Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry
---------------------------------------------
A year had passed since Harry and Sirius had first arrived at number12 Grimmauld Place. So much had changed in that year that their lives before London – without friends, without magic, without Moony – seemed like a distant dream which Harry had now almost forgotten.
When the thirty-first of July arrived, so did Remus Lupin, who had been in and out of the Black house all summer. He had promised Sirius he would help him keep an eye on Harry in Diagon Alley, as this remained only the second of Harry's visits to the magical shopping street and Sirius was still paranoid about the possibility of someone recognising them.
Harry had already decided what he wanted for his birthday this year.
"A broomstick," he said firmly, when Sirius asked him that morning.
Sirius looked sceptical, "where are you going to fly a broomstick? Up and down the halls in front of my mother's portrait?"
"Lupin said I could come out to his old cottage in the country and practise there," Harry replied. He had already prepared all his arguments for this year's birthday present. Sirius looked at Lupin.
"Well, why couldn't he?" Lupin shrugged, warming his hands on a mug of coffee, "no one's going to see him way out there in the country, especially with the thick forest around the cottage. We can go there by floo powder any time. And I don't live there any more so there's no danger of – er, what happened last time," he finished.
"You're both in on this conspiracy?" Sirius groaned.
"I know I'll love it," Harry said, "remember? Dad used to take me flying when I was little. And I'm not scared of heights or anything."
"And I do think it's fundamentally wrong to deprive James Potter's son of flying lessons," Lupin added, "I know you think the same."
"And…" Harry began, but Sirius cut him off.
"Alright, alright, I can see when I'm beaten," Sirius waved his hand, "but not an expensive one. And you may not go to the cottage by yourself, only with me or Lupin. But you may fly it in the house if you're careful," he added.
---------------------------------------
While his godfather went to look at broomsticks, Lupin and Harry, the boy disguised by the same illusion spell Sirius had used the year before, went wandering through the shops of Diagon Alley. It was no less amazing for Harry than it had been a year ago, on his eleventh birthday. However, this time only half his attention was concentrated on the shops, the other half on the shifting crowd of witches and wizards around him. He was keeping one eye open for any flash of red hair or any other children, and one ear pricked for a familiar name.
"Oh, gran, really, I don't need a boggart-protecting amulet for Hogwarts, really I don't…"
Harry's head twisted towards the source of the voice. A round-faced boy and his grandmother were leaning over a display of "anti-dark magic talismans" set up in the corner of the apothecary's. Harry glanced back at Lupin, who was in deep conversation with the man behind the counter, inquiring about the price of Boomslang skin for his fifth-year class.
Harry shuffled over towards the display of talismans and said quietly to the boy and his grandmother, indicating the talismans, "those thing don't work anyway, I've tried them," he and Sirius had spent a week trying to get rid of a boggart they had found in a writing desk at Grimmauld Place before Lupin had come to visit and vanquished it with a single riddikulus!
"Oh, that's a pity," said the grandmother, who wore a fox-fur scarf and carried a large red handbag under her arm. She dropped the talisman back onto the display, "the things they try and sell to honest witches and wizards these days! I've half a mind to report them to the ministry. Thank you for the warning, young man."
"It's alright," said Harry, "what year are you at Hogwarts?" he asked casually, as if simply making conversation with the boy.
"Second," the boy said, looking at his feet. His fringe hung low over his forehead, almost obscuring his eyes. Apparently, he was not a fan of casual conversation. Or, more likely, Harry thought, he was frightened of Harry's scars. A lot of children couldn't even look him in the face when they first met him
"Now, Neville, don't be shy," the woman nudged her grandson and picked up the conversation for him, "you'd be in third year, would you, dear?" she said to Harry.
"Er, no, I'm home-schooled," Harry explained.
"Oh, that's just dreadful," the grandmother's eyes widened while the boy tugged on her sleeve and muttered, 'don't, gran…', "is it that your parents are scared of the war spilling over into Hogwarts? Because I can assure, there is no safer place than under the eyes of Albus Dumbledore!"
"Um, yeah, that's it," Harry said as convincingly as he could, "silly, huh? I was actually wondering, about Hogwarts…" what he was actually wondering was how you got to Hogwarts, but he couldn't think how to word this, and as his sentence trailed off, the boy looked past Harry and his eyes widened.
"Is that Professor Lupin?" his mouth fell open, "he's my Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher! How weird…I sort of assumed he lived at Hogwarts all year round."
