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Chapter Text

Sirius stared at the determined face of his godson, a copypaste of his old friend with Lily’s vibrant green eyes. The little baby boy that would cheer whenever he came to visit was now a full-grown teenager, a boy he should’ve seen grow up to be who he was. 

He wondered absently if Harry remembered him, if that was the reason he was standing in front of the Weasley kid housing the rat with his wand pointed at Sirius’s animagus form. 

“Harry? That’s… a dog,” the girl beside Harry said hesitantly. 

“No. That’s an animagus. That’s Sirius Black,” Harry snapped back, venom slipping into his voice. “Why don’t you change back into human form, Padfoot ?”

Sirius’s eyes widened in surprise. 

Harry shouldn’t know that. He’d only been one, he shouldn’t remember Sirius or that nickname. 

“If you don’t do it, I will,” Harry snarled and now that Sirius was actually looking at him there was betrayal and hurt in his eyes. 

Harry remembered . 

It meant he’d seen the night James and Lily died. It meant he didn’t understand what happened that painful night besides the fact that Voldemort had murdered his family and Sirius, the one whose nickname had been Harry’s first word, had betrayed their family. 

A quiet hope sparked in Sirius’s chest because if Harry remembered him then he had to remember Peter. 

Sirius didn’t have time to dodge the spell Harry sent his way, cringing at the feeling of his bones shifting back into human form without his express intent to do so. 

“Give me that rat, Harry,” he said hoarsely, his throat hurting from years of disuse. “If you remember me then you’ll remember Wormtail.”

The hope flickered out when he saw the confusion in Harry’s eyes.

Until they turned foggy and unfocused, flickering from the bright green he missed with an ache to an unfamiliar silvery metallic color.

The Weasley kid and the girl immediately jumped in front of Harry, wands drawn and pointed at Sirius. “Why do you want Scabbers?” Weasley asked cooly, surprising Sirius. The boy didn’t seem like the rational type. Something was going-

They were trying to distract him from whatever was going on with Harry, who suddenly looked ashen and ready to collapse.

“... Your rat is an animagus. Peter Pettigrew. Now give him to me,” Sirius explained, annoyance and anger beginning to bubble in his chest. 

He’d waited long enough for this, he didn’t have time to deal with kids. He waited in Azkaban for twelve long years, he won’t be waiting any longer. 

“ Don’t ,” Harry gasped suddenly, staggering a bit and leaning against Weasley for support. His eyes returned to their familiar, painful green and he focused on Sirius, a weird mixture of confusion, anger, and… hope?

The loathing and betrayal that had been there seconds ago were gone. What happened?

“Ron, give me Scabbers,” Harry said and Weasley gave the struggling rat to him hesitantly.

Sirius saw red, a growl releasing from deep within his chest. 

He was going to kill him, kill Peter for betraying them after years of friendship, kill Peter for taking away his brother and one of his best friends, kill Peter for destroying his life, and kill Peter for destroying Harry’s.

Sirius took an angry step forward, relishing in the terrified squirming and squeaking of the annoying creature. He’d squeeze him to death until his little eyes popped out of their sockets and then he’d cut him into pieces until there was nothing left of him-

He hesitated at the familiar look in Harry’s eyes. Lily’s eyes. The one that said to trust her, to believe in her.

He stopped. 

Harry’s face softened slightly before a scowl made its way to his face and he pointed his wand at the terrified rat. “Petrificus Totalus.”

The rat froze, unable to move as Harry spoke again, using the same spell he had used on Sirius. 

Immediately, the rat grew and grew until it became a familiar fat man, making Sirius’s blood boil. Weasley looked horrified and sick and the girl looked just about ready to hurl.

Harry’s wand remained trained on Pettigrew, loathing and disgust written all over his face. 

With a flick of his wand, Pettigrew was stunned and bound in ropes before Harry turned to Sirius, a resigned look on his young face. “My parents wouldn’t want you or Professor Lupin to become murderers.”

Lupin? As in Remus Lupin? Where…

The thought died when he saw an ashen-faced Remus Lupin staring at them in horror, his eyes flicking between Sirius and the unconscious Pettigrew.

“What…What is going on here?”

“That is what I would like to know.”

Sirius jumped at the sudden voice, cringing when he saw the unforgiving eyes of Severus “Snivellus” Snape.

Fucking fantastic. 

Harry was fuming.

He might have been able to curb his anger the night before but with the stubbornly incompetent Minister before his eyes, Harry might just give in to the homicidal urge to choke someone to death.

The Muggle way.

“Minister, your Aurors and I have presented you with the real criminal. Why are you still insisting on my godfather being Kissed?” Harry spat out angrily, his hand inching to his wand. “If you think for one second that I will allow him to be in the same room as you with Dementors roaming around, you’ve lost your mind. And unless you want the whole world to hear that the Boy-Who-Lived has been living with Muggle relatives because you’ve wrongly accused his godfather, you’ll bloody listen to me.”

Fudge’s face was pale as he stared at Harry in abject horror, wiping his sweaty face with a napkin. “Now, now, H-Harry. I’m sure you have it all wrong. Sirius Black is a criminal that killed your parents, I’m simply trying to protect you-”

“Don’t pull that card. And it’s Potter to you, Minister,” Harry sneered, taking vicious pleasure in the terrified look on the rotund man's face. “This entire situation has nothing to do with you, to begin with. This is for the Aurors and DMLE to investigate, therefore it is under Amelia Bones’ jurisdiction. You had and still have no right to order a ‘Kiss-on-Sight’ for Sirius. So if you step any closer to Sirius’s room I’ll make sure that when the next elections come, you won’t even be on the list of nominees.”

With that, Harry plopped himself in front of Sirius’s little prison cell, his Patronus still galloping around from when he’d previously cast it to protect Sirius from the Dementors Fudge had set on him.

Fudge scrambled to leave as soon as Harry fixed him with another scowl.

A chuckle from his right startled Harry from his rather violent thoughts about the incompetent Minister, looking up to see an amused Auror looking at him. 

He had black hair with white streaks despite looking in his early twenties, sharp features, some rough stubble, and grey eyes that seemed to shimmer with amusement. 

“You’ve got some balls, kid, talking to the Minister of Magic like that,” he smirked.

Harry flushed slightly in embarrassment. Doing it felt amazing but it was sort of embarrassing to realize that they’d had an audience. 

“He was being an arse,” Harry grumbled, his blush darkening when the man raised an eyebrow at his words. “Who are you?”

“Wayne Greengrass. Nice to meet you, Heir Potter,” the man smirked, offering his hand up for Harry to shake. 

Harry blinked in confusion but accepted the handshake. “Er– Nice to meet you too, Mr. Greengrass. Um, Harry would be fine, sir.” 

Why had he called Harry ‘Heir Potter’? There was a Greengrass in his year, he was pretty sure her name was Daphne. Were they related?

Greengrass sighed as if he’d just found out something particularly frustrating. He crouched down to Harry’s level, slightly intimidating grey eyes focused unnervingly on Harry. “You don’t know much about the Wizarding world or who you really are, do you? Beyond the whole Chosen One stuff.”

Harry frowned in confusion. He was just Harry when he wasn’t that. An orphan wizard raised by shitty muggles.

“What exactly am I supposed to know? No one tells me anything about my family beyond the fact that they were amazing heroes and that I look just like them. You make it sound like I’m more important than just being some type of savior.”

“Oh, dear. That’s worse than I thought,” Greengrass sighed, rubbing his stubble roughly. “It might be a good idea for you to go to Gringotts. I’m surprised they haven’t asked to discuss your inheritance with you.”

“What’re you talking about? I’ve seen my vault, there isn’t that much to inherit,” Harry groaned, his confusion and frustration growing the more the man talked. 

“Vault-” Greengrass began incredulously, choking on nothing and slipping into a coughing fit for a minute. “My apologies. Did you say vault ? As in singular ? Potter, your family is one of the oldest in history besides the Blacks. You have at least three vaults and that’s not taking into account any of the things people have given you because you defeated You-Know-Who. You-”

“That’s quite enough, Mr. Greengrass.”

Harry and Greengrass swiveled around to face Dumbledore, the usual twinkle in his eyes fading into a look of annoyance. “Ah. My apologies, Headmaster. Did you want to keep him uninformed? So you can continue to take advantage of his political power and Wizengamot seats?” Greengrass smiled kindly, a sharp contrast to the cold look in his eyes and his words.

Harry's eyes flickered between the two men nervously, unsure of what to make of the Greengrass's words. What did he mean, 'Wizengamot seats'? He supposed he had political power as the Boy-Who-Lived but how would Dumbledore use that?

“Mr. Greengrass. It is well within my rights to expel anyone from within the castle wards. I suggest you stop speaking.”

“Of course, of course,” Greengrass said placatingly as he stood up. Harry blinked when he felt something slip into his breast pocket, looking up at the man in confusion. He winked, grey eyes shimmering with mischief. “Good day, Mr. Potter, Headmaster. I’ll have Ms. Tonks take my place.”

Harry’s heart stuttered in his chest suddenly, pain shooting to his head when Greengrass said ‘Tonks’. It spread to every nerve in his body, making him feel like he was on fire. 

It hurt. It hurt. It hurtshurtshurtshurtshurtshurts-

“Mr. Potter?”

The last thing that Harry saw before losing consciousness was the alarmed look on Greengrass’s face. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Hermione asked anxiously, gripping Harry’s hand in what she hoped was comforting for the unconscious boy in front of her. 

Harry was curled up in pain, soft moans of pain leaving him as he slept. 

“I don’t know,” Madam Pomfrey frowned. “I’ve done everything I can, there’s nothing wrong with him but he seems to be in terrible pain. He’s been like this for nearly two days, I’m afraid this is above my level.”

“B-But you’re a healer! One of the best ones, according to Mum!” Ron argued, pale and worried as his eyes flickered between the healer and Harry. 

“He might’ve been cursed, Ron,” one of the twins said quietly. “There are a lot of curses that healers can’t do anything about and are undetectable to diagnostic charms.”

Ron went paler, if it was possible, and looked just about ready to cry. Hermione herself could feel tears beginning to well up in her eyes.

“Don’t worry too much, you lot,” One of the Aurors, Tonks, said comfortingly. “St. Mungos will be able to help Harry and there are plenty of people that can help him. He’ll be right as rain in no time.” The bright smile she gave them made some of the tension in the room dissolve.

“Do you know what happened before he got like this?” one of the twins asked, his eyes hardened with resolve. 

“According to Greengrass, he was threatening the Minister into leaving Sirius alone, and then they had a small conversation. Dumbledore appeared and then Harry sort of collapsed a minute later,” Tonks explained, looking worried and suspicious. “Greengrass freaked and rushed him over here and he’s been like this since.”

“Greengrass?” Ron frowned warily. “Aren’t they a-”

“Neutral. The Greengrass family is neutral and has always been on good terms with the Potters, who are also neutral. Greengrass has no reason to hurt Harry,” another voice cut in sternly.

Hermione swiveled to face the stranger, relaxing slightly when she saw that it was Professor Lupin. He looked tired and unhappy but stern enough that his words shut Ron up quickly.

“Don’t let your biases get in the way of clear thinking,” Professor Lupin sighed, his expression softening into a smile when Ron nodded in abashed agreement.

The smile disappeared when he saw the state Harry was in, worry and anxiety clouding his eyes.

“How did Sirius’s interrogation go?” Tonks piped up, changing the topic suddenly. 

Hermione blinked at her, only noticing the familiarity with which she talked about Sirius at that moment. Were they friends before? The Auror seemed closer to their age than Sirius’s but perhaps that was just because Sirius’s time in Azkaban made him look much older.

“He was questioned under Veritaserum and gave his memory of that night and yesterday. Lia- er, Madam Bones is working to get him an official trial done but there’s still a chance…,” Professor Lupin explained, trailing off anxiously. 

It struck Hermione at that moment how sad Professor Lupin’s life was. His group of friends were killed, wrongly thrown in prison, and the last had betrayed them all and ruined their lives. Not to mention the fact that he was shunned at every turn because of his status as a werewolf. If that happened to Harry and Ron, Hermione knew she would be destroyed.

“He’ll be alright, Swiper,” Tonks smiled reassuringly, lightly punching the man’s arm. 

Professor Lupin gave her a weak smile. “Thanks, Dora.”

Hermione blinked at the reference to the muggle children's show that had started a few years before she was born. She wanted to point out that Swiper was a fox, not a wolf but decided against it, seeing as it seemed to make Professor Lupin happy. Either way, it confirmed her theory that Tonks knew Sirius and Professor Lupin.

“Don’t-”

Her attention snapped back to Harry, her hair standing on end as magic crackled around him like electricity. His breathing was sharper and shallower like he was falling into a panic attack and his grip on her hand was crushing.

“Harry!” Ron cried.

Madam Pomfrey rushed forward quickly but was blown away before she could come closer than a foot. “What?!”

The infirmary door slid open and a man in a healer outfit that looked a little like Tonks walked in looking worried. “Everyone that isn’t a healer or Auror, please leave the room," he ordered quickly.

Hermione bit her lip, not wanting to leave Harry while he was like this. Especially not with strangers she didn’t trust.

She started slightly when she saw tears spilling from Harry’s eyes. Harry never cried. He got angry and upset but he never cried.

And here he was, looking small, scared, and in pain, uncharacteristic tears cascading down his cheeks and staining his pillow.

“Hermione,” Ron mumbled, tugging her arm slightly. 

Reluctantly, she let go of Harry’s hand and let Ron guide her out of the room, her heart sinking when she saw him reach out for a brief second. 

That little unconscious action made it feel like someone had taken a dagger to her chest like she abandoned Harry by leaving him there on his own.

It hurt.

“C’mon, Hermione,” Ron sighed, looking pale and drawn as they left the room. “Harry can’t pack his things, so we gotta do it for him.”

She let him lead her into the boys’ dorm, absently noting the fact that the slide staircase charm didn’t apply to the boys’ dormitory. It seemed rather sexist, especially since girls had the same access to love potions and spells that boys did, meaning they were under similar threat.

She didn’t pay it much attention, numbly helping Ron put Harry’s meager possessions in his trunk. 

Her only consolation was that Harry would likely not go to the Dursleys this summer, even though it meant he would stay at a hospital. At least, she hoped the headmaster wouldn’t send Harry back to those horrible people after everything that had happened. 

“If they try to send him back, I’m going to get the twins and steal him from them again, I don’t care how much trouble we get into,” Ron grumbled. “We told Dumbledore and Mum a billion times that they were starving him, why do they keep sending him back?”

“We heard Mum say something about blood wards,” One of the twins said, appearing beside them suddenly. “I think it's rubbish though. The Burrow has stronger wards than that place.”

Hermione turned around to face them, her neck aching at the sudden movement. “Blood wards?! Those are illegal and unstable! They depend on the amount of love and care the family feels and Harry and the Dursleys hate each other!”

“We know that,” one of them gripped angrily, fidgeting with their wand as if they wanted to hex someone. “Mum just won’t hear a thing about Dumbledore being wrong about something, we even got Bill to explain it to her and that’s his whole job!”

Anger bubbled in Hermione’s chest at the thought of Dumbledore forcing Harry to go back to that hellhole every summer for something as fickle as blood wards without even bothering to tell Harry anything. 

Even she knew blood wards were a bad idea and she was just a third year!

Clenching her fingers around Harry’s tattered and oversized clothing she turned to the boys around her, her eyes blazing with anger and determination. 

The twins gave her identical sharp smiles and Ron met her eyes with matching fierce determination.

“Harry’s never going to step foot in that place ever again.”

Chapter Text

Harry woke up slowly, groggy and dizzy as he looked at the blurry bright light shining in his eyes. 

He cringed slightly, squinting as he blindly searched for his glasses. After a couple of frustrating seconds of finding nothing, he pushed himself into a sitting position, feeling weak and tired from the simple action.

Harry flinched when pain shot through his arm, looking at the needle stuck into his veins and taped into place blankly. An IV drip.

Was he in a hospital? Why?

He hasn't been in a hospital since Mr. Weasley had been attacked...

Looking around in confusion, Harry found that he was in an unfamiliar grey and blue room. He could barely see anything, where were his glasses?

Panic welled up in his chest the longer he couldn’t find his glasses, he needed to see!

Blowing a frustrated sigh, he ripped the IV out of his arm, ignoring the pain that shot through his body before slipping out of the bed.

His arm shot out to grab the bedpost, his legs shaking with effort as he breathed heavily. “Wha…” he mumbled, his throat dry as he rasped out the word, trailing off as he began to cough. 

What was going on? Why couldn’t he stand? Why was he in the hospital? The last thing he remembered…

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, falling heavily on the hospital bed as the memories of everything flashed to the forefront of his mind.

The war. Cedric. Sirius. Dumbledore. Fred. Tonks. Lupin. Collin. Lavender.

Bile rose in his throat and before he could stop it, his stomach emptied its contents on the floor. The puddle of sick grew as tears streamed down his face, his body shivering violently as he heaved. 

They were all dead. They were all dead because of Harry. It was his fault the Diggorys lost their son, it was his fault Sirius fell through the veil, it was his fault Dumbledore died, it was his fault Teddy would grow up without parents, his fault, his fault, his fault-

A trash can was placed in front of him and someone started rubbing his back. They were familiar enough that he didn’t flinch away, although he couldn’t tell who it was. 

They handed him a cup of water that he used to rinse his mouth out and wet his burning throat. “Glasses,” Harry mumbled and the person disappeared from beside him for a few seconds before glasses were placed on his face carefully. They weren’t his own, the frame was different and everything was much clearer than he was used to but Harry's attention was elsewhere.

Like the fact that Ted Tonks’s friendly face was so close to his own, alive and breathing as if Harry hadn’t heard about his death months before on the Potterwatch radio. Harry stared at him blankly, his eyes wide and uncomprehending.

Ted must’ve misinterpreted his expression because he gave Harry a sheepish smile. “Sorry, kid. Your old glasses got trashed by your magic and we had to get you some new ones. These should work better though.”

How was Ted here? Harry knew he died, he had gone to his funeral after the war ended. Andy had been crying while Harry held little Teddy. Tonks and Lupin had been buried right next to him.

“Who are you?” Harry asked stupidly. 

“Oh! Sorry, I’m Ted Tonks, a healer at St. Mungos,” Ted smiled. “How are you feeling, Mr. Potter?”

“How are you feeling? Anything else broken? I've fixed your ribs, your tooth, and your arm. I'm Ted, by the way, Ted Tonks– Dora's father.”

“Harry. It’s Harry,” he blurted out before he could work out what to say. “I-I’m fine. I think. What’s today?”

“July 30th. Are you-” 

A day before his birthday. Today was Neville’s.

“Year?”

Ted’s eyes narrowed in concern and confusion. “1994. Are you feeling alright, Harry?”

1994. It’s 1994. How was he back at the beginning of his fourth year? Was it a dream?

No, there was no way this was a dream. It didn’t feel like one. It was so real. Ted looked younger and didn’t have the scars-

Scars. 

Harry jerked his eyes away from the man, focusing on the words that weren’t etched into the skin of his left hand. The words that had made his tongue heavy when he tried to lie. They weren’t there. The scars from the blood quill in his fifth year. The year that didn’t happen yet. 

The year that meant Sirius was alive. That meant everyone, all of them were alive. Cedric, Dumbledore, Lupin, Tonks, Fred, and all of them. All the people that died because of him were alive.

Tears were streaming down Harry’s face before he could even think to stop them.

Ted looked slightly alarmed by Harry’s sudden emotion, although Harry couldn’t see him very well through his tears. “Okay, kid. Do you need anything? I’ll call your friends over if you want me to,” he asked hesitantly, placing a comforting hand on Harry’s knee. 

“Don’t call them,” Harry gasped through his tears. He didn’t think he’d be able to look at anyone without crying right now. “I’ll just- Sorry, I’ll calm down, just give me a minute.”

“It’s not a problem. You had a fright and have been in pain for some time, Harry. It’s a perfectly normal reaction,” Ted said softly before he hesitated. “Would you…like some alone time?”

Harry nodded quickly and the man left the room seconds later. He didn’t know how long he spent crying on that bed, shivers running through his body as he grieved for things that had not happened yet, people that still lived and breathed, people that still cared about him. 

He didn’t know if he was mad or if he had just thought it all up and lost his mind in the process. But if it was true, if even a hint of the nightmarish life he had led were true then he refused to let things happen the way they had. 

He’d never let anything happen to them ever again. 

Ted Tonks was in a dilemma. A very confusing one at that.

His wife, Andromeda, sat beside him, leaning her head against his shoulder as she nursed a cup of caffeinated tea. Apparently, she couldn’t stand the taste of regular coffee or tea. Ted found it rather amusing. 

“What’s eating at you, Ted? You’ve been quiet the whole night,” Andy asked, a curious look in her eyes. 

“Harry woke up today,” Ted began with a sigh and Andy straightened up immediately. She was the Potters’ family healer, she knew Harry from the moment he was born so he could understand the amount of attention she gave to Harry’s condition. It also meant Ted could talk freely about Harry’s condition to her. “Like every other time we scanned him we found nothing besides weakened muscles and old badly healed injuries. Reynolds was rather frustrated by the lack of results. But he acted weird. It’s bugging me.”

“Weird how?” Andy frowned, concern flickering in her eyes. 

“He looked like he saw a ghost when he first saw me. He asked me what year it was, went silent, and then started crying. I thought he was just spooked but when I look back at it something felt off…,” Ted trailed off, frowning into the rippling reflection in his tea. He had tried to subtly interrogate the kid but Harry had been weirdly tight-lipped about the whole thing.

It was like those weird feelings he got before Nymphadora did something particularly reckless or got herself injured. He knew something was wrong but couldn’t put his finger on it.

The odd look of tired determination in the teen’s eyes when he came back had done nothing to ease the feeling.

“I might be reading too much into it but he’s being weirdly quiet about how he’s feeling,” Ted groaned in frustration, running his hand through his hair. “I’ve got a bad feeling.”

Andy had an odd look on her face for a moment before shaking her head. “I’ll ask Poppy to keep an eye on him once he gets back to Hogwarts. Also, I want you to give something to him since tomorrow’s his birthday and I’ve been meaning to send this to him.”

Ted gave his wife a curious look as she placed a tiny trunk on the table. ”What is it?”

“Don’t be nosy,” Andy teased, grinning when he rolled his eyes at her. “It’s just something of Lily's that I borrowed before they went into hiding. It’s rightfully his now and besides, Poppy told me he doesn’t know much about his parents. Having this would probably mean the world to him.”

Ted didn’t question her further, knitting their fingers together and bringing her hand up to his mouth, placing a chaste kiss on the back of her hand and another on her forehead. “You’re amazing, Andy. God knows how I lucked out with an amazing woman like you,” he mumbled into her hair, his worries momentarily disappearing as he breathed in her familiar scent. God, he loved this woman.

Andy smiled, pressing a kiss to his jaw before snuggling a bit closer. “How quaint.”

“It’s why you married me, Andy,” he grinned, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. 

His worries faded over the night, the fire flickering in the fireplace and his wife’s warm presence lulling him into a feeling of contentment.

A feeling that quickly faded the next day as he stared blankly at the teen that was halfway out the door Ted was just about to enter. It was only the beginning of his shift, what had he done to deserve this?

Harry Potter had a nervous smile plastered on his face, his ears glowing bright red as he stared back at Ted.

Merlin help him, this kid really was James Potter’s son.

“Mr. Potter, what are you doing?”

“Erm...”

Ted sighed, giving the teen a dry look. “Please return to your bed, you're still in bad shape.”

Thankfully, Harry did as told with little argument, looking slightly mortified by the whole thing.

“Um, Mr. Tonks?” Harry began hesitantly as Ted did a few diagnostic scans. “Do you know how long I have to stay here?”

Ted raised an eyebrow at the question. Reynolds should’ve gone over things like that with Harry after Ted left the last evening. “Did Reynolds not go over that with you?”

“Er, no. I wanted to ask him but he’s a little… unnerving?” the teen mumbled, his blush darkening much to Ted’s amusement. “He just explained the potion diets and how they had to do a healing ritual because I have too many injuries that healed the wrong way?”

“He’s correct. You’ll have to stay here for about a week, maybe two, depending on if the healing ritual gets rid of everything in these scans,” Ted explained, rifling through the rather alarming injuries recorded on the diagnostic report.

Harry’s face fell before he sighed. “Right. Anything else?”

“You should go to Gringotts to get rid of these, lad. You need to get a purging ritual done since St. Mungos doesn’t do those,” Ted said, scowling at the amount of compulsion and controlling spells placed on the teen. It was disgusting and Ted had an inkling of who had cast those spells.

After all, Andy never kept her opinions of the Hogwarts Headmaster quiet and they’d rubbed off on him.

Something Ted couldn’t decipher flickered through Harry’s expression when he showed the kid the list of spells before he nodded with a carefully blank look on his face.

Odd.

“You might want to stay a bit longer to see if your guardian situation is sorted out soon. You wouldn’t have to go back to your Muggle family,” Ted added, grimacing slightly at the thought of what Reynolds had said about those Muggles. They seemed rather unpleasant. 

Harry frowned in confusion. “Guardian situation?”

“Ah, my apologies. I should’ve explained earlier. Sirius Black was pardoned two weeks ago and is fighting for custody of you,” he explained, giving the teen a comforting smile when his eyes widened in disbelief. 

“Sirius is free? Not a fugitive or anything?” Harry said softly, his jaw dropping in disbelief. 

Ted raised an eyebrow at that line of questioning before shrugging it off. “No, Mr. Black is very much free, Mr. Potter. He’s come to visit you quite a few times since then. Would you like me to inform him that you’ve woken up?”

Harry shook his head instantly, much to Ted’s surprise. He thought the kid would jump at the chance to see his godfather– or anyone really. They had initially contacted Harry’s Muggle family but they had been rude and dismissive of Harry’s condition and there was no one listed as his magical guardian or emergency contact so no one had been informed that Harry was awake since yesterday. The kid certainly didn’t seem like he wanted anyone to know then.

“Would you like me to contact anyone?” Ted asked. People typically wanted someone with them after they’d been injured and waking up from a month-long coma was pretty disorienting.

“No, I’m– No. I’d rather just be on my own until I get better,” Harry mumbled, refusing to meet Ted’s eyes as he picked at the hem of his shirt. “I think I’m gonna go back to the Dursleys… I’m not too big on hospitals.”

Ted raised his eyebrows, his mouth twitching in vague amusement that had Harry ducking his head in embarrassment. “That’s your choice to make, Mr. Potter. I would recommend contacting your friends, however. They were worried.”

“Thank you, Mr. Tonks,” Harry said, his mouth tightening in a way that told Ted he would not be taking his advice into account.

They went through the rest of the check-up quickly, Ted questioning some of his odd injuries and getting vague or concerning responses. Harry seemed alright with him using his wand for diagnostics, although he had tensed whenever he used it for anything else like he expected Ted to curse him.

“Alright. The healing ritual is later today, you can’t take any potions like Skele-gro or Blood Replenisher until after, so your potions diet will begin tomorrow, as I’m sure Reynolds told you. You’ll spend an estimated four days recovering after, so please do not attempt to escape again,” Ted teased a little, smiling when Harry blushed again. “We’ll check you over for anything that wasn’t healed during the ritual and then you can be on your way.”

Harry nodded his understanding, giving Ted a curious look when he pulled out the shrunken truck Andy had given him and a small gift he had picked up for the kid at Diagon Alley. It felt wrong letting Harry’s birthday pass without any sort of celebration.

“This isn’t much but I wanted to wish you a happy birthday Mr. Potter. My wife was a friend of your mother’s and wanted me to give this to you,” Ted said, placing the shrunken trunk on the teen’s bed and tapping his wand against it to unshrink it. “It belonged to your mother and she thought it was right to give it to you.”

Harry stared at the trunk, his eyes looking suspiciously shiny before he blinked a few times. “Thanks. Thank you,” he mumbled his voice heavy with sorrow and gratitude. “It means a lot.”

“It’s not a problem. Andy is rather fond of you,” Ted shook his head, waving off the teen’s thanks with a reassuring smile. “This one is from me. It didn’t feel right not getting you anything and I wanted you to at least have something to celebrate. Happy fourteenth birthday, Harry.”

Harry took the small gift bag from Ted, looking a little embarrassed and unsure as he did so. Ted nodded his head when the teen gave him a questioning look, silently asking if he was allowed to open it now. 

He pulled the dragonhide wrist wand holster, his face brightening at the sight. “Thank you, Mr. Tonks. I’ve been meaning to buy one of these.”

“Well, I’m glad to be of help,” Ted smiled. “Now, please, get some rest, Mr. Potter.”

Harry nodded distractedly, not even bothering to pretend he would listen as he stared at his mother’s trunk. Not that Ted blamed him, this was likely one of the few things he had that belonged to his parents. 

He left the room to give Harry privacy, going through his rounds before dropping by Andy’s department for a short visit. He was pleasantly surprised to see Nymphadora, a happy grin on her face as his wife rolled her eyes. 

“Well if it isn’t my favorite girls,” he grinned, wrapping an arm around his daughter’s shoulders.

“Hi, Dad. How’s work?” Dora smiled, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. 

“It’s great. Is Moody still going on about retiring?” Ted said, ruffling her vibrant pink hair and dodging when she swiped at his hand, whining as she tried to flatten the flyaways. 

“Yes,” she huffed, morphing her hair back into its longer naturally black state and brushing it out of her face. “And Dumbledore keeps poking around, trying to get him to become the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. How’s Harry?”

“He’s fine,” Ted said vaguely. “Can’t tell you more, healer-patient confidentiality and all, remember Dora?” 

He could technically say a little more but that would reveal that Harry was up and awake and the kid didn’t seem like he wanted anyone to know so Ted didn’t say anything else. 

“Blegh. Annoying. Greengrass keeps pestering me about telling him how he’s doing because Dumbledore doesn’t like him and would apparently try to get him in trouble if he tried to visit,” Dora said, sounding amused and annoyed.

“He’ll be fine by the time school starts if that’s any comfort,” Ted offered. 

“I suppose,"  Dora huffed. "Now, Mum and I were just talking about…”

Sirius scowled at the papers around, annoyance and frustration bubbling in his chest as he stared at the pile of paperwork. He had barely been able to move from his desk in over a week because the Ministry kept trying to fight him over custody of Harry.

He was his bloody godfather! What right did they have to tell him no after they had left him to rot in Azkaban?

Not to mention the whole mess with Moony. 

The old trust they had was destroyed because Remus had spent years believing Sirius was the one who led James and Lily to their death and because Sirius hadn’t trusted Remus enough to tell him that they had changed Secret Keepers all those years ago. The war had made everyone paranoid and Remus had barely been around at the time so Sirius hadn’t known if he could trust him with that information.

Things were awkward and a little unbearable but Remus was struggling after being outed as a werewolf to the whole world and Sirius wasn’t about to abandon him after all these years. He was still one of Sirius’s last friends. The last of his family.

So now he was swamped with paperwork and living with an old friend in an apartment in the Alley. Fantastic.

Sirius cursed when he noticed that he had let ink drip all over the letter he was reading, vanishing it quickly with a flick of his wand. The Gringotts missive stated yet again that he was to come and claim Lordship over the Black vaults and assets. 

Groaning, he let his head smack against his desk in frustration. He didn’t want to be Lord Black. He couldn’t be because his mother had disowned him but it must not have been done officially because he was now the first runner for family head. 

Gringotts had already sent three of these missives in the past two weeks and he had torn up the first two without a single care in the world. He didn’t want to be Lord Black, he didn’t want to be associated with them–

Revolted realization ran through his body once he realized why he was no longer disowned from the family. His mother must have believed that Sirius set up the Potters and worked for Voldemort. She must have been proud of him– proud enough to rescind her choice of disowning him.

Bile rose in his throat and Sirius quickly grabbed the wastebasket near him, throwing up the meager contents of his stomach.

God, he hated that woman. He wanted to see her crash and burn, he wanted to see her on her deathbed and have her at his mercy like she had done to him so many times in his youth. But he couldn’t because she had already died from a heart attack years ago. 

If he ever found her grave he would destroy the tombstone and upturn her grave just to disintegrate her corpse into ashes and vanish it to erase any physical evidence of her existence. He hated her so much it hurt.

Vanishing the sick with a flick of his wand, Sirius grabbed the bottle of Firewhiskey on his desk and took a swig, relishing in the burning sensation as he leaned back in his chair. 

He was such a mess. Would he ever be able to take care of Harry the way he was? Did Harry even want to live with someone like him? Those Muggles were terrible, maybe he just saw Sirius as the lesser evil between the two of them. 

He hadn’t even gone to visit Harry more than two times in the time he had been free, he was a terrible godfather. 

“James, what am I supposed to do? I was just supposed to be his uncle. I was supposed to be the fun uncle, I’m not fit to take care of your son,” Sirius said softly, dropping his head into his hands. “This is all my fault if I had just been the Secret Keeper instead of insisting that Peter take my place… I’m so sorry.”

“Sirius?”

He didn’t respond to Remus’s call beyond a soft groan but the door to his office opened anyways and the familiar feeling of Remus’s magic washed over him, the old comforting sensation of calmness and acceptance. He had missed the feeling when he was in that hellhole but most of all he missed James’s– vibrant and full of life, comforting and protective. And Sirius would never feel it again. 

He missed everything about James with a constant throbbing ache because he was his brother, his best friend, the one Sirius couldn’t live without.

“Padfoot,” Remus said gently, placing a hand on Sirius’s shoulder. “You need rest. Take a break from the paperwork and go to sleep.”

He didn’t argue, letting the man guide him to his bed before shifting into his animagus form when he was alone. Dealing with his emotions in this form was much easier.

It was yet another restless night for Sirius Black.

A week and a half passed with little fanfare and Harry was released from the hospital to no one’s knowledge but his own. The time spent there had been tedious and boring but it had allowed Harry to think and grieve by himself.

It had taken some time for him to wrap his head around the fact that he was in the past and even longer for him to believe that he hadn’t gone mad. If any of his friends had visited him, Harry wasn’t too sure he would’ve been able to keep it together.

Harry had about a week, maybe two, of alone time at the Dursleys before he would either contact his friends or they would find out that he was awake and whisk him away for the World Cup. 

Despite promising Mr. Tonks that he would rest at the Dursleys for a while before doing the purging ritual, the first thing Harry did was go to Diagon Alley to visit Gringotts. There was a lot to do.

(The visit to Godric’s Hollow and the quiet words of gratitude spoken to the crudely done grave of a hero who would never be praised for his deeds sixteen years ago, forgotten in an ocean of Inferi with no one but an insane house elf and a fourteen-year-old boy with memories he should not have to remember him, would be acknowledged by no one because who was there to mourn him anyways?)

Pulling the beak of his Muggle cap down to hide most of his distinctive hair and scar, Harry tapped the brick to enter the Leaky Cauldron through the Muggle entrance and slunk into the pub, keeping his posture as confident and non-descriptive as possible. It wouldn’t do for his trip to be interrupted before it even began.

Tom, the bartender, didn’t give Harry more than a cursory glance and nod of acknowledgment as he passed, slipping out of the pub and into Diagon Alley with a small grin on his face. 

He weaved through the crowds of people and walked into Gringotts, offering the goblins a nod of acknowledgment. He didn’t feel like angering them, especially after remembering what happened in the break-in he, Ron, and Hermione had orchestrated. They were terrifying.

“Business?” the goblin teller asked indifferently.

“Um… I was told to come here for the purging ritual and I need some money from my vault?” Harry said a little nervously. 

“Name and key?”

“Er- Harry Potter and I don’t have my key,” he responded, biting back a flinch when the goblin’s gaze sharpened and it seemed to look him up and down appraisingly. “Is that… a problem?”

“No, but we need to confirm your identity,” the goblin said shortly before turning around and barking out something in goblin tongue. “Griphook!”

Harry schooled his features in a neutral look, hoping he had not reacted to the goblin’s presence in a way that would be interpreted as rude as he turned to face the other goblin. “Hello, Griphook. It’s nice to see you again,” he greeted politely, earning a brief bewildered expression from the goblin. 

“... Follow me, if you please.”

Harry trailed after Griphook silently, the feeling of his wand pressing against his wrist serving as his only comfort. He didn’t want to be here with the goblin, a constant sickening reminder of the future he was trying to prevent. The deeper he followed Griphook into the bank, the more he felt like he was being led to his doom.

Griphook stopped abruptly in front of a door and Harry almost stumbled over him, earning a deeply unimpressed look from the goblin and flushing in embarrassment. He knocked on the door a few times before it flew open and Griphook gestured for Harry to enter. 

The door slammed as soon as he did, making Harry jump and whirl around, his stomach sinking as the doorknob faded. 

Well. That was… something. 

“Mr. Potter, please take a seat.”

Harry resisted another flinch, turning to face the new goblin warily and walking towards the chair it was pointing at. “May I ask who you are?” he asked hesitantly as he sat, taking his cap off out of respect. Primary school teachers in the Muggle world had drilled that into him after all.

“I am Orgnok, the Potter family’s account manager,” the goblin stated simply.

“... Account manager?”

Orgnok fixed him with a rather unimpressed look and Harry quickly decided not to ask unnecessary questions. Goblins made him nervous as is, he certainly didn’t need their scorn.

The goblin placed a short knife and an odd-looking parchment in front of Harry, letting out a long-suffering sigh when it saw the bewildered look on his face. “We need blood to identify who you are. Cut your palm and place seven drops on the parchment.”

Harry did as ordered without argument, slicing his palm and closing his fist, slowly squeezing out each drop. He flinched violently when Orgnok grabbed his hand suddenly, his other twitching to his wand before the goblin traced a finger over the wound and it disappeared. “...Thank you, Orgnok.”

“It is Master Orgnok to you, Mr. Potter. You are only to refer to cart drivers and escorts by name. It is seen as disrespectful otherwise,” Orgnok said simply.

That was oddly… kind of the goblin to explain. 

Orgnok took the parchment as the blood stain began to swirl and words began to appear as the parchment grew longer and longer to accommodate the number of words. 

Which was a lot. How did that all have to do with his identity?

The account manager stared at the piece of paper impassively for a couple of minutes, leaving Harry to fidget in boredom and anxiety. “Well,” Orgnok began. “You may want to take a look at this Mr. Potter.”

Harry grabbed the paper as soon as it was offered, scanning the document before freezing in place. 

‘Harry James Potter

Life: July 31st, 1980 – October 31st, 1998’

October 31st, 1998.

“Oh,” Harry breathed out shakily, his head swimming with panic and confusion

That wasn’t right. Why was there a death date? It was 1994, there shouldn’t be a death date, especially not on that day. He had survived it, hadn’t he?

Despite the panicked beating of his heart, Harry decided to push on and read the rest of the paper. He didn’t get very far.

‘Harry James Potter

Life: July 31st, 1980 – October 31st, 1998’

Life: July 31st, 1980 (June 27th, 1994) – ?’

“What?” Harry blurted out before he could stop himself. “How–”

“I was hoping that was what you could tell me, Mr. Potter,” Orgnok said sharply. “I’m sure you’ve been told that bad things happen to wizards that mess with time.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Harry protested, fear coursing through his body as he stood up. This was bad, if Orgnok told anyone this, Harry would be ruined. The Ministry would either throw him in Azkaban or give him to the Department of Mysteries for the Unspeakables to experiment on him and Harry wouldn’t be able to do a thing. His friends and family would all die while he was sitting duck, waiting for Voldemort to come and kill him.

“Somehow, I don’t believe that,” Orgnok snarled. “You wizards are all the same, messing with things you don’t understand-”

“I didn’t do anything! I just woke up from a bloody coma with memories I shouldn’t have! I thought I was mad the whole time, so stop saying I did that!” Harry cut him off, panic twisting in his chest as his breathing stuttered. “I didn’t do anything, please don’t tell anyone, Master Orgnok…”

“Control yourself, Mr. Potter,” Orgnok snapped and the teen froze, his hands shaking. “Do not jump to conclusions. I am bound to client confidentiality, control yourself and your unruly magic.”

It took a second for Harry to realize that his magic had lashed out during his panic, cracks running through the ground around his feet, the walls and furniture splintering under the force. Orgnok himself looked distinctly ruffled. 

“Oh. Oh. I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled, collapsing back into his chair as his panic died down. It left him shaking and twitchy, especially with the fear still pounding in his heart. He had only just figured everything out recently, and for someone to find out so quickly after left him unnerved and terrified. 

He didn’t know he had actually traveled through time– enough for his magic to consider it a second life of sorts, at least– he thought it was more like he was given memories of the future by some otherworldly entity or something. It was a bit ridiculous of him now that he thought about it. 

“This complicates things,” Orgnok grumbled, a displeased look on his face. “I advise you to avoid letting anyone get samples of your blood. It would be rather unpleasant if someone were to find out. I advise you to learn to shield your mind as well.”

“You mean Occlumency?” Harry blurted out, grimacing a little at the sudden lack of his brain-mouth filter. 

Orgnok rolled his eyes. “Yes, that is what you wizards call it.”

“I’m no good at that. I tried it before but it didn't end very well for me,” the teen admitted nervously, thinking back– or forward? He wasn’t sure– to his fifth year and Snape’s Occlumency lessons.

“You may hire a tutor for such endeavors at Gringotts. All human employees must have some type of defense against mind intrusions to be able to work here, whether that be through mind shields or accessories that work in the same manner,” Orgnok explained.

Teaching meant that the person would be using Legilimency on him and that involved seeing his memories. The future. His teacher had to be someone he trusted and the only Gringotts employee that Harry knew and trusted was…

“Could I hire Cursebreaker Weasley?” Harry asked and Orgnok narrowed his eyes at him, clearly waiting for some kind of explanation. “He’s my friend’s older brother.”

That wasn’t the reason why but it was the only one he would offer. Bill wouldn’t be able to say anything if Harry chose him to teach him Occlumency because of client confidentiality and he was the least likely to try and hinder Harry’s efforts. He was also a very useful ally to have because of his knowledge of curses since Harry would have to kill and destroy the Horcruxes

And himself.

“I will see what can be done. Weasley’s branch is in Cairo, if he agrees to transfer to London for a short while, you will have him as your tutor. Until then, please buy yourself some shielding accessories, Earrings do work best for such shields,” Orgnok said indifferently, back into professional mode. “Now, back to business.”

The next two hours were a haze of getting a new key to his vault that no one but himself would be allowed to touch without his express permission, diagnostic magic, a purging ritual to get rid of the spells and potions that were harming or working against him. The healer goblin, Silverrite, seemed rather displeased with the number of spells placed on him but Harry… wasn’t really surprised. 

Dumbledore meant well. He was a good man that was working to save the world from Voldemort’s tyranny. To the Greater Good. 

Even if it meant sacrificing Harry along the way. 

To be fair, the man was fully ready to sacrifice himself as well but he had raised Harry like a pig for slaughter, in Snape’s words. Harry had been sent on a wild chase to kill all of Voldemort’s Horcruxes only to find out that he had been one all along. That he had to die to save everyone else. 

The man had manipulated Harry to become the final sacrificial piece to destroy Voldemort. It was no surprise for Harry to find that he had nudged Harry into ignoring some of his self-preservational instincts and encouraging his impulsiveness and self-sacrifice.

It made Harry weary, like the world was suddenly weighing down on his shoulders. Really, Harry didn’t know if he would’ve done the things he had done in the first year if it wasn’t for those spells. He didn’t know what sort of person he would’ve turned out to be.

But it didn’t matter now. Harry would still save everyone that he could. He would ensure that Teddy had parents to look up to one day, that George would still have his other half, that Colin Creevey would still be able to hold up a camera and ask Harry for a signature, and that Cedric would not lose his life just as it began. 

He supposed Hermione was right when she said he had a saving people thing.

Vivid gray eyes glowed in the shadows, staring at the words etched into stone with an unreadable glint in them.

‘Regulus Arcturus Black, 1961-1979’

A cat with sleek black fur slipped out of the shadows, its unusual gray eyes shining in the moonlight as it sat in front of the new grave stiffly, in a manner that was not very cat-like. It seemed almost… aristocratic.  

In the blink of an eye, a man shrouded in black robes took the place of the cat, his eyes taking on the same unusual shade of gray as the creature as he crouched in front of the tombstone. 

A wry smile spread across his face. 

“What a conundrum you are, Harry Potter.”

A Clock stopped - 
Not the Mantel's -
Geneva's farthest skill
Can't put the puppet bowing
That just now dangled still -

An awe came on the Trinket!
The Figures hunched  -with pain -
Then quivered out of Decimals -
Into Degreeless noon -

It will not stir for Doctors -
This Pendulum of snow -
The Shopman importunes it -
While cool - concernless No

Nods from the Gilded pointers -
Nods from Seconds slim -
Decades of Arrogance between
The Dial life -
And Him.

- Emily Dickinson

Chapter Text

“Greengrass!”

Wayne’s head shot up from where he had been tying his shoelaces, slamming against his desk with a sharp bang before he let out a quiet whine of pain. He clutched the back of his head, rubbing the throbbing part as he drew back to glare at his unit commander witheringly. 

Fucking Moody. Why couldn’t the barmy old bastard just retire already instead of going out of his way to scare the living daylights out of perfectly fine young Aurors at unconventional times? The only reason he respected the man was that he was terrifying and good at his job, even with a peg leg and more extensive old injuries. 

“Yes, sir?” Wayne grumbled, schooling his features into a more neutral expression.

“Constant vigilance, Greengrass. Madam Bones wants you in her office,” Moody grunted, his magical eye flickering around in the disturbing manner Wayne had learned to ignore over time. “And Tonks informed me that the Potter boy is alright. Thought you should know.”

Wayne straightened up, his eyes widening at both things the old Auror had said. 

Madam Bones wanted to talk to him? The Head of his department? What could that be about?

He had joined the Auror corps at the same time as Tonks and the only times he had been in the same vicinity as the stern woman was after the initiation test and at Hogwarts two months ago.

He was glad that the Potter Heir was awake, the kid was interesting and slightly amusing. 

His little cousin, Daphne, was in the same year as him but tended to avoid any contact with him because she was a Slytherin and he was a Gryffindor, never mind the fact that he was the Boy-Who-Lived. There were other reasons besides that, of course, but no one would take kindly to any type of relationship between them. He would know.

It was rather alarming that the kid had no understanding of his heritage or standing in society as a Potter. He was one of the richest kids in the world and he thought he had one measly vault?

But then again, Albus Dumbledore liked to have tight control over his chest pieces, and one of them having more power than he wanted could be detrimental to his precious plans. 

Wayne hoped the kid decided to contact him. It would be amusing to ruin the old man’s plans by planting doubt in Potter’s brain. There was too little to do these days, anyway.

“Did Madam Bones specify any reasons for this visit?” Wayne asked as he stood, brushing his robes off carefully. 

“Hell if I know, she’s as tight-lipped as ever,” Moody grumbled crankily before limping off to his office, his peg leg clacking against the ground as he left.

Wayne left his cubicle, collecting his case folders before placing them in his rucksack carefully. A few of his colleagues looked a little curious when he headed over to Madam Bones’ office. 

He twitched slightly when the door flew open before he could knock, plastering a professional smile on his face as the stern woman fixed him with her unnerving stare.

Terrifying . 

“Come in, Auror Greengrass.”

He stepped inside the office, twitching once again when the door closed behind him with a soft thud. “Well met, Madam Bones. A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Wayne greeted with a polite bow of his head, barely biting back a ‘Professor’. It felt like he was under McGonagall’s unnerving gaze again.

He wondered absently if the two were friends because if they were, they would make a truly terrifying team with their eagle-eye stares.

“And you as well, Greengrass,” Madam Bones said mildly. “Sit. We have much to discuss.”

Ominous. That made Wayne a little scared. Had he done something wrong?

“I’ll get straight to the point. Dumbledore has filed a report against you, stating that you attacked one of his students in late June while we were there for Mr. Black,” she explained shortly, her gaze suddenly much sharper than it had been before. “The student I am referring to is Harry Potter but you seem to understand the situation already.”

Of course, he did. Had Wayne really expected any different? He was a Slytherin during his school days and Dumbledore hated Slytherins. He couldn’t have one influencing his golden boy so it was best to get Wayne out of the way before he could do anything.

Wonderful.

He did wonder why the man had waited until now, it had been over a month since that particular incident. Perhaps he remembered it now that Potter is awake?

Before he could get anything out, Madam Bones spoke up again, looking no less stern than she had when he had walked in but not as suspicious as he would’ve thought. “I am asking you, Greengrass, because I take everything that man says with a grain of salt. Your superiors and colleagues have all reported you to be nothing short of friendly and focused on your duty, not to mention doing so would risk a feud between the Potter family and Greengrass family, both of which have been on friendly terms for over six decades. Now, do give me your explanation.”

Wayne tried not to let his bafflement show on his face because that was the last thing he expected. Most of the Ministry– hell, the Wizarding world, was in the man’s pocket and thought he could do no wrong. Wayne was just a dark little former Slytherin.

But here was his head of department, asking for his side of what happened. 

His confusion must have shown a little because Madam Bones looked vaguely amused, pouring two cups of tea and sliding one to him. Manners had been drilled into him since he was three years of age, so Wayne bowed his head for a short second in silent thanks as he accepted the cup, taking a few seconds to collect himself.

“My apologies, ma’am,” he sighed and Madam Bones nodded, waving for him to continue. “Potter and I merely had a short conversation about his rather… vicious words to the Minister regarding his choices with Mr. Black.” Wayne had to hide a grin at those words, Fudge’s terrified face flashing in his mind. “The Headmaster appeared when I mentioned the boy’s heritage and Potter collapsed as I was leaving for an unknown reason. I did nothing to the boy. Auror Tonks’ father informed her that they hadn’t been able to find what was ailing him and I assure you, I do not know a spell so obscure a healer of his standing would not be able to reverse.”

The woman’s lips thinned the longer he spoke, the pit in his stomach growing as he fell silent, anxiously watching her reaction. She held his career in her palm, she could fire him if she saw fit. A part of him hated that she held that power over him but there was nothing he could do. He loved his job, truly, but if all it took to be fired was a word from Dumbledore, Wayne wanted nothing to do with it.

“Thank you for telling me the truth, Greengrass,” Madam Bones said finally. “I will be having words with Chief Warlock but do avoid angering him. It could prove to be more troublesome than you’d think.”

The warning was genuine, to Wayne’s surprise. It seemed that Madam Bones was telling the truth when she said she wasn’t fond of Dumbledore, even if she knew there wasn’t much she could do.

They both understood the power he held over the Wizarding World, much more than either of them could ever begin to compete with. It was the reason Wayne had backed off from Potter so quickly and the reason Madam Bones had even bothered with this meeting. 

They were neutral, not the sort of neutral the Potters were. They were the sort that had enough power not to be completely dominated by the Dark or Light families and choose to stay in the middle but not enough to stand against either side. They would be crushed. The Potters, on the other hand, remained neutral despite having the power to compete with the most powerful of families, like the Blacks and Malfoys.

If Wayne managed to get in Potter’s good graces there was a chance…

“Hide your scheming face better, Greengrass, and leave my office,” Madam Bones dismissed, her eyes dancing with mirth despite the stern expression on her face. 

“As you wish, Madam,” he smirked, bowing his head once more in farewell. “Have a goodnight.”

Wayne relaxed a tad when the door finally closed behind, striding towards the door in order to leave for the night. He still had to be home for his Aunt Merula’s dinner visit and he certainly didn’t want to chance his father’s ire if he had to explain the whole debacle. 

He had been warned more than enough not to mess with political powers like Dumbledore but Wayne was nothing if not ambitious. If he managed to earn Potter’s trust enough to suggest an alliance with his family, their political power would soar– enough to at least cause Lucius Malfoy trouble and get his cousin out of her terrible betrothal with Draco Malfoy. 

The Greengrass family would be disgraced forever if the contract went through and they lost their Heir. Daphne was the Heir of their family, if they lost her to that marriage, their Wizengamot seats and vaults would be combined with that of the Malfoys. 

Wayne would allow no such thing to happen as long as he lived. There was a reason their family motto was Semper Fidelis. He would always remain faithful to his family before all else.

He yelped when something white suddenly came barreling down on him as soon as he set foot outside of the Ministry building, ducking out of the way and drawing his wand only to flush in embarrassment when he saw it was only an owl. 

An owl that looked like it was laughing at him.

“Laugh it up and give me the letter,” Wayne grumbled, holding out his hand for the bird to rest on. It did so without argument, nipping his fingers lightly before holding out its leg for him to untie the letter.

He tucked it into his pocket, turning back to the unfamiliar snowy owl. It was beautiful, a rare kind of radiance coming off her in waves. It made her noticeable in a way owls should not be. A person couldn’t send any letters with an owl like this without risking their mail being intercepted.

Although the odd magic wafting around its leg band bothered him.

Gently, he brought the bird's leg up to examine the band and cast a diagnostic charm on it, his eyes narrowing when he saw the tracking spells embedded into the material. There was a name carved into the material messily. So the owl belonged to a kid then. 

He turned the band over, grinning a little when he saw what the name was. Hedwig. Whoever the owl belonged to either liked history or was an overexcited muggle-born entering the magical world for the first time.

“Hello there, Hedwig,” he said softly, stroking the bird’s feathers lightly. Hedwig hooted softly, jumping onto his shoulder and nipping his ear gently before flying off. 

He watched the bird disappear off into the distance before turning on his heel and disapparating with a sharp crack! He felt the house wards brush over him the way they always did before he landed at the step of Greengrass Manor.

Glancing at the number of shoes at the doorstep when he walked in, Wayne concluded that his aunt and cousins had come earlier than agreed upon, as they always did. 

He sighed, slipping his shoes off and putting on the house slippers. He greeted his aunt, enduring her hug with a tight smile as her nails dug into his skin.

His cousins snickered behind their hands at his predicament and his smile loosened into something a little more sincere when his aunt let him go, carefully kissing the ring on her hand before stepping away.

Daphne and Astoria both squirmed when he ruffled their hair, ruining their primly done hairstyles and earning whines of disapproval from both as they tried to smooth down the flyaways. “Must you always do this, Wayne?” Daphne said haughtily.

“I do need entertainment, dear cousin, and you and little Astoria provide an ample amount,” Wayne grinned. “Now, if you’ll excuse me briefly.”

He left for his room, falling back on his bed with a soft groan as his joints ached. 

Really, being an adult with a job made him feel so tired and old. It was a wonder Moody didn’t retire yet, he would do that when he was in his mid-thirties and find a more sedate job like being a professor. 

He did like kids, even if he didn’t want any of his own and Tonks did tell him at one point during their time in school that he was good at teaching. Hogwarts wasn’t an option as long as Dumbledore was around but perhaps Beauxbatons? He was fluent in French so it would work out fine. 

Wayne snorted, turning to lay on his stomach. Merlin, he was only twenty-one, why was he even thinking about that? He wasn’t old enough to be stressing over things like that. 

He remembered the letter abruptly, rustling through his robe pocket before rolling on his back again to look at it. The envelope looked distinctly Muggle and there was no family crest on it, only ‘Mr. Greengrass’ written on the back in the same scrawl that Hedwig’s name was written with. 

Why was a kid writing to him?

Wayne opened it carefully, taking the letter out and unfolding it, tossing the envelope to the side carelessly before he began reading it.

‘Dear Mr. Greengrass

You gave me your business card about a month ago and I couldn’t contact you for obvious reasons. This is Harry Potter if you haven’t figured that out.

You mentioned something about vaults and heritage the last time we spoke, although my memory is a little fuzzy. I’ve recently gone to Gringotts and a few things have come to my attention, unrelated to what we spoke about but I find myself curious. 

I would like to meet up, hopefully within the next few days before I go somewhere else, if you wouldn’t mind. Apologies for my late response.

Sincerely, Harry Potter

P.S. Thank you for taking me to Madam Pomfrey after I collapsed. Healer Tonks told me.

Wayne read the paper a few more times before a large grin grew on his face. 

This. This was what he wanted. 

Potter had contacted him after Wayne had initiated first contact and caught the boy’s attention. All he had to do was earn Potter’s trust and ally their family with him, earring protection politically and from the Dark Lord’s inevitable rise. He could further earn Potter’s trust by informing him that his owl was being tracked and possibly under notice-me charms

Potter had been caught in his bait and now the plan was in progress. Hook, line, and sinker, as the Muggles said it.

The Greengrass family would be on its way to regain its former glory as an Ancient and Noble House if he got his way.

Wayne couldn’t wait.

Bill scratched out a new translation as he looked through the rune combinations for the Egyptian curses he had brought over to work on during his break, his eyes flickering between the runes dictionary beside him and his translation every few seconds to make sure he had done it correctly.

Cursebreaking preparation was tedious but rewarding work and Bill had not worked his way up to being a Master Cursebreaker in only six years without being dedicated to his job. Gringotts didn’t take employees that didn’t work their asses off, after all.

“Bill?”

He hummed in response, his eyes flickering up to acknowledge his brother, barely noticing Percy’s concerned frown. The spell sequence to counter this part of the curse was odd and complicated, he didn’t have time–

“ Bill.”

He frowned, looking up at his brother impatiently. “ Yes , Percy?”

“It’s five in the morning. Have you slept at all?” Percy asked, his eyes knitted together in confusion as he looked between Bill and his work. “And you said you got time off. Why are you working?”

Bill blinked in confusion, casting a quick Tempus charm to make sure Percy wasn’t imagining things. Five? He felt like he’d been working on this for one or two hours maximum, not eight. He hadn’t slept a wink since he got that bloody letter, it seemed. 

He was making Percy the workaholic worried. That was a new low.

Bill rubbed his eyes with a sigh, suddenly feeling the strain of staying awake now that Percy had pointed out that he had been awake all night. “Sorry, Perce. Just got caught up in my work I guess,” he apologized with a half-hearted smile. “Egyptian curses are just that interesting.”

Percy made a face, his mouth thinning into a tight line as he frowned at Bill. “... Would you like tea? It helps me sleep,” he offered quietly, clearly not believing Bill’s words but not commenting. It was one of the many things Bill loved about his little brother, he knew when to press and when not to, even if he wasn’t the kindest person on a regular basis. 

Sometimes Bill wondered why his brother hadn’t been Sorted into Slytherin or Ravenclaw but then again, he wondered the same about the twins and Ginny. Sometimes even Ron. But their whole family was Gryffindor and the pressure to conform to their family’s expectations grew with each child Sorted into the house of brave.

“Sure. Thanks, Percy.”

As his brother disappeared into the kitchen, Bill rolled up his translations and packed away his things before his eyes fell on the official letter from Gringotts, all with the fancy wax seal and loopy penmanship.

He stared at it for a long time, laying it on the table before he rested his face against the cool material for a few minutes, listening to the sound of Percy moving around the kitchen and the soft whistling of the kettle as it boiled the water for the tea.

It wasn’t even bad news, Bill wasn’t really sure why he was reacting like this. But it had shaken him and stopped him from processing it. He couldn’t even talk about it with anyone because of his NDA with Gringotts. 

Percy appeared a few minutes later, his hair sticking out in all directions like it always did after he woke up. He placed Bill’s tea in front of him, glancing at the letter briefly but didn’t question it.

The eldest Weasley smiled slightly as he sipped his tea, fondness growing in his chest when he realized Percy still remembered his tea preferences after all these years. He wished his younger siblings would appreciate the smaller things Percy did rather than just taking everything at a face value. 

Percy and the twins had always clashed, one being a stickler for rules and the other two disregarding them completely. They never bothered to appreciate the tiny things he did like remembering the way they liked their tea or speaking up for the younger ones when he noticed they couldn’t. And because of that, they pushed Percy away.

Ron adopted a similar outlook on Percy even if the two of them probably should’ve gotten along best. He didn’t bother to get to know Percy and tended to get annoyed with him easily the way the twins did. 

Ginny and Percy were different though. Ginny was the youngest, the only girl. She was fierce and protective of Percy in an endearing sort of way that reminded Bill of Charlie and Percy reciprocated with fond smiles and hair ruffles– more than he gave anyone else. 

“Are things okay at work?” Percy asked hesitantly, pulling Bill’s brain back to the present.

“Yeah,” Bill groaned softly, scrubbing his face at the thought of the letter. “Percy, do you know what the average amount a Ministry worker makes per hour?”

His brother blinked at the odd question before his eyebrows knitted together in concentration. “... I believe it’s about eleven galleons and five sickles per hour. Why?”

“Because I just got offered a job that pays thirty-five galleons per hour on top of the thirteen I make with Gringotts.”

Percy’s eyebrows shot up, his jaw-dropping in disbelief as he gaped at Bill. His gaze fell on the letter a few seconds later, staring at it blankly before he flushed and collected himself. “Er– sorry. That’s– that’s a lot . What are you allowed to tell me about the job?”

Bill sighed, sipping his tea in thought. He definitely couldn’t say much, especially because it would lose him his job, and telling his brother that he would be paid that much to teach Harry Potter Occlumency would definitely do that. “Not much. Gringotts contract and all, remember? It’s not really dangerous if that’s what you’re worried about, Perce.”

He pursed his lips, looking slightly put off but not too annoyed. “...I think you should take it, if you want. It’s good money and it doesn’t put you at risk… it’s a good opportunity.”

“I know,” Bill huffed, a small smile tugging at his lips. Percy didn’t like Bill or Charlie’s jobs for different reasons than Mum but he tried to be polite, mainly because he saw how much they had worked towards it. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around it, that’s all.”

“Trying to wrap your head around what, Billiam? Has your big brain finally failed you?”

He rolled his eyes fondly when Charlie sat down next to him and swiped his cup of tea, gagging a little when he noticed how little sugar was in it. “Good morning to you too, Charles.”

“Don’t call me that,” Charlie grunted. “Why are you to even awake at this ungodly hour? It’s five. ”

“He didn’t go to sleep,” Percy piped up.

Charlie raised an eyebrow before he caught sight of the Gringotts letter and rolled his eyes. “Really, Bill, you’re one of their best employees. Stop stressing so much,” he sighed. “Besides, you’re on vacation. The World Cup is in a few days, so be a little more lively.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t nag, brother, it’s not like you,” Bill snorted, tucking his letter away without reading it again. “I’m gonna get a little sleep, wake me up in a few hours. And don’t set the twins on me again.”

Charlie grinned, looking rather proud of himself as he waved Bill off. Bastard.

Bill went off to the room he and Charlie shared, dumping his work bag next to his bed and falling back on it with a sigh.

He was going to teach Harry Potter Occlumency. He was going to teach his baby brother’s best friend, the Chosen One, a Mind Art that most people considered Dark. 

Why was Harry even trying to learn that? And why Bill? England wasn’t even his home branch, why would Gringotts ask a Cursebreaker from Egypt to come to teach a kid Occlumency in England? Had Harry asked for him? Did Ron even mention him to the kid?

There was a heavy feeling of dread in his chest as he stared up at the ceiling, a feeling he usually associated with looming disaster. It was the reason why he was so hesitant to accept it because why was he getting this feeling when he thought about teaching a fourteen-year-old Occlumency?

For Merlin’s sake, he hadn’t even met Harry Potter yet and the kid was already causing him stress. As if the bloody letter wasn’t ominous enough on its own.

Bill wondered what he would be getting himself into as he got up to pen his acceptance letter. 

With a groan, Bill closed his eyes and resolved not to think about it after this. He was on vacation and he was going to make the most of it without worrying about Chosen Ones, goblins, or Occlumency, thank you very much.

Chapter Text

“What do you mean Harry woke up two weeks ago and left a week ago?” Ron asked the wizard in front of him incredulously. “Why didn’t anyone tell us?”

“Mr. Potter asked for our discretion unless someone came asking for him and seeing as he had no magical guardian listed we saw no reason to dispute his request,” the healer stated dryly, giving the fourteen-year-old an unimpressed look. “He signed his discharge papers and took off.”

Ron’s eyebrows knitted into a frown, his eyes flickering over to his slightly frazzled looking best friend. Hermione didn’t look any happier than he did with the newest development.

Why would Harry take off without telling them? Surely he knew they were worried about him. It wasn’t like him at all.

“D-Do you know if he went back to his Muggle relatives?” Hermione asked hesitantly and the healer's eyes fell on her, raising an eyebrow as she held his gaze. 

“He told Healer Tonks he would,” the man said simply. “There is nothing more I can tell you now so run along. Mr. Potter is no longer residing within St. Mungos.”

Ron briefly considered throwing a tripping hex at the man for being so unhelpful but banished the thought in favor of turning to Hermione. He blew a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “So Harry’s either at the Dursleys or somewhere we don’t know. What do we do? Why didn’t he write to us? Or even Sirius– Merlin, Sirius is going to be so upset!”

“I know,” Hermione sighed, frowning as her eyes flickered around like she expected Harry to pop up next to them. “It’s not like him. Why wouldn’t he want us to know he was up and okay? It’s like he’s avoiding us and that’s– Harry always tells us what’s going on. He’s been acting weird for a lot of third year with the zoning out thing but… something feels wrong about this.”

She didn’t seem to be able to collect her thoughts enough to put them into words but Ron got the gist of what she was trying to say, mainly because it aligned with his own feelings.

Harry had been odd throughout most of third year, his eyes flickering to that odd silvery color and his gaze becoming vacant for a split second before he jerked back to reality, looking confused and vaguely concerned. 

Ron had never commented on it and neither had Hermione but when it had happened during the confrontation with Sirius, they had jumped in front of him and tried to distract the man from his vulnerable state. But with everything that was happening and Harry taking off without telling them… 

Ron was sure he wasn’t alone in his desire to interrogate Harry and find out what was going on.

“Let’s go,” he said, tugging her sleeve and leading them out the building. “We gotta go back to the Burrow and then we’ll write to Harry. Charlie’s waiting for us.”

“Right. You’re right,” Hermione breathed, collecting herself and following him with a determined expression on her face that brought a small smile to his lips

Charlie looked bewildered when they came out. “Done already? That was quick.”

“Harry’s not here. The Healer said he left a week ago,” Ron explained and his brother’s eyebrow shot up in slight surprise before he nodded, placing hand on both of their shoulders and waiting for their nod of agreement before side-apparating them just outside the Burrow’s wards. 

Both of them froze in their tracks when they caught sight of a very familiar snowy owl perched on the window sill. 

“Hedwig!” Ron cried happily, running over to the owl and petting her head in greeting. She hooted happily, nipping his finger gently before holding her leg out for him to untie the letter. “Is it from Harry?” Hedwig gave another hoot of agreement, her yellow eyes watching Ron without blinking. “Thanks, girl. Can you wait for a response? Errol’s out for the day.”

Hedwig hooted again and flew out of the window, landing on the branch of a tree and waiting patiently. 

Hermione came to look over his shoulder as he opened the letter. 

Dear Ron (And Hermione, if she’s there),

Sorry, I didn’t contact you guys earlier, things have been pretty hectic lately. I wanted to be alone for a little while and asked Healer Tonks not to mention that I was awake. 

Apparently, they couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me and I had a bunch of old injuries that healed wrong so they did a healing ritual. It was really weird but definitely better than Muggle doctors– I heard if you break a bone and it heals wrong they have to rebreak it to fix it properly. That sounds horrifying. 

I’ve been thinking about switching out Divination for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, so I’ve been studying a lot this past week, in case I have to do a placement test. Do you think McGonagall would let me? Divination is total hogwash and Ancient Runes is really interesting. Arithmancy is kinda like Muggle math and I’m good at that. I might consider Magical Theory too but only as an independent study. Does Hogwarts offer those? Also, do you have your third-year Runes notes Hermione?

Ron was momentarily surprised by the news, since Harry had never looked particularly interested in either of those subjects but brushed it off. As long as they all took Care of Magical Creatures together, he didn’t really mind if Harry and Hermione took something besides Divination. He did only take it because it was easy after all.

I went to Diagon Alley too, to do some things. I probably should’ve gotten my school stuff. Did you guys get your Hogwarts letters yet?

Anyways, I’ve been at the Dursleys for the past week and they’ve been as fun as always. How have you guys been doing? I heard the Quidditch World Cup was happening this summer, Healer Tonks talked about it a lot.

Sincerely, Harry

P.S. Is Sirius upset with me? Does he know I’m awake? I’m writing him after this but it sounds like he’s being swarmed with problems because people don’t want him to take me in.

The letter was rambly in the same way that Harry tended to be when he was avoiding talking about something but it told them enough. It told them that he was safe, what he was doing, and why he hadn’t contacted them beforehand, even if his reasoning was vague.

“He’s not telling us something,” Hermione said immediately and Ron nodded absently, reading the letter over a few times before handing it to her. “We should write one back. Do you think your dad or brothers can pick him up from there soon?”

“I think Dad would be able to. And he’s still got three tickets for the Quidditch Cup, we could take Harry,” Ron responded, walking over and grabbing an empty piece of parchment from Ginny’s pile at the kitchen table, ignoring the annoyed protest from her. “Ginny, could you ask Dad if we can take Harry To the World Cup in two days?”

His sister gave him an odd look. “Ron, Harry’s at St. Mungos, you told me so yourself.”

“Not anymore,” Hermione sighed. “He got discharged a week ago.”

“Really? Is he okay?”  Ginny frowned in concern, her eyes flickering over to the letter Harry had sent.

“I think so. They wouldn’t have let him leave otherwise but I haven’t seen him yet. Now, could you ask Dad? I don’t want him to stay with those bloody Muggle relatives of his any longer,” Ron grumbled, ignoring the curious look his sister gave him before nodding and going to find their dad in the shed.

He let Hermione pen the letter, since her writing was neater than his and she seemed to have a lot more to say to Harry than he did. Ron preferred talking face to face– plus, Harry was easier to talk to that way anyways, he didn’t lie very well.

Ginny came in with Dad’s agreement and Hermione wrote down that they would be picking him up in two days’ time.

Hedwig hooted softly as Hermione tied the letter to her leg, preening the girl’s hair and earning a laugh from her that made Ron grin before taking off. 

“Want to play chess?” he asked her half-heartedly, a little surprised when she nodded. She never enjoyed playing wizard games the way he and Harry did so it was rare that she actually joined them for a game. 

“It’s weird, y’know,” she mumbled as he set up the board. Ron raised an eyebrow.  “Harry doing all these things now. He’s never really been interested in school after first year because all the appeal of a new magical world was starting to wear off. It’s weird that he’s suddenly decided to change his electives when taking Divination would let him skive off of work.”

“I know. But Harry agrees with your whole opinion on Trelawney being a fraud so maybe he decided he’d rather take something else. Besides, he did say he found Runes interesting when he actually looked at it,” Ron explained with a shrug. “We both picked our electives on a whim, it’s not all that weird to want to change them.”

“You don’t sound all that concerned,” Hermione frowned, her tone accusing.

“Of course, I am. But I’m not going to obsess over every little thing he does because he doesn’t want to tell us something , ‘Mione,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure how to put it into words. 

If something was really wrong, Ron trusted Harry to tell them. Pushing wouldn’t help and that’s exactly what Hermione was doing. She had done it with the Firebolt last year and Harry had pushed her away– Well, both of them did because Ron had been angry for Harry’s sake. She had good intentions but sometimes she went… a little overboard. Ron admired her tenacity but sometimes it was too much.

“I’m not obsessing! I’m just worried,” Hermione defended, placing one of her pawn pieces down a little violently, forgetting that this wasn't Muggle chess in her ire. “We haven’t said anything about what was going on last year and I’m sure it has to do with this!”

“Hermione, let the bloke breathe,” Ron said a little harshly. “Harry and I both knew something was up with you and the time turner last year but we let you keep your secrets until you wanted to tell us. Just let Harry do the same.”

Her mouth slammed closed and he grimaced at the look on her face, guilt churning in his gut before shaking his head. He had told her the truth, he hadn’t said anything wrong right now even if he tended to put his foot in his mouth a lot.

The game went on for ten tense minutes before Ron beat her, neither of them talking much besides commanding their pieces. She left as soon as it was over, mumbling something about a new book she wanted to read and disappeared up the stairs.

Ron stared after her, groaning softly before leaning his back against the couch and staring at the ceiling..

Maybe he shouldn’t have said it like that.

“What can I get you, sir?”

Harry’s head shot up to look at the Muggle server, blinking a few times to process what she said before shaking his head. “Er– Sorry, I’m waiting for someone, I think I’ll wait to order.”

“That’s no problem. Can I get you a drink or anything while you wait?” she smiled and Harry’s eyes drifted to her name tag. Arwen.

“Water, if you don’t mind,” He said unsurely and she nodded, leaving him to lean back in his seat tiredly. 

Why had Greengrass asked to meet up in a muggle cafe? Most purebloods hated or detested having anything to do with them, it didn’t make sense for him to ask to meet here.

“Did I keep you waiting too long?”

Harry tensed a little, his hand flying to his wand before sighing when he saw the cheeky smile on Greengrass’s face. “What are you, five? Don’t sneak up on me or I’ll hex you,” he grumbled.

“Right, right,” the man smirked, knowing full well Harry couldn’t do magic in the summer. He shrugged his coat off, placing it on the seat across from Harry and sliding in. Harry was a little surprised to find that he didn’t look eccentric or out of place like most wizards tended to be when they tried to dress in the Muggle fashion. He simply looked like a businessman. “Checking me out already, Potter? We haven’t even gotten the date started.”

Harry grimaced in disgust and wondered if it was too late to just leave. The man was starting to get on his nerves and he wasn’t even here for more than a minute. “That’s revolting, Greengrass. I’m fourteen. Are you always this irritating out of uniform?”

“Take it as retribution for giving me a heart attack when you passed out,” Greengrass hummed, picking up the menu and looking through the options. “Muggles really do eat the strangest things, don’t they?”

“Wizards aren’t much better. Chocolate Frogs are a little disturbing to eat. Food shouldn’t move ,” Harry pointed out, flipping the menu open as well. 

“I suppose. But Muggles eat real frogs, as well as snails. At least Chocolate Frogs are chocolate ,” Greengrass argued, looking vaguely amused. “Have you ever tried lasagna? I find it to be my favorite Muggle food.”

“It’s good, I guess,” Harry blinked at the odd subject change before sighing. He knew he was the one that had set up the meeting but he wanted answers to his questions. No one at Gringotts bothered to explain anything to him and Harry was a little too unnerved to ask so Greengrass was the one he had turned to for information. 

The server, Arwen, came back with Harry’s water, offering him a small smile that he returned before turning to the Auror. “Are you ready to order? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yes, please,” Greengrass said politely. “I’d like a serving of your English crumpets and… a black tea, if you don’t mind.”

Arwen scribbled the order down on her notepad before turning to Harry. “And you, sir?”

“Drop scones and a coffee with two creams and two sugars, please.”

“We’ll get that right to you. It’ll be ready in about ten minutes,” she smiled before walking off again.

“Coffee, huh?” Greengrass said, eyeing the dark bag under Harry's eyes with a raised eyebrow. “You look like you need it.”

“I’m going to ignore that,” Harry grumbled. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t get enough sleep. He didn’t ask for his future consciousness to be stuffed into his fourteen-year-old brain. “Now can we get down to business?”

“Of course,” the man agreed amicably, waving his wand and casting a nonverbal privacy spell. “You wanted to know about your heritage and vaults. Anything specific you wanted to ask?”

“Why did you call me Heir Potter? I’ve never heard anyone say that before,” Harry frowned. Even in the future he had seen, no one had ever called him anything like that.

“It’s a polite manner of addressing the heir of a prestigious family like your own. Since you're still underage, I can’t address you as Lord Potter unless you are emancipated from your guardians, Muggle or magical.”

The teen’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Prestigious family?”

Greengrass’s face grew more serious, the corners of his mouth turning downwards. “... You truly don’t know anything about your family or yourself, do you?”

“We’ve already established that,” Harry huffed impatiently. “You told me to go to Gringotts but I wasn’t informed of anything beyond the fact that I had an account manager.”

“Right,” the man hummed, drumming his fingers against the table. “The Potters are a known politically neutral family, although with Dumbledore acting as proxy to your Wizengamot seats, you’re seen leaning more to the Light.” Harry opened his mouth but Greengrass waved him off quickly. “Don’t ask yet, I’ll explain the Wizengamot on a later date. It’s more complicated. The Potters are a Most Ancient and Most Noble house, below only the Blacks in terms of political power and riches. Your family is even stronger than the Malfoys, although I’m not entirely sure how that is possible, since the Potters appeared much later in history and the Malfoys are only a Most Ancient and Noble house.”

Harry opened his mouth to refute the statement and tell the man the Potters came from the Peverelle line so they were much older but quickly closed it. He wasn’t supposed to know that, especially when he barely knew any of the basic information about the Potter family.

Greengrass gave him an evaluating look before continuing, almost as if he knew Harry wasn’t telling him something. “I’m not all that knowledgeable since I don’t have access to the family’s recorded history. Now, moving on to your money. I’m not sure where you got the idea that you have one measly vault but it’s likely that is only your trust vault. There has to be at least three other vaults you can’t access, the main Potter vault where all the money in your trust vault comes from, the vault the holds the family history books, family magic grimoires, heirlooms, and other the things, and finally your parent’s personal vaults, which are yours to inherit once you are of age because they passed away. I don’t know what’s in there. Not to mention the fact that you’ve probably been gifted thousands of galleons and other valuables after your defeat of the Dark Lord as an infant. Still following me?”

Harry nodded absently, his mind whirring with the information he was given. “Why wasn’t I told any of this? I mean, I’ve gone to Gringotts at least six times in the past three years and don’t wizards get like… bank statements? I know Muggles have something like that.”

“You’re asking the right questions, Potter,” Greengrass said, giving Harry a sly smile. “My current belief is that someone has placed some kind of mail ward on you. I don’t think it was necessarily malicious since there are hundreds of people that would like to talk to you or harm you but having one placed on you without your knowledge isn’t right. Your owl, Hedwig, also has tracking charms on her. Any idea who did that?”

Harry did, in fact, have an idea of who could’ve done it but kept his mouth shut, shaking his head. “How does this…?”

“Relate to the ‘Gringotts not contacting you’ problem? Well, whoever placed the mail ward must not have keyed Gringotts into them, meaning all of the bank missives were redirected elsewhere. The goblins must have thought you were ignoring their letters so they didn’t bother informing you during your visits,” Greengrass explained. 

“Oh,” Harry grimaced. “They must not like me very much.”

“You are, unfortunately, most likely to be correct in that regard. Goblins aren’t very fond of wizards in general, as you must already know,” the man sighed, leaning his head on his fist. “As I was saying, since you are still a minor, with no magical guardian from what I hear, you don’t have access to any vault besides your trust vault. But with Sirius Black attempting to get custody of you, he could be given access to all of them and you could get into them with his permission, but only if you have your Heir ring.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked curiously.

“Every family above the Noble status, which includes Ancient and Noble, Most Ancient and Noble, and Most Ancient and Most Noble, has two family rings in Gringotts that are inherited at the ages of eleven and seventeen by the Heir and Lord. The Lord ring, which is a golden ring with the family insignia on it, and the Heir ring, which is a thin silver band with the insignia on it as well. My cousin, Daphne, has one. She’s a Slytherin in your year.”

Harry nodded, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “I know her. But… aren’t Heirs supposed to be the firstborn male?”

“No,” Greengrass sighed. “That is a purely Muggle concept. The Greengrass family is run by matriarchy, meaning the oldest daughter takes up the mantle of the Lady and when a female in the Heiress’s close family marries, the male marrying into the family takes on the Greengrass name. Most families are run by patriarchy like your own but others, like the Longbottoms, Bones, and Fawleys, are run by neither. The Heir is simply the firstborn child, whether they are male or female.”

“That’s sort of cool,” Harry admitted. 

The wizarding world always seemed so far behind the Muggle one in terms of fashion and other things. No one used quills and parchment in the Muggle world and Harry had found it so odd, writing with a feather. It seemed that their ideals were much more advanced than the Muggle world though.

Uncle Vernon always liked to ramble about how men were more powerful than women and that they shouldn’t be in positions of power. Aunt Petunia always went on about how women needed to stay in the house but Harry always found their opinions baffling, especially after he learned to take their words for a grain of salt. 

He couldn’t imagine someone like Hermione being happy as a housewife of all things. He personally thought it would be a waste since she could be anything if she put her mind to it. 

“But what’s the point of the Heir ring?”

Greengrass gave him a wry smile. “Power. People recognize you as the Heir to a powerful family and that gives you a stronger political standing because people want to appease to you. The Heir ring will kill anyone who attempts to wear that isn’t the rightful Heir– not that you have much to worry about, as the last Potter. Most people forget that your family is the strongest neutral power because of your position as the Boy-Who-Lived. Those two things paired up together can make you one of the most influential people in Wizarding Britain.”

The man’s eyes glinted, not with greed as Harry might have expected, but glee that was almost uncharacteristic for him in the short time Harry had known him. He seemed almost happy to teach Harry all these things but if Harry had learned anything from his conversations with Slytherins, they always wanted something in exchange for their services.

Greengrass looked away a second later, smiling politely as Arwen approached with two plates of food and discretely took down the privacy charm, thanking the server and casting the spell again as she walked away. 

Harry took the coffee he had ordered gratefully, mulling over what he had learned. It felt almost earth-shattering to learn how little he truly knew about the world he had lived in once before. 

Why did Dumbledore feel the need to hide Harry’s heritage from him? Surely, he knew about it. Did he think it would somehow make him arrogant or more reluctant to sacrifice himself in the end? Did he not want Harry to have the power to oppose him? Or was it for a real reason, like the one behind his insistence that Harry stays behind the blood protection of Privet Drive? Was it for the same reason he placed those compulsions on Harry and laced his meals with potions?

“You’re taking this rather well,” Greengrass commented mildly, pouring syrup over his crumpets. “I would be livid if someone kept this all from me and forced me to ask a complete stranger.”

“That requires energy I don’t have and I don’t particularly want to throw a fit in front of a complete stranger,” Harry sighed, regretting ordering any food as he looked at the towering pile of drop scones in front of him. “Why did you agree to this, Greengrass?”

