Chapter 13: Misgivings

An owl fluttered into the empty room through the open window, bringing with it frozen water and the frosty air. The weary and worn brown owl left a tattered piece of a parchment on top of an empty, uninhabited bed. It took off into the night.

A boy with unruly jet-black hair entered the room a few hours later, quietly setting his broom down and making his way over to his bed for an early night. He noticed a small piece of parchment, barely visible, on his old bed. Cautiously he approached it and tentatively levitated it into the air, afraid to touch it. He couldn't place it, but it gave him an eerie feeling.

The parchment unfolded before him, revealing the tiny script. It seemed to have been done carefully, deliberately slowly and neat. The message was unbelievably cryptic.

Where does the black moon sing

Shining down on its victims?

Cross yourself twice

You know you're lost.

Harry ground his teeth in annoyance. He already had a headache, as it were. He didn't need this. Whoever left this here was an irresponsible and juvenile annoyance. It was garbage ready to be discarded. He crumpled up the parchment and flicked his wand at it, making it disappear.

The next day, Harry rose to Hedwig's beak in his ear.

"What… what are you doing?" he asked groggily. "What do you want?" She merely chirped. Already awake, Harry decided he might as well get dressed and fly for a bit. As he stepped out of bed, his foot brushed against his discarded book bag. A box that Harry had never seen before fell out. It was wrapped in a shiny blue ribbon. A note fell out from under the ribbon.

It was written in neat handwriting—Adrienne's, Harry recognized with a sinking feeling—although it couldn't be compared with the miniscule neatness of the note from the night before. Happy Christmas, Harry was all it read. Harry didn't feel compelled to open it at that moment, so he shoved it back into the bag with his toe and stepped out into the cold castle. With a feeling of dread, he realized that he was now obligated to give Adrienne a present, although he had no idea if they were even on friendly speaking terms. His headache returned. With little resolution, he decided he needed something easy, like talking to Sirius. He winced both internally and physically as he thought of visiting Sirius as mindless conversation. How could he? With guilt sleeping at the pit of his stomach, Harry trudged to the Room of Requirement, desperately hoping to forget some of his general anxiety.

Sirius was asleep when Harry entered. It wasn't surprising; the hour was early and the castle was still cold. On top of his guilt, Harry felt a little annoyed that Sirius wasn't available when he needed him. How was Harry ever going to fix this if they couldn't talk? And even when they did talk, they didn't connect like they used to. He and Sirius couldn't relate.

Quietly, Harry crept out of the Room of Requirement, determined not to wake Sirius up. Once in the hall, he felt restless and agitated. He needed to do something, and it was too cold to go flying dressed the way he was. He decided to take a trip to Hogsmeade. Maybe the cold air coupled with the distraction of bustling village life would help him take his mind off all that was distressing him.

As soon as he set foot in Hogsmeade, the chilly air did Harry some good. He strolled around aimlessly, admiring the way the lights twinkled and the flurries of snow that had begun to fall. He passed an antique store, The Three Broomsticks, and a Quidditch supply store… and then he saw it: a quaint, musty little shop with no life whatsoever. He entered and began browsing. The items for sale looked quite old, but in a different way than the window of the antique store had. These looked like they were breathing with life, magic and ancient secrets. He laid eyes on a notebook, seemingly old and delicate, but when he picked it up the pages and binding were sturdy and durable.

"That's a real nice piece," said a wheezy voice behind him. Harry turned to discover a small man behind him, nodding. "Yep. You know, there are rumors that that book originally belonged to one of the Founders of Hogwarts, although we don't know if it's true, much less whose it is."

Harry pondered for a moment. "I'll take it," he said.

"Wonderful!" cried the small wizard, clapping his hands. "That'll be three Sickles." Harry also bought a handful of charcoal pencils and, feeling he had had his fill of shopping, headed back to the castle.

That night, he sent a wrapped parcel to the Slytherin dormitories with Hedwig, along with a note that merely read: Happy Christmas. Harry.

