"Because, sometimes you've got to think about more than your own safety! Sometimes you've got to think about the greater good! This is war!"

― Harry to Aberforth, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Chapter 10: This is War

The high street of Hogsmeade was nearly unrecognizable. Half the shops were rubble while the other half crumbled under sky-high lurid green flames. Dark, noxious smoke churned heavy in the air, denser than a cloud and torturous to breathe.

Harry found his opponents by the flash of green fire off their silver masks, by the jets of light from their wand tips. Only minutes ago, he hadn't needed to search for them― he'd thrown himself into their midst, carving out a wake like a torpedo, Death Eaters on all sides and closing in as if he might drown in them.

Harry had since culled the herd.

Instead of dueling multiple Death Eaters from every angle, he now dueled one-on-one as he spotted them, doing his best to keep himself placed between danger and the impromptu healing station in the middle of the road.

Harry was aware that some Death Eaters got past him. He could hear the girls― Lily, Gertrude, and Mary― dueling, could see the flashes and sparks of their fights out of the corner of his eye, and the cacophony of battle was only dimly muffled by the smoke and his own pounding heartbeat.

Sirius and James were quiet for once in their lives, working hard on healing their classmates who were lying unconscious in the street.

Remus and Draco rushed between the battle and the Hog's Head, levitating patients to safety as James and Sirius finished working on them.

Harry himself was panting and sweating as he dueled the latest Death Eater, yet another man he didn't recognize. Whoever it was, he was a decent duelist. He might have hung back from the initial clash out of fear, but he was holding his own now that Harry was exhausted and struggling to breathe.

Harry's throat burned from the smoke, his lungs and chest ached, and no matter how hard he panted, he couldn't seem to pull enough air for a full breath.

He was no stranger to adrenaline in a fight, but this felt different.

The smoke, he realized, as the Death Eater cast a type of wind charm to blow Harry off balance, and Harry finally got a breath of fresh air in its wake. He gulped it down, taking as many deep breaths as he could before the smoke settled back in. The Death Eater didn't let him rest, striking out with a Killing Curse that Harry barrel rolled in the dirt to avoid.

After a few more strikes and counters, Harry managed to cast a nonverbal Wingardium Leviosa at a burning fencepost behind the Death Eater and struck him over the head with it. The Death Eater, who had conjured a shield between himself and Harry the moment he saw Harry's wand move, went down in a heap.

Harry, still on the ground, waved his wand as they had only recently learned in Charms class and coughed, "Ventus tria!"

It wasn't his best attempt. Manipulating the four natural elements required more power than regular, everyday charms, which was why it was saved until the seventh-year curriculum, and Harry was drained. It was enough to blow the smoke away for a few precious seconds, though, and Harry took deep, choking breaths.

Then he forced himself back to his feet.

He was lightheaded, shaking, and still coughing, but the battle wasn't over. His friends needed him. He had to protect them. He couldn't fail. Not again.

Ron. Hermione. I'll do better this time, I swear. I will protect them.

Harry backed up towards the healing station, wand up, eyes peeled for any sign of a threat.

He couldn't see any more dark, cloaked shapes from the direction of the castle. Had he finished off the last of their attack force? That seemed… improbable. There had been so many.

He was about to turn around and help the girls finish their duels when he saw his mistake.

He had backed up between two relatively intact shops, one on either side of the road of him. He was just about to turn his back when movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

Several dark, masked figures poured out of the shops, wands already slashing in his direction.

Harry dropped to the ground and rolled beneath the first volley, but there was nothing to hide behind. He raised his wand to cast a shield, but a coughing fit seized him, making his arm jerk and ruined the movement.

He couldn't stop coughing. He tasted blood on the back of his tongue, and his eyes were stinging and watering. He braced himself to feel the Death Eaters' curses any moment, unable to breathe, let alone defend himself.

Fuck, he thought, surprisingly calmly, as time seemed to slow down. Guess this is it.

