AN: So...it's been a while. I think this is the longest I've ever gone between updates. I do have a good excuse, though. A virus rendered my computer absolutely useless, and as I'm too cheap to shell out the money for someone to fix it, it stayed that way until I figured out how to fix it. Did I mention I'm not very good with computers? Anyway, thanks to all of the wonderful reviewers:TheHypers, oneeyereader, serialkeller, Lerris, Majerus, Blaise de C, Iwa Shinju, Ari989, Benneducci, BlackRoseFire, TroyWeb, ILoveGeorgeEads, god of all, lavanyalabelle, POTTERPHILE, XoXo-Smiley-Riley-OxOx, MuggleCreator, IWantColoredRain, elmoryakhan, ultima-owner, Fibinaci, Tellur, Quathis, and Lady Sabine of Macayhill. I'm really loving the number of new faces here.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise.
"Of course, I knew the whole time," Bill boasted loudly, hands splayed out on the table in front of him. "Bulgaria never stood a chance, honestly. Ireland's got ten times the team they have." He tossed back a glass full of amber liquid and grinned.
"But Krum," Charlie argued. "He's the best bloody seeker in the world! He's the one that caught the snitch, after all." He hadn't been too happy with the outcome of the match, but he was certainly the only one in the Weasley tent that felt that way.
"Catching the snitch doesn't mean you win, Charlie," Bill replied, shaking out his long red hair. "I thought you, of all people, would know that."
"Oh, sod off," Charlie grumbled, snatching the bottle of firewhiskey off the table and pouring himself some more. "One of you lot's gotta agree with me, right? Krum's more than just good—he's great! He's only eighteen, and he flies like a seasoned pro. What'd you think, Potter?"
Harry, caught off guard, shrugged. "Er…I dunno. I've never seen anybody fly like him though. That Wronski Feint…" He trailed off, remembering how Krum had shot to the ground and pulled up at the last possible second. What Harry wouldn't give to fly like that…
"See?" Charlie gestured wildly. "If Harry thinks so too, that's got to mean something. We Seekers know what we're talking about." He suddenly pounded Harry on the back, causing the younger boy to pitch forward and nearly smack the ground. "Oops! Sorry, mate."
"Trying to take out your competition, Charlie?" Fred asked, smirking.
"I gotta say, your method needs some work," George observed critically. "You're killing him in front of half a dozen witnesses."
"Sod off," Charlie repeated, sitting down at the table and leaning the chair back on two legs. "Perce, what about you? Who do you think should've won?"
Percy glanced up from the parchment he was bent over. Harry noted the dark bags under his eyes and peered closely at him. "Well, Ireland, I suppose. The Bulgarians were acting a bit barbaric about the whole thing, if you ask me. The Veelas were obviously brought as a distraction, their constant penalties were positively ferocious, and there were a few too many close calls when it came to Obliviating the muggles."
Fred scoffed. "Your whole argument comes down to sportsmanship? That's weak, Perce, even for you."
Percy frowned at him. "Sportsmanship, if you ask me, is one of the only redeeming qualities of such a brutal sport. It at least teaches children how to be gracious, winning or losing. Such a lesson seems to be lost on the older fans though." His last statement was punctured by a sharp look at Bill, who instantly took offense.
"Oi! What are you trying to say? Charlie's the one going on about how Bulgaria should've won—"
"I never said that! I just thought—"
"Now you're being ridiculous, Bill—"
"Aw, Perce, did you really have to bring that up?"
"Yeah, we were having a nice, civil discourse—"
Harry's head spun with all of the Weasleys' varying viewpoints. Hermione had gone back to the girls' tent almost as soon as the match was over, claiming to be tired. Privately, Harry thought she was likely going back over all of her summer homework and checking for nonexistent mistakes. Ron sat next to him, and had stayed mostly silent since the twins had tricked him into eating a sweet that turned his hand into a spider. But the remaining Weasleys provided more than enough conversation, debating the merits of each play employed by both teams.
"Alright boys, settle down," Mr. Weasley commented mildly. Thus far, he had sat with an amused look on his face and refrained from interjecting, but he did try to keep things calm.
Penny had been sitting next to Percy on the couch, also doing some work for her job, but she now glanced about and nudged Percy. "Where are the kids?"
It took Harry a moment to realize that she meant Ginny and the Creevey brothers. The three had stared at him for most of the match, and he'd been relieved when something had distracted them. But it appeared as if they'd completely disappeared.
