Chapter Text
Harry sat on a windowsill in their dormitory, staring out at the falling snow. The persistent grey slush that had coated the grounds throughout November had gradually frosted over. The grounds were now a dazzling white, and the castle was coming alive with Christmas cheer. None of it touched Harry.
Crookshanks was on Harry’s lap, his tail swaying back and forth.
Ron hesitated, unsure how to approach him. The other boys in their dormitory had already left, meeting up with the girls in their year and talking excitedly. It was the only thing people had been talking about since the posters went up. Another Hogsmeade visit, the last one before the holiday.
“Hey,” Ron said, stepping closer to Harry. Ron already had his cloak on. Harry must’ve known. “I…”
“I know you’re going to Hogsmeade,” Harry said. He turned to look at Ron with a soft smile. “I know you want to do Christmas shopping. It’s alright, I don’t mind.”
Ron didn’t smile back. “You could come too,” he said. “We could sneak out.”
Harry shook his head, then returned to looking out of the window. “I don’t want to see him. Not yet.”
Ron’s stomach clenched. They didn’t know if Sirius was still in Hogsmeade, but where else would he be? Why was he here? Why were they both so convinced that he was dead?
Harry sighed, then leaned his head against the window. “I really don’t mind. I’m just going to, I don’t know, read or something. I’ll ask your mum if we can go to Diagon Alley, or if she can take me.”
Ron moved closer to him, still conflicted.
Harry huffed, then he looked up again. “We don’t have to do everything together, Ron.”
“I know that,” Ron mumbled, embarrassed. “But what if I want to?”
Harry’s eyes widened, then he hid his face. “You should go,” he said quietly. “There’s always next time.”
Ron dithered for another moment, then made himself turn away. Harry said it was alright. Ron knew that it wasn’t alright, not really, that Harry was upset that he was being excluded for some reason, punished for no reason, that Sirius being there and alive also spoiled things, made everything worse, more confusing, more painful. But Ron also wanted to get a gift for Harry, the boy who had given everything.
“I’ll bring you something back,” Ron promised, heading for the door. “A butterbeer?”
Harry laughed a little, and Ron felt his cheeks heat. Harry laughed like he was surprised he still could. It was wonderful.
“Honestly,” Harry said, “you need to hurry or Filch won’t let you out at all.”
“Okay,” Ron said, smiling a little as he left the dormitory.
He hurried through the castle, wrapping his scarf more securely and thinking about what he could bring back for Harry. Other than a Christmas present, which would remain secret until Christmas. Harry was fond of butterbeer, but he enjoyed sweets in general. He’d had them so rarely while at the Dursleys, and sometimes looked guilty when he did get one. Ron could get a bottle of butterbeer. He had a limited amount of pocket money, and two sickles for a bottle of anything was a bit steep, but Harry deserved it. Harry also loved anything with treacle. The light treacle in treacle tarts, but also black treacle. Maybe treacle toffees? Bonfire toffee?
Ron’s preoccupation with what sweets to get for his friend saw him past Filch, across the snowy grounds, through the gates guarded by dementors, and all the way up the road to Hogsmeade.
He passed Zonko’s without looking. Fred and George could make better prank products, if they stopped messing around all the time, making things explode for fun. Neither he nor Harry were that keen on pranking as it was. Trick wands and sweets that made you ill were good for a laugh or two, but it felt somewhat immature to Ron. Like at thirteen they were too old for that sort of humor.
It didn’t help that his brothers were all over Hogsmeade. Fred and George were in Zonko’s with Lee, so Ron couldn’t get gifts for them there. Similarly, Percy was in Scrivenshaft’s, so getting him a quill there wasn’t an option. Maybe Harry had the right of it, asking Ron’s mum if they could visit Diagon Alley over the holiday. Gladrags was an option, but Ron could at most afford a single pair of socks. Ron could just ask his mum to teach him how to knit if he wanted to give Harry socks.
The snow and wind were beginning to pick up, so Ron gravitated to Honeydukes. It was packed with students, but Ron managed to squeeze himself in. Honeydukes was cloying, overwhelming in its variety of sweets. Ron felt a twinge of regret that Harry wasn’t marveling at it with him. But Honeydukes was a perfect place to get gifts for most of his family. His parents rarely visited Hogsmeade, Bill and Charlie both lived abroad, Percy wouldn’t waste money on sweets, and Ginny wouldn’t be able to visit Hogsmeade until next year. Dobby probably enjoyed sweets too. Had he ever had any?
