Nearly fourteen hours later, Harry was practically asleep as he walked the streets of London. All of the people that passed him were characters in his dreamscape; all of the storefronts were sceneries of the subconscious. And the young man that stared back at him with blurry eyes and a five o'clock shadow when he glanced at a shop window was someone alien to his own home. Of course, the true indicator that Harry was indeed awake and semi-lucid was the dull throbbing in the back of his throat, a sore reminder that he should never sleep with his mouth open. At least the woman next to him on the flight hadn't chastised him for snoring.
Harry pulled the collar of his coat closer to his neck and hurried on, finding an unexpected comfort in the fact that nothing had changed since he left England. Sundays still smelled the same. The cold here was a bit wetter than it had been at school, and people's voices were easier to pick out of a crowd, but most of the landmark shops were still in business, and if they had fallen to the economy, eerily similar replacements had sprouted up across streets and around corners. And of course, the Leaky Cauldron remained the same, hidden like a wallflower, all that potential unnoticed by so many.
Harry flattened his bangs against his forehead several times before entering the smoky pub, trying to squeeze by a rather plump witch that had obviously had one too many pints. "Sorry there, love," she crooned, clasping her arms around Harry's waist in drunken euphoria and an attempt to keep from toppling over, at least alone.
"Come now, Mattie, leave the gentleman alone," chastised Tom, the walnut-faced proprietor that Harry had met a lifetime ago.
Harry simply smiled at the woman and continued on, determined to get on his way to Hogwarts as soon as possible. This meant that he had to get funds from Gringotts, have the robes that he had bought when still a child altered, and buy some new books. Adding the fact that he had no idea how to get to the school, Harry could feel the makings of a migraine building itself a home right behind his left eye.
The teller at Gringotts could have been the same goblin that led Harry to his vault on his last visit to Diagon Alley, just before he had gone to the States. Then again, most of the goblins were short and ugly, with funny-shaped ears and teeth that could leave a sizable mark on you, so it might have been the King of Goblins for all Harry knew. Well, he knew there was no King…Harry lost that mind-numbing thread of thoughts as he and his goblin guide hurtled down the track, Harry's knees pulled uncomfortably against his chest. He might have been pleased at the proof of a growth spurt had his stomach not been threatening to spill out. Fate was kind to him and before Harry could revisit that God-awful airline version of pizza the cart came to an abrupt halt at his vault.
The pile of galleons, sickles and knuts was not as high as in days gone by, but was impressive none the less. Stuffing a sizeable handful into his knapsack, Harry took an envelope full of American bills out of his bag. He'd read in one of his books that the rate of exchange at the Goblin market was a scandal and he'd just as soon not have to bother with it, just in case he could find his way back to Massachusetts in the near future. Harry's next stop was at Madam Malkins, where he also picked up some decent hunter green dress robes and a cloak, and then it was on to Flourish and Blotts. By the time he left, his back was curved from the weight of Numerology and Gramatica, Important Modern Magical Discoveries, An Anthology of 18th Century Charms, A Study of the Recent Developments in Wizardry Volume Two, Moste Potente Potions: The Revised and LEGAL edition, and the March volume of "Transfiguration Today". If Harry was really going to attend this Auror training that Minerva had spoke of, he intended to be able to hold his own. Or at least not to be a complete embarrassment in front of the other students.
The shops on Diagon Alley were all closing by the time Harry found himself a secluded table in the Cauldron.
"Will you be wanting a room for the night?"
Harry nearly choked on his drink, a strange, warm thing called Butterbeer, when Tom's voice addressed him at his side.
"Maybe that would be a good idea," Harry thought aloud. He had left most of his things in a locker at King's Cross, his only idea as to how to get to Hogwarts being a faded ticket that he had kept all these years. Tom nodded and made to leave, but Harry called him back, running out of options.
"Do you have any idea how I can get to Hogwarts?" he asked, not exactly sure why he was whispering.
"We have a Floo connection that'll take you to Hogsmeade, but there's the Express if you prefer. It used to run only a few times a year, for the students, but these days, what with Hogsmeade being home to most of the Resistance and with the stricter policies on Apparation licenses, the train goes there regularly. I can find out when the earliest departure is, if you'd like."