The man eyed him curiously as he ate, his jaw working as he evaluated Harry. His mouth curled into a smirk as he sipped his tea. “... You’re smart, Potter. Even if you don’t know much. If you were talking to a different man you would’ve been easily taken advantage of, you know. But I don’t want that.”

“What is it that you want then, Greengrass?” the teen asked warily.

“I want an alliance. I want political protection and power. I want protection from the Dark Lord and his allies when they come back to power. And you’re the only neutral power that can offer my family this.”

Harry jolted in his seat, staring at the man with wide eyes. “... You think Voldemort is going to come back?”

Greengrass grimaced a little at the name and raised an eyebrow. “You are truly a fool if you believe him to be fully gone, Potter.”

“I never said I did. I was asking you since most people refuse to believe he’ll come back,” Harry grumbled. Why couldn’t he have met someone like this in his fifth year, when he truly needed it? “Why would you think I could offer you protection from him? I’m fourteen. As a matter of fact, what political protection can I offer you when I know next to nothing about politics in general?”

“You are a fourteen-year-old that terrifies him for an unknown reason. That’s enough for me. And that’s why I’m offering this alliance in the first place. I’m offering you knowledge and information in exchange for this. I’m offering my expertise in things you know nothing about and my backing in everything in exchange for this. In exchange, you help me restore my family to its former power.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “But you’re not the Lor- sorry, Lady or the Heiress of the Greengrass family. Do you even have the right to offer such a thing?”

“I am not either of those but I’m the family regent. I was given the power to act in their stead in times of need.”

“What need?”

Greengrass sighed, scrubbing his face. “You ask a lot of questions.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, annoyed by how much the man was deflecting. “You’re asking me to give you quite a lot, Greengrass. It’s the least you could do.”

“Fine. The Greengrass family is on the verge of falling from grace and losing everything to the Malfoys,” the man admitted, his face twisting a small scowl at the name. “The Lady and Heiress were forced to sign a betrothal contract thirteen years ago during the darkest period of the Dark Lord’s reign. Daphne is going to be forced to marry Draco Malfoy when they both come of age and all the Greengrass assets and Wizengamot seats will become Malfoy’s. I refuse to let that happen.”

Harry’s eyes widened a little. He remembered Malfoy marrying a Greengrass girl after the war. Was it a product of the contract because Greengrass had never come to him for help? Had this all changed because Harry had saved Sirius and got him a fair trial with Madam Bones?

“...How would an alliance between us help?”

“Lady Greengrass added an invisible clause in the fine print of the contract when Lucius Malfoy signed it. A loophole. She stated that if we choose to ally ourselves with a house or individual more powerful than the Malfoys then the contract becomes void. Malfoy found out about it and turned everyone against us and now everyone refuses to ally themselves with us, both Light and Dark,” Greengrass explained, suddenly looking more tired than ever. 

“So I’m your last hope?”

Greengrass bristled and Harry wondered what he had said wrong, staring at the man in confusion when he narrowed his eyes at him. Greengrass clicked his tongue in slight irritation. “Definitely a bloody Gryffindor. Again, if I was someone else, I would’ve exploited your naivety.  Learn to hold your tongue, Potter.”

“I could exploit your weakness too. You’ve made it obvious I’m your last hope, so I could use that against you to get anything I want. I’m not stupid,” Harry defended and Greengrass stared at him for a second before he chuckled, breaking the tension Harry hadn’t even noticed.

“So what’s your call, Potter? Are we in for the alliance?”

“I can’t promise you much right now. There’s a lot going on right now for me and I have… a feeling this year is going to be complicated for me,” Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I’ll have your back on this if you have mine when I need it.”

Greengrass was smart and an Auror. He would be a useful ally for Harry to have, especially if Harry needed outside help. He might have his own agenda for asking Harry this but then again, so did Harry. 

The man was no doubt a Slytherin with connections, if Harry could use him to pull some strings for him through this alliance, it would make everything he was trying to accomplish much easier. 

Greengrass brightened as Harry reached his hand across the table for a handshake. He stared at it for a few seconds before a small smile spread across his face and he gripped Harry’s hand in a firm handshake. “Deal, Potter.”

Harry twitched a little when he felt magic rush through his hand and arm before settling warmly in his chest, blinking at the Auror across him in confusion. “What was that?”

“Wizard’s alliance,” Greengrass laughed, looking far less tense than he had throughout the entire time they had been there. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing that’ll hurt you if we break the alliance. It’s not an unbreakable vow but just a simple vow of choice, like a friendship.”

“Oh. I didn’t know things like that existed,” Harry said in amazement, staring at their joined hands for a few seconds before remembering himself and jerking away, coughing awkwardly.

Greengrass snorted, hiding his face with his hand as his shoulders shook with laughter.

“That’s not funny!” Harry protested, flushing in embarrassment. “Seriously, shut up, Greengrass.”

“Sorry, sorry,” the man snickered. “I forgot you were a little fourteen-year-old kid for a second.”

The teen huffed, stuffing a full scone in his mouth to avoid talking any further. Thankfully, Greengrass decided they had talked enough and began to eat as well, making small talk as they ate.

“Potter,” the man piped up suddenly, swallowing a bite of food down. “Why did you collapse the last time we met?”

“I don’t know. The healers couldn’t figure it out so they did a healing ritual and I got a purging ritual done at Gringotts. I’m fine now but it wasn’t any curse or potion we were aware of,” Harry shrugged. It was partially true. He didn't know why he collapsed, just that it happened and he’d spent a month living his future and then being thrown back to the beginning of his fourth year.

Greengrass gave him another unnerving look like he didn’t believe Harry before he shrugged. “Alright, I’m glad you’re okay. Your friends and the headmaster were rather worried about your safety.”

Harry relaxed a little, a soft smile growing on his face at the thought of his friends. He had missed them in the short time he hadn’t seen them, unused to not having Ron or Hermione at an arm's length after spending months together in that tent. “I know.”

“By the way, Potter, you do know that there are potions to correct eyesight?” Greengrass asked, waving his fork around as he spoke. “You’re a good-looking lad, just get rid of them and get a new wardrobe.”

Harry did not know that but he didn’t want to give the man the pleasure of knowing that. “You said that all as if you’re a fashion icon,” he stated drily, rolling his eyes. 

“My mum runs Twilfitt and Tattings,” the man deadpanned, snorting when Harry blinked in surprise. “Exactly, kid. I am a fashion icon.”

Harry rolled his eyes, a grin pulling at his lips.

He supposed he’d found an unexpected friend in Wayne Greengrass.

“Truth," said a traveller,

“Is a rock, a mighty fortress;

“Often have I been to it,

“Even to its highest tower,

“From whence the world looks black.”

“Truth," said a traveller,

“Is a breath, a wind,

“A shadow, a phantom;

“Long have I pursued it,

“But never have I touched

“The hem of its garment.”

And I believed the second traveller;

For truth was to me

A breath, a wind,

A shadow, a phantom,

And never had I touched

The hem of its garment.

- Stephen Crane

Chapter Text

Remus Lupin woke up the day after the full moon with a familiar feeling of wrongness buzzing under his skin. Nothing unusual, of course, he was a werewolf and turned into a raging monster once a month without fail. 

His body ached something terrible as he lay curled up in his bed, heaviness weighing down his limbs and making it feel impossible to move. He felt a coldness that went down into his bones and made his joints creaky and weak despite the thick blanket and warming charms placed on his bed. 

He supposed it could be worse though. The nights spent on his own for the twelve years before this had always left him shivering in the little shack he could barely afford with no hopes of having a proper warm bed to return to when he had to scrape up every galleon he could get his hands just to put food in his stomach and a roof over his head. 

Having Sirius around had helped as well, easing the aching loneliness that had consumed him for over a decade. 

He was grateful for the sanctuary Sirius had offered after Snape had announced his condition to the whole world, despite knowing it would most likely happen. It wasn’t really anything new, he had faced prejudice for his condition his entire life.

It was well into the day when he finally got up, standing on shaking legs as he limped over to the bathroom. He couldn’t really stand long enough to take a shower so he prepared a bath instead, sitting on the cold tiles and shivering as he waited for the tub to fill with warm water.

Sirius would probably call it scalding even if he took showers at the same temperature. His friend wasn’t a fan of the cold either– for a vastly different reason, of course. Dementors didn’t spare mercy for the most innocent of their victims.

Remus peeled his clothes off when the tub was filled, grimacing at the dried blood covering his body and the way that his bruises and injuries stretched. He settled in with a soft groan, basking in the way his body finally began to feel warm again.

His mind wandered as he sat in the water listlessly, watching his pale skin begin to redden from the heat as steam rose and condensed on the walls around him.

The World Cup was in two days, as Nymphadora, or Dora as she insisted he call her the first time they met, refused to allow them to forget. She was insistent on Sirius taking a break from all the work he was putting into getting custody of Harry and appalled that Remus had never gone to an official game before.

Neither of them was particularly inclined to go because Sirius was too worried about everything and Remus didn’t like loud places. It wasn’t like he could afford it either way. Sirius had already given him so much by just letting him stay here, the least Remus could do was stick by his side. 

Harry’s condition didn’t make him any more enthusiastic about the Cup. 

Seeing him so pale and quiet beyond soft moans of pain had made Remus’s chest ache something terrible, helpless to do anything for the son of his old best friend. Sirius hadn’t liked it any more than he had if the decreasing amount of visits since Harry was admitted into St. Mungos was anything to go by. 

The elation they felt when Sirius was finally dismissed of all charges was dimmed by the niggling worry that Harry might never wake up and that no one had figured out how to help besides pain relief potions and sedatives.

Remus blinked out of his daze, deciding he had been in there long enough since the water was beginning to cool. He scrubbed his skin raw, careful not to irritate the scratches and bruises all over his body, and cleaned his hair before he climbed out, shivering a little as the cool air hit him.

He was quick to dry off and change into warmer clothing than what he had fallen asleep in.

His bed was a mess of blood and grime that Remus cleaned with an exhausted flick of his wand before leaving the room.

It was quiet, which probably meant Sirius was out on his business again.

Remus settled in the little library they built in the month they had been living here. It was mainly just custody law books Sirius bought for his research and a few other books the man had insisted Remus buy when he caught him looking at them in Flourish and Blotts and Obscurus Books.

The Wonders of Alchemy: Transmutation by Alannis Ancrum was the book that currently held his interest, especially after Harry had absently mentioned the Philosopher's stone when he had spoken to Remus briefly about his first year during one of their many private lessons. 

While he wasn’t interested in the immortality part of the stone’s abilities, he found the fact that it could change any metal into gold fascinating. The process sounded simple in theory since magic could quite literally change anything into something else but that was just simple Transfiguration. It would wear off eventually the same way leprechaun gold disappeared since Transfiguration was simply just changing the outer appearance of something. You weren’t changing the very core of the object being transfigured. 

That’s why a desk transfigured into a pig could never really be a pig. It was just pretending to do so on the caster’s intent. 

What the Philosopher's stone did was something much more impressive and complicated.

Before the Flamels invented the stone, Transmutation, the art of changing the core of an object’s being, was one of the main interests people had in Alchemy. Once Nicolas Flamel had achieved that by creating the stone and giving it the ability to transmute any metal into real gold or silver, the interest had been lost and Alchemy became a topic no one wanted much to do with.

Remus and James had both been rather taken by the topic of Transmutation in their sixth and seventh years when they heard about the Alchemy class but were sorely disappointed when no one besides them wanted to study it so the elective wasn’t offered.

No book on Alchemy ever truly made sense or agreed with each other because it was such a broad topic filled with theories and experiments dating back to the early 900s. 

While Transmutation had been achieved, Remus was more interested in human Transmutation. Not because he wanted to hurt anyone but because imagining how many unknown illnesses could be cured and… if it could be achieved, wouldn’t he be able to finally get rid of the wolf that terrorized him once a month?

Remus sighed, closing his book a little sharply. Who was he kidding?

Human Transfiguration was already a gray area of magic as it was and some even considered it a type of Dark Art. Human Transmutation would probably become another outlawed and abandoned type of magic as soon as it was achieved.

Remus started a little when something flew into the room, relaxing when he saw it was an owl. A very familiar snowy owl with a very familiar scent on it.

“Hedwig?”

The owl landed on the bookshelf and stared at him with unblinking eyes before giving a soft hoot. She stuck her leg out, holding two letters, one addressed to him and one addressed to Sirius in Harry’s familiar scrawl. 

Remus scrambled to his feet quickly, releasing the owl’s load and staring at the letters. 

How had Harry sent them letters? He was still at St. Mungos the last time Remus had checked and they should’ve contacted Sirius once Harry woke up…

Sirius had specifically asked them to do this, so why was Remus looking at Harry’s familiar writing with the teen’s familiar scent wafting around both Hedwig and the two letters?

With a heavy sigh and a little bit of dread swirling in his gut, he opened the envelope and pulled out the piece of parchment.

‘ Dear Professor Lupin,

Firstly, I’m going to apologize to both you and Sirius. I’m sure my previous state was worrying for everyone and Sirius was already stressing about everything else. I’ll admit I was in a bit of a state after I woke up and asked the healers not to inform anyone they weren’t legally obligated to about the fact, although I’m sure it got out to some people.

It’s been two weeks since then and I was released from St. Mungos a week ago. Healer Tonks said I would be completely fine after finishing the potions diet I was put on. I’m currently staying with my relatives but I’m probably going to be at the Weasleys by the time you get this letter.

I was a little hesitant to write because I didn’t want Sirius to be angry and a few less than pleasant things came to my attention. So I’ll apologize for any grief I caused either of you.

How’re things on your end, Professor? The full moon’s tonight but I hope it isn’t terrible. 

I’ve also recently been gifted a trunk that belonged to my mum and you seemed to have been good friends with her so I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind me asking about a few things.

Sincerely, Harry 

P.S. Is Sirius doing okay? No one seemed to take kindly to him wanting to take me in and I’m worried.

It was short but it eased the worry that had been gnawing at him since he first saw Harry unconscious and in pain back in the hospital wing. The writing was stiff and unsure as if Harry wasn’t sure how to approach him and it stung a little but he supposed he should get used to it. 

He had never bothered to break the line between professionalism and family or tried to forge a bond beyond that of a teacher or a stranger who knew his parents.

Remus knew that Harry liked him but neither of them was family the way Sirius was to Harry and him. As broken as their friendship was after so many years of distrust and hate, they still cared for each other the way they had when they were younger, they still considered each other family.

He wasn’t angry that Harry hadn’t contacted them as soon as he was well, he understood that sometimes people needed space and from the looks of it, Harry had some other things besides waking up from a month-long coma going on. 

Sirius would likely be more upset. Remus hoped Dora didn’t know anything about it or she would have to brace herself for not telling Sirius.

Merlin, was he in for a long week.

He wandered the hallways of the Department of Mysteries alone, his heart beating loudly in his chest. Why was he here?

His legs flew out from under him suddenly and he landed on the floor hard, pain shooting through the shoulder he had landed on. Something cold grabbed his ankle. 

He swallowed a scream as he scrambled back, whirling around to see what had touched him. 

Sightless eyes stared at him accusingly, reaching and grabbing at him like Inferi.

His parents, Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, Fred, Snape, Remus, Tonks, Collin, Lavender….

‘Why didn’t you save us?’

His heart dropped to his stomach, scrambling back further as they came closer and closer.

‘It’s your fault!’

‘If you took the Cup-’

‘If you weren’t useless-’

‘If you were stronger-’

‘IF YOU WEREN’T BORN-’

A blood-curdling scream broke through their screams and his head snapped in its direction, his breath catching in his throat at the sight.

Hermione held her bleeding arm, ‘MUDBLOOD’ carved into it as she had glared at him with tears glistening in her eyes. Accusing him. Despising him. 

‘Why didn’t you listen?! Why did you say his name?! You got us into this mess! You killed Dobby! You’re the reason I don’t have my parents anymore! I should’ve left you behind like Ron did! I WISH YOU WERE DEAD !’

It hurt. It hurt. It hurt so bad he wanted to rip his heart out so he wouldn’t have to feel, wouldn’t have to feel like he was being torn apart.

The world shifted him changed again as tears fell from his eyes, the cracked gravel of the haunting graveyard familiar to him now. 

‘Kill the spare.’

He could do nothing as Cedric fell back, lifeless eyes gazing at the sky as he was dragged away from the corpse of his friend. 

The pain was unbearable as Voldemort came back to life, pressing a finger to his scar and relishing in his screams. 

‘It’s all your fault,” Voldemort grinned, red eyes wide with mirth. ‘If you’d just died like you were supposed to then they’d be alive. You bring nothing but death and misery wherever you go, Harry Potter.’

He shoved Harry back and he fell into a familiar tiny room, his uncle's purple face replacing Voldemort's, sneering at him in disgust through his cupboard door.

‘You should’ve never been born, freak.'

Harry woke up with a scream at his lips, his muscles seized up with terror as his heart beat loudly in his ears and shuddering sobs left his chest. His fingers dug into his arms as he curled into himself, leaving half-moon indents in his skin when he let go.

If there was one thing Harry hated most about his situation, it was the nightmares and guilt that ate away at his sleep and left him trembling in the wake of the damage of events that hadn’t occurred.

Harry had never been a stranger to nightmares but rarely did they ever come so vividly, at least before his newest adventure; time travel. Now his nights were haunted with the images of death and torture, of war and guilt. Of things he had to stop.

The nightmares had only recently begun to lessen in frequency but he supposed that the fact that he would be seeing Fred and George later today, alive and unmarred by the war was what triggered this particular nightmare.

He wondered sometimes if he would be able to do anything at all. He was a fourteen-year-old who could hardly do anything. Why hadn’t someone like Dumbledore or McGonagall been chosen to deal with the mess and prevent the war? They had the resources, the brains, the power. 

They could figure out a practical solution while he was sitting around, sniveling like a child.

A quiet hoot pulled him out of his miserable thoughts and Hedwig fluttered down from her perch, landing on his bed as if sensing his distress.

“Hey girl,” Harry greeted with a wan smile, rubbing the last of his tears away as he stroked her chest feathers. Having her around was probably the best thing that happened to him since he had woken up in a hospital bed two weeks ago.

He had never really been given a chance to mourn her after she had died, swept into the chaos of people dying and George losing his ear. He had never been given a moment of peace until the very end when he was already mourning dozens of other people. 

Seeing her again had hurt and watching her fly off made his heart seize with the terror of losing her again but it had also been one of the few things that reassured him that he was well and truly in the past, before he had lost anyone or truly witnessed any hardship.

His fourth year was the point where everything started to go downhill and Harry refused to watch it all happen again. He wouldn’t let Cedric die before his life began, before Harry had even gotten a chance to know him. He wouldn’t let anyone die or get hurt because of him

Not Sirius, not Fred, not Remus, not Tonks. No one. 

Even if it meant he died in the process.

Pain shot through his hand and Harry winced, looking at Hedwig in bewilderment after she had bitten him. She had a sort of disapproving look in her eyes like she had somehow heard his thoughts and didn’t like them. 

Harry gave her an apologetic look and she settled again, rubbing against his hand as he scratched her head. “I missed you,” he mumbled and the answering hoot she gave felt like something heavy in his chest had been unknotted. 

It was still early in the morning and since he wouldn’t be able to sleep much anyways, Harry cracked open one of the many books he had gotten during his trip to Gringott a week ago.

He had picked up a few Ancient Runes books on a whim during his time in Diagon Alley, after spending so much time in the future listening to Hermione talk about them passionately with Bill, who was just as passionate, and anyone who would listen. The shop attendant had convinced him to get some books on Arithmancy and Magical Theory to go along with it, insisting that the subjects went hand in hand with one another. Which he was glad about because he was apparently a whiz at Arithmancy and Runes was rather interesting. Theory was interesting but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sit in a class and study it for the next four years if he managed to complete his education this time.

He had also gone to Knockturn Alley to visit Obscurus Books and get books on Occlumency, knowing it was considered a Dark branch of Mind Magic and he would be turned away if he requested such things at Flourish and Blotts.

Harry wasn’t content to leave his mind completely unprotected until Bill agreed to tutor him and Harry needed to make sure he could actually trust him. If the man took one look at his mind without Harry’s permission and went to Dumbledore or the Ministry with no regard for his job, Harry would be ruined. No, he needed to be able to at least detect and block passive Legilimency probes.

He had also purchased the earrings Orgnok mentioned from a seedy-looking stand in Knockturn run by a surprisingly nice vampire. He had gleefully haggled with Harry for the price of fifty galleons and chuckled good-naturedly at the threat Harry made of coming back if he had duped him. 

Thankfully, a quick trip back to Gringotts and a rather annoyed looking Orgnok told him the earrings worked just fine and he hadn’t needed to go back to Knockturn. 

One earring was a simple silver stud with microscopic runes etched into it that he could not read and the other was a silver fang with a tiny emerald embedded in the top. 

Bill’s earring looked cool and he had been a little excited to get his ears pierced. Sue him.

The Occlumency books had helped more than Snape ever had, mainly because the man had simply been attacking his mind and telling him to clear his mind with no indication of how to accomplish that. How was he meant to know that clearing your mind meant meditation and trying to learn the sensation of your magic and mind?

Harry partially suspected that the man had simply been ‘following’ Dumbledore’s orders and taking malicious glee in watching Harry stumble and fail. 

As much as he had tentatively respected the man in the future after his death, Harry had his reservations and was not particularly fond of him. He had done so many of the people Harry cared about a disservice and had never really repented for his actions. 

Just a month ago he had outed Lupin to the entire world and tried to get Sirius Kissed despite the proof Harry had presented because of something that happened over a decade ago. Harry owed him nothing for his ‘protection’ and 'guidance'.

Harry spent the rest of the morning flipping through his Occlumency books absently, memories of the future running through his head. 

He had spent the last two weeks coping, preparing, and distracting himself from his situation alone besides people he didn’t know all that well and the Dursleys. 

When the Weasleys arrived, Harry would be forced to see people he watched die. He would be forced to work on things behind the scenes while looking at the ghosts of his future.

He would probably be seeing Sirius and Lupin soon too since he had written them just after Ron and Hermione. His heart clenched at the thought of seeing them, hope and dread clashing because Harry didn't really know if he would be able to keep it together in front of them. If he would be able to look Sirius in the eyes like he hadn’t seen his last moments just two weeks prior, like he had not mourned and cried and screamed over the unfairness of his godfather’s death only to be slapped in the face with the death of his other loved ones.

It was both a blessing and a curse.

(A part of him wished he had never been given this chance at all.)

“Boy!”

Harry grimaced at Aunt Petunia’s sudden call, getting up slowly and heading down the stairs to the kitchen where his stone-faced aunt stood, holding a box with the Slug & Jiggers Apothecary label on it.

Shit. The new potions for his diet that he ordered. He hoped his aunt wouldn’t destroy them. 

She thrust the package in his direction, an unreadable look on her face as she watched him fumble with it. “Take it and get out of my sight. And never use our address to buy any more freakish things, do you understand?” she spat out, looking downright disgusted. 

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

Harry fled quickly, not wanting to stay in the woman’s presence any longer than necessary. Although, that interaction had seemed oddly kind of her. He kinda thought she would break it in front of him because he dared buy magical things and get them sent to their house. Maybe she was scared someone was watching Harry after his coma?

Harry began to pack his things once noon hit, shrinking his trunk with a tap of his wand and stuffing it in his pocket before heading down the stairs to inform his relatives that the Weasleys would be arriving and taking him away in two hours.

The constipated expression on Uncle Vernon’s face and the terrified one on Dudley’s was so worth the concussion he had probably gotten from Aunt Petunia hitting him with her pan. 

He had warned the Weasleys not to use the Floo because as amusing as the last time had been, he didn’t want a repeat of it. His relatives had laid off and left him alone after a few threats about Sirius for the most part and he preferred this neutral ground over their previous relationship.

The Weasleys were either coming by car or Apparition, although Harry preferred the former over the latter because of his previous mishaps with magical transportation. 

Mr. Weasley looked the same as always when he popped into existence on 4 Privet Drive’s driveway with the Weasley twins at his sides, much to Harry’s misfortune, his eyes glinting with interest as he observed his surroundings. 

But it was Fred and George that held Harry’s attention. 

For a brief moment, Harry felt like crying, his eyes stinging with tears he would never allow to fall. His chest ached with longing and he wanted to hug both of them because Fred was alive. Not lying on the ground with lifeless eyes that stared up at Harry accusingly. And George looked happy again, not crying next to a corpse that would never move and begging his other half not to leave him.

The moment passed quickly and Harry came to greet them with a grin, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly when Mr. Weasley scolded Harry for not informing them that he had woken up before. He rolled his eyes fondly when he caught sight of the candies in the twins’ pockets and the disappointed looks on their faces. It seemed that they had been looking forward to pranking Dudley.

“Blimey, did you get your ears pierced?” George asked, interest and awe gleaming in his eyes as he leaned forward to examine them. “You know, you’re gonna be matching Bill with that earring. You’re gonna give Mum an aneurysm.”

“Yeah, good luck with her, mate,” Fred snorted, reaching out to ruffle Harry’s hair in a way that made his heart ache all over again. “Either way, you look good.”

“Sorry Fred, I don’t swing that way,” Harry joked half-heartedly. “You flatter me though.”

Both of them look stunned for a second before George snorted, looking as if Christmas had come early. “Did you hear that, Fred? Our dear Harrykins is growing up, learning to flirt and all. I’m almost proud!”

Fred snickered in agreement, tousling Harry’s hair again and making it stick up messier than usual until he ducked out of the way, futilely attempting to flatten it again.

Mr. Weasley watched them quietly, looked faintly amused and exasperated at the interaction

George sobered up after a few seconds, tilting his head inquisitively as he looked at Harry. “How have you been, Harry? Had us all worried there for a little while.”

“I’m okay,” Harry said softly and something flickered through the older teen’s face before he patted Harry’s head again and turned back to Mr. Weasley.

“Shouldn’t we go now, Dad? Mum and Ron are waiting.”

Fred leaned closer to Harry and whispered conspiratorially, “Ron’s been griping about how he wished you were there all summer, don’t tell him I told you that. Mum didn’t let him come to pick you up as punishment for not doing his summer homework yet.”

Harry smiled a little, the ache in his chest growing at the thought of his best friends. He had missed Ron and Hermione more than anyone else, had missed the constant comfort of the presences pressed against his sides, guarding, fighting, protecting.  

Mr. Weasley Apparated them to the Burrow with a sharp crack! and Harry almost lost his breakfast as a result, grabbing onto George’s arm a little tighter to steady himself.

“Harry!”

Before he could even begin to collect himself, a figure crashed into him, making him stumble back and fall on his back with a groan of pain. He came face to face with Hermione’s relieved and angry face when he finally looked at the person who had tackled him.

Whatever irritation he might have felt melted away and a small grin grew on his face. “I missed you too, ‘Mione.”

“Don’t give me that! I was so worried about you!” Hermione hissed, suddenly looking close to tears. “You were fine one second and then you were in a coma for a whole month!”

“I know, Hermione. But I’m totally fine now. See?” Harry reassured, flexing his arm jokingly and earning a reluctant laugh from his friend.

“Harry! Mate, how are you?” Ron called, appearing in Harry’s line of sight a second later, with familiar fiery red hair and a grin so wide it was practically splitting his face in half. “Hermione, get off him, you’ll crush him.”

Hermione moved with a huff and Harry let Ron pull him to his feet, taking solace in the presence of the redhead. He blinked a little in surprise when he swept into a hug that Hermione joined in on rather quickly.

He was used to hugs and casual contact in the future when they didn’t worry about stupid things like what people thought when there was a war waging around them. But it had not been like that before. Harry had always been a little averse to touch and his friends rarely ever initiated it because of that beyond throwing their arms around each other’s shoulders, nudging each other's shoulder, and hugging on occasions. 

Harry supposed this was one of those occasions and melted into the hug. “I missed you guys,” he mumbled, their presence soothing the ache that had been constant since he had woken up in that hospital bed two weeks ago.

“I missed you,” he repeated, closing his eyes and making a fleeting wish that he could stay here in this little safe bubble of his two best friends for eternity and never worry about death and war and saving the whole world from Voldemort’s tyranny.

“We missed you too,” his friends echoed, arms tightening more around his frame as if he would vanish in a second.

And that was enough for him.

Living life but is hiding,

Waking up but feel like dying,

Wishing you could fly but falling.

Feeling like the world is crashing,

You take one breath in and breathe out slowly.

Stepping in the light you go,

Facing reality very slow.

Watching time flash before your eyes,

You see the truth deep inside.

Your world turns out to be a game of life,

Facing it makes you wanna die.

Feeling reality's pain and pleasure,

Yet so strong but very clever.

Embracing it with all your might,

Trying not to give up the fight.

Taking responsibility for your lies and actions,

Seeing the mistakes you made in fractions.

You take one breath in and breathe out slowly,

You step back out of the light that's holy.

Facing reality is what you struggle to do,

But somehow you made halfway through.

- Unknown

Chapter Text

Cedric rubbed his eyes as he trailed after his dad blearily. 

Waking up this early didn’t seem all that worth it in hindsight. The Cup was cool but he wished they could’ve gotten a Portkey timed for a bit later so they wouldn’t have to be up at an unholy hour of the morning. They’d been walking for nearly two hours now. Cedric wished he was just a few months older so he could get his Apparition license. 

Dad felt the same if the exhausted look on his face was anything to go by.

“Nearly there, Cedric,” Dad huffed. “Arthur’s bringing two others along with his younger kids. Two of them are in your year, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, Fred and George. The twins,” Cedric shrugged with a small grimace. 

The two hadn’t been his biggest fans after the match against Gryffindor the year before. He liked them well enough in small doses but the two could talk him in circles just to drive him insane.

He didn’t know the younger two beyond the fact that the last Weasley male was friends with Harry Potter and the girl was among the many victims of the attacks during his fourth year.

As the ground finally began to level, Cedric let out a breath of relief, rubbing his legs to get rid of the soreness in them.

Arthur Weasley strode over to them with an amicable smile, a cluster of redheads along with two brunettes following after him. “Amos!”

“Long walk, Arthur?” Dad asked, shaking the man’s hand.

“Not too bad,” Mr. Weasley answered. “We live just on the other side of the village there. You?” 

“Had to get up at two, didn’t we, Ced? I tell you, I’ll be glad when he’s got his Apparition test. Still not complaining…Quidditch World Cup, wouldn’t miss it for a sackful of Galleons– and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy,” Dad commented, peering at the cluster at the group of kids watching them behind Mr. Weasley. “All of them yours?”

The man laughed and set off introducing the family to his father, revealing who the other two teens were.

Cedric caught sight of a familiar head of untidy black hair, blinking in surprise before waving half-heartedly at Harry when they made eye contact. The younger boy looked concerningly pale, although Cedric guessed it should’ve been expected. The last he’d heard of Harry was that he was in St. Mungos due to an unknown ailment.

Harry gave him a strained smile that turned into a bit of grimace when Dad realized who he was.

Cedric squirmed awkwardly as his dad boasted about him beating Harry at Quidditch the year before, keenly aware of the scowls on the twins’ faces and the growing ire on Ron’s. He had only mentioned it in passing, too ashamed to really be proud of his win because he knew that he had only won due to Harry falling off his broom from Dementors.

If there was one known fact when it came to Harry Potter at Hogwarts, it was that the teen was unbeatable as Seeker, catching the Snitch in the worst of conditions. Gryffindor had never lost a game while he was playing, external conditions being the only reason they had not won the Quidditch Cup during Harry’s first and second years.

Mr. Weasley had obviously noted the slight tension hanging in the air because he quickly guided the conversation elsewhere. “It’s nearly time, Amos. Are we waiting for any others?”

“No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn’t get tickets,” Dad shook his head before raising an eyebrow. “There aren’t any more of us in this area, are there?” 

“Not that I know of,” Mr. Weasley denied, taking the old mangy boot the Ministry had given them to use as a Portkey and setting it on the ground. “Barely a minute until, we’d better get ready…”

He guided Harry and the Granger girl, Hermione, through using the Portkey as the entire group converged around the old boot with Cedric sandwiched between Ginny and his dad. He awkwardly ignored the flushed look on her face, leaning as far into his dad as he could.

Mr. Weasley counted down the seconds until the Portkey activated, the familiar sensation of something hooking itself to his navel and dragging him forward at startling speed. 

Cedric made sure to move his feet so he wouldn’t be tossed on the ground during the landing, colors swirling around in his peripheral as the wind howled past him. They came to a jarring stop suddenly and Cedric floated down with less grace than either his dad or Mr. Weasley but certainly better than the rest, who had all tumbled to the ground in a pile of gangly limbs and groans of discomfort.

“Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill,” someone said as Cedric looked around. The place looked empty as far as he could see, greenery damp from the morning mist covering the expanse. Did Muggles really camp like this?

The Weasleys went on their way after one of the two wizards standing in the area directed them to where they would be camping. Dad greeted them, earning a disgruntled nod from the man.

“Diggory… you’ll be off to the second field, about half a mile down from here. Ask for Mr. Payne.”

A near forty minutes later they finally reach their destination, catching sight of a Muggle man standing in front of a large fence gate and behind it. Cedric could see the shadows of hundreds of tents rising up the slight slope of the field.

“Hello. Would you be Mr. Payne?” Dad greeted genially.

“That would be me,” the man agreed. 

“We’re the Diggorys, we’ve got a night book here with you?”

“Diggory, yes, of course. You’ll be right by that family with the odd blue tent there,” Mr. Payne said, pointing down to a familiar tent that had Cedric stifling a laugh. He could recognize Xenophilius Lovegood’s oddness from a mile away and the blue tent painted with leprechauns and odd little creatures had his and his daughter’s names all over it.

Dad handed over the Muggle money he had readied beforehand, earning an appreciative nod from the man for whatever reason. 

Mr. Payne waved them on their way with a map of the campsite and they trudged up the hill towards the Lovegoods’ tent, next to which they found a sign with their name on it.

They spent an hour fumbling with the tent before Dad had discretely used his wand to erect it and Cedric collapsed on the couch with a groan. At least he could honestly tell Gabe he actually worked out at least once over the summer.

Dad urged him to catch a few hours of sleep so he wouldn’t be exhausted during the night when the games finally began but Cedric really only managed short little naps, too excited to really fall asleep.

Anticipation and excitement were hanging in the air as the morning slipped into the afternoon and by the time the sky had begun to darken, shades of blue and purple mixing in with the yellow and orange of dusk, the campsite was practically humming with life, vendors and salesman putting up their stands, foreigners running around wearing robes of all colors and talking in heavy accents.

Cedric was too strung up to sit still any longer, abandoning the tent in favor of exploring the area. He bumped into a few of his schoolmates, chattering excitedly about who they were supporting and what they thought of the outcome of the game. Most, like Cedric, were supporting Ireland but were excited to see Viktor Krum, one of the youngest Seekers chosen to play on the national team and regarded as one of the best players in the world. 

Cedric was Seeker for his team but Krum was on a whole other level from what he’d heard and this would be his first time watching him play.

“Cedric!”

He started as a weight dropped on his back and he stumbled forward, barely managing to keep his balance. Gabriel Truman, better known as Gabe, grinned at him from on his back. “You didn’t tell you were coming!” Cedric said indignantly as the older teen cackled. 

“I didn’t know I was, Mum sprung it on me last night as a surprise for all my OWL results,” he admitted honestly with a wide grin. “But guess what?! I just saw him! I just saw Viktor Krum!”

Cedric’s jaw dropped in envy. “What? How? I thought all the players were on a separate campsite for security!”

“They were but I think he was visiting someone on this side or something,” Gabe shrugged, hopping off Cedric’s back as they strolled through the rows and rows of souvenir stands. “The poor bloke was hiding under a cloak and everything. Wanna get a pair of Omnioculars? It’d be great to be able to watch the game in slow motion.”

They spent their allowance on some souvenirs, including some Irish rosettes and dancing shamrock hats, before a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field. 

They shared wide grins before running off back to their tents where their parents were waiting. 

“There you are!” Dad boomed when he caught sight of him, looking as excited as Cedric felt. “It's time to go, we’ve got to get some good seats!”

Feverish excitement hung in the air as they weaved through the stampede of people and hanging greenery, infectious happiness spreading through the crowds as people laughed and shouted. Cedric could even hear snippets of people singing in different languages.

When they finally emerged from the woods, Cedric stared at the stadium in awe, golden walls surrounding a field that was acres long. No matter how many times he saw it, magic never failed to amaze him.

Advertising signs were all over the place, promoting things from Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans to Anti-Burglar Buzzers as they walked through the stadium’s carpeted stairs, trying to find a good spot to sit. 

Cedric caught sight of his Slytherin friend, Adrian Pucey, waving them over with an excited grin, and dragged his dad over. “Adrian! How are you doing?!” he yelled over the ruckus around them.

“I’m good! I couldn’t find Truman anywhere but I’ve saved you seats!” Adrian smiled. “Hi, Mr. Diggory!”

Adrian introduced them to his elder brother, Darius Pucey, a surly-looking man two years older than them who went to Illvermorny instead of Hogwarts because their parents were separated and his mum lived in America. He worked as a healer which came with hilarious tales about people coming in with the oddest injuries. A story of a man that had come in after being cursed with boils in the nether regions that refused to come off until he admitted how it happened had them all in stitches.

“Ladies and gentlemen . . . welcome!” Ludo Bagman boomed from the Top Box. “Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!”

The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket.

“And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce . . . the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!”

Cedric watched with wide eyes as the most beautiful women he had ever seen filtered onto the field. He knew what they were, of course, but he had only ever seen them in books. The pictures he had seen were nothing compared to the sight that lay before him.

Their skin shone a shimmery moon-bright he had never seen and their white gold hair fanned around them as they walked onto the field. The sight was captivating and Cedric couldn’t tear his eyes away from them as the music started up. 

Logically, he knew exactly what was going on but all thoughts fled from his brain as they began to dance. All that mattered was that he kept watching…

Something covered his eyes and Cedric blinked out of his daze as someone pulled him back down into his seat– when had he even stood?

“Don’t make a fool of yourself, Diggory,” Adrian smirked as he moved his hand away from Cedric’s eyes and the Hufflepuff flushed in embarrassment, making sure to keep his gaze away from the field. 

“Thanks, Adrian.”

“It’s no problem. My cousin is part-Veela, I’ve built up some tolerance,” Adrian shrugged. “They’re leaving now, so you can look.”

The stadium erupted into angry shouts that told Cedric that nearly half of the wizards and witches in the stands had been similarly affected by the Veelas’ allure.

“And now,” Bagman roared, “kindly put your wands in the air . . . for the Irish National Team Mascots!” 

Gold and green streaks of light flew past the spectators and towards the golden posts for the Quidditch match, leaving two balls of light in their wake. A rainbow arched between them, jaws dropping all around in awe of the performance. The light spheres reconnected and the rainbow faded, replaced by a large shimmering shamrock that Cedric could see were actually little leprechauns holding up large green lamps

Golden coins rained down on them, sending people scrambling to grab some but Cedric didn’t bother. Leprechaun gold disappeared after a period of time.

“Leprechaun magic is really impressive. It’s like Charms and Transfiguration but on a whole other level,” Adrian said in awe, examining a golden galleon that had landed in his lap with interest.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome– the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you– Dimitrov!” 

A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters. 

“Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! And– Krum !” 

Cedric leaned forward, looking through his Omnioculars to catch sight of the famed Seeker. He looked intimidating, exactly like Cedric had expected but he found it hard to believe he was only a year older than Cedric. He looked so much older than eighteen.

“And now, please greet– the Irish National Quidditch Team! Presenting– Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! And– Lynch !” Bagman shouted, stretched out the ‘and’ once more as he introduced the Irish Seeker.

“Cassandra Quigley’s as attractive as ever,” Adrian teased, nudging Cedric with a grin that earned a half-hearted glare from the teen.

“I had a crush on her when I was thirteen, Adrian. Lay off,” Cedric grumbled, his ears tinged with red as Bagman introduced the referee.

Adrian snickered beside him before falling silent as Bagman announced the start of the game.

“And it’s Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!”

Cedric dialed his Omnioculars to normal speed, unable to keep up with the speeding masses of colors as the Quaffle flew from Chaser to Chaser. Professional Quidditch was nothing like the Quidditch played at Hogwarts, Cedric didn’t think he would be able to keep up with any of it if he was playing, which only increased his respect for Krum, who had been playing for over a year now.

The plays flashed in bright purple letters on the Omniocular screen.

The Bulgarian Beater, Volkov, hit the Bludger at one of the Irish Chasers, Moran, forcing him to duck out of the way and drop the bludger, quickly snatched up by Bulgarian Chaser, Levski. Another Bludger aimed by Quigley hit Leviski and Troy and took the Quaffle, soaring towards the Golden hoops and–

“TROY SCORES!” Bagman yelled and the stadium shuddered with the applause and cheers coming from the green-clad spectators. “Ten zero to Ireland!”

Ireland scored two more times and Bulgarian Beaters grew more vicious, preventing the Irish Chasers from scoring using their best plays. The Bulgarian Chaser, Ivanova, managed to break the Irish streak by breaking through the Keeper's defenses and scoring the first goal.

“Cover your eyes and ears!” Adrian warned suddenly when the Veela came onto the field to celebrate the score, a warning Cedric heeded quickly, not wanting his mind to wander when the game had become too invigorating. 

“Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova — oh, I say!” 

Cedric lit up when he realized what was going on, focusing on the two Seekers as they suddenly dove. A grin grew on his face when he realized that Krum was feinting and Snitch was nowhere in sight. 

Krum pulled out of the dive last second and Lynch crashed, earning a roar of displeasure from the Irish supporters and loud applause from the Bulgarian side. 

A Wronski feint! No wonder everyone calls him one of the best players. It was such a dangerous move to pull but Krum did it so effortlessly and got the team’s Seeker out in the blink of an eye.

“You gormless muppet! C’mon! It was obvious he was tricking you!” Adrian moaned, throwing his hands up in frustration. Cedric chuckled, patting the other boy’s arm in consolation.

“It’s time-out!” Bagman yelled. “As trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!”  

Cedric could see Krum looking for the Snitch, undisturbed by another playing as the mediwizards tried reviving Lynch with potions he couldn’t recognize. Adrian was muttering mutinously beside him, glaring at Lynch as if doing so would will him into waking up.

Lynch got to his feet five minutes later to loud cheers from the green-clad supporters, mounted his Firebolt, and kicked back off into the air. His revival seemed to give Ireland the needed push to pull ahead of Bulgaria because the Irish players began moving faster and playing more efficiently than before.

Ireland pulled ahead by ten goals, putting them at one hundred and thirty to ten. With the lead came dirtier playing from the Bulgarian side, earning a penalty for Ireland that had Adrian nearly jumping out of his chair in glee, the only thing stopping him being his elder brother, who looked rather amused by his antics.

“Take that, ya cheating maggots!”

Cedric covered his ears again when he noticed the Veela angrily beginning to dance. Adrian tugged his arm away a minute later, amusement written all over his face. “Look at the ref.”

His eyes flickered over and the scene he saw startled a laugh out of him. Hassan Mostafa had landed right in front of the dancing Veela and was acting odd indeed. He was flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache excitedly. 

“Now, we can’t have that!” Bagman snickered, sounding highly amused. “Somebody slap the referee!” 

A mediwizard came tearing across the field, his fingers stuffed into his own ears, and kicked Mostafa hard in the shins. The man came back to himself a second later, looking terribly embarrassed and irritated before he started yelling at the suddenly mutinous Veela.

It seemed he was trying to send them off, which quickly earned the ire of the Bulgarian players. The ensuing argument resulted in earning Ireland another two penalties, much to Adrian's pleasure and the Bulgarian supporters’ anger.

The play began again and the Beaters on either side showed no mercy, although the Bulgarians didn’t seem to care whether they hit the Bludger or another human, and when Chaser Dimitrov crashed into Moran deliberately it earned yet another penalty for the Irish team.

“This is getting nasty really quickly,” Darius commented grimly and Cedric nodded absently in agreement.

“Oh shit! The leprechauns!” Adrian cackled, pointing towards the Irish mascots, who had taken the form of a rather obscene gesture and pointed it towards the angered Veelas.

Like Cedric had read in his books, the Veelas lost their allure as they grew angrier. Instead, they looked terrifying, with sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads and fiery scaled wings growing out of their shoulders.

The Veela launched themselves at the Leprechauns, forcing the Ministry wizards serving as security to separate them while the game continued above them.

“Levski– Dimitrov– Moran– Troy– Mullet– Ivanova– Moran again– Moran– MORAN SCORES!”

Tension grew as Ireland pulled further and further ahead and the focus was on Krum because he was now the only hope Bulgaria could have if they didn’t score at least one goal. Quigley hit a Bludger at him suddenly, which connected with his nose, breaking it as Mullet scored yet another goal.

Just as Ireland hit the one hundred and seventy mark, Lynch and Krum both dived, a trail of blood following Krum as he flew down at impossible speeds.

“They’ve seen the Snitch!” Cedric yelled, pressing his Omnioculars against his face as he leaned forward in anticipation.

Krum was catching up to the Lynch as they grew closer and closer to the glint of gold near the ground.

“They’re gonna crash again!” Adrian hissed.

Adrian was only half right since, yet again, Lynch crashed into the ground with alarming force but Krum pulled out of the dive, his fist held high in the air as blood streamed down his face.

“He’s got the Snitch! Krum has it!” Cedric yelled in disbelief, whipping around to look at the scoreboard. 

BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170

The silence was deafening for a second before the Irish supporters all burst into cheers.

“Merlin’s pants! Ireland won but Krum caught the Snitch! Holy shit, Cedric! Did you see that?!” Adrian laughed in disbelief, jumping up and down in delight, waving his Irish flag high in the sky.

“That was bloody brilliant,” Cedric said in reverent awe. The catch had been fairly pointless on Krum’s part but the entire thing had Cedric sitting at the edge of his seat in anticipation.

The aftermath of the game was a blur of applause and cheering before Cedric and Adrian separated from their respective companions to go find their friends to celebrate.

They settled in Gabe’s tent with a few of their friends, like Warrington, Wilkens, and Hayworth, happily chattering about the outcome of the match over the foreign sweets they had purchased.

A bloodcurdling scream suddenly pierced through all the celebration and Cedric froze in his seat, looking at his friends in alarm. 

Warrington stood up, exiting the tent for a minute with a concerned frown on his face before returning, his face pale with terror. “Get your wands out and run! There’s been an attack! Death Eaters! Stay in pairs!”

Blood drained from Cedric’s face and soon he was scrambling through the woods with Gabe by his side, his eyes flickering around as screams and light flew through the night air. Cedric could see a group of people dressed in dark robes and familiar masks he had only ever seen in books about the first wizarding war marching through the field, sending spells and hexes at the other fleeing spectators.

The sight only motivated him to move faster, his heart pounding in his chest as he held onto Gabe’s shirt, trying not to lose him in the stampede of terrified people running for their lives.

Gabe tugged him behind a tree suddenly and a purple spell he couldn’t recognize hit the ground he had been on seconds ago. The grass suddenly started rotting and Cedric felt his breathing begin to shallow because that could’ve been him .

It made everything seem so much more real.

Knowing what was going to happen tonight left Harry far too strung up to sleep when Mr. Weasley urged them to after the game happened, so Harry stayed up while everyone except Bill and Charlie went to bed.

Charlie waved him over with a friendly grin when he noticed that Harry was still unable to fall asleep. “Still too awake to sleep?” he said good-naturedly, passing Harry a cup of cocoa. 

“Something like that. Got a bad feeling,” Harry shrugged with a small frown.

Bill looked up from whatever he was working on, giving Harry a curious look when Charlie questioned his statement. 

Harry rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Something feels wrong. I can’t really explain it.” It wasn’t like Harry could tell them that he knew the future

“Just a hunch, huh?” Charlie sighed, his forehead creasing as he frowned. “Bill said the same thing too. Should I be worried?”

“Don’t think about it too much. It’s just a hunch,” Bill said, waving his brother’s worry off before turning to Harry. “Ron says you’re thinking of taking Runes and Arithmancy this year instead of Divination. Any careers you're interested in?”

Harry blinked before shrugging again. He had never really given his future much thought. There were very few jobs that Harry actually knew of and most of them involved the same Ministry that had spent a whole year slandering his name because he had warned them of Voldemort’s return. Being a professor didn’t sound like a half-bad idea, since he had liked teaching all his schoolmates in the DA during his fifth year.

“I’m not sure. I’m just not too big on Divination after a year of being told how I’m going to die,” Harry said with a half-grin that earned an amused snort from both men.

“Trelawney’s been predicting people’s death every single year since Dumbledore hired her. Her class is useless to anyone that wasn’t Divination savvy,” Charlie chuckled. “Makes you wonder if she’s actually a Seer like she says.”

Harry didn’t bother denying the statement despite knowing Trelawney was a Seer. Telling them about the Prophecy from last year was unnecessary, although it did make Harry wonder how the prophecy records in the Department of Mysteries worked. Did they appear as soon as the Seer said the words with the prophecy contained in them? Did that mean the prophecy Trelawney had made at the end of last year before Harry had started getting snippets of what happened had appeared in that room with the rest? 

But that prophecy had been proven wrong because Pettigrew had failed to escape that night and Harry had stopped him. What would the consequences of that be? Had Harry made a mess of things by getting Pettigrew captured and Sirius out of captivity?

Harry picked his cuticles absently, worry creeping up his spine mixing with the anxiety of what would happen tonight. The attack had occurred without any major injuries to any of the Weasleys or his friends and there had been no reported deaths either. What if he had mucked things up and the attack ended up worse than he had thought? 

He hadn’t even had the dream of Voldemort’s snake, Nagini, killing that Muggle man. Just how much had Harry changed by freeing Sirius and getting Pettigrew thrown into Azkaban?

A sudden scream tore through the jubilant celebrations of the Irish and Harry jumped out of his seat in alarm. He hadn’t been awake during the beginning of the attack last time so there was no saying if this was how it had begun.

“Don’t,” Bill warned when Harry moved to check what was going on, a wary expression on his face. Charlie pulled Harry back with a worried frown as Bill checked what was going on outside. “Wake everyone up! Someone’s attacking the camp!”

In a flurry of motion, the three of them woke everyone up and pushed them out of the tents.

“You kids stick together!” Mr. Weasley ordered. “We’re going to help the Ministry with the fight!”

Bill, Charlie, and Percy ran off to fight the familiar figures marching through the grounds in the distance and Harry silently prayed that no harm came to them because of his meddling as he urged the rest of his friends to run. 

Harry grabbed onto Hermione and Ginny to make sure they weren’t lost in the stampede of people trying to escape, reassuring himself that his wand hadn’t been stolen again with the familiar feeling of the holly and phoenix wand pressed against his wrist. 

An auburn spell suddenly shot past him and hit the ground just in front of them before a burst of pressure threw him back with a loud bang. The back of his head slammed against something with a hard thud.  The world went dark for a few seconds before Harry blinked away, straining his eyes as he stared up at the night sky in bleary confusion until he slowly realized where he was and what had happened.

People screamed and children sobbed in the distance, black spots danced in his vision as Harry tried to get his aching body to move. 

This didn’t happen last time.

The thought spurred his addled brain back into action and Harry pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the pain that shot through his left leg when he put pressure on it. Something wet slid down his forehead and into his eyes and he wiped it away with his hand, blinking in a delayed sort of alarm when he saw that it was blood. 

How badly had he been hurt by that explosion or whatever it was? Were the others okay? 

“Hermione?”

No response.

“Ron?”

No response.

“Ginny? Fred?! George?!”

Panic began to well up in Harry’s chest as he looked around frantically. Where were his friends? Had they been hurt?

He shot off through the unfamiliar forest, dodging trees and stray spells as he ran through the area, looking for the familiar flaming red hair of the Weasley family through the darkness of the night. He didn’t dare light his wand up in case it led any of the Death Eaters to him. He would no doubt be a target if they noticed him– he was Harry bloody Potter after all. There couldn’t be a day where he was allowed any sort of peace.

“Diffindo!”

 Harry hissed in pain when the spell hit his leg, hitting the ground hard and rolling over to avoid any more spells aimed at him before ducking behind a tree. A Death Eater draped in familiar dark robes and a mask that haunted his nightmares slowly approached.

He couldn’t tell who it was in the darkness of the night with the mask obscuring any features Harry might have recognized. 

“I know you’re there. Stop hiding and come out you pathetic little Muggle,” the man taunted. 

Muggle? The man thought he was a Muggle? Did he think he could toy with Harry the same way he had done to that Muggle family?

Harry had to swallow a hysterical sort of laugh at the word before discreetly aiming his wand at the man and casting a near-silent Stunner. The Death Eater was c learly caught off guard by the sudden attack, no doubt expecting it to be a harmless Muggle waiting to be tormented, and fell to the ground with a familiar rigidity that came with being stunned. 

Harry didn’t spare him another glance before he shot off again, keeping a better eye on his surroundings as he ran through the unfamiliar ground of the forest.

There were fires lit through the campsites, eating away at tents and trees as Harry ran, his breath turning to mist in the cold night air. He couldn’t see anyone beyond Ministry wizards and Death Eaters. Were Ron, Hermione, and the others alright? Had they managed to get to safety?

Worry churned in his gut the longer he went on without finding anyone. He hadn’t gone deep enough to get lost because he could still see the campsites being attacked but there wasn’t anyone else as far as he could see.

“George!”

Harry’s head snapped to the side at the sudden yell, his breath catching at the fear and desperation he had heard. 

That was Fred’s voice .

With fear and dread running through his veins, Harry rushed in the direction of the voice as silently as he could.

The sight he saw when reached the clearing made his blood run cold.

Four Death Eaters surrounded the twins from all sides and George was leaning against Fred, blood streaming down his pale face as he covered his left eye. His freckles were obvious against the near paper white shade his skin had taken

Lupin was supporting George, who was unconscious and whose face was covered in blood.

One of George's ears was missing. The side of his head and neck were drenched in wet, shockingly scarlet blood.

Harry moved before he could even think, ramming right into the Death Eater closest to him and sending him sprawling forward and knocking his wand out of his hand. All the attention quickly turned to him and Harry sent spell after spell at the perpetrators, inching closer and closer to the twins.

“That’s Potter!” “Don’t let him get away!”

“Harry!” Fred cried when a spell suddenly hit his arm, ripping out a chunk of flesh with it. “Are you alright?!”

“Don’t worry about it! Bombarda!”

“ Stupefy! Of course, I’m going to worry, you’re bleeding!” Fred hissed back, ducking out of the way of a spell Harry didn’t recognize.

Harry whirled around just in time to see one of the Death Eaters point their wand at George, his eyes widening in horror when he recognized the familiar wand movement.

“Avada Ke-”

“SECTUMSEMPRA!”

Blood sprayed out from where the man’s head had once been and his body toppled forward while his head fell back. The mask slipped and suddenly Harry was hit with the fact that he killed someone for the very first time. Deliberately.

Walden Macnair stared at Harry with sightless eyes, his mouth stretched into a sickening grin. It was nauseatingly ironic to think that Harry had killed the executioner the same way he had killed Buckbeak. It almost made Harry want to laugh.

He didn’t have much time to think about what he had done as the fight recommenced, a blur of spells and injuries before Fred finally stunned the last Death Eater.

Harry collapsed right next to George, who had fallen when Fred had no longer been able to support him, breathing faintly as his wounds bled out sluggish, drenching his clothes in a familiar dark red.

Harry had never truly pointed his wand at someone with the intent to kill them besides Voldemort. But he had tonight. He had looked at Macnair pointing his wand at George and Harry had wanted him dead. He could’ve Stunned him or disarmed but Harry had done neither of those. He had pointed his wand at the man and deliberately used one of the most lethal spells in his arsenal with the intent to kill or maim him permanently.

He should feel guilty. He knew he should. Harry had done it in a fit of fury and fear, the images of George’s pale face as he bled out and Fred’s sightless eyes flashing through his mind. And he didn’t feel bad about it. 

To kill without remorse or repentance was like splitting your soul, as Dumbledore had told him. Did that mean Harry had fractured his soul when he had killed Macnair just now? Did it matter that Harry had done it to protect George?

Macnair was a Death Eater, he tried to reason. He had probably killed and tormented hundreds of people during the first war. The fewer Death Eaters there was to worry about the better. Harry hadn’t done anything wrong. It was fine.

It was fine.

“Harry! Fred! George! Are you three okay?!”

Harry's breath caught in his throat at Bill’s familiar voice, his heart beating loudly as panic began to set in. He had killed someone. And everyone was going to find out.

What if he was thrown in Azkaban for killing Macnair? What if Fudge tried to incriminate Harry for this after he had threatened him at the end of third year? What if he was interrogated and forced to take Veratism? Everyone would find out that he knew the future and that he had traveled back in time and he would become an experiment and-

“Harry?”

His head shot up, wide eyes finding Bill’s concerned gaze. Terror gripped his heart and he waited for the man to find the body laying just a few paces away with resigned panic. There was nothing he could do.

What a pathetic ending. He was given the privilege of going back to the past and it had only taken him two weeks to ruin it all. Why couldn’t someone else have been given this task? Why did Harry always end in the middle of things? Anyone else would’ve been better, why did someone like him have to be the one to save them when all he ever seemed to be able to do was mess things up? He had almost gotten George killed because of his meddling and now he was going to lose any chance he had to stop Voldemort because he had decided that killing someone was the route to go. 

Bill followed Harry’s terrified gaze to the decapitated head sitting on the ground beside the body still bleeding out into the grass, a choked sound escaping his through as he paled a few shades, his eyes widening in disbelief and horror.

“...What the hell happened here?”

Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

- Robert Frost

Chapter Text

“Alright there, Perce?” Bill asked faintly as the last of the attackers, who were all dressed up as Death Eaters– whether they actually were was to be determined, Disapparated or were rounded up by the Ministry wizards. 

“Just a broken nose,” Percy grumbled, covering his nose with his hand as blood seeped through his fingers. His eyes flickered over to Bill’s arm, worry clear on his face. “You’re bleeding a whole lot more than I am, Bill.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bill grimaced, pressing his jacket against the wound. “I’ve got Dittany back in the tent– hopefully ours is still intact…”

“Here, let me just…,” Charlie began, pulling himself off the ground beside Bill with a groan. “Ferula. That should help for now.”

Bandages wrapped themselves around his wound, easing the pain and momentarily staunching any of the blood from leaving. “Thanks, Char-”

His eyes blew wide as he watched something shoot into the sky before the mark that had haunted the first ten years of his life erupted into existence, bright and green as it hung above the trees. 

The Dark Mark .

Bill had lived in fear of that mark appearing above their house during the first war. He had taken to carrying his father’s old wand around just to feel safer, to be able to protect his family if anyone threatened them and now it was appearing over the forest that he knew his younger siblings were hiding in?

He exhaled sharply, fear burning in his chest at the thought of one of them being the reason why it was up in the air. He had to check on them, make sure they were-

A hand shot out and grabbed his arm, and an involuntary shiver ran through his body before he ripped his arm away, wide eyes flickering over to Charlie. His brother was pale in the green light coming from the mark, his freckles stark against his pale skin. 

“Keep your head, Bill,” he said softly.

Percy looked grim and horrified, too young to remember the true horrors of the first war but enough to understand why this was terrible and why they could hear screaming in the distance again despite all the Death Eaters being gone or caught. 

“You two stick together,” Bill ordered. “We’re going to search for the kids– Dad and the rest of the Ministry are going to be worried about catching whoever cast that mark. If you find any of them, bring them back to the tent or right here if the tent was destroyed.”

Both nodded resolutely before all three of them took off into the forest and the two of them split off in different directions. Bill’s eyes flickered around, the Stunning spell at the tip of his tongue as he searched for his family’s trademark fire red hair. He stumbled upon a Stunned Death Eater, barely sparing them another glance after he bound them to one of the trees and snapped their wand in half.

Something red shot towards him and he ducked out of the way quickly, the tree behind him sizzling where the spell had hit it. There was no one around but he could see spell light in the distance, so it must’ve been a stray spell.

The fight died down as he approached warily and Bill cast a quick detection charm, perceiving three conscious people and three unconscious. His breath caught in his throat when he caught sight of familiar red hair next to someone with dark hair that he couldn’t recognize in the night until he noticed the light glinting off familiar glasses. Harry and the twins.

“Harry! Fred! George! Are you three okay?!”

Fred looked up, relief obvious on his face when he saw Bill. “Bill! Thank god! George is out of it and Harry’s not responding to anything I’m saying! And I don’t know any healing spells!”

“What happened? Are you hurt anywhere?” Bill asked, kneeling down beside George as his brother blinked at him blearily. He moved George’s hand away from his face, grimacing when he saw the deep gash that tore through his forehead and eyelid. Fortunately, it didn’t seem deep enough to permanently damage his eyesight.

“I’m just a little bruised. We were going to the forest like you told us but someone cast an exploding spell that separated everyone. I think that’s when George got hurt,” Fred said shakily. “We stopped at this clearing to wait ‘cause we thought we were far enough but then we got surrounded. Harry came out of nowhere and took out three of them and now…”

His brother’s skin suddenly tinged a sick green and he turned away to vomit, heaving as bile and all the other things he had eaten that night came up. 

Bill rubbed his back comfortingly before he turned back to George, casting a few Episkey charms and bandaging his face using the same spell Charlie used earlier. There wasn’t much else he could do. He was holding out hope that their tent was intact and that his vial of Dittany had survived the incident.

He kneeled over in front of Harry, his eyes flickering over the teen’s vacant gaze and injuries in concern. “Harry?”

His head shot up, scarlet blood flowing sluggishly out of a wound on his forehead and painting most of his face in red. His eyes met Bill’s gaze with a mixture of terror and something Bill couldn’t put his finger on, his pupils dilated as his eyes glowed eerily in the moonlight. His breathing seemed faint and rapid like he was on the verge of a panic attack– not that Bill would blame him. Tonight was terrifying.

Harry's eyes flickered away from him, landing on something behind Bill that only seemed to worsen his panic. His nails dug into his arms and he shuddered, drawing away from whatever it was unconsciously. 

Bill followed his gaze with a frown and the sight before his eyes made his stomach turn because that was a decapitated head on the ground.

Bile jumped up to his throat and guttural sound escaped him as he stared at it in muted horror. 

Oh, Merlin, one of these kids might’ve just murdered someone.

“...What the hell happened here?”

Harry didn’t seem able to answer, terrified out of his mind and on the verge of unconsciousness if the way he held himself was anything to go by.

“Tried to… Tried to kill me,” George breathed faintly, his speech slurred as he spoke. “Harry stopped him… not his fault.”

Bill stared at them in frozen disbelief for a good minute before he finally managed to gather his wits enough to realize that this was not the time for his brain to go off the charts. He needed to get all three off to safety and… hide the body. 

He almost made himself sick at the thought, swallowing thickly as his throat burned with bile that threatened to come up once more. He wasn’t going to let a kid get in trouble for saving his little brother but… Harry had killed someone. Little fourteen-year-old Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, his baby brother’s best friend, had killed someone in cold blood. He had decapitated a full-grown wizard because he had attempted to kill George.

“Okay,” Bill said quietly, squeezing his eyes shut and concentrating on breathing in and out, ignoring the nausea swirling in his gut. “Okay, okay, okay. Everything’s okay.” 

This wasn’t the first time he had been faced with a gory scene. He was a curse breaker, curses weren’t pleasant things. He had seen people die before, he had seen their bodies. This was just another one. He could deal with this. He could deal with this.

“Fred,” he said softly. “I need you to take these and walk about fifteen meters away from here, not facing me. Don’t turn back until I tell you to, got it?”

Fred’s terrified gaze found him, confusion and fear written all over his face before he nodded. He carefully pulled George onto his feet, holding him up with an arm wrapped around his waist and stumbling back into the treeline before coming back for Harry.

Bill stared at the body for a few minutes, trying to gather his nerve. He had only ever seen this done once before. Moral ambiguity came with being a curse breaker and Bill had seen many things and done things that younger him would’ve been horrified by during his travels. He had seen companions lose their lives and he had seen them take lives. 

The incantation was seared into his brain after seeing it cast so many times. He had seen what happened when it was cast. No one would ever know that Walden Macnair had died at the hands of Harry Potter.

“Quod mortuum est ad radices.”

Bill’s throat felt dry as he took in the familiar sickening sight of Macnair’s body melting into ashes. His skin burned with invisible flames, peeling off with his clothes as the muscles and fat beneath began to leak out. 

Bill didn’t dare tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of him, swallowing down vomit as the scent of burning flesh wafted through the air. 

His eyes melted out of their sockets, burning as the rest of his body slowly turned into dust. The dirt overturned itself when Macnair’s body was no more than mere ashes scattered across the ground, hiding any trace of his existence beyond the dirt scattered all over.

“ Cresco,” Bill mumbled, waving his wand over the mound of dirt and watching as grass bloomed over it again before casting a ward that hid any trace of the magic he’d done until it dissipated from the area. His hands shook with a mixture of exertion and numbing shock after he had finished, ragged breathing piercing through the loud silence of the night.

Where a body had laid just minutes ago there was nothing but greenery.

Bill wasn’t sure how much time had gone by before Fred called his name, his voice piercing into the fog that had settled over his mind.

“Bill? Is everything okay?”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a minute, trying to gather his wits before turning on his heel and leaving the scene quickly. Both George and Harry seemed to have passed out during the time Bill had spent getting rid of the body. “C’mon, let’s go. You take Harry, I’ll take George,” he said briskly, not meeting his brother’s eyes as he stared at him questioningly. 

“... Alright.”

They trudged through the forest silently and Bill felt acutely aware of everything around him from the way that the wind whistled through the trees and the sound of crickets chirping in the distance to the way that the lamps flickered on and off, lighting up the woods a little as the Dark Mark finally began to fade from the night sky.

“Fred,” Bill said softly, looking at his little brother. “You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone. For my sake and Harry’s.”

“I know.”

Thankfully, everyone was relatively unharmed when they returned to the tent, although Ginny, Ron, and Hermione looked fairly shaken and Dad, Percy, and Charlie looked harried and exhausted.

“Bill, what happened?” Dad asked in worry, fretting over the unconscious teenagers as they placed them on the beds. He flinched when he saw the state of George’s face and the missing chunk of flesh in Harry’s arm.

“They got attacked. Charlie, can you give me the Dittany?”

Fred explained what had happened in more detail as Bill tended to the two, although he seemed reluctant to move further from the beds as if he somehow expected either of them to disappear. He had come close to losing his life and probably would’ve if Harry hadn’t jumped in when he did, so Bill didn’t blame him. 

To think that just a few hours ago he had been celebrating something as mundane as Quidditch.

Harry jerked awake, shooting up in his bed and smacking his forehead against the bottom of the top bunk sharply. He groaned, rubbing the sore spot as his head pounded, an ache spreading through his temples.

He blinked wearily, squinting at his blurry surroundings in languid confusion. This wasn’t where he had fallen asleep…

Memories from the night before trickled in and Harry’s stomach flipped, covering his mouth as the acidic taste of vomit shot up his throat. He had killed someone.

He had killed someone.

Harry heaved over the side of his bed, his eyes stinging with unshed tears as he retched over and over again until there was nothing but bile and saliva coming out. 

He had killed someone in cold blood without any remorse. Harry felt terrible now but he still couldn’t find it in himself to regret it. He had aimed that spell knowing it would kill Macnair and that there were other options but Harry hadn’t chosen any of them. 

Voldemort was the one who was supposed to kill without remorse. Dumbledore had said the same thing, he had told Harry countless times that he was a good person because he could feel remorse and regret, that it was what made him human. He had rarely been able to muster up the hatred to use Unforgivables in that future but what did it matter if Harry was fully capable of taking a life using another Dark spell?

The room felt like it was spinning and Harry could feel his throat closing up, his chest aching with pain that had not previously been present.

He had ruined everything. The attack had been so much worse than it had been the first time and Harry had been too distracted to remember all the events. Had the Dark Mark been cast? What happened to Winky? Was Barty Crouch Jr. free? Were any of the others injured? Were Ron and Hermione okay? Had Bill told the Ministry what he had done? Could anyone even stand to look at him anymore? Was he going to Azkaban? 

His heart beat painfully in his chest like it was trying to escape, blood pounding in his ears and drowning out the other sounds around him as the walls around him seemed to grow closer and closer. His hands felt clammy and shook at his sides as his chest burned.

He wanted to run far away from the room with walls that tried to trap him like the walls of his tiny cupboard. Was he back in there? No, he was with the Weasleys. Why couldn’t he breathe?

He wanted Ron. Or Hermione. Or Sirius. Did Sirius hate him now? Was Harry terrible like his family was? 

“Harry?”

Something in him relaxed as the familiar scent of sweat and cheap cologne filled his senses and a warm presence pressed itself against his side, an arm wrapped around his shoulders. Ron.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” Ron asked, his speech slurred with sleep that made Harry feel guilty for waking him. “Do you need something?”

“Just stay,” Harry mumbled, pressing closer against his side. 

For a second he could pretend that they were back in their little tent in the woods, not in a room that felt like it was shrinking in on him or in the past while he mucked up the only future he knew. Maybe he should’ve let things be. At least then, he would be guaranteed to still have Ron and Hermione by his side. Now he had no clue if they would survive through it all, if they would still accept him for everything that he had done and would do. Barely two weeks in and he had already become a murderer.

Harry wanted to tell them everything– badly. But he knew they would insist on accompanying him and putting themselves in danger for him just like that had in the future and Harry couldn’t– He didn’t think he would be able to handle losing them. He wasn’t even sure he wouldn’t go mad since both of them were practically the only thing that kept him sane.

Harry let out a shuddering breath, pulling his knees up and resting his forehead against them. He was more prone to tears since he woke up than he had ever been in his life and he hated the fact that he could feel his eyes growing wet even now.

Ron stayed by his side, silently offering support despite the mixture of awkwardness and uncertainty on his face that Harry could understand because he had never been much of a tactile person and Ron knew it. Harry appreciated it all the same because he could pretend that he was with Ron from the future, the one that had lived through the war with him and stayed by his side through everything despite all the pain and misery Harry brought into his life. This Ron was still his best friend but… it wasn’t the same.

“You alright?” Ron asked after about ten minutes of them sitting together

“Yeah,” Harry said hoarsely, his throat dry and itchy as he rubbed his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ron shrugged, waving off his apology with a lopsided grin. 

Harry chewed on his bottom lip as curiosity and worry swirled in his chest. “Do you know what happened last night?” 

Surprise flickered through Ron’s features. “You don’t remember anything?”

“Not all of it. I was disoriented from the spell.”

“Oh, well, after we got separated, I found Ginny and Hermione but not you, Fred, and George. We decided to do what Dad said and stuck together until we found a place to wait. I dropped my wand somewhere earlier and someone used it to summon the Dark Mark last night. Remember Winky from the game? Well, the Ministry wizards found my wand with her and Mr. Diggory was blaming her for casting it, although that doesn’t really make much sense since the person who cast it sounded like a man. Hermione’s really upset about the way they were treating her,” Ron explained with a small frown. Everything that Harry remembered happening to him, Ron, and Hermione had happened to Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. Perhaps he hadn’t changed too much. “I don’t really know all that much about what happened with you guys but Fred said he and George were surrounded by Death Eaters and you helped them, which is how you got injured, I think. Bill said you passed out on the way. And thanks for saving them by the way.” 

There was a grateful note in Ron’s voice that made Harry want to be sick because he had killed someone last night and he still didn’t feel guilty for it. “Don’t worry about it,” he mumbled, unable to look his friend in the eye.

Why had Bill covered for him? Fred might’ve done it out of some twisted gratitude but Bill had every right to inform the Ministry or his family of what Harry had done because he had killed someone. No one wanted a murderer around their family.

“Do you want some cocoa? Charlie’s made some,” Ron asked with a tiny grin, dragging Harry out of his bed before he could even think to say yes. 

A smile pushed its way to Harry’s face, reluctant happiness blooming in his chest as the hours slipped by and the events of last night were pushed from the forefront of his mind.

He had missed the simplicity of everything before Voldemort had returned, where there was Quidditch and homework and Ron and Hermione.

Look not back on yesterday

or what you have left behind.

For only today is yours to claim,

and this moment only is your time.

Fret not on what has been

or on what has passed you by.

Yesterday is far behind you.

You can't change it if you try.

New opportunities await you.

They come with each new day,

so look ahead with faith and hope,

and blessings will come your way.

Keep faith alive in your heart.

Live full and live well each day.

Do all the good for all you can

to all those who pass your way.

Yesterday is out of your reach

and tomorrow is not yours to claim.

Only this moment belongs to you.

So use it wisely, in God’s name.

-  Lenora McWhorter

Chapter Text

“Sirius Black!”

Hermione’s head snapped up from her parchment, confusion and concern written all over her face. She stood up quickly, striding out of the living room and into the kitchen.

They had only just returned from the World Cup and she had already read the Daily Prophet, Sirius was mentioned nowhere in today’s edition. Why was Mrs. Weasley calling his name?

Mrs. Weasley had her wand pointed at a familiar black-haired man standing in front of the fireplace, covered in soot and raising his hands in the air in surrender. 

“Sirius? What are you doing here?” Hermione frowned.

“I came to see Harry. I saw Arthur at the Ministry and he told me what happened…,” Sirius explained, giving Mrs. Weasley a wary glance. “I mean no harm, Molly. I apologize if I startled you.”

The woman lowered her wand with a huff, an expression of distrust obvious on her face. She had made her disapproval of Sirius trying to take Harry in rather obvious over the summer and Hermione suspected that she didn’t like the man as a general rule.

“Hermione, dear, could you call Harry?” Mrs. Weasley said with a strained smile. 

Hermione nodded, turning back out of the kitchen and heading towards the yard where Harry was playing Quidditch with the Weasley kids besides Percy, who was at work with Mr. Weasley, and Bill, who was acting as the ref. She watched them play for a minute, seeing the dark cloud that had hung over Harry's head since he first came to the Burrow fading as he raced past Charlie, throwing the Quaffle at goal hopes and groaning when Ron smacked it away with a triumphant grin.

She had been itching to ask him what was going on and what he hadn’t been telling them but Ron’s words kept her from doing that. He had been right about the fact that she had her own secrets she was unwilling to share with for her own reasons and that Harry probably needed space. Harry seemed happier doing mundane things with them like working on their homework or playing Exploding Snap and chess than he did talking about whatever was bothering so Hermione had let it go. Harry would talk to them if he needed it, no matter how much she wanted answers now. 

“Harry!” she called, interrupting the game and gesturing for him to get down. He flew down smoothly, in a way Hermione would never be able to replicate no matter how many books she read and how much practice she got in. Watching people play Quidditch and fly so easily was invigorating. 

“What is it, Hermione?” he asked, looking windswept. 

“Sirius is here to see you. I think he’s worried about the attack on the World Cup. You sent him a letter, didn’t you?” Hermione explained, waving her hand towards the house.

The light expression on his face fell away a little and something unreadable flashed in his eyes. “Oh,” he said, his voice sounding a little strained. “Yeah, I did. I’ll just– Let’s go.”

Harry walked back inside with her, a tight expression on his face

She thought he would be happy to see Sirius. He had been ecstatic to find out that Sirius was innocent and that he finally had an actual family of his own that wasn’t the Weasleys. What changed? Did Sirius do something?

Her worries quickly melted away when Sirius swept Harry into a tight hug that Harry reciprocated tenfold, his hands grasping onto Sirius like he thought he would disappear from his arms. She couldn’t see Harry’s face since it was buried in Sirius’s shoulder but she was sure he was crying or on the verge of tears.

She couldn’t make out what was being said but Sirius’s voice sounded hoarse with raw emotion and he pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead like he was the most precious thing in the world to him. 

Hermione stayed silent, unwilling to interrupt their moment. While she didn’t think Sirius was a good influence because he seemed rather reckless and impulsive, he was Harry’s only family and had put himself at risk of being killed to avenge Harry’s parents and protect Harry from Pettigrew.

Mrs. Weasley looked like she felt similarly since the disapproval on her face had softened and she was now preparing some tea over the stove.

Harry’s eyes were a little red when they reluctantly let each other, a world-weary look on his face that looked like the one Professor Lupin wore after the full moon. Sirius didn’t look much better, although Hermione could definitely say he looked healthier than he had when she last saw him.

“Would you like some tea?” Mrs. Weasley asked politely and Sirius nodded, following Harry out to the living room when Mrs. Weasley waved them out.

“How have you been Sirius? The Daily Prophet mentions you every other day,” Hermione said as they settled in the sitting room. 

“Yeah, well, Fudge is trying his hardest not to let me get custody of Harry and old Rita can drag anyone’s name through the dirt, even though mine is already pretty trashed,” Sirius snorted, annoyance clear on his face. “The only other way I could possibly get custody is to get a Wizengamot decision and most of the people in those chambers hate my guts on principle alone.”

“Why don’t I get any say in it? I mean, I’m the one who’s gonna end up in your care,” Harry frowned, his lips curling with contempt. “If that’s how the system works, doesn’t that mean Lucius Malfoy could’ve gotten custody of me if he really wanted to? I mean, the Malfoys have plenty of political power.”

“Unfortunately,” Hermione grimaced. There were many things she disliked about the Wizarding world and this was definitely near the top of her list along with the way they treat magical creatures. “Fortunately, the Malfoys hate you enough not to attempt that.”

“Yeah. Imagine being raised with Draco Malfoy,” Harry shuddered, exchanging a look with Hermione before they both burst into giggles. “ ‘I’m going to tell my father about this!’ ” he said mockingly with an almost accurate imitation of Malfoy that sent her into hysterics. 

Sirius looked terribly amused, his mouth curled into a wide grin as he watched them. “That's what dear old Lucy used to sound like back at Hogwarts. Good to know he taught his son to whine as well.”

Harry and Sirius were chattering about mundane things and the World Cup when Ron came in carrying a tray of tea and biscuits that Mrs. Weasley had asked him to deliver, no doubt.

“Hi, Sirius! How are you doing?” he said brightly as he set the tray down on the coffee table.

“I’m good, thanks, kid,” Sirius smiled. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, how do you feel about cats?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow in confusion, looking toward Harry to see if he had any idea where this conversation was going. He shrugged helplessly, looking just as confused as she felt.

“Cats?” Ron blinked. “Well, after the whole Scabbers disaster last year, I have no problem with them. Why?”

“Well, I’ve lost you your pet, so I thought I should get you something as compensation,” Sirius said in a matter-of-fact tone, rummaging through his pockets as he ignored Ron’s protest without a blink of an eye. He pulled out a picture with a grin, quickly handing it over to Ron. “I’ve got this cat and thought you might like it. He’s magical too and I haven’t gotten around to naming it so I thought I'd give him to you. He’s a bit banged up but he’s a real beauty, right?”

“I- I mean, yeah- But, Sirius, Scabbers- er, Pettigrew was just a rat, I can’t accept this!” Ron protested weakly, flushing awkwardly as his eyes flickered between the image and Sirius’s amused face. 

“Let me see,” Harry piped up, standing up and looking at the picture over Ron’s shoulder. Hermione quickly did the same, leaning over to examine it.

It was a black short hair with odd gray eyes, its left paw covered in healed silver scars where fur didn’t seem to be able to grow. Its tail was fully black until the tip, which was white. It was beautiful. 

“He’s so cute,” she squealed, ever the cat lover. Perhaps she was biased because of Crookshanks but cats were the best, although owls were technically more useful. “You have to take him! You want a pet anyways and Crookshanks could have a friend!”

Harry snorted and Ron looked at her like she was a foreign creature before a reluctant smile grew on his face. “Fine, I’ll take him. He might be useful like Crookshanks,” he mumbled, giving Sirius an unsure look. “Are you sure about this?”

“Positive. If it makes you feel better, consider it a late birthday present,” Sirius grinned. “Plus, Remus is allergic to cats and we’re roommates right now.”

“Lupin’s allergic to cats?” Harry blinked in surprise. “He seemed fine with Crookshanks.”

“ Professor Lupin,” Hermione corrected instantly. “He wasn’t in close proximity with him and he wasn’t living with him so it probably doesn’t affect him as long as he’s not around cats long term.”

“Not a professor anymore,” Harry pointed out with a smug little grin that made her roll her eyes. “That cat looks like a cat version of you, Sirius. How about you call it Padfoot. Jr, Ron?”

“Don’t you dare,” Sirius and Hermione said at the same time.

Ron cracked up, trading names with Harry that grew more and more ridiculous until Hermione couldn’t hold her composure any longer and all four of them burst into hysterics.

“Honestly, you two are ridiculous,” she giggled.

“You still laughed,” Ron snorted, plopping down beside her, his cheeks flushed and his eyes glittering with happiness.

Fondness bloomed in her chest before her eyes flickered away from him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Do you have any actual names in mind?”

“Nah, but I’ll have to think about it before Ginny names it for me. She’ll name it something ridiculous like Mr. Wiggles,” Ron grinned. “Percy named Scabbers, so I’ve never really named anything before.”

“I got Hedwig’s name from A History of Magic,” Harry shrugged. “I was really excited about going to a magic school so I named her after the first cool name I saw.”

“I can find a book on cat names and you can find one you like,” Hermione offered.

“That’s not a half-bad idea,” Sirius complimented and she flushed proudly at the praise.

“How about Arwen?” Harry blurted out, earning questioning looks from everyone. “It’s the name of a Muggle restaurant waiter. I thought it was a cool name.”

Ron had a considering look on his face, staring at the photo of the cat in his hand. “That doesn’t sound half bad. It’s a pretty hard name. Better than Mr. Wiggles.”

“Were you seriously considering that?” Sirius snorted. “Merlin, the cat would absolutely hate you if you did. It’s pretty temperamental.”

“It’s decided. His name is Arwen,” Ron declared, flushing in embarrassment as Harry and Sirius laughed at him. 

