Finding Granger after classes on Monday was rather easy: she was in the library, hunched over a piece of parchment, working on what Harry assumed to be her homework. Her bushy hair was pulled into a ponytail and held together by a Ravenclaw tie, barring the few rebellious curls that framed her face. The wizard stood silently for a few moments, observing, before walking closer and sitting down on the chair across of her.
"Not now, Ron," Granger said, not looking up from her parchment and not even pausing with the writing she was doing.
"It's actually Harry," said Harry, startling the girl.
"Sorry," Granger said, staring at him with wide brown eyes before clearing her throat and smiling awkwardly. "Hello."
"If you're not, um, too busy," Harry started, returning her smile hesitantly. "I'd like to talk with you about something."
"Sure. I'm almost finished with my essay anyway. What can I help you with?"
"Would it be possible to talk somewhere else? It's a bit... um, private. Private matter."
Granger bit her lip and eyed him for a few quiet moments with a worried expression, before nodding and gathering her things. "I know a place. We can cast privacy charms if you want, even though it's unlikely that anyone will find us there anyway."
The place that Granger led him to was a small wooden hut near Hogwarts' infamous forest. The girl unlocked the door with a wave of her wand, and locked it as soon as Harry had followed her inside. She then cast multiple privacy charms - some were so complicated that Harry wouldn't dare to even attempt them - before sitting down and looking at him with a polite smile.
"Go on, then," she said, and Harry nodded, sitting down as well.
"First, I want us both to take a Vow of Secrecy," he said, pulling out his wand. "Because I'm about to talk about things that I really, really shouldn't speak of."
"Of course," Granger agreed easily and reached forward to touch the tip of his wand with her own. "We cannot directly or indirectly use any of the information revealed here for the purpose of attacking or harming each other. Those are my terms."
"I accept," Harry said, genuinely approving of her request. "We cannot reveal anything discussed here to anyone else, unless we both agree to it. Not by outright stating or vaguely implying. Not with written or spoken words. Those are my terms."
"I accept." Granger nodded, and a small blue spark passed through the wands. After that was done, the witch leaned back on her chair with a small smile, looking now far more at ease than she had been moments before. "All right, what is so dangerous that it needs all this?"
"You saw the first task," Harry started, and Granger grimaced, looking slightly nauseated by the mere mention of it.
"I did," she said. "Vile. Utterly barbaric."
"I agree," Harry said. "But not many do. Even people who could swear up and down that they would never torture or hurt another human being, were perfectly fine with what they saw."
"I know." Granger sounded tired and miserable. "Why are you telling me this?"
"I tried to speak with other people about what happened," Harry said, thinking of Tom. "I was told in no uncertain terms that criticizing how things are done is treason."
"That is ridiculous," Granger huffed angrily. "What kind of government cannot handle criticism?"
"The kind of government that depends on a combination of brainwashing its people and withholding important information in order to stay in power," Harry said, feeling both fearful and strangely empowered by saying those words aloud. "Think about it! The whole superiority structure is based on nothing but delusions of people who think that blood makes you superior. They justify their crimes by dehumanizing their victims, and the media helps them! When has the Daily Prophet ever questioned any of the Dark Lord's actions?"
"Never, because that would be suicide," Granger said. "People don't really know how heavily controlled the supposedly free media is. I'm surprised that you don't agree with that way of thinking, to be honest. It would be so much easier for you to just go along with everything."
"Easy, but not right," Harry said. "What kind of human would I be if I could look at all that is happening and find it acceptable?"
"A normal citizen, I suppose." Granger shrugged, looking angry again. "But, well, what to do about it? Change doesn't happen just by wishing. And I really cannot agree with the Rebels either, you know. I've investigated their ideologies - the ones that they have publicly declared, anyway - and their focus seems to be opposing the Dark Lord rather than actually fixing any of his... wrong decisions."
"Really? I hadn't... I didn't know that. I don't want to join the Rebels either. If possible, I would just like to... find out an alternative way to change things for the better."
