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Chapter Text

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Prologue

Harry felt drained, he felt sick.

His parents were dead because of a prophecy.

Neville's parents were worse than dead because of a prophecy.

Sirius was dead…

Because of a prophecy.

Harry was numb, too tired to be angry, too shocked to grieve.

For once it wasn't him but his friends who were in the hospital wing, because of Harry.

And really, despite all that Dumbledore had said, it all fell back on Harry, his responsibility.

His fault.

By the time he got to the hospital wing, it was late. Luckily, Madame Pomfrey didn't shoo him away.

He went to each bed his friends were in, however, it was only in the last bed at the end of the ward, that someone was awake to greet him.

Harry sat down at Luna's bedside, and she greeted him with a soft smile, "Hi, Harry."

"Hi, Luna," he croaked.

Her smile fell, "Are you alright? Your voice…"

He waved it away, "I was yelling at Dumbledore."

"That must have felt cathartic."

He shrugged, "It doesn't undo anything."

"I wish I could help you make it right."

He sighed, "I wish I knew then what I know now."

She took his hand with one of hers. Her skin was soft beneath his callouses.

Yet in the gesture, she revealed something she had been holding. Something that glowed silver and purple-blue.

"What's that?" he asked.

"She's a fairy, I think."

"Where are her wings?" Harry asked, having seen fairies before, but never one that seemed to radiate with visible magic like a mist haloing her.

"I don't know," Luna said. "I found her trapped in one of the rooms of the Department of Mysteries."

Harry scowled, "Sometimes, I hate wizards."

Luna's gaze fell, "Humans can be quite awful, can't we?"

Harry nodded and the fairy stood looking between them both with a curious expression.

"What are we going to do?" Harry asked, more of himself, and the world than of Luna.

She squeezed his hand, "You're not alone."

He met her gaze, "Thank you, Luna."

She blinked her large eyes at him, "For what?"

"For being my friend. You kept me from losing my mind this year."

Her eyes went impossibly wide and her next words tore his heart open, "I did? I didn't know I could do that. I've never had friends before."

Harry's words stuck on the back of his tongue, and even if Harry wasn't much of a hugger, it felt like the only possible response to that. Letting go of her hand, he gently leant over the bed to wrap her in a hug.

"Well now you do," he said into her soft hair as she hugged him back.

The air changed around them and he opened his eyes to a light, a bright, bright blue light.

Harry pulled back, he had enough time to exchange a look with Luna and then turn his gaze down to the fairy who was the source of the light.

Light like the heart of a newly born star.

The hospital wing was blotted out.

Harry and Luna shielded their eyes against the glare, and the world itself fell away.

Chapter 1 - Turnabout

Harry woke with a start.

It was dark but not quiet, Ron's distinctive snore rumbled in the bed beside him.

Harry sighed, he had no memory of going to bed but when he sat up, reaching for his glasses, he realized he was no longer in the hospital wing, nor even his dormitory.

Harry moved through the darkened room slowly, the floorboards creaking beneath his bare feet.

He was in Grimmauld Place.

But why would he be here?

He stopped on the landing and closed the door as quietly as he could.

"Well you're up early."

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as he spun round to see Sirius, alive and grinning at him.

Tears filled Harry's eyes as he realized this was a dream that would end in a nightmare no matter what followed. He could not guess whether, like in most waking dreams, it would chase his worst thoughts, or it would be so much crueller, and be something he would never wish to wake from.

"Harry?" Sirius asked, smile faltering.

"I'm so sorry, Sirius."

Sirius put a hand on his shoulder.

It felt so real .

"What could you possibly have to be sorry for, son?"

Harry's throat was still raw from his 'discussion' with Dumbledore as he forced out the words, "I'm sorry for all of it, for not waiting, for being stupid, for not trusting Snape and Hermione. It's my fault you're dead. It's— I just— I couldn't lose you too, but that's—"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, Harry," Sirius said, leading him down the stairs. "Did you get taller?"

"I'm sorry," Harry said, voice small.

Sirius squeezed his shoulder, "S'alright, I'm not dead. No need to be sorry for anything. We'll get some tea and Molly will be up with breakfast in a bit."

"I'm dreaming," Harry stated.

Sirius's hand tightened further, "You were dreaming. But it's all going to be alright. After all, it's the beginning of a new day and a new year at Hogwarts."

"Worst year ever," Harry said glumly, lowering his voice so as to not wake Sirius's mother, who hopefully wasn't really there. "Didn't think it could get worse than the Triwizard tournament, but I was wrong. I'd rather face a hundred horntails."

"Oooo-kaaay, now you're starting to sound like Moony and I'm officially worried," Sirius said with a brittle smile as they entered the kitchen.

"You're dead," Harry informed him.

Sirius frowned at him, "I'm not though."

"Then are we both dead?" Harry asked, almost hopeful.

He didn't remember dying, but if he was dead, then he never had to wake up, right?

Sirius didn't answer Harry, just pushed him down into a seat at the table. He rushed over to the kitchen counter, wand out.

Lupin was there too, sitting across from him, the man's soft expression instantly turning wary as he examined him, "Harry, are you alright? You look as though you just walked out of a war zone."

"Death Eaters suck," Harry agreed.

"Harry thinks I'm dead," Sirius said, coming back to the table with a mug of hot tea, a carton of milk and a small bowl of sugar balanced in his hands, his wand sticking out of his breast pocket.

"And why do you think that?" Lupin asked peaceably.

"Because I'm an idiot who isn't allowed to have family, obviously. At least not the decent sort at any rate," Harry snarked.

"Harry," Lupin chided.

He rolled his eyes at the man, "You were there ."

"Remind me," Lupin challenged.

"No," Harry said.

" Harry ," Lupin scolded.

"Did Dumbledore tell you I used the Cruciatus Curse on her?" Harry shot back, affronted that Lupin would take that tone with him here and now.

Both Marauders froze, like deer in headlights.

Harry was amused by their shock. Harry was too happy to see Sirius, so he knew this had to be Heaven, but talking about dark magic seemed to be against the rules.

It seemed not even in the afterlife could Harry stay out of trouble.

Oh, well.

He wondered if when this talk was over (Sorry you're dead now, Harry, we're going to ease you into it so you don't make a fool of yourself in front of Lily and James) he would be allowed to see them.

It was rather thoughtful of them to give him a bit of an adjustment period.

Heaven was kind of awesome, a little underwhelming, but awesome all the same.

"On who?" Lupin asked.

Harry rolled his eyes again, "Gee, I don't know, who do you think?"

"I don't really know what to think right now," Lupin said, eyes sharp. "The Harry I know would never use an Unforgivable."

"Well," Harry said. "Despite being the only one out of my father's friends who had the opportunity, you never did bother to get to know me all that well, did you, Professor?"

Maybe Harry was still a little bitter about the guilt trip Lupin had given him in third year.

Your parents gave their lives to keep you alive, Harry. A poor way to repay them — gambling their sacrifice for a bag of magic tricks.

Who was he to talk to when he didn't even trust Sirius enough to ensure his friend got a trial? Or at the very least, advocate for it. No, everyone had blamed Sirius because he was a Black even though he had spent his whole life proving he was nothing like them.

It was like someone assuming Harry was like the Dursleys.

He shuddered at the thought.

Lupin let out a long breath, "Harry, I know—"

"You're going to tell me," Harry interrupted, quickly losing patience. "Either that 'Dumbledore told me not to' or that I could have contracted lycanthropy through the mail. If the former, then sod off, if the latter, I really think you should have covered that in class."

Lupin was staring at him, shocked.

"Um, I see you're a happy morning person then," Tonks said, managing to get through the door before tripping over a chair.

"Can I see Mum and Dad now?" Harry asked.

"Harry," Sirius said, taking his hand in both of his. "Listen to me; you are not dead. "

Harry couldn't look at him, couldn't even raise his voice as he replied, "Don't lie to me, Sirius."

"I'm not," Sirius coaxed, putting Harry's hands around the mug. "Drink the tea, your voice is hurting my throat."

Harry sipped the tea whose temperature was safe to drink thanks to the milk and sugar Sirius had generously added for him.

It was good.

"Who did you use that curse on?" Lupin asked.

Harry rolled his eyes and took another gulp of the Heaven tea before he answered, "Bellatrix Lestrange."

The three adults went still, as if they had forgotten how to breathe.

Harry took another swig of tea, it did feel good on his throat.

God, he was tired, it wasn't right that you could be dead and tired at the same time, surely one had to negate the other?

"Bellatrix Lestrange is in prison," Lupin said.

Harry snorted, "Sure, why not."

"I'm serious, Harry—"

"Really?" Harry cut in, "I thought you were Remus Lupin. Roman Wolf Wolf."

Sirius and Tonks coughed on laughter.

Lupin glared at him, "Enough of Sirius's puns, the Cruciatus Curse is no laughing matter."

Harry shook his head, looking down into his tea, "She laughed."

"She who?" Sirius asked.

"Bellatrix Lestrange, she laughed; at you, at me, at my spells and curses. She said I wasn't doing it properly. That I needed to mean it."

"Mean what?" Tonks asked.

Harry looked up at her, "I needed to want it, to want to cause her pain. And I did want to hurt her, but not like she did. She said righteous anger wasn't enough."

"Okay, okay," Sirius said. "We need to roll back, how did this nightmare start?"

Harry focused on him, he looked rough for a man who was supposed to be in Heaven, and raised a brow, "You mean Cedric dying or when we lost Wormtail or when Wormtail turned traitor? You know, I never asked Mrs. Weasley, but is she going to be the one to get him now? Because really, I feel like it's her and Mr. Diggory who must have dibs at this point."

Sirius blinked, "No, I mean the nightmare where you and I die? The one you think we are still stuck in."

"Oh," Harry said, thinking back. "Uh, sometime before Christmas, I think. Dumbledore said it was when you told Kreacher to get out, he ran to Bellatrix and that's how Voldemort learned that you're the person I care most about in the world and would do anything for. That's a little bit unfair to Hermione and Ron, but they were at Hogwarts so…" He took a breath, "So that's why you're dead, because I cared about you."

Sirius stared at him, "Harry…"

Mrs. Weasley bustled into the room then, causing them all to jump. "Oh, good, Harry, you're up. Is Ron— oh my, you look… horrid. No, sit down, we'll get some food in you, and if you hurry you will have enough time to take a shower before we leave. You're packed, right?"

Mr. Weasley, followed by Alastor Moody, Fred, George, Ginny, and Hermione came in next.

Harry blinked, "Okay, now I feel like I'm missing something; we can't all be dead. Madame Pomfrey is too good to have lost all of us."

Everyone stopped in their tracks to look at Harry with perturbed expressions.

Except for Moody, who grinned his gnarled grin of his, "Now you're starting to use that brain of yours, Potter. Never stop questioning reality, that's how they get you."

"They who?" Tonks asked.

" They!" Moody exclaimed.

What was the last thing Harry remembered? he wondered as he drank his too real tea, in this too real kitchen that was too grubby to be a part of Heaven and not awful enough to be hell.

"We need to contact Dumbledore," Lupin said.

"Hate to break it to you," Harry said. "But if this is just me having a dream-nightmare-thing, he's not going to care."

Lupin stood, "Harry, don't be foolish—"

"Said the werewolf who forgot which night was the full moon," Harry snapped.

Lupin's jaw dropped.

" Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, horrified at his rudeness.

"Come on, Hermione, we got saved by Snape and Sirius, then time travelling, then Buckbeak, meanwhile there was a perfectly brewed potion sitting on his desk," Harry said, his thoughts snagging on his own words; time travel.

A flash of white-blue light sparked in his memories.

Lupin's shoulders sagged, "I am sorry, Harry."

"You ought to be," Mrs. Weasley said sharply, though her next words softened the blow. "You deprived the school of a very fine DADA professor."

"Still amazing that our best DA teacher to date was a Death Eater," Harry said, pushing to see how far he could test this vision-dream that maybe was something else altogether.

Lupin frowned at him and no one else protested save Moody who said, "Barty Jr. was a psychotic genius."

"To be fair, Snape is both of those things, and he sucks at teaching," Harry said idly, remembering visiting the hospital wing last night at Hogwarts.

"He's a brilliant potions Master," Lupin defended.

"Doesn't mean he's good with kids," Harry countered.

"Alright, alright, you all need to get some food in you and get going," Mrs. Weasley said, shushing everyone.

The adults and Hermione kept flashing Harry worried looks, but Harry wasn't thinking about them, he was thinking about last night; —about Luna.

And the glowing fairy.

And the wishes Harry and Luna had made.

She had said, I wish I could help you make it right.

And he had said, I wish I knew then what I know now.

It wouldn’t be the first time he had time travelled. He shouldn't be this surprised.

But it was him, so he knew, down deep in his bones, that whatever wish was ever granted, there would always be a catch. A catch big enough to make the wish not worth making.

But on the plus side to being alive, and Sirius being alive, and getting another chance, it would appear he had managed to thoroughly psyche out the Order of the Phoenix.

A perturbed Lupin and Molly who were exchanging worried glances and an almost chipper Moody who was gruffly explaining the vagaries of who 'they' were to Tonks in nondescript detail.

Dumbledore was going to be very confused by today's report. That thought alone helped Harry get through the morning of a day he had lived before.

He made a solemn vow to himself and to Hogwarts, that whatever happened this time round, he would make sure to cause as many headaches as he possibly could.

Turnabout was fair play, after all.

oOo

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Chapter Text

AN: This chapter has been edited, join us on Discord for more details.

FREE Audio Recording: This chapter has been read by and edited by Sam Gaberial. https://discord.gg/BNMEXM9RBB

Chapter 2 - Mimbulus Mimbletonia

Harry proceeded to eat breakfast in silence, ignoring the wary looks being aimed his way.

At this point he was pretty certain it was time travel and not that he was dead, the final straw being the scar on the back of his hand that he tucked beneath the table.

I must not tell lies.

Yeah, he was pretty sure the afterlife wouldn't have included that .

Sirius worried gaze flicked to him but he didn't press him with any more questions or reassurances.

Once Harry had eaten he was shooed off to get ready. The water was cold, so it was a quick shower.

By the time he was cleaned up and on the stairs, Fred and George had begun helping with the baggage.

Harry jumped down four steps and pinned Ginny to the wall as trunks came soaring down the stairs.

"Thanks," Ginny whispered as Harry pulled back, her cheeks were flaming pink.

"Don't mention it," Harry said as he picked up his own luggage and rolled his eyes as Sirius's mother started lambasting their inappropriate behaviour.

“ Defiling my house! Dirty spawn of ungrateful, ill-mannered, half-witted, blood-traitors!”

Harry helped Ginny with the owl cages as they made their way downstairs.

Sirius was hopping around as a black dog, though not as energetic as he had once been.

"No, absolutely not," Mrs. Weasley said.

"Can we change his fur colour, make him look like a golden retriever or a lab or something?" Harry asked.

Mrs. Weasley's expression faltered.

Moody grunted. "Maybe make him smaller?"

Sirius growled and bared his teeth to the retired Auror’s amusement.

Tonks pulled her wand, "I can do it."

"Fine," Mrs. Weasley agreed.

Sirius sat very still as Tonks worked her magic. A minute or so later, Sirius's black fur turned to gold and his curls straightened.

Harry went to his knees and hugged Sirius tightly. Sirius rested his muzzle on Harry's shoulder.

"Alright," Mrs. Weasley said, "let's go."

Harry hung on a moment longer.

He wouldn't let Sirius die this time.

Sirius snuffed his ear, and Harry let him go.

The walk to the station went much the same. Sirius chased pigeons for Harry's entertainment, and Harry tied to remind himself that this a was a beginning of a new start, not the beginning of a new nightmare.

oOo

Harry watched Sirius run to the end of the platform, as long as he could, until he fell out of sight.

Then he was on the move, which left Ginny to follow.

Neville caught up to them as Harry made his way to the one place in the world he truly wanted to be.

"Harry, wait—" Neville tried to say but Harry had already opened the door.

This time, Luna wasn't reading the Quibbler. She was sitting up, eyes trained on the door.

Harry caught her gaze and he knew.

Knew she remembered.

She stood, and without prompting, Harry wrapped her in a tight embrace.

Whatever was happening, they were in this together.

Neither of them was alone.

"I see you two know each other," Ginny said, a bit stiffly as she pushed Harry's luggage further into the room.

Harry pulled back and Luna smiled up at him. He grinned before turning to Ginny and grabbing her luggage, and hefted it into the luggage rack. He did the same for Luna's, Neville's and his own.

"Thanks," Neville said.

Luna just caught Harry's hand, and he squeezed it and sat down beside her. Her hand shook slightly, and Harry realized that just as he had done, Luna must have travelled back in time and replaced her younger self.

Which meant she was still injured.

Worry turned his gut as the other two sat across from them, the owls hooting softly in their cages.

"How do you two know each other?" Ginny asked more directly.

"I helped Luna with her Defence Against the Dark Arts homework," Harry answered, trying to think of how to ask if she was alright.

"Harry taught me how to summon a Patronus," Luna added.

"Cool," Neville said. "What is it?"

"A hare," Harry answered. "How was your morning, Luna?"

She shrugged, "Confusing, but I'm alright, just a bit tired."

"And the fairy?" he asked, he guessed that this conversation would be too odd for Ginny or Neville to really understand.

"She moved into the garden with the others. They seemed happy to see her," Luna said.

"You have fairies in your garden?" Neville asked. "That's really rare for them to live so close to humans."

She shrugged, "It's my mother's garden, they've lived there for as long as I can remember."

Harry squeezed her hand again. Luna smiled up at him, her silver-blue eyes sparkling.

He wasn't sure what he was going to say next but Ron and Hermione came in then, dragging their trunks behind them. Crookshanks hopped in ahead of them, right into Ginny's lap.

"You're never going to guess who the Slytherin's Prefects are," Ron said, plopping down beside Neville, only to freeze when he saw Harry holding Luna's hand.

Hermione too gave them an odd look.

"Hermione, Ron, this is my friend, Luna Lovegood," Harry said into the awkward silence.

Hermione recovered first, "Nice to meet you."

Luna squinted at Hermione.

"Nargles?" Harry asked.

Luna nodded solemnly.

"What are Nargles?" Hermione asked.

"Moody's worst nightmare," Harry said without missing a beat.

Luna giggled.

Ron shook his head, "Right, anyway , Malfoy is the Slytherin Prefect."

"Good for him," Harry said dryly.

"WHAT!?" Ron exploded.

Harry rolled his eyes, "Sarcasm, Ron, breathe."

"Oh," Ron said, deflating, his cheeks going red. "Sorry."

Neville chose that moment to show off his Cactus, "Look what I got for my birthday."

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

"Mimbulus mimbletonia," Neville said, proudly as he held it up.

Cho Chang poked her head into the compartment. "Hi Harry, good summer?"

Harry kept his mouth shut turning away from Cho to shield Luna as Neville's cactus barfed.

Harry pulled back, Luna was curled into his side shaking with silent laughter, that turned into loud snorts when she looked up into his face that was splattered by the muddy gunk.

Harry grinned as she lifted her free hand to wipe at his cheek.

There was a small sound of distress that caused Harry look round at the still open compartment door.

Cho looked horrified, betrayed even, as she stood stunned and dripping in the doorway.

Hermione huffed, whipping her wand out to clean the mess with a crisp spell.

"Sorry," Neville said meekly.

Cho's look of outrage started Harry laughing and soon he and Luna were leaning on each other for support.

Cho slammed the compartment door behind her while the others gave them strange looks.

Malfoy came into the compartment not a minute later, while Harry and Luna were still laughing.

"What is wrong with you, Potter?" Malfoy asked, disgusted.

Harry leaned across the aisle to tickle the cactus.

It exploded again.

" Harry!" Ron, Ginny, and Hermione yelled.

Malfoy screamed, reeling out of the compartment swearing, " You'll pay for this, Potter!"

Hermione performed the spell again once they were gone, she was glaring at Harry with one of her most severe expressions.

He shrugged, "Lighten up, Hermione. Malfoy wasn't going to be less of prat unprovoked."

She huffed at him, unimpressed.

"Let's not do that again," Ron said.

"Agreed," Ginny seconded.

Harry shrugged, "No promises."

Luna started giggling and Harry grinned.

This year was probably going to suck, but it would suck a lot less because of Luna.

The rest of the ride was uneventful, though Harry had to listen as Ron and Hermione bickered. Luna fell asleep on Harry's shoulder, their hands remained entwined. Hermione and Ginny kept giving him strange looks.

He let them, feeling no need to explain himself. He was allowed to have friends outside of Hermione and the Weasleys.

When they got to the carriages, he and Luna in mutual agreement avoided the thestrals.

No need to tip off anyone where they would be spending the majority of their time.

After all, the Forbidden Forest was, technically, still forbidden.

oOo

The Great Feast went just as it had before, but when Hermione and Ron began to shepherd the first years, Harry stood to the side, and waited for the Professors.

He watched Dumbledore panic, not outwardly but Harry could see distress in his posture. And he waited until the moment Dumbledore seemed to think Harry would let him go, then he stepped forward.

Dumbledore almost tripped over his own robes, but Harry looked right past him, "Professor McGonagall, may I speak with you about classes please?"

Dumbledore breezed past, looking as if he had dodged a bullet.

Harry didn't know how to get back at Dumbledore, he wasn't even sure if there was really something tangible to get back at him for, but he figured there had to be some prank he could pull that would be relatively harmless while expressing his displeasure.

"Of course, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, stepping to the side with him.

Snape passed them with a sneer but Professor Flitwick held back, which Harry didn't mind. Flitwick was one of his favourite professors.

"Did anyone talk to you about this morning?" Harry asked.

McGonagall scowled down at him, "I heard you had quite the nightmare."

He nodded, "I don't want to take Divination anymore. I don't care if I still have to take the test at the end of the year, but I can't pretend I'm actually taking the class seriously nor can I take another year of Trelawney detailing how I and my classmates —and their families— are going to come to harm and death."

McGonagall's expression softened, "I certainly will not force you to, and you’ll not need to take the test at the end of the year. It will not, however, look well on your resume to have no other electives."

"What are my options?" he asked.

"You can take another elective, starting with the third years."

"Or," Professor Flitwick said, stepping forward. "If I may say so, Mr. Potter, you are one of my most proficient students. If you like, you could be a teacher assistant for my third year class of Ravenclaw-Slytherins."

Harry jumped at the opportunity, "I would love to, Professor Flitwick, thank you!"

Flitwick smiled up at him, "It's rare we have anyone interested in helping with the younger students."

"I enjoy teaching," Harry said.

McGonagall raised a brow, "I wasn't aware you had experience."

"I taught Luna Lovegood how to summon a Patronus," he said, going with the story he used this morning.

Both professors blinked at him.

"I didn't know you were close with Ms. Lovegood," Flitwick said.

Harry shrugged, “She's pretty cool. Shame people keep stealing her shoes though."

"What?" Flitwick asked a bit sharply.

"Her shoes," Harry said, backing up a step as he saw Umbridge headed their way. "What time was your class professor?"

"Fourth period on Mondays and Fridays, and if you truly enjoy it. My fourth year Hufflepuff-Gryffindor class has a double block Friday," Flitwick said.

McGonagall added, "And if you put a bit more effort into this year, Mr. Potter, you would be welcome to TA my fourth year classes on Thursday."

Given Harry was literally redoing this year, he agreed easily, "I would be honoured professors."

"If it gets to be too much with OWLs…" McGonagall said.

"I'll keep up," Harry said with the confidence of someone who had literally just taken his tests. "See you tomorrow, Professors. Thank you again."

He made a hasty retreat before Umbridge could sink her teeth into their discussion.

oOo

Sirius paced back and forth in the kitchen.

They had called an emergency meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.

Minerva, Snape, and Dumbledore, doubtless weren't happy to be here on the first night before classes, but this was about Harry.

So it was Sirius, Remus, Minerva, Snape, Dumbledore, Tonks, Moody, Arthur, Molly, Bill, and Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"What the hell are we doing here?" Snape asked.

"He thought I was dead," Sirius said. He had already ordered Kreacher to never talk to anyone else outside of Grimmauld Place and to never share anything about Harry. "He thought he was dead."

"Harry has withdrawn from the Divination elective," Minerva said.

"You let him quit a class?" Remus asked.

"He should have never been in that woman's class," Minerva said. "If I may be so bold, she shouldn't be teaching. Harry cited as his reason for not wanting to take the class that he didn't want to be told how he, his classmates, and his classmates' families were going to die and suffer."

Dumbledore winced.

"What convinced Harry he wasn't dreaming?" Bill asked.

"When everyone save Ron walked into the room," Tonks said. "He said Madam Pomfrey was too good to let us all die."

There was a silence.

Sirius broke it, "He needs help. It was a mistake to leave him with the Dursleys all summer."

"What's done is done," Dumbledore said.

"Harry will be the teaching assistant for Filius's third year classes, one of his fourth year classes and my fourth year classes," Minerva said.

"I didn't approve that decision," Dumbledore said, clearly this was the first time he was hearing of it.

"We don't need your approval, he's in my House and I think the extra work will do him good."

"It's too much," Dumbledore argued.

"Well, you wouldn't let me make him a Prefect," Minerva shot back. "And he's down an elective, so he should be fine."

"I wasn't aware Potter was skilled enough in Transfiguration to be a teaching assistant," Snape drawled.

"It is Ms. Granger's favourite subject," Minerva said. "He holds back to allow her the spotlight. It also doesn't help that he is in hazardous circumstances each year."

"How is giving him more responsibilities going to help that?" Dumbledore asked.

"Harry said that he enjoys teaching," Minerva said.

"Who has he ever taught?" Snape asked.

"Apparently, he taught Ms. Luna Lovegood how to summon a Patronus last year," Minerva said.

Remus rubbed his face, "He's a good lad."

"I didn't know that Hogwarts had teaching assistants," Bill said.

"It's usually more work for the teachers," Minerva explained. "And very few students want to give up personal time for no reward."

"So what's the point?" Tonks asked.

"Because sometimes it does help other students," Minerva said. "If students need help with homework or perfecting a spell, sometimes they won't go to the teacher but they will go to the teaching assistant. Harry isn't so skilled at written evaluation that I would fear him helping others cheat or give them the answers. It is rare to find students who are talented, smart, and willing as well as kind enough to help others with practical magic as opposed to say, Ms. Granger who would simply give others the answers from the textbooks rather than helping them work through it."

"But what's the benefit to him?" Tonks asked.

"Originally," Minerva said. "It was just to be a single block for Charms to make up for being short a class. But when he showed interest—" She shrugged. "I would like the opportunity to keep a closer eye on him and with the depression and the anger, I think keeping him busy would be good."

"But it's OWLs year," Molly protested.

Minerva shook her head, "If it is too much, he can drop a class or two. But there is no extra homework, and again, he seemed to be truly interested."

"But he's on the Quidditch team and—"

"And he might quit the team," Minerva said.

Sirius blinked, "Why? Did he say something?"

Minerva shrugged, "I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't want to go back onto the Quidditch pitch."

Sirius winced.

Snape scoffed, "I have yet to see any Potter know what was best for them, mentally or otherwise."

Sirius's gut twisted, if Minerva was right then Harry was worse off than even he had feared.

"Please keep me updated," Sirius said.

"I don't know if teaching will help Harry much," Remus said. "He doesn't seem to much like other students."

"He doesn't like being asked about the drama and horror that surrounds him each year," Minerva countered. "He doesn't like being stared at. He's perfectly fine with other people. Have you ever seen him overwhelmed by the Weasleys?" Minerva asked. "No, I believe given the chance, Harry will rise to the occasion. And I would rather that occasion be teaching than killing the Dark Lord."

There was a heavy silence, one that not even Snape seemed willing to break.

oOO

The next day dawned bright and early.

Harry had sent Hedwig to Luna last night and she had returned soon after with a letter affirming that Luna was indeed alright, that Madam Pomfrey had finished patching her up already by the time they were sent back in time. She just needed sleep.

Unable to sleep much himself, Harry went through the trouble of rewriting his Potions essay and his DADA summer work.

His Potions essay he made as perfect as he was able, figuring he would start on a new foot with Snape.

He hated the man, he really did, but he wanted an O on his OWLs and Snape's essay markups were pretty detailed. Anything at all Harry was unsure about, he included in the essay, knowing that Snape would be compelled to correct it if he had got it wrong. This was the only type of teaching Snape ever did.

Harry did the exact opposite on his DADA homework, going out of his way to misspell words, make his handwriting impossible to read even for him and use solely run-on sentences.

He was going to play dumb, one because Umbridge would be foolish enough to believe such an act. And two because it meant she maybe would ignore him a bit more if he played into what she believed to be true about him.

oOo

Angelina cornered him at breakfast and Harry braced himself for the inevitable.

"We need a new Keeper now Oliver's left. Tryouts are on Friday at five o'clock and I want the whole team there, all right? Then we can see how the new person'll fit in."

"Actually," Harry said. "You will need a new Seeker too. I'm leaving the team this year."

" You what!?" Angelina and Ron shouted at him.

He flinched but didn't back down, "I quit."

"You can't quit!" she yelled at him.

"I just did."

"You're letting down your House—" she began yelling, voice rising.

"I watched Voldemort crawl out of a cauldron after killing Cedric Diggory!" Harry yelled back. His temper snapped like a cut cable on a suspension bridge. "You think I care about Quidditch!? Do you know how many people are going to die this year while the ministry is gaslighting everyone!? Do you know how many families are going to get torn apart because people would rather believe in a lie than believe the guy who was obsessed with immortality is back!? Well, do you, Angelina!? Do you!? "

Fred and George appeared out of the crowd, "Alright, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, "No, I'm not. I'm not alright! None of this is alright! We know what's going to happen and I can't— no one believes—"

He bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood.

He ducked away from his friends, from the hurt on Angelina's face.

He felt like a monster.

He felt out of control.

He ran toward where no one would think to look for him.

He ran to the dungeons where he found Snape's classroom unlocked.

The silence in this room he hated… it was somehow reassuring. Too odd to not be real, proof that things could change.

Harry meticulously set up his cauldron and supplies. By the time he was taking down the notes on the board, he could breathe easier again.

He reread the chapter they were going to work on for class and found he still had another fifteen minutes before breakfast ended.

Harry sighed, getting up from his seat to pace. He had never liked Snape's classroom, he had cleaned it a few times but never explored the bookshelves. He didn't dare go behind Snape's desk but in the back, there was a small stack of textbooks from each year.

Harry picked up the dirtier of the two sixth year books, the one Snape would be less likely to miss. Taking it back to his seat, he began reading it.

Whoever the previous owner of the book had been, had many opinions on Potions. But the tips were more interesting than the textbook itself and soon the room was filling without his knowing it.

He put the book away, not wanting to hear it from Snape.

"Hey, Harry."

He looked up to see Parvati hesitating beside him.

"Hey, Parvati," he greeted.

"Can I sit with you? Lavender isn't very serious about Potions and I don't want to get paired with Neville this year."

They were the first two Gryffindors in the classroom.

"Sure," he said, moving his stuff. "Ron and I usually switch off with Hermione anyway."

She sat down beside him, obviously relieved, "Thanks, I don't think you're as bad as Snape makes you out to be in this class. You're really good with a knife."

He smirked and said a bit self-deprecatingly, "I cook."

"Really?" she asked, pulling out her supplies beside his.

"I bake too," he said.

Parvati shook her head, "A man of many talents."

Harry winced, "I'm sorry."

"About what?" she asked.

"About being a miserable dance partner for the Yule Ball," he said. "I didn't mean to be… Well, such a git. Sometimes, I just follow whatever Ron does because I'm afraid of embarrassing myself. Which is extra stupid seeing as that's exactly what I did."

Parvati gave him a soft smile, laying a hand on his arm, "I do it too sometimes. Lavender isn't a bad person but sometimes I don't know if we would be friends if I always were myself, you know?"

He nodded, "Ron was my first friend."

"That can't be easy."

He shrugged, "No, actually it is easy. The Weasleys are really good people. I would give just about anything to have a family like his."

Parvati grinned, "Oh the Weasleys might have a lot of siblings, but they don't have anything on my family back in India."

Intrigued, Harry asked, "Tell me about them?"

Her smile grew, transforming her face as she began to talk about her relatives.

Unlike Ron, she didn't complain about them, she described some of their weddings and her female cousins getting into nursing school. Harry didn't often talk about the muggle world with anyone, but he found it… nice.

Hermione and Ron were late and Harry gave them a sympathetic wince when Snape tore into them and docked House points, knowing that they had been late looking for him.

oOo

Severus Snape had concerns, especially after learning about Potter's lapse in sanity.

What he hadn't expected was Potter to get better at Potions over night, much less inspire another student to do equally well.

Potter's potion was flawless, spilling silver mist.

He hadn't understood why Filius wanted Potter as a teaching assistant, nor McGonagall. But he was beginning to.

The boy was still angry, reckless…

But there was something changed in the boy, something that spoke of potential that Severus had never seen in Potter, nor his sire before.

But he had seen it in Lily once.

Harry Potter was not his mother.

But perhaps, he wasn't his father either.

oOo

AN: Thoughts about the chapter, cacti, or feedback, pretty please?

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 - Expectations

Afterwards, the class went rather well. Having sat so far away from Hermione and between Harry —who had done this all before in class and during a test— and Parvati —who also cooked— their potions were next to perfect.

Snape couldn't even accuse him of cheating.

"What the hell?" Ron asked as they walked to History of Magic.

Harry shrugged, "Sorry, I figured no one would bother me in Snape's classroom."

"Aside from Snape," Ron replied flatly.

"He was at breakfast," Harry countered.

"You shouldn't be skipping meals," Hermione said.

"I've been mostly starved almost my entire life, Hermione. I promise you, one skipped breakfast isn't going to kill me."

Ron and Hermione came to an abrupt halt and she asked, "What?"

Harry winced, "Sorry, I'll shut up now."

He really needed to get a hold of himself. Ron and Hermione were the last people who deserved his ire.

"Those—" Ron snarled, catching up to him. " Pigs, starved you?"

Harry didn't answer.

"Harry, you have to tell Dumbledore," Hermione said.

Harry had to close his eyes against the rage, and he was rather proud of himself when he found his voice before they got to the next classroom, "He knows, Hermione. He already knows."

She didn't try arguing with him after that.

Harry was beginning to wonder if the reason he was so angry, if the reason he felt like nobody understood him, was because he had never been open with anyone well enough for them to even begin to understand him.

Him, his past, the things that truly mattered to him…

And why they mattered.

He hadn't wanted to share everything he was ashamed of, even Mr. Weasley hadn't seen it. Probably, only Fred and George really had a clue how bad it was. Ron had been too young in second year, and perhaps Harry had downplayed it too much.

Cho came around the corner, "Hi, Harry."

"Hi, Cho," he said without stopping, walking right past her to History of Magic.

Hermione elbowed him, but Harry didn't budge by even giving so much as a contrite look her way. Hermione let it go as the class started.

Like most people, Harry didn't like History of Magic, but he had just taken the test yesterday, and knowing what the questions would be, he flipped through his book, underlining headers that mattered.

Hermione seemed aghast at him 'ruining' a book, but the sixth year Potions book in his bag had given him an idea.

Anything Binns said that wasn't already in the book, he could write in the margins. Otherwise, he could highlight sections —well— circle, star, and underline, important sections.

It was a lazy way of taking notes, but it was easier to read along with Binns, who seemed to follow the text rather closely, than it was to try latching onto Binns’s individual words.

Still, as this class was all revision, Harry found himself drawing in the margins.

Ron sat, completely dejected, beside him as he attempted and failed to take notes and not fall asleep in his seat.

Once the class was released, Hermione chided, "Why are you writing in your book?"

"Because it's my book," Harry said. "I thought you would be pleased with my effort to pay attention."

She huffed, "You're acting so weird."

"Why is everyone looking at Harry?" Ron asked as a handful of girls giggled as they passed them.

"Harry got taller," Hermione said.

Harry sighed, "No, I haven't."

"Yeah, you have," Hermione said in turn. "I don't know how I didn't notice it this summer."

Harry wasn't sure how to respond to that.

"Why did you blow Cho off like that?" Ron asked.

"Because she wants to talk about Cedric," Harry said. "But instead she's acting like she's interested in me."

"She is interested in you," Hermione said.

"I'm not interested in the ex-girlfriend of the guy I helped get killed," Harry said, he was still rather mortified by Cho crying through their first kiss.

He was such an idiot, Hermione could say all she liked about the emotions of girls, but it was cruel of Cho to lead him on, compare him to Cedric, and use Harry's feelings for her and his guilt over Cedric against him.

"That's harsh," Ron said.

Harry shrugged.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked as they entered the Great Hall and he headed toward the other side of the room.

"To lunch," he answered, going to the Ravenclaw table.

No one was sitting beside Luna, which meant that he had a seat without asking anyone to move.

Hermione and Ron hesitated, and either they were worried about his temper or they were still mad at him because of Potions, but neither Hermione nor Ron followed him to the Ravenclaw table.

Parvati—oddly—did and took a seat beside her twin sister across from Harry.

Padma seemed surprised but pleased.

"How were your morning classes?" Harry asked Luna and Padma.

Luna shrugged, "Tired, bored. Umbridge isn't a good teacher."

Harry looked her over, and she did indeed have dark shadows under her eyes, but she seemed otherwise alright.

"Not too bad," Padma answered. "I'm already worried about my OWLs though."

Harry offered her a half smile, "Just don't fall behind in homework, the Professors basically have the revision assigned to us already, and getting too stressed about it is only going to make you do worse."

Padma blinked, "Wow, I think that's the most optimistic thing I've ever heard you say."

Harry gasped, "Me, optimism, perish the thought."

Luna giggled. A moment later, she reached into her bag, pulled out a grey-black ostrich feather quill then handed it to Harry.

"Oh that looks soft," Parvati said.

"It's a pig-latin quill," Luna said.

"Pig-latin?" Padma asked.

"For taking notes, it disguises whatever you are writing in pig-latin, so it’s basically illegible. You can undo it later," Luna explained, looking at Harry. "Say if you want to write something for another class."

Harry grinned, "You are a genius."

"Do you have a book with you that you want to disguise as the DADA book?" she asked. "I know the spell."

Harry let out a huge sigh of relief. Easiest way to ignore Umbridge? Do something actually productive. "You are my favourite person," he said, pulling his DADA book and his Transfiguration book out.

Luna smiled, pulling out her wand.

Padma and Parvati stared at them.

Parvati asked, "You don't think Umbridge is going to be that bad, do you?"

"She isn't teaching practical magic," Luna said.

"But it's Defence Against the Dark Arts," Padma said.

"And we got the ministry reject," Harry said. "I have a feeling she's going to fail me on purpose so I'm not doing any of her homework, at least not well."

"But your OWLs!" Padma exclaimed.

Harry shrugged, "I started learning OWL level stuff in third year, and then NEWT stuff last year for the Tournament. Besides, from what the Weasley twins said, half of the DA quiz is Magical Creatures material, so we aren't completely screwed."

"Will you help us study, closer to the exams, I mean?" Padma asked.

"Of course," Harry said, already having designs to teach them. "What electives are you taking, Luna?"

"Care of Magical Creatures, Runes, and Arithmancy," Luna said.

"I took the same and now I have regrets," Padma said.

"I'm glad I didn't take Runes," Parvati said.

"I dropped Divinations," Harry said.

"Wouldn't you have to take a third year class to replace it?" Padma asked.

"No, McGonagall and Flitwick are having me help out in a few of their classes so my magical CV or whatever doesn't look too pitiful."

"Teacher assistant?" Padma asked. "That sounds like a lot of work."

He shrugged, "I would rather be busy, I'm not exactly looking forward to the future at the moment."

Parvati and Padma winced.

Luna pushed some more food onto Harry's plate.

He gave her a mock glare, but stabbed a green something on his fork and ate it. Broccoli cooked in caramelised onions, very good.

Cho and her friends showed up then.

"Harry!" Cho greeted, excited, her friends giggling.

"Hi," Harry said more soberly.

"Why are you here, I mean— not that you're not welcome, but—"

"Just eating with friends," Harry said, gesturing to Luna, Parvati, and Padma.

Luna slipped something into his pocket and Harry speared another broccoli, eating it as he kept his gaze on Cho.

Not at all helping her out of her awkward ramblings.

Cho wasn't a mean person, and Harry was fully willing to be a shoulder to cry on about Cedric, but he didn't want to date her again.

oOo

Harry decided to screw with Slytherin Third Years;

By being nice to them.

Sitting on the Slytherin side of the room, Harry was struck by how much this group of kids had grown up over this school year. He was still shaky from time travelling and everything that had happened at the ministry, still fewer than forty-eight hours ago.

The Slytherin girl he sat beside kept giving him askance glances.

"And finally," Flitwick said after his traditional greeting. "This is Harry Potter, a fifth year student who will be your Charms Class teaching assistant. It is not his job to edit your papers or to do your homework for you. However, Mr. Potter will be a resource for you if you need direction in a research project, assistance in learning Charms outside of the curriculum, and further practising your assigned material. In this classroom, he has the power to grant and take away house points, so I would advise that this should not be the class you 'goof off' in."

Harry hadn't known that was true, but it seemed right that he could grant points to students who deserved it when someone like Malfoy had been able to for pointless reasons.

This is when Flitwick seemed to decide he would be putting Harry to work when the spelled chalk wrote out the banishing charm.

It was one of the hardest spells of third year, and when he caught Flitwick's gaze, eyes sparkling with amusement. Harry grinned, rising to his feet and spotting out who was the best and worst at the spell and who they were sitting next to.

From experience, he knew it was important that students struggle on their own before you offered help, it gave them time to try and time for him to establish what aspect of any given spell they were struggling most with. Harry gave it a good ten minutes of watching them struggle before stepping in.

The first person he approached was a pair arguing at the joint table of Ravenclaw and Slytherins.

They fell quiet when they noticed him.

Harry really hated the fear he saw on the Slytherin's face, the boy's face scrunched but his eyes wide.

"Try it again," Harry coaxed, keeping his voice kind.

The Slytherin boy swallowed hard but brandished his wand, casting it against the block of wood on the table.

Nothing happened but for a yellowish-red light that appeared and disappeared at the end of his wand.

"Your pronunciation is good," Harry said. "However, your motions are too tight. Think of it like a punch. If you start too tense, then a lot of your energy is just going back into your arm. You want to be loose until the last moment. A banishing charm shoots an object in the targeted direction. Like hitting a Bludger with a bat. When you perform this charm, you aren't just hitting the object, you're hitting this object toward something."

Harry had spoken loud enough, not to silence the entire room, but loud enough that anyone around them could hear.

The Slytherin boy blinked up at him, exchanged a look with the Ravenclaw boy, then performed the charm again.

The block of wood skidded along the desk. Not quite off it, but it was a definite improvement.

"Now you just have to believe it will work," Harry said moving onto a Ravenclaw girl across the room who looked as if she was about to cry from frustration.

And that's how the class went.

One enterprising Slytherin girl banished her block of wood at his head.

Catching sight of it out of the corner of his eyes, Harry spun, wand raised, " Wingardium leviosa," and caught the block. A gasp sounded around the room. Then Harry cast the banishing charm, saying the words clearly and slowing down his wand work.

The block shot straight back toward the brown haired girl.

The charm being still active, he raised his wand at the last moment, pulling the block skyward before dropping the spell. It clattered harmlessly against the desk in front of the girl's stunned expression.

"Ten points to Slytherin," Harry said.

The girl's face shifted to something pleased and amused. She tipped her head in his direction, as if to say, Well played, Mr. Potter, well played .

Harry shook his head, turning back to the Ravenclaw boy he had been helping.

After class, Flitwick seemed to radiate pride and Harry found it difficult to not smile as wide as he wanted to.

Umbridge and the Minister had punished him for teaching and helping his classmates, it felt beyond good to be thanked for helping others. And Flitwick's pride felt much better than house points.

oOo

On Harry's way to DADA, Ron asked, "Where the hell were you?"

"I quit Divinations," Harry said.

Hermione smirked, "Smart."

"No, not smart," Ron said. "My mum would kill me if I quit a class. Especially as we bought the book already."

Hermione shrugged, "Now Harry has more time for studying."

"He already quit Quidditch," Ron muttered bitterly.

"Actually," Harry said, figuring he would get this out of the way. "I'm a teacher assistant for Flitwick's Third and Fourth year classes and for McGonagall's Fourth years."

Ron and Hermione came to an abrupt halt and they asked in unison, " What ?"

Harry paused, "I'm a teacher assistant. When I asked what options I had instead of taking Divinations, they offered the position to me. I took it. Simple."

"Hogwarts doesn't have teacher assistants," Ron said.

"I'm told it's rare but that it happens. There just aren't that many students who want to take on that much extra work."

Hermione ran through it in her head, "Wait, do you even have a free period?"

"Nope," he answered.

Hermione shook her head, "Harry, I wouldn't want to do that. You realise there are going to be a ton of students asking for your help?"

"Hermione, I know I don't have many friends, but I don't dislike people. I just hate being a sideshow freak. I don't mind people asking me for help with spells and I was specifically told my job is not to edit essays."

She blinked at him, deflating a bit, "Oh… I always thought you were, I don't know, sort of shy."

"I'm awkward."

She blinked, then asked, "What about your OWLs?"

"The OWLs are on all five years of curriculum, Hermione, helping others study is literally the easiest way to revise," he answered.

"Um, easiest? You have to deal with little kids," Ron said.

"I like teaching. And maybe there aren't a ton of teacher positions in the magical world, but surely I could hire myself out as a private tutor or something. I'm trying things out for my future. You know, on the off chance I survive long enough to have a life post-Hogwarts."

Hermione and Ron exchanged a worried look and Harry decided he was not going to tell them about the prophecy.

At least, not until after exams.

When they continued to say nothing, Harry went ahead into the class, claiming a seat by the far back corner near the windows.

Which turned out to be on the Slytherin side of the room.

Harry sighed as Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini closed in around him, cutting Hermione and Ron off.

Hermione and Ron gave him panicked looks but Harry waved them off as he took out his Transfiguration book Luna had helped him spell to look like the DADA text. He loved the quill, it looked ridiculous.

Harry wasn't going to fall behind in any of his classes this year. He was going to get an O in everything if it killed him, he had literally no excuse not to and no shame at all about taking advantage of being a year old or knowing the answers on the exam.

Considering how many times he had been tortured and almost killed by terrorists, he felt fully entitled to the extra leg up.

"You're on the wrong side of the room," Nott sneered.

Harry looked up at him slowly, then looked at the other side of the room, then looked back at him and asked innocently, "Am I?"

Nott's eyes narrowed, "You're no Slytherin."

"And yet," Harry drawled. "Which one of us can speak to snakes?"

Nott's expression hardened, and he turned round in his seat as Umbridge entered the room.

Harry didn't greet Umbridge with the others, he kept his head down and didn't stop looking at his book and writing his essay while Hermione started her spat with the new teacher.

Dean spoke up, so did Parvati.

Harry remained silent along with the Slytherins. He kept his scarred hand below the table and considered getting a tattoo.

No one got detention, and he was pretty sure Umbridge was disappointed.

After class, Ron came up to him angrily, "What is wrong with you, mate? What happened? Why are you keeping so many secrets? And why are you—"

"I had a fucked up year, Ron," Harry cut him off. "And I'm done dancing to everyone else's tune."

"You let that toad—" Ron argued.

Harry scoffed, "Trust me when I say, Umbridge will get what's coming to her."

Ron gaped at him, at the severity of his tone.

Hermione squeaked, lowering her voice, she asked, "What are you going to do?"

He smiled at her, "Nothing you wouldn't."

Hermione was appeased by this, more appeased than she should have been. She couldn’t remember Marietta Edgecombe’s marred face like Harry could, nor could she remember Umbridge’s pleas before a herd of centaurs, but–Harry realised–she could remember Rita Skeeter scurrying around in a jar. He was tired. His scar hurt. And he liked teaching, and he couldn’t explain every little thing to Hermione and Ron and everyone who didn’t remember what he remembered.

Teaching wasn't something Umbridge could take away from him, and for the first time ever, Harry felt like he had a way to prove himself and something to be proud of.

He was a good teacher, and every student, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Slytherin was going to learn that. He might not be the brightest, or the strongest, but he cared about people, and counter to what the Dursleys, Snapes, and Umbridges insisted on believing, he was far from stupid.

And maybe, just maybe, if Harry could win over enough of the Slytherins, Voldemort might find he had a lot less in common with this new generation of witches and wizards than he had in the old days.

Harry was walking to dinner when he remembered that Luna had put something into his pocket. He pulled it out and found a note that read simply:

What is Forbidden?

His spirits lifted.

oOo

Astoria Greengrass sat down beside her sister at dinner, "You are never going to guess who the teaching assistant for my Charms class is."

All of Daphne's friends (Tracy Davis, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini) looked up with interest.

Daphne raised a brow, "I didn't know there were any students who taught."

"Because no one does," Theodore said. "It's extra homework and unpaid labour. There's no benefit to it."