Ron paused near the Unusual Tastes section and experienced a strange moment of grief. They had Fudge Flies, and he had the strong impression that Scabbers IV would have liked Fudge Flies.
Could Crookshanks eat sweets? A Cockroach Cluster?
Ron did his best picking sweets he thought his family would like. Pepper Imps and Peppermint Toads, licorice spiders and jelly slugs, a box of chocolates for his parents. When the flow of the crowd pushed Ron to the sugar quills display, his eyes nearly fell out of his head.
They had treacle quills.
Golden syrup, black treacle, even glumbumble treacle. Ron didn’t know glumbumbles made treacle, and he had to get it for Harry.
Ron needed to stop before he spent all of his money. He still wanted to get a butterbeer for him and Harry to share. He made his way to the register, and asked for the treacle quills to be swaddled to prevent any damage. Ron could already picture Harry’s reaction, and he smiled to himself as he left Honeydukes and made his way to the Three Broomsticks.
Outside, the snow was falling even heavier, and the wind was whipping up into a full on blizzard. Ron tucked his hands under his arms, thinking about Harry up in their dormitory, how snug the tower was, with Crookshanks the mobile heater keeping him warm. But Ron was a man on a mission, and he trudged to the Three Broomsticks.
The pub was just as crowded as Honeydukes, and even noisier. The air was choked with smoke, which made Ron reconsider the wisdom of bringing Harry to such a place. He’d need to wear a mask. It was warm, though, and a reprieve from the snowstorm brewing outside.
Ron wound his way to the bar, where Madam Rosmerta was busy serving drinks to demanding and flirting customers. She was a very pretty woman, with long, curly blonde hair, generous curves, and pale green eyes. Ron grew flustered as he approached the bar, and heat rose to his cheeks. He stood there awkwardly as other customers were served, waiting until Madam Rosmerta noticed him.
“And what can I get for you?” Madam Rosmerta asked with a charming smile.
“Um,” Ron said dumbly. “Uh… a bottle of butterbeer?”
Madam Rosmerta’s smile grew. “Coming right up!”
Ron could have crawled into a hole and died. It was definitely a good thing Harry hadn’t come with him. He felt so stupid. He felt even more stupid when Madam Rosmerta set a bottle on the bar and smiled at him expectantly. It took Ron far too long to remember he had to pay.
Once that fiasco was over, Ron secreted the bottle among his robes and turned to beat a hasty retreat. But he saw something that made him stop in his tracks.
Sitting at a table, with several Hogwarts professors, was Sirius Black.
Sirius wasn’t with just any professors. He was with Remus Lupin and Rubeus Hagrid.
Ron moved away from the bar, distantly aware that he was blocking someone else from ordering. He was already taller than the twins, and everyone knew he was a Weasley based on his hair alone, so Ron was not the least conspicuous of people. Hagrid’s bulk partially blocked Lupin, but Ron had a good view of Sirius. There were several empty bottles and pint glasses around him. Sirius was properly dressed in an expensive black cloak, not wandering about in his dressing gown. His hair was brushed and a lustrous black, his clothes were clean. Coupled with his dark, aristocratic features Sirius looked very put together. However, he was swaying in his seat, and his grey eyes were unfocused.
Sirius was completely shitfaced.
Ron swallowed nervously, and grew more nervous as he neared the table. He didn’t have Harry’s invisibility cloak, nor did he recall any spells to conceal himself. He could see Sirius’ mouth moving, but he couldn’t hear anything over the noisy crowd. Even when he got a few tables away he couldn’t hear anything, and he was forced to conclude someone had put up a silencing charm. Sirius’ muzzy eyes kept drifting to the door every time it opened. Was he expecting someone?
Was he expecting Harry?
Frustrated, and upset, Ron decided to go back to Hogwarts. He didn’t want to stay here and ogle Sirius Black. He wanted to go back to his dormitory and pretend it was just him and Harry, and that the outside world would stay safely outside and couldn’t hurt them. Couldn’t hurt Harry.
The walk back to school was miserable. The blizzard was battering Ron in earnest now, flinging snow into his face. He kept his head down and walked on, shuddering when he had to pass the dementors flanking the gates. He doubted the cold bothered them, with those big tattered cloaks of theirs. They probably couldn’t feel cold, or anything at all. That’s why they went around stealing people’s happiness.
