Chapter 16: Half Note, Half Rest
"Hey, wait up!" Harry ran up the sidewalk leading to the Student Union, trying to catch up with Hermione and Ginny, who were power-walking. "Come on, we have twenty minutes! What's the rush?"
"I want to eat, even if you don't," Hermione said tartly. "I do have jazz band after choir, in case you've forgotten."
"Sorry," Harry apologized. He had forgotten. Hermione, faced with a relative lack of pitch ability but a sure sense of rhythm, had done the sensible thing and learned how to play the drums. A solid year of studying and experimentation had made her quite something, and the director of the jazz band had been delighted to have her try out. Harry was looking forward to their concert.
"Where's Ron?" Ginny said. "I thought he said he'd meet us here."
"He's probably in one of the practice rooms," Harry said. "Maybe he lost track of time."
"He does do that when he plays," said Hermione, smiling over the vagaries of her boyfriend. "Shall I go get him, or do you want to?"
"No need, here he comes," said Ginny.
"Sorry, everyone," Ron said, skidding to a halt beside them. "I was working on a tough passage and I..."
"Lost track of time," everyone chorused.
Twenty minutes later, as he checked through his music folder in the choir room, Harry noticed a small plaque hanging on the wall:
Which way did they go?
How many of them were there?
How fast were they going?
I MUST find them!
I am their LEADER!
"That expresses my usual feeling about directing," Big Guy said, noticing where Harry was looking. "One of my previous choirs got it for me after we got separated on a field trip – they turned up at the right place and the right time and I didn't."
Harry couldn't help laughing.
-----
The next morning, owls delivered letters to four members of the household – Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Mr. Weasley.
"What's this, I wonder?" Mr. Weasley said, tearing open the parchment envelope. He read it over once, then again, and sat down rather quickly.
"What's wrong?" said Mrs. Weasley, turning around from the stove. Mr. Weasley handed her the letter. She perused it, and her mouth fell open. "Oh, Arthur!"
"What?" Ron said.
"Your father's been asked to serve as Assistant Minister of Magic!" Mrs. Weasley said, beaming at her husband. "Arthur, love, congratulations!"
"Now, wait just a moment," Mr. Weasley said. "I haven't agreed to anything yet."
"You're not seriously considering turning this down?" Mrs. Weasley looked shocked.
"Now, Molly, I'm quite happy where I am – "
Harry caught Ron's eye and jerked his head toward the stairs. Ron nodded avidly, and they picked up their letters and made a hasty exit, Hermione right behind them.
They almost collided with Fred and George as the twins Apparated in the hall.
"Don't go downstairs just yet," Ron said. "Mum's telling Dad what he thinks."
The twins were gratified by their father's appointment – "Finally, someone figures out what Dad can do!" said Fred – but they were more interested in the fat letters being held by Harry, Ron, and Hermione. These turned out to be forms from Hogwarts, detailing the new classes they were eligible for and the requirements for their chosen careers.
They all checked off N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration, Potions (though Ron made a face as he did), Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. "Those are the four McGonagall said we really needed," Harry said. "But we need five N.E.W.T.s to make it. Should we keep Care of Magical Creatures or Herbology?"
"Why not both?" Hermione said. "Have a bit of a safety net. If you fail one, you can still pass with the other."
"Makes sense to me," Ron said, checking them both off. "So that leaves three slots open for me, since I'm not taking History of Magic or Divination again, and I'm not all that keen on Astronomy. What's this Practical Magic thing?"
"That's new," said Fred, looking over Ron's shoulder. "They've just added it this year. I hear it's going to be a great course."
"You ought to take it, Harry," George added. "It's about using magic in everyday life. The kind of things Muggleborn students, or Muggle-raised, might not know."
"That does sound interesting," said Hermione, eagerly checking it off on her list.
"Oh, and a piece of advice," George said. "Unless there's something you really want, try to keep yourself down to eight classes instead of nine. You're going to need the extra time."
"Homework," Ron groaned. "I can see it now. Snape'll be assigning three-foot essays every class."