"That is going to be incredibly difficult."
"Without a doubt," Harry agreed. "But not impossible. And I'm not saying that you and I together can change the world. I'm just saying that is has to start from somewhere."
"Why me, though?" Granger asked, crossing her arms. "No offense, Harry, but you barely know me."
"You're smart," Harry replied, "but there are many smart people out there. You're also a muggleborn. I think that you can see the importance of what I'm suggesting we do."
"You think that after what I saw, I'll consider helping you an act of self defense," Granger surmised, narrowing her eyes. "And technically, you haven't really suggested we do anything yet."
"Wouldn't it be?" Harry wanted to know. "Self defense, I mean. People are not becoming more tolerant, not really. They're getting more and more used to the horrible treatment muggles and many creatures get. Soon they'll be so desensitized that the people who will need the thrill they get from hurting muggles-"
"Will move on to the next best thing," Granger finished for him. "Muggle-born witches and wizards. And their families."
"Imagine this," Harry continued. "A young muggle-born wizard - maybe he just graduated from Hogwarts - is walking home one evening when an Auror who figures out that hey, that's a muggle-born, decides to hurt him. It won't help if the guy kneels down with both of his hands held up - with the way things are going, the Auror can kill him right then and there, and you'll have almost every pureblood in the country saying that the muggle-born attacked first."
"You're not telling me anything I don't know already," Granger sighed. "You also haven't told me yet what we're supposed to do about it."
"So you're in?" Harry asked. "You'll work on this with me?"
"Not like I have any choices, do I? I really doubt that I'll be able to work for the Ministry, no matter how good my grades are. And other places are even less likely to hire me in the future. Do you want another vow?"
"Next time. We'll need to think more carefully about the wording in case we want to recruit other people eventually."
"We will," Granger said. "So, what are you planning on doing?"
"Okay," Harry said, taking a deep breath. "Before I start with what we'll do now, there's something about me that you must know. It's... something I can do that others can't."
It was nearly two hours later that Harry and Granger - well, Hermione now - left the hut and headed back towards the school. Both had a lot to think about, and Harry felt better than he had in a while.
"That will be our regular meeting place," Gra- Hermione whispered, meaning the hut. "I'll figure out a way we can contact each other discreetly. Generally, however, the less people see us together the better."
"Agreed," Harry said. "It's almost dinner time, isn't it? How about you head there first and I'll follow in a few minutes." Receiving a smile and a nod in response, Harry watched his newest friend - ally? - hurry towards the school, leaving him alone. It wasn't particularly cold that day, but Harry found himself glad for remembering to wear his jacket regardless as he chose to take a walk before either going to the Great Hall for food or returning to the common room where his classmates probably were.
He... he would need to talk with Truls soon. He'd actually prefer to have his best friend's support over Granger's, but what if Truls's opinion of Harry changed after getting rid of the life debt? What if Truls started to think that Harry had enslaved him or something? How much of his loyalty had been really him, and how much of it had been the life debt's compulsion? There was so much that Harry didn't know, but needed to figure out sooner rather than later.
Most importantly, though, he'd need to make sure that dissolving the life debt wouldn't harm Truls in any way. He'd have to talk with Tom again and convince him that murder was not a viable solution to every single obstacle in life, no matter how well that logic had worked for the Dark Lord in the past.
Harry walked slowly, deep in his thoughts, until a loud voice from behind some pillars caught his attention. It was truly a luck chance that he caught Skeeter arguing with a wizard, waving her obnoxiously coloured quill at the man with a furious expression on her face. Harry crept closer, trying to make sense of the words while quickly coming up with a way to use this opportunity to his advantage.
"—have the freedom and duty to write what I see!"
"You're lying, that's what you're doing!" the wizard cried angrily at her. "Can't write a decent article without those tricks of yours, eh? Wonder how you got the job in the first place, Rita. Did you suck Rudolf's cock to get an in?"
