Chapter 7:
A/N: Chapter Eight is going to mark a distinct increase in the pace now that we're all settled and the pieces are all ready to play. Thanks to everyone who's reading and reviewing.
Harry tried his best to keep himself from reaching for his wand when a Death Eater appeared in the Entrance Hall, but the Death Eater noticed, and smirked.
"Good reflexes, Potter, but keep that wand away or I'll take it from you," barked Crouch Junior, Polyjuiced into Mad-Eye's body. Harry shivered, and wished he could blast Crouch apart, but resisted the urge. It was only the fact that he was going to do it very soon anyway that gave him the self-restraint to prevent himself from attacking Crouch.
"That's Mad-Eye Moody," whispered Katie in awe. "He's fought more Dark wizards than anyone else alive!"
Her voice was so low that Angelina and Alicia couldn't hear her as she whispered to Harry, but Moody's eyes narrowed at her words.
"Aye, I have. Alastor Moody, ex-Auror, and your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," said Crouch, introducing himself. Harry grimaced. How had he heard Katie? Was it another enchantment on the eye, a spell, or just really good hearing? It worried him for a moment, but left him feeling grateful that he wasn't planning on ambushing Crouch, but rather attacking him in public. There was no chance of getting caught sneaking up on him.
"As a teacher, I suppose I should be asking you why you're not with the rest of the students. But as a former Auror, I'm much more interested in what you did to warrant a centaur attack on Hogwarts students."
"They only wanted to talk," said Harry flippantly. Angelina snorted.
"With longbows pointed at us," she muttered.
"And I'm even more curious about that. Any wizard quick with his wand could blast apart a few horse-men, but you used diplomacy," said Crouch. It was subtle, but Harry caught the undertones of disgust at the word diplomacy and smiled. Crouch's disguise wasn't so perfect after all - or perhaps Crouch and Moody just had a fondness for violence in common.
"Mark me, Potter, we'll have words about this," said Crouch. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "But not now. You're late for the feast, and so am I. I've had a long journey." Crouch paused, pulled out a silver hip-flask, and took a long swig, grimacing at the taste. "In," he demanded, pointing at the Great Hall.
Huh. So here was a change. Last time, Moody had slunk in through a back door. Now he was going to parade Harry and his unwitting companions through the middle of the aisles, in full view of all of Hogwarts. Harry supposed that Crouch knew how much younger Harry had hated attention, and was doing it out of spite. He grinned.
Crouch marched ahead of them, pushing open the ancient double-doors. Of course he opened both of them. Maximum attention. Crouch may have been a despicable worm, but he was a talented actor, and knew his showmanship.
Harry strode nonchalantly behind him, utterly unfazed by the stares. He glanced back at the girls.
Angelina was holding her head high, trying to look unfazed. It was the same look he'd seen on her face during a particularly harrowing Quidditch match. Alicia appeared to be wilting, and Katie was still staring, enraptured, at Crouch. Well, at Mad-Eye Moody, so far as she knew.
Having a fascination with a crazy living legend was much better than Acromantula. Maybe she was just into weird and dangerous stuff. Harry hoped that was a sign that she would be distracted enough by the events of the school year to stop her from hunting an Acromantula, but he knew his life had never been that easy.
After a minute or so, they had reached the head table. For his younger self that would have been a walk of shame, lasting an eternity. Now, Harry drank up the stares and whispers. He could barely make out the comments, but got the gist. Who's the crazy guy? Why does Harry look different? Why has he changed his minions?
Okay, Harry didn't hear that one, but he wouldn't be surprised if someone in the room was wondering why it wasn't Ron and Hermione tagging along behind him - the usual victims of being too close to Harry when the shit hits the fan.
"Alastor, you really should have taken them to another room," scolded McGonagall, too quietly for any of the students to hear. "No need to embarrass them for whatever nonsense Potter's done now. A detention would have sufficed." Her quick glance at the Chasers of her favourite Quidditch team made it clear who she was speaking about.
"Their carriage got delayed," said Crouch honestly. "No sense in them missing their Welcoming Feast. You only get one a year, and it was hardly their fault."
Harry laughed as quietly as he could. It was clear that both Crouch and McGonagall were speaking about the Chasers, and were sure that it was Harry's fault. Even though it wasn't entirely his fault this time, he couldn't blame them. It fit the pattern. McGonagall's glare silenced his laughter as quickly as it began.
Dumbledore got to his feet.
Immediately the low hubbub of whispering ceased. Even McGonagall and Crouch looked away from each other to listen to the Headmaster.
"It seems that our new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor's tardiness has helped gather up some of our wayward students," said Dumbledore. "Allow me to introduce Alastor Moody, an old friend of mine who has graciously agreed to to fill the role after our dear Professor Lupin's departure."
Some snickering came from the Slytherin table at those words. Harry narrowed his eyebrows, remembering who's 'concerned parents' had been the ones to send Lupin packing. Although he didn't deny that there were probably students in other houses whose parents hadn't wanted a werewolf in Hogwarts.
"And as this year's Sorting Hat song was unusually long, our lost Gryffindors can still enjoy some delicious Hogwarts food. Although I recommend you eat quickly, to make up for lost time," said the Headmaster. It was as good as a dismissal, and the gesture towards the Gryffindor table made his intentions even clearer.
The girls were a bit slower on the uptake, but Harry was used to Dumbledore, and caught the obvious hint. He headed over to the table, and they followed closely behind.
"I do have more to say to you all," said Dumbledore, in a voice of wry amusement, "but I shall save the speeches for when our stomachs are full. It would be awfully rude to interrupt dinner further, after all," he said, giving an innocent but telling look towards Crouch.
Someone in the back of the hall giggled at the sight of a scarred monstrosity suddenly looking abashed upon a school-teacher telling him off. Harry wondered whether that was faked or not. Crouch had gone to Hogwarts, after all. Dumbledore had taught just about all of the teaching staff at some point. The teacher's teacher. Heh. Harry liked that idea.
Dumbledore sat, with Crouch following soon after, elbowing Professor Flitwick aside to steal a seat beside the Headmaster.
Harry took this time to find a space at the Gryffindor table. While he'd been watching the proceedings, the Chasers had found a space on the benches. Or made one. He hadn't been watching. He squeezed in next to Katie.
"Quite an entrance, Harry," said Colin Creevey. Harry groaned, and hung his head in his hands. He hadn't checked who was sitting on her other side.
"Well, you know me," Harry said, as if that explained everything.
"Yeah," said Colin, and laughed. Apparently it did. Well, that was useful. Hogwarts had gotten used to Harry Potter doing weird things. It would make it a lot easier for them to cope with the storm he was going to set brewing.
"I read all the articles about your accident!" Colin exclaimed. Harry shuddered. Of course his number one fan would have kept up with the tabloids on his favourite celebrity. "They didn't say much, just that you were in a magical accident. And Rita Skeeter keeps speculating about the Department of Mysteries and Time Turners. Is that why you look older?"
Harry snorted. For once, Colin's utter lack of tact was going to work for him. The whole table was pretending not to listen, which meant that they were going to hang on his every word.
"I really am older, actually. I'm seventeen now."
"No way!" exclaimed Colin excitedly. There were snorts of disbelief further along the table, but Colin's shout had been pure enthusiasm. "That's so cool!"
"Bullshit," muttered a fifth year Harry couldn't put a name to. He was sure that a lot of others shared the same sentiment, but he couldn't care less. He didn't need people to believe him, even if it was true. He just needed the suggestion and doubt to spread. It would make other people off balance, and leave him free to act while the rest of the Wizarding World tried to catch up.
Harry ignored them to eat, but he'd only managed to stuff a few forks of mashed potato into his mouth before Colin started up again.
"How did it happen?" he asked.
"I don't really remember most of my summer. Just waking up at St Mungo's. The Unspeakables said I'm not allowed to speak about what happened in case anyone tries to copy it, but I don't even know what it was," Harry lied smoothly.
"What are Unspeakables?"
"They work in the Department of Mysteries," cut in Katie. "They study strange magic. Things like mind magic, death, love, and time," she said, giving Harry a long look at the last word.
"All I know is that Unspeakable Croaker is a pain in the arse," grumbled Harry.
He fended off other questions with variations on "I don't remember" or "I hate hospitals." It worked for a while.
"So why were you late? I've never seen a carriage stop before!"
Harry winced, both at Colin's shrill tones of enthusiasm and at the question itself.
"The invisible horse pulling it got spooked by something in the Forest and stopped moving for a while," he said, honestly, although omitting certain details.
"We were attacked by centaurs!" said Katie in glee.
Harry thumped himself in the head, and groaned. Damn you, woman.
"They just wanted to talk," he claimed, raising his palms in a gesture to indicate 'stop'.
"With longbows?" interrupted Angelina snippily. Oh, great. Now that the shock had worn off, it was looking like she was annoyed.
"They're centaurs! They always carry longbows!" Harry cried in exasperation.
"What did they want to talk about?" asked Colin. Harry wrapped his hand around Katie's mouth before she could blurt out any more awkward details.
"It was just a misunderstanding," bit out Harry, looking at Katie instead of Colin. She glared at him, and Harry glared right back. The other Chasers wisely kept their mouths full of food, and didn't involve themselves.
