Despite the lingering effects of the dementor, Harry made it up to the castle under his own power after nearly inhaling the chocolate his godfather gave him and his friends. During the opening feast, the headmaster explained that the dementors were stationed at every entrance and exit to the grounds and would not be fooled by any means. Though it was never actually explicitly stated, Harry gathered that they were guarding Hogwarts against Sirius Black.
That explained the darkness and depression in his tea leaves, at least.
The welcoming feast was delicious, as always, and despite the dementors hovering over the grounds, Harry's sleep was undisturbed by nightmares. The next morning, he sat at the Hufflepuff table with Neville and chatted quietly about his summer while they waited for the others. Yet the "usual suspects" weren't the only ones to join them; Crabbe and Goyle were sticking close to Draco this year, and Fred and George Weasley sat next to Ginny and Luna, prodding several sheets of parchment and muttering amongst themselves. Although the twins joining the group seemed to have been an accident (they had just been following Ginny, assuming she would be eating with the Gryffindors), they still stayed for the meal and listened eagerly as Harry talked about the serial killer his parents had caught.
"And you spent the entire summer by yourself?"
"Mostly. My sister was there."
"Could you imagine having a whole summer with the house to ourselves, Gred?" Fred said to his twin.
"The dream, Forge," George replied with a sigh of longing.
"Mum would never let that happen," said Ginny.
"Yeah, you'd burn the place down in a week." Ron added.
"I take it that means you won't be pining us in Hogsmeade?" Luna asked, briefly looking up from her sideways copy of The Quibbler.
"That's right."
"What?! Why not?!" Ron and Draco cried together.
"My parents were in the States; they couldn't sign my permission slip. They're still not back - they might have to stay for an inquiry, cause they didn't take the guy alive."
Fred frowned. "That's hardly a fair trade."
"Can't you send it to them once they're home?" George asked.
"I could, but I doubt they'll let me go, what with Black out and about. They'll probably want me to stay in the castle where it's safe. Er. Safe-er." Though given the school's track record so far...
The twins unchanged glances, but Harry didn't have time to ask them about it. Their first class of the day was Divination, all the way at the top of the North Tower, and it was a ten-minute walk. They got there in time for class, but Harry couldn't say he was all that impressed with the classroom. It had atmosphere, he'd give it that, but...
Well, Trelawney didn't seem like a real seer. She may very well have been, Harry didn't know for sure, but she seemed like every "esoteric seer" stereotype in the book all at once. Another year of self-study it was then; while certain aspects of Divination required are innate gifts Trelawney spoke of, the "Inner Eye", others were almost sciences, a matter of looking for shapes and patterns and interpreting in the context of what you (or someone else) wanted to know.
Hermione seemed equally disdainful - and far less likely to stick with it, even without Professor Trelawney predicting Harry's death, and it was only their first lesson!
Professor McGonagall told them that it seemed to be her way of greeting new classes - predicting the death of a student, that is - and then resumed teaching her lesson on Animagi.
"All right, what is it?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Hermione, you're taking all four electives, on top of our core classes, such as they are; your schedule must be insane. I know you have something helping you get to everything; what is it?"
Hermione hesitated, then pulled a golden chain out of her robes. On the end was a golden hourglass - with the sand pouring backwards on a never-ending loop inside.
"Oh, is that-?"
"A Time-Turner, yeah." She kept her voice low and the Time-Turner close to stop others from hearing or seeing. "I use it to go back and do all the classes I would miss otherwise."
"I bet that would be easier if we had a regular course schedule like in Muggle primary school. Same class, same time, every day, or if you could attend your classes without your house."
"Yes it would!" Hermione tucked the Time Turner away. "Trying to keep track of it all is driving me mad."
"Why don't you talk to Professor McGonagall? Or Professor Dumbledore?"
She bit her lip, then said, "They've already done so much for me - even just getting it on the first place took so much work - they had to write so many letters to the Ministry-"
Harry patted her shoulder with a soft smile. "You know your own limits," he said, "but if it gets to be too much, promise me you'll talk to them."
"I promise."
"And you can always come to me if you need a hand; I'll do what I can to help."
