The quiet of the Common Room on a Saturday morning was always welcome, though the low rumble of conversation between those few that had managed to drag themselves out of bed on a Saturday morning was always something that made him smile.

As he descended the last step, Harry spied the trio of Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, and Lauren Calvert – Lavender and Lauren both holding their heads in their hands as Parvati talked at a supernatural pace that put an excited Hermione to shame.

Lavender, with her light brown hair tied back in a messy bun, groaned into her palms, while Lauren, with her straight, mahogany hair that was pooled around her head nodded absently and whimpered pitifully before throwing a piece of scrunched up parchment at the Gryffindor Patil. The girl squeaked as it bounced off of her forehead, before waving her hands before her face.

Harry snorted as he stepped into the Common Room proper, nodding politely to those he passed, even if they didn't return it – he awoke later than he normally would, his prescription of sleeping potions wreaking havoc with his morning routine, which had been meticulously cultivated over years of surviving Sirius and Remus together.

Growing up, he'd always been on the lookout for any number of pranks – though he suspected Sirius kept himself in check with having to look out for his well-being and safety. That wasn't to say, however, that he was immune from suffering them. He could still recall the horror of discovering Sirius had adjusted the Runes at Blackwall to only provide ice-water for a week of showers.

He'd made sure to get Sirius back for that one – even enlisting the help of the House Elves in his endeavour. Lispy had been particularly enthusiastic after discovering that his blood-curdling scream that first morning hadn't been one of pain. When Sirius slept, he'd had the House Elves swap out all of his clothes – particularly his underwear – with women's. That he still believed it to have been Remus simply made it the prank that kept on giving.

He turned as he heard Neville descend the steps, quickly fumbling with the sleeves of his jacket as he skipped down the stairs. It had been a gift from Sirius to his best friend – a simple dark brown garment made of brown velvet, with strips of black dragonhide leather around the cuffs and along the front, while the short, soft Nutria fur lined it comfortably. Of course, it wouldn't be complete without the bear of House Longbottom proudly emblazoned on the breast.

"I thought you were going to wait." Neville huffed, adjusting the coat – it was still early morning, and despite the roaring fireplace in the Common Room, the castle still held a noticeable chill.

Harry tugged on the lapel of his own jacket – a simple dark grey piece in a similar style to Neville's, though with a few distinct differences. The length was the most obvious – Neville's halted at his waist, while his own hung down to his mid-thigh. Harry's also had a few more strips of leather, with the wolf of his family decorated into it in delicate patterns.

"You took too long." He grinned, running a hand through his hair – he'd left it loose, hanging on either side of his face in thick curtains. Neville, in an interesting change from the norm, had actually gone so far to tie his back in a messy bun. To see how much Neville's hair had grown from the messy mop it had been upon their arrival in first year was a stark reminder of just how quickly the time had passed.

Neville snorted, rolling his eyes. "Hermione's probably already gone on ahead." He said, nodding toward the Common Room, which, while sporting a healthy number of Gryffindors, was absent of the familiar head of bushy brown hair – not that it was even able to be considered bushy anymore.

"Aye – her Dorm-mates are already down. Ten Knuts says Lauren launches the pillow at Parvati." Harry murmured, pointing to where the girl was attempting to bury herself into the pillow she'd pinned between herself and the arm of the sofa.

"That's a suckers bet." Neville snickered, grinning as the two of them eyed the girls.

It was a not-so-secret-secret that Lauren Calvert was a violent morning person – while quiet and unassuming during the day, and content to simply enjoy her small group of friends, she wasn't afraid to throw a curse, or in this case, a cushion at someone that caught her before she'd woken up.

As they watched the pillow arc through the air, the corner tassels trailing slowly as the pillow spun lazily, Harry couldn't help but notice that they weren't the only ones in the Common Room watching the exchange. Coins quietly changed hands, and small cheers echoed out as Parvati, who had focused her attention on Lavender, was struck in the side of the head with a yelp.

"Called it – maybe I have a future in Divination?" Harry grinned, making his way across the room quickly as Parvati got to her feet with the cushion clutched tightly in her hands, and raised above her head, ready to strike the unawares Calvert.

The two of them ducked out of the portrait quickly, just as the dull thwump of the impact of the cushion struck. Neville patted him on the shoulder as they began making their way down the staircases. "You really want to have to deal with Trelawny?"

He shivered at the thought – the professor had such thick glasses on that her eyes appeared far too large for her head and had so many beads and bracelets on her person that she rattled as she walked. Never mind the constant smell of incense that followed her around like a miasma wherever she went. "Good point – I'll pass on that, I think."

"I thought so – who knew there was a smart one hiding under all of that pretty hair?" Neville grinned victoriously, throwing his arm around Harry's shoulder.

"Who's the one that copied my pretty hair?" Harry asked, tugging on a stray strand as the two stepped onto a landing, weaving their way around a pair of seventh year Ravenclaws that were far too engrossed in their conversation to notice who they were passing.

"So, you admit it's pretty?" Neville grinned, pulling Harry into him.

"I admit no such thing, and you know it." Harry sighed, ducking out of Neville's grip, and jumping the last step onto the next landing – one of the sixth year Gryffindor Prefects rushed past them, a small stack of books in his hands.

The two of them continued down the staircases, only having to wait for a single staircase as it swung slowly to another landing where a small gathering of students were waiting patiently. It was a pleasant trip, the castle air getting warmer with each staircase they travelled down, until finally, they were on the ground floor.

The rumbling chatter of the Great Hall welcomed both of them as they stepped through, the wafting smells of the various morning meals making Harry's mouth water and his stomach rumble loudly, 'causing Neville to chuckle.

