Hello people!
It's the Winter Lord here today, and I'm posting this one-shot because honestly, I just need a break from Name of the Game. Don't get me wrong, I love that story, but it can be such a high-maintenance bitch.
Alright, so this story starts in the early days of Harry's third year, a few days after that rather eventful train ride.
Hope you love, and keep the reviews coming!
This is the site I used to write McGonagall's and Hagrid's Scottish speech. Very useful, and it has other dialects of English like Irish also. [Remove the 'enters]
www.
whoohoo.
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scottish-translator
.asp
Hagrid was actually supposed to have a Somerset [West Country] accent according to JKR, but experts say it's closer to Scottish in the books and it is Scottish in the movies. Anyway, I don't know how to translate Queen's English to West Country English, so Scottish it stays.
X…X September
The Gryffindor Common Room was its usual boisterous self, the mood and the revelries un-dampened even by the hordes of Dementors that swarmed around the castle like terrible ants, supposedly for the purpose of keeping them safe. Winter was already upon them, although it was only September, and the robed demons spun ever the higher and flew ever the closer to the castle, emboldened by the hoarfrost they had brought with them, though held at bay for now by the fear of Albus Dumbledore.
In the midst of such rejoicing – which was, of course, occurring for no real reason except that they were Gryffindors – even Harry found himself slightly cheered up, sipping spiced pumpkin juice and mingling with the rest of his House. Of course, a good part of this uncharacteristically cheery spirit could be attributed to the fact that due to the presence of the Dementors, the teachers were turning a blind eye to things such as late-night parties, which in turn had prompted a majority of the upper-class students to act rather more extrovertly than they normally would.
Harry's attention was at present being held by a dancing sixth-year who was wearing a miniskirt and a top that, if accurately described, was closer to a bra than a shirt – which was possibly why she was not wearing anything underneath it.
This attention was soon diverted to one of his best friends. He would have much preferred to continue gazing at the sixth year, but when Hermione Granger wants your attention, she takes your attention and makes sure she keeps it.
"Hello Hermione." Harry said, his stupid grin still on his face. "Long time no see."
She eyed him curiously, no doubt suddenly realizing his boundless beauty and charm. "What are you grinning like that for – oh." She trailed off, following Harry's previous line of sight and noticing the sixth-year. Her cheeks flushed, although whether in embarrassment or anger he could not have said. The female of the species was a mystery to him.
He allowed himself to be tugged into the boy's dormitory, his eyes still lingering regretfully on the energetic and sweaty older girl. When they passed a bend in the stairs, however, he turned to Hermione. Never let it be said that Harry Potter rejected the attention of a fair maiden in want of his company.
Hermione, in her usual fashion, began her speech before Harry could get a word in. "Does something about the situation seem odd to you, Harry?" she asked, gazing at him with earnest brown eyes. It took a moment for him to realize that the question was not rhetorical, as it so often was with her.
"Which part?" he asked glibly. "The depression-inducing monstrosities flying freely on the school grounds or the fact that our third Defence teacher in as many years didn't let me face the Boggart?" The bushy-haired genius frowned.
"Neither. I was talking about the situation with Sirius Black." She nervously bit her lip. "Does nothing about this strike you as… off?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't know – an evil madman escapes from a supposedly unescapable prison for the sole purpose of killing me – it sounds pretty normal." Unfortunately for him, Hermione was not so easily stopped. She raised an Eyebrow. An Imperious, Commanding Eyebrow.
"Really."
Harry wilted. He had stared down Voldemort and taken on a gargantuan Basilisk with nothing more than a sword, but Hermione Jean Granger scared the living shit out of him. "No." he admitted. "It seems wrong, and nothing makes any sense. If he could escape now, then why not before? He knew I was alive before then, so why only seek revenge now? Why didn't he help any other Death Eaters escape and enlist their help in killing me?
If he didn't know where I was before, why not escape when I was eleven, instead of now? If he had forgotten because of the Dementors, what reminded him?
Why did Mr. Weasley make me promise not to go after Black? Why did Malfoy say that he would seek revenge in my place?"
Hermione was nodding rapidly as Harry spoke, her hair – and certain other parts of her anatomy – bouncing with every motion. "Exactly! I hadn't thought of some of those questions, but that's all what I meant!" She smiled like the Cheshire Cat. "You know what this means?"
Harry groaned. "To the Quidditch Pitch?" he asked hopefully.
"To the Library!"
X…X October
By October, even the famed Granger passion for research had slowed down and become sluggish, when every newspaper record, every history book seemed to lead to the same inescapable conclusion – Sirius Black was out to kill Harry. People who studied with him had described him as 'slightly insane, stubborn as a stone, but brilliant in magic – especially curses'. This was further compounded when Black attacked the Fat Lady. When they saw the devastation wreaked upon the portrait, Hermione Granger, for the first time in her short life, gave up.
Harry, on the other hand, became more and more energetic the more false-leads they picked up. As Peeves floated over past them after telling Dumbledore about the attack, a single, sharp word from the Boy-Who-Lived rang out in the silence.
"Peeves." He said, and even Dumbledore turned to him in surprise, but his entire focus was upon the poltergeist. "When did this take place?"
Surprisingly to those who knew Peeves, and unsurprisingly to those who knew Potter's relationship with Peeves, he answered immediately. There had been nothing humorous in the tone used by the last Potter.
"Two hours ago, Potty! He's long gone now!" he cackled, giving Harry a raspberry after he answered – but he had answered, and Harry Potter was grinning. Many people felt unaccountably nervous.
X…X October
Harry was still grinning crazily – not a happy grin, but the grin of a cat that had sighted a prize canary – when the next day, the more studious of his friends cornered him in the Library. She stood with her arms akimbo, glaring at him. "Explain." She said, not able to rest once she had deduced the fact that her friend knew something that she, Hermione Granger, did not.
Taking pity on her, Harry did so.
"One of the reasons Black was convicted was that he was best friends with a registered werewolf. I checked up on who that werewolf was – it's our Defence teacher, Professor Lupin.
He was muttering 'He's at Hogwarts'… but when he was muttering that, I wasn't at Hogwarts! I was at Privet Drive, and due to stay there for another three weeks.
Yesterday was a Hogsmeade weekend – I was the only third year student who remained in the castle. If he really was after me, he would have searched all of Hogsmeade for me before coming into the castle. He didn't, because he was there two hours before the both of you – therefore, if he really was after me, he must have known that I was not going to Hogsmeade.
Who all knew that I wasn't in Hogsmeade? The Gryffindor Third Year, the teachers, and Fudge. None of them are likely to tell Sirius Black that I wasn't going to Hogsmeade. Therefore, it wasn't me he was after, because he didn't know that I was in the school. Even if he did, why would he think that I would be in the common room? I have the whole castle to myself.
Why did Black choose to escape Azkaban now? A week before his escape, Fudge had made a visit to the prison. Nothing new in that – every year, the Minister is supposed to go and inspect the prison. What is new is that he also inspected the high security wing – the wing that housed Black. This is the first inspection of the high security wing by the Minister in two decades.
Since this is an official matter, a full transcript of the interaction is available to the public for a fee. Two days after Black's escape, the Daily Prophet printed the conversation between the Minister and Black. It's a short conversation, but the only noteworthy part is that Fudge gave Black the newspaper when he said that he missed doing the crossword.