They had their first lesson with Remus later that week - a practical lesson, much to Harry's surprise. The only thing to date that had resembled a practical lesson, rather than theory and practice duels, was Lockhart's pixies, and what a disaster that had been. Of course, Lockhart himself left a lot to be desired, so...
Professor Snape inclined his head to him on his way out of the staff room, a gesture Harry returned before he focused on Remus - Professor Lupin, he was Professor Lupin now. They had only exchanged a handful of letters, but it had been enough for him to grow used to the informality. Apparently the man had brought them in to deal with a creature called a boggart; Harry vaguely remembered reading about them... somewhere... at some point… but Professor Lupin gave them a bit of a refresher: a shape-shifter, and also apparently a mind-reader of some kind of it could take one look at them and assume the form of whatever they feared the most. He briefly wondered what would happen if a master of Occlumency went up against one - what form, if any, would the boggart take? Would Occlumency be enough to shield a magic-user from the boggart's powers, or did it work some other way, one unaffected by any protections afforded by the mind arts? - but then more pressing concern overwhelmed his mind.
What was he afraid of?
His first thought was of the Dark Lord, but he discarded that as fast as it had come. As he told Voldemort in his first year, his parents and sister were scarier than some disembodied spirit clinging to a man's skull or half-remembered flashes of green light.
Was he afraid of his family, though? Another hard no. They were more careful with him and his weaker frame than they were with each other in pretty much every aspect of their lives. They had removed him from the Dursleys, protected him, taught him how to protect himself with salt and silver and cold iron... And the Dursleys themselves were barely more than an echo of remembered pain; he couldn't even picture their faces anymore with any degree of clarity.
Another Wendigo? Perhaps. Failure of his goals? what form would that even be-?
But then he remembered the slow creeping cold... the tattered black robes and skeletal, revolting hand...
Ah... now that was something worthy of fear. How to defend against it? If the boggart turned into a dementor, what form could he force it to take that would be less frightening...? There wasn't anything funny that he knew of…
Black robes to black skin, and a proud crown of antlers, long claws wet with the blood of those who had tormented him. Fear to safety, and whatever they might be to the rest of his classmates (did they even know First Nations Algonquian folklore? Did they even learn about creatures like the ones in his family?), Wendigo meant safety to Harry. And, unknowingly, to others, too; Hannibal was less discriminate, but Will hunted far more human monsters with a zeal like Harry had never seen. They kept those who were truly innocent sale from those who would have done them real harm.
Absolute, bone-deep, soul-deep fear... to the purest form of safety he had ever known.
At the same time... He was far from a Master Occlumens, but this was as good a time as any to see if even his rudimentary skills would have an effect on the boggart.
When his torn come, for just an instant Harry Read Remus, saw that he wanted to step in, but he walked forward before the man could do so, focusing on keeping his mind easy and clear-
The boggart took the shape of the dementor, but it was hazy, fading in and out, like it had a hard time holding onto the form or what Harry feared.
"Well," said the Ravenclaw," that answers that question. Riddikulus!"
At once the dark, tattered robes solidified and slipped off, leaving his High Wendigo sister in the dementor's place. Harry stepped back even as the boggart seemed to blink in confusion before focusing on the next person in line.
It wasn't too much longer before they finished it off, and Remus awarded points to everyone who'd faced the boggart. But then he turned to Harry. "What question did you have that got answered," he asked, "and why did your boggart behave like that, Harry? What did you do? I've never seen anything like it."
"The answer to both is Occlumency, Professor," he replied, "I'm far from a master, but my father Hannibal taught me a meditation technique and way of organizing my thoughts that's functionally similar. Since the boggart seems to read our minds to discover our fears..."
"An interesting line of thought," Remus said with a smile, "Ten points to Ravenclaw. Perhaps later in the year I could arrange for Professor Snape to give a guest lecture on Occlumency. While I hesitate to say that his mastery of the mind arts matches that of potions, I've been led to understand that he's quite accomplished."
A brief shadow passed over Remus's face - something Harry recognized from the will-reading. Something about his parents? The last war? Both? He didn't know, and the shadow was gone in an eyeblink.