The two of them moved to where Hermione sat, her nose buried in a book as she chewed absently on an apple. Around her, there were other members of their year – Dean and Seamus quietly talking to one another, and Ron shovelling food into his mouth, almost by the handful. Further along, the twins played a game of trying to catch grapes in their mouths, to the cheering of Angelina and Alicia – Oliver sat at the furthest end of the table with one of the Ravenclaw Chasers, Apollo Fiz. The two were laughing freely with one another, and Harry honestly couldn't recall Oliver ever looking so relaxed.

Harry slid into the bench alongside Hermione, and gave her a gentle nudge with his elbow, while she simply waved at him absently with her hand – she continued to chew on her apple as her eyes darted along the lines of the page. He looked over at Neville and rolled his eyes.

"Morning Hermione." He said, loud enough that she would hear him over the din of the Hall. She bolted upright and let out a startled squeak, dropping the apple onto the table as she looked around wildly.

"God, Harry – don't do that!" She cried, swatting his arm.

"Chopped liver, am I?" Neville grinned on her other side, making her jump slightly again. Harry couldn't help but chuckle as Hermione spun in her seat and slapped Neville's arm.

"Honestly, you're both such boys sometimes." Hermione huffed, though the smile on her face betrayed her own amusement.

Harry grinned and reached for a plate of smoked, streaky bacon and eggs, spooning them onto his plate greedily. He moaned as the first forkful entered his mouth – the bacon and eggs were seasoned with chive, green onion, pepper, and some kind of tangy, spicy sauce that brought all of the flavours together.

"Good, is it?" Daphne grinned as she and Tracey slid onto the bench across from them.

He nodded enthusiastically, swallowing his mouthful before reaching for a goblet of juice – the tang of the orange on his tongue almost made him moan again. It was cooled, just the way he liked it, and frankly, he couldn't imagine how his morning could get any better.

"He's turning into Weasley." Neville snickered, taking a bite out of a piece of toast that was lathered in raspberry jam. Further down the table, disgusted cries erupted as Ron tried to talk to Seamus and Dean with his mouth full. Harry turned his gaze to Neville and silently stuck his middle finger up at the boy.

"That's right, Harry – you tell him. Nothing wrong with enjoying a good breakfast." Tracey grinned, helping herself to a plate which had a smoked salmon and cream cheese omelette, the steam that rose from it lazily filling the air with the rich aroma to his nose – it was almost enough to tempt him to a second plate.

Daphne had helped herself to a plate of small mushroom and sausage quiches, which she ate slowly and delicately – there were four on her plate, all the size of a small muffin, though one was already held between her fingers and half-eaten.

He dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a serviette and took a small gulp of juice from his goblet once more, relishing in the feeling of the cold liquid running down his throat and into his rather full stomach. All around him, the benches filled up as more and more students trudged into the hall, some wide awake, and some still half asleep.

"Morgana, that tastes good." He murmured, reaching for his cutlery once again. He was about to ask Hermione what her book was about, when the bickering voices of Parvati and Lauren passed them, and he turned to look at the both of them curiously.

"-cow in the mornings." Lauren muttered, trudging past them and slumping into the bench grumpily – even from where Harry was sitting, he could see the pout as she tried to bury her head in her folded arms on the table.

"I honestly can't see why you can't just be up when you wake up!" Parvati sighed, angrily reaching for a bowl of fruit and almonds soaked in milk.

"Not all of us are morning people, Parvati." Lauren groaned, lifting her head for a moment to grab a croissant and roughly shove it into her mouth.

"You both need to stop arguing." Lavender muttered, just loud enough for Harry and the others to hear as she spooned a mouthful of porridge. "It's not even the end of breakfast and you've already given me a headache."

Harry chuckled as he turned back to his own meal, briefly glancing up to see Daphne and Tracey looking at him oddly. "Parvati hit Lauren with a cushion just as we left."

"But only after Lauren hit her for talking too early." Neville added.

"Parvati was about to pull Lauren out of her bed by her ankles when I left." Hermione sighed, taking another bite from her apple. "Honestly, those two in a morning are impossible." She added, muttering it under her breath, though Harry still caught it.

"Not everyone can be up and reading in the morning like you." He said, nudging her in the side with his elbow. "You're a one-of-a-kind in that regard."

Hermione beamed at him, and her cheeks turned a little rosy, though for what reason, he couldn't quite say. "You think so?" She asked shyly, staring at the apple in her hand intently.

"Of course – and I'm not the only one. Right, Daphne? Tracey? Neville?" He asked, looking between his friends – Daphne and Tracey were both smirking at him, which made him frown, and Neville still had his face buried in his food.

"Oh yes." Tracey nodded solemnly.

"There's only one Hermione Granger." Daphne smirked.

"Mmph." Neville grunted.

"Thanks guys." Hermione muttered, going back to her book. Harry blinked, feeling like he'd missed something. He hesitated to begin eating again, feeling like it needed to be addressed – he wouldn't want to inadvertently upset or bother any of his friends – but thought better of it as everyone went back to their food.

They continued eating in relative quiet, the low moans of pleasure as their food filled their empty stomachs the only punctuation to their meals among the hubbub of the Hall. On the Ravenclaw table, Harry could just make out the rumble of a dozen or more conversations, while the Slytherin table, whose members generally kept to themselves, focused on their meals – there were one or two whispered conversations happening between bites of food.

The staccato barks and hoots of the morning Owls tore his attention from the last of his meal as he glanced up and watched as the mail was delivered – the birds of all shapes and sizes swept through the large room with the thunderous flap of their wings, dropping their burdens off with the recipients.

