Updated 7/31/19
I know, two updated chapters in one day. Because it's Harry's birthday and I'm feeling generous. So enjoy! I currently don't have internet in my apartment, though, so I don't know when the next update will be. But I'll be writing (rewriting) like crazy, so if you're lucky, the next time I update, I may even have a completely new chapter (but don't hold your breath).
Chapter 20: Trouble in Paradise
The morning the Marauders (plus Tonks) returned to Hogwarts, Harry woke feeling he'd barely slept at all. His troubled and divided thoughts from the conversation with Tonks had followed him into sleep. Frequent dreams and flashes of memory interrupted his rest, and by morning he'd only had perhaps four hours of fitful sleep the whole night. As a result, he was tired and withdrawn and not in the mood for James's and Sirius's dramatics (though they toned it down for Remus's sake, as the full moon was in just three days). Peter kept the others in line, and even Tonks was quiet. It made for an unusually quiet train ride.
Harry must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew, the train jerked to a stop and Harry was rudely awakened by his head slamming into the wall of the compartment.
Have we arrived already? Harry thought. But outside was dark. Not even the stars were visible in the overcast sky. Suddenly the lamps flickered and went out and Harry's breath caught in his chest. Then a familiar cold gripped his insides.
No. Not here. Not now. Not again. His thoughts, already unsettled, grew darker. What little he could see began swirling together. The others' confused and worried voices blended and blurred together into a distant, distorted murmur. Familiar screams filled his mind. He felt like he was falling, falling…
A silvery lynx shot past Harry, a flash of searing warmth that drove back the black-robed figure in the doorway. A hand closed on his shoulder, and the world swirled back into focus.
"There are more." Tonks's voice was hard and flat—auror mode, Harry recognized. She must have been keeping a tight rein on her emotions.
Harry swallowed hard and nodded. A bit unsteady, his hands trembling, he drew his wand and joined Tonks in the compartment doorway. Tonks's hand tightened on his shoulder, then she moved into the corridor and faced toward the end of the train. Harry faced the opposite way, casting around for a memory he could use to fuel his Patronus.
In the dim light cast by Peter's lit wand, the others' faces were tight with worry and fear. Sirius had retreated into himself, a tightly wound ball on the seat. Even seeing Remus on his feet, wand out, chanting the incantation to summon a Patronus with a fierce, if frightened, determination, didn't help.
Harry swallowed hard again. Then he felt Tonks behind him, close enough to feel her body heat. He focused on it, took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and incanted,
"Expecto patronum."
A swirl of silver, then a blurry, undefined shape burst from Harry's wand and chased down the dementors still visible down the corridor. He didn't have time to wonder why his Patronus didn't form properly, because there were more dementors coming. The cold still gripped Harry's insides, and it was taking all he had to focus on keeping his imperfect Patronus alive. A handful of older students had also stepped into the corridor, attempting to copy them. From the corner of his eye, Harry spotted a flash of red, and a large silver shape, its hazy outline resembling a doe, raced past him to join his own Patronus.
In the corridor, James's voice had joined Remus's, shakily repeating the incantation over and over again. Wisps of silver mist floated about. Suddenly a large, vaguely wolf-like shape flew past Harry to join the other patroni in the corridor, accompanied by a started shout of triumph.
A few minutes later, the paralyzing cold began to dissipate. Harry's vision was going dark as he strained to keep his Patronus active until the threat was completely gone. But he couldn't pass out now. Dark shapes still circled the train, retreating but not gone. Then, finally, the darkness lifted just enough to be natural. The lamps came back on. The last of the dark shapes vanished. Then the train jerked forward and started moving again. Harry lowered his wand, took three shaky steps, and collapsed into the seat nearest the door, shaking.
After a long time, something besides the floor of the compartment entered Harry's vision. It was a hand, holding out a chocolate frog. Harry blinked and followed the hand to its owner and found himself staring at Peter's sheepish (if pale) face.
"Apparently chocolate is good for you sometimes," he said with a faint smile.
