Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.

A/N

Hello again everyone, I humbly present chapter twenty-five for your reading pleasure. Please remember to follow, favourite and review if that's your jam!

- JudgeKnox

The swift arrival of October was heralded by the climate around Hogwarts growing steadily colder, forcing students to don heavier cloaks and woolly hats as they hurried through the exposed courtyards. Accompanying the chill that ran through the castle came several outbreaks of coughs and colds, and Madam Pomfrey was hard-pressed to stay on top of things, handing out Pepperup Potions almost by the gallon.

Luckily for Professor Lupin, the turn of the full moon coincided nicely with the sicknesses sweeping the student population, and most of them simply assumed that he'd also fallen ill, explaining away the length of his absence by pointing out his shabby appearance and pale complexion, suggesting that he was more seriously affected than anyone else.

Of course, the Hogwarts gossip mill being what it was, by the end of the first day without Remus teaching classes many students were convinced that when he was last seen, the Defence Professor was pale as a ghost and coughing blood before apparently being rushed to St. Mungo's hospital for emergency care.

For the third-years, aside from the numerous discussions over how quickly the infamous curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts position would 'finish off' Professor Lupin, most of the year group were quickly becoming excited at the prospect of the first Hogsmeade weekend at the end of the month.

Despite being weeks away, the steady rhythm of life in the castle was beginning to wear on many of them, and already groups of students were organising which shops they'd be visiting first, or cajoling each other to ask for dates to the Three Broomsticks. Even Ron and Hermione weren't immune to the current of infectious energy that swept through the student body – despite Harry perpetuating the lie that he'd been forbidden from attending – and more than once, Harry had found himself sitting idly whilst Ron wondered what kind of strange confectionery Honeydukes would be selling, or watching Hermione writing and rewriting shopping lists for new school supplies and books.

It was at times like this that the divide between him and the others felt that much larger, that much more isolating. A part of him wanted to be excited for his friends, to just return to the comforting, carefree embrace of being a teenager, but as much as he appeared to be one of them, he stood apart.

His peers didn't have such difficulty sleeping, or wake up sweating and shaking, flashes of eerily-glittering embers and Voldemort's cold red eyes running through their minds. Their lives hadn't been mangled and ruined by war, or devastated by loss. Sometimes, when he was still groggy from bed, he'd catch his reflection in the mirror, and for just a moment, he'd see himself, older, gaunt and covered in scars. Then he'd blink, and find himself looking at the youthful visage he now wore like a mask, trying to ease the sharpness in his gaze that he'd had for so long it was almost natural, and replace it with teenage energy and curiosity.

In the corridors, the heaving crowds of students set him on edge, the press of bodies cutting off his lines of sight, sudden shouts of laughter or activity enough to have him reaching for his wand, only staved off by fiercely-asserted control.

He couldn't pinpoint when it had happened, only that somewhere, at some point years ago, he'd lost something, and he hadn't been able to see it until now, when he was faced so clearly with what came before, forced to see memories in every room, every face. Despite how much he'd felt like an outsider in his time at Hogwarts, now it was only too clear that he didn't belong, that every time he saw the lightness and laughter in his friends' eyes he was watching something he shouldn't, something he didn't deserve to see.

Ron and Hermione had noticed the changes in his behaviour too – at times they'd make light of it, for instance his newfound studiousness was met with (mostly) mock-horror from Ron – but at others Harry would find the two engrossed in harshly-whispered conversations that would break off when he approached, or catch Hermione's concerned looks out of the corner of his eye.

It was a few days later that he found himself sat alone in the Common Room late at night, the warm fire crackling quietly in front of him, breaking the empty silence of the deserted room. His extra lessons with McGonagall were a welcome distraction, forcing him both to learn and leaving him exhausted afterward. Their lesson earlier that evening carried on in the same vein as the last, with Harry summoning blocks of wood under McGonagall's critical eye, trying to get a feel for the mechanics of Conjuration and how to add texture and depth to his creations. It was slow going, but he'd found that being worn out from casting spells helped the onset of sleep – at least, it was supposed to.

Tonight, however, he was staring into the fire absently and quite awake, wondering if he should head up to the dormitory and try to sleep now, or just wait until he felt any signs of drowsiness. He was still mulling things over when he heard the gentle pattering noise of bare feet on the stairs down from the dormitories.

His head was turning towards the staircase, when-

"H-Harry?" Ginny's voice quietly called out to him from across the room, her small figure casting a large shadow up the wall that danced slightly from the light of the fire.

