Author's Note: It's always a pleasure to welcome new reviewers along with the returnees. Thanks go to qwert, Morgan Le Faye, venus4280, psyche752 and Noodlejelly.

And now, Harry is on his way back to Hogwarts. Let's tag along and see what happens, shall we?


***


As always, it was painful for Harry to leave his godfather behind, not knowing if they would ever see each other again. Sirius was not only risking his life in the war against Voldemort, acting as a clandestine agent of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, but he was still a fugitive who could be killed on sight -- with full Minstry sanction -- by any witch or wizard who spotted him. And without a wand to protect him, Sirius could just as easily be killed by an armed Muggle (all of whom believed him to be a run-of-the-mill escaped murderer) as by a Death Eater or a Ministry Auror. It was not a happy thought.

Checking his watch, Harry saw that he still had plenty of time to return to Hogwarts before evening curfew, which applied to Prefects as well as to regular students. While his Prefect badge entitled him to roam the school grounds at will, day or night, anything beyond was strictly off-limits between dusk and dawn. Harry knew this was a wise precaution, as Hogsmeade and the surrounding area was a crossroads of sorts for magical folk of all descriptions, human and otherwise. There were times when the streets of Hogsmeade were quite as dangerous as the Forbidden Forest. As the sun sank until it was just brushing the tallest spires of Hogwarts castle, Harry was more than glad that he had a safe, warm bed waiting for him back in Gryffindor Tower. It was more than Sirius could claim, he reflected sadly.

In spite of this, Harry could not help but return from his sporadic visits with Sirius with more good thoughts than bad. Being with his godfather, hearing him speak of the old days when he and Harry's parents were young and vibrant with life, was a balm for Harry's soul. Each time, Harry was left with a clearer, more vivid image of the parents he had never known outside his dreams and the occasional wizard photograph. Visits like the one today were becoming rarer, as Sirius was engaged ever more deeply in secret missions for Dumbledore and the Order. Thus, Harry clung ever more fiercely to every detail of these visits, and of the good feelings and memories they birthed.

As Harry ascended the path leading toward the winged boars guarding the entrance to Hogwarts, his feet moved of their own accord, his mind being otherwise occupied. Thus it was that Harry noted only abstractly that someone seemed to be calling his name. The voice appeared to be growing impatient, as if the speaker had been calling him repeatedly without response. Harry turned toward the direction from which the address seemed to be coming, an apology already forming in his mind. But when he opened his mouth, what came out was not an apology, but a gasp of surprise.

"Did I startle you?" droned a sad, mournful voice. "Sorry. I've been calling your name, but you weren't listening. Oh, don't apologize. I'm used to people ignoring me. In fact, I rather prefer it. It's better than being teased all the time."

"I am sorry, Myrtle," Harry said sincerely to the floating apparition of a round-faced girl with lank hair and thick, pearly glasses. "I didn't mean to ignore you. I was just -- thinking."

Moaning Myrtle sniffed, adjusting her glasses. "I know," she said with what almost sounded like sympathy. "You were thinking about your parents."

"H-how did you know that?" Harry stammered. "Can -- can ghosts read minds?"

"No," Myrtle said with obvious disappointment, as if she dearly wished that were the case. "I know you just came from visiting Sirius, and he always talks about them, doesn't he?"

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. "WHAT? Y-you know? B-but -- HOW?"

"Oh, I've seen you go to the caves loads of times," Myrtle said dismissively. "You and your two friends."

"You -- haven't told anyone -- have you?" Harry said, a chill racing down his spine despite the warmth of the day.

"Oh, no," Myrtle said quickly. "I wouldn't want to get Sirius in trouble. He's in enough already, isn't he?"

"What do you know about it?" Harry asked, his concern now replaced by curiosity.

"Well, I know everything, don't I ?" Myrtle said, puffing herself up importantly. " I know a lot more than people give me credit for. Besides, I knew Sirius when he was at school. I always knew he wasn't guilty. He wasn't like the others. Those horrid Slytherins, and those snooty Ravenclaws."

"But," Harry persisted, "how did you know?"

"Well, I get around, don't I?" Myrtle said, as if stating the obvious. "I see things. It's hard to keep secrets from a -- "

"From a ghost?" Harry finished without thinking.

For a long, tense moment it looked as if Myrtle would burst into tears. But, to Harry's great relief, she regained control of herself -- wanting, perhaps, to continue to bask in her self-importance while such a rare opportunity lasted.

"People can't hide from -- from -- us -- you know," she said in an almost preening manner. "We can go anywhere, through walls and things. We see things that -- that -- living people miss. And if I say so, I fancy that I get around more than any of the others."

