The letter had been the start of his sour mood. It had come on a Friday morning – no doubt Hedwig had flown the entire night; she had looked utterly exhausted as she had landed before his plate of eggs and bacon. Her blinks had been slow, her breathing heavy and she had been teetering dangerously from side to side.
He had never seen his small familiar in such a state – usually she would make at least one stop on her journey to and from Nottinghamshire.
He had immediately poured a small goblet of water for her, and Hermione had scooped the bird into her lap. Poor Hedwig had been so tired, she had fallen asleep in his friend's lap, the bushy haired girl idly stroking her soft feathers with the backs of her fingers.
Neville, who had been sitting on his left, with Hermione on his right, had leaned over his shoulder and seen the state of Hedwig. His shocked gasp had drawn the attention of Daphne and Tracey, who had instantly leapt from their bench and hurried over, sitting down opposite the Gryffindor Trio.
Some of the House of Gryffindor had objected to the Slytherin Duo sitting among them, though they had been ignored easily. All focus had been on the exhausted owl in Hermione's lap. Daphne had taken one look at the owl and immediately began to cut up slices of bacon into small chunks. Tracey, on the other hand, had darted over to Hagrid, who had been at his usual up at the teachers table.
The gentle giant had wasted no time in joining them, kneeling on the flagstone floor of the Great Hall, and gently examined the bird. She hadn't been injured, thankfully – just exhausted. A good day or two of rest, and she would be right as rain, he had said.
It was during the giant's examination that Harry had noticed the note tied to her left leg. With gentle fingers, Harry had removed it and unrolled it between his fingers. Hagrid had departed shortly after that, his heavy steps heading back to his breakfast.
The parchment was small and stained with ink – it had every appearance of having been written quickly in Sirius's messy scrawl.
Harry's eyes had darted left to right three times, having to re-read it twice to make sure he understood what had been said. Like that, Harry had been left with a dozen or more questions, and a sense of disappointment of having to stay at the school over the holiday break.
Originally, the plan had been to have Daphne and Neville stay with them at Blackwall – it would have been the longest visit that either of them had ever had, and they had all been excited. Daphne had planned out which books she would devour from the Black Library, while Neville couldn't wait to wander the extensive gardens in the middle of winter.
Harry had just been excited to have his friends nearby.
Hermione and Tracey had plans of their own – Tracey had a holiday with her parents booked in the Alps, and Hermione had her parents to return to in Reading. Likely, his two newest friends would only have the opportunity to visit Blackwall over the summer break.
As a result, on the day that everyone was set to leave, his four friends had found him buried in a stack of books in the Library, going over the different uses of Charms in Defence Against the Dark Arts. If he was to be stuck in the school, he may as well be productive while he was there.
Professor McGonagall had awarded him points for being productive and proactive with his studies. Harry had accepted the points grudgingly – he would much rather spend the holiday in the company of friends and family, sitting around a table with a full belly from Woopy's cooking. What had the enthusiastic Elf planned for this year? A bird? Pork? Beef?
He could still remember the sight of the previous year's meal – the smell of the turkey wrapped in streaks of bacon, and the skin a crispy gold brown. His stomach rumbled loudly from his corner in the Library, and with how empty the castle had been over the last few days, he wouldn't be surprised if Madame Pince came over to tell him to keep it down.
The Library had become his refuge. He would wake early in the morning, break his fast in the Great Hall – one of only five Gryffindors left in the castle, and then meander his way to his favourite corner amongst the bookshelves.
He had found the table in the second week of the term – it was a small nook hidden amongst the last row of bookshelves before the Restricted Section. It was a moderate sized oak table, with scuffs and smears from years of students having sat here and was nestled in front of a large window.
The weather had been awful in the time since his friends had left – almost as if it were trying to match his glum mood. The soft pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the thin glass was a steady rhythm to his reading, and he found himself losing track of time.
As it was, his current book was absolutely fascinating – Applications of Spiritual Magic. There was something about the way it was written, the way the words flowed into one another seamlessly that he found utterly enthralling.
He had never heard of Spiritual Magic before – of course, he knew of Elemental witches and wizards – those who had an affinity for certain elements. He also knew some basic Rituals and had even experienced the Family Magic first-hand at Arpton Keep.
If he understood the, admittedly advanced, text, Spiritual Magic was most associated with Seers and Prophets – those witches and wizards with a unique connection to the wild, chaotic magic of the world.
The applications were obscure for the most part – many of them being jobs he knew nothing about, or had never heard of before, but there was one entry that caught his eye: Curse-Breaker.
Harry had heard of Curse-Breakers, though only in passing conversation between Arcturus and Sirius. They were witches and wizards who spent their lives diving into tombs and making them safe – most commonly for Gringotts. More recently, he had overheard Ron Weasley spinning tales of his eldest brother, one William Weasley, who was apparently living in Egypt as one.
The idea sounded fascinating, and so full of adventure! He could imagine himself leaping into a tomb and tearing down Wards and Curses that had been in place for thousands of years. There would be some great treasure at the end, and a final trap – something that would make his escape daring and death-defying. He let out a quiet sigh and propped his head on his hand – it was a nice dream, he supposed.
The sad reality was that he would likely never be able to find a profession he could enjoy. If his parents were still alive, he may have had a few years to enjoy a short career, but inevitably he would have to leave it behind when he took up leadership of the Potter family.
As he was the only living heir to the family, it meant that the responsibilities that came with it would fall squarely on his shoulders when he came of age. He would graduate Hogwarts and likely become the youngest member of the Wizengamot in this generation – and that wasn't even considering the responsibilities with the Capitol.
It would have been nice to find something he could enjoy for a few years. There were so many professions out there in the world – which would have suited him best? The life of an Auror sounded interesting – chasing down Dark Wizards and delivering justice. Teacher? He liked the idea of passing on what he had learned – could he have taught in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts? There were so many possibilities.
He sighed again and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. Perhaps teaching at Hogwarts wasn't the best of ideas in any event. Ever since Halloween, students had been quietly distancing themselves from him. It wasn't anything overt – Merlin forbid some of the Purebloods in the castle say anything to his face directly. No, it was the little things – like not involving him in a conversation in the Common Room or sitting a little further away than necessary at the table or in class.
