The door clicked open. Harry was the first through, finding himself just inside the inner door. Ginny was right behind him. Both immediately leaned against the wall; Harry, who had been here before, kept his hands tucked behind his back. His curiosity had caught up with him here before. As the portraits behind the desk gave shouts of shock, his gaze lingered on the silvery instruments. As far as he could tell, there were no fewer of them in 1977 than there had been in 1995. The only thing missing was Fawkes: the red-gold bird was gone from its perch.

All of this Harry took in before night fell.

It fell with the swiftness of a curtain falling: one moment, Harry was stepping into a brightly lit room; the next, darkness cut off all sight with the swiftness of scissors cutting thread. His body gave a dull jolt, knocking into Ginny, who grabbed his arm in a tight grip. It steadied him. The voices coming from the portraits of the past headmasters resumed, louder, clogging his ears. He took in several deep breaths through his nose. His fingers quivered when he brought his hand up to his face, to push his glasses further up on his nose.

What else were he and Ginny going to have to do before they had a bit of a meal?

"Harry, listen," she said, tugging at the sleeve of his sweat-soaked robes.

"—with intruders," murmured one voice.

"I wish the short-sighted and altruistic headmaster after me had not gotten rid of the perfectly good set of manacles I kept in my desk," said the high, unctuous tones of Phineas Nigellus Black, the least favorite headmaster to serve at Hogwarts.

"And how would you get to them, you fool?" asked a waspish voice. "If you had a wand—"

"Oh, where is he? Where is Dumbledore?" one of them fretted.

"As I have said repeatedly," said Phineas Nigellus, "teenagers, like these two miscreants, need regular, bracing punishments. And how do you do this without manacles, I ask you?"

"We do it with reason, Phineas. We reason with them."

"Oh, I see. Oh, you two! You there! You miscreants!"

"I think he's talking to us," Ginny murmured.

"I'm not going to answer to 'miscreant'," Harry muttered.

"You two!" The portrait shouted. "What are you two doing here?"

Harry tried to shuffle forward, but the carpet beneath his feet had turned to gum. He could raise his shoe only so far before it was tugged back downward. Unpleasant tingles spread up his shins. "We had to talk to Dumbledore," he said, resentful.

"We did," Ginny repeated, far more earnest. "We're in trouble, and—"

"And you did not think to go through the usual channels?" Phineas Nigellus asked, sounding almost bored. "Setting up an appointment? Sending an owl? You had to breach his office and trip his protective charms?"

"He is very powerful, you know," said a querulous, older voice. "It was unwise to come here."

"But we're in real trouble," repeated Ginny. "He's the only one we know who could—"

"Again," said Phineas Nigellus, "I ask why you could not send an owl."

"We don't have an owl," said Harry, more and more annoyed. "We don't have anything but what we've got on us… we didn't come with much—"

"But have your parents got an owl?"

Harry said nothing.

"My parents don't know me," said Ginny, desperate now. "We were told Dumbledore was on sabbatical, but—"

"But they would not listen to reason!" said Phineas Nigellus, triumphant. "It proves my point. Teenagers don't need coddling. They need manacles." It was still pitch black in the room, but Harry could hear the other portraits murmuring, most in agreement. He could picture them, the rows and columns of them rising up behind Dumbledore's desk, all of them nodding down at Harry and Ginny, ready to persuade Dumbledore to clap them in manacles. "Well?" the portrait demanded at last.

"Certainly I will take your opinion into account as I always do, Phineas."

Harry jolted again, spine stiffening. That was no portrait.

There was a click and a shift, and the darkness fell away like rain, swirling at his feet before seeping into the ground. There, behind his desk, sat Dumbledore, as though he had always been here: his beard was shorter, his hair not quite so white, and the hands steepled on the desk before him were not quite so papery thin. Despite this, he was the most familiar thing Harry had seen since his arrival in 1977.

"Now," the headmaster said, leaning forward. "Perhaps you two can tell me how and why you have come to be in my office."

