Chapter 5:
A/N: Added some extra material in here about what happens at the camp, along with some interaction between Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Their full reaction to his changes won't come out until the three of them are alone, but I felt like I shouldn't just have him avoid them until school starts.
"Right then," said Aberforth brusquely. "Albus will be here to pick me up any moment now. Lock up, and make sure all the food's in the icebox once we've gone. I've already stuck the closed sign on the front door, but there's always some sod who'll try the handle anyway. Make sure you lock the back door as well."
Harry nodded in assent, lounging in what he had discovered, after weeks of testing, to be the most comfortable chair in the pub. That wasn't saying much, but he'd managed to wriggle his shoulders into a pleasant crick.
"Where's that dog of yours?" asked Aberforth. "You taking him to the Cup?"
"Upstairs," replied Harry. "Do they even allow pets?"
"Not a clue."
"I'll sneak him in if they object, but it'd be nice to know if we should sneak in from the beginning or waste time arguing with a stuffy bureaucrat over who's allowed to bring who into the Top Box."
Aberforth rolled his eyes.
"Right. The Top Box. Courtesy of the Weasley family, you said? Forgive my skepticism," he drawled.
"Forgiven," said Harry. "But only because I'll be able to spit on your head from up there."
"Tch," said Aberforth. He made a move as if to head to the door, then hesitated, and went behind the bar to gather a bottle. This one actually had a label on it, Harry noted. It must be the good stuff. Or at least the stuff which stores were legally allowed to sell.
Aberforth brought the bottle over to the table where Harry was sitting, and carefully placed it in the centre of the table, a shot glass in front of each chair. Aberforth sat in one, leaving one empty space - which Aberforth nonetheless poured a drink for.
As soon as all three glasses were full, the front door opened.
Harry eyed Aberforth suspiciously. That was eerie timing. Dumbledore-style eerie. Maybe in ran in the family, along with being old and weird.
"Albus," Aberforth said gruffly, not rising from the table. "Have a drink."
Dumbledore strode in through the open door, resplendent in a vivid green cloak adorned with silver snitches.
"Thank you," he said graciously, only to see Harry sitting beside Aberforth with a look of shock. "Well, my boy, I suppose I was right in thinking that you'd be alright fending for yourself after leaving your home."
Harry pushed the empty chair with his foot, allowing Dumbledore space to sit.
"I'm much more at home here," he said. "Less chores. Some shouting still, but when I shout back he recognizes my sarcasm and wit. That was always wasted on the Dursleys'. They didn't understand what I was saying so they'd get confused, and then angry."
"Which was plain wasteful," muttered Aberforth. "Go straight to angry, avoid getting confused, and you'll save yourself a hell of a lot of time."
"I'll drink to that," said Harry, raising his glass. Aberforth chinked his glass against Harry's, and the two men swallowed their drink. Harry took a moment to savour the burn in his mouth. It was definitely much better quality than whatever bootleg swill Aberforth usually served. As he moved to place the glass on the table, he saw Dumbledore's disapproving expression. "Oh, my apologies, Albus. The table was set for three, after all. Please, join us," he said.
Dumbledore sat, looking mildly disconcerted.
"I do hope you've not been corrupting young Harry, Aberforth."
Harry answered by picking up the bottle and refilling his and Aberforth's glasses.
"Ah," said Dumbledore, succinctly.
"I suppose it's just as well that we ran into each other here, Albus," said Harry. "There's something I've been meaning to discuss with you."
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "After our previous encounter, I suspected we might need a little conversation to help us find our way." He sat down, and sighed. "I still think of you as the eleven year old boy standing in the Great Hall for the first time. I can stretch that to twelve, or thirteen, but...you're not a child anymore, are you?" he asked, rhetorically.
"Shall we toast to that?" suggested Aberforth, hoisting his glass in the air.
"To lost youth? No, I think not," said Albus, prompting a glare from his brother. Harry speculated that Aberforth mostly just wanted a drink, and didn't give a shit what they were toasting.
"How about we drink to the newest Triwizard Champion. Me," said Harry.
Albus gave him a speculative look over his crescent-moon glasses. There wasn't even a hint of twinkling in his eyes.
"So you're serious about entering the Tournament? It's dangerous, Harry. I'm not sure I can allow this."
"You can't stop me," said Harry nonchalantly. "I'm overage. I can walk right over that Age Line you're going to draw and place my name into the Goblet of Fire."
Dumbledore looked unhappy, and although he grasped his glass, he did not raise it.
"Potter has a better chance of surviving than any seventeen year old, Albus," added Aberforth, in a dangerously low voice. Harry glanced at him, surprised by the voice of support.
"I - yes. You're right. You're not that eleven year old boy today. You haven't been for a long time. Let's drink to your victory," said Albus, after a lengthy pause. His voice was quiet, almost sad.
The glasses were quickly drained, and as firewhiskey's trademark feeling of elation bubbled up inside Harry, he leaned forward to speak to Dumbledore.
"The Hogwarts Champion was killed. You know I can't speak of the future too much. I know you fear what I might say. But you just have to understand that you don't need to look after me anymore. It's my turn."
"Oh Harry, I fear you've been looking after yourself for far too long," said Albus. Harry laughed.
"I meant that it's my turn to look after you. Forget about Voldemort. You have a school to run. Focus on what really matters, not ghosts of Dark Lords popping out of the woodwork. I didn't get it the first time around, but this contest is more than it seems. The stepping stone to new ties between Britain and the rest of Europe," said Harry. "Build those ties, Headmaster. We'll need them."
Aberforth grunted incomprehensibly, and poured them all another shot.
"Enough of this maudlin talk. Albus, trust Potter. He knows what he's doing better than you can guess. Where are we staying?"
Albus blinked at the sudden change in conversation, and then collected himself.
"With the French Ministry delegation, I believe. Minister Fudge is going to be escorting the Bulgarian Minister, so I have been assigned the tender care of the French. A rare opportunity to discuss the upcoming event's last-minute preparations."
Harry shook his head, half amused, and half in disdain.
"Even at the Quidditch World Cup, it all comes down to politics."
"I'm afraid so," said Albus.
"Bastards," summarised Aberforth. "Another drink?"
Dumbledore stood rather too quickly, almost knocking his chair over.
"Ah - I think perhaps it would be best not to. I have a rather long way to take us, and Side-Along Apparition is tricky even before you fill your belly with firewhiskey."
Aberforth pulled a long swig straight from the bottle, and then nodded, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his robe and belching.
"Know where the Floo powder is, Potter?" he asked.
"I hate the Floo. I'm going to Apparate," said Harry, insistently.
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
"As your teacher, I should really frown on underage drinking and Apparition at least until the Ministry confirms your age," he said, teasingly.
"Your Age Line will confirm it well enough," said Harry. "And the less we involve the Ministry in this, the better. They have a habit of fudging things up."
Harry caught the shadow of a smile on Dumbledore's face, quickly hidden.
"Unless you've gone senile and forgotten the spell," muttered Aberforth.
"A fear I live with every day," said Dumbledore dryly. "Shall we?" he asked, holding out an arm to Aberforth. The two brothers clasped arms, nodded farewell to Harry, and Disapparated with a loud crack.
Harry checked the clock. Four thirty.
"Padfoot!" he shouted.
A furry black mass came hurtling downstairs, crashing headfirst into the table. Harry lifted the bottle to avoid it being spilled, but there was nonetheless a splintering of glass as all three glasses fell to the floor.
Padfoot looked sheepishly at the splintered glass, then turned his adoring gaze on Harry, wagging his tail.
"Stupid hound," Harry muttered affectionately. He scratched Padfoot behind the ear, and summoned another glass from the bar, filling it to the brim.
Padfoot transformed back into Sirius and accepted the drink gratefully.
"Aside from the fleas I'm quite content to live as a dog, but you do miss the little things," he said, savouring the smell of the firewhiskey before drinking it.
"I'm glad to hear it, because you'll be Padfoot for at least the next week. Maybe longer," said Harry.