This is the newspaper Fudge had at the time – that day's copy of the Prophet – and this is what prompted Sirius Black to be the first escapee in recorded history from Azkaban."
Hermione was gaping at Harry.
She shook herself and picked up her jaw from the proverbial floor. "How can you be sure that this newspaper was the thing that made Black free himself?" she asked, her brain finally engaged in the conversation. "It could be that he simply remembered something he couldn't remember before because of the time he got without Dementor exposure."
"They get Dementor – free time every day when the Aurors come to give them food."
"One of the Auror's faces could have reminded Black of something."
"The Aurors accompanying Fudge were the same Aurors who are on duty every day in Azkaban."
"It could have been something Fudge said."
"All that Fudge said was 'Good morning, Black. How are you today?'."
She opened her mouth, paused, and closed it again. "This newspaper does seem to be the only thing that could have influenced him." She admitted grudgingly, looking down at the paper Harry had thrust into her hands.
He grinned. "Glad to see you've admitted I was right and you were wrong." He said. "I need you to solve the crossword on Page 7." His green eyes became distant. "I, on the other hand, am going to have a talk with our Defence Professor."
He had almost passed out of hearing range when he heard Hermione call him. "Oh, and Harry?" she said, with the mock-sweetness that froze the insides of every male that knew her. "I am never wrong. I was simply playing the Devil's Advocate."
Harry nodded along pacifically.
X…X October
"Good morning, Professor. Are you busy?"
Professor Lupin's classroom was an interesting place, filled with detailed diagrams of various Dark creatures, as well as the Grindylow Harry had seen the previous day, which was still scrabbling at the walls of the tank and glaring at everything in sight.
"Of course not, Harry. All this" he said, waving a hand over a giant stack of paper on his desk. "is just parchment work, and thus, nothing important."
The werewolf eyed him curiously.
Harry seated himself in front of the desk. "I wanted to ask you about Sirius Black, seeing as how he was your best friend."
Lupin froze, and for a single moment, Harry saw a kindling of rage in his amber-flecked eyes. But slowly, he relaxed, releasing a deep breath and he just looked like a man old before his time – but he wasn't that old, only as old Harry's parents would have been, barely in his mid-thirties. He blinked slowly, and Harry saw that his eyes were bright and glimmering.
"I suppose you, of all people, have a right to ask about him." He said softly. "What do you wish to ask, Harry?"
He pointed a finger at Lupin. "That!" He said sharply, and Lupin looked down at himself in confusion. "'You, of all people…' – what's that supposed to mean? Why did Mr. Weasley make me promise not to go after Black? Why did Malfoy say that he would want revenge? Who is Black, and how is he connected to me?"
There was a strained silence after Harry's words, before Lupin sighed. "Sirius Black was my best friend throughout my school years." He began. "We had two other friends – close friends – one of whom was your father, James. The fourth was a man called Peter Pettigrew.
All of four of us were in the same year in Gryffindor, so we naturally gravitated towards each other. By the end of our first year, we were a tightly-knit group – we even had a name for ourselves, the Marauders."
He smiled nostalgically.
"Sirius Black was a pureblood from the House of Black, which is a very old and powerful line in Magical Britain. Records of the line have been traced back to pre-Merlin times, and it is also one of the most conservative and traditional pureblood Houses. The House of Black was famous for being steeped in Dark Magic and were one of the most vocal proponents of the legalization of blood rituals and the acceptance of the Dark Lord. They were almost entirely composed of Slytherins with a few Ravenclaws thrown into the mix, while Sirius was the lone Gryffindor.
Soon after we graduated from Hogwarts, Albus – Headmaster Dumbledore – invited the four of us to join a group dedicated to fighting Voldemort. By that time James had married your mother, Lily.
Around the time that you were born, it became clear that Voldemort possessed a spy within our ranks, one who was reporting our movements and positions to the Dark Lord. The Headmaster had narrowed it down to four people – Peter, Black, Alice McKinnon and me. Alice was Sirius' girlfriend. She died a few weeks later, and so was ruled out.
The suspicion at the time was upon me, because Black gave the impression of being wholly devoted to protecting James and Lily from any further harm. On top of that, I was often sent on… scouting missions, to try and recruit others to our side. As a result, I was slightly ostracized from the rest of the group.
In late 1981, events occurred that meant that Black was the traitor in our group. Soon after… soon after, you were orphaned, and Black went completely crazy. Hagrid found him at your parent's home, holding you and staring at James' dead body. He handed you over to Hagrid at Dumbledore's instructions and left. A week later, he cornered Pettigrew in a Muggle street and blew him up with a single curse. Thirteen other Muggles died with that curse.
At his trial, he was completely senseless. He just sat there muttering 'I killed him". Taking this as a confession, he was sentenced to a life term in Azkaban in the High Security Wing.
That is why people are afraid you might seek revenge on Black, Harry. He betrayed the trust of your parents and killed one their best friends. None of us can forgive him for that."
He smiled, blinking furiously. "It would be better if you told nobody that I told you this, Harry." He said. "Others may not agree with my decision to tell you the truth."
Harry stared at his father's best friend for a long while, before nodding and getting up. "Thank you for your time, Professor." He said, before leaving. As he turned out of the door, he caught a glimpse of Lupin discreetly wiping his eyes with his sleeve.
X…X October
"You took your time! I've solved the crossword and now-"
Hermione abruptly cut her words off when she saw the Head Boy standing behind Harry. "Umm, hello Percy. What are you doing here?"
The Weasley looked highly uncomfortable at being interrogated by a third-year, but nevertheless stood his ground. "I study in this school and it's my NEWT year. I have every right to use the library." He said stiffly. Hermione frowned in confusion.
"You are going to study for your NEWTs using newspapers from the newspaper records section?"
"…yes."
At this point, Harry decided an explanation was necessary. "Mrs. Weasley told Percy to follow me around everywhere." He said. "Apparently, she's afraid that Black might attack me from anywhere. Including the bathroom, which is why Percy is not using the Prefect's Bathroom."
Hermione blinked in confusion. "Black was You-Know-Who's right hand man while, no offence Percy, but you haven't passed your NEWTs yet. What are you going to do if he does show up?"
"I know that!" he growled, and the two of them jumped. "I would much rather be studying for my NEWTs, or doing my Head Boy duties, but only one person has ever argued with Mum and won, and that person was Professor Dumbledore!"
The two friends exchanged looks of despair, before Hermione turned back to the redhead. "Do you mind sitting a little distance away, Percy. It's just that Harry and I have some private matters to discuss."
Percy gave them a funny look. "What kind of private matters?"
There was a moment of silence before Hermione spoke up again. "Harry's gay!" she exclaimed, and both Harry and Percy froze. Percy was carefully examining Harry, who was glaring at Hermione. Percy nodded weakly.
"Yes, I'll just go sit over there." He mumbled. "No sounds will reach me over there. I'll turn my back…"
They caught a couple of other phrases such as 'gay', 'Ginny' and 'Should have seen it'.
When they deemed the Weasley to be a safe distance away, they huddled together over a table with the newspaper between them. Harry spoke up first.
"How'd you know I'm gay?" he asked curiously, and Hermione's eyes went wide. "You're… you're… you?" she spluttered, before seeing the way Harry was biting his lip. He nearly fell of his chair laughing, while Hermione repeatedly hit him over the head with the newspaper. Percy was carefully ignoring anything he heard from their table.
