What Have I Done?
Harry was first to wake up in his dormitory the next morning, after getting little-to-no sleep during the night. He lay for a moment watching dust swirl in the ray of sunlight coming through the gap in his four-poster's hangings, and savoured the thought that it was Saturday. Not even his longest, hardest weeks at the Ministry has ever lasted as long as this first week of term at Hogwarts.
It was just after daybreak when he rose from under the covers, opened the curtains around him and dressed quickly and quietly. The only sound apart from the distant twittering of birds was the slow, deep breathing of his fellow Gryffindors. On the opposite side of Ron's bed, James was splayed out in a starfish position on his bed, the curtains no doubt pushed open by an arm flailing during the night.
Smiling softly to himself, Harry carefully opened his school bag, pulled out parchment, a quill and some ink, and headed for the common room.
Making straight for his favourite squishy old armchair beside the now extinct fire, Harry settled himself down comfortably and unrolled his parchment while looking around the room. The detritus of crumpled-up bits of parchment, old Gobstones, empty ingredient jars and sweet wrappers that covered the common room at the end of the day were gone, as were all of Hermione's elf hats. He found himself idly wondering how many Dobby had collected so far, but even that thought was short-lived, quickly replaced with a nostalgic pang at the thought of his old friend being merely seven-odd floors below him right now, not long passed.
He uncorked his ink bottle, dipped his quill into it, then held it suspended an inch above the smooth yellowish surface of his parchment, thinking hard. After a minute or so, however, he found himself staring into the empty grate in front of him, at a complete loss for what to say.
In all the time since he'd found himself back in his teenage years again, he hadn't paused to think how truly incomprehensible it really was. Not only did he not know how to phrase what he wanted to say, he could quite grasp how he was supposed to update his long-dead godfather on the goings on here at Hogwarts:
- My wife has a boyfriend who is not me. They make out in the middle of the Great Hall. But it's okay, because she's playing her part and we've agreed we don't want to change our story.
- Scorpius is here. Don't worry about him being a Malfoy, though. He's really a good kid. You'd like him. Also, it took twenty years but his dad's not an ass anymore.
- Neville woke up here the other day, exactly the way I did. We still don't know what happened to his wife, who was eight-and-a-half months pregnant where we come from. If a newborn shows up on your doorstep unannounced, you'll know what to do.
The longer he sat and thought about it, the more preposterous the explanations became in his head - and he hadn't even got to the part about the Ministry hag, yet. Eventually, he came to a decision and dipped his quill into the ink once more, resolutely setting it to the parchment:
Dear Snuffles,
Hope you're okay. First week here has been terrible, worse than anyone can remember. I'm really glad it's the weekend.
We've got a new Defence teacher, Professor Umbridge. She's about as nice as your mum. The thing that happened last summer happened again last night when I was in detention with her, really threw me for a loop.
The cousins are doing okay, settling in better than we thought they would. Jamie's behaving, spending a lot of time with the twins - I don't know what they're planning, but I'm sure they'll wind up in detention for it. Al's made a new friend, someone he knew from back home. He's got family here, too. And Lily's jumped right into the swing of things!
We're all missing our biggest friend. We hope he'll be back soon.
Please write back quickly.
Best,
Harry
He re-read the letter several times, trying to see it from the point of view of an outsider. He could not see how they would know what he was talking about - or who he was talking to - just from reading this letter. He did hope Sirius would pick up the hint about Scorpius to pass on to the Order. They needed to keep a close eye on the Malfoys; if this thing was passing through families like they thought it was, it was anyone's guess how long it would be before Draco's parents would wake up knowing how to change the outcome of the war. He was also hoping to get some more information on Hagrid's impending return, but he couldn't just come out and ask about it.
Considering it was a very short letter, it had taken a long time to write; sunlight has crept halfway across the room while he had been working on it and he could now hear distant sounds of movement from the dormitories above. Sealing the parchment carefully, he climbed through the portrait hole and headed off for the Owlery.
"I would not go that way if I were you," said Nearly Headless Nick, drifting disconcertingly through a wall just ahead of Harry as he walked down the passage. "Peeves is planning an amusing joke on the next person to pass the bust of Paracelsus halfway down the corridor."