Harry agreed and thanked Tom for his help. A few minutes after he was settled in his room, Tom knocked to inform him that the Hogwarts Express was scheduled to leave Platform 9 ¾ at eleven the next morning and that the price of the ticket was already added to his bill. Content from a clear plan of action, Harry fell asleep the moment he hit the bed.
King's Cross Station was infested with commuters by the time Harry arrived the following morning. Announcements were being made in something that resembled the Queen's English, people were pushing each other with all of their British politeness intact, and Harry was staring at the wall separating platforms 9 and 10, wondering if Tom's explanation was just a gag. Harry was nearly ready to turn around and run back to Bulfinch when he caught a glimpse of a familiar face, and a very familiar suit. The man from Ohm was bullying his way towards Harry, not bothering to stop to apologize or pick up the papers that he had knocked to the ground from a woman's grip. Harry didn't give it a second thought; he closed his eyes, grabbed his bags and ran headfirst into the wall. Except it wasn't a wall. It was a new station, and there was a scarlet steam train bearing the Hogwarts insignia.
Harry climbed aboard and settled in one of the many empty compartments, sliding down in his seat and peering out the window towards the entrance he had just run through. The man had not followed him.
Harry was left alone the entire journey, save an interruption from a witch bearing goodies that Harry bought up greedily. During the several hours that the train cut through the British countryside, Harry did his best to absorb as much of the books' information as he could, concentrating on Transfiguration and Potions. Ever since he began his self-education in the world of magic, Harry had immersed himself in these two subjects and they were easily his best. Well, Transfiguration was his best. He had once transfigured all of the stairs in the University's health clinic into elevators, but he switched it back after a day to avoid detection from any magical authorities that may or may not have been keeping an eye on him. As for Potions, Harry knew most ingredients and instructions by heart and he could talk for hours on theory, but his living situation had prevented him from being able to buy ingredients to make these potions. Still, he did know how to cook, and figured that it had to count for something. He was looking forward to meeting the school's Potions Master. Severus Snape. He was a bit of a mystery actually. When Minerva had gone through the phase of treating her letters to Harry as a school diary, she had gone on pages and pages about the entire staff. She loathed some bat named Trelawney. Professor Sinistra was a very nice woman prone to wild romances. Hagrid had been a very loyal man but the new Care of Magical Creatures professor, Grubbly-Plank, was much more effective in her class time. Flitwick, Sprout, Vector, Lupin, they were all spoken of with great detail, and all she said about Severus Snape was that he was "a little surly, a little sour, but the best Potions Master this side of the world and he's Headmaster Dumbledore's trusted ally". Harry had to admit that it wasn't a stunning review of the man's disposition, but he was still anxious to speak to someone that knew so much about potions.
It was nearly pitch black by the time the train ground to a halt in a town the conductor called Hogsmeade. Harry shrunk his bags, something that had been explained in Transfiguration Today, and stuffed them in the pocket of his new winter cloak. Moving to the side of the train stop, Harry watched as people bustled about, all knowing where they were going. Seeing that most were heading to a welcoming light in the middle of the town, Harry followed their lead, finding himself in a warm tavern called the Three Broomsticks. Seeing that all of the tables and booths were filled, Harry squeezed into a space at the end of a long mahogany bar and he turned about to take in all of the faces that he could see. Considering that there was a war going on, they all seemed very happy, joking loudly and drowning themselves with spirits and smiles. Harry wondered if good news had come, a battle won or a Quidditch victory. As much as he hoped for the former, Harry was happy to entertain the possibility that people here still had an ordinary happiness, that war was not the only thing they knew.
"What can I get for you?" asked the woman behind the bar, who looked both happy and completely flustered by all of the business her place was seeing.
"Just a Butterbeer, thanks," Harry answered, remembering the soothing warmth that came from a sip of that stuff. "Is there a special occasion I don't know about?" he continued, nodding his head towards a table where a stout man with horns was doing a two-step.
"Word has come that You-Know-Who's storage supply of the Elixir of Life has been destroyed. Burnt to the ground, as a matter of fact. The WWN just announced," Madam Rosmerta answered, sliding Harry a tankard of butterbeer.
