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Chapter Text

Kill the spare.

"No, not Cedric …"

Avada Kedavra!

"No! Please, don't kill him!"

Bow to death, Harry.

"No … please … NO!"

Harry yelled and jerked upright in bed, trembling. He was drenched in sweat, and his bed clothes and pyjamas were clinging to him like a second skin. He breathed deeply for a few moments, trying to steady the rapid hammering of his heart. His body was rushing with adrenaline, ready to run from the enemies in his mind.

Taking another deep breath, he swung his legs out of bed and crossed over to the window. He peered out into the silent street, half expecting to see Voldemort and his Death Eaters coming up the driveway. He pulled at the lock and opened the window a little, letting the cool night air soothe his burning skin. Hedwig sat in her cage next to him on his desk. She peered at him, looking almost concerned, and hooted softly in reassurance. He looked at her sadly. What did she know of what he was going through?

He closed his eyes, and immediately, that face, his face was in front of him once more, leering, smiling, red eyes aglow, laughing as Harry writhed around on the graveyard soil, screaming as his muscles were set on fire.

He saw Cedric's face once more, pale in death, a surprised look still on his face. He vividly remembered the feel of his body as he carried it back to Hogwarts, the looks on his parents' faces when they had visited him in the Hospital Wing. They hadn't said it, but Harry was certain they had wished he had died instead.

Sometimes he wished that as well.

He felt physically sick as he remembered the pain of the Cruciatus Curse, and his limbs twitched in remembrance.

He sat down on the edge of his bed as his breathing calmed somewhat and his body began to relax. He buried his head in his hands and tried not to succumb to the despair that had plagued him ever since he had returned to Privet Drive.

Almost a month had passed since that fateful day of the Triwizard Tournament, and not a moment had passed that Harry had not vividly relived it. It was in his dreams, in his thoughts, day and night, until he could no longer escape it. It was with him always.

It didn't help that he'd been stuck in this room almost that entire time. He lay on his bed all day, lethargic, not moving, not even for meals sometimes, just letting the numbness take over. What was the point? No one cared what he was up to. The Dursleys were happy to ignore him as always, and so it seemed were his wizarding friends.

They'd written, but their letters were short, rushed, and devoid of the information Harry desperately craved. What was happening with Voldemort? What was going on? From the looks of things, Ron and Hermione were together somewhere, and deliberately not revealing any information to him, although they said they could not. Even Sirius was sketchy on details.

At first he had been angry. Didn't he deserve to know the truth? After everything, did they think he'd be content just to go back to the Muggle world and live like a good little boy until they came to get him? But that anger had long since passed, and now all he felt was resentment, abandonment and hurt.

He'd desperately listened to the Muggle news every day for some sign of what was going on in the Muggle world, but nothing was forthcoming. Even the Daily Prophet told him nothing. After finding nothing whatsoever on the front pages, he'd soon delved deeper and discovered subtle hints throughout questioning his both his own sanity and that of Dumbledore's. It looked like Fudge's denial was still going strong.

Dumbledore had angered him as well. Not even so much as a letter in all the time he had been here. He'd tried to distract himself by long walks around Little Whinging, hoping to escape the tortures of his memory, but had had little success. If he had hoped surrounding himself by banal normality of Muggle life would help him, he had been wrong. All it did was remind him how helpless he was here to fight against this new evil, how helpless he had been that night.

He couldn't escape the guilt, the shame. He had lain there on the ground defenceless as Cedric was killed just inches away, after he, Harry, had been the one to bring him to Little Hangleton in the first place. He hadn't fought back as Wormtail had tied him to the gravestone, he had stood and watched as Voldemort was resurrected, stood there as he was tortured, and the Death Eaters laughed. He had been so helpless, so weak …

It was his fault … Voldemort had needed his blood to return. If Harry had only fought back … could he have prevented it? If he hadn't fought so hard to win the Third Task, Cedric would have gotten there first to the Cup … he would still have died, but Voldemort would not have returned.

Why had he insisted Cedric take the Cup with him? If he hadn't …

The memory of Cedric's spirit, ghost, whatever he was coming from Voldemort's wand lingered in his thoughts. Those other victims … his parents …

He closed his eyes as he felt his breathing quicken and his heart rate increase, hoping to escape those images, but the blackness only increased their vibrancy. He began shaking again, and felt tears prick at his eyes. Would he never escape this?

He'd sneaked into the medicine cupboard one night when the Dursleys were sleeping, and rummaged around for some sleeping tablets, hoping to escape the nightmares that plagued his evenings. But the nightmares had come anyway, despite the pills. He'd even looked through his school books for a way to make a Dreamless Sleep potion, but despaired when he looked at the extensive list of ingredients. There was just no way to escape this misery.

He lay back on his bed, and stared at the ceiling, feeling the usual melancholy and depression sink in. Here he was alive, when Cedric was dead and Voldemort was at large. What use could he be to anybody? It was no wonder no one had bothered to write to him properly.

Never in his life had he felt so alone, even before he had found out he was a wizard. Back then, he didn't know what it was like to have friends. Now he did know, and now he knew what it was like to be abandoned by them.

Why didn't anybody realise how much he had badly needed them? How desperately he had needed their comfort, their guidance this last month? He felt like he was going insane. Why couldn't they see that? Why didn't they want to help him?

They must blame him for what had happened. They must hate him for it. And no wonder. He should have done more.

His scar prickled uncomfortably, but Harry paid it no heed. It was constantly hurting these days, but no pain could match that which he felt inside.

A few hours later, sunlight began to stream in through the window, and he heard movement in the rest of the house, meaning that morning had finally come in the time he'd spent staring at the ceiling.

He slowly sat up, vaguely thinking of going to get some breakfast. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. He preferred to avoid his aunt and uncle as much as possible. He shoved on some clothes and headed downstairs.

His aunt looked up as he walked into the kitchen, and a brief frown crossed her face. He paid no attention to this, and took his place at the table, pouring himself some orange juice. Dudley had yet to emerge from his bedroom, which meant there was still some food left. His aunt wordlessly passed him the most burnt piece of toast that she could, and Harry bit into it, not even noticing the taste. Everything tasted like cardboard to him these days anyway.

He fixed his eyes on the television screen in the corner, where a news reporter was speaking to the camera.

"-beautiful Wednesday morning today, and it looks like this heatwave is set to continue for the next few weeks. Although farmers and green-fingered viewers may be despairing at the lack of rain these days, hundreds of you have been flocking to the nation's beaches for some long-awaited sun, sea and relaxation. Local tourism bodies have been reporting on huge rises in demands for-"

The report continued, showing beaches filled to bursting of excited family holiday-makers, lounging under multi-coloured umbrellas on the sand, clutching melting ice-creams, topless middle-aged men with salmon pink sunburn, children building sand castles or sitting astride fat donkey and families splashing around in the clear blue sea.

Harry watched the pictures and the numb feeling inside of him grew. Not once in his life had he been to the seaside, the closest he'd ever been to the sea was the time Uncle Vernon had dragged them all out to that hut on the rock to escape the Hogwarts letters. The Dursleys had been many times, after dropping off Harry at Mrs Figg's that is, of course. They'd return late at night, Dudley pink from the sun, boasting of the crabs he'd caught in the rock pools, recounting the many ice-cream cones he'd eaten and flashing the stick of rock he was chewing on and laughing at the fact Harry had nothing.

The news reporter changed subject and began to drone on about a local by-election, but Harry didn't look away from the screen. Was this all the Muggles could find to talk about? The sun and some wannabee parliamentarians? Was Voldemort doing anything? Had he imagined it all? Or did no one see fit to let him know?

Finally he looked away, more disturbed by the continuing silence of the Death Eaters than reports of mass murders. He heard Dudley thumping down the stairs, and was up out of his seat like a shot. He did not want to run into him.

Seeing that getting back to his room without meeting Dudley would be impossible, Harry instead chose to slip out the back door and into the garden. He strolled past the dry flowerbeds and withered lawn until he found the furthest corner of the garden, where he crouched down, hoping to be concealed from the sight of the house by the large rosebush next to him.

How long he sat there in the garden, he didn't know but it must have been hours. He just stared straight ahead, deaf to the buzzing of bees, murmur of radios from people in their gardens enjoying the sunshine and mowing of lawns. He vaguely remembered another time he had sat here, and saw a pair of green eyes peering at him from inside the hedge. He'd felt abandoned by his friends back then as well, but at least he had found out the truth in the end. These letters deliberately devoid of any useful information were worse than not hearing at all.

The anger still boiled away inside of him, no longer directed at the people who were supposed to be his friends. He was unsure who exactly he was angry at, himself, Voldemort, Ron, even Cedric … all he knew was that it was a struggle to keep down, a struggle not to give in and rage, pack his trunk and tie it to his broom and fly off somewhere. He was restless, and he felt strained, like he could snap at any moment.

As he was once again trying to reign in this anger, a low hiss caught his attention. It came from somewhere near his feet, and he lifted them aside, searching the grass for what had made the sound. A glint in the sun caught his eye, and he immediately drew back when he saw a snake in the grass at his feet, slowly emerging from underneath the nearby bench. About a half a metre long it was slender and a greyish colour with a double row of small black spots on its back. It coiled itself up, and raised its dark head to stare directly at him.

Harry stared back, his heart ceasing to hammer so hard when he saw that the snake was smaller and of a different colour to Nagini, who had also been filling his dreams as of late from her position coiled around her master's shoulders. This was simply a normal wild snake. He didn't lower his guard however; Voldemort was a Parselmouth after all, and wild thoughts sprang to Harry's mind as he tried to think of ways he could use this to his advantage to come after him.

But the snake just stared at him, head tilted on one side as if confused. Harry slowly moved back to his original position. It didn't seem hostile. Yet.

"What do you want?" Harry said, hearing the subtle hiss behind his words he never used to notice. The snake was surprised, though Harry wasn't quite sure how he knew this, considering the snake's expression (if snakes had expressions) hadn't changed in the slightest.

"A human with a serpent's tongue?" the snake hissed, a high voice that almost sounded female, though again, Harry had no idea how he knew this. "Interesting."

The snake inched closer, and this time, Harry did not draw back, but eyed the snake the entire time.

"I'm simply lost, human," she said. "Do you think I like to be stuck in this place with the stench of humans all around me?"

"We're not that bad," said Harry, eyeing with discomfort the writhing, shining body as it came closer. "The fields are that way." He pointed vaguely over the rows of houses, hoping the snake would just slither off, but she made no attempt to move.

"I have never met a serpent-tongue before," she said. "You are a dying breed."

"So are you," said Harry. He wasn't a great expert on British snakes, but remembering what he could from studying local wildlife at primary school and seeing that she didn't have the distinctive marks of an Adder, he guessed she had to be from another species, and therefore pretty rare. It also, he reminded himself, meant she probably wasn't venomous. "What kind of snake are you? And what's your name?"

She hissed in annoyance. "I pay no attention to the names of humans," she said, indignantly. "I am a snake, I need no other name."

"Okay," said Harry, not liking the hissing vehemence. "I was just wondering. You're the first wild snake I've ever met."

She almost looked pleased at this. "We seldom choose to approach humans," she said. "They are beneath us."

"I see where the Slytherin superiority mentality comes from then," said Harry, rolling his eyes.

"You are a wizard?" she hissed, seeming to recoil.

"Yeah, don't you like wizards?"

She shook her head. "It is a wizard that enslaves my kind. An evil man who possesses snakes and kills them. He is no friend to us. He kills us. Hurts us. His serpent-tongue is used for evil purposes. We have no choice but to obey."

Harry's heart clenched as he heard this mention of Voldemort, once again intruding himself into every part of Harry's life. Even the snakes were against him.

"I'm not like him," Harry said, a little louder than he needed to, as if to reassure himself. "He's evil. He killed my family. We're at war with him, or, at least, I think we are, if the Ministry ever gets its head out of its-"

"What are you doing?"

Harry jumped, and saw Dudley standing there watching him, a mix of amusement and uncertainty on his face. Apparently he had not seen the snake. He came closer, clutching a huge bag of crisps in one hand, crumbs around his mouth. When Harry said nothing, he began to laugh.

"What was that noise you were making, eh?" he chuckled. "Sounded like you were choking or something! Is that what you weirdoes do at that school? Sit around making silly noises to yourselves?"

Harry felt his anger grow, but reigned it back in. Despite all his less than tranquil feelings at the present, he knew saying something to Dudley would be a bad idea. He bit his tongue, and hoped Dudley would get bored by his lack of response and leave. Unfortunately, he did not.

"You're such a freak," Dudley said, still laughing. "A lonely little freak with nobody to talk to except himself."

Ignore him, ignore him, Harry said to himself, but Dudley was hitting too close to home.

"Talking to thin air in the day and your pillow at night, don't you have any friends?"

Harry's stomach dropped, and he forgot his resolution to stay quiet.

"What do you mean?"

"Cedric, oh Cedric, don't kill Cedric!" Dudley said, imitating him in a high, fearful voice. "Don't kill me! Mum, don't let him kill me. He killed Cedric!' Who's Cedric then, your boyfriend?"

Harry immediately leapt to his feet, withdrew the wand from his belt and pointed it straight at Dudley, not caring that he was in full view of the kitchen and several neighbour's houses. He was shaking in anger.

"Don't say that again," he said, voice trembling in emotion. Dudley looked at the wand.

"Point that thing away from me!"

"Take it back!"

"Point that thing away from me!"

"Take it back!"

The back door opened with a crash, and distracted, Harry looked away, only for one of Dudley's massive hands to whirl round and clock him on the side of the head, knocking him back against the bench, making him somewhat dazed, ears ringing. Dudley, seeing Harry's wand fly from his hand took this opportunity to go in for another blow.

But before Dudley's fist had made contact, he pulled back, screaming in pain. Harry looked closer and saw his fist covered in blood.

"Something bit me!" he was yelling. He staggered around for a moment, before spotting something on the ground. "It's a snake!"

Harry turned his head sharply to the side to see the snake slithering away quickly through the grass, tail disappearing into the hedge. He didn't have long to look however. Something grabbed him roughly by the scruff of the neck and dragged him into the house. Choking, and trying to regain his feet, he was thrown into the kitchen. He turned to see Uncle Vernon's face pressed up against his own, red and livid with anger.

"What did you do to him?" he bellowed, moustache quivering.

"Nothing!" Harry protested, but Dudley and Aunt Petunia had entered the kitchen, Dudley's hand wrapped in Aunt Petunia's apron, soaked with blood. She carefully unwrapped it and started trying to clean it in the sink, gushing over her 'poor ickle Diddykins'.

Uncle Vernon took one look at the blood and went white, not with disgust, but pure fury.

"It was a snake!" wailed Dudley, sobbing hysterically. "I heard him hissing to it. He was controlling it. He made it bite me!"

"I didn't!" Harry protested, but he knew before he started it would be fruitless. Aunt Petunia shrieked and clutched at Dudley even tighter, making him yell in pain.

"A snake? Vernon, what'll we do? What if it was poisonous? We need to get him to a hospital! Don't worry, Diddykins, we'll get you an antidote."

"It wasn't a venomous snake!" said Harry, but he realized this had only made things worse. Uncle Vernon rounded on him.

"Not venomous, eh? And how else would you know that unless you're the one the set it on him? What if it's deadly?"

"When's the last time you heard of someone dying from a snakebite in Britain?" Harry asked. "It was probably just a grass snake or something."

Uncle Vernon did not calm down. "You've done this before, boy!" he roared, eyes popping. "You set that boa constrictor on him at the zoo. You did this on purpose!"

"No, I didn't!" Harry yelled back, just as loud, anger finally bursting to the surface with the injustice of it all. He was sick of being treated as the enemy all the time. "That precious son of yours was trying to beat me up and the snake bit him trying to defend me. It's his fault."

"Don't you try to blame Dudley for this, you freak," Uncle Vernon shouted. "You're the unnatural one. You and your pet snake! I've had enough of it. I knew we should have sent you to an orphanage!"

"I wish you had!" Harry shouted back, feeling so angry he was surprised sparks weren't flying from his palms. "Then I wouldn't have to put up with bullies like all of you!"

"Where are you going?" said Uncle Vernon, as Harry ducked around him trying to get to the safety of his bedroom before he did something he regretted.

"Leave me alone."

"Oh, no, boy," said Uncle Vernon, grabbing the back of Harry's shirt. "I haven't finished with you yet!"

He pulled at Harry, and Harry pulled in the opposite direction, but Uncle Vernon was stronger. As he was pulled towards him, a fist collided with the side of his jaw and Harry was thrown backwards with great force. He hit the worktop, bruising what felt like all of his ribs, and rebounded before falling back against the glass partition to the garden. It shattered under the force, and Harry felt shards of glass cutting at the flesh all up his back. He lay on the ground, temporarily winded, and aching all over, feeling a trickle of blood seeping through his clothes. Uncle Vernon approached him with his hands outstretched, whether to drag him to his feet or to hurt him some more, Harry wasn't sure. All he knew was that every piece of anger he had been feeling the last several weeks came flooding to the surface and out through his flesh with an intensity that surprised even him.

Suddenly, Uncle Vernon was backing away, screaming in pain as his hands were suddenly set alight, burning brightly in the small kitchen. He leapt about like a maniac, high-pitched noises coming from his throat as his skin and edges of his shirt sleeves went up in flames. Harry lay there in shock, unable to do anything but stare at what he had done. Despite her and Dudley's own terrified screams, Aunt Petunia managed to get Uncle Vernon over to the sink where she had been washing Dudley's wound and plunged his hands into the slightly bloody water. The fire was immediately quenched with another scream of pain from Uncle Vernon.

What happened next was over in a flash, as Aunt Petunia bundled her husband and son into the car outside, and climbed into the driver's seat making for the hospital with her foot down, crying hysterically, and barely even sparing a glance at Harry other than one which clearly said he was in for it when they got home.

Harry had lain on the floor unmoving while they left, shaking with combined anger and fear. Not the least bit sorry for Uncle Vernon, all he cared about was what was going to happen to him. Magic like that, even accidental, was not easily forgiven by the Ministry. He already had a warning, and after what had happened to Aunt Marge …

Rage was still running through him. It serves the two of them right, he thought, despite knowing what the consequences would be for himself. It was almost worth it, even if he was expelled. But what to do now? Would the Ministry be after him? Should he leave?

As he was lying there, he noticed a quiet hissing sound at his ear.

"Sorry."

Harry turned to see the snake beside him on the kitchen floor. He smiled at her despite his pain.

"Don't be, that was brilliant."

"You were in trouble."

"Believe me, it's worth it," said Harry, making his way to his feet, shaking slightly. "They deserved it."

"They are your family?"

"In a way," said Harry. He winced as he moved, feeling the cuts on his back sting. Being thrown about and punched like that by Uncle Vernon had shocked him. They'd neglected him for years, ignored him, treated him like scum, but aside from a few minor beatings over the years, the physical violence had been minimal. Probably just worried the neighbours would see the bruises, he thought to himself. Still, he wasn't surprised that he had it in him.

"You are hurt. I can smell blood."

"It's not too bad," said Harry, gingering prodding at the cuts on his arm, wondering what he was going to do about the ones on his back. "I've had worse. One of your big cousins bit me once."

The snake looked confused, and so Harry elaborated. "A basilisk."

"Not many survive such an ordeal."

"I'm not your normal wizard," said Harry. He went to the sink which was still filled with water that was now mixed with Dudley's blood and floating bits of Uncle Vernon's skin that had peeled away when he'd plunged his hands into the water. Feeling sick, he emptied the basin and filled himself a glass of water from the tap, hoping to calm himself down. He was still shaking all over.

As he was on his third glass, there was a screech from outside, and in swooped an owl through the open window. It was unfamiliar, but somehow didn't look official. It deposited a letter on the table before leaving again. Harry's heart sank. Was is it the Ministry expelling him?

Slowly, he reached for the letter, and, seeing no official seal on it, opened it cautiously. It was from Arthur Weasley, and his handwriting was scrawled and hurried.

Harry,

Dumbledore's just been and told us there's been some major use of under-age magic at your house. He's gone to try and sort it all out. Stay where you are and wait for someone to come and get you. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE. Wait for us and don't do anything rash.

Arthur Weasley

If anything, this only made Harry angrier. All summer without a scrap of news and the first thing he gets is a telling-off after he just defended himself from his uncle, the man he had been forced to live with all his life despite the abuse and torment he had suffered. After everything that had happened to him recently, after everything he had done, here he was being told off as if he was some naughty school-boy!

He threw aside the letter in disgust. He was angry with the Weasleys, with Hermione, with Sirius and Dumbledore. Didn't anyone actually care about him? If he'd known this was all it took to get noticed he'd have set fire to his uncle the first week back. They would have been happy for him to stay here all summer until this happened. The only reason they were bothered now was because he had messed up.

"Bad news?"

Harry turned back to the snake, who had now slithered up onto the kitchen bunker. "You could say that," he said. "My friends … they just …" He sighed. "They're treating me like some sort of child. I needed them and … they can barely stand to write to me."

"This is exactly why snakes have no friends," said the snake. "We can only count on ourselves."

"I'm beginning to think that way too," said Harry, heart sinking, picking up the letter and reading it through once more. "'Stay where you are … don't do anything rash' … they just don't get it! They think they can just dump me here and pick me up again whenever they feel like it. They have no idea what I've been going through-" He stopped all of a sudden, realizing with a jolt he was about to pour his heart out to a snake. She seemed to be listening however. He sighed. "I just … I don't want to see them. I don't want their lectures, and them telling me crap like 'it was for your own good.' Just sitting here waiting for them like some helpless …"

He sighed and turned away, still angry, but more quietly so. Of all the people he thought he could count on, he'd thought it'd be Ron and Hermione. And Sirius, surely he of all people should understand what it felt like to be trapped? Why was he so happy to have Harry living here in misery? He'd been there for Harry after the Triwizard Tournament when Harry had needed him, but barely a word since. Did he think Harry would have gotten over it so easily? Didn't he understand just how badly Harry had needed his guidance?

The snake inched closer, weaving her way through the dishes on the bunker. "So don't."

Harry stared. "Don't what?"

"Stay here waiting for them. Leave."

Harry blinked. "Leave?" he repeated. "I don't …"

Slowly, as he thought it over, the idea didn't seem so crazy. Why not leave? What was the alternative? Sitting at the Burrow with people who obviously hadn't cared enough to write to him? Or worse, facing up to the Ministry after his obviously seriously illegal use of under-age magic. He didn't want to see them, not now. He needed to get out, go somewhere on his own and get some space away from the Dursleys and the wizarding world. They'd be worried about him probably, wondering where he had gone, but a part of Harry didn't care. Perhaps then they'd see how horrible it was to be kept in the dark.

He made up his mind to leave, and quickly, before Mr Weasley or anybody else got here to collect him. But where? The only other times he had run away had been a disaster. Eight year old him had tried, but run into immediate difficulties when he hadn't had enough money for a train fare and his food supplies of crisps and Mars bars ran out after the first day. After being brought back by a policemen after being caught trying to leave a supermarket without paying, he hadn't tried again, too scared of his uncle's full anger being directed at him once more. Then there was Aunt Marge, in which instance he had been found almost effortlessly by the Ministry. He'd have to stay away from wizarding areas. Live entirely as a Muggle. Wizards were remarkably ignorant about the Muggle world, surely they wouldn't be able to find him there?

He thought all this through in a matter of seconds. He'd hide in Muggle London, find somewhere to lay low until he had sorted his head out, away from relatives and wizards, all reminders of Voldemort. It wouldn't be permanent, he reminded himself. Just until he had gotten over these nightmares and the overwhelming despair he felt day in and day out. B

But what if you don't, a voice whispered to him, what if you never do? Does that mean you'll never return to Hogwarts? The idea pierced his heart like a knife, but he tried to reassure himself. It's only temporary. He needed this. He'd face the consequences later. That is, if he wasn't expelled already.

The snake was still watching him, and flicked her tongue out impatiently. "Well?"

He grinned. "I'm going."

"Good, then you can take me with you."

"Come with me? Why?"

"You're not the only one who wants to get away," she answered, moving closer. "I am tired of this area, and sad that so few of my kin survive. Perhaps far away from here, I will find something better."

Harry hesitated for a brief moment. Traveling with a snake? It was almost a reminder of Voldemort in itself. Surely she'd be a distraction, and unwelcome reminder of the life he was leaving. But then again, he did owe her for biting Dudley the way she did. Taking her to London was no great inconvenience.

"Okay," said Harry, still somewhat reluctant. "Wait here while I go pack."

She hissed her assent, as Harry raced upstairs to pack as quickly as he could, worried that Dumbledore or the Ministry would walk in at any moment. He burst into his bedroom and seized one of Dudley's old sport bags (unused of course) knowing he couldn't possibly take his trunk; magically shrinking and unshrinking it would probably draw attention. He shoved some clothes and other essentials into the bag, his Invisibility Cloak, the only magical thing he was planning on taking other than his wand and some books from the shelves that Dudley had never touched. He went through to his aunt and uncle's room warily, even though he knew they were both out, and rummaged through his uncle's sock drawer, knowing this was where Uncle Vernon kept the 'emergency money', though more often than not Dudley was raiding it to buy new accessories for his racing bike. Finding a wad of rolled up notes in the bottom, he withdrew them, and ran back to his room to pack them. It was probably a lot of money, but he didn't feel guilty in the slightest; the Dursleys probably owed him a fortune after years of skimping on clothes and food for him.

He shouldered the bag and was about to leave the room when an indignant screech met his ears. Hedwig was flapping her wings inside her cage, eying him with large angry eyes.

He crossed the room and unlatched her cage, stroking her softly. "I'm sorry, Hedwig," he said sadly. "You'll attract too much attention."

She seemed to understand and didn't look happy about it, nipping his finger as if to reprimand him for leaving without her.

Struck with an idea, he seized some parchment and a quill and scribbled down a quick message. "Here, deliver this for me, will you? And stay with Ron the rest of the summer. He'll look after you."

He passed her the message and she clamped it in her beak, casting him one last reproachful look before gliding off through the open window. He watched her for a moment before the slamming of a car door on the street brought him back to his senses. He had no idea how long he had before the others showed up.

He thumped down the stairs and went back to the kitchen where the snake was still waiting on him.

"You coming?" he said to the snake.

"You expect me to crawl all the way and keep up with you?"

"Fine," said Harry, and, despite wanting to do anything else, he moved forwards and stretched out his hand. The snake slithered across the surface of the kitchen top and onto his hand, coiling herself around his wrist underneath his sleeve and out of sight. He tied not to shudder as her cold smooth skin met his. The sensation of her clinging there on his wrist was one he wasn't looking forward to getting used to.

"Right," said Harry, moving into the hall and opening the front door. "It's off to London."

Chapter Text

"Albus, what's going on?" Mrs Weasley asked, now practically frantic. The kitchen at Grimmauld Place was swarming with Order members who'd trickled in as the day had turned into evening, a sense of hopeless confusion everywhere. All the Weasleys plus Hermione were in the kitchen as well, and Sirius was barely able to remain calm himself. Ever since Mr Weasley had returned from Privet Drive with the announcement that Harry was not anywhere to be found he'd felt sick to his stomach with worry. Dumbledore had been silent on the matter, heading to the Ministry as soon as the alert had come in and was only just now returning. He did not look optimistic. Sirius' worry increased.

"I do not know where Harry is," said Dumbledore, the twinkling in his eyes gone. "He is not at Privet Drive, neither has he been apprehended by Ministry officials."

"What on earth could have made him use magic?" Remus asked. He was sitting at the kitchen table, his face looking as though he was as worried as Sirius felt. "Was he attacked? Did Voldemort-?"

"There was no other magic registered at the house other than that used by Harry," said Dumbledore. "I think it is safe to say there was no Death Eater activity present."

"Who was guarding him?" Mrs Weasley demanded.

"It was supposed to be Mundungus-"

"Dung?" Sirius asked in incredulity. "Who the hell put him on Guard Duty? He probably scarpered at the first sign of trouble. Either that or he's off doing some dodgy deal."

"Do not worry Sirius, I intend to deal with Mundungus," Dumbledore said, his eyes unusually dark. "But, as I said, there was no external activity involved."