“Sure thing, kid. I’ll bring him by tomorrow, just make sure your mum is alright with it. I’ve gotta go now, I still have some business at the Ministry,” Sirius said mournfully, reaching out to mess Harry’s hair. “If it’s alright with your mom, Ron, I’d like to come to visit?”

“Of course, you can!” Ron exclaimed, looking baffled at the man’s words. “Mum’s being ridiculous. You can come any time, no one would mind.”

Sirius visibly brightened at the words and Harry led him back into the kitchen to use the Floo, a reluctant expression on his face like he didn’t want Sirius to leave so soon.

“I’m glad Sirius came,” Ron said quietly as soon as they were out of sight. “Something happened to Harry last night and he’s been acting off since. So have Bill and Fred but they won’t say a word.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione frowned, worry and guilt over not noticing creeping up on her as she looked at him uneasily. Harry had looked fairly okay after he woke up and she couldn’t find anything obviously wrong with his behavior.

“He had one of those things Percy used to have a lot when we were younger… panic attacks, I think. Happened in the morning,” Ron explained. “Bill’s just been acting off and Fred’s quieter than usual, so I think something happened.”

“They were a little vague about what happened last night,” Hermione agreed slowly, watching carefully to see when Harry was coming back into the room. She wasn't sure he’d appreciate them talking about him, no matter how good their intentions were.

“Sirius makes him happy,” Ron shrugged, giving her a tiny grin. “I’ll make Mum come around so he can visit more often. Feel like playing a round of chess?”

“No way, I’ll just lose again,” she grumbled good-naturedly. For all that she said Ron lacked tact and sensitivity, she’d always admired his kindness and friendship with Harry. While she understood some things better, he was more connected emotionally than she could ever be and noticed the little things she never could.

“You have to be bad at something,” Ron snorted, his grin widening when she threw a pillow at him. “If you’re good at everything it’ll go to your head and you’ll be unbearable, Ms. Brightest-Witch-of-Our-Age.”

“Oh, shut up, Ronald!”

“Tonks, I swear in Merlin’s name, if you trip one more time, I am going to hex you six ways to Sunday,” Wayne hissed, narrowing his eyes at his partner as she grinned at him sheepishly. 

“It’s not my fault the ground’s uneven,” Tonks protested.

“You’re a trained Auror, Tonks,” he deadpanned, fixing her with an unimpressed look. “If Moody gives us regular Auror duty because of you, you’re buying me lunch for the next year.”

“We’ve already beaten everyone except Kingsley and Moody, Wayne,” she grumbled as her eyes flickered around warily.

“Yeah and I want to watch the Triwizard Tournament this year so buck up, buttercup, or you’ll be losing galleons for the next twelve months,” he shot back dryly, pressing up against the wall to carefully look over if anyone was in sight.

With the school year coming up and Moody retiring to teach Defense at Hogwarts, the old coot had set up a challenge for all the Junior Aurors to select two from each division- there were only two but that was beside the point- to act as part of the requested security detail during the Triwizard Tournament that was occurring this year. 

While Wayne usually wouldn’t indulge in something like this, it was the Triwizard Tournament. It was discontinued nearly two centuries ago and they were bringing it back– it would be like watching history be made and he wasn’t about to give up watching it with his own eyes.

Moody had the entirety of the training room transfigured into a large maze with obstacles and crazy tricks because of ‘Constant Vigilance’ and all the bullshit the man constantly spewed. Everyone that wanted to be a part of the guard had signed up in pairs of two.

The rules were basically that the last pair standing from each unit after getting one hit on him or Kingsley would be joining him at Hogwarts for the rest of the year. Reign Charlton and Fitz Hendricks had already been chosen and he and Tonks had cleared all the tricks and competition so far, they were only trying to find the two elusive men or waiting to be found.

“This feels like the time we were being hunted down by Charlie after we burst in on him wanking to a picture of that Muggle band guitarist,” Tonks whispered in his ear and Wayne choked, turning around to look at his friend in disbelief. She grinned back impishly. “It’s like being hunted by a bloody monster.”

“Dora, what the hell?” he wheezed, a hysterical laugh bubbling in his chest. “You’re out of your mind. Now please, stop talking about my Hogwarts trauma and Weasley’s old wanking habits and focus, you nutter.”

“Old habits? Does that mean you know his new ones?”  Tonks teased and he glared back half-heartedly. “Shutting up. Got it.”

“Are you done with your little chat?”

Both of them jumped, whirling around with their wands raised at the one-legged man and ducking out of the way of two Stunning spells. “Run!” Wayne barked at his partner quickly, their ridiculous conversation fading from his mind as he threw a couple of hexes back at Moody, ducking behind another corner, using the terrain to his advantage. 

If he could lure the man out somewhere where he’ll have the high ground…

“Trying to lure me out, Greengrass? Smart,” Moody grunted as Wayne ducked beneath another chain of spells. Had he gotten Tonks?

“ Confringo!”

The wall beside Moody exploded, rubble and dust raining down on them. Wayne used it as his cover, throwing a few non-verbal Stunners and other restricting spells. 

Too bad they weren’t allowed to use anything more harmful, Moody was a monster of a man. He had grown rather agitated since the attack on his house too.

“ Fumos! Flipendo Tria!”

Tonks reappeared by his side, her hair singed black as she panted. “Kingsley’s here too!”

Wayne tugged her down roughly as the wall behind her exploded under the force of another spell. “We’re so fucked. Glacius!”

“I know! Lacarnum inflamari! Immobulus!” Tonks barked, her wand pointed at the flicker of shadow in the smoke they had both conjured. “I think I got someone!”

A familiar bell chimed in the distance, signaling the end of the exercise, much to their collective relief. 

Kingsley cleared the smoke away with a flick of his wand, clapping for them with a small grin on his face. “Good job for a couple of newbies just out of the Auror Academy. You managed to set my cloak on fire.” Both of them bristled at the teasing tone, making a face at the senior Auror.

“Oh, choke on a bone, Kingsley,” Tonks grumbled, making an obscene gesture as she plopped down on the ground, earning a chuckle.

“That was abysmal at best,” Moody growled, his peg leg clanking against the ground as he limped over. “Having a conversation like that in the middle of a fight? Constant Vigilance!”

Wayne leaned away with a grimace, sending Tonks a venomous look as Moody harped on about the dangers of inattention. This was totally her fault.

“Well, anyways, you two have got the guarding job. Now scram!” Moody grumbled and both of them darted out of the destroyed training room, miffed at being told to scram like little kids but not willing to challenge the barmy old bastard for something as mundane as that.

Both of them headed down to the locker rooms to get rid of their work robes, splitting off to go in their respective ones.

Wayne sighed as he shrugged his robes off, his shoulders slumping forward wearily. The last few days had been hectic, dealing with the aftermath of his alliance with Potter, the World Cup fiasco, Rita Skeeter’s constant bashing of the Ministry, and Moody’s exercise. 

Don’t get him wrong, he was happy about being chosen as one of the guards and seeing the tournament but everything was happening at once and it was catching up to him. 

He was grateful for the reprieve tonight would bring since he was going out for drinks with Weasley and Tonks. The latter was staying in the country for another two weeks before running off back to his dragons in Romania.

He packed his bags and left the room, waiting on Tonks before the two of them set off to the Green Dragon, a lesser-known club that they frequented before Weasley had moved to the dragon reserve in Romania.

“I can’t believe they’re actually holding the Triwizard Tournament this year,” Tonks said wistfully. “Kinda wish we were there this year…”

“I don’t think I would’ve entered if it was,” Wayne snorted. “Mum would skin me alive for doing something so unnecessarily dangerous.”

“Yes, yes, Mr. I'm-throwing-myself-in front-of-a-lethal-spell-for-you,” Tonks deadpanned, rolling her eyes at him playfully. “You’re almost as danger prone as me and you do it on purpose.”

“It’s because I’m friends with you that I’m like this,” he huffed fondly. “Who’d save you from your own stupidity otherwise?”

“My knight in shining armor,” she swooned dramatically, stumbling a little as they both started laughing. “I do wonder what the tasks are going to be. They said they’re going to make it easier and have an age limit because of the death toll.”

“Yeah, anyone of age and above so they don’t have to deal with the backlash of an underage kid dying. Fudge’s doing everything he can to save face after Black’s breakout and innocence came out,” Wayne grinned. “It’s one of the few things that Skeeter woman is good for. She hasn’t let him forget his incompetence.”

“You really don’t like Fudge, do you?” Tonks snorted. 

He scoffed in disgust at the thought of liking the man. “Of course, I don’t. He’s a coward and incompetent to a disgusting degree. All he cares about is how he looks to the public. He’s gonna get himself sacked with the way things are going.”

“I don’t care for him as long as he doesn’t bother us,” she shrugged, her jaw cracking open as she yawned. “Madam Bones looked like she was about to snap when he kept walking in and out of her office earlier today.”

“I certainly don’t blame her.”

They slipped into the Apparition area, turning on their heels sharply and disappearing with a sharp crack! before reappearing in front of a dingy club, its name written in neon green cursive letters with a tiny green dragon painted on the side.

Wayne opened the door for Tonks, filing in after her as his eyes flicked around, searching for Weasley’s familiar fiery red hair. A small smile grew on his face when he caught sight of the redhead waving them over excitedly.

“Man, I haven’t seen you guys in ages,” he greeted happily, clapping Wayne’s shoulder with a force that made him stagger and messing Tonks’ no longer scorched hair before leaning out of the way when she swiped at his hand. 

His hair was longer than Wayne remembered and all the muscle he had before he went to Romania had increased tenfold if the appreciative look on Tonks’ face was anything to go by as she looked him up and down.

“How’s the Auror business going?”

“Moody’s retiring, thank Merlin,” Wayne groaned as Weasley signaled the bartender over.

“Moody? You mean Mad-eye Moody? I’ve only met the man once, Dad says he’s pretty alright,” the redhead shrugged before ordering three glasses of knotgrass mead.

“He’s a nutter, is what he is,” Wayne grumbled as he accepted the drink. “I’ve got the first round covered. Who’s getting everyone home?”

“Don’t worry about that, I got it covered,” Weasley grinned, clinking his glass against Wayne’s. “Bill agreed to take us all back so let’s have fun tonight. Cheers.”

“Bill’s back in town too?” Tonks piped up curiously as she drained her glass.

“Have you met my family?” Weasley chuckled. “We’re Quidditch crazy, even Percy. There’s no way Bill would miss the World Cup for anything. He’s on vacation right now and he’s switching to the London Gringotts branch this year for a job.”

“Or he wants to watch the Triwizard Tournament.”

“You two have heard, then?” the red redhead grinned. 

“We’re acting as guards for the Tournament at Hogwarts. Moody insisted on it– probably wants to drag us into filling in his position when he doesn’t want to teach a bunch of snot-nosed brats,” Wayne explained before snickering. “Wonder how many firsties he’s going to make cry.”

“ Constant Vigilance!” Tonks mocked in a deep growling voice that sounded nothing like Moody.

“Imagine Moody as a little kid,” Wayne blurted out before both of them cackled hysterically. “I literally can’t! I’m just imagining a mini-Moody with all his injuries and everything, running around a nursery room screaming ‘Constant Vigilance’ to stuffed animals.”

“Stop! I can’t…,” Tonks wheezed, her face growing red as she laughed. “What is wrong with your head, Wayne? Are you drunk already?”

“Says the one that was talking about Weasley’s wanking habits!”

“My what?” Weasley choked, looking at them in mortified disbelief. “We promised not to talk about that again! C’mon, guys!”

“You weren’t supposed to tell him,” Tonks whined, giggles pouring out of her mouth as tears of laughter pooled up in her eyes.

“No one ever said that,” Wayne smirked. “Besides I have years worth of blackmail on both of you. The Wanking Incident is very low on that list, Weasley, don’t worry.”

“Because that’s reassuring, Mr. Slytherin,” Weasley grumbled with a fond roll of his eyes. “And I told you to call me Charlie. I have six siblings, it gets confusing.”

“Charles, then.”

“I’ll kick you in the jaw if you call me that.”

They spent the rest of the night drinking, growing more and more intoxicated as their worries faded to the back of their minds, a sense of floaty happiness that they would surely regret the next morning and erasing any thought in their minds. 

Weasley pulled Tonks onto the dance floor and Wayne watched as they swayed and stumbled with an uncharacteristic grin, catcalling them teasingly as they twirled around before falling into a heap on the ground.

Tonks made an obscene gesture as she wobbled to her feet, marching over to Wayne and dragging him over to the dance floor, pressed flush against him as they twirled around. He couldn’t really help the blush that crept up his neck in his intoxicated state, his eyes flickering away from hers and landing on Weasley’s smug-looking flushed face. He wanted the floor to open up under his feet and swallow him whole. 

Merlin, he was so in for it if Weasley or him remembered anything in the morning.

The friend lives half in the grass

and half in the chocolate cake,

walks over to your house in the bashful light

of November, or the forceful light of summer.

You put your hand on her shoulder,

or you put your hand on his shoulder.

The friend is indefinite. You are both

so tired, no one ever notices the sleeping bags

inside you and under your eyes when you’re talking

together about the glue of this life, the sticky

saturation of bodies into darkness. The friend’s crisis

of faith about faith is unnerving in its power

to influence belief, not in or toward some other

higher power, but away from all power in the grass

or the lake with your hand on her shoulder, your hand

on his shoulder. You tell the friend the best things

you can imagine, and every single one of them has

already happened, so you recount them

of great necessity with nostalgic, atomic ferocity,

and one by one by one until many. The eggbirds whistle

the gargantuan trees. The noiserocks fall twisted

into each other’s dreams, their colorful paratrooping,

their skinny dark jeans, little black walnuts

to the surface of this earth. You and the friend

remain twisted together, thinking your simultaneous

and inarticulate thoughts in physical lawlessness,

in chemical awkwardness. It is too much

to be so many different things at once. The friend

brings black hole candy to your lips, and jumping

off the rooftops of your city, the experience.

So much confusion — the several layers of exhaustion,

and being a friend with your hands in your pockets,

and the friend’s hands in your pockets.

O bitter black walnuts of this parachuted earth!

O gongbirds and appleflocks! The friend

puts her hand on your shoulder. The friend

puts his hand on your shoulder. You find

a higher power when you look.

- Matt Hart

Chapter Text

Harry spent the better part of the next two weeks at the Weasleys alternating between studying Ancient Runes and Arithmancy and compiling journals full of all the events of the future and all the things he had changed so far, for better or worse. It was easier than facing the reality of what he had done. 

It was also easier to avoid everyone else than to look them in the face while he imagined the looks on their faces when they found out what he did.

The twins had managed to corner him a few days ago, reassuring him that they, at least, were not disgusted by him for what he had done. They tried to tell him that the rest of their family wouldn’t be either but he wasn’t so sure about that. He wasn’t even sure Ron and Hermione would be able to accept it.

Writing down everything made him feel marginally lighter, like a weight had been dropped off his shoulders and into his ink staining the pages of his journals. He was careful not to leave them out for anyone to read until he could find the proper protections for them. He was hoping on learning the Fidelius Charm and turning the whole future thing into a Secret that he was the Keeper of and only he ] chose to tell someone the truth, no matter how much they rummaged through his head because it would be hidden so deep in his soul that only mind-shattering Legilimency could dig it out of his head if they attempted that.

Some of the things Harry’s meddling had changed seemed better, like the existence of Ron’s new cat, Arwen, instead of the fist-sized owl, Pigwidgeon or Pig. Harry sort of missed the racket the mini owl made but Ron seemed happier with Arwen than he did with Pig so it didn’t matter much.

But most of the time, Harry felt like he had changed things for the worst by helping Sirius get free. He loved the man to death and his death haunted Harry more than all the others but changing that had resulted in the twins nearly dying and Harry becoming a murderer.

The longer things went on the more Harry could feel dread and fear growing in him. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want the responsibility of everyone’s futures on his shoulders. He didn’t want to live in constant fear of rejection, of someone finding out, of failing to save someone.

He could barely bring himself to get out of bed most mornings and sleeping had become more of a chore than anything because of the nightmares that plagued his sleep daily. How on earth was he meant to save the entirety of the Wizarding world from Voldemort when he couldn’t even do that?

Harry started a little when Arwen jumped onto his bed in the middle of the night and settled over the journal he had been writing in, fixing Harry with his eerily intelligent gray eyes. “What? Get off, you dumb cat,” he grumbled, nudging Arwen a little in hopes of prompting the cat into motion. 

He batted Harry’s hand away, giving Harry an unimpressed expression that looked far more human than it had any right to be as he settled back over Harry’s journal. Why were all the animals in his life so weirdly intelligent?

“I can’t sleep. What do you want me to do?” Harry sighed quietly, scratching the cat’s ear and smiling a little as Arwen started purring contently.

It was a little past midnight and Ron was snoring in the bed next to him, oblivious to Harry’s inability to fall asleep. Both him and Hermione had noticed that he was getting less sleep because of the growing bags under his eyes and his unabating need for coffee in the morning in order to function like a semi-normal human being but neither of them knew how little sleep he was really getting. They would likely throw a fit if they did.

He would crash eventually but until then sleep evaded him.

Harry stood up to sneak into the kitchen and get some coffee, picking up Arwen as an afterthought as he tiptoed down the stairs, skipping the creaky bottom step before slipping into the kitchen with the cat in his arms.

He stopped short when he caught sight of two familiar heads of fiery red hair hunched over a pile of parchment. Percy and Bill sat in the kitchen, the latter talking the former through what sounded like runes to Harry. He wanted to run back up the stairs when they registered his presence and looked at him.

Harry had never been close with Percy, unsure of how to approach the older teen when he seemed so closed off. He was still a little resentful over the hurtful words Percy had written about him despite the fact that this wasn’t the same Percy that had written that letter to Ron. He knew he had changed in the end and fought with them behind the scenes and by their side during the final fight. But Harry couldn’t help feeling a little bitter towards him. 

Bill was a different story. Harry didn’t know the man well despite his decision to choose him as his Occlumency tutor. But the man held Harry’s future in his palms and he didn’t speak to Harry directly a single time since the incident– although it was probably hard to, considering Harry was pretty much actively avoiding anyone that wasn’t Ron or Hermione. Harry was far too terrified to initiate a conversation with Bill after what had happened despite the fact that he had protected Harry from the consequences and backlash he would’ve received if his actions got out.

And here Harry was faced with both. 

“Er– Sorry, didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll just go- Ow!” Harry began, hissing in pain when Arwen suddenly dug his claws into his arms and gave Harry another unimpressed stare when he dropped the cat to the ground. He flushed awkwardly when Bill snorted, waving the cat over and scratching his ears as Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Percy seemed a little amused as well, hiding the small smile on his face behind his cup of tea. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bill shrugged. “Why are you awake anyways?”

“I can’t sleep,” Harry shrugged, his eyes flickered away from Bill’s gaze when he fixed him with a searching look.

“Would you like some tea?” Percy offered a little stiffly.

“Erm– Coffee, actually, if you don’t mind,” Harry said, smiling sheepishly at the mildly disapproving look on the older teen’s face. “I’m not going to get any sleep anyways.”

“Coffee isn’t recommended for your development,” Percy sniffed, standing up to pour a mug of coffee for Harry anyways. “What are your preferences?”

It was odd, talking to Percy about something as mundane as coffee. A part of him still expected him to turn his nose up at Harry in disdain and call him an attention-seeking child or riffraff that Ron shouldn’t associate with lest he taint his reputation any further. It stung a little thinking about that letter. 

“Two creams and two sugars, please,” Harry said quietly, settling on the table when Bill gestured for him to sit.

“You can hardly lecture Harry about drinking coffee, Perce,” Bill teased, chuckling when Percy flushed in embarrassment as he prepared Harry’s coffee.

“Yes, well, I’m supposed to set an example,” the younger Weasley huffed, setting the drink in front of Harry and settling back in his seat. “Excited to go back to Hogwarts tomorrow? This year will be interesting, that’s for sure.”

Percy was attempting small talk. There was something so odd and hilarious about it because Percy mostly ignored Harry’s existence when he moved past the fact that he was the Boy-Who-Lived and only spoke to Harry on rare occasions like before Quidditch games or after some type of life threatening scenario.

“Yeah,” Harry said with a half-hearted smile. He missed Hogwarts but going there for the first time since he had traveled to the past made an odd mixture of dread and longing twist around his heart. “What’s happening this year? I’m pretty sure most of my years there have been pretty interesting.”

A self-important smile grew on Percy’s face that made Harry want to laugh. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you. Classified information, you see.”

“You’ll find out tomorrow at the feast,” Bill snorted, looking amused by his brother’s antics. “I sort of wish I were at Hogwarts this year. Something like this hasn’t happened in years. I might come by and watch a bit of it since I’m situated in London this year.”

Percy chided Bill for his lack of discretion, something that only made the man grin unrepentantly.

Harry let their banter wash over him as his mind wandered away from the conversation, absently sipping his coffee as his eyes traced over the patterns in the wooden table.

Things would begin tomorrow. He didn’t have time to waste, he had to plan what he would do. Would he out Moody as a fake early on or would he let it happen as it did in the other future? Would Moody even be replaced by Crouch Jr.? Harry knew it happened when Moody was attacked the day they went to Hogwarts. If it didn’t happen that would mean Harry had changed the events too much that he would be going into the year completely blind. He would need to get all the horcruxes destroyed as soon as possible and train his Occlumency to be able to keep Snape, Dumbledore and Voldemort out, both of which involved telling…

Harry’s eyes flickered over to Bill, swallowing the anxiety that welled up in him. The man had proven to be at least partially trustworthy but doing this would put Harry’s and the Wizarding World’s fate in the palm of a man he didn’t know very well. Bill was a useful ally to have but…

Harry knew he couldn’t do it on his own but there were very few people he could actually rely on since part of the plan was literally him getting hit with a killing curse without being entirely sure about the outcome. Sirius, Lupin, Mr and Mrs. Weasley were immediately out because they would not accept anything of the sort. Dumbledore and anyone likely to immediately go to him with the information were out because Harry didn’t trust the man as far as he could throw him anymore. That took out nearly all of the adults in Harry’s life besides Greengrass, Bill, and Charlie. Harry didn’t dare endanger any of his friends with the news when they were still this young and their minds were bare for anyone to see. None of them knew or experienced the same things he did, he couldn’t expect them to do the things they did when they were all seventeen or older. Whoever he chose would have to be adept and skilled enough to fight, as well as not likely to stop him because he was a ‘child’.

Professor McGonagall was an option because she wasn’t overly protective and usually kept a hands off approach on nearly everything. But something in Harry ached at the thought of terrible sound McGonagall had let out when she thought he died in the future. How many of the students she held dear had died before she had during the last war? Did Harry really want to hurt her by roping her into this, with the knowledge that she would be aiding Harry with what could be considered suicide?

No, he didn’t.

Which left Greengrass, Bill, and Charlie. Greengrass was still unexplored land and Harry wasn’t sure he could trust the man with information as delicate as this. Charlie was also out for similar reasons. He had only really ever met the man three or four times and he hardly knew a thing about him. 

Which left him with Bill.

Harry drained the last of his coffee, blinking at the empty cup before sighing.

“I think I’ll settle in for the night, I’ve got work in the morning,” Percy said, taking Harry’s empty mug as well as his own and placing them in the sink. “Thank you for the help, Bill. Good night.”

“Night, Percy,” Bill replied, his attention flicking over to Harry when Percy disappeared up the stairs.

Harry stiffened in his seat, wanting to run up the stairs behind Percy instead of the conversation that would likely happen now that the two of them were alone. He sorely wished he had the ability to Apparate without getting in trouble with the Ministry the way he had in the future. He wasn’t even all that sure that he could do it anymore. He’d probably end up splinching himself.

“What is it, kid?” Bill asked, resting his chin against his fist and raising an eyebrow at Harry.

“I didn’t say anything,” Harry defended. 

“I could hear you thinking from a mile away. You clearly want to say something, so go on.”

“Why…,” Harry began, his voice trailing off as a bit of anxiety and fear swirled in his gut. “Why did you do that for me? You know what I did. How are you even talking to me normally? You don’t know me, how could you possibly trust me around Ron and them when you know what I did?”

The man blinked in surprise before he sighed, scrubbing his face wearily. “Is this why you’ve been avoiding pretty much everyone?”

Harry looked away, shoving down the flush of embarrassment because the man noticed that he was avoiding them and shrugging silently. He was scared of seeing disapproval and rejection on the faces of people he regarded as a surrogate family of sorts. For all that the twins made it seem like it was okay, it really wasn’t. He had murdered someone before their eyes, who knew what they really thought of him? He might not know Bill very well but he had been one of the many who fought by his side despite the other options available for him. Seeing his reaction would sting just as much.

“I’m not sure how to explain this to you,” Bill began hesitantly. “... You’ve saved both my baby sister and younger brothers from dying who knows how many times in the three years you’ve known my family, Harry. I don’t know the details, nor do I know you well. My family adores you and you’re mentioned at least once in every one of their letters. And you looked more horrified than anyone else despite the fact that you did it to protect George. I think you’re a good kid that was put in a bad situation. I’m not going to fault you for what you did, especially since you protected my younger siblings when I couldn’t. Nor was I going to let you take the fall for what happened.”

Harry tensed a little at the mention of what happened that night, tugging at his fingers anxiously. “But I… you could get in trouble for that. You don’t even know me. I could’ve done something else. I could’ve stunned him or disarmed him or anything. How could you possibly call me a good person when I don’t even regret it?!” He shrunk in on himself at the unintended confession. He hadn’t meant to say that.

“The fact that you’re trying to convince me that you’re a terrible person right now is answer enough,” Bill sighed. “It’s not like you had much time to think. Doing something bad doesn’t necessarily make you a terrible person. The world isn’t split into good people and bad people, Harry.”

“I want you to listen to me very carefully, Harry. You're not a bad person. You're a very good person, who bad things have happened to. Besides, the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters.”

Bill’s words were almost identical to what Sirius had told him in the future, something Harry thought he knew before any of this happened. The knot of emotions in Harry’s chest that he hadn’t consciously noticed loosened and his shoulders sagged with relief.

He had been worrying about it for the past two weeks, that something had gone horribly wrong inside him, that he had become a terrible person because of what he had done. It weighed down on him worse than it had in his fifth year, fatigue and anxiety becoming near constants in his life. He had felt like he was being crushed under all the pressure and Bill’s words felt like he was listening to Sirius reassuring him all over again. Freeing .

“... Thank you,” he said softly, swallowing the lump in his throat and feeling a little ridiculous when his eyes grew wet, quickly brushing the tears away.

“No problem, kid,” Bill smiled. “Anything else?”

Harry laughed a little wetly at the man’s flippant attitude. “You said as if we were talking about something normal like the weather or what was for lunch.”

“It made you smile though, didn’t it?” the man grinned as something warm grew in Harry’s chest.

“I guess,” he snorted before his thoughts flickered back to journals in his room, hesitating a little before gathering his courage and speaking again. “There are some things I need to talk to you about. Um, could you cast a privacy charm?”

Bill’s eyebrows flew up before he complied, waving his wand in a familiar wand motion of the Muffliato spell. “Can I assume this is about the Occlumency job Gringotts gave me?” 

Harry nodded, blinking a little in surprise when the man slid a piece of paper towards him– a contract. His eyes flicked through it quickly before he looked up at Bill questioningly. 

“Orgnok asked me to give it to you. I’m bound to secrecy, meaning I can’t really talk to anyone but you or a Gringotts goblin about this, so you don’t have to worry about me saying anything. Once you sign at the bottom, the paper’s charmed to return to Gringotts. That is, if you still want this.”

Harry chewed on his bottom lip, absently picking at a piece of loose skin as he read through the contract more thoroughly. “Would the secrecy extend to anything you see in my mind? I mean, you would have to use Legilimency on me to see if I can defend against the attack.”

“It would,” Bill said slowly, his eyebrows knitting into a curious frown as he agreed. 

“Would it be possible to minimize the number of people involved to me, you, and Orgnok?”

Bill nodded again, tilting his head curiously. “Is there a particular reason for this?”

“Yes,” Harry said, taking a deep breath. “You might end up regretting this.”

“I’ve done a lot of things I regret. What’s one more?” the man shrugged. “What is it?”

“It’s not that simple. This is important. Monumentally so,” Harry snapped, resisting the urge to scream in frustration as he let out an aggrieved sigh. Bill was talking as if Harry was about to tell him something simple instead of the future of the whole fucking world, something that could change the world as he knew it. “I don’t even want to tell you this but you’re going to find out if you’re gonna teach me Occlumency so it’s better if I tell you this way. You’re either going to regret it or completely hate me. And I’m telling you right now that if I catch a whiff of you ever saying a word of it to anyone, I’ll Obliviate you. So I need you to understand the severity of what I’m about to tell you.”

Bill bristled a little at the threat, his eyes narrowing at Harry as his previously careless attitude faded away. He was silent for a moment, simply staring at Harry as though seeing him in a new light. “Alright. I accept.”

Harry’s shoulders sagged with a mixture of relief and defeat before he sighed. He signed his name on the contract quickly, watching as it disappeared from in front of him before he stood up. “Just a second.”

He went back up the stairs, gathering the four journals he had hidden beneath his mattress before heading down the stairs and dumping them on the table.

Bill raised an eyebrow inquisitively, taking one of the journals when Harry handed it to him. “What is this?”

Harry opened his mouth but nothing same out, his voice dying in his throat as another overwhelming wave of fear and anxiety hit. There was no going back after this. He wouldn’t be able to take it back without Obliviating Bill, which he didn’t want to do. 

He flipped to the third page of the journal in Bill’s hands, titled ‘ Triwizard Tournament’ his eyes trained on the man as a mixture of emotions flashed through his face before it settled on disbelief. 

“How do you–”

“Just read it.”

The frown on Bill’s face grew deeper and deeper the further he went down the page before he slammed the book shut, his eyes narrowed in wary disbelief. “How do you know any of that? You wrote that all as if you know the future. You shouldn’t know about the tournament nor should you know how they’re chosen. And you certainly shouldn’t know who the Champions chosen this year will be.”

“How do you think I know?” Harry asked, his wand held tightly in his grasp beneath the table as he watched the expression on Bill’s face.

“The only possible conclusion is that you’re a Seer,” Bill said stiffly. “But judging by the look on your face and the fact that this isn’t the way that works, it’s not the right conclusion.”

They stared at each other for a minute, a searching look in Bill’s eyes as he looked at Harry.

An odd sort of numbness washed over Harry as he saw the realization dawn on the man’s face, his eyes widening in disbelief and utter confusion before he opened the journal again, flipping to the first page, titled ‘ World Cup’, and reading through all the events that happened during the original future and everything Harry had changed already with wide disbelieving eyes. 

“Time travel. Is that even possible ?” Bill said faintly, looking a little pale as he spoke. “This… Harry, you’re asking me to believe the impossible. They’ve studied time travel for hundreds of years and they’ve only managed to make time turners. You’re asking me to believe that you somehow have your– memories? From the future .”

“I survived the Killing Curse, how is that anymore believable?” Harry mumbled, running a hand through his hair. “Hell, I don't even know what happened. I just don’t know how to fix things without help. I’m a right fucking mess these days and some of the stuff I have to prevent from happening are a little outside of my expertise.”

“Why would you tell me? Dumbledore would have taught you Occlumency and helped you with whatever is going on. I’m hardly qualified for something like this,” the man asked in stressed bewilderment. “Harry, what the fuck? Time travel? ”

Harry laughed a little hysterically, clamping his mouth shut when Bill looked at him. “I’m half convinced I’m going barmy too, trust me. I can’t tell the Headmaster. Listen, just read the journals and then come back to me. I’m going to fuck things up on my own and I can’t really tell anyone else. Just read it and you’ll understand. I’m sorry.”

The man rubbed his face wearily, looking older than ever as he closed his eyes. He took a few deep breaths before he sighed. “Okay. Okay. That’s– this is a lot. You have to understand why I’m skeptical. But I’ll get back to you. I’m going to read everything and get back to you.”

Tension hung in the air as they both fell silent, Harry’s eyes trained on the table as he tried to ignore the sting of disappointment. He knew it would happen. It took him a whole week to even believe he wasn’t going mad, it wasn’t surprising that Bill didn’t believe him. 

“Okay,” Harry said quietly.

He hoped this wouldn’t end badly.

George rubbed the scar on his face absently as he watched Bill, Charlie, and Mum Disapparate from the platform as the Hogwarts Express rounded the corner, trailing after Fred as he led the way to the compartment they were sharing with Lee Jordan.

His mum had cried over it when she found out he had been injured during the World Cup but it was odd, having people be able to tell him and Fred apart so easily. Bill and Percy were the only ones that really could before George had been injured. The rest of his family could get it six times out of ten.

While he wasn’t entirely bothered by it there was something oddly vulnerable about it that made him feel like he was baring himself for the whole world to see. They wouldn’t be able to trick people into thinking one of them was the other without using glamour.

Their anonymity had offered so many opportunities when they were younger that it had become a constant George didn’t miss until it was gone. It felt safer to be able to pretend than to let everyone know who was who.

He knew it could’ve been worse, that he could’ve lost his vision in his left eye if the cut had gone deeper but it still sort of sucked.

“You okay, Georgie?” Fred asked, a glint of worry in his eyes despite the half-smile on his face. 

“Yeah…”

Fred clapped George’s shoulder comfortingly before he opened the compartment door, smiling wide enough for the two of them. 

“Hey,” Lee greeted with a grin, looking up from the thing he was tinkering with before his smile slipped up off his face when he saw the scar on George’s. “What happened? You guys didn’t say anything in your letter…”

“It’s not a big deal,” George said, waving off his worry with a rueful grin. “Looks kinda cool, doesn’t it? I mean, you’ll be able to tell us apart now.”

Lee still looked a little worried but Fred distracted him with talk about what their mum and family were hiding from them.

“They said something interesting was happening this year and that we would be seeing Charlie again sooner than we thought. I wish they would just tell us,” his twin groaned. 

“The only reason I could come up with for that is that there’s gonna be dragons at Hogwarts,” George snorted. “Which is ridiculous. Bill did say something about coming to watch so maybe there’s going to be some type of competition? I mean, the ministry’s involved so it has to be big.”

“Ah, well. We’ll probably find out today,” Lee shrugged. “Who do you think the new DADA teacher is going to be?”

“Hopefully someone decent again. Lupin was pretty cool. Pity he couldn’t stay,” Fred grumbled. “Snape’s a right prat for exposing him like that. The Skeeter woman wouldn’t stop writing nonsense about him when she wasn’t writing about Sirius and the Ministry’s incompetence.”

“I still can’t believe Sirius Black was innocent,” Lee said in disbelief, shuddering a little. “He spent twelve years in Azkaban. It’s a wonder he’s still sane. I could barely stand a minute in their presence.”

“I wouldn’t say he’s completely sane,” George snorted, remembering the hysterical laugh of the ex-convict. “But he’s pretty cool and he’s Harry’s godfather.”

Their conversation trailed off into talking about everything they had done over the summer and all the products they had finished. They'd lost a handful of products to their mother but they still had more than enough to experiment with.

Lee bounced a few ideas off of them before a loud commotion outside of their compartment caught their attention and they stuck their heads out, joining the crowd of curious onlookers.

Draco Malfoy looked stunned as he sat on the floor in front of an open compartment door, holding his jaw as if he had been hit, which George was pretty sure he had been since he could already see the beginnings of a bruise on the younger student. He probably deserved it considering how much of a prat he was on a daily basis.

His lackeys, Crabbe and Goyle stumbled out of the compartment a second later, looking scared out of their wits when a third figure came out, holding three wands and sporting bruised knuckles.

There was something unnerving about the look of cold anger in Harry’s eyes, the green glowing almost eerily as he crouched down in front of Malfoy and grabbed his collar. “Say that word in front of me again and I swear to god you’ll regret the day you ever fucking met me. Get out of my sight or you’ll find yourself in more pain than a simple bruise.”

Harry stood up, a cruel smirk growing on his face as he tossed the three wands across the hall. “Now fetch. ”

The tense silence hanging over the crowd dissipated as Malfoy and his cronies scrambled to leave, blushing in embarrassment as they picked their wands up. Giggles followed after them and Lee snorted beside them, looking just as amused as everyone else.

George shared a glance with Fred, communicating their thoughts through the looks on their faces. While they weren’t as close with Harry as Ron was, even they knew how uncharacteristic that was for him. Ron was usually the one that lost it at Malfoy first, except for a few rare occasions but Harry didn’t usually act like that.

He had been acting odd since the World Cup, which George understood because–

The image of blood seeping from the man’s severed head flashed in his and he grimaced, pushing down the nausea that swirled in his gut. While he didn’t think Harry had really done anything wrong since those people were trying to kill, convincing himself not to throw up at the thought of it was hard work. Especially when he was the reason Harry had even done that.

Him and Fred had tried to talk to Harry earlier this week but he had brushed them off with a disbelieving sort of look in his eyes, like he truly thought what he did made him a monster.

Harry watched Malfoy scurry away with a frown before he walked back into the compartment and slid the door shut with a loud bang, startling the onlookers before they went back to their business.

Lee tugged them back into their compartment, stating that they should change since they were nearly at the school.

It was pouring buckets when they got off the train, their head bent and eyes narrowed as they raced to where the carriages were, pulling their cloaks over their heads to defend against some of the downpour.

“Hope none of the firsties drown,” Fred muttered before he suddenly stopped and Lee stumbled into him and both of them fell in a heap in the mud. “ Bollocks – Sorry, Lee.”

George could see what had made Fred stop in his tracks now, wide eyes taking in the sight before him. The horseless carriages that pulled the carriages to Hogwarts were no longer horseless. There were creatures hooked on to the carriages now.

If he had had to give them a name, he supposed he would have called them horses, though there was something reptilian about them, too. They were completely fleshless, their black coats clinging to their skeletons, of which every bone was visible. Their heads were dragonish, and their pupil-less eyes white and staring. Wings sprouted from each wither — vast, black leathery wings that looked as though they ought to belong to giant bats. Standing still and quiet in the gathering gloom, the creatures looked eerie and sinister.

He knew what they were, of course. He liked Hagrid well enough to pay attention in his classes instead of experimenting like they usually did. He had introduced them the year before– thestrals. Thestrals were, unfairly according to Hagrid but George wasn’t sure he agreed anymore, known as omens of misfortune and aggression by many wizards because they were visible only to those who had witnessed death at least once.

The thing was, it was different learning about them without being able to see them. Now that he could, it felt like chills were running down in his spine.

How could anyone look at these things and not feel disturbed? How could Hagrid possibly call them harmless when they looked like that?

“What’s wrong with you two?” Lee frowned, waving a hand in front of George’s face and snapping him out of his daze. “I’m going to leave you guys behind if you’re just going to stand in the rain. It’s freezing!”

“You can’t– You can’t see that?” Fred asked, his eyes flickering between the bewildered look on Lee’s face and the thestral standing in front of one of the carriages.

“See what?” their friend said impatiently, rubbing his arms to generate a little bit of warmth as he looked the way Fred pointed. “Merlin, could we please find a carriage first? I’m freezing my arse off here.”

“Sure, yeah,” Fred agreed distractedly, confusion evident on his face as they walked through the rows of carriages, struggling to find one that had space and ignoring the eerie horse-like creatures surrounding them from all sides.

George felt a little relieved when Ron called them over to join them in his carriage, a feeling that faded when he made eye contact with a pale-faced Harry, guilt and horror written in his eyes as the realization dawned on both of them. 

All three of them could see those creatures because of what happened at the World Cup.

Hermione waved her wand over all three of them, drying them of the rain and mud staining their clothes as they sat inside the warm carriage. 

George nudged Fred when he started to ask about the thestrals again, explaining under his breath and seeing his twin reach the same conclusion he had. Fred’s eyes flickering over to Harry, who refused to look their way as conversation picked up.

The weather worsened outside as Hogwarts came into view, its elaborately designed gateway nearly invisible in the heavy pouring rain.

George half-hoped he had imagined the thestrals when they were all clambering out of the carriages but the creatures were still there, eerie white eyes peering at him without any expression. 

Fred looked as unsettled as George felt, enough for both of them not to notice Peeves until they were pelted with water balloons, soaking their momentarily dry clothing all over again.

Despite hating the feeling of the water in his hair, George laughed as everyone around shrieked and tried to dodge the water balloons, completely forgoing magic. The previously heavy mood lightened considerably and even Harry looked a little amused when Ron got pelted with three different water balloons. McGonagall came by and warded the poltergeist off with threats of setting the headmaster on him.

“Good ol’ Peeves,” Fred huffed in amusement as they trudged into the Great Hall along with all the other disheveled students. “Hope the Sorting doesn’t take too long. I’m knackered and I really want to know what Mum and the others were talking about.”

Lee stood on the tips of his toes, stretching his neck to look over the crowd of students blocking the staff table. “I’m more curious about who the Defense professor is this year. I never asked but what classes have you signed up for this year’s classes? I had to scrape Potions because of Snape– the slimy bastard.”

“Charms, Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, and Care,” George said, stretching his aching back as they settled at the Gryffindor table. 

“Charms, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, and Herbology,” Fred yawned, laying his head on the table sleepily. 

Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell fell into the seats across from them, looking exhausted. “Did you guys hear? There’s no Quidditch happening this year,” Angelina groaned.

“No Quidditch?!” All three of them cried in disbelief, Fred shooting up from his relaxed position to stare at their star Chaser in confusion.

“That was my reaction,” Angelina grumbled. “At least Oliver isn’t here any longer. He’d throw a fit. McGonagall sent me a letter saying I was chosen as Quidditch Captain but since there wouldn’t be any Quidditch this year, I would be next year.”

“It probably has to do with what Mum and the others were hiding from us,” George groaned, his impatience amplified now that there were so many factors at play. The only other time they canceled Quidditch was when there were attacks back in fourth year and Percy certainly wouldn’t be happy about that. “Congrats on being Captain though, Angelina.”

Angelina gave him a quick grin before the Hall fell silent and McGonagall led a line of soaked and anxious first years, all shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table and came to a halt in a line facing the rest of the school. All of them except the smallest of the lot, a boy with mousy hair, who was wrapped in what George recognized as Hagrid’s moleskin coat. The coat made him stand out compared to the other first years, looking excited as his eyes flickered all over the place despite the state he was in. 

When he had lined up with the other firsties, he turned to look at Colin Creevey, smiling widely as he mouthed that he had fallen into the lake. George wanted to laugh at the delighted expression on his, exchanging an amused look with Fred as they both stifled their laughter.

That kid was definitely Creevey’s relative. George remembered the way the younger Gryffindor had trailed after Harry for ages, ignoring the aggrieved looks on Harry’s face and the long suffering sighs he let out whenever Creevey greeted him.

At the very end of the line stood an older, unfamiliar boy that looked about Ron’s age, a scar running through left cheek as his eyes flickered around anxiously. 

“Who’s that?” George asked curiously. 

“Dunno. Maybe he’s a transfer student? We’ve had one before but it’s kinda rare,” Fred shrugged.

Their attention turned to the Sorting Hat along with the rest of the Hall as it began to sing.

A thousand years or more ago, 

When I was newly sewn, 

There lived four wizards of renown, 

Whose names are still well known: 

Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor, 

Fair Ravenclaw, from glen, 

Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad

Shrewd Slytherin, from fen. 

They shared a wish, a hope, a dream, 

They hatched a daring plan 

To educate young sorcerers 

Thus Hogwarts School began. 

Now each of these four founders 

Formed their own house, for each 

Did value different virtues 

In the ones they had to teach. 

By Gryffindor, the bravest were 

Prized far beyond the rest; 

For Ravenclaw, the cleverest 

Would always be the best; 

For Hufflepuff, hard workers were 

Most worthy of admission; 

And power-hungry Slytherin 

Loved those of great ambition. 

While still alive they did divide 

Their favorites from the throng, 

Yet how to pick the worthy ones 

When they were dead and gone? 

‘Twas Gryffindor who found the way, 

He whipped me off his head

The founders put some brains in me 

So I could choose instead! 

Now slip me snug about your ears, 

I’ve never yet been wrong, 

I’ll have a look inside your mind 

And tell where you belong!

The Sorting began as boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their faces moved one by one to the three-legged stool that the Hat sat, the line dwindling slowly as Professor McGonagall called name after name.

Finally, when the older boy was the only one standing in front of the crowd, Dumbledore stood up to speak. “Now, with all the exciting things that will be happening this year, I want you all to welcome our newest transfer student, Rigel Williams! He will be joining as a fourth-year student so please give him a warm welcome.”

Williams gave a shaky wave as the Hall burst into polite applause, clearly uncomfortable with the amount of attention on him before he stumbled over to the Sorting Hat, looking as scared as any first year when he put it on. 

Murmurs broke out in the Hall as the minutes ticked by until George had counted total eight minutes since Willaims had first sat on the stool. This had to be one of the longest Sortings he had ever witnessed.

“Well, better be…. HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Aw,” Katie pouted. “I was kinda hoping he would be a Gryffindor. Transfers are kinda rare.”

“Well, whatever,” Angeline shrugged distractedly, cheering alongside Fred when the Sorting finally ended and food appeared on the table, everyone digging in with starved fervor. The food they had eaten on the train felt like they had consumed it ages ago as they dug into the feast.

“You eat like starved men,” Alicia teased.

“Hey, now,” George grinned impishly. “We’re growing boys. 

“We need the muscle so you can continue admiring us,” Fred added with a matching grin as he bit into a piece of chicken.

“Especially since you seemed so keen to do so last year,” George finished, laughing with the rest of the table as Alicia flushed in embarrassment, stepping on his toes under the table.

“God, it was one time,” she groaned. “Let me live it down.”

“Afraid I can’t do that, sweetheart,” he teased, yelping a little when she kicked him. “Jeez, woman. Calm down.”

She made an obscene gesture at him that made them all crack up again, including her.

When the deserts were finished and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Dumbledore got to his feet, the Hall falling silent once, the windows rattling against the harsh winds and pouring rain outside. 

He went on with his usual speech about everything that was forbidden, his gaze flickering over to him and Fred when he called out a few of their inventions, a sparkle of amusement in his eyes as both of them waved cheekily. 

“It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year,” Dumbledore said mournfully, falling silent as the Hall burst into chaos, protests and angry shouts ringing in the large Hall.

George leaned forward in interest, keen on finally finding out what exactly Mum and his older siblings weren’t telling them.

“This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teacher's time and energy– but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts–”

Both he and Fred groaned loudly when the speech was dramatically interrupted by the doors to the Great Hall slamming open as a mildly familiar wizard, dressed in a large black cloak and leaning against a huge cane. He was followed by two Aurors flanking him on either side, both of whom George recognized as the Aurors involved with Sirius’s case– Tonks and Greengrass. 

The leader dropped the hood of his cloak, shaking out a long mane of messy gray hair. George could make out his features when lightning struck outside of the castle, illuminating the grizzly scars on his face and the single unsettlingly large eye that seemed to move separately from the other.

“That’s Mad-Eye Moody,” Fred said quietly as murmurs broke out amongst the table and Moody limped over to Dumbledore, seemingly oblivious to the stares around as he shook the Headmaster’s hand before heading towards the staff table and plunking down in the seat closest to Dumbledore’s.

“May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?” said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. “Professor Moody.”

“ That’s our professor?!” Lee hissed quietly. “Isn’t he a total nutter?! It’s literally in his name!”

Katie had her hands clasped together in silent prayer, looking at the charmed ceiling in dismay. “Merlin help me, if I do terribly in my Defense OWL because Dumbledore hired another maniac I’m going to quit school and find a rich Muggle husband and live lavishly until I die.”

“Amen to that,” Alicia groaned despite the smile that twitched its way onto her face.

They all burst into quiet laughter as the hall remained awkwardly silent, clearly unsure of how to greet the strange old man. 

Tonks and Greengrass stood by the doors of the Great Hall, terribly amused with the reaction Moody had garnered.

“As I was saying,” he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, “We are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.” 

George felt his jaw drop in disbelief before Fred loudly cut into the silence. 

“You’re kidding!”

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore grinned. “Though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar…” Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly. 

“Er– but maybe this is not the time… no…” Dumbledore said sheepishly. “Where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament… Well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely.”

George turned to look at his twin, excitement that mirrored his own shining in Fred’s eyes as they tuned out Dumbledore’s explanation. They knew what it was.

No wonder Bill had sounded so interested. The Triwizard Tournament hasn’t happened in over a century and whoever won got a huge money prize and ‘eternal fame’. If one of them managed to win it they would be able to start up the joke shop they’ve been dreaming of in the blink of an eye…

Their hopes were quickly smashed to bits when Dumbledore said only those of age would be allowed to compete. The birthdays weren’t until April!

“No way are we letting this chance slip away,” Fred scowled mutinously, an expression George was sure he mirrored. “There has to be a way around that rule.”

Dumbledore’s eyes flickered over to them as if he could hear Fred from all the way over there. “I, therefore, beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.”

“Like hell,” George frowned as everyone began to file out of the Great Hall. “We’re seventeen in April, how is that fair?!”

“A thousand galleons! The champions get to do all sorts of stuff you’d never be allowed to do normally, I can’t believe they won’t let us enter,” Fred huffed, kicking at the ground in irritation.

“We’ll find a way around it,” George said stubbornly. “A couple of drops of Aging Potion should work.”

There was no way either of them would let this chance fly by without even attempting. No way at all.

Five months ago the stream did flow,
The lilies bloomed within the sedge,
And we were lingering to and fro,
Where none will track thee in this snow,
Along the stream, beside the hedge.
Ah, Sweet, be free to love and go!
For if I do not hear thy foot,
The frozen river is as mute,
The flowers have dried down to the root:
And why, since these be changed since May,
Shouldst thou change less than they.

And slow, slow as the winter snow
The tears have drifted to mine eyes;
And my poor cheeks, five months ago
Set blushing at thy praises so,
Put paleness on for a disguise.
Ah, Sweet, be free to praise and go!
For if my face is turned too pale,
It was thine oath that first did fail, -
It was thy love proved false and frail, -
And why, since these be changed enow,
Should I change less than thou

- Elizabeth Barret

Chapter Text

Harry had little to no enthusiasm about the Triwizard Tournament, something both of his friends picked up on as the first week of classes dragged by.

He had been rattled by the difference between the Opening Feast the first time around and now. While the difference wasn’t huge, Harry knew how small things could impact everything long-term, and having a transfer student that hadn’t been there the first time around set off all kinds of alarm bells in his mind. There weren’t supposed to be any Aurors beside Moody but Greengrass, Tonks, and two other unfamiliar Aurors that arrived later than the former two weren’t supposed to be here. 

It was eating at his nerves more than the thought of being chosen for the tournament again was.

Harry sighed, pushing his worries to the back of his mind as he scratched out the final solution to the Arithmancy problem he was practicing before double-checking the answer in Hermione's work. 

He had gone to McGonagall earlier this week to ask if he could drop Divination and take Ancient Runes and Arithmancy alongside it. She had seemed almost proud of him, stating that she knew he could accomplish much more if he chose to apply himself and think about his future.

She had allowed him to ditch all Divination classes until his placement exams which were next Thursday according to Professor Vector and Professor Babbling, the Arithmancy and Ancient Runes professors respectively.

“How’s the studying going?” Ron asked mildly from beside Harry, looking up from his game of chess with Seamus to see Harry's work. He swatted Seamus’s hand away from the chess board absently when he tried to cheat, whistling under his breath when he saw the mess of numbers and notes all over Harry’s parchment. “I have no idea what you’re doing but it looks horrifying, mate. Have fun.”

Harry snorted, smiling a little as he dipped his quill back in his color-changing inkpot to continue his work.

Classes were over for the day and most of the teachers didn’t give a lot of homework during the first week of class, which was why Ron and most of the other Gryffindors in the common room were goofing off instead of studying like Harry or Hermione, who had her nose buried in the book on Occlumency she had borrowed from because she was curious about what it was and he didn’t mind lending it to her as long as she returned it when he needed it.

Hermione’s Arithmancy notes were next to his own as he worked, which he used to cross-reference his own notes and work. Studying off of her notes was somewhat confusing because she had a different study system than him and didn’t like to color code the way he did.

Hermione gasped suddenly, pulling Harry’s attention away from his notes. She looked pale and terrified, catching the curious look in his eyes and thrusting the book towards him, pointing out one of the paragraphs in the section on Legilimency.

‘The most advanced Legilimens could perform Legilimency nonverbally and wandlessly, but less talented practitioners must use the incantation ‘Legilimens’ to enter their victim's mind. These are better known as passive and active Legilimency. If a target were not skilled in Occlumency, Legilimens would be able to detect if the person was lying, as well as being able to delve into their thoughts, emotions, and memories. It was noted that it was easier to perform Legilimency when the target and practitioners' eyes met. Highly skilled Legilimens could also communicate with other witches and wizards telepathically, even when the target was at a considerable distance. They did this by projecting their own thoughts, emotions, and memories into the mind of an intended recipient without directly accessing it, thereby creating visual impressions in their minds. Witches and wizards of ill intent could also use this to influence the mind they invaded. For example, the Dark Lord, who was considered perhaps the most skilled Legilimens of his time, used this particular skill to create a diversion during the first Wizarding War, prompting many witches and wizards participating in the war to learn rudimentary Occlumency to prevent such trickery.’

Harry grimaced a little, recognizing the symptoms of Legilimency projection as what happened to him back in his fifth year. If he had actually put some work into learning Occlumency or had a better instructor perhaps Sirius wouldn’t have died…

Shaking off his guilt, he continued to read, curious about what exactly had bothered Hermione. She’s read a lot of disturbing things before, that couldn’t be it. 

One of the telltale signs of passive Legilimency being used is seen in the eyes. It’s usually reported that lightly colored eyes will seem to become sharper and piercing whereas darkly colored eyes will seem to hollow out as if looking through tunnels.

Oh. She must’ve realized that Snape and Dumbledore were Legilimens. 

The frazzled look on her face startled a laugh out of him, which quickly earned him a very cross look from his best friend. “It’s not funny! That means he knows we made the Polyjuice Potion and stole all those things from his personal stores! And about the time I set him on fire!” Hermione hissed

“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckled, his previous worry and guilt fleeing in the face of his amusement. It seemed ridiculous to worry about something as mundane as what she was when he had bigger problems to worry about.

“Who’d you set on fire?” Seamus asked, looking surprised and delighted. “Never would’ve known you as a violent one, Granger.”

“Snape,” Ron cackled. “Best memory of my life.”

“I take it back. That’s justified violence,” Seamus said solemnly before he started laughing along with Ron. “Merlin, when did you do that? I would’ve paid to see the old bat set on fire.”

“First year,” Hermione admitted, blushing a little. “I thought he was hurting Harry!”

“Well, he hurts me by existing in presence, so you weren’t technically wrong,” Harry quipped back, leaning out of the way when she tried to whack his arm. 

“He’s a professor,” she scolded, although her mouth twitched upwards like she wanted to laugh.

“He’s also a half-witted bastard. I feel bad for anyone he gets married to,” Dean snorted, leaning over Seamus’s shoulder to look at the chess game.

“Imagine Snape with a sex life,” Ron shuddered, looking a little disgusted at the thought.

“ Turn to position 394, ” Harry said, imitating Snape's characteristic gratingly sharp voice.

Ron and Seamus choked, turning green around the edges before Harry cracked up and all of them dissolved into helpless laughter, Seamus tumbling out of his seat and upending the chess board as all of their minds summoned up some disturbing images.

“I can’t believe you,” Hermione gasped, slapping Harry’s shoulder as she giggled, tears of laughter slipping down her face. “You sick-minded twat. Why would you even think of that?”

Ron, Dean, and Seamus were still howling with laughter as Harry managed to gather his wits, taking his glasses off to brush the unbidden tears from his eyes and rub his fogged-up lenses clean as he settled back in his seat.

“ Position –” Dean panted, his dark skin taking a red undertone as he crossed his arms over his middle. “Oh, Merlin– can’t breathe– my ribs– ”

It took several minutes for all of them to gain their composure, their faces red with exertion and their eyes bright with laughter. 

“That was brilliant,” Ron grinned as he collected the chess board and pieces off the ground and placed them back on the table. “If he ever tells us to turn to page 394 in class, I might just bust a rib from laughing. You sounded exactly like him.”

“You definitely did,” Seamus chuckled, patting Dean’s back as he coughed on the Chocolate Frog he was eating before Ron spoke up. “Don’t make me laugh again, my stomach already hurts so much.”

“Hey, guys! Does anyone feel like playing a pick-up game of Quidditch with some of the ‘Puffs and some Slytherins?” Fred called as he and George ran into the common room looking windswept.

“It’s only Pucey, Warrington, and Wilkens. They’re Diggory’s friends,” George added when he saw some of the reluctant looks on people’s faces.

“No Malfoy?” Ron asked, sounding interested.

“Definitely no Malfoy,” they chorused, looking positively repulsed by the thought.

Harry sighed wistfully, knowing he should continue studying instead of going out to play. He missed Quidditch and the freeing sensation of flying a lot now that he thought about it. Perhaps it wasn’t a terrible idea…

“C’mon, mate,” Ron urged, noting Harry’s reluctance. “It’s not an official game, just a little bit of fun. You can get back to this later, you've been stressing over it all week. There’s nothing wrong with a little bit of fun, right ‘Mione?”

Hermione pursed her lips when both of them looked at her. “... I suppose a little break would be alright. It’ll be interesting to watch I suppose.”

Ron grinned widely before both of them ran off to their dorm to get Harry’s Firebolt and change out of their robes before running off to the Quidditch pitch with Hermione where most of the Gryffindor team and Lee Jordan along with Cedric Diggory, a couple of his Hufflepuff friends that Harry vaguely recognized and the three Slytherins George had mentioned. He only remembered Pucey and Warrington vaguely, like that Pucey was Slytherin Beater before he graduated and that Warrington was the Keeper during his second year and one of the few people that attempted to enter the Triwizard Tournament.

The third Slytherin, Wilkens, wasn’t someone Harry recognized but the name was amongst the many Death Eater names he recognized from the first Wizarding war. He was fairly sure the twins had mentioned this Wilkens before since he was obviously too young to be the Death Eater from the first war.

“Think the school brooms can handle a real game?” Ron asked, more nervous than excited now that he was faced with people who actually play on the House teams. “I kinda want to play Keeper.”

“The school brooms should be fine. Malfoy can say what he wants about them but they’re in decent shape. Go for it,” Harry encouraged, pleased that Ron had mentioned his aspiration to be Keeper, something he hadn’t mentioned to Harry until his fifth year the first time around. “You’re brilliant at the Burrow, I’m sure you’ll do great. Plus, most of the Hufflepuffs with Cedric aren’t on the team.”

“Alright, that’s everyone!” Angelina yelled, pulling everyone’s attention to her. “How’re we picking the teams, since there aren’t enough people to do house teams?”

“Let’s draw some lots,” one of the Hufflepuffs near Cedric offered. “Potter and Cedric have to be on separate teams though since they’re the only seekers. They can be team captains.”

“I’m okay with that,” Cedric shrugged before turning to Harry. “Harry?”

“Er– sure. I’m fine with whatever,” he answered awkwardly. It was weird, talking to Cedric after seeing him die what seemed to be ages ago. He had never known the older boy well before he died and holding a conversation with him felt… odd. Not painful in the way talking to Sirius and Fred or seeing Tonks was but it was just weird.

“Alright,” Cedric said, giving Harry a brief curious glance before turning back to Angelina and the Hufflepuff. They conjured some colored paper– Black for Harry and yellow for Cedric– and had everyone pick a paper without looking.

Harry’s team included Warrington, Pucey, George, Alicia, and two Hufflepuffs he didn’t know and Cedric’s team included Ron, Angelina, Katie, Fred, Wilkens, and another Hufflepuff he didn’t know.

“Right,” Angelina grinned, looking positively manic with glee for whatever reason. “Five minutes to talk strategy before we start. Lee, you’re reffing.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Lee said lazily, patting the box that contained the Quidditch balls. 

“Right, so I don’t know everyone’s positions besides mine so let’s figure that out first,” Harry began as their team gathered around, looking around unsurely. “Oh, and names. Don’t know everyone here.”

“Cassius Warrington,” Warrington drawled, looking a little bored. “I play Keeper.”

“George Weasley, as you should know,” George smirked, twirling his Beater bat in his hands. “Beater.” 

“Gabriel Truman, nice to meet you,” the Hufflepuff that suggested picking lots said. “I play Chaser, most of the time.”

“Adrian Pucey. Beater.”

“Andrew Hayworth. Chaser.”

“Alicia Spinnet. I play Chaser.”

“Alright, I’m Harry and I’m playing Seeker,” Harry concluded.

“As if we don’t know that, Mr. Youngest Seeker of the Century,” Truman teased. “What’s the game plan, Potter?”

“Well, none of us have ever played together before so I was going to say, we use their weaknesses against them until we have some rhythm?” Harry said, feeling a little unsure of himself. Strategy was more of Ron’s strong suit than his, although it wasn’t a skill he would be using right now if the nauseous look on his friend’s face was anything to go by.

Pucey and Warrington gave him appraising looks, although he couldn't tell if their opinions of him were negative or positive. They were Slytherins, after all. Most of their house harboured some form of resentment towards him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, their players aren’t solid in their positions beside a few. Diggory only became Seeker last year so I have more experience. Ron’s never played Keeper before against actual players so Warrington has the upper hand over him. Wilkens and the other Hufflepuff aren't in the house teams. Hayworth and Truman are used to playing together, they just have to incorporate Alicia into their plays. We’re not really any more organized than them but we can make use of their disorganization. They'll probably do the same so it's up to chance whether we win or not,” Harry explained.

“You're not wrong,” Truman snorted. 

Alicia, Hayworth, and Truman huddled off to talk plays for the rest of the time until Angelina screamed for them to hurry up and get on with it so they could play.

Harry circled on top of the other students as the game began, watching them play as he looked around for the Snitch. Their disorganization was fairly evident as they began to play but it felt light-hearted in the way official games never were. None of the stifling house rivalries was there and Harry sort of liked it. He rarely ever played with anyone that wasn’t the Weasleys or his house team outside of official games. 

George cackled madly when he managed to hit Fred with Bludger, making his twin miss the Bludger he had been aiming at Truman and hitting it at Ron instead, who was forced to move out of the way to avoid getting hit, which gave Truman a free shot.

George and Truman cheered, high-fiving as they flew back to their side. Harry gave Cedric a tiny smug smile when he looked his way, the excitement catching up to him. The Hufflepuff looked mildly surprised before he grinned back. 

“I’ll knock that smug look off your face, Potter!” he shouted as the game began again.

“It’s on, Diggory!”

The game picked up as both teams got used to their teammates and started coordinating better. Ron didn’t look pale anymore, his nervousness at playing with the others gone now that he had gotten into a rhythm. His blocking improved but it was nowhere near Warrington’s level, who was an absolute beast of a Keeper.

As the points reached the hundreds, the search for the Snitch became more urgent, his eyes flickering around for the familiar glint of gold. 

Lee Jordan was doing the commentary while he was acting as the ref, something Harry had grown used to hearing as he played most of the time.

“A neat pass to Alicia Spinnet– back to Truman and – no, Johnson has taken the Quaffle, and off she goes –  flying like an eagle up there – she’s going to sc – no, stopped by an excellent move by Keeper Warrington and Hayworth takes the Quaffle– OUCH – that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger – Quaffle is taken back by Katie Bell– She’s speeding off towards the goalposts, but she’s blocked by a second Bludger – sent his way by Adrian Pucey– a nice play by the Beater, anyway, and Spinnet  back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes – she’s really flying – dodges a speeding Bludger – the goalposts are ahead – come on, now, Alicia – Keeper Weasley dives – misses – TEAM POTTER SCORES!”

Harry grinned as their team cheered, pulling ahead of Cedric’s team by twenty points. 

Gold flashed in his peripheral and he turned in that direction, catching sight of the Snitch hovering over Warrington’s head. In a great rush of excitement, he dived downwards after the streak of gold. Cedric had seen it too, diving after Harry, pulling closer and closer as they hurtled towards the Snitch, hands outstretched to catch it–

Bam!

Harry hissed in pain as a Bludger hit his side, pushing him into Diggory and nearly throwing both of them off their brooms before the Snitch disappeared. He was glad the Bludger they were playing with wasn’t as hard as the usual ones, or his ribs would’ve broken.

“Shit! Sorry, mate!” Pucey called, batting the Bludger away from them as they straightened up. “You alright?”

Harry blinked for a second, realizing the question had been directed at him before he nodded, rubbing his bruised side a little. “Don’t worry about it. This is hardly the worst injury I’ve got before,” he said with a rueful grin, earning a brief amused look from the Slytherin before he flew off with the Bludger, batting it at Angelina to prevent her from scoring.

The game went on for another ten minutes, their teams neck to neck as the Beaters grew a little more vicious. Wilkens nearly took Hayworth's head off and George had batted a Bludger straight at the third Hufflepuff, Anderson, stopping him from bringing Cedric’s team up to a tie.

Harry put on a burst of speed and zoomed toward the other end of the pitch to avoid a Bludger sent his way by Fred, who gave Harry a cheeky smile. He blinked when he caught sight of gold fluttering several feet above the ground before he grinned and pointed his broom downwards, the wind whistling in his ears as he dove down, down, down…

Cedric was right behind him again. But Harry was faster this time, with his Firebolt and stronger diving skills. They were twenty feet to the ground– fifteen– ten, Cedric was slowing– five–

He stretched out his hand, then – a foot from the ground he felt his fingers close on the cold Snitch, just in time to pull his broom straight and topple gently onto the grass with the Snitch held in his closed fist. The grin on his face turned into a breathless laugh of pure glee as he raised his fist to show everyone he had caught it.

His team cheered loudly but Cedric landed next to him, looking a little pale. “Jeez, give a man a heart attack,” he said weakly. “I thought you were going to crash. Great catch, though.”

“I suppose now we’re even from last year,” Harry grinned, earning a laugh from the Hufflepuff, who he found himself starting to like. Most of the time he had known Cedric the first time around was spent being jealous about Cho and agonizing over the Tournament, so it was nice to have a civil conversation with him.

The rest of the evening was a mess of chaos, with the Weasley twins getting food from the kitchen and pranking some of the others. Warrington and Truman both suffered under the effects of the Canary Creams and Ton-Tongue Toffees before everyone wisened up and didn’t eat anything the twins gave them.

McGonagall came out to the pitch to tell them all to go to bed since the curfew was in ten minutes.

Nevertheless, Harry was worn out when he, Ron, and Hermione returned to the Gryffindor Tower, his chest light with happiness he hadn’t felt in weeks. That had been the most fun Harry had since he woke up from his coma, his worries fading to the back of his mind.

They bid Hermione farewell before going up to their dorm, finding their dorm mates asleep when they entered. Harry collapsed on his bed, his aching muscles relaxing as he sank into the soft bedding.

“Hey, Ron?”

“Yeah?”

“You should try out next year.”

“... You think so?”

Harry rolled onto his side to face his friend, a smile growing on his face when he saw the hopeful look on Ron’s face. “Definitely. You’d make an excellent Keeper.”

Ron coloured a little at the praise. “... Okay. Good night, Harry.”

“‘Night, Ron.”

Thy life, O Man, in this brief moment lies:
Time's narrow bridge whereon we darkling stand,
With an infinitude on either hand
Receding luminously from our eyes.
Lo, there thy Past's forsaken Paradise
Subsideth like some visionary strand,
While glimmering faint, the Future's promised land,
Illusive from the abyss, seems fain to rise.

This hour alone Hope's broken pledges mar,
And Joy now gleams before, now in our rear,
Like mirage mocking in some waste afar,
Dissolving into air as we draw near.
Beyond our steps the path is sunny-clear,
The shadow lying only where we are.

- Mathilde Blind

Chapter Text

Rigel’s eyes flew open with a scream at his lips, his heart pounding with terror as sweat soaked his t-shirt and sheets. He clutched the fabric of his shirt as he took a few deep breaths, his eyes fluttering closed again as he got a hold of himself.

His panic receded as the minutes ticked by and he slipped out of his bed, grateful, not for the first time, that Headmaster Dumbledore had urged his Head of house to give him one of the old private prefect rooms. It wasn’t anything fancy, compared to the rest of the Hufflepuff dorms but it gave him the solitude he needed. He doubted his roommates would’ve appreciated being woken up every single night because of his screaming.

It was still early in the morning, hours before anyone usually arrived in the Great Hall. Rigel showered anyways, trying to scrub off the buzzing feeling of wrongness under his skin that grew with each passing day as did the ache in his scars. 

He left his room twenty minutes later, dressed in the soft yellow and black Hufflepuff hoodie he was given after his Sorting and the uniform black pants. His robes were folded in his bag, to be worn once the school day began. He was never particularly fond of robes and never got used to them, especially since Illvermony wasn’t particularly strict on uniform as long as you wore it for formal events and the like.

The common room was silent when Rigel came down the stairs, a sharp contrast to its usually lively state. There were a few fifth year students sprawled out on the couches, completely dead to the world with books and parchments spread all over the tables. 

Rigel grimaced with a mixture of dread and sympathy. It was only the second week of school, was OWL year truly that terrible? He could only imagine what NEWTs would be like if that was how bad OWLs were.

He left the common room quietly, creeping towards the kitchens that he had found during his early morning wanderings. The Hufflepuff dungeons were right next to the kitchens and he could smell the food coming from them from a mile away. It was pretty great to be able to eat his breakfast without going to the Great Hall where he was bombarded with loud sounds, smells, and colors that made his head swim with dizziness and nausea.

Rigel tickled the pear on the fruit painting, stepping back a little when the portrait flew open before stepping back in. His favorite house-elf, Laldey, popped right in front of him, looking excited at his arrival despite him doing it nearly every morning for the past few days. 

“Mister Moon! I is being happy to see you! You is still needing fattening!” he said happily, ushering Rigel into one of the many tables in the kitchen before platters filled with mash potatoes, sandwiches, toast with different spreads, and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. It was too much for him to eat all on his own but the luxury of actually being able to have a full meal made him savor every bite.

“You’re here early,” a familiar dreamy voice said and Rigel looked up from his food, his mouth pulling into a reluctant smile as Luna Lovegood slipped into the seat across from him, snagging one of the pieces of toast from his plate and spreading a thin layer of peanut butter on it. 

For whatever reason, the odd Ravenclaw had decided she wanted to get to know him. It was annoying at first, adding more stares to the one he got for being a transfer student since most of the student body considered her to be utterly insane. But she had grown on him pretty quickly with her eccentric behavior and talk of creatures he couldn’t see. The Quibbler was an interesting read as well, although it made it pretty obvious the eccentric behavior was a family trait. Their theories were frankly hilarious and Rigel got a kick out of reading the volumes Luna always carried to their meetings.

“You are as well. Good morning, Luna, “ he greeted.

“The Moon frogs told me you were awake,” she shrugged happily. “Good morning, Rigel.”

Her blonde hair was twisted into a bun held by her wand, new turnip-looking earrings hanging from her ears as she ate. She was dressed similarly to Rigel, with a blue and black Ravenclaw sweater thrown over the uniform black skirt for girls, and black leggings with blue little birds stitched near her ankles.

“Moon frogs?” He inquired curiously, listening to her tell tales about the supposed creatures, which were originally found on the moon but a wizard that had flown to the moon brought them back and they became highly populated in places such as the Astronomy tower and Ravenclaw tower because they brought them closest to the sky.

“They like your magic,” Luna commented as she swiped a sandwich off his plate.

“Do they? That’s nice,” he said absently.

The hours ticked by, filled with companionable silence and inane chatter. Rigel was flipping through his History of Magic book, a little disappointed with the distinct lack of any of the more interesting parts of magical history that were taught in Ilvermorny. It was one of his favorite subjects– pity it was being taught by a bloody ghost that did nothing but drone on and on about goblin rebellions and put all his students to sleep.

Luna was reading another edition of the Quibbler with her odd glasses and the magazine held upside down. She broke the silence every few pages to discuss the theories about some of the Ministry officials and the many plants and creatures only she and her father have ever heard of.

They vacated the kitchens once the morning class bells rang throughout the castle walls and Rigel went off to his first class of the day, which was Transfiguration with the Slytherins.

Professor McGonagall paired him up with Lily Moon, a reclusive Slytherin with auburn hair and dark blue eyes. She reminded Rigel of McGonagall for whatever odd reason. Neither of them talked much besides giving the other pointers on how to transfigure their porcupine into a pincushion.

He went through the rest of his classes as quietly as he had since he came here, occasionally paired up with other people in classes such as Potions and Herbology. He liked Theodore Nott and Neville Longbottom in those particular classes since both of them were quiet and unlikely to bombard him with questions about his time in Ilvermorny and how he got the scar on his face– which was such an invasive and rude question that he had been utterly flummoxed and speechless for a few moments, staring at his housemate, Zacharias Smith in disbelief before another one of his housemates, Susan Bones, hit Smith and told him not to be rude.

Rigel didn’t really like any of his housemates– he didn’t like anyone besides Luna really, and even then, she had just wormed her way into his life within the two weeks he’s known her, he hadn’t gone out of his way to befriend her.

Ilvermorny certainly hadn’t done his social skills any favors.

Rigel was heading up to his afternoon Divination class with Professor Trelawney, who was an utter fraud in his fair opinion, when someone came barreling down the stairs, running straight into Rigel and taking them both on a very painful trip down the stairs of the North Tower. They both landed in a tangled heap at the bottom of the stairs

His vision swam as he groaned in pain, feeling the bruises already forming on his arms and back. “Are you out of your mind?” he snapped, pushing himself into a sitting position and squeezing his eyes shut when his surroundings seemed to blur and mesh together. There was a large throbbing spot on his head where he had slammed into the stairs, which has evidently caused a concussion. “Why the fuck are you running down the stairs?”

“Sorry,” the person said weakly. “Do you need to go to Madam Pomfrey?”

Rigel blinked a few times before he recognized the student in front of him– Harry Potter, Britain’s celebrated savior and the person he wanted to avoid most since he was the most likely to figure Rigel out. Potter looked pale and green around the edges like he was about to vomit. “No, I’m fine. Are you okay?”

Curse his bleeding heart.

“What? Oh, no, I’m fine,” Potter said absently, gathering his things and shoving them all back in his bag. “Sorry, again. I was in a rush. Bye.”

Rigel blinked as Potter stood up quickly and raced away from the scene, leaving him disheveled and confused as he got up to gather his own things and head back up to Divination class. He didn’t really blame Potter for leaving him behind like that, since he looked frazzled and upset about something but it was a little annoying having to scour the stairs for his belongings. 

There was a heavily annotated book with no title on it on the ground that he assumed was Potter’s on the stairs as well. Rigel flipped through it curiously, blinking when he found nothing but blurry pages. He stared at it for a moment before shrugging, slipping it into his bookbag, and opting to give it back to Potter or ask one of the Gryffindor’s friends to give it to him later on. 

The interaction had slipped his mind by the end of the grueling hour of listening to Trelawney’s drivel about being a Seer and knowing the future with her Inner Eye.

Harry grimaced as he stepped into the Divination classroom, immediately feeling Professor Trelawney’s wide-eyed gaze on him. “Professor?”

He had promised McGonagall that he would talk to Professor Trelawney about dropping out of her class, more out of respect than anything else. He knew the woman really was a Seer, even though everything she taught in her classes didn’t really apply to anyone who didn't have some type of skill in Divination, like himself and Hermione, who had no patience for Divination or any other emotional form of magic.

“Yes, my dear? Have you come here for help with Divination? I was under the impression you have forfeited my class,” Trelawney asked, clearly perplexed by his unusual appearance and perhaps resentful of the fact that she had lost another student

“No, Professor. I came to tell you personally that I am moving to Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. Professor McGonagall requested that I do so before my placement exams,” Harry answered evenly before flinching momentarily when she stared at him blankly, her eyes wide and unblinking.

He knew what this was, he had lived through it once before. But it didn’t happen the last time either. What prophecy could she possibly be telling? Was this an amendment to the fate he had disrupted at the end of last year? Had he changed things too much?

Trelawney began to talk in that same booming voice as she had just a few months ago, in a trance-like state that felt eerie to him.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord returns from his darkest hour… reborn from the ashes of bonds as the day of the sixth moon wanes… The Dark Lord marks him as his equal but he retains knowledge and power the Dark Lord knows not… for Death clings to their shadows as one cannot live until the other breathes their last… the one born beneath the Dog Star reveals himself once more to take a last stance… as the one with the power to vanquish the Dark returns the night the sixth moon wanes…”

Blood drained from his face as she blinked suddenly, falling out of the stupor she had been in. 

Another prophecy. Another prophecy about Harry.

“Harry?”

Harry fled the room without another word to the bespectacled woman, his heart pounding in his chest as blood pulsated loudly in his ears, overwhelming the noise from the world around him. Her words felt like they were seared into his skin, replaying over and over again in his head as he raced away from the Divination room

He rammed into someone on the way down, tumbling the rest of the way down the stairs and landing on his wrist in a way that sent pain shooting through his arm. He barely paid it any mind until the person spoke.

“Are you out of your mind?” they snapped and Harry blinked before recognizing the person as the transfer student– Rigel Williams. “Why the fuck are you running down the stairs?”

“Sorry,” Harry apologized faintly as Williams rubbed the back of his head, wincing a little once he realized the other teen must’ve hit his head on the way down. “Do you need to go to Madam Pomfrey?”

Williams stared at Harry blankly before shaking his head. “No, I’m fine. Are you okay?”

“What? Oh, no, I’m fine,” Harry said absently, gathering his things and shoving them all back in his bag. “Sorry, again. I was in a rush. Bye.”

He left the North Tower at a more sedate pace, his mind whirring with everything that had just happened. 

No one could find out about this prophecy. Especially not Dumbledore or Voldemort. If word got out, if someone heard those words, everything Harry was planning on doing would be rendered useless. He needed to break the prophecy ball, if it was even there, in the Ministry as soon as possible. Who knows what would happen to him if people found out he knew the future?

Harry felt clammy at the thought.

There were three people mentioned in this Prophecy. Himself, Voldemort, and a third party he didn’t recognize.

‘The one born beneath the Dog Star reveals himself once more to once more to take a last stance.’

What did that mean? Who was born beneath the Dog Star?

Harry knew Sirius was named after that particular star but the sentence didn’t apply to him. Sirius couldn’t reveal himself because he was never in hiding. No one that Harry knew fit the criteria of that statement.

He made his way up to the Gryffindor Tower, preoccupied with the prophecy as the panic he had felt when he left the Divination classroom receded to a buzzing restless under his skin. He was growing lax. He had to hurry up and get things over with. He couldn’t wait around and depend on Bill to do things for him when there was a chance the man wouldn’t help him at all.

He had already lived through this year and the next two education-wise if he didn’t count Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. He could afford to not focus all of his efforts on schooling, a thought that would probably horrify Hermione.

Destroying the Horcruxes and saving everyone came first before everything else.

The prophecy confirmed the suspicion Harry had that the Horcrux was still in his forehead, despite the distinct lack of visions and the ache he usually felt when Voldemort was nearby or when he was feeling particularly strong emotions, which was usually anger. 

The diadem was at Hogwarts, the ring was at the Gaunt Shack, the locket was with Kreacher, and the Cup was in Bellatrix’s personal vault. The diary was destroyed and Voldemort shouldn’t be able to make Nagini a Horcrux until he was back to full power.

His first line of action would be to go down to the Chamber of Secrets to get basilisk venom. He could do that tonight, under his Invisibility Cloak to avoid any teachers or prefects. 

He had to be wary of Fake-Moody and his magical eye, so he would use the Marauder’s map to avoid the man. The confrontation he had under the cloak the first time around wasn’t something he wanted to repeat, especially not with Snape and Fake-Moody.

The day slipped into night as Harry waited for the castle to fall asleep, lying awake in his canopy until he heard his dorm mates snoring in their beds. He took his Invisibility cloak and the map from where he had tucked them under his pillow. He carried his potions kit with him, filled with empty vials and flasks to place the fangs and basilisk venom in once he collected it

He checked the map first, muttering the password under his breath. The Hufflepuff prefects and Professor Sinistra were patrolling the halls but there was no one else wandering the castle as far as Harry could see. Crouch Jr. was settled in Moody’s quarters along with the incapacitated man himself, leaving the coast mostly clear. He just had to avoid bumping into anything or somehow alerting anyone that there was an invisible person in the school.

Harry left the Gryffindor Tower with the cloak fastened around him, grabbing his dragonhide potion gloves along the way as a precaution and ignoring the Fat Lady’s questions about who was there. He tucked the map into his back pocket once he was sure Crouch and Snape weren’t going to interrupt his mission.

The way to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom was familiar by now after so much of his time had been spent in there during second year while Hermione was preparing the Polyjuice potion. She wasn’t there when he finally entered the abandoned lavatory, although there was a lingering chill in the air that he usually associated with the dungeons as he walked towards the sink tap that was engraved with little snakes. 

It took a couple of tries before Harry managed to speak Parseltongue, still not completely able to control his ability to speak it. It all sounded the same unless he focused on it and speaking it was hard when he wasn’t faced with a snake or someone else that spoke Parseltongue. It made Harry wonder how Ron had possibly been able to replicate the exact hissing sound he had made nearly five years after they had entered the Chamber. His best friends were a bunch of bloody geniuses.

He grimaced a little as he looked through the tunnel, remembering all the slime and dirt that had covered the inside, as well as the stack of corroded animal bones that he had landed on the first. Harry suddenly wished he had worn some of Dudley’s old cast-offs instead of the uniform he had been wearing all day.

With a resigned sigh, Harry slid down the tunnel. It was like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide. He could see the other pipes branching off in all directions like last time as the tunnel twisted and turned, sloping steeply downward. 