It took a bit to get his tongue unstuck from the roof of his mouth. I won't tell him too much, Harry inwardly promised Sirius. But: "We had to come, Professor," he said as politely as he could.

"Indeed?" Dumbledore asked, raising his eyebrows. "I myself have never found it necessary to breach someone's private office without asking. I have tried to instill that politeness in my students, but…" White brows pulled together; his gaze flicked from Harry to Ginny and back to Harry again. Harry thought he knew why. "You two are not my students, are you?"

"Not yet," said Ginny. "But we will be in 1992—"

"1991," muttered Harry.

"Right, my first year is 1992, yours is 1991…"

They both looked back at Dumbledore, whose mouth had fallen open slightly.

"You two—"

"A week ago," said Harry, "it was 1996… May 1996… and then we – we arrived here."

"And we need your help to get back home," said Ginny, "we can't just stay here. We've got to get back home. That's why we needed to see you; you're the best hope we've got."

For the first time since Harry had met him, Dumbledore seemed astonished enough to have been robbed of speech. Even the portraits – even Phineas Nigellus – were quiet, stunned out of clamoring for Harry and Ginny to be manacled. He could not blame them. It was a wild thing, something he could scarce comprehend, and he had had several days to live with it.

"And we had to find you today," Harry added, "we were chased by Inferi, and—"

"You were chased by Inferi?" Dumbledore asked sharply, rising halfway from his desk.

But when Harry opened his mouth to reply, Dumbledore cut him off with a sharp gesture. "I need a moment," he said. He fully stood, and swept plum-colored robes to the side. There was a small shelf below a window; upon it, were several silvery instruments, most of which Harry recognized. There was one like a delicate teapot balanced on thin, spidery legs. This, Dumbledore brought to his desk and settled it. Water jetted from the end of his wand and went into the teapot, which immediately began to emit puffs of bluish-grey steam.

Harry watched all of this with nothing more than a dull sort of curiosity – until the steam began to twine around him, like the manacles Phineas Nigellus had been threatening since the moment Harry and Ginny had crossed the threshold from the Room of Requirement to Dumbledore's office. "Hey!" he said. "What's—"

"I am afraid that to believe everything an intruder says without verifying it would be foolish to the point of insanity," said Dumbledore, amiably enough.

"But—"

"I'm sure you understand that I need you to repeat everything you have just said," said Dumbledore.

"But Professor!" said Ginny, shocked. "You've got to believe us!"

"And I will," said Dumbledore, "once what you are saying is proven true." His lips thinned. "We live in an age where trusting anyone is as dangerous as a stroll in the Forbidden Forest." A part of Harry – the part that was still sore from running from Inferi – understood. The part most connected to his stomach, however, was annoyed enough that a zing of anger went through him.

"Fine," he said.

"Oooh, you've got his permission, Albus," said a cheeky witch.

"That's enough, Galatea."

The magic was not tight or uncomfortable, simply warm.

"Very well," said Dumbledore, settling once more in his chair, "perhaps you will want to revise your story. You do not wish to find out what should happen if you lie too much."

"They'll tighten up until your hands fall off!" shouted one prior headmaster, one that wore a rather ornate wig.

"They'll start to burn," threatened another.

"It's made of acid!" yelled another.

"Probably nothing more than the magic changing color," Harry muttered to Ginny out of the corner of his mouth. Her face was set and white.

"Professor," she said, "we swear we're from where we said we were. We're from 1996… we were in the Ministry—"

Harry had gripped her arm very tightly. Her mouth clapped shut.

There was silence in the room. "Just earlier," he mumbled, "we were chased out of – of where we were hiding by Inferi. We aren't sure why they were there, but the barman was very upset when we said a name—"

"Barman?" Dumbledore asked sharply. "Where?"

"At the Hog's Head," put in Ginny. "He'll remember us. He had to hide us from Lucius Malfoy… he yelled at us when we said the name."