Harry had been informed about the Sorcerer's Stone and its elixir, but the details of its recovery had been kept secret from him, a security measure that Harry couldn't fault Minerva for. After all, they had never actually spoken, and Dumbledore's side had no idea where Harry's allegiances lay, or even if he received all of the letters. This reminded Harry of his new problem.
"Which way is it to Hogwarts? I'm expected there soon but I thought I'd turn up early, given the situation," Harry elaborated, knowing that Rosmerta had no clue what the situation was but figuring that she'd never ask.
"It's just up the way, though I'm not sure how you can get there from here, come to think of it. I've only ever been by boat or carriage, and I doubt you can find one at this time of year," she answered, glad to take a short break from serving the other customers. "But there's one of the professors now! Professor Lupin!" she shouted, waving at a man that had just entered the pub. When the other patrons heard his name, they swarmed the man, patting him on the back and asking "Isn't this wonderful news?" and other variations of the same question. Once things had settled down into tamed pandemonium, Lupin headed over to where Harry sat.
"Goodness Remus, you certainly look pale," frowned Rosmerta, pouring the professor a glass of wine. "Are you feeling ill?"
"No, tonight was just a close call," Lupin answered, smiling wearily. Up close, Harry could see that the man was just in his forties. The graying hair had made him seem older but when he smiled he had a young man's face.
"You were involved?" Rosmerta whispered, knowing that the professor would not enjoy his heroism being publicized.
"Yes, along with a few others. Death Eaters showed up just as we were leaving, but luckily no one was hurt too badly. Bill Weasley lost his hand to a curse but he had sense enough to pick it back up before we apparated, so Madam Pomfrey was able to reattach it."
Rosmerta nodded solemnly for a few seconds before Harry shifted his glass on the bar, drawing her attention. "Remus, this young man here was asking how to get to Hogwarts and I realized I didn't know if it wasn't by the student's way."
Lupin turned to look at Harry and if he had been pale before, Harry was sure that Lupin lost all color now. "James," the man gasped, barely audible above the din of the pub. Harry wasn't sure why he wasn't more uncomfortable as the man stared at him, his eyes moving up his face, his head shaking when he met Harry's eyes, understanding lighting his face when he caught a glimpse of the scar.
"Harry Potter?" Lupin whispered, as if he too knew that Harry would loathe the attention of this crowd. Harry simply nodded and looked at Rosmerta, sending her across the room to tend to some empty drinks.
"God, I nearly thought you were your father, until I saw the eyes. You have your mother's eyes," Lupin said softly, sitting down on the stool beside Harry's.
"Do I?" Harry asked, his head feeling light from all of the smoke and noise, and from thinking about his parents. It had always been hard for him to read the letters where Minerva talked about James and Lily Potter. It was hard for him because he saw them as those names, abstract and lonely, not Dad and Mum. But here stood one of their best friends. Minerva had told him about the four young rebel rousers. She had to, in order to explain Sirius Black's situation. In a million years, Harry had never imagined meeting any of these people, even though he knew, when he got on that plane, that he was bound to.
"I can't believe you are here," Lupin continued. "Dumbledore always said that someone was keeping you informed. He even mentioned the invitation to come train here, but I never…not a word in all this time. I suppose most of us assumed that you would never return. I wonder why no one told me you were coming."
"No one knew," answered Harry, fishing out a galleon to pay for the drinks.
"Don't, I can get that, and what do you mean? Dumbledore doesn't know you're here?" Lupin asked, trying in vain to get Harry to put his money away.
"I hadn't known I was coming until a few days ago," Harry answered, leaving his money on the table and motioning for Lupin to follow him outside. He was very uncomfortable speaking where so many ears could be listening in, especially after having seen the Death Eater at the station in London. "Something happened the other night at school and I've left early," Harry explained, hoping that his gut instinct to trust this man with his life was not completely off base.
"What happened? Are you alright?" Lupin asked, lightly touching Harry's elbow and pulling him towards Hogwarts at a pace that forced Harry to run in order to keep up.
