Saturday morning was as Harry had expected.

It was cool. The winter months were rolling onward with inexorable progress, and even inside his bed hangings Harry found himself lying in his bed for long moments, luxuriating in the warmth of his bedsheets and the radiating heat of Crookshanks' body.

Hogwarts sheets were always a little coarse – the bedding was made for enduring generations of students, not luxury – but they were soft from use and the very best of house-elf cleaning. As Harry pointed his toes and rolled his shoulders in a lazy stretch, the fibres rubbed against his skin. The friction warmed his limbs a little more. The temptation to fall back asleep flitted through his mind.

Beside Harry, nestled half under his jaw and into the curve of his neck, Crookshanks growled a complaint at Harry's movement. The large kneazle reached out to chase down Harry's missing body warmth and his long orange hair brushed against Harry's skin, his long, thick winter coat tickling and teasing as the hair skimmed past Harry's neck.

"Hmmm," Harry groaned. "Morning Crookshanks."

The kneazle grumbled in response and tucked his head further into Harry's pillow, of which he had claimed the larger portion.

"Yeah, yeah, you too," Harry mumbled. "Rub it in, why don't you? Unlike someone, I've got stuff to do today."

There was no reply.

After a pause, in which Harry closed his eyes again, his eyelashes brushing against the blindfold he wore even to bed, "Mmh! I should get up," he announced to his cat.

He indulged in the softness of his mattress and the sensation of soft heat that covered his whole body. "No!" He startled and his eyelashes flickered again. "I'm getting up!"

This time, Harry pulled himself into a sitting position despite the warmth and his kneazle and the blankets luring him into a doze.

He stayed under the covers, keeping his legs tucked beneath the heavy winter blankets even as he crossed his legs and tugged the pillows out from under Crookshanks to support his back instead.

Deeply disgruntled, Crookshanks tossed and turned his way onto Harry's legs and half under the covers again, flowing like water into his new position in that boneless way that cats had.

"Sorry buddy," Harry muttered, his hands finding their way up Crookshanks' spine to scratch and rub at the kneazle's favourite spots. "Hang tight to a bit, won't you? I've got to get this vision problem sorted."

With the heavy warmth of Crookshanks on his knees and the chilly morning air sneaking under his bed hangings to caress Harry's skin, Harry settled in to work at his occlumency practice again, the meditative calm coming to Harry with the ease of years of practise.

He needed to control his mind, his magic, Harry knew, even as he left his conscious thoughts behind and sank into the trance to control and manipulate his own mind.

With what was going to happen this evening, Harry needed all the advantages he could get.

After a little longer on occlumency than he usually spent, Harry found himself stumbling down to breakfast a tad later than his routine would have usually allowed him, had his health and magic been normal.

The Great Hall was already filling up with bodies when Harry arrived. Katie Bell's dulcet tones drew Harry towards her as he approached the Gryffindor table, and after a cheery morning greeting, she ferried him down six spots to sit next to where Hermione was apparently sitting silently, her head presumably buried in a book.

"Morning, 'Mione?" Harry tried as he patted someone's shoulders until his reaching hands found an empty Harry-sized space on the long wooden bench.

He felt her jolt at the sound of his voice.

"Harry? Oh, Harry! Sorry, I should have seen you coming…here, hang on a minute. Let me just…" There was the sound of her sliding a few inches further down the bench. "Now there's space to get in. Grab a seat."

He did so, Crow – who had winged his way up to Harry's shoulder while he was feeling his way down the Great Staircase – chattering in his right ear when Harry came a little too close to bumping into the people on either side of his new seat.

"How did you sleep?"

Hermione's voice smiled. "Very well, thanks. I always seem to sleep better when it's cold outside. You?"

"Same, same."

They busied themselves finding food; Hermione helped him scoop the porridge into his place, and sprinkled the cinnamon for him to avoid Harry making a mess on the table.

"What's the news of the day?" Harry managed after he'd swallowed the first few bites of the sweet and creamy porridge.

He felt her shrug. "About as expected really. The Prophet is full of news about the Triwizard Tournament. Skeeter writes about the previous records of winners – and the death count. The last Hogwarts Champion to win the tournament went on to become an award-winning Transfiguration Master, apparently. She's dead now, of course, passing away at the ripe old age of one-hundred and seventy-three, but her contributions to Transfiguration were apparently quite impressive during her lifetime."