Slowly, still feeling detached and unsteady, Harry took the frog and unwrapped it. "Thanks," he said quietly. Harry's Quidditch reflexes kept it from jumping away, and he bit off its head. Immediately a modicum of warmth flowed back into him. His hands stopped shaking (mostly) and the indistinct murmurs of sound resolved into real words.
Across from him, Remus was a bit pale, but he also kept staring at his wand in wonder while Tonks happily congratulated him on successfully casting a Patronus. Peter was handing out the rest of the chocolate frogs in his arms, chatting as he did. In contrast, beside Harry, James was muttering frantically, trying to coax Sirius out of the ball he'd curled into and convince him to eat the chocolate frog in his hand. As Harry watched, he realized two things: one, Sirius's knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the seat, and two, he was shaking. Hard.
Harry took a deep breath, trying to clear his own mind, and moved closer to Sirius. James looked up with poorly disguised desperation.
"What's with Sirius?" Harry heard Peter whisper to Tonks across the compartment. "Even Harry's okay now," he continued.
Mostly okay, Harry mentally corrected. And only for now. But Harry put aside his own trauma and put a hand on Sirius's shaking shoulder.
"It's okay now, Padfoot," Harry began quietly. He had an idea of what Sirius might be seeing, or reliving. "You're not there anymore. You're safe. It's me, Russet, and Prongs is about to worry a hole through his lip because of you."
A quiet sound—dare Harry say a chuckle?
James grimaced at the friendly jab, but picked up where Harry had left off. "He's right, Pads. And it's too quiet in here; I'm about to go crazy."
Another quiet, weak laugh, and finally Sirius's death grip on the edge of the seat loosened.
"I've got a chocolate frog here with your name on it," Harry continued. "But if you don't take it now, Moony will steal it—he's eyeing it intensely." He wasn't, actually. At least, not the chocolate frog. Everyone's attention was now on Sirius, waiting for him to come back to himself. But Harry said it anyway, because keeping it light and diverting Sirius's attention was the best way to pull him out.
After a moment, it worked. After some shuffling, in which Harry suspected he was wiping away tears, Sirius raised his head and snatched the chocolate frog from Harry with a playful glare in Remus's direction. As soon as he took a bite, the color returned to his cheeks and his eyes looked just a little less haunted—but they were still red-rimmed.
As Sirius finished his frog, Harry realized he had yet to finish his own. It was starting to melt from the heat of his fingers. He stuffed the rest of it into his mouth and blinked as the fog completely cleared from his mind and the slight tremor to his limbs stopped.
"Told you," Peter said playfully from across the compartment. Harry shrugged.
"Thanks again, Pete," he said.
Moments later, all six of the compartment's occupants were engaged in a rousing game of exploding snap, banishing the last of the darkness to the very back of their minds.
By the time the train finally stopped at Hogsmeade station, they'd planned an impromptu welcome-back prank. It was Peter's suggestion, actually, that they do something fun to help the rest of the school forget the attack on the train as well. It only involved fireworks, sparklers, and a few fun, harmless charms (and a request for lots of chocolate for dessert from the house elves in the kitchen). But when they let it off at the end of the welcome-back feast, the mood lifted significantly, and Harry would have sworn half the teachers (who would have heard of the attack) gave them a grateful nod as the students filed out of the Great Hall.
As high as their moods were as they got ready for bed, though, it got quite a lot quieter as the five boys crawled into bed one by one. And it was a long time before any of them finally fell asleep.
Harry woke suddenly, gasping, shaking, covered with sweat. His dream had been a horrifying mix of past and present (or rather, Harry's future-past and his current past). Only when Sirius—future-Sirius—had declared, black-robed and red-eyed, to "kill the spare" and Peter—current Peter—had collapsed dead beside him in a terribly familiar graveyard did Harry finally awake, deeply shaken and disturbed.
It was several minutes before Harry's breathing slowed to a more natural rhythm. And it was even longer before Harry could even begin to contemplate going back to sleep. Just as he began to drift off again—rather unwillingly—a sharp gasp nearby returned Harry to full wakefulness. He raised himself on his elbow and glanced around the darkened dorm, trying to pinpoint who it was.