He still had his group of friends, and he would always be thankful for them. He couldn't imagine his life without Daphne and Neville – even the imagined absence of Tracey and Hermione hurt immeasurably. The two new girls had become a welcome addition to his life. Tracey was witty and a constant source of joy, while Hermione was, well… she was Hermione.
Perhaps it had been the life-threatening situation the two of themselves had found themselves in, but he found himself comfortable around the girl in a way he couldn't replicate with Daphne or Tracey. Admittedly, his experience with the fairer sex was largely limited to a Nanny Elf and two avian familiars, but there was something so easy about his relationship with the Muggle-born.
The two of them had grown close in the time since he had woken in that bed. The two of them would study together, even if the other three were unavailable – they would discuss the books they had read and compare their notes. Daphne was a studious girl, but for the first time in his life, Harry felt like he had a peer – someone who's love of books and new information rivalled his own.
Of course, she still trashed him academically. He frowned at the book in front of him in thought. Hermione had a brilliant mind – but there was something that she was doing, or reading, that was absolutely thrashing him in their tests. The practical applications of magic, he had her beat – but the theory? She simply outclassed him.
Harry sighed as he leaned back in his chair and ran his hands down his face. Perhaps his studying in the Library over the holiday would give him a small edge on her in the coming term – though he wouldn't attempt to convince himself that it would last any longer than a week.
Not only had his friendship with the bushy-haired girl been welcome, but so had her own blossoming friendship with Daphne and Tracey. It had quickly become apparent that he and Neville were forever outnumbered – for the first time, they found themselves on the receiving end of not only Daphne's sharp wit, but Tracey and Hermione's.
Harry couldn't help but snicker at the memory of Tracey berating Neville in their latest Potions class. It had been a double-lesson, and a practical at that. Professor Snape had made them brew a Wiggenweld Potion – a common enough healing potion. Neville had been partnered with Tracey, while he had been partnered with Hermione – Daphne had drawn the short-straw and had been partnered with Seamus and had kept a healthy distance from the boy the entire time.
He hadn't seen what had happened exactly, but he could still hear the sound of the odd gloop sound as the potion shot out of the cauldron and soaked both of his friends. Harry hadn't been able to help himself – when he had turned at the sound, he had nearly fallen to the floor at the sight of his two friends covered in a thick, green goo that dripped from their noses. Before Snape could make a comment, however, Tracey had picked up their textbook and began beating Neville on the shoulder with it.
It had been the funniest thing he had seen all year.
Both he and Neville had lost Gryffindor fifty points each, and Seamus, who had blown up his cauldron not five minutes later had lost them another fifty. It had been well worth it. He wondered if that had been the first time Snape's dungeon classroom had been filled with the sound of laughter – he couldn't imagine the greasy-haired teacher laughing. Harry suppressed a small shudder at the thought of the man laughing. What would Snape find amusing? Potion puns? Billowing robe banter? Wretched witticisms?
Harry rolled his eyes and pushed himself away from the table. It seemed his time in the Library was well and truly over if he was thinking of ways to amuse the bat-like Potions professor. He gathered the books on the table slowly, making sure to be gentle with their fragile covers – some looked older than Dumbledore.
He went through the usual motions of placing the books back on their shelves, each sliding back into place among their literary companions just so. There was a sense of rightness at seeing a bookcase full of volumes – something that tickled his innate curiosity to know everything he could. How many years could he spend in the confines of this room, simply absorbing all he could? It was ever so tempting – perhaps, years in the future, he would do his own research into magic at Arpton Keep, or Rosestone Castle and make use of the Library here.
With the books safely stored away, Harry began his slow journey back to Gryffindor Tower. With a quick Tempus, he discovered it to be mid-afternoon. What could he do for the rest of the day? Clara was hunting, and Hedwig was at Blackwall now that she was recovered. He passed a Ravenclaw second year, and he found himself smiling politely. They ignored him and continued on their way – he sighed quietly to himself and continued walking.
He was just passing the Great Hall when a familiar mop of red hair caught his eye. Sat there, on his own, was Ron Weasley. The boy had mostly kept to himself in the days since everyone had departed the castle, and despite how much of an arse he could be to Hermione, Daphne and Tracey, he found himself pitying the boy he saw playing chess on his own.
Harry stood in the entryway for a moment, simply watching a boy his own age that looked as alone as he felt. The two of them were the only ones their own age that had remained from Gryffindor – even all three of his elder brothers had left for a Romanian Dragon Reserve, the age restrictions forcing them to have to leave the youngest behind. He was torn with indecision for a moment before he finally set his shoulders and slowly approached the other boy.
"Ron, are you okay?" He asked, his hands clasped at the small of his back.
The boy looked up, startled. "Oh, Harry, it's you!"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "It is. I noticed you sitting by yourself – would you mind if I joined you?"
"Sure!" Ron beamed, gesturing for him to take a seat. Harry slid onto the bench easily – his doublet softly squeaking as it rubbed against the wood.
"Playing chess again, I see." He remarked, nodding toward the small set before the boy.
"Yeah – my grandfather taught me when I was little, and Bill tried to play with me when he was home during the holidays. Not as fun as Quidditch, mind you, but still fun."
"Your grandfather – Septimus Weasley?" Harry asked, curiously. Before coming to Hogwarts, he hadn't paid much thought to the Weasley family. They were old, much like his own, and were regarded as another Ancient and Noble family, but they were of middling importance. Their wealth had been gambled away generations before, and more often than not struggled to keep their Vassals in-line with their progressive advocacy – not to mention the fact they bred like rabbits.
"Yeah, that's him! You heard of him, then?"
Harry shrugged. "In passing – Arcturus told me he managed to save your family from collapsing in on itself after the war, but that was about it."
"Yeah, Dad said it had been rough – but I never really gave it much thought, you know? Besides, if anyone is going to make the family collapse, it'll be the twins!" Ron chuckled as he palmed a chess piece and rolled it between a finger and thumb absently.
"Those two are terrifying." Harry chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair.
"Can I ask you something?" Ron asked after a moment as he looked at him. Ron was frowning, but it appeared more out of thought than any anger.
"Of course."
"You're from an old Pureblood family, right?" Ron began slowly – it seemed he at least remembered Harry's reluctance to talk of his blood-history. Harry suppressed a sigh as he shifted to get more comfortable. "But your Mum was Muggle-born. Why are you so traditional?"