He shot out of the end with a wet thud, landing roughly on the soaked and dirty floor. He stood up, cleaning off as much of the gunk as he could with his wand before casting a Lumos. He could barely see five feet in front of him but the place looked much less threatening than he remembered it, possibly because he wasn’t worried about facing a basilisk like he was last time.

There was rubble everywhere as Harry reached the area where Lockhart had used Ron’s broken wand back in second year. The little hole that Ron had dug out for Harry and Ginny to get through when they were coming back. It was hardly big enough for Harry to get through so he spent a few minutes carefully moving rocks to make the hole bigger, afraid that the entire tunnel would collapse if he moved the wrong thing. Dying right here would feel a little ridiculous when you considered all the things he had survived through.

He crawled through it, blinking in surprise at the sight in front of him before he remembered that the basilisk had shed its skin here. He pulled his dragonhide gloves on before examining the skin curiously, running his hand over it. He knew that basilisk parts were expensive and rare because they were extremely hard to acquire and only the most difficult of potions required their parts according to Hermione.

The basilisk could technically be considered his because he had defeated it. He only needed the fangs and the venom for the Horcruxes but the rest could be sold as an easy way to make money.  He could give money to Weasleys as well, with the excuse that Ginny had been terrorized by Tom Riddle and the Basilisk for her entire first so it was only fair that she got her share of it. He’d give them all of it if he believed they would take it but he knew they wouldn’t because they refused to take anything from him despite all they had given him throughout his years.

Mrs. Weasley had given him her brother’s golden watch for his seventeenth birthday the first time around, something he had treasured for the short time he remembered having it. He owed them more than money could ever give.

With the goal of researching how to harvest the remains of the basilisk, he set further into the Chamber. He grimaced when the putrid scent of rotting flesh reached his senses, reminiscent of the smell of Inferi that he remembered so vividly. He should’ve realized that the basilisk would start rotting after he killed it.

The tunnel twisted and turned as he remembered, his eyes catching details he had failed to notice the first time around as the runes etched into the walls. He didn’t know most of them but there were a few that he recognized from his studies of the Elder Futhark runes. Sowilo, a rune that was shaped similarly to his own scar, which was sort of ironic when he considered the meaning. Sowilo was the Sun Rune, which symbolized energy, life, fertility, and positivity. 

There were a few others that he recognized but he couldn’t make any sense of them, especially with how little he knew about runes.

Bill would probably enjoy looking them over, especially when Harry looked back and remembered all the complex conversations he and Hermione had about this particular subject, most of which had flown over Harry’s head. The man was enthusiastic about his work and it wasn’t as if he was averse to talking about his main interest. Harry would see about bringing the man to look at this place if he decided to help Harry in his quest to prevent the future from occurring again.

Harry paused about halfway through the tunnel, something on the wall to his right catching his attention. He ran his hand over it carefully, smiling victoriously when his fingers got caught in a barely noticeable crevice. He pushed the wall experimentally, spending a few minutes trying to figure out how to open up what this hidden place was before it hit him. 

Parseltongue! This was Slytherin’s Chamber, he should’ve known!

“ Open ,” Harry hissed, concentrating his effort on speaking. He frowned a little when it didn’t work, trying a few different variations before grumbling under his breath in annoyance. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. What could possibly be the password to whatever was behind this wall?

He paced back and forth in front of the wall for some time, wracking his brain for some way before he stopped abruptly, a figurative light bulb going off in his head. 

Voldemort had said something to call on the basilisk, back in his second year. Harry remembered thinking it was tacky and melodramatic, even through his terror. What had he said?

Slytherin, Greatest of the Founders? No, that didn’t sound right… Oh, it was ‘Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.'

Harry tried that, letting out an incredulous laugh when the wall began to shift and move, stone scraping against stone until there was an opening for him to walk through. Seems that the esteemed Slytherin was rather conceited. 

It seemed like a study of sorts, with a desk strewn with papers and the walls covered in rows and rows of books Harry was almost sure you wouldn’t be able to find in the Hogwarts library. He picked one up carefully, remembering the book that had begun to scream when he picked it up in the Restricted Section. He opened it, sneezing a few times when a thick layer of dusk flew in his face. His eyes watered for a second before he blinked it all, waving his wand over the book to clean off the dust with a charm Hermione had shown him once.

It seemed like a book on Transfiguration to Harry, not that he was completely sure since it was written in old English that he had no experience deciphering. Hermione would probably love to see this place but Harry would have to tell her he had gone in the first place, something he did not plan on doing for the sake of his safety and her sanity. Although perhaps she’d forgive him once she saw this place. 

He tucked the book under his arm before going over to the desk. All the papers were written in old English so Harry didn’t bother with them, carefully rummaging through the drawers. He didn’t find anything of interest until he hit the small drawer, his fingers catching in a crevice on the bottom of the drawer. He pressed it curiously and a smaller compartment appeared and his eyes widened.

There was a wand and a dagger in it, covered in a thick layer of dust that told Harry they hadn't been touched in a very long time. He knew very little about wands and couldn’t discern what the wand was made of but Harry felt a jolt of excitement run through him when he picked it up with his left arm and warmth rushed through him the way it did when he held his holly and phoenix wand in his right arm. It sat right in his palm the way no other wand beside his did.

Curiously, Harry cast a simple Lumos before he dropped the wand, squeezing his eyes shut as colors swam under his eyelids like he was looking through a kaleidoscope. He wasn’t expecting it to be that bright but he supposed he wasn’t used to channeling any magic with his left arm which is why he had such poor control. 

Harry tucked this wand into his wrist holster before he reached back into the drawer for the dagger. There was no doubt in Harry’s mind that it was goblin-made, as most weapons were. It didn’t seem to be corroded or dulled by time, made of what looked to be the same silver as the Sword of Gryffindor. The hilt was covered with some sort of black material and the cross guard was encrusted with little emeralds that glittered brightly when Harry brushed the dust off of the dagger. There were runes carved into the blade that Harry wasn’t sure they meant but he decided to keep it. It would be a useful thing to have if it was anything like the Sword of Gryffindor.

Finally, Harry decided not to waste any more time in the hidden room, promising himself to visit once again on a later date. He would explore the entire place and figure out why it was called the Chamber of Secrets because it seemed like Salazar Slytherin had plenty and Voldemort hadn’t even bothered to look through the rest of the Chamber after he had found the Basilisk.

The room sealed itself once he stepped out of it and he made his way back down the tunnel. At last, as he made his way around the final bend, he saw a solid wall ahead with two entwined serpents carved into it, their eyes set with emeralds that matched those of the dagger.

“ Open .”

The stone serpents almost looked alive as they detangled themselves from each and the wall parted into two halves that disappeared just as he had remembered them.

He stood at the entrance of the large, dimly lit chamber. The stone pillars that he remembered were mostly destroyed, probably from the rampage the basilisk had gone on when Fawkes had attacked it and taken its eyes out.

Speaking of the basilisk, Harry was almost impressed with his terrified twelve-year-old self as he looked at the massive carcass of the basilisk. It was longer than his brain had registered at the time and the fact that he had been the one to kill that thing seemed almost unbelievable.

He swallowed a little, ignoring the familiar rush of fear in his gut as the memory replayed in his head. He hated that memory and all the feelings it brought with it, especially when he thought of Ginny’s lifeless face and the moment he had accepted he was going to die. He had never understood what death was back then and it didn’t really scare him but now that he did understand it, the experience was more unpleasant than his twelve-year-old mind could ever understand.

He maneuvered through the rubble and the basilisk’s dead body, making his way towards the creature’s large head. He stared at it for a long moment, numbness washing over the fear he had felt just minutes before. He almost pitied the creature for how it had been used and destroyed as if it wasn’t a sentient creature. It had probably gone mad after centuries of solitude in a place that was considered tiny in comparison to its size. 

There was ink where Harry had stabbed the diary and he remembered the way the ink had bled from the pages of that book as if it was coming out of a human wound. It had been almost disturbing to watch, much like most of the events Harry had lived through with Voldemort the first time around. 

He could almost hear the phantom scream of Voldemort’s ghost.

Shaking his head and taking a deep breath, Harry set about collecting the basilisk venom. It had taken him nearly twenty minutes to figure out how to do this, something he had stupidly forgotten to research during the daytime but Harry supposed this wasn’t the first time he had to figure things out as he went.

By the time he was done, Harry was fairly sure it was the early hours of the morning. All fifteen of his flasks and vials were filled to the brim with venom and he had four large fangs wrapped in his robes and Invisibility cloak since his potions case was too small and he didn't want anyone to see them for fear of getting in trouble.

He made the grueling journey back towards the entrance, his exhaustion making the trip seem longer than it had before. When he made it back to the tunnel pipe that he had slid through hours ago, Harry cursed himself for his idiocy.

How was he meant to go back up to Myrtle’s bathroom? He didn’t have Fawkes to help him this time and he doubted the phoenix would be coming to his rescue this time.

Harry wracked his exhausted brain for a solution to this before he remembered that he could probably use Parseltongue in this place. Maybe he could command it to create stairs for him?

He attempted this, sighing in relief when the walls began to shift and a set of stairs appeared beside the tunnel. He climbed through it, ignoring the dust as he made his way up.

When he finally got to the top, he found himself in the dungeons. It was near the kitchens from what Harry could see. It wasn’t where he had expected to show up but he supposed it wasn’t a bad thing. If Myrtle saw him she might tell Dumbledore he had gone there. Although he had to make sure to close the Chamber on his way back.

The entrance sealed itself off when Harry hissed in Parseltongue, just about ready to leave and talk a long shower when he heard a voice behind him.

“What the fuck?”

Harry jumped a mile, whirling around to see the disbelieving face of Rigel Williams and the curious one of Luna Lovegood. 

Brilliant.

Harry stared back at them blankly as the silence stretched. He knew he wasn’t a pretty sight right now, covered in muck and dirt from head to toe, his previously white uniform shirt stained with every shade of brown and gray.

The two stood in front of the kitchens, which he assumed they had vacated around the same time as them. Williams looked a mixture of concerned, disgusted, and confused while Luna had this curious dreamy look in her eyes that made his heart ache a little. He missed her and her nonchalance to everything that happened around her.

“Are you okay? You look like you’ve been rolling in horse shit,” Williams asked finally, startling a rough laugh from Harry. “Do you need to go to Madam Pomfrey?” the Hufflepuff asked, sounding genuinely concerned for Harry’s health.

“No, I’m good,” Harry said with a half-hearted smile. “Just need a shower.”

“What were you even doing?” Williams frowned, his eyes flickering over to where Harry was holding his invisible basilisk fangs and potions case.

“Exploring.”

Williams’ eyes narrowed. “What part of exploring requires Parseltongue?”

Harry grimaced a little. He had been hoping they hadn’t caught that but it seemed they did. Surprisingly the other teen didn’t seem particularly scared about it. Harry didn’t expect much fear from Luna, who never went along with the majority and believed whatever she wanted. “The part that is none of your business,” he sighed.

“You have a lot of Wrackspurts flying around your head” Luna piped up when Williams fell silent, staring at Harry suspiciously. “Their invisible creatures that float into people’s ears and make their brains become unfocused and confused.”

“Do I?” Harry smiled, a little amused by her words. She had said something similar to him once. “I suppose that’s why I’ve been feeling tired lately.”

She smiled at him and Williams relaxed a little, still eyeing Harry a little suspiciously. The Hufflepuff frowned for a second before he rummaged through his satchel, producing a book that made Harry’s blood run cold.

His latest journal was in the other boy’s hand, the one where he had started listing all the things that he had changed directly and indirectly. He had charmed the inside to remain invisible to anyone but him but anyone determined enough to break that enchantment would be able to if they were curious enough to research it.

“You dropped this yesterday. Figured you’d want it back,” Williams explained, holding the journal out for Harry to take. He raised an eyebrow when Harry didn’t move to take it. “I didn’t read it if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not an asshole.”

Harry took his journal back slowly, some of his panic dying down at the reassurance. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Williams shrugged before grimacing a little. “No offense but you really need that shower. Are you sure you weren’t rolling in shit? ‘Cause, you sure smell like it.”

“Positive,” Harry snorted. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone that you saw me here.”

Williams waved him off with a nod and Harry started the journey up to the Gryffindor tower with the Marauder’s map out to help him avoid bumping into anyone else. He stopped at Myrtle’s bathroom on the way, grateful that she had decided not to brood in the bathroom as he closed the Chamber’s entrance.

He cast a notice-me-not on himself as he slipped into the Gryffindor common room, undisturbed by the fifth and seventh year students struggling with their OWL and NEWT studies. His dorm mates were all asleep when he got there, dumping his finds on his bed– still hidden with his Invisibility cloak, of course– and heading to the bathroom to take a shower.

His mind wandered as he scrubbed all evidence of his night adventure down the drain.

He had collected more basilisk venom than necessary to destroy all the Horcruxes but having backup was a good idea he supposed. It wasn’t like he could conjure and control Fiendfyre and the Killing curse only worked on living Horcruxes like himself and Nagini.

The diadem would be his first target, which would be simple enough to find since he knew it was in the Room of Hidden Things and not as heavily protected as all the other Horcruxes had been. The Gaunt Ring would be his next goal since he knew roughly where it was from all the memories Dumbledore had shown him back in sixth year. He wasn’t particularly inclined to go on that venture on his own since Dumbledore had fallen to the temptations of that ring but if he had to then so be it. The locket wouldn’t be hard to get if Sirius allowed the Order to use Grimmauld Place again since Regulus Black had already done most of the work for him.

The Cup was where the main problem lay. There was no way for him to get into Bellatrix’s vault without breaking into Gringotts and Harry really didn’t want to do that. Goblins were terrifying and he didn’t have Bellatrix’s wand to use as identification this time either. It wasn’t like Bellatrix herself would open the vault for him happily.

But wasn’t Bellatrix a Black? Her vault would be connected to the Black family vaults, wouldn’t it? If Sirius took over the Black Lordship– Merlin, that was weird to say– wouldn’t that give him control of her vault?

That was something to ask Greengrass. The man had offered his knowledge up to Harry in exchange for his protection and power, he would definitely make use of it if it made his life easier.

Harry left the bathroom after he went about his usual morning routine, dumping his dirty clothing in the laundry hamper. His stomach growled loudly as he began to tuck his findings into his trunk, hidden under all the other things in there. The vials of basilisk venom were all carefully wrapped with Dudley’s old cast-offs to make sure they were broken by anything. 

He kept the wand he had found with him, deciding he would figure out how to channel his magic through his left arm by using it later on. He also kept the Transfiguring book with him, vowing to get an old English dictionary so he could understand what it was saying. Powerful magic was much less censored back then unlike in the present day and it would be useful to learn. The dagger was tucked away with the other things, to be used on another date.

Harry blinked when he caught sight of the little trunk Andromeda had gifted him for his fourteenth birthday. He knew it was his mother’s but he had never got around to actually looking through it, too nervous to do it at first before he had forgotten it in the events of the last few weeks.

He pulled it out of his trunk carefully, unsure of how sturdy it was after what seemed to be years of disuse. He ran his finger over the keyhole, frowning a little when he realized he wouldn’t be able to open it without the key. What was the point of–

He withdrew his hand quickly, wincing a little as his middle finger started to bleed. The trunk popped open suddenly, leaving him staring in confusion.

It had pricked his finger and opened. Was it like the thing at Gringotts when they used his blood as identification? Why did it open for him? It was his mother’s trunk, not his. Perhaps the trunk was accessible to anyone with her blood, meaning Aunt Petunia might be able to open it as well.

Either way, Harry wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Most of the things in the trunk were potion-related. There were about three journals full of his mum’s personal notes, all written in the same beautiful penmanship he recognized from her letter to Sirius. His mum seemed to be a Potions genius, something Harry couldn’t really say about himself. He supposed it was at least partially due to her friendship with Snape.

There was the book Hermione had taken from the Restricted Section to find the recipe for the Polyjuice Potion, Moste Potente Potions. It was heavily annotated and worn the way Snape’s Halfblood Prince textbook had been, although without all the spells.

Finally, Harry picked up the last book, which seemed to be another journal. He was expecting another notebook filled with his mum’s studies but his heart jumped into his throat when he saw what was written on the first page.

“ ‘Guide to Becoming an Animagus’ presented by Prongs, Padfoot, Moony, and Wormtail,” Harry read quietly. An ache grew in his chest as he flipped to the first page and stared at Sirius’s familiar handwriting. 

He didn’t have very many things that belonged to either of his parents but Harry hadn’t been expecting to find something of his father’s in this trunk. It made the entire thing feel more sacred than it already was, holding a book that his father and his friends had written over the years.

It made James Potter feel more like a real person to him. 

Ron paused in front of Harry’s bed, a worried frown etched into his face. 

Harry usually woke up before anyone else– that is if he actually even slept, something Ron was beginning to doubt– in their dorm but he could hear his soft rhythmic breathing through the curtains of his canopy.

He pulled the curtains open, finding Harry sleeping in what looked like an uncomfortable position. There was an open book beneath his arm, a few of the pages folded under the weight of it.

Ron pulled the book out from under him carefully, freezing when Harry stirred and relaxing once he went back to sleep. He smoothed out the pages and closed the book, turning it over to see the cover. He paused once he saw it, his eyes flickering over to his friend’s exhausted face.

‘‘Guide to Becoming an Animagus’ presented by Prongs, Padfoot, Moony and Wormtail.’

He placed the closed book back down beside Harry’s pillow before pulling the blankets over him. Harry could afford to miss a single day of classes. It wasn’t like they were doing anything important.

Hermione would understand.

Life has spiraled out of control,
You can't grasp it for a second;
You don't know what else to do
but give up.

Time to take control.
Get life organized,
One thing at a time,
One step at a time.

-  Marcelina Hardy

Chapter Text

Her leg bounced underneath her anxiously, her eyes flickering over the door where Harry was now working through the placement exam Professor Babbling was having him do.

Professor Moody’s Defense class before this one had set Harry on edge. Hermione had noticed that Harry seemed to dislike Moody since his first lesson– the one where he had taught them the Unforgivables. His grasp on his wand in that class made it seem like her friend was on the verge of hexing the scarred veteran.

Hermione wasn’t personally his biggest fan because of the way he had thrust them into that situation so roughly, especially when there were people like Harry and Neville, who had apparently lost his parents to the Cruciatus Curse according to Harry, in that class. It seemed rather insensitive, even if the man had good intentions.

About an hour ago, Moody had been placing every student in their class under the Imperius Curse. It had been an odd experience that she wasn’t particularly keen on repeating but Harry had thrown it off without batting an eye, his jaw clenched tightly in what seemed to be anger.

The anger was still there when Harry was entering the Ancient Runes classroom, leaving Hermione to wait for him anxiously.

“Relax, Hermione,” Ron sighed, seated on the edge of the stairs where he had joined her about ten minutes ago since Harry was bound to finish his examination soon. His pet cat, Arwen, was sleeping on the steps beside him, purring contently as the redhead scratched his ear. “Harry’s going to do fine. He’s been studying for nearly a month.”

“I know that,” she grumbled, dropping onto the step beside him. “I’m just worried. I’d like to be able to talk about my classes with someone for once. And Harry looked upset when he was going into class.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ron grimaced a little. “He doesn’t like Moody much. I think the first class messed with Neville and Harry’s been pretty pissy since.”

Before Hermione could say anything else, Harry slipped out of the Ancient Runes classroom with papers in his hands and she flew to her feet, rushing over anxiously. “How was it? Do you think you did well? You didn’t do horribly, did you?”

Harry gave a weary grin, leaning back a little as she leaned forward. “I did fine, ‘Mione. Don’t worry. See?” He held the papers out for her to take, chuckling when she snatched them out of his hands.

Ron came over to look over her shoulder as she flipped through his exam paper, which was similar to the final exam they had taken the year before. Hermione was rather proud and excited about her friend’s lack of mistakes despite the little time he had to study. On the very last page was a bonus question about linking runes, something they were currently learning in the curriculum. Harry had linked two runes, Uruz and Thurisaz. It wasn’t perfect but it was really well done for someone who had only done self-study.

On the bottom of the parchment was a large red ‘O’ for Outstanding.

“Oh, Harry, that’s brilliant!” she cheered happily as Ron clapped Harry’s shoulder, congratulating him on his success. “You can finally join us in class!”

“Yeah,” Harry grinned happily, his previous weariness fading a little as they made their way back to the Gryffindor Tower. 

His Arithmancy exam had been earlier today but he wouldn’t get his result for that until tomorrow morning because Professor Vector wasn’t able to finish marking it.

“I can’t believe I’m being abandoned in Divination with that old bat,” Ron sighed dramatically, grinning when Harry shoved him away playfully. “Seriously, though, I’m convinced she hates me. She’s been giving us loads of homework every class. Merlin knows there are only so many things I can make up. Remember that chart I had to do for all the things that are going to be happening to me this month? Yeah, well, now she wants me to do it again next month. What am I supposed to write– I’m going to be suffocated by a giant marshmallow?”

“I can help,” Harry offered, snickering a little. “How about a giant spider is going to find its way into our dorm and make a bonfire in our dorm ‘cause Hagrid invited it?”

Ron turned a little green around the edges, punching Harry’s arm as he laughed at him.

Speaking of work, all the fourth years had noticed a definite increase in the amount of work they were required to do this term. Professor McGonagall explained why when the class gave a particularly loud groan at the amount of Transfiguration homework she had assigned. 

“You are now entering a most important phase of your magical education!” she told them, her eyes glinting dangerously behind her square spectacles. “Your Ordinary Wizarding Levels are drawing closer —” 

“We don’t take O.W.L.s till fifth year!” Dean had interrupted indignantly. 

“Maybe not, Mr. Thomas, but believe me, you need all the preparation you can get! Ms. Granger remains the only person in this class who has managed to turn a hedgehog into a satisfactory pincushion. I might remind you that your pincushion, Mr. Thomas, still curls up in fright if anyone approaches it with a pin!” 

Hermione had been a little pleased with the praise but all of their classes were growing more difficult, despite the fact that it was still the beginning of the year.

Professor Binns, the ghost who taught History of Magic, had them write weekly essays on the goblin rebellions of the eighteenth century. Professor Snape was having them research antidotes. They took this one seriously, as he had hinted that he might be poisoning one of them before Christmas to see if their antidote worked. Professor Flitwick had asked them to read three extra books in preparation for their lesson on Summoning Charms, which she was rather excited about.

Even Hagrid was adding to their workload. The Blast-Ended Skrewts were growing at a remarkable pace given that nobody had yet discovered what they ate. Hagrid was delighted, and as part of their “project,” suggested they come down to his hut on alternate evenings to observe the skrewts and make notes on their extraordinary behavior. 

Hermione tried to be excited about that to match Hagrid's enthusiasm but skrewts weren't... exactly her cup of tea.

On top of everything, Hermione was also doing research into her S.P.E.W campaign– she was still calling it that until she figured out a different name. She had brought the idea to her friends after she had been researching since the World Cup ended and while Ron had initially scorned the idea– which stung, even if she understood he was raised to think the enslavement of elves was normal– Harry had been the one to say that he agreed with her but thought she was going about it the wrong way. If she forced her ideals on everyone else, no one would listen to her. House elves were conditioned to believe they were happy to serve humans and trying to free them against their will would not make them cooperate.

He had brought up the idea of starting a political campaign to fight against the discrimination of magical creatures, bringing up the fact that he could use his clout as the Boy-Who-Lived and the Potter Heir– which, what? She had no idea the Wizarding World operated that way and Ron had seemed surprised that she didn’t know that. It was old-fashioned but apparently being from certain families gave people a lot of influence over the happenings of the Wizarding World.

The Weasley family had next to no influence due to their status as blood-traitors but Harry’s family was apparently amongst the most powerful, above the Malfoys and right under the Blacks– which brought the question of why on earth Sirius wasn’t using his influence as the Black Heir to get custody of Harry? Not even Fudge would be able to stand in his way if what Harry and Ron had told her was true.

Either way, it was nice that Harry was taking her seriously and made Ron understand why she was so insistent on it. And if Hermione had to pick the best trait about Ron it would be how quickly he threw away the things he had learned as a wizard-born child when he realized how truly wrong and disjointed they were. Just like how he had accepted Professor Lupin so quickly after figuring out he was a werewolf despite all the propaganda against them and other magical creatures like vampires, hags, and much more.

An unfamiliar eagle owl flew towards them just as they reached the Gryffindor portrait entrance. It landed on Harry’s shoulder, nipping his ear before holding its leg out for Harry to untie the letter.

“That’s Bill’s owl!” Ron exclaimed. “Why’s he writing to you?”

“I asked him something before we left. He said he’d get back to me,” Harry explained simply, untying the letter and tucking it in his back pocket. There was a new tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before as he sent the owl off again, promising that he would send Hedwig with a response later.

More secrets.

Hermione bit her lip in frustration, exchanging a look with Ron. He looked a little frustrated himself but there was understanding in his eyes that Hermione knew she didn’t possess. She knew it was unfair to get mad at Harry for keeping secrets from them when she had her own but this was frustrating. 

It was so blatantly obvious that he wasn’t telling them something and it frustrated her to no end that Ron kept telling her not to push it. She hated not having the answers and she hated the fact that Harry wasn’t trusting them with whatever this was.

Weren’t friends supposed to trust each other with the truth?

“Harry and I both knew something was up with you and the time turner last year but we let you keep your secrets until you wanted to tell us. Just let Harry do the same.”

Hermione sighed as the memory of Ron’s words from over the summer stopped her from exploding with questions once again. Harry would tell them the truth, eventually. 

She just had to be patient.

‘Harry,

Can we talk in person? The twins should know some way to get out of Hogwarts, they’d probably be happy to help you. I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk about this through letters.

Choose a time and place and send me a letter back as soon as possible.

– Bill’

Harry sighed, trying not to feel disappointed with the lack of anything in the letter. He knew the man was right about not risking it by writing about journals and what had happened, especially since he was already in a precarious situation as it was.

He just wished the man would give him a clue on what his thoughts were. Did he believe Harry or not? Was he a threat to Harry’s work?

Harry incinerated the letter with a flick of his wand, slipping out of his bed for the second night this week. He stopped by his desk to write his response to Bill, stating that he would meet him outside of the Shrieking Shack this Sunday after curfew.

He folded the parchment and placed it in an envelope, scribbling Bill’s name on the back before he tucked it into his pocket and threw the Invisibility Cloak over himself. He would give the letter to Hedwig before going to the Room of Requirement in search of the Diadem.

Harry made his way out of the dorm, freezing in his tracks when he nearly bumped into Fred as he passed the common. He and George must’ve been working on their business late into the night. He cursed himself a little for not checking to see if the coast was clear first, especially when the redhead paused, his eyes narrowing as they flickered over where Harry was standing, just a few inches away from the teen.

“Fred?” George frowned.

“It’s nothing. Just thought I felt something,” Fred shrugged.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when the two disappeared up the stairs, checking Marauder’s map quickly to make sure he wouldn’t run into anyone else on the way before he made his way out of the Gryffindor common room, invisible once again.

“Again? Who’s there?” the Fat Lady huffed irritably. “Some people need their beauty sleep.”

Harry rolled his eyes, walking down the spiral staircase of the Gryffindor Tower with the cloak wrapped around him. Peeves noticed him somehow along the way and tried to upend a vase on him in hopes of catching the 'wee invisible student sneaking around at night'.

Finally, Harry reached the Owlery which was situated in the West Tower. 

The Owlery was a circular stone room, rather cold and drafty because none of the windows had glass in them. The floor was entirely covered in straw, owl droppings, and the regurgitated skeletons of mice and voles. Hundreds upon hundreds of owls of every breed imaginable were nestled here on perches that rose right up to the top of the tower, nearly all of them asleep, though here and there a round amber eye peeked at Harry. He spotted Hedwig nestled between a barn owl and a tawny, and hurried over to her, sliding a little on the dropping-strewn floor as he took his cloak off. 

Hedwig chittered happily when she saw him, fluttering down to land on his outstretched arm and sticking her leg out for him to tie his letter to.

“Can you take this to Bill for me?” Harry asked as he finished tying the letter to her leg.

She nipped his finger harder than usual as if she was offended that he was doubting her but hooted softly in a reassuring sort of way all the same. She spread her wings and flew off, leaving Harry with the usual uneasiness of watching her fly away where he couldn’t stop anyone from hurting her and the trepidation of the upcoming meeting this weekend.

Harry sighed, checking the map again before he wrapped the cloak around his shoulders and began the trip to the seventh floor. The walk there was practically instinctual after a good chunk of his fifth year was spent teaching other students Defense in that room.

Speaking of the DA, Harry didn’t think it was a half-bad idea to introduce that idea again. Crouch Jr. was a decent teacher even if Harry hated him but Harry could bring up the fact that it was rare that they actually got decent teachers so perhaps he could bring the idea of a club to McGonagall. 

(It was always a good idea to give everyone a headstart on learning how to fight back if he failed at stopping the war.)

Harry stopped when he reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, turning to stare at the wall across from it with a mixture of nostalgia and dread. 

How many times had he walked past this wall with mundane needs? How many hours had he spent in this room with his friends, training for a war they knew was coming but never understood what it truly meant until it was far too late?

He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath before he started pacing in front of the blank wall with his eyes closed. 

‘I need the place where everything is hidden… I need the place where everything is hidden… 

I need the place where everything is hidden…’

When he opened his eyes, there it was at last: the door to the Room of Requirement. Harry wrenched it open, flung himself inside, and slammed it shut. 

The room looked about the same as he remembered, although it was less awe-inspiring when the goal he had in mind for entering the room was a grim one. It was the size of a large cathedral, with high windows that were sending shafts of light down upon what looked like a city with towering walls, built of what Harry knew must be objects hidden by generations of Hogwarts inhabitants. There were alleyways and roads bordered by teetering piles of broken and damaged furniture, stowed away, perhaps, to hide the evidence of mishandled magic, or else hidden by castle-proud house-elves. There were thousands and thousands of books, no doubt banned or graffitied or stolen. There were winged catapults and Fanged Frisbees, some still with enough life in them to hover halfheartedly over the mountains of other forbidden items; there were chipped bottles of congealed potions, hats, jewels, cloaks; there were what looked like dragon eggshells, corked bottles whose contents still shimmered evilly, several rusting swords, and a heavy, bloodstained ax.

He knew where the diadem was, so frustratingly obvious if he had paid attention but he had been too oblivious the first time around. A part of it was probably due to his panic about hitting Malfoy with that spell, something that made the small vindictive part of him crow with delight whenever he thought of that particular memory now.

He followed the path he remembered walking in his sixth year in hopes of hiding his Advanced Potions text from Snape’s piercing gaze.

He turned right past the enormous stuffed troll, ran on a short way, took a left at the broken Vanishing Cabinet– which he should probably do something about– and finally stopped beside the large cupboard with an acid-blistered surface.

The diadem was here. 

He turned to face the bust of an old warlock, his eyes flickering around for a moment before he caught sight of the tarnished tiara. His heart felt like it was bearing in his throat as he stepped closer to it, a heaviness he didn’t remember feeling the first time hanging in the air.

Perhaps it was because Harry remembered the things they had gone through to get a hold of the diadem in his seventh year. Perhaps it was because he remembered what had occurred right after they had destroyed it.

"Hello, Minister!" bellowed Percy, sending a neat jinx straight at Thicknesse, who dropped his wand and clawed at the front of his robes, apparently in awful discomfort. "Did I mention I'm resigning?"

"You're joking, Perce!" shouted Fred as the Death Eater he was battling collapsed under the weight of three separate Stunning Spells. Thicknesse had fallen to the ground with tiny spikes erupting all over him; he seemed to be turning into some form of sea urchin. Fred looked at Percy with glee.

"You actually are joking, Perce... I don't think I've heard you joke since you were–"

The air exploded. They had been grouped together, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and Percy, the two Death Eaters at their feet, one Stunned, the other Transfigured; and in that fragment of a moment, when danger seemed temporarily at bay, the world was rent apart, Harry felt himself flying through the air, and all he could do was hold as tightly as possible to that thin stick of wood that was his one and only weapon, and shield his head in his arms: He heard the screams and yells of his companions without hope of knowing what had happened to them.

And then the world resolved itself into pain and semidarkness. He was half buried in the wreckage of a corridor that had been subjected to a terrible attack. Cold air told him that the side of the castle had been blown away, and hot stickiness on his cheek told him that he was bleeding copiously. Then he heard a terrible cry that pulled at his insides, that expressed agony of a kind neither flame nor curse could cause, and he stood up, swaying, more frightened than he had been that day, more frightened, perhaps, than he had been in his life...

And Hermione was struggling to her feet in the wreckage, and three redheaded men were grouped on the ground where the wall had blasted apart. Harry grabbed Hermione's hand as they staggered and stumbled over stone and wood.

"No, no, no!" someone was shouting. "No! Fred! No!" And Percy was shaking his brother, and Ron was kneeling beside them, and Fred's eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face.

Perhaps the memory hurt so much more because Harry had just seen Fred before he came here but he could feel his throat closing up a little, blinking back the tears and guilt that the memory brought up.

He wasn’t going to let it happen again. And if it ever did, it was going to be over his cold dead body.

Harry picked up the diadem, noting that it was made of the same sort of metal that the Sword of Gryffindor and the dagger that he found in the Chamber were made of as he examined it. 

It was a pity Voldemort had tainted so many historical relics with his soul. While Harry didn’t particularly care for the relics of the Founding Four, he was sure there were people who could’ve studied and used them to help the masses instead of turning them into a container for a contaminated soul.

Etched on the inside of it in tiny words, he could see Ravenclaw’s famous quote exactly where he remembered it being. "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure."

Placing it on the cupboard’s surface, Harry pulled out the vial of basilisk venom and the Chamber dagger that he brought with him. He fumbled with it a little as he coated the blade with substance, blinking in surprise when the dagger seemed to absorb the substance like the Sword of Gryffindor had back in his second year.

Well, that was new.

The dagger was like a smaller version of the sword, which was advantageous for his situation. It meant he just had to carry the blade by itself.

Harry felt his scar burn suddenly, nearly dropping the dagger in surprise as a wave of pain hit. He could feel agitation burning in him but it wasn’t his and it didn’t feel exactly like Voldemort’s either. 

He turned his gaze back to the diadem as a faint whisper reached his ears, temptation suddenly burning in his chest. If he put it on his head he could do anything, he could help the others. All he had to do was–

He jerked back, shaking his head as he blinked away the odd sensation. He didn’t remember the diadem having this sort of protection on it. Had Voldemort placed a curse on it when he dumped it in this room as he had done to the Gaunt Ring?

Remembering what the locket had done to Ron, Harry had no intention of finding out.

He tightened his grip on the dagger, ignoring the whispers that grew increasingly louder and louder, feeling something dark and slimy pushing against his rudimentary Occlumency shields before he plunged the blade straight into the heart of the aged headpiece. 

There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream as a blood-like substance, dark and tarry, spurted out of the diadem in torrents, streaming over Harry’s hands. It vibrated violently on the cupboard before it split in half, its screaming dying down to a faint, echoing sound in the distance.

The dark presence in his mind disappeared along with it and Harry relaxed, tension he didn’t register before bleeding from his shoulder. 

It was over.

Two down, four more to go.

Figure it out for yourself, my lad,
You’ve all that the greatest of men have had,
Two arms, two hands, two legs, two eyes,
And a brain to use if you would be wise.
With this equipment, they all began,
So start for the top and say “I can.”

Look them over, the wise and great,
They take their food from a common plate
And similar knives and forks they use,
With similar laces, they tie their shoes,
The world considers them brave and smart.
But you’ve all they had when they made their start.

You can triumph and come to skill,
You can be great if only you will,
You’re well equipped for what fight you choose,
You have legs and arms and a brain to use,
And the man who has risen, great deeds to do
Began his life with no more than you.

You are the handicap you must face,
You are the one who must choose your place,
You must say where you want to go.
How much you will study the truth to know,
God has equipped you for life, But He
Lets you decide what you want to be.

Courage must come from the soul within,
The man must furnish the will to win,
So figure it out for yourself, my lad,
You were born with all that the great have had,
With your equipment, they all began.
Get hold of yourself, and say “I can.”

- Edgar Guest

Chapter Text

Sirius tried to school his face into a neutral expression, staring back at the face that was a near replica of his own but much more aged despite his time spent rotting in Azkaban. 

“Grandfather… I was unaware that you were alive,” he began, pursing his lips as gray eyes bore into his own. 

There was a hint of amusement in Arcturus Black’s eyes as he spoke, his voice as silky and menacingly elegant as Sirius remembered. “You sound displeased by this, grandson.”

“To what do I owe this visit?” Sirius asked, ignoring the man’s statement. He didn’t plan on staying in his grandfather’s presence for longer than necessary, even if he didn’t feel any particular way about the old man since he kept out of Sirius’s life for the most part. It was an unpleasant reminder of his childhood and the grueling holidays spent at Black Manor. It was annoying enough that he had slipped into his old formal way of speaking just by being in his presence.

“Merely to congratulate you on your release,” Arcturus said.

“Nearly two months after? You’ll have to excuse me for not believing you,” Sirius answered dryly. A Black coming to visit for such a mundane reason without any ulterior motive? 

As if.

“Impertinent as ever, Sirius,” his grandfather stated, his lips curling in contempt. “But as you wish to know the true reason behind my visit, I came to inquire whether you will be taking up the mantle of Lord Black.”

“No,” Sirius snarled, anger simmering beneath his skin. “I may bear the name Black but I was cast out of the family. I will not take up the mantle after my abhorrent mother reinstated me as Black heir for a crime I did not commit, revoltingly proud of me for being responsible for my friend’s death.”

“She did not reinstate you,” Arcturus contended, a minuscule frown on his weathered features. “I did. She was long dead when I did so.”

Sirius paused, gazing at his grandfather in incredulity.

“Do not gawk, it is unbecoming,” the man sighed and Sirius clamped his mouth shut, feeling like a child being scolded all over again. “You were the sole remaining member of the family that is not cast out, dead or a woman. I am far too old to take up the mantle anymore, the Family magic would decimate me. It was hardly a surprising choice, especially on the chance that you were proven innocent, which you currently are.”

“Wait– what?” Sirius goggled at him in disbelief. “You thought I was innocent ?”

“Of course, I did,” Arcturus sneered, distaste evident on his features. It was almost comforting to see the usual reaction he got from his family with the current conversation they were having. “You stuck to that Potter boy like glue and went running to him as soon as you were cast out. I could hardly believe that you, of all people, would aid in their demise.”

Sirius ached a little at the mention of James, closing his eyes for a brief second before he sighed. “What do you want from me, Grandfather? Even if it was you, I have no desire to be Lord Black and participate in your frustrating mind games and politics.”

“Which is why I come with an offer,” Arcturus said. “You’ve made it known that you want the Potter heir, haven’t you?”

“What does Harry have to do with any of this?” Sirius asked, his voice becoming dangerously quiet as he looked at the man sitting across the table from him. If he tried to bring Sirius’s godson into this mess, he had no problem hexing his grandfather and he knew that Remus, who was situated by the door, would have his back.

“I have little interest in Harry Potter,” his grandfather scoffed. “I am telling you that if you take up the Black lordship, no one can contest your wants in the Wizengamot. Not even the Minister. You care about the boy, do you not?”

Sirius twitched, something Arcturus caught if the sliver of a smirk on his face was anything to go by. “... I do not have the experience necessary to deal with the family’s assets and affairs.”

Arcturus hummed, raising an eyebrow at Sirius. “Does this mean you are on board?”

He gritted his teeth, not bothering to stop the scowl forming on his face. “...Yes.”

“Marvelous,” his grandfather said with an aged sly smile. “I can handle those aspects while teaching you everything you need to know– quite like a schoolboy, don’t you think? In the event of my death, you shall be prepared to deal with it all by yourself. Does that sound agreeable?”

Sirius scowled at the ill-concealed insult before he nodded reluctantly.

“Then, do accept this. It will be necessary for the next Wizengamot session.” Arcturus placed an open jewelry box on the table with the Gringotts seal on it and he knew what it was immediately, a mixture of dread and determination welling up inside of him. 

The Lord ring.

He remembered wearing the Heir ring when he was eleven before his mother ripped it off his hand the summer after his first year, enraged that he had dared be Sorted anywhere that wasn’t Slytherin, much less the complete opposite. 

The Black Lord ring had a presence, commanding and frightening like his father was when he got truly angry. Sirius had hated the feeling and now…

It didn’t matter. If it meant he got Harry, if it meant he got to keep the last of his family close, he would do anything. He supposed it would get him in trouble one day, just like his grandfather had used his love for Harry against his hatred for the Black name.

The ring was heavy as he picked it up, slipping it onto the third finger of his right hand. The air around him was tense for a moment, as if he was being appraised, before an involuntary gasp escaped him as the Family magic roared with approval he had not expected. There was a sting of pain before the ring resized itself into a thin golden band with the family motto written in microscopic words: ‘Toujours Pur’.

“... A warning would’ve been nice.”

Arcturus gave him a smile, deceptively innocent in a way that made Sirius want to roll his eyes. “My apologies. I thought you to be capable of handling such, grandson.”

“Come off it, Grandfather,” Sirius sighed, feeling a little like he’d stretched too far. “I suppose I will be seeing you at the next Wizengamot session?” It was a clear dismissal.

“Impertinent brat,” Arcturus sighed, getting to his feet and picking his cane up. “The next session is on November 21st. You want the Potter boy before Yule, don’t you?”

“Yes. Your help is greatly appreciated,” Sirius nodded as he stood up as well, showing his old grandfather the way out. Remus looked up from where he was situated in the living room, giving Arcturus a wary nod when the man greeted him with a nod of acknowledgment, although there was contempt in his expression that showed exactly what he thought about Remus.

His grandfather stopped just outside of the door with a gravelly expression on his face that set Sirius on edge. “I have little interest in the Potter boy, however, my ears have heard things that tell me this year will not be a pleasant one for him. I believed you should know.”

“What’re you talking about?” Sirius growled, his eyes narrowing as a pit of dread formed in his gut. Arcturus merely gave him a look and Apparated on the spot. “Bastard! What the hell was he talking about?!”

“Sirius?” Remus called, appearing by his side with a worried frown on his face. “What did he say?”

“He said he heard from someone that Harry’s not going to have a pleasant year,” Sirius spat. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? He’s at Hogwarts! It’s the safest place in the world.”

His friend made a face, looking rather uncomfortable suddenly. “Hogwarts… has not been the safest these past few years, so I’m not banking on him being completely safe.”

Sirius frowned, confusion and frustration bubbling in his chest. “What are you talking about, Moony?”

Remus rubbed his neck awkwardly before he sighed. “When I was teaching Harry the Patronus Charm last year, we talked and he mentioned some things to me in passing. So did Dumbledore. I came to the unfortunate conclusion that Hogwarts isn’t quite as safe as we think it is.”

“Get to the point,” Sirius grumbled irritably, shutting the open door.

“Erm… In his first year, there was a teacher possessed by Voldemort that was after a magical artifact the headmaster was safekeeping within the castle,” Remus explained, giving Sirius a wry smile when his eyes widened in disbelief. “That was my reaction too. In second year, a student was possessed by Voldemort and opened the Chamber of Secrets, which apparently exists and is not a myth. A few students got petrified, Gilderoy Lockhart turned out to be a fraud, and Harry killed the basilisk that petrified the students with the Sword of Gryffindor, which is now in Dumbledore’s office. Third year is pretty obvious.”

Sirius stared at his friend in blank disbelief before he laughed, sounding rather hysterical as he leaned against the door and slid to the ground. His godson was either cursed or a certified badass and he didn’t know whether he should congratulate him or scream.

“...I need a pint.”

With a sharp crack! a man appeared in the middle of the dingy bar, cloaked in dark robes that shadowed his face as he collapsed on the ground. His breathing was ragged as held a hand to his side, blood spurting out of his mouth when he coughed.

Sharp blue eyes glared at him from over the counter, the bartender grumbling under his breath as walked across the empty tavern towards the fallen man. “Don’t go bleeding on my floors,” he groused.

“And miss out on having you clean me up? I’m heartbroken, Abe,” the man chuckled weakly, gray eyes gleaming mischievously beneath the hood of his cloak before he moaned in pain. “Sorry. Got myself in a bit of a bind and got hit with a nasty curse. Managed to stop the worst of it but it’s not pretty.”

Aberforth Dumbledore frowned as he caught sight of the rotting flesh on the man’s side when he pulled the cloak aside to reveal the injury. “Things are getting dangerous, kid. You’re treading on unexplored lands,” he murmured.

“I could hardly call them unexplored,” the man grunted, squeezing his eyes shut as Aberforth poured Muggle disinfectant over the wound, knowing magical treatment didn’t work on dark magic. “Everyone thinks he’s dead and I plan to keep it that way.”

“That’s not your job.”

“No, it’s not,” the man agreed. “But I’m feeling a little vindictive and I’ve walked to my death once before. I’m taking that bastard son of a Muggle with me the next time I go.”

“...You’re going to get yourself killed, R.”

The man grinned ruefully. “I suppose you could say that’s what the end goal is. I walked into that place sixteen years ago with the intent to atone. I’ll welcome death next time with open arms.”

Bill stared at the ceiling of his flat, a note discarded on the table in front of him along with a set of journals. There was a cigarette hanging limply out of his mouth, smoke wafting from the smoldering end.

It wasn’t something he did normally, for fear of incurring his mother’s wrath if she ever found out. But the situation could hardly be called normal and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react. 

Outright denying it was not a viable option, especially since the goblins– Well, it was only Orgnok– had quite literally confirmed that it was the truth just one day ago and begrudgingly presented him with physical proof. 

Ignoring it wasn’t an option either, especially after everything he had read in those journals. His conscience would scream at him till the end of time if he didn’t do anything after he had read that some bastards had killed one of his younger brothers in a war in the near future. What kind of shitty person would he be if he did that?

A sane one, probably.

Which left him with the third option, which was what he was currently doing; stressing himself until he had a nervous breakdown in the middle of his living room. It was a totally normal reaction because what in Merlin’s saggy left testicle was his life?

Time travel. The Chosen One had traveled from the future to stop You-Know-Who from starting a war and killing people and he had somehow decided that Bill was the best person to dump this world-shattering revelation on. 

Bill was beginning to wonder if he was going mad because he actually believed the kid. It was far too vivid and far too real for someone that had not lived through the war as a kid before. There was something mildly sickening about it because Bill could remember the things that went on around him back in the first war and hearing all the same things coming out of the mouth of a boy the same age as his youngest brother made him feel so weary.

And Horcruxes. 

How could someone ever be so stupid? How could they be so afraid of death and all that it holds that they would go as far as to split their soul into so many parts? 

It defied the laws of the world and left them in limbo between life and death if someone managed to kill them and the Horcruxes. It wasn’t the same as being a ghost. Ghosts were classified as undead, choosing to remain in the living world because they were too afraid of what came after. In this case, you were neither alive nor dead. You were left in a limbo of nothingness. You couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t talk, couldn’t feel. There would be nothing but your own thoughts forever and ever. It was a fate worse than death.

It was terrifying .

To think that someone was so scared of death and thought so highly of themselves that they never considered for a moment what the repercussions of those actions were. You-Know-Who had condemned himself to misery at the age of sixteen and Bill found that a part of him crowed with vindication at the thought of him suffering.

He dragged in a breath before exhaling, sagging into the couch as smoke billowed out of his mouth. He couldn’t articulate how he felt about the entire situation beyond the fact that it was the weirdest thing he had ever lived through.

What was one supposed to say when they found out that in a year’s time the dark wizard that terrorized their world as a kid was coming back to power or when they found out they were going to get mauled by a werewolf and marry the love of their life in the middle of a war? Much less when they found out from their younger brother’s best friend?

Harry had agreed to talk tonight, something that Bill was dreading a little more every time he thought about it. He’d known Harry Potter for a month and the kid already seemed intent on flipping his world on its axis. 

With a sigh, Bill discarded the cigarette with a flick of his wand before grabbing the first journal, which detailed the events of this year and part of the next. 

The Triwizard Tournament, the Goblet of Fire, the four Champions, the tasks, Cedric Diggory’s death, You-Know-Who’s return, Crouch Jr. masquerading as Moody, Fudge’s denial and subsequent slander of both Dumbledore and Harry. Hell, the most normal thing about the entire year was that Rita Skeeter was apparently an illegal Animagus, a skill which she used to spy and get personal confessions out of unsuspecting victims.

The best thing to do in Bill’s opinion was to get rid of Crouch Jr. but he needed to talk and plan with Harry before doing anything. Merlin knew what the kid had accomplished in the past two weeks Bill had spent gathering his wits.

A glance at his watch told him it was nearly midnight as he got up, shrinking the journals and placing them in his pocket. He threw one of his Muggle sweaters on before turning on his heel sharply and Apparating to Hogsmeade. 

Most of the shops were closed beyond a few of the seedier ones that he was sure ran unpleasant businesses in the safety of the night– he was positive he saw Mundungus Fletcher and his crowd of thieving berks around the area once or twice. He was a little surprised to see that Hog’s Head was closed since it usually remained open past its official hours. Abe usually kept it running until well past midnight before he wrapped up and closed the dingy tavern. 

Bill passed all the shops as he made his way to the outskirts of the village where the Shrieking Shack was. The house was as dilapidated and shabby as he remembered it being in his school, although it seemed less creepy now than it did back when he was a teen.

The door to the old shack opened just as Bill reached it and Harry came out, looking disheveled and disgruntled as he dusted himself off. He looked up just as Bill was about to greet him, his eyes widening before he gave him a tight smile that looked more like a grimace. 

Good to know he wasn’t the only one dreading this conversation. 

“Hi,” Harry greeted awkwardly before he added, “Can we just skip the pleasantries?”

“Sure,” Bill sighed, relieved that he didn’t have to make uncomfortable small talk before getting to the point of this entire conversation. “Listen, kid. I talked with Master Orgnok and read the journals. As unbelievable and utterly insane this situation is, I believe you.” He pretended not to notice the way Harry relaxed a bit, his grip loosening around his wand– when did he take that out? “I understand why you didn’t tell the Headmaster but still– Why me?”

“Process of elimination and you’re bound to secrecy by Gringotts,” Harry sighed. “I’m not telling anyone that’s likely to try and stop me or anyone that’s remotely likely to tell Dumbledore, which removes essentially all of my friends and nearly every adult in my life beside you, Charlie, and someone else. I don’t trust the third option and I barely know Charlie, which leaves you as my only choice.”

The reasoning was more sound than Bill would’ve expected although he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised by anything that came out of the teen’s mouth anymore. Although one thing he had said was bothering Bill…

“Likely to stop you from doing what? I don’t think anyone in my family would stop you from trying to destroy You-Know-Who, except maybe Mum, because she doesn’t want you to get hurt,” he frowned.

Harry’s expression tightened and Bill felt a pit of dread grow in his stomach. “... In the journals that I gave you, I detailed six of Voldemort’s Horcruxes. The diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, the diadem, and Nagini, his snake. During the battle after Snape died, I found out there was a seventh Horcrux. ” He looked away from Bill with a complicated sort of expression on his face. 

Bill’s eyebrows knitted together, trying to remember everything he knew about Horcruxes and why the last one seemed to be the most problematic of the lot to Harry. “What was it?”

“Not ‘what’. It’s ‘who’,” Harry muttered and the man froze, his eyes flickering to the infamous scar on the teen’s forehead as horrified comprehension washed over him.

Oh. Oh. 

“Did you die?”   he breathed, feeling rather sick at the thought. His words were insensitive, even to his own ears but his horror had destroyed any measure of decorum that he might have possessed otherwise. 

Having a Horcrux in him meant that he had to die in order for Voldemort to die. Had Dumbledore known? Is that why Harry had consistently been put in danger, had been assigned the duty of defeating Voldemort as soon as he reached school age?

“Yes and no,” Harry sighed, looking briefly amused by the puzzled expression on Bill’s face. “As unbelievable as it sounds, I was given the choice of dying or going back to finish the fight. The Killing Curse Voldemort cast destroyed the Horcrux in my scar, subsequently causing him to become mortal and dooming himself. I chose to return and got rid of him in the end.”

“Harry… that’s– What the hell is your life, kid?” Bill said quietly. He was hit with another wave of horrified realization when a question crossed his mind. If Harry had gotten the Horcrux destroyed in his final year and he had returned to his fourth year, did that mean– “You still have the Horcrux in your head now.”

It wasn’t really a question.

He felt as though he might lose his breakfast. Here was a fourteen-year-old kid– it didn’t matter that he had lived to the age of seventeen once upon a time– talking about walking to his death as nonchalantly as one would the weather. Harry had told him this because he believed that Bill wouldn’t stop him because he knew all of his friends and caretakers would stop him.

The worst thing was that Bill knew he couldn’t even try to stop him. If he did, Harry would simply do it all on his own. If he tried to tell anyone, he’d lose his magic forever because of his contract with Gringotts. The only options he had was to sit on the sidelines or help the kid until the end.

The look on Harry’s face told him that he knew the sort of decision he had dumped on Bill, leaving him caught between a rock and a hard place. He had even warned him beforehand that he would regret it.

“You don’t think you’re going to survive, do you?” he asked softly, meeting the teen’s eyes as he spotted the resignation in them. He fully expected to die in his quest to destroy You-Know-Who.

Harry shrugged. “You only get lucky so many times in your life. I’m not banking on it.”

“Okay,” Bill breathed, closing his eyes for a moment to harden his resolve. As much as he didn’t like it, he was going to see it through to the end. He wasn’t abandoning a kid who had asked for his help for the sake of his own comfort. He wasn’t the one that was risking his life to save the entirety of the Wizarding World. 

“What’s the plan?"

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light

- Dylan Thomas

Chapter Text

October began in a blur of studying, planning, writing Sirius and occasionally Lupin letters, Occlumency lessons with Bill every Sunday, helping Hermione research for the political campaign they were planning for the rights of magical creatures, and smuggling coffee from the kitchens when Ron and Hermione began to make him cut back on the amount of caffeine he was ingesting. The two of them managed to convince the twins and Ginny to help them with their quest, resulting in multiple precious cups of coffee to be stolen out of his hands while he was in the middle of drinking them.

Talk about the Triwizard Tournament had increased with the start of this month, since it had gotten out that the tournament would begin in November which meant that the Champions would be chosen some time in the next month or so. The twins chattered about the plans to hoodwink the ‘impartial judge’ that would determine the Champions, with Ron and occasionally Harry chipping in ridiculous suggestions to Hermione’s exasperation.

The announcement for the arrival of Beauxbaton and Durmstrang would be happening soon and the castle had begun to undergo rigorous cleaning just as he remembered. Grimy portraits had been scrubbed, much to the displeasure of their subjects, who sat huddled in their frames muttering darkly and wincing as they felt their raw pink faces, which Harry found rather amusing. The suits of armor gleamed and moved without squeaking and Filch became more unpleasant, if that was possible.

Snape was in a foul mood since the school year had started, probably due to Fake Moody’s presence. He’d given Harry odd looks when he thought he wasn’t looking, annoyance tinged into his expression. He had probably noticed the protections over his mind and no longer used Legilimency on him in case Harry decided to say something aloud.

Harry had also taken to studying his mum’s Potion journals, which helped his grades tremendously even though he had already studied everything they were learning. Snape didn’t seem too pleased by the fact that Harry was doing better, nitpicking the most ridiculous of things about his mostly perfect potions. Harry didn’t mind it too much although both Ron and Hermione found it outrageous. 

Reading his mum’s writing was almost fun, her personality shining through in a way that made him feel like he knew her. The journal his dad, Sirius, Lupin, and Pettigrew had written about Animagi and how their experiences transforming was weathered with the number of times Harry had read it, their little comments and anecdotes never failing to make him laugh.

Owning these things and getting to know parts of his parents felt precious in a way that the cloak was back in his first year when he had first owned something that belonged to his dad. A little connection to the people he never knew but missed dearly.

Harry wished sometimes that he had been sent to a time where he was able to save them too.

Ron and Hermione had taken to joining him whenever he read the journals, although Hermione was more interested in his mum’s notes and annotated version of Moste Potente Potions while Ron was more interested in the journal the Marauders had written. It was fun laughing with them about his dad’s ridiculous tales and pouring over his mum’s work, who was a veritable genius according to Hermione. 

“Hey,” Ron asked one afternoon, lying on the grass under the shade of a tree as he tossed a Quaffle up and down. “Wouldn’t it be cool to become Animagi?”

Harry and Hermione both turned to look at him with vastly differing reactions, one considering and the other scandalized. 

“We can’t do that! It’s illegal, not to mention ridiculously hard and dangerous!” Hermione exclaimed, turning to Harry for support and throwing her hands up in exasperation when she saw the expression on his face. “Merlin, you two are unbelievable.”

“C’mon, ‘Mione. It’s hardly the first illegal thing we’ve done,” he laughed. “It’s not a terrible idea. I mean, we practically have a guide on how to do it and I’m sure there are plenty of books we can find on the subject.”

“See?” Ron said smugly, grinning when Hermione tossed her spare quill at him. “Besides, we have you. You brewed a working Polyjuice Potion in second year– that’s a NEWT level potion. And plus, we have the book with the potion necessary with us this time, we don’t even need to go to the Restricted Section.”

“Sirius would probably help us if we asked,” Harry added. His godfather would either be thrilled or completely disapproving.

Hermione’s protests died at her lips, flushing as she tried to find other arguments. She looked interested even if she tried to deny it and her shoulders slumped in defeat. “I feel like you too have been conspiring behind my back,” she grumbled half-heartedly.

“We would never,” Harry gasped theatrically, cracking up with Ron when Hermione rolled her eyes fondly. 

“So we’re doing it?” Ron asked, his face bright with excitement as he sat up.

“I’m in. Hermione?”

“Well, I could hardly let you two do it on your own, now could I?” she said grudgingly, a small smile peeking through as Ron cheered.

“What do you think our forms will be?” he asked, rocking back and forth excitedly.

“I feel like a dog would suit you,” Harry grinned. “Maybe a little Chihuahua.”

Ron gave him a mock offended look as Hermione giggled, tossing the fake quaffle at Harry’s head. “Rude,” he huffed.

They bickered for a little while, throwing ridiculous suggestions of what their Animagus forms would be like, which ranged from elephants to spiders, much to Ron’s displeasure. 

Hermione directed the conversation to Ancient Runes, which was quickly becoming one of his favorite subjects. It was straightforward as long as you knew what you wanted to say, and how to say it. The complexity came when the concepts being described became complex. The sheer number of double meanings, ways to say things, and types of Runes complicated the matter further. Linking Runes had interesting and possibly dangerous effects and Professor Babbling had been rather clear on the fact that none of them were to attempt Runic magic until their fifth year, something Harry considered asking Bill about the coming Sunday.

“Alas! I’ve lost my companion to the throes of education,” Ron said, swooning dramatically. He grinned at the two of them when they laughed. “C’mon, it’s a beautiful day, stop talking about school and your confusing classes. Have pity on the lesser-minded.”

“You’re not lesser-minded,” Hermione said absently as she closed her book and placed it in her satchel. “Why don’t we go visit Hagrid? We haven’t gone to see him for a few weeks.”

“Good idea,” Harry grinned. He missed Hagrid and his rock cakes if it was possible.

“Maybe we can get him to tell us about the tournament,” Ron suggested as they made their way towards Hagrid’s hut.

“We can’t use him like that,” Hermione chided.

“You had no problem with it when we did it in first year,” the redhead snorted, grinning when Hermione sputtered.

“That’s completely different, Ronald, and you know it!”

The two bickered the rest of the way to Hagrid's hut, where they were happily greeted by the gentle giant and Fang, who slobbered all over Ron’s clothes as he greeted them.

“Been awhile since yeh came ter visit,” Hagrid said happily as he set about making them tea. 

“It’s great to see you, Hagrid,” Hermione smiled. “How have your classes been going?”

Harry sat between his friends, content to listen as Hagrid began to talk about some of the things he was teaching his seventh and sixth years with Hermione adding little suggestions and subtle warnings about what could be considered dangerous for someone who wasn’t Hagrid here and there. Ron grimaced when Hagrid mentioned Acromantula, making a face at Harry when he snickered.

The hours slipped by in the comfort of Hagrid’s hut and the man waved them off when it was time for dinner. They trekked back up to the castle where Harry caught sight of Greengrass and Tonks on the way to the Great Hall, the two leaning against the castle walls as they spoke.

“You guys go ahead. I need to do something,” he said, earning an odd look from Ron and a small frown from Hermione that told him she wanted to ask but refrained for whatever reason.

“Alright, just don’t miss all of dinner,” Ron agreed, guiding Hermione the rest of the way.

Harry watched them until they were out of sight before approaching the Auror duo, who noticed him almost as soon as he started towards them. 

“Wotcher, Harry!” Tonks greeted, her hair remaining the vibrant pink she often wore in his fifth year when he first met her. “I’m Tonks, nice to meet you.”

He gave her a weak smile, his chest aching a little. It always hurt to see someone he recalled dying so vividly, someone he had mourned, looking so alive and well. It was disconcerting as well, his memories and present conflicting so much that it gave him headaches more often than not.

“Nice to meet you too, Ms. Tonks,” he greeted politely.

She grimaced as if physically hurt by his words. ”None of that ‘Ms’ stuff, kid. Just Tonks. I’m not that old.”

“Well, you certainly look it,” Greengrass smirked, leaning out of the way when she swiped at him. “Did you want something, Potter?”

Harry gave the man a look, glancing at Tonks meaningfully. He could hardly say anything in front of her. Harry liked her well enough but this wasn’t the same Tonks that he knew.

“You two know each other?” Tonks asked, looking between them curiously.

“Something like that,” Greengrass said absently, pushing himself off the wall and brushing his robes off. “Give me a minute and I’ll be back, Tonks.”

Harry followed the man with a polite nod towards Tonks, stopping in his tracks a few meters away and watching as the man waved his wand, casting a nonverbal privacy spell.

“What did you need to know?” Greengrass asked.

Harry needed to know how prophecy balls were created in the Hall of Prophecies and whether he needed to collect more than one prophecy when it came time to get rid of the one currently residing within the confines of the Department of Mysteries.

There was also the thing with Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault and whether or not Sirius would be able to gain access to it if he took up the Black Lordship. Harry had tried to ask Bill but the man wasn’t privy to that sort of information in Gringotts, nor did anyone in his family own a separate vault so he wouldn’t know.

He also needed to know how the Trace worked. If he planned on getting rid of the other Horcruxes outside of Hogwarts, he would probably have to perform magic to protect himself from the protections placed upon them, especially the Gaunt ring.

“The DMLE is partially responsible for dealing with underage magic, right?” he asked.

Greengrass gave him a sharp look, gray eyes searching Harry’s face for some sort of answer. “Yes, mostly just the violent kind. The Accidental Magic Reversal squad is part of our department.”

“Could you tell me how the Trace works?”

Greengrass’s eyebrow shot up his forehead. “As an Auror, I would be inclined to ask why you would want to know something like that. However, color me interested. The Trace is activated the moment you step into Hogwarts but because there is so much magic saturated in the air, the Ministry isn’t notified of any of the magic you do. When you leave the school, the Ministry can detect any magical activity performed in the vicinity of an underage wizard or witch.”

That must’ve been why Harry got in trouble for Dobby’s Hover charm back in second year. The Ministry couldn’t tell who had cast it and Harry was the only registered wizard living in the area so he had been unjustly blamed for it. It also explained why Hermione had been able to practice magic before their first year without getting in trouble with the Ministry and why Harry had been able to get away with using magic to stop Mrs. Weasley from taking the twins’ products over the summer without getting in trouble.

“Wait, wouldn’t that mean that most of the pureblood students are able to practice magic during the summer?” Harry blinked. “That’s sort of unfair.”

“The system is rigged in our favor, Potter,” Greengrass said with a wry smile. “Muggleborns tend to have more restrictions placed upon them because the Ministry expects most magical parents to discipline their own children if they perform underage magic.”

“Right,” Harry sighed, a little bit of annoyance bubbling in his chest. “How would the Trace work if an underage wizard performed magic outside of the general vicinity of where they live? Or does the Trace actually trace the location of the underage wizard?”

“When an underage individual performs magic away from their home, the Trace connected to their wands are activated and used to locate them immediately because most cases like this tend to be associated with assault or self-defense.”

Harry grimaced, barely biting back a groan of annoyance. Why did the Ministry have to be competent when it came to the one thing he hoped they wouldn’t be?

Wait . If the Ministry could tell when underage magic was used somewhere outside of their home or Hogwarts, why hadn’t they immediately been notified when he had been fighting Voldemort at the end of his fourth year?

“Is there any way to stop the Trace from working?”

“Not as far as I’m aware.” Greengrass shook his head, fixing Harry with an evaluating look. “Is there any particular reason for this line of questioning?”

Harry gave the man a bland look that earned an unrepentant shrug. “Would the Trace still work in that case if they used a different wand?”

“Theoretically it should but most people don’t own a second wand,” Greengrass responded and a small smile slipped on Harry’s face. “Am I helping you commit a crime?”

“In a sense,” the teen said with an innocent smile. “But no one would know as long as it stays between us.”

“Right,” Greengrass snorted, amusement written all over his face. “Anything else?”

“Two more things,” Harry nodded. “First, do you know how prophecies work?”

“... Prophecies?” the man repeated, his eyebrows knitting into a frown. At Harry’s nod, he launched into an explanation. “It’s not something I know much about, honestly. Prophecies are immediately recorded when they are vocalized by registered Seers but a lot of people go to the Department of Mysteries to check if there are any prophecies about them or their children. I went there when I was a kid and the Unspeakable that worked there took us around the area and told me to tell him I felt any sort of pull at my magical core. I can't really tell you much other than that since the Department of Mysteries is quite literally a mystery to anyone who doesn’t work there.”

Harry frowned, his heart sinking into his chest. Trelawney was definitely not registered, at least before she made that prophecy in front of Dumbledore. How would the prophecy be in the Department of Mysteries if what Greengrass was telling him was true? 

“What if… what if they were made by an unregistered Seer?”

Greengrass looked at him for a moment, a minuscule frown pulling at his features. “I would assume the prophecy would have to be recorded from the memory of anyone that listened to the prophecy and be tested for tampering before labeling by hand like a few of the prophecies I recall seeing. Are you alright?”

Harry didn’t answer, his mind whirring over the information, trying to get to a conclusion that didn’t make his chest ache with a mixture of betrayal and boiling anger. He didn’t want to believe that the man he had once trusted with his life had set him up so thoroughly for failure.

But there was nothing his mind could conjure in defense of the headmaster and resignation dragged his shoulders down.

All the pain and loss that occurred at the end of his fifth year had been a direct result of Dumbledore going to the Department of Mysteries and recording the prophecy. Dumbledore had let it all happen, just like he had let Harry run into everything uninformed and unprepared.

The Death Eaters themselves had been surprised by his lack of knowledge, especially when it came to the fact that the prophecy was about Harry. It stung a little, being informed of things by the very people trying to kill you and your friends, who had been put in unnecessary danger.

Harry didn’t know why it hurt so much now after he thought he had already sorted out his problems with the headmaster. Dumbledore didn’t tell him anything, just like he had every single year of his schooling at Hogwarts. He claimed that he had done it to preserve Harry’s childhood but sometimes he wondered if that was really true, if he had been fed pointless placations so he would always trust Dumbledore’s word, even at the very end when he wasn’t there.

“Potter,” Greengrass said, reaching out to place a hand on Harry’s shoulder before he paused when the teen jerked back. He let his hand fall back to his side with an odd look on his face that Harry couldn’t place. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair as he cursed himself a little for letting Greengrass see him like that. 

The man didn’t look like he believed Harry, a flicker of worry in his eyes that quickly faded as he nodded gamely. 

Harry shoved down his disappointment and straightened his shoulders again. “One last thing. Would the Lord of a house have access to all the personal vaults of their family members? Like, would Lady Greengrass be able to enter your vault if she wanted to?”

“She should be able to. The only way she wouldn’t have access was if I expressly warded my vault against anyone other than me and the goblins,” Greengrass explained.

Hope rose in Harry’s chest, erasing some of the disappointment he felt. That meant Sirius would likely have access to Bellatrix’s vault and be able to take the Cup. The next step was to rope him into doing so without telling him the whole story…

“Thanks, Greengrass,” Harry said.

“No problem,” Greengrass smirked, waving his wand and canceling out the privacy spells. “Just don’t get caught.”

“I really don’t think you should be saying that,” the teen said drily, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“I shouldn’t be telling you any of this but here I am. Life gets boring when you follow all the rules,” Greengrass shrugged, waving Harry off. “Run along before you get me in trouble.”

“I thought it was boring to follow the rules?” Harry grinned.

“Only when you don’t get caught. Don’t use my own words against me, brat.”

The notice of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang’s arrival at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament had been posted nearly a week ago, which led to Cedric now shivering in the cold. He was huddled between his housemates as the entirety of the school stood lined up in front of the castle, waiting on their guests to arrive while dusk fell and the moon had already begun shining in the night sky.

“Wish they’d hurry up,” Gabe mumbled, ducking further into his scarf as he shivered. 

“How’d you reckon they’re getting here?” Cedric asked curiously, craning his neck to see over the tall fifth-year standing in front of him. He scanned the ground that grew darker with each passing minute but nothing seemed out of place to him as the night drew closer.

Dumbledore spoke suddenly with a genial smile on his aged face. “Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!” 

“Where?!”

Cedric looked around with the other students until something in the sky caught his attention. Something large, much larger than a broomstick was hurtling across the sky toward the castle, growing larger the closer it got to them. 

“There!” a Ravenclaw in his year shouted, pointing over towards the thing in the sky.

As the gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and the lights shining from the castle windows hit it, Cedric saw a gigantic, powder blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring toward them, pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant. 

The front three rows of students drew backward as the carriage hurtled ever lower, coming in to land at a tremendous speed. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery red eyes. 

The doors of the carriage flew open and a boy in blue pale robes jumped out of the carriage, stumbling a little as turned back towards the door and fumbled from something underneath it for a moment before a set of golden steps unfolded. He stood to the side of the stairs with his hands folded behind his back respectfully.

Something appeared from inside the carriage and it took Cedric a moment to realize it was a shoe– one the size of a sled, that is. The largest woman Cedric had ever laid his eyes on appeared and he stared at her with wide eyes, along with some of the other spectators.

As she stepped into the light flooding from the entrance hall, she was revealed to have a handsome, olive-skinned face; large, black, liquid-looking eyes; and a rather beaky nose. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers. Dumbledore started to clap; the students, following his lead, broke into applause too, many of them standing on tiptoe, the better to look at this woman. 

“Definitely not what I was expecting,” Gabe whispered, his eyebrows raised. “Think she might be related to Hagrid? Or maybe they're a match made in heaven.”

“Nah, remember when he kissed McGonagall on the cheek in third year?” Andrew snickered.

Cedric’s mouth twitched up into a grin that he hid beneath his scarf. “Don’t be rude, guys.”

“As if you weren’t thinking it,” Gabe scoffed.

“I was not!”

The woman’s face relaxed into a gracious smile and she walked forward toward Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. 

Dumbledore, though tall himself, had barely bent to kiss it. “My dear Madame Maxime,” he greeted. “Welcome to Hogwarts.” 

“Dumbly-dorr,” the woman, Madame Maxime, responded in a deep voice. “I ’ope I find you well?” 

“Totally calling him that from now on,” Gabe muttered with a grin, snickering when Cedric elbowed him. “I got it, I got it. Not being rude.”

“In excellent form, I thank you,” Dumbledore smiled.

Students poured out of the carriage behind Madam Maxime, slightly obscured by the heftiness of her frame. A dozen boys and girls about Cedric’s age lined up behind her, nodding respectfully at Dumbledore when Madam Maxime introduced them. They looked as cold as Cedric felt, shivering beneath thin silk clothing and shawls wrapped around their shoulders. All of them stared at the castle in apprehension reminiscent of the way first years often looked like before their Sorting.

The Beauxbatons all filed into the castle after the two headmasters of their respective schools discussed something Cedric couldn’t hear over the growing chatter around him, leaving him and the other students to suffer in the increasing cold of the autumn night air.

“I don’t care if the Queen of England herself is coming, if Durmstrang doesn’t hurry it up, I’ll hex their headmaster himself. Fashionably late doesn’t include freezing my bollocks off,” Andrew said mutinously.

“Might do him some good. I heard he’s a bit of an unpleasant bastard,” Gabe shrugged.

“Why haven’t you been hexed yet then?” Cedric shot back, wincing a little when his friend punched his arm.

“Arse.”

“Boys,” Professor Sprout warned quietly and all three of them gave her a brief sheepish smile that earned a disapproving sigh from their Head of house.

A loud and oddly eerie noise drifted through the air toward them and a muffled rumbling and sucking sound, as though an immense Muggle vacuum cleaner were moving along a riverbed. 

Cedric craned his neck to look at the Black lake, watching in fascination along with all the other students as massive bubbling began forming on the surface of the water, waves washing against the banks a disturbance took place deep within the center of the lake. A whirlpool appeared suddenly, as if someone had pulled a plug out of the lake floor. 

A long black pole appeared and Cedric shared a puzzled glance with Gabe before a ship rigging and a mast appeared, comprehension dawning over him. 

Was Durmstrang coming by ship? That was certainly one way to make a dramatic entrance. How had they even managed to pull that off?

Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look about it, as though it were a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and began to glide toward the bank. A few moments later, they heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank. People were disembarking; they could see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship’s portholes. They all seemed rather large in the distance but as they drew closer, Cedric noted that they were all wearing cloaks made of a thick sort of fur.

A man led the delegation towards them, greeting Dumbledore warmly.“Dumbledore!” he called heartily as he walked up the slope. “How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?” 

“Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff,” Dumbledore replied.

There was something mildly off-putting about the man when he talked that immediately turned Cedric off him, sharing a grimace with Gabe. He had been right when he called the man unpleasant.

Karkaroff beckoned one of his students forward and Gabe elbowed Cedric, gesturing to the surly-looking teen that followed after the man as he headed towards the castle– not that Cedric really needed him too. He recognized the teen as soon as he stepped out of the crowd. 

Viktor Krum.

Chatter broke out amongst the Hogwarts students as they all craned their necks to get a good look at the famous Quidditch player.

“Well, this year is certainly going to be a fun one,” Andrew muttered, looking decidedly unimpressed with all the scrambling for quills and parchment. “The Chosen One and the youngest professional Quidditch player in the same place. They’ll have everyone clambering like fools to gather their wits.”

“You don’t like anyone,” Gabe snorted.

“I put up with your insufferable existence, that’s more than enough,” Andrew deadpanned as Cedric patted Gabe’s shoulder sympathetically as he laughed.

They all filed back into the castle after the Durmstrang delegation and guided them to the Great Hall, where they found that Beauxtbatons had made themselves comfortable on the Ravenclaw table, looking rather unimpressed about everything around them.

They went to the Hufflepuff table, where Cedric found himself situated between Gabe and the new transfer student, Rigel Williams. He had meant to try and get to know him but the younger student always disappeared before Cedric could get another word in. He rarely ever appeared at meal times but Professor Sprout had told him not to worry and to give him time to acclimate since he had recently been in a tough situation.

He tapped Williams’ shoulder, watching as he twitched, his grip tightening around his goblet of pumpkin juice before he looked at Cedric, eyeing him warily. He smiled amicably, holding a hand out for him to shake. “I don’t think we’ve properly met, I’m Cedric Diggory.”

“I know,” Williams said stiffly as he shook Cedric’s hand momentarily. “The Hufflepuff Hottie, according to everyone else.”

Gabe choked beside him, spraying Andrew with pumpkin juice as he cackled. 

Cedric flushed a little in embarrassment. He knew what the others called him, even if he tried to ignore it. “Well– er, yes, I suppose,”

Williams’ mouth slanted into a tiny smirk that held an edge of mockery in it. “Nice to meet you, Diggory.”

“Right,” Cedric coughed awkwardly, clearing his throat before continuing. “How’re you liking Hogwarts?”

“It’s okay,” Williams said shortly, clearly not one for small talk.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you don’t seem to have much of an American accent,” Cedric commented anyways, not one to give easily.

Williams gave him a slightly irked glance. “I’m not American. I went to Ilvermorny for personal reasons,” he muttered. “There’s no need to take pity on the new kid.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not. I’m just curious,” Cedric smiled genially.

The other boy snorted derisively, turning away just as Dumbledore began to speak. Cedric glanced at Gabe, who shrugged in an 'it’s none of my business' sort of way.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and– most particularly– guests,” Dumbledore greeted, beaming around at the foreign students. “I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable. The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast. I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!” 

The plates in front of them were filled with food as usual. The house elves in the kitchen seemed to have pulled out all the stops; there was a greater variety of dishes in front of them than Cedric had ever seen, including several that were definitely foreign.  

“I have no idea what half of this stuff is,” Gabe said, eyeing a large dish of some sort of shellfish stew warily.

“French food, moron,” one of their year mates, Heather Tintwistle, answered drily.  “It’s Bouillabaisse.”

“Definitely know what that is,” Gabe grumbled.

Cedric blinked when he felt a familiar pull as a girl walked past his table, his eyes trained on her for a second before he blinked. “She’s a veela,” he mumbled.

“Quarter veela,” Williams corrected, giving him and Gabe, who was staring at her, an unimpressed look. “Stop making fools of yourselves and don’t gawk at people. It’s rude.”

“How’d you know that?” Andrew asked, his eyes narrowing.

Williams froze before looking away. “I just do.”

Something flickered through Andrew’s face. “...Right.”

Cedric caught sight of Ludo Bagman, the man who had commentated at the World Cup, and Mr. Crouch, the man at the Ministry that his dad didn’t seem to like much, settling at the staff table. He supposed they would direct the Triwizard Tournament along with the three headmasters due to their respective occupations.

Once all the plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up to speak once more.  Tension hung in the air, not dissimilar to the thrill of excitement at the World Cup. Cedric leaned forward, anticipating what would happen next.

He knew he had to do the Triwizard Tournament since everyone was finally here. He had decided to put his name in for the competition in hopes then maybe she would finally–

Cedric’s smile fell off his face at the thought, closing his eyes for a brief moment and shaking his head. He was doing this for himself and to make his dad proud. Not for her.

“The moment has come,” Dumbledore smiled around at the sea of upturned faces. “The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket– just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation,” there was a smattering of polite applause, “and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.” 

There was a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch, perhaps because of his fame as a Beater, or simply because he looked so much more likable. He acknowledged it with a jovial wave of his hand.

“Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “And they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions’ efforts. The casket, if you please, Mr. Filch.”

Filch came into sight, carrying an aged wooden chest that was encrusted with expensive jewels.

“The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman,” Dumbledore explained as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table before him, “and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways…their magical prowess, their daring, their powers of deduction, and, of course, their ability to cope with danger.” 

Excitement bubbled in Cedric once more and Gabe nudged his shoulder, sharing wide smiles before turning back to face the front. The Hall was silent with anticipation as Dumbledore paused dramatically, twinkling blue gliding over the room’s occupants.

As you know, three champions compete in the tournament,” he went on after the moment had passed, “One from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire.” 

Dumbledore took out his wand and tapped it three times against the casket. The lid creaked slowly open and he reached inside it, pulling out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames. Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall. 

“Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet. Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete. 

“To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation. I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line. Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all.”

With that anticlimactic end, the Great Hall burst into chatter, and Gabe threw an arm around his shoulders. “So, Ced? Planning on entering or are you going to keep out on answering me until the last possible minute?”

“I’m entering,” Cedric grinned, jumping a little when the majority of his housemates cheered loudly. He hadn’t noticed them listening but their support lifted his spirits a little.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Gabe beamed, messing his hair roughly as he laughed. “Here’s to Hufflepuff getting the attention we deserve.”

Warmth bubbled in his chest as the smile on his face grew. “Yeah.”

He’d make his dad proud.

"What do you gather?" the maiden said,
    Shaking her sunlit curls at me--
"See, these flowers I plucked are dead,
        Ah! misery."

"What do you gather?" the miser said,
    Clinking his gold, as he spoke to me--
"I cannot sleep at night for dread
        Of thieves," said he.

"What do you gather?" the dreamer said,
    "I dream dreams of what is to be;
Daylight comes, and my dreams are fled,
        Ah! woe is me."

"What do you gather?" the young man said--
    "I seek fame for eternity,
Toiling on while the world's abed,
        Alone," said he.

"What do I gather?" I laughing said,
    "Nothing at all save memory,
Sweet as flowers, but never dead,
        Like thine, Rosie."

"I have no fear of thieves," I said,
    "Daylight kills not my reverie,
Fame will find I am snug abed,
        That comes to me."

"The past is my treasure, friends," I said,
    "Time but adds to my treasury,
Happy moments are never fled
        Away from me."

"All one needs to be rich," I said,
    "Is to live that his past shall be
Sweet in his thoughts, as a wild rose red,
        Eternally."

-  Arthur Weir

Chapter Text

Anticipation and excitement hung in the air the next morning, nearly all of the students rising early despite it being Saturday, with Ron himself being amongst them. 

Hermione and Harry headed down to the Entrance Hall with him, the latter looking worryingly exhausted, languidly following after them. Everyone was examining the Goblet of Fire, a few of the younger students circling around it. It had been placed in the center of the hall on the stool that normally bore the Sorting Hat. A thin golden line had been traced on the floor, forming a circle ten feet around it in every direction that Ron supposed was the Age line Dumbledore had been talking about the night before.

“Did anyone put their name in yet?” He asked one of the girls in Ginny’s year, Lydia, if he remembered correctly.

“All the Durmstrang lot,” she replied with a grin. “But I haven’t seen anyone from Hogwarts yet.”

Laughter echoed in the hall behind them and Ron looked over his shoulder just as Fred, George, and Lee appeared in the hall wearing wide smiles.

“We’ve done it,” Fred whispered conspiratorially, throwing an arm around Ron’s shoulders. 

