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Harry only means to go back an hour. An hour is all he needs to fix this. He’s fairly sure he remembers how to work the thing, and he’s thrown the chain over his neck and turned it before Lupin or any of the other adults can process what’s happening.
The problem, of course, is that the Time Turners in the Department of Mysteries are not, apparently, the sort of Time Turner that Hermione was given in third year; the sort that lets you go back an hour or two to finish a class (or save a life or two).
Or at least Harry doesn’t think they are, because when he opens his eyes… things are different. He’s not in the Department of Mysteries, for one thing; he’s back in the Forbidden Forest.
For another…
He’s never seen Sirius look quite so young. Or confused. And Sirius has never held a wand to Harry’s throat before.
“You’re not James,” Sirius says before Harry can really process anything. “Don’t get me wrong, whatever spellwork you’ve got going on is immaculate, but James hasn’t got green eyes.”
“I know that,” Harry says, incredulous. “I’m not James. I’ve never even — I’m Harry.”
“I don’t know who Harry is,” Sirius says slowly. His eyes are narrowed to slits, and Harry nearly wants to laugh at how ridiculous this is.
But Sirius is alive.
“Look,” Harry says. “I don’t — I just wanted to tell you not to come to the Department of Mysteries in…” He realises several things all at once.
First, it’s no longer the summer of ninety-six; it’s no longer the nineteen-nineties at all. From Sirius’s face to his hair… well, his robes don’t give much of an indication, but Harry’s never seen anyone with hair like that outside of the seventies. And Sirius looks young. Like, young enough to be his age.
Fuck, is Sirius his age?
“In?”
“I-in the summer of nineteen-ninety-six,” Harry finishes, swallowing as he meets Sirius’s gaze. “Don’t go. I don’t care what anyone says. You’re going to die there, and I’ll be fine without you. Just get the Order to go and — and you’ll survive.”
“I don’t know what Order you’re talking about,” Sirius says, and Harry can’t quite work out whether he’s lying, “but this sounds like the sort of thing my idiot brother would do.” He squints. “Snivellus would never degrade himself to pretending to be a Potter —”
“I’m not pretending!”
“Crouch, then? Rosier? Stop me if I’m getting warm.”
Crouch? “He’s a Death Eater.”
“Water is wet.” Sirius doesn’t lower his wand. “Or at least if he’s not one yet, he will be soon. But you’d know that.”
“I know that because I’m from the future. I’m not James, all right? I’m Harry. James is my dad. Lily Evans is my mum — everyone always says I’ve got her eyes, look!”
Sirius looks, then leans back and laughs. “Oh, definitely not Snivellus, then. This has got Rosier written all over it.”
“I don’t even know who Rosier is,” Harry says. The name rings a bell — based on what Sirius said, Harry’s nearly certain that means he was another Death Eater. A dead one, hopefully. “I’ve told you —”
“Evans’ll kill you for this, you know. And I’d love to see it.”
Before Harry can blink, his hands are bound, and Sirius is grabbing his wand out of his pocket. “Well, it’s not Regulus’s wand, at least. Can’t say I’m too familiar with what his little friends have got.”
Regulus? “Your brother.”
“My idiot brother.” Sirius grabs him by the back of his robes and marches him out of the forest. “Like you don’t know.”
“I only know because you told me. He was one of them. A Death Eater. And he died, and you don’t really talk about it.”
Sirius’s grip on his robes tightens. “That isn’t funny.”
“I’m not being funny. I’m telling you —”
“Silencio!”
The words stick in Harry’s throat.
“Don’t think I’m taking you to Dumbledore, either.”
Harry wonders just what he’s gotten himself into. He has plenty of time to run through his options as Sirius marches him back to the castle. He has to say something only Sirius knows. Something Sirius would have told him that this Sirius would know, too, not just something that the Sirius he knows would know.
And then it comes to him.
The Map.
He can tell him he knows about the Map. He even knows the words to open it. No one in Slytherin knows that, surely. Snape definitely doesn’t. Only Fred and George sorted it out without being told directly, and Harry’s fairly sure they managed it by insulting Snape, or something.
But right now, if Sirius is his age… the Map must be brand new. No one outside of Sirius and his dad and Lupin and Wormtail would know about it, much less how it works. And, now that Harry is thinking of it, the Map should show his name where he’s standing, just like it had for Wormtail.