Harry mulled the question over in his head for a moment and pursed his lips. "I wouldn't say I'm traditional – at least, not in the sense that you probably mean. I was raised by Arcturus Black and taught a lot of the finer aspects of our society." He began slowly, watching as Ron nodded slowly. "That isn't to say he's moulded me after himself – I have my own views and opinions on all sorts of things. I just tend to keep them to myself, is all." Harry shrugged. It was with a small jolt of surprise that he realised this was the longest conversation he'd had with his fellow Gryffindor that hadn't been about Quidditch.
"But… you wear those old robes."
"Aye, I wear them – just as my father wore them before me, and his father before him. It's my way of honouring the man I never knew." Harry replied, shrugging a single shoulder. "Not to mention – they're comfier than they look." He grinned.
Ron snorted and looked down at his home-made jumper. Harry could see the time that had been put into it, but the material looked itchy and it was frayed around the hem. "Probably is." Ron grinned.
"That isn't to say that I dislike how Muggle-born dress, or families like your own – jines look quite comfortable."
"Jeans." Ron corrected him with a snicker.
"Jeans." Harry chuckled, looking around the room absently. "I notice you don't have Scabbers with you?"
Ron scoffed and rolled his eyes again. "Nah – I left him in my room. There's more cats around here than I thought there would be. Can't afford to replace him if one of the buggers got him."
"That's understandable."
"Where's Clara?"
"Oh, off hunting, no doubt."
"It must be wicked that you've got your own Phoenix – what's it like?" Ron gushed, turning to face Harry fully.
"She's certainly a handful. I didn't know what she was when I first found her – she was this little featherless thing with big black eyes that I found in a bush." Harry grinned, holding his hands out as he described her size. "Ever since she matured, she's always been there. She's playful, and mischievous, but I wouldn't have her any other way."
"Where did you come up with her name? I heard that you just know when a name's right, y'know?" Ron propped his chin on his hand.
"I named her after someone I met." Harry murmured. For a moment, his eyes lost focus and he was atop that horse again, marvelling at the wicked-looking weapon in Clara Appleton's hand as she called him Little Lord and grinned at his questions.
"Must've been someone special to name a Phoenix after them." Ron murmured, snapping Harry's focus back to reality.
"They were." He nodded solemnly. He shook himself after a moment and clapped his hands quietly. "Enough about me – how about a game of chess? I'm warning you, I'm utter shite."
"Sure – here, let me just set up the board."
They played for a number of hours – at least, long enough for the evening meal to be called for. Harry had lost each and every game he played with Ron, but he didn't particularly mind – it was nice to see the red-haired boy laugh and joke. Ron had been almost as sullen and withdrawn as he had been.
The Hall quickly filled with the scant few who remained in the castle – only two dozen or so students and almost the entire faculty. Upon Dumbledore's arrival, the tables were gently moved to the side and a number of House Elves, all dressed in a small toga-like uniform with the Hogwarts sigil on their breast, popped into the centre of the room with a large circular table and matching chairs.
The teachers sat first, quickly followed by the older students. The younger ones, such as himself and Ron simply stared in confusion at the scene before them. Harry knew in his head that they were no doubt meant to join them, but for some reason his body wouldn't react.
"Come, Harry – Mr. Weasley, join us!" Dumbledore called from where he had taken his own seat. He sat with Professor McGonagall on his right, and Professor Flitwick on his left.
Harry shook himself from his stupor and settled himself into a chair to the left of Professor Cantrill – the young Enchantment Professor offering him a kind smile. He had seen her about the castle once or twice, and she had always been polite and greeted him by name – though how she knew his name was a mystery to him.
On Harry's left was Professor Reyne, his Magical Theory Professor – she was older than Professor Cantrill, but only by a decade or two. The whispers among his peers were that she had modelled herself after Professor McGonagall – she was strict, but fair. She preferred blue and white robes and her blonde hair was always tied back – rumour was that she was likely to become the next Head of House, whenever that would be.
Ron sat a little further down the table in the only free chair left – Harry offered him a small smile and a nod, to which Ron offered his own smile and a shrug. Ron was sat between a Ravenclaw sixth year and a Hufflepuff seventh year.
"Excellent – as there are so few of us left in the castle, I thought it might be nice for us all to eat together, rather than spread out across the Hall." Dumbledore smiled kindly. Harry noticed Professor Snape roll his eyes a little.
With a small clap, the dishes on the table filled with an assortment of food. There wasn't as much as there normally would be during a term-meal, but then, there were far fewer mouths to feed.
Harry allowed the Professors on either side of him to fill their plates before reaching out to help himself. He chose a simple meal of Toad in The Hole and helped himself to a decent portion. The smell of the spicy sausages and the large Yorkshire Pudding made his mouth to water.
He poured some gravy onto his dish and quietly enjoyed his meal. All around him, the sounds of cutlery on plates and the quiet sighs that accompanied a good meal whispered around the table. As always, the Hogwarts Elves had outdone themselves.
The sausage melted on his tongue, and the gravy was thick and rich. There were slices of carrot mixed in with it all, and short stems of broccoli that crunched as he ate them. For a few blissful minutes, he wasn't alone in a castle and he could simply enjoy a good meal.
Sooner than he would have liked, the meal was over, and everyone relaxed in their chairs – though it seemed Ron had made it his personal mission to clear every last dish on the table.
"Harry, how are you finding your break?" Professor Cantrill asked, as she delicately dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin.
Harry folded his hands into his lap and looked at the woman beside him. She appeared to be in her thirties, and she had long dark hair that was tied back in an elegant up-do that must have required magic to achieve. Her green eyes peered at him, and a friendly smile was on her lips – though it appeared more a playful smirk than anything. No doubt Sirius would have liked her.
"It's going well, Professor. I spend most of my days in the Library – I just read the most fascinating book on Spiritual Magic earlier."
The Professors brow rose a little. "Indeed? I'm surprised you could understand half of what you read, Harry. Aspects of magic such as that are usually third- or fourth-year material. I'm impressed."
"Thank you, Professor. I just enjoy reading." Harry shrugged with a small smile.
"Indeed – if you keep it up, I dare say we'll run out of books in the library by the time you graduate." She grinned at him.
"And then I'll have the Potter and Black libraries to fill the void." He replied with his own grin.
Professor Cantrill laughed at that and placed a hand to her chest. "Oh – you inherited Lily's love for books then, it seems."