Briefly, he sent a mental apology to Draco― for not being able to protect him any longer, for possibly trapping him in the past. He apologized to his young parents, and Sirius and Remus, and hoped history hadn't been altered too much, hoped they would survive this.

And then the thought of seeing Ron and Hermione again, of being together, made his heart swell with anticipation. Quicker and easier than falling asleep, and then he could be with them again.

He wasn't sure if his eyes were watering from the smoke or if they were tears of relief.

It was almost over.

Ron. Hermione.

There were bangs, crashes, and startled cries all around him.

Nothing hit Harry.

Harry had, at some point, curled into a ball to ease his coughing fit, but his fingers had never released their grip on his wand. He held it up as his coughs finally subsided, unable to see clearly through the smoke and his watering eyes, but ready to react to anything.

There were figures between Harry and the Death Eaters, fighting them back.

Nearest, Harry recognized Professor Bowie's messy blond bun and the glimmer of too much jewelry.

"What, Madam Pomfrey write you another sick note, Parker?" Bowie called over his shoulder as he slashed and flicked his wand at two Death Eaters. "I said if you can breathe, you can fight! Now get up and fight, damn it!"

On Harry's other side was Dumbledore. Even through the smoke and distance, he could see the look of terrible fury on Dumbledore's face as he lassoed one Death Eater in translucent silver ropes, whipped another Death Eater through the smoldering wall behind him, and turned to the final two. Harry had only seen him that angry once― back at the Department of Mysteries when Sirius had died.

Even knowing they were on the same side, Harry's heart quaked at the sight.

Harry got to his feet, wheezing and occasionally coughing, but able to breathe again. He deflected a Death Eater's curse that went wide of Professor Bowie and returned it with a vengeance.

"Atta boy!" cried Bowie. He had that wide, wolfish grin that reminded Harry of Mad-Eye Moody.

Harry and Bowie dueled side-by-side for a few seconds until Harry got a clean Expelliarmus through on his opponent and immediately followed it with a Stunning charm. He turned to gang up on Bowie's opponent but caught sight of another figure racing toward them.

Harry raised his wand, ready, but stopped at the sight of Sirius Black.

Sirius was ashen-faced and wild-eyed, but he sprinted straight toward Harry and grabbed him by the shoulders. His breathing was ragged― not as bad as Harry's, but getting close― and his hands were smeared in blood. Harry assumed it was from handling the injured students until he realized Sirius's knuckles were busted, too, and he had a fat lip and black eye forming.

"Parker! Parker, they took him! They took James!"

Harry stared at Sirius uncomprehending. It was like Sirius was speaking another language. They sounded like words, but they didn't make sense.

They took James.

What…? Who…? Why would…?

Harry shook his head, unable to understand. "Huh?"

Sirius shook him and repeated, "They took James, Parker! They were looking for someone! That's why they attacked! And they took him! We have to go after them! We have to get him back!"

"Why would they want James?" Harry's voice sounded foreign to his own ears, as if someone else were speaking.

"I don't know!" Sirius threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Does it matter? They have him, and we have to get him back!"

"We need… we need…"

I need Ron and Hermione, Harry thought, and couldn't think of anything else.

Getting through a battle like this without them watching his back had been bad enough. So many times, he had found himself checking for their positions before moving on to make sure they stayed together. After so many years and so many adrenaline-flooded fights, when Harry's mind sank into that calm, smooth space that allowed him to continue on despite the odds, he just assumed Ron and Hermione were right there with him. He had almost called out to them once or twice, to shout warnings or when he recognized a particular Death Eater by a signature spell.

They weren't there.

Harry was alone.

Now, James had been kidnapped by Death Eaters and was possibly facing Voldemort himself, and Harry didn't have the first clue what to do.

What if they were torturing him? What if this was where Dolohov began learning?

Harry shivered and didn't stop. He couldn't look at Sirius, could only let his eyes wander blankly and take quick, gasping breaths as his whole body trembled.

