Harry woke up early the next morning after a restless night dreaming about a mermaid stealing his Firebolt. He put his swim trunks on, as well as Hermione's watch and his robes, sticking the jar of gillyweed in the pocket. Feeling jittery, he went to the common room to wait for his friends for breakfast.
Flitwick had been right—Hermione hadn't turned up at dinner, which he had spent with Viktor and Neville. He'd been a bit surprised when Viktor asked to sit with him—the Durmstrang students always sat at the Slytherin table—but he was happy for the company nonetheless. Viktor had told him about how, when he was younger, his coaches had been able to keep him out of the press a bit—but soon enough he'd aged up and been considered fair game by reporters. Harry could relate.
Viktor told him that he'd found a few sports reporters he liked—ones he found relatively trustworthy—and fed them quotes every once in awhile, which generally kept the publications from bothering his family about him. "Not that you should haff to do that," Viktor had added, "but the reality is you'll alvays be famous."
It had been nice to talk to someone who understood what Harry had to deal with. Their dinner also had the added bonus of being the talk of the school, and Harry quickly realized that his friendliness with Viktor was probably the best thing for Hermione. Her detractors couldn't exactly claim there was some sort of jealous love triangle if Harry and Viktor were friends, could they?
Harry wondered idly what Viktor and the other champions planned to do today. He and Viktor had studiously avoided the topic, and when he saw Cedric last night in the entrance hall, their conversation had merely consisted of good luck and Cedric telling Harry he was going to meet Cho in the library.
For the first time in a year, Harry hadn't turned red at the sound of Cho's name. They had talked the other day—before this nightmare with Rita Skeeter had started—and it had been the most uncomfortable conversation of his life—and he'd had several with Moaning Myrtle.
It had started off well enough, talking about the quidditch match, but then she had started on about her favorite team, the Tutshill Tornados. Harry had never seen them play—hadn't seen any professional games except the World Cup—and discovered that as much as he loved quidditch, it was actually exceptionally boring to hear a play by play for a game you didn't see and a team you don't care about. Ron used to do the same thing with the Chudley Cannons—but Ron was a good storyteller and the Chudley Cannons were a terrible team, so it had been amusing to hear about seekers mistaking bludgers for snitches and chasers who accidentally used a sticking charm on their hands, so they kept trying to kick the quaffle into the goal because their hands were glued to their brooms.
He'd tried to find other things to talk about—but she didn't know muggle movies and shows, and he never listened to the wizarding radio, and he'd gotten so desperate for a topic of conversation that he'd almost asked her what her favorite goblin rebellion was.
So they just stood there, awkwardly staring at each other, with Harry wondering what a polite way to say goodbye was. They'd been interrupted then, thankfully, by her friend Marietta—the one who insulted Luna at the Yule Ball.
"Cho, can you help me with my Transfiguration homework later?" she'd asked.
"Sure. I've only got Care of Magical Creatures tomorrow morning, and you know what a joke that class is," Cho responded offhandedly.
Marietta had laughed and left Cho standing there with Harry, who was frowning.
"It's not a joke," he'd said.
"It didn't used to be," Cho responded. "My third year, it was great. But with Hagrid—he's nice and all, but a bit of a mess. None of the Ravenclaws understand why Professor Dumbledore made him a teacher."
Harry had felt his irritation growing, and glanced in the direction Marietta had gone. "Your friend," he said. "She said some pretty mean things about Luna."
Cho looked taken aback. "Well, I'm sure Luna must've done something weird."
She hadn't—she'd just been walking with Harry in the garden.
"I like Luna—she's very sweet—but you have to admit, she does bring a lot of it on herself, doesn't she?" Cho added.
That had pretty much been the end of the conversation.
Harry had mumbled goodbye and walked back up to Gryffindor Tower totally perplexed. The Cho in his head had been pretty and sweet and daring, and he supposed she was all of those things, but she was also a bit judgmental, wasn't she? And he didn't enjoy talking to her.
How had he gotten it so wrong?
In the present, Harry shook his head, shaking himself out of his reverie, and checked his watch. It was now an hour before the task, and he was antsy. Gryffindors started streaming downstairs, wishing him luck on their way to breakfast.
By 8:45, Neville made his way to the common room.
"Where's Hermione?" he asked. Harry wasn't sure. She was always downstairs early on days he had a quidditch match, and he didn't think today would be any different. He caught sight of Lavender walking toward the portrait hole.
"Hey Lavender!"
She turned and smiled at him. "Hey, Harry," she said. "Good luck today!"