Harry's gaze focused on the woman beside him. "You knew my mother?"
Professor Cantrill's smile lessened somewhat at the question, and her eyes focused on somewhere over his shoulder. "That's right – we were friends while we were here." She paused as her green eyes focused on his face. "The world is a little less without her."
"I had no idea…" Harry murmured – the other conversations around the table were irrelevant to him now. Harry had learned a little of his mother through Sirius and Remus, but it had been stories from after she had become involved with his father, or stories of how his father had attempted to win her affection over the years. There was precious little he knew of her before then.
"You look just like him, you know. James, I mean."
"Except for my eyes – Sirius says they're my mother's." Harry finished, with a sad smile. "I'd have liked to have known her."
"If what I've heard of you so far has been true, you're more like her than you know – though I hear you have your father's cheek." Professor Cantrill chuckled. She turned slightly in her chair towards him.
A question bubbled up from deep within him, yearning to have the words spoken. It was a mounting pressure in his throat, and it almost hurt to keep it contained. After all, he barely knew the woman before him – of course, she was a Hogwarts Professor, and therefore she was to be trusted with his well-being in mind, but apart from that, he knew nothing of her.
"How well did you know my mother?" The question forced itself past his lips, and Harry had to fight the urge to scowl as he gripped the arms of his chair – the varnished wood creaking a little as his knuckles turned white.
The Professor was quiet for a moment, and he found himself under her gaze. Her eyes swept back and forth over him before settling on his eyes after a moment. There was something in her eyes, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it.
"She was my best friend." She said after a moment.
"Do you…" Harry began, and for a moment his throat seized up. "Do you think you could tell me about her? When you have time, of course – I wouldn't want to impose, or assume…"
The Professor held up a hand and chuckled quietly under her breath. "I would love to, Harry." She smiled, and Harry felt something in his chest swell. He would learn more about his mother! He couldn't help the beaming smile that split his face.
"I… I don't know where to start." Harry chuckled as he ran his hand through his loose hair. What did he want to know first? What were her hobbies? What did she do in her free time? What was her favourite spot in the castle? There was so much he wanted to know!
"That's okay – how about I tell you a little secret?" The older woman mock-whispered, leaning in as if it were some great conspiracy. Harry found himself leaning in too.
"Of course!"
"I was the one who persuaded Lily to go to Hogsmeade with James!"
Harry gasped and leaned back a little as Professor Cantrill held a finger to her lips and winked at him playfully.
"But… Sirius said," Harry began, his eyes wide as he remembered the tale of James Potters Master Plan to Woo Lily Evans. It was a wonderful story of pranks and determination, and the resulting maturity of James Potter as he grew into a strong young man.
How much of it was true?
"Oh, no doubt Sirius told you about how James pranked all of Lily's dates on their Hogsmeade trips?" Harry nodded as the Professor paused for his answer. "That's all true – what he forgot to tell you; was I was one of Lily's room-mates. It was how we met. Girls talk, and we notice things boys often don't."
"What do you mean?"
Professor Cantrill giggled and held a hand up to her mouth. "Oh, I'm sure you'll find out for yourself when you're a little older. Besides, Lily always thought James was perfectly charming – just a little immature."
Harry sat back in his chair and ran a hand down his face – he could hear the blood pumping in his veins. "I don't know what to say. Does Sirius or Remus know?"
Professor Cantrill snorted into her goblet as she lifted it. "I doubt it. Sirius, while talented with charming the girls of Hogwarts, was about as clueless as the rest of them – although I remember Amelia setting him straight in the corridors once or twice."
Harry snickered at the thought of Sirius being given what-for.
"Remus… He was always a shy one. He was more interested in his books than his classmates. How is he doing, by the way? I hear he's the Steward of House Black now."
"Moony's alright – he's a little ill at the moment, and Arcturus and Sirius were called away on urgent business, so that's why I'm here. I couldn't have asked for better people to raise me." Harry smiled sadly.
"Indeed – you've become a fine young man, Harry. No doubt you'll be the talk of the castle in a few year's time."
Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks and he scratched his jaw absently. "Oh, I don't know about that." He replied awkwardly.
The Professor chuckled again as she crossed one long leg over the other. "You're a Potter, Harry. Your lot don't do anything by half." She said, rolling her eyes playfully – Harry couldn't help but grin.
For the first time in their conversation, Harry noted that the table and the hall had emptied, and the sky through the windows was dark. How long had they sat and talked?
"My, it seems we lost track of the time. Why don't you get back to your Common Room, and we'll continue this another time, hm?" The Professor suggested with a smile. "Wouldn't want you to be caught by mean old Filch past curfew, would we?"
"No, Professor." Harry grinned, standing and offering a small bow. The Professor raised an eyebrow but smiled and nodded.
"Oh, and Harry?" She said, just as he turned to leave the Hall. When he turned to look at her, she grinned at him. "When we're in private – call me Hope."
"Yes Prof-" He began before he stopped himself. "Yes, Hope." He said, bowing once more and striding from the Hall.
Perhaps these few weeks without his friends wouldn't be so bad after all.
On December twenty-fifth, Harry found himself walking out of his room slowly. He was dressed in a long, loose tunic that hung down to his mid-thigh and was baggy on his athletic frame, and his usual dark breeches were tucked into his boots, while his hair was tied loosely at the back of his head.
As he stepped from the small communal area that he shared with his fellow Gryffindors, he could hear the sounds of laughter reach him from the Gryffindor Common Room at the bottom of the stairs.
His books clicked against the marble stairs as he meandered down them, simply basking in the laughter and glee. His mood had improved somewhat ever since that fateful meal with Professor Cantrill – they had spent some time together since then, and Harry had learned more of his mother than he had ever expected to.
For instance, one of her hobbies had been collecting flowers from the Hogwarts grounds and preserving them with a series of Charms in an old scrapbook. Another had been photography – taking any opportunity she could to snap photos of her friends.
It wouldn't seem much to a casual observer, but to Harry it was everything. It was a way to connect with the woman who bore him, who protected him until her dying breath.
He came to the bottom of the stairs and smiled slightly at the sight of the six Gryffindors that were sitting around the tree opening their presents.
"Harry!" Ron called, gesturing for him to join them. The other five Gryffindors, all in the seventh year, if he remembered correctly, stopped laughing and were looking at him cautiously. He refused to let their looks bother him – in the time since the Troll, he had become almost numb to it. It was just disappointing that it had seeped into his own house.
