Chapter Seventy-Five: To the Promise of a Better Future

Harry cornered Ron and Hermione as soon as his conversation with Dumbledore ended. The headmaster had given him almost no time at all between revealing all this information to him, and sending him back to Privet Drive. But he could hardly be blamed for that—he had almost certainly intended to tell him weeks ago, but Pettigrew had messed things up, as usual.

Hermione surprised him by acknowledging that, if she had once been wrong about Professor Trelawney, she was willing to accept this prophecy. After all, sources all agreed that the date of Pettigrew's escape was the same one as that of the final exam for Divination. Part of her sudden tolerance was also the fact that she'd dropped a few classes, and would no longer have to bear the brunt of constant time travel. It must have been a weight off of her mind. Harry considered telling her to discuss the nature of the troubles of time travel with Ron, but knew better.

Hermione treated the new prophecy with the gravity it deserved. Ron took it perhaps too seriously, if that were possible. He had to be the one to make the comment that the prophecy sounded as if Harry would need to die in order for Voldemort to be defeated. This made Hermione gasp and cover her mouth, and Harry bow his head, refusing to acknowledge the sentiment behind the statement.

No matter how he trusted Hermione, he waited until he could be sure of talking to Ron alone before he discussed the other things he'd noted, but kept to himself. Such as his suspicion that he'd died as a baby, and that that was why he remembered. And the discussions of what was intended by "the power the Dark Lord knows not" could go on for days. "Dumbledore thinks it's love," he said, although he hadn't confirmed this with the headmaster. "However, I must wonder, now that I know the truth…."

This was how Ron learnt that Harry had access to Asgardian magic. That he hadn't mentioned it before to Ron, nor ever used it around him, had completely slipped Harry's mind—perhaps in quite a deliberate fashion. Harry Potter rarely discussed magic itself with Ron Weasley, and Thor had never cared to listen to Loki about the subject. It hadn't occurred to him that this had changed.

But Ron would be the first to admit that magic was very difficult, and Asgardian magic thrice as hard, with its emphasis on focus, and the lack of rigid rules that characterised wizarding magic, making it easier to cast spells whilst limiting the spells that could be cast. Of course, Ron's experience with the other kind of magic, as Harry persisted in calling it, was his attempts to use Mother's spell. And of course, as Odin had given Thor the handcuffs he'd used on Peter Pettigrew, it had been their shared mother, Frigga, who had taught him that spell. If Molly Weasley had known such a spell, she wouldn't have needed to keep such a close eye on her kids. Or the clock that told the status of each member of her family.

Of course, such thoughts naturally raised the question of how Ron and Harry were related. Were they related? Thor was the natural son of Frigga, and Loki was his adopted younger brother. That was straightforward.

But Harry was the natural son of Lily Evans, who was sort-of Frigga, which meant that Thor Thor was sort-of his biological half-brother. But then, too, Ron Weasley had his own family, completely unconnected to Asgard, which had sort-of adopted Harry, in what Harry suspected was a deliberate echoing on Ron's part of previous events.

The entire thing was a tangled, complicated mess, in ways that shouldn't be possible. He was fairly sure that, no matter how you calculated things, he wasn't related to Fred and George, or Percy, which meant that he wasn't related to Ginny. That was something. But there was a certain edge even to this small mercy, for he was certain that none of the Weasleys knew about Ron's true identity.

Was that why Ron avoided the topic of the Mirror of Desire? He remembered Ron speaking of it, first year. He'd said that his family "was also more complete than it should have been". At the time, Harry'd assumed that he was speaking of the Prewetts, Fabian and Gideon, whose names he'd come across later. As Molly Weasley's brothers, they were Ron Weasley's family. But not Thor's.

This was what caused him to realise that Ron was deliberately avoiding the entire situation. Thor didn't want to figure out what his connection was to the rest of the Weasleys. He didn't want to decide whether or not they were just as much his family as Harry was. But there was a silent assumption that they in fact were. Perhaps that was enough, for him.

He refused to discuss the subject at all, which probably wasn't very healthy. He'd have to confront it, eventually. What happened, after all, when he reached the endpoint—that point of time when he'd first gone back in time? Logically, one way or another, that future Thor would disappear. Ron would probably end up replacing him, which meant…well, that couldn't be known. Harry foresaw much struggle and heartbreak in the Weasley family's future.