"Longer?" asked Sirius.
"Ron brought in a pet rat. Lee Jordan brought in a pet tarantula. I may as well up the stakes and take my beloved pet dog to Hogwarts."
Sirius groaned.
"I tried that last year. It was mostly Dementors and eating rubbish."
"This time you'll be in a luxurious doggy basket at the foot of my bed. Gryffindor colours, red and gold. The house elves will bring you all the dog biscuits you could ever eat."
Sirius whined at the mention of dog biscuits, making a sound low in his throat.
"Those things are vile," he complained. "I'll show you where the kitchens are. You can bring me proper food."
"Already know where the kitchens are," said Harry. "Ready to give up your tropical holiday in favour of Hogwarts?"
Sirius rolled his shoulders back and grinned.
"Hogwarts was my first real home. It'll be good to be back."
"I know the feeling," said Harry quietly. Sirius gave him a piercing look.
"So you're shot of the Dursleys for good, now?" he asked. Harry nodded in agreement. Sirius paused for a moment, looking melancholy.
"Do you remember what I said last year?" Sirius asked, hesitantly. "That if you wanted - if you didn't want to go back to your Aunt and Uncle's…" he trailed off.
Harry laughed at Sirius' forlorn expression, and punched him in the arm.
"Of course I'll live with you, you dumb mutt. Why else would I be inviting you to come live with me during school? We're housemates now, inside and outside school."
Sirius grinned, and promptly shifted back into Padfoot, letting out a happy bark. The glass which he'd been holding fell to the ground and shattered. Harry rolled his eyes and flicked Padfoot on the nose. Padfoot yelped, more from surprise than pain.
Harry checked the clock again. It was still early, but he was eager to get going.
"Betsie!" he shouted. A distant bleat answered him. "Lock up the pub and clean this broken glass away when I've gone." She bleated again in reply.
Padfoot gave Harry a quizzical expression. Harry shrugged in return. He wasn't going to pretend to understand the mind of a house elf. They were all mad. This one just happened to be a goat as well.
Harry put his hand on Padfoot's head and Apparated them both to The Burrow.
Molly Weasley shrieked. Padfoot growled. Bill and Charlie drew their wands.
"I'm sorry Molly," said Harry quickly. "It's just me. Didn't Ron tell you I was going to make my own way here?"
"Oh, oh, but of course he did," she stammered, "but Ron said that you were going to use the Floo, and you just appeared right in here all of a sudden!"
"I'm sorry I gave you a fright," Harry said gently, only to be smothered in a trademark Molly Weasley hug. Harry supposed he should have called her Mrs Weasley, but that was one sure route to being treated like a child. Addressing Mr and Mrs Weasley on a first name basis would help them to think of him as an adult, despite the misgivings Mrs Weasley was sure to have.
"Oh that's alright dear, but however did you get here? It looked almost like-"
"Apparition," cut in Bill.
Harry turned to the new Weasley with a smile, and held out his hand.
"That's right," he admitted. "I've met all the others, so you must be Bill or Charlie. It's nice to meet you."
Bill attempted to shake Harry's hand, only to realise his wand was still in it. He hurriedly put it away, and took Harry's hand in a firm grip.
"Likewise," he said. "I'd heard rumours that you'd had an accident with a Time-Turner, but you're actually overage?"
"It seems that way," said Harry. Bill stared at him curiously.
"I've never heard of anything like this happening before. Then again, we hardly understand anything about how time works, despite the trinkets in the Department of Mysteries. I even brought one in myself - a chicken that would turn into an egg, then hatch, grow, and turn back into an egg, endlessly."
Harry looked at Bill curiously. This was new to him.
"I thought you were a curse-breaker?" he asked.
"Yes, that's right. I find ancient magic artifacts. Gringotts takes any goblin-made artifacts. They're funny about that. The rest they sell, and pay me a finder's fee. Most of it is junk. Old-timey curios and archaic ways of doing things, but every so often you run into something important or unusual, and the Ministry claims it."
Harry nodded in understanding, and then turned his attention to the other Weasley in the room.
"So you must be Charlie," he suggested. Charlie grinned.
"That's right. And who's this?" he asked, getting down on one knee to rub Padfoot's head. Padfoot leaned into it, eyes closed, and tongue hanging out in visible pleasure. Harry repressed the urge to smirk. It seemed like when Sirius took on the shape of a dog, he took on the mannerisms of one, too.
"This is Padfoot. Most loyal dog I've ever owned."
"I'll bet," said Charlie. "He's gorgeous."
"Of course, I do have an owl that's better looking and more loyal," Harry continued, only to be interrupted by a firm thwack with Padfoot's tail. Charlie laughed at the sight.
"Is Arthur home?" asked Harry.
"Oh, yes, I'll just go fetch him. I'll let the others know you're here too, shall I, my dear?" asked Molly.
"No!" said Harry quickly. "Just Arthur for now, then we'll all go see the others."
"Alright then," she gave him a puzzled expression for a second, but left the room regardless.
Harry lifted the bottle he'd taken with himself and Padfoot from The Hog's Head, showing it to Bill and Charlie.
"My host suggested I bring a gift when visiting your home," Harry began, and then sloshed the bottle around, showing that a good third of it was gone. "But he also suggested we have a farewell drink, and toast to the upcoming match," he finished with an easy grin. "Think you could fetch some glasses for us?"
"I'd do a lot worse for a taste of that if it's what I think it is," quipped Charlie.
"Looks like we have a volunteer," said Bill sardonically.
Charlie laughed, and made as if to leave the room, hesitating in the doorway.
"Will that be five glasses?" he asked, an odd note in his voice.
"Yes, I'm allowed to drink," said Harry, smiling.
"It's not that," said Bill. "Percy." The two brothers exchanged a meaningful look, and Harry tried not to flinch. Escaping awkward family dynamics was one of the few perks of being an orphan.
"I'll try to convince him to join us for a toast. Just five minutes," said Charlie, without much conviction in his voice. He left abruptly, leaving Harry with Padfoot and Bill.
"You know, I always wanted to take a look at your scar," mused Bill.
"Along with every other witch and wizard in the country," said Harry, feeling a twinge of irritation. He worked to suppress it. He was used to this by now, and he liked the Weasleys. Besides, Ron's first impression had been far, far worse.
"Sorry," said Bill, meeting Harry's eyes guiltily. "Ron's told me how you feel about people always staring at it but never looking at you. The story of the Boy-Who-Lived is legendary, after all, but my interest is a bit more academic."
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I'm a curse-breaker. It's a curse scar. Sort of my thing. I've always been curious if it had any effects on you."
"Like letting me speak Parseltongue?" asked Harry, warily.
"Exactly!" said Bill, excited. "You're not the Heir of Slytherin, so the ability had to come from somewhere. Although...the scar looks old and faded now. I was sure it was more, I don't know, alive in the pictures Ron's sent home of you lot."
Harry wondered for a moment what to say, but settled for an edited portion of the truth.
"The magic infecting the scar has been gone for a few weeks now," he offered. "It healed up like any other old wound."
"That's fascinating," said Bill, staring at the scar. Oddly enough, Harry didn't mind as much. This was a professional evaluation more than some bystander gawping at his forehead because of the scar. Bill seemed much more interested in the actual magic than the events of that night, and Harry found himself surprisingly grateful for that detached attitude, as if the scar was a thing Harry wore, not all that defined Harry.
"Can you still speak parseltongue?" asked Bill, just as Molly bustled into the room with Arthur behind her.
"Bill!" she exclaimed. "What sort of a question is that? Don't pester the poor boy about that!"
"It's alright, Mrs Weasley," said Harry. "We were just discussing my curse scar. It's healed over the summer, and Bill has an interest in these things, you know?"
"Oh, well, it was still insensitive," she said. "But here we are. Where's Charlie?"
"I sent him on an errand," Harry said. "I hope you don't mind me borrowing him. You seem to have a surplus of boys around here. I thought you could spare one for a moment."