"…Yeah?" Harry patted around the table until he found the bowl of bacon, and stole a piece to feed to Crow on his shoulder.

He heard Hermione sniff. "Nothing we've covered in class yet. Skeeter suggests that Professor McGonagall teaches some of her theories in the N.E.W.T Transfiguration classes. But aside from that, there was nothing very note-worthy today. A list of how and why the previous competitors died, one poor kid ended up in St Mungo's after being cursed by a competitor or maybe a visiting professor – no one ever worked out who – but the bone-softening curse was apparently never resolved."

"Huh."

"And a lot of interviews and opinion pieces, witches and wizards interviewed about which school will win – a comparison between the schools which didn't include any evaluation of curriculum – plus the latest results from the British quidditch league; your godfather, Harry, still can't get permission from the Wizengamot to come back into English; some Scottish expatriate has been found brewing illegal, experimental alcohol in America. Nothing I think you'd be too interested in."

Harry spooned himself another mouthful of the thick, sweet porridge and settled down into companionable silence. Voices from Gryffindor table washed over him, quieter but somehow more intense than usual.

Around the rustling of Crow's feathers right by Harry's ear, the clinking of his spoon and the scratching turn of whatever book Hermione was paging through, the atmosphere of the Great Hall was electric.

As he settled into silence, Harry's ear began to pick up the sounds of foreign languages being muttered around the room; the pleasant burr of French speakers muttering to each other drifted over from the direction of the Ravenclaw table, some through the medium of rapid-sounding French itself while other students seemed to be making an effort to practice their English.

The Slytherin table was even quieter, but the sibilant guttering of Bulgarian and Russian and German were woven through the low sound of chatter, catching Harry's attention as the identifiable and almost-identifiable words teased at his memory.

Interspersed throughout the room, Hogwarts students – probably the Ravenclaws and Slytherins – were attempting to speak back to their new House-guests. Conversation flowed in fits and starts, and Harry felt himself filled with anticipation for today.

Students would be putting their names in the goblets. (Would his be one of them? He'd find out soon.) There would be some kind of social mixer happening in the morning, a cultural exchange of art and culture after lunch, but Harry wouldn't be there for those.

There would be dances, a choir performance or two, some kind of game-quiz and at least a few competitions. The Art Club had some of their work displayed – Harry's wasn't one of them – but the Charms Club was doing some kind of performance and then Durmstarng and Beauxbatons would reciprocate. To be fair, the speeches would probably be boring, but one of the French witches was supposed to be a very good harpist, and he knew Professor Sinistra played a pretty mean bagpipe – even inside the castle, the sound filled him with incredulous shivers. The pipes rang out against the Scottish stone without the muggle down-sides: Hogwarts was big enough for the pipes to fill the space up properly without making any ears bleed.

He didn't know why he hadn't bothered going last timeline: it would have been nice to hang out with the Durmstrang students, practice his German again. Maybe find his way to Krum and suggest they have a Seeker-off, at some point this year. If his eyesight got good enough, of course.

And he wondered idly if he could mix with the Beauxbatons' students too – maybe try to meet Fleur again and jumpstart their friendship. She'd probably appreciate a friend who wasn't confounded by her Veela aura, and it would put Harry in a prime position to make sure she met Bill again too.

He was firmly of the opinion that Bill and Fleur were meant to be together, one of the best couples he knew, and if his coming back in time had ruined that relationship, Harry knew he'd never get over it.

But he couldn't be there, Harry had already decided. He didn't want to meet strangers blind, for one thing: having conversations with randoms who thought he was a 'poor orphan' or a 'hero' or simply easy-pickings without vision. When meeting strangers being able to evaluate them back was logically important to him. Besides, he was busy.

Harry had plans, he'd decided long ago. Today, he'd be outside the castle, in the cold and the damp, so he could open his eyes, catch up on his studies, and finish the preparations he needed to make in advance of the big show tonight.

It was less than an hour later when Harry found himself stepping on the frost-covered grass towards his now-familiar spot near the forest, on the edge of the thestral-herd clearing.

He whipped his blindfold off as soon as he could, absorbing the view of the steel-coloured clouds with undue enthusiasm, and the sight of frosted white grass, the dark-green and damp-looking trees shivering in the breeze further away. The ground was damp, falling brown leaves littering the distant earth, the distant spots of birds on wing were migrating south for the winter.

