*****Author's Note: Thanks to those of you who reviewed the first chapter! Everyone, stick with me. I promise, this story is full of intrigue, excitement, and mystery. Not to mention lots of magic and a few grisly deaths. (The Death Eaters are back, after all!) Please keep reading, and if you're reading, PLEASE REVIEW. Even just a really short one. If I start to think that only two or three people are reading this, I might get discouraged, and you'd never get to the best parts! :)
Anyway, enjoy chapter two, and let me know what you think. :) I'll do my best to get a chapter up every weekend.
Arigatou, Mary-Ruth*****
Chapter Two
Harry's Inheritance
"Harry!" Mrs Weasley said, throwing her arms around him in a choking hug. "Are you hurt, dear? Was anyone injured? Did they catch them?"
"Out of the way," Professor Snape said, pushing them aside. He strode toward the fireplace.
"What happened?" Mrs. Weasley said. "Where are the others?"
Harry managed to disentangle himself from Mrs. Weasley's hug. "Everyone's fine, Mrs. Weasley," he said. He saw Ron and Ginny standing behind her, and grinned at them.
"Hi, Ron," he smiled.
"Hi, Harry," Ron grinned back, but his face had the slightly pale look of one who had just been very worried.
"We got there in time, Molly," McGonagall said, settling primly onto a nearby chair.
"If you'll excuse me—" Snape said suddenly, "if everyone is quite all right, I have more pressing engagements…" he jerked his head back toward the fireplace.
"Of course. Be careful, Severus," McGonagall nodded. Snape nodded curtly, his greasy hair falling in front of his eyes. His eyes met Harry's for a moment, and Harry sensed that Snapes utter hatred of him hadn't abated, despite his rescue. With a loud crack, he was gone. Harry felt relieved… he didn't want to have anything to do with Professor Snape.
"What happened?" Mrs. Weasley insisted.
"There were two Death Eaters there when we arrived," McGonagall said. "They had them all cornered in a bedroom, but we managed to stun them before anything happened."
"But the Dark Mark—" Ron interrupted.
"Yes, why did they send it up before? I always thought it was what they did… after…" Ginny pressed. Mrs. Weasley swallowed hard, and absent-mindedly grabbed Harry's hand.
"It was Wormtail," Harry said quietly, sinking into a chair himself. Mrs. Weasley sat down beside him. "When the Mark went up, I looked outside, and I saw… the other two… yelling at him. Then he disappeared."
"Wormtail?" McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Peter Pettigrew?" She frowned.
"Yeah," Harry went on. "I tried to wake my Aunt and Uncle, but you know how they are… Uncle Vernon just started to yell… then the Death Eaters cornered us. I wasn't sure what to do. I didn't want to use magic against them until I had to—"
"Potter," McGonagall said, leaning forward in her chair, "if you are ever cornered by dark wizards, you may feel free to disregard the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry entirely."
"Well," Mrs. Weasley said, standing up, "what we need right now is a nice cup of cocoa and a good night's sleep."
Sleep? Tonight? Harry looked at Ron, who was staring at his mother. "Mum, there is no way that—"
"Yes, Ron, you will be going to bed, and you will be getting some sleep tonight. We can talk about all this in the morning," she said, giving him a look that dared him to protest.
"Right, Mum. Absolutely," Ron nodded. "I feel sleepy already."
Mrs. Weasley flicked her wand and a pot of cocoa floated into the room from the kitchen, teetering back and forth gently. A line of little mugs floated behind it as though on parade.
The cocoa was doled out, and they sipped in silence for a moment. It felt good to get something hot and sweet to drink. Now that he was calming down, Harry realized how scared he'd actually been; the cocoa felt as comforting as warm, dry clothes on a rainy night.
McGonagall sat her mug down. It was still full. "I should go help Albus," she said abruptly. "I have… things to do, anyway. Thank you for the cocoa Molly." She smiled, her lips thin.
"Oh—well, if you must," Mrs. Weasley said. "Er, good night, Minerva."
McGonagall nodded, and disapparated with a crack.
"Well…" Mrs. Weasley looked at a loss. "I suppose… we'd better get some sleep. Especially you, Harry dear. I hate to think--"
"Are we staying here, mum?" Ron asked.
"For now. This is probably the safest place for—for us. I'll walk you boys upstairs. Ginny, you remember where your bedroom is?"
"Yes, Mum," she said, dropping her own mug next to McGonagall's with a loud clunk.
Harry looked at Ron and raised his eyebrows. Ron shrugged. "She's been like that all week," he whispered. "Temperamental."
"Come along, boys," Mrs. Weasley prompted impatiently. "Bed, now!" She herded them out of the room and up the stairs. Harry kicked off his shoes and crawled into bed, still in his pajamas. "Try and get some sleep, now. I don't want you two up talking all night!" Her voice switched from bossy-maternal to concerned-mother-mode. "Sweet dreams, dears. Try to get some rest."
Harry and Ron both muttered, "G'night," and rolled over, pulling the blankets up over their heads. Harry listened intently, breathing as little as possible. There was silence for a very long time. Finally, he heard Mrs. Weasley's footsteps as she retreated down the stairs.
Harry and Ron both sat up and threw back the covers.
"We all thought you were dead for sure!" Ron said, wide-eyed.
"I thought I was dead," Harry said, shaking. His scar was suddenly extremely painful. "I'm still not recovered yet. My stomach is doing laps around my intestines…"
"What happened? How many were there?"
"Three," Harry said. "It's like I said. I heard a noise, and then Wormtail shot up the Dark Mark and I saw them, and then the other two cornered me in my Aunt and Uncle's bedroom."
"You fought Death Eaters in your Aunt and Uncle's bedroom?" Ron said, smirking slightly.
"Yeah." Harry couldn't manage a grin. "They were gonna kill Uncle Vernon, but everyone showed up, and that was it."
