CHAPTER 48: A Wintry Homecoming (Part 2)

Grimmauld Place

11:15 p.m.

There hadn't been a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix as quiet as this one since he had announced Voldemort's defeat all those years ago. The kitchen was cramped, every member had been summoned and nearly a third of them were forced to stand. Sirius and Augusta sat opposite him at the head of the table, defiance clear in their faces as the two orchestrators of tonight's happenings. Remus and Nymphadora flanked them on either side, though the two of them were more nervous than anything.

Most of the Order knew not of why they were here, the only person he'd informed in advance to prevent an imminent confrontation was Severus, who stood in the corner so far from everyone else he nearly blended into the shadows.

And as everyone waited for him to begin, he let the silence reign. Allowed the occasional gust of wind to fill the room as he kept his breathing controlled without taking his eyes off Sirius.

"How is Arthur doing, Molly?" He asked calmly.

"The healers say the worst has passed," she said, her voice faint as a whisper that came straight from St Mungo's. "We hope he might wake up before Christmas."

"Arthur will make a speedy recovery, I can assure you of that, Molly. Sturgis, you and Hestia will split Arthur's guard duties."

"Of course, Albus," Sturgis said, and Hestia nodded.

"Arthur was caught off guard, he's lucky it was merely the snake that crept into the Department of Mysteries. The next time, we might not be, which is why I feel the need to reiterate the gravity of the situation-"

"We all know what we signed up for," Alastor growled, banging his staff on the ground to murmurs of assent.

"I'm well aware," he said tiredly. "But there's a difference between being conscious of possible danger and being certain of it. The snake was only a scout. Soon enough, it will escalate to a group of Death Eaters or worse - perhaps Voldemort himself." The name visibly darkened the room, as if a strong breeze had passed and dimmed the lights even further. "I must ask caution from all of you. Safety can no longer be guaranteed, but rest assured, we will be here. We will be ready. And if need be, we will come to your aid as soon as you call for us."

"Aye, aye," Mundungus smiled airily as people began thumping at the table.

"What of Longbottom?" His brother, Aberforth, asked from beside him. It was uncommon for him to attend these meetings, and the question made him wish he had skipped tonight's as well. "The boy warned us about Arthur last night, he could be useful-"

"No," He cut him off, finally taking his eyes off Sirius. "The connection between Voldemort and Neville is dangerous and highly unknown to us. There is no guarantee this recent vision wasn't part of a grander scheme, or that the connection doesn't go both ways."

"There's a risk, I agree, but this type of insight is not something to be dismissed out of hand so quickly on assumptions, Albus," Aberforth said. "Snape is a valuable spy to our cause, but to have a direct connection into the Dark Lord's mind… think of the lives we could have saved with such an ability fifteen years ago."

"He's just a boy!" Molly snapped from the other side of the table. "To use him in such a way is…"

"Necessary," Mundungus spoke. "Longbottom's age should be of no concern to us. If what Dumbledore has divulged of the prophecy is to be believed, then Longbottom will be thrown to the wolves either way. I somehow doubt the encounter can be stalled until the boy reaches manhood."

"If it is his duty, he'll comply," Augusta said grandly. "It's long past time for the boy to actually grow rather than be coddled. His father begun fighting this war at an early age."

"So has Neville," Nymphadora said emphatically. "Kid's survived more times against You-Know-Who than most of us here."

"And yet, it was always by pure luck. The boy hasn't got an ounce of skill in him, and if we keep allowing his age to restrict him from such a thing, he'll keep making a fool of himself. Just like he did at the Three Broomsticks."

"While Longbottom is due a considerable amount of responsibility that he's disregarding, the connection must be severed as soon as possible," Snape said. "The Dark Lord is one of the most gifted individuals at the mind arts in all of Britain, perhaps even the world. If he is aware of this connection, he'd easily be able to hijack and exploit it. A boy without even the smallest amount of training in the basics of the mind arts wouldn't stand a chance."

"Agreed," Albus said as he stood up. "We must force ourselves to assume that everything Neville sees, everything he hears, knows, and feels, Voldemort knows as well. We cannot use this connection, that's the last that will be spoken of this issue."