When Ron finally made it back to the dormitory, plotting ways to sneak the bag of sweets into his trunk without Harry seeing, he discovered that Harry had company.
Harry looked up at the sound of the door opening and gave Ron a brilliant smile. Ron’s heart made a funny thump, and he felt his cheeks warming again.
Harry raised his arm, oblivious to Ron’s dilemma, and Hedwig spread her wings in greeting.
“Look who’s back,” Harry said excitedly. “And she’s got a response!”
“That’s great,” Ron said, smiling nervously. “Uh…Could you close your eyes for a second? I need to put something away.”
Harry was jittery for the entire train ride. He refused to say anything about the letter, or where Hedwig had been, while still at Hogwarts, and seemed to think the train wasn’t secure enough either. They were sharing a compartment with Ginny and Luna, so there wouldn’t be an opportunity to speak in private until they got home.
Ron knew there was some big secret Harry was keeping, something he had been up to for a few months. A surprise. Ron was still worried, even though Harry assured him it wasn’t anything bad, and that he wasn’t off making secret—better—friends. Harry had hinted at his own uncertainty, but Ron trusted him implicitly.
They were sitting on the compartment floor, playing Exploding Snap, when Ginny mentioned something Ron hadn’t thought of in some time.
“Did you hear about Buckbeak?” Ginny said. She had an arm around her duck Custard, ensuring the wild duck did not attack the exploding cards.
“What’s a Buckbeak?” Ron asked, eyeing the cards. Luna had played a Common Welsh Green, and Harry had played a Hebridean Black. If Ginny played a Chinese Fireball or a Peruvian Vipertooth, then Ron could play his Antipodean Opaleye, and…boom!
“The hippogriff,” Ginny said, sounding aggrieved. “The one that bit Malfoy?”
“Bit his arm off, more like,” Harry said, frowning at his hand.
“Yeah, that one,” Ginny said, sorting through her cards.
“What about him?” Ron asked.
“Neville got a letter from Hagrid this morning,” Ginny said, pulling out a card. “They’re putting Buckbeak on trial.”
Harry scratched his head. “Can you do that? He’s a hippogriff, he can’t defend himself.”
Luna made claws with her hands and bared her teeth.
“I meant legally,” Harry told her.
“That’s what Hermione Granger’s going to do,” Ginny said, setting her card on the pile. “That’s why they’re all staying at Hogwarts for the holiday.”
“A manticore?” Ron said, aghast. “You took all that time to play a manticore?”
“I don’t want it to explode!” Ginny protested, clutching Custard to her chest. “Custard’s nervous!”
“Nervous? That bloody duck’s a menace!”
“I don’t know why they’d waste time looking up hippogriff laws,” Harry said. “They could just bribe the committee. Ron, it’s your turn.”
Scowling, Ron played a cyclops. They’d have to build up to another combination based on Ginny’s manticore, unless she sabotaged that too.
Lune spread her cards on the floor so that everyone could see them. Ron looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head.
“You’re not supposed to show us,” Ginny said gently, Custard quacking in agitation.
Harry leaned back on his hands. “I don’t think Longbottom’s staying to do something about the hippogriff.”
“What do you mean?” Ginny asked him.
“He’s never gone home for a holiday,” Harry said, glancing at Luna’s cards. “I think he doesn’t want to be around his gran.”
Ginny opened her mouth to protest, always ready to defend the Boy Who Lived, then frowned thoughtfully.
Ron leaned over to Luna and whispered, “Play the chimera.”
“Okay,” Luna said happily, gingerly placing her chimera card on top of the pile.
“Don’t help her cheat!” Ginny snapped. “Luna, he’s doing Greek creatures!”
Harry started laughing, holding up a single card. “It’s too late for that, Gin.” With a flourish, he slapped it down on the pile. “I’ve got a basilisk!”
The pile of cards exploded, rocking the entire compartment. Custard quaked up a storm, flapping wildly and smacking Ginny in the face. Harry grinned at Ron, his hair blown back, his face covered in soot.
“I told you she’d get upset!” Ginny said as she struggled with her duck.
“Then why did you say you wanted to play Exploding Snap?” Ron asked, smiling back at Harry.
“Because you always win at chess!”
“I don’t always win…”
Luna began gathering the smoking, scattered cards. “We could play gobstones.”
“No!”