His legs swung freely over the ground as he paced away from the castle, the small specks of thestral-bodies growing larger as he approached them. Once arrived, he spent just a bit of time greeting the horse-like animals who knew him by scent now. A few head scratches, a friendly whicker or three, and Crow took off from his shoulder with an explosive flutter of wings to entertain himself while Harry kept busy.

He was wearing three layers of robes, and his warmest pair of socks, to fight against the temperature. The thought crossed his mind that it might now be enough, even as Harry dried out a patch of ground with a flick of his wand and settled himself down, cross-legged.

It was the work of a moment to grab from within his mokeskin pouch a collection of parchment, and begin to transcribe the first of his letters.

In the corner of his eyes, the flicker of magic-light from the Forbidden Forest glimmered and glowed in cheerful colours.

Harry got to work with a faint smile.

Dear Sirius and Remus, he began with the scratch of his quill.

I hope you're all well. I haven't caught up with you recently – my eyes, don't you know – but it's been good to catch up with the news you've been sending me, and I'm glad to hear you're both keeping yourselves busy.

On my end, Operation Chaos is all go for the year ahead! Which I haven't told you about yet, but sit tight for a wild ride because I think you (note: mostly Sirius, I reckon) will like this.

You see, Hermione tells me that the Ministry still isn't letting you back, but some things should happen this year that will have you feeling better about it all anyway.

First: I've – not organised, but – have foreknowledge of some lovely stuff that'll throw more shade on Fudge and Ministry. Because of the Tournament, the eyes of Europe will be fixed upon Scotland very soon anyway, and hopefully after it all goes upside down, we can leverage the chaos to get you recompensed and legally back at home again. (Unless you've met anyone nice over there? Anyone special since I've gone?) Feel free to give interviews to any journalists who ask for one: you'll be shocked, obviously. Wishing you could be by my side. Have faith in International Co-operation even if Britain isn't showing itself to be very competent right now. You get the gist.

(By way of recompense, have you been speaking to Mr Lloyd-Elliot recently? How much has he recommended you should hold out for? What's the latest news?)

Second: it will thrill you and Moony to know that I've made steps towards… joining your little merry band of marauders. News will fly your way very soon, but hold tight till I've got everything down and coordinated (you must remember what it's like), and we can have a proper party once you're back on home soil. (I'm half-hoping for a party so grand the Malfoys will be jealous, to be honest. I'll invited Draco; he'll be both classy and livid about it, and might spontaneously self-combust.) You'll be interested to know that Crow is very proud of me, even if I'm showing myself to be massively uncoordinated right now. I'm told that will improve soon. (It better!)

Third: I don't think I ever told you about the secret plan. By which I mean, like, a massive prank I'm about to pull on some of the most stuck-up tossers you've ever had the misfortune to meet. But I have an evil reporter on my side! (I think.) Keep reading the Prophet, and whatever other international papers you've been reading over there. I want a nice summary of all the news as soon as it blows up. As godfather, this is your righteous duty, and I can't get the proper European newspapers in Hogwarts; they don't send them this way at all.

Fourth: I can't remember what I told you about my eyesight, but it's getting way better now. I'm practically, I mean, perfectly normal outside, and totally ready to take on the year! Still blind for a wee bit, but I'm practising, and I think I can see I'm making progress. I've been telling people it's "light sensitivity", if anyone asks, so please back me up. I'm not sure what you've been reading in the Potter Spotter column these days – I can't bear to read it myself, far too embarrassing – but I'm perfectly healthy and full of energy, just in case they're still playing the 'poor orphan boy' angle. Dumbledore thinks it al kicked off because of my birthday gifts, so there's probably more comping sooner or later. I'm just hoping they're more convenient. No other insights into what else I was given at the name-giving but I'm assuming that things will happen eventually if they are going to happen at all.

All the best wishes (Write me back; I won't be able to use the mirror for at least a few more weeks. Maybe a month or two.)

Your godson,

Harry J.J.A.C. Potter

P.S.: They cancelled quidditch this year, did I tell you? It's terrible, I tell you. McGonagall must be fit to burst! H.J.J.A.C.P.

