Chapter Twenty Three

Devotion to Duty

~*~

A/N: Thanks to the wonderful beta readers (now including Caroline): it is a humbling experience to have so many editors find so many different errors, but it is also an educational one.

Thanks also to the attendees of SQOMP.  It was a damn good time.

~*~

"Perfect morning for Quidditch!"

Autumn was passing in a blur.  It was already the third Saturday of October, and Harry lay on his back on the sofa - the one good piece of furniture he and Ron had acquired - listening to the WWN.   It was bizarre, listening to the opening ceremonies of the Quidditch season and knowing that he could have been a part of the excitement.  He could have been standing in the team entrance with Oliver and Marty and Firoza and the rest of them, his stomach tangled up in knots, his nerves on edge, clutching his Firebolt in anticipation rather than in dread.  He could have heard the crowd around him again.

At least he could have been in the crowd; Ron had somehow got himself a pair of tickets to every game, and he'd invited Harry to come with him.  But Harry wanted to rest on the one day he didn't fly a day shift, and it would have been anything but restful to watch Maureen Knight play Seeker.  Therefore, Ron had taken Charlie to the match and Harry had stayed at home.  He shifted on the sofa, unable to find a comfortable position.

"It's a privilege to be announcing my first game with you two fine sportswomen - I'm sitting here between Catriona McCormack and Gwendolyn Morgan, who haven't aged a day since they were players -"

           

"And how would you know, laddie?" asked a throaty Scottish voice.

"You weren't born yet," stated a scratchy Welsh one.

Harry wasn't sure why he was torturing himself by listening - he might as well have gone to the match - although it was better to concentrate on Quidditch than on the dull ache in his back.   Flying Norbert had become almost natural over the past several weeks, but dragon riding still took an entirely different toll on his body than riding a broomstick.  He'd expected to become used to his position in the harness, but he hadn't quite got there yet, and it was wreaking havoc on his spine.

"Or perhaps I'm just getting old," he said to himself, shifting again, with a grimace. 

"Yes, you're ancient.  Soon we'll have to commit you to a home."  Ginny smiled at him and leaned against the doorframe with a steaming mug of tea cradled in her hands.  Harry smiled back; she had taken to coming over unannounced, and it was always a pleasant surprise when she appeared, even though she did it every day.  "What're you listening to?"  She was wearing the green turtleneck that he liked; it fit her too well and set off her hair, which was down on her shoulders, looking very pretty.  It was almost enough to distract him from the circles under her eyes, and the fact that her freckles stood out in dark contrast to her white skin. 

"Are you feeling all right?"

Ginny hesitated.  "Yes.  Why?"

"You look a bit worn out."

She shrugged, and looked away.  "There's another full moon coming, that's all.  I'm making Wolfsbane again this week."

Harry thought there might be more to it, but was distracted before he could answer.

"Gwendolyn Morgan, as everyone knows, fended off a famous proposal of marriage by her opposite number, Rudolf Brand.  Asked you right on the pitch, didn't he?"

"He did."

"Clocked him round the head with your broom, didn't you?"

"He hasn't forgotten it."

"Unless he's forgotten everything.  And you've been married how long now?"

"Is this Quidditch?"  Ginny frowned at the wireless.  "Do you really want to listen to this?"

Harry shrugged, and winced. All the bones in his back seemed to be crammed up between his shoulder blades.  "Yeah.  It's still Quidditch."

"Who's playing?" Ginny sipped her tea.

"Bats against the Cannons."

She frowned more deeply, but didn't say anything, and Harry was glad.  He knew it was stupid to listen to the game, when he wanted to be there so much.  But he'd never had a chance to listen to a full season of Quidditch while at school, and he didn't want to pass up the opportunity now.

"They'll be flattened," she muttered into her mug, coming to the sofa.  "I don't care who the captain is."

"You didn't see Oliver drilling everyone."

"The Bats have been first or second in the league for ten years," Ginny returned.  "Yes, that's right, I know what goes on - don't give me that look like you're so shocked I keep up.  Lift your head."  She put her tea on their makeshift table and sat on the end cushion, and when Harry lay his head back down, he had her lap for a pillow.   It had become so comfortable with her in such a short time, he marveled, letting his head loll against her stomach.  She was always so warm, and she always seemed to fit, somehow - even the way her thigh curved under his neck was just right; and Harry's pulse quickened when she put her fingers in his hair.  "What a mess," she said softly, brushing it away from his face.

"Cut it if you like, but it just grows back."

Ginny laughed.  "I wouldn't cut it.  It suits you."

"And on my right is Catriona McCormack, who played for Scotland no less than thirty-six times - your daughter is playing Keeper again this year for Portree, is that right?"

"Meaghan's still Keeper, that's right."

"And speaking of Keepers, we've got one hell of a man out there today for the Chudley Cannons - Oliver Wood, previously Puddlemere's top reserve player, actually left Puddlemere United at the end of last season and deliberately defected to the Chudley Cannons, famously the worst team in the League.  Wood's old coaches are mystified, and he's kept his motivations completely under wraps."

"Ah, it's no mystery, lad.  One too many Bludgers to the head, eh, Morgan?"

"I'd say so, McCormack."

"Yes, perhaps brain damage is partly responsible.  But according to a statement he made this morning, Wood seems very confident - he's even changed the team motto back to 'We Shall Conquer'.  What d'you think of that, ladies?"

"Balls."

"Horse shite."

"No, don't hold back - tell us how you really feel."

Ginny laughed.  "He sounds like Lee."

Harry's mouth fell open; he sat up halfway and strained to hear.  "I knew he sounded familiar!" he exclaimed.

"Really?"

"Shh - wait -"

"Well, we'll find out today just whether or not the Chudley Cannons are back in shape after a one hundred and six year absence from the running.  They've got their work cut out for them against the Ballycastle Bats -"

"If they can stay alive for five minutes, I'll eat my cleats."

"That's Gwendolyn Morgan, ladies and gentlemen, and you'll all enjoy hearing her eat her cleats, I'm sure."

There was a profound snort.  "Bit biased toward the Cannons, are we?"

"Let's just say I've got faith in Oliver Wood."

"It's him!" Ginny shrieked.  "That's so cool!"

"Yeah, it is," Harry agreed, and tried to lie down again.  But there was a sudden crack! that had nothing to do with magic, and he sat up again immediately, the ache in his back having just increased tenfold.  "Ow," he muttered, reaching around himself to try and rub the painful area. 

"Was that you?" Ginny asked in alarm, scooting up behind him and putting her fingers on the exact spot that Harry was trying to reach.  "Ugh, your muscles are horribly tense."