"So I see you made Quidditch Captain, Angie," said Harry, pointing at the badge on her robes. She smiled at him, the earlier shade of anger gone.
"Yeah! I've got big plans for us this year. We'll need to do some recruiting, but I bet we can hammer the other houses into the ground." She paused, looking worried. "Will your - uh - changes be a problem? Have you flown since it happened? It could really throw off your balance."
"We'll just practice extra hard," Harry promised.
"Not as hard as Wood made us," grumbled Alicia. Angelina laughed.
"I promise no drills at dawn in the rain," she said. "So long as you guys give it your best shot."
"Isn't that the Beaters' job?" quipped Harry.
Angelina threw a bread roll at him. He ducked, and it hit Colin square in the face. Harry grinned. It was good to be back at Hogwarts. And it'd only get even more fun once things started to get messy. He felt a little guilty for mentioning Quidditch, given that the Tournament took precedent, but it was the one tried-and-tested conversation stopper and starter that worked on any witch or wizard save Hermione.
Talk of Quidditch filled the rest of the meal, and Harry largely zoned out through Dumbledore's speech, having already heard it before.
But then came the words he'd been waiting for.
"Only students who are of age - that is to say, seventeen years or older - will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration," continued Dumbledore. He was definitely looking at Harry when he said that. And he wasn't the only one. Harry winked at Dumbledore, and was slightly surprised when the Headmaster winked back.
The Great Hall was full of complaints about how unfair the restriction was, but Harry's little corner of the Gryffindor Table was oddly silent.
"You're seventeen, Angie! Are you going to enter your name?" asked Alicia, bubbly and excited.
"Yes," she said, a grim set to her jaw. She looked determined and as sure of herself as Harry had ever seen, even with the slight quiver at the edge of her mouth revealing how nervous she was.
Well, best to get it out of the way sooner rather than later.
"So-" began Harry, only to be interrupted by Colin.
"Are you going to as well, Harry? You did say that you were seventeen!" Way to steal my crowning moment of glory, thought Harry, good-naturedly elbowing Colin.
"I was just about to say that, yes," said Harry dryly.
"Didn't you hear Dumbledore, Potter?" demanded the fifth year who'd called bullshit earlier. "Seventeen or over. I don't care if you brewed up some growth potions, you're not overage."
"I guess we'll find out when I get chosen as the Champion for Hogwarts, won't we?" said Harry quietly. The other boy snorted.
"Well? Harry challenged. "I get chosen, you'll take that as proof. What's your name, anyway?"
"Fine,"snapped the other boy. "Cormac McLaggen."
"Oh," said Harry, remembering who he was. "Hey Angie, this is our new Keeper."
He immediately regretted his words as everybody within earshot turned a fierce glare on him.
"Weren't you listening, Potter?" snapped Angelina. "The Quidditch Cup is cancelled."
"I wasn't, actually," he said mildly. That only seemed to raise her ire further, and he saw her reach into a pocket. There was definitely a wand in there.
"But we can still practice for next year, right? And just because there's no Cup doesn't mean we can't have a few games. I bet Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff would be happy to keep in shape with a few practice games against us," said Harry quickly.
"And we don't need to invite Slytherin," mused Katie. Now that caught Angelina's attention. Harry grinned.
"So what do you say?" he asked.
"It could work," she said. "And if it's unofficial, we don't need to stick to one game against each house. We can play actual games for practice instead of running drills all the time. It'll be a lot better for us - and them," she added at the end, as a sour note.
"We'll still be the best team," Harry argued. "This will just guarantee that Slytherin loses every match no matter how much they cheat." Smiles all around showed he had won the argument. Beating Slytherin at Quidditch was the one matter which could bring anyone together.
The funny thing was that Harry actually wanted to play Quidditch. He missed the game. Flying in combat was exhilarating, but not the same. He wagered the experience of dodging aerial killing curses would help his performance, too. And it'd be nice to have something innocent like this to turn to in-between his more important work.
"Alright," said Angelina at last. "But McLaggen has to try out for Keeper. I've never even seen him fly."
"Neither have you," added McLaggen, giving Harry a curious look.
"What can I say? I've got good instinct for Quidditch," said Harry. "You've got the build of a Keeper, and something tells me you can handle a broom."
McLaggen shrugged.
"I was going to try out anyway," he said. "But you're weird, Potter."
Harry grinned.
"We can have a practice tomorrow evening to test McLaggen and work off this feast," said Angelina. "I want us to have a head start working together before we invite the other teams to play against us."
Harry thought it was a little odd how their plans for underground Quidditch games had so completely taken over any thoughts of the Triwizard Tournament. From the heady buzz around the room, it was all anyone else was talking about. But soon enough, Dumbledore called an end to the festivities, and sent everyone off to their dormitories.
McLaggen walked with Harry up to the tower, surprisingly enough.
"That was a good idea, Potter. And thanks for calling me out as Keeper. I won't disappoint. But you knew that, didn't you?" he said, cocksure of his abilities, but still unsettled by how readily Harry had picked up on them.
"What can I say? You look like you spend a lot of time with your head in the air," murmured Harry.
"Hey!" exclaimed McLaggen. Harry chuckled.
"Don't make me look bad for suggesting you," Harry warned. "You might be good, but don't get sloppy. Give it everything you have tomorrow. Don't just prove you can catch a Quaffle. Try to impress the team."
"I can do that," said McLaggen dismissively.
"You'll have to. We've flown together for years. We know each other. You're new. Make the right first impression, and that'll help us become a team instead of a bunch of people playing with different types of balls."
"Fred and George know me well enough," said McLaggen.
"Fly well enough and you might be able to undo that damage, then," added Harry wryly.
"You're a dick, Potter."
"So are you," Harry retorted. McLaggen was quiet for a moment.
"You've changed," he said. "I never paid much attention to the quiet little brat who got all the attention and occasionally did something insane. Aside from the times you were up to crazy shit, you were just too meek to be interesting."
"I grew up," said Harry ironically.
"Into a dick," added McLaggen.
"Into a Champion," said Harry, sarcastically this time, but it caught McLaggen's interest.
"So you were serious about entering? I would have myself if I could, but Merlin's balls, Potter, it's a dangerous thing, this tournament. Even if they let you in because you look seventeen, you've had three years of learning magic. Three!"
"That's the same number of times I've faced Voldemort and beaten him, McLaggen," said Harry. "And that's just up until this summer. Imagine how many times I might defeat him by the time I'm thirty?"
"Three?"
"So far," said Harry.
"I only know of two. What's the last one?"
Harry stared.
"You're only supposed to know about one. Which other one did you find out about? And how?" he demanded.
"The Boy Who Lived. That's the obvious one, right? Then you killed a Basilisk and defeated the Heir of Slytherin. The Dark Lord was possessing the Weasley girl, right?"
"Yes," said Harry, suddenly feeling out of his depth. How many people knew about that? How many people knew Voldemort was still around, and yet had supported Fudge's campaign of denial? "How did you know?"
"Dumbledore always said the Dark Lord was still around. He's the only Heir of Slytherin I've ever heard about."
"Not many people believe Dumbledore," said Harry.
"Uncle Tiberius does. My Dad believes Uncle Tiberius. He can't be a ghost if he can do things like that, so he must be some kind of wraith, right? That was Uncle Tiberius' guess."
"Yes," said Harry, more than a little stunned. "How come more people don't know this, then? I know your uncle is high up in the Ministry."
"They don't hear what they don't want to hear, Potter. People don't like thinking about things they don't like. Surely you've noticed that by now," said McLaggen.
"Yeah," said Harry. "I've noticed. Fuck. I never expected to run into someone else who knew he was around."
Cormac snorted.
"The people in the know tend not to talk about it. It's somewhere between impolite and 'you're fired' for spreading malicious rumours."
"Figures," muttered Harry. "I had no idea that the censorship started this early."
"What?" asked Cormac sharply.
"Nevermind me," said Harry quickly, covering his slip. "You wanted to know the third time? It was actually the second. Voldemort was possessing Quirrell."
"Quirrell?" exclaimed Cormac. "Guess that explains what he was constantly terrified of, then. I can't believe you killed a teacher in your first year, though," he added, before laughing.
"Voldemort killed him as soon as he possessed him," said Harry darkly.
"The Dark Lord stole his body, but you killed him, Potter. Oh, don't give me that look. He was your enemy. Would have killed you, I'm betting. Killing him was the only sensible thing you could have done," said McLaggen offhandedly. The nonchalance with which he accepted Harry killing Quirrell was unsettling, and drew attention to another thing which had been niggling at Harry's attention.
"You call him the Dark Lord," Harry said.
"So? Nobody says his name."
"People say You-Know-Who, or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," said Harry. "Only his followers call him the Dark Lord."
"McLaggens respect power, but we've never had a Death Eater in the family, if that's what you're getting at," said Cormac accusingly.
"Then why do you call him that?" Harry demanded.
"You-Know-Who? Are you serious? It's so juvenile. Fearful. He's a Dark Lord. Call him what he is. Doesn't mean you agree with it. A Dementor's a Dementor. The Dark Lord is a Dark Lord. Just because we can't say his name in polite company doesn't mean we're going to stoop to these pathetic nicknames."