"No," Skeeter shot back. "I leave those stunts for people who need them - namely you. I hope you brush your teeth before kissing your wife with that mouth, Benjamin."
"You—"
"Is there a problem here?" Harry said, stepping forward with his wand leveled at the wizard. He wasn't sure if the plan he had in mind would work, if Skeeter would actually fall for it, but he could at least give it a try. "Keep your hands where I can see them, please. Are you a reporter? I know Miss Skeeter is, but are you authorized to be on the grounds?"
"He's a reporter, but he doesn't have the permission to be here," Skeeter was quick to say, tucking her quill into her purse while hunching her shoulders, trying her best to look more vulnerable. "Perhaps he should leave before someone reports him."
"Indeed," Harry agreed, eyeing the man whose gaze lingered at the Durmstrang coat of arms. "I trust you'll find your way to where you're actually permitted to be?"
"She's got you hooked, hasn't she?" the man asked, shaking his head with mock pity. "I've already finished my business here. Good day."
"Good day, he says," Skeeter sneered as soon as the other reporter was out of sight. "A terrible man, isn't he?"
"Are you all right?" Harry asked, managing to sound at least somewhat concerned.
"Oh, I am," Skeeter replied, her voice sugary sweet. "I was lucky that you were nearby, though. You Durmstrang students have quite the reputation." A reputation that she had questioned quite liberally in her previous article, Harry remembered.
"I must admit that it was no coincidence that I came closer when I heard your voice," Harry told her. "I was looking for you."
"Oh, really?" Skeeter's eyes narrowed for a moment, but her smile remained sweet and unfaltering. "How come?"
Rather than speak immediately, Harry began walking slowly, pulling the woman along with him. "I liked your article," he finally said. "You're witty. Sharp. Intelligent."
"You flatter me," Skeeter tittered, though Harry knew better than to believe that she had bought his words at face value. "I'm just a simple reporter. Though I do take care of the Sunday Specials of the Daily Prophet, covering the tournament as it takes place."
"It's the truth," Harry lied with a shrug. "I read your article - and the articles of a few other reporters - and I honestly cannot trust anyone but you to report on what happens in the Tournament. Not that the others are bad, really... They just... well. They did their best, I'm sure." Skeeter's sweet smile melted into an openly smug one as she preened at Harry's compliments. She tucked a curl of her bleached blonde hair behind her ear and looked at him from over the rim of her glasses.
"I respect your job and fully acknowledge its importance. It does upset me, though, how short our interview was cut last time," Harry pressed on. "I felt as if you were being sabotaged. I mean, maybe. I wouldn't want to accuse anyone and I'm sure nobody would dare to-"
"Oh, Harry," Skeeter moaned, her hand coming to rest on Harry's arm. "Your words truly bring me comfort. None of the Headmasters enjoy my presence here, not truly. And the other champions are terribly rude towards me. To have your support means so much."
Harry wasn't sure how he managed to keep the smile on his face despite how close Skeeter was suddenly standing. "I just wanted to tell you that if there's anything you wish to ask me... I mean, I don't want you to think that I would ignore you or refuse to give you an interview."
"Even if I asked you for one right now?" Skeeter asked suddenly, her eyes gleaming. "You wouldn't mind?"
"Not at all," Harry replied, trying to not let on how happy his success was making him. This was certainly something he could skip dinner for. "In fact, I'd be honoured."
CHAMPION TO THE RESCUE!
Young Harry Potter, the charming Durmstrang Champion, stunned us all with his performance last week. This reporter clapped right along with everyone else as Mister Potter returned after completing his task, raising his hand high with a confident smile on his lips. Little did anyone know that the smile that brought happiness to the hearts of many, was hiding behind it a tragedy.
Harry Potter, the last living member of his family, lost his father in a terrible accident in the late days of summer...
"...lost the last of his family and is currently in the questionable care of his godfather," Truls read aloud, standing in front of Harry while clutching the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet. "Harry, what the fuck?"
"Language," Ingrid said, eyeing both Harry and Truls with concern. "Don't start fighting now."