"Well, we have one," Astoria said.

"Who?" Blaise asked.

"Harry Potter," she said.

"What!?" Draco Malfoy asked, leaning over to glare down the table. "But he's too stupid—"

"He's really good at Charms," Astoria said. "He's also nicer than I thought he would be."

"Potter isn't nice," Pansy said, who was also eavesdropping from down the table. "Least of all to Slytherins."

Astoria shrugged, "He was really nice to us."

"But you're a Slytherin," Draco countered.

"He didn't treat us any differently from the Ravenclaws," Astoria said. "He even helped us get house points."

They all stared at her in silence.

"Potter hates Slytherins," Draco said finally.

"Or maybe he just hates you," Astoria said, before standing up and rejoining her friends.

oOo

AN: Thoughts on the chapter, pelicans, or feedback, pretty please?

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 - The Sketchbook

"How was DADA?" Luna asked as they walked into the woods together, a bucket of meat between them.

Thestrals were carrion animals, but Luna said there was a mare who had been pregnant with triplets last year. The mare and two of the foals hadn't made it. They were hoping if they brought her extra food she might make it this time around.

Harry had gotten the buckets of raw from the kitchens as Luna's note had instructed. Dobby and the others had been thrilled to see him.

Winky, not so much.

"Uneventful," he said. "Hermione said all the same things, of course. I didn't. Thanks again for the disguise charm. I'm actually ahead on my homework."

"I'm purposely failing Umbridge's class as well," Luna said. "It's not worth it."

They crossed into the treeline and Luna took the Invisibility Cloak off of them, stepping away from him and helping him hold one of the buckets.

Once they were deeper into the forest, she whistle-screeched.

A single Thestral trotted out, prancing in place, its great black wings splayed behind him.

"We brought food," Luna said.

The Thestral approached, sniffing first Luna, then the buckets, then Harry.

It snorted in Harry's face, then flapped backwards with a screech. It trotted ahead, periodically looking over its wings at them as it led them deeper into the forest to the larger herd.

Luna went right to the female who was laying down, stomach bulging with foals.

The rest of the herd got tense, but relaxed when first Luna and then Harry went to their knees in the leaves.

"She still has a few weeks until she's due," Luna said, stroking the mare's neck.

Harry opened the top of the first metal bucket.

He held out a hand to halt the others from rushing them.

He picked up a cool piece of meat and passed it to Luna who held out her hand to the Thestral, thumb in as if she were feeding a regular horse a carrot.

Harry began tossing slabs of meat to the others. When they finished the first bucket, a stallion head-butted Harry from behind.

"Sit," Harry demanded.

The stallion snorted but folded gracefully to the ground, settling his wings at his sides.

Luna and Harry sat back to back as the light dimmed from the sky, doling out the rest of the meat more slowly, allowing each Thestral to come to them in turns so they would get to know them.

Luna had wooed them last year well enough that they had taken a handful of strange kids to London.

For the violence and strength these animals were capable of, they were extraordinarily gentle and as curious about Harry and Luna as Harry was of them.

"I'm still amazed you figured out how to do this on your own," Harry said.

"I want to be the next Newt Scamander," she said.

Harry smiled, "I don't doubt that you will be."

She turned to smile at him, "The only thing is…"

"Yes?" he prompted.

"Well, I can't draw as well as him, and cameras frighten a lot of creatures."

"I can draw for you," Harry offered, then flushed when he realised it sounded like he was inviting himself into her career. "I mean, if you're desperate. I enjoy drawing, but I'm not the best at it."

But Luna grinned, turning to reach into her satchel, "Take this."

"Luna, I can't—"

"I have extras," she said, pushing the book at him.

It was a teal book with a black symbol of some sort on it. The cover was so smooth, it felt soft. He flipped it open and found blank pages of paper without lines.

A sketchbook.

"Thank you," he said.

"You'll need it," she said. "If you're going to be my artist."

He grinned, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, " The Delicate Art of Raising Thestrals written by Renowned Magizoologist Luna Pandora Lovegood, illustrated by her assistant Harry J. Potter."

Her laughter seemed to light the entirety of the Forbidden Forest.

oOo

Harry fell asleep too easily that night. He didn't even remember his head hitting the pillow.

Pain tore into him, rousing him into awareness as the Cruciatus Curse ripped and shredded through his every nerve.

He didn't scream, he wouldn't give the bitch the satisfaction.

He felt her lips at his ear, her breath, warm then cool as she cooed, "You have to mean it, Harry."

She took his earlobe between her teeth, and bit him.

Harry fell out of bed, scrambling up off the floor. He paused only long enough to grab his glasses before he rushed toward the bathroom. His limbs felt leaden and hot liquid obscured his vision. He made it to the sink. He shoved his glasses on before daring to look up into the mirror.

Blood dripped from his scar, painting the right side of his face in crimson streaks.

Shaking, Harry leaned closer, seeing that the scar had not only burst open like a new cut, but that it had widened, chasing down his face for all the world to see.

He would have needed a mask to cover it up.

It stretched from his hairline to the bridge of his nose like a chasm cleaving through his profile. Blood was still actively seeping from the wound and he knew he would need stitches.

Seeing it made it hurt more sharply, but the physical pain of it wasn't the worst.

No, the worst was that one of his irises had changed from green to maroonish red, inhuman and ugly. He leaned forward to see the change more closely.

When his nose nearly touched the glass, something in his face changed.

Harry knew it was not his own eye.

The thought seemed to give his reflection permission to morph.

The figure that peered back at him was still pale, still skinny, but his hair was lighter and more orderly. His expression changed to something cruel as he looked at Harry with possessive satisfaction.

"No," Harry said through gritted teeth, the blood pouring faster from the open wound until he could taste it on his lips.

But his mouth in the reflection did not shape the words. He tried to move his head from side to side to test this, and he realised with a renewed surge of panic that he couldn’t. He was no longer in control of his own actions. The mirror was.

Tom Riddle smiled wider at him, threw his head back and laughed.

Voldmort's laugh, not Harry's.

And unlike the Imperius Curse, there was nothing to fight against, to argue with.

His body was not his own.

The only thing that belonged to him was the pain.

Harry woke with a choked scream, and again he fell out of bed, again he ran for the bathroom.

Only he went to the toilet first, thoroughly emptying the contents of his stomach.

Voldemort had failed to possess him, Harry hadn't been aware of how afraid of that he had been until now.

Would Voldemort have made him like Quirrell?

Dumbledore said Voldemort had been unable to possess him because of his mother's love, for the love Harry held for others, but if that wasn't true…

What if it was something else?

What if Harry was weaker this year? More worn down? And not knowing the possible dangers, Voldemort might try again, only this time, succeed.

He had no one to go to for help with this. He thought Snape might kill him if he tried attacking his mind when he was this weak.

He was dry-heaving now, his throat burning, his body rigid with the strain.

God , it hurt.

His heart thundered. Something inside his chest seemed to writhe, as a pounding headache grew behind his scar throughout his face.

He had to use the wall to pull himself to his feet. The space between the stall and the sink seemed far too wide as he kept his focus on the floor below him. Either a lifetime or a minute later, he was back to gripping the sink, just as he had in the nightmare.

He was afraid to look in the mirror, afraid to touch his face.

That suggests that what you fear the most of all is— fear. Very wise, Harry, Lupin had told him once.

Harry let out a long breath. Such wisdom was useless if he couldn’t face it.

He looked up, and he saw that though his scar was inflamed, it wasn't bleeding and it hadn't grown. He straightened his skewed glasses that he must have fallen asleep with.

Both of his eyes were still green.

He exhaled in a rush.

Just a nightmare .

Likely one that was just a nightmare. No corridors, just his subconscious dragging him through Hell.

His own fault for thinking he could get more than two hours of sleep.

"Harry?"

Harry jumped, spinning, his wand arm raised in a flash, but he had no wand. Where was his wand?

The mirror shattered. 

Harry threw his arms up around his face as he was thrown to the ground by the force of it. 

Glass rained down around him and the facet heads popped off, water bursting from the pipes.

His ears began to ring, the sounds of water fading away.

"Get McGonagall!" someone yelled in the distance.

"Harry, don't move!"

Ron, that last voice was Ron.

Harry didn't move as he watched water funnelling down the drains through the droplets on his glasses. Reddish pink blood dotted the tiled floor to be washed away.

He must have been cut.

" Reparo!"

Harry looked up to see Fred and George.

Harry hissed as the mirror shards were lifted from his side to reform the mirror.

George was suddenly beside him, "Harry? Harry, mate, can you hear me?"

Harry was shaking, he was so fucking tired.

Sirius had died, but he wasn't, the world had fallen apart, but it hadn't.

But it would.

Harry felt like he couldn't breathe, like he would be alright, if he could just catch his damned breath.

But that was asking a lot of the universe. At this point, his life was just one long series of unfortunate events after another.

The water stopped soaking him, and McGonagall seemed to appear out of the ether. Was he losing time?

Was he in shock?

Plausibly.

Sirius, Death Eaters, Voldemort, the forsaken prophecy, his friends getting hurt because of him, and then time travel.

Yeah, shock seemed pretty plausible.

"Mr. Potter, are you alright?" McGonagall said, reminding him she was still there.

His teeth were chattering, the water had been cold, and all he could say was, "Wand."

"I'll get it!" Ron called from where he had been standing just inside the doorway.

"Misters Weasley," McGonagall addressed the twins. "Could you help Mr. Potter to the hospital wing?"

Harry shook his head, but he couldn't get the words out to tell her he didn't need to go to the hospital wing.

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"Accidental magic," McGonagall answered tightly.

Fred and George stilled, staring at her, "He's fifteen."

Almost sixteen, Harry couldn't say.

Seamus poked his head in, "That's impossible."

Her head ratcheted stiffly toward him. “Then did you cast a blasting hex on your own bathroom mirror, Mr. Finnigan?”

Seamus slowly retracted his head.

Harry met McGonagall's gaze. He swallowed hard as he got his feet under him with an embarrassing amount of help from Fred and George on either side of him.

"I want to go to class," he said clearly, even though the words hurt his throat.

Note to self, screaming at headmasters takes longer than 72 hours to recover from.

"Mate, you were screaming in your sleep," Ron informed him.

Or that.

"It's dawn," McGonagall said, making Harry notice she was still in her sleeping robes even though her hair was already done up. "You have time for Madame Pomfrey to look you over."

"What happened?" Ron asked, following behind them.

Neville, Dean, and Seamus got out of their way.

"Nightmare," Harry said.

"And the mirror?" McGonagall asked.

"I spooked, I guess," Harry answered, watching her profile as they descended the steps.

Her expression tensed further.

He had to know, "I thought accidental magic was common."

"Not after four years at Hogwarts," McGonagall answered, avoiding eye contact.

"What's wrong with me?" he asked, his panic returning in a rush as the five of them stepped out of the porthole.

She looked at him sharply, "Absolutely nothing."

"Then why?" he asked.

She finally met his gaze, "Because you are extremely powerful."

That pulled him up short, and he met her gaze, feeling for some reason as though he was truly seeing her for the first time. “So, this happened to you?"

Her lips thinned, "It happened to my mother, and Severus's —Professor Snape's— mother as well."

Harry frowned, "How do I fix it?"

She halted, Fred, George, and Ron stopping as well. Fred and George were basically carrying Harry at this point.

"You will not be returning to the Dursleys this coming summer, Mr. Potter. You will be staying with me at my summer cottage if it comes to it, no matter what Dumbledore says. You should never have been placed with them and I am sorrier than I can say that you were."

Harry was at once warmed and chilled by her words.

On one hand, Yeah! No more Dursleys.

On the other hand… Unbeknownst to anyone save Luna, he had been at Hogwarts for months and hadn't seen the Dursleys at all in that time.

So whatever McGonagall thought the problem was, she was probably wrong.

Feeling ill again and having no desire to embarrass himself further, he kept his mouth shut the rest of the way to the hospital wing.

Harry apologised to the twins for getting blood all over their robes.

"Shut up," Fred said.

George nodded, "Bleed on us anytime you like."

"Besides," Fred said, pulling his wand. "We have just the spell for this." And with a swift flick, they were clean. Including Harry, though, as his cuts were still bleeding that didn't mean much as he dripped onto the white of the hospital bedsheets.

Harry glanced at the two witches nervously, knowing it was a bad sign that McGonagall had pulled Madame Pomfrey aside to talk before bandaging him up.

When the Mediwitch came back to them, she was scowling as she inspected the cuts and began putting ointment on them, starting with his face.

"You will remain here for the morning and can attend Care of Magical Creatures in the afternoon after lunch, which you will also have here," McGonagall said.

"But I'll miss Charms and Transfiguration!" Harry exclaimed.

Ron snorted and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like Hermione.

"Today in Charms, the class will be revising on the Summoning Charm, which you already proved in the Triwizard Tournament to be quite skilled at. As for my class, I don't doubt your ability to learn the Vanishing Spell."

It was unfair because he knew it already, but he couldn't give them any reason to think he wasn't fit to be a TA.

"I do know that spell, I can do it now if you like," he offered, trying and probably failing to hide his panic.

McGonagall blinked at him, her jade eyes unreadable.

But without further questions, she conjured a snail at the end of his bed.

"Wait—" Madame Pomfrey said.

But Harry already had his wand pointed and a second later, the snail vanished.

Fred whistled.

McGonagall looked surprised, though nowhere near as pleased as Harry would have liked.

Still, she said, "Fifteen points to Gryffindor. But I'm afraid you've just made the point of attending class moot. Aside from those two spells, all you would achieve in class are enduring lectures on the importance of OWLs for future careers. Rest up, Mr. Potter."

"Thank you, Professor."

She nodded and turned on her heel without another word.

Harry had the sinking suspicion he was in deep trouble.

"I'll let Hermione know what happened," Ron said. "I need to go get dressed." He was still in pyjamas.

"I'll meet you down at Care of Magical Creatures. Thanks, Fred, George, for the help," Harry said.

They nodded, waving awkwardly as they left.

Harry sighed.

"I want you to stay the night," Madame Pomfrey said.

Harry met her gaze, "One condition."

She raised an amused brow, "Oh?"

"Could I have a dreamless sleep potion, please, just for tonight?" he asked, voice coming out smaller than he intended it to be.

Her amusement fell away, she touched his hair gently, "I can arrange that, Mr. Potter."

He sighed, allowing himself to be shepherded under the covers.

Three days into the past, yet it somehow already felt like a lifetime.

Hard to believe this was just the beginning.

oOo

Minerva didn't bother to dress. She went straight to Albus's tower, using her magic to transform her night robes into day clothes.

"Minerva—" Albus greeted, standing graciously from behind his desk.

"Harry lost control of his magic this morning," she said without preamble.

"Is everyone alright?" he asked.

"Aside from Harry?" she asked. "Fine, he shattered the bathroom mirror and suffered only a few surface cuts."

"What was he trying to do?" Albus asked.

"Nothing, he had a scare," she explained. "Albus, he didn't have his wand. "

Albus paled and sat back in his seat. He took off his glasses and put a hand to his face.

"My mother did not die from it," Minerva said gently, being one of the few people who knew how Albus had lost his little sister.

"Your mother," Albus said, not looking up at her. "Recovered because she had the freedom and love to recover. What do we have to offer Harry? Sirius is on the run, a war is starting, and Harry is Voldemort's primary target. Especially after he got away again at the end of last year."

"This summer, he will come and live with my brother and me."

"Minerva—"

"Don't you dare, Albus. Malcolm and I should have taken him from the start."

"I didn't want him that isolated."

"Then you failed," Minerva informed him, knowing that an isolated cottage deep within the Scottish countryside would have been far preferable to the life Harry had endured.

Albus's shoulders rounded, "I was afraid to check up on him, I never knew who was watching—"

"No excuse will undo the damage that has been done," Minerva interrupted. "He's breaking, Albus. And a wizard of his power will not fade from existence as Elieen Prince did."

Albus shut his eyes, "What do you suggest we do?"

"We push him," she said.

He stood, so abruptly Fawkes flapped off the back of Albus's chair to his perch, "Are you insane?"

"Arianna was sheltered," Minerva said. "My mother and Snape's mother were both isolated as well."

"And you don't think taking up his every available period is enough?" he asked.

"I want to continue his training over the holidays," she said.

"And how will that help in the here and now?" Albus asked.

"I think you are correct, he has enough to be getting on with, for now. But something has changed, Albus. I think he fears the Dark Lord now, not for what he can do to Harry but for what he can do to the people he loves. We have to pull him into the loop, and be honest with him. This winter holiday, I say you allow the Weasleys to stay at Grimmauld Place, but Sirius, Remus, and Harry will go stay with Malcolm."

"To what end?" Albus asked.

"To give him something to look forward to, come summer."

"But Sirius—"

"Sirius has been imprisoned for a crime he did not commit for thirteen bloody years!" Her voice rose, waking up any portrait that had been pretending to sleep.

"To keep him in that house is wrong, and you know it! Whatever Sirius's faults are, he would have been a better guardian for Harry than the Dursleys, and Sirius would have grown up. Now that man is traumatised in a million different ways and it's a damned miracle he's not utterly insane! Allowing Harry and Sirius time together is not enough if Sirius is bloody miserable! Of course, there is a risk in sending them to my brother, but there is still arguably a risk at Grimmauld Place."

Albus looked at her for a long moment, "Say I agree to this, what else are you planning?"

"Let Sirius and Remus train Harry in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Let Sirius and I begin training Harry to become an animagus."

"Absolutely not," Albus said.

"Give me one good reason we shouldn't?" she challenged.

“Do you truly think it wise to give the Ministry cause to persecute Harry? Making him an unregistered Animagus—”

"They’ll persecute him with or without a legitimate reason, and you bloody well know it, Albus! If we don't stop You Know Who fast enough, then it very well might be Death Eaters with Auror badges who he will need protection against."

"And his friends?"

"Sirius and Remus are Harry's family. He needs to know he is valued as an individual, Albus. He needs his own family not just to be friends of another's family."

"He seemed rather angry with Remus."

"Remus loves Harry, he might not know how to show that but he thinks the world of him. In fact, I think he might think more highly Harry than he ever did of James. And Harry being angry at him." She paused then pushed forward, "Harry being angry at you , Albus, is a sign he cares for your regard of him. You need to stop pretending that the boy will ever have a normal life or childhood —or year— without violence and loss. That doesn't mean all things are denied to him. He can still have family, still grow to be someone with self-confidence and worth — he can still have hope for the future. But only if we permit him."

Albus closed his eyes and looked away from her, "Alright."

Minerva's heart sank at his acquiescence. She came round the desk, touching the man's cheek, "Albus?"

He looked up at her slowly, placing a gentle hand over hers, "I don't know how to protect him. Last year… he might have lost his magic or worse if we had fumbled getting him out of the tournament. Sirius… Peter, the year before, everything always goes so wrong with him."

Her heart clenched, because she had failed Harry as well, especially in his first year when he had come to her for help and she hadn't known that he wouldn't trust adults enough to take her word on things.

She had alerted everyone, they had gotten extra help.

It was downright embarrassing that three first years had gotten through their obstacles. But they had only been designed to slow an intruder down.

Designed to slow the Dark Lord and/or followers to catch them in the act. Voldemort wouldn't have been able to get around the mirror trap at all.

Harry probably got it out easier than nearly anyone else in the castle could have, knowing what the stone had been.

"The best we can do is teach him how to protect himself," she said.

Again, Albus looked away from her.

Minerva sat on the edge of his desk, "What aren't you telling me? What aren't you telling him ?"

Albus sighed, looking back up at her, "Do you remember his dreams from last year?"

She nodded, she had heard of them through Sirius.

"Harry has a connection to Voldemort, he means to glean what is passing through the Dark Lord's mind."

"And?" she prompted.

"What if that goes both ways?" Albus asked quietly.

Minerva's blood went cold, "How?"

"I don't know," he admitted.

"His scar?" she asked.

"Possibly," Albus admitted. "But it's on his face, Minerva. I've discussed it with Poppy, with specialists who treat cursed marks. Do you have any idea what the consequences of treating it are?"

She shook her head.

"The scar could grow, it could split open. If we are lucky, we could prevent death by blood loss. But if we are unlucky? Poppy said a scar like that could cleave his skull. If it is something more, something alive in any way, it could lash out. He could lose his sight, his hearing, his ability to speak, and any number of neurological issues. Poppy said, to even begin treatment, it would be years at St. Mungo's. The Killing Curse has only one known side effect and knowing Voldemort, if it wasn't just the Killing Curse… it would be the work of lifetimes to even deduce what he tried or even to determine if the Dark Arts he used in combination were not at all repeatable. I have a suspicion of what it might be, in which case the only viable cure is death."

Minerva sat very still, the words of the prophecy coming back to her.

"Albus…"

"I feel terrible," he said, words flowing like a damn being broken. "I see how much he is hurting, struggling… and I'm afraid to speak with him. I'm afraid that if Voldemort guesses how much I care for Harry that he will use that connection to get at me."

"When did you begin to suspect?"

"His second year, his fourth year is when I realized how bad it could be," he said, dejected.

She took his hand, "Harry is not alone, and neither are you."

"Voldemort could learn where you are if he sees Malcolm through Harry's eyes."

"So we see to it that Harry has a portkey in reach and we have a trap in place," Minerva said. "But we can't send him back to the Dursleys. He might be in greater danger from himself than the Dark Lord now."

Albus squeezed her hand, "I didn't know. That's no excuse, but I didn't understand how badly they were treating him." He met her gaze, "How could they not love him? How could Petunia not adore him? I know he was being underfed, I knew he didn't have many friends… I couldn't have guessed they would hate him. Petunia wanted to be a witch."

"Jealousy is a poison. And even gone, Petunia lives in Lily's shadow. That wound is deepened by the fact that Lily is younger and that their parents are gone."

Albus closed his eyes, "It wasn't until I pressed Arabella this summer did she indicate how bad it was. Her reports always described him as such a compassionate soul, that he enjoyed drawing and reading. She said he didn't get along with his cousin, which is why I assumed he was left behind for family trips. She never implied that…" His voice trailed off in empty defence.

She realized how much guilt he must be harbouring over this.

Minerva sighed, "I think Petunia blamed Lily for their parents' deaths."

His eyes snapped open, "That is not Harry's fault."

"No, but he was an easy target."

Albus looked pained, "I didn't—"

She squeezed his hand in both hers, "You see the best in people, Albus. It is one of your greatest strengths, and one of your greatest blind spots. Petunia is not all evil, so you could not see what evil she was capable of."

"You think I would have learned better at my age," he said.

She knew he was thinking of Grindelwald, and all she could think to say was, "Sometimes, Albus, it is not what we do wrong in the end that matters, but what we do when we realise we are wrong. We cannot undo the harm done to Harry and Sirius, we can help them grow stronger so that they may learn to overcome it."

Albus was quiet for many long moments before asking, "Do you think Malcolm would take Sirius in sooner than the winter holidays?"

Minerva smiled, "My brother always wanted a dog."

oOo

Hermione got the Vanishing Spell on the third try.

And allowed herself a small smile when McGonagall granted their house five points.

"Harry got it on his first try."

Hermione looked at Ron, "What?"

Her worry for Harry was immense. Ron, Neville, Dean, and Seamus all seemed deeply shaken by whatever had happened this morning that had landed Harry in the hospital wing on the second day of term.

It might have been a record, except Harry had been admitted to the hospital wing the night before term started third year because of the Dementor.

Nightmares and accidental magic wasn't a good enough explanation for her.

"Harry, he got it on the first try. He seemed really upset to have been missing Charms and Transfiguration."

"He's changed," Hermione said worriedly.

Ron nodded and said in a low voice, "You should have seen his face. I've never… I've never seen him so afraid, not ever."

Hermione's heart twisted, and saying that of Harry, who had literally faced dragons and dark lords, was no small thing.

"We will be there for him," she said firmly.

Ron nodded and tried and failed again to do the Vanishing Spell.

oOo

Harry held the Bowtruckle gently as Hermione sketched out its head. They were all sitting in the grass. Harry had made a comment about never being able to find the Bowtruckles if they got loose, which somehow prompted the entire class to sit in a circle.

"Thanks for letting us draw you," Harry said to the stick person.

The Bowtruckle blinked up at him and began running its nails over Harry's fingers, as if Harry had suddenly become interesting, as if they were studying Harry as Harry was studying them.

"Talking to the stick, Potter?" Draco asked.

Harry looked between Draco and the Bowtruckle, and with his free hand tapped his chin, "From what I can tell, the Bowtruckle appears to have a greater verbal comprehension than you so…" He shrugged.

"Going to apply for Hagrid's job next?" Draco sneered.

Harry raised a brow, "As opposed to your father's noble profession? What does he do again? Hair modelling for witches' shampoo companies?"

Nott snorted a laugh.

Blaise Zabini looked away to hide a smile.

"You'll be lucky to be a sliver of the man my father is," Draco bit out.

"Malfoy, I shrugged off Barty Crouch Jr.'s Imperius Curse and Voldemort's Imperius Curse. I hate to break it to you, but I'm already a better man than your father."

"Did you really fight the Dark Lord?" Nott asked.

Harry shook his head, "Something weird happened with our wand cores, it was dumb luck I got away. But he didn't break me, at least, he didn't have the time to."

"Then you aren't as arrogant to think you can actually take on the Dark Lord?" Nott asked.

Harry nodded, "I think the chances of me dying a natural death at this point is a ludicrous joke."

Hermione made a face, but Harry went on, "Luckily for me, Voldemort's luck appears to be as shitty as mine."

"You're a very positive person," Daphne Greengrass remarked.

He smirked at her, "I'm thinking of changing my name to Sunshine."

Daphne nodded seriously, "The Dark Lord, defeated by Sunshine? It could work."

Harry laughed.

Grubbly-Plank came around, "How's everyone doing?"

"Fine, Professor," Nott answered.

When Harry turned back to look at his friends, Hermione and Ron were gaping at him.

"What the hell was that?" Ron asked.

Harry raised a brow, "What was what?"

"You being nice to Slytherins?" He lowered his voice, "Nott's father is—"

"Stop," Harry interrupted. "I'm not the Dursleys and while Malfoy might be his father's Mini-Me, that doesn't mean everyone is. Or are you harbouring a collection of batteries Hermione and I are unaware of?"

Ron's face turned pink, "Don't you dare say anything about my—"

"I'm not, Ron," Harry said. "I'm just saying we shouldn't judge people by their families. Even if you like your family, that doesn't mean you are who your parents are."

Hermione looked very pleased, "You're absolutely right, Harry."

Ron grumbled a reluctant affirmative.

He caught Malfoy and the other Slytherins watching them surreptitiously as they packed up.

Ron could hold a grudge, something Harry had in common with him, but he also knew Ron would come around.

If Harry could get the Slytherins to loosen up a little, he might be able to set up the DA club earlier. Maybe even have some of the Slytherins to join, aside from Malfoy and his friend group. He wasn't fool enough to trust them as far as he could throw them

Harry would never have bet on Nott being a reasonable person, but maybe Dumbledore was right, about everyone deserving a chance.

"I really like your sketchpad," Hermione said as Harry gently placed the Bowtruckle into its magically expanded home.

Harry smiled, "Thank you, Luna gave it to me."

"When did you two get so close?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged, "We kept in touch over the summer."

Hermione and Ron winced.

Harry didn't understand why until he remembered how he had torn into them both for not telling him anything over the summer when he had first arrived at Grimmauld Place.

He sort of wanted to apologise, knowing everything Ron and Hermione had endured in the coming year.

And yet…

It still hurt that Ron and Hermione trusted Dumbledore more than they trusted him. If he told them today, all that had happened, he had no doubts that they would confide in the Headmaster.

Which meant he couldn't confide in them. And he resented them for it, even knowing, one way or another they would learn to mistrust Dumbledore as much as he did.

oOo

AN: Thoughts about the chapter, Bowtruckles, or feedback, pretty please?

Chapter Text

Chapter 5 - Gods Don't Bleed

"You are at the wrong table," said Draco.

“Now, Astoria, what you need to do there is put the emphasis on the first syllable, it’s not like the other-”

“Potter,” said Draco, more firmly this time, “You are at the wrong ta-”

“What does ‘wrong’ mean in this context, exactly? Because I was invited, by a Slytherin, and this being the Slytherin table… Anyway, so the first syllable-”

"You best be careful, Potter." Draco was nearly vibrating at this point.

Harry turned fully to face him. "Careful is for people with long life expectancies."

Draco’s cheeks turned pink as he spluttered, but Harry was already returning his attention to Astoria.

Daphne sat beside him a minute later, "I thought you joined the Ravenclaws for lunch?"

"Your sister asked for help in Charms," Harry said. He looked at said little sister, "You ready to stop pretending you don't know what you're doing yet?" 

"Only if you stay for the meal," Astoria said.

Harry sighed but grabbed a plate and a yoghurt.

Astoria grinned in victory and spelled the shakers to dance.

Daphne shook her head, "She played you."

"Implying I didn't know?" Harry countered. "I don't mind. I'm waiting for them to ask me to teach them something interesting."

"Interesting like what?" Astoria asked.

Harry snapped his fingers and the salt and pepper burst from the tops of the shakers, they hurricaned together, then fell back into their respective shakers.

"What was that?" Charles, another third year Slytherin demanded.

Harry waggled a finger, "That's for you to discover. I'll teach you if you can find the name of the charm."

"But you did it without a wand or speaking!" Astoria said, outraged.

Harry shrugged, "I would have needed one of those two things if I wanted to do something bigger than a salt shaker."

The third years scowled at Harry as he ate a spoon full of parfait.

Daphne shook her head, "You are a very weird person."

"Thank you," Harry said without missing a beat.

The rest of lunch was spent with the third years guessing potential Charms spells and Daphne leading them on in circles as Harry fought not to laugh. Only Astoria seemed to catch on to the fact that Daphne was having a go at them.

oOo

"I'm going to the library," Harry told Ron and Hermione on Saturday.

"I'm going to Quidditch practice," Ron said.

Hermione frowned at Harry, "I thought you already finished this week's homework?"

"I'm studying theory," Harry said. "I suck at it and some of the library books are better than the textbooks, even if I need to read multiple books to cover any given chapter from the textbooks."

"He's going to go see Luna," Ron said with an eye roll.

"Really?" Hermione asked.

"You're welcome to join us," Harry lied.

Hermione shook her head, "No thank you, I think I'll pass on an afternoon wondering about how the Nargles are doing."

And that's why Harry didn't love spending time with Hermione and Luna together. In many ways, they were a lot alike.

Oddly, both of them had greeted him the same way, by telling him who he was.

But their similarities only made them seem to butt their heads harder together where they deviated from each other's beliefs. Luna was curious about the world, and sensitive to things that Harry could just barely sense, while Hermione craved truths and facts. If Hermione couldn't understand it, if it wasn't understandable, then she had a hard time dealing with it.

Likewise, Luna had a hard time trusting anything that appeared to have definitive answers.

Still, even knowing Hermione didn't mean to be rude, Harry couldn't hold his tongue, "About the knitting, Hermione."

She stiffened, "The elves want to be free."

"I think you should try unionising them, like elf rights rather than changing the dynamics of their magic. I'm not saying it’s fair, or good, or anything like that. But you're basically threatening them with homelessness and shaming them into taking money. Winky made it sound like you are asking her to be a prostitute."

Hermione blinked, "You spoke to Winky about SPEW?"

"I talked to them about the knitting. The other elves have refused to clean Gryffindor Tower, so Dobby is doing it all by himself."

Hermione looked stricken.

"If it makes you feel better," Harry said, swinging his bag over his shoulder. "Dobby really likes the hats, though I think he prefers the socks."

He left before she could reprimand him.

He knew he was being git, but he didn't have a lot of patience for the way people talked about Luna behind her back.

Especially after Flitwick had confided that it was a few of the older girls who had been stealing Luna's things, specifically her shoes, in her dormitory.

By the time Harry reached the library on this rainy Friday afternoon, Luna had gotten their window seats on a small sofa that had a footrest.

She looked up at him with a smile, and he fell into the spot beside her with a smile of his own.

"Look who I found," Luna said, holding out a cupped hand.

Harry held out his palm and smiled anew at the familiar light weight of the Bowtruckle.

"Well, hello there," he greeted the little creature.

"He snuck into my bag during class," Luna said. "I figured he was looking for you considering he didn't make a break for the woods."

Harry hummed, then asked, "Was that true, were you looking for me?"

The Bowtruckle looked down at Harry's fingers, again running its nails curiously over the groves of his knuckles.

"I'm going to take that as a yes," Harry said. "But if you ever want to return to your family, bite or scratch my lower palm." He tapped on the spot. "Okay?"

The Bowtruckle looked up at him and nodded.

Luna giggled, "He really is smarter than Draco."

Harry laughed, reaching into his bag with his free hand for his sketchbook, sixth year Potions book, as well as a pencil he had tracked down in the Room of Requirement.

The Bowtruckle eyes widened and reached for the pencil which Harry gave to him immediately. The Bowtruckle chattered happily, examining the wood.

"Guess you'll need an English name, huh?" Harry asked, his heart melting at the cuteness of the creature.

Maybe becoming a Magizoologist was a better goal than Auror.

"How about Pen?" Luna suggested, leaning against his shoulder, pointing at the pencil.

Harry smiled, feeling the tension in his body ease. "Pen like pencil, how does that sound to you?" he offered the Bowtruckle who was looking between the two humans and the pencil.

He nodded his leafy head.

"Pen the Bowtruckle," Harry declared, pulling out another pencil and sketching the Bowtruckle who was still hugging the first pencil.

His leaves were fan shaped, like that of a ginkgo tree.

When Harry finished the picture half an hour later, Pen chittered happily and held out a hand for the other pencil.

Harry and Luna laughed as he passed it over.

He cracked open his potion book as Luna kicked off her shoes to curl up on the sofa.

"Been sleeping alright?" he asked as she shut her eyes.

"Sometimes. I keep dreaming of the prophecies falling, the sound is like water, like waves, and then I'm drowning," she said softly.

Harry shivered. Letting the Bowtruckle climb from his hand to sit on the open books, he put an arm around her shoulders, "I'm sorry, Luna."

Luna sank further into his side, so her head was resting on his hip, "Not as bad as yours."

"It's still not okay," he said, rubbing her shoulder.

She exhaled, "I've been through worse."

He sighed.

She opened her eyes to look up at him, "I feel like something is coming."

"Me too," he admitted.

"I like the way things have been," she said.

They had spent nearly every afternoon together and ate at the Ravenclaw table together.

Hermione nor Ron loved it, but Harry had never been so— carefree while being so stressed out before.

Harry was about to respond in kind, but Luna had already closed her eyes again, and was snoring softly, having fallen asleep.

Harry smiled and brushed a lock of her fair hair from her face. Whatever was coming, he was happy for the time they had.

Pen the Bowtruckle began inspecting the erasers at the end of the pencils.

oOo

Parvati was about to drop in the next ingredient, but Harry caught her hand.

"Wait," he said and raised his hand.

Parvati gaped.

Had Harry Potter ever raised a hand in Snape's class before?

The other students noticed and instantly fell quiet. That quiet spread outward as people looked round and saw Harry's hand raised high.

No one raised their hand in Snape's classroom, especially not when Snape hadn't posed a question to the class.

Snape seemed confused, his eyes scanning the room like a hawk looking for a mouse as he searched for the disturbance. He froze when he caught sight of Harry.

Then drawled in a tone that promised pain if this was a joke of some kind and possibly even if it wasn’t, "What is it, Mr. Potter?"

"After you add in the dandelion root, which direction do you stir and when do you turn it to a simmer?"

"If you read the directions—"

Harry interrupted him, "The directions just say, 'Stir until it's dissolved within the simmer.' It doesn't say how fast or what direction nor does it say if you turn it to a simmer before, during, or after adding the root."

Snape stared at him for ten solid seconds, then at long last: "In the unlikely event that you ask out of a genuine desire to over-achieve, the best results are to turn it to a simmer before adding the dandelion root, and to slowly stir counter-clockwise until you can no longer see it bulge. Dandelion root, as a mundane ingredient, dissolves quickly within a magical solution."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said.

Snape hesitated, an utterly unreadable expression on his face, and finally turned on his heel to loom over another student and the room promptly burst into whispers.

Parvati turned down the burner and said, "I don't know why I'm so impressed, but I am."

Harry glanced at Hermione was scowling down at her cauldron, already being several steps ahead, her potion was finished. It was green rather than the flawless turquoise Harry and Parvati's potion had turned into.

Parvati didn't know when Harry Potter had become a better researcher than Hermione Granger, but she wondered if Hermione would overcome her pride to forgive him for it.

Harry had been opening up to everyone who was pleasant to him, even people who verbally spared with him, but he was also beginning to show off that he was more than just the adrenaline junky they had all pegged him as.

Potter was kind, intelligent, and an incredibly powerful wizard. He would have been…almost fanciable if it hadn't been for the rumours, for the knowledge that the Dark Lord really was back.

Harry Potter was a boy with a cause and it was pretty clear to anyone with eyes that Harry was walking on a knife's edge, that he was dancing with disaster as he pushed himself, harder and harder.

He wasn't studying to get good grades like Hermione, he was studying because he believed the world was ending.

He was too glib about comments of his own demise and as a TA, rumour had it he gave extremely practical advice. Defence Against the Dark Arts Charms were starting to come up regularly in Flitwick's class. So far, no one, not even Flitwick, had found a standard DADA spell or charm or countercurse Harry did not know. At some point, knowing that much about self-defence was worrying.

Luna Lovegood was the only person Harry seemed to settle around, everyone else, including Ron and Hermione, seemed to make him restless.

Parvati was worried, and even Harry's enemies, like Malfoy, seemed worried too.

Because let's face it, Harry Potter had gone against a dragon unafraid. If he was afraid enough to give up Quidditch and be polite to Professor Snape to throw himself into his studies, they were all probably in gravest danger.

oOo

Sirius was debating how early he could start drinking without Remus lecturing him when Minerva stepped out of the fireplace.

"Pack," she greeted him, her expression severe. "You too, Remus."

Remus raised a brow but rose from the table to go get his trunk without a word of protest.

"Why?" Sirius asked.

"Now, Sirius," she said sharply.

"Fine," he said, rising to his feet. He didn't have much to pack. He had nothing in this house worth having.

When he tracked back down to the main floor, Minerva held out a tennis ball.

Sirius rolled his eyes, "Ha ha."

Remus's lips twitched, but he didn't surrender to the smile as they reached out together for the portkey.

The three of them were yanked through space.

When they landed, Sirius leaned into Remus's side to keep his feet. His breath caught as he tasted the air.

Clean, crisp, mountainous air.

Sirius looked up at the blue sky, his heart fluttering, as he perused the horizon, mountains, rivers, lakes, and beautiful stone spotted with the greenest grass.

Scotland.

Sirius turned on Minerva who was smiling at him softly, "What is this?"

"You will no longer be staying at Grimmauld Place, save for meetings," Minerva said.

Sirius was so relieved he felt weak in the knees.

"Whose cottage is that?" Remus asked.

Sirius spun to see where Remus was looking as the wind danced around them.

The cottage was a two-story stone building with what appeared to be a forge to the side of it.

"Come," Minerva instructed, striding over the grass.

Sirius flashed a smile at Remus who smiled back, and they walked together to their new hideout.

A tall, well-muscled man, with Minerva's jade green eyes, greeted them with a warm hello, before sweeping Minerva off her feet into a hug.

When she was set back on her feet, she introduced them, "Sirius, Remus, this is my brother, Malcolm McGonagall. Malcolm, this is Sirius Black and Remus Lupin."

Sirius was giddy, holding out his hand to shake the bearded man's hand. He was older than Sirius but unlike his older sister, his hair was still fully black.

"Thank you so much for having us," Sirius said earnestly.

Malcolm smiled, taking Sirius's proffered hand with his own calloused one, "It's my pleasure. I remember hearing about you years ago, you were one of Minerva's favourite students."

Sirius's smile grew, reminded of a time before he had been branded a mass murderer.

Malcolm shook Remus's hand without hesitation.

"I have breakfast ready, Mini, there is enough for everyone if you would like to stay," he offered.

Minerva nodded and they followed Malcolm to the kitchen-joint-dining room, "You both will be staying here, as will Harry."

The room had a large window overlooking the magnificent view.

Sirius felt his excitement rise, "Really!?"

Minerva nodded but it was Malcolm who answered, "Minerva stays with me during the summers, my home has always been open to Mr. Potter."

"What do you do for a living, Malcolm?" Remus asked as he was seated.

"I'm a smith and metal charmer," Malcolm said. "Business is good. My field is specialised enough that there is never a shortest of commissions."

"I don't doubt it," Sirius said, feeling as if nothing could ruin this day as he had breakfast with his best friend and the McGonagalls.

His name wasn't cleared, but this had to be the next best thing.

oOo

Harry knew he was dreaming.

As he knew this time it wasn't just his subconscious dragging him over the coals.

He knew these halls, knew that he was terribly, terribly vulnerable as his scar burned noticeably even within the nightmare.

Harry stood in the hall, debating his options.

" Harry!"

Sirius's voice called to him.

Harry sighed, knowing he couldn't do this again.

So he took the direct route; "Hello, Tom."

Anger rose in Harry.

It wasn't his anger, no, Voldemort's anger was a pale flame to his own.

He turned to find Voldemort standing before him.

Not the noseless one, nor the boy from the Diary, but the man handsome with sickly red eyes who had murdered his parents.

"Harry Potter," the monster crooned.

Harry wanted to hurt him.

Voldemort smiled at him as if reading his thoughts —or exactly like he was reading his thoughts.

"How clearly you see me. Did you have a good summer?"

Harry said nothing, testing the bounds of the dream and of his emotions.

In waking hours, it was a constant effort to not let himself slip into despair, a constant battle to not lash out at anyone and everyone around him.

But Voldemort?

Tom reached out to touch Harry's cheek, "You will obey me."

Fuck restraint.

Harry lunged at Tom like a feral cat.

He went for the bastard's eyes.

This being a dream, this being Harry's head, not Voldemort's, Harry was stronger here, even at his weakest, he was stronger.

Voldemort tried to get away, turning his face away even as they fell to the black marbled floor. Harry grappled him, grabbing at Tom's neck.

" You want this!?" Harry screamed, his anger, his pain, his magic, writhing around him. Any semblance of propriety peeling away. " You want inside!? Take it, you evil, bloody, snake-faced bastard!"

"Get off me!" Voldemort yelled at him, and Harry felt him pull away, the sensation the same as when Snape would pull back from attacking Harry during their Occlumency 'lessons'.

Harry dug his nails into Tom's throat, baring down on him. Harry closed his magic down on Voldemort's presence, on the oppressive weight of the foreign magic. He held on to their connection, so tightly that it burned, and still he did not let go.

"You want pain?" Harry snarled. "You want death? Or are you scared? I'll go with you if you are. Let's go together, you and I."

Tom's eyes went wide as he gasped, as if he truly couldn't breathe, as if he truly couldn't get away.

Harry felt Voldemort's magic yank outward, and Harry focused on it, let himself get mad, let himself rage, and despair; let his self-control go.

Like he had when he had blown up Aunt Marge.

The same vindictive fury and pleasure filling him when the wine glass had shattered in her hand, as she began to inflate.

Tom Riddle did not inflate as Harry attempted to strangle him in the empty halls of the Department of Ministry.

Tom bled.

From beneath Harry's gouging nails. Beneath those red glowing eyes, were shed tears of darkest crimson followed by bleeding from his nose, from his ears, and when his lips parted in a silent scream, his teeth were bloody too.

Bellatrix's voice echoed around them, " You have to mean it, Harry. Righteous anger is not enough to harm me."

Voldemort's eyes widened as he heard and recognised that voice too.

Welcome to my screwed up head.

Harry wasn't feeling righteous now, he felt crazy. He felt like he was losing his mind and any grasp of reason or morality.

He felt like he was dying.

And he shoved that all into Voldemort, who wasn't the sanest cookie himself.

Tom let go of Harry's wrists where he had been unable to force Harry away. Instead, he caught hold of Harry's shoulders, and spun to slam him into a wall so hard that Harry was left momentarily stunned. He let go and Tom reeled away, leaving Harry collapsed alone on the floor.

Harry's head spun, his vision swimming, but he hissed in Parseltongue, " Gods don't bleed, Mr. Riddle. The gods do not bleed."

There was no response, and exhaustion swept Harry away into true oblivion.

oOo

Voldemort scrambled to his feet, the words The gods do not bleed, ringing through his mind.

He hissed at the pain, his head was throbbing with needle-like stings, and he felt as if he had been bodily struck by a freight train.

Potter was no Occlumens, but he had been aware despite how his mind had been fractured, injured, and twisted.

Voldemort had thought it would be a relatively easy thing to seduce Potter's curiosity.

He hadn't expected the boy to recognize that his dreams had been encroached on, much less identify Voldemort so immediately.

Stumbling to the bathroom in the Malfoy manor where he was staying, Voldemort snarled as he looked into the mirror.

Blood pooled in the corners of his eyes. He blinked and his blood spilled like tears down his cheeks. He pulled down the collar of his robes and found claw marks, physical claw marks.

The implications of this were that he could kill Potter at any time he wanted; at a distance, the protections of Hogwarts be damned.

But Voldemort did not know what physically harming Potter while he was present in the boy's mind, would do to his own mind and body.

He was a Master Legilimens, but he had never heard of a connection like this between two wizards.

The only thing that should have happened, should have been possible was a headache, not physical injuries.

The marks on his neck, the taste of blood on the back of his tongue, indicated otherwise, that yes, physical harm was well and truly possible.

He touched one of the scratches and let out a low hiss.

Harry Potter was dangerous, and he was coming into the power Voldemort had been attempting to prevent. He couldn't risk entering the boy's mind again, couldn't risk the boy stumbling into getting the upper hand before Voldemort could learn how to control it to his benefit.

The boy was mad, heedless of any harm to himself.

Watching the blood drip from the fingernail marks on his neck, his head throbbing from the backlash from Potter's raw magical core, Voldemort decided he would act on an old promise sooner than he had ever intended.

It wouldn't be a quick solution, but knowing Harry Potter as Voldemort did, the boy would be on his knees begging for death when all was said and done.

oOo

Ron was pretty used to Harry waking up early.

So when he was still in bed Sunday morning, Ron was a bit worried.

Turns out, he should have been a lot worried.

He peeked into Harry's bed and saw blood trailing from his ears, eyes, and nose.

" Harry!" he shouted, as the others ran for help.

Harry didn't so much as flinch.

He was breathing, but it was too shallow, and not knowing what was wrong, Ron didn't want to move him. He tried pinching his arm, and kept yelling.

But Harry didn't stir, his breathing remained shallow.

"What is taking them so long?" Ron demanded.

Neville just shook his head.

Each minute passed agonisingly slowly.

Looking at the clock, it was nearly twenty minutes before help finally arrived.

It wasn't McGonagall.

" Move, " Snape commanded, breezing past them to Harry's side.

Where was McGonagall? Ron didn't ask as he got out of Snape's way.

Snape put his ear over Harry's mouth for a moment to make sure he was breathing, then his pulse.

He looked disturbed.

"What's wrong with him?" Neville asked.

"His pulse is thready. Did any of you hear anything?" Snape asked as Dean, Seamus, Fred, and George joined them.

"No, when I checked on him he was like this and he won't wake up," Ron answered.

Snape nodded, and ran an examination spell over Harry that Ron had seen Madame Pomfrey use.

The Professor let out a sigh of relief then cast a spell, " Rennervate."

Harry arched upward off the bed with a gasp, he fell back breathing hard.

"Harry!" Ron called in relief.

Harry laughed, he could hardly breathe, he was still bleeding, but he laughed around it.

"Be still, Potter," Snape instructed.

"I got him," Harry rasped, looking up at Snape with a bloody smile.

"You got who?" Snape asked in a long-suffering tone.

Harry's gaze drooped, "Your Master."

"It was just a nightmare, Potter," Snape sneered.

Harry's eyes flashed, bloodshot and surrounded by macabre tear tracks of crimson blood and focused completely on the Professor. "He's going to kill me…" Harry's voice warbled as if his energy had been suddenly sapped. His eyes fell shut as he whispered, " But I made him bleed. "

He slumped back in bed, once more unconscious.

"What the hell is happening?" Fred asked.

With more care than Ron would have predicted, Snape reached under Harry to lift him into his arms.

"That," Snape said in a clipped tone. "Is between Potter and Madame Pomfrey."

Ron felt sick as he followed after the Potions Professor, a gnawing fear settling in his gut that maybe things were different.

Maybe Harry was facing dangers that no one could help him with. In all their adventures, Ron had never imagined he would lose his best friend in the night while they were all asleep in their beds.

It seemed so mundane, too surreal…

Ron had never felt so helpless.

oOo

AN: Thoughts, ginkgo saplings, and feedback on the chapter, pretty please?

Chapter Text

WARNING MAJOR ESCALATION: Fuck this chapter. I'm sorry, my brain decided it wanted to share its 'feelings' and now we all have to live with this.