"Does it involve Paracelsus falling on top of the person's head?" Harry asked, actually finding himself the tiniest bit amused at the antics of Hogwarts' resident poltergeist.
"Funnily enough, it does," said Nearly Headless Nick in a bored voice. "Subtlety has never been Peeves' strong point. I'm off to try and find the Bloody Baron ... he might be able to put a stop to it ... See you, Harry ..."
"Yeah, bye," Harry said, then turned left instead of right, taking a longer but safer route up to the Owlery. His spirits rose as he walked past window after window showing brilliantly blue sky. It would be great weather for Quidditch training later this morning. It was an odd thought, the concept of playing Quidditch again - that was Ginny's forte, after all. Despite it all, Harry found himself genuinely looking forward to it. It had been years since he had flown for pleasure, after all.
When something brushed his ankles, he looked down and saw the caretaker's skeletal grey cat, Mrs Norris, slinking past him. She turned her lamplike yellow eyes on him for a moment before disappearing behind a statue of Wilfred the Wistful.
"I'm not doing anything wrong," he called after her, rolling his eyes. She had always had the unmistakable air of a cat that was off to report to her boss. Even now, so many years after this had actually happened, he was still intimidated by a cat. He wasn't doing anything wrong, after all; he was perfectly entitled to walk up to the Owlery on a Saturday morning.
The sun was high in the sky now and when Harry entered the Owlery the glassless windows dazzled his eyes; thick silvery beams of sunlight criss-crossed the circular room in which hundreds of owls nestled on rafters, a little restless in the early-morning light, some clearly just returned from hunting. The straw-covered floor crunched a little as he stepped across tiny animal bones, craning his neck for a sight of Hedwig.
"There you are," he said kindly, spotting her somewhere near the very top of the vaulted ceiling. "You good for a job? I've got a letter for you."
With a low hoot she stretched her great white wings and soared down on to his shoulder.
"I know this says Snuffles on the outside," he told her, giving her the letter to clasp in her beak and, without knowing exactly why, whispering, "but it's for Sirius, okay?"
She blinked her amber eyes once and he took that to mean that she understood.
"Safe flight, then," he said as he carried her to one of the windows; with a moment's pressure on his arm, Hedwig took off into the blindingly bright sky. He watched her until she became a tiny black speck and vanished, then switched his gaze to Hagrid's hut, clearly visible from this window, and just as clearly uninhabited, the chimney smokeless, the curtains drawn.
The treetops of the Forbidden Forest swayed in a light breeze. Harry watched them, savouring the fresh air on his face, thinking about Quidditch later ... then he saw it. A great, reptilian winged horse - a beautiful threstral - its leathery black wings spread wide like a pterodactyl's, rising up out of the trees like a giant bird. It soared in a great circle, then plunged back into the trees. He had no idea how long he stood there, watching the majestic creature in the distance, but after quite some time he was jolted out of his thoughts by the sound of the Owlery door opening behind him. He leapt in shock and, turning quickly, saw Cho Chang holding a letter and a parcel in her hands.
"Hi," he said automatically, really not sure how he was supposed to approach this conversation.
"Oh, hi," she said breathlessly. "I didn't think anyone would be up here this early ... I only remembered five minutes ago, it's my mum's birthday."
She held up the parcel.
"Right," he said awkwardly. After a beat, he gestured to the windows and added, "Uh, nice day."
"Yeah," said Cho, looking around for a suitable owl. "Good Quidditch conditions. I haven't been out all week, have you?"
"No. Not in a long time, actually."
Lucky for Harry, Cho was so focused on coaxing one of the school barn owls down that she didn't notice what was an odd little slip up. As the owl landed on her arm and held out an obliging leg so she could attach the parcel, she asked him distractedly, "Hey, has Gryffindor got a new Keeper yet?"
"Oh, yeah," he said, feeling slightly more normal in this conversation now that he was not struggling to find a topic, "my friend Ron - you know him, right?"
"The Tornados-hater?" she said rather coolly. "Yeah, I know him. Is he any good?"