"Thanks," he said. "Have you seen Hermione?"
Lavender shook her head. "No, she was already up and out when I woke up—made her bed up and everything."
"She must be in the Great Hall already," Neville said, ushering Harry toward the portrait hole.
But she wasn't in the Great Hall. She wasn't anywhere—no one had seen her. Harry was too worried for breakfast, but Neville forced him to eat a few slices of bacon and some toast.
She still hadn't turned up by 9:15 when Professor McGonagall told him it was time to go to the starting point. He and Neville stood up to leave, and fell into step with Cedric Diggory, who was glancing around the entrance hall, looking concerned.
"You all right, Cedric?" Harry asked.
Cedric nodded, still looking troubled. "Cho's not here. And she didn't meet me in the library last night either. No one has seen her since before dinner."
Harry felt his stomach plummet. They wouldn't…
Who was he kidding? Of course they would.
He turned to Neville, who looked as anxious as Harry felt.
"What?" Cedric asked, noticing the glances they'd exchanged.
"Hermione's missing, too," Harry told him, watching this news register on Cedric's face. "Let's go," Harry added, hurrying out to the lake as fast as he could.
Viktor and Fleur were already there, and Harry shucked his robes, pulling out the gillyweed and his wand. He was ready for this blasted task to start already. He barely paid attention as Bagman made his announcements, only heard the shrill whistle blasting as he ran out into the water, eating gillyweed as he went. Neville had warned him what it would feel like—how it would take a few seconds for the gills to form—those seconds felt like forever—but finally Harry tried to draw breath, but couldn't. He dove into the water.
The water was eerie—dark and strange, and the deeper he went, the more the shadows felt alive. He tried to focus on following Kettleburn's directions, but he couldn't see more than 10 feet in front of him, making every weed, every log, every small fish seem like it was a monster coming to attack him from the deep.
In his head, the words from the song—But past an hour, the prospect's black, too late, it's gone, it won't come back—kept taunting him. Where was she?
He saw weeds ahead of him, and turned right, as Kettleburn had instructed him to do, knowing there were grindylows hiding in there.
He kept swimming down, and the deeper he went into the darkness, the greater his sense of foreboding. If the person who put his name in the goblet of fire wanted him dead, this was the perfect opportunity to attack. He was alone in the dark, and no one would even be looking for him for another hour. Harry gripped his wand tighter.
And then, finally, after what felt like forever, he found himself in a sea of black mud—which Kettleburn said marked the entrance to the merpeople's kingdom. Soon enough, he heard them chanting—your time's half gone, so tarry not, lest what you seek stays here to rot. He swam faster, finally catching sight of their village, and right in the center was a stone statue of a merperson, with four people bound to the tail: Hermione, a little girl with Fleur's hair, Cho, and a man Harry had never seen before.
The merpeople were all watching him, and despite Kettleburn being right so far, Harry half thought they were going to attack—but they didn't.
Harry swam to Hermione, checking her over, and it was like a punch to the gut. Her face looked lifeless, her hair drifting around her in an ethereal yet melancholy way. What sort of sick, twisted Sleeping Beauty scenario was this?
He tore his eyes away and glanced at the other hostages. The little girl looked ghostly green, and Cho's head was bobbing a little too forcefully in the ebb of the water. His stomach didn't flip at the sight of her. And Harry knew it wasn't just because unconscious and kidnapped wasn't exactly attractive to him—his crush was effectively over.
He turned back to Hermione—he needed something to cut her down with. He eyed the merpeople's spears, tried to ask for one, to take one—but they merely laughed, telling him they wouldn't help, dangerous glints in their eye. Harry turned to the ground, looking for a jagged enough rock.
Finding one, he cut at Hermione's ropes. When he was done, she floated near him, still unconscious, drifting in the water, her hair swirling about her, obscuring her face. Disconcerted, Harry pushed her hair out of the way. His hand brushed her cheek, and he felt his stomach turn to ice at how cold she felt.
He looked around—where were the other champions? Too late, it's gone, it won't come back... lest what you seek stays here to rot... Their songs pounded in Harry's ears. He positioned his rock over the little girl's ropes, but no sooner had he frayed it, than he felt hands seizing him and pulling him away.
So the legends had been true then—you were only allowed to save your own treasure. Only… Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.
And it wasn't just that. One of Voldemort's followers had likely put his name in the cup—probably on Voldemort's orders. What if they had tampered with the task somehow? What if one of the other champions got caught up in it, and they or their hostage became collateral damage? He couldn't leave here until he knew everyone was safe.
