Ronald Weasley was… conflicted. Confused. And very much concerned.
He, like any self-respecting wizard, knew - absolutely knew without a doubt - that Sirius Black was the Potter's betrayer. He knew that Peter Pettigrew was their friend who Black killed.
And he had always identified with the Pettigrew he knew.
He wasn't dim or dumb. Under-motivated was perhaps the description he'd apply to himself. Yes, he desired to be head boy. Yes he wanted to lead the quidditch team to victory. But… he was just "Ron."
There were dozens of wizards smarter than him. Harry and The Twins were better flyers.
He couldn't hope to distinguish himself from his family.
Bill, The Curse Breaker.
Charlie, The Dragon Handler.
Percy, the Ministry's Man.
Fred and George (could you ever truly separate them?) the comedians and merrymakers.
Ginny, the Pitch Princess.
What did Ron have?
He had Harry.
He didn't have anything of his own.
He supposed that's why he identified with Pettigrew. In a set of school years filled with "Narcissa"s, "Lucius"s, "Potter"s, "Black"s, and even "Lupin"s, what did Peter Pettigrew have to distinguish himself?
It was like poetry that Peter, and Ron, were both embraced by the influential, intelligent, distinguished, special wizards and witches around them.
Except… the next stanza was horrific.
Pettigrew betrayed everyone. Black, The Potters, Professor Lupin, all of them.
So what did that mean for him?
Ron was certainly not dim or dumb. He was, much to his pride, a bit of a chess prodigy. So, he figured, he had to defeat his greatest opponent… himself. His instincts. His natural proclivities.
If he continued on his path, it'd be like an amateur at checkers facing against a tournament champion!
He needed to reset the board.
He needed to know his opponent.
Kings: his loyalty, his selfishness.
Queens: his… privilege, his ignorance.
Knights: Harry? Hermione? His manners, his slothfulness.
Bishops: his brothers, his connections, his stubbornness, his pride.
Rooks: his strategic thinking, his Gryffindor courage, his single mindedness, his arrogance.
His pawns would have to be his education and his distractions.
The board was set, the game already in play, and his knights were at risk. In truth, all of his pieces were at risk. He needed to improve.
His pawns - his education - could become just as advantageous as his privilege.
And he hadn't any doubts. He was privileged. He, despite being a "blood-traitor," was still a part of an old pure-blood family. His pedigree already put him in a position better than most.
If he strategically applied himself, his education could do just as well.
And personal connections. Alliances. Playing politics, while it wouldn't be fun, could do his family well.
Yes… that's how.
He wouldn't be "Ron, the Betrayer."
He wouldn't be like Pettigrew.
He would distinguish himself.
He'd be "Ron, the Strategist."
Now, if only he could get the thought of the 30 year old grease stain sleeping in the same room as him out of his head.
After another embrace, enough tears to fill the decade long gap between them, and a promise to have a home - an honest to God home - waiting for him after the term, Harry, Sirius, and Remus strode back into the hall, heads held high, with grins and smiles that took Minerva back to those years of the 70s.
Despite herself, she found herself grinning ear to ear, her own eyes glistening.
Sirius embraced Harry at the Gryffindor table, before his smile melted away and he looked at the head table.
Locking eyes with the Potion Master, Sirius gestured out the door and raised his eyebrow.
Snape stood smoothly, and glided out of the hall, Sirius following shortly after, leaving Remus to sit down at the meal once again.
Swaggering out to meet Severus, Sirius once more assumed the mantle of the honorable Lord Black.
"Severus Tobias Snape, I owe you an apology nearly two decades overdue."
Snape, ever in control, simply raised an eyebrow skeptically.
"I cannot speak for Remus or Pettigrew, but I know that James was ready to bury the hatchet by fifth year. And, much to my shame, it took me until my fifth year in Azkaban to truly feel repentant for my actions and behavior."
"And yet, you and Potter both were ready to, as they say, 'throw me to the wolves.'"
"No. That was me. And me alone. James didn't know about what I had done until I told him. It was pure fortune that it was in time for him to stop you. Had he not… I would have been responsible for Remus killing you. I would have been the murderer everyone has thought me. I would have abused my friends in ways I would never and could never forgive myself for. Had you died, Snape, I would have lost everyone I cared for. James, Remus, Lily, they all would've been disgusted with me. And so, I come now to offer my apology. I have no expectation of your forgiveness, and would honestly be shocked if you did forgive me. But I just felt that you deserved an apology, and you deserved to know that the boy I was, died in Azkaban."
Snape and Sirius locked eyes, black searching grey for deception.
"Your apology… though late, is… adequate. I accept."
"Thank you. I understand that you are a busy man, and I myself have much to do. Shall we part here as… peers? Acquaintances?"
"Acquaintances will do us both well."
Sirius nodded and strode back into the hall, where he saw Harry talking excitedly with his very frizzy haired friend. Hermione, if he had heard correctly.
He smiled, reminded of years before, when another raven haired youth fostered a strong connection with an intelligent young muggleborn. Lily and James couldn't define what they had for almost six years.
It wasn't animosity. It wasn't love. It wasn't friendship or annoyance, but it certainly wasn't acquaintanceship. They knew plenty about one another, but they didn't know each other at all. That had started to change, in small, almost insignificant ways, in fifth year. From there, they had two years to get to know each other, as friends, as partners, as lovers, before culminating in their union.
Harry and Hermione… it was almost the inverse. They probably only knew the bare minimum about each other, and yet, the way they were in sync, the way they could share a message with a glance…
Harry was certainly not James. But he was certainly James's son.
Harry was regaling his small band of friends with stories Remus and Sirius shared with him.
