing everything he could to avoid it touching his tongue. But it was impossible to avoid and tasted like overcooked cabbage, making him retch before muscling it down.

Immediately, his insides writhed as though he’d just swallowed live snakes—doubled over. He thought he was going to be sick—then a burning sensation spread rapidly from his stomach to the very ends of his fingers and toes. Next, bringing him gasping to all fours, came a horrible melting feeling, as the skin all over his body bubbled like hot wax, and before his eyes, his hands grew, the fingers thickened, the nails broadened and the knuckles were bulging like bolts. His shoulders stretched painfully, and a prickling on his forehead told him that hair was shrinking back towards his scalp; his robes ripped as his chest expanded like a barrel bursting its hoops.

As suddenly as it had started, everything stopped. Harry lay face down on the cold stone floor, listening to Myrtle gurgling morosely in the end toilet. With difficulty, he stood up uneasily, struggling to find his new center of balance.

So this was what it felt like, being Goyle.

His large hands trembling, he pulled on the Slytherin robes, which resembled a blanket more than a twelve-year-old’s robes, and laced up Goyle’s smelly boat-like shoes. He instinctively reached up to brush his hair out of his eyes, only to find the short growth of wiry bristles high on his hairline.

Then he realized his glasses were clouding his vision, because Goyle didn’t need them. He took them off and called, “Mione, you okay?” Goyle’s low rasp of a voice issued from his mouth.

“I think so,” came the waspy voice of Pansy from his left.

Harry unlocked his door and stepped in front of the cracked mirror. Goyle stared back at him out of dull, deep-set eyes. Harry scratched his ear, and so did Goyle.

Ron’s head floated in midair, with the cloak draped over his body. He looked over Harry with wide eyes. “Whoa… that’s unbelievable… you even sound like him.”

“Yeah? That’ll make it easier. I’m just glad Myrtle’s minding her own business,” Harry lowered his voice so only Ron could hear. “I’d hate to be doing this while she’s watching and crying non-stop.” The boys laughed and shook their heads at how ridiculous they thought she was, with Ron pretending to sob.

But their laughter stopped dead when Myrtle suddenly flew at them, enraged. “What else is there I can do?” she demanded “No one ever listens to me! Crying is all I can do to get any sort of attention anymore and even then nobody really listens!”

A pit formed in Harry’s stomach, feeling guilty for what he said. But before he could apologize, she flew through him, chilling him straight through, and dove into a toilet.

“We’re jerks,” Harry said.

“Well, fits since you look like Goyle.”

“We’d better get going,” said Harry, loosening the watch that cut into Goyle’s thick wrist. “We’ve still got to find out where the Slytherin common room is, I only hope we can find someone to follow…”

Ron said, “You don’t know how bizarre it is to see Goyle thinking.”

“I think I know where it is,” Hermione said. She emerged from her cubicle looking very much like Pansy Parkinson, if she was nice. Somehow, he could still see Hermione underneath the perfect disguise.

“You, er,” Harry muttered. “You should try to look meaner. Like you’re always smelling something rotten. That’s how she normally looks.”

“Oh, right. And you should try to look dumber, like you’re always confused—”

“Or thinking about rocks fighting each other,” Ron suggested.

“What happened with Myrtle?” Hermione asked. “I heard her shouting. Did something happen?”

“Er, no. We’ll tell you later.” Harry checked his watch, three minutes gone. “We need to hurry. Let’s go.”

Ron threw the hood of the Invisibility Cloak over his head and disappeared; and the three of them walked to the bathroom door carefully. They checked the coast was clear before setting off towards the dungeons, the approximate area of the Slytherin common room.

Hurrying down the stone steps into the darkness, Harry’s footsteps echoed particularly loud as Goyle’s enormous feet slapped the floor.

The labyrinthine passages were deserted. They walked deeper and deeper under the school, constantly checking their watches to see how much time they had left. 

“I can’t believe we went through all this work, and none of us thought to find out where the Slytherin common room was beforehand,” Harry grumbled after a quarter of an hour passed, just when they were getting desperate, when they heard a sudden movement ahead.

“Ha!” Ron muttered under the cloak. “There’s one of them now!”

A figure emerged from a side room. As they hurried nearer, their hearts sank. It wasn’t a Slytherin; it was Percy.

“Percy, what are you doing down here?” Hermione asked curiously.

Harry had to nudge her to remind her who she’s supposed to be.

“Er, I mean, what are you doing down here, Gryffindor?” she asked again in a snotty tone.

Percy looked affronted.

“That,” he said stiffly, “is none of your business. It’s Panthea, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. But my friends call me Pansy, so… you can call me Panthea.” She judgementally looked him up and down.

“Well, whatever you’re called, get off to your dormitories,” said Percy sternly. “It’s nearly curfew and it’s not safe to go wandering around dark corridors these days.”

“But you are,” Harry pointed out.

“I,” Percy declared, drawing himself up, “am a Prefect. Nothing is about to attack me.”

“There you are,” a drawling voice suddenly echoed behind Harry and Hermione. Draco Malfoy strolled straight towards them, and for the first time in his life, it pleased Harry to see him. “Where have you been? I expected you in the hospital wing. I want to show you something really funny. Where’s Crabbe?”

“He got sick, too,” Harry said. “Must’ve just missed him when Pomfrey let you out.”

“Well, he’ll just have to miss out.” Malfoy glanced witheringly at Percy. “What’re you doing down here, Weasley?” he scowled.

Percy looked outraged. “I don’t care for your attitude, Malfoy! You ought to show a bit more respect to a school prefect!”

Malfoy sneered and motioned for Harry and Hermione to follow him.

Harry almost said something apologetic to Percy, but caught himself just in time. He and Hermione hurried after Malfoy, who said as they turned into the next passage, “That Peter Weasley—”

“Percy,” Hermione corrected him.

“Whatever,” Malfoy said. “He’s been sneaking around a lot lately. I bet he thinks he’s going to be the one to catch Slytherin’s heir single-handed.”

He gave a short, derisive laugh before weaving his hand into Hermione’s. She quickly pulled her hand away from him in disgust.

“What’re you doing?” Malfoy asked.

“What are you doing?” asked Hermione, holding her hand away.

“I was holding your hand,” he said, as if it were obvious. “Why are you acting so odd?”

“I’m not.” Hermione said before hesitantly lowering her hand and weaving her fingers between Draco’s. “You just surprised me. All the petrifications have me… on edge.”

Malfoy laughed. “It’s not like you have to be worried. You’re a pure-blood!” He playfully nudged her with his shoulder. “I’d be more worried about that Weasley… doesn’t even deserve to be called a pure-blood… blood-traitor more like.”

Harry felt his insides burning as he watched them walking so closely hand in hand. Even reminding himself that she’s supposed to be Pansy didn’t make him feel better. They all walked deeper into the dungeons until Malfoy paused before a bare, damp stone wall.

“Pure-blood!” he announced. This must’ve been the password to their common room because a brass serpent slithered along the edge of the wall, arching its spine as it did to reveal a set of green wooden double-doors. Malfoy marched through, with the others following.

The Slytherin common room was a large circular room that looked as if it were carved out of the earth. Large green marble buttresses extended up to the rough stone ceiling from which round greenish lamps hung from chains. On a few of the walls were medieval tapestries portraying long dead and likely pure-blooded witches and wizards. The rest of the walls held smaller portraits and dozens of animal skulls, especially around the single fireplace. A fire crackled under an elaborately carved mantlepiece of a serpent. On the far end of the common room, there was another round room with floor to ceiling windows looking straight into the depths of the Great Lake.

“Wait here,” Malfoy said to Harry and Hermione, motioning them to a loveseat away from the fire. “I’ll go get it—my father’s just sent it to me—”

Wondering what Malfoy was going to show them, Harry and Hermione sat down, doing their best to look at home.

“Ron…?” Harry muttered. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” Ron’s disembodied voice whispered behind them. “Did you know Malfoy and Pansy were… you know?”

Harry and Hermione both shook their heads. Malfoy came back a moment later, holding a copy of The Daily Prophet. He passed it to Hermione proudly and sandwiched himself between them.

“That ought to give you a laugh,” he said.

Harry saw Hermione’s eyes widen in shock. She read the cutting quickly and forced a shrewd laugh before handing it to Harry. The article said:

ENQUIRY AT HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Sirius Black, the last surviving member of the Ancient House of Black, was today fined five hundred galleons for bewitching a muggle motorbike that had been seen over Glasgow in September of this year.

Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of muggle Artifacts Office, has been found acting as an accomplice to Black’s activities and has used his position to cover up his transgressions, being fined fifty galleons.

Mr. Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the enchanted motorbike crashed earlier this year, called today for Mr. Weasley’s resignation and for Sirius Black to be turned over to Ministry custody.

“Weasley has brought the Ministry into disrepute,” Mr. Malfoy told our reporters. “He is clearly unfit to draw up our laws, and his ridiculous Muggle Protection Act should be scrapped immediately. As for Black, he’s as bad as he’s ever been, and no one fit to help educate our children. He’s shirked our laws for years and it’s time for the bill to come due. I call for Headmaster Dumbledore to do the right thing and turn him over to the authorities.”

Mr. Black, Mr. Weasley, and Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, were all unavailable for comment.

“Well?” Malfoy asked impatiently, as Harry handed the paper back to him. “Don’t you think it’s funny?”

“Ha ha,” said Harry bleakly.

“God, they love muggles so much they should all snap their wands in half and join them,” said Malfoy scornfully. “You’d never know the Weasleys were pure-bloods, the way they behave. Black too,” he tacked on hastily at the end.

Harry’s—or rather, Goyle’s—face contorted with fury.

“What’s wrong with you, Goyle?” snapped Malfoy.

“Er, stomachache,” Harry grunted.

Malfoy leaned away.

“Well, go find Crabbe in the hospital wing and give all those petrified Mudbloods a kick from me,” said Malfoy, snickering.

Hoping to distract Malfoy before Harry lost it, Hermione said, “I thought you liked Sirius—I mean, Black’s classes.”

Draco twisted his mouth for a moment before scoffing.

“Like them better than that oaf Lockhart’s, but that’s not a high bar to clear. I’d like classes taught by my house-elf better than anything that fraud could teach.”

Draco looked over the Prophet article again to avoid meeting their eyes.

“You know, I’m surprised the Prophet hasn’t reported on all these attacks yet,” he went on thoughtfully. “I suppose Sirius isn’t the only thing Dumbledore’s trying to cover up. Two students, a cat, and a ghost. He’ll be sacked for sure if they don’t stop soon. Father’s always said Dumbledore’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to this place. He loves muggle-borns. A decent headmaster would never’ve let slime like Creevey in.”

Malfoy stood up and started taking pictures with an imaginary camera and made a cruel, but accurate, impression of Colin: “Harry, can I get a picture, Harry? And another with you and Lockhart? Can I have your autograph, Potter? You’re so handsome, Harry, I love the scar on your head. Can I lick your shoes, please, Potter?”

Hermione made herself giggle the way she knew Pansy would, as Draco dropped his hands and looked at Harry.

“What is the matter with you?”

Far too late, Harry forced a laugh, but Malfoy seemed satisfied; perhaps Goyle was always slow on the uptake.

“Saint Potter, the Mudbloods’ best friend,” said Malfoy slowly as he sat on the coffee table across from them. “Don’t know how he turned out the way he did being raised by Black. He’s another one with no proper wizard sense, or he wouldn’t go around associating with that jumped-up Mudblood Granger. And people actually think he’s the Heir of Slytherin!”

Harry and Hermione waited with bated breath: Malfoy was indeed seconds away from telling them it’s him behind the attacks. But then—

“I wish I knew who it really was,” said Malfoy petulantly. “I could help them!”

Harry did his best to hide his surprise, but Hermione, thinking fast, sat up from the couch and sat beside Malfoy on the coffee table, taking his hand again.

“You must have some idea who’s behind it all…” she said.

“You know I haven’t,” Malfoy snapped, pulling his hand away. “How many times do I have to tell you? And mother won’t let father tell me anything about the last time the Chamber was opened, either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was before their time, but he knows all about it. He says that it was all kept quiet and it’ll look suspicious if I know too much. But I know one thing: last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood died. So I bet it’s only a matter of time before one of them’s killed this time… I hope it’s Granger,” he said with relish.

Hermione gasped beside Draco, who absentmindedly held her hand again.

“You–you don’t mean that, do you?” she asked.

Again, Malfoy’s mouth twisted like he hadn’t considered the question or its answer before.

“How does your dad know so much about it?” Harry shot Hermione a warning look.

“All the pure-blood families know about it—at least the ones that matter do. I’d be surprised if Black’s family didn’t tell him about it. They were all in the same circles as my father until Sirius came around.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed.

Hermione asked, “Do you know if the person who opened the Chamber last time was caught?”

“Oh, yeah… whoever it was, was expelled,” Malfoy laughed. “They’re probably still in Azkaban if the Dementors haven’t sucked their soul out yet.” He shifted restlessly on the table and said, “Father told me to keep my head down and let the heir of Slytherin get on with it. He says the school needs ridding of all the Mudblood filth, but not to get mixed up with them. Of course, he’s got a lot on his plate at the moment. You know the Ministry of Magic raided our manor last week? That dolt Weasley’s doing.”

Harry tried to force Goyle’s dull face into a look of concern.

“Yeah…” Malfoy scowled. “Luckily, father said they didn’t find much. He’s got some valuable Dark Arts stuff. But luckily, we’ve got our own secret chamber under the drawing room floor—”

“Ho!” came Ron’s voice behind Harry.

Malfoy looked around curiously for the source of the sudden sound, but Harry could see why he’d interrupted at the worst possible moment. Beside Malfoy, Pansy’s straight dark hair was lightening, growing, and becoming far curlier. Her front teeth were also slowly lengthening—their hour was up. Hermione was turning back into herself, and from the look of horror she gave Harry, he must be, too. But he didn’t need her to tell him. His vision was already growing poorer and the robes he wore grew baggier.

They both jumped to their feet.

“Hospital Wing,” Harry grunted, clutching his stomach.

“Me too,” Hermione faked gagging and without further ado they sprinted the length of the Slytherin common room, hurled themselves through the green door and allowed Ron to throw the Invisibility Cloak over them, hoping that Malfoy hadn’t noticed anything. Harry could feel his feet slipping around in Goyle’s huge shoes and had to hold up his trousers as he shrank and they tangled in bunches around his skinny ankles. He eventually kicked them off and let the giant shirt and robes cover him. 

They crashed up the steps into the dark Entrance Hall, which was full of a muffled pounding coming from the cupboard where they’d locked up Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy. Harry threw the oversized shoes at the locked door and sprinted in his socks up the marble staircase to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

“I thought that was going to be a complete waste of time,” Ron panted with a huge smile. He closed and locked the bathroom door behind them. “Sucks we haven’t found out who’s doing the attacks, but I’m writing to Dad tonight to tell him to check under the Malfoys’ drawing room. Oh, good, you two are back to normal.”