"We'll look for them, Father," Percy volunteered, jumping to his feet.
Penny looked disgruntled at him including her in this statement, but she pasted a smile on her face and nodded genially. "They can't have gone far, Mr. Weasley. You should stay and relax."
Mr. Weasley did look tired, Harry noted. "Are you sure?" He muttered hesitantly, casting an anxious glance at the darkened sky through the partially open tent flap. "It's a bit late…"
"It's alright, Father. I'm sure they've just wandered off." Percy brushed off a piece of lint from his shoulder and then ushered Penny out the door, searching around for any Ministry officials to rub elbows with.
The Weasley brothers quickly shrugged this off. Harry attributed it to the older boys' inebriated state, as well as Fred and George's natural penchant for mischief. As soon as Percy and Penny fell out of hearing distance, the twins spoke up.
"Dad, what about you?"
"Yeah, those Veela sure were something, huh?"
The tips of Mr. Weasley's ears burned bright red. "Er, now boys, we might keep that bit to ourselves, yeah? Molly might not be too understanding." He coughed into his elbow and shifted.
Ron's ears matched his father's, and his eyes glazed over, which didn't escape Charlie's notice. "Aw, Ron, what's the matter? Never seen a Veela before?"
"Forget that," Bill snorted. "He looked like he'd never seen a girl before!"
Ron's hands clenched into fists. "Well, you lot didn't look much better!" He retorted hotly. "Don't you have a bird to get back to, Bill?"
The mood in the tent instantly turned somber. "Nope," Bill replied quietly, gazing at the liquid in his glance. "Not anymore, least."
Fred and George sighed and gave Ron dirty looks.
Charlie shook his head and mumbled, "Bad form, mate."
Ron sunk down into his chair and glowered. Harry nudged him sympathetically. Ron hadn't known, after all. But Bill was no longer in the mood for celebration, and neither was anyone else. They sat there in uncomfortable silence, avoiding each other's eyes and sipping their chosen drinks.
Until a scream punctured the air.
Bill jolted straight up and whipped his wand out. Mr. Weasley paled and turned towards Harry and Ron. "Stay here and wait while I check. Keep an eye on them, William." Bill nodded solemnly.
"What about Sirius?" Harry protested instantly. His godfather had pushed him off with the Weasleys, ordering him to "have some fun, for once." At the time, Harry hadn't made a fuss, but now he grew worried. What if something happened to Sirius?
"He'll be fine." Mr. Weasley moved closer to the tent flap, with his face set into a grim line. "He's got Charity and Remus. Right now, you need to stay safe." He flung open the tent flap and stopped in his tracks.
"Harry!" Burbage exclaimed, hurrying forward and hugging him. He felt his cheeks heat up at her actions, but then she was dragging him away. "Sirius was awfully concerned about you. We need to keep you some place safe—no offence, Arthur." She lowered her eyes, embarrassed.
"None taken," The older man replied mildly. "I s'pose you'll want to keep your family together."
Harry felt a fierce rush of happiness when Mr. Weasley referred to his family. He had a family! It wasn't quite the same as he had always pictured it, but the details didn't bother him. He needed to get to Sirius and Remus. Charity had the same idea, rushing him over to their tent and acting nervous. Her grip on his arm was firm and unyielding. Someone darted passed them and nearly bowled Harry over, but Burbage kept him aright and continued moving.
"What's going on out there?" Sirius demanded as soon as they entered.
"I don't know," Harry answered automatically, only to realize he wasn't the one being asked.
"I'm sure it's nothing," Burbage replied unconvincingly. "Remus, we should go take a look."
"And what about me?" Sirius snapped, wand at the ready.
"Somebody has to look after Harry." Remus clapped Harry on the shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry, Harry. Sometimes wizards get a little chaotic after they've had too much firewhiskey. We'll clear things up and be back before you know it."
Somehow, this didn't help Harry's state of mind. He nodded curtly and stood by Sirius, aching with curiosity. "What do you think's going on?" He asked, unable to hold himself back.
Remus and Burbage had gone. Sirius was brooding, with his wand held tightly in one hand. "Dunno. But I've got a bad feeling about this. Don't go rushing off anywhere, alright?" Harry nodded again, though Sirius wasn't facing him. Footsteps raced past them, as the screams rose in volume. Harry shivered a bit, thinking of Ginny and the Creevey brothers, lost out in the dark. He hoped Penny and Percy had found them.