"Hello everyone." Harry smiled, moving to sit in one of the plush chairs a little removed from the rest of them.
"Happy Christmas," Was echoed throughout the room quietly – though far more enthusiastically from the local Weasley boy.
"Here, Harry – you've got some!" Ron grinned, pointing at a small pile of gifts. Harry blinked, surprised. He honestly hadn't expected any, what with Arcturus and Sirius having to go away for an indefinite time, and with Remus having been caught up with his affliction.
He had sent his own off before everyone had left the castle. He had bought Neville a number of books on Herbology from Denmark.
Daphne had received a thick tome called Morgên y Dylwythen, another book on her favourite character from history to add to her collection.
Astoria had, of course, received a dozen stuffed Hippogriffs – she'd mentioned she had wanted a Hippogriff herd just before he left for Hogwarts, and this had been the best he could do.
He had gifted Tracey tickets to see the Weird Sisters live in concert over the Summer – her favourite group, by all accounts.
Hermione had no doubt already opened her new books on wizarding society and their most popular myths and stories.
He hoped that upon their return, Sirius would appreciate the new wand holster he had bought him, and that Arcturus would like the whiskey. Remus had been tricky to buy for this year, but Harry had settled with a new trunk with his initials proudly emblazoned upon it – he'd seen Remus eyeing it in Diagon Alley.
Ron pushed the first of the pile into his lap before turning back to his own gifts. Harry peeled the paper away carefully, mindful not to damage anything inside accidentally. He was almost done when he realised he hadn't taken the time to see who it was from. A quick glance at the paper, and he found the small note that had been stuck to it with a bit of tape.
Ah, Neville.
Harry grinned as he removed the last of the paper and grinned at the book on combat spells. He'd always found the idea of duelling utterly fascinating, and unfortunately, as first years they weren't allowed to learn anything that even came close. At the very least, he'd be able to try a spell or two out over the Summer.
Harry placed the book down at the foot of the chair and moved to pick up another. There was a quiet rustle of movement as the older students all stood and began to move towards the Portrait, quietly murmuring to one another. Ron remained where he was, dressed in his light blue pyjamas and a garishly burgundy knitted jumper with a golden R on the front.
The next gift was smaller, but from the weight, it was also a book. A quick glance at the tag revealed it was from Daphne. He grinned as he pulled at the paper, only to reveal the most exquisite book he had ever seen. It was a leather-bound hard-back volume with the finest engravings he had ever seen. The title was Myrddin Emrys: The Wandering Mystic, emblazoned in gold in large letters on the front cover. Already he could smell the earthy smell of the parchment – he knew what he was reading tonight, at least.
It seemed Hermione's gift was next – wrapped carefully in a light blue wrapping paper. Harry had to resist rolling his eyes – she was even a perfectionist when it came to wrapping gifts. He opened it carefully but couldn't help his mouth opening in surprise at the tub of saddle soap and leather conditioner in a small basket. They were the perfect gift for maintaining his leather gambeson, which begged the question – how did she know? He set the small basket to the side carefully.
Sirius's scrawl was visible on the next, and Harry resisted the urge to shudder – what would it be this year? Exploding socks? Shampoo that turns his hair a ridiculous colour for a week? There had been many over the years, and each one made him that little bit more cautious. The paper came away easily to reveal a simple leather-bound journal with an embossed Stag, Wolf and Dog on the front.
He opened it slowly and gasped at the sight of the forward, and his eyes devoured the text before him.
Harry, you are at Hogwarts now, and you can't begin to understand how proud I am of the young man that you're slowly becoming. It seems like only yesterday that I was sat on the floor in front of Poppy and Minerva while you asked where Mama and Papa were.
I know that their loss has always been a difficult burden for you to bear. I know that Remus, Arcturus, and I could never compare to your parents, and each day I wish that they could look upon you the same way I do – as a proud parent.
I'm not James or Lily, nor do I wish to replace them in your heart. but I will stand behind you when you take your rightful place in the coming years. Know that you may always turn to me in your darkest moments for support.
In this book, you will find a number of notes that we Marauders passed between ourselves over the years as we decided our names. It is my hope that you can feel closer to your father, and one day add your own notes and name and pass it down to your own children.
Know that I love you dearly, and that those who have left us are never truly gone.
Sirius
Harry sniffed and wiped his eyes on the long, baggy sleeve of his tunic. He cleared his throat quietly and thumbed through a few pages. There were notes in Sirius's handwriting, some in Remus's and others in his fathers. Slowly, gradually, Harry realized he was seeing his father's penmanship for the first time in his life.
He traced the lazily looping letters with the tips of his fingers and let out a quiet laugh as his shoulders shook slightly.
"You alright, Harry?" Ron asked, startling him for just a moment.
Harry sniffed once more and wiped at his eyes roughly. "Yeah, yeah I'm alright. Just an unexpected gift, is all." He said, smiling weakly. Ron looked at him for a long moment before nodding.
"What is it?"
"A scrapbook of notes between my father, Sirius and Remus when they were at Hogwarts – trying to pick their nicknames, of all things." Harry grinned, sniffing a little.
"What were they?" Ron asked, pulling his knees up to his chest and taking a bite out of a mince pie.
"Sirius was Padfoot, Remus was Moony, and my father was Prongs."
Ron was silent for a moment as he frowned, seemingly deep in thought. "Those names sound familiar."
"You might have heard me refer to Sirius or Remus by their nicknames when I've been talking to Neville." Harry shrugged, placing the book delicately atop the pile.
"Probably." Ron shrugged, popping the rest of the pie in his mouth. After a moment, he offered Harry one, but he waved it off.
It seemed Tracey's gift was next – a small hexagonal box that rattled as he moved it into his lap. The paper came off easily to reveal a box of Honeydukes' chocolate. He grinned and set it aside – he'd share them with everyone when they returned.
Astoria's gift was a small box. It was wrapped in emerald paper that was no doubt meant to represent his eyes – something she often said was almost as pretty as his hair. The paper tore off to reveal a small wooden box – it was plain and had a simple lid with some brass hinges. With a quick flick of his thumb, the brass clasp on the front flicked loose and the lid sprang back.
