AN: NOT MINE!
Chapter 15
Sirius Sets Course
Sirius Black sipped coffee and watched children in green and gray jog, trot, or amble toward their classroom building, under the watchful eyes of the faculty and their headmaster.
I'm a headmaster. Somewhere, Prongs is laughing.
It was a peculiar situation in many ways. A former Azkaban inmate, a werewolf, a handful of kids, and a lot of inherited grandeur adding up to... This. Kids who loved to go to class.
One he watched was Hermione Granger (always accompanied by Crookshanks and Harry). She remained driven, setting the standard academically, yet the shadow of her father's death never truly left her.
My parents were glad to see me go, I was gladder to leave, but when I saw Harry's parents dead…
I've never lost that moment.
I've tried. How I understand that moment and how lost it refuses to be. It will mark her. She will mark the world.
Sirius knew this for fact. IAM marked his place in the world. Something to say that Sirius Black, of the Ancient And Noble And All That, left something better than his ancestors had.
His dearest living friend, Remus Lupin, ghosted up next to him. "They all seem to be thriving."
Sirius nodded absently, focused on this massive undertaking, and all he owed to the staff, the kids, yes, the kids… Harry, Hermione, Neville… The core group from Hogwarts, the inspiration, the enthusiasm. He never imagined he'd see Neville Longbottom as the future, but there it was. A calm, alert young man, whose magic was all about herbs and gentleness, with a core as strong as English oak.
Harry… What was Harry? Now that he'd worked out all he hadn't been permitted to be as a child… The brattiness, the mood swings, the heartbreaks, all stripping away to leave a young man who might be something far more than anyone imagined.
No, not a savior. Just a good guy. That's all. A good guy. He'll try hard to do what's best for those around him. Whatever he chooses. Not a healer, that's not in him. He goes queasy if he thinks about that. But… Now he feels free to think. To wonder. What's ahead for him. No scar. No prophecy. No British wizards…No doom. He can do anything he wants, now. He doesn't know what it is, but he can do anything he wants.
Lily would be glad.
He watched Hermione, who was laughing, and he sensed the strength of the magic in her to fix things. Like Harry's wanting to do the best for those around him, it practically shone off her in rays.
The rest, he didn't know well enough, but there they were, five students in every year from first through sixth. Bright, hopeful, united because there were no houses here. Only year-groups, so small that you could have all students in one big common room. It was the point, Harry had said. No more division. Acceptance.
As for the lack of seventh and eighth years, well, Remus, with McGonagall as new deputy headmaster, agreed they would allow these classes to progress through, rather than allowing students to complete a seventh or eighth year at a new institution. Transcripts didn't look good if you bunked off to an unknown school for the last year.
Courtesy the Black family fortune, IAM had not stinted on faculty, far more than could be said for Hogwarts. For thirty students, there existed not only a wide array of classes, but also teachers.
Remus Lupin had Defense, and Non-Human Culture Studies. Bukowski remained for Transfiguration and a general non-magical science curriculum. Yee continued in Runes and Languages. He also promised to encourage physical education, as an elective, if others aided, and so that joined the list of co-taught courses.
From Canada came their Arithmancy and co-teacher of some sciences, a respectable older witch named McLaren, of Regina (and do not mock her about how it was pronounced, Sirius quickly learned). The United States provided two instructors, one more than Sirius anticipated. Lehman had a post-mastery in Charms, and wasn't half-bad at general cultural studies, being born of a wizard and a non-magical, and having lived in both worlds all his life. The second instructor, Farrell, would teach Herbology and Basic Potions. the only irritation was that the Americans insisted on a translation for words anyone ought to know, in Sirius's opinion.*
Snape would teach only Advanced Potions, although he was a very altered Snape. He appeared only for meals, and vanished on long walks. Whatever haunted him, he never said where anyone heard.
Gomero would, of course, teach basic healing, and a few days of history relevant to her native region and culture.
No more goblin rebellion obsessions!
The main history instructor came from Uruguay, a cheerful, scarred man named only Naranja. Why, he did not say, nor did anyone ask. The scars all over his exposed skin discouraged inquiry. Of any kind. Ever.