"Then why did he use magic?" Ron Weasley asked, looking frustrated at the lack of information. "He's not stupid, he's already had a warning for it. Why would he risk being expelled?"

At this Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I have spoken with Mr and Mrs Dursley," he said in a tone that said exactly how highly he thought of them. "According to them, Harry attacked them."

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"Not possible," said Fred Weasley. "He hates them, but he'd never hurt them."

"I also believe this to be the case," said Dumbledore, "I am only repeating what his aunt and uncle told me. They are, admittedly, biased. They claim that Harry set a snake on their son, presumably using Parseltongue."

Sirius felt a thrill of horror at the reminder that his godson was a Parselmouth. It disturbed him greatly to think of Harry having anything in common with Voldemort. Especially something so traditionally viewed as the marker of evil.

"But-"

"Harry has used this ability before," said Dumbledore. "He once conversed with a boa constrictor at a zoo before he ever attended Hogwarts. The Dursleys tell me Harry set that snake on Dudley as well."

"It was an accident," said Ron immediately. "He's never set a snake on anybody. People just hear him hissing at a snake and assume the worst. It's probably what happened here."

"I agree."

"But what about the magic?" Sirius asked, uncomfortable with all this talk about Parselmouths and wanting to get back to the matter at hand; his godson's whereabouts. "Using Parseltongue wouldn't have been detected by the Trace."

"No, it would not," agreed Dumbledore. "It is what happened afterwards that is important. According to Petunia Dursley, Harry's uncle was confronting him about the snake incident when there was a physical altercation between the two. Harry used a wandless spell against his uncle. He set fire to him."

"He … what?" asked Sirius, numb with disbelief.

"I spoke to Vernon Dursley at a Muggle hospital," said Dumbledore. "He had many … unsavoury comments to make about his nephew. His hands have second degree burns and are heavily damaged and bandaged. It is a serious injury, and after examining the burns, I have no doubt it was Harry who administered them. There was magic there."

"But … Harry … he wouldn't," said Hermione.

"He blew up his aunt once," Ron reminded her, though looking upset himself. "He really hates them."

Unbidden, memories of his own family sprang to Sirius' mind. There had been many a time he'd like to have set fire to his own relations.

"He wouldn't have done it without being provoked," said Remus. "What was his uncle doing at the time?"

"That is something he was quieter about," said Dumbledore. "I have been to Privet Drive however. The kitchen is in a state of disarray. There is a great deal of smashed glass; it looks like someone fell through the glass door. There was a great deal of blood all over. Some was the Dursley boy's, but most was Harry's."

Mrs Weasley clutched the table in front of her, and Sirius felt a rage building within him.

"What the hell did they do to him?" he asked, barely containing his anger.

"Enough to make him lose control of his magic," said Dumbledore, his shoulders slumped.

"He should have been brought here," said Sirius, pacing to try and work off his restlessness. "Brought here instead of being packed off to people who don't give a damn about him. I told you Dumbledore! I knew something would happen. He's been through hell, they wouldn't understand him. And now look what's happened!"

Dumbledore said nothing.

"But where is he?" asked Mrs Weasley, looking to Dumbledore desperately. "Did those people do something to him?"

"I do not think so," said Dumbledore. "I went to his bedroom after I examined the kitchen. His school things remained, but his clothes, Cloak and some other possessions were missing. I think he left of his own accord."

"Left?" repeated Sirius. "To go where?"

"Alas, I am uncertain. He would have been angry, extremely emotionally compromised. He may have left in the heat of the moment."

"My letter must have missed him then," said Mr Weasley. "I told him he should stay where he was."

Dumbledore shook his head.

"The letter was lying in the kitchen. He read it."

"But," said Sirius, confused. "Why did he leave?"

"He probably just wanted to get out of the house," said Ron, "like with his Aunt Marge. He's been writing to us, wanting to know what was going on. We haven't told him anything, and he wasn't happy. He probably thinks we've been ignoring him."

"And we have," said Sirius, glaring at Dumbledore. "I told you keeping him cooped up in that Muggle house would drive him to do something stupid. He's angry with us, of course he wouldn't listen to what we had to say!"

"But where would he go?" interceded Mrs Weasley before Sirius could say any more. "The Leaky Cauldron?"

"I've made enquiries," said Dumbledore. "So far, he has not been spotted on the Knight Bus or anywhere in Diagon Alley."

"Of course not," said Hermione. "He got caught there the last time he ran away."

Sirius turned away, still angry. Last time he'd run away? Harry was miserable with those Muggles, like Sirius had been miserable here in this house. He should never have listened to Dumbledore. Harry should have been here with him, not with people who hated him. Especially not after what he had been through.

"I am still looking," said Dumbledore, and his voice got a little more firm. "It is vital we find him before a Death Eater does. The Ministry is looking too."

"Why, to arrest him?" asked Ron looking worried.

"To reprimand him, certainly," said Dumbledore. "They wanted to expel him, but I reached the Ministry in time to prevent that. We were in the process of negotiating when word reached me that he had disappeared. The Ministry do not believe he is in danger from Voldemort, but they still need to find him. He has attacked a Muggle. In their eyes, he needs to be punished."

"Is that why he ran away?" said George. "Scared they'll arrest him?"

"I suspect that is at least part of it."

Sirius cursed, wising he could get his hands on Vernon Dursley for causing this. He wouldn't escape from him with something as minor as a few burns.

"I'm going to look for him," he announced, ready to transform in to his dog form, but Dumbledore shook his head.

"You must not leave, Sirius."

"I'm not going to stick around while Harry's out there, alone and exposed to Death Eaters!" Sirius retaliated.

"We cannot risk you being discovered by Death Easters either, Sirius," Dumbledore said. "The Ministry are looking for him as well remember. If they see you with him …"

Sirius opened his mouth to retaliate when a shriek stopped him. A flash of white entered the kitchen and Sirius' heart soared when he recognized Harry's snowy owl. She flew straight over to him and landed on the table, holding out her leg. He untied the letter with shaking hands while she eyed him almost angrily, giving him a painful nip when he had finished. She flew over to Hermione and Ron and nipped them as well before settling on Ron's shoulder.

"I don't think Hedwig's very happy with us," said Hermione, nursing her hand.

"She'll be channelling Harry," said Ron, eyeing the bird warily. "She knows Harry's pissed with us."

Sirius had by this point unfurled the scroll, and read the scrawled writing greedily, not heeding the pain in his finger. His heart sank as he read.

Dear Sirius,

I expect you know by now what's happened if you're in contact with Dumbledore or the Weasleys. Whatever the Dursleys have said, it's a lie. A snake bit Dudley, they blamed me for it and my uncle attacked me. I didn't mean to do the magic, honestly I didn't, but I'm glad I did. He deserved it.

I'm not going to sit around waiting for someone to come and get me. I'm sick of you all lying to me and leaving me out of things until it suits you. I'm not staying in this house a second longer, and I'm never going back to it, not if you force me.

I'm leaving to go somewhere, I'm not sure where yet, just as far as possible. Don't try to look for me. I need to get away to clear my head. I'll be fine on my own. Leave me alone until I'm ready to come back.

Harry

Sirius looked up from the letter, and glared at Dumbledore. "Happy now?" he demanded, shoving the letter towards him. "He thinks we've abandoned him, and now he's gone off Merlin knows where to get away from us all. He could be in danger and it's all your fault!"

Dumbledore read the letter, infuriatingly calm as always. His face seemed to darken, but he said nothing.

Sirius turned away from him, too angry to trust himself to look at him anymore. His body was tense with worry and anger combined. He should have followed his instincts and gone after Harry on his own, despite what the Order said. He of all people knew what Harry was going through. He had turned to him for guidance, and Sirius had let him down, like he always had. He had no right to call himself a godfather.

"What are we going to do?" Hermione asked, clutching her own letter tightly to her chest. "Anything could happen to him."

"We must find him," said Dumbledore, his voice still infuriatingly calm. He rose to his feet, a new energy emanating from him, and Sirius recognized the determined glint in his eye, the one he'd only ever seen before a battle. "Before Voldemort does."

Chapter Text

"Must you fidget so?"

"Shh!" hissed Harry, as he passed some guards at Little Whinging's railway station. "Do you want them to wonder why my pocket's hissing?"

"Then stop shoving your hands in here and poking me in the eye!"

Harry sighed, and removed his hand from his pocket. He'd been standing here at the train station for almost forty-five minutes waiting for the next train into London, and he was on edge, expecting Ministry officials to swoop down at him any moment. He hated standing still like this. He was under the Invisibility Cloak, but still, every face that he saw was an enemy, perhaps an Auror in disguise ready to take him away somewhere. In his agitation, he paced up and down the platform, fidgeting aimlessly and shoving his hands into his pockets, recoiling each time his skin met that of the snake's, forgetting that she was there.

"What are you so worried about anyway?" she asked, still slightly disgruntled. "You're invisible, aren't you? Humans can't smell you, can they?"

"No," murmured Harry. "But I still don't like it."

"Where's the sense in that? Humans really are strange creatures."

"So you've told me half a dozen times already, now will you stop hissing?" Harry asked. "They might not be able to see me but I'm sure they'll notice a hissing sound in mid-air!"

The snake made no reply, but Harry sensed, rather than heard her annoyance. He resumed his agitated pacing and only just stopped himself plunging his hand into his pocket once again. The board above his head said the train was due in at any moment, but he wouldn't be relaxed until he was actually seated. But then what? a voice said to him. Where are you going to go once you get to London?

His stomach dropped, and he tried to turn his mind to more immediate concerns. A distant rumbling noise drew his attention and, to his relief, he could see the bright lights of the train approaching the station through the semi-darkness. It glided to a halt and in an instant, he'd climbed on board, found a quiet corner to himself in the rearmost carriage and he was off again. He sat as still as he could, even though he was invisible and practically alone but for a couple of dressed up teenagers heading into the capital for a night out. Their giggling however was not distracting enough to pull his mind away from the feeling of dread in his stomach, nor the stinging pain on his back from his injuries. He knew without looking the t-shirt he was wearing underneath his light jacket was soaked with blood.

He resigned himself to staring out of the window, where night was falling on the world around him. It was still fairly light, despite the late hour, and in the distance he could see the shapes of houses and small villages which gradually gave way into larger towns and built up areas. Every stop the train made he grew alert, worried in case any incoming passengers would sit in his apparently vacant seat, or worse, that those incoming passengers would be Aurors ready to drag him off to the Ministry, or even Azkaban. But the few people that embarked stayed away from his corner of the carriage, mostly businessmen and women heading home after a day at work, or people in NHS uniforms going to begin a night shift. The ticket inspector came around, but Harry remained hidden, despite a small wave of guilt. He didn't want to waste any of his precious Muggle money if he didn't have to, and besides, he didn't want any witnesses to where he was going, even if they were Muggles.

All the while, the little snake remained coiled up in his pocket. He would have thought her to be asleep if not for the slight quivering of her tail. She was wary, and he couldn't blame her. The night closed in around them, and finally the bright lights of the city began to appear at the windows. Before long, the train was cruising to a stop, the woman over the PA informing the passengers they'd arrived at Euston station. There was a scramble to get off, but Harry waited a moment or two; he had no desire to bump into anybody in the crowd. When the platform outside the window had cleared somewhat, he followed, walking slowly and watchfully. It wasn't often he used his Cloak in such a busy area, and he didn't want any awkward encounters.

He followed the crowd of people at a distance, and hopped over the barrier when he came to it, after carefully checking if anybody was watching to see a pair of disembodied feet in the air. He made his way through the dimly lit station, carefully negotiating around luggage trolleys, vendors and befuddled tourists until he found himself on the streets of London. He breathed in the night air in relief, listening to a babble of voices and the noise of traffic nearby. A subtle hissing in his pocket brought him back to reality. He made his way down the street, walking quickly and silently, going in no particular direction, until he found himself walking through a small park. A few people were strolling nearby, but he ignored them, and crossed the grass until he was in the shelter of some trees. Only then did he remove the Cloak.

It was a relief to feel the cool air on his skin, and he immediately felt better; the suffocating feeling of being under the fabric removed, he was now able to breathe deeply. He reached his hand into his pocket and withdrew the snake, and glanced around quickly before speaking.

"Happy?" he said. "I brought you here. Now you can slither off and make your own way."

"I don't appreciate your tone," the snake hissed.

"I'm not here to make friends with you," Harry replied. "I've got my own problems, my own life to lead. And so have you."

The snake hissed fiercely, and she squirmed in his palm. She waved her small head around, her tongue darting out to taste her new surroundings.

"The air is dirty," she said. "It tastes strange. There are more humans here than I have ever smelt."

"You wanted to come to a city," Harry reminded her. "This is what you signed on for. Now, are you going to leave me alone, or not?"

"You cannot abandon me in a strange place!" She was indignant, her dark eyes flashing. "I am defenceless!"

"I think there are some puncture wounds on Dudley's hand that would disagree with that. Look," Harry sighed, losing patience, "I did what you asked. What more do you want?"

"I want to stick around with you."

"With me?" Harry repeated. "But why?"

"Just until I …"

"What, find your feet?"

She hissed angrily. "I need help to settle in."

"I'm not a babysitter-"

"What have you got to lose?" she retorted. "I simply need to have somewhere I can rest in safety. I can find my own food. It would be company for us both. Let me stay."

"I thought you hated humans?"

"You are not as bad as some," she said. "I could learn to tolerate you."

"Thanks," said Harry. He sighed, thinking it over. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of a snake sticking around, it was far too Slytherin-like. But, he told himself, she might be useful. It could be handy having someone small who could sneak around, particularly one with such a great sense of smell; he'd hardly be caught unawares by authorities either Muggle or magical. And anyway, the sight of Dudley's mangled hand was still large in his memory. He was painfully aware of the proximity of her teeth to his fingers.

"All right," he said, and she hissed with pleasure. "But it's not permanent, right?"

"What would it matter if it was or wasn't? You've hardly got any future plans to worry about, have you?"

He scowled at the reminder. "Do you want to stay or not?" She went silent. "Good, now, get back into my pocket. I need to find someplace for us both to stay, preferably as cheap as possible."

"Lovely," she said, slipping back into his jacket pocket. "We snakes love living in hovels."

Harry set off back towards the entrance of the park, this time leaving his Cloak off, deciding that the streets were too busy to risk it.

"You know," he murmured, emerging back onto the street. "If we're going to be spending this much time together, you really should have a name."

"A name?" she hissed in contempt. "What would I want a silly human name for?"

"Remind me again, whose pocket is it you're living in, rent-free?"

"Fine," she sulked. "Give one of your silly names then. But I get to decide whether I like it or not."

"Deal," he said. He thought for a moment about how he'd named Hedwig, repeating name after name at her from his books until he found one that she had seemed to like. What could be good enough for a snake? He thought back to his textbooks about wizarding history and magical and Muggle mythology for anything vaguely snake-like.

"Medusa?" he suggested. "She had snakes for hair."

"I am more than a decoration, human," she said. "Hair is an ugly mammal attribute."

"All right, what about Eve? She talked to a snake once."

"I know that story, it is the root of the human hatred for us. She was a silly woman."

"Ok," he said, almost laughing at the thought of a snake somehow managing to read Genesis. "Then what about Lamia?"

"And who was she?"

"She was a beautiful queen that was turned into a snake-like creature and devoured children. One of the most feared creatures of ancient mythology."

"Hmmm …" pondered the snake. "Beautiful and feared? That is … acceptable."

"The fact that she ate children doesn't bother you?"

"We snakes do not fawn over our young like you humans do. We begin our lives looking after ourselves. Something you could learn from, human. Particularly in your current situation."

"You know, I've got a name as well."

"And what is it?"

Harry laughed for a moment, both at the realization he's spent several hours in the company of the snake without telling her, and the fact that there was a living creature who both knew about wizards and had never heard of him.

"It's Harry."

"Very well, as you are doing me a favour, I shall comply since you think it so important … Harry."

"You know," he said quietly, "I think we could end up getting along quite nicely, you and I."

"We'll see," Lamia said from his pocket, though her voice sounded decidedly less antagonistic than before.

"Any word?" Ron asked immediately, as Kingsley and a couple of other Order members strode into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, though the expressions on their faces had said it all. Beside him at the table, he saw Hermione press her hands together so tightly her knuckles went white. Her face was deathly pale. Across the room, Sirius had finally ceased his restless pacing, staring instead at a spot on the wall, his face hard as stone.

The arrival of Kingsley meant the end of the night shift of searching, though no one in the kitchen had slept at all. His dad and the others on the night shift who had just arrived were weary, and sat slumped in their seats after perking up briefly when Kingsley had entered. The next team were preparing to leave, waiting only for Kingsley's report.

"Nothing?" Mum asked desperately. "Not even a clue?"

"No," said Kingsley heavily, seating himself at the table and taking the cup she had offered him. "The Ministry also has people looking for him, and from what I've gleaned from my contacts they don't have the slightest idea what has happened to him. Dumbledore is still out looking, but he's had no luck either."

Ron's mood deepened. What hope did they have when even Dumbledore couldn't find him?

"That poor boy," said Mum. "Out, alone all night."

"And injured as well," said Dad, rubbing the bridge of his nose where his glasses had been resting. "Remember the blood in the kitchen?"

Hermione went even paler, if possible.

"We're coming," said Fred and George together. "We'll go out and look for him."

"And us," said Ron, and Hermione nodded. "We know him better than any of you."

Lupin shook his head, before his mother could even open her mouth to contradict him. "Fred and George maybe, but what good could you two do? Neither of you can Apparate, or even use any magic."

"We can't sit here and do nothing!"

"Harry doesn't want to see you," said Ginny quietly, her own face as pale as Hermione's. "Remember the letters? He'll avoid all of us for as long as he can."

"But he's in danger!" said Mum. "Why can't he see that?"

"Harry is a smart boy, capable of looking after himself-" began Lupin, only to have mum glare at him. "Molly, you cannot deny it. I don't like the idea of him being out there any more than you do, especially in his current emotional state. But I highly doubt that with his skills and not to mention his Cloak, that we will be able to find him if he does not wish us to."

"So what, we just give up?" Sirius looked towards Lupin, anger in every line of his face. "Voldemort is out there, Remus! It isn't just case of surviving on the streets, we all know Harry could handle that if he needed to, Merlin knows he's handled worse. But he's never been up against an army of Death Eaters before!"

Ron went cold all over at this thought. An army of Death Eaters. He looked down at the table, fists clenched into balls. What had Harry been thinking? Just how bad had the Dursleys been this time?

"Sirius," Lupin said, trying to calm his friend. "I am not suggesting we stop looking. Of course we must find him if we can. Harry is no fool. He doesn't go looking for danger."

"Doesn't go looking for danger?" Mum repeated, face red. "What do you call flying a car to Hogwarts? Running around in the dead of night with Dementors and werewolves about? No offence, Remus," she said, "but Harry finds danger wherever he is whether he's looking for it or not."

"I agree," Kingsley said, draining the cup she had given him. "He must see sense eventually."

"No offence, but you've never even met him," Sirius said, resuming his pacing. "He's like his father that way. Stubborn, especially when he has his mind set on something. He won't come back with us unless we drag him. But it's our only option. I'm not going to wait for him to come back voluntarily."

"What about the Trace?" Lupin asked Kingsley. "Can't you find him that way?"

"Not if he isn't using magic," Kingsley explained. "He was raised by Muggles. He knows perfectly well how to cope without."

"But if he's hiding without magic," Fred wondered, "then surely it'll be easier to find him?"

"Not necessarily," Kingsley said.

"I've had enough of this," Sirius said, coming back to face them all. "I'm not waiting here. I'm off."

"You can't!" Hermione objected. "Dumbledore-"

"Dumbledore is welcome to try and stop me," Sirius said, his voice a deep growl. A moment later, he had transformed into his dog form and bounded out the kitchen.

"Dumbledore won't be pleased," Lupin said, but he made no attempt to stop Sirius.

"He may actually be of use," Kingsley said. "It may be easier to track him that way, and stay unnoticed."

"But if he's caught-"

"Sirius will not be persuaded," said Lupin. "I'm surprised he waited as long as he did. We just have to hope that he finds Harry before anyone else does."

Ron wanted nothing more than to run out after Sirius, though where he'd start looking he had no idea. He didn't know anything of the Muggle world, never mind where Harry would hide in it.

Please come back, Harry.

Chapter Text

"No … Cedric ..."

"Kill the spare!"

"NO!"

Harry bolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat and trembling. For a moment he was back in the graveyard, he could almost feel the cruel touch of the Cruciatus Curse in his bones. He steadied his breathing slowly, and looked around, wondering where he was. It came back in a moment as he looked at the tatty wallpaper, stained carpet and chipped furniture. He heard the sound of dull traffic out the grimy window and finally ceased his trembling. He wasn't in Little Hangleton. He was in London, in a Muggle B&B. he was safe.

Well, he thought wryly, as safe as I can be on the run.

He heard a slight hissing sound to his right, and turned to see Lamia curled around the base of the lamp on the nightstand.

"What do you find so funny?" he asked disgruntled as he swung his legs out of bed.

"Human frailties," she hissed. "Dreams seem like such inconvenient things."

"Don't snakes dream then?" he asked, pulling on the clothes he had discarded on the floor the previous night. He tried to do this without the snake seeing him, though he doubted snakes had any notions of modesty. He discarded the blood-stained t-shirt of the night before and fished a fresh one out of his bag.

"Of course not," she said. She hissed again, tilting her head. "What was it you dreamed of?"

Harry looked away from her. "Nothing I want to share with you."

"Rude."

"And asking a complete stranger personal questions isn't rude?"

"There is a difference."

"Oh?"

"My future depends on your wellbeing," she hissed. "I can't have an unstable companion. And you can't have me turn against you."

"What'll you do? Bite me like you did my cousin?"

"Perhaps."

Harry sighed and looked back towards the snake. He noticed unpleasantly that there was a slight bulge in her long body.

"Had a feast last night, did we?"

She hissed happily. "Oh, yes. This place is filled with lovely rodents."

"I don't think I wanted to know that," Harry grimaced, eyes sweeping the floor for the sight of a tail whipping out of view. He wasn't exactly surprised. This place was definitely not in one of the nicer parts of town. But the place was cheap, and the grim looking landlady had not asked any questions. Teenage runaways were apparently common in this area.

Once dressed, he lay back down on the bed, wincing at the stings from the cuts on his back. His attempts at First-Aid with some cheap plasters bought from a dilapidated chemist's around the corner had not gone well as he was unable to reach most of the cuts. He'd washed them as best he could and dabbed on some antiseptic cream, but he worried it wasn't enough. He could tell some of the cuts had opened up during the night.

He stared at the ceiling. What was he supposed to do now? He hadn't thought much beyond this point. He wanted to clear his head, get away from his constricting life, but did that mean he was to lie here every day feeling sorry for himself?

His stomach grumbled, and he took it as a sign. Finding something to eat might kill some time. He sat up again and pulled on his shoes and jacket.

"Going somewhere?"

"To find something to eat."

"Take me with you."

He turned to look at her. "You know, I can't understand you," he said, fixing his eyes on hers. "I thought you were a proud independent snake? Why are you so willing to follow me around all the time?"

"Just because I consider myself independent, does not mean I do not get lonely," she said. "I am bored. I want to see the city."

"You'll be in my pocket the whole time. You won't see a thing."

"But I will smell."

He sighed. "All right," he said, holding out his hand. "You can come. Just keep quiet."

Her head bobbed for a moment in a nod, and she slid onto his hand, making him flinch at the cold feel of her, and he transferred her to his pocket. He crossed the room, and headed down the narrow staircase at the other end. He passed the reception desk and saw the haggard looking woman from the night before. He smiled, but she just scowled and went back to her knitting, turning up the radio at her elbow. Emerging onto the street, he took a left and continued walking until he came to a busier part of town where there were some shops. He entered one, and found the cheapest sandwich he could, determined to make his money last as long as possible, and went outside to eat it on a bench. As he ate he watched the people passing by, businessmen and woman, tourists and locals, keeping an eye out for one dressed strangely that could be a wizard in a bad disguise. How long would it take them to find him? Was it foolish to be out here in the open?

A squirming in his pocket alerted him to a small tongue flicking towards him. He lifted a piece of meat from his sandwich and dropped it surreptitiously into his pocket, where he heard a grateful hiss as Lamia leapt upon it. What on earth was he doing here? A runaway and a snake hiding from the world? What now?

Unnerved at how long he had been sitting there in the open he stood up and merged back into the crowd. He walked around aimlessly for a while before deciding to head back to the B&B, ducking past the landlady and then flopping down on his bed to stare at the ceiling. He could almost laugh at the position he now found himself in. What had he really expected he would do when he got here?

With nothing else to think about, he turned on the tiny black and white tv in the corner and flicked through the four channels it offered again and again, as though by sheer persistence he would find something interesting. He sat and watched an antiques programme for a while, the drones of the people on the programme not registering in his mind. He watched the pictures dully. The experts were examining some antique cups, a bright golden colour which, though not showing on the monochrome picture, reminded him forcibly of the goblets in the Great Hall. And the Triwizard Cup.

Feeling sick, he turned the tv off and instead pulled out one of the books he had lifted from the Dursleys, but barely got more than a page in before he also laid this aside. He went back to staring at the stains on the ceiling, thinking of nothing more than keeping his breathing steady and his mind blank.

Lamia slithered out of his pocket and came to his eyelevel, turning her head in confusion.

"Are all humans as dull as you?"

Harry didn't know how to answer for a moment. "No one's forcing you to stay," he said finally.

She hissed. "Pathetic self-pity," she said, and slithered away from him to move to the windowsill where she lay in the few rays of sunlight that penetrated the dirty window. Harry watched her for a second, before turning back to the ceiling. He knew he should do something, get up and be productive, but every expense of energy left him exhausted. Every last shred of motivation was gone.

Looks like this'll be a fun summer.

Sirius panted heavily as he raced through the streets of Little Whinging, not caring who saw him, barely dodging the cars that beeped loudly at him. He racked his memories of that night he had encountered Harry around here, again in the process of running away. Where had that street been?

He crossed another busy main road and padded down a quieter suburban street lined with identical houses with neatly trimmed gardens. This looked familiar …

A sign loomed overhead and he couldn't resist letting out a satisfied bark as he read it. Privet Drive. Wasting no more time he bounded towards number four. The house looked deserted, but he couldn't be sure so he went cautiously and ducked around the back. The back garden was littered with shards of glass originating from the shattered back door. Avoiding the glass he crept inside the house and saw the blood on the floor that Dumbledore had described. He swallowed his anger and moved on. Harry's scent was strong in the air and he pressed his nose close to the ground to try and follow it. He went back to the front of the house and tried to pick it up once more. It was harder than he thought.

He closed his eyes. Let Padfoot take over, Sirius, he told himself. Be more dog than man.

Sirius felt the beast inside of him stir and he gave in to it. I need to find Harry.

Before him, he suddenly saw the ground light up as if it were covered in hundreds of tiny candles, leading away from the house. He bounded after it, still keeping his nose low to the ground. His tail began to wag in anticipation now that he had found the trail. He followed it quickly, his heart rate rising with every passing moment and his enormous limbs began to tremble. All of a sudden however, the trail vanished.

He sat back on his hind legs, confused. He was on a train platform, an elderly lady on the other side was staring at him and a bored sounding man was reading out the latest announcements. Horror descended upon him. The noticeboard above his head listed the trains leaving the station, to London and beyond. There was no knowing which train Harry had left on. No knowing where he could have gone. The trail was cold.

Sirius lay down on the concrete platform, his ears drooping.

Where are you, Harry?

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"How much for this?"

Harry was jerked out of his daydream to see a middle-aged woman in a hairnet holding up a video with an expectant look on her face.

"Um," he said, looking down at the price list taped to the table before him. "£1.50".