The mail had come much later than was usual, though in truth, Harry hadn't thought much of it – he'd been far too preoccupied with filling his stomach before spending time with his friends, and eventually, Clara. He reached out and snatched the copy of the Daily Prophet that had been intended for him – the large Barn Owl swooping away with nary a second glance.

All around him, people scrambled to open their letters, read their papers, and open parcels – the shocked gasps of those with the Prophet had people rushing about to peer over shoulders.

"Bloody Hell!" Ron gasped from down the table, audibly swallowing his mouthful of sausage. "Someone's bunked off Arcturus Black!" He cried, staring with wide eyes and an open mouth at Harry.

Harry frowned, and moved to open his mouth – only to pause and look around the room. Everyone was staring at him and the room had fallen eerily quiet. Even the members of the staff at the Head Table were looking upon him as they glanced between himself and their open copies of the paper.

He glanced down, to the paper in his hand, and unrolled it slowly – the parchment of the newspaper rustling far louder than he'd ever thought possible.

There, on the front page, rotating in a macabre display for all to see in the middle of Diagon Alley, was the man he had most looked up to. There was a rope around his neck in a noose, and the other end was charmed to hold itself aloft, while a bronze spear was thrust through his abdomen – punched through the leather gambeson and the chainmail he knew he wore beneath it.

He got to his feet slowly, his hands trembling as his fingers traced the slowly looping black and white image on the front page, the ink still slightly damp. His mouth worked, though no sound came out.

He couldn't tear his eyes from the image – Arcturus's dark eyes would forever be empty, staring back at him for the rest of his life. The man that had sheltered him, made him feel safe and secure, that had made sure he had learned the lessons that he would need in his life, was dead – murdered and displayed like some kind of trophy in the middle of the street.

The title of the article drew his attention next, the large, bold words echoing in his mind violently. Lord Black Murdered.

Murdered.

He slumped into the bench, his knees giving out beneath him, and he felt Hermione steady him as the world became muted – the whispered conversations of those around him seemed so far away, and his skin tingled with his magic. He thought he could hear Neville, somewhere, gripping his shoulder and shaking him, but he couldn't be sure.

For how long he sat there, the words rattling around in his mind, he couldn't say – only when Professor Cantrill's face appeared across the table did he blink, almost violently, as his entire body shook.

"Harry?" She asked, softly – a sad smile adorned her face, and her eyes glistened.

"Professor." He managed, his throat constricting uncomfortably as he licked his lips. He glanced around, noting that Daphne, Tracey, Neville, and Hermione had remained with him – the rest of the hall was empty, save for a few teachers, all looking at him in sympathy. Professor McGonagall was dabbing the tears from the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Oh, Harry." She murmured, pressing her lips together. She reached across the table and took his hand, her thumb trailing back and forth across it slowly in small circles. "I'm so, so sorry."

"He can't be gone." Harry answered, shaking his head. It was impossible. The Daily Prophet had to have gotten it wrong – a sensationalist piece, or a stupid prank. Arcturus couldn't be dead – he was the most powerful wizard that Harry knew, and so politically savvy that it left him stumbling to keep up with half of what he'd passed on over the years.

Sirius would know – Sirius would tell him that Arcturus was fine.

"I need to go to my room." He murmured, getting to his feet unsteadily, swaying from side to side for a moment before catching himself on the table. "I'm sorry." He added, hopping over the bench, and taking off at a dead sprint.

His legs carried him out of the large room quickly, and he took the steps two at a time, sometimes three – he was thankful for the staircases' lack of movement, he didn't think he could take the delay. By the time he reached the seventh floor, his thighs burned, and his chest heaved – The Fat Lady opened without the need for the password, her own sorrowful eyes briefly meeting his own.

The Common Room was full of Gryffindors, all turning to stare at him as he entered the room – though none said a word as he rushed past, weaving around the members of his house quickly and charging up the stairs. He threw open the door to the small common room, and almost tore the hinges off of his own in his haste.

Hedwig let out a bark of protest, while Clara tilted her head at him curiously as he scrambled past their perches, his breath coming in short and ragged gasps.

It was right where he'd left it, on his bedside table on top of everything else – the smooth surface, and jagged edges glinting in the early morning light. He snatched it up quickly, flicking his wand into his hand as he tapped the tip of it against the flat surface.

"Sirius Black." He called into the quiet of the room – the mirror vibrated in response, the sensation rattling his fingers as he licked his lips, his eyes darting about the room to the two Familiars that sat staring at him unblinkingly.

After what felt an age, but was no doubt only a few seconds, the pale face of Sirius stared at him – his dark eyes were bloodshot, and there were tear-marks running down his cheeks. His lips were tightly pressed together.

"Pup." Sirius croaked; his voice thick.

"Sirius – is it true? Tell me Arcturus is fine, and this is all a stupid prank. Please." He begged, sinking to the floor by his bed.

"I'm so sorry, Harry." Sirius whispered as fresh tears ran down his face. "We just heard ourselves. It's him."

"How?"

"We don't know – not yet. He went to a meeting of some Lords yesterday afternoon and didn't come home – Remus and I, even Amelia, we all thought it had carried on until late. We never-" Sirius paused, sniffing. "We never thought it could be something like this."

"What happens now?" He asked after a time – he swiped at his cheeks with the base of his palm.

"Several things. Too many things. The Wizengamot, meetings with the D.M.L.E and I'll have to arrange for the-" Sirius swallowed again, paused, and continued. "Service on Monday."

"At Blackwall?"

"Blackstone – he should be laid to rest with our ancestors." Sirius replied with a small nod, a sad smile on his lips. "You'll be there?"

"Of course." Harry answered quickly, glancing up as he heard a noise at his door – there, all panting, were his friends – even Daphne and Tracey. "I don't want to believe it. This can't be happening." He said quietly to the mirror.