“The Aging potion?” he asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. A part of him doubted it would work but then again, three eleven-year-olds had gone past the teachers’ defenses in first year, so who knew?

“Yep. One drop each,” George smirked. “We only need to be a few months older.” 

“We’re going to split the thousand Galleons between the three of us if one of us wins,” Lee grinned, looking positively gleeful at the thought.

“I’m not sure this is going to work, you know,” Hermione warned, doubt clear in her gaze as the three brushed her off. “I’m sure Dumbledore will have thought of this.” 

Ron shared a glance with her as Fred stepped up in front of the circle first, rocking on his toes like a diver preparing for a fifty-foot drop. Then, with the eyes of every person in the entrance hall upon him, he took a great breath and stepped over the line. 

Nothing happened for a moment and George jumped in afterward, high-fiving his twin before they took out their slips of paper with their names and school scribbled on them and reached forward to put it in the goblet. The next moment, there was a loud sizzling sound, and both his brothers were hurled out of the Age line as though they had been thrown by an invisible shot-putter. They landed painfully, ten feet away on the cold stone floor, and to add insult to injury, there was a loud popping noise, and both of them sprouted identical long white beards. 

The entrance hall rang with laughter. Even Fred and George joined in, once they had gotten to their feet and taken a good look at each other’s beards. 

Ron chuckled as Hermione rolled her eyes in fond annoyance. Harry smiled a little despite the exhaustion on his face, the tense line in his shoulders relaxing as the anticipation in the air dissipated for a brief few minutes.

“I did warn you,” said a deep, amused voice, and everyone turned to see Professor Dumbledore coming out of the Great Hall. He surveyed Fred and George, his eyes twinkling. “I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr. Summers, of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little too. Though I must say, neither of their beards is anything like as fine as yours.” 

Fred and George set off to the hospital wing with Lee trailing after them, howling with laughter as the crowd around the Entrance Hall thinned and the rest of the students entered the newly decorated Hall, since it was Halloween

Breakfast went by quickly with Angelina and the entire Beauxbatons party putting their names in the Goblet, along with Cedric Diggory and Cassius Warrington, one of the very few Slytherins Ron found that he did not hate immediately on sight.

They went down to the library for a few hours to help Hermione research things for her campaign as the anticipation grew with each passing minute before going down to visit Hagrid, discovering him dressed in his best clothing and figuring out that he fancied Madam Maxime, the Beauxbatons Headmaster– a fact that made Ron want to bust out laughing whenever he thought about it. He nearly had but the look on Hermione’s face promised pain if he dared.

When they entered the candlelit Great Hall again at dinner, it was almost full. The Goblet of Fire had been moved, now standing in front of Dumbledore’s empty chair at the teachers’ table. Fred and George– beardless once again– seemed to have taken their disappointment fairly well, to Ron's surprise, since they had seemed intent on entering.

“Hope it’s Angelina,” Fred sighed. 

“So do I!” Hermione smiled contagiously, her eyes bright with excitement Ron usually associated with a new book she had gotten her hands on or a new topic for her to research. “Well, we’ll find out soon!” 

The Halloween feast seemed to take much longer than usual, even if Ron had thoroughly enjoyed the extravagant food, and impatience grew the longer Dumbledore took to finish his meal, many of the other students fidgeting as they waited.

Ron glanced at Harry, frowning when he noticed his friend looked sickly and pale in contrast to his usual tan. Harry rubbed his neck roughly, looking as though he was struggling to breathe.

“Harry?”

He twitched before he gave Ron a strained smile that looked wrong on his face. “I’m fine.”

Ron grabbed a glass of water, handing it to Harry and relaxing a little when he got a grateful genuine smile in response.

The plates and cutlery cleared ten minutes later and Dumbledore finally stood up from where he had been situated between Madam Maxime and Karkaroff.

“Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” Dumbledore said, his voice echoing in the now silent hall. “I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions’ names are called, I would ask them to please come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber, he explained, indicating the door behind the staff table, “Where they will be receiving their first instructions.” 

He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting for any sign of the goblet determining who the Champions would be.

The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it. The next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, and a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it- the whole room gasped. 

Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm’s length so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white. “The champion for Durmstrang,” he read, in a strong, clear voice, “will be Viktor Krum!”

Ron clapped loudly along with the rest of the Hall. “Was there ever any doubt in that to begin with?” he snorted, earning a half-hearted grin from Harry and an exasperated look from Hermione.

Viktor Krum rose from the Slytherin table and walked towards Dumbledore, turning to the right and entering the chamber indicated earlier.

The clapping and cheering died down after a moment and everyone’s attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. The second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames. 

“The champion for Beauxbatons,” said Dumbledore, “is Fleur Delacour!”

The Veela girl from Beaxbatons stood up and made her way to their front with head held high in a mesmerizing sort of manner and Ron shook his head quickly to get rid of the haze that had fallen over it. 

A few girls from Beaxbatons had started to cry in disappointment, a reaction Ron understood but was somewhat put off by.

When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. 

The Hogwarts champion next . . . And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip, Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment. 

“The Hogwarts champion,” he called, “is Cedric Diggory!”

Ron groaned as the Hufflepuff table broke out into cheers. He had been hoping for Angelina to be picked instead of Diggory, like most of Gryffindor had been. A part of him had expected it since Hermione herself had admitted to hearing that he was more than just a pretty face.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. “Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real —” 

But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him. 

The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment. 

Ron felt his heart sink into his chest, a mixture of dread and something black and acrid bubbled in his chest because he knew exactly what it meant. Because every time something out of the ordinary happened, there was always one person in the center of it.

Harry Potter.

His deduction was proven right when Dumbledore read out the name and Harry jerkily made his way to the chamber, resignation and anxiety clear on his face.

A part of Ron knew he was wrong for the way rage boiled in his chest and clawed its way up his throat. He knew Harry probably didn’t want this, just like he didn’t want any of the other things in his life.

But why did it always have to be him? Why did he have to be thrust into the spotlight every year when he didn’t even want it? 

What if Harry had actually put his name in? What if that’s what he had been hiding from him and Hermione all those weeks? What if he had known it all and left Ron to rot in his shadow just like everyone else always did?

Harry Potter and his best friend.

He hated Harry a little at that moment, jealousy wrapped around his neck like a noose. 

It wasn’t fair . 

“Ron?” Hermione asked tentatively.

“I’m going to bed,” he said abruptly, slipping past her and joining the group of students leaving the hall. He knew if she tried to speak to him right now he would spit nothing but venom in her face even if he knew it wasn’t her fault. Or even Harry’s for that matter.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at anyone or the celebrations that had already started in the common room, his heart thumping in his chest as he shot up the stairs, drawing the curtains of his canopy closed and laying with his face stuffed in his pillow.

He screamed into it for a few seconds until his rage had cooled to a simmer, leaving him with warring jealousy and guilt over suspecting Harry when he knew he wouldn’t do that.

But what if he had? What if he had done it behind Ron’s back with a single thought of helping him enter too? What would that even mean?

What if Harry didn’t care about him as much as Ron had initially thought?

He groaned, casting a silencing charm on his bed curtains that blocked out the sound of the celebrations going on downstairs and hopefully the sound of Harry’s arrival when he came up.

Ron was sure he would explode if he gave himself time to think his irrational thoughts through and…

Remembering the expression on Harry’s face made him want to scream all over again.

Harry awoke with a quiet gasp, tumbling off the couch he had fallen asleep on and clutching the front of his shirt as his heart beat erratically in his chest. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down before letting go of his shirt, his hands trembling in a way that seemed utterly pathetic to him– just like everything he had done in the past few days.

He stared at the room around for a few moments before closing his eyes as something like shame burned in his gut. 

He was such a joke. How was he meant to stop Voldemort when he couldn’t even face school-age teens, when he couldn’t bear to look at Ron and see the resentment in his eyes?

Everything that had happened in the chamber last night seemed hazy in his mind. He remembered leaving without a word to Cedric, not wanting to see the disbelief in his eyes. He remembered going to the Room of Requirement in search of somewhere to stay because he didn’t want to listen to everyone congratulating him with that hint of resentment.

Which was how he found himself here, hidden away from the rest of the castle in the cozy little room that looked like a smaller version of the Gryffindor common room. 

Like a coward.

He had lived through a war, what did it matter how the rest of the school would react to him being entered into the tournament? He needed to enter the competition to save Cedric and stop Voldemort’s revival.

But no matter how much he tried to convince himself that he was being ridiculous, the thought of going down to face everyone terrified him and left him miserable. 

At least he didn’t have any classes today.

Harry wasn’t sure how long he stayed laying on the floor of the room, staring at the ceiling with nothing but muddled and unclear thoughts running through his head. His stomach growled, clenching with the ache that came with hunger.

He contemplated calling Dobby to get him some food but the thought of seeing the overexcited elf hurt, especially since he had somehow managed to avoid both him and Winky in the month and a half that he had spent in Hogwarts.

Going to the kitchens it was.

Harry grimaced as he pushed himself to his feet, stretching his aching limbs and brushing his rumpled clothing off. His head ached and he felt a little feverish as he rubbed his neck to try and get the crick out of his neck, giving up after a moment and heading towards the door.

He paused for a short moment before he reached into his pocket to grab the Marauder’s Map, which he had taken to carrying around with him. He inspected it, his eyes instinctively seeking out Fake-Moody and Snape’s position before his eyes flickered over the paper in search of Hermione and Ron. He found them moving through the halls towards the library, where Neville, Krum, and a few others were sitting. 

What if Hermione didn’t believe him this time around because of the things he had changed? Both her and Ron both knew that there was something he wasn’t telling them, what if she thought he had put his name in the Goblet?

Shaking the thought off, Harry quickly checked to see if the coast was clear before he tucked the map away and reached out to open the door. He crept the way to the staircase that led to the kitchens beneath the Great Hall, hiding behind a few corners or suits of armor when someone came into sight. He regretted not carrying his Invisibility cloak with him a little bit.

When he finally reached the fruit painting, he tickled the pear and stepped back a little to turn the door handle that appeared before he slipped into the room.

Dobby wasn’t in sight, something Harry found himself grateful for, but one of the other house-elves, Nisley, if he remembered correctly, trotted towards. “Harry Potter, sir!” She greeted happily. “Would you be liking anything?”

“Just coffee and a bagel,” Harry said, ignoring the mildly judgemental look in the creature’s eyes. He settled on one of the long tables, placing his head on the table for a few moments and letting the wood cool his flushed skin. 

There was that familiar ache in his bones that always appeared when he had a fever, along with the splitting migraine that he could feel growing with each passing minute. He supposed it was a result of falling asleep in the Room of Requirement with no source of warmth beyond the clothes sitting on his body.

“Good morning, Mr. Fourth Champion.”

Harry jolted in his seat, drawing his wand before blinking blearily and recognizing the person standing in front of him. “... Hello, Williams,” he greeted warily, as the Hufflepuff sat in front of him. They had met a few times during Harry’s many excursions to the kitchen to escape his friends’ crusade against coffee but the other teen had never bothered to initiate any sort of conversation and he was a Hufflepuff. He doubted he was popular amongst that particular house at the moment.

“You look like shit,” Williams commented.

“I feel like shit,” Harry grumbled. “Why are you talking to me?”

“Because you look like a kicked puppy and I’m not heartless. Nor do I particularly care about House politics,” the other teen shrugged, thanking the group of house-elves that placed their breakfast on the table.

“So you don’t think I entered myself in the competition?” Harry inquired as he clutched his coffee gratefully.

Williams gave him an unimpressed look. “Sorry if I don’t believe in a fourteen-year-old’s capability to hoodwink an ancient magical artifact along with the defense placed on it by one of the strongest living wizards in Britain.”

“You tell that to the rest of the school and see how that goes,” Harry said sardonically.

Williams snorted before the two of them fell into a companionable silence as they ate, which Harry found a bit comforting. He didn’t feel like talking very much but it was better than being alone or facing the rest of the school.

“Are you good at Ancient Runes?” Williams asked suddenly, breaking the silence half an hour after they had both finished eating, Harry with head resting against the table in a vain attempt at getting a little bit more rest and Williams with his nose in a book Harry hadn’t bothered to check the title of.

Harry raised an eyebrow curiously. “Mediocre, at best. I only joined the class last month. Why?”

“Because this makes no sense to me,” Williams sighed, extending the book to Harry. He was in the section introducing the linking of runes, a process that had taken Harry nearly two weeks to understand. “Ilvermorny doesn’t really teach things like this, we normally just get a practical view of everything– none of the spiritual and mystical jazz. I don’t understand that stuff.”

“They’re not usually like that,” Harry laughed. “You’re just like Hermione. It’s not really like that, runes are normally pretty straightforward if you know what you’re doing. This part is mainly just introducing the topic to you and showing you how to link them into a sentence or phrase that would produce the sort of magic you want. Ancient wizards didn’t exactly know what magic was, so all the magic and things they were doing through runes were often associated with the doings of their gods. We’re learning the basics of linking runes this year, so we’re connecting two and three to make a word. For example, we can use Uruz and Thurisaz, which would essentially give you an unbreakable shield once you go into runic magic. That one’s pretty simple but you can get other results as well if you look into the other meanings of both runes. Like I read about this one person that used runes to regenerate his arm. Intent matters a lot and so does being able to direct the flow of your magic when dabbling in runic magic, especially when each rune has so many different meanings.” He paused before smiling sheepishly when he realized he had gone on a whole tangent.

“Really? Babbling doesn’t talk about stuff like– it’d be a lot more interesting,” Williams said, not batting an eye. “What about the whole ‘god’ rune thing?”

“Like I said, they thought it was the work of their gods, so there are different runes that each god uses. The two I just used belong under Thor, the god of lightning, thunder, storms, strength, and victory. This is under Norse mythology, which is what we’re learning in fourth and fifth year. I think we're moving on to Ancient Egyptian mythology after that.”

“Wait, Thor? Like the guy who’s in Muggle Norse mythology?” Williams asked, sounding a little bewildered.

“Yeah, actually. Wizards and Muggles lived together during the time these things were created, so a lot of the things we’re learning here can actually be found in Muggle books on runes and mythology,” Harry grinned. “Merlin and Morgana are both known to muggles as well, although they’re just myths to them. They’re used in a lot of Muggle fantasy books.”

“I know that. I was surprised when I found out they were real people,” Williams snorted.

Harry spent the better part of the next hour discussing Runes with the Hufflepuff, a discussion that devolved into some of the fantasy novels Harry had read when he was younger more than a few times.

It was noon when both of them decided to leave the kitchens, most of Harry’s anxiety at facing his friends having faded during the time spent with the Hufflepuff.

“Right. Luna and I usually come to kitchens in the morning,” Williams offered with a fair bit of hesitance in his voice.

Harry grinned. “Is that an invitation?”

“Take it as you like, Potter,” Williams shrugged with a tiny quirk of his lips. “You’re smart and I’d like to pick your brain.”

Harry blinked. He knew he wasn’t particularly smart compared to Hermione but it was sort of nice to hear that. “Thanks. And Harry’s fine. Barely anyone calls me Potter.”

There was an odd expression on Williams’ face before he nodded slowly. “Alright… Harry,” he agreed. “Call me Rigel then.”

Getting permission to use the other’s name probably shouldn’t have made him as happy as it did but Harry’s smile widened anyway. “Okay. See you around, Rigel.”

Rigel nodded, heading in the opposite direction as Harry made his way back up the stairs, feeling significantly lighter than he had when he first woke up. 

“Harry!”

He froze a little when someone came barreling towards him, flicking his wrist so his wand would slip in his palm before he recognized the bushy brown hair and fiery red hair following after. “Hi, guys,” he greeted warily.

“We were searching for you everywhere! Honestly!” Hermione huffed as she looked him over. “Are you alright? I was worried someone hurt you! Ron said you weren’t in the dorm in the morning and you didn’t come to breakfast!”

“I was in the Room of Requirement,” he shrugged, eyeing Ron carefully. The redhead didn’t seem to be completely avoiding him, which wasn’t what Harry remembered happening. He just didn’t seem keen on making eye contact with Harry.

Hermione stared at him blankly. “The Room of what? Did you– Never mind that. Are you okay? What happened last night?”

Harry explained what happened to her as she led the way across the lawn near the lake, trying not to cast any looks Ron’s way. He didn’t want another misunderstanding to occur if this meant Ron was actually giving him a chance without jumping to a terrible conclusion or losing his friendship for an entire month.

“Moody says someone’s put your name in the goblet?” Hermione frowned before sighing. “Honestly, that makes a lot more sense. I mean, statistically, you don’t have the best track record when it comes to not having your life threatened at least once a year. The question is, who did put your name in the goblet? They’d have to be a very skilled wizard…”

“You believe me?” Harry asked, trying not to sound too relieved.

“Of course, I do,” she huffed. 

Harry’s gaze fell on Ron, who hadn’t said a word since he and Hermione had arrived. There was a complicated sort of expression on his face.

A small part of Harry wanted to be angry that Ron doubted him but the bigger part, the part that remembered the horrible words the locket had spewed when Ron had gone to destroy it, the part that understood just how much Ron sacrificed just by choosing to be his friend when he didn’t have to, when he could’ve gone to become great himself if he left Harry’s shadow. Even if it hadn’t really been Harry’s fault, he knew it probably sucked watching the spotlight land on Harry every single year despite him not wanting it all.

“You… the thing you haven’t been telling us since you came for the World Cup, I thought…,” Ron began, trailing off with a stricken look on his face. 

“I thought that too, at first,” Hermione admitted.

Oh. Oh.

Harry hadn’t thought of that. How that must’ve looked to them.

“I didn’t realize it was bothering you guys that much,” he mumbled.

“Of course, it was!” Hermione cried indignantly, stopping in her tracks abruptly and almost making Ron stumble into her. “You’re always telling us everything and then you just randomly stopped. Ron said not to bother you until you told us so I didn’t ask.”

Harry blinked in surprise, his eyes flickering over to Ron, who looked away with his ears flaming red. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, feeling guilty over the fact that he had no plans of telling them the truth– at least not until it was all over. “I still can’t really tell you guys. It’s not that I don’t trust you guys, I do, I promise. I just found out some things and I can’t really tell anyone. But I didn’t enter myself in the tournament, I swear.”

Both of them stared at him for a long moment before Hermione blew a frustrated sigh. “You have to promise to tell us if it gets you hurt,” she said, fixing him with a stern look.

His heart sank, guilt intensifying. “...I can’t promise that, Hermione.”

“How do you expect us to just accept that then?!” she demanded, throwing her hands up in the air. “You practically just admitted that you’re going to get hurt, which probably means your life is going to be in danger!”

“It’s not that simple!” Harry argued. He couldn’t tell them. He knew they would be outraged with his plan, he knew he couldn’t tell them anything no matter what. 

“Yes, it is!” Hermione glowered. “If you can’t tell us, then tell Professor Dumbledore or Sirius–”

“I can’t!”

She balked at the frustration in his voice, falling silent as he looked away guiltily.

“Why don’t…If we wait until next year, could you tell us?” Ron offered hesitantly.

Harry wanted to argue because there was a chance he wouldn’t be able to finish everything in a single year but the hopeful look on Hermione’s face and the worried frown on Ron’s crumbled the last of his resolve. 

“Okay,” he agreed quietly, his shoulders slumping in defeat. 

Watching the relieved smiles grow on both of their faces made it a little worth it.

The tree that never had to fight

     For sun and sky and air and light,

But stood out in the open plain

     And always got its share of rain,

Never became a forest king

     But lived and died a scrubby thing.

The man who never had to toil

     To gain and farm his patch of soil,

Who never had to win his share

     Of sun and sky and light and air,

Never became a manly man

     But lived and died as he began.

Good timber does not grow with ease,

     The stronger wind, the stronger trees,

The further sky, the greater length,

     The more the storm, the more the strength.

By sun and cold, by rain and snow,

     In trees and men, good timbers grow.

Where thickest lies the forest growth

     We find the patriarchs of both.

And they hold counsel with the stars

     Whose broken branches show the scars

Of many winds and much of strife.

     This is the common law of life.

- Douglas Malloch

Chapter Text

The frigid wind that came with each autumn spent in Romania swept the grass and through the thin fabric of his pants, biting at his skin as his breath turned to mist in front of him. Charlie ignored it as he stared at his reserve’s manager with a mixture of bafflement and anger.

“Are you actually serious? The Horntail? ”

“I’m not happy about it either, Charlie. Don’t bite my head off,” the man, Grant Fenwick, sighed. “It’s not my choice, they’re demanding it. It’ll make it more interesting, I suppose.”

“As if dragons aren’t already bad enough,” Charlie hissed. “First nesting dragons, now, a nesting Horntail? There’s a fourteen-year-old kid competing, are they trying to kill them all?!”

Which he had recently found out about thanks to Ron's most recent letter.

“He’s also the Boy-Who-Lived, which means he’ll be held to the same standard as the other three competitors,” Grant said drily. “That’s the British Ministry for you.”

Charlie’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Don’t you think they’re underestimating the power dragons, especially Horntails, have? I mean, they can literally burn a person to a crisp in seconds.”

“Again, people are stupid. It’s why I deal with creatures instead of them,” Grant deadpanned, earning an exasperated grin from the redhead. “Now, find the baby Opaleye before curfew, or I’ll sack you.”

“You love me,” Charlie snorted, returning the obscene gesture the man made at him with both hands and dodging the stinging hex sent his way with a startled laugh.

He walked over to the edge of the large canyon where most of the dragons at their reserve had made home, observing them through narrowed eyes for a moment as air rushed up the canyon and into his face with biting cold. 

The four dragons that would be used for the task lay in plain view, wrapping around their clutch of eggs– each etched with different patterns and colors, scorching from the fire blown on them by their mother.

It was still early on in their development, which was why they had been chosen for the first task. There was no fear that the babies would hatch before the event, allowing the Ministry to bring the event to its full potential interest.

He scoffed, shoving his frustration away as he stood up before heading off to look for the infant Opaleye that had escaped. There was nothing he could do now, no use crying over spilt milk.

After twenty minutes of chasing after the sneaky creature, Charlie returned to the valleys where the Opaleyes made their home carrying the now resting infant. His face ached a little from where he had been whipped in the face by the creature's leathery tail.

His coworker and friend, Dimitri Morozov, laughed when he caught sight of him. 

“Look who I found,” Charlie grinned. “We really should get him a tracking collar, he’s been getting to go at finding weak spots in the wards. It’d be easier to find him this way.”

“Or ve could get more people to vatch over him,” Dimitri offered.

“As if he won’t find his way back out,” the redhead snorted as he handed the sleeping creature off for Dimitri. “I’m going to miss him over the winter.”

“He can’t stay,” Dimitri warned playfully. “Do not try to smuggle him, Charlie.”

“It was one time. Let me live it down,” Charlie whined.

The man grinned. “It vas vone time too many.”

Dimitri left to place the infant Opaleye back with his mother and Charlie went to his cabin, flopping on his bed just as curfew hit. 

There was a letter from Mum on the desk, just like there was every week. Errol, the family owl, was collapsed on his desk, drinking water from the bowl Charlie always left set out for him. There was another owl too, a generic barn owl that seemed as though it was looking down on Errol– which all but told him that it was Wayne’s owl, Aira. The familiar penmanship on the parchment was just confirmation. 

The letter was just the usual pleasantries and events– Moody was apparently as insane as ever, even while he was a teacher. Wayne mentioned that he had taught and demonstrated the Unforgivables to the fourth years, which didn’t sit right with Charlie since Ron was in that year and it felt a tad bit too early to be demonstrating the Killing Curse and the Cruciatus Curse. 

Charlie himself had seen them in action when he was eight but then again, it was the middle of a war. The two situations were vastly different.

Mum’s letter was on the shorter side, confessing her worries over Harry being a Champion– which was both worrying and absolutely wild, in Charlie’s opinion– and asking Charlie if he’d gotten any letters from Bill recently. The last bit worried him a bit since he hadn’t gotten any word from his older brother in about three weeks. 

Rain was beginning to fall outside, tapping against his cabin window rhythmically as it threw heavier. This was hardly good weather to send out any letters since they’d simply get soaked. 

Charlie stroked Aira's head, smiling a little when the owl chittered happily. “Sorry, girl, no letters in this weather. Wait till the morning?”

Aira nipped his finger before fluttering over to the owl perch in what seemed to be agreement.

He set out some treats for both her and Errol, who didn’t seem like he would be walking up any time soon with the way that he was collapsed on Charlie’s desk.

He settled back on his bed, letting the soothing sound of the rain lull him to sleep.

He’d see about writing a letter to Bill in the morning.

The rest of the school treated Harry as terribly as he remembered the first time around but it was far more bearable with Ron still his friend. Nevertheless, the constant dislike and nasty comments pouring from every side were wearing him down a little.

He had taken to retreating to the library, the kitchens, or the Room of Requirement, which both Ron and Hermione had been utterly fascinated by, especially when the room had provided them with a safe place to start studying how to become Animagi.

Going to the kitchens for breakfast was possibly one of the few times of the day that Harry actually enjoyed. Rigel was fun to hang around once he had relaxed a little, never without a sarcastic remark to make about something, and Luna was almost always there with her eccentric theories and creatures that never failed to cheer him up. 

Rigel had taken to pairing up with Harry during Herbology as well, especially since Ernie Macmillian and Justin Finch-Fletchley had started acting hostile towards Harry for stealing their house’s momentary fame.

“They don’t have to work with you if they don’t like you,” he grumbled, scowling as he grappled with the Bouncing Bulbs he was working on. “No one asked them to.”

Harry grinned, pleasant surprise bubbling in his chest. The other teen had never really commented about the way the rest of the school was treating him beside the first time they had hung out in the kitchens. It was nice to hear someone that wasn’t Ron, Hermione, or Neville defending him.

“What?” Rigel asked, looking rather indignant. “What’s with that reaction?”

“Nothing.” Harry shook his head. “Just sort of surprised. You don’t usually say stuff like that.”

Rigel stared at him for a moment before looking away. “You’re so weird,” he muttered before his Bouncing Bulb socked him in the face for his distraction and he cursed loudly, earning a disapproving look from Professor Sprout and a muffled snort from Harry.

Harry had also taken to going out to fly in the early morning as well. It had started as a random whim he had earlier this week when he caught sight of his Firebolt just laying around in his trunk, unused after the unofficial game they had played at the start of the year.

It led to him having an unexpected conversation with Viktor Krum, who had abruptly joined him just a day ago. He had been drifting thoughtlessly around the castle, diving every now and then for the sake of the exhilarating sensation that came with it when he had heard the faint flapping of a cloak against the wind, signaling the approach of another flier.

He tensed for a brief moment, his wand dropping in his waiting hand before he recognized the person, not quite relaxing as he eyed Krum warily. For all that the older boy didn’t seem to have any particular opinion about Harry being a Champion the first time around, he wasn’t sure if he wouldn’t be on the receiving end of his resentment– something he was not very keen on experiencing when he was in the air and not entirely sure if he could match Krum’s dueling skills.

“Good morning,” Harry greeted, schooling his expression into one of polite curiosity.

Krum eyed his wand with what seemed to be an impressed look on his face, although Harry wasn’t completely sure since Krum didn’t seem prone to open displays of emotion. “Good morning.”

Harry slid his wand out of view and offered the older teen a sheepish look. “Sorry about that. It’s nice to officially meet you.”

Krum inclined his head politely. “You come here every morning?”

“Just recently,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Krum’s mouth twisted upward with a touch of wryness in his expression. “It is ze only time no one bothers me.”

Remembering the way Karkaroff seemed keen on hovering over Krum’s shoulder, Harry felt a little sympathetic. He never seemed particularly close to anyone at his school, although Harry was fairly sure that was at least partially Karkaroff’s fault. Hermione had been his target for the second task and he had known her for maybe three, four months? That said enough on its own.

Harry offered him a small smile back. “It’s peaceful in the morning.”

“It is,” he agreed. “You fly very vell.”

Harry’s smile turned a little abashed. “Thanks. You’re great too, being a professional Seeker and all.” He paused before he tacked on quickly. “Not that I was comparing us.”

“Do you play Quidditch?”

“Yeah, Gryffindor team,” Harry tilted his head a little before continuing, “Does Durmstrang have any Quidditch matches at school?”

Krum shook his head. “Ve do not haff teams or houses like you here at Hogwarts but zere are tournaments with Beauxbatons every year.”

“Does that mean you know Fleur?” Harry asked curiously.

The Bulgarian inclined his head in agreement. “Ve are acquaintances, yes. Vould you like to race?”

Harry’s eyebrows shot at the unexpected offer. “... From where to where?” he asked, a slow grin forming on his face. It would be fun to see how he would fare against a national Seeker. He didn’t think he could compete with the man but it would be fun nonetheless. 

There was a touch of friendly competitiveness in the man’s stoic features and he pointed to the goal posts on one side of the field to where the Whomping Willow was located. “From here to zere and back. Ve shall see how you fare against me.”

Harry grinned. “You’re on. Don’t get too close to the tree. It might attack.”

Krum nodded, casting what seemed to be a countdown sort of charm as they lined up next to the golden hoop.

When it went off, they both hurtled forward, flattened against their brooms as the wind whistled by. Harry pulled ahead for a few seconds but Krum didn’t waste a second before he shot in front of Harry with startling speed.

He remained a few feet ahead of Harry until they drew closer to the Whomping Willow and he slowed down just a little so he could turn. Harry caught up to the Bulgarian in a burst of speed and experimentally executed one of the moves he had seen performed during the World Cup.

He flipped himself and his broom sideways, allowing his momentum to drag him to the left and around the tree’s large trunk, performing what was essentially drifting but on a broom instead of a car. He nearly lost his grip on his broom for a moment as he caught up to the older teen, barely catching the impressed look on his face.

He ultimately lost on the way back but it did nothing to smother the mad grin on his face as he circled the goal posts, still high on the adrenaline of the race.

“Haff you done zat move before?” Krum asked, after a few moments of breathing.

Harry shook his head. “I saw one of the Chasers do it at the World Cup game. I wanted to try it.”

There was a flicker of disbelief in the older teen’s eyes. “It is a pity you do not play professionally if you are capable of performing a move like zat with no practice. It vould be interesting to play against you.”

Harry flushed a little at the praise. “Thanks. And I mean we can’t really play professionally but I’m sure some of the others would be happy to play Quidditch since all the usual matches got canceled this year.”

Krum looked vaguely interested. “You vould be able to organize something like zat?”

“Well, maybe not me,” Harry admitted. “I’m not very popular right now.”

Krum’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion before he realized what Harry was talking about. “Ah. Zey are not happy you vere chosen as the fourth champion?”

“Are you?” Harry ventured carefully.

“It does not matter to me,” Krum shrugged. “You are simply another Champion to compete with.”

They had conversed for a little while after that before Krum had been called down by one of his schoolmates and Harry went back about his day.

The older teen acknowledged Harry the few times they saw each other after that, which both Ron and Hermione had been curious about once they noticed. They had been a mixture of shock and excitement when he relayed what happened to them– the excitement obviously came from Ron, along with a little bit of envy.

The day of wand weighing came with a sense of trepidation that Harry crushed whenever he thought of it, pushing through the day and performing a perfect Summoning charm along with Hermione during Charms which earned them twenty points each. 

Harry ignored the Slytherins for the most part when they taunted him with the badges, preventing the confrontation between him and Malfoy that had resulted in Hermione’s teeth growing to an abnormal size. It didn’t save him from Snape’s wrath when he was choosing who to poison.

Colin Creevey came to his rescue again and Harry left the Potions class with his things in tow, readying himself to face Rita Skeeter. He had no plans of having his friends and himself being ridiculed by the reporter– especially when he could nip it in the bud with a single word.

Krum nodded at Harry in greeting when he entered the classroom where the wand weighing would occur. Cedric and Fleur didn’t seem to notice him as they spoke and Bagman jumped up when he saw Harry, bounding over with an excited look on his face and clapping Harry’s shoulder.

“Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Harry, in you come… nothing to worry about, it’s just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment,” Bagman said, unfettered by the fact that Harry had pushed his hand off when he touched him. “This is Rita Skeeter,” he added, gesturing toward the familiar witch that stared at Harry through her bejeweled glasses, dressed in magenta robes. “She’s doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet.”

“Maybe not a small piece, Ludo,” she said, still watching Harry in a mildly disturbing manner.

A part of Harry knew that what he was doing was considered immoral. Blackmail was illegal, but he had done a lot worse than blackmailing someone in his years at Hogwarts the first time around, not to mention the fact that the number of laws he planned on breaking in the next year outclassed this by far.

It probably said something about his character that he didn’t feel bad about what he would be doing. Not that he wasn’t particularly fond of Skeeter either way.

He let her drag him into the broom closet and settle down, taking out her parchment and long acid-green Quick-Quotes Quill. 

“You won’t mind, Harry, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally…,” she said with a wide smile.

“I would mind, actually,” Harry drawled, his wand slipping into his hand with a flick of his wrist. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Ms. Skeeter.”

“Have you?” Her smile waned a bit. “Why don’t we get into this?”

“Yes, I suppose we should. Why don’t you put the quill away and get started?” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Harry, it is much easier this way–”

“I think you misunderstood,” he interjected, twirling his wand in his palm lazily. “I wasn’t asking.”

Her eyes narrowed, outrage clear on her face. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Potter?”

“Depends on how you look at it. It’s more of a warning in my opinion,” Harry shrugged. “What comes after depends on what you do.”

“Do you know who I am? I could have you sued for threatening me like this. You’d do well to watch your tongue, boy,” Skeeter advised with a dangerous look on her face.

“So would you, Ms. Illegal Animagus ,” he intoned, watching as she paled a few shades with cool vindication purring in his chest.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered.

“ Occultatio vultus,” Harry murmured with a flick of his wand, watching as the woman became smaller and smaller until the woman was no longer a woman and he was staring at a beetle instead. He flicked his wand again, forcing her back into her human form before she could think to escape. “Did that help jog your memory?”

Skeeter stared at him in horror, pressing herself against the wall of the broom closet in a fruitless attempt at getting away from him. “What do you want?” she whispered, clutching her bag as if it would defend her.

“Just one thing,” he began with a pleasant smile. “All I want is for you to stop using your little quill and stop writing articles slandering me or my godfather. As a matter of fact, don’t write any articles about me or anyone I associate with unless it’s the truth. Not too hard, is it?”

“How exactly do you expect me to make a living, you imbecile?! I am a reporter! Nobody read any of that!” she all but screeched, her fear abating in the face of her anger.

“It’s hardly my fault if you need a quill to do your job for you,” Harry spat, letting the smile drop off his face. “Take the deal or leave it.”

“And if I don’t?” she ventured, seething with anger as she glared at him.

“I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to, Skeeter,” Harry smiled slyly, leaning forward as any color she had regained had drained from her features and the fear from before had come back with a vengeance. “Between the two of us, who do you think they would believe? An extremely interfering reporter who is willing to do anything for a good story, including sensationalizing certain details or outright inventing lies or the Boy-Who-Lived, who also happens to be the Heir of a prominent family as well as a fourteen-year-old kid? A word from me is all I need to destroy your entire career. Think it through, Ms. Skeeter. This is merciful in comparison.”

She opened her mouth to say something, fierce desperation shining in her eyes as she searched for a way to get out of this situation. Her shoulders slumped after a moment, defeat clear on her face.

Harry smirked. “Have we reached a consensus?”

“Yes,” she hissed in defeated venom. 

“Right. If you take one step out of the line, I’ll have every galleon under name stripped for libel and slander,” Harry said as he stood up, brushing his clothes off and opening the door. “It was great meeting you, Ms. Skeeter.”

Having Greengrass around had its perks, especially when the man was perfectly happy to help Harry– even when it was blatantly clear he was committing a morally dubious act.

Dumbledore turned to Harry just as he left the broom closet, with a searching sort of expression on his face. Harry thought he looked a little surprised but couldn’t quite tell, offering a polite smile to the headmaster before sitting in the chair between Cedric and Krum.

Crouch Sr. wasn’t here yet but the rest of the judges and Ollivander were, Karkaroff giving Harry a brief disdainful look that he returned for a brief second before schooling his features into a more neutral expression. Judging by the flicker of surprise and outrage in his face, along with Krum’s poorly concealed snort, it hadn’t gone by unnoticed.

Harry glanced at the Bulgarian, grinning a little when he raised an eyebrow back, the amusement in his eyes belying the stoic expression on his face. “Hey,” he greeted.

“Hello,” Krum said before his eyes flickered over to Rita Skeeter, who was now standing in the corner looking dejected as she wrote with a regular quill. “Vat did she vant from you?”

“Exclusive interview with the Boy-Who-Lived,” Harry sighed. 

Krum raised his eyebrows, a mixture of amusement and disdain on his face. “Lucky you.”

“Definitely,” Harry agreed sardonically as Crouch Sr. finally entered the room, looking bored and annoyed as he sat at the judge’s table along with the others.

“May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?” Dumbledore announced, taking his place at the judges’ table and talking to the champions. “He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament.” 

Ollivander stepped forward, calling Fleur first and examining her wand before casting a spell. He did the same for Cedric and Krum before it was finally Harry’s turn.

The wand maker smiled when he caught sight of Harry. “Ah, yes, Mr. Potter,” he said, pale eyes gleaming with the same mildly discomfiting omniscience that Harry remembered from three years ago as he handed his wand to him. “Holly and phoenix feather, correct?” 

Harry nodded warily, wanting nothing more than to snatch his wand back and leave. 

“No new wands?” the old wizard asked and Harry froze, instinctively stepping back when pale eyes flickered to his robe pocket where his second wand was hidden. 

“... No, sir.”

Ollivander looked at him curiously for a moment before nodding and going back to examining Harry’s holly wand. Eventually, he made a fountain of wine shoot out of it, and handed it back to Harry, announcing that it was still in perfect condition. 

Photos were taken and Rita Skeeter didn’t seem keen on dragging Harry to the front of the group, which he took great satisfaction in. Bagman and Dumbledore seem perplexed by her behavior before they brushed it off and allowed all four Champions to leave the classroom.

Hermione and Ron were at dinner when he arrived at the Great Hall, the latter sporting a bruise on his cheek and the former with a cut on her lip that made Harry stop in his tracks.

“Guys, what happened?”

“Malfoy happened,” Ron explained shortly as a flicker of worry tightened in Harry’s chest. “Don’t worry about it. I sent him to the hospital wing and Hermione has a mean punch.” There was a note of pride in his voice that made Hermione flush a little in embarrassment.

His apprehension eased as he waved his wand over both their injuries and watched them fade, earning grateful looks from both. “Are you guys in trouble?”

“Nah, Hagrid found us and just sent Malfoy to the hospital wing,” Ron smirked.

Harry smiled, letting Hermione change the subject to what had happened back in the classroom and explaining it to the two of them, earning a mildly suspicious look from Hermione when he remained deliberately vague about the Rita Skeeter part. 

He deflected when she asked, deciding he’d explain what he had done when the paper was out– he had a distinct feeling that Hermione would be amused by it.

The first Hogsmeade trip came the Saturday before the anticipated first Triwizard task, all the students above second year clambering to get to the village. Rigel had visited the village briefly when he first returned from America, meeting Professor Dumbledore in the Three Broomsticks.

A part of him didn’t want to go when he woke up the day of the trip feeling like he had been run over by a truck, a now familiar sense of wrongness in his bones that wasn’t exactly painful but definitely not comfortable. 

But this was also Luna’s first trip there and he wasn’t keen on letting her go alone, especially when he knew she only really talked to one other person– the popular third-year Gryffindor, Ginny Weasley, who Rigel didn’t think would be particularly inclined to go with ‘Loony’ Lovegood when she had other friends to go with.

He dragged himself out of his bed, grimacing as the cool air seemed to seep through his skin and settle in his bones, worsening the ache in them as he got dressed. The tremulous but sincere smile on Luna’s face was worth it when she caught sight of him.

“Where do you want to go?” Rigel asked, shivering a little and drawing his coat around himself more tightly. He tried not to scowl as people walked by him, his skin crawling a little more each time someone brushed against him but he supposed it was inevitable when they were in the crowded village. He still hated crowds, although it did help that Luna was stationed on his other side, stopping him from being surrounded on either side.

“Honeydukes? I’ve heard it has the best chocolate,” Luna suggested, looking to him for confirmation.

“Alright. Better than sitting out in the cold,” he agreed, immediately regretting his decision when they set foot into the overly crowded store, swarmed with students and few other customers.

Every inch of walls and isles were covered in candy– Rigel was sure his sister, Riley, would be over the moon if she ever came here. He’d see about bringing her some day.

There were shelves upon shelves of every sweet imaginable. Creamy chunks of nougat, shimmering pink squares of coconut ice, fat, honey-colored toffees, hundreds of different kinds of chocolate in neat rows, a large barrel of Every Flavor Beans, and another of Fizzing Whizbees.

Luna led the way over to the chocolate section, grabbing a few bars of chocolate. “Daddy says the mint-flavored ones are the best.”

“Mint chocolate is a crime against sweets,” Rigel scoffed.

“It is not,” she countered, looking personally offended by his words and startled a laugh out of him. “You just haven’t tried the good kind.”

“Sure,” he said indulgently, smirking at the vaguely annoyed look on her face.

They spent the next ten to fifteen minutes looking through the contents of the shop, picking up a few things here and there before paying at the counter with the pocket money they had. They visited a few other shops before Luna directed them to the Three Broomsticks just as rain began to pour on the village, pulling the hoods of their respective cloak and jacket over their heads as it began to fall faster.

Luna laughed when he stumbled just outside of the inn and he shoved her lightly in retaliation, grinning as she shrieked a little, grabbing his arm to steady herself before they entered. The Three Broomsticks was packed, mainly with Hogwarts students enjoying their free afternoon, but also with a variety of magical people Rigel rarely saw anywhere else. 

The bartender, a curvy woman with a pretty face, looked up briefly as the doorbells chimed as they walked, smiling briefly at them before going on to serve a crowd of rowdy warlocks at the bar.

“Harry’s waving at you,” Luna observed, gesturing toward the Gryffindor Rigel had stupidly decided to befriend despite all the negatives, situated between his two close friends. 

Curse his bleeding heart.

“Do you want to sit with them?” Rigel asked.

She gave him a searching look for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t mind. Harry’s nice.”

It wasn’t a yes or a no but he rarely got any sort of straight answer from her so he took it as a yes, leading the way over to the table the trio was sitting in.

“Hey, Rigel,” Harry greeted, scooting over and gesturing for the two of them to take a seat. “Hey, Luna.”

Weasley and Granger looked at him curiously with a hint of apprehension in their gazes that he would’ve questioned if he didn’t know the way the rest of his house treated all three of them– especially after they made it known they were supporting Harry over Diggory.

“Hello,” he and Luna greeted in unison.

Harry introduced them again despite the fact that they had already met in passing a few times. The two accepted it with little fanfare, although Weasley seemed momentarily confused by Luna’s presence before shrugging it off.

Granger and Luna mixed like water and fire when the latter mentioned one of her mystical creatures, which kicked off an argument between them that Rigel was highly amused by. Granger didn’t seem tolerant of things that weren’t logical. Despite maintaining her usual dreamy demeanor, Luna kept mentioning creatures that grew more and more unbelievable in a way that told Rigel she was partially doing it to spite the other.

Weasley and Harry seemed just as amused by it, hiding grins as Granger grew more agitated.

“Looks like you’re having fun, ‘Mione. How about I go get drinks?” Harry interrupted with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face as Granger narrowed her eyes at him before huffing irritably.

“I’ll come too,” Rigel stated. 

The two of them approached the counter, ordering five tankards of butter beer that Harry paid for before he could even think to do the same. 

Hagrid, the groundskeeper and Care of Magical Creatures professor, and Moody, their eerie Defense professor, were situated at the bar. Both looked towards them when they passed by, Moody’s magical eye swiveling around to peer at them. 

“Harry!” Hagrid greeted happily. “How are yeh?”

“Hey, Hagrid,” Harry smiled. “What are you doing up here?”

“Just thought I’d grab me a few drinks,” Hagrid explained before his eyebrows furrowed together in worry. “How’re you feeling about the first task?”

“I think I’ll survive,” Harry said wryly.

Hagrid bent down a little closer to Harry to whisper something Rigel wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear but it wasn’t like he could help it. “Harry, meet me tonight at midnight at me cabin. Wear yer cloak.”

Harry gave a minute node and Hagrid beamed, clapping the small of Harry’s back.

Rigel considered asking but decided against it since he wasn’t meant to hear it in the first place. He didn’t particularly care as long as the groundskeeper didn’t do anything to hurt Harry, which didn’t seem likely since they appeared to be friends.

He paused for a moment when he felt anger brush against his senses, his gaze flickering over to Harry, who looked at Moody and gave a jerky polite nod before turning on his heel to head back to their table at the back of the cozy inn.

“You’re angry,” Rigel muttered before he could stop himself.

There was a brief stutter in Harry’s gait before he glanced at Rigel with a curious expression on his face. “Was it that obvious?”

“Not really. I’m just sensitive to strong emotions.”

“Ah,” he mused. “That’s useful.”

“I guess,” Rigel agreed reluctantly. “Do you not like Moody?”

“Not really. I don’t appreciate a stranger putting all my classmates under the Imperius curse.”

Oh.

Rigel remembered that class pretty vividly. He resented that he had been put under someone’s control so easily but he supposed the fact that he had resisted it for ten seconds was more than what other people could say. 

He did remember hearing that Harry had managed to throw it off on the first attempt, which he now assumed was true due to the way Harry had phrased the statement, saying his classmates instead of including himself.

“Dumbledore did give him permission though,” Harry continued, irritation seeping into his words. “So there’s really nothing I can do about it.”

The next few hours were spent inside the inn, getting to know Granger and Weasley.  

As it turned out, Granger was a veritable genius in nearly every subject despite the fact that she was a Muggleborn like Rigel himself. Weasley put his foot in his mouth more than a few times but Rigel found that he didn’t mind the redhead too much– it was amusing, watching Harry kick him under the table any time he referred to Luna as ‘Loony’.

They split off on the way back, the trio going to join the Weasley twins as they trekked back towards the castle.

There was a small smile on Luna’s face that didn’t fade for over an hour and Rigel decided the day had been worth it.

Chapter Text

Sirius tugged at the collar of the tailored robes his grandfather had insisted he wore, more accustomed to looser Muggle clothing than the expensive robes worn in his youth.

“Do not fidget,” Arcturus admonished, giving him an unimpressed look as they walked towards the chamber where the Wizengamot session would take place. “It is unbecoming of Lord Black to act in such a preposterous manner.”

“This is your fault,” Sirius stated flatly, giving him an equally unimpressed look.

“Do you not want custody of the Potter boy?” Arcturus countered, raising a groomed eyebrow. “And stand straight, you are making an impression.”

Sirius scowled and tugged at his collar one last time before complying with the man’s words, straightening his back and walking behind Arcturus in the manner he had been taught for the first eleven years of his life and the same manner his grandfather had drilled into his head for the past few weeks. He hadn’t given Sirius a break besides on his birthday– which he had gifted Sirius with one of the Black Heirloom watches. It had been unpleasant, to say the least, but he wouldn’t have to worry about it after this.

At least, he thought so. He wasn’t so sure what his scheming grandfather had in mind for him.

A part of Sirius wished this could’ve happened on a different day, especially with the first Triwizard task happening three days from now. Harry wrote him a letter once a week and he had explained that someone had entered him into the tournament– Sirius had gone straight to his grandfather’s place and demanded he explain his ominous statement from his first visit because if he had anything to do with the way Harry had been put in danger again, Sirius would throttle him with zero misgivings.

Remus had managed to get him to cool off and Arcturus told him that he had nothing to do with it but a trusted source had warned him and refused to tell Sirius who his ‘trusted source’ was.

Either way, it didn’t change that Harry would be facing Merlin knew what in a few days and Sirius could do nothing about it.

The articles about him had died down as well in the past few days and Rita Skeeter had published the tamest article about the Triwizard Tournament, mentioning Harry as often as she had the other Champions without any sort of slander. It made him wonder who had gotten the witch under control.

His attention was pulled back to the present as they approached the familiar vast black doors with unnecessarily lavish doorknobs. It was where the Wizengamot always took place and he had visited it more than a few times with his father, who used the time spent there to teach Sirius politics.

Standing in front of the door were Lucius Malfoy and Sirius’s cousin, Narcissa. There was a dumbfounded expression on the former's face that made Sirius want to laugh.

If there were any upsides to taking up the Black Lordship besides getting custody of Harry, it was taking away Malfoy’s ability to use the Black Wizengamot seats since his son, Draco, was the only one besides Sirius that was eligible to take up the Black name.

“Grandfather,” Narcissa greeted courteously before her eyes flickered over to Sirius, distaste clear in her expression. “Sirius. I was unaware that you’ve been reinstated as Heir.”

Sirius plastered an insincere smile on his face. “I saw no need to inform you. You are a Malfoy, are you not? Black family matters do not concern you anymore.”

Her expression tightened, cold anger flashing in her eyes before Arcturus cleared his throat, giving Sirius a pointed glance before leading the way into the chamber.

Sirius leaned forward a little as he passed by her, a satisfied smirk pulling at his lips. “Tell your husband to close his mouth. Wouldn’t want any flies sullying his pampered little mouth.”

Her hand twitched as if she was going to reach for her wand but Sirius was already walking away, following his grandfather into the room he hadn’t been in since he was eleven.

The walls were made of dark stone, lit by fancy torches. Empty benches rose on either side of him, slowly being filled by a mix of familiar and unfamiliar faces.

Amelia Bones, one of his old colleagues and friends, was situated in the seat that Edmund Bones had once filled. She was situated on the benches in the middle of the room where most of the neutral families usually filled including the Greengrasses, Abbots, Selwyns, and Fawleys.

Lady Merula Greengrass looked exactly the same as Sirius remembered, just weathered by the years. Madam Augusta Longbottom was situated to the right of the room where all of the Light Families were sitting, looking as formidable as ever. Arthur Weasley was also there with his wife, who was occupying the Prewett seats until her twin sons took up the heirship– for whatever reason the heirship always went to the twins in each generation of the Prewetts. 

He didn’t recognize many of the other faces as his grandfather led the way up to the Black seats. No one sat in the Lestrange seats, which currently belonged to Sirius by proxy.

Murmurs broke out as people began to notice him and Sirius could feel himself becoming the focus of the room’s audience, glares and curious gazes burning into his back before situating himself next to Arcturus, head held high.

His grandfather had a faint look of approval in his eyes that faded as Dumbledore walked in, the heavy doors slamming shut behind him as the room fell silent again. Sirius had never seen him in action as Chief Warlock, a position that essentially had him act as the mediator between the different families. The Chief Warlock stepped up to the podium and instantly attracted the gathered crowd's collective attention.

“Welcome,” he greeted amiably, his eyes flickering over to Sirius. “I see we have some new faces amongst us, so I welcome you as well. Before we begin, are there any concerns?”

There was a chorus of no’s that reminded Sirius of a room filled with school children before the meeting began. Most of it was just as Sirius remembered, the Chief Warlock reading out the different political campaigns that reached the level of a Wizengamot decision. 

Lucius Malfoy had apparently suggested a new law against werewolves during the last session, which Sirius had viciously shut down before his grandfather could even say a word to him. By the red-faced look on Malfoy’s face, he had expected to have the ability to use the Malfoy and Black seats to outvote any protestors. 

Lady Greengrass had also voted against it, which earned a surprised look from Arcturus for whatever reason. She had never been inclined to that sort of thing from what Sirius remembered. Perhaps that had changed during his time in Azkaban.

The session was mainly just empty politics that bored him out of his mind, earning several disapproving looks from his grandfather when he slouched or tugged at his clothing. 

Finally, nearly two hours after Sirius had entered the chamber, Dumbledore talked about the reason for Sirius’s presence.

“At the request of Lord Black, the issue of Harry James Potter’s custody has reached us to make a final decision. This renders any Potter votes negligible, due to obvious reasons. As all of you may have heard, Sirius Orion Black, who has joined us today as the newly instated Lord Black, requests that the Wizengamot decides on whether he shall be allowed custody of Mr. Potter. Are there any concerns before we take a vote?”

There was silence for a moment before a condescending laugh rang through the chamber. “Black? Sirius Black?” the wizard sitting in the Macmillan seat chortled mockingly

Sirius’s eyes narrowed sharply, tilting his head to the side before he spoke in a tone that suited his grandfather more than himself. “Yes. And whom am I addressing?”

Macmillan paused as if that wasn’t the reaction he had hoped to garner. “Lord Macmillan.”

“I see,” Sirius stated simply, his lip curling in contempt. “And do all Macmillans automatically come with an inability to comport themselves with manners and decorum, or is that simply your own ineptitude?”

Macmillan sputtered, turning red with humiliation and anger. “I will not be spoken to in such a way, you insolent criminal–” he began, standing up and reaching into his wand.

“Enough,” Madam Longbottom interrupted, fixing Macmillan with a deeply unimpressed glare. “Be silent if you have nothing of substance to say, Lord Macmillan. Lord Black was proven innocent, you’d do well to refrain from petty name calling and childish squabbling.”

Macmillan balked at her reprimand, sitting back in his seat with a final glare sent Sirius’s way.

There was a pleased glint in Arcturus’s eyes that made Sirius want to roll his eyes. Of course, he was happy that he had managed to influence Sirius's behavior in the month or so since he had started drilling old lessons back into Sirius’s head.

“Any concerns?” Dumbledore called out again.

Lord Abbott raised his hand. “I am under the impression that prolonged stay at Azkaban produces... insanity, for a lack of better wording. Is Lord Black capable of taking care of a fourteen-year-old child after such an ordeal?”

Sirius exhaled slowly, a little relieved that someone was actually asking relevant things instead of more insults. “I have been pronounced capable by the mind healer I am seeing as long as I continue seeing them until they say I am free to go. I have the evidence necessary to prove this.”

“There is no need,” Lord Abbott denied the offer, waving Sirius off.

“Does Mr. Potter finds this agreeable?” Lady Fawley piped up.

Sirius nodded. “I have spoken with him about this matter on more than one occasion and he’s perfectly content with this arrangement.”

There were a few more questions before Dumbledore called for the vote.

“All those in favor of Lord Black taking up custody of Harry Potter?” Dumbledore called out and Sirius raised his own hand, holding his breath as more and more hands lifted into the air– more than half! 

He wasn’t surprised by the number of hands that remained recumbent, amongst them Malfoy, Avery, Carrow, Crouch, Travers, and Yaxley– essentially all the bastard’s that hated his guts and whose opinions he didn’t give a rat’s ass about. 

Macmillan surprisingly voted in his favor, although he seemed reluctant to. Perhaps Sirius had been a little too harsh with his response earlier.

“Very well,” Dumbledore said, a smile poking through his expression. “Sirius Black now has custody of Harry Potter. Congratulations, Lord Black.”

Sirius barely bit back the urge to cheer, a smile growing on his features as his heart pounded with relief. His joy was cut short a moment later.

“This is preposterous!” Malfoy exclaimed, looking like he'd been seething in outrage for at least an hour now. “The Chief Warlock has clearly made a mistake while counting the votes! I demand a re-vote for everything that was decided during this session!” he snapped, all but glaring daggers at Dumbledore.

“I assure you that there has been no mistake, Lord Malfoy,” he said evenly.

“And I contest your claim, Chief Warlock. Lady Greengrass would never cast her votes as you have noted down,” Malfoy countered.

Dumbledore looked entirely unamused. “Are you questioning the integrity of this body, Lord Malfoy?”

“I'm merely pointing out a suspiciously severe change in Lady Greengrass’s behavior,” Malfoy said smoothly, diverting the outrage Dumbledore’s statement had created.

“Lady Greengrass?” Dumbledore asked after a moment, a hint of annoyance in his features. “Would you care to clear up any misunderstanding Lord Malfoy has with your behavior within this session?”

“Certainly,” Merula Greengrass said, standing before looking at Malfoy with a pleased smile on her features. “It seems, Lord Malfoy, that you weren’t informed of the conclusion of our agreement. I have voted as I saw fit, seeing as I no longer have to abide by the rules of the contract.”

There was a ringing silence for a moment that Sirius didn’t understand, broken by Malfoy’s outraged growl. “ Impossible! No one has allied themselves with the likes of you in years and no one but the Blacks are capable of breaking that contract!”

Faces turned to look at Sirius but he shook his head. “I know nothing of this matter.”

“You’re mistaken, Lord Malfoy. There is only one other option but it seems I need to spell it out for,” Lady Greengrass smirked before she paused for dramatic effect. “Take this as the official announcement of the Potter-Greengrass alliance!”

What?

The day before the first task came with nerves humming under Cedric’s skin, although he managed to hide it fairly well. At least he hoped he did.

Fleur and Krum looked as unaffected as always when Cedric looked their way at breakfast, pushing his food around his plate absently. He felt far too queasy to eat and he wished he had just not come to breakfast, especially with all the people that kept coming up to him with encouragement that only served to make him more nervous.

“Cedric,” Andrew glowered when he noticed that Cedric wasn’t eating once again. 

He let out a harassed sigh and took a pointed bite out of his porridge– his friend had been badgering him to eat the past few days since his appetite had started dying down. 

He had no idea what the first task would be. All those books in the library had told him that the first task had the largest death count and tended to be the most dangerous– like an opening act in a circus that caught the audience's attention. Was he ready for it? Would he survive it?

Cedric felt a little guilty for the way he had allowed the rest of the school to treat Harry for his sake. Even if he had bypassed the Age line and put his name in the goblet, all three Champions had two to three years of magical experience over him. It was probably more stressful and frightening for him than it was for Cedric.

The first bell rang and Cedric stood up to go to Charms with Gabe, Andrew, and Adrian, making it all the way to the end of the corridor before someone called his name. He bit back a groan before turning around to face the newest admirer trying to encourage him or ask him to sign their purse or parchment- Merlin knew why, he hadn’t even done anything worth that yet.

To his surprise, Harry Potter came up to him and Gabe and Adrian both frowned, angry for his sake. Cedric wished they wouldn’t.

“What do you want?” Gabe asked with a bite to his tone that made Cedric grimace.

“ I’m being a decent person,” Harry shot back with a glare. “Something you seem to struggle to do. Here. You left this in the library.”

Cedric stumbled back in confusion as the Gryffindor shoved an unfamiliar Potions book in his chest, straightening with a perplexed expression on his face. He opened his mouth to say it wasn’t his but there was a look in Harry’s eyes that made his words die in his throat. “... Thanks.”

“No problem,” Harry said briskly, turning on his heel to leave.

Cedric watched him go, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He cracked the book open when the younger teen was out of sight, and a piece of parchment fluttered to the ground. He crouched down to pick it up, reading it quickly before his heart plummeted to the ground.

‘First task is dragons. There are four for each of us. Other champions know.’

“What?” he whispered hoarsely.

“Cedric?” Adrian prompted, frowning as he looked at Cedric.

“He just– the first task– the first task is dragons,” he said softly, stumbling over his words as he tried to wrap his mind around the bombshell that had just been dropped. All three of his friends stared at him with wide eyes– Cedric was relieved he wasn’t the only one panicking now. 

“How’d you know that?” Gabe demanded, his face paling considerably. “Stupid question– How’d he know that? Why’d he tell you?”

“I don’t know,” Cedric answered. 

“He could be setting you up, mate.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Andrew snapped. Of the four of them, he looked the most collected and level-headed, the only evidence of his alarm being the barely noticeable grayish tint to his dark skin. “There’s no point in that and even if he was, he’d be sabotaging himself in the process since he’d get in trouble. He’s not some vindictive Disney villain, Gabe.”

“Disney?” Adrian and Gabe queried simultaneously before Andrew glared at them.

“Not the point,” he ground out. “There’s a high chance there is going to be a dragon and we’re trying to make sure Cedric doesn’t fucking die, you morons.”

“Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine,” Gabe muttered under his breath. "If it was me facing off against a dragon, I'd try not to approach the entire thing thinking I'm gonna die. It doesn't tend to do much for your chances."

“Good thing it’s not you then,” Andrew snarked with a wholly unimpressed look on his face.

“Why don’t we worry about this later?” Cedric offered weakly. “We’re going to be late to Charms.”

Andrew stared at him for a moment before taking in a deep breath. “Fuck Charms, Ced. We’re talking dragons here. As in fully grown dragons that need over ten stunners to be put down? We’re going to the library.”

Cedric let himself be dragged to the library, the four of them completely bypassing Flitwick’s class on the way. It was comforting to know that his friends were helping him, although the very thought of facing a dragon nearly sent him into panic overdrive.

Hell, Charlie Weasley was a fully trained dragon keeper and he had nasty burn scars all over his arms, what on Earth could Cedric do against one?

Warrington met them when they reached the library, raising an eyebrow as Gabe paced back and forth across the length of the aisle they were residing in before Adrian filled him in. He was more useful, not that Cedric didn’t appreciate his friends’ efforts but he kept a level head, offering up solutions to make up for the fact that Cedric never bloody took Care of Magical creatures.

“Runes or Transfiguration, Diggory. You excel at both, you can use them to bind or distract the dragon.”

“I know that but I only have a day,” Cedric despaired. “I can’t master spells like that in a single day. It’d take days of practice at most!”

“Something you know, you half-wit,” Adrian groaned. “Cassius is right. There’s got to be something you can transfigure– make a distraction. Something the dragon will be attracted to. What do dragons eat?”

“Acromantula,” Gabe offered.

Cedric shook his head. “I can't learn that in a day. Plus, they're huge and I’ve never seen one in real life so I can’t replicate it.”

“What about weak points?” Andrew asked. “I know its hide is impenetrable but it has to have weak points. Everything does.”

“Eyes and sometimes the underbelly but you shouldn’t risk that unless you want to get trampled,” Gave responded, flushing a little when Warrington raised an eyebrow. “What? I like dragons.”

“Conjunctivitis Curse,” Adrian declared, slamming a book on top of the one in front of Cedric. “It irritates the eyes and they swell shut. If you cast one powerful enough, you can do the same to a dragon so long as you aim it right.”

“That might not be enough since it’ll probably panic. Maybe add protective runes of some sort to prevent yourself from being burnt?” Warrington added.

“Like an array or on my clothes?” Cedric frowned. “I don’t think I’d have time to draw an array.”

Warrington frowned. “You probably shouldn’t put them on your clothes either. They’ll probably be giving you different clothes to wear during the task, it’s part of the tradition.”

“Under clothes? I have thermal wear that you can wear under. I doubt they’d make you take that off,” Andrew offered. He received four blank stares before he sighed. “It’s just tight clothing you wear under your clothes in the winter to warm up.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Cedric decided. He probably would’ve objected any other day but they were actually getting somewhere with all of this.

The five of them skipped the entire day of classes and Professor Sprout found them in an empty class near evening, took one look at the books and parchment strewn all over the floor and the collective stressed looks on their faces before promptly telling them that they were free to stay out past curfew and not to worry about getting in trouble for what they had done.

Cedric stayed up until three in the morning perfecting the transfiguration spell he would use to create a few wolves to distract the dragon, the Conjunctivitis Curse which he would use if that failed, the disillusionment charm along with one that masked his scent in case he got a dragon with a good sense of smell, and finally stitching an array of protective runes into the thermal wear Andrew had given him– stitching totally sucked, he had poked the needle into his fingers a million times in the course of the two hours he had spent on that.

By the time he was done, Adrian and Gabe had fallen asleep, Andrew was leaning against Cedric’s shoulder and muttering unintelligibly, and Warrington was nodding off, his head drooping every few seconds.

Cedric relaxed, his eyelids closing as he leaned back.

He’d wake everyone in a few minutes…

Chapter Text

There was something inherently wrong the morning of the first task.

It left Harry far too strung, nerves and trepidation creeping up his spine as the day went on.

The atmosphere in the school was one of great tension and excitement. Lessons were to stop at midday, giving all the students time to get down to the dragons’ enclosure. 

McGonagall came to collect Harry from the Great Hall and he ignored all the insults directed at him, trying to figure out what was creating the sensation of wrongness that had been following him since he woke up.

Nothing had changed. 

Fleur picked out the Welsh Green. Krum picked the Chinese Fireball. Cedric, the Swedish Short-Snout. Harry, the Hungarian Horntail.

Nothing had changed. 

Harry brushed Bagman off when the man asked for a word, flicking through the memories of his present and future. There were stark differences in the timelines, of course, and the most recent change was that Harry had gone out of his way to inform Cedric of the task in a different manner so he wasn’t confronted by Fake-Moody about what he had done.

Would that affect what would happen today? Harry had planned to do the same thing he had the first time around since it had worked fairly well, with minimal injuries on his part. Cedric had really been the only one who had been somewhat badly injured– what if Harry had accidentally made things worse?

Harry grasped his dragon model, watching it attempt to crawl up his arm absently as it breathed cool flames against his tingling fingertips. 

Cedric stood up when the whistle blew, his face set in an expression of grim determination despite the greenish tinge to his pale skin. He smiled a little when Harry wished him luck, although it looked more like a grimace in Harry’s opinion.

Harry kept an ear out for the noise the crowd was making and Bagman’s commentary, closing his eyes as he compared the memories of the first task with what was happening now. They were a little hazy, probably due to his nerves, but he could remember bits of it. It sounded like Cedric had actually done better this time around, incorporating runes into his face off somehow.

That was the first difference but it didn’t seem to be the reason behind what Harry was feeling.

There was a roar of approval when Cedric finally got the golden egg.

The second whistle was blown.

Fleur looked terrified out of her wits when she stood up but relaxed minutely when Harry wished her luck, nodding thankfully as she left the tent.

Nothing seemed different from the first time around during her turn.

The third whistle was blown.

Krum stood, giving Harry a sardonic smile when he wished him luck before he too left the tent.

The Chinese Fireball emitted a familiar horrible, roaring shriek, confirming the fact that nothing had gone different during Krum’s turn.

Finally, it was Harry’s turn and he stepped out as the fourth whistle was blown, walking past the trees and through the gap in the enclosure fence. 

He tried to figure out what felt different but there was nothing out of place, it all looked the same. There was the Horntail, at the other end of the enclosure, crouched low over its clutch of eggs with its wings half-furled. It had black scales and was lizard-like in appearance. It also had yellow eyes, with vertical pupils like those of a cat's, bronze horns, and similarly colored spikes that protruded from its long tail– Harry knew it wouldn’t hesitate to use them on him.

Its eyes zeroed in on Harry, anger and malice clear as it bared its large fangs at him, a small puff of flame slipping through its teeth.

“ Accio Firebolt,” he murmured, keeping his attention focused on the angry dragon as he raised his wand. Its nose flared angrily and Harry quickly cast another spell. “ Fumos.”

Smoke poured out of his wand, obscuring the dragon’s vision as Harry waited for his broom patiently. He heard it a moment later, speeding through the air towards him from behind before he turned and saw his Firebolt hurtling toward him around the edge of the woods, soaring into the enclosure, and stopping dead in midair beside him, just as he had remembered. 

With each passing second, the dragon became more and more irritated and Harry knew that he was going to run out of time to get a good score if he didn’t hurry, not that he particularly cared. Great angry eyes twitched as Harry canceled the smokescreen spell and mounted his broom, the dragon giving a loud cry that set Harry’s teeth on edge.

Harry shot into the air, falling into the mindset of a Quidditch match just as he had the first time around. He looked down at the clutch of eggs and spotted the gold one, gleaming against its gray counterparts, residing safely between the dragon’s front legs. 

He fell into a familiar rhythm, his eyes peeled on his surroundings as he flew lazy circles over the Horntail before diving. The Horntail’s head followed him– he knew what it was going to do and pulled out of the dive just in time. A jet of fire had been released exactly where he would have been had he not swerved away

“Great Scott, he can fly!” yelled Bagman as the crowd shrieked and gasped. “Are you watching this, Mr. Krum?” 

Harry soared higher in a circle, the Horntail still following his every move as he flew all over the enclosure watching as it grew steadily angrier. He was baiting it to fly up to him as it considered him an annoying fly buzzing around its head, a fly it was longing to swat. Its tail thrashed again, but he was too high to reach now.

“C’mon, I wanna get this over with,” Harry grumbled.

It reared suddenly, spreading its great, black, leathery wings as wide as those of a small airplane, and Harry dove. Before the dragon knew what he had done, or where he had disappeared to, he was hurtling toward the ground as fast as he could go, toward the eggs now unprotected by its clawed front legs. He took his hands off his Firebolt and seized the golden egg before he was off, soaring out over the stands with the heavy egg safely under his arm–

Any elation he might’ve felt disappeared when the Horntail’s tail collided into him.

There was a loud crack– whether that was his ribs or his broom would be determined– and Harry felt himself get thrown towards, the wind whistling past as white-hot pain shot through his body.

He only had seconds.

Harry pointed his wand at the ground that grew nearer with each millisecond, casting a Cushioning charm on the rocks just before he crashed into them.

The world went dark for a few moments before Harry blinked, straining his eyes as he stared up at the empty sky in blurry confusion before black scales filled his vision and Harry shot up, rolling out of the way as the Horntail stomped on where he had just been laying

He scrambled to his feet, still somehow clutching the golden egg as he bolted, gasping for air as each step set fire to his nerves. His heart pounded in his chest as his ears rang with echoes of the crash, black spots dancing in his vision.

This hadn’t happened the first time.

He made it to the exit of the enclosure, turning around to see what had become of the dragon before he felt his blood run cold.

The Horntail twisted its neck, breaking free of the chains that held it down. Its roar of fury resonated through the arena, sending chills down Harry’s back and the crowd into hysterics before it let out a swath of flames that shrouded it from view and made the entire enclosure glow a brilliant orange.

Wards.

Of course, there were protective wards to stop the dragon from attacking the crowd, he didn’t need to worry–

The air crackled with magic for a moment before it exploded and Harry was thrown back, pain erupting through his body once again as he slammed into a wall. He looked back towards the Horntail, his heart plummeting to his feet when he saw the tail come hurtling towards the crowds– the Gryffindor section.

This was what his gut had been warning him about.

Time seemed to slow at that moment, his eyes finding Ron and Hermione’s horrified faces in the panicked crowd, their eyes focused on the imminent danger approaching them.

Dumbledore wouldn’t be fast enough, Harry realized numbly when he saw the headmaster’s usually jovial expression drop. 

They would die.

There was a vague sense of bottomless rage and madness that burned at the edge of his consciousness as the world around him seemed to lose its color, the Horntail’s tail inching closer to Ron and Hermione. 

They would die.

Something pulsated in his chest like a second heartbeat as whispers reached his ears.

They would die.

His left hand twitched before it wrapped around something that hadn’t been there seconds ago and it felt like he was touching the sun itself, scorching hot surface melding itself into his hand.

The whispers grew louder and louder until they reached a crescendo, nonsensical chanting echoing in his head and foreign urgency tugging at his chest.

His body didn’t feel like his own.

Something simmered beneath his skin and a vibrating hum joined the chanting in his head, his body thrumming with something distinctly other.

It felt as though someone had taken the speck of nothingness that was Harry and forced the universe's vastness into him, all-encompassing and overwhelming as noise roared in his head, chanting the same thing over and over and over…

His mouth opened and words fell out of his mouth, distorted and wrong.

“ Cælum dimittam, infernum erigo, et omnia obstacula destruo. 

Da mihi fortitudinem tuam, Anam Cara.”

The world went black.

A rip in reality tore through the air, shards of every color imaginable made of unchainable energy and pure unadulterated magic that injected icy fear into the center of Albus’s being, fear he had never experienced before. 

The air heaved under the force of the magic, the space around the dragon warping under the effects of a spell Albus had never witnessed before. He could practically taste the electric hum of the magic, infused with the echoes of madness and rage that threatens to pull him under.

The Horntail didn’t feel like a threat any longer. This beast made of magic Albus had never borne witness to in his lifetime was the one that terrified him. Its focus hadn’t even brushed against him but it left him with a sense of being hunted, with the echoing undercurrent of fear like no other.

It left Albus feeling like he had witnessed the work of an entity far beyond anything else in their world.

Vivid gray eyes flew open, pupils thinning in fear as an animalistic hiss escaped the creature. Its fur stood on end as it bared its teeth at a threat only few could sense.

A man shrouded in black robes took the place of the cat, goosebumps appearing on his pale skin as energy thrummed in the air for a moment before dissipating as if it was never there.

“You grow more troublesome with each passing day, Harry Potter.”

Magic prickled at the back of Charlie’s mind for a moment, wide eyes staring at the Horntail as it stopped in the middle of its swing, tail inches away from the first row of the audience.

The dragon’s maw was stretched wide in a silent howl and its nostrils were suddenly devoid of flame, though still smoking–  then, slowly, it fell back away from the crowd. Several tons of sinewy, scaly-black dragon hit the ground with a thud that shook the entire forest.

Charlie stared at it for a moment, stony silence hanging in the air before all hell broke loose. He looked around to see who had done it, his eyes instinctively jumping to Dumbledore because he was the only person Charlie knew that could take down a dragon in the time they had to stop the creature.

But the man looked as confused as Charlie, his face pale with residual fear before he managed to compose himself.

“Vhere’s ze boy?” Dimitri demanded suddenly over the yelling and screaming of the audience, his accent heavier than usual.

“What boy?” Charlie asked faintly.

“Harry Potter!” his co-worker snapped with urgency in his tone that set him on edge. “He vas right in front of ze vards when zey broke and ze Horntail hit him!”

The redhead sucked in a breath, his eyes widening a little as he realized the implications of that statement. “I’ll search for him, you–”

“HEY! WE NEED A HEALER OVER HERE!” 

Charlie’s head snapped in the direction of the panicked shout, the crowd parting to look at the cause. His chest tightened when he saw a wide-eyed Wayne kneeling down beside a familiar head of messy black hair, sitting in a growing pool of crimson.

The air was frozen with disbelief for a moment before a terrible cry that pulled at his insides rang out, expressing terror and agony like no other, and two familiar figures came hurtling forward– Hermione and Ron.

“Harry! Harry!” Ron cried, his face ashen with fear as he clutched his best friend’s shoulder, shaking Harry over and over in a heartbreakingly vain attempt of waking the motionless up. “Harry, wake up!”

Hermione reached out, placing her shaking hand against Harry’s neck and placing two of her fingers against the skin for a moment. Her features blanked and Charlie's stomach twisted before a tremulous whisper reached every ear in the room.

“There’s no heartbeat.”

Time is too slow for those who wait,
Too swift for those who fear,
Too long for those who grieve,
Too short for those who rejoice,
But for those who love, time is
Eternity.

- Henry Van Dyke

Chapter Text

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting here on the stairs, out in the cold wearing only a loose hoodie and a pair of pajama pants. Although he couldn’t really feel the usual biting sensation on his skin when he got cold. 

He couldn’t really feel at all. 

That wasn’t really right either. It was more like he was feeling everything and nothing at all. But he couldn’t muster up the energy to think on it further, drifting thoughtlessly as a constant buzz filled his head, other sounds humming in the background. 

He felt a little like he was under water, the weird floaty sensation you got when you just drifted along with the water… Why was he even out here?

His eyes drifted around, exhausting what little energy he had as he looked at himself. Was that even him? Was that his hand? It didn’t feel like it. It was covered in red, but that didn’t look right. Was it paint? Blood?

Oh. The first task. Harry got hurt.

There was a distant jolt of something and his chest– was it his?– was being compressed. He thought maybe it was supposed to hurt but he couldn’t remember what that was supposed to feel like. 

He wanted to run away– it was an inexplicable need that didn’t make sense in the hazy fog that was his mind. Why would he run?

Something appeared in front of him, a blur of red and black as he struggled to pull himself back to the present. What was that? What time was it? There was a hand– maybe, he didn’t know– on his knee. Was it his? He couldn’t feel anything. Wasn’t he supposed to feel warm? What did that feel like again?

“–on… Ron…”

Was someone talking to him?

He strained his eyes a little, trying to refocus and make out exactly who was in front of him. There was… hair. Red hair, like his. Someone from his family then. 

Pressure– was it?– built up in his head as he tried to concentrate. He thought maybe his chest was hurting. And his fingers felt weird and tingly.

Was the person still talking to him?

He could make out lips moving. He couldn’t hear anything. Everything felt fuzzy and far away. Where was he again?

There was still a hand on his knee but it felt like a huge chasm between him and it, hundreds of meters of infinite distance. It didn’t feel real. Nothing did.

It scared him.

Something heavy landed on his shoulders, wrapped around him by more hands that didn’t seem to be connected to anyone. It was a far contrast from the weightless, non-existent way that he was feeling.

He felt warmer too– at least he thought so.

He drifts off again and he can feel the world fall away again, leaving him floating in a vast sea of fuzzy nothingness. There was an odd sensation of being larger than life and smaller than a speck of dirt at the same time.

Something touched his hand– he could feel it.

Everything suddenly snapped back into focus, present and aware in a way that threatened to overwhelm him. Someone was holding his hand, warm and solid and tangible. 

His chest hurt– everything did. He felt cold, right down to his bones. His body felt tingly and there.

The disconnected feeling shrunk as he felt himself growing proportionate to his surroundings again and his hand grasped Hermione’s tightly. His voice didn’t quite feel like his when he opened his mouth to reassure her.

“I’m– I’m okay.”

“Definitely not,” someone denied as soon as he had spoken. It sounded like Charlie and when Ron looked at the person sitting at his knee, he could see his brother’s exhausted and concerned gaze focused on him and guilt joined the growing miasma of emotions in his chest.

His chest hurt– a lot. It felt like he couldn’t get enough air.

He wanted to be far away again– at least it didn’t hurt. Ron had to distance himself, keep himself from feeling all these things at once, or else he’d drown and he didn’t know if he’d be able to come back up for air.

He wished Harry was here.

Alarm suddenly shot through his body and his head snapped up to look at Hermione.

“What happened to Harry?” he asked, his voice grating at his ears as he spoke.

The last clear memory he had was of holding Harry’s body–

“Easy, Ron” Charlie soothed like he was talking to a child or a wild beast. 

Ron couldn’t find it in himself to care, his gaze focused on Hermione because he knew she would tell him it straight. There was an uneasy expression on her face, fear and frustration shining in her eyes as she bit her lip.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, clutching onto his hand as if it were a lifeline. “I don’t know. They haven’t told us anything and he’s been in there for over fifteen hours.”

He can’t really grasp the concept of Harry dying. He’s seen him get hurt so many times and he bounced back each time– even when Ron himself doubted that he would. 

He had never considered for a moment that the tournament would kill or harm Harry, even when he heard that Harry would be facing a dragon in the first task. He knew they were dangerous, his brother had trained for two years before he actually got to come face to face with a dragon, and even then he had horrible burns on every inch of his skin.

Despite the fact that Ron knew Harry hadn’t put his name in the goblet, jealousy had simmered under his skin until the moment he saw the dragon’s tail swat Harry out of the sky as if he were an insignificant bug before it was quickly replaced with horror as he stood immobilized in the sea of screaming and chaos. 

The realization that there was nothing he could do but stand there uselessly had hit him far too late as he watched a Level Five magical creature attack his best friend and the next thing he knew he was staring at Harry’s pale face, crimson blood staining his face and matting his hair as blood continued to pour from his injuries and mouth.

He didn’t even wish him luck, he didn’t say a word to him before he was gone.

It made Ron feel less than dirt.

What sort of shitty friend was he, constantly agonizing over all the things that were going on in his life when his friend had flat-out told him someone was trying to kill him? What sort of shitty friend needed to see proof of that before he actually believed him?

He felt splintered and overwhelmed, half-aware of what was going on around him due to Hermione’s hand in his. He wanted to comfort her because her face was crumbling as if she were about to cry but every attempt felt more difficult than the last, blissful numbness washing over him again and again.

Charlie said something and he took a moment to puzzle out the meaning of the words he had spoken, a moment long enough that he nearly lost himself in the now familiar cool gray fog of indifference. Hermione squeezed his hand almost painfully and he dragged himself back to reality, blinking a few times before muttering an apology.

There was an odd look in his brother’s eyes before he shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s go inside, you’re freezing.”

He let Hermione pull him to his feet and wrap the blanket– he hadn’t even noticed that– around his shoulders securely. Standing was uncomfortable and walking was difficult, the distinct separation from his body and mind making the ground feel further than it was, his feet stumbling beneath him. 

He knew he should feel a little embarrassed but he couldn't find it in himself to care, focusing on the sensation of holding Hermione’s hand, her thumb rubbing steady comforting circles on his hand. It felt it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

The walk back into St. Mungos and through the lobby felt endless, stretching on forever and ever until they finally reached the elevator that would take them to the waiting room. He didn’t really want to go there– he didn’t want to see his mum’s devastated face or Ginny’s expression of horror as the last of her hero worship shattered in the face of Harry’s imminent death. 

The elevator ride made him nauseous, the lurching sensation as it began to move, making him grasp onto Hermione’s hand a little bit tighter.

Charlie placed a steadying hand on his shoulder and it took him a moment to realize that they had entered the waiting room. His mum jumped up when she caught sight of him, wrapping him in a hug that made him feel more present. “I’m okay, Mum,” he mumbled softly and she let him go a few moments later.

Most of his family was in the room, with the exception of Percy– Bill was there too, to Ron’s surprise. Sirius was there as well, his eyes closed and his elbows resting on his knees as he clasped his hands together in what could only be a prayer. Profes– Lupin was there, looking seconds away from collapsing– it took a second for him to realize that the full moon would be happening tonight.

He paused for a moment when he saw Dumbledore, his palms and fingers prickling uncomfortably as he stared at the man. He clenched and unclenched his free hand, trying to make sense of the uncomfortable sensation that grew clearer as the haze over his mind faded. It started at his stomach, slowly creeping up towards his chest. 

His fingers dug into Hermione’s hand subconsciously and she looked at him, confusion clear on her face. She followed his line of sight before stiffening but he spoke before she could say anything.

