Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other canon characters or plots. JK Rowling does. Any characters that she doesn't own are mine, though.

Chapter 6: Return

Harry pulled a leg close to him, leaving his left leg to dangle in open air. He was sitting on the Quidditch hoop, balancing his weight right on top of the pole, sitting on the bottom of the hoop. Hermione would have lectured him for days on the dangers of such a position, and Ron would have been shocked and impressed, but eventually he would accept it as one of those things that Harry Potter did all the time. At least, that's what they would have done if they knew he did this and had done it for three years now, but he never told them or anyone else. He liked it that way. Here, where no one else would dare come, he was safe. Here, where the wind was in his face constantly, he could think.

He had a lot to think about now. Just two days ago, he had been certain that his dreams were gone, faster and more elusive than any snitch, and he could not retrieve them. He was sure that his life was over, that he was nothing more than a god's valuable, powerful slave. He had quietly bid farewell to his friends months ago and hadn't been able to handle it when he saw them again. They were dead to him, had to be, and it was stupid to even think about them or anything else from his old life.

He was wrong.

Harry had been terrified when he felt the link between him and his master strengthening, signifying that the god was coming. He knew the punishment he was in for, knew there was no excuse that could prevent the pain, but he tried.

Then the pain came. He screamed and screamed, because he could do nothing else. He couldn't escape his own hands, and they were the source. There was nothing but the excruciating pain, there had never been anything else, and it would go on and on for eternity …

Then even the pain was gone. He floated in nothingness, because there was nothing. He floated gladly, because even nothingness was better than the pain. He wondered if this was death. Considering the pain that life was and always had been, he would happily take death.

When he woke up, he discovered that Remus, an old veteran of pain, had managed to get some powerful sort of pain-relieving potion down his throat, stopping the pain and sending him deep into blissful unconsciousness. He would forever be grateful to him for that. And he was even deeper in debt with Sirius. Sirius hadn't stopped the pain, but he had removed the possibility of future pain. Sirius had wrested Harry's life back. It wasn't exactly the same, but that was okay. Harry again had friends, freedom, and a future.

A future filled with his dreams.

After Madam Pomfrey gave him another potion to ease his throat after all his screaming and pronounced him fit, he, Remus, and Sirius had gone with the Headmaster up to his office to decide how to return Harry to society and Hogwarts. He was legally dead, after all, and changing that was slightly difficult. For Harry, who was even less accustomed to even small groups of people than before, the prospect of a public appearance to dispel all doubts (the usual method) was too dreadful to consider for long.

Dumbledore suggested that Harry wait a week before returning to classes, while he handled the bureaucracy and the media. Both told the public the next day that Harry was alive and well, despite being captured and tortured by Voldemort until Harry escaped and made his staggering way back to Hogwarts, where Madam Pomfrey competently restored him to health, and that Harry would be attending classes with therapy on the side, to help him put his ordeal behind him.

The first few "therapy" sessions would actually be storytime hour, essentially. Harry had insisted on telling Ron and Hermione the full, true story. They were his best friends, and they deserved it after they had helped restore his life. He was also considering telling other friends, like Neville, Ginny, or the twins. The other therapy sessions would be experimentation. With Fate's permission, they would be trying to determine the new limits of Harry's power.

Reminded of his master, Harry lifted his hand and gazed at his wrist. The runes rarely were visible, but the power in them had always pulsed as a constant reminder of the contract between him and Fate. He could still detect the power with minimal effort, but it actually took effort now, instead of being the first thing on his mind constantly. It was a relief. More importantly, it symbolized the new rules of the contract. Sirius had explained the basics, and his Crimson Fang had filled in the extra, the things that Fate had told the snake to tell Harry.

All that your godfather said is true, master. The god will allow you to live your own life, provided that you perform a service for him once every two months until l your schooling ends. You then have ten years to choose a mate and produce an heir to show that you will eventually present the god with at least two young servants with blood links to him. Though, and here the snake had shrunk a foot, his equivalent of whispering, it is very likely that the god will somehow ensure that your mate immediately produces multiple children for you. He really wants more servants, master.

Harry frowned, remembering that while he would have his dream family, he would have to force his kids into something that he hated. How could he do that? Could he really sentence innocent children to such a fate – he smiled weakly at his own little pun – just so he could have his dream?

"There you are kiddo. Man, how do you manage staying up here? Did you use a sticking charm or something to keep from falling off?" Harry looked up, startled, to see his godfather grinning at him, sitting on his own broom. Poking out of his robes was the crinkled old parchment Sirius had helped create. Harry grimaced inwardly. He had forgotten about the Marauders' Map. Outwardly, though, he shrugged at Sirius.

