Time past swiftly enough that Harry's head whirled at its speed. One moment, he was explaining his predicament to Dumbledore. The next, or so it seemed, he was enrolled in Hogwarts in 1977, had new robes, new textbooks, a new place to sleep, a new broom, and – to his own astonishment – a new identity and face. It had been decided that Harry looked much too much like James Potter to pass as anything but a close relation to him, and Dumbledore had come up with a spell to accomplish a disguise. Much of the last few days had been spent looking at the dark-haired, dark-eyed stranger in the mirror. He was not nearly used to it by the time Harry face-planted into September the first.
Harry swiped his hands on his robes for the third time in the last five minutes. It was finally dark. An air of expectation hung over the Great Hall – over the entire castle, in fact. The professors were stationed about, murmuring to one another. Harry once more found himself craning his neck, expecting to see Hagrid's giant silhouette amongst them. It was strange to consider he was absent. He'd never really thought that Hagrid might not have spent his entire life at Hogwarts, attending to the grounds, and seeing to the many magical beasts that made their home in the forest. But he was on sabbatical, apparently, helping Newt Scamander with an update on his book…
Nerves had him shifting in his seat.
"It's weird," Harry said abruptly.
"Hm?" Ginny asked. She was up on her tiptoes, peering out one of the windows into the growing darkness. "What isn't weird?"
"I was thinking of Hagrid," said Harry. "It's weird he's not here."
Ginny nodded, pressing even closer to the window. "It is. I had no idea he didn't just… live here forever."
Harry grunted. "See anything?"
It had been an odd day: Perhaps the oddest September the first he had ever experienced, and that included the time he and Ron had flown the entire way in his dad's flying Ford Anglia. Dumbledore still did not want them outside, so they couldn't go flying. Instead, they'd played Exploding Snap. Ginny had drifted off in the afternoon to take a bath, taking advantage of Dumbledore allowing them to use any of the prefect facilities, staying gone so long that Harry wondered if she'd drowned in that giant pool. But she'd reappeared eventually, flushed and smelling like she'd used every different kind of sweet-smelling bubbles.
Even now, with her hair dry and tied off into a long braid that fell over her shoulder, he thought he could smell something flowery in the air about her.
"No," said Ginny. "I thought I did, but it was the wrong direction for the train… I think it was a will o' the wisp."
Harry considered stepping up beside her, pressing his own nose to the window; instead, he took a step back, shoving his hands in his pockets and clenching them into fists. No matter how he tried to distract himself, his thoughts kept returning to his parents. He was going to see them: not in a mirror that showed him his heart's desire, not as shadows fallen out of the wand that killed them, not in photographs gazing up at him from the flat pages of a picture album.
"—summer between first and second year, before we went to Egypt, Mum and Dad took me to this witch." Ginny's voice penetrated his thoughts. Harry found himself focusing on her voice, which was soft and muffled by glass and stone. "I don't remember much of it, honestly. I think – I think I was still way too shocked by everything. But one thing she did… and I still do it, sometimes… she had me just breathe."
"Breathe?" Harry asked.
"Yeah," said Ginny. "Intentionally. She made me pretend I was"—and now, Harry could hear embarrassment coloring her tone a bright, sunset red—"well, I guess that doesn't matter. I just had to draw in deep breaths. And blow them out."
Harry tried it. After a few such breaths, the backs of his eyes stopped hurting.
"Did you go see her a lot?" Harry asked.
"No," said Ginny, shaking her head. "Just twice."
"Well, thanks," said Harry.
She turned slightly, so he could see her profile. "Yeah, any time," she said, lifting her shoulder. "I may have to go back to her a couple of times after we get back."
Harry chuckled, then took in three more deep breaths. "Maybe I'll go with you. All three of us can go. We'll make a party of it."
Ginny laughed outright, slanting him a glance. She was still smiling a moment later, but the nature of the smile changed. "Are you ready, do you think?"
"Yeah," said Harry, not so much nodding, but bobbing his head back and forth. His neck cracked. "Yeah, I guess I'm going to have to be… it's not like I can go hide in the mountains again."
"No, there are way too many Inferi in the mountains," said Ginny. "Well, I'm glad you're ready," she added, jerking her head toward the window. "Because the train's here."
Later, Harry would not know quite how he managed to slip into the Great Hall and find a seat at the Gryffindor table without his legs giving out on him. One, wild thought was that someone had jinxed him: his legs felt like they were made of jelly. But it was nerves making him clumsy and numb; no one knew him well enough in the 1970s to try to curse him. Get it together, he ordered himself. Once sat, he focused again on breathing, appreciating the scent of honeysuckle that kept wafting toward him whenever Ginny shifted. There must've been something in the bubbles, for he felt himself calm. His nerves eased. Feeling came back to his legs.
"Should we go over our story?" Ginny asked, just as they heard a distant bang. The doors were opened.
"Yeah," said Harry. "Maybe we better."
They were, of course, not attending Hogwarts these few days or even weeks as Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley. Between Sirius and Dumbledore — with some small help from Harry and Ginny —alternate identities had been chosen. Sirius was now Sol Black, a last son of a forgotten offshoot of the Black family. This was chosen over Ginny's good-natured protests; she'd wanted him to style himself Betelgeuse.
His two wards were Peverells, which was an old name Harry had chosen at random from a list.
"We're Harry and Ginny Peverell," said Harry. "Raised by Sol Black."
Ginny nodded, drumming her fingers against the table. "We've been home-schooled, mostly."
"Living out of the country," said Harry.
"In a bunch of different countries," added Ginny.
"Hopefully no one will ask too many questions," said Harry.
"Hopefully we won't be here long enough for anyone to see any holes in the story," said Ginny. The noise level was rising now, hundreds of voices could be heard, even though the Great Hall remained empty.
Harry blew out a breath he'd been holding, and sucked in another.
"LEAVE ROOM FOR THE FIRST YEARS!" A voice boomed above the noise.
Harry wiped sweaty palms on his robes once more.
Ginny was looking at him, steady and unsmiling. "You can do this," she said, very serious. "You've defeated a basilisk. You did the Tri-Wizard Tournament. You can do this."
Harry nodded. Before he could even form a reply, it was the doors of the Great Hall that banged open, and students streamed in, forming a thunderous delta that led to each of the four house tables. They laughed, talked, cajoled, and let out high, whinnying cries. The ghosts entered at almost the exact time, coming from the wall behind the head table, swirling around the podium, conferring with one another. Harry paid them hardly any attention at all; instead, he was scanning the faces of the entering students, looking for them.
It was Sirius he saw first: he sloped in, grinning, drawing the attention of more than one of the female students, who cleared a little path for him. Beside him was the short, round figure of Peter Pettigrew. Harry's stomach clenched as a wave of anger went through him: breath-taking in its unexpectedness. His scar, which had hurt hardly at all during his time in the past, twinged, as though stirring with the darkness of his thoughts.
Remus came along, then, sitting closer. He was the first to eye them, grey-brown eyes alive with curiosity. His mouth opened, as though to ask a question, but seemed to give it up when a fresh wave of noise rolled over them. Harry stared at him for a beat too long: curiosity turned to puzzlement. Remus furrowed his brow. But, just then, a cheerful gaggle of girls slid in, throwing their arms around him. Harry looked away.