“What are you doing here?” Ron asked, his tone unintentionally accusing as he stared at Dumbledore. 

Oh. He was angry.

He wanted to hit something– someone.

“Ron,” Hermione warned softly. There was anger in her gaze that matched his own building rage but she remained calm. He couldn’t do the same.

The room started a little and everyone looked toward him, including Dumbledore. It took the man a second to realize that he was the one being addressed.

“I’m here to check on Harry, my boy,” the man said wearily with a hint of befuddlement in his gaze. Someone scoffed derisively and Ron’s eyes shot to his eldest brother, who turned away from Dumbledore with distaste in his expression. 

He hated Dumbledore a little at that moment and his anger rose to a simmer. “You wouldn’t have had to check up on him if he wasn’t forced into that stupid death contest! You made the rule that anyone under the age of seventeen can’t join but you forced a fourth year to?! What did you think would happen? That Harry would magically come out unscathed again because there was no one to save him again?! Just because he’s the Boy-Who-Lived doesn’t mean he’s not human! ” he spat, his voice growing louder with each word. His anger twisted into a creature of pure unadulterated rage and roared in his chest, his ribs rattling under the force of it. 

He hated Dumbledore.

“This is the fourth time he’s nearly died in the four years we’ve been at Hogwarts! Two of those were spent trying to save the whole school and the entirety of Britain from the second coming of Voldemort and each time Harry was the one doing your job for you! And the one time you actually manage to do your job and protect the students, Harry ends up in the bloody hospital! Why would you let them choose dragons as the first task when you knew Harry was going to participate, much less one of the most dangerous dragon species on the face of the whole Earth?! You can’t come in here and act all concerned that Harry’s dying when it’s your bloody fault! Every single year, you promise me and Hermione that you’re doing your best to protect Harry and every. Single. Fucking. Year Harry nearly dies!”

He knew it wasn’t fair to push all the blame on Dumbledore, even if his anger was righteous in a sense. He knew it wasn’t all Dumbledore’s fault but he was the main object of his rage and it was easier to deal with that than the waves of complex emotions that he couldn’t even begin to process.

Hermione doesn’t stop him– no one does, not even Dumbledore. 

The Headmaster accepted it with weariness in his gaze that did nothing to soothe the bottomless rage boiling through every inch of Ron’s being. He couldn’t talk anymore, his voice dying in his throat whenever he tried.

Anger and words felt useless all of a sudden– they didn’t lighten the load on his shoulders or loosen the hands that squeezed his heart.

He wanted to run.

He knew it was gone but it felt like it was still there.

Wayne closed his eyes as hot water poured over his red hands– not from blood, not anymore but from the amount of scrubbing and heat he had used in a vain attempt of erasing the imprints of the image from his mind.

The water felt like fire against his skin and his fingertips pruning after spending so much time in the water but he wanted it off. He couldn’t forget it. He couldn’t understand why it had bothered him so much. He had seen people die before, he’d seen someone get cut in half without batting an eye.

Why did this bother him so much?

He looked exactly like him –

Wayne exhaled sharply, turning the tap off and grabbing the towel before drying his hands off. He grimaced a little when pain shot through them– he must’ve burnt them with the water, it had been near boiling.

He didn’t look at them though, he knew what he’d see and didn’t want to deal with that. Harry Potter was just some kid he made an agreement with. The promise he made back then didn’t matter, especially not when the person was dead.

Wayne didn’t care about Potter. He hadn’t for fourteen years and he certainly didn’t now.

He didn’t.

His loyalty and care were only given to his family. Semper Fidelis . He would always remain faithful to his family before all else.

The door of the bathroom opened and he heard a familiar clunking noise behind him, turning around to see Moody emerging from the corridor. Irritation flashed through Wayne when he saw the expression on the man’s face– he didn’t need a lecture like some schoolboy, especially not from the likes of Moody.

What came out of the man’s mouth wasn’t what he expected. “You alright there, Greengrass?” Moody asked gruffly and Wayne blinked, speechless for a moment as he stared at the retired Auror. 

That wasn’t the reaction he had been expecting.

“Fine, sir,” he responded after a second, collecting himself and raising an impassive eyebrow. “I’m a trained Auror, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Being an Auror doesn’t make you uncaring, Greengrass,” Moody grumbled, watching Wayne closely. “You just watched a kid die.”

“I’ve seen many people die, sir,” Wayne said harshly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be in my quarters.”

He brushed past the man quickly and Moody didn’t stop him, releasing an aggravated sigh as he made his way down to the guest rooms Dumbledore had provided for him and his fellow guard. He collapsed on his bed, his body sagging with relief after the stress of being on his feet all day.

His owl, Aira, fluttered down from her perch with a copy of yesterday's edition of the Daily Prophet held between her beak. She dropped it in front of him and nipped his finger gently before hopping onto his shoulder and preening his hair.

A small smile cracked on his face before he grabbed the paper, blinking in surprise when he saw the headline plastered on the front page, his aunt’s picture looking down at whoever had taken the photo condescendingly. It read, ‘Startling Wizengamot News: House Potter Allies with House Greengrass!’

He snorted sardonically, tossing the paper to the side. He had forgotten that Lady Greengrass planned on announcing their alliance at the recent Wizengamot session– he didn’t even remember to tell the kid they were making it public.

Not that it really mattered. There was next to no chance of Potter living to see tomorrow, meaning Wayne had gone through all that trouble of finding a way to protect his family for fucking nothing. They might be free of Malfoy now but when the Dark Lord came back– when not if– they would be ruined all over again.

He closed his eyes, a heavy sigh shuddered out of him as he dropped his face into his pillow.

How selfish and fucked up was that, thinking about his problems when there was a kid in St. Mungos that was depending on the capability of the healers to keep his heart beating?

Aira flew black to her perch before someone knocked on his door in a familiar pattern that he, Tonks, and Weasley had developed over the years– being friends with a Hufflepuff and Gryffindor didn’t earn him any points in his house, nor did it in either of theirs. He knew it was Tonks so he didn’t bother responding since she’d let herself in whether he let her or not.

The door creaked open a second later before she stepped in, closing the door behind her quietly. “Hey,” she greeted softly.

Wayne grunted in an undignified manner in response, rolling onto his side to make space for her on instinct and facing the other way– he didn’t really want to look anyone in the face right now. She huffed in amusement, the mattress dipping as she laid down beside him, back to back.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

She didn’t say anything for a moment and he basked in the silence and quiet comfort she provided. For a moment it felt like they were seven all over again, laying on opposite ends of her bed after she had lost her cousin to Azkaban. He wasn’t one for physical comfort or even talking– he was terrible at it, to be frank. But she had been crying and he hadn’t known what to do so he just laid next to her the whole night, listening to her cry.

It had made him hate Sirius Black once upon a time.

“It’s not your fault,” she said quietly.

‘I know,’ is what he wanted to say but the words died in his throat. He knew that it wasn’t his fault logically but he had been so close, if he had grabbed the kid before the wards exploded maybe he wouldn’t be–

“Yeah,” he managed to croak out, feeling ridiculous as a lump of emotion grew in his chest.

He was glad she didn't say anything after that because he didn’t want any reassurances. He wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if she tried to tell him it would be okay– he knew it would, in the end, he would get over it and move on. But losing a life when there was a chance you could’ve saved it hurt no matter how many times you've experienced it, especially when it was a kid.

They didn’t say anything else for the rest of the night.

Sweat collected on her brow as her hands shook a little with exertion.

“Brain activity’s dying down again!” Reynolds barked, weariness seeping into his voice. Despite the briskness in his tone, she could hear him starting to give up hope just like she was.

The two healers supplying magic to the boy lying on the operating table both upped the amount they were pouring into him, pale and shaky as they did so.

It was useless.

Andromeda could feel the realization collapsing on her after nearly fifteen hours of this. 

It was useless. 

He had drained every last drop of magic from his body despite his absurdly large core– he had drained the very magic that was keeping his body alive.

She had learned the magical theory behind the way magical and muggle human bodies worked when she was nineteen. Magic lay in every living thing in the universe, it was what kept it alive. It resided within everyone, keeping the heart pumping and performing what was considered ‘miracles’ to Muggles. So even Muggles had magic in them.

Wizards evolved from that, their bodies housing more magic than the necessary amount needed for the body to operate and so, the body developed the magical core. It wasn’t really tangible in the sense that the organs were but it was there.

Magical exhaustion began to show its symptoms when a wizard had used up half of their magical core. It wasn’t life-threatening at that point but the real problems began when the energy in the magical core depleted any further. 

And this boy, who already had an absurdly large magical core for a growing teenager, had expended every last drop of magic from his body– even the magic that kept his heart beating, that kept him alive .

They’d been pouring magic into him for hours, forcing his heart to beat over and over again but it was useless. The amount they were giving him was too meager to support his body– the quantity of two wizards’ magical cores had already been poured into him and he had shown no sign of being able to function without Ted using that spell to force his heart to beat.

Harry Potter was alive but only just barely.

Andromeda didn’t really think he would live to see the next day.

“C’mon, kid,” Ted pleaded hoarsely. “Don’t die on us.”

He had repeated the phrase so many times since Harry had been rushed into the emergency room and Andromeda wanted to tell him to be quiet because as much as she hated losing patients, much less ones that she knew personally, she had known that there was hardly any chance of him surviving unless he somehow defied death against all the odds once again.

It made her feel like a monster every time she wavered.

She wished they could ask Dumbledore. She had her misgivings against him but he was the only wizard she knew that could possibly supply Harry with the magic necessary to survive. But for whatever messed-up reason, St. Mungo's management refused to allow anything of the sort– Ted and Reynolds had sent up interns begging them nearly seven times, and each time they just came back with more healers that could do nothing to save him.

It was almost like they wanted Harry to die.

“If you’re too tired to concentrate, get out and get the next healer!” Reynolds snapped at the two healers pouring magic into Harry’s core. His hands rested over the boy’s head and lungs, simultaneously forcing his body to breathe and detecting his brain activity. “Tonks, take their place for now,” he ordered her when the healer fled.

Andromeda winced a little but obeyed, her hands hovering over Harry’s abdomen and glowing a faint green as her magic poured itself into the boy and integrated into his body. She felt more stretched out than she ever had and they hadn’t even begun healing all the wounds on the boy’s body– they couldn’t until his heart started.

An alarm sounded suddenly and she nearly lost her wits as Ted let out a string of expletives that Andromeda admitted were rather suitable considering the situation.

They had an intruder on their hands.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Reynolds growled. “Ignore it. There are plenty of wizards in the building. Our job stays here.”

She wanted to protest and say something because if all the wizards were up there, she would be the sole person providing magic for Harry for longer than intended and she knew she couldn’t do it. She could already feel herself shaking with exertion.

The look on Reynolds' face told her he knew that, he knew how this would end. He just couldn't bear the what-ifs that would run through their heads for hours on end if they gave up now. He was running out of magic himself.

Ted had a similar look of resignation on his face.

Her face screwed up as she forced herself to concentrate, ignoring the alarm blaring in her ears.

She doesn’t really know how long it had been before black spots began to swim in her vision and her ears rang, drowning out the sound of the alarm as her legs slowly gave out under her.

The world warped and spun around and she collapsed, her eyes fluttering shut.

There was nothing else she could do and she hated herself a little for being so weak.

Something cool brushed against her a moment later, soothing the giant ache that was her entire body. She could feel her energy slowly returning to her, cracking an eye open to see what idiot was wasting their magic on her when there was a dying patient on the table.

Nothing was there.

“Reynolds!” Ted shouted suddenly, sounding choked up and exhausted. “There’s activity– his heart–”

Ba-bump.

It almost became too much for him to bear when he finally sensed something– faint magic wafting to his senses and relief crashed into him like a train.

His hands shook with exertion and the charm hiding him from view nearly dissipated as he pulled away, panting quietly as he stared down at the boy laid out on the table. He couldn’t let him die just yet.

Ba-bump.

A scream tore through his chest, shackles rattling as he slammed his head back against the wall. He had gone through it four times already but each time it felt like pain beyond anything Rigel had ever experienced; his very bones were on fire, shifting and breaking into the shape of the thing inside of him.

It felt worse with the image of Harry present in his mind’s eye, replaying over and over as he remained unnaturally still and unmoving. It was a horrible mixture of emotional and physical torture. He wanted nothing more than to beg for death, to plead for a permanent reprieve from the bones shattering beneath his skin and the pain exploding through his body.

His head pounded with complete and total agony as he struggled to form a cohesive thought, trying to futilely fight back against the beast threatening to take over his mind. He hated it all so much, the pain, the thoughts, the feelings, and Fenrir fucking Greyback.

Vengeance joined the jumbled miasma of overwhelming human emotions and animalistic rage before it all faded away and Rigel closed his eyes.

Monstrous yellow eyes opened moments later.

Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.

Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you,
and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?

Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just round the corner.

All is well.
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

- Harry Scott-Holland

Chapter Text

Hogwarts was… different the day after the first task.

The light-hearted talk of the Triwizard Tournament, the excitement and anticipation that appeared whenever the tournament was mentioned, and the encouragement and congratulations that followed the champions to every corner of the school grounds. It all disappeared, a subdued air falling over the castle.

The teachers were solemn and short with nearly everyone, especially Professor Moody, who seemed especially upset. Cedric was sure he had accidentally seen McGonagall crying before his Transfiguration class, his stomach twisting a little at the memory.

There was no news about what happened to Harry since all of the Weasleys, Hagrid, Hermione Granger, and Dumbledore had vacated the castle grounds. 

It reminded Cedric of his fourth year, the castle falling disturbingly silent and students milling through the halls with guilt and confusion instead of fear like before. 

His housemates had all thrown their ‘Potter Sucks’ badges away with regret and remorse etched into every inch of their faces, as if they finally understood how shitty it was to do that. Most of the castle had, including the Slytherins. They might’ve hated Harry but no one wanted him to die , even with all the taunts about him getting himself killed in the contest. 

None of them seemed very funny now that Harry was actually…

Cedric grimaced a little, cutting that train of thought off as he stared at his Herbology text, reading it over and over but not comprehending a word of it. 

He felt terrible. Terrified.

It was all real now, the death counts that he had read about, the gory ends that all the Champions from the other tournaments have met. It was almost disturbing now because he could suddenly recall the fact none of the previous winners of the previous tournaments were mentioned anywhere despite the fact that they were promised eternal fame.

The thought scared him out of his wits because he was at a point of no return. He couldn’t back out without losing his magic, he couldn’t do anything but pray that he doesn’t die completing these tasks.

He remembered the elation he had felt after his turn, with nothing but a little scrape to show for what had happened. He had been excited, even when he saw Fleur use some complicated spell to lull the dragon to sleep with nothing but a charred skirt. He knew they would all likely do better than him, except maybe Harry but he felt accomplished and the constant congratulations from his friends had only lifted his spirits.

When Harry’s turn came he had been impressed because he flew like the broom was a part of him and not even Krum had thought to do that. When the Horntail had swatted him out of the air, Cedric had been worried, relaxing minutely when the teen stood back up and made it out of the enclosure.

Then the dragon had attacked the crowd and he remembered the horror he had felt, watching the giant spiked tail descend on the students. He remembered feeling like he was drowning in a sea of magic for a moment before the dragon had abruptly stopped in its tracks and relief flooded through him.

What happened after was practically seared into his memory, emotions caught in his throat when he saw Harry lying motionless in a pool of his own blood. The terrible sound Harry’s friend, Hermione, had made when she saw him reminded him of the World Cup incident and dread crept up on him, gripping his heart like a vice and keeping him up at night.

The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students all looked rather lost when they came down for breakfast and there was a distinct air of discomfort and uncertainty hanging in the air. No one seemed to know what to do anymore.

“Cedric?”

He looked up from his book, blinking in surprise when he saw his long-time crush, Cho Chang, settling in the seat across from him. “Oh, er– hi, Cho,” he greeted.

She seemed rather nervous, like she wasn't sure what to say to him. “I just– How are you feeling? Yesterday was…,” she trailed, rubbing her arm uncertainly.

It was nice of her to go out of her way to try and comfort him, even if he really didn’t want it. Cedric forced a weak smile on his face and he knew she could see right through it, anyone would be able to. “I’m alright. It’s not really me you should worry about,” he said half-heartedly.

“I wanted to tell you… Professor Flitwick told us Professor Dumbledore would be coming back tonight and I know you’re worried about Harry so I thought you would want to know,” Cho said, uncertainly at first before she spat out the rest of the sentence.

Cedric felt his smile die, his heart pounding in his chest as he processed what she had just told him. If Professor Dumbledore was coming tonight, it meant they would likely be finding out what happened to Harry– if he had survived the incident or not.

“Thanks for telling me, Cho,” he managed to get out.

Cho bit her lip, concern and guilt flashing in her gaze. “I understand if you want to be alone…,” she began but panic rose in Cedric’s chest before he cut her off.

“No!”

She blinked and Cedric flushed in embarrassment. “Sorry. I’d like it if you… could, you know, stay,” he muttered, heat crawling up his neck as he averted his gaze. He couldn’t believe he had just asked her that but he suddenly didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t really want to be around his friends either.

She stared at him for a moment and he shrunk back a little before she gave him a soft smile. “Alright,” she agreed. “Professor Babbling was talking about you the other day, she said you were bumped up a year in Ancient Runes so you’re doing your Runes NEWT this year, is that really true?”

He appreciated the subject even the one she brought up made him feel a little bashful. “Yeah, actually. It’s a little terrifying,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m actually having a little trouble in that class, do you mind… helping me?”

Cedric brightened a little. “Sure, I can do that. What’re you having trouble with?”

He spent the afternoon with her, hidden away in a comfortable nook of the library. They didn’t bring up the Triwizard Tournament a single time and he was grateful for it. It was easy to pretend like it hadn’t happened, shoving the events of the day before to the back of his head and enjoying the quiet comfort of Cho’s presence.

He dreaded the evening, knowing they would be hearing some sort of announcement about what happened. He was sure everyone else knew it because there was tension in the Great Hall as dinner commenced, the Headmaster sitting in his seat with an empty plate in front of him as he spoke to McGonagall and Snape in hushed tones.

Dumbledore looked old and weary when he stood up in a way Cedric had never seen him below. Every face in the hall turned towards him for explanation and reassurance, even those that didn’t even go to Hogwarts.

“I am sure that you are all worried and scared after the events of the first task,” Dumbledore said, his bright eyes looking uncharacteristically solemn. “I come with both good and bad news.”

Cedric held his breath, his chest aching as his heart hammered in his ribcage. He needed to know what had happened, he wanted to be able to thank Harry for telling him what the first task was, he wanted to do something because the Gryffindor had been so unnecessarily kind to him even when he really didn’t deserve it. The thought of Harry dying made him feel sick.

He caught sight of Rigel Williams sitting at the edge of his seat, his clothes fisted in his hands with a mixture of a terrified and worried expression on his face. Cedric remembered seeing Williams talking to Harry on more than one occasion and he wondered if the two of them were friends.

Dumbledore spoke again, pulling Cedric’s scattered attention back to him. “Fortunately, Harry Potter has survived the ordeal thanks to the efforts of St. Mungo’s healers and Madam Pomfrey.”

The castle felt like it had taken its first breath of fresh air in hours and Cedric’s shoulders relaxed in relief, pushing down a hysterical sort of laugh– it was entirely inappropriate to laugh right now, even if he really wanted to. Not because it was funny but simply just a messed-up response to a terrible situation.

Williams looked like he was about to cry for a moment, dropping his head in his hands and staying like that for a few moments before Susan Bones patted his arm comfortingly and he looked back up.

The Hall came to life again, relieved chatter growing louder by the second before Dumbledore raised his hand and it fell silent again.

“As happy as I am of this, I come bearing bad news as well,” the Headmaster sighed. “Due to the anomaly that has occurred, we have no way of knowing when Mr. Potter will be waking up or what side effects it will have on him. We are not entirely sure that he’ll survive after this.”

Cedric felt his stomach dropping again and one of the Gryffindors, Neville Longbottom, stood up. “Professor, how is that possible? You just said he’d be alright!” he said loudly, his voice shaking a little as he spoke.

“Due to our negligence in the first task, many of our students were nearly hurt and injured by the Hungarian Horntail Mr. Potter was tasked to face. Despite what many of you believe, I was not the one to stop the Horntail,” Dumbledore began, his features solemn despite the confused murmuring that began spreading through the Hall. “A hypothesis I and many of the healers at St. Mungo’s have is that Mr. Potter was the one to stop it and due to its size and magical prowess, the effort drained him of his magic which is why he is suffering from an unprecedented amount of magical exhaustion. I’m afraid that is all I can tell you now but do consider this and be more kind to your peers.”

Most of the students looked down in shame at the last statement but Cedric felt his jaw drop a little in disbelief as he stared at Dumbledore. How could that even be possible? How could a fourteen-year-old kid possibly have the ability to stop a fully grown dragon like that? Was Dumbledore giving him too much credit or had he actually done it just like he had apparently fought off a basilisk and thousands of dementors last year and the year before?

Cedric headed back down to the Hufflepuff common room after dinner, flanked by both Andrew and Gabe. The latter nudged him gently, his eyebrows knitting together in a worried frown. “You alright?” he asked quietly.

“I think I’ll survive,” Cedric replied acerbically. “It felt like a game before but now…”

“It feels real,” Andrew finished shrewdly, with a hint of cynicism as he played with a Muggle ‘fidget toy’ his little brother had sent him for his birthday a few days ago. “And that’s terrifying.”

“Do you guys think he actually stopped the dragon?” Cedric asked them after a few moments.

“It’s… plausible,” Gabe offered hesitantly. “I doubt Professor Dumbledore would say something like that without reason. And Potter is pretty powerful. How many thirteen-year-olds do you know that can learn the Patronus charm in a matter of months?”

Cedric nodded slowly, conceding to the point. It just seemed a little unbelievable to him no matter how he looked at it. He supposed he could figure it all out on a different date and bask in the brief respite Dumbledore had provided with his announcement so he could actually get a night’s rest instead of staring at his bed blankly for hours.

He did that enough without any other added stress in his life.

Sirius watched his godson’s chest rise and fall, his pale hand clasped in Sirius’s. He kept two fingers against Harry’s wrist bone, taking solace in the faint but steady pulse of his heartbeat.

It felt almost like it was all a figment of his imagination, even after hours of sitting by his side and knowing he was alive. The healer’s words before the surgery had echoed in his head for all of the fifteen hours Harry had spent in the emergency operation room.

“There is little to no chance of his survival, Mr. Black.”

The world was cruel, ripping away his elation at finally getting custody of Harry right before he had planned to tell and replacing it with the fear of losing one of the last few remaining people in his family.

He wasn’t even home when it had happened, signing the last of the papers necessary to gain full custody of Harry. Remus’s Patronus had come barreling towards with a rushed and frantic message, Sirius’s heart plummeting when he heard his friend tell him Harry was at St. Mungo’s for surgery– the life and death kind. 

Catching sight of his godson looking pale and lifeless for the second time in a matter of months had made him want to cry or laugh like an utter madman. The sight of the blood covering him and Ron, who appeared blank and unfocused as he stared at the healers wheeling Harry into the emergency room, had made Sirius nauseous. 

Sirius felt his own body listing to the side, the night’s events catching up with him before his eyes eventually sank shut, and without realizing it, he slipped into an unsettled sleep. Still tense, unconsciously alert, he drifted, half-aware and half-dreaming. He jerked awake in an instant when the sound of the door opening broke through the haze, and his wand was out before he was even conscious of the fact that he was moving.

“Sirius?”

He relaxed minutely at the whispered call, lowering his wand as Remus stepped into the room quietly, his limbs shaking discreetly as he walked. He looked as pale as he always did after the full moon, with a few newer injuries on his face.

Remus had insisted that he stay with Harry last night– not that Sirius really wanted to fight him on it, even if it made him feel terribly selfish and worried. His friend hadn’t wanted to go either.

There was relief in his gaze now, since he had been gone when they announced to everyone that Harry was okay, for now at least.

“Is he okay?” Remus asked softly, his eyes flickering over to the two teens that had fallen asleep by his godson’s side before they focused on Harry

“They said he was now,” Sirius began, weariness slipping into his voice as he conjured up a chair for the werewolf. “We’ll have to wait for him to wake up to make sure and they don’t know when that will be.”

Remus’s shoulders slumped a little as he took his seat, his face twisted into a mixture of relief and guilt. “... What do you think about what Professor Dumbledore told us?”

It took Sirius a moment to remember what he was talking about before he sighed. As frustrating as it was, Dumbledore’s theory that Harry had stopped a dragon in its tracks and knocked it unconscious lined up with everything Sirius knew about his godson, even if most people would believe a fourteen-year-old capable of such a feat. 

Most people couldn’t conjure a Patronus strong enough to ward off hundreds, if not thousands, of Dementors, so he couldn’t take their word for it.

Magical prowess wasn’t something Harry lacked either, especially not with Lily, who was amongst the most powerful witches Sirius knew, and James, who always performed powerful accidental magic when emotional, as his parents.

“I think it might be true. Andy said it was likely too but there’s really no way to know right now.”

The two of them fell silent again and Sirius had to fight off sleep more than, his eyes drooping shut for a moment before he blinked back awake, his anxiety refusing to let his body turn off despite the fact that he had only gotten an hour of sleep in a little under three days.

Remus nudged him lightly after a few more instances of this happening. “Get some sleep, Padfoot. You look like a ghost.”

“Says you,” Sirius shot back, raising an eyebrow at the man. He hardly looked any better than Sirius himself. 

“You haven’t slept for hours, Sirius. I have,” Remus reminded.

“I’m fine,” Sirius insisted.

“Seriously, just turn into Padfoot and sleep here,” Remus frowned, realizing what he had said a moment later when Sirius grinned a little and gave the other man an exasperated smile. “I didn’t mean that as a pun.”

“‘Course you didn’t, Moony. It just makes it funnier,” Sirius chuckled. “And you’re vastly overestimating my ability to fall asleep right now. I’ll be waking up every five minutes.”

“Better than nothing,” Remus shrugged. “Just go to sleep, I’ll keep watch.”

Sirius sighed, far too tired to argue about it any further. A nap didn’t seem like a terrible idea, especially with how spent and exhausted he was feeling.

He transformed and settled beside Harry, listening to the steady beat of his heart and letting it lull him to sleep. Remus reached out to scratch his ears absently and Sirius leaned into it a little bit.

He was out like a light a few minutes later.

There was a subdued air to his family when Percy got home that day.

The twins’ usual explosions and chaos had died down to nothingness, Ginny looked like she was still in the process of figuring things out, his mother was bustling around the kitchen the way she always did, and his dad was in and out of the house every few hours.

Ron had remained at St. Mungo’s after hours with Hermione, according to Ginny, and Charlie had gone back to work to deal with the mess of the first task.

Percy was a little grateful for a reprieve from the peculiar solemnity of the Burrow that he wasn’t used to when he finally found Bill, who was in the middle of another one of his Egyptian Runes translations. 

His gut churned with guilt because he couldn’t find it in himself to feel any particular way about what happened to Harry. Sure, he had been worried and was relieved to find that he was okay now but everyone else seemed to care so much in comparison that he, once again, felt like the odd one out. 

“Hey, Perce,” Bill greeted with a faint smile. “You’re back early. What’s up?”

 Percy felt a twinge of irritation at the thought of work before he shoved it down. He was working towards his dream, it didn’t matter that Mr. Crouch couldn’t even be bothered to learn his name but dumped all his work on Percy while he was ill. He was sure that’s what everyone else did too.

But it was nothing like he had expected and even though he went to work early and left work late every day, he dreaded it a little bit more with each passing day. It felt a little like he was drowning because he didn’t want to disappoint his mother even if he could feel himself slowly beginning to hate the Ministry, his coworkers, and even Mr. Crouch. 

He didn’t know what else he would do besides it. He didn’t want to be a curse breaker like Bill or a dragon keeper like Charlie. He had dreamed of becoming the Minister of Magic but now the dream seemed pointless because he hated the paperwork– all of the work, really. 

He resented the way people looked at him with contempt or pity in their gaze, looking at his Weasley red hair and deciding that he was beneath because he was a poor blood traitor wizard. He resented his father too sometimes, for the reputation he had created for his family in the Ministry.

He must’ve remained silent for too long because Bill’s smile faded and concern flickered through his features. “Percy? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think I want to work at the ministry anymore.”

The words spilled out before he could stop them, surprising both him and Bill. He tensed a little, mumbling an apology under his breath before he moved to leave.

Why did he tell Bill that?

“Wait a second– Percy, relax,” Bill said, grabbing his wrist before he could escape and tugging Percy back before he patted the spot on the floor next to him. “You can’t just say that and leave.”

“I didn’t mean to say it,” Percy muttered, reluctantly sitting down. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It’s bothering you, so it definitely matters,” his brother countered and Percy tried to ignore the warm buzz of validation in his chest. “I thought you liked it there. You were talking about it non-stop all summer– even the stuff about cauldron bottoms.”

“Shut up,” Percy grumbled, rolling his eyes a little when Bill grinned. “I did like it. It was new and exciting, of course, I liked it. It’s just… It’s like I’m lesser than them. Mr. Crouch doesn’t even bother calling me by my name and he knows Father’s perfectly well. They act like Weasleys are dirt and nothing I do changes it. All they say is the red hair and think they’re better than me and–”

“It sucks,” Bill finished for him, the understanding on his face loosening the knot in Percy’s chest a little. It was nice when people understood what he was saying even when he wasn’t sure how to explain it.  “I suppose I should have expected that it wouldn’t have been any different for you than it would’ve been for Charlie and me.”

Percy blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you think Charlie and I chose to work outside of England?” Bill asked him, although Percy was fairly sure it was a rhetorical question. “People recognize us here and they look at us in a certain way. It was easier to ignore before we started working but when we did, it made our lives miserable. Mum was angry– really angry, when I told her I was leaving for Egypt. She was angry at Charlie too, when he finally decided he’d had enough and moved to Romania. You remember it, don’t you?”

He did. Bill and their mother had been on bad terms for a little over a year after that, nearly every conversation they had ended in some sort of argument, and Mum sending at least two howlers each month. It ended when Father had drawn the line and forced the two of them to talk. Mum had been livid when Charlie had decided to leave too, but to a lesser extent now because everyone in their family knew that Charlie operated entirely on his own schedule and there was nothing you could do to stop him.

“Charlie worked at the Ministry for a little while and he hated it. He stayed for a little while ‘cause he wanted Mum to be happy but his friends went searching for a job for him since he was miserable and he legged it to Romania as soon as he could,” Bill explained. 

“But you never worked at the Ministry,” Percy pointed out.

His brother rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not only in the Ministry, really. When I started working at Gringotts here, I was rarely ever chosen for curse-breaking missions or trips if the goblins didn’t specifically choose me. I… didn’t like that or any of the snide remarks I got. I became a curse breaker because I actually wanted the job, not to be looked down on. So, I left too.”

Percy frowned a little, fidgeting with his fraying sleeve absently. He didn’t want to leave England or Britain in general like Bill and Charlie. He didn’t want to stay at the Ministry either but he didn’t know what else he could do. What was he good for?

Bill nudged him lightly and Percy belatedly realized he was meant to say something in response. 

“I don’t know what I want to do, outside of working in the Ministry. It’s what I’ve been aiming to do since I was a kid,” he muttered. He was scared to try something new, to explore something that wasn’t what he was used to. What if he made a mistake and ruined his life forever?

Maybe he could tough it out and he’ll get promoted. Maybe he’ll like it then and everything would be better.

“I have a friend, Atticus Wood. He owns a law firm and he told me recently that he’s looking for interns,” Bill began with a hint of a smile on his face.

“Wood? Is he related to Oliver Wood?” Percy asked, vaguely recalling Oliver introducing him to his family during the World Cup but not remembering any of their faces or names.

Bill nodded. “His older brother. What do you think?”

“About what?” Percy frowned, his eyes knitting together in confusion.

“Taking an internship with Wood. It seems like a good experience and a break from the Ministry. You’re interested in law too, aren’t you?”

Percy nodded slowly, considering the idea. It didn’t seem like a bad one if he was being honest. He had read hundreds of books about the laws placed for different topics he had hyper-focused on, like dragon breeding when Charlie started talking about it or all the laws relating to the Statue of Secrecy and Muggle items that his father talked about all the time. Working as an intern would give him experience, he’d still be paid, and he would have a pipeline to direct employment afterward if he did well enough.

“I don’t know,” Percy said finally. “I’ll think about it.”

Even if talking to Bill about it had helped a little, he still felt aimless because it felt like everything he had ever worked for had come crumbling down all of a sudden and he was left to try and rebuild it without a picture or memory to work from.

He supposed he would figure it out.

Hermione woke up slowly. She blinked her eyes open before letting them fall shut again, Shifting a little into the warmth pressed against her side and burying her face back into her arms which bracketed her head and served as a makeshift pillow. The blankets thrown over her were heavy and warm, and their weight was comforting. She breathed softly, content in the space between sleeping and waking, before blinking her eyes open again in confusion. Where was she?

She pushed herself up a little, looking around blearily for a moment before she found Ron asleep next to her in a similar position and Harry laying on a hospital bed and the events of the day before came flooding back, waking her up fully.

What she had originally thought were blankets were actually Ron’s robes, which were crumpled a little since she had fallen asleep on them. She pulled them off herself, missing the warmth immediately as soon as she did before she laid them out on top of him.

It took her a moment to notice the large dog situated on Harry’s bed, recognizing it as Sirius’s Animagus form as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. 

Sirius’s ear shot up a moment later as the door opened and Professor Lupin walked in, giving her a small smile when he noticed that she was awake. Remembering that last night had been the full moon and noting the bandages peaked through his sweater, she opened her mouth to speak quietly.

“Are you okay, Professor?” she asked softly.

“I’m okay,” he reassured. “And there’s no need to call me Professor anymore. Lupin or Remus is fine.”

Hermione stared at him for a moment. “...Mr. Lupin.”

He laughed a little, accepting the title with an amused smile. “Don’t worry about it, I still call McGonagall Professor all the time. Do you want anything to eat? There’s a cafeteria downstairs.”

Her stomach growled a little in response and Ron stirred beside her, mumbling something that sounded a little like ‘Food’ and eliciting a quiet giggle from her. She shook his shoulder gently, deciding she’d rather go down with him instead of by herself since she didn’t have to worry about Harry being alone in his room after the intruder mess during his operation since both Professor Lupin and Sirius were here.

Ron muttered unintelligibly before he settled back in. He woke up after a few more tries, rubbing his eyes as he yawned drowsily. “Whaz goin’ on?” he mumbled, looking around in confusion. The confusion cleared from his eyes a moment later when he caught sight of Harry, his eyebrows knitting together in a small worried frown.

She nudged him a little, pulling his attention to her. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

Ron looked reluctant for a moment before nodding, shrugging his robes off as he stood up. His hair stuck out in different directions and there were still bags under his eyes, not that Hermione thought she looked any better.

The way to the hospital’s cafeteria was unfamiliar so they had to ask one of the healers for directions before heading down. 

The food was bland but both of them ate it nonetheless since neither had eaten in over a day. Ron nearly fell asleep in his tea before they made their way back up to Harry’s room, bumping into the Weasleys on their way to visit.

Mrs. Weasley handed her and Ron a change of clothes after casting a Freshening charm on both of them, which Hermione was immensely grateful for. She was sure the pants were Ginny’s but the oversized orange Chudley Cannons sweater screamed ‘Ron’.

Fred patted her head teasingly when he saw her, his grin widening as Hermione glared at him, silently willing him to shut up. He and George liked to poke fun at her when Ron wasn’t around, being their usual infuriating selves.

She didn’t tell either of them that it was reassuring to see smiles on their faces again, instead of the solemn expressions they had worn the day before because they were always a little bright spot in everyone’s lives even when things looked terrible.

Sirius was up when they got back to the room, greeting the family of redheads with a tired smile. One of the healers that were part of Harry’s operation and took care of Harry during his coma a few months ago, Mr. Tonks, was there as well. His hands glowed faintly and Hermione recognized it as wandless magic. She was reasonably sure he was doing it to replenish Harry’s depleted magical core, which was apparently still very low.

Hermione wondered how they learned to do it and vowed to find some books on wandless magic and healing so she could help at least a little help if something like this ever happened again.

Mrs. Weasley started a conversation with him and Mr. Weasley and Bill start a conversation with Prof– Mr. Lupin and Sirius. She heard little tidbits of information before one of them congratulated Sirius for finally getting custody of Harry, her head shooting up to look at the man in surprise.

“You got custody of Harry?” She and Ron blurted out at the same time, turning to look at each other for a moment before turning back to Sirius.

“You haven’t heard?” the man asked, looking a little bewildered. “It was published two days ago.”

“We haven’t been paying attention to the paper anymore,” Ron shrugged. “How’d you convince them? Fudge sounded pretty adamant on not letting you get custody of him.”

“Fudge can’t do anything to stop me if I’m Lord Black,” Sirius explained with a little tired smirk, holding up his hand for them to see the golden band on his right hand.

Hermione frowned, a little puzzled when she saw understanding flicker through Ron’s eyes. Sure, she knew that the Wizarding world was technically run by politically powerful pureblood families with history now thanks to Ron and Harry– she originally thought people like Malfoy Sr. earned their power through their manipulations but she supposed he wasn’t competent enough to do that– but what did that ring have to do with it?

Mr. Weasley, seeing the confused expression on her face, explained. “In most families, there’s a head that is called the ‘Lord’ of the house and high-status families have Lord and Heir rings to signify who they are.”

“It’s really just to make themselves feel above others and get a few more privileges and responsibilities than the rest of the family,” Sirius explained with a hint of scorn in his voice, reminding her that this was Sirius, not another pureblood that believed in blood purity. 

“So people recognized you as Lord Black and now you have custody?” Hermione questioned.

“Essentially, yes. I wouldn’t have been able to otherwise,” Sirius sighed, looking rather put out by the confession. “I’m not very well liked amongst people.”

“Who cares what they think?” Ron scoffed and Sirius grinned, a hint of fondness peeking through. “At least Harry doesn’t have to go to those stupid Muggles this summer.”

Hermione was about to say something before a hiss of pain pulled her attention back to Harry, whose face was twisted in pain as he held Sirius’s hand in a crushing grip. The man practically jumped from his chair, holding Harry’s hand just as tightly.

“Harry?”

Hermione’s heart hammered, quietly pleading for Harry to be waking up instead of falling into another terrifying coma for who knew how long.

Mr. Tonks ushered everyone but Sirius and Mr. Lupin– and of course, she and Ron both glared at him when he tried to tell them to leave– out of the room. He did something with his wand and illegible writing began to appear on the piece of parchment on Harry’s bedside.

“He’s waking up,” the man said, looking rather bemused by this. 

“Is that a bad thing?” Ron questioned anxiously, his hands fisting around his clothes.

“I’m not sure,” Mr. Tonks mused, his eyebrows knitting into a soft frown. “Reynolds and I estimated he’d be out for at least a few days, probably a week. He shouldn’t be in any pain either. Discomfort maybe, due to his depleted magical core, but not pain. There’s no indicator of pain either…”

“You think this might be connected to last time?” Sirius asked, a mixture of worry and desperation shining in his eyes.

The look on Mr. Tonks’ face was answer enough.

“His symptoms were odd and nothing matched what was going on with him,” the man explained. “It’s possible that he’s been afflicted by whatever it was once again because any attempted treatment didn’t have any effect. There might even be a trigger of sorts.”

“That thing that happened with his eyes,” Sirius said, suddenly turning to her and Ron. “At the end of last year, you guys seemed to know something was going on and I remember his eyes turning silver for whatever odd reason.”

The two of them shared a look before Ron spoke hesitantly.

“We don’t really know but Harry would just zone out sometimes and his eyes would do that thing. But nothing like that had happened recently. It stopped after his coma, I think.”

“His eyes?” Mr. Tonks frowned. “That’s something I’ll have to look into.”

Harry groaned a little, pain clear in the expression on his face as they all fell silent.

There was a moment before he mumbled something and Hermione’s heart skipped a beat, leaning forward so she could hear but he didn’t say it again and disappointment gripped her heart.

His eyelids fluttered a little and his expression relaxed before Sirius leaned a little bit closer and tried again. “Harry?”

Harry’s eyelids fluttered again, his eyebrows knitting into a frown before she saw a hint of green as his eyes finally opened for the first time since the first task and Hermione nearly collapsed in relief, a weight falling off her chest as she breathed in what felt like her first breath of fresh air.

Ron’s hand slipped in hers and she grabbed it for dear life, her eyes stinging with tears.

Harry was alive.

He shot off a Shield charm in front of his redheaded companion, who was currently locked in a duel, as a streak of harsh, red light honed onto its intended target. The hex contacted the shield with a loud bang, ricocheting upwards into the ceiling and blasting it apart. Cursing a little as splintering wood began raining down, Harry quickly threw himself behind a pile of boxes as part of the roof collapsed onto the floor below. The entire battlefield was engulfed in a swirling cloud of dust as the sounds of coughs filled the space.

“Harry!” Ron called, concern slipping his voice.

“I’m okay!” Harry shot back, grimacing a little as he ducked past a green light that hit the wall he had just been leaving against.

The group of rogue Death Eaters consisted of Yaxley, Avery, Dolohov, and Rockwood– the last of Voldemort’s old force, who had all managed to run away after the Battle of Hogwarts. They were formidable opponents, especially when most of Harry’s companions had been taken down or separated besides Ron.

Dolohov and Rockwood were out thanks to the explosion that had just occurred– Harry didn’t know whether they were dead or not.

The sheer number of incidents the four had orchestrated had incited the blood purists all over Britain to start attacking Muggles and Muggleborns again, along with a terrifying amount of illegal Portkeys being made all over the country for that exact purpose.

It left Harry reeling, having to fight again so soon after the war. He had never considered it would continue after they had finally destroyed Voldemort but the Death Eaters refused to take their punishment lying down and continued to fight. 

All of them knew they wouldn’t get the same mercy they had gotten the first time around by lying and claiming they had been Imperiused.

The mission he and Ron, along with the rest of their division, had been on was a simple one, really. It was a simple deal reported to have hundreds of deadly potions and poisons.

It was clear that once they had gotten there that it was a distraction and like everything else in Harry’s life, quickly went downhill with no brake to stop the descent.

Yaxley appeared in front of Harry, a nasty smile on his face as he held what looked like a harmless package before it was sent shooting towards him. Harry tried to duck out of the way, throwing a Shield charm around himself in an attempt to protect himself from whatever it was but his efforts were futile. 

Being the closest to the package, he watched as the package connected with his shield before it became a fiery ball of flames and exploded with a reverberating boom that shattered his shield and threw him through the now flaming warehouse.

His head smashed against the ground and the world went dark for a few seconds before Harry blinked it away, sucking in a sharp breath when a foot stomped on his chest and his ribs creaked in protest.

“You’ve had this long coming, Potter,” Avery leered, pointing his wand at Harry, whose wand had been lost during the explosion. “Avada Kedavra!”

Intense green light rushed directly towards him, filling his vision with only green.

Then, his entire world turned dark.

It felt like he was floating for a long time, in a black space of nothingness. 

Was he dead?

It didn’t feel like it. He felt far away and his body didn’t seem to be moving to his command. He wasn’t even sure he could feel his body.

There was a soft sound in the distance but he couldn’t make out what it was saying, straining his senses a little before he heard another faint whisper.

“Harry?”

It sounded like Sirius but that was impossible. Sirius had died three years ago.

The whisper came again and this time Harry could feel an odd tingle in what he thought were his fingers. It spread through the rest of him and his eyes ached a little like a bright light had been shone into them suddenly.

It felt like his body was one giant bruise and he felt his hand twitch a little before it grasped something– a hand, if he was feeling it right. His eyelids seemed to weigh a hundred times their usual weight as he struggled to open them. When he finally did, a bright light shone in his eyes and he slammed them shut again, groaning in pain.

“Harry?” he heard again and this time he was sure it sounded like Sirius but it was impossible. There was no way his godfather was back, the veil had taken him away–

Memories came rushing back all at once as he came into full wakefulness and Harry shot out of his bed with a gasp before pain shot through his chest and he fell into a violent coughing fit. 

He was fourteen again. Everyone was alive– Sirius, Cedric, Lupin, Tonks, everyone. The first task had happened. Ron and Hermione were being attacked.

A warm hand rubbed his back until he stopped coughing.

“Don’t make any sudden movements like that, Mr. Potter. You’ll hurt yourself,” the person said and it took Harry a second to realize that the blurry face in front of him was Ted Tonks.

His lungs felt a little like they were on fire before someone slipped his glasses on his nose and the world became clear again. 

“The first task– what happened? Is everyone okay? Are Ron and Hermione–” Harry began, his voice scratchy and painful to hear, even to his own ears. Someone wrapped him in a fierce hug, wincing a little before familiar bushy hair tickled his face, and a wave of relief hit before he hugged Hermione back. His eyes found Ron, who looked like the world had simultaneously ended and started at the same time before he wrapped both of them in an admittedly painful hug but Harry didn’t really care because they were okay.

He could remember the horror he had felt vividly, his stomach turning a little every time he thought of the look on their faces.

Hermione was crying into his shoulder, her tears soaking into his shirt. He wasn’t really sure what happened after he saw the dragon attacking his crowd and trying to remember made his head hurt.

“I thought you died,” Ron murmured quietly. “Your heart wasn’t beating, Harry, what did you do ?”

He didn’t think he did anything but Ron seemed to think otherwise. “I don’t know. I don’t really remember anything besides the dragon attacking the crowd and you guys. What do you mean my heart wasn’t beating?”

“Exactly what he said, Mr. Potter,” Ted said and both his friends pulled away, both still holding onto his arm like they thought he would disappear– which was fair if what they were telling him were true. He was suddenly aware of the fact that he was holding Sirius’s hand and that Lupin was also in the room, his chest tightening a little when he saw them before he focused his attention back on the healer. “Extreme magical exhaustion causes the body to stop functioning, which is what happened to you. Your heart stopped beating and it was very lucky that you got here when you did.”

“So… I died?” Harry asked slowly, trying to wrap his mind around that. He could feel the usual painful strain of magical exhaustion on his body now that Ted had pointed it out but it was like it was dialed up to ten. It explained why it hurt so much to breathe.

Ted grimaced a little as if he didn’t like the way Harry had phrased it. “In a sense, yes.”

Did that mean he didn’t have the Horcrux on his forehead? Or was it still there because he hadn’t technically been hit by the killing curse?

And the memory he had just seen– it was far too real and detailed to be a dream. What was that about? He was hit with the killing curse but the memory wasn’t amongst the ones he remembered after his coma but it fit into the timeline really well.

What was going on?

I wonder how long I’ll watch you

Even though you are really me

Waiting for some light to walk through

Perhaps I’ll see something heavenly

Or return as a form upgraded

I thought I’d feel blissful and free

But I feel more akin to jaded

Like leaving your shell cast aside

Is relinquishing what I created

Where this other self chose to abide

Wondering if this begins the end

Unsure where I live, now that I’ve died

Maybe it’s yet to be, status to pend

Or in time suppose I dissipate

If time is no more for me to lend

So I’ll wait here in a hazy state

End up there or fade away here

Or if it’s not quite too late

My tangible eyes will open, before I disappear

- Unknown

Chapter Text

Bill followed the strands of magic, tracing his hand over the wards carefully and shrugging off the unpleasant feeling he got from it. He scowled a little, resigned irritation settling in his gut.

He knew the wards would be incredibly complex and frustrating to deal with because Harry had mentioned on more than one occasion that it was You-Know-Who that warded it, so he had to be careful.

It was a pain in the ass, nonetheless. 

He respected Dumbledore a little, for being able to bypass something like this when he wasn’t even a certified ward breaker. Anyone else would’ve probably been blown up to hell and back.

Bill placed his wand against the wards. “ Repertum.”

The wards glowed faintly, strands of magic swirling around his wand before he pulled it away and the tip glowed faintly. He pressed it against the special parchment used for ward breaking, grimacing a little as runes began appearing against the parchment, which continued to grow for nearly two minutes before it stopped.

“Make my life this much harder, why don’t you?” Bill grumbled under his breath, scowling at the gloomy and dilapidated shack where one of You-Know-Who’s Horcruxes apparently resided within. 

He had spent the better part of the day searching for it in the town of Little Hangleton despite Harry’s insistence that it was better that he didn’t go alone and that it wasn’t safe. From the descriptions in Harry’s journals, it was somewhere in the outskirts of the town but the teen had never gone there before so it took Bill hours to find the little shack hidden amongst a tangle of tree trunks.

He had no plans of going inside the building on his own but it was better if they actually knew the way there instead of thinking of everything on the spot. He also didn’t think either of them was capable of pushing through You-Know-Who’s wards the way Dumbledore did– at least, he didn’t think he could. He was beginning to have his doubts about Harry not being powerful enough to do that.

Either way, there was a proper way of breaking wards so Bill would be doing that until he and Harry had the chance to go to this place and destroy the Horcrux.

The teen was, thankfully, on the way to recovery after the first task but the healers said he wouldn’t be able to use magic for at least three weeks. Bill didn’t think his heart had ever dropped as fast as it did when his mum had gotten that owl from Dumbledore.

He had been talking to Harry just two days before the first task and the kid had reassured him that he would be okay, seeing him covered in blood hadn’t been reassuring or pleasant.

An abrupt chill went down Bill’s spine before he whirled around, his eyes flicking through his eerie surroundings before he gathered his things with a flick of his wand and turned on his heel, apparating with a sharp crack! before appearing just outside of the Burrow’s wards. If there was anything his years as a curse breaker had taught him, it was not to ignore his instincts.

Most of his family was around, the house slowly coming back to life now that they were sure Harry was well and truly okay. The twins were back on their usual antics– including annoying Percy, who had once again returned from work earlier than he usually did.

“Give me my Ministry pin or I’ll tell Mum about those things you’ve been hiding in your room,” Percy hissed, glaring at Fred, who held Percy’s Ministry name tag with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“What things?” George taunted, although there was a hint of nervousness on his face as he glanced back at the kitchen where Mum was cooking.

Percy only glared back, holding his hand up expectantly. The twins shared a glance before their eyes narrowed and Bill decided it was time to intervene, plucking the pin out of Fred’s hands.

“Stop picking on Percy,” he chided, flicking Fred’s ear and earning an exaggerated hiss of pain.

“Don’t be such a bore, Bill,” Fred whined, rubbing his ear.

Percy huffed when Bill handed the pin back, turning on his heel and leaving the room with a scowl etched on his face.

“Give him a break once in a while, Charlie’s around for you to bug too.”

“I heard that, Billiam! If I wake up to anything weird, I’m going to kill all three of you!” Charlie called from the next room, sticking his head through the doorway to glare at them.

“We would never,” George gasped, looking positively offended by the accusation despite the gleam of mischief in both his and Fred’s eyes. “I can’t believe you would accuse us of such a thing!”

Charlie made an obscene gesture at them and Mum seemed to grow eyes at the back of her head because she whirled around and began to lecture him as the twins snuck off to the yard, smothering their laughter.

Feeling a great deal better than he had when he first arrived, Bill dumped his satchel in the room he shared with Charlie whenever he stayed over before heading back downstairs.

“Bill, be a dear and take this out for the kids. They’re all in the yard,” Mum asked, gesturing to the platter of sandwiches and lemonade on the counter. 

“Sure, Mum,” he agreed, tying his hair out of his face absently and earning a pointed look from his mum that he ignored with little fanfare. “Are Ron and Hermione back? Didn’t think anyone would be able to pry them from Harry’s side until he got better.”

“They’ve still got school, they’ve missed nearly a week of it. I’m sending them back tomorrow,” Mum sighed. “Harry needs his rest as well, people are prone to getting sick when they’re magically exhausted. You’ve had several fevers when you were younger after your bouts of accidental magic.”

“They’re not happy, are they?” He couldn’t imagine that they would’ve been, with the way that they seemed reluctant to leave his side for more than a few moments. Ron looked about ready to hex Healer Tonks when he had asked them to leave.

The conflicted look on his mum’s face was more than enough confirmation.

“Don’t worry about it, no one can stay angry for too long when Fred and George are around,” Bill commiserated, picking up the platter and heading out when Mum smiled at him.

True to his word, Ron and Hermione didn’t look particularly angry when Bill went out to the yard.

Well, Hermione looked like she was going to kill the twins and Ron looked seconds away from howling with laughter but he supposed it was better than them sulking. Teenage angst was not on his agenda today.

Both Hermione and Ron were soaked to the bone with the water that had no doubt come from the water balloons Fred and George held in their hands, matching Chesire grins plaster on their faces. 

Hermione looked a lot funnier than Ron did, her usually bushy hair plastered against her face and making her look a little like a swamp monster or something from a kid’s night horror.

“I’m so gonna kill you two,” she hissed, looking a lot scarier than a fourteen-year-old had any right to be. 

Fred and George exchanged amused glances before holding up the water balloons in their free hands, poised to throw them at their two victims again. “Oh, yeah? How’re you going to do that, Granger?” George taunted.

Her smirk, sly and completely unexpected, caught the twins off guard before she waved her hand and the water balloons in their hands all popped, soaking them from head to toe along. “Like this," she stated smugly

Ron cracked up as Bill whistled in appreciation, grabbing Hermione’s attention.

“Nice,” he praised as he set the platter of food on the porch. “Where’s you learn to do that?”

“Just recently,” she said, flushing a little when he raised his eyebrows. “I saw the healers do it so I wanted to try…”

“That’s really impressive. Don’t use it too much though, you’ll get used to the flow of your magic without using your wand and then you’ll have trouble doing the most basic spells,” he warned. “Trust me, I’ve been there.”

“I didn’t know you could do wandless magic,” Ron frowned after he managed to collect himself.

“Sure, you did,” Bill snorted, vaguely amused by the puzzled expression on all three of his siblings’ faces. “I’ve been doing it for ages. Remember those illusions you used to watch when I read you fairytales?” He cupped his hands together for a moment, concentrating on what he wanted to create before a bright blue butterfly fluttered out and landed on Ron’s nose, his eyes going cross-eyed as he looked at it.

“I thought you were using Mum or Dad’s wands,” Fred admitted honestly. 

Hermione leaned forward to examine the butterfly and Bill bit back a snicker when he saw Ron’s ear turn bright red. So he had been right about his brother having a crush on her. Charlie owed him five galleons.

“How’d you do that?” Hermione asked in wonderment, absently brushing her soaked hair out of her face.

“Most people have affinities for different types of magic. It doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re bad at other spells but some categories of spells are easier to cast. Illusionary magic is my affinity but it’s hard to figure out your affinity when you’re still young,” Bill explained as she stared at him in fascination, looking a little disgruntled with the last bit. “There’s a lot of different categories, like Elemental magic, which loosely correlates to Transfiguration. I can give you a few book names on it if you want. You can probably find a few in Hogwarts.”

Hermione lit up like Christmas had come early, her annoyance fading. “Yeah, if you don’t mind. I’ve heard about it before but I’ve never researched it before.”

“I’ll get back to you on that,” Bill promised before he stumbled, a weight collapsing over his back as Ginny wrapped her hands around his neck so she wouldn’t fall. “A little warning would be nice,” he grunted, grabbing her legs to steady her.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Ginny said with a cheeky grin.

“I’ll toss you in the pond next time,” he threatened.

Her arms tightened around his neck, a threatening sharpness to her grin. “If you have the time.”

Bill nearly snorted, simply digging his fingers into the back of her knees and earning a surprised laugh from his sister. It was funny when his younger siblings tried to act tough.

“Stop, stop!” Ginny shrieked, spidering her fingers over his neck to make him let go. 

He scrunched his shoulders up to his neck, chuckling a little before he set her down. She huffed, sticking her tongue out at him petulantly and racing away before he could do anything in retaliation. 

The five teenagers started yet another water fight with balloons the twins had somehow conjured and the water hose that Ron was using as a defense from the twins’ and, surprisingly, Hermione’s vicious attacks.

Bill settled on the porch, content to watch them play until dinner was finished. Of course, he’d kill them if he got wet because it was November and freezing but if they were okay with it, he was perfectly to supervise.

Charlie appeared a few minutes later with a cigarette between his lips, pressing the striker of the fancy lighter his friend had gifted him for his birthday a few times before it sparked and the flames came to life. 

“Mum’s gonna kill you if she catches you smoking again,” Bill warned, raising an eyebrow as he let out a sigh, smoky air billowing through the frigid autumn air.

“Mum’s worried about you.” He fixed Bill an odd searching look. “You’ve been distant, barely writing to me or visiting Mum recently.”

Bill licked his lips, wetting the chapped skin absently as he turned his gaze away from Charlie. It was true, of course. Not because he didn’t want to see them but simply because he wasn’t sure what to write his brother anymore, beyond pleasantries that would make him suspicious and worried. And Mum’s fussing, while he didn’t mind it, would’ve been irritating when he was still stressing over the whole time travel and saving the whole world thing.

It was a little embarrassing that a fourteen-year-old kid held their composure better than he did.

“I’ve been at the Burrow the past few days, haven’t I?” he deflected, regretting it a little when Charlie narrowed his eyes at him. His brother wasn’t one to take his nonsense whenever it came up.

“Only ‘cause of what happened during the first task,” Charlie countered. 

“Not true,” Bill grumbled. “I was here the day of.”

His brother gave him a wholly unimpressed look, flicking some of the ashes from his cigarette at Bill. “Still doesn’t answer why you haven’t written to me.”

“Busy.”

“You wrote to me once a week when you were in Egypt, an English desk job doesn’t give you more work. Try again, brother,” Charlie snorted. “Or tell me the truth.”

Bill sighed, wracking his tired brain for a believable explanation before giving up. While he could technically tell Charlie about this due to his original contract with Gringotts that labeled him as his confidant and therefore made him privy to most of the nitty-gritty details of Bill’s work. 

This was different though. For all that he trusted Charlie, he knew Harry didn’t and telling him felt like he was betraying the fragile trust the teen had granted.

“I can’t tell you,” he admitted, plucking a blade of grass out of the ground and twirling it around his finger. “Something happened and I was trying to wrap my head around it.”

Charlie stared at him for a moment before rolling his eyes, pulling a handful of dead grass from the ground and tossing it at Bill, grinning when he sputtered. “Should’ve just said that from the beginning, moron.”

Bill gave him an exasperated glare as he picked out the irritating blades of grass from his hair.

Ginny let out a sudden war cry and tackled George, who grabbed Fred’s arm in a futile attempt at stabilizing himself before all three tumbled into the pond with a loud splash that doused both Ron and Hermione.

Bill and Charlie both stood up, concerned for a moment before all three resurfaced, laughing loudly as they crawled out. 

“Mum’s going to have a fit if they get sick tomorrow,” Bill sighed, casting a few drying and warming charms on the group before grabbing a sandwich from the platter and taking out a few bites. 

“Thank you!” Hermione called, shivering a little as she tugged what seemed to be Ron’s sweatshirt closer to herself.

Bill smirked smugly at Charlie, who rolled his eyes in defeat. “You owe me. Cough up.”

“Yes, yes,” his brother grumbled.

“I don’t know why you bet against anything I say now,” Bill snickered. “I’ve won every single one of our bets.”

“Alright,” Charlie grinned, mischief shining in his eyes. “I bet five galleons that Ron isn’t about to spray you with the hose.”

Bill blinked before whirling around, only to get a face full of water sprayed at him. He stood up at the same time as the five teens raced out of the yard and ran to the shed Dad was occupying, cackling madly as Bill sputtered, rubbing the water from his eyes and brushing his soaked hair out of his face.

He stalked after them, laughing a little when Ron blanched and bolted towards the house with Bill hot at his heels. “It was a joke, it was a joke!” he shrieked.

“Should’ve thought of that before,” Bill sang, enjoying the terror in his youngest brother’s face.

“Dinner!” Mum yelled from the kitchen window and Ron sighed in relief, giving Bill a cheeky grin before he headed inside, knowing full well Bill wouldn’t get him in front of Mum.

“Watch your back,” Bill warned playfully.

Mum all but screeched when she saw them, attacking him and the five drenched teens with cleansing charms while Charlie laughed at their misery.

Dinner was a quiet affair until Dad mentioned Rita Skeeter’s most recent article about the first task. It seemed like whoever had managed to reel in her sensationalizing tendencies had failed this time around because she had bashed just about everyone in charge of the first task, calling Dumbledore a ‘wand waving pillock that didn’t do his job– the look on Ron’s face suggested he agreed with that particular statement. In fact, no one seemed inclined to defend the Ministry or Dumbledore in this case, even Mum.

“She’ll stop once she hears that Harry’s okay,” Ron shrugged, talking around the food in his mouth and grinning sheepishly when Mum reprimanded him.

“I don’t think so,” Percy said dubiously. “Why would she?”

Hermione elbowed Ron when he opened his mouth to answer, murmuring something under her breath before comprehension dawned on his face and he plastered an innocent smile on his face. “No reason.”

“Right,” Fred drawled, his eyebrows raised in disbelief as he looked at the pair.

“We totally believe that,” George finished, equally skeptical.

The rest of dinner was a quick affair and it was soon nighttime, the house finally falling silent as Bill collapsed on his mattress an hour past midnight with Charlie already snoring away on the bed beside.

It took about an hour for Bill to finally manage to fall asleep before he was woken up from what felt like minutes of sleep. He was sporting a mild cold, like everyone else that got wet the night before but Mum shut down all of Ron’s and the twins’ attempts of gaining her sympathy so they could skip school for one more day.

Charlie’s team was going back to Romania this evening so he left about the same time Dad and Percy did, telling Bill he’d be sending him a howler every day for the next month if he didn’t get a letter within the next week.

Percy lingered at the door before he hesitantly told Bill that he wanted to take a chance with that internship in Wood’s firm, his expression brightening a little when Bill promised to talk to Wood as soon as possible.

Mum was clearly happy to have him around so Bill stuck around the Burrow until evening that day, working through his translations and counters for You-Know-Who’s wards while Mum started on their Christmas sweaters.

He left for St. Mungo’s when Percy got back, content now that his mum wasn’t alone. He’d been meaning to talk to the kid since he woke up but he couldn’t get him alone a single time. He hoped Sirius and Lupin weren’t still hovering over him still, even if Bill did understand why they were doing it. Harry had nearly lost his life just a few days ago, something which Bill was continuously pushing out of his mind because it made him sick to his stomach with the knowledge that he was going to have to let the kid die at some point, with no guarantee that he’ll get up again.

Bill paused outside of Harry’s room, a voice reaching his ears through the crack in the doorway. Not Sirius’s or Lupin’s but Dumbledore’s.

He wasn’t sure whether that was a good or bad thing until the man left the room, bright blue eyes flicking to Bill as soon as the man set foot out of the room.

“Ah, Mr. Weasley, it’s good to see you again. You’re here to visit Harry?”

Bill nodded, carefully keeping his expression neutral as the headmaster scanned him from head to toe with a critical look in his eyes. “Mum’s a little busy right now, so I offered to go instead.”

“Is that so?” Dumbledore smiled, looking the picture of a friendly old wizard instead of a terrifyingly powerful wizard that could destroy him in moments. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

Bill inclined his head in agreement, watching as the man walked away before he walked inside, his heart plummeting when he saw how pale Harry looked.

“We have a problem,” Harry murmured, clutching two wands– why did he have two?– tightly in his hands as his eyes met Bill’s.

Well, fuck .

“Feeling any better, Mr. Potter?”

Harry rubbed his aching eyes before looking up at the person who had spoken, nearly jumping out of his seat with fright before he realized it was Andromeda Tonks, who looked as eerily similar to Bellatrix as she always has. “I’m okay. It’s just a cold,” he mumbled, shivering a little bit.

“You’ll be up and about soon, miraculously enough,” Andromeda said, with a hint of curiosity in her gaze that made Harry want to squirm. She placed a tray of steaming chicken soup in front of him, giving an unimpressed look when he wrinkled his nose a little and waited until he reluctantly picked up the spoon before she set two vials of potions and a familiar wand on the night table.

Harry perked up a little when he saw his holly wand, a smile growing on his face. “My wand!” 

Both his wands had been missing since he woke up and he felt naked without them, even if he knew he wouldn’t be able to perform a simple Lumos without potentially putting himself in danger of nearly dying again. Not to mention that he was fairly sure Hermione and Ron would skin him alive if he did anything stupid right after the fiasco that had just passed.

“Where’d they find it?”

“You must’ve dropped it somewhere in the arena. McGonagall dropped it off this morning. She told me to inform you that the headmaster would come around to talk to you this evening,” Andromeda explained as he seized his wand, examining it carefully.

Harry’s heart skipped a beat, irrational fear sending a shiver down his spine. Did Dumbledore find out that Harry was hiding something? Did he know? No, there was no way he did. Harry had taken precautions to hide everything he had done and everything he knew and Bill would never tell Dumbledore, he was sure of that. 

“Did she tell you what it was about?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Andromeda shook her head, her eyebrows knitting into a small frown. “Finish all of this,” she ordered sternly, gesturing to the soup and potions. “I’ll know if you don’t.”

She left the room with that vaguely threatening statement and Harry pushed down the urge to make sure his wand still worked, even as familiar warmth went through his palms as he held the familiar wood.

He placed it back on the night table before turning back to finish his soup, the heat soothing the irritating itchiness in his throat. The potions alleviated the headache he’d been sporting since the day before.

Sitting in the hospital was boring, especially when he didn’t have much to do. At least the two weeks after his coma he had been pouring over all the memories he had lived through during his sleep.

Come to think of it, Harry had never given the fact that he had no idea how exactly he got to the past much thought. Sure, he had memories of everything from the start of his third year to a few days before he turned eighteen but how had his future conscience been transported back to his fourth year? There had to be some sort of trigger and it didn’t explain why he had those odd flashes of the future during his third year. That seemed more… Seer-like.

There was that memory he remembered from– the memory he had died in. It didn’t seem like it had occurred too long after the war, was it possible that there were more memories he had yet to see? The Death Eaters had wreaked havoc even after the war, which meant it wouldn’t even be over if he only got rid of Voldemort. It meant he had to get rid of the rest of them too.

Had his death in that memory triggered his return to the past? Was it possible? Dumbledore had been cryptic about what would happen if Harry had boarded that train when they talked in his mind’s version of King’s Cross station. What if Harry had done that? What if he had done that when he died at Avery’s hand?

“Harry, my boy.” He froze, his stomach dropping at the familiar voice before he looked up, his eyes finding Albus Dumbledore walking toward him, sprightly and upright, wearing sweeping robes of midnight blue. “It’s good to see you awake.”

It was the first time Harry would be having a full conversation with the man since he had returned to the past and it hurt to see him, a mixture of betrayal, anger, and aching hollowness that came whenever he thought of the man’s death.

Harry wished he could trust him as he had the first time around, he wanted to tell him everything, just like he wanted to tell Sirius, Ron, and Hermione because Dumbledore had been one of the most important people in his life. He had been Harry’s mentor and protector until he died.

It took Harry a moment to find his voice, forcing his eyes up to meet the man’s gaze. “It’s good to see you too, Professor,” he replied quietly, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice when he felt the man brush against his Occlumency shields.

There was a flicker of surprise in Dumbledore’s face before he smiled, bright blue twinkling in a way that made nostalgia swell in Harry’s chest. “Mrs. Tonks tells me that you are on your way to a quick recovery. How are you feeling?” he asked warmly, conjuring up a chair and sitting down next to Harry’s bed.

“I feel okay. It’s just a cold. Mr. Tonks says that my immune system is still weak,” Harry shrugged, trying not to fidget under Dumbledore’s gaze. “Is there something you wanted to speak to me about, Professor?”

Dumbledore’s face became a little more grave. “Yes, there is. Do you remember what happened during the first task?”

“I remember getting the egg but everything after the wards breaking is really fuzzy,” Harry answered honestly. There was no reason for him to lie about that.

“This was found with you when you were unconscious. Auror Tonks gave it to me.”

He tried not to react when Dumbledore pulled a familiar wand from his robes, held by a piece of cloth rather than touching it directly as one would normally. There was an odd pull at his chest and he wanted to grab the dark wand from Dumbledore’s weathered hand.

Harry forced his eyes away from it, pushing down a grimace when he saw Dumbledore studying him with a searching look in his eyes.

“Where did you find this, Harry?”

There was no question of whether or not it was Harry’s. Even if Dumbledore couldn’t use Occlumency on him because of his rudimentary shields and the protections his earrings provided, Harry still wore his heart on his sleeve enough for the man to know the wand had been in Harry’s possession.

But Harry couldn’t tell him the truth. A large part of Harry thought that Dumbledore probably wouldn’t be happy if Harry told him he had gone down to the Chamber of Secrets. He might even forbid Harry from going down there and Harry really didn’t want that to happen, at least not until he found a way to harvest the basilisk so he could give back to the Weasleys. 

He’d forgotten to talk to Bill about that in his haste to do everything else but he still wanted to do it.

“Um, the Room of Requirement, sir.”

Surprise flickered through Dumbledore’s expression before he stared at Harry for a few moments, with that same searching look in his eyes. “Why did you take it?”

“It sort of felt like my wand?” Harry answered uncertainly, mentally hoping that Dumbledore would believe him. “Warm, I guess. Is there something wrong, Professor?”

There was a beat of silence before Dumbledore began to speak again. “I was curious as to why, this wand was in your possession, so I took it to Mr. Ollivander to examine. He mentioned that it was a very old wand whose maker he didn’t recognize and that it was an odd combination of materials. Ash wood and basilisk horn, twelve and a half inches.” He paused for a moment before holding the wand out to Harry, still not touching it.

Harry took it hesitantly and the man’s eyes narrowed a little. “Professor?” he asked nervously.

“The most curious thing happened to be that not one of us was able to touch it, even Ms. Tonks wasn't able to touch it without retaliating with an excruciating version of the stinging hex. It seems that it has recognized you as its only owner, as ash wands have a tendency to do. When Mr. Ollivander cast a Priori Incantatem on it, we found that you used it to cast an odd spell I’ve never seen before. Similar to what was used during the first task.”

A fuzzy memory of Harry feeling his left hand wrapping around something distinctly wand-like floated to the forefront of his mind as his stomach sank a little further.

Dumbledore’s gaze was serious as he looked at Harry. “Is there something you wish to tell me, Harry?”

Harry swallowed, unnerved by the intense look on the headmaster’s eyes as his hand unconsciously tightened around the wand. “No, sir,” he answered quietly.

There was disappointment in Dumbledore’s gaze, as if he expected Harry to tell him the truth, as if he knew there was something he was hiding. The tension in the air dissipated a moment later and Dumbledore’s face cleared. “Very well, then. Best that I let you get some rest,” he said briskly, standing up and brushing his robes off. “I look forward to seeing you when you’re all better, Harry.”

The aged wizard left the room, his robes billowing behind him as he walked away, closing the door behind as Harry stared after, his heart beating audibly as the seconds ticked.

Fuck.

There was a mixture of relief and anxiety when a familiar redhead came in, his eyebrows knitted together in worry as he looked at Harry. “We’ve got a problem,” Harry murmured, holding his two wands in his hands tightly.

Bill’s mouth tightened into a thin line as he closed the door, casting a privacy charm on it before he sat in the chair Dumbledore had vacated a minute ago. “Explain.”

Harry relayed the conversation that had just occurred quickly, explaining his trip down to the Chamber of Secrets in early September and watching as the man’s eyebrows steadily rose higher and higher.

“So now he knows you’re hiding something,” Bill sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “No offense, kid, but you’re a shitty liar.”

“I know that, no need to rub it in my face,” Harry grumbled, crossing his arms petulantly and earning a vaguely amused look from the redhead.  “Either way, Dumbledore’s going to be a problem. I know he doesn’t have any malicious intent but if he interferes…”

“Things are probably going to go downhill for both of us,” Bill finished grimly, his previous amusement fading. “Hold the wand for me so I can remove any charms he might’ve placed on it. You’re planning on using it when you’re destroying the Horcruxes, right?”

Harry did as told, watching curiously as the man cast a few unfamiliar charms on the wand that he now knew to be ash and basilisk horn, whatever the latter was. He was fairly sure basilisks didn’t have horns but it didn’t really matter.

Dumbledore had implied that Harry had somehow cast a charm he didn’t know of and took down the dragon in a matter of seconds, something that even he couldn’t do. He was suddenly aware of this vague sense of something at the edge of his consciousness when he held this wand, like it was alive. What if the reason Harry didn’t remember what had happened was because of this something? Harry didn’t know any spells that Dumbledore didn’t, it wasn’t possible that he could do something Britain’s strongest wizard could not.

“Are you feeling alright?” Bill asked, concern flashing in his eyes.

It took Harry a moment to realize the man had finished checking his wand, shaking his head to pull himself out of his musing. “M’fine. Did you say something?”

“It doesn’t seem like he did anything to the wand, as far as I can see, so you’re good,” Bill informed as he tucked his wand away. “I wanted to tell you; I found the Gaunt Shack yesterday and I’m working on breaking the wards. It might take a few weeks since I don’t want You-Know-Who to know that someone is going after his Horcruxes if the wards were made to alert him of anyone doing anything to them.”

“That’s perfect. Thanks, Bill,” Harry said gratefully. He was fairly sure he would’ve been at least partially screwed if Bill wasn’t around since he hardly knew a thing about wards. “Besides what I just told you, I’ve got news you probably won’t like.”

Bill gave him an exasperated look. “As if anything could possibly be worse than what you’ve told me. Spit it out, Harry.”

Harry grimaced a little, giving the man a look that said it was his funeral. For all that he appreciated Bill’s help, he still felt guilty for the stress he was causing him. “While I was… dead, for a lack of better words, I got another memory. From the looks of it, getting rid of Voldemort won’t be enough. We have to get rid of his Death Eaters too. After I defeated him, they all rounded up together and started attacking Muggleborns and Muggles everywhere using illegal Portkeys.”

There was silence for a moment as Bill stared at Harry, a plethora of emotions flashing in his face before it settled on defeat. “Remind me not to doubt a word that comes out of your mouth again,” he said faintly, burying his face in his hands. “You’re telling me that there’s more to the story than we think? If you’re getting more memories now, then there’s a chance we still don’t know everything.”

Harry grimaced again, remembering the familiar green light of the killing curse that had rushed towards him. “I don’t think so,” he admitted softly, averting his gaze as he awaited Bill’s reaction to what he was about to say. “I… sort of died in that memory, I’m pretty sure.”

Bill’s head shot up, confusion and concern flashing through his face. His gaze burned into Harry’s skin, his faint freckles stark against his pale skin. Neither of them said anything for a moment before he closed his eyes, his face turning unreadable. 

“Right. We’ll figure it,” he maintained soberly

Strangely enough, Harry sort of appreciated it. He supposed it was because the reason he had told Bill the truth was because he wanted someone who wouldn’t try to stop him when he walked to his death.

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

A figure popped into existence within a dark chamber, shrouded in the shadows of their cloak

“Sire.”

Magic crackled through the air as a single scarlet eye narrowed on the figure. “Remind me what your orders were, Nyx. Remind me what it was I told you to do,” a voice, distorted and gravelly, said as magic crackled in the air.

The figure dropped onto their knees, head bowed. “My greatest apologies, Sire, I know–”

“Answer me.”

“Yo-you ordered me to capture the boy,” they gasped as the heavy force of magic weighed down on their body and dragged them closer to the ground. “A-alive, with no casualties.”

“And what did you do? You went against my direct orders, Nyx. You nearly compromised Gaia and Hemera's precarious positions with your idiocy!” the voice roared. “I asked you for subtlety, Nyx, and you nearly destroyed one of my projects with that dragon of yours. The only reason you still stand before me is because I am giving you a second chance for your previous loyalty.”

“And you have my every thanks for such forgiveness, Sire. I come bearing news that I hope will tide your anger at my naivety,” the figure said faintly, taking a few stabilizing breaths as the magical presence faded off.

There was a beat of silence as the scarlet eye studied the figure. “Speak, Nyx.”

“There is another boy, Sire. One who will be of much more use to us, if what I have witnessed was anything to go by.”

“More useful? More than him?” Skepticism coloured the voice’s tone. “That is not possible, Nyx. There is only one thing more useful to my undertaking than his lingering shade so do not feed me lies, Agent. I have shown you mercy but if you wish–”

“Sire, he wields his Wand!”

The temperature of the room dropped a few degrees and the scarlet eyes grew into a menacing violet. “... his Wand, you say? You understand what you are implying, don’t you, Agent Nyx?”

“Sire, I saw it with my very own eyes. It has accepted him as its master, it came to him willingly in his time of need! He took down a dragon, a Horntail, in no less than a second with a spell that drained him of his magical energy!”

The voice scoffed. “If it drained him then it is not his to use.”

"Please, Sire. Ollivander verified it himself just recently and he'll only grow more powerful with such a thing in his hands. He's in close proximity to the shade of that man's soul as well, if they remain as such, we have no idea what chaos might be derived from this."

Silence hung in the air for a few moments, thick enough that the figure could nearly taste it before the voice finally spoke. 

“If you speak the truth,” it said, practically sneering as eyes shifted back to scarlet. “Then tell me, why haven't you reported a word of this to me sooner?

“That is Dumbledore’s doing. I haven’t been able to get off the grounds until recently– he is growing wary of something and if I had a guess, it would be the boy I speak of. There is something about him beyond his power, something I wish to pursue.”

The scarlet eyes narrowed. “Are you requesting a mission swap, Agent Nyx?”

“No, Sire. Merely a small… alteration.”

“You still haven’t informed me of his name, Nyx.”

The figure bowed its head lower. “My apologies. I was speaking of Harry Potter.”

Scarlet eyes grew violet again at the name and the figure shivered minutely. “Harry Potter is not a small alteration, Nyx, nor is his situation something we should trifle with. You have my permission, but rest assured that if you set one foot out of the line when the stakes are this high, you will pray that I had ended your misery today.”

“Of course, Sire. I expect no less.”

“Dismissed.”

Harry flexed his fingers absently as he walked the perimeter of his hospital room, grimacing at the strain each step took on his body. It was frustrating, how long healing from the aftermath of the first task was taking.

Where he would usually feel the constant warm presence of his magic in the center of his chest, Harry could only feel a hollow coolness that felt distinctly wrong– enough for him to develop the habit of rubbing his chest every few seconds in hopes of warming the area.

He felt… helpless. Restless. He wanted to do something, be useful, but he couldn’t even walk without feeling a strain on his magical core. He couldn’t practice anything with magic, he couldn’t work on changing the future unless it was through Bill, who he hadn’t seen since his last visit. Not that Harry blamed him. That day wasn’t particularly fun for either of them.

Sirius and Lupin came by nearly every day and everyone else was either at Hogwarts or too busy with other things to visit him, which left Harry on his own, more often than not.

He stumbled when the door suddenly flew open, his head snapping in that direction, his body coiling with tension for a moment before he recognized the perpetrator.

Greengrass stood at the doorway of his room, looking a mixture of amused and concerned. “I thought you were supposed to be resting. You should be resting, you look like you’re about to fall.”

“More like I’m going stir-crazy,” Harry grumbled, wincing as he made his way back to his bed and collapsed. “I’ve got to stay here for at least another five days, according to Mrs. Tonks.”

“Tonks’s mother?” Greengrass questioned, placing a plastic bag and an edition of the Daily Prophet– apparently, Rita Skeeter thought it was a brilliant idea to go against the deal they had made when she heard that he had ‘died’. Although Harry didn’t particularly care because she was talking about Fudge and Ministry for the most part, which he found absolutely hilarious, he still needed her on a tight leash. He didn’t want to deal with her but she could be useful to write stories, sway people into believing him over Fudge so he wouldn’t have to deal with the hapless minister’s denial if he failed at stopping Voldemort.

“Yeah. What’s that?”

“Well, I figured you’re tired of boring hospital food and went down to my favorite restaurant so you could try my favorite Muggle food,” Greengrass said, smirking a little when Harry perked up a little.

“That’s… nice,” Harry blinked. It was oddly thoughtful, especially when he’d only really spoken to the auror a handful of times. They were tentative friends, along with the entire political alliance they had going on– which was on the paper a few days, he needed to ask about that. He had been blindsided when Sirius had mentioned it the day before.

“Hey, what’s with that response?” the man demanded, mock offense clear on his face. “I’m always nice.”

“You would’ve been much nicer in my books if you chose to inform me that you were announcing our alliance to the entire world,” Harry said flatly. 

Greengrass winced, a genuine sheepish expression sliding onto his face. “I’ve got no excuse for that. Lasagna?” he grinned, withdrawing a sealed cardboard container and a plastic fork from his plastic bag before holding them out for Harry as a peace offering. 

“How do I know it’d not poisoned?” Harry grumbled, making a show of reluctantly accepting it and earning a chuckle from the man. The container was warm in his hands and he relaxed a little, a mouthwatering smell reaching his senses.

“If I wanted to kill you, Potter, I would’ve done it ages ago. I had plenty of chances that were far more inconspicuous than poison,”  he said with a teasing lilt to his voice.

Harry gave him an unamused look, ignoring the chill that had gone down his spine despite the fact that he knew Greengrass was only messing with him. “That’s certainly a comforting thought. No need to worry about poison but there are a hundred other ways you need to worry about.”

“Just eat it. I’ll eat both of them if you don’t eat yours, I haven’t anything since yesterday” the man huffed, pulling out a cardboard container of his own and laughing when Harry hastily pulled his own closer. He relaxed minutely, his expression loosening a little bit before a comfortable silence silenced Harry’s need for conversation and distraction.

It was a nice change from the restlessness that had been buzzing under his skin before Greengrass had arrived and the food was actually pretty great, certainly better than the bland hospital food he had gotten used to in the past few days. 

It was also the first time Harry was trying it instead of making it or eating Dudley’s leftovers.

“How’re you feeling?” Greengrass asked sometime later as they both scraped the last bits of their food away.