The fight was over. Bowie had Stunned his opponent and had rushed off to sweep the perimeter, looking for any other Death Eaters laying in wait. Dumbledore had collected his four opponents and tied them with Anti-Disapparation ropes and was rushing forward to where Mary, the last of the Gryffindor girls standing, was frantically trying to help the injured students Sirius and James had abandoned.

Lily was down, sprawled unconscious in the street.

Hermione. A flare of purple flames, and Harry's best friend was on the ground, unmoving. Unbreathing. Harry had left her there on the sidewalk.

James was gone. Just… gone.

There were bodies everywhere, some Death Eaters, some children, some wizards and witches who lived and worked in the village. The buildings were still burning. Smoke billowed in the air.

Harry's throat was bleeding, from screaming himself hoarse as Dolohov― no. No. His throat was bleeding from the coughing, from the smoke and ash and heat.

There was no Dolohov here. Not every Death Eater was Dolohov.

"I recognized one of them," Sirius was saying, hands fluttering with frantic energy, like birds trying to escape his wrists. "Antonin Dolohov. He was a year above us in school. Some older guy was asking Dolohov, 'Is this the boy?' And the fucker didn't know, but the other guy was angry, said it was all Dolohov's idea. But James and Dolohov barely had anything to do with each other in school! They'd recognize each other, but there's no reason Dolohov would attack Hogsmeade for James!"

The world spun. Harry didn't know which way was up, and he stumbled, grabbing onto Sirius for support. It didn't help. Another coughing fit wracked him, and this time Harry felt like he might vomit, too.

"Harry?" Sirius lowered him carefully to the ground. "Gods, you're coughing blood. Let me―"

Sirius pulled out his wand and pointed it at Harry.

"No!" Harry screamed, or tried to. His voice came out a hoarse rasp, but his wand hand reacted instinctively. Without conscious thought, he disarmed Sirius and blasted him back.

Harry curled in on himself, dizzy, coughing, trembling from head to toe, as the world spun and rocked, tossing him about like a ship on the ocean.

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe, but the images waiting behind his closed eyelids were even worse.

Hermione dead on the ground, left outside in the dirt, alone. She wasn't petrified by a basilisk this time. She had needed Harry, but he hadn't been fast enough, hadn't been good enough. And Harry had left her lying there in the street.

Ron was screaming obscenities at Dolohov and the laughing, jeering Death Eaters who surrounded Harry, who was bound to a table in the supply room of a Knockturn Alley sex shop. Ron screamed at them to stop, called them names that would have given Mrs. Weasley a heart attack if she'd heard him. He kept screaming at them until Dolohov turned his wand on him, until he, too had screamed his throat bloody and hoarse. And when he was quiet, he wasn't fun anymore. Dolohov had killed him, just like that.

Harry felt that moment when he had broken. When he hadn't even cared that Dolohov had killed Remus. When he just wanted Ron and Hermione back. It didn't matter that Harry was bleeding and broken and torn apart in every way Dolohov could make him hurt. He just wanted Ron and Hermione back. He regretted ever going after Dolohov. But Ron and Hermione were both dead, and Harry was about to be next, and something in him had simply broken.

Harry wanted Ron and Hermione back. Sitting curled up on the street in Hogsmeade decades in the past, Harry just wanted his friends.

As he struggled to breathe through the smoke and panic, something small and round and hard fell into his lap.

Harry jerked, startled, and a black stone with a jagged crack down the center slid from his lap onto the street beside him.

Harry stared at it, his breath catching on a gasp.

The Resurrection Stone lay there as innocuously as any other stone on the street.

Harry picked it up, transfixed. His hands were covered in ash and flecks of blood, his fingers rough and calloused. The stone fit easily in his palm, clean and smooth as if it had come straight out of a river. The juxtaposition fascinated him.

Sirius was speaking.

"-sorry, I forgot. It's okay. Just breathe…."

Harry ignored him. He didn't think.