"Snape does pose a key question," Alastor grunted. "If we know of this connection between the boy and Voldemort, why has he not been taught Occlumency?"

"Because the boy has as much talent for it as for anything else," Snape sneered. "Besides, for all my research I haven't been able to conclude that Occlumency would block the connection for even a short while, much less fully sever it. To teach him Occlumency would only make it easier for the Dark Lord to get a potential hold over other people's minds. And I, for one, am not so willing to let that happen."

"Neville Longbottom is a topic for another day, I'm afraid." Albus said, turning once again to Sirius, who had been eerily quiet for the whole meeting. His face was distorted into that permanent growl that had marked him ever since he escaped Azkaban, and while he might have expected gloating or even just the tiniest hilt of satisfaction, none of it could be found when looking into his eyes. "I'd like to discuss Harry Potter."

The room was overcome with uneasy murmurs and side glances, but he ignored them as he kept speaking, his voice turning cold.

"More importantly… I'd like to know how it is he came to be in a cell, face bloodied and his wand snapped."

"The boy got what he deserved!" Sirius barked, but with a rapid slash of Albus' hand, his lips were sealed.

"You'll speak when spoken to, Mister Black. My query was to Madam Longbottom." He turned to her. "I charged you with keeping Harry Potter in your manor for the holidays. I charged you with feeding and sheltering him until I could speak with him. So, how is it that he ended up here at Grimmauld Place?"

"You were a fool if you thought I'd let that little bastard stay in my home," Augusta answered callously. "Let a known murderer, a deranged brat with no self-control and a clear hatred for me and my family, pass the nights in the same house in which I sleep? I don't think so."

"He could have been kept under lock and key, surveilled by your house-elves. There was no need for such brutality. Especially not when the objective was to rehabilitate him. Make him see the error in his ways and give him a chance to atone in a way that would actually be helpful for society, rather than just rotting inside a cell."

"Rehabilitate? That boy is fifteen levels of mad, there's no helping such a person. You don't rehabilitate a rabid dog, you put him down before he can bite you. Besides, I had no idea he'd be receiving such a… welcome. My intentions were to get him out of Longbottom manor and into Grimmauld Place. I knew nothing of the beating, the cell, or the snapping of his wand."

"You had no right. Neither of you. Have you no idea of the mess you've just created? With his wand snapped, there's no coming back from this. How do you expect him to return to Hogwarts? To leave the house without informing anyone who would listen on what the two of you did to him? Harry Potter most definitely deserves to be punished, but your reckless and idiotic way of carrying out this punishment only leaves us with more problems than we can't possibly begin to handle."

"There won't be any problems," Sirius said coldly. "The boy isn't leaving his cell. Not ever."

"I've already sent a letter to Rufus Scrimgeour informing him that Harry Potter fled from the manor and is on the run." Augusta said matter-of-factly. "Teenage runaways are far from uncommon. And with Potter possessing the ability to apparate as well as his clear displeasure of being made a ward of House Longbottom, no one will doubt the story."

"And as the DMLE search for Potter, he'll remain here." Albus said. "Under the Fidelius, where no one will be able to find him."

"Damn right," Sirius snarled. "He deserves nothing less. You know what he's done."

"He's a boy," Albus countered. "If we were all judged by the sins of our youth, there wouldn't be anyone left to stand against Voldemort. You, of all people, should know that."

"No, I paid for my sins. It's time Potter does as well."

"He will. But not in a mud-filled cell."

"It would be idiotic to release the boy now," Mundungus said. "Perhaps before, we could have bargained for a peaceful holiday. But after what was done to him, I have no doubt the boy will find a way to use the nearest spoon to slit our throats at night. Not that I'm sleeping here, but with the Weasley's staying over…"

"He- he wouldn't do that, would he?" Molly asked shakily. "He's a child. He even saved Hermione and my Ginny… He's not a monster."

"They were in danger in the first place because of Potter," Sirius snapped. "He outed Remus. He murdered Montague and butchered all his attackers without remorse. That's not something a normal fifteen-year-old does."