When Harry was sufficiently calmed down, he got back onto his chair, nearly falling off again as Hermione gave him one last swat. "So?" she asked. "What did you find out?" Harry considered her question for a moment.
"Black and Professor Lupin were best friends with my father and a kid named Peter in school." He said. "All four of them were recruited by Dumbledore to fight Voldemort. Black is from an old, pureblood, Dark family. Black was revealed to be a traitor and killed Peter after my parents died."
He shrugged. "Also, Professor Lupin is hiding something from me."
"What makes you say that?" she whispered, keeping an eye on Percy the entire time. She needn't have bothered; Percy wanted nothing more than to be out of the Library.
"He said that the reason everyone is talking about me going after Black is that he betrayed the trust of my parents. That is a very flimsy excuse for me to go after Black, and anyway, how would Malfoy know anything about it? No, he is hiding something, and I need to know what.
What did you find out?"
Hermione shoved the individual pages of the newspaper at him. "I solved the crossword – it's ridiculously easy." She muttered. "Nothing in there seems to be something that would set Black off, unless he has a hatred of Acromantulas. I searched the whole newspaper, and your name isn't mentioned once. Maybe Black looked at the date and was reminded of your age, but I think he isn't after you.
After that I sorted all the articles into three groups – high risk, medium risk and low risk, where high risk articles are those which are likely to have convinced Black to escape. High risk is red, medium is blue and low is green ink."
Harry was staring at one particular article – a short paragraph with a photo of the Weasleys on their first day in Egypt. All of them were grinning at the camera and waving, while Scabbers was sitting on Ron's shoulder. Hermione peered over Harry's shoulder to see what he was looking at.
"Oh yes, that." She said. "Ron sent me a letter telling me about how they won it when Ginny insisted on buying a ticket. The Weasleys deserve it. It's just such a pity that Scabbers fell ill while he was there – although he doesn't seem very ill in the photo."
Harry smirked. "He looks like a very dirty tennis ball." He said. "He's gotten a lot thinner now that he isn't eating."
Hermione also convinced Harry to research for methods to save Buckbeak from the cruel caprices of the Malfoy, since they were already in the Library. Hours of research yielded nothing that could possibly help them. Since Buckbeak had already attacked a human, the trial would be a closed one without any outside witnesses. The only people involved would be the injured party, a jury picked by the injured party, the defendant and the executioner.
"Percy!" cried Hermione suddenly, and the boy in question looked up from his seat in the far corner. She lowered her tone at Madam Pince's reproving glance. "Come over here."
He approached, albeit warily, and eyeing Harry like he was a two-headed platypus the entire time. He was relieved when it was Hermione who spoke with him.
"If, hypothetically, we wished to prevent an animal that had attacked Draco Malfoy because he insulted it from being executed, what should we do?"
Consulting Percy was a brilliant move. It was well known that Percy's dream was to reach the upper echelons of the Ministry and so, he would almost certainly have researched all about it. His answer was less brilliant.
"Nothing." He said flatly. "There is very little in the Ministry that occurs legally without Lord Malfoy's consent, and all of it is orchestrated by Professor Dumbledore. In a case like this, even he can do nothing – I assume you are talking about Buckbeak?"
He saw their looks and rolled his eyes. "Hypothetically. Right. As for illegally, well, if there is little that occurs legally without his consent, there is nothing, absolutely nothing that occurs illegally without his consent. Remember this; no matter how many donations Malfoy may make to St. Mungo's, he is still the ruler of the Wizarding Underworld and of the Minister. No one, and I mean no one, is capable of countering him politically on an issue that he cares about."
He turned to leave, while Hermione looked crushed.
"Wait." Said Harry. "How long has Scabbers been with you?"
Both Percy and Hermione seemed nonplussed at the random change in topic. "Scabbers?" he repeated slowly. "I found him when I was six years old, so I think it was in late '81. So now it's been, yes, twelve years since I found him. Why?"
Harry ignored his question. "In that time, did he fall ill very often?" he asked, still referring to the rat. Percy shook his head. "I actually can't remember him ever falling ill. Why are you asking this?"
Harry gave this question the same regard he gave the previous one. "When did Scabbers fall ill in Egypt?" he asked, and the elder Weasley frowned. "I'm not sure." He admitted. "You'll have to ask Ron, but I think it was pretty near the end of the vacation."
X…X October
Hermione was highly annoyed by the time they reached the Gryffindor Common Room. Teachers whom they had never spoken to before found excuses to walk with Harry, as a result of which she was unable to interrogate him as thoroughly as she wished. She was beginning to see what Harry meant about the teachers hiding something.
She was even more annoyed when, upon entering the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry immediately went to Ron's side. "Hey Ron!" he said, and the youngest male Weasley turned towards them. "Where's Scabbers?"
"I left him up in the dorm." He said, glaring at Hermione. "That cat is a menace!" Harry sighed in frustration at the continuing feud between the two. "When did Scabbers fall ill?"
Ron's brow scrunched up in thought – an activity he was unused to, if one was feeling as spiteful as Hermione currently was. "I noticed he was ill on the day he ripped that newspaper up." He said slowly. "Mum was annoyed because we had to buy another copy… and that was the day Black's escape was reported!" he concluded triumphantly. "He fell ill on the day Black's escape was reported!"
Hermione drew her friend aside. "Harry, why are you so concerned about Scabbers?" she hissed. He drew the back of his hand across his eyes, as if trying to clear them.
"I don't know." He said, frustrated. "Something just seems off."
She rolled her eyes. "Forget about Scabbers, Harry. He's just a rat, he'll get better. Focus on the bigger issues – Buckbeak and Black. That's your motto from now on – Buckbeak and Black."
X…X October
"I'm sorry Harry, but I think it would be better for you – safer – if you were to stop Quidditch practice in the evenings. I'll speak to Wood about it."
Professor McGonagall peered at him over her spectacles, expecting the usual outburst from him. She was not disappointed.
"Professor, you can't just take Quidditch away from me! Quidditch is all I've got! Besides, Black isn't going to attack me in the middle of Quidditch practice. There are too many witnesses and he was in Gryffindor too. If anything, he'll attach me when Quidditch season is over."
She drew in a sharp breath. "Hoo did ye know 'at Black's efter ye?" she asked, all traces of sympathy gone like dew under the morning sun. Her Scottish accent was showing thickly in her anger.
"Everyone's been hinting about it, Professor. It wasn't too hard to figure out." He said calmly. She had nothing on Hermione. Nothing. "What I want to know is why Black is after me."
"Black betrayed the trust of your parents." She replied. "He was responsible for the death of many good wizards, including a good friend of your parents, Peter Pettigrew."
A good response, which tallied completely with what Professor Lupin had said. The only problem was that it had come a bit too pat, she had given up and revealed all just a bit too easily.
Harry was surer than ever that everyone was lying to him.
X…X November
Harry woke up groggily in the Hospital Wing. The entirety of the Quidditch team, barring Wood, was gathered around his bed, which meant that the room smelled like the armpit of a particularly sweaty giant. Hermione and Ron were trying their best to keep their distance while at the same time hug Harry.
"You fell pretty bad, mate." Said Ron, giving an eloquent description of a slender thirteen-year-old falling five hundred feet with a swarm of Dementors pursuing him. This was, however, still better than Hermione, who was tearfully hugging him and babbling incoherently.