He turned the stone over three times in his hand.

Ron and Hermione. Ron and Hermione. Ron and Hermione. Please, come back. I need you.

An older Sirius Black stepped in front of Harry as if he had been waiting off to the side, just out of sight. He crouched down between Harry and his younger counterpart, his expression soft and sad.

"Hey, Harry," he said quietly.

"Sirius!" Harry said, uncurling and getting to his knees. His heart stuttered in his chest. This Sirius was as Harry had seen him in the Forbidden Forest the night he, Harry, had died. Older than the student Harry had gotten to know over the last month, but younger and heartier than Harry had known him in his own time. As always, Harry's heart leapt to see him, but it was tempered by disappointment. "Why are you―? Where are Ron and Hermione? I wanted to see them!"

"What the…" the younger, living Sirius edged around to see better. His eyes were as wide as saucers. "What the bloody fuck is going on?"

Harry and his Sirius both ignored him.

"It's too soon, Harry," Sirius responded gently. "You're not ready."

"Too soon?" Harry snapped, temper flaring. "I saw Remus just hours after he… after he…."

Harry took a deep, shuddering breath.

"We were your welcoming committee then," said Sirius with a small, wry smile. "There was no harm seeing us when you were about to join us. But this time, we hope we can convince you to stay alive a bit longer. The Stone's power is subtle but dangerous, Harry. You must remember the story of the Three Brothers."

"I'm not… I'm not trying to bring them back," said Harry weakly. "I just want to see them. Talk to them. I need them, Sirius. I can't… I can't do this without them!"

"Yes, you can," said Sirius firmly. He made as if to touch Harry's shoulder but paused. Slowly, he let his hand drop. He said, "You're so strong, Harry. So brave. You can do this. I believe in you."

Harry's temper was a storm inside him. He felt like he was drowning and all he could do was lash out at the one person throwing him a lifeline. "What if I'm tired of being strong, of being brave? Because I am! Haven't I been through enough? And even then, they were always beside me! I want them back! I need them back!"

Harry's godfather leaned back and rested more comfortably on the ground. He made it look like he was lounging elegantly on a ballroom chaise instead of in ash-covered dirt and rocks.

"Hermione adamantly refuses," he said. "She says it's a slippery slope, the Stone is your weakness, and she's forbidden all of us from visiting you."

"Then why are you here?" Harry snapped.

Sirius gave him a quick, mischievous smirk. "She's not the boss of me."

Harry let out a helpless laugh, surprised. If it sounded more like a sob, Sirius didn't mention it.

Harry ducked his head and tried to steady himself. He was spiraling and he didn't know how to stop it.

"This is unreal," the young Sirius breathed. "You are me. But what is this? How is it happening?"

"Magic," said his ghostly counterpart.

"Sirius," said Harry, and both looked up. Harry looked to his Sirius. "The Death Eaters took James. They have him."

Sirius's expression was grim. "I know."

"You know? You know?" said Harry, baffled by Sirius's lack of emotion. His voice rose, and he said as loudly as he was able, though still very hoarsely, "They have Prongs, Padfoot! What do we do? How do we fix this?"

"The same way you fix everything. Like you said, you've been through a lot. How have you always gotten through it?"

"With my friends," said Harry cuttingly, glaring at him.

"So, do that." Sirius shrugged.

Harry could have strangled him. It was his Sirius, that was for sure, but Harry was able to see more of the teenaged Sirius in him, now that he knew what to look for. Harry tried to take a deep breath and ended up coughing again.

It definitely tasted of blood. Harry wiped his mouth and ignored it, just like he ignored the younger Sirius's look of concern and his godfather's look of sympathy.

"Don't you remember what happened the first time?" rasped Harry, throwing caution to the wind. There was no way the younger Sirius hadn't figured out time travel was involved. Harry might as well dig for whatever advantage he could now that his secret was blown. "How did you get him back?"