Wait.
Wormtail.
Harry might be able to fix more than just Sirius’s death. He just has to sort out how to convince Sirius of it — and whoever Sirius is taking him to, because Sirius is definitely taking him to someone. He wishes Hermione were there; she’d be able to sort it out and fix everything without missing a beat. (Or, then again, maybe she wouldn’t interfere much at all, for fear of ruining the timeline. Harry doesn’t care about that; not if he might be able to save his parents as well as Sirius.)
He’s so caught up in his thoughts — in what he has to do to fix everything — that he doesn’t really pay attention to where Sirius takes him. When they stop and he looks around, he doesn’t recognise anything.
All he can assume is that he’s in one of the secret spaces his dad and his friends had found around the castle.
He sort of expects his dad and Lupin and Wormtail to show up, so he’s a bit surprised when Sirius leaves (after tying him up, of course, like Harry is going anywhere) and returns a few minutes later with none other than Harry’s mum. Or at least, it must be Harry’s mum. She’s around his age, too, but he recognises her immediately.
She doesn’t notice him at first; she’s too busy arguing with Sirius.
“I swear, Black, if this is some ploy of Potter’s…” she says.
“It’s not,” Sirius says. “I think it has to do with your greasy little friend, actually.”
“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you.”
So Snape probably hasn’t called her the M-word yet. That’s good to know. It helps Harry place when, exactly, he is. Has Sirius run away yet? He can’t even ask.
“Just look.” Sirius gestures to where Harry is sitting.
His teenage mother’s jaw drops. “What on earth are you playing at?”
“He’s claiming he’s your and James’s kid, and we both know that’s impossible.” Sirius rolls his eyes, as if the idea is ridiculous. He remembers what Sirius — his Sirius — said about his parents, and what he saw in Snape’s memory, and it doesn’t quite add up.
He sort of thought Sirius would be on board with his parents getting together.
Lily is frowning, and then, with a wave of her wand, she unbinds him. “I think it’s best if you explain yourself,” she says.
Sirius sighs. “Hold on.” He points his wand at Harry and performs the countercharm.
The problem is that Harry has no idea what to say. Sirius, he’s fairly sure he could manage, but his mother…
To his embarrassment, he can feel tears welling up. He clears his throat and tries to shake the emotions that are threatening to overwhelm him. He has to be smart about this. He has to sort out what Hermione would do in his situation. She wouldn’t get emotional, and she definitely wouldn’t cling to Lily like Harry desperately wants to.
“Well?” Lily asks.
Harry takes a deep breath. “I was in the Department of Mysteries, and — and Sirius died, and I grabbed a Time Turner to try to fix things — just go back an hour, and instead, it took me up here and back… now. I’m from ninety-six. I haven’t even been born yet.”
“I’m going to disregard your insistence that you’re mine and Potter’s son for now,” she says. “What were you doing in the Department of Mysteries?”
Fuck. “I have — visions. And I saw Voldemort capturing Sirius. I went to save him, and — it turns out it was a false vision.”
“Great,” Sirius says. “We have a Seer.”
“I’m not a Seer,” Harry protests. He knows he has to tell them the truth. He just hopes that if they believe him, they don’t write him off as a collaborator. “It’s — it’s some sort of weird connection I have with… with Voldemort. I can see what he sees sometimes, but he tricked me.”
That piques Sirius’s interest. He leans in to examine Harry’s forehead. “Interesting scar. Actually…” Harry can all but see the gears turning in Sirius’s mind. Then Sirius freezes, grin sliding off his face.
“What?” Lily asks.
Sirius shakes his head. “I must be wrong.”
“Enlighten us,” Lily says.
The strange thing is Sirius looks pained. “Look, Evans, you know I don’t agree with my family. I hate them. But… it’s not as if I’ve never picked up any of the books we had in our library out of morbid curiosity and sheer boredom when I’m stuck there.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
Harry doesn’t follow, either.
“It’s impossible,” Sirius says firmly.
“What is?”
His gaze on Harry is piercing. “You said you’ve never even… when I mentioned James. Everyone says you have Lily’s eyes — which, yeah, side by side…” He tilts his head. “I’ve only heard of scars like the one you have. But it’s — it’s happened maybe once in history. But…”
While Harry knows he’s confused, Lily doesn’t seem like she’s following yet, either. “Enough with the dramatics, Black. Just explain.”