Christmas morning arrived with a new blanket of snow and utter silence. Harry woke up to the sound of a silent Hogwarts and empty dormitory. Pulling on a sweatshirt, he tiptoed down the stairs, his toes frozen on the icy stone. There were no parcels waiting for him, and he remembered Adrienne's gift. Going back upstairs, he pulled the box out of his book bag and peeled the wrapping paper off. Inside the box lay Honeydukes' chocolate cauldrons. Harry closed the box and tossed it onto his bed.

Slipping on a pair of slippers, Harry left to the Room of Requirement. He pushed the heavy door open and peered in. Sirius was sitting on the floor. Did he ever sit in a chair? Harry wondered. A sickening feeling wrenched open his gut as he realized he couldn't remember whether Sirius had a habit of sitting on the floor before he lost his memory. Sirius was flipping intensely through a book that looked familiar…

"Hi, Sirius," Harry said.

Sirius looked up from Harry's scrapbook. "Oh, hello. Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas," Harry said and sat down awkwardly beside him. Neither spoke for a while, the air between them pregnant with awkwardness and unfamiliarity.

"Thanks for coming," Sirius said.

It caught Harry by surprise. "Oh… you're welcome. No problem." He tried to begin. "Listen, Sirius… I've just been thinking, and… the air's seemed a little weird between us lately… I don't know if you've noticed…"

Sirius sighed and ran a hand through his uncombed hair. "Yeah, I have. From your end… I've noticed you haven't been exactly comfortable around here."

Harry agreed. "No, not exactly. I was wondering… would you like to come flying with me?"

Sirius' eyes widened. "Oh…I don't know…"

"It doesn't have to be flying," Harry said hastily. "If you're not… ready. But couldn't we do something together, for old times' sake? I… missed you."

"Sure, kid," Sirius said. "Whatever you say."

As they walked together down the stairs to the pitch, brooms in hand, Harry couldn't help but feel pangs of jealousy, of anger… and of excitement. He hadn't spent time with his godfather in ages, and what he had hadn't been close. Now they were going to experience something that they both loved, something that could help them connect. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice the body lying on the floor in his path.

He almost tripped over Adrienne's arm. He gasped and stood there, staring at her still body. Questions raced through his mind: Who did this? What happened? Why is she here? Is she all right? Is she breathing?

Harry picked up Adrienne's small body, her head lolling onto his shoulder lifelessly. She was horribly limp in his arms. Harry's lungs squeezed his heart and he sprinted to the hospital wing. He might have called something back to Sirius. Something like don't worry, I'll be right back. Something like get help! Something like please don't let her be dead. Or maybe he didn't say anything at all.

Christmas holidays were over, and the castle was beginning to move again. It had woken up from its sleepy reverie, and students were pouring in through all the doors. Harry, however, didn't partake in the excitement. He hadn't gone to visit Adrienne in five days, ever since he found her in the hallway. He was scared, he realized—scared of how she'd treat him if she were awake, scared that she wasn't awake, scared of so many things. So he decided not to visit her and spare himself the consequences.

Harry hadn't been to visit Sirius since the accident, either. Initially, he was disappointed that they didn't go flying together, then frustrated, and then he despaired. He didn't want to think about it anymore, to work at it, to put any effort into Sirius. He was tired of having to carry the weight. He was tired of his attempt failing and Sirius remaining without his memory. He just wanted things to return to the way they had been.

Hermione and Ron had returned with the rest of the school, and Harry gave them their respective Christmas presents without enthusiasm, simply a "Happy Christmas". Harry had received his presents, too—a pair of enormous socks from Mrs. Weasley, some Bertie Botts' Every Flavor Beans and a Chocolate Frog from Ron, and a book about broomsticks for Hermione. It was like nothing had changed, like the three of them had the same lives they'd had since arriving at Hogwarts

The chatter in the room was making Harry dizzy. The smells of the Great Hall were making him sick, filled with rich food and sweets. He had to get out. Without a word, he left the Great Hall and walked with no destination in mind. Surprisingly, he found himself in front of the hospital wing. He hesitated before entering, but something inside beckoned to him, making him place one foot in front of the other and enter the whitewashed room. It was empty when he entered. He took a few steps around the room, but all the beds were empty.

"Can I help you, dear?"

Harry spun around. Madam Pomfrey stood behind him, looking at him expectantly. "Oh… is, um, Adrienne Harper here?"