Arthur chuckled at that.
"It's good to have everyone back under one roof again, though it's a bit of a squeeze. Molly said you wanted to speak to me before you saw the others, Harry?" he asked, a note of concern in his voice.
At that moment, Charlie came back into the kitchen, dragging a reluctant Percy whose arms were filled with glasses.
"Perfect timing," whispered Harry to Charlie, who grinned.
Harry waved his wand in the direction of the glasses Percy was holding, and levitated them into a neat circle in the middle of the room.
"Oh, Harry! No magic outside of school!" cried Mrs Weasley in concern.
"It's okay," Harry said, "I really am overage now. Which is why I had Charlie playing fetch, and wanted to see you before the others. My host gave me a gift to bring, as thanks for you inviting me into your home. I'm afraid I have to apologise on his behalf, as he also used it to toast me farewell, but it's mostly intact."
Having finished speaking, Harry lifted the bottle where everyone could see, and carefully poured a measure into all six glasses.
"That's very kind of you Harry," said Arthur, only to be elbowed by his wife. "But, er, I won't pretend to understand what's happened to you, but are you sure you should be drinking?"
"Molly, you don't need to make Arthur ask awkward questions for you, surely?" quipped Harry. The woman turned red, and both Bill and Charlie sniggered.
"As a minor, you definitely should not be drinking," said Percy in prim tones.
"Good to see you too, Percy," said Harry, handing him a glass. Despite Percy's hostile voice, he grudgingly accepted the glass.
Seeing the opportunity, Charlie seized one of the floating glasses. Bill quickly followed suit. Arthur smiled, and reached out with a more relaxed motion to take his, while Harry placed the bottle on the kitchen counter, and summoned a glass into his hand. Only one remained.
"Oh, go on, love. It's just one drop with our boys. And if Harry was underage there'd be Ministry wizards chasing after his wands for that neat little bit of spellwork just there," Arthur cajoled.
Molly relented, and took the final glass, but she didn't look happy about it.
"I'm glad you're joining us, Molly," said Harry, giving her a winning smile. She smiled back at him, but looked uncomfortable. "Well then, now that we all have our drinks, I propose a toast."
"What are we going to drink to?" asked Arthur, looking amused. "Since you brought the bottle, you get to choose."
"Then I'll raise a glass to your lovely family, Arthur, Molly. Thank you for welcoming me into your home."
Everybody raised their glasses to touch together, then drank in silence.
"Oh my," said Arthur. "That was a marvellous drop. I haven't tasted anything so fine in years." A murmur of assent went around the room as Harry and the Weasleys basked in the effusive glow of firewhiskey.
"Glad you came now, Perce?" teased Charlie good-naturedly.
The firewhiskey had already mellowed Percy somewhat, so he didn't have the terse reply which Harry had expected. That was one of the wonders of firewhiskey. While Muggle whiskey would get you drunk, firewhiskey gave an immediate sense of elation to the drinker. There was no waiting for the body to metabolise the alcohol; it was magic, straight into your mouth.
"I suppose the cauldron bottom reports can wait until after dinner," said Percy ruefully.
Bill laughed, and ruffled Percy's hair.
"Now that's the spirit!" he cried.
Harry eyed the bottle with a measuring glance, and figured that he had just enough left in there for another six drinks.
"Well, since you enjoyed it, we may as well have another," said Harry. He flicked his wand at the bottle, and the firewhiskey streamed upwards through the open air, twisting like a rope until it reached the centre of the room, where individual fibres split off, and flew gently into everybody's glasses.
"Oh, Harry!" said Molly, attempting to put on a scolding voice but without any real force behind it.
"An invitation to the Quidditch World Cup is no small gift. I have to show my thanks somehow, don't I?" he asked, smiling disarmingly.
"I thought that the bottle was a gift for being invited into our house," teased Charlie. Bill slapped his brother on the back of his head.
"You're always welcome at The Burrow, Harry," said Arthur, seriously.
Harry simply smiled in return.
"I've always felt welcome, too," he replied. Molly looked as if she was going to burst into tears, and Harry tried not to laugh. He knew that it had nothing to do with the alcohol. The woman was just peculiar that way. "But it's your turn to choose what we drink to."
"Me?" asked Arthur.
"As the head of the family, you choose the second toast," said Harry, making up rules of etiquette off the cuff.
"Then I'll drink to your health. We were all worried after reading about your accident. It's good to see that you're well."
"I'll drink to that," added Molly hesitantly. The Weasleys all raised their glasses and drank a second time. Harry grinned at the scene in front of him. All that time around Aberforth really had infected him. He'd have to make sure not to make impromptu firewhiskey toasts in the Gryffindor Common Room.
"I can't drink to my own health," said Harry, looking at his still-full glass. "That's just silly. I'll drink to Padfoot's health, instead."
Padfoot barked in acknowledgement, and the room laughed.
Just then, Ron and Hermione wandered into the kitchen.
"Mum, Harry's overdue. Do you think…" he trailed off, catching sight of Harry.
"Have you been drinking?" demanded Hermione incredulously.
"Sorry Ron. I Apparated straight into the kitchen. I forgot that I'd said I was coming by Floo. But Padfoot hates those things, don't you boy?" Harry patted Padfoot's head, and Padfoot made a noise of agreement.
"You brought Padfoot with you?" exclaimed Hermione, entirely forgetting about the fact that five Weasleys holding empty glasses and a bottle of firewhiskey were in the room.
"Yeah," said Harry. "I thought he might like to see the World Cup. He loves Quidditch. Hasn't had a chance to play for a while, though."
Bill, Charlie, and Ron laughed, although Ron laughed twice as hard as the others because, of course, he knew who Padfoot really was.
"Are dogs even allowed in the stadium?" asked Hermione.
"Well, technically yes, each witch or wizard is entitled to bring one familiar with them. Although we've been trying hard to make sure nobody finds out about that or it'd be a menagerie," said Percy helpfully.
Harry looked at him in surprise. Go Percy. A little firewhiskey goes a long way in helping loosen those cauldron bottom reports up.
"Already 'we' is it, Percy?" asked Fred, coming into the already packed room.
"Only just joined the Ministry, and Percy's a power of his own, I tell you," added George, also squeezing into the room.
Ginny slipped in silently behind them, and Harry groaned.
"There are too many Weasleys in this room!" he cried out, grabbing the bottle of firewhiskey. Aha! There was some left. It was only just over half a glass, but Harry topped himself up and knocked it back in full view of the entire Weasley family and Hermione.
Hermione's expression was priceless.
With all the Weasleys in one room, Harry found himself trapped. There were worse prisons. He'd grown up in one.
"Mate, was that really firewhiskey?" asked Ron in a shell-shocked voice.
"Yeah. My employer gave me some to bring as a gift, so we had a toast just before you guys came in. Sorry I couldn't save you any. Your mum would have killed me."
Ron chuckled nervously at that, but his eyes flicked up and down Harry's new height,
"Some growth spurt, huh?"
"I'll say," replied Harry. Ron stood there awkwardly, shuffling his feet until Harry took pity on him.
"So how was your summer?" he asked.
"It's been great having Bill and Charlie back," Ron enthused, "but Percy's turned insane since getting that job at the Ministry. This is the first time I've seen him away from his desk in weeks. First time I've seen him smile at anyone, actually," he added in a startled voice, watching Percy chatting easily with his mother.
"A bit of firewhiskey and fresh air does wonders for the soul," said Harry,
"Fresh air?" asked Ron.
Harry paused, thinking, and then opened a window. Ron let out a nervous laugh.
"Harry, mate...what happened to you? We read all sorts in the Prophet about an accident with a Time-Turner. They were saying horrible things could have happened. We've all been so worried that you - " Ron cut himself off mid-sentence. "Was it because of what happened last year, when you went back in time to save Si - Buckbeak?" he asked.
Harry shook his head.
"It's a bit complicated, but it doesn't matter. I'm fine now. Better than ever, actually."