He looked back at Hermione, studying her, wishing she could talk right now, wishing he could get her opinion on the matter.
"You're a great wizard," she had said, and he felt himself grow calmer. She believed in him. She always stood by him. Even if she thought he was being foolish or impulsive, she had always backed his play. If she were awake, she would back it now.
He stayed and he waited.
Finally, there was a cheer from the merpeople, and Harry saw Cedric making his way toward him, an enormous bubble around his head.
"Got lost!" he mouthed, looking panic-stricken. "Fleur and Krum're coming now, too!" He began to cut at Cho's ropes with a knife, and Harry looked down at Hermione's watch on his wrist—less than 20 minutes were left. Even if Fleur and Krum came soon, they'd never get their hostages free and reach the surface in time.
Harry grabbed Cedric's arm, and Cedric turned to look at him.
"There's no time," Harry tried to say, but only a bubble popped out. He pointed to Hermione's watch, showing Cedric the time, and then pointed to the two other hostages, miming cutting their ropes. He then pointed at the merpeople, who were all murmuring, shifting, watching them suspiciously. With their pointy spears glinting threateningly in Harry's direction, it felt particularly ominous.
"You think the song was serious?" Cedric mouthed, glancing nervously at the merpeople. Harry shrugged his shoulders helplessly as if to say, "Do you really want to risk it?"
Cedric seemed to understand. He hesitated, looking at Cho, and Harry saw a few emotions cross his face—fear for her, a longing and desire to win and, finally, with a look back at Harry, resolution.
Harry turned back to the merpeople, wand at the ready, as Cedric freed Cho and began to cut the little girl's ropes. The merpeople charged at him, but Harry raised his wand higher, warning, "I'll use it."
They couldn't hear him, of course—all that happened was a particularly large bubble popped out of his mouth—but they must have read the intent in his eyes and his stance, eyeing his wand nervously. They stopped jeering at him, backing up slowly.
And then Harry saw Krum swimming toward them, half man, half shark. He had transfigured himself—though not very well. Harry glanced at his watch. It was closer to 15 minutes now. Krum started to cut at his hostage with his teeth, but Cedric offered up his knife.
"Where's Fleur?" he mouthed to Viktor, as Viktor worked to cut the ropes free. But Viktor shook his head and pointed upwards, his message clear: Fleur had gotten caught up and had been brought back to the surface.
"We're taking her!" Harry mouthed, a bubble popping out as he pointed to the little girl. Viktor looked confused at first, then nodded. Harry grabbed Hermione in one arm and the girl in the other, and Viktor did the same with his hostage and the girl.
Cedric swam ahead with Cho, wand out, ready to attack anything that came after them since neither Harry nor Viktor had use of their hands.
It was slow going—Harry couldn't use his webbed hands anymore, and they were an awkward, five-person train. The merpeople were rising with them, swimming around them with ease—would they attack when time was up? Harry pulled Hermione closer to him, wanting to keep her as far from them as possible.
Finally, the darkness seemed to fade, the water seemed to get brighter, and it wasn't a moment too soon, because Harry could feel his gills start to recede, and he desperately needed breath.
His head broke the surface, breathing in cool, clean air, and the crowd started to cheer. He knew they must look ridiculous—six heads and a shark-man bobbing in a circle of smiling merpeople. He looked down—Hermione was starting to wake, and the little girl opened her eyes, scared and confused. She caught sight of Viktor and screamed, clutching closer to Harry. Viktor's hostage—he introduced himself as Viktor's uncle, the one who raised winged horses—offered to swim her in.
Harry looked down at Hermione again—her cheeks were pink in the icy cold, her hair starting to turn into frozen brown icicles, but her warm brown eyes were open now and she was smiling brilliantly at him.
"You did it!" she beamed, shifting her arm up and around his neck in a one-armed hug. "Did everything go as planned? You weren't nervous when you realized the treasure was people, were you? Did they tell you at all beforehand?"
"I figured it out when you weren't at breakfast, and then Cedric said Cho was missing, too," Harry explained. "Then it seemed obvious who I was supposed to find." If possible, Hermione's smile got brighter.
She looked around, contemplating the scene around them.
"You all got there at the same time?" she asked, surveying the group swimming to shore.
"Er, kind of."
She studied his face. "What did you do?" she asked.
"I didn't want to leave anyone behind," Harry murmured. "So I waited for everyone to get there." Hermione shot him a half-exasperated, half-affectionate grin.