Harry checked his face in the cracked mirror. Ron was right, he was back to his normal scrawny self. Ron returned his glasses and Harry put them on.

“D’you think Sirius is going to get removed from Hogwarts?” Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. “He seems sure Dumbledore will protect him. What about Mister Weasley? Is he going to lose his job because of Malfoy?”

Ron paused and twisted his mouth. “I doubt it. Nobody wants his job. It gives him a good amount of security… Is this what Sirius meant about Malfoys not fighting with wands?”

Nodding, Harry thought about what else Malfoy said.

Hermione read his mind and took his hand. “I know you’re disappointed he wasn’t the one behind the attacks.”

“I’m not disappointed—”

“It’s okay if you are—”

“I’m not! I’m angry! How am I supposed to convince everyone I’m not the Heir of Slytherin if we can’t figure out who it actually is? You’d think everyone would trust me since I’m the one that’s fought Voldemort—”

Ron trembled at the name.

“—fought Voldemort twice! We figured out the Philosopher’s Stone last year and got through all the tasks on our own when no one else even knew about it! They should trust me!” 

Hermione gave him a soft look as Harry pinched his face. In the silence that followed while Harry’s mind raced, Ron noticed Hermione holding Harry’s hand.

“Who knew about Pansy and Draco? Match made in hell, huh?”

Chapter Text

Just ask them, Ginny chided herself. They’ll help you. Just ask them.

Hesitantly, she walked over to where Fred and George were lounging with their friends in the common room. George sat upside down with his legs dangling over the top of the couch while Fred was balancing a crystal ball on the tip of his wand, which he was balancing on his finger. Their friends, Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson, Ginny recognized from their visits to the Burrow and quidditch matches. They were cheering on Fred and counting how long he could keep going.

“Er, Fred, George,” Ginny stammered.

Fred lost his balance and fell over while George flipped over in his seat, pushing Lee down with his legs.

“She speaks!” George exclaimed.

“Praise be!” said Fred from the floor.

“C–Can I talk to you two?”

Fred gasped dramatically, still on the floor. “The Generous Ginevra Weasley deigns to speak to us lowly common—”

“Fred, shut up, get off the ground,” George frowned, leaning towards Ginny, obviously having seen the severity on her face. “Fred, get up here. Gin, what’s wrong?” He led her to a corner away from everyone else, and Fred quickly joined them.

“Everything alright?” asked Fred.

“Y–Yeah,” Ginny stammered. “I’m fine.”

Both twins squinted suspiciously at her.

“You sure about that?” they asked in unison.

She didn’t know how she looked, but it must’ve been bad since their eyes were full of apprehension and concern.

“I am,” she asserted. “Or I will be… First, I need your help—but you can’t say anything, especially not to Percy. Or Mum… Or Sirius.”

George smirked. “Looking to get into some trouble, Gin?”

“Or d’you want some help before the next dueling club? What’re you—?”

“And no questions!” she blurted. “Sorry. No questions. Please.”

With a glance shared between them, the twins nodded.

“I need you to show me some… destructive spells.”

“So, little Ginny does want some help with dueling.”

“Wait a minute,” said Fred. “Is someone picking on you?”

“No. and I said no ques—”

“Who is it?”

“No one!”

“Just say who. We’ll take care of them real quick.”

“There’s no one!” Ginny nearly shouted. “Will you stop? I said no questions! I need to get rid of something, so I just need you two to show me how to do it.”

She couldn’t tell them what she wanted to destroy. They wouldn’t understand that she’s already tried everything she could think of, but nothing worked. All she wanted was to finally be rid of it. Maybe then the nightmares would stop.

“Fine. What spells are you wanting to learn?”

“That’s a question, Fred.”

“You’re right, George, sorry. Tell us the spells you want to learn.”

“I don’t know…” Ginny groaned. “Fire spells? Explosive spells, cutting, whatever.”

“Well, baby sister, we won’t be teaching you Fiendfyre, so…”

“But we can help with some others that might work.” The twins gave her mischievous grins. “Come on, let’s go destroy some stuff.”

“D’you think Percy will miss his hat?”

They wrapped their arms around Ginny’s shoulders and led her out of the common room.

~ ~ ~

At last, the term ended, and a silence deep as the snow descended on the castle.

Harry had never seen the school empty so fast. The Hogwarts Express left at ten in the morning back to Glasgow, then London, but everyone was aboard by a quarter past nine. 

Frankly, Harry found it peaceful, rather than gloomy, in the quiet castle. And he enjoyed the fact that he, Hermione, and the Weasleys had the run of Gryffindor Tower, which meant they could play Exploding Snap loudly or practice dueling without bothering anyone.

Because of the media circus surrounding them, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley went to Egypt to visit Bill, meaning the rest of their kids had to stay at Hogwarts. Except for Percy, who got reluctant approval from his parents to stay with Oliver’s family during the holidays. Unlike last year, where the Weasleys were welcomed to stay at Grimmauld Place instead of the drafty castle, they and Harry all had to stay because of Dumbledore’s protective order on Sirius. Something he wasn’t very pleased with, but did his best to keep the holiday spirit for the kids.

Hermione, hearing the others were staying, opted to stay as well. In between all the homework she was getting a head-start on, Hermione would join in on their fun after enough pestering from them to put the books away. Even Sirius found his way up to the Gryffindor common room often, giving them tips on their spellcasting, hijinks, and dueling techniques. 

But Harry and Ron made their way to Sirius’ office in the Headmaster’s Tower the day everyone left. Rapping softly on the door, Sirius opened it after a moment.

“Morning, lads,” he said as they walked inside. “Sorry you couldn’t be on the train with everyone else, but I’ll make sure we have a wonderful Christmas right here.” He gave a smile and poured them each a cup of tea. Handing Harry his cup, Sirius saw the morose expression on his face. “I’m really sorry we couldn’t celebrate at home this year, Harry. I promise I checked with Dumbledore if there was—”

“We made the polyjuice potion and talked to Malfoy,” Harry interrupted.

“…I’m impressed. I didn’t think you three could manage such a complicated brew. There are many skilled wizards that can’t—”

“It was Mione’s doing,” said Ron.

“Of course,” Sirius said with a smirk. “And did you find out what I’d been saying? That Draco Malfoy is not the Heir of Slytherin?”

“Yes,” grumbled Harry. “There wasn’t anything new he told us. He said his father knew more about the Chamber, but his mum wouldn’t let him say. Also, I guess they have a secret chamber in their drawing room.”

“They do too?” Sirius asked.

“We have one?” Harry’s eyes went wide.

“What? No, of course not.” Sirius gave a sly grin and sipped his tea. “I’m sorry your plan wasn’t as fruitful as you wished, son. Maybe next time you’ll trust me when I say there’s nothing there. I do know a few things, you know?”

“I guess… I probably won’t though,” Harry smirked.

Sirius laughed and mussed up Harry’s hair. 

“You know, I’m definitely getting Kreacher or Dromeda to visit before term starts back. Your hair’s getting so long you’re looking like a cocker spaniel.” Sirius and Ron laughed.

“I thought it was my lion’s mane,” Harry said, pushing the fringe out of his face and eyes.

“Oh my God, you have green eyes? I’d nearly forgotten since they’ve been lost in all this hair for so long.”

Harry laughed. “Shut up. Besides, your hair is a lot longer than mine is.”

Sirius continued fussing with his hair. “Indeed, it is… Maybe I’m just being sentimental. We don’t have to cut it if you don’t want to.”

“Well… it would be easier to fly without it in my face during matches.”

Sirius laughed, “That’s for sure. So, what do you boys have planned for the rest of your holiday?”

“I need a favor!” Ron blurted.

Taken aback, Sirius almost spilled his tea. “Jesus —Uh, of course, lad. What is it?”

Ron’s face turned a vibrant shade of red, and he sank into his seat.

“Ron, come on. What is it?”

Sheepishly, he pulled his broken wand from the pocket of his pants. “I–I wanted to ask if y–you could help me fix my wand…”

“Merlin’s beard—” Sirius gingerly took the wand from Ron’s hands. “You’ve been using this? For how long?”

“Since, er, since we crashed into the whomping willow.”

“Three months! Why haven’t you said anything sooner? Do you know how dangerous it is to use a wand like this?” Sirius exhaled. “You’re lucky you haven’t gotten hurt. But, lad, I don’t think there’s fixing a wand this damaged—”

“We’ve got to!” Ron shot to his feet. “Mum will have a fit if she sees what happened to it. It was my Uncle Gideon’s before he died; then she passed it on to Charlie, and he gave it to me when he graduated and bought his own. I’ve got to fix it.”

“Ron…” Sirius scratched his eyebrow, still staring at the wand.

“Sirius,” said Harry. “There’s got to be something we can do.”

“Right… Listen, I will send an owl to Mister Ollivander, see if there’s anything he can do about this one. We can get you a temporary school wand for now, they’re not great but they’ll be safer than this, and… I’ll see if he can’t bring a few wands for you to try—” He held up his hands to deflect the incoming protests. “Listen, boys, I just told you I know a few things. I want to get this wand fixed as much as you do, and I hope we can so we can return it to your mother. But Ron, you need a wand of your own. Wands adapt to their wizard. It’s a special bond, one that can’t form if it’s passed to someone it didn’t choose.

“So, I’ll get you a wand of your own and your uncle’s wand can go back to your mum so she can display it in a place of honor alongside Fabian’s. Ollivander has hundreds, maybe thousands, of wands, though, so we may have to wait until the summer holiday when my community service is up before we can get one that chooses you.”

“Right,” Ron said. “But d’you think Mum’ll be mad I broke it?”

“I think she’ll understand,” said Sirius. “…Might get her another gift just in case.”

♞ ♞ ♞

Christmas morning came at last.

Thankfully, Ron and Harry were the only boys staying in their dorm over the holiday, because Hermione accompanied Sirius up the spiral stairs to the second-year boys’ dorm, excitedly bursting through their door to find the boys still fast asleep.

“Wake up!” Hermione hissed, pulling back the curtains around their beds.

“Mione!” Ron gasped, pulling his blanket over his face. “You’re not supposed to be in here!”

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” she said, hurling a present at him he blocked with his blanket. “You didn’t have a problem with Lavender and Parvati coming up here with me to find out about the Chamber.”

“Boys aren’t allowed in the girls’ dormitories,” Sirius chuckled. “But girls are free to come up to the boys’—Not that I want any of you taking advantage of that.” He added sternly. “Merry Christmas, boys. The twins and Ginny’ll be down in the common room soon. Need you two to get ready so we can all open presents.”

Suddenly wide awake, Harry sat up in his bed. Ron needed to get a few more stretches out before he’d be in any shape to do anything.

“Merry Christmas, Mione. Merry Christmas, Sirius.”

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” beamed Hermione.

“Merry Christmas, lad,” Sirius said. “We’ll be waiting for you downstairs.”

They needn’t wait long. Before Hermione and Sirius were through the door, the boys kicked on their slippers and ran after them. The common room was decked in Christmas decorations from top to bottom. A massive fir stood tall beside the fireplace with piles of gifts beneath it. The only one not waiting for them around the tree was Ginny, still locked up in her dorm.

She never missed Christmas. If she didn’t hurry, she would miss out. Ron hated how she’d been since starting school, and his concern for her grew day after day—though he did little to check on her. Not that the guilt for it didn’t eat at him. He always knew his sister as always talking your ear off, being bossy, and always full of energy—never shy. But since coming to Hogwarts, she’d hardly opened up to anyone or even talked unless someone spoke to her first. She always looked tired and scared when Ron saw her briefly. He hoped that being in a new place just meant she needed time to adjust, but it’s been months…

“I’m gonna get Gin,” he decided, walking towards the spiral staircase leading to the girls’ dormitories.

“Wait!” Sirius reached for him.

“Don’t!” Hermione covered her mouth.

The twins only laughed.

“What? I don’t want her to miss out. I’ll be right—” Ron had made a few steps up the stairs when they gave out beneath his feet and turned into a smooth stone slide, sending him flying back into the common room. At the same time, a loud, wailing sound filled the room. Ron laid on his back, a look of bewilderment on his face. “What the bloody hell was that?”

The others joined the twins in laughing as Hermione explained, “The girls’ staircase is enchanted to keep boys from getting in.”

He rubbed his bum and decided to let Ginny lie in if she wanted, assuming his seat beside Harry to open gifts.

The kids sat on the couches around the tree, giddy as Sirius passed out their presents. Like a pack of ravenous wolves, the young Gryffindors shredded through the wrapping paper without restraint. From Hagrid, he’d gotten Ron, Harry, and Hermione a large tin of treacle fudge that they stacked beside the fire before eating. Ron watched with glee as Harry tore open the gift he’d picked out and wrapped himself, a brand-new copy of Flying with the Cannons, a book full of facts about their favorite quidditch team. For Hermione, he’d gotten her a new copy of Hogwarts: A History, 57th Edition (“One to keep at school, and one for when you’re at home,” he said). Hermione had gotten him and Harry handsome eagle-feather quills. Harry’s aunt and uncle got both boys a matching set of bright-orange Cannons quidditch gloves. Charlie sent Ron a miniature sneakoscope, while Bill sent him a golden scarab that flittered around the room like a golden snitch.

Harry had gotten Ron a chocolate frog card for Cornelius Agrippa, a hard (and expensive) find. It must’ve cost more than a pretty penny, and even more for the charms placed on it to prevent any tears, dirt, or wrinkles. Ron’s jaw dropped when he saw it, wishing he’d found something better than a book for Harry’s gift. He held it like the holy grail and thanked them profusely.

“I’d hoped to find you a Ptolemy card to finally complete your set,” said Sirius. It was now the only card Ron missed from his extensive collection. “But no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find a single witch or wizard that owned one. Either they knew how rare they were and refused to part with them no matter how much money they’d get. Or, as I suspect, they don’t really exist.” He handed Ron a large wrapped box. “I hope this is a decent substitute. Harry mentioned you eyeing it in Diagon Alley.”

Ron ripped the paper apart, and tore the lid off the box, and his jaw dropped for the second time—this time taking the breath from his lungs. “No way… No Way!” Throwing the lid across the room, Ron lifted his new complete set of official Chudley Cannons quidditch robes in front of him.

“Got your sizes from Mae,” Sirius smirked, taking a sip of his coffee. “She enchanted them too, so they’ll grow with you for the next few years. Oh, and take a look at the back.”

Turning it around, he saw the glittering number one, and above it, written across the shoulders was “WEASLEY”.

“Now you’re ready when they recruit you to the team. You like it?”

“I love it! Thank you, Sirius!” He wouldn’t take his eyes off his name written across his favorite team’s robes.

“Hey, he wouldn’t have gotten them if I didn’t tell him,” Harry said while beaming.

“Thanks, mate. I definitely should’ve found something better than that book.”