"You can tell that?" he asked in surprise, dropping his hand and letting her feel her way around his spine.

"Just lean forward a minute and rest your elbows on your knees." She knelt up behind him on the cushion, but otherwise he couldn't see what she was doing.  "Now relax as much as you can.  No, relax, Harry.  Take a deep breath.... yes.  There.  And actually, if you could drop your head, too, and just let it hang – good."

Harry slumped forward and waited for his next instructions.

"And here come the Ballycastle Bats.  Captain Michelle Ravel leads her team onto the pitch - and they do look strong - there's that incredible Seeker of theirs, Hull Huntington - in the six years he's played for Ballycastle, he has caught the Snitch all but four times."

"Can't imagine he'll miss today." 

"Though I have to say I wouldn't mind seeing it go to the Cannons' Seeker."

"And here she comes - Maureen Knight, formerly the Bats' reserve, facing her old teammates at her first game.  Knows just what she's up against.  She played for Huntington once, when his wife was in labor -"

"And she missed the Snitch."

"Plowed herself good, though."

"Yes, a fascinating player, and another defector.  She left the Bats at the same time Oliver Wood left Puddlemere, and joined the Cannons for her own untold reasons."

"Lad, it's like this - she wanted a bit of time in the spotlight, and there was no one rivaling her for it in Chudley."

"Not exactly true.  She had first rate competition."

Harry tensed, waiting for it.  Ginny touched his arm.

"Wood first offered that Seeker position to Harry Potter, who declined, as I understand it."  Lee let out a sort of growl.  "And let me tell you, if I get my hands on him, I'll wring his bloody neck."

Laughter followed that remark.  "Close mates with Harry Potter, are you?"

"Something like that.  But back to Maureen Knight - watch her warm up, there - she's got very interesting form, and I reckon she spent quite some time studying Fitz Colbert's methods..."

"I wish they'd stop talking and play."  Ginny's hand traveled up his arm and stopped on his shoulder. "Are you hurt right here?"  She dropped her fingertips lightly on the place where his right shoulder met his neck.  "I get a feeling that..." She pressed down.  "This isn't from the dragons."

Harry looked around at her, surprised.  "It's been sore on and off since I fell off my broom third year," he admitted.  "How can you tell that?"

Ginny smiled slightly.  "It's just something I'm learning in class.  Do you mind if I practice?" 

"No, go on."

"Okay."  But rather than continuing, she rubbed her forehead with her free hand and shut her eyes.

"Ginny?" Harry turned around more fully and studied her face.  Ever since his first day on dragon back - since she'd rolled away in pain - she had seemed under the weather.  She certainly hadn't touched him like that since the first time, and he wondered if she was still feeling ill.  They had kissed a little, and they held each other often, but she always seemed to be... protecting herself.  He could hardly blame her, he supposed, the way he'd jumped on her.  "Are you -"

"I'm okay," she answered, before he could ask the question.  She opened her eyes and took her hand down.  "I stayed up too late, I had to make up an Astronomy lesson.  Anyway, turn around, I want to try something."

He looked doubtfully at her, but she ignored him and reached for his shoulders; as soon as she touched him, he gave in and slumped forward again.

"And the Quaffle is up!  The season has officially begun!  There's Chaser Firoza Newland showing great skill -"

"Never seen her before."

"Third reserve for the Wanderers, last year, and they were second to last."

"Whatever she was before, Oliver Wood certainly seems to have put her through her paces - look at her fly!  And she passes to Cole Kerry, who seems to have it well in hand - but not for long!  Ravel's not captain of the league's best team for nothing, that looked like taking candy from a baby - and she's halfway down the pitch - where are the Beaters at a time like this, damn it?  She's headed straight for the goal hoops!  Block her, Oliver!  Give her hell!  YES!  He's blocked it!"

"Well!"  There were chuckles.  "There's objectivity for you."

"Would you take this off?" Ginny asked suddenly, tugging at the back of Harry's thick jumper.  "I can't... Well, I can't get a proper grip."

Harry didn't think twice.  He quickly pulled the jumper - which Mrs. Weasley had made for him - over his head, and then tugged his T-shirt back down.  When Ginny's fingers alighted again on his spine, he shivered involuntarily.  Her touch was now much closer to his skin.  "Is that better?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly. 

"Yes that's - better."  He wondered if she was blushing.  It sounded like she might be.  It was a long moment before he heard her breathe deeply and settle into the cushion.  Her hands spread out across his shoulder blades and moved slowly down his back, until her fingers rested in the center of his lower spine.

"That's horrible right there," she muttered.  "And it's deep.  Can you feel it?"

Harry concentrated, but felt nothing.  "No."

Ginny pressed down slightly.  "Then this might really hurt," she said.  "I'm sorry, Harry.  Grit your teeth."

Harry felt a thrill of apprehension, and wondered what she was about to do.  He didn't have long to wonder. 

Gripping the sides of his lower back with her fingers, Ginny began to dig her thumbs into the muscles on either side of his vertebrae, in the center of his lower back, where previously, he had felt nothing.

"What the –" Harry gasped, convulsing.

"Shh.  Relax." 

He tried, but it was near impossible.  Whatever she was doing was the most pleasurable thing that had ever been done to him.  Which was insane, when he took into account how much pain it was causing.  It was like something being woken that didn't want to wake.  He was feeling muscles he didn't know he had, and they had obviously been lying dormant, numb with terrible tension.   Every dig that Ginny made with her thumbs seemed to unearth more of it and instead of becoming shallower it became more intense.  He hung his head further, and bent lower with every push, until he lay almost completely forward on his legs.

"See," she said, her voice coming in little digs, with the movements of her hands.   She sounded out of breath.  "Sometimes when – the pain is – really bad – it tends to – hide."  She switched from her thumbs and began to rub the heels of her hands into his back, hard. 

"How do you know?" he mumbled hoarsely, from his knees.

"It's just – the way it is.   Crookshanks had a – thorn buried – way up in his paw and he – didn't even – know it."  She switched suddenly, and began to roll her knuckles deeply into his tissue. 

Harry gasped again.  It felt unbelievable.  "Where did you learn how to do this?" he asked, hoping that if he just kept talking, then he wouldn't give into it completely.  He didn't know what would happen if he did.  The Quidditch game was still going - someone had just scored on Oliver - but he couldn't remember why it mattered.  Her fingers kneaded all the muscles on either side of his vertebrae, working from the very bottom, and climbing one by one to the top, massaging in small circles that made Harry groan. 

"Shh - just try to - breathe."