The news of his broom's death was a blow to Harry, but his mind was preoccupied by other things. When the Gryffindor team left, Hermione and Ron stayed back in their usual predictable fashion… or maybe it was just that he had been in the Hospital Wing enough.
"I saw something during the match today."
Harry's tone guaranteed immediate attention from the both of them. When Harry used this tone, it usually marked the beginning of a life-threatening escapade that saved the Wizarding World from disaster by the skin of its eyeteeth.
"There was a large black dog in the top row of the stands today. One that looked rather like a Grim."
Ron may not have had the same IQ Hermione did, but he grasped what Harry was trying to say just as well.
"Any chance it's just a coincidence?" asked the eternal optimist. "Maybe you reckon you were just seeing things?"
Harry snorted. "Yes, I was seeing things. Unfortunately, those things were actually there."
X…X November
"Ickle Harrikins!"
"And how is-"
"our favourite adopted-"
"brother today?"
Harry found himself developing the migraine that the Weasley twins were famed far and wide for producing in people they conversed with. "Hello Fred, George." He said, shaking both of their hands at once. "How can I help you fine gentlemen in your no doubt noble-spirited endeavours?"
The twins exchanged a significant glance. "Ah, Harry."
"Harry, Harry, Harry."
"While no doubt well-intended,"
"I am afraid that you-"
"will not be able to help us-"
"in any form or fashion."
The migraine, rather than abating, was in fact growing stronger by the second. He got the feeling that some enthusiastic blacksmith was using his skull as an anvil.
"If I can't help you," he asked carefully. "Why exactly have you cornered me on a Hogsmeade weekend in a corridor suspiciously free of witnesses?"
The twins shook their heads sadly in unison. "Be thou as chaste as ice-"
"As pure as snow-"
"Thou shalt not escape calumny."
"Shakespeare, my dear Potter."
"Man was full of handy quotes like that."
"Thou shalt not." Agreed Harry. "Now, are you going to explain what you want from me or should I be running already?"
"Just because you cannot help us, Harry-"
"Does not mean that we cannot help you."
"After all, the Weasley family owes you a debt."
"And one does not forsake a brother."
They took out, with reverence befitting the works of a god, a crinkled and aged piece of parchment that smelled of mildew. They solemnly presented it to Harry.
"Behold, o' Potter-"
"The finest work of magical art in recorded history."
"The Marauder's Map." They said in unison. Harry stilled and racked his brain for where he had heard that term before. A memory floated up in his consciousness.
We even had a name for ourselves, the Marauders.
He broke out of his reverie to see the Weasley twins looking at him with some concern. "You okay, Harrikins?" one asked, while the other pressed a hand to his forehead. Harry waved him off.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Show me what it does."
"What it does? My dear Harrikins-"
"this is just a plain old-"
"boring piece of parchment."
The twins leaned forward, possibly to increase the dramatic tension. "Until you do this." They said ominously. One of them pressed a wand to the parchment and whispered softly. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."
Ink furled out from his wand and spread across the parchment, creating what was clearly a map of Hogwarts, complete with the position of every individual in the castle. At the top was text which made Harry's heart leap.
"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs are proud to present the Marauder's Map."
One of Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs was the nickname of his father, since Moony was clearly Professor Lupin. Not very subtle there.
"You will notice that there is-"
"an unblocked passage to Hogsmeade-"
"in the statue of the Hump-Backed Witch there."
"Use it wisely and well, Harry."
"Your need is greater than ours."
"To wipe it just say-"
"Mischief Managed." They chorused in unison.
"Hold on." Harry said, still giddy from the fact that he was holding something his father helped create. "So is this how you always manage to get Butterbeer for parties?" When they nodded silently, he went on. "Then why don't you get alcohol?"
"Ah Harry."
"There lies our bane."
"Neither Rosmerta of the Three Broomsticks-"
"Nor Aberforth of the Hog's Head-"
"are willing to give us alcohol."
"Rosmerta even threatened to report us!"
And just like that, they disappeared.
X…X November
"If Black isn't affected by Dementors," reasoned Harry. "Then why in the name of Jesus, Mary and Joseph are they stationed around Hogwarts! Aurors would have done equally well!" he snapped, referring to the Wizarding World's police force.
Ever since the Hogsmeade trip where he learnt the truth of how Black betrayed his parents, Harry's mood had been sour. Everyone in the country, from the Minister of Magic to the Groundsman at a school, knew more about his own history than he did. Worse still, no one had bothered to tell him.
He had no intention of seeking a murderous revenge on Black, like everyone seemed to believe he had. He knew there was something wrong about the way that Black escaped from prison and came to Hogwarts. But it was as Professor Lupin had said – he, of all people, had a right to know.
X…X December
"Mr. Potter, I hear you have received a Firebolt as an anonymous gift this Christmas."
Professor McGonagall's voice cut through Harry's musings on the identity of the mysterious gift giver. Hermione stood at the teacher's elbow, nervously twisting her fingers.
"That is correct, Professor." Harry replied calmly, while Ron just stood there staring. Harry had an inkling of what was going to happen at that point.
He was right. "Mr. Potter, I insist that you give the broomstick to me. I, along with the rest of the staff, will check it for jinxes, hexes and curses."
He stared at her for a moment and shrugged. "All right." He said, handing it over to her.
She left, Ron still gaping at the whole exchange. Harry sat back down without once looking at Hermione, and Ron finally cottoned on.
"You told McGonagall about the Firebolt! Are you mental?" he screamed at Hermione, who looked like she wanted to sink into the floor. She took a deep breath.
"I think – and Professor McGonagall agrees with me – that the broom might have been sent by Sirius Black in order to try and kill Harry." Her voice came out as a whisper and she was looking largely at Harry, who was pointedly ignoring her.
"What's Black going to do – walk into a Quidditch store and buy a Firebolt just like that? He's a wanted man, Hermione, he can't reveal himself!"
Hermione was no longer listening to Ron. Her entire attention was focussed on Harry, who had yet to open his eyes from where he sat in the armchair.
"Harry, say something!" she begged, and Harry slowly opened his eyes. Looking into his eyes at that moment, Hermione could well believe that this slight figure was the person who had burnt You-Know-Who alive in their first year. There was no fury or anger, only an ice-cold rage that promised to outlive the mountains.
"Go away." He said softly, and Hermione backed out of the Common Room, nearly bursting into tears. Harry closed his eyes again.
"Mate, that might have been a bit harsh." Ron said quietly, displaying an insight that he seldom showed.
X…X February
Professor McGonagall was smiling. It was barely noticeable, but it was there. "Here is your broomstick, Mr. Potter." She said formally. "We checked it thoroughly – it is quite safe to use." She gave a piercing glance, followed by a rare proud smile. "It has been too long since Gryffindor has won the Quidditch Cup."
"Thank you, Professor." He said, cradling the Firebolt possessively. "And the wait will not be too long."
He took longer than usual to reach the Gryffindor Common Room, trying to keep the existence of the Firebolt a secret. When he entered, Hermione was the only person there, reading a book in front of the fire. She looked up when he entered, and her broad smile at seeing the broom in his hands faded when she saw the same cold look in his eyes that she had seen on Christmas, the same cold look that she had been seeing for two months.