“What? I love the book,” he said sincerely. “I can’t wait to read it tonight.”

Lastly, per tradition, each of them received parcels from mum and dad containing a large plum cake and a special hand-knit jumper, each woven with their very own color and their initials on the front in warm honey yellow. The one Molly made for Sirius was identical to the one she’d made last year: eggplant purple with a stylized S. Harry’s was a forest green to highlight the bright green of his eyes. Even Hermione received one for the first time, hers in a pale violet. Everyone seemed pleased with their new comfortable jumpers except for Ron, who bemoaned the maroon color of his.

“Why can’t I get a new color?”

“Well, maybe this will lighten your mood, lad. Got one more gift for you.”

His groans and complaints were cut short when he unwrapped the gift from Sirius. It was unmistakably a wand box wrapped in gold ribbon, long and narrow. With bated breath, Ron slid the top from the box to discover his brand new wand.

But his smile vanished.

Inside was no wand. The velvet pillow inside only held a piece of folded parchment that read:

The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Weasley - Garrick Ollivander

Ron sat petrified as he read the note again and again.

“Cryptic old geezer, isn’t he?” Sirius smirked. “Who wants breakfast?”

“What?” Ron asked, twisting his face.

None of the others seemed hard of hearing, and they filed through the portrait door, discussing their favorite gifts.

Grumbling and noticeably upset, Ron followed the others. He didn’t speak to anyone as they walked down to the Great Hall, but he especially avoided Sirius.

He felt bad for feeling bad, Sirius had already gotten him such incredible gifts—far better than any Ron had ever gotten before. But he needed a new wand, he thought he would finally get one of his own rather than a hand-me-down. Yet he was stuck using a stupid school wand until his parents could get him a new one—likely after he graduated.

Entering the Great Hall, the typical four narrow house tables were replaced by a modest circular one to accommodate the smaller group staying for the holidays. Atop the table was a healthy assortment of delicious breakfast foods that would normally make Ron salivate. Eggs cooked in all manner, mighty stacks of steaming pancakes surrounded by dozens of flavors of syrup, meters of sausage links, sizzling rashers of bacon, potatoes, beans, toast, cereal, oatmeal; anything someone might want was laid out for them to help themselves. Not even mentioning how many pitchers of fresh juices, teas, and coffees there were.

Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and Hagrid were already sitting around the table, working on their plates. Accompanying them for breakfast was none other than the cryptic old wandmaker himself, Garrick Ollivander.

As the Gryffindors walked in, Dumbledore rose from his seat to greet them warmly, arms spread wide. “Merry Christmas and Happy Yule to you all—Ah, Ronald, we’ve been waiting for you. My dear friend Garrick has been visiting to collect pieces for his newest batch of wands, and I believe he has one more gift for you. If you can spare another, that is.” His blue eyes sparkled as he gestured for Ron to approach.

Ron’s eyes went wide as Mr. Ollivander, an elderly man with shock-white hair that had never seen a hairbrush the way it stuck out at all angles and wide, piercing pale eyes, stared right back at him. Fred nudged his younger brother to move forward.

He gulped and rounded the table to join the wandmaker.

“Wonderful to meet you, Mister Weasley,” Mr. Ollivander said in his typical raspy voice, like he spoke when he breathed in. “Even after how you’ve treated your first wand…” He shot his eyes upward, finally away from Ron. “Ash. Twelve inches. Unicorn hair. Originally owned by your uncle Gideon.”

“Er, yeah… I–I didn’t mean to break it,” stammered Ron.

Mr. Ollivander turned his striking pale eyes back to Ron. “Oh, no, it’s not your fault, dear boy,” he tutted. “That wand was never meant for you, nor your older brother. I told him as much when he bought a wand of his own—beautiful azobé wood. Thirteen and a quarter inches. Dragon heartstring, of course. Sturdy. A good wand for one going into dragon training. I’ve not seen a wizard with a pine wand ever die young.

“But the wand chooses the wizard, Mister Weasley. That is not just a saying, it is a fact. Your first wand, your uncle’s wand, was meant for him, and him alone. You see, unicorn hair cores are fiercely loyal to the wizard they choose, they won’t obey anyone as well as them. The same is true of ash wood wands. They will lose their power if they’re passed on. Put the two together and you have a wand that is fiercely loyal to one wizard and one wizard alone. It ought never to have come into your hands and it is past time we laid it to rest with your dear uncle, and for one of your own to choose you.”

“Really?”

“Present your wand arm, if you would.”

Giddily, Ron raised his right arm as Mr. Ollivander’s magical measuring tape moved along Ron’s body, taking measurements of absolutely everything from the circumference of his head, to the size of his feet. As it did, Ollivander circled him, looking him up and down with great interest. Truthfully, it made Ron a little uncomfortable having so much attention on him. After a few minutes, Mr. Ollivander snapped his fingers and the measuring tape flew into his coat pocket.

“I think I have just the wand for you… I hope you will appreciate the irony, Mister Weasley.”

Spinning on his heel, Ollivander walked over to his seat at the table and hefted his bag onto it. He unzipped the bag and reached deep into it, far deeper than the bag looked capable, fishing for something he was sure was inside. He muttered to himself all the while as he shoved things out of the way. Ron stood on his toes to see what all was inside, but couldn’t make out any of it. Finally, Ollivander stopped his rummaging and smiled, pulling a long, thin box from within.

“Here we are…” He returned to Ron, who hadn’t moved an inch, and presented the olive green box to him. “Willow. Unicorn hair. Fourteen inches. Unbending.”

Ron delicately took the new wand from its case.

“Go on,” Ollivander said. “Give it a wave.”

Flicking his wrist, Ron sent out dozens of colorful sparks into the vast Great Hall to the applause of everyone else.

“Splendid!” said Ollivander. “A proper wand befitting a young wizard. I imagine you’ll have much better luck casting with that one, Mister Weasley. Now, I must be getting back to my shop. Dumbledore, do give my thanks to Fawkes again, and thank you for holding onto his gift until I could stop by.”

As Ollivander finished his goodbyes, the kids gathered around Ron to see his new wand.

“I can’t wait to use it!” Ron told them. “I want to see what it transforms into!” Because his previous wand never truly belonged to him, it had never transformed to fit him like one of his own would.

As everyone else took their seats and helped themselves to the wonderful breakfast, Ron felt the guilt for his sister again, unable to ignore her absence in celebrating his new wand. He walked over to where Sirius sat with Professor McGonagall.

“Surprised Lockhart isn’t here to steal the spotlight,” he said.

McGonagall smirked. “He’s at a charity event on behalf of the school. Professor Dumbledore offered Professor Lockhart his place to entertain the benefactors and Governors. Merry Christmas, Mister Black.”

“Merry Christmas, Professor.” He clinked his cup against hers before they both took a sip.

Ron decided then to tap Sirius on the shoulder and asked to speak with him privately.

Sirius shot McGonagall an uncertain look. “Uh, sure, lad.” He placed a hand on Ron’s bony shoulder and led him over to the snow-covered windows. “Everything alright? Do you not like the wand?”

“No! I love it,” said Ron. “It’s perfect, thank you. Thank you for everything. But…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Ginny.”

“What’s wrong with Ginny?”

“I don’t know. I’m… I’m worried about her. She’s never been like this before. Until Harry came for the summer, she was the same annoying girl she’s always been. Wouldn’t shut up, always playing music and dancing, kinda funny. But now she doesn’t do any of that… she barely talks to anybody, all she does is write in that stupid diary.”

“I’ve noticed the same thing,” said Sirius. “I talked to her and your parents about it.”

“What’d they say?”

“Your parents said she’s just a girl going through changes and growing up—”

“But Hermione wasn’t like that last year! She talked as much as Gin ever did.”

“Yes, but Hermione didn’t have someone petrifying kids she knew within weeks of her starting. Ginny’s scared, Ron.”

“Well, she’s not making friends, either. She won’t even talk to Mione and she was the only one other than Mum that Ginny would talk to last summer. Fred and George said she asked them about destructive spells a few weeks ago. I’m worried something’s wrong with her… I’ve never seen her like this.”

Sirius gave a reassuring smile. “I think you might be right. I’ll see if there’s something I can find out. Don’t worry, lad. We’ll take care of her.”

“Thanks, Sirius. I just want my sister back.”

✏ ✏ ✏

Celebrating Christmas did nothing to hinder Hermione’s frantic poring through books.

After learning nothing from Malfoy, she was desperate to discover what the monster behind the attacks could be. She knew Justin better than any of the other victims, and his attack rattled her deeply. Over the holidays, Harry asked her more than once if she’d like to return home since she was so on edge, but she always refused.

But she sorely wished she had.

“I’ve heard it to be a Basilisk or a gorgon. Whichever scares your kids more, I suppose,” Sirius said.

Hermione originally hoped he was wrong, but nothing else she researched came close to what was committing these attacks. She was forced to focus her attention on these two for an answer. Most Macabre Monstrosities and Fantastic Beasts provided a lot of information on them, but she had to check out a half dozen other books just to be certain.

Finally, after weeks of reading and note-taking, running through all the clues she had, Hermione slammed shut Migrated Beasts: An Exhaustive History of Monsters on the Move, having solved the puzzle.

She ran down the stairs to the common room, where Ron was showing Harry how he won a game in his Wizards Chess Club.

“… Then Siobhan, the fourth-year from Slytherin, moved her rook here, and just two moves later, I had her king in check. Hey Hermione.”

“Hi Mione—Ron, that’s wicked. I bet she was fuming.”

Hermione was practically vibrating to tell them what she’d discovered, but they wouldn’t stop talking about Wizards Chess

“Nah,” Ron said, returning his pieces to their starting positions. “She was a good sport about it. Even the Slytherins in the club are pretty good about not taking the losses personally—all the sore losers stopped coming after the first few meetings. Everything alright, Mione?”

“I know what Slytherin’s Monster is!” Hermione announced, holding open her book.

“Really?” Harry’s green eyes went wide as he ran over to read the page she marked.

Ron joined them a second later and asked, “What is it?”

“A Basilisk,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “I kept remembering what Sirius said when he told us about the Chamber. Either a gorgon or a Basilisk, depending on who told the story. Well, gorgons are classified as beings of near-human intelligence, and while they can petrify people, it’s by turning them to stone. None of the victims of Slytherin’s monster have turned to stone. So, I read about Basilisks and now I’m sure that’s what it has to be.

“Harry, you said just before the attacks on Justin and Sir Nicholas, Hagrid was complaining about his roosters dying. The books all say that a rooster’s crow is fatal to a Basilisk. And the spiders? Basilisks are their mortal enemy, which is why all the spiders have been running from the castle—”

“Good riddance.” Ron shivered.

“Then there’s you, Harry. You’re the only Parselmouth we know of. The Basilisk is called the King of Serpents! That’s why you can hear it when no one else can!”

“That’s excellent, Hermione,” said Harry. “But it says they can grow to be gigantic. How’s a giant snake slithering around the school with no one seeing it?”

“I don’t know…” Hermione shrugged in defeat. “I’ve been thinking about it, but nothing makes sense.”

“Well,” said Ron, “think about it. Maybe no one sees it because no one is around to see it.”

Harry and Hermione looked at him like he was crazy before he continued.

Ron scoffed. “I mean, look at all the victims. Harry stumbled on all of them, and each time there was no one else around. Maybe the Heir of Slytherin only calls it out when they know there’s nobody else around to see it except for a muggle-born. Can’t call it out to the Great Hall, ‘cause then it’d curse pure-bloods just like everyone else.”

“If it is the King of Serpents,” Harry said, “then that means whoever’s controlling it must be a Parselmouth, too. How else could they send out the Basilisk without it petrifying them?”

“But wait, Mione—” Ron pointed to something on the page. “‘Aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death.’ How’s it no one has died then?”

Hermione twisted her mouth, again stumped by one of their questions. She was so sure she’d cracked the case open, but she couldn’t even answer the most basic answers. In fact, petrification was mentioned so infrequently in her readings on Basilisks that it now seemed so stupid to think it could be the monster. Had she been overeager in her assumption and need for an answer?

She ran through everything she’d learned, everything she’d read. One book had a whole passage on petrification. She wished she’d read it more closely. After realizing it said nothing new on reversing the petrification, Hermione devoted little attention to its properties and now she wished she had. But it had said something. There was a reason some victims were petrified when others died.

“They didn’t see it with their naked eye!” she remembered.

It was Ron and Harry who got to look at her like she was crazy.

“That’s how to keep from being killed by the Basilisk’s gaze. You can’t look at it with your naked eye! Harry said when they brought Colin to the hospital wing, he had his camera held up and it exploded when they opened it. He must’ve seen the Basilisk through the camera lens! A–and Justin, he was found with Nearly Headless Nick! Justin had to have seen the Basilisk through Nick and Nick got the full blast from the gaze—!”

“—But because he’s already dead, he couldn’t die again!” Harry finished. Hermione’s face grew warm at the way he smiled at her.

“Why’s Filch’s cat still breathing then?” Ron asked with a pinched face.

“Well, she’s a poltergeist, isn’t she?”

“And,” Hermione said, “Myrtle flooded her bathroom, remember? The floor was flooded when we found her dangling from the torch. She must’ve seen the Basilisk’s reflection in the water!”

“So, what?” Ron asked. “Mione’s just gonna have to walk around the school backwards, holding up a mirror to see where she’s going until we catch this tosser?”

“No, of course not!” said Harry.

But Hermione gave him an uneasy look. If it was the difference between being petrified for a few weeks until they brewed the mandrake potion or dying a horrible death, she just might have to carry around a mirror.

“Nothing’s going to happen, Hermione.” Harry held her hand and looked her straight in the eye as he said it.

She wished she could share his certainty. But other than locking herself in her dorm until the monster was caught, there was no way she could fully avoid coming across the Basilisk.

“Thanks, Harry.” She gave him a weak, hopeful smile.

Ron took her other hand, and Hermione’s face grew even warmer. “We’ll make sure you’re okay. We promise.”

“You wanna go down for lunch?” asked Harry. “Sirius said they’re still going all out since there are only a few of us staying at school right now.”

Ron’s stomach had just growled.

Hermione nodded, glad to have them.

Just before they reached the portrait door, Ron turned around and asked, “Actually, Mione, would you mind going up to Ginny’s room and asking her to come with us? I’m worried she’s not eating.”

“Oh, uh…” She suddenly became very apprehensive of going anywhere, even up to the first floor girls’ dorm, alone.

“We’ll wait here for you,” said Harry as Ron’s stomach growled again.

Hermione felt herself being foolish again. All that reading about horrible monsters had made her paranoid. Besides, whoever the Heir of Slytherin is, couldn’t still be at the castle. She could walk as freely as she could any other time.

“No, you two can go ahead. I’ll get Ginny and we’ll catch up.”

“Are you sure?” both boys asked.