Harry tried to hold onto some shred of his sanity, but something that had been frozen inside him was thawing and flooding his senses.  He shut his eyes and felt the unbearable rhythm of her hands.  She took him by the shoulders and pressed the muscles there; he noticed how tender she was with the right side, where she had discovered his old Quidditch injury.  For no reason he could name, Harry felt a sob fighting to get out of him. 

"You're killing me," he rasped, and turned his head to kiss her fingers.  He felt entirely unhinged - lightheaded - instinct drove him to reach a hand over his shoulder and search her out; he slipped his palm behind her neck and pulled her closer.  Ginny leaned forward in instant reply and slid her cheek against his, her breathing audible and uneven.  She made a soft, almost frightened noise, and pressed her body against his back.

"The Snitch is out!  It's still early in the game, but the Seekers are racing for it - FOUL!  A Bludger right into the crowd - looks like the Bats are getting nervous, if they're bumphing in game one!  And the Snitch is gone again -"

Harry couldn't have cared less.  He turned to Ginny, seeking her mouth, pulling her into his arms.  He wanted her so badly that it was painful, and she seemed to feel it too - she whispered his name in a way that sent shockwaves through him, and allowed him to gather her up without resistance.  Harry's whole body burned - it had been weeks since she had yielded to him like this - forgetting what had happened the last time, he opened her lips with a deep kiss.

Dimly, he noticed that something was different.  She made no noise.  Instead of arching toward him, her body seemed to slump against his shoulder.  And though she kissed him back at first, her mouth went suddenly passive beneath his.  Her head fell back.  Her jaw slackened. 

Harry pulled away and stared at her in horror.  She had passed out.  He tried to prop her up, but her body fell to the side.  

"Ginny?" he pled.  She didn't answer.  The circles beneath her eyes looked twice as deep as he had previously noticed, and her pallor wasn't only pale; it was slightly blue.   Something ice-cold gripped Harry's heart. 

"Ginny," he said anxiously, laying her on the sofa and pulling his wand.  "Ginny, come on, wake up.  Ennervate!"

She did not respond.

"Wake up," he fretted, feeling for her breath.  It was there, but it was very shallow and hardly comforting.  "Come on, open your eyes."  He felt for her pulse, and found that it was slow.  He had a sudden, horrible memory of finding her tiny figure cold and half-dead on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets.  "Wake up," he begged, "please wake up - what's the matter with you?" he yelled stupidly, as if she was going to answer.  He pointed his wand at her again.  "Ennervate!"

Nothing had ever frightened Harry so much as her total stillness.  He knew it was pointless to reach out and shake her, but he did it anyway.  He tried again and again to wake her with magic, but it didn't help.  She continued to breathe, but just barely, and after five minutes that felt like an hour Harry fully panicked.   He ran across the room to the fireplace, feeling a surge of terrible guilt for leaving Ginny's side, even to get help.  In seconds, he had produced a fire and thrown powder into it.

"LUPIN LODGE," he roared at the flames, as if they were responsible for Ginny's condition.  He stuck his head in.  "REMUS!" he hollered, as soon as he saw the familiar front room before him. "REMUS, HURRY!"

Remus appeared in seconds, his wand out, his posture alert.  He wasted no time.  "You need me there?" he demanded.

"YES!" Harry shouted.

Two seconds later, Remus stood beside him at the Notch and, as if he had known in advance what he would find, he hurried directly to Ginny's side.  "Go to my house," he instructed Harry in a quick, grim voice.  "Get Ginny's satchel, I need something from it."

Harry had never done anything so quickly.  He was back in his own house in seconds, holding Ginny's school bag and wondering how he'd managed not to splinch himself.

Remus dug through the bag and removed an enormous book.  Harry barely read the embossed words on the cover - Empathy in Sorcery - before Remus had opened it from the back.  He skimmed the index, turned to another page, and nodded curtly.  "Accio Eurycoma Longifolia!" he said, and a phial sailed into the room. 

Harry caught it, and recognized the curled, dried leaves as the same ones he'd used in school to make Reviving Draughts.

"Seed pod," Remus ordered, and when Harry had handed one to him, he crushed it in his fingers, pried Ginny's mouth open, and dropped it in.  He pulled his wand and produced a cup of water.  "Lift up her head."

Harry lifted Ginny's head with extreme care, and when the water had been administered, he propped her up a bit more, sitting behind her to cradle her head against his chest.   He felt her breath rise and fall in shallow increments.  "What's wrong with her?" he asked tensely.  "Should we take her to St. Mungo's?"

"Only if she doesn't come around in a minute or so."  Remus watched Ginny with narrowed eyes.  "As for what's wrong with her - she's going to have to tell you that."

Harry was about to protest, when a spluttering noise and a sudden wetness on his hands made him forget his questions.  Ginny was coughing violently, spattering all three of them with water and bits of crushed seed.  Harry held onto her until she seemed capable of sitting up on her own - and even then, he didn't let go.

"Are you all right?" he asked.  "What do you need?"

Ginny moaned and leaned forward, as if to get away from him. She had one hand on her stomach, and was trying to wipe her mouth with the other.  "What's going on?" she asked weakly.  "What just happened?"

"You passed out," Harry told her, and he realized his voice was shaking.  "You just - fell back. You were hardly breathing."

Ginny's breath hitched as though she might be crying, but Harry couldn't see her face.  "I'm so stupid," she mumbled, sniffling.  "I'm so sorry."

Remus put a handkerchief into her hands.  She slowly mopped up her face and her front with a shaking hand, and awkwardly swiped at Harry's sleeves. 

"Don't worry about it," he said.  "I don't care."

"I'm sorry," she muttered again, sounding embarrassed this time. 

"You should be," Remus said.  He gazed levelly at her.  "You knew exactly what the consequences might be.  This was very irresponsible of you, Ginny."

Harry was about to protest for her, but Ginny answered before he could.

"I know."  It was a whisper.  "Harry, you have to let go of me.  It hurts.  I'm sorry."

Harry retracted his arms and moved away from her, feeling as though he moved through fog.  He didn't know what was going on, but it hardly mattered.  He'd had a feeling, before, that he had been the cause of this illness, whatever it was.  And if he was hurting her, then he had probably been right.

"Harry deserves a very thorough explanation," Remus said, still not taking his gaze from Ginny, who had fallen against the back of the sofa the second Harry had let her go.  Her head hung forward on her chest.  "But we need to get you home first.  Can you stand?"

"No."

Remus stood up and levitated Ginny's body into midair before him.  "Fortunately for us, this street is all wizards," he muttered, and guided her prone form towards the door.

Harry opened it, but his eyes stayed fixed on Ginny, who wasn't looking at him.  "Can I come?" he asked, wondering if his presence would only continue to make her ill.  The thought of not being allowed near her made his chest constrict.

