Harry scratched at the side of his neck a little, where some errant hair that he'd missed shaving was irritating him. Dumbledore looked down at him from in front of the fireplace, a look more of thoughtfulness than concern on his face.

"You are certain it was a blood quill?"

"I've never seen one before but there was no ink and my words came out in red," Harry responded. He glanced down at his hand, where the cut, unhealed, was still very legible.

"And they carved themselves into his hand. Albus, it cannot be anything else," said Snape. He was still in his severe-looking teaching clothes, pacing in front of his desk. The map that had hung above the desk during their hunt for Voldemort had been removed and replaced with a charmed window showing the clear night sky.

"It could be modified," Dumbledore mused. "But that is neither here nor there."

"It does not matter," Snape said. "An agent from the Ministry, ordering him to write that sentence and carve it into himself."

"Well," Harry admitted, "I did say something about–"

"You've always been mouthy," Snape dismissed. "I've never resorted to blood quills over it."

Dumbledore smiled at that and stepped back toward the fireplace.

"You are correct," Dumbledore said. "There will be a warning given officially, but you are also welcome to speak with her directly, Severus. Though I note to both of you that she may be trying to uncover the coverup that Fudge orchestrated."

Harry frowned, pulling his feet up on the couch and sitting cross legged.

"I'm much better at lying now," Harry said.

"Occlumency. You're better at occlumency," Snape corrected. "I can still tell when you're lying."

Dumbledore smiled again.

"In any event, be mindful of your interactions. And see Madame Pomfrey, Harry, to see if that scar can be removed."

"I have a custom ointment," Snape said, picking up one of his notebooks from the desk and tapping it against his hand.

"Oh yes," Dumbledore nodded. "My offer to assist with the patent application still stands, Severus. Such long hours went into making it such a success."

"Perhaps," Snape said, not moving as Dumbledore stepped into the fire and spun away with a small wave.

Snape stared at Harry for a second before tossing his notebook to his desk.

"This will not be the first time she tries to teach you a lesson," Snape said. He unscrewed the jar with the ointment and sat down on the coffee table in front of Harry. He held out his hand and waited.

"Why did you make so many versions of this cream?" Harry asked, giving his left hand over.

Snape murmured a spell that Harry didn't recognise and slathered some of the light pink cream on.

"To make it work."

"Well yeah," Harry said, watching as the ointment seeped into the words on his hand. "But why did you have so many scars? The Death Eaters?"

"No. I did not attend many raids."

Silence filled the room as Snape worked in the ointment, pressing down on Harry's hand and circling his thumb over the scar.

"Dad."

Snape let go of Harry's hand and sat back. He wiped his hands with a conjured cloth and screwed the cap back on the jar. Harry waited, knowing now after two years that it meant that Snape was deciding how to answer, not that he wasn't going to.

"My father was not always the gentle man you see now," Snape finally said. He tossed the cloth into the fireplace and it burned brightly pink. "Nor always this sober."

He stood up and put the jar on his desk, which already had a stack of papers and books haphazardly tossed onto it.

Harry watched him, remembering what Snape had said at his hearing. Not this one. He didn't think he'd get much else out of Snape about it, but didn't really need to. One of Dudley's friends had grown up with an alcoholic mum, and Harry remembered hearing how terrible it was when Dudley had his friends over.

Harry watched Snape tidy some of the absolute explosion of papers on his desk and realised that he'd hit a very sensitive subject. He could keep asking about it, but Snape's father, his now granddad, was a mellower, sober person who seemed to get on well with Snape. Much like he didn't want to hear about how his own father was a bully and a prat through some of his teenage years, Harry decided to drop it and change the subject.

The quickest way to do that, Harry knew, was to present a puzzle.

"Hey Dad, you know how you said a long time ago that your boggart no longer inspires fear? Did it change, or did the boggart still show you the same thing and it just.. wasn't as effective?"

Snape paused from his tidying and regarded Harry carefully.

"It changed."