Madam Pomfrey gestured toward the empty beds. "No."

"What happened?" It was almost too painful to ask.

"She's fine. Passed out is all… she recovered. I allowed her to leave three days ago. …Is something wrong?" she asked, peering into Harry's face.

"No. Nothing," he said, and left.

Harry still wasn't ready to see Adrienne, no matter how much he reassured himself that she was okay. He took a detour to the Room of Requirement, hesitating before poking open the door. Sirius was in the kitchen area of the room, heating something in the microwave.

"You know," Harry said, "there's a whole welcome feast in the Great Hall."

Sirius gave him a look. Harry couldn't quite place it—it wasn't disdain or pity. "I'm not really comfortable going down there, with all the people… after what happened."

Harry nodded. "Sure." They were silent. Harry wanted to stab himself with the silence. It certainly was sharp enough.

"D'you… uh, want to stay?" Sirius asked. Harry nodded. He pulled up a chair to the small, big-enough-for-one table and sat in awkward silence as Sirius ate his microwave breakfast. When he had finished, and had tidied up thoroughly, Sirius beckoned Harry to sit beside him on the floor by the bookshelf. Harry couldn't remember Sirius being this tidy before. How was it that Harry couldn't remember? Sirius was the one who wasn't supposed to remember.

"Would you mind?" Sirius' voice broke Harry's confused thoughts. Harry looked at him. He was holding up the scrapbook Harry had given to him.

"Mind what?"

"Well… I was looking at these pictures, and I felt… I don't know. Some of them seemed kind of familiar, like they were from another life, from a past I couldn't quite gather. Which I suppose is true. But I was wondering if you could tell me stories about these people… or about the pictures."

Harry immediately brightened. "Yeah, yeah, I could." He took a seat beside Sirius. To his delight, Sirius opened to the page with the picture of his parents' wedding. Harry began the storytelling. Endless anecdotes poured from his lips.

That night, or rather morning, as Harry climbed into his bed, he noticed another sliver of parchment resting on the bed he formerly occupied. He sighed, but his curiosity prevailed as he unfolded the parchment, half-expecting another demented poem. It read:

I know where you are. Soon you'll be sorry.

Troubled, Harry lay down in his bed and tried to sleep.

"I can't believe you would do this!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Do what?" Ron asked through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"'Do what?'? Honestly, Ron! I can't believe you would flirt with another girl… and then pretend not to know about it!" Exasperated, Hermione stabbed the piece of chicken on her plate with her fork.

"I didn't!" Ron cried indignantly.

"Oh, yeah right." Hermione made her voice high and squeaky. "'Can I help you with that? It must be awfully hard having to carry those books.' 'Yeah, it took me a long time to get used to a wand too. Let me help.' 'Do you want to hold my hand while you do this spell?' 'You have really pretty eyes, you know that?' They were awfully boring brown, by the way."

"I was just being polite!" Ron insisted.

"Sure you were. I'm not hungry." Hermione scooped her books into her arms and left the table.

"Hermione!" Ron called after her, but she continued, no break in her step. Ron sighed angrily and ran a frustrated hand through his mop of red hair. "I don't know what she's on about. Getting worked up over nothing. She overreacts so much!" He continued muttering to himself as Harry silently ate his lunch.

Truth be told, Harry hadn't been listening intently to Ron's and Hermione's conversation. He had problems of his own he had to worry about. Adrienne had been acting strange and distant lately, and he couldn't fathom why. A Quidditch match had been announced to commence after everyone returned from the holidays—in exactly one week—against Slytherin. Harry couldn't concentrate on training to beat Slytherin right now. Sirius was a constant concern. He also had N.E.W.T.s to be studying for, but he couldn't keep his mind off Adrienne. It wasn't like Harry not to be the hero, not to save people and know what's going on. Her mood swings weren't like a normal girl's—high one minute, low the next. He suspected there was something going on that she wasn't telling him, but he hadn't an inkling as to what it was. Now she was out of the hospital wing, and he still didn't know what her condition was or how she was doing. It was bothering him, as much as he hated to admit it.

He had Potions next, and he wondered whether Adrienne would be present. He wondered if she had some valid excuse for Snape if she didn't show up. He remembered that he still had to retrieve the potion from his dormitory, and reminded himself to do so as soon as he had finished with his lunch.