"Give me a few minutes," Remus said.  "I'll revive her further at home, and she'll be able to speak with you."

"All right."

Ginny's breath hitched again; her suspended body shook, and Harry could see that tears were making their way out of the corners of her eyes; she tried to wipe them away.  "I hate this," she mumbled thickly to herself.  "I don't want this.  It's not fair."

Remus sighed and floated her body down the porch steps.  Harry was left standing in his front room, confused and anxious. 

"Fifty to thirty, Bats in the lead - but this is by far the best we've seen the Cannons play in decades!  What they lack in years of team practice they're certainly making up for with enthusiasm - or perhaps it's fear.  Wood's an awe-inspiring captain.  Oh - right.  Pausing here for a word from one of the game's first commercial sponsors and the Ballycastle Bats' team mascot, here's Barney the Bat with a song you all know - so sing along, especially you young kids out there, because they wrote this one with you in mind, I'm sure."

"I'm just batty about Butterbeer!"

"Aren't we all.  Right then, where were we?"

Harry listened to the wireless without really hearing it.  Something very definite was happening, and it had to do with him, and yet Ginny hadn't told him about it.   She was sick.  He'd made her sick.  His eyes strayed to the enormous book that Remus has left on the table, and in his impatience to have an answer, he nearly lunged for it.

Empathy in Sorcery: A History and Guide

He had been too scared, earlier, to realize what the title meant; now he sat down and stared at it.  Hermione had once given him and Ron a lecture on Empathy.  In her quest to find a remedy for her parents, she had discovered that there had been wizards called Healers who used Empathic magic, but that none now existed.  Harry couldn't remember anything else she had said, but it didn't matter - it was enough to know that there if there were no Healers, then there was no need for an Empathic textbook in Ginny's satchel.  Unless.

He opened the book and began to scan its contents, flipping rapidly through pages, skipping chapters, and reading the parts that she had highlighted.

"The recommended first subject of study for any Healer in training is not a fellow human being - though this will be most Healers' natural inclination. The newfound ability to help others must be resisted until the Healer has truly mastered his or her gift."

"The ability to sense and soothe pain in others, though the ultimate gift of the Healer, is a dangerous gift with which to experiment.  If a novice Healer has a personal relationship with the object of his or her Healing, this danger increases exponentially in relationship to the depth of said personal relationship.  The wish to assist must be resisted by novices.  Irresponsible use of this gift will cause mental and physical damage to the Healer."

"Step one: Place your hands on the skin or clothing of your subject, and slide your palms slowly across the afflicted area.  (Eventually, all sensing will be done in your subject's aura; not on his or her skin.  However, to build skill, touch is a necessary beginning.) Concentrate on those areas emanating unnatural heat or cold. Press lightly, trusting instinct to guide your hands.  If you have prepared properly, your natural gifts will inform the method and depth of your touch."

Harry realized that he was gripping the sides of the textbook so hard that his hands hurt.  He didn't know if he had ever been this angry.  She hadn't trusted him.  She had scared the hell out of him.  She had been... experimenting on him, with magic that she clearly could not control.   No wonder the Dementors hadn't taken a worse toll on him.  No wonder she had looked sicker every day, since he had started dragon riding - he couldn't believe it had taken him so long to realize that none of it was accidental.  Nothing between them was accidental.  Harry turned back to a page he had marked with his finger, and reread one sentence in particular until his brain throbbed.

"If no one present recognizes the phenomenon, the novice Healer will often spend his or her entire life devoted to a person whose pain is so intense that it requires constant attention, unaware that this devotion is a product of Empathic Magic."

Harry shut the book with a slam.  He was nauseated.  He couldn't help thinking that Ginny had been fairly well devoted to him ever since they'd met.  And now this book was telling him that her attention had been dictated by magic... He couldn't process it.

It dawned clearly on Harry just how much it had meant to him to believe that Ginny loved him.  Even when he hadn't wanted to admit it to himself, he had always known that she was there, and that she was his.  She had always been his.  And since the beginning of summer, he had slowly become hers.  She knew him in ways that no one ever had; she made him feel safe with himself - and there was nothing magic about the way he felt for her.  Harry knew the difference.  It was how she smiled, tilting her head to the side in the way she had.  It was how she laughed at the same things he found funny.  It was how she looked quietly at him, and made him want to tell her everything.  It was the way he had to watch her, the way she knew where to touch him, the way her mouth felt against his - the way she understood exactly who he was.  Voldemort had nearly destroyed her.  She knew loss and war.  She loved Ron and Hermione.  She had been there, when his life had begun on platform nine and three-quarters, and seven years later, without fear or hesitation, she had risked her life for his.  He wasn't in love with her Empathy.

Harry put his head in his hands.

"And somebody's going to have to EAT HER CLEATS - that's right, ladies and gentlemen, this is Lee Jordan, announcing the first Chudley Cannons win against the Ballycastle Bats in over sixty years!  The crowd's gone out of its mind -"

"Take a look at that red-haired bloke."

"Is he trying to climb the railing?"

"And why wouldn't he, when Maureen Knight has CAUGHT THE SNITCH - look at that woman fly!  And she's not a bad looking woman, at that!  I think I'll have to abuse my stadium privileges and meet that Seeker later on - but someone's beat me to it - would you look at Oliver Wood!  Have you ever seen such a madman - throwing his arms around his Seeker in midair - whoa there, but she's not having any of it, is she?  Pushed him halfway across the pitch!  A lady after your own heart, Gwendolyn!"

Numbly, Harry flicked off the wireless and Disapparated to Lupin Lodge.  He appeared in the corridor just outside of Ginny's room, still holding her book.  He could hear her talking.

"Remus, you don't have to..."

"I think you proved today that I do have to."  There was a creaking noise, like someone getting out of a chair.

"But it's Saturday," Ginny protested.

"And we decided to run our school as nearly to Hogwarts as possible.  Detentions for misuse of magic are as applicable on Saturdays as they are on other days, unless my memory is mistaken.  You have detention every day for a week."  Remus paused.  "I'm extremely disappointed.  You assured me that you would not deliberately abuse your studies."

"You don't understand - it's not deliberate!  I can't help it!  Whenever he -"

"I'm right out here," Harry called, not bothering to keep the fierceness out of his voice.  He rapped hard on the door.  "Do I get an explanation now?"

There was a short silence, and then: "Come in," Remus said. 

Harry threw the door open and held the book up, pinning Ginny with his eyes. She glanced up at him from her position against her pillows, and at the sight of the book she seemed to grow paler. 

"Are you a Healer?" he demanded.