Being back at the Burrow was not the opportunity for private discussion that Ron had envisioned. The search for Peter Pettigrew was ongoing, so his dad was in and out of the house at all hours. Bill and Charlie had come back to visit, which meant the house was about as full as it could get. Their mum was adamant that the entire house be both decorated to the gills and spotless, and they all got a talking to for not cleaning their rooms before going to Hogwarts, or Egypt and Romania in Bill and Charlie’s cases.
The wireless was on constantly, blaring Celestina Warbeck and carols that were mostly familiar to Harry, except when it was hippogriffs instead of gentlemen, or fwooper instead of partridge. Dobby was running around after Ron’s mum, wearing a striped scarf and a big, fuzzy hat. Together they managed to put up a tree that took up half of the living room, and Dobby had somehow acquired live fairies who drank elf-wine from acorn caps and fluttered around the branches.
Harry did manage to talk Ron’s mum into taking him to Diagon Alley, though it ended up being Ron’s dad taking him. Ron wanted to go too—everyone wanted to, they lived in a madhouse—but he knew Harry wanted a chance to do Christmas shopping, and that he was self-conscious about having more money than them. Ron didn’t know how to tell Harry that they didn’t care. That he didn’t care. Money came and went, and there were more important things to him than who could afford what.
Christmas Eve arrived, and Ron’s mum finally gave it a rest. That evening they found her sleeping on the sofa, and everyone agreed to not wake her up.
“I think I know why she’s acting like this,” Ron said as they quietly walked up to their room. Ron wasn’t always happy with sleeping right under the noisy ghoul, but no one else had a bedroom on his floor so it was a fair trade. Percy was stuck between Ginny and the twins.
“Why?” Harry asked, pausing at the top of the stairs to catch his breath. “You don’t think it’s because of me, do you?”
“No,” Ron said, rubbing his back. “Well, not entirely. I think she wants to take our minds off Pettigrew still being out there.”
Harry grimaced, then stood upright. He coughed, then said, “He’s a coward.”
“Yeah, you’ve said that before,” Ron said, walking into their room. Harry thumped down on his bed and closed his eyes.
“What I mean is,” he said, “I don’t see him breaking into Hogwarts on his own. He’d have to have a bloody good reason to do it.”
“Like going after Longbottom?” Ron suggested, shutting the door. He sat down on his own bed and watched Harry.
Harry shook his head. “Not even that,” he said. “Worm…” Confusion clouded his expression, then he shook his head again and said, “Pettigrew doesn’t hate Longbottom specifically, I don’t think. He was friends with his parents.” Harry rubbed his face. “He was friends with my parents.”
“So what does he want?” Ron asked. “And where the bloody hell is he?”
“I don’t know,” Harry said, looking troubled. “Staying in Azkaban would’ve been safer for him.” He sighed, then reached for something under his pillow. “He’ll turn up somewhere.”
“Hopefully dead,” Ron said acidly, clenching his fists. If he got his hands on Peter Pettigrew he’d wring the bastard’s neck.
“I’ve got something better to talk about than him,” Harry said, pulling out a letter.
Ron’s eyes widened, and he leaned forward eagerly. “Are you finally going to tell me what this big secret is?”
Harry grinned at him. “Yeah.” He passed Ron the letter.
It was from Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel, and the envelope was addressed to both him and Harry. Ron shot him a look, and Harry’s smile grew.
“Just read it,” he said. “I hope you don’t take it the wrong way.”
Ron tried not to let his anxiety get to him, and pulled out the letter. It was from the Flamels, so was it about alchemy? Did Harry want to do something with the Philosopher’s Stone? Was it about his mum?
Bracing himself, Ron read the letter.
Dear Harry and Ronald,
It is so good to hear from you boys again! How is school? Have you run into any other cursed or mythical artifacts?
Based on your query, I assume the answer is ‘yes.’ To answer your question, there is a market for ‘basilisk parts,’ as you so eloquently put it, but this does raise several concerns from Nicolas and I.
What basilisk?
Ron read through the rest of the letter, then read through it again. He lowered the letter, then looked at Harry.
“You want to sell bits of the basilisk,” he said. “Is that…”
“Legal?” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. “No. That’s why I haven’t mentioned it to your parents. I thought Nicolas and Perenelle might know someone.”
Ron wrinkled his nose, then looked at the letter again. Selling parts of a dead basilisk. A pint of acromantula venom went for one hundred galleons. How much would a pint of basilisk venom sell for? A thousand galleons? Ten thousand galleons?