"Okay," Harry said, laying back on the couch. "I thought it would have. I wonder what mine will be now."

He saw Snape narrow his eyes and knew that he had Snape's full attention now.

"Why has yours changed from a dementor?"

"Well, I dunno if it has," Harry casually said. "But it's your worst fear, isn't it? Kind of interested to see what my worst fear is now."

"You assume that because you can cast a patronus that the dementor, and thus memory of your mother, is no longer your worst fear or memory?"

It was Snape's teaching voice that Harry was getting, as if Harry had mucked up a potion and Snape was asking him to explain just what steps he took that led him to the disaster he'd created. It no longer bothered Harry as much to receive, especially because he knew that there wasn't really a wrong answer to the information he was sharing.

"I don't think it is, no," Harry said, looking up at the stony ceiling. "When that dementor attacked us in August, I didn't hear her at all. I don't think I could even try to replay the memory right now if I tried."

Harry could hear Snape shuffle something on his desk and suspected he'd picked up his notebook again, the one written in some sort of indecipherable shorthand that he kept all his Voldemort notes in.

"What did you feel?"

"Just cold and a bit of like, itchy. And uncomfortable and worried that I wouldn't be able to keep it away from me or grandad," Harry said. He lifted his hand up again and saw the cream was pushing the scabs up from the words.

"Anxiety," Snape told him. "And you didn't hear your mother at all?"

"No, well I did. She's one of the memories I have that I use to make the patronus, sitting in the Leaky Cauldron talking to my parents. But I can't remember what her scream sounded like. Not that I want to."

Snape was silent at that and Harry raised himself up a bit after a few seconds out of curiosity. Snape was looking at him as if he'd unintentionally unlocked a large clue of a puzzle Snape was unaware of being in the middle of.

"I don't like when you look at me like I'm an insect to be dissected."

"You are much larger than an insect," Snape automatically replied.

Harry scowled and Snape smile a little.

"What are you other memories?"

"Of the dementor? I only had the one," Harry said.

"No," Snape prodded, flicking his wand upward and making a pillow and another blanket appear on the couch. "For your patronus. You used to have trouble finding one, and now you have several to choose from?"

"Ah you know," Harry said, reaching over to grab the blanket. "My first chocolate bar from Honeydukes, one Tuesday afternoon that I got the perfect cup of tea from the Great Hall, one time Ron fell asleep in class and then drooled all over his homework, and – oi!"

The pillow, which had been sitting benignly on the end of the couch flipped up into the air and started swatting at him.

"One for your collection," Snape said, with a smirk as Harry laughed and fought off the pillow.

Snape turned and went through the doorway to his bedroom and Harry wrestled the pillow into submission. The couch was surprisingly comfortable for sleeping on, a bonus as Harry knew that he wasn't going to get his own bedroom down in the dungeons. Snape had made it very clear that he was always welcome, had given him a key, but that he should spend most of his time with his house, and Harry understood that. He stood out enough as a special case, and he didn't want to add more fuel to the fire.

"My own room at home," Harry said, not yelling, but loud enough that he knew Snape would hear him.

Harry woke to a strange noise that he vaguely recognised and knew well enough to realise it wasn't in his dream.

"Always knew Severus flopped about on his furniture like a fish, nice to see his kid does too."

Harry sat up quickly, grabbing for his glasses before remembering that he no longer needed them to see. There was an amused and very awake face in the fireplace facing the couch, giving Harry a wink as Harry fumbled with the blankets he'd been sleeping under.

"I uh…" Harry said, blinking. He didn't recognise the man, but also suspected that Snape didn't allow calls from many people in his floo. "I can get him."

"No need," the stranger said, looking past Harry to the doorway at the end of the wall that the couch was on.

"Come through and stop wasting my kindling," Snape said, standing in the middle of the doorway and pulling a thin knit jumper over his head.

Harry stood and folded up his blanket, feeling under dressed and not quite awake. He picked up his clothing from the day before, with the blankets, and took it to Snape's room to get dressed and put them away.