"There's a hex on it," Dumbledore said. "You are saying that there is no longer a hex upon the name in the – where you are from?"

"Dumbledore," said Phineas Nigellus, in a pleading sort of tone. "You cannot tell me you are believing them after all? You are not infallible. They could still have managed to trick you. You have said yourself that your nemesis has resources that have surprised you. Just last month, you—"

"Enough," said Dumbledore, interrupting the portrait. "I wish for all of you to remain silent until I once again ask for your guidance. All of you," he repeated, when one or two protested. They all fell silent. Some even slipped into a fraudulent sleep, going from wide-eyed and alert to snoring in the matter of half a second.

"I don't know if there's a hex or not," said Harry, very carefully. That would explain why everyone else around him was so reluctant to say the name. The bluish grey magic around him rippled, turning a violet shade. "I don't know," he protested. "Everyone says 'You Know Who'."

"But not you two?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry pressed his lips together. He had never known to be afraid of Voldemort's name; it had seemed odd to him, silly even. Now that he knew there had once been a hex upon it, he understood a bit more. Shrugging, he said nothing.

"Quiet all of a sudden?" Dumbledore rose from his chair; there was quiet thunder in his tone.

"We were told that if we said too much, we could alter things," said Harry, glaring at him. Still, he added, a reluctant: "Sir."

"Yes," said Ginny, imploringly. "We don't know what to say and what not to say—"

"Who advised you?" Dumbledore pressed. "Who else have you gone to with your story? It is true that caution is necessary, but—"

"My godfather told us," said Harry. "He came with us. He's also from the – the future." The word kept sticking on his tongue; it sounded like it was out of one of Dudley's video games. A sudden, sharp pain went through his head. "He thinks we shouldn't say… anything…"

"He didn't want us to come here, in fact," said Ginny. "But we can't – it's different. This. 1977. It's different. Nothing is safe here."

"I will want to meet him," Dumbledore said, abruptly. "It will be better if I have all three of you here; I remain confused as to how this is, in fact, possible." His gaze moved from one to the other. As was often the case, when Dumbledore consented to be in Harry's presence in the first place, at least this year, Harry could not read the thoughts behind piercing blue eyes. "Would you consent to show me where he might be?"

Harry shook his head. "He won't want to meet with you," he said, flatly.

"But—"

"He thinks he can find our own way out of this," Harry said. "But Ginny – she doesn't think he'll do it in time—"

"In time for what?" Dumbledore asked swiftly.

"In time for anything," Ginny said, voice raised. "I want to be home. I want to know everything is – everything is okay."

"Are you absolutely certain he will not want to join us?"

"I'm positive of it." Harry had never been so sure of anything in his life.

A gong sounded in the room. Startled, Harry and Ginny looked at one another.

"A visitor," Dumbledore said on a sigh. "I've not been properly back for thirty minutes. Give me a moment to take care of this, then perhaps you can tell me precisely how you found yourselves in 1977… if I am to help you, I will need to know. In fact, I – no matter. Excuse me a moment."

After this rather more meandering speech than Harry had ever heard from him, he strode out of the circular office, and pulled open the door. There was a bark and a yip. Realizing what was happening, Harry leaned his head back against the wall and let out a groan. A second later, a large black dog barreled into the room. He sat down right in front of Harry, and let out three loud barks.

Harry grimaced, and banged his head against the wall.

"Friend of yours?" Dumbledore suggested.

In the next second, the dog shifted from dog to man, spinning to stand in front of Harry. "I am his godfather, in fact," said Sirius.

For the second time in the last thirty minutes, Harry saw Dumbledore truly stunned, stunned enough to step backward. "Sirius Black."

"One and the same," said Sirius, with a hard-edged cheer. There was a smile on his face, but Harry thought it more of a grimace. As angry as Harry was at Dumbledore's treatment of him this last year, Sirius was angrier. "I'm surprised you recognized me."