“Yeah, you two are hungrier than I am and it’ll be nice to get one-on-one time with Ginny.” She didn’t mention that Ginny being a pure-blood would also keep Slytherin’s monster away. The boys still looked at her with concern. “I’m serious. I’ll be okay. I won’t be long.”

Harry and Ron shared an apprehensive look before hesitantly agreeing and inching towards the portrait door. Both boys looked back one more time before they finally climbed through, and Hermione knew they would contemplate whether to go to the Great Hall or not just on the other side of the Fat Lady’s portrait for a few more minutes.

After a deep breath to further steel herself, Hermione turned and walked up the spiral staircase to the first-year girls’ dormitory.

“Ginny?” Hermione knocked on the first-year’s door. “Ginny, I’m going to lunch with Ron and Harry and we wanted you to join us. Ginny?” She knocked again, but there was no response. “Ginny, you need to eat. It’ll be fun getting to talk again.” After still no response, Hermione said, “I know you’re in there. I’m coming in.”

Once Hermione pushed open the door, she reeled back at the mess she found. Ginny’s room at home had been tidy every time she visited, but this was a complete disaster zone. Her roommates must be horrible to leave such a mess. Stepping over scattered clothes, Hermione looked around the room, but the dormitories weren’t places to easily hide. Everything was laid out as soon as you opened the door. Five four-poster beds stood in a circle against the far wall with windows between them, and opposite them were desks separated by wardrobes. The only place Ginny could hide was the bathroom, but even that door was wide open.

Ginny wasn’t there.

It made no sense. They would’ve noticed her going somewhere. Ginny was the only other girl in Gryffindor over the holidays; Harry and the Weasley boys all spent most of their time in the common room. How could Ginny have snuck past all of them?

The messy room became more unsettling the longer Hermione stood in it. And the more she realized, the mess went beyond mere untidiness. Bedsheets and bed curtains were on the floor with the discarded clothing. Books laid haphazardly about the room. And worst of all, there were marks on the walls and floor caused by spells. Scorch marks, soot, slash marks. Hermione hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a lingering smell of fire in the air.

Overwhelmed with worry about what happened to Ginny and horrified to stay in the room any longer, Hermione bolted through the door. 

Scorch marks, she remembered.

There were scorch marks where they found Mrs. Norris.

The Basilisk had come for Ginny.

How had it gotten past us all?

How did they not hear it happen?

Where was Ginny’s body?

Hermione’s mind raced as she ran up to her dorm and pulled a small, circular mirror from her nightstand.

The other victims were all found where they were attacked.

So where was Ginny?

Was the Basilisk’s gaze so deadly that it destroyed the victim’s body?

Does this mean the Heir of Slytherin doesn’t have to be at school for the Basilisk to attack?

Was there an heir of Slytherin at all?

Had the Basilisk attacked Ginny, trying to find me?

Half of Hermione was too scared to leave the common room, but it was apparent even locking herself in here, she wasn’t safe. She had to get a teacher or Sirius. Ron and his brothers needed to know what happened. After a moment to muster her courage, she pushed open the Fat Lady’s portrait. She so hoped Harry and Ron were still waiting for her so she wouldn’t be alone, but they had gone down to the Great Hall at her insistence.

Professor McGonagall’s quarters were the closest in the staff tower. But would she be there during lunch? If Hermione went that way, it would only put her on a longer journey to the Great Hall. One she would have to walk alone if McGonagall wasn’t there. With every trembling step down the Gryffindor stairwell, Hermione debated which way to go, unable to decide.

While reading Hogwarts: A History, Hermione learned the school once had an extensive floo network to travel throughout the school and even to Hogsmeade or the surrounding hamlets as recently as a century ago. It was eventually dismantled after students abused it and spent more time outside of the school than they were in classes, and because the students found the talking bust of Floo Powder creator Ignatia Wildsmith quite annoying. Now, there were only a few fireplaces left in the school still connected and they were all heavily monitored in staff areas.

Hermione wished she had access to the school floo network right now.

Once she reached the last step, Hermione headed straight for the Great Hall. No matter where Professor McGonagall was in the castle, she would find a professor in the Great Hall that could help her. Even if it was Snape.

She clutched her mirror tightly to her body, jumping at each stray noise or scuff of her heel on the stone. The wind howled past the windows and made them rattle loudly. Her heart skipped a beat with each additional step.

Please don’t let them have gotten far, Hermione prayed. With each corner she reached, she held out her mirror to see what hid behind it, hoping to find the boys on their way to the Great Hall. But with each corner, she became more disappointed. But she was getting closer. That’s what mattered. She would reach the Great Hall within a few minutes and she’d be fine.

Exhaling slowly, she picked up her pace.

The longer she lingered alone in the halls, the more risk she was in. Corners and stairs remained the scariest part of the journey. No longer did she wish to find Harry and Ron. She only wished not to find anything waiting for her on the other side.

It wasn’t much farther. She was practically already there. Only one more turn, then the grand stairwell, and she’d be pushing the double doors open.

But when she reached the turn, she heard something in the hall just around the corner. Wincing, Hermione shut her eyes and held out her trembling hand holding the mirror.

Please let me be foolish, she begged. Let there be nothing horrifying waiting for me.

Inching her eyes open, she looked into the reflection of what laid in the next hall. To her relief and disbelief, she saw a girl walking away from her. A girl with fiery red hair and Gryffindor robes. Before Hermione could gather herself enough to react, Ginny turned down the grand stairwell.

“Wait!” Hermione shouted, chasing after Ginny.

She crossed the length of the corridor faster than she’d gone the entire rest of the journey. After speed-walking, she turned the corner down the grand staircase without using her mirror, desperate to catch up to Ginny. Keeping her eyes over the bannister, Hermione tried to catch another glimpse of Ginny or see where she’d gone, but no matter where she looked, she couldn’t see her.

Where’d she go?

“Ginny?”

Standing on the last step, Hermione looked around to see where Ginny could’ve gone. She supposed Ginny could’ve made it to the Great Hall faster than she expected, but it didn’t seem likely. But her bewilderment aside, Hermione found herself unable to take the last step down. Her dread inexplicably returned. It made no sense. The doors to the Great Hall weren’t far. She could hear people eating just beyond it. But she found it impossible to turn around. She knew that if she did, she wouldn’t like what she saw. The sound of something large slithering against the stone floor was unmistakable.

Her heart raced in her chest.

Her breath froze in her throat.

Her mouth had gone dry.

Don’t turn around.

Don’t raise the mirror.

Walk up the stairs and head back to the common room.

No, don’t turn around.

Don’t turn around.

It is right behind you.

You can feel its breath, can’t you?

Don’t turn around.

Its gaze is deadly, Hermione.

It didn’t kill anyone it petrified.

The mirror.

Don’t turn around.

They were petrified, but they were alive.

Shakily, Hermione raised her mirror. Before she could gasp another breath, the mirror fell to the ground, shattering. The world faded and turned black. Someone far away screamed her name and called for Sirius. She heard several people running over, shaking her and asking questions, but she couldn’t respond. Her body wouldn’t listen. She was being moved. There were a few people talking now, frantically.

But she couldn’t answer their questions, she could barely hear them, and she couldn’t see them.

The last thing she remembered seeing were a pair of horrible yellow eyes.

Chapter Text

Hermione remained in the hospital wing as the latest petrified victim.

Harry and Ron were horror-stricken when they found her outside the Great Hall right after they agreed to let her go without them. They realized something was wrong when they saw Ginny walk in for lunch, as nervous and unsettled as she normally was lately, but without Hermione. When Ginny confessed she hadn’t seen Hermione and had been in the library since early morning, the boys knew they had to go back for her.

Despite knowing the Heir of Slytherin couldn’t possibly be in the school, everything Hermione had told Harry and Ron about a Basilisk had shaken them to their core. They didn’t want to risk her walking the corridors alone and ran for the Great Hall's double doors, Sirius calling after them.

It didn’t take them long to find her. She laid on the last step of the Grand Staircase, frozen on the ground, a shattered mirror beside her. Harry screamed for his godfather louder than he ever had. He burst out of the Great Hall along with Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Hagrid. Professor Dumbledore conjured a stretcher that Sirius and Hagrid lifted Hermione onto to carry to the Hospital Wing as Professor McGonagall ran to warn Madam Pomfrey.

Lost in a daze the entire time after calling Sirius, Harry followed them blindly. The world had turned shaky and blurred. His vision had gone to a pinpoint as his body moved on its own. Hardly aware of anything going on around him until he was in the hospital wing, and Sirius tried to get his attention. Ron had to nudge him to bring him back.

“Are you okay, Harry?” asked Sirius, crouching in front of him.

Harry nodded, still unable to speak.

“Sirius, it’s a Basilisk,” Ron said. “Hermione figured it out just before we went down for lunch.”

Emboldened by his mate, Harry and Ron went on a tirade over everything Hermione told them and what they’d pieced together.

“We were going to lunch, but I didn’t want to leave Ginny out, so I asked Hermione to get her from her dorm,” Ron said. “We said we’d wait for her, but she said she’d be fine and told us to go ahead. We waited outside the Fat Lady’s portrait for five minutes before we finally left. I knew we shouldn’t have gone anywhere.”

“We should’ve stayed. It’s our fault the basilisk petrified her.”

“No, no, boys.” Sirius placed his hands on each of their shoulders. “Listen to me. It’s not your fault. Either of yours. It’s no one’s fault except for whoever summoned this Basilisk. You couldn’t have seen this coming, especially with so few students left at the school.”

“But if we hadn’t left her—”

“You would have been petrified with her. Or worse. It’s good that Ginny was in the library when she was. It seems she had just missed seeing the beast.”

“She shouldn’t have been alone.”

Sirius gave a sad smile. 

“She knows you two wouldn’t have left her side if she hadn’t told you to. She knows you both would’ve done everything you could to keep her safe. But for now, let’s head up to the common room. I have to reach out to the Grangers, but you shouldn’t have to tell the other boys. If I gather anything else, or if either of you or your brothers need to talk, you can always find me. I’ll come check on you later.”

Harry and Ron turned around when Professor Lockhart sped into the room.

“Great Scott! I feared it wasn’t so! I ran up as soon as I heard.” He clicked his teeth disparagingly. “I so hoped the culprit had ended their reign of terror. Never fear, Miss Granger—if you can hear me—I will personally bring whoever, or whatever is responsible to justice.”

“It’s a Basilisk, Lockhart.” Sirius stood up to face him.

“A Basilisk? How dreadful. If only I were there. I know exactly how to fend one off.”

“How dreadful indeed.” Sirius stepped between Harry and Ron, his eyes glaring into Lockhart’s. “I will let her parents know just how horrible it was that her favorite teacher wasn’t there to keep her safe from harm. If only Professor Lockhart were there, then their only daughter wouldn’t have to lie frozen in time on a hospital bed for the next few months.”

Lockhart’s smile wavered slightly as he backed away from Sirius.

“H–Her favorite teacher? Please give her parents my deepest sympathies.” 

He sidestepped Sirius and approached Hermione’s bed. From inside his robes, Lockhart pulled out a silver silk handkerchief and an extravagant quill. Employing the bedside table, he wrote out a message on the handkerchief and tucked it into Hermione’s hand with a squeeze. “Don’t worry, dear. I shall avenge you.” With as much sadness as he could muster, which wasn’t much, Lockhart gave them a smile before sauntering out.

“What’s it say?” asked Harry.

Ron pulled it from Hermione’s hand, flicked it open, and read aloud: “To Miss Granger, wishing you a speedy recovery, from your favorite and very concerned teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League and five times winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award.’ Yuck!”

Similarly disgusted, Harry stuck out his tongue and said, “Throw it out!”

“No,” said Sirius, taking the note from Ron. “As revolting and self-absorbed as it might be. You both know Hermione would appreciate having this.” He tucked it back into her palm. “Boys, I have something I need to take care of, okay? I want you both to stay here and keep Mione company. Do not leave this room.”

* * *

He wanted to ask someone else to do it.

Telling the Creeveys and the Finch-Fletchleys about their sons was hard enough. Sirius didn’t know them or their sons very well. There was a distance between them. He granted them an opportunity to grieve and comfort their children as a member of staff.

This was different. It was personal. This one hurt.

Sirius knew Hermione. He knew her parents well. They've been to each other’s houses, they’ve gone to lunch and had tea together. It was unspoken, but there was an agreement that Sirius would keep their daughter safe, just as they would with Harry.

And he failed.

Having to tell Stephen and Audrey that their only daughter had gotten petrified seemed unfathomable.

But so was having anyone else do it.

Leaving the school so often was getting riskier; but he owed it to each of these parents to give them the truth. Dumbledore always made sure Aurors willing to look the other way were where Sirius would be going, but how many more can he find before people get suspicious?

Thankfully, knowing the Grangers made this one simpler than the rest, but only just, and not where it mattered.

“Kreacher,” Sirius beckoned.

A moment later, the old house-elf appeared.

“Yes, Master Black?”

“I need you to go to the Grangers’ home in Wimbledon. They should be back from their holiday by now. Tell them I’ll be popping into their home in a moment.”

“Is it wise for Master Black to do that given his current situation?”

“No. But it’s what we’re doing anyway.”

“Yes sir.”

Kreacher disapparated.

Sirius didn’t bother checking in with the Headmaster before this voyage. He didn’t need to; he knew what to do. The gravel crunched under his boots. He shoved his gloved hands into his pockets to stave off the cold. No matter that he wore several layers, gloves, a hat and scarf; the cold seeped through all of it to Sirius’ bones. He was grateful to see the flying boar statues that marked the boundary to Hogwarts, disapparating as soon as he crossed it.

The frigid gray air spun around him and transformed into a warm yellow glow from lamplights as he landed in the familiar Granger home.

“Sirius!” Audrey exclaimed, her hand on her chest from his sudden appearance. “Kreacher just stopped by, I didn’t think he meant you’d literally be popping in.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, stripping off his coat. “Sorry about that. It’s usually rude for wizards to apparate directly into someone’s home, but I figured it’d be safer all things considered.”

The Grangers nodded.

“Molly told us what happened,” said Stephen. “Are you allowed to be here right now?”

“Er, yes and no. As far as the Ministry is concerned, I’m not here. Per the terms of my ‘community service’ I’m not allowed off of Hogwarts grounds until the end of my sentence, which is when term ends. But Professor Dumbledore is aware and wishes he could do this instead… His hands are even more tied than mine are.”

Just then, their kitchen window popped open, allowing a tawny owl to perch on the windowsill, a letter held in its beak. Sirius approached the bird and took the letter, gently scratching the owl’s head before sending it on its way. Looking at the yellow parchment of the envelope only confirmed Sirius’ suspicions. It was from Hogwarts.

“What is it?”

“A letter from the school.” He passed the letter to Audrey. “You can read it, but nothing in it is true. That’s why I came.”

The Grangers looked at each other uneasily.

“Sirius, what’s going on?” Stephen asked.