Expecting Sirius, Harry was surprised to find himself meeting James's wide and frightened gaze in the darkness.
Harry sat up, intending to cross the short distance to James's bed in an effort to extend reassurance. But the other boy beat him to it, in a strange manner, as though he didn't want to be discovered seeking reassurance from another. But at moment later, James sat cross-legged in the middle of Harry's bed, now looking as though he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing there anymore.
Brow furrowed, Harry magicked his hangings shut and cast a silencing charm, so sound could get in but not out. Then he turned to James and waited for him to speak.
He didn't, not at first. But he bit his lip and averted his eyes, looking shockingly young without his glasses and signature smirk. And Harry could not think of him as his father in that moment; he seemed far too vulnerable and afraid.
After a long moment, though, James finally broke the silence with a tremulous whisper: "We really are at war, aren't we?"
Harry's eyes went wide. That question…Harry suddenly realized just how sheltered James was from the harsh reality outside, that Harry had all but grown up with. As a pureblood with a normal upbringing, his exposure was limited. With his father as an auror, perhaps he'd heard stories. But that's all they would have been—stories, where the bad guys are caught and the good guys come home. Perhaps a little beat up, but they always came home. Sirius, on the other hand, knew firsthand how cruel one's own family could be. And so did Remus, albeit in a different way. Even Peter, a half-blood from a difficult family situation (Harry never asked for the details) was no stranger to the cruelty of the world.
Harry did not immediately know what to say. But finally he settled for, "Yes, we really are, James." And despite being younger in age, Harry suddenly felt so old, so jaded and disillusioned, that he began to wonder how he'd ever thought he could ignore his reality and spend his days pranking and facing no danger worse than detention and a scolding from McGonagall.
James, on the other hand, nodded solemnly and then lowered his eyes. He looked—dare Harry say it—scared. Young, naïve, and vulnerable. Harry bit his lip, warring with a dozen different feelings. After a moment, he raised a hand to place it comfortingly on the other boy's shoulder. But just as he did, James raised his head, and even in the darkness Harry saw his eyes blazing with determination.
"You have to teach me—us. Teach us to fight those things. How to defend ourselves. Teach us—teach us to be strong like you."
Harry's eyes went wide.
"You think I'm strong?" He spoke before he could think.
James nodded fiercely. "You are. You fought those dementors today, even though—even though they're your boggart. You didn't lose your head at Christmas when Sirius—and you're the best in Defense, even above Remus," James added lightly.
Harry looked away, both pleased and uncomfortable. He didn't really know what to say. He didn't feel all that strong—more like stubborn and ridiculously lucky. But at the same time, James was staring at him like he was their only hope. And Harry hated to crush that hope, that faith that James still had for their future (and oh, it ached to think about how abruptly that future ended). Faith that Harry was only just starting to get back—because he'd met them.
Finally Harry settled for, "I'll think about it."
James grinned, not all feigned, and then curled up like a cat on the end of Harry's bed. Harry stared for a moment, then shrugged and laid back down.
The dementor attack on the Hogwarts Express made front-page news the very next morning.
Terror on the Hogwarts Express!
Students returning to Hogwarts after their winter break were subjected to a terrifying experience on the Hogwarts Express just 80 miles from Hogsmeade Station.
In an unprecedented attack, the dementors of Azkaban surrounded the Hogwarts Express near Brighton, 80 miles outside Hogsmeade. The dementors entered the train, sowing mass terror amongst the students.
"There must have been dozens of them!" claimed the assistant conductor. The driver—one Samuel Parks, 43—unfortunately, did not have time to escape before the dementors entered. He was overwhelmed and eventually Kissed. "Poor kids were terrified, crying and screaming for help. But I barely escaped with my own soul intact!"
The dementors made their way through the train from front to back, seemingly unopposed. Until, out of nowhere, several Patronuses were spotted, driving them back. Eyewitnesses claimed that no less than three full, corporeal Patronuses appeared within moments of the dementors' arrival, joined shortly after by a fourth. The four student-conjured guardians chased the dementors away from the youngest of the students and kept them at bay while the assistant conductor called for help.