Magical Culture, like Non-Magical Culture, would be divided between professors doing a week here and there, and the main teacher. A quiet Egyptian named Mahfouz, he grew up all over the globe, and could speak to the magical societies within southern Europe, northern Africa, the Middle East, and South Asia. "The cost of being a famous lecturer's child," he said by way of introduction, "is that you learn you are always wrong about something."
The Non-Magical Culture teaching fell by years, rather than regions. The first through third years would have Emily Granger, dentist, mother, widow, and avid reader. The fourth through eighth years would be taught by a muggle-born non-wizard named Clark. He was born in the Bahamas, lived in South Africa, and eventually came to IAM to be, in his words, "close but not too close" to family.
It's nothing like anything I saw in Britain. Look at them. Accents from around the globe, and every blood-tier, and nobody cares. Nobody even pays attention. Neville is pureblood and Hermione is muggle-born, and nobody cares. I try not to care, but look at me! I'm still thinking in those terms!
He overheard a snippet, blown to him by an onshore breeze.
The sixth-year from the US, Corelli, was saying, "You're thinking British again. We all grow up doing chores, same as non-magicals…"
And there it is. How wide the world will be for them. So much broader, brighter…
Yes, this is all worth it.
Every knut and nightmare.
And I better see to the post. I never imagined I'd receive letters from headmasters that didn't start with "Your detentions will be served…"
Sighing, he turned and went back inside. Duty lay heavier than the tropical heat, and the post had arrived. The wand-maker's bill had arrived, too. That was another thing they were trying to change. Why should students pay for wands and books? So many did not have the wealth, particularly the non-magical. He had to think about that, and review his investments.
I must be Lord Black. Oh, how I miss being Padfoot.
HP HP HP
Freedom came on four feet.
He shook off his fur, hating the feel of salt and sand, and paused when he heard his favorite people-voices.
Harry, Hermione.
"What's the secret, Nev?" his godson was asking. "We're meant to be helping with the hurricane shutters."
"I know, we will, it's only that I opened that package from my gran," stated Neville. "Didn't want to have a Howler come out of it, y'know? In front of people?"
Sometimes, Sirius thought parenting should be left to only those who passed a course of study, got all outstanding marks on their leaving exams, and were tested for SUA disease.
He chortled inside his canine mind, and transformed softly back to human. SUA disease. He'd thrown that at his parents once. Stick-up-a…
"This came. From Ron Weasley."
Speaking of the rear end, thought Sirius, who felt Ron had failed the friendship with Harry, not that Harry had worked hard to keep it, either.
"Ron?" said Hermione, and settled Crooks on the ground next to her. "What on earth is Ron writing about?"
Neville passed her some parchment, and then a packet of clippings.
She read, began hyperventilating, and was caught (dramatically!) by Harry as she started to faint (unexpectedly!), only to have Crookshanks bite her ankle and bring her swiftly upright, her head smacking into Harry's with a clonk.
Sirius just knew the cat-kneazle did it on purpose.
Sirius tried to laugh out his nose. That never worked. Fortunately, only the cat-kneazle noticed.
"The Granger example," she read, hands trembling, so that the parchment rattled. "Oh, I feel…"
Harry was right there, suavely (well, not really, thought Sirius, but at that age, suaveness was a work-in-progress) steering her to a nice place to sit.
Idiot kid, thought Sirius fondly.
Hold on. The Granger example?
He decided to walk into view. Being himself, he managed to make an entrance in the open air.
Neville squawked. Harry startled. Hermione shrank.
"Let me see that," he requested, and Neville passed him the bundle of parchment and paper.
Sirius read it all. Then he re-read it. Then he examined the odd diagram.
"Neville," he ventured, "you're not much at chess?"
"Rubbish at it."
"Not as bad as I am," said Harry with a half-smile.
"This is a chess diagram. He meant something with this. I'll take it to Moony, he was our chess champion. These clippings…" He shook his head in disbelief. His heart dropped, rose, pounded. "Fudge's spy is at Hogwarts, feeding information, and Dumbledore… Fudge..." He bit down the need to transform, to run, to flee.