"From what I heard, Tracey Davis killed Graham Montague," Mundungus smiled nastily. "Surely, you aren't suggesting dear Shack and Tonks aided in setting up an innocent young girl. That would be… highly irresponsible of them."

"All the evidence pointed to Davis," Shacklebolt said firmly, and yet his words did not hold the same conviction.

"Ah, the perfect scapegoat."

"And Potter saved himself from the bastards," Moody growled. "They might have been there for Potter, but what other choice did he have. He and all the rest would be dead would it not be for his quick thinking."

"You sound awfully pleased by his actions," Augusta said.

"I respect his skill, he's got the mind for war - I'll tell you that. The only reason these idiots managed to snap his wand was by ambushing him and not letting him get hold of his wand."

"Nevertheless, Dung is right," Aberforth said. "The boy won't look too kindly on us. Sirius has all but made the Order his biggest enemy."

"It won't matter because I'm not letting him out." Sirius turned to Albus. "This may be your Order, but this is my home, and Potter is Augusta's ward. You have no sway over this decision, Albus. It's settled."

"It's settled then," Albus said softly before standing from his chair. His hands set against the table as he towered over the room. In a blinding flash of red and yellow lights, and with a wave of heat that lit up the room for just a moment, Fawkes appeared on his shoulder.

"Albus," Sirius said, suddenly looking very pale as he tried to stand.

"Sirius Black. From this day forth, you are relieved of your duties. Your oaths of service to the Order of the Phoenix are concluded as you're revoked from the group. You will keep our secrets and take no action against us, but you're no longer a part of this organisation."

Fawkes cried, a sorrowful melody that spread across the room as both the phoenix and Sirius lit up for a moment before the latter collapsed onto his seat - looking even more gray and weary than usual. He pushed the chair back, ignoring everyone's open-mouthed expressions as he crossed the room.

"How dare you," Sirius gasped right as he passed him. "Out. I am the master of this home and I order all of you to get out!"

"You gave up control of the wards the moment you offered Grimmauld Place as the Order's Headquarters. The wards answer to me now. Your home will be returned to you and your family the moment the threat of Voldemort is dealt with. Until then, you're no longer welcome here." He placed a hand on Sirius' shoulder as he closed his eyes, feeling a knot in his chest. "I did not wish for it to come to this, but I warned you. You got your second chance when you joined the Order. I told you there wouldn't be a third."

"You can't do this!" He shouted, a tear rolling down his face as his body was shaking. "Twelve years you left me to rot! You stood and washed your hands as the dementors feasted on me. How dare you!"

"I did," Albus said, his voice barely escaping his mouth as it rang hollow. "And not ensuring your guilt before letting them send you to Azkaban will haunt me for the rest of my days. That very mistake is the sole reason why I'm not dropping you straight into Amelia's office after you beat up and snapped a child's wand. As far as I'm concerned, you've served your sentence."

Giving Sirius' shoulder a final squeeze, he turned and made his way towards the door. No one questioned him as he left the room and walked down the tattered halls.

Grimmauld Place was a nasty abode, one infected by the darkness itself. Almost like a curse, nothing Molly or the children tried ever worked. They'd managed to take down some of the most egregious portraits and cluster them in the basement, along with some of the dark artefacts of the home and its obscure relics Sirius had no interest in moving to Shadowfield Estate - but nothing could be done about the inherent gloominess of the house. The very place gave an uneasy feeling, one which even got to him from time to time. While not as potent as various truly dark places he'd visited - not even comparable to the effect Nurmengard still gave him - it was no place for anyone to truly reside in.

It had been no wonder Sirius had chosen to move to his family estate once he offered the Grangers protection and safe haven. Even after Andromeda's restless work at helping fix Sirius, there was little to no progress - and being in this house never failed to make him worse. Azkaban had torn down at the wizard, leaving him as a mere shade of his former self. His remarkable magical ability had been nearly depleted, leaving him unable to do anything in the field. And the conflicting but ultimately kind heart the man had once had was now filled with spitefulness and a spark of madness.

In due time, with a bit of luck, Sirius might just start to recover from his demons. And perhaps, a time away from the Order - from Harry Potter - would help with that.