"No, you're not fine!" claimed Hermione, butting into their conversation. "You look different. Older. And you were drinking and Mrs Weasley didn't stop you. You didn't just have a growth spurt overnight!"
Hermione looked incredibly agitated, which worried Harry. He put a hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, Hermione. I'm alright. Really, I am."
This had the opposite response to what he'd expected. Hermione let out a soft wail and looked as if she was ready to burst into tears.
"They warned me it could be dangerous if I was careless," cried Hermione. !And I read all about the horrible things which have happened to wizards who've meddled with time. This is all my fault, isn't it!"
Harry felt his heart freeze in his chest. He hadn't expected this. Hermione had shared her Time-Turner with him. He'd used the Time-Turner accident as a cover story. Of course she'd assume it was related.
"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry," she said.
Harry caught her by the arms, and tilted her chin up so she was looking him in the eyes.
"Hey. Hermione. This wasn't your doing. You've got nothing to feel guilty about."
"But you've lost years of your life!" she exclaimed. "Will you even be able to finish school?"
Harry couldn't help but smile at that. Trust Hermione to worry about his education in the wake of a magical catastrophe.
"I'm coming to Hogwarts this year," Harry told her gently. "But you're right. I am too old. I'm going to have to sit my O.W.L.S. at the end of this year then leave Hogwarts."
Hermione actually started to cry at this, silent droplets welling up in the corners of her eyes, so Harry pulled her into a hug. He noticed Ron giving him an unusually angry look at this, and wondered whether Ron was being protective of Hermione, or this was his jealousy setting in a touch early this time around. Harry had never been sure when Ron had begun to harbour feelings for their best friend, only that it'd become clear to Harry around the Yule Ball.
"It'll all work out," Harry said consolingly. "You'll see. Since I'm overage now I've been able to practice magic. The holidays will let me catch up on schoolwork, and I've had some tutoring."
"But what about your N.E.W.T.S?" she asked.
"We'll work things out. But don't blame yourself for any of this. I promise you it wasn't anything which you did."
Harry felt guilty as all hell, seeing Hermione blaming herself for what she thought was a horrible accident. He hadn't thought through how it might have affected her. She was usually extremely level-headed, but was as irrational and human as anybody else at times.
"What the hell happened, Harry? Did you - do something?" asked Ron. Harry cringed. There was a note of accusation in Ron's voice just then. He didn't want to spin another lie, so he called in his ace card distraction. He let go of Hermione, and took a step away, smiling at both of them.
"Why don't you two come meet my new dog? He'll cheer anyone up. Padfoot!" he called. Padfoot disentangled himself from Charlie, who had grown very attached to him in a short space of time, and trotted over.
Hermione gasped at the sight of his glossy black fur, and Harry saw Ron's eyes visibly widen.
"Is that Si-the stray you found at the end of last year?" she asked.
"Yeah," said Harry, running a hand through his coat of fur. "Some good food and a home was all he needed. It's the simple things, right Padfoot?"
Padfoot had been sniffing Harry's empty firewhiskey glass, but looked up at his words to give the three of them a distinctly un-doglike wink.
Hermione gasped.
"Wicked," said Ron, momentarily distracted from whatever it was he'd been feeling before.
"He's going to be coming with us to the World Cup. Since he doesn't need a seat, he just gets in with me," said Harry.
"Isn't that dangerous?" asked Hermione.
"No, nobody would mess with a stranger's familiar. He'll be perfectly safe," said Harry, sidestepping her question. She frowned, but didn't push it any further.
Harry left Hermione and Ron in Sirius' care, and walked around the room, happy beyond belief to see so many lost faces again.
Not too far away, Percy was being Percy, and Arthur was being polite.
"And of course the Department of International Affairs is worked to the bone with the upcoming top secret event we've been preparing. You know how it is, Father," droned Percy. "Everything has to be twice as perfect to show the superiority of the British Ministry. But frankly, I spoke to the assistant of the Bulgarian liaison, and his office seems to run in a far more efficient manner. They managed to source the - ah - problem for the first part of the event within days of our owl going out. Why, they even knew to use the local workers to their advantage, and when I mentioned Charlie's profession, they jumped at the chance to have him assist them."
Arthur was nodding along good-naturedly. From the expression on his face of muted neutrality, he was the only one in the room willing to listen to Percy at length. Harry tried not to laugh at the poor man, and decided to save him instead.
"Oh, are you talking about The Triwizard Tournament?" Harry asked casually, leaning against the wall. Percy's face immediately turned an interesting colour of puce, and he began to splutter.
"What? But how did you know about that? I didn't say something, did I?" he asked, beginning to panic.
Harry laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Don't worry, you didn't give away your boss' secret tournament."
"But how did you know?" asked Bill, taking an interest in the conversation. Charlie saw the mood changing, and came to join their little cluster at the end of the room.
"Because I'm the Champion for Hogwarts," said Harry in a matter-of-fact voice.
"Champions are selected by the Goblet of Fire," said Percy. "We don't know who it'll be yet."
"Oh, I do," said Harry lightly. "Which is part of why it's going to select me. But don't let anybody at the department know that I'm aware and said that I'll be the Champion, yeah? They'd start wondering who could have told me, and I'd hate for them to think it was you."
Percy paled at the thought.
"I know how much you value your work, Percy," said Harry. "But if Mr Crouch heard I knew, there'd be an investigation. The only Ministry workers I know are you and your dad. I didn't hear it from either of you, but you'd get the blame, and I'd never forgive myself if it cost you your job."
"R-right," gulped Percy. "I think I'm going to go finish those reports for Mr Crouch."
As Percy walked away, Harry noticed Bill watching him with an amused expression.
"At first I thought you were trying to threaten him into silence after you mouthed off," said Bill. "But then I realised you were just saving Dad from Percy's monologue." He grinned. "Good thing, too. Percy's a pillock, but Weasleys stand together."
"Although sometimes need rescuing from one another," added Harry, which made Bill smile.
"True enough," mumbled Arthur, as if waking from a long reverie. He must have been half dozed-off during Percy's entire rant. "But how did you know?" Arthur asked.
"Dumbledore told me," said Harry. And it was true enough for anyone with as flexible a view of time as Harry possessed.
"Hah," said Arthur sardonically. "Trust that man to always skirt the edge of the rules. But Percy's right, you have to be chosen by the Goblet of Fire, not Dumbledore."
"I know," said Harry. "And there are no students who've done the things I've done, faced what I have faced, regardless of their grades and spellwork. I have no doubt that the Goblet will choose me."
Harry laughed, and rubbed his scar wearily. "That must sound horribly arrogant."
"From anyone else, maybe," said Arthur. "But I remember how you saved my little girl, and suddenly I believe everything." Arthur gave a soft, distant smile to Harry. "Seven children, and we love them all, but losing Ginny...the youngest of us, and our only girl," he said, sighing. "It would have destroyed Molly. And I don't know how well I'd have fared. Or any of her brothers. You didn't just save her down there. You saved all of us."
For once, Harry was utterly tongue-tied. He had no idea what to say in the face of something so strong, so sincere. Arthur patted him on the shoulder, and they stood in silence.
"Harry…" started Arthur, before breaking off. Harry gave him a curious look.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Ron's been a bit out of sorts since hearing about your accident. And now that you've come back, looking the way you do, and having a drink with his family when he can't…" Arthur trailed off, but Harry understood perfectly.
"Youngest of six brothers, but not as young as his only little sister," Harry mused aloud. "There must be a lot of feeling left out going on in that head of his."
"You've got that right," chuckled Arthur wearily. "I know you boys are great friends, but worrying about you has been hard on him. And now that you're back, and suddenly - somehow - an adult. Oh, I don't know. That's going to be hard on him in a whole different way."