The woman nodded and passed him a couple coins, shuffling off with her new purchase stuffed in her string bag and Harry sat back again in the collapsible chair behind the stall. He'd been here several hours selling videos and cassettes at the edges of the busiest part of the market for almost two hours and it was proving a welcome distraction from the monotony of staring at his bedroom ceiling for hours on end. The people wandering past the stall were such a collection of strange and unique looking people he could easily have been in Diagon Alley. The crowds crushed in on every side, but no one looked twice at Harry sitting there in the semi-darkness afforded by the canopy over his head. It truly was the best place to hide out. Here in the heart of Muggle London who would recognise him?

The crowd parted before him and he saw Violet forcing her way back. She grinned and ducked underneath the stall, expertly avoiding spilling the two teas in plastic cups she was carrying. She passed one to him.

"Get that down you. You look like you could do with a good cuppa."

"Thanks," Harry smiled. The tea tasted terrible, but was welcome nonetheless. Violet took a great swill of hers, grimaced, and sat herself down on a chair next to his, rummaging through the blue plastic bag she had brought back.

"Business going okay?"

"Not bad," Harry shrugged. "How is it usually?"

"Depends on time of day and who's buying. Good thing it's the summer hols. Loads of kids about with too much pocket money."

She pulled out some snacks from her bag and distributed them between the two of them before sitting back and ripping open a packet of sweets, munching thoughtfully. She was nothing like what Harry would have expected of Mrs Figg's neice. About ten years older than he was, she had cropped back hair that was uneven and artfully unkempt, ripped clothes with bare arms exposing multiple tattoos and wore huge thick black boots that made her feet look four times bigger than they were. A couple of piercings graced her freckled face, which looked like it was prone to frequent laughter. Harry had decided straight away that he liked her.

She looked over at him. "I'm guessing your summer hols aren't going that well though, eh?"

Harry sighed and nodded. "I've always hated summers," he admitted. "I usually can't wait to get back to school."

"But now it's different?" she asked, her mouth filled with Maltesers. She swallowed. "School's where the problem is, right?"

He looked away from her, not sure how much he wanted to expose. "It's where my friends are," he said shortly.

She nodded. "Ah, the friends conundrum. I always preferred not having any. That way they never disappoint you."

She put aside her sweets when he stayed silent. "But that's not who you are, is it?" she said, nodding. "They let you down, right?"

Harry nodded briefly. "What exactly did your mum tell you about me?" he asked, unsure where this conversation would lead.

Violet shrugged. "That you ran away from some crappy family, your crappy friends aren't an option and you're on the run from the crappy Ministry."

"She told you I'm on the run from the Ministry?"

"Well, aren't you?" she asked. "You've got Aurors after you. The paper says you attacked someone."

"The paper?" Harry asked. "What does it say?"

Violet scrambled around in her bag before withdrawing a faded Daily Prophet and handing it to him.

"Nicked it off mum," she explained. "I like the crossword."

Harry opened the paper to stare at the front page and its massive headline which had a photograph of himself from the previous year's Triwizard Tournament underneath.

Potter still at large. Believed to be hiding in London.

Ministry authorities are still searching for Harry Potter (15) after he absconded from his home in Surrey following severe breaches of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlock's Statute of Secrecy.

Potter is accused of attacking his uncle Vernon Dursley (43) at their home, resulting in the man's hospitalisation. Potter has lived with his maternal aunt and uncle (both Muggles) since the murder of his parents fourteen years ago. Mr Dursley received serious injuries in the attack, but before Potter could be apprehended by officials he left his home and has not yet been found.

"He always was a complete looney," said Mr. Potter's cousin, Dudley Dursley, also fifteen, when Daily Prophet reporters attempted to get a comment form the family before having the door slammed shut on them by an obviously still emotionally compromised Vernon Dursley. "He set a snake on me when we were kids and he did it again a couple weeks ago."

This is therefore only the latest in a long line of psychotic episodes in the  troubled  young teenager's life. Speculation is rife that Potter has been left traumatised by witnessing the tragic accidental death of Cedric Diggory (17) last June in the Triwizard Tournament and is now deluded into believing his parents' murderer has returned from the dead. As Potter continues to lash out at those around him, concern only grows for his mental stability. This attack on his own family, the man who lovingly and selflessly raised him as his own, may be the final straw for many of his supporters.

Mr. Potter was last sighted at Halebury Hospital two weeks ago by a Muggle but has eluded authorities ever since. Members of the public are encouraged to report any sightings of the boy, but warned to stay away as he likely to be in an unpredictable and possibly violent state.

Harry scoffed and pushed the paper away, shaking in anger. Lamia, who was asleep in his pocket woke up as she sensed his agitation. Harry was breathing very hard.

"It's not true," he said, fighting to stay calm lest he set someone on fire again. "I …"

"I know," Violet said, matter-of-factly, folding up the newspaper. "That paper's full of crap. I prefer the Quibbler."

Harry neither knew nor cared what the Quibbler was. His hands were still shaking as he thought over the words in the article.

"I didn't attack my uncle," he said quietly, reliving the moment in his mind vividly. "It was self-defence."

Violet stared at him a long time before shrugging. "Okay, I believe you," she said. "I get it. My dad was a waste of space too. If mum had had magic, or I did … well, I wouldn't be here selling videos. And he certainly wouldn't be living it up with a nineteen year old on the Costa del Sol with mum's money."

Harry managed a small smile, but inside he was still seething at the injustice of it all. The words echoed in his mind. Lovingly and selflessly raised him … if only they knew what Uncle Vernon had put him through all these years. Unpredictable and possibly violent state … he looked down at his hands which had so recently attacked both Uncle Vernon and that Auror in the park. He couldn't argue with that part.

What worried him most was the fact the Ministry was after him. Would he go to Azkaban if they caught him? Would he ever be able to go back to Hogwarts? What sort of mess had he landed himself in? Maybe it would all be easier if he handed himself in …

A small wriggling in his pocket caught his attention. Lamia hissed to him softly.

"Don't even start thinking about feeling sorry for yourself, human," she hissed. "Neither of us have the strength for it."

He laughed. That was certainly true. The lack of good sleep these last few weeks was seriously starting to affect him. He wondered if he would ever again sleep without seeing Cedric, his parents … and Voldemort.

Violet looked around at the sound of his laugh and gasped. Harry glanced down and saw Lamia's head sticking out of his pocket. He roughly shoved her back in, but it was too late. Fortunately though, Violet was grinning. A customer came past then, and once dealt with, Violet pulled her seat closer to his, her eyes aglow.

"You have a snake?"

Harry hesitated a moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling out Lamia, where she lay half in his palm, half coiled around his wrist. Violet's grin widened.

"Ooooh!" she squealed. "So beautiful! May I hold it?"

Harry glanced down at Lamia, whose eyes were half-closed in pleasure. She gave him what he inexplicably knew was she snake equivalent of a shrug. "Why not? She obviously has good taste."

Harry handed her over, suddenly reluctant to part with her. Violent took her gently and laid her in her lap, holding her head and stroking her smooth scales with a practiced hand. Lamia appeared to enjoy it; if snakes could only purr …

"Her name's Lamia," Harry said, despite his strange misgivings about showing her to a stranger. "She's been with me a few weeks."

"She's gorgeous," Violet said, still stroking her. She ran her finger over the markings on her back. "A smooth snake, right?"

"Uh …" said Harry, not entirely sure, but Violet did not wait for an answer and nodded knowledgably.

"They're endangered you know," she said, winking as she adopted a mock stern voice. "It's actually illegal to handle them or interfere with them in any way. They're not pets."

Lamia hissed loudly at that.

"Yeah, she's not a pet," Harry agreed. "More of a … companion, really. And she's the one that latched on to me, so …"

Violet raised her eyebrows. "A snake companion? I don't know many blokes that'd like a wild snake living in their pockets all the time."

Lamia turned her head to look at him, and Harry smiled.

"She's good company," he said shortly, and Lamia bobbed her head at him an in what he'd come to know as the most affectionate gesture she could give.

A crowd of people came past the stall then, and Violet leaned over to hide Lamia from view before passing her back to Harry.

"You'd best put her back in your pocket," she said. "Folks round here aren't used to snakes. If they see her they'll think the pet shop has had an escape again and the whole market'll be shut down."

Harry nodded, and Lamia dutifully slid back into his pocket.

Violet watched the pocket for a minute before lifting up the bread of her ham sandwich and holding a small strip of meat out towards Harry' pocket, where a small tongue darted out to snap it up. Violet giggled. She met Harry's eye.

"An old girlfriend of mine had a snake," she explained. "Loved ham sandwiches. Thought I might try."

Harry laughed as well, as he heard Lamia's satisfied hisses. "Yeah, she'll eat anything. Loves smoky bacon crisps."

"I approve of this woman," Lamia said, her mouth stuffed, even as Violet began laughing. "We may spend some more time with her."

When Harry had communicated this with Violet, her kohl-rimmed eyes went wide.

"You can understand her?"

Harry nodded hesitantly, but Violet did not look alarmed or distrustful like others had when discovering his ability. Instead, she looked thrilled.

"That's awesome," she enthused. "I'd heard stories from mum before but … wow!"

"You're not scared?" Harry asked, and Violet gave him a disdainful laugh.

"Scared? Of what?"

Harry looked down at his feet, somewhat embarrassed. "Most people don't like Parselmouths," he said. "We don't exactly have a great reputation."

Violet laughed again, broad grin exposing her tongue piercing. She placed a hand of each of Harry's shoulders, forcing him to look at her.

"Neither do Squibs," she said, winking. "We'll do fine together, you and I. What do you say?"

A weight had been lifted from Harry's shoulders, and he found himself grinning alongside Violet.

It was strange, he thought to himself. The Muggle world had been nothing but oppressive to him before now. But here, in the heart of Muggle London, he felt happier than he had in months.

Sirius couldn't help but glare at Dumbledore from the other side of the kitchen table. He'd rarely seen the old man since Harry's disappearance, only catching a glimpse or two of him flitting in and out of headquarters on Order business. He'd expected him to be as wound up about Harry as the rest of them, but, as always, he had a look of infuriating calm about him, always speaking to fellow Order members as pleasantly as if they were at a tea party.

No one else looked as calm. The Weasleys as always looked fraught with worry, as did Remus, and even those who had never met Harry looked concerned. Despite being an official Order meeting, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were also here. Sirius had argued that they should be here for their friend despite Molly's protests. Remus had finally broken her down by reminding her that Fred and George, now official members, would tell them everything anyway. Molly had agreed, but was still not happy.

The room was silent as the last couple of members trailed in, until Dumbledore finally began to speak.

"It has now been three weeks since Harry's disappearance," he said, rather needlessly since Sirius (and he was sure most everyone else) had been counting every day with increasing worry, "and I am afraid we are still no closer to finding him. We know he is in London, probably somewhere in the Halebury area, but since his sighting at the hospital there two and a half weeks ago there has been no sign."

"We already know all this," Sirius said, hand clenched by his side. "What new information do you have?

Dumbledore turned to him. "Of his whereabouts? None whatsoever."

Sirius slammed his hand back on the table. "Then why call this bloody meeting?" he said angrily, hating the still calm expression on Dumbledore's face. "Just trying to depress us all?"

Dumbledore was silent, and Sirius swore, his hands shaking. Of all people, he'd thought Dumbledore would be the one who could fix this. He always did after all. But he was less than useless.

"Can't you do anything?" he asked him, voice calmer. "Use the Trace to find him? Some obscure spell? Don't you have contacts everywhere? How can he just disappear so easily? He's fifteen!"

"I'm well aware of how old Harry is-" Dumbledore began, but Sirius cut him off.

"Do you?" Sirius said. "Do you really? Because the way you talk about him is as if he's moved out instead of gone missing. Why can't you find him?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I have used every method I know of," he said, frowning. "But all of my spells, all of my connections have come to nothing. Harry does not want to be found."

"But he needs to be!"

"I am perfectly well aware of that," Dumbledore said, his voice a little more raised, signalling to Sirius that he had finally gone too far. "And soon. The Ministry have advertised his disappearance to the entire wizarding world, and that puts Harry in a very dangerous position. Every Death Eater across the country will now be flocking to London to try and capture him. Before now an attack on Harry would have looked suspicious and announced Voldemort's return to the world, but now? Who would think twice if Harry was found dead on the streets of London? There could be endless explanations for how a teenager on the run could come to a sticky end. Who would suspect?"

Molly gasped and looked tearful, but said nothing. Sirius was grateful; her outbursts of late had only been making him feel worse.

"But Professor," Hermione said, somewhat timidly, as Dumbledore turned to look at her. "Isn't there something you can do? I've heard of Blood Tracing spells …"

Dumbledore shook his head, but smiled at her softly. "Unfortunately, Miss Granger, that does not help us. Blood Tracing spells are only effective with siblings or parents. Harry's only blood relatives are his aunt and cousin, and I'm afraid that even if we were to convince them to give a sample the relationship is just not close enough."

Dumbledore turned back to the room at large, and his expression grew sombre. "I called this meeting because of a discussion I had at the Ministry this morning," he said. "At the time of Harry's attack on his uncle-"

"-in self-defence-"

"-at the time of the attack," Dumbledore resumed, looking sternly at everybody who had interjected, "I had reminded the Ministry that they do not have the power to expel students of Hogwarts and was in the process of arranging a hearing for Harry to defend himself against the charges brought against him (of which I knew there had to be a reasonable explanation) when news came from Arthur that Harry was not at his home." He paused a moment, his blue eyes looking harder than Sirius had ever seen them. "The Ministry agreed to suspend their criminal proceedings until Harry had been found, after all, a missing child is a serious incident, regardless of who he is, but now they are growing impatient. They informed me this morning that unless Harry is found by the end of the week, that is, four weeks after his initial disappearance, they will press further charges against him."

Sirius froze, heart thumping wildly. "What charges?"

Dumbledore frowned. "On that they were not specific," he said, "Something along the lines of 'resisting arrest', 'evading justice' and 'wasting Ministry resources.' It is unimportant. This is the excuse they have been waiting for to have him arrested and to dispel Harry's validity entirely. A conviction by the Ministry will be enough to have him expelled under the terms of the school charter, and may even gain him a custodial sentence."

"Azkaban?" Molly shrieked along with the rest of the room. Sirius felt sick to his stomach as he remembered his twelve years in that hell. Imagining Harry there …

"Blimey," Ron said, looking pale. "They must really be scared of him telling the truth."

"That they are, Mr Weasley," Dumbledore said. He regarded them all evenly. "They will not release this statement to the press, probably because they do not want Harry to see it and turn himself in. Our search is more important than ever. We have precious little time."

Sirius buried his head in his hands. Harry in Azkaban. He could not allow that to happen.

Chapter Text

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The day of the Ministry deadline had arrived, but Sirius was holed up in his own bedroom, banished there after Dumbledore had found him barking incessantly and growling ferociously at the door of the Squib's B&B. He didn't see why he should be reprimanded; he hadn't attempted to hurt the landlady, only try and convince her to tell them where Harry was. Still, Dumbledore had banned him from looking for Harry anymore, the same way he had banned him from communicating properly with Harry all summer. Like that worked out well.

He was downstairs now, having one last emergency meeting with the Order, desperately trying to find Harry before the day was out, but Sirius had decided not to go. What could Dumbledore tell him now that he didn't already know anyway?

Determined to find something to distract himself, he had pulled out old photographs and other paraphernalia the Ministry had dumped with his parents after his arrest when they'd cleared out his flat. His parents had left it here covered in dust, and Sirius had only just started sifting through it all, amazed his mother had not just burned it all. Maybe she did have a soft spot in that icicle of a heart of hers.

He flipped through albums of photographs of his Hogwarts days, feeling a sharp stab of pain whenever he saw James; each time was like seeing Harry for a brief moment before the illusion was broken. I'm sorry James, he thought miserably, lingering on one photo of the two of them. I failed your son.

He flipped angrily past those photos of Peter. Moving on to another album of their time after Hogwarts, he skimmed through the wedding, and then there were the pictures of Harry, baby Harry, so innocent, with no scar upon his forehead. There was a picture of Harry being held by Peter, his scrawny, snivelling face in a weak smile, and Sirius flipped past it so quickly he ripped the paper. How could you, Peter?

Finished with the photographs, he read through some old letters, laughing at the absurd things they had used to talk about, sombrely reading through the passages about the darkness that had been encroaching on the world even then. The world was back in this same turmoil once more. Would there ever be any way out this time?

One sheet of parchment in particular caught his eye, and he chuckled as he read it. The Maurauder's Statement of Utmost Secrecy it was entitled, and beneath that were four passages in dark ink in different handwriting. He read the first passage with a small smile on his face. I, Padfoot, solemnly swear that I shall eternally be up to no good, save for those instances when my friends are in need. I solemnly swear to never reveal our secrets to anybody (particularly Snivellus) and take them to my grave. Never shall I reveal the Map to a non-Marauder, nor the Cloak, nor the secret which binds us all. This I swear until the day I die.

This passage was repeated another three times by James, Peter and Remus, and Sirius was saddened by reading this sworn statement, so easily broken by Peter. They had written this the day after they'd finally figured out how to become Animagi, and they'd wanted it down in writing to formalise it. It wasn't binding anyway; they'd never gotten around to putting any enchantments on it, too busy running around the grounds in their new forms. But they'd nevertheless decided to write it, not in ink, but in their own blood; a blood oath between friends. We really were macabre little gits, weren't we, he said to himself, looking at a photo of the four of them, a sad smile on his lips.

His finger traced the letters James has written. Even after all these years they were still clearly legible, the once vivid blood red now faded to a rusty brown. Sirius frowned as an idea sprung half-formed into his mind … blood … James' blood … Harry's blood …

A sudden jolt went through him. No, surely not … it couldn't work. There was only one way to find out.

Parchment scrunched in one hand he leapt to his feet and flung open his door, practically cantering down the stairs before bursting into the kitchen where the entire Order were assembled at the table. Dumbledore sat at the head, a large map of London stretched out before him with large crossed out sections. He looked up mildly as Sirius barged in.

"Care to join us, Sirius?"

Sirius marched straight to him, ignoring everyone else. "You said Blood Tracing spells would be useless because we didn't have a family member close enough, right?"

"That is correct," Dumbledore said, looking somewhat surprised. "Unless we had a sample of Harry's blood-"

"What about James'?" Sirius asked, heart beating fast.

"What exactly do you mean, Padfoot?" Remus said, standing up. "Do you have some of James' blood?"

By way of answer Sirius thrust the parchment towards him grimly. "Remember this?"

Remus glanced at it and his eyebrows rose. "Our oath of secrecy," he muttered, eyes lost in memory. "We all signed it in blood. Peter fainted six times while we were doing it."

Dumbledore took the parchment and read it, brows furrowed as Sirius waited impatiently. Finally, Dumbledore laid it on the table.

"It might just work," he said, and Sirius could almost leap for joy. "But a sample so old and small … do not get your hopes up."

"What else have we got?" Tonks said. "Might as well have a go, eh?"

Dumbledore nodded. He glanced at Sirius. "The spell will destroy the sample, I should warn you."

Sirius waved his hand. "Harry's more important. Besides, Peter destroyed that oath long ago. It's worthless now."

Dumbledore withdrew his wand and with a few swipes, had cut away the section that began: "I, Prongs". He waved his wand over it and muttered a few incomprehensible phrases. The parchment glowed white, and the letters began squiggling around, slipping and sliding around the slightly furled parchment as if they were floating leaves on the surface of a pond. Dumbledore withdrew a small vial from his pocket and tilted the parchment towards it, sending the letters flowing into the lip of the glass where they collected as large droplets of blood, shining as brightly red as the day they had been shed. Dumbledore held the vial in the flat of his hand and passed his wand over it several times, muttering more words in a strange language. The vial glowed white, then red, and finally a vivid green, the blood bubbling and frothing wildly. Sirius couldn't help but feel a bit sick. That vial contained the only remains of his best friend. No, don't think that, he told himself. Harry's still out there.

Once the blood had stopped bubbling, Dumbledore stood up and leaned over the map of London, which was so large and detailed it covered the entire length and breadth of the table. Then, he unstoppered the vial and tipped the blood on the sheet, and waited. At first nothing happened, but then, as the entire room stared at it in fixated silence, it congealed together and began inching across the paper like a caterpillar. The Order followed its progress unblinkingly as it crossed the River Thames, inched through Westminster and Camden, making its way to one of the large crossed out areas. There, it finally settled, and glowed feebly. Sirius, who had been frozen to the spot until that moment, sprang into action and pushed his way through the Order members closest to examine the area the blood had stopped at. He leaned in, heart racing.

"Prescott Street," he read to the silent room. "It's only ten minutes away from here …"

"And just around the corner from the market," Kingsley said, pointing. "Our Miss Fawcett evidently does not live with her mother."

Tonks leapt to her feet. "I'll go there straight away."

"No."

Sirius turned to see Dumbledore, still seated at the head of the table. He had a look of grave calm. "I will go," he said.

"But-" Sirius objected, enraged.

"I will go, Sirius," Dumbledore repeated. "There can be no more mistakes. And I am afraid your presence in your current emotional state may compromise the situation."

"My WHAT?"

"No offence, Professor," Hermione said timidly, preventing Sirius from launching a foul-mouthed tirade at his former Headmaster, "but Harry is pretty angry with you as well."

"Unfortunately, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said. "There is no one Harry isn't angry with at the present moment. I underestimated the toll recent events must have taken on him. There is only so much one person can take. Frankly, I am amazed he has reached this age at all so well-balanced. I must be the one to correct that. Whether he thanks me for it or not."

And without another word, he stood and swept out of the room leaving many equally anxious and excited people behind him. Sirius turned away and began to pace the room. Just a little while longer, Harry.

Harry wasn't quite sure how to act around Violet and Susie the morning after her episode. He sat at the tiny kitchen table avoiding their glances, but neither of them seemed to care. Susie, already dressed and primly perfect as usual bustled about making some bacon and eggs. Lamia was curled up by the stove staring at her the whole while, graciously accepting the tidbits that came her way every so often. Harry just sat with Violet munching through some toast. Violet smiled at him every so often, but he couldn't respond. Susie's attack the previous night, while not outwardly affecting either of them had shaken him more than he had realised. It had struck a little too close to home.

Finished her frying, and popping one last scrap of bacon into Lamia's mouth, Susie scraped it all onto a plate, grabbed a knife and fork, squeezed out some HP sauce and began to carry her plate towards the living room.

"And where are you going?" Violet asked.

"GMTV's on," Susie said by explanation, already in the living room. "I never miss my Lorraine Kelly in the morning."

"Get any brown sauce on that sofa and you're going to clean it up!" Violet called, and Susie just scoffed. Violet waited until the sound of the television came through the door before turning to Harry.

"I appreciate you not bringing up last night," she said, smiling. "It makes it easier."

"No problem," Harry said, staring down at his plate. Violet reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I get it, Harry," she said, her smile understanding. "You're dealing with your own demons, right? Maybe even some of the same ones she is. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. I saw the way you looked last night. We all need time to heal. We all need people to help us through stuff like this."

"I don't," Harry said, stubbornly. "I'm not going back to them."

Violet bit her lip and looked troubled. "That's the thing," she said slowly. "I got a phone call from my mum this morning. I … I think you should go back."

Harry jerked around to face her, hardly believing his ears. "What?" he exclaimed. "You're not serious. I can't go back. Not yet anyway … I mean … I'm not ready!"

The thought of going back had sent him into an immediate panic. His heart raced and he found it hard to breathe. He couldn't face them all again, not until he had beaten this. He couldn't let them see the weakness.

"I know, mate," she said, her face sympathetic, "but I don't think you have any choice. That Professor Dumbledore bloke went back to see my mum. He says that the Ministry are going to pursue further charges against you unless you turn yourself over by the end of today. It sounds quite serious."

Harry stared at her, his panic only increasing as his fears became reality. How much trouble was he really in? What would happen to him?

He looked away, a sudden urge to throw something almost overwhelming him. It wasn't fair. Why should become a criminal when all he'd done was defend himself? Why wasn't Uncle Vernon being dragged off for attacking him? The entire world really was out to get him.

He didn't want to go, he wanted to scream and shout and refuse. Violet was still staring at him. She didn't look happy, and any urge to shout at her immediately drained away. Dumbledore was smart; he'd known the Fawcetts were hiding him and would convince him to come back. Then a thought struck him … was all this just a ruse to force him out of hiding? Surely the Daily Prophet would have said something?

Before he had time to think this through there was a knock at the front door. Violet leapt up, her face alarmed, and Harry felt the same. Who else could have got through the locked external door save a wizard? But was it the Ministry, or someone else?

He wanted to run, but where could he go? He leapt to his feet and hurriedly stuffed Lamia into his pocket; he knew the sight of her might make the situation worse. He and Violet moved into the living room and she inched closer to the front door, suspicion on her face. Susie had twisted around from her position on the sofa, also intrigued.

Violet squinted through the peephole and then slowly turned the handle, as Harry prepared to run and hide in the bedroom, but before he could, the door was open, and someone swept in, sparkling blue eyes meeting vivid green, and then he knew he could run no longer.

Professor Dumbledore smiled. "Good morning, Harry," he said pleasantly.

Harry turned furiously to Violet. "Did you tell him where I was?"

"No, I swear!" she cried, hands up.

"Miss Fawcett is telling the truth, Harry," Dumbledore said, stepping further into the flat holding out his hands, robes sweeping the carpet. "it was Sirius actually who came up with the sp … uh …" he paused after glancing at Susie, who was staring at him as if was an exhibit in the zoo, "means to find you. Miss Granger had the idea a few weeks ago."

Harry was no less angry. So Sirius and Hermione were in the same place? Why was it fair she got to spend time with him all summer and he was left to rot in Little Whinging? And what sort of spell had they used?

Dumbledore was now only a few feet from Harry. He was still smiling, but Harry could see the seriousness behind his friendly expression.

"I am truly sorry for everything that has happened this summer, Harry," he said, fixing him with a piercing glare. "But you have made a great many people very seriously worried. Please, come back with me and let them know you're alright."

Harry scowled. "They've been worried? What about me? All summer long without a scrap of news? Didn't you think I'd be going out of my mind?"

Dumbledore's expression did not change. "I understand your frustration, Harry," he said, as Harry scoffed. "But this is not the way to deal with it."

"And I was just supposed to stay at home like a good little boy?" Harry asked. "After what they did? What makes you think I want to come with you?"

Dumbledore took a step closer. "I know you are hurt," he said, "and I will do all I can to alleviate that. Come with me, and I promise that I will explain. You cannot remain here. Has Miss Fawcett told you of the trouble you are in with the authorities if you do not come back by midnight tonight?"

Harry shuffled uncomfortably. "I'm already in a ton of trouble though," he said. "After … everything. What's the point? Aren't I expelled already?"

"No," Dumbledore said. "You must attend a hearing, and I promise to help you through it. I will make them realise that you committed no crime."

"And you think they'll believe me? I'm a lunatic remember?"

"I will not give up on you, Harry," Dumbledore said, his expression hard. "You must come. Sirius is desperately worried."

Harry felt a stab of guilt. "Going to use that against me?" he said. "That's low."

Dumbledore smiled. "It is only the truth. Whatever issues you have, however angry you are, you are safer with us. That man chasing you in the marketplace was a Death Eater. We can address your concerns later."

Harry only grew angrier as he looked at Dumbledore's infuriatingly calm expression. He wanted to tell him to stuff it, to run off and hide somewhere else, but he knew he was right. He couldn't escape the Ministry forever. He had to go back, ready or not. But still, the thought of seeing everyone again was painful, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle it. He slipped a hand into his pocket to rest against Lamia's cool scales. Well, even if they still won't talk to me, at least I won't be alone.

"Please, Harry," Violet said, her face worried. "I don't want you to go, but you have to. I don't want you in any more trouble."

"Hold on a minute!" Susie, who Harry had forgotten was there stood up, staring at Dumbledore. "Who exactly are you? A copper?"

Dumbledore smiled. "No, I am his Headmaster."

Susie stared, and then looked at Harry. "What the hell kinda posh school do you go to that you've got the bloody headmaster after you in the summer?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "A school that cares about its pupils very much."

He turned back to Harry, who still stood frozen on the spot, feeling torn in two. He didn't want to leave this small flat with the first two Muggles he'd actually ever cared about and cared about him in return, but he also didn't want to end up in Azkaban. And the thought of Sirius was also driving painful spikes into his heart.