After a short debate, Sirius zipped the tent closed and extinguished all the lights. "Stay quiet," He commanded gruffly. Harry could no longer see him, but he felt sure that Sirius was anxious. His leg jiggled up and down absentmindedly as his mind conjured up ideas of what had happened to Ginny and the Creevey brothers, each image more horrifying than the last.
The screams were now so loud that Harry could hear nothing but terrifying cries. A little girl wailing for her mum, a man calling out in panicked voice. Sirius was taking short, shallow breaths. Dread sunk down into Harry's stomach like an anchor. This paled in comparison to Basilisks and escaped convicts. This was a new kind of horror, one that took hold of him and refused to leave.
All at once, the sounds stopped. No one was shouting or running. A light was visible from the crack underneath the tent. Sirius rose unsteadily and crept closer. "Don't move."
Harry ignored his warnings and moved with Sirius. Tentatively, Sirius reached out a hand and partially unzipped the tent flap. The strange mark in the sky made Harry's mouth grow dry. He couldn't say why, but the symbol—the harmless light source floating among the stars—scared him more than the people screaming. He tugged on Sirius' sleeve, but the man didn't respond. His eyes were glassy and his lips slightly parted as he took in the skull and the snake.
"Sirius?" Harry whispered.
He didn't move.
"Sirius, are you okay?" Harry asked urgently.
Sirius jolted. "I'm fine, James."
Harry paused, unsure of how to proceed. Sirius was locked in some sort of trance, and he'd mistaken short, scrawny Harry for his father. He'd always been told the family resemblance was uncanny, but this…this was something entirely different. Finally, he settled on a mildly safe course of action. "D'you think Remus will be back soon?"
Sirius shrugged. "You know Moony. He likes to sulk for a bit."
Confused (and thinking that this explanation worked rather well for Sirius, too), Harry bobbed his head complacently and hoped that Sirius was back to himself soon.
The Dark Mark hung about in his mind for days—he closed his eyes to fall asleep at night and saw it burned into his brain. The TV, with its semi-green glow, made him tense and reach for his wand. A sudden flash of a camera, a scream of laughter from his sisters, the sound of his little brother running past the bedroom door—these all made his heart jump into his throat. The ceiling of his room (which had long ago been turned into a giant corkboard-type gallery) was covered in the Dark Mark: sketches (charcoal, pencil, and full-color), watercolors, crayon drawings, oil pastels, acrylic paint…he had done it all, over and over again. He had never been so impossibly immersed in one simple subject.
His mother, concerned, had tried to enter his room numerous times, but he barred her entry. His step-father (a distinction Dean hadn't considered important until the World Cup) cast him strange looks nearly every other minute. His brother and sisters were kept out at all time. He didn't want them, any of them, to see the thing that haunted him every minute of every day. He couldn't shake the feeling that once he had drawn the mark in its full horror, it would leave him.
It was stupid, he told himself bitterly, tossing aside his green pen. He hadn't been one of the muggles to hang upside down in the air, unaware of what strange force kept him there. He had never once been in danger. Mrs. Finnegan, as soon as she realized what was going on, had forced him and Seamus back into the tent, fear hidden in every line on her face. Dean hadn't even gotten a glimpse at the real Dark Mark. Colin Creevey, pale and shaking, handed him the photograph with the mark without a word. Dean had attempted to give the younger boy a five pound note, but Colin shoved it back and scurried off.
Once he sat down at his desk and took the time to actually examine the photo, a cold sort of dread settled into his stomach, and he became unable to get rid of it ever since. That had been a week ago, on August 23rd. It was now August 30th, and he left for Hogwarts in two days. He dragged his feet packing for the train, the main point of indecision coming from the pictures on his ceiling. If he took them with, then there was no getting rid of them. But if he left them there, a member of his family would surely see them. More to the point, he loathed to tell his dorm mates why he had done so many works on the same subject.
Most worrisome was the utter apathy Dean felt when faced with anything not pertaining to Death Eaters and the Dark Mark. Ireland had won the World Cup; Dean didn't care. His family went to Alton Towers; he was bored to tears. He ran into one of the boys who had teased him at art camp the summer before; he couldn't have felt angry if he'd tried.
The muggleborns Dean was friends with often called each other on the phone. He had taken the opportunity to grill Hermione for information, but she had grown suspicious relatively quickly.