Brace. For. Impact.

This story has a happy ending, but like the opposite of smooth sailings. I'm not upping the rating because aside from the swearing, this really doesn't get as bad as Fantastic Beasts and parts of Deathly Hallows (also there are as of yet no lemons). But there are further Horror genre elements moving forward.

I can at least promise you that nobody dies in this chapter ;D

Still, proceed at your own risk.

Chapter 6 - Promises, Promises

Severus was furious.

How much of his life had he given up to play the part of 'Dumbledore's Pet Death Eater' in order to protect Lily's son?

And all that had gone to shit if the boy was going to bleed his brains out through his ears.

He waited long enough for Poppy to stabilise him before going to Albus's office.

"Severus—" Albus greeted, stepping back as if he were to head down for breakfast.

Severus slammed the door shut behind him, "What is your plan for Potter?"

"Such concern," Albus mocked, never pleased with being greeted with such rudeness by those he considered friends.

"Don't test me," Severus spat. "How are you protecting him?"

"Voldemort is—"

"Is already inside of his head!" Severus roared. "And Potter is ready to die to merely hurt the Dark Lord, what are you doing?"

Albus looked stunned, not only at his tone but his volume.

"What's happened to Harry?" he asked catching on to what was happening, that Severus wasn't angry about something the boy had done but because of something that happened to him.

"What does it matter?" Severus asked. "What does it matter when you will continue to do nothing?"

"Severus," Albus warned.

"No," he said, refusing to be cowed. "Enough, that boy is dying!"

Albus walked behind his desk and asked again, "What happened?"

"What happened was that the Dark Lord managed a long-distance Legilmens attack, and Potter managed to rail against him, in the process , harming himself."

Albus didn't look surprised.

Shouldn't he have been?

Severus hated how closely Albus kept his cards to his chest. He had known something like this was possible.

He had known.

"Damnit, Albus!" Severus swore. "Whatever you think you've been doing, it isn't enough. You need to go to him, you can't keep avoiding him as you have been. You let this go on, and he will be dead by Yule."

"Severus," again the old man warned.

"Just look at his mind! He's fractured, Albus, he's losing—"

"He's an Obscurus," Albus said shortly.

Severus swallowed, thinking of his mother and the description of those creatures he had read of.

His mother had not become an Obscurus, partly because of her age and partly because she had no desire to go on living.

Potter might have lost hope, but that was different from losing the desire to live.

The boy had just done the math between himself and the Dark Lord and thinking he was alone had come to the natural conclusion of his inevitable death in that fight.

"You want him to survive those attacks?" Severus asked. "Then go to him. He's not a lost cause. He's just lost. I don't think the Dark Lord will risk attacking him anytime soon. It is safe for you to speak to him, the Dark Lord will never possess Harry."

"Why?" Albus asked, his defensive mask slipping.

"Because only a fool would possess someone who would rather kill them both than let his dreams be invaded. Only a fool would rob a burning house. And the Dark Lord is no fool."

"Do you think I should teach him Occlumency?" Albus asked.

"I think if anyone could save him from becoming an Obscurus, it's you. Black is no father, Minerva acted too late, but you? For some forsaken reason he loves you."

Albus made to speak but Severus held up a hand and continued, "Maybe because the Dark Lord fears you. Maybe because he believes with a child-like naivety —he seems to have otherwise outgrown— that you could change the world if prompted. So you have to do something, because he's going to keep going to that hospital wing, and one day he's not going to be allowed or able to leave it."

oOo

Love was both a choice and not a choice at all. She liked Harry, and that was not a choice, it was a fact.

Holding his hand, however, was a choice.

Letting herself love him a little more each day was a choice as well.

Despite knowing he would leave her, just as her mother had.

She could see it.

His magic was taking on a life of its own. The more he used his magic, the better he felt, and yet, the more injured his magic seemed to become.

Harry was racing toward the grave. Burning brighter and brighter, for all the world to see.

He was, perhaps, the definition of one who burns the brightest, burns out the fastest.

And still Luna could not bring herself to leave him. Nor could she ask him to slow down, not when she saw the pain it caused him. He was just like her mother, he would not be himself if he was stuffed back behind safe lines.

Pandora Lovegood had been a wildfire, dancing, spreading further and further beyond the boundaries of any nation or human derived border.

Pandora had told her once, that she had touched the heart of magic, tasted it at the heart of creation.

And she had chased the feeling to the end.

In Luna's heart of hearts, she knew that her mother's death had been a beautiful thing, even if it had nearly destroyed her father, even if she would never learn what spell her mother had been trying to cast.

In the end, it didn't matter, because her mother had died being who she was, living as she was meant to.

She had been a bird learning to fly, and she would not have been a bird if she had not dared to jump.

Harry was the same.

He was the wind and he would go wherever the tides led him.

She could not ask him to stay, no matter how much she wanted to, she could not ask him to stay because he would cease being the person she craved.

"My dear?"

Luna looked up, startled into taking her hand back from Harry's. She reclaimed it a moment later, Harry was unconscious, how else would he know she was there unless she was holding his hand?

"It's late," Professor Flitwick said gently.

Luna didn't look up at him, just squeezed Harry's hand a bit tighter.

Madame Pomfrey had long forgotten she was here.

In answer to her Head of House, she said softly, "I know that, the moon told me."

The moon was nearly full tonight, silver light shimmering down through the windows.

"Don't you think you ought to get some sleep?" Flitwick asked gently.

She shook her head, "He's going to leave me, Professor. His time is quite limited."

Flitwick hopped up onto a tall stool on the other side of Harry's bed so that they spoke across from each other.

Which was fine, because Harry was unconscious, not sleeping. She had tried to explain the difference to Hermione but she didn't seem to understand that it would be a good thing for Harry to wake, up so he could go back to sleep and truly begin to rest.

"He will be here tomorrow, I promise," Flitwick said.

Luna shook her head, "Tomorrow, yes, and maybe the day after, and perhaps the week after that, but not forever. He's fading, Professor. He begins to be himself more and more and yet day by day he fades a little more."

"Madame Pomfrey—" he began.

"Failed to weigh his soul," Luna interrupted. "He's shattering, one day soon, death will be a mercy."

"My dear girl…" Flitwick said so gently she looked away from Harry's face, only then realising tears were falling from her eyes.

She blinked to clear her vision and had to swallow hard before admitting, "He's my only friend. My only human friend," she corrected herself.

Flitwick looked at her with pity which felt like knives dragged along her skin. "Mr. Potter has a long life ahead of him."

Luna's smile was not real as she answered, "That's what they said about my mother. And she was not in pain when she left us."

Professor Flitwick paused, then looked straight at her. "Ms. Lovegood, if I asked you what could save him, would you have an answer?" 

Luna didn't answer immediately, before leaning over the bed to pet back Harry's bangs and ran a finger over his scar.

It was hot to the touch.

"Neither can live while the other survives," she intoned. "But it's more than that, I’m afraid." She let her hand fall away as she looked back at her professor. "He can forgive everyone except himself, and he will not live long enough to outgrow that. And there's no one who can make him see otherwise."

Flitwick was quiet for a much longer time then, as they sat in the quiet night lit only by the pale light of a setting moon.

"Harry is very fond of you, Ms. Lovegood."

She shrugged, "That doesn't matter."

"I believe it does."

She shook her head. "He is my friend, he would die for me, but he will never love me."

"And why would you believe such a thing?"

She squeezed Harry's hand tightly then, "Because he doesn't love himself." Hot tears spilled down her cheeks and she didn't care.

Harry was unconscious, he wouldn't wake up to see her like this. To see the pain she was in. She could not bear to show it to him.

His time was short and she refused to hurt him worse than he was already hurting.

"If you need to skip tomorrow's classes to sleep in, I will speak to the other professors on your behalf."

"Thank you," she said as he hopped off the stool. "And thank you for listening, Professor."

"My door is always open to you, Ms. Lovegood. Try to remember that Harry's condition is in no way your fault or responsibility."

She smiled rubbing her thumb over the scars on the back of his hand, "I know. Whatever comes, that was my wish, to help him make it right. Not to fix him."

She didn't remember what Flitwick said after that. The next thing she knew she was waking up to sunlight and Harry smiling down at her.

She had no choice but to smile back.

Come what may, she would forever treasure these moments where she was not alone and had the ability to share with someone she loved.

oOo

Hermione and Ron arrived after dinner that night with a friend.

"I found this guy hiding in your luggage," Ron said, sitting beside Harry on the bed.

"Pen!" Harry exclaimed, holding out his hand for the Gingko Bowtruckle.

"I brought yesterday's homework," Hermione said, placing a stack of books on the side table.

Harry grinned, "Thank you."

Her own smile grew, and for the first time, Harry thought maybe his excelling in classes could bring them closer together rather than drive a competitive wedge between them.

Ron sighed, "Oh good, mate, I'm so far behind. I need all the help."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Well we have the night." She glanced at Madame Pomfrey. "Hopefully."

"I slept until late morning and went back to sleep after lunch. She's not going to kick you out till curfew."

"Great,” Ron said, pulling out a blank piece of paper. "Help. Please?"

Harry grinned, "Homework party it is then."

"The best kind of party there is," Hermione deadpanned.

"I hate you both," Ron said equally dryly.

Then the three of them began laughing.

As evenings in the hospital wing went it made for a rather pleasant night, even if it ended with Ron rewriting his entire essay with all the corrections Harry and Hermione had added to it.

oOo

When Harry woke the following day —still in the hospital wing— he thought to himself that they really ought to have given him that plaque they kept joking about. Especially, if Madame Pomfrey was going to insist on keeping him under observation for a full week.

When he saw Dumbledore sitting beside his bedside, for a moment, Harry forgot all that had happened between them and his heart soared, help had come, and then immediately sank when he realized why he must be here.

"You're here," Harry rasped.

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling, "I am indeed, Harry."

"How long?"

Dumbledore shifted, "Well, I've cleared my morning—"

"How long until it's over?" Harry clarified.

The Headmaster's expression sobered a bit, and he asked gently, "Until what's over?"

"Me."

"I'm pleased to inform you that you will be making a full—"

"Don't lie," Harry snapped. "You wouldn't be here, you wouldn't look at me, not unless it was the end."

All hint of mirth had vanished from Dumbledore's expression.

No eye twinkles.

He suddenly looked much older.

"I am sorry for my behaviour of late. You must know I did have—"

"You were afraid of him possessing me to get to you."

The man froze, then sighed, "Yes, that was my fear."

"Tom's the one afraid now," Harry informed, then added a bit snidely. "And it's not because of love."

Dumbledore arched a brow, "No?"

"No," Harry affirmed. "It's because he's afraid of death, and I'm not. He thinks he's a god and I taught him otherwise."

"Taught him how?" Dumbledore asked, sounding concerned.

He should have been concerned, if he was going to only show up at Harry's death bed, he could damn well do the decent thing, the bare minimum, of being concerned.

"I made him bleed."

"In the dream?"

Harry shook his head, "In real life." He touched his neck, "I can feel it. His pain. His fear. He's shaken. He bit off more than he can chew with me. Next time, perhaps neither of us will wake up."

"Harry," Dumbledore breathed.

"I thought you would be proud," Harry said, acid on his tongue. "Isn't that what you want, for us to destroy each other?"

"No, Harry, that isn't at all what I want."

"Pity, because that's what's going to happen. He's going to kill me, but I promise to do my best to take him down with me."

The Headmaster sighed again, "I have failed you."

Harry didn't want to have this conversation anymore, "I don't want your regret."

"What do you want?"

Harry's hands fisted on the bed as he looked down at the white covers, "I want to go to class."

Mercifully, Dumbledore allowed the topic to change. "You've been doing better this year in all of your classes, including Potions. I'm quite proud of you."

Since he was cheating, that approval didn't mean as much as it might have otherwise.

At his silence, Dumbeldore continued, "Minerva and Filius have praised your teaching skills."

Some of the tension seeped from his shoulders, "Thanks."

"Do you want to become a teacher one day, Harry?"

Harry looked back up, and some of his anger abated when the Headmaster held his gaze, "Maybe? I'm really starting to like Magizoology. I think Hagrid's job would be a lot, but I like the research and getting to know the creatures."

Dumbledore hummed, "It might be a bit soon for career counselling but Magizoology would require you to continue in Transfiguration, Charms, Defence, Potions, Herbology, Astronomy, and, of course, Care of Magical Creatures. I am also pleased to inform you that Flitwick will be teaching Alchemy next year. I think you would do well in that class."

"So everything save History of Magic with an advanced elective?"

"History of Magic is written by wizards, and while history is important, I have encountered very few texts in my life that are at all sympathetic much less charitable to non-human communities. It would help you very little. Independent research of specific creatures would do you far more good in that regard."

Talking about classes with Dumbledore was possibly the most normal conversation they had ever had, and Harry couldn't deny that he wanted to like Dumbledore.

"I was thinking of joining the Art club, Professor Flitwick is pretty incredible," Harry said, feeling lighter to be talking to this man about something that had nothing to do with Voldemort.

Flitwick taught art and music too, devoting so much time to his students.

"He is a great credit to this school."

Harry nodded, a little lost as to what to say next.

"Who is your friend?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry froze, feeling Pen peek out from his breast pocket. "I didn't steal him," he defended. "He found me."

Dumbledore's eyes were back to twinkling, "It is rare for a Bowtruckle to become curious in a wizard or witch."

The last proved he really did know everything that happened in his school.

Well, almost everything.

"Luna and I have determined he has a higher IQ than Draco."

Dumbledore shook his head, beard twitching but he let the remark pass unchastised, "I knew another young wizard who befriended a Bowtruckle. They remain in each other's company to this day."

"If you say Voldemort, I swear, I'll—"

"No, Harry, I was referring to Newt Scamander."

"Oh," Harry said, not knowing how to respond to that.

Dumbledore passed him a cup of water as he said, "He was one of my favourite students, and he remains a good friend of mine."

"Luna would really love to meet him," Harry said.

"Would you?" Dumbledore asked.

"Sure, but not as much as Luna. I have Hagrid."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said. "Hagrid is well, Harry, he was merely delayed in returning due to a family matter."

Harry nodded, he already knew this, of course, thanks to time travel, but it was nice to be told without asking all the same.

"And Snuffles?"

"He's gone north," Dumbledore said. "I'm afraid his previous domain didn't have a big enough yard."

Nothing Dumbledore could have realistically said would have raised his spirits faster than that.

It didn't matter Sirius was, even if Harry couldn't speak to him until the holidays, it was better than Grimmauld Place.

Sirius's chances of survival and sanity had just increased astronomically.

"And he'll be warm? For the colder months I mean."

"Warm and fed, surrounded by people who are very found of canines, indeed."

Which translated to Lupin being with Sirius still, and also being housed and fed.

Grinning, Harry held out his hand for Pen, who carefully climbed out of his pocket. "This is Pen, the Gingko Bowtruckle, Pen, this is Headmaster Albus Dumbeldore."

"An honour," Dumbledore said, then offered Pen a finger, which Pen petted, his version of a handshake.

Harry smiled, sometimes, in all the scheming and epic magical powers, he forgot that Dumbledore was just a man underneath.

A man who liked lemon drops, and socks, and was kind to everyone, no matter who they were or how small.

"Now," the Headmaster said. "As I was saying before, I cleared my morning."

Harry arched a brow, not daring to hope that the Headmaster would actually devote any time to him that wasn't absolutely necessary.

When he pulled out a bag of marbles, Harry was at once suspicious and absurdly hopeful.

oOo

It was both wonderful and saddening to see Harry in that moment.

On one hand, there was his kindness that surpassed even Lily Potter’s. Harry had certainly inherited her temper and bravery, as well as his father's bravery and penchant for trouble.

Some might say that it was from Lily that Harry inherited his ability to see people. But that was a gross over-simplification.

Harry didn't see precisely the good in people, he saw their hardships, their reasons, their faults. He saw people not as they could be but as they were, and could offer them the rare gift of understanding, even forgiveness.

It was not quite the same thing as seeing the best in someone, no, perhaps more keenly than any, Harry saw the worst in them;

And valued their lives all the same.

It took a lot to alienate him, as Albus seemed to have achieved, but in Harry, he saw a rare gentleness that Albus had seldom encountered.

It never failed to humble Albus the love this boy was willing to give.

Love and forgiveness, that somewhere along the line Albus had lost sight of in his own life.

It hurt to see Harry in pain, again, suffering, again, and to look at Albus with such profound distrust…

"I've come to play checkers, and since you're in the hospital wing, you can't escape me."

"Checkers?" Harry asked, clearly dubious.

"Chinese checkers, to be precise."

Harry blinked, "That would explain the marbles."

Albus smiled, "Interested?"

"Sure," Harry said, looking a bit uncomfortable but pleased.

"Have you ever played before?" Albus asked, transfiguring a napkin into a game board, decorated with Gingko leaves.

He began to explain the rules as Harry picked the pale jade marbles, while Albus picked the lapis lazuli.

Pen, the Bowtruckle picked the smoky quartz.

Pen seemed to understand the rules, and played accordingly for all of five minutes before becoming a wildcard in which Albus and Harry had to play around.

Pen did abide the rules, never taking the marbles off the board, never jumping a peg outside of a straight line and never outside of the correct patterns.

Otherwise, Pen played a game of sabotage, chittering as he thwarted Albus and Harry in turns to get their marbles to the opposing triangles.

They played the morning away, by the end of which, Harry was laughing and Albus could not stop smiling.

He promised to return each morning, and did. Their conversations taking them through interesting avenues of magical theory, making Albus realise just how much Harry had been underplaying his intelligence.

It disturbed him that he couldn't fully determine why Harry would do so. He wasn't lazy, far from it, but suddenly, Minerva and Severus's expressed frustration in Harry over past years made sense.

It was quite possible that Harry could manage any magical feet he put his mind to, and until this year, the only class Harry had ever been truly motivated in was Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Albus was relieved that Minerva and Filius had stumbled onto less dire motivators to give Harry a chance to excel and open a future to him beyond Tom Riddle.

oOo

Godric's Hollow - The 6th of October 1995

oOo

James Potter woke in a tight dark space, and immediately began panicking.

"Harry!" He cried, kicking and flailing his legs and arms at the oppressive fabric surrounding him.

He had never despised satin and silk more. There wasn't enough room to even get a good punch in at the door above him. Given the stiffness of the layered fabric, someone had gone to the absurd trouble of dressing him in formal robes. The air tasted foul.

He didn't like to think Lily was here with him, he called for her anyway. His voice did not travel far in claustrophobic space.

There was no light here, and his wild thoughts kept straying back to the reeking smell beside him.

Peter had done a thorough job in his betrayal of them, not even in his grave did they have their wands.

The thought of Peter dimmed the panic beneath a wash of rage.

And with a memory of where he had been before the world had gone black.

Standing before death to give his wife time to run as he faced the consequences of his misjudgements.

Peter had stolen their wands.

How could they have mistrusted Remus?

Standing before Voldemort, unarmed, ready to give everything he had left for his family, Voldemort offered him one final chance to step aside, to join him.

And then when he refused him, he had promised James a fate worse death.

The spell had been white, stealing the light from the world to leave him waiting, suspended in the dark. Where neither time nor breath had reached him.

James called light to his fingers.

It took his eyes a long minute to adjust, after which his eyes informed him of the same thing his fingers had. He was in a cloth padded box.

James turned his head to the side, where he saw a spill of his wife's flame hued hair.

"Lily," he whispered, reaching his lit hand toward her.

The light kissed over her sunken cheeks.

James screamed.

The burial spells delayed the rot, kept away the insects, but nothing could fully prevent decay, or the smell of spoiled meat.

James let the light go out as he attempted to escape, to get away from the corpse that was no longer his wife.

Voldemort had kept his promise.

James prayed and prayed as he ripped the fabric away from the interior of the coffin that Harry hadn't been buried with them. That he wouldn't feel the limp weight fall…

James screamed, screamed, and screamed as if he could will away the thoughts, as if he could drown out the horror and the sorrow of it all.

He wished he could lay back down and let himself die, wished he would suffocate and die choking on dirt but he couldn't stay here, he couldn't not try to escape.

Hours and lifetimes passed as he clawed through the wood, his nails splitting, his hands bleeding as the wood splinters shredded his skin. He finally worked his way through two boards and tore them down, creating a barrier between himself and the beautiful corpse beside him.

Then he was drowning in dirt as he dug himself out. His ears were ringing from his own screams as clawed his way upward through the freshly turned earth.

The pain of his wired framed glasses being jammed hard into his face was minimal compared to the fire in his lungs.

The funeral robes snagged and ripped on the opening he made in the coffin, slowing him down further. When he reached the surface, when he was able to breathe the night air, coughing up the soil he had taken in, he knew nothing could ever be as it was.

The James Potter who had been buried beside his wife, was not the same man who had woken beside her and crawled his way out of their grave alone.

"I hope you feel rested, Mr. Potter."

James looked up toward that high pitched voice, at the monster who had killed his family.

Who had woken him from a sleeping death, and had sat on his tombstone to watch in sick amusement as James climbed his way out. The demon had probably tilled the packed soil to ensure he would survive to suffer.

"Go to hell," James wheezed, splaying his injured hands in the dewy grass.

The monster towering above where he laid was no longer handsome. Only his red eyes remained the same, he was noseless now and bald.

Hardly human, Voldemort sneered down at him as he lifted a foot and stepped onto the side of James's face, pressing him back into the dirt, "My dear Mr. Potter, you're already there."

James had never known hatred as he knew it now.

"Death will find you," he choked out, throat so dry he felt amazed he could speak at all.

Voldemort tisked, stepping back and brushing imaginary dirt off his robes, "I made you a promise, James Potter, that if you did not join me, I would make you suffer. That I would show you the world I created before allowing you to rejoin your wife and child in the next life. It seems, however, that I need you to be a more active participant."

James snarled up at him wordlessly, as if he would ever help him.

Tom smiled, "Do not fret, your consent will not be required, only your endurance."

"You don't have that kind of patience," James rasped, his voice breaking over each word.

Voldemort pulled out his bone white wand and he cocked his head to the side like a curious crow, "I think you underestimate how much I will enjoy this."

James had no strength to fight against the iron collar that formed around his throat nor the leash of chains that pulled him into the next waking nightmare.

His only solace was the knowledge that his wife and his son were safe in death.

oOo

AN: Thoughts on said chapter, crows, or feedback, pretty please?

Chapter Text

Trig WARNING: No detail to this but canonically Remus was four and Fenrir did target other children. Remus's initialized trauma is referenced in his thoughts but without detail.

Also animal birth with pretty graphic detail.

Chapter 7 - Lack of Civility

Aberforth slammed down his bottle on the bar, "Go to him."

Albus opened his mouth but his brother yelled over him.

"Neglect! You damned bastard! It was neglect that killed her. One person could not fill that void. Arianna loved you, and when she got upset…" He took a breath, "If you don't personally help that boy, Arianna's death will absolutely have been your fault. Just as my son's death was mine. Neglect and fear killed them, Albus. Whatever it is that boy is facing, don't make him face it alone."

Albus nodded, "Thank you."

"Get out of my bar."

Albus stood but said, "You are not alone either, you know."

Aberforth didn't look up as he replied, "I know, I have the goats."

Albus huffed a laugh and departed from the self-inflicted misery his brother lived in.

Albus had fallen in love with a monster, and his desire for power had led to the death of his sister, something he would never forgive himself for.

Aberforth had fallen in love with a woman, and chosen his misery over her. Which had cost him his son. By isolating himself, Aberforth had appeared to make no further mistakes.

Albus had continued to try, and continued to fail.

Failed to stop Voldemort, who had fled from him at every turn.

Failed to protect the Potters, who ultimately hadn't trusted him enough to be their secret keeper.

And failed to keep Harry safe, whose parents had been killed, his godfather imprisoned, and his godmother, Alice Longbottom and her husband, were worse than dead.

With so many of the Dark Lord's followers still at large, he had gambled on the protection of the blood ward, that whatever issues Petunia would have with her sister, she would love her nephew.

He had been wrong, and even more wrong to not check on Harry himself.

His inaction had proved as destructive as his action.

It was further proof that anything and everyone Albus loved would break.

But his fears were no longer enough of an excuse to avoid Harry, and though he shouldn't be forgiven, though he couldn't take back the harm he had caused, he could still try.

As Severus had said, Harry loved him, and though Albus was wholly undeserving, he owed Harry.

 He owed the boy everything.

oOo

Harry was released Monday morning before breakfast.

After a week of bed rest, interesting visitors or no, he was metaphorically ready to chew off his own arm, and was well and truly ready for a week of classes.

Even with Umbridge and Snape.

But the universe just seemed to adore fucking with him.

He walked into the Great Hall just as the owls were departing.

The whole room went deathly quiet when they spotted him at the entrance.

He saw groups of students bunched around people with newspapers.

Harry sighed then asked loud enough for anyone near to hear, "What is it now?"

No one answered, as a group, they seemed to lean away from him.

Great.

"Is this like Chamber of Secrets?" he asked, McGonagall getting hastily to her feet as he spoke, making her way around the table. "What am I now, Grindelwald's heir or some such rubbish?"

No one answered, only the sound of McGonagall's heeled boots on stone could be heard.

Harry knew Luna wouldn't be here this morning, but finally spotting Ron and Hermione, he made a step toward them.

They looked at him, stricken.

That's when he started to get worried.

"No," McGonagall said, stepping in front of him. "No, Mr. Potter, come with. You deserve a bit of privacy."

He raised a brow, "Like that matters? Whatever it is, everyone else seems to know already."

She shook her head, "To my office, Mr. Potter." She held out her hand, the nearest paper smacking into her palm. He caught the word POTTER in the headline.

Great.

He glanced up to the high table and was surprised at the grief he saw there, even at a distance.

Dumbledore sat still as stone, his face drawn in sorrow.

Snape looked murderous, and the others looked some shade of mournful or appalled.

Even Umbridge looked uncomfortable and unwilling to sneer at Harry.

"What's going on?" Harry demanded. "Everyone in my family is already dead and I'm not dead, not yet at any rate."

If Voldemort's return had made the papers there would be more whispering.

"This way, Mr. Potter."

With one last look at Ron and Hermione, the latter with tears in her eyes, Harry followed his Head of House out.

She made him tea, dragging out the revelation to come.

"Just tell me already," Harry demanded, fingers tapping on the teacup he had yet to drink from.

McGonagall sighed, "It's about your parents."

Harry gave her an exasperated look, "They're dead. There's nothing else that can be done to them."

"Their grave has been desecrated and dug up."

Harry felt as if he had been gut-punched. He placed the teacup down hard on the table in front of him, "What? Why?"

"I am not certain, but the details of the crime scene indicate that it was done with dark intent by someone from the magical community."

Harry shook his head and said in disgust, "So they've blamed Sirius?"

She nodded, her eyes watching him carefully, "The details are quite graphic, Harry. And nothing good is indicated in this. Aside from the blatant disrespect of the dead, human necromancy is an illegal branch of magic. It's not necessarily a life imprisonment but—"

Harry made a harsh sound, "Like it matters, like the Dark Lord could be taken alive, like it could somehow make his punishments worse when outside of death there will be no punishment? He's friends with the Dementors."

"Quite," McGonagall said, enlarging the paper. "Your mother's corpse remains but the coffin was broken and James's body is as of yet unaccounted for. The details are immensely disturbing and I am sorry the Aurors did not speak with you, or any of us who would have told you first before thinking of speaking to the Prophet."

Harry felt sick, reaching for the paper.

The picture of the tombstone circled by yellow crime tape, a crude hole in the ground before it, and handprints in the dirt, told him all he needed to know.

And yet… it was the first time he had ever seen his parents' grave.

JAMES AND LILY POTTER'S GRAVE: VANDALISED!

Sometime before dawn on the 6th of October, in Godric's Hollow, the graves of James and Lily Potter were vandalised. Reported by muggles, the horror of the situation was not fully realised until the Aurors arrived.

The grave had been dug up, the coffin revealed, James H. Potter's body had been stolen from its place of rest. But by all appearances, it seems his body crawled out of the coffin itself. The dirt had been churned, as if it were a fresh grave, but the coffin had been broken from the inside.

Untouched, Lily Potter's body was found in its rightful place but—

Harry put down the paper, near throwing it from himself.

Silence filled the room.

Finally, Harry asked, "He turned my dad into a zombie?"

That was disgusting and low even for Voldemort. It was also something he hadn't done the last time around.

Of course, last time, Harry hadn't almost managed to kill the monster over their bond.

That thought eased some of the anger.

Voldemort was running scared.

"I do not know for what purpose he could use James's body, but—" she came around the desk, taking his hands in hers. "Harry, you must remember this, no matter what it looks like, no matter what Voldemort tells you, there is no power on Earth that can bring the dead back to life."

Harry nodded, "I know."

Keeping to himself that when Cedric and his mother's ghosts had appeared out of Voldemort's wand, his father hadn't, only a brief flash of white light had followed behind his mother just like the flash of green light that had preceded her.

"May I hug you?" McGonagall asked.

Harry blinked, he was used to hugs from his friends, mostly, less used to adults doing so. But he was pretty sure this was the first time an adult had ever asked permission to hug him.

The Dursleys would never have hugged him and certainly never would have asked permission to slap him around.

He nodded.

She pulled him into a tight embrace, "You well to get through this, Harry. You are not alone."

Neither can live while the other survives.

He probably wasn't going to make it, but that was no reason for him not to hug her back.

oOo

Remus watched Sirius rage.

Remus himself felt too sick, too grief-stricken to feel his own anger.

" How could he!? Was it not enough to kill him, his wife, and attempt to kill his son!? When is it enough!?" Sirius continued swearing to high Heaven.

Malcolm had excused himself before Sirius had woken, before the paper had arrived, to go grocery shopping and various other errands.

"Sirius," Remus attempted to coax, his voice breaking. How could he ever doubt how much Sirius had loved James?

Loved Harry.

Remus knew, of course, he knew it was the same reason Sirius and James had doubted Remus himself instead of Peter all those years ago.

And it had nothing to do with his lycanthropy and everything to do with his fear of being honest, his fear of what his friends and others would think of him.

Remus had been four years old when Fenrir Greyback had attacked him.

He didn't remember that night even if he could recall factual what had happened. His mother's disgust and horror, his father's guilt and shame, that had been worse than ripping himself apart in a cage each month.

Having already been a pariah in society, he didn't want to be any more like Fenrir than he already was, nor did he want others to have another reason to look at him with disdain.

Remus had no interest in anyone under age, none whatsoever, thank the fucking gods, but he was gay and he had held a torch for Sirius since they hit puberty together.

Remus hadn't realised it for a long time, and he had lied to himself that he didn't even when he had. And those lies had grown.

James and Sirius had grown distant because they could tell when Remus lied, when he held them at arms' length, and refused to confide in them.

It had been worse than that, however, because, at some point, his repressed feelings had turned to resentment.

Resentment for how close James was to Sirius.

Resentment for how James could always make Sirius laugh and bring him out of his dark moods so easily.

Resentment that James loved women, that James could marry the person he loved, that they could have a child and a perfect family where Remus was stuck being the shy lone werewolf, too awkward to date, too secretive to trust…

Remus had feared he would lose them if they knew the truth, and instead, he had lost them all because he hadn't been honest with them.

But perhaps the worst guilt was his own lost faith in Sirius. He had never openly questioned Sirius's prison sentence because he believed it consistent with the natural shape of the universe; of course the man he was desperately in love with would be evil.

The world would have been a better place without Remus in it, and yet, after everything, Sirius still called him a friend.

Still wanted him around.

"Sirius," Remus said again as the man continued to shake with fury, the newspaper with the picture of James and Lily's desecrated grave bunched in his hands.

Sirius quieted but continued to shake as Remus put a hand on his shoulder. 

"He lost the war once, and he will lose again."

Sirius spun on him, the Prophet fluttering down to the floor.

Remus flinched, his shoulders rounding as he expected to be hit or screamed at, but Sirius grabbed him in a tight embrace, burying his face in Remus's chest.

He didn't know what to say nor what Sirius might say.

But a moment later, Sirius's whole body began to tremble as his voice caught on a sob, the choked sound preventing his speech.

Remus gathered the other man close, curling around him. He spoke into the man's dark hair, "I'm so sorry, Sirius."

Sirius fisted Remus’s sweater as he cried as he had never seen him do before.

Crying as if his heart were being torn out… or perhaps his soul.

Remus held him through it all, holding on to him and all his broken pieces.

Holding tight to his own cowardice which trapped his own words down deep in his chest.

I love you, Sirius.

But he would never say it, for fear of what would follow, deserved scorn or worse yet underserved reciprocation.

oOo

In the dungeons of their manor, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy watched from afar as the Dark Lord tortured a man who was supposed to be dead.

James sat on his knees, in torn funeral robes that were smeared with dirt and blood. His hands were bound behind his back and he was fastened to the wall by an iron chain that was attached to a metal collar around his neck.

It was truly disturbing how much James looked like his son. Since he hadn't aged a day, meaning he was twenty-one, they looked as if they could be brothers, in a few years, perhaps even twins.

This was more acute for Lucius who had seen Harry Potter in a similar enough circumstance just this summer.

James spat blood, looking up through cracked rounded glasses, he said, "That the best you got?"

The Dark Lord laughed, "You'll see what a mistake marrying that Mudblood was."

James snorted.

Lucius couldn't believe James's endurance. He had been being questioned for hours and had enough Veritaserum in his body to cause blood poisoning.

But he hadn't revealed a shred of useful information.

The Dark Lord was saving the Cruciatus Curse, but still… those other methods were nowhere near pleasant.

Lucius, though he would never admit it, knew he would have broken already.

"She destroyed you, didn't she?" James asked.

The Dark Lord sneered, "You know well her fate, you woke beside her, did you not?"

Lucius swallowed back bile. He had done some pretty horrendous things in his life and witnessed even more, but defiling graves was a bit beyond the pale even for him.

He couldn't fathom waking beside his own wife in the dirt.

It seemed wholly uncivilized.

But James Potter seemed immune to the Dark Lord's words as he snipped back, "Where's your palace, snakeface? If you killed my wife, if you killed my child, then I know she won. Isn't that how you lost your body?"

The Dark Lord backhanded him, "What do you know of that?"

James fell back in a rattle of chains but did not bow his head even as he looked up from his undignified position on the floor, "Do you think you were the only one who dabbled in the Dark? The only one clever enough to invent spells and the arcane."

"She was a mudblood."

"She was a genius," James said around a bloody smile. "A brilliant polymath. She crafted that ward, a blood ward . Whoever killed her would be the one whom her ward protected Harry against. You think the prophecy matters? It never did. It just described your own conceit. You signed your own fate when you killed them. Now you're grovelling in the shadows, barely clinging to life with a handful of followers you bullied into remaining, not out of loyalty, but fear."

"You think you've won?" the Dark Lord asked, voice pitched higher in false amusement.

James continued to smile, " Opinion is a flitting thing,

But Truth, outlasts the Sun —

If then we cannot own them both —

Possess the oldest one — "

"What are babbling about? I haven't done much to you, yet."

Lucius supposed that was true, the Dark Lord was playing with him before the real pain began.

Leave it to a Potter to be resilient to conventional torture and Veritaserum.

"Emily Dickinson, my wife's favourite poet. I preferred Mary Oliver myself: I believe in kindness. Also in mischief. Also in singing, especially when singing is not necessarily prescribed," the crazy man said blithely to his captor who had every intention of torturing him back into his grave.

In response, the Dark Lord just stared at him in confused silence.

Potter treated this as an invitation to elaborate, "Dickenson is morbid:

" Because I could not stop for Death—

He kindly stopped for me—

The Carriage held but just Ourselves—

And Immortality.

We slowly drove—He knew no haste,

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,

For His Civility—"

He finished with a shrug, "Morbid as hell. Or at least, I thought so then, I find it brings me comfort now."

"It will be the only comfort you have," the Dark Lord said, raising his wand.

The Dark Lord had not refuted Potter's words about the blood ward, too focused on the torture to remember his audience.

Lucius could only stare.

Lily Potter.

The Evans girl?

James's little Mudblood wife?

She had been the one to defeat the Dark Lord?

He met his own wife's gaze, her disgust was clear on her expression.

Narcissa had never taken the Dark Mark, unlike her eldest sister, had never been a true believer.

Discovering that the Dark Lord's empire had fallen at the ingenuity of one mudblood girl, hardly twenty years old, did not improve her opinion.

Lucius realised he would need to find a different place for his son to go over the summer.

Or Narcissa might just kill him in his sleep and flee with Draco to France.

oOo

Harry kept talking to the Thestral as he put both hands inside her.

The mare's head was resting on Luna's lap as the female cried through her contractions.

Knowing there were two more foals coming after the first, Harry had gotten on his knees in the dirt behind her as soon as he saw her.

Last time, Luna said that the mare had died with two of the foals stuck inside her.

So knowing the first one had come out, Harry was ready to hurry them along, knowing the mare would need her strength.

Being as skeletal as the Thestrals were, Harry could see the outlines of the foals shifting as well as the mare's hip bones spreading to make room.

Setting aside the grossness was easy in the face of her pain as she screeched toward the skies.

The other Thestrals lingered in a circle around them. The mares were watching the two humans while the males watched the forest as one of their own called out in agony. Nothing would get past them.

Harry's hands found the hooves and he reached in further, searching for the head.

He moved carefully but not without strength. Luna and all the books said that as precarious as births could be, anything equestrian wasn't as fragile as a human baby, get them out and they would be on their feet in minutes.

Taking both legs at the knees as the foal's hooves breached, Harry found the head in the correct position.

He was in at his elbows now as he told the mare to push and he began a steady —but smooth— pull forward.

The foal breached, about the size of a young goat, its wings stuck to its sides like a butterfly's wings still in a chrysalis.

Harry picked him or her up, placing them far behind himself away from its mother's straining legs and wings.

One of the other mares who also had a foal, born only a month earlier, strode forward to greet the new life.

"There's one, mama," Harry told the Thestral. "Two more."

She screeched at him, sounding pissed.

Luna crooned to her, singing a song Harry had never heard before but her voice was lovely.

So lovely even the mare relaxed a bit as Harry reached back inside her, searching for the next foal. He found another pair of legs, and he felt for the knee joint, checking the bent of the legs.

"Next one is the right side round," Harry told Luna with relief. Gently directing the hooves forward, He waited until the foal was closer before he pulled. "Come on, mama. It doesn't get easier the longer you wait."

Unlike humans, equines had quick births, thirty minutes on average, there wasn't really a guideline on Thestrals. It sucked that Hagrid wasn't here, but Luna had been researching this since they had arrived back at Hogwarts.

Quicker was better.

The Thestrals being as smart as they were, the mare understood him and began pushing again.

The second was slower going, Thestrals, like most horses, were built for one, not two —and definitely not three— young.

But the foal emerged without injury, if a bit smaller and a little shaker than its older by minutes sibling.

Harry reached right back in, fearing the last one would be the troublemaker.

And sure enough, he felt hooves.

All four hooves.

"Hold on, mama," Harry said, reaching in well past his elbows, resting his head on her trembling rump to get as far in as he could.

"What's wrong?" Luna asked.

"On its side," Harry said, gritting his teeth as he searched for the head. The front legs were longer than the neck, so hooves then head. Any other direction was near impossible for the mare to get out without intervention and if too much time passed after the water broke, the foal would suffocate to death.

"Alright, found the head, hold on, mama, breathe, we've got you, we've got you—"

Painstaking minutes passed as Harry got the foal right way round. They were lucky Thestral foals weren't as big as mundane horse foals, they might have needed a surgeon and that was not in Harry's ability set.

Good thing he had already done this with a Hippogriff mare and foal before Voldemort had attacked his mind. Said Hippogriff had only had a single foal and Harry had seen first hand how it was meant to happen.

"Gottum! Go! Come on, mama, last one, last one—"

This foal came out faster but not as cleanly as the others.

Blood, flesh, and fluid spilled onto Harry's already messy lap as he got the foal out. The foal had come out with part of the afterbirth.

Which wasn't great for the foal who was now trapped in the gooey mess.

"Good girl, good girl," Luna praised as Harry frantically pulled the gore away from the foal's face.

It was trying to breathe but having been in the longest and having its face covered, it was visibly struggling, its movements both jerky and sluggish.

Harry's heart was thundering as he got its face clear.

The foal gasped, eyes rolling as it tried to stand.

"Luna?" he asked.

She got up, praising the mare as she did so, coming around to take care of the third foal.

Harry went back to the mare, helping her through the rest of the afterbirth. Being carnivorous scavengers, Harry pulled it onto a clean tablecloth they had brought along with them for the mare to have later.

This mare would need a lot of time to recover and having carried three foals, she had low nutrition even with Luna and Harry bringing her extra food for the last few months.

Finally, though, after three hours, the mare was sitting up, nursing her foals, two females and one male.

Luna and Harry changed into clean clothing.

The sire of the foals didn't let them leave, herding them toward the mare.

It was a chilly night but curled up next to each other beneath the wing of a Thestral alongside the newborns in a bed of soft moss, Luna and Harry slept just fine.

They woke the next day to the chirping of foals, Harry and Luna spent the morning laughing, chasing, and being chased by a tiny pack of baby winged Thestrals beneath sunlight spilling through the canopy of the Forbidden Forest.

oOo

AN: Thoughts, zebra foals, or feedback on the chapter, pretty please?

Chapter Text

Chapter 8 - Deep End

Harry sat in his favourite armchair by the fire, looking up every now and again at Fred and George fainting onto puffs to the entertainment of the first years. He was thumbing through one of the books Dumbeldore had given to him.

Elemental Transfiguration: A Guide to Finding Your Element.

Harry thought it was above him, however, Dumbledore promised to teach him once he got the theoretical part down, and McGonagall had told him after class that she has sent a copy of the book to Sirius, so Harry and Sirius would be learning together.

Considering Sirius was a damn prodigy in Transfiguration chances were he would figure it out first.

It was kind of interesting to remember that the adults had stuff to learn too. Though he supposed since Sirius had been imprisoned and then on the run since he had been twenty-one, it made some sense Sirius wasn't that far ahead of Harry.

Well, he spent the time after graduation in a full-fledged war, so there was that, but still, it was only five years of separation between sixteen and twenty-one.

Harry yelped, slapping a hand to his forehead, and for a moment, he saw himself laughing madly through a veil of hatred.

He blinked back tears from the pain, Voldemort was pissed.

Harry smirked to himself, vindictively pleased at anything that caused the bastard to suffer even if it was a memory of Harry laughing.

Weird.

Hermione plopped down beside him, "You really don't want me researching what the Dark Lord is up to?"

She said it as if they had never stopped their debate.

He sighed, "No, Hermione, I don't want you to study necromancy or Dark Arts potions and rituals. You have OWLs after all."

"You aren't at all curious?"

He closed his book, "No, Hermione, I'd rather not think of what Voldemort could be doing with my father's decaying corpse."

She nodded, then did one of her whiplash topic changes, "Are you and Luna an official couple yet?"

Harry rolled his eyes, "Remember that conversation we had a while back, about it being okay for me to have other friends?"

"But you're completely gone on her," Hermione protested. "Come on, Harry, I've seen the way you two look at each other."

He huffed, "Not like that. Besides, I didn't think you liked her."

Hermione shrugged, "I'll admit, I didn't understand at all what you saw in her, but she's not as flakey as she seemed to be, she's top of her year in nearly every subject, and most importantly, she makes you happy. How could I not like her?"

Harry eyed her. Loathe he may be to poke a hole in Hermione's goodwill, when she was the prejudiced one among the two, but he didn't trust this, especially if she was seeing something that wasn't there between Luna and him.

"And what does Ginny have to say about your little theory?"

Hermione sighed, looking round the room, double checking she wasn't there.

"She and Ron are at Quidditch practice," Harry said.

Hermione's shoulders eased. Ginny was, after all, one of Hermione's only female friends. "She's pretty upset, honestly. She made a promise to herself to let you go, and start dating other people, but well, she feels like it's being rubbed in her face, what with you dating a girl in her year and them being friends."

"They aren't friends," Harry snapped.

Hermione gave him a reproachful look. "Now who needs the other friends talk? Luna doesn't belong to you, even if she's your girlfriend."

Again, he rolled his eyes, "No, I mean they are just neighbours and friendly toward each other, but Ginny doesn't count as a friend."

"I'm sorry, what counts as a friend?" Hermione retorted hotly.

"Someone who asks you how you are and actually stays to listen because they care about the answer. A friend is someone who doesn't whisper behind your back about your father's business being ludicrous or her grasp on reality. A friend notices when you're around so that if they do overhear some sort of lament, they can apologize for it. Ginny isn't that to Luna, not by a long shot."

Hermione blinked, "I didn't know you disliked Ginny so much."

He shook his head, shoulders drooping, "I don't dislike her. I dislike the fact that people are so quick to judge and so slow to notice and help someone other than themselves. Did you know Professor Flitwick had to step in this year to keep her dorm mates from ganging up on her?"

Harry was still mad at himself for not saying something sooner, but it had taken him a while to decipher when Luna was being literal about the Nargles and when she was insulting someone for being Nargle-esque.

Hermione's expression paled, "No, I didn't know that I didn't realise Ginny—"

"No, not Ginny. She isn't responsible for anything but she didn't notice and if she did she didn't do anything and that's just not a friend. And it's rude to undermine how lonely someone is because you assume someone else is a good person."

"Notice what?" Hermione asked.

"That she wasn't wearing shoes, and that in a freaking stone castle that maybe that wasn't a fashion statement."

Hermione nodded. "Okay, I see your point. But you know that you're more than friends with her, right?"

Harry shook his head again, "You don't know us. Not us together."

"But I would like to," Hermione said. Seeing his expression, she changed tack. "Can I see your sketchbook for a moment?"

He passed it over to her and she caught several pages between her fingers as she flipped through them before turning it back to him.

Harry stared at the pages she showed him.

The first few were just rough sketches, but the latter ones?

Picture after picture was of Luna with Pen, Luna smiling at the Thestrals, Luna with Hippogryphs, Luna surrounded by a herd of dancing moon-calfs.

Luna in the library.

Luna smiling at lunch.

Harry's cheeks turned red, "I'm a creep."

She whapped him with the book, "You're adorable and very, very , oblivious to your own feelings."

"But Luna doesn't feel that way about me."

"Harry—"

"She doesn't," Harry said. "I've had girls flirting with me all year, Cho, Parvati, Padma, Susan, Sue Li, hell, even Daphne Greengrass."

"Don't forget Stephen Cornfoot."

Harry huffed, "And him. Luna hasn't acted like any of them."

"That's because she doesn't have a crush on you," Hermione said. "She loves you."

"And I love her, Hermione, I really do. But I'm not going to muck that up—"

Like I did with Cho.

Hermione took his hand, "It doesn't have to be gross, or physical, or anything. But you ought to be honest with her."

"Honest about what? Hey Luna, I love you as my best friend and I think I also have a crush on you that I wasn't aware of."

"She's your best friend?" Hermione asked.

Harry looked away, "I'm sorry."

Hermione shrugged, "I was always second best to Ron. Even when Ron abandoned you and I didn't."

"Hermione, you and I—"

"I'm a lot, I get it."

"That's not it," he argued.

"Then what is it?" she demanded.

"Because it's easy to appease Ron. Quidditch, chess, mocking professors, and bemoaning classes, easy. But—"

"But I'm not."

"You're confusing," Harry admitted. "On one hand, you're always talking about how we should read more, try harder, be more interested in classes, but then if we do. If I do better than you in anything except for Defense, you get super defensive and hurt."

"No, I don't," she said defensively.

Harry raised a brow.

Hermione looked away, "Okay, maybe a little but I would have gotten over it if you didn't pretend—"

"That I'm stupid?" Harry asked. "So you thought the way to get me to stop was to continue talking to me like I'm stupid?"

"No— That's not—"

"Your intention?" he asked. "Yeah, I know it isn't. But I've been told my entire life that I'm stupid and worthless. It's kind of a habit for me to meet those sorts of expectations. I was punished anytime I did better than my cousin and school, and let me tell you, that's a really, really tall ask."

Hermione looked horrified, "You had to do worse than your cousin on purpose?"

"Harder than you think, I would have to get just a few points above passing. You have to know the right answers to mess up that carefully."

She was quiet for a long moment before asking, "How were you punished?"

Harry flashed on Vernon's face and then he told the truth, "Starvation was the go-to. But being locked up when someone's screaming at you… It's scary, you know, at least it was for me, worse than being hit, the threat of being hit, and being unable to get away."

Hermione squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry."

He rubbed her hand, "It's not your fault."

"But I made you feel—"

"Hermione, I've never had friends before you and Ron. It's not your fault I don't know how to advocate for myself."

Looking shaken, Hermione asked, "And Luna?"

He let out a breath, "Luna brings out the person that I didn't know I wanted to be."

"And she doesn't talk to you like an idiot?"

He smirked, "Oh, she isn't shy about letting me know when I'm wrong."

"But she doesn't talk down to you," she said softly.