Reaching the door to the basement, Albus quickly dispelled the vast number of locking and protection charms placed on the door. With the magic quelled, Albus didn't even need to touch the door before it creaked open slowly. The stairs groaned as he descended into the room, so loudly that for a moment, he thought they were only a few uses away from collapsing into themselves.

The room had no light. No candles or torches to light it up. If it wasn't for the dim light coming from behind the open door, the room would be entirely dark. It was rather small, especially considering its place in such a large house, only slightly larger than two broom cupboards placed back to back.

Albus walked in front of the portraits and battered objects before looking into the cell, which took most of the room. Inside, a small figure sat with his knees to his chest, fully covered by the darkness. Even after trying to get closer, he couldn't quite make out any of the features of the boy in front of him. If he hadn't known it was Harry Potter inside, he might have been convinced it was a helpless child.

"Good evening, Harry."

The boy didn't answer. Didn't even flinch as Albus once again pulled out his wand and launched an orb of pure light to hover just below the ceiling. The room, filthy and filled with fresh mud, lit up immediately. Taking a moment to close and lock the door behind him, Albus finally saw the boy. His eyes burned red, and he noticed dry tears adorning his face. He had expected rage-filled eyes on him, but as he stared into the green abyss in front of him, he grew concerned.

"Harry?"

"Leave me alone," the boy whispered, his voice somehow emptier than his whole face.

"I will, in due time. For now, I'd like to talk." He conjured a small chair and sat as he analysed the boy further. The boy in front of him looked nothing like the fierce killer he had come to be known as. He looked tired, weak, and Albus felt a deep pity crash over him. "Would you like me to conjure you a seat?"

"What do you want?" He asked, finally turning to him. "To gloat? Lecture? What would be the point? You won."

"I only wish to talk. To speak frankly of what has led up to this moment."

"Lecture it is then."

"This isn't a lecture-"

"There's nothing to talk about, Professor. Nothing you don't already know."

"Severus?" Albus asked, and the boy looked away.

"He warned me about you. Told me the last thing I wanted was to have you as my enemy. And I laughed." He snorted bitterly. "I fucking laughed."

"I'm not your enemy."

"Yes you are. If you weren't, none of us would be sitting here tonight."

"What Augusta did, what Sirius did. I never intended for it to happen."

Harry scoffed. He stood up and walked up to the bars, looking him up and down. "The sad thing is you actually believe that. You must have known. Deep down. There was no other way this night could end. Fuck," he laughed, turning as he paced across the room. "Even dead, Montague's still fucking me over. Even in hell, the bastard still got the last laugh on me."

The boy's tone, it's flippant, almost bitter nature. There was no remorse in his voice. Not even the slightest hint of regret. "Why did you kill Graham Montague, Harry?"

Harry looked up, his face contorted as a million different voices yelled from his features before it all settled into a cold facade. "That's why you're here, isn't it? Graham bloody Montague. You don't give a shit about what Sirius did, about me being locked up, do you?"

"Some people would say this is a suitable punishment for your crimes. Most people upstairs would think that, and they are not privy with the knowledge I have. You had no qualms with letting an innocent young girl to pay for your qualms."

"Innocent," he snorted, his voice escalating as it got twisted with rage. "You truly want to know why I killed him? Why I butchered him before dragging his own bloody knife across his face. I did it because I wanted to. Because I knew, even before I did it, that I would cherish every moment. Every single scream and whimper that left his mouth was nothing short of a short of ecstasy straight to my heart. One I get to relive every single night in my sweetest dreams."

"I doubt that's true," Albus answered calmly, standing up. "I think that's what you want to think, what you're trying so hard to convince yourself of because it's easier to embrace our darker selves than to deal with the fact that there may be a monster within all of us."

"What the hell do you think you know about me!"

"Not much, I confess. But I know myself. And once, unthinkable as that may seem to someone as young as you, I was also immature and foolish. I allowed myself to dip my toes into the darkness and I remember how comforting it felt. For it's nearly impossible to get yourself to fully numb the pain, the easiest way to avoid feeling it is by convincing yourself to be above it. But that path… it will cause nothing but pain and sorrow. And you will soon realise you never escaped your pain, merely contained it behind a wall that is about to break at any moment."