Inside was a small, dark velvet cushion with a small golden ball perched delicately in the middle. Harry picked it up gently with his fingers and grinned as its delicate wings unfolded and began to flap gently. Astoria had gotten him a practice Snitch!
He carefully placed it back on the cushion and smiled a little as the wings folded themselves again. It would be perfect to practice his reflexes. He placed it at the side of the small pile of books, double checking to make sure the clasp was secure.
Next was Arcturus's gift – it was large and thin, and impossibly flexible. Harry lifted it into his lap with the same care he had given to the other gifts. The paper tore easily, and what was inside took his breath away almost as much as Sirius's gift had done.
Harry knew there were a number of artifacts and trinkets that House Black was well known for, and it seemed Harry held a copy of one such artifact in his lap.
He had visited Grimmauld Place once. It had been a dingy London Townhouse that had seen better days, even with Kreacher maintaining it once a week. The décor had been dark and suffocating, and the House Elf heads mounted on the wall had been utterly horrifying.
He had been wandering one of the many floors to the house when he had come across the room with the family tapestry in it. All around the room, men and women of years past had stared back at him as he wandered throughout the room. He saw Sirius had been scorched off of the wall, as had a number of other names. He hadn't been able to stop himself from staring at the small portraits of his Grandfather, Charlus Potter, and his wife, Dorea Potter née Black.
In his lap sat a copy of such a tapestry, without all the scorch marks that ruined the original. His fingers traced the name of Arcturus, followed by Sirius, who was grinning and winking up at him, and…
His breath caught in his throat.
There, directly beneath Sirius Orion Black…
Harry James Potter
His own face grinned back up at him – he remembered the photograph being taken. It was the day of the Quidditch game – Sirius had insisted on getting a quick photograph before he left, saying he could never have too many photos of Harry, especially on such a happy day.
Harry felt the tears well up in his eyes again.
He stood suddenly, carefully rolling the tapestry up as he did so. Ron looked at him, a puzzled look on his face as his attention was torn from the Chudley Canons magazine in his lap. Harry wasted no time, spinning on his heel and sprinting up the stairs. He threw open both doors – the one to his common room, and the other to his bedroom. Clara gave a startled squawk and flapped her wings once.
Harry flicked his wrist, shooting the wand into his hand as he approached the wall nearest the window – it had the largest space of open wall. The tapestry unfolded easily, and with a quick flick of his wand, he stuck it to the wall. He grinned and wiped at his eyes once more before holstering his wand.
He had felt so lonely over the course of the year – the homesickness had been almost overwhelming at times. He had dealt with it the only way he knew how, by throwing himself into his studies and spending time with friends. This would help immeasurably.
Harry jogged back down to the Common Room, a delirious smile on his face as he jumped the last two steps.
"What was all that about?" Ron asked, nodding up the staircase.
"Oh, Arcturus sent me a tapestry – I just wanted to get it up on the wall straight away." Harry replied, looking at the last two gifts in his pile as he sat back down.
"Must be some tapestry." The red-haired boy grinned, taking another bite of yet another mince pie. How the boy was always so hungry was completely beyond him.
Harry turned the thought over in his head, weighing the pros and cons. After a moment, he just settled on telling him – he had to tell someone! Harry leaned forward a little, "You've heard of the Black Family Tapestry, I take it?"
Ron perked up at that, sitting forward so quickly he almost ended up on his face. "Do I! There's nothing like it in the world, apparently! I heard it's really something to see, but only fa-" Ron began, before he paused and looked at him wide-eyed. "You have a copy of it hanging in your room?"
Harry nodded excitedly. "Not just that… Arcturus added my name to it!"
Ron sat there; mouth agape as he attempted to formulate words. "That's wicked!"
Harry grinned excitedly, almost bouncing in his spot on the floor. He reached out and palmed the gift from Remus. The paper, like all the others, came away easily to reveal another book. This one was old and battered and looked to be stained with a little soot and was slightly singed in places.
Harry opened the cover and gasped before dropping it from limp fingers.
Property of Lily Rose Evans
He was holding one of the few physical connections to his mother left in the world. Harry snatched it back up and began flicking through the yellowed pages. On each page were two polaroid photographs, with a neat little time and date next to each in the margin – some had little anecdotes too, something to give context to the images that cycled in each picture.
Some were simply young girls sitting around laughing before one would notice the camera and leap towards the picture. Others were of beautiful landscapes – views of the Hogwarts grounds. The final page had two pictures and one stuck to the inside cover – almost as if it had been squeezed in, all were in colour rather than the usual black and white that had been prevalent throughout.
The first were his parents laughing and spinning around in front of the camera in their own little dance. His parents were bundled up in warm winter clothes. His mother wore a squat cap and a lilac scarf, while his father proudly had his Gryffindor scarf draped around his neck, while his hair blew wildly in the wind. The image finished with them grinning up at the camera.
The second was the two of them sat in front of the camera on a comfortable couch – they looked a little older, but only by a year or so. Merlin, they were so young. His mother wore a simple black long-sleeved top, and blue jeans, while his father was similarly dressed in trousers and a jumper.
They were both fussing over a baby in her lap, grinning and waving at the camera.
Him.
And they looked so happy.
Harry breathed in deeply and stared at the photograph, watching as the image played over and over again – he could watch it for hours. He noticed small things, like the way his mothers nose crinkled a little when she smiled, and how she would thread her fingers through his messy mop of hair.
He saw how proud his father looked, looking upon the two of them. He would press a kiss into his mother's hair before tickling Harry's chin with his finger.
The final image was of just him and his father, both asleep on a sofa – the same sofa in the previous photograph. Rather than the clean-shaven and well-groomed appearance of the man in the previous image, this man appeared exhausted and had a fair amount of scruffy stubble on his face – his glasses were crooked, and his lips were quirked into a contented smile. Upon his chest, with a small stuffed toy of a Stag was Harry, gently kicking his feet in his sleep and dozing away.
Harry looked up at the ceiling and breathed deeply, willing the tears back. He blinked long and slowly. It helped, somewhat.
"Blimey, Harry – what is it this time?"
"Pictures of my parents – this is my mother's photo-scrapbook. I own very little of either of them. So much was lost at Godric's Hollow…" Harry murmured, gently closing the book and placing it atop the notebook from Sirius.
"I don't know what to say." Ron shrugged, watching as Harry dragged the last gift over to him. It was wrapped differently from the others. While it was large, it was also soft – almost like a cushion, and the paper was fastened with string. A small note was tied to the top.