Once in Potions, Harry had an unsettling feeling he couldn't place. He noticed that Adrienne wasn't there, but that wasn't what caused the uneasiness. He squirmed slightly as he awaited the starting of class with dread. Just then, Adrienne walked into the room quietly. Harry wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been waiting for her, she was so quiet. She took a seat about half the classroom's distance away from him. And then he remembered: the potion was still in his dormitory. Damn, Harry thought. He scribbled a hasty note to Adrienne and levitated it over to her. Luckily Snape hadn't entered the class yet.

Adrienne read the note, a frown coming over her face. She signaled him to go retrieve the potion. Harry stood up quickly. At that moment, Snape and his large, billowing robes swished into the dungeon, shutting the doors with a clang.

"Sit down, Potter," Snape said brusquely. It was uncommonly polite.

Harry gave a despairing look to Adrienne. She brushed it away with her hand and signaled for him to go. Harry was confused. The doors were closed; locked, maybe. How did she expect him to leave the dungeon without Snape noticing?

Adrienne put her hand up. Snape wrinkled his large nose at her. "Yes, Miss Harper?"

Adrienne got out of her chair and walked up to the front of the classroom. She touched Snape's left arm. He winced. Harry wondered just how hard her grip could be. She was a thin girl. With fingers still tightly clamped around Snape's left arm, she turned him toward the front of the classroom, away from the door at the back. She began talking conversationally to him, and Harry heard a couple potions mentioned. He then remembered why she was doing this. Grabbing his book bag and slipping on his Invisibility Cloak, Harry crept to the door and unlocked it with a flick of his wand and "Alohomora."

When he arrived at his dormitory, Harry found the potion on his nightstand, right where he had left it. He unfortunately also noticed a piece of parchment on his old bed. His mind raced as he tried to comprehend why these were being sent to him and who was sending them. They were being sent to him; after all, it was his old bed and nobody occupied it now.

With a feeling of dread deep in his stomach, Harry unfolded the parchment.

You can't hide from me, Potter. I know where you are. Always.

And I will find you. I will make you pay.

There was no longer a shadow of a doubt that these letters were meant for him. Throwing the potion into his book bag, Harry raced down the many flights of stairs, the note still in his hand and his mind still racing. Who was trying to find him? The only thought that came to mind was Voldemort, but it wasn't Voldemort's style to send a teenage boy random notes on parchment. And what about the first one, the poem-like note? That surely wasn't the work of a dark, evil wizard. He thrust the note into his bag, not having anywhere else to put it.

As he entered the dungeon, Adrienne was still talking to Snape. She heard his entrance (or so Harry thought… she certainly couldn't have seen him, because she was facing away from the door as Snape was). She released his arm and took a seat, this time the one next to Harry.

Snape had a slightly troubled look on his face as he turned to face the class.

"Take out your Confusing Concoctions," he said in a monotone, his mind elsewhere. As Harry pulled out the flask of potion, the note tumbled out with it. Adrienne picked it up and read it, an unreadable expression overcoming her face.

"What is this?" she asked, her voice as icy as the biting December wind on the Quidditch pitch.

"Just something," he said. She grabbed Harry's arm. To his surprise, his presupposed presumptions about Adrienne's strength were correct—she didn't have a hard grip. She was too thin to cause any damage.

"What is it?"

"Er… just a note," he said. "I've been getting some… lately. On my old bed… this is the third."

Something passed over Adrienne's face. "You must get out of there, do you understand me?"

"Er… no, actually," Harry said truthfully, not bothering to be polite. After all, Adrienne had wild, inexplicable mood swings. Why shouldn't he return the favor?

"You have to find somewhere else to live. Somewhere else," she hissed. "You have to."

"What is going on!" he demanded. "What do you know about this?"

"Just go somewhere else," she said. She looked slightly pleading now, and that scared Harry.

"Okay," he said, not understanding what he was promising.

With a timid knock, Harry waited, the suitcase in his hand suddenly growing heavier. The door opened slowly.

"Can I stay here with you?" he asked Sirius.

A/N: Thanks for the support, those who give it.

IamSiriusgirl- That means you. :)