Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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Harry feels, for the first time ever, truly, truly  defeated .


Mrs. Weasley's making pie for him, her lips pursed in disapproval, Hermione has a book in her hand as she lists some obscure loopholes in the Wizarding Laws, Ron is raging about upstairs. 

Harry can hear him kicking the bed and stomping about. It warms him a little, the way Ron had taken the news. Furiously. 

Fred and George are unusually quiet, Ginny's twirling her wand in her hand, shooting at little cracks in the floor. She passes Harry a small, wry smile, as if to  'well, then'  and Harry smiles back, just a little.

Harry can hear Sirius and Remus yelling through the floo upstairs. 

At Dumbledore. 

Harry can't hear what Dumbledore says back, but he's...  confused  with the way Dumbledore just sort of left him hanging there. 

Mr. Weasley had assured Harry that Dumbledore would come, but he hadn’t,  no , Harry had just sat waiting, listening to Fudge gleefully tell the court directly  and  indirectly about Harry’s fragile, and already disturbed mental health. He hadn’t been given an actual chance to speak, and after all of Fudge's comments, it would have seemed like gibberish, anyway.

He wonders why Dumbledore didn't come.



Sirius comes back downstairs and Harry looks up at him, as he appears through the doorway. Harry hesitates, because  this wasn't the plan, but what now,  because surely Sirius wouldn't turn him away, right? 

Sirius doesn't even pause, just comes to Harry and pulls him into a hug. Harry abruptly feels like crying, and he feels sort of stupid as he sniffles a little, but Sirius seems to realize it, and doesn't let go, not until Harry’s breathing has evened out. 

"You're going to be alright, Harry," Sirius says, quietly. "We're all going to be okay."

Harry smiles, weakly.

Sirius ruffles his hair gently. "You've still got me, haven't you?"

And Harry swallows the lump in his throat, not knowing how to explain to Sirius that  everything good  in his life, ultimately  goes.


He's waiting for the other shoe to drop.


Remus clears his throat from where he's leaning on the doorway and watching them, small smile on his face. 

Harry looks back to Sirius, who's watching Remus back.  They do this a lot , Harry realises. 

"Sirius," Harry whispers, as he sits down, eyes on the floor. "They, they snapped my  wand ."


It had  hurt . 


The wood breaking in two, clean pieces, and Harry had felt an abrupt laughter rising in his throat, wondering whether Fawkes felt something, whether  Voldemort  felt something. Harry certainly had. Somewhere inside.

Terrible, but great.

Harry wasn't meant for that anymore. It was a strange kind of relief.


"About that," Sirius begins, swallowing. "I was wondering if you'd like to try some old wands, instead of buying a new one."





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Sirius comes back with a box, or a chest of sorts, dark mahagony, with an elaborate pattern on the top, surrounding the engraved initials,  E.P.

"It was your grandmother's," Sirius tells him. "Euphemia Potter. After your grandparents passed away, James kept their wands, because Effie and Monty always wanted them to be passed on, instead of crumbling away six feet under."

Harry opens the lid, looking at the picture under it, clearly his Father when he was really small, and his grandparents, both smiling and waving at the camera.

Harry tries Fleamont Potter’s wand.

Nothing happens. He passes Sirius a rueful grin, and keeps the Hawthorn wand inside.


Harry tries the other wand.


Willow, dragon heartstring,12 inches, unyielding.


Euphemia Potter’s wand  sings  in Harry’s hand.


Sirius hugs him again, as the room glows in sepia light that Harry hadn’t meant to conjure. 


Terrible, but great,  his wand had said, earlier. 


Just Harry,  this wand says. He likes it. A lot.






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"As if," Ron scoffs. 


Hermione looks at him, conflicted. Harry tries to protest but Ron keeps shushing him.

They're both holding their Hogwarts Letters in hand, and glaring at each other, newly given Prefects Badges gleaming from the envelopes. 

Harry sits on the bed and watches them.

"If you think for a moment that I'm  ever  doing  anything again  just because Dumbledore  wants  me to," Ron says, his voice unusually harsh. "you're wrong. I'm not being a  sodding  Prefect. We all know  Harry’s  the one who deserves it. Besides, what's it even matter, anymore? The Ministry's going to be interfering everywhere. What does being a Prefect even mean to  us  anymore?"