When Harry returned to the sitting room, Snape was on the couch and there were three takeaway cups on the coffee table and a box of pastries.

"I'm Kingsley," the man said, offering his large hand out for Harry to shake. "I work for the Ministry of Magic."

"I'm Harry," Harry said, shaking the hand back. He sat down beside Snape, curious about whatever this visit was. He'd stolen one of Snape's shirts to wear, but either Snape wasn't bothered or didn't feel like calling Harry out.

"Oh, I know," Kingsley said, sitting back in Snape's armchair. "You're causing quite a stir with some at the Ministry."

"Some?" Snape asked, sipping what smelled like fresh coffee. "The dementor hearing has been settled."

Harry leaned forward to take the untouched cup, and saw Snape give him a nod.

"Oh sure," Kingsley said. "Still, lots of gossip about you adopting him, seems like some question your altruistic heart, Severus."

Snape rolled his eyes and Harry grinned into the lid of his cup.

"Kemper is still nosing around, but he's not getting very far with anything. Tracks are covered pretty well and no one else seems to be talking. He has, however, been seen conversing with a certain Lucius Malfoy at the Ministry once or twice."

"That's unsurprising. Lucius will talk to a lamppost if he thinks it will benefit him," Snape said. "Still no answer on who sent the dementor?"

"No," Kingsley said. "I don't think we'll find that out unless someone makes a mistake or purposefully reveals it. Fudge also had a few people looking into it."

Harry's stomach growled in the silence that followed and Kingsley laughed.

"Go ahead, have some."

Harry felt his face heat a little, but pulled the box of pastries his way and picked up a giant apple turn over.

"I do have a bit of news on Dolores Umbridge though," Kingsley said, pulling a file out of his pocket and letting it unfold itself on the table. "Mediocre witch, tends to turn people away with her talk of segregation and blood purity. Rumours she's actually a half-blood, not pureblood. Worked her way up through the Ministry through a mixture of hard work and blackmail, and is now one of Fudge's trusted secretaries. Definitely has a nasty streak to her, if you remember her from Slytherin."

Harry looked down at his hand, where the scratched words on his skin had healed well, but not disappeared completely. Nasty streak was right.

"Wait, you were in Slytherin too?" Harry asked, looking at Kingsley.

"Sure was," Kingsley said. His voice was friendly and jovial, as if he went through life solving problems and not letting them bog him down completely. He was almost the complete opposite of Snape's snarky and dry personality, and Harry found it absolutely fascinating that they seemed to be long-time friends.

"Mentored your Dad here when he came to Slytherin, showed him the ropes, you know. Taught him all he knows," Kingsley continued, with a mischievous look.

"You failed potions several times before asking me for assistance, if I remember correctly," Snape said, relaxing back against the couch.

"Minor detail," Kingsley said, winking at Harry. "I also kept him out of trouble for the first few years but he never mentions that."

"Because I was never in trouble," Snape said, draining his coffee.

"My only regret is that I could never get him out of wearing black," Kingsley said, giving the royal blue lapels of his jacket a little tug.

Harry laughed again. He'd never heard Snape speak of Kingsley, but he liked him a lot.

"He wears navy blue sometimes," Harry said.

"Be still my heart," Kingsley dramatized, snapping his finger and killing the stinging hex that Snape sent his way. He stood up and finished the rest of his coffee.

"Anyway, careful with Umbridge. She's got Fudge's ear and I wouldn't be surprised if happenings at Hogwarts are being reported on in close detail."

"To what end," Snape mused. "This is the first year without the threat of war overhead."

"Well, which you know," Kingsley said. "But we've all seen those articles about Azkaban and the ones claiming dark deeds are happening. Others might question if things are going on."

"What things?" Harry asked. "Like him coming back? He can't come back, right?"

Snape tapped the top of Harry's knee.

"No."

"Saw that," Kingsley said, picking a croissant out of the box to go. "Let's just say there are certain members of the Ministry who fear losing their power more so than the greatest villain of the last fifty years returning."