"Wow," Ron said. "I can't believe Death Eaters attacked you in your own house…" Harry thought it might just be the dim light, but Ron seemed to tremble slightly.
"Neither can I. The weird thing is, Dumbledore said that I was protected there. Because of my mother's sacrifice and Aunt Petunia and I both having her blood."
"You-know-who must've figured out some way around it," Ron frowned.
"Yeah," Harry agreed. They both stared at the ceiling for a moment.
"Lucky that Wormtail shot off that Mark early," Ron said. "If he hadn't screwed up, you wouldn't have known…"
"I think he did it on purpose," Harry murmured. "To warn me."
"Why?"
Harry shook his head. "I think… because I saved his life once. Remember? When I wouldn't let Lupin or… or Sirius kill him? Dumbledore said that one day I might be glad I had him in my debt. I guess… he was repaying the favor by saving my life."
Ron was slient for a long time. Then, finally, he murmured, "Whoa. Harry…"
"Yeah, I know," Harry looked away. He felt suddenly very drained. He lay back and stared straight up, rubbing his throbbing scar with the back of his hand. "What are you all doing here? I thought you were at the Burrow?"
"We were. Dad was out doing something for the Order when we went to bed. Mum woke up Ginny and Me—Fred and George got a place nearer to Diagon Alley—and said we had to go. She reckoned they'd bring you here for safekeeping," Ron said. "If you weren't dead," he added.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Where's the rest of the Order?"
He heard Ron lay back on his bed too. "When we got here, the place was empty. Mum said she imagined that no one's been here really… Lupin still lives here, but I don't think he likes to be here alone. Anyway, I imagine it spooked a few people, the Death Eaters going after you like that. They're probably busy making sure that there's not some kind of killing spree. What was wrong with McGonagall? That was weird, the way she took off like that."
"I don't know. It was like she just remembered something she had to do…"
"Yeah," Ron murmured, yawning.
Something was bothering Harry. It felt… wrong… to be here, in Sirius's house. Now that Sirius was gone. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the room. "Ron…" Harry muttered.
"Yeah?" Ron yawned again.
"Why are we in… his house still?"
"Er…" Ron sounded nervous. "Well, he did want the Order to use it, didn't he?"
"Yeah," Harry rolled over. "I guess."
He stared at the wall for a while, wishing a little bit that he were still alone, and definitely wishing that he were somewhere else. After a while, Ron whispered a tentative "Harry?" but Harry pretended to be asleep. Eventually he drifted off, into a deep, dreamless slumber.
The next thing he knew, Ron was shaking his arm. "Mum says do you want some breakfast or should she save you something for later," he said.
Harry rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and sat up. "No--no, I'm up." He threw back the covers and looked around. Ron had his dressing gown on, but Harry didn't have any other clothes.
"Dad and Bill brought your trunk back this morning," Ron said. He was combing his hair back, apparently in an attempt to make it look messier. It was something he'd done ever since Griffindor won the quidditch cup the previous year. "It's in the hallway, they didn't want to wake us. Oh, and Hedwig's downstairs."
Harry slipped out of bed and over to the doorway. He rummaged in his trunk, found his clothes, and shut the door. He was just pulling his socks on when Ron stepped outside. "See you downstairs," he said.
"I'll catch you up," Harry agreed.
He rummaged under the bed for his other shoe, which he seemed to have kicked off a little too energetically.
There was a loud snigger. Harry jumped and bonked his head on the bottom of the bed hard enough to knock his glasses off one ear. He grabbed his shoe and emerged from under the bed, rubbing the back of his skull. He turned to the blank canvas on the wall.
"Phineas Nigellus," he muttered. "Forgot about you."
"Some respect for your elders, if you please," Phineas Nigellus said in a sneering tone. "I see you've come running back here again. None of you have any right, you know. This house belongs to the Blacks, and the Blacks alone."
"Yeah, well. Mind your own business," Harry grumbled. He pulled on his shoes and hurried down the stairs to breakfast.
The Weasleys were already assembled around the table, dishing marmalade onto their toast and eating their eggs.
"Morning, Harry," Ginny chirped.
"What do you want for breakfast, Harry dear?" Mrs. Weasley said, smiling broadly. "We have eggs and bacon, sausages, or I could do some kippers if you like—"
"Some toast would be fine. And maybe an egg," Harry said. He dropped into a chair between Ron and Bill. He looked up at Mr. Weasley. "Everything go okay with the Ministry last night?"
Mr. Weasley shook his head. "We were out until just an hour or so ago. We had to modify the memories of dozens of muggles—seems that everyone and his brother woke up and saw the Dark Mark."
"Which could very well be what they wanted," Bill grumbled. "They surely didn't think that the three of them could take you on, not after you fought You-know-who and got away."
Mrs. Weasley pushed a nearly-overflowing plate in front of Harry—she seemed to have decided that he needed to eat some of everything. She sat down next to her husband. "Who knows what Death Eaters are thinking?" she said in a definite 'Drop it now,' sort of tone. "I'm just glad you're all right, Harry," she added, patting his hand.
"Well, I wouldn't have been if you all hadn't shown up so quickly," Harry said. "It's amazing how fast everyone showed up."
"Yes, isn't it," Mr. Weasley said in a flat tone of voice.
"What did they do with the Death Eaters?" Ginny asked, her mouth half full of egg.
"Ginny, don't talk with your mouth full," Mrs. Weasley said. "Dumbledore and Moody are taking care of that, I'm sure. There'll be a trial."
"You were front page of the Prophet this morning, Harry," Ron grinned. "They've got that picture of you from the Quibbler on the front page and everything. Big headline. Hermione'll be in a panic when she sees it."
"Doesn't it say I'm okay?" Harry asked, confused.