Now that he was above water where it was safe and bright with no menacing merpeople or looming shadows, it sounded melodramatic, even to him. Would Dumbledore have really let anyone died? And yet, when he'd been down there, worrying about the hostages, worrying about Voldemort, it had felt real.
But then Hermione smiled at him. "I should have known," she said, her teeth chattering a bit. Harry pulled her closer.
"Known that I'd be a prat about it?" Harry asked irritably.
"Known that you'd treat this like it were real," she countered. "Because it usually is for you." She jerked her thumb toward the others. "This is all a game to them, isn't it? They're just acting the hero. They don't know what it feels like when the stakes are actually life or death."
Despite the cold, Harry felt a great warmth run through him at her words. She smiled at him, and the chattering was worse. Harry could feel her shivering all over.
"Come on," he said, as they swam in together. It was tough—without the gillyweed, Harry wasn't a particularly strong swimmer, and Hermione's wet robes were pulling her down.
Harry looked at the shore. Fleur was hugging the little girl, sobbing hysterically, while Madam Pomfrey was tending to the others, thick blankets around them. Krum and Cedric had returned to normal.
They finally made it to shallow water, trudging toward land. Ludo Bagman and Dumbledore were at the banks, which was fortunate, because Harry was more tired than he'd ever been in his life, and Dumbledore had to half haul him out of the water, while Bagman did the same for Hermione.
They were promptly seized by Madam Pomfrey, who forced them into blankets and poured a Pepper Up potion down their throats, causing steam to gush out of their ears, all the while clucking about a blasted lake in February. Despite the potion, Hermione was still shivering a little and she huddled closer to Harry for warmth.
Madam Pomfrey turned her attentions to the little girl, and Fleur approached the group.
"You saved 'er," Fleur said breathlessly. "You all saved Gabrielle. Even though she was not your 'ostage!"
And then she bent down and kissed Viktor and his uncle on both cheeks to thank them. She moved toward Cedric, but Cho body blocked her.
"A thank you will do," Cho said stiffly, her eyes flashing with jealousy.
Fleur gave her a haughty smile, but then looked more warmly at Cedric. "Thank you," she said, turning around, "and thank you, 'arry."
She swooped down to kiss his cheeks, and Harry felt them burn red. He'd never been kissed by anyone before—not even on the cheek, not even one of those perfunctory kisses other kids got from their great aunts—and all in all it felt like a decidedly personal way of thanking an almost stranger. Harry saw Hermione eyeing him thoughtfully, but he focused his attention on Ludo Bagman, who was ready to announce the results.
Fleur received 25 points for proper demonstration of the bubble-head charm, but failure to retrieve her hostage.
"The other champions all returned at the same time," Bagman's booming voice continued. "And all chose to aid in the safe return of a hostage not their own, which the panel believes shows great moral fiber from them all. Mr. Viktor Krum reached the hostages third. He used an incomplete form of transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective. We award him forty points."
"Mr. Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was second to reach the hostages. We award him 45 points."
"Mr. Harry Potter used gillyweed to great effect. He was the first to reach the hostages, but was determined not to leave until all hostages were safe. The merchieftainess informs us that it was Mr. Potter who spearheaded the effort to save Gabrielle Delacour, demonstrating not only moral fiber, but exceptional leadership skills. The judges feel this merits full marks—Mr. Potter is awarded 50 points."
Ludo Bagman looked positively gleeful, while Karkaroff was glowering—but Viktor had forced him into it. He couldn't very well take points off Harry for the same thing Viktor had done.
For his part, Harry was stunned. And then he felt Hermione's arms around his neck. "You're in first place!" she cried, hugging him tighter.
He was in first place—not tied, but by himself. Harry heard the crowd thundering around him, but it all felt very far away.
The week after the task, Harry should have been flying high, but several things happened at once to bring him back to reality.
The first had been a letter from Sirius, which normally would have cheered him up. But this letter merely gave him instructions to meet him at the stile at the end of the road out of Hogsmeade at noon during the next Hogsmeade weekend.
"I knew he was coming back to the country, but to meet in Hogsmeade?" Hermione said. "That's really risky!"
"If he's caught…" Harry said tensely, torn between fear for Sirius and a desire to see him again.
"Well, no one knows he's an animagus, right?" Neville asked. "So it's not like anyone will be looking for a dog." But still, he looked worried.