Dumbledore can't be that stupid. So he's that clever? But... No. That doesn't... It...
He barked, "Harry!"
His godson dropped Hermione's hand, which he'd been stroking as if it was a cat.
"First year, Voldemort. Second year, Voldemort. Third year, dementors. Fourth year, that bloody stupid tournament we got you out of, thank you again for that, Hermione."
She automatically said, "My pleasure," and brought Crookshanks to her lap to cuddle. The cat purred louder than the storm-driven surf building on the windward side of the island. Sirius's dog ears had registered the noise; his human ears knew what it meant.
"To the main house, all of you, now," said Sirius harshly. "I changed the wards to blood-and-bone of Black, but with this storm, there's no saying what might be disrupted. I want you safe. That house is a fortress. Fairly obvious Hogwarts isn't, not with Dumbles in charge."
And that raises so many questions I can't begin to answer...
The quintet (for Sirius always counted Crookshanks) hurried to the main house, where heavy shutters covered the windows, barred as well as latched. Magic had its wonders, but prevention of weather was not among them. The bamboo roll-down screens on the verandas had been removed. Gutters were being cleaned again by elves, and directed toward an underground cistern system, since waste not want not was a good motto when living in the tropics. Every drop of drinkable water was a treasure.
When did I grow up?
As Hermione says: Oh drat.
They beat the first rumbles of storm to the main house, and were greeted by Hermione's mother, standing up from an armchair, clicking something on a small black box. It was, apparently, a non-magical wireless, but absolutely tiny compared to the wireless Sirius remembered in his childhood.
"The radio says we'll catch it," said Emily before kissing her daughter's cheek. "All settled? Neville, Harry, why aren't you in your dorm?"
Sirius's hackles rose at her dismissive tone. He pinned the muggle dentist with an unblinking stare. "Mrs. Granger, I have allowed you into my home, hired you at my academy, but I did not assign you the job of high inquisitor."
Emily flushed, but her chin stayed up. Hermione was very much her daughter.
"My godson, and his friend, are here at my request. Nothing else is required. You are in charge of non-magical culture studies, dentistry, and your daughter, nothing more."
Harry winced. Sirius ignored his godson's pleading gaze. If he wanted Hermione's eternal love, then he had to do his own work. Before a certain Halloween, he had bet Lupin the kids would be headed to wedlock by now. He owed the werewolf ten galleons.
"Boys, with me. Hermione…"
"As you said, Headmaster, she's my concern," stated the ever-protective Emily Granger.
"Mum," muttered Hermione, in mortification that broadcast better than the radio on the kitchen counter. It turned out they were quite correct about electricity and magic, they being several people ranging from Mrs. Granger to Lupin to Bukowski to Naranja. The elves, when asked, simply eyed Sirius askance, as if he was the lunatic.
It is very likely I am. No, it's certain. I'm simply benign. So far. I think. If you aren't the roof at Hogwarts. Focus! C'mon, Black, focus!
"Mrs. Granger," said Sirius stiffly, and drew himself tall. "Either you trust me with your child or you don't. Make up your mind."
Harry shifted uneasily at his peremptory manner, but Sirius knew what it was to fear constantly for and about a loved child. Harry wasn't his by blood, but by heart, which mattered equally, as far as Sirius was concerned. He'd meet Emily Granger head-on any day. As long as she wasn't armed with those tiny, nasty-looking metal things.
"We're all set," announced Lupin, interrupting the moment with a cheerful smile.
He heard it all, then.
"Professor, we have a puzzle for you. Shall we all have seats in my office?"
Hermione came with them. Sirius knew she'd pay for that later.
Harry ushered Hermione into a conjured chair before taking his own seat. Moony lounged on the edge of Sirius's desk. Neville hesitated, then decided to perhaps do as requested, before Sirius hexed him into a toadstool, and sat down on the floor.
Lupin studied the clippings, his face ebbing and flowing red and white, settling on a sickened gray. "Ginny Weasley copied this, then Ron sent it to Neville, to get it to Harry. Let's ask Harry. What does it mean?"