“I don’t know about this,” Ron said. “How would we even get it out? That thing’s huge.”
Harry reached forward and took one of Ron’s hands. Ron immediately flushed, but Harry didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy staring at Ron with fiery determination. Ron knew, from that look alone, that Harry was going to sell that dead basilisk no matter what.
“You killed it,” Harry said fervently, squeezing Ron’s hand. “You deserve at least half of it. At least! And, yeah, the logistics of transporting it out of the Chamber and finding buyers and all that…”
Overwhelmed, and feeling squirmy at Harry holding his hand, Ron listened as Harry outlined his scheme for the Weasleys to never worry about money again.
Christmas morning dawned cold and bright. The holiday was a chance to sleep in, and though Ron was excited for his gifts, he stretched out on his bed and enjoyed the warmth Crookshanks generated as he purred.
“Happy Christmas.”
Ron cracked his eyes open and gave Harry a bleary look. He was sitting up in bed, staring blankly at the packages waiting to be opened. One stood out to Ron, and he nudged Crookshanks off his chest to get a better look. Underneath the rest of Harry’s presents there was a long, thin package.
“Is that a broom?” Ron asked incredulously.
“Yeah,” Harry said flatly.
Ron frowned. Harry already had a broom, and it was one of the best on the market. But the Nimbus 2000 wasn’t the best, and Ron had a sneaking suspicion about what was under the wrapping.
“Are you going to open it?” Ron asked.
Harry twitched, then shook his head. “Not yet.”
They began opening their less dodgy presents. Ron’s mum had given them the traditional jumper and socks. Ron’s jumper was blue again, which he greatly preferred to maroon. Harry’s was also blue, but had an eagle knitted on the front. Ron wasn’t jealous; he knew his mum put extra effort into the presents she made Harry since Harry’s mum could no longer do anything for him.
Harry planned to visit his mum later that day. It was a part of Christmas that Harry both did and didn’t look forward to. He wanted to see his mum, but he also wanted his mum and she wasn’t really there.
Ron surreptitiously watched Harry pull on his new jumper while he opened an envelope from Ginny. When Ron saw what it contained, he blushed furiously and quickly hid it in his blankets.
It was a photograph of Harry flying.
Ginny was friends with Colin Creevey, another Gryffindor in her year who always had a camera with him. Usually this camera was aimed at Neville Longbottom, but it seemed Ginny had convinced him to take a few pictures of Harry at their last quidditch game.
“She’ll pay for this,” Ron muttered darkly.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” Ron said quickly. “What’d you get from Percy?”
“A quill,” Harry said, twirling a blue quill between his fingers. “What about you?”
Ron held up a bright red eraser. “I think it’s a Revealer.”
“That’ll be useful,” Harry said. He leaned over the side of his bed and pulled something out. It was a square package, and he held out to Ron. “This is for you.”
“Thanks,” Ron said, taking the package. “Should I…should I open it?”
Harry rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah.”
The wrapping had Chocolate Frogs all over it, which made Ron think that it was a box of Chocolate Frogs. It was his favorite chocolate, and he did collect the cards. He smiled in anticipation as he carefully unwrapped the present.
It was…something. A book? Ron opened the heavy cover, Inside, there were clear pages with pockets on them, all held in place by two metal rings.
“It’s a binder,” Harry explained. “And those are sleeves for cards.” He shifted on his bed. “Muggles use them for collecting cards, and I thought, since you’ve got so many Chocolate Frog cards…”
Ron regarded the present with new admiration. He’d never thought about organizing his collection, it was all piled in an old box. Harry was a genius.
“Thanks,” he said, not knowing how else to express his gratitude. A hug? He really wanted to hug Harry. Would that be weird? Would Harry be alright with that? He’d done it before, but that was when Harry was upset…
“I’ve got something for you too,” Ron said hastily, crawling to the foot of his bed and opening his trunk. The heavily wrapped package was sitting at the top, uncrushed and unharmed from its journey.
“Here,” he said, passing the present to Harry.
Harry took the package, smiling softly. Ron’s eyes caught on the unopened broom-shaped package, and he suddenly felt irritated. He didn’t want some rich git to give Harry a better gift than him.
“Do you want to open that first?” Ron asked about the not-so-secret broom.