“It’s not a secret that Voldemort wants to live forever, like Grindelwald. Only… Grindelwald chased the Deathly Hallows.”
“I know that,” Lily says. “You’re not the only one in this school passing History of Magic.”
“There’s another way to secure immortality.”
“The Philosopher’s Stone?” Lily guesses.
“He tried that,” Harry says. “He couldn’t get to it, and Flamel destroyed it in the end.”
“I’ll ask how you know that later,” Sirius says. He looks troubled. “You’re really not one of my idiot brother’s friends, are you?”
“I’m really not,” Harry swears.
Sirius takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Okay. Ironically, I sort of wish he were here to see this. It might actually change his mind.”
“I don’t get it,” Harry says.
“Have either of you heard of Horcruxes before?”
Harry frowns, but it’s Lily who says, “No. What’s that?”
“Evil dark magic. I — I can’t stress enough how evil it is. It’s worse than killing a unicorn. It’s… you split your soul and bind it to an object. As long as the object exists — and it’s damn near impossible to destroy — you’ll never truly die.”
Oh. Oh, no. “Fuck,” Harry says.
“Something to share with the class?” Sirius asks. His tone is light, but his gaze is heavy.
Harry takes a deep breath. “He tried to kill me when I was a baby. He failed. But he didn’t really die. He kept finding ways to come back, and… last year — my last year — he stole my blood to bring himself fully back to life.”
“How did he fail?” Sirius asks.
Harry can’t look at Lily — at his mum — as he says it. “My mum saved my life. She sacrificed herself, putting herself between Voldemort and me. He killed her — killed you,” he says softly to Lily, “but when he tried to kill me, the spell rebounded.”
“That’s why you have the scar,” Sirius says.
Harry nods. “Yeah.”
“And that’s why you can see what he sees. I bet anything a shard of his soul attached itself to you.”
“You said it’s bound to an object,” Lily says. “He’s not an object. He’s a person.”
“It can be bound to something living. But…” He looks Harry over. “You’ll have to die for him to die, too.”
Harry shivers. “That can’t be right,” he says, but his voice is weak. Is this why Voldemort needed his blood? Harry thought it was just so he could touch him without burning, but if what Sirius is saying is right…
“I take back what I said,” Sirius says. “We have to tell Dumbledore. This is above my pay grade.”
“How sure are you, Black?”
Sirius looks at Harry. “Eighty percent?”
“And what do you think?” She turns to Harry. “I’m so sorry — I didn’t get your name.”
“Harry,” he says. “And I think going to Dumbledore might be a good idea. But first…” He clears his throat. “You can’t trust Wormtail.” At Lily’s blank look, he adds, “Pettigrew. You can’t trust him. He’s going to join the Death Eaters, and he’s why you and my dad die. He talked you into being your Secret-Keeper so he could sell you out. I swear, I’m not joking. I know he’s one of your best friends, Sirius, but you can’t trust him.”
Sirius doesn’t say anything for a moment. When he finally does speak, he says, “Let’s just go to Dumbledore. Maybe he’ll even know how to get you back.”
What choice does Harry have?
As the three of them walk up to Dumbledore’s office, Lily says, “I’m still not sure how I feel about the whole Potter thing, but… I have no reason to believe that you’re lying, and… I wish I could have been there for you.”
“You’re not more concerned about the fact that you die before you’re twenty-five?” Harry asks.
“It’s concerning; I won’t lie. But I know how important family is, and… actually, who raised you? Black? Lupin?”
Sirius looks over, clearly interested in Harry’s answer.
Harry looks down at his feet. “Your sister. Aunt Petunia.”
“Tuney?” Lily sounds… well, nearly disgusted. It’s not something he expected from her, but then again… he doesn’t know her at all, does he? He knows Sirius, or at least an older version, but all he’s ever actually seen of his mother comes from that memory of Snape’s. God knows Aunt Petunia avoided talking about her at all costs.
“That’s worse than giving Regulus a kid,” Sirius says.
“Shut up, Black; she’s not your sister.”
“Come on, Evans. Everyone knows about her. Just like everyone knows about the idiot in my family. They’re both bigoted shites. How’d she treat you, Harry?”
