Master of Death

by deadwoodpecker

It is 1977, and He Who Must Not Be Named is ascendant. Hoping to lure out a mighty foe, he organizes a theft of Nurmengard. But as others have discovered before him, it is unwise to play with Grindelwald's possessions... This fic is H/G, and is set in a slightly-altered from canon reality.

17. chapter twelve

Dumbledore was true to his word.

Both Harry and Ginny managed to stay out of trouble the next few weeks. It was well into February that a little scroll appeared on his bedside table with the agreement that Harry was allowed to go to Hogsmeade along with nearly every other student at Hogwarts who was third year and above. A quick, furtive discussion with Ginny revealed that she, too, had received the same message.

"Good," he said. "I've been wanting a little escape…"

Sirius was less than sanguine. Over the last week or so, he'd been lurking around Professor McKinnon's classroom, a fact that amused Harry greatly. His godfather, it must be said, was besotted. This worked in his favor.

"I know Dumbledore gave you permission to go," said Sirius. "In fact, I was the one to give it. But I'm still not sure… I don't know what might change."

"Dorcas said we don't have to worry that much," said Harry. "C'mon, Siri—"

"Sol," corrected Sirius, clasping his shoulder.

"Sol," Harry repeated.

"We are in public," said Sirius. There was nothing but kind regard in his eyes. "I know it's hard, Harry, but… two things I know for absolute truth is that the pox is coming, and he is taking more and more control. We don't want either of those things to affect us."

Harry, who still did not think the pox was that frightening, merely nodded. "What do you remember of this trip to Hogsmeade?" Harry asked.

His godfather smiled wryly. "I don't," he said, "I had detention."

Harry laughed; a moment later, Sirius joined in. The door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts opened at just that moment and Marlene McKinnon strolled out. Sirius's face lit at that; his smile turned brighter. Harry managed to hold in any further laughter: just a week ago, Sirius had said he had heard intriguing things about some of the items in her family collection, an item that wasn't sold in their store. Rumor was that it had been created by members of the same secret society that had made Dorcas Meadowes's quill. Supposedly, this was why Sirius now felt so compelled to spend so much time outside her door.

But it was obvious there was another reason for Sirius's interest, and that reason was only growing stronger, for there was something in Professor McKinnon's smile that echoed Sirius's.

Smuggling away a smile, Harry left the two of them to it. So Sirius didn't think 1978 was entirely bad, did he? The rest of the day, and well into the next, his mood was lifted into a state of humor that he had not felt in a very long time.

Ginny commented on it as they stood around in the corridor. They had different classes for the rest of the afternoon. Still, Harry lingered, whistling a Muggle tune, leaning against the cold stone wall.

"You're happy," she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"It's a nice day," he said, cheerful.

She pointed out the window, where the sky with a slate grey and snow threatened. "Really?" she asked, smile widening.

"Maybe I like days cold enough to freeze your bits off," said Harry.

"Hmmm," said Ginny, tapping her chin. "I'm not sure what you mean by those." Without meaning to, Harry flicked a quick gaze up and down her body, lingering for the barest of seconds on a couple of interesting bits. Fortunately, Ginny did not seem to notice. "But I suppose I'll allow it."

Harry wiped his forehead. It was strangely difficult to look away from her. "Thank Merlin," he said.

"Oi! Peverell!" And then Peter Pettigrew was there, arms folded. "Are you coming up to class, or not?"

Harry rolled his eyes, squeezed Ginny's elbow, and sprinted away down the hall.

HPHPHPHPHP

"Look, Harry," said Ginny, a couple of days later, pointing out the window. "It's your favorite weather." It was sleeting. Even with warming charms, it was freezing in the courtyard. Groups of students huddled under the overhangs, crowded around hastily conjured flames.

Harry peered around, grinning. "Beautiful," he pronounced. "Really, it's just great."

"I'm happy if you're happy," said Ginny.

"Oh, I am," said Harry, lifting his arms, raising them to the sleet that came down around their umbrella charm. "It's the dream, you know."

"You deserve it," said Ginny.

"Maybe it'll be like this for our trip to Hogsmeade," said Harry.

"I think it's freezing," muttered Remus Lupin.

Harry jerked toward him in the same instant that Ginny did. Harry hadn't heard him approach, had not seen him join them. But there he was, smiling kindly, looking at them back and forth.

"Remus!" said Ginny. "You're back! How was your aunt?"

"She's fine," Remus said, smiling fading a little.

"Oh, good," said Ginny. "I was worried when I thought you'd disappeared."

"No, she's fine," Remus assured her, turning slightly red.

Ginny gave Harry a fleeting, laughing glance. "I've got to be off," she said, with reluctance, backing toward the school. "I'll see you two later!"

It had been a full moon in the last few days, Harry realized. Remus's clothes hung off him; there was a long, angry-looking scratch on his hand, disappearing up his sleeve. His face had the same baggy sort of look: his skin hung off his cheekbones and his grey-brown eyes were hollow. Still, there was a question on his face that belied his general appearance of shabbiness.

Harry took half a step away from the archway through which Ginny had disappeared.

"All right?" he asked.

Remus nodded. "I – yeah." His shoulders lifted in a shrug. "She's nice."

Harry could hardly argue with that. "She is, yeah."

There were many admirable things about Ginny, and her niceness was just one of them. Later, alone in the shower, with hot water pouring over him, Harry could not help but stand under the spray and think about those qualities. Ever since that moment in the alcove, when she'd brushed her fingertips along his jaw, a restlessness would fill him at moments like these. His body would react. And – until now – Harry would suppress it.