"To tell the truth," Bill said, "when the reporters showed up, we were pretty vague about what had happened to you. We thought that maybe, if they thought we were covering up your death or something, the Death Eaters might—"
"Bill—" Mrs. Weasley said, brandishing her fork at him.
"Now, Molly. He has a right to know! It's his life, after all!" Mr. Weasley retorted. "We thought that if they thought you were dead—that we were hiding your death—we could keep you safe until you go back to Hogwarts."
Harry's jaw dropped. "We're faking my death?" he sputtered.
"No, no," Bill said, raising his hand defensively. "Just… leaving it a bit of a mystery. If people don't know exactly what happened—"
"Yeah, I get it," Harry said. "You should've asked me." He ate a sausage, but his stomach was starting to feel queasy. He didn't like the idea of the entire wizarding world thinking that he was dead—besides Hermione, he wondered what Hagrid would think, or his friends at school, or… Harry could think of plenty of people he didn't want spending their summers wondering if he was dead. He particularly didn't like the idea of decisions being made about him again. Hadn't he already proved his right to know these things? People had died because he'd been kept in the dark.
A thought popped into his head. "Where's Kreacher? He's not still here, is he?"
"No," Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "We've no idea where he's gone. Disappeared right after—er, well, he disappeared a few weeks ago."
"Back to Narcissa Malfoy, I'll bet," Mr. Weasley said, biting a kipper in half.
The doorbell rang, setting all of the portraits in the hall shrieking. Mrs. Black screamed insults down the hallway. "MUDBLOODS! HALF-BREEDS, BLOOD TRAITORS! SULLYING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS—"
Mrs. Weasley sighed and folded her napkin. "I'll get the door. Arthur, dear, will you get the portraits?"
He followed her out of the room. Ginny leaned forward to look at Harry. "Mum thought for sure you were dead," she said, grinning.
"So I heard," Harry sighed. He pushed his plate away.
"Leave him be, Ginny," Bill said.
"He can handle it," she scowled at Bill. "Fred and George are coming round later. They read the Prophet before Mum's owl—they were scared to death." She giggled. "Serves them right, after all the trick food they've sent home lately."
"Er, Harry—d'you reckon you'll be allowed back on the quidditch team now Umbridge is gone?" Ron said.
"Yeah," Harry grinned, grateful for the change of subject. "McGonagall wil see to it, I'm sure."
"Good," Ginny said. "You're a much better seeker than me, anyway. I'd rather play chaser—I'm definitely going out for it."
"You know what?" Ron said, grinning. "I bet you'll be quidditch captain! You've been on the team longer than anybody now."
"Maybe…" Harry said. He wouldn't mind being quidditch captain—quidditch was just about his favorite thing at Hogwarts. He would have to think about that. "I wonder who the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher will be," Harry wondered aloud.
There was a collective shrug. "Who knows," Ron said. "I, for one, hope it's Moody. He could turn Malfoy into a ferrett again."
"He never did it in the first place," Ginny corrected. "It was an imposter."
"Yeah, that's why he could do it now—he doesn't know any better," Ron said, smiling. "It wouldn't have to be a ferrett even… I imagine he'd make a good toad, or a babboon…"
"Or a tarantula," Bill grinned.
"Yergh, that's just what I need—a Malfoy spider," Ron shivered. "Nevermind." Harry imagined Malfoy as a tarantula—a great, hairy, snow-white spider. The thought almost made him laugh.
Mrs. Weasley returned, followed by Mr. Weasley who was talking with Remus Lupin. He was wearing some rather tattered muggle clothes, including a long, damp raincoat that was inexpertly patched on the sleeve. He was looking as tired as ever, but Harry was glad to see him.
Lupin spotted Harry at the table. "Harry!" he said, with a smile. "I heard you saved your uncle and aunt."
"Barely," Harry said. "If the Order hadn't shown up…" He shrugged.
Remus patted Harry's shoulder. "They would have been proud of you. You should know that," he said quietly.
Harry didn't have to ask who he was talking about.
Hermione's owl arrived just after breakfast. Mr. Weasley brought it in and read the note aloud although it was addressed to Ron.
"Ron—
Just read the Prophet. Where's Harry? Is he okay? WHAT HAPPENED?
Hermione."
"Told you," Ron said. "Totally ballistic." His voice was smug, but his face was blank. Harry suspected he was worried about Hermione, and he felt the same way—his stomach turned every time he thought about it.
"Well who wouldn't be, poor thing," Mrs. Weasley said. "We'll have to send her a note straight away."
"Not a good idea, Mum," Bill piped up. "The owl could be intercepted, and then You-Know-Who would be back to looking for Harry."
"Hmm," Mr. Weasley said, producing a quill from his pocket. "Ron, you best reply. But write down exactly what we tell you."
The final letter had no information in it whatsoever. It simply read,
"Hermione,
Dad reckons you ought to come out here as soon as you can. We're staying the same place as last summer.
Ron."
"She'll think I'm dead for sure," Harry protested.
"I don't like it either, but Hermione is clever. She'll understand the importance of keeping the secret," Mr. Weasley said, tying the note back onto the leg of the tawny owl.
"Wait," Ron said eagerly, grabbing his Dad's elbow. "We should send the letter with Hedwig. Then, Hermione'll know Harry's here, and she won't worry."
No one said anything. Ron's face slowly fell. "It was just a thought," he said, stepping away.
"Brilliant!" Harry said.
"That is a good idea, Ron," said Mr. Weasley, sounding a little surprised.
"You think you know a guy," Ginny said quietly. "Maybe Hermione's rubbing off on you." Ron's ears were turning red, but he was beaming.
Harry woke Hedwig, who was sleeping in her cage in the hall. She hooted happily to see him, and he stroked her feathers. "Feeling up to a trip?" he asked, tying the note to her leg. He felt relieved, watching her fly away, and hoped Hermione would understand the message.