He sighed, "Hermione, I promise I've never doubted the kind of friend you are. One I could count on for everything and anything. I'm just trying to figure out who I am beyond all this—" he gestured at his head.

Slowly, she reached a hand up to brush his bangs back. "It looks redder than normal."

"Voldemort is upset."

"And that hurts?"

"Hurts when he's happy too. Everything about him hurts."

Hermione bit her lip, and Harry knew she wanted to push him on what they had been up to. Instead she asked, "About Voldemort, I had an idea, actually?"

Harry felt a thrill go through him, "Oh, yeah?"

Her hands fluttered, "Yeah. You know how Umbridge is awful, and well, you've been teaching Charms and Transfiguration, I thought, maybe you could teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, in a club. Like in the second year when they tried doing that duelling club. It would have to be in the secret of course— What?"

Harry was pretty sure his eyes were twinkling with amusement and fondness, "I think that's an absolutely brilliant idea, Hermione."

A hesitant smile grew on my face as well, "Really?"

"Really," he said, pulling her into a hug.

oOo

Severus Snape loathed Dolores Umbridge, and loathed her a little more each day as she began to make more and more edicts.

Wasn't it bad enough that the Dark Lord was back? Why did the ministry feel that now was the right time to turn on Albus?

Severus jumped as his fire lit up. Knowing who it had to be, he tossed a handful of floo powder into the fireplace.

Severus didn't really understand how the wards worked at Hogwarts, but for whatever reason, some Death Eaters could enter through the floo while others could not.

Maybe it had something to do with intent.

That would explain why the wards hadn't so much as rippled at Black entering through old passageways.

Lucius Malfoy came stumbling through, reaching for Severus's rum he had left out on his office table.

"Hello," Severus drawled, annoyed as he stood, snagging two glasses.

"The stinking mudblood," Lucius cursed as he slumped into one of Severus's seats by the fire.

Severus plucked the bottle from his hand, pouring out a generous amount into each glass.

"Who are you talking about?" Severus asked, sitting down with silent affirmation that he wouldn't be getting any more work down.

"Your mudblood," Lucius said with more exhaustion than heat in his voice.

Severus stiffened.

Lily.

"I thought you were an idiot, I thought James Potter was an idiot. Merlin, it shouldn't be possible. It should not be possible. "

Severus, who was fighting back his anger, was caught off-guard by Lucius's tone.

"What isn't possible?" Severus prompted, giving the other man some slack, he was, after all, living with the Dark Lord.

Severus still didn't have a clue what the Dark Lord had done with James's corpse.

"Was she really so intelligent? Was she really such a power?" Lucius asked, looking up with sharp focus.

"Who?" Severus asked, at a complete loss now.

"Lily Evans Potter."

"I don't understand you."

"She was pretty," Lucius said. "Pretty and bookish — that — was understandable. But she wasn't wife material. Not for one of our kind."

Severus gritted his teeth, "She's dead."

Lucius laughed, it was a bitter and harsh sound, "She was a genius."

Severus was stunned into silence.

Lily was a genius, but he never thought another Death Eater would admit that.

"Power, Merlin, she must have been raw power," Lucius muttered, looking into the flames.

Severus swallowed. "Lily Evans had an intellect unmatched. She was powerful, yes, but not necessarily as powerful as one of the Blacks or Potter himself. What she lacked in power she made up for in finesse. I have never known a better Charm crafter."

"And a ward crafter?" Lucius asked, pale eyes flashing back to Severus's expression. "How was she at the Dark Arts?"

Severus was uncomfortable at this line of questioning, it might reveal too much of his motives for working for Albus, but then, the Dark Lord already knew his weakness.

"Over the summers, when we were children, I think she read every book my mother had hidden away in her trunk from the Prince library. All first editions, obscure titles, things my grandparents dearly missed."

Lucius stared at him a moment, "I cannot believe I was wrong about the muggle-born. I would say she was the exception but that Granger girl has been outperforming Draco since day one."

Severus thought his brain had short-circuited at this, "Is this a joke?"

Lucius shook his head, then whispered, "He admitted it." Then dunked back all the rum left in his glass in one go.

"Who admitted what?"

"The Dark Lord," Lucius snapped, louder. "Who else?"

Severus ran through everything they had been discussing. "The Dark Lord," Severus began slowly, "admitted Lily Evans was intelligent?"

Lucius's voice lowered again, and he leaned forward as if sharing a secret, "He admitted that she bested him. That she , a muggle-born, not the boy, not fate, but that woman who defeated him. The one who outsmarted and bested him."

Severus felt the blood drain from his face.

Lucius snagged the bottle off the table and helped himself to another drink. "Narcissa is going to leave me."

Severus still felt too stunned at the previous revelation to respond to Lucius's marital woes.

Lucius went on, "Family first, that's the Black mantra, I thought she would go to France, but I think she will go back to her sister and her muggle-born husband. I would say she's being ridiculous but I've seen the power of the Dark Lord, but it was a muggle-born and a child who has outmatched him time and time again."

"In what context did he say Lily had bested him?" Severus asked.

"The blood ward she built, between her and her son. Whoever took her life, would be the one the ward protected the boy against. A strong enough ward, a dark enough ward, to require blood and life, that could redirect the Killing Curse," Lucius explained.

"The Dark Lord just told you this?" Severus asked, thinking even if it was true, the Dark Lord would sooner chop out his own tongue than admit such a notion.

Lucius did not answer for a long moment as he looked back toward the fire, "I hope she goes to Andromeda's. If she goes to France, I'll never see my son again, or not until he comes of age."

Severus tried to prod the man for more answers, but even drunk, Lucius gave away nothing.

Nothing about what the Dark Lord off-handledly referring to his defeat at the hand of a muggleborns had to do with James's corpse, but surely the two were related.

Severus let Lucius sleep in his office armchair, as he went to his bookshelf, searching through the tombs he knew Lily had read.

He should have been thrilled that the Dark Lord was slipping, burning holes in his own ideology among his nearest followers.

But a cornered wolf is at its most dangerous.

oOo

Since Harry wasn't dating anyone currently, he felt no guilt when looped his arm in Daphne's and pulled her into an alcove with him.

"I have a proposition for you," he said in a low voice.

She glared up at him, cheeks heated.

He was very glad to be hitting his growth spurt even though it made his stomach feel like a bottomless unfillable hole.

"I am not some witch you can sweep off her feet with a debonair smile and an eye twinkle."

"Ah, good to know the twinkle has been working, I've been practising."

"Go to hell."

Harry fought back a laugh and lowered his voice as if whispering a dirty secret, "I'd like to extend an invitation to you for a homework club."

Her blushing expression frosted over, "I hate you."

He smiled, "Don't you want to pass Defence practicals?"

She shoved his shoulder and said with a sigh, "Where and when?"

He gave her the hallway.

"There is no room there," she protested.

"There will be," he affirmed. "Can I charge you and your sister with getting other Slytherins who are trustworthy to come?"

"Slytherins and trust?" she scoffed. "Perish the thought."

"Theoretically, no one should be better at keeping a secret. Besides, I think Slytherin House is the only one almost fully convinced Mr. Necromancer is back from the beyond. So even if they aren't in their fifth or seventh years, they will care about learning how to defend themselves."

"Most of us have private tutors," she said.

Harry thought back to the Department of Mysteries and said, "If that's true about the Death Eaters, then that's bloody embarrassing."

She bit her lip before asking, "What about Theo?"

"What about him?"

She glared at him, "Theodore Nott."

"Yes, I know who Theo is, we've been attending classes here at Hogwarts  now for quite some time."

"I mean, can I invite him?"

"I don't see why not," he replied.

"His father is a Death Eater."

"So because his father made poor life choices, you think he shouldn't learn how to defend himself?"

"What— No, it's your club, and I wouldn't invite Draco—"

"If you invited Draco, I admit, I would begin to start questioning your intelligence."

"But both their fathers are Death Eaters."

"Daphne, I don't give a damn who their fathers are. Draco is a git and as far as I can tell, Theo is just rough around the edges, something I can fully relate to. I trust you to use your best judgement. I expect at some point this will get shut down, my goal is just to get people prepared as best I can with what time we do have."

She sighed, then gave him a mischievous look that reminded him she was Astoria's older sister, "I wouldn't be offended if you asked me out on a date now."

He took her hand and placed the lightest of kisses on her knuckles, "I'm sorry to disappoint, my Lady."

Harry caught, out of the corner of his eye, a wand being pointed at him before he saw Daphne's blue eyes widen in alarm.

He had his wand out and pointed before Umbridge could think up the name of a spell.

" Expeliuramus!"

The wand was ripped out of Umbridge's hand, so hard and fast, the pink toad yelped.

Everyone present in the hall watched the wand soar.

Including Snape and McGonagall. Snape was, in fact, close enough to have caught the wand.

He didn't.

He let it fall to his feet unmoved.

"Five points to Gryffindor," McGonagall said, amused as Harry and Daphne stepped completely out of the alcove.

Umbridge's steps were tight and quick as she went to her wand and stooped to pick it up in front of the two —much taller— professors. She began to swell. "Giving points for breaking Edict—"

"Of course, he was able to identify a threat and disarm a fully grown witch," McGonagall’s voice was all business, the picture of sincerity. "I have to admit, I hadn't thought much of your teaching methods until now, Dolores, but if Mr. Potter is any example, it seems my doubts were misplaced."

Harry, doubting he would get detention with McGonagall there, quipped, "Actually Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape taught me that in second year. Most useful spell I ever learned, it works against the Dark Lord and everything."

For a second, Harry swore he saw Snape's lips twitch, whether at what he said or Umbridge's spluttering denials.

"Anyway, see you in class professors," Harry said, letting himself be hurried along with Daphne.

A short ways away, she gave him a look.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"That's why you flirted with me," she said. "As a cover, if Umbridge came by."

"She does have a knack for showing up at the worst moments."

"Seriously, Harry," she said, sounding disappointed.

He gave her a half smile, teasing was one thing, leading her on was another, "I don't know what the future holds, but my heart is spoken for, Daphne."

She sighed, "I thought I would try, seeing as you don't actually hate Slytherins."

"Nah, just Malfoy," he said, waving to her as they parted to go to their respective classes.

oOo

Harry was feeling nervous about what Hermione had said.

Did he have a crush on Luna Lovegood?

He certainly admired her.

He certainly loved her, but was he interested in her?

"What am I supposed to do, Pen?" Harry asked the Bowtruckle. "I don't want to mess things up with her, especially if I don't know for sure."

Pen tittered, but while certainly an amusing friend for his small stature, a love oracle a Bowtruckle did not make.

Ultimately, at the end of Pen's tittering speech, he shrugged up at Harry as if to, 'What do you want from me, I'm a Bowtruckle.'

Harry sighed, "Fair enough, Pen, fair enough."

They made it to the clearing deep in the forest where the Thestrals called home.

Nothing fucked with Thestrals, which meant even this deep in the forest with days growing ever shorter. It was still relatively safe.

Luna was already there, stepping on one foot and then the next in something that had to be the wizard equivalent to Irish step.

Or maybe it just was Irish Step dancing.

She was teaching the foals, five in all the herd currently, the triplets looking extremely small as they trotted excitedly around Luna.

The oldest one, who they had named Gellert after an extremely long debate about the Deathly Hallows and in which they spoke of Dark Lords absurd obsession with immortality, ending with one of the foals pouncing on Harry and trying to run off with the invisibility cloak.

They decided that naming a baby Death Horse after the Dark Lord who had made the Hallows famous was fitting. Also, there was just something fun about referring to a Dark Lord by their first name.

And using said name for a baby animal.

Likewise, they named the second oldest Thestral foal Martha, after Batman's mum.

She wasn't a villain but then the foal was very sweet.

"Did you decide on names yet?" Harry asked, taking a seat and lighting the lanterns they had set round the clearing.

They weren't normal lights, their radius only extending about three metres in each direction. Meaning they wouldn't attract much, especially as they were dim and silver like moonlight rather than fire that might have attracted things that liked to hunt humans specifically.

Luna grinned, pointing as she exchanged feet, the foals following like dressage horses he'd seen on the telly once when Vernon tried impressing his work guests who were equestrian enthusiasts.

"Anita," she said, pointing at the blackest and first born of the triplets. "Benito," she said next, changing feet again, pointing at the lightest grey foal, the second of the triplets. And then she pointed at the troublemaker who was smaller than both her triplets, "Juanita."

Harry grinned, "Do I want to know where you got those names?"

She just grinned back at him in mute answer.

Some things, Luna kept her own council on, and that was okay.

Harry was content to watch Luna dance with the foals as he brushed down the adults with a soft brush, looking for any scrapes and injuries. The triplets' parents waited patiently for him at the end of the circles, tending to monopolise most of his time. Both because it typically took him the longest to check over the mare and make sure she wasn't overtasking herself nursing three triplets, who would hopefully be switching to meat soon, and because these two had basically called dibs on Harry.

The sire would sometimes herd Harry around as if he were one of the foals.

Tonight was no different as he finished wiping down one of the last wings, the Thestral was standing behind him snuffling his hair. Sorting through it with his beak.

Harry sighed, "I suppose you can't make it much worse."

The Thestral huffed into his hair at his cheek.

Harry grinned, coaxing the mare to him, who readily lowered her head for him to begin his check. He petted her cheek as he went, her skin softer than most cats.

Thestrals got a bad rap for being hairless.

They weren't hairless. Their hair was just so delicate it was nothing compared to a real horse but there was still fuzz there. Especially behind the ears. The mare leaned her head into him as he massaged her there.

By the time he was done, Luna had collapsed into the leaf bed, the foals laying down on her.

Harry nixed the lights and joined her to look up at the stars.

The adults stood guard, while Juanita got up just long enough to collapse in an exhausted heap on his stomach.

They might be nocturnal, but they were still babies and baby animals had exactly two moods, crazy and sleeping.

Harry ran a hand lightly over Juanita's wing as he tried to think of how to speak to tell Luna he might have a crush on her.

Surely he should tell her, right?

But Luna spoke first, "We changed their fates."

Catching on to her serious tone he asked, "The Thestrals?"

"They would have died, except Anita and her sire, if not for us, if not for the time travelling."

"I know," he agreed. It's part of the reason why, despite Voldemort going off the deep end of an entirely deep pool, Harry still felt centred.

Why he didn't feel completely hopeless.

Most of that was because of Luna herself though.

When she spoke again, he caught the restrained emotion and he was instantly worried, "Maybe we can change your fate too."

He nodded, "Yeah, maybe we can."

She caught his hand in the damp leaves and squeezed, "Harry, I want you to live, please. I want you to really try."

Feeling how serious she was being, how worried she truly was, all thoughts of romance fled out the proverbial window.

He treated her request with the sincerity she clearly needed, "I promise you that I will do everything it takes, to become his equal. As long as you can promise me something in return."

She squeezed his hand tighter, "Anything."

"Promise me you'll never sacrifice yourself for me."

"I promise."

He let out a long breath, holding her hand beneath the star studded sky.

Surrounded by Death Horses as they were, the literal stuff of nightmares, probably shouldn't have felt as at home as he did.

But home was where your heart was.

Little did Harry know, that night, the blood ward that had extended to Number 4 Privet Drive dissolved.

oOo

AN: Feedback on the chapter, fruit bats, or thoughts, pretty please?

Chapter Text

Chapter 9 - Waste of Space

Theo did not expect to be invited to a school-wide secret meeting for Defense Against the Dark Arts, organised by the Golden Trio.

Goyle, Crabbe, Parkinson, and Malfoy were the only ones from their year not present. Daphne had been pretty particular about the older year students, but the younger Slytherins had shown up in greater numbers than from any of the other three houses.

It was utterly bizarre.

What was not bizarre were the hostile looks they were getting as Hermione Granger chattered away.

The name they came up with was thought up by Milicent Bulstrode, proving the androgynous girl had a humorous streak:

"Umbridge's Biggest Fan Club."

Laughter filled the Room of Requirement. Everyone voted in favour, just as they had voted Potter in as their 'official' leader.

Theo's father would have had an aneurysm at even the notion of such a thing, which made this all the more enjoyable.

Hermione nodded, writing the name, "The UB for short then."

Potter also elected people from each House to be responsible for negotiating scheduling around other clubs and Quidditch practice.

Potter was apparently in Flitwick's Art Club, which was a rumour Theo hadn't believed.

Those who were elected were very sensible choices as all of them shared classes with Granger. Padma for Ravenclaw and Parvati for Gryffindor, because the two talked to each other normally. Susan Bones for Hufflepuff who was a friend of Neville Longbottom's and —as it so happened— a friend of Theo himself who was voted in for Slytherin.

The deciding factor of that, rather than say, Daphne, was because Theo and Potter had been assigned together for a group project in Care of Magical Creatures class.

Theo had no reservations about the latter because apparently Potter was as good with Creatures as he was in Defence Against the Dark Arts, which meant he was an easy mark.

That didn't mean that all his reservations were washed away.

At least they weren't until the end of the first UB meeting, in which Potter proved why he was such an excellent Teacher Assistant. Not once could Theo spot a moment when he treated the Slytherins differently than the other students.

And through his lead, the other students seemed to forget that any of them belonged to different houses.

Nothing like illegal extracurriculars to promote inter-house unity.

oOo

October 31st

oOo

Harry woke in the middle of the night, remembering only dimly his nightmare as the burning in his scar seared so badly, Harry shattered the glass at his bedside.

He was able to repair it and get back into bed after a cold shower which did help.

As he shut his eyes, breathing past the pain and the rage building in the back of his throat, he remembered glimpses.

It had been quite odd, watching himself get tortured.

Of the things that scared him, that didn't really make the list. Of course, he hadn't been forced to look into his own eyes while his dream-self screamed, maybe that might have been disturbing.

As it was, he was able to fall back to sleep, his belly full from the Halloween Feast.

oOo

"Sirius, are you sure this is a good idea?"

Sirius sighed, "Remus, I have to be good enough to help Harry."

"You've been obsessing about that book non-stop since you got it, but it's only been a few weeks."

"Yes, since Dumbledore gave it to me," Sirius said. "Give me a little credit, Moony, I was the first to transform into an Animagus. I was top of the year in practical magic and if it wasn't for my lacklustre essay skills, I would have out shown James."

It's why Minerva both loved and hated Sirius.

She never liked it when one of her students held back.

Remus didn't reply, watching nervously as Sirius wiggled his fingers.

"How do you even know which it'll be?"

Sirius gave his old friend a look, "We both know what it'll be." 

He turned back to the lake, ignoring the grumpy werewolf.

Shutting his eyes, he thought about who and what he was.

He was what he had always been, dreams of 'When I'm older, I'll grow out of it,' had long since passed.

He was still angry.

Angrier.

Still lonely.

Lonelier.

Still the outsider.

Only worse.

He was still that child who was a disappointment to his family.

Still the boy first to be pointed at when something went wrong.

A reputation he had taken it in turns to rebel against and lean into.

His rage at the darkling world, at the darkness in his family;

At the darkness in himself. 

But no matter what anyone said or believed, he wasn't his darkness, he was the thing that burned against it.

He was that burning, that fire. That fire that had never left him, not even in Azkaban, even though he had buried it deep within himself, within his chest, within his heart.

Within his fists.

He opened his fists.

He opened his eyes.

Flame danced in his palms, licking up his wrists.

Joy, fierce and destructive joy tore through him. And he fed it to the flames.

Breathing in deeply, he threw his hands forward and fire shot across the surface of the water, creating a bloom of steam that whited out the air around him in a deep fog.

Sirius fell to his knees panting, the fire receding back inside him.

Albus had been right, elemental magic was a lot like being an animagus.

Only it felt deeper, more visceral. Not just a reflection of one's inner spirit but the shit you were made of.

The fundamental stuff that connected one to the Earth and the universe.

It was fitting that his element was fire. 

Bright and loud.

Hot and dancing.

Tears spilled down Sirius's cheeks, as he dug his fingers into the dirt. He had been crying too much these days, and even the small display of power had drained him.

Just like his short pathetic life; so much pain, and so little to show for it.

Still, his magic remained, an exhale of energy from his core felt…

Freeing.

And what was fire but freedom?

It was power.

Life.

It was dangerous.

Fitting indeed.

Sirius had never loved a person he hadn't ended up harming.

Fire, despite its uses, was in its nature, a thing of destruction.

Buckbeak came up behind Sirius, snorted into his hair and then knocked him into the water.

Sirius came up spluttering.

The mountain fed water was freezing, because it was November, in Scotland.

" Bird!" he roared at the beast.

The Hippogryph was delighted at his outrage and jumped into the water after Sirius, splashing him further.

Sirius tackled the bird-horse, bringing them both into the deeper waters of the lake.

Buckbeak shrieked in glee, using his wings to further drench an already half-drowned Sirius.

They went on like this for another ten minutes before Remus yelled at them both.

Buckbeak grabbed the back of Sirius's robes and picked him out of the lake as if he was a misbehaving kitten. He might have been offended if he hadn't been laughing, his lips blue, and teeth chattering.

Remus shook his head, waving his wand to dry them both off and summoned a blanket to wrap around Sirius's shoulder as he led them back to Malcolm's cottage, his self-pity mostly forgotten.

oOo

Harry was surprised to receive an owl at breakfast. He hadn't been writing to Sirius, Remus, or Hagrid, to whom he couldn't send mail for their own safety.

He was even more surprised to find a muggle letter, with two stamps on it.

Luna noticed, her focus narrowing in on him, though, unlike Hermione who was sitting with Ginny and Ron at the Gryffindor table, didn't ask anything.

Harry was yet more surprised by the return address. Not only was it from Dudley, but from a boarding school whose name Harry didn't recognise.

Dear Cousin,

I'm not really sure if this will reach you. I've been keeping my eyes open for weird people and owls.

I lucked out and found a weird person with an owl. He was wearing a purple hat and was talking to a barn owl.

He said he knew you, or that he had met you. He was stupidly excited, like you're famous or something equally ridiculous.

Harry blinked down at the spelling that looked like the writer knew how to spell. It was from Dudley. He was sure of it, even though —he was being… nice.

Anyway, he seemed happy that we were related, you fr—

The last word was viciously scratched out. Harry could practically feel his cousin's anger and desperation.

Desperation because there was no other reason for his cousin trying to reach him at Hogwarts.

He was glad to let me borrow his owl and I hope if someone else gets this, they send it back to you.

The next page was far neater and easier to read despite some of the crossed out mistakes.

I've been. I've been sent away to a boarding school closer to London, I've included my new address. Not that I expect you to visit. Not that I want you to visit.

But you should know there's no home left to go back to anymore.

Harry felt the blood drain from his face.

He hated the Dursleys, and though he would wish Aunt Petunia to be the mockery of the town and for Uncle Vernon to be known as the guy with the crappiest car and raggiest lawn, he didn't actually wish them harm.

He read the rest faster.

Mum and Dad have been arrested, they've been sentenced already and Aunt Marge didn't pass the screening process. I'm a ward of the boarding school my parents signed off on, and you're… whatever your fr— your people do.

They won't be out before we're both eighteen.

"For what?" Harry demanded of the page. 

Apparently, child endangerment and neglect carries a heavy sentence. I guess they did that stuff, Mum and Dad, I don’t really know, I thought things were all right, but I think I screwed up when I took the stand and talked to the therapist. But I don't know that it matters, really. Your old teachers, from years ago, and the neighbours, and like random people from my dad's work, came out to testify. Everyone seemed really upset they hadn't spoken up before, and it was really weird, at least to me, that they all spoke up at the same time. Dad said they were all in on it. I don’t know what “it” was, though.

They came by the house first, asking about you. Then Mum got served, and then the police showed up.

I'm not really sure what to say. My therapist helped me draft this letter. This whole thing made me realise that maybe they were wrong.

Mum and Dad, for treating you the way they did.

And I was wrong too.

I'd say I'm sorry but I don't know if I'm sorry or if it would matter if I was. But I am sorry your friend died last year, I'm sorry your parents died, and that your godfather is a criminal and couldn't take you.

I know how that feels now, and it's rubbish.

So, I guess, good luck. I don't know if we will ever see each other again, but hope you find someone to take you in.

And for what it's worth, unlike my parents, I don't think you're a waste of space.

Your Cousin,

Dudley

Harry gawked at the letter, reread it, and then reread it again.

He didn't understand at all what had changed at his time at Hogwarts to affect the Dursleys so drastically.

Prison.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were in prison.

It was deeply satisfying and disturbing.

How had this happened?

"Harry?"

Harry passed the letter to Luna and she read between the lines.

"They were compelled."

"What?" he asked, petting the owl, thinking he would have to thank Diggle, he was a good sort.

"This happens sometimes, on notice-me-not wards, when they break. The crude ones anyway. They force people not to think about the thing behind the ward, and rationalise not thinking about it. But when the ward breaks, it just takes a bit of poking and they realise how obviously wrong what they had seen had been," Luna said.

"A ward did this?"

She nodded, "Depending on the ward, it could be charmed more on one thing than another."

Fascinated, and thinking Luna and Hermione really could get along if they had a bit more patience with each other, Harry asked, "What do you mean?"

"Some wards can be more about appearances, don't see me, but less good about warding against sound," she explained.

He nodded, "That makes sense but what would make my old muggle teachers follow up on a student who was only a few years away from adulthood."

She tapped on the paragraph where Dudley wrote they had no home. "The ward was geared to keep you from being taken away, it must have been extremely powerful to extend to your school. But people still saw the bad things, still knew what was happening, they just couldn't—"

"Say anything that would cause me to be taken away. How do you know all this?"

"Magical Creatures have natural protections work a lot like this. Most of the time, it doesn't matter, even if the wards fail and people remember, no one likes admitting they've been tricked."

“Or that they’re crazy, yeah,” he added thinking of how many people he knew who would rather will themselves into ignorance than deal with any sort of contradiction.

Harry wondered if it had been Dumbledore who had placed that ward.

And if so…

Either Dumbledore already knew, or he would know.

And suddenly, Harry had to know, had to know if Dumbledore knew that the Dursleys were bad enough to lose their own son in court.

Luna passed him the letter.

Harry accepted it and swung his leg over the bench and stormed up the great hall right to the head table.

People stopped to watch, even the other professors stopped talking to look at Harry who stood directly in front of the Headmaster.

Umbridge wasn't here because Fred and George had locked her in her office by cursing the door to be unassailable while locking the door with a muggle key.

"Good morning, Harry," Dumbledore said with a smile.

Harry nodded in answer. He held out the two sheets of paper to the Headmaster and said, "I want these back when you’ve read them."

Dumbledore held out his hand, expression curious.

His eyes twinkled a great deal as they scanned over the section about Daedalus Diggle. But when he began on the second page, his expression fell. Sadness and worry filled his blue eyes as he looked up at Harry with tangible concern.

And Harry knew then, knew from the open confusion on Dumbledore's expression, that he hadn't known.

He had known something, but not the extent, not the details.

Something tight and ugly released in his chest, his fear that like the prophecy, Dumbledore held all the pieces and had set the board.

A chessmaster, like Ron, knew what you were going to do before you did.

But as secretive as he was, as many responsibilities as he had, as much power as he had, he was not omniscient.

And even if he had thought Petunia the lesser evil of Harry being vulnerable in the wizarding world, or isolated from all humanity with some hermited family, he hadn't known the price Harry had paid for that calculation.

And Albus Dumbledore had never intended Harry to suffer, never imagined the extent of his family's cruelty.

It was freeing, knowing that the world wasn't conspiring against him.

And if Dudley and Luna were right, all those adults, his art teacher and the school Liberian, and that old man who sat on the corner of an old coffee shop who had taught Harry to play chess, maybe even Mrs. Figg, they had seen him and they would have taken action if they had known. Because they did when they could even if Harry wasn't there presently.

Maybe every person he had ever known hadn't seen the Dursleys and thought of them as a perfectly normal family with a perfectly normal life.

It didn't change anything, not now, it didn't take back everything that had happened nor the fact that no one had come even when he asked.

But perhaps it did mean that Harry had truly never deserved it.

That maybe there had never been anything truly wrong with him.

And though it had been many months, Sirius's words came back to him, and only now could he begin to accept them.

I want you to listen to me very carefully, Harry. You're not a bad person. You're a very good person, who bad things have happened to.

Harry closed his eyes and sunk into the thought that, Perhaps, I'm not a waste of space after all.

oOo

It probably shouldn't have taken them this long to run into trouble in the Forbidden Forest.

Too bad for the Centaurs, Luna and Harry had backup.

They were out late, way beyond curfew, deep in the forest. But the moon was full and even in the densely packed trees, light spilled through.

Harry was shaking a fancy walking staff at the midnight black Hippogryph with smoky grey wing feathers.

Harry had named him Smaug, because the Hippogryph had a habit of hoarding shiny things that could rival a Niffler.

Luna adored Tolkien. Harry had asked a favour from McGonagall if he could buy the muggle book series, the Hobbit and the Trilogy, when the bookstore at Hogsmeade said they didn't carry or are capable of ordering muggle books.

McGonagall, as it turned out, was a half-blood. And on the next Order of the Phoenix in London, picked them up with the money he had given to her.

It was a little thing, but that he could ask McGonagall, who he would be living with for the next few years, for something non-Voldemort and non-school related had made him feel like her overtures for becoming a family were heartfelt.

"We came all the way out here, for a stick?" Harry asked Smaug, shaking the stick at him.

It was pretty dark wood, smooth to the touch, with silver leaf overlane intricate carvings wrapping up toward the top.

Smaug stamped in place, throwing his head back.

"Go ahead," Harry said. " Be offended. We thought you were hurt."

Smaug glared at him, indignant.

"Harry," Luna said, just as he heard a branch snap.

Harry spun, his wand raised. Luna was at his side in an instant. Smaug forgot about the stick and hurried to cover their back.

"Harry Potter," the Centaur drawled.

"Bane," Harry answered flatly, recognising the two centaurs who emerged. Bane and Ronan, who had nearly beaten Firenze to death.

Harry didn't like bullies, human or otherwise.

Ronan pulled back his bow, "How do you know his name?"

Harry kept his wand raised, "You sound confused, Ronan, did your stars neglect to tell you? Or has there been an interpretation issue?"

Ronan growled, "Get out, human ."

"We aren't here for our own purposes," Luna said, waving her hand up. "We are here for theirs."

Smaug squawked-screeched in warning, flaring his wings behind them in a show of force.

Ronan's arrow tip drifted to the Hippogryph and Bane drew on Smaug, blatantly threatening.

"I would suggest," Harry drawled in his best imitation of Snape's menacing tones. "You do not aim at the Hippogryph."

Firenze trotted up then, "Bane, Ronan, they are children ."

Ronan spooked, but Bane let go of his arrow with purpose.

Harry turned the arrows into daisies with a simple transfiguration spell and Luna transfigured the bows into living vines.

The Centaurs nickered.

Smaug lowered to his knees, Luna jumped on, and Harry slung himself on behind her.

"Fu-" Harry began when Smaug jerked upwards as they saw an entire herd of Centaurs beneath them.

More arrows flew their way and Harry cursed as he made more daisies.

"They can't kick us out," Luna said.

"We can't start a war," Harry said.

"We can't let them chase us out," she argued.

Harry cursed, she was right, and this could lead to a really big problem.

"Call them," Luna urged. "Your whistle is better than mine."

Harry cursed once more then whistled three distinct sounds.

As one, Luna and Harry leaned forward together as Smaug turned in the air back toward the Centaurs.

Luna and Harry began firing Transfiguration after Transfiguration spell to turn the bows and arrows into something else.

Flowers and vines mainly, the wood supporting itself toward some other type of plant.

Harry caught an arrow on the end of the staff Smaug had found stuck behind a rockfall. The staff that they wouldn't be in this mess for is the Hippogryph hadn't dragged them out here to retrieve it.

The Centaurs seemed furious about their weapons having magic used at them, seeming damn near bloodthirsty for Luna and Harry to come back within reach.

Until the Thestrals and the rest of the Hippogryphs showed up in force.

Just the full grown ones that weren't nursing their young and the foals, or were too old. They descended on the Centaurs in shrieks and flashing talons.

Harry whistled sharply as Smaug landed.

They dismounted and Luna took charge as the Hippogryphs and Thestrals spanned behind them, ready for blood.

" Enough! " Luna called to them. "These trees do not belong to you, or us, they are home. Harry and I tend these creatures because they allow us too, we have no agenda outside of them. The Ministry nor the school nor the Headmaster know we are here. This is not wizard business, it's simply the care all creatures deserve if they wish it."

Harry could only look at Luna, her hair windblown and haloing around her beneath the light of the moon.

He could only think that this is how Lady Galadriel must have looked when she wielded a sword.

Firenze stepped forward, "It is not safe for children to be here."

"Our safety is not your responsibility. One day, Harry and I will travel to far more dangerous places than the Forbidden Forest," Luna answered.

Bane stepped forward, "We will make a bargain, and if you respect the boundaries of that bargain, yourself and Potter may continue to enter the forest, though your safety will not be our herd's concern."

"Very well," Luna said, in that sharpened tone that seemed sharper due to the typical softness and airiness of her voice.

Bane motioned to the flowers and fines at their feet, "Give us back our weapons and you may follow us back to our campsite."

"Safe passage," Harry said, stepping up to be even with Luna. "Safe passage for this night and the next day."

Gellert, the Thestral, shrieked emphasis on what was going to happen if the Centaurs disagreed or went back on their word.

"Safe passage for this night and the following day," Bane agreed, giving them a glare that would surely have Umbridge falling over herself.

Harry and Luna exchanged a look and then pulled their wands, undoing the Transfiguration to reverse the flowers to bows and arrows.

They then flicked their wands, and the bows flew to their owners' hands, and arrows flew and settled back into their quivers.

Luna and Harry then followed the Centaurs deeper into the woods, to a place Harry had never ventured before. Of the Thestrals, only Gellert followed, and of the Hippogryphs, Smaug.

Before they spoke, the Centaurs passed them food, which apparently was traditional. As well as apple cider that may have been a tad fermented.

And then they talked.

The Centaurs, who had been watching, asked about what they had been doing in the forest.

Luna and Harry described the births, the random tasks the various animals asked of them —like finding shiny objects for Smaug—, and so on and so forth.

When the Centaurs realized that the school really had no part of this, not even Hagrid who would have of course been gleeful at these antics, the Centaurs began sharing their own stories.

Harry was thankful that Firenze stayed mostly out of the discussion. He wouldn't be exiled this time for helping Harry.

The discussion drifted to the stars, and though Luna didn't take Divinations, she was the top student in Astronomy, higher even than Hermione had managed.

Luna did not tell the Centaurs what she knew or any jumps of logic she made of the future, but her understanding of the galaxy and the universe beyond was so advanced that she was able to ask relevant questions.

They talked until dawn.

When it finally came time for them to return for breakfast, the Centaurs, Bane and Ronan, who had been so ready to hate them, didn't want to let Luna go. So they brought them breakfast.

But finally, after a very strange salad —made of plants and nuts Harry was unfamilar with save for the bits of pumpkin— they had to go.

Harry chided Gellert back to his herd, while Luna mounted Smaug. He followed shortly after, wrapping his arms around her against the morning chill now that they were away from the campfire.

Luna waved to the Centaurs and they waved back.

"You two, and you two alone, are welcome back," Bane said.

Harry caught Firenze hiding a smile.

"Thank you," Luna said, with a final wave before Smaug took a running jump back to the skies.

"How dramatic do you want to be?" Harry asked as they approached the school.

Luna looked over her shoulder to catch his gaze, there was pure mischief in her blue-silver eyes and Harry grinned.

He raised his wand, opening the doors.

And they flew on wings hued of charcoal and ash into the halls of Hogwarts.

Smaug came to a stop right in front of the wall of edicts as many teachers and students were coming out of breakfast.

The horror and outrage on Umbridge's face was downright heartwarming.

She recovered as McGonagall, Snape, Dumbledore, Flitwick, and Madame Pomfrey stood, various shades of surprise and entertainment occupying their expressions at the tantrum Umbridge was launching into.

" ... Expulsion!" she finished her rant, squeaking a moment later as Smaug flared his wings.

Harry looked up at the edicts, humming as he 'read' them, "Huh, would you look at that, nothing about hanging out on the grounds. Also, nothing about riding Hippogryphs into the school halls."

Umbridge stuttered, too angry to form words.

Harry nodded to her as if she had responded, "You're welcome for the inspiration. For edict, what are we on now, edict twenty-four?"

"You aren't allowed in the Forbidden Forest," she said, trembling in fury.
"We don't need to go there, the Hippogryphs come when we call," Luna said lightly.

Harry whistled and the Hippogryph who was munching on bacon left the breakfast table, taking one last swallow before trotting over to them and headbutting Harry's shoulder for pets.

Draco was gaping at them, paler than normal.

"Those are dangerous animals!" Umbridge exploded.

"Magic is also dangerous," Harry said sagely.

Harry rubbed the Hippogryph's neck, and Harry gave him one more pat before encouraging the Hippogryph to head back before Umbridge remembered she had a wand to do terrible things with.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, eyes twinkling madly as he said, "I believe it is time to get back to class."

"Without reprimanding them!?" Umbridge asked, in a distinctly Vernon sort of way.

"As Mr. Potter said," Flitwick said, stepping forward. "There are no edicts against befriending Hippogryphs. Ten points to Ravenclaw and Gryffindor taking the initiative for Care of Magical Creatures.”

Umbridge's jaw was practically unhinged at this point.

"Move along, everyone," McGonagall said, though she gave Harry and Luna a wink as the crowd moved on.

Ron, Hermoine, and Weasley twins caught up to them.

"That was wicked ," Fred and George said together.

"What's with the staff?" Ron asked.

"What's with the arrow?" Fred added.

"Hippogryph acting like Niffler," Harry answered Ron.

"Centaurs," Luna answered Fred.

"Is that where you two disappear to all the time?" Hermione asked.

Harry smirked but didn't give a verbal answer as the portraits tracked them through the halls.

oOo

AN: Thoughts on the chapter, cherry barbs, or feedback, pretty please?

Chapter Text

Fanon Die-Hards: There will come a time when you have a chance to do what is fucking expected of you!

Captain Appo: I love those moments! I like to wave at them as they pass by ;D

Chapter 10 - Immortal Asphodel

Lily’s bitch of a sister had gone to prison. Along with her dirty great bastard of a husband. Well, well, well. Justice served. Justice well and truly served. 

Also.

Also, the dissolution of wards too powerful for the Dark Lord himself to break. Severus Snape was concerned.

The moment Lucius had walked out the door, Severus had begun tearing through the Prince Library, things his mother had stolen from her parents to vex them.

Things he had shared with Lily when she had been a little more adventurous and a little less fool-hardy to believe that James Potter deserved even an inkling of her time.

He now sat behind his desk, halfway through a bottle of coffee rum he had mixed into hot chocolate, reading and rereading the ritual Lily had used and trying to determine what she had tweaked.

And what Albus had unknowingly evoked afterwards.

Knowing Lily had died saving her son, wasn't exactly the same as looking down at the fine print.

The fine print that stated, in no uncertain terms, that it was human sacrifice.

The title of the book had been cool when they were children. As an adult, more specifically as a teacher who had had to deal with parents and their children, it was less cool, in fact, it was disturbing.

Blood & Legacy: The Secrets of Ensuring the Survival of Lineage.

There were a number of chapters devoted to the exchange of one death for a life, or in some cases, lots of death for the possibility of life.

It was rife with fertility spells that included boiling the marrow of your enemies' bones, bathing in their blood, and drinking the cannibal soup.

Severus didn't understand why his mother hadn't burned this book, he understood even less why Lily would even think to use this book for solutions.

Though he had a suspicion it had something to do with the fact that the introduction began with 'thwarting fate.'

Through rereading it, Severus was pretty sure he found the Malfoy curse that relegated the survival of the line, but only ever gave the family a single male heir.

Narcissa had approached Severus on more than one occasion for fertility potions, only to unerringly endure miscarriage after painful miscarriage.

The ritual Lily had used had been a bit odd. In the book, it required the sire to kill the mother and thus protect the baby against the mother's enemies.

This was different.

Lily had re-engineered it so James didn't need to be the one to kill, but localized the spell against the Dark Lord himself.

Although, as Severus reread it, he wondered if there was a subtext to this ritual that could protect a female child against her sire if the mother sacrificed herself.

For while the rest of the book was pretty specific about using the words son or heir, those terms were absent from the description of this ritual.

Either way, the Dark Lord standing in for Harry's sire was disturbing in itself.

He laid his hand over the page and sighed, "Lily, what were you thinking?"

Golden light bloomed beneath his hand and he whipped it back, to find a letter, addressed to him, in a familiar script.

Well, the address was more than his name, it read, To Severus when he realizes I "borrowed" his stuff, again.

In the old days, she used to steal his notes and books between classes all of the time. The game had been to see if she could switch it back before he noticed.

Hence, why she called her rampant theft 'borrowing'. She really would've made a good Slytherin if it wasn't for her birth status.

Severus's heart thundered, and with shaking hands, he picked up the letter, breaking the closed seal marked by an asphodel lily.

Dear Severus,

So let me begin this letter with saying that Albus Dumbledore did not betray your confidence. I found out you were a spy by spying on you while trying to steal this book from your house, which I succeeded in and you need to work on your wards, Mister, you're getting sloppy.

Or maybe you just don't care about this place anymore, which, I respect. If it was the old days, I would suggest a bonfire and telling Tuni we are worshipping the devil while roasting marshmallows.

Sorry, I'm a bit loopy. I haven't been sleeping well, and… Well, I guess you know how I get when I get an idea stuck in my head. I haven't grown out of it.

Though this is probably the craziest shit ever done, including that time I let Sirius Black convince me to jump off a waterfall (except that was fun despite James nearly skinning his best man alive afterwards).

Severus had to pause and even out his breathing to settle his thoughts. He hadn't spoken to Lily after Hogwarts. Though he had seen her marriage in the paper and heard conversations about her, he hadn't ever expected to be confronted with Lily's words so casually referring to their old lives while mentioning the life she had moved on to.

The one he had been excluded from.

I am not writing this letter to hurt you, in fact, I'm not really sure why I'm writing this when a part of me has no intention of you ever finding it.

But I figure, if you're looking, it might be because something went wrong with the ritual and Harry needs help.

He might even need your help. Fate is funny like that. And if you're helping my son (not just me because you feel guilty about joining the terrorists who would like nothing more than to burn me at the stake) then you deserve to know a few things.

Like that day in fifth year, when you called me a name and I refused to talk to you afterwards, it wasn't really about the name calling.

I mean, that hurt, you asshole, but not enough to ruin a friendship like ours.

No, I refused to take you back as a friend because you were hanging out with Avery and Rosier. And I know what you're thinking, 'but you married James Potter, the greatest git of them all.' But you know what neither James nor any of his friends ever said to me or anyone else for that matter? They never told me they would drag me into a dark hallway and 'ruin me' if I dared talk to my Slytherin friend again. So unless you can tell me differently, or that Sirius Black threatened to tear your mum limb from limb and plant her head in your front garden, you can take your arguments and stuff it.

And normally I'm not one to back down but your 'friends' weren't bullies, they were evil, and you choose them. My life and safety matter and the safety of my family means everything to me. We couldn't have remained friends if you couldn't see that.

You spoke of it as if it were normal, as if they didn't know better and were just having a laugh.

It wasn't a game to me.

Knowing now that you changed sides, that you saw the light, I can forgive you. Truthfully, I could even have forgiven you then, because I understand what drove you. I know that you're not an evil person, I know that all you have ever wanted is respect, and I understand how House pressures can be. But forgiveness and trust are different.

I didn't mail this letter to you or step out of the shadows from beneath this wonderful cloak to tell you this in person because second chances or no, Albus's trust or no, this is war and more importantly, this is about my son's future.

I wouldn't jeopardise that for anything. Besides, you and Sirius would probably try killing each other again if invited you over for tea. Nor would I do that to James, this whole thing with the prophecy… it aged him.

' Congratulations, darling, you're a father and this whole civil war thing is going to come down to your infant son and he's going to grow up to kill Wizard-Hitler.'

Good thing James doesn't fully understand the scope of what Hitler did, and as bad as Mister Fleeing-From-Death is, he's not quite at Gellert Grindelwald's level yet. Still, things are dire enough.

Thank God my specialities were in Charms and Potions. If we didn't have magic and were under house arrest like this, I think we would be ankle-deep in tins emptied of white powder at this point.

It helps that Harry is such a happy kid, I mean, I think he knows the world is fucked, he looks up at me sometimes as if he can see how this killing me. Like he knows that every day might be our last. But he never cries.

Which is good considering both his parents are human hose pipes at the moment.

Sorry, I'm babbling, oversharing, whatever. I bloody miss you, Sev. I know I never felt for you what you felt for me but I love you anyway. Despite it all, you're the best friend I ever had, and I don't think I realized just how much I've missed you till now.

Tuni still hates me, Alice is back on the frontlines, to Frank's horror, and I love James's friends, but they don't know me like you did.

And though we will never be a part of each other's lives again, I need you to know I still care about you, that I never stopped wishing the best for you.

Severus had to put the letter down and lean back lest smear the ink.

Merlin, but no one could do to him what she did. No one could tear him down to the bone and make him regret as she did.

It was another several minutes before he could begin reading again.

Anyway, back to the point of this letter. I meant it when I said I forgive you, for the school stuff, but I don't trust you not to play both sides.

I don't trust you not to take advantage of Albus when he so obviously does trust you.

I swear never has there been a man so clever yet so trusting of the best in people. Sometimes I think Voldemort runs away from Albus because he oozes positivity.

He's very convinced James and I are going to survive this war.

I'm almost of the opinion that optimism that fool hardy should be criminal.

As you probably deduced from the title of this book, positivity has not been my mood of late.

I don't trust Albus to doubt you.

So, my dear old friend, when you use Veritaserum on him, don't ask who our Secret Keeper is, ask who deserved the second chance more in the end, you or Sirius?

Severus stared, conflicting emotions overwhelming him.

He had that moment of doubt on the 30th of October, when he had slipped Veritaserum into Albus's drink to learn where the Potters were, to make sure she was safe.

It had been a stupid thing to do, and he had been stupid then, and weak.

Fear and envy ruling him at every turn.

He had never trusted James Potter, and Lily had known that.

Known that Severus, having changed sides, might attempt to play the hero and doom them all.

She hadn't known he was a Master of Occlumency.

But she knew the Dark Lord was a Master Legilimens.

She hadn't mistrusted Albus, she had mistrusted Severus's closeness to the other man. It was a damnation of his character and yet…

His head hurt with the what ifs.

It seemed none of the people who thought themselves so clever, Severus and Lily included, had thought to suspect the rat.

Severus flipped to the next page.

If you're reading this now, I assume Harry is in danger again. I'm not entirely certain what would or could go wrong but here's hoping that 'the power the Dark Lord knows not' is Harry's insanely enraged mother willing to cut him down at his own beloved Dark Arts.

After all, if the ritual works, Harry will have power equal to the Dark Lord's because he will be a mirror.

The only thing I can guess that might go wrong is if someone enacts a long lasting protection blood ward on him. While I did change the ritual, I think the default will present itself in the old way. And while either Sirius or Alice would provide all the love and home Harry could ever need, call me a radical, but children should not be literally 'owned' by their parents.

Severus gaped, realizing exactly what had happened with Harry and Petunia.

Why even perhaps Albus or Minerva had been unable to check up on him.

Why Sirius had been sent to prison conveniently without trial despite the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange receiving her day in court.

Why years later maybe Remus had been compelled not to take his potion the night of the full moon, resulting in the escape of Pettigrew.

By enacting a blood ward, Albus had inadvertently cursed Harry the same way generations of Pureblood families had been “protecting” their heirs for centuries upon centuries, to ensure they never left home until they came of age.

Despite how Severus hated Black, he knew the man had managed to overpower the same curse, just as Harry had seemed to have done.

Severus finished reading the letter.

So if you're helping Harry, thank you, Severus. If you can't believe in my forgiveness, know that nothing in this world —or the next— means more to me than my son.

When you see him, I hope you see not a reflection of a boy who was cruel to you, but see instead the last piece of me. Remember, there is nothing in this world more difficult than kindness and nothing more powerful than love.

Your Old Friend,

Lily

Severus took ahold of the bottle of rum and decided he would be cancelling tomorrow's classes.

After the fifth read of the letter, cursing and drowning in gratitude for Lily's long windedness, reading Hermione Granger's essays was a torture for how much she echoed Lily's style of writing. Severus Snape decided he needed more rum.

And maybe inform someone his classes would be cancelled lest someone attempt waking him up from what was bound to be a spectacular hangover that no potion would be able to solve entirely.

But he hadn't finished the first bottle before there was pounding on his door.

oOo

Voldemort used a curse to heal James Potter. The man shuddered from the sickly feel of tissue and muscle knitting itself back together.

It hurt as much as the lacerations, but many found it mentally more difficult to handle, both for the invasiveness of it and the knowledge that it was merely a reset to the damage to follow.