Dumbledore seemed to realise Harry had made his decision, and spread his arm. "Come on then, Harry," he said. "Sirius and Mrs Weasley are tearing their hair out waiting on you."

Slowly, as though his legs had suddenly turned to lead, Harry found himself walking towards the open door, trying to contain his urge to rage at his teacher. But before he left, Violet stopped him and swiftly pulled him into a tight hug.

"You and Lamia watch out for yourselves, right?" she whispered into his ear, before she pulled back and glared at Dumbledore. "Swear to me you'll look out for him, and not treat him the way you did before. He needs people to support him, not abandon him."

Dumbledore looked at her, his expression perfectly serious and earnest. "I assure you, Miss Fawcett," he said, "I intend to do nothing of the sort. Harry will be well looked after."

Violet nodded, though she still looked uncertain.

"I'll be fine," Harry said to her, wishing he knew for a fact he was telling the truth. He turned to smile at Susie, and then eventually headed out the door. His month on the run was over. But was he any better off for it? He was about to find out.

Chapter Text

The Drawing Room was packed with Order members either squashed into chairs or just sitting on the floor. Sirius did not join them, but instead paced up and down the room relentlessly. No one tried to stop him, some looked they wanted to join him. Ron and Hermione looked the most nervous next to Sirius and Mrs Weasley. Ron looked somewhat sick and Hermione constantly wrung her hands. No one spoke. No one wanted to jinx it. No one wanted to speculate. They all just waited.

A flurry of motion occurred every time the sound came from downstairs of the front door opening and Sirius' heart leapt, but it usually turned out to be another Order member coming to the room to await Harry. Sirius wished they would just leave. Harry didn't need to come back to a room full of strangers staring at him. His heart sank as he considered what might happen when Harry walked through the door. How would he look? Would he be angry, or would the month on the run have cooled him off somewhat?

The front door opened once again, but he barely noticed this time. He paced and paced. What would he say to him? How was he to apologise? Should he? Or should he be stern and tell him off for scaring them all? Would that make things worse?

The drawing room door opened, but instead of another Order member, Dumbledore himself walked in, and the room gasped as one. Sirius' very insides went cold. Where was Harry? Had he escaped again?

But, Dumbledore was smiling. He stepped aside, and a small figure walked into the room behind him, and Sirius worries and fears vanished as he recognised the face of his godson. The room erupted in cheers, but before Sirius could say anything, two figures, one bushy-haired and the other ginger had ploughed into Harry, throwing their arms around him and thumping him on the back.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione squealed, sounding tearful. "We were so worried!"

"You had us scared out our minds, mate," Ron said, drawing back, looking emotional himself.

"Harry, dear!" Mrs Weasley said, also drawing him into a tight hug. "I'm so glad you're safe."

Harry had so far said nothing. He had only limply responded to the embraces, and his expression was unchanged. Sirius took the opportunity to take a good look at him. He was wearing Muggle clothes too large for him, either that or he had lost weight, a lot of it, weight he could hardly afford to lose in the first place. His face was gaunt and his vivid green eyes were ringed in black. His hair was even messier than usual, but more than all of this, he looked tired. Not physically, though the dark circles demonstrated he was, but emotionally and mentally drained. There was no life in those bright eyes. Sirius would hardly have recognised him, and the shock and worry that had returned to him held him back from going to him.

Harry turned to Sirius and offered him a small smile, one that did not quite reach his eyes. "Sorry to make you all worry about me," he said, his tone flat. "I'm fine."

"You don't look it, dear," Mrs Weasley said. "We'll need to get a couple good meals inside you."

"Yes, Mr Weasley showed us the supplies from the B&B," Hermione said, shaking her head. "You weren't really surviving on Mars Bars and Pringles, were you, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "I ran out of money."

"Then why not come back?"

Harry did not answer, and stared at his shoes. Sirius' heart sank. He wanted to say something, to reach out to comfort him, but he found he could say nothing. All month he had rehearsed perfectly what to say to Harry when he was found, but now nothing seemed enough. No one else seemed able to say anything either.

"Hedwig's here," Ron said, and everyone turned to stare at him. "Well she is!" he said defensively.

"It's good to see you, mate," Fred said, and his twin nodded. "We thought you might be a goner."

"Yeah, glad you're okay," Tonks said, smiling brightly. Harry started when he turned to look at her, a frown on his face. He blushed slightly.

"Yeah," he said, avoiding her eyes. "Sorry about … you know … I didn't know who you were. I didn't mean it."

"Don't worry about it. See, my hand's fine!" she replied, waving it at him. "I got worse on my Auror training. "

"The entire Order is happy you are back," Kingsley said, and Harry looked at him next. Again, a glimmer of recognition crossed his face.

"You're the one that searched the B&B."

"I am," Kingsley said, surprised. "How did you know that?"

Harry shrugged, looking away. "I was hiding behind a car."

Mrs Weasley turned furiously on Kingsley. "He was hiding behind a car and you didn't see him? What kind of Auror are you?"

Kingsley just looked embarrassed. Harry in the meantime had looked back up. "The Order..." he said contemplatively. He glanced around the room, lingering on the strangers. "And what is that, exactly? What was that note about outside?"

"Perhaps we should wait until a later date for this," Dumbledore said. "I still have to contact the Ministry and inform them you are in my custody."

"Custody?" Harry repeated loudly, a hint of anger in his voice as he turned on Dumbledore. "What exactly does that mean?"

"This should wait-"

"No," Harry said, glaring at Dumbledore. A sudden change came over the room at Harry's tone. "We'll discuss it now. I only agreed to come back because you said you'd explain. So explain."

Harry and Dumbledore stood staring at each other for a few moments, and everyone looked between them, wondering who would make the next move. No one dared do so much as blink. Finally, Dumbledore sighed.

"Very well," he said. "I will answer some questions. But you also have to answer some of mine. Agreed?"

Harry nodded sharply. He opened his mouth, but hesitated, as if there were so many questions spilling around his mind he didn't know which to ask first. Sirius knew the feeling. He hated standing there like this, absolutely uselessly incapacitated.

"What's the Order of the Phoenix?" Harry finally asked, speaking quickly.

"The Order of the Phoenix is a secret organisation dedicated to fighting against Voldemort and his followers," Dumbledore said. "I founded it several years ago when Voldemort was at his height. What you see here are its main members, some new, and some returned. I recalled it immediately after you told me of Voldemort's return. This place serves as our Headquarters. It is the ancestral Black home."

Harry glanced at Sirius. "Your house?" he asked. "You- you were in this society the last time?"

"Yes," Sirius replied. "Me, Remus, your parents, and-"

"Wormtail," Harry said. He shuddered slightly, but tried to disguise it by rearranging his coat. He stared at the ground. "My parents were in it? And you didn't think I'd like to be as well?"

"The Order is only for overage wizards. Wizards who have also left school," Dumbledore said as the Weasley twins began to voice their usual protests. Harry looked annoyed as well.

"So what's been happening?" Harry asked, looking up and rolling his eyes when he saw no one knew what to say. "Voldemort? What's he up to? What's he doing? There hasn't been the slightest hint of it in the Muggle news, or the Prophet."

"We have been doing our best to alert people of his return, recruit followers and monitor Death Eater activity. The Daily Prophet is under increasing pressure from Cornelius Fudge to suppress all knowledge of Voldemort's return," Dumbledore said. "You remember his reaction after the Triwizard Tournament? Voldemort is laying low to get an advantage, and this is playing directly into Fudge's hands. He is working as hard as he can to discredit us both."

Harry laughed grimly. "Yeah, making me out to be some sort of hardened criminal that's delusional or attention-seeking, or both."

"I'm afraid you only played directly into their hands," Dumbledore said.

"Yeah, selfish of me to get attacked, wasn't it?" Harry had folded his arms across his chest, still glaring at Dumbledore. Sirius felt a spike of anger at the reminder.

"Well, your reaction to it-"

"-was perfectly justified in my opinion," Sirius said, hands clenched. "Arsehole got what he deserved."

"But it was reckless," Dumbledore said, even as Harry scoffed. "You must appreciate that. The fleeing has done nothing in his favour."

"What did you expect him to do?"

"I do not condemn his reaction, it was only natural. But the continued flight-"

"And why do you think he stayed away?" Sirius snapped. "He was left there in that Muggle house with no knowledge of anything. We abandoned him. I don't blame him for wanting to take off. Merlin knows I hate being cooped up in this old dump."

Sirius looked at Harry, wanting him to know that he understood, that he wasn't angry with him, let him know he was on his side, but Harry wasn't looking at him. He was staring resolutely at Dumbledore, a scowl still on his face.

Dumbledore looked calmly at Sirius. "Justified or not, Harry put himself into a great deal of danger. You know this. You have worried about him all month."

"Of course I have," Sirius said. "But it still doesn't change the fact that he shouldn't have been left there on his own in the first place."

"And what would you have preferred?" Molly asked, hands on her hips. "Bringing him here? Dragging him into Order meetings?"

"Why not?" Sirius said indignantly. "It's better than being kept in the dark. He can handle it."

"You don't get to make that decision for him," Molly argued. "There's only so much he needs to know."

"Yeah, and we haven't even told him that much! He's dealt with more than most in the Order, yourself included!"

"There's no denying what he's done," Molly said, glaring at him now. "But he's still only fifteen-"

"He's not a child-"

"-but he's not an adult either!" Molly exclaimed. "He's not James, Sirius!"

Sirius felt a stab through the heart, and was momentarily stunned.

"I know precisely who he is, thanks, Molly." He said, voice quiet.

"I don't think you do. The way you act it's as if you've got your best friend back! He's still at school, and adults responsible for him should remember that."

"Meaning I'm an irresponsible godfather?"

"Meaning you've been known to act rashly in the past! Why else was he raised by the Dursleys? If you hadn't been so foolishly rash it would have been you who raised him!"

Sirius felt like she had just slapped him. Thoughts he had long tried to suppress came flooding back to torment him. Memories of old pain haunted him once more. His tortured internal debates of the last few weeks sprang once more fully formed in his mind. His hands were shaking as he opened his mouth.

"Enough," Dumbledore said. His voice was quiet, but carried the authority needed to make Sirius and Molly back down immediately. Sirius turned away, heart thumping painfully. He looked at Harry, surprised to see he had not reacted. He still stared at Dumbledore.

"Now is not the time to pin blame," Dumbledore said. "You both make good points, but we must pull together for his sake. Harry needs to know certain things, Molly, he deserves to know. But he is still underage."

"I am here you know," Harry said quietly. His face was stony.

Dumbledore turned back to him, but before he could say anything, Harry spoke again.

"You shouldn't have left me there," he said, speaking quickly. "I had a right to be here with the rest of you. Why was I sent there in the first place?"

"It was for your own good-"

"My own good?!" Harry shouted, incredulous. "Do you even understand what I …" he broke off, breathing heavily. He glared at Dumbledore. "You shouldn't have left me in the dark. You can't just dump me there and doom me to weeks of silence. What did you think was going to happen?"

Dumbledore took a step closer. "Harry," he said quietly. "If I had known-"

"You didn't give a damn," Harry said, his entire body shaking. "You didn't care to find out. You just left me. Well, I'm not a baby anymore. You can't just dump me on their doorstep again. I won't put up with it. You never gave a damn about what went on there. You still don't. You won't even look at me!"

It was then Sirius noticed that Harry was right; Dumbledore had been avoiding staring directly into Harry's eyes. But now, he obliged. He stared at Harry a long time, the two sizing each other up. Dumbledore broke the contact by blinking.

"Now I've answered some of your questions, "Dumbledore said, "Will you answer some of mine?"

Harry was still fuming, but he shrugged in agreement.

"Tell me what happened on that night, Harry," Dumbledore said.

"Hasn't Uncle Vernon told you already?"

"I want to hear your side," Dumbledore said, fixing his eyes on Harry's. Harry hesitated a moment before speaking.

"I didn't mean it," he said, and for the first time, his voice was quiet, and almost child-like. "Honestly. Am I going to be expelled for it?"

"You must attend a hearing," Dumbledore replied. "Your punishment will depend entirely on what you can tell me now. It is absolutely important I hear everything."

For a moment, Harry looked afraid, but then his face hardened into an expressionless mask.

"I was outside," he said, avoiding everyone's eyes. "Just minding my own business. Dudley came up to me and started giving me a hard time, as usual."

"And what do you mean by that?" Dumbledore asked. "Was he physically threatening you in any way?"

"No," Harry said. "Just … saying stuff."

"Like what?"

Harry frowned, and looked distinctly awkward. "Nothing, just … teasing me."

Dumbledore looked at him evenly. "Dudley told me that you pulled your wand on him."

The room gasped, and Sirius rounded furiously on Dumbledore.

"You never said that! Do you really think Harry instigated-"

He fell silent when Dumbledore held up his hand. Harry was still staring at the ground. He was squirming now.

"Yeah, I did," he mumbled, making everyone gasp again, and Sirius couldn't believe it. "I was angry ... at the stuff he was saying. I wasn't going to use it."

"Nevertheless, unless we can convince Dudley not to give a statement to the Ministry, it will count very heavily against you if you claim the magic was accidental," Kingsley said.

"What did he say that upset you so?" Dumbledore asked calmly.

Harry's cheeks were pink now. "He …" he began. "I was having nightmares. He heard. He teased me. That's it."

"What were the nightmares about?"

"What do you think?" Harry spat, glaring at Dumbledore suddenly. Then, just as quickly, he looked away again, embarrassed. Sirius didn't know what to say. He wanted to comfort him, but how?

Dumbledore looked like he wanted to ask more, or at least that he suspected there was something deeper there, but moved on.

"Then what happened?"

Harry shrugged. "I had my wand pointed at him. I heard the back door open and got distracted. Next thing I knew Dudley had punched me. I was on the ground, he came in for another blow, but then a snake bit him and he backed off."

"This is what confuses me, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Snakes are not that common in this country, and it is a very curious coincidence indeed that one should bite your cousin just as he is about to attack you."

"Yeah, well, that's what happened," Harry shrugged. Dumbledore continued staring at him.

"Harry," he said, very seriously, "I need to know for certain. Were you controlling that snake using Parseltongue?"

Dumbledore held up hands to stem the immediate protests that came from several quarters, Sirius' included. His eyes were fixed on Harry.

"I didn't control it," Harry said, but he mumbled, and Sirius felt his suspicion, to his own horror, begin to grow.

Dumbledore was obviously thinking along the same lines. "Harry," he said again. "The Ministry is aware of your abilities. They might try and use this against you. Are you absolutely certain you are telling me the truth? You did not tell the snake to attack?"

"I didn't tell her to do anything!"

"Her?" Dumbledore repeated.

"Harry!" Molly cried, and several other people looked shocked. Harry's head jerked up defensively.

"I didn't!" he protested. "I – I," he trailed off, blinking furiously. "I was … talking to her."

"Talking to her," Dumbledore repeated, eyebrow raised.

"Yeah," Harry said. "She just slithered up and started talking to me. Dudley heard us. Then she attacked him and I lost her after that."

Sirius was disturbed, both by the Parseltongue, and Harry's admission of having a casual conversation with a snake. He must really have been desperate for companionship.

"Do you think the snake was a spy?" Bill asked. "You-Know-Who sent it to watch him?"

"No, I don't think so," Dumbledore said. "The protection I placed around the house would have prevented it". But as he spoke, Sirius was almost certain he heard a loud hiss and saw Harry's head jerk almost imperceptibly, and his hand twitch towards his pocket. The next moment though it was gone, and he wasn't sure if he had imagined it or not.

"What happened after that, Harry?"

"Uncle Vernon dragged me into the kitchen," Harry said, staring at the ground again. "He accused me of doing it deliberately. Then he punched me, and I fell through the glass door."

There was a dark muttering among the Order; knowing what had happened was different to hearing Harry describe it, especially in such nonchalant terms.

"Let me see," Dumbledore, still calm.

Harry looked like he wanted to protest, but obliged. He turned around and lifted the back of his t-shirt where Sirius could just make out several deep cuts on the pale skin, healed over in thick red lines. Those who also caught a glimpse gasped, but Sirius stood silent, indignant. How dare that bastard lay hands on him!

Harry lowered his shirt after Dumbledore had had a long look and nodded. "Then what happened?"

Harry bit his lip. "He ... he came at me again," he said, mumbling. "I don't know what he was going to do, so I panicked. He had his hands reached out, and … next thing I knew …"

Harry looked away, breathing heavily. "I couldn't control it," he said, his voice shaky. "It was like every bit of anger and hate I had for him just spilled out all at once. His hands … they just …"

"I understand, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Accidental magic, in situations of extreme duress is often difficult to control."

"Then he won't be punished for it?" Molly asked, but Dumbledore looked grave.

"Accidental magic is overlooked in children who have not been taught to control themselves," he said. "But in a fifteen year old with four years of magical education, they will not be so forgiving."

"But it was self-defence!" Sirius protested. "That bastard was going to-"

"That argument will be difficult to present to the Ministry," Dumbledore said. "Not without evidence of further incidents."

Harry laughed shortly. "What, you think this was the first time?"

"And what do you mean by that, Harry?"

"You know what I mean," Harry snapped. "You've had Mrs Figg spying on me all those years after all. You must know what's been going on."

Dumbledore looked over the top of his glasses at Harry. "Mrs Figg always told me that you were safe and well. You were protected from Voldemort's supporters. That was what was important."

"And my happiness wasn't?" Harry demanded, his voice rising. "Do you have any idea how miserable my life is with them? It's hell!"

"What did you do after your uncle's injuries?" Dumbledore asked. Harry scowled at the abrupt change of subject.

"I nicked some of his money and headed to London. I got into the first B&B that was cheap enough, and no, I didn't know the landlady was a Squib at the time. That was a nice surprise later on. When my money ran out I worked with Violet at the market until Seamus and that other bloke found me. Then I lived with her and Susie. Then you found me. Happy?"

Dumbledore looked neither happy nor sad, nor anything for that matter. His expression was inscrutable.

"Thank you for telling me," he said. "I must speak with officials at the Ministry, and also have a word with Arabella Figg. If she can testify to your strained relationship with your family and we can prove you were acting in self-defence you will not be punished. The fact that the magic was wandless also counts in your favour. If you had intended serious harm to your uncle, and were committing a deliberately malicious act you could have used a much better spell. The uncontrollable nature of the magic is evidence of sudden danger."

Harry said nothing. His shoulders were tense, and Sirius could see he was concealing just how afraid he was of expulsion. Hogwarts meant more to him than it ever had for Sirius.

"They won't punish him for protecting himself," Tonks said, confidently. "If it helps I can testify if you like. Same thing happened with me. He lost control. It wasn't his fault."

"I'd prefer to keep you out of it, Nymphadora," Dumbledore said. "We can get away with saying that you tried to apprehend him while coming across him unexpectedly, but we cannot afford for it to be known you have any greater connection to him than that."

"What about the Dursleys?" Bill asked. "Will they be able to give evidence?"

"Muggles aren't usually accepted as witnesses," Kingsley said, but Sirius couldn't help but snort.

"They do when it suits them," he said. "All it took was a bunch of clueless Muggles to point at me and say 'he did it' for me to be sent to Azkaban without trial."

"I believe I can convince them not to say anything," Dumbledore said. "They were naturally very angry over the entire affair, but I do hold some sway over Petunia in particular. By the time next summer comes, I doubt they will attempt to block Harry entrance."

"It doesn't matter if they do," Harry said. "Because I'm not going back."

He had looked up and was staring firmly at Dumbledore, his expression leaving no one in any doubt that he was deadly serious. The room was silent.

"I appreciate what you have experienced this last month, Harry," Dumbledore said, "but it is absolutely imperative that you return to your aunt and uncle's house next summer, at least for a while."

"Why?" Harry demanded.

Dumbledore to Sirius' great astonishment hesitated. Then, a decision was made. "Because of a spell I enacted several years ago," he said. "As long as you can call that place home, you are protected there by an extension of the blood magic that your mother used to save your life as a baby."

If Harry was surprised by this information, he did not show it. All he looked was indignant. "Home?" he repeated. "I have never called that place home. They are not my family."

"Harry-"

"NO," Harry said, face lined in fury. "You don't get to decide what's best for me. What the hell makes you think you can control my life anyway? You're not my legal guardian, you're my Headmaster!"

Dumbledore's face remained calm, but his eyes were lit with a new fire. "Actually, Harry, I do have the authority. Your parents appointed me executor of their will-"

"-they never intended Harry to end up with them-" Sirius began.

"Nevertheless," Dumbledore interrupted. "The will stated that Harry be placed with someone best able to protect him, in lieu of you of course, Sirius. I fulfilled that by placing Harry with his only family, the only place the blood magic protection still lived."

"So what?" Harry yelled. "They kept me safe from non-existent Death Eaters for fourteen years, but what about everything else? Did you really think it was best for me to live with people who hate my guts?"

"I had hoped Petunia's love for her sister would be enough to-"

"Well you were wrong," Harry said. "She despises me. And I despise her, and the rest of them. I'm never going back. Never. You'll have to drag me back. If you do, I'll just run away again."

Dumbledore looked at him a long moment. "I believe you," he said. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"I'm not," Harry said. "I'm just glad I'll never have to see them again as long as I live."

"They are your legal guardians, Harry-"

"Then get me removed from their custody!" Harry yelled. "It can't be that hard. Don't wizards have a magical equivalent of social workers?"

"Who would you live with?"

"Me," Sirius said firmly. "I'm his godfather! What could be safer than headquarters?"

"Legal guardianship cannot be transferred to a criminal on the run, Sirius," Dumbledore said. "You lost all guardianship rights upon your conviction."

"Me then," Remus said, standing up.

"Again, Remus, I'm sorry, but a werewolf would never be considered for guardianship."

"What about us?" Mrs Weasley asked, and Arthur nodded enthusiastically. "He's as good as our son as it is. What if he came with us?"

Harry, who had been staring sulkily at the floor looked up at this and stared at Molly, a new expression on his face.

Dumbledore shook his head. "You are of no relation, nor do you have any connection to his family. Also, you will forgive me, you have limited money, and several children of your own. You would be considered unlikely candidates."

"What about someone else in the Order?" Bill asked. "Me or Charlie who've got our own income? Tonks, Kingsley, hell, you or McGonagall!"

Professor McGonagall, who had been sitting quietly in the corner until this moment nodded fiercely, and did not look like she wanted to object.

Dumbledore however shook his head once more. "I am afraid the Ministry would be unlikely to consider any of you. Even if we manage to convince them that Harry cannot stay in his present environment, they would more likely want to take custody of him themselves to try and gain some influence over him."

"Fine, stick me in an orphanage, I don't care," Harry said. "Anything's better than that place." He sighed heavily. "I have my own money," he said. "Loads of it. I could support myself. Couldn't I just … not have a guardian?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I am not sure of anything at this point, Harry," he said. "We must first convince them not to prosecute you for the incident with your uncle. Then we can come back to this issue."

"Of course," Harry said quietly. "Fix my mess first before considering what's best for me, right? That's what you've been doing here in secret. Fixing the mess of things I left behind me in the graveyard before informing me of anything important. I was the one stupid enough to get me and Cedric to Little Hangleton in the first place, I was the one whose blood he used, why should I know anything?"

Sirius went cold all over as understanding hit him like a brick. "Harry," he said firmly. "Voldemort's return was not your fault. Cedric's death was not your fault."

Harry looked at him, vivid green eyes now alight with emotion. "I was the one that told Cedric to come with me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "He wouldn't have been there without me. Voldemort would never have returned if I hadn't been so bloody stupid to say 'Hey, Cedric, let's take the Cup together'. I was the one who lay there and watched as he killed him."

He turned away to hide his face as Sirius was flooded with guilt and anger on Harry's behalf. How could any of them have allowed him to be on his own after what he had been through? He should have protested more. He should have gone charging off to Little Whinging after Dumbledore forbade him to tell him anything in letters. Harry should not have had to go through this on his own.

Harry suddenly moved towards the door, and the whole room stirred as if to stop them. Harry paused at the door and laughed.

"Don't worry, I'm not about to take off again," he said. He looked at Dumbledore, anger in every line in his face. "Do what you have to with the Ministry, but know that I won't go back to Privet Drive, even if it means expelling me. I have never been anything but miserable there. Just like the rest of my life. I won't go back."

Without another word, he left the room, and thundered up the stairs.

"That's an exaggeration," Lamia hissed to him as he ran up the stairs, barging into bedrooms trying to find where his stuff had been dumped.

"What is?"

"Your life has not been nothing but miserable," she said. "You have smiled. You have laughed. You have friends."

"So?"

"Snakes believe in telling the truth only," she said. "We do not exaggerate for dramatic purposes."

"Could've fooled me," Harry said, finally finding a small bedroom with his possessions in it. Someone had brought his stuff from the B&B here, as well as the possessions he had left behind in Privet drive. Hedwig's cage stood open by a window, obviously out hunting. He flopped down on the bed he presumed was his, seeing Ron's stuff scattered over another.

Lamia slithered out of his pocket and looked at him.

"Those people care about you."

"They lied to me. Kept me in the dark all summer-"

"But they care," she said, and slithered closer. "They spoke so lovingly about you. You did not say how much they cared."

"Why does it matter to you?"

"Snakes are solitary creatures," she said. "We have love for no one. Even our mothers leave us at birth. We do not know companionship."

"Then why do you stick around with me then?"

"Because that life, is no life at all," she said, eyes fixed on his. "Life is best shared with others. Not alone."

Harry sighed, knowing that she was right. Seeing everyone again had confused him immensely. He was still angry, still hurt, but seeing them again had brought strong feelings of warmth for them and guilt for worrying them all so much. He had missed them. He couldn't look them in the eye, not trusting himself. Then Mrs Weasley had gone and said that thing about him being as good as her son …

He twisted in his bed. He was glad to see them, but he couldn't quite forgive them yet. His own pain and hurt was still too fresh. He didn't know what to say to them. He didn't know what was in his own mind. He was just as confused as he was the night he had left Privet Drive.

And that moment near the end where he had talked about Cedric … his barrier had almost broken. Speaking about him hurt, thinking about him hurt … so he tried to push it to the back of his mind as much as possible as Lamia had taught him. To remember the past, but not to dwell on it. It was proving harder than he thought.

And Dumbledore… he was the worst of all. To have someone he had once trusted so much not even look him in the eye …

He sighed and placed a hand along Lamia's back, stroking her smooth scales. "I'm glad you're here at least," he said softly. "I'd go mad without you."

"I'm not quite sure you haven't," she said.

He chuckled. "I think you have. What were you thinking hissing like that when Bill was speaking? I almost had a heart attack. What if Dumbledore had found you?"

"He accused me of being a spy!" she protested. "The very notion is insulting." She was silent a moment. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not telling them I was there. I appreciate you keeping me secret."

Harry smiled sadly. Yeah, well, it's not just for you. Somehow, I don't think the others would understand."

"They don't need to," Lamia said, curling her body around his arm affectionately. "I will be here to listen to your moaning and complaining until you're ready to pass it on to them."

"Thanks," Harry said, smiling genuinely. From what he had seen of the dreary house so far it was filled with Slytherin-esque decoration of serpents. But for the first time since starting Hogwarts, he no longer saw the snake as a Slytherin thing, an evil symbol of Voldemort. Lamia had been more of a friend to him this summer so far than any of his fellow Gryffindors.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The morning after his disturbing dream, Harry tried to avoid everyone, knowing that Ron would have told someone and he did not want the attention. He made only a brief appearance at breakfast, long enough to grab a slice of toast before disappearing again, mostly staying in the bedroom, or staring at the Black family tapestry in the drawing room.

Despite its dark history, the tapestry was oddly comforting. Reading the dozens of names and reciting their dates of birth and death was almost therapeutic, and he found he was committing large swathes of it to memory. He found a Potter or two amongst the names of all the other Pure-Bloods the daughters of the Black family had married and he wondered about his own family history. He knew nothing about his paternal grandparents, not even their names. He wondered how distantly he and Sirius were related.