The second was Harry's detention with Snape, in which Harry had to scrape tubeworms off the desks with Snape breathing down his neck for hours. It had been hard, excruciating work, made worse by Snape's side comments and sneers about Harry being a pompous, self-important dolt, and the only relief he'd gotten was when Karkaroff barged in demanding to speak with Snape.
Snape had turned his cold eyes on Harry, dismissing him, and while Harry had packed up his things as slowly as possible, he hadn't seen or heard anything of interest—just Karkaroff looking more jittery than Harry had ever seen him.
The third thing had been Rita Skeeter. Things had gotten better for Hermione at school at first. After she was chosen as Harry's hostage and Viktor didn't react—not to mention Harry's dinner with Viktor—almost everyone except the Slytherins backed off, assuming there wasn't much of a story there.
Viktor's fan club, assuming she was Harry's girlfriend, stopped following her around and hissing at her. While the assumption had annoyed him the last time Rita had written an article about them, Harry was perfectly fine to let people think what they wanted if it meant Hermione didn't have to deal with their abuse.
But then the letters started arriving. Things started slow at first—there were delays in the post for weeks because the owls kept getting blown off course by harsh winds—but soon there was a steady stream of hate mail from girls and women around the country who fancied themselves Harry's protectors—as well as quite a few blokes who were quidditch fans—telling her she deserved to be boiled in frog spawn. Some of the letters contained minor curses and undiluted bubotuber pus, sending Hermione to the hospital wing that first day. After that, they learned to just burn the letters.
"It eez just jealousy," Fleur told her one morning.
After Viktor's dinner with Harry, he had stopped eating at the Durmstrang table altogether, alternating between the Gryffindors and sitting with Cedric Diggory. Fleur, who was feeling much more warmly toward her fellow competitors since they had saved Gabrielle, sometimes joined them.
Hermione hadn't been particularly happy with Fleur's presence at first. She had disliked the witch since the very first day when Fleur had walked in and laughed derisively at Hogwarts—and Fleur's rude comments about Hogwarts during the Yule Ball dinner hadn't exactly endeared her to Hermione either.
But Fleur did not seem to even realize Hermione didn't like her—she had a very high opinion of herself—and had forged ahead in conversations as if they were old friends.
"People are always envious of eempressive witches," Fleur continued. " 'Ou should not let eet bother you."
And then she had incinerated the rest of Hermione's hate mail with an impressive bit of nonverbal magic. Harry could see Hermione warring with herself—Fleur's entire personality rubbed her the wrong way, but that was a really advanced spell.
And in the end, Hermione's desire for learning won out and she and Fleur got involved in a fairly enthusiastic conversation about nonverbal spells, Hermione only making a face twice at something rude Fleur said, a record low for these breakfasts.
Soon enough, it was the day of the Hogsmeade weekend, and Neville, Harry and Hermione set out early to meet Sirius. The stile was in a part of Hogsmeade Harry had never been before, out in the countryside, at the foot of the mountain Hogsmeade was adjacent to.
There, waiting for them, was a shaggy black dog, who led them toward the mountain, climbing higher and higher until they were all out of breath, leading them to a cave.
Harry followed him inside, only to find it was warm and inviting, with a plush rug on the cool floor, lights hovering above, and a cot in the corner with thick blankets. A warm, smokeless fire was roaring, surrounded by five armchairs. Remus Lupin was sitting in one of them.
"Professor Lupin!" Hermione greeted him, running over to give him a hug hello.
Harry watched as Sirius turned back into a man. His robes were shabby yet clean, and his hair was still quite long. He looked a little thinner though.
"We should have brought you food," Harry said, eyeing him carefully.
"No need," Sirius replied, ruffling Harry's hair affectionately as he grinned at him. "Moony's already taken care of that."
"Once I realized Sirius was determined to hide out in Hogsmeade, no matter how foolish it was, I spoke with Professor Dumbledore," Remus explained. "At our last meeting at Hogwarts, I happened to meet a house elf named Dobby who is particularly fond of you, Harry. When Albus offered him the opportunity to supply Harry Potter's godfather with food, he jumped at the chance."
Harry felt a rush of affection for Dobby.
"He comes by every few days with a new supply," Sirius explained, walking over to a basket in the corner. "Biscuit, anyone?"
Not wanting to steal from Sirius, Harry and Hermione shook their heads.
"He's an odd little elf, Harry, but quite good-hearted," Sirius said. "You have the most interesting friends."
He turned toward Neville, who was still standing near the opening of the cave, watching them all uncertainly. Whether it was because he was the only one who didn't know Sirius, or because up until a few months ago, he believed Sirius to be a deranged murderer, Harry couldn't tell.