Harry wants to lie; he wants to put Lily and Sirius both at ease. He nearly does, but then he makes the mistake of looking at them, and he can’t hide the truth. “She treated me badly.” It’s an understatement; he can’t bring himself to tell them the whole truth. “You — Sirius, you offered to let me live with you, but… Wormtail framed you for his murder, and you had to go on the run, and… and then you died.”
This time, the tears do spring to Harry’s eyes. Sirius is dead. He might be alive, here and now, but his Sirius is dead, and it’s all his fault. If he’d never gone to the Department of Mysteries…
Sirius takes him by the arm and drags him into an alcove before pulling him into a hug. “I might not know you yet, but I know no one deserves to grow up like that. I’ll — we’ll save your parents, okay? And I’ll always be there for you. I promise.”
He doesn’t know why Sirius is suddenly so invested, but then… it comes to him. He remembers Sirius’s mother’s portrait. He remembers how sullen Sirius was in that house. He can see how Sirius talks about his brother. He remembers how excited Sirius was to take him away from the Dursleys; he remembers what Sirius said about his parents.
It all clicks.
It makes him feel worse. He all but collapses into Sirius’s arms. It’s weird; he’s not used to this sort of physical affection, and he gets the feeling Sirius isn’t, either, but… it’s nice. Sirius is alive, at least here and now, and maybe… maybe they can fix the future.
Harry hopes so.
It’s selfish, and maybe a bit awful, but… doesn’t he deserve better than what he’s had to endure to this point in his life? Doesn’t he deserve parents and Sirius and a real family who loves him and is able to support him? All at once, he has visions of playing Quidditch with his dad — who he still hasn’t met — and cooking with his mum, and of Sirius sneaking him out to Muggle London.
He wants it.
He wants it so badly that he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he’s only ever going to have this brief taste of what it means to be loved; to have family. Finally.
Eventually, he manages to collect himself and he pulls away. He’s sure his face is bright red. “Sorry,” he says.
“There’s nothing to apologise for,” Sirius says. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
What is he meant to say to that? I’m sorry you know what it’s like, too? In front of Lily (who, he gets the feeling, Sirius is not particularly close with yet)?
So he clears his throat and says, “Thanks.” He rubs his eyes with his sleeve. “I think we should go to Dumbledore now.”
“You’re all right?” Sirius asks, and it’s such a departure from how he was not even an hour ago that Harry knows he’s got through to him.
He has to have.
He can’t go back to a world where Sirius is dead. Especially since it’s all his fault.
“What’s that ticking noise?” Lily asks.
Harry steps back from Sirius. He hears it, too. He looks down. “I think it’s coming from this.” He holds up the Time Turner. Oh, fuck, the Time Turner. He has no idea how to get back to the present — to the nineties — and when he tries to remember how he and Hermione managed it before…
They simply waited it out.
He can’t wait out two decades. There’s no way.
“Is it meant to do that?” Sirius asks. He glances over at Lily.
“Don’t ask me; I’ve never had one.”
“Neither have I. No reason to overachieve when you’re as naturally gifted as I am.” He grins.
Lily scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Typical.”
“Am I wrong, Evans?”
The ticking is getting louder. Louder, and louder until…
Until Harry blinks and Lily and Sirius are no longer in front of him. Fortunately, before he can panic too much, he sees Nearly Headless Nick floating by, and… well, it’s simple from there, really.
“Nick!” he calls. “I know this sounds mad, but what year is it?”
Nick actually doesn’t look that confused. He just says, “It’s nineteen-ninety-six. Why?”
“No time,” Harry says. He’s at Hogwarts. He has to get back to the dormitory — back to Gryffindor Tower. There’s no sneaking off to get back to the Department of Mysteries, at this rate, so he can only hope that he’s managed to come back without abandoning everyone he cares about.
The truth is, he doesn’t truly expect anything to have changed. Not deep down. He’s been used to too much disappointment to really truly believe that things will be better.
Maybe, he lets himself hope, Sirius might be alive. Maybe he’s managed to do that much. Maybe nothing’s changed at all. He tries his best to prepare for that possibility; that this whole adventure was pointless.
He didn’t even get a chance to ask Dumbledore about Sirius’s Horcrux theory, after all, or anything else, for that matter, to say nothing about Wormtail and how to save his parents, but this… surely Sirius remembered and listened to him. Surely Sirius is alive.
Right?