She lowered her head and went back to reading her book, her hair hiding her face. Her shoulders shook as she read.
X…X March
The party following the match with Ravenclaw was stupendous in its own right, celebrating both the defeat of Ravenclaw and the utter humiliation of Malfoy. Harry, although the focus of the celebrations, himself celebrated perhaps rather less than his housemates. His mind was occupied by the duo of Sirius Black, the mass murderer and betrayer of his parents and Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker whom he had defeated the previous day. She was shorter than Harry by about a head, and Harry couldn't help noticing that she was extremely pretty.
Screams woke everyone up at two o' clock in the morning. Groggily shaking themselves out of stupor, Harry was the first one up and consequently, the first one to see that the screams were coming from Ron's mouth. He was also the first one to feel like punching Ron in the face.
His anger faded away with Ron's next words.
"It was Black! He was right there, holding this huge knife! Black was in the dorm!"
His words were met by general scepticism, but this was rather due to the fear that he might be telling the truth, as borne out by his ripped bed curtains, rather than any logic. For once, the babble did not decrease with the arrival of Professor McGonagall, who cut an imposing figure even in a tartan nightgown.
However, this was nothing compared to when it became clear, through Sir Cadogan's testimony, that Sirius Black had actually been inside the dorm. Duly seeing Neville severely punished for writing down the passwords and then losing them, the Scottish Professor left, taking with her any hope of the Gryffindors going to sleep that night. No one even went up to the dorms; they stayed in the Common Room, believing – perhaps foolishly, perhaps wisely – that there was safety in numbers.
Ron, for the first time in his life, was the centre of everyone's attention. He recounted the tale of his brush with death many times, often to the same audience, with additional embellishments entering with each retelling. It was clear that he was enjoying the attention, especially from the opposite gender, and Harry was glad to let him have it. He just wanted peace and quiet to think.
Unfortunately, peace and quiet were in short supply that night – technically morning. The noise levels in that confined space were not unbearable, but they did not make for ideal introspective conditions. Harry's already frayed nerves finally gave way, as he once again lost his train of thought due to the noise.
"SHUT UP!" he screamed, and every head turned to Harry where he knelt on the rug next to the fire, his hands pressed to his temple. Total silence pervaded for the first time since two in the morning.
Suddenly, Harry jumped up and ran up the stairs to the boy's dorm, flinging himself into his moonlight-drenched bed. He lay there for a moment before once more jumping up and standing at the entrance to the dorm. The rest of Gryffindor, now convinced beyond doubt that they were witnessing the acts of a madman, started whispering among themselves, but this time Harry made no objection.
Advancing slowly, he peered at the trunks lying between Harry's and Ron's adjacent beds and froze there. The moon clearly illuminated both Harry's bed and the trunks.
With just as little warning as he had given before, Harry suddenly relaxed and walked back downstairs, not seeing or not caring about the way people's eyes were following him as he walked. He collapsed bonelessly onto an armchair next to the window and stayed there for several hours, sunk in thought, as around him, security was tightened, and rumours were exchanged.
The next day, he received a reply to a letter he had sent out via Hedwig. A frown crossed his face as he read it.
X…X March
"Hey Hagrid. How're you doing?"
Harry and Ron looked up at their overgrown friend who also happened to be their Care of Magical Creatures Professor. Despite that, they could never bring themselves to seriously call him 'Sir' or 'Professor'. He was just Hagrid to them, their friend who had a skewed view of what was and was not dangerous.
"Aam all right, Harry. How be on? I've bin meanin' tae talk tae th' two of ye."
They looked up again at Hagrid's uncharacteristically serious tone as they followed him to his hut. It was rare indeed for Hagrid to be this serious – they had seen him such when he was to be sent to be Azkaban and upon learning of Buckbeak's trial. They waited for him to elaborate, but he said nothing until they reached the hut.
"You'll hae some tea an' rock cakes, of course?
The two friends exchanged a glance behind Hagrid's back. "Just tea is fine, Hagrid. We'll pass on the rock cakes."
They loved Hagrid, but in matters relating to Hagrid's rock cakes, the operative word was 'rock'.
When they were seated, Hagrid thoughtfully munching on a rock cake while they sipped their tea, he began talking, apropos of nothing.
"Buckbeak's trial is comin' up real suin. Aam gonnae go an' speak in front ay a jury in a week." He looked at them with steady dark eyes. "Hermione's bin a real blessin', ah can tell ye. She's bin over here aw day, researchin' an' helpin' me rehearse mah speeches. She e'en got me some notes."
Then he got to the point he had been leading up to the entire time.
"Now, ah amn't sayin' ye should be helpin'. Ye got yer own worries, whit wi' Black efter ye an' th' Dementors an' whatnot, an' I understan' that. But Hermione's yer friend, an' now baith of ye are givin' 'er th' cold shoulder an' she isnae takin' it sae well. She's a proper mess, she is, though she tries 'er best tae hide it. Now, ye better give th' reason th' two ay ye hae abandoned th' lassie ye fought a troll for, coz ah know ye, an' ye would nae dae it for nae reason."
It was Ron who spoke first. "Her cat ate Scabbers."
Put like that, it seemed a very weak reason to a get mad at your friend, but Hagrid frowned.
"Crookshanks ate yer rat? Ah cannae believe 'at."
Ron leant forward in confusion. He may never have passed out of school, or even passed his OWLs, but Hagrid was an authority on all subjects concerning animals in a way that no one else in Britain could even claim to match.
"Aam tellin' ye, you've got th' wrong end ay th' stick there. Crookshanks wasnae just a cat, he was a half-kneazle, an' those lot ur brighter than any cat you'll ever fin'. Hermione fed Crookshanks regularly, an' a well-fed kneazle only attacks things 'at ur untrustworthy. Great judges ay character, kneazles."
"We found ginger hair in his blood!" protested a disbelieving Ron, not wanted to think that he had wronged both Crookshanks and Hermione. Hagrid shrugged.
"So? Plenty ay ginger cats around. Hell, there's Miss Norris. She's got some ginger patches, an' I've always felt thaur was somethin' wrang wi' 'er." He turned to Harry. "An' ye?"
Harry considered his words before he spoke. Hearing the full story of Christmas Day, Hagrid leant back, polishing off the last of his rock cake. "Now, yer case, 'at isnae sae clear-cut." He said, taking a long draught of tea. "Whit she did was wrong, nae doubt abit 'at. She should've spoke to ye first, an' aah'd hae said so if she'd told me whit th' argument was abit. But she meant well; she was jist tryin' tae protect ye, an' e'en if 'er methods were a wee bit off, she did 'er best. E'eryone makes mistakes, Harry."
"Yes." He said thoughtfully. "Everyone makes mistakes."
X…X March
Harry stood in front of Hermione, where she was buried in the library, with her nose in old law tomes that had not been touched in centuries. She raised her head as she became aware that there was someone in front of her, and shrunk into herself when she met Harry's eyes.
"We need to talk." He said, his words a Doom hanging over her like a cloud. She followed him meekly into one of Hogwarts numerous empty classrooms. They sat down on dusty chairs, facing each other.
"You reported that I had received a mysterious gift to McGonagall because you were afraid that Sirius Black had sent it." He said, and Hermione nodded sadly. "That is not why I am angry. That was a smart move, and one I wholeheartedly support.