"Well, in that case, I've only got one slot left," Harry said. He turned over the informational pamphlet. "Interdisciplinary Course," he read aloud. "New this year. Defense Against the Dark Arts/Muggle Studies. Physical forms of self-defense, hand-to-hand and Muggle weaponry combat techniques."
"You're kidding," Ron said, flipping his own pamphlet over. "There's a class on how to fight? Without a wand or anything?"
"That sounds interesting," Harry said. "And practical. Who's with me?"
"Aye," Ron said, checking it off. "And that's my eight sorted."
Hermione sighed. "I guess I'll just have to give up Ancient Runes."
Hedwig was dispatched with the completed lists, Mr. Weasley somewhat reluctantly accepted his new post, and the next week and a half, to Harry's surprise, was relatively peaceful. He had gotten used to hectic activity around and involving him, so long hours in which nothing had to be done were a bit startling at first, but pleasant.
He finished the Erica Gorelli series and agreed with Ginny that 21 December, the release date of the fifth book, couldn't come soon enough. He practiced his wand movements and spells and studied lists of potion ingredients – he was determined that this year, Snape would not rattle him in Potions.
And he kept dreaming of Carrington College, of a life far removed from his own, and yet oddly similar...
-----
"Two," Ron moaned. "Two out of ten. I'm going to fail. I'm going to fail my seminar."
"Don't be stupid, nobody fails a seminar," Erica said briskly. She, Harry, Ron, and Fran were sitting around a table in the library. Ron's and Harry's first papers for their freshman seminars had been handed back with abysmal grades – Harry had gotten a three out of ten and Ron the oft-bemoaned two. Fran, an English major, and Erica, theater major and English minor, were the obvious people to ask for help.
"That's what the seminars are for, to help you learn how to write papers," Fran said. "And from the looks of these," she waved the boys' papers, "no one ever has. Have they?"
Harry shook his head. "I guess they just expected us to pick it up along the way."
Erica sighed. "I hate schools that do that. It's so unfair. Here, let's pair off. Harry, I'll take you, if that's OK?"
Harry nodded, and Erica pulled her chair closer to his, while Fran moved over to sit beside Ron.
"All right, let's start with the basics," Erica said. "Do you know what a thesis is?"
Nearly two hours later, Harry's head hurt, but he finally understood what Erica was getting at. More, he understood why his paper had been downgraded – he hadn't had a real argument, instead rambling from one thought to another without ever making a clear statement about anything. He also had a tendency to shift verb tense in the middle of a paragraph, and he'd missed a few spelling mistakes when he'd proofread.
"This is what I'm good at," Erica said. "Talk to me any time. If I'm too busy, I'll tell you that, but if I'm not, I'll give you a hand. Feel a little better about it now?"
"Yes," Harry said, and he meant it. If I can find the mistakes, I can fix them. It's not knowing they're there that kills.
"Good. C'mon, if we hurry there's just time for dinner before choir."
-----
When George could be spared from the store, where he, Fred, and Lee were preparing for the Grand Opening scheduled for 12 August, he would come over to give Harry guitar lessons. Harry's fingers got sore quickly, and he started sitting with one foot propped up in his guitar-playing pose out of habit. However, after a frustrating few days trying to remember all the basics – what strings were which, where to press when, which way to strum the strings – everything seemed to fall into place, and lessons became fun overnight.
"You're really picking this up fast," George said, opening one of Harry's birthday presents, 100 Fun Songs for Guitar, to the page Harry had marked. "How much do you practice?"
"About an hour a day, maybe a little more," Harry said. "Any trouble spots in this song, you think?"
George pointed to one place. "That chord change there might be tricky, be careful on it. Are you sure that's all you practice? It took me a month to get this good, and you've only been playing about a week."
"Well, I might do a little more," Harry said, and began the song to avoid having any more of this conversation. He knew why he was getting good so quickly, but if he told anyone, they would probably think he was crazy...
-----
"You're getting really good at this," said Robertson approvingly as Harry finished the song. "You had lessons back in the UK, didn't you?"
"A friend taught me the basics, then I worked on my own for a while," Harry said.
"Well, you've got some talent, let me tell you," Robertson said. "Just don't stop practicing. That's the key to everything, you know. Practice, practice, practice."
