Chapter Twenty-Six
"Float Like a Feather"

October 6th, 1991
Hollyhock Gardens

Dorea reminded herself that supping with Horace Slughorn was a necessity if the man had any knowledge about Tom Riddle and the bloody Horcrux he made. It was, however, a true trial to put up with him as he switched back and forth between trying to flirt with her coven sisters and doing what looked like his level best to imply that he could somehow be their "in" when it came to the highs of society.

As he admired their amulets—insisting that he had seen some just like it forty or so years ago, worn by some Empress in some country Dorea had never heard of—she made a point to remember the look on his face when he entered Hollyhock Gardens. She was certain that he had never been invited before. Arcturus had never liked Slughorn and had often called him a nouveau riche sycophant.

Tracking him down had been only slightly difficult as he made it known that he had been travelling abroad. The Coven spent only a week trying to suss out which country he had darted off to before word reached them that he was actually holed up in an old family house, doing what he claimed was "enjoying the bliss of silence and the company of oneself."

Lucretia extended an invitation to tea at Hollyhock Gardens—which she had inherited from Arcturus upon his death two years earlier—and Slughorn replied to the owl within minutes. They postponed the first two dates, insisting that Coven business came about unexpectedly. By the time the third date set came around, the former professor was chomping at the bit to get a sit down with the Coven.

Not everyone could make it, of course; the women were rarely ever all together in one place at the same time—for safety if nothing else. Dorea wanted those there who Slughorn would likely find the most appealing to meet and cultivate relationships with. Lucretia had a table set for herself, Dorea, and Cassie. Narcissa and Andromeda were there for the Legilimency plan, and Belina had insisted on coming as backup just in case Slughorn had tricks up his sleeves. Camila and Theia wanted to come because they had apparently made a bet with one another that the man wouldn't leave the table without injury. It was a toss-up over who might injure him.

Most treated him cordially, leaving the flirtations and buttering up to Cassie. Slughorn was a leech, but he was also a Slytherin and had been head of their House at Hogwarts for some of the younger witches. Most remembered that he was the one who nurtured their ambition from a young age, and also the ability to see when one was being played. Thankfully, Cassie had brought crystallised pineapple as a gift, and Slughorn was putty in her hands as she eventually began playfully feeding it to him in between stories.

Belina looked like she was going to either be sick or stick a fork in her leg.

Dorea was just glad that Minerva had stayed behind at Hogwarts. There was no way they would get through this with her hissing irritably from behind her napkin when Slughorn went into detail about how many Slytherin House Cups and Quidditch trophies he kept under lock and key back at his home, shined twice a week, according to him, by a house-elf that supposedly left Hogwarts to serve him because he inspired such devotion.

"Such a good friend, he was, your father," Horace said in between bites of pineapple, smiling at Lucretia. She had the grace to play along with the lie, leaning forward with bright eyes as though interested in his stories. "We were together at Hogwarts, you know. The very merriest of friends. I do believe that I was the one who introduced him to your mother."

Offering a sweet smile, Lucretia tilted her head. "I'm certain you knew many people at Hogwarts. Both as a student and a professor."

Horace grinned impishly. "You remember my little events, do you? The grandest of soirees that Hogwarts could ever offer!"

Looking across the table, Dorea noticed Narcissa tapping lightly on the stem of her glass, indicating that she'd made eye contact and was already rifling through Slughorn's memories. A brief glance in Slughorn's direction told her that he had not even noticed.

"Do you know Celestina Warbeck?" Cassie asked, touching Horace's arm.

Dorea cringed as she watched him lean into the gesture.

"Know them? Why, my dearest, I have dinner with her twice a month at the very least!"

"You know everyone, don't you? My, what secrets must fill that head of yours," Cassie said, her eyes twinkling. It was honestly shocking that her Animagus form turned out to be an owl since she looked just like a cat toying with a mouse. "Did you know Dumbledore? Before the great duel with Grindelwald, I mean?"

Horace chuckled. "Who do you think taught him? Oh, Albus and I go way back."

Camila coughed "For fuck's sake" into her napkin, cleared her throat, and offered an apologetic glance before taking a long drink of wine from her glass.

"Taught Dumbledore, you mean?" Dorea calmly asked. "Or do you mean Grindelwald?"

His smile faltered for just a moment before he laughed quietly. "Come now, Dorea, everyone knows that Grindelwald attended Durmstrang. Even if he had gone to Hogwarts, I make it a point—"

"Not to mingle with Dark Lords?"