"None of us can, pup." Sirius sighed, running a hand down his face. "It's going to be tough, but we'll get through it – as a family."

Harry nodded, sucking in a shuddering breath as his friends all crowded around him – Hermione sank to her knees beside him, her long, baggy jumper swamping her small frame, and gently rested her head on his shoulder. Neville sat beside him, a comforting hand on his shoulder, while Daphne and Tracey, who were both in a long dress and skirt respectively, simply knelt on the floor before him.

"I can see you've got plenty of people around you, pup – I'll leave you in their capable hands, alright?" Sirius nodded, the slow tears still edging their way down his cheeks. "You four look after my boy, you hear me?"

"Yes Sirius." They all chorused. The mirror image of Sirius faded – Neville quickly pulling it from his grasp and placing it carefully on his bed behind him.

"He's really gone." He murmured, staring at a blank spot on the far wall.

"I'm so sorry, Harry." Daphne whispered, reaching over, and squeezing his hand. "I know how much he meant to you."

"We argued a lot, toward the end of Summer."

"But he knew how much you cared – that's what matters." Tracey said, smiling slightly. "He'll be in The Everglade, feasting with the Gods and bragging about you to all that'll listen."

"The Everglade?" Hermione asked, squeezing his arm. "That's your afterlife, right?"

"Aye." Neville nodded. "A place of magic, where we live among the Gods in an endless forest of trees kilometres tall with branches so thick, there are entire roads and streets along them." He said, shifting on the floor.

"There's the white-city." Harry murmured, closing his eyes. He had never been a devout follower of the Gods – he had been left to make up his own mind – but he couldn't help but hope that something awaited Arcturus.

"That'll be where he'll wait for you." Daphne smiled sadly. "You'll see him again."

Harry breathed out through his nose and leaned his head against the mattress behind him as Clara began to sing quietly. They would be reunited one day – and he'd tell Arcturus of all that he'd done in the meantime. He'd be sure to make the man proud.


Monday arrived far too quickly – Headmaster Dumbledore had permitted his departure from the castle and had excused him from classes for a brief period of mourning following the tragedy that had rocked his world.

Everywhere he had travelled throughout the castle, people had stared at him – he was used to it by now – they'd been staring at him since he'd punched Draco, and the whispers had only grown louder as more and more students were attacked.

As Sirius and Remus were occupied with the preparations, it had been Amelia who had collected him from the school – the two of them walking in silence to the front gates, whereupon she had Apparated the two of them inside the walls of Blackwall. He'd not had any luggage, not even an overnight bag – anything he might need, he'd be able to get from his room in the Manor.

He hadn't brought Clara or Hedwig with him, instead leaving them in the care of his friends – Clara would be able to go out and hunt on her own, but Hedwig would, no doubt, need some additional care. She was a wonderful owl and shared in his affection equally with the Phoenix, though she wasn't as independent as Clara – he couldn't help but think he'd spoiled her. Regardless, Hermione and Neville had both agreed to make sure she ate and drank enough in his absence.

Upon arriving at Blackwall, he rushed to his room, feeling Amelia's sad eyes on his retreating back the entire way up the staircase. He knew she meant well, but what could he say? He didn't even know what to feel.

It all sat so strangely with him. Arcturus was, well, Arcturus – the man that had taken him in so willingly after his parents' murder in eighty-one. He'd seen death, been up close to it even if he didn't fully remember, and he'd long come to terms with the fact people were just sacks of meat with a bit of bone propping the whole mess up. To have it all reaffirmed by the loss of, arguably, the most powerful figure in his life?

It made everything feel strangely final.

He'd changed quickly, stripping out of his doublet and jacket of his House Colours, and found himself a replacement for both that were dark enough to pass for black and suitable enough to be worn to the funeral of such a prestigious Lord.

The doublet was simple, with only a simple tie on the right of his neck, and the jacket was left open – only the faintest trimmings of blue and grey in the decoration. The jacket, like his others, hung down to his mid-thigh, and sat comfortably – it was neither too stifling, nor too breathable. He found comfort in the fact that it sat easily over his wand holster.

He had rushed from the room as soon as he was dressed, hurrying down the stairs, and toward the Ro'rim chamber in the bowels of the Manor. Once, many years ago, he had first stepped foot through the very same Ro'rim with Arcturus guiding him – now, he would be travelling through it to pay his final respects to the very same man.

The waiting forms of Remus, Sirius, and Amelia had greeted him, with Sirius eventually nodding and activating the Ro'rim himself.

The four of them, travelled through the mirror, arriving in the usual courtyard before Sirius activated the final frame – as they had passed through it, they had stepped into another courtyard that was so sombre, that for a moment, it was almost palpable in the air.

It was winter, even here – the seasons matched those of England – and light dusting of snow was sprinkled over almost every surface. As far as Harry had been able to see, even all of the waiting denizens of the castle had a small amount of snow on their shoulders and heads. He had glanced up, and even now, as he stood in the Sepulchre of House Black, he could feel the snowflakes landing on the tip of his nose.

He breathed in deeply as he opened his eyes, the dark room illuminated only by the flickering flames of Magefyre. There were dozens in the room – a priest from the castle proper, who was dressed in a large, flowing robe with gold trimmings and the closest Lords and Ladies that could attend.

Sirius and Remus had brought Arcturus's remains to Blackstone the day before – the closed personal sarcophagus left under guard within the larger stone sarcophagus for those of the Household to pay their final respects before the interment. According to Remus, there had been a large floral arrangement left by those that lived within the castle walls – the Blacks were well respected and loved by those that were sworn to them.