"I know," said Harry. "I know." And he really did. Ron's jealousy had been difficult enough to deal with the first time around, but Harry had hoped to get around that by openly entering the Tournament. It had been a stupid thought, now that he came to consider it properly. Ron had claimed he was angry because Harry hadn't told him that he was entering, but it had never been about that. It had always been because Harry had gotten another chance to be special. The Ron standing across the room, attempting to have a conversation with padfoot in whispers, was not the adult he'd remembered, but he'd still hoped to salvage their friendship for this year.
Harry let out a long sigh. His Ron didn't exist yet. And this current Ron might have entirely new issues with this entirely new Harry.
It wasn't long after speaking to Arthur before Harry excused himself, saying he was tired. In a way he was. He'd come back to change things, to save lives of his friends and others. But he knew that he had a lot of work to do to effect that change, so he might just have to let go of the illusion that everything was the same between them. It suddenly struck Harry that he wasn't just reliving his fourth year. He was living a new year entirely, set during his fourth year at Hogwarts.
When he trudged upstairs Padfoot came with him, and before too long, they were both passed out on a camp bed in Ron's bedroom. His godfather curled up by his feet was a comforting presence, and it cheered Harry up slightly.
Although he'd been eager to spend time with Sirius again, he'd never thought that his godfather would substitute for a pet when necessary.
Harry blearily remembered Ron and Hermione trying to make him get out of bed, but a few muffled shouts of "Apparating!" and growls from Padfoot had caused them to give up and let him sleep.
It was a good few hours later, and the sun was actually up when Charlie popped his head through the door.
"Oh, hey Harry. We were wondering if you were up. Mum's making lunch, then we're Apparating over. I was thinking I might take Padfoot for a walk, if that's alright?"
Harry smiled, and then yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Want a walk, Padfoot?"
Padfoot trotted over to Charlie's heels and sat obediently.
"Tch. You really are a dog inside," muttered Harry. Padfoot barked in response. "So you really love animals, Charlie?"
"Yeah. All kinds. Hagrid was a bit of a bad influence on me, I suppose. Caught monster fever from him. There's nothing like a dragon to remind you of how big the world is. But even the little monsters like this one are great," he enthused, tickling Padfoot's sides. Padfoot rolled over, panting and wagging his tail.
Harry wondered just how much of it was an act and how much was just Padfoot being himself. He'd mentioned something offhand once about how their animal behaviours and traits carried over sometimes. Harry wondered if Sirius really did turn into a dog, mind and all, with only fleeting memories and echoes of being a wizard. He'd thought it was just shapeshifting at first, like Transfiguration, but the more he watched Padfoot, the more he wondered if it was something deeper.
"Looks like he's happy to go with you. Careful, he likes to chase rats," Harry added. Padfoot bared his teeth, and Harry chuckled.
"Later, Harry. C'mon boy," said Charlie.
After they had left, Harry wandered downstairs. It was just him, Bill, Percy, and Molly in the house. Percy was holed up in his room finishing a report, and Molly was cooking. That left Bill for company.
Harry found him in the living room.
"Morning Harry," Bill said in an amused voice. Harry raised an eyebrow. "I take it you're not a morning person, are you?"
"I work in a bar. My usual bedtime is when they were trying to drag me out of bed. It's against the natural order of things," complained Harry.
Bill just laughed.
"Do Ron and Hermione know?" Bill asked all of a sudden.
"That I work in a bar?" replied Harry, nonplussed. "We hardly got the chance to speak last night. They don't know yet."
"No, not that," said Bill, laughing. "I meant about the Triwizard Tournament."
"Oh, that. No. They'll find out soon enough," said Harry.
"That's good. We were hoping to keep it a surprise for all the students. Lucky for us we have the World Cup to keep the headlines busy while we prepare everything."
"We?" asked Harry.
"Well, the Ministry, I suppose. But with Perce and Dad in the house, you start to pick up on all of this 'we' and 'us' floating around. Glad I'm not with the Ministry. It's all paperwork and whose arse you should be kissing on Tuesdays."
"And whose arse are you kissing on Tuesdays that's got you too busy to work for the Ministry?" asked Harry in a serious voice.
"Best thing about goblins. They don't do politics. You do the job, you get paid. No negotiations, no failures. You cheat them, you die. You earn them money, you get a cut. A lot of wizards don't like them because they're so bloodthirsty when the rules are broken, and wizards don't get goblin rules," mused Bill.
"Like goblin artifacts?" Harry asked.
"Exactly!" exclaimed Bill. "It's thought to be a great honour to return a lost artifact to the vault. I dare say it's the only thing you could bribe a goblin with."
Harry's thoughts turned to the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff and the Sword of Godric Gryffindor. He sighed. That cup was going to be a bastard, no matter how he approached it. His brooding was interrupted by Molly dropping a plate of sandwiches in front of them.
"Eat up now, boys. Charlie's just washing Padfoot off in the garden. Goodness knows what that dog of yours got into Harry, but he's a sweetheart, isn't he?"
Without waiting for an answer, Molly bustled back into the kitchen, like a whirlwind of food, and came back with some more snacks.
Charlie joined them, and they ate more or less in silence. Padfoot's plate was on the floor, but his sandwiches had the crusts cut off. Harry eyed them dubiously. Padfoot met his gaze and wagged his tail.
After they had eaten, Charlie pulled out a map enchanted with the location of the Quidditch World Cup. Harry craned his neck to look at it.
"This was spelled to only reveal the location a few days before the Cup began. I think we're in this section," said Charlie, stabbing a glowing square with his finger.
"You okay with this, Harry?" he asked gently.
"What? Sure I am. You've seen me Apparate before."
"Apparating blind to a point on a map is different. Maybe it'd be better if I Side-Alonged you. Bill or Percy can take Padfoot," he said. The concern in Charlie's voice both amused and exasperated Harry.
"I've Apparated blind before, as well. Don't worry about me. Worry about where Percy is," said Harry.
"Oh, for Merlin's beard. Bill! We're out of time!"
From upstairs there was the sound of a door exploding. Harry tried not to laugh, but his efforts failed when Bill appeared, frog-marching Percy down the stairs.
"Alright, we're all here," said Bill, his wand still at Percy's back. Harry presumed that he'd forgotten that he had it out, but it made for an amusing sight.
Harry put a hand on Padfoot's back. Padfoot whined softly.
"On three?" asked Charlie.
"Two," continued Bill.
They all looked expectantly at Percy, who scowled, and then Disapparated without a word. Harry, Charlie, and Bill all sniggered, and then followed him into the campsite.
The Weasleys and Harry didn't have to look for long before they managed to reach the right spot. The Apparition point they'd chosen was fairly close to the spot reserved for their camp, and Padfoot's sensitive nose helped lead them in the right direction. As they grew closer, the smell of burning meat stung Harry's nostrils, and he wondered if Padfoot had deliberately led them to the camp or was just following the smell of sausages.
"Ah, there you are boys!" shouted Arthur merrily. "We just managed to get the tent and fire set up. Fancy some sausages?"
Harry eyed the charred lumps of meat on skewers which hovered over the fire, and realised why Molly did all the cooking in the house. Padfoot whined, however, and sniffed at them interestedly.
"Don't be greedy, mutt," Harry told him. "Everyone else has to eat, too. But no thanks for us, Arthur. Molly made us lunch before we Apparated in."
Arthur pulled a skewer off the fire, blew on it, and tossed one of the sausages towards Padfoot, who gobbled it up greedily. Harry rolled his eyes.
"I'm sure we can spare one sausage for a hungry dog. The others are inside. I bet you've never been in a magical tent before, have you?" asked Arthur, smiling knowingly.
Harry shuddered at the memories of spending too many nights hiding out in battlefield tents, specially constructed to hide from magical and mundane view. He'd be perfectly happy never setting foot in a tent again, but he forced a grimace away from his face.
"What's the difference?" he asked.
Arthur just chuckled.
"Go take a look," suggested Bill, giving him a shove towards the tent flaps. Harry relented, and ducked between the two pieces of fabric which separated the campsite and the younger Weasleys. Truth be told, he was still nervous about speaking with Ron and Hermione. They weren't the same people he knew, not quite.