Horace fell silent, eyes blinking rapidly. His left one twitched, and he scratched his head. Dorea kept eye contact but noticed from her peripheral gaze that Andromeda had taken Narcissa's hand in support.

"I . . ." Horace cleared his throat and laughed. "Do you know, I've heard rumour that you're all planning a little celebration for Yule."

"It's been changed," Camila supplied, casually stabbing her fork into a small pile of dressed greens on her plate. "We'd wanted to introduce ourselves to some of the new Muggle-borns in the programme, but it seems that we planned too late and many of the families already have plans. Perhaps next year."

"We'll be having a more private gathering," Dorea said stiffly. "Family only. You understand."

"Of course, of course," Slughorn nodded. His hand slipped beneath the table for a moment, and Dorea was certain—especially by the look on her sister's face—that it was now on Cassie's thigh. "Such a good and charitable thing, taking in those less fortunate."

Licking her lips after taking a drink from her glass, Dorea nodded. "Yes. It's such a shame that not so long ago, Voldemort was intent on murdering them all."

She thought he might try to play off her comment like he had with the one about Dark Lords, but saying the name that shall-not-be-spoken must have triggered the exact memory that Narcissa was searching for, because Slughorn pitched forward, gripping his head in agony.

Sycophant, for certain, but it was foolish for anyone to believe the man weak. He broke away from Narcissa's spell and kept his eyes firmly shut, even as he tried to stand and leave the table. The moment that he did, Lucretia swept her fingers along the edge of the table and runes carved into the wood glowed a soft blue. A visible leash of magic whipped around Slughorn's middle and pulled him back to the chair like a magnet.

Theia let out a little laugh and held her hand out to Camila, who dropped several coins into her palm.

"Did you get anything?" Dorea asked her niece.

Narcissa took a breath and slowly blinked, eyes watering from concentrating so hard. "I wanted information about Tom Riddle's origins . . . but instead, I've found . . . It's been altered. He's done something to the memory. But it's there. He doesn't know where Voldemort came from, but this is more important. Tom Riddle asked him specifically about Horcruxes."

"I told him nothing!" Slughorn cried, shaking his head. "I don't know what you're saying!"

"You knew about his Horcrux?" Dorea demanded angrily, watching as the man paled dramatically.

"I don't know what you're—"

She stood from her seat, making her way to his side. "Was the locket the only one?" When he flinched, Dorea's eyes widened. "How many?" Her voice was barely a whisper, but her breath was hot like dragon fire, and it sizzled in the air as a threat near the man's ear.

"Don't do it, Aunt Dorea," Andromeda warned. "There are other ways."

"We could, for instance," Narcissa began, "inform the Ministry that he rigged the last Quidditch World Cup to make a few Galleons. Or perhaps that he brewed Felix Felicis for Ludovic Bagman."

"That's not illegal!" Slughorn argued, his eyes snapping open. He turned his gaze away from Narcissa, only to be caught in Andromeda's stare.

"It actually is considering the man was still playing professional Quidditch," Andromeda said. "The two of them have also been embezzling money from the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

"Perhaps," Narcissa added, "the goblins would like to know about the artefacts he stole from the London Museum of Magical History. They went missing more than forty years ago, so I assume the search has long ended. But it did cause quite a stir considering they were goblin-forged and there had been an agreement for them to be returned to Gringotts."

"I never—"

"No, not you specifically," Narcissa waved her hand at him flippantly, "but you did hire several from the Slug Club to assist, did you not? Don't bother lying. I saw it all in your head."

"Mmm . . . We'll ruin you," Cassie said in a sing-song voice, sitting so close to Slughorn she might as well have been in his lap. Minutes earlier, the man would have been over the moon for the attention. Now he looked as though he could burst into tears at any moment.

"How many Horcruxes do you believe Tom Riddle made for himself?" Dorea asked.

Released from the magical leash, Slughorn fell forward, head in his hands and tears dripping down his cheeks. "Forgive me . . . I didn't . . . I didn't know what he was. What he would do. I didn't know."

No longer laughing at the man, Theia's brow furrowed in worry. "It can't be . . . It can't be that many. How many times can a person split their soul? It can't be—"

Dorea felt a knot in her stomach tighten and bile rise as Slughorn looked up at her. She could see the number in his eyes, feel it echoing in the tense air around them long before he finally said the horrifying word:

"Seven."

October 31st, 1991
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Harry woke Halloween morning expecting to feel terrible.