Harry, who had been sitting on the couch by the fireplace while listening to his best friend read Skeeter's article with growing anger, shrugged.
"A fucking interview, Harry?" Truls's voice was rising, and he flung the paper into the fire. "Is this how I'm supposed to find the important news about you these days? Through the Daily Prophet?"
"Don't yell at me," Harry snapped, standing up. "I'm tired and I have that tutoring session in an hour. I'll go take a nap if you don't mind."
"Well I do mind," Truls said, following Harry into their dorm room. Anthony Lestrange was on his bed, but one look at the expression on Truls's face had him gathering his books and leaving to the common room. "I do mind, Harry! It's bad enough that you've been ignoring me for days-"
"I haven't," Harry interrupted, sitting down on his bed and kicking off his slippers. He hadn't expected this reaction from the other boy, though perhaps he should have. Somehow Truls's anger made Harry want to cry.
"Did I do something wrong?" Truls asked then, his voice suddenly softer as he moved closer. "Please, Harry. Did I hurt you?"
Harry clenched his eyes shut, knowing there was one way he could calm Truls down and stop the fight. He didn't like it, but he liked the fight even less. "I'm the one who's hurting you," Harry told him, his voice brittle. "You just don't know it."
Truls was silent for a few moments, before Harry heard him sigh heavily. The next he knew, Truls was on the bed as well, pulling Harry to lie down with him. Harry did so readily, allowing the other boy to wrap his arms around him, surrounding him with warmth and comfort.
"Explain," Truls said, rubbing Harry's back and enjoying the feel of him. "How do you think you're hurting me?"
"It's the life debt," Harry whispered, his nose pressed against Truls's throat and voice slightly muffled by the other boy's shirt. "Remember? The one that... You remember. You know. I've been feeling it more and more lately, and I know it must be sorted out and dissolved, but what if you won't like me anymore? What if you think you like me, but when the life debt is gone, you look at me and think 'Merlin, look at how much time I've wasted on this guy'. And then you'd leave and I wouldn't have you anymore, and-"
Harry hadn't actually meant to say that much. He most certainly hadn't expected to cry, but he did. He ended up sobbing so hard his whole body was shaking, and he could only imagine what Truls would think of him now.
"Stupid," Truls said, and rolled them on the bed so he could lie on top of Harry and wipe his tears. "Stupid, you're so stupid."
"Shut up, I'm serious."
"I know, and that makes this whole mess even more pathetic."
"You know I'll always like you," Harry sniffled, rubbing his eyes and starting to feel embarrassed for his brief crying fit. Could he blame the stress for it? "You don't have to worry about waking up one day to your best friend saying he doesn't want to see you again."
"Stupid," Truls repeated fondly, before he pushed Harry's hands away from his face and looked down at the other boy, making him squirm.
Harry liked the feeling of being pressed against the bed. He felt anchored, almost relaxed, and somehow more put together. Truls's smile was doing strange things to him, and he didn't know if this was normal or if he should push the other boy off and leave early to his appointment with Tom. Tears were forgotten and there was an odd feeling inside him: it curled around his heart and the pit of his stomach and somehow got into his lungs too, making everything strangely tingly. He was aware of every inch his body touched Truls's, and it made him restless in ways he didn't quite understand.
Amusement was long gone from Truls's expression when he bent down again, pushing his way to lie comfortably between Harry's legs. Harry closed his eyes when he felt Truls's dry lips against the corner of his mouth, and for that moment everything stood still. His heart was beating hard in his chest and he felt as if that light touch had knocked the wind right out of him.
Harry turned his head and sighed softly when Truls's mouth covered his own, coaxing it open with experience that Harry would readily envy if he wasn't reaping its benefits. Before he even realized that he had moved, one of his shaking hands was tugging at Truls's blonde curls while the other was gripping the back of his jacket. He felt hot and heavy and when he wrapped his legs around Truls, he couldn't help but moan loudly at what the friction was doing to him. To them both.