That afternoon, Harry watched Ron and Ginny having a spirited game of exploding snap. They had invited him to play, but Harry wasn't feeling up to it. He felt uncomfortable being in this house… Everywhere he looked, he saw Sirius. Fortunately, Ron and Ginny were content with just letting him sit in silence on a nearby chair.
He spotted the Daily Prophet on a nearby table, and picked it up. Sure enough, his face dominated the front page, although there was also a smaller photo of the Dark Mark, albeit slightly faded, still twinkling over Privet Drive.
"Harry Potter Attacked!
Dark Mark appears over home of Boy Who Lived
Voldemort's supporters made their first move last night when they attacked Harry Potter and his muggle relations in their home in Little Whinging, Surrey. This attack marked the first time in fifteen years the Dark Mark has appeared above a wizarding residence. Although ministry officials report the muggles were unharmed, the current condition and whereabouts of Potter are unknown.
'This was a very serious attack, and yet another reminder of You-Know-Who's merciless nature," said Arthur Weasley, ministry official. Weasley refused further comment about Potter's condition, except to note that he had been removed from the residence before reporters arrived."
The article went on to describe the magnitude of charms necessary to alter the memories of all the muggles in Little Whinging, to offer advice for safe-guarding one's home, and to theorize at length about his condition. It was almost funny, reading about his own death, albeit a bit eerie.
"Harry, could I have a word with you?"
All three turned and looked at the door. Lupin was looking in, smiling in a pale, worried sort of way. Ginny and Ron looked down at their cards.
"Er, sure," Harry said. He tossed aside the paper and followed Lupin down the hallway, and into a side room. Lupin opened the curtains, letting in a beam of sunshine.
"Sit down, Harry," he said. "Would you like some butterbeer?" He gestured toward a tray on a rickety end table.
"No thanks," Harry said. He stomach felt heavy… in his experience, being summoned into a side room for a private conversation rarely led to anything good. He sat down on one of the chairs.
Lupin sat down across from him, and leaned forward over his knees. He folded his hands in front of him as though he were praying and stared at his fingers. "Harry, none of this is easy. Listen—if there's anything you want to talk about, any time, I'm here for you."
Another lump rose up in his throat. He coughed. "Thanks." But he couldn't talk to Lupin… not really. He was a great guy, and probably the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher he'd ever had, but he was no Sirius. Lupin's advice would probably always be to stay on the safe side and follow the rules. Sirius
"Right," Lupin said, and cleared his throat. When he spokeit was with a gentle, quiet voice. "Well. Harry, I know you probably don't want to talk about this, but I have to… er… tell you something." He stared at his feet for a while, as though gathering his courage to speak.
"I'm sure you already know this, Harry," Lupin began, "but I wanted to remind you that you aren't alone. You've still got us all here, looking out for you. And me especially. I mean it Harry—if there's anything you need…"
"Oh," Harry said. He remembered his welcome reception as he got off the Hogwarts Express in June. Yes, he knew that they were looking out for him. "Thank you."
"That's not all," Lupin said. He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and withdrew a piece of parchment. "He wrote this letter. A few months ago. He wanted me to give it to you." He held it out—his hand was shaking.
"Thanks," Harry said, taking the letter. He didn't unfold it.
"And one last thing," Lupin added. He reached into another pocket and held out his fist. "This was Sirius's. He didn't wear it much, but it was important to him. He had it… back when he lived with your dad. His father always wore that big gold ring with the Black crest on it. Sirius considered this his version… the one that showed that he was his own man and not one of them."
Lupin opened his hand, and in it was clutched a ring carved from solid onyx. It was glossy black and smooth, like liquid darkness. In its center was a tiny glittering ruby and a curly silver letter "S". Harry took it and spun it slowly between his fingers.
"We all wanted to give you something of his…" He sighed. "Hagrid wanted to give you Buckbeak, but Dumbledore put a stop to that."
"Buckbeak!" Harry said. How could he have forgotten about Buckbeak?
"Don't worry. We've dyed his feathers and we're calling him 'Billy.' Hagrid's taking care of him. He misses Sirius, though." Lupin sighed. "Same as us."
He stood up, and reached out, as though to pat Harry on the arm, but froze and withdrew his hand a moment later. "Harry—if you need anything—I'm here for you. Really."
"Thanks. I mean it," Harry said.
Lupin left the room, shutting the door behind him. Harry sat in silence for a moment, staring at the ring and the letter. The letter was in a dingy envelope, sealed with a dribble of purple wax, pressed closed by the very ring in Harry's other hand. He turned the creased letter over and over between his hands. He slipped the ring onto his finger—a perfect fit. It felt chilled, as though Lupin had been keeping it in the refrigerator rather than his pocket.
Harry finally steeled up his courage and opened Sirius's letter. His godfather's loopy handwriting filled the page—familiar, comforting, and terrible all at the same time.
"Dear Harry,
If you're reading this letter, then I suppose I must be gone. I imagine you must be feeling pretty alone right now, if that's the case. But I want you to remember something very important, Harry, and that is this: you have an incredible family. Don't ever forget it.
You see, it took me years to learn that our families in this life are not simply the people we're born to. I was never a part of my "family," and I know you aren't a part of the Dursleys, despite the blood connection. That's something my parents never learned: there are things much stronger than blood. You have amazing strength in the people around you, Harry.
I hope that I went bravely, facing down some terrible evil and saving my fellow man. Whatever happened, Harry, I don't want you to be sad right now. There will be time to mourn later. Wherever we go—well, if I'm there now, I'm still watching over you, the same as I've always done.
These are very dark times, and I wish that I could be there to fight with you. But there's a lot of your father in you, besides just the physical resemblance, so I don't doubt that whatever comes at you, you will be able to manage. When the time comes, don't give up. Whatever happens, don't give up.
One last thing. If I'm gone, then the Black mansion no longer has an owner. I would like the Order to continue to use the house until it is no longer needed, and then, Harry, I want you to have it. It's not much, but maybe it will make you happier than it's made me.