Harry gave McLaggen an assessing look. The boy was as cocky as he'd thought, sure, and every bit as arrogant as he remembered. But more than arrogant, he was proud. In a way Malfoy could never understand.
"You're going to be refreshing company at practice," Harry mused.
"Balderdash," said Cormac.
The portrait of the Fat Lady swung open. Harry laughed out loud. That had been one of the more memorable of the Gryffindor passwords.
Cormac paused before climbing into the Common Room.
"You know, I'm a fair hand at offensive spellwork. I could show you a few things. Help you survive the Tournament." Harry grinned. Mclaggen hadn't said it aloud, but there was no doubt. He was beginning to believe in Harry.
"I'm sure I'm going to be just fine," he said. "But thanks for the offer. I might take you up on it - in a way."
"Oh?"
"This is your OWL year, right?" asked Harry. Cormac nodded.
"Mine too. Seventeen. Probably won't be able to stay any longer. So I'm going to be taking them with your year. If I pass my OWLs, I get to keep my wand when I leave Hogwarts."
"Study group and Quidditch practices it is, then, Potter."
"Call me Harry," said Harry.
"What, are we friends all of a sudden," said Cormac, putting on a sudden sneer.
"Looks that way," said Harry. The sneer immediately vanished.
"So it does," replied Cormac, and held out his hand. Reluctantly, Harry took it, only to be subjected to the most pompous handshake he'd ever had from a teenager. "See you at practice, Harry."
Harry was the first one to enter his dorm. He looked around the room which had held so many memories and smiled fondly. He wouldn't be staying here all the time, but it really did feel like coming home.
He flopped on his bed and stretched out, closing his eyes contentedly. Despite a few weird hiccups in the day, things were moving on schedule. Nothing looked to interfere with his plans. In fact, this might make things work out better in the long-term for him. And Harry was playing the long-game here. He hadn't come back to stop Voldemort's resurrection. He'd come back to make the war possible to win. McLaggen could be a useful ally, and the development with the centaurs was...interesting.
"Hoot."
Hedwig startled him from his thoughts.
"Hello girl," he said softly, sitting up and stroking her feathers. "I suppose one of the elves brought you up from the pub?"
Hedwig hooted in affirmation, and then began to nibble Harry's fingers affectionately.
"Probably Dobby," Harry mused.
Hewig gave him an inscrutable look, which Harry interpreted as a yes. No owl deserved to be subjected to that mad elf. He gave her an Owl Treat, and apologised wordlessly for her troubles by burying his face in her feathers. She nuzzled back into him.
Sirius could keep his Hippogriff familiar. Hedwig was the only familiar for Harry.
The familiar bond was poorly understood and hardly studied, yet it was an ancient part of Wizarding customs. Harry supposed that owl and cats had become the most common familiars because of their usefulness - cats in killing rats, and owls in delivering post. Proximity and magic caused something to form between a witch or wizard and an animal, letting them find and understand one another more easily. That was about as much as Harry understood it. He wondered if there was anything deeper to it, but guessed that it was probably just what it looked like on the surface.
All he knew for sure was that he'd never care for a pet the way he cared for Hedwig. She was family.
Soon their peace was interrupted by the rest of the fourth-year Gryffindors climbing the stairs. Harry wondered what their reaction would be. It'd be interesting to see, if nothing else.
"Harry! called Neville, the first to reach the room.
"Hey Neville," said Harry. "How was your summer?"
"It was alright," he said brightly. "I got to visit my parents just before I came back to Hogwarts." He flinched after saying that. Harry didn't comment, and none of the others, barrelling in from behind Neville, even noticed.
Dean and Seamus immediately went for their beds, and the others weren't far behind them in changing into their pyjamas.
"Shame you couldn't stay with us for the rest of the summer," said Ron. This time it was Harry who flinched. Yeah, there was definitely an edge of bitterness there.
"At least I got to go to the cup with you guys. And Padfoot," he added.
"I can't believe they let you bring a dog into the Top Box," Ron muttered in exasperation. And then he looked up at Harry sharply. "Did you know they think it was Sirius Black who cast the Dark Mark at the World Cup?"
Harry winced.
"No. Figures they'd blame him for anything bad that happens, though," he said.
"The DMLE has been going crazy looking for him, Dad says. They're increasing their resources back to the level when he first escaped. He might get caught this time." Oh, realised Harry. Ron was angry with him for risking Sirius. He imagined that Hermione had been lecturing him on all the terrible things which could have happened had anyone uncovered him.
"Are they bringing the Dementors back?" asked Harry, shivering at the thought, and grateful for the knowledge of the future which told him that they wouldn't. Surely he'd made no changes that would have caused that.
"I hope not," muttered Ron. "They're mostly looking for him abroad now. Egypt is getting really riled up about Hit Wizards intruding on their land looking for him."
"I hadn't heard it was Black," said Neville, curiously. "Before there were posters everywhere and articles in the Prophet."
Something clicked in Harry's brain. His talk with Fudge must have struck a chord.
"It'll be to do with the Tournament, I bet," suggested Harry. "They don't want to look bad in front of foreign wizards."
Ron snorted.
"Yeah, that sounds right. They're all about British Wizarding Traditions and national pride. It drives Dad nuts."
"I thought that was Fred and George's job?" teased Harry.
"Only if they figure out how to get into the Triwizard Tournament," said Ron. "Think they'd tell me if they found a way? Imagine that - a thousand galleons," he muttered dreamily.
"Even if they managed to enter their names, they wouldn't get chosen."
"Who d'you reckon it'll be?" asked Neville.
"Me, of course," said Harry.
Ron sat bolt upright, giving him a suspicious look.
"All that talk about you being overage…" he trailed off.
"Yup," said Harry succinctly, and tensed for Ron's reaction. A big part of Ron's actions the first time had been jealousy, but it had also been because he thought Harry had done it without telling him. It was the exclusion which had made things worse. Harry hoped to ease things a bit by being honest about it from the start this time.
"Hermione said that anyone who enters might die," said Ron slowly.
"Bet you a thousand galleons that I survive?" Harry offered. Ron choked back a laugh, but finally nodded.
"Deal. If you win, I get the thousand galleons," he said, before his laughter got the better of him at the ridiculous notion. He clearly didn't expect Harry to be able to enter, let alone enter, compete, and win.
Harry just wondered if Ron's refusal to accept charity would extend to this bet. A thousand galleon bribe to keep Ron friendly during the Tournament against his hatred of Harry buying things for him. Well, it wasn't charity. It was a bet. Fair's fair. Harry grinned. Gotcha, he thought.
Soon they were all asleep. Harry's dreams were full of delightful schemes and accidentally-on-purpose homicide.
In the morning, McGonagall handed out their class timetables at breakfast. Harry glanced at it once, and felt the familiar memories slide into place. Herbology with the Hufflepuffs first, followed by Care of Magical Creatures.
"I won't be in Herbology," he said to Ron, interrupting his friend's complaints about Double Potions. "Have to meet Dumbledore about my accident. But I'll see you and Hagrid in Care of Magical Creatures."
"And you'll see The Beyond in Double Divination after lunch," said Ron with a groan, buying Harry's blatant lie.
"Maybe I'll predict being kidnapped, then leg it when Trelawney isn't looking," Harry suggested. "Top marks for an accurate prediction, and I bet I can do it in five minutes, tops."
"Can you predict us both being kidnapped?" asked Ron petulantly.
"I guess I'll bring my Invisibility Cloak to class," said Harry. Ron immediately perked up.
"Seriously?"
"What's the worst that could happen? A detention? Worth it to get out of Double Divination, right?" offered Harry. Ron flashed him a grin.
"You are NOT skipping class on the first day, Harry!" insisted Hermione, slamming her books down beside his plate.
"Good morning to you to," he said in an amused tone. "But I really do have to see Dumbledore during Herbology, although I can walk with you as far as the Greenhouses."
"You know that's not what I meant!" cried Hermione in exasperation.
"Just following your example in how to behave in Divination lessons, Hermione," reminded Harry. She turned pink at the reminder, and muttered under her breath.
"You still shouldn't skip classes just because they're a load of tosh. You'll get in trouble," she reasoned.
"Trouble is my first name," said Harry. Hermione frowned.
"Don't you mean your middle name?" she asked.
"No, my middle name is James. Like my Dad?"
Hermione groaned, and buried her face in her pile of books. Literally.
"Boys," she snarled from inside her papery mound.
Harry and Ron cackled at her frustration.
Harry could almost see the lightbulb form over her head as she had a thought, snapped back upright and stared at Harry.
"Harry," she began, in the most deathly serious voice she could manage. As she was a fourteen year old girl, this was not very threatening. Harry smiled at her sweetly. "You keep talking about being overage, but you can't enter this Tournament. It's dangerous, Harry. People die in it!"
"So I'm told," he said dryly. "Repeatedly."
"Promise me you won't try to enter," she insisted.
"Would you like me to lie to you?" asked Harry, amused.
"Harry!"
"Look, you said it yourself, this Tournament is dangerous. If the wrong person -" Cedric. "If the wrong person entered, they could die. But I have a knack for surviving. Boy Who Lived, remember? My chances are better than anyone else's."