"Well, it's the sign of You-Know-Who, of course," She had told him matter-of-factly. "Mr. Weasley said it hasn't been seen since the war. The Ministry has no idea who conjured it, you know. They looked everywhere—there's not been a trace."
"Not a trace?" Dean had seized upon this.
"Oh, I didn't mean that literally. There's the trace of magic, of course, and they looked at that very thoroughly, but…oh! Did you hear that Mr. Crouch's house elf was found near the trace? Mr. Crouch fired her for it! It's so…so…" Hermione's voice had risen in anger.
"Right." He had cut her off at the pass. "Hermione, isn't Mr. Crouch Percy's boss?"
"I know! And Percy didn't even bother to do anything about it—the injustice—"
"Hermione, what does the Dark Mark represent exactly? It's You-Know-Who's mark, but when does it show up?"
"Mr. Weasley said it's after someone's been killed, but no one died at the World Cup. Dean, why are you asking all of these questions?" Her voice slowed down towards the end, and he could almost hear her eyebrows rising in skepticism.
"Just curious." He had lied hurriedly, made his excuses, and hung up.
Lavender and Lee had no information to share; indeed, the two combined knew less than Hermione, but Dean strongly suspected that Hermione was still caught up with her issues with the treatment of house-elves, and so, didn't think about researching the Dark Mark as she normally would. Dean had come close to trying to contact Colin and ask him what he thought of the mark, but the memories of the boy's wide eyes and nervous disposition made him think twice.
"Dean!" Kayla shouted. "Dean, Dean, Dean! Come on, Mum says you need to help with the dishes!"
"Alright, Kayla, I'm coming!" He pushed himself back from the desk and stood. Glancing up, he climbed on top of the chair and ripped off one of the watercolors he had done. He folded it up and stuffed it in his pocket before jumping down and cracking the door open. Seven year old Kayla waited anxiously at the threshold, peering in around him.
"Stay out of my room, Kayla." He'd told her the same thing for the past four days, and he was starting to get a little tired of it.
"I'm not in your room," She replied smugly, using her small hands to try and push him to the side.
"Just go away, alright? Dunno what you want in there anyway." He shoved his hand back in the pocket of his sweatshirt, feeling for the paper again. Nothing was going to happen to his family. He doubted any of the Death Eaters even knew who he was. He hadn't done anything to get his name out there, something he was infinitely grateful for now.
"Dean? There's a letter from Seamus for you," Mum informed him as soon as he entered the kitchen.
Dead instantly stopped dead. Seamus…Dean might not have done anything to get attention, but some others certainly had. Harry, of course, was a given. The Weasleys were expected as well. Hermione, Lavender, Lee, and Penelope were all muggleborn, like Dean. Neville had once mentioned that his parents had been targeted by Death Eaters. Angelina and Seamus were both half-bloods.
"Dean?" Mum's hand landed heavily on his shoulder. "Is everything alright?"
"Yeah." His lips moved of their own accord. "Yeah, everything's fine, Mum." Everything was fine, but Dean had to wonder how long it would stay that way. He felt around for the watercolor again and swallowed hard. Something was coming—he just didn't know what.
"I expect you to be on your best behavior, understand?" Father's eyes were bright and cheerful. Draco didn't often see his father so unguarded, but he had been in this sort of state since the World Cup. Unwilling to see it end, he nodded quickly and straightened up, clasping his hands behind his back.
Nott the elder entered the sitting room first, glancing down at Draco almost carelessly before reaching out to shake Father's hand. Theo Nott followed his father in, sullen and withdrawn. Draco was far too used to this kind of behavior from his fellow Slytherin. Quiet and odd, Theo preferred to spend his time alone, a spectator rather than a participant. Draco assumed he took after his parents in this way, though he didn't know much of Mrs. Nott, as the woman had died when the boys were just six. Mr. Nott, with his small, dark eyes and low, soft voice, always sent shivers up Draco's spine.
"Lucius, always good to see you. And your boy's grown up quite a bit, I see." Draco stiffened; would he ever be addressed by his own name?
"Ah, yes. Draco's done us proud. And I'm sure you can say the same for Theo, yes?" Father inclined his head toward the boy. "Both of them, a credit to Slytherin."
Theo's eyes darted up to meet Draco's as his brow knitted. Draco had always given his father the impression that he and Theo were friends, when in reality, the two boys made sure to keep their distance. He didn't consider this lying, precisely. He knew quite a bit about Theo, and he was sure it went both ways. Father was friends with Nott, and Draco figured this sort of thing would work just as well for him and Theo. Unfortunately, Theo was somewhat difficult to talk to.