"You are nothing like me." Harry said slowly. "So don't presume to know."

Albus sighed. There was something about the boy, there was so much of Tom in him. So much of himself in him. And yet, he had committed some truly awful crimes. But, in the end, hadn't he as well?

With a sigh, he dispelled the chair and walked closer to the boy. With a series of soft waves of his wand, the room began changing. Two torches appeared on the opposite walls - one inside the cell and one outside. A single bed appeared on the far-right corner of the room and on the other side, a toilet with two curtains to cover it. He transfigured the fresh mud into a stone floor and with a final wave, he cleaned the boy up - ridding him of the dirt and treating his bruises.

"Each of us has to decide who we want to be, what we want our legacy to read like. You're still young. It's not too late to change. But I can't force that on you. I'll be there whenever you make your choice. " He turned, but didn't walk away quite yet. "And I, for one, do hope you make the right one."

Parkinson Palace

11:45 p.m.

Staying a night at Parkinson Palace was something she had thought unthinkable in her childhood. Her grandfather, while old, was as healthy as one could be. For years, she had actually thought he'd outlive her. Her parents were set to inherit the manor once Grandfather passed away, but that was a long ways off, and given how close he had become with Kieran in the past couple of months, it wouldn't surprise her if he was priming her brother to be his immediate successor.

Still, his death seemed decades away, and she doubted she'd be as close to Kieran or her parents once it happened. Definitely not close enough to live with them.

So, her invitation to Parkinson Palace for the Winter Break had been a surprise to her. Her parents had complained - though she wasn't sure if they were more pissed about her being invited to stay at the manor than they were at not being invited. Kieran had picked her up at King's Cross before apparating them straight to the house.

With an instruction to get settled, he left her to roam around the house and pick out a room in which she'd stay at. It had always been her father's dream to live in the house, a part of her felt he resented her grandfather for living too long. She didn't quite understand why. The manor was grand, its history clear on the walls where the painting had peeled off. But unlike Hogwarts, it had this unsettling feel to it. While Hogwarts' age made the castle awe-inspiring and made you feel as if you were staying at a pocket removed from time itself, the manor did not provoke these same feelings.

It wasn't dark, and it certainly wasn't falling apart from age. It was fairly normal, if only slightly tethered by age - something that could be easily fixed with a bit of work. The torches burned bright, and the halls were pleasant to look at. But within this visage laid an ever-present emptiness. It was the way, a creak in the entrance hall could be heard all the way up to the master bedroom. The invisible eyes that were constantly watching you and yet, you could never pinpoint exactly from where. The way her hair stood up at the back of her neck whenever she touched anything inside.

It wasn't a place she'd choose to live in, but her grandfather had asked it of her.

Most of the usual guest rooms had their doors closed and locked, and when she'd called for Pipkey, the manor's main house-elf, she'd just shooed her away from the rooms. Finally, she settled on the room in between Kieran's and her grandfather's - finding safety in not being on the edge. Setting her trunk beside her bed, knowing some house-elf would take care of it, Pansy went downstairs.

She didn't find any of the mysterious guests that were in the home, only Kieran sitting in the living room whilst going over a stack of Wizengamot parchments.

"I never expected to see you like this," she commented airily, setting down on an armchair beside her brother.

"Working?" he asked absent-mindedly.

"Taking something seriously for once."

He rolled his eyes but didn't respond. It was nearly an hour later when they had been called to dinner. The table was set in the kitchen, with only two places. Kieran had avoided her question about her grandfather and the other guests rather brutishly. Something which had led to an argument before Kieran quickly finished his dinner and stormed off to one of the studies in the lower floor.

She had spent the rest of the night in her room after that. The hours passed slowly, but she didn't feel tired. Sleeping in this place would take a lot more than simply settling in her new bed. And after trying to read a couple of her books, she grew bored.