He took a deep breath, and stepped into the tent. It was exactly as he remembered it, right down to the smell of cats and mothballs.
"Why didn't you come with us this morning?" demanded Ron. His tone was not the most welcoming one.
Harry flinched. Luckily for him, Fred and George intervened, jumping down from where they'd been standing to grab their brother from each side.
"Did you forget, ickle Ronniekins? Our baby boy has all grown up," said Fred.
"So he gets to Apparate with Bill and Charlie while we trudge up a hill before dawn," added George. "And you know what that means, right?"
"We hate you!" they chorused merrily in perfect synch. Harry relaxed. At least the twins were taking it in good humour. But he could see Ron's frown darkening.
"Hey, where's Hermione?" Harry asked, trying to move onto a different subject.
"She went with Ginny to get water," said Ron. At least he was speaking to him, Harry mused. Hopefully the excitement of the World Cup would be distraction enough to take Ron's mind off recent events.
"Oh, good. I wasn't looking forward to being grilled for the details of what happened to me," said Harry dryly.
"What did happen?" asked Ron. Harry hesitated, wanting to tell Ron the truth, but decided against it. He'd tell him soon enough, but there were certain events he couldn't risk altering. Not yet. Before Christmas, definitely, Harry promised Ron silently.
"I don't really remember much. Except waking up in St Mungo's. Worse than Madam Pomfrey, I tell you, mate. They wouldn't even let me get out of bed for a week. Not even to go to the bathroom."
Ron's animosity turned to curiosity upon hearing this, and then he laughed.
"How long did you manage to hold it in for until you wet the bed?" he teased. Harry smiled in relief to see Ron joking. Some of the tension left his body, and some of the worry he'd been carrying around faded. Funny how he'd been more concerned about upsetting his friend than stopping Voldemort, even if it was only for a single night.
"Even all grown up, Harrikins is still a little baby who wets the bed," crooned George.
"Did they give you nappies after it happened?" Fred added. Harry rolled his eyes, and joined in.
"It was worse than that," he muttered in dark tones. "Ever had a rabid medi-witch Scourgify your bladder?"
Everyone in the tent flinched.
"Mum used to wash our mouths out with cleaning charms whenever we swore," said Fred with a shudder. "It was awful. Thank Merlin she hasn't done it since we were little."
"Imagine that in your bladder," said Harry. Inwardly, he wondered if medi-wizards actually did use Scourgify to clean bed-ridden and comatose patients of bodily fluids. He hoped that they had a gentler, more specialised version. The thought of Neville's parents being subject to the horror which he'd just invented wasn't pleasant, and brought a dark look to his face. The others clearly noted it, and flinched in revulsion.
"But what about when you didn't need to pee?" asked Ron. "When you -" Fred interrupted him, in tones of abject horror.
"Harry, we're your friends. You can trust us. Tell the truth," he insisted.
"Did the bad people at St Mungo's steal your virginity with a Scourgify up your bum?" finished George.
Harry laughed, but refrained from answering. Ron looked torn between disgust and horror.
"How did they do it?" continued George, clearly unwilling to let the subject go. "Could they just cast the spell on you, or did they have to pull down your pants and shove their wand up your bum?" His voice was thick with fake shock, and Harry continued to laugh. The twins had always been a source of humour, and Harry had his moments of immaturity himself, but he couldn't help but be reminded of just how young they were.
At some point while George had been speaking, the girls had come into the tent.
"Who put their wand up Harry's bum?" asked Ginny, the very picture of innocence. Hermione turned bright red, having caught the obvious innuendo. Harry grinned at her and she flushed a deeper shade. Hermione was bright enough for subtext, and was a teenage girl, after all, but was utterly lacking in any experience of sexuality, even just jokes, no matter what she may have read. Her juvenile embarrassment was hilarious, and yet another reminder of how young his friends were - even compared to his new seventeen-year-old self, let alone his future self.
"A very bad person," said Harry darkly.
"What are you talking about?" asked Hermione, warily. Harry turned a smile on her. Best not to let her draw any erroneous conclusions from a fragment of conversation.
"St Mungo's has some invasive medical procedures," Harry said. "But the wand up my bum was just George fantasising out loud."
"Fantasising about what?" asked Ginny, in tones that were far too innocent. Harry narrowed his eye at her. That girl was clearly not as innocent as she was pretending.
"What happened to Harry over the summer," answered Ron. Harry threw him a look of relief.
"What did happen?" asked Hermione, parrotting what Ron had asked earlier. Harry sighed, and figured he may as well give a half-assed lie for the time being, instead of avoiding the topic and alienating his friends.
"I don't really know. I remember you guys sending me birthday cakes - thanks for that, by the way. They were great. Especially Hagrid's. He made it himself."
Harry grinned at the way Ron and Hermione winced, having experienced Hagrid's cooking before.
"But after that, I don't really remember much except waking up in St Mungo's."
"The Prophet was saying that you were in the long-term ward, though," said Hermione. "There were some really horrible articles saying that you might never come out, or that you could even die any day now." Her bottom lip quivered, and Harry resisted the urge to hug her. Things seemed to be going alright with Ron at the moment, and he didn't want to risk setting off his latent jealous side.
"I wasn't there for too long," said Harry. "But I asked them not to make a fuss about when I left. You know how much I hate attention."
"You should have told us!" Hermione accused, loud to the verge of shouting. "We had no idea what was going on!"
Harry looked guilty, and felt even more so inside. He really had dropped the ball on that one. He'd been so focused on the work ahead of him that he'd forgotten to let his friends know that he was even alive."
"Sorry," he mumbled, knowing it wasn't enough.
"Idiot," said Hermione, in her usual exasperated tones. But she didn't sound too mad, which Harry took as a huge blessing. She opened her mouth, hands set on her hips they way she always did when about to launch into a lecture, and Harry resigned himself for a long and deserved scolding.
"But if you weren't at St Mungo's, where were you?" asked Ron, saving Harry from Hermione's nascent tirade. Harry shot him a thankful grin, and Ron winked back at him. It seemed like Ron had noticed the budding lecture as well, and saved him from the ear-bashing. Harry had no words for how grateful he was.
"I went home," said Harry, simply.
"But you weren't at the Dursleys'," said Ron, in a dangerous voice. Harry flinched. He hadn't expected to be caught in a lie this soon. "We went there to check on you, you know. They hadn't seen you all summer."
"Sorry about that," Harry said quickly. "I guess you could say I've moved out. Permanently. I'm overage now, so I found somewhere else to live."
Ron seemed mollified by that. He knew Harry hadn't considered Privet Drive to be a home, so Harry figured that Ron had accepted the lie as a slip of the tongue.
"So where are you living?" asked Hermione.
"The Hog's Head. I work a couple of shifts a week to pay for food and lodging."
"And firewhiskey," interrupted Ron. Harry laughed.
"Yeah. Sorry. Aberforth - that's my boss - had a drink with me before I left and told me to bring the rest of the bottle as a gift to say thanks for the invitation," explained Harry. Hermione frowned at him.
"Harry, while bringing a gift is the polite thing to do, it's extremely impolite to start drinking the gift before you even show up," reminded Hermione. Harry gave her a rueful grin.
"What can I say? Aberforth is a bit eccentric. He's Dumbledore's brother," he added, as if that explained everything. By the knowing expressions on Ron and Hermione's faces, it did.
"But should you even be drinking? I know you say that you're overage, and apparently the Ministry agrees if you've got an Apparition license, but aren't you still fourteen inside? Aren't you still - " her voice wavered for a moment. "Aren't you still our Harry?"
Harry was torn by her words. It seems like she was as worried about losing him as he'd been worried about losing them.
"I'm the same person inside, Hermione. I just grew up a little faster."
She didn't look convinced, and was still visibly unhappy.