"Who's that one from?" Ron asked, scooting a little closer.
"I'm not sure. There's no name – it just says my father left this with them before he died." Harry muttered, first removing the string and them tearing away the paper. It was a dark kind of shimmering material.
Harry pulled it from the paper before his eyes widened and he stumbled backwards, almost falling over the chair. His breathing came in rapid bursts and the world around him seemed muffled. He knew that piece of cloth was – he'd heard the stories from Sirius and Remus. It had been thought to have been lost or destroyed when the house was blown to pieces – Arcturus had commissioned investigators to try to find it, but everything had come up empty.
And now, it lay in a pile in the Gryffindor Common Room before the Christmas tree.
Harry glared at the fabric.
He approached it slowly, bending down and threading it through his fingers. It was soft – impossibly so and didn't look anything other than brand new. How many times had Sirius told him stories of his father using this in the school? Of pulling off the next big prank with it? It was half the reason for their success, after all.
And when his father and his mother had needed it the most, where had it been?
Harry felt a rage surge from within him, unlike anything that he had ever experienced before. It was a deep, primal thing. If this had been in the cottage, he might still have his parents – he wouldn't be an Orphan.
He took in a deep, shuddering breath and felt his control snap.
For the first time in his life, Harry gave into his anger and basked in it. Whoever had kept this from him owed him answers – they were just as guilty of his parent's murder as Voldemort was, and he deserved to look them in the eye.
Harry was unaware of the sonic boom that echoed throughout the tower, or the tinkling of thousands of shards of glass as the windows exploded – nor was he even aware of the small white dome that had snapped into existence around himself and Ron.
No, all Harry cared about right now was the cloak that threaded around his trembling fingers.
"Clara…" Harry whispered, not blinking as his companion materialised from a ball of flame on the floor. She hopped to him once and nuzzled his thigh softly – no doubt she could feel his distress, his anger. "Clara, take me to whoever sent this to me."
It was reckless – they could be anyone. Rationally, he knew that – but there was nothing about this moment right now that he could be rational about. His Phoenix nuzzled the cloth for a second before she spread her wings to either side of her.
As he knelt, flicking his wand into his hand, he felt himself be engulfed in the bright orange flames. The light tinkling of the windows putting themselves back together reaching his ears as he left the room.
He stood immediately as he materialised in a familiar office, spinning, and pointing his wand at the startled man behind his large oak desk.
"Harry, my boy – what brings you here?" Dumbledore asked, his voice soft as his eyes darted between the wand, Phoenix and Harry.
"Why?" Harry whispered, his arm trembling in rhythm with his bottom lip. He would not cry – he was furious!
"Why? I'm sorry, my boy, but I require some context. Why don't we start with putting the wand down, hm?"
Harry held the cloak out before him with his left hand and Dumbledore's eyes finally glanced at it – instantly, he appeared his age and so very sad – almost heartbroken. Harry wouldn't be fooled.
"Ah, I see you received my gift."
"Gift?" Harry snapped, advancing towards the desk furiously. Fawkes squawked and fluttered his wings from his perch. Clara hopped onto the table between himself and the other Phoenix, her larger body shielding him from the smaller bird. She felt just as angry as he did – or was that his own anger he was feeling? "This cloak is a Potter heirloom, Headmaster! Better yet, it should have been with my parents – I might still have parents if they had it!"
Dumbledore slumped in his chair and ran a tired hand down his face. "Indeed, and I do not fault your anger. I take it you are who is responsible for the Wards reacting a few minutes ago?" Dumbledore was quiet for a moment before he slowly withdrew his own wand and conjured a plush chair. "Sit, and I'll explain all. And please, lower your wand."
Harry found he could hold his arm up any longer, even if he had wanted to. His limbs were trembling, and tears were silently running down his cheeks. He practically collapsed into the seat – Clara joined him, perching on the arm, and nuzzling the crook of his neck.
"Harry, you must understand – I would have returned it sooner if it had been in my power to do so." Dumbledore began. "In the year nineteen-seventy-nine, your father came to me with an offer – I was doing a bit of research, you see, but that isn't what is important right now."
Dumbledore paused as he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Harry, your father may not have always been the most honourable man in Britain, but he was a pragmatic one. Before he and your mother went into hiding, he left the cloak with me, under a very strictly worded contract. He said that I could do all the research or whatever I wanted with the cloak, I just had to keep it safe; safe for you."
"Why did you not give it back when they went into hiding then?" Harry demanded, rubbing the backs of his hands on his cheeks as he sniffed.
"I simply couldn't, Harry." Dumbledore replied, holding his hands up. "He had the contract drawn up by the law-goblins of Gringott's, and there was no way around it – believe me, I tried. When word got out that Voldemort was actively hunting your parents, he wouldn't let me give it back to him. He said that it was far better for me to have it and the Potter line die out than risk getting into the Dark Lord's hands. As it is, I had to wait an extra two years so that I could ensure that you, personally, received it."
"You should have cancelled the contract!" Harry screamed – even in his anger, he knew how notoriously iron-clad Goblin contracts were. His fury fled from him, only to be replaced with a deep and aching emptiness, so profound that he couldn't begin to describe it. He curled in on himself, sinking to his knees, as sobs wracked his body. "I miss them so much…"
He clamped his eyes shut as his face scrunched up. There was the soft sound of a chair scraping against stone and a series of soft, padded footsteps before he found himself pulled into a strong embrace.
"There, there, Harry – I know. I know." Dumbledore whispered, gently rocking him back and forth as he wept into the Headmasters robe.
Years of longing came to the surface, and Harry found himself grasping the robes of the man who held him. It wasn't Sirius, or Remus, or even Arcturus, but he clung to the man like he was the only lifeline he had left.
He wasn't sure how long he remained that way, sobbing uncontrollably, but by the end of it, he simply felt… numb. He was exhausted, completely, and utterly so. Dumbledore pulled back from Harry, his own eyes bloodshot and wet.
"Harry, not a day goes by where I do not feel the loss of your parents. If I could do it all over again, I would make some very different decisions – alas, the ability to turn back time is impossible, and I must live with the consequences." Dumbledore sighed and cleared his throat. "As it is, I have their son before me – a young man, who by all accounts, is a delight to be around. You are the best of both of your parents, Harry Potter, and they would be so proud of you. Never forget that."