“I’m fine,” Harry answered automatically, pointedly ignoring the unimpressed look his words earned as the man waved his wand, vanishing the containers away with a simple flick.

“You’ve been here for days and still look like a train ran you over,” Greengrass said doubtfully.

Harry sighed, his eyes flickering away from the discomfiting concern in the man’s eyes. “I’m on the mend, there’s nothing to it. I’ll be fine soon enough.”

Greengrass looked like he wanted to say something for a moment, a conflicted expression flickering through his features as he watched Harry. His expression smoothed out a moment later. “Sure, kid. I came to talk to you about something else anyways,” he stated seriously, tossing the newspaper on Harry’s bed. “Take a look. Someone has it out for you.”

Harry smoothed the paper out, his eyebrows knitting into a frown as he stared at the headline.

‘Harry Potter: Friend?’  was spelled out in large block letters, the ‘R’ in ‘Friend’ fading every few seconds to spell ‘Fiend’. The article went on to detail how it was dangerous for someone like him to be around developing children if he had the ability to take down a dragon with his magic because what would happen to them if he lost control?

It left Harry with a knotted mixture of emotions in his chest because even if he hated the way they spoke about him, they… weren’t exactly wrong. He knew he had the capacity to be dangerous, especially in high-stress situations. 

What if he hurt someone? What if he hurt Ron or Hermione or someone else he cared about instead of protecting them like he had managed to do this time?

His mind nearly took him down a spiral of jumbled emotions and thoughts before Greengrass’s voice cut through the silence, a hint of worry seeping into his tone. “Potter?”

He blinked, looking back up at the Auror. “Sorry, what?”

The man stared at him for a moment, giving Harry that same evaluating look, gray eyes narrowed as he looked the teen up and down. Incredulity and concern slipped into his expression a moment later. “You…agree with them.”

It wasn’t a question. 

Harry grimaced, cursing himself for being so transparent. “That’s not it,” he sighed heavily. “They’re not wrong but they’re not right either. Just because I have power doesn’t mean I’m going to use it to hurt people but what happens if something like this occurs again and I hurt someone instead?”

“You’ll learn to control it. You’re hardly the first powerful wizard discovered and you’re still a kid. That’s why you’re still in Hogwarts. You’ll learn,” Greengrass stated, displeasure flickering through his expression. “This, on the other hand, is slander of an underage wizard. You saved hundreds of kids a few days ago– that hardly warrants all the terrible things they’ve written about you.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re worried about me,” Harry teased, mainly to ease the tense air in the room. Although, the statement seemed to hold some truth because the man’s actions since he visited were rather uncharacteristic.

Greengrass rolled his eyes and Harry’s chest lightened considerably when he let the matter go– for now, if the flicker in his eyes were anything to go by. “In your dreams, Potter.”

Harry snorted, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “You must think pretty highly of yourself if you think you, of all people, are going to be in my dreams, Greengrass.”

“Brat,” Greengrass huffed, rummaging through his robe pockets for a few moments before he pulled out a shrunken bag. “Consider this a get-well gift.”

“What is it?” Harry asked curiously, prodding it with his finger warily.

“A wardrobe– Mum insisted.” He gave Harry a pointed look when he poked the bag again. “It’s not going to bite you. She’s grateful for what you did,” there was a beat of silence before he continued gruffly, “We all are.”

Something warm settled in Harry’s chest for the first time since the first task and he smiled. He didn’t really know what the Greengrasses had gone through under Malfoy’s control but the sheer gratitude and relief on Greengrass’s face when they made the alliance never failed to make Harry feel a tiny bit better about the whole situation because it was a reminder that despite everything that he had ruined already, he had helped make at least one person’s life better.

“Thanks, Greengrass.”

An easy smile slipped on the man’s face. “No problem. I can hardly have the Lady allying herself with an ill-dressed teen.”

“You just had to ruin the moment,” Harry said drily, rolling up the newspaper and tossing it at him.

Greengrass placed a hand over his heart dramatically, laughter dancing in his eyes as he spoke. “We were having a moment? I didn’t know you felt that way, Potter.”

The teen made a disgusted face, pointing to the door with a half-hearted glare. “Get out.”

Greengrass laughed. “Don’t get all cranky, kid. I’ll see you, I suppose.” There was a beat of silence, like Greengrass was deciding whether or not to say something.

“I’m glad you’re alive, Potter.”

Harry blinked as a hand rested on his head, ruffling his already messy hair before Greengrass left the room, leaving him alone to decipher the odd action from the generally reserved man.

He seemed almost… fond of Harry.

Like everything else that was related to the enigma that was Wayne Greengrass, he shoved it to the back of his mind for later. 

Or never, more likely.

It was oddly lonely without Harry around during Rigel’s usual morning excursions to the kitchen, even with Luna there. He had gotten used to the other boy’s presence, along with his rambling explanations of anything and everything Rigel asked him about regarding Ancient Runes.

He missed his presence in Herbology as well, along with the lack of his usual quiet and entertaining commentary on how everyone was dealing with their plants– which earned them disapproving looks from Professor Sprout on more than one occasion. 

Longbottom was more than happy to pair up with Rigel when he offered, especially since he was often placed with the fire-prone Gryffindor, Seamus Finnegan. 

Still, the entire event left a bad aftertaste in his mouth that wouldn’t go away because now his nights were haunted with images of everything that had occurred the year before along with Harry’s unnaturally still body. 

Rigel hadn’t managed to visit the other teen yet despite the part of him that was constantly screaming at him to check for himself because Weasley and Granger’s words weren’t enough, would never be enough, especially not after everything that had happened last year with Riley and Lucas.

His most recent transformation had done nothing to help with his anxiety. For whatever reason, it had been the most violent one out of all of them. He had decimated the room in the Shrieking Shack and a good few of his bones had remained broken after he transformed back into himself.

He had stayed in the infirmary for two days, restlessly tossing and turning while trying not to think about Harry and the blood– there was blood everywhere, on the walls, on the floor, on Riley– 

“Mind if I sit here?”

Rigel looked up, blinking blearily at the person in front of him. It takes him a few moments to realize that it was one of Diggory’s friends– Andrew Hayworth.

He wanted to refuse but found himself too exhausted to speak, nodding absently before turning his attention back to his Transfiguration essay, which was due tomorrow and Rigel had only written three lines and it was already midnight.

“Are you alright?” Hayworth asked softly.

There was something about his tone that put Rigel off, his eyes flickering back up to meet the older Hufflepuff’s concerned gaze. “What’re you talking about?” he asked, his voice cracking uncomfortably before he cleared his throat.

“You were in the infirmary for two days and one of your friends is in the hospital,” Hayworth explained but Rigel didn’t quite believe him because there was something wrong here. He could feel it.

Fear was beginning to claw up his throat because Hayworth was smart and Rigel had probably given him more than enough information to work with. The only ones who knew were Dumbledore, Sprout, and Luna, although he had never really told her.

He didn’t think she knew exactly what his condition was but she knew enough, just like she always did. He didn’t mind her knowing, not really. He knew she wouldn’t care.

Just like he knew others definitely would care about the match.

“I was sick and it’s not like there’s anything I can do,” Rigel muttered, averting his gaze from the searching look in Hayworth’s. “I’m fine.”

He could feel the other teen watching him like he was deciding whether or not to say something. “You think I’m going to tell people,” he said after a moment and Rigel’s heart plummeted because Hayworth had just confessed to knowing what he was.

He swallowed audibly. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he muttered

“There aren’t a lot of injuries that scar like that, Williams. Nor are there a lot of people that can tell creature heritage with only a glance. There aren’t any, really,” Hayworth sighed. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” Rigel said bitterly, picking at his fingernails anxiously. “What exactly do you want from me?”

Hayworth raised his hands up placatingly. “Listen, Williams. I promise there’s no hidden agenda here. I just… Cedric was worried about you after the whole first task fiasco and I figured I’d just check up on you.”

“I don’t need– ” Rigel began angrily, rage boiling to the surface before he suppressed it, closing his eyes for a few moments. “I don’t need your help. If you don’t want anything, we’re done here. It’s not like I actually expect to stay here for a long time. No one wants a monster around their kids.”

His eyes burn a little and his vision was going a little blurry as he gathered his things as fast as he could to flee because how could he be so- so stupid? 

He had gotten comfortable, had allowed people to get to know him, people who could ruin his life with a single word. He’d let Hayworth get enough information to realize what he was, he’d allowed Luna to run around with that information for weeks because he trusted her but he had trusted Lucas too, and look where that had brought him.

The halls seemed to grow longer and longer as Rigel fled the common room to hide in the comfort of his room, his legs stumbling beneath him as his throat closed up and his heart began to beat painfully in his chest.

Each breath felt like someone was taking a sledgehammer to his chest and Rigel soon found himself crumbling on the floor of his dorm, blood roaring in his ears as he tried to breathe in. He could hear the distant gasps for air as the room began to spin, his clammy hands grasping at his hair before he pulled it.

Pain shot through his scalp, grounding him a little as pathetic tears began to well up in his eyes because why did he ever think he could do this, why had he even bothered when he knew this would happen and he would just become another Remus Lupin?

It had happened before already but he supposed he never learned. He was nothing but a monster that cowered in its own shadow and he was going to get someone killed again, he was just going to become more of a monster, betrayed, alone and useless.

Why would Harry Potter want to be friends with someone like him, why would he bother with Rigel and his pathetic self? Why would someone as brilliant as Luna choose to be friends with a freak like him, why would she endanger herself when she knew what he was, what he was capable of?

Why would anyone want anything to do with a murderer, a curse like him?

Hot tears slide down his face and he desperately wished he was back home, back with Mum and Riley and her stupid ugly cat that she insisted he called Missy, which was short for Missle Launcher.

But here he was alone, thousands of miles away from their little apartment in New York because he had nearly killed his baby sister and his mum couldn’t bear to look at the monster her son had become and he–

He wanted to die.

Wish I could be happy

Wish I could be happy at least for a moment,

This pain has been growing up every day,

killing my emotions, destroying my feelings,

No one seems to see, no one seems to care,

Feel alone is the saddest feeling,

People pressing me without ask themselves,

the way I feel, don’t them see I’m dying,

Don’t them see it’s hard to handle with it,

It’s so cruel when nobody understands, it makes me

so down and so revolted,

I don’t really want to die,

I just want to feel peace inside myself,

Is it so hard?

Wish I could sleep without cry, without

remember this sad life, sleep with love

inside me...

People killing each other, lust world,

stupid people, misery, what is happening here?

Everybody is thinking only in themselves,

Oh my god where’s the love? Where are the good people?

God, please help to understand it because my heart is done...

Everything seems to get worse every day,

if it continues this way, this sad pain,

this cruel world, wish to die thinking i can go to a better place

and become an angel to fly and be happy... 

- Alex Nascimento

Chapter Text

Sirius blinked as a vaguely familiar trace of magic wafted through the air, his eyebrows knitting together as he tried to place where he had sensed it before. It wasn’t his grandfather’s and he had no living family members with that sort of magical presence, as far as he was aware. It had to be a Black or at least an influential pureblood because rarely anyone without Black blood in their veins was allowed to set foot in this building.

“Have any visitors recently, old man?” he asked his grandfather as Arcturus led him through the main Black estate. He hadn’t been in it since he was fourteen– or was it fifteen? It was as grand and gloomy as he remembered, unpleasant memories surfacing briefly when they passed the familiar doorway to the dungeons before he shoved them away.

Arcturus glanced at him with what Sirius now knew to be curiosity and of course, the usual disdain at Sirius’s lack of decorum when addressing him– or anyone really. “How did you come to such a conclusion?”

“Mage sense,” Sirius grunted, not entirely happy giving that piece of information away. He’d never mentioned it to anyone besides his friends and Regulus, for fear of becoming his mother’s precious little heir once again because he had such a rare ability.

There was a flicker of surprise in his grandfather’s gaze before he nodded. “I did have a visitor just a few hours ago,” he said, pausing for a moment before continuing when Sirius moved to question him. “Their identity is none of your concern.”

“I bet it’s your information source,” Sirius snarked, more than a little frustrated with Arcturus’s secrecy.

His grandfather didn’t say anything as they reached the room Sirius had been waiting for; the Archive. It was a room of books detailing information regarding the histories of the many families scattered all over the world, each with some small relation connected to the Blacks. It was sensitive information, available only to the head and regent of the Black family– which meant him and Arcturus.

Sirius had never been to the room– better described as a library– before, scared away by the threat of being disemboweled if he set one foot in there. He wasn’t sure whether that was a literal warning or just a threat his father had made up to discourage him from ever going in that room.

“You want information on the Potter boy’s family history, correct?” 

At Sirius’s nod, Arcturus stepped onto an oddly shaped podium with a stand, a large dusty ledger, and an old quill. Sirius watched him curiously as he wrote the name ‘Potter’ in beautiful calligraphy before the ink shone purple and a stack of books as tale as Arcturus himself appeared right in front of him.

Sirius stared at the stack with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. “There are over twenty books in here, isn’t there any way to shorten it to the specifics?”

“What topic are you researching? The Potters are nearly as ancient as us, this is only a third of what is in this room?” Arcturus said, raising a groomed eyebrow at Sirius with faint amusement on his face.

Bastard.

Sirius narrowed his eyes a moment later, confusion clear on his face. “Wait, what do you mean ‘nearly as ancient as us’? The Potters have been around for less time than the Malfoys, that’s not possible.”

His grandfather scoffed. “That is what they wished for us to believe. The truth was forgotten in history.”

“Wha- You know what? Never mind,” Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration at Arcturus’s purposeful vagueness. “I’m looking for stuff relating to seers in their history, regarding a theory of mine.”

Arcturus paused, the quill held in his grasp millimeters above the paper. “You believe Harry Potter is a Seer?” he asked, faint disbelief coloring his tone.

“I said it was a theory,” Sirius huffed before pointing his wand at the man with a small glare. “Bugger out of it, old man. You’re not going anywhere near my godson.”

“I believe I already informed you that I have no interest in him. Perhaps your memory has failed you again?”

Sirius scowled at the intended jab at his recovery from Azkaban, pushing down the urge to hex the man. “Just get me the books, Grandfather,” he said irritably.

Arcturus didn’t deign to give him an answer, penning something down in the ledger before the large stack of books faded into a small stack of three, which was more than what most families could say since Seers tended to be rather rare.

“Out of curiosity, what led you to this conclusion? It appears to be a rather extreme conclusion to make,” the man questions as Sirius went to pick up the stack. 

“Nope,” Sirius deadpanned. “Your tricks are getting old, Grandfather. Thanks for the help.”

He was sure he heard the man laugh on his way out of the room but wasn’t particularly keen on confirming it. Whenever his grandfather laughed, it never ended well for him.

Sirius made his way out of the Black estate on his own, apparating back into his new apartment with a sharp crack! that startled Remus, who scrambled from his seat on the sofa and landed on the floor when he stumbled. He glared at Sirius when he chuckled.

“Nice one, Moony,” he teased. “As coordinated as ever.”

“Shut up,” Remus grumbled as he rolled onto his back. “I told you to stop doing that.”

“You dare command me in my own home?” Sirius asked in mock offense, dropping the three heavy books on his friend’s chest and knocking the air out of him. 

“What the hell? How much do those weigh?” Remus wheezed, shoving the pile of books off him and rubbing his chest before picking up one of the books and reading the faded-out title. ”He gave them to you?”

“Yeah,” Sirius sighed, kicking his shoes off and sitting down next to Remus. “There was a lot of stuff in there. Which is kind of concerning.”

“There’s a lot of concerning things about your family,” Remus stated dryly as he cracked the first book open. His eyebrows rose as his eyes flicked through the pages. “There are… a surprising amount of Seers in the Potter family. I’m surprised James never mentioned it.”

“I don’t think he knew,” Sirius offered up, remembering his grandfather’s cryptic statements. “The Potters are apparently as old as us but I’ve never seen their name any older than Malfoys. Lost history, I suppose? They could’ve descended from a really old family and then never passed the story on to their next of kin.”

“It would be weird that your grandfather has all this information if that’s true. He’s not a Potter by blood so he shouldn’t have access to this,” Remus frowned, worry flickering in his gaze.

“He hasn’t told me anything about the Archive before, it’s worrying that we have this much information about anyone. Most purebloods are related though– incest and all,” Sirius said half-jokingly. He blinked when he didn’t get a laugh out of Remus, looking up to see the mixture of disbelief and realization on his friend’s face. “What is it?”

Remus handed him the book and Sirius took it, curious to see what had managed to get that reaction out of Remus. The first page read ‘Ignotus Peverell’, which– that explained a lot, actually.

The Peverells were old, around seven centuries or so. The name had faded into obscurity around that time as well; if their line had been merged into the Potter one, it explained why the Potters were on nearly the same status as the Blacks despite their continued neutrality.

However… “That doesn't add up, Seers weren’t being recorded until the fifteenth century,” he frowned. 

“It says ‘assumed’,” Remus pointed out, gesturing to one of the paragraphs. “I’m not sure on what grounds but he’s the only one here before the fifteenth century. The others have chapters on them. It’s no wonder why these books are so huge.”

“You’re just weak, Moony,” Sirius laughed, ducking out of the way when Remus tossed a pillow at him. His grin widened and pushed the books off to the side, grabbing a pillow of his own. “It’s on.”

“Hey!” Remus chuckled, ducking his head to protect himself from the barrage of pillows attacking him. “Watch it, Pads! Wouldn’t want you to cover the room in feathers again!”

“That was thirteen years ago, you tosser! And I was drunk!” Sirius defended despite the grin splitting across his face as he tossed the last of his pillows at the other man.

“Still happened.”

They bickered for a little while longer before delving back into their research.

“Hey,” Remus spoke up after a few minutes of silence. ”Do you think this has anything to do with the way Harry’s been acting recently? Since his coma, at least.”

Sirius paused, heaviness settling over his chest as he thought back to the observation he had shared with Remus after one of his many visits. His friend had agreed for the most part.

Harry was… different. It wasn’t drastically obvious, of course– Sirius had picked up on it after his first few visits. There was this distance that hadn’t been there, in the way that Harry always looked exhausted, in the way that there was this lingering sadness in his godson’s eyes whenever he looked at him or Remus.

He broached the subject briefly just yesterday and Harry had clammed as soon as it became obvious where their conversation was headed and Sirius had decided not to bring it up again- at least not in front of him.

“That’s my theory. Well, it’s Ted’s actually. Remember how we mentioned that thing with his eyes and the zoning out that Ron and Hermione told us about? Seer's abilities show up in different ways and different times, If the coma and his behavior are related to him being a Seer…” Sirius trailed off after that, not keen on completing that thought and what it truly meant.

If Harry could see the future…

Remus grimaced, clearly sharing Sirius’s sentiment. “Any luck with Mary?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow at the abrupt subject change before shaking his head. When Mary Macdonald wanted to disappear, she disappeared. “I doubt she really wants to talk to me. She’s spent years hating me, knowing that I’m innocent doesn’t erase it in seconds,” he said wryly.

“I don’t think it has anything to do with you, Sirius,” Remus argued softly, giving Sirius a pointed look when he opened his mouth to argue. “She hasn’t talked to me since ‘85 and the last I heard she was moving to Canada. I think she’s just given up on Britain’s magical population. She’s lost a lot. We all have. It’s been a long time, I doubt she wants to bring it all backup–”

“Don’t put words in my mouth and ward your home better, it was ridiculously easy to break in.”

Sirius jumped at the same time as Remus, wand clutched tightly in his grasp as his heart beat frantically in his chest. There was a familiar figure sitting on the kitchen island with brown skin and curly hair gathered in a ponytail, amber eyes dancing with a mixture of mischief and sadness as she looked at them.

“Sirius. Remy. Hey.”

“M- Mary?!”

Mary laughed and Sirius’s chest ached a little because he had missed her and everything about her so much. “What? Are you not happy to see me? You’ve been calling me non-stop–”

He cut her off with a tight embrace, nearly letting go when she tensed before she relaxed again, hugging him back with hesitance that stung, even if he understood why.

“I missed you,” he mumbled into her shoulder, his eyes stinging a little as the achingly familiar feeling of her magic reached his senses for the first time, tinged with sorrow and anger as she hugged him a little tighter.

“I missed you too, Siri,” she whispered back brokenly and he hated it so much because Mary wasn’t supposed to sound like that and it was all his fault for trusting Peter and–

“I’m sorry.”

He was just happy to have her back.

Fire crawled up his veins, pain erupting through his arm as his teeth ground together in hopes of stopping the screams that tore at his throat every time he was injected. He could barely hear his own gasping breaths over the ringing in his ears and overbearing presence in his mind, tearing and throwing away all that he knew. He would forget it all again– everything.

Brown eyes stared down at him impassively, fiery red hair peeking underneath the cloak and mask that hid the rest of her face. He glared back as best as he could before another needle was stabbed into his neck and excruciating pain spread through his body.

“Good night, Harry Potter,” a vaguely familiar voice spoke.

Harry shot awake, a short scream escaping him before he tumbled off his bed and tangled himself up in his sheets. He struggled to get free, fueled by his panic and the adrenaline pumping through his veins before pain shot through his chest, through the hollowness of his magical core.

He settled down after that, focusing on breathing before he carefully untangled himself, stumbling over to the bathroom on shaking legs, the lights flickering on as he walked in.

What on Earth was that?

It felt so real, he could still feel the phantom feeling of the needle being stabbed into his neck, rubbing it absently as he turned on the tap. He splashed some water on his face, rubbing the water off with a towel once he was done.

He looked up at his reflection before terror seized his heart and scrambled back with a muffled shriek, wide eyes searching for the figure that had been in there just seconds ago. For a millisecond it looked like there was someone else in the mirror, with a long scar stretching across the right side of their face and long messy hair that was tied out of their face. 

It was too short of a moment for him to see anything but that and the single glowing green eye.

Reasonably freaked out, Harry fled the bathroom with his heart still racing. More for his own comfort than anything, he grabbed his holly wand and settled on his bed. Paranoia drove him to glance around the room every few seconds, his muscles taut and ready to move at a moment's notice.

It took about ten minutes for him to relax again, deciding that it was just his brain messing with him despite the voice inside of him that screamed that there was something wrong. 

That dream had been… weird. Disturbing, even. 

He’d learned not to disregard all his dreams after the whole time travel debacle but that wasn’t a memory. It wasn’t a dream either. It felt real but at the same time, there was this fuzziness that wasn’t there when he had lived through all his memories. 

He had been trapped in a dark room with a woman whose face he didn’t manage to see. He hadn’t been able to move or escape no matter how much it had hurt and it… it terrified him to think about what that had been, what it could be.

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when the door slid open, relaxing minutely when he recognized Ted Tonks’s concerned face. 

“Harry? You alright, kid?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Harry breathed, rubbing his face tiredly. “Just a dream.”

Ted stared at him for a few moments before accepting the explanation. “Feel like going around the garden? You’ve cooped up here for days, going out might do you some good,” the man offered, his mouth twitching into a smile when Harry immediately lit up at the offer, more than happy to escape the confines of his hospital room after that dream.

“Sure,” Harry agreed quickly, hopping off his bed and donning the sweater Sirius had abandoned and an ugly pair of hospital shoes that provided little warmth. He didn’t mind it too much, as long as he didn’t have to suffer cabin fever any longer. “Since when did St. Mungo’s have a garden?”

“It’s mainly for long-term patients, no one stays here long enough,” Ted explained as he led the way through the semi-dark halls of the hospital, seeing as it was just before dawn. He walked slowly for Harry’s sake, which would’ve irritated him if he wasn’t so grateful. 

Most of his body still ached like a healing bruise and his chest ached whenever he moved too much at once. He really wished there was a faster way of healing from magical exhaustion. 

Well, there usually was but apparently, Harry was a special case. He was healing faster than he was supposed to as well, so that was a plus.

“How’re you feeling?” Ted inquired as they turned a corner, brushing past a vaguely familiar healer that nodded at Ted respectfully.

“Cold, mostly,” Harry answered honestly, tucking his hands under his arms to warm them up. “Still feel like someone ran me over.”

“That’s certainly one way of describing it,” Ted laughed, coming to a stop in front of an elevator and pressing the button to bring it down. “Does it still hurt a lot to move?”

“Not too much. My chest hurts if I move too fast though, it kinda sucks,” Harry huffed, reaching up to rub his chest gingerly. “It just feels weird for the most part.”

Ted smiled as the elevator doors opened with a loud ping! before he ushered Harry inside. “I’d imagine. A lesson to learn next time, I suppose. Actually, on second thought, I hope there’s no next time.”

Harry laughed, the knot of anxiety in his chest loosening a little as he settled in the corner of the elevator. “I’m offended, Mr. Tonks. You don’t want me around?”

“Damn right, I don’t. Who knows how many headaches you’ve given me,” Ted teased before sobering up, leaning back against the wall. “But seriously, how have you been doing these past few months, kid?”

Harry shrugged, earning a pointed look from the man. “What?”

“I have a kid, you know. I know that look,” he said softly, wry amusement written all over his features. “Things are tough when you’ve got the whole world staring at you through a microscope.”

Harry scoffed, turning his head to the side as anger sparked in his chest. “Yeah, well, I’ve got plenty of experience in the last three years of my life. One second I’m a friend the other I’m a fiend, fast enough to make your head spin. The awe-inspiring Boy Who Lived or the next Dark Lord,” he mocked with a dramatic flare of his hands, quoting the papers.

Ted grimaced a little. “Read the papers, have you?”

“Got nothing better to do,” Harry grunted, pushing himself off the wall as the elevator slowed to a stop and the door slid open. His eyebrows shot up, taking in the sight before him curiously.

He’d never actually seen a magical garden before, unless he counted the greenhouse at Hogwarts, which he didn’t, considering how many life-threatening plants were in there. It wasn’t all that different from a muggle one but it felt… alive.

He wandered into it curiously, relaxing a little as a familiar feeling of peaceful magic washed over him. There was a large variety of flowers, plenty of which he recognized from his time spent researching how to take care of different types of flowers for Aunt Petunia’s garden. Colors of every shade stretched across the expanse of the indoor garden, artificial life shining over the still green trees.

He reached out to touch a blue flower he didn’t recognize, jerking back a little in surprise when it… leaned forward to touch him as well.

A chuckle made him turn to Ted, who reached out to touch that same flower and Harry watched as it wrapped around his fingers with a mixture of surprise and confusion. “Magical plants are different from Muggle ones. You don’t actually learn stuff like this at Hogwarts but regular magical flowers and trees are attracted to sources of magic rather than being completely dependent on sunlight. That’s why these survive during the winter when it’s so cold,” Ted explained, gesturing toward shining light on the dome roof. “That’s the magical source, in this case, but when we come in contact with a plant, we’re providing a much closer source so it’s naturally attracted to us.”

“That’s…,” Harry trailed off, reaching out and hesitantly allowing an orange chrysanthemum to wrap around his fingers. “Creepy and cool,” he decided after a moment, earning an amused snort from the healer. “Why’d you bring me here?”

“The ambient magic here is calming. Helps you forget for a little while,” Ted said softly. “You look like you needed it.”

Harry blinked, realizing that the man was right. His dream and worries had faded to the back of his head, a comforting haze of calmness falling over him. “Oh,” he muttered after a moment. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Ted grinned. “It gave me a chance to escape work. Reynolds has been hounding me to finish my paperwork for weeks.”

They stayed comfortably in the garden, basking in the quiet comfort as time ticked by. Harry explored a little and Ted turned out to be incredibly knowledgeable in the field of plants– the ones in here, at least. 

“They’re useful for making perfumes,” Ted explained when Harry asked, fondness slipping into his expression. “Andy loves floral perfumes and my mum used to have a business making them. I picked up how to make them along the way.”

“Mrs. Tonks?” Harry questioned, doubt slipping into his voice.

Ted chuckled, nudging Harry playfully. “I know, right? She doesn’t seem the type but I’m convinced she made that up as an excuse for why she showed up at my mum’s shop so often during the summer when we were at Hogwarts so she could see me. She insists it's not true though.”

There was a weird achy feeling in Harry’s chest as he listened to Ted talk about his wife with so much… love in his voice. For a moment, he wondered what his dad would’ve sounded like when he talked about his mother, how they had fallen in love.

He’d never get to ask them.

Of course, there was always Sirius and Lupin but it wasn’t… it wasn’t the same. Hearing it from them, he would never see the adoration in Ted’s eyes when spoke about his wife. He knew his parents weren’t perfect no matter what people told him, but he didn’t want to taint the memory of them, the perfect picture of them in his mind. 

“You okay, kiddo?” Ted asked softly.

“Just thinking,” Harry smiled wistfully, getting to his feet. “Thanks for this. I… needed that, I think.”

“‘Course. No problem, kid. You’re free to come around any time, just don’t go getting hurt again,” Ted grinned, reaching out to ruffle his hair, an action people seemed to be fond of doing to him, for whatever reason. His amusement grew when he noticed the bewildered look on Harry’s face. “You do remember that today’s your last day here, right?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Oh. That’s what I was forgetting.”

The man chuckled, leading the way back to the elevator. “Your last day of confinement and you don’t remember? Haven’t you been whining all week?”

“I don’t whine,” Harry grumbled, a bit of anxiety crawling back. Sirius had been talking about him coming to live with them for the next two weeks until he was fully recovered and despite the part of him that was overjoyed, Harry was… he wasn’t exactly the same person.

It didn’t bother him most of the time but sometimes he felt like an imposter in his own body, like he wasn’t the one that was supposed to be inhabiting this body and it… He knew Sirius cared about him but to Harry, he had lost him three years ago and he wasn’t- he wasn’t the same kid that Sirius had offered his home to. 

He had killed somebody. He planned on killing someone else. He planned on dying at some point. If he went to live with Sirius, Harry would destroy him if he died, he knew it.

“Looks like your godfather’s pretty excited to take you home,” Ted commented as they exited the elevator and Harry looked up, finding Sirius waving from the end of the hall, standing next to Lupin and a vaguely familiar woman.

“Thank you, Mr. Tonks,” he said quickly, jogging over to Sirius and hugging the man tightly when he opened his arms. “Hey, Sirius, Lupin, and Ms….” Harry trailed off, raising an eyebrow curiously.

“Mary Macdonald,” the woman introduced, holding a hand out for him to shake. “Nice to meet you, Harry. I was a friend of your mother’s.”

Harry’s eyes widened a bit before hesitantly reaching out to shake her hand. He recognized her now, as one of the women in his mother’s wedding pictures, one of her bridesmaids. “Nice to meet you too, Ms. Macdonald.”

“Mary’s fine,” the woman, Mary, chuckled before her features softened into one of sorrow and wonderment. “You really do have Lily’s eyes.”

He’d heard the words before but rarely did they ever make him feel so much. Hearing it from strangers and even Sirius and Lupin was different. This was one of his mother’s closest friends, the first direct connection he’s ever had with his mother.

He wondered why he had never met her the first time around but the thought quickly fluttered from his mind, a small smile spreading across his face.

“Thank you.”

Grief is my companion,
It takes me by the hand,
And walks along beside me
in a dark and barren land.

How long will this lonesome journey last,
How much more can my weary heart bear?
Since your death, I've been lost in the fog,
Too burdened with sorrow and care.

People tell me my sadness will fade,
And my tears will reach their end.
Grief and I must complete our journey,
And then maybe I'll find happiness again.

Grief pours like water
Draining my heart and my soul
Leaving me empty...

-  Kelly Roper

Chapter Text

Ron’s eyes flickered in her direction for the millionth time, quietly watching as she flipped through the pages of her book, jotting notes down every few minutes and watching the bubbling potion in the cauldron between them. They were in the Room of Requirement, starting the process of making the Animagus potion.

He knew Hermione was in her own world now, oblivious to everything around her. Her hair was damp from the steam from the potion and the shower she had just taken, tied back into a tight ponytail that was slowly frizzing up from the heat of the room.

Pretty, his mind supplied and he shoved it away, even as his recent conversation with Fred and George floated to the forefront of his mind. She was his friend. Best friend.

‘You’re overcomplicating it, Ron. You’ll lose your chance if you don’t ask someone. Hermione’s a pretty girl and there’s plenty of handsome foreigners ready to sweep her and every other girl in this school off their feet.’

McGonagall had announced the Yule Ball a few days ago and Ron was a little at a loss of what to do. Normally, he would have Harry to talk to about this stuff and joke about it but doing that with Hermione… that didn’t feel completely right. It made him miss Harry all the more, especially since he wouldn’t be seeing him for two more weeks.

At least he’d be able to watch his friend struggle to find a date two days before the ball. That’d be hilarious, especially if he still had a crush on that Ravenclaw girl.

“What’re you laughing at?” Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow curiously as she wiped the sweat off her forehead.

“Imagining Harry’s reaction to the ball,” he grinned, his eyes flickered over to the potion. “Are you done that step?”

“Yes, I am. And as if you’re going to do any better at asking anyone,” Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes at him with a small smirk. “Have you ever even talked to a girl that wasn’t me or Ginny?”

“You’ve been hanging out with Fred and George too much,” Ron accused, pointing a finger at her dramatic outrage. “I’ll have you know that I’ve talked to many girls.”

“Uh-huh,” she drawled, disbelief coloring her tone. “Ginny says your only kiss was your Aunt Muriel.”

Ron sputtered, his cheeks glowing red at the humiliating reminder of that incident. “That’s not true! And who have you kissed?” he grumbled, giving her a sullen look.

“No one would want to kiss me ,” Hermione muttered quietly, her previous jovial mood fading as she turned back to the bubbling potion.

Something twisted in his chest and he made a face, frowning at her in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean? It’s not like you have to kiss anyone, we’re in fourth year.”

Hermione shrugged and his stomach felt all weird again because she was being stupid . George had said it himself, there were plenty of guys that would be more than happy to take her, even if his stomach flipped with a mixture of disappointment and something ugly and angry at the thought. He was pretty sure he had seen Viktor Krum looking at her today in the library too.

“I’m not exactly the textbook definition of pretty,” Hermione mumbled, her voice tainted with uncharacteristic cynicism as she gestured to her whole being. At his bewildered expression, she seemed to get frustrated. “I have buck teeth and crazy hair that I can’t control the way Angelina and all the other girls do it, okay? And no one likes a know-it-all.”

“You’re not a know-it-all,” Ron argued before mulling over his statement. “Well, you are actually but you’re still my friend. And I like your hair. If it bothers you so much, I could ask the twins to ask Angelina for you. She would know, right?”

Hermione turned to look at him, a speechless expression plastered on her face as she stared at him with a mixture of wonderment and disbelief. “You…,” she trailed before looking away, her ears tinged red. “Don’t call me a know-it-all.”

“Hey! I said plenty of nice things and that’s the only thing you got out of it?” Ron argued, staring at her incredulously. She didn’t say anything in response and he frowned, expecting a witty remark but getting nothing instead. “Hermione?”

“... Could you actually talk to Fred and George?”

He blinked, staring at her for a moment. “Uh… sure? I don’t mind.”

“Thanks, Ron.”

“Okay, this is weird,” he grumbled. “What’s wrong with you today?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” she said, her shoulders hunched up to her neck defensively.

“If you’re worried about Harry, he’s going to be fine. And Sirius said he was getting out of the hospital to–”

“There’s nothing wrong with me, Ron,” she repeated, harsher than the first time around as she cut him off. “Leave me alone.”

Her words stung a little because he was only checking up on his friend, which hardly warranted that sort of reaction. It’s not like she ever did that to Harry when he did it.

Ron grimaced, turning away as that familiar feeling of something heavy and ugly crawled up his throat, leaving a bad taste in his mouth. “Yeah. Okay,” he muttered, getting to his feet. “I, uh, I promised Seamus and Dean I’d hang out with them so, I… gotta go. Just call me if you need me for anything?”

“Okay,” Hermione agreed and the silence stretched for a moment, painfully awkward and stilted. “You can go, you know.”

Something like disappointment swelled in his chest and he nodded, even though she wasn’t looking at him. “Yeah, uh, sure,” he said, quickly walking to the door to escape the sudden awkwardness of the situation.

“That went well,” he murmured under his breath as he walked down the seventh-floor corridor, tucking his hands in his pockets as he made his way to the cold staircase that led to the Gryffindor Tower.

Ron made his way over to Seamus, Dean, and Neville, who were all more than happy to integrate him into their game of Exploding Snap. His stomach twisted a little when Dean brought up the topic of the Ball.

“I asked Ginny,” Neville admitted shyly, looking at Ron with a hint of nervousness.

He pursed his lips a little, giving the other teen a tiny glare before a grin broke out on his face. “It’s fine, Neville. I’m just messing with you,” he chuckled, his grin widening at the relieved look on Neville’s face. “It’s Ginny’s decision who she goes with and I’m pretty sure she would hex me if I tried to tell her who to go with.”

“Have you asked anyone, Ron?” Seamus asked curiously.

Ron shrugged half-heartedly, not particularly interested in the conversation any longer. He made a face when all three of his friends glanced at him. “I haven’t.”

“...Well, I’m going with Lavender,” Seamus said after a moment, breaking the slightly awkward silence that followed his proclamation with a wide grin. 

“When’d you do that?” Dean demanded, looking at the other boy with a skeptical expression on his face. “I was with you for most of today.”

“Before breakfast. Which means I win our bet,” Seamus stated with a triumphant grin, which got him an exasperated look from Dean and a card flicked at him. It exploded when it connected with his face and all of them sat in stunned silence for a moment before he, Dean, and Neville cracked up at the look on Seamus’s face. “Oh, you lot can bugger off,” he grumbled.

Dinner came by and Hermione came and sat with him, their previous conversation mostly forgotten– not entirely, if the slight hesitance in her expression was anything to go by.

“We’ll need to get some stuff from Snape’s private storeroom after the next step,” Hermione told him under her breath, her eyes flickering up to watch the man as she spoke.

“Like in second year?” he grinned, raising an eyebrow when she gave him an exasperated look.

“Like in second year,” she echoed, the knot in his chest loosening when her lips twitched in a grin. “We have a long time before that step though– this one will take forever.”

Ron groaned at the implications of the sentence, suppressing the urge to slam his head against the table. Having a leaf in his mouth for an entire month was not something he was looking forward to. “Harry has to suffer with us, we’re not doing this until he’s back,” he said and Hermione gave an amused look.

“Wasn’t this your idea, Ronald?”

“It’s his fault for supporting me,” he smiled cheekily, reaching for a chocolate eclair just as everything on the plates cleared and Dumbledore stood up.

Resentment stirred in his chest the way it recently began doing when he thought of the headmaster and Hermione nudged him gently, the feeling quickly being replaced by dread when he saw the worried look in her eyes. 

Right. Dumbledore only did that when he had announcements and after everything that had happened during the first task, Ron wasn’t all that sure it would be a pleasant one. The grim expression on the man’s face did nothing to reassure him.

The Hall fell silent as Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak and Ron could see the anxious looks on Karkaroff and Madame Maxime’s faces, so it likely had something to do with the tournament.

He hoped they were planning on stopping it because it was fairly evident at this point that there was something going on, even the densest of wizards would notice that. 

“In the light of recent events,” Dumbledore began, his usual jovial attitude nonexistent. “Whether or not the tournament would continue as planned had been discussed by the school boards of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang for the past few days, along with Minister Fudge and I.”

Ron glanced at Hermione, anxiety creeping up his spine the longer the man went on talking. Her eyebrows were knitted together in a worried frown, her gaze trained on Dumbledore. It didn’t seem she liked where this was going any more than he did.

“After plenty of discussions and due to the fact that we are unable to break the binding contract between the Champions and Goblet, the tournament will continue as planned.”

Stunned silence washed over the Hall and even the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang seemed shocked. More than a few of them had been discussing going back to their regular schooling, according to Hermione– he didn’t know any French.

Whispers broke out after a second and Ron knew that someone was talking to him but it all sounded like background noise to him as numbness trickled over him, the words ringing in his head over and over again.

‘The tournament will continue as planned.’

His hands felt slick with blood all over again and his stomach turned, bile rising in his throat.

‘There’s no heartbeat.’ 

‘Little chance of survival.’

‘The tournament will continue as planned.’

He stood abruptly, his chest tightening as his mind spiraled through the events of the first task all over again, making his way out of the Great Hall with his clothes fisted in his hands.

‘The tournament will continue as planned.’

Cool autumn air pulled him back into the present, biting and painful against his skin and threadbare clothing but he didn’t want to go back inside to the suffocating reminder that his friend was still entered in the same tournament that nearly killed him two weeks ago. 

Did he really expect anything different from Dumbledore?

Not really, no.

He sort of understood why Percy and Bill didn’t like him.

“Ron?”

Hermione.

She held out one of his sweaters– his bright orange Chudley Cannons one– and settled down in the grass beside him, taking in the familiar view of the lake without a single word.

“They’re going to kill him,” he muttered into the silence, rage festering in his chest as the shock of the situation wore off.

“He’ll be okay,” Hermione insisted but he could see that she didn’t believe it– empty words of consolation.

Harry could pull through a lot of situations, the last few years of his life had been a testament to that. But he was still fourteen, still learning the same magic as Ron and Hermione, still completely normal despite his fame and magical power.

Still human .

He could die just like anyone else and the first task had shown that. 

And the thought terrified Ron.

Cold sweat dripped down his neck as the sound of his shoes slapping against the cool concrete rang quietly through the air, mist forming in front of his mouth as he breathed in and out. His heart beat frantically in his chest as he sprinted, the frigid wind biting into his skin and settling in his bones.

The sun rose and the sky began to change colors, shades of blues and purples painting the sky as he darted through the streets on a familiar route. It was beautiful. No matter how many times he saw it, it always mesmerized him.

The morning runs were something he had started up recently to build his muscle back up and Sirius had joined him on the first few, worried that he might collapse on the way. He’d let up after Harry had shown that he was perfectly fine on his own. Ted had recommended exercise and going out for fresh as well, for whatever reason.

Either way, Harry appreciated the peaceful hour of running and exploring the streets around Sirius and Lupin’s new apartment– the same apartment that he was going to live in from now on.

No more Dursleys. Living with Sirius. It felt surreal if he was being honest. 

Everything that happened after he left the Dursleys in the future had overwhelmed any of the joy he might’ve felt at finally escaping his childhood home but now he was not only never going to see them again but he was living with Sirius.

Who was still alive. Who was free and on his way to being happy and healthy-ish.

That part still overwhelmed him when he saw Sirius sitting at the kitchen island every morning, nursing a cup of coffee and giving Harry a tired smile in greeting.

There was a flush in his skin that made him look more alive and animated than Harry had ever seen and he made sure Harry was happy and comfortable in a way that made his chest ache because he had wanted this all so badly the first time around, to leave the Dursleys and live with someone he could call his real family. No one shouted at him for doing anything wrong, no one called him names, no one made him do chores, no one made him feel as if he was constantly being stifled, no one obsessed with being normal, and the little things no one cared about. 

It reminded him of his first time at the Weasleys, where he had been so confused as to why no one seemed to expect him to help with the chores or why they all seemed to like him and gave him the time of day. 

Sirius had seemed baffled by his actions at first before Sirius got this understanding look in his eyes, anger buried underneath the tenderness of his gaze as he explained to Harry that he expected nothing from him, that all he wanted was for Harry to have a chance to be a kid and be happy.

It made him resent his aunt and uncle a little more for what they had done, all the years spent suffering by their hands, all the years spent without someone to turn to for help. But there was an undercurrent of guilt and longing underneath it all because Harry wasn’t quite sure he could be the kid Sirius wanted him to be anymore.

He was practically orchestrating his own death with each passing day.

Harry savored it, all the same, the closeness, the casual touch, the unspoken 'I love you'  that he could never vocalize because it made his throat close up.

Lupin was a little bit of a different story. The man tiptoed around Harry a little bit, awkward and uncertain in a way Harry wasn’t used to but understood to an extent. After all, the few things that had drawn them closer the first time around hadn't even happened and Lupin had made it abundantly clear he was only comfortable with their relationship being that of a student and a teacher regardless of his history with Hary's parents.

Sirius's death had brought them a little closer but his godfather was still alive- and would remain so- and it was clear Lupin didn't know how to treat him without the line of professionalism that had always prevented them from growing closer. Especially now that they lived in the same apartment.

But the man tried and Harry found that he liked talking to Lupin about his passions, he liked the little moments at night when he could sit next to the man on the couch, staring into the crackling flame in comfortable silence. He liked it when Lupin spoke about whatever topic had grasped his interest, soothing and calm in a way that Sirius rarely ever was.

The discomfort lingering in the air between them lessened with every day that passed and Harry felt like he was less of a stranger than he had ever been the first time around. It made the memory of Lupin’s death hurt a little more.

For all that he liked it, however, there was still the part of Harry that was terrified of what changes this would bring, if it would change the timeline for the better or the worse, if he was jeopardizing people’s lives by allowing so many things to change like this.

He already had blood on his hands from the World Cup incident. He didn’t want to risk anymore.

“Watch where you’re going, kid!”

Harry blinked back to reality, ducking under an advertising sign quickly before he almost ran into it. He glanced over his shoulder, his lips quirking into a small smile when he recognized the person who had warned him and raised a hand to greet him.

The man lived in the same building as Harry and they bumped into each other on their morning runs more times than not, starting random unofficial races that Harry usually won. 

He was in his early twenties or late teens with dark skin and close-cropped hair, along with a sleeve of tattoos on his left arm that Harry thought looked pretty cool.

They didn’t really speak much beyond greetings or the jokes the man sometimes cracked in hopes of distracting Harry during one of their races so he was pleasantly surprised when the man slowed to a stop next to him when he ended his run in Heaton Park, collapsing on the bench Harry usually occupied and wiping his forehead.

“You run track or something? You have crazy endurance,” the man, American if his accent was anything to go by, asked with an easy grin after catching his breath. “I’m Marquis, by the way. Marquis Jacquart.”

“Not really,” Harry smiled. “I’m Harry. Nice to meet you, Mr. Jacquart.”

“None of that ‘Mister’ stuff. I’m only twenty,” the man– Marquis huffed out.

“Only?” Harry joked and Marquis’s eyebrows rose in amusement.

“You calling me old?”

“I mean, I have been running circles around you for a while,” he grinned and his chest felt light because this felt so… normal in comparison to how his life usually was. 

Meeting people, befriending them without feeling stares burning into his skin, without their eyes asking a million questions without saying a single word, without expectations hanging over his head.

He missed being just another person and in the Muggle world, he was just that.

Just another nameless kid on the street.

He spoke with Marquis for a little while longer, exchanging easy banter with the amiable man before heading back to the apartment with a lingering lightness in his chest. 

He could feel his magic slowly building up as the days went by– faster than he anticipated if he was being honest. His holly wand had already begun sparking when he held it but his ash wand didn't react beyond warming up his palm.

“–nearly died, Dumbledore! I don’t care what that pin-headed Minister said, Harry was entered against his will and nearly died because of it!”

Harry paused at the doorway, his eyebrows knitting into a small frown when he heard Sirius shouting at someone– Dumbledore, from the looks of it.

“There’s nothing else I can do, Sirius. The boards of all three schools have decided to continue with the tournament–”

“And you don’t think that’s suspicious? Harry nearly dies and no one seems to care? I bet if it was that Krum kid, they’d be rioting. I’m not an idiot, Dumbledore. You and I both know there’s something else going on here and you know something about it,” Sirius interrupted, anger bleeding into his voice.

“Are you sure Harry didn’t enter himself?”

Harry’s stomach dropped, his previous good mood dying as stunned silence fell over the room.

“What?” Lupin spoke for the first time, his voice tinged with incredulity. “Dumbledore, that’s ridiculous–”

“He’s powerful enough to take down a dragon, Remus, is it too much to believe that he would be capable of such a feat? And he’s learning Occlumency–” Dumbledore began and Harry’s heart skipped a beat

“How do you know that?” Lupin asked quietly. 

"He informed me in passing," Dumbledore replied smoothly.

Liar.

“Harry didn’t enter himself in that tournament. Even if he was capable of doing it, he wouldn’t because he’s not that type of person. I figured you’d know that by now, Headmaster, but apparently not,” his godfather scoffed and Harry could practically see the sneer on his face. “If you have nothing to add besides baseless accusations, I’d like you to leave.”

The silence was tense enough that Harry could feel it all the way from here before Dumbledore sighed, his robes swishing audibly before he left in a familiar flare of green flames in the fireplace.

Harry remained frozen in place, disappointment, gratitude, and betrayal waring in his chest. 

He was grateful that the tournament was going to continue as planned because at least he would still have a timeline to work with in regards to the events but his chest ached because out of all the conclusions Dumbledore could have come to, he really believed that Harry would do something like that? For what, attention? 

How much of the trust he had in Harry was caused by his ability to look through his head without it being noticed? Did he really think that Harry would stoop that low? Has he ever honestly trusted Harry?

The thought that he didn’t stung more than Harry thought it should.

“I’m back,” Harry called a few moments later, slipping his shoes off and heading to the kitchen.

“Hey, kiddo,” Sirius greeted with an exhausted smile that quickly faded as he studied Harry. “You heard that, didn’t you?”

“Most of it, yeah,” Harry murmured, forcing the bitterness out of his voice. “So, the tournament’s still continuing?”

“Yes,” Lupin sighed. “Sirius tried–”

“It’s okay, I heard,” the teen said, giving the man a wry smile. “Not like it’s the first time, anyways.”

Lupin’s mouth thinned into a tight, clearly wanting to say more but obviously noting the fact that it wasn’t a subject Harry wanted to talk about much longer. Could werewolves sense emotions?

‘I’m just sensitive to emotions.’

Harry blinked, his eyebrows knitting into a frown before he shook the unbidden thought out of his head.

There was no way Rigel was a werewolf, especially after the fiasco that had occurred at the end of last. There was no way Dumbledore would risk it.

Would he?

He banished the thought, vowing to think about it later– the full moon would be up on Christmas Eve, after all. He could scrap the theory from his mind then.

“Anyone feel like making cookies?” Sirius asked suddenly and Harry blinked, cracking a smile a moment later. Sirius’s random whims had become one of the many highlights of his stay for the past week and it was fun, doing something so normal for once. 

“As long as we don’t burn the kitchen down again,” Lupin teased lightly and Harry’s grin widened.

“It was one time, Moony,” Sirius groaned. “I was drunk and sixteen– I’d never made anything before!”

“Just admit it, Pads. You and Prongs couldn't bake or cook anything for the life of you,” Lupin chuckled.

"At least I wasn't a klutz. Do you remember how many times I saved you from the stairs at Hogwarts? Even Peter wasn't that..." Sirius trailed off a bit, their reminiscing overshadowed by the sudden tension that came with the mention of Pettigrew.

“Dad was bad at cooking?” Harry asked, swiftly changing the subject.

Sirius relaxed and chuckled. “Dreadful,” he said, his tone colored with nostalgia rather than the tinge of hurt Harry had grown used to hearing in the man’s voice whenever he spoke about his dad.

“Him and Sirius were a disaster in the kitchen,” Lupin offered quietly up with a small smile. “Almost burned down the kitchens making cheese sandwiches at Potter Manor once. Mrs. Potter banned them from ever entering it without her supervision.”

Harry laughed at the image of his father and Sirius burning down a kitchen by making a sandwich. How did one even do that? “Well, at least we have someone supervising Sirius every day,” he teased.

“Watch it, Harry!” Sirius warned jokingly as he rummaged through the pantry.

Harry’s smile softened, warmth curling in his chest and filling the strange hollowness that had become his constant since the first task. 

It wouldn’t last forever, no matter how much Harry wanted it, but he would savor it while it was there. Just for now.

If I close my eyes and think of you
I can smell your scent
From a mere two days ago
The flutter in my heart follows

If I close my eyes and think of my father
I can smell the joints
That I identified aged 10
I try not to *****

If I close my eyes and think of my best friend
I can smell her perfume and washing powder
It makes me smile
And want a hug

If I close my eyes and think of my father
I can smell the stale beer
A middle of the night smell
It meant 'don't leave your room'

If I close my eyes and think of my mum
I smell safety and comfort
Strength and gravity
The balance keeps me strong

If I close my eyes and think of my father
I can smell the stale sweat
The cruel words of abuse
The hatred inside myself

If I close my eyes and think of my sister
I smell vanilla and style
Fashion and creativity
Sullen kindness

If I close my eyes and think of my father
I can smell the cold of the room
With its broken window in the arctic temperatures
The fire unlit because the marijuana needed somewhere to grow

If I close my eyes and think of school
I smell the comforting sawdust
The corridors familiar
The classrooms like home

If I close my eyes and think of my father
Not having friends round to tea- because.
16 not 6-  you can't buy my trust
16 not 46- don't want prayer flags for my birthday

If I close my eyes and think of home
I smell the damp washing hanging up
Every squeaky floorboard
Every drip, clank, comforting noise

If I close my eyes and think of my father
I smell the power he loved to have
How I haven't seen him in three years
The fear that still remains

If I close my eyes and think of myself
I smell nothing
Hear and see nothing
At that is what scares me the most.

- Charlie Hazels

Chapter Text

Hermione stared at the blue dress laid out on her bed, her chin resting against her knees as her thoughts trailed back to the events of the last few weeks, her eyebrows knitting into a small frown.

The thought of Harry entering the contest had been stressing her and Ron out– to the point that the latter had all but forgotten about the upcoming Yule Ball and didn’t ask anyone. They’d spent a lot of time in the library, going over all the tasks that had happened in previous tournaments to try and narrow down the list of possibilities. 

They even cracked open the golden egg Harry had gotten from the first task– well, a copy of it, at least. The original had been destroyed during all the chaos. But they had immediately decided against doing it again when they heard that deafening screeching.

Harry would be coming back in four days' time, the first piece of good news she’s had in a while, if she was being honest. They’d talked by Floo call a few times during his recovery and he seemed happier, lighter.

Despite her initial misgivings about Sirius, the man was undoubtedly good for Harry and she really liked him. 

Harry had also mentioned that he apparently met one of his mum’s friends, Mary Macdonald, who worked as a Canadian Aurologist– which meant she studied Auras– as well as a part-time Librarian at the North American Library of Magic or NALM, for short. He didn’t talk much about her beyond that so Hermione assumed he hadn’t spent a lot of time with her.

Ron had spoken about their progress with the Animagus potion and how they would be starting the tedious and uncomfortable process of sticking Mandrake leaves to the top of their mouths. None of them were particularly looking forward to it but the stories in the guide the Marauders made sure their experience wouldn’t be too terrible, since they wouldn’t be making those same mistakes again.

Harry had brought up the Yule Ball and asked if either of them had a date– which they didn’t but Hermione’s mind had drifted back to Viktor Krum, who had asked her during one of the few times she was alone in the library. Harry had given her an oddly curious look, like he didn’t exactly believe her.

But it was true. She didn’t have a date yet

She hadn’t agreed to go with Viktor, nor had she rejected him. She asked him to give her some time to think but now she had to give him an answer because the ball was fast-approaching and he needed a date. She wanted to go, she wanted to have fun but…

She felt like she was waiting for something, which was a maddening feeling when she didn’t know what exactly she was waiting for.

She liked Viktor once she had talked to him, despite her irritation at the fangirls that constantly followed him everywhere. He was nice, respectful, and snarky in a funny way. He was also somewhat friends with Harry, which meant she didn’t have to worry about either of her friends disliking him or that she might be a poor judge of his character.

He didn’t even get upset when she said she wasn’t sure, he left her to think on it and only asked her to give him an answer once the date of the ball was getting closer.

Which left her wondering why exactly she was hesitating to answer him.

The image of vivid red hair and freckles flickered through her mind and her frown morphed into a scowl, glaring at her dress as if it had offended her.

“I like your hair.”

Her face warmed and she tucked her face in her knees, groaning softly.

“Hermione?”

Her head snapped to the door where Ginny was standing, with a curious look on her face. “Oh, hi. What’re you doing here?”

“Searching for you, Ron and a few of the others are moping about the ball, it gets boring,” the redhead shrugged before her attention drifted to the dress on Hermione’s bed. “This is the dress you were talking about? It’s so pretty, ‘Mione! You’re going to look great!”

“Thanks, my mum bought it as a birthday present, this is going to be the first time I’m wearing it,” she said, a small smile growing on her face.

“So you have a date?” Ginny asked excitedly, sitting at the edge of her bed.

Hermione made a face. “Someone asked me… I’m just thinking about it.”

Ginny leaned in eagerly, curiosity burning in her eyes. “Who?”

“... Viktor Krum.”

Ginny cackled victoriously and Hermione stared at her in baffled confusion. “I knew it! I totally called it! You always said he was in the library whenever you were but I only ever saw him in there when you were there! He totally has a crush on you!” she cheered before giving Hermione an expectant look. “So? What’s he like? You’re going to the ball with the Victor Krum!”

“I didn’t say yes,” Hermione mumbled and Ginny stared at her incredulously.

“Why the hell not?!” she despaired.

“He gave me time to think about it,” Hermione protested, her cheeks growing hot the longer Ginny went on. She was far more brazen about things like this despite how awkward she was around Harry and it never failed to embarrass Hermione when the other girl went on about Cedric Diggory in the privacy of their tent during the World Cup.

He was attractive but Hermione wasn’t used to vocalizing things like that, since both of her best friends were boys and she had only become friends with Ginny last year.

“You better say yes,” Ginny demanded.

“Why?”

“'Cause he’s effing hot! I mean, have you seen him?!” she shot back. “And he gave you time to think, which means he likes you. Like really likes you. Other guys wouldn’t wait!”

“But…” Hermione trailed off, her gaze flickering away from Ginny’s curious one. “I like him well enough, I just… I don’t know.”

“You want someone else to ask you,” Ginny said after a moment, her outrage fading as she stared at Hermione. “Who?”

There was another flash of red hair, so similar to Ginny's, and Hermione buried her face in her knees, shrugging her shoulders half-heartedly as the other girl’s inquisitive gaze burned into her skin, her face slowly going hot the longer the silence stretched. 

She didn’t want to talk about this anymore.

“It’s… Ron, isn’t it?”

Hermione tensed, her head snapping up to look at Ginny. “No! No, that’s not– No. He’s my friend. I don’t like him!” she denied vehemently.

There was a weird knowing look in Ginny’s eyes that made her uncomfortable as the girl stared at her, eyebrows raised skeptically.

“I don’t,” Hermione repeated firmly.

“Then what’s stopping you? You like Krum, don’t you?”

“... Yeah.”

“Whatever it is that’s bothering you, don’t let it stop you from having a good night. Everyone needs a break after the last few weeks, it’ll be fun to ‘let down our hair’, as McGonagall says” Ginny grinned, giving her a friendly nudge as the tension Hermione felt bled away.

“ Professor McGonagall,” Hermione corrected instinctually, a small smile growing on her face. “Yeah, it’ll be fun. How’s Neville?”

“He’s sweet but at least he knows how to dance when he’s not nervous. Ron and the other boys have been stumbling over each other’s toes for the whole week,” Ginny laughed.

Maybe she didn’t know what she wanted right now but the thought of going to the ball, loosening up, and being able to relax with a boy that wasn’t one of her best friends, a boy that liked her for all her frizzy hair and buck teeth, was an appealing one because she wanted to have fun, she wanted to not have to worry for just one night.

“I like your hair.”

One night where she could just be another girl dancing with a good-looking guy, where she wasn’t the Boy-Who-Lived’s best friend– even if she wouldn’t give that up for anything else in the world.

“I’m going with Viktor,” she told Ginny and the redhead beamed, her support lightening the load on her shoulders.

Hermione found Viktor the next day and he grinned when she agreed to go with him, butterflies fluttering in her stomach at the uncharacteristic show of emotion, boyish charm peeking through his normally surly attitude, and for once, she was looking forward to the upcoming ball.

She felt lighter as she walked to the Room of Requirement, a small smile playing at her lips.

Harry would be coming back soon, they were making decent progress in their Animagus journey, and she had found a brilliant date to the Ball.

It took her a moment to notice the uncertainty rolling off Ron in waves, her eyebrows knitting into a small frown as she looked at him, his ears glowing a soft pink.

“Hey, ‘Mione,” he began hesitantly. “I was… I was wondering if you’d like to go to the Ball with me? I mean, we can go as friends but I thought since we both don’t have a date yet, it’ll be more fun to go with a friend than– Hermione?” He cut himself off, watching her with an unsure look in his eyes.

Her eyes burned all of a sudden, her previous good mood fading as she stared at him, her chest constricting with unbidden anger and something horrible and ugly that made it hard to breathe.

Why was he asking her this now? Why did he have to ruin this one thing that was making her happy? He’d had weeks to ask, why was he–

“I have a date already,” Hermione said, her voice cutting and hard.

Something flickered through Ron’s face– hurt and anger. 

Rage bubbled in her chest because what right did he have, getting angry at her when she had given him a window of chance, had given him weeks before Krum had asked, had given him so many bloody chances?

His face fell after a moment, his gaze flickering away before he gave her a bitter half-smile that had her anger shifting to a swirling mix of guilt and concern.

“Oh, well, it’s okay. I guess I’ll have to find someone else,” he shrugged and Hermione stared at him with a frown because that– that reaction wasn’t like Ron. 

She didn’t know what she had been expecting but that bitterness wasn’t like him. She expected the anger but that reaction, his calm unaffected words? 

It felt… wrong.

He turned in his bed for what seemed to be the millionth time, turning his pillow onto the cooler side– which was still terribly warm. The discomfort had him pressing his irritated ears and forehead against the fabric anyways. It was better than nothing.

His muscles seized up as another flash of pain ran through his body, biting his lip to stop the involuntary groan of pain as he curled up to alleviate some of the pain, grasping his overheated biceps with his slightly cooler hand for a moment before letting out an irritated sigh and finally getting out of bed.

Harry stumbled a bit, reaching for his ash wand– the one he could use magic without worrying about the Ministry being notified– and tucking it in his wrist holster as he made his way over to the bathroom. 

He looked as terrible as he expected, his scar puffed up and inflamed as if it were new, instead of over a decade old. His ears were just as bad and sweat covered him from head to toe, his previously abandoned shirt and the fabric of his pants that were sticking to his skin being a testament to how high of a fever he was running.

It wasn’t because of what happened in the first task, he was sure of that. Ted, Andromeda, and Healer Reynolds had all cleared him to go back to school the day of tomorrow. 

Judging by the fact that it was irritating his ears, where his earrings served as Occlumency shields, and his scar, it was safe to say that it had something to do with the Horcrux resting within his scar.

Whatever vision it was trying to show him made Harry curious, as much as he didn’t want to be. It had saved Mr. Weasley’s life before but it had also resulted in Voldemort possessing him– something Harry never wanted to experience again.

The feeling was like the painful prickling sensation he had lived throughout his entire fifth year, in that moment of intense pain before he collapsed during his History of Magic OWL, but amplified so it affected the rest of his body along with his scar.

He was tempted to take his earrings off to alleviate some of the discomfort in his ears but that would mean his mind would be left bare and defenseless, which wasn’t something he was willing to risk, not when there was a chance of Voldemort realizing their connection and using to look through Harry’s mind and see all those things– the future where he had failed, where Harry had triumphed over him for his arrogance and pure luck.

Because if Voldemort did then Harry’s chances of ever saving the Wizarding World would fall down to zero and the possibility of that– the possibility of failing, of losing everything to him, haunted Harry’s nightmares.

“Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy… ”

He closed his eyes, his hands tightening around the marble basin as he forced his thoughts away from that terrible memory.

Harry turned away from the mirror, crouching in front of the bath and turning the knob to the coldest setting, his mind wandering as he waited for it to fill with water. 

The Ball would be occurring just two days after he came back to school and then the plan Harry and Bill made would be set in motion. Everyone would be distracted by the Ball and too tired to notice that he was gone once it was over so they had decided that it would probably be the best time for them to leave the castle and destroy the Horcrux.

He couldn't do that while he was here because Sirius and Remus would both notice his disappearance and it was more than likely that Harry wouldn’t come back completely unscathed, no matter what Bill said about being able to get through the wards safely. If he did it at Hogwarts, he could go unnoticed, even if he didn’t show up the next day if he got injured. Hermione and Ron would be the only ones to notice and both of them would know that it had something to do with what he wasn’t telling them, even if they didn’t like it and he hated keeping secrets from them.

His arm was half submerged in the cold water and he flinched a little at the sudden change in temperature before slowly relaxing as he felt his body cool down just a tad.

He shucked his clothes off once the bath had filled up, carefully lowering himself into the water, hissing a little at the sudden. He shivered a bit but endured it, sinking further into the water after a few minutes had passed so he was fully submerged from head to toe.

Panic sparked in his chest as soon as his head was underwater, his throat tightening in an oh-so-familiar manner.

Harry kicked out wildly, trying to push himself back to the surface, but merely propelled himself into the rocky side of the pool. Thrashing, suffocating, he scrabbled at the strangling chain, his frozen fingers unable to loosen it, and now little lights were popping inside his head, and he was going to drown, there was nothing left, nothing he could do, and the arms that closed around his chest were surely Death's...

He emerged as quickly as he had gone under, his heart beating frantically in his chest as he gasped for air, his hands shaking with a mixture of cold and delayed panic. Blood roared in his ears and he climbed out of the bath quickly, his skin crawling at the uncomfortably familiar cold of the water, even though it was not as freezing as he remembered the pool being.

He grabbed his wand, casting a temperature charm on himself and sighing when he noticed that it was still slightly above average. At least he wasn’t as scorchingly hot anymore.

Harry drained the bath and dried himself off, getting dressed in another pair of thin pajamas before heading to the kitchen. He blinked in momentary surprise when he saw a familiar woman settled in the chair Lupin usually occupied, her eyes flickering up to meet his as soon as he set foot in the room. He hadn’t realized she was here.

Mary gave him a small smile, one strained with the miasma of sadness that hung over her. “Hullo,” she greeted softly and Harry nodded back, his voice dying in his throat when he attempted to respond. “Cocoa?” She gestured to the mug in her hands with her chin before raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Sure,” he croaked despite not wanting anything warm while he was still sporting a mild fever.

“Tylenol?” she added with a knowing look as she got to her feet, pointing to the bottle of familiar pills on the counter when she noticed the confused look on his face. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia always had one of those when they were nursing a hangover or a migraine– Aunt Petunia never drank enough to have hangovers.

Seeing as he still had a splitting headache, he agreed and Mary placed a steaming mug of cocoa and the bottle of pills in front of him, instructing him to only take two tablets and nothing more.

Neither of them spoke for some time, sitting in a surprisingly comfortable silence considering that Harry barely knew her. 

He closed his eyes as he leaned back, the headache dying down a little as the pills worked their wonders and his body no longer felt as hot as before. His eyelids dragged with fatigue as he sipped his cocoa, curled up in his chair across the table from Mary.

“Feeling any better? She asked gently, breaking the silence and giving him a tired smile when he looked up at her. “Sirius would have my hide if I left a sick kid to his own devices, especially when it’s his kid.”

“I think he’d prefer you having his hide,” Harry snorted before clamping his mouth shut, instantly regretting what he said when Mary stared at him with a stunned look on her face before relaxing a little when she laughed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that,” he muttered, heat crawling up his neck.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mary chuckled. “I just wasn’t expecting it. We haven’t got much of a chance to talk before.” There was a flash of guilt and pain in her eyes before it faded.

“No time like the present,” he shrugged, giving her a faint smile. “I never got to ask but what do you do as an Aurologist? Hermione said it had something to do with Auras but I’ve no idea what that is, besides the Muggle definition.”

“An Aura has a bit of a broad definition in magic,” Mary began with a gleam in her eyes that reminded Harry of Hermione or Lupin when they spoke about something that they were passionate about. “Different types of magic have different auras or a presence of sorts. If I were to cast a Dark spell, for example, an aura would linger in the air. Dark spells tend to have the most obvious Aura’s even to people who don’t have any type of Mage sense. Auras create an atmosphere or presence in the air, which is what an Aurologist would study to determine the type of magic used to create that aura.”

“What’s a Mage sense?” Harry asked, interest spiking as he listened to the woman speak. 

“Mage senses are an ability wizards can be born with or develop over time. It allows a person to feel, see, or smell the magic in the air. Sirius and I can feel it and Remus has the ability to smell it because of his werewolf,” Mary explained.

Bill had talked about something like that, being able to see the rippling magic in the wards that he broke down or created as a curse breaker. 

“Magicals have different Auras but it’s usually hard to differentiate between them because most wizards, especially the pureblooded ones, all share blood and similarities within their magical cores and Auras.” Mary glanced at him with an odd look on her face that set him on edge. “Yours… your Aura is… interesting. It’s not very obvious unless you’ve experienced it as much as I have but there’s always this lingering feeling of the Killing Curse in yours.” She shook her head after a moment with a contrite expression on her face. “Sorry, you probably didn’t want to hear that.”

“It’s okay,” Harry mumbled, a little unnerved by that revelation. He could understand why, considering he’d been hit with the Killing Curse three times and survived all three, although the last one found him four years in the past, not that he was complaining. “What’s it like being a librarian in a magical library? You’re a Muggleborn, right?”

“Yes, me and your mum. I’ve wanted to be a magical librarian since I set foot in the Hogwarts Restricted Section and a book nearly burst my eardrums,” Mary smiled, accepting the subject change without complaint.

“The same thing happened to me in first year!” Harry laughed, fondly remembering his first outing with his Invisibility Cloak. “Wait, that made you want to be a librarian? I never wanted to go near it ever again!”

“Lily said the same thing,” Mary grinned, nostalgia coloring her voice. “But it was the most magical part to me, besides the whole wand thing. All the studies that actually went into taking care of a magical library were interesting and complex– it’s not quite as easy as people like to believe. I apprenticed under Madam Pince for a year after I graduated before I moved to Canada.”

“Madam Pince?” Harry repeated dubiously, raising an eyebrow.

“I know, it doesn’t seem like her but she liked me. She was really funny once you got to know her, although I can’t really say the same now, I haven’t seen her in over a decade.”

“This is your first time back in Britain?” Harry asked carefully, knowing it was a sensitive topic. It was obvious the woman had left the country so quickly after the war because she wanted to forget the pain it had caused her– he knew the feeling of wanting to run away just as vividly.

“I’ve come here a few times to visit Remus but I never spoke to anyone else. Everything here is.. a painful reminder,” she replied softly before adorning a small smile as she stood from her seat and placed both of their empty mugs in the sink. “Why don’t we both go to sleep? It’s been a long night.”

Harry stared at her back, noting the tense line in her shoulders and the obvious dismissal for a moment before he got to his feet, grabbing the table a little to steady himself when a wave of dizziness hit him. “Good night,” he said quietly before making his way back up to his room and collapsing on his bed, which was mercifully cool against his skin.

His scar ached a little but it felt far more manageable than it had before, especially now that the irritation in his ears had died down.

He closed his eyes and drifted off, his mind idly shifting from subject to subject. He wondered if Ron had gotten the nerve to ask Hermione to the Ball without making himself out to be an arse before sleep overtook him.

His body felt smooth, powerful, and flexible. He was gliding toward shining metal bars, across dark, cold stone… He was flat against the floor, sliding along on his belly… It was dark, yet he could see objects around him shimmering in strange, vibrant colors. 

He turned his head… At first glance, the room was empty…. but no…  a man sat in the far corner, his chin drooping onto his chest, his outline gleaming in the dark… 

His tongue flickered out, tasting the man’s fear in the air…. Pathetic creature…

“Him, my Lord?” the man beside him spoke, disgust evident in his voice.

His tongue flickered out again, tasting another’s presence in the room… a man raised his wand… He had no choice… He reared high from the floor and struck once, twice, three times, plunging his fangs deeply into the man’s flesh, feeling his ribs splinter beneath his jaws, feeling the warm gush of blood… The man was yelling in pain . . . then he fell silent… He slumped back against the wall… Blood was splattering onto the floor….

He turned back, gliding to the bars…. Another man, the pathetic one, sat next to the first… he longed to bite him… but he was important….

“T-thank you, thank you,” the pathetic man cried, lowering himself at the feet of the first.

“Get your filthy hands off me, Pettigrew,” the first man sneered, kicking the pathetic one away. “I’m only here because the Dark Lord needs another servant for the rest of his plan to work and you’re the only viable option.

He longed to bite the man…. gliding closer, he relished the fear in the man… he could tear him apart…

His forehead screamed with pain–

Harry’s eyes flew open, his hands flying to his scar as a flash of blinding pain rang through his body, his chest heaving with panicked gasps of air.

No, that wasn’t supposed to happen anymore, he wasn’t supposed to get visions from Voldemort or Nagini, not anymore.

He tumbled off his bed, trembling visibly as he got to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom to be sick.

Blood sprayed out from where the man’s head had once been and his body toppled forward while his head fell back… Walden Macnair stared at Harry with sightless eyes, his mouth stretched into a sickening grin…

He wasn’t quite sure how long he had spent kneeling in front of the toilet, vomiting the meager contents of his stomach out, before his stomach stopped rebelling against him and he leaned back against the wall, skin crawling at what he had just seen.

Pettigrew was free.

Pettigrew, who betrayed his parents, who ruined his life, who left Sirius to rot in Azkaban, who brought Voldemort back to life, who had restrained and forced Harry to bring back his parent’s killer, who had caused Harry years of suffering. 

He was free just months after being in Azkaban while Sirius had suffered for twelve years for a crime he didn’t commit.

Anger bubbled in Harry’s chest, molten and overwhelming with nowhere to go because he couldn’t go after him, Voldemort, the bloody snake that had bitten Mr. Weasley and haunted Harry’s dreams, or Crouch Jr. for everything that he had done.

He wanted to tell Sirius, Dumbledore, or his friends because that’s what he had always done the first time around but he couldn’t, not when Dumbledore was already beginning to trust him less, not when Sirius was sure to go after Pettigrew again and risk Harry losing his godfather all over again, not when he was already worrying Ron and Hermione with everything else that he was doing.

He couldn’t tell them what happened at the World Cup, about the nightmares that haunted him day and night, about the blood on his hands, slick and dripping, about the terrible things he planned to do to protect them, about the… monster he was slowly feeling himself become with each passing day, with each plan written down with blood he needed to spill, with every passing moment spent remembering that his time was running out and sooner or later he would be forced to stand still and let himself die for the sake of others.

“The Boy Who Lived… has come to die.”

Just a little longer.

He stared at the mangled scars on his left leg as they throbbed with the phantom sensation of hands clawing at the skin, cold air biting into his skin and settling in his aching bones as he stared at the view from atop the highest tower– the Astronomy Tower.

The irony of that wasn’t entirely lost to him.

The Black Lake glittered beneath him and he almost wanted to slip off the edge, to feel the simultaneously lurching and peaceful sensation of falling through the air. He didn’t, merely pushed himself back from the edge a little bit and closed his eyes, basking in the momentarily freeing sensation before gray eyes flickered down to the paper in his hands and the tiny dot with a familiar name scratched out in familiar penmanship wandered around the castle beneath him.

“Things have changed since the last time we saw each other, haven’t they, Barty?” 

He sat there for a moment longer, gaze lingering on the name as a familiar ache spread through his chest before he slipped off the battlement he was sitting on, landing on solid ground with four paws and slipping into the shadows.

Most days I smile,

most days I  rule the world.

most days I let people see me shine

most days I conquer sadness

most days I am a dreamer.

most days I let my mind set sail on my wildest requests.

But not today;

see today I am in a bed of tears,

drowning helplessly in my sorrows.

Today I let the world see my dull eyes and worn-down smile.

No see, today I lost to my sadness and it conquered me,

defeated me, today I feel like my heart is six feet under.

Today I dream of better days,

I dream the dark clouds could vanish with a wave of a hand.

Today I dream I didn't hate myself so much.

Today, my mind has gone on a quest to find happiness, true happiness.

Though today it's hard, it's hard to collect my thoughts when they've only been scattered like breadcrumbs.

Today love feels undeserving.

Maybe my tomorrow will be promising,

or maybe not.

Maybe I'll continue drowning,

losing myself and others around me.

- Chanel Dior

Chapter Text

The atmosphere of the castle had lightened considerably after everyone had been informed that Harry was back in good health and would be due to come back after a few weeks of recovery but the tournament remained a topic most of them avoided talking about much lest they be reminded of that bloody scene.

The Yule Ball, on the other hand, seemed to be all anyone could talk about. Some people would come back from the monthly Hogsmeade trip chattering happily about their new dates and the new clothing they had purchased for the night.

Cedric was excited as well, because, well, this was a once-in-a-lifetime sort of event and the perfect opportunity to ask Cho out. It was probably the only thing about the blasted tournament that he was honestly excited about right now.

Of course, there was also the awkwardness of other people asking him out, which his friends got a kick out of, especially when one of the third years managed to get the nerve to ask him. Cedric definitely didn’t enjoy that part and made a point to take a detour every time someone looked like they were about to ask him.

Finding Cho on her own was increasingly hard as well since all the girls seemed to travel in groups and were… sort of intimidating. Sure, they had talked a few times and Cho seemed to at least like him a little but he was still really nervous about asking her.

Somehow, it felt more daunting than anything he’s done before, and considering the fact that he’d survived a bloody dragon, that was saying a whole lot.

“Remind me what we’re doing out here again?” Cedric asked, pulling his coat around him more tightly as Gabe absentmindedly created a pile of snowballs as he crouched in the snow, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them to warm them up every few seconds. Andrew and Adrian flanked him on either side, the latter holding a jar of blue fire to keep him warm, an idea he’d apparently stolen from Hermione Granger.

All four of them had been hanging out by the Black lake for half an hour, avoiding the chaos that was going on in the castle after Fred and George pulled their first grand prank of the year– a hair color-changing potion in the food that told them the elves were definitely in on the prank. They wisened up pretty quickly and left the castle, knowing there was more to come, especially with all the free time the pair had now that the holidays had begun. If Cedric paid enough attention, he would occasionally hear a distant shriek or a laugh.

Andrew smirked as his eyes lit up with mischief, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Gabe’s agonizing over his existence and you’re trying to summon the courage to speak to your crush.”

“Hey,” Gabe protested, an offended look crossing his face. “You’re not the one that saw you snogging their old playmate in an abandoned hall.”

“Wait, what?” Adrian chuckled, raising an eyebrow in bemusement.

“Oh, we never told you,” Cedric snorted, mirth bubbling in his chest. “Andrew has a thing going on with Heather Tintwistle. Gabe was her friend when they were younger and he was grossed out– or jealous, in my opinion– when we found Andrew kissing her.”

Gabe made a face. “I’m not jealous, you prat! It’s just weird!”

"Whatever you say,” Cedric snickered

“Tintwistle? Reed Walker was going to ask her to the Ball, I should tell him not to bother,” Adrian grinned, wiggling his eyebrows at Andrew. “Unless you’re not going to the Ball with her?”

Andrew narrowed his eyes at him, his cheeks darkening a little more. “Shut up, I’m going with her. Anyways, Cedric, did you take a crack at the clue egg they gave you for the second task?”

Cedric grimaced at the subject change and Andrew looked like he wanted to backtrack as soon as he spoke but Cedric decided to save him the discomfort. The topic had become something of a taboo recently but he’d have to talk about it eventually. “Not really. I opened it but all I got was screaming, I haven’t got any idea where the hint could be.”

“Maybe you’ll be facing a banshee?” Gabe offered.

“I hope not, I like my hearing just fine,” Cedric grumbled. “And wouldn’t that be too easy? A banshee is a lot easier to deal with than a dragon and Lupin taught us how to deal with them last year, didn’t he?”

Gabe shrugged, a thoughtful look crossing his features. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Maybe it’s a different language?” 

“You mean like Mermish? Most languages don’t sound like screaming so that’s the only thing that comes to mind,” Adrian said, shrugging when they all blinked at him. “What? Our dormitory is under the lake, we see merpeople all the time.”

“They scream?” Andrew asked incredulously. “How would you get anything done down there?”

“What? No, they don’t scream when they’re in the water,” Adrian snorted. “That’d be terrible. I mean, when they speak above water, their language sounds like screaming. It sounds pretty bad if I’m being honest.”

“I guess I’ll test that out, it’s the only theory I have right now,” Cedric said with a dismissive note in his voice that he hoped portrayed how much he didn’t want to continue talking about this anymore.

“Did you see the amount of work McGonagall and Flitwick assigned us?” Gabe groaned, lobbing a snowball at a tree lazily. “Honestly, is this even a break anymore?”

“Stop complaining,” Adrian laughed, kicking up snow in Gabe’s face and smirking when he sputtered. “As if you’re not going to do it the night before and bug us to help you.”

“Am not!” Gabe grumbled before he grinned, whipping out a snowball and tossing it at Adrian.

The Slytherin started, dropping his jar of blue flame to defend his face from the sudden attack but it splattered against his face anyways, sticking to his skin and eyelashes in a way that Cedric couldn’t help laughing at. “You're gonna regret that,” Adrian warned, playful anger shining in his eyes.

“Am I?” Gabe smirked, gathering his previously made pile of snowballs and holding one up.

Cedric exchanged a glance with Andrew before the two of them turned tail and ran, abandoning Adrian to deal with what he started.

“You’re all a bunch of treacherous gits– ugh! ” he called after them, running away as he was suddenly pelted with snowballs. 

Gabe targeted them as well, after he got bored of targeting Adrian, and soon enough there were snowballs flying all over the place. Andrew had perched himself on one of the branches of the trees but Cedric aimed a snowball at the branches and all the snow on them had come falling down on his friend, which had resulted in him being buried in a pile of snow on the ground and immediately pelted by both Adrian and Gabe.

Andrew chased him down after that, tackling him into the snow and wrestling him down before immediately shoving a handful of snow under his jacket with a victorious cackle.

Cedric all but shrieked, shaking his jacket out in hopes of getting the snow off but it had already melted and soaked through his sweater. “Aw, c’mon,” he groaned as Andrew laughed at him, taking the chance to shove another handful of snow down his jacket.

“That’s what you get for burying me in the snow, you tosser!” he called as he ran off before Cedric could exact any revenge.