"Harry!"
Mette's voice startled the two boys, and by the time the witch had opened the door, she found a flustered Harry tugging his jacket on while Truls was looking for something under the bed. She eyed them silently for a few moments, a speculative expression on her face, before she sighed and shook her head. "I thought I'd remind you that you have that tutoring session of yours in less than five minutes."
"What?" Harry yelped, alarmed. "That can't be!"
"Who knows what you were up to," Mette said, her tone implying that she knew exactly what they had been doing. "But it seems to have made time pass by quickly for the two of you. So stop blushing and start running."
"Er, right," Harry stammered. "Um, thank you. I'll be out in a minute."
"Whatever," she said, closing the door again. Harry knew he couldn't afford to sit there any longer, but he couldn't move quite yet either. Truls coughed, finally returning from his hiding place and sitting on the floor by the bed. His pleased little smile made Harry even more flustered, and he knew he would be late by the time he finally changed his clothes and went to find Tom.
But, ah, kissing Truls was so different from kissing Björn. He decided to not tell Truls that, though.
"You're late." Tom had been already annoyed, and Harry's tardiness didn't help that at all. The Dark Lord scowled at the boy, before gesturing impatiently for him to sit down. "Do I want to know your reasons?"
Harry thought of what he had been doing, and blushed. "Probably not."
"Tell me anyway," Tom ordered, glowering at the boy who didn't seem to notice or pay attention to his bad mood at all. "Share some of that knowledge that's keeping you so chipper, why won't you. I'm sure I'll appreciate it."
"I don't think it's something that would make you happy," Harry resisted, before wondering if the older man would actually be of any use in this case. Surely Tom had some sort of experience with, well, people. "Then again, what do I know."
"Exactly," Tom said, transfiguring one of the uncomfortable chairs into something better. "What do you know? Tell me. With any luck I'll find it entertaining."
"Truls kissed me! He and I. We kissed. It was brilliant." Harry's happy smile reminded Tom of foul-smelling Christmas candles and choirs made up of hungry children and dirty snow surrounding a filthy orphanage. The rage that was suddenly alive in his bones was calm and sharp and strong, making the Dark Lord smile. "I was worried that he wouldn't like me if we dissolved the life debt, but he said he—"
"He won't like you once we dissolve the life debt," Tom interrupted, knowing exactly what kind of tone to use to convince the boy. Firm, sympathetic, sorry. Even a little bit amused, just to emphasize his next words. "How can you think he- Harry, the boy doesn't control his feelings at all right now. If he kissed you, isn't that simply the life debt making him respond to what you want?"
"But—"
"I hate to say this, Harry, but... it's not him. It's you." Now that he knew that this Truls boy who owed Harry a life debt and the boy who kissed him were the one and same, Tom could definitely use the information to his benefit with little effort.
Harry's green eyes were wide and unblinking as he stared at the Dark Lord for a few long moments. The man could see the horror rising inside the boy as the smile that had frozen on his face crumbled into nothing. He could see the moment Harry remembered that the life debt was still very much in place and that one kiss under its influence wasn't proof of anything. The boy didn't realize that there was no way for the life debt to do that, not really and not like that, and Tom wasn't about to tell him the truth. He liked misunderstandings when they worked in his favour.
Harry felt cold and numb and unsure, trying to come up with any counter argument to convince Tom that he was wrong.
He couldn't find the words.
"And once the life debt does get dissolved," Tom continued, sitting down in front of Harry and brushing the boy's hair gently away from covering his eyes. His touch was light and cold and so horribly tender. "Once that is done, do you think he will really have the heart to tell you that he doesn't return your affection, Harry? Or would he hold you and feel sorry for you? You wouldn't wish that for a friend, would you?"
Harry shook his head mutely, lacking both words to say and the desire to speak. Tom smiled with mock sympathy, marveling at how little did it need for insecurity to get out of hand in some people. One day he would find a subject close to the boy's heart and hurt him with it until he'd cry, but not today. Tom didn't enjoy Harry's tears if they were for the loss of something that had nothing to do with the older wizard.