P.P.S.: Hermione sends her regards, and would like to organise an interview regarding the underlying concepts of wizarding healthcare, the potential of generational trauma to become culturally significant to witches and wizards in Britain as opposed to Europe, and any resources that you can recommend on mental health and wellbeing from wizarding sources. H.P.

P.P.S.: Kreacher sends his slightly grudging greetings. He's been working so hard; the house looks amazing. I think even you'll find it nice. H.P.

To Remus,

Thanks for your note. I'm well. I've fallen back into my Hogwarts routine with only the mildest of bumps because of my eyes. Percy Weasley, whom you might know, and Hermione have been a huge help for me, providing me with notes, guidance etc. Hermione and Neville are working hard to keep away the fans.

I'm glad that Sirius is doing better, and it's good to hear that he's getting out and making…um. Sustained friendships. The German Ministry staff were so incredibly kind to me when I was over there, and between them and you, I know Sirius is in good hands.

Thanks for the Healers' report you forwarded on to me, and for the heads up about Christmas plans. I'd obviously love to spend more time with Sirius (and you), but I have a sinking suspicion that the Triwizard Tournament is going to ruin that. Perhaps you could try to build up to that with Sirius? From what you say, he won't react well if we cancel his long-standing plans at the last minute.

I'll do just fine for myself this year, I've got it all kind of prepared already, but if you could do me a favour and stop Sirius reading that bloody Potter Spotter column I'd be very grateful. It'll do him no good to worry about me, and the last thing we need right now is Sirius trying to break back into Scotland to protect me from some perceived danger.

I'd love some more textbooks too, so if you can find any more you haven't already sent me, I'd definitely appreciate them. Any level, any subject will be good, but it would be best if they're different to the curriculum that's taught at Hogwarts.

Stay in touch, and I promise to write whenever I need homework help!

All the best

Harry J.J.A.C. Potter

He took a moment to resettle himself after that, finding a patch of softer ground as he shifted his legs around, before changing his quill ink and pursing his lips tightly. This one always needed a few drafts to get right, but after two early attempts, Harry thought he had the tone down.

Dearest Rita,

We've been out of communication for so long! Months, now I realise. Such a shame! You've certainly been keeping yourself busy: that column you wrote last week about corruption in the Auror corps was sheer delight.

And, dear lady, but what a time to be a reporter: the event of the decade: the ill-fated World Cup drama, and then that terrible, chaotic night afterwards! You must have been in professional bliss. I must confess myself a particular fan of the way you described the security procedures as the "shambolic aftermath" of "hubris of the highest order". You know my opinion of Fudge, of course. As I mentioned a few missives ago, he's on his way out this year, and not a moment too soon.

And now, of course the Triwizard Tournament! What would you give to be a bug on the wall at Hogwarts this year, eh?

But never mind that. I'm writing as a friend and long-time ally, to give you some simply delicious news: just like the World Cup, the Triwizard Tournament is going to be a hot-bed of crime. Dastardly plans afoot! Kidnapping! Unforgiveables! At least one murder plot! I'm all aflutter myself at just what the year is going to bring and – my connection to you shows great foresight on my part, you see – my humble angle is to get a competent Minister, my dear. A more competent Minister, you might say. Or any improvement at all, really.

But about the Tournament: I really can't give you the specifics, I'm afraid. Not even with the minor things I'm mostly certain of. There will certainly be an international outcry in a few days, Minister Fudge – nice work on that anonymous article, by the way, it had your stamp all over it – will topple over from his precarious balance and begin the long slide down. Lawyers will definitely be involved; I'm hoping to avoid the goblin nation's frustration; poor dear Mister Black is still stuck overseas and the whole of Europe judging Britain while he's over there…The entire event is just a tad larger than my little hands can control.

Things may not happen as I foresee, you see. Nevertheless, I knew you would appreciate the heads-up and perhaps the knowledge that you have an informant on-site?

Have you considered selling your services to overseas news agencies? The Triwizard Tournament is a long way from the usual sources of European journalists, but for the year ahead, there will definitely be interest in our part of the world…

To cut to the chase, we've been feeling each other out for a good wee while now. How's it going your end? With such a pragmatic and efficient correspondent such as yourself, I find myself intrigued by future alliances. In exchange for tidings of rumour and on-the-site coverage of events as they happen, perhaps you could be persuaded to compare our lists of opponents and adversaries, and see what mutual interests we can find?