There was little time in which to discuss this, anyway, as it was very nearly time to return "home". Hogwarts was even more his "Palace-on-Earth" than it had been before he acknowledged the truth—Privet Drive would never be home to him. It was a great relief to find that the Weasleys had extended an invitation in advance to stay with them over the summer. The Quidditch World Cup was supposed to be in Britain this year…everyone knew that, for whatever reason, Harry liked quidditch, despite the many bad experiences he'd had playing it. It was something to look forward to, to take the edge off returning to the Dursleys.

Sirius Black had bought Ron an owl to replace his old "pet". As Crookshanks seemed to have a sixth sense for these things, they ran the bird's authenticity past him. He sniffed the owl and purred, which must mean that the bird was just that—he'd have taken violent action against a malevolent animagus. Hermione was quite smug at her wonderful choice of pets. Ron seemed unable to decide how to react. Those two….

All too soon, despite how much Harry wished to stay at Hogwarts, it was time to leave. Remus, Sirius, and Tonks boarded the train with them, Remus looking out the window at the retreating form of Hogwarts with the same wistful longing Harry recognised in himself.

He had retired before the end of the year. If there were a curse on the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, it had not had the chance to take effect. Professor Lupin had maximised his effectiveness, staying as long as he could without risking mortal injury or death.

Tonks seemed to have some sort of strong admiration for Remus's courage in bearing through his lycanthropy, and his heroism in the previous blood war. Somehow, she managed to monopolise Remus's attention for the entire train ride. It was almost as if….

Sirius looked on at the scene with folded arms and a smirk, and then turned to Harry. "Say, kiddo, I forgot to tell you, but I've a bit of a good surprise for you at the other end of the line." He still looked exhausted, and his skin was still rather waxy, stretched tight over his bones, but his smile was less alarming than it had been a few months ago. Progress.

Everyone in this compartment was more than used to Sirius Black by now: Harry had taken pains to acclimate Ron, and to ease Hermione into the experience that was a conversation with Sirius Black—on one of his good days. He still suspected that Sirius had suffered some sort of trauma-related head problems, and was now stuck at the age of twenty, or so. The age he'd been when he'd been sent to Azkaban. It was an alarming thought, but…surrounded by memories of what he'd lost, unable to move forward from the worst days of his life, many of them from his childhood, was it any wonder that his mental development had been…hampered?

All this meant that he was still impulsive and hot-headed, and somewhat immature. He didn't spend all his time cracking childish jokes and putting whoopee cushions on seats, but at the same time, he seemed not to have the experience to know how to handle delicate subjects with patience. He made a better older brother than guardian, but Ron already was an older brother who was also a guardian. The niche Sirius filled was that of guardian, nevertheless—a parental substitute. But he still seemed too young for such a role.

Whatever Harry ended up creating to help him would probably end up deaging his body back to match his mind state. It was the easiest way to accommodate the disparity. There were glimmers of maturity there, but that could be said of most people in their late teens. Perhaps, if Harry could shave off some years from Sirius physically (somehow), with his mental and physical age aligned, he would be able to mature in a somewhat ordinary way.

But that was an incredibly permanent solution, and Harry wanted to see how things progressed first. Sirius's problems with impulse control, as when he'd broken into Hogwarts to kill Pettigrew, belied his true intelligence. Speak with him on any of a number of subjects, and Harry saw glimmers, at least, of the intelligence Mother had credited him with. Watch him cast spells, see his improvisation, the flexibility, and realise that some of those spells were of his own making…that impressed Harry.

But there was also no denying that Azkaban had left its mark on him. Harry wished that he'd go back to St. Mungo's—although he quite enjoyed spending time with Sirius. Still, it wouldn't be long until they parted ways. Then, doubtless, Sirius would go back to his treatment at St. Mungo's, until the Quidditch World Cup. Harry knew he needed treatment. He did not hold it against Sirius, that he had been absent for most of his life, or that he would need to be absent for a bit more of it.

That was not how things turned out. Sirius had arranged something with Dumbledore. It had been the reason for their frequent conferences toward the end of semester. At last, Dumbledore had yielded to Sirius's insistence, and arrangements had been made. Be cautious making bets concerning this one.