She jumped.  "How much of that did you read?"

He ignored her question and advanced on her; Remus quickly excused himself and slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.  "Have you been... trying stuff on me?" Harry demanded.  "Without saying anything?"

"Don't yell at me," Ginny retorted, recoiling against the headboard.  "You don't know what it's like."

"Try telling me," Harry shot back.  "Try being honest."

"I never lied!  I said it was for class."

"You said you felt fine."

"Oh, you're one to talk.  I said I was fine, and I thought I was!" Ginny swiped at her eyes and pushed back her hair until it was a tangled mess on the pillow. 

"Mental and physical damage, this book says.  You passed out on me, and I had no idea what was going on - and I couldn't wake you up."

"I said I was sorry.  I didn't know that would happen."

"You're not even supposed to try it on people.  What did you think was going to happen?"

"Well how am I supposed to help it when you come home every day looking like death, and I can feel all of it?" she burst out in a passion, punching her bedcovers. "I don't know how to control it, Harry, I wasn't doing it on purpose, and I can't stand being near you and not being able to -"

"You were touching me just like the instructions said to do!"  Harry shook the book.  "How could that not be on purpose?"  He flipped the book open to the page he hated most, and stalked to her bedside.

"Don't -" she warned, holding up a hand and wincing.

"Don't worry."  Harry placed the book in her lap and pointed to the sentence that had been crushing his spirit ever since he'd read it.  "I'm not staying."  He went for the door.

"Harry, wait - please, please wait."

Harry stopped short and looked back at her.  Her head was bent, reading, and her hair shone in the lamplight.  Her finger slowly traced the lines he'd pointed out, and she shook her head.  "Oh no," she breathed, looking up at him.

"No?  Your -" Harry felt strangled.  "Your feelings aren't because you're a Healer?"

"No - yes - I don't know exactly how..." Ginny gestured uselessly with her hands.  "I'm not sure where my feelings stop and start.  I haven't worked it all out.  But Harry, you don't understand -"

"When you touched me earlier - you were practicing, right?" Harry managed, his hands in fists.  "And that night I first came home from Azkaban - that kiss.  That was Empathy."

Some of the color came back into Ginny's face.  "Yes, but not -"

"Then I understand," Harry interrupted, sick at heart.  He walked out without another word.

~*~

Sirius tried not to panic when he heard the announcer on the WWN say that it was nine o'clock.  He'd been getting up at five almost every morning since summer, but today he'd had to wait until sunrise for Remus to transform.  Despite the full moon, he'd slept amazingly well as Padfoot; Remus still hadn't consented to let him sleep in the shed, so he had kept watch outside the door.

Now Remus was upstairs having a bath and Sirius was making what was, for him, a late breakfast.  He was starving, and, in addition to toast and tea and coffee, was also frying sausage and tomatoes, and simmering a pot of baked beans.

As breakfast cooked, Sirius mentally went through his list of tasks for the day.  He planned to stop by his office at the Ministry and pick up some files before heading to Culparrat.  The new prison had been divided into two sections – one for those who had been tried and found guilty, and one for those who were still awaiting trial.  At the moment, all of the inhabitants were Stunned and being watched over by Aurors and other special guards assigned by the M.L.E.S.  It was so quiet there.  He wasn't sure which was more disturbing; the constant noise and babbling that had filled the air when Azkaban had been in operation, or the overwhelming silence that seemed to echo off the walls in Culparrat.  They had to find a way of keeping the prisoners inside while awake - without using Dementors as guards.  The sophisticated wards that currently surrounded the fortress were strong, but not new, and it was possible to break them from inside or out with only slight intelligence of the facility.  He decided he'd better pester Arthur about finding more people to help Penelope with that Imprisonment Charm. 

Crookshanks purred loudly and rubbed against Sirius's leg.  "Sorry," he said, reaching down to stroke the cat's fluffy coat.  "You're hungry, I suppose."  With a sharp whine, Crookshanks followed Sirius to his food bowl. 

"I'll do that."  Ginny had just opened the back door.  She was carrying the pile of blankets and pillows from the shed.  She looked a bit tired – her eyes were puffy and her hair was pulled into a not-so-neat knot at the back of her head.  "Did you sleep well?"

"Wonderfully," Sirius answered, stretching a little, and then reaching to the shelf for the cat food. "Not that it did me much good.  What about you? You look like you didn't get much yourself.  You weren't up worrying, I hope?"

"I'm okay," she answered, shaking her head when he held out a piece of toast to her.  "I'm just going to go and wash these – are you making breakfast?"

Sirius looked at her questioningly.  The smell of sausage and the toast in his hand made it rather obvious that was what he was doing.  Ginny sighed.  "I was supposed to do that," she mumbled, trying to get a better grip on all of the pillows and blankets in her arms.

"It's all right, Ginny."  Remus entered the kitchen and sat down on a stool.  His hair was still wet.  "I'm sure whatever Sirius has fried up is edible."

"Okay," said Ginny.  Sirius thought that she looked a bit red in the face as she walked past both of them, tripping a bit on one of the blankets that dragged along the floor.  Remus gave her a reassuring smile and she looked relieved, but stopped in the doorway.  "Sirius, do you need anything from the village? I'm going shopping for a few things in a bit."

Sirius shook his head.  "No thanks."  He watched as Ginny stumbled out of the room and up the stairs.

"What's going on?" asked Sirius, motioning towards Ginny with a spatula.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, why are you letting her run around doing all this housework when she looks so tired? Her mother will kill us if we don't take care of her properly.  She's not our house-elf.  She looks terrible."

"You can talk."

Sirius grinned.  "So can you.  You sprouted a few more grey hairs last night, Moony."

Remus sighed.  "It's part of her detention.  And it's lucky for her that I didn't send an owl home.  I will next time."

"Her what?"  Sirius was surprised.  Ever since Ginny had made that first batch of Wolfsbane Potion, he'd found it difficult to find fault with anything that she did.  "What has she done that warrants a detention?"

"She got a bit too involved in her homework."

"And you're punishing her?" Sirius chortled.  "If you'd been my professor, I never would have had detention."

"This is different."

Sirius handed a cup of tea to Remus, who took a sip, grimaced, and reached for the sugar bowl.  "You aren't going to give me more of an explanation?"

"It's simple," said Remus, reaching up to yank a hair out of his head, and then scrutinizing it.  "This one's still brown.  Anyway – " Remus tossed the hair aside " – I told her at the beginning of September that she shouldn't rush her training as a Healer. I told her that she shouldn't – couldn't – work with people yet, and that it would make her sick if she tried."

"So, she tried? On who?"

"Who do you think?"