Harry shrugged. "He's always been great when I've played with him. I didn't see his tryout though - detention."
Cho looked up, the parcel only half-attached to the owl's legs.
"That Umbridge woman's foul," she said in a low voice. "Putting you in detention just because you told the truth about how - how - how he died. Everyone heard about it, it was all over the school. You were really brave standing up to her like that."
He was saved from having to go down that particular path of conversation when Mr Filch, the caretaker, came wheezing into the room. There were purple patches on his sunken, veined cheeks, his jowls were aquiver and his thin grey hair dishevelled; he had obviously run here. Mrs Norris came trotting at his heels, gazing up at the owls overhead and mewing hungrily. There was a restless shifting of wings from above and a large brown owl snapped his beak in a menacing fashion.
"Aha!" said Filch, taking a flat-footed step towards Harry, his pouchy cheeks trembling with anger. "I've had a tip-off that you are intending to place a massive order for Dungbombs!"
Harry folded his arms and threw the man a look. "Really?"
Cho was looking from Harry to Filch, also frowning; the barn owl on her arm, tired of standing on one leg, gave an admonitory hoot but she ignored it.
"Yes, really," Mr Filch retorted. "Now hand over whatever it is you're sending."
"I can't," Harry said plainly. "It's gone."
"Gone?" said Filch, his face contorting with rage.
"Gone," Harry repeated calmly, ever so grateful for two decades' experience of having conversations with incredibly difficult people.
Filch opened his mouth furiously, mouthed for a few seconds, then raked Harry's robes with his eyes. "How do I know you haven't got it in your pocket?"
At that, Harry rolled his eyes. "You aren't seriously going to ask me to let you search my -"
"- I saw him send it," Cho said angrily, talking straight over the top of Harry, who was stunned into silence.
Filch rounded on her. "You saw him -?"
"That's right. I saw him," she said fiercely.
There was a moment's pause in which Filch glared at Cho and Cho glared right back, then the caretaker turned and shuffled back towards the door. He stopped with his hand on the handle and looked back at Harry. "If I get so much as a whiff of a Dungbomb..."
Believe me, Harry thought to himself, suddenly very grateful he had eventually learned to hold his tongue, you'll be second in line for the perpetrator.
"James Sirius ..." Harry growled as he took a seat opposite Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.
Beside his uncle, James gulped. On James' other side, Al rolled his eyes and lamented, "What have you done now?"
"Hey," Lily piped in, leaning around Scorpius to talk to her brothers, "it's been, like, a whole week and he's not been in detention once. That's got to be some sort of record."
Harry, however, was still glaring at his oldest. "If I get so much of a whiff of Dungbombs from your direction, young man ... You'll be lucky if I let your mother deal with you."
James gulped again.
Hermione opened her mouth to ask questions, but she didn't get a chance. The morning post was arriving and, as usual, the Daily Prophet was soaring towards her in the beak of a screech owl, which landed perilously close to the sugar bowl and held out a leg. Hermione pushed a Knut into its leather pouch, took the newspaper, and scanned the front page critically as the owl took off.
"Anything interesting?" Ron asked, idly buttering a piece of toast and sliding it onto Hermione's plate.
"No," she sighed, "just some guff about the bass player in the Weird Sisters getting married."
"Yeah?" Lily asked, leaning forward with interest. "What number wedding is this?"
Hermione frowned. "Uh ... the first?"
Lily giggled. "We really are in the past!"
Hermione glanced over to Harry, who just shrugged. Still confused, she opened the paper and disappeared behind it. Around her, the others continued on with their breakfast until she gasped. "Oh no!"
"What's happened?" Harry asked, immediately dropping his cutlery and ensuring his wand was stashed in the sleeve of his jumper, where he had left it that morning.
Hermione looked up at him, her confusion now pure panic. "Sirius."
Without thinking, Harry reached forward and snatched the paper out of her hands. She released it quickly, almost as though she knew what was coming. While Harry's eyes tore across the paper at a hundred miles a minute, Scorpius leaned over and read out loud for the others:
"The Ministry of Magic has received a tip-off from a reliable source that Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer -"
"Bullsh -" James began, but cut himself off when he saw the glare his mother, who was approaching the Gryffindor table, was throwing him.