"Ron, being or not being a Prefect isn't just something to do for  Dumbledore ," Hermione replies, uncertain as he clenches his jaw. Harry has to admit she has a point. "It's for  Gryffindor , for Mcgonagall, for us, we've worked to deserve it - "

"Have we really?" Ron asks, flatly, raising his eyebrows. " You  might have, Hermione, and only because you like reading. Let's be honest, we've broken every rule in the goddamn book. We've broken every rule  not  in the book. And I know being a Prefect isn't something we do for Dumbledore. But it sends a message, doesn't it?"


"What kind of message?" Hermione tucked her Badge inside, keeping the envelope on the desk.

"That we're on  Harry’s  side," Ron says. "And not on anyone else's."

Harry flushes slightly, opens his mouth to disagree with their decision, because frankly, there's no reason why they  shouldn't  be Prefects, closes it when Ron gives him a Mrs. Weasley-esque glare. Hermione seems to be struggling with biting back a grin.


She hesitates a second longer, and then, pulls her badge out, takes his from him, wraps it up in the parchment which declared them Prefects, and folds it together.

She scribbles down a  "Declined"  on both sides, and then, together, they watch the owl flies away. 

Ron and Hermione are holding hands, and Harry pretends he can't see them. They're  also  pretending they can't see it. It's funny how familiar the whole thing is.




Harry feels like  home  here.






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" WILL YOU LOT GET DOWN HERE NOW, PLEASE!" Mrs. Weasley yells, the next morning. 

There's lots of commotion happening outside, George and Fred and Ginny are all screaming right along with Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Black. Harry’s eating with Sirius and Remus, both of whom are intent on the looks they keep giving each other and Harry doesn't really understand why they do that. He and Ron certainly don't, and they're plenty close.


Harry wishes he could go. At least see the Hogwarts Express one time. It seems like an unhealthy way to cope, but Harry’s sure it'll make him feel better. He can't, though. Dumbledore's sent explicit instructions through Moody and Mr. Weasley that he can't go. Mr. Weasley had just given him a cursory  'if not because Dumbledore says so, do it for your own safety.'

"I wish I could see them off," Harry mutters. Sirius looks at him, startled, and Harry flushes a little, looking down on his cereal. 

"You do?" Sirius asks, before lowering his voice a little. "We thought you wouldn't want to."

"No, it'd be nice," Harry shrugs. "To go, I mean." Remus and Sirius exchange a look that reminds Harry eerily of the Weasley twins.

"Finish up, then," Sirius says, cheerfully, and Harry looks at him, confused. "And get your Dad's Cloak out."

Remus shoots them an exasperated smile as Harry understands and hurries to finish his bacon and toast.







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" Fuck !" Ron yelps, as Harry sneaks up on him under the Invisibility Cloak. 


Sirius-the-dog wags his tail.


Hermione jumps but doesn't get scared, just narrows her eyes in the approximate direction where Harry is standing and levels him and Sirius a stern look. She must appear a little strange to people, glaring at thin air, and a dog.

"Honestly," she says, in a hushed voice. "I thought you weren't supposed to come. It  isn't  safe, Harry, with You-Know-Who and - "

"I thought Voldemort was supposed to be lying low," Harry replies from under the Cloak, feeling amused. "Or are you telling me he’s going to jump out from behind a  dustbin  to try and do me in?"

Ron snorts loudly, looking away when Hermione glares at him, too.


Harry does see the Hogwarts Express, and even though he doesn't sit in it, just  seeing  it there, as he stands between Padfoot and Remus, as Hermione and Ron wave at their little group, makes him feel like  there's still hope .






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Grimmauld Place is quieter, now. It's just the three of them left, Remus, Sirius and him, along with Kreacher who mutters horrible things under his breath everytime he sees any of them.

Harry’s just realized how much worse Sirius would be if Harry had gone back to Hogwarts, too. 

There's something about the silence in the house that does him in. 

He's still the same Sirius, talks in the same loving, enthusiastic way when he's with Harry, but when he's not doing something, he seems to  slip . 

Harry wonders why nobody's tried to do something about it, yet. Twelve years in Azkaban is obviously not something that can be swept away this easily.