"I'm terrible at chess. I can't see anything in that," said Harry, pointing to the parchment with the precise grid on it. "The other stuff…" He glanced sidelong, puppy-like, at Hermione. She favored him with a small smile, then returned her gaze to her knees. "We thought they were using Hermione as bait, but I don't think they are. The bit about building up fear... That clipping about what Dumbles wants and Fudge, I mean, the one at Hogwarts... That Fudge... Telling Minister Fudge..."
Sirius watched, fingers steepled, eyes hooded. Poor kid. Both of them. All of them. Bound by doctrines they never made, never agreed to, never agreed with, and here we are.
Harry squinted at an imaginary point in space, suspiciously near Hermione's ear. "The purity thing. It's not really real, is it. Voldy and Dumbles, they each want control of whoever does magic?"
Lupin nodded encouragingly.
Sirius watched Hermione, who was clenching her hands tightly. She's trying not to take over. Good on her. Then again, she may also be trying not to strangle him. I did give her rather too much blame over Harry's little cruise to the North Atlantic with Snape and Moony. Blast. Didn't mean to ruin the pup's chances.
"There aren't any muggle-born professors at Hogwarts. And people like me, and Hermione, when we show up, we're always behind, no matter what. Not in class, Hermione's brilliant. It's everything else. If the magicals don't…"
Hermione snapped, her words a torrent. "If the magicals don't take pity on us poor muggle-borns, then we're left out. As a result, we have to kiss up to the magicals. If we're very good little muggle-borns…"
Ow. That burned! Sirius mentally applauded Hermione's acidic assessment.
"…we might be married or given a job higher than, oh, caretaker. But only if we're very good and play by all the existing rules, and never question authority." She blinked rapidly, breathing ragged. "Only I did question it. And that's why my dad died."
Neville started to speak, reconsidered, and scowled direfully at nothingness.
Harry reached over, and tapped Hermione's arm, and said, "I'm here, Hermione," in a voice very like his mother would have used.
"Dumbles didn't kill your father," said Lupin reasonably.
"No, he bound my magic. And then some Death Eaters went muggle-hunting, and they only picked on me because…"
"Of me, I know!" interrupted Harry, flushed to his hairline, and hunched his shoulders. "I know!"
Sirius glanced at Lupin, who managed to shrug only with his eyebrows.
Hermione retorted furiously, "Because I was stupid!"
Neville stood up, and cleared his throat hesitantly. "Um. Professor?"
"Yes, Neville?"
"Well, we keep saying Death Eaters went after Hermione to get Harry, but… Who ordered them to do that?"
Sirius sat up straighter. "Explain."
"I heard Lucius Malfoy!" shouted Hermione angrily. "I heard his voice. Who does he answer to? Volde…"
Harry quickly put a hand over her mouth.
She did something.
Harry yipped and glared at her. Hermione put her hands on her hips, narrowed her eyes, and gave him a Crookshanks-like hiss through her teeth. The cat-kneazle echoed her.
Sirius ignored their staring duel in favor of nudging Lupin. "You have a look, Moony."
"This chess diagram. Any competent player will be able to checkmark the black king in four moves. Well, six. A good player, three. Look where the rook is. Where the…" The werewolf snapped to his feet, shocking Hermione and Harry out of their self-involved little war. For a few minutes by the clock, he paced, to and fro, back and forth, like a caged animal. It grated at Sirius's perpetually frazzled nerves.
"There is no black king," said Lupin, startling the entire room, possibly the furniture as well. "That's why it makes no sense. There is no black king. You can't check another king, so there must be no second king!"
Hermione's voice was closer to overt insolence than Sirius expected of her. "For those of us illiterate in chess, please?"
"The white pieces are sweeping the board, aimed at a black king, but if you assume the black king is Voldy, and the white king is Dumbles…"
Sirius snatched the diagram, held it up, and shook his head. "I'm with Hermione on this, Moony, I can play chess, but I don't see what you're seeing."
Muttering a profanity under his breath, Lupin spun and pointed at Harry. "Harry, what are the laws designed to do?"
"Keep all the magicals at Hogwarts."
"Neville, who passed the laws?"
"The Wizengamot, with Ministry approval."
"Who heads both Hogwarts and the Wizenmagot?"