"I have excellent recall for faces," Dumbledore said. He was recovering with aplomb. A second later, he glanced at Harry. "If you are his godfather, I must be correct at whose son he is."

"You might be," allowed Sirius. "But I am afraid that it is much too dangerous for you to know too much. In fact, we had decided"—here he sent Harry a hard look—"not to involve anyone from this time in our dilemma."

"There were Inferi," protested Harry. "And you kept leaving us—"

"—and we didn't know if we could use magic to defend ourselves or not," added Ginny. "Which we did, by the way. And there still hasn't been anything from the Ministry about our breaking the Statute of Underage Wizardry."

"Indeed?" murmured Dumbledore. "I wonder what specific aspect of the Trace was broken when the – ahem – whirlwind, for lack of better knowledge, brought you here. In fact, you have handed me a great many pieces of a puzzle." His gaze went once more to Sirius, who had come to stand next to Harry, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It was 1996, you say?"

"Indeed," said Sirius, mimicking Dumbledore. "If you're wondering why I look older… it was a hard war." His fingers tightened on Harry's shoulder. "There were betrayals, by both Death Eaters and Ministry. And even"—voice raising slightly—"old headmasters."

Dumbledore's eyebrows raised. There was a fraught moment between the two. Harry glanced at Ginny out of the corner of his eye. She was biting her lip. When she caught his gaze, she grimaced a little. Silence swelled around them; Harry fidgeted, ceasing only when Sirius's grip tightened. Harry had to ask himself if Dumbledore had betrayed Sirius. Certainly, he had advised him to stay in Grimmauld Place, which Sirius had hated.

"I see," said Dumbledore, finally. There was another pause, then he turned to move behind the desk. Taking a seat, he drummed his fingers on the desk – it was not a gesture Harry had seen him use before. "We have several options. I can pretend – with great personal difficulty, I might add – to have never seen you."

"You'd let us walk out your door," Sirius said flatly.

"What do you think I would do to prevent you?" Dumbledore asked. "I may say that I do not think that option in your best interest, especially for you two"—he indicated Harry and Ginny with a courteous nod—"but I would do nothing to prevent you leaving."

Sirius grunted.

"What's the other option?" Ginny asked.

"I can help you," said Dumbledore, simple and even. "Forgive me for saying it, but the three of you, no matter your situation in the future, may not have the resources to do what I can do. I am sure you are all very talented magically – Mr. Black, I know that you are – but it is not simply wandwork in a complex situation such as this. I have the resources of both Hogwarts's library, and my own private volumes. I have contacts – in fact, Dorcas Meadowes…" His voice trailed off, gaze centered on something far away. Behind him, Fawkes shook himself, mantling his wings and flapping. Harry felt the breeze of it on his face. "I think, if you were to accept my help, I might seek out Dorcas…"

"Dorcas?" Sirius asked in disbelief. Clearly, he and Dumbledore knew something Harry did not.

"Should you accept my help," Dumbledore assured him. "I've a letter from her… it might be she left hint of her whereabouts." Then, drawing himself up, and seeming to return from where his thoughts had led him, he added: "As I said, I can hunt down a trail for us to follow in regard to how this has happened and how to reverse it. I know who to speak to. And, for the most part, I know who not to speak to."

"Do you have any guesses?" Ginny asked, voice soft.

"All I have are scattered thoughts," said Dumbledore. "As said, you have given me a great many puzzle pieces. I have not even begun to assemble them."

She let out a little sigh. Harry thought he might have been the only one to have heard it.

"And what will this look like?" Sirius demanded.

The headmaster sat a while in thought. "It is unfortunate, but I think we might measure finding the solution to your dilemma in weeks rather than hours. I think it wise—"

"Let me guess," Sirius suggested, "you'll find a safe place for us to hide, and keep us locked up there while you go and find the solution?"