"It is clear now that the longer the life debt stays, the more complications it will bring to you," the Dark Lord said. "If you want to win the Tournament, you really cannot afford being this emotional. Circe, why couldn't you postpone your feelings or something?"
"Can we dissolve it soon?" Harry asked, feeling hollow. How on earth could happiness be drained so quickly out of a person? He had been so happy after his meeting with Gra- Hermione and his talk with Skeeter. The moment he had shared with Truls had been even more amazing than the other two put together. And now, with a few words from Tom, the happiness had become nothing but a fading memory.
"I do not blame you for wanting to do it as soon as possible," the Dark Lord replied. "I did find a way, but you will simply have to trust me with its efficiency. Most spells are in a language you wouldn't understand."
"As long as Truls doesn't die," Harry said. "Then it's fine. I can handle whatever happens to me."
"I'll remind you of those words after the second task of the tournament," Tom said calmly. "It's in a few weeks, if I remember correctly. Right before your Christmas break."
"Really? Nobody told me."
"I believe that your godfather will be sharing that piece of information with you all next week. We can take care of the life debt during the holidays. You'll spend that time in my house, of course."
"You want to spend Christmas with me?" Harry asked, surprised. "Well, it's not like I have anyone else either."
Tom glowered at him. "We will be taking advantage of the free days to dissolve the life debt without having people notice any possible side effects. And do remind yourself that unlike you, I could spend my Christmas with anyone I wish."
"Just because people are afraid of saying no to you and kicking you out, doesn't mean you actually have them, you know."
"You are a horrible child."
"Yeah," Harry sighed, letting out a humourless laugh. "I can't even get my best friend to like me without somehow forcing him."
"We are not discussing that anymore," Tom snapped. "Stop talking about him. We moved on. You didn't get your heart broken."
Harry thought for a second, trying to figure out the mess of everything that he was feeling. "I don't know..."
"Potter, you are fine."
"I feel awful."
"Merlin, boy, if you feel like this after one kiss at the age of fourteen, you'll be a wreck by the time you graduate. You will simply tell that boy of yours that your morals –hah! –cannot allow you to take advantage of him," Tom snapped. "Now, enough of this nonsense. I have a shield charm for you to learn."
Harry nodded slowly. Yes, he could tell Truls that they shouldn't do anything until the life debt was dealt with…and maybe after that— Maybe things would turn for the best after all.
He was surrounded by silence.
The temporary office he had set up at Hogwarts was nowhere near as comfortable as the one he had at home. This one had a few of his books and none of the fun nooks and crannies where he could hide anything from bags of candy to artifacts that no one had any business knowing about. Here, at Hogwarts, all Sirius had was a leathery chair, a big desk, and a generously sized fireplace.
Well, it wasn't bad. There were soft carpets and thick curtains and a few paintings of lovely ladies who preened whenever Sirius would look at them. Now, though, the light coming from the crackling fire wasn't quite enough to chase most of the shadows away, leaving those paintings in darkness.
Sirius sighed, reaching for the bottle of Ogden's before leaning back again. There was so much that needed sorting out, but he didn't know how. Trying to deal with Harry was like steering a broom in absolute darkness - he had no idea where to go or even if he was moving forward or backward. Every time Sirius thought of Harry, he thought of the things his godson had said and of the look of utter loathing he had received. What on earth had he done to deserve any of that resentment? Where had it even come from?
Did the Dark Lord know something?
Sirius hadn't wanted to think about it - in fact, he had carefully avoided thinking about it so far - but there was no denying that something was going on between Harry and the Dark Lord. The mere thought of that worried Sirius more than anything. It wasn't simply the matter of Lord Voldemort knowing immediately how to get to Harry when James had died, but the Dark Lord had also been the one to nominate Harry as one of the Champion Candidates of Durmstrang. Sirius wasn't blind or stupid, and even if some would call him paranoid... he knew that something was going on. Nothing the Dark Lord did was a simple coincidence.