They’re all soaked to the bone by the end of it but Cedric felt a lot happier than he had in a while, lightness lingering in his chest as they trudged back up to the castle to warm up. He knew he looked ridiculous, they all did, with their mussed hair and pink noses and cheeks but he felt an odd surge of confidence when he saw Cho in the hall with one of her friends, Marietta Edgecombe. 

He split off from his friends, jogging after her and ignoring the giggles that followed him as he approached. “Hey, Cho!”

Both her and Marietta looked up, expressions flickering from surprised to amused as the latter of the pair giggled under her hand. “Hi, Cedric. Nice hair,” Cho greeted teasingly.

Heat rushed through his cheeks and he self-consciously ran his hand through his hair. “Um, yeah. I was… I was wondering if you had a date to the Ball?” he asked, a nervous smile spreading across his face as her cheeks pinked a little.

“I don’t,” she admitted, biting her bottom lip like she always did when she was nervous and Cedric’s attention flickered for a moment before his face grew hotter and he forced his gaze back up to her eyes.

“Right. Well, um… would you like to go with me?” he asked, blurting the last bit out quickly and watching her expression carefully. 

“Yes!” she replied as soon as he asked before her blush darkened. “I mean, I’d love to go with you,” she corrected and Cedric grinned, more than a little glad he wasn’t the only one to make a fool of themselves.

“That’s great. I’ll see you, I guess?” he said hesitantly, lifting his foot to show the slowly growing puddle of water under his boots. “Don’t wanna make any more mess for Filch to clean.”

“Okay,” Cho agreed and Cedric turned to make his escape before she called out to him. “My dress is silver. If you want to, you know, match your tie to it.”

“I’ll do that,” Cedric smiled before running off to catch up to his friends, pumping his fist out in celebration. That had gone way better than he’d originally thought.

Now, all he had to do was plan what to get her for Christmas…

‘Wood & Ellis, Attorneys at Law’ the sign read. The building wasn’t particularly large but it was well-kept and had a good reputation from all the past mentions of it in the papers. 

Percy was about fifteen minutes early for his meeting with Atticus Wood, the man who had extended the offer of an internship through his older brother. He’d written Oliver about it, earning an enthusiastic letter from his old dorm mate talking about his brother’s law firm and his experience as Puddlemere United reserve keeper.

“Are you just going to stand there or actually go in?”

He started at the familiar voice, whirling around to look at his old girlfriend– Penelope Clearwater. “Oh. Yes, I am. Do you…” he trailed off uncertainly, glancing at the building and then back at her, hope and anxiety swirling in his chest.

On one hand, it was nice to have a familiar face around but on the other, she was his ex-girlfriend. Who he hasn’t spoken to a single time since they broke up in sixth year.

“I work here, yes. I’m the office manager,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. “I thought you worked at the Ministry. Unless you have legal trouble?”

“What– No!” Percy denied quickly before belatedly noticing the amused look on her face. “Oh. I– no, I was just– I’m meeting Mr. Wood for the internship.”

“The internship?” Penelope repeated with a hint of incredulity. “You want to be a lawyer? Huh. I never thought about it but it kinda suits you. I just figured you’d stick with being a Ministry man like your dad.”

Percy swallowed, ignoring the bitterness welling up in his chest at the familiar comparison. She wasn’t entirely wrong because until recently he’d planned on working his way through the Ministry until he could finally fulfill his dream of becoming Minister but a part of him resented the way people looked at him and only saw his father. “Thank you, I suppose.”

“I’ll see you around, I guess? I wouldn’t want to make you late for your first meeting.”

Percy watched her walk away for a moment before taking a deep breath to quell his rising panic. 

It was fine. Even if this didn’t work, he still had his Ministry job and he could make ends meet until he found something he truly liked, something where he could direct his passion towards as he had toward his dream of becoming Minister.

Taking another deep breath, Percy made his way inside.

The building was larger on the inside than it was on the outside with glass walls and offices with nameplates on them– he could see Penelope’s on one of them. To his right, on the far side of the lobby was the secretary, who looked up when he walked.

“How can I help you?” she said politely, a fixed smile spreading across her face. 

“I have a meeting with Mr. Wood. I’m Percy. Percy Weasley,” he replied, biting back a grimace when he noticed the flicker of distaste in her eyes when she heard his last name.

Her mouth pressed into a thin line as she looked down at her ledger, searching for his name before looking back up. “Of course, Mr. Wood will be in his office, it’s just down that hall, the sixth room to you right.”

“Thank you,” Percy muttered, following her directions quickly. There was a sinking feeling in his chest as he thought back to the distaste on the woman’s face. Someone who’d never even met him.

Just the sound of his last name was enough for her to dislike him.

He’d barely been here for a minute. 

Would it always be like that unless he did the same thing Bill and Charlie had? But he’d never wanted to move away, he wanted to prove that he was different, that he would be confined by the prejudice people had for his last name. He wanted to make a name for himself outside of being Arthur Weasley’s son, he wanted to be something. Some one.

And if that meant having to fight his way up there? Well, he’d lived his entire life as a Weasley and had six siblings who had given him more than enough practice in that.

Straightening his back, Percy made his way up to the large door with ‘Atticus Wood’ carved into the nameplate.

Maybe everything that he’d planned for his life felt like it had come crumbling down all at once and maybe he wasn’t sure what he wanted to be in his life but he wasn’t about to give up. 

He’d figure it out along the way and make the best of every opportunity.

Taking one last deep breath, he raised his hand to knock on the door.

Sirius’s heart sank the moment he woke up on that Friday morning, his mind instantly supplying that it was the last morning Harry would spend here until the summer.

He knew he was still a mess most days but he had fallen into a comfortable routine with his godson, something familiar, something normal and it felt a little terrible knowing that he wouldn’t wake up to the sound of Harry going out to run at an ungodly hour of the morning– not Sirius was ever really asleep, waking up at the slightest twitches.

There was a small part of Sirius that was also glad Harry was going to be gone because sometimes– sometimes, looking at his face became too much. Sometimes, he would look at Harry and see a terrible mixture of James, Lily, and himself all mixed up into a single person and it hurt because Sirius never wanted Harry to be anything like him. He never wanted to recognize the dark bags under his eyes that grew with each passing day or the way he flinched slightly when someone raised their voice or grabbed their wand or the way he would sometimes drift off, staring into the distance with that thousand-yard stare that Sirius despised.

Sirius knew he wasn’t the picture of good health– twelve years in Azkaban and the years spent in his family home would do that to anyone. If anything, he knew he was a little insane and not exactly the best person to look after a child so he was glad that Harry would be around other people, people that were better influences on him until Sirius got his life back together.

Despite all that, Sirius couldn’t help the ache that spread through his chest at the thought of Harry leaving, of missing more of his godson’s life because of a single choice he made all those years ago.

He supposed it was just another way for life to teach him that his actions had consequences.

“I could’ve killed him because of you! Did you even care about that or is the blatant disregard for other people’s lives just another family trait we have to deal with, Black ?!”

Grimacing at the unbidden memory, Sirius pushed himself up, a familiar ache spread through his bones as he sat on the floor, slightly insulated by the too-soft comforter that was stolen from his bed the night before.

He scrubbed his face tiredly, stubble scraping against his palm as he got to his feet. He slipped into the bathroom, going about his usual routine– which was still incredibly odd to have if he was being honest. Basic hygiene seemed like a luxury after the twelve years he had spent in that hellhole. 

He went down to the kitchen, offering Remus a small smile when he saw the man standing over the stove, eggs and bacon sizzling on the pan. He nicked a mostly-cooked piece of bacon off the skillet as he headed to the coffee maker, earning an exasperated look from his friend. “G’mornin’, Moony,” he muttered, pouring himself a cup of coffee, and ugh, it was the extra bitter kind that Remus loved drinking for whatever godforsaken reason.

For someone that carried chocolate around more often than not, Remus sure liked bitter and sour things.

Sirius drank the coffee nonetheless.

“How’re you holding up?” he asked tiredly, his gaze flickering up to scan Remus’s exhausted face. With the full moon occurring in just a few days and the frigid winter weather, his friend’s monthly transformations were rough, and the days before and after made it so that he couldn’t even get out of bed some mornings.

“Hasn’t been too bad recently,” Remus sighed, his shoulders tensing like they always did when Sirius brought up the topic and it stung, just a little bit. 

For all that they were friends, it wasn’t easy to forget the broken trust no matter how old it was. There was a constant rift between them and Sirius hated it with every fiber of his being, just like he hated the rift between him and Mary and all the people he had once been friends with.

People that believed that he would betray his best friend, his brother. 

“You were my brother first, Sirius.”

Remus placed the food on three different plates, handing one to Sirius and taking one for himself before sitting at the table. “Has Dumbledore said anything since the last time you talked?”

Sirius’s mood soured immediately at the mention of the headmaster and the irritating conversation they had with him a week ago. “No. Nothing I say is getting them to change their decision. I even talked to Fudge,” he scoffed, disdain slipping into his voice. 

While the Ministry had initially been trying to get back in his good graces after he was released from all charges, all of that had stopped as soon as he started doing things they didn’t like, such as taking up the mantle of Lord Black and getting custody of Harry. The fact that he was vocally against the Triwizard Tournament after his godson was forced to participate did nothing to help that and Fudge had made it clear he would do whatever he could to discredit Sirius as well as Harry, for whatever reason.

The man had remained completely indifferent about what happened to Harry in the first task, along with the school boards of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. No one seemed to care that his godson’s heart had literally stopped beating and Sirius’s ire grew whenever he thought about it.

There was something else in play here and the only ones who seemed to believe Sirius were Remus, Mary, and himself. Granted, Sirius didn’t talk to many people if it wasn’t related to business but still.

“And our theory? I know you’ve spoken with Ted about it but there’s no way to confirm it without telling him,” Remus asked, swiftly changing the subject before Sirius got lost in his anger.

Sirius’s shoulders slumped and he sighed, his mouth tightening into a thin line. In the weeks Harry had spent recovering at St. Mungo’s, they had researched any book about Seers that they could get their hands on and while it hadn’t given them enough information to make a solid theory about whether or not all the odd things happening to his godson were related to that ability, something in Sirius insisted that he was on the right track, just missing information. 

But if he was right, if Harry really was a Seer, what would that mean for them? For him?

He might not have known Harry for as well as he wanted to but anyone would be able to see the way the kid looked so unbearably sad at times, the way he looked at Sirius and Remus with that pained look in his eyes.

If Harry was a Seer, what did that mean for them?

“I know, Remus. Just not today,” Sirius sighed. Not when this would be the last morning he’d spent with his godson until his summer break.

Harry came down a few minutes later, the bags under his eyes lighter than he’d ever seen them and a bright glint in his eyes that reminded Sirius of how excited he had always been to go back to Hogwarts every year. “Morning, Sirius, Lupin.”

“You can call me Remus, you know,” Remus offered and Sirius blinked.

He'd have to be blind not to notice that both Remus and Harry weren't entirely comfortable around each other but this was the first time Remus had broached the topic. 

Harry blinked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as Remus handed him the last plate. “...Okay. It sounds a little weird."

“Weirder than living in the same apartment?” Sirius snorted, raising an eyebrow at the teen and Harry relaxed a bit. 

“At least I’m not calling him Professor. That would be weird,” Harry countered, grinning when Remus made a face and Sirius couldn’t help the small wistful smile that spread across his face. 

It was rare to find carefree moments in any of their lives and the small moments like these, moments he’d never cherished until he’d lost them, mattered more to him than he could even begin to describe.

For the first time since he’d gotten out of Azkaban and despite everything that had happened and would happen, Sirius felt like things were looking up.

“Wow. This place is a mess.”

Bill’s eyes flew open, his mind pulling him out of the restless sleep where he had been drifting in the area between being aware of his surroundings and being completely out of it. He blinked a few times before glaring at the person that had intruded into his office half-heartedly– Circe Gallagher, someone he had worked with for the better part of the last year despite her being a freelancer and way too young.

She was an African-American witch that moved here recently but she was good at what she did– alarmingly so for someone that just turned sixteen. He was sure she had been trained at some point in time but there was always the chance that she was just a prodigy, as much as he doubted it. 

You didn’t become a master curse breaker overnight. Much less when you weren’t even old enough to be out of school.

“What’re you doing here, Gallagher? I’m on break from missions this year,” he asked without any real heat.

“It’s just a friendly visit, Weasley,” she said absently, picking up the parchment filled with the runes sequence he was working on breaking for the upcoming Gaunt shack excursion. “Never thought you’d take up a desk job. You seemed pretty happy running around Egypt but I guess you found something pretty interesting here. Where’d you find this?”

“Classified.” He ignored the assessing look she gave him as he took the parchment from her and placed it back on his desk, face down. He got up from his seat, his back cracking loudly as he made his way over to the cupboard with a cooling charm that kept preserved for him. “Do you want a drink? No alcohol, of course. You’re too young” he added with a tiny smirk.

“Ha, ha, very funny, Weasley,” Gallagher deadpanned and he cracked a grin. “No comments from the man that was knocked out on the job.”

“Give me a break, it’s been a stressful few days,” Bill huffed, grabbing a soda from the cupboard and tossing it to her. 

She examined the can for a few seconds before pulling the tab open and taking a sip. “The mess with Potter? Yeah, the Prophet is having a field day with that one. He’s pretty impressive though.”

“... He is,” Bill said after a moment.

He didn’t really mean it in the sense that Harry was powerful the way Gallagher did, even if the kid was incredibly powerful. Harry had his respect for being able to pull through everything that had happened to him, everyone that had abandoned him or betrayed his trust, and come out looking to protect the world all over again.

Bill couldn’t say he would’ve done the same.

“I thought you got a tough job in Germany, what’d you come back here for?” he asked, directing the conversation elsewhere.

“Finished it. I’m taking a break to stay with my family, Marq’s been whining about me not being around recently,” Gallagher smiled, fondness glinting in her eyes before she stood up, brushing a stray hair out of her face. “It’s been nice catching up, Weasley, but I’ve got to go.”

“Just bust into my office and leave five minutes later. Talk about manners,” Bill snorted and she laughed. “I’ll see you around, kid.”

“Thanks for the soda! And you messed up on the third line of your sequence! Get some rest, I wouldn’t want you to get blasted to Kingdom Come!” she called on her way out with a cheeky grin on her face before he flipped the parchment, examining the line closely before cursing when he saw the discrepancy.

Well, that could’ve gone terribly if she hadn’t noticed it.

Deciding he wouldn’t get anywhere with the way he was going, he packed up for the day, handing off his finished pile of paperwork at Silverite’s desk, earning a curt nod from the goblin before he left the familiar grounds of Gringotts’ bank, apparating back to his apartment with a sharp crack!

He heated up some of the leftovers Mum had given him the day before, his thoughts drifting to the fast-approaching holidays and what he and Harry had planned. As much as he hated allowing an untrained kid to participate in things like this, he knew Harry would do it all on his own and that wasn’t an option Bill was going to take if he could avoid it. 

Despite the cheerfulness that hung in the air as Christmas grew closer, Bill only grew tenser with each day that passed.

So much for the holiday spirit.

Is anybody happier because you passed his way?
Does anyone remember that you spoke to him today?
This day is almost over, and its toiling time is through,
Is there anyone to utter now a kindly word of you?

Did you give a cheerful greeting to the friend who came along? 
Or a churlish sort of “Howdy” and then vanish in the throng? 
Were you selfish pure and simple as you rushed along the way, 
Or is someone mighty grateful for a deed you did today?

Can you say tonight, in parting with the day that’s slipping fast,
That you helped a single brother of the many that you passed?
Is a single heart rejoicing over what you did or said,
Does a man whose hopes were fading now with courage look ahead?

Did you waste the day, or lose it, was it well or sorely spent?
Did you leave a trail of kindness or a scar of discontent?
As you close your eyes in slumber do you think that God would say,
You have earned one more tomorrow by the work you did today?

- Edgar Guest

Chapter Text

The minute Harry set foot on Hogwarts, his chest ached with longing because he’d grown used to the apartment and while the place wasn’t quite ‘home’ in the way Hogwarts was, Sirius was that and more. 

It was similar to the feeling Harry had experienced more often than not when he was cooped up at the Dursleys all those years, missing Hogwarts, Ron, Hermione, and the other Weasleys.

The ache had faded a bit when Hermione and Ron had hugged him as soon as they caught sight of him and the twins had roughly messed up his hair.

“We almost thought you wouldn’t make it for Christmas and the Yule Ball,” George grinned, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. “You’ll have girls eyeing you up until you ask someone.”

“Well, he won’t be alone,” Fred snorted, throwing an arm around Ron’s shoulder. “Little Ronnie here is dateless too.”

Ron flushed a bit, elbowing his brother and ducking out from under his arm. “It’s not like I need one. I’m not a Champion,” he shrugged, giving Harry a cheeky grin. “You, on the other hand…”

Hermione laughed and Harry rolled his eyes but he couldn’t quite stop the relieved smile that spread across his face. Hermione and Ron had been constantly arguing during this time of the year because of the Yule Ball and seeing them like this was… Well, he was glad they were getting along because playing the middle man when he knew the reason why they’d acted the way they had all that time, when he knew how they felt about each other would’ve been incredibly awkward for him. 

Whatever happened while he was gone that prevented it from happening, he was grateful for it.

Most of his return was fairly anticlimactic besides the noticeable amount of people staring at him and the number of people– mostly Hufflepuffs and a few of the younger Ravenclaws– that had approached him with genuine apologies. That had been surprising and somewhat disconcerting but the attention slowly began to make his skin crawl and when dinner came around, Harry found himself going down a familiar path to avoid it– towards the kitchens.

The knot in his chest loosened a bit when he caught sight of two familiar faces.

Luna looked delighted to see him and Rigel had this odd complicated expression on his face, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he spoke. “It’s good to have you back, Potter,” he muttered and Harry let a small smile spread across his face.

“It’s good to be back,” he said softly before looking at Luna. “Anything interesting happen while I was gone? The hospital was pretty boring.”

Luna brightened a bit before diving into the newest scandal her father had uncovered about the Ministry, something about them experimenting on Heliopaths and Aquavirius Maggots, not that he had any idea what those were. Her chatter washed over him and he could see the way Rigel relaxed a bit, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched her.

“Are either of you going to the Ball with anyone?” Luna asked curiously.

“Not really. Haven’t had much of a chance.” Harry tilted his head curiously. “You two aren’t going together?”

Rigel’s head snapped towards him, eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and something Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on. “What? Uh, no. I’ve got a thing the night of the Ball so I’m not going. Family thing.”

Suddenly reminded of what would be occurring the night of the Yule Ball and the theory he’d formulated about the Hufflepuff, Harry tried not to let his suspicion get the better of him. He had no solid proof, just a feeling to go by.

“Third years can’t go unless they’re with someone else and Daddy’s gone away for this Christmas so I’m staying at the castle,” Luna explained with an unbothered smile.

There was something about her indifference to the situation, the same one she had shown him when she’d mentioned the way her housemates often took her things and hid them from her, that made him speak before he could even think about what he was saying. 

“You wanna go with me?”

Harry almost wanted to laugh at the familiarity of the situation when Luna looked at him in surprise– this was nearly the exact same way he’d asked Luna to come with him to Slughorn’s party in sixth year.

“You want me to go to the Ball with you?” Luna asked, confusion coloring her voice.

“As friends. If you want to. I figured you’d go with Rigel but he’s not going to be around so I thought it’d be better than staying by yourself on Christmas,” Harry explained a little awkwardly.

Luna and Rigel both stared at him, until the latter snorted and the former beamed. 

“I’d love to go to the Ball with you as friends!” Luna said brightly. “Nobody’s ever asked me to go as a friend. I’ll ask Daddy to send me a dress.”

“Go for it.”

They didn’t talk much about the ball after that but Harry was a little relieved that he wasn’t going with Parvati again because he had honestly been a bit of a prat to her the first time around. Luna was a friend and didn’t have any awkward expectations so it was easier not to worry about upsetting her, especially when he wouldn’t be able to stay the entire night.

He could tell Ron to ask Parvati, seeing as he didn’t have a date and Padma definitely hadn’t liked him the first time around.

Luna left a little while after that, saying something about needing to talk to Professor Flitwick, leaving Harry with Rigel, who had been uncharacteristically quiet the entire time.

“Are you okay?”

The Hufflepuff tensed a bit before sighing. “I’m fine. Just a rough night. Are you? I mean, I know everyone said you were okay but like… you sort of almost… died.”

“I don’t really remember much so it’s not all that bad,” Harry shrugged and it was true. The thought of him dying didn’t bother him so much when he knew it was pretty much a certainty, especially with everything he had planned. It was just another thing he had come to terms with.

There were probably a lot of things wrong with that line of thinking.

“The thing about you stopping the dragon… was it true?”

Harry made a face. Of course that had become public knowledge. He didn’t remember it and it didn’t seem likely to him but there was something niggling at the back of his mind that told him not to disregard it and everybody seemed to think that was the truth. It was as frustrating as it was ridiculous.

“I’m not sure,” Harry sighed. “Who told you guys that anyways?”

“Dumbledore did,” Rigel shrugged, absently picking at a scab on his hand before his eyes flickered back towards Harry with a searching look on his face.

Harry swallowed the bitterness that had become a recent fixture every time he thought of the Headmaster and the conversation he had overheard.

“Are you sure Harry didn’t enter himself?”

“Are you alright?” Rigel asked with that familiar inquisitive look, like he was seeing something Harry wasn’t.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. “Don’t worry about it.”

The next two days passed by with little fanfare, snow falling thickly upon the castle and its grounds now. The pale blue Beauxbatons carriage looked like a large, chilly, frosted pumpkin next to the iced gingerbread house that was Hagrid’s cabin, while the Durmstrang ship’s portholes were glazed with ice, the rigging white with frost. The house elves down in the kitchen were outdoing themselves with a series of rich, warming stews and savory puddings, and only Fleur Delacour seemed to be able to find anything to complain about. 

Ron had asked Parvati to go with him and the girl, while a bit disappointed when Harry hadn’t asked her, had looked Ron up and down before agreeing.

Harry woke up on Christmas morning to very large, round, green eyes staring back at him in the darkness, so close they were almost nose to nose and conflicting feelings of terror and deja vu washed over him.

Dobby.

He hadn’t seen the small elf a single time during his many visits down to the kitchens and while he’d been a little thankful for that, his chest ached painfully at the sight of the eccentric elf with too-big eyes and odd clothing.

“Hi, Dobby,” Harry sighed, forcing a small smile on his face as he got up. “Please don’t do that.”

Dobby’s eyes widened anxiously. “Dobby is sorry, very sorry, sir! Dobby is only wanting to wish Harry Potter ‘Merry Christmas’ and bring him a present, sir, because he hasn’t visited him yet! Dobby won’t come in again–”

“No, no, Dobby, it’s fine,” Harry assured, huffing out a fond laugh at the elf’s antics. “I just meant don’t stand over me like that. I’m glad you came to see me. How are you?”

“Dobby is good, Harry Potter sir!” Dobby answered rather loudly, looking rather overwhelmed by the question. “Can Dobby give Harry Potter his present?” he squeaked tentatively. 

“Sure, I’ve got something for you too,” Harry grinned and this time it was the truth. He’d gone to Diagon Alley with Sirius to get his friends their Christmas gifts and caught sight of an odd pair of socks, patterned with different bright colors on each, and a blue knit cap with ear flaps that looked like they’d fit the elf.

He handed the elf the wrapped bundle, the ache in his chest dying down a bit at the delighted expression on Dobby’s face, thanking Harry profusely and opening it tentatively when Harry nodded at him.

“Socks are Dobby’s favorite, favorite clothes, sir!” Dobby said happily, ripping off his odd ones and pulling on the ones Harry had gotten him and jamming his head into the knit cap with a bright smile. “Thank you, Harry Potter sir!”

The familiarity of the interaction, especially when Ron had woken up and given Dobby his own pair of socks and a knit sweater and when Dobby had given Harry his handknit socks, hurt less than Harry would’ve thought but seeing Dobby again after all that time felt like a better present than anything the elf could’ve given him.

“Whoa,” Ron breathed out suddenly when Dobby had finally gone to attend to his duties and Harry glanced at him, his heart jumping into his throat when he saw that Ron had opened his present. 

He hadn’t been sure if getting Ron different dress robes for the Ball would be a good idea, especially when he didn’t want to inadvertently offend his friend because Ron tended to be sensitive about his family’s situation and Harry didn’t want to mess up but he’d seen them when he had been getting his own dress robes and the thought had stuck with him until he’d purchased it. He knew Ron had hated his dress robes originally and he’d gotten the twins to buy him new dress robes after that but he thought his friend would appreciate it before the Yule Ball happened.

Ron looked at him with an unreadable look on his face and Harry panicked before word vomit began to spill from his mouth.

“You don’t have to take it if you don’t want it, I promise I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. I just thought you’d like it, or maybe not, I don’t know. I got you something else if you don’t want it, so you don’t need to worry about insulting me or anything, I just–”

“Harry!” Ron interrupted and Harry clamped his mouth shut, staring at his friend with wide eyes. The redhead looked a bit conflicted but there was a small amused smile on his face. “I was just going to say thanks. Um… it means a lot.”

“Oh. Um, that’s great. Merry Christmas?” Harry said awkwardly, heat rushing to his face.

An awkward silence fell over the room as they stared at each other before Ron’s face twitched and both of them devolved into hysterical laughter out of nowhere, startling their other dormmates awake.

Most of Harry’s gifts were the same as they had been the first time around but there were three other packets– another one from Sirius and Lupin that was considerably larger than the previous one and three other ones from Bill, Rigel, and Luna respectively.

Harry’s breath caught when he opened the package from Sirius and caught sight of a familiar small, square mirror. It looked as old as he remembered, dirt clinging onto the reflective side and showing his own reflection through.

“Use it if you need me, all right?”

His eyes stung all of a sudden and he put the mirror down carefully, his hands trembling as he did so. He closed his eyes for a moment before taking a deep breath. 

None of that was going to happen. Sirius wasn’t going to die. Not again.

He didn’t get much time to catch his breath when he saw the other thing in the package. It was a hoodie in bright Gryffindor colors with a year and name stitched onto the back with the House logo plastered in the middle. 

‘Potter, 1978’

It was his dad’s .

“Whoa, who got you that?” Ron exclaimed suddenly. “Those are old Quidditch sweaters, they stopped making those when Bill graduated. I wish they still made them.”

“It’s my dad’s,” Harry said absently, examining it for a long moment before he opened the letter that had come with the package. 

“Harry,

The mirror is a two-way mirror. I’ve got the other. If you need to speak to me, just say my name into it; you’ll appear in my mirror and I’ll be able to talk in yours. James and I used to use them when we were in separate detentions. Sort of like a Muggle telephone. I was going to give it to you when you were leaving but Remus found James’ old Quidditch sweater in his trunk and wanted to give it to you. Neither of us really wear them anymore. 

I know you don’t have much from James and Lily so feel free to call me whenever you want. Moony and I would be happy to tell you everything we can.

-  Merry Christmas from both of us”

Harry stared at the letter before he grabbed the sweater and pulled it over his head, the faint scent of cologne clinging to the soft fabric. It was a few sizes too big, obviously meant for someone a couple of years his senior.

“It looks great,” Ron said softly as a warm feeling grew in Harry’s chest.

Rigel’s gift was a fancy journal in green and black with his name stitched in fancy calligraphy, a color-changing inkpot, and a new quill. Luna’s an odd necklace with what seemed to be bottle caps and vaguely turnip-shaped things and a book about Mythology and Runes.

Bill’s present was a ring charm necklace with engravings that looked vaguely like the ones on his earrings. It was apparently an emergency Portkey with the password of ‘Portus’ that would immediately transport him to the man’s apartment.

That was… useful. He hadn’t really expected anything from the man, much less anything like this, after all the pressure he had placed on him.

“Look what Bill got me,” Ron exclaimed and Harry looked at him, blinking in surprise when he recognized the odd foggy mirror. Those had been in the Room of Requirement when Harry was teaching the DA and Fake-Moody had them in his office the first time around. “It’s a portable Foe-Glass! It’s a Dark Detector that shows the enemies of its owner. They appear like shadowy figures but they become clearer and more visible as the enemies become closer to the owner and it’s really expensive… this is so much better than the Sneakoscope I got from Egypt.”

The two of them met up with Hermione once they were finished opening their presents and the three of them went down to breakfast together. They spent most of the morning in Gryffindor Tower, where everyone was enjoying their presents, then returned to the Great Hall for a magnificent lunch, which included at least a hundred turkeys and Christmas puddings, and large piles of Cribbages’ Wizarding Crackers. 

They went out onto the grounds in the afternoon; the snow was untouched except for the deep channels made by the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students on their way up to the castle. Hermione was decked out in a new midnight blue scarf that Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Ron had gotten for her if the hidden smile on his face when he’d seen it was anything to go by.

Hermione chose to watch Harry and the Weasleys’ snowball fight rather than join in. 

Almost everyone was looking forward to the evening and Harry was as well, since it seemed that Ron and Hermione were still on good terms, but the thing that came after was what was worrying him.

He’d be leaving the Ball at ten o’clock and meeting Bill outside the Shrieking Shack. His Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder’s map were almost always tucked in his pockets these days. Fake-Moody wasn’t someone he wanted to run into anytime tonight.

“Don’t you have to meet up with Angelina right about now?” Fred called to Hermione just as the sun began to set in the distance.

“Yeah, thank you!” Hermione said brightly before making her way back up to the castle hurriedly. 

Harry glanced at Ron in question and the redhead shrugged. “Angelina’s helping Hermione do something with her hair. Fred asked for her.”

The details were a little fuzzy but Harry was fairly sure that hadn’t happened the first time around but he tried to shrug it off. A little change like that could be a big deal.

Right?

When the time came for everyone to get ready, he and the Weasleys went back up to the castle. The scent of cologne hung in the air as they entered their dorm room and Harry snorted a bit when he saw the frustrated expression on Seamus’s face as he tried to get his hair to sit in a way that looked nice.

When they finally came down in their respective dress robes– Ron’s being a dark crimson with a black vest and designs stitched in with a white dress shirt beneath and Harry's being similar to it but in full black and fewer designs on it– Parvati looked somewhat impressed when she saw Ron and the redhead definitely picked up on it if the way he stood up straighter was anything to go by.

Parvati looked different from what Harry remembered as well, in a dress robe of pretty violet color adorned with golden designs and small jewels. Harry thought violet suited her more than the bright pink he remembered she had.

Ron thought the same if his expression was anything to go by. Harry tried not to laugh at the awkwardness of the situation but it was sort of funny. Seeing his friends, who had yet to experience or do any of the things he’d seen them go through, act like this was entertaining.

“Who’re you going to the Ball with, Harry?” Parvati asked conversationally as the three of them made their way down to the Entrance Hall where Luna said she’d meet him.

“Luna Lovegood,” he sighed, waiting for the usual reaction. 

Parvati faltered. “You mean Loony?” she said incredulously and Harry rolled his eyes. 

“We’re friends. And that’s not her name,” he revealed, irritation slipping into his voice. Luna wasn’t even that bad, her odd behavior hardly warranted the treatment she got from her housemates and the rest of the school.

Ron’s eyes flickered between them, clearly uncomfortable before he caught sight of something. “Hey, uh… Harry? I think that’s your date.”

Harry followed his line of sight, staring for a moment. He hadn’t expected much if he was being honest. Luna’s outfits tended to be the outlandish sort, especially when he remembered her odd silver dress and her bright yellow dress robes from Bill’s wedding.

This was so different he almost didn’t recognize her. 

There was Luna with her pale blond hair tied back into a simple braid, wearing a midnight blue dress with silver sequins and star-shaped designs stitched into the fabric. The only thing that really looked the same was her Butterbeer cork necklace and her odd turnip earrings.

She looked… nice.

“Hello,” she greeted brightly when Harry approached her.

“Hi, Luna,” Harry grinned, amused by the number of people gawking at her. He couldn’t wait to see their reaction to Hermione all over again. “Nice dress, it looks great.”

“I asked Daddy to send me my silver dress but he said he liked this one better. It belonged to my mother,” she said softly.

His smile died down a bit but Luna didn’t look too bothered so he let the topic drop. Luna changed it fairly quickly, advising Harry to wear the necklace she had gifted him because it would protect him from Nargles.

When the Champions were finally called, his eyes immediately flickered over to Hermione. She looked just as pretty as he remembered but her hair was different than he remembered. It wasn’t straightened out, instead, the sides were put in small intricate braids and her usually frizzy hair was tamed into small pretty curls that were twisted up into an elegant knot at the back of her head.

“Hi, Harry!” she greeted with an excited and nervous smile. “Hi, Luna!”

“Hey, Hermione,” Harry grinned, enjoying the baffled expressions on most of the Slytherins' faces. “I like the…,” he gestured at her hair, unsure of what exactly to call it but Hermione obviously understood because her smile brightened a bit.

“Thanks!”

Krum looked noticeably less surly than Harry remembered and he gave Harry a nod of acknowledgment. “It iz good to see you again.”

The Ball progressed as Harry remembered for the most part despite a few discrepancies here and there, like Percy’s absence.

He was a bit surprised when Cedric and Krum had both engaged him and Luna, who lived closer to Cedric than she did the Weasleys so the Diggorys were apparently friends with the Lovegoods, in conversation on more than one occasion.

He did dread the dancing bit when he remembered Luna dancing at Bill’s wedding and his own pathetic dancing skills which hadn’t brushed up on since the Yule Ball the first time around but Luna apparently possessed the ability to dance and it wasn’t all that bad after all, especially with the way she was constantly chattering about her dad’s theories and making him laugh.

By the time the second song had finished, they joined many of the other students who had given up dancing for a break and heading towards where Ron and Parvati were talking.

Parvati didn’t seem particularly upset about not dancing, instead, she had a sly smile on her face as Ron’s face slowly grew more and more flustered. He faltered when he caught sight of Harry and shushed her with a panicked look on his face.

“How’s it going?” Harry greeted, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing. We’re just talking about how Hermione’s very pretty tonight, right Ron?” Parvati said, a Chesire grin spreading across her face. Harry should call it her ‘gossip face’ because she always made it whenever she heard or found out something interesting.

He threw his friend an amused look, taking two bottles of cool Butterbeer and offering one to Luna. 

“I didn’t– I didn’t say that,” Ron muttered.

“You didn’t say what?” 

Ginny approached their table, her face pink as she fanned herself but she looked windswept in the way he remembered her after every Quidditch game. Her dress was pink and gold, sheer fabric stretching out over her shoulder and neck. He looked away when she glanced at him, lifting his drink up to his mouth.

“Nothing,” Ron grumbled. “What’re you doing here?”

“I needed a break and Hannah asked Neville to dance with her,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone, swiping the unopened Butterbeer that he’d just grabbed from his hand and making an obscene gesture when he glared at her.

Harry snorted into his drink, his face flushing a bit when Ginny looked at him and then at Luna. 

“Hey, Luna!”

“Hello,” Luna smiled and Harry remembered that the two of them had been friends, or at least acquaintances before he had ever met her the first time around.

Parvati said something to Ron before heading off and Harry took her place, leaning back against the chair as he sat next to his friend, who was throwing furtive glances at Hermione and Krum as they danced.

He didn’t really look angry, just… sad. Which was almost as bad, if Harry was being honest.

He didn’t want to get involved in their situation unless he had to, but watching them when he knew how they felt about each other was infuriating.

“You know… you could ask her for a dance if you want to. I mean, you heard Ginny, Hannah asked Neville to dance with her,” Harry said slowly and Ron looked at him in surprise.

“What?”

“Ask her to dance?”

Ron shook his head. “No way.”

“Why not?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Just… no. Besides she looks happy with Krum,” Ron sighed, bitterness slipping into his voice.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t ask. It won’t hurt.”

Ron narrowed his eyes at Harry. “Since when are you the expert at this stuff?”

“Since you became an idiot,” Harry shot back. “C’mon, it’s Hermione. She’s our friend.”

“That’s part of the problem,” Ron muttered.

Harry sighed, dropping the topic and falling silent as the fast-paced song that was playing came to an end and a new one began, slow like the first one but less mournful. 

There were still forty-five minutes on the clock until he had to leave when Ginny approached them, her cheeks flushed bright red even though he hadn’t seen her go dancing. 

“Hey, Harry,” she said and Harry looked up at her curiously, eyes resting on her lips for a moment before his gaze flickered up to her eyes. “Do you want to dance with me?”

He was not expecting that.

Ron choked beside him and Harry stared at her, eyes wide and entirely unsure of what to say.

He hadn’t spoken to Ginny much since the time travel debacle despite the lingering feelings he refused to address but they were tentative friends at most. He didn’t want to fall in love with her again, didn’t want her to become attached to him only for him to die before he even turned seventeen. He didn’t want to hurt her like that or ever hear that terrible sound she’d made when she thought Harry had died in the Battle of Hogwarts.

Harry opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out as her blush darkened more and more. A part of him wanted to say yes but if he did…
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I was just–” Ginny began nervously, disappointment clear in her tone.

“Uh, sure,” Harry managed to say and both of them froze. He could feel Ron’s gaze flickering between them, confusion rolling off him in waves.

“What?” Ginny said blankly.

“Sure, I’ll dance with you,” Harry clarified hesitantly, his voice cracking ridiculously as heat slowly crawled up his face. “I’m not very good at it though.”

“It’s fine,” Ginny squeaked, her face almost matching her hair at this point. “Do you want to… let’s go?”

Why did he say yes to this again?

His stomach felt knotted with nerves as Ginny placed his hand on her hip and held the other in her hand, his palms suddenly sweaty and he hoped she didn’t notice it. He let Ginny steer, trying his best not to step on her feet or dress.

It probably would’ve been nicer if he wasn’t as nervous as he was about this but it felt entirely too close and he could feel his own face heating up to match hers, never looking up enough to meet her eyes directly.

This was not a good idea when he was trying not to have feelings for her all over again.

It took some time but eventually, Harry began to fall into the rhythm and relax a bit, slowly getting used to the proximity even if his stomach flipped whenever her face got a bit close to his own.

“You take Arithmancy, right?” Ginny said suddenly and Harry almost tripped, his gaze shooting up to meet hers. “Hermione said so.”

“Uh, yeah. Do you?” Harry answered hesitantly, swallowing his nerves. Hey, Ginny was probably more nervous than he was and she was making an effort to actually talk so he had to try, at least.

“Yeah. And Hermione’s great help and all but I was wondering if you ever wanted to… study together?” she offered, her face growing red by the second. “I mean, like as a group, of course!”

Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He could talk about this, he’d been thinking about it for a while anyways. “Uh, yeah, that’d be fine. I was thinking something along the same line but like more of a study group for all the subjects? We could get some of the older students to help with things like Runes and Arithmancy and I was thinking that I could probably help a lot of kids with Defense ‘cause we don’t really have any consistent teachers and our OWL year is next year so it would probably help. And I could probably teach them how to cast a Patronus like Lupin taught me. McGonagall would let us do that, like a club of sorts, right?” he cut himself off after that, his nerves getting the better of him after what had basically been a rant.

Ginny stared at him for a moment before her mouth twitched a bit, amusement obvious in her expression as his face flushed a bit. He could see some of the confidence he remembered seeing in her expression when they were both older and he looked away. “That sounds like something Hermione would love. Did you tell her?”

“Uh, no, not yet. I think you’re the first person I told?”

Talking to her was a bit easier after they had broken the ice. Two songs later, Harry collapsed back in his chair, exhausted and sweaty before he grabbed two Butterbeers and handed one to Ginny. 

He glanced at the clock, biting back a small groan when he noticed there were only five minutes until he had to leave.

Luna and Ron had gone somewhere but Harry found the redhead fairly quickly.

He was talking to Hermione, offering her a drink that she gratefully took, her face dusted with red that was either a blush or from the heat. Or perhaps it was both.

Harry hoped he actually got the nerve to ask her to dance.

He said a quick goodbye to Ginny, claiming that he was going to the bathroom and not to wait for him before he ducked behind a corner and threw his Invisibility Cloak over his head and headed all the way back up to the Gryffindor Tower, carefully watching the Marauder’s map as he went.

He changed out of his dress robes, switching them out for more comfortable clothes and grabbing his ash wand and the venom-soaked blade before sneaking back out, dodging couples left and right as he made his way down to the Whomping Willow as quietly as he could in order to avoid the violent tree’s wrath.

He slipped his cloak off after pressing the knot in the tree that froze it in place, tucking it in his pocket and slipping into the tunnel. He lit his wand carefully, trying to control the amount of magic placed in it so it wouldn’t blind him as it had the first time he tried it.

He crawled forward, headfirst, and slid down the earthy slope to the bottom of the tunnel. He went down the familiar path, his legs burning as he walked through the passage as it began to rise. He pushed himself out of the passage when it came to an end, glancing at the disorderly room within the Shrieking Shack before a sudden chill went down his spine as if he was being watched.

His grip tightened around his wand as glanced around uncertainly before carefully making his way up the staircase, avoiding all the creaky and crumbling areas. He froze when he heard a familiar creaking sound coming from the room that led to the outside of the dilapidated shack.

The light at the end of his wand went out as Harry warily approached the room, slowly wrapping his Invisibility cloak back around himself.

The door was ajar as if someone recently opened it and Harry slipped inside quietly. 

His eyes widened, staring at the figure on the bed as the groaned, blood covering their face.

Rigel.

The cloak fell off his shoulders as he strode to bed quickly, his stomach turning at the sight. “Rigel? Hey, mate, are you–”

The Hufflepuff’s eyes flew open, except they weren’t his because his weren’t this odd animalistic yellow color. 

Suddenly, his suspicions about his friend came rushing back and Harry's stomach dropped at the familiar cracking sound of bones shifting and breaking.

It’s the full moon.
“G-get…,” Rigel gasped, terror clear on his face. “G-get out!”

There was a terrible snarling noise as Rigel’s head began lengthening and his body warped itself as Rigel screamed. Hair was sprouting visibly on his face and hands, which were curling into clawed paws. 

Harry froze in place, his limbs heavy with fear as he stared at the transformation.

Rigel was a werewolf.

His brain kickstarted all of sudden, just as the werewolf grew still. Its eyes flickered over to him before it bared its teeth and lunged at him.

Harry threw himself back, his heart roaring in his chest as he scrambled away. There was a metallic snapping sound and Harry looked back enough to see the metal chains that were holding the werewolf back. He could see the strain on them. 

He had to get out before it broke through those chains but it stood between him and the door. 

Harry ran out of the room, slamming it shut and barricading it with a partially broken desk before scrambling back down the stairs.

His heart jumped into his throat when the door suddenly broke to pieces, the desk flying out of the way and slamming against the door. The werewolf stood, drool dripping from beneath its bared teeth, and its eyes focused on Harry as a predator would their prey.

Harry backed away, his wand raised and pointed at it as he did so. He couldn’t outrun a werewolf, he knew it. His heart was practically beating out of his chest as he searched for a way of this.

He couldn’t die here, not now and not at the hands of his friend.

The werewolf lunged at him, snapping its long jaw as Harry threw himself out of its way, throwing binding spells at the creature frantically, his mind racing to find a way out.

Harry tried to throw another spell just as it lunged for him again, but too late — the werewolf had made an enormous leap and the front paws hit him on the chest and knocked the breath out of him. He keeled over backward in a whirl of hair; he felt its hot breath, saw long yellow teeth–

His fist flew before he even knew what he was doing, connecting with the snout of the creature.

Claws tore through Harry’s left arm right as it reared back and howled, a cry of pain escaping him as he scrambled out from under it and grabbed his wand from where it had fallen.

Three consecutive stunning spells hit the werewolf’s chest right as it shook off the pain of his attack. It stilled and fell forward, twitching as if electrocuted rather than staying stiff like people usually were when they were stunned.

Harry stood up on shaky feet, pointing his wand at the werewolf again and casting a Body-Bind Curse and Incarcerous on the creature. He stared at it for a long moment, his heart still racing as he did so.

Stabbing pain ran through his arm and Harry stumbled, glancing down at the injury and sucking in a sharp breath. It was bleeding heavily and his head was beginning to feel woozy.

This was bad.

Really bad.

It's not the moment that it happens,
It's the moment right before,
It's not the rain or crashing thunder,
It's the calm before the storm,

It's that feeling that you get,
As the sky begins to cry,
It's just you, the wind, and rain,
And you swear that you could fly,

The stormy clouds demand attention,
And the wind can't be ignored,
It's the love of building tension,
Just before the violent storm,

And if you've felt like this before,
Or if it's all that you dream of,
You'll know I'm not talking of rain,
But that I'm talking about love...

- Katherine Humpert

Chapter Text

“I vill be back,” Viktor promised as Hermione sat down, waving him off to go talk to the friend he’d caught sight of. 

Tonight had been fun– more fun than she’s had in months. Her parents had taught her how to dance when she was young, along with a handful of other skills she had once deemed useless, but Hermione had never thought it would come in handy or ever be as fun as this Ball.

Viktor was good conversation and it was easy to fall into a rhythm with him, so much so that the time felt like it was flying by. She almost didn’t want it to end but she was exhausted from all the dancing and her feet hurt because of her shoes, blisters forming at the back of her foot as the fabric rubbed against the skin.

She hadn’t seen Ron and Harry since the start of the dance but both of them had found dates with Luna and Parvati, who both looked amazing in their dresses. Parvati’s had been traditional and Hermione thought it looked lovely.

She tried not to think of the tight knot in her chest when she remembered Ron talking to Parvati with an easy smile on his face. 

Cold glass pressed against her cheek suddenly, ripping her away from her thoughts as she flinched back and glared up at the offender. “What was–”

Ron grinned at her with a touch of nerves in his eyes as he held out a bottle of Butterbeer towards her. “Hey, ‘Mione.”

“Hi,” Hermione said a little awkwardly, grasping the cool bottle from his hands and relishing in the sharp contrast in temperature between her skin and the glass. “What’re you doing? Where’s Harry?”

“Dancing with Ginny,” Ron snorted, jerking his chin towards the familiar pair on the dance floor just as the song ended and they sat down, obviously exhausted.

Hermione’s raised her eyebrows, surprise clear on her face. That was… new.

“That was my reaction too,” Ron huffed with a half-serious glare on his face as he stared at Harry. “Ginny asked him to dance which was weirdly bold of her. Do you think they spiked the drinks? Wouldn’t put it past Fred and George…”

Hermione laughed, something in her chest loosening up the longer Ron spoke. “I don’t think anyone would risk that. Where’s Parvati? You came with her.”

“She’s dancing with a Beauxbatons guy,” Ron shrugged before his gaze flickered back toward her. “Where’s Krum?”

“He’s catching up with a friend.”

Ron raised an eyebrow, a grouchy sort of frown on his face before muttering, “He has friends?”

“Hey! You were obsessed with him until last week,” Hermione protested and Ron shrugged unapologetically. She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Ronald.”

Ron looked away, frowning a bit when he saw something before shaking his head. “Hey, Hermione. Do you ever get really bad feelings sometimes? Like you know something is going to happen but not what it is?”

Hermione frowned, her heart sinking a bit at the words. “Sometimes… why?”

“Just… you know what? Never mind, it’s probably nothing,” Ron sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Hermione followed the motion, looking away when his eyes focused back on her and taking a long sip of the sweet drink. She looked back into the crowd of dancing students and teachers– Moody was doing an extremely ungainly two-step with Professor Sinistra, which was certainly a sight– before she found Viktor talking to a tall dark-haired man with an angry look on his face.

She tilted her head, trying to read their lips but they were too far away for her to see properly. 

Viktor glared at the man before grabbing something from his pocket and shoving it into the man’s chest. The man stumbled and Viktor turned on his heel and left the hall.

Hermione got the feeling that he wasn’t going to come back, nor was he talking to a ‘friend’.

“That did not look like catching up with a friend,” Ron commented dryly.

Hermione sighed, trying not to feel too disappointed. “He probably got some bad news, it’s fine.”

The two of them sat in companionable silence for a while before Ron spoke up in an awkward and uncertain way, his shoulders tense as he fidgeted. “I’ve been meaning to say… I think you look really great tonight. I like your hair. And the dress. Obviously.”

Hermione stared at him, her eyes widening as she did so. Something like hope rose in her chest, which she desperately tried to shove away before she inevitably got disappointed. “That’s… thank you. And, uh, thanks for asking the twins to ask Angelina to help me,” she added awkwardly.

His face flushed and Hermione's heart soared as she stared at him, waiting for something even if she wasn’t entirely sure what it was. “It’s no problem, I didn’t really do anything… but I was… wondering, since both of our dates are doing their own thing… would you want to dance? You don’t have to if you don’t want to–”

“Yes!”

The words left her mouth before she could even think and Ron blinked at her, his eyes wide as her face flamed red. She laughed a bit awkwardly, mentally cursing herself for such a ridiculous reaction before dropping her head into her hands.

“So… you want to?” Ron asked, a small teasing smile forming on his pink face and she groaned, glaring at him through her fingers. 

“Be quiet, Weasley.”

Her chest felt light as Ron stood up, offering her his hand with a wide grin on his face, and hesitantly, her hand slipped into his in a way that felt just right.

Maybe tonight hadn’t gone exactly as planned but Hermione didn’t have any complaints.

Harry hissed under his breath as he accidentally brushed his fingers against the bleeding wound on his arm, cold sweat beginning to soak his back. Well, he was reasonably sure that a part of that was due to the amount of blood he had lost in such a short period of time.

Bill was already waiting for him and there was an unconscious werewolf just a floor beneath him but there was no way Harry was going to reschedule this. It was hard to find a chance to get out of the castle without anyone noticing, especially since Dumbledore didn’t seem to trust him and was likely to keep an eye on him out of suspicion. 

None of the healing spells he knew were working and it wasn’t like Harry kept any Dittany on hand for something like this– which, maybe he should consider if this was how everything he did was going to end.

He remembered Bill’s scratches taking weeks to heal even with the treatment he’d gotten but Harry’s injuries were hardly the same, he hadn’t gotten mauled. It was just a scratch. 

A deep one that would probably kill him if he didn’t do something about it soon.

Harry wracked his brain for a spell that would stop the blood loss so he could bandage the wound before settling for the one he’d seen Snape use on Malfoy in sixth year. 

To Harry’s despair, nothing happened, even as he tried it multiple times. Giving up on that, his frustration got the better of him and Harry pressed his bloodied undershirt against the wound one last time before casting two bandaging charms on the area, wrapping them around the area tightly.

He got to his feet unsteadily, ignoring the pain that shot through his arm as he put his repaired shirt and jacket back on and stumbled towards the exit of the Shrieking Shack. White-hot pain shot through his body with each time the fabric of his jacket brushed against his bandages.

Hogsmeade was bright in the distance, with Christmas lights and trinkets decorating the shops and buildings. Harry squinted a bit, looking around in search of a familiar head of red hair

“Harry?”

He whirled around to face the person, raising his wand with his injured arm. He bit back whatever sound had nearly escaped him, grimacing a bit when he saw Bill staring at him, his eyes narrowed in confusion and concern.

“You okay, kid? I thought you saw me…,” he said carefully.

“I’m fine,” Harry lied easily. “Just startled me. Sorry, I was late.”

Bill waved it off, still staring at Harry with an odd expression on his face. “Don’t worry about it. It’s hardly been ten minutes.”

Ten minutes? That had seemed so much longer in his head.

“Right. I’m just tired from the Ball,” Harry sighed, shaking his head a bit to get rid of the fog that had settled over it. 

“How was it?” Bill asked conversationally as he did something with a piece of parchment and Harry shot him a look, unsure of what to say to that. They weren’t quite friends, even after all the time Harry had spent with the man and everything Bill knew about Harry, and most of the time they didn’t try to make small talk. It felt more like what he would imagine a coworker’s relationship to be, if Harry was being honest.

Bill kept his distance most of the time and Harry knew it was because the man didn’t want to get attached when there was a high chance Harry would die. Harry respected that and besides, it made things easier for him.

“It was okay. I already lived through it once,” Harry shrugged.

Although, it hadn’t gone as well as this one had.

Bill glanced at him curiously. “Yeah? Who’d you go with?” 

“Luna.”

The man’s eyebrows rose. “Lovegood? That’s… an interesting choice.”

“She’s my friend,” Harry shot back pointedly before his gaze flickered back to the parchment in Bill’s hand just as the lettering– they were Runes– began to glow. “What’re you doing?”

“It’s part of my process for breaking wards. It'll show me a replica of what the wards look like,” Bill explained and sure enough, a flickering illusion rose out of the parchment, glowing faintly. “It’s easier for me to explain when I’m working with someone else.”

“That’s useful but why are we… doing it here?” Harry questioned.

“I don’t want to be detected. There’s something going on in that town and that shack’s a little too close to it,” Bill said carefully, giving Harry a look. “Which means, don’t cast any magic unless it’s necessary and we have to do this quickly. I’m pretty sure I can do this without being detected but it’s You-Know-Who, so be careful.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Harry muttered, crouching beside the man as he placed the parchment on the ground and swaying as a wave of nausea hit him. He steadied himself with a hand on the ground, missing the brief concerned look on Bill’s face. 

The illusion was filled with different colors, red and purple being the most prominent. “What’re the colors all about?”

“They represent different protections. If you step through it without being one of the people who own the place, red will shoot a nasty blood-boiling curse at you. The purple is mostly just notice-me-nots to deter people from looking too closely at the place. Black is part of the family magic, it sets that giant snake on the door after you. It’s venomous. The green part will basically blow anyone who sets foot into the building sky-high. The rest are just general home wards,” Bill explained.

“What about the curse on the ring? I’ve seen what his Horcruxes do and this one is probably the most dangerous. The only reason Dumbledore survived for as long as he did was because he’s, well, Dumbledore,” Harry said, anxiety clawing at his insides as he absently covered his injured arm. “Are you sure you want to do–”

Bill cut him off before he could even finish, leveling Harry with a wholly unimpressed look on his face. “Kid, we’ve been through this before. You’re not doing this by yourself. Besides, how would you get through the wards? I know how to deal with this stuff, I’m a curse breaker.”

Harry looked away from the sincere expression on the man’s face, eyebrows knitting together as he pulled at a piece of loose skin on his mouth. “Right.”

The illusion faded as Bill rolled the piece of parchment up, getting to his feet and rolling his shoulders absently. Harry followed suit, stumbling a bit as he did so and Bill’s hand shot out to steady him, the concerned look on his face intensifying as Harry grimaced through the pain.

The dizziness seemed to have increased in the time they’d spent there, along with the occasional flashes of heat.

“Harry,” Bill said firmly, eyes borrowing into Harry’s. “Are you sure you’re up for this? I can’t take you if you’re still injured, you and I both know this is dangerous.”

“I’m fine,” Harry insisted.

He was working with a time limit, there wasn’t enough time for him to worry. Besides, it wasn’t all that bad, he couldn’t risk everything over a couple of scratches. He’d have time to treat them properly afterward.

Bill stared at him a moment longer before he sighed, offering his arm for Harry to grab onto. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Bill Apparated them to a familiar dirt path with a sharp crack! and Harry’s stomach turned, nearly losing his dinner as his head spun and his arm throbbed. He closed his eyes and held onto Bill for a moment longer so he could steady himself, grimacing as he did so.

The man watched him until he was sure Harry was alright, thankfully not commenting on his adverse reaction to the method of transportation.

A sense of foreboding snuck up on Harry as they walked down the narrow dirt track bordered by higher and wilder hedgerows than those they had left behind. It was crooked and rocky, heading for a patch of dark trees just ahead of them. When the path opened up, Harry stared at the familiar shack hidden away amongst thick trees and the eerie shadows cast on the house.

It was just as rundown as Harry remembered it being in Bob Odgen’s memory, walls covered in dying moss and broken tiles from the roof littering the ground around the house. Nettles grew all around it, their tips reaching the windows, which were tiny and thick with grime.

As they got closer, they were greeted with the familiar disturbing sight of a snake nailed to the door before Bill stopped suddenly. Harry copied, giving the man a curious look before realizing that this was where the wards began.

It was interesting seeing Bill’s work in action, even if his interest was hindered by his impatience and the paranoia that had been accompanying him since they had set foot in Little Hangleton.

They were so close to Voldemort, so close to the graveyard where Cedric had died and Harry had helped Voldemort revive himself, that Harry could almost taste the man’s presence in the air as he looked around.

Harry watched as Bill slowly began to take the wards apart, casting different spells around different areas around the house and the air glowed faintly when they connected with an invisible force– at least, it was invisible to Harry. He was fairly sure Bill could see it.

The parchment on the ground, filled with numbers and Runes, glowed in tandem with the wards before lines of symbols Harry couldn’t understand began disappearing off the page.

After ten minutes, Bill finally put his wand down before kneeling near one of the trees and pulling a silver dagger and an odd rock from his belt, the metal of the dagger glinting in the moonlight.

A quiet grating sound pierced the air as Bill began to carve something into the rock, his eyebrows knitted into a concentrated frown. Harry could see that the process of breaking the wards was talking a lot out of the man and a small part of him couldn’t but marvel at the fact that Dumbledore had probably done this all without breaking a sweat and managed to weaken the curse Voldemort had placed on the ring.

Harry’s hand unconsciously drifted to his injured arm, intimately aware of the fact that he was still losing blood and that the dizziness he’d been sporting for a while was progressing into more dangerous territories. Doubt began to cloud his mind as Bill worked.

Was it the right decision to do this when he was injured? What if he messed things up because of it?

Before he could think on it any further, the parchment filled with runes crumbled to ashes and a deep sense of wrongness settled in the air, his heart stuttering in his chest as Bill stood up slowly, his freckles stark against his pale face.

The whole area was drenched in darkness, as if the moonlight had suddenly lost its color. The sound of dripping water echoed around despite there being no source of water nearby and there was a foul scent in the air, rancid and sickeningly sweet in a way that made Harry’s stomach turn.

It was as if the wards had hidden the true sinister air around the old shack, a clear sense of unnaturalness clinging to every inch of the building and every part of Harry screamed at him not set foot in there

He drifted towards Bill, who hadn’t moved since he’d broken the wards surrounding the area, and there was a frown pulling at his features before he shook his head, glancing back at Harry.

“You okay?”

Harry paused for a moment before he nodded. They’d already gone this far, they couldn’t waste the chance because he’d decided to be an idiot. “I’m fine.”

Bill led the way inside, giving Harry a pointed look that told him to stay behind him. 

The inside of the shack held the same unnaturalness as the outside and the putrid scent intensified to the point where it was nearly unbearable as they carefully avoided the rotting floorboards. The shack contained three tiny rooms. Two doors led off the main room, which served as a kitchen and living room combined. 

And then, as they stepped into the living room, Harry saw the source of the smell and stumbled back. He inhaled sharply, staring at the rotting corpse with wide eyes as revulsion rolled in his stomach and a wave of nausea and dizziness hit him. 

There was no skin on the face, lips and eyelids rotting away to reveal dark sunken pits and decaying teeth. Most of the flesh had decomposed with time but Harry could see movement in some parts of the body and with a sickening jolt, Harry realized the movement was maggots.

His stomach heaved and he turned away, the contents of his stomach spilling out on the ground, burning and acidic as he heaved over and over again until nothing but spit was coming out. The sour taste of bile was heavy on his tongue and coated the back walls of his throat.

There was a hand on his back as he sucked in a few breaths, coughing a little before closing his eyes and grimacing at the terrible smell that made him want to vomit all over again. “Sorry,” he muttered, shame rising in his face as he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

“It’s fine,” Bill said with a tired look on his face and vanishing the puddle of sick on the ground with a wave of his wand. “It’s not the worst reaction I’ve seen. You okay?”

The answer was a definite no because his head felt like it was spinning and his head was aching and his shirt was soaked with blood under his jacket and- Merlin, this was a terrible idea.

“Yeah,” Harry groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Yeah, just give me a moment.”

He stayed like that for a second before straightening up, ignoring the way he staggered and Bill gave him yet another concerned look– this one was tinged with suspicion. “What do we do about the…” he trailed off, looking at Bill uncertainly as he gestured towards the body he was purposely not focusing on.

“I don’t think we should do anything,” Bill grimaced, looking positively revolted by the thought. “It looks like it’s been here for a few months, so someone was here recently. We shouldn’t move anything. You have any idea who this might be?”

“It’s… the first time around, Voldemort killed an old man at the beginning of this year. I never saw this place in present time or what happened to him… so there might be a chance it was him,” Harry explained, his eyebrows knitting into a frown as he glanced over his shoulder, an odd feeling washing over him.

He tried not to think about how close to the body he was, focusing on the rotting floorboards rather than the gory sight before him. Breathing through his mouth helped a little but his skin crawled at the combined sensation of being so close to a dead body and Voldemort.

“Okay, kid. We’re going to look around for the ring, don’t touch it, just call me if you see anything out of the ordinary,” Bill said firmly. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded absently, his eyes flickering around the room with a small frown. Even with his Occlumency defenses, he should be able to feel the Horcrux, especially when he was in such close proximity. But then again, his scar never hurt around the diary or the diadem until he was about to destroy them.

They split up, Harry searching through the kitchen and bedroom and Bill throughout the living room, mercifully giving Harry a way to get the corpse out of his direct line of sight. 

The area was covered in a thick layer of dust beside a few areas, which told Harry that someone had truly been here sometime within the last few months and the thought sent a chill down his spine. 

It couldn’t be Voldemort, the man still didn't have a body. And Dumbledore hadn’t gone to the shack until just before sixth year. 

Logic told Harry that it was Crouch Jr. because Voldemort had given two of his Death Eaters his Horcruxes to protect, it was hardly a stretch that he would allow one of his most loyal followers near one of them, but something told Harry that wasn’t quite it. 

Rusted cutlery, broken plates, and dented pans and cauldrons filled the cabinets and drawers in the kitchen. There was nothing of interest in the kitchen, even when he looked through the rotting floorboards as thoroughly as he could so he moved on to the bedroom.

There was something wrong with the situation but an uneasy glance at Bill told him that he might just be paranoid. The man was an accomplished curse breaker, surely he’d notice that something was wrong before Harry did.

The bedroom was far worse than the living room or kitchen, covered in cobwebs and dust so thick that Harry had to conjure up a mask so he wouldn’t break out into a coughing fit every few seconds.

There were two beds, the wood on the frames rotting and covered in mold that was possibly decades old but he could see initials engraved into the backboards in fancy calligraphy that read, ‘M.G.’

Harry ran his fingers over the letters carefully, blinking in surprise when his fingers caught against the edge of something and a small drawer popped out.

There was a black box inside it, with silver latches and the mark of the Deathly Hallows etched into the top. Harry’s heart skipped a beat. This could be the Horcrux.

“Bill?”

“Yeah?” the redhead replied absently, obviously still immersed in his search for the Horcrux

“I think I found something.”

The sound of the man’s search halted before quick footfalls approached the bedroom and Bill appeared, his eyes flicking over Harry carefully before focusing on the drawer. “Did you touch anything?” he demanded, relaxing a tad when Harry shook his head. He cast a few charms on the drawer and box, his eyes narrowing as he did so.

Harry didn’t interrupt, his eyes flickering between Bill’s expression and the unaffected box in the drawer. Features twisted into suspicious bewilderment, the older wizard carefully picked up the box and Harry tensed, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing did.

“It’s just… a normal box,” Bill said slowly. “This is the symbol for the Deathly Hallows, right? You drew it in one of the journals.”

Harry nodded absently as his eyebrows knitted together, taking the box when it was offered for him to examine. “Yeah. The wand, stone, and cloak,” he muttered before he began unlatching the box.

There was nothing inside it besides a note and there was something horribly familiar about the situation. 

A Horcrux gone. A note left in its wake.

Harry took the note out carefully, his fingers shaking ever so slightly as he placed the box on one of the beds and began unfolding the piece of paper. He fumbled for a moment, his fingers feeling oddly uncoordinated and disconnected from his body.

‘To the Dark Lord,

I warned you that you would one day meet your match. The day of your reckoning grows near and I vow to watch you fall once again, as mortal as the day you were born.

Consider this your first gift from your loyal servant.

– R. A. B.’

Harry stared at the words for a moment, his mouth dry as he tried to wrap his mind around what he had just read.

R. A. B. 

R. A. B. 

Regulus Arcturus Black.

That didn’t make any sense. Dumbledore hadn’t said a word about finding anything regarding the younger Black brother in relation to the Gaunt ring and there was no way he could’ve found the ring. Kreacher had told him the story of his old master; there had never been any mention of the ring.

It didn’t make sense. 

How could a dead man, someone Harry had made a grave in honor of all those months ago in Godric’s Hollow, possibly have gotten anywhere near the ring?

But there had never been a body. No proof of Regulus’s death besides Kreacher’s word.

Was it possible…

“Harry!” Bill snapped suddenly, pulling the teen back into the present by the panicked quality in his voice. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

As if his senses were suddenly back in overdrive, the revolting scent of burning flesh and something else attacked him as he turned to face the curse breaker. He inhaled sharply as soon as he saw what caught the man's attention and panic

Standing at the doorway of the bedroom was the corpse from earlier, its jaw unhinged and its body lit with an eerie purple flickering flame. Thick globs of flesh and maggots dripped to the ground until there was nothing but a skeletal frame as it stared at them with soulless pits of darkness.

Oh.

The gray path glided before me
Through cool, green shadows;
Little leaves hung in the soft air
Like drowsy moths;
A group of dark trees, gravely conferring,
Made me conscious of the gaucherie of sound;
Farther on, a slim lilac
Drew me down to her on the warm grass.
“How sweet is peace!”
My serene heart said.

Then, suddenly, in a curve of the road,
Red tulips!
A bright battalion, swaying,
They marched with fluttering flags,
And gay fifes playing!

A swift flame leapt in my heart;
I burned with passion;
I was tainted with cruelty;
I wanted to march in the wind,
To tear the silence with gay music,
And to slash the sober green
Until it sobbed and bled.

The tulips have found me out.

- Florence Ripley Mastin

Chapter Text

Everything was white.

Rigel pushed himself off the pale surface of the ground, squinting as the brightness of the area made his headache swell and a soft groan escaped him. 

Where was he?

His memory was fuzzy like it always was when he woke up after a transformation but there was something… something missing. Something wrong.

His gaze flickered around the area, his eyebrows knitting into a small frown as he scanned the pure white hallway with no seeming end to it. Something like fear trickled into his mind as the feeling that he was trapped began to grow.

“I haven’t even spoken a word yet you’re terrified.”

Rigel whirled around, his heart jumping into his throat when he saw that there was no one behind him. He looked around frantically but there was nothing, no matter where he looked.

Had he imagined that?

As if summoned, arms coiled around him and he froze, his lungs stuttering in his chest and his heartbeat roaring in his ears. He couldn’t move.

There was a body pressed against him from behind in a sickening sort of hug and their breath was hot against his neck as they lifted one of their hands to touch his face.

An involuntary shiver ran through his spine.

“Your kind is always so pathetic, controlled by their fear instead of the greatness they can create. Scared of change, scared of difference, scared of those that are inferior to you,” they whispered into his ear, their voice hoarse from disuse and distinctly male. “You disgust me, Rigel Williams. But you’re important. A vessel. It’s only a matter of time before I’m the one in control.”

What? A vessel? In control? What did that even mean?

How was he important?

He wanted to ask but his tongue felt like it was glued to the top of his mouth and he still couldn’t move an inch.

They stroked his cheek and he could almost taste the amusement in the air. It made him sick.

“Only a matter of time before I’m free,” they breathed out, glee slipping into their voice.

Before Rigel could even question it, the white room faded and everything went dark.

When his eyes opened again, he was greeted by the scent of blood that wasn’t his own and a distinct lack of metal shackles restraining him and his stomach dropped.

No.

Panic welled in Bill’s chest at the sight of the familiar creature.

Eerie purple flames flickered around its skeletal frame as it stared at them through soulless pits of darkness and Bill felt like he was nineteen all over again, his limbs frozen in fear and cold sweat soaking his sweater.

The sound of paper crinkling reminded him of his companion and Bill shoved his emotions down, grabbing the teen’s shoulder to get his attention without taking his eyes off the creature.

“Harry!” Bill barked and the kid whirled around to face him, his face falling at the sight of the creature. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

As if it could understand him, the creature lunged at them and Bill dodged out of the way, pulling the teen away before tossing any semblance of subtlety and throwing an overcharged exploding hex at the wall.

It contacted the wall with a loud bang! and blasted it apart, taking parts of the ceiling with it. Cursing under his breath as splintering wood rained down upon them and the skeleton creature didn’t even seem to notice, he pulled Harry out of the way of another swipe and gritted his teeth when pain blossomed in his arm.

“C’mon, we need to get out of here! Run!” he shouted, pushing the coughing teen ahead and casting another exploding charm on the creature before following after him, knowing from past experience that magic wouldn’t do anything but give you more than a few seconds' headstart.

All they needed to do was get out of its range…

“Bill!” Harry called, his voice strained with effort. “I need a hand he–”

His words cut off suddenly and Bill felt his stomach drop, pushing himself to run faster as frigid winter air bit into his skin. 

In the cluster of trees, there was a small clearing, and Harry was there, his shirt torn from the back as he kicked one of the creatures away desperately and hexed another. There were around ten of them surrounding him, attacking each time he pushed one of them away.

One of them managed to grab his wand arm, purple flames spreading onto his skin as Harry let out a choked cry of pain and his wand slipped from his hand. They crowded him, latching onto his arms, legs, and torso and Bill felt his stomach sink further when the kid screamed.

“ Incendio!”

The ones holding his arms stumbled back.

“ Incarcerous!”

The ones holding his leg drew back, burning through the ropes easily.

Now mobile enough to fight back against the creatures restraining, Harry tore himself away from the few that held onto him, slamming his elbows into their skulls and kicking them back until he was able to grab his wand and sprint back over to Bill.

More of them appeared from the abandoned and destroyed Gaunt Shack, jaws unhinged and eyes set upon them. Bill could count up to thirty of them, more than he saw the last time.

They shouldn’t even exist, Kragnast said they were a freak of nature, an experiment!

“What the fuck are these things?!” Harry spat out, his face twisted in pain as he grasped his left arm. “They’re worse than Inferi!”

“I don’t know!” Bill shot back, firing spell after spell as he wracked his mind for a solution, cursing himself for not bringing his Gringotts appointed emergency Portkey with him. 

Something cold, slimy, and familiar grasped his ankle before a burning sensation spread through his leg. He hissed in pain, tearing his leg away as fear crawled up his throat

They were coming out of the ground. 

That meant they were standing right above their home.

A hand suddenly pushed him away and Bill stumbled forward, blasting one of the creatures away before whirling around to face Harry.

They were swarming him again, as if they were more attracted to him than Bill, dozens of hands grasping every inch of his body as they started dragging him down to the ground and nothing Bill would do stopped them, his spells knocking them back a few meters before they went back to swarming the kid again.

No, no, no, not this again–

He launched himself forward with single-minded desperation, bodily grabbing the creatures and tossing them to the side, ignoring the way his hands screamed with pain and his skin began to waste away more and more with each time he came in contact with the creatures.

One of Harry’s legs was visible, the cloth of his pants torn and crumbling as Bill latched onto it.

They were already halfway through burying Harry in the dirt, the endless stream of creatures growing more and more with each second.

If he didn’t do something right now, if he didn’t get them away–

Get away?

The Portkey he gave Harry for Christmas.

“Please be wearing it,” Bill pleaded, grasping the teen’s leg harder. “ Portus! Portus!”

There was nothing for a second and Bill’s stomach sank, icy fear gripping his heart as he felt the creatures he had thrown away latch onto him.

They were going to die.

“ Por..tus,” a voice croaked weakly and Bill almost cried when the familiar feeling tugged at his navel.

Just before the Portkey activated, something bit into his leg and an aborted cry of pain escaped him as they jerked forward, his feet leaving the ground as he held onto Harry’s leg as firmly as he could. He could feel the creatures dropping away just seconds after the Portkey activated, dying off as soon as they escaped their territory.

Whatever had latched onto his leg remained there, fangs or claws grasping onto his leg like a lifeline as they sped forward in a howl of wind and swirling color.

Bill felt it when they passed through the wards of his apartment, bracing himself before tumbling to the ground in a heap of limbs and… scales?

Pushing past the dizziness and pain, Bill turned around to face whatever had latched onto him, his eyes widening when a large enraged snake lunged at him. 

Before he could even react, Harry practically tackled the thing to the ground, pulling a dagger out of nowhere and viciously stabbing it through the snake’s head. It struggled for a moment before going still.

Harry staggered to his feet for a second, haggard and covered in dirt and wounds from head to toe, before he crumbled, falling forward just as Bill got up to steady him.

“So much for being the one to protect him,” he muttered to himself, summoning his Gringotts Portkey and adjusting his grip on the kid.

There was a sick feeling in his gut, shame and the ever-constant guilt that accompanied him every time he allowed Harry to put himself in situations like this, situations that could kill him. 

It nearly killed both of them this time.

Was it really a good idea to do this without telling anyone?

It should be familiar by now, waking up in an unfamiliar bed with his body aching from head to toe.

Harry woke up slowly. He blinked his eyes open before letting them fall shut again, rolling over and burying his face in the firm pillows bracketing his head. The blankets over him were heavy and warm, and their weight was comforting. He breathed, content in the space between sleeping and waking, before blinking his eyes open again in confusion. 

Where was he?

He pushed himself halfway up, looking blearily around the room. It was vaguely familiar and it took Harry a moment to place where he was in his half-awake state.

It was the Gringotts’ healer room, where he had slept off the effects of the purifying ritual at the start of this year, a short two weeks after somehow getting back to the past.

Memories of the night before came back all at once as he came into full wakefulness, his eyes flickering around the room anxiously.

For a moment, Harry was terrified it had all been in his head, that he was right back where he started again, his chest growing tight before he finally noticed the familiar redhead asleep at his bedside, and his shoulders sagged with relief.

He tensed again when he remembered what had happened the night before, scanning Bill for injuries and grimacing when he caught sight of bandages peeking through the man’s clothes.

He had fared no better than Bill had if the persistent ache in his bones and the more obvious bandages covering his entire left arm and torso.

Harry closed his eyes, dropping his face into his hands.

Last night had been a disaster; everything that could’ve gone wrong went wrong.

He was attacked by a werewolf. The Gaunt ring Horcrux was missing and Harry had no idea where it was, taken by Regulus Black or someone masquerading as the man. Then they had been attacked by magic-resistant skeleton creatures that reminded him of Inferi but worse. Then they had been attacked by Nagini, who Voldemort had clearly sent to find out what was going on at the Gaunt Shack after those skeleton creatures had forced them to toss out any subtlety they possessed to get away from those godforsaken things.

The only good thing that happened was that Harry could now cross off Nagini from the list of possible or current Horcruxes.

Even then, Harry couldn’t call that a good thing because he didn’t know how deep the connection between the creature and Voldemort ran. What if Voldemort had seen Harry through Nagini’s eyes? What if he knew that Harry and Bill were hunting the Horcruxes and would make sure to hide them better or make more?

He had almost killed himself and Bill– the only two people who knew the future– for some half-cocked attempt at destroying the ring. He was already bleeding out by the time he met up with Bill and his half-delirious mind had made the stupid decision to continue their mission as if they weren’t dealing with Voldemort.

Merlin, what was wrong with him?

Before Harry could spiral any further, Bill shifted in his chair and blinked awake, rubbing his neck with a grimace. He straightened up after a moment, his gaze focusing on Harry before they widened. “Oh, you’re awake. Are you okay? Silverrite said you’d be fine after a bit of rest but…” Something flickered in his eyes before his eyebrows knitted into a scowl. “Wanna tell me how you got attacked by a werewolf in the span of time it took for you to get from Hogwarts to Shrieking Shack?”

Harry, caught a little off guard by the immediate concern and anger from the man, stared at him blankly for a moment before giving a half-hearted shrug.

It wasn't like he could just tell Bill Rigel's secret, especially when his friend had worked so hard to keep it hidden.

Fire blazed in the man’s eyes at the lackluster response and Harry grimaced, opening his mouth to defend himself but nothing but a weak croak came out and Bill deflated, anger quickly fading as he grabbed a bottle of water from the bedside table and handed it to Harry.

“Your throat and arm were the worst out of everything, so it'll be a few hours before you can talk properly again but Silverrite said to avoid it for a few days if you can. Your arm,” his words were pronounced by another irritated look directed at Harry, “will take around a week with the salve Silverrite made, which, considering how deep it was and the fact that werewolf scratches can’t be healed with magic, is pretty good. Seriously, I asked you more than once if you were okay, Harry. All you had to do was tell me and we could’ve postponed this whole thing.” Bill rubbed the side of his face, fatigue and something Harry couldn’t put his finger on shining through his expression. “Merlin, I don’t want you to die, kid.”

Harry froze at the admission, his throat going dry at the raw emotion in the words. 

He had tried his best to keep his distance, to avoid any sort of attachment or meaningful relationship with the man but it had ultimately failed and Harry wasn’t sure what to do.

What was he meant to say to that with everything he had planned, everything Bill knew he had planned?

Bill paused, his gaze shifting away before his face went blank and he got to his feet. “I’ll go get Silverite. She’ll want to know you’re awake,” he said softly and left the room without another word.

The next hour was a haze of checkups, potions, and an irritated lecture from the goblin healer before he was finally released from her hands at noon. 

Harry wasn’t all too worried about anyone noticing his absence, most people slept in after the Ball, which somehow felt more than a dozen hours ago but he supposed that he was due to how long the night before had felt. 

He tried not to think about the feeling of those cold hands grasping every inch of his body, dragging him down, down, down–

Harry shook the memory away when Bill appeared again, holding spare clothes that were shrunken down for Harry to change into (with a turtle neck that hide his bandages from sight, thankfully), his Invisibility cloak, the Marauder’s map, his wand that he distinctly remembered dropping, and his dagger that Bill warned Harry to keep it out of sight if he wanted to stay on the goblins’ good side.

Remembering Griphook and his obsession with the Sword of Gryffindor, Harry agreed readily and kept the sheathed goblin-forged dagger out of sight.

Since he was at Gringotts, Harry supposed there was no better time to ask than right now.

“Could we talk to Orgnok before we leave?” he rasped out, rubbing his neck with a grimace. The next few days weren’t going to be fun. “I’ve been meaning to talk to him about something.”

Worry flickered through Bill’s face. “Is it important? You heard Silverrite.”

“I want someone to harvest the basilisk. And maybe explore the Chamber with me,” Harry explained and the man blinked in surprise. He shrugged a bit, shrinking under the scrutinizing look he was presented with. “There’s no point of it rotting down there– if someone can profit from it, then that’s good,” he defended unnecessarily.

“Someone, huh?” Bill huffed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Right. I’ll scope it out with you and haggle with Orgnok over the details later. Just focus on getting better for now.”

Harry tried not to think about the fond look in the man’s eyes or the guilt that churned in his gut whenever he thought about the mess that he had dragged the man into with no way to move except down.

Bill apparated them back to the Shrieking Shack with a loud crack! and Harry threw his Invisibility cloak on after sending the man a quick wave. He hesitated for a moment, wariness creeping up on him as he stared at the shack for a moment. 

He shook his head quickly, disregarding his ridiculous thoughts. It was well into the afternoon there was no way the werewolf– Rigel – was still there. 

Harry was exhausted by the time he finally got back to the castle, dusting the dirt off his clothes with a quick flick of his wand and trudging through the snowy field back toward the castle. He tucked his invisibility cloak and the map away when he caught sight of Ron, Hermione, the twins, and… Rigel talking in front of the Gryffindor common room entrance. 

Harry almost wanted to turn away, not wanting to deal with the questions Ron and Hermione would bombard him with or the inevitable conversation he and Rigel would have to have about the night before.

Maybe he should've been more worried about people noticing his absence.

The Hufflepuff caught his presence almost as soon as he got within hearing range, whirling around to face him with a wide-eyed look of relief, guilt, and fear all jumbled up together.

Fred and George both relaxed at the sight of him, signature grins flashing despite the way their eyes scanned him for a moment. “There you are! Did you have that good of a night?” George teased.

Harry made a face, rolling his eyes at their antics. “Shut up, I’m just sick.”

“You weren’t in the dorms,” Hermione said sharply, shrewd enough to realize that there was something else going on.

Sometimes Harry wished she wasn't so perceptive.

“Or the kitchens,” Fred added.

“Or anywhere in the castle that we know about,” George finished.

Harry shrugged, more than aware of Rigel’s eyes burning into his skin. “Why were you guys searching for me anyways?”

“Sirius called using the mirror thing,” Ron piped up with an unreadable look on his face that made Harry's stomach twist. He hated lying to his friends. “He said he told you about it in his letter?”

Harry bit back a groan, desperately hoping his friends hadn’t told Sirius that he wasn’t anywhere in the castle. With his luck, the man would ask questions Harry didn’t have the answer to. “I must’ve missed it. I’ll call him back right now, thanks for–”

“Actually,” Rigel cut in. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Great.

I hear a calling
But I prefer falling
So I practice avoidance
It's a void dance
To an annoyed trance
To avoid a glance
Or taking a chance

People take pieces they don't plan on returning
The only replacement is the sensation of burning
In this hell
With no one to tell
Because I locked my heart
Which felt like a good start
Until loneliness pervaded my soul
And I can't climb out of this hole

I create isolation
When there's no inspiration
I discontinue integration
And go on permanent vacation
I watch movies
To feel groovy
I write
Out of sight
I play video games
To avoid shame
I decide to act lame
So no one asks my name

I begin to feel sour
In my lonely tower
I used to think independence was power
Until I found myself in my darkest hour
With only friends to help
The same friends I put on a shelf
That are now mythical like an elf

Is life just giving all my pieces away?
Disconnection leaves my life grey
But if I decide to stay
My love they will slay
They will toy with my emotions
Until I feel their encroachment
But I'd rather have a toy's chance
Than live my life in a void dance