Sirius explained this all incredibly smugly. Harry was still thinking of the most pertinent information: Sirius was going to be staying with Harry at Number Four, Privet Drive "for it is clear that you need extra protection, with a mass murderer after you who actually committed the crime. I think Dumbledore feels guilty, leaving you to fend for yourself, the past decade".

Dumbledore was rarely that straightforward. Harry knew that magic was forbidden to the underage, except in extenuating circumstances— to save a life. Furthermore, Harry was the only wizard in the area. IF one of Voldemort's flunkies should somehow make it through the protective barrier around Number Four….

And the stay would doubtless be good for Sirius, too. But the thought of Sirius, staying in that house…how would he react to the cupboard? How would he react to the bars? He still remembered Fred's reaction, not to speak of Ron's. Still, there was a pool of warmth flooding him with reassurance from within, at the idea of Sirius Black, his godfather, his family, ready there for him. He knew not to have expected Ron, his brother, to come back with him, but had never considered that someone else might join him in his exile.

And exile it was, even if Dobby had returned all the mail he'd stolen last year—he was quite cut off from the Wizarding World. Sirius might not have quite the maturity level you would expect from someone his age, but he was a good fighter. Harry had seen some mock duels amongst the three adults, and Sirius was the quickest draw, the most creative caster, somehow moving with grace and poise, as if it were some horrible dance. Professor Lupin could sometimes almost match him, but Tonks never could, despite that she was an auror, despite his stint in Azkaban. The knowledge of his competence brought with it a strange sense of security: for the first time in this life, Harry had adults who cared about him for his own sake, who would die to defend him. For the first time, in this life, he had a safety net.

He needed to tell Sirius Black about his big secret, share the knowledge of the threat he posed. One of these days. Not just yet, though….

Malfoy did not dare to bother them—not with three adults in their compartment, including their ex-professor, and a convicted criminal. Perhaps Tonks, the auror, was worst of all. He just narrowed his eyes at the full compartment, and moved on, bringing his cronies with him. That was the second time that Remus had saved them from a fight with Malfoy…at the very least. And Remus always faced Malfoy with admirable calm, despite Malfoy's habitual, almost automatic, taunts about half-bloods and monsters, which made Harry angry enough for all of them. But he didn't act, because Professor Lupin was the one with the right to.

All too soon, the train arrived at King's Cross Station, and it was time to go their separate ways. Ron had given Harry another batch of rings (or the same batch, replenished), and their usage had been explained to those who remained. Presumably, Ron's new, unnamed owl, would take less time in delivering the rings, flying to and fro, than Errol had. Although, it was difficult to see how the rings were even necessary, when Sirius revealed that he would be staying at Number Four, Privet Drive, with Harry, in the summers from now on.

He had to announce this—his big surprise—shortly before they got off the train, so that Harry wandered off the train in something of a daze, and didn't even hear Neville or Ginny saying their farewells, and that they would see him next year. Sirius was very pleased with himself for this.

Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Hermione, Ron, and Harry all disembarked together, Harry peering half-heartedly through the crowd looking for the Dursleys. He had no idea why they, hating magic and wizards as they did, came onto Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, rather than waiting out in the station. Perhaps it wasn't allowed.

He started and flinched when Sirius's hand landed on his shoulder—a gesture intended to comfort, but Sirius noticed him start, and bent down to be at a closer level to Harry. It reminded him of Mother, which might not be the best train of thought to follow right now.

"You okay, kiddo?" asked Sirius. Harry didn't say that half of the extremity of his reaction was that he was no longer in a place of safety, where Uncle Vernon, Dudley, and Aunt Petunia couldn't reach him—he was back in their world.

"Have you not noticed that he is…wary of physical contact?" asked Ron, who apparently was determined to see Harry off properly, this time. Molly Weasley was calling him, but he ignored her, for the moment.

"Harry?" asked Sirius, voice pitched higher in his concern.

"I'm fine," Harry lied. Ron and Sirius gave him almost identical looks of disbelief.

"There you are, boy. Hurry up, we're running late," Vernon Dursley said, pushing through the crowd by means of the sheer size of his girth. Harry tensed, and Sirius turned to meet the approaching threat head-on. Ron's eyes narrowed, and he seemed one wrong word away from a battle stance.

"Hi, Uncle Vernon!" said Harry, in a falsely cheerful voice. "It's so good to see you again. You have no idea how much I missed you, and Dudley, and Aunt Petunia this year!"