So what did it mean?
Objectively, Harry should have been well below the Dark Lord's radar. Even for a Durmstrang student, he was far too... noticeable. For a child who had been nearly invisible years ago, that was quite the change. Perhaps Sirius was approaching this wrong, maybe it wasn't the Dark Lord who had sought Harry out first. Maybe it was the other way around. That would mean, though, that not only had Harry managed to catch the man's attention, but also keep it.
How?
How much of Harry did he really know?
With a deep sigh, Sirius set the bottle down and eyed the copy of the Daily Prophet's Sunday Special from a week ago - the one where Skeeter had interviewed Harry and revealed James's death. Sirius knew Rita, and he knew how vicious and unkind she was, how masterfully she toed the line between speculation and libel. And yet every word in that article praised Harry as if Skeeter had never met a finer wizard in her life. What had Harry done to buy her like that?
Had Lily and James been alive, would Harry be the same child Sirius remembered from the happy times before Durmstrang? Would he be the quiet, pleasant child whose head and heart had been full of stories and fairytales? Or would he still be the angry young man who turned out to be so different from how Sirius had always imagined him as?
"Well, isn't this a wake-up call," the Death Eater said aloud, the sound of his voice startling in the still silence of the office. He didn't want to lose Harry, especially if the kid was on the verge of making powerful enemies. No matter how many oaths Sirius had taken for the Dark Lord, Harry would always come first. If that meant getting to know Harry from the beginning, then so be it. Starting from zero. Sirius knew, theoretically, how to do this. How to make amends and apologize - or was it the other way around? Apologize and make amends?
No matter. Not the point.
He yawned, pushing himself off the chair and heading towards a small staircase at the back of his office. The living quarters of whoever had occupied the office before him had been very humble indeed. Or perhaps this was Yaxley's way of proving some sort of point that no one but the damn bastard cared about anyway.
"Idiot," Sirius muttered. Then again, Yaxley wasn't the only idiot, was he? Sirius had managed to make a mess of his relationship with Harry, and he hoped that the boy would find it in himself to forgive him. He needed some good advice on how to work on their relationship, but the only one Sirius suspected he could get decent advice from was a werewolf in the basement of his home. What a joke!
'All right, but what would Lupin say,' Sirius thought while brushing his teeth. 'No matter what I tell him, he always picks Harry's side and thinks I'm wrong. So whatever I say, he'll probably start with: Black, you're wrong. Again.'
He couldn't actually go to Grimmauld Place to ask Lupin for any advice at the moment - not with the second task on the horizon. Sirius was far too busy with his job to get anything else done, no matter what it was. However, perhaps on Christmas he could actually do something? Yes, he could take Harry to Paris for a lovely dinner and they could talk and maybe Harry would forgive him and explain why he was so angry all the time.
Until then, Sirius was free to focus on his work without feeling guilty, wasn't he?
The Great Hall was crowded once again, the students whispering amongst themselves excitedly. Harry sat between a hilariously unhappy Lestrange and some Hufflepuff who kept glancing at him every ten seconds with a strangely hopeful expression. Truls sat across from him, having accepted Harry's reasons for limiting contact for the unforeseeable future despite being clearly confused by it. Mette was eyeing her own cleavage with a smug expression, before she looked at Harry and said:
"I bought a new bra. It's fantastic, isn't it?"
"Um," Harry said, looking at her chest with a worried expression. He didn't notice a difference, but then again he wasn't particularly familiar with them anyway. "I'll take your word for it."
"Students, please." Headmaster Yaxley's voice cut through the chatter, silencing the students in an instant. The man, dressed in yet another fashionable outfit, eyed the students with a condescending smile on his lips. "Soon Lord Black will tell you about the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. And while I am certain that all of us are curious and eager to hear what he has to say, I must tell you first about a matter that concerns every student from fourth year and above."