After a month of this, without the slightest give on James's part, Harry was tired. He spoke as if he was bored, not murderously frustrated. "Are you ready to behave yet?"

James took a breath and Harry just knew the next words out of his mouth was going to re-ignite his homicidal urges.

He was not disappointed.

"So you're code name, Voldemort, means Flight From Death? How old were you when you came up with, twelve?"

Voldemort's hand twitched as he stayed himself from offing the fool, " Flight of Death, as in Death flees from my presence."

James scoffed, "Should have just called yourself Jack the Ripper and be done with it. People flee from you because you enjoy killing them. Merlin knows why anyone ever wanted to work for you."

Voldemort didn't know who Jack the Ripper was, but it pinged a distant bell as if something half-remembered in a dream.

"They follow me," he said aloud. "Because they know, that in the end, I will be victorious."

"The lady doth protest too much," James quipped.

"You are an imbecile," Harry informed him cooly.

" What misery to be afraid of death. What wretchedness, to believe only in what can be proven. " James smiled, "Truly, Mary Oliver as a poem for every occasion."

Voldemort’s curses tore into the man as he rattled in his chains. He didn't bother to look at the clock.

Again, he healed him, then hosed him down so that he would have a fresh canvas.

James caught as much of the water in his mouth as he could.

When the spell lifted, the man had the gall to say, "Thanks, I was parched."

Voldemort gritted his teeth and hissed, "If I didn't know better, I swear it would seem you are enjoying this."

James looked up at Harry, his hazel eyes dull behind his glasses, his dark hair matted to his head, and he was so pale he looked as if he had the flu.

His mockery was a mask of spite, kneejerk, but the true fight was gone from him. His next words confirmed as much, "My son is dead, my wife is dead, I failed everyone who has ever loved me. I deserve everything you do to me now."

Harry felt such a kinship to that statement his heart ached.

Voldemort paused as if hearing something but he ignored it, crossing the space to take hold of James by the jaw, " So noble. I really hadn't intended to wake you up so soon. I feel like you won't trust my promises. But needs must."

"Get on with it then, your voice is grating."

Harry sighed, curling his fingers upward into wet tangles and wrenching his head back.

James gasped, but did not struggle against their hold.

Harry clicked his tongue in disappointment before crooning, "How would you feel if I told you your son was alive?"

James stiffened, before his shoulders slumped, "You're a liar."

"This is true, but you see something unforeseeable happened that night. Something wholly unique. Harry and I have a special relationship."

This time James did struggle, and Harry let him fall to the ground. Triumphant.

You couldn't break a hopeless man, for hope was the sustainer and breaker of souls. Hope that there was still something worth living for, hope that the pain would end if you just gave the right answers.

"Harry Potter, my serv—"

"Keep his name out of your damned mouth!" James roared.

Harry laughed at finally getting a reaction, "His name? I've been inside of your son's mind."

"Go to hell!"

Stepping around the man chained to the wall, Harry poured himself a cup of tea. "He's quite special, your boy. Or shall I call him ours ? He entered a Triwizard Tournament at fourteen, and won."

James snorted slumping in his chains, "Oh, you almost had me, good one. But A. there hasn't been a Tournament in decades, and B. Minerva would never have let anyone underage risk their neck for something other than Quidditch."

"The other champions were of age, as it happens, but I found it easy enough to get around the age limit."

"So instead of killing my baby son, you waited until he was in school, and then entered him into a death game? Are you always that convoluted or do you enjoy losing?"

Harry ignored him, "It was an entertaining round, I'll admit. Stealing eggs from Hungarian Horntails, drowned in the lake by the mers, answer riddles with sphinxes, a regular Scamander, our boy."

"Here's an idea," James said spiritedly. "How about you shut the fuck up, and we go back to the torture, huh? You get points for creativity but your storytelling is, how do I put this, lacklustre ."

Harry gritted his teeth for a moment, this is why he had never considered taking the time to torture James or Black.

They were annoying, possessing an unproportional pain tolerance in comparison to their minimal intelligence.

Harry flicked his wand, slamming James against the wall, smashing his cuffed hands behind him.

James grunted.

Harry placed his teacup down on the side table beside the knives and stalked up to the man. He asked with false concern, "I'm sorry, did that hurt? I thought this is what you wanted."

James just glared at him.

"I like you this way, humbled. I like to know I'm being listened to when I talk."

James said nothing.

Harry trailed his fingers over the side of the man's torso to his lower stomach, "The Horntail's fire, from the First Task, scarred him here."

Harry flicked his wand, and James's arm snapped out to the side, and as his wrists were cuffed together, it pulled his other arm out of its socket.

Voldemort —unperturbed by the man's sweating— traced a hand lightly over the arm pinned to the wall, "And this is where he has the scars from the Basilisk bite."

"Basilisk bites are fatal, you wanker," James said between panting breaths.

Harry hummed, flicking his Yew wand and jamming James's arm back into place.

He screamed.

Harry smiled, "For a boy so eager to die, he is absurdly inept at staying dead. He must have taken after you."

James shook his head, "You're lying, you would have never let him live."

Harry's rage burned, but he managed to keep his voice pleasant as he reached out to trace a line on James's forehead, "And this is where I marked him. He is my creature, he serves me ."

James spat in his face, "Liar."

Harry wiped the offending saliva off his cheek, as he transfigured the chains holding Potter into ropes and ropes of writhing snakes.

James squirmed against the wiggling bodies and the brush of tongues and fangs.

"He's a parselmouth, sorted into Slytherin. He hates muggles and muggleborns as much as I do, you can thank your wife for that."

"Lily and I loved our son—"

"Yes, but look at who, or rather, what you left him with. I could not have asked for anything easier. You served him up to me on a silver platter, a pawn for the taking."

"What we left him with?" James asked, enraged. "Even if you weren't lying, which you are, Harry would have been loved. Even if Sirius died in the war, our son would have been loved."

Harry cackled, "Is that would you believe? On no, Potter, no, no. Your poor son got left on the doorstep of a muggle family like trash, and has been treated as such ever since."

"My son is not trash!"

"Your wife and her accursed family are, less than. They taught your son what it means to hate, what the rightful order of this world is. Wizards at the top, the pigs for the slaughter. Why, he was nearly expelled from Hogwarts and thrown into Azkaban for blowing up his muggle aunt."

"You mean the Dursleys?" James asked, horror crossing his expression.

"They kept him in a hole beneath the stairs, worked him like a house-elf his entire life. You were a fool, James Potter, to dirty your blood with theirs."

Harry watched with glee as the doubt flooded James's expression. Scouring the boy's mind before summoning his Death Eaters was proving incredibly useful now.

After all, there was little reason for Lord Voldemort to remember the details of a mudblood family when he had killed so many.

But he wanted to know the life the boy had led while he, the Dark Lord, hopped from one dying creature to the next. Drinking unicorn blood just to keep from decaying. The boy's pitiful life was nothing remarkable, but it was useful now. The best lies, after all, were spun from the truth.

He put a finger beneath James's chin, "Are you ready to believe me, Potter?"

"What the fuck do you want from me?"

Voldemort wanted Harry Potter dead, he wanted to draw him out of his little hidey-holes and dissect him like a bug. The connection between them was a weakness, but also something he needed to solve, lest he kill the boy and end up harming himself; again.

He needed to know if James had those answers, or if his life was connected to his son in some way.

But we needed to draw the boy out, to him, was through his godfather, which fortunately enough, James could help him with, or at least, could be used as bait if he grew overzealous and broke his mind.

What would the world think if James Potter appeared beside the Longbottoms in St. Mungo's?

Regardless, if one wanted Sirius Black, you needed only James Potter, and vice-versa. Honestly, had Pettigrew not already belonged to him, they would have been right to not choose Black.

But they would make further mistakes. He just needed James to falter or break, it would not do to give Dumbledore back one of his favourite pieces.

Harry leaned in to breathe into James's ear, "I want your pain, Mr. Potter."

oOo

Harry woke up in his own body, in his own bed, shaking. His scar burning, he could not determine who he was.

Was he Voldemort? Furious and scared.

Was he James Potter? Defiant and broken.

Harry knew he was Harry, but he knew what it felt like to have long pale fingers. He knew the intoxicating feel of the Dark Arts through his Yew wand, he knew what it was, to believe, absolutely, that he had been born to dominate the world.

But Harry also knew what it was like beneath that wand point. Knew what it felt like to be tortured and toyed with. Taunted and humiliated and to snap back with desperation and the hope that when death came, it would be swift.

Despite what Voldemort believed, death was not the same thing as losing.

Harry curled in on himself as he waited out the pain in his scar and the nauseating sensation of his magic turning over inside like a storm against the sea.

Eventually, he could open his eyes and see past the pain.

He didn't believe James Potter was alive, but whatever Voldemort was doing, if it continued like this, there might come a day when Harry couldn't overcome the pain in his head.

In his spirit.

oOo

AN: Usually, I try making Voldemort a more linear thinking character, but I just decided to panic the crazy bastard and watch'um go. Are you not entertained?

ANII: Thoughts, Nile crocodiles, or feedback, pretty please?

Chapter Text

KEYnote: 20k words (three chapters) will span less than forty-eight hours, starting from Harry getting up in the middle of the night from the nightmare.

P.S. Voldemort didn't kill James, it's not necromancy. It's a curse version of the potion Drought of Living Death.

Chapter 11 - Hell Nor Heaven

James Potter was dead, if Voldemort thought he could break Harry like this, he was dumber than he thought.

Harry realized he wouldn't be able to share this with Dumbledore.

Even if they were on better terms than they had been. Dumbledore might just start avoiding him again, thinking that Voldemort had found a way to gain back control.

But Harry's magic was growing. The Transfiguration books Dumbledore had been supplying him were downright addictive.

Elemental, wandless; it had a lot more to do with Magical Creatures than the stuff they had been learning in their other classes.

It was like an entirely different world of magic. And Harry had asked Flitwick for some extra books on Charms that were more intricate work, but just as interesting.

He didn't want to lose that, for the Professors to worry Voldemort was going to take him over.

Voldemort's new tact with his father was disturbing on so many levels.

One, because Harry had seemed to merge with him almost as thoroughly as he had with Nagini last time around. Two because Voldemort had seemed to notice him truly.

And three, because it was a stupid plan, if Voldemort thought his greatest weakness was his long dead father, he was wrong.

Which just made everything more confusing.

Since his parents' graves had been desecrated and his father's body stolen, he hadn't been having true dreams, just flashes and emotions.

Voldemort had been deliberately trying to keep Harry out of his head and staying well away from Harry's in turn.

So why was this happening?

What he had mistaken as day dreams to torture him seemed like reality now.

And the man chained on his knees hadn't been Harry.

Even if they did look like practically twins, he had been older and his eyes had been hazel.

Harry continued to pound on Snape's door.

The door opened, and a dour man glared down at him.

Harry spoke in a rush, "Please, Professor, can I speak with you?"

Snape sighed, "Very well."

Stepping back, he led Harry into his office. Snape seemed normal, if tired, until he glided into the side of his desk. He recovered impressively, but Harry knew exactly what inebriation looked like.

"Take a seat, Potter."

Harry sat, "I'm coming to you because I don't know if anyone else would understand."

Snape sneered, "What wouldn't they understand?"

"How sadistic the Dark Lord is," Harry said, careful not to use Voldemort's name. "And that as mad as he is, he isn't without his methods or reasons."

Snape stilled, regarding him warily, "And what exactly do you think confiding in me will achieve?"

Harry swallowed, "What I'm going to say next is going to make you really angry, but please, Professor, I wouldn't be coming to you if I had other options."

Snape considered it for a moment before saying, "Fine."

"I know you hate my father," Harry said in a rush.

Snape's face hardened, but he didn't interrupt.

"I know he's dead. I know it. Even if he didn't come out of V— the Dark Lord 's wand showing his previous spells, like my— like Lily did, during the Tournament, I know he's dead. Sirius's is the closest thing I have to a father and we aren't…" Harry took a breath. "We don't know much about each other, not really."

"Is there a point to this?" Snape drawled.

"My father is dead."

Snape's jaw ticked, " I know."

"The thing is, I keep having these dreams—"

Snape scoffed and began to rise.

"Please!" Harry begged. "I just need to tell someone. I swear I'll never speak of it again, I just— He's in my head, and I don't know what game he's at."

"Who's in your head?" Snape asked.

"V—" Harry bit his tongue before repeating, "The Dark Lord. He caught on, you see, to me getting glimpses through his eyes. Dumbledore realised it too, it's why he won't look at me. Because it goes both ways now. Please, Professor, just listen to what I've got to say, and I'll never mention it again."

Snape sunk back down into his seat and waved Harry ahead.

Harry let out a breath before saying, "If the Dark Lord wanted to hurt me, he could show me my friends being tortured, Sirius, even my mother. I nearly let myself get kissed in third years to hear her voice."

Snape paled, "What do you mean?"

"My worst memory," Harry explained, feeling a bit better about sharing something personal when last time around he saw Snape's personal memories, things he wasn't meant to see. "Is also the only memory I have of her. I remember her begging for my life. I remember him telling her to step aside, and her refusing him. I don't remember my father at all, but I remember her. I wish every day that she had stepped aside, but I'm glad I met the Dementors, I'm glad I remembered more than the sight of her falling and the green light that stuck with me when I was younger."

Snape stared at him like he had never seen him before, "I'm sorry."

Harry blinked, he hadn't expected condolences, "Thank you, but what I'm saying… well, I always wanted a father, I always wanted to know him, but I don't and he's not as real to me as Sirius is."

Snape's expression twisted, but he said, "Fathers are not all that they are cracked up to be."

Harry nodded, and took a shot in the dark. Slytherins and Gryffindors weren't typically friends, which implied that perhaps Snape had known his mother outside of school, "Have you ever met my aunt?"

Snape's eyes flashed but his answer was civil, "Yes."

"Well, she didn't marry up," Harry said sardonically.

Snape huffed, "I'm still waiting for the point of all this, Potter."

"The Dark Lord knows me," Harry said. "So why do I keep having nightmares about him torturing my birth father? What could it possibly gain him? I know better than to think I could save a man who's already dead."

Snape's scowl deepened and he asked slowly, "The Dark Lord has been showing you images of your father?"

"Do you know if he was ever captured?" Harry asked in a rush. "I always thought if he got my dad, he would just kill him. He was a pureblood and all, but the Potters aren't like the Malfoys. He wasn't an Auror, he wasn't really anyone but a pain in the ass working for Dumbledore."

"James Potter was never captured, and it is unlikely the Dark Lord would have wasted resources on trying to break him."

"What do you mean?"

Snape sighed, a pained expression crossing his face, "Because he was stubborn and powerful, and very proud. Sometimes that means they break easier. But your father had been in enough combat to prove he could take more than a few hits and keep going. Chances were high that, like the Longbottoms, his mind would have broken before his will. Despite what many think, torture is a poor way to obtain trustworthy information."

"So why does he keep showing me it?" Harry asked.

"To hurt you," Snape answered.

"Weren't you listening?" Harry asked, exasperated. "James Potter's screams are not the ones that would break me. I'm not going to go running to save the man who was supposed to save me. Sirius is different, I know him, and he's— well, he's not all there after Azkaban."

Snape arched a brow, "You see Black as a victim?"

Harry knew quite well their animosity and knew Dumbledore had held Sirius accountable for his own death in the Department of Mysteries. But Harry knew better, knew that Sirius could never be a replacement for his father. Sirius needed as much help as Harry did.

So he asked pointedly, "Would you trade places with him?"

Snape's expression remained unmoved, "Actions have consequences."

Harry's temper snapped, "Yeah, they do. And maybe Sirius almost got you killed as a kid, but unlike you, he didn't join a death cult. You might have changed sides, but Sirius was always fighting against the terrorists. And for some reason Dumbledore saved you from the jaws of the Ministry and let Sirius get a life sentence without a trial because of his name. So don't you dare sit there and act like you're better, like you have the moral high ground. Actions have consequences? I've been paying for the consequences of your generation's fuck ups my entire life, no action needed on my part."

Snape glared, "Watch your tone."

But he didn't kick him out so Harry continued.

"I keep seeing flashes of James being tortured, and it's not that I don't care, I do, but it's not as difficult as dreams he has shown me of Sirius, and the Dark Lord knows that. At first, I didn't even realise it wasn't me, like his sick fantasies of hurting me, because, well, it was like he didn't know I was there. Until tonight, it's only been flashes since I attacked him."

"And you didn't try attacking him this time?"

Harry scoffed, "No. Because last time he was in my head and I had the advantage. He knows more about the Mind Arts than I do, and he's him, so he would have if it's something I see that I can stop by tripping him up, maybe, but otherwise… I might have a low threshold, but bleeding my brains out my ears, if I don't know for sure that I would take him with me, is not how I want to go."

Snape tapped his fingers on the desk, "What do you want me to do?"

"You're friends with Lucius Malfoy, right? And you're Draco's godfather?"

Snape's brow arched, "You want me to spy for you?"

"I've seen things through his eyes before," Harry said. "Like at the Riddle House, but this is different. I'm telling you it's weird."

"Weird how?"

"The details, the frequency, the flashes in the daytime— the feelings of anger. When the first flashes came, James hands were… his fingers were bloodied like he tried tearing his way out of a room." Harry had done that once when the Dursleys had forgotten about him once over a weekend. He'd paid for it with more than just injured fingers when they had arrived back home. "And he keeps saying weird things. And the questions Vol- the Dark Lord are equally weird."

"What questions?" Snape asked, sounding annoyed at constantly having to prompt him. To his credit, it was two am.

"Stuff that is relevant now, but wouldn't have been during the first war. Yet, nothing about the current Order's whereabouts. The Dark Lord keeps asking questions about Sirius, things Wormtail wouldn't have known, and he keeps taunting James about Lily's death."

Snape shook his head, "Strange, I'll admit, but have you considered he's asking these things of James that he wants to get from you?"

He was already shaking his head, "But I don't know that much about Sirius, hell, I don't know anything at all about my mother. The Dark Lord described their wedding at one point."

"The Dark Lord attacked your parents during their wedding," Snape said. "That's where he killed Mr. and Mrs. Evans."

Harry threw up his hands, "I didn't know that! How could I have possibly known that? Even if someone had told me, that's not intimate enough for the Dark Lord to use against me."

"Why would the Dark Lord want to be intimate with you, Potter?" Snape asked, tone as dry as ever.

Harry fought not to roll his eyes, "Because he's an obsessive, sadistic maniac who would sooner give up his wand than ignore the slight of my having survived him. It somewhat works in my favour —that he wants to kill me slowly or use me to get at the Order— but eventually, he's just going to swat me. So what is the bloody point of him showing James being interrogated, when there are a dozen other targets he could hit to make me feel wretched?"

Snape rubbed his temple, "I am not so close with the Dark Lord to be his confidant."

"But surely you think it's odd too, right? Do you see his motive? What am I missing?"

"I don't know, Potter."

"James spat into the Dark Lord's face," Harry said, revealing the weirdest parts of this whole thing. "He hasn't cried once. Not under the torture curse or the Imperius, he's been talking circles around him under the Veritaserum. It's bloody impressive. The Dark Lord is so angry, and the only reason he hasn't lost it at James yet is because he knows he's suffering. James is acting like losing Lily and me are the worst possible things that could ever happen to him, the rest of the torture, it means nothing."

Snape was quiet for a long while, looking off into the distance as if trying to work it out like Harry had been trying to for a month.

Finally, the Professor said, "The Dark Lord is showing you a detailed vision—"

"Visions," Harry interrupted. "Plural and varied. James looks worse and worse each time but his fingers have healed, and he keeps getting sharper, like he's waking up."

"So he's showing you an unsuccessful prolonged interrogation?" Snape asked, unable to hide his surprise.

"Yes, and James has started asking questions of his own. He's figured out I'm alive, you see. The Dark Lord keeps dangling it in front of him. James doesn't know what year it is, where I am, or how old I am."

"I will admit," Snape said. "I cannot imagine what the Dark Lord hopes to achieve by showing you this. But you mentioned the Malfoys, why?"

"Because that's where they are," Harry said.

"How do you know?"

"Because I keep seeing both Lucius and Narcissa. And last time I checked, Mrs. Malfoy isn't a Death Eater, just a bitch."

Snape's mouth thinned, "And you would like me to investigate this?"

"Come on," Harry pleaded. "You're Draco's godfather and his Head of House. He's slipping up with being a Prefect, and Quidditch, and messing around with whatever Umbridge is trying to get him to do. I've been outperforming him in classes and I've been to the hospital wing at least once every week. I know how dangerous approaching the Dark Lord is, but couldn't you, like, peek in, under the pretence of talking to the Malfoys about Draco's grades?"

"You presume much," Snape said. "Lucius Malfoy is a proud man, my suggesting Draco is underperforming in his studies is cause for quite the upset."

Harry huffed, "I don't think Draco should be worried about his father anymore, not with his new house guests. How old were you when the Dark Lord poached you? How long do you think it will take before the Dark Lord brands him just to keep the Malfoy fortune in his hands?"

Snape stared at him, "Many will join the Dark Lord because they believe it to be the safer option."

"Then I pity them," Harry said coldly. "Because I've seen first and second hand what the Dark Lord does to those closest to him. Frankly, I know Grindelwald was worse, smarter, and had greater ambitions than conquering a school, but I think I would have rather worked for him than Tom Riddle. According to the textbooks, at least, Grindelwald actually lifted his people up to positions of power. Tom's just looking to make everyone into his personal slaves."

Snape stared at him, "You are quite possibly the only man on Earth bold enough to say something that—"

Words seemed to fail him.

Harry smirked, "Yeah, well, Grindelwald took over most of the continent, and Voldemort was undone by going after a baby and still thinks he's a god among men. Forgive me if I fail to be impressed."

Snape sighed, "I will visit the Malfoys."

"Thank you, Sir," Harry said, sincerely.

"I will also tell everything you have told me to Dumbledore."

A small spike of worry ran through him, but even if Snape did tell him, Dumbledore was different this year.

So Harry shrugged, "Whatever, just don't let him talk you out of it."

Maybe drinking made Snape kinder because all he said in turn was, without tangible malice, "Good night, Mr. Potter."

"Good night, Professor Snape," Harry said more cordially than he ever had to this particular professor.

oOo

Severus had the delight of waking the Headmaster up at three am in the morning. And while he hadn't planned to share the latter with him, he decided it was easier than trying to explain all that had happened.

Albus looked fifty years older after he read Lily's words as well as the ritual she had used and the one he had unknowingly activated.

"I did not think she would use these rituals. There are reasons it is not taught. The blood ward I meant to activate would have kept Harry safe and would have alerted me to any harm done to him."

"Instead, it was a magic that wove fate around to ensure the boy could never be removed from his home until he came of age."

Albus shuttered, "Magic that old… it connects to arcane magic that I… I would never willingly have invoked it."

"Because it held power over you," Severus said, knowingly. "And it changed the fates of many who it would have touched. Minerva, as James's godmother, would have taken the boy in with Malcolm. Perhaps Black would have a trial before that. Perhaps Pettigrew wouldn't have escaped the night Lupin conveniently forgot to take his potion."

Albus slumped in his seat, "The Dursley's son, Harry's cousin, was removed from Petunia and her husband's custody. They were sent to prison."

Severus blinked, he hadn't realised it had been that bad, but then again, muggle laws had improved rapidly from those he had lived with growing up.

Albus rubbed his face, "Had Petunia but loved him…"

Severs snorted, "Well here's a lesson to you all then, family does not equate to love. One would think you would know that by now."

Albus flinched but did not refute the point.

"Potter came to me tonight, he has been having dreams about his father being tortured by the Dark Lord."

Albus raised a brow, "It makes sense given their graves."

"Yes, however, Potter claims the Dark Lord knows him better than to use his father to be the one to hurt him. He thinks he residing at the Malfoy Manor and would like me to spy for him."

At his tone, Albus asked, "I thought you had grown to like Harry?"

"Respect and affection are two different things, Headmaster."

Albus huffed a laugh.

"You think that's funny?"

He shook his head, "No, I fear that the reverse is true of Harry's feelings for me, if he asked for your help and not mine."

Severus spoke without thinking and immediately regretted the pain that glimmered back in those blue eyes, "Smart of him, seeing as you cursed him with magic so dark it required a human sacrifice. By accident. "

Albus bowed his head in acknowledgement, "I would ask that you do check. Even though James is dead, I'm not sure what magic he is playing with. But involving the dead is never good."

Severus nodded, "Very well."

He hesitated but departed as Albus gazed out his darkened windows, lost in thought.

oOo

Harry was glad that the Patil twins had taken a shine to Luna. Padma and Luna in particular got along. Despite being from the same house, it wasn't abnormal that except through Harry and the UB Club, Padma wouldn't have become friends with Luna because they weren't in the same year.

But now that they were, Luna sometimes got dragged away to do the mysterious girl things that girls giggled about and Harry couldn't fathom.

He wasn't sure what those things might include, aside from knowing that the result was many the sly looks and peels of giggles that seemed to trail behind them at his expense.

Even Daphne was in on it.

Theo sighed as they watched them go, "Girls."

Ron shook his head as he watched Hermonie, Ginny, and Amelia who had broken off in another direction of Hogsmeade, engrossed in their own secret feminine discussions.

"Come on," Harry said. "There's something I need to pick up."

"What, exactly?" Ron asked, doing his best to ignore Theo who tagged along.

Aside from Harry, Theo was the best in the school for Defence Against the Dark Arts, and thus had become Harry's primary partner for demonstrations. They had also begun a sort of comradery that was almost like having another friend.

Harry could say, while he was doing much better with being friendly to people and more open, Parvati was the only other person outside of Luna to who he had grown close enough to use the term friend outside of Hermione and the Weasleys.

Part of that was because Harry kept too many secrets to really be himself with people, and two, he almost always had a headache. And while, aside from last night, he couldn't really remember much from his dreams, he wasn't sleeping well of late.

Voldemort was growing more incensed it seemed over each passing day.

It wasn't that Harry wanted Bellatrix and the Death Eaters to escape, but Harry almost hoped Voldemort would do it sooner just to lighten the bastard's mood a bit to lay off the pain in Harry's head.

He was doing the best he could to put the image and sensations of his father being tortured beneath his hands out of his mind, knowing it would be a day or two before Snape could think up an excuse and be allowed into the Malfoy Manor long enough to snoop.

"What are we doing here?" Ron moaned as Harry reached for the door of a tiny jewellery and knick-knack shop. It sold gifts as well as crystals and mineral-based potion ingredients.

Theo scoffed, "Luna, obviously."

"But why ?" Ron asked.

"Because he likes her," Theo answered as they followed Harry through the tight aisles and display boxes.

Ron nearly tripped over a hat rack, "Is that why Ginny has been sooo…"

Harry glanced back at him, "Hermione says it's because they are in the same year."

Ron nodded sagely, "We are neighbours with the Lovegoods."

"Well, she's going to have to get over it, besides, I don't even know if Luna feels the same."

Theo snorted, "Come on, mate. Surely you've realised half the school is in love with you. Between your growth spurt and the UB, you're all the girls, and some of the boys talk about. The whole riding in on a Hippogryph into the school and back talking Umbridge has only made that many more sketches that more interesting."
"Sketches?" Ron asked, giving Theo a strange look.

"Course," Theo said. "Flitwick's Art Club tripled in size after Harry joined."

Harry rolled his eyes, "That's great and all, but Luna isn't everyone else."

"True," Theo conceded without malice.

Ron sighed, "I don't even understand the conversations you two have."

"That's because non-human magic is an entirely different subject matter than the majority of what we are learning," Theo said.

"We've also been studying Veteromancy and healing, sooo," Harry trailed off with a smirk at Ron's look of disgust at not only more school work but something that fundamentally messy.

Gryffindors joked that Neville's love of Herbology had been out done, exploding cacti and all.

"Good thing you're famous," Ron said. "Or you would be the lamest person ever."

"I think him being famous makes his dorkiness more endearing," Theo said as if this was a serious discussion or they were commenting on a wild animal's behaviour.

Harry flipped them both off.

The witch at the counter cleared her throat with a glare.

Harry turned his full attention to her, "Hello, I was looking for a silver chain and blank pendant I can set with a charm."

The witch nodded, pulling out an array of options.

At the end of Harry being pickier than he would have been in a Quidditch supply shop, he exited with a small bag. He folded it carefully and stored it in his satchel he had empty for just this purpose. It was kind of cool to learn that two pieces were actually made by Malcolm McGonagal.

"What are you going to do with a plain chain and blank pendant?" Ron asked.

"I already have the four other charms ready and I have the Charmed design already figured out and worked through."

"Really," Ron said. "You're worse than Hermione now."

Harry shrugged, "Life is too short to give a shit about what other people think of me."

Theo let out a startled laugh that he turned into a cough as they entered the Three Broomsticks.

"'Arry?"

Harry turned round to the blonde approaching him. "Fleur?"

Ron and Theo froze on either side of him.

"Can I speak to you?" she asked. Glancing at the two other boys, she asked, "Privately?"

"Sure," he agreed readily, a bit confused as this hadn't happened last time.

Then again, Harry probably had detention this time last year, or at least was making up homework because of said detentions.

He followed Fleur to the back table, her cloak turning from a white that complimented her fair complexion to black, so despite her beauty, she blended in better.

"I'm sorry," she apologised. "You're the only other person I really know dans England et…" She looked away.

Concerned, Harry asked, "What is it?"

She sighed, staring down at her hands, "It's Bill."

Harry stiffened.

He liked Bill, he really did, but that didn't mean he would spurn someone asking for help. "Are you alright? Has he hurt you?"

She shook her head, her gaze raising to meet his, "Non, non, mais… But— He's changed. Since joining the Order, I mean. He's gotten… paranoid. Et je ne sais pas… I don't know what to think."

That her French was mixing in —seemingly unintentionally— warned him to the depth of her worry.

"If he's threatening you, if you feel you're endangered," Harry said immediately. "Then I can help you find somewhere else to go if you are living with him."

"Non, it's not that. It's…" She sighed, "'Arry, he speaks about you, a lot."

"What, exactly?" he asked.

"The papers, and after Order meetings… Arry, whatever the Dark Lord is doing, you should be worried about it. Things are not well," she said.

"But he's not hurting you?" Harry said, ignoring the concern for his own well being.

He was in danger and water was wet, that was not new information to him.

"Non," she said. "I promise, it's not that. He's just been… well, he's such a relaxed person, but when it comes to you… Whatever the Order isn't telling us, it involves you."

Harry took her hand from across the table and squeezed, "Thank you, Fleur. But I'll be alright. I've been applying myself this year and I've been getting extra training. I'm as safe as I'm going to get."

She nodded, opened her mouth, then shut it, then shook her head, all before saying, "Alright, I just… I had to tell you. Please be careful."

Harry nodded, "Thanks, Fleur."

She stood, "Stay safe."

"You too," he said, standing up and then adding, "Say hello to your sister for me."

Fleur flashed him a real smile then. "I will. Au revoir, mon ami."

"Au revoir," he repeated.

Theo and Ron peeked out behind a booth as she exited out into the cold November day.

"What was that?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged, "I'm not sure, but I think you should write to Bill and make sure he's alright. That was… strange."

"What did she say?" Theo asked.

"That I was in danger," Harry said.

Theo snorted, "No shit."

Conversation altered when Daphne and Astoria slid into the rounded booth with them, chatting merrily about pranks George and Fred had played on Umbridge.

Lockhart had given them ideas on some of the things they could get away with, and as Hagrid wasn’t back yet there was no one to blame.

Umbridge hadn't been able to catch wind of Harry or Luna spending the majority of their time in the Forbidden Forest while not at the UB Club, Art Club, or library.

The day passed, and all the while Harry tried to shrug off the headache burning inside his head.

oOo

Voldemort had spoken in length about Harry, and from his words, Harry was either elven or thirty.

Or dead.

Because Voldemort had offered no tangible proof that he was.

The monster crooned in his ear after knitting James back together that he was going to be fed food from an old friend.

James wasn't able to decider those words, merely marvelled at his hand being cuffed in front of him, not behind, until he heard that snivelling voice.

"Ja-James?"

His gaze snapped upward at the vermin inching into his cell.

Peter Pettigrew had not aged well, his insides finally matching his outsides.

When they were younger, Peter had had golden blonde and crystal blue eyes. His face had been round in the cheeks but he was handsome in his own way.

Sirius had joked he had looked a bit like a cherub.

Peter had been the sort of boy who wasn't particularly good at anything, nor particularly bad at anything.

He had doting parents.

His best attribute had his willingness to do anything for a friend, even when he was afraid.

Things had changed after Hogwarts.

Sirius and James had held off from finding employment to join the Order. Unlike Frank and Alice, they didn't have time to go through Auror training.

Lily had sold healing potions, brewing double to sell to St. Mungo's and to give to anyone who might need them.

They had been, essentially, living off their inheritances.

As a werewolf working against Voldemort, Remus had been living with Sirius because employment might have been a death sentence.

Peter —despite working for the Order— wasn't a fighter and thus wasn't entrusted with much responsibility. After school, he had still been living with his parents who ridiculed him for being unemployed. Employment being rough in the best of times when the highest N.E.W.T. score he received was an E Transfiguration, and only two other Acceptable scores in Defence Against the Dark Arts and Herbology, Peter had found it difficult to find anyone interested in hiring him.

Harder still had been holding a job.

James had not realized how much his one-time friend had coasted by, only ever putting effort into appearances. Outside school, where his schedule was not organised for him and he saw his friends mostly at Order meetings, James had failed to see the changes in his friend.

Failed to see that his gifts to Lily, of flowers and sweets, were a way to buy her affections while he avoided Harry at all costs.

Failed to notice Peter at all when James had been so wrapped up with his family, Sirius fawning over the baby, and Remus trying to swallow his self-loathing to accept that when Lily invited him over for every dinner she expected him to show up.

Her passive-aggressive shoving of leftovers at him anytime (which was most of the time) he failed to show, had not gotten it through the werewolf's thick head that they wanted him around.

In all the drama, none of them noticed that their most 'dependable' friend had migrated to 'greener' pastors.

James didn't think it was ambition on Peter's part, it was just another bid to follow the tide.

To coast by with minimal effort.

Which is why he wasn't a Slytherin. He wasn't ambitious so much as he wanted to take the easy road.

He wasn't loyal enough to be a Hufflepuff, nor driven enough by learning to be a Ravenclaw.

A Gryffindor by default.

"James?" Peter said, taking another cautious step forward, the silverware rattling on the tray.

Stupid boy.

Stupid, ugly, ingrate barely fit to be called a man.

Barely fit to be a rat, a field mouse's life was worth more than him.

James watched him, looking for the wrongness in him that he had failed to spot in eleven years of friendship.

His nose and teeth had grown, his ears larger with grey hairs.

Animagi weren't supposed to look like their animal form while human, unless you skipped a step, unless you let the magic do the work and thus leaving yourself vulnerable to the animal mind taking on a life of its own.

Not that this was an excuse or explanation for his actions.

No, animals weren't inherently evil, not even snakes.

No, evil came from humans.

Maybe Peter was perverted, maybe there were many secrets he kept from his friends because there were parts of him that had seen the crimes of the Death Eaters, seen them humiliate, torture, and kill entire families and thought it funny.

Thought it was something valid to be a part of.

In some ways, James had more pity for Snape than Peter.

Snape had been immersed in the bullshit at school, initiated young, practically groomed to join the terrorists.

But Peter?

Peter had been a part of the resistance and had betrayed everyone and all trace of morality.

He had known better, and chosen evil.

"James, do you remember me?" Peter asked after swallowing hard.

James felt his chest tremble with a growl that he didn't let pass his lips. He sat very still. Telling himself that he couldn't do anything rash.

Voldemort was buggered in the head but Peter wouldn't be able to lie to James again, now that he knew to look for deceit.

"I brought food, I can feed you, but if you can—" he cut himself off coming to the line that was just beyond James's leash.

If he could make himself move fast enough, he might be able to kick him.

Peter sat on the floor across from him, sliding the tray noisily across the dungeon floor that was stained with James's blood.

Soup and a spoon.

Hopefully, it was scalding hot for his purposes.

They sat in the quiet and James watched in grim satisfaction as Peter began to sweat.

He looked a bit like a mouldy pastry.

"Eat," Peter finally commanded.

"Lily is dead because of you," James stated.

Peter's eyes went wide, his lower lip trembling

Disgusting.

"And my son—"

"He's alive!" Peter exclaimed, looking like he was having a nervous breakdown as he waved his hands about, one of them metal.

Curious.

"Did your master tell you to say that?" James asked coldy, refusing to let any of his own emotions show.

Peter craved attention, good or bad, he craved it.

Nothing had ever gotten to Peter like a cold word.

Lily said they should be gentler with him.

James on the other hand wanted to do to Peter everything that had been done to his own person in this accursed dungeon.

"No. No, no," Peter began to babble. "He lived, he's the Boy Who Lived. He survived the Killing Curse and defeated the Dark Lord, for a time anyway. He's amazing."

James's gut twisted.

Harry is alive .

Also, Peter was a bloody moron, how thick did you have to be to think the baby killed the mass murderer?

It seemed the baby theory was more plausible than the Gryffindor's Golden Couple turning to the Dark Arts to protect their son.

Clearly, no one knew shit about what lionesses were capable of protecting their cubs.

Or Griffins for that matter.

"He saved my life."

James's attention snapped back to Peter, " What?"

"Harry, he saved my life. He's a good boy."

James's every hair stood on end at the way Peter said, good boy.

It took hurculean effort not to lash out in that moment. Instead, James forced himself to ask, "Saved you from what?"

"Sirius. But Harry forgave me. James, Sirius was going to kill me."

James blinked, thinking that was the most reasonable and logical thing Peter had said so far.

It was a good thing his life had been spared until now, James could avenge his family himself.

"Where is Harry?" James asked.

Peter's mood seemed to have brightened, the fear flaking off of him as if he thought all was forgiven.

Stupid.

There wasn't a word strong enough to describe that level of stupidity.

"He's at Hogwarts! He looks just like you and he's very brave," Peter said with admiration and envy.

James wanted to kill him slowly, the muggle way.

"How old is he?" he asked, cutting off his blabbering.

"Fifteen. He's in the fifth year," he said like an over eager puppy.

James said nothing, wanting to hear more about his son, but not from Peter.

Peter deflated in the silence. "I've missed you, James. I knew you would understand, that you would forgive me."

James stopped breathing as he fought himself not to gag or breathe fire.

Peter looked down, "I mean, I'm sorr—"

James dropped to his back, kicking his legs out, ignoring the taut chain holding him at the neck.

Peter screamed as hot soup splashed into his face.

James transformed his lower half into the buck's form, kicking rapidly with his cloven hooves.

Peter's screams were ear piercing.

James transformed back, snagging one of the traitor's legs between his own like he had when wrestling with Sirius.

He pushed back on the floor toward the wall, dragging Peter with him.

Within the distance that the iron collar allowed him.

Peter remembered his true nature and shifted.

Expecting it, James scooped the tiny rat bastard and immediately threw him against the wall so he couldn't be bitten.

Peter transformed again, scrambling against the stones, blood trailing from his mouth.

James pinned him, knees into ribs.

Peter's face paled.

Broken ribs.

James pressed down harder, hoping the fucker would drown in his own blood.

"Please," Peter begged, breath wheezing out of him, voice thready. "I'm not strong like you."

"We would have died for you. We would have protected you. I hope you've suffered. I hope you've lived every day of your life afraid of what Sirius or Voldemort would do to you. And when you get to your final destination, I hope Lucifer himself lances you on a spike as carrion crows pick away at your worthless soul for the rest of eternity."

Peter coughed blood, eyes bulging as James pressed down further.

It was not a pretty sight, but it was nothing to the nightmare of waking beside Lily's corpse.

The sound of the door of his cell creaking made James jerk and he lifted his weight and jammed back down, hard.

Blood spurted from Peter's lips in a soundless cry.

Peter was summoned out from beneath James.

He screamed rage, more animal than human, a sound that started in his core and ripped from in wordless exclamation.

" Eternal damnation! Do you hear me, Worm!? That's your prize! There is no forgiveness for what you've done!"

Lucius Malfoy spared a moment to banish the mess off his dungeon floor before exiting, Peter's floating form before him.

James thought it was too much to hope that had succeeded in killing him.

But it didn't matter.

Harry was alive.

Alive .

At Hogwarts.

Neither Hell nor Heaven would keep them apart much longer.

oOo

AN: Long chapter! Thoughts, mongooses, or feedback, pretty please?

Chapter Text

Fullmetal Alchemist: Remember this masterpiece series? I've tried writing in this beautiful fandom and I love it! Son of Hughes (Yes, Maes Hughes, and Nina, lives and is a main character) and because it is among my favourite series and I'm half done writing it already, it will be updating every Friday! (Sound the music now AppoApples promising an update schedule!?) I mean it's not this fic but it's Fullmetal ;D

Chapter 12 - Because Fire

Lucius was distracted as he re-bound Potter’s hands. 

His wife had packed her bags.

It was unwise to be distracted around Potter. 

She had also packed Draco’s bags. 

Lucius gathered the dish, spoon and cup from Potter’s meal.

It wasn’t a question of if she was leaving, it was when.

This was house-elf’s work, but Potter was too dangerous to be entrusted to servants.

And when she left, she would take his son with her. 

Potter had put Pettigrew in a coma, after all.

Lucius had been checking two to three times a day to see if she had left the bags out or shrunk and pocketed them.

He almost wished he could go with her. The Dark Lord grew more crazed each day.

But Lucius had the Mark and they did not. If they were to be free of his mistakes, they had to be free of him.

The bell chimed and Lucius swore. He rose and turned away, only to swear again when he tripped on his robes and nearly fell on his face.

He turned to glare at Potter who sat against the wall and glowered back at him.

The bell rang again and Lucius hurried out, locking the dungeon cell behind him.

He got to the front door as Narcissa opened it.

Severus was there.

"What are you doing here?" Lucius hissed.

Severus entered and looked as if he meant to answer but Narcissa stepped around him and out the door.

Lucius felt his heart break as he watched her go.

He stood there, holding onto the door as he watched her blonde curls tangle in the wind, her dark robes trailing over the path like a dark mirror of their wedding day.

He wanted more than anything to call out to her, to beg that she returned.

But she was in the right, just as she had been all those years ago; Lucius had chosen the losing side.

He watched until she crossed the appration line; a sharp crack her last goodbye.

She hadn't even looked back.

He would have.

But then, she had always been the strong one.

"Lucius?" Severus asked as the door was finally shut.

"Don't ask," Lucius snarled.

"I don't give a shit about your marriage, is your floor supposed to be smoking?"

Lucius spun, reaching for his wand and finding it wasn't there.

Fuck.

oOo

Years of being a mischief maker were about to pay off big.

James had palmed Lucius's wand, he didn't need it to transform. He did need to slow captors down.

He transformed the basement stone into wood, pine wood, then used about the only dark spell he had ever wanted to learn.

Because fire .

Fiendfyre to be precise, which he himself fled from once he cast it. The idiots had warded the windows, but not the walls.

“ Bombarda.”

And once he was out, he was running.

He was in the countryside.

It was Autumn.

Lily was dead.

But Harry and Sirius were alive.

He could make it to the Forbidden Forest, the last thing he heard before disapparating was the sound of a crackling fire roaring to life.

oOo

Harry and Luna stayed out late that night. The thestrals were behaving oddly, they kept herding Harry deeper into the forest. Growing tired, Harry was about to ignore them and bully their way back to the castle, which is when he saw it.

A stag.

And then it transformed…

His breath caught, "Dad?"

The man hesitated, but nodded, stepping closer. And damn if they didn't just look alike?

But it couldn't be James Potter.

Harry wouldn't be a fool again. Voldemort's visions made sense now.

The bastard really shouldn't have gone through such an elaborate trap. It was too elaborate to work and having seen Sirius tortured in nightmares and killed in person, he knew he couldn't trust his emotions.

Harry raised his wand, stepping in front of Luna.

"Harry? It's me, son, your dad," the man said, raising empty hands.

"My father's dead," Harry said.

The man's face twisted in sorrow, "They buried me."

Harry's heart ached, but his heart had led him astray before. When he spoke his voice was dry and sardonic, "You expect me to believe that Voldemort, who hated my father, let him live? And beyond that, that anyone could survive, fifteen years buried underground?"

"Voldemort is obsessed with immortality, Harry, he's found things in magic that most people would never dare dream of, but also things he would never perform on himself. There was every chance of something going wrong when he experimented on me."

Harry could almost believe that, but believing something as good as his father coming back from the dead happening to Harry Potter? Not likely.

"What about the embalming process, how did you survive that?" he challenged.

The man claiming to be James Potter frowned, eyes flicking back and forth as if searching his mind for a memory or definition. "Embalming?" he finally asked.

Harry was about to get way more detailed than Luna deserved but they were discussing resurrection, so this was already more morbid than anyone deserved. "Yes, embalming, when you're prepared for burial. They glue your eyelids shut, stuff your mouth with cotton, sew your jaw shut, drain your body of blood and other fluids. If you were buried in a coffin, and because I know my parents had a big funeral, there is no way you could have survived that."

James's expression of scandalised horror was near comical, "That is disgusting. Is that what muggles do with their dead?"

Harry shrugged, "I personally want to be cremated and have my ashes thrown in the ocean. I've been in enough forsaken rituals, when I die I would like to stay that way."

James shook his head, "Your mother and I were not turned into modern mummies, Harry. Wizards do it differently, a preserving charm is all that's needed."

Harry frowned and glanced over his shoulder, "Is he right, Luna?"

She nodded, "Yes, though there wasn't enough left of my mother, so my father had her cremated. But your parents died of the Killing Curse, so they would have been relatively easy to treat for a coffin."

"It wasn't the Killing Curse for me, the spell was white, not green." James sighed, "Alright, as morbid as my coming back from the dead is, I think we've gotten a bit off track. Harry, is there anything I can say that would convince you I am who I say I am?"

Harry blinked, Was there? Everything he knew about his parents was learned second hand but maybe there were a bunch of things in combination that might prove it.

He had his free hand behind him and he squeezed Luna's wrist three times.

One of their signals for, Go get help.

Luna snatched the invisibility cloak from his pocket and bolted up to the castle.

James' eyes followed her, and Harry let some of his magic spark light at the end of his wand, "Eyes on me, buddy."

"Harry—"

"Where's my mum?"

"Voldemort played with me, but he must not have done so with Lily. His mistake, given it lost him a body."

"What do you mean?"

"Lily was a bit of a genius, she set up a ward of protection around you, a blood ward, it would protect you against the one who killed her."

He blinked, "That's how I survived the Killing Curse?"

"Yes, Harry, and I'm so sorry we couldn't protect you. You are our world."

The present tense did not slip Harry's notice.

"So if she were still alive, if he’d done whatever he did to you to her, I'd be dead?"

James nodded.

"You should have saved yourselves."

James's eyes widened, "No! Harry, how could you think—" he lurched forward.

Harry raised his wand higher, " Don't ."

And the man froze, but he didn't stop speaking, "Life wouldn't have been worth living without you. I couldn't have survived it."

"But living without your wife?" Harry challenged cruelly. Crouch Jr. had been an excellent actor, although he had just been a mad man pretending to be a different kind of mad man.

Tears spilled down James's cheeks and his voice was rough, as he said, "My heart is broken. But she died protecting you . There are regrets, but not that. We'll see her in the next life, but you are here now and I have fifteen years to make up for."

Harry's heart twisted, it's what he wished Sirius had said. But he couldn't let himself believe this, it would break him.

"Alright, let's start easy," Harry said. "How did my mother's parents die?"

"They were killed by Death Eaters."

Harry nodded, that's what Snape had said, then again, a lot of people must have known that.

"Is that why Aunt Petunia hates me?"

James shrugged, "Probably. Lily's sister was always hateful and bitter. She was jealous of Lily, in all things. She wanted to be a witch, you know."

"Come off it," Harry scoffed.

"Cross my heart and…" he trailed off. "Ask me anything, Harry."

"What happened in your sixth year?"

"Referring to Sirius and Snape?" James asked, arching a brow.

Harry nodded.

"I'm surprised Sirius told you about that, but it was an unfortunate mix of cock ups. Snape had more or less figured out what your Uncle Remus was, but he wanted to prove it. The idiot even tried taking a camera with him. Sirius never should have exposed us like that, he put everyone in danger. But Sirius didn't mean to nearly kill the fool, yet that's how it played out and I was able to step in before anything irrevocable could happen."

"Why wasn't Dumbledore the Secret Keeper?"

"Because your mother didn't trust him, she thought Albus could be too focused or set toward his own goals, regardless of who he ran over in the process. But we should have trusted him. Instead, we trusted..."

"A literal rat?" Harry asked, wondering how long it would take help to arrive.

James winced, "Yes."

"When did you wake up?"

"Last month, well, at least I think it's been a month."

Which is when Harry let himself believe, and horror filled him that he had not gone to Snape sooner.