He takes the steps two at a time and gives the password to get into Gryffindor Tower. None of his friends are in the common room, so he goes straight up to his dormitory, where he finds his roommates who are packing desperately. Ron and Neville are both obviously uninjured. It gives Harry hope. If they’re not injured, maybe they never went to the Department of Mysteries at all. Maybe Sirius is alive.
“Harry, where’d you wander off to?” Seamus asks when he notices him.
“Er, last-minute Quidditch thing,” Harry lies.
Fortunately, they all seem to accept this. No one asks any questions, anyway, which is about as much as he can hope for.
“You’ve got to promise me you’ll visit over hols,” Ron says. “I’ll go mad otherwise.”
Visit him? Yes, maybe Harry has gotten permission to do that exactly once — and, yeah, been broken out or run away or, well, any number of things — but his aunt and uncle are going to be at their wit’s end after the past year, and he’s not sure the Order will be so willing to break him out this year.
“I’ll try,” Harry says instead; it’s all he can promise, especially when he doesn’t know what’s going on. After a moment, he realises he’s still wearing the Time Turner, so he tucks it inside his shirt as discreetly as possible.
Nothing in the dormitory looks obviously different, but then it wouldn’t if Sirius survived, would it? He can count his friends who know Sirius is innocent on both hands, and Dean and Seamus aren’t on the list.
Ron grins. “Good.”
Harry turns his attention to his trunk, shoving things in haphazardly; he can organise it later. After all, it’s not like he has much to do at the Dursleys’. But just to be safe, he doesn’t mention anything about home. He doesn’t want to invite any questions, just in case things have changed. Maybe he’s going back to Grimmauld Place instead of Privet Drive; maybe he’s going to see Sirius again.
He doesn’t even let himself hope that he saved his parents. That’s too far. If he lets himself think that way, it’ll only hurt worse when he’s wrong.
He knows better.
Harry’s life has been filled with a lot of bitter disappointment, after all. His plans to live with Sirius after third year were dashed by Wormtail’s escape, and it was only because Hermione had a Time Turner that they were able to save Sirius’s life at all.
And then this time…
It’s better not to let himself hope in the first place. Not yet. Maybe not ever at all.
None of his friends mention anything that could give him any indication one way or the other on whether things have changed at all. All he can piece together is that they probably didn’t go to the Department of Mysteries, so Sirius might actually be alive.
Or maybe Sirius died in Harry’s third year. Maybe he never even got these extra two years of his love and support.
That idea hurts too much to think of.
He finishes packing and heads down to the carriages. Harry can still see the thestrals. Does that mean anything, or is it just because he’s replaced whatever Harry in this timeline who has never seen death firsthand?
He has a feeling he hasn’t done much of anything at all.
He boards the carriage and tries not to think about it too much. He tries his best to focus on his friends and what they’re saying — which, as it turns out, is mostly related to exams. Shit, did he even sit his O.W.L.s? He must have, right?
Hermione is worried that she might have failed something, which they all know is ridiculous.
“There’s no way you didn’t get straight O’s,” Ron says, not for the first time.
“But I know I mixed up at least one plant identification!”
“That’s nothing compared to how I probably did in History of Magic,” Neville says, sounding a bit miserable.
“Hermione’s the only one of us who passed History of Magic,” Ron says dismissively.
“I think Ron’s right,” Harry says. He definitely didn’t pass it.
“Don’t know why they don’t just retire Binns,” Ron says. “Not that I think I’d keep on with it, anyway, but he definitely doesn’t help.”
Hermione looks like she’s about to argue, but then she sighs. “I do think more people should be passing,” she admits.
“Because Binns is a shit teacher,” Ron says.
“Well,” Hermione says, clearly trying her best not to take the bait, “I’m just glad that I dropped Divination when I did.”
“Definitely failed that, too,” Ron says. “Harry?”
“I’m mostly focused on the courses I’d need to be an Auror,” he says honestly. After all, if things have changed, does he really know what life choices he’d have made? Maybe he didn’t take the same electives at all.
He wishes there were an easy way to know. He knows he could confide in Ron and Hermione… and probably Neville, Luna, and Ginny, too, but… would they think he’s gone mad?
Hermione would probably believe him after some questions. Ron would think he was joking at first. Maybe Neville would, too. Luna would definitely believe him, and he doesn’t even think she’d have any questions. Ginny might think he’d gone mad.
“You all right, Harry?” Neville asks.
“Fine,” Harry says.