"Speaking of interesting friends, you must be Neville Longbottom," Sirius said warmly, walking toward Neville and holding out his hand. "I've heard a lot about you."
Neville shook it nervously, and Harry hoped this meeting wouldn't be a disaster.
"You have?" Neville asked.
"Of course," Sirius said, leading Neville toward the armchairs, where Harry and Hermione were now sitting with Remus. Remus smiled encouragingly at Neville, and Neville seemed more comfortable.
"Moony here has told me all about how you defeated your boggart—brilliant that was, you'll have to show me sometime," Sirius said, grinning at Neville. "And Harry has told me what a good friend you've been—standing by him when almost no one else did." At that, Sirius shot Hermione an affectionate grin, too.
Neville blushed and sat in the chair.
"Now, tell us about the second task," Sirius said, and Harry launched into the tale, explaining all about the prefects' bathroom and Kettleburn, the gillyweed, and finally the lake. When he got to the part about waiting for the other competitors, Remus and Sirius shared a meaningful look.
"You really are just like your dad, Harry," Sirius said quietly, and Harry felt a surge of pride, but was very glad when Remus took the attention off Harry by turning to Neville.
"That was really clever of you to think of the gillyweed, too, Neville," Remus added, and Neville blushed.
"He's brilliant at Herbology," Hermione chimed in, smiling at her friend.
"It's true," Harry added. "Professor Sprout is always asking for his help with the greenhouses."
"Your mum always had a bit of a green thumb, too," Sirius commented.
"You knew my mother?" Neville asked, perking up.
"Did you go to school together?" Hermione queried.
"No, Frank and Alice were a number of years older than us," Remus said. "But we were all in the Order of the Phoenix together."
"The Order of the Phoenix?" Harry asked.
"It was a secret society dedicated to fighting You-Know-Who," Neville whispered. "During the war. My gran's told me all about how my parents were part of it. She said they were war heroes."
"Your dad was one of the fiercest fighters I've ever seen," Sirius said. "And your mum—she was smart as a whip."
Neville looked straight at Sirius, hanging on his every word. Sirius' eyes looked very far away as he settled into his reminiscence.
"She and Lily—Harry's mum—had all these plans for the future," he said. "They were pregnant at the same time, obviously, and constantly had their heads together. Lily made you both these baby blankets, and after you were born, Alice came over as often as she could to see you, Harry. It wasn't as often as she'd like—we were all busy with the war—but she and Lily dreamed about—"
He cut off bitterly, his face looking as haunted as it did whenever he spoke of his time in Azkaban.
Harry looked down. Whatever his mum and Alice had dreamed about, it certainly hadn't come true, had it?
Harry couldn't help but imagine it: A world where his parents had lived, where his mum tucked him into bed at night and his dad taught him how to ride a broom. A world where Remus and Sirius set off fireworks to entertain him, and Alice Longbottom was his mum's friend, bringing her son over to play with Harry. A world where Harry would have had at least one friend his own age before he turned 11, and that friend would've been Neville. They would've played hide-and-seek with Sirius and Remus and his dad and the invisibility cloak, would've baked cookies with their mums, would've spent the summers swimming in Neville's lake.
He snuck a glance at Neville, and saw he was looking wistfully at Harry; clearly, similar thoughts had crossed his mind. Neville smiled at him—but it was small and sad, and Harry felt his eyes burning, thinking of all the ways his life should've been different. He had to look away.
"Where's Buckbeak?" Hermione asked, breaking the silence, but her voice sounded high-pitched and strained and Harry was sure if he looked at her there would be tears in her eyes.
Sirius cleared his throat. "I found a cave for him a little ways up," he said. "He gets a bit sick of me sometimes."
Once again, silence filled the cave and Harry found himself fighting back the urge to lose himself in his fantasies—Dumbledore had once told him it did not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. His parents were dead, but Sirius and Remus were here now.
"You said you've been having meetings with Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione asked Remus, trying again for a topic of conversation. "Anything interesting you can share with us?"
"Are you coming back to teach?" Neville asked hopefully.
Neville had gotten used to Moody's gruff demeanor, but there was no doubt he'd prefer Remus any day of the week.
"No, nothing like that," Remus answered. "We've been meeting to discuss Sirius. Obviously, the best way to clear his name is to find Pettigrew, but considering he's likely holed up in some remote corner of the world with Voldemort right now, we've been brainstorming other options."
"Like what?" Harry asked, trying not to feel too hopeful.