"Indeed. Lucius, if I may be frank?" Nott's manner changed abruptly. He gazed at Father intently.
"Of course." Father's face didn't register any surprise. Draco decided this was a useful skill to have, and began smoothing out his own facial features. Judging by the look on Theo's face, he hadn't quite succeeded.
"The true reason behind my visit today was to speak of…old times."
Draco gaped. Nott was being shockingly obvious—Draco wondered how the man had gotten into Slytherin at all. He was clearly there to speak about the World Cup and everything going on. He turned towards Theo, who had gone as still as a statue. Did Theo know something he didn't? Draco couldn't stand the thought of being left out of…whatever it was they were talking about.
"I see." Father's demeanor changed yet again. "Draco, perhaps it would be best if you went and showed Theo your new lunascope?"
Draco seethed in anger. Father and Nott were going to discuss the World Cup, Theo already knew what they were going to say, and Draco was expected to be proud of some stupid lunascope? Why would Theo care about the phases of the moon when he could be hearing something grander?
"Come now, Lucius. I'm sure the boys are both old enough to start hearing things. Why, Theo's already been told most of my suspicions. Very clever boy he is, picks things up extraordinarily quickly." Though he spoke words of praise, Nott didn't look very proud. Draco couldn't bring himself to care though, so pleased he was to hear of the incident.
Father smiled thinly. "Yes, of course. Let's sit then, shall we? Elf!" He commanded. The small house-elf in the corner snapped to attention. "Bring some tea for our guests!" A faint pop sounded through the room, and the men took their seats (Draco liked to think of himself as an adult, or at least close to one, at this point).
"Now, I'm sure you've heard of the Ministry inquiry." Nott readjusted the collar of his robes, studying Father intently. His hands fiddled with something in the inside pocket of his cloak before coming to rest on his thighs. "Naturally, they've got no leads on anything that happened that night."
"Naturally." Father's face didn't change, but his eyes gained confidence. "After all, every willing servant of the Dark Lord is locked up in Azkaban."
"Except for Sirius Black," Draco piped up, hoping to show off his knowledge.
Father tensed and Draco's heart sank. "Yes…except for him," Father agreed tightly. His hand moved to Draco's right shoulder and squeezed…hard. Draco got the message loud and clear, tucking his chin down to his chest.
"Then you believe Black truly was His servant?" Nott predatory gaze came to rest on Draco instead of his father. He struggled not to show any nervousness. How could Theo stand it? The man's eyes pinned him to the chair, and it was all Draco could do to stare back.
"Do you?" Father volleyed back coolly. The house elf popped back next to them, halting the conversation. After pouring out the tea and divvying up the biscuits, discussion resumed.
"You must admit, it's slightly odd that none of His followers heard even the slightest bit of evidence that Black was on their side." Theo nodded along dully to his father's words, raising the tea cup to his lips.
"None of them heard anything of Pettigrew following Him either," Father pointed out. Draco studied the china furtively. Second tier, he decided after a moment's consideration. First tier was for anyone Mother deemed extremely important. First tier china was made to impress. Second tier was for Father's contacts and Mother's friends. Third tier was reserved for Ministry employees, including the Minister himself. Fourth tier was rarely used, if only due to the fact that their low level of importance meant that they hardly ever ate at Malfoy Manor.
"Speaking of Pettigrew, his escape from the Ministry has been plastered everywhere. I'm shocked they don't bring out the dementors again." Nott fished for information the way Weasleys looked for money, Draco thought with a sneer: often, and not very well.
"Cornelius tells me that it would only be a burden. It caused quite a controversy the last time, you recall." Father had a tendency to name-drop high-ranking Ministry officials in order to assure everyone of his power. Draco had no doubt that Father would turn around and mention Nott in a later conversation.
"Of course, of course. I only thought that, considering the events of the World Cup…" Nott trailed off, a hint of smugness in his features. Theo was watching Draco with an alarming intensity. He could feel his face burn and fought to control it. Pink cheeks and white-blond hair didn't mix well.
"Mmm. Then you think Pettigrew is behind the casting of His mark?" Draco snapped back to attention.
"Who else could it be? You yourself said that all of His followers are in Azkaban." Nott and Father shared a private chuckle, and Draco chanced a glance back at Theo. The dark-haired boy was crumbling up a biscuit and dropping the crumbs into his tea, swirling them around into different patterns. Draco barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes.