“How, er, how much has Hermione told you about what’s happening at school this year?”

“She–she said there have been some attacks… A Gryffindor boy a–and one of her friends from Hufflepuff… She said muggle-borns are being petrified and people suspect Harry.”

“It’s not Harry—”

“No, of course, we know that. He’s always been a wonderful friend to Hermione and always so polite and kind. We know he’d never hurt anyone.”

Before Sirius could go into his well-rehearsed explanation, there was a knock on the front door. Audrey and Stephen shared an uneasy glance, not expecting any more visitors so late in the evening. Sirius moved himself deeper into the kitchen and out of sight as Stephen opened the door.

“May I help you?”

“Sorry to bother you so late, are you Stephen Granger?” The stranger spoke in a familiar deep, regal London accent.

“Er, yes, that’s me.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Doctor Granger. I’m sorry to stop by so late, but my name is Kingsley Shacklebolt, I work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

“Oh, of course. Er, how can we help you, Mister Shacklebolt?”

“I’m sure it was a mistake, but we received reports of potential magic happening at this residence. As I understand, your daughter is still attending Hogwarts? Is she home for the holidays?”

“No, she elected to stay at the school with her friends to get ahead on her studies. She hasn’t been back since the first of September.”

“Hm.. and have you noticed anything unusual in the area worth noting?”

“No. Unfortunately, I can’t say we have.”

“Well, would you mind if I took a look around your home? I promise to be quick, we just can’t be too careful.”

Stephen stammered. “I–now’s not really the best time. We were just about to have dinner.”

Sirius couldn’t stay hidden much longer. Dumbledore told him Shacklebolt was still loyal, and he would know Sirius from their time in the Order. He stepped out from the kitchen into view of the open door.

“Kingsley,” Sirius said.

The auror was a tall, black man with a calm, regal look about him. Ruggedly handsome with a clean-cut beard, he had powerful broad shoulders and an athletic build. A small gold earring pierced his ear. Despite his reassuring demeanor, Sirius was glad he wasn’t a criminal Shacklebolt was coming after.

“Sirius,” said Shacklebolt. “Good seeing you.”

“You too. How’s the family?”

“They’re good. Cleo still asks about you. You should come by when you’re free.”

“Of course. I’ll bring Harry along, we’ll have dinner.”

“I’ll leave my calendar open. Are you going to be long?”

“Here? No. Maybe another half hour and a return trip in a few.”

Kingsley nodded. “I’ll keep prying eyes away. Just don’t make it a stack of paperwork, yeah?”

“Of course not. Goodnight Kingsley.”

“Goodnight Sirius. Goodnight Doctor and Doctor Granger, I apologize for interrupting.”

Kingsley left with Stephen shutting the door behind him before the Grangers joined Sirius at their dinner table.

“Kingsley’s a good man. It’s good he’s in the area, he’ll look after you. We were talking about what Hermione told you, am I right? I imagine it must have been scary hearing all of this from her…” Sirius tapped the tabletop distractedly. “I should have written to you myself. Explained the circumstances and rumors… helped you understand what’s happening.”

Maybe it would’ve been easier to explain now.

Sirius told them about the nature of the attacks and how they’re going to cure the petrified students, the same speech he’s gotten well-versed in reciting.

“It’s our suspicion now that the beast responsible is a basilisk… a sort of giant serpent. If we’re correct, we’ve been very lucky that this one doesn’t eat its petrified victims and that all of its victims only managed to be petrified, because looking at a basilisk directly is typically deadly.”

“That’s horrible… Thank God they’ve all gotten lucky.”

“Wh–what is Dumbledore’s plan to deal with this? Is your Ministry doing anything?”

“Professor Dumbledore and the rest of the staff are working around the clock to locate the perpetrator and where the basilisk is coming from so we can put a stop to these attacks before they turn fatal. It was actually Hermione that figured out what the creature is. She’s an incredibly bright girl…”

“Sirius?”

“Sirius, what aren’t you telling us?”

“There, er, was another attack earlier today. While on her way to lunch, Hermione—”

“No!” Audrey gasped, clutching her husband’s hand.

“No, please, Sirius.”

Both of the Grangers cried and held each other. Sirius could barely hold back his own tears. But he knew he had to. This wasn’t about him.

“The important thing is,” he continued, “she’s still alive. She’s okay. Ron and Harry are with her in the Hospital Wing, and she is in the very best hands possible with Madam Pomfrey. The restorative draft is only weeks away, so this will not be for long. It was her brilliance that saved her, she realized the others were petrified because they only saw a reflection of the basilisk and that saved her life.”

He gave them a moment in silence, allowing them to process all of this how they need to.

When their tears dried, but their eyes remained red and tired, he said, “I’d like to bring you to the school. You deserve to see her.”

The Grangers looked at each other again before wiping their cheeks and nodding. Sirius explained the concept of a Portkey and how they’ll be able to use it in the future to see Hermione.

Then the three of them huddled together and vanished to Hogwarts.

~ ~ ~

Soon, the Hogwarts Express returned to Hogsmeade Station, and with it the rest of the student body.

Harry knew their arrival only meant there would be more whispers about him being the Heir of Slytherin. As soon as they learned Hermione had gotten petrified over the holidays, while everyone except Harry was gone, they’d be more certain than ever. Bugger the fact that they were best friends and he would never hurt her. He loves her. And as he expected, a flurry of rumors about her disappearance spread almost as soon as the first student walked over the threshold.

Harry ignored their whispering and stares, staring straight ahead whenever he was in the halls. Using the same lessons from Sirius he used during his Sorting, he pretended none of them existed. He and Ron continued to visit Hermione every evening, half to avoid the other students, half because they didn’t think they could figure out what to do next without her.

But to his surprise, no one immediately accused him as easily as they had with the previous attacks. They didn’t know who to blame, but they figured Harry wouldn’t have hurt his closest friend. All of them thinking logically might’ve shocked Harry the most.

Once term started, Ron got the idea of bringing his books and homework with him to the hospital wing. 

“You know Hermione,” he said. “She’d lose her head if a little thing like being petrified put her behind in her classes.”

Harry looked at him like his hair was on fire.

“You think I don’t know it’s crazy? But… I still feel like it’s my fault that she’s like this… If I hadn’t asked her to go after Ginny—we don’t know she can’t still hear us, so it wouldn’t hurt. Besides, she always helped with my homework. Maybe being around her, even like this, will help me.”

Harry couldn’t blame him. No matter how many times Sirius told them it wasn’t their fault, they couldn’t help but feel like it was. He wished he could make it up to Hermione too, but he was glad Ron had found something.

“So, er, I’m not gonna be as smart as McGonagall or Flitwick,” said Ron to Hermione as he opened a textbook. “But I reckon I’m nicer than Snape, so maybe it’ll all even out, you know? And don’t worry about the wand movements. I’ll describe them, and you can practice in your head until you’re back, and then I can show you in person. OH! Maybe I can draw them on your hand so you understand what I mean, too. Right, so, you like Transfiguration, we’ll do that first…”

Harry left them to their tutoring session to work on his own homework. He wished Ron filled him in on his plan beforehand so they could work on their homework and tutor Hermione together. But with how much Snape had given them, Harry figured it was for the best he did it without distractions so he could finish before he started his sixth year. He rubbed a dull ache from behind his eyes as he tried to mentally walk himself through how to brew a hair-raising potion, when an angry outburst from the floor above rang out through the halls.

Filch, Harry thought. He hurried up the stairs and paused, out of sight, listening hard. He knew he shouldn’t be getting involved or doing anything that could look suspicious; he kicked himself for not leaving it alone. Then, his stomach fell to the floor as he thought, Was it another attack?

He stood frozen, listening to Filch’s hysterical voice. 

“… Even more work for me! Mopping all night! Like I haven’t got enough to do! No! That’s IT! I’m goin’ to Dumbledore…!”

With every stomp of his feet, the sound of splashing water joined, receding as the caretaker walked away and finally a distant door slammed shut. Harry poked his head around the corner. Filch’s lawn chair sat in the center of the corridor. He had clearly been manning his usual lookout post. Harry was again where Mrs. Norris had been attacked, and he noticed immediately what Filch had been shouting about. A great flood of water stretched over half the corridor, seeping into Harry’s shoes. It looked to be coming from Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

Without Filch’s shouting, he could hear Myrtle’s wails echoing off the bathroom walls.

Holding his robes and trousers over his ankles, Harry stepped through the flood to the out-of-order bathroom, ignoring the sign as always, and entered.

Moaning Myrtle cried, if possible, louder and harder than ever before. She must’ve been hiding down her usual toilet. It was dark in the bathroom. The great rush of water that left the walls and floor soaking wet had also extinguished the usual candlelit lanterns.

“Are you okay, Myrtle?” asked Harry.

“Who’s that?” came Myrtle’s miserable voice from the U-bend. “Come to throw something else at me?”

Harry waded to her cubicle. “Why would I throw something at you?”

“Don’t ask me!” Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor. “Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it’s funny to throw a book at me…”

“B–But it can’t hurt you if someone throws something at you,” Harry said reasonably. “I mean, it’d go right through you, wouldn’t it?”

He’d said the wrong thing.

Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked, “Oh, yes! Let’s all throw books at Myrtle, because she can’t feel it! Ten points if you get it through her stomach!” She thrust a freezing ghostly fist through Harry’s chest. “Fifty points if it goes through her head!” She punched through Harry’s head harmlessly, but gave him a horrible brain-freeze. “Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovely game!”

“Yeah, sorry… I get it,” Harry said, rubbing the brain-freeze out of his head. “Who threw it at you, anyway?”

“I don’t know… I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head,” said Myrtle, glaring at him. “It’s over there. I washed it out. If you want to make up for being rude, you can take it far away from here.”

Harry looked under the sink where Myrtle was pointing. A small, thin book laid there. It had a black leather cover, soaked as much as everything else in the bathroom, but the pages were inexplicably dry. Gingerly, Harry picked it up. The little book didn’t look special, but Harry could tell at once that it was a diary. The faded year inside the back cover told him a newsagent in Vauxhall Road, London had originally sold it fifty years ago. Whoever owned it must’ve been a muggle-born with something they really wanted to hide if they brought it all the way here to get rid of it. He opened it eagerly to discover what secrets it might hide. On the first page, in faded ink, he could just make out the name T. M. Riddle.

Harry ran through all the students he knew in the school, but couldn’t think of any Riddles. He peeled the dried pages apart, but found all of them completely blank. There was nothing on any of them. Not even the faintest trace of writing, not even ‘Aunt Mabel’s birthday,’ or ‘Charms exam, half three’.

“They never wrote in it,” said Harry, disappointed. “Myrtle, do you remember a T. M. Riddle?”

“Hmm… There was a Tom Riddle when I was in school,” she said bitterly. “Back when I was alive. He was so handsome and popular, but he would never have loved ugly, old me.”

Harry was going to console her, but Myrtle began sobbing again and dove into her toilet, the lid shutting behind her.

Unsure of what else to do with the curious diary, Harry pocketed it.

~ ~ ~

“Hang on,” said Ron as Harry showed him the diary. 

“I know that name… T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school, like fifty years ago.”

Harry looked at him incredulously. “How d’you know that?”

“From when I had detention with Filch at the beginning of the year, I had to polish this Riddle bloke’s shield about fifty times,” Ron said resentfully. “That was when I was still burping up the last of the slugs. You’d remember the name too if you had to wipe slime off it for an hour. Still, you have to be barmy for opening a random book you weren’t familiar with. Dad told me loads of stories about cursed books that wizards or muggles find. It’s never a pretty sight. Why didn’t you chuck it?”

“I want to know why someone would go through the effort of stuffing it down a toilet instead of tossing it in the bin. It must have something in it that someone didn’t want found. I wouldn’t mind knowing more about Riddle either. Did the award say what special services he did?”

“Nah, it was tucked away with a dozen other ones in their own case. Could’ve been anything. Bill got one for helping with some hidden vaults or something when he was in school. Maybe Riddle got thirty O.W.L.s, or saved a teacher from the giant squid. Ooh, maybe he killed Myrtle. That would’ve done everyone a favor—too bad she stuck around… What’re you thinking?”

Harry had indeed been lost in thought.

“Riddle got the award fifty years ago?”

“Yeah, 1943.”

“Well, the last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened was fifty years ago, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, and…?”

“… and this diary belonged to him from fifty years ago?”

“Lotta things happened fifty years ago, huh?”

“Ron!” Harry snapped. “Do the math! Draco said they expelled the person who opened the Chamber fifty years ago. This T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago. So… what if Riddle got his special award for being the one to catch the Heir of Slytherin? His diary could probably tell us everything: where the Chamber is, how to open it, and how to get past the Basilisk! Maybe it could lead us to who’s behind it this time! Whoever that is wouldn’t want all that lying around for someone to find, would they?”

“Brilliant!” said Ron. “But there’s a problem. That’s a pretty big leap, and there’s nothing written in that diary.”

“Well, if you were trying to hide your secrets, you’d probably charm the book to hide them for you—or use invisible ink!” Harry whipped his wand out of his robes and tapped the diary three times. “Aparecium!”

Nothing happened.

“Did you say it right?” asked Ron.

“Yes, I said it right! Aparecium!”

Again, nothing.

“Revelio!”

“Harry, there’s nothing in there. Riddle just got a diary for Christmas one year and couldn’t be bothered filling it in. I wouldn’t either. I dunno what Ginny finds in it.”

~ ~ ~

Harry couldn’t explain, even to himself, why he didn’t throw Riddle’s diary away. 

The fact was, even though the diary was blank; he kept absent-mindedly picking it up and turning the pages, as though it was a story he wanted to finish. And while Harry was sure he had never seen the name T. M. Riddle before, it still seemed to mean something to him, almost as though he was a friend of Harry’s when he was small.

One evening, he took the diary to Sirius and explained his feelings. Sirius tried a few counter-spells and revealing spells, but he had as much luck as Harry. When Harry asked if he ever had a friend named Riddle when he was little, Sirius shook his head.

“No,” he said. “Neville was the only friend your age until you started school. I don’t know anyone named Riddle as far as I remember and none that I would’ve trusted enough to get close to you.”

“What about an… imaginary friend?”

“If you ever had an imaginary friend, you never introduced them to me,” Sirius wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “I think you’re scared. Hermione getting petrified rattled you, and you don’t know what to do without her, so you’re putting a lot of faith in this book to give you the answers you want. I’m sorry to tell you it’s not that easy, lad.”

“Then what can I do?”

“Keep busy,” said Sirius. “That’s what I try to do. If there’s nothing else I can do, I can do what I can to keep busy. Keeps me from constantly thinking about everything I can’t do. Focus on your studies, I’m sure Hermione will need help catching up when she’s de-petrified—”

“Ron’s been bringing his homework and notes to the hospital wing and going over them with Hermione in case she can hear us. He’s been paying a lot more attention in class so he can tell her about it.”