"You don't know the magic that the seventh years do. No amount of bravery will make up for that," Hermione reasoned. "You're brave, and quick on your feet, and good at surviving impossible things. But you just don't have the education for this!"
Ah, so that was it. Education. Typical Hermione. At least she accepted his uncanny knack for survival. She just thought he was a partially-educated teenage brat like her. The irony wasn't lost on him, and his lips quirked upwards in the ghost of a smile.
"This tournament has been won by wizards under seventeen in the past. It's not like an exam. It's not about what you know. It's about what you do with it," said Harry.
"And what do you expect to do with nothing?" demanded Hermione. Harry faked an expression of shock.
"I'm shocked to see you of all people call three years of education nothing, Hermione."
She spluttered incoherently at that, and Harry laughed.
"I'm entering, Hermione. And I'm going to win."
"And you owe me a thousand galleons when you win," said Ron. Harry smirked.
Hermione lectured Harry on the history of the Tournament all the way to the Herbology classroom, only pausing to wish him good luck with his meeting with Dumbledore before entering the class. Ron gave him a bemused expression, and shrugged, following Hermione into class.
Harry made sure they were seated, facing away from the path, before he continued on his journey. He was about to head towards the Whomping Willow when he paused, considering his options.
"Hell, I may as well let the old man know," muttered Harry. He turned around, and went back to the castle.
In the Entrance Hall he was cornered by Professor McGonagall.
"Shouldn't you be in class, Mr Potter?" she asked, lips thin enough to be invisible.
"That's not a question, is it Professor?" he replied cheekily.
"Let me rephrase that. Why are you not in class? And why should I not be giving you the first of what I suspect will be many detentions to come this year?"
"What's the password to Dumbledore's office?" Harry asked, evading her questions.
"The password to Professor Dumbledore's office isn't given out as easily as detentions, Mr Potter," said McGonagall. Harry grinned. Oh, she may pretend to be stern and proper, but he wasn't fooled by her expression. That had just been a joke. Told to amuse herself, not the naughty student she saw before her, but Harry was quicker on the uptake than he'd been at fourteen. He'd caught her in the act, and she was furious with him for it.
"Mr Potter," she began, about to launch into a tirade he had no chance of stopping. So he cut her off before she began.
"I need to speak to Professor Dumbledore. Urgently."
"Whatever about? Tell me your message and I'll pass it on. Get back to class," she said, refusing to back down.
"It's about Sirius Black," said Harry. Why bother lying when an outrageous truth can accomplish just as much?
"Ice Mice, Mr Potter," she said faintly. "Do hurry back to class afterwards."
Harry strode off towards the nearest staircase.
"Oh, and Mr Potter?" she called, having recovered from her shock. "Detention. Eight. My office. For being out of class."
"I had a legitimate reason," argued Harry.
"Then for disrespecting a teacher, Potter. Off with you."
Harry laughed, but continued on his way unphased. He wondered whether he'd attend her detention or not. It was another potential opportunity to set some more chaos blazing around Hogwarts, a chance to collect an ally to his side, or an opportunity to skip detention and demonstrate precedent for the fact that he was now outside the rules that everybody else followed. They were all good options.
"Ice Mice," he said to a suit of armour in passing.
It took him a while to find the Gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office. He'd forgotten just how big Hogwarts was.
"Ice Mice," he repeated, to the correct inanimate object this time. It promptly animated, and opened the stairway to the Headmaster's office.
At the top of the stairs was Dumbledore's familiar door of burnished oak wood. Harry raised a hand to the handle, then stopped.
"Ice Mice," he tried.
Nothing happened. Harry swore. He'd been hoping Dumbledore was as mad as he was, but he supposed that they were mad in different ways. He could live with that. He reached up again and turned the handle.
"Ah, Harry. I had expected to see you before too long. Although not quite this soon," said Dumbledore, sitting behind his ludicrously oversized desk. Fawkes trilled in agreement and greeting. "I assume you've come to ask what prompted the behaviour of the centaurs last night?"
Harry blinked.
"Not at all. I know what centaurs are like, although that was - unexpected," he said.
"Ah. My apologies. I have been acting as a liaison to our magical brethren in the Forbidden Forest for some time, and hoped I could shed some light on the matter," said Dumbledore.
"And learn what riled them up like that?" suggested Harry. Dumbledore merely smiled, which was as good as a yes.
"Everything's under control with the centaurs, don't worry. I came about Sirius."
"Oh?" said Dumbledore, popping an unrecognisable piece of candy into his mouth.
"He'll be staying with me in Gryffindor Tower as a pet dog," said Harry.
Dumbledore choked.
After a few moments of wheezing, he managed to swallow whatever it was he'd been trying to eat, although there were tracks of moisture at the corners of his eyes from the strain.
"I feel utterly certain that I must have misheard you, and yet my hearing has yet to leave me even in my considerable age," said Dumbledore.
"He needs to be in a familiar, happy environment to heal the damage done by the Dementors. Left alone and on the run, he could become as mad as any other Azkaban inmate."
Harry proceeded to explain the dissonance between Sirius and Padfoot, and their respective mental health. Dumbledore frowned.
"I see your reasoning, Harry, but having Sirius here will only give more life to his Padfoot persona, as he'll have to remain in the form of a dog. It won't help Sirius heal."
"The familiar environment will help him recover memories of his days at Hogwarts, rebuilding the lost feelings in his memories," argued Harry. "This castle is a big part of what shaped his soul. Being here will remind it of what it is. Sirius Black. Gryffindor animagus. Not a stray dog."
"There is...some merit to what you say," allowed Dumbledore. "Although I'm not entirely convinced."
"We'll also be able to spend time together in his human form discretely, and build new memories. Between my map, my cloak, and our combined knowledge of the castle and sneaking around it, we'll never be caught."
"If you are caught, the consequences will be dire. Perhaps for both of you," warned Dumbledore. "You are not the Harry Potter people remember. If you are caught openly consorting with Sirius Black, how long will it be before they claim you are an imposter?"
"The Minister may prove a little more sympathetic, given time. I'm making friends," said Harry lightly.
Dumbledore sighed.
"I do not condone this, but very well. I cannot protect you or Sirius if you are caught."
"I'll keep him on a short leash," Harry promised.
"Be sure that you do. And I suggest you bring him with you to your detention with Minevra tonight," said Dumbledore.
"How do you know about that?" asked Harry, incredulously. "Do the portraits report my every movement to you?"
Dumbledore chuckled, but didn't answer. Harry began to get nervous before the old man made a sweeping gesture at the various magical instruments lining the office.
"One of these many knickknacks lets me know whenever a student is assigned detention or docked house points. I tend to put a record in the end of year reports I send out to parents, as well. It discourages rule-breakers even more than the detentions themselves, I find," said Dumbledore, with an evil gleam in his eye.
"I've never received any end of year reports," said Harry, curious.
"I suspected your Aunt and Uncle wouldn't appreciate them, and since I'm your legal guardian in the magical world, I've been keeping them for myself. Severus' have been particularly refreshing."
"I'll bet," said Harry, fighting a smile. "Can I read them later? I'd love to see if my end of year escapades have balanced out what I've been getting up to during the rest of the year."
"Of course. You're welcome to visit me any time, and we can go over them. I think you'll enjoy seeing what some of your professors wrote about you, although perhaps you'll enjoy the tally of detentions more."
"I'd love to know the actual number of house points Snape has taken from me for breathing too loudly," said Harry. Dumbledore chuckled, but then glanced back at the magical artifact in question with a sombre expression.
"It also helps me keep track of any teachers who may be abusing the disciplinary system we have in place. I've fired a few for it, to my regret."
"Were many of them Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers?" Harry suggested, an idea forming in the back of his mind.
"Indeed. I wonder whether knowledge of such a subject leaves one inclined to more...abrasive practices, or if it is simply one of many methods through which Voldemort's curse on the position acts," said Dumbledore with a sigh. This was one of those rare moments when he just looked like a tired old man.
Harry patted him on the arm comfortingly.
"Bit of both, old man, as I'm sure you've guessed. But don't worry. I'll break that curse for you sometime this year."
"Alas, Alastor has only come out of retirement to teach for a single year, so I shall still have to place my annual adverts." Harry smirked.
"I'm sure I can help you with that problem when we get to it. But for now, where do you keep your Floo Powder?" asked Harry.
Dumbledore pointed to the corner of his mantelpiece, where every other wizard kept their Floo Powder in the same Floo Powder pot stamped with a green F. Oops.
"Ah."
"Don't be long," cautioned Dumbledore. "If you could keep it to one missed class, I won't have to make a note on your records to warn whoever might read them about the consequences of not attending lessons."
"We should probably revisit the subject of me not attending lessons later in the year," said Harry, having no intention of wasting all his time repeating fourth year classes. He just had to bear it for a couple of months for his plan to work.
"Much later, I hope," sighed Dumbledore.
"The Hog's Head," replied Harry in a conversational tone. Dumbledore looked at him in confusion for a moment, and then the fire flared green and Harry disappeared in a swirl of green light and Dumbledore's laughter.
Aberforth hit Harry with a broom. The regular kind, used for sweeping.
"Ow!" complained Harry.
"You're getting soot all over my floor," grumbled Aberforth. "Move."
"It's already covered in straw to soak up mess!" Harry argued.