"For now, I'll just say that I had a visitor who seemed very interested in me," Harry answered, too winded and worried to tell Lupin the entire story. "Oh my God!"
"What?" Lupin snapped, his eyes darting to the trees that surrounded the path. Then he noticed the awestruck look in Harry's eyes, and smiled as he too turned his attention to the sight of Hogwarts on the horizon. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Harry," Lupin smiled, gently nudging him forward and then walking on, giving a running commentary on the school, its grounds and its inhabitants.
"Mind the steps, some of them are tricky," he warned, jumping over the eighth step on their way towards Dumbledore's office. "The staircases move as well, and the paintings and the ghosts…it's a very lively place. Though it may be dull as tombs here when compared to your university."
"Minerva told me about…" Harry began, before being caught off by Lupin's quiet laughter. "What?" he asked, following Lupin's lead in jumping over yet another step.
"It's just not many people call Professor McGonagall 'Minerva'. You'd have to meet her to understand," Lupin answered, stopping in front of a rather large stone gargoyle.
"She did seem a bit stuffy in her letters," Harry admitted, and he couldn't help but feel that his dreams of Minerva as a beautiful young sprite had just been dashed to pieces. Still, the sight of the gargoyle jumping to attention and moving to reveal a hidden door was enough to compensate for the disappointment.
"Just don't let her hear you say that," Lupin answered with a conspiring wink, before knocking on the door at the top of a spiraling staircase that reminded Harry of his past bout of vertigo, before a bungee jump off the roof of the stadium had quelled his fears.
"Come in," called a voice as ancient as some of the Classics professors at Bulfinch. Lupin opened the door into a large, circular room, with walls a warm yellow and lined with bookshelves and portraits and what Harry recognized as a phoenix.
"Ah, Remus, the hero of the hour," greeted Professor Dumbledore, who looked much more tired and gray than Harry had remembered from the visit at Stonewall. "I trust that the people of Hogsmeade were celebrating the news in a more than efficient manner?" he chuckled, drawing himself into a high-backed chair before setting his eyes on Harry and coming to a complete stop. Harry stepped further into the light, embarrassed that he had been half hiding behind Lupin's back. "You're looking well, Harry," Dumbledore whispered, his eyes sparkling so much that the reflected firelight nearly made Harry squint, or look away.
"Hello, Professor Dumbledore," Harry answered, having absolutely no idea what to say and nearly hanging his head in contrition when he thought of what Manic would think about a tongue-tied "Flash" Potter.
"Please, take a seat. Remus, would you be so kind as to fetch Professor McGonagall for me?"
Lupin gave Harry an encouraging smile before backing out of the room, and Harry sat down opposite Dumbledore, feeling the old mage's eyes burning into him the entire time.
"I must admit that this is a little unexpected. And disappointing, to tell you the truth," Dumbledore began. "Of course, I'm not disappointed in your arrival. Indeed, I am relieved that you have finally rejoined the magical world. It's only that I had a little more faith in the abilities of the people I had watching you," Dumbledore explained, noting the nervousness in Harry's face.
"You've had people spying on me?" Harry asked, unable to stop himself. If he had thought about it, it would have been obvious. Minerva had stressed his history enough for him to know that he was of some importance in the wizarding world. It would be naïve to think that his decision to walk away from it meant they had to walk away from him.
"Yes, your entire life it seems. Though I haven't spoken to the American team in a few months. It's not too unusual, considering the lack of activity, but I am concerned now," Dumbledore admitted.
"I think you have reason to be," Harry answered, before explaining the night at Ohm, the dark mark and the Death Eater, the murder and, "they know about my powers."
"They've known for a while now that you've been practicing magic," Dumbledore entered. "The Ministry does have record of some instances, and the Ministry members aren't as morally sound as we can hope. I've managed to keep them from confiscating your wand, for protection purposes, but I must say that you gave Obliviators quite a run with all of your University adventures," Dumbledore smiled. Harry laughed right out, remembering the things he'd done, before the thing that was bothering him came out.
"Does the Ministry keep track of all of my uses of magic?"
"No, once you came of age they restricted monitoring to incidences involving Muggles. Why do you ask?"