After leaving Privet Drive, it had taken Sirius and his grandmother a year or so to explain the significance of Halloween to their family. The holiday was always observed, and there was usually some sort of Coven event happening, but he noticed a significant change in his family on the anniversary of his parents' deaths. When he reflected on it too much, especially on the day, he found himself getting sad and angry, but there had always been someone to help with those feelings. His grandmother would pull him into a hug, kissing the top of his head. Sirius would take him out into the garden and they would fly on whatever new broom Sirius had purchased. Harry deeply regretted that he was not allowed to have a broom as a first year.

Spending Halloween in Hogwarts without his grandmother and godfather left Harry feeling very alone.

Waking up to the sounds of screams reminded him that he was definitely not alone.

"What the bloody hell?" Harry snapped, brandishing his wand—which was thankfully not chirping or whistling or screaming at him.

"Merlin, Seamus . . . McGonagall's going to kill me if she thinks I set my own bed curtains on fire," Ron grumbled, touching the edges of charred fabric.

Seamus stood nearby with a small jack-o-lantern in one hand, wand in the other. "Not my fault. I just wanted to light the pumpkin. You were the one who said I wasn't saying the spell loud enough."

Falling back down on his mattress, Harry let out a loud exhale that came out sounding like a laugh. Next to him, Dean muttered, "I think the first spell Flitwick should've taught us was conjuring water."

"I think someone should knick Seamus's wand," Neville added.

Harry laughed harder, covering his face even as Seamus and Ron's argument turned into a full-blown scuffle. By the time he and Dean had them separated, Seamus's bed curtains had caught fire as well, and the jack-o-lantern had gone missing only to turn up twenty minutes later in chewed up bits on Harry's bed, where Max was lazily sleeping—belly engorged.

Flitwick taught them all how to levitate feathers that day. Harry knew the spell from home, where Sirius charmed his toy dragons to fly. Doing it himself, however, was a bit trickier. Still, by the end of class, half the Gryffindors had managed to get the feather at least off the desk. Their egos took a small hit when they were told that all but three Slytherins had managed it. He was half tempted to cause a stir when he caught Hermione helping a few of her classmates in the hall with the charm, correcting their pronunciation.

"Wotcher, Hermione," Harry said with a smirk, mimicking Tonks as he jumped around the corner.

All at once, four floating feathers dropped to the ground. The Slytherins looked up from the floor where they were all sitting. Only Hermione and Goyle looked a bit guilty at being caught.

"Potter," Millicent said, picking up her feather and shoving it into her book bag. "Shouldn't you be off with the other Gryffindors? Or are we running late? Again?"

Snorting at the attempted insult, Harry shrugged and sauntered over to the group. He almost tripped a few times as Max wove in between his legs before the little beast darted over to Hermione, butting her head into the witch's open palm.

"Just taking a stroll," he said, rolling his eyes when he caught Hermione slipping Max a treat.

Tracey looked up from where Harry had come from and shook her head. "You're asking to be expelled," she said. "Been up on the third floor much?"

"Not much," Harry said casually, sighing when Max left Hermione alone in order to try and paw at Goyle's robe pockets. "Just ignore her. Why are you all out here? Shouldn't you be on your way to dinner? My godfather said that the Halloween feasts at Hogwarts are amazing."

"How is your godfather, Potter?" Tracey asked with a crooked grin, batting her eyelashes.

"Ew, stop," Millicent said, lightly slapping Tracey on the shoulder.

Harry arched a brow and looked at Hermione, who shook her head and muttered, "Don't ask."

"We were just practising," Goyle said. "That, and it's easier to go in once all the older Slytherins are already sat down. Especially if it's the Carrows or Row—"

Hermione pinned Goyle with a look, and he shut right up, clearing his throat loudly as though he could retroactively hide the words he had already said.

"They bothering you lot?" Harry asked, knowing already that Hermione had problems with the Carrow twins. His Chocolate Frog cards had arrived by owl one morning in September with a note from his grandmother hinting that she knew why Harry had asked for them. He gave them to Draco in passing before lunch one Friday before Potions and asked how Hermione was fitting in. Draco was subtle, but let a few names slip out even as he insisted that Harry had no reason to worry.

"Sod them all," Tracey said as she stood up. "I'm not afraid of some pureblood bitch who sticks her nose up at me. And neither should anyone else."

Harry grinned. "Well, looks like you've got all the friends you need here, Hermione. Only two months in, and I've been replaced."