"- is currently hiding in London!"
"Bloody Lucius Malfoy, I'll be anything," Harry growled. He caught himself quickly, adding to Scorpius, "I'm sorry, Scorp, but you know what I mean."
"No offense taken," Scorpius said with a shrug.
Harry turned back to Ron and Hermione and said, "He did recognise Sirius on the platform ..."
"Well, that would have been good information for the rest of the class to know," Ginny said, making her presence known and sitting herself down beside Harry. "What else does it say, Scorp?"
"Uh ... Ministry warns wizarding community that Black is very dangerous ... Is he, though?"
"No," Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny all said in unison.
"And he didn't kill thirteen people?"
"Uh-uh," Al told his best friend. "That was Peter Pettigrew."
Scorpius frowned. "Who?"
"Scabbers," Ron said without a second thought. "He used to be my rat."
"Used to - hang on, your rat has a person name?"
"Oh, yeah," James said. "He's also the dude that got my grandparents killed, so there's that."
"Anyway," Ginny said pointedly, bringing the conversation back to the topic at hand. "What does this mean for, uh, Snuffles?" She glanced to Harry, who nodded. "Yeah. Snuffles."
"Well, he just won't be able to leave the house again," Hermione said succinctly. "Dumbledore did warn him not to."
"Okay, 'Mione," Ron said, swallowing a bite of scrambled eggs, "that's easy for you to say, but you and I both know how hard it is not to have the freedom to -"
"- Hey," Harry said, flattening the paper - which was now sitting on the table between him and Scorpius - and pointing to an advertisement for Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, which was apparently having a sale.
"Uh, I've got all the robes I want," Ron said, confused.
"No," Harry said, moving his finger a little to the left. "Look."
Hermione gently pulled the paper over to herself and Ron. The item was barely an inch long and placed right at the bottom of a column. It read:
TRESSPASS AT MINISTRY
Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the Wizengamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on 31 August. Podmore was arrested by Ministry of Magic watchwizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o'clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak in his own defence, was convicted on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban.
"Sturgis Podmore?" said Ron slowly. "He's that bloke who looks like his head's been thatched, isn't he? He's one of the Ord -"
"Shut up, Ronald!" Hermione hissed, casting a quick glance around them.
"Six months in Azkaban?" Al questioned, not quite believing what he was hearing. "Just for trying to get through a door?"
"Don't be silly, it wasn't just for trying to get through a door," Hermione said. "What on earth was he doing at the Ministry at one o'clock in the morning?"
"Oh, like you've never been at the Ministry at one o'clock in the morning," Ron retorted. When she opened her mouth to defend herself, he said simply, "Our tenth anniversary."
"That - that was entirely different."
"Our tenth anniversary, Hermione. We were supposed to be in Australia."
"And I told you, there was a crisis over at MCUSA. It was an international relations nightmare, Ronald. Besides, we still went on our trip."
"Yeah, six months later!"
While the others were watching Ron and Hermione's argument with amused interest, Al was focused entirely on his parents. He hadn't missed the significant look Harry was giving Ginny, or her reaching over the grasp his hand. When Harry whispered, "It's started," however, his curiosity got the better of him.
"What's started?"
All movement in their section of the table stopped. All eyes moved from Al, to Harry, and back again. It took him a long moment, but Harry slowly turned to look his son dead in the eyes.
Quietly, Harry said, "My nightmare, Al."
Al was so shocked, he couldn't move. James and Lily, however, stared at each other with horrified looks.
"What?" Scorp asked his best friend.
Across the table, Al blinked a few times. Without moving his gaze away from his father, he said quietly, "The nightmares, he's - he's always had them. Forever. And he's never talked about them."
"He hasn't had them forever, Al," Ginny said quietly, still very aware that Harry was gripping onto her hand for dear life. "They, uh ... They started here. Now."
It was James who spoke next, much to everyone's surprise. "Dad ... what have I done?"