But now, the day before Hogsmeade weekend, with water sliding over him, Harry could no longer ignore it. He let go a wordless apology – to whom, he did not know – and took himself in hand. There were many wonderful things about Ginny, but it was not her niceness he was thinking about at the moment. Want swamped him; he stroked his shaft to fully hard, imagining her curves against him. They were back in that alcove, standing close enough that their breaths mingled. This time, when she stroked his jaw, he leaned in to kiss her.

Eyes half-closed, lips half-open, Harry imagined that moment again and again. His hand slicked over his shaft, swift and hard. It wasn't going to take long; he had not done this since it became clear the only person he wanted to think about was the person the entire castle thought was his sister. The sound of the water falling to the floor of the shower masked the harshness of his breath, which he just couldn't catch, not with his penis in his hand and Ginny in his thoughts.

It was over in another minute. Harry let out a ragged grunt, mind's eye fixed on the Ginny of his imagination, and with a rush of pure pleasure, climaxed. The wall was splattered with the evidence: for a moment, it was a canvas with a particularly peculiar sort of paint. Then, it was washed away and down the drain, and the only sign that remained of his recent orgasm was the weakness in his knees, the racing of his heart, and the way he now sagged against the wall, eyes slammed shut.

"Sorry," he muttered again, once he'd recovered himself.

After that, he went to bed early and slept well. Anticipation had him up and out of bed when the sun was still rising. The castle had a sort of sedate awareness of Valentine's Day: some of the portraits serenaded him with harps as he bounded down the stairs toward the Great Hall. One of the knights wore a necklace of flowers hung askew around his neck. On each of the house tables were bouquets of roses of every shade between white and red. None of this bothered Harry; he was used to Valentine's Day at Hogwarts. What made him wary was the cluster of cherubs in little white nappies, standing about and muttering. One of them looked him over and slapped one of his arrows against his leg.

Wishing he had not been so early that he was the first to arrive, Harry ducked back out again. After a quick glance behind him, he pulled his invisibility cloak from within his robes and swung it over him. The last thing he needed, considering what happened to his insides whenever Ginny showed up with that particular smile of hers, was attention from cupids.

Invisible now, Harry had just settled at the Gryffindor table and snatched up a piece of toast when James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter sloped in and threw themselves down near enough that Harry had to scoot over a foot unless he wanted Sirius in his lap.

"Hall looks good," said Sirius.

"Thanks," said James. "The cupids were Lily's idea, but I got the roses."

"I'm surprised you didn't save them all for her," said Peter, who sounded grumpy, as though he hadn't got enough sleep.

"I did save her one bouquet," said James, good-natured. "Okay, two."

Harry shifted over another foot and took a hasty bite of toast as the others laughed.

"What're you two doing today?" Sirius asked, lifting a forkful of eggs to his mouth. "Going to go with the rest of the starry-eyed crowd and cozy up at Puddifoot's?"

James snorted. "Doubtful."

"Good," said Remus, "Pink is not your color."

"But red is," James countered with a cheeky grin. "Trust me. Red is definitely my color."

The back of Harry's neck burned. A part of him wanted to flee – should he, their child, be listening to this? – but another part of him wanted to stay just as much. How many orphans got to experience even a part of their dead parents's youthful romance? He looked up at the painted sky, which was pale blue and scattered with fluffy white clouds in the shape of hearts. Perhaps all the romantic imagery was getting to him.

"I still can't believe you got the girl," said Peter, shaking his head.

James shrugged. "Right place, right time," he said.

"I knew she'd come around," announced Sirius. "Once you deflated your head a bit…"

"Hmm," said James with a cheeky grin. "Lily is perfectly happy with my head as is."

All three of his friends groaned. Harry fought the urge to duck under the table. Thankfully, just as Harry had reached his limit of how much information he could take regarding his parents' romance, Peter took the subject in hand and changed it.

"I'm not going to Hogsmeade today," he announced, with an air of great smugness. "Old Bones asked for my help with a project… I told him I'd do it." When the others just stared at him, he added, defensively, "You lot know I need all the recommendations I can get once I'm out of here and need to get, you know, a job. Old Bones has a lot of contacts, you know…"

"We know, we know!" said Sirius, hands lifted in a placating gesture. "Good for you, Pete."

"I don't think you'll have any trouble finding a job," said Remus kindly.

"Yeah, my dad can just give you one," said James, cheerful.

"I don't want to work with potions," said Peter, tone sharp-edged.

The other three exchanged a glance.

Peter deflated. "I didn't mean it like that… you know how rubbish I am at potions… I'd destroy your dad's building."

"If James hasn't done it by now, you won't either," said Sirius, whose good cheer could not be brought down.

"Why are you so happy today?" Peter asked, exasperated. "You've got detention, haven't you?"

"Ah, yes, but who do I have detention with?" asked Sirius, grin widening. "It's three hours with my very favorite professor; it'll be better than any other date the other students have got going on."

"Not better than mine, I assure you." James was smirking at him.

Harry had reached his limit. Instead of eavesdropping further on his father and his friends, Harry turned his attention to eating breakfast as best as he could while sitting under a cloak and trying not to make any noise. That latter was not so difficult; other early-risers were making their way into the Great Hall. Some were vacant-eyed and shambling, others were rowdy and excited. Most were fifth years and older, the ones who were properly excited to be going out to Hogsmeade on Valentine's Day. The noise level rose; cupids flapped their wings, taunting everyone with their arrows. A large group of Ravenclaw boys were chanting something, faces alight.