Sirius dropped the frying pan onto the top of the cooker with a thump.  Remus winced and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if to ward off a headache.

"Sorry," Sirius mumbled.  "She tried to heal Harry? Is he ill? What's wrong with him?" Realizing that he was whispering for no good reason, he cleared his throat and, trying to sound nonchalant, asked, "Did it work?"

Remus was now staring at him as if he were the biggest idiot on the planet.  He spoke very deliberately.  "Harry has been spending his time flying around Azkaban on a dragon.  He spends ten hours a day within fifty feet of the Dementors.  No, he's not exactly in the best of health, at least not mentally.  Haven't you noticed how amazingly cheerful he's seemed since starting that job? Didn't it seem strange to you?"

Closing his eyes, Sirius said, "I thought he was just happy.  I thought that he and Ginny were, well, good and he's been acting just like James did –"

And that was the truth.  He hadn't given it much thought.  He'd been relieved the past few weeks that Harry had seemed so relaxed and easy-going.  In a way, it had been as if Prongs had rejoined them.  Sirius knew that Harry was his own person – that there were very great differences between father and son – but it had been so comforting to come home in the evenings, see Harry sitting in the study with Ginny.  It made Sirius feel as if everything was returning to the normalcy that he had known when Prongs was alive. 

"Ginny," Remus continued, "has been deliberately absorbing all of Harry's negative energies.  It's not healthy for either of them.  Controlling these sorts of powers can take years to refine."

"Does Harry know that's what's been going on?"

"He knows now.  Haven't you noticed that he hasn't been here since Saturday?  Although – " Remus stopped, and seemed to be choosing his words very carefully.  Sirius knew what was coming, no matter how Remus might try to word it " – it's not like you've been around here much yourself lately."

Sirius deliberately plunked two pieces of toast onto a plate, and then dumped some beans on top.  Remus hated it when his food touched.  "Moony – I thought we'd agreed not to get into that."

"Right," said Remus briskly.  "So, what are you going to do today then?"

"Well…" Sirius tried to remember what he'd been planning earlier, and found that he'd drawn a blank.  He was worried about Harry.  He thought about going to Azkaban – he hadn't been out there since before they'd started riding the dragons – he hadn't had time, and the Dementors had more of an effect on him than he cared to admit.  Besides, he'd promised Remus that he would stay away. 

"I'll be spending most of the day at Culparrat," he said, with false brightness.  "Ron marked up a bunch of files yesterday afternoon and I've got to sort through them today.  There's a trial tomorrow."

"Ron's been keeping busy, helping you with all of this research."

"He has," said Sirius, toasting two more pieces of bread with a violent shake of his wand that singed the edges of the toast.  Remus probably hadn't meant to start a fight – after all, he'd just transformed a few hours earlier.

"When are you going to start paying him?"

"Dunno," answered Sirius.  There had been many nights in the past few weeks when Sirius had been disappointed to see Ron go off to the pub, especially when they had been close to finding new information on a case.  But he didn't know if he was allowed to hire help.  "I suppose I'll stop by and see Arthur this morning then – find out what the Ministry can afford.  Do you really think Ron will want to quit the pub?"

Remus laughed.  "You won't know unless you ask, will you?

*

By the time Sirius arrived at Azkaban, it was three o'clock and already starting to get dark.  It was also raining, very hard, and he couldn't see anything out the window of the PAP headquarters. 

"Sirius!"  Charlie Weasley entered from the back, holding a model of a Welsh Green in one hand.  "I thought I heard someone up here."

"What are you doing?" Sirius asked, thinking that Charlie was a bit too old to be playing with dolls.

"Come on back and have a look – Cho and I were just testing out some new flight patterns." He led Sirius to the back room, where a pretty girl was watching two miniature dragons fly around a three-dimensional model of Azkaban. 

"Sirius," said Charlie, clearing his throat.  "This is my assistant and fellow dragon-rider, Cho Chang.  Cho, this is Sirius Black."

Cho held out her hand and gave Sirius a sweet smile.  She didn't look as spooked as some people still did at the mention of his name.  Then again, Sirius thought, he probably wasn't as intimidating as a full-grown dragon.

"We were trying to see how difficult it would be for two riders to cover the area, and we're testing a few new dives.  Sometimes those Dementors try to trick us.  It's too bad that a good dose of fire isn't enough to do them in."  Charlie jumped back just as one of the model dragons emitted a small jet of flame.

"Have you tried?" asked Sirius, trying not to sound too hopeful.

"'Course we've tried," said Charlie.  "The Dementors just glide through it.  I think they like fire." He rubbed at the spot on his elbow where the miniature dragon had attacked.

"Can we go outside and have a look at the real dragons?" Sirius checked his watch.  He was eager to try to talk to Harry, although he wasn't quite sure what he would say.  'Sorry your girlfriend was using you as a lab rat,' didn't seem appropriate.   James would have said something more diplomatic and understanding than that, although no amount of imagining could help Sirius figure out what that might be.

"If you want to go out in that," said Charlie, gesturing with his thumb to the wind and rain outside.  "But I'd rather wait until my shift starts.  You can watch almost as well from in here."

Sirius looked dubiously at the darkness outside the window.

Cho waved her wand, and the two dragons that had been flying around the Azkaban model froze and flew to her hand.   With another flick, something shimmered over the model, and soon three miniature dragons were flying around the prison, a tiny rider on top of each of them. 

"Not bad, eh?" asked Cho.  "There's Harry." She pointed with her wand to a dragon that was flying low to the water.  Sirius's heart froze when he saw that it was pushing a Dementor back to the shore.  He reminded himself that it wasn't real – that it was just an image, but then again, it was real to Harry, who was flying around outside.

"Is that Malfoy?" Sirius asked, pointing to a resplendent scarlet dragon on the opposite side of the island. It seemed wrong to see a Malfoy flying on something that had the natural coloring of a Gryffindor.  Charlie nodded. "It's the strangest thing we've ever seen.  I'd never, ever seen a tame Chinese Fireball before he showed up, and I wasn't sure how the other dragons were going to take to it, especially Norbert.  But Malfoy's dragon is surprisingly docile, and all the other dragons seem to ignore him.  We keep a close eye on him, but there haven't been any problems - for all his faults, Malfoy's a good rider."  Charlie said the last few words manfully, though he looked like he'd just tasted something foul.

"Do you think the Death Eaters used that dragon in the war?" asked Sirius. 

Charlie shrugged. "Probably, but there's no proof, and that dragon's been a pet in Malfoy's family for two generations.  It's got papers."

"Are the Dementors supposed to get that close?" Sirius asked, watching as Mick took a dive and directed one gracefully back into the rocks.