Sirius himself was not on the family tree, though Harry had long searched for him in vain. The only conclusion he could come to was that the large scorch marks dotted all over the tapestry were those Blacks disowned by their family, and surmised Sirius was one of these.

It made him sad to think of this as he looked at the lower rungs of the tapestry, where names like Bellatrix Lestrange and Draco Malfoy were embroidered proudly. Sirius was the product of a corrupt and almost evil lineage, yet he was so different to them. They had cast him off, and he had never looked back. It was so similar to his own situation he wondered at just how Sirius could have stood and let Dumbledore do the same thing to him.

Sirius knew what it was like, and though Harry knew that Sirius hadn't been happy with the situation, he didn't do more to prevent it. He knew it was selfish, but Harry still nursed a solid resentment for that. At least Sirius was still arguing to have him hear the prophecy. He had to be grateful for that.

A sharp tapping at the window jerked him forcibly out of his wonderings. He leapt to his feet and saw a tatty looking owl siting on the window ledge, a letter clamped in its beak. He hesitated, wondering for a moment if he should take the letter, but curiosity overcame him. He opened the window, and took the letter. The owl flapped away immediately as Harry opened it.

He saw to his surprise that the letter was not written on parchment with a quill, but with Muggle pen and paper enclosed in an envelope. He slipped his finger underneath and ripped it open. The letter was brief.

Harry,

I'm glad you're safe with the others. I'm sorry for not telling you who I was all those years ago. The Dursleys would never have let you come over if they knew you'd enjoyed my company. I promise I'll do everything I can to help you.

My sister Isadora called me the other day. Violet wanted to speak to you, but she can't have owls going in and out all day with Susie there, and Muggle post wouldn't work where you are, so I have her number here instead, if you can get to a Muggle phone. She really wants to hear from you.

Good luck with everything,

Arabella Figg

Harry read it through twice, his mood lifting slightly. He wanted nothing more at the moment than to talk to Violet. Despite the fact they'd only spent a few days together, he found that he missed her. He owed a lot to her and Susie, and they deserved to know that he was alright.

He knew without looking that he would never find a Muggle phone in a house like this, but he remembered having seen one on the street outside. He glanced out the window, wondering if he would be allowed to go out into the street. He decided to do it anyway; it was only a few feet away after all, and he'd still be in sight of the front door.

He put the letter in his pocket, which was empty of Lamia for a change; she was basking by the window in the attic. He made his way down to the hall, making a brief stop in his bedroom for what remained of his Muggle money, creeping along as quietly as he could. He could hear the babble of voices from the kitchen down below, but no one saw him as he slowly twisted the handle of the front door and slipped out into the summer air.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the sun on his face after days cooped up in that dingy building. He hurried down the steps and walked along to the phonebox which stood on the pavement. He let himself in, wrinkling his nose at the smell, popped in a couple of coins and dialled the number from Mrs Figg's letter. He waited impatiently, twisting the cord in his fingers, wondering if he would be noticed. Then, when he was about to give up, a woman answered.

"Violet?"

"Harry!" he heard her exclaim. "Are you okay? What happened with that old dude?"

"I'm fine," Harry said, smiling, despite the fitful night he had just spent. "I'm back with my friends somewhere safe."

"Are they being good to you?"

"Yeah," Harry said slowly, but he heard Violet sigh on the other end.

"You telling me the truth, kiddo?"

"Yes," he said more firmly. "They're being good to me. They apologised and everything. They're trying to make up for everything that happened."

"Then what's the problem?"

Harry leaned against the glass of the phone box and sighed. "I don't know," he said, more or less honestly. "My head is just so messed up. I'm angry and confused all the time. I don't know what's going on."

To his surprise, she chuckled. "That's being a teenager, kid," she said. "It's tough for everyone. Especially you."

"I suppose," Harry said, smiling. "I shouldn't complain, really. It's not their fault. It's my own mind causing the problem."

"Ah, I get it. But if you're being treated well there with people that care about you … well, it's the best place for you to come to terms with it all. I mean, it's worked for Susie. She tried to do it all on her own, and it all turned to shit. Talk to them, Harry, and don't shut them out."

"I'll try," he said, ignoring his own petty misgivings about their secrets and realising that she was right. "How is Susie?"

"She's doing great!" she said enthusiastically. "She's visiting the neighbour, would you believe it? She'll be mad she missed you. It's not exactly leaving the house yet, but it's leaving the flat, and that's the first step, right?"

"Yeah," Harry said smiling.

"How's Lamia?"

"She's fine, but bored."

"The others don't know about her then?"

"No, they wouldn't get it," Harry said. "Parseltongue isn't exactly something they understand."

"You never know," she said. "Show her to them. It'll help them understand."

Harry heard the pips going and looked through his pocket for some more change but came up with only coppers.

"I need to go," he said regretfully. "I haven't any more money."

"Don't worry about it, kid, I'm just glad to hear your voice. And hey, my aunt told me about your trial. You'll be fine, I know you will. Have faith in yourself."

"Thanks, Vi," he said, just as the line went dead.

He hung up the receiver, a small spreading across his face. He'd needed that more than he'd thought. Still in a happier mood, he opened the door to the phone box and went back up the steps to number twelve. He slipped in the door and turned to close it. Just as he had his hand on the handle, he heard movement behind him.

Sirius was standing there, staring at Harry's hand, his face deathly white.

"You're running away again?" he burst out, eyes wide.

"I'm not!" Harry said, but Sirius had ran forwards and pulled him away from the door and further down the hall until they were past Mrs Black's painting. Sirius' grip on his arm was so tight it was almost painful.

"Why, Harry?" he asked dismally. "I thought things were getting better?"

"They are," Harry said hurriedly, grieved by the pain he saw on Sirius' face. "I wasn't leaving. I was coming back actually. I just used the phone outside."

Sirius stopped dead, confusion replacing the concern. "The phone?"

Harry nodded, and showed him Mrs Figg's letter. He read it over, frowning.

"You phoned the Muggle woman you were living with?" Sirius said slowly, looking up from the letter. "You- you weren't-"

"I was just phoning her," Harry said, trying to reassure him. "She just wanted to know I was alright."

Sirius nodded. He looked down at the letter. He had regained some of his colour, but still seemed agitated, as if trying desperately hard to keep something at bay.

"This woman," he said, obviously trying to act casual, "you can talk to her?"

"Of course."

"No," Sirius said, "what I mean is … you can talk to her about things you won't talk to me about?"

Harry understood and suddenly felt awkward. "Some things," he said, avoiding his eyes. "Vi and Susie … they understand."

"What do they understand?" Sirius asked, and Harry could hear a note of desperation to his voice. "Tell me."

Harry didn't want to answer him, didn't want Sirius to feel hurt at Harry confiding in someone that wasn't him, but he was waiting on an answer, his expression strained.

"It's …" he began, "it's difficult … " he sighed, trying to find a way to phrase it. "They get it. They've experienced this before. Susie … she watched people she cared about die and she felt it was her fault. Violet helped her through it, and she helped me … is still helping me."

"Is it easier to talk to them because they're strangers?"

Harry shook his head, still not getting what he meant across. "I didn't talk about Cedric with them all that much," he said, his chest pained as he mentioned Cedric's name. "In fact, we didn't much talk about anything. And that was what made me feel better. They got it, and they didn't push for anything else. I felt better being around them because they're just … normal. I wasn't this special, damaged kid, I was just like them."

He took a deep breath, realising that was the most he had spoken since arriving. Sirius was watching him, a sad expression on his face.

"You don't think I get it, Harry?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've seen death. I've felt the guilt. That night when your parents died … I felt everything I had in the world slip away from me. And it was me who was responsible. Me who had forced them to change Secret-Keepers. I let that guilt eat away at me for twelve years in Azkaban. The only thing that got me through it was the thought of you. Please, don't be like me. Let me help you."

"You are helping me," Harry said, truthfully, feeling a bit emotional himself. "Just by being here. I- I just can't talk to you yet. Every time I try, I feel like … I …" he wasn't able to finish. "I need to deal with this in my own way. Understand that, please."

Violet's warning came back to haunt him, but despite that, he didn't change his mind. He couldn't speak to Sirius, not yet. With everything else that was going on, the trial, the threat of expulsion, the prophecy … Sirius was just too involved in all of that at the moment. He needed an objective listener. Someone he could air his feelings to without worrying that everything he said would be reported back to the Order.

Sirius watched him for a long moment, and then nodded.

"I don't understand it," he said softly, "but I'll respect it. Just please, don't wait until it's too late."

Harry nodded, and moved past him to climb the stairs. He was shaking and he could feel a tightness growing in his chest. He knew that he needed to go to Lamia straight away, and tell to her what he could not yet tell to Sirius. Like Violet, Lamia was objective, she was wholly separate from everything else that was bothering him. She was what he needed at that moment.

Still, it didn't stop him feeling guilty as he climbed the stairs and saw Sirius still standing alone in the darkened hall.

Chapter Text

The morning of the trial came quicker than Harry would have thought possible. The feeling of writhing snakes in his stomach had grown with every passing day until he felt sick almost constantly. People had been nice to him all week, at least, they didn't ask him any questions, just tried to act as normal as possible. Ron still lay awake for long periods at night to check on Harry, causing his mother to reprimand him sharply every morning when he fell asleep at the breakfast table and Hermione had babbled constantly about anything from house-elf rights to Muggle television. He had never known her to be chatty before; that was more Ginny's thing. But it appeared she had no other idea of how to help him. He was grateful. Trying to pretend that everything was normal was a lot better than the alternative.

When he wasn't throwing himself into cleaning the house or chatting inanely with everyone else he was left alone to his thoughts for long stretches of time that seemed to last an eternity. It was worse in that suspension of time between getting into bed and falling asleep when he had nothing else to occupy him but thought of the prophecy and the possibility of Voldemort getting control over him.

He felt a lingering anger towards Dumbledore as he thought it over again and again, and as this anger grew, the anger he felt to everyone else lessened. Lamia had told him of the support he had from many of the Order, and he truly believed they were all doing what they thought was best for him, putting their trust in a man who had helped them so many times before. And who wouldn't? Until a few months ago, he too would have trusted Dumbledore with almost anything.

Everything was now directed towards Dumbledore. He was the reason behind all this ignorance, his suffering. This anger was only increased by his continual absence. He had not seen him since his first night here, despite constant reassurances from the Order he was working hard for Harry's trial. He was being deliberately avoided. And that made Harry angrier than anything else. Did he have no right to control anything in his life?

Upon entering the kitchen for breakfast he was greeted by several Order members and all the Weasleys except Bill. They were waiting for him, though they all pretended otherwise, despite the early hour. Mrs Weasley bustled over him trying to feed him but Harry felt too ill to eat. What would happen if he was expelled from Hogwarts? Could he even end up in Azkaban for attacking a Muggle? Was the Ministry that desperate to get rid of him?

Everyone was shooting him curious glances when they thought he wasn't looking, Sirius the most repeat offender. Despite talking more this last week, Harry was still awkward around everyone, never saying anything of substance. Sirius had tried repeatedly to get him to talk about his month on the run, but Harry avoided the subject each time, though he had softened his attempts recently after their conversation in the hall. Everything was still too fresh for him, his fears too palpable to put into words without the risk of having some complete breakdown. He could see it hurt him to be rejected, and he felt guilty. He didn't want to inflict pain on everyone around him, but he couldn't seem to help it, no matter what he did.

"Dumbledore's late," Mr Weasley muttered checking his watch, and Harry choked on the toast he was forcing himself to eat.

"Dumbledore's coming?"

"Well, of course," Mr Weasley said, smiling. "He's representing you. You have no better defender."

Harry was doubtful. He couldn't believe the Ministry in its current state would put much stock in the two of them. His stomach twisted at the thought of seeing Dumbledore. Part of him was relieved, but the greater part was instantly distrustful.

Mad-Eye was watching him from the corner, a frown on his brow, forcing Harry to look away uncomfortably. He had often found Mad-Eye focusing on him of late, his blue eye following him wherever he went. He suspected he was doing it on Dumbledore's orders and it made him even more annoyed to know he was still being spied on.

"What's happening today?" Harry asked, addressing Mr Weasley. "Kingsley wasn't too clear last night."

"They've decided to try you in front of the Wizengamot," Mr Weasley said, his face darkening. "Ridiculous if you ask me. A full criminal trial for something like this? They're milking this for all it's worth. With all the media attention your disappearance caused a full trial is expected. They want you exposed in the most public way possible."

Harry's stomach sank as he remembered the criminal trials he had seen in the Pensieve last year. He could almost see a Rita Skeeter-like journalist in the corner making notes as he sat tied to a chair down below.

"There's already been some testimony submitted," Lupin said, looking exhausted from the full moon a couple nights ago. "The Muggles Dumbledore tracked down were interviewed by Liaison Officers in the disguise of Muggle Social Services to get some testimony of your life with the Dursleys. Some of your old teachers and some neighbours for example, as well as the doctor that treated you in London. Obviously Muggles can't come into the Ministry so the court have already considered the written evidence. Mrs Figg will be there though. And so with Arthur."

Mr Weasley smiled at him, but Harry was not comforted and just nodded, weighing this up. He doubted his neighbours would offer anything valuable; all they had ever done was look down their noses at him. They'd probably just say how much of a trouble-maker he was and say he was unhinged and a burden on the Dursleys. His teachers however might be a better bet; more than one had tried to help him by phoning Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia to discuss his wellbeing and Dudley's bullying, but it had never come to anything. They'd slammed the phone down on his teachers and instructed them to mind their own business. As for Mrs Figg … well, he only hoped she'd remember to change out of her carpet slippers.

He said nothing else for the duration of breakfast, feeling too ill to open his mouth again. After what seemed like a cruelly long time, the kitchen door opened and Dumbledore stood there, tall and colourful in the drab little kitchen. He looked down at Harry, and smiled.

"Come along, Harry," he said, his eyes however fixed on a point just above Harry's head. "We don't want to be late now, do we?"

Harry felt another spike of anger at the man before him and wanted to refuse to move until Dumbledore looked him in the eye, but Mr Weasley's reassuring hand on his shoulder made him bite his tongue. Lamia was in his pocket, curled up as tight as she could manage but she shifted slightly and hissed at the sound of Dumbledore's voice. She, like Harry, was not overly fond of the headmaster. He slipped a hand into his pocket, stroking her cold, smooth scales for comfort. He needed her with him today, despite the risks.

Harry's heart raced faster than it ever had before as they descended in the golden lifts towards the courtrooms. Every stop increased his anxiety, and he stared resolutely at the floor as people entered and left the lift, willing it to start moving again, but also dreading what would happen when it did.

The journey into the Ministry had been interesting enough, or would have been if he had not been filled with sheer panic. Eyes had followed him wherever he had gone; in Muggle London it had been Dumbledore's flamboyant clothes that drew attention, in the Ministry itself, it was both of them. Witches and wizards literally stopped in their tracks to stare at them in the Atrium as they walked past, some smiling and offering words of comfort, others gaping in open hostility. Harry had avoided looking at them all, probably just making himself look sullen and even more guilty. He had been surprised however at the lack of Daily Prophet reporters.

"Dumbledore pulled in a few favours," Mr Weasley had said to him when he mentioned it. "The Prophet wasn't happy about it, but when the Head of Magical Law Enforcement herself bans them from the Atrium what can they do?"

"Just the Atrium?" Harry had asked, his stomach sinking.

"Yes, but don't worry," he'd said. "We can't stop them reporting on the trial but they can't take photos in the courtroom. Madame Bones only agreed because you're a minor. You shouldn't have to face this."

Mr Weasley's words had not comforted him much. He knew that he would not be able to avoid the media, and dreaded every second until he was forced to see them. He'd had a particularly annoying experience at the security desk, where the wizard that examined his wand had stared at him and the badge across his chest that labelled him as a criminal: 'Harry Potter, Disciplinary Hearing'. His heart had stopped for a moment when he'd waved the golden wand over him, panicking that Lamia would be discovered; he hardly needed any more advertisement of his Parseltongue abilities in the media. Fortunately however, Lamia's presence had gone undetected.

The golden grilles at the front of the lift finally opened as a cool voice said Department of Mysteries. Harry followed Dumbledore and Mr Weasley out of the lift and into a long corridor. He looked up finally, and what he saw made him stop dead in his tracks. He was standing in a corridor with bare walls and no windows or doors save a plain black one at the very end. He recognised it immediately.

He stood and stared at the black door, not able to tear his eyes away from it, wondering wildly how this was possible, how could the thing he'd been dreaming about for weeks on end be here, in the Ministry of Magic of all places? He felt the door calling to him, inviting him to walk forwards and step through it. What lay beyond it?

The Department of Mysteries, the voice in the lift had said, the shadowy area of the Ministry no one knew anything about. Why had he been dreaming about this place? Voldemort, was his next thought, he was the one dreaming about this place. He was the one that longed to go beyond that door. And why? The thought of the prophecy swam into his mind. Was that where it lay? Did all the answers to his problems rest behind that plain nondescript little door?

"Harry."

He jumped, and noticed that Dumbledore and Mr Weasley were both staring at him; Mr Weasley looked concerned, Dumbledore as inscrutable as ever. They seemed to be waiting on him, but Harry, courage spurred on by his curiosity didn't move.

"What's down there?" he asked, looking directly at Dumbledore, but it Mr Weasley that answered.

"The Department of Mysteries," he said, trying to draw Harry's attention away from the door. "All top-secret. Unspeakables work down there. No idea what they get up to."

But as Harry looked at him, he could see the shifty look in his eyes, the nervous smile. He was lying, and the thought of Mr Weasley deliberately lying to him hurt more than he thought it would.

"What do they keep down there?" he asked, staring him straight in the eye. "Something important?"

"I really don't know, Harry-"

"What do they keep down there?" Harry repeated, looking now at Dumbledore, who was pointedly staring at the blank wall behind him. "Something dangerous? Tell me. I know you know."

For the first time in a great while, Dumbledore turned his eyes on Harry's, and Harry felt that uncomfortable feeling again like he was being x-rayed. A second later, and the feeling ended, and Dumbledore was looking away again.

"I suggest that we bring our attention back to the events of today," he said, looking at Mr Weasley. "The trial will begin momentarily."

Harry scoffed, and looked back down the corridor. He felt that inexplicable draw once again. His feet began to move of their own free will, determined to open that door.

"Harry," Mr Weasley said again, taking a step closer to him. His expression was now definitely alarmed. "Come on, you don't want to be late."

Harry allowed himself to be dragged away from the door, and followed down the flight of stairs into the long dungeon-like corridor below, but he had not given up his resolution to discover what lay beyond that door. For the moment however, all thought had been driven out of his mind at the sight of the corridor and the door that led to the courtroom.

"It'll be alright, Harry," Mr Weasley said smiling down at him. "I'll be there in the back. Just tell the truth."

Harry attempted to smile. Dumbledore offered no words of comfort, but stepped forwards and opened the door, ushering the three of them inside. The room was identical to the one he had seen before in Dumbledore's Pensieve, dark, lined with rising benches on every side on which about fifty witches and wizards sat in plum robes with the letter 'W' written across the left side of the chest in silver thread. All of them stared down at him, some austerely, some curiously, but most hostile of all was Cornelius Fudge sitting in the middle of the front row, all former expression of friendliness gone from his face as he looked down at him. Next to him sat a witch with silver hair and a monocle, and another witch hidden in shadow. Also, to Harry's surprise, Percy Weasley was on the front bench, eagerly holding a quill and parchment. No sign of recognition came from the man Harry had spent so many school holidays with.

Mr Weasley found himself a seat near the back of the room, glancing at his son, but receiving no look back, as if Percy had never seen his father before in his life. The stares of the room however were reserved for Harry and Dumbledore. Harry took his place gingerly on the chained chair, half-expecting the chains to spring to life, but they mercifully remained motionless. Dumbledore conjured himself a chair beside Harry and looked calmly up at the court that glared back at him. Harry scanned the room and saw to his dismay half a dozen witches and wizards on the back bench writing furiously on parchment. Reporters.

"Disciplinary hearing on the twentieth of August," said Fudge in a ringing voice, "into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Delores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley. Now, shall we begin with the charges-"

"Witness for the Defence, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," said Dumbledore quietly, his silver hair and beard gleaming in the torchlight. "But I forgive you for that omission Minister. After all, it is not often the Minister himself is called to officiate in simple matters of underage magic, especially in front of the entire Wizengamot."

A few people squirmed uncomfortably at this, but Fudge looked annoyed, though flustered. "This is not a simple matter of underage magic, Dumbledore," he said. "The charges are far more serious."

"Then let us hear them," Dumbledore said, "and we shall judge for ourselves if they are as serious as you claim."

Fudge glared at Dumbledore, and cast half a glance at the reporters scribbling away. He shuffled some paper and cleared his throat before taking a deep breath. "The charges against the accused are as follows:

"That he did knowingly, deliberately and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce an Incendiary Spell in a Muggle home, in the presence of three Muggles causing severe injuries to one on the fifteenth of July at seventeen minutes past four, which constitutes an offence under Paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under Sections 13 and 14 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy. He is also charged under Paragraph C of the Degree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and Section 13 of the Statute of Secrecy for the use of another Incendiary Charm on Auror Nymphadora Tonks in Halebury Park, London, a Muggle-inhabited area on 2nd of August at fourteen minutes past two."

"You are Harry James Potter of number four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?" Fudge asked, glaring over his parchment.

"Yes," Harry answered nervously.

"You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?"

"Yes, but-"

"And yet you cast an Incendiary Spell on the evening of the fifteenth of July?"

"Yes, but-"

"Knowing that that you are not permitted to use magic outside school while you are under the age of seventeen?"

"Yes, but-"

"Knowing that you were in a Muggle home?"

"Yes, but-"

"Fully aware that you risked causing serious harm to the Muggle involved, Mr Vernon Dursley, your own uncle and legal guardian?"

"Yes, but only because he was-"

"And you also cast another Incendiary Spell at Auror Tonks when she attempted to apprehend you in August?"

"Yes, but it was an-"

"There you have it," Fudge announced to the Wizengamot, settling back comfortably in his bench and smirking. "He has admitted to all charges. I say all we need do now is sentence him-"

"Forgive me if I am wrong, Minister," Dumbledore interjected, just as Harry was about to completely fall to pieces, "but is it not the case that the accused has the right to present a defence, and also to summon witnesses and present testimony to support that defence? Is that not the policy of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madame Bones?"

"True, perfectly true," said the witch with the monocle at Fudge's side.

"I want this over with today, Dumbledore," Fudge snapped. "We don't have time for all this. Do you realise how much testimony you gave us to read?"

"I do, I have examined it all thoroughly myself," said Dumbledore. "But naturally, you would not care how many items of testimony you had to read through if the alternative was a serious miscarriage of justice?"

Fudge went a shade of purple Uncle Vernon would be proud of. He shuffled his papers again.

"Very well, make your case. But I don't see what good it will do. Potter has admitted all charges."

"Ah, but mitigating circumstances must be taken into account," Dumbledore smiled, pleasantly. "I am sure all present here are familiar with Clause Seven of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery which states that magic may be used before Muggles in exceptional circumstances such as those situations which threaten the life of the witch or wizard in question or any other witches, wizards or Muggles present."

"Yes, yes, we are all familiar," said Fudge distractedly, "but what relevance does Clause Seven have here? Potter was in a Muggle house with only other Muggles present, not a life-threatening situation."

"I see you make the assumption that Muggles cannot be dangerous," Dumbledore said quietly. "Such an assumption would be wrong. It is not only those with immense power we must fear, but all those who cause oppression, suffering and misery to those around them, in whatever circumstances. The Ministry for example, though not physically harming anybody, is certainly something to be feared if we are to judge its present attitudes, such as its determination to persecute a fifteen year old boy without allowing him to present his case."

"Oh come on, Dumbledore," Fudge snapped, nostrils flaring at Dumbledore's barely veiled allusion to Voldemort. "How could a Muggle threaten a wizard?"

"Very easily, which you would know if you had read the testimony I submitted to the court."

"And what exactly was this danger?" Madame Bone said in a booming voice before Fudge and Dumbledore could speak again. She looked directly down at Harry, her expression serious, but not hostile. He felt a flair of hope, but as he opened his mouth, he felt a sudden reluctance to speak. All that the Dursleys had inflicted on him over the years had the most part been kept to himself, even Ron and Hermione did not know the full of it. The thought of relating every painful detail to the court before him was daunting to say the least. He felt a wriggling in his pocket and the tiniest hiss of encouragement. Like phoenix song, he felt his courage soar at the sound.

"My uncle attacked me," he said, looking directly at Madame Bones and not the other sceptical looking members of the Wizengamot. "He punched me, and I fell through a glass door and got hurt. He came at me again, and I lost control of my magic. I sent the spell at him, but I didn't mean to. It just happened. I was hurt, and angry, and I wanted to get away from him."

Madame Bones' eyebrows raised, but not, Harry believed, in disbelief. Fudge snorted next to her, but she paid no attention.

"Are you telling me the spell was accidental? That you did not use either a wand or an incantation?"

"Yes."

"May I examine your wand?"

Harry hesitated, casting a glance at Dumbledore. But when the headmaster did not look at him, only gave a half-nod, Harry stood from his chair and approached the bench, nervously handing over his wand. Madame Bones took it in her thick fingers and then withdrew her own wand. "Priori Incantatem!"

Like Harry had seen once before, a shadowy figure rose out of the wand. It was a face covered in boils, and Harry winced as he remembered the spell he had cast on Crabbe on the Hogwarts Express. She nodded.

"The last spell used was the Furnunculus Curse. Is that correct?"

Harry nodded, and took his wand back, taking his seat. Fudge however just waved his hand.

"That doesn't prove anything."

"It proves that the spell was unintentional," Madame Bones countered, "and supports his argument of accidental magic in the case of self-defence."

"He could have used another wand!"

"Whose? Mr Potter is the only wizard in Little Whinging."

"Hem hem."

Harry stared at the witch who had sat in shadow to the right of Fudge leaned forwards, showing a face which resembled that of a toad.

"The Chair recognises Delores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister," said Fudge.

Then in a girlish high-pitched voice completely inconsistent with her appearance, the witch spoke. "I am sure I must misunderstand, Professor Dumbledore, but are you suggesting perhaps that an attack on a Muggle is justified simply because this boy was angry with his uncle?"

Harry saw a few Wizengamot members nod angrily.

"Not at all, Madame Umbridge," Dumbledore said. "Anger is of course no excuse for an attack. But as we all know, even the very best of us cannot control our emotions, which the Ministry realised when it did not pursue charges against Harry for inflating his aunt two years ago."

"You see?" Fudge said. "He's attacked his family before! What was so exceptional about this circumstance?"

"That Harry was in genuine fear for his safety at the time," Dumbledore said severely. "Vernon Dursley admitted to me himself that he laid hands on his nephew first."

"Are you suggesting, Professor," Umbridge said again, smiling sweetly, "that a guardian has no right to reprimand their charge? It sounded for a teensy moment there that you thought Mr Dursley was wrong to try and punish this boy."

"Punishment and reprimands are different to outright assault, Madame Umbridge," Dumbledore said gravely. "You have there the testimony of the Muggle doctor which lists the injuries Harry sustained in that attack. Bruising of the face and jaw from a blow with a fist, severe lacerations along the back, some of which became infected, a result of a fall through a glass door. Common sense dictates that after such a violent and painful assault, any sane person would do anything they could to defend themselves."

"He could have got those injuries in a number of ways. We only have this boy's word for it," Fudge said, scowling. "Dursley didn't make a testimonial to the court."

"Naturally, he did not want to expose his own wrong-doing."

"Even if Dursley did attack the boy first," Fudge said sceptically, "why would he do it in the first place? Must have been something pretty serious, eh, Potter? What was he reprimanding you for?"

"The reason is not relevant," Dumbledore said. "Nothing justifies a guardian attacking his charge."

"Let him answer," Madame Bones said.

Harry hesitated again, as the court looked down at him. "I was arguing with my cousin," he said. "My uncle thought I was using magic."

"And were you?"