I doubt you'll ever read this letter. But if you do, I want you to know that I am very proud of you.
Your godfather,
Sirius Black."
Anyway, enjoy chapter two, and let me know what you think. :) I'll do my best to get a chapter up every weekend.
Arigatou, Mary-Ruth*****
Chapter Two
Harry's Inheritance
"Harry!" Mrs Weasley said, throwing her arms around him in a choking hug. "Are you hurt, dear? Was anyone injured? Did they catch them?"
"Out of the way," Professor Snape said, pushing them aside. He strode toward the fireplace.
"What happened?" Mrs. Weasley said. "Where are the others?"
Harry managed to disentangle himself from Mrs. Weasley's hug. "Everyone's fine, Mrs. Weasley," he said. He saw Ron and Ginny standing behind her, and grinned at them.
"Hi, Ron," he smiled.
"Hi, Harry," Ron grinned back, but his face had the slightly pale look of one who had just been very worried.
"We got there in time, Molly," McGonagall said, settling primly onto a nearby chair.
"If you'll excuse me—" Snape said suddenly, "if everyone is quite all right, I have more pressing engagements…" he jerked his head back toward the fireplace.
"Of course. Be careful, Severus," McGonagall nodded. Snape nodded curtly, his greasy hair falling in front of his eyes. His eyes met Harry's for a moment, and Harry sensed that Snapes utter hatred of him hadn't abated, despite his rescue. With a loud crack, he was gone. Harry felt relieved… he didn't want to have anything to do with Professor Snape.
"What happened?" Mrs. Weasley insisted.
"There were two Death Eaters there when we arrived," McGonagall said. "They had them all cornered in a bedroom, but we managed to stun them before anything happened."
"But the Dark Mark—" Ron interrupted.
"Yes, why did they send it up before? I always thought it was what they did… after…" Ginny pressed. Mrs. Weasley swallowed hard, and absent-mindedly grabbed Harry's hand.
"It was Wormtail," Harry said quietly, sinking into a chair himself. Mrs. Weasley sat down beside him. "When the Mark went up, I looked outside, and I saw… the other two… yelling at him. Then he disappeared."
"Wormtail?" McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Peter Pettigrew?" She frowned.
"Yeah," Harry went on. "I tried to wake my Aunt and Uncle, but you know how they are… Uncle Vernon just started to yell… then the Death Eaters cornered us. I wasn't sure what to do. I didn't want to use magic against them until I had to—"
"Potter," McGonagall said, leaning forward in her chair, "if you are ever cornered by dark wizards, you may feel free to disregard the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry entirely."
"Well," Mrs. Weasley said, standing up, "what we need right now is a nice cup of cocoa and a good night's sleep."
Sleep? Tonight? Harry looked at Ron, who was staring at his mother. "Mum, there is no way that—"
"Yes, Ron, you will be going to bed, and you will be getting some sleep tonight. We can talk about all this in the morning," she said, giving him a look that dared him to protest.
"Right, Mum. Absolutely," Ron nodded. "I feel sleepy already."
Mrs. Weasley flicked her wand and a pot of cocoa floated into the room from the kitchen, teetering back and forth gently. A line of little mugs floated behind it as though on parade.
The cocoa was doled out, and they sipped in silence for a moment. It felt good to get something hot and sweet to drink. Now that he was calming down, Harry realized how scared he'd actually been; the cocoa felt as comforting as warm, dry clothes on a rainy night.
McGonagall sat her mug down. It was still full. "I should go help Albus," she said abruptly. "I have… things to do, anyway. Thank you for the cocoa Molly." She smiled, her lips thin.
"Oh—well, if you must," Mrs. Weasley said. "Er, good night, Minerva."
McGonagall nodded, and disapparated with a crack.
"Well…" Mrs. Weasley looked at a loss. "I suppose… we'd better get some sleep. Especially you, Harry dear. I hate to think--"
"Are we staying here, mum?" Ron asked.
"For now. This is probably the safest place for—for us. I'll walk you boys upstairs. Ginny, you remember where your bedroom is?"
"Yes, Mum," she said, dropping her own mug next to McGonagall's with a loud clunk.
Harry looked at Ron and raised his eyebrows. Ron shrugged. "She's been like that all week," he whispered. "Temperamental."
"Come along, boys," Mrs. Weasley prompted impatiently. "Bed, now!" She herded them out of the room and up the stairs. Harry kicked off his shoes and crawled into bed, still in his pajamas. "Try and get some sleep, now. I don't want you two up talking all night!" Her voice switched from bossy-maternal to concerned-mother-mode. "Sweet dreams, dears. Try to get some rest."
Harry and Ron both muttered, "G'night," and rolled over, pulling the blankets up over their heads. Harry listened intently, breathing as little as possible. There was silence for a very long time. Finally, he heard Mrs. Weasley's footsteps as she retreated down the stairs.
Harry and Ron both sat up and threw back the covers.
"We all thought you were dead for sure!" Ron said, wide-eyed.
"I thought I was dead," Harry said, shaking. His scar was suddenly extremely painful. "I'm still not recovered yet. My stomach is doing laps around my intestines…"
"What happened? How many were there?"
"Three," Harry said. "It's like I said. I heard a noise, and then Wormtail shot up the Dark Mark and I saw them, and then the other two cornered me in my Aunt and Uncle's bedroom."
"You fought Death Eaters in your Aunt and Uncle's bedroom?" Ron said, smirking slightly.
"Yeah." Harry couldn't manage a grin. "They were gonna kill Uncle Vernon, but everyone showed up, and that was it."
"Wow," Ron said. "I can't believe Death Eaters attacked you in your own house…" Harry thought it might just be the dim light, but Ron seemed to tremble slightly.