"I put the straw down to soak up drinks and piss, not soot and Harry fucking Potter. What are you doing here? Your next shift isn't until Thursday night."
"I came to get my dog," said Harry.
"Good. Get that animal out of my pub. People keep giving him drinks," said Aberforth sourly.
"Is that a problem?" asked Harry, taken aback by Aberforth's vitriol at something so simple.
"He's drinking in my pub for free. Yes it's a fucking problem. Get him gone, or open a bar tab for him. I'll not have freeloaders in here. Even Betsie pays for her Butterbeer," he growled.
"What? How can a goat-elf pay for…" Harry trailed off. "You're sick, you know that? Turning a house elf into a goat then making her sell her body to you in exchange for drinks. You're an animal!"
"I'm not fucking my goat, Potter," said Aberforth levelly. Too levelly. Uh oh. Harry tensed. "But the whole time you were working for me, you spent twenty minutes a day tugging on her tits. How did you like those house elf tits, boy? That what gets your wand sparking?"
Harry closed his eyes in revulsion.
"Merlin's balls," he whimpered. Betsie was a goat, he told himself. Just a goat with a past. He hadn't been milking a house elf. Ugh. A shudder of revulsion ran through him.
"Did her milk taste better," began Aberforth nastily, "knowing that you squeezed it out of her?"
Harry resisted the urge to vomit, just barely.
"You're a sick old man, Aberforth," he croaked. Aberforth went back to sweeping soot back into the fireplace.
"Don't start what you can't finish, Potter. Not unless you want to be known as the Boy Who Milked a House Elf."
Harry fled upstairs to his room.
Sirius, having heard everything, was delirious with laughter, stuffing his fist in his mouth to prevent the noise from reaching Aberforth.
Harry kicked him in the gut. It didn't change a thing. The tears around Sirius' eyes were still from laughing, not pain. Harry grimaced, and waited it out. It took an unbearably long time.
"Any trouble with the snake?" he asked, bringing up business matters in a desperate attempt to distract Sirius from what he'd overheard.
"Nah. Took a peek in the bag a few times. Still dead. Still a snake. Still creepy."
"Good. I suppose this can be as good a place as any to hide it, for now. I'll leave the room locked, and we can check on it whenever I come down to work the bar."
"You mean…" began Sirius hopefully.
"That's right, you're going back to Hogwarts with me. I even got Dumbledore to agree, so no need to sneak around. Well, except when you're Sirius," said Harry.
"Hogwarts and sneaking go together like me and Buckbeak," said Sirius cheerily.
"Loud, violent, and subject to the death penalty?" asked Harry dubiously.
"Right? We have so much in common. I bet he really would deliver my mail. If I asked really nicely."
"Hippogriffs are proud creatures," said Harry dryly. "It'd have to be something very important."
"Postcards are out, then," said Sirius with a pout.
"Woof," said Harry. Sirius rolled his eyes.
"You know, you could just ask me to change," he said.
"Woof works better. If I randomly say woof, you change. Could save your fleabitten skin if I see someone coming and you don't."
"Fine, fine," grumbled Sirius. "Woof it is." He still didn't change.
Harry stared at him. Sirius stared back, blankly.
"Woof," said Harry in annoyance.
Sirius changed into Padfoot, a sheepish expression on his canine features. Harry cuffed him on the back of the head.
"Idiot," he muttered affectionately. "Let's get back to Hogwarts."
Harry had to pick Padfoot up to Floo him, since he didn't want Sirius Black appearing in the middle of a pub, even if only Aberforth was around. Soon they were back in Dumbledore's office.
"Welcome back, Harry. Sirius," said Dumbledore levelly.
"Woof," said Harry. Sirius shifted.
"Good to be back, Professor," said Sirius.
Dumbledore looked from one to the other with an unreadable expression.
"Be honest with me, Harry. Am I going to regret this?"
"Probably. But only a little bit. We'll be good. This isn't a second generation of the Marauders," said Harry.
"I'm beyond relieved to hear it," said Dumbledore. "Would you like a drink, Sirius? Harry has classes to attend, but perhaps I can keep you company until he's free at lunch. I believe Care of Magical Creatures is beginning shortly for you," he said, not-so-subtly.
"Actually I'm going to go with Harry to class," said Sirius. "I almost am a Magical Creature, and it's about time I learned to take Care of myself," he said. Harry groaned, but Dumbledore smiled.
"Hagrid will love you, I'm sure. I suppose it's as good a way as any to introduce Harry's new pet to his classmates. Go on, then. This class should be quite a novelty for you, Sirius."
Harry was outside Hagrid's hut when the bell tolled, signalling the change in lessons. He'd got no answer when knocking on Hagrid's door, but found the half-giant out back, moving crates into the pumpkin patch. He knew exactly what was inside. Bang Ended Scoots. He noticed Padfoot sniff the breeze and bare his teeth at the scent.
"'Arry! Yer early. I'd say come help me set up, but these crates could be a mite heavy for yeh."
"Not all of us ate our green vegetables and grew up big and strong like you, Hagrid," said Harry.
"Weren't vegetables, 'Arry," said Hagrid, but managed to shut his mouth before spilling what he thought was his terrible secret, but was actually commonly speculated on, if not outright known to be true. Silly half-giant, Harry thought. Although not so silly as full giants, he mused, remembering Grawp.
"This is my dog, Padfoot. Dumbledore gave me permission to keep him at Hogwarts even though he isn't a cat or an owl or a toad. Good thing, too, or I'd have had to Transfigure him into one. Couldn't leave him behind."
"Lovely dog," said Hagrid, somewhat distractedly. Harry was stunned. It took a lot to distract Hagrid from a new animal friend, even if it wasn't vicious and huge. Oh, but of course. The Skrewts.
"Hagrid…" began Harry, peering into the crates.
"What is it?" replied Hagrid, not really paying attention, being too occupied moving heavy objects full of baby monsters around.
"Did you import these from someone else or cross-breed the Manticores and Fire-Crabs yourself?"
Padfoot whimpered. Hagrid dropped a crate. Luckily, it was only an inch off the ground, as he'd almost finished putting it down, so Harry get to listen to the sounds of enraged Skrewts instead of watching them scurry off into the undergrowth or attack his shins.
"Cross-breedin's illegal," Hagrid said in a shifty tone, avoiding the question instead of taking the easy option and shifting the blame. Hagrid was too honest to lie, especially when caught off guard like this.
"So you did it yourself? Wow. That's some serious magic," said Harry, impressed despite himself. "And you don't even have a proper wand. Just an umbrella."
"Can't do things like this with a wand," said Hagrid, reluctantly admitting that Harry's accusations were spot on. "Animal magic isn't like casting spells. It's more instinct. Takes understanding, not an education."
"I'm impressed," said Harry sincerely. "No wonder you were able to befriend Aragog if you're this talented. Even a baby Acromantula would eat most people."
"Er, well, he did try a coupla times," said Hagrid, looking abashed. "But not many."
"Fang's not your familiar, is he?" asked Harry, putting the pieces together at long last. This could be troublesome. Or useful. Or both.
"Eh? No, he's just a dog. And a friend. Why d'you ask?" asked Hagrid, perturbed.
"Because a wizard can only have one familiar. Aragog's your familiar, isn't he?"
Hagrid looked shell-shocked.
"Never thought about it t'be honest. But...yeah. Tha's got the ring of truth to it. I'll have ter tell him. Wonder if he knows," Hagrid mused to himself.
"If he is, he'll definitely know," said Harry. "And probably be shocked that you didn't."
"Aye, he will be," chuckled Hagrid. "It's not often yeh get to see a spider the size o' an elephant look surprised." He paused, seeing the students streaming down towards them, and lowered his voice. "Mind not mentionin' all this in front of all the others? Don' want any letters going home about cross-breeds or Aragog."
"I'd never get you in trouble, Hagrid," promised Harry sincerely. "But there's a few who already know about the Acromantula after what happened in second year."
"It's not a secret, I 'spose," said Hagrid. "It was public knowledge fer a while, but people forgot, and now it's their grandkids coming to school, not them. But nobody knows about the Blast Ended Skrewts, do they?" he asked, desperate and earnest all at once.
"Only me and Padfoot here," said Harry, putting a hand on his dogfather's head. Padfoot barked on cue.
"He looks like a great dog. Surprised they're letting you have him since yeh already have Hedwig," commented Hagrid.
"He's more like a friend than a pet, really," said Harry truthfully.
"Did that work on Professer McGonagall?" joked Hagrid.
"We'll find out during detention tonight," said Harry. Padfoot wagged his tail so hard that it thumped against Harry's leg. Harry could only guess that he was proud of his godson for getting detention on the first day back from summer.
"On the firs' day?" said Hagrid in dismay. "Was it fer coming to the feast late? Dumbledore said that weren't your fault."
"No, nothing like that. I saw through her stern mask and caught her making a joke when telling me off. She must have an amazing poker face, to get away with doing that, even if it goes way over the heads of most students."
Hagrid grinned.
"Aye, she likes to play with her students. Has to stop it when they get a bit older because they start to hear the jokes and not just the stern voice. Kids are like animals. It's all about yer tone, not what yeh say. But some people start listening when they grow up. Not many, mind you," he said with a wink.