By which he meant: not at all. And Uncle Vernon knew it. His eyes narrowed into a mean-spirited squint, trying to figure out why Harry was behaving this oddly.

Good luck to him on that one. He wouldn't like the answer.

"I don't think I've had the chance to introduce you to my best friend, Ronald Weasley."

Ron shot him the most bemused expression he'd seen in a while, but gave a half-hearted wave that didn't suit him in any way. Harry's amusement at the situation grew.

"And this is Professor Lupin, who was one of our teachers this last year—"

"I've told you before: I'm not your teacher anymore. You can stop calling me 'Professor'. Just 'Remus' is fine."

"You!" cried Aunt Petunia, and then seemed to come to herself.

"Do you know each other?" asked Harry, with false wide-eyed innocence. For once, he could have some fun with the Dursleys without fear of later retribution. He'd like to see them even try to keep up their usual system with Sirius there.

Remus gave a sort of half-grimace, and tried his best to smile at Aunt Petunia. "Hello, Petunia. It's good to see you're well." Lie, said his inner lie detector, quite unnecessarily. He hadn't known that Remus and Aunt Petunia knew each other, although he supposed that it made sense.

"Petunia?" asked Uncle Vernon, obviously wrong-footed with recent events. Harry shrugged, and continued before Aunt Petunia could explain.

"And this is Tonks, she's an auror."

"Hello," said Tonks, seeming at a loss, but ready to dislike anyone who spoke that way to Remus. Her eyes were narrowed. Aunt Petunia took one look at Tonks's bubblegum-pink, spiky hair, and seemed to regain her equilibrium enough to look down her nose at Tonks. "Pleased to meet you," Tonks said, which seemed to be a half-truth, or something. Harry frowned, just momentarily, before his expression leveled out again. He was just in time, as Tonks glanced at him sidelong for an explanation for the animosity she sensed from people she'd never even met, and who weren't even wizards, who might have known that she came of the House of Black. Harry shook his head.

"They think you're a delinquent," he muttered to her. "With your hair…and you're a witch, and they hate magic, so—"

Tonks looked briefly self-conscious, but she just stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jeans, and said nothing. The Dursleys resumed ignoring and overlooking her existence.

Harry continued on to the best, for last. By now, their personal experience with the Dursleys meant that Remus and Tonks would be pleased, too, at the reaction Sirius's introduction was sure to garner.

"And this is my godfather, Sirius Black," he said, beaming at them. "You might remember him from that news report about the break-out from a secure facility last year—they didn't say which facility, because it was the wizard prison, Azkaban. Sort of a wizarding Alcatraz, I suppose." He allowed himself a moment to ponder this, and then continued, ignoring their sputters, or the way Dudley backed away, looking around frantic, and doubtless expecting to be receiving a pig's tail at any moment.

Sirius Black said nothing, following Harry's line of thought with an accuracy that alarmed everyone else. There was almost a vague sort of grin on his face. He was doing his utmost not to smile, and failing spectacularly.

"Hey, 'Tuney!" he said. "Good to see you again."

It was just as well that Harry's lie detection didn't work on Sirius Black at all. It meant that he could focus completely on the way Petunia paled, clutching Uncle Vernon's arm as she glanced around the station to see who might be watching them. A gossip is always aware of gossipers, and dreads being their subject. She didn't even react to the nickname, although she still hated it. Even after all this time, it still reminded her of Lily, and that awful boy who had taken her away.

Harry just basked in their discomfort for a bit, before moving on. He caught a glimpse of Remus shaking his head, out of the corner of his eye. Tonks seemed confused as to why he was painting Sirius in such a bad light.

"Did I mention that, per the headmaster's orders, he's going to be living with us from now on?"

Aunt Petunia fainted. It was just too much for her. "Is Aunt Petunia alright?" he asked Uncle Vernon, in fake worry. Ron shot him a sharp glance that he promptly proceeded to ignore. The Dursleys had made his life utterly miserable for ten years, almost killed him several times, and tried to keep him from going to Hogwarts. They in truth deserved far worse than this. Revenge, they say, is a dish best served cold.

And no one was better equipped to serve it than Harry. Before the Dursleys could recover, Harry grabbed his trunk, and made for the car, waving goodbye to Ron, Tonks, and Remus as he did. He'd be seeing the rest of the people he cared about soon enough.

{end Choose Well}