The priest stepped up to the closed, obsidian sarcophagus, placing both of his hands on the lid – the small, silver detailing glinting in the pale, flickering light.

Whatever the priest chanted was lost to him – though, he did hear the names of the Gods invoked. Emis, Tora, Enera, Beddoss, Tidall, Koris, and Temra – all were called upon to protect and guide the soul of Arcturus Black on his journey to the afterlife. Before he knew it, Sirius and Remus stepped forward, both lifting the stone lid between themselves and sliding it onto the large sarcophagus that held both Melania Black, and now Arcturus's sarcophagi.

The lid slid on perfectly, and with a dull thud that echoed throughout the chamber – with only a small Mithril plaque to pay homage to the great man that Arcturus had been.

Harry breathed in deeply, ignoring the press of bodies around him – in the background, someone wept quietly. Arcturus had been a great man in life, and his loss would be felt by many for the rest of their lives. He felt Amelia place a gentle hand on his shoulder, and her reassuring squeeze was comforting.

Sirius and Remus re-joined the assembly, both clasping their hands before them – the brief glimpse of Sirius's eyes had shown them to be bloodshot, with dark circles around them. It was no secret that Sirius had thought of the man as his father – Harry didn't know much about Sirius's childhood, but what he'd been able to piece together over the years didn't paint a flattering image of Orion or Walburga.

They remained there for a time, everyone offering their own silent words for Arcturus to carry with him into the next life, words he could pass on to the Gods, or to other departed loved ones.

The priest left first, though Harry couldn't remember when. He had remained where he was, his own hands clasped before him as his jaw clenched and unclenched. He thought about all the things he had left unsaid, and the things he had said.

He felt cursed – first his parents, and now Arcturus. His throat constricted, and his nose stung, but he refused to cry. He would remain strong, stalwart – just as Arcturus had taught him to be.

Some of the Lords left shortly after, retreating into the open air of the castle for the celebration that was to come. There would be food, drink, dancing, and merriment – a celebration of the life of the one that had left them. A time to laugh at memories shared, and weep in mourning.

He wouldn't be attending – he couldn't.

His grief was private, silent, and most importantly – intimate. He knew Arcturus better than most of the Lords and Ladies that had attended the funeral. Harry had grown up around the man, his entire life shaped by Arcturus's desire to shelter and shield him from those that would do him harm.

He would honour the man in his own way, in his own time. He breathed deeply once more and blinked as he looked away from the plainness of the crypt and looked to Sirius and Remus. Both were talking quietly between themselves – Amelia remained by the door, her eyes suspiciously shiny in the darkness of the room.

He moved to her first, the soles of his boots scuffing the flagstone floor and echoing off of the high, vaulted ceiling.

"Are you alright?" She asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. He nodded, not trusting his own voice. "It's okay to grieve, you know." Amelia said, her voice soft.

"I know." He whispered, his eyes darting back to the large tomb that sat upon a stone plinth. "I just…" He sighed. "I don't know."

"I know what you mean." Amelia murmured. "It gets easier, you know – with time."

"I'm scared I'll forget."

"You won't."

"How do you know?" He asked, looking up at her – his eyes stung.

She leaned down before him, so their eyes were level, and the pad of one of her thumbs swiped the lone tear that had escaped. "Because he's a part of you – he passed on everything he could, because he knew you would go on to do great things, Harry. He'll always be a part of you – do you understand me?"

He nodded and lunged forward, unable to keep the pain inside any longer. He wept – he wept for the trauma of his school year, he wept for the words and accusations he'd thrown at Arcturus at the end of the summer, and he wept for the man that he had admired so – to forever remain in the cold, dark labyrinth of his ancestors.

Amelia swept him into her arms, her hands threading his loose hair soothingly as she gently rocked him side to side as his body shook violently. He sobbed into her dress, the black material quickly becoming soaked with his tears – for how long he cried, he couldn't say, only that the ache in his chest still remained as his shoulders stopped their trembling with each breath.

He felt Amelia place a gentle kiss to the top of his head, and he breathed a little easier – her hands cupping the sides of his face softly as he leaned back, sniffling and wiping at his eyes with his sleeves. "I'm sorry." He muttered.

"Never be sorry for being human, Harry." Amelia said, tucking the hair on the right side of his head behind his ears.

He nodded and glanced over at Sirius and Remus – both were looking at him, smiling sadly. Sirius rushed him as he stepped from Amelia's embrace and swept him up in his arms, holding his face tightly to his chest.

"I'm so proud of you today, Harry. So proud."

"Thanks." He muttered, squeezing back. Sirius stepped back, holding him at arms-length as he knelt before him.

"He'd be proud too, you know." Sirius smiled tightly, his eyes growing shiny. "He was so very proud of you."

"I'll do my best to live up to it."

"You need only be yourself – only yourself." Sirius murmured, his jaw twitching as he smiled sadly up at him.

Harry could only nod, his eyes briefly darting to Remus, who remained where he had been – his dark doublet making his pale skin seem even lighter, while the flames flickered in his amber eyes. "Are you both alright?" He asked, looked between the two of them.

Amelia came up behind him, her hand resting on the nape of his neck comfortingly – they were all that remained of his family, the only one missing, of course, was Neville.

"If we needed any proof of how fine a young man you are, we wouldn't need it anymore." Remus smiled, his moustache twitching as he approached. "You are never alone, Harry – you'll always have us."

Harry nodded as Remus placed a hand on his shoulder – his throat felt tight again.

Sirius stood with a sigh. "We should make an appearance in the Great Hall. Any longer and they may start anyway."

"You go – I can't… I can't be there." Harry sniffed, clearing his throat as he shifted from foot to foot anxiously. "I don't know how they can laugh and make jokes."