And still, even with all that, Harry heard his own false name perfectly well when his father said it. His head swung back toward them.

"And the Peverells? Are they going?" James asked. "Do you know?"

"I'd assume so," Sirius said, his mouth full of bacon. "Unless they've got detention, too."

"They might not be able to, remember? His godfather doesn't want him away from Hogwarts," said James.

"The prat," said Sirius, without heat.

The rowdy group of boys over at the Ravenclaw table let out a loud cheer, conveniently smothering Harry's surprised, unbidden chuckle. Still, Remus looked around, brow furrowed, before turning back to his friends.

"I don't care if they go or not," muttered Peter.

"Aw, don't say that," said Sirius.

"I thought you liked Ginny, at least," said James.

Harry drew in a breath, then held it, afraid that Remus's hearing was keen enough to give away his exhale.

"I mean… she… she's gorgeous but…"

James tossed up a grape and caught it in his mouth. "But what?"

"She comes with her brother," said Peter. "I told you what he said to me. I told you. It was right after we took that potion, you know, the one with Old Bones, and it was — you didn't see his face!" Peter's tone grew more impassioned. "It was like he was a Death Eater! It was like — like he was You Know Who!"

Sirius made a scoffing sound.

"And Remus said — tell them what you said, Remus."

But Remus was shaking his head back and forth very swiftly. Harry was frozen to the bench; even his thoughts were oddly suspended. How awkward it was to be invisible, only to find himself under discussion! A part of him hoped Remus would remain silent, but the other part — the one keeping him stuck to this bench and unable to move — urged him to speak.

"Remus, c'mon, tell them!"

"That will not serve anything—"

"Come on!"

"I wasn't even serious," Remus said. "I just…"

"Tell them."

It was this final command that did it. Harry watched Remus fold; his expression melted into something both fond and annoyed, indulgent and despairing.

"I just think they're sweet to each other," muttered Remus.

"Sweet to each other," repeated James.

"Yeah," said Remus. "I saw them in the corridor the other day, and they were very close and laughing and… you know, I noticed because he reminded me of you, James."

"Me?" James scoffed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Dunno," said Remus, "just the way he was standing."

"He's got a crush on her," caroled Peter.

Sirius threw a hard-boiled egg at him, which bounced off Peter's shoulder and fell to the bench with a muffled crack. "Unlikely! They're siblings."

"This coming from a Black?" Peter pointed. There was something pinched in about his face now, giving him the odd look of a rat.

Embarrassment was flooding Harry as he sat listening to this conversation. He'd known over a month ago that if any inkling of his desire for Ginny got out, this would happen. His parents and their mates all thought they were siblings. Ginny was about as far from a sister to him as it was possible to get, but there were only four people in 1978 who knew that.

"—cousins, not siblings, you prat," said Sirius.

"I'm sure what you thought you saw—"

"But I didn't even think it, not really," said Remus, shifting in his seat. "I wouldn't have… all I said was that Harry reminded me a bit of you—"

"When he's with Lily," added Peter, who did not seem able to let this go.

Blood pounded in Harry's ears.

"It's nothing," continued Remus.

"But—"

"Peter," said Remus. "I said they were sweet to each other and that Harry reminds me a bit of James. I never intended to imply they're two siblings fucking."

The profanity, which was normal coming from each of the other three, was enough of a shock from Remus that it cut off the conversation as though with shears. Harry was hunched in his seat, miserable and invisible, wanting to escape and yet afraid to be caught. The embarrassment had not receded; instead, it burned in his gut. There, it remained, until that same crowd of Ravenclaw boys rose to their feet. Harry followed suit, ducking under the cupids, who were now swinging about chains of paper hearts, wielding them like actual chains. One caught on Sirius, who plucked it off just as Harry passed, and flung it at his feet.

It crunched as he stepped on it. Harry saw just the beginning of curiosity glimmer in grey eyes before he ducked and leapt forward, out of sight and — more importantly — out of hearing of the Marauders.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

"You what?"

Harry swallowed. "I was going to head to Hogsmeade early," he repeated. "Under the, you know, cloak." As excuses went, this one was feeble. But after two hours of thinking of some way to make it clear that they couldn't walk to Hogsmeade together, this was the best he could come up with.

Ginny was dressed to go, already wearing a long, spring-green scarf and matching gloves. In her arms was Nimue, who stared at Harry with unblinking eyes, clearly unimpressed with him. The embarrassment he'd experienced in the Great Hall was combined with a large cutting of disappointment: it was as though someone had given his insides a couple of counterclockwise stirs. Even Nimue was giving him a knowing look, making sure he saw that while she was docile in Ginny's arms, her claws were unsheathed and ready to attack at any moment.

"Why Lily calls you her sweet baby, I don't know," he muttered.

"What did you say?" Ginny asked. Her voice was loud enough that Mary Mcdonald, who was sat beside the fire knitting what appeared to be a tiny jumper for her new toad, looked around at them.

"That was for Nimue," Harry reassured her.

A flush rose in her cheeks. "That makes more sense," she muttered, tugging at her scarf, heedless of the cat hair that was spreading on her otherwise pristine black robes. Then, pulling a face, she told him on a sigh: "I guess I supposed we were walking down together."