"Well, Dumbledore asked Ron's mum for some pictures of the family with his rat over the years—not sure how he managed that one without arising her suspicions," Sirius said.
"We don't have any photos of him in his animagus form from when we were younger," Remus added. "But we often played jokes that required one of us to sneak in somewhere—so there were plenty of times when Peter, in his rat form, wandered around the castle. I've been reaching out to old schoolmates, under the guise of a research project for the school, to have them send me old photos to see if he's in any of them."
"Plus, as you might know, the school is required to keep the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. tests of every student from the past 30 years," Sirius said. Harry and Neville clearly had no clue about this, but Hermione was looking at them knowledgeably. "There was a question about animagus transformation on ours—and, as you can imagine, James, Peter and I had pretty detailed answers. Minerva has dug them up."
"None of this is definitive proof," Remus warned. "Right now, all handing this evidence over would do is alert the ministry that Sirius is an animagus. But if we come up with enough—maybe we won't need Peter."
Harry couldn't help but feel guilty—it was his fault they didn't have Peter, his fault the rat had been able to go free. Sirius was watching him carefully, and Harry got the feeling he knew exactly what Harry was thinking.
"It's still dangerous for you to be here," Harry said.
"It's not particularly safe for me to be much of anywhere," Sirius quipped, "so I might as well be close to my godson. Besides, Remus and Albus have been keeping me up on the news, and things are getting fishier."
"How do you mean?" Harry asked.
"Well, Barty Crouch hasn't been seen by anyone since last November," Remus said, "and there's a witch who works for the ministry, Bertha Jorkins, who has disappeared."
Sirius told them all about Crouch—how it was odd that he worked so hard to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament and then just disappeared, how he had never taken a sick day in his life, how he had been the one to send Sirius to Azkaban without a trial, how he had become as cruel and relentless as the Death Eaters in his pursuit of power and eliminating Voldemort.
"Nothing about his behavior now makes any sense," Remus said, shaking his head.
"And when you add to that that Karkaroff is here and someone put your name in the goblet of fire—I don't like any of it," Sirius added.
"Karkaroff has been really friendly with Snape," Harry said. "I saw them talking at the Yule Ball and then again the other day in detention."
"I know Karkaroff was a Death Eater, but Dumbledore trusts Snape," Hermione said insistently. "And he did save your life first year."
Sirius glowered, and Remus gave him a warning glance. Sirius sat back, clearly still incensed, but he refrained from saying whatever it was he wanted to.
"Snape was a Death Eater, too," Neville said quietly.
Harry looked sharply at Neville.
"My dad arrested him," Neville continued, looking around at them all. "Gran and Great Uncle Algie and Great Aunt Eunice used to talk about it a lot at dinner, back before I came to Hogwarts. Gran's quite proud of all of my dad's accomplishments…" He trailed off, shaking his head, blinking quite a lot. "I always figured that's why Snape hated me so much."
Except for the crackling fire, the cave was silent as Harry digested that information. "Do you know what happened?" he asked. "Why he got off?"
"Because of Professor Dumbledore," Remus answered. Harry whipped his head around to look at Remus, who did not look surprised by Neville's statement. A quick look at Sirius confirmed that he wasn't either.
"You both knew?" Harry asked.
"Remus informed me not too long ago," Sirius replied, his face dark.
"There was a hearing not long after Voldemort's fall," Remus explained. "It was fairly quiet—there were a lot of hearings and trials in those days, and the ones that made the front page were the ones where people were sent to Azkaban. But you can imagine, given my history with Severus, that his dismissal was of particular interest to me then."
"But if charges were dismissed, then he wasn't a Death Eater?" Hermione reasoned.
Sirius snorted derisively, and Remus ran his hand over his face, looking particularly weary.
"He was," Remus confirmed. "But Dumbledore says he changed sides and turned spy for us before before Voldemort's fall. And I trust Dumbledore."
"Gran thinks it's rubbish," Neville said. "She says she thinks highly of Albus Dumbledore—that he would've made a better minister for magic than that half-witted attention hog Cornelius Fudge—but anyone who thinks Severus Snape isn't a dark wizard has to be a bit barmy."
Remus' expression was neutral, but there was a ghost of a smile on Sirius' face at that. Remus looked pointedly at Sirius, and they stared at each other, having some sort of silent conversation that Harry couldn't read, before Sirius looked away, clearly annoyed.
Remus looked at Harry and his friends. "I know Professor Snape is—er—not the warmest of teachers," he said. "And he's treated all of you abominably. But Albus Dumbledore is certain that he's no Death Eater—and he wouldn't say something like that without irrefutable evidence."