By "others," Harry knew that Myrtle was referring to the other Hogwarts ghosts. Now that he thought about it, every ghost Harry had seen since the day he arrived at Hogwarts seemed more than content to remain within the castle walls. Every ghost, that is, except Myrtle. She had once admitted to Harry that she had left the castle shortly after her death, following and haunting one Olive Hornby, a student who had made Myrtle's life miserable during her brief tenure at Hogwarts. Myrtle returned only when compelled to do so by the Ministry of Magic. Even then, Myrtle was not always to be found in her usual haunt, the girls' loo housing the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Only last year, Myrtle had turned up in the lake, surprising -- and, indeed, helping -- Harry during the second task of the Triwizard Tournament.

A wave of expectation now washed over Harry as the full import of Myrtle's words sank in. "If you knew Sirius at school," he said in a slow, hopeful voice, "you must also have known...my parents."

"Oh, yes," Myrtle said with surprising warmth, her normally cheerless face melting into the first truly pleasant expression Harry had seen her wear in the three years he had known her. "Lily was always very nice to me. She never teased me like the others did. And James always made me laugh. He and his friends were always playing jokes and pranks. Usually they were on the students who made fun of me. In fact, sometimes, when they heard someone boasting how they had teased me, they'd prank them specially to teach them a lesson. Whenever I heard that they'd got another detention -- they got loads, you know -- it always made me smile. Because I knew that, somewhere, someone who'd been mean to me had got paid back."

Harry now saw a rare thing. Myrtle's see-through eyes began to fill with tears. But they were not the usual tears of misery and self-pity she usually wept. These tears, Harry knew with a twinge in his heart, were for his parents.

"I was very sad when I heard that James and Lily were dead," Myrtle said. "I wished they'd come back here, to Hogwarts, so we could be together again. But they didn't come back. They had no reason to. And then everyone said that Sirius had betrayed them. But I knew it wasn't true. I knew he'd never do something like that. Peter, maybe. But never Sirius."

"Why didn't you tell someone?" Harry said with an ache in his voice. "Dumbledore, or somebody?"

"I think Professor Dumbledore might have suspected, a little," Myrtle said, her face returning to its familiar woebegone state. "But no one really knew, did they? Besides," she added in a deep lament, "who'd ever listen to me?"

Harry suddenly found himself in a situation similar to the one he'd faced in Sirius' cave. Not wanting Myrtle to fall deeper into her depression -- even though he well knew that this was a state in which she seemed to thrive -- Harry endeavored to redirect the conversation.

"If you knew the Marauders," he said in an upbeat voice," you must have known Remus Lupin, too. I mean, you must have known all about him -- about his -- condition."

"Remus was a very nice boy," Myrtle said, the sadness in her voice seeming to be directed at Lupin rather than herself. "Very quiet. It made me sad that he had to be -- like that. But at least he had his friends. Real friends. They never deserted him. If I'd had friends like that, I might not be a...a..."

Harry barely caught himself before unwittingly repeating his earlier mistake. Instead, he waited patiently for Myrtle to continue, giving her his full attention. She noted this, and she seemed almost flattered.

"I saw him change loads of times," she said at last, her enthusiasm renewed, if marginally. "All of them."

"It must have been exciting back then," Harry said encouragingly. "On the nights when the moon was full, you must have seen them running together over the school grounds, through the Forbidden Forest..." Myrtle nodded, though not so enthusiastically as Harry had hoped. Pressing on, he said, "In all that time, no one ever found out, did they? About the Marauders' transformations, I mean. The teachers and everyone all knew about Lupin, but not even Dumbledore suspected that his best friends had become Animagi to keep him company. You're the only one who knew the truth. That must have been a real special feeling to have."

Harry was sure he had hit paydirt. Myrtle's despondent face twitched, as if she were debating whether to smile but could not decide one way or the other. Emboldened by his apparent success, Harry charged forward, going for the Golden Snitch.

"Can you imagine what Dumbledore's reaction would have been?" he grinned at Myrtle. "There he was, Headmaster of the school, believing himself completely in charge and knowing everything that was going on around him. But you were the only one who really knew. No one but you knew that there were three unregistered Animagi running around under Dumbledore's very nose."

It happened slowly. Harry watched it happen, his heart pounding in his chest triumphantly. Behind her pearly spectacles, Myrtle's eyes began to glow like polished silver Sickles. The corners of her mouth began to tug outwards. If Harry had thought Myrtle's smile of a few minutes past was bright, it paled before the one she wore now. Harry had not seen so brilliant an expression on Myrtle's face since the day when he had flattered her by asking her the circumstances of her death. As Harry grinned, satisfaction glowing warmly inside him, Myrtle clapped her hands together in unrestrained delight.

"Oooooh!" she exclaimed, her excitement bringing a silvery blush to her pale cheeks. "Have I got something to tell you!"


***


Author's Note:Sorry we won't be able to linger to hear what Myrtle has to tell Harry. But Hermione has been waiting for two chapters now, and you KNOW how she hates to be kept waiting! Join us next time for a little duelling practice, culminating in a manner most unexpected. See you then.