"Here, Harry," Remus says, during Supper, thrusting a large piece of parchment towards him, distinctly avoiding his eyes. Sirius looks at it over Harry’s shoulder.

"Erm," Harry says, blinking at the parchment.

It's a whole detailed Schedule, with a Lesson Plan and Time Table and around Ten Columns, one for each subject, and Topics and Levels noted in a small handwriting on the side, in bullet points and sequence.

It's... Hermione-level  extensive.

"This," Sirius says, haltingly, before barking out a laugh. "This is  brillant , Moony! Is this...?"

"Yeah," Remus says, nodding, looking a little pink. "It's ours."

"Yours?" Harry asks, eyes still on the parchment.

"James's, actually," Sirius says, and Harry looks up. "He's the one who wanted to do it. I helped with the planning."

"My Dad wanted to," Harry begins, then halts. "What?"

"Basically, James," Remus says, smiling fondly. "Wanted to prove that they don't teach us all that they can at Hogwarts, that they waste time and  drag  on topics, and that everything useful, we actually learn after School. So, in Fifth Year, we made this schedule to stick to, so that we could complete  NEWT-level  by our OWL's. You won’t believe it, but we  all  managed."

Harry gapes at him.

"It was more than  that , though," Sirius tells him. "We wanted our last two years in school to be unhindered by er...  academic  pursuits. Well. We still learnt loads, but it was because we  wanted  to. The Magic we had to learn according to our Hogwarts curriculum, we'd mastered it all within  OWL  year."

"That's brillant," Harry says, honestly.

"I figured if you want to do it, too," Remus says. "Sirius and I could teach you according to that, if you want. Should be pretty impressive, right, an expelled student knowing  more  than anyone else?"

"Only if you  want  to, though," Sirius interjects. "We were always a little crazy about all our schemes and what-not - "

"I  do ," Harry nodded, hastily. "I really   do! That would be amazing. I'm sure it'll be more fun, too, if  you  both are teaching me," he grins at Sirius, who grins back. "About the schedule, I don't have ten subjects? I was supposed to have nine in total. Seven main, two electives."

"Oh," Remus says. "What electives do you take?"

"Er," Harry replies, a little embarrassed. "Divination and Care of Magical Creatures?"

"We can't teach Divination," Sirius shakes his head. "None of us can really - "

"That's alright," Harry says, hastily. "It's a stupid subject, anyway."

Remus looks slightly disapproving of his words, but doesn't say it. "We were planning to do away with History of Magic," Harry cracked a delighted smile, "And Divination. Sirius can teach you Runes and Arithmancy, in its place. We'll see if we can find you more specialized teachers for subjects we weren't very good at. When we were in Fifth Year, most of us had Care and Muggle Studies, too, but I suppose you don't  need  that."


"That's still nine, though," Harry pointed out.


Sirius and Remus exchange a look, grinning and all of a sudden, looking very  young .


"That's the best part," Sirius says, waggling his eyebrows. "How would you like to be an  Animagus , Harry?"





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" - it wouldn't  ever  work! Stop lying to yourself!"


Harry pauses a little at the raised voices. If this was anyone but Remus and Sirius, he would have simply gone up again.

Instead, he treads down lightly, mild expression on his face.

Remus looks resigned, Sirius looks angry.

"Sirius, Dumbledore thinks that it's - " Remus began, wincing when Sirius glared with renewed enthusiasm.

"Oh,  Dumbledore  thinks that, does he?" Sirius said, mockingly. "Tell me, Remus, why does Dumbledore think that? It's because he knows he's  losing  a war! He  knows  we don't have enough people on our side! He wants more soldiers all ready to  give up their lives  for - "

He trails off as he sees Harry, shooting him an apologetic look and sighing, sitting back down.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, uncertainly. 

Remus and Sirius exchanged a look.

"I'll be leaving tomorrow, Harry," Remus says, quietly. "Dumbledore wants me to - "

"Commit suicide," Sirius interrupts, grumbling. When Remus shoots him an unimpressed glare, Sirius sneers and says, "Sorry, I meant  martyrize  yourself. That's better isn't it?"

Remus clenches his jaw, carefully holding himself like he's repressing a flinch.