Swallowing hard, he asked, "Voldemort has been interrogating…"

"Yes," James answered before he finished the question.

"What did he want to know?"

"He wanted to know Sirius's weaknesses."

"Why?"

"To get at you I suspect."

"Did he tell you what had happened to me?"

"What year is it?"

"How old am I?" Harry countered.

"I don't know, sixteen?" James guessed then asked. "How old are you really?"

Harry winced, "Basically fifteen?"

James frowned, "Basically?"

"It's 1995."

"I've missed so much," he breathed looking down at his feet.

Reminding Harry that his parents were only twenty-one when they died.

Which meant they were only five years apart now. 

He was being an idiot and he knew it. Five minutes ago he had been sure that this was a trick, of course it was a trick, he’d been tricked before and Sirius had died.

But now his father was alive. Because Harry wanted him to be alive.

He was such an idiot.

Then he got an idea, "Do you have a wand?"

James looked up, "Yes."

"Can you summon a Patronus?" Harry asked, Remus having told him once that no true Death Eater could summon one.

"Of course I can," James said. 

Harry kept his wand steady as James reached into his pocket.

His own wand in hand, James froze for a moment, as if unable to recall a memory. Then his eyes met Harry’s and the older man laughed, and he said:

" Expecto Patronum!"

Harry watched silver light spread its wings as a silver Thestral took flight above them.

One of the true Thestrals launched itself from the herd, dancing with the luminous magic like yin and yang in the twilight sky.

Harry blinked back tears, his throat going tight. When he met his father's gaze he seemed a bit confused.

"Well," James said, sounding a bit stunned himself. "That's the third time it's changed, although I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

One of the mares bumped Harry's shoulder as he asked, "What were the others?"

"The first was a doe, like your mother. Then it turned into a puppy, after you were born. You were every inch a mama's baby. But you would chase after Padfoot any time he was over. Your first word was dog ."

Harry couldn't quite suppress the smile at that but asked, "Why aren't you surprised it's changed again?"

"Because you've changed," James said, taking a step forward, Harry didn't protest and James took another step forward.

"I'm your Patronus?"

James's smile was soft as he answered, "I loved you from the moment your mother told me we were having you. I never thought I could love another person more than I loved her, but from the moment I held you, I knew I would remake the world to keep you safe, do anything to see you smile."

Harry's lips pressed together in an effort not to cry, to hold out a little longer.

He thought Voldemort had been a fool to taunt him with his father, Harry saw now to have his father be real, to love him and be loved by him:

And then lose him.

Harry didn't know if his sanity could survive it. He was only mostly sure he could survive losing Sirius again because he already had. Because maybe Sirius would be better off. Perhaps too much of him had been left in Azkaban, perhaps he would be happier in heaven.

But James Potter?

James was Harry's, Harry had known the loss of him every day of his life.

The aching chasm of knowing he had no one to make proud, no one to look toward for example, no one to ask for protection or advice from. No one who would love him for just being theirs.

He felt too much guilt about his mother to miss her like that, sure, he would die for her, without question, but a part of him had remembered her dying for him, associated her memory with pain, and a smaller part of him had feared her greatly.

What if she had been like Aunt Petunia?

No one, aside from Aunt Marge, ever said anything specifically bad about his mother aside from her poor choice in husbands. Harry had viewed that as a warning sign.

While his father? They had demeaned him constantly, and anyone the Dursleys disapproved of that strongly was probably a good person.

So here he stood, his father, back from the dead, another one of Voldemort's cruel games that Harry was considering falling into head long.

James had passed his test, hadn't he? If a Death Eaters could not summon Patronus, and Harry was willing to assume, neither could a zombie.

So there was his proof, dancing above them in a silver mist.

So why was he still hesitating?

"Can you perform the charm?" James asked.

Harry nodded, lips still tightly pressed together to fend off humiliating himself, he managed the spell wordlessly.

Using his hope, the blinding moment of the thestral Patronus's appearance as his happy thought.

James gasped as the buck pranced around him before taking up to the sky to dance with the other Patronus and thestrals.

"Me?" James asked, voice thick.

Harry finally found the words to say, "You're my dad. You protect me."

Because of time travel, oddly enough, Harry had seen in his own reflection the man who he had wanted to be. Who he had wanted his father to be.

With a horde of dementors circling around him and Sirius, Harry had seen what he wanted to see, what he wanted to believe.

That his father hadn't been a sacrifice, but a fighter.

The father he prayed for all his life to come back for him. He'd seen his mother die in front of him.

But he hadn't seen his father die, and his child's mind must have clung to that hope that one day soon, his dad would come back for him.

As soon as he was able.

And perhaps today, he finally had.

"Harry?" James asked, taking another cautious step forward.

But Harry had burned through his caution. Right then, he didn't care if this was another trap, or if this was how he died, some dreams were worth dying for.

He crossed the final space between them and threw his arms around his father's waist. James hugged him back just as fiercely as Harry buried his face against the man's chest.

He smelled the sweat and blood and Harry didn't care because he was solid and real as the tears that fell on his shoulder, "I love you, Harry. I love you more than anything in this world or the next."

Harry clung to him, feeling small, and young, and completely lost.

Only his father's arms were holding him together.

AN: If you like Fullmetal Alchemist, please give my story Son of Hughes a chance?

Chapter Text

Chapter 13 - That Type of Lucky

It took time to convince McGonagall, but like with Harry, the Patronus did it.

Harry didn't miss the look McGonagall gave him about he and Luna being in the Forbidden Forest befriending more than just hippogriffs.

Harry gave Pen to Luna so the bowtruckle wouldn't have to apparate with them.

"He will be back in the morning," McGonagall told her.

Harry opened his mouth to protest but his Head of House shook her head.

"Harry, winter break is very near and your father looks as if he is in desperate need of medical care. Your absence can be explained away for a night but we do not have anyone to go looking for you right now."

Harry sighed, but nodded, giving Luna a brief hug before she rushed back up to the castle.

"Why so secretive?" James asked.

"Voldemort is still obsessed with me," Harry told him.

James looked tired at this, shoulders rounding a bit, "Everything has changed except for the war."

Harry didn't really know how to comfort him.

"Come," McGonagall commanded as she strode confidently into the forest. "I need to be back before supper, we have ministry spies in the castle."

"Oh?" James asked, staying by Harry's side as they followed behind their Head of House.

It was strange that his father was only a few years older than him now. His parents had been so young when their family had been destroyed.

"The Defense position is cursed," Harry said. "So Dumbledore has to scrape the bottom of the barrel. Lupin was professor for a year though, he was really good."

James flashed a smile, "Moony would make an excellent teacher."

"He's the one who taught me how to make a Patronus," Harry said, smiling back.

"He was thirteen," McGonagall said over her shoulder, sounding proud which brought heat to Harry's cheeks.

But James didn't look pleased, he looked disturbed, "Why did you learn that charm at thirteen?"

Harry thought of his mother's voice pleading for his life and immediately dismissed the idea of ever sharing that with his dad.

James probably had enough nightmares to be getting along with.

"My boggart is a Dementor," Harry said. "Lupin helped me get over that fear."

James's wary look softened, "That's really impressive, Harry."

McGonagall came to an abrupt stop and turned, holding out her hands.

James offered his hand as well, so the three of them were in a circle when they were pulled through space as if they were being sucked through a straw.

It was unnervingly like a portkey.

When they landed on the side of the mountain near a small cottage house with a barn attached to it, Harry was glad he hadn't eaten since breakfast.

He definitely preferred Thestrals.

Buckbeak squawked a greeting, coming to head butt Harry's shoulder as they walked to the cottage.

James gave Harry and a hippogriff a look Harry couldn't quite decipher.

"This is my brother's, Malcolm's home," McGonagall said. "He'll bring you back to the castle tomorrow morning, Harry."

Harry nodded, glad that he would be seeing Sirius again if only for tonight.

James was still holding his hand as they walked through the front door.

"Sirius, Remus, I checked, it is him," McGonagall was saying.

"Is who?" Sirius asked.

McGonagall stepped to the side, revealing Harry and James.

There was a clattering of chairs, Sirius and Lupin had their wands pointed at James.

Harry squeezed James's hand, knowing this wouldn't be easy for anyone.

oOo

Sirius stared.

James.

It was James.

But James was dead.

Sirius held out his hand, "Harry?"

Harry, who had been holding James's hand, let go and ran to Sirius.

He caught the boy in a one armed hug, keeping his wand arm free.

"What the hell is going on, Minerva?" Sirius asked, holding Harry tight to his side.

Minerva sighed, "Voldemort is a monster. He used some curse to put James into a sort of stasis, I believe. He was presumed dead."

"Presumed dead?" Sirius scoffed. "No, I saw him, I saw them both. James Potter is dead."

"You look like shit, Padfoot," James said.

Sirius flinched, that was James's voice.

But he snapped back, holding Harry tighter to himself, "And you looked as if you haven't aged a day over twenty, yet still look like you were hit by a bus."

"Voldemort got a wee bit annoyed with my antics," James said.

"Where is Lily?" Remus asked.

Sorrow filled James's hazel eyes and he looked away, "She's gone, Remus."

If this was James, truly James, then Lily's death would still be fresh for him.

"But you're not?" Sirius asked suspiciously, glancing at Minerva who stood next to her brother.

"No, and if it wasn't for Harry, I would wish I was," James said, sounding entirely too tired.

Harry flinched against Sirius's side.

"How did you prove who you were?" Sirius asked.

"He showed us his patronus," Harry answered, pulling back to look up into Sirius's face. "It changed into a Thestral because of me."

Sirius stilled, looking back to James, "It's really you, Prongs?"

James nodded.

"I have soup," Malcolm said, cutting through the tension with the subtly of a heavy blow from an axe to a sapling. "Have you eaten, Harry, James?"

Both Potters shook their heads. It was sort of unnerving.

Remus let out a breath, "The two of you are going to look like twins."

Sirius met Minvera's gaze, she nodded, and Sirius trusted her.

Remus tipped their chairs upright, before stepping around the table to go to James.

James looked at their old friend and said, "You didn't take the money I left in our will, did you?"

Remus pulled the shorter man into a hug, "Of course, I didn't."

James hugged him back.

Sirius wanted so badly to believe this it hurt, but he wasn't quite sure his sanity could handle it. So he sat with Harry still close to his side in the seat beside him.

Minerva spoke to Malcolm, and after he nodded in assent to her remarks, she stepped back toward the door, "I have to go. Sirius, Remus, don't do anything stupid. I wouldn't have brought him or Harry here if I believed for a second that James was lying to me. We should all know the horrors and insanity of which the Dark Lord is capable."

Sirius nodded to her, "Alright."

She glared at him before turning her attention to Harry, "Malcolm will bring you back to the castle in the morning, if you need to return early, just ask."

"Thank you," Harry said.

Malcolm kissed his sister's cheek and she disapparated out with a pop.

Remus joined Malcolm in grabbing soup bowls James moved to take the seat across from Sirius.

"I'll have a look at your wounds once you've eaten," Malcolm said as placed the dishes down on the table.

"Thank you," James said.

It was immediately awkward, and once Malcolm sat down with Remus, they began to eat, in near-complete silence save for the sounds of silverware against the bowls.

"How is your Defense club going, Harry?" Malcolm asked.

Harry's shoulders sagged in relief at the familiar topic, "Really good. I think everyone is going to pass their tests. Defense NEWTS is going to be pretty easy for me I think. I know the material better than the seventh years."

James raised a brow, "You're teaching seventh years in Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"It's my best subject," Harry agreed. "I'm also good at Charms."

James smiled, "Just like your mother. Are you good at Potions too?"

"I'm okay," Harry said.

"He's being modest," Remus said. "He's top of his year in Defense, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, and likely best in the school for Magical Creatures."

Harry shook his head, "Only for this year, my friend Hermione is top of the year in every class since first year. And Luna is the best with Magical Creatures."

Sirius frowned at Harry's defensive tone, "Harry, you are doing inordinately well. Dumbledore has you studying elemental magic."

"Why is that necessary?" James asked.

"The war," Harry answered flatly.

James's jaw ticked and he glared down at his soup.

Remus cleared his throat, "Harry is also a teacher's assistant for a few of Minerva and Flitwick's classes."

"That's amazing, son," James said. "Lily would have been over the moon with glee. She was top of our year."

Harry's cheeks pinked and he looked up at his father in an almost shy manner.

"Minerva and Sirius are also training him to become an animagus," Malcolm said.

James visibly brightened, "How has that been going?"

Harry poked his spoon in his soup, "It's going. McGonagall says I have the power to do it, but Transfiguration doesn't really come to me naturally."

"You also have a lot on your plate," Remus said.

Another silence followed.

"Do you like Quidditch?" James asked, looking more nervous than Sirius had ever seen him.

James was a lot of things, but social nervousness wasn't really one of them. Illustrated in how much of a fool he had been willing to make of himself for Lily.

"I was a Seeker," Harry answered. "But I quit this year."

"Why?" James asked.

"The Defense professor is trying to ruin my life," Harry said. "Our defence club is kind of illegal because she suspended all clubs and teams for a while."

"Oh," James said lamely.

"He's a better flyer than you," Sirius bragged. "McGonagall made an exception for him in his first year to join the team."

"Did you win the cup last year?" James asked with a half smile.

Sirius, Harry, and Remus flinched, none of them wanted to talk about the Triwizard Tournament tonight. James had enough to contend with.

James looked between all of them, "What?"

Harry cleared his throat, "The Hufflepuff Seeker died on the pitch last year, so no one won."

Sirius winced, that was a very smooth lie and he hated that Harry had to misdirect his father like this.

James looked horrified and at a loss for words.

Harry pushed away his bowl, "I— I want to be here in the morning but I—"

Malcolm rose to his feet, "I have your room all set upstairs. It's next to the library if you need to get your mind on some lighter topics before bed."

Harry nodded, rising to his feet as well and hugging Sirius before he could rise too. Sirius hugged him back from his seat.

"Goodnight, Sirius, Dad, Lupin," Harry said, retreating from the table, following Malcolm.

"Goodnight, Harry," James said, looking a bit like a kicked puppy when Harry didn't approach him for a hug.

The three of them, Sirius, Remus, and James, were alone at the table.

James rubbed his temple, "Sirius, why isn't Harry being raised by you?"

Sirius flinched and bit back a whimper that his animagus side wanted to make. Catching the sound in his throat before he could further humiliate himself, "I'm so sorry, James. They didn't give me a trial. The court believed I was your Secret Keeper."

James looked to Remus, "You got him out of Azkaban?"

Remus flinched as well, "No, Sirius escaped on his own. He's technically a fugitive."

James —unexpectedly— cursed, viciously.

"What?" Remus asked.

"I beat the shit out of Peter," James explained.

Sirius barked a laugh, "He deserved worse."

"I did a partial transformation," James said. "By beat, I mean I kicked him with hooves to the point where I think he was still in a coma."

"Was?" Remus asked.

James ran a hand through his hair, "I burned down the Malfoy Manor with Fiendfyre, I'm not positive anyone bothered to rescue him."

"Wormtail's dead?" Sirius asked.

On one hand, Peter seeing justice was the quickest way to clear Sirius's own name.

On the other hand, being killed by James indirectly seemed like a proper fate for the rat.

"I'm glad he's dead," Sirius said.

Malcolm came back downstairs then, "James, if you're done eating. Let's get you cleaned up. There will be time to talk tomorrow."

James sighed, rising to his feet as if every bone in his body ached. He was technically the youngest of them now.

It didn't show by the way he moved.

Sirius didn't think he would be getting much sleep that night.

oOo

Harry fell asleep nearly as soon as he climbed into bed, exhaustion like a concrete block pulling him under.

If he dreamed, he didn't remember.

oOo

Sirius sat on the sofa with Remus, both of them silent and lost in their own thoughts as dawn began to seep into the sky.

James came out from the guest bedroom and sat between them at sunrise.

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look.

"I think we failed at being adults," James said.

Sirius snorted, "You essentially died protecting your kid. You did fine."

"I failed," James disagreed. "I failed my wife and my son. Because I trusted Peter and because I didn't confide in you, Moony."

"I should have known Sirius wouldn't have—" Remus began as Sirius said, "It was my stupid idea, it was my fault."

James patted Sirius's knee, "It was Peter's fault, and it was Voldemort's crimes. Harry and Lily paid the price for it."

"Did Lily really use the Dark Arts to redirect the Killing Curse?" Remus asked.

"Yes," James sighed. "And Harry's alive, so —thanks, Snape— I guess, for exposing my wife to learning about the Dark Arts."

Sirius flinched, "He's still a greasy git."

James shrugged, "He owed me one. Speaking of gits, what the bloody hell did you do to Voldemort?"

"What do you mean?" Sirius asked.

James shook his head, "He was obsessed with you, Sirius. All he asked me were questions about you. Not about the Order of the Phoenix, not too much about Lily or Harry, but you. "

"Why?" Sirius asked, just as confused.

"I don't know but he was desperate for anything about you; from what books you read to your ex-girl friends. Anything and everything," James replied.

"What did you tell him?" Sirius asked.

"I told him to go fuck himself with a hot iron rod where the sun doesn't shine."

Sirius snorted, "He probably would have gotten more out of Peter."

Remus hummed, "Not true. Peter could never really keep up with you two. His view of you both was tainted with jealousy and hero worship."

"But I'm nobody," Sirius said. "I might pack a magical punch, but when you boil it down, after graduation my cousin had more time, you know, outside of Azkaban to improve as a fighter than I ever did. I am not one of Dumbledore's most valuable pieces."

"But you are the dearest person to Harry," Remus countered. "I think Harry would do just about anything to keep you safe, Sirius."

That didn't make Sirius happy at all.

"Dad?"

They all turned to look at the stairs where Harry hesitated on the last step.

"You're really still here?"

Harry had never sounded so young.

James stood and rounded the sofa, to pull Harry into a hug, "Yeah, Harry, I'm really here and I'm not going anywhere."

Harry stepped into the embrace and clung to James as if he was a lifeline.

Sirius's chest was tight with grief for both of them, for the tragedy and misfortune that had befallen the Potters. As well as his own part in it.

Remus took Sirius's hand and squeezed, a silent refrain that he was not alone.

Malcolm came out of the downstairs bedroom fully dressed, "Breakfast anyone?"

Harry pulled away from James, "I want to go back to school?"

"Why?" Sirius asked, despite himself.

Harry shook his head, "No one can know or guess that I was gone."

He sounded afraid.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Remus asked.

Harry looked away as he whispered, "He's happy."

"Who's happy?" James asked.

Harry didn't meet anyone's gaze as he said, "Voldemort. He's really, really happy, which is never a good thing."

"I'm sorry," James said. "How the hell do you know what No-Nose is feeling? "

Harry took a step back from James, voice timid, "He— we have a connection."

"A connection!?" James repeated, voice pitching.

Sirius was at James's side, pulling him back, "James, not now."

Harry looked thoroughly spooked. Sirius hated the idea that Harry might in any way be afraid of James.  

"We'll explain later," Remus said from James's other side.

Malcolm was already holding out his hand to Harry to disapparate them back to the border of Hogwarts's wards.

Sirius stepped away from James, and was immediately rewarded by Harry launching himself at him for a hug.

Sirius held him tight, "Stay safe, Prongslet."

Harry hugged him tighter and pulled back to meet his gaze, "Only if you swear to me that you'll stay safe too."

Sirius had a bad feeling that Harry had been listening to their conversation from the top of the steps.

Still, he promised, "I swear it. I'll keep your dad safe too. We won't fail you again, Harry."

Harry didn't look comforted by this as he nodded, turning to take Malcolm's hand.

Harry looked between Sirius and James, and said, "I love you."

"We love you too," Sirius and James said in unison just before Malcolm popped them out.

James spun on Sirius, "What the fuck did he mean; he has a connection to Voldemort!?"

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look.

Remus cleared his throat, "That might be a question better answered by Dumbledore."

"What happened?" James nearly growled.

"Nothing good," Sirius answered honestly. "Nothing good."

oOo

Harry arrived at the Great Hall late, dragging his feet on his way back to the castle, which shouldn't have been too much of a problem, only the Daily Prophet had arrived before him.

The room looked up, almost as one, and stared at him with horror stricken expressions.

Luna practically ran into him, pulling him back out the door.

Her voice was practically frantic, "Harry, we have to go."

He was already looking down at the paper in her hands, his eyes skimming over the words.

But it was the pictures that stood out to him.

The pictures… which seemed to come alive, stepping forth into the reality of Harry's worst imaginings.

Mixing with his memories of his ill adventures at the Ministry of Magic, forgotten dreams, and his overactive imagination.

And he knew he was reliving things partially through Voldemort's memories.

His father strode into the Ministry of Magic, wand in hand.

Voices echoed around him as people stopped in their tracks on their way out of the Ministry at the end of the work day.

"Is that—?"

"Harry Potter?"

"No, James Potter?"

"James Potter!?"

"But he's dead!"

Camera lights flashed.

James's smile was wide, and slightly manic as he recited, " It was not Death, for I stood up. "

Questions were shouted at him but they were cut off abruptly as James raised his wand and spoke the next line of poetry, " And all the Dead, lie down– "

Green light spilled forth from that dark wand as the curious crowd turned into a panicked stampede.

" It was not Night, for all the Bells, " the man who was not Harry's father said giddily as he killed more witches and wizards at random.

" Put out their Tongues, " he said, not even the Polyjuice could disguise Voldemort's venom as he murdered another person. " For Noon. "

The final picture was of Bill Weasley disarming Voldemort, who dropped his wand and smiled smugly with James's face before disapparating away.

Leaving his wand, which probably was actually James's, behind.

"Harry?" Luna asked.

He blinked, coming out of his head.

Luna took his hand, and it was only then that he realized he was shaking as he held the paper with both hands.

The article was damning.

' Since the desecration of James and Lily Potter's graves, the world has been wondering what was done with James's body. Well, we've found it. And he appears as no reanimated corpse ever has. Leaving us to wonder, was James Potter ever truly dead? Experts now speculate that it may have been none other than the Draught of Living Death that fooled those who buried the Potters. Although how he survived so long underground remains a mystery.

Still, any doubts of this NOT being truly James Potter, fall apart when his odd words —that many survivors were able to remember in horrific detail— were researched.

" It was not Death, for I stood up,

And all the Dead, lie down -

It was not Night, for all the Bells

Put out their Tongues, for Noon."

He was quoting an obscure muggle poet, Emily Dickenson. Very few people knew —and then only those who were close to James— that he courted his wife through poetry.

Surely, it cannot be believed that any Death Eater who might have wished the Potters harm would have known such intimate details about him much less been able to quote such a mediocre poet.

But recent events have us wondering; is it so surprising that the father of Harry Potter, might not be who we believed him to be?

Harry Potter, who is well known for being an attention seeking liar.

Could he also be the son of a murderer?

Son of an unacknowledged —until today— dark lord?

After all this time, as the truth finally come to the light of day? Could James Potter and Sirius Black —a convicted felon and the first person to ever escape Azkaban— have been in league with each other? Perhaps not working for He Who Must Not Be Named at all but rather vying for their own dark plans for our world?

Harry forced himself to skip the rest of the article to instead read the casualty list; the name that stood out to him most was Percival Weasley.

Harry should feel sadder than he did about that, but mostly, all he could think was how cruel fate was, how cruel Voldemort was.

He found out he had a godfather, only to learn he was a criminal, then to discover he was innocent but denied the opportunity to clear his name.

Only a few years later, after changing time itself, he discovered his father was still alive, except he didn't believe it. By not believing, his father had been tortured.

Then they were reunited, only for his father to be painted as a criminal just as his godfather had been.

Wrongly framed.

The worst part was, no one was likely to grant them the benefit of the doubt.

'James Potter the Murderer', 'Sirius Black the Escaped Criminal' and 'Harry Potter the Crazy.'

They were just that type of lucky.

oOo

AN: Thoughts, Demiguises, or feedback, pretty please?

Chapter Text

Yo, for the non-believers, Charlie, the definition of Genre: Drama has high stakes and many conflicts. They're plot-driven and demand that every character and scene move the story forward, portraying real-life scenarios or extreme situations with emotionally-driven characters.

P.S. Remember my take on these characters (and the wards) is not my opinion of the canonic characters. But if you insist on being mortally offended by free fiction, I hope Dumbledore is your "favourite" character ;D

Chapter 14 - Broken Bottle

James stared down at the paper. After a time he managed to speak. "This… This makes a sick sort of sense. It at least explains Voldemort's behaviour."

Maybe he hadn't learned much about Sirius, but he had learned a lot about James. His sense of irony, his quirks, his habits… Things that would go unremembered in most memories, but would certainly be recognized by those who had known him.

Sirius cursed. "How could he have planned this? Is this what you were kept alive for—a scapegoat?"

James felt a bit numb as he stared off into the distance, things had been complicated enough before this. Now he was basically wanted as a homegrown terrorist.

Dumbledore didn't even know he was alive yet, or at least he hadn't confirmed it.

"Voldemort said he wanted me to live to see his new world over. He kept me alive so he could gloat. If I had to guess, he found something that would help grant him longevity and he wanted to try it out. I was nothing to him, just a cruel whim."

Sometimes it felt like that was all the world was.

A cursed life dictated by a cruel whim.

Remus laid a hand on his shoulder. "James, if anything, this a sign of how desperate he is."

James gave his old friend a dry look.

Malcolm shook his head. "I'll be working if you gentleman need me." Then he left.
The three Marauders sat at the table in awkward silence. A silence that was broken by a rather peeved Headmaster, who arrived at the cottage in a burst of phoenix flame with his wand raised.

It was going to be a long day, and James's very bones already ached with the exhaustion of it all.

It took several hours of interrogation and magical checks before Albus was satisfied with his story and had squeezed out all the information James had unknowingly gleaned from being at Voldemort's 'tender mercies'.

In the evening, the four of them sat around the table with a cup of tea.

"This is what makes Voldemort so dangerous," Albus said with a heavy sigh. "Gellert was inspirational, disguised his cruelties as sad necessities. Not Voldemort, no, Tom Riddle discovered that fear was so much more powerful a force when uncertainty and weakness in our institutions, when you can no longer trust, in fact, that the government is not upholding your best interests.

"Gellert gave us an 'other' to hate, to dominate. Voldemort gave people the choice to join or be destroyed. Gellert started a war that spanned the continent, because he embraced what was already there.

"Voldemort never declared war, not in an official sense. He targeted everyone and anyone that was advantageous to him. He caused doubt, and there is nothing quite as insidious in a civil war than to be afraid of not just of your neighbours, but even your friends."

James buried his face in his hands. "He beat us before he ever raised a wand against us."

"James," Albus said gently. "Shame and guilt, this too is fear that is meant to destroy us. This is a lesson that I find myself constantly being made to relearn, yet logic tells me that this is the truth. Our losses do not make us stronger. Who we choose to become after our failures is what our enemies should fear. For those of us who have weathered the storms know that it is possible for all storms to be weathered."

"And the destruction that waits for us on the other side?" James asked.

Albus smiled sadly. "Ah, in such times, I find myself grateful to be a teacher. I see the destruction, but I see also the life that keeps going, the new that without hesitation tread paths long forgotten. Your son, James, is perhaps more your equal than your ward these days, but I believe that he needs you now more than ever. You will find your way together."

James shook his head. "I can't let him fight Voldemort, Albus, I can't. Lily would kill me."

Albus sighed. "Harry has already fought him, many times, more than you, more directly than I. As Voldemort has often believed Harry weaker than himself.

"I am no longer certain this is true. Harry's magic is unstable, his mental health is… unwell. However, he is more powerful than ever. With or without permission, he will fight, James. My suggestion is that you fight beside him, lest he take it upon himself to protect you and Sirius."

"He wouldn't," Sirius said, voice panicked.

Remus sighed. "I don't doubt that he would."

"He took on over a hundred dementors for you, Sirius," Albus said. "Until James, I would have said you were Harry's greatest weakness. He clings to the idea of family desperately."

"What does Harry feel for his friends?" Sirius asked. "I can't be the most important person in his life. We haven't—I haven't been there for him."

Albus smiled at him sadly. "Time is not the sum of love, my dear boy. Harry is unfailingly loyal to his friends. But he and his friends have been getting into trouble of the perilous variety since their first year. In many ways, I believe Harry sees his classmates as more capable than the entirety of the Order the Phoenix."

James frowned at Albus. "I feel like I'm going to regret asking this, but what happened in Harry's first year at Hogwarts?"

Albus winced. "Aside from the assassination attempts on the Quidditch pitch, he and his friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, took it upon themselves to puzzle their way through the obstacles we set to alert us to an intruder. Harry faced the soul shard that was feeding off of one of his followers. Specifically, one of my youngest professors."

James stared at him. "Yes, I regret asking. What the bloody hell, Albus? Hogwarts is supposed to be safe."

Remus sighed. "You spent your school years running around in the forest with a werewolf under the full moon."

James pointed at him. "That's different."

Remus looked away from him. "James, I nearly attacked Harry during the full moon."

"Why!?" James exclaimed. "You know better."

"Had Remus remembered," Albus said mournfully, "Sirius would be free and Harry would have been under his custody."

James looked at him. "The Blood Ward?"

Albus inclined his head. "Some of it, I believe, were common mistakes, but Harry's uniquely unfortunate series of events hints to there being an insidious force involved."

"It's broken now, though, correct?" James asked.

Albus shook his head. "No, I don't know that I could do that without killing him. I thought that if he called another place home… but that is not the blood curse I unknowingly activated."

"So this shit is still going to keep happening?" James demanded.

"No, or if it does, I believe it will be more so in your favour. The goblins sent me a letter this morning." Albus reached into his robe's pocket and withdrew an envelope.

James took and opened it, eyes scanning over the paper.

"When you were pronounced dead, or whatever curse Voldemort used, it changed the accounts. But whatever magic that was has been reversed. You are still Head of House Potter, and Harry is not only your heir, but your son and ward. The goblins' magic proves both who you are and who has magical and blood guardianship over Harry."

"We could use this to prove his innocence," Sirius said hopefully.

Albus nodded. "It would, but I don't trust Cornellius to behave inside the laws. I would not ask this of you, James, Sirius, if I had fewer doubts. But for Harry's sake, you should wait. Truth will win out in the end."

Seeing the document declaring Harry as his, legally, offered only a small comfort, but it was better than nothing.

"The curse will make it near impossible for Harry to be taken from you now, James."

It was the kind of wish a dying grandfather or father laid on his heir to keep them in the family.

James shook his head. "I don't like that there is still the Heir's Curse on him, though. It's like an unspecified wish. Anything to keep you together can mean a lot of unfortunate things in the wrong circumstance."

"I know," Albus said. "But as I said, the only ways I know of to break it is to wait the two years it takes for him to come of age, or risk killing him."

Remus rubbed his temples. "This is why we don't experiment with Dark rituals."

"Without it, Harry would be dead," Sirius argued.

Albus sighed. "It is my fault it went so terribly wrong."

James shook his head. "We can't keep going round like this. My fault, your fault, his fault, it doesn't matter. What matters is what we can do and how Harry is now."

Albus nodded. "If it wouldn't implicate Harry, I would have brought him here with me but he can't be seen as running."

"If Harry wants to move, we move," James said firmly. "Lily and I should have fled the country when we had the chance."

"I offered Harry that chance in third year," Sirius said. "Granted, I wasn't put together, half-starved as I was, nor his real dad, but I don't think he'll leave his friends behind."

"He won't," Remus concurred. "He wants to join the Order, and he's teaching his DADA club."

"Harry will be picked up by the Weasleys and brought here next week for winter break," Albus said.

James narrowed his gaze on him. "Now what am I missing? The worst that could happen is a representative comes to the Ministry and asks him questions, right?"

"No," Albus said, flatly. "The worst that could happen is Harry being arrested for the murder of seventh-year student Cedric Diggory, son of Amos Diggory."

James blinked. "The Hufflepuff seeker who died on the Quidditch pitch last year, right?"

The three other men winced, but Albus's shoulders sagged a bit. "So Harry told you about the Triwizard Tournament?"

"The what?"

"Or maybe not," Remus said with a sigh.

Albus was shame-faced and Sirius was curled around himself as if he were a kicked puppy.

James had to take a few calming breaths. "First tell me how you will prevent that from happening, then tell me why my fourteen-year-old son was involved with a tournament suspended hundreds of years ago because it killed too many people."

After Albus finished speaking, James was almost glad Lily wasn't here. She would have burned the entire wizarding world down to ashes.

oOo

Minerva hated having to suspend Harry's teacher assistant positions. Filius hated it, too.

She hated more that Harry had to quit the art club and that she had to move him to the currently unoccupied Head Boy suite because she didn't trust her students not to do something stupid.

Harry sat at the Slytherin table for meals every day that week, and shuffled between classes with them. It got to the point where Minerva simply reassigned Harry's schedule to match the Slytherins'.

Meanwhile, Umbridge was glorying in Harry's suffering, and though it killed Minerva to not speak out against this treatment, there were legal ramifications to doing so.

Such as implicating herself and Harry in harbouring a known terrorist.

The one thing she could offer was her classroom for Harry, Luna, and Theo to study and relax together in peace.

Once Umbridge tried to disturb them, looking for where Harry slept at night, and Minerva had 'accidentally' spilled a large trunk of mice that she had been preparing for the next day's classes.

Umbridge had left the room screaming, much to the delight of her students.

It was a small comfort, but it was good to see Harry laugh.

oOo

"I can't believe this is happening," Harry said. "I don't even know how it helps him. Sure it causes chaos, but what does he gain?"

"Fear," Luna answered. "It strips you of your allies. More effective than last time."

Harry dropped his head into his hands. "What even changed this time?"

Luna stared at him. "Harry, you nearly killed him in a dream. According to the prophecy, you're his equal, and you proved that."

"All I proved was that I was willing to die to resist him," he argued. "But he already knew that."

"He didn't know you could hurt him," she countered.

"But he did! I nearly killed him with Quirrell in my first year."

"Yes, and instead of killing you outright, he went through all that trouble to get your blood, to have you witness his resurrection. The blood ward your mother created was a weakness he needed to best, and he needed you there, to die before witnesses, before his followers, not just to defeat you, but humiliate you."

Harry stared at her. "Humiliate me? Like he intended to do my father?"

"Exactly," Luna said. "It's nonsensical, but he's compulsive."

"He's bloody fragile," Harry retorted. "Him and his ego."

"Broken glass can be more dangerous than a full bottle," Luna said sagely.

oOo

Fleur Delacour didn't like Britain, and she didn't particularly like the man she was engaged to.

Or at least not as she had been.

She had thought it was her. That is, she had until she saw his apathy for his little brother's death.

Taking a deep breath as quietly as she could, she snuck up on him in their cottage library.

Wordlessly, she sent a Stunning Spell at him.

Bill was out of his chair in an instant. His eyes seemed to glow with malice as he flicked her spell aside.

"Where is my William?" Fleur demanded.

He sneered at her, his face contorting in a way her lover's face never had. "Took you long enough, you simpering twit."

Her magic rose in her and the spells that left her wand were not entirely from a book, her natural element of fire adding a certain umph the purely human spells lacked.

But whoever had stolen her love was good, working nimbly to deflect or shield each spell.

"Why are you after, 'Arry?" she asked.

Bill's face broke into a manic grin. "He defeated Voldemort. Harry Potter is the true Dark Lord, and when he rises to power I will be at his side. And I will not be forgotten!"

Fleur had to jump out of the way of the blasting jinx he sent at her, destroying the wall behind her.

"'Arry is good. Don't believe the papers. They are wrong."

"Of course they are wrong. James Potter is weak. Sirius Black is a coward. Severus Snape is Dumbledore's cuck. But Harry Potter? He's true power. And when he remakes the world I will be on the right side."

"You're insane," she snapped, fear cloying against her throat.

"No, you are blind!" he roared as they exchanged curses and counter charms. "He is Wind-Touched, Lightning-Born. He is a power not seen on this earth since the time of Merlin." The man laughed wildly. "All would bow before him."

Fleur thought of the boy who had blushed under her praise, who had sobbed over a boy who wasn't his friend and whose death was not his fault.

That was the boy this imposter thought was a Dark Lord?

She cursed in French and threw a curse at him that her grandmother had taught her.

The imposter threw himself to the side, his robes fluttering behind him. He snarled, "Unlike Bill Weasley, no one will miss you, Ms. Delacour. I think dearest Molly would be glad to be rid of you."

Fleur didn't back down, but maybe she should have. She hit the floorboards—hard—and the man walked over to her, wand spinning in his hand as he placed his boot on her throat.

"You will be reunited with your William soon, my darling. As easy as it would be to make you disappear, I think I may have a use for you."

She glared up at him, swearing to herself that she would make ce bâtard pay.

oOo

On his way to the Room of Requirement, Harry was stopped by Fred and George in the hall.

Fred spoke first, "Harry, we need you to know that we don't believe the papers."

"Great, but I hear a 'but' coming."

"Mum is distraught after losing Percy, we can't… Mum asked us to stay away from you. We just need to give her time to grieve."

"And Ron?" Harry asked.

George gave him a pleading look. "He doesn't blame you."

Anger simmered in Harry's veins. "And he thinks what about my father?"

Fred and George gave him wide eyes, and they asked together, "Wait, that was your father?"

Harry shook his head. "No, but he's alive. He's been tortured by Voldemort for the last year. Voldemort tried out some stasis curse on him, that's why he had to be taken out of his grave."

"So the man at the ministry was—" Fred began.

"Voldemort," Harry confirmed.

Fred and George exchanged a look.

George cleared his throat. "We believe you, Harry. Voldemort killing Percy in an insane terrorist attack on the capital makes more sense than your undead father."

"He's not undead," Harry snapped. "In the graveyard, Cedric and my mother, andfollowed by some other shades, came out of Voldemort's wand, but there was just a burst of white light before my mum while there was a green light for the shot he fired at me when I was a baby. I didn't know what it meant at the time, but I do now. James Potter was never dead."

"Do you need a hug?" Fred asked suddenly.

"What?" Harry asked, startled.

"Do you want a hug?" George repeated.

"Um," Harry answered lamely. "Sure?"

A moment later, he found himself embraced between the two twins.

It was nice.

When they pulled back, Fred ruffled his hair. "We'll talk to Ron, and Mum will come around, she's just grieving. Right now, respecting her fears will help settle her sooner. Losing one of us has always been her worst fear, she's not thinking logically right now."

Harry remembered Molly's boggart. Remembered every Weasley child being replaced by another Weasley, until it was Harry's own vacant eyes he had seen.

Harry nodded. "I'm sorry about Percy."

Fred and George gave him the same sad smile, and George said, "We didn't always get along—"

"He was our least favourite sibling," Fred admitted.

Then they said together, "But he was our brother."

George placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "And we see you as the same. You haven't been as close this year with Ron, but Percy had been reaching out to him more and more. Helping with his studies and everything. He's not ready to open up yet."

Guilt swam in Harry's gut. He remembered what Luna had said about Voldemort wanting him to be alone, for there to be distance between him and his closest friends.

"I'm here for you, if you need me," he said finally.

"Thanks, Harry," the twins said in unison, waving goodbye in sync as they headed down another hallway.

By the time Harry got to the Room of Requirement, Luna and Hermoine were already there waiting for him.

Of the Houses in addition to the three of them, only the Patil twins weren't from Slytherin House.

"Well," Harry said. "That's a bit depressing."

"I'm surprised the Weasleys aren't here," Parvati said.

Hermione shook her head. "Percy died this week. They aren't blaming Harry, they are just respecting their mum's wishes."

"I thought the Weasley Matron had all but adopted you," Theo remarked.

Harry winced. "I might have sassed her, a lot. And after what happened to Ginny our second year, Ron third year, and Cedric dying last year… Being my friend isn't exactly safe."

"Speaking of safety," Blaise said. "What are we doing today?"

"Shields and stunners," Harry said.

"You don't think we are beyond that by now?" Theo asked.

Harry shook his head. "We don't have to worry about House tensions tonight, this is going to be a free for all. General teams, but you are allowed to target whomever you like."

Theo and Blaise actually smiled.

It was a fun afternoon.

Harry, Luna, and Hermione ended up going back-to-back and were an unhittable force. The Patil Twins went rogue, taking down anyone and everyone, and when one got hit the other would Rennervate them before they hit the ground. And the Slytherins just let loose. Any type of decorum was lost as they whooped and hollered in the fully padded room.

It was one of the best club nights ever.

oOo

Luna listened to the forest as she walked deeper into its depths. The forest was so dark even the moonlight could hardly penetrate the shadows. The trees were draped in snow. She walked through the forest, guided by instinct she hardly understood herself.

Her skin hurt, her mind pounded, and her magic roared like an echo of her pulse in her own ears.

Her mother had named it the call and Luna knew—knew—that she should not follow it. This call had led her mother down a path she had not returned from.

Spell-crafting and potion experiments, pushing magic beyond its known bounds.

Luna had learned to subdue her own curiosity about magic in that way, not wanting to do to her father what her mother had done to him.

But she couldn't not read the books Dumbledore had given to Harry.

Luna came to a halt in the Forbidden Forest, somewhere even the centaurs did not venture. The Thestrals stalked the shadows of the trees, guarding her as she raised her hands, her wand still holstered in her low ponytail.

Luna took a deep breath, closed her eyes and listened to the shuffle of the wind through the bare branches. The sound of branches knocking together joined a chorus that sounded as if the night itself was shivering.

Goosebumps rose across Luna's skin, but not from the cold.

She exhaled, reaching out her fingers until her power, her magic road along the snow.

Harry was the wind. But Luna was something else. Something that could take many forms, that could be as peaceful as a frozen lake or as violent as mountain rapids.

Luna's magic called to the song that had been whispering to her as long as she could remember.

The snow took the form of water and, at her direction, rose like rain.

Exhilaration filled her as her magic was given form without form.

It was freedom.

Pure, unrestricted freedom.

Luna pulled the water around her in ribbons that shimmered in the moonlight.

Elemental magic was neither Charms nor Transfiguration. It was its own magic. The magic of the world that could only be coaxed into listening to a witch or wizard's song spun from their own magical core.

Hearts speaking to hearts.

Luna danced with the water in the forest. The cold did not touch her. Her worries for her friends, for her father, for the war, falling away as she embraced her magic.

For this night, she let it go, and she could have sworn her mother was there with her in that clearing.

Dancing with her beneath the moonlight.

oOo

Thank you, Sectumus Prince!

oOo

AN: Thoughts, Welsh dragons, or feedback, pretty please?

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I have an ominous line in this one, and though I do have more shit happening, the war is about to go down, after all, BUT Harry and Luna are not doomed.

Chapter 15 - Full Moon

Remus could not remember a better full moon.

Neither Sirius nor James allowed Remus to pass up taking the wolfbane's potion, paying for it themselves.

Sirius saying he was using Death Eater funds didn't really make him feel better about the charity. But dancing through the night with Prongs and Padfoot?

Sirius nipping at his heels and James tussling Remus around with delicate grace, it was…

It was freedom.

His inner wolf was happier than it had ever been and for the first time in his life, something impossible happened.

His lycan part man and mostly monster form, morphed into something far more natural. He was still oversized, his paws more catlike than canine.

But he lost his human shape completely to that of the animal's and the pain lifted from his bones as the moon sang to his blood as opposed to summoning it outside of his body.

For once, shedding his human form felt like a relief and being home with his pack, he allowed himself hope.

He allowed himself this small happiness and let go of the guilt for being what he was.

He had not chosen this life, but his friends had chosen him.

And he wouldn't trade either Sirius or James for his humanity.

He supposed some curses were like that, something inexplicably awful that brought with it the most unexpected joys and the perspective to value what time you had.

oOo

Harry wasn't able to sleep that night, his scar was burning even as he did his best to tune out Voldemort.

He looked up when the door opened to the joint lounge of the Head Boy and Head Girl room.

"You were out late tonight," Harry remarked, noting that her hair was damp.

She winced, turning away from him.

"Luna," he asked, straightening in his seat. "What's wrong?"

"It doesn't matter," she tried to brush him off.

"You're upset, it matters," he said, tempering down his own disappointment.

Luna was always there for him, but she rarely let him return the favour.

"I was practicing," she said, coming closer without looking. "With the snow and dew."

He tilted his head to the side, "What's wrong with that?"

"I don't want to become my mother," she said, voice lowering.

"Luna," he chided.

She plopped into a seat beside him, "I promised my father I wouldn't be like her.

"I don't think your mother was a bad person," he said. "She just went a little too far."

Luna fidgeted, "She was addicted to magic.

"I couldn't give up magic," he said casually, knowing her relationship with her mother was different than his own because Luna still remembered hers, knew her mother as a person in a way he never would. "And I'm told giving up on magic is another really unfun way to die, so that's not a safe either."

She sighed, "Loving magic and being addicted to it is different."

"How?"

She gave him a slightly annoyed look, "I don't know that I could stop myself from going too far."

"So?" he asked.

"So!?" she exclaimed. "Harry, I could die."

I don't want you to die, but death is inevitable and random. My mom didn't live as long as yours. I grew up thinking my parents died in a random car crash. I got Cedric killed playing a stupid game and I got Sirius killed by trying to save him. Don't stop being who you are because you're afraid of the only certainty in the world."

She caught his hand in hers as she said, "It's wrong of me though. I promised my father—"

"Luna, learning elemental magic is not the same thing as inventing spells and experimenting with potions. I won't say it's safe, but the wizarding world isn't safe in general. "

She shook her head, her silver-gold hair spilling forward over her shoulders, "I should be here for you. I want to protect you and getting addicted to power is not—"

He squeezed her hand. "I love that you care about me but that's not what I want from you, Luna."

"Then what do you want from me, Harry?"

His heart was racing. He swallowed, holding his gaze on hers as he said, "I want you, Luna."

"Want me how?" she challenged.

He looked down at their hands for a moment, turning them over so their fingers were interlaced before meeting her unfalting blue eyes.

He felt bare beneath her luminous gaze. But for once, he wasn't afraid of what she might think or feel ashamed for who he was and who he wasn't.

He was Harry Potter.

The survivor.

The boy who barely survived his Uncle and Aunt's random aggression and unrelenting destain.

The boy who ran away from bullies because he wasn't strong enough to fight.

A wizard who hadn't tried as hard as he might because he was afraid of what his friends might think of him.

A wizard who when he did try, more often than not mucked it and put others in harm.

A wizard who was trying to be better than he was in no small part because of the witch sitting beside him.

Luna saw all of it. Knew him better than he knew himself.

Saw all of who he might have been, had failed to be, and what he really was.

He was a shattered window that she somehow still saw worth in.

He knew he didn't truly understand her as well as that. He couldn't see the world as she did. She saw so much more than a normal person, the good, the bad, and the unseen.

Yet she was like him in so many ways.

There were no words to describe her no more than there were words to describe the complexity of his own life. He was still just Harry.

And she was just Luna.

Just a boy and a girl.

And he had been falling for her for longer than he had realized.

"I want to be in love with you, Luna Lovegood," he said, the words not quite expressing his meaning.

"And are you?" she asked, unwavering. "Are you in love with me, Harry Potter?"

Be brave, he told himself.

"I am," he answered. "I love you, Luna."

Her smile was transformative and she raised her other hand to his cheek, then to his neck, leading him forward with a warm touch.

His eyes fluttered shut as she whispered back, "I love you, too, Harry."

She kissed him.

There were no tears or awkward fumbling.

Luna seemed to know what she wanted from a kiss, gentle but explorative.

Harry was all to happy follow, his skin feeling positively electrified with the giddiness and acceleration of having his feelings returned by such kind-hearted person.

He wanted to live for her, he wanted to try for her, he wanted to be the person she deserved.

And by some miracle, or perhaps fairy dust, she was giving him that chance.

As she leaned into his chest, he had a very hard time remembering that he wasn't the luckiest person.

But perhaps, just maybe, the scales were balancing out a bit.

oOo

AN: Thoughts, fire-fighting goats (real thing), or feedback, pretty please?

Chapter Text

KEYnote!: Short chapter and I put the section from last chapter here to break up the next monster chapter. My apologies.

Chapter 16 - Albus Learns

Harry and Luna decided to skive off class that evening, and for once, Hermione joined them.

It was the last day before break and no one wanted to go to Umbrige's 'correction class' that had shown up on everyone's schedule for at least one of their free periods during the week.

Hermione was huddled in her coat against the coat but listened to everything he and Luna told her about the herds they had been tending.

They were deep in the forest when they heard it.

Someone was crying in the forest.

Harry, Luna, and Hermione exchanged glances as they moved forward.

The Thestrals didn't seem all that worried but followed them like an honour guard.

The person let out a wailing sob, and finally, Harry recognized the voice.

"Hagrid!" he cried, breaking out into a run.

He came to a halt when he saw the blood in the snow.

It took him a bit longer to identify that it was body parts strewn between the bare tree trunks.

Body parts of several bodies that had been literally torn limb from limb were like a particularly peeved child taking out his emotions on his action figures.

But this wasn't something Harry could clean up like Dudley's playroom, this was why people feared giants.