"Neither can I. The weird thing is, Dumbledore said that I was protected there. Because of my mother's sacrifice and Aunt Petunia and I both having her blood."
"You-know-who must've figured out some way around it," Ron frowned.
"Yeah," Harry agreed. They both stared at the ceiling for a moment.
"Lucky that Wormtail shot off that Mark early," Ron said. "If he hadn't screwed up, you wouldn't have known…"
"I think he did it on purpose," Harry murmured. "To warn me."
"Why?"
Harry shook his head. "I think… because I saved his life once. Remember? When I wouldn't let Lupin or… or Sirius kill him? Dumbledore said that one day I might be glad I had him in my debt. I guess… he was repaying the favor by saving my life."
Ron was slient for a long time. Then, finally, he murmured, "Whoa. Harry…"
"Yeah, I know," Harry looked away. He felt suddenly very drained. He lay back and stared straight up, rubbing his throbbing scar with the back of his hand. "What are you all doing here? I thought you were at the Burrow?"
"We were. Dad was out doing something for the Order when we went to bed. Mum woke up Ginny and Me—Fred and George got a place nearer to Diagon Alley—and said we had to go. She reckoned they'd bring you here for safekeeping," Ron said. "If you weren't dead," he added.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Where's the rest of the Order?"
He heard Ron lay back on his bed too. "When we got here, the place was empty. Mum said she imagined that no one's been here really… Lupin still lives here, but I don't think he likes to be here alone. Anyway, I imagine it spooked a few people, the Death Eaters going after you like that. They're probably busy making sure that there's not some kind of killing spree. What was wrong with McGonagall? That was weird, the way she took off like that."
"I don't know. It was like she just remembered something she had to do…"
"Yeah," Ron murmured, yawning.
Something was bothering Harry. It felt… wrong… to be here, in Sirius's house. Now that Sirius was gone. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the room. "Ron…" Harry muttered.
"Yeah?" Ron yawned again.
"Why are we in… his house still?"
"Er…" Ron sounded nervous. "Well, he did want the Order to use it, didn't he?"
"Yeah," Harry rolled over. "I guess."
He stared at the wall for a while, wishing a little bit that he were still alone, and definitely wishing that he were somewhere else. After a while, Ron whispered a tentative "Harry?" but Harry pretended to be asleep. Eventually he drifted off, into a deep, dreamless slumber.
The next thing he knew, Ron was shaking his arm. "Mum says do you want some breakfast or should she save you something for later," he said.
Harry rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and sat up. "No--no, I'm up." He threw back the covers and looked around. Ron had his dressing gown on, but Harry didn't have any other clothes.
"Dad and Bill brought your trunk back this morning," Ron said. He was combing his hair back, apparently in an attempt to make it look messier. It was something he'd done ever since Griffindor won the quidditch cup the previous year. "It's in the hallway, they didn't want to wake us. Oh, and Hedwig's downstairs."
Harry slipped out of bed and over to the doorway. He rummaged in his trunk, found his clothes, and shut the door. He was just pulling his socks on when Ron stepped outside. "See you downstairs," he said.
"I'll catch you up," Harry agreed.
He rummaged under the bed for his other shoe, which he seemed to have kicked off a little too energetically.
There was a loud snigger. Harry jumped and bonked his head on the bottom of the bed hard enough to knock his glasses off one ear. He grabbed his shoe and emerged from under the bed, rubbing the back of his skull. He turned to the blank canvas on the wall.
"Phineas Nigellus," he muttered. "Forgot about you."
"Some respect for your elders, if you please," Phineas Nigellus said in a sneering tone. "I see you've come running back here again. None of you have any right, you know. This house belongs to the Blacks, and the Blacks alone."
"Yeah, well. Mind your own business," Harry grumbled. He pulled on his shoes and hurried down the stairs to breakfast.
The Weasleys were already assembled around the table, dishing marmalade onto their toast and eating their eggs.
"Morning, Harry," Ginny chirped.
"What do you want for breakfast, Harry dear?" Mrs. Weasley said, smiling broadly. "We have eggs and bacon, sausages, or I could do some kippers if you like—"
"Some toast would be fine. And maybe an egg," Harry said. He dropped into a chair between Ron and Bill. He looked up at Mr. Weasley. "Everything go okay with the Ministry last night?"
Mr. Weasley shook his head. "We were out until just an hour or so ago. We had to modify the memories of dozens of muggles—seems that everyone and his brother woke up and saw the Dark Mark."
"Which could very well be what they wanted," Bill grumbled. "They surely didn't think that the three of them could take you on, not after you fought You-know-who and got away."
Mrs. Weasley pushed a nearly-overflowing plate in front of Harry—she seemed to have decided that he needed to eat some of everything. She sat down next to her husband. "Who knows what Death Eaters are thinking?" she said in a definite 'Drop it now,' sort of tone. "I'm just glad you're all right, Harry," she added, patting his hand.
"Well, I wouldn't have been if you all hadn't shown up so quickly," Harry said. "It's amazing how fast everyone showed up."
"Yes, isn't it," Mr. Weasley said in a flat tone of voice.
"What did they do with the Death Eaters?" Ginny asked, her mouth half full of egg.
"Ginny, don't talk with your mouth full," Mrs. Weasley said. "Dumbledore and Moody are taking care of that, I'm sure. There'll be a trial."
"You were front page of the Prophet this morning, Harry," Ron grinned. "They've got that picture of you from the Quibbler on the front page and everything. Big headline. Hermione'll be in a panic when she sees it."
"Doesn't it say I'm okay?" Harry asked, confused.
"To tell the truth," Bill said, "when the reporters showed up, we were pretty vague about what had happened to you. We thought that maybe, if they thought we were covering up your death or something, the Death Eaters might—"
"Bill—" Mrs. Weasley said, brandishing her fork at him.