“I don’t know if I want to open it at all,” Harry said quietly. He carefully set Ron’s present down and wrapped his arms around his knees. “I know what it is, and I know who it’s from. Opening it will make it real.”
Ron watched the conflicted emotions on his best friend’s face, feeling conflicted himself. Christmas was meant to be a happy day. It had never been for Harry when he was with the Dursleys, and while Harry would never have to see them again it was still a difficult day when his mum had to spend it in St. Mungo’s. When no one had visited her for years and years. When she, like Harry, had been shoved into a locked room and forgotten.
It was a Firebolt. They both knew that. It was the best racing broom money could buy, the new international standard, a broom perfectly suited to Harry. Ron could already see the stunts and feints and the reckless beauty of Harry flying on his beloved broom. A polished stick and a few enchantments that meant everything to him. That was Harry’s broom. He deserved it, and so much more. But it was a poor substitute for the man who had sent it.
“He’s the one who found me,” Harry said, not looking at the badly disguised broom. “Under my dad. Sirius was the first one there.” He gripped his legs, his arms shaking with the effort. “He left me and mum at St. Mungo’s, then went after Peter Pettigrew. I don’t know what happened to him after that.”
“We could ask,” Ron tentatively suggested.
Harry shook his head. “I don’t think I want to know. It hurts less.”
Ron gave the package a dirty look. Who did Sirius Black think he was, leaving Harry alone for years then suddenly sending him an expensive gift? It didn’t even have his name on it.
“Stick it in your trunk,” Ron said. “We can deal with it later. You still haven’t opened my present.”
Harry’s expression lightened, and he gave Ron a grateful smile.
“You’re right,” Harry said, unfolding himself. He pushed the broom off the end of his bed and it fell to the floor. Then he picked up the present Ron had given him.
Ron scooted to the edge of his bed. “I hope you like it,” he said. It wasn’t that important. Why was he so nervous?
“I’d like anything you gave me,” Harry said off-handedly, peeling off the spellotape. He opened the wrapping, then his mouth fell open.
“Are these sugar quills?” he asked, picking up a delicate quill spun of golden syrup.
“They’re treacle quills,” Ron said, feeling a little full of himself. He knew Harry better than anyone, and exactly the sort of things he would like.
“I didn’t know they made these,” Harry said, giving him a warm smile. Ron’s stomach fluttered. Was he hungry? He could hear people moving around below them, and his mum had likely started making breakfast. “This is brilliant! Thanks, Ron!”
Ron smiled back, then gave into his impulse and leaned over to hug his best friend. Some things could still go right for Harry. If he had to, Ron would prove that every day for the rest of his life.
Harry couldn’t visit his mum as there was a dragonpox outbreak at St. Mungo’s. Both of his grandparents had died from dragonpox complications, and Harry’s concern for his mum was through the roof.
The healers promised them that the Janus Thickey Ward was the most secure at St. Mungo’s due to how sensitive their patients were, but it didn’t stop Harry from worrying.
“I’m going to cure dragonpox,” he told Ron on Boxing Day.
“I thought there was a cure?”
“It doesn’t work all the time,” Harry said. “And it was invented about five hundred years ago. The disease has changed since then. It’s not the same dragonpox.”
They were in the kitchen, eating sandwiches made from the leftovers of Christmas dinner. Ron’s mum had made both glazed ham and roast beef, so there was plenty.
“It’s not just about mum,” Harry said, poking a stray piece of cabbage back into his sandwich. “There are loads of magical maladies where they can treat the symptoms, but it’s not actually cured.”
Ron nodded, wondering if Harry was thinking about something like spattergroit, which was an awful fungal infection but not fatal, or something more serious. Something like lycanthropy.
“Do you want to go flying?” he asked. “It might take your mind off things.”
Harry looked at his sandwich, then smiled slightly. “Reckon I should test out that Firebolt.”
“What Firebolt?” Ginny asked, walking into the kitchen with their mum. They were both bundled up, and Ron’s mum had a basket.
“Where’re you two going?” Ron asked, turning around in his chair to look at them.
“Visiting the Lovegoods,” his mum said, setting the basket on the counter. She began filling it with leftovers. Roast vegetables, a third roast Ron hadn’t known existed, biscuits, fudge, a loaf of bread. “I know Xenophilius does his best, but... after Pandora…” She trailed off, then wiped a tear from her eye. “I worry about them, particularly around this time of year.”