Was she disappointed? Harry wondered. Or did she just not like having her plans fall through? Would she even go now, or—

"I suppose I'll want to head out then; a group from Ancient Runes was going to meet in the Great Hall at"—she adjusted Nimue and glanced down at her watch—"oh, Merlin, five minutes from now!" she squawked. "They're meaning to gather up a picnic so they don't have to — all the couples make quite crowd — I wish you'd let know earlier, but no matter, maybe I'll see you there?"

Harry swore that she spun away from him so quickly he felt wind from her passage. The light, flowery scent lingered as he and Nimue, who'd been set down with a swift pat, blinked after her.

In the sudden silence, Mary McDonald started humming "God Save the Queen", which vaguely surprised him until he remembered she was a Muggleborn. But he only spared the briefest of thoughts for that. Instead, he was much too busy remembering that Ginny had been very popular at Hogwarts, more so than himself if one wanted to ignore the certain amount of attention devoted to his scar. It should not surprise him that she'd find a group to go with even given only a moment's notice. Nevertheless, he felt a little pang when the portrait hole whooshed shut.

He'd much rather have gone with her, he acknowledged, if only in his own thoughts. But it was better this way; it was safer.

And with a grimace, Harry went to retrieve his broom from his tiny room.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

Snow hung in the air but was not quite falling by the time a little later that day that Harry gave up on Hogsmeade and decided to fly back up to the castle. He'd already made sure of being seen alone by James, Lily, and Remus at enough points during the day — at the gates, going into Zonko's, and sipping a tea outside the town center, leaning up against one of the permanent market stalls. He'd affected an air of nonchalance, let his eyes wander, and experienced a loneliness he'd not felt since he'd been invited to Hogwarts.

It was odd not to have Ron and Hermione here. Their ghosts seemed to keep pace with him, providing little warmth, only greater awareness of their absence. It was odder still that Ginny was not with him.

James and Lily ventured out of the Hogsmeade Papery, both clutching ribboned bundles. Harry only allowed himself a moment to look at him, before forcing himself to look away, pretending to be rather closely studying the village bulletin board. One notice was particularly new and eye-catching; so much so, that Harry shuffled a little closer, only to hear a repeating chorus of trumpets. BY MINISTRY DECREE, he read:

The medusa pox is poised to gather strength this winter among the wizarding population; in order to decrease the speed of the spread, we are asking of you the following:

If you experience any or all of the symptoms listed below, isolate yourself within your own home (or room, if you live with others) and contact the Department of Pox and Plague at the Ministry of Magic by owl.

If you do not own an owl, send up long-lasting sparks from your wand so that normal patrol may know of your distress.

If you live in a location with a high population of Muggleborns, consider yourself at high risk of contracting the medusa pox. All households are advised to maintain a two-week supply of food and to practice perpetual sanitation charms on all surfaces within the home.

Minimize contact with Muggles.

Should you follow these measures, we are confident that we as a community will pull through this winter.

But should you do any of the following, you will place yourselves and others at risk

Travel by floo, apparition, broom, or other magical modes of transportation to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries if you are beset with any of the symptoms of the medusa pox listed below

Travel between communities where one or the other has a high volume of pox patients

Not isolating from the community when one has come into contact with a Muggleborn, or a pureblood who has recently been in contact with someone with the medusa pox

Harry stepped back, eyes scanning the bottom of the poster-sized parchment. There were a large number of symptoms listed, including normal ones such as fever and chills, exhaustion and cough, along with more unusual and magical symptoms like petrified sores, fingers and toes turning gray and then falling off, and hair turning white in the space of an evening. Perplexed, he stared at it for a minute.

"Harry?"

He whirled around, nearly stumbling over his feet. There were his parents, hand in hand, having crossed the square while he'd been pretending not to look at them.

"Oh!" said Harry. "Hi."

"Sorry we scared you," said Lily, grinning a little.

"We didn't realize you were studying the nonsense decree," said James, jerking his chin at the poster.

"Nonsense?" Harry asked. He glanced from the poster and back to them.

"Oh, well, the information is all right," said Lily. "But I wouldn't call it nonsense…"

"Except for the part where it scapegoats Muggleborns," said James, suddenly grim, shaking his head.

"But nothing we can do about that," said Lily, looking up at him. There was a forced smile on her face, now. "Nor should we mention anything here."

There was a small crowd in the square; most of it was students, but there were one or two shopkeepers and residents there. One of whom, Harry realized with some alarm, was staring at them rather intently.

"Where's Ginny?" James said suddenly.

Harry's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. "Uh, she came down with some friends," he said as casually as he could. To his relief, his parents turned slightly and began to walk. Harry trailed them, past several fourth year Gryffindors who were laughingly threatening each other with their Zonko's bags, past the hook-nosed shopkeeper who had been watching them a little too closely, and out of the town square entirely.

"Sorry to rush you out of there," said James, with a small grimace. "Hogsmeade takes the threat of the pox with a great deal of seriousness–"

"Because it is serious," said Lily, very solemn. She turned and began to walk backward. "It's awful, from what I've heard."

"I'm not arguing that, I just don't think the Ministry Decree very effective," said James.

"Are they ever?" Harry asked. He'd never found them to be so.

Both James and Lily laughed.

"Not particularly," Lily admitted.

There was such a crowd on High St. that it took ten minutes to thread their way through the crowd in front of the Post Office. Ginny was there, Harry noticed, with a group of girls. Her eyes caught his, and she tossed him a small smile and a wave before turning back to the friends Harry had been barely aware she'd had. Of course she has friends, Harry reminded himself, scoffing. She was popular back in 1996… she even had a boyfriend for a couple of months.