“That’s sweet of him. I’m sure she’ll appreciate that. His parents, especially Molly, are helping the Grangers, too. I spoke with them, and they’re naturally horrified, so the Weasleys have been keeping them company, inviting them to the Burrow often, and making sure they have plenty of meals.”

“I wish I could tell them how sorry I am.”

“They don’t blame you, Harry. You did nothing wrong. They’re only worried about their little girl.” He pulled Harry in closer. “You’re doing everything you can, son. Your parents would be proud of you for how much you care about your friends.” With a kiss to the top of Harry’s head, Sirius changed the subject. “I’m sure Oliver is raring to get everyone back on the pitch, eh? The Ravenclaw match is in a few weeks. That ought to take your mind off things.”

“Yeah.” Harry forced a smile.

No matter what he did, though, Harry couldn’t keep himself busy enough from wanting answers. He knew in his heart that Riddle was the key to solving everything and stopping these attacks. He needed to find out more. During his afternoon break the next day, he dragged a thoroughly unconvinced Ron to the trophy room, who told him he’d seen enough of it to last him a lifetime.

“Where was it?” asked Harry.

Sighing, Ron said, “Over there.”

Tucked away in a corner cabinet was the burnished gold shield of T. M. Riddle. Like Ron said, it didn’t carry details of why he’d received it.

“Good thing, too,” said Ron, “or it’d be even bigger and I’d still be polishing it.”

However, as they continued searching for any other sign of Riddle, they found his name on an old Medal for Magical Merit, a list of old Head Boys, and one for Prefects.

“Bunch of awards, Prefect, Head Boy, probably top of every class.” Ron wrinkled his nose in disgust. “And Myrtle said he was attractive? He sounds like the Slytherin version of Bill.”

~ ~ ~

Come February, the sun shone weakly on Hogwarts again.

Inside the castle, the mood had grown more hopeful. There had been no more attacks since Hermione’s.

Perhaps the Heir of Slytherin lost their nerve, Harry thought. It must be getting riskier and riskier to open the Chamber of Secrets, with the school so alert and suspicious. That’s why they tossed the diary, to scrub away any evidence that would put them in trouble. Perhaps the monster, whatever it was, was even now settling itself down to hibernate for another fifty years…

Professor Sprout was pleased to report that the mandrakes were becoming moody and secretive, meaning they were fast leaving childhood. “Once their acne clears up, they’ll be ready for repotting again,” she told their Herbology class on their first day back. “After that, it won’t be long before we’re cutting them up and stewing them! I’ll need all hands on deck when that time comes; I’ll be asking the very best of my Herbology students to assist. Even a fair few of you second-years will join me.”

Despite her hopeful demeanor, the Herbology class was rather morose; with two now missing from their number: Justin and Hermione. With one more sad, reassuring smile, Professor Sprout set them all to work pruning the Abyssinian Shrivelfigs.

Harry tipped an armful of withered stalks into the compost heap and suddenly found himself face to face with Ernie Macmillan. 

Rolling his eyes, Harry tried to push past him. “If you’re going to say you know I’m the one petrifying everyone and that you’re gonna stop me—just save it. I don’t care what—”

Ernie took a deep breath and said, far more quickly than normal, “No, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for ever suspecting you. I know you would never attack Granger. I’ve seen how close you two are. And I want to apologize for everything I said. I understand if you hate me for it. I was scared because my best friend was… you know. But we’re in the same boat now, and, well—” 

He held out his hand.

After hesitating for a moment, Harry shook it.

“D’you wanna join me and Ron?”

“Er, yeah. Let me get Hannah. She wanted to apologize, too, and she’s great at Herbology. So, even if you change your mind about not hating us, at least you’ll get good marks today.”

Ernie and Hannah Abbott joined Harry and Ron at their potting table to work the same shrivelfigs as Harry and Ron.

“That Draco Malfoy prat,” said Ernie in a low voice, breaking off dead twigs, “he seems a little too pleased about all this, doesn’t he? I’ve suspected he might be Slytherin’s heir.”

“He does seem the type,” added Hannah.

“Wow. that’s clever of you,” snarked Ron, who wasn’t so easy to forgive Ernie and Hannah as readily as Harry.

“Do you think it’s Malfoy, Potter?”

“No,” said Harry, so firmly that Ernie and Hannah stared. “Sorry, but no.”

“Really?” asked Hannah. “With how often you two get into it, I figured you’d be the first one to suspect him.”

“I was.” Harry almost laughed. “Especially when everyone thought it was me, but—” He flicked his eyes over to Ron, who shook his head, before continuing. “We, er, figured out that he wasn’t.”

Ernie asked, “How’d you do that?”

Harry shrugged.

“Oh, come on.” Hannah set down her shears more forcefully than she meant to. “We won’t tell anyone. We hate the Slytherins as much as you do.”

“You sure had a lot to tell people a few weeks ago,” Ron fired back.

“Oh, like you weren’t saying things, too!”

They hurled more words back and forth before Harry and Ernie stepped in to diffuse the tension between their partners.

“I’ll tell you,” said Harry. “Maybe you can help me figure something out. But you have to swear you won’t tell anyone.”

“What? No!” Ron exclaimed. “We don’t know if we can trust them.”

“Hey!”

“Our friend’s in the hospital wing, same as yours.”

“Ron, we don’t have any answers. Maybe they can spot something we’re missing. Their friend was petrified, too. Do you both swear you won’t say anything?”

“We swear,” Ernie and Hannah said.

“Make the Unbreakable Vow,” said Ron darkly, staring them down.

“What? Ron, we don’t know how to cast the Unbreakable Vow.”

“Fine. But if either of you tell anyone, then we’ll hex you so hard—”

“Ron, knock it off.”

In a hushed voice, Harry continued into the full story of how they brewed the Polyjuice Potion and disguised themselves as Goyle and Parkinson to trick Malfoy. He told them how Hermione figured out the monster had to be a Basilisk right before her attack, and about the diary he found in Myrtle’s bathroom.

“I think whoever tried flushing it has to be the Heir of Slytherin and they hid what’s in it to protect themselves. If I could just figure out how to uncover what’s in it, I can figure out who’s been behind it.”

“Have you tried writing in it?” asked Hannah.

“Maybe it’s written in invisible ink,” Ernie suggested.

“No and I already thought of that,” Harry said miserably, realizing they wouldn’t be any more help than anyone else had been. “I tried revealing charms and even showed Sirius, but neither of us got anything. I think I’m missing something.”

“And I still think it’s just an empty book,” said Ron, brushing soil onto the ground.

~ ~ ~

Gilderoy Lockhart seemed to think he himself had made the attacks stop.

Harry overheard Lockhart telling Professor McGonagall as such while Ron chided Harry for not being more secretive.

“I don’t think there’ll be any more trouble, Minerva,” Lockhart said, tapping his nose knowingly and winking. “I think the Chamber has been locked for good this time. The culprit must have known it was only a matter of time before I caught them. Rather sensible to stop now, before I came down harder on them. You know, what the school needs now is a morale-booster! Wash away the terrible memories of last term! I won’t say any more now, but I think I know just the thing…”

He wiped his hands with finality and strode off.

Lockhart’s idea of a morale-booster became clear at breakfast on Friday, the twelfth of February. Harry had gotten little sleep because Oliver ran quidditch drills late into the night to prepare for their first match back, and now he was hurrying down to the Great Hall later than everyone else. Yawning as he pushed through the doors, Harry thought he’d walked through the wrong doors.

The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse still, heart-shaped confetti fell from the enchanted pale blue ceiling. Harry headed for the Gryffindor table, where Ron and the boys sat in disgust; while the girls were far more giggly.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked them, wiping confetti off his bacon.

Ron pointed to the teachers’ table, apparently too disgusted to speak. Lockhart, wearing violent pink robes to match the decorations, waved for silence. The teachers on either side of him were staring ahead, stone-faced. From where he sat, Harry could see a vein throbbing in Professor McGonagall’s temple; Snape looked as though someone had just fed him a large beaker of Skele-Gro; Sirius had his eyes shut, fully trying to disassociate from the nonsense Lockhart was creating; or he was reciting the Unforgivable Curses, it could’ve gone either way.

“I want to wish you all an early Happy Valentine’s Day!” Lockhart shouted, blowing kisses. “And may I thank the forty-six of you who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have arranged this little surprise for you all over the weekend of love—and it doesn’t end here!”

Harry watched Sirius mutter something rather inappropriate for a school environment before he stormed off through the side door, unable to withstand anything further. Professor McGonagall held out her hand to stop him, but realized it was futile.

Lockhart clapped his hands, and through the doors marched a few dozen surly-looking dwarves. Not just any dwarves, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying bows and tiny love arrows.

“My own friendly, card-carrying cupids!” beamed Lockhart. “They will rove around the school all weekend long delivering your Valentines! But the fun doesn’t stop here! I’m sure my colleagues will embrace the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion? And while you’re at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about entrancing enchantments than any wizard I’ve ever met, the sly old dog!”

Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands. Snape looked as though the first person to ask for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison.

For the rest of the day, dwarves barged into classes and common rooms delivering Valentines—much to the annoyance of the teachers and students. One even pushed itself between Harry’s legs to deliver a card to Ron.

“Sorry for being a jerk. I hope we can be friends. Hannah, xoxo,” Ron read aloud.

“Hannah is mad cute, bruv,” said Dean. “You think she likes you?”

Ron’s ears turned red again. “I–I don—”

“No!” Lavender interrupted, snatching the card from Ron’s hand. “She’s just being nice for treating him so poorly.”

“Well, I was being a prat to her, too. D’you think I should send her one back?” Ron asked Harry.

Before Harry could respond, Lavender again said, “No! Why should you? All the Hufflepuffs were talking about you and Harry behind your back for weeks! She deserved whatever mean things you said. And she’s not even that cute.” With a huff, Lav spun in a swirl of curls and strode off.

Parvati lingered for a moment and mouthed, “you should send one to Lavender,” before spinning on her heel and following her best friend.

The boys stared as the girls walked up the stairs.

“Bloody hell…” Ron muttered. “What d’you guys think? Who do I send a card to?”

“Both,” answered Harry, Dean, and Seamus.

“Just don’t get caught sendin’ ‘em to both,” said Seamus. “Me uncle did that one year. Both lasses found out, and I ‘aven’t seen ‘im since. That was seven years ago.”

Ron gulped.

“Come on,” Harry said, tugging Ron’s sleeve. “We can get your cards on the way to the library. If anyone’s banned these things from coming near them, it’s Madam Pince.”

Stopping around the Central Hall fountain, Ron arranged his Valentines to be delivered to both Hannah Abbott and Lavender Brown with explicit instructions for the dwarf not to deliver them when the other was around, much to the dwarf’s annoyance.

“Can I get another one, too, actually?” Ron asked.

“Three?” asked Harry. “How many do you need?”

“Just these. And I’ll deliver the last one myself,” he told the dwarf.

While waiting for Ron to finish, another of the dwarves caught up with Harry.

“Oi, you! ‘Arry Potter!” shouted a rough-looking dwarf with a heavy five o’clock shadow, elbowing people out of the way as he bee-lined for Harry.

Mimicking Sirius’ swearing from earlier, Harry grew hot at the prospect of being given a Valentine in front of second and first-years; which, of course, included Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy. Refusing to subject himself, Harry tried to escape. The dwarf, however, cut his way through the crowd by kicking people’s shins, and reached him before he could go two paces.

“Got a sing-o-gram for ‘Arry Potter to deliver in person!” the dwarf said in an accent that sounded like he was gargling gravel. He twanged the harp in his hand more threateningly than Harry thought possible.

“Not here,” Harry hissed, trying to escape.

“Don’t you run from me. Dwarves are natural sprinters!” grunted the dwarf, grabbing hold of Harry’s bag and pulling him backwards.

“Let me go, you deformed toadstool!” Harry snarled, tugging his bag back.

“That’s offensive!”

With a loud tearing sound, Harry’s bag split in two. His books, wand, parchment, and quill spilled onto the floor with his red ink bottle smashing over the lot. Harry cursed loudly again and scrambled around, trying to pick it all up before the dwarf started singing, causing something of a hold-up in the central hall corridor.

“Hoo-hoo, what’s going on here?” came a cold, drawling voice.

Harry grit his teeth, feverishly stuffing everything into his ripped bag, desperate to get away before Malfoy could hear his musical Valentine.

“What’s all the commotion?” said another familiar voice as Percy Weasley arrived.

Losing his head, Harry tried to make a run for it, but the dwarf seized him around the knees and brought him crashing to the floor.

“Right,” he said, sitting on Harry’s ankles, “‘ere’s your singin’ Valentine:

His eyes are as green as a freshly pickled toad,

His hair is as dark as a blackboard.

I wish he was mine. He’s really divine,

The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.”

Harry would have given all the gold in Gringotts to evaporate on the spot. Trying valiantly to laugh along with everyone else, he got up, his feet numb from the weight of the dwarf, as Percy Weasley did his best to disperse the crowd, some of whom were crying with mirth.

“Off you go, off you go. The bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now,” he said, shooing some of the younger students away. “You too, Malfoy.”

Harry, glancing over, saw Malfoy stoop and snatch up something. Leering, he showed it to Crabbe and Goyle, and Harry realized he had grabbed Riddle’s diary.

“Give that back,” said Harry forcefully.

“Wonder what Potter’s written in this?” said Malfoy, who obviously hadn’t noticed the year on the cover, and thought he had Harry’s own diary. “Bet The Daily Prophet would pay a pretty penny for Harry Potter’s deepest, darkest secrets.”

A hush fell over the onlookers.

Ginny’s large eyes bounced from the diary to Harry, looking horrified.

“Hand it over, Malfoy,” said Percy sternly.

“I will once I’ve had a look,” drawled Malfoy, waving the diary tauntingly at Harry.

Percy said, “As a school Prefect—”

But Harry had fully lost his temper. He pulled out his wand and shouted, “Expelliarmus!”

As Snape had disarmed Lockhart, Malfoy found the diary shooting out of his hand. Ron, grinning broadly, caught it.

“Harry!” shouted Percy. “There’s no magic allowed in the corridors! I’ll have to report this, you know!”

“Then report this, too! Levicorpus!”

Once again, like during the dueling club, Harry made Draco dangle from his ankle in mid-air.

“How dare—! Twenty points from Gryffindor! Set him down now!”

With another flick of his wand, Harry dropped Malfoy and let him fall hard onto the ground. Percy was still red in the face, but Harry didn’t care. He’d gotten one over on Malfoy in front of his goons, and that was worth losing twenty points from Gryffindor any day. Malfoy looked even more furious as he popped to his feet and smoothed out his robes. Storming off, he passed Ginny and yelled spitefully after her, “I don’t think Perfect Potter liked your Valentine much!”