She rolled her eyes and laughed, taking Goyle's hand as he helped her stand up. "I have enough room in my life for a few Gryffindor friends as well, Harry. I might even save you a seat in class one day. You'd know that if you ever showed up on time," she said teasingly.

Harry clutched at his chest, feigning heartbreak. "Low blow, Granger."

"Go to dinner, Potter," she said, throwing her bag over her shoulder.

"I have earned back those points, for the record," Harry called down the corridor as the Slytherins began walking away.

"I'll be sure to remind you of that when we win the House Cup," Millicent shouted back.

Looking down at Max, Harry sighed. "I'm not letting you into the Great Hall for the feast. People have been complaining that you're stealing their pumpkin pasties and bacon. Come on, back to the tower with you."

The cat made a low growling noise before it turned into a purr as she rubbed her head against Harry's knee and followed him back toward the staircase. Halfway up, he ran into Dean and Neville, both rushing down. "See? I'm not the only one who's late to everything."

Dean laughed. "We're only late because we were up in the common room looking for you."

"Where've you been?" Neville asked, pulling a liquorice wand from his pocket and handing it to Max when she pawed at the bottom of his robes.

"Bothering some Slytherins," Harry said, leaving out the part that he had gone snooping around the third floor on his own out of curiosity, only to be reprimanded by both his cat and his wand when he got too close to a locked door at the end of the corridor. "Stay out of the Great Hall," he warned Max before turning around and following Neville and Dean back down the stairs.

Before they reached the bottom, Harry's wand gave a loud chirp, stopping him in his steps. He held a hand out, grabbing Neville's shoulder. "Did you hear that?"

Dean sighed. "Is it your wand again?"

"Yes, er . . . yes and no. Listen."

They stood quiet for a moment before an echoing roar was heard, followed by a panicked scream and the sound of running. A moment later, Professor Quirrell bolted out of the entrance to the dungeons, panting heavily as he darted toward the Great Hall.

The boys ran after him, reaching the open doors just in time to hear Quirrell gasp, "Troll—in the dungeon—thought you ought to know," and then collapse into a dead faint.

The three boys tucked themselves into an alcove behind a statue, watching as prefects led their Houses swiftly back to their common rooms per Dumbledore's orders. Harry noticed, however, that the teachers were not following after the students. Just as he was about to step out from behind the statue to see where the staff were, Snape barrelled through the doors of the Great Hall and swiftly made his way for the stairs.

"Where d'you suppose he's going?" Harry suspiciously wondered aloud.

He watched carefully as the staircases shifted almost as though they were obeying Snape's silent orders. Harry's mouth fell open as one staircase shifted, lining up with another until . . . "He's heading for the third floor."

"You don't think that Snape's up to something, do you?" Dean whispered.

"My grandmother seems to trust him, but Sirius doesn't," Harry said, feeling torn.

Snape was a tosser, that was certain, and if were more approachable like some of the other professors, Harry might be so bold as to suggest he look for another profession since he didn't seem to actually enjoy any bit of his job—other than taking points from Gryffindor and trading insults and wagers with Aunt Minnie about upcoming Quidditch games.

Before Harry could think to do anything about Snape, the other professors left the Great Hall, seemingly with a plan as they all headed toward the dungeons. Professors Sinistra and Sprout went off in the direction that the Hufflepuffs had gone, Professor Flitwick darted for the front doors, mumbling about creating a perimeter in case of escape. He was flanked by several other staff members that Harry had not yet met because they taught elective classes. Hagrid also went with them. Dumbledore and Aunt Minnie went for the dungeons, Minerva shifting into Animagus form once she'd passed the staircase.

"Let's follow Snape and see what he's up to," Harry said, stepping out from behind the statue.

"Professor McGonagall will kill us if we're caught out of the common room," Dean protested.

Neville sighed loudly, running a nervous hand through his hair. "Never mind Aunt Minerva, what do you think Snape will do if he catches us following him?"

"For all we know, Snape let a troll into the castle in order to get at whatever Dumbledore's hiding up there," Harry argued quietly, peeking into the Great Hall to see that there was no one left behind to hear them. Even Professor Quirrell was gone, likely having been moved to the hospital wing.

"Do you think the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs will be all right?" Dean asked. "Didn't Quirrell say the troll was in the dungeon? Bit weird that Dumbledore sent everyone back to their common rooms."

Harry recalled the proud look on Hermione's face as she floated her feather with her friends just before dinner. He had a brief moment of worry when he thought that some of the older Slytherins that Tracey spoke of might do something to trap Hermione and her friends with the troll. Maybe block them from the common room or something.