"Alright – but only if you're sure. If you need any of us, I want you to come and get one of us – the Lords and Ladies can hang for all I care."

"Sirius." Remus huffed, cocking a brow at the man.

"I'm serious – they come second to Harry."

"I'll be fine." Harry said, trying to give his best attempt at a reassuring smile. "I just want to be alone."

"Alright – come on then, let's get out of here. But if you want to go outside around the castle, you'll need a cloak." Sirius said, gently leading him through the door and into the labyrinth of corridors that spiderwebbed beneath the castle.

They walked along in silence, with Sirius's comforting hand around his shoulders – occasionally pulling him into his side, as if to reassure that he was in fact walking alongside him. Harry felt terrible over the whole ordeal, he couldn't imagine how Sirius felt.

To Sirius, Arcturus was a hero – his hero – a man to aspire to be. He knew Sirius also loved Charlus, Harry's own grandfather dearly, and held him in the same regard as he did Arcturus. Sirius would often joke about being one-part Arcturus, and another part Charlus – always striving to find the perfect balance between the two men that had shaped him so profoundly.

Personally, Harry thought Sirius to be damn-near perfect – of course, Sirius made mistakes, and was quick to anger more often than not. He was a Gryffindor in the best way possible. He had the courage to voice his opinions, and the bravery to raise him in the midst of his own grief and despair – Sirius had often remarked on just how similar he was in appearance to his father, something he had heard often from many people over the years. What kind of pain it must cause his father of choice, to look upon the spectre of his murdered best friend? And now, to know that his own role model had been killed and displayed in such a brutal fashion?

Harry could only hope that he turned out to be half the man that Sirius was.

Sirius, Remus, and Amelia all departed for the Main Hall once they reached the surface – though not before the three of them had made sure he was bundled up in a fur cloak that almost swamped his frame. He had watched them go; his lips pressed tightly together as the noise from the Hall trickled from the briefly open doors.

He glanced up, tilting his head back as he felt the continued snowfall land on his face, dusting his cheeks with their cold touch – it didn't take long for his hair to grow thick and heavy with damp, and his nose visibly turned a harsh red against the whistling wind as it swept through the courtyard.

On the battlements, men and women patrolled slowly, their thick cloaks pulled tightly against their bodies, and their thick hoods protecting them from the worst of the wind. Some were gathered about around fire pits and braziers, holding their hands to the open flames, or with a warm bowl clasped tightly in folded fingers – one witch was idly tossing a ball of flame back and forth between her hands.

He began walking throughout the castle grounds – he had explored it once or twice since the first time they had come, wandering among the dark archways and the twisting labyrinths between the large curtain walls for the inner and outer keep.

It was so different to Arpton, or even Rosestone – with its large stone gargoyles and the high crenellations that lined the walls. The various murder holes watched him as he wandered past, the stone chipped and worn through weather and ancient battle damage.

The snow was dark, muddy and mostly slush beneath his boots on the cobblestone beneath him and there were a number of large mounds of snow packed tightly against the walls – the only splashes of white against the dark stone.

If not for the guards manning the walls and the various intersections of the castle, the fortress would have felt almost deserted, all of the inhabitants seemingly celebrating the life and accomplishments of the man that had so violently left them – it gladdened him, to know so many cared for Arcturus, that so many would have tales to tell, and stories to weave.

The day before, his friends had tried to recount the times they had shared with the man, no doubt to make him feel some sort of comfort from the act – however, it just made his absence all the keener.

He kicked a small mound of snow absently as he walked into the garden of the castle – there were greenhouses arranged along the far wall, and a number of snow-laden rows of flowers and herbs with a stone path weaving through it all, like a snake. He had glimpsed it from above in a previous visit, and Arcturus had told him that it had been laid out by one of his ancient ancestors, as a reminder of the animal they had taken for their sigil.

Harry snorted, recalling the memory – he could almost feel Arcturus's hand on his shoulder, hear his rumbling laughter. As Harry had pointed out, it was hard not to imagine the large castle, nor any of their family without the serpent involved somewhere. Not unlike his own family, and their penchant for putting wolves on almost everything.

He walked the stone path slowly, his hands scraping the tops of the bushes and plants idly as he went – the snow freezing the tips of his fingers. The plants weren't particularly tall, the tallest barely reached his hips. Some were still in full bloom, their petals frozen and tinged blue as he passed them – he considered plucking one, if only to show it to his friends when he returned to Hogwarts, but decided against it.

With a heavy sigh, he stepped out of the far side of the garden, his cloak pulled tightly around him once again – the bear-pelt around his shoulders tickling his chin and his cold nose. He trudged up the steps to the outer curtain wall, passing a guard silently on their path down the stone staircase.

The steps were slippery, covered in snow and ice – winter here was far more intense than in Britain, though they both lasted about the same amount of time – thank the Gods. He made sure to place his feet slowly, carefully, always ready to reach out and grasp the small wall that would stop him tumbling to his death on the cobblestone below.

Upon reaching the top of the wall, he couldn't help but pause and look out over the distant forest in the distance. Like everything else, it was covered in a layer of snow, and the tall, thick pine trees stood proudly, gently billowing in the wind. If he closed his eyes, he could just make out the many animals that prowled its domain. He breathed deeply through his nose, relishing the cold bite to the air, leaning against one of the many crenellations that lined the wall.

The corner of the stone was hard and unyielding, and served to buffet him against the wind – it was stronger up here, with nothing to break against other than his own small body. As he continued to gaze out upon the rolling, frozen fields, and the distant forest – whose road he knew led to both the Capitol and his own lands – he couldn't help but feel a certain sense of nostalgia.