"I'm afraid that Voldemort will know an extra something now. The Death Eater seemed very impressed that I could do wandless magic." Here, Dumbledore nearly shot up from his chair.
"Where did you learn it?" he demanded, not entirely harshly, but the tone made Harry feel as if he was being accused of something. Was that a Dark Art? Harry had never actually read about it before and he had imagined at the time that it was a common occurrence, or a highly valued skill when his ego was feeling particularly healthy.
"I taught myself, just like I taught myself other things that the Ministry probably doesn't know about," he answered. He could see Dumbledore debating on which issue to address first. The former won.
"Can you tell me how you taught yourself?" he asked, sitting down again, his eyes still trained on Harry's, except when they darted towards something the looked like a cloudy mirror that hung above the door.
"I can't remember where I got the idea, or which book I was reading at the time. I was just thinking about when I was younger, before I even heard of Hogwarts. I was remembering all of the strange things that happened, all of the bursts of magic that I exhibited. Then I started thumbing through my books, trying to find an explanation about why the magic manifested itself at that age, something that I have yet found explained, when I started thinking about how it was possible for these things to happen when kids don't even have wands. So I started reading up on magic theory and ancient history, and it seemed to make sense that wandless magic was possible, and probably controllable on some level. And once I got that thought into my head, it came rather easily to me. Levitation, transfiguration, mostly simple things that I felt wouldn't draw too much attention."
"Well, Harry, this is a piece of information that Voldemort will be very interested in, precisely because it is not a case of mind over matter. Most wizards could embrace all that theory with all their heart and still be unable to perform the simplest of spells without a wand. But then, that is a matter of heart, isn't it? The mind is a completely different thing. Very well, now what are these other things that you feel the Ministry is ignorant of?"
Harry was about to answer when Minerva McGonagall entered the room, utterly destroying Harry's innocent fantasy. In fact, she looked remarkably similar to Professor Bhoerer, and while Harry held the woman in high regard, he'd worry over his desperation if he'd ever resort to dreaming of her while he did…private things.
"Ah, Professor McGonagall," greeted Dumbledore. "It seems your correspondence has come through. May I present Mr. Harry Potter?" Harry was sure she saw the older woman's cheeks color, though from anger, embarrassment, or something else he wasn't sure of. Yet.
"I…we…had no idea," she began, before pulling herself together, straightening her posture, adjusting her glasses and beginning again. "Well, this is a surprise. I had hoped sometimes that you hadn't received some of my…more personal letters. I apologize for that."
"There's no need," Harry answered quickly. The truth was that, no matter how often he had wished that Minerva and the rest of them would simply forget about him and move on, Harry had often enjoyed the personable gossip, especially when it came from someone who clearly did not approve of such a thing.
"Harry and I were just having an interesting discussion," Dumbledore entered, seeing that Remus Lupin had followed McGonagall back into his office. "It seems that a Death Eater has tried to recruit him. I think it's reasonable to assume that John Harper and his crew have either been killed and abducted," he concluded gravely.
"Are you alright, Harry?" Lupin asked again.
"I'm fine, but unfortunately I was not the only one present at the time." Harry went on to repeat the story he had given the headmaster, again downplaying his relationship with Lana. He liked these people, but he wasn't about to explain to them his string of one-night stands. He was just about to go into the bit about wandless magic when Dumbledore put a hand up to stop him.
"That will be enough for tonight, Harry. I'm sure that you are weary from the journey. Remus, will you please show Harry to new graduate wing? I'll speak with you tomorrow concerning tonight's events."
Lupin and Harry left the other two behind and began walking towards the northwestern section of the castle, Lupin again acting as tour guide, in between his interrogation of Harry.
"What were you going to say up there, before Dumbledore cut you off?"
The question startled Harry, coming right after an engaging discussion about Dementors, which Harry knew an embarrassing little about.
"Don't you think he'll mind me telling you?" Harry asked.
"Maybe he would. I don't know why he's keeping it secret, but I'm sure he has his reasons. Nevermind. Those are the staff quarters down there and…oh no," Lupin sighed, running his hand through his hair and gesturing towards a hallway occupied by what looked like an animated shadow, all black and billowing, gliding noiselessly in their direction.