This seemed a pretty ridiculous thing to think, but Harry did not say so. The grandmother grabbed the boy's arm, "well, goodness! Why don't we go and say hello?"
Despite the reluctance on her grandson's face, the woman steered him over to where Lupin was just finishing up with the man behind the counter, Harry wandering behind them. Lupin saw the activity and turned, "why, hello Neville," he said kindly, "are your holidays going well?"
Neville nodded, still looking at his feet. His grandmother grabbed Lupin's hand and shook it smartly, "good morning, Professor. I'm Neville's grandmother. It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Neville always says you're his favourite teacher."
"Oh gran," Neville sighed, and Harry could not help feeling just a little bit sympathetic. He wished he could make the moment a little bit less awkward for the boy.
"I'm Harry," he said, offering his hand to Neville. The boy seemed rather surprised at this offer of friendship, but shook it warmly. Harry smiled at him as his grandmother began to chat to Lupin as if they had been old friends for years, "don't be embarrassed. Lupin's my uncle," he told Neville.
"Oh, really?" Neville visibly relaxed, "oh, okay. Well, I'm Neville Longbottom," he said, "what did you want to ask about Hogwarts before?"
"Oh, nothing, I was just curious," Harry said hastily, aware that Lupin was listening to their every word even though he seemed to be absorbed in his conversation with Neville's grandmother, "do you know a boy called Ron Weasley? I met him last year."
"Yeah, we share a dorm," said Neville, fiddling with his robe, "he's sort of my friend."
"Sort of?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.
Neville went a little pink, "well, there's only four boys in Gryffindor in our year, so I don't really have any friends in my dorm," he muttered to his toes, "but Ron always talks to me and stuff, which is nice of him."
"What's Gryffindor?" Harry asked, genuinely curious now.
Neville looked at Harry, "well, it's my house," and when Harry remained blank, "Hogwarts has four houses, you see, and everybody gets sorted into one of them when they first come. There's Hufflepuff, that's where I probably should have been," he sighed, "and Ravenclaw, that's for all the smart people, and Slytherin, but you wouldn't want to be in there. And there's Gryffindor, that's my house, it's supposed to be for people who are brave. But I'm not," he added miserably.
Harry's heart sunk. This was getting more and more complicated, "and there's only four of you in Gryffindor?" he asked. He had assumed there would be hundreds of people at Hogwarts, like at his regular school.
"In second-year, yeah, but there's heaps more altogether," Neville nodded, "but there's only three girls in my year, including my friend Hermione. She should have been in Ravenclaw, she's so smart, she helps me with everything."
"Who decides what house you're in?" Harry asked.
"It's this hat," Neville said, frowning as if unsure of how to explain, "at the start of the year, they put it on your head, in front of the whole school, and it decides where you'll be."
"Oh," Harry's heart sunk even further. A hat decided your place at Hogwarts? In front of the whole school? Maybe there was a good reason Sirius didn't want him attending.
"You spend all year with your house," Neville continued, "all your lessons and feasts. And you have a sort-of secret common room where you hang around with other people, and that's where the dormitories are and stuff. Only people from your house are allowed into your common room, nobody else can get in, there's prefects and passwords and everything. It's awful, it takes me ages to remember the passwords. And the names of the prefects."
"Oh," repeated Harry. This was getting more complicated by the minute.
However, before Neville could tell him more about how Hogwarts was run, his grandmother said to Lupin, "well, it was a pleasure, Mr Lupin. Now, Neville and I must go and pick up his robes from Madame Malkims. We had to get them repaired, don't you know, because Neville ripped so many holes in them during the year."
"Bye, Neville," said Harry, waving to the boy as he followed his grandmother out of the shop.
"Bye, Harry!" Neville called, then the door closed and he was gone.
Lupin looked at Harry, "do you recognise that boy?"
"From where?" Harry asked.
"From…" then Lupin stopped himself, "no, of course you wouldn't. It doesn't matter. Come along, I imagine your godfather must surely have picked a broomstick by now, if he hasn't been distracted by anything shiny."
-----------------------------------------------
Sirius had bought Harry a top-of-the-line Cleansweep Seven, and when they got back to Grimmauld Place, he could not resist giving Harry a quick lesson in the front yard, while Lupin sat on the doorstep, muttering about "Muggle neighbours…only have to look out the window…Statute of Secrecy, honestly, sometimes I wonder…"
"Now, usually if you're really flying you'll have the thing in your hand before you mount it, but I suppose there's no harm in knowing the basics. You put your right arm out like that – yes, just above the middle of the handle there – then say up!"