Harry didn't know what to say to that. But Hermione did.
"Now," Hermione said bitterly. They all looked at her. Her face was white and her eyes were glittering. "You mean he's not a Death Eater now. But he wasn't always on our side."
"War isn't always black and white, Hermione," Remus said, looking older than Harry had ever seen him. "Sometimes we have to work with people who have done despicable things."
"But you don't just become a Death Eater by earning badges for camping or whittling like you're some sort of girl guide, do you?" Hermione asked. "Before he left the Death Eaters, he must've done some really terrible things."
"I imagine he did," Remus conceded.
"And you wouldn't join You-Know-Who's inner circle unless you really believed what they believed in, would you?" she continued.
The others were silent.
"Did you ever hear him call someone a mudblood?" she asked, her voice trembling, while the others flinched at the word. "You went to school with him. Did you?"
"Hermione—"
"Don't lie to her, Moony," Sirius practically growled, before turning to look at Hermione, his face grave and resolute. "Yes."
Hermione nodded her head, clearly furious. "Right," she said in a clipped voice, as if that was all she needed to know about the subject.
Harry's head was spinning. He'd always had suspicions about Snape, but it was true: He used to be a Death Eater. And Neville had known it all along, had kept Snape's secret—no wonder he was so afraid of Snape.
Harry eyed Hermione. She looked angry—and a little lost. She had always had faith in Dumbledore, had usually admonished Harry for thinking badly of Snape when Harry thought he might be behind some of the plots they'd uncovered over the years. She had always been someone who believed in the sanctity of the school—and now she'd found out that Dumbledore let a former member of a terrorist group dead set on killing people like her teach in Hogwarts.
Harry felt a surge of anger at the thought.
Remus cleared his throat. "I know this is upsetting. But I truly don't believe Albus Dumbledore would let Severus Snape into Hogwarts if he thought he was dangerous to you all," he said, looking down at his hands, before eyeing them again. "And, for better or worse, he is your teacher."
"So we should respect him?" Harry asked, a little incredulously.
"No," Remus answered. "You don't have to respect his choices or like him as a person. I'd be shocked if any of you did. But he has Professor Dumbledore's backing and he's a person in a position of authority."
"In other words," Sirius said contemptuously, "Snivellus is a greasy, slimy git who would love nothing more than to make all of your lives miserable if you were to breathe a word of this to anyone."
Harry felt his anger rise up. How would that be any different than how Snape treated him now?
Sirius sighed, his weathered face looking more drawn than usual. "Much as I hate it, Moony's right," he said. "With everything we don't know about who put your name in the goblet of fire, Harry, it's best not to draw attention from anyone we don't trust."
Neville looked down at his watch. "We're supposed to meet Luna at Gladrags," he said, looking between Harry, Sirius and Remus. "If you want to stay, Harry, I'm sure Luna would understand."
Harry did want to stay, did want to be with Sirius and Remus, but he wanted them to be talking about Dobby and winning the task and Buckbeak, and not how many former Death Eaters were currently inhabiting Hogwarts.
"You should probably go, Harry," Sirius said reluctantly. "Make sure you're seen around town, so no one gets suspicious." Harry nodded.
"It was nice meeting you," Neville told Sirius.
Remus squeezed Harry's shoulder affectionately before saying goodbye to the others. He murmured something to Hermione, who attempted to smile at him.
Sirius turned to face Harry.
"You're not to sneak out of school to see me, all right?" he said sternly. "It would be an ideal way for someone to attack you."
"No one's tried to attack me—"
"I don't care. I'll breathe freely when this tournament is over," he said, pulling Harry into a hug.
Harry stiffened at first—the only person he could ever remember hugging him was Hermione. He had a whisper of a memory from when he was very small—too young to realize what his relationship with the Dursleys was. He had been sick and reached for Aunt Petunia, but she'd swatted him away, warning him not to infect Dudley.
This was something new. Hermione's hugs were fierce, but she was smaller than him. Sirius, despite his thinness, was larger, and he enveloped Harry fully. Harry felt himself relax, leaning into it—this must be what it was like to have a parent. He felt Sirius' hand cradling the back of his head, and the gentle pressure felt reassuring and safe. For just a moment, Harry let himself close his eyes and pretend.
Pulling away, Sirius looked him in the eye, "You keep your head down, all right?"
Harry nodded, and with one last look at Remus and Sirius, exited the cave with his friends.