The thought only shook Harry out of his shock, spurring him to approach Hagrid's massive form slowly.

"Harry, wait," Luna cautioned.

"Hagrid," Harry called, his heart breaking for the man whose shoulders heaved with sobs.

The body he sat beside was much, much larger than the others, and the prone giant was all in one piece despite the bloody scratches.

"Hagrid," Harry called again.

Hagrid heard him this time and turned with a roar.

With impossible speed, Harry found himself being picked up by his collar, Hagrid's other hand wound back in a fist.

Never in his life had Harry ever feared Hagrid.

Never in his life had he ever believed Hagrid would raise a hand against him.

Until now.

Hagrid froze as he registered who he had in his hands.

"Arry?" he asked gruffly.

Luna stepped into Hagrid's line of sight, "Please, Professor, it's just Harry."

Hagrid slowly put Harry down on his feet and he couldn't tell which of them or both of them were shaking.

Hagrid began to apologize.

Harry cut him off mid apology, "Hagrid, what happened?"

Luna gave him a look, silently asking, Didn't this happen last time?

In answer, Harry just shook his head.

Last time Hagrid had had a few cuts and a black eye.

This Hagrid had his clothes torn, dirt and wood splinters in his beard and hair.

Hagrid didn't look like he had been beaten up but he did look like he had been through a war. Which, given the state of this part of the woods, maybe he had. Harry counted at least five bodies.

"Death Eaters," Hagrid spat, clasping back in his chair. There were tears in his eyes from grief and anger.

Harry no longer went to Dumbledore for help with things. But Harry had never seen Hagrid in such a state before.

He hadn't figured out how to get Patronuses to send messages yet, but he knew Dumbledore would recognize the stag.

He pulled his wand, summoning the silver antlered Patronus, "Bring Dumbledore back to Hagrid's hut," Harry said, worrying when Hagrid gave no protest.

"What happened?" Hermione was asking Hagrid again as she, Harry, and Luna took his hands and led their injured friend haltingly out of the forest.

"MacNair," Hagrid growled, looking back at his brother and almost tripping all of them into the gory snow in the process. "Don't know how he found me, must have been patrolling. He tried to kill me on the way back to the Forest. Beat him bloody I did, broke his wand and all but that was before sunset. Fenrir Greyback was with him."

Luna and Harry exchanged a look but it was Luna who said, "It was a full moon last night."

Harry felt the blood run cold in his veins, Luna had been in the forest last night, he hadn't realized the moon had been full.

Hagrid growled, "Fenrir and his pack hunted us."

Which explained why the torn up bodies were naked.

"Us?" Hermione repeated.

"My brother," Hagrid choked on a sob, looking back down at the body. "Grawp. He's a full giant, but small, he had no one but me." He swallowed another teary gasp before continuing, "We made it all the way back to the forest." Here Hagrid's tears turned feral as he bared his bloody teeth. "He took the monster down with him. My brother might be dead but he took that fowl abomination down with him. Grawp snapped that ruddy bastard's neck."

"Remus will be glad to hear it," Harry said, looking toward the crumpled body near Grawp's head.

Hagrid blinked at him, as if he had forgotten he wasn't alone. "Yeah," Hagrid said thickly. "I reckon he will. I reckon he will."

There wasn't much to say after that. When they got back to Hagrid's hut, Hermione opted to run to get Madam Pomfrey, while Luna and Harry remained with Hagrid. It didn't seem like a good idea to leave him alone.

Hagrid tried to grab some liquor, which Harry snatched from him and poured some of it over the scratch on Hagrid's hand, muggle first aid couldn't hurt.

He should definitely start learning healing spells for humans.

Luna made them tea.

oOo

Albus startled when he saw the stag.

For a moment, he thought it was Severus's doe, but then he registered the antlers.

The patronous did not speak and Albus made a note to himself to teach Harry to send messages this way. As it was, the silver stag lingered by the door.

Rising to his feet, the stag darted from the room, leaving Albus to hurry after.

It was impatient, leading him out of the castle towards Hagrid's. He ran into Poppy and Ms. Hermione Granger along the way.

"What happened?" he asked them both as the stag trotted ahead of them.

"Hagrid," Hermione said. "He was attacked in the forest."

Albus began to run down the hill then, and they all arrived at the hut rather out of breath.

Albus was expecting it to be bad, and indeed, the tears trailing down his friend's face were not a good indication, but he wasn't expecting Luna and Harry to be there, one treating Hagrid's wounds the muggle way and the other preparing scones for tea.

"What happened?" Albus asked as Poppy shewed Harry away. She tsked at the muggle treatment, though Albus could tell she was not displeased at Harry's efforts.

Albus accepted the large cup of tea Harry gave him and asked, "How is your brother, Hagrid?"

Fresh tears welled in Hagrid's dark eyes, spilling over as he said, "Grawp is dead. We were ambushed by Death Eaters in the forest. I injured MacNair but he and the others ran like the cowards they are. But the werewolves pursued us after sunset.

"Grawp and I took them all but Grawp died killing Fenrir," Hagrid finished tearily.

Albus let out a long breath, which was far better news than he expected, though he grieved for his friend's loss.

"Can you catch lycanthropy?" Hermione asked.

Hagrid waved her remark away, "I wasn't bitten, just some scratches."

"Just some large, could die from blood loss or infection, scratches," Harry said with tangible disapproval.

"What were you three even doing in the forest?" Hagrid countered.

"Said the man who sent Harry and Ron out into the forest to speak to some giant man eating spiders," Hermione defended.

Albus was pleased that their friendship seemed to recover from the hurdles of this year. Less pleased about his students' escapades into the Forbidden Forest. Albus had not approved of Harry and Draco's first trip to the Forest in their first year. As much as he loved Hagrid, he sometimes forgot the half-giant had a different view of safety when it came to magical creatures.

"When was this?" Albus asked.

"Second year," Harry explained. "Hagrid said to follow the spiders because they were afraid of the Basilisk."

Yes, the Basilisk, sometimes Albus wondered if it was he or Harry who had the worst luck.

It wasn't as if, after all, the Basilisk had remained dormant for a thousand years, then for decades after Tom had graduated.

No, every year had to be a life-threatening adventure.

Poppy cut in sharply, "The question remains, what were you doing in the forest?"

"We were showing Hermione the Thestral foals. One of the mares had triplets," Harry said.

"Triplets?" Hagrid asked, the astonishment clear in his voice. "And survived?"

"Luna and I delivered the foals," Harry said with a smile.

Poppy paused, "As in you…?"

"Harry reached in to help flip them and pulled them out," Luna said, pleased.

"Yeah, but only because Luna could direct me. She was the one who knew we needed to feed her more protein leading up to the birth. She even calculated—"

"Guessed," she interrupted.

Harry rolled his eyes but continued, "Sure, 'guessed' the early delivery date."

Hagrid's face was alight as he exclaimed, "You saved her, and the foals, lives!"

Albus had to cut in, "How much time have you been spending in the Forbidden Forest?"

"Most nights," Harry said casually. He tapped his temple, "I don't sleep well."

Albus was horrified, "Harry, the forest is not warded. Without an adult—"
"I'm sorry," Harry interrupted. "When have adults ever been trustworthy? I've stayed on Hogwarts grounds and nearly died multiple times each year. Besides, the Thestral and hippogryph herds are more than enough defence."

Pen, Harry's bow-truckle, peaked out of his breast pocket to chitter at them.

"And Pen," Harry added fondly.

"I was in the forest last night," Luna said. "I didn't hear the attack on Hagrid and his brother, but it explains why the herds stayed so close to me and directed me into a clearing a few kilometres off."

"Kilometers?" Poppy spluttered, "Multiple kilometres? You went that deep?"

"Where else were we supposed to practice elemental magic?" Luna asked.

Albus stared at the young blonde haired Ravenclaw. He knew that she was dating Harry, or rather that the two loved each other in a way that was rare for its purity and depth, but he hadn't realized she was sharing in Harry's studies.

Which, was an oversight of his, given who Luna's mother had been.

If Lily Evans had been the cleverest witch of her age.

Then Pandora Lupin might have been considered the most powerful in her generation, though she had been overshadowed by Bellatrix Black a few years later.

"You were just supposed to be studying the theory," Albus informed the teens.

Harry shrugged, "Luna figured it out. I'm still struggling."

Luna sat in the same chair as Harry, making them look like siblings sharing a bench when the seating was full. She patted his head as if he were a bird, "Harry doesn't know how to breathe."

Albus took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Where did you think we were?" Harry asked.

"The Room of Requirement," Albus answered without looking up.

"No, we are just using that for the Defense Club," Harry said. "Otherwise, we've been outside. It feels freer out here."

"You were meant to be practising this with Sirius and me not running off in the forest unsupervised," Albus said.

"But I only get to see Sirius on the holidays," Harry argued. "And you're never around."

Guilt swam through Albus. He had been avoiding Harry because of his connection to Tom, but clearly, that aspect had already been exploited. Realising he wasn't going to win an argument by simply stating something was dangerous and that they would need to know why exactly it was unsafe, Albus tried to explain, "Elemental magic can be extremely draining and leave you defenceless. The forest is not the ideal place for that."

"You could have told us that," Harry said.

"I wasn't tired," Luna said, ever her mother's child.

Pandora Lovegood had been nothing short of a genius. She hadn't been a healer, but she had been specialising in medical and defensive magic.

A branch of magic that was somewhat like curse-breaking, only more as a first responder than a researcher.

"You were the one to give me the invisibility cloak," Harry remarked.

Albus replaced his glasses on his nose, "That was an heirloom. And in this case alone, I will not take responsibility for. It was in your father's will to be given to you during your first year at Hogwarts."

Harry's expression faltered and he asked, "Was Sirius the only person in my parents' will?"

Albus sighed, "No. Your godmother was Alice Longbottom, she was very close to your mother when they served in the Order together. For obvious reasons, that was not possible. And though I am certain Lady Longbottom would have been a more suitable guardian, and Neville a more welcoming relative, Neville's grandmother wanted nothing to do with the Potters."

Harry's face fell further and Albus realised too late that Harry would be able to read between the lines of his words.

"She blames me for the attack on her family, for what happened to Neville's parents," he stated.

Luna wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder in silent comfort.

Hermione looked lost but remained attentive.

"It was not your doing," Albus assured. "Nor was it your parents doing. Voldemort's greatest ability during, and after the war, is to twist people's emotions and have us blame each other where blame belongs solely to him and those who acted in his interests."

Poppy finished up on Hagrid and straightened to her full height, commanding the attention of the space. She looked between the two junior magizoologists. "You have been endangering yourselves where nobody can reach you when nobody knows where you are."

Harry snorted, "I'm never safe. What difference does it make?"

"And if it's Voldemort himself?" Albus asked.

Harry shrugged, "He's in my head. He got to me last year. He's going to get me eventually, and I would rather enjoy my life than live forever afraid of him."

"A worthy setimentiment," Albus said. "But the forest poses it's own issues."

"We handled the war against the Centaurs just fine," Luna said.

Albus gaped at her, as did Hermione, Poppy, and Hagrid.

"It was more of a skirmish," Harry added.

"What?" Hermione squeeked.

"You know that staff I keep in my dorm?" Harry asked. "The one I had an arrow stuck out of when we road in on a hippogryff?"

"Yeah?" she questioned cautiously.

"That was a Centaur arrow," Harry explained, unconcerned.

"You could have died!" Hermione yelled.

Luna waved it away, "We only would have gotten hurt if we had backed down. They knew we weren't there to take their territory, they just didn't want to share space with the thestrals. Who they know listen to us because we have been taking care of the mares and foals."

"We've been training them too," Harry added. "Them and the hippogryphs."

"And unicorns," Luna said. "They've even let Harry near them."

Harry's smile would have been infectious had Albus's mind not been reeling. "It's been a real honour."

Albus shook his head. Here he thought he was doing his best to keep his student safe when he hadn't even realised he had had students out in the forest.

Hermione dropped her head in her hands in despair.

"Honestly, Professors," Luna said. "We befriended almost everyone in the forest. Even the Centaurs and the spiders are our allies now."

Those words brought more comfort than they should have. But then, Tom was already in Harry's mind, and as Hagrid had proved, the forest wasn't hospitable to Death Eaters.

"I will need to inform your fathers about this," Albus said dryly.

Harry grinned, wide and sudden, "I love that you can say that."

Albus felt himself soften, "As do I, Harry, as do I."

Though, he wondered at what point James would be overwhelmed by all the chaos he attracted.

Despite Harry's lack of malicious intent, he and his friends always seemed to out do the marauders by accident.

oOo

AN: Thoughts, water buffalo, or feedback, pretty please?

Chapter Text

Thank you, Sakkiko!

P.S. Though this is obviously not a fix-it, there will be consequences for villains’ actions, not just the heroes’. Be patient with justice, this story has a happy ending.

Chapter 17 - Detention

James didn’t sleep much these days, and when he did, it was typically during the day when he could fall asleep and wake in daylight. 

Apparently, Sirius had been the same, though according to Remus and Malcolm, Sirius had been sleeping far more soundly since James had returned.

That wasn’t surprising to James. Sirius had slept more often on their sofa when they had moved to Godric’s Hollow than at his own flat he had shared with Peter.

Not when one considered that Sirius’s mental health had not been fantastic even before Lily’s death, before thirteen years in Azkaban. James returning, looking as he did, seemed to be the only thing Sirius didn’t seem half panicked and half lost about.

For Sirius it just clicked; James was supposed to be here.

Which was nice because James was panicked about almost everything.

Remus…

Remus was still on the same downward spiral he had begun since their graduation. 

If winning a war looked this bad, James could only imagine what would have happened if Lily hadn’t stopped Voldemort on Halloween.

James flicked his wand to clothe and then levitate Remus off the ground. The Wolfsbane Potion was possibly the most positive thing about the future. Remus didn’t have a single major injury on him.

James knelt to pick Sirius up in his arms, bridal style. Sirius didn’t wake, just curled into his chest.

Both his friends were worryingly underweight.

Malcolm held the door open for them when he reached the cottage house, leading the way upstairs to Remus’s room.

“Sirius sleeps in the other room,” Malcolm said as James transfigured pyjamas onto his friends after placing them both on the sheets.

James smirked, “They don’t need separate rooms, they need to get out of their own way.” He flicked his wand to tuck them in.

Not a moment later, Sirius and Remus, still deeply asleep, curled in toward one another, seeking warmth and an escape from their perpetual solitude.

Malcolm smiled and turned to follow James out to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to make me breakfast,” James said.

Malcolm shook his head, “I enjoy it. Miss it, truly. My children don’t visit often and the grandkids are caught up in their last years of school.”

“They are attending Hogwarts?”

Malcolm shook his head as he pulled out ingredients.  “No, my son married an American and my daughter moved to Japan.”

“Oh,” James said. “I’m grateful I didn’t miss all of Harry’s life. His being at Hogwarts already is hard enough.”

Malcolm gave him a sad smile, “You were robbed of much, my friend. At the very least, I don’t believe your son will ever be eager to create distance between him and yourself.”

James sighed, “Small mercies.”

Malcolm met his gaze, “You are not alone, James. You are a father but you are also young. Try not to take on too much blame for yourself.”

James let out a breath, “I just— I feel like I time travelled. I feel like I’ve fallen into a nightmare where everyone I know is struggling, dead or worse.” He shuddered at the memory of being told what happened to Alice and Frank. “Lily’s gone and Harry… I can’t begin to understand all he’s been through. Lily saved his life, but it still feels like we failed him, like we didn’t do enough.”

“Do you blame Sirius?” Malcolm asked.

“Of course not!” James snapped. “I tried to kill Peter and I don’t have—”

The words caught in his throat, Sirius’s issues.

Family was everything to Sirius. When James had lost his own parents, Sirius had been just as devastated. Hells, he had cried harder than James had when Harry was born. For Peter to betray them the way he had…

No, James didn’t blame Sirius for entrusting Harry to Hagrid and Dumbledore to track down the rat.

How it had turned out had been… extremely unfortunate.

James had nearly kicked Peter to death, then had actually murdered him by burning the house down around him.

He felt no guilt about Peter’s end. It was hardly enough for the cowardness and evil he had participated in.

Lily would have done worse and James knew that she would have fully endorsed Sirius's attempt to go rat hunting.

“Whatever empathy you feel for your friends,” Malcolm said, drawing James from his shadowed thoughts, “I would ask that you spare a shard of empathy and compassion for yourself.”

James inclined his head, feeling a tad chagrined for being so transparent and needing the check, “Thank you.”

Malcolm placed down a cup of coffee before him, “You’re welcome, James.”

He clung to the hot mug, trying to convince himself that if he could remain anchored in the moment, everything would turn out alright.

oOo

Harry saw Umbridge in the hall and tried to disappear into the crowd only to hear:

“Mr. Potter!” she called. “If you don’t stop, it will be a hundred points from Gryfindor and Slytherin.”

Harry cursed silently, waving Hermione and Luna off ahead of him, “It’ll be detention then. I won’t let her hurt me.”

Luna glared at Umbridge over his head.

Harry brushed his hand against hers before turning away, not wanting to give Umbridge an excuse to up the consequences.

Harry was in enough hot water with his classmates without taking away house points and pouring accelerant on everyone’s fears of either a new war or a new dark lord.

“You skipped today’s class,” Umbridge said as she led him to her office.

“Yes, I was with Headmaster Dumbledore,” he said coolly, not pointing out that Hermione had skipped today’s period with Umbridge also.

“You must not tell lies, Mr. Potter.”

He didn’t dignify that with a response, already reaching for his wand.

Harry was all too familiar with Umbridge’s office, with the cats trapped in their plates, mewing down at him. He had never thought of it before, but it almost sounded like they were crying.

Figures Umbridge would enjoy the suffering of not just her students but the suffering of animals as well.

Yeah… that sounded about right for Umbridge.

Harry was expecting tea, threats, and maybe some letter writing.

He was not, however, expecting Aurors to jump him.

Harry dropped the first with a stunner, his spellwork was just that much faster, but the one who had been hiding behind the door, outside his line of vision, caught him with a body-bind curse.

Umbridge lifted his chin with the toe of her heel, forcing him to look up at her. The angle improved neither her appearance nor her sneer.

“You have escaped me all year, but not this time, Mr. Potter,” she said in her sickly sweet voice.

Harry was tempted to say, just wait until my father hears about this, but he was more focused on channelling his magic to overcome the bindings.

The Auror who had hidden behind the door like a coward unfroze his friend. Both Aurors were large men that dwarfed Umbridge physically, yet they still seemed to be licking her boots.

The one he had stunned kicked Harry onto his back before yanking him to his feet.

“You are under arrest, Mr. Potter.”

Harry coughed before saying through gritted teeth, “What for, being born?”

“Admittedly,” Umbridge said with a sequin smile. “That would be enough, given who your father and godfather are, but no. You see, Mr. Potter, you’ve been found guilty of Cedric Diggory’s death.”

Harry’s gut turned on that one, he did feel responsible for Cedric’s death, but not so guilty to go to prison for a crime he had not purposely committed.

“I love your view of the legal system,” Harry spat. “Conviction before a trial.”

The Aurors grabbed his arms, still bound, with enough force to bruise.

It reminded him of Uncle Vernon and Dudley’s gang.

His heart rate increased as the dawning sensation of an impending beating fell onto his awareness.

He couldn’t fight and he couldn’t run, he began to struggle, the increasingly painful grip on his bound arms just made him struggle harder.

Worse than the pain was sitting through it, being trapped.

Umbridge laughed at him and he hated her.

Hated that she or anyone could make him feel this way.

Kill her, a voice inside his mind hissed.

Harry shook his head, closing his eyes and trying to even his breath.

He was angry enough to kill someone, possibly, but that hadn’t been his thought.

His scar burned like the Torture Curse and his knees buckled, the Aurors saving him from landing face first on the stone floor in their restrictive hold.

Due to his eyes being closed, he didn’t see what was used, but he recognised the pull of a portkey at his navel as Umbridge tittered about her maniacal plans.

Harry wasn’t so out of it as to think she wouldn’t pay for this.

Either the Weasley Twins, Hermione and Luna or Dumbledore would make her pay.

The last time Umbridge went this off the rails, Dumbledore had no longer been Headmaster, and with Harry’s recent interactions with the man, he had a greater faith in his capabilities.

As Harry was squeezed through space, he only just kept from being sick when they landed in a darkened room. In his mind’s eye, he saw Cedric’s empty expression.

He barely had time to get his feet underneath him as he was hauled up off the floor and thrown into a chair.

He had no idea where he was. It looked like an office, likely he was in the ministry, even if the large room with tall bookshelves and pricy wooden desks looked more formidable than Mr. Weasley’s office had looked.

He knew his reaction time was slow, it was difficult to see, or rather to focus his sight, past the pain cutting through his forehead.

Harry began to panic when he saw the vial in the darker-haired Auror’s hand.

Veritaserum. 

It had to be Veritaserum.

He began to sit but the chair clamped shackles around his limbs and ankles.

“No!” he yelled, struggling harder.

A large hand clamped down on his jaw, prying his mouth open.

Harry stilled as the liquid was poured into his mouth.

The darker-haired Auror sneered down at Harry, his hand dropping from around his jaw.

Harry spat the liquid at the man, into his flat blue eyes.

It was worth the back-handed slap that nearly knocked him and the chair to the ground.

Harry was seized by the throat and another potion was jammed past his lips to the point he nearly choked on it. Only this time, his mouth and nose were held shut until he was forced to swallow.

Fear swamped him even as his body went quiet, his consciousness seeming to go distant, as if he was dreaming. As if the pain he felt didn’t hurt because nothing was real.

It caused more panic, because Harry had felt this before.

This distance.

This intense emotion experienced by someone he was merely witnessing, almost like an out of body experience, only he was trapped.

Trapped inside himself.

It took a while for him to realise people were talking to him.

He wondered, a tad hysterically, if this was like the Imperius Curse.

“Where is Sirius Black?” the Auror who had force-fed him the potion asked.

“Fuck you,” Harry spat.

Oh, Harry thought, realising what this was. He couldn’t lie, so he would say the first thing on his mind.

He was either fucked or these Aurors were about to have a rather frustrating afternoon.

As Ron had once remarked, he was a sarcastic shit when he got pissed.

He almost giggled at the thought.

“Where is James Potter?” the Auror asked.

“According to the paper, he’s here,” Harry drawled, riding the panic like a wave of adrenaline when he was on the Quidditch pitch.

Or more like when he was reaching for the snitch as he was thrown off his broom.

Or maybe like taking an egg from a dragon.

“Where is Sirius Black?” the Auror asked again.

“Behind the Veil,” Harry answered, a fresh rush of panic flooding him.

He really hoped they didn’t ask him if he was a time traveller.

That would be bad.

Wouldn’t it?

Hermione’s words rang through his head, Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time, Harry.

He began to hyperventilate.

Would he go to prison?

Would Luna?

Would the fairy who helped them be hunted down?

“Behind the Veil? Is Sirius Black?”

Harry curled in on himself, hindered by the restraints. “It’s my fault,” he whispered.

The Auror’s voice was shocked. “You killed Sirius Black?”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Is he dead?” the man repeated.

Is Sirius Black dead? The question echoed in his mind.

Yes.

No.

He did die.

But he wasn’t dead.

It was his fault, but he wouldn’t let it happen again.

Could someone die twice?

“This is confusing,” Harry murmured, opening his eyes, watching Pen climb up toward his shoulder.

Where were they anyway? 

When was he?

“What are you talking about?” the Auror asked, reminding him briefly of Moody.

Moody had probably done worse than this to Death Eaters.

“Start talking, Potter,” the Auror threatened. “Or you’ll regret it.”

Harry looked up and laughed.

“Why are you laughing?” the man asked, looking disgusted.

“This is absurd,” Harry answered. “Is this even legal? I didn’t do anything. When you realise Voldemort is behind this, you are going to grovel.”

He was back-handed again, making his ears ring.

Harry laughed harder.

It was laugh or cry.

Crying would please them.

Laughing would upset them, so Harry didn’t attempt to stop himself from spiralling into hysteria.

He wondered if they could tell; his laughter sounded wrong and mirthless to his own ears.

Or maybe that was the ringing.

“Where is Sirius Black!?” the man shouted.

“Not here,” Harry bit out.

He couldn’t lie, but truth was not in itself the answer.

“You little—” the man growled out. “Proud to be the spawn of evil, are you?”

Harry’s laughter cut off and he arched a brow, “Spawn of evil? I’m not proud of your stupidity.”

The man’s jaw ticked, “Your father and godfather murdered people.”

“It was Voldemort,” Harry answered, then added loftily, “I’m not lying.”

The man bared his teeth, “How do you know it wasn’t James Potter?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “My father didn’t have his wand with him when he was buried, he didn’t have his wand that night because Peter Pettigrew was the traitor, the secret keeper, and a literal rat.” 

He growled the last word.

The Aurors looked between themselves.

Harry couldn’t tell them apart any longer. The room was still poorly lit save for a lantern in the back of the room and his vision was beginning to blur.

One of them said, “I didn’t think you would be capable of resisting Veritaserum.”

“I didn’t think you could give it to someone without their consent or outside of a courtroom,” Harry retorted, his body beginning to tremble.

Apparently, it was like muggle drugs, not that he had had many save for the few times the school nurse had given him some pain pills when he nearly fainted during class. Or the sleeping pills he had stolen from Aunt Petunia once when Uncle Vernon broke his wrist.

Fight the high, work past the need to rest and you were going to go on a terrible, nauseating trip.

Veritaserum was the strongest thing he could ever remember taking and being conscious through. 

He hoped he would puke, he hoped he would puke on the Auror who had slapped him.

The Aurors seemed unnerved by Harry citing the law on them, which was dumb.

But then, they were treating him as if he was an orphan, muggleborn, and stupid.

Harry was none of those things.

Not even an orphan anymore.

“Peter Pettigrew was a hero,” one of the Aurors said.

“No, he was the Secret Keeper,” Harry snarled as the room began to spin as he was hit with vertigo. “They switched at the last moment and he cut off his own finger to make it look like he was a victim. He turned into an animagus, his true form, a rat . He lived with Percy Weasley and then my friend Ron. Pettigrew, Wormtail , is a disgusting excuse for a wizard.”

Harry closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the influx of pain coming from his scar. He must have looked like a mess.

“Did you kill Cedric Diggory?” the Auror asked.

Harry shook his head, which made everything worse, “No, Peter Pettigrew did on Voldemort’s orders.”

And as if his name really were cursed, as if he had been summoned, Voldemort’s voice whispered through his fevered mind, Harry Potter.

Harry began struggling against the restraints, “No, no!”

Voldemort laughed, pressing raw power against his mind, exponentially increasing the pain splitting his skull.

Harry screamed.

Nothing had ever hurt like this.

Nothing, the Torture Curse sucked, but this was worse, this was pain tearing apart not just his body but his mind.

Tearing him apart .

oOo

Pen the Bowtruckle was your average sort of Bowtruckle. 

Average until he met two entirely unaverage humans.

He had seen humans before of course, had volunteered to go to their class, to try and teach the Loud Ones something of worth.

A pointless activity, really.

Until then.

Luna and Harry.

Holding him gently, not like he was a stick or a worm, but a being.

And he had been given a name, Pen, like pencil, which is what the humans called the drawing sticks. 

Pen had always secretly wanted to be more, to have the option of living outside the forest and meet bowtruckles from another forest, one that was perhaps not so dark.

Not so gloomy.

Pen was always determined to learn how to draw like Harry.

These were Pen’s grand ambitions, to travel with unlikely friends.

Human friends.

It was mythical.

Pen spent most days with Harry.

An extremely kind human who didn’t sleep enough and other humans treated quite poorly, aside from Luna, naturally.

It confused Pen just how hostile the humans were to his Harry, pushing him to violence when violence was not who he was.

Pen was terrified when they entered the room of felines. Luckily they were fake felines.

Unluckily, there was something far worse waiting for them. 

Adult humans.

Evil humans who liked to cause pain.

They didn’t even know Pen was there and they managed to hurt him too.

Magic was good, but humans tainted it.

Pen felt as if he were being ripped apart and things did not get better when they landed.

He knew he was too small and that the magic he possessed was not the kind that mattered when it came to dealing with humans.

As best he was able, Pen escaped out of Harry’s clothes.

He needed to find help.

Slipping under the doorframe. He looked up at the window of the door, memorising the squiggles there.

Squiggles were sometimes very important to humans.

Sticking close to the wall, Pen darted to the other side of the corridor, toward the lights.

He found a room with tables in it and two people. One was a very large bald man and the other a strict-faced woman. They were poring over pages, looking very frustrated indeed.

But nothing they could be looking at could matter all that much or that greatly because Harry was hurt.

And Harry was rare and important.

Because he was a good person.

A good being.

Pen climbed up on the table.

“What—?” the man asked, straightening in his seat.

“Is that a bowtruckle?” the woman asked, not sounding angry, just curious. 

Pen snatched the writing stick from the man’s hand and repeated the squiggles on an empty spot on the page of squiggles.

Pen underlined it and stabbed the writing stick at the end so the ink splashed at the end.

“Room 595?” the woman asked.

Pen took the writing feather in both hands and stabbed it down into the paper and yelled at them.

Not that they understood.

Humans couldn’t understand Bowtruckle, they didn’t listen well enough to grasp the nuisances of their language.

“Alright, little one,” the man said, holding out his hand. “We can go for a walk across the hall. We needed a break anyway. I’m Kingsley and this is Amelia.”

Pen squeezed Kingsley’s thumb, silently asking him to please hurry.

Kingsley laughed, “Alright, alright, we’re going.”

The man’s legs were much faster than Pen’s, though it still felt like a century passed for them to cross the divide.

There was no sound coming from behind the door, until it was opened.

And then… it was as if a hurricane was born from the void of silence.

“What are you doing!?” Kingsley yelled, shielding Pen against his chest.

“Is that Harry Potter!?” Amelia cried. “Are you torturing a child!?”

Pen tried to see beyond those figures, but the shattering of glass and a wash of wind knocked Kingsley and Amelia clean off their feet.

The impact was jarring and Pen was consumed by greater concern than he had ever felt for his human.

He was not well.

It was a relief when a burst of flame announced the presence of a phoenix.

Phoenixes were good.

Scary, because fire, but good.

Very good.

oOo

AN: Thoughts, Maiasaurs, or feedback, pretty please

Chapter Text

Chapter 18 - Phoenix Song

Albus had just reached his tower after bidding his students off to dinner.

No sooner had he entered his office did the Headmaster portraits begin to shout at him all at once.

Finally, Phineas Black raised his voice above the others, “Aurors were spotted in the castle, in Dolores Umbridge’s escort. One would imagine—” And here his voice drawled, “That they have an interest in Mister Potter.”

Albus turned on his heel and called, “Fawkes.” 

He had just left Harry, in sight of the other professors, surely, he would be okay.

Surely.

But the moment Fawkes landed on his shoulder he instructed, “To Dolores’s office, my friend.”

Fawkes trilled and they were engulfed in flame.

Dolores yelped when he appeared before her, spilling her tea down her front.

“Where is Mr. Potter?” Albus asked without delay.

She waved her wand at herself cleaning up the mess, “I assume he went back to his room.”

Albus flicked his own wand from his sleeve, “I will ask once more, where is Harry J. Potter?”

Her lips thinned, “He was arrested for murdering Cedric Diggory.”

Albus felt white-hot rage fill his veins, and his voice came out far softer than he intended, “Where is Harry?”

Fawkes squawked from his shoulder in an angry exclamation.

Dolores finally seemed to note her danger, but she kept her shoulders straight as she said, “At the Ministry, being interrogated by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

Albus’s wand was moving before he could think, before he could fully process the implication.

Granted, he was a tad more sensitive to his students being removed forcefully from school grounds since the end of last year.

But when it came to Harry, Albus was growing, distinctly, more attached.

And maybe that would have be a problem if Harry had merely been a mere celebrity of their world.

Harry wasn’t a celebrity, he was a warrior and he was a political target.

Again, Albus had failed to keep him safe.

Dolores didn’t have time to fight him. And the pink toad’s eyes widened in fright, seeming to bulge from her skull. Her ribbits were uncertain as she tried to process what had just happened.

Albus transfigured the toad a cage. He left her there on her desk and Fawkes whisked him away to the Ministry.

Harry had a profound connection to the phoenix, that went beyond the single feather in his holly wand, to the point where when Albus died, he wouldn’t be surprised if Fawkes stayed with the young Potter.

It was due to this connection that the phoenix was able to take him right to Harry, where Albus was greeted with a painfully familiar sight.

Arianna’s episodes had been called by his brother and parents ‘temper tantrums’ or ‘rages’.

Albus had never viewed it as such. The magic that had ripped from her had been like a geyser breaking through the earth’s surface, or a hurricane tearing across a tropical shore, uprooting trees, bowing flora and fauna to the storm’s onslaught.

But that was a description of her magic, of what her magic had become.

It wasn’t an expression of what she had felt, it had been the result of what her magic had become after she had repressed it for so long.

In truth, it wasn’t even a reflection of a lack of control, but rather the product of too much control. Accidental magic was not in itself a problem. It could be, on occasion, a worrying indication, of either not using their magic enough or being in an unsafe environment.

But this was different than the repression of one’s magic, repression to the point where the magic took on a life of its own.

It didn’t make sense in Harry’s case, he used magic daily, and as of this year, used magic at an impressively high level and frequency. Yet still, Harry’s magic was behaving as if he were psychically injured, as if his magical core were damaged.

And damaged cores behaved like diseased animals, attacking their host.

Harry wasn’t throwing a tantrum, he wasn’t the cause of the storm tearing through the Auror’s office, he was its victim. Unlike everyone else in the room, he was the only one who couldn’t get away.

Albus waved his wand, bringing up a shield around himself while everyone else cowered behind doorways and overturned tables.

Fawkes tucked himself against Albus's neck, claws digging into his shoulders.

The shield blocked the debris but the wind was another matter, making every step slower than he wanted it to be.

Harry was curled in on himself, hands clutching his head as he yelled into the power circling around him. Yelling his pain and fear against the magic that was tearing through him. The closer Albus got the better able he was to see the shackles around his wrists and ankles. 

Albus swallowed his rage, reminding himself that Harry, like Arianna, wasn’t angry, he was scared, hurting, and filled with such unimaginable despair that Albus could not imagine it.

Eventually, Albus reached Harry, and Fawkes raised flame around the both, and in a rush of fire, they were returned to Hogwarts, directly to their medical wing.

Travelling by Phoenix was easier than portkeying or apperation. But shifting through space was still a folding of reality, or in Fawkes’s case, burning through it.

Albus turned Harry so he wouldn’t choke on anything he threw up.

Veritaserum was scentless and tasteless when slipped into drinks or puddings, less so when it was mixed with stomach acid.

The distinctive blue bile again had Albus breathing past his fury.

The Aurors —supposed Aurors— had tortured him. Knowing Harry, the fear of revealing anything about his father and godfather would be far worse than most physical pains.

Albus rarely believed most crimes deserved Azkaban, but tonight would be an exception. 

Harry fisted Albus’s robes in his hand as his tears began to flow.

Albus should call Poppy, but as Fawkes began to sing, he knew there were other things Harry needed.

Fawkes draped his fire-hued wings over Harry’s back, laying his feathered cheek against Harry’s.

Albus cast concealing charms around them and accioed the basic healing supplies he would need to patch Harry up. He wasn’t a medic, but he could give Harry some time to regain himself before submitting him to Poppy’s assessments.

oOo

Fawkes's beautiful singing drove away Voldemort’s voice in Harry’s mind. But it wasn’t just because of the phoenix’s song that was bringing him a sense of security, but Albus Dumbledore being here with him.

Saving him, again, from a world that wanted to crush him.

There had been a time, not so long ago when Harry would have spat in Dumbledore’s face. Or at least wanted to, despising the fact that the elder wizard was never there when he needed him most.

But he had come tonight, just as he had come when Voldemort had appeared at the ministry.

Harry had been so filled with anger and loss then, but now?

Now he felt empty, his head ached, the scar pulsing, and he just…

He just hated that he didn’t have the freedom to be himself. That he couldn’t escape his enemies even in his own mind.

In Dumbledore’s office, it had seemed so simple. Albus had trusted his education to Snape while avoiding Harry at every turn.

‘I don’t care what you’ve got to say! I don’t want to hear anything you’ve got to say!’

You will, Dumbledore had responded. ‘Because you are not nearly as angry with me as you ought to be.’

But he wasn’t angry anymore.

He was tired.

He was empathetic. Hadn’t Harry made as many mistakes? It was Harry’s fault Cedric had died, Harry’s fault his friends had wound up in the hospital wing, time and time again, and Harry’s fault Sirius was dead.

All because he couldn’t listen. All because he thought he had to understand before he could trust.

This time around, he had kept his issues to himself and things had still gone to hell.

It was easier for him to understand that even when trying his best, Dumbledore had fallen short.

Just like Harry.

Neither of them it would seem trusted others enough.

It was a perilous game to trust.

Sometimes trusting got you hurt.

And sometimes, not trusting got others killed.

Dumbledore had been doing that math for decades, he had failed in some and succeeded in others.

But what he never did was stop trying, or give up hope that goodness and decency could one day win out.

Tonight, Harry couldn’t be angry at Dumbledore, he couldn’t judge without judging himself as harshly.

In this moment, he didn’t give a fuck about right or wrong. All he knew was that he hurt, that the wizarding world was trying to steal away his family, and that he had no way of controlling what happened next.

So when Dumbledore returned Harry’s hug, those twinkling blue eyes having been filled with such caring and sorrow, Harry broke.

He didn’t recognise the sound that spilled from his lips as tears blurred his vision.

He cried like a newborn.

He hated it, it was humiliating and stupid and weak.

But now that he had started he couldn’t stop.

Voldemort was trying to take his family away and he was using the wizarding world to do it.

He was scared and he felt helpless.

Fawkes surrounded them with warmth and melody. Dumbledore felt like an island in the storm as he held him tight, murmuring soft nothings save for the promise that the worst would not happen.

Because Dumbledore would not allow it.

It was a lie.

Of course it was a lie, but a lie Harry let himself lean into. Because he would never be safe, and Dumbledore was as good a bet as any he could think of.

Harry had no certainty, but perhaps, he did have hope.

Hope could fail him again and again, yet the only true failure was giving up on hope.

That’s what Voldemort had been whispering in his mind, in his nightmares.

Give up.

Harry wouldn’t.

Not on himself.

And not on the people who were trying to lead him to shore.

oOo

Albus’s heart broke for the boy. This was too much sorrow for any one child to hold and remain a child.

Yet Albus was relieved to see that sorrow, to be entrusted to be here for this moment.

His sister had never cried, not truly, not even with Aberforth. She kept it all in, locked away, and ultimately that is what had destroyed her.

Not the abuse she had suffered, but the shame and the grief that followed. A human being could take so much, not unaltered, not unaffected, but it was fear of pain, fear of future harm, not truly the pain and harm that would defeat a person.

Harry crying now, like this, raw and bleeding, was a deeper release of magic than he knew.

Depression was not sadness, battle fatigue was not tears.

No, the danger lay in the numbness, in the fear, in the hopelessness.

Arianna had locked herself down. Had been unreachable and never let herself see beyond the horrors in her own mind. Trapped by her own demons.

It hadn't been her fault.

But Harry was more resilient than Albus's sister, perhaps because he had more to live for, more people to live for.

More life to hope for.

Friends who he not only trusted but loved.

Family, he not only loved by but also saw himself as being needed by.

Albus didn't know if Arianna ever knew how much Aberforth needed her. His brother had been so gifted, yet so misunderstood that he saw the world as a united enemy against him.

Harry didn't know James well enough, but to Albus, it was plain to see how much Harry cared for Sirius.

Cared for Sirius in ways that he couldn't care for himself.

For Harry's ability to forgive and care for another person, even if he hardly knew them, was unparalleled to any being he had met before, something unique to himself.

And then there was Luna Lovegood.

Young love could be beautiful, and the innocence of their love was certainly star-bright, but it was the awareness they seemed to have of it, of each other, that made them so singular.

Albus had never doubted Harry's ability for love, he was much like his parents in that way, but Albus had feared his capacity to allow himself to be loved.

The abuse by the Dursleys and the hot and cold nature of the wizarding world's fixation on him was enough to unmoor any man.

Yet with Luna, Harry had allowed himself the happiness of being himself.

It was an act of bravery to let yourself be seen so fully and accept kindness.

So as Harry cried in his arms, Albus grieved for him, but he did not despair.

He would make Cornelius and Dolores pay for harming Harry and his students, for gaslighting their people, leaving them vulnerable to Tom's cruelties.

Harry would survive this and Cornelius would suffer for his actions and cowardness. Suffer far more than a man in his position had ever contemplated. It was said that what men of power feared most was losing their power. 

This was a trite simplification, for what the powerful truly feared was being treated like everybody else, to be treated as they had so carelessly or cruelly treated others.

Although Albus couldn’t inflect everything that had been done to Harry onto those fools, he could certainly bring the full weight of the law down upon their heads.

oOo

AN: Feedback, bearcats, or Discord, pretty, pretty, please? 

Chapter Text

Chapter 19 - Beautiful

Sirius woke and felt, for the first time in what must have been an eternity, warm.

He curled into the source of that warmth, cuddling down into the blankets. Arms wrapped around him, and for a time he thought of nothing save for the rightness of his ear against the rhythmic thud of another’s heartbeat.

Until the chest beneath his cheek shifted, and Sirius remembered why he had felt so dead inside since entering and leaving Azkaban.

Too dead inside to even begin to flirt effectively, much less be the rogue he had been after graduating from Hogwarts.

So how the fuck did he end up in bed with a…

A very naked man.

Who maybe was as not upset at this situation as Sirius was.

Slowly, he rolled back onto his shoulder, to look up at a truly familiar face.

Remus caught his gaze, cheeks flushed as grogginess warred with the confusion of how this had happened.

They came to the dawning conclusion at the same time, and they yelled in unison, “ JAMES!!”

There was muffled laughter from downstairs, and James, the bastard, called back up the stairs, “My name is not the one either of you should be shouting!”

Remus covered his face with his hands. “I forgot that Lily and James used to do that.”

That being trying to set them up. Wizarding Britain was not the same as the muggle world was in the UK about gay relations.

It wasn’t taboo, but it also wasn’t something done publicly. Their culture was so obsessed with heirs and lineage that marriage was reserved solely for furthering one's line. So in that regard, marrying another man, if neither could produce an heir, was seen as a way of condemning your family.

Not that disgracing his family was something Sirius personally gave a flying fuck about. No, although one could say that he was concerned by Pureblood families perpetuating incest in their endless pursuit of “purity” and “nobility”.

Which meant, there being two adult dicks in a bed belonging to men who weren’t related to each other didn’t bother him in the least, however, Remus’s apparent shame at James’s teasing was as much a turn-off as it ever had been before.

Sirius turned away, slipping out from beneath the sheets and leaving the comfort of the bed.

Comfort that he coveted.

But they weren’t like Lily and James.

Because James hadn’t fallen in love with a self-sabotaging idiot. James never doubted the person he loved.

And Lily would never have let James rot in a jail cell while being tortured into insanity without a trial.

No, if James did what Sirius had been accused of, Lily would have killed him herself after making him explain in perfect detail what his motives had been or if he had been possessed by some muggle demon.

Remus hadn’t even come to spit in his face.

Lily had been brave in all things.

While Remus was still running from his own shadow, more in love with his shame than he could ever be with another person.

Not that Sirius wouldn’t eagerly take on the fight with Remus’s demons along with his own, but within his limited intelligence, Sirius was at least wise enough to know that you couldn’t save someone who didn’t want to be saved.

You couldn’t heal someone who refused to stop drinking poison. 

You could only live in hope that one day, their attachment to their grief, their attachment to things staying the same, would become a greater fear than what change could lie ahead if they but tried; whether that change was for the better or another a disappointment.

As Sirius shut the door behind him, retreating to his own room, he couldn’t help thinking what a constant companion disappointment was to his heart.

oOo

Luna turned in early that night, pacing her and Harry’s room, still the sense that something was wrong.

So she dropped to the floor, folding her legs beneath her to meditate.

She wasn’t precisely clearing her mind, so much as focusing on something else.

Unlike Harry, she had identified her animagus form, though she could find no record on any of the animagus lists of someone else taking that form.

Luna’s spirit animal was a skvader.

A hare from lore with large falcon wings and a tufted tail. It was a beautiful animal, said to live in the Swedish mountain ranges. It was rarely seen.

Magical animagi forms were not unheard of. Magical cats and wolves native to their regions were seen all over the globe, and probably would be a lot more common if more witches and wizards bothered to identify their spiritual sisters and brothers.

There were legends of people turning into dragons, unicorns, and even a few fables of phoenixes.

She had seen nothing about skvaders among lists of animagi.

Perhaps that was what was holding her back.

Her skvader sat across from her in the tall class, the wooden breeze tipping its long ears to the side as it did the field flowers.

Luna's inner mind was large, so much so that at times it appeared to overlay reality.

It wasn't real, of course, but it was real in the ways that mattered. It was her mind's way of processing all that she felt, all that she sensed, all the things she had no words for but knew all the same.

Her mind protected her from being overwhelmed, overtaken, by painting this world in for her.

Too bad it could be as dangerous and fickle as reality itself.

This nighttime field surrounded by woods, the ocean calling to her just out of view, the distant rush of the tide and the scent of salt permeating the air; the world called to her.

The skvader made a low chirping sound, something between the meow of a cat and the warble of a songbird. Its snow-white fur and feathers glowed in the moonlight. As its wings stretched to catch the wind between its feathers, she made note of the markers. Black tipped its ears, wings, and tail.

Luna had yet to figure out what the skvader was waiting for, what message it needed to impart.

She already knew that it was a manifestation of her compassion and intuition, the former often being more burden than gift, but she couldn't decide why it—

It.

“Oh,” she breathed, emotions catching in her throat.

The beautiful little creature who watched her with dark knowing eyes, flicked her ears in amusement.

Too beautiful, too cute, too altogether lovely between fur and feather to be hers.

But it wasn't hers.

It wasn't an it at all.

“I'm sorry,” she apologized, not to the skvader but to herself.

Luna did not often think of herself as she thought of others, her body more a host than her temple. Therefore it had been difficult to associate such a delicate creature with her own being.

For the skvader was not an it, it was her.

And she was Luna.

She could not become an animagus until she saw herself.

Acknowledged herself.

The skvader was not beautiful.

Luna was beautiful.

The skvader purred.

Luna purred, giddy as the sight before her changed from human and creature to her true form reflected in a mirror.

Luna chirped in gayety, spreading her black tipped wings and opening her eyes. Her vision was so much better in this form.

Her body might have been that of a rabbit’s but her eyes were that of a hawk’s.

The room she was in was brighter, the colours deeper. She hopped to the window. She had no thumbs, but her slim tail appeared to be prehensile and easily undid the latch.

She did not hesitate for a moment before launching herself from the windowsill, into the night air. She trusted her wings, she trusted herself. 

Luna followed her instincts toward a separate wing of the castle. She whispered a spell in her mind to unlock the window, allowing her to slip through into the hospital wing. 

Harry was there, the only one filling a bed in the cavernous room. 

She glided down to him, landing on his pillow. 

Harry, her Harry, who had been lying awake in the moonlight, recognized her immediately, seeing her as no one else seemed to. 

“Luna,” he whispered, opening up his arms to her. 

She curled into his chest and neck as he brought the blanket up around them. 

He was large and warm and safe. 

She did not know why he was in the hospital wing, but she knew that they were together and therefore she knew that they would be alright.

As she ducked her head beneath his chin and breathed in his familiar scent, she felt the unwelcome presence of another. Someone as familiar as he was unwelcome.

He was an it, a parasite. A parasite embedded deeply in and around Harry’s magical core, choking and feeding off his magic like ivy slowly strangling a birch tree.

Luna didn’t know how to untangle it without risking Harry’s life further than it already was, but she would.

She had no doubts that she would.

Evil could never endure so long as the fight was never surrendered.

She gave a low growling purr.

Harry stroked her elongated ears, down her back and wings, his words filled with tangible pride and admiration as he murmured, “You are so beautiful, Luna.”

She purred again, knowing that he didn’t mean her skvader form or her human form.

He just meant her.

He thought who she was, was beautiful.

She closed her eyes, sleep finally claiming them both.

Whatever the future brought, it would be worth living so long as they had each other.

oOo

AN: Discord, stoats, or feedback, pretty please?

Chapter Text

Thank you Sakkiko!

Chapter 20 - White Light

Albus left Harry in the tender care of Poppy in the hospital wing. Harry would not be taking the Hogwarts Express to the Weasleys in the morning.
Albus would personally be escorting Harry to the Weasleys for an alibi and then to Malcolm’s. Minerva had already confirmed she would be taking a holiday for the first time in what must have been decades.

Ribbit.

“What is that?” Minerva asked.

Albus pulled the cage from his pocket.