“Mum wants to be everyone’s mum,” Ginny said, exasperated. She looked at Harry and cocked her head. “What Firebolt?”
“Firebolt?” their mum said, turning to give Ron and Harry piercing looks. “Did you get new brooms again?”
Harry set down his sandwich. “No. My godfather sent me a Firebolt for Christmas.”
“Godfather?”
Harry glanced at Ron. Ron took over, knowing Harry really didn’t want to talk about this. It was something Ron’s mum and dad needed to know, if Harry’s godfather tried to take him away or something. Why he would bother after so many years of ignoring Harry, Ron didn’t know.
“Sirius Black,” Ron said. “He was his dad’s mate.”
His mum shut the lid of the basket, her brow furrowed.
“I had no idea,” she said. “This entire time…” The dishes in the drying rack began to rattle.
“Anyway,” Harry said quickly. “Since I’ve got the Firebolt, I was thinking Ginny could borrow the Nimbus.”
Ginny’s eyebrows shot up.
“I know I offered before,” Harry told her. “I’d let Ron use it, but he’s not a seeker and he prefers the Cleansweep.”
The dishes finally settled down, and Ron’s mum smiled fondly at Harry.
“That’s very sweet of you, dear,” she said. “What do you say, Ginny?”
Ginny scowled at their mum, then said, “I was going to say it.” She looked at Harry again and smiled. “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”
Ron was glad Harry wasn’t the Boy Who Lived, otherwise he’d be jealous of his own sister. He viciously bit into his sandwich.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Harry warned her. “You haven’t seen what I can do on a Firebolt.”
Ron didn’t think much about Sirius Black in the following days. There was too much else to do.
He and Harry sorted through his Chocolate Frog cards, picking out the ones in best condition to preserve in his new binder. They ate whatever Ron’s mum put in front of them. Harry flew on his Firebolt, and he let everyone take a turn on it until George crashed into the frozen pond and their mum put a stop to it. Bill and Charlie had to go back to their jobs before the new year, as neither Gringotts nor dragons took holidays. They played wizard’s chess, Exploding Snap, and on one memorable afternoon Luna talked them into playing a massive game of gobstones which coated everything with a rainbow of goo. They raced brooms over the wintery orchard while Hedwig flew above them and Crookshanks ran below. The dragonpox outbreak at St. Mungo’s was at long last contained, and Harry was permitted to visit his mum.
Christmas at Hogwarts was wonderful, but Ron thought he preferred spending it with just Harry and his family.
On New Year, the evening before the Hogwarts Express would take them back to school, Ron and Harry were up late packing.
“Don’t tell Samantha about the Nimbus,” Harry said as he fitted his Firebolt into his trunk. “She’ll think we’re giving Gryffindor an advantage because your siblings are on the team.”
“Nor Penelope,” Ron added, sorting through a pile of socks, none of which seemed to match. He gave up and chucked them all in. “I think Percy’s got a bet going with her.”
“They’ve already messed with the schedule,” Harry said. “Two games back to back? We’re not going to have any quidditch at all for the rest of the year.”
“We’ll be plenty busy with exams,” Ron said, taking a glimpse at Harry’s trunk. His was much more neatly packed. “And fencing illegal creature parts.”
Harry gave him a flat look. “We won’t be doing any actual fencing.”
“Reckon Charlie’s beaten us to that,” Ron said blithely. “Transporting whole live dragons.”
“The other option is to let it rot underneath the school,” Harry pointed out. “Who knows, it could be melting through the foundations right now.”
“It’s been nearly a year,” Ron said, wrinkling his nose. “Imagine the smell.”
“No thanks,” Harry said, shutting the lid of his trunk. “Think there’s any thor cake left?”
“Mum would make more if there wasn’t,” Ron said, standing up. “Let’s check.”
“I could make it myself,” Harry said quietly, following Ron out of the room.
“Yeah, it doesn’t look too hard to make,” Ron said. Sometimes, he saw Harry watching his mum like he was ready to jump in and take over whatever she was doing. Harry was on edge a lot. Ron just had to keep showing him that he didn’t have to be.
It was getting late, close to midnight, and the Burrow was dark and quiet. They crept down the stairs, slinking past the other bedrooms. Everyone ought to have been asleep; he and Harry had been keeping each other up, putting off their packing.