"Up!" echoed Harry, and the broom leapt into his hand at once. Sirius beamed at him.
"Perfect command," he said, "now, mounting a broom is a bit technical, I don't think I ever got it right. Grip it with both hands, don't let it lean, and leg over like that, that's right…"
"Bend your knees a little," Lupin called from the steps, "so you're in a slight crouch."
"Look who's talking, Mr 'Quidditch is for Morons like you, Prongs'," Sirius retorted, "and, besides, that's how James always used to do it."
"And it's also why James fell off his broom at the start of that Ravenclaw match in fifth year," Lupin shot back, "even after the coach told him not to."
"James fell off in fifth year because it was blowing a gale," Sirius argued.
"No, he kicked off too fast and he couldn't get a grip with his legs. So bend your knees, Harry, and don't listen to that idiot godfather of yours. I was the one who came to most of James' training sessions," Lupin said placidly.
"I came to training too!" Sirius replied loudly.
"You came to training in fourth year, and only because you thought the keeper was good-looking. You didn't take your eyes off her once."
"Oh, really? And you think you had a better view, with your face glued to your book?"
"Hey, there's no need – oh! Harry, stop!"
Lupin leapt to his feet as Harry, sick of listening to the bickering, kicked off the ground and rose six feet into the air. He felt a great thrill swell through him, and urged the broom higher. This was easy! This was more than easy, this was wonderful! A fierce joy bubbled up in his chest as he watched the faces of his two guardians grow smaller and paler. He was as high as the roof of the house, as high as the chimney-
"Get back here, young man!" Sirius roared, while Lupin cupped his hands to his mouth and cried, "Muggles! Watch for muggles!"
But the broom was slowing, dragged down as if a heavy weight had been tied to its tail. Harry looked down to see Sirius pointing his wand upwards, clutching it with both hands and digging his heels into the ground, as if hauling on a long rope. Harry sighed and sunk back to earth. Sirius lowered his wand, releasing Harry of the summoning spell.
"Sorry," Harry said, trying not to meet the eyes of Lupin, who had his arms folded.
But all Sirius said was, "we'll have to work on your control. You were leaning with the breeze a bit."
--------------------------------------
The rest of the summer was a joyous blur. Harry spent most of his days out in the countryside near Lupin's cottage, honing his flying skills. Although Sirius rarely got leave off work, when he did, he always took Harry out to the cottage, which took a bit of cleaning to make it livable once more, and Lupin also did his share of the supervision. Lupin, who despite Sirius' assertion that the Professor had never liked Quidditch, seemed to know plenty about the game, taught Harry the rules, while his godfather helped him practise dodging bludgers and shooting goals by bewitching rocks to fly at him and throwing balls through hoops. While he flew, they told Harry endless stories about James' quidditch triumphs. They both seemed to be a bottomless well of anecdotes about Harry parents. Sirius had always found it difficult to talk about Lily and James, but now that Lupin was there to egg him on it seemed he wanted make it up for it by never ceasing talking about them.
Sirius also took Harry flying on the motorbike, though only at night-time when darkness had fallen. They roared over London, so high and so fast it was scary, but the beauty of the sleeping city took Harry's breath away. Sirius promised to teach him to fly the motorbike as well.
Since neither of them could spend every day with Harry, Sirius finally relented and allowed his godson to spend a few days alone at the cottage, exploring the countryside on the broom and practising doing loops around tree branches. Harry enjoyed the time alone, which also gave him time to think, and plan.
But the end of the summer came at last. Sirius went back to work full time, and Harry began buying new pencils and exercise books in preparation of his return to school. Lupin packed up his trunk and began muttering about what he was going to teach his third-years now it was illegal to import Grindylows, and what to do about the damn Weasley Twins and their black market in confiscated items.
Early on the first morning of term, they saw Lupin off at the door to Grimmauld place. Harry hugged the Professor, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, "you'll come visit as soon as you can?" he sniffed, wiping away his tears.
"Hey, there's no need for that," Lupin put one arm around him, concerned at Harry's sudden outburst of emotion, "I'm not going away forever."
Harry nodded and the two of them waved as Lupin trod across the yard and down the street. As he disappeared around the corner, Harry went back into the house, "I'm going to go a read a book," he said. Sirius recognised his tone as the 'I want to be alone for a while' voice.
"That's okay, come down whenever you want," he said as he watched Harry shuffle away down the hall towards his bedroom. He hadn't seen his godson so gloomy for months. Lupin's absence must really be getting to him.