Your forever friend and fan,

As always xx

Dear Ms Skeeter,

It's been an eventful few months and aside from one or two letters, we've never really corresponded. I don't have much to say, although I was happy with how you quoted me previously and am tentatively willing to keep the lines of communication open.

I'm sure a reporter as prolific as you is keeping very busy with the Triwizard Tournament, so I won't take up too much time. I just wanted to send a quick formal acknowledgement of your part in getting justice for my godfather, Sirius Black.

Thank you, most sincerely, for being such a tireless force of justice and persuasion in face of apathy, disinterest and ignorance. (You may quote me on that.)

Sirius' dangerous journey to Germany, which he surely made alone and desperate, would have eventually allowed him to find sanctuary no matter what happened in Britain. However, your unignorable role in having his innocence announced throughout English and Scotland so that one day he might return proudly home is acknowledged. If, at some point in the future, you would be willing to continue this positive and beneficial relationship, or perhaps build on it, I would be open to the possibility.

As such, if it isn't too much to ask for, I hope that we find ourselves in a position where we can consider a mutually supportive working relationship.

Yours faithfully,

Harry James Justus Ambrose Corbin Potter

Next was a more enjoyable letter to write, although this one, too, needed two or three drafts before Harry was happy with how it came out.

Dear Mr Lloyd-Elliot,

I appreciate your correspondence &c., &c.

I would once more like to thank you for following up on your concerns for my health and wellbeing this year. When I let my words slip those few months ago, I did not intend to place any burden of care upon yourself, in either a personal or professional capacity. My deepest apologies for any discomfort.

It will indeed be an exciting year, and you have persuaded me that perhaps we could continue some more regular visits throughout the next few months; I would love to keep up to date with Sirius' repatriation, for example, and would appreciate the chance to keep our lines of communication open.

Plus, Remus has been keeping me up to date with Sirius' health progress; if you could keep me in the loop, I'd love to have those costs laid at the feet of the Ministry too.

In fact, now that you have mentioned it, perhaps we could arrange for a meeting in or around Hogwarts Castle for early next week? I'm sure there will be all kinds of fuss raised by the Triwizard Champions being chosen (thank Merlin I'm not seventeen and entering that death trap!) so perhaps…

Would it be inappropriate to ask that you keep your schedule flexible so that we could fit in an appointment or two quite soon? I think evenings might be good, although that would be after normal working hours for you…

I await your reply with anticipation.

Kindest regards

Harry James Justus Ambrose Corbin Potter

Dear Percy,

I appreciate your correspondence &c., &c.

Sorry I've taken so long to reply to your mail. I'm sure you have been peripherally aware of the Triwizard Tournament in all its foolhardy glory, but Hogwarts has been quite wrapped up in it all, and – as you have no doubt read in the Potter Spotter column which I know perfectly well has been having a field day recently – my light-sensitive eyes have been giving me grief.

It's a huge hassle; I think I'll have to talk to your father about coping strategies if my current practice doesn't work out, but as long as I'm careful not to open my eyes inside Hogwarts, nothing permanent will go wrong.

(Know that you know that, could you please feel free to filter the news to your mother slowly that I'm well, getting better, and managing classes perfectly fine?) Ron's been passing on messages and the poor witch is far more worried than she needs to be.

Speaking of whom, you'll be thrilled to hear that Ron is making strides in…I suppose you'd call it artefact creation? He made me an audio-quill so I can read inside Hogwarts, with two of his friends. I think you'd be proud of him, Percy. I never had any idea he could create such a thing; he's growing into such a clever young man. And so thoughtful too.

How are you, personally? Settled into work happily? I was very pleased to hear that Mr O'Moore has been so complimentary about you, but of course I expected it.

Perhaps you're still caught up in the ongoing legal matters pertaining to the riots at the World Quidditch Cup?

Mr Lloyd-Elliot let slip last time we spoke that his office was representing some of the victims of the night. I'd never ask for details, but I hope you do everything that you can for them. I was thinking about going to the World Cup, you know, and the thought that I might have been there and seen all that chaos and smoke and hear the screams…and not be able to fix it…Percy, I can imagine it like I was there and it's a horrible feeling. I'm glad you're in a position where you can help people, even just a little. Is anyone representing the muggles, do you know? Will they get the help they need?