Dumbledore blinked. "I had thought, rather, that the three of you would stay here, at Hogwarts. It is only unfortunate that I've already hired Marlene McKinnon for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts… that would have provided you, specifically"—this he addressed to Sirius—"a good cover for being here, and use your talents. Which I assume have not diminished in the twenty years since I have known you?"

"Wouldn't that require me staying an entire term?" Sirius pointed out.

"We've bad luck with DADA professors," Dumbledore countered, "it would not be the first time in the last decade or so that we had to replace a professor mid-term. But the point is moot; Ms. McKinnon has already sent her acceptance letter."

"Marlene McKinnon," Sirius grunted.

"And we're to what – go to school?" Harry asked. His stomach had plunged and there was a bell ringing madly in his ears. He wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on the front of his robes.

"It is my judgment that it would be safest for you," said Dumbledore. "I think we can all agree that we do not wish for any… others to discover the truth of your dilemma and the nature of your true home, that home for you is not a where but a when. But all of this is only a supposition. If you do not accept my help, I believe this is where we would part ways – unless and until you reconsidered," he added, magnanimous. "My door would always remain open to you, and not least because you breached my office in a way I have yet to figure out."

There was another silence. Harry wished, all of a sudden, that he had Ginny's certainty. But even then, he could feel his doubts cracking. The small voice that kept reminding him of Dumbledore's behavior over the last year faded to a whisper. The hard truth of it was that Dumbledore had more resources. How could Sirius be expected to discover the reason behind their dilemma when they had to hide in a cave and steal their food? His eyes wandered over the comforting familiarity of Dumbledore's office, still feeling his heart beating at a rapid pace, and trying not to think overly much of attending school – here! – in 1977 and the people he would meet there.

"You give me your word that you will not limit my movements," Sirius said. His hand had fallen away from Harry's shoulder; he was now using it to scrub his haggard face. "I can keep a secret, Dumbledore," he said, accusing. "As you saw when I arrived, I have ways of subterfuge."

"Indeed, I did in fact notice that it was a dog that entered my office," Dumbledore said graciously. "I would not limit your movements. I will need your help." He appraised Sirius up and down. "Even aside from a furry persona, I do not think you would provoke all that much speculation. You are rather… changed in appearance. I do not think it would take much to disguise you enough even Walburga Black would suppose you a Black of a forgotten line."

"I'd rather not run into her, all the same," Sirius grimaced. "But I want your word, Dumbledore."

"You have it," said Dumbledore. "I will not attempt to curtail your movements."

"All right," said Sirius on an exhale. "All right."

"Now, if you could tell me exactly what happened," said Dumbledore, leaning forward. "You said it was at the Ministry… why is it you were there in the first place?"

The truth flitted to his mind: Harry had been there because Voldemort, taking advantage of the connection between them that Harry did not understand, had tricked him into it, making him believe that Sirius had been caught. Instead, he had found himself in the Hall of Prophecies…

But this Dumbledore knew nothing of that. Harry flicked Sirius a look.

"It was the end of the year, or nearly," said Sirius. "They were taking the fifth years around the different departments… it was a career fair, of a sort."

Harry was very glad Dumbledore's truth spell had not included Sirius.

"A career fair," Dumbledore murmured. "And they allowed the Department of Mysteries to be toured by teenagers? How extraordinary of the Ministry."

"It's changed in the last years," Sirius suggested.

"And you wished to work for the Ministry?" Dumbledore asked, splitting his gaze between Harry and Ginny.

Sweat formed on the back of his neck. Harry fought the urge to swipe it off. It was not just Dumbledore. It was Ginny, staring at him; he could feel the question — are you sure Sirius is right? — radiating from her body. No, he wasn't certain. But, in that instant, an answer that was not a lie occurred to him.

"Yeah," said Harry. "I wanted to be an Auror. Professor McGonagall was advising me."

"And he was there for the career fair," Sirius repeated smoothly.

Dumbledore looked from one to the other. "I see," he said. "And you found yourself in the Department of Mysteries? Can you describe it to me?"