His parents were the very last two to enter the hall.
This time, it was his stomach not his scar that twinged. An undefinable feeling swept over him; giving him a brief period of light-headedness. They look so young, he thought dimly. Of course they did. James Potter and Lily Evans were only seventeen, dressed in school robes. They both wore their Head Boy and Girl badges discreetly over their left breast. His father's badge was slightly askew, just like his square-rimmed glasses. Harry swallowed hard, watching them exchange an exhilarated sort of laughing look. Lily knocked her hip against James, then stepped lightly forward, shoulder-length hair swinging back and forth.
She sat on Harry's side, several people down. Harry fought the urge to lean back and keep looking. Instead, focused on his empty plate, breathed again, focusing on honeysuckle. James, unlike Lily, slipped in next to Remus; Harry had a rather good view of his father.
"Merlin," Ginny breathed beside him, "he does look like you."
"Not for the moment," Harry murmured.
It was true. It had been necessary to do so. This fact struck Harry anew, as he watched his father laugh with his friends, thin face smiling and open, hazel eyes bright, teeth white. Sirius said something Harry couldn't hear: James laughed harder. He and Harry were not mirror images of one another, but there was a definite resemblance. So Dumbledore had drawn magic upon him, drawing symbols onto his arm, explaining that it took work to maintain a disguise for longer than an hour or so. "We'll make up something more permanent," he'd promised that morning, "but for now, this will do. And we have you in your own room, so you won't have to worry about waking up looking, well, looking like yourself." So now Harry's chin was wider, his cheekbones more pronounced, and his eyebrows bushier. It had been strange to see such a different face in the mirror.
But now Harry was grateful for Dumbledore's skill at transfiguration. The resemblance would have been too much.
James caught him staring, tossed him a confident wave, then turned to Sirius.
Harry forced his gaze back to his plate just as the first years entered the room, filing forward, pale-faced and solemn. The thunderous noise quieted. Professor Dumbledore stood aside as Professor McGonagall set up the stool and floated the Sorting Hat atop it. Slowly, more and more students turned toward the front. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw his father nudge Sirius's attention forward be gripping Sirius's chin and physically turning his head.
Sirius, laughing and young, swatted James away.
"If I may have your attention, please. The Sorting is about to begin."
The hat seemed to bask in the mostly undivided attention of the students and faculty. It drew itself up to the top of its height. Despite Harry's awareness of the people seated nearer to him than they had since 1981, curiosity stirred. What would the Sorting Hat sing in this year, in this time, with Voldemort ascending?
The brim opened into a wide smile, and then:
Many many years before I was the Sorting Hat
There were four wizards of great renown
Who'd garnered great respect
Up and down the isles
They were known
For power, and vast conjuration.
A special talent each did own,
For that of education.
Brave Gryffindor, who brandished his sword
at all foes dark and deadly.
They trembled before that champion of old
As he swung so smooth and deftly.
Valiant and strong, he strode along
Unafraid of man or creature.
Bravery they cried, til the day he died,
Was his greatest feature.
Wisdom it was that gave
fair Ravenclaw her fame
A wisdom she gave freely
to all who laid a claim
A diadem that she enchanted
with her thoughts so wise
An object that would enrich
all those who devoted their lives.
Sweet Hufflepuff roamed the Isles.
She traveled coast to coast.
A golden cup she brought with her,
healing those who needed it most.
She relieved them of their maladies
For there was no one she disdained
She cared and looked after
All those she had claimed
And Slytherin was an enchanter
of great skill and mystery
He imbued his locket with dreams
and visions filled with mastery
And the hearts and minds of all he showed
those secret contents to
Found they could not banish
What they'd seen from their view
And so it was, at the height of their fame
these four friends came together
A school they'd planned
With plans so grand
Their intention for it to stand forever
"To teach to all everything we know"
Power, wisdom, healing and enchantment
Their most powerful vision did grow
The castle they built, and students were summoned
Each planned a brilliant path
To Gryffindor went those who were
daring, true and brave
To Hufflepuff went those who
didn't burn with rage
Ravenclaw offered her students
a riddle they wished to solve
And clever powerful Slytherin,
offered mystery and resolve
For the students, it was their job to choose,
what it was they valued most
Healing, wisdom, courage, or cunning
And this leads me to my post
to sieve your minds and see what I can find
So tradition won't be lost
Place me there upon your head
And I will then espouse
Exactly why I think you should
Be welcomed by your House
There was thoughtful, scattered applause. Harry could not help but note that not everyone even at Gryffindor's table were clapping.
"Sorting Hat got historical this year, eh?" he heard drift from down the table.
"As well it should," said James. He reached down, drawing an invisible sword. "What we wouldn't give to have Gryffindor's sword, eh?"
"Let us thank the Sorting Hat for yet another riveting song that we will strive to remember through the following school year." This was from Dumbledore, whose voice boomed above any other discussion. "Now, onto the Sorting!"
There was barely a moment's pause before Professor McGonagall said: "ABERNATHY, MALCOLM!" and the first of the first years trotted forward, face pale and pinched.
Harry clapped with the rest when Gryffindor acquired a new student, though his mind was still on the Sorting Hat's song. "Kind of a departure from last year's," he said in a low voice, just for Ginny's benefit. "It wanted us to work together… I'm surprised it didn't say anything about unity. It's even worse here than it was… you know."
Ginny gazed off over the sea of students; Harry knew she was staring off at the Slytherin table. "Maybe it knows they're all assholes," she said decisively.
"Like they weren't, you know, then?" Harry said.
The look she slanted him was warm and amused.
Once the sorting was done, and the feast appeared upon their plates, Harry's nerves returned, making it difficult to eat the sliced ham. Everything had a tinny taste; he hadn't even finished half of what was on his plate when he pushed it away. The rest of the time he spent with his head slightly bowed and his eyes half-closed, listening for the sound of his parents's voices over the din of students who had not seen each other in six long weeks.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Harry and Ginny were bolstered along by the other Gryffindor students, all stampeding for the Tower. "I know I'm going to have to do better than that," he said out of the corner of his mouth when they were trapped together on a moving staircase as it whisked them upward.
Her brows drew together. "What d'you mean?" she asked. Then, the wrinkles cleared. "Oh, with Nearly Headless Nick? Yeah, but you saved it," she said, shrugging. "I think you did fine."
A feeling a bit like puzzlement filtered through him. It was there and gone again. Harry thought he knew what had done it: "Your brother and Hermione would've been telling me off."
Her lips twisted into a wry smile. "If you haven't noticed by now I'm neither one of them, I don't know what to tell you."
Harry chuckled a little. Just then, the staircase ground to a halt, setting them flush against the level upon which they would find the Fat Lady. They'd caught up to the group ahead of them, who'd stopped to whisper among themselves beside an open classroom door. With another jolt — he was going to have to get used to those — he saw his mother there, an earnest expression on her face, leaning forward to listen to a petite blond who seemed on the verge of tears.
"—find him, Mary, I promise," she said.
"But what if he was r-run over by the carriages?"
"I promise he wasn't," said Lily. "Ferdinand has been lost before, hasn't he?"