Scowling, he pushed through.

Another sign advertising the Ministry Decree cropped up; Harry spun away from it, but the sharp edge gouged his shoulder.

Wincing, he clapped his hand over the sore spot, just as Lily stopped short at the very edge of of the crowd, just at the intersection of the road that led away from High St. and up toward the Shrieking Shack. Nearly walking into her, he stepped away just in time.

"Oh no!" she cried.

"What is it?" James asked, alarmed.

"Damn it," said Lily, glancing back up the street, a great frown creasing her brow.

"What–"

"I was meant to go to the Post Office," she said, still frowning. "It's Petunia's birthday in a few days, I was hoping to owl her a message."

"Petunia?" asked James in a frosty sort of tone.

"Don't start with that," said Lily.

"You know it's only because of the way she treats you," said James.

Harry was holding his breath, looking from one parent to the other.

"She's still my sister," said Lily, though a frown remained fixed on her face, and Harry knew her tone for one of reluctance. "And she'll be… disappointed if she doesn't receive an owl from me for her birthday."

The Petunia Dursley Harry had known in 1996 did not care much at all for owls swooping anywhere near her house, but Harry was forced to hold his tongue in order to keep his own secret.

"Please wait right here?" Lily implored James. "We'll still have plenty of time up at the castle… it's hours yet before the rest of the students are going to be back. It'll be a short message, I swear."

"Of course I'll wait," said James.

Harry followed him over to the bench at the small intersection. The Shrieking Shack was just visible from here. He tucked his hands in his pockets.

"You don't have to wait," James told him, "though you're welcome to."

Lily hurried up High St., head bent against the wind, leaving Harry alone with his unknowing father, who was now leaning up a fence, fingers drumming on the stone, tangling with the near-dead ivy. In the future, Vernon Dursley had made a rather big show of Petunia's birthdays, booming in a loud voice with windows open — in the middle of February — about the expensive household item he'd sent away for. A twenty pound note would be slipped in his son's hand; Vernon knew very well that bribery was one of the few tricks to work on Dudley, who had the sympathetic instincts of a mushroom. He would kiss his mother unprompted, hold open doors for her, draw her chair back from the table for her. Harry did not know what they did for dinner: in the spirit of giving Petunia Dursley everything she wished for on her birthday, Harry was sent to his cupboard with his stomach empty.

And there was Lily, dutiful sister, running up High St. away from her boyfriend in order to properly send her a birthday message. Harry hoped she sent a manky little gift along with her owl…

"—not very nice, actually," James was saying.

Harry blinked at him, pulling himself away from thoughts of life without James and Lily with great effort. "Huh?" he said. "Sorry, what?"

"I said, Lily's sister doesn't really deserve the effort," said James, tearing off a bit of the ivy and flinging it away. "She's right awful, as sisters go."

"Quite so," said Harry. When James gave him a puzzled look, he said: "From what I've heard around Gryffindor Tower." With a small surge of effort, Harry pulled himself out of that future cupboard. "I've heard some stuff about her."

"Not everyone has luck with sisters," said James. "I haven't got any, Sirius has only got an older prat of a brother, and Lily's sister Petunia… well, she certainly isn't one like Ginny."

Harry whirled on him, exasperated, "Ginny isn't my sister," he said rather forcefully.

A Bludger might have just whacked James on the head. His eyes widened, his mouth opened, and he even leaned closer, nearly dislodging himself from the stone fence as he did so. "What?" he said, shocked. "What do you mean, she isn't your sister?"

Harry had not planned this, but mutiny was roiling around in his belly, where it had been gathering force this entire lonely day. "I mean, she isn't my sister. We have the same godfather, but that's it. We didn't grow up together, we aren't a — we aren't a family. We've just got the same godfather."

James just stared.

Harry huffed out an annoyed breath. "Listen, I—"

"Why didn't you say something before?" he asked, astonished. "And how does that even work?"

"We both lost our parents. Ginny lost hers rather more recently." It felt like ill luck to say anything more, particularly in reference to the Weasleys, whom Harry very much hoped would be alive and waiting for them when they finally reached their own time. "It's not — it isn't all that complicated, but Sol is… he's a complicated bloke. Has got all sorts of things going on."

"But you — you've both got the same name!" said James.

"We're two different Peverells," Harry said, having forgotten this detail. "Different families; different parents. No blood relation."

James ignored this. "But why didn't you tell us?"

Harry shrugged and lied, "It didn't seem all that important."

James raised his eyebrow, clearly not accepting this.

"I tried a couple of times," said Harry, "but we were new students, and just there, and you lot are just – just–"

"Overwhelming?" suggested James. There was still a rather open question mark on his face. "That just seems odd, Peverell."

"It's the truth," Harry pressed. "She isn't my sister, she never has been."

"Well, I–"

But Harry never got confirmation that his father believed him. Instead, all in one moment, the temperature dropped, the sky darkened, and a chill rolled over him. As though pulled by a string, Harry turned. Dementors was his first grim thought. What were Dementors doing in Hogsmeade when all the students were there? Wand out, he headed up the empty street. He knew they were there: even in Scotland, the weather did not change so abruptly.

There were footsteps behind him.

"Peverell?" James said, incredulous. "What's going on? Where are you going?"

"Dementors," grunted Harry.