He mimed tipping his hat at Harry, picked up a handful of floo powder, and vanished into the flames.

First thing Monday morning was a quiet time of day in the staffroom. There were some pastries and drinks available, along with the weekend reports of which students had lost how many points for their respective houses. It was a sacred time of morning as the staff transitioned back into work mode, and Snape paid that absolutely no mind as he slammed open the staffroom door and startled everyone inside.

Flitwick grumbled as he used magic to clean the spilled orange juice from the table, and McGonagall wiped some cookie crumbs and pieces from her robes.

"Good morning, Severus," said Burbage, sitting at the armchair furthest from the door, reading The Times.

"Yes," Snape acknowledged, before turning his ire and complete attention toward Dolores Umbridge.

"Do not ever use any type of mediaeval instrument to permanently scar or injure my son, or any other student, again," Snape said, crossing his arms and standing tall and looming like a vampire over the chair Umbridge was sat in.

"We as professors are not allowed to use magic or blood quills to discipline students, and that includes adjacent authoritative roles," Snape said, looking down over his considerable nose at her. "Or whatever you are."

"The quill must have been used instead of a normal one," Umbridge said, her lips tight as she gave a small smile that was anything but happy. The rest of the professors in the room were staring unashamedly; McGonagall and Flitwick both looking rather incensed.

"And the ink misplaced, no doubt," Snape said. "These rules are put in place by the Ministry and school board of directors. Further illegal use will be reported."

"To whom, I might ask? I represent the Ministry," Umbridge asked, looking around to see if anyone agreed with her, and receiving stony glares in return.

"To the Minister himself," Snape said, dramatically whipping around and gathering the day's report notice from the table by the entrance.

"The Minister, I see. Do you know him well?" Umbridge challenged.

"We've met," Snape shortly said, flinging open the door again to leave.

"And what favour does he owe you that you're so certain he'll listen?" she asked, with a mock-sweet tone of voice.

Snape looked over his shoulder and gave a nasty smile.

"What makes you believe there is only one?"

"Are we sure this is safe?" Harry asked, following Ron and Hermione through the small corridor behind the Great Hall toward the greenhouses.

"Neville said that Greenhouse Seven wasn't in use," Hermione whispered. "Something about pests killing the plants."

"If there's any bloody spiders…" Ron muttered.

Harry glanced around before silently opening the door and entering. They were the last to arrive; Neville and Seamus were standing at the main table and poking something in a clay pot, and there were several other students with books sitting at two other tables. It looked like an impromptu study session, except no one was actually doing any reading.

"Er, hi," Harry said, stepping up to the front. "I'm going to make this quick because I don't want Umbridge to find us all here."

Several heads nodded, and Lee Jordan, standing guard at the door, gave a thumbs up.

"From what we all know; she has no plans to let us actually practise anything that we learn in defense. I think that's rubbish, because there's still Death Eaters and bad people out there, and we need to learn it."

Harry looked around the room and saw a lot of eager faces and people listening intently.

"You're going to teach us?" Dennis Creevey asked.

"No, well sort of," Harry said. "I know a few things but most of the stuff I learned because I had to. Because of the dementors, or the tournament, or stuff I used in the Chamber of Secrets. And I'll share those with you, but I think it's important that we have a space that we all practise together. As a group."

"Will Professor Lupin be there?" Cho Chang asked.

"No," Hermione said. "This is student only, because we don't want Professor Lupin to get in trouble with the Ministry. One person from each defense class year should come with their class notes and as best you can remember of Professor Lupin's demonstration. We'll go from there."

"So it's more schoolwork," Seamus said. "But the fun kind."

"It's still serious, Seamus," Harry said. "People can escape from Azkaban and if it happens again, they aren't just going to go home to lead quiet lives."

Lee gave another thumbs up from the door, but Harry felt like they didn't have much more time before Umbridge might stumble upon them.

"We need to keep this secret though, because if Umbridge finds out there's no telling what she'll do."

A Ravenclaw that Harry wasn't too familiar with raised his hand.