"We have already established that," Madame Bones said, rolling her eyes. "Was he angry that you may have been breaking the law?"

"No, he just doesn't like magic."

Madame Bone's eyebrows rose again. "Why not?"

"He just hates it. He hates me. He always has-"

"I am sorry to interrupt what must have been a well-rehearsed routine intended to draw as much sympathy as possible," Fudge said, "but your attention-seeking will not be tolerated here. Potter is missing out the most crucial point of the tale. We've all read the papers. We all know what caused the argument. Potter was using Parseltongue to attack his cousin. Does he deny it? Were you using Parseltongue?"

"Yes," Harry admitted reluctantly, seeing the Wizengamot erupt in furious whispering. Lamia stirred in his pocket. "But I wasn't trying to attack Dudley!"

"Then what were you doing?"

Harry bit his lip. "Just … talking," he said, rather lamely. "Dudley heard me, scared the snake and she bit him. That's it."

"Talking," Fudge repeated. "Personally, I would consider anybody who strikes up casual conversations with snakes as being highly suspicious."

"Fortunately, your personal opinions are not relevant here," Dumbledore said. "There are no laws against using Parseltongue."

"There should be!" Fudge said, eyes bulging. "If the ability wasn't so rare we'd have made laws against it centuries ago!"

"But as the situation stands, it is not illegal," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Nevertheless, as I said, the reason for Vernon Dursleys attack on Harry is not relevant. Harry felt in danger of his life and reacted thusly with an accidental Incendiary Spell intended to protect himself. He was entirely within the law."

"And what about Auror Tonks?"

"Nymphadora Tonks has already stated to the court (a statement you seem to have conveniently forgotten) that she does not intend to press charges," Dumbledore said. "She recognised that Harry was in a vulnerable state of emotions and was not in control of his actions. Again, the law provides for cases of emotional distress. I doubt anybody could question the emotional distress of a fifteen year old boy living on the streets in fear of his own family and of persecution for defending himself from them."

Most of the Wizengamot were shaking their heads, but a few looked thoughtful and even sympathetic. Madame Bones was inscrutable, but she was nodding slightly.

"I'm ever so sorry, Dumbledore," Umbridge said again in that ridiculous breathy giggly voice, "but I am not entirely convinced that Potter did have a fear of his family. His actions do not support it. Why not flee to a friend's house or a neighbour's? Why go on the run like a criminal?"

Harry did not quite have an answer to this, at least not one that he could give, not one that he could explain. How could he express just how afraid he was, how confused and conflicted, how alone he felt? How could he tell them how he lived in dread every day of Voldemort, constantly on edge, dreading his evenings and his own dreams? It all sounded so hollow whenever he tried to put it into words. He didn't know how he could impress on the people here how he felt, and he doubted it would matter. As far as they were concerned, he would be either attention-seeking or simply emotionally deranged. And Harry wasn't so sure they would be wrong about the latter.

"Perhaps you cannot imagine what it like is to be an orphan, Madame Umbridge," Dumbledore said. "To be alone in the world, to be abandoned by the only family you have. The actions of someone in such a predicament, especially considering the fear and anxiety he would have been feeling cannot be judged too harshly. Harry did what he believed necessary and left an abusive household. One can hardly blame him for that."

Harry didn't say anything, but felt a great surging emotion below the surface. It didn't feel like it was enough, how could he get across to the people there just how much more there was to it than that?

"Are you suggesting, Professor Dumbledore that reports about Mr Potter's sanity are in fact accurate?" Umbridge asked sweetly. "Perhaps he would be better off seeking treatment-"

"The only 'treatment' I need is to get away from the Dursleys," Harry burst out, finally allowing the emotion to overcome him. "I'm not going to live with them anymore. I won't."

A great murmuring met this statement, but Harry couldn't tell the mood of the room. Fudge was smirking, Umbridge sceptical, but Madame Bones at least looked interested.

"Are you telling me," she said, peering at him, "that you wish to be removed from the custody of your aunt and uncle?"

"Yes," Harry said vehemently, ignoring Dumbledore's look of caution.

"On the grounds of the treatment you received at their hands on that evening in July?"

"On the grounds of the treatment I've received at their hands my entire life," Harry said, feeling braver with every word he said. "They've done nothing but make me miserable. I want nothing more to do with them."

"Are we really going to believe this?" Fudge asked, glancing around at the courtroom as if expecting them to agree. "Potter is a teenaged boy, what other child doesn't carry similar grievances against their guardians?"

"Most other children are not subject to physical assault by their guardians," Madame Bones said, giving Fudge a severe look from the corner of her eye. Harry's heart leapt. Did this mean she believed him?

"Where's the evidence they were abusive to him?"

"You have it," Dumbledore said, gesturing to the parchments laid out before Fudge. "When you read it, you will have no doubt noticed that nine separate individuals have stated their belief that Harry was subjected to years of emotional and at times physical abuse by his relations, as well as inexcusable neglect. And I have a witness here in person who will support this."

"I don't have time for witnesses," Fudge said blustering, his face red. "This is all irrelevant anyway-"

"I disagree," Madame Bones said. She nodded to Dumbledore. "Bring in your witness. I assume by the fact their testimony is to be given in person, that the individual involved is not a Muggle?"

"She is a Squib."

Fudge smirked. "A Squib? Highly convenient, Dumbledore."

Dumbledore just pleasantly smiled, and went to the door of the courtroom and brought in Mrs Figg, who looked thoroughly intimidated at the sight of all the Wizengamot looking down at her. Harry couldn't help but stare and consider again how strange it was to think Mrs Figg had known all about the magical world his entire life. Dumbledore conjured her a chair and she sat down, looking nervous but determined. She offered him a weak smile.

"And who are you?" Fudge asked, not too gently.

"Arabella Doreen Figg," she said. "I'm a resident of Little Whinging near where Harry Potter lives."

"And you know the accused well?"

Mrs Figg glanced at him before answering. "I used to watch him when he was little."

"But you haven't had any recent contact?"

"Not since he started Hogwarts."

"Strange person for a witness, Dumbledore," Fudge said, barely concealing his smug attitude. "She hasn't spoken to him since he was eleven!"

"But I used to all the time," Mrs Figg said loudly, bringing attention back to her, making her shrink back a little. "I mean, I used to look after him several times a month, and I've seen him around since then."

"And what testimony can you offer?" Madame Bones asked her, her attitude less sceptical than Fudge's. "Were you ever witness to any abuse?"

Mrs Figg faltered slightly, but regained herself after a look from Dumbledore. "No," she said, and Harry inwardly groaned. "At least, I never saw them physically harm him. But it was obvious that they weren't good to him."

"In what way?" Madame Bones asked.

"The reason I looked after him so often was because Mr and Mrs Dursley were constantly going away on holidays and trips with their son, Dudley," Mrs Figg said. "They never took Harry. They left him with me. Just dumped him with me, and I couldn't be too nice to him, because if they had known he enjoyed himself they would've found someone else. Hours, sometimes days at a time they left him with me."

"And this is abuse?" Fudge asked. "Not taking him on trips?"

"It was more than that," Mrs Figg said, and suddenly she was off, all fear forgotten as the words spilled out of her mouth. "They neglected him. They gave that fat oaf-, I mean, their son Dudley got everything. Piles and piles of presents, spoiled rotten he was, got everything he wanted and picked on those who didn't. Harry didn't get anything. He wore all Dudley's old clothes, all ripped and too big for him. Dudley got as much food and sweets as he wanted, getting fatter and fatter whereas Harry looked constantly emaciated. He had bruises, I noticed. Some of them were from Dudley, I witnessed that myself. Dudley and his bully friends ganging up on him, but I suspect some were from his uncle as well. He certainly never had a good word to say about him. Treated him like dirt so he did. Talked about him as if he was nothing but a burden, something to be tolerated rather than loved. Called him 'boy' instead of his name, never gave him a present in his life, had him doing chores around the house while Dudley got to go and play. He never had any friends, Dudley wouldn't let anyone go near him. I may never have seen anything right in front of me, but I didn't need to. I saw the way Vernon and Petunia talked about him with me, saw him out with Dudley on walks home from school with Dudley doing everything he could to bully him. And Dudley went blabbing his mouth off to all his friends in the street about the 'freak' that lived with him. All you had to do was listen. Dudley had two bedrooms filled with toys, so he used to brag, and Harry slept in a cupboard under the stairs."

Mrs Figg had run out of steam, but she had left quite an impression behind her. The Wizengamot had erupted in muttering, some looking sceptical and shaking their heads, yet some were also looking shocked and frowning. Madame Bones was among the latter, Fudge among the former.

"Is this true?" Madame Bones asked Harry, her face slack in astonishment.

Harry nodded, seeing with dismay that the reporters in the back were writing furiously, gleeful smiles on their faces. Next to them, Mr Weasley was watching him, his face creased with sympathy. Harry looked away.

"And was the relationship ever physically abusive?" Madame Bones asked him, and Harry squirmed in discomfort. Hearing Dumbledore characterise his relationship with the Dursleys as emotional and physical abuse and neglect was something he'd never considered before.

"Sometimes," Harry said, ignoring the reporters. "Not always. Mostly they just ignored me or made me miserable in other ways. But sometimes, my uncle …" he trailed off, trying to put into words something he had never told anyone. "He got angry. He hated me, they all did. They despise magic, and whenever I used it accidentally when I was little, they'd punish me. Lock me in the cupboard, that sort of thing. Sometimes he'd hit me. But this thing, last month, that was the worst it's ever been. I've never had to go to hospital before. He … he wanted to make sure I never learned any magic. I didn't find out about being a wizard until a month before I started Hogwarts. They did everything they could to stop me going."

"And yet you still go back to their house every school holiday?"

"In the summer," Harry said. "I usually go back for a couple of weeks and ignore them and they pretty much ignore me. It's been a lot better since I started Hogwarts. I think they're too scared to try anything. I spend the rest of my holidays either at Hogwarts or with a friend. They're just happy to get me out the house."

"I see," Madame Bones said, her lips pursed. She was shaking her head, and Harry felt a surge of relief as he saw that she believed him. Fudge however was shaking his head for a different reason.

"If the situation was so bad, why was it noticed by no one else?"

"I refer again, Minister to the testimony I provided the court with," Dumbledore said. "Forgive me for assuming you would have read it. Allow me to read some of the highlights for you now."

Dumbledore summoned some of the parchments to him and flipped trough them, reading aloud in a pleasant tone as if reading to a child.

"This one from a former teacher of Harry's: 'I always got the impression that Harry wasn't happy at home. His cousin bullied him in the playground, and his parents refused to accept any responsibility for his actions. Mr and Mrs Dursley took great pride in their son, but never concerned themselves about their nephew to my eyes. Harry lingered around the school grounds after the bell, as if he didn't want to go home. When I tried to speak to the Dursleys about Harry, they weren't interested. Compared to his cousin, Harry seemed to me to be a very neglected, unhappy child.'" Dumbledore paused and scanned the room before continuing. "And then there's this one from a former neighbour: 'I hardly ever saw Harry. Dudley spent hours outside with his friends playing on their bikes, but Harry kept to himself. He never had any friends that I saw. I saw him with his aunt and uncle a few times and I didn't like the way they spoke to him. He always looked so thin. His glasses were constantly broken and I don't think he ever had a set of new clothes for himself in his life. It's not as if they couldn't afford it; Dudley got a new outfit every week.'"

Dumbledore looked up from the parchment, and Harry saw in his eyes a cold anger he had rarely seen before. "I could go on, but I'll leave that for all of you to peruse in your own time. I am sure most of you will have read it. After all, why hold a full criminal trial and not examine the evidence?"

Harry saw many of the assembled witches and wizards shift uncomfortably, and several began flicking through the parchments before them, frowns on their faces.

"If the Dursleys were such unfit guardians," Fudge started," then why was the boy given to their care in the first place? You were the executor of the Potter's will, weren't you? Why give the boy to them?"

Harry turned to look at Dumbledore. "Lily and James Potter specified in their will that Harry was to be given to the guardianship of his godfather, Sirius Black," Dumbledore said, to widespread gasps. "As the situation unfolded however, that proved impossible. Therefore, I made the decision that Harry would be safest with his relations, where his mother's blood still dwelt. And though he was indeed kept safe from Death Eater attack, he evidently was not as safe as I had assumed he would be."

"So it's your fault?"

Dumbledore bowed his head. "I do indeed claim responsibility. It was on my insistence that Harry returned to his aunt and uncle's house, even against his own wishes. For that I regret my decision."

"You do not wish to remain under their custody?" Madame Bones asked, fixing Harry with a serious look.

"No, I don't," Harry responded. "I won't go back to them. Not ever."

"And if the court sends you there?"

"I'll run away again," Harry said, fixing Madame Bones with a serious look of his own. "I refuse to remain under the same roof as them." He chanced a glance at Fudge. "The Minister knows personally that I've run away from them before now. The next time I won't be caught."

Fudge deliberately avoided Harry's eyes, but he thought he saw him go a little red.

"And what alternative do you suggest?" Madame Bones asked. "You have no other family. Professor Dumbledore as executor of the will can legally take guardianship of you if so appointed by the Ministry. I understand he took temporary custody of you after your disappearance in any case. It would be possible."

Harry inwardly recoiled at the thought of Dumbledore being his legal guardian. His opinion of him at the moment was less than cordial. Especially as Dumbledore still refused to look at him.

"We'd take him!"

Harry's head shot up as Mr Weasley stood at the back of the room. He looked nervous but resolute. Percy, in the front row stared straight ahead, abandoning his own notes.

"And who are you?" Umbridge asked, nose wrinkled.

"Arthur Weasley," he said. "Harry and my youngest son Ron are friends. He stays with us most holidays. We know how badly they treat him, and Molly and I would be more than glad to take him in permanently. He spends so much time with us anyway it'd only be a matter of making it official. We'd adopt him if we had to."

Harry stared, completely frozen in shock. A warmth spread through him and he felt oddly emotional. Nothing would make him happier than to officially join the Weasley family, and the thought that Mr and Mrs Weasley were willing to take him in, as stretched as they were with their own children touched him deeply.

Madame Bones looked surprised. She then glanced at Dumbledore. "Yes, well, that will be a matter for discussion. It would be quite unorthodox. Is that what you would wish, Mr Potter?"

Harry nodded fervently. "Yes," he said. "And if it's not possible, I'll support myself. I've got the money to do it. Anything will be better than Little Whinging."

Madame Bones almost smiled. "The matter of custody, relevant though it is to this case, cannot be determined here. I suggest that you remain under Professor Dumbledore's guardianship until a proper custodial hearing can be arranged. As of this moment, have you anything else to say?"

Harry shook his head, and glanced at Dumbledore. Mrs Figg, who was still sitting there between them looking awkward also looked at him.

"I have presented all evidence I deem relevant," Dumbledore said, looking at the court. "To find Harry guilty of said charges would be ludicrous under the circumstances. I believe I have proven to you that Harry's use of magic was a result of an accident, a desperate attempt to protect himself from a man that witness testimony proves is at worst a violent abuser and at best a bitter, neglectful guardian. All he and I can do now is to await your verdict."

Harry felt a jolt as he realised Dumbledore was now forcing the Wizengamot to make a decision. He did not feel at all prepared. He didn't think he had made a good impression, had not said all he wanted to. How could he tell them just how confused he had felt of late, how upset and lonely without making himself seem like the crazy kid they all thought he was? He tried to catch Dumbledore's eye for reassurance, but Dumbledore had pressed his fingers together and just looked up at the court, ignoring Fudge's glares, as the assembly had fallen into urgent whispered conversations.

His heart was thumping loudly, and he found it difficult to breathe. He wanted to say more, but how could he when every time he opened his mouth he thought he would be sick? Lamia began to move around in his pocket, reminding him of her presence, and he instantly felt soothed. He tried to breathe deeply.

The whispering stopped. He wanted to look up, but found the floor to be a much easier object to examine than the faces of the judges.

"All those in favour of clearing the witness of all charges?" Madame Bone's booming voice said.

He jerked his head up and saw hands in the air, many hands. Breathing fast, he tried to count, but before he could finish, Madame Bones had said, "And all those in favour of conviction?"

Several hands went up, including Fudge's, Umbridge's and many others. Fudge looked around, and his face contorted in anger. He drew in a few breaths before speaking in a voice of suppressed rage: "Very well- very well- cleared, of all charges."

"Excellent," Dumbledore said and then stood up to leave without another word. Mrs Figg, glancing around followed him as the Wizengamot stood and began to clear away their things, chat and file out of the room, Percy Weasley among the first. Before Harry could wonder if he was allowed to leave Mr Weasley had joined him. He seized him by the shoulders.

"Brilliant, Harry," he beamed, "I knew they couldn't convict you. It was Madame Bones that did it. She's fair, I knew she'd hear you out. And she'll organise that custodial hearing for you. Mark my words."

"Did you really mean it?" Harry asked, looking up at him. "About taking me in and everything?"

"Of course, Harry," he said, grinning. "You're one of us already, you know that. Nothing could change that. Molly and I have discussed it for a long time. You'd be more than welcome to join our family."

And then, for the first time in months, Harry smiled his first truly genuine smile. Whether or not the Weasley's got guardianship of him, the fact remained that they wanted him, which was a feeling Harry had never known at the Dursley's. All resentment towards them from this last summer had completely drained away.

Chapter Text

Sirius had definitely noticed a change in the Harry in the past few weeks. Harry laughed more than he used to, chatted freely at the table and was almost like his old self again. Almost. The dark circles still surrounded his eyes, and he saw in his more quiet moments that something still haunted him, but for the first time, it appeared that in the battle between darkness and light, light was finally starting to win.

He supposed it was to do with the relief of being cleared. But it was more than that. He was no longer as moody as he had been and with the news he was returning to Hogwarts and the letter from the Ministry regarding a custodial hearing he was looking much better.

"How weird is it that you and me could be brothers," Ron laughed one evening at dinner.

"Don't get your hopes up," Arthur warned him for the hundredth time. "The hearing could decide against us. We're not related to him, and we never even met his parents. They'll probably decide in favour of Dumbledore."

"Yeah, but it's not like Harry is going to go and live with Dumbledore, is it?" Fred said. "He'll live with us, won't he? He might as well. He's an honourary Weasley regardless of what happens."

"His mother could certainly have passed for one," Remus said, smiling. "Lily would have been thrilled to know a family like yours would be so desperate to look after him."

Sirius sniffed loudly, disliking the turn of conversation. Remus looked at him, a warning look in his eye.

"Sirius-"

"Sorry," he said, sighing, "but there's no justice to this." He scowled fiercely. "Lily and James wanted me to look after Harry."

"Sirius, you know that's impossible-"

"I know!" Sirius said, and he stood and left the room. He transformed into a dog and bounded up the stairs as fast as he could and shut himself in his room. Transforming again, he flopped back on his bed and picked up the box he constantly had on his bedside table. Photos of Lily and James, photos of Sirius, photos of Harry.

As happy as he was for Harry, he couldn't quite deny he had felt a tiny smidge of disappointment when he'd returned from the trial. A part of him had hoped he'd be expelled and come to live with him. After all, why not? He was supposed to live with him. That's the way Lily and James had planned it. It was only fair.

He was being selfish and he knew it. The Weasleys would be excellent guardians for Harry. They after all had been there for him when Sirius hadn't. He should feel grateful to them, not resentful. He sighed and closed his eyes. It doesn't matter what you want he reminded himself. It's all about Harry. If he wants to live with them, fine. If he never wants to talk to you again … that's fine too.

Just as long as he's happy.

Harry lay back on his bed. Lamia was curled up on his chest and he was running his fingers along her back absentmindedly.

"Have you grown?" he asked her.

"Possibly," she hissed lazily. "This house Is filled with juicy rats."

"Don't think I wanted to know that," Harry said, nose wrinkled.

"Then why did you ask? Why do you always ask?"

Harry just smiled and laughed. She lifted her head. "You are much happier," she observed. "Have you got everything you want?"

He sighed. "Not quite," he said, "but close."

"Tell me."

"There's a huge weight gone from my shoulders," he said, trying to put it into words. "I'm going back to Hogwarts, and never back to the Dursleys. That's enough to make me ecstatic. But … there's Voldemort, and this prophecy. Once I've gotten rid of one looming thing, there's another to take its place. And there's still the dreams about the graveyard."

"You simply need to meet every challenge as it comes," she said. "Remain focused, and you will succeed." She inched a little closer. "What about that … canine?"

"Sirius or Remus?"

"The idiot. The one that chooses to turn into such a horrible creature."

"Sirius, I don't know," Harry said. "I'm not angry with him, and none of the others either, but … I don't know. I don't feel like I can talk to him. He's still hiding things from me."

"Not willingly."

"I know, but it doesn't make it any easier."

A thumping sound on the stairs signalled Ron's arrival and with a practiced flick of the tail, Lamia had slid into his pocket before he burst through the door.

"Harry," he breathed. "Dumbledore's here, he wants to see you."

Surprised, Harry immediately got up and followed Ron down the stairs and into the kitchen where at least half the Order were assembled. Harry hadn't seen Dumbledore since the day of the trial but there he stood at the head of the table. Mad-Eye stood beside him, and when Dumbledore glanced at him he nodded firmly and then sat down. Harry glanced at him for a moment before Dumbledore spoke.

"I have been to see your aunt and uncle, harry," Dumbledore said. "They have agreed to relinquish custody entirely. As of now, and until the hearing, you are entirely under my guardianship."

"Oh, okay," Harry said, wondering why it had taken a personal visit in front of so many people to say that. Nothing had changed.

"They didn't even object?" Mrs Weasley asked in disgust. "Not that I mind, but how could they have taken in a boy for fourteen years and care so little for him?"

"Actually, Molly," Dumbledore said, "they were most eager to be rid of the obligation. Leaving Harry with them in the first place was perhaps an oversight on my part."

"Yeah, it was," Harry said. "Is that all then?"

"Wait a moment," Dumbledore said, glancing again at Mad-Eye. "Now that you are officially my ward, I have some more questions for you, and I would like you to answer them honestly."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Honestly?" he repeated. "That's rich, coming from you. You've been keeping secrets form me ever since I came into this house."

"Harry-"

"No," Harry said, dismissing Remus' note of caution. "If I've got to answer any of your questions, you have to stop lying to me."

"I do not lie to you, Harry," Dumbledore said, looking down at the table. "Any concealment on my part is necessary and I understand frustrating. But I do not lie."

"You might as well," Harry said, feeling every resentful feeling inside of him grow once again. "The things you're keeping from me I deserve to know."

"You deserve nothing, Potter," said Snape, lurking in a dark corner. "You cannot possibly comprehend the nature of what's being discussed here."

"Is that so?" Harry said. "I understand more than any of you realise."

"That is why I wish to talk with you, Harry," said Dumbledore, who had still not sat down, like Harry at the opposite end of the table. "I must ask you some questions."

Harry clenched his jaw, barely holding back his angry retort. Dumbledore took this opening.

"When you, Arthur and I were in the Department of Mysteries for the trial I noticed something which disturbed me," he began. "The corridor we were in. You were drawn to it, you seemed to recognise it. I need to know, have you been there before?"

Harry folded his arms across his chest. Finally, they were about to admit it. They feared Voldemort was trying to manipulate him. It was about time they deigned to tell him the truth.

"Yes," he said, and he noticed the mood in the room change palpably. Those in the Order looked alarmed, with Ron, Hermione and the younger Weasleys just confused.

Dumbledore's face was deadly serious. "Tell me more, Harry. When have you been there?"

Harry waited a moment before answering, letting them stay in suspense for once. "I dream about it," he said, noting the heightened panic on the faces of the Order.

"How often?"

"Every night."

The Order were muttering amongst themselves now, looking very worried. Ron however looked bewildered.

"But how can Harry dream about a real place he's never been to?"

Dumbledore remained silent, but Harry wouldn't. He wanted this out in the open, he didn't want this uncertainty any more.

"Because Voldemort's dreaming about it," he said, eyes still fixed on Dumbledore. "And our minds are linked. That's why my scar is hurting more, why I'm seeing what he's seeing. He's desperate to get through that door and get his hands on what's beyond it. He's frustrated, and angry and I feel it. Every night, I can feel his mind against mine. And I can't escape it."

Silence met his words as everyone exchanged glances, and he laughed again. "That's what you're worried about, isn't it?" he asked him. "That Voldemort's taking over my mind? Well I can tell you, if my dreams are anything to go by, he's doing a pretty damn good job. And that scares you. That's why you avoid me. Why you don't look me in the eye any more. You're scared I'm turning into him."

"Don't say that, Harry," Sirius said, his face pale, but Harry shook his head.

"It's true, and you all know it. You're all scared witless Voldemort is going to try and possess me. But none of you wanted to tell me about it. And why should you? It's not as if it concerns me now does it?"

"I thought perhaps the longer you remained unaware of the connection, the safer you would be," Dumbledore said, but Harry just scoffed.

"You seriously thought I was unaware of it?" he demanded. "I'm aware of it every bloody second. Every time my scar hurts, every time I feel an emotion that isn't mine, every time I see that door, I know that it isn't me. It's him. But you didn't care. Just like with the Dursley's. You thought you knew what was safest for me. But you've just proved you don't know what's best for me at all!"

His heart was beating wildly and he knew he was straying into dangerous territory, but he no longer cared. Dumbledore still wasn't looking directly at him.

"You are right, perhaps," Dumbledore said heavily. "My intentions to keep you safe have been misguided. This summer has proven that. I should have insisted you learn Occlumency from the beginning."

"Yeah," said Harry, agreeing. Some flicking through the ancient volumes in the house when no one was looking had filled him in on what Occlumency and Legilimancy were, and though he wasn't sure how it worked, he knew enough to know Dumbledore was right. "You should."

"Then it shall be remedied immediately," Dumbledore said. "You shall begin lessons with Professor Snape. I only hope it is not too late."

"Snape?" Sirius objected. "But why can't you-"

"As Harry has already pointed out," Dumbledore said, "I believe it is best I limit my contact with him. If Voldemort does indeed try to possess his mind, I would be his first target."

"Believe me, Black, I do not relish the thought," Snape said, sneering. "I too have a great deal to lose if the Dark Lord were to use Potter's mind on my own."

"Fine, I'll do the Occlumency," Harry said. "I don't even care if it's Snape. But you still aren't telling me everything. There's no point in hiding anything anymore."

"On the contrary," said Dumbledore, "I think there is. If you learn too much before you have mastered Occlumency, there is every risk that Voldemort will seize this information from your brain."

"Like the prophecy?"

A hush had fallen over the room as everyone turned to stare at him, shock plastered across their faces. Even Dumbledore finally made eye contact, such was his surprise. Harry stared back defiantly, spurred on by his new reckless courage. He wasn't going to be disregarded any more.

"What do you know of the prophecy?" Dumbledore asked, and for the first time, Harry saw a glint of concern in his eyes, and … fear? His gaze had never been so piercing as it was now.

"I know that's what lies beyond that door in the Department of Mysteries," Harry said quietly, barely restraining his eagerness to finally get this into the open. "I know that it's about me and Voldemort, that only one of us can take it from the shelf and you've all been guarding it for weeks. I know that it's the reason Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby, and I know that it was him-" here he glared at Snape-" that went and told Voldemort what was in it, and now Voldemort wants the half he didn't hear. And I also know you think I can't handle what's in it. Well, I can."

The room seemed to be holding its breath as one, looking between the two of them. Then, Sirius' bark-like laugh rung out in the silence.

"Exactly what I've been telling you, Dumbledore," he said, scowling. "He's no fool. He deserves to know. Keeping secrets from him is wrong."

Dumbledore appeared to ignore him and instead focused another intense gaze on Harry. "Did you learn of this from Voldemort's mind, Harry?" he asked, and his voice was more urgent than he had ever heard before. "Is that how you discovered it? If so, you must tell me right away. The link between you may have grown stronger than I thought."

Harry wanted to tell him nothing, keep him in the dark for a change, but the note of urgency made him change his mind. He was angry, yet not so angry he would be deliberately difficult on so dangerous a subject.

"No," he said shortly. "All I know from his mind is that he wants to get through that door. I didn't learn about the prophecy from him."