Kieran wasn't in his room, though she hadn't dared to check on her grandfather. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she went about roaming the house, searching for her brother. If she was going to be stuck in this manor, she'd at least have company now. The original plan had been for Potter to stay with them, something she had hated at the moment but now wished hadn't been sabotaged by the Longbottoms.

She went about nearly the entire manor, coming across nearly a hundred portraits and two dozen empty rooms. The study Kieran had previously retired to was now dark and vacant as well. Her grandfather was most likely asleep in his room, and Kieran had probably left the manor or something. At least she thought so until she was about to go back upstairs and saw the light of one of the rooms - a small one almost hidden from view if you didn't know where to look.

"There you are," she said carelessly as she made her way down and moved to open the door. "I've been looking for you for…"

She stopped in her tracks as she realised Kieran wasn't alone in the study. Sitting in front of a blackboard was her grandfather and Professor Carrow. Her brother immediately looked alarmed as her grandfather turned towards her, his expression unreadable.

"Out. Now." Kieran told her, grabbing her arm and physically pulling her out of the room.

"What? Why?" She said once the door was closed. "Why didn't you tell me there was a meeting?"

"Because you're not part of this," he hissed. "Just… go to your room."

"The hell I'm not! Just because Harry didn't actually make it doesn't mean you get to shove me aside."

"The only reason grandfather allows you in on the meetings, is because Potter has asked. Given as he's not here, I have every right. Grandfather doesn't want you here for the meetings, and frankly, I agree. You've no business getting into this."

"And you can?"

"To some of it, yeah. Grandfather may not tell me everything, but he trusts me more than he trusts you. Can't really blame him, given your views on the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters."

"Fuck you."

"You don't even deny it!" He sounded outraged. "Your connection to Potter was the only reason why Grandfather considered you an asset. Given how he's at Longbottom manor for the near future and now has a direct line to him, you're not needed anymore."

"Then why am I here?"

"Can't really let you run off to mum and dad, can we? You'd try your best to find a loophole and tell them what we're doing." He sighed, before lightly grabbing her arm. "We all make our choices, Pansy. So long as you chose to believe in that monster, you're betraying what our family's trying to do."

"What our family's trying to do?" She nearly yelled. "What happened when you were the one going against what the family wanted? When you opposed mum and dad and I defended you, no matter what, you arsehole!"

"So am I." He said firmly. "God knows I want you to be a part of this. But I know you too well to know you're not convinced. Not now, not really. Pansy, you're my sister and I love you. But one day, you're going to have to define where your loyalties lie. I just hope you don't turn your back on us when you do."

Before she could say anything, he turned and went back into the room. The sound of the door locking being the last creak that was heard in the house for a while.

Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom

September 3rd, 1993

10:55 a.m.

The wardrobe in the middle of the room shook violently, but Remus maintained his attention on his wristwatch. It was an old piece. Passed down to him by his father the day he graduated from Hogwarts - it once belonged to his grandfather. The strap was weathered, and the glass was broken, its creaks thin but still quite noticeable. It was filthy, too. He'd lost the old habit of cleaning it once a week, long ago. And yet, he was barely aware of this as his mind was focused on the slowly moving hands.

When Professor Dumbledore had sought him out and asked him to return to Hogwarts and take up the position as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor - he'd been more than hesitant. It had been over thirteen years since he'd stepped in British soil, and he would've gone about his life quite happy to stay outside the island that had once been his home. No one had discovered his secret, no one but his old friends, but the risk still gnawed at him. Britain wasn't safe for someone like him, and given everything that he'd… they weren't exactly in the wrong.

Even the slightest slip up could result in his death, or worse.

But Dumbledore had promised that nothing would happen to him. His secret would be safe, and due to a new significant development in the werewolf research, his transformation wouldn't put anyone in danger. On his own, he would never be able to afford it. But Professor Dumbledore had assured him the school would provide the potion.

It was selfish. Agreeing to the position so that he could get his hands on the brew. So that he could temper the effects of the transformation. To allow him to keep his mind intact even as his body became its. He had made his choice before Dumbledore shared the news about Sirius with him - even if it was a hesitant, reckless move on his part. And as much as he would like to credit this new threat as the reason he was returning, he knew he wasn't that benign.