"It's not that difficult, actually. I just can't move too much, or I'll lose my balance. I've done this for years." Sirius shook his head.

"I'm not that surprised, really. Your dad used to come up here and fly for hours. He said that he flew too fast for his thoughts to keep up." Harry's eyes lit up at the mention of his parent, delighted at the story that just two days ago he thought he'd never hear.

"Really?" was all he could get out, but Sirius grinned at him and continued.

"Yeah. Your mum, on the other hand, would either read some muggle book of hers or practice high-level charms. It's one of the reasons she's so good at them. She would look for ones not taught in class, teach herself them, and work on them until she could cast each one perfectly. Then she could go to sleep right away, instead of staying up all night worrying." Sirius noticed Harry's confusion and clarified, "Lily worried all the time. She stressed over her friends' troubles, over her fights with your aunt, over how she did as a prefect and Head Girl, and over her grades. After she graduated and married James, she worried about the war, about James and her pregnancy, about you after you were born – you know, would you have your dad's bad eyesight, your mum's horrible performance in herbology and astronomy, or, after the prophecy, what would happen between you and Voldemort. Your mum worried a lot, Harry. She hid it well, but her roommates at Hogwarts told James and us. Half the time your dad teased her, it was to get her to relax. He struggled the entire time they were together to get her to stop stressing out. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes he joined her when she practiced spellwork. He took her flying a few times, even, but Lily wasn't too big on flying." Sirius smiled at Harry's clear pleasure at such a long story. "You get all your flight ability from your dad, you know."

"I didn't know," Harry admitted. "I knew Dad was good, but I always wondered how Mum did. Thanks for telling me, Sirius. And, Sirius, thank you – so much – for stopping him and, and" Harry couldn't go on. He had forgotten about his dilemma during the story, but it rushed back now.

"Kiddo, what's wrong? Look, I'm sorry we didn't ask you before Fate came. The whole plan rested on you not knowing what we were up too. And I'm sorry for scaring you, and capturing you, and covering you with that paint, and for putting you through all that pain, but I couldn't think of anything else. I should have asked first, and I'm very sorry for that." Harry looked at his godfather.

"You think that bothers me? Sirius, that was the best thing anyone's ever done for me. I can't thank you enough for that. It's just, well, Sirius how can I do it?" Sirius floated a little closer and peered at his godson's face.

"Do what, Harry?"

"He'll let me have a family, but only if I force two of my kids to serve him! I hate working for him! How can I be so selfish and let my kids do his dirty work, just so I can pretend I'm anything close to normal?" Sirius blinked in surprise.

"Harry, that won't happen. No, no, listen to me. Before we did any of this, we did some research on that god of yours. He used to have whole families devoted to serving him. But they didn't all do the same thing. Some would be hunters, like you are, but some would be seers or priests or priestesses. Very few of them actually killed people, Harry. Your kids won't kill people, Harry. Fate wants real servants – people that knowingly do his will or speak for him. He's worked through partial seers like Trelawney for centuries, but he doesn't like that. One of your kids might have visions or end up teaching divination here. Or maybe he or she'll help the centaurs read the stars clearer to see their real fates. Maybe one of your descendants will work for the ministry and tell them what's a good idea, and what's not. They've got plenty of options, kid, don't worry."

"You mean it?" Harry asked hopefully. That didn't sound too bad. His kids would have good futures, safe and innocent. Maybe this could work out, after all.

"I mean it," Sirius promised. He floated a bit away. "Now, I gotta admit, Harry, we've been kind of worried about you – you've been missing for a few hours. Besides, I'm still nervous watching you on that perch of yours. What do you say we go inside?" Harry smiled and shook his head.

"I still want to think a bit. I'll head inside in a little, okay?" When his godfather nodded and left, Harry resumed his old position and thought about the rest of what his familiar had told him. Harry could have a semi-normal life, now. He could even use his new powers and play with them a bit. He could recreate those amulets and do a dozen other things he had wanted to do, but hadn't been able to before. Harry grinned and jumped off the hoop, letting his magic safely deposit him on the ground. Sirius had assumed that Harry's broom was shrunken or on the ground somewhere. He probably had thought that Harry would summon it back up to fly back to the school.

The teenager smirked. He didn't need brooms anymore. He could fly by himself. He could do anything he wanted now.

He was alive again.

Author's Note: Look, look! It's been less than a year or even six months between updates! Isn't that awesome?

What isn't awesome, though, is the lack of reviews. I live on reviews, people! Please, review and tell me what you think! Please!