It cannot be said enough that the quick actions of four students—for there is no other explanation for the Patronuses' appearance—no doubt saved the lives and souls of their classmates. No one can deny that the actions of these four as-yet-unidentified students were both timely and heroic, for they ensured there were no student casualties as a result of the entire incident. We shudder to think what may have happened had these students not acted so quickly. Nearly half a generation of bright witches and wizards would have been lost.
Equally undeniable is the terror this incident inspired in those students involved and that will inevitably spread throughout our community like Fiendfyre. Questions have been raised. What was the purpose behind this attack? Was it only a horrible mistake, or something far more sinister? Some witnesses claim that multiple dark-robed figures were also on the scene last night, seemingly directing the dementors' actions. Could they be in league with the rising dark lord? Could this be the start of something far more terrible?
For more on dementors and Azkaban, see page 4A. For more on the rising dark lord, see page 6. For Mr. Parks's obituary, see page 10.
"Look at that, Moony! You're a hero!" Sirius exclaimed, grinning, as he pointed at the article in the Daily Prophet. But Remus didn't agree.
"It wasn't heroics. It was the right thing to do," he argued. Then he shuddered. "They didn't need to mention what would have happened if we hadn't been there. And what's with the speculation? It's fearmongering, that's what it is."
"Well, everyone's definitely shaken," Harry said, glancing around the Great Hall. He still was having trouble shaking off his own experience last night. And it seemed the others were no different. Fearful whispers circulated the Hall like dry wind as those not present on the Express got the whole sordid story from their friends or the paper. Already there was speculation on the how and why of the attack—no doubt because of the questions raised in the article itself.
A bit to Harry's surprise, however, there was relatively little speculation on who those four "heroic" students were. But then again, only the upper years probably even knew what a Patronus was, let alone what it was for. And most of the younger ones probably were too distracted by the horrible experience of being near a dementor to notice the silvery shapes that flew by their compartment windows.
"Can you teach me to cast a Patronus, Russet?" James suddenly asked. He was grinning, playfully eager. But his eyes blazed with the same determination Harry had seen last night.
"Ooh, me, too, me, too!" Sirius chimed in, bouncing in his seat and raising his hand.
"And me?" Peter asked, more tentative and certainly more serious.
"It can be our first lesson," James added with the same eager grin, this time with a hint of mischief in his eyes.
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Sirius got there first.
"First lesson of what?"
"Harry said he'd train us in Defense—"
"I said I'd think about it!" Harry's protest was weak, though, in the face of the hope and
determination in the others' faces. He sighed. He'd inevitably have said yes anyway.
"Please?" they all said together, pleading and pouting.
Harry caved. "Alright, you win. We'll do it after dinner tonight."
The others cheered—even Remus. Harry sighed and resigned himself to restarting the DA, Marauders' Era. Tonks, who had overheard the entire conversation from her seat nearby, gave Harry a look that he couldn't quite read. Her eyes said encouragement, but her smirk said otherwise.
After dinner Harry led the Marauders (plus Tonks) to the seventh floor, across from the tapestry featuring dancing trolls. Then Harry cast a blindfold hex on the four boys, ignoring their protests, and started pacing. On the third pass, concentrating on the DA headquarters, a heavy door appeared in the previously blank wall. Harry pushed it open to find the room exactly the way it had been during the DA in his fifth year. Practice dummies along one wall, an ample bookshelf on the other, and plenty of other fun little gadgets to help practice defense.
With a faint smirk, Harry lightly pushed the other four boys through the doorway. James stumbled and his arms windmilled hilariously for a few seconds before he caught his balance. Tonks followed just behind Harry.
"Don't you think the blindfold was a little much?" she asked in an undertone, grinning.
"Nah," Harry answered. "I'd rather not imagine what they could do with access to this place whenever they wanted. Besides, it will give them incentive to learn how to dodge."
The door then closed behind them, so Harry waved his wand and removed the blindfolds.
"Oy! What was that for?" Sirius protested.