That's most of the important stuff that I've had running through my mind recently. Things have obviously been rather busy for. I've got a project with your younger brothers again. I really don't know how much they tell their family, and how much you can work out beyond that, but they're very clever, don't you know? So…the projects been coming along quite nicely – they're well ahead of me in terms of progress, but my temporary disability has rather held me back on that.

(On a completely unrelated note, and hopefully you'll know due to either your current job or your previous interest in the Ministry: how might one go about filing paperwork through the Ministry of Magic without every man and his crup knowing about it? Obviously, I'm stupidly famous, but there are things I should probably start putting into motion. I don't want all kinds of randoms with more gold than manners looking into my personal records. Are there processes that I could put into place that would protect my privacy? I hope it goes without saying that I need more than just a 'blanket ban', and need actual sealed files that can't be opened by…I don't know…corrupt staff or bribed ministry workers, for example. Curious ministers who need leverage for the next election. You get what I mean.)

School's going well, Harry continued to write, even as the sun warmed up around him and the frost began to soften and melt with the heat. Your notes are saving me. But it's been really interesting to see how my favourite classes have been changing for the duration of being blind. Charms is damn hard to keep up in, even with my prior kno pre-reading, but the coping strategies that Professor McGonagall has me doing are apparently advanced Transfiguration exercises and I'm really enjoying going off-curriculum.

Divination and Potions are, of course, almost impossible, but Tre Professor Trelawny's been really good about it, unlike another teacher I could mention. I'm not ashamed to admit, but I've been using all the methods at my disposal to avoid Snape. (I'm sure you've heard how he seems to have it out for me? No idea why, but he's always been quite illogical about me and I'm legitimately concerned he's going to try and take off my blindfold. I can't afford that, Percy. I refuse to go blind for a prejudiced bigot, even if he is a bloody genius in potions.) But that's not a coping strategy for forever. If you have suggestions about what I should do, please let me know.

The family is well: Crookshanks has grown into his winter coat, Crow is hiding from the cold by sleeping as often as he can, and Sirius is doing his best to stay in touch despite the distance. He's steadying down, I think. Remus reports slow if steady progress, at any rate.

Speaking of distance, I'm sorry to hear about Charlie, by the way. I guess it's a danger of the job when you work with dragons? How's your mum taking that? He's not going to visit back home to recuperate, is he? I mean, in the grand scheme of things I guess it will turn into a wicked scar, but he will recover, I assume? Otherwise your comments would have been more worried.

And I'm sorry to hear about your break up too. I'd love to give advice, but all people have weaknesses and relationships are one of mine. It doesn't sound like you did anything wrong? Sometimes people just don't match, I suppose. They can both be perfectly nice, but their interests or their focus or their pace or times just don't quite match up. That's such a shame – you sounded so hopeful about her in your last letter. I don't know if you've heard, or if this is even the right time to bring it up, but I heard a rumour that Penelope Clearwater is single again, by the way, by way of a friend of hers in Slytherin who's still in school. (But that's all I'm saying. I'll stay out of your business. No more comments from me!)

There's more to say, I suppose, but you're probably busy so I'll cut it short and wait for your letter back instead.

I'll let you know more about the chaos at Hogwarts as it comes, but for now I should finish the letter up. Crookshanks is being grumpy at me for overusing my eyes these days – not that I am, they don't hurt or anything but he worries – and Crow thinks I should spend more time asleep like he does.

I await your correspondence with anticipation,

Kindest regards

Harry J.J.A.C. Potter

Harry put down his quill, shook his aching hand and stretched. It was time to unwrap his bacon butty – Hermione had made it up for him from the breakfast table – and then he could spend a few hours practising his transformation.

He needed all the tricks he could use for this year, after all. An illegal animagusing was one of them.

Then, Harry pondered as he stood up and shook his body down in the mild, cheerful sunlight, then he'd better start planning for all the fuss tonight.

Perhaps some more letters to write, that he could post out before bed. "Shocked", of course, that his name had come out – would it come out? – and "horrified" that someone had it out for him. Desperate letters full of requests for help, for guidance, to clear his name.

Harry nodded firmly. After his practice, he'd start right up on that.

Perhaps he should make some contingency plans, too. Just in case.