"You – what?" said James. "This is Hogsmeade! The Dementors are out at Azkaban, they wouldn't–"

But his words cut off abruptly as abruptly as though snipped. The dark gray clouds boiling above them cracked, spilling out one Dementor, then two, then three, until five of them were falling from the sky, swooping down into the forest at the end of the street they were on. Harry hurried forward, almost running now. His calves burned with the effort to propel himself forward and upward. Why were they here?

"What the fuck are they doing here?" James's shout was an echo of Harry's own thoughts.

"Nothing good," Harry said. "They must be looking for something or some—"

He choked back his words. There, at the very edge of where town met forest, just beyond the Shrieking Shack, was surely the person for whom the Dementors searched. They were swarming around the tall trees, and had not yet spied the pale figure cowering close to the ground.

"Look," said James, "Just there!"

"I see him," said Harry, stretching into a run. If he were fast enough, he could get to the man ahead of him. But when he was still too far away, the Dementors shrieked with triumph as one and dove downward, like hawks, as though the trees and the limbs were nothing to them. "Expecto patronum!" he shouted.

His stag burst from his wand at once, moving impossibly fast, charging the Dementors. They were flung upward and outward, all five of them tossed by the patronus's light in separate directions. Harry was so focused on that, he nearly missed the incredulous look on James's face.

James was fumbling with the spell. It took three tries, but then his stag was off to join the other.

"C'mon," he said, gripping Harry's arm. "C'mon!"

They were close enough now to see the man had bedraggled dark hair, dark eyes, and robes with a great singe on it. He saw them too, and appeared to be shouting, cheeks grown purple with effort, though no sound emerged but for the howl of the wind and the cries of the Dementors. His eyes were wide and rolling, revealing the whites around them, and he kept trying to shout something, frantic, scrabbling toward them on hands and feet, looking like, of all things, a rabid dog.

Harry slowed, afraid now, and was on the verge of stopping when several loud CRACKs of Apparition startled him. He and James were suddenly swamped by witches and wizards wearing Ministry robes and hard expressions.

"Gently, remember!" one of them ordered.

Many were talking at once, as though they had all been in the middle of an argument before they Apparated here. Noise and bodies swirled around them, and Harry barely had the presence of mind to realize all wore an embroidered badge over their hearts: the golden emblem of Hufflepuff's cup crossed with two wands. Then James was pulling him away and off to the side. Several took notice of them.

"What's going on?" James demanded, drawing himself to his full height.

"Get the Dementors out of here, for Mungo's sake," one of them snapped. A tall, broad wizard with a long beard of salt and pepper broke from the crowd and limped toward them, leaning heavily on a staff.

James repeated his question.

"Hogwarts students?"

"Yes. I'm James Potter. Head Boy."

"You've stepped into a bit of a mess, Mr. Potter, but we've got it from here." The tone invited no further questions and less than subtly implied they were to leave now.

Harry ignored this. "He asked what's going on."

The wizard looked at him, then back at his fellows, who were subduing the bedraggled wizard. With the Dementors gone, warmth had flooded back into the air. The clouds scattered.

"I'm afraid my friend there had a mishap with a potion some days ago. He was tracked in order to protect him."

"The Dementors did not look as though they were sent to help him," said James.

"They were meant only to find him."

Harry stole one last look at the other wizard, who was looking far more peaceful at the hands of the group. A metal cup — a replica of Hufflepuff's — was shoved into his hand. A moment later, green light blossomed and the Portkey took half the crowd away.

"Are you part of the Aurors?" Harry asked.

"No, Peverell, they're the Pox and Plague Department," said James. "Was that it? Did he have the pox, then?"

"He does not."

"But—"

"No more questions." The wizard's eyes grew hard. "What were you two doing, away from your little friends, hm?"

"We—"

"Come." The wizard glanced down the street – there were students passing within view, rowdy and oblivious – and then gestured toward the Shrieking Shack, limped across the yard, and blasted open the door.

Harry followed with growing trepidation. Who were these people, other than that they were part of a Ministry department designed to deal with wizarding illness? Were they the ones who had monitored Fleamont Potter's shipment of potions? Why had they been dressed like Aurors, but for their badge?

"Steady, Peverell," James muttered.

The inside of the Shrieking Shack was barren of furniture, and the walls were covered in the deep claw marks of a werewolf attempting to escape. It was cold inside, nearly as cold as it had been when the Dementors had come. His breath formed quick-lived clouds, forming slightly too fast, revealing his anxiety.

"The Dementors were chased away by a Patronus Charm," he said briskly. "Two of them. How did two Hogwarts students come to know how to cast such an advanced charm?"

"My mum taught me," said James. He betrayed no anxiety, only leaned casually against the wall.

"A friend of mine taught me," offered Harry, forcing himself to relax.

"If you'll excuse me," said James, "I won't answer any more questions until you identify yourself. Another thing my mum taught me."

"I'm Edgar Bones, Deputy Head of the Department of Pox and Plague."

"Are you related to Old Bones, then?" Harry asked, surprised.

There was a flicker of recognition, but other than that, the other wizard kept a tight hold over his own reactions. "We are related, yes," he said, coldly. "Now introductions are out of the way, I have a few more questions for you before I must, regrettably, wipe your memory of this encounter."

"What?" said Harry.

"But–"

"I think not," said a new voice.

There was Sirius, the elder version, in the now open doorway; several other witches and wizards ranged behind him, dismay written on their faces. Sirius, like James, revealed not a single ounce of fear. In fact, he seemed quite casual, amused even.