"Yes, but not on the first day," said Mary. A tear rolled down her cheek. "He's usually a lot clingier while we travel… he doesn't like going back and forth — you know, from Muggle to Hogwarts."
"We'll find him," Lily promised again. "I'll tell the prefects to keep an eye out. We all know him, how many toads have got his rakish blue stripe." Then, with a suddenness that near stole Harry's breath, she turned to Harry, who only then realized he'd stopped to stare. "Are you two lost? You're the new students, aren't you? I can help… I'm the Head Girl—"
"She's Lily Evans," Mary informed them. "And she is the nicest."
"We are lost, in fact," said Ginny. "The staircases move!"
Harry slanted a look at her. The enthusiasm in her tone seemed unfeigned. He could not help being impressed: there was a tiny glimmer of mischief sparking in her brown eyes, mischief far more subtle than either of the twins could manage.
"Well, we can lead you, can't we, Mary?"
"Yes, but what about Ferdinand?"
"We'll look for him on the way," Lily promised.
The rest of the way to Gryffindor Tower they were treated to an enjoyable, though unnecessary, tour. Harry was warmed not by the commentary, but by the way Lily had adopted them.
"You two are Peverells, yes?" Lily asked once, throwing the question over her shoulder when they were nearly to the Fat Lady.
"Yes," Harry and Ginny chorused, giving one another a furtive, sidelong glance.
"Well, you've had family here at Hogwarts," said Lily, with a nice sort of smile, "so hopefully you'll feel at home in no time!"
"Wait — what?" said Harry, stumbling a little.
"We have?" asked Ginny.
"At least one and I think two Peverells have been heads of the school," Lily informed them.
"How d'you know that?" Mary asked, astonished. "No wonder you're Head Girl! What'd you do, memorize the list?"
"No, actually," said Lily. "I visited Godric's Hollow over the summer, right after — well, we decided we needed to hammer out the details of how we want this year to go, you know, as head boy and girl. And he mentioned it."
She was, Harry realized, talking about James. She had to be. Godric's Hollow… was that where he lived?
"He laid it out for you all the reasons why he deserved to be head boy, did he?" Mary was laughing. "Despite the fact he's never been prefect? And all the pranks he's pulled?"
"No! It wasn't like that." Lily was flushed now, looking rather younger than she had when she'd rescued them from the stairs. "We went for a walk in the cemetery—"
"The cemetery! Oh James, you're such a romantic!"
"It wasn't like that, I told you. It's a pretty place… Wizard and Muggle, all together. I was the one who wanted to see it… and he started telling me about them, the people there. The Potters came from them, the Peverells. Oh, give it a rest, Mary!" She tossed a glance back at Ginny, then Harry. "Come on, lets show the Peverells where the Tower is…"
"Fine, but I expect—"
"I know."
Harry, who had been enjoying himself, was disappointed when the rest of the walk to the Tower was done with Lily chattering on about the portraits and the moving stairs rather than whatever she'd done over the summer. When she pronounced "And here is the Fat Lady!" and spoke the password: "It's Violet!", Harry was even more disappointed.
But when the portrait hole opened, and they crawled through it, his disappointment evaporated. There stood James, as though waiting, with a very fluffy white cat in his arms. It had a crown on its head and a badge near hidden in the long fur. "Ah," said James, "there's Mummy!"
Lily started laughing. "James! What—"
"Nimue needed to reflect your new status," James said, with great importance. He made the cat wave at her. Then, in a high voice, "You may be the head girl, but I'm the queen."
Mary was giggling. Even Ginny huffed out a little laugh. When Harry looked at her, her eyes were dancing. It's funny, isn't it? Your parents? her eyes seemed to ask. Harry's lips twitched.
"Are you a queen now, Nimue?" Lily asked, voice now high and silly.
"We couldn't leave her out of the fun, could we?" James asked.
With great dignity, Nimue put her paw on James's face.
"I think her majesty might swipe you if you hold her much longer," said Lily, brushing her hair back, beaming.
James changed his grip, then made the cat walk on the air until placing her gently in Lily's arms. The cat butted her head against Lily's chin. For a moment, they stood there, beaming at each other; it might have been one of the moving pictures in Harry's book of them. His stomach squeezed; at that same moment, Ginny squeezed his arm, offering silent acknowledgment and comfort. His eyes caught hers again, laughter welling up between them.
"—the Peverells, aren't you?" James cut into Harry's thoughts.
"Uh—"
"Yeah," said Ginny, "we are."
"Well – welcome!" said James, spreading his arms. He looked around the mostly empty room. "There'd be more of a welcome, but it is quite late—"
"—everyone's preparing for a bit of a frolic tomorrow," said Lily, "as we don't have classes, since none of the professors want to start a term on a Friday. I'm sure you'll get a proper welcome—"
"It's no matter," said Harry. It was actually quite refreshing not to have heads turned to stare at him wherever he went in the wizarding world. "Honest… and I'm tired too," he said.
"Excellent," said Lily.
"And if you've got any questions, you can find one of us… and there are some prefects who can help you out, too; Lily, you remember the fifth year prefects?"
"Of course," said Lily, amused.
"Just ask any one of us," said James, swinging back around to Harry and Ginny.
They promised they would. A minute later, the common room was deserted but for the two of them.
"Well…" Ginny jerked her head toward the small hall that led to their rooms. "We should go… if we want to be ready to go have a frolic tomorrow."
There was not much to say to that. Instead, Harry nodded, and trailed after her toward his own room, thinking of the others, who had climbed the stairs to their dormitories. What would it have been like to sleep up there with them? Harry wondered, as he shut the door to his room. Then, as he dressed, he imagined it. His dad and Sirius bantering, Remus trying to quiet them down. The only discord was thinking of Pettigrew. Harry jerked his covers back and slumped into bed.
"It's not as though I'd've been in with them, anyway," Harry spoke aloud. Then, punching his pillow into the proper shape to sleep on, he forced thoughts of Pettigrew out of his mind.
There was a small chime from the mirror on his nightstand. Blearily, Harry squinted at it, but he was not much in the mood to talk to Sirius the elder. It went ignored until the chime dropped away. Harry hardly noticed, as he was deep, now, in reliving the moments just prior to his parents walking into the hall.
Sleep claimed him swiftly, holding him in its grip, and finally letting him go a little after six. Harry sat straight upright, wide awake from the moment his eyes opened, ready to move. His bedclothes were tousled and tossed about, wrapped around his legs, and it took a moment to disentangle himself and stagger to his feet, grabbing his glasses off the nightstand in the same clumsy gesture.
His mind was wide-awake and gibbering already. Restless energy had him tapping his foot while he brushed his teeth, bouncing up and down on his toes as he dressed, and then standing in the middle of his room, blinking, realizing he had dressed at top speed and now he was ready to go for the day much too early.
Maybe, a little thought occurred to him, as his gaze flicked from the pile of books on his desk to the broom propped up next to the wall, Ginny will want to fly. They hadn't been able to leave the castle until the other students were here, after all, just in case anyone was watching the grounds and saw two students there days before they were meant to be.
With conviction, he grabbed his broom and marched out of his room and down the hall.