The reason I am angry is that you went behind my back. If you had come to me with your fear, I would have given the broom to you – hell, if you had just asked me, I would have let you use the broom as kindling. You mean a lot to me, Hermione, but someone cared about me enough to buy one of the most expensive Quidditch brooms in the world for me. If there was even a chance that it was not jinxed or hexed or cursed, that it was meant just as a gift and not a murder attempt… I had to keep it.
You have many things that I do not, Hermione, things that you take for granted. Me, I have nothing to my name but gold and ghosts, nothing that I can call my own but dreams. I own two things belonging to my father, and none that belong to my mother, and you went behind my back and forced me to give up something that was meant as a gift for me. Do you understand why I was angry?"
Hermione nodded, still not meeting his eyes and sighing, he stood up. "Come here." He said, extending his arms, and Hermione crashed into him, her arms encircling his chest as she sobbed into his shoulder. He sat down, and she collapsed onto his lap still crying, never once letting go of him. He adjusted her legs so that they were sideways across his lap and gently ran his fingers through her hair.
He could not have said how long they sat there, him running her fingers through her hair as her sobs slowly eased – long enough, he knew, for his legs to go through numb and come out on the other side. He had removed her shoes and gently and she had unconsciously shifted positions, her legs curled up on his lap and her head resting against his chest. He never stopped finger-combing her tresses, hoping through some means to calm her down as she released three months' worth of pent-up emotion.
"I missed you." She whispered, her voice low and scratchy. "Ron and I argue all the time, but Ron and I aren't really friends, not the way you're my friend. You were my first friend ever, and I missed you so badly." She tightened her arms around him and shuddered slightly. "If I promise never to do something like this without asking you, will you promise never to leave me again?" she asked, hopeful, desperate.
"Never." He whispered, and pulled her closer to him.
She looked into his eyes and saw, for the first time in three months, the same warmth in them that she used to see before. She had taken it for granted, as she had taken so many things for granted, but now she basked in the light of his trust and affection.
She went on. "I know that Ron's closer to you than I am and that you'd call him your best friend, but you're my best friend – my only friend really." She said, burying her face in his chest as she sniffled. "I love you." She said, praying that he would understand that it was platonic, not knowing how to put what she wanted to say in words, but hoping he would know and see what she meant.
"I love you too." He said, knowing and seeing and understanding what she wished to say, but could not.
X…X March
"I still can't believe your father made this." Hermione marvelled as Harry joined them and stowed the Marauder's Map into his pocket. "He must have been a genius!"
Harry grinned and joined his friends – now thankfully no longer bickering – to spend the afternoon wandering around the village. They went almost everywhere – as the last Hogsmeade weekend, it was the only chance they had to buy supplies and sweets. The trio separated after Zonko's – Ron and Hermione went to explore the famously-haunted Shrieking Shack, while Harry headed off alone on a mission.
No, a Mission.
He reached his destination and stared at the dingiest pub in a world full of dingy pubs with the same reverence a devout Christian might accord the Holy Grail, or a pureblood the Staff of Merlin. The Hog's Head, run by Aberforth the Barman and one of the two places in all of Hogsmeade licensed to sell alcohol.
"Good afternoon." He said cordially, and Aberforth the Barman glared at him with rheumy eyes. "Could you sell me some Firewhiskey?"
He abruptly stopped polishing the glass he was holding and put the rag down. "I get some of you lot every year." He replied. "I'll give you the same answer; I'll do it if you give me a good reason why I should."
"I'll pay you extra."
"Oh, that you will, boy." Aberforth the Barman agreed. "But that isn't a reason; that only comes into play once you give me the reason." He resumed transferring dirt from the glass to the cloth and back again. "Anything better?"
Harry held an ace – well, not so much an ace as ten of spades while they were playing diamonds. On his previous trip, he had overheard Aberforth the Barman make some rather disparaging remarks about Albus Dumbledore – Harry had picked up some new expressions, and not the kind that Hermione would approve of.
"It'll piss off our worthy Headmaster."
Aberforth the Barman gave him a long, slow look which seemed to see right through him in the same way as the aforementioned Headmaster. "Albus won't be the only one pissed if I give you alcohol." He said gruffly, but he put down both the rag and the glass. "You want for yourself or for a party?"
"A party." He replied. "We plan on winning the Quidditch Cup, and we'll need to celebrate."
"Course you do, boy." He said and reaching under the bar, heaved a crate onto the counter. "I ain't giving you no Firewhiskey, so what you'll get is a crate of beer. The quality's okay though." He did a quick mental calculation. "That'll be 70 Galleons."
Harry's eyebrows rose. You could buy a good deal for 70 Galleons. He had a little over a 100 Galleons left, but he would rather not spend that much at one time if he had to. Seeing his sceptical look, Aberforth the Barman explained. "It's actually 35 Galleons, but I doubled the rate seeing as you're a minor. Fair, eh?"
Harry gave him the same look he had received before, then grinned. "Pleasure doing business with you." He looked at the crate. "Could you shrink it?"
X…X May
Harry awoke in his four-poster bed in the Gryffindor dorms with the curtains drawn. This was odd because Harry preferred to sleep with the curtains open, especially in the hotter months. He had a slight headache and a feeling of mild nausea, both of which he ignored. He remembered winning the Quidditch Cup, and the party… ah. He thought he had managed to limit himself, but apparently not.
There was also someone lying on his chest. He raised himself on his elbows and saw Hermione. A naked Hermione. A naked Hermione who was just beginning to stir and whose breasts were rising and falling in a way that attracted one's attention.
"Oh god." She moaned. "My head. Hurts. Ow." She opened her eyes and at this point, presumably saw Harry. "Harry? What – Harry!" she squeaked, pulling the sheet up over herself. Unfortunately, this sudden motion led her stomach to protest and she was forced to leave the sheet as she ran to the bathroom.
Well, she wasn't quite naked, amended Harry, holding her hair back as Hermione threw up in the sink. She was wearing pink panties. And socks. And that was about it. He gently stroked her hair in a motion that gave him a feeling of déjà vu, although he was fairly certain he had never seen Hermione nearly naked and throwing up before.
Peering out first to make sure none of the boys had woken up yet, Hermione followed Harry out and quickly wore the clothes they found strewn about on the bed, very carefully not looking at each other.
"We didn't have… do…it, did we?" she squeaked, when they were both respectably attired. Harry shook his head.
"I don't think so. I was wearing boxers when I woke up." She nodded.
"Me too." She agreed, before wincing. "I mean… umm… let's try and reconstruct what happened last night."
"Okay." Agreed Harry. Anything to get rid of the awkwardness. "I tried to limit myself and ended up drinking three-fourth of a bottle of beer. When I found you, you were sitting at a table drinking beer, which surprised me."
Hermione blushed. "I thought I should – you know – cut loose a little bit, so I didn't limit myself. At all." Harry gasped at this revelation.
"There were two empty beer bottles on your table, and you were drinking from a third! Hermione, did you drink two and a half bottles of beer last night?"
Her expression was reply enough.
"Okay, so we came upstairs and sat on the bed. We talked for a while about… friendship?" she continued, and he searched his memory. "Oh yeah." He said, finally remembering. "You cried for a bit. I told you I liked Chang, and you said that you had a huge crush on me until last year."