"Who are you?" Bones asked irritably.

Sirius pointed at Harry. "I'm that one's godfather. He's under seventeen; you can't perform a memory charm of any sort on him without my permission, and I don't give it. And you know you have to obliviate both of them at once if you want the charm to last."

"But they were in the middle of a very – it was a situation," said Bones, frustrated.

"We saw hardly anything at all and understood even less," said James, almost cheerful.

After a fleeting glance at his father, Harry forced a shrug. He knew the name Edgar Bones. He'd heard it before, but where? The man himself was unfamiliar. Had Susan Bones ever mentioned him? "Seemed like official Ministry business," he said finally.

"There you have it," said Sirius. "The boys here won't tell anyone about your business, and you don't have to break Ministry protocol by obliviating them."

"Ha!" said Harry, who had just remembered where he knew the name Edgar Bones. He had been a member of the Order of the Phoenix, alongside his parents. His consideration of the wizard rose. Unfortunately, his outburst had been particularly bad timing; everyone was looking at him as though he'd grown horns; even Sirius was arching a brow. "Nothing, no reason," he mumbled, though no one asked. "I won't tell anyone, I swear it."

Edgar Bones peered at him a while longer, then gave a little nod. "And if they do tattle around Hogwarts, who am I meant to blame for that?" Bones asked rather grumpily.

"Sol Black," Sirius lied, holding out his hand.

"Very well, then–"

One of the witches behind Sirius interrupted. "Sir."

"Ah yes," said Bones. "Time doesn't wait." He gave them one last look and limped out of the room, out the door, and into the yard where he Disapparated along with the rest of the Ministry workers.

"All right, Harry?" asked Sirius, once they were all gone. "All right, James?"

"Yes, but – how did you know my name?" James asked, confused.

Sirius's hand fell to Harry's shoulder. "Harry's told me all about you," he said, tone soft. Harry heard the ache in his voice, but he did not think it would register as that to anyone else besides Ginny, who would know why it was there.

James nodded. "Pev–Harry's told us very little about you," he said directly. "Or about himself; I only just learned this afternoon that Ginny's not even his sister, just your godchild." A little laugh escaped him. "Peter thought – never mind. He's tight-lipped, that one."

Pressure increased on Harry's shoulder. Sirius peered at him, gray eyes growing cloudy.

"Telling family secrets, is he?"

"No, sir, just clarifying–"

There was no time for Harry to react, nor was there time to stop what happened next. Quick as a snake, Sirius struck, leaving Harry gaping at him, and at how he now had his wand at James's temple. Harry gaped at him, panic swelling, but Sirius, despite his actions, was speaking gently.

"Harry Peverell never told you Ginny Peverell is not his sister…"

It took less than five minutes for Sirius to undo the steps Harry had taken earlier. Fingers twitching, Harry watched as James's face grew blank as he repeated, word for word, what Sirius told him to several times. It felt like watching his father experience a small violation or a small humiliation, and it was only the fact that it was Sirius Black, who loved James, doing it that held Harry back.

"Sol–"

"Not yet," ordered Sirius.

"But–"

"A moment, Harry," said Sirius.

The moment Sirius stepped away from James, the placid, docile expression dripped away, only to harden into something more resolute.

His mouth opened immediately. "Thank you," he said to Sirius. There was sincerity in his tone. Harry started forward – what was it, exactly, that James was thankful for? For having some of his memories washed away? "That Bones fellow was a bit too serious, wasn't he? Thanks for stepping in."

"No trouble, mate," said Sirius. He nudged James to the door. "Why don't you head on back to Hogsmeade, then. Surely Lily's waiting for you?"

James's entire affect brightened. "Yes! She is. We're meant to go back up to Hogwarts early… thanks, Mr. Black–"

"Call me Sol–"

"See you 'round the Tower, Peverell."

Harry could feel his father's gaze upon him, but Harry did not look at him; there was a rush of wind as the door opened and closed, leaving him alone with Sirius.

"Why?" Harry demanded, the moment they were alone.

"Why what?" Sirius asked, both eyebrows raising. The wind had only rustled the ends of his hair, leaving the top perfectly composed and the bottom wildly disheveled. It was odd enough that Harry found himself annoyed by it, finding it hard to believe that Sirius could not find a spare fifteen minutes to wash his hair.

"Why would you – you know, take his memory like that?" Harry demanded. "Ginny isn't my sister, and–"

"I did it to protect us, of course," Sirius rushed in, clearly just as irritated as Harry. "You've been set up from the start of school that you two are brother and sister–"

"No," Harry said, "We were both your godchildren, but we didn't have to be–"

"Godchildren of the same man, with the same last name," said Sirius, crossing his arms. "It is only natural to assume that you're siblings, that she's your sister, not a totally unrelated – but with the same last name – godchild. What I don't understand is why you would put us in danger like this?"

"Me?" Harry scoffed. "It isn't putting us in danger–"

"You tried to make an already odd story even more intriguing," Sirius pointed out. Wind blew against the window, letting out a breathy moan. Even without Remus in his werewolf form here, the wind did odd things here, in the Shrieking Shack. "James is one thing, but… he would have told people, Harry."

"He would've told his friends," Harry said. "He trusts his friends, and I don't see why we shouldn't either – one of them is your own self."

Sirius leaned toward him. "This is 1978," he said in a hard voice. "You can't trust anyone. This isn't 1996 and you've got your own little army. We can't afford to draw attention." He sighed. "I might've wished you could've taken one look at the Dementors rising in the village and run back."