"If I remember correctly, Pettigrew lacked two very important things: drive and a spine. It's unlikely that he could've pulled something like this off without any sort of direction," Father mused.
"My thoughts exactly." Nott's leg was jiggling up and down in a most unbecoming way. Theo had taken a spoon and was stirring his biscuit into his tea, watching it dissolve slowly. "So, if it was Pettigrew—and the Ministry has no way of knowing, due to the lack of evidence found at the scene—then he must be taking orders from someone. And there are very few people who wouldn't turn him in on the spot. One of them is a…front-runner, shall we say?"
Father leaned back briefly, pausing to rub at his left forearm. Nott didn't move. The only sound in the room came from the soft swoosh of Theo stirring his tea. At last, Father began to respond. "You suspect…?"
"I do," Nott replied fervently. "Tell me, Lucius, are my guesses unfounded? Is it possible that He may be…."
"I assume that you've been noticing the same side effects I have, then?"
Nott nodded so frantically Draco thought his head would pop off. "And we're not the only ones…I've spoken with Gibbon, Jugson, and Avery, and they all say the same. It's almost fact, at this point."
"He's back," Father whispered. The words were not quite excited, but no one could accuse him of being unhappy. Draco paused, nibbling on a biscuit. Two words, and his life transformed itself. He's back.
"Yes," Nott confirmed breathlessly. "He's back. The only question now is what to do about it."
Draco blinked. "What to do about it?" Father echoed. "What on earth do you mean, Antioch? He will send out the call, it will be answered, and nothing else need be done." Father, obviously considering the matter quite settled, poured himself another cup of tea, finally sending a perturbed frown towards Theo.
Nott jolted. "Surely you've heard." It was not phrased as a question.
"Heard what?" Father sounded irritated, a sure sign of danger. That tone of voice always meant that Draco was about to get a stern talking to, and probably more than that. Draco had long since gotten used to the idea of running away in as dignified a manner as possible when his father spoke like that.
"Hasn't your boy told you?" Nott persisted. "Theo wrote me right away about it—of course, there wasn't much I could do about it then. He was still gone, after all." Draco felt his heartbeat speed up rapidly. Whatever this was about, it didn't sound good.
"Draco." Father's hand clenched his cane so hard that his knuckles turned white.
"Yes Father?" Draco's chest tightened. This was not good.
"Do you have something to tell me?"
Draco swallowed. "No, I—I don't think so, Father." He cringed inwardly at how weak his voice sounded. Theo had snatched countless biscuits off the platter at this point. His tea was filled with mush. Absently, Draco wondered if he was planning on digesting any of it.
Nott's eyebrows rose. "Theo, as I said, told me the instant he heard. I did a little digging—a lot of digging, truthfully—and it turned out to be true."
"What turned out to be true?" Draco could tell Father was one second away from exploding simply by the way he spoke. Nott evidently realized that his audience had gone past captivated and was now merely exasperated.
"Er, perhaps Theo should tell you. Theo? Theodore!"
Theo dropped the spoon immediately, letting it hit the edge of the cup with a clatter. "Sorry, Father," He apologized sulkily. Draco sniffed and pretended to be annoyed, when he felt more like laughing. Someone was getting in trouble, and it wasn't him for a change.
"Honestly, boy, how am I supposed to take you anywhere?" Nott raged for a few minutes while Theo did a poor job of looking abashed. His tea looked like thick mud, and there were no more biscuits on the plate. Father glowered silently. Draco tapped his foot, trying to figure out what he was supposed to know.
It related to the Dark Lord in some way. But there had been no news of the Dark Lord this entire year. The whole castle had been abuzz with news of Sirius Black and his escape from Azkaban. The Dark Lord, as he wasn't a present threat, had been shoved aside. Maybe Nott meant something from a previous year? Second year had been that business with the Basilisk at the beginning of the year, until Potter and company had killed it. Hang on, wasn't there something going on with Davies just before that? Draco's eyes widened as he remembered. Oh no.
Nott finally allowed his son to speak. Without any kind of buildup, Theo shrugged carelessly and dropped the news. "The Dark Lord's a half-blood."
"Have you seen my quill?"
"If I recall, you have several. Which one in particular are you looking for?" Remus asked dryly. Harry wasn't often worked up into such a frenzy. Harry moved more as a blur than as a person, darting in and out of rooms whenever he pleased. "You can slow down, Harry."