"Oh – er – hi, Ginny," Harry replied hesitantly, surprised to see the second-year awake this late. A part of him was also relieved that he was seeing the real one this time, rather than the – spectre? – that had visited him atop the Astronomy Tower.

"Do you m-mind if I join you?" she asked hesitantly, her hands fiddling with the fabric of her dressing gown.

"Sure," he replied quickly, gesturing to one of the empty armchairs before turning back to the fire. Ginny padded over quietly, her normally-loose red hair tied up in a messy bun behind her head. She settled into the armchair nearest to him, and stared resolutely into the flames, not making a sound. For a moment, the two sat, absorbed in their thoughts, before Harry broke the silence.

"Can't sleep?" he asked, one corner of his mouth pulling into a lopsided smile. Ginny glanced up at him and blushed slightly before gently shaking her head. "Me neither – too much going on up here," he replied, tapping his head with a finger.

Ginny smiled a shy smile, her eyes flicking back to the fire a moment later. She took an almost inaudible breath before she spoke. "Bad dreams," she mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

"Ah," Harry answered, "I know that feeling, believe me," he chuckled a little, but didn't elaborate. "You wanna talk about it?"

She shook her head again. Harry hummed his assent, the two falling back into silence, although it was slightly lighter and less awkward now than it was before. The fire was slowly burning lower and lower, their shadows standing wider and taller with each passing minute. Before the Common Room got too dark, Harry threw some more cut logs into the fire from the nearby pile – which were immediately replaced out of thin air with a pop – and stoked the flames, a rush of glowing embers flitting merrily into the air as he did so. He settled back into the sofa with a sigh, letting the fresh warmth of the reinvigorated fire wash over him.

Reaching into his bag by his feet, he pulled out a thick, leather-bound book on Conjuration that Professor McGonagall had recommended to him, flipped it open and started to read, the weathered pages bathed in the orange glow of the flames. He was only finishing the introduction when Ginny broke the silence.

"Harry?" she called out softly.

"Hmm?" he replied, lifting his gaze from his book. Green eyes met brown for a moment before the latter blinked and looked away, back to the fire. Ginny's brow was furrowed slightly with determination, and after taking a shaky breath, she spoke again, her voice stronger than before.

"I… I never thanked you," she said, her eyes flicking down to her hands, which were nervously wringing each other in her lap.

"For what?" Harry asked confusedly.

"For t-the Chamber. For what you did for m-me." The last part was quiet and unsure, but she let out a long breath all the same, tension falling away from her shoulders.

Oh.

For a few seconds, Harry was stunned into silence. Whatever he'd been expecting her to say, it wasn't that. Surprisingly, a reply came to him quickly, and he knew just what to say. Closing his book with a soft thump, he leaned forward and stared at the girl in the armchair.

"Ginny, look at me," he said firmly, but kindly. Slowly, she turned away from the fire, an anxious and somewhat fearful expression on her face. Before he knew it, his lips had spread into a small, reassuring smile. "You don't ever have to thank me, okay?" he stated determinedly, his eyes searching hers, imploring her to understand.

"I never would've left you down there. Never."

A blush bloomed on her cheeks and her gaze broke away from his, ducking her head down to stare fixedly at her lap. She abruptly stood a few seconds later, unable to hide the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. As she walked back to the staircase to the dormitories, her voice was so quiet that Harry almost didn't hear her reply.

"Thank you."

She was gone a moment later, her shadow vanishing quickly up the stairs after she'd passed out of sight, leaving Harry alone once again, staring pensively into the fire.

When he finally returned to the dormitory, sleep came easily for him, and for once his dreams were entirely undisturbed, filled with sights of a familiar face.

Harry's good spirits lasted for a few days before he was roughly returned to the realities of his situation, starting with the arrival of the morning's Daily Prophet, the front page covered by a single, damning headline:

SIRIUS BLACK SIGHTED

Ignoring the shocked exclamations and hushed discussions from the rest of the students, he practically tore the newspaper apart in his haste to read, only mildly assuaged that Sirius obviously hadn't been captured, otherwise the headline wouldn't have read 'sighted'. The article itself wasn't as strongly-worded as he'd expected, the Minister's Office having clearly had a hand in leaning on the Prophet's editors to prevent excessive fearmongering. Furthermore, statements from Rufus Scrimgeour – the Head of the Auror Office – indicated that the trail was cold by the time that Ministry personnel had arrived on the scene.