Harry kept his eyes on Sirius, trying to look for signs of stress or lack of sleep. Anything to show him that the man was affected by the distance between them. He didn't find a thing, however - Sirius was as well put together as he always tended to be. His hair was neatly done, his robes were stylish, clean and wrinkle-free, and the smile on his face didn't seem to need any kind of effort from his part.
"The Yule Ball is approaching - a traditional and much loved part of the Triwizard Tournament. It gives us all an opportunity to socialize with our friends from distant lands and enjoy some time together. The ball will start at eight o'clock two days before Christmas, finishing at midnight here, in the Great Hall."
Harry didn't even ask himself if he had any right to feel angry at his godfather. He simply was.
"The Champions and their partners will be expected to open the ball with the first dance."
"Oh, Merlin, no," Harry whispered, Yaxley's words pulling him out of his anger-filled thoughts. Truls snorted, clearly amused. Even Lestrange looked suddenly pleased.
"Do you know how to dance, Potter?" the older boy asked, ready to make fun of him in a heartbeat. The bastard.
"Of course I do," Harry hissed in response. "I just don't like it."
"Now," Headmaster Yaxley said, glancing at Sirius. "It is time for Lord Black here to tell you more about the task that we all are looking forward to!" Taking this as a good reason for applause, the students around Harry started clapping while his godfather smiled charmingly at his audience.
"We all have been waiting for this, haven't we?" Sirius started. "The Second Task is near! And I promise you all - it will be even more entertaining and exciting than the first!"
'Just what I wanted to hear,' Harry thought miserably. 'Merlin knows what that is supposed to mean.'
"On Monday the nineteenth of December, the second task will begin at nine o'clock. We will all gather at the Quidditch pitch and each champion will once again be sent out on a mission," Sirius said. "This task will be the champions' opportunity to show us all the spells they've learned and the abilities they can utilize in order to succeed."
'Is he just recycling the first idea?' Harry wondered, before he dismissed the thought. No, even if what Sirius was saying now sounded familiar enough to give an impression of the first task, it most definitely wouldn't be. 'Perhaps Sirius was being misleading on purpose? Being sent out on a mission can mean pretty much anything. The only thing we can tell for sure is that the task won't be happening at Hogwarts.'
"As you are already familiar with the judges, I will not reintroduce them today," Sirius continued. "Instead, enjoy your meals and look forward to both the Tournament and the Yule Ball! Thank you!"
"Harry," Mette said. "You have to ask me to the Yule Ball. I want to be the first one dancing. I want all the eyes on me."
"Delacour will be dancing as well," Lestrange pointed out. "Also, you're taller than Potter. You'll look like his big sister taking him out on a stroll. Which, admittedly, would be a pretty funny sight to see. Go ahead, Potter. Ask her to be your partner for the Yule Ball."
"Never mind," Mette said coldly, glaring at Lestrange. "I'll have someone else escort me. Someone who is not English, since Anthony here just reminded me of how irritating British boys can be. No offense, Harry."
"Um, none taken," said Harry, who wasn't really sure of what had just happened. "I don't know who to ask, but we have plenty of time until I actually need to have someone, right?"
"Wrong," Maria Rurik said. "Ask one of the locals, though. Or someone from Beauxbatons. We already spend enough time with you."
"Circe, you know how to make someone feel special, don't you?"
"What do you think the next task is like," Krum suddenly asked, and flushed red when Harry turned to look at him. He continued, speaking slowly and pronouncing his words carefully. "I mean... do you have any... guesses?"
"I have no idea," Harry admitted. "A mission somewhere could mean anything. I just hope it won't be looking for something inside another locked room."
"Maybe this time the item will be easy to find but hard to get," Lestrange said. "He did say that you'll be showing off the spells you know. The best way to do that is by dueling somebody, isn't it?"
"Oh, that sounds like so much fun!" Maria exclaimed, reaching for one of the spinach pies. "Dueling! I love that!"
"Yeah," Harry sighed, resisting the urge to reach for Truls. "Fun."
Merlin help him, he was already afraid.