"This room's location and function is better off a secret—until you can beat me or Jos in a duel," Harry added, the idea coming in the moment. Good motivation indeed. "Especially as we'll be doing more than just practicing spells."
"What else is there in a duel, though?" James asked. "You just shoot spells at each other, right?"
"Expelliarmus!" Harry said suddenly, pointing his wand. James's wand flew into his hand as James stared at him in shock. "Can you still cast spells at me?" Harry asked, waving James's wand teasingly.
James blinked, then sheepishly shook his head.
"Then you see why you need to do more than just shoot spells at each other."
"Perhaps a demonstration?" Tonks suggested innocently.
Harry immediately felt a sense of unease, but for the sake of his friends understanding his point, he agreed. "Joselyn will cast at me, and I'll dodge. I won't even draw my wand," Harry said.
A feral grin spread across Tonks's face and Harry wondered just how much he was going to regret this. He returned James's wand and tucked his own back into its holster on his forearm, then nodded to his surrogate sister, indicating he was ready.
Immediately Harry was assaulted by a barrage of spells ranging from a stinging jinx to color-changing hexes and scourgify. Harry dodged, ducked, or rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding her spells.
"Oy!" Harry protested as he ducked out of the way of a bat-bogey hex, only to have to drop and roll to avoid a particularly nasty prank spell. "That's dirty!"
"Just helping you prove your point, dear brother," Tonks replied with a smirk.
Harry scowled, and decided to end this on his own terms. His wand stayed sheathed, but Harry deliberately started moving forward as he dodged, until he was close enough to jump and tackle her to the ground, knocking her wand out of her hand when her grip slackened in surprise.
"Point proven," Harry stated with a smirk every bit as feral as hers had been.
Tonks grimaced and pushed him off, to laughter from the other boys. Harry couldn't help but grin at their slack-jawed expressions.
"Hopefully you'll be able to last at least that long in a real duel," Harry said.
"That was amazing!" "Where did you learn that?" "How did you not draw your wand even once?" "Please, please teach me!"
Harry laughed at the muddled expressions of amazement and waved them off. "Anyway, we'll work on that another day. You asked me to teach you the Patronus charm, right?"
They all nodded, so Harry began his explanation. Harry truly felt like he was back in front of the DA, and actually trying to make a difference. Although his audience consisted of only four people, they gave him their rapt attention—especially James, who had asked for it in the first place.
"Remember how Professor Dean mentioned the Patronus was an emotion-based charm?" They nodded. "Usually, people say you need a happy memory to cast a Patronus. And that's a start, but the real power comes not from the memory itself, but from the actual feeling of being happy—not just pleased or excited, but truly happy. That's why this charm is so difficult, because most people don't understand the difference. A happy memory is a good place to start, but when you face a real dementor—well, happy memories are a little hard to come by," Harry added with a slight, humorless smile.
"That's why the feeling is so important," he continued. "So, I guess we'll start with this: think of a time, a memory, where you just felt like everything was good, a moment you would have liked to stay in for a long time. Who was there? What were you doing? Why did you feel happy in that moment? Think of a few to choose from. Grasp the feeling of being in that moment. And when you think you're ready, you twist your wand just a little to the right and say 'expecto patronum.' Really mean it, will the Patronus to come, and it will."
The others nodded, their eyes drifting shut as they concentrated. Sirius looked a bit constipated, and Remus was clearly struggling. Of all of them, Harry expected Sirius to have the hardest time of it, considering his home life. But then again, he thought, looking at Remus, the werewolf had no relief from his difficulties. Sirius at least escaped his family at Hogwarts (and didn't have a mad psychopathic wizard after him like Harry had).
Unsurprisingly, though, Remus was also the first to make his attempt. With calm determination, Remus opened his eyes and took a deep breath, then he lifted his wand and pronounced clearly, "Expecto patronum."
A solid mass of silver mist left his wand, not quite forming a distinct shape, but very much present.
"Well done, Remus!" Harry said with a smile, thinking how odd it was to be teaching his former teacher how to cast this spell, when Remus (Professor Lupin at the time) had taught it to him in the first place. Time really was a strange thing.