The sighting was reported in a small village a few miles north of the Scottish border, meaning that Sirius was closing on Hogwarts. He'd likely be at Hogsmeade within a fortnight. The deep well of anxiety about his Godfather that he'd managed to bury over the last few days sprung forth again, stealing away Harry's appetite and leaving a bad taste in the back of his throat.

Sirius would soon be entering the dragon's maw. Dementors roamed Hogsmeade and the surrounding valley; The Aurors were likely close at hand in case of an emergency at the castle; Every witch and wizard in the country knew his face. If anything went wrong, it was all over.

Harry made a silent prayer to whatever deities he could remember, to see Sirius safely to the castle grounds, or wherever else he'd make his hideaway.

Glancing up from the Prophet, he looked across the table to Ron and Hermione. The former looked afraid, whilst the latter looked more confused and worried than anything else. As if sensing his attention, Hermione looked up from her own copy and locked eyes with him, tugging on Ron's sleeve to get his attention.

"We need to talk," she hissed quietly, the two boys nodding sharply in response. After a few quiet minutes eating the last of their breakfast, the three of them stood and headed out of the Great Hall, ducking into an empty classroom on the First Floor. Harry – who entered last – discreetly cast a Silencing Charm on the door as he closed it behind him, just in case.

"This is about Black, isn't it?" Ron asked quickly, his gaze darting between the other two, Hermione nodding her assent.

"When you told me about what the Minister said, and when we learned about what Black had done, I'd hoped that you were wrong about him coming after you, that he'd just leave the country and that would be that. I really did," Hermione said in a small voice, a deeply worried expression on her face as she looked at Harry. "But I think we can all agree that there's no chance of that now. He's coming here, it's the only place he could be going heading this far north."

"You think he's gonna try and get into the castle?" Ron interjected nervously, his eyes wide and fearful.

Yes.

"I don't know," Hermione replied worriedly. "But we need to be very careful. Particularly you, Harry," she said, her tone turning imploring as she continued. "I can't imagine what you might be feeling about Black, but please, I want you to promise me that you won't do anything rash, alright?" she asked, staring unblinkingly into his eyes. "He's just too dangerous. Promise me, Harry."

"I promise," Harry replied, noting the quiet breath Hermione let out upon hearing his agreement. He knew that they were only trying to keep him safe, and since he already knew of Sirius' innocence, there'd be no group confrontation like the one in the Shrieking Shack all those years ago. The time to make contact with his godfather was fast approaching, and he'd be doing it alone.

"Besides," he added with a small smile, "I promised Mr. Weasley I wouldn't go looking for Black, and I reckon your mum would never forgive me if I got myself hurt."

Ron chuckled lightly. "Too right, mate."

As the three headed up to Gryffindor Tower to collect their things, however, the smile fell away from Harry's face, a sick feeling pooling in his stomach. Trelawney's panicked accusations from the first Divination lesson ran through his head again, the way her normally ethereal voice turned sharp and frantic.

"Snakes… the symbol of lies… they surround you!"

The image of his friends' faces, of Mr. Weasley's determined gaze forced their way into his mind. He'd promised them, all of them, that he wouldn't go looking for Sirius, and yet that was exactly what he was going to do, at the first possible opportunity. Sirius wanted to kill Pettigrew almost as much as he did, but he knew that he couldn't let that happen. The only way Sirius would be given a chance at exoneration would be with a living Pettigrew in tow, and the only way that he could control the situation would be to get Sirius on board.

Yet, for all that he told himself that it was necessary to keep his friends out of the way, he didn't want to think about what could happen when Ron and Hermione realised he'd gone back on his word, even if Sirius' innocence was revealed.

They'll get over it, or they won't. It doesn't matter. Sirius – the mission – are the only things that are important, a harsh voice whispered in the back of his mind.

It's already happening, isn't it? Another interjected, sounding defeated. Like she said. We're using them. We needed camouflage, a disguise. So, we took our doppelgänger's place, wearing his robes like Snape wore a mask of carved silver, only to throw our friends to the side when they're no longer useful.

It's for their own safety. This is too crucial to fuck up, and they're a liability.

They weren't last time, though, were they?

Last time, they died.

Then protect them better! The voice insisted angrily. Bring them into the fold, teach them to protect themselves.

They won't understand. How can they? After everything I've done to get here? I'm safer working on this alone, and so are they. It's for the greater good.

Whose greater good?

The question ran unanswered, leaving only uncertainty and simmering anger in its wake.