Robert Robertson ("I had cruel parents") was known almost universally by his last name. A junior and Erica's fellow theater major, he was fairly short and burly, with curly brown hair and a beard and mustache. He lived on 1st Gardner, up the hall a short way from Fran, and he gave guitar lessons to earn a little extra money.
His friend DJ Slovin, who lived across the hall, sat beside Harry in choir and was the other drummer for the jazz band besides Hermione. He was also an excellent disc jockey, hiring out for parties and often handling the music at Carrington dances. Harry had gotten a chance to ask him, and it turned out that the reason his door tag said "DJ" was that he had no other name. "I had cruel parents too, or maybe just lazy," DJ said. "They couldn't think up a real name for me, so they just gave me initials. Everyone always thinks I'm lying when I fill out forms – I used to hate standardized tests in school."
-----
Most of Harry's reading was done comfortably perched on his favorite window seat. He looked up from Hyperactive Actor one afternoon and realized there was a tantalizing, and familiar, smell coming from the basement.
Is someone making cookies? I thought Mrs. Weasley was away for the day...
Ron came thumping down the stairs. "Who's in the kitchen?"
"Don't know."
When they got downstairs, a flushed but triumphant Ginny was just taking the last sheet of chocolate chip cookies from the oven while Hermione slid another sheet's contents onto cooling racks.
"Oooh, gimme," Ron said, reaching for one.
Hermione slapped his hand. "They're still too hot to eat, Ronald!"
"No such thing," said Ron, looking sulky.
"Oh yes there is," Hermione said firmly. "And you whine like anything when you burn your tongue. So leave them alone for at least five minutes. Ten would be better."
"This is torture," Ron grumbled. "How am I supposed to sit here looking at cookies and not eat them for ten minutes?"
"Go somewhere else?" Hermione suggested tartly, waving the hot cookie sheet through the air to cool it off.
-----
Another question Harry had finally asked was, what were the door tags on 1st Gardner supposed to look like?
"They're crocodiles, of course," Fran said, dusting the counter with flour. "For the Carrington mascot. Chomper, the Carrington Croc."
"What kind of name is Chomper, anyway?" Lizzie said in annoyance, kneading the soft pretzel dough on her board perhaps a little harder than she had to. "They had a Name-the-Croc contest last year – if Chomper was the best idea they came up with, I don't want to hear about the worst!"
"Oh, lighten up," Lanie said, lightly poking her roommate on the nose and leaving behind a smear of flour.
"You lighten up." Lizzie dipped her hands in flour and streaked both Lanie's cheeks with it.
Ten minutes later, there was a light coating of flour over almost everything in the kitchen, and everyone's faces and clothes were marked with it. Rose darted around with a camera, taking pictures and giggling so loud it sounded as if a whole litter of puppies were being sat on, until Erica threw a handful of flour at her lens.
The pretzels, once they actually got baked, were delicious.
-----
Harry and George had to schedule their time in the music room carefully, since there were several other people using it. Ron was still working on teaching himself piano, and Hermione, to everyone's surprise, had asked Fred if he would teach her to play the drums.
"I never would have seen you as a drummer," Ron said to her after one of her lessons.
"Why not?"
"Well, it's kind of... well... noisy."
"So?"
"I guess..." Ron looked totally nonplussed. "I guess I just never thought of you that way."
"Just because I don't usually like noise, Ronald Weasley, doesn't mean I'm a prude, if that's what you're suggesting!" Hermione snapped.
"I didn't mean it like that!"
"Well, how did you mean it, then?"
Ron was reduced to spluttering as Hermione stalked away.
There was one other set of people using the music room. Ginny had wheedled Bill, who played the saxophone, into giving her preliminary lessons on his old clarinet.
"I've written to Professor Sprout," she said one day, cleaning the instrument, "and she's agreed to take me on as a student."
"You're already her student, aren't you?" Harry asked.
"A clarinet student," Ginny said, sticking out her tongue at him. "She teaches woodwinds in her spare time. Piano, too, Ron, if you're interested. She said she had a few spots left for lessons."