"Dumbles," said Harry, taking his turn.
"Who has a spy at Hogwarts?"
"The Ministry."
"Who allows it?
"Dumbles," said Hermione. "That, or he simply doesn't care."
Lupin's grin sent a chill down Sirius's spine. "Hermione. First rule of research."
She rattled it off, machine-like. "Never rely on only one source."
"I am going to list some questions."
Sirius knew that tone. He'd passed classes thanks to that tone.
Hermione, being her, looked for a way to write things down. Sirius conjured her a pad and pen. He had to admit, the pens were easier and less messy than quills.
"Who has directed the reaction or lack thereof to Voldy since 1981?" he ticked off on a finger. "Who assured us only Harry could defeat Voldy? Who insisted the scar was a connection to Voldy? Who did nothing to keep Harry safe? On purpose, Padfoot, you had no choice, you were in prison." Lupin paced some more, ticking off more questions on his fingers. He had not only a look, but the look, and it was one Sirius remembered well. "Who always encouraged second and third and fifteenth chances for Death Eaters?"
Harry and Hermione made identical noises of disgust; Neville blanched, turned red, and stared at a target only he could see. Sirius bet it was Bellatrix Lestrange, his absolutely insane cousin, who probably enjoyed Azkaban. She was that kind.
"Who had a former Death Eater in his employ? Who used obliviation and compulsion on Hogwarts staff? Who used Harry seemingly as bait for Voldy? Who bound Hermione's magic because her, and I quote, defiance of wizarding norms was dangerous?" Lupin waited, then dropped one last question amongst them. "Who said the fidelius charm couldn't fail but it did!"
Harry's jaw dropped.
Neville shuddered.
Sirius swallowed. No. He can't mean this… He...I agree Dumbles is all wrong, but...
"Whose support could oust that idiot Fudge from his position as Minister of Magic in Britain?"
Harry turned ghastly pale.
Lupin challenged each with a hard, penetrating stare. "Who is our one source?"
Hermione clawed at the chair, and made a small sound.
"Tell me, has anyone seen or heard or even sniffed Voldy? Other than Harry and Dumbledore? Anyone?"
Minerva McGonagall, appearing from the corner in which she'd sat as a cat, scared all of them with a curt, "No one else. Not one of us saw anything. We arrived too late to witness. Every time, it seemed. A corpse. Blood. A book. We saw no living trace."
"Which means Harry would be believed by?" prompted Lupin, while Sirius reminded himself yet again to check the room for cats! Blast it, the woman was too good at her art. No wonder nobody got away with anything around her!
"Only a few people, including Dumbledore," said Hermione, and scowled. At that, her eyes flew wide. Her face reddened, whitened, and then took on a sickly greenish hue. "Oh, I have to be…" she said, and raced from the room.
Minerva followed, after raising an eyebrow at them. The eyebrow said quite a lot, for a mere eyebrow.
Sirius stopped Harry from taking off after Hermione, giving his godson an impromptu hug. "Trust me. Sometimes, a girl needs to be alone. Dignity and all that."
Harry clenched his teeth, then nodded curtly. "Why? I mean, I stood there while he told me how he figured it all out, and arrived just in time, with Quirrell in first year, only... It's like listening to Sherlock Holmes, isn't it?"
That reference sailed past everyone but Lupin. "Precisely, Harry. A grand exposition leading to a conclusion, which no one else saw. For a reason, I suspect."
"Should we ask this Sure-lock person to help us?" asked Neville. "Or is he some nutter, too?"
Lupin pointed to the door. "Neville, you and Harry are done for now."
Both boys glared, Harry rather more indignantly. "We…"
Lupin glanced imploringly at Sirius, who understood, and went forward to tousle his godson's hair, and clap Neville on the shoulder. "Everyone has a strength. Neville, yours is herbology and teaching. Harry, right now, you're good at being angry, and we need to stay calm. Hermione is excellent at logic, but she's occupied at the moment by her emotional distress. Off you go."
Neville's shoulders slumped, but his eyes brightened. "C'mon, Harry. We'll cheer her up, yeah? Hermione really likes that thing of yours."