"Then from whom?"

"Was it you two?" Mrs Weasley suddenly raged, glaring at Fred and George who jumped. "I swear I'll find every single one of those blasted Extendable Ears of yours and string you up with them!"

"No it wasn't!" they protested. "We didn't even know about it till now!"

"I think, Albus," said Mad-Eye, staring at Harry, "that this development may be a result of what we discussed earlier."

Harry was confused, but Dumbledore nodded, and if anything looked relieved. But the severe expression was soon back. He nodded to Mad-Eye.

"I believe you are right, Alastor," he said softly.

"Of course I am," he said gruffly. "I wasn't Head Auror all that time for nothing."

"What are you talking about?"

Mad-Eye scowled, his scarred face looking almost vicious. "What I'm talking about, boy, is that thing in your pocket."

Mad-Eye's blue eye was resolutely fixed on Harry's right pocket, and with a jolt Harry realised that was where Lamia was resting. Mad-Eye's searching gazes the last few days suddenly made sense. He had been able to see Lamia the entire time.

Mad-Eye laughed, probably at the presumably dumbstruck look he suspected was across his face at that moment. "Don't think I didn't notice, boy. Took me a while to put two and two together, but I got there in the end. Till just now I didn't see what significance there was. Sneaking about the ceilings and the walls during Order meetings … did you really think I was so easily fooled?"

"What are you talking about Alastor," Remus asked, looking between the two of them.

"I think Potter should be the one to explain," he said, both eyes fixed on him. "Go on, boy! Show everyone what you've been hiding!"

Harry glanced at Dumbledore, whose expression was inscrutable. He nodded briefly. He felt sick to his stomach, and he was seized in a terror he could not quite explain. Everyone was staring at him expectantly, but he didn't move. He thought of sharing Lamia with everyone here was repulsive to him. How could he bring her out, how could he face them? He didn't want them to see her. She was his.

"Do it, Harry," he heard her hiss. "Don't worry about me. We'll get through this together."

Harry sighed, knowing he couldn't escape this situation. Slowly, ever so slowly, he reached his hand into his pocket, and allowed Lamia to coil herself around his wrist and fingers. Then with a deep breath, he pulled her out and into the light of the room.

"Bloody hell!" Ron, who had been sitting nearest to him leapt out of his chair and retreated, as did a couple of others. "That's a snake!"

"Yes, it certainly is, Mr Weasley," Dumbledore said, his eyes on Lamia's coiled body. "And what is more, I think this is the snake that attacked Dudley Dursley a month ago. Am I correct?"

Harry nodded, his fingers wrapped defensively around Lamia. She lifted her head up and surveyed the room

"Harry!" Sirius said, staring at her and him in horror. "What were you thinking?"

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"It attacked someone!" he said, watching her warily. "What possessed you to keep it as a- as a pet?"

Lamia hissed loudly at that statement, and Sirius jumped backwards, even though Lamia had made no move towards him. She wrapped herself more tightly around Harry's hand, as if she were protecting him.

"I think possessed might be the operative word here," Mad-Eye said. He stood up and glowered at Lamia. "Voldemort's had more influence on him that we thought, Albus. Who knows what's going on here? A spy maybe?"

"She's no spy," Harry said, riled at the accusation. "And she's got nothing to do with Voldemort. I haven't got my own little Nagini. It's different."

"Harry, do you hear yourself?" Remus asked. "You don't see the problem?"

"No, I don't!" Harry said, scowling. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"Put me on the table," he heard Lamia hiss. He glanced down at her and hesitated only a second before obeying. She uncoiled herself on the kitchen table and lifted the front half of her body above the wood, looking around at everyone, her tongue darting out as she began to put faces to the voices she had been hearing for days.

"Harry-"

"No," he argued. "You don't get it. She's been there the entire time. She was someone to talk to when there was no one else. She defended me against the Dursleys when no one else would. She saved me from the Death Eater at the market. She's stuck by me this entire time. Without her with me, I would've given up a long time ago."

"But-"

"But what?" Harry demanded. He glared around the room, knowing that this was how it was always going to be; no one understanding. "What's so wrong with me having someone to talk to?"

"It's not someone, Harry, it's a snake," Sirius said, practically pleading with him.

"So?" Harry asked. "I talk to her in Parseltongue instead of English. What difference does that make?"

"But Harry," Hermione said, glancing nervously at Lamia who was slithering along the table meeting the eyes of everyone along it, many of whom leapt out of her way. "This is too much of a coincidence, don't you see? You-Know-Who is trying to possess you, and you suddenly have a snake following you around?"

"Lamia isn't working for Voldemort," Harry said firmly. "I know that for a fact."

"Lamia?"

Harry met Lamia's beady gaze and smiled. "She didn't much care for Medusa."

"I too share Miss Granger's concerns, Harry," Dumbledore said. "I do not think this … friendship is wise."

Quick as a flash, Lamia had thrown herself down the table towards Dumbledore and raised herself as high as she could and spat at him fiercely. Anyone left sitting at the table had now leapt away and stood against the walls. Dumbledore however had remained still and simply met Lamia's gaze without a shadow of fear.

"Call her off, Harry," he said calmly. "Ask her to come back to you."

For a moment, Harry considered saying no, and just let Lamia do what she wanted. But then the feeling passed.

"Lamia," he said, "Come back. It's not worth it."

He noticed the inhabitants of the room gasp and go wide-eyed as they heard the hisses coming from his mouth; he was acutely aware of the fact that most people in the room had never heard him use Parseltongue. He didn't like the looks they were giving him.

Lamia twisted her heard towards him, and looked almost as if she wanted to pout. "But…"

"Come back, please."

She hesitated, but then twisted fully around and slithered back towards him. He held out his hand and she slithered up it and wrapped herself around his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. He noticed a few people shudder.

"Thank you, Harry," Dumbledore said. "I see she has a great deal of loyalty to you."

Lamia snorted. "More than he does to you. He doesn't give a damn, Harry. You should let me get my teeth into him. Maybe then he'll start caring about you."

"On the contrary, my dear Lamia," Dumbledore said in English, fixing his eyes on hers. "I do care about Harry. And my loyalty to him is as strong as yours."

Harry stared, astonished. "You're a Parselmouth?"

"I have gained a sufficient understanding of the language over the years, but I am no Parselmouth, no," he answered. "I have thought in recent days that I heard a voice, a disembodied voice I could not locate. I first heard it the night you came to us, during visits here, and then most recently at the trial. Once Alastor told me what he had seen lurking in the walls, I surmised the truth."

"You took it to the trial?" Mrs Weasley asked, hands over her mouth. "What if they had seen?"

"Using Lamia to spy on Order meetings was not a wise move, Harry," Dumbledore said, shaking his head.

"And why not?" Harry countered. "Without her I would never have found out the truth. She doesn't lie to me. She doesn't hide anything from me. I trust her more than I trust you at the minute."

"As he should," Lamia said, hissing directly at Dumbledore. "I do not abandon him."

Dumbledore blinked. "I have no intention of abandoning him."

"You do not know what his boy has suffered to your neglect. It is not honourable to deceive those you care about."

"I agree."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Because I believed I was doing right. I hope you can understand that."

"Not likely," she scoffed. "Doing right would not cause so much misery. Even now you want to cause him more by separating us. Why do you want to do that?"

Dumbledore remained silent, and Harry frowned at him.

"Well?" he asked. "Answer her."

Everyone else was entirely clueless, but Harry did not feel like enlightening them just yet. He waited on Dumbledore's answer with baited breath. He almost wanted him to forbid the two associating with each other, wanted the excuse to challenge him again.

"I do not wish to cause Harry any misery," Dumbledore said, his face suddenly sad, and old looking. "I wish the exact opposite."

"Then do not separate us."

Dumbledore sighed heavily, and then met Harry's eye. Startled, Harry couldn't look away and found himself under that piercing gaze.

"I will not," he said finally. "I see how strong a bond has formed between you. I do not desire to cause either of you any pain. Stay together. I trust him to your watch."

Lamia bobbed her head happily, and Harry couldn't believe it. He grinned and looked down at Lamia, reaching up to stroke her back. "It's not just me you can win over, is it?" he laughed. She hissed contentedly in return.

"You're okay with this?" Sirius asked incredulously. "Voldemort is well known for using snakes. The Dark Arts are filled with snakes, you only need to look around this house to see that!"

"What are you saying?" Harry asked. "That all Parseltongues are evil like him?"

"No, of course not," he said, his face softening. "But Harry, you have to realise-"

"What?" he asked. "Lamia's been a friend to me all summer. There's nothing evil about that."

Harry took a deep breath and looked back at Dumbledore. Some of his anger towards him had now faded. "I've answered your questions, and you've answered some of mine," he said. "I want to know what's in that prophecy, but … I understand why I can't, at least not yet. I'll learn Occlumency. But then I want to know the truth. No more secrets."

Dumbledore stared at him for a long time. Finally, he nodded.

"Sounds reasonable to me," he said.

Harry nodded too. "Good."

Lamia on his shoulder, he turned and left the room. He felt a much happier person leaving the room than he had when he had entered.

Chapter Text

"I don't know what Dumbledore's thinking!" Sirius said, pacing the room. "How can he condone this?"

"I don't like it either," said Remus, sighing, his head in his hands. Most of the Order had gone, and now it was only the two of them and the elder Weasley's in the drawing room. "But we have to trust him."

"Trust Dumbledore," Sirius spat. "That's all we're supposed to do these days. I'm sick of it."

"Don't let your personal frustration at Dumbledore affect this, Sirius," Remus warned. "You might disagree with him but-"

"He has me here under virtual house arrest and he's letting Harry play around with snakes. Is that supposed to be okay?"

"She seems to like him," Bill Weasley shrugged. He met Sirius' glare with a cool indifference. "I admit, I'd never keep a snake as a pet. But Harry's different. He's a Parselmouth."

"And that's what worries me," Molly said, biting her lip. "It's such a Dark ability. I know it's not Harry's fault he has it, but I don't want him using it any more than he has to."

"I agree," Sirius said, making Molly blink in surprise; they rarely agreed on anything these days. "I don't want him using it."

"It's Harry's decision if he wants to use it or not," Bill objected. "You can't deny it's come in useful over the years. If Harry couldn't speak it, Ginny would still be lying in the Chamber of Secrets!"

"That's not the same thing-"

"Isn't it?" Bill asked. He stood with his arms folded. "It's Harry's ability and he can do whatever he chooses with it. This paranoia is so ridiculous. I'm surprised at you Sirius. You've proven that just because someone comes from a dark family doesn't mean they're dark themselves. Parseltongue itself is not necessarily evil."

Sirius scowled. "Then how come every famous Parselmouth in history has been evil? Snakes and good magic don't mix."

"You're overreacting-"

"Am I?" Sirius demanded, standing his ground. "You think Voldemort didn't start out this way? A lonely boy talking to snakes for companionship?"

"And you think Harry will turn out like Voldemort?"

"Of course not, but-"

"Then what's the issue?" Bill was glaring at him now. "You don't seem to have much faith in him. I trust him when he says he knows what he's doing."

"But does he?" Molly asked. "How do we know it's not controlling him somehow?"

Arthur shook his head, adjusting his glasses. "Did it look that way to you?" he asked. "The snake defended him, it came back when he called it. And from what Dumbledore said, I think it was saying something about protecting Harry. He's obviously formed a bond with it."

"He shouldn't have had to!" Sirius objected, resuming his pacing. "I don't like it."

"No one's asking you to," Bill said. "You just need to accept that this is what Harry wants."

Sirius said nothing to thus, and stared angrily at the wall, noting with displeasure the coiled serpents on the light fixtures. He said nothing as Bill and the other Weasleys left the room to go to bed. His blood was pumping furiously and he felt restless.

"Sirius."

He jumped as he realised Remus was standing behind him. Unlike Bill, he didn't look confrontational, but he still had an annoying look of placation on his face.

"Don't tell me you agree with this, not you Moony," he said, shaking his head. "This is wrong."

"That is for Harry to decide," Remus said. "Bill is right. We have to trust him."

"But if he's making the wrong choice-"

"It's still his choice to make" he said. "If talking to this snake gives him some comfort, then let him. Who knows, she might turn out to be useful."

Sirius looked down at the floor, not wanting to meet those annoying calm and reasonable eyes. He was outnumbered, and he knew it. But the thought of Harry sitting with that thing for hours on end speaking to it instead of him …

Remus seemed to know what he was thinking.

"You're not telling me the real reason you don't like this," he said. "You're upset that he confides in the snake and not you. That it's her he turns to for advice and comfort."

"I'm his godfather," Sirius burst out, wringing his hands. "Why can't he talk to me?" He breathed heavily for a moment. "You know, sometimes, as much as I hate to admit it, I think Snape might have been right."

"About what?"

"That I don't really know him at all," he mumbled, finally admitting his darkest worries. "I mean, how much time have I ever spent with him? This last week or so is the longest I've ever been around him and … I just don't know how to talk to him."

"And you think Snape does?" Remus asked, smiling. "You were there the day he was born, Sirius. You care about him more than anyone else alive probably. Harry knows that. Don't ever doubt that he doesn't care about you. You were robbed of twelve years with him. It'll take some time to make up for that. But you will. I know it."

Sirius smiled weakly. "Damn you and your attempts to be wise," he said. Then his smile faded. "You probably know him better than me. You were his teacher for a year after all."

"And that means nothing," Remus said. "Yes, I've spent more time with him, but for the vast majority of that time I could be nothing more than his teacher. I couldn't tell him just how it made me feel to be around him, to see how much of his parents were reflected within him. I had to be a virtual stranger to him. Professor Lupin instead of Uncle Moony. But it doesn't have to be that way with you."

Sirius was silent, and Remus reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Harry's been through a lot," he said. "If this is the way he needs to cope with it, let him. Try to understand. Be there for him, and he'll come around in the end. Don't give up. He needs you."

Sirius nodded, and to his shame felt oddly tearful. "It's not fair," he said quietly. "It should have been me who raised him. He would never have gone through half the horrible things in his life if I'd only restrained myself and not gone after Peter. Dumbledore would have heard me out."

"There's no point in thinking like that," Remus said, and Sirius could see that the thought of that night was also painful to him. "Just be there for him now. It's all you can do."

Sirius nodded and smiled gratefully. As much as this new development disturbed him, he had to be there for Harry. He always would be. No matter what.

"So, she can understand me?" Ron was asking, looking warily at Lamia who was coiled around Harry's wrist. Harry was perched on the end of Ron's bed, with him and Hermione at the other end, both obviously anxious.

"Yes," Harry said, running his fingers along her body. "I don't quite understand how it works, but if you speak to her, she'll know what you mean."

"Okay," said Ron, and he looked so alarmed, Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"Don't worry," he said, "you haven't said anything too insulting so far."

"Yes, though I can't say the same for the female," Lamia hissed, eyes on Hermione, who drew back.

"What did she say?"

"She's just a little … hurt at what you said down in the kitchen."

"Oh," Hermione said, eyes wide. "Well … tell her … I mean, I'm sorry," she said, looking at Lamia. "I didn't mean anything by it. I was just worried about Harry, that's all."

Lamia stared at her a long moment, sizing her up, and hissed softly. Harry smiled. "You're forgiven."

"Good," Hermione said, smiling nervously. She peered a little closer. "She's very pretty," she said, prompting a satisfied hiss from Lamia. "I'd always thought British snakes were quite dull and boring, but she isn't at all. What kind is she? She's not an adder."

"Violet said she was a smooth snake," Harry said, remembering back.

"Really? They're very rare!"

"That's what she told me."

"Unique, is the term I prefer," Lamia said, a twinkle in her eye. "Far from your average, common snake."

Harry smiled, but didn't bother to translate. They'd been sitting there like this for a while now, Ron and Hermione asking polite questions. They were both still a little uncomfortable about it, but Harry appreciated the effort they were making. All previous worries about sharing Lamia with the others had now vanished.

"So she bit Dudley for you?" Ron asked, his eyes fixed on her mouth, as if looking for fangs.

"Yeah. I didn't ask her to, but she did anyway," Harry smiled down at her. "We'd only just met. I told her I was leaving for London, and she asked to come with me. I was just supposed to take her there and let her find her own way, but … well, we grew used to each other."

She hissed softly. Ron was still a little wary. "She's been living in this room?" he asked. "The whole time?"

Harry laughed. "Yeah, but don't worry, she won't hurt you."

"And she's not poisonous?"

"No, she isn't."

"And she won't attack me?"

"Is he always this slow?" Lamia asked, annoyed. "Tell him if he doesn't stop asking stupid questions I shall slither into his bed in the dead of night and he'll see for himself what I'm capable of."

Harry hesitated as Ron and Hermione waited. "No, she won't attack you," he responded. "But … just don't annoy her, okay? She's quite sensitive."

Ron's eyes went wide as Lamia laughed. "Why? What did she just say?"

"You don't want to know."

"And what does Hedwig think of her?" Hermione asked, as Ron froze, staring uncertainly at Lamia.

Lamia hissed violently, making them both jump. "Do not mention that bird to me!"

"Yeah, they don't get on," Harry explained, wincing as he thought back to the introduction last week. "You know, birds eat snakes and all that. Hedwig thinks of her as a snack."

Lamia grumbled to herself as Hermione immediately glanced over to the window at Hedwig's empty cage. "Will she be alright though? I wouldn't want Hedwig to eat her."

"You weren't so bothered when it was your cat trying to eat my rat," Ron muttered, but Harry was smiling at Hermione.

"Thanks for the concern," he said, truly grateful. "I'm glad you're not just dismissing this."

Hermione nodded and took a deep breath. "I admit, I wasn't that happy about it. But she seems to like you, and who am I to stand in the way? We weren't exactly the greatest friends to you this summer."

"You are," Harry said truthfully, and Hermione smiled again. He lifted Lamia and held her out slowly to Hermione. "Would you like to hold her? She likes being fussed over."

Hermione hesitated, and then stretched out her own hand. Lamia uncoiled herself and slid onto Hermione's palm, making her shudder briefly, but after a moment, she had settled nicely and Hermione was running her fingers along her smooth scales.

"Once you get used to how cold she is, it's quite soothing," she said, a small smile on her face. "I can see why you like her."

Harry grinned. It was soon Ron's turn. He was a lot less composed than Hermione. He kept his hand outstretched as far as possible as she coiled around it and looked like he was barely breathing. Harry and Hermione burst out laughing at the expression on his face, making him scowl. Harry took Lamia back, allowing her to slide up his arm. Ron shook his head.

"I don't know how you can handle that," he said. "In your pocket all day, hidden up your sleeve. How do you do it?"

"Presumably the same way he handles your stench."

"What was that?"

Harry just laughed, and soon Hermione and even Ron had joined in. For the present moment, all thought of prophecy and Death Eaters had gone completely out of his mind. For the first time all summer, he felt truly happy.

Chapter Text

Potter Custodial Hearing to Commence Today

This morning, Harry Potter (15), is expected to attend a custodial hearing in the Ministry of Magic with the aim of officially being removed from the custody of his Muggle aunt and uncle after shock revelations last week during his trial concerning alleged long-term physical and emotional abuse.

As  Daily Prophet  readers will remember, at his trial Potter accused Mr and Mrs Vernon Dursley, his maternal aunt and uncle, residents of Surrey, of having treated him cruelly throughout his childhood, a statement apparently supported by his former babysitter, Squib Arabella Figg. He demanded to be removed from their custody, citing an attack by his uncle as being the reason he was forced to defend himself with magic and infamously went on the run to live on the streets of London. Potter was cleared of all charges, despite concerned questions over his inability to restrain his powerful magic and also the legitimacy of his claims.

Potter claims to have been abused for the use of accidental magic as a child, claiming that his guardians were deliberately prejudiced against him for possessing magic and denied him all knowledge of his heritage and even tried to prevent him attending Hogwarts. He claims he was bullied by his cousin, belittled, beaten, starved and frequently locked in the cupboard which served as his bedroom.

If true, this shocking tale is only further proof in the eyes of the medical community that Potter is emotionally disturbed. Top experts from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries are unified in their belief that such abuse and neglect as a child could have long-lasting consequences. "It could explain everything," one specialist said. "Why he's so confused, why he's had fainting fits, phantom pains in his scar and his compulsive need to be the centre of attention. Any abused or neglected child would ache for the amount of publicity Potter receives."

Potter's aunt and uncle have declined comment, but are understood to have agreed to relinquish the custody they have held for fourteen years. This apparently careless attitude they have towards their nephew is telling. Who knows what irreversible damages they may have inflicted on Potter as a child?

The  Daily Prophet  understands that since his capture he has been under the temporary custody of Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, former Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and former Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, who was the executor of Potters' parent's will. Although they had originally intended him to be left in the custody of his godfather, shockingly revealed last week to be none other than the infamous murderer Sirius Black, Dumbledore instead placed him with the Dursleys. Considering Potter's poor treatment and Dumbledore's lack of foresight in placing him there, observers might wonder if Potter may not have been safer with Black

As for who shall assume permanent guardianship, the matter is unclear. It is understood the Weasley family of Ottery St. Catchpole have made a bid to have him. Potter is said to be good friends with the youngest Weasley children, and has spent time at their home during school holidays.

It remains to be seen if such an action will be considered wise. Potter is known to be mentally disturbed, perhaps even more so than we have thus far seen, and the Weasley family, with seven children and limited funds, may be unable to cope with such a difficult teenager. By his own admission, Potter used Parseltongue on the day of the attack, and some may suspect he deliberately tried to attack his cousin in a desperate bid to be free. Would the Weasley be family be comfortable having a Parselmouth in their home? Few would.

If not able to be placed with the Weasleys, Potter claims to want to live on his own and support himself. Many would question how advisable this is, knowing his special needs and wonder if he would not be better off in an institution. Practically speaking there is no obstacle, as Potter would more than adequately be able to support himself on the vast fortune he inherited from his parents, estimated to be worth a total of-"

"Woah!"

Fred, who had been reading aloud to the kitchen of Grimmauld Place lowered the newspaper to stare at Harry. "You told us you had money, but not that much!"

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "I've never counted it."

Ron, Ginny, George and Hermione who had gathered round Fred to read the last line also dropped their jaws in astonishment.

"Blimey!" Ron said, eyes wide. "I'll be expecting better Christmas presents from now on, mate!"

Harry smiled, but just felt awkward. He doubted Ron would be so happy to have a fortune like that if it came at the cost of his parents.

Sirius, who was sitting next to Fred, glanced over at the paper and snorted. "Daily Prophet can't even get that right. The Potters were worth at least twice that."

Fortunately for Harry, the awestruck looks from the others were interrupted by the arrival of Mrs Weasley, and her attempts to force them all to eat second, third helpings of breakfast. She was dressed in her best robes, and looked nervous, though she tried to disguise it behind a kind smile. Harry felt queasy. If all went well today, he'd officially be part of the Weasley family. If not … who knows what would happen to him?

"We'd best get going," Mr Weasley said, checking his watch. He too was dressed in his most formal robes. "Dumbledore's meeting us in the Atrium in ten minutes."

Harry stood up to follow him, still feeling unwell, yet not so nervous as on the morning of the trial.

"Good luck, Harry," Hermione said. "I'm sure it'll all go well."

"Yeah," Ron grinned. "We could be brothers by the end of the day."

"Not to put you off or anything," Fred said, laughing.

Harry managed a small smile. He looked at Sirius, who had remained sitting at the table. He seemed determined not to say anything. Inwardly, Harry felt guilty. He knew Sirius wanted nothing more than to adopt him officially, Harry wanted it too. But the way things were, it was impossible. And besides, with the way things had been between them lately, cautiously distant, he wasn't sure it was even a good idea. Regardless, a lingering hope remained with him that Sirius would agree to what he had planned.

Suddenly, Mrs Weasley stopped dead and swung around to look at Harry, her hands on her hips. "She's not with you, is she?"

Harry tried to look innocent. "Of course not."

"Harry!"

He sighed, and emptied the contents of his pocket onto the kitchen table. Lamia slithered out and promptly snatched a piece of bacon from Harry's abandoned plate. She twisted to face Mrs Weasley and gave a snakish scowl.

"How dare she? I have every right to be there!"

"She's probably right," Harry said, ignoring the usual stares as he spoke in Parseltongue. "You should stay here."

"But what if you need me?"

Harry smiled. "I'm touched, but I'll be fine. I promise. I'm stronger now than I used to be."

She hesitated, regarding him beadily. She bumped her head against Harry's outstretched fingers; her version of a hug, he'd come to realise. He smiled gratefully.

"We'll look after her, Harry," Fred and George said eagerly, and Lamia, hearing this, rolled her eyes.

"Look after me, indeed."

"You know you love it."

She flicked her tail and slithered over to Fred and George, both of whom had become rather taken with her in recent days, and she, strangely with them. The cause soon became evident, as George slipped her some more bacon.

"Are we ready?" Mrs Weasley asked him, and he nodded. With one glance back at Lamia who was being fussed over by the twins he followed Mr and Mrs Weasley out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the drawing room with the large fireplace. A sprinkle of Floo powder later and he was enveloped by emerald flames. He now stood in the Atrium once more, mobbed by the usual mass of witches and wizards heading to work. Mr and Mrs Weasley were soon standing behind him, brushing the soot from their robes. Harry's stomach did another unpleasant lurch as he saw Dumbledore striding towards them form the direction of the golden fountain.

"Good morning," he said pleasantly as he arrived. "The hearing is scheduled for Madame Bones' office any moment now. I suggest we head there straight away."

"Will Fudge be there?" Mr Weasley asked him as they entered the lift, attracting even more stares than they had last time.

"No, though he intended to be," Dumbledore said, idly swatting away one of paper aeroplane memos above his head. "He no doubt wanted to ensure that Harry was placed somewhere the Ministry could control. Fortunately however, he has no jurisdiction in this matter. Madame Bones herself is usually above such matters, but considering the high-profile nature of the case, it was determined she be the one to hear it."

Harry nodded, feeling a little better. Madam Bones had seemed to be the only one in the trial that had been on his side. He didn't doubt she'd be fair.

The golden grilles opened and they emerged onto Level 2, the Department for Magical Law Enforcement. He followed Dumbledore mutely along the corridor, past the wide open space split into cubicles for the Auror Department and tried to look interested as Mr Weasley pointed out the door to his office. But every step just increased his anxiety, and by the time they had knocked on a heavy wooden door and been requested to enter, he was a nervous wreck.

Madame Bones' office was large and airy with large windows Harry suspected were magical due to their still being underground. A large wooden desk covered in parchments was in one corner, but one half of the office was taken up by a large oak table with comfortable chairs stationed around it. Madame Bones sat on the far side and she gave him a brief nod.

Harry, Dumbledore and the Weasley's took their seats on the other side of the table, and Madame Bones began speaking but Harry was barely listening. All he could focus on was the beating of his own heart. He noticed a quill in one corner writing furiously on its own. He was reminded forcibly of a Quick-Quotes Quill.

"We are of course here to discuss the guardianship of Harry James Potter, recently resident at number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey," Madame Bones said forcefully and formally, the quill copying every word. "Date of birth, 31st July 1980. Mr Potter was orphaned aged fifteen months on the 31st October 1981 and as per the wishes of Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, executor of the will of James and Lily Potter, was given into legal custody of Vernon and Petunia Dursley, his maternal aunt and uncle with whom he has lived ever since. Mr Potter is here today to contest that decision and request an alternative placement as per his rights under Section 18 of Wizarding Family Law. Is that all correct?"

She waited for an answer from Harry, and the quill paused in mid-air.

"Um, yes?" Harry said, casting a half-glance at Dumbledore, who stared straight ahead.

Madame Bones nodded and shifted through some parchments, reading a couple quickly. "You contest this placement due to claims of abuse and neglect from your previous guardians, yes?" she lifted another sheet of parchment, and read it, lips pursed. "The Muggle Liaison Office, with the assistance of Professor Dumbledore, your current temporary legal guardian has negotiated with your former guardians, and they have agreed to relinquish all custodial rights. This hearing is to make that decision legal and binding. Do you agree to this decision?"

"Yes," Harry said firmly, and he thought he could almost detect a trace of a smile on her face.