Ron nodded ruefully. "I'm not getting far on my own," he confessed. "I keep messing up my right and left hands."
"I suggest you owl her soon, then," Ginny said, fitting the clarinet back into its worn case.
-----
Harry reclined on the cushioned bench outside the band room with his book, waiting. He had slipped a note into Ginny's music locker suggesting lunch, and he was hoping she'd gotten it. The sounds of the women's choir rehearsing drifted out of the choir room as Dottie, the voice teacher and Big Guy's wife, slipped out the door, waving at Harry as she passed. He nodded to her, then returned to his history text.
Chapter 3. Jamestown – The First Success.
About seven pages later, Harry's ears registered the end of the mild cacophony known as band practice. He sat up as the door opened and people started streaming out. Rose giggled and waved as she passed him. A few other people he vaguely recognized nodded to him.
Ginny was one of the last people out, carrying her clarinet, her music folder, and her bookbag all in her arms. "Allow me," Harry said, catching the top few sheets of music as they threatened to fall from the folder.
"Thanks." Ginny opened her locker to put away her clarinet. "Lunch, you said?"
"Whenever you're ready. I don't have any more classes today."
"I don't have anything until 2:30, so we have about an hour."
"Excellent."
Arm in arm, they strolled down the hall to see what Garritty's Food Court was offering today.
-----
"What are you getting Ginny for her birthday?" Ron asked Harry one morning.
"When is it?"
"The eleventh."
"Of August?"
Ron nodded.
"That's only two days away!"
Ron shrugged. "Sorry, Harry, I thought you knew."
Harry shook his head. "How would I know?" He got up and started pacing around. "What are your parents getting her?"
"A broomstick, I think. I'm getting her a Skiving Snackbox or two for her O.W.L. year, Fred and George gave me a family discount."
"I'm sure she'll appreciate that," Harry said. He looked down at the floor of their bedroom and was struck by a flash of inspiration.
That's perfect!
But I have to ask Remus...
Remus was quite happy to go shopping for Harry, with the result that Ginny, at her birthday party two days later, ripped the paper off Harry's gift to discover a handsome leather case, with a shining black-and-silver clarinet inside it.
"Happy birthday, Ginny," Harry said, and kissed her on the cheek.
She squealed and swung at him. He ducked.
"It's to grow on," he said, grinning. "And for payback."
Her second swing didn't miss.
-----
"Ow," Harry said, rubbing his face.
"No throwing at the head, people! Harry's safe at second!" Fran yelled.
Erica, Lizzie, Anna, DJ, Ron, and Hermione booed. Lanie, Edith, Rose, Robertson, and Ginny cheered. Harry took a bow.
Ron retrieved the ball and tossed it to Anna, who was pitcher. She wound up and delivered, Robertson lofted a high one over the heads of the outfield, and Harry made it home to score before the other team got the ball back in play. Ginny was up next – a dribbler to the infield and thrown out at first. Rose's fly ball was caught in the air, and Lanie was tagged between first and second to end the inning. Harry ran out to second base for his team's turn in the field.
Kickball on Rivers Walk. What a way to spend a sunny afternoon.
"Play ball!" Fran shouted. Edith rolled the ball down the brick walkway, Erica booted it high, and the game was on.
-----
Harry woke up on the morning of 12 August feeling decidedly cheerful. His team had won the game 5-3, his latest paper for seminar had earned eight out of ten, and Big Guy had asked the choir if they would all be willing to stay at Carrington until he retired.
If my life went like my dreams, I'd be the happiest person in the world.
Not that it's been easy to get to sleep lately, with Ron snoring all the time. Maybe I can get Remus or Mrs. Weasley to cast a Silencing Charm on his bedcurtains.
So, what's happening today... oh, that's right! The Grand Opening!
He climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
"Boys, are you up?" Mrs. Weasley called up the stairs. "We're leaving in an hour. And make sure to dress nicely, especially you, Harry!"
"All right!" Harry called back, wondering why he needed to dress nicely.
They're probably going to drag me up front and introduce me as their financial backer.
But even the prospect of being stared at and having his picture taken couldn't puncture Harry's mood. He was grinning as he made his way down to the kitchen.