Harry hopped a little from foot to foot, then knocked on her door. The rosy dawn still sent streaks of light outside the window; he was, it seemed, the only one awake in the whole of the Gryffindor Tower. There was a heavy, slumberous feeling in the air; it was weighted by the deep, even breaths of hundreds of students. He huffed out his own impatient breath and knocked again, this time louder.
When Ginny finally pulled open the door, she was rubbing her eyes and scowling a little.
"Want to go for a fly with me?" Harry asked. "I can't sleep anymore."
She wiped at her mouth, swaying on her feet. "Okay," she said, voice raspy. "Yeah. Give me ten minutes?"
The common room was cold and empty of everyone. Harry stood in front of the hearth, watching the glowing embers, ignoring the smoke that wafted upward and stung his eyes. A soft sound from behind him alerted him he was not alone; it was not Ginny, but his mother's cat, Nimue. It came padding into the room, mrowling at him. It leapt up on the back of a chair, staring at him unblinking.
"Where's your friend?" Harry asked in a whisper.
But it could not be distracted from its staring. Slowly, insolently, it raised its paw and licked it, being sure to show Harry its claws.
Remembering Crookshanks, he wondered if it was just a sense cats had.
"Morning," said Ginny, sliding into the room with her school robes on and her broom in her hand. "Oh! Hi, pretty kitty!" She bent over, grinning at the fluffy and aristocratic cat, holding her fingertips out to it. It turned away, haughty in a way Crookshanks was not. "Oh, not a friendly little fellow, are you?" she asked, still in a sweeter voice than usual. "That's okay."
"I think it's a girl," Harry put in, "its name is Nimue."
"Merlin's girlfriend?" said Ginny, straightening. "No wonder she's so proud. Ready?"
They spent the walk to the Quidditch pitch in mostly silence. It was a companionable sort; one of the things he appreciated about Ginny was that she let him mull things over. Hermione would not have stopped pestering him on his feelings – of course, he was feeling overwhelmed and near mad, he was living in the same Tower as his teenaged parents, whom he had never known. Ron would have tried to cheer up him up. But Ginny let him be.
In fact, it was Harry who broke the silence, just as they were pushing the doors open to go outside. The brisk air hit him, swirling cold around him. Harry lifted his broom a little, hefting it. It was much heavier than his Firebolt. "What sort of broom is this?" he asked, peering at the handle.
"They're the old Thundersticks," said Ginny. "My dad still has his old one, says he doesn't like how the newer models work."
"They're heavy," said Harry. "I'm glad you got one, too."
"Yes, I'm grateful." But then, her face pulled into a grimace, there and gone again.
"What is it?" he asked. "You don't like it?"
"No, I love it," she assured him quickly. "I'm grateful I have the broom; that was nice of Sirius."
"But?" Harry pressed.
"He got me exactly the same things that he got you," said Ginny.
Harry blinked at her.
"I mean, books and things," she said. Red crept into her cheeks. "And I know we're not going to be here long, it isn't that, I just – I'm going to make an absolute arse of myself."
"What?" Harry asked in surprise. "Why? What do books have to do with anything?"
"I don't take the same electives as you, for one," she said. The flush was spreading. "I don't know anything about Divination—"
"—to be fair, I don't either," Harry pointed out.
"I'm already behind a year, I'm not going to be at anyone's level." Her voice had dropped to a whisper. "I don't like… being behind everyone." Her shoulders slumped, dropping along with her voice. "It's silly, we're just going to be here for a few weeks, but I honestly hate making an arse of myself, especially in class, I'll just have to not talk or anything."
"I don't think you'll make an arse of yourself," said Harry. "Not in Defense, anyway; and if anyone thinks that, just summon your Patronus and have it charge them down." They were stopped now, on the hill about the Quidditch Pitch. "Sirius should have thought of that," he admitted. "Even though we aren't staying here very long, he should've asked what subjects you take."
"And," she said, rather fiercely, "I already have six brothers, none of whom are you. Make sure he knows that we aren't going to be pretending to be siblings."
"I think he was going for step-siblings," Harry said. "But I'll tell him."
"Step-siblings aren't much better," she muttered.
"I'll send him an owl this morning," he promised.
She sighed, tucking a strand of bright hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry," she offered, "I just feel like… I haven't made a single decision since deciding to go with you to the Ministry."
"You got us to Dumbledore," Harry pointed out. He hefted his broom over his shoulders, slinging his arms over it. "Which… I'm grateful for, by the way."
"You are?" she asked. "Really?"
"Yeah," he said firmly. "It just wasn't… safe, out there. I feel like I've got a weight off my shoulders, honestly…" And I get a chance to meet my parents.
Her eyes searched his. "What was it like?" she asked, as though reading his thoughts. "Meeting them?"
"So strange," he said, peering down at her. "It's hard to believe."
"Must be," she said, nodding. Their eye contact broke; her gaze drifted away, down toward the lake. When they returned to his, a sparkle of humor was there. "It was funny, seeing them together, and they aren't together, but we know they will be, don't we?"
"Yeah," said Harry, "as long as we don't fuck up too much, right?"
"Right," she said.
At nearly almost the same time, they started walking again. The sun had well and truly risen; it was most fortunate it was a Saturday, and classes hadn't properly started. How lucky it was they had two full days of weekend before they had to face going to their classes. With his eyes half-closed he could almost think himself home again, and he and Ginny were on their way down to the changing room, ready to start their first practice of the new year.
"Who do you think would be captain this year?" Harry asked. "You know – in 1996."
"I bet it'd be you," Ginny said tranquilly. "Dumbledore didn't pick you for prefect, I bet he'd do it for captain. Who better?"
"Ron?" Harry offered.
"He wishes," Ginny said with a laugh. "No, after Angelina, it's sure to be you."
Inside, Harry was pleased. Neither said anything the rest of the way.
They were just on the Pitch when, as Harry was preparing to mount his broom, Ginny gripped his arm. "Harry," she said in an urgent whisper. "Your dad's coming."
Harry whipped his head so fast his neck gave a painful little twinge. Up the hill were four figures heading their way, all in black; even from this distance, they seemed in exuberant high spirits.
"You're sure it's them?" Harry asked. Even with his glasses, he wasn't sure.
"Positive," said Ginny, letting go of him. "Your dad looks quite a lot like you… when you aren't in disguise."
An idea seized him then, filling him with a sort of glorious fervor. He looked down at his broom. Everyone remarked on how good a flyer he was; he'd been the youngest player for one of the Hogwarts teams in a century. What if – his first real impression on his dad was showing what he could do in the air. A wide smile split his face as he settled more comfortably against the room; he had not been this excited to get in the air since his first Quidditch match…
Then, without another thought, Harry kicked off and into the air, streaking upward.
It was pure freedom. As soon as Harry's feet left the ground, the burden he had felt since they had left Hogwarts in 1996 dropped away as swiftly as the grass. Flying always made him feel this way, weightless, uncomplicated… it was so easy up here. In wider and wider loops, he went round the Pitch, swerving in and out of the goal posts, soaring with great ease. The Thunderstick was not near as fast as the Firebolt; Harry did not need to slow down even a jot, but kept pressing forward, urging the broom on. He might've been flying for the Quidditch Cup — no, the World Cup.