They were interrupted by the arriving Gryffindors, who were mostly intact, save for Neville, who dripped Bubotuber pus. His face and the back of his robes in particular were soaked in it.
Wait a minute. Something was wrong with that image. Neville was good with plants. And Harry remembered what Bubotuber Pus was mainly used for. Getting rid of bad acne. He remembered that it was around this time that Neville's spots had begun to clear up. Harry caught Neville's eye and burst out laughing.
Neville turned red, so Harry quickly walked over to him.
"I know what you did. Good idea," he said.
Neville turned even more red, if that was possible, blushing under the compliment.
"Uh, thanks?" he said. "Don't tell anyone? Please?"
"Don't tell anyone what?" asked Ron.
"Why Neville's covered in Bubotuber Pus," said Harry. Ron looked nonplussed.
"Well he squeezed it too hard, and then he dropped it down his back trying to get rid of it," he said dubiously.
Hermione, meanwhile, wore an expression of brief shock which turned into a knowing smile. Harry winked at her. Trust her to figure it out. Then again, it had been explicitly said out loud in the lesson for everyone to hear. Harry could remember being fourteen, but couldn't remember just how ignorant of everything going on around him he'd been back then.
"Why's Padfoot here?" exclaimed Ron, distracted from Neville's sodden and smelly form.
"That's why I was with Dumbledore. I got permission to have Padfoot stay in our dorm. We can buy him a little doggy basket when we get our first Hogsmeade weekend," explained Harry.
"But that doesn't explain why," said Hermione.
"He was a stray," said Harry. "I couldn't leave him outside and alone with nowhere to go. It's a cold and empty life, like a Dementor is standing next to you. If he stays somewhere warm and happy for a while he can recover from being a stray for so long."
"Looks like he's in pretty good health to me," said Ron.
"Only on the outside," said Hermione softly, meeting Harry's eyes. He nodded. She'd caught the hints he'd dropped in that cover story for any eavesdroppers.
"It'll be wicked to have a dog in our dorm," said Seamus, hovering nearby. "I always wanted one, but me mam never let me. Wouldn't be able to see it anyway, at Hogwarts all year."
Harry grinned at Seamus. Another one on board. Neville wouldn't have any reason to object. So long as Dean didn't turn out to be allergic or a whiny bitch, this would work like a charm.
The lesson was over fairly quickly. Everyone except Harry was nursing burns and blisters, and Padfoot was whimpering in pain from where he'd been bitten. An infant Skrewt had escaped its cage, and Padfoot had caught it. Unfortunately, it had been one of the ones with the nasty suckers on its belly, and had managed to injure the inside of Padfoot's mouth.
Harry leaned low when everyone else was distracted by complaining about how horrible the Skrewts were.
"I'll heal that for you as soon as we're alone. I don't know if healing charms will work on a dog, and I don't want to risk turning your sinuses inside out by botching them." Padfoot pressed his head against Harry's leg in recognition.
"At last," exclaimed Ron loudly. "Lunch!"
"We just were lunch," muttered Neville, glaring at the Skrewt crates. Harry snickered.
On the way up to the castle, he managed to grab Ron and Hermione, and pull them into a secret passageway.
"Hey!" complained Ron. "Lunch!"
"Woof," said Harry.
"It makes no sense telling me to turn back by saying woof as well," complained Sirius, morphing back into his human form.
"I know. But it annoyed you," said Harry. Sirius growled. Hermione jumped. It had been an actual growl, like a feral dog. Not the sound of an annoyed human. Harry didn't blame her for being startled. "Open your mouth," Harry commanded. "Episkey."
"I hate those things," muttered Sirius.
"I hate your dog-breath. Do you think it'd be suspicious if I taught my new dog to use a toothbrush?" asked Harry.
Sirius' eyes narrowed, but he smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.
"I'll have to borrow yours," he said.
"That's vile," stated Hermione. "But why are you here? I thought you were out of the country."
"So does the Ministry," said Sirius. "That's how I can get away with it. They're not really looking for me anymore. But I've got to look out for Harry."
"I can look after myself," said Harry.
"What about that accident you had over the summer?" suggested Hermione. "Maybe Sirius could have prevented it from happening!"
Harry and Sirius exchanged a meaningful look, but said nothing.
"But that's not the only reason, is it?" Hermione asked, going back to what she'd realised in Care of Magical Creatures. "You can't heal properly if you're on the run, even in another country. You need rest, right?"
"Pretty much," admitted Sirius. "It goes deeper than that. Dementors do something nasty to you when you're exposed for too long. But being here is going to help with that."
"So you're swapping one animagus in your dorm for another," said Hermione, looking from Ron to Harry.
Harry laughed, but Ron turned an odd colour, and clenched his fists.
"This one isn't evil. Or boring," Ron bit out. "It's not the same."
Sirius put his hand on Ron's shoulder, and he calmed down a bit.
"Just think of me as a dog when I look like one, and Sirius when I look like this. Two different entities. No connection. Think you can do that?"
"Yeah," said Ron at last. "Padfoot and Sirius."
"That's the ticket," said Sirius, grinning. "Now then, lunch! I haven't had a Hogwarts lunch in years!"
"Woof," said Harry sternly.
Padfoot whined, ears drooping.
"Oh, don't be that way. We'll put a plate on the floor for you," said Harry. Padfoot's tail immediately started wagging. "Attaboy. Now, heel."
Sirius shifted back into his human form for just long enough to flip Harry off before reverting to Padfoot. Ron stifled a laugh, and the four of them headed off in search of food.
After lunch, they headed in their separate directions. Ron and Harry climbed most of the way to Divination together with Padfoot loping behind them, when Ron suddenly paused.
"How do we get Padfoot up the ladder?" he asked.
"Levitation charm," said Harry. "And don't worry, I brought my cloak."
Ron looked at him in a mixture of surprise and glee.
"You mean we're really going to do it?"
Harry didn't respond except to chuckle to himself.
Several minutes later, they were at the top of the Divination Tower. Padfoot was covered by the invisibility cloak, and Harry levitated him surreptitiously up the ladder between himself and Ron.
The heady fumes of the classroom were giving Harry a headache only five minutes in, so he couldn't imagine how bad it was for Padfoot. He decided that enough was enough, and leaned under the table to whisper to Padfoot.
"Climb onto the table. Don't knock anything. Make sure the cloak stays on."
The quiet scratching of claws against wood were the only indication that Padfoot had done as he'd asked. When Harry was sure he was in position, he raised his hand.
"Professor Trelawney?"
"Yes dear?" she asked, warbling in that horrible voice of hers.
"I found the Grim."
As predicted, she immediately bustled over to peer into his teacup. A moment later, she straightened, and looked at Harry with the most serious expression he'd ever seen her take.
"My boy, you cannot possibly hope to read tea leaves when you have not drunk the tea."
Her full attention was on Harry, so she didn't see him pull the invisibility cloak off Padfoot, who raised his hackles and looked as fierce as he could.
"I didn't find him in my cup," said Harry, pointing.
Trelawney turned. Padfoot growled, baring his teeth wide. And then Professor Trelawney's eyes rolled back in her head, and she fell bonelessly to the floor in a faint. Harry and Ron burst into simultaneous laughter, echoed by the thumps of Padfoot's wagging tail.
"That may have been a bit much for her," Ron mused.
"Still, an omen of death appeared. It must have come to carry us away to the next life," said Harry.
"Is it out of this classroom?" asked Ron.
"I expect so," said Harry.
Padfoot knew his cue, and so leapt down from the table, and pawed at the trapdoor. Harry opened it.
Suddenly, Lavender shrieked at the back of the room.
"Harry, Ron, no! That's a Grim! If you go with it you'll die!" she shouted.
"It's a dog," muttered Seamus, looking annoyed. He was sitting close enough that she might have perforated an eardrum with that shriek. Harry was sure he'd see the funny side soon enough, and exactly as predicted, Seamus smiled as he realised what Harry and Ron were doing.
"It's an omen of our fate, Lavender," said Harry in a morose voice.
"Nobody can avoid their fate," added Ron.
Padfoot jumped down through the trapdoor. Harry cast a silent cushioning charm to save his Padfeet from becoming Bruisefeet. Upon hitting the ground, Padfoot barked, twice.
"Two barks," whispered Lavender. "For two of you." She was pale, and looked almost as if she was going to mimic Trelawney and faint.
Harry and Ron managed to keep their faces solemn as they climbed down the ladder. Once they were out of earshot, they burst out laughing.
"We're so dead when McGonagall finds out," wheezed Ron.
"Worth it," said Harry. Padfoot barked in agreement.
They snuck out to the grounds through secret passages, and eventually made it outside without being seen. The three of them lazed on the lakeshore all afternoon, in a spot so covered by trees that Sirius was able to spend some time in his human shape. There was a patch on the shore where rich sunlight broke through the foliage, and the three of them stayed there for hours, enjoying the feeling of being free.
Soon the sun began to hang low in the sky, and they headed back to the castle for dinner. Sirius was reluctant to turn back into Padfoot, and it was that reluctance that made Harry sure of it: although they'd hardly done or said anything, those few hours of companionship and freedom had been a new happy memory for him, helping to repair his broken mind and soul.