Sirius went down the kitchen, chased Kreacher out of the oven where the house-elf was curled up, twitching in his sleep, and started nailing up the shelves he had made for the pantry, since the old wood in the cupboard had finally given way and collapsed in a heap of tea-bags and cornflakes. When he was finished, it was getting late in the morning, so he decided that since Harry needed cheering up, he would make cheese toasties for lunch, which his godson always liked. When they were just about ready, he put two plates on the table and went up the stairs and into the hall.
He stopped outside his godson's bedroom and knocked on the door, "hungry, Harry? Lunch is nearly on the table."
Harry, probably absorbed in a book, did not answer. Sirius opened the door a crack, "you okay in there…?"
But the bed was unoccupied. Sirius pushed the door right open, looking around in confusion.
The room was empty. Sirius felt something grab his intestines and twist them. He stepped in the room, "Harry?" he said, his breath catching in his throat, "Kreacher! I command you to come at once!"
The house-elf appeared with a crack, "what is it master wants, filthy trait that he is…" he was muttering.
"Where's Harry? Has anyone been in the house? Tell me now, Kreacher!"
Kreacher squinted at Sirius through his grey, bloodshot eyes, and pretended to bow, "Kreacher has not seen the scarred half-breed, Master. No one else has been in the house but Master and the horrid werewolf. Kreacher would have seen to him, Kreacher sees all the filth that passes through my mistress' house…" he chattered on to himself.
Sirius went into the hall and began to run through the corridors of the house, calling for his godson. But he already knew, (though he denied it, though he could not believe it,) that Harry was gone. He was alone in the house, apart from Kreacher and the portraits.
The portraits…as he ran past the entrance hall for the third time, Sirius stopped and stared at the painting of his mother. The curtains were drawn back, but they were not flying and whirling as if in a high wind. His mother was sitting calmly, only the muscles of her face twitching in a demented manner, her hair still twisting of its own accord, and she was plucking at the fabric of her sleeve with distracted ferocity. But her screams were silenced, and upon her thin-lipped mouth was the tiny beginnings of a smile.
"Where did he go?" Sirius had to restrain himself from ripping at the portrait with his bare hands, "where is he?"
His mother laughed, a mad, wild sound, "it speaks to me! The monster that betrayed me, it speaks!"
"Tell me, you horrible wretch!" Sirius growled, "where is my godson?"
But his mother, her eyes wide with glee, "lost his little pet, that eyesore of a child, my lonely son has lost him! He asked me not to speak – he asked me for silence – so that he could leave the house without my disloyal son's knowing! And I was silenced, I was silenced, and so I was rid of him!" she began to laugh again and Sirius, snarling, drew the curtains over the cackling portrait.
His knees gave way, and he knelt, leaning his head against the stained wallpaper, bile rising in his throat. She must be lying – he couldn't trust her word – why? Why would Harry leave? Sirius balled his fists, furious, horrified, as understanding dawned.
He knew where Harry was going. He was looking for answers, to the questions Sirius had never answered for him.
He was going to Dumbledore.
--------------------------------------------------
Molly Weasley threw her arms around her daughter and kissed her cheeks, "do be careful, Ginny! You must stick up for yourself, remember that, darling…"
"Don't worry, Mum, we'll look after her," George was hauling his own trunk in one hand and Ginny's in the other.
"Yeah, we'll take her under our wing, teach her how to survive," Fred grinned at his twin as he tried to stuff his robes into a third trunk. The Weasley family were standing on the platform in front of the huge scarlet steam train, as the last of the young witches and wizards climbed aboard, waving teary goodbyes to their families.
"If I hear that you two have you gotten your sister in trouble…in any way…oh, to think of how you might corrupt her…" Mrs Weasley seemed too inflamed by this thought to come up with a suitable punishment. She composed herself, "Percy, look after your sister," she said, looking at her prefect son, who was just heading in the direction of the blonde Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater.
"You can count on me, Mum," said Percy vaguely, his eyes on Penelope. He didn't seem to have heard what she had said.
Mrs Weasley sighed and turned to her last son, "Ron. I am putting you in charge of your sister's wellbeing. You make sure she's safe and happy!"
"Aw, Mum," Ron grimaced, "what're Dean and Seamus gonna think if I've got a little girl trotting around with me?"
Fred nudged his brother, "I don't think they'll mind, somehow," he whispered loudly with a wink.
"No boys! She's eleven, for goodness' sake!" Mrs Weasley glared at Ron as if he had made the lurid suggestion, "no boys are to go near Ginny! I don't care if they're your friends, if they're prefects, or if they're fifty years older than her – none at all."