"Now, Molly. He has a right to know! It's his life, after all!" Mr. Weasley retorted. "We thought that if they thought you were dead—that we were hiding your death—we could keep you safe until you go back to Hogwarts."
Harry's jaw dropped. "We're faking my death?" he sputtered.
"No, no," Bill said, raising his hand defensively. "Just… leaving it a bit of a mystery. If people don't know exactly what happened—"
"Yeah, I get it," Harry said. "You should've asked me." He ate a sausage, but his stomach was starting to feel queasy. He didn't like the idea of the entire wizarding world thinking that he was dead—besides Hermione, he wondered what Hagrid would think, or his friends at school, or… Harry could think of plenty of people he didn't want spending their summers wondering if he was dead. He particularly didn't like the idea of decisions being made about him again. Hadn't he already proved his right to know these things? People had died because he'd been kept in the dark.
A thought popped into his head. "Where's Kreacher? He's not still here, is he?"
"No," Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "We've no idea where he's gone. Disappeared right after—er, well, he disappeared a few weeks ago."
"Back to Narcissa Malfoy, I'll bet," Mr. Weasley said, biting a kipper in half.
The doorbell rang, setting all of the portraits in the hall shrieking. Mrs. Black screamed insults down the hallway. "MUDBLOODS! HALF-BREEDS, BLOOD TRAITORS! SULLYING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS—"
Mrs. Weasley sighed and folded her napkin. "I'll get the door. Arthur, dear, will you get the portraits?"
He followed her out of the room. Ginny leaned forward to look at Harry. "Mum thought for sure you were dead," she said, grinning.
"So I heard," Harry sighed. He pushed his plate away.
"Leave him be, Ginny," Bill said.
"He can handle it," she scowled at Bill. "Fred and George are coming round later. They read the Prophet before Mum's owl—they were scared to death." She giggled. "Serves them right, after all the trick food they've sent home lately."
"Er, Harry—d'you reckon you'll be allowed back on the quidditch team now Umbridge is gone?" Ron said.
"Yeah," Harry grinned, grateful for the change of subject. "McGonagall wil see to it, I'm sure."
"Good," Ginny said. "You're a much better seeker than me, anyway. I'd rather play chaser—I'm definitely going out for it."
"You know what?" Ron said, grinning. "I bet you'll be quidditch captain! You've been on the team longer than anybody now."
"Maybe…" Harry said. He wouldn't mind being quidditch captain—quidditch was just about his favorite thing at Hogwarts. He would have to think about that. "I wonder who the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher will be," Harry wondered aloud.
There was a collective shrug. "Who knows," Ron said. "I, for one, hope it's Moody. He could turn Malfoy into a ferrett again."
"He never did it in the first place," Ginny corrected. "It was an imposter."
"Yeah, that's why he could do it now—he doesn't know any better," Ron said, smiling. "It wouldn't have to be a ferrett even… I imagine he'd make a good toad, or a babboon…"
"Or a tarantula," Bill grinned.
"Yergh, that's just what I need—a Malfoy spider," Ron shivered. "Nevermind." Harry imagined Malfoy as a tarantula—a great, hairy, snow-white spider. The thought almost made him laugh.
Mrs. Weasley returned, followed by Mr. Weasley who was talking with Remus Lupin. He was wearing some rather tattered muggle clothes, including a long, damp raincoat that was inexpertly patched on the sleeve. He was looking as tired as ever, but Harry was glad to see him.
Lupin spotted Harry at the table. "Harry!" he said, with a smile. "I heard you saved your uncle and aunt."
"Barely," Harry said. "If the Order hadn't shown up…" He shrugged.
Remus patted Harry's shoulder. "They would have been proud of you. You should know that," he said quietly.
Harry didn't have to ask who he was talking about.
Hermione's owl arrived just after breakfast. Mr. Weasley brought it in and read the note aloud although it was addressed to Ron.
"Ron—
Just read the Prophet. Where's Harry? Is he okay? WHAT HAPPENED?
Hermione."
"Told you," Ron said. "Totally ballistic." His voice was smug, but his face was blank. Harry suspected he was worried about Hermione, and he felt the same way—his stomach turned every time he thought about it.
"Well who wouldn't be, poor thing," Mrs. Weasley said. "We'll have to send her a note straight away."
"Not a good idea, Mum," Bill piped up. "The owl could be intercepted, and then You-Know-Who would be back to looking for Harry."
"Hmm," Mr. Weasley said, producing a quill from his pocket. "Ron, you best reply. But write down exactly what we tell you."
The final letter had no information in it whatsoever. It simply read,
"Hermione,
Dad reckons you ought to come out here as soon as you can. We're staying the same place as last summer.
Ron."
"She'll think I'm dead for sure," Harry protested.
"I don't like it either, but Hermione is clever. She'll understand the importance of keeping the secret," Mr. Weasley said, tying the note back onto the leg of the tawny owl.
"Wait," Ron said eagerly, grabbing his Dad's elbow. "We should send the letter with Hedwig. Then, Hermione'll know Harry's here, and she won't worry."
No one said anything. Ron's face slowly fell. "It was just a thought," he said, stepping away.
"Brilliant!" Harry said.
"That is a good idea, Ron," said Mr. Weasley, sounding a little surprised.
"You think you know a guy," Ginny said quietly. "Maybe Hermione's rubbing off on you." Ron's ears were turning red, but he was beaming.
Harry woke Hedwig, who was sleeping in her cage in the hall. She hooted happily to see him, and he stroked her feathers. "Feeling up to a trip?" he asked, tying the note to her leg. He felt relieved, watching her fly away, and hoped Hermione would understand the message.
That afternoon, Harry watched Ron and Ginny having a spirited game of exploding snap. They had invited him to play, but Harry wasn't feeling up to it. He felt uncomfortable being in this house… Everywhere he looked, he saw Sirius. Fortunately, Ron and Ginny were content with just letting him sit in silence on a nearby chair.