Remus's classes continued on the theme of Dark creatures, covering Red Caps and kappas next. Draco commented that held seen one of the former on the grounds of Malfoy Manor when he'd been young, and his father had destroyed it but also told him the story of the battlefield it haunted, some kind of civil war from hundreds of years ago, though not quite back to the time of the Founders.
Then the first Hogsmeade weekend was announced, and Ron and Hermione got into some kind of kerfuffle over Hermione's cat Crookshanks and Ron's rat Scabbers. As the person with the most "medical training" of their group, Ron brought the rat to Harry to check over. The Ravenclaw examined him as best he could and asked a few questions about Scabber's past health.
"And now old is he?"
"Uh, I dunno. Not exactly, anyway. Percy had him before me."
"...Huh."
"What?"
"Maybe it's because he's been around magic so long," said Harry, "but normally rats only live for two or three years in captivity. It's probably just… approaching his time... and Crookshanks can probably sense that perceived weakness." He handed the rat back. "I'll be honest, Ron. He's not looking too good. I wouldn't be surprised if he died before the end of the school year, but if you keep him close, keep Crookshanks from attacking him, he'll probably go peacefully in his sleep. I don't know if there's any magical remedy that would work for him when he's already so old."
Ron looked crestfallen at that but promised to take care of the rat.
Meanwhile, Harry's opinion of Trelawney did not improve, even though she did successfully "predict" the death of Lavender Brown's pet rabbit. He kept at it, though, more for himself than any actual desire to succeed in the class. He didn't need Trelawney's predictions to know he was going to die - everyone died at some point - but he was much better at interpreting tarot spreads and runecastings than tea leaves and crystal balls. Though his skills as a craftsman left a lot to be desired, he had even made his own deck and runestones just so they would be more in tune with him than any mass-produced thing picked up on Dragon Alley
(Draco and a few other... half-friends - Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and, much to his surprise, Susan Bones - told him about Knockturn Alley, where a lot of... questionable dealings went on. There were also crafts-witches and -wizards there who could make him custom magical tools if he wanted - for a price.)
So he continued with Divination, even though he was only a little happier with the class than Hermione, who thought the whole held was rubbish.
When Halloween - Samhain - dawned clear and cold, Harry shuffled his tarot deck while still half-asleep and drew a card - but fumbled the deck and sent three cards spilling over his bedsheets.
The Tower and page of swords upright, and Justice reversed.
He started with the last first. According to his preferred interpretation guide, Justice reversed was exactly what he thought it would be: "inadequate counsel, unwise decisions, or simply the unfairness of dealing with the system." It could also indicate an unfair outcome or legal complications.
Harry was aware that his parents had hired a wizarding solicitor to protect all of them from the Ministry's dubious legal system, so he hoped it had nothing to do with that.
Next was the Tower upright. Another card from the Major Arcana, this one represented unexpected events or surprises, or even an upsetting event or rude awakening
Mm.
The Page of Swords upright was a messenger of vigilance, saying, "Pay attention! Take a closer look. There's more to this than meets the eye!"
"Something's going to happen today," Harry said to the others when they all came down to breakfast, "Just... keep an eye out?"
Everyone nodded. Their group had expanded considerably, even just since the start of the year, now including - even just peripherally - most of their year-mates, a few of Ginny and Luna's year-mates, and even a few of Fred and George's year-mates, notably Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet from the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff seeker. Harry and Neville had ended up sitting next to him at breakfast one morning and everyone else had just filed in around him, drawing him into conversation as if he'd always been one of them, and that had been that.
But those of the "core" group trusted Harry's judgement, and those who weren't didn't care enough to blatantly refuse. They all left for Hogsmeade with wands near at hand, and he kept his own tucked in a dragonhide wand holster Draco had sent him for his birthday.
Everyone had promised to bring him back a little of everything from all the shops, but Harry would have been fine if they didn't bring him anything at all. He was quietly planning a small ritual that night to honor the dead - just a candle and a small offering that he would leave on the grounds tomorrow - but he was fasting for it, only drinking fluids.
He spent most of the day reading in the library, though he did take tea with Remus, which also made him remember that today was the same day his parents died over a decade ago. Remus hadn't known his mother nearly as well, but he did have stories of his father at school - which abruptly drove home the fact that his parents had been 19 when they became pregnant with him, and 21 when they died.