"Morning, Mrs. Weasley," he said. "Morning, Tonks."
"Wotcher, Harry," said Tonks, who was leaning back in her chair by the fireplace. "I'm your personal bodyguard for the day. Appointed by the Minister herself."
Under normal circumstances, having a bodyguard would have annoyed Harry greatly, but not today. I guess I'm just unannoyable today. "That's great," he said cheerfully. "'Mione, are those scones?"
"Mm-hmm," Hermione said with her mouth full. She swallowed. "Fresh baked."
"Excellent," said Harry, helping himself.
When breakfast was over, everyone Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron, waving at old Tom as they crossed to the back door. Mrs. Weasley tapped the proper brick three times with her wand, and the archway opened into Diagon Alley.
Harry was surprised to see how crowded it was, and not just with the kinds of customers he would have expected the twins to get – there were more full-grown witches and wizards in the crowd than there were teenagers and students. Tonks waved at someone in the crowd, and a path started opening up. "This way," she said.
People were staring at him and whispering, Harry could hear snatches and bits of what they were saying...
"... guest of honor..."
"... Minister Bones..."
"... something about the truth..."
"... Sirius Black..."
Harry jumped at that last one and tried to turn to see who had said it, but Tonks had a hold of his wrist and was pulling him along. "Come on, not far now," she said in an odd voice.
Is she... crying? No, Tonks doesn't cry. What is going on here?
They emerged in an open space in front of a handsome store front with the familiar three W's painted over the door. A small crowd stood on a platform in the middle of the space – Fred and George, Lee, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie, Professor Dumbledore, Remus, and Minister of Magic Bones and Assistant Minister Weasley, along with a few grim-looking men Harry assumed were security of some kind.
"We go up here," Tonks said, giving Harry a little shove towards the stairs. "Go on, they're only waiting for you."
More confused than ever, Harry mounted the steps to the platform.
"Ah, Harry, good," said Dumbledore, smiling at him. "Amelia, I believe we are all gathered now..."
Madam Bones nodded, pointed her wand at her throat and murmured "Sonorus!"
As she began to speak, her voice echoing over the murmurs of the crowd, Harry felt Remus' hand on his shoulder.
"Witches and gentlewizards, thank you all for coming today. It is true that the Minister of Magic would not normally speak at the opening of a new business, no matter how greatly anticipated by our youth, the voters of the future..." Madam Bones paused for some laughter from the crowd. "But we do not live in normal times. We are at war."
The word echoed around the shopfronts. No one moved.
"We are at war," Madam Bones repeated. "We are fighting against the forces of darkness, against those who would take away our safety and our freedom. We are fighting against their cruelty and against their lies. And in any war against lies, the truth is the greatest weapon. So I have decided today to make a public announcement of the truth behind one of my predecessor's greatest mistakes."
Harry sucked in his breath, realizing what she was about to say.
"I am referring to the wrongful imprisonment of an innocent man, a man framed for a crime he did not commit, a man killed before his name could be cleared. I am referring to Sirius Black."
A ripple of gasps went through the audience.
"Yes, you heard me correctly," Madam Bones said with a trace of amusement, which was gone when she spoke again. "Sirius Black was innocent. He should never have been sent to Azkaban, as he was. Certainly he should never have been sent there without a trial. But, again, he was. No possible apology can repair the damage done to his life and his name by this horrific injustice."
Harry located Ron and Hermione in the crowd, at the very front with Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. Ron was intent on every word Madam Bones was saying, while Hermione looked as if she might cry.
"The true criminal behind the acts blamed on Sirius Black was Peter Pettigrew." Madam Bones seemed to spit the name as if it tasted foul. "Peter Pettigrew was a Death Eater. Peter Pettigrew betrayed James and Lily Potter to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And Peter Pettigrew murdered twelve Muggles in an attempt – a successful attempt – to escape justice. Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban was not to seek Harry Potter, but to seek Peter Pettigrew – to bring justice where justice had failed."
The crowd was utterly silent.