His godfather looked pensive and vaguely troubled. His gaze darted to his younger self before resting on Harry. He said slowly, thoughtfully, "Hogsmeade was attacked in my seventh year… but this is too soon. And, from what I can tell… different. Voldemort used it as an opportunity to try to recruit some of us. He came, stirred up some panic, got his supporters feeling confident for attacking so close to Dumbledore, and made offers to the students who showed potential. He didn't kidnap anyone. Something has changed."

Me, Harry thought, his stomach sinking. He had no idea what he had done to change Voldemort's plans, but it had gotten his father kidnapped.

Puzzle pieces started fitting themselves together in his mind. Harry jabbed a thumb at the younger Sirius and said, "He said the Death Eaters were looking for someone specific, someone who… matched James's description. And Voldemort didn't come himself. Like he's afraid this time."

Harry and his godfather locked gazes.

It was obvious once they knew something had altered the timeline. Voldemort was looking for Harry. Not only did he know about Harry, he knew enough not to come in person. He knew enough to be afraid.

Someone had told Voldemort, years too early, that Harry would be his downfall and that he would be in Hogsmeade that day.

The only people who knew that were Harry and Draco. They hadn't even confided in Dumbledore that Harry was the so-called Savior of the Wizarding World.

And Harry hadn't told anybody in this timeline anything.

He couldn't bring himself to feel betrayed― not yet, anyway. He felt like his chest had been hollowed out, leaving a cavernous emptiness where his heart should have been.

He gripped the Stone tighter.

The ghostly Sirius glanced over his shoulder, where Flitwick and Madam Pomfrey were arriving on the scene.

"I need to go now, Harry," he said quietly. "You don't want to look like a lunatic talking to yourself once the Healer arrives."

"Can't they see you?" asked the younger Sirius, frowning.

Harry's godfather shook his head. "I didn't know you'd be able to, but I suppose since you're me… time travel and souls are tricky, both apart and mixed together."

"I don't… I don't want you to go," Harry said. The desperation that had made him turn the Stone three times had faded, and in crept the familiar misery. Sirius was dead. He was lucky he had gotten to speak to him twice now. Most people never got that much. But there was no guarantee there would be a third time.

Sirius was dead.

"It was my fault," Harry said, the words falling out before he could even think them. He couldn't bear to look at his godfather as tears began to slip from his eyes, hot and stinging. He stared down at the Resurrection Stone, blurry now, only darkness against his white-knuckled grip. "I'm so sorry, Sirius. It was my fault. I was stupid, and reckless, and I got you killed. It was my fault. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Hey," said Sirius gently. He made a small movement, but Harry couldn't tell what it was, because he couldn't look at him, couldn't face him through the guilt and the shame and the weight of the death resting on his shoulders. Sirius said, "Harry, no. Look at me. Please, look at me."

Harry shook his head as more tears fell. "It was all my fault. I was young and stupid, and I thought I knew everything when I knew nothing. I fucked up, Sirius. I fucked up, and you had to save me, and you died for me. You died for me, just like everybody else. It was all my fault."

Harry was crying hard now, shoulders shaking, head bowed.

Again, Sirius made a motion, and Harry only reacted to something coming toward his face. He flinched back, breath shuddering on a sob. But it was only Sirius's hand, moving slowly and calmly to hover just over the skin of Harry's cheek.

Harry finally looked at him.

There was nothing but love on Sirius's face. It was almost as hard to look at anger or hate might have been. It shone like the sun, and Harry wished he could hide from it. He felt seen, caught in its light, and unworthy.

"Listen to me very closely, Harry," said Sirius, hand still hovering over Harry's cheek. "My death was not your fault. You were the most important thing in my life, and you were in trouble. I made a choice. I would make that same choice every time, even knowing what it would cost. It's who I am. And I don't regret it. There is no blame to be had, Harry. People live, and people die. And, if you're very lucky, like I was, the things worth living for are also worth dying for."