When they reached the kitchen, the door was shut. There were voices coming from inside. From the cadence, Ron could tell it was his parents. He was already working up a half-truth, that they were too hungry to sleep and required a snack, when he heard something that made the topic of his parents’ late-night conversation clear.
“Sirius Black…”
Harry reached for him blindly, and Ron took his hand. Silently, they pressed against the door to eavesdrop.
“I’ve asked around,” Ron’s dad was saying, sounding exhausted. “Discreetly, mind you. He’s been through enough without there being rumors.”
“So Regulus Black is…”
“His younger brother, as it turns out. They’re not exactly on speaking terms. I can’t confirm this, but back when he was in Hogwarts people said he was friends with a few people who became Death Eaters.”
“No!”
“That’s true of nearly everyone,” Ron’s dad said. “But it doesn’t stop there. Regulus Black may have actually been a Death Eater.”
Ron and Harry shared a look. That wasn’t much of a surprise. Most of the Black family had supported Voldemort.
“And Sirius Black?” his mum asked.
His dad sighed. “He was close friends with James. Brothers in all but blood, to hear Hagrid tell it.”
“You did not talk to Hagrid about this! Arthur, Hagrid’s a lovely man, wouldn’t hurt a fly, but he can’t keep a secret to save his life!”
“I was careful,” his dad said. “I can be subtle.”
“If this comes back to hurt Harry—”
“It won’t. I stopped by the Three Broomsticks and they happened to be there.” His dad sighed. “Black was drunk, of course.”
“What do you mean of course?” his mum asked.
Harry gripped his hand, and Ron pressed their shoulders together.
“This is what I’ve managed to put together,” his dad said, his voice lower. “Black was the first to arrive after Harry and his parents were attacked. You see, he was meant to be the secret-keeper, but they thought that was too obvious.”
Ron’s mum gasped.
“So, he found Harry…how he found him. And Lily. He left them both at St. Mungo’s in critical condition, then went after Peter Pettigrew.”
“Is that when he…”
“Yes. They fought in the middle of the street. Pettigrew’s spell backfired, killing all those muggles and nearly killing him too. There was a trial, he went to Azkaban. You know the rest of it.” A chair squeaked. “Lily was admitted to the Janus Thickey Ward. Harry was left with his aunt and uncle. The question is, where was Sirius Black in all of this?”
There was a long moment of silence.
“There’s no excuse,” his mum said suddenly. “I cannot even conceive—”
“Let me finish,” his dad said gently. “Black—Regulus Black—never mentions his brother. You wouldn’t know he had one. I heard something about Black being cast out of the family, and he was in the Order…” He sighed again. “After all that mess with Pettigrew, Black started drinking. Heavily.”
“He…he’s an alcoholic?”
“And he moved to France with Remus Lupin.”
“Their Defense professor?” his mum hissed.
“Lupin was friends with Harry’s parents too.”
Another drawn out silence.
“This is unbelievable,” his mum whispered. “How could they…”
“Black and Lupin are in some sort of relationship,” his dad said. “More than friends, I imagine. Black had been living off of and drinking his wealth for years, while Lupin has been looking after him and building his reputation as a scholar of dark creatures. You know they’re more…tolerant of certain things in France.” There was a pause. “I have half a mind to ask Lyall what he knows. He had to know the first time he saw Harry. He’s the spitting image of his father.”
There was another long stretch of silence. Harry was trembling.
“What are we going to tell him?” Ron’s mum asked.
“The truth,” his dad said. “Or part of it. Black was in no state to take care of an infant.”
“He could have been,” his mum said heatedly. “Sobered up…”
“He hasn’t managed to do that in the past twelve years,” his dad said. “Frankly, I don’t think Harry should be around him. He’s…not had a great experience with drinkers.”
“That uncle of his,” his mum said darkly. Then she started crying. Ron heard his dad stand up and walk around the table.
Harry slowly moved away from the door. Ron followed.
He knew that Vernon Dursley had beat Harry. So had his aunt, but his uncle’s beatings had always been worse. Particularly when he was drunk.
They went back upstairs and got into their beds. Ron didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. A part of him felt bad for Sirius Black, losing his best friend. Ron would rather die than lose Harry. Maybe he’d end up in France drinking himself to death too. He didn’t know. What he did know was that, once again, Harry had to suffer through the consequences.
There was no going back to change what had been done. They had to live with it.
Ron stared up at his dark ceiling and listened to Harry cry.
Sleep was a long time coming.