It was that last thought that gave him the idea. Had the Wronski Feint even been invented yet? A glorious bit of excitement surged through him. There was no hesitation in him: once he got to the center of the Pitch, he tumbled forward into a steep dive. He thought he heard shouts coming from the ground, but they didn't matter… Harry knew what he was doing… he kept at it, until he could see the blades of grass on the ground rising swiftly up to meet him.
Of course, he pulled back at the perfect moment. The whole of his attention was focused on the handle of his broom, and jerking it upward at the perfect moment. But his ears were free to hear amazed shouts coming from two voices in particular, and he smiled.
It did not go wrong for him when, a few inches out of his dive, he gave the subtle shift that indicated to the broom that he wished to slow down. But the Thunderstick ignored him in a way that no broom ever had. Surprised, Harry shifted again, more firmly, but he continued upward, streaking higher and higher.
"HARRY!" shrieked Ginny, when he shot passed her. "WHAT'RE YOU DOING?!"
"CAN'T STOP THIS THING!" Harry shouted back. But by then he had left her behind, and he did not think she heard him. Calm down, he told himself. But it was difficult not to panic, not with the way he could not slow, and now the broom was shaking in his hands, vibrating intensely. Harry pushed it into another circle around the Pitch, trying everything he could to stop, swaying from one side to another, trying to ignore how every second made the broom vibrate harder.
Then, a wild thought occurred to him, and he pressed into a dive once more, not as steep, but one that would bring him closer to the ground. He could roll off, and—
Still thirty feet up, the Thunderstick cracked into pieces. Harry could do nothing more than grab for his wand before he was plummeting downward, head first, headed straight for a cluster of pale-faced teenage boys, two of whom he had most desperately wanted to impress—
"I think he's coming around."
"Shh, he's still wincing, mate. I think he hit his head pretty hard."
"Lucky his sister was there!"
"It's not like that-"
Harry's eyelashes were gummed to each other and would not allow him to open them. He recognized Ginny's voice. What had happened? Where was he?
"No, I think he is waking up!"
"Merlin! I'll tell Madame Pomfrey."
With a grunt, Harry relaxed. He was in the hospital wing, and this was not much of a surprise. What was a surprise were the faces at his bed side: when he blinked his eyes open, they swam in his view: bleary though they were, he recognized all of them, all with pale concern writ over their faces. Even Ginny's face was set hard and white.
"What happened?" he rasped out.
"Crashed your broom," said Sirius. "Happened right in front of us, mate. I reckon it was James's spell slowing you down that saved your life."
Harry remembered a flash of pearly white light. "My broom wouldn't stop."
"Sure," said Pettigrew, stepping forward. "Maybe if you—"
James cleared his throat. "What we mean to say is that we're glad you're all right!" He looked from Harry to Ginny, then back to Harry again. "Your sister almost crashed, as well, but we managed to stop her in time." His brow drew downward in puzzlement. "Was that your first time on a broom? Because—"
"No!" said Harry and Ginny together. "It wasn't," Harry said hastily. His cheeks began to burn. Of all his luck! To have a faulty broom the first time he flew in front of his father. "Wait, you said Ginny almost crashed, too?"
"Yeah," said Ginny, brushing long red hair out of her face. "Those specific brooms are new… we hadn't ridden them before."
"The Thunderstick?" Sirius asked, sitting forward. "Perhaps it's too much of a broom."
"I don't think so," Ginny said quellingly. There was a moment or two of silence following that; the boys all looked at each other, small grins and elbows flashing outward, clearly thinking the broom had been too much for them.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and pressed backward on the bed. Or all the damn times to have an accident on a broom – and it wasn't even due to anything dangerous, just a faulty braking mechanism, he hoped! – it had to have been in front of his father and his friends.
"Well, Peverells," said James, cheerfully, "I think Master Peverell here will be just fine… we've got to get onward—"
"—and upward," said Sirius.
"If you need anything… you two are to take Divination this year, yes?" said James.
"As I haven't got any of the texts for Ancient Runes or Care of Magical Creatures, yes," grumped Ginny.
James looked askance at her. "Do you not already have—"
"James, come on," Pettigrew said, impatient, tugging at his robes.
Harry bit his tongue.
"Well, we'll see you," said James, glancing at Ginny. "If you need anything, just come find me or Lily Evans… or any of the prefects—"
"—like me!" offered Remus.
"Not like me," said Sirius.
Then they swaggered out, arms around each other, already laughing. Squirming, Harry hoped they weren't already laughing at him… they weren't even out the door yet! They could at least do him the dignity of waiting until they were out the doors. Remus looked behind him, smiling, and then the doors were shut and the rowdy tones of the four friends was cut off as abruptly as though it were snipped.
"You carried that off well," said Ginny.
"Really?" asked Harry.
"Clearly," said Ginny.
"What really happened?" said Harry, after looking all around the hospital wing, making sure they were alone.
"Dunno, Harry," said Ginny. "I didn't see any spells, nothing. And Madam Pomfrey checked over the broom. She didn't—"
But Ginny never finished her sentence. There was a loud knock on the window, just beside Harry's cot, and he saw a flashy, silvery object just outside it. It continued to throw itself against the window: not hard enough to break it, but hard enough the knocks resounded through the room. He shoved his glasses back up his nose where they'd slipped down.
"I know what that is," he muttered. Pulling the sash, he opened it enough that the small, hand-held mirror swept inside. It zoomed over his head, circling around, letting out a small chime until Ginny caught it in her left hand and passed it off to Harry.
"I think it's for you," said Ginny.
"I know," said Harry. At first, all he saw in the mirror was his own reflection: Well. It wasn't quite his reflection, but Harry Peverell's, who was rather more square than Harry was. It took tapping his wand against the glass before it rippled. Mist formed upon the face; when it cleared, it no longer showed Harry, but Sirius, eyes grave and mouth down-turned.
"What's happened?" he asked.
"I was flying, and my broom broke apart," said Harry. "Where are you?" There was little definitive that could point at Sirius's location: the walls behind him were a generic cream.
"I've found a spot to lay low," said Sirius, "and look for Dorcas Meadowes. Harry. I know you're in the hospital wing… what's happened?"
"So," said Sirius, his reflection shimmering, "what happened with the broom?"
"I've no idea," said Harry. Then, with a great deal of annoyance, as the pain in his head was fading, he told Sirius everything, ending with: "and then I couldn't stop."
"Nor could I," said Ginny.
"Both of you?" Sirius asked, astonished.
"Yeah," said Ginny. Her brow knit. "Do you think someone hexed both our brooms?" she asked.
Sirius's image rippled, disappearing from view for a full five seconds. When he returned, his image was grainy and oddly colored. "Listen," he said, all alert and unsmiling. "I think I've found another waymarker… I've got to go."
"But where are you?" Harry asked again.
"Somewhere in the middle," Sirius said.
"That's not good enough!" Harry burst out, angry all at once. His head, wrapped in its bandage, gave a great throb. "I have — Ginny and I have got a lot going on with being away from our own time and back in your time—"
"—it's not my time anymore—"
"—it's more your time than ours," Harry said, stubborn. "We can't even fly, Sirius. And you and Dumbledore just pat us on the heads and tell us hardly anything at all. I want to know what you're doing to get us home."