"But Remus, the train leaves in two hours!" Behind his glasses, Harry's eyes were wide and earnest. "I need to make sure I have everything early!"
Alarm bells sounded in Remus' head. Harry was always eager when speaking about Hogwarts, but he hadn't ever appeared to be quite so frenetic. His trunk had been mostly packed since around seven the night before. Charity had checked in on him before heading back to Hogwarts for the night. Sirius had helped him figure everything out, and he just now decided that he was missing a quill? "How early, exactly?"
"Well…" Harry shifted guiltily. Remus blinked, and Harry was a different boy, looking guilty for a different reason, one far more mischievous. He blinked again, and the image was gone. "Erm, could I—do you think I could talk to you for a bit before we go?"
Remus' eyebrows flew up in surprise. Harry wasn't very free with information. He rarely told any of the adults anything deeply personal…and Remus wasn't sentimental enough to think that he'd start now. "Certainly. Should we start now?"
Harry let out a gust of air. "Yeah. Yeah, that'd probably be best." He tiptoed into Remus' room and perched himself on the desk chair, turning his face towards Remus expectantly.
A guessing game, Remus thought unhappily. "Is it about Professor Burbage?"
He shook his head mutely.
"Is it about me?"
Another negative response.
"Surely it's not about Sirius." Remus thought Sirius had been doing quite well these past few days. The morning before the World Cup had brought about a great change in his friend, and, except for a brief hiccup at the match when Sirius had lost his temper, he had stayed fairly consistent. He had spent more time in the rest of the house, and even agreed to help clean up an empty guest room on the second floor.
Harry ruffled the back of his hair and shrugged noncommittally.
Remus sighed. "He's hiding something, isn't he? Alright Harry, what happened?"
Harry exhaled in relief. "How did you know? At the World Cup, when you and Professor Burbage went to go check out what was going on…Remus, have you ever mistaken me for my father?"
Remus paused. "The resemblance is incredibly striking, Harry, I'll admit that, but the two of you are different enough in personality that it's never been an issue for me. However, Sirius spent twelve years in Azkaban. He's damaged, and while the potions do help, they can't take away all of his problems. Did he…say something to you that worried you?"
Harry shrugged again. "Well…not really, I s'pose. He just called me James. And…he thought I was James, I mean. And not just for a little while, because he didn't snap out of it until you two got back."
"Hm." Remus mulled it over, searching underneath his bed for a quill to hand to Harry. "Was there anything going on that set it off? Naturally, he'd be shaken up by the—the incident, but did anything drastic occur?" Sirius and Harry, as far as he knew, had stayed in the tent the whole time. It was entirely possible that Sirius had heard something that pushed him over the edge, though Remus was at a loss as to what it could be.
Harry visibly fumbled with the question. "Professor—Remus," He corrected himself hastily. Remus had noticed that the boy reverted to his old title when he got nervous. "Sirius wanted to see what was going on, so we…we didn't leave the tent or anything," He blurted out at the panicked expression on Remus' face. "We just peeked our heads out and saw the…the Dark Mark," He whispered, paling.
Remus froze. "Yes, that would do it," He muttered to himself. Hang on a tick! How had Harry learned about the Dark Mark?
"Hermione told me what it was when I owled her. She found out from Mr. Weasley," Harry added, anticipating his question. "Plus, I think…does Sirius know about Pettigrew?"
Remus stood and crossed over to Harry. "Harry," He spoke urgently, pulse quickening. "Harry, did you bring up Pettigrew to Sirius?" His hand reached out to grab Harry's forearm gently.
"N-No, Pro—Remus. I didn't think it was a good idea," He admitted shyly.
Remus relaxed. "Good, good. Why do you think Sirius knows about Pettigrew? Has he said something to you?" Remus tried to put Pettigrew out of his mind as often as possible now. When he'd believed Sirius to be the traitor, there had been a sort of gut-wrenching pain that came along with it. Ultimately, the idea of Sirius betraying Lily and James had been a little too unbelievable. Remus couldn't reconcile that version of Sirius with the boy he had grown up with.
Pettigrew, on the other hand, made a sad kind of sense. Not that Remus would've ever thought it of his friend before the War—Peter was timid. In addition, he hung on every word tumbling out of James' mouth as though it were gospel. Remus had never met anyone so worshipful of another human being. But thinking of Pettigrew now, it was easy to see why the man had done such an unthinkable act. They hadn't ever truly included Pettigrew, though not for lack of trying. The slow boy was always just a step behind them—he lacked a certain creativity that was needed for the genius pranks James and Sirius favored.