"If we're potentially going to get detention or worse for this, why should we do it?"

"You don't have to," Harry shortly said. "But I'd rather go out into the world knowing I can do the spells."

"So do you know how to do all the spells, or are you just guessing and hoping for the best?" Cormac asked.

"He's the fucking Boy Who Lived, mate," George said. "I think he's qualified."

"I know what we've been taught, and I've learned how to do some stuff outside of school. Like how to cast a patronus," Harry said.

"If you don't want to learn it you can leave," Ron said. "But we should practise instead of just letting Umbridge block us from doing magic."

From the table to the side another Hufflepuff stepped forward.

"And how do we know this isn't a set up? You're a sell-out."

"A what?" Harry asked, turning to look at Ernie. "How exactly am I a sell-out?"

"You're a Snape now."

"Yeah, and that's affected you how? You know what, forget it," Harry muttered, shoving his hands in his pocket and turning to leave. "Study yourselves."

"Running away, Snapey?" Ernie teased. "Back to the teachers that love you and put you on a pedestal above the rest of us?"

"Yeah, that's exactly it," Harry said, stopping at the door and glaring at Ernie. "My parents were murdered. I didn't choose to be the Boy who Lived, or the boy who grew up under the stairs. And then I came here and was still a target. And yeah, I was taught to defend myself. Because fourteen years after they died, I was kidnapped and brought before Death Eaters that wanted to kill me."

The room was deathly quiet and the grin on Ernie's face had started to slip.

"So you know what, Ernie? I don't care what you think. I learned this stuff to keep myself safe. I became a Snape because I had no family and he was the one who cared about keeping me alive. If you're jealous of that you can take my privileged learnings,"

Harry flicked his hand and a barrage of slugs flew out of his wand at Ernie,

"and shove them up your arse."

Ernie's wand flew up but he wasn't fast enough and sputtered as some of them hit his face. Harry stormed out, barely checking that the hallway was clear.

He didn't quite feel like going back to the common room, but he wasn't sure if moodily sitting in the Great Hall was any better. At least during non-mealtimes it was fairly quiet, and Dobby was kind enough to sneak him a butterbeer in a Hogwarts mug, and most other students there were occupied with other things and left him be.

"Seventeen."

Harry looked up with a confused expression, but said nothing as he took another sip of butter beer. Ron and Hermione climbed onto the bench opposite him.

"Seventeen people want to join your lessons," Hermione said, holding a small bit of parchment.

"More like seventeen people want to learn how to tell Ernie to shove it," Ron grinned. "But still."

"Neville's got that room we can practice in, and we've got a way to keep the group quiet," Hermione said, her voice low as two more mugs of butterbeer popped up onto the table next to her and Ron.

"I think we'll need that," Harry softly said, as the staff entrance door opened and Umbridge walked in, her beady eyes scanning the room for miscreants.

Fudge frowned as he read the top report on his desk. Weather in North East England was worsening and though he knew it was likely the dementors off the coast getting riled up it wasn't something he could share with the muggle prime minister. Not as of yet, anyway.

He stared at the snoozing portrait on his wall. He'd considered telling the prime minister about You know Who's return and subsequent second demise, but ultimately decided against. The muggles had been living peacefully in ignorance, as had much of the wizarding world and he couldn't foresee any reason to tell them. Even if the secret did get out, Voldemort was dead and it wouldn't affect them.

At least, he'd seen the body and Albus Dumbledore had assured him that Voldemort could not ever return.

Fudge and Dumbledore had had their moments over the past years, but Fudge had also seen this disintegrated Dark Mark tattoo on Severus Snape's arm and knew that had to mean something final.

He wiped his brow and put away the reports after hearing a knock on the door. Fudge liked to have his desk clear, and though he knew it had caused several people to gossip that he had nothing to do, he preferred it to people seeing papers and reports that they shouldn't.

"Good evening, Minister."

"Hello, Dolores."

"Thank you for taking my visit so late into the evening. Busy day, as you are familiar with," she said, settling herself up onto his visitor chair.