"Going to make it very difficult for Professor Lupin and the others to teach her anything if they can't get near her," Ron muttered, low enough that his mother didn't catch it.
"I'll be alright, Mum," Ginny gave her mother a quick hug, "I will, I promise."
"Alright, dear," Mrs Weasley sighed at last, "you better get on the train. I only wish your father was here to see you off – damn the ministry, I hate him working for the Defense Department, I can't believe they wouldn't even give him an hour off that darn project to say goodbye…"
"We'll write to him every day, Mum, I promise," Ron steered Ginny towards the door of the train. Fred and George has already vanished on board, and Percy and Penelope were boarding further down.
"I'll send you a million owls, Mum!" Ginny leaned out the door to wave as the whistle blew and the train began to move.
"Goodbye, goodbye – oh, take care! Be good!" but Mrs Weasley's words were lost in the myriad of other farewells from the parents and families around her, and the loud chugging of the train as it pulled away from the station, "I love you!"
The train was picking up speed, rattling away down the tracks, and soon was lost around the first bend. Mrs Weasley sighed, thinking of that day eight years ago when she had waved goodbye to Bill and Charlie, only to have them torn away from her by the violent actions of the Death Eaters. Looking older and more worn than she had a moment ago, she tightened her scarf and began to walk back towards Kings Cross.
------------------------------------------
"You should go sit with some other first-years," Ron suggested as they walked down the train, looking for a spare compartment. He had his eyes peeled for one of the other boys from his dormitory. He knew Seamus and Dean would already be together, but there was no one else to sit with except maybe Neville.
"Oh, Ron, no," Ginny stuck close to him, "I don't know anybody."
"Then go sit with Fred and George," his friendship with Dean and Seamus was tenuous enough as it was without a little sister getting in the way.
"Maybe I will. But we'll just see what Mum says when I tell her," his sister threatened. Ron was not really listening. He'd just noticed his fellow Gryffindor second-years in a compartment together, but they were sitting with Lavender Brown, Pavarti Patil and her Ravenclaw sister, Padma. Ron opened the door and stuck his head in.
"Any room…?" he said hopefully.
Dean grinned at him, and at Ginny, but Seamus looked sheepish. Possibly it was because Lavender was sitting very close to him and she said, "no, sorry, we're all full."
Ron glared at her and closed the door. He'd have to find an empty compartment now, or sit with his brothers, or with Neville Longbottom, who was bound to have room. But Neville was probably sitting with that horrible girl, Hermione, who drove Ron nuts. She was the last person he wanted to sit next to…the very last…
He passed a compartment that was empty except for one person, and opened the door, motioning for Ginny to catch up with him.
"Anyone else sitting in here?" he asked the boy who was curled on the seat in the corner, apparently asleep. Ron didn't recognise him, so must be a first-year, though he looked a bit old for it. And he had the most awful scars around his right eye. Ron frowned. Didn't he know those scars?
"Have you found us a seat?" Ginny pushed up beside him, panting. Ron turned his frown on her, his train of thought lost, and then looked back at the boy.
He was gone. Ron nearly jumped. The compartment was empty. Without taking his eyes from the spot where the boy had been, Ron said to Ginny, "did you see that boy?"
"What boy?" Ginny looked around, then pushed past him into the compartment, "come on, I wanna sit down already," she tried to lift up her trunk, but wasn't quite tall enough to reach the luggage rack. Ron came in and helped her put their baggage up, and the two siblings sat down opposite each other. But Ron could not quite bear to sit on the spot where he had seen the vanishing boy.
"You better have some friends by tomorrow, I'm not coming to class with you," said Ron grumpily.
Ginny just looked nervous, "what if I'm not in Gryffindor? Can I still come and visit you and Fred and George in Gryffindor tower?"
"No, you'll have to stick in your own common room like a good Hufflepuff," Ron shot back, "and don't worry so much, Ginny. You'll be in Gryffindor like the rest of us, I promise."
Ginny nodded, but the nervousness did not leave her face, "I was just thinking – about Mum, suggesting we try and go to France – she said Bill might be able to get me enrolled at Beauxbatons, only I don't speak French… but wouldn't it be safer there?"
"Honestly," Ron told his sister, leaning back and staring out the window, "there's absolutely nothing to worry about. Hogwarts is safer than anywhere else in the world. Nothing happened to me last year, did it? And nothing bad is going to happen this year, either. So just stop thinking about it."
----------------------------------------
TBC