"I understand your frustration," said Sirius. His words distorted, coming out garbled. "I'll help with the broom, there are a couple of things—"
The mirror went blank again. Harry shook it, handed it to Ginny, who also shook it and shouted Sirius's name.
He appeared again. "—should be in a spot where we can have a better chat Monday. Same time?"
Harry traded a glance with Ginny. "All right," he said, reluctantly. Mostly, he wished Sirius were there so Harry could shake him until answers fell out of his mouth. "Monday? After classes?"
But Sirius did not — or could not — reply. The mirror went blank for the final time. Ripples traveled outward from the center until his and Ginny's reflections appeared, both of them pale: Harry's still unfamiliar face was pinched in from the pain that radiated outward from where he'd landed on his head.
The bed shifted as Ginny slid from it. "I'm going to let you get some rest, Harry," she said as she smoothed his blanket. Her fingertips brushed against his thigh, causing an odd swoop in his stomach that he thought might be due the the potions he'd taken. He grunted something; she tossed him a wave and a "see you later, Harry". Then she was gone the same way his father and his friends were, disappearing down the ward and out the heavy double doors.
Harry rolled over onto his side, punching his pillow, and bending his arm under it.
At least his time in 1977 could only get better from here.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
The much younger Madam Pomfrey did not let Harry out until Monday morning; she muttered as she did so, eyeing him up and down, complaining of Quidditch injuries, brooms, and inevitably bad flying conditions due to Scottish weather. Harry finally made his escape toward the end of breakfast. By the time he got to the Gryffindor table, there was only one piece of toast and a few scraggly bits of eggs. Spying a spoonful of beans down the way, Harry scooped it up, eating half sat on the bench, aware that everyone else was shoving their timetables into their knapsacks and making their steady way to the door.
Harry already had his schedule for the next weeks; Dumbledore had drawn it up for him himself, and Harry had memorized it. His first class was Divination, and it would be the first class he'd had in six years that did not include Ron.
The last of the eggs dribbled from his spoon as a flash of pain gripped his stomach in a vise and just as suddenly let it go. Harry let his silverware clatter as he threw himself from the table and into motion. And besides, he reminded himself, this isn't permanent. Soon, Sirius would find Dorcas Meadowes and they would be steered into the direction of home. He forced out a chuckle — under his breath, rather than alarm the students streaming around him. He would soon be reunited with Ron and Hermione. And —in the meantime — Harry had Ginny.
Pushing aside his thoughts of the future, he began craning his neck, looking for a spot of bright red hair, the sort that stood out against the unrelenting black of school robes. As much as she wasn't looking forward to it, they had Divination together in the next few minutes. He whirled around, thinking he caught a flash of two red heads disappearing around a corner together, but they'd gone in the opposite direction of the North Tower.
Harry pulled out his timetable, checking it again, before shoving it into his pocket. Where had she been going? If that had been her? If she—
Hands clapped in front of his face.
"Oi! Over here!"
Harry, who had been standing in the center of the hall, staring after Ginny, looked around. There were James, youthful Sirius, and Pettigrew, standing next to Sir Cadogan's portrait, all waving at him. This time, his leap of excitement was dull: Harry hoped this meant he would get over making a cake of himself in front of his teenage father.
"What's up?" he ventured cautiously.
Pettigrew made a sweeping gesture, clicked his heels together, and pointed upward. "The roof!" he caroled. "The roof is up!"
Sirius nudged him in the ribs.
"Professor McGonagall's sent me your schedule," James said briskly, gripping his shoulder, and turning him in the opposite direction.
"Oh? I was just heading to—"
"Divination, yeah, I know," said James, giving him a friendly sort of smile. He gestured at Sirius and Pettigrew. "We're in it, too—"
"But aren't you a seventh year?" Harry interrupted.
"Yeah, the NEWT classes are too small for Divination to break up sixth and seventh years," said Sirius. He peered around Harry. "Where's your sister?"
"Uh," said Harry. His sister?
"She's been smuggled off to Ancient Runes with Lily," said James.
"She – oh, Ancient Runes?" asked Harry.
"Yeah, they'll have it together," said James.
"That's too bad," said Pettigrew, sighing a little. "She would've been a sight cheerier than this fellow."
Ugly annoyance clawed at his insides, there and gone again. The others looked at him curiously. To cover the moment, Harry said, hastily: "What were you going to tell me? About Divination?"
"Oh!" said James. "Right. Old Bones sent round a message a bit ago… they must not have told him he's got another student… but we're meeting by the Forbidden Forest for today's lesson. You can follow us, it's right where the forest meets the lake."
Harry had a shrewd idea he knew exactly where that was, but he allowed them to think he was new to Hogwarts. He followed a bit behind the three of them. The shock of seeing his dad was wearing off, he was pleased to note. This is just how it's going to be until we figure out how to get back, he told himself. Pettigrew, inexplicably, was now jumping straight up and down, using James and Sirius's shoulders to launch himself higher. In truth, it was harder to see the man who had betrayed his parents to their deaths looking so young and carefree… no wonder the older Sirius had not wanted to be here. Of course he'd needed to prepare himself.
"What's got you so quiet back there, Peverell?" Sirius tossed back at him.
"I'm thinking of the future," Harry said honestly.
"Good thing you're on your way to Divination," said James.
And they were there, less than five minutes later, at a small spit jutting out into the fractious waters of the Black Lake. The forest had reached a finger down to touch the lake: it was an overgrown tangle of fallen trees and logs soaked with damp. Thick green moss grew everywhere. There, beside the dangling roots of a fallen tree was an old man, sitting cross-legged on a wildly-colored carpet that floated waist high in the gloam.
"Professor!" called Sirius. "Your fortune-telling forgot to let you know you'd have a new student this year!"
"In fact," said the old man, "I knew perfectly well that Mr. Peverell would be joining us and his sister would not."
"Um…" said Harry. "But she—"
"Ginny's gone to Ancient Runes. Harry was gadding about, but we caught him. He was about to head up to the classroom," said James, with stifled laughter. "You could have told him as well as us."
This time, the old man opened his eyes. "I knew you'd catch him," he said portentously, "I sought merely to give the Head Boy a bit of work to do."
The three others laughed at that.
The professor stood from his flying carpet and snapped his fingers. It rolled up and tied itself with a silvery tassel, giving a little bow when it was done.
"Is that—"
"Yes, it's a flying carpet," said James. "Old Bones thinks that what the Ministry does not know will not hurt it." There were more chuckles as the others laughed. Harry looked from his father to the professor and back again.
"Everyone calls me Old Bones," the professor said cheerfully. "If someone calls me professor, I'd not know who they were talking about. Been called that since I was about fourteen."
"Old Bones here is a bit of a prodigy," said Sirius. "You had your first prophecy recorded at the Ministry at – what? Fifteen?"
"Fourteen," said Old Bones, without a trace of modesty. "I was fourteen."
Harry forced himself to swallow. "Prophecy?" he said, cautious. "At the Ministry?" In his mind's eye, he saw towering shelves filled with glowing baubles. There had been one there with Harry's name on it. His ears burned.