"So do you think you can get us some firewhiskey on Hogsmeade weekends now?" joked Ron, saving him once again. Harry felt a rush of relief. It seemed like the friend he'd been worried about was the wrong one. Ron was handling the situation a lot better than Hermione - so far. Harry really hoped that it'd continue when he entered the Tournament.
"Ron!" exclaimed Hermione, cuffing him on the side of the head while the whole tent laughed. Although Harry noted a speculative look on Fred and George while they laughed alongside the others.
While everyone was distracted, Harry turned to look at Ginny. He'd hardly known her at this age, so he doubted that these changes would ruin their future friendship. But then again, when he looked at Ginny, he caught her looking right back, staring avidly at him.
Oh, shit, he thought to himself, remembering the crush she'd always harboured for him. His change in appearance and confidence would definitely not help him out in that regard. He winced internally, hoping that it wouldn't be too damaging. Ginny had been a good friend once she'd been able to see him as Harry and not just her crush, but there was a predatory look in her eye.
Harry could remember how smoking hot the redhead had become as a woman, but the Ginny before him was a thirteen year old girl. Way too young for his older self. And even though he was now seventeen, mind and body, thirteen was still way too young. He shuddered at the thought, trying to avoiding mixing images of older Ginny with the child staring hungrily at him.
As he was actually seventeen, due to the intricacies of Chronomancy, Harry had no qualms about getting involved with Hogwarts students around his age. But there were teenagers and then there were thirteen year olds. The idea grossed Harry out to his core. If he was going to be doing any fooling around, it was definitely going to have to be with the upper year girls, who matched him in physical age, or near enough. That had a certain appeal after living with only an old man and a goat, although he couldn't remember what the older Hogwarts girls had been like back then. Or, rather, back now. But hey, he'd also have Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students around, and they'd all be around the right age.
Harry resolved to have some fun along the way while he was working to stop Voldemort's machinations, and gained a new reason to eagerly anticipate the start of the Tournament - hot foreign girls. He briefly toyed with the idea of trying it on with Fleur, but decided against it. He didn't need the added complication of hooking up with his rival Champion.
Suddenly Harry realised that he'd still been looking at Ginny the whole time that he'd been thinking this through. She was matching his gaze, to her credit, but had turned crimson. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Hermione had seen their little staring contest, and broke the unsettling silent stare.
"Are you alright Ginny? You've gone all red. Are you feeling okay?" he asked. Her blush deepened to the point where he couldn't even see her freckles anymore. It was adorable, and so child-like that it helped to knock the image of Ginny as a woman out of his head.
"I'm fine!" she said, a little too quickly. "Just thirsty. We went to get some water." Ginny raised the pail full of water that she'd dropped at her feet, but in her nervousness, knocked it over. Water spilled all over the manky old rug, which was no great sacrifice, but the water was also all gone.
"Ginny!" scolded Ron. "I was thirsty too!"
"The queue for the tap took ages," said Hermione mournfully, although without any accusation in her voice.
"I'm really sorry," wailed Ginny, more embarrassed than ever. Harry knew that this was his fault, so he patted her consolingly on the arm.
"Don't worry," said Harry, picking the pail upright. "If you're feeling the heat you shouldn't have to go get some more. I can do it."
"She spilled it," said Ron. "She should go fill it up again."
Harry shook his head at Ron's statement, mildly annoyed with his younger friend. As the only one younger than him, Ginny was the only one on whom Ron could really take out any when Harry wasn't around she'd usually fight back just as well as any of her brothers, be it teasing, insults or outright violence. The Weasleys were a boisterous lot.
"It's okay," said Ginny. "I'll go do it."
"Ron, you should go with her," stated Hermione. He immediately gave her a look of the utmost betrayal.
"What? Why?"
"She shouldn't have to go by herself. The camp site's huge. We barely found the tap the first time. What if she gets lost?" Hermione ranted.
Harry winced as they began to bicker back and forth. Ginny seemed to be shrinking in on herself, and then, with sunken shoulders, picked up the pail and began to slink out on her own to refill it. Harry caught her arm before she got more than a few steps away. She looked up at him, wide-eyed. He put a finger to his lips, and pointed his wand into the pail, casting a silent aguamenti. The sound of water sloshing inside the pail was lost under the argument as Ron whined about why he shouldn't have to go fill the pail and Hermione berated him for, well, being Ron.
"It's okay guys," said Harry. "She only spilled about a third of the pail. There's plenty left. See?" He took the pail from Ginny's unprotesting grip, and tilted it to show the bickering pair.
Hermione glanced at the very large, very obvious puddle on the tent floor, and then back at Harry suspiciously. He grinned.
"See!" exclaimed Ron victoriously, as if he'd won their argument. "I don't need to go after all!" His voice was full of pure glee, and Harry and Hermione both laughed at him. He looked a little confused at Hermione suddenly switching from lecturing to laughing, but shrugged it off, and went off in search of cups. Even Ginny giggled a little, and she managed to pull herself together a bit.
"Thanks, Harry," she said, in a voice that wasn't much more than a whisper. Harry groaned silently. This wasn't going to help that crush of hers. Not one bit. But at least she wasn't looking miserable anymore. He could work on - or, rather around - her crush a bit later.
"Our secret, yeah?" Harry muttered in conspiratorial tones.
"Our secret," she confirmed, giving him a wide smile. Her cheeks were still tinged with pink.
Hermione, watching the whole thing, rolled her eyes. Harry just shrugged at her in response.
"We were going to go explore all the festivities," Hermione explained. "Do you want to come help Ron pick out something ludicrous and green to wear to the match?"
"I'd love to help turn him into a living shamrock," Harry replied. "But I need to take Padfoot for a walk and have a chat with him." Fred, George, and Ginny all gave him an odd look at that, for various reasons.
"You named your dog Padfoot?" asked Fred.
"You need to talk to your dog?" asked Ginny, at the exact same time as Fred. Their questions were so in synch that Ginny could have been a tiny female George for a moment. George just gave her an amused look for stealing his trick.
"He's been called Padfoot for a long time," said Harry by way of explanation. "It was actually Dad who named him. It's been a long time, but I finally managed to get my family dog back."
Hermione gave him an exasperated but amused look.
"This place is crowded, but I don't think many people have been going into the woods. Maybe Padfoot would prefer to have his walk and talk somewhere quieter," she suggested.
"Yeah, don't want people to see you talking to Padfoot," added Ron, who'd just returned with an armful of cups, which he dropped unceremoniously on the floor, except one, which he filled from the pail. He hesitated, and then gave that cup to Ginny, and went back to fetch one for himself.
"People talk to their pets all the time," said Ginny. "I'm sure nobody would notice Harry among all the weirdos out there."
Harry grinned. So innocent and ignorant. Although he could see some suspicion in the twins' faces, he didn't think they'd have the faintest idea of what was going on - only that Harry was up to something.
"A walk in the woods sounds great," said Harry. "I might be a while, so I'll just go ahead and meet you guys at the game. We're in the Top Box, right?"
"Yeah," said Ron. "But don't you want to explore everything with us?" he asked, sounding disappointed.
"I do, but this is the only chance I'll get to take Padfoot on a walk without people around, y'know?" said Harry. Ron picked up on what he was implying.
"Oh, right. I get it. Want us to come along?" he offered. Harry smiled. Ron was clearly torn, wanting to go browse the various stalls and shows set up around the camp, but also willing to come with Harry if he'd asked.
"No, you guys have fun. Get me something to wear for the match, okay?" he said, flipping a galleon through the air to Ron. "And something for Padfoot if they have anything that'll fit on a dog. He's very into Quidditch for a dog."
The twins laughed, but Ron gave Harry a knowing grin and nodded.
"Dad's got the tickets. You'll need to get yours off him if you're meeting us there, or they won't let you into the stadium," he said.
"Great. I'll go get them. See you guys in a few hours!"
Arthur took a bit of convincing, but Harry finally managed to coax the ticket from him when he was distracted by Barty Crouch Senior coming by. The encounter left the taste of bile in Harry's mouth, reminding him that Crouch Junior was nearby, and there was nothing he could do about it. Yet.