“Are you sure?” Ginny asks.
He weighs his options. “What would you say if I said I time travelled?”
“Time travel is possible within a few hours,” Hermione says. “But I’m not sure if it’s possible beyond that.”
“Of course it is,” Luna says.
Harry pulls the Time Turner out from under his shirt. “I… it’s a long story, but I got this from the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic.”
“What the hell were you doing there?” Ron asks.
“I was trying to save Sirius.” He doesn’t know if he has to explain who Sirius is, but fortunately, everyone seems to recognise his name. “A-and I failed, so I knew — Hermione, you had one of these in third year, and I thought if I used one, I could go back an hour or two and stop Sirius from dying.”
“But we didn’t go to the Department of Mysteries, Harry,” Hermione says.
“I know.” Harry swallows. “I sorted that out when Ron and Neville weren’t hurt when I got back.”
“Back from where?” Hermione asks.
“Or when,” Luna corrects.
Hermione looks slightly annoyed, but she doesn’t argue. She waits for Harry to answer.
“The seventies. I’m not sure when, exactly. But I ran into Sirius… and my mum, and… and I think I changed more than the Department of Mysteries.”
He thinks the fact that his friends all believe him speaks more to their loyalty than anything else, because his story is objectively mad, and he’s sure that only Luna would ever believe it from anyone else… and that’s just because she’s Luna.
Hermione is the one who speaks first. “So what happened? I mean, what do you remember? From before?”
“You mean before I went back in time?”
“Yes. What was your life like? We can help you.”
Harry looks down at his lap. This is the moment of truth, isn’t it? “My parents died when I was a baby; they were killed by Voldemort after being betrayed by their friend Peter Pettigrew. Sirius went after Pettigrew and got framed for his murder, but Pettigrew went into hiding as Ron’s pet rat. Sirius broke out of Azkaban in our third year so he could kill him, but we stopped him, only he had to go on the run, and… and we went to the Department of Mysteries to save him. His cousin Bellatrix killed him instead.”
“I never had a pet rat,” Ron says after a moment’s silence.
Harry’s heart pounds. “And the rest?” He still doesn’t look up. Pettigrew not ending up with the Weasleys doesn’t mean everything had changed.
“You never had to save Sirius. He was never on the run, or in Azkaban at all,” Hermione says.
“I don’t know who the hell Peter Pettigrew is,” Ron goes on, “but he definitely wasn’t pretending to be a pet I never had.”
“I don’t really know how to say this,” Hermione says.
“Your parents are alive,” Luna says. “They’re very nice. Your dad subscribes to The Quibbler. Did that still exist in your old timeline?”
“They’re — they’re alive?” Harry asks. He sort of forgets how to breathe for a moment.
“They’re alive,” Hermione says softly. “Voldemort is gone, too.”
He wonders whether to bring up the Horcruxes, but… he decides to ask Sirius, instead. Sirius is the one who brought up the possibility. And Sirius is alive, so Harry can ask him. Evidently he and Harry’s mum did remember. Maybe they’ll remember everything, and won’t ask questions when Harry starts asking about Horcruxes.
“I can’t believe it,” Harry says instead, because he really can’t believe it.
He didn’t expect it to work.
Before he’s fully aware of what’s going on, Hermione moves toward him and wraps him in a hug. She rubs his back. “I don’t think I can even begin to understand how you’re feeling, Harry,” she says, “but we’re all here for you, all right?”
Harry nods. “Thanks, ‘Mione. I’m glad you’re all still my friends.”
“Of course we are,” Ron says from his spot, as if something as small as a major change in the timeline would be enough to keep them apart.
And maybe it wouldn’t be. It certainly hasn’t been in this case, and he’s incredibly grateful for it.
He still has a million questions about the way things have changed, and, as it turns out, his friends are happy to fill in the blanks.
By the time the Hogwarts Express pulls into Platform 9¾, Harry thinks he’s ready. He grabs his trunk and follows Ron and Neville out of the car… and sure enough, his parents and Sirius are waiting for him on the platform.
He just barely remembers to drag his trunk along with him as he hurries to greet them. He throws his arms around Sirius first.
“What am I, chopped liver?” his dad — his dad! — asks, but his tone is light and obviously joking.
Harry blinks back tears and goes in to hug both of his parents.
“I missed you,” he says, and he means it more than they could ever know.