Harry found the corners of his lips turning upward slightly at that thought. He sniffed and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his tunic. He saw Dumbledore turn to look at Clara with a sad smile.
"Perhaps it would be best if you return young Harry here, back to his room? I believe him to be quite exhausted from the events of the day."
Harry nodded absently and reached for the cloak that had pooled at his feet. The silky cloth bunched in his left hand, and his wand hung limply in his right – he couldn't even bring himself to grip it properly right now.
Clara made a noise over his shoulder, and he found himself leaning into her as he sat back up. Before the flames engulfed him, Harry saw the sad look on the Headmasters face and idly wondered how true his words of comfort had been?
Were they the words of regret? Of a man who realised his mistakes and continued to live with the consequences? Or were they simply the words of a man comforting a boy, robbed of his parents to a war? How many others were out there today, orphans of Voldemort's war?
His thoughts dwindled away as he reappeared on his bed, the canopy above him. He felt the bed shift a little and found himself smiling a little as Clara nestled herself into the quilt next to his chest – her head laying on his chest as she gazed up at him with her dark eyes.
He found the backs of his fingers gently running down her neck feathers as his eyes grew heavy and he fell into a dreamless sleep.
He awoke in the middle of the night, if the appearance of the moon through his window was anything to go by. He sat up slowly, first pushing himself to his elbows, and then to his hands – Clara stood and flapped her wings a little, and Harry found himself smiling tiredly at her.
While he was still exhausted, he had no real desire for sleep – he had slept the day away as it was. With the events from earlier still rampaging around in his head, he would have preferred to go for a fly on his broom – no doubt, out of the question given the time of night.
He sighed as he got to his feet, the soft noise of falling fabric pulling his attention to the cloak bunched at his feet. And here lay the crux of today's problems – an invisibility cloak that could have kept his parents alive eleven years ago. How many more photographs would have been in that journal? Would there have been photos of him sleeping in his mother's arms?
What about his first steps?
His first broom-ride?
His first day of school, perhaps?
Harry felt his heart break all over again but willed himself not to fall into the pit he had done earlier. No – he would remain composed and strong – for his parents. He would be strong for them.
Harry found himself wandering around his room, with the cloak thrown over a shoulder. It tickled his ear a little, or perhaps that was the hair that had come loose in his sleep – either way, he didn't care.
He grunted quietly to himself before he moved to the door. It wasn't locked, and it seemed someone had moved his gifts onto the small tables by the side of it at some point. Perhaps it had been Ron, or maybe one of the many Hogwarts House Elves. Either way, it didn't matter right now – he just needed to get out of the room.
He strode across the small room, and quickly made his way down the stairs. Even the Common Room felt suffocating as he stood there for a moment.
Ignoring how queasy it made him feel, Harry ripped the cloak from his shoulder and threw the huge swathe of material over his head. It was easier to see through than he had expected and was much lighter than he thought it would be – though why he had thought it would be heavy after carrying it on his shoulder down the stairs baffled him.
He moved to the entrance to the Common Room and slipped from the Gryffindor Tower with a quiet click – though he had enough presence of mind to leave it slightly ajar. No need to wake The Fat Lady if he was going for a midnight stroll.
He moved down the stairs as quietly as he could, wincing every time his boots would scuff the marble.
Upon reaching the ground floor, Harry began walking lazily among the corridors. It was eerie, to be walking the castle at night rather than during the day – it almost felt like a tomb.
Every now and then, he would pause and listen for the faintest hint of anyone else wandering the corridors. Even then, nothing but silence answered him.
He could have been walking for minutes, or hours – he didn't know. He stopped caring.
He found himself walking around the small Transfiguration Courtyard near Professor McGonagall's classroom on the western side of the castle. He had sat on the wall many times with his friends over the course of the year – it was a nice spot to stop and simply watch the people around them go about their day.
Harry closed his eyes and reached out with his magic, feeling the faint traces of those that had been there over the years. They were familiar, but so different and so unique. Some were stronger and more prevalent than others, and Harry chalked them up to the more recent students, but there was something else – something that wasn't quite right.
Harry followed the feeling, and found his feet moving of their own accord. It was elusive but teasing at the same time, but it was… familiar. It almost felt like Arpton Keep, but that was impossible – Hogwarts didn't have a Ro'rim, did it?
Harry gasped as his foot came into contact with a wooden door and his eyes snapped open. He didn't recognise the door, and it seemed to shimmer before him uncertainly until he reached out with his hand and grasped the handle.
The door snapped into focus, and suddenly it appeared as if it had always been there. Had he just stumbled on a hidden door? Had one of the Professors hidden it for some reason? Or had it been a student?
His curiosity got the better of him as the familiar feeling returned. He lifted the latch and shimmied inside.
The room was empty and larger than he had expected. He shrugged the cloak off, but kept it bundled in his arms. He swept his eyes back and forth, noticing only stone pillars and stone walls until…
He stepped forward a few steps and there, on a lower platform to the right of the door, was a shimmering golden mirror. He approached it slowly, that sense of familiarity getting stronger and stronger with each step. When he was close enough, he reached out and brushed the metal with his fingertips.
It snapped into focus the same way that the door had, and all of a sudden, he was struck by the magic it seemed to ooze. There was no other way to describe it – it simply dripped with magic.
It was large, at least twice the size of him, and the glass was milky and appeared worn towards the bottom. Above the glass, were the words Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
What did they mean?
Harry reached out and ghosted a finger across the smooth surface of the glass, blinking as a pair of figures began forming in the mist.
They were faint at first, and as they walked closer, their forms became more defined. He could make out gender, height and eventually their hair. The one on the left had brilliant copper hair that hung just past her shoulders, while the on the right had short, wild black hair that stuck up at all angles.
They came to a stop and appeared as if they were stood right behind him. The two were young, only just out of school, really. They smiled down at him, sad, but oh-so proud.
Harry dropped to his knees before the mirror, the cloak pooling at his side limply. He didn't know how much more he could take – had he not had enough already?
The two figures knelt on either side of him, and he felt his lip quiver all over again. "Mother…" Harry whispered, earning the most beautiful smile he had ever seen from the woman before him. "Father…" Harry gasped, his eyes becoming misty. He saw James Potter nod proudly as he grinned.
"I missed you so much…"