He'd given up on that notion the moment he joined the Order.

But he had made a vow, promised himself to never leave his exile. To stay hidden in Europe, going from town to town as he took residence in his mother's old tent. He'd shackle himself on the nights of the full moon, did everything to make sure the wolf wouldn't be able to even leave the tent. And it had worked. He'd kept to himself, hadn't hurt anyone in years.

But he was weak. He hated himself for it. Hated himself for getting on that train and returning to Britain. Hated himself for accepting the offer to stay in a castle filled with children. Hated himself for not being able to overcome the desire to keep his sanity, keep his control, even if it would do nothing but give him the slightest bits of relief.

The wardrobe shook and Remus sighed. Class was about to start. In his youth, no matter how hard he tried, he'd never managed to gain Sirius' presence and crowd controlling charisma - the elegant, laid-back aura he emanated that made it impossible to stop listening to. He hadn't gained Peter's quick ability to pick things up, to learn with little effort and manage to teach to others with even less. And he had definitely not gained James' innate magical talent for every subject in the Hogwarts curriculum.

Out of the four of them, he'd always been the least adequate. Even though he spent nearly all their compounded study time just to keep up with them. Eventually, he'd forged a place with them, had earnt his stripes as a Marauder. And yet, now, a few moments away from his first class. He didn't feel up to par.

He'd gone over the curriculum time and time again, pretty much scripted the class to the last pause for air. He had practised how he would move around the room. And had chosen the simplest, most easy to explain magical creature to teach. The boggart's power came from its shock. Facing one without knowing what it was was extremely dangerous - he'd even seen it affect some of the most capable men he'd ever known. But children's fears are simple, pure in a twisted way. They're rarely complex and mostly harmless. Which was why the best time to teach how to defeat a boggart was before such fears could develop.

The bell rang, and the students began filling the room. There was an odd sense of comfort to see so many faces that looked vaguely familiar. He'd studied the student list for this class, knew about half the parents of these students. For a moment, he felt himself truly back at Hogwarts even though he'd been at the castle for nearly two days now. He saw the faces of old friends, old enemies - but none of them got to him like the one of the man who used to be one of his best friends.

He didn't look like James at all. He wore the same pair of round framed glasses, and his hair was a mess - though there seemed to at least be an effort to have it somewhat fixed. But besides that, he was a wholly different person. His shoulders hunched and his skin ashen, the boy was a walking skeleton with nothing but skin. While James radiated with joy, having a quite irresistible nature to everything he did, Harry did not. His mouth twisted into a snarl, it was loudly screaming at everyone to back off.

A deep sense of shame crashed onto him like cold water. Looking away from the kid, he calmed his breaths and thought back to how he was going to start his class.

Thankfully, he didn't fumble with his words during the lecture. He managed to keep his cool and follow the script as he explained the class, the curriculum, and then, the boggart. He was grateful to the Gryffindors, in particular Dean Thomas, who were responding extremely well to his lecture.

He moved around the room, trying to gain as much insight into most of his students. It didn't take long for him to pin most of them down. Hermione Granger and Pansy Parkinson were the gifted ones, though while Hermione was keen on answering as many of his questions as she could, Pansy was much quieter. Daphne Greengrass stood out to him as the most willing to learn, who, while as invested in the lecture, didn't have the same natural intelligence of the other two girls. Lavender Brown as well, though to a much lesser degree. Some of the boys were rowdy, with Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Ron Weasley, and Seamus Finnegan being the biggest examples of that. Dean Thomas was clearly fascinated by the lecture, as was Theo Nott. And the others were pretty lost.

There were two boys he couldn't ignore, regardless of how hard he tried. They were as quiet as could be, but were impossible to blend into the background. A Gryffindor and a Slytherin, who couldn't seem like complete opposites and yet, gave him a weird sense of being eerily alike in a currently veiled manner. He'd known both their parents extremely well, especially during his days in the Order. He was unable to imagine how they'd react to seeing them now, couldn't even picture their reaction. Especially to the side-eyed glares Harry was constantly giving Neville.