"Eh," said Old Bones, "our Ministry records every prophecy made, whether it's a bit of weather working like we're going to do today, or if it's the complex sort, like the predictions of the Seer, Tycho Dodonus. They're hoping if they get enough of them, they'll finally understand the soul of Divination and be able to use it for their ends."
"Only hoping to?" asked Harry.
"Bah," said Old Bones, "those bats haven't got a bit of poetry in their souls. Divination's all about rhyme and resonance – they're all tone deaf at the Ministry, bless them." Then, clapping his hands together, he said: "This leads perfectly well into today's lesson. Today, you'll be learning the music of frogs."
"Their entrails?" Pettigrew asked, eager.
"Of course not," Old Bones said in a hard voice. "As we have discussed last year, we don't perform that sort of divination at Hogwarts."
"I… forgot," said Pettigrew.
Inside, Harry was feeling quite warm toward Old Bones.
"Today, we will be attempting to predict when the great autumn storms will roll over Hogwarts," Old Bones announced. "While it's true that my knees will tell me if one gets too close, the frogs can tell us further out. Dumbledore himself asked for an almanac, so lets do our best, shall we?"
"But—"
"Take out your wands and I'll teach you the art of singing with frogs – better known as batrachomancy. You'll want to remember that for your NEWTs. Need me to spell it?"
"Professor," said Harry, after a few more "corking!" from Old Bones. "What we're doing today… that's not going to be recorded in the Ministry, is it? In the Hall of Prophecy?"
"No, it won't," he said. "And call me Old Bones. 'Professor' makes me think of my aunt, and she was a deeply unpleasant woman'"
"Alright, Old Bones," Harry said, awkward with it.
"And no… what we do today will not be recorded in the Hall of Prophecy. These are predictions… our friends are predicting a storm rising up around Halloween, see, remember how loud they were toward the end? They are attuned to rain and wind, being frogs. But it's not a prophecy, not exactly, it's more a glimpse at a pattern."
"But what—"
"What's the difference?" Old Bones smiled at him, his tuft hair quivering. "The future's got to be cornered. Lads, I haven't told you this, you'll want to listen up." The others looked over from where they were shepherding the fist sized frogs. Old Bones did not draw his wand, but rather hefted a stick and drew a point in the damp earth. "It's one of the principles of prophecy that for a real, true one to be spoken, we need three omens or portents together. This is why there is so much diversity… those who devote themselves to the art will — all in one day — use runes, use tarot, use tea leaves, and any number of other less well-known arts of divination, all in the attempt to 'corner' the future and place boundaries around it."
"Boundaries around the future?" James asked in disbelief.
"Bah," said Old Bones, with a wave of his hand, "it's an imprecise explanation. Perhaps better to say it places boundaries around a certain segment of the future. Picture it a painting or tapestry done so small and with such complexity that you cannot make sense of the whole of it. You draw a triangle and magnify one small part, magnify it enough that you can see that sliver of the whole and understand it." He frowned. "Every bit of divination helps bring it into focus. Understand?"
"Erm," said Harry, "I guess."
"Can you use more than three?" Sirius asked.
"Of course," said Old Bones. "Seven and thirteen are preferred in higher workings. Our friend, Tycho Dodonus, did thirteen predictions prior to every stanza he wrote. And he was widely considered the best Seer of my contemporaries. He was a corking good one." Then he clapped his hands. "Gather those frogs, boys!"
Harry kept quiet, mind working swiftly, as they hurried to find all the frogs and toads he could. At last, he held two in each hand, and he settled them together within the circle Old Bones had drawn. One of them, Harry noticed, had a streak of daring blue down its back.
"Was someone looking for a toad with blue on it?" Harry asked, directing the question toward James.
His dad looked around, eyes widening. "Ferdinand! Mary's going to be happy to see you!"
"Put him in with the others," Old Bones advised. "You can retrieve him when we're done."
"He'll like that," James chuckled.
By the end of the lesson, Harry had a firmer understanding of Divination than he ever really had before. The frogs began singing almost immediately after Old Bones started playing the strangely shaped instrument. Harry hummed along with the rest, watching as the bigger, fatter toads congregated at the back, while the smaller ones pushed their way to the front. All they while, they sang along… until the tune changed. The lighter ones sang faster and faster, hopping up and down at common intervals. All the others were silent as the little ones sang their refrain again and again. The middling sizes occasionally joined in for a brief frill or two—
And then the big ones opened their mouths, flattening the others in front of them, their voices ringing out like gongs. As though they summoned the rain, a light sprinkle broke over them. Cold droplets dripping down his arms, Harry swiped them off. All of a sudden, the big ones broke off, leaving the song for the small ones. But not for long… three more times, the great ones broke in, bellowing their own contribution. Harry had given up humming long ago: the frogs were no longer shy, if they had ever been. James had given up as well, while Sirius sang in a steady baritone, a nice counter to Peter's shrill high notes.
At last, Old Bones stopped, letting the fat instrument fall to his side. There was sweat dripping down his face. "Now," he said, after a moment, "tell me, what did you hear? You — Peverell. What did you hear?"
"Um," said Harry, "the little ones sang a lot… the big ones not so much."
"Think of it as a pattern," Old Bones urged. "How many times did our big boys jump in?"
"Four times?" Harry questioned. "Yeah, four times. And two of them were close to each other…"
"Two storms back to back," said Old Bones. "Some time in the future… certainly it wasn't this month. Mr. Black, if I'd wanted to know the exact days the storms would be hitting Hogwarts, what other tool of Divination would I use?"
Sirius grinned. "A calendar?"
"Well, I know it's not tea leaves," said James.
Old Bones appeared used to their high spirits. "Mr. Black, if you will…?"
"You would use sticks, long ones and short ones, long to show months and short to show days," said Sirius, rather matter-of-factly, sitting forward.
"How right you are, you bright star," said Old Bones. "But Dumbledore does not expect students to provide his almanacs for him. I'll throw the sticks ones I've dragged myself back up to the tower he insists on keeping me in."
"You love your tower," Sirius retorted. "And you'll unroll your flying carpet the second we've turned our backs… you're not walking all that way."
"Maybe Peverell can borrow it sometime," Peter suggested, beaming at James and Sirius. "You should see him on a broom, Professor…"
A few minutes later, James nudged him. "He didn't mean it," he said. "Peter was just as properly impressed as the rest of us… I've never seen a dive like that! I'd like to see you on a broom you've used before—"
Old Bones clapped loudly. "You may pack up your things, but you'll listen when I've assigned your work. Divination by way of frogs does not only yield weather results. I want two inches on the other purposes of batrachomancy… no, no, don't moan, it's hardly anything at all! Our friends"—he gestured at the frogs now lazily hopping back to whichever burrows and trees they had come from—"deserve a bit more effort from us, don't you? After the concert they've just performed for us?"
Harry laughed with the rest of them, but loitered about with his bag, allowing them to walk on ahead without him.
"Harry, do you have a moment?" Ginny stood in front of the door to her small room, hands clasped in front of her.
"Yeah, of course," said Harry.
"Whoa!" The young Sirius Black let out a whistle. "Look! The Peverells have got their own rooms?"
"Dumbledore set us up with it," said Ginny, now folding her arms.
"Why's that?" James asked, peering around her.
"I'm not sure," she lied coolly.