"Yes, of course," Fudge said. "How is Hogwarts?"

"It's very interesting," she said, with a smug smile. "The children could do with more discipline, certainly. Many think nothing of speaking back to their professors and to myself."

"Hmm," Fudge hummed. It had been a long day and he wanted nothing more than to go home and have a nice supper.

"Concerningly, the werewolf seems to be popular. He was the one that Albus Dumbledore requested to be tenured, correct?"

"Yes," Fudge shortly answered. The request had come in exchange for Dumbledore promising to never run for Minister, and as a thank you for keeping the secret of You know Who's return and final demise. The official reason had been given as a way to break the curse of Defense Against the Dark Arts professors at the school.

"I'm sure there's no reason to think this," Umbridge said, "But I note that he's close with Dumbledore, naturally, but also was defended quite strongly by Harry Potter during a class I observed. It seems to me like it would be easy for Dumbledore to influence his students, through teachers of his choice, to support him and be loyal to him in any endeavours he has."

The beginnings of a frown formed on Fudge's face.

"And for Remus Lupin to be teaching them defensive, and offensive spells, well, he could easily form his own sort of army or vigilante group"

"This is a time of peace, Dolores," Fudge said. "The Ministry recruits aurors from Hogwarts, and they need to be trained before joining."

"Well, I thought it was as well, Minister," Umbridge agreed. "But there have been some concerning letters and articles to the paper, and of course the Death Eaters at Azkaban are upset about something."

"Accommodations, no doubt," Fudge muttered.

"Yes, most likely," Umbridge cheerily agreed. "We should prepare a response nonetheless, lest the general public think that the Ministry can't keep them under control."

There was a hint of challenge in her voice and the lines of Fudge's frown deepened.

"Are you suggesting that I have lost control of both Hogwarts and Azkaban?"

"Certainly not," Umbridge said. "I am very aware of how you work, Minister. But is the general public?"

She gave him a little nod and slipped down off the chair, leaving his office.

Fudge waited for the door to close before throwing the nearest object to him, an empty notepad, across the room. When he'd first taken the job of Minister, he'd asked Dumbledore for advice far more often than he was comfortable with, and he refused to continue that habit. He could handle the prisoners. And though he thought it more than a bit daft that Dumbledore, or Lupin for that matter, would use Hogwarts as a training ground to recruit a vigilante group, he'd wait to see if Dolores reported any further concerning news from the school. What would they even need a vigilante group for?

Fudge threw on his cloak and picked up his satchel, ready to go home and eat. As he used magic to lock the door of his office behind him, he saw, further down the hall, the familiar all-pink outfit that Umbridge wore. She was talking to a taller man, whose white blond tied back hair was unmistakeable.

It was either a short conversation or he'd missed most of it, but he noted that Umbridge gave Lucius Malfoy a malicious smile in response to whatever he'd told her, and that she then walked away with a confident stride.

Ravenclaw were a tough team to beat, and though their rivalry wasn't as classically strong as Gryffindor vs Slytherin, the match was still well attended. Sirius sat bundled up against the unusually cold late September wind, sharing a thermos of coffee with Remus.

"Anyone give you trouble with me visiting?" Sirius asked, glancing around the teacher's spectator box, giving a glare over his shoulder toward Snape. The game had been on for over an hour already, and though they'd had some small conversation, the main reason Sirius had come to visit was not to be discussed around other people. Instead, he'd been glancing around on the regular and cheering on Gryffindor as they played.

"Why would they?" Remus said. "You're fully cleared with a signed pardon."

He nodded at Sirius and focused on a spot to the other side of Sirius, where a squat miserable-looking person in a fluffy pink coat was sat, looking entirely displeased to be there.

"Well, it's nice to cheer on my godson," Sirius said, a little louder than necessary. He checked to see for a reaction from Snape, but Snape seemed to be steadily focused on the players as he consumed his own hot drink.