Arcturus had been the catalyst behind his initial coming here – he knew that. Sirius had wanted him to be older – the magic here had had an effect on his own, even he knew that. Ever since his first visit, he'd found he held a certain affinity for the Wild Magic of the world, that same magic, he knew, that saturated the soil and the very air of this place – Wild Magic was, as its name implied, wild and chaotic. It was unpredictable, and almost alive in its own way. It was why Floo Magic, Brooms, and Apparition were impossible here – no amount of Arithmancy could organise Wild Magic in the same way it could in Britain.

He'd read enough books over the years on the subject to give himself a headache just thinking about it.

He wondered what his friends would think of this place – Neville and Daphne knew about it, but they'd never visited. They couldn't on their own, for neither family held a Ro'rim, and it wasn't hard to decipher why. Daphne's family held land in Ireland and had ruled there for over a thousand years – Neville hailed from the Norse settlers of Scandinavia.

What would Neville think of this place – or Daphne? How would Tracey react, or even Hermione? He could imagine Hermione trying to wrap her mind around this place, or even objecting to parts of the society – the very patriarchal nature of the Lords would certainly draw her ire.

He wished he could share it with them in the same way that Arcturus had shared it with him. For now, he was forced to keep a part of himself separate from his friends, to hide what he loved the most – he couldn't even introduce them to his parents, as morbid a thought as that was. Perhaps, one day, they could travel to this place and pay their final respects to Arcturus themselves.

He pushed himself away from the crenelation and continued walking the walls – he passed more guards huddled around metal braziers, their hands held to the flickering orange flames, or tucked tightly under their cloaks.

The handful of towers he passed through were a brief reprieve from the wind and the snowfall, offering short periods of warmth for as long as he stayed within their walls – which, wasn't very long, as he would immediately exit the other side.

Eventually, he came to a stop, watching the courtyard below him. From his position, he could see the few people that had come from the Hall and had decided to mill about in the cold – some smoked pipes, while others drank and made merry. The guards remained where they had been when he had departed Sirius, only occasionally glancing at the guests.

His eyes strayed to the dark wooden door that led to the final resting place of House Black – before today, he had never been permitted in there – not that he'd ever had any true desire to explore such a morbid place.

What he was expecting, he wasn't sure. He was used to the honouring of the dead at Arpton – the wands of those that had come before him on display for the Household to offer their respects, and the crypts themselves for the family to spend time with their family. It seemed so impersonal to him, but it was their right to bury their dead how they wished.

He could only hope that he would be permitted to visit – to tell Arcturus how he was doing at school, what troubled him, to let him know that he was living up to his expectations.

His eyes stung again.

He'd never see Arcturus's smile again – the one where his eyes would crinkle in the corners. He'd never feel his hand on his shoulder, and that comforting squeeze that could only ever be Arcturus. He'd never hear his voice again, or his laughter – Merlin, he'd even take his rage at this point, to hear him shout and bellow about some fool or another in the Wizengamot.

He took a shuddering breath. He ached with the loss of Arcturus.

"I thought I'd find you up here." Sirius said, appearing on Harry's left, his own cloak wrapped tightly around him. Remus appeared on Harry's right, similarly attired.

"It's quiet."

"That it is."

The three remained there for a time, basking in each other's presence – the silent support all they needed. With the absence of Lispy, the two men beside him were all that remained of his early childhood. First his parents, and now Arcturus.

"Did it turn up before the ceremony?" He asked eventually, his eyes still locked on the door to the Sepulchre.

It worried the three of them and Amelia that Arcturus's wand hadn't been with his body as it had been displayed in Diagon, and with no hints or clues able to be gleaned from the display and the corpse themselves, they were left with unanswered questions too numerous to count.

"No." Sirius replied, his voice tight. "I'll find the bastard that did it though."

"We will." Remus nodded. "Amelia's keeping the investigation open for as long as it needs to be. A Lord killed, displayed like that…" Remus shook his head. "People will want answers."

"Good." Harry nodded once, his fists clenching and unclenching beneath his cloak. "Let me know when you find them – I want to kill them myself."

Out of the corners of his vision, he saw Sirius and Remus share a look between them, the two of them glancing down at him.

"And what gives you that right?" Sirius asked, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip absently. "You are a child, Harry – and you will remain one for as long as you can."

"Whoever killed Arcturus deserves to die." Harry scowled, keeping his eyes on the Sepulchre.

"And they will, Harry." Remus sighed. "But as much as you considered him your grandfather, he wasn't your blood."

"He might as well have been."

"Aye – on that, you're right." Remus nodded. "He thought of you as his own."

"I know."

"Did he ever mention Dorea to you?" Sirius asked after a time, glancing in his direction. Harry shook his head – he knew the name, and her relation to Arcturus, but no more than that – each time he'd asked about her, Arcturus would fall into melancholy. He'd learned to avoid her name, over the years. "You know she was your grandmother, of course. She was also his favourite sister – you were the last piece of her left in the world. He'd have moved mountains for you."

"None of us deserved him." Harry sniffed, chewing on his tongue – it was a good way to distract from the burning sensation in his eyes and nose, or the lurch in his chest.

"No, we didn't." Remus agreed, briefly glancing to the sky.

"We'll avenge him, Harry – and you'll go on to make him proud of the man you'll become. Then, one day, when we're all fat and old, we'll see him again." Sirius said softly, pulling Harry into his side. The three of them remained standing where they were, the late afternoon slowly turning to evening as the lights began appearing in the windows of the buildings and stars dotted the skies.


Returning to Hogwarts the following day had been strange – it had felt like he hadn't truly left. Clara was as affectionate with him as she always was, and Hedwig had fought for his attention the moment he had stepped into his room.