"Remus, it didn't work the first time," Sirius says, now, slowly, gently. "It did not work. It  still  wouldn’t. The werewolves wouldn’t accept our side, because we're too late, and we have nothing to offer.  Nothing . At all."

There's a long pause.

"I know," Remus says, quietly. "I know better than to hope it would work, Sirius. I know what we need is manpower, I know we need  canon fodder . I  know  that Greyback knows, and I know the packs side with him, but, I can't sit around waiting - if I have something I can do - "

"The Order is always short of wizards," Sirius says, mainly for Harry’s benefit. "The other side has much more to offer."

"What do you mean by - " Harry starts, angry. "I mean, don't they  know  what Voldemort would do? To Muggleborns and - "

"It's not that simple, Harry," Remus says, gently. "For werewolves, things already aren't so great. There are legislations, and rigid laws, so much inequality. The Ministry's horribly prejudiced towards magical creatures, corrupted from so many aspects. For dementors, it's all a matter of the  widest  they can be allowed to reach, to feed. Voldemort would give them free reign over large populations. Our side doesn't have anything to offer, and what we can offer, we won't be able to follow through because even if the war ends, the Ministry remains the same."

"And the sad truth is," Sirius says, grimacing. "That wizards only reach out when they  want  something. Giants, goblins, werewolves, they're all fully aware that  we're  the ones who need them, and that we did the same thing the last time Voldemort rose in power. They don't truly care because they know that wizards will never fully accept them into  their  society."

"Voldemort has people, doesn't he?" Harry asks, rhetorically. "He doesn't have any shortage of  supporters ."

"Voldemort has a whole  army ," Sirius says, bitterly. "You'd be surprised to find how many of the old, small pureblood families he's connected with. They all believe that Voldemort wants to make a better world for the wizards."

Harry opened and closed his mouth.

"As for now, the only people who don't believe in his, erm,  return,  are the people who sit around the war, who watch people die and don't lift a finger. The  'neutral'  ones," Sirius finishes, looking angry, himself. "Fudge and his cronies aren't fighters. Even if they believe Voldemort is back, they won't fight, won't show their support," he huffs out a laugh, "They'll  wait  for Dumbledore to do something. Wait for Voldemort's forces to come out in the open, wait for things to blow open. And then, support whichever side comes up in the end."

"Forces," Harry echoes, suddenly feeling like everything was already so hopeless. Like he'd been living some naive, childish version, and didn't even know how bad things were. "Death Eaters and Magical Creatures."

"Precisely," Remus says, smiling tiredly. "Death Eaters and Magical Creatures. Wish we could make creatures support our side as easily as they do."

"Well," Harry says, biting his lip. "Why can't we?"

Sirius swings his chair back on two legs, raising his eyebrows.

"Because, er - " he says, then, shakes his head. "We've definitely been over this. They don't have anything to gain from us."

"No, I meant," Harry says, wondering if what he says sounds very stupid. He continues, anyway. "I meant  muggle  creatures. You know, like. Animals. Just - if - Voldemort has an army of werewolves, why can't we - I dunno, have an army of regular wolves. Or like - Sirius can't you talk to  dogs  as Padfoot?"

Sirius's chair crashes to the ground. He and Remus exchange a wide-eyed, bemused look. Harry hesitates, and then, barges on.

"Can't we, you know,  make  ourselves an army out of muggle creatures? We have  magic!  Surely, there's a way of making animals do our...?"

He trails off, when Remus starts laughing, low and surprised. Sirius shakes his head.

"What?" Harry asks, defensively.

"Just," Remus says, shoulders shaking as he chuckles. "You sound  so  much like - "

"My dad?" Harry asks, because he'd wondered the same thing when he said it. Thinking about their Animagi forms.

"Nah, Harry," Sirius says, smiling. "You sound like  Lily ."

It's the first time anyone's ever said that to him. Harry has to take a second.

"It's an idea, though, isn't it," Remus says, when Sirius doesn't continue. "A  dog army?"

"Sounds crazy," Sirius says.

"It does," Remus says, and Harry feels a weird anticipation in his gut, like the start of something new, something big.


"Worth a shot, eh?" Sirius says, and smiles widely, leaning across the table to ruffle Harry’s hair.

"What's life without a little adventure?" Remus says, grinning, and it's nostalgic, playful. Harry feels a warm sense of belonging, of  love .






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