"I don't think so," Harry said, voice just as hard as his godfather's.

"Just tell me why," Sirius demanded. "Why would you risk exposure like that?"

"Telling James Potter – my father – that I'm not related to Ginny is not risking exposure," Harry said hotly.

"He's been thinking one thing for more than a term," Sirius pointed out, "and you've never corrected him before. I know James, Harry. He would've been relentless about it; you got that from him. He would rounded up my younger version, Remus, and… Wormtail, and maybe even Lily, and he would've passed 'round shovels and he would have dug for information. That is what you risked. You're smarter than this, Harry!"

"You messed with his mind!"

"That man"-Sirius jabbed his thumb toward the door, through which James had so recently walked–"would have wanted me to do it, if it meant protecting you." There was a hard, uncompromising look in his eyes. "The James who was and will be your father would have done it to his own self, if it meant keeping you perfectly hidden. Harry, I know him."

Words went unspoken. I know him better than you. But Harry heard them all the same.

Even unsaid, this stung. Harry pulled back, peered out the window, almost wishing the Dementors would come back and give him something to do with the restless, burning energy coiled inside him. He turned back to Sirius. "I don't want them thinking Ginny is related to me; I don't want them thinking she's my sister."

"Yes, I can see that," said Sirius, overly patient. "What I don't understand is why."

The embarrassment experienced in the Great Hall returned with a sudden fierceness. "Because I – Remus saw – Peter thinks – he thinks that we're – I don't think of Ginny as a sister, Sirius." There was a certain plea in his voice. "Peter thought we were…"

Comprehension broke on Sirius's face, softening his features. "Oh," he huffed, turning slightly. "Well, that's the reason, eh?" A chuckle escaped him. "Merlin, that's complicated."

"I know," said Harry. "I tried to uncomplicate it, a little."

Sirius eyed him. "Are you two…?"

"No," said Harry. "I haven't said anything. I have no idea if she even… if it's not just all on my side. It probably is." The image of her, walking with the crowd, laughing with them, was vivid in his mind. Ginny was funny and kind; even in 1978, she could fit in. "But I guess Remus thought…"

Sirius sighed. "Remus has instincts for that like you wouldn't believe," he muttered. "Look, I know it's difficult, but we aren't here forever, Harry. Dumbledore has Mad-Eye and Frank working on getting at Nurmengard–"

"I know," said Harry, annoyed, "But why's it got to take so long?"

A mask fell over Sirius's features. "It isn't easy, gaining access to a wizarding prison, Harry, especially as Nurmengard isn't located in Britain."

"Dumbledore can do anything," said Harry.

"If he wants to," Sirius pointed out. "Perhaps he does not want to blow a hole into Nurmengard's defenses, and risk making enemies when he's trying to build allies." He chuckled again. His mood, Harry could not help but notice, was much better than it had been. "You're not joking that you like her, are you? I thought you were happy to stay here, getting to know your parents… now, all of a sudden, you're eager to get home so you can… get to know Ginny a little better?"

Harry, who would have preferred to have both options available to him, kept quiet.

"As I said, this isn't forever," said Sirius. There was great warmth in him now; Harry guessed he was entirely mollified. "Just – just try to pretend. It really is risky, Harry, for people to be too curious about us. It's why I'm using three different names and different disguises when I do my betting–"

"Betting?" Harry interrupted.

"Remember, we need money," Sirius said, waving his hand. "We have to stay low. We have to stay quiet." His hand settled on Harry's shoulder, heavy and warm. "We can't afford to attract attention. From anyone. It's 1978, Harry. We don't know who we can trust; we don't know who might start digging. We have to be careful."

Harry sighed, turned, and walked over to the window. Through the grime, he saw the gray sky and the uneven rooftops of Hogsmeade. The wind was strong enough that the sign on the Hog's Head was flipping back and forth. It had been weeks and weeks since Sirius had spoken of any changes that they might make while in 1978; he seemed more focused now on protecting themselves. A pang of longing went through him. Harry cared less about protecting himself than he did wanting to wake up in 1996 to find a changed world. How could he forgive himself if instead he opened his eyes to find everything the same?

Sirius cut into his thoughts. "Think of Ginny," he said. "Would you risk her just because you want to snog her?"

"That's not fair," said Harry, but with little heat. There was a figure moving, far down the road. Harry thought he recognized his father and the way he walked, straight-backed and confident. It wasn't so much that he wanted to risk Ginny – and his stomach plummeted at the thought – but he wished they could find a middle ground between risk and action.

"It's entirely fair," said Sirius, who apparently disagreed. "We have to move quietly. The fewer waves we make, the better. Not until we're ready to leave, and then…"

"And then what?" demanded Harry.

Sirius shrugged. "I think when we're on the verge of leaving and don't have to concern ourselves with surviving in a world with a You Know Who ascending, we can…"

"Make waves?" suggested Harry.

"Yes," said Sirius. "But for now, Harry, please. Be patient. We've got enough to deal with… the pox is about to hit…"

Harry sighed, turning back to the window and pressing his hand against the cool glass. His breath added a white fug to the overall grime. "Fine," he muttered. He would try; Sirius had a point. But despite his reluctant agreement, Harry had a feeling that he would not be nearly as patient as his godfather wished. It was lucky Sirius didn't try to extract a promise from him. Harry didn't think he would be able to make such a promise, let alone keep it.

There was, after all, the danger of mistaking patience with complacency.