Both of them blushed at inadvertently having revealed their own secrets to each other but soldiered on. "I think I was crying because I didn't consider myself pretty." Hermione recalled. "Then you said you thought I was gorgeous and then we…"
At this point, their cheeks were an identical shade of scarlet. "We kissed and… snogged each other." She continued.
"After that, I think we removed each other's clothes and… touched… each other."
"Then we – oh god."
Both of them froze as they realized just what they had done the previous night. "It was all over the underwear, though." Harry interjected hastily. Hermione relaxed… minutely. No one else would have even noticed it. "Yes. You didn't actually touch my… region."
Harry shook his head, looking relieved. "No, although you did seem to like it."
She blushed, and she was hardly the only one. "Yes, you were quite… good. Previous experience?"
"Beginner's luck."
"Well then, you have very – umm – talented hands."
"You too."
She swallowed. "I think I'll have to get these panties washed. They were quite damp last night."
They remained silent for a while. "How about we never tell anyone about this?" Offered Harry.
"Done."
X…X May
Harry and Hermione sat in the library, more comfortable with each other than they used to be. Both of them were researching, Hermione about laws regarding the execution of wild animals, Harry, for some reason, reading an old book about werewolves.
"Hermione." Harry said suddenly. "What is an Animagus?"
She considered the question. "An animagus is a person who can change from human into one specific animal form at will." She said. Harry froze, barely breathing as so many things slotted into place. But not everything. Hermione continued to lecture. "The animagus form of a person is decided by their innate characteristics. Multiple people can have the same species as their form, but they are never quite identical. Animagus transformations can be done without a wand." Another thing slotted into place. "A person who has transformed retains full use of their faculties." He had expected nothing less.
She peered at him in curiosity. "The only person we've heard of who is an Animagus is Professor McGonagall. Remember how she turned from cat to human in our first year? I checked recently. Sirius Black isn't one. Everyone who becomes an Animagus has to register with the Ministry, and his name isn't on the list."
With a convulsive leap, Harry was out of his seat and running for the doors.
X…X May
"Professor Lupin!" he cried, bursting into the classroom. "Are you busy?"
The Defence Professor smiled from where he was standing in front of the chalkboard. "Well, I am teaching this class how to cast the Shield Charm."
Harry glanced around and saw Fred and George giving him impressed looks. Fifth year, then. He snorted. "Protego? It's ridiculously simple, should be Second Year syllabus. A hairless monkey with the IQ that God gave a manatee would be able to cast it first try. Can I speak to you for a second, Professor? I have a question to ask."
"Is it related to my subject?" asked the werewolf, smothering a grin at Harry's description of the all-purpose Shield Charm.
Well, there was a good chance he might die if he didn't get a response, so technically… "Yes."
They went into a corner. "Professor." Harry whispered urgently. "Did the rest of the Marauders become Animagi to keep you company on the full moon?"
He started suddenly. "How did you-?" he began, but Harry waved him off, silently urging him to answer the question. "Yes, they did. Your father was a royal stag, Pettigrew was a grey rat, and Black… Black was a Grim-like dog."
For the rest of the week, Harry did not move from his dorm despite the upcoming exams. He left only to eat in the Great Hall, and even then, he kept checking a piece of parchment which only five other people in the Great Hall would have recognized.
X…X May
"It's great that we found Scabbers, right Ron? Hagrid was correct after all – Crookshanks didn't eat him."
The redhead grinned easily, looked down at his much shorter friend. "Yeah." He admitted. "I apologized to Hermione, but she made me say sorry to Crookshanks, can believe it!" Harry smiled back, absently noting the dog that was sitting near them. Both the boys were in Quidditch gear and carrying brooms, apparently going for a quick pick-up game.
"Don't worry, he's safe now. He's in Hagrid's hut in a cage on a shelf that no cat is going to reach. Hagrid's in the library right now, looking for ways to make his scent repulsive to predators, but he bolted the hut after him, although it doesn't lock."
The dog walked off casually up the mountain.
As soon as they were out of sight, Harry mounted his broom and got Ron to do the same, despite his obvious confusion. "What the hell, mate?" he protested as Harry rose into the air, but followed nevertheless. "I thought we were going for Quidditch!"
They flew slowly and high until they reached Hagrid's hut just in time to see a figure disappear into it. Harry immediately pushed his broom into a breakneck dive while Ron followed at a more sedate pace.
They entered the hut together.
"Good evening, Mr Black." Said Harry Potter.
X…X May
Remus Lupin, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, Hagrid and Hermione all stood in a semicircle, while Ron and Harry stood in the doorway. Between them, wearing filthy rags and a quizzical, half-amused expression, stood Sirius Orion Black, considered the most dangerous man in Europe. The four adults had their wands out – or in Hagrid's case, a giant pink umbrella.
Harry smiled. "Please, Mr Black, have a seat." Warily, the man did so, still eyeing the weapons pointed in his direction. "How mad are you?"
He gave a barking laugh. "Mad?" he said, chuckling. "I'm not mad. Perfectly sane, that's me."
"Well then, it's a special kind of sanity that convinces you that breaking out of Azkaban only to break into the place with both the Dementors and Albus Dumbledore is a good idea."
Black considered this point gravely. "Well maybe I am mad, but only a little bit." He paused. "Although my perspective of mad may be skewed after my previous place of residence."
"Mr. Black, you are here today to tell your story to all of us – the real story of all that has taken place in your life since 1981." Black eyed the hostile looks and shook his head.
"I'd love to, but the Dementors might actually be a more receptive audience than these folks here."
Harry smiled. "A compromise. I tell the story – you correct me if I am wrong and fill in what I do not know.
You, Peter Pettigrew, James Potter and Remus Lupin met in your first year. You became fast friends, but you always felt closer to James Potter. At some point, one of you figured out that Lupin was a werewolf. You found that Animagi could help werewolves cope, since Wolfsbane was yet to be invented. You transformed into your different forms – dog, rat and stag – and went with him on full moon nights.
When you got to know that Voldemort was targeting my parents, you offered to be their Secret Keeper for the Fidelius. However, you also realized that everyone would expect this and so recommended Pettigrew for the role, whom no one would suspect.
Pettigrew betrayed my parents, and after handing me over to Hagrid, you went hunting after him, as the only one who knew who the true Secret Keeper was. You found him, but he blew up the Muggles and transformed into a rat, escaping through the sewers. You were captured, and feeling guilty for James Potter's death, kept repeating that you killed him. You were thrown into Azkaban.
In the newspaper Fudge gave you twelve years later, you saw a photo of Pettigrew in his Animagus form, and so escaped, seeking revenge. You were this hell-bent on vengeance because you were in love with James Potter. When Pettigrew heard of your escape, he became so scared he stopped eating.
You reached here by travelling in your Animagus form – though you made a stop at my house along the way – and befriended a half-kneazle named Crookshanks. Crookshanks had sensed there was something wrong with Pettigrew and so kept trying to capture him. Pettigrew used this as an excuse to disappear and set things up to make it look like he had died.
And so here we both are, you because I baited you here. Am I wrong, Monsieur Black?
The convict – wrongly accused, or so it – shook his head. "No." he said, clearing his throat. "No, you're right."
"What!" exploded Lupin. "You were in love with James?" In the background Snape was muttering something about everyone falling in love with James gods-be-damned Potter.
There was dead silence for a while after that particular outburst. "Really." Said Hermione. "Of all things, you choose to focus on that, Professor?"