What he was witnessing made little sense. Questions kept piling up as he suddenly got the weird sensation he had been transported to an alternate dimension. When he'd thought about his time at Hogwarts, this was not the Harry Potter he was expecting to meet. Nor the Neville Longbottom. He saved those questions in his mind as he did his very best to continue with the class.

Eventually, he finished the verbal aspect. Having taught them the incantation, there was not much left to do in his part. Priming the boggart and explaining the students of what the activity would consist on. With a flick of his wand, he turned on the gramophone and began playing a soothing, relaxing song that would hopefully keep the students calm as they faced the boggart.

Ron Weasley, eliciting a giant Acromantula to appear in the centre of the room. Some students immediately screamed, but Ron scrunched up his face in concentration before casting the spell. Rollerblades appeared on the spider's legs, causing it to crumple to the ground, eliciting nervous laughter from the children.

The boggart kept transforming into fairly harmless things. A mummy for Parvati. A clown for Seamus. Draco Malfoy for Crabbe. For the most part, he didn't have to worry. That was until Neville stood in front of the boggart, and it transformed into Augusta Longbottom. He didn't blame the kid, the formidable woman even managed to scare him when he worked along with her in the Order of the Phoenix. But as the woman opened his mouth, Remus gripped his wand and was ready to aim it at her had it not been for Neville reacting before she could say anything, thoroughly changing her attire so that she was wearing jet black robes and had slimy dark hair.

"Nice work, Neville," Remus smiled.

There were other transformations that made him uncomfortable, nearly making him stop the activity altogether. Hermione crying when McGonagall appeared and called her a failure, telling her she was not suited to be a witch, would have made it interfere - had the girl not ran away sobbing before he could and the boggart shifted into a creepy doll for Dean Thomas. He had slowly managed to calm Hermione down, and when he'd return to the classroom he witnessed a heavily beaten man kneeling in front of Theo Nott, with an adult copy of the boy standing over him with his wand trained on him, dressed in black robes similar to Snape's.

Theo hadn't managed to react in time, and in order to change the scene, he placed himself in between the boy and the boggart, causing it to change into a full moon. His face drained, and after a moment of hesitation, he yelled "Riddikulus!" The moon was sent flying across the room as it deflated like a balloon. He lashed at his wand and the boggart was thrown back into the wardrobe, that shook violently the moment it was closed.

Fuck. "Alright, well, sorry about that," he blabbered, his voice high as he was panting. "Uh, that's enough for today, if you'd all like to collect your book bags at the back of the class, that's all. That's the end of the lesson. Thank you." He glanced apologetically at Harry and Daphne, who were the only ones that didn't get to participate. "See you next class!"

People began murmuring as the class began to fill out. Remus turned away from them, his heart racing as he mentally cursed himself. The lesson was going so well. This hadn't happened when Professor Whittle had taught them the spell in his third year. Fuck. He cast a glance at the wardrobe before quickly deciding to put it away before his next class.

"Why didn't you let me go?" A familiar, yet foreign voice asked from behind him. "I could've taken the boggart."

Remus turned and watched as Harry was glaring up at him. Most of the students had already left, with the rest on their way.

"I… it was a bad idea. I didn't expect results like Mister Nott's."

"I want to have a go."

"I- no. I'm sorry. This was a mistake."

The boy glared at him, in a way James had never and yet, he felt it was coming straight from the man himself. In abandoning Britain, he'd abandoned his son. He wasn't his godfather, he was dangerous just to be in his presence, much less being his full-time guardian. It wasn't right. The best thing for Harry was to grow up away from him. So why didn't he feel that way as he watched the kid walk away from him.

"Harry," he called out. "It's Harry, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he mumbled.

"Would you like to have a cup of tea? I've a free period."

The boy looked at him, then looked at the wardrobe before turning back to him. "Sure," he shrugged.

Consequences, consequences… the Winter Break's barely starting and it's only going to get crazier as we move forward. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

By the time I'm posting this, I'm three chapters ahead and have finished writing this arc. If you are interested in learning how to get early access to them, join my discord server using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT

As always, thank you for reading, favouriting, and commenting! I appreciate all of you! :)