Harry spent most of the day exploring the forest with Padfoot, who briefly shifted back into Sirius when he was sure nobody was around.
"Woof," he said. Harry threw a stick at him. He caught it with his forehead.
"You were really getting into the whole lovable puppy act back there," Harry said.
Sirius grinned. "James wanted to make me his permanent housepet so you'd always have somebody to play with growing up. Lily put a stop to it. He nearly had me convinced."
"So the dog brain takes over?" Harry asked.
"No, not quite. It's not just taking on the shape of an animal. An animagus takes on their spirit as well. I am a dog. Smarter than most, and I know things which I shouldn't, but in many ways beyond the flesh, I really do become a dog."
"Does it bother you?"
"It never used to. But seeing Peter after thirteen years as a rat...I can't help but wonder. Did all my years as Padfoot, hiding from the Dementors' touch in Azkaban change me? There are old stories of Animagi who spent too long in their animal forms and got trapped, permanently. At that stage it's in your soul. No spell can undo it. Not like Transfiguration."
"I used to want to learn to be an Animagus so badly," murmured Harry.
"What changed?"
"You died."
"Ah. How did I die?" asked Sirius.
"Future knowledge is a bad thing, Sirius. It'll eat you up inside, making you obsess over what will and will not happen. What you can change. What you can't. If I tell you the wrong thing, I could do more damage than all your time with the Dementors."
"I have to know," he argued. "You would want to know."
Harry sighed, and gave in. It was true. He would have insisted on knowing, if given the opportunity to find out.
"You died protecting me. No details," said Harry shortly.
"From who?" asked Sirius, a vicious look in his eye.
"No details," said Harry. "That's all I'm telling you. That and one more thing: it won't happen again. I fell for a trap and you saved me from it. Now I know about the trap, so it can't lure me in. And I mean to shake things off course so much that the trap is never set. Now. No more details, or I'll Obliviate you."
Sirius grumbled a bit, but shifted back into Padfoot. They made their way to the Top Box separately, meeting the Weasleys there.
"Oh, goodness, Harry," cried Arthur. "I was just about to go look for you. We've got a good half hour until the match starts, but you'll want to see the mascots performing, too."
"My, my, Weasley. Seats in the Top Box." Harry's skin crawled at the sound of Lucius Malfoy's voice. "Did you have to sell your house to afford them?"
Arthur bristled, but Bill's hand on his arm kept him from doing anything rash.
"Now there, Lucius, be nice. You are here as my guest, after all," panted an out of breath Fudge, who'd been running up the steps to keep up with Lucius' longer stride.
Harry tuned it all out. Although the match was fascinating, he'd seen it before - and seen recording clips on Omnioculars far too many times. Padfoot was standing on two legs against the railing, tail whipping back and forth furiously, having the time of his life. Harry smiled at the sight. He'd worried about bringing Sirius here, but the godfather he'd known had spent all his time in a cave or locked in a box. He deserved this.
Turning his attention away from the match, Harry noticed that Fudge was also less than focused on the game. He left his seat and wandered over to the Minister, who was poring over a small book.
"Is everything alright, Minister?" Harry asked, faking concern.
"Oh, oh yes, it's just these blasted Bulgarians, you see. And this phrasebook is next to useless. And with everything happening this year, oh it's going to be a nightmare." Suddenly Fudge caught himself, realising who he was talking to. "Ah! Harry! Forgive me. I was a little wrapped up in work. Can I help you with something? I do hope you're feeling better after that accident over the summer. I read all about it. Truly tragic. But look at you, you've grown! Healthier than ever! Not the type to let anything keep you down, eh Harry?" Fudge nudged Harry conspiratorially with his elbow, and Harry resisted the urge to punch him.
No. This was time for diplomacy.
Harry glanced back at the Malfoys, but their attention was fully on the match. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed Fudge's arm and pulled him out of the Top Box, into the empty corridor.
"Harry?" Fudge asked, startled. "What is it?"
"Actually, Minister, I was rather hoping I could help you."
Fudge looked startled for a moment, but his face soon settled into a condescending smile.
"Ah, Harry, what could you help me with? I have a whole Ministry working for me, after all." Fudge chortled at his little joke. Harry did not, and met his gaze unblinking until Fudge dropped his silly fake smile.
"I remember that you helped me out after I blew up my Aunt Marge last year," Harry said.
"Oh, yes, yes, accidental magic. Nothing to worry about, dear boy."
"Well that's the thing. You helped me. The Minister of Magic himself. I was very flattered. And surprised," Harry said, lying through his teeth, and trying to sound sincere. "So I figure that I owe you a favour in return. And there's something that you should know."
"Oh? And what might that be?" asked Fudge, still in his humouring-a-child voice.
"It's about Sirius Black," Harry said.
"Black?" hissed Fudge. "Have you seen him?"
"That's not what I wanted to tell you," said Harry, sidestepping the question. "Black's innocent."
Fudge looked as if he was about to make some blustery dismissal, but Harry caught his arm.
"The man who betrayed my parents was Peter Pettigrew. He faked his death and went into hiding. I've met him. He confessed."
Fudge rubbed at his cheeks and sighed, looking down at Harry in exasperation.
"Look, Harry, even if this preposterous story is true, I can't just call off the hunt for Black. And with the resources invested in him, we can't afford to waste more manpower hunting down a dead wizard. It's just not feasible, not without proof. I'm sorry, my boy."
"That's your problem. Resources," said Harry.
"What?"
"The resources invested in hunting Black. A waste of manpower, time, and money. Forget whether he's innocent or not. The last reports have him out of the country. No longer our problem. With a certain international event coming up, the last thing we want to be doing is advertising a possible serial killer on the loose. And if the Aurors haven't found him yet, it's likely that he's far from here. We have to look strong in front of our neighbours, don't we Minister?"
Fudge nodded mutely.
"We don't want them coming to Britain and thinking of Sirius Black and Lord Voldemort." Harry was pleased to see Fudge flinch at the name. I wouldn't expect you to just drop the charges on my word alone, but you have an opportunity here. The hunt is going nowhere. Redirect those resources into our international affairs and we could see some real benefit."
"I suppose we have been hunting him for a year with no success," Fudge mused, "and we're stretched to breaking point as it is."
"If we foster stronger ties with the rest of Europe through this upcoming event at Hogwarts, a politician of your calibre could use the opportunity to repaint the image Britain has gathered over the last few decades. Change us from a terrorized island nation into a growing part of global magic. You have a great opportunity in your hands, Minister. I'd hate to see you waste it searching for some lost thug who may not even be guilty - did you know he was never given a trial? Just locked away? Those were dark times, but Minister Bagnold was not the same leader that you are, sir."
"Oh, well, you're too kind Harry, but I really don't know what to say to all this," said Fudge in a strained voice.
"You did me a favour once, so I thought I'd return it. That's all. I'd hate to see your career besmirched by the international co-operation you've been working so hard for suddenly fall apart because the Ministry is too devoted to finding one wizard so terrifying that he's been issued with a Kiss-on-Sight order."
"Yes," said Fudge at length. "I suppose he is just one wizard, at that. Maybe we should see about rescinding that order. That way we can question him about how he escaped from Azkaban and fix the prison's defences."
"That's a fabulous idea, Minister. No wonder Professor Dumbledore speaks so highly of you," said Harry, trying not to gag through the heap of bullshit he was spewing. But somehow Fudge was buying it, at least a little.
"Why thank you, Harry. It's very kind of you to say so. You're a bright lad, no doubt about it. Perhaps we've been a little too fixated on this Black case, and need to get back to business as usual. Have you ever considered a career in the Ministry?"
Harry tasted vomit.
"I'm still not sure what I'd like to do after this Quidditch match to be honest, sir," he said weakly.
"Plenty of time to decide, my lad. Plenty of time. Have a good year at Hogwarts, now, and be sure to stay out of trouble."
"I'll do my best, sir," lied Harry.