Snarling, Ron pulled out his new wand, too, but Harry pulled him away. Ron didn’t need Percy sending an owl to their parents when they’re already doing their best to comfort the Grangers.

In a similar state of embarrassment, Harry shouted too, “Why would you send that? Can’t you realize I don’t like you? Just leave me alone!”

Tears welling in her jade eyes, Ginny covered her face with her hands and ran off.

“Mate…” Ron muttered in disbelief.

Percy’s face had gone red, he looked far sterner and more intimidating than Harry ever thought possible. His eyes burned under his tortoise-shell glasses. “Twenty more points from Gryffindor. I’ll be sure to let Professor McGonagall and Mister Black know what you said.” He grabbed Harry’s collar roughly, his age proving the strength he had over Harry. “And if you ever make my baby sister cry again… you won’t have to worry about facing You-Know-Who because I’ll kill you for him.”

Shoving Harry away, Percy strode off down the corridor and Harry dragged Ron back to the common room. Before they reached the Fat Lady’s portrait, the guilt of what he said already weighed heavily on the Boy Who Lived.

It was once they were in the common room, while trying to salvage what he could from his broken bag and thinking through his apology to Ginny, that Harry noticed something rather odd about Riddle’s diary. Scarlet ink from the broken well drenched all of his other books. The diary, however, was as clean as before the ink bottle had smashed. He tried to point this out to Ron, but a dwarf was delivering his Valentine to Lavender, who giggled loudly, and he wasn’t much interested in anything else.

~ ~ ~

Harry went to bed before anyone else in his dormitory that night.

This was partly because he didn’t think he could stand Fred and George staring at him from across the common room, smacking their beater bats against their palms while singing a haunting rendition of his Valentine, and partly because he wanted to examine Riddle’s diary again, and knew that Ron thought he was wasting his time.

Harry sat on his four-poster and flicked through the blank pages, not one of which had a trace of scarlet ink on it. Then he recalled Hannah’s suggestion. He pulled a fresh bottle out of his bedside cabinet, dipped his quill into it, and dropped a blot onto the first page of the diary.

The ink shone brightly then, as though being sucked into the page, vanished. Excited, Harry loaded up his quill a second time and wrote,

My name is Harry Potter.

The words shone momentarily on the page, and they, too, sank without a trace. Then, at last, something happened. Oozing out of the page, in his very own ink, came words Harry hadn’t written.

Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?

These words lingered longer before they faded away, but not before Harry scribbled back.

Someone tried to flush it down a toilet.

He waited eagerly for Riddle’s reply.

Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more lasting way than ink. I knew there would be those who wouldn’t want my diary read.

What do you mean?

I mean only that this diary holds the memory of horrible things. Terrible things. Things that were covered up. Things that happened at The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

I’m at Hogwarts right now. Horrible stuff has been happening. I think they’re the same that you went through. Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?

Harry’s heart hammered. Riddle’s reply came quickly, his writing becoming untidier, as though he was hurrying to tell all he knew.

I do. In my day, they told us it was a legend. That it did not exist. But they lied. In my fifth year, someone opened the Chamber. The monster attacked so many students before it finally killed one. I caught the person who’d opened the Chamber, and they were expelled. But Headmaster Armando Dippet, ashamed that such a thing happened during his tenure, forbade me from telling the truth. He fed the press a story that the girl had died in a freak accident while giving me a nice, shiny, engraved trophy for my troubles so long as I swore to keep my mouth shut. But I knew it would happen again. The monster was still alive, and the one who released it was never imprisoned.

You were right. It’s happening again now. There have been four attacks, one against my closest friend, but no one knows who’s behind them or how to stop them. Who was it last time?

I can show you if you like. You don’t have to take my word for it. I can take you inside my memory of the night I caught him.

Harry hesitated, his quill suspended over the diary.

What did Riddle mean? 

How could he be taken inside somebody else’s memory? 

He glanced nervously at the door to the dormitory, which was growing dark. When he looked back at the diary, he saw fresh words forming.

Let me show you.

Harry paused for a fraction of a second before writing two letters.

OK.

The pages of the diary blew as though caught in a high wind, stopping at the beginning of February 1943. Mouth hanging open, Harry saw the little square for February third seemed to have turned into a minuscule television screen.

His hands trembling slightly, Harry raised the book to press his eye against the little window, and before he knew what was happening, he was tilting forwards; the window was widening. He felt his body leave his bed, and he plunged headfirst through the opening in the page, into a whirl of color and shadow.

He felt his feet hit solid ground, and stood, shaking, as the blurred shapes around him came suddenly into focus. He knew immediately where he was. This circular room with the sleeping portraits was Dumbledore’s office—but it wasn’t Professor Dumbledore sitting behind the desk. A wizened, frail-looking wizard, bald except for a few wisps of white hair, read a letter by candlelight. Harry recalled the portrait of this man sitting near Dumbledore’s desk in his office.

“I–I’m sorry,” Harry said shakily. “I didn’t mean to barge in…”

But the wizard never looked up. He continued to read, frowning slightly. 

Harry backed towards the door and stammered, “Er—I’ll just go, shall I?” 

Still, the wizard ignored him. He didn’t even seem to have heard him. Thinking that the ancient wizard might be deaf, Harry raised his voice. 

“Sorry I disturbed you, I’ll go now,” he half-shouted from across the room.

The wizard folded up the letter with a sigh, stood up, walked past Harry without a glance his way, and went to draw the curtains at his window. The sky outside the window was ruby red; it seemed to be sunset. The wizard went back to the desk and twiddled his thumbs, watching the door.

Harry looked around the office. No Fawkes the phoenix; no whirring silver contraptions; altogether far more sparse than Dumbledore kept the space. This was Hogwarts as Riddle had known it. Meaning this wizard was Headmaster. And Harry was little more than a phantom; completely invisible to the people of fifty years ago.

As this unfamiliar Headmaster seemed to expect, someone knocked on the door.

“Enter,” said the ancient wizard.

A boy of about sixteen entered, taking off his pointed hat. A silver Prefect’s badge glinted on his chest. He was much taller than Harry, but he, too, had jet-black hair and green eyes, only a shade darker. The robes he wore differed greatly from the ones Harry wore. There was no dress shirt, tie, trousers, and jumper; instead, it was a single black robe fastened down the front draping over his entire body with Slytherin green accents throughout. Moaning Myrtle was quite right, Tom Riddle was rather handsome.

“Ah, Mister Riddle,” said the Headmaster.

“You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?” said Riddle. He looked nervous.

“Sit down, dear boy,” said Dippet. “I’ve just been reading the letter you sent me.”

“Oh,” said Riddle. He sat down, gripping his slender hands together tightly.

“My dear boy,” said Dippet kindly, “I cannot possibly let you stay at school over the Summer. Surely you want to go home for the holidays?”

“No,” Riddle said shortly. “I’d much rather stay at Hogwarts than go back to that–to that—”

“You live in a muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?” said Dippet curiously.

“Yes, sir,” said Riddle, reddening slightly.

“You are muggle-born?”

“Half-blood, sir,” said Riddle. “Muggle father, witch mother.”

“And both of your parents are—?”

“My mother died in childbirth, sir. The matrons at the orphanage told me she lived just long enough to name me: Tom for my father, and Marvolo after my grandfather.”

Dippet clicked his tongue sympathetically. “I knew a Marvolo once. Horrible man. I don't imagine there’s any relation, though. I don’t recall him having any daughters.” He sighed. “Tom, special arrangements might have been made previously, but with circumstances as they are…”

“You mean with the attacks, sir?” asked Riddle.

Harry’s heart leapt, and he moved closer, scared of missing anything.

“Precisely,” said the Headmaster. “My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when term ends. Particularly in the light of the recent tragedy… the death of that poor girl… You will be safer at your orphanage. But I’ve heard how popular you are amongst your peers. You’re fairly well liked. Surely you have good friends who would welcome you to stay with them over the Summer. Or have you not told them where you go after term ends?”

Riddle was silent, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “I prefer to only claim my wizard ancestry,” he said.

“You put too much stock in blood status, it seems.”

“As he should!” said the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black.

Dippet sighed again and ignored his predecessor. “No matter, it would be safer for you to return to your orphanage. Matter of fact, the Ministry is talking about closing the school. We are no nearer to locating the—er—source of all this unpleasantness…”

Riddle’s eyes widened. “Close the school? Sir—if the person was caught… If it all stopped…”

“What do you mean?” said Dippet, sitting forward in his chair. “Mister Riddle, do you mean you know something about these attacks?”

“No, sir,” Tom said quickly. “Of course not.”

Harry knew it was the same sort of ‘no’ that he himself gave Dumbledore. 

Dippet sank back, looking faintly disappointed.

“You may go, Tom… I am sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

Riddle slid off his chair and stumped out of the room. Harry followed him.

Down the moving spiral staircase they went, emerging next to the gargoyle in the darkening corridor. Riddle stopped, and so did Harry, watching him. Harry could tell that Riddle was doing some serious thinking. He bit his lip and furrowed his forehead.

Then, as though he had suddenly reached a decision, he hurried off, Harry gliding noiselessly behind him. They didn’t see another person until they reached the Entrance Hall, when a tall wizard called to Riddle from the marble staircase.

“What’re you doing, wandering around this late in the evening, Tom?”

Harry gaped at the wizard.

He was a dapper gentleman dressed in muggle clothing. Gray trousers and matching waistcoat, a plain near-white shirt, and charcoal colored tie. His receding gray-auburn hair and beard were trimmed and maintained as neatly as his clothes. He looked almost unrecognizable except for the piercing blue eyes and his crooked nose. This was none other than Professor Dumbledore fifty years younger.

“The Headmaster asked to see me, sir,” Tom said.

“I see… Well, hurry off to bed,” said Dumbledore, giving Riddle exactly the penetrating stare Harry knew so well. “Best not to roam the corridors alone these days, even for a prefect. Not since…”

He sighed heavily, bade Riddle goodnight, and strode off. 

Riddle watched him out of sight and then, moving quickly, headed straight down the stone steps to the dungeons, with Harry in hot pursuit. But to Harry’s disappointment, Riddle led him not into a hidden passageway or a secret tunnel but the very dungeon in which Harry had Potions with Snape. But there were no tables or cauldrons inside and the torches weren’t lit. When Riddle pushed the door nearly closed, Harry could only just see him, standing stock-still, watching the passage outside.

It felt to Harry as though they were there for at least an hour. All he saw in that time was the shrouded figure of Riddle, waiting like a statue. And when Harry had stopped feeling expectant and tense, and started wishing he could return to the present, he heard something move beyond the door.

Someone crept along the passage. He heard whoever it was passing the dungeon where he and Riddle hid. Riddle, quiet as a shadow, edged through the door and followed, Harry tiptoeing behind him, forgetting that he couldn’t be heard.

For perhaps five minutes they followed the footsteps, until Riddle stopped suddenly, his head inclined toward new noises. Harry heard a door creak open, and then someone speaking in a hoarse whisper.

“C’mon… gotta get yeh outta here… c’mon now… in the box…”

There was something familiar about the voice.

Riddle suddenly jumped around the corner. Harry stepped out behind him. He could see the outline of a huge boy crouching in front of an open door, an enormous box beside it.

“Evening, Rubeus,” said Riddle sharply.

No, Harry thought.

The boy slammed the box shut and stood up. “What’re yeh doin’ down here, Tom?”

Riddle stepped closer, and Harry with him.

In the low light, even without his massive beard, Harry recognized a younger Hagrid.

“It’s over,” he said. “I’m turning you in, Rubeus. They’re talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacks don’t stop.”

“What d’yeh—”

“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 and—”

“No! Aragog never killed no one!” said the large boy, backing against the closed door. From behind him, Harry could hear a funny rustling and clicking.

“Don’t be foolish, Rubeus,” said Riddle, moving yet closer. “The dead girl’s parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is ensure the beast that killed their daughter is slaughtered…”

“It wasn’ him!” roared the boy, his voice echoing in the dark passage. “Aragog wouldn’! He never!”

“Stand aside!” said Riddle, drawing out his wand.

“No!”

“Cistem Aperio!”

His spell lit the corridor with a sudden, flaming light. The box behind the younger Hagrid flew open with such force it knocked him into the wall opposite. Out of it came something that made Harry let out a piercing scream.

A vast, low-slung, hairy body and a tangle of black legs; a gleam of many eyes and a pair of razor-sharp pincers—Riddle raised his wand again. “Arania Exumai!” But he missed. The thing bowled him over as it scuttled away, tearing up the corridor and out of sight.

“Aragog! Aragog!” Hagrid called after him.

Riddle scrambled to his feet, looking after it; he raised his wand. “I can’t let you go, Hagrid.”

The huge boy leapt on him, seized Riddle’s wand, and threw him back to the ground, bellowing, “NOO!”

The scene whirled, the darkness became complete, Harry felt himself falling and, with a crash, he landed spread-eagled on his four-poster in the Gryffindor dormitory, Riddle’s diary lying open on his stomach.

Before he could regain his breath, the dormitory door opened and Ron came in.

“There you are,” he said.

Harry sat up. He was sweating and shaking.

“Whoa, what’s wrong?” asked Ron, looking at him with concern.

“It was Hagrid! Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago.”

Chapter Text

For as long as Harry had known him, Hagrid had an unfortunate liking for large and monstrous creatures.

He’d once tried giving Harry a dugbog (a rather large, potentially dangerous frog-like creature) as a gift for his seventh birthday; and during Harry’s first year at Hogwarts, he tried to raise a dragon in his little wooden house. That’s not even mentioning Fluffy, the giant three-headed dog that now bounded through the castle grounds. And if, as a boy, Hagrid had learned of a monster hidden somewhere in the castle, Harry was sure he’d have gone to any length to befriend it. He’d probably thought it a shame such a beast had been cooped up so long and thought it deserved the chance to stretch its many legs. He could imagine the thirteen-year-old Hagrid trying to fit a collar on it. 

It would make sense for how distant he’d become since the first attack.

But no matter what he’d seen, Harry was just as certain that Hagrid would never intentionally kill someone. And he would never attack Hermione.

Harry half-wished he hadn’t found out how Riddle’s diary worked. 

One thing that ate at him most was the monster in the memory. Hermione did so much research, and she was rarely ever wrong; they were so sure the beast was a Basilisk. It made too much sense. How could it be a spider?

“I think Riddle got the wrong person,” Harry told Ron as they visited Hermione in the Hospital Wing. “Maybe there was another monster attacking people at the same time Hagrid was raising the spider. I mean, he’s always trying to take care of some beast or other; there’s bound to be some overlap with another one.”

“How many monsters d’you reckon this place can hold?” asked Ron, busying himself by scribbling a small comic on a slip of parchment.

Harry groaned and gripped his head for answers.

“I’ve known Hagrid had been expelled for so long,” he sighed, “and the attacks must’ve stopped after he got kicked out. Otherwise, Tom wouldn’t have gotten that award.”