Sirius forced himself to not make any jokes right now for the love of his godson no jokes…
"That thing?" said Harry in bafflement.
Lupin's gaze told Sirius to not make a sound. Or they would both be rolling on the floor.
"What thing?" asked Harry of Neville.
"The square thing. With fruit."
"Who eats waffles at this hour?"
"I dunno. Who wouldn't? They seemed pretty good to me, and, y'know, there's all this and a hurricane. Why not eat 'em?"
"She does like waffles." Harry sounded torn. "And she does need comfort."
Outside, the wind started to keen.
Neville shivered.
Harry stared at the ceiling. "That's just the weather?"
"Yes," said Sirius. "Go on, pup. Waffles."
Harry nodded, twitching as the wind's keen began to rise and fall. He and Neville left without, remarkably, a single further protest.
Lupin stared at the ceiling in turn. "I am profoundly grateful it is not full moon, and even more thankful I know this house was built to withstand worse hurricanes than this is predicted to be. Uncommonly sensible of your ancestors, Padfoot."
"You lose two or three manors because magicals weren't here for the storm, you learn," said Sirius, then shut his eyes, and ran his hands over his hair. "What's the plan? Severus? He can't say."
"Precisely."
Someday, Sirius would keep up with Remus. Until then, he followed.
HP HP HP
Lightning pierced through the cracks in the shutters as Severus Snape graciously invited them to have seats at the little table in his quarters.
I hate him Begin? He's me, I'm him, if we were born to different parents, and that thought wakes me up screaming far more often than I ever tell anyone, even Moony…
"Minerva kindly sent me a patronus message. Miss Granger will be well."
Smooth as a mile of goat track, that's Snape. "We have some reading material for you."
Snape nodded, and quickly read the clippings. If they'd still been at Hogwarts, his pallor would have been typical. Instead, it blared like the thunder outside.
He skimmed the chess diagram, and placed it, with the rest, on the table. He called quietly for tea.
"Tea is very civilized," noted Lupin as Snape poured. "It's remarkable, really, how we cling to those small things. The greetings, the titles, the little rituals, the promises and traditions."
How is Moony not married? He could sneak up on a girl who didn't even know she was meant to catch him.
Oh, right. Werewolf. Eh. We'll figure it out later.
"For example, I once took a magical oath not to reveal who turned all the Hufflepuff robes pink."
Sirius Black wanted to hide. That prank had been blamed on Slytherins. Not Snape, but…
"Ah, yes. I suspected it was not my housemates. Too obvious."
"Exactly!" beamed Lupin, adding another sugar to his tea. "Yes, it's the subtle things that trip us up most in the end. The obvious, well, sometimes you can hide it in plain sight." He looked directly at Snape's marred left forearm for only an eyeblink, yet Sirius felt the moment extend into years.
Is this a werewolf thing? Or am I just too like James? Blundering forward because someone always cleans up after me? That pureblood privilege Hermione seethes about?
Snape's complexion recovered. He sipped his tea. "Precisely. A drop of lavender on the pillow is sublime. Two is annoying. A single leaf can transform a potion from delight to danger. Why, even a word out of place…"
He understands what we want.
Why do I not believe Dumbles had him vow not to reveal that Dumbles actually hates lemon drops?
"You speak truly, Severus. Indeed, I have always admired your honesty."
Sirius didn't quite gargle his tea, but his eyes popped wide. Should I play a violin and summon up a candlelit dinner for this seduction?
Snape waved his hand, oh-so-casually, but Sirius had trained to be an auror. He knew the finger movements to wandlessly lock a room against eavesdropping. Grinning, he made a show of using his wand to cast the same.
Lupin stirred the contents of his cup languidly. "Green and gray suit you far better than black, Severus. Excellent shortbread. I'll indulge tonight, for tomorrow, who knows what may be seen."
Snape's lips curled in thin amusement. "Indeed. We may break through the walls of misunderstanding that surround us. Imagine if one were to, perhaps…" He spread his hands wide. "Find a silent means of communication that includes no runes or writings of any kind? What marvels might we learn?"
Sirius stood up, shaking his head, and jumped as the wind hit a new note of pain. "Okay, I hate dancing, let's get to the point."