Dinner was soon over, mostly spent introducing his new dog to curious students. Just about every Gryffindor wanted to fawn over Padfoot, and a few brave Hufflepuffs even came over to pet him.
"This is a great dog, Harry. How'd you manage it?" asked Cedric. Harry struggled to meet the eyes of somebody who'd haunted him for over a decade.
"I got lucky. Dumbledore has a soft spot for lost strays, so he let me bend the rules a bit. It helped that I'm a bit of a stray myself."
"You don't look like much of a stray these days," he said. Harry smiled at Cedric uneasily.
"Every scared little first year has to grow up sometime," he said.
"Seems like you've been doing a lot of growing," Cedric said cautiously. "There are rumours going around that your accident actually made you overage." Ah. There it was. Cedric was scouting out the competition.
"You're thinking of entering the Tournament, aren't you?" asked Harry. "And you're wondering if I'm going to put my name down for it."
"Guilty," said Cedric, flushing a little bit pink, but not looking ashamed. "I wanted to know who I'm up against."
"I'm going to enter. And I'm going to win. If it's any consolation, I'm sure that you'd have been the Champion if not for me," said Harry, smiling nervously. Cedric scowled, suddenly.
"Yeah, me too."
"What?" asked Harry, surprised.
"I'm a damn good wizard. Better than any sixth or seventh years I know about. It would have been me," Cedric said bitterly. "I was sure it was going to be me. And even if you do enter, you're a fourth year, no matter what age you might be. Surely you couldn't be chosen over me. But then I remember who you are."
"I'm sorry if you feel like I'm stealing your chance," Harry said uneasily.
"Don't be," said Cedric, suddenly smiling again. "You haven't beaten me yet. You're just the only one I was unsure about. It could still be me. Should still be me."
"We'll see," said Harry.
"But Harry?" Cedric asked, hesitantly. "If it is you - make sure you win."
"Whoever gets chosen, Hogwarts wins. I'll agree to that if you do. I won't have you get chosen and then lose after talking like that about how good you are," said Harry, smiling.
Cedric held out a hand. Harry clasped it firmly, sealing the promise. It felt like pulling a dead man out of his grave. And that was why Harry had to be the only Hogwarts Champion.
It was dead on eight when Harry knocked on Professor McGonagall's door. She opened it by magic, not getting up from her desk. Harry strode in and took the chair in front of her. Padfoot clambered onto his lap.
"At least we need not add tardiness to the reasons for your presence here, Mr Potter," she said distractedly, flicking through a sheaf of summer essays with an expression of loathing Harry had only ever seen on Snape before.
"I'm still not sure I earned a detention. If you needed help marking those essays, you only needed to ask," said Harry nonchalantly.
"Being out of class. Talking back to a teacher. And having the temerity to laugh at a joke you were not supposed to recognise. I lose all authority when students hear a joke instead of the telling-off they usually deserve."
"So in short, you're annoyed that I caught you out?" asked Harry mildly.
"Annoyed because it means I can no longer amuse myself in such a manner in your Transfiguration lessons any longer. Perhaps I shall relieve the frustration of pounding knowledge into that thick Potter skull of yours like Professor Snape does."
"Do you mean the poor hygiene or the habit of constantly belittling my parents?" asked Harry.
Professor McGonagall looked up, with an expression that was part annoyance and part triumph.
"And here we have you insulting two teachers. I had planned to send you on your way, but perhaps this detention is justified after all," she said.
"I only insulted Snape," said Harry, confused.
"No, Mr Potter. And I need not remind you that it is Professor Snape. You insulted me by suggesting that I might take up the habit of slandering Lily and James."
Padfoot's ears perked up, and he growled.
Professor McGonagall gave Padfoot a sharp look.
"I don't know what Albus was thinking, letting you bring a stray dog into the school, but I assure you, I do not make a habit of speaking ill of the dead. Especially those who were as dear to me as your parents were."
"Well he's not really a dog," said Harry, pushing Padfoot off his lap. "He's-"
"Sirius Black," said Sirius, shifting to stand on two legs, then dipping back down into a flourishing bow. "It's good to see you again, Minnie," he continued.
Harry saw the expression on Professor McGonagall's face turn from shock to rage, and immediately felt his heart turn to ice. What was this? She didn't know!
"Expelliarmus!" she snapped, and Sirius crashed into the ground, his wand landing more neatly in Professor McGonagall's free hand.
"What have you done to Harry, you traitorous beast?" she demanded. "Incarcerous!"Thin cords appeared from the air, binding Sirius' wrists together behind his back.
"I haven't done anything to him," protested Sirius, wide-eyed in horror. Harry was just chanting oh shit oh shit oh shit in his head, over and over.
"Silencio!" snarled Professor McGonagall, muting Sirius' pleas.
"Potter, you've been Confounded. Must have been. Unless it was the Imperius…." she trailed off, muttering to herself, a white-knuckled hand gripping her wand.
Harry cursed Dumbledore silently. Just how had that old bastard expected this to go down? Had he meant for Harry to introduce his Head of House to his new pet?
"Poppy will have to take a look at you to be sure. Albus can deal with Black. Black! Here!" she shouted. Harry had never seen her this angry. She got frustrated with students, and could have an icy severity, but this was red-hot anger. It was personal. Fuck. She really believed that Sirius had killed his parents.
"Professor, I think there's something I need to tell you," said Harry. She looked at him, her face a mask. "Sirius is innocent. It was Pettigrew who betrayed my parents, not him."
"Oh, Harry," she murmured. "That's the Confundus Charm on you. Try to break through it, if you can. It'll wear off in time, but you can help it along. You're a stubborn boy, I know that. Use it! Sirius killed Peter Pettigrew just after your parents died. Ignore whatever lies he ensorcelled into your head, and think!"
"I think perhaps you should let Sirius explain himself," suggested Harry, and raised his wand to Finite Sirius' magical gag.
"Expelliarmus!" cried McGonagall.
Harry felt the world slow down as his battlefield adrenaline kicked in. By the time McGonagall had finished speaking the incantation for the Disarming Charm, he had his wand raised directly into the path of her spell. He let flitters of Chronomancy loose, the most basic defense he had learned against spells by using time magic. The flitters warped time around the spell, causing it to lose cohesion, existing partway in the past, present, and future. He had come to rely on it more than shield charms, although it had its limits.
Flitters didn't block the spell like a shield would. They broke it apart. There was a flash of red light as the spell failed, and McGonagall stared at Harry with a grim expression.
"It must be the Imperius, then," she whispered to herself.
"I'm not enthralled by any spell," Harry snapped. "Be reasonable. Sit down, so we can explain the situation."
"No, Harry, you're Confunded. Whatever you believe right now, it's a lie Black planted into your mind with a spell," she insisted. Her wand was still pointing at him. His every instinct screamed at him to take it from her, but he pushed it aside. This wasn't a battlefield. He didn't want to hurt her by duelling her. She had to see reason.
"Professor Dumbledore will back up anything we say," offered Harry.
McGonagall shook her head sadly. "Albus will help explain what's happened to you. He'll be able to put this to rights. Stupefy."
Harry's wand was still in the air, so he only needed to call out the Chronomantic flitters and dissipate her spell again. He raised an eyebrow.
"Professor, you're the one who's been attacking us. I'm not Confunded. I'm rational, coherent, and obviously know something you don't. Please put the wand down." Please don't make me hurt you, he added afterwards, silently.
He could see it in her eyes. She wasn't backing down. Harry grimaced. He had to end this, fast. He cast a silent Stunning Spell, but the bright blue of a Protego blocked it. Harry sighed. Anything strong enough to get through her shield would be lethal. She wasn't listening to reason. Sometimes there was only one way to end a fight. Letting the other person win.
Harry cast another Stunning Spell, but tweaked this one with Chronomancy, freezing it in place at the tip of his wand. Outside time, until released.
"Expelliarmus," tried Professor McGonagall again. This time he didn't call the flitters. Couldn't, in fact, as his wand was already occupied by a spell.
His wand flew through the air as neatly as Sirius' hand, and landed in McGonagall's hand. The Chronomantic lock triggered, and Harry's frozen Stunning Spell dispersed into Professor McGonagall's hand. She collapsed, hitting her head on the side of the desk as she fell. Harry winced. That was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid.
He looked around the room. Sirius lay trussed in ropes in the corner, silenced and only able to writhe. McGonagall lay uncannily still on the floor, bleeding prodigiously from a head wound, three wands held across her two hands, even while stunned. Harry tried to tell himself that head wounds bled a lot, and that it looked like it was bleeding more than it was because the red contrasted against her grey hair, but he wasn't convincing himself.
What a mess. And he hadn't even got out of his chair. Harry pushed himself out of it, muttering profanities. At least McGonagall wasn't conscious to hear them and pass out again in shock. He went to her first, taking his wand and Sirius' back. He shot a Finite Incantatem at Sirius, and threw his godfather's wand after the spell, never taking his attention off his fallen Transfiguration teacher. Fuck, this was a disaster.
Harry wasn't a healer. And this one looked bad. He couldn't send Sirius to get Madam Pomfrey, but he couldn't leave Professor McGonagall alone, or, worse, with Sirius while he went to get her. He sighed, and fingered the mottled surface of his wand.
It had never worked before, but it was worth a try.