"And you?" Sirius asked. "You've got your own room? I assumed you were with the other sixth years, but—"
"I wish I had my own room," announced Pettigrew. "Remus snores like a beast."
"Maybe keep trying to work that silencing charm," James said calmly.
"You'll sleep like a baby," Sirius assured him.
"But Dumbledore really has you two off on your own?" James had returned to the matter at hand. Harry found himself pinned by his father's curious gaze. There was still a friendliness there in the hazel gaze, but something warier as well.
"Yeah," Harry said. His thoughts bottle-necked for a second before he pulled out an explanation. "He said it'll be better since everyone knows each other, said it'd be easier to get to know people."
"I myself think it's easier to get to know people if I'm not living apart from them," announced Sirius. He chuckled a little. "That's Dumbledore for you. He has his mysterious ways."
"Exactly," muttered Ginny.
The others loitered on a bit more. Harry, scratching at the back of his neck, waited for them to leave. They finally did after a couple of minutes of caught glances, awkward laughs, and comments that fell away as quickly as they were spoken. It had been a long day, some of it confusing, and Harry needed to find out what Ginny needed from him.
"Well…" James said finally, "I see we're not about to get anything out of you two—"
"Too right," said Ginny, "because there isn't anything. We've just got our own rooms, that's all."
"Suuuure," Sirius drawled out.
"You don't have to believe me," said Ginny, perfectly poised.
"Ah, c'mon," said James, cheerily, slinging his arm over Sirius's shoulders,, "they aren't going to give anything up. Let's go make Remus a happy, ah, boy and get our homework started."
Then, laughing and teasing, they finally left them alone, marching into the common room and flinging down their bags.
"Harry?" Ginny said softly, after Harry had stared at them a while.
"Right," said Harry, blinking, "yeah. What is it?" His words were hollow in his own ears. "Sorry," he said, "I was surprised not to see you in Divination… how was your class."
A smile softened her expression: it was there and gone again. "Lily heard about what happened… at breakfast this morning, she plopped an extra textbook on the table in front of me, told me I was coming with her, and that was that. I didn't have time to warn you…"
"Oh," said Harry surprised, "that's… that was nice of her, wasn't it? Percy wouldn't have done that, would he?"
The smile stayed this time. "Yes," said Ginny. "She's very nice." Then, jerking her head, she said: "it's almost time to talk to Sirius. Remember?"
Harry stared at her, mind somehow — at the very same time — both very full and very blank, like he was blinded and walking through a room crowded with furniture. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her to tell him if she was going to disappear on him again. That was only courteous, wasn't it?
"Have you got the mirror?"
"Oh, yeah," said Harry, "let me go get it."
Five minutes later, he was cross-legged on the floor of Ginny's room, back against the bed, staring down at Sirius's reflection. "You told us you'd tell us more tomorrow," he accused.
"I said if I knew any more," said Sirius. There was only blackness behind him, with a hint of tree branches. He was in a forest somewhere. Harry wondered if it was their forest, the Forbidden Forest, or if he was elsewhere in Britain, tracking a woman who was so hard to find Harry scarcely found it believable: a part of him remained certain that if Sirius just sent her an owl…
"So what is it with her?" Ginny asked. Her hair swung over Harry's own shoulder, the soft strands tickling his ear in a way that was surprisingly pleasant. "Why's she so hard to find?"
"And it seems awfully dangerous… isn't she an ally of Dumbledore's?" Harry put in.
Sirius's reflection wavered. "She is… it's difficult to explain. At first, she was a correspondent with Grindelwald, before… everything. They had similar lines of interest. But when he revealed his true nature, she was, of course, appalled. This is just what I've heard, mind you. He targeted her family, she learned about that through a… special gift she has for seeing the future. And she's been on the move ever since."
"To keep them safe?" Ginny asked. "She took them with her?"
"No… I believe most of them died," Sirius said gently.
Harry shared an appalled look with Ginny.
"Grindelwald was just as ruthless as V—"
"Don't say the name!" Harry said, half a beat after Ginny.
"Right," said Sirius. "He was just as ruthless as that snake. Perhaps even… no, I wouldn't say moreso. But I think Dorcas Meadowes had one surviving family member, and she's very protective. First, I've got to get a message to her, then I have to…"
"Convince her?" Harry suggested.
"Yeah," said Sirius. "Dumbledore offered to help, but…"
There was a small silence after that. Harry shifted. He and Ginny had been sitting very closely since they started talking to Sirius, and it was only now that he realized how close, now that he imagined he could feel her displeasure at Sirius remaining stubbornly aloof from Dumbledore. She had been a warm weight against his side: now he imagined her anger was rising.
"I've left her notes at a couple of waymarks," Sirius said, almost defensive.
Harry shifted again.
"Well… enough about that, how has it been for you?" asked Sirius.
"It's been… odd," admitted Harry. "The hardest is…"
"Wormtail?" Sirius suggested.
"Well, yeah," said Harry. A headache began in his temples. The pain in his arm came to the forefront of his awareness; its throbbing along with that in his head were sharp, stinging reminders that he had floundered in front of his father. "It's just…"
"Odd," Ginny said firmly. "It's beyond odd. I've a class with Harry's mother."
"You do?" Sirius said, surprised. "Which one?"
Ginny cleared her throat a little. "I didn't have the book, but — I thought I would go on with Ancient Runes. Like I was at — in 1996."
"You just got her the books for the classes I was taking," Harry told him.
"Lily got me into a class I'm more familiar with," said Ginny.
"Oh, shit," said Sirius. "Sorry, Ginny… I didn't even think…"
"It's okay," she said, "it's not like we'll be staying much longer, is it? I just didn't want to make an arse of myself for the few weeks we're here…"
"Right, yeah, but still… Lily got you sorted, then?"
"Yeah," said Ginny, looking Harry directly in the eye.
And it was then, precisely then, that Harry felt an astonishing urge to linger here, for just a bit longer, to see if Old Bones's precise brand of divination worked, to see the storms the frogs were singing about, and to observe his parents as teenagers. He did not voice this thought: He did not think Ginny, especially, would appreciate it, not when she had her own family to return to. But even after they ended the charm on the mirror that allowed them to speak to Sirius, said their good nights, and Harry was alone in his small room once more, guilt and anticipation warred within him.
What other opportunity would he have to observe his parents, who were no longer among the living in Harry's proper time? He would not intrude on their lives, but he could observe, couldn't he? A passive bystander would not change the past very much, and Harry was confident he could toe that line. And he would get to know his parents in a way he had never been able to while they lived.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Author's Note: Phew. This chapter, it is finally finished. I hope you enjoyed the Sorting Hat song – that is a product of blood, sweat, tears, and a large help from BlueRobin who helped me find some sort of "meter" and "rhyme". (I had tried to rhyme. She could not find my rhymes. LOL.) So this is the first chapter of an arc, almost all of it is written! So the next chapters will come fairly fast. Please forgive any and all errors, and please review!
Also, I saw Cursed Child yesterday and it was awesome and I'm so tempted to buy a plane ticket to London RIGHT NOW in order to see the play in two parts. In San Francisco, it's just the one. But still, really just an amazing spectacle, and I am profoundly impressed by the practical affects they were able to achieve (the Dementors were genuinely terrifying).