'It just looks close," reassured Cho.  "It's been consistently about fifty feet, so that's about right on the model – " Cho furrowed her brow in confusion.  "But that Dementor does look like it's getting fairly close to Norbert, doesn't it? Charlie, look at this."

All eyes turned to scrutinize the miniature replica of Azkaban.   Harry was flying Norbert very close to the water.  The wind and rain swirling around the fortress made it difficult to see clearly, magnified by the fact that as soon as they looked, Norbert emitted a huge plume of flame.  The resulting smoke rose up over the water, mixing with the clouds and disintegrating into the dusk. Everything looked grey.

Except…

"What's that?" asked Sirius, pointing to a small cloud of white that was hovering thinly in front of Harry. 

"Looks like a Patronus," said Charlie, already pulling on his jacket.  "But why?"

He didn't need to wait long to find out.  Harry was about a half mile from Azkaban.  A Dementor was directly in front of him.  Norbert seemed to be struggling, and Harry seemed unwilling to fly higher until the Dementor turned back.  But there was something else in the water.  At first, Sirius had thought that it was just a pile of rocks, jutting out to sea.  He knew from his own experience that the waters surrounding Azkaban contained several of these rock formations – they had been perfect places for Padfoot to stop and rest.    But, as he peered closer, he realized with a dropping feeling in his stomach, that it was actually a group of Dementors – about a dozen in all – and they were gliding with alarming speed directly towards Harry and Norbert.

Charlie and Cho were already out the door, and Sirius rushed after them, his wand ready.  The wind and rain rushed at his face, and he could barely see two feet in front of him.  Cho and Charlie both had broomsticks in their hands, and they took off into the air immediately. 

Hoping that there were some spares in the headquarters, Sirius concentrated as hard as he could.  "Accio broomstick!"  A Nimbus Seventy-Seven flew into his hands, and he leapt onto it.  As the broomstick shivered and shook in the air, Sirius wished more than ever that he could locate his old motorbike.  At least then he would have had some strong headlights. 

Sirius flew blindly, unable to see either Harry or Norbert; the light at the end of his wand couldn't cut through the overwhelming gray that densely surrounded him.

Then, from above, came a blinding jet of fire.  Sirius swerved to avoid being burnt, and just in time to miss being hit by a large, scarlet tail.  Assuming that Malfoy was headed in Harry's direction, Sirius followed the dragon, making sure to stay well behind it, thankful for its bright colors.  As they neared Azkaban, Sirius could make out several others on broomsticks, hovering in a semi-circle.  In front of them was an opaque white light – the glow, he realized, of numerous Patronus charms being cast at one time.

Despite the distance between himself and the Dementors, Sirius could feel a sudden depression falling over him.  Before he could stop it, a vision of an emerald green Dark Mark in the sky, of the smoking remains of a house, of James and Lily on the ground… came flooding into his mind.  All that he could hear was the high-pitched sound of a baby crying – Harry.

"Give him to me, Hagrid, I'm his godfather, I'll look after him."

"Sorry, Sirius, I'm under strict orders from Dumbledore.  Harry's ter go ter his aunt an' uncle's – Lily's family."

The Chinese Fireball sped far ahead of Sirius, and took a dive.  Sirius's head cleared instantly, and he could finally see Norbert, noticing thankfully that Harry was still in control of the dragon, and was still trying to push Dementors back towards Azkaban's shore.  With the help of the Aurors, there was now considerable space between Harry and the Dementors, although they were still not retreating as fast as they should.

At first, Sirius thought that what he saw next was a trick of light.  Malfoy's scarlet dragon swooped down in between Norbert and the line of Dementors.  Miraculously, neither Norbert nor the Fireball seemed to mind being that close to one another.  Then, as calmly as if they were herding sheep into a pasture, Malfoy floated towards the Dementors, who suddenly started moving very quickly, and, in a matter of seconds, had all retreated into the cracks and crevices of the Azkaban fortress.

All that Sirius could do was sit back on the broomstick and float.  He was wet to the bone, shivering from the cold, and completely exhausted.  It was all too unpleasantly familiar: the jagged rocks, the stormy water, and the fortress looming in the distance.  He was lucky, he realized, that he'd broken free from Azkaban in the summer. 

He saw the Aurors retreating, and Charlie Weasley bobbing up and down in the air next to Norbert.  Charlie and Harry seemed to be having an intense discussion, and after a moment, Charlie flew off, and Harry turned and directed Norbert back to shore.  A burly reserve rider on a large Welsh Green took off in the distance as Harry brought Norbert down to land.  Malfoy was still circling Azkaban lazily, though Sirius barely noticed him.  It had been a long time since he had remembered Godric's Hollow so clearly.  Holding back something that felt like a sob, Sirius flew back to the headquarters, more certain than ever that the only way to stop the Dementors was to slaughter them. 

The headquarters were deserted, with the exception of Alastor Moody, who was pacing back and forth in the front room, his wooden leg thumping in no particular rhythm on the floor.  Sirius threw the broomstick into a corner and shook out his hair.  When that did nothing but send water flying onto his shoulders, he let out a grunt of frustration and transformed into Padfoot.  He ran around the room several times, skidding to a halt in front of the fire and shaking his fur vigorously.  Moody pulled his wand and pointed it at Sirius.  "I thought I was one for theatrics," he said, raising the eyebrow above his good eye. "You're making the room smell like wet dog, Black."  He uttered a drying spell.

Sirius transformed.  It had been unnecessary, but he had needed some way to let out his anger, and Padfoot had always been able to put distance between him and his old memories.  "What the hell happened out there?" he spat at Moody, pointing at the door.  "What was that?"  When Charlie walked in a moment later, looking worried, Sirius repeated his question. "What was that?"  He tried to keep his voice under control.

"I don't know," said Charlie, quietly.  He looked quite shaken up.  "It doesn't make sense.  We're having Norbert checked out right now. Draco and Mick's dragons didn't seem to have any problems."

"It figures," muttered Sirius.  "Where's Harry? What did he say? Has he noticed anything unusual about Norbert lately?  How is he?"

"I'm fine."  Harry stood in the doorway. He was dry – and the Firebolt that Sirius had given to him when he was thirteen was clutched in his hand.

Sirius rushed over to him.  "Harry, what happ – "  But Harry cut him off.  "Norbert probably just has a cold."  He turned to face Charlie.  "The keepers are going to give him something in his food tonight.  Do you think he'll be okay to ride in the morning?"

"In the morning?" repeated Sirius.  "In the morning? Harry, you're not getting on top of that dragon again."