He had no real ambition, causing him to be more of a follower than a leader. He treated James as a god because James was one to Peter. But after leaving school, they'd had less and less time to talk. Remus could easily imagine Peter feeling resentful; no matter what, James always made time for Sirius. Remus, constantly on some sort of mission for the Order relating to his lycanthropy, was more understanding, but Peter would be jealous of the close relationship between James and Sirius.
"No, he hasn't said anything, really. He just doesn't seem the same."
Absently, Remus wondered if Harry would've preferred Sirius lock himself up in his room again. "I thought it was best not to inform Sirius of Pettigrew's escape until he'd grown more stable. At the time, he was still very ill, and from the sounds of it, he still is. Of course, he was also cooped up in his room the majority of the time, and now that's not the case. I'm afraid he might've read something in the Daily Prophet, though they are trying to keep it quiet."
"But when Sirius escaped, they put it all over the place. He was even on Muggle news," Harry protested. His hair was getting a tad bit too long, with some of the fringe falling right into his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses. He tugged on it to cover up his scar.
"Sirius escaped Azkaban. Pettigrew escaped a Ministry holding cell. The two are vastly different," Remus corrected. "I doubt Pettigrew would've known to change into a rat to escape the effects of the dementors like Sirius did, nor would he have the knowledge of his innocence to keep him sane. Sirius, by escaping what was previously unescapable, made himself incredibly dangerous. He was already known to be quite powerful. Pettigrew was never very accomplished as a wizard, I'm afraid."
"But do you think he knows?" Harry asked urgently.
Remus sighed and debated internally for a few moments. "I…I must admit, I'm not quite sure. Sirius has grown more unpredictable since Azkaban—if there's something wrong, I might not be able to tell." Secretly, he wondered if he'd ever been able to tell. Sirius had always been talented at hiding his darker moods from the others, though James had usually known if something was up. "If you're worried about him, Harry, you truly shouldn't be. Even though he seems to be recovering, Sirius rarely ventures out of the house, and he never goes alone. You and Professor Burbage will be at school, but I'll be keeping an eye on him."
Harry scuffed his shoes on the floor and didn't respond.
"Harry." Remus waited until the boy locked eyes with him. "Sirius is going to be fine. You don't need to worry."
"What if something goes wrong?" Harry blurted out. Ah, the crux of the problem. "What if something happens to him, and we don't know because he doesn't tell anyone? What if Pettigrew figures out where we are and tries to do something?"
Remus got to his feet and gently placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Stop for a moment and think logically. Even if Pettigrew could find out where we are, there's no possible way he could get in. There are some incredibly strong wards up around here—no one can reach us if we don't want them to." He wasn't quite sure what else to say. Harry's concerns were perfectly valid, after all. Sirius kept things bottled up, and with Harry off at school…
Harry nodded morosely. "I know, I know. I just…you'll write me, won't you?" He switched topics abruptly, peering up at Remus with the look of a wounded puppy. "Sirius said he would, but I want to make sure that everything's alright."
Remus raised his eyebrows. "Of course I will, Harry. Besides, I need you to report some things back to me as well," He added with a wink. He laughed at Harry's befuddled look. "I need to know about all of your friends learning the Patronus Charm, don't I?"
Harry's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Yeah, I'll tell you all about it! Then maybe you can teach us some more Defense stuff—just as a precaution." Relieved, Remus agreed, and soon Harry was chattering away about all of the things he wished to learn, some of which was almost certainly out of Remus' capabilities. But Harry wasn't nearly as nervous now, which was all that mattered.
"Remus? Have you seen—oh, there you are, Harry. C'mon, we need to hurry if we're going to get to the station in time." Sirius stood in the hallway, tapping his foot impatiently. Remus smothered a grin when he noticed that Hedwig's cage and Harry's trunk were already by the door.
"Here's your quill," He told Harry, handing him a somewhat decent looking one that could've perhaps belonged to the boy. Harry paused, momentarily confused, before his expression cleared and he tossed Remus a smile. Sirius trampled down the step, making sure to stomp every so often so that they would get the hint.
"Hey, Remus?" He glanced up to find Harry looking shy and hesitant. "I just wanted to say…" He trailed off anxiously, tugging harder on his fringe. "Well, I'm gonna miss you, is all." Harry hurried after his godfather, not giving Remus a chance to respond.