Lupin had the grace to look sheepish. "I mean… he never told us he was gay." He mumbled. Professor McGonagall had taken enough. "Quiet, you two!" she ordered, and both the Marauders immediately shut up. Old habits die hard. The Gryffindor Head turned towards Harry. "How did you figure all this out, Mr Potter?"
The Potter heir grinned. "I'm so glad you asked!
As Hermione will testify, there were a lot of unanswered questions about Mr Black that didn't make any sense. I set to researching about him and found some more inconsistencies – that's how I found out that Professor Lupin is a werewolf. I saw that whatever encouraged Mr Black to escape, it had to be in the newspaper that Fudge gave him. I searched the newspaper and looked for anything relevant to Mr Black. There was nothing.
When Mr Black attacked the portrait of the Fat Lady, I immediately saw that he could not have been after me, because he would have had to search through Hogsmeade before coming into Hogwarts, which he didn't have the time for, and he could not believe that I would stay in the Common Room if I was in Hogwarts, which I did not. Evidently, he was after something else that he hoped to find inside either the Common Room or one of the dorms.
I learnt that Scabbers had fallen ill and stopped eating on the day that Mr Black's escape was reported. He had been with the Weasleys for 12 years – a lifespan rather too long for a rat – and had never before fallen ill. I also saw the same dog that I saw at Privet Drive in the Quidditch stands - twice. I did not know what it had to do with Mr Black, but I knew that it was connected.
When Mr Black seemingly attacked Ron, I knew for sure that he was not after me. There was sufficient light from the window to see which bed I was on, and I sleep with the curtains open. Hogwarts rules state that all trunks belonging to students must be clearly labelled with the student's name, so that they are transported to the correct dorm. Mr Black had to know which person's bed he was standing over.
He did not want to kill Ron, because if he did want to, he could have killed him when Ron woke up and then run – it would have taken five seconds more, maybe. He could not want to kidnap him, because Ron is possibly the worst hostage you could take. He must have wanted something belonging to Ron or in his possession. On the off-chance that I was wrong, I sent Mr Weasley an owl asking for details of interaction between him and Mr Black. He said that they never really interacted.
For a long time, I was put off by a statement made by Hagrid. He said that everybody makes mistakes, even though it did not seem likely that you had.
A week ago, I found an old text which said that when one half of a couple was turned into a werewolf, the other half often turned into an Animagus to keep them company. Professor Lupin had said that the four of you were 'a tightly-knit group'. There was no way you were friends for seven years without noticing that he was a werewolf. I realized that there was a good chance that the rest of the Marauders were Animagi, and asked Professor Lupin.
I'm ashamed to say that I spent a long time thinking Crookshanks was also an Animagus, but then I realized that he was a half-Kneazle. Animagi are always an animal species, not a cross-breed between the two. In the same way, one cannot have a mule as their animagus form.
I then spent a week staring at the Marauder's Map. ON the fourth day, I say Pettigrew's name appear and knew that I was right; Scabbers was indeed Peter Pettigrew. I then waited for you to turn up and took Ron to talk loudly about Scabbers near where you were sitting. I got the Professors to wait here under scent-masking charms which Professor Lupin applied. For some reason, they didn't take on Hagrid, but that was alright since it was his hut. I took an ordinary garden rat and shoved it in a jar on a shelf so that you might think for a second that it was Pettigrew."
Dead silence once again followed his monologue, before Sirius leaned back. "Why did no one tell me that James' son was also known as Sherlock fucking Holmes?" he murmured. "You just made one mistake, Harry. Pettigrew's scent. I smelt him here and I know his scent by heart, which is why I came in at all." Harry's eyes widened. "Yes." He continued. "Peter is, right now, inside this hut."
Just as he spoke, a blur exploded out of a milk jug and ran for the door, but Black was quicker. He jumped forward and caught the rat with one hand, falling heavily onto the floor. He smiled at the rat with a missing toe in its paw.
"Good evening, Pettigrew."
X…X May
"You have to understand, Harry, this looks very bad for the Ministry." bumbled the Minister of Magic. "I'm afraid that we simply can't grant Sirius Black a pardon, even if he is innocent.
Hermione's faith in authority figures was shattered by that point, as she listened to the words coming out of Fudge's mouth. Harry on the other hand, who had never had much respect for them, merely smiled coldly.
"You will declare Sirius Black as innocent, Mr Fudge." He said and there was an undertone of steel in every word he spoke. "You will hold a proper trial with Veritaserum for both Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, and when you have done so, you will ensure that justice is carried out to the fullest. You may be the Minister of Magic, but I am the Boy-Who-Lived. You can lose the next term, whereas I can never lose; you do not want me as your enemy, Mr Fudge. I do not want things to come to this, but if they must, there will be a reckoning between the two of us.
For a moment, the Minister and the Boy-Who-Lived stared each other down in the Headmaster's office, and those who were sitting there saw, in that instant, the shadow of a man over the image of Harry; a warrior and a knight and a king of his people, and a hint of the man that he was to become. They realized in that instant why Dumbledore, who was sitting to the side and smiling contentedly, could place so much faith on the shoulders of one boy-who-was-not-a-boy. The Minister, wisely enough, did not call Harry's bluff.
"And of course, you will call off the execution of Buckbeak the Hippogriff. I'm sure you can think of a reason – say that allowing it would be a travesty of justice or some other nonsense."
Fudge smiled weakly. In the eloquent phrase of the times, Harry had him by the balls and he knew it.
X…X
Th' Winter Laird abandons 'er Game an' moves ontae another story fur a wee break, unperturbed by th' cries ay indignation an' fury ragin' behin' at th' place she had jist left.
OMake: Harry Meeting Daniel Granger
"I don't like you." Announced the elder Granger. "I also do not like what you did to my daughter." His glare could have melted steel, and Harry swallowed nervously.
"Hermione told you about that, huh?" he said weakly, and the glare intensified.
"It was not difficult to figure it out from her letters." He said slowly, and at that point Harry was more scared of Dan Granger than of Voldemort.
"It was an accident!" he protested. "I didn't really sleep with Hermione – not technically – and neither of us was really thinking and it just sort of… happened."
Mr Granger had gone very, very still. "You slept with my daughter." He said, enunciating each word carefully. Harry blinked.
"What were you talking about?"
"I was talking about the fact that you abandoned her and made her cry as she wrote letters to us." He replied, his hands clenching and unclenching.
Part of the reason Harry was still alive was that he knew when to fight and when to flee. He ran to the next room and hid himself behind Hermione.
"Hermione, save me!" he cried, kneeling behind her and clutching at her desperately. Her father entered and froze when he saw Harry's position. "Stop touching my daughter's legs." He ordered coldly, and Harry immediately let go of her thighs.
"Now move away from my daughter." He continued, possibly not liking the fact that his face was so close to her derrière, and that she was so comfortable with it there. Harry complied.
"What's going on?" she asked curiously, and Harry explained in a very short, one-line version. "Your Dad knows about us nearly-sleeping together."
She immediately moved to defend her best friend. "It's not Harry's fault, really, we were both drunk and-"
"You got my daughter drunk?!"
Harry's back was pressed to a door, and he realized he was cornered. "Why'd you assume it was me?" he asked feebly.
"Well, he isn't wrong." said Hermione, her lips twitching slightly.