He spotted the Daily Prophet on a nearby table, and picked it up. Sure enough, his face dominated the front page, although there was also a smaller photo of the Dark Mark, albeit slightly faded, still twinkling over Privet Drive.
"Harry Potter Attacked!
Dark Mark appears over home of Boy Who Lived
Voldemort's supporters made their first move last night when they attacked Harry Potter and his muggle relations in their home in Little Whinging, Surrey. This attack marked the first time in fifteen years the Dark Mark has appeared above a wizarding residence. Although ministry officials report the muggles were unharmed, the current condition and whereabouts of Potter are unknown.
'This was a very serious attack, and yet another reminder of You-Know-Who's merciless nature," said Arthur Weasley, ministry official. Weasley refused further comment about Potter's condition, except to note that he had been removed from the residence before reporters arrived."
The article went on to describe the magnitude of charms necessary to alter the memories of all the muggles in Little Whinging, to offer advice for safe-guarding one's home, and to theorize at length about his condition. It was almost funny, reading about his own death, albeit a bit eerie.
"Harry, could I have a word with you?"
All three turned and looked at the door. Lupin was looking in, smiling in a pale, worried sort of way. Ginny and Ron looked down at their cards.
"Er, sure," Harry said. He tossed aside the paper and followed Lupin down the hallway, and into a side room. Lupin opened the curtains, letting in a beam of sunshine.
"Sit down, Harry," he said. "Would you like some butterbeer?" He gestured toward a tray on a rickety end table.
"No thanks," Harry said. He stomach felt heavy… in his experience, being summoned into a side room for a private conversation rarely led to anything good. He sat down on one of the chairs.
Lupin sat down across from him, and leaned forward over his knees. He folded his hands in front of him as though he were praying and stared at his fingers. "Harry, none of this is easy. Listen—if there's anything you want to talk about, any time, I'm here for you."
Another lump rose up in his throat. He coughed. "Thanks." But he couldn't talk to Lupin… not really. He was a great guy, and probably the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher he'd ever had, but he was no Sirius. Lupin's advice would probably always be to stay on the safe side and follow the rules. Sirius
"Right," Lupin said, and cleared his throat. When he spokeit was with a gentle, quiet voice. "Well. Harry, I know you probably don't want to talk about this, but I have to… er… tell you something." He stared at his feet for a while, as though gathering his courage to speak.
"I'm sure you already know this, Harry," Lupin began, "but I wanted to remind you that you aren't alone. You've still got us all here, looking out for you. And me especially. I mean it Harry—if there's anything you need…"
"Oh," Harry said. He remembered his welcome reception as he got off the Hogwarts Express in June. Yes, he knew that they were looking out for him. "Thank you."
"That's not all," Lupin said. He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and withdrew a piece of parchment. "He wrote this letter. A few months ago. He wanted me to give it to you." He held it out—his hand was shaking.
"Thanks," Harry said, taking the letter. He didn't unfold it.
"And one last thing," Lupin added. He reached into another pocket and held out his fist. "This was Sirius's. He didn't wear it much, but it was important to him. He had it… back when he lived with your dad. His father always wore that big gold ring with the Black crest on it. Sirius considered this his version… the one that showed that he was his own man and not one of them."
Lupin opened his hand, and in it was clutched a ring carved from solid onyx. It was glossy black and smooth, like liquid darkness. In its center was a tiny glittering ruby and a curly silver letter "S". Harry took it and spun it slowly between his fingers.
"We all wanted to give you something of his…" He sighed. "Hagrid wanted to give you Buckbeak, but Dumbledore put a stop to that."
"Buckbeak!" Harry said. How could he have forgotten about Buckbeak?
"Don't worry. We've dyed his feathers and we're calling him 'Billy.' Hagrid's taking care of him. He misses Sirius, though." Lupin sighed. "Same as us."
He stood up, and reached out, as though to pat Harry on the arm, but froze and withdrew his hand a moment later. "Harry—if you need anything—I'm here for you. Really."
"Thanks. I mean it," Harry said.
Lupin left the room, shutting the door behind him. Harry sat in silence for a moment, staring at the ring and the letter. The letter was in a dingy envelope, sealed with a dribble of purple wax, pressed closed by the very ring in Harry's other hand. He turned the creased letter over and over between his hands. He slipped the ring onto his finger—a perfect fit. It felt chilled, as though Lupin had been keeping it in the refrigerator rather than his pocket.
Harry finally steeled up his courage and opened Sirius's letter. His godfather's loopy handwriting filled the page—familiar, comforting, and terrible all at the same time.
"Dear Harry,
If you're reading this letter, then I suppose I must be gone. I imagine you must be feeling pretty alone right now, if that's the case. But I want you to remember something very important, Harry, and that is this: you have an incredible family. Don't ever forget it.
You see, it took me years to learn that our families in this life are not simply the people we're born to. I was never a part of my "family," and I know you aren't a part of the Dursleys, despite the blood connection. That's something my parents never learned: there are things much stronger than blood. You have amazing strength in the people around you, Harry.
I hope that I went bravely, facing down some terrible evil and saving my fellow man. Whatever happened, Harry, I don't want you to be sad right now. There will be time to mourn later. Wherever we go—well, if I'm there now, I'm still watching over you, the same as I've always done.
These are very dark times, and I wish that I could be there to fight with you. But there's a lot of your father in you, besides just the physical resemblance, so I don't doubt that whatever comes at you, you will be able to manage. When the time comes, don't give up. Whatever happens, don't give up.
One last thing. If I'm gone, then the Black mansion no longer has an owner. I would like the Order to continue to use the house until it is no longer needed, and then, Harry, I want you to have it. It's not much, but maybe it will make you happier than it's made me.
I doubt you'll ever read this letter. But if you do, I want you to know that I am very proud of you.
Your godfather,
Sirius Black."