"That is the point. Should I not dance, I shall not survive."
Sirius considered it for a heartbeat or two. Then let it go. He spoke slowly, allowing his brain to keep up with his mouth. "Harry told me about a muggle game. It's called charades. You have to figure out the answer by someone's gestures and actions. Sometimes you guess a title to a book or famous person's name, he said. Hermione showed us, she's very good at it."
"Yes, I've seen mimes, it's somewhat similar," said Lupin, nodding as if this was normal conversation.
"I think there's paper involved, but we don't need paper," stressed Sirius, watching Snape carefully. Reading no reaction, he continued with, "We don't need words. We're wizards, after all!"
"Remember the puppets Lily used to keep Harry happy when he was teething?" beamed Lupin, rubbing his hands together. "Just the thing to keep our minds off this bleak situation. A puppet show!"
Being clever is exhausting. How do Lupin and Hermione do it?
Sirius nonetheless dutifully transfigured the tea towel given him by Lupin. Strings? No, they looked like socks with buttons for eyes, which is silly, but Harry laughed…
At last, Lupin had a troop of little sock puppets ready on his side of an imaginary stage, and Sirius had his. Lupin had done rather better at accurate features, but Sirius didn't really care what Death Eaters looked like. Voldy was honored with a black crown. Dumbles got a golden one.
When Snape clapped lightly, they knew they had it.
Lupin declared, "A scene! A night long ago, on All Hallows Eve!"
He and Sirius used their wands to set the puppets moving. The Harry-Lily-James puppets were playing happily together. The Voldy-and-friends puppets swooped in. James bravely defended, Lily protected, and then a flash of lightning outside conveniently took the place of a curse nobody wanted to think about.
Tiny Harry puppet remained alive, and the Voldy puppet ran (floated?) away.
Snape did not applaud.
What did we get wrong?
Lupin then arrayed some sock puppets with vague resemblance to known Order of the Phoenix members, such as red-yarn-headed Weasleys, behind the gold-crowned purple sock that represented Dumbledore. Sirius sent his Death Eater sock puppets off to battle the Order of the Phoenix, and pitted his Voldy against Lupin's Dumbles.
Snape nodded, applauding quietly.
When they battled to a Dumbledore win, he stopped clapping.
When they had Voldy pop back, and the battle came to a draw, he gave them a brief standing ovation.
Lupin swished his wand, and built a scene of a tiny Harry sock puppet next to the limp Voldy puppet.
Snape remained motionless, hands on knees.
Sirius, taking a guess because that night lived in his head forever, tore up the Voldy sock until it was a thready mess scattered around the room. Yes. Blown apart. Roof and room alike, I can't stop the memories of that smell, that wailing, that screaming I did…
Snape very deliberately clapped as loudly as he could.
Sirius met Lupin's eyes.
Moony…Does this mean?
With two flicks of their wands, they dismissed the whole thing, then sat down with Snape again.
Thunder and waves undercut the wind's shriek. Lightning flickered with uncannily appropriate timing.
"What do you think, Severus?" asked Sirius, forcing cheer into his voice. "Strange, yes?"
"The strangest things are sometimes the truest," said Snape, and Sirius felt his heart skip a beat in his chest.
Oh no. No. Please no.
He forced himself to conjure up a Dumbles sock puppet that wore a Voldy mask.
Lupin countered with one that was laughably like Lucius Malfoy, bowing to Voldy-Dumbles.
Snape quietly and with great dignity clapped exactly thrice, tears in his eyes. "You performed brilliantly. Now, forgive me, I feel I must rest. We will need our energy to face the storm in the morning."
Without another word, Lupin and Sirius left Snape's quarters, and went down the hall to Lupin's.
Moony summoned an elf, and requested a bottle of fire whiskey.
Sirius Black did something rather unusual.
He refused the drink.
He knew now what to do, when the time came. How to prove it. How to end it. How to save Harry.
Oh Harry... I'm sorry.
HP HP HP
*When traveling abroad, never use slang. It can be shockingly painful to discover that your 'harmless word' is someone else's 'lethal insult'. This is not only true of English, FYI.