Harry could not blame him. He described the moving doors, the room with the brains and the time turners, neglecting to mention all of those had been destroyed. There was nothing of that desperate battle; Harry spoke no word of the Hall of Prophecies. When he described the amphitheater-like room, Dumbledore leaned forward. Fawke's let out a little warbling trill, as though he asked a question. Here, Harry was honest. Ginny took it up, then, describing the whirlwind, the pain, and losing consciousness.

"And when we came to, everyone was gone," said Harry.

Sirius clapped his hand on Harry's shoulder once more, squeezing it.

"Your classmates, the Ministry workers… they were all gone?" Dumbledore asked.

"As there's only the three of us, yes," said Sirius. "None of the others were sucked in."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "What else? Was there a scent, a light, anything other than the whirlwind?"

"Just the pain," Ginny muttered.

"Yeah, just that," said Harry.

Dumbledore was very still, deep in thought: those thoughts crossed his face, there and gone again, like clouds, gone too fast for Harry to begin to discern their shape. For the first time, he wondered if Dumbledore believed them, truly believed them. Even though Harry had lived through it, it felt like madness to say that he had traveled backward in time. What more must it be like for Dumbledore, an outsider? Was his purported willingness to help false?

"I am sorry for the pain you experienced," said Dumbledore.

As he persisted with questions, it soon became obvious that there was little else for them to say. After the third time Ginny described the room with the veil, Dumbledore sat back in his chair and set aside the quill he had brought out. At his sigh, Harry fidgeted. There were certain other circumstances, but… there was little chance that whatever the prophecy had meant had anything to do with whatever the veil had done to him.

If, in 1996, Dumbledore had not thought it Harry's business that there was a prophecy about him and Voldemort, Harry did not think it was any of Dumbledore's business here in 1977.

It was when his head began to truly ache that Dumbledore gave up his questioning.

"These are pieces of a very subtle puzzle indeed," he said, frowning. "I am glad we have some few days before the other students return… I will want to conduct research…" There was no reproach that they had waited to find him. His fingers twitched, as though already reaching for a book. "Now we must discuss the logistics."

"Logistics?" Harry asked. "I was hoping we could have a bite to—"

"I think he means how you're going to go to school here in 1977," said Sirius. "I have… access to money. I can make sure Harry is outfitted properly for attending for a couple of weeks." Then, as a belated addition: "And, of course, Ginny."

"Access to money?" Harry asked. "How?"

Sirius did not answer. "There are a couple of other complications… but I can take care of those."

"And you two were at the end of your fifth year?" Dumbledore said. "Unless my presumption is wrong, and career advisement doesn't occur in the future when it does now?"

"Yes, that's right," said Sirius. "They're both fifth years."

"I—"

Ginny started to speak, but Harry stepped on her foot.

"—was thinking it seems strange to start my sixth year," she finished lamely. "And equally strange to start my fifth."

"I imagine a great many things seem strange," Dumbledore said kindly. Then, eyes falling on Harry, he said, "I do believe we will need some disguise; there is a rather remarkable resemblance between you and another student."

Again, Harry's stomach jolted. "Yes. I-I – yes."

"And I will ask no questions, but will merely speculate," said Dumbledore. "But I do believe it best that we disguise you in some manner, even more than Sirius will need to be disguised. The resemblance is… remarkable. I can help with that; indeed, I can make you a focus object so you need never worry about your disguise failing…"

"A… what?" Harry asked.

"Ah, you will learn of those in your seventh year," Dumbledore said. "They are rather one of my specialties, and you may trust that mine will never fail you."

"Of course—"

"It will take some small amount of time, but we'll manage it before your fellow students arrive, not to worry." Abruptly, Dumbledore stood, clapped his hands together. The bits of magic wrapping about them like ropes, the ones Harry had near forgotten dropped away. "Which House were you two in? For simplicities sake, we will place you there."

"Gryffindor," Harry and Ginny said in a ragged chorus.