"-And my dad, soot on his glasses, hair even messier than always, just looks at Remus and says, 'Moony, take note… we need to contain that better!'"
Neville looked astounded, his shock being broken by the occasional chuckle.
Hermione was holding back laughter, trying in vain to knit her brows together.
Luna giggled demurely, a soft smile hidden by her dainty hand, and mirth shining past her crinkled nose through nearly shut eyes.
Harry nearly jumped when a pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders and a scruffy chin 'plunked' onto his raven mop.
"That, children, is why you do not try to superheat a potion of lion fish quills, dragon blood, and pulverized monarch wings… at least not in an iron cauldron. Prongs had to explain to his dad why he needed to replace a perfectly good potioneering kit. Of course, Lily did warn us. Well, she actually warned Moony, who warned us."
Hermione cocked her brow at him and planted her hands on her hips - nearly causing Sirius to laugh uproariously with such a Lily Evans look.
"Why didn't you listen to him?"
Sirius shrugged.
"James was the son of a potions master. Moony always had better grades in transfiguration and astronomy. He could nail the theory behind potions, but he was piss poor at actually producing anything of value."
"Oh yes, and yet you, Sirius Orion, nearly failed astronomy. Never mind you were the best duelist of our merry band of misfits, your name has two constellations in it, and you almost failed."
Professor Lupin had apparently heard the tail end of the conversation, and felt he could add.
"Oh come on, Moony! I was at least good at something practical! Nothing to do with all the sparkly white dots in the night."
"It was traditional for the Blacks to know astronomy."
"Well I was always the Black sheep of the family!"
"A mangy mutt more like!"
"I'll have you know, Snuffles's fur is clean and soft!"
The two men almost looked like they were ready to throw blows, when Remus suddenly found himself lifted in his friend's embrace.
"Oh, I missed you, Moony! I missed this! I missed our banter and our jokes, and I missed Hogwarts!"
He set his werewolf down and ruffled Harry's hair.
"I missed you most of all, kiddo. You have a lot to look forward to this summer… but I'm going to need to go get everything ready."
He knelt down, pulled Harry into his chest, and hugged him. His joy was immeasurable when he felt his boy's arms squeeze him back.
"I love you, Harry. And we're going to be a fantastic pair, you and I. Take care of yourself here. Watch out for your friends. Pull a few good pranks. Come end of term, we'll go home."
Pressing a kiss to the crown of his head, Sirius parted from Harry and walked out of Hogwarts.
Pausing with a shuddering breath, he held his wand aloft. This wand that served him for years.
The wand that should've been at James's side.
Could he do what he needed? What he wanted?
He shut his eyes and held his wand out.
With a whisper of a spell he hadn't thought of in over a decade, and remembered.
His first ride to Hogwarts. His sorting. James. Remus. Lily.
None of the old memories were working like they once did…
His escape. His first bite of fresh food. Reuniting with Remus. Holding his wand again.
Harry.
With a swell of magic he'd wished for in the deepest darkness of Azkaban, he opened his eyes as the words left his lips in a whisper.
"Expecto Patronum."
And as the silver mist slowly flowed from his wand, his eyes widened.
Before him, instead of the black wolf he'd expected, there was a dire wolf.
"Snuffles?"
The great beast nuzzled his hand, just as he'd remembered from all those years ago.
"It would appear, Lord Black, that the hardships you have endured have caused a form of rebirth… much like Fawkes, I do believe."
Sirius turned to see Albus Dumbledore.
"Would you care for a lemon drop? I do quite enjoy how tart they are."
"Why are you here?"
"Partly to witness the results of your patronus. Though, primarily, I come to apologize, and to offer aid."
Sirius grimaced.
"12 years. 12 years, Albus. The only question I have is 'why?'"
Dumbledore sighed heavily.
"I could call it an old man's mistake. I could say it was for the greater good. But, I will not lie to you, Sirius. I am old. And I am becoming weaker. My failure to force a trial for you was just that: a failure. Minister Bagnold was already touting you as Voldemort's right hand. Crouch was forcing through so many Death Eaters through the courts, it would have been impossible to get a trial for you without forcing retrials for all of them… a notion not even the ICW entertained."
"Why not?"
"They feared him. Believed him to be a new Grindelwald. And Grindelwald pushed us to the brink. Voldemort was even more brutal. They, like Bagnold, wanted the war to be over and buried. No matter how many flowers filled the graves."
Sirius nodded somberly.
"And Fudge was an incompetent. Couldn't force anything through a wet paper bag."
Albus chuckled.
"Indeed… Cornelius has been a bit of a disappointment as minister, but he has his uses."
"How very Slytherin of you."
"I have been called a 'new Merlin.' So, where is it you have sent… 'Snuffles,' was it?"
As they had spoken, the patronus bounded off to parts unknown.
"Amelia. We did manage to speak some before Remus brought me back here. She offered to help me find a good mind healer. Figured I'd take her up on that, for Harry's sake… and my own."
"I suppose that's as good a segue one could ask for… Sirius, for both of your sakes, I beg you… look into the darkness of your family's library."
"You want me to scour the Black tomes?"
"I placed blood wards upon the Dursley house, founded on the blood spilled by Lily. They needed a living anchor to be maintained, and unfortunately, Petunia was his only option. But now… you might learn of magics I am unaware of. Ways you might anchor Harry yourself. And… perhaps you might help me find a solution to a problem that has vexed me as long as your imprisonment."
"What kind of problem?"
"The kind that has weighed upon my conscience, as the resources I have lead to an… unfavorable conclusion."
"Before I say anything… did you know Peter was the traitor?"
"No. I myself was trusting Alastor's judgement, and was keeping a close eye on Mundungus Fletcher."
Sirius nodded.
"Alright."