Ribbit.

Dolores made eye contact with Minerva, and Albus saw the exact moment Minerva recognised the pink toad, and the exact moment Minerva realised her opportunity for revenge.

“This is—” Albus began.

“I know who it is,” Minerva cut him off, snatching the cage out of his hand. “Mr. Longbottom’s familiar has escaped again.”

Albus hid a smile as Minerva began gesturing wildly, the cage swinging in her hand.

“I’m telling you, the boy is always losing this thing. And he turned it pink. What a horrible, garish colour for a toad,” she said, giving the cage a truly vicious shake. “Honestly, Albus, look at this poor thing! I should feed it to one of the snakes in my NEWTs level transfiguration classes to put it out of its misery.” She punctuated this statement with another shake, concussing the toad against the bars of her tiny prison.

“It’s actually evidence against Cornelius,” Albus said mildly.

Minerva harumphed as they walked through the halls and as they approached the stairs, she accidentally dropped the cage down the steps.

“Ribbeeeeeeet!!!” Dolores stretched as her cage bounced down the steps.

One of the staircases started to move, leaving an abyss before the descending cage.

The sound Dolores managed was rather fantastical.

“Huh, I hadn’t realised frogs could scream,” Minerva said.

Albus huffed and, at the last possible moment, summoned the cage back to his hand. “As I said, Minerva, this is evidence.”

“Evidence of moronic behaviour?” Minerva asked; the look on her face was hostility personified.

Harry had come to much harm over the years, this was one of the few occasions the Gryfindors’ mother lioness was in a position to act on her protective instincts.

The only reason Dolores was still alive at this point was because a life sentence to Azkaban was worse than death.

Severus came up an adjoining staircase with Pomona, while Filius joined them from the opposite hall.

“What is going on?” Pomona asked.

“Dolores had Harry arrested, he was taken off school grounds and subsequently tortured during interrogation. He’s recovering with Poppy in the hospital wing now. Harry allowed me to borrow his memory of the night’s events as testimony. Minerva and I will be returning to the Ministry, Minerva as Harry’s magical guardian, and myself as a member of the Wizengamot.”

“Weren’t you removed from that position?” Severus asked.

Albus inclined his head, “I was, but I don’t imagine that will stop my summons for a political trial of Cornelius Fudge.”

“What of Dolores?” Filius asked.

Albus gave a shake of his hand, “We have her in hand.”

Dolores gave a mournful ribbit , remaining slumped on the floor of her cage, her breathing laboured.

Filius’s hand twitched as if he wished to throw a hex. But his voice remained cold and collected as he said, “The three of us shall ensure the students depart safely for the holidays and that those who remain are safe.”

“I’ve contacted Bill Weasley, who has agreed to be our intermediate Defense Against the Dark Art professor,” Albus said. 

“Hallelujah,” Minerva muttered.

Severus merely shook his head but kept his peace.

Fawkes appeared in a burst of flame above Albus’s shoulder, temporarily parting from Harry’s side.

The trill he gave was appropriately unhappy.

“We must go,” Albus said.

“We have everything covered here,” Pomona said, her round face severe.

Harry Potter wasn’t a celebrity to them.

He was a student.

Their student who had been targeted by the Ministry.

oOo

Amelia Bones shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was when Albus Dumbledore appeared, looking like fury incarnate, Minerva McGonagall no less intimating at his shoulder.

Albus had called for an emergency trial, several emergency trials, in fact.

Ordinarily, Amelia would have bristled at taking orders from anyone, much less someone who had been stripped of their positions.

However, she had had a child tortured in her department and she knew Albus would help them see justice served.

Aside from that, having an excuse to arrest Cornelius was nothing short of a delight.

It was a rare night that the Ministry was as lively at one o’clock in the morning as it was now.

Albus disappeared for a time, returning with another old man at his side who used a braced cane.

The man took a seat as Albus stepped forward on the marble floor, acting as Harry Potter’s representative.

Cornelius sat in a bound chair, the two Aurors who had tortured Harry had already confessed to their crimes and working under Cornelius’s orders. They had been stripped from their position and sentenced to five years in Azkaban.

The justice had been so swift, Cornelius knew how much trouble he was in. He and Dolores Umbridge would serve a minimum of five years.

Minimum.

“We’re waiting on Dolores,” Amelia said.

“Got her,” Minerva called, tossing a small cage to Albus, who caught it and placed it on the floor.

It was a toad.

It was a pink toad.

Albus pulled out his wand and transfigured the toad into Dolores, the cage morphing into an armed chair, placing her cuffed beside her Minister.

She looked… unwell.

Her hair was teased out in every direction from whatever updo she had originally put it in. As if she had had a first-year attempt a drying spell on her.

Her pink cardigan was torn and her heels slipped off her feet as she struggled in the chair.

“I will have your head, Albus Dumbledore!” She raged, voice strained. “Do you hear me, I wi—“

“Quiet,” the headmaster cut her off mid-syllable. “You will speak only when spoken to. This trial will determine how many years you spend in Azkaban, so I suggest you pull yourself together, lest you find that all shreds of your reputation dissolve around you.”

Dolores seemed to all but swallow her tongue, her face turning hot with fury.

Amelia cleared her throat; the bowtruckle who had first alerted her to this mess sat on the edge of the desk, glowering down at everyone with what Amelia personally felt was well-earned superiority.

She caught the man Albus had brought with him smiling up at them when he spotted the ginkgo bowtruckle.

“Minister Cornelius Fudge and Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge, you are here today to be sentenced for kidnapping a minor, bypassing the authority of the Department of Law Enforcement, conspiring in a false arrest of said minor and condoning the physical and mental torture of one Harry James Potter. 

“You have been found guilty, and will be sentenced as the Aurors who illegally carried out these fowl acts have been. The responsibility of this court is to determine the length of the sentence in accordance with the determined severity of your crimes. 

“Additionally, given the rampant slander against Mr. Potter and Professor Dumbledore you both have partaken in for political gain, we shall also attempt, with what information we have, to clear up the issues that made it possible for anyone at all to think Mr. Potter capable of murdering Cedric Diggory which promoted his arrest on the night of the 23rd of December.

“Mr. Potter cannot be with us tonight due to the immediate medical care he required.”

A ripple went through the court at that.

Albus stepped forward, “Our main testimony will be in memories perceived through an expanded pensive. Unspeakables employed by the ministry have confirmed these memories have not been tampered with.”

“Lair!” Cornelius spat.

Kingsley hit the man with a silencing charm with such strength, Cornelius’s chair was nearly tipped over.

“Shall we begin?” Albus asked.

Amelia nodded and Unspeakables stepped forward in their grey hooded robes, casting spell after spell over the pensive.

The first silver memory was corked and rather than needing to jump into the swirling portion, the room around them was engulfed in vision.

They sat in swirling mist.

The scenario started badly.

It was less an arrest and more of an ambush. 

The Aurors had been hiding behind the door. Harry was able to stun one but the Auror who remained behind the door caught the fifth-year student with a Full Body-Bind Curse.

He hit the ground hard.

Amelia was glad that these two had been hired before her administration.

Dolores towered over the child, touching him with her foot.

Whatever Minerva and Albus had done to the toad hadn’t been enough.

"You have escaped me all year, but not this time, Mr. Potter," she said in her sickly sweet voice.

The boy glared up at her, but his focus seemed to be facing inward.

The Auror he had stunned, now unfrozen by his friend, kicked Harry in the gut.

Amelia couldn’t quite hold back her gasp as the large man stooped down to lift Harry up by the collar.

“You are under arrest, Mr. Potter."

Harry coughed before saying, "What for, being born?"

"Admittedly," Dolores said, damning herself in the eyes of everyone in the courtroom. "That would be enough, given who your father and godfather are, but no. You see, Mr. Potter, you've been found guilty of Cedric Diggory's death."

"I love your view of the legal system," Harry spat. "Conviction before a trial."

They manhandled the boy who began to struggle.

Then something changed, the boy’s infamous scar given to him by the Killing Curse began to bleed and his body language changed from anger to pain.

Neither the Aurors nor Dolores paid this change any heed as they abducted the boy to the Ministry of Magic.

Harry seemed out of it until one of the Aurors began to force-feed him a vial of Veritaserum.

Harry was forced back into a chair that clamped shackles around his wrists and ankles like the ones  Cornelius and Umbridge.

"No!" Harry yelled, turning his head away from the vial in front of his face.

The Auror’s hand seemed absurdly large as he grabbed the boy by his jaw, prying his mouth open.

The child went eerily still as he was force-fed the liquid.

The Auror seemed proud of himself until Harry spat the serum back into his sneering face.

A gasp sounded around the smoke-filled room as Harry received a back-handed slap that rocked his entire chair backwards.

Harry was seized by the throat and another potion was jammed past his lips to the point where he nearly choked on it. Only this time, his mouth and nose were held shut until he was forced to swallow lest he choke and drown.

Again, the boy went still, the green of his eyes fading completely as his pupils dilated.

Amelia was appalled, they had overdone the dose.

"Where is Sirius Black?" the Auror who had force-fed him the potion asked.

"Fuck you," Harry spat.

Amelia smiled grimly. For all his reputation, it would seem Harry Potter was stronger than most prominent adults in their society.

"Where is James Potter?" the Auror asked.

"According to the papers, he's here," Harry drawled.

"Where is Sirius Black?" the Auror asked again.

"Behind the Veil.”

The Veil? she wondered.

"Behind the Veil?” the Auror echoed. “Sirius Black?"

Harry curled in on himself, hindered by the restraints and whispered, "It's my fault.”

"You killed Sirius Black?"

Amelia frowned.

The boy squeezed his eyes shut, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

This was one of the reasons you didn’t overdo Veritaserum, it could force a person to reveal their fears, not their truth.

"Is he dead?" the man repeated.

Harry didn’t answer for a long time, "This is confusing." 

Amelia and Kingsley shared a glance as they saw the Bowtruckle that was still with them in the court room climb out of Harry’s pocket.

"What are you talking about?" the Auror asked before threatening, "Start talking, Potter, or you'll regret it."

Harry looked up at the man and laughed.

"Why are you laughing?"

"This is absurd," Harry answered. "Is this even legal? I didn't do anything. When you realise Voldemort is behind this, you are going to grovel."

He was back-handed again, making him laugh harder.

"Where is Sirius Black!?" the man shouted.

"Not here.”

"You little—" the man growled out. "Proud to be the spawn of evil, are you?"

"Spawn of evil? I'm not proud of your stupidity."

That line got a few wry chuckles from the crowd.

“Your father and godfather murdered people."

"It was Voldemort," Harry answered, then added loftily, "I'm not lying."

"How do you know it wasn't James Potter?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "My father didn't have his wand with him when he was buried, he didn't have his wand that night because Peter Pettigrew was the traitor, the Secret Keeper, and a literal rat."

Whispers broke out around the courtroom at this statement.

The Aurors from the memory-vision were oblivious.

"I didn't think you would be capable of resisting Veritaserum."

"I didn't think you could give it to someone without their consent or outside of a courtroom," Harry retorted, his body beginning to tremble.

“Accurate,” someone in the crowd agreed.

"Peter Pettigrew was a hero," one of the Aurors said.

"No, he was the Secret Keeper," Harry snarled as the room began to spin as he was hit with vertigo. "They switched at the last moment and he cut off his own finger to make it look like he was a victim. He turned into an animagus, his true form, a rat. He lived with Percy Weasley and then my friend Ron. Pettigrew, Wormtail, is a disgusting excuse for a wizard."

Amelia took notes, this trial was going to rewrite the history books.

"Did you kill Cedric Diggory?"

"No, Peter Pettigrew did on Voldemort's orders."

Then something changed, Harry’s eyes went wide and he began yelling and flailing against his restraints, "No, no!"

It was terrifying to watch, and Amelia was again reminded that this boy was the same age as Susan.

Harry’s screams cut through the room and her heart.

Again, his scar began to bleed.

Which is when the wind tore from him, and frankly, tore into him.

For the second time, Amelia stood in the wind-torn room, only this time the sounds did not overwhelm her and she was able to keep her eyes open to see what had become of the boy at the heart of that storm.

He looked more afraid and hurt than any other person in that room had been.

The memory faded, the grey mist swallowing the scene before the room cleared.

The “discussion” among the lawmakers was immediate, loud and chaotic.

Amelia allowed it for a time.

Kingsley was shaking his head and unsaid between them passed the hope that Albus had brought more evidence to support Harry’s claims.

She believed him, but it had been a near year of slander and even seeing the boy abused was not enough to see that he had been targeted.

Finally, when Amelia heard the term ‘Obscurus’ and ‘Obscurial’ used too frequently, she banged her gavel. The room quieted.

Cornelius and Dolores remained silent, both pale, knowing that no matter what was thought of Mr. Potter, they had clearly been in the wrong.

The man who had accompanied Albus stood.

The click of his cane as he stood beside the headmaster seemed overly loud in the room as he stared down at the semi-wall between the room's floor and the stands.

“And who are  you, Sir?” Amelia asked, her voice harsh from the emotion she was keeping down.

“I am Newt Scamander, Magizoologist. I was invited here tonight to speak on a topic often feared and rarely understood.”

The room stilled. Newt Scamander was a famous figure and seldom spent time in the United Kingdom in recent years.

“And what topic would that be?” Kingsley asked.

“The question of whether or not Mr. Potter is or is becoming an Obscurial.”

“I thought it was Obscurus,” someone said.

“The parasite of dark energy born from a witch’s or wizard’s suppressed magic is an Obscurus, while the host is an Obscurial.” Scamander took a deep breath, “To which I can say that Mr. Potter is not one, nor do I believe his risk of becoming one is at all high.”

“How else would you describe what we are seeing?” Kingsley asked.

“I see a child of extraordinary power with an injury to his magical core,” Scamander said, meeting Kingsley’s gaze. “It is my understanding that the Killing Curse is a form of soul magic, and seeing as Mr. Potter is the only known survivor, it seems only logical to expect that any long-term effects or conditions are unknown. It is notable to me that his curse scar was bleeding.”

“How does an injured magical core interface with the effects known to be produced by an Obscurus?” Kingsley asked.

“That was not the effect of an Obscurus. I dare say the whole of the Department of Law Enforcement might have been demolished if it had been. Likely the Aurors who tortured him would have been killed and this would be an entirely different discussion. What I believe we witnessed in that memory is what we might call ‘accidental magic’. Although I’m not certain one would be incorrect in calling it elemental magic manifesting from his magic trying to protect him.”

“Any suggestions for treatment?” Amelia asked despite her conviction to remain impartial. Any impartiality had flown out the window when she had seen Harry ambushed and kicked.

Mr. Scamander rested his free hand over his cane and said with a mirthless upward tilt of lips, “It is my professional opinion that you should stop torturing the boy. I believe his recovery from whatever ails him would be much improved if he was not routinely subjected to mental and physical maltreatment.”

Amelia winced, “Neither Cornelius nor Dolores will be permitted further access to Mr. Potter.”

“And you think that is enough?” Scamander asked, arching a brow. “I admit my absence from the country has been significant, yet in the past five years the articles written about Mr. Potter have been quite disturbing. 

“Nearly murdered by a professor in his first year, accused of attempted murder in his second year, which led to him facing down a basilisk and targeted by multiple Death Eaters his third year. 

“Then he was entered into the Triwizard Tournament in his fourth year, where he was forced to attempt to steal a dragon’s egg. Which, for the record, was a horrible cruelty to the dragon and to the children. Additionally, it was inadvisable, if not heartless, to risk the eggs of endangered species.”

There was an awkward pause, made more uncomfortable by Scamander patiently waiting for anyone to defend the Triwizard Tournament.

No one did.

Thankfully, Scamander continued on, “Since the events of last year, Mr. Potter’s name has been defamed in a way that I have rarely witnessed happen to even the most disliked politicians, much less a minor who was believed to be an orphan.

“If your intent is to help Mr. Potter recover from his numerous trials, as he continues to be targeted by dark wizards, I would suggest you provide him with the protection of the law that would have been afforded to any other minor had he been other than magical celebrity.”

Kingsley’s voice was not disapproving as he said, “You seem quite impassioned on Mr. Potter’s behalf.”

“I have personal experience with this court’s preferences against minors whose interests contradict the political agenda of the state. I was expelled from Hogwarts for caring for a creature that is now legally recognised as not a threat to humans. Just as Rubeus Hagrid was expelled for, and who was also  years later temporarily arrested for assumed endangerment of students by way of the Chamber of Secrets.

“Something Mr. Potter clarified was not the professor’s fault.

“Both Professor Hagrid’s expulsion and arrest, I may add, was a thinly veiled excuse not to protect students, but to punish a wizard for having a non-human parent.”

Amelia winced at the remark. But Scamander was merely calling a spade a spade, to say Hagrid had not been targetted for his ‘Half-Breed’ status would be an outright lie.

“As it is in the current government’s interests to silence Mr. Potter to stop him from revealing the return of the Dark Lord Voldemort, a.k.a., Tom Marvalo Riddle, to the public, I believe much will be attempted to silence him,” Scamander concluded.

“So you believe his claims about Cedric Diggory’s death?” Elphias Doge asked.

Scamander reached into his jacket and removed a notebook, “Let me pose a question to you in turn. Do you believe a child as young as a year old would remember their parents’ death well enough to register the true meaning of it?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Elphias asked.

“I am told that until this year, Mr. Potter was unable to see Thestrals.” He opened the book to show a beautiful sketch of two adult Thestrals with three foals. 

Ordinarily, Amelia would have found the skeletal horses to be quite unnerving, but the drawing painted the small herd in a new light. There was personality and gentleness in the body-language of the still image.

“While I’m not saying every Magizoologist is a saint, in my experience, there are many in my field who do not belong. However, I will say, I doubt the ability of a fourteen-year-old to murder a fellow classmate for a competition he did not willingly enter. Not when every aspect of his character portrays the opposite. I do not know Mr. Potter personally, I can say that a boy who has befriended a phoenix, a Thestral herd, a herd of Hippogriphs, unicorns, and even befriended a bowtruckle, who would seek help from strange wizards—” Here he indicated the ginkgo bowtruckle sitting on Amelia’s desk, “is not the sort of person capable of murdering another human being for a game.”

Elphias tilted his head, “You would like to appeal to this court’s sympathy?”

“If this court has no sympathy for a boy tortured unlawfully in its own walls of justice, then I would say there is no hope for this country. No, I merely wish to point out this court’s historical bias against such persons who have more four-legged friends than two. Mr. Potter is not an Obscurial, he is a child who has suffered much harm, yet retains an admirable fortitude and heart.”

The bowtruckle on Amelia’s desk chittered in what could only be affirmation. 

As did the phoenix on Albus’s shoulder, chirping while bobbing its head.

Amelia met Albus’s gaze, “You wouldn’t happen to have obtained Mr. Potter’s memory of the night of Cedric Diggory’s death, on which this farce of an arrest hinged, would you, Professor?”

Albus stepped forward, pulling from his robe another vial, “I would, in fact.”

Another Unspeakable took the vial and again the assembly was obscured in more silver smoke.

Scamander returned to his seat, Fawkes the Phoenix hopping to his lap to be petted by the acclaimed Magizoologist.

They saw two boys standing in a square of hedges before a cup.

Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory, the two Hogwarts champions.

They were arguing.

Not for themselves, but for the other, both professing the other deserved the cup.

Harry’s refusal to take the cup was a direct contrast to how the papers had portrayed him, as did Cedric’s insistence that Harry had throughout the competition gone out of his way to help the other champions.

Finally, Harry stated they should take the cup together.

It was noble and Amelia was certain it was a choice Mr. Potter would regret for the rest of his life as the two were portkeyed into a graveyard off the Hogwarts grounds.

It was a reminder of the damage the Aurors had inflicted when they had kidnapped Harry the previous night.

Peter Pettigrew was immediately recognised, and his use of the Killing Curse was unmistakable.

The resurrection of Lord Voldemort was disturbing, to say the least.

The appearance of thirty Death Eaters was no less disturbing. Many of whose names had been cleared in this courtroom.

Voldemort not only named himself Tom Marvolo Riddle, claiming a muggle man as his birth father to Harry, but he also greeted several of his Death Eaters by name:

Lucius Malfoy.

Crabbe.

Goyle.

Nott.

Macnair and Avery.

Those in the courtroom murmured at this and Amelia gave Kingsley the silent go ahead to make the arrests at the end of this court hearing.

The duel between Harry and Voldemort was impressive, and it did not escape Amelia’s attention that, as the spectors emerged from the brother wands’ ignition of Pririori Incantatem, while Cedric Diggory, Bertha Jorkins, an elderly man and Lily Potter all appeared, James Potter did not.

In fact, where one might expect him, there was a flash of particularly bright white light.

The fact that the memory didn’t end with Harry crying over Mr. Diggory’s body was not heartening. Barty Crouch Jr.’s monologue was as informative as anything and damning as anything they had witnessed so far.

After the memory faded, there was absolute silence. Amelia had zero fears about this memory being tampered with.

Not even Rita Skeeter had the imagination to come up with all that.

“Well,” Elphias said. “That certainly changes things.”

Amelia turned her gaze on Cornelius who looked hollowed out, staring off into space as if he realised the damage he had caused.

“Minister,” she drawled, “is there anything you would like to add to these events? Especially given the fact that, if you had not executed the Dementor’s Kiss on Bartemus Crouch Jr., we might have been aware of these happenings far sooner?”

Cornelius lowered his head and muttered what sounded like, “He wasn’t executed.”

“What was that, Minister?” Kingsley asked with condescension.

Cornelius raised his head and, looking as if he were signing his own execution, said, “Crouch Jr. did not receive the Dementor’s Kiss that night, he escaped.”

Amelia gaped at him. “You— what?”

Cornelius swallowed hard, “Crouch Jr. escaped. He’s still at large. My Aurors were still looking for him.”

“None of my teams were aware of this,” Kingsley snapped. “My teams who are competent and who would never torture a minor.”

Cornelius didn’t respond to that.

Amelia glanced at the court, many of whom were furious and afraid.

Albus and Minerva looked nothing short of thunderous in their rage.

They were about to enter a second civil war in their country and now they knew there were at least thirty-one of Voldemort’s most trusted followers at large in their community.

And they had been wasting time with Fudge’s gaslighting and smear campaign against Mr. Potter.

Elphias cleared his throat. “Which I believe brings us to the concerns of James Potter and Sirius Black. If Harry Potter is to be believed, the wand that was confiscated after the attack on the Ministry, which we had presumed belonged to the resurrected James Potter, was, in fact, his. But it was no longer in his possession at the time.”

Minerva stood, “I can testify about both James Potter’s and Sirius Black’s whereabouts on the night in question.”

“You’ve been harbouring criminals?” Dolores exclaimed in feigned outrage.

She was ignored as Albus handed two more vials to the Unspeakable.

“I would first like to clear Mr. Black’s name,” Albus said. “I will confess to keeping his whereabouts hidden when I learned from Crouch Jr. and Sirius himself the deceptions that we had been under all these long years. I have testimony from both men that Peter Pettigrew was indeed the Secret Keeper for the Potters.”

No one protested this statement. It was not hard to believe the man who had killed Cedric Diggory under the orders of a necromantic baby Dark Lord —Kill the spare— was evil.

The vision started with Lily Potter, James Potter, a baby Harry Potter, Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black seated in the living room of what Amelia presumed to be Godric’s Hollow.

They watched the Fidelius Charm be cast, they watched Peter Pettigrew become the teacher.

They watched Sirius Black check on the well-being of his timid friend, only to find him missing from their safe house.

Sirius arrived at Godric’s Hollow too late. The gentleness with which he held baby Harry as he stepped over the bodies of James and Lily was truly heartbreaking.

They saw the teary goodbye between Harry and his godfather as he was entrusted to Rubeus Hagrid’s care. Sirius gave up his flying motorbike to aid in his godson’s safety.

After which the hunt was on and Sirius found the traitor.

They witnessed for themselves the cowardness of Peter Pettigrew as he murdered twelve innocent bystanders and cut off a finger before transforming into a rat.

They watched as Sirius Black fell to his knees amidst the destruction, laughing.

Not from joy but from sorrow, from guilt, from the enormity of his mistakes and all that he had lost.

They had all been told that Sirius Black had laughed like his cousin Bellatrix Lestrange, yet what Amelia saw was not the laughter but the tears.

The sobs that punctuated the broken laughter as Aurors arrived to arrest him, as he muttered to himself.

“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. James. Harry… oh, Harry.”

Amelia wiped away her own stray tears, knowing that a trial for that one man would have resolved so much.

The crimes and incompetence of this government kept piling up.

The court was not given time to comment as they were plunged into the next memory.

This time of James Potter himself.

He stood before a set of stairs, shouting. “Lily, run!”

Without a wand, James Potter stood tall and unbent before the Dark Lord of old.

Handsome and youthful save for the crimson hue of his eyes as he raised his yew wand at the man.

“So brave,” Voldemort sneered. “So defiant. Think of what you could have been. Think of the future you could be a part of.”

James Potter did not flinch. “You will perish tonight. You will be the cause of your own destruction. Your conceit and cruelty will be your undoing. The world will never be yours, for the darkness can never win against the light. Not for long.”

Voldemort laughed. “Would you like to bet?”

James smiled, “I do believe I am. I’m staking my life on it, aren’t I?”

Voldemort cocked his head to the side like a bird of prey. “And what fun is betting against a dead man?”

James glowered, holding his ground. “The only way you’re getting past me to my wife and child is over my dead body.”

Voldemort smiled, wicked and malicious. “Another bet you’ll lose. I have pursued immortality and found myself victorious. But along the way I discovered a few impractical options I thought I would never bother with, until now.”

James finally looked uncertain, “What are you talking about?”

Voldemort brandished his wand. “When next you wake, James Potter, I promise you, it will be to a world remade in my image.”

James’s lips parted in protest but Voldemort was already casting his curse.

“Dormies Aeternis!”  

Latin for Eternal Slumber.

White light bloomed from Voldemort’s wand, striking James Potter’s heart.

He collapsed to the ground as if dead.

His hazel eyes held the same vacant stare of someone who had been struck with the Killing Curse.

The courtroom erupted into a cacophony of exclamations and protests.

But Amelia needed no more evidence that James Potter had not been resurrected, merely woken up from a cursed sleep.

The white light matched the light that had preceded the shade of Lily Potter from Harry’s memories of Priori Incantatem.

This trial would most definitely be rewriting the history books. By the time the sun rose, their world would not be the same.

oOo

AN: Thoughts, amur falcons, or feedback, pretty please?

Chapter Text

Chapter 21 - The Night Between Us

Sirius watched James pace and felt like he was taking all of Sirius's anxiety and embodying it.

Remus was using his recovery from his moon cycle as an excuse to be absent.

Minerva's missive that Harry had been abducted by Aurors and interrogated at the Ministry, followed by an episode of accidental magic, had not been taken well.

Harry was with Poppy now and he would be returning here to Malcolm's home tomorrow. That was the only assurance keeping James from completely going off the handle.

"Come on, let's go for a walk, Prongs," Sirius said, leading his best friend out of the cottage.

The night was cold but the waning moon still painted the cliffsides in silver-blue shadows.

"I'm going to kill them!" James growled.

Sirius remained silent, as if watching another let loose allowed him some clarity.

James yelled into the night, "If Lily were here, she would have burned down the Ministry!"

Lily had enjoyed fire, Sirius thought before sighing.

He was too tired to be angry.

And he was angry, but with no one to direct it at while knowing Harry was in the hospital wing again. He felt… drained.

"We'll see him tomorrow. There's nothing more that we can do but hold our shit together. Harry is having these spurts of accidental magic because he holds all his emotion in. And he will hold it all in if he sees us losing it."

James glared at him, "We are not your parents."

He met his friend's gaze boldly, shoving down the memories of his mother screaming at him and his father's silence, as if upon failing expectations Sirius had ceased being his son.

Ceased to exist.

Reggie had had to fill the role meant for Sirius, and where Orion and Walburga had treated Sirius's curiosity with the outside world with violence, they had lavished Regulus with every benefit the rich could heap upon their heir.

It wasn't love, it was bribery. Sirius had been the example of the stick, and their parents spoiling him had been the carrot.

Regulus had let himself be manipulated, but like Harry with his cousin, Sirius didn't blame him.

He pitied his little brother, and he was sorry that he had not found a way to save him.

"No, James, we are not like the Blacks, but the Dursleys were. Petunia and her boar of a husband were arrested for willful child neglect and abusing their own son's physical and psychological development. Harry will do exactly what I did, bury all the hurt and anger until it bursts out of him."

James looked away, "He's not a victim, he wasn't supposed to be a man at fifteen, he was just supposed to be a normal child."

"I know, but normal never really liked us, did it?"

James shook his head. "If I could kill Peter again, I would."

"You know, Harry stopped Remus and me from killing Peter."

James's shoulders dropped, "He is a better person than any of us."

Sirius smiled, "That he is. He's the best of you and Lily. Do you know what he told me when I had Peter at wand-point?"

"No, but I can imagine you saying something along the lines of wanting to kill the man you were imprisoned for murdering."

Sirius barked a laugh, "You know me too well, old friend. Harry, on the other hand, is more complex than anyone gives him credit for. He said you and Lily wouldn't have wanted us to resort to murder."

James looked away, "I take it you didn't tell him what we did in the war then?"

"No, I didn't."

"Why didn't you kill Peter when you escaped Azkaban when you know Lily and I would have approved."

Sirius stared up at the moon, "Because Harry didn't want me to. And it matters to me what he thinks, even if I will never live up to his ideal of me."

"I will never be what he needs," James said.

"You don't know that. You don't know that at all. You don't know him well enough to make that call."

James took a breath, "I'm sorry, you're right."

"Don't worry about it, and you are free to break down now. But when he gets here, I'd rather not make him feel compelled to take care of us."

Prongs sighed.

)O(

They walked on, the wind seeming to blow through them, chilling skin and bone.

It felt good against James's skin.

It felt like an anchor.

"It's so beautiful," Sirius breathed, as they came to a crest in the path, looking down the mountainsides, a river rushing toward a lake.

It was beautiful, serene and unreal in its picturesque purity of rock, dusting of snow on shrubs, and glittering water.

It must have been breathtaking in Sirius's eyes, to a man who spent over a decade in a dark hole.

Sirius looked at him, "James?"

He blinked, "It is lovely."

Sirius cocked his head to the side, "You're not here, are you?"

He sighed, "I'm real, Padfoot."

"I know you are real, I meant you're not here in the moment. I get caught in nightmares, in the pain, all the time in my mind. Do you get caught in your grave?"

James's breath caught and he looked away. He continued on the path ahead.

"Prongs?"

His shoulders stiff, he responded in a tone that he knew was defensive, "And He — I pushed — with sudden force —

In face of the Suspense —

'Was buried' — 'Buried!' 'He!'

My Life just holds the Trench —"

Sirius huffed, jogging to catch up to him, "I thought you hated Dickenson. You hated memorizing her work. You said it was painful to flirt with."

James almost smiled at the memory of the morbidness his Lily had loved. She had understood sorrow and pain beyond her experience.

When death took James's parents, then hers, when their friends had begun to die, it was Lily who remained standing tall, unbowed.

Her heart and soul had known what life would bring them, and she had not flinched away from taking any joy she could from the world.

Their marriage had been dear to her, despite its ruin.

Their pregnancy had been happily anticipated, despite the war.

"Come on, James, don't shut down on me."

James took a breath and then continued reciting the poem Lily had read for her own parent's funeral, "Pain has but one Acquaintance

And that is Death —

Each one unto the other

Society enough."

Sirius made a noise of protest but James went on.

"Pain is the Junior Party

By just a Second's right —

Death tenderly assists Him

And then absconds from Sight."

"You done?"

"Yes."

"Death and pain, huh?"

"It seems that's all that surrounds me," James said. "Harry is not okay."

"He's thriving, actually," Sirius countered.

James looked at him sharply, "Minerva, Albus, and half the country think he's an Obscurus."

Sirius huffed, "Voldemort has done something to his magical core, and he is suffering an injury. But he has dreams, James. He has hope. He's not afraid to let new people into his life. He's teaching, helping others, and most importantly, he's helping himself."

"So, he's not Remus," James retorted.

Sirius grimaced, "He's not Remus. Yes, but what's important to realize is that despite everything he's going through, he still wants his future, he is still young and falling in love. And I think Luna and Harry will have a more sickeningly sweet and fairytale-esque romance than you and Lily."

"They do appear to be in tune with each other. I haven't heard many stories about them being apart."

Sirius agreed, "The way Harry writes about her…"

James's heart arched; Harry sent more letters to his godfather than his father.

Sirius seemed at a loss how to phrase it for a time before saying, "The way you talk about Lily, is like something out of a Jane Austin novel (which I still can't believe you squirrelled me into reading)."

"You enjoyed Pride and Prejudice, Padfoot, I know you did," James teased halfheartedly.

)O(

Sirius nearly shoved him down the rocky slope, "Harry isn't that type of romantic. He's sweet, tooth-rottenly sweet, but he's also a dork. And they are dorks together. They are like best friends who admire each other so much they can call it love."

"Soul mates," James said simply.

Sirius sighed, "I don't believe in that shit, however, if anyone… I don't know, they just seem to work."

"He loves her though?" James asked.

"Yes."

"And she loves him?"

"A friendship that deep could be nothing but love."

"Then, that's everything, that's all that has and will ever matter."

Sirius had never known love like that, but in James, he had a friend like that.

"You alright, Padfoot?"

He blinked back tears, "I'm just so happy you're alive, that Harry's alive, that I didn't fuck up everything."

James halted. He turned and put his hands on Sirius's shoulder, "Listen to me, Sirius. What happened with Peter was not your fault."

He tried to twist away, "Don't—"

James dug his fingers in, "Sirius, you've spent every day regretting what happened, but for me? It's only been a few months. I was there. Lily and I made the choice not to trust Dumbledore. Lily and I chose to mistrust Remus. Lily and I trusted Peter; he took our wands."

"But I was the one who—"

"Who mistrusted the man trying to get himself killed?" James challenged. "Sirius, Remus was never an option for the Secret Keeper because he was constantly throwing himself into danger. We couldn't even have told him if we knew for certain that he wasn't the spy. I never doubted you which is no mistake at all, doubting Albus was our mistake, and not doubting Peter was our mistake. If you are guilty, then Lily and I are guilty as well. But guilt no longer serves us, Peter is dead and Harry is still here."

Sirius felt the tears fall, "We missed everything, we missed his whole life."

James pulled him into an embrace, "He will be home tomorrow, and we'll be home for Christmas." His voice cracked, "Lily is gone, those years are gone. But Harry isn't and we aren't. We can't give him back those years but we can give him all that we have left."

Sirius stepped back, not allowing himself to cry.

James was the one who should be broken down, not him. Even if Sirius knew logically, it was a miracle that Azkaban hadn't stolen every fibre of him.

Like it had to Bella.

They were circling back to the cottage when James asked out of the blue, "Have you spoken to Remus about your eternal crush on him?"

"No," Sirius said flatly.

James hummed and Sirius was already bracing himself for the typical scheming he and Lily had done while playing matchmaker.

"I admit, the caterpillar above his lip seems like it was purposely designed to be unattractive," he goaded. "But he's still good old Moony—"

"Enough! James, enough!" Sirius yelled, heart, twisting in his chest. "I can't love a man who hates himself. Who hates everything about himself, including loving me, I can't— I can't."

James stared at him, "Alright."

Sirius deflated, "I'm sorry."

James shook his head, "No, I'm sorry."

"I just—"

"I get it. I was only joking."

"Okay," Sirius said quietly, hating himself for the tone in James's voice.

James had, after all, only been trying to lighten the mood.

It felt as if they were all still children, pretending to be adults. As if time had stopped and spurted forward for them, a scratched record skipping the chorus lines, leaving them without structure or direction.

Yet, when they got inside and Malcolm welcomed them with tea, his jade green meeting Sirius's tired gaze with a warm smile, he sort of hoped they would be okay.

They would be okay if their family grew, if they were permanently taken in by people who would never run away.

oOo

AN: Discord, golden eagles, or feedback, pretty please?

Chapter Text

Chapter 22 - Time and Time Again

The Daily Prophet of the 24th of December 1995 greeted the wizarding world with ill news.

THE DARK LORD HAS RETURNED: MINISTER CORNELIUS FUDGE ARRESTED FOR DERELICTION OF DUTY!

The resurrection of the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was confirmed during Minister Cornelius Fudge's trial last night on the 23rd of December, The Minister was convicted for his kidnapping of Harry J. Potter from Hogwarts School in an illegal arrest.

The two arresting Aurors, Barcus Foothworth and Alan Arcan were convicted for undue force and torture of a minor while performing an illegal interrogation without due process, representative, or guardian. They have been charged with five years of imprisonment in Azkaban.

Although, due to the fact that the Aurors were under orders from Minister Fudge and Dolores Umbridge, it is the Minister and self-appointed High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, that have been charged with kidnapping.

Additionally, Fudge's desperate campaign to keep the public ignorant of the Dark Lord's return has earned him, not only the disgraceful loss of his position but a lifetime imprisonment. The court had been more lenient until it was learned that last year, convicted and escaped Death Eater, Barty Crouch Jr. was not given the Dementor's Kiss, but escaped. The escape happened not only while Fudge was present, but it was the Minister who covered up the imminent danger this criminal posed to the students of Hogwarts but the wider public.

Dolores Umbridge has also received a life imprisonment for the kidnapping of a minor and using a blood quill, a type of dark magic that scars and bleeds the writer, during detention on school-children. The majority of whom, it may be noted, were muggleborn.

Harry J Potter's testimony was given through memory, memories that revealed startling truths about a number of topics, primary among them was the resurrection ritual he was unwilling a part of.

The Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, is back as witnessed by Harry J. Potter and James H. Potter, the latter of which had been struck with a sleeping curse, not the Killing Curse on 31st of October 1981.

Read on to Page 5 for details of the trial, the innocence of Sirius Black, the death of Cedric Diggory, and the approaching arrests of several prominent Death Eaters who escaped justice.

oOo

Harry held out his hand for Pen as Newt Scamander passed the Bowtruckle over.

Luna was practically glowing beside him as she met her hero in the flesh. Unlike most heroes, Newt Scamander was everything one could possibly hope him to be, and where he fell short, felt more like quirks of humanity than disappointments.

"Pen is quite fond of you both," Newt remarked. "That is an honour grander than any title."

Harry smiled, holding Pen close, the bowtruckle climbing into his shoulder to wind his twig-like hands in Harry's wild hair, "I feel the same."

The old man, who was still tangibly younger than Dumbledore smiled at him, "You two are going to have promising careers." Newt reached into his satchel and removed three books.

Two went to Harry, one to Luna.

The top book was Harry's sketch pad that Newt had borrowed for Harry's defence in court and the second was—

"I heard you were working on a new book, I didn't know it was finished," Luna said, touching the cover, a beautiful embossed thunderbird, with reverence.

"Yes, well, these are the extended and unedited additions," Newt said with a half smile. "I'm not actually allowed to sell them. There's some dubious legality about the way I acquired some of my research, and my lawyers have assured me that I might be in a fair bit of legal trouble if I publish this edition. I think it's hogwash and that this would put creature traffickers and certain practices by government bodies into public scrutiny. Alas, I've just become a grandfather and I promised my daughter I wouldn't stir up any trouble until after her wedding."

"Thank you," Luna said, hugging the book to herself.

"And congratulations," Harry added.

Newt smiled at them both, "I shall let you see your own families, but I shall endeavour to return. I would very much like to meet your herds."

"Of course," Harry and Luna said in unison.

Newt threw his head back and laughed.

Dumbledore stepped forward, "They are two of my finest students, just as you were."

Newt smiled at the Headmaster, "I'm glad the future is in good hands." He looked back at Harry and Luna. "It was truly a pleasure to meet you both."

"It was for us too," Luna enthused, her cheeks slightly flushed.

Dumbledore held out his hands to Luna and Harry, "Now I think it is time for you both to return home."

Home.

Harry took Dumbledore's hand, still amazed that the word held any meaning for him now.

Fawkes sang as the three of them were engulfed in flame.

They arrived in front of the Weasleys.

Harry was immediately engulfed in a hug by Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh, Harry," she said tearfully before pulling back, looking down at him with so much emotion. "I'm— I'm—"

Harry knew what she was trying to say, why she was trying to apologise. For believing any portion of what the news had said about him and for telling her children to stay away from the danger they offered. But she had lost a son, and there was a certain amount of irrationality that Harry could understand.

He pulled her in for another hug, "I'm so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Weasley."

Mrs. Weasley choked on a sob, and for a time, Harry took a break from breathing as she hugged the stuffing out of him.

Mr. Weasley had to pull her off. "He's had a rough night, Molly."

The twins looked tired, but they managed a somewhat chipper inquiry of, "You're alright, Harry?"

He gave them crooked smile, "Umbridge is in Azkaban, and if anyone deserves it, she does."

"Too true," Fred said.

Xenophilius Lovegood stepped forward, wrapping his daughter in a hug.

He was a tall man with white hair, not blonde, not silver or grey, just white. He had a certain ageless quality to him that made it impossible to guess his age.

Harry kind of froze up, he didn't know what to do when meeting the parent of the girl he was dating.

He hadn't really thought about it, but he was suddenly paralysed with worry that Mr. Lovegood wouldn't like him.

The man held out his long fingered hand and Harry took it on autopilot.

His grip was firm but not threatening.

"Wonderful to meet you, Harry. My Luna has told me so much about you," the man said.

"It's great to meet you too—" Then Harry found himself being pulled into a hug.

This hug was not particularly warm, more of an excuse for the man to lower his lips to Harry's ear to whisper, "If you harm my daughter, you will no longer be the Boy-Who-Lived."

Again, Harry was frozen and Mr. Lovegood pulled back as if nothing had happened.

Harry wasn't particularly worried about the death threat. Hell, if Harry did bring harm to Luna—more than he had at the Department of Mysteries that is—his death would be well deserved. No, what bothered him was the idea that Mr. Lovegood would automatically dislike him just because he was dating his daughter.

Luna punched the air from his lungs with another hug, a warm and completing sort of hug.

"We'll see you tomorrow afternoon for boxing day, right?" he asked, a bit winded.

She nodded against his chest, then pulled back to see his face, "I told my father about everything that happened last year."

"You did?" he squeaked.

Luna's eyes were serious as she looked into him, "You should tell your father too, he will understand."

Would his father understand time travel?

Well, considering his father was still twenty-one years old, yeah, Harry supposed he might.

Luna stood on tip-toe (he really had gotten taller), giving both his cheeks a chaste kiss.

For which he was glad. He loved Luna but he had absolutely zero desire to snog her in front of other people, especially her father who had just threatened to murder him.

"See you tomorrow, Pen," Luna said with a wave, as Mr. Lovegood began turning to make the walk back to their house.

Pen peeked out from Harry's collar to wave at her.

"Are you ready, my boy?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry nodded, waving to the Weasleys, "Happy Holidays."

They, Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys, Bill, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny, waved back as Harry was once more pulled through space, this time, back toward the Scottish countryside.

oOo

Once they were over the hill, her father dropped his glamour.

The willowy, airheaded man he pretended to be, fell away like the mist blown off the surface of a once still lake.

Luna loved her father's eyes, they were amber-yellow like a wolf but slitted like cat-eyes. His large arms strained beneath the loose fabric of his shirt as he scooped her up into a hug.

She laughed as her father effortlessly spun her through the meadow.

Her father wasn't precisely human, she didn't precisely know what her father was, but it didn't truly matter.

All she knew, all she needed to know, was that her father loved her, accepted her, and would burn down worlds to see her safe.

oOo

Dinner was a bit subdued, but was happy to be home regardless.

Home. Like an actual home.

He had Sirius and his dad.

He had Remus, who despite everything had been one of his favourite professors.

Professor McGonagall who let down her hair, and Malcolm who just radiated this calm steadiness that was refreshing to the chaos of everyone else.

Remus asked, "How have your classes been going?"

Harry winced, "Good, I guess. Had to take a break from TAing. But the last club meeting went really well."

McGonagall, or Minerva as she had told him he should call her, arched a brow, "Oh?"

Harry met her gaze, "It was Luna, the Patil twins, myself, and most of Slytherin House, usually we have to tread carefully with house tensions, but I had everyone versus everyone else for jelly legs, tickle hexes, and shield charms. It was great. The room of requirement had everything padded and made obstacles."

Minerva cocked her head, "Rather difficult to orchestrate safely but if you can then it is great practice for real life."

Harry nodded, "Sometimes, it takes a bit of the jitters out, if your life is on the line and the only time you've performed a spell is sitting or standing still."

Minerva smiled at him and he couldn't stop the flush at her apparent pride in him.

"You'll start teaching again in the new semester," Minerva promised.

Harry was unreasonably pleased at this, "I think I'm having more fun teaching than taking classes."

Minerva laughed, "Ah, you wouldn't have made a bad Hufflepuff. But I'm glad I got you and not Pomona, she would have had you running all of Hufflepuff House by the second year."

James smiled, "I'm just glad it wasn't Slytherin. Voldemort told me you were his protege, such rubbish."

Harry's gut twisted, he'd never told any of them that's where the Hat wanted to put him originally.

Sirius winked at him, "Nah, our boy would never serve a monster like that. He's too much Lily in him."

Harry's smile caught on his lips as James continued.

"Voldemort spun a whole pile of hogwash. Said you hated muggles and that you were a parselmouth, of all things."

Harry's spoon fell from his hand making a startling loud sound as it hit the bowl and sloshed the soup.

He was a parselmouth and he had almost been sorted into Slytherin.

He also had a connection to Voldemort. What would his dad say when he admitted that he, Harry, had been there to torture James.

That he had enjoyed his own father's pain and suffering.

"Harry?" Sirius coaxed.

Harry looked at him, and suddenly feared that they would all think him a monster, that Sirius would think poorly of him for being a Slytherin just as James did.

Harry realized he was barely breathing and when he felt the first prick of tears, he stumbled to his feet, making a hasty retreat to his bedroom.

He wanted to be alone.

To not see the disappointment, or fear as so many of his classmates had throughout his years at school.

oOo

James sat frozen, what had just happened?

He spun on Sirius, "What did I do? Why is he so upset? He's a Griffindor, but I wouldn't actually think less of him if he wasn't, I just—"

"He is a parselmouth, James," Sirius said. "And he does have an unfortunate connection to the Dark Lord's mind. It's why Snape went to the Malfoy Manor the night you escaped."

James stood, "I have to apologise."

Sirius pulled him back down, "No, let me go talk to him. The last thing he needs right now is to talk about Voldemort."

James felt two inches tall. "I didn't mean to. I shouldn't have brought it up—"

"James, Harry has duelled Voldemort. He's been crucioed by him and imperioed. He's faced Voldemort's shade more than once. It is an experience the two of you share. And that is a rare thing as most people don't survive it. But tonight let me talk to him and you can apologise in the morning."

Remus began to rise but James snapped, "Sit down, Moony. While Sirius takes care of Harry, you can tell me everything I've missed."

"I don't know—"

"You know more than me," James said. "And clearly, my not knowing is hurting him."

Remus sighed but nodded his assent.

His reluctance did not speak well of the things he was to learn that night.

Minerva and Malcolm excused themselves shortly after Sirius left to talk to Harry.

Apparently, everything that he needed to know wasn't anything someone wanted to endure hearing again.

oOo

Harry sighed when he heard the knock on his door. Still, he called, "Come in."

He stroked Hedwig's feathers, guilt itching his throat at the thought that his father was going to have to apologise for Harry's overreaction.

But it wasn't James, it was Sirius who slid down to the floor with him, their backs against the bed where they could see the light of the moon out the window.

"James put his foot in his mouth, and he's sorry," Sirius said. "He's not as bad as me, but there was a reason we were best mates."

Harry huffed, his shoulders dropping as he continued to stroke Hedwig's chest feathers. "It's my fault."

"It truly isn't," Sirius countered.

"The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin," Harry said, not quite meeting Sirius's gaze.

"I've known good people in Slytherin," Sirius said.

Harry scoffed, "Oh, really?"

Sirius smirked, "Well, not everyone in my family was an actual nutter. My uncle was half bad, and my cousin, Andromeda Tonks, she married a muggle-born. She's Nymphadora's mother. One of my favourite people. And then there's your great aunt, she was also a Black, but she married a Potter. Never met her, but one would think it is safe to assume she was the good sort. Besides, don't you have friends in the Slytherin House?"

Harry's shoulders rounded, "Yeah, but… But it matters what he thinks. What you think…"

"Harry," Sirius said gently. "James and I would be proud of you, no matter what. Hell, I think you could have gotten both of us to wear green and silver and in the Slytherin stands cheering on the Snake-team. We would have been ridiculous, of course. I imagine we would do something undignified to possibly piss Snape off. Like maybe a giant hat with an animated snake coiled around the points."

"Luna has a raven hat and a lion hat that roars," Harry said with a half-smile.

"Every time I think I can't like her more, I do."