Harry loosed the flitters, but unlike the directionless clouds he used to block spells, he wove them with gestures of his wand, shaping them over Professor McGonagall. The easiest option would be to revert her body to an earlier form, effectively reversing time and healing her. But that would cause her to lose all memories of what had happened, would mean that this fight had served no purpose but to ruin his evening, so he pushed for something deeper. Something new.
He'd never been able to grasp the finer points of this technique before, but the theory was sound. Now that he had his new wand, an instrument precisely tuned to Chronomancy, he stood a chance. He separated her mind and body, holding her stunned consciousness outside time while he reverted her body to an earlier state. The blood matting her hair didn't disappear, but the thick gash through which it had been leaking sealed in an instant.
Harry sat back on his heels and let out a long sigh.
"Is she going to be okay?" asked Sirius, his face ashen.
"Yeah. But we're going to have a hell of a time explaining things," said Harry. He gathered McGonagall's mind with a shaped cloud of flitters, and re-attached it to her body. There was no visible change, but the magic felt right. It had worked.
Needless to say, there would have been a sign if it hadn't. An explosive one. Harry groaned, and rubbed his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. He was an idiot. If that hadn't worked, he'd have made things a thousand times worse. A knock to the head is nothing compared to having your brain explode. He hit himself in the face several times, frustrated by the whole situation. By everything that had happened, and by what had not happened.
"Sirius," Harry said hoarsely. "Every now and then, remind me not to test new applications of Chronomancy on people I like."
His godfather tensed like a dog about to run.
"Did something go wrong?" he asked, worried, angry, and scared, all at once.
"I already said she'll be okay. But - fuck. I shouldn't have tried to heal her that way. If it had gone wrong, she'd be dead."
"She's not dead," said Sirius, pulling her up into her chair. "She has a pulse. And she isn't bleeding anymore."
"I know that!" snapped Harry. "Sorry. Not your fault. But that was risky. I got cocky, but thank Merlin I got lucky as well, or it would have been awful."
They stood there, staring at the bloody patch on McGonagall's head, and both men mutely considered what had nearly happened. Sirius arrested to McGonagall dying - there were no good options in that brief fight.
"So what now?" asked Sirius.
"Stand back. Against the wall. Leave your wand on the desk," said Harry.
"My wand? What if she attacks us again?" Sirius questioned, even as he put his wand down. Harry let out a breath of relief at that simple gesture of trust. Sirius had done as he'd asked, even while questioning why. He'd trusted Harry had a reason. Trust was everything now.
"She's less likely to attack if you're not armed. Either of you," Harry added wryly, putting his teacher's wand beside Sirius'.
"Ennervate," he said.
Professor McGonagall's eyes snapped open, blazing with fury.
"My wand is on the desk," said Sirius quietly. "I'm not attacking you or Harry. Ever."
"Professor Dumbledore gave me the impression you knew that Sirius was innocent," said Harry. "He'll be able to verify that, as soon as you want to ask. Floo him now if you want to." Harry hoped she wouldn't take that option. He didn't want to involve Dumbledore in the mess he'd caused. This was his game from here on out. Dumbledore was going to be a piece on his chessboard this time around. "I'd rather you didn't, though."
"And why's that?" asked Professor McGonagall in icy tones, folding her arms. The simple gesture made Harry almost sigh in relief. She wasn't reaching for her wand. With her arms folded, it'd be even harder to get to it. Inadvertent or not, body language could speak volumes. She was listening.
"Before you insist that Sirius is guilty of betraying my parents, just consider that you were unconscious and knew about him. You're now awake, alive, and haven't had your memories tampered with. The criminal you've read fairy stories about in the Daily Prophet is not in this room. Is not real," urged Harry.
"I never wanted to believe that Black did those terrible things, but he admitted it. When they brought him in, he was saying it, over and over. Saying that he killed his best friends," whispered Professor McGonagall.
"I killed Lily and James by suggesting that Peter be our Secret Keeper. I was a decoy, but Peter was the traitor," said Sirius. "And I thought that I'd killed Peter that day in revenge, but he survived in hiding."
"This is too much," said Professor McGonagall. "I forced myself to accept that awful truth, but now - it just isn't there anymore?" She blinked, as if waking from a long sleep.
"So why wait so long to escape?" she asked.
Sirius gave her the long explanation of what had happened in Harry's third year. At the end, there were unshed tears in her eyes, but she was smiling.
"You boys, animagi? It makes a teacher proud," she said. "I helped you through the early stages, but I thought it was only you. And I never would have guessed that you succeeded. Or why you did it."
"We weren't going to let Remus suffer alone," said Sirius, simply. Professor McGonagall let out a muffled sob.
"I remember the little boy who came to me one evening in his first year and told me he was worried that he was going to turn evil because all his family were Dark Wizards. I never doubted your courage to be true to yourself until that night. Now I don't have to doubt anymore."
"I might have gone down that way if it wasn't for you, Minnie," Sirius said softly. "I remember my early years at Hogwarts too. The detentions that were really lessons. The way you pushed James towards me, that reckless fool who had no sense of who to befriend. A Black and a werewolf! The only way it could get worse would be if we had a Death Eater among us. And look what happened to Peter."
Harry remained silent, watching Sirius and McGonagall recant a history he'd never known about.
"You were the first person to look out for me," continued Sirius. "The closest thing to a real mother I ever had."
"Idiot boy," she mumbled.
Sirius pushed himself off the wall, and crossed the room. Harry hesitated, hoping that the sudden movement wouldn't startle McGonagall into regressing, into undoing whatever progress was being made here.
And then he stared as Sirius wrapped his Transfiguration teacher in an embrace.
"You're the one who showed me I didn't have to be a Black. That I could be Sirius."
Professor McGonagall was speechless.
"I don't think Dumbledore intended it to happen this way, but he suggested that I bring my new dog to this detention. Maybe he just wanted you to meet Padfoot, but we thought he'd told you about Sirius."
"Your new dog, Harry?" she said softly. Harry guessed that Mr Potter went out the window in situations like this.
"Dumbledore's already agreed he can stay with me in the dorm, since he has no other home, but my Head of House should probably know about it, too. He's a lovely dog. Goes woof," said Harry.
Sirius groaned at the trigger-word, but transformed regardless. Padfoot jumped up onto the desk and looked at Professor McGonagall intently.
"Of all my students, I was always proudest of you, Sirius. Now I'm prouder than ever. Nobody has ever become an Animagus under my tutelage, and you not only became one, you taught two other students. And all to help ease a friend's pain," she mused.
"Sirius Black is a man, Professor," said Harry gently. "My dog is called Padfoot."
"Of course, Mr Potter," she said, gathering some of her lost composure. "When I have a free period Padfoot is welcome to visit me. I dare say he'll enjoy some company that isn't teenagers, and even a dog could spot some of the more outrageous mistakes in the essays I have to mark, so perhaps he'll even help me with your homework, Mr Potter."
Harry smiled, and tugged at Padfoot's ear.
"Consider this rent. Gryffindor dorm dog and assistant Transfiguration Professor. It'll help you pass the time while I'm elsewhere." Padfoot barked in agreement.
"You mean in class?" asked Professor McGonagall, raising an eyebrow.
"Sometimes," said Harry.
Professor McGonagall shook her head.
"I don't even want to know. This is too much to take in already. Don't even think of telling me what you're up to until I've had a strong drink and a night's sleep."
"I've had worse detentions," Harry mused.
"Yes, I recall Voldemort attacking you in one," said Professor McGonagall dryly.
"I actually meant answering Lockhart's fanmail," said Harry offhandedly. "But I suppose Voldemort was a close second. Draco was annoying the whole time."
"Go to bed, Mr Potter. And take Mr Padfoot with you. Because of you two, my entire third year class is getting an Acceptable for their summer homework, and I'm setting fire to my employer's beard in the morning."
"Goodnight, Professor," said Harry.
"Goodnight Potter," she said firmly, finally reaching for her wand, and pushing him out of her office. Once Harry and Padfoot stood in the corridor, they heard her cast a locking charm, and then there was silence. Man and dog looked at each other.
"Bad detention, Harry?"
Harry spun around, only to see Katie a few feet away.
"It wasn't really a detention," he said.
"You look like somebody kicked your dog," she said sardonically. "Which I would never do!" she added hastily, giving Padfoot a quick look.
"Professor McGonagall is a cat person, but she's agreed to let Padfoot stay. It was a bit of a fight, though," he said.
"How does she feel about Acromantula?" asked Katie airily.
Harry gave in to his baser desires and hexed her. Langlock. Wordlessly, so she couldn't learn the spell and use it against him. Her tongue locked against the roof of her mouth. She tried to speak, but only muted moaning sounds came out.
Her muffled moans of complaint cheered him up as he walked in the much-needed direction of bed. Idly he wondered if that spell would wear off on its own or if Katie's dorm-mates would be getting a nice quiet night.
"If she ever kicks you, we're feeding her to one of those blasted Acromantula she's so enamoured with," Harry said to Padfoot. "Although she might like that. Do Hippogriffs eat people? Buckbeak mostly liked ferrets."
Padfoot barked, which Harry interpreted as him saying that he liked to eat ferrets too. He wouldn't be surprised.