"It is settled then," she said, making a note on her parchment and signing another. "As of this moment, Mr and Mrs Dursley have no legal rights over you. I must inform you, however," she said, peering at him through her monocle. "They made a claim for financial remuneration from yourself for the fourteen years you were under their care."

"Why, that's ridiculous!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed, but before she could object further, Madame Bones held up her hand.

"Fortunately, their claim has been rejected," Madame Bones said, a frown on her brow. "We do not entertain remuneration requests from people who willingly took on guardianship."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He could only imagine what Uncle Vernon would have done if he'd gotten into his vault at Gringotts.

"What is now to be decided," she said, "is to whom permanent guardianship is to be conferred." She withdrew yet another parchment. "I have here a copy of the will of Lily and James Potter," she said, and Harry almost cricked his neck trying to get a good look at it. "With the obvious exception of his godfather, the Potters appointed no other legal guardian for their son, only saying that if Black was not an option he was to be placed with 'the person best placed to care for him to the best of their ability'." She peered at Dumbledore. "You attempted to fulfil this request fourteen years ago, and now that decision has been reversed by this hearing, I ask you again now, to whom, as the Potter's executor, do you think Harry Potter should be cared for?"

Dumbledore smiled pleasantly. "I believe he should be placed with the people who care for him most, the people Harry himself cares for deeply. That is to say, Arthur and Molly Weasley."

Mrs Weasley, who sat beside Harry had gone very still. He could see her hands twisting in her lap.

"I see, and is this decision based purely on the wishes of both parties?"

"Partially," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "Partially on my own observation. Arthur and Molly have proven themselves to be excellent and caring parents, and I believe they would look after him marvellously."

Mrs Weasley nodded fervently, but appeared too nervous to speak. Mr Weasley was equally as pale and tense.

Madame Bones nodded and then addressed the Weasleys. "Taking on a child is an enormous responsibility," she said severely. "Not many people would be willing to take in the child of complete strangers to them. Particularly one who … shall I say, is not of the ordinary variety. What are your reasons for applying for guardianship?"

They exchanged glances, and then Mr Weasley spoke. "Harry is a part of our family," he said, spurred on by Mrs Weasley's nods. "He has been ever since he made friends with our children Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, Charlie, Bill … all our family have come to accept him." Harry was acutely aware of the absence of Percy from that statement, but Mr Weasley continued on. "We looked after him in the summers, my wife sent him his first ever Christmas present, we took him to the Quidditch World Cup last year … we care about him as deeply as if he was a son of our own."

"We want nothing more than to look after him," Mrs Weasley said. "After everything he's suffered, he deserves some love and affection, and there would be no shortage of that from us."

Madame Bones appeared satisfied, and turned now to Harry.

"Is this your wish?" she asked him seriously. "As you are over the age of eleven, you have a right to be consulted in this case. Do you wish these people to become your legal guardians?"

Harry nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. "Yes," he said after he swallowed. "More than anything."

Mrs Weasley reached out and took Harry's hand in hers and squeezed tightly. Harry smiled as he saw the emotion in her face.

"Very well," said Madame Bones, making some more notes on her parchments. "Now I have only to examine possible barriers to guardianship. I see no reason to deny this application on the evidence based on front of me but for one possible exception. That reason would be financial. Your application states your current salary and assets, and I reinforce to you that a legal guardian where no biological parents exist, must provide financially for their charge. Can you take this on?"

"We've always managed," Mr Weasley said, flushing pink. "Our eldest children have left home and we're now in a better financial position than we've ever been."

"And they won't need to pay for me," Harry said, interrupting. "I've got my own money, loads of it."

"That is another concern, Mr Potter," Madame Bones said. "Forgive me for the insinuation, but there are some who would suggest this guardianship request from a couple who, you'll forgive me, are financially constrained, is a thinly veiled attempt to gain access to your wealth."

Mr and Mrs Weasley looked outraged, but Dumbledore, who had thus far remained silent, spoke before they could.

"Harry's fortune is entirely his own," Dumbledore said calmly. "As per his parent's wishes, it was held in trust for him until his eleventh birthday at which time I ensured the key to his vault made its way to him. It is all entirely in his name, and the Weasleys will have no access to it unless Harry himself permits it."

"And I wouldn't mind either," Harry said quickly. "I'd share the lot with them if they'd take it."

"Harry," Mrs Weasley said, shaking his head, but Harry cut across her.

"I would," he said, looking her in the eyes, and then looking to Mr Weasley as well. "It doesn't mean anything to me, but you do." He looked back at Madame Bones. "Don't worry about the money. They can't steal what I'm willing to share with them."

Madame Bones was momentarily stunned and blinked a couple of times, her monocle threatening to fall from her eye. Then, she smiled, softening her severe expression.

"Very well," she said, making another couple of notes. "I see I have no further inquiries to make. All parties are in agreement and I am satisfied that all conditions have been met. Now, all that remains ..."

She slid a heavy sheet of parchment across the table towards them. It was covered in paragraphs of cursive script almost too small to read. Harry barely managed to read his own name on the parchment before Dumbledore had produced an elegant quill from his pocket and signed the bottom of the parchment with a flourish. He then held the quill out to Mr Weasley with an indulgent smile. Mr Weasley dutifully signed his name below Dumbledore's and then Mrs Weasley did too, her hand wobbling slightly. When finished, Madame Bones drew it back and added her own elaborate signature, stamped it and then rolled it up and sealed it.

"That's it?" Harry said, let out a long held breath,

Madame Bones smiled warmly. "That's it. You are now the legal ward of the Weasley family."

For a long slow moment, Harry tried to let this sink in, and then before he knew it, he was grinning. Mrs Weasley drew him into a tight hug and Mr Weasley clapped him on the shoulder, beaming. Even Dumbledore, who still avoided Harry's eyes looked pleased.

"You are now free to leave," Madame Bones said, rising from her chair. She tapped the scroll. "This will be taken to our Records Office and a copy sent out to you in due course. The Muggle Liaison Office will handle things on the Muggle side; after all Harry still exists legally on Muggle records. And I'm sure you, Professor, will handle the alteration of his school records?"

Dumbledore bowed his head in assent and turned to the three of them.

"Congratulations," he said. "I am pleased for you all. Now, forgive me, but I must leave. I shall see you at Hogwarts, Harry."

With a swish of a violet cloak, he was gone, but Harry was no longer annoyed by his abrupt manner, too filled with elation was he. Madame Bones reached over and shook each of their hands.

"I too am pleased," she said. "In sad cases such as this, I always hope for a happy outcome." She looked directly at Harry. "My niece Susan has told me a lot about you," she said. "She supports you fully in your assertions to the Minister, and I am inclined to believe her as well. I wish you good luck for the future."

"Thanks," Harry said, relieved and gratified to find someone as powerful as Madame Bones believed in him when so many others didn't.

"You know," she continued, looking again at the Weasleys. "In cases such as this, legal adoption is possible if you want to consider it."

Harry looked at the two Weasleys on either side of him and they smiled, already knowing his decision, and letting him know they supported it. They'd discussed it on the previous night. As much as Harry would like to legally be their son, he had another idea on his mind.

"I knew it!" Ron whooped as Harry and the Weasleys entered the kitchen at dinner that evening. "You're officially one of us!"

Harry was grinning ear to ear as he was suddenly surrounded by the entire Weasley family, being hugged, patted on the back and punched on the arm in equal measure. Mrs Weasley was drying her eyes and Arthur was looking on proudly. Sirius looked back down at his untouched food, trying not to let his disappointment show. What was wrong with him? He should be happy for Merlin's sake!

Lamia was on the table near him, and he looked up at her trying not to let her see his mood. But she looked oddly perceptive and stared at him for a long time. He tried to shrug it off; she had been doing the same thing all day, watching him with one eye while basking by the fireplace. He was completely unnerved by her ability to watch him so closely.

Remus had stood up to shake their hands and clasped Harry on the shoulder. "I'm happy for all of you," he said. "You deserve it."

He glanced back at Sirius, and with one pointed look, Sirius had obeyed and also gotten to his feet. "I feel the same way," he said, nodding to them. "It's been a long time coming."

Harry looked at him, and for a moment his smile faltered. Lamia went sliding towards him suddenly but made no move to be picked up. Instead, she reared her head and hissed loudly. Harry looked at her, and his brow creased in a frown before he glanced back up at Sirius. Damn, what did that reptile say about me?

"We need a party," Bill announced, looking around at the rag-tag group of Order members who were there. "Come on, this is a special occasion!"

The Weasleys responded eagerly, but before Sirius could get caught up in the preparations and rush of elation, he made his excuses and left the kitchen. He bounded up the stairs until he was safely in his own bedroom. He collapsed on his bed breathing deeply. He tried not to feel hurt, but the news stung him more deeply than it should. You're a selfish man, Sirius Black, he said to himself. Why can't you be happy for him?

A knock sounded at the door and Sirius groaned. "I'm not in the mood, Remus."

The door opened anyway, but to his shock, it was Harry who entered. He immediately sat up straight.

"Harry? What are you doing here?"

Harry waited until he had closed the door and entered the room. He glanced around, noting the décor, his lips twitching as he saw the Gryffindor colours and the Muggle photographs. He met Sirius' eyes.

"Lamia said you've been miserable all day," he began, somewhat uncertainly. "You've barely said anything to anyone."

"Did she?" Sirius said, trying hard not to let his disapproval of the snake slip into his tone. He stood up. "And does she know why?"

"No, but I can guess," Harry said. He sighed. "You're not happy that the Weasleys are my guardians, are you?"

Sirius could kick himself as he saw the disappointment in his eyes. "That's not true," he said gently. "Molly and Arthur are great people. They're perfect for you."

"But you wish it was you instead, don't you?"

Sirius paused, wondering if he should continue. Harry was staring at him evenly, and he knew it would be foolish to lie to him.

"Yes," he admitted. "It … kills me that they get to be your guardians and I don't. Don't get me wrong," he said quickly, "I don't resent them, or you. It just … I hate that I can't be there for you like I should. Lily and James trusted me, and I let them down."

Harry, to his surprise chuckled. He looked away or a moment as if remembering something and then snapped his eyes back. "Do you know why I was so angry at you all summer?" he said.

"Because I wouldn't tell you the truth," Sirius said hanging his head. "You felt like I'd abandoned you."

"Partly," Harry said. "But one reason was … I was angry for you for going to Azkaban. I blamed you for all the misery the Dursleys inflicted on me because I knew things could have been different if you'd never tried to avenge my mum and dad and gone after Wormtail. I hated you for leaving me to them."

Sirius nodded, his own worst fears confirmed. He felt the guilt build up inside of him until it was too painful to bear.

"But," Harry said, making him look back up, "I don't blame you anymore. I shouldn't have in the first place. It's not your fault what they did to me. All you've ever done is try to do your best for me, and I have been so ungrateful."

"Harry," Sirius said, taking a step towards him. "I deserved the anger you gave me. I've never been much of a godfather to you."

Harry was shaking his head. "No, he said firmly. "None of it matters now. I've realised, it doesn't matter anymore. You've been there for me as much as you could, done everything you possibly could to help me and protect me. You were there for me after … after Cedric died, despite the fact that you could've been caught by Fudge. You risked capture every single time you came to help me. That's what's important, not some petty arguments. I've kept my distance from you because I just didn't know how else to be around you after everything that happened this summer. I was too confused to know what I wanted, and just wanted to look after myself. I don't want that anymore. I want to be your godson again, if you'll let me."

Sirius' face broke out into a wide grin. "Harry, that's all I ever wanted too," he said. "A new start, you and me. We'll make up for all the years that we missed. I promise you that." He beamed at him. "I'm sorry I can't do what the Weasleys did," he said sincerely, "but I promise I'll still always be there for you, even if the Weasleys have adopted you."

"I know that," Harry said, smiling. Then he chuckled. "Only … the Weasleys didn't adopt me."

Sirius frowned. "They didn't? But I thought-"

"They're my legal guardians, not legal parents," Harry said, his eyes glinting. "Madame Bones offered to arrange an adoption, but I said no, and Mr and Mrs Weasley agreed."

"You did?" Sirius said, bewildered. "Whatever for?"

"Because," Harry said, taking a step closer, and smiling again. "When all of this is over, when Voldemort's gone and your name finally cleared … I want you to be the one to adopt me. That is, if you're willing?"

Sirius was momentarily speechless. A strong surge of emotion was swirling around his body and he felt like he could burst. The last time he remembered experienced such a feeling was the day James made him Harry's godfather.

"Nothing would make me happier," he said, his voice oddly choked, unable to say anything else. He reached out to hug him, but pulled back. "Lamia's not around, is she?" he asked warily.

Harry laughed. "Nah, she's downstairs trying to sneak some food."

"Good," said Sirius, and pulled Harry into a tight embrace, trying to release every pent up emotion he'd had all summer into the hug. Relief washed over him and he found himself grinning as every care seemed to drain away.

"You'll get to like her one day," Harry said, when they drew apart. "She's been quite a supporter for you. She's the one who suggested I come talk to you."

"Well, then," said Sirius, "maybe there's hope for her after all."

He glanced over to his bedside table, where his box of mementos still lay.

"Fancy looking through some old pictures of your parents?"

Harry's eager expression was all the answer he needed, and so the two of them stayed up there in that room all evening, oblivious to the party going on down below as they got lost in reminisces.

Some things are worth waiting for, Sirius thought.

Chapter Text

"Are you even trying, Potter?"

Harry scowled from his position on the drawing room floor. Snape stood over him, a smirk playing across his lips, wand held outstretched. Harry ached all over from being repeatedly thrown to the floor and he was trembling from the mental exertion of trying to throw Snape from his mind.

"Of course, I am," Harry said through gritted teeth as he stood up. "You're not telling me what to do!"

"Occlumency is not something easily taught. I have told you everything you need to know," Snape said. "The problem is that you're not putting that information into practice."

"How can I when you won't show me how?"

Snape and Harry glared at each other for a few moments. Harry's stomach felt queasy and his head ached, his scar prickling painfully. He trembled, dreading Snape's coming attack, knowing he would be forced again to expose his most private memories. Cedric's face had loomed larger than every other image, and he sensed that Snape was getting a perverse joy in tormenting him like this.

Snape sneered again. "Two sessions and you've not been able to repel me even once. I told you, Potter. You must practice. Occlumency is not like schoolwork where you need only study a few hours a week. It is something you must implement at all times."

"I'm trying!" Harry grumbled. It was true. He had tried to follow Snape's instructions, religiously clearing his mind every night before sleeping, but he was having little success. Cedric's face and Voldemort's were always there, as were the occasional flashes of emotion accompanied by a twinge in his scar that Harry somehow knew were not his own.

"Not nearly well enough," Snape said. "If you ever want to discover what is in that prophecy, you must master this. The Dark Lord could try and control you at any time. If he becomes aware of this connection-"

"I know, I know," Harry muttered, looking away and clenching his fists. "The entire world ends. I get it."

"I do not think you do," Snape said. "Perhaps you enjoy being special? Enjoy the power this connection gives you?"

Lamia hissed loudly in his pocket. "Arrogant imbecile. Do you want me to bite him for you?"

Snape's head twitched. "You brought that creature to this lesson?" he asked, his voice dangerously low. "I thought I told you that such an act would be foolish?"

"And I thought I told you that she is no threat to me," Harry said, his hand reaching defensively to his pocket. "What's the matter? Remind you of your other job?"

Snape's face contorted in rage. "Do not speak to me like that, Potter," he spat. "Do not forget, I am still your teacher."

"Not until tomorrow, you're not," Harry shot back.

Snape struggled for a moment, before regaining a calm, if strained expression. "No matter to me, Potter," he said. "These lessons shall resume after your return to school. We shall see then what happens when you speak to me in that manner."

Harry remained silent with difficulty. He knew he was being petulant and stubborn, but he couldn't help it. He was desperate to master Occlumency, desperate to keep Voldemort's thoughts away from him, keep himself safe from influence and most importantly finally hear the prophecy, but Snape was making it incredibly difficult. It was almost as if he didn't want him to succeed.

"One last attempt then, Potter," Snape said, raising his wand again. "Defend yourself!"

Harry tried not to scoff as he heard this. What exactly could he do here outside school without getting himself another hearing? How was it fair Snape was allowed to curse him?

As Snape opened his lips, Harry heard a hurried his from his pocket. "Lay your hand on me!" Lamia said. "Quickly. And trust me."

Despite his confusion, Harry obeyed without question, and laid his fingers along Lamia's smooth scales. A strange warmth seemed to be spreading through her and into his skin. His mind immediately went completely blank and blissful. He saw rather than heard Snape's cry of "Legilimens!"

He felt a surge of power flowing through Lamia and into himself. Instead of the usual feeling of Snape invading his mind and rifling through his memories, a solid wall of iron had sprung into the forefront of his mind. Something collided with it with great force, but the wall held, firm and strong. Several moments passed, he couldn't say how many, the wall unwavering, until Harry felt his knees crumple underneath him and the next thing he knew he was flat on his back breathing heavily, feeling like he was about to vomit.

After a few moments of his head spinning and stomach heaving, he shakily got to his feet. Snape was staring at him as he had never done before. Gone was the loathing replaced with curiosity, and incredulity.

"How did you do that?" he asked immediately.

"Wasn't that what you wanted?" Harry asked, annoyed.

"Answer me."

Harry paused, trying to think back and figure out what he had done, but it had all happened so quickly. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I – it was-"

He stopped and lifted Lamia out from his pocket.

"Did you do that?" he asked her, awed. "How?"

"I don't know," she said her speech slower than usual. "I just knew I wanted to help you. So I did. I don't know what happened."

Snape was staring at her now, putting the pieces together, Parselmouth or not.

"Snakes are said to be natural Legilimens," he said, glittering back eyes fixed on her. "It is said that Salazar Slytherin himself learned from them."

Harry couldn't believe it. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know," she said, sounding very surprised. "I've never done it before. I didn't know I could!"

"How did she manage it though?" Harry asked, so curious he even forgot to be hostile to Snape. "All I did was touch her, and she did it for me."

"She evidently channelled her abilities through your mind," he said. "A result of the bond between you, I suspect." He trailed off, deep in thought. He frowned. "I did not know such a thing was possible. But it explains a great deal, about the Dark Lord's abilities in particular."

Harry gulped, and held on tighter to Lamia. Did this mean Voldemort was starting to influence him? Or was it just a coincidence he had discovered this ability in the same way? The similarities were unnerving.

Snape was still looking at him very strangely. Harry didn't know where to look. He suddenly felt very awkward.

"We shall leave it there for tonight, Potter," he said finally. "We shall resume this lesson on Friday evening at seven, my office. Practice until then. However," he said, suddenly strict. "Do not get complacent. Your little pet may have helped you, but your barrier still only lasted a matter of seconds, so do not think you can get away with not practicing. I shall do some research in the meantime. Perhaps the reptile may come in useful."

Lamia hissed angrily at him, but Harry was just desperate to get away. He flung open the drawing room door and bolted down the steps into the kitchen where he was greeted warmly by everyone there, preparing for a party that could begin now that Harry and Snape had vacated the drawing room. Their Hogwarts letters had come that morning and to everyone's expectations Hermione had been made Prefect, and to their shock, Ron had as well. Though once this might have bothered him, Harry was pleased for his friend. With everything going on right now with prophecies and mind-reading he thought he had quite enough to be getting on with.

"You alright, mate?" Ron asked him later that evening once the party was in full swing. His brand new broomstick was in his hands after he had proudly shown it off to anyone who cared. "You look a little done in."

"I feel it," Harry said, rubbing his scar. "I- I don't like Occlumency very much."

"I don't suppose anyone would like someone probing about in their mind," Hermione said reasonably.

"You don't think Snape's making it difficult on purpose?" Ron asked, glancing over to Snape who had entered the party to speak in urgent tones with Mad-Eye. "You know, making it easier for You-Know-Who to get access?"

"I thought about that," Harry admitted. "But I don't think so. Listen, you won't believe what happened."

They listened wide-eyed as he told them about his strange linkup with Lamia. Hermione gasped.

"I always thought those stories were myths," she said, eyes shining with enthusiasm. "Slytherin pioneered modern legilimancy and he always claimed he learned from snakes, but most modern scholars dismiss it. It's never been proven."

"Yeah, but that's probably because aside from Harry and You-Know-Who there have hardly been any Parselmouths," Ron said. "No one else would have realised the connection, and even if they did they wouldn't go around shouting about it, would they?"

"I suppose not," Hermione said, biting her lip in concentration. "This could be huge, Harry. Lamia could be the key you need to stand up against You-Know-Who!"

Harry stroked Lamia softly, thinking over her words. Could the solution for fighting back against Voldemort really be Lamia? That chance meeting in the Dursley's garden was now looking more and more like it was more than a coincidence.

"But how can snakes be natural Legilimens if she didn't even know about it?" Harry asked.

"I'm not sure, Harry," Hermione said, frowning. "Perhaps it's become a latent ability? Or maybe only snakes in contact with wizards become aware of it. I know I've got a book about this somewhere. I'll do some reading."

The partied wrapped up soon afterwards, and as Harry lay staring at the ceiling of his bedroom he wondered about the implications of this latest discovery. If it was true, then Lamia could protect Harry from Voldemort. But the fact remained, that Voldemort himself had probably also discovered this ability, and apparently used it with Nagini. Was this really a good idea? Was he becoming more like him?

As he thought of this, Lamia slithered over to him and settled herself on the bed sheets, keeping her cold scales away from his skin, but still touching through the sheets.

"Rest now," she said. "Clear your mind, as you are supposed to. If I can help protect you from your dreams, I will. Have no fear."

Harry smiled, and closed his eyes, preparing to surrender himself to the blankness of sleep. If a dreamless night was possible, he knew he could achieve it now.

The next morning was the usual chaotic shambles as five teenagers, their owls, cats, snakes, trunks and adults all tried to congregate in the hall at once. Mrs Black's portrait awoke screaming obscenities several times. After a great deal of kerfuffle and Mrs Weasley's arguments with Sirius in dog-form they were off, he and Mrs Weasley walking through the streets of London towards King's Cross station.

Meeting Tonks along the way disguised as an old woman, they watched Sirius gambol around chasing cats and the journey was fairly uneventful. They arrived at the station in around twenty minutes, and met up with the others at the entrance, who had all come by different routes to throw off any followers. They were just entering the station and making their way towards the barriers when Harry heard someone shouting his name. He turned around and saw to his amazement and joy that Violet and Susie were walking towards him. Tonks and Remus made a move as if to step forwards, perhaps thinking them suspicious, but Harry dispelled their fears by happily moving towards them.

"I hoped I'd catch you here!" Violet said, grinning as she hugged him briefly. "I've been hanging around for ages. I know you get the train from here, but that's about it. You in a rush?"

Harry glanced at the clock overhead. "Nah, still got a few minutes. I'm glad to see you." He turned to Susie, seeing her beaming at him. "You're out of the house!"

"Yeah, long time coming, weren't it?" she said, smiling at Violet. "But I wanted to see you off. Vi says you're going to a boarding school up north somewhere and thought it'd be my last chance."

"How are you?" Violet asked him, surveying him critically. She looked over his shoulder at everyone else as if assessing them. They stared back cluelessly.

"I'm great," Harry said, more or less honestly. "Everything's starting to work out, finally."

"So glad to hear that, kiddo," she said. She paused a moment, glancing at the others. "And … uh, your friend?"

"You mean Lamia?" Harry said. "She's great too. Everyone knows about her now." He heard Lamia hissing from his pocket. "She wants to thank you for this summer. That goes for both of us."

"See, told it would work out," she said grinning.

"I assume you are the people Harry was living with this summer," Mrs Weasley said. Her voice was kind, but there was a steely suspicious note to it, as if she had not quite forgiven them for hiding him from her.

"Yeah, they took me in," Harry said, and he made a quick rush of introductions.

"Love your tattoo," Fred said, looking at the dragon patronus on her arm. "My brother works with them you know. Really cool."

"Works with dragons?" Susie repeated, frowning. "You mean lizards, right? Komodo dragons?"

"No, I mean-"

"Tattoo artists," Harry interrupted, shooting a warning glance at Fred who had only too late realised that Susie was not aware of the magical world.

"Oh, yeah, Charlie's got loads of them."

Harry could almost see Mrs Weasley shudder at the thought.

"I love your dog," Susie said, bending down to scratch Sirius around the ears. "He's adorable!"

Sirius was wagging his tail happily. He barked once, and glanced at Harry, his expression clearly suggesting that he at least forgave them.

"That's Padfoot," Harry chuckled, watching Sirius roll around on the floor happily.

"Blimey, kid. Snakes, dogs, owls ... you could open your own zoo!" Susie said, still rubbing Sirius' belly and looking at Hedwig and Pigwidgeon's cages. "Why d'you have owls anyway? Your school some sort of bird sanctuary?"

"Something like that," Harry said. Remus tapped him on the shoulder then and looked meaningfully at his watch. He sighed. "We need to go get the train, but I'm glad I got to see you. And I'm happy you're feeling better, Susie."

"You too," she said, winking. "What platform you on? We could walk you there."

"That won't be necessary," Remus said, probably sounding a little more harsh than he had intended, since Susie frowned.

"Let him on his way, Susie," Violet said. "He doesn't need us getting in the way."

Susie looked regretful, but she hugged him briefly and then Violet did the same. As she pulled away she spoke to him under her breath so Susie wouldn't hear. "Write, okay? Send the owl to my mum's house and she'll pass it on. Promise?"

"Promise."

"Harry," Remus said more urgently now. "The train-"

"I know," he said. "I'll see you."

Violet nodded. She looked to Ron and Hermione. "You all keep an eye on him, won't you?" she said, her voice colder than before.

"We will," Hermione said, and Ron also nodded. Violet looked satisfied.

"Well then, have fun at Hogwarts!" she said, winking. She turned and left, hand-in-hand with Susie, who said just before she was out of ear-shot: "What kind of a name is Hogwarts?"

Harry watched them for a minute, before allowing himself to be ushered away towards the barrier.

"They seemed nice," Hermione said.

"They are."

Ron was shaking his head. "How did you manage to live with a Muggle that doesn't know anything about magic? Didn't she get suspicious or wonder why you kept on hissing to Lamia?"

"Oddly enough it never came up."

After carefully making their way on to the platform Harry was greeted with the sight of the familiar scarlet steam engine belching smoke over the heads of packed families. He felt his spirits soar … he was really going back …

He waited on the platform for the others to come through and then Mad-Eye was coming towards them pushing their luggage on a trolley, disguised as a porter.

"No trouble?" he growled as he approached. "Good. Sturgis Podmore's getting as unreliable as Mundungus these days. He was supposed to be there this morning."

"What kept him?" Harry asked, and saw Moody exchange a glance with the other adults.

"Sturgis was supposed to be on 'guard duty'," Remus said to him, quietly, and Harry was under no illusions what it was he had been guarding.

"You think he's been caught?" Hermione asked.

"That's what I intend to find out," Mad-Eye said, scowling. "Now you lot, get on that train before it leaves without you."

There was a rush of hurried goodbyes, hugs, handshakes and good wishes as trunks were loaded and people clambered on board. Harry looked at Mr and Mrs Weasley.

"Thanks for everything this summer," he said. "Truly, you have no idea."

"Our pleasure, Harry," Mrs Weasley said, and drew him into another tight hug.

He paused before Sirius, and sunk down to his level. "You too," he said quietly. "I'll miss you."

Sirius whined and rubbed his head up against him. Harry turned back to him from the open window as the train began to move, laughing as he saw him chasing the train joyfully.

"So now I finally get to see this great school of yours," Lamia said from his pocket as he continued waving from the window. "I hope it's worth it."

"It is," Harry said. "This year is going to be tough, but I think I can handle it, as long as I have you and the others."

"Good," she hissed. "I've grown rather attached to you."

"Me too, Lamia."

He turned away from the window as the platform faded from sight, and Harry steamed forwards towards Hogwarts. Hopefully, all his cares, fears and troubles were far behind him now. His future looked far brighter now than it had done at the start of the summer.

And he was ready to face it.