Harry closed his eyes and nodded. He wanted to lean into Sirius's touch, to draw comfort from his presence, but when he closed his eyes, he felt nothing. Even though Sirius was so near, all it took was for Harry to close his eyes for him to disappear entirely.

"We all love you very much, Harry," said Sirius. "Ron and Hermione want you to know they don't blame you for what happened. They only wish they could have stayed by your side longer. And your parents and Remus and I… I can't even tell you how proud we are. What you sacrificed for the ones you love, and going back to fight again even after your part should have been finished…. We are so proud. That's how I know you'll get through this. You will rescue James, and you will find a way home."

Harry's shoulders hunched. He looked down at the Stone again, a war waging deep inside.

He could keep Sirius there. He felt it. The Stone had the power, and it was in Harry's hand.

He didn't have to let Sirius go.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, and hot tears slid down his cheeks.

"Goodbye, Sirius."

Harry almost felt the hand on his shoulder, like a brush of clothes as two people passed in a crowded hallway.

"Goodbye, Harry."

When Harry opened his eyes, his godfather was gone, and he immediately shut them again. A part of him wanted to curl up in the fetal position, and another wanted to throw himself on the street and cry until there was nothing left. And another part saw a seventeen-year-old Sirius Black looking at him as if he'd never seen him before and was rather afraid of what he was finding.

Harry finally opened his eyes and looked back. He looked at Sirius, who was seventeen and stupid and got into slap fights with transfigured duck-head-hands and tried to put every food in the Great Hall onto a single bagel which he could never fit into his mouth and who composed love sonnets on the spot to Professor McGonagall to get out of detention.

Sirius Black. Alive. Breathing. Heart beating. A seventeen-year-old who was scared for his kidnapped best friend, a boy called Prongs.

"That makes sense now," said Sirius, in a quiet voice Harry had never heard from him. He was looking at Harry openly, unguarded. Just genuinely looking perhaps for the first time. Harry felt just as vulnerable as Sirius appeared. "The way you look at us sometimes. Like you have these expectations I could never figure out, and somehow I was always disappointing you. I didn't… I could never figure out what you wanted from me."

Harry blinked rapidly to forestall more tears and looked away. "Sorry," he said, rasping.

He didn't say it was the same, if not worse, how Sirius looked at him.

I love you. You were the closest thing I had to a father. And you look at me like you don't know me.

"Can I heal your throat now? You've got a convincing vampire look going on right now, what, with the blood all over your mouth."

Harry was a raw, exposed nerve, and just the thought of someone raising their wand at him sent shudders down his spine.

He closed his eyes and put his hand over them. "Just do it."

Sirius stayed silent as he worked, as if he understood how much trust Harry was placing in him, as if he knew how few people Harry could ever close his eyes around while wands were drawn.

He worked quickly and then took several steps away and hid his wand before clearing his throat. "Ah, all done. Healing's not my specialty, mind, but it's better than one of Remus's ridiculous soothing teas. Ha."

Harry dropped his hand and blinked a few times. He, too, cleared his throat. It was sore but not distracting. Good enough.

"Thanks," he said, and his voice came out stronger.

Sirius shrugged it off, looking uncomfortable.

They both knew a long conversation between them was inevitable, but Harry was glad Sirius appeared to be on the same page. Neither of them had the time or energy for it now.

"Filius, do something about this smoke, if you please!" came Madam Pomfrey's brusque voice from only a few yards away. She already had most of the unconscious students lined up on conjured stretchers awaiting transportation and was only securing some of the worst wounds. "Smoke inhalation is extremely damaging!"

Flitwick squeaked something from down the street, where he was extinguishing the last of the Greek Fire from a building. A moment later, a gust like the single swipe of a hurricane wind flew down the street and out into the mountains, taking the acrid smoke with it.

"Gods," murmured Sirius, hair and robes askew from the wind, as they surveyed the damage fully for the first time.

Harry, Sirius, Mary, Dumbledore, Flitwick, Bowie, and Pomfrey looked around in stunned silence.