"Good evening, Severus," Lupin greeted amiably, leaving Harry to wonder at the professor's less than enthusiastic discovery.
"Lupin," the man greeted tersely. "I'd have thought you'd be down in the village, boasting your triumph and getting intoxicated in a thoroughly unbecoming manner."
"It was hardly my triumph alone, Severus. Besides, this young aspiring auror came to my attention and I returned early," Lupin answered, still speaking as if he were addressing an old and dear friend. At that moment, the darker man turned his obsidian eyes towards Harry, who was again half hidden behind Lupin, though unintentionally this time. He rectified the situation and returned the man's scrutinizing gaze. So this was the great Potions Master. Harry was reminded by his old History professor at school, a man who liked to prove his intellect by pacing about the classroom, barking facts at his students, laughing at poorly constructed essays and ridiculous theses. The difference was that with Professor Finney, Harry had been attempted to laugh at the show. With Professor Snape, it was more than a demonstration. It was a built in character trait, and it was a genuine genius that lingered behind the demand for comprehension. The sourness Minerva had written of shone through, and Harry's imagined persona of the man was not disappointed by the reality that stood before him, sneering as if Harry was scum stuck to the bottom of his boots.
"Well, if it isn't Harry Potter. The prodigal son returns," Snape said, taking his cues from the apparently familiar hair and eyes that Harry possessed.
"Severus Snape, isn't it?" Harry returned, fighting to keep his voice neutral in an attempt to distance himself from the forced camaraderie that Lupin demonstrated towards the man. Harry was intent on becoming an apprentice of sorts and it would never happen if he let whatever history that was between Snape, Lupin, and perhaps his father influence what the Potions master thought of him.
"My reputation precedes me?"
Part of Harry was tempted to answer, "No, your nose does. By a foot," but something in the man's eyes warned against it. Pity, it would have been amusing to see their reactions. Instead, Harry pointed out what would have given the man's position away, apart from Lupin's greeting. "You have some inactive Shrinking Solution residue on your hand."
This answer seemed to surprise both Snape and Lupin, and Harry wondered if the staff had any idea of what he had picked up from his books.
"How did you know it was Shrinking Solution?" Snape asked.
"Visible texture, bright green color. The described odor of shrivelfig, though that's just going from the book. I haven't actually practiced making potions yet, though I hope to get some experience now, with the resources available."
"You seem to know at least something about it, don't you? I wasn't aware that you were pursuing independent studies in your little holiday off with the Muggles," Snape answered, though the sneer had been replaced by a look not far from appreciation.
"Mostly book learning," Harry clarified. "Perhaps you could find time while I'm here to give me a tutorial? I'd love to give Wolfsbane Potion a go." Harry couldn't miss the fact that both men started at his last statement.
"Why that one?" Snape snapped, shooting a glare at Lupin that made Harry turn to see the reaction of the other professor. Lupin looked as calm as he had before Wolfsbane was mentioned, though there was something of a warning in the look he returned to Snape. The tension, along with standing there in the cold stone hallway, was making Harry uncomfortable.
"Well," he answered, "it is supposed to be a challenge. Though maybe I should start small? I was only eager to get on with the experimental aspect of it, though I suppose there is merit in learning the basics. I don't presume that knowing the words and being able to cook means I'll be worth a cent…a knut at making potions." When did I turn into such a kiss ass? Harry wondered, but put it down to his nerves.
"Yes, there is certainly more to the art of potion brewing than recipes and cooking, Potter. You need to learn the fundamentals," Snape answered, ending his staring contest with Lupin in order to judge the level of sincerity in Harry's face.
"I understand. I didn't jump right into Animagus training before learning how to transfigure pencils." Shit, I shouldn't have said that. Harry knew that Snape was trustworthy, but this didn't mean he'd tolerate and illegal activities, and Minerva had said something about it being illegal to be an unregistered Animagus in one of her letters concerning Sirius Black, but Harry had already done it by that time.
"You're an Animagus?" both Snape and Lupin asked, Lupin sounding surprised and impressed, Snape sounding surprised and something a little darker that Harry couldn't name.