Still not looking up from his doodle, Ron said, “Riddle doesn’t sound so much like Bill anymore. Who asked him to grass on Hagrid, anyway? Sounds more like Percy to me.” He became lost in thought and stopped drawing, biting his lip. “… You, er, you met Hagrid down Knockturn Alley, didn’t you? After you got lost in the Floo Network?”

“Yeah, but he said he was buying Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent,” said Harry, doubting the claim even more.

The two of them fell silent until Harry said, “I want to ask Hagrid about it all.”

“That’d be a cheerful visit,” laughed Ron. “Hello, Hagrid, tell us; have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?”

“Other than himself?”

The boys laughed. It felt good to have a moment to do so, everything was getting to be a bit too much. Even if it couldn’t last long.

“… Have you talked to Sirius about what you saw in the diary?”

Harry shook his head.

“I don’t know what he’d say… or do. He was furious when he found out I helped Hagrid with Norbert last year. If he learns Hagrid might’ve opened the Chamber of Secrets and is behind the attacks…” Harry gulped. “Dumbledore must’ve had a good reason to let him stay. He wouldn’t keep him around if he was dangerous.”

In the end, they decided they wouldn’t say anything to Hagrid or to anyone else unless there was another attack or Harry heard the voice in the walls again, and went to Gryffindor Tower so Harry could get ready for quidditch training.

However, unlike Oliver, who couldn’t wait to get on the pitch, Harry was in no mood to play quidditch with all that was going on. Sirius kept saying it would be a pleasant distraction to take Harry’s mind off things, and it’d help the other students to do the same. But Harry found himself too distracted to do much, let alone focus on seeking. The only thing that kept him playing was not wanting to hear what Oliver would say if they forfeit the match or lost.

As Harry and Ron morosely entered their dorm, Neville looked thrilled.

“Professor Sprout told me that a bunch’a mandrakes threw a rager in Greenhouse Three last night!”

Harry and Ron shot each other a look of bewilderment.

“Wow. That’s great, Neville,” said Harry apathetically, grabbing his training robes from the wardrobe.

“It is! Professor Sprout said it won’t be long before they’re tryin’ to move into each other’s pots, and that’s when they’ll be fully mature enough to stew! Then we can revive everyone who’s been petrified!”

Harry’s apathy disappeared when he caught up to Neville’s excitement. A grin broke across his face, leaping towards Neville to celebrate.

“That’s great, Neville! That’s really great! We can get Hermione back!”

“Yeah!” Ron clapped Neville on the shoulder, similarly beaming. “Did Sprout say how much longer?”

“Should only be a couple of weeks!”

This was the best news Harry had gotten in days and made him feel more relaxed than he’d been. There hadn’t been any more attacks since the term started again a month and a half ago, no disembodied voice whispering through the walls. It wouldn’t be long before everything got back to normal.

But before any of that could happen, Harry had other things on his mind to fix. After quidditch practice one evening, he returned to the common room, looking for Ginny. He found her where he expected, sitting alone in a forgotten corner, looking nervous and depressed. Once she noticed him approaching, she immediately slammed her textbook shut and tried to run off.

“Ginny, wait,” Harry said. “Please don’t run away.”

She froze and stared at him like a deer in headlights.

“I wanted to apologize for what I said and… and hopefully talk to you about why you’ve been avoiding me. I know I was a real prat, but d’you mind talking?”

Tentatively, Ginny nodded and sat back in her seat. Harry carefully sat beside her, their knees lightly brushing against each other’s when he turned to face her.

“I…” he sighed. “I’m really sorry for what I said before. I was… embarrassed—not because of the Valentine! Well, sorta because of the Valentine, but not because it’s you who sent it. I’d’ve been embarrassed if anyone sent me one. Especially with Malfoy there. He can just be such a…”

Ginny filled in the blanks by calling him something Harry never expected to hear come from her mouth. If Mrs. Weasley had heard she would’ve turned as red as her hair, but it made Harry chuckle.

“Yeah… that. Anyway, it wasn’t fair for me to take my anger out on you when you didn’t deserve it. I actually thought it was nice that you thought of me enough to send me one.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Yeah. I’d gotten a few others from some other people, but I don’t even know who they are. They all just talked about how I’m a hero or how famous I am… kinda gross if I’m being honest.”

“I called you a hero, too…” Her face turned violently red.

“Yeah, but I actually know you, so it’s different. Plus, you rhymed blackboard with Dark Lord and no one else rhymed at all.”

“But you still don’t like me.”

“Of course, I like you, Ginny. Mione and your brothers and Sirius always talk about how funny and energetic you can be. But you always run away from me, so I never got to see it. Thought you hated me for a while before I figured it out.”

“You knew?”

Harry nodded.

“But you’re my best mate’s sister and I do still like you, but… just as a friend. If you still want to be my friend after what I said. I’d like to see how funny you can be and get to know you first.”

“I’m sorry for running away all the time,” she said. “I didn’t mean for you to think I hated you.”

“I know you didn’t. It’s okay… Y’know… Ron’s been worried about you.”

“Has he?”

“Yeah. D’you know Myrtle in the second-floor girls’ toilets? Well, Ron and I said some rude stuff to her—big shocker, I know—but she told us off for it and said she cries because that’s the only time anyone pays attention to her. Now I’m worried we haven’t been paying attention to you like we should’ve been… I mean, we never see you talking to anybody and you always look so scared or you’re crying. I know everything’s been scary lately, but are you okay?”

Ginny shrugged.

“It’s okay, Gin, you can talk to me.”

“I’m… scared about who is doing these attacks. What happens if a student isn’t just petrified? What happens if…”

“No one’s going to die. Dumbledore and Sirius are on it. And I found this diary in Myrtle’s toilet that belonged to the student that stopped this last time. I wrote in it and I really think we can—”

“You what?” She looked horrified.

“Yeah. I know it’s gross to think about, but something about it made me think it had answers—”

“You shouldn’t write in it!” she blurted, getting to her feet again. “You should get rid of it.”

“Why would I get rid of it? This could help stop the attacks.”

She clammed up. “Because—er—because people will make fun of you for writing in a diary.”

Harry joined her on his feet. “Did someone make fun of you for writing in yours? Who?”

“No one. I’m sorry, Harry, I have to study. I’ll talk to you later. I accept your apology.” Before Harry could react, she had already gathered her things and hastened away.

“Oh, okay, bye!”

He slumped back into his seat and huffed, unsure what to make of the Weasley girl.

~ ~ ~

The Ravenclaw match was only a day away.

Wood insisted on team training every night after dinner, so Harry barely had time for anything but quidditch and homework. He hated not getting to spend as much time with Hermione as he wanted, though he always popped in before going to Gryffindor Tower to tell her how practice went. Usually, he had a few minutes before Madam Pomfrey declared visiting time over.

He wasn’t sure if this was what Sirius meant by keeping busy, but he was definitely tired. 

However, the training sessions now were far better than in the fall, and far drier, and the evening before Saturday’s match, he went up to his dormitory to drop off his broomstick, feeling Gryffindor’s chances for the Quidditch Cup had never been better.

But his cheerful mood didn’t last long. At the top of the stairs to the dormitory, he met Neville again, who looked more frantic than cheerful.

“Harry—I don’t know who did it. I just found—”

Watching Harry fearfully, Neville pushed open the door. Someone had thrown the contents of Harry’s trunk everywhere. His school cloak lay ripped on the floor. They had pulled the bedding off his four-poster, and ripped the drawers out of his bedside dresser and wardrobe, leaving the contents strewn over his mattress.

Harry walked over to the bed, open-mouthed, treading on a few loose pages of Travels with Trolls. As he and Neville pulled the blankets back onto his bed, Ron, Dean, and Seamus came in.

Dean swore loudly. “What happened, Harry?”

“I have no idea,” said a shell-shocked Harry.

But Ron was already busy at work examining the mess, specifically Harry’s robes. All the pockets were hanging out.

“Someone’s been looking for something,” said Ron.

Harry picked up all his things and threw them into his trunk. It was only as he threw the last of the Lockhart books back that he realized what wasn’t there. 

“They found it,” he whispered to Ron. “Riddle’s diary’s gone.”

“What’s that?” asked Dean as he reinserted the drawers.

Harry groaned at having spoken too loudly; now he would have to explain the diary again.

“Whoever did this was after something I had.” He looked around at the mess that wouldn’t be going anywhere soon. “I guess you guys should have a seat.”

He and Ron went into their now well-rehearsed explanation of the soggy diary Harry had found, leaving out the part where Tom Riddle had shown Harry a memory of catching Hagrid harboring the monster.

“So,” Seamus said, “yeh think th’ Heir o’ Slytherin figur’d out yeh had his book and came teh get it back?”

“The only other people who knew about it were Ginny, Sirius, Hannah, and Ernie. It’s not like any of them would come after it, their friends were attacked just like Hermione and I doubt any of them would tell anyone, let alone go to all this effort to get it back.”

“Knew we couldn’t trust those Hufflepuffs,” Ron muttered.

They all looked around looking stumped, but anxiety flooded Neville as a horrifying revelation came into his head.

“B–but—only a Gryffindor could’ve stolen it,” he said tentatively. “Nobody else knows our password…”

“What’re yeh sayin’, Longbottom?” asked Seamus.

“He’s sayin’…” Dean said slowly. “The Heir of Slytherin’s a Gryffindor.”

The boys sat on their beds in silence, rattled by this haunting notion.

* * *

Quidditch brought a much needed sigh of relief.

Beyond having to do all the work Gilderoy Lockhart was being paid to do—and took all the credit for—Sirius had been beside himself with anxiety. He wished he could spend his days reading fan mail and doing his hair without a care in the world. How nice it must be to be so blissfully ignorant.

Sirius couldn’t keep himself busy enough.

With Lockhart’s ineptitude and general apathy towards teaching, Sirius had taken over the Defense classes. Lockhart now plainly refused to teach, and would only ever pop in for a few minutes every other class for the attention. Whenever asked about his plans for returning to teaching, he always told Sirius he was far too busy what with entertaining the masses or writing his next great novel on how he stopped the dreaded Heir of Slytherin and his beast—something he never elaborates on except to tell them they can read the full details once he publishes the book.

After taking over the classes full-time, Sirius expected the after-school tutoring sessions to dwindle until he wouldn’t have to hold them at all anymore. But with the looming attacks, student interest in Defense only sky-rocketed. The students all aimed to be prepared if they faced an attack next. Sirius owed it to them to make sure they were as prepared as they could be and hopefully put their fears aside. The disastrous dueling club didn’t help with hindering student involvement in the slightest once everyone agreed Harry couldn’t possibly be behind the attacks.

Then there was grading papers, counseling terrified students, doing everything he could to find the attacker, and spending time in the Hospital Wing to keep the petrified kids’ company.

All-in-all, it was a lot to keep himself busy, and yet never enough.

I don’t know how Remus manages, Sirius thought, settling into bed late one night. But he always did have the temperament for it.

Remus Lupin, one of his oldest friends, had been on his mind more often lately. Sirius figured it must be because he had taken up teaching, something Remus had been passionate about since they were kids. It made sense for him to pursue it once they graduated; James had even gifted him with a handsome briefcase with “Professor R. J. Lupin” stamped on it solely out of anticipation for the eventuality. In another, happier, life he would be teaching Defense while Lily taught Potions.

It had been eleven years since they’d last spoken now. How has it gone by already? The years passed so quickly. The war took its toll on their friendship. Distrust was rampant, and Sirius regretted the fallout every day. He often thought of what their life would have been if Sirius could have swallowed his pride and put in the work to fix their relationship.

During these sleepless nights, when he wasn’t contemplating what his life could’ve been, or distracting himself with constant work, Sirius was met with his doubts and anxieties. They always came when he couldn’t run or hide, late at night, just as he was falling asleep.

His biggest anxieties centered on Harry, as they so often did. Two years into the boy’s education and he’s already faced two life-threatening mysteries. Every day Sirius wondered if he made the right decision to send—or keep—Harry at Hogwarts. He’d gotten lucky so far. But with so many threats, how long would it be for that luck to run out?

He tried not to think of that right now.

If there was something Harry would always take Sirius’ breath away with, it was quidditch. The boy was a painter on a broomstick.

Sirius shoved his anxious thoughts down as he wrapped the Gryffindor scarf around his neck, and threw on a navy jacket—he would cheer loudly for Harry, but he owed it to his bronze eagle students to show some support for them. The match would start soon, but no one would join him for this one. Neither the Tonkses nor the Weasleys could attend; likely, Sirius would sit with Professor McGonagall, Ginny, or Harry’s friends. If Harry weren’t playing, he thought about inviting the Grangers to spend time with Hermione in the Hospital Wing. But they’d gotten past the Board of Governors this long somehow, and Sirius dreaded what might happen if they caught on.

He walked down the stairwell, trying to hype himself up for the game, and joined the tidal wave of students marching out to the stadium in scarlet and gold or navy and bronze. Once they reached the stadium, the crowd came to a near stop as students filed up the stairs to the upper levels.

It was here that someone called out for him.

Sirius looked around for who wanted his attention, but needn’t look hard. Hagrid stood just outside the crowd, over twice the size of anyone else, waving a massive hand in the air. Once he noticed he’d caught Sirius’ eyes, he beckoned him over. Curious why Hagrid wasn’t joining the funnel into the stands, Sirius waded through the students towards him. It had been weeks since he’d spoken to him, and his absence hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Where’ve you been lately, Hagrid? You aren’t watching? Harry’s playing today, you know.”

“I know,” Hagrid said. He fidgeted with the hem of his rough-spun shirt, unable to look Sirius in the eye.

“You alright?” asked Sirius. “Hagrid, what’s wrong?”

“I got ter tell yeh somethin’.”

“Yeah, of course. What is it?”

“I cannae tell yeh here. We gotta go back ter my hut.”

“Your hut? Harry’s about to play in a few minutes.”

“It’s serious, Sirius. I need ter tell yeh. Now.”

Sirius could see the pain in his eyes and just how serious he was. Exhaling, he hoped the game would go long, so Harry wouldn’t even notice he wasn’t there the entire time.

“Alright, mate. Let’s go.”

Hagrid’s hut wasn’t a far trek from the stadium; so close that even without omnioculars, Sirius could tell what happened in the game as well as he could from the stands. Nearing Hagrid’s hut, Fluffy bounded towards them at full speed, tearing up the ground. He skidded to a halt just before barreling into Sirius; all three of Fluffy’s heads sniffed and licked at him.

“He’s takin’ a real likin’ ter yeh.”

“He’s a good boy,” said Sirius, laughing as he struggled to pet the three heads.

“Aye, that he is. Big puppy. Fluffy, go!” Hagrid grabbed the trunk of a felled tree he’d been chopping for fire, and with both hands threw it hard for Fluffy to fetch. “Ah, well, I suppose there ain’t no one around now. We can, er, we can talk out here. Why don’ yeh sit down?”