Remus gave a strained smile—the effort of holding the Patronus was clearly showing. And a moment later it dissolved into mist.
Sirius was next. Twisting his wand with a determined look on his face, he said firmly, "Expecto patronum."
A flicker of silver, then it was gone. Gritting his teeth, Sirius tried again. And again. After the fifth try, this time with no result whatsoever, he gave up with a frustrated growl.
"Don't force it," Harry advised, "or your frustration will get in the way of the emotion. Maybe try a different memory. It took me a good few tries to even get that far."
"When did you learn this spell, anyway?" James asked.
Harry shrugged sheepishly. "When I was thirteen," he admitted.
Everyone's eyes widened.
"Damn," Sirius murmured, clearly amazed. Then he scowled. "So I've already been beaten by a thirteen-year-old," he grumbled.
James shrugged. "So have I," he pointed out. "And I can't even get the mist yet."
"I did say it was a difficult spell to learn. I just had really good motivation to get it right quickly." Harry grimaced at the memory of that stormy Quidditch match where the dementors had made him fall off his broom.
"You were exposed to dementors that young?" Peter asked, wide-eyed.
"Er…yeah," Harry admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. He should have guessed they'd have more questions for him, once his ability was exposed.
"Where were you, then?" Sirius asked Tonks suddenly. "Did you learn it at the same time?"
Tonks blinked, then glanced at Harry. He shrugged. "More or less," she replied vaguely.
Harry supposed that might have been true, as she would have been doing her auror training when he was a third year. She just wasn't a prodigy like Harry was. And for the first time, Harry wondered just how much she was having to lie and deflect in keeping up her persona as his twin sister. Most of what he said was true, only slightly modified to fit the circumstances. But for her…as far as he knew, she'd had a perfectly normal childhood, normal Hogwarts years, and then got a job. A normal life, mostly untouched by the events that had scarred Harry in more ways than one.
"Hello? Earth to Harrison!"
Harry blinked to find Sirius waving his hand in front of his face.
"Sorry. Just…zoned out for a second," Harry said. "What were you saying?"
"We want you to demonstrate. Other than the brief glimpse on the train, we have no idea what a Patronus is supposed to look like," James said with a shrug.
"Oh. Er…" Harry trailed off. If he demonstrated, then his stag would raise even more questions.
"I can demonstrate it, too, you know," Tonks cut in petulantly. Harry gave her a grateful look.
"I mean, sure. You can. But we want Harry to do it, too. Because, you know, he's the teacher," James said cheekily.
Harry took a deep breath, and Tonks gave him a look and a shrug that said, it's your choice, kid.
Harry let his breath out in a sigh. "Okay. Just…give me a minute." At the others' nods, Harry closed his eyes, trying to summon up that feeling of being happy, of everything going right. He tried to stamp out the nervousness of summoning Prongs in front of the original Prongs. He was about to use the memory he usually used for a Patronus—except those feelings were now conflicted. He usually thought of his friends, or his parents. But none of those thoughts gave him the simple happiness they usually did. He missed Ron and Hermione less than he thought he should, was confused because his parents were now his friends, and even thinking of Tonks left him feeling guilty.
Harry took another deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then one thing stuck out to him that linked all those memories together, the good and the bad. A faint smile on his face, he let that concept fill him up and he raised his wand. "Expecto patronum," he said, softly but firmly.
A large shape burst from his wand, the outline blurring and fluctuating until finally, it settled—and the shape left Harry breathless and confused, and yet it felt right. A silvery russet wolf with the faintest lightning bolt shape on its forehead pranced about the Room of Requirement, playfully bumping against each of the Marauders in turn, and finally Tonks (who looked equally shocked).
Amidst the shock, Harry heard the others' laughter and exclamations. Then Harry met Remus's gaze and knew that he, at least, understood what his wolf Patronus meant, because his was the same—pack, or family. Because, whether in the past or the future, war or no war, the people surrounding Harry now were his family. And he could think of no greater happiness.