Harry didn't seem to hear him.  As a matter of fact, he seemed to be pointedly ignoring Sirius. 

"Weasley," said Moody, clearing his throat, "I'd say it's possible that the Ridgeback is less effective against Dementors than the Greens."

"It's possible," came an answer from the doorway, but it wasn't from Charlie.  Mick O'Malley stood in the door, along with Draco Malfoy.   Mick entered the room and clapped Harry on the back.  "Sorry I missed the excitement, Harry.  With the wind and the rain, I really couldn't see what was going on over on your side.  I should have suspected something – I didn't see any Dementors for close to two hours." He turned to Charlie, "We need to get that communication spell set up."

Sirius took a step forward.  "So you didn't feel anything different about your dragon?" he asked Mick.  Then he turned to Malfoy, who appeared to be somewhat amused by the whole situation. "What about you?" Sirius barked at him.  "You certainly managed to ride in and save the day – there must have been a dozen Dementors out there."

"There were thirteen," said Moody gruffly.  "And they were strong – I know that the Aurors have been out of practice since the dragons arrived on the scene, but it took quite a few Patronus charms to set them back.  It was almost as if they'd banded together."

Eyeing Malfoy suspiciously, Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but Malfoy held up a finger. "I'd be careful if I were you, Black.  You wouldn't want to defame my character.  I didn't do anything except possibly save Potter's life."

An angry sound escaped Harry's throat, and Sirius noticed that he was gripping his broomstick so tightly that his knuckles were white. 

"Potter," began Moody, artfully stepping forward between Malfoy and Sirius, "have the Dementors been affecting you at all?  I've noticed you setting off quite a few Patronus charms while you're flying around up there."

"No," said Harry with force, and Sirius was certain that he was lying.  He looked ill.  His eyes were dull, and his skin pale and almost green in tint. 

"May I be excused?" asked Malfoy, who, in contrast, appeared to be the picture of health. His hair looked like he'd just had it done, and his eyes were bright.  "I have plans this evening."

Sirius was about to object, but Moody nodded and Charlie said, "Sure, go ahead," and then, with obvious force, added, "Thanks for all your help."

"Right," said Sirius, taking a step closer to Harry as Malfoy disappeared into thin air.  "You're coming home now."

"I don't live at Lupin Lodge anymore," Harry said, not looking at Sirius.  "I'm going to stay and see what's wrong with Norbert."

Sirius flinched at his tone, and narrowed his eyes at Charlie.  "I think it's clear there's something wrong with the Ridgeback - there must be another dragon?"

"Sure," said Charlie.  We have a reserve because Malfoy brought his own.  We don't like to use him though – he's named Flatulo for a reason."

Moody snorted.

"I'm riding Norbert," said Harry determinedly, turning his back and heading out the door.  "Let's go, Mick."

Sirius knew by the very James-like set of his shoulders that it was useless to try and stop him.  He watched him go - watched as the dragon riders and Moody followed Harry and made their ways out into the rain once more.  Sirius remained alone in the headquarters, so frustrated that he could not resist the urge to kick something - his foot connected with solid wood and a chair splintered against the wall, but it gave him no relief.  He was a failure as a godfather.  They should have left Harry to Remus, he thought bitterly.  He inwardly cursed James and Lily for trusting him, and resisted an urge to fly to their graves and jump up and down repeatedly.  They should have known better.  They had trusted him with important decisions before, and it had brought misery to everyone.  Sirius had a feeling that, if they could have done it from beyond the grave, they would have revoked his guardianship and given Harry to someone else. 

Sirius had a sudden memory of Lily, sitting quietly in her bedroom rocking chair, a white cloth draped over her breast and Harry's face as she fed him. 

"That's freakish," Sirius had told her from the hallway, pointing at the feeding process.  "You're scarring my godson for life."

"Hey, get out of here -" James had tried to push Sirius out of viewing distance, but Sirius had pushed back and Lily had only laughed at them as they'd got into a wrestling match, right there in the doorway.

"I'm covered up, James, for pity's sake!"

"He's been trying to get a peek at you since first year," James had retorted, trying to pin Sirius and failing.

"Oh really?" Lily had asked lightly, shooting Sirius a knowing grin.  "Well, he's entitled to a good look at this if he wants it, because if he has to take Harry then he'll have to take over these feedings, won't he?  There are certain charms that men can use for this sort of thing - I'll make sure to write them down for you, Sirius.  Won't you look lovely with a pair of -"

James had fallen apart laughing, and Sirius had looked up, appalled.  "You're a sick woman."

"You'd do it, though," she'd returned, still grinning.  "I know you.  Shut your eyes."

Sirius had done so, and when he'd opened them again, Lily had shut her robes and was holding Harry out to him. 

Harry had been so tiny and pale and dark-headed.  Big green eyes had blinked up at Sirius when he'd approached to pick up his godson's little form and cradle him in one arm.  "Who's this big man?" Sirius had said in a stupid voice, tickling the baby's round stomach with one finger.  "Who's this big scary man?"  He had lifted Harry's little shirt and given him a raspberry on his belly, making him giggle and reach up with chubby hands, to pat Sirius's face.  "Oh, he's got me!" Sirius had shouted, pretending to stagger.  "He's going to knock me flat!"  He'd kissed Harry on the nose.  "You'll break hearts, you know that?  Remind me a bit of myself, actually - strong, rakishly handsome - Prongs, are you sure he's yours?"

James had punched him from behind.

"Hey, don't make me drop him!" Sirius had shouted, clinging to Harry.

Lily had looked on as they had continued playing, her gaze strangely distant and satisfied.  "You'll take care of him," she had said suddenly.  "You'll love him for us."

At her words, both Sirius and James had stopped pretending to fight, and the room had gone suddenly, horribly still.

"Don't say it like that," James had said quickly, coming around Sirius.  "We're not going anywhere."

Lily had given her head a quick shake and the light had come back into her eyes. "I know."

But they had been wrong. 

Sirius drew his wand and pointed it at the shattered chair. "Reparo," he muttered.  They had trusted him to love their son in their stead, and now he had spent the last four months obsessed with justice, ignoring his duty to James and Lily almost entirely.  He rubbed his head.  He needed time - time to set aside just for Harry, if Harry would accept it.  Ron's assistance really had relieved the pressure of his trial preparations - perhaps if he could have Ron full time... Well, Arthur would simply have to agree.  And hopefully Ron would agree.  And regardless of all of it, there had to be a way to annihilate the Dementors and spare Harry the torture of this idiot job he'd taken. 

There was a lot to work out.  Newly determined, his mind buzzing with ideas and resolutions, Sirius focused on the Ministry, twisted his wand, and Disapparated.