"My own House," Dumbledore said with approval. "We can accommodate that quite nicely. Sirius, I can find a place—"

"I'd rather stay on my own, if it's all the same to you," Sirius said. "No offense." Again, the smile he offered was more of a baring of teeth. "These two may be students, but I am not."

"But—"

"Not to worry, Harry," said Sirius. "I will be here, I just do not want to live here every hour."

"It would behoove you to be cautious," warned Dumbledore.

"I know that," Sirius snapped. "Are you going back on your word already?"

Dumbledore paused. "No," he said. "No, I am not."

"Good." This was another snap.

"Perhaps we can see these two to their new rooms, and round them up some food from the kitchens," said Dumbledore.

"Actually, Professor," Ginny said, voice quiet. "If we could go to the kitchens first?"

"Yes, please," Harry echoed fervently.

Dumbledore looked back and forth between them. "Feeling peckish?" he asked. "To the kitchens first, then. Whether from 1977 or from the future, I suppose teenagers yet need to be fed often?"

"Yes, professor," said Harry; the back of his neck grew warm with embarrassment. "Yes, I suppose we do."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Two hours later, he and Ginny had eaten, been given rooms in Gryffindor Tower. These were not the dorm-sized rooms, but contained a single bed and a single window each. At least – Harry assumed Ginny's was exactly the same as his, but located at the bottom of the girl's dormitory. "These will do for you until we can ensure your return home," Dumbledore explained, "I think it best that neither of you share a room with others. Some socializing can't be avoided, but it is better over all if you don't get too close."

Harry had only nodded, promised Dumbledore they would meet him at his office the next morning, and shut the door. The silence was nearly overwhelming. Even had he not known precisely where he was, he would recognize the soft red quilt, the sturdy wood, and the fluffed pillow.

Harry sat at the edge of the four-poster bed, hands tucked under his thighs, head bowed. Full now, he could not help but wonder if what he had done was the right thing. His own words echoed oddly in his mind. Dumbledore had believed them. Had he believed him when he and Sirius had lied about why he and Ginny had been at the future Ministry of Magic in the first place? His insides twisted with discomfort. He could not help but think perhaps Sirius had been wrong—

Something within his robes chimed and vibrated at the same time. Astonished, Harry reached into it, drawing out the mirror. There, with a backdrop of indistinct grey, was Sirius's face looking at him.

"How do you like your room?" his godfather asked without preamble.

"Yeah — it's fine!" said Harry.

"I wanted to ask, but could not… you're sure you're… okay to go to school?" Sirius finally asked, once Harry's words wound down.

His belly flipped again, as it had already done several times that day. "Yes, I'm fine," said Harry in a rush. "It'll just be a few weeks?"

There was a muscle just above Sirius's left eye that was twitching. "But going to school," he muttered, scrubbing his face. "With — with—"

"I know," said Harry. A leap of excitement combined with the guilt, making him regret that third slice of treacle tart. He could not think about that just now. "I know, Sirius. I know I look like—" But he could not finish that thought. Swallowing hard, he diverted to: "Dumbledore is going to help."

" I know he is. Well, Harry," Sirius said abruptly, almost coldly, "if you're insisting this is the best course of action, there are things on my end I've got to do. Keep that mirror on you, would you? And don't be surprised if you don't see Padfoot until the day after tomorrow…"

After Harry had sworn he would, Sirius broke the connection. The mirror reflected only Harry's face now. A wave of exhaustion swamped him, but he remained sitting at the edge of the bed, muscles tight, thinking that he had never once been both so terrified and elated.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Author's Note: Okay, so after long last, I've got here! I am as excited as Harry is to have him go to school with his parents and have adventures with them the way he had once done with Ron and Hermione. I would apologize for the long set up, but nothing else made sense to me, and hopefully the rest of the story will balance it out. Thank you for reading this far, and I hope you're enjoying.

Thanks to Hazzy, who very graciously read a draft of this chapter which was thrown out completely.