Harry felt sick.

Ash covered everything in a pale gray blanket as if it had snowed. Only, instead of the picturesque village at wintertime, it covered a ruined wasteland.

Hardly any shops on the high street had more than a bare skeleton structure. A firestorm had passed through and left everything blackened and crumbling. They would need to rebuild everything.

But it was the bodies littering the street that Harry fixated on.

Lily and Gertrude had been laid on stretchers with the other injured students, but Madam Pomfrey had separated a few and conjured blankets to lay over them, covering their faces.

That was their healing station, Harry thought numbly. Those were Hogwarts students dead.

Around their healing station were half a dozen crumpled Death Eaters, no doubt felled by Lily, Gertrude, and Mary as they defended James, Sirius, and the injured students.

And down the street in the direction of the castle were… dozens. Maybe thirty, Harry estimated, though he was too nauseated to count.

He remembered throwing himself down the street in that direction, wading into the flashes of light and mass of black cloaked bodies. He remembered casting Stun after Stun while Draco pulled students out of the madness and ushered them toward the Hog's Head.

The students hadn't been fighting back. They'd been terrified and running away.

Harry had… Harry had done that. Maybe not every one. Maybe some of the shopkeepers or other patrons had defended themselves before fleeing.

Maybe not.

Harry was glad he was sitting down.

"Gerald, get those Death Eaters secured," said Dumbledore, his voice like a whip crack in the sudden silence and stillness. "Filius, assist Poppy in getting those students back to the Hospital Wing. Minerva and Horace are awaiting aid from the Ministry as well as St. Mungo's. Have the Ministry send the Aurors straight here. And have Hagrid send the carriages here for the students, as well."

The teachers― Gerald must have been Bowie's first name― sprang back into action.

Dumbledore approached Harry and Sirius. He knelt before them in the layer of ash, his powder blue robes a stark contrast to their soot-covered robes and faces.

"Mr. Parker, Mr. Black, where are the rest of the students?" His voice was gentle but intent. His blue gaze bore into them, and Harry had no doubt that if he told Dumbledore they'd sent the students up the mountains, Dumbledore would hitch up his robes and start hiking in that direction.

"The Hog's Head," said Harry, only a little hoarse. He looked down, embarrassed, before muttering, "I didn't know who else to trust… and I've seen Aberforth duel. I thought…."

"You thought wisely, Harry," said Dumbledore, and his shoulders relaxed. He gave Harry a small, curious smile. "My brother and I may not always have a kind word for one another, but he would defend those students to his dying breath. I'm glad you trusted him."

Harry nodded but didn't meet the headmaster's gaze. This Dumbledore was not young by any stretch of the imagination, but he had chosen to go to his grave before revealing what had happened between him, Grindelwald, and his sister Ariana. Harry didn't think he'd take kindly knowing that Harry knew everything, everything that hovered like poison in the air between him and his brother.

"Professor," said Sirius quickly. "The Death Eaters took James. One of them― Dolohov, I think― grabbed him and Disapparated. They've still got him."

Just like that, Dumbledore's frame went rigid with tension again. His blue gaze pierced Sirius. "You saw this? How long has it been?"

"It was, I don't know, less than ten minutes ago. They didn't say much, but they were looking for someone, and they grabbed James. I tried to stop them, but they Disapparated―"

"I understand, Mr. Black. Mr. Parker, do you have anything to add that might be of assistance?"

Harry opened his mouth and closed it. They were after me, and they heard I looked like my dad, he wanted to say. They were after me because they heard I defeated the Dark Lord, and now Voldemort's scared.

They were after me because Draco sold me out.

And, as if on cue, Remus and Malfoy came sprinting around the bend in the road that led to the Hog's Head, undoubtedly to recover more injured students. They slowed at the sight of a battle finished and looked around with stunned expressions.

"I think we need to talk in your office, sir," said Harry coldly.

TBC...