He'd been excused from lessons upon his return, and had spent much of his time in the Common Room, tucked into a corner as he flipped through a small mountain of books in an attempt to catch up on the theory of what he'd missed.

There had been his double Magical Theory class, Alchemy, Magical Languages – with additional notes from Micca, Potions, and Astronomy to catch up on. Not only did he have that, but he had the classes he'd missed during the day of his return as well, double Defence Against the Dark Arts, Magical Languages, and double Potions.

He'd hidden himself away from the rest of the Common Room behind his books, all piled high and arranged as a shield from those he didn't want to have to deal with – the stares and whispers that he had held steadfast against all year would have been too much to deal with.

His walls were broken and crumbling, in the aftermath of saying farewell to the man that had always been there. At some point, his friends had appeared – even Daphne and Tracey, both having been given special dispensation to enter the tower from Dumbledore and McGonagall, though they both had to leave before curfew.

He had relished their company – the way Hermione would organise his notes and look over them for mistakes, jotting down small notes here and there in the margins. Daphne would help him plan what he would tackle next. Tracey would find references for him, and Neville would simply be Neville – his quiet words managing to help him smile.

They kept him grounded following the funeral – reminded him to live in the present, to enjoy the company of his friends. At night, he would succumb to the effects of the sleeping potions that Madame Pomfrey prescribed him, though the effects of a full night's sleep would soon wear off as the day progressed.

On Wednesday, he went through his classes, and found himself in the delightful position of not being behind in any of them. He followed the instructions of Hagrid in caring for his Familiar, though even the friendly giant confessed that Harry likely knew more about a Phoenix than he did.

Double Transfiguration with McGonagall had been a quiet affair – the spell they had been studying had been simple to execute, and many got it in the first try or two. Not even Seamus had been able to have the spell blow up in his face this time.

As the final bell rang for the day, Harry found himself wandering toward the Library, with his friends in-tow. There was little that he wanted to search for there, but either way, when he finally stepped foot in the domain of Madame Pince – her hazel eyes tracking his every movement over the top of one of her thick tomes from her desk – he felt a sense of peace he hadn't felt since waking on Saturday morning.

He had meandered his way through the aisles, and slid into the table at the far corner of the Library that he'd discovered the year before – it was quieter than most, the sunlight filtering in through the tall window, making it warm and comfortable, yet not so much that it was stifling.

"Any reason we're in here?" Daphne asked, cocking a brow.

"It's quiet?" Harry answered, placing his bag on the table, and stretching his legs out beneath it. His back curved over the back of the chair and a number of satisfying, muted, pops ran up his spine. He groaned in pleasure as he rolled his shoulders.

"It's a library, Harry, and Pince terrifies me." Neville muttered, leaning around one of the large bookcases and glancing at the ruler of the Library. "I heard she made Emily cry last week."

"She damaged a book." Hermione sniffed, opening a thick volume on something or another – her eyes already skimming the page.

"You'll find no sympathy with Hermione, Neville – books are her religion, remember?" Tracey grinned, her copy of Fantastic Beasts already in her hand.

Harry smiled, watching the by-play between his friends, before pulling his own book out of his bag – here seemed as good a place to make a start on his homework as any other. The sooner it was done, the sooner he could read things that he wanted, or spend time with his friends simply talking.

The time passed quickly – Neville and Daphne busied themselves with perusing the various books on the Founders. Daphne had argued that if Neville was stupid enough to search for Salazar's Chamber, then she may as well make sure no book cursed him or get himself killed between the aisles of bookcases.

Tracey remained engrossed in her own book, her soft ooh's and ah's punctuating each page as she looked upon another fantastical creature. It was times like these that he was reminded of just how young they all were. Despite being the youngest of the group, he often felt the oldest of the Vargarnir – he had lost his innocence years ago – and treasured moments like these when they arose.

Hermione remained at his side, her knee touching his own, and every now and then, she would tap his ankle with her own shoe – almost as if she were reassuring herself that he was, in fact, there. He appreciated it, as it kept him aware of everything around him – from the soft conversation between Neville and Daphne, to the murmurs of wonder from Tracey. He found himself paying more attention to them than he ever had during one of their study sessions – as a result, he didn't get as far into his homework as he wished he had, but still far enough to call it progress.

When they packed up for the night, the four of them stepped from the Library and began making their way to their Common Rooms, only to be caught up in a stampede of students rushing the hallways – the panicked cries and hurried conversations of those around them making them pause just long enough to be swept up in the throng of bodies.

They pushed their way to the front when the crowd stopped, finding themselves in the Great Hall – the tables and benches pushed to the side so as to accommodate the crowd. All around were the students of all years and all four houses, with the staff of the school standing at the far end, watching them all with concerned eyes.

"It has come to my attention," Headmaster Dumbledore began, his voice loud and clear. "that a Hufflepuff student has been attacked this evening."

The frantic whispering struck up again.

"As it is before our evening meal," Dumbledore continued, his voice overcoming the whispers. "I have decided that a lighter meal will be served tonight, and all of you shall stay in this Hall."

Harry looked to his friends; his eyes wide – he hadn't heard the Basilisk this time. Hermione grabbed his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

"The adjoining chambers will serve as changing rooms, and your nightwear will be provided from your rooms by the House Elves. In the morning, once a proper sweep of the castle has been completed, you will be permitted to return to your Common Rooms, in which you will all stay for the rest of the day – do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Headmaster Dumbledore." The Hall replied in unison.

Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek as he stepped closer to Hermione. If a student had been attacked in broad daylight, it could only mean one thing – whoever had opened the Chamber was getting bolder, and their plan, whatever that was, was closer to completion.