"Sirius Black was a good man," Madam Bones declared. "A brave man, a loyal man, and an innocent man. He never committed murder, he never betrayed a friend, and he died fighting Death Eaters, to save innocent lives. He deserves the highest respect and honor of the wizarding world. Which is why he has been posthumously awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, the honor which was wrongfully given to Peter Pettigrew."
"She's going to want you to accept it for him," Remus whispered to Harry. "All you have to say is 'I do.'"
Harry nodded, his throat tight.
"Sirius Black had no children, but he had a godson. I ask that his godson come forward now, to accept this award in his place."
Harry swallowed hard and walked toward Madam Bones. The crowd gasped again. Flashbulbs began going off.
"I present this award to you, Harry Potter, on behalf of Sirius Black," said Madam Bones in the tones of a ritual speech, extending a black velvet box. "Do you accept it?"
"I do," Harry said, accepting the box. Applause from the crowd startled him for a moment, but he regained his composure quickly and returned to Remus' side. I hope that was right.
"Sirius Black left a legacy behind him," Madam Bones said. "Not only in spirit, in the spirit of all that is good and right, but in worldly goods. And part of that legacy he left to these fine young men here, Fred and George Weasley, who used that legacy to further their entrepreneurial dreams. So, without further ado, I declare Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes open for business."
The crowd cheered and surged forward around the platform. Fred, George, and Lee Disapparated as one, probably to get inside so they could serve their customers, Harry thought. Madam Bones removed the spell from her throat and turned to him.
"You have my condolences on your loss, Mr. Potter," she said.
"Thank you, Minister," Harry said, feeling awkward. "And thank you for everything you said."
"No need of thanks for the truth, Mr. Potter. Best wishes for your new school year."
She turned and walked away, followed closely by two dark-robed men.
Harry leaned against the railing of the platform, blinking hard.
At least now everyone knows the truth. No one can ever say he was a criminal again.
It didn't help. The black hole that was Sirius' absence in his life, which he had patched over with his reading and his music and his friends, now seemed to yawn as large and as forbidding as it ever had. It would never close, never, he would grieve all his life...
"Harry," Remus said softly from behind him. "Food, drink, and embarrassing stories, remember? That's how Sirius wanted to be remembered. Not with more tears."
Harry nodded. But he had to ask something. "Does grief ever go away?"
"Never entirely," Remus said. "We would have to forget the person for that to happen. But it does lessen. Other things become important. And that's as it should be. Sirius will never be forgotten, not by us and not by the rest of the world. And now he will be remembered as he should, as a strong man and a hero."
Harry smiled, feeling his good mood tentatively returning.
Sirius wanted me to be happy. That was always what he wanted most. I have to remember that.
Because I honor him best by doing what he wanted.
"So why don't we give this joke shop a try?" he said.
"After you, Mr. Potter," Remus said, waving to the stairs.
"Oh, no, you don't," Harry said. "If you call me that again, I'm going back to Professor Lupin."
"Oh, please don't do that," Remus sighed. "That makes me feel so old!"
"So that's why you made us stop!" Harry laughed. "Vain, aren't you?"
"Only a little," Remus said, pretending to examine his fingernails. "But I'm getting better – I've been taking lessons by owl from Gilderoy Lockhart."
Tonks cracked up.
Harry smacked her with Sirius' Order of Merlin, First Class, and took off running for the joke shop. "Last one there's a Blast-Ended Skrewt!" he shouted over his shoulder.
-----
(A/N: Hope this chappie's not too disjointed to follow. It alternates between dreams and reality, in case you need help.
Caprice-Ann HedicanKocur: Happy now?
MAndrews: More dreams in this chappie, just for you!
Lady Cinnibar: You have to think of it from her perspective. She's never met Harry, so all she knows about him is what she reads in the papers, he's in pajamas and barefoot and probably has bedhead, and he asks what sounds like a really nosy question. And yes, he is actually going to get into playing guitar, as this chapter showed, I hope. Name noted and logged – do you have a House preference?
emikae: Yes, I could use them on occasion myself...
MackenzieW: In general, I would say you're right. There are probably Fudge fans out there, but I've yet to meet one.
Just Playin, pad's gurl584: Here you are!
Everyone: Thank you so much! I heart you all!)