"I hadn't known at the time that it was illegal, so of course I'll get registered or whatever it is," Harry blurted out, talking much more quickly and desperately than he had intended to.
"Maybe, for now, it would be better if you didn't," interrupted Snape, earning a look of aggravation from Lupin.
"I think I ought to show Harry to his room, Severus. We'll continue this conversation at another time," Lupin said shortly, leading Harry away and forcing him to call out a quick "goodnight" from down the hall.
"What was that about?" Harry asked, once they were a fair distance from where they had left Snape.
"I have a feeling that Severus is hoping to find a new spy in this in-coming crop of Auror trainees, now that his position has been compromised, and your ability may come in useful, though I don't approve of your jumping into anything so soon after you got here," Lupin explained.
"What do you mean, his position has been compromised?" Harry asked, his eyes floating over to a painting of a young woman waving vigorously at him.
"Well, since it's all out in the open now, I'll tell you. Severus used to be a Death Eater in his youth, before returning to the Light before you were born. Since the Return, he's been a double-agent, spying for Dumbledore. It was a very brave thing to do, and it was more than vital for our fight. Unfortunately, he had to reveal his true loyalties when we decided that there was no other way to recover the Sorcerer's Stone."
"That was him?!" Harry asked, shocked that the seemingly all-academic Professor had this life of intrigue and danger.
"Yes, it was, though don't try to sing his praises for it. He hates when people congratulate him," Lupin laughed.
"Shy?"
"Down right antisocial, but it really comes down to him feeling like a failure for blowing his cover. We have more agents within the Death Eater organization, but none have risen to the rank that he once held and it is a bit of a set back."
"But it's more than a fair trade, isn't it?" Harry asked. "If Voldemort had kept the stone and the elixir, he'd go on forever."
"Just don't try to reason that point with Severus," Lupin chuckled, coming to a stop at a door. "This is where you and the other trainees will be staying. The password system hasn't been activated yet, so anyone can get in. The others won't be here for quite a while, so you have your pick of the rooms. I'll see you in the morning, breakfast in the Great Hall at eight."
After Lupin said goodnight, Harry entered the common area of the graduate wing. It was a multi-colored affair, all of the house colors blended into one united brightness. Three fireplaces glowed warmly, shadows playing on the walls. Harry wandered down the halls, opening every door. Each of the dozen bedrooms was a single, each with a large four-poster bed, some with towering bookcases, some with imposing desks with ornate scrolls and stains. A few were themed with dragons, griffins, and unicorns. A few had lush carpets, canopies, velvet curtains. Some were simple in their masculinity. Some were light and felt like the best of a woman. Harry settled into a room at the end of the hall, removing his bags from his cloak and returning them to normal size, nearly laughing as he realized he had forgotten to set them down, resulting in a sore finger and, once he dropped the suitcase, and even sorer foot.
As Harry dropped down onto the bed, taking in the wooden floors, the crimson carpet, the gold window treatment and mural of a roaring lion, he couldn't help but wonder what his friends were doing. It was a Monday night, afternoon there. No doubt they were working on their Tuesday morning hangovers. Andy would have been a little hurt by the sudden abandonment, until he read the note. Then he would have fueled up Harry's car, crammed the elite of Manic in the backseat, and taken off on an ill-planned road trip, the best kind there is. Probably ended up in Boston, acting semi-normal for a show before doing something completely juvenile and usually beneath them, like decorating trees with toilet paper, or mooning elderly couples. Maybe Andy would have had a painful internal debate, trying to decide who the new shot-gun prince was to be, before picking Adam, who had no ride of his own but was useful for the size of his intellect and his monthly allowance. As Harry imagined all of this, he wondered if he really missed that life, beyond the people in it. Sure, it was fun. It was easy. And there seemed to have been more opportunities for female companionship than there was in this isolated corner of Scotland. While Harry slowly fell asleep, he smiled in the knowledge that no, he did not miss it. He smiled in the knowledge that he was about to do something a million times more meaningful than petty vandalism, and that he was about to reconnect with his legacy, his parents' friends, and a world that held so much more pain, but so much more opportunity for greatness and adventure and emotion and whatever it was that Harry had felt he needed the day he walked away from the Dursleys.