They were just kids. He was hardly more than a child himself, but still. They'd barely graduated Hogwarts, had hardly even begun to live.
Most of his friends brought him back a veritable deluge of sweets from Honeydukes, but Hermione had bought him a book that she found useful in Arithmancy from Tomes and Scrolls, and Draco got him a fine self-inking eagle feather quill from Scrivenshaft's. They also brought stories from everywhere they'd been, and owl order catalogs from almost every shop (Cedric's idea, since he wouldn't be going to Hogsmeade that year).
The Halloween Feast was spectacular as usual, though Harry didn't eat - and neither did more than a few of the older Slytherins, he noted, since they were sitting at the Slytherin table for the least despite all the boisterous Gryffindors. They all parted ways when the feast ended, and Harry hurried to Ravenclaw Tower.
Unlike Gryffindor, at least, Ravenclaw Tower had private rooms for study, and Harry borrowed one now to set up his small ritual. He spread a cloth over the desk and set up three candles in their own holders - one each of black, grey, and white - lighting them with a touch of his wand. Then he set up the food on a small plate, a little bit of everything from the feast along with some Honeydukes fudge that his friends had brought.
Then, between the candles and the offering, he carefully propped up a photo of his parents. It had been given to him earlier that same day; when Remus had learned that he had never seen his parents' faces, he'd nearly ripped his office apart trying to find even just one picture of them. He'd come up with an old color photo of the two of them holding him as a baby; it must have been soon after his birth, because he still looked like a sleepy, squishy newborn. Both of them beamed at him and waved happily from the image.
He smiled back at them, then assumed his position for meditation. He slipped into the state of mind with the case of experience and just let himself float. Yet as he immersed himself in meditating on what he knew of his family, he would have sworn on everything he held dear that he felt two pairs of arms wrap him up in a warm hug and a pair of lips press a kiss to his temple.
But five minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Harry blinked in surprise, the phantom embrace vanishing in an instant, then got up to answer the knock.
It was Penelope Clearwater, one of the Ravenclaw prefects, looking especially grim. "Everyone's to head back to the Great Hall," she said, "Head down to the common room, and Professor Flitwick will escort everyone there soon."
The Gryffindors were already in the hall, and despite the number of students, Harry quickly found all his friends, all of them dragging their (hideous) purple sleeping bags into their own corner so they could talk.
"Sirius Black got into the castle!" Ron hissed as they all climbed into their sleeping bags.
"He attacked the Fat Lady - the portrait guarding the entrance to Gryffindor Tower!" Hermione added.
"You should have seen the size of the rips he put in her canvas," Ginny said in an undertone, looking a little shaken, "He must have been furious."
"Looks like you were right, Harry," said Cedric, "Something did happen. But how'd you know?"
He told them about his accidental three-card spread that morning.
"A surprise event, a miscarriage of justice, and 'all is not as it seems'," Draco said thoughtfully, resting his chin on his crossed arms, "We've had our event, and if it weren't for that last part, I could probably tell you what the justice part is."
"You could?"
Everyone blinked at Harry. Then Blaise said, "You're so well-read that sometimes we forget how little you know about our actual world. According to what we've been told by our parents, Sirius Black betrayed yours - into the hands of the Dark Lord."
"He did? Why?"
"No one knows, but a lot of the Black family supported the Dark Lord during the last war, or at least agreed with his policies. Bellatrix Black - now Lestrange - was probably the most infamous."
"What do you mean, 'no one knows'? Was there ever a trial? You know, establishing motive and all that?" Harry looked to Susan Bones. He knew Amelia Bones was part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
"I'll ask my aunt," she said, "Maybe she can get you a copy of the trial transcripts."
He nodded his thanks - then noticed. "Neville? Are you okay?"
The other boy shook his head quickly. He bit his lip, then gritted out, "Bellatrix - my parents - they're in St Mungo's because of her. Permanently. After... You-Know-Who disappeared, she thought they knew where he was, and she tortured them to try and find out."
There were no words Harry could offer as comfort on the face of that, so he just reached out to squeeze the other boy's hand. After a moment, Neville squeezed back.