A sudden tenseness raced through the crowd as Harry and Cho Chang suddenly shot past the announcer's stand, clearly both having spotted the snitch. It was an even race, their uniform cloaks smacking each other with the speed of the wind. Cho suddenly shoulder checked Harry, knocking his broom sideways and his balance off. Sirius jumped to his feet at the same time that the rest of the professors did, the peripheral of his vision showing that Snape had his wand out and was ready to cast a spell if needed.

On the pitch, Harry hung onto the broom with one hand as he flew beneath Cho, one leg in the stirrup and the other hanging loose as he reached by Cho's shoulder and grabbed the snitch.

A roar went up and Harry held his hand up victoriously, accidentally dipping his broom and flipping himself over it till he was hanging from hit with one arm.

"Idiot," Sirius heard Snape muttered, and then he heard chanting in Latin and saw Harry be lifted back onto the broom.

As the match was called, Sirius followed Remus down the multitude of stairs of the spectators' tower to the pitch, nodding at a couple of students that clearly recognised him from the wanted posters and were giving him a wide berth.

On the pitch he saw the Gryffindor team giving handshakes to the Ravenclaw team before collecting their brooms and gloves. Snape was already down there and Sirius watched as Snape waited for Harry's housemates to start walking back to the school before approaching and pointing to Harry's arm.

Whatever the injury was must not have been too bad, as Snape cast a quick spell on it and then put his wand away. Harry was talking the entire time, and though Sirius couldn't hear the conversation, he could tell that Harry looked animated and happy.

Snape was nodding along, and interjecting here and there, and it was clear that he was listening to the story even though it was about a subject he didn't have much interest in. They eventually started moving back toward the school, and Sirius watched in surprise as Harry not only handed Snape his torn quidditch gloves as they walked, but that Snape actually took them and carried them. After a minute, one of the Weasley twins yelled something and Harry took off, running up to them to chat. Snape continued to walk alone, still holding the gloves, but not looking irritated about it.

"You'd rather be with the quidditch team, wouldn't you?" Remus quietly asked, somehow knowing what Sirius had been watching. "Instead of staying behind and carrying whatever detritus was handed to you?"

"Yes," Sirius admitted. He continued in step with Remus, and ran one hand through his hair. "I missed a lot. Thirteen years; the fall of the Berlin Wall, tons of construction in London, muggles with these computer-y things and they're still talking about some sort of eternal September. Post-war Diagon Alley expansion, our generation has children at Hogwarts now, Fudge is Minister, and yet Dumbledore is still Headmaster."

"And you still feel like it's 1981, and you're 21," Remus said.

Sirius smiled and looked down at his hands, which were weathered, scarred over and covered in tattoos.

"My body feels my age, I assure you," Sirius said. "But perhaps I should be responsible for myself first, and not also a fifteen-year-old."

Remus laughed a little.

"It's a challenging age. They make me want to tear my hair out at times."

"Can't imagine we were that bad for professors," Sirius grinned. "Leaning how to become animagi on the sly, and running around with our map."

"The map that Harry now has," Remus said.

"I hope he causes trouble with it," Sirius laughed. "Though."

He looked around to ensure that they weren't being closely followed by anyone.

"Do you think we could re-work that map to show the location of items that belonged to the founders?"

Remus scratched at the beard stubble on his chin.

"It was fairly difficult linking it to the Hogwarts student records. And I don't suppose that there is an archive that lists belongings of people."

"None that I've found," Sirius sighed. "I don't even know what I'm looking for, just who it likely belonged to."

"You've gotten slow in your old age, Padfoot," Remus said, a small smirk on his face.

"I beg your pardon?" Sirius said, with mock outrage. "From the man wearing a cardigan from some sort of high street muggle shop?"

"Who gave us all the information on the rooms we didn't know about, for the map?" Remus said, rolling his eyes.

"I. ah," Sirius said. "It's been a while since I've talked with the ghosts."

"I believe Peeves, in particular, will be utterly delighted to see you again."


AN: there's a wiki article that explains Eternal September, if you're curious.