Torn over what to do—and not even thinking that he had no idea of how to battle a mountain troll himself—Harry contemplated going to the dungeons. The shifting staircases drew his attention once more. Making up his mind, he darted toward the staircase, determined to catch up with Snape. Max, however, was coming down the stairs and paused at the foot, taking a look in Harry's direction before glancing down the dungeons. A roar followed by a crash echoed down the long corridor, and Harry's eyes widened.

"Don't. You. Dare."

Max narrowed her eyes and swiftly ran into the shadows of the dungeons.

"Shit!" Harry snapped, changing course and chasing after his reckless familiar who, no doubt, had it in her mind to see what mountain troll tasted like.

"Harry!" Dean and Neville shouted behind him, and he could hear the sound of their quick footsteps following in his wake.

"Where'd she go?" Harry asked, coming to a stop right where the corridor split. He knew that the Hufflepuffs normally went off in one direction, and the Slytherins deeper beneath the castle, but there was no sign of Max.

"Maybe she went to to the kitchens?" Neville suggested, looking in the directions that the Hufflepuffs normally went.

Sure enough, Harry spotted his cat at the end of the long stretch of hallway sitting beneath a painting of a pear. A small group of little house-elves were handing over treats to Max, who was at the front of a line of several other cats, including the big fluffy one that Harry had seen following Hermione's friend Millicent around.

Sighing in relief that his familiar hadn't tried to track down a mountain troll, Harry turned around only to hear a crash coming from back toward the Great Hall, and footsteps coming from the other side of the corridor. Cringing, he and Neville both grabbed Dean by the back of his robes and tucked themselves into the shadows just as Dumbledore and Aunt Minnie ran back the other way, likely following the sound of the crash.

Mountain troll presumably in the hands of those who could handle it, Harry stepped out from the shadows, determined to head back toward the staircases. His wand gave the tiniest of little chirps a mere second before someone behind him shouted, "Locomotor Mortis!"

Dean's legs snapped together and he tumbled forward, taking Harry and Neville with him.

Angrily, Harry aimed his wand up, his emotions somehow funnelling through the bit of wood and igniting a light on the other end. It wasn't a proper Lumos, flickering wildly like a fire instead of a glow, but it was enough to illuminate the faces of two older Slytherins in front of him.

"What do we have here, Flint?" Adrian Pucey asked.

"Couple of ickle firsties," Marcus Flint said with a sneer that did not do his already hideous face any favours. "And their pet Mudblood."

"Take that back, Flint!" Harry shouted as he stood, holding his wand out at the boy menacingly as he tried to remember the names, let along movements, of any hex he might be able to throw.

"You best get it through your head quick, Potter," Flint snarled as he moved forward, brushing Harry's wand aside with no thought. "Not everyone in the bloody world thinks you and your family are as great as you like to think of yourselves."

"Seems like maybe he ought to be shown his place," Pucey said with a grin.

Harry felt Neville stand up behind him. Dean, unfortunately, was still dealing with the Leg-Locker Curse he had been hit with.

"Seems like you ought to go find that mountain troll, Flint," Harry said, unafraid of the larger boy even as he towered over him. His wand was silent, and Harry actually took that as a good sign. When Flint gave him a look of curiosity, Harry smirked. "Not often you get a chance at such a family reunion, after all."

Pucey actually laughed, which seemed to only infuriate Flint more.

No spells coming to mind, Harry panicked and punched Flint in the mouth.

Potter Manor

Holidays outside of Azkaban were tremendously better than inside, Sirius thought.

Except Halloween. Halloween, while warmer than his cell in Azkaban, was still just as bitter and painful. Taking care of Harry and Dorea—or letting others take care of him—was a good distraction, of course, but nothing would ever really make the holiday bright again. The memory of finding James and Lily that night was still fresh, even years later. Sirius had even thought about Obliviation once or twice, but he settled on the idea that it would somehow dishonour them both to remove even that horrible memory from his mind.

The anniversary of that night was normally spent in a mixture of family obligations and getting pissed with Remus. With Harry at Hogwarts, Sirius's schedule for drinking had opened up, letting them start around noon. Normally, he was single when Halloween rolled around, so it was an uncomfortable conversation to have with Hammond, who seemed a bit put out to not be invited to the pub or to the annual "let's go look at the wreckage" trip, where Remus and Padfoot stumbled into Godric's Hollow. It might have had something to do with the fact that Hammond knew about their past, but Theia had no problems stepping aside for the night, which Sirius had made a mistake in pointing out.

Boyfriendless, at least for the night, Sirius and Remus had made their way to the little cottage, stepping over the magic that hid its true form from Muggles. They quietly raged and not so quietly cried, and had then made their way to the statue of James, Lily, and Harry to "pay their respects" by making fun of James's likeness.

"He'd do the same if it were either of us," Sirius had reasoned, placing his hand reverently on the statue.

He had yet to make it into the actual cemetery. That, for some reason, felt like it was too much.

Sirius woke late into the night—it had to be half midnight, at least—to the feel of gentle fingers carding through his hair. Without a word, he leant into the touch, allowing Dorea to provide him this comfort. He knew she needed it just as much as he did: the reminder that she could still be a mother to someone.

Remus quietly snored in a large armchair in the corner by the fireplace. The arm had been ravaged by Harry's bloody cat, and anytime it was fixed, the beast would ruin it all over again. Harry had convinced them to just leave it, but when company came over, Dorea always tossed a blanket over it.

"You should be sleeping, Mum," Sirius managed to say, groaning at the sticky feel of his mouth, which still tasted a bit like beer, and not in a good way.

"Owls showed up about an hour after you two stumbled in."

Sirius tried to sit up, wincing when his body fought him. He was sober enough, despite having been drinking just a few hours ago. He ached for the days when he could go all night, rather than sigh and decide to go home just after nine. His body reminded him of his age, but thankfully his head wasn't hurting—yet.

"Anything worthwhile?"

"Hammond sent a small note reminding you of a lunch date on Monday," she said lightly, using a tone that she had perfected long ago when he and James were still teenagers. It was that implying tone. The one that she used when she used to ask James about Lily, or Sirius about Remus. It was a tone that somehow interjected her motherly concern without ever using actual words to express what she was thinking. Sirius knew that Dorea had concerns about his relationship with her Healer, but he could never tell if it was because she knew him too well or if she knew Hammond too well. Likely both.

"I'll owl him in the morning."

She handed him an opened letter that had a broken Hogwarts seal on it.

Sirius sighed, taking the letter. "What did he do?"

"Punched another boy in the face," Dorea said. "I'm sure Harry believes he had his reasons, but they were caught fighting during an unfortunate time, or so Minerva tells me." Sirius noticed that she had another letter with the same handwriting tucked beneath a glass of water. They had long ago stopped using coasters when Harry's cat began chewing on them.

"How many points?"

"Detention, actually," Dorea said, leaning back on the sofa. "I have a meeting with Minerva tomorrow. She tells me that she and Severus Snape discovered something that Dumbledore has been hiding. Snape was apparently injured, and was already in a foul mood when he happened upon the boys fighting in the dungeons."

Rubbing his hands down his face and sighing, Sirius thought about belatedly apologising for all the fights he and James got into whilst at Hogwarts. The early years, Minerva had sent letters home to Walburga, but she very quickly figured out that it was more effective to send them to Dorea and Charlus.

"Is this what parenting is going to be?" he asked her. "Worrying about letters coming home from Hogwarts?"

Dorea snorted, rolling her eyes at him, likely enjoying his parental misery. "Just wait until he starts playing Quidditch. The first letter home about a broken arm will have you back in your cups."

Sirius didn't want to think about it. He pictured future Quidditch matches where he could cheer Harry on from the stands, not sit nervously by his godson's bedside watching him drink Skele-gro. He tried very hard not to recall the multitude of broken bones that James had back at Hogwarts due to the game—and other, possibly prank-related, events.

"I'll go to Hogwarts this weekend, see if I can have a chat with him about the fighting." He glanced across the room at Remus and smiled. "Maybe I'll take Moony with. Old boy could use a trip north."

Making a pleased noise, Dorea reached out and resumed combing her fingers through Sirius's hair.

Relaxing into the touch once more, he yawned and laid back down, resting his head in her lap like he had when he was just a child. He refused to mention James by name, never knowing exactly how she processed her own grief on the anniversary. Not wanting to cause her any pain, Sirius never mentioned it. From experience, Slytherins—and Blacks especially—did not like having their vulnerability pointed out, even if it was obvious.

"What do you think Dumbledore is up to?" he asked after several minutes of silence. "What's he hiding?"

He began to get nervous the longer she took to answer